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m00nsbaby · 1 year ago

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Jealous of your celebrity crush.

Moon system x reader. - Headcanons.

Steven.

It was an amazing date.

You couldn't remember when was the last time you went to the theater, and even though Steven and you had never had money problems, you still saw buying tickets for the front row as a luxury.

That night, you laughed, cried, and even hummed softly to each other. After all, it was your favorite musical.

Oh, and Steven's hand never let go of yours.

"Shall we go to the back?" "Here? Love, we can't…" "Steven!" You blushed, giving his shoulder a light tap. "Not for that, to get an autograph."

Steven was well aware that you both chose that particular show mainly because your favorite Broadway actor was in the cast.

"Run, or we won't catch him."

Your boyfriend truly was your best accomplice in everything. You couldn't think of a time he had said no to your whims, and he was the one who stood up to lead you out of the venue.

As you got closer, he felt something odd in his stomach.

A different sensation.

You felt his hand tighten around yours, and you could only assume he was making sure not to lose you in the crowd that was starting to exit as well.

"I'm nervous," you whispered. "Me too." And you didn't question how odd his response was.

There was a small group of people at the back of the theater, all with the same intention as you – to get an autograph and a photo with the stars of the show. A metal barrier separated them from the actors.

You took a spot toward the back, holding onto the barrier, and Steven positioned himself behind you.

"Should I take the photo, love?" That strange feeling invaded him again when you declined.

And again when a round of gentle applause and cheers echoed through the air. It all felt quite intimate in a way, and that didn't sit well with him.

You gasped loudly when you saw him coming out. That was another point on the list of things Steven wasn't enjoying about this situation.

It didn't seem strange to you when he draped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him.

"What should I say to him?" You asked eagerly as you watched him move through the crowd, talking, signing autographs, and thanking other fans.

Luckily, you had positioned yourselves towards the end, which gave you time to think about what to say.

"That he did a great job?" Steven pressed his lips together at his own words. It was as if he was suddenly regretting this whole idea, no matter how hard he tried to find his usual kind words, nothing came out.

Finally, it was your turn.

"Did you enjoy the show, guys?" He was so dreamy. A sigh escaped you at how kind he remained, even though he must have been tired. He took his time with each person, getting to know them and chatting.

Steven wasn't impressed by him at all.

In fact, thinking about it, neither his performance nor his singing were as good as he had initially thought.

Rather mediocre, actually.

"Your work is… incredible, really." Your eyes shone as you watched him sign your program.

Your dramatic boyfriend could only think that was the way you looked at him. And that you should only look at him that way.

Only at him.

Steven dissociated from much of your conversation, especially the part where you handed your phone to the other guy for a selfie with you. He snapped back to reality when he asked about Steven.

"He's my boyfriend; I forced him to come." You joked. Why did you two suddenly seemed like lifelong friends?

Besides, it was a lie; he was the one who had initiated the idea.

"I-I wasn't forced at all; I love being involved." He replied honestly. It churned his stomach that the other guy looked at him with admiration. Why did he have to be such a good person?

You said your goodbyes with a hug that left a slight scent of his cologne on you. If it was possible, it made Steven even more nauseous.

"Isn't he charming?" "Sure."

You pursed your lips at Steven's sudden coldness as he walked beside you in the well-lit city, not letting go of your hand.

"Didn't you like him?" "Of course, I liked him, love. Why wouldn't I?"

His rapid speech gave him away, and you remained silent as you tried to figure out what had upset him.

Oh.

You decided to test your theory.

"Don't you think his eyes were beautiful?" Another squeeze of your hand, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing. "They were just regular eyes."

Bingo. Steven was jealous.

At the entrance to your house, you turned on your heels, taking advantage of the stairs to give you a few extra inches in height so you could look him in the face.

"You know you don't have to be jealous of anyone, right?" His cheeks turned red as you placed your hands on them, giving them a gentle squeeze.

Steven, obediently, held onto your waist.

"You're the love of my life, Steven Grant." Your words were the culmination of a wonderful date, of the happiness he brought you every day.

And yes, a jealous Steven was amusing, but it broke your heart to think that insecurity might be getting the best of him.

His eyes sparkled like the stars.

"You are mine, right, love?" He sounded like a little kid begging for confirmation.

He knew exactly how to play his cards, what puppy-dog face to make based on the situation, and the tone of voice that made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

And a special warmth in your body.

You played along.

"Only yours, sweetheart." You whispered before kissing his lips.

Steven was content with how his little jealousy issue had been resolved, but he was sure of one thing after this.

You wouldn't be watching anything starring that idiot again.

Marc.

Marc was proud of his accomplishment.

Fighting for tickets on a website was more challenging than you could have ever imagined, not to mention the secret maneuvering behind your back. It had probably been his most difficult mission, surpassing all the tasks Khonshu could assign him.

But he would be the first to say it had been worth it. Even more so after having the opportunity to see you cry tears of happiness in his arms on your birthday.

"Will you come with me?" "Of course, dear." That was the biggest surprise, actually. Marc despised crowded places with all his heart, but he was excited to accompany you on such an important moment for you.

When the day of the concert arrived, Marc almost fainted.

He was left speechless by your style, a bit more… dark? You had definitely gotten into character for the concert, and that only encouraged him further.

For a short time.

He regretted it as soon as he saw the line to enter, but that was another matter.

You arrived at the venue early, mentally prepared to stand and wait for a good couple of hours.

And you had to say that after that experience, you were truly ready to marry Marc because you had an amazing time in your little corner between the metal fences. You talked about everything, because despite spending as much time together as possible, once you started talking, no one could silence you.

It was worth it; you almost fainted when you entered and realized you had reached the front row.

Marc, on the other hand, was starting to feel nervous due to the number of people arriving, but he immediately went into his boyfriend role. He let you hold onto the metal railing, and he positioned himself behind you, enclosing you between the fence and his body.

He would rather die than let you get crushed.

When the concert started, Marc was already feeling overstimulated, but he was willing to let you enjoy this. After all, according to the band's official page, it would only be about an hour after the opening acts.

He was satisfied to hear you scream, jump, sing, and smile like he had never seen you do before.

The problem began around 15 minutes into the concert when the lead vocalist fixed his attention on you.

Like clockwork, Marc remembered all those times you had talked about your teenage crush.

A burning sensation rose to his throat, and he furrowed his brow when he saw the singer wink at you while singing.

"Marc! Marc! Marc!" Your shouts pulled him from his thoughts, and you looked at him over your shoulder. "It's my song!" You had been saying that for the last 10 minutes, but it made him laugh. He kissed your lips, and you returned it briefly.

Marc mentally prayed that the idiot had seen that. Who, by the way, seemed unable to take his eyes off you.

The noise was enough to cover the groan that escaped your throat when Marc's hands tightened on your hips, pressing you closer to his body if that was even possible.

You blushed, though it was impossible to tell whether it was that or just the heat from jumping around for so long.

The straw that broke the camel's back was when the other guy leaned over the edge of the stage to your level and grabbed your phone from your hands.

You were going crazy. Screaming, with tears of sheer excitement in your eyes.

Marc rolled his eyes. Cheap tricks, he thought.

His only consolation was knowing he had made you scream louder before.

The phone returned to your hands after the guy recorded himself singing a few lines and interacting with the crowd.

This was definitely the best day of your life, or you were dreaming.

When the last song came on, his instinct was stronger than him. He ended up turning you around, and you didn't complain.

This was his special moment.

You could swear he kissed you the entire time the song played, until you relaxed in his arms, and the music seemed like a background melody accompanying you.

You would have never imagined that Marc was marking his territory.

He showered you with kisses until the lights came on, making you aware that you were still in public. You separated almost instantly, your cheeks red.

"Marc! You made me miss the last song!" You didn't seem upset as he leaned his forehead against yours.

You had enough time for yourselves while people began to leave.

"You don't seem too upset." Your hips hurt from the way he had been holding you for the past several minutes.

"Thank you," you whispered before kissing him one last time. "It's the best gift I've ever received."

Marc didn't have time to tell you how much he loved you; his gaze focused on the two large guys wearing backstage passes on their chests that were scanning the crowd.

You never knew why Marc pulled you out of there in a hurry, but you had no more doubts or questions when he distracted you with bribes, he bought you the T-shirt you liked the most, and a poster at which he would later throw darts.

Straight at the lead singer's face.

Jake.

At this precise point in his life, Jake considered himself probably the most unfortunate man who had ever existed.

Because, of course, the first time he ignored his desires to throw the guy into the nearest sewer and let him be forgotten over time.

Even more when he complimented your nails.

"Of course, they're nice," he thought to himself. "Even more so when they're wrapped around my…"

He couldn't continue mentally killing him; he had to smile and say "I'm the boyfriend" when you two bumped into your favorite actor on the streets of New York.

It made his stomach turn to notice how you fidgeted with your hands, trying to appear calm.

In fact, he couldn't decide whether he liked that more than if you had just voiced your desire to scream.

Both options made him want to put on Khonshu's suit.

The upside was that, for security reasons, you couldn't take a photo with him, so he could live without having to see you smile even more next to him forever.

Without being dramatic, he would erase his memory if he could just to forget that all this happened.

But you could say it was a fairly harmless encounter as far as possible. Well, for Jake, who never expressed how this was eating him up inside. You, on the other hand, had to wake up the next day with marks on your body caused by him.

His hands on your neck and waist, bites on your shoulders.

Although, you weren't complaining. It was a nice reminder that even though there were many attractive men out there (with acting skills like gods), none of them would ever drive you as crazy as Jake Lockley.

The problem came when you ran into him for the second time.

Jake didn't consider himself particularly insecure.

You yourself had to deal with a thousand girls who thought he was flirting with them because of that permanent smile on his face.

Or that habit you hated so much of winking at them to get a free dessert or to get you two seated faster at the restaurant.

But sometimes, Jake's ego wavered.

That small part of him that still felt like a tool for Marc and Steven, forgetting that he was a person in his own right.

You kept him aware of his independence, and when he doubted that… everything was a disaster for him.

So, you can imagine how he crumbled when the other guy recognized you.

"Of course, I remember you!" He was so loud that Jake swore he had a headache just from listening to him talk.

You almost fainted right there.

He grabbed your hands again to see your nails, excited about the new design, while Jake was thinking about how easy it would be to cut off his hands in that position.

You didn't need to say anything for him to understand your protest; both of you looked at each other in reproach.

"It's the same perfume, right?" The aforementioned guy took you out of the momentary staring contest with Jake, whom you could feel breathing down your neck despite being about two steps away from you.

You nodded silently.

"I knew it. I can still smell you on me."

After that, Jake swore he was seeing everything in shades of red, and a shiver ran down your spine because you could feel his gaze fixed on you.

"Well, we're already running late." Jake's accent interrupted your conversation, and his hand settled on the small of your back. You bit your lower lip because at this point, you didn't know if he was scaring you or if you wanted to push this limit further.

"Oh, but this time we can take the picture that you wanted so much…" "Really late." Jake interrupted him immediately, that smile that made you tremble from head to toe. In fact, he didn't even let him respond, or finish that sentence in which he seemed about to tell you he was glad to see you.

"Come on, mi vida." A bad omen.

His hand slid slowly down your back until it reached your hand, gripping your wrist with his usual firmness, but you noticed an extra touch of strength.

It's needless to emphasize how he devoured your mouth as soon as you entered the building.

It was going to be a long night.

And mentally, you thanked the city's cold weather; you could wear scarves without anyone wondering what your possessive boyfriend had done to you the previous night.

You would consider making him jealous more often.

yeah, i wasn't really a fan of this lol, anyways, here's a little extra of which guys i thought about while writing this in order of appearance!!

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mlmvoreconfessionals · 1 year ago

Note

Could you write a story for a normal customer from the Mega Pizzaplex eating Freddy, Monty, Bonnie and Foxy? (With disposal and weight gain, please)

Oh that sounds like a lot of fun, would love to do some stuff with them getting nommed by a random. Anyway, I'm in a really big F.NAF mood as of writing this due to some RPs with a friend, so expect a long one, folks. This is PRIME brainrot fetish content right here. This one took a bit to make...and reminded me why I don't often write this much for the blog. Still, it was fun!

For as big as this place is, one would think they could get something good to eat here. Norman was finding out that...no, you can't. Sure, most patrons didn't mind the cheap pizza or other such options, but it wasn't really the kind of food a man nearly in his forties should be expected to eat. It's all bland, empty calories that just leave his stomach grumbling for more. When he'd heard the P.izzaplex was handling more...adult-oriented endeavors, he figured that'd mean better food. It really just meant selling alcohol more openly and less filters. The booze was just as cheap and unfilling as the food, too, and it left Norman wandering around the place in search of anything he could fill his stomach with. That's when he found himself heading into R.ockstar Row.

The four animatronics the plex liked to show off--F.reddy, B.onnie, M.onty, and F.oxy--are all in their respective dressing rooms/exhibits. The place was otherwise empty, however, leaving Norman with an idea. It's not good service for this place to not have anything good to eat around here...so it's only fair if he takes the best option for him, right? No one's going to really miss one animatronic when there's so many of them. It's gotta taste better than the lousy food, too. His hungry belly is gurgling in agreement, and so, using some photo booth passes, he goes to pick out his meal right from the lunchbox. He figures F.oxy won't be missed too much, and the pirate's room is the one he enters first.

Like all of the animatronics, F.oxy is much taller than the average human, dawned in a flashy pirate's uniform with a long coat and a hat to go with it. When he noticed a customer entering his room, he got up fast and waved with a hooked hand. "Yar, what can I do for ye? An autograph, a photo, or a...private show?" He slurps over his teeth with that last line.

"Lunch," Norman says simply, looking annoyed and impatient. "There's nothing good to eat here, and I'm fed up with it. You'll have to do."

"I don't have anythin' here fer ya to--" F.oxy didn't really register what Norman meant, at least not at first. But when he's pulled down by the front of his coat, staring into the wide, drooling jaws of the customer...he gets a pretty good idea. Not that he can say anything about it, as his muzzle and face are shoved right inside. A few slurps over hard plastic and faux fur tells Norman that, for a just hunk of metal, animatronic actually doesn't taste too bad. So, he starts gulping, wedging down F.oxy's shoulders and going down his chest. By the time he's slurping down that stomach, and his gut is starting to push outward with a fox face, F.oxy begins to kick around and yell. But his arms are pinned down, and Norman has a good enough grip to keep gulping regardless.

Norman slurps past the fox's stomach. A fluffy ass hangs out of his mouth, tail swishing around and legs kicking. The man tips his head back and steadily sucks the rest of the meal down. His gut bloats out as he does, forcing his shirt up and letting the fuzzy organ hang out for the world to see. Once those kicking fox feet slip past his lips, Norman gulps a final time. There's a wet slosh as the last of F.oxy drops down into his gut, which is now curled up tightly around him. A thick, wet belch rumbles out of the man as he roughly pats the bulge the animatronic's head made. This was a very filling meal, the eight-foot F.oxy now tightly curled up in the man's gut. It's so tight that the bulges are rather well defined--Norman could almost make out the rather pissed expression on the pirate fox through the flesh. He gives the bulge another rough pat. "Best food in the building. Maybe they should start serving you guys up instead of that greasy cardboard."

"I ain't no lousy slice o' pizza! Lemme outta here, ya landluber!" F.oxy's voice is muffled, but still audible, and he's doing his best to shift around inside. It's not going well. The stomach walls keep contracting him back into place, not giving him an inch to work with. The best he can do is make the stomach slosh back and forth. "This is supposed t' be the other way 'round!"

"That's too bad." Norman seats himself on a couch in the room, his gut resting on his lap. Another crass belch escapes him and he relaxes. "At least you're filling. Shouldn't need anything else to eat for--" A long, harsh gurgle cuts Norman off. F.oxy pauses for a moment, but then the walls around him contract more, getting an inch or so smaller. Then it happens again...and again...and after the third inch, F.oxy begins to panic as he realizes he's melting.

Norman watches as his furry stomach begins to shrink downward, bubbling and gurgling intensely. F.oxy thrashes around as best he can, making the whole thing slosh back and forth. But all it does is knock another noxious belch out of the man, a bit of red fur on his breath. A singed pirate's hat comes flying out as well, splattering onto the ground. The defined bulges of the man's gut steadily lose shape, becoming softer blobs as they sink in on themselves. F.oxy's gone from angry curses to calling for help. He's able to cry out for F.reddy's to save him before the wet, hard gurgling of Norman's gut totally overtakes his voice. That's about the same time the last of the bulges finally round off. Norman's gut is left at half the size it had been, and the last of the movement in his gut finally goes still. Norman lets out a disappointed sigh as he watches his gut continue to shrink back down, messily pumping all of that fox slop away. "Dammit...you tasted better for sure, but this is just as bad as that crappy pizza. Going right through me, too..." How are even the animatronics here no better than a cheap meal?

Not to mention all the calories that fox had been. Norman already had a pretty soft body from one too many fast food runs, but he's growing plumper by the second. His gut is resting in his lap now, shirt too tight and letting his gut peek out. Then there's his tightening pants, his legs and ass growing larger inside of them. He grumbles slightly and readjusts, only to feel a harsh rumbling deep in his bowels. Yep...the fox is done and he wants out. Annoyed by the whole thing, Norman gets to his feet and simply drops his pants. A thick ass sticks out over the fox's couch, and with a sputtering fart, a thick log of shit begins to slide out of him. The logs are rather dense, given what went to making them, and Norman has to grunt as he passes them. Tufts of red pepper the dark brown, whatever is left of F.oxy's foax fur. Thin pieces of metal that didn't quite get digested are also baked into a lot of the logs. Likely an exoskeleton, now broken and in disrepair from the fast but harsh journey through a man's digestive tract. Norman can feel the fox's hook tickle him a bit of the way out, but it's hardly an issue. The long, stained coat that's now wrapped around a rusted ribcage gives him more trouble, even. The worst part is the fox's skull, which takes a bit of effort to force out finally. But then it's done, and Norman feels a lot lighter for it. The heavy pile of crap left behind is now spread out on F.oxy's couch, steaming slightly in the air and smelling horrible. His skull sits right on top, half-buried in the muck now and the lower jaw missing somewhere else in the pile. The man barely regards it, though. He's grumbling over his fatter gut and tighter clothes and, worst of all, the fact that he's somehow still hungry after all of that. At this point...he might as well have a second. They're the only thing he's willing to choke down, even if they're not good for him.

Leaving the mass behind, Norman makes his way to a different room. He figures people don't care too much about M.onty either, so he should be a good second meal. The big alligator doesn't even seem to register the man at first, too busy wailing on the couch he turned into a punching bag. It's only when his long, thrashing tail is grabbed that he notices. And by then, it's too late, because Norman is sticking it into his jaws and slurping it down.

"Hey, whaddya think you're doing?!" M.onty tries to pull his tail back out, but Norman just gulps around it. Soon he's at the base of the gator's tail, and with a rather hard gulp, he's starting to work the ass in. M.onty lets out a roar as his body is forced to fold, knees meeting his chest. The gulping continues, sending his stomach and thighs down in tandem. M.onty tries to wiggle and push himself away, but all that does is get his hands lodged in Norman's gullet. Now he can only roar out angrily as he continues to sink deeper with each gulp. Soon, Norman is getting past his chest and shins. M.onty is snapping at the air and roaring out. Each gulp sinks him deeper and deeper and soon...his head and feet go down together with a final, wet swallow that drops him down into Norman's stomach. It bounces up and down, knocking out a massive belch from Norman that sends the gator's sunglasses flying out, all while M.onty does his best to thrash about.

Just like with F.oxy, Norman's gut is rumbling to life harshly. The man has to brace himself against the wall with how much M.onty is thrashing around, but his gut is sloshing wetly soon enough, and those detailed bulges of the snapping, roaring gator are sinking in on himself. His sharp claws grow duller, his snapping muzzle sinks down, the lumps made by his tail and limbs all merge together; and finally, with another thunderous belch and a final gurgling roar, Norman's gut goes soft and sloshy. He can feel a few more fading twitches from M.onty before the lump in his gut is still, and it's swiftly being reduced completely to water weight that's chugging down through his bowels. The gator had been even bigger than the fox, but Norman is pretty sure he went down even faster. Must have been the squirming...

Norman frowns as he tries to pull his shorts down and finds that it's...not easy. M.onty really piled onto his ass, another absolute calorie bomb. His thighs aren't much better, and his shorts are squeezing pretty tight now. Then there's also his shirt, which just doesn't come down over his gut anymore. It sticks out completely, heavy and soft from all the new weight. His chest and arms make the rest of his shirt rather tight as well. That's going to be an issue, he can tell. But his bowels rumble heavily, reminding him of a different issue. He finally gets his shorts down and squats, letting out a deep rumbling fart before a dense, brown log begins to crown and stretch him out. Norman is groaning around it, feeling the thick ropes of shit steadily coil up under him in a massive heap. Fake scales are embedded in the crap, giving it a sparkly green every so often, as well as more bits from what's left of M.onty's exoskeleton. The gator's claws come out one after another, tickling the man a bit as he passes them. "Bulky bastard..." Norman grunts as he squeezes out another few feet of shit. The pile is heaping up to his waist when he's finally pushing out what would count as a skull. M.onty's jaws are open wide, shit pushing through them, a few teeth missing and his mohawk only a few strands left over. It takes a few good pushes to get it out and Norman can hear the thunk it makes when it drops onto the pile. "Finally..."

Of course, even after dumping out two hulking animatronics, Norman can't help but find that his gut is still grumbling softly. This is all just annoying at this point, but he's not leaving until he's full...or he runs out of robots to eat. And he's starting to wonder if it'll be the second thing first. For now, he's heading out of M.onty's room, struggling to pull his shorts back up the whole way. B.onnie is the last 'expendable' robot, so he heads for the rabbit's room next. He gives up on getting his shorts over his ass again by the time he walks in.

B.onnie is currently...sleeping? The robot is laying back on his couch, his knees hanging off the end with a magazine over his face while he snoozed. Norman pauses for a moment to wonder if robots even need to sleep...before his stomach grumbles impatiently and he returns to his snacking. Hoisting up the robot's bulky feet, he opens wide and stuffs them in. He starts taking thick gulps, working his way up B.onnie's legs. That results in him climbing onto the couch as he eats, crawling forward with each thick gulp he takes. B.onnie is starting to shift a bit as his waist slips into the man's maw, but he's still out. His hands are taken in as Norman starts working up his stomach, then his chest. The magazine is casually tossed aside, and that seems to fully stir B.onnie. "Huh..? What's going o--" Norman's lips seal over B.onnie's face with another gulp. Just the rabbit's ears stick out of his mouth now, and with a slurp, the last of the robot is sent down the hatch.

Norman's gut bulges out under him once again, pressed down on the couch with the man resting on it. He's on the other side of the couch now, gut resting against the armrest B.onnie had been using as a pillow. B.onnie is starting to shift around inside, confusion growing into panic as the stomach walls churn and gurgle over him. By the time Norman lets out a heavy belch, the rabbit is full-on squirming around. "Hey, this...this isn't cool, man!" B.onnie calls out, face and hands pushing against the stomach walls as best they can. "I'm the entertainment, not the food! Hello? Are you listening?" The stomach walls churn harder and Norman belches again. His gut is beginning to shrink down, inches at a time as everything sinks inward. "H-Hey, hold on, we can work this out!" B.onnie yelps. "Please?" The stomach rumbles hard and suddenly shrinks down several inches at once, the bulges getting muted. "S-Somebody! Security! Get me outta here! Anyone?! Fred! Please--" Another wet gurgle, and Norman belches deeply, his stomach suddenly compacting with wet crunches and churns. His gut rounds out fast, pumping B.onnie away and turning him into a boiling slop. It's half the size it had been, Norman lazily rubbing along the side of it.

"So noisy...almost enough to give me a headache," Norman grumbles. He gives the side of his gut a few rough pats, making it wobble and slosh. Norman is starting to wish he just took his shorts off all the way, because with how tight they've gotten on his legs, he's not sure he could now at all. At least his ass is still exposed, which is weighing down on the band of the shorts. His gut is so large that it nearly touches the ground while he's resting on his hands and knees. His shirt has grown taut, and it's starting to rip at points of tension thanks to all the new weight. Norman is really starting to hope this is the last meal he needs. Speaking of...which a deep, wet rumble from his ass, Norman grunts and starts to push. B.onnie comes out soft and thick, coiling up on the couch behind Norman. At least the position he's in lets him handle this without needing to move. Other than little tufts of purple and the dense, ruined endoskeleon passing through, Norman found it to be a rather average dump. Easiest of the three by far. At least until he finds himself struggling over the skull, which takes a few tries to force out fully and onto the pile. By the time he's done and getting up again, the couch is filled up with shit, all that's left of B.onnie. And Norman finds his gut is still grumbling.

Well, there's only one animatronic left. Norman had been avoiding it out of some common courtesy--he figured the establishment could keep running so long as it had the face of the show walking around, even if the rest of the band was reduced to manure. But his impatient gut isn't having it, and so he's walking...er, waddling into the final dressing room.

F.reddy is sitting at his mirror when Norman walks in, but the bear perks up and looks over. "Oh, I didn't realize we were having guests right now! Hello, S.uperstar!" He rises to his feet with a smile and walks over to Norman. He does pause when he notices the state of the man--an annoyed look on his face, clothes that are several sizes too small, and his stomach is grumbling and gurgling wetly. "Is...something the matter?"

"Yeah, the food here is terrible, and the only thing that tastes remotely good is your bandmates." Norman gives the side of his gut a smack, making it wobble. "But they went through me too fast, and I'm still hungry. So...down you go." He grabs the bear animatronic by the arms and shovels his hands into his maw. Wet slurping starts, and F.reddy shakes from his shock by the time he's elbow deep.

"N-Now S.uperstar, I'm sure we can find something here that will satiate you so there's no need to be going to such drastic--" A wet slurp sucks his upper arms in. "--lengths..." Norman's maw yawns open wide before his face, tongue slurping over his face. "Oh no..." His head is shoveled in, a thick gulp sucks it down, and Norman is working down the bear's sturdy chest and stomach. F.reddy tries to dig into the ground with his feet, but Norman hefts him up and begins to slurp the bear's legs down. His fat gut bulges out with a wet slosh as F.reddy drops inside, the final massive course to this meal. Once his twitching feet are slurped up, it's over, and Norman lets out a deep huff once the weight settles inside of him.

With a deep belch, Norman seats himself on the chair in front of F.reddy's mirror. Despite how fat he's gotten after the last three meals, his gut is still stretched rather tightly around F.reddy, so it's easy to tell exactly what has ended up in the man's gut. The large bear is still shifting around, pushing on the walls that are compacting him into place. Norman's gut is already churning wetly, getting ready to work down yet another robotic snack. At this point, he's not even expecting F.reddy to satisfy him--he's doing it on the principle of such poor service. Or something like that. He's more so worried about justifying all the weight he's put on than devouring the P.izzaplex's star attractions.

F.reddy is already stammering something about 'lifetime coupons', but Norman isn't listening. He pats a hand to his gut, pushing down slightly, already feeling it growing softer. The large animatronic bear is compacting down, melting, turning into gut slush just as easily as his bandmates did. He's just junk food, really. As bad as anything else Norman could have gotten to eat around here, but tastier and at least somewhat filling. As the bulge sinks inward and the defined lumps smooth out, F.reddy's resistance quickly wanes. There's a final, bubbly "S...S.uperstar...please..." before Norman shoves down on the bulge of the head and belches out, reducing the star of the company into nothing but thick chyme. Though that's at least a more sightly appearance than what he'll become soon, as all that chyme sinks deeper through Norman's system.

The weight is a serious issue for him, though. He can hear his clothes tearing as a lot of F.reddy piles onto his figure. He's completely naked before long, grumbling over the lost clothing as he sits on the scraps. By now, his gut is a massive, soft ball that stinks out perpetually by nearly a foot. His limbs have all gotten much thicker and his ass fills out the chair a little too much. Even his face has gotten much rounder, though it doesn't do much to soften that annoyed expression he's wearing. He's going to have to really work on burning this weight...

However, the only weight Norman is truly worried about at the moment is the one bubbling in his bowels. He gets to his feet with a grunt and keeps himself squatting over the chair he'd been sitting in. He pushes, wincing slightly as a bassy fart comes from him first. The smell is getting worse. But it's nothing compared to the raw stench made by the thick, dense log of crap Norman is pushing out. Whatever's left of F.reddy is heaping up on his chair now, tan faux fur and scraps of metal and wire baked into the mass. The ruined exoskeleton comes out occasionally, making Norman groan as he feels the awkward shapes stretch him out further. There's heavy thuds as the massive logs begin to spill over the sides of the chair and pile up on the floor around it. Norman doesn't pause at all, just doing his best to void his bowels of all the dead weight. One of the last things to stretch out the man's hole is the skull, barely recognizable as the famous, friendly bear. It's just worn-down metal sticking out of a brown log of shit. A few more logs squeeze out and Norman is finally, truly done.

A deep sigh escapes the man and he stands up again, taking a few steps away from the pile. It's mostly buried the chair now, sitting high enough to reflect in the mirror. Norman waves the air away with a groan. Looking around the room, he finds that there's lots of random F.reddy merch sitting around. He's able to find some sweatpants and a hoodie among it all. The pants are a bit tight and the hoodie doesn't fully cover his gut, but it's enough that it'll last for the trip back home. He walks past the pile without a second glance, just glad to be escaping the stinking room.

Norman rubs along his stomach as he waddles his way past all of the rooms, each window open to show off the four piles that the band has been reduced into. "Even the talent is just cheap food..." Norman sighs. His stomach is settled down, though. But it really had to take all four of them to sate his hunger? He's going to be leaving a very poor review of the place when he gets home. This is just terrible service! Of course, his review won't mean much compared to the others that'll come pouring in after. Nobody wants to come to the P.izzaplex just to look at four stinking piles of shit, after all.

#v.ore #male vore #mlm vore #m/m vore #gay vore #vore story #oral vore #digestion #fatal vore #instant digestion #weight gain #disposal #fnafvore #foxyvore #montgomerygatorvore #bonnievore #glamrockfreddyvore #ask

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hazellevessque · 25 days ago

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@pjo-halloween-trade thing for @reyna4ever

I’m Just Kidding (But Really)

Solangelo Please Please Please AU (Part 1)

Will had to give himself credit. Four whole hours at college, and no one had asked for his autograph yet. Or a photo. Or interrogated him about the current Hollywood rumors that were circulating the Internet.

Then again, he spent most of those four hours in his room.

His mom had insisted on flying with him from Texas, but she had left thirty minutes ago, kissing his cheek and wishing him “good luck!” before departing for her flight back to Austin. So he was alone, decorating the wall above his desk with concert posters and flopping down on his freshly made bed.

He was excited for college. He really was. But with parents like his, you didn’t always know who to trust. Do you really have any friends if all of them use you for their own gain?

Will sighed, staring at the ceiling. He would do something tonight. Maybe just meet some people who live on his floor and talk to them for a bit. That was a start.

The door opened, pulling Will back to reality. As he sat up to see who it was, another boy his age walked in. Will could barely see his eyes through his messy black hair, and when he brushed it out of his eyes, he caught the flash of silver on his finger.

“You’re Will, right?” he asked, shifting his bag from one hand to another.

“Uh—yeah. Nico, was it? Do you need help with your bag?”

His roommate, Nico di Angelo, looked exactly like he did on his Instagram—gorgeous. But that wasn’t the reason Will had reached out to him instead of any other Freshman looking for a decent person to room with. Nico also lived ten years in the past. Based on his posts (and the shirt he was wearing right now), the only kind of music he listened to was heavy metal from the 2000s, meaning he knew next to nothing about country music. When Will and DMed him a few weeks ago and asked if he listened to country or pop, he had only confirmed Will’s previous suspicions. That meant that he had no idea who Naomi Solace was. Which meant he had no idea about her producer, Apollo.

Which meant that he had no idea who Will was.

Which meant he was perfect.

“No! No, it’s fine. I’m good.” Nico responded in the present, a look of panic sweeping across his face. “I got it.”

Will shrugged. “Okay,” He looked back at Nico, whose face had swept back into its neutral expression. A small, polite smile, the kind you gave when you were meeting someone new. The kind that made a good first impression.

But Will couldn’t help but notice that when Nico opened his bag, he angled it away from Will, not letting him see the contents. He put the usuals on display: his laptop, posters of heavy metal bands, and a few other things, but there were no photos of his family, or any indication of what his personal life was like.

Now that Will thought about it, there weren’t any photos of Nico’s family on his Instagram either.

When Nico deemed himself done unpacking, he shoved his bag in the tiny closet space their room had. Really shoved it. From the way he was pushing, Will guessed there was still something in the bag, something pretty heavy. But Nico refused to take it out.

That should’ve been the first red flag.

—

“Do you wanna do something?” Nico asked, flopping down onto his bed.

Will looked up from his homework, turning almost 180 degrees so he could face Nico. “Like what?”

“Anything. I mean, it’s been a month and we’re basically each other’s only friend.”

Not true. Will had made two other friends, three if you count Drew Tanaka (which he wasn’t sure if he did; he still didn’t know if she actually liked having him around). But instead he nodded and said, “Alright. What?”

“I know this place a few blocks away from campus. It’s not a huge thing or anything, but my sister goes there sometimes. She could get us in.”

When Will looked back on the moment, perhaps he should have asked himself more questions. He should’ve asked where this place was, or what it was. He should’ve asked about Nico’s sister. He should’ve asked something.

But he didn’t do that.

”Sure.”

#I think I’ll upload this to Ao3 once it’s more edited #Because I did not have time to edit #I literally wrote the last sentence like a minute ago #pjo-Halloween-trade

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hannieween · 9 months ago

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hello~~ it’s gita1230 here ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ i recently wrapped up reading the newest city lights chapter and it knocked my socks off!! WOW!! i promise to upload my annotations soon ♥️ for now, i’d love to hear if you have a vision of what your joshua’s room looks like, before we pack it up? does he have many posters of his favorite artists? a huge rack of cds/vinyls + maybe an autographed one on display? a small headset and mic in the closet or on a desk? a strangely tall mirror 👀? does he have a metal bed frame as well? are his sheets black and white? is his favorite color prominent in the palette? i want to learn so much more about him ☺️ thank you so much for sharing your work, have a wonderful day!!

oh baby, hi there!! ᨐฅ♡

first of all, thank you so much for reading! i'd love to know about your thoughts on the chapters! but no pressure, all in your own time!

i love, lololololove this ask to bits, you don't know!! the only reason i didn't take reader to his room was because i couldn't find an excuse to have her there until he moved out haha.

so, joshua's room is not small, but looks a little cramped due to the massive pair of sound amplifiers sitting on the corner of the room, next to the window — and also because he has a large queen size bed that's pushed to the wall to make space for the dresser and the clothing racks stacked with plaid shirts and leather jackets, plaid shirts

no his bed frame isn't like yn's, with rails. that's why he was excited when he saw that reader's did. he didn't participate much in the same things he did in the room with yn, either, because he wasn't really interested in dating or fucking. he just wasn't interested 🤷🏻‍♀️

next to the amps there's a guitar stand with at least two electric guitars, one of them being the first electric guitar he could afford with his own money, then his most recent acquirement and lastly an acoustic guitar, his favorite

there's also a desk where he gets to work on his free time when he's not with the band or with reader. in the desk he has a sound mixer, a keyboard, the mic, a photo of him with his mom

i don't think that he would put up posters, but he does have bookshelves stacked on one of the walls. where he has a collection of poetry books, cd's old notebooks where he keeps his songwritings, thoughts, etc

as for the color grading, he didn't think much beforehand when he bought sheets and matching covers in dark gray, because it made his room look dark even with the blinds open during the day, so he also bought a lamp with a warm light and a creamy green rug

he wasn't big on paying much attention to his personal space, except to keep it clean because he would spend much of his free time composing, rehearsing and recording vocals with the small condensing microphone he got

these are just a few ideas

also this is typed at 2 am here, so i apologize for any spelling mistakes

thank you for this ask!!! ᨐฅ

#asks #ff:city lights

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thearwenschild · 4 months ago

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I went to my first concert alone

tl:dr: 10/10 will do again

The local concert venue will get torn down next year and so far I only took some of my exams there and attended a poetry slam. And because I can't go to any more festivals due to my exams I decided to look up the program.

Surprise, one band I listen to all the time (Nekrogoblikon) will be opening for Dragonforce. (In my opinion) the pairing is pretty wild but Dragonforce was one of my first metal bands and this concert will bring together two different times In my ~music journey~.

Then I started to ask around but they either just attended the Wacken Open Air or were preparing for the Summerbreeze. After some thinking and a lot of doubts, I thought: fuck it! and bought my ticket.

In the past, I went to some festival shows alone but my friends were reachable and I knew they were somewhere. And I could leave at any time if a man decided that anyone presenting female doesn't really listen to metal or that I really needed a partner and got creepily touchy.

But fuck them! I wanted this extra sliver of freedom and the concert was in my city and I could ride my bike to and from the venue.

On the day itself, I was pretty nervous but I spent enough money that I had to go. So I packed my bag got on my bike and got there half an hour before doors were open and apart from some looks everyone left me alone. Got in pretty quick and even though I bought some merch and a drink I somehow ended up in the first row.

It was awesome! I had so much fun! A big factor was that I actually saw the band because no one stood in front of me, but both bands also did great. Definitely one of my top concerts. Somehow I managed to catch a setlist from Nekrogoblikon and even got a photo with the band. In my nervousness, I totally forgot to ask them for autographs on the setlist.

After this, I will definitely go to more concerts alone. The first time is always the hardest but after this, it will get easier. Now the next step would be a concert out of town, but then I would have to take the train, and train stations, alone, at night are still a bit scary.

These were the only pictures I took. I look up the official photographers after the concerts and just save their pictures.

Needed a lot of convincing myself but I finally asked not only for a picture but also a total stranger if he can take it (and handed him my phone).

Bought way to much merch but it was basically *free* because I spent the money I got from donating (selling) my blood plasma.

#concert #nekrogoblikon #dragonforce #doing stuff alone #metal #death metal #power metal #merchandise

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thetoxicvault · 2 years ago

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GIRLSCHOOL

The School Report 1978-2008 (2023)

HNE Recordings Ltd - HNEBOX161

Great Brittain / London / U.K. 🇬🇧

If you was lucky enough to have pre-ordered early you may have got a autographed card (sadly enough, i was not).

youtube

• In-depth box set, delving right back to the band’s pub rock roots right up until the present.

• A celebration of Girlschool’s 40 plus years of rocking the globe, kicking off with their independently released 45 ‘Take It All Away’ b/w ‘It Could Be Better’.

youtube

Formed at school in the mid-70s, when friends Kim McAuliffe on guitar and bassist Enid Williams joined forces as Painted Lady, Girlschool formed in 1978, swept up as part of the New Wave Of British Heavy Metal movement that also gave us Iron Maiden, Def Leppard and Saxon, recruiting lead guitarist Kelly Johnson and drummer Denise Dufort in April 1978.

youtube

Debut LP ‘Demolition’ made it into the UK Top 30 in 1980, and the girls even found time while recording their follow up album ‘Hit And Run’ (1981) with producer Vic Maile, to record the ‘St Valentines Day Massacre’ EP with label mates Motörhead as HeadGirl.1982’s ‘Wildlife’ EP would be Enid’s last outing with Girlschool for a while, as she was replaced on bass by Gil Weston for ‘Screaming Blue Murder’ (1982).

youtube

Their fourth album, ‘Play Dirty’ (1983), was issued in the States on Mercury Records, who also picked up the option to release their fifth, ‘Running Wild’ (1985). The first album to be released without Kelly Johnson, it saw founder members Kim McAulliffe and Denise Dufort joined by Gil Weston, Jackie Bodimead (lead vocals, keyboards) and Cris Bonacci (guitar).

youtube

A new deal with GWR saw albums ‘Nightmare At Maple Cross’ (1986) and ‘Take A Bite’ (1988), by which time the bass slot had been filled by former Rock Goddess Tracey Lamb. Their eighth studio album, the self-titled ‘Girlschool’ came out in 1992 and 2002’s ‘21st Anniversary – Not That Innocent’ marked the beginning of a more prolific time for the band, as they would follow it up with ‘Believe’ (2004), ‘Legacy’ (2008).

youtube

CD 4 features many rare B-Sides and non-album cuts, as well as demos dating from 1978 up to 2002 and CD5 boasts an ultra rare live recording from the pre-Girlschool Painted Lady.

This five disc set comes with an extended essay from NWOBHM expert John Tucker, and features plenty of pages of rare photos and sought after memorabilia.

youtube

Box Set Credits

Release Coordination : Hugh Gilmour & Steve Hammonds

with special thanks to Giles Lavery

Liner Notes & Compilation : John Tucker

Mastering Andy Pearce & Matt Wortham at Wired Masters

Design & Artwork Gilmour Design, London

Demolition Girls (1979-1983)

1-1 Take It All Away (A-side)

1-2 It Could Be Better (B-side)

1-3 Emergency

1-4 Nothing To Lose

1-5 Demolition Boys

1-6 Not For Sale

1-7 Take It All Away

1-8 Breakdown

1-9 Race With The Devil

1-10 Yeah Right

1-11 Please Don’t Touch (with Motörhead)

1-12 Hit And Run

1-13 The Hunter

1-14 (I’m Your) Victim

1-15 Watch Your Step

1-16 C’mon Let’s Go

1-17 Tush

1-18 Don’t Call It Love (Wildlife EP)

1-19 Screaming Blue Murder

1-20 It Turns Your Head Around

1-23 You Got Me

1-22 Take It From Me

1-23 1-2-3-4 Rock And Roll

Playing Dirty (1983-1988)

2-1 20th Century Boy

2-2 Play Dirty

2-3 Running For Cover

2-4 High & Dry

2-5 Going Under

2-6 Burning In The Heat

2-7 Nowhere To Run

2-8 Are You Ready?

2-9 Let Me Go

2-10 Running Wild

2-11 Love Is A Lie

2-12 Nasty Nasty

2-13 Back For More

2-14 All Day All Night

2-15 You’ve Got Me (Under Your Spell)

2-16 Let’s Go Crazy

2-17 Play With Fire

2-18 Head Over Heels

2-19 Action

2-20 Love At First Bite

2-21 Too Hot To Handle

Still Not That Innocent (1992-2015)

3-1 My Ambition

3-2 Can’t Say No

3-3 Can’t Do That

3-4 Take Me I’m Yours

3-5 Innocent

3-6 Knife

3-7 Coming Your Way

3-8 Mad Mad Sister

3-9 Let’s Get Hard

3-10 Secret

3-11 You Say

3-12 Passion

3-13 Other Side

3-14 I Spy (Dio/Iommi Mix)

3-15 Legend

3-16 Metropolis

I Told You So – Singles, B-Sides (1980-1983)

4-1 Furniture Fire (B-side)

4-2 Nothing To Lose (7″ edit)

4-3 Bomber (St Valentine’s Day)

4-4 Emergency (St Valentine’s Day)

4-5 Tonight (B-side)

4-6 Demolition Boys (Live B-side)

4-7 Tonight (Live B-side)

4-8 Wildlife

4-9 Don’t Stop

4-10 Tush

4-11 Don’t Call It Love

4-12 1-2-3-4 Rock And Roll (ext ver)

4-13 Like It Like That (B-side)

Demos (1978-2002)

4-14 Let’s Spend The Night Together

4-15 Just Don’t Care

4-16 Nothing To Lose

4-17 Baby Doll

4-18 Not For Sale

4-19 Running Wild

4-20 Love Is A Lie

4-21 I Told You So

4-22 Have A Nice Day

4-23 London

The Pre-School Years – Painted Lady Live (1978)

5-1 I Wanted To Boogie

5-2 Be My Lover

5-3 Smoke On The Water

5-4 King of The Blues

5-5 Sometime World

5-6 Rub It In

5-7 I Saw You Standing There

5-8 All Along The Watchtower

5-9 Paper Plane

5-10 Johnny B. Goode

5-11 Shoot Shoot

5-12 How Can I Tell You

5-13 Can’t Get Enough

5-14 All Right Now

5-15 Knocking On Heaven’s Door

5-16 Gimme Some Loving

5-17 Honky Tonk Women

5-18 Change’s Coming

5-19 Hey Joe

5-20 You Keep Me Hanging On

Credits

Bass Guitar – Bernice Cartwright, Jackie Carrera

Bass Guitar, Backing Vocals – Gil Weston, Tracey Lamb

Bass Guitar, Lead Vocals – Enid Williams

Drums – Denise Dufort, Tina Gayle, Val Lloyd

Keyboards, Lead Vocals – Jackie Bodimead

Lead Guitar – Cris Bonacci, Deirdre Cartwright, Kathy Valentine

Lead Guitar, Backing Vocals – Jackie Chambers

Lead Guitar, Lead Vocals – Kelly Johnson

Rhythm Guitar, Lead Vocals – Kim McAuliffe

#Girlschool #The School Report 1978-2008 #5CD #Boxset #2023 #HNE Recordings Ltd #HNEBOX161 #Great Brittain #London #U.K.#🇬🇧#Classic Rock #Hard Rock #Heavy Metal #NWOBHM #YouTube

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vvatchword · 1 year ago

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BS2 Fanfiction, Chapter 16: Gimmicks

The next morning, Naomi insisted that John dress to the nines and dragged him to a breakfast at a bistro in Olympus Heights, where the high-class apartments congregated. The reporters mobbed the bistro until the proprietor threatened to call Sinclair Security.

Passersby crowded in from the streets to snap photos and ask for his autograph. John’s scrambled eggs were rubbery by the time he got to them, and his coffee was knocked into his lap by the overzealous crowd.

Then she took him shopping at Fort Frolic. She bought him clothes—ties, suits, jackets, hats, a monogrammed bathrobe. She fussed over the length of the arms in his shirts, leaned uncomfortably close to him to cluck about the cut, and ordered a pair of exorbitantly-priced cuff links. Reporters stood a few yards away, taking notes and peering over racks, as though they were sociologists penning the habits of a far-flung civilization.

John finally put a finger on his irritation while Naomi was buying him another set of shoes.

I feel like a doll, he thought, lifting the bags off of the counter. I feel like I’m watching myself from far away.

As soon as he noticed it, he tried to shake it. First he rifled through a selection of pleasant memories: that familiar mattress in the workshop basement, the pillows heaped up just the way he liked them; sitting with a good traveling group on the rails, howling a tuneless rendition of “Do Your Balls Hang Low?” with more and more inventive lyrics until everyone started laughing too hard to continue; a sweet soft girl blushing in his arms.

When that didn’t work, he tried to think when he’d felt that detached before, and he couldn’t. He’d always felt firmly grounded in his own body. Even when his stepfather whipped out the belt, even when his mother threw him out for the umpteenth time, even when he’d been hungry enough to eat old leather, he’d never once felt like he didn’t belong to himself.

Is this why people believe in souls? he thought. No wonder they start praying.

In his detached state, he watched the goings-on of his body. Everything was unnecessary—that was the problem. The clothing was pretension; the smiles were superficial, by people who didn’t know him, and didn’t care; the five-star restaurants plated a single shrimp with a leaf on it for some fucking reason, and then did that seven more times in a row when they could’ve just brought him the whole meal right at the beginning; the grandiose statues, the gilding, the marble, the towers—all that money spent on stone and metal when you couldn’t so much as find a coat closet that wasn’t cold as fuck.

And the clothes, the shopping, the eating, the entertainment—a nonstop flood of social excess. Beneath his ribs, a knot of misgiving: it was all too easy; you couldn’t trust it if it were easy. “There’s either someone paying somewhere, or you pay in the end,” as his stepfather used to say, and fuck, if the old asshole wasn’t right. And besides, John knew what he was. He’d known since he was a child. Put him in a flour sack for all he cared. He could get by with a dollar. Who the hell needed to shine like Fred Astaire on parade? Fuck Fred, and fuck Ginger, too.

There was a brief period of about 15 minutes where he wondered if he had actually died out on that abyssal plain. Perhaps he was in the final throes of nitrogen narcosis. Perhaps he was the last man on Earth, surrounded by devils who, for lack of prey in other places, each vied for a bite of his soul.

He came to his senses when he was standing in front of a mirror, staring into his own face, studying his scars and the movement of his eyes as he listened to the pulse of his blood.

You feel this way because you’re putting your life in this woman’s hands, he thought. And you won’t feel right until you’re free. Because buddy, you and I both know: you may not be in a cell, but you sure as hell ain’t going anywhere.

*******

They stopped for lunch in a glitzy restaurant in Fort Frolic. John stared out at the city skyline as Naomi chattered at him. She was fucking adorable: coy smiles, meaningless little wrist flicks, tossing her head when she laughed.

Jesus, why couldn’t everyone see what a fake she was?

The waiter set an order down in front of him. It was a steak and a fluted glass of red wine. He didn’t remember ordering any of it.

“You’re still moping,” Naomi said.

He glowered at her. “Yeah. Let me have this.”

A switch flipped. Somehow, although her expression never changed, it instantly lost its meaning: it was the shape of a smile, but carried nothing. Gone were the head bobs and the flutter of her lashes. Suddenly he felt like he was staring at an alien.

“These first few days are critical.” She cocked her head. Her curls bounced. She never blinked. “Do this for me: push those sad thoughts into a box. Can you do that? It’s not like you can’t think about it. Of course you can. It would be unreasonable not to. But there are places and there are times. I’ll tell you when it’s safe to bring that box out, and then both of us will get along so much better. Besides, this should be the time of your life. So many people to meet, and so many things to see, and so much of life to enjoy, all in the best city on Earth.”

The switch flipped back on, and her eyes crinkled up. He could almost believe she was warm.

He took a deep breath.

One. Two. Three.

“Yeah,” he said, breathing out. “You’re right.”

What was this escape, after all, but a marathon? A test of endurance. Mourning could wait. Once he was out, he’d take a bat to the dump for a day of beating bottles and old armchairs to death, and he’d sure as hell tell every newspaper he saw. Wouldn’t bring Jules and the boys back, but it would take everything from Ryan.

She slapped his hand.

“I saw that,” she said. “Stop it. Think about something nice.”

“Sorry.” He bent over the steak, groped for something innocuous. “So… you have cows here?”

He jabbed the beef with his fork and sawed it in half with one motion. The blade screeched against the plate. Naomi winced.

“Yes.” She smiled prettily. “But they’re miniature cattle, and there aren’t that many.”

He chewed slowly, then scowled.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Tastes like someone rubbed a fish all over it,” he said.

“Oh, they can’t help it,” she said. “It’s the seaweed, I suppose…”

“Darling,” a lady said. “What are you doing here?”

A woman in blue strolled toward their table, a white handbag tucked under her arm. Her hair rolled in thick chocolate ringlets over her shoulder, pinned with pearl-encrusted clasps; her face was half-hidden by a hat trimmed with polka-dot ribbon. But the first thing John saw was her eyebrows, and all he could think about was that they were sharp enough to pin butterflies with.

“Blanche!” said Naomi, rising to her feet. “What a surprise!”

John rose to his feet, too, but Blanche did not look at him. Instead, she clasped arms with Naomi and they kissed each other on the cheeks. Both began speaking rapidly in French. He stood there dumbly, glancing from woman to woman. If the tone of their voices was to be believed, they were the greatest friends in the world and they hadn’t seen each other in a decade.

Naomi waved at John and grabbed him by the arm. Blanche’s eyes flicked from the top of his head down to his feet.

“Hmm,” she said.

Naomi said something that sounded conciliatory.

“But this, darling?” Blanche said, in heavily-accented English. She jerked her chin at John. “I am surprised at you.”

“I knew you would be,” said Naomi.

“Don’t tell me that you are keeping him in your room.”

“Not in my room, dear. On the sofa.”

“Still, it is a dangerous thing.” Blanche looked him up and down again. “He might have a disease.”

Naomi shook her head. “Please. Of course not.”

“But look at him. Where do you see cause for all this excitement?” “Why not? Consider what he has done. Nobody else has simply broken into the city and successfully defied the council…”

“There are hundreds of smugglers down on the docks. Probably much nicer-looking ones.”

“And without Fontaine, what on Earth would they be?” laughed Naomi, tossing her head. “This man came here of his own strength and cunning.” She threw a glance at John and winked.

To John’s shock, the wink thrilled him—as though for one magnanimous moment she had opened a bright and shining door that included him. He actually gave her a grin before he realized what he was doing.

Oh, hell no, he thought, and squashed the smile flat.

“Furthermore,” Naomi said, “he’s one of a great band of explorers… he’s world famous in diving circles.”

Blanche chuckled. “For what? Being the cleanest among them? You have dressed him very nicely, but I can tell your handiwork when I see it.”

John looked at Naomi. “And who’s this?”

“Mademoiselle Blanche de Glace to you,” said Blanche, her lips curling. “And you are the diver.”

“Yeah. I’m the diver.” He looked at Naomi and jerked his chin toward the table. “Can I cut out? My food’s getting cold.”

“Oh, don’t mind Blanche.” Naomi took him by the arm. “She’s having a party tomorrow night and she was wondering if you could come.”

“Sorry, can’t go. I’ll give her friends fleas,” John said.

“They have no taste; they deserve it,” Blanche said. “Now. You tell me. You are the one who destroyed two bathyspheres, and…?”

“Sure,” he said. “I also fought a hundred men at once with my bare fists and I won.”

Strangers leaned over to listen. Conversation died off. The only sound was the canned music.

Naomi shook her head. “He’s being facetious. But he did fight off over a dozen attackers and escape the police in Neptune’s Bounty fish market.” Her eye flickered to the diners around them. “After traversing the ocean floor, tricking sailors in a bathysphere armed with torpedoes…”

“He could not possibly have fought everyone,” said Blanche. John shrugged. “Well, no, but there’s a trick to it. Keep a few steps ahead, don’t fight unless you have to, and fight one at a time if you do.”

She arched an eyebrow. “How would you learn to fight so?”

The edge of his lip twitched. “I’ve had a lifelong career as a rascal.”

“Then you are perfect… if I must have a bar fight,” said Blanche. “Such a gimmick!”

“What, don’t you believe me?” John asked.

“Of course not. You are a silly little man, a puff of air,” she said. “Ah, well, if that is the price I pay…” She handed Naomi a card. “The party begins at 9 on Friday in the Demeter Ballroom at Adonis Luxury Resort. Be there promptly.”

“I have work that evening, Blanche,” Naomi said sweetly.

“Promptly!” Blanche snapped. “I hope that he will gimmick and make nonsense… and for god’s sake, make sure he is clean. Throw him in a bucket and swish him around.”

“Of course he’ll be clean,” said Naomi. Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “Please, John, don’t mind her. For Blanche, everything is a scene.”

“This is not a scene.” Blanche’s eyes flicked over Naomi’s shoulder. “Now I am very sorry, but I must go…”

Naomi grabbed her by the wrists. “Oh, don’t leave so quickly, darling. Wouldn’t you like to stop for a bite to eat?”

John set his jaw.

Blanche glanced at John. “Not for the world. Until we meet again.”

She strode away, snapping her purse shut with a note of finality. John leaned toward Naomi as they sat down.

“What the hell was her problem?”

“Blanche is one of the top-billing actresses in the city,” said Naomi, taking a sip of wine. “She expects everyone to react accordingly.”

“Tell me you’re not really taking me to her fucking party.”

“Of course I am. Oh, don’t give me that face. There will be two or three hundred people there, maybe more. You won’t see much of her and it will be a fine debut for you. In fact, I welcome you to break your silence. Tell as many stories as you like. Feel free to embellish them…”

He looked at her blankly.

“I mean that you should lie and exaggerate, darling. Look, don’t take her so seriously. She is past her prime and these days she’s running on her name alone. It’s only a matter of time before she can’t find anything at all.” She smiled. “Unless she’s willing to take parts for meddling aunts and the like. And if I know Blanche, she’d rather die.”

“You don’t like her, then?”

“I don’t like or dislike her. She’s a connection, that’s all. I owe her a little for taking me underneath her wing early in my career, and we help each other from time to time.”

“So you have no friends.”

“In your sense?” She smiled. “No.”

*******

Friday evening, after a whole day of nothing but art exhibits and promenades, John attended Naomi’s play—a romantic comedy called “A Ballyhoo in Boston.” Showings were weekend affairs staged at a theater called Fleet Hall in Fort Frolic, a theater John’s eyes had slid over before—just more grandeur struggling for definition amongst grandeur.

He fought his way through the paparazzi all the way to the ticket booth. Once he popped past the ushers, the mass of humanity on the other side assaulted him with programs and pencils. Only when a handful of ushers stepped up was he able to escape up the narrow stairs to his private box.

He drew the curtain and sat in the back rubbing his face. He felt distracted, nervy, off-kilter; below, a sea of top-hats and chiffon, strange faces peering up at him with mild curiosity. He ended up scooting all the way to the back of the box until the lights fell. The orchestra welled up and the curtains swept away. At first, all he could see were the silhouettes of what might have been buildings; then the colored lights burst on.

He’d never seen anything like it. The sets were a caricature of turn-of-the-century Americana; the players sported bushy handlebar mustaches and bustles, rushed along below oversized posters for minstrel shows, and tended real horses pulling real carriages. He slowly migrated from the back of the box to the front.

Soon enough, he leaned over the balustrade, mouth hanging open. The plot went right over his head. There was so much going on in the backgrounds, so many interesting little details peeping out behind open doors and false storefronts, acrobats hanging on wires and dancers on rooftops, and an orchestral score that swelled up in themes strangely striking and fresh. He only really started hearing dialogue 15 minutes in, and he missed Naomi’s entrance completely; it took him halfway through the play to pick her out. There were a lot of blondes, and almost everyone wore hats.

Near the end, as the mistaken beaus stood alongside a puffing life-sized train considering their headlong flight into the country, Naomi rushed out of the wings with her skirts in her fists. The orchestra rattled off her footsteps, chased her down with tympani and snare, rolled up behind her in a building brassy cloud.

It was so easy to forget, just for a little while, that life couldn’t always be like this: every human being heralded in song, every color rich enough to drink, every detail an artisan’s dream. Oh, that the whole world could be one great big sensible misunderstanding tied up with a pretty bow.

*******

They returned to Naomi’s apartment by 8:30. He found himself staring out the bathysphere window into the city feeling oddly high. At first, it was delicious; he had been unhappy for so long—and hadn’t realized it was unhappiness—that he welcomed the momentary madness. All of Rapture seemed brighter, more colorful. Every person was a character; every object was a piece of art; every color was so deep and richly saturated he fancied he could sink into them.

Then they walked through the apartment door.

“We’re gonna be late,” John said, squinting at the clock.

He cut himself off. His voice didn’t feel real; his words felt scripted. When had he become an actor in his own life?

“I know, darling,” Naomi said. “There’s no helping it. I’m not going to starve for Blanche.” She looked over her shoulder. “I’m going to use the shower first.”

“Ladies first,” he said, shrugging.

The tension was back.

Naomi immediately disappeared into her bathroom. The shower hissed on.

John did not immediately move. Instead, taking a deep and shuddering breath, he rolled out his shoulders, closed his eyes, just stood and thought nothing. He concentrated on his breathing:

In. One, two, three. Out.

In…

Out.

He followed the tension from the tips of his toes up his legs, into his hips, into his belly, up his spine, then back down again. Jules had taught him to do it early on in his training when he got too worked up.

“It can be scary down there,” said Jules. “When it’s dark, when you can’t see for shit. Don’t worry about the oxygen and just breathe. You can’t do a damn thing if you’re panicking.”

The air kicked on with a loud hum.

John let his breath out, shook out his hands, dropped to the couch, lit a cigarette. The nicotine drifted over him like a blanket.

“What comes after this?” he asked himself.

He tried to think of people who’d been famous for, say, a month or two. How long had he been aware of them in papers? On the news? Some of them appeared only once, then disappeared without a sound. Where had they gone to? What were their lives like afterward? Tragedies aside, he’d suspected that most of them had gone back to the invisible labors of everyday life, and that their fame became a fun five-minute story at family barbecues.

But after fame dropped him here?

Couldn’t dive.

Couldn’t work in the Bounty.

Back when Jules had started training him, he’d thought he would have at least two decades of work, injuries permitting. Now he was stuck: there were no railcars out of Rapture. He could weld and he was handy with a toolbox, sure, but welding paid peanuts compared to salvage. And in a place like this, peanuts would kill him.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Gotta start job-hunting now or I really will be shit out of luck.”

Then the black-and-white images of the Hercules popped back up in his head. In his imagination, he could almost feel the weight of the ocean, and the water shivered with unseen scavengers creeping many-legged…

He turned on the television, cranking the volume all the way up. For a while, he watched a mystery serial. None of it was clicking; the actors were just noise and cutouts. Out of the corner of his eye, the front door beckoned.

You could just leave, he thought. You could just fucking go. Right now. Fuck Naomi and her shitty friends. Not like she could do any take-backs.

Memories of the slum tunnels and their visceral stink slapped him in the face. He winced.

What do you want to bet you end up there anyway? he thought.

Maybe Naomi was right. Learn the city a little bit, make some good connections while he could, enjoy himself before the inevitable descent. Put the shitty parts of his brain in the box. Kick it back under the lockers for now. Why not? It wasn’t like he was forgetting them. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t take care of it. Just not now.

Before he could follow the thought further, a news reporter rattled off his alias. He glanced down. The screen flickered to an afternoon entertainment news broadcast with highlights. There was a shot of him sawing at his steak.

“I wasn’t moping,” he said under his breath.

Eventually, the shower switched off. The cabinet clattered and drawers slammed. The clock chimed the hour. Count on a dame to take an eternity; he’d probably get himself ready in 15 minutes. He flipped a paper open to the classifieds and picked up his trusty magnifying glass.

He had worked through a couple columns and circled a number of promising leads when the bathroom door swung open. He didn’t look; he had averted his eyes all week even though she had been practically mummified in towels. Not his business. He was starting to think she should be nobody’s business. He traced a column with his pen.

Her soft white hand dropped on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Job-hunting,” he said, flipping the paper closed. “You won’t be my meal ticket forever.”

“Oh?” She leaned over his shoulder. Her breasts drooped beside his ear, hugged in gold.

He jumped back. He had just swung around to tell her to cut it out when he met her eyes.

His breath caught in his throat. The way she leaned was indecent. Those naked shoulders, that heaving bosom. Gold webbed around her throat. Her lips were wet and red and slightly parted, and over her ears twisted gold leaves speckled in pearls.

He slapped the paper down over his lap.

“Don’t do that,” he said. His voice cracked.

“You need to use the bathroom, I’m sure,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, rising to his feet, folding up his newspaper officiously. “Quick shower.”

“You’re not going to shower with the paper, I hope,” she said.

He tossed it on her bureau and ducked in. When he caught his reflection in the mirror, he jabbed a finger at himself.

“Don’t you dare,” he whispered, and thrust off his jacket.

*******

When he stepped out in evening dress—fresh-shaven, hair slicked back, spinning his hat on an index finger—she was still leaning on the couch watching television. She did not look at him, but even so, he felt that something had changed. Something like the wink, he thought. Like a door had been opened. He was being included, somehow, and she was doing this without looking at him.

“Are you done?” she asked, swaying upright.

God, did the dress have to hug her like that? He wracked his brain for her last outfits and couldn’t think of any of them. They’d been outfits, that was all. Nice-looking ones, sure, she was definitely a pretty bird, but…

She took his hand.

“You’re thinking again,” she said, slapping him on the arm. “Stop that.”

Her smile was intoxicating. Damn, and the musk she wore. Fucking primal. Was this what it had been like for Annie when he had smiled at her? Fuck, he hated it. He’d never do it again.

As she led him out the door and locked it, committing them to the flash and pop of the paparazzi, he collected himself. There was no reason to start thinking of her any differently. He knew what she was and she knew he knew. Just breathe and keep walking. It wasn’t going to be forever.

But then she took his arm. She nestled into his side just right, fitting the straight lines of his body without even trying. The heat of her skin, the rise and fall of her ribs, the thud of her heart…

Suddenly they were halfway to the metro. He was time traveling. Her breasts pressed against his arm and he had to make a concentrated effort not to look.

My god, the boys would think I was sick, he thought.

“I thought you hated me,” he said as they ducked into the bathysphere.

“Whatever made you think that?” she asked, punching her ID and hitting the button for Adonis Luxury Resorts.

“You don’t have friends, just… business partners.”

“And they can be quite enjoyable partnerships, too.”

“Look, I’m just trying to ask you to stop hanging all over me.”

“Darling, we’re just playing a part.” She curled up against him as they sat down.

“Nobody can see us here,” he said, shifting away. “Why the hell should we play a part here?”

“It’s practice.” She shifted into him. “Oh, do stop worrying. Let’s just try to enjoy each other’s company. After all, we have to stick together for such a long time.”

Even her voice had changed, although he couldn’t have said how. Were his eyes wet? Was he going to fucking cry? Jesus. He forced his gaze out of the window. Even there, he couldn’t escape her. Her reflection lit a cigarette and the orange light flickered across her cheeks. Did she know he was staring at her? Fuck, how could she not? He’d always known when the girls were looking at him, hadn’t he? Shit, and he’d savored it. No reason to think she wasn’t doing the same.

He tried to remember her heels on Gerard’s forehead. He tried to remember the way she turned off at lunch.

“You’re quiet,” she said at last. “You aren’t thinking again, I hope.”

Yep, there was that faint note of satisfaction. Good, now he hated himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said flatly. “You look very nice tonight.”

She tossed her head back and laughed. The pearls shivered in her hair.

“Is that all!” she said. “I hope so!”

The bathysphere dinged and ground into arms of steel, bumping as it docked. He turned to snap something about how that’s not what he meant and she knew it, but the bathysphere lurched as it rose and jolted him into her side. He met her eyes. She met his. She brushed his cheeks with her lashes and her breath was hot and wet on his throat.

And then the bathysphere shuddered, the door creaked open, and she drew him into a hail of flashbulbs.

Blinding. Like walking onto the surface of the sun. Squinting, arm up over his eyes, he finally made out the wall—rosy marble, pinstriped wallpaper, and a massive oil painting with the same square footage as his first apartment. Its subjects: a dozen nubile women falling out of bedsheets.

John had just parsed what might’ve been a nipple when Naomi yanked him down the hall. Royal purples and velvet mauves and gold trim: if Fort Frolic had been the burlesque dancer of Rapture, Adonis Luxury Resort was the Carnegie. Marble nudes and satyrs stared lifelessly from false forests. Above grand entryways were fish arcing beneath blazing sunbursts, and the floors were geometric roses. Naomi craned her neck around him to peer down a hall. Her throat was so smooth, so slender! The muscle tensed beneath the gold. God, he just wanted to…

“Oh, John, we’ll have to come here next,” she said, squeezing his arm. “This is the wing for the ballrooms and restaurants—there are saunas and pools lower down. Don’t you think that would be enjoyable?”

“Yeah,” he said, and pulled back. He had started leaning down toward her. Why was he letting her hug his arm like that? How dare she hang from his elbow with that familial ease? It hurt him, it was so pleasant: he thought of Jules laughing at him from the wheelhouse.

Just past the crowd was one of the omnipresent glass walls. He could see Neptune’s Bounty swelling out of the gloom, windows gold and green; just beyond it, the Welcome Center towers lit up in silver and blue.

“Does this connect to the Bounty?” he said.

“There’s one tunnel, yes,” said Naomi, her voice darkening. “Why do you ask?”

“Just don’t want the law to think I’m coming here on purpose.”

She laughed. “Why would they think that? You’re a philosophy-abiding citizen now.”

“I guess I am.”

He laughed, and to his shock, she laughed with him. He started smiling at her. He started smiling at her! He was going to hell! He was an idiot! She was going to push him into a meat grinder! And still, without even meaning to, John had relaxed into her touch, hands tucked in his pockets. The heat in his belly built up into his chest, down between his thighs.

Hell, they were like… they were like friends, almost.

It won’t be forever, he thought. She knows it. I know it. Maybe we can just have a little fun. That’s all it is. Fun never lasts forever.

A weight was lifting away from him. He stood straighter, looser. They shouldered through a hallway filled with journalists, dames like peacocks, and a hundred identical Mr. Moneybags. He was one of them, too. No one would have been able to tell the difference unless they shook his hand; his calluses would cut them in half. Suddenly he wished he’d worn gloves.

At some point, they were no longer fighting for space, but being pushed by a current of humanity. They dragged a long train of interested passersby who peered at John like he was a lion at the zoo. Whispers followed in their wake. The only thing John could pick out with certainty was the whisper, “Is that him? Is that really him?”

Naomi kept walking as though she could not hear them. As for John, he was beginning to feel claustrophobic and light-headed. Suddenly he was grateful that she held him. She knew where to go. She was taking him to the place he needed to be. He didn’t have to think about it: it was in its box, it was waiting for its time; every deed had its time. Besides, his debts were paid. Oh, thank god, thank god, the weight rose off of him, it bounced with the cigarette smoke on the ceiling. Was he smiling? Was she smiling back? What was that word she mouthed at him?

The high-class mob squeezed them through the hallway, faster and faster, like water through a sluice, flowing madcap past pink and satyrs and flowers and servants in matching suits, until they were swept into a ballroom.

John whistled as they stepped onto the landing.

An entire wall of the ballroom looked out upon a garden shimmering with bioluminescence. The pillar in the center of the room had been carved to look like a tree. Its branches glowed with lanterns, birds, apples, and leaves of bright and glittering glass. The ceiling was painted like a sunlit sky with scudding clouds and putti as pink and lumpy as ham hocks. At the foot of the pillar was a bar sculpted to look like a hedge, and around the bar spun a hundred couples resplendent in rainbows. The floor reflected the painted heaven back at itself. On the stage, a woman in red sequins hovered over her microphone, and her voice welled out like amber, like coffee, like rich earth. Behind her was an orchestra, a pianist flying over ivory. Some song he’d heard somewhere. He couldn’t place it.

Blanche swept out of the crowd toward them.

“There you are,” she said. “You are late!”

“I told you, darling, I worked tonight.”

“I said ‘promptly,’” Blanche said, “and I meant ‘promptly.’ If you will inform the muck-digger that he should close his mouth, as he looks like a fish.”

John snapped his mouth shut and gave her a stink-eye.

Blanche had gowned herself in an ivory floor-length number and had thrown a mink stole around her naked shoulders. Now that he gave her a second look, he saw what Naomi had mentioned: faint lines in her cheeks, the touch of crow’s feet, the old woman pressing through—death taking its due.

“Oh, don’t be cruel!” Naomi dragged John toward Blanche, glowing like a star. She kissed Blanche on the cheek and rattled off a line of French.

With a shock, John felt the shape of jealousy balling up in his gut.

“As long as you have the gimmick,” said Blanche, turning to the crowd.

Now, in addition to John’s train of followers, some curious ignorants bunched up in the door to listen to Blanche, and a ruckus kicked up in the hall as the crowd backed up.

“I have an announcement to make,” Blanche called out. She clapped a few times. “An announcement!”

When nobody paid attention, she flung up her naked arm and snapped her fingers. John nearly jumped out of his skin: her eyes flashed and a long thin flame burst above her pointing finger.

“What the hell!” John said.

Everyone started laughing.

“This is Johnny Topside, as I promised,” Blanche said.

They fell upon him chattering. The fumes from their perfume and cologne and tobacco choked him. He coughed and backpedaled, nearly losing Naomi, only to bump into a wall of people extending their hands. The voices were an unintelligible roar.

“Damn you, Blanche!” he said.

Blanche plucked a cigarette-holder from her purse and laughed. Soon, he lost sight of her in the mass of people. Naomi was his foundation. She propped him up; she pressed part of the throng back with obsequious smiles and an out-flung hand. He clenched her arm like she could save him.

He had no idea of half of what they asked him; he shook dozens of hands, politely declined to dance, and gave vague answers to breathless young men asking about his adventures. And the women—they were everywhere, of every age, from grand dames to starry-eyed girls. Soft hands touched his. Soft hands on his arms, soft heaving bosoms, soft bright-eyed girls in every color, every shape, bejeweled and smiling, and Naomi—

Naomi crushed his arm to her waist. Her fingers slipped between his fingers; her hip melted into his hip.

“All right, all right!” John said at last. “Everyone pipe down. I can only answer one question at a time.”

The crowd erupted into questions again.

“I’ll ask!” he said. “You.” He pointed at the prettiest girl in the circle—a hazel-eyed brunette in dark blue. A golden net winked in her hair. Naomi’s grip threatened to cut off circulation to his hand.

The brunette blushed. “Did you really fight all of the smugglers in Neptune’s Bounty?” she asked.

The crowd shifted and he saw Blanche again, glaring at him with thinly-veiled contempt.

“Uh, not really,” he said. “Maybe I should start at the beginning.”

John had just told the crowd how he’d been ground into the seafloor by the submersible when Blanche reached through the crowd, grabbed him by the arm, and yanked him through the throng. Her nails dug into his elbow like the teeth of a rat; Naomi staggered along with them both.

John hissed and the crowd grumbled.

“Oh, Blanche!” said the pearl-haired girl. “He was telling us a story!”

“You are clogging the way, muck-man,” Blanche said. “Down to the dance floor, if you please.”

“Blanche, don’t be so rough,” said Naomi. “You just have to ask.” John ripped his arm away. “Exactly.”

“Go,” said Blanche, pointing down the stairs.

“I just managed to get it organized,” John said as they turned down the stairs.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think she’d just jump in like that,” said Naomi. His hand ached where she squeezed it.

Soon storytelling was the last thing on John’s mind. He moved slowly down the stairs, shaking hands as he went. Naomi introduced each person; here was a famous producer, here was a great actor, here was a businessman who made more money a day than John had in ten years. John forgot them as soon as he met them. There were too many. Every time he said hello to one group of partygoers, another glittering wave swept up to meet him.

Naomi tugged him toward the bar when they reached the bottom of the staircase.

“He’s getting tired, I think,” she said. “Wouldn’t you like a drink, darling?”

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Please!”

The crowd laughed.

“It’s on me,” said an oily shrimp with a camera. He had a face like a weasel and a Jersey accent.

“Who’re you?” John asked.

“Stanley Poole, Rapture Tribune,” said the little man, offering his hand. It was sweaty and a little greasy. John shook it and wished he hadn’t.

“You here for an interview?” John asked, wiping his hand off on his pants. Naomi pursed her lips and dug a handkerchief out of her handbag.

“Natch,” Stanley said, smiling. His hair was slicked back with Brilliantine and his scrawny neck stuck out like a box turtle’s. John immediately had the sensation that the man was thrashed regularly as a child.

“Maybe later,” John said, leaning into Naomi. “I’m a little shell-shocked.”

“All right,” Stanley said. “Understandable.” He laughed. It was an ugly, horsey sound. “Here, maybe a drink’ll calm your nerves. Bartender—you got some of that Allson’s Orchard Limited, red, 1948?” He passed a hundred-dollar bill to the bartender.

“That’s okay, really,” said John. “I’ll just have a beer.”

The crowd around John laughed as though he had uttered a joke.

“Yeah?” said the bartender. “Which one?”

“A Schlitz?”

The crowd laughed even harder. Naomi blushed.

John blinked. “What’s funny?”

“You’ll like it,” said Stanley, pushing the drink over to John.

John nodded to him and picked up the fluted glass. He sipped it, smacked his lips, and raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

“Like it? Yeah? Mind if I take a picture?” Stanley asked.

“Sure, go ahead,” said John. “You’re going to take one anyway.”

Everyone laughed again. John wished they wouldn’t. He felt like they were all privy to a joke he didn’t know.

The camera popped; the flash left stars in his eyes.

Grimacing, John took a quick swig of the wine. The crowd laughed again, but he laughed with them. He rolled his shoulders as he set the glass down.

In…

Hold…

Out.

“So what did you want to know?” John asked.

“That’s just what I wanted to hear.” Stanley set a dictaphone between them, then flipped out his notepad and pen. “First things first. You’re the Naomi Lucas, right?”

“Yes.” She smiled prettily. “I’m a friend of Blanche’s.”

“Fantastic.” Stanley scribbled something down. “You’re movin’ fast.”

“Why not?” Naomi said, squeezing John’s arm.

“Jesus,” John said.

The crowd laughed again.

“So, Johnny Topside. The Rapture populace wants to know,” said Poole. “Where do you come from? Are you a spy? An explorer? Or did you come here by accident?”

“Maybe I should begin at the beginning,” John said. “Just to set the story straight.”

The crowd grew silent. Even the bartender leaned toward him.

“That would be fantastic,” Stanley said, and pressed the button on his dictaphone.

*******

The story took much longer than John thought it would, mostly because he kept getting dragged down rabbit holes. He told them about his dives on Spanish galleons and modern shipwrecks, as well as his last near-death experience, when his air hose had fouled during bad weather in shark-infested waters.

The crowd around him posed questions; sometimes they spoke too loudly or too much, and John had to repeat himself. By the end of his tale he had managed to drink the wine and two small glasses of cognac and had accepted several cigarettes that were quite clearly made with real tobacco. Three filled glasses sat by his side waiting to be drunk. He felt pleasantly warm, relaxed; he couldn’t imagine why he had ever been on edge. All these plump, soft-handed paper-pushers? Sometimes he fancied that he loomed above them and they were the sizes of kittens.

Naomi sipped a glass of wine, leaning on his shoulder. For once, he was glad she was there. He didn’t know if he could have stood being there alone, the heavy eyes of strangers boring into him.

Stanley finally punched the button on his dictaphone and closed his notepad.

“Thanks, bud,” he said. “Mind if I call you ‘bud’?”

“Nah.” John shook his hand. “Thanks for the drinks.”

“It’s no problem,” said Stanley, slipping him his card. “Keep in touch.”

Stanley dropped off of his stool and disappeared into the crowd; it closed around him and crushed in toward John, hands extending pieces of paper and pens, a hundred mouths calling out his name. John backed into the bar.

“Whoah!” he said, stuffing the business card in his pocket. “Give me a second!”

“Why don’t we dance?” whispered Naomi in his ear, and then yanked him through the crowd. It broke around them grudgingly.

“S-sure?” John said. “Good god, is this the way it’s gonna be all night?”

“Oh, no, of course not.” Naomi patted him on the cheek.

Naomi swept him to the edge of the dance floor. The song was a swing number that he did not recognize. He perked up.

“Good tune,” he said.

“That’s Anna Culpepper and her orchestra,” Naomi whispered in his ear. “She’s an acquaintance of mine.”

“Do you know everybody in show business?” John asked.

“I try to. Shall we dance?”

She took him by each hand, gently wrapping his left around her waist. When she lifted his right—gently, instructively—he realized she thought she was going to teach him something.

So the minute the music hit an upbeat, he whipped off into a swing step, sore foot be damned. She stumbled after him with a squeal and for a few seconds struggled to keep up. He was gratified to see her mouth fall open.

“You—you know how to dance?” she said.

“Sure. This isn’t my first rodeo.” He hooked his arm around her waist, thrusting his hips up a mere inch from hers. He leaned in close. “What if I told you I took lessons?”

Just as she shuddered, he swept her away.

This time, his crooked grin landed. Her eyes lanced into his; she bit her lips. She wasn’t as fast or smooth or precise as he was, and frankly, he didn’t give a damn.

“How inventive do you want to get?” he asked when he swung her close again.

“Oh,” she said, blushing. “I’m… not right now.”

“You need me to slow down? Maybe downgrade to a little foxtrot?”

“No!” Her blush was doing something to him. “But do you know how we dance in Rapture?”

She almost sounded frantic.

He leaned in close, pressing his cheek against hers. He felt her sharp intake of breath more than heard it.

“Show me,” he said.

There were deep red grooves where her nails had dug into his hand earlier; now all she did was hook him with the pads of her fingers. There before the coral garden, she gripped his hands, she scuffed at his feet with her pretty white pumps, she counted out loud. He picked it up in minutes, and soon they swung off together to the beat on the edge of the dance floor, then into it.

God, it felt good. Without warning, he cast his worries and fears out into space, reunited with his body, and was free. It felt good to fall into a rhythm, to whirl with the surge of trumpets, work in all that subtle sway to his hips and knees, to match the beat of the drums with his feet. And it felt good to feel watched—for he was good and he knew he was good. He noted out of the corner of his eye how others were looking at him—women and men both—and he leaned into it. The whip-snap precision of heel to toe, the way he swayed with his whole body, the complementary swing of his limbs, the arch of his back. Stanley Poole was one of the watchers, standing next to one of those ubiquitous Moneybags, with his camera on his hip and his hands in his pockets.

Let them laugh at him about his booze and background as much as they wanted. He’d show them up here.

As the song rushed to its tumultuous end—the throb of drums, the crescendo of trumpets, Culpepper with her hands trembling on either side of the mike, her eyes closed as she surrendered to one rapturous note—he yanked Naomi tightly against his body, then dipped her, and she stared up at him so starstruck that he started laughing. One curl had broken free of his pomade and bobbed over his right eye. He let her go. She staggered back from him, hands on her cheeks. Dancers were clapping for the band, but a fair number were looking at him. He pretended not to see.

“Oh my god,” she said.

“I feel like a drink,” he said, offering his arm. “How about you?”

She hooked her arm in his. “Oh, absolutely.”

He drank some wine, watching the other dancers twirl. Naomi leaned into him, breast heaving, gleaming with sweat, and he tucked his arm around her waist. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he was standing on his own.

He hadn’t stood there long before a host of pretty girls swarmed up, begging for the next dance. Naomi’s hand clenched at his arm.

“Sure,” he said, and patted Naomi on the hand. “I’ll be right back. You were going to talk to some people, right?”

He danced with every girl who asked, watching Naomi seethe from a distance. He was finally warm. The lights were melting stars; heaven was cloaked in bumping clouds; when he eyed Naomi, the light had smeared around her hair in rays. He had a cocktail no one told him the name of, and then someone gave him another champagne. The tastes all ran together. He didn’t care. The faces of strangers disappeared in a haze. All he could see were smiling faces. Everyone liked him, and he liked them. Eventually he returned to the bar, sopping with sweat. Naomi clung to him like a barnacle. She laughed at every joke he cracked, even if it wasn’t funny; she gazed up at him with sweet smiles and stroked his arm.

After an hour or two of dancing and free booze, winded and weary and buzzing, Naomi and John finally stumbled to a table overlooking the garden. In the dusky evening lighting, the kelp and coral glowed, and strange lights flashed in alien patterns between the waving leaves.

John set his hand against the window. It was ice cold, but the sensation was good against his hand. An inexpressible longing passed over him.

“Are you all right?” Naomi asked, nestling against him.

“Yeah.” He quickly turned back to her and wiped his hand off on his pants. “Don’t know what came over me.”

She bit her lip and looked out at the garden with him. “Darling, this is a bit off topic, but…”

“But what?”

“I have a question about your story.”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“You mentioned taking pictures.” She looked up at him. “What happened to the camera? You said that you took it with you, but you never said where it went.”

“I hid it.”

“Why would you do that?” she said.

“They said I had a duffel bag on the news program. I had to drop it off.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” She looked at him closely. “Would you like me to go get it for you?”

John hesitated. “You’d do that for me?”

“Certainly. I’m sure the camera holds sentimental value for you. Didn’t your friend make it just for you?”

He looked away. Something clenched in his gut. All glory and gladness melted away.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

When he spoke again, it was in a whisper. “It’s behind a vending machine in the Welcome Center, in the lobby above the bathysphere dock.” John leaned in close. “You’d really get it for me?”

“Oh, of course! Nobody can stop me from going to the Welcome Center.”

“God, thank you,” he said.

“It’s my pleasure,” she said.

Before John could react, she kissed him on the cheek. Her eyelashes tickled.

A flashbulb went off and John jumped. He glanced over his shoulder to see Stanley Poole fiddling with his camera, and behind him, several crestfallen girls.

“Don’t look at him,” said Naomi softly.

“What was that for?” John whispered.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I suppose you could think of it as a reward for doing so well tonight.”

“What makes you think I wanted that?” he said.

She laughed and did not answer.

*******

The return to Naomi’s apartment seemed to take longer than before. The tunnels stretched out for miles and miles, and the railcars slumbered like giant pill-bugs beneath the ribbed glass. It was almost homey, even if the cold had returned. When strangers passed, he did not think of them. He was one of them now.

The hallway was stable for the most part, but every now and then it swayed gently. They staggered together. He couldn’t remember how many drinks he’d had. How much had Naomi drunk? He couldn’t remember her drinking more than two glasses of wine, but maybe that was because he had been concentrating on the crowd.

“Damn it, I don’t want to be drunk,” he said.

“Oh, you’re not that drunk,” she said. “You’re just a little tipsy.”

John stumbled into her. She propped him up, cooing.

“I don’t want to be tipsy.”

“I like you tipsy,” she said. “You’re not so serious, and I get to see that real smile.”

“The hell are you flirting with me for?” he asked, laughing.

She blushed and squeezed his hand.

They wobbled up to her doorway, laughing louder and louder. John was still snickering, tears in his eyes, as Naomi drew out her purse and turned to face him.

“Thank you for walking me home, Mr. Topside. Would you like to come in?”

“If you’re willing, miss.” He leaned toward her. She leaned back. She uncurled one hand against his chest, the other on the doorknob.

“I have to open the door first,” she said, teasing the key from her purse. He missed the pressure of her palm.

“You tease,” he slurred, slipping his arms around her waist.

She pressed back into the cradle of his hips. He buried his face into her hair and took a deep breath. Lilac perfume, and beneath it, the pleasant scent of her sweat.

She sighed; one hand stroked up underneath his jacket, her knuckles dragging against his sweat-dampened shirt.

“Hmm,” she said. “You scoundrel. At this rate we shall astound the neighbors.”

He nipped her ear. Her skin was hot, her sweat was bitter with perfume…

She turned the key in the lock—slowly, taking her time—and then turned the knob, gently. The door swung open. She pushed it open, fraction by fraction…

John kicked off.

Shrieking and laughing, they stumbled into the apartment. The door swung shut behind them. It was lightless; she was only a silhouette against the windows, through which he could see the lights of the city on parade. She whirled upon him in the darkness and her mouth pressed against his with so much fire that it spun his head. Her hands slipped underneath his jacket and she began to unbutton his shirt with rapid-fire precision. John’s hands stroked down her back, hunting for a zipper.

They broke apart momentarily, gasping for breath and fumbling with each others’ clothing. John abandoned the search for the zipper and yanked her gown up over her knees. He lost his grip when they staggered backward, laughed stupidly, righted themselves against the sofa. She kicked off her heels and fumbled at his belt. He kissed her down her cheek, down her throat, down her collarbone. They lingered there, kissing roughly. He cradled her head in his hands, running his fingers through her hair. Her crown pricked at his fingers.

“I shall be the first lady in Rapture to have you,” she whispered in his ear.

“Lucky you,” he whispered.

Before he could finish his thought, she shoved his slacks off. He snapped the buckles on her garter—cradled the plump round of her ass—shoved her against the cold window and kissed her. The lights of the city haloed her silhouette like fireworks and set her hair on fire with a thousand colors.

UPRISING: BLACK SCRAPBOOK HUB

#bioshock #bioshock 2 #johnny topside #stanley poole #anna culpepper #blanche de glace #bet you haven't thought of blanche in years if at all #and that's fine she's meaningless lol #fanfiction #uprising #so I know what the Demeter Ballroom actually looks like. It does not look like this #I spent so much time getting everything right in all of these other respects but in this one I was like #what if were cooler #I was inspired by that BS2 ad where Delta stalks through a bunch of dancing ADAM ghosts #very big busy ballroom loved the scale #also not much sets Adonis apart from the rest of the city so I decided to amp it up a bit #I still undercooked this party unfortunately. rich people have horrifyingly good times and it's easy as a poor motherfucker to underestimat #also ended up splitting this into two chapters. it's way too hefty

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bleachanimefan1 · 2 years ago

Text

YAMS Part Twenty Seven

Going Down,

SYSTEMS REBOOTING 98 percent, 99 percent...100%.

Monty groaned as he opened his eyes only to see a bright blinding light. He tried to move but he could raise his arms or his legs as they were strapped down as he was held down to parts and services chair. He was in Parts and Services. Wait, legs? Monty tried to run his last memory bank of the last thing he remembered. He fell off the catwalk and slamming into a support beam, losing his legs as he was split in two then fell onto the ground before his systems crashed. Now he was here tied down like an animal.

"You're awake. That's good. Maybe you can give us some answers." Monty's eyes immediately shot up towards the glass of the cylinder containment that he was in to see Ayla standing next to the control console, along with the rest of the Glamrocks, Gregory and the Daycare attendants Sun and Moon. Monty shifted his eyes over to Ayla, glaring at her and he struggled as he tried to break out of his restraints. She was no different than those employees and corporate higher ups that work here.

"Let me out!" He demanded.

"I'll only let you out the chair. But you're staying in there until we get some answers." Ayla told him. Monty blinked in confusion but gave a short nod and Ayla pressed the button on the console. The restraints flipped off of the gator's wrists and legs, releasing him. Monty slowly stood up, keeping his eyes on everyone else.

"You're all a bunch of cowards! Safe standing outside of this protective glass while I'm locked in here! If I could break out of here, I would rip you all to shreds!"

"Big talk for a gator who got their legs broken, again." Roxy snorted. Monty glared at Roxy who only snarled back at him.

"While I was repairing you and fixing your legs, I was searching through your data. You don't have the virus installed in you that everyone else has that made them go crazy. Why is that?" Monty didn't answer.

"Maybe we should give him a control shock?" Foxy suggested. Monty's eyes widened at that word and he growled at Foxy.

"Foxy! How could you suggest such a thing!?" Chica frowned at him.

"We're not doing that. But we will just leave him in here if he doesn't tell us what he need to know. No one will know that you're down here. Your battery will slowly drain out and you'll be decommissioned." Ayla replied. Monty's eyes widened at her words and Ayla continued. "Unless you help us and tell us what we need to know." Monty looked down avoiding her eyes.

"The virus. I was never infected with it when it first happened. Bonnie didn't attack me on his own, that was the virus' doing. He was just a test." Monty explained.

"Test?" Bonnie frowned before glaring at Monty angrily. "I never attacked you! You attacked me!"

"I'm confused as well. While I was fixing Bonnie, I didn't see any trace of the virus." Ayla said.

"It was erased." Monty explained. "Couldn't raise suspicion. While you were getting decommissioned, I was ordered to gather up your parts."

"But why did you do it?" Ayla asked.

"I was jealous. Everyone loved Bonnie, his merchandise was flying off the shelves, everyone always wanted his photos or autographs. I wanted my chance at the spotlight for once."

"So, you had Bonnie out of working condition so that you could take his place instead." Foxy narrowed his eyes at the gator. "I oughta skin your metal hide! Aye, better yet, Bonnie and I should show you what we have been through because of your selfish mind!"

"We'll be no better than him or the person who ordered Monty to do this." Bonnie said, softly. Foxy blinked at him.

"You were always the voice of reason, Bon Bon." Freddy smiled.

"Who ordered you do all of these things? Vanny?" Ayla asked Monty. Monty shook his head.

"No. They were only part of it. He is called master."

"He? Master? You're not making any sense, Monty." Freddy questioned. Ayla saw Moon shifted uncomfortably hearing his gears turning more faster, giving more silent clicks.

"Moon? Are you alright?" She asked him worried. Sun turned his head, looking at his brother, noticing his behavior as well.

"Moony?" He asked concerned.

"I've heard that name before. It was them who told me to all those bad things. The missing children-" Ayla's eyes widened more and she walked over to Moon, holding his hands.

"You know where the missing children are!? Where!?" She said shocked. "They're still alive!?"

"Why didn't you tell us before Moon!?" Sun shouted. Moon's eyes glowed red as he stared at Sun, irritated.

"I did! I tried to tell you back at the daycare!" He shouted in frustration. "But you wouldn't listen to me! You never do!"

"M-Moony, that's not true! I listen to you-" Sun sputtered.

"We're listening to you now, Moon. Where are the kids?" Ayla asked him.

"Deep. Down below the Pizzaplex. Vanny took them down there." He told them.

"I know what you are talking about." Freddy said.

"Freddy? What do you mean?" Gregory asked him.

"What the daycare attendant has said. I have very faint memories of being somewhere else other than the Mega Pizzaplex. The others down there, they are angry."

"Others?" Ayla questioned.

"Then let's go down there and get the kids and get them out!" Bonnie said.

"What do we do about him?" Roxy asked pointing to Monty. Ayla walked over to the glass container, looking at Monty.

"Listen you have a chance to do the right thing. Help us save the kids and I won't say anything to get you decommissioned." She offered.

"Nothing can stand up to him." Monty replied. "He wants you and the kid. Just turn yourselves in. No one else needs to get hurt."

"I know that you don't want to hurt anyone either. I saw brief second of it in your eyes when I was doing maintenance work on you in your room." Ayla told him. Monty stayed quiet. "If we don't do anything more kids are going to keep disappearing. The Pizzaplex could get shut down then we all lose everything."

"Alright. I'm in. But don't say that I didn't warn you." Monty answered. Suddenly, an alarm went off on Freddy as he continued to beep.

"Gregory, It is 6:00! You can leave the Pizzaplex now! You must go!" He shouted. Gregory looked at him.

"Freddy! Come with me!" He pulled on the animatronic's arm, but Freddy didn't budge. Freddy's eyes drifted down sadly. "I cannot leave. I must stay here. If I don't, my battery, it'll run out." He bent down and placed a hand on Gregory's shoulder. "But you can." Gregory shook his head.

"I'm not leaving!" Freddy blinked softly before nodding and smiled.

"Then let's finish this together."

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heloisedaphnebrightmore · 3 years ago

Text

Possibilities [Tom Hiddleston x Reader]

Title: Possibilities Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Female!Reader Word count: 3k Published: 6 July 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Warnings: Mention of food and alcohol Summary: Tom and you have been friends for a long time and because of that same reason you value your friendship more than to ruin it with some silly feelings. But the event you attend together offers you some surprises that might change your relationship forever.

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Events, galas, award ceremonies. You weren't a popular actress nor a famous singer, or social media influencer. You had a simple 9-5 job that would hardly ever get you into these events. But regardless of your status in society, you were known and not because of any talent you possessed that could have made you famous, but because your best friend was none-other than Tom Hiddleston.

You have been friends for years, you adored everything about the man. He was sweet and kind, always polite, but just as playful. It was a friendship you felt lucky to be in, a friendship that you held so close to your heart, it would have broken every little piece of you if it ever ended. Often, you found yourself staring at him with a little smile in the corner of your lips, watching his every move, the way he joked around with his co-stars on set, the way he exercised in the gym for a role, the way he winked at you with a mischievous smile as he caught your eyes on him.

"Do you need my autograph?" he asked with a wide grin as he opened the door of the luxurious car he booked for the event. Once again you have forgotten your eyes on him— his dashing looks, the perfectly fitted suit, the playful twinkle in his eyes. He never stopped teasing you about it.

"Shove off, Tom," you nudged him as he got out of the car and held out a hand for you, waiting for you to accept his help. So, you did. Wrapping your fingers around his hand, you let him help you out of the vehicle as you rearranged your stunning dress and ran your hand down its length to remove any creasing. Cameras were flashing, reporters' loud voices filled the pathway to the entrance, a long red carpet leading your way inside the building towering over you like a modern castle.

"If I didn't know better, I would think your interest in me goes beyond friendship," he chuckled as he held his arm out to you, waiting for yours to be placed over his, his eyes following every little movement of yours. A sudden rush of heat travelled up to your cheeks, your breathing slightly laboured as you tried to calm your heavily beating heart. He was not wrong after all. It's been years since you have been harbouring these feelings, but you hadn't had the heart to confess them. Tom was more important to you than to ruin it over some silly feelings.

Sometimes, when you caught Tom's eyes on you, watching you intently, a soft smile spread across his face, it made you think if maybe, just maybe he was harbouring similar feelings towards you. But the idea was quickly swept away by your doubts, the thought of such an amazing man falling for you seeming impossible. You knew your worth, you didn't write yourself down, but Tom has always been perfect in your eyes, and you couldn't imagine him wanting you even if at times a certain silly part of your brain whispered otherwise.

"I love your healthy self-confidence," you finally gathered your ability to be able to reply, earning a comical huff from him. You have been trying hard, to deny your romantic interest in him, but rumours about the two of you have become a reoccurring news and it didn't help your case to shove your feelings in the back of your mind.

"Ready?" He asked as his gaze turned towards the red carpet. Heaving a heavy sigh, you nodded and murmured a 'yes' as a response.

As soon as the cameras started flashing, hundreds of photos of Tom and you being taken, you conjured a sweet little smile that the tabloids loved. You were always nervous when it came to these events. It was Tom's job to answer some of the questions journalists asked of him, which meant they were to ask about your relationship. It was becoming repetitive, making you feel uncomfortable. The questions themselves didn't bother you but repeating over and over again that the man you have fallen for is merely a friend, felt like a stab in your heart, each time you responded.

"Tom! Tom!" One of the reporters shouted his name and he led you to the side of the red carpet, halting right beside the metal cordons. Questions were flying around, photos had been taken, but you didn't concentrate. Your senses were heightened as Tom pulled you in his side, his arm now wrapped around your waist, gently, but firmly holding onto you. Looking up at him, you studied his face, his ice-blue eyes focusing on the reporter, an excited smile across his face. He seemed so relaxed, so collected, meanwhile even events after events you were still nervous. As though he could feel it, he turned to you with a soft, reassuring smile, giving you a nod, silently asking if you were alright. For others, the movement could have easily been missed, but to you, it was like an earthquake, shaking your heart, making you fall even deeper for him. In a reply, you nodded and offered him a smile as you squeezed his hand that rested on your waist.

"So, Tom, this might be a bit more personal, but everyone has been talking about the two of you," he started, and your eyes immediately darted towards the man. You knew the question, heard it a thousand times already, so you prepared your heart to give the same reply as always. 'We are just friends,' you repeated time after time, hoping they would finally understand and let you be, but they didn't seem to budge. "You have been friends for a long time, and your fans have been talking about how close the two of you have become. Do you think, maybe in the future, there's a possibility for romance to blossom?" He asked with an expectant expression, a sly smile in the corner of his lips.

"As we have said before," you spoke up, ready to reply as you always did, "we—"

"You never know what the future holds for you, there are many possibilities" Tom cut in with a mischievous smile, your eyes growing wide as you looked up at him. Tom chuckled at your expression as he leaned down and kissed the top of your head. "Tell me I'm wrong," he arched a brow questioningly, his words starting your heart off at a faster pace, your cheeks feeling warmer under his intent gaze, those blue eyes you often found yourself lost in.

"Well—, I mean I can't argue with that statement," you replied, feeling slightly awkward. A confused smile started growing wider on your face as Tom led you away. "Why did you do that?" You asked as you finally stepped inside the building, his arm still resting around your waist as you headed towards a large room filled with all sorts of foods and drinks, people dancing in the middle, the dim lightning offering a rather intimate mood. "You just created even more gossip," you scolded him, but seemingly he didn't mind. He led you to a table where his name was printed on a nametag and pulled the chair out for you before he took his seat beside you.

"I didn't say anything," he smiled at you as innocently as he could manage, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

"You did. Exactly because you were so secretive, people will want to read between the lines. They will think there's more to us than friendship," you huffed as you hid your face in your palm and heaved a heavy sigh.

"And is that so bad?" He frowned, earning the same expression from you.

"What?" A silent scoff left your lungs. "What are you trying to say?"

"Is that such a big problem if people think we are together?" He asked, his confident tone stunning you.

"Of course, not. I don't care what rumours are being spread about me, but I don't want them to gossip about you," you reached for his hand on the table and wrapped your fingers around it, giving it a gentle squeeze. His expression stayed emotionless; you couldn't read him entirely, but you knew he seemed off.

"I will go grab us a drink," he said as he stood up, leaving you frowning. You weren't sure what you said that made him upset, and regardless of trying to put on a straight face, you knew he wasn't happy with your response.

You watched as he walked over to a small table filled with the most delicious looking cakes and a couple of bottles of champagne, ready for the guests before they brought out the main course. Tom grabbed a battle of champagne and two glasses, filling up both halfway, before he placed the battle back into an ice bucket.

"What is it?" You asked as he returned and gave you one of the glasses.

"What do you mean?" He asked, taking a seat beside you.

"We've known each other for quite a long time. I can read you like an open book. What's bothering you?" Trying to get him to open up, you shuffled closer to him, your chair scraping the floor, turning heads in your direction. "Oops," you scratched the back of your neck awkwardly, earning a chuckle from Tom.

"Very subtle," he mocked you.

"Don't change the subject Mr. Hiddleston," you raised a questioning brow, a tiny smile hidden in the corner of your lips.

"Nothing is bothering me," he added, but your suspicious gaze didn't falter. "I'm being honest, darling," the sly little fox knew his nickname for you would make you soften up and he used every opportunity to say it when he felt cornered.

"Fine," you squinted. "But we aren't done! I'm not blind, I can see something is on your mind."

"Yes, ma'am, I can't wait for this conversation to come back around," he mocked you once again, making you huff as you gently punched his shoulder.

Throughout the night, said conversation was forgotten, the alcohol consumption rose, the amount of people dancing around the room grew, meanwhile others sat at their tables, trying to digest the previously served delicious meals. You couldn't deny that you had a good laugh with Tom and his co-stars from all sorts of movies he had been in. It felt like a little family, people coming together to just have a joyous time.

The way Tom smiled at his friends, praising each other, before turning to mock one another forced your eyes to rest on his excited features. He looked so alive, so happy and the feeling of the man you loved being in his element meant everything to you. Tom was radiating enthusiasm and you couldn't look away as you watched his ever-growing smile, his nose scrunched up at an unexpected subject, his head falling back as a loud laughter erupted from his lungs. He was always handsome, but when he was happy, it filled you up with a certain warmth that you couldn't explain. Like you always wanted to make him happy just to be able to see that cheerful smile spread across his face.

He turned to you, catching your gaze on him once again. His arm sneaked behind you, pulling you closer and leaning down to your ear. "You are staring at me again," you couldn't see it, but you could feel his smile spreading wider.

"I like to see you happy," you shrugged with a soft smile as you leaned back to be able to meet his gaze. His smile faltered, but his eyes softened.

"Dance with me," he said as he offered his palm to you, and you placed your hand in it.

"I take no responsibility for broken toes," you said with a silent chuckle as you followed him to the dancefloor.

"Don't worry, darling, it's worth the injury," he mirrored your expression as you stopped in the middle of the dance floor. A slow, romantic song started playing in the background, his arms finding their perfect position around your waist as yours sneaked around his neck.

It was a slow and peaceful dance, not requiring much knowledge and talent. You just enjoyed each other's presence, gazes meeting, smiles forming, swaying to the slow rhythm of the music. You didn't speak a word, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. It never was with Tom. A soft smile, a quick glance, a simple gesture meant more than thousands of words when you were with him.

You laid your head against his chest, listening to his fast heartbeat, taking on a quicker pace just like yours did. "I miss you when you are not with me," he spoke for the first time as he leaned down and kissed the top of your head. You didn't move away; his embrace was too comfortable, and you couldn't care about people watching you.

"I always miss you. You are the one travelling all the time after all," you chuckled lightly, not wanting to ruin the moment.

"I could be only a mile away and I would still miss you," he replied as you pulled back a bit to meet his soft gaze, but there was no smile present across his handsome face. As the song finished, you found yourself standing in front of him, slightly confused about the conversation. "Do you want to go to the balcony? Have some fresh air?" He asked, taking on a more cheerful expression, but you knew him more than to believe it was genuine. In a response you nodded and linked your arm with his.

Following him through the sea of people, you finally arrived at the balcony, looking down to a smaller version of a park, a water fountain standing tall in its centre. You leaned against the rail as you watched the trees battling the silent wind, fallen leaves being blown across the walking path. Tom joined beside you, his eyes following the same direction as you did before they halted on your face. "You are being strange tonight," you spoke up, feeling his gaze resting on you before you turned to him, meeting his eyes.

"I'm just thinking," he added with a half-hearted smile.

"About?" You asked as you reached for his hand resting on the rail and placed yours on top of his. He turned his palm upside down and lifted your hand, hinting a small kiss on your knuckles as he heaved a heavy sigh. "Tom talk to me," you squeezed his fingers reassuringly, his eyes watching you, not leaving your gaze for a moment. "You have been rather quiet around me," you added.

His whole body turned to you, as though he was focusing his complete attention on you. Reaching towards you, he brushed your hair to the side, gently tucking it behind your ear. You leaned into the touch involuntarily, only realising your actions when he caressed your cheek with his thumb, before moving down and running it across your lips. The feeling burnt you, starting your mind off in a very dangerous territory, one that you have been avoiding. 'He is your friend' you tried to remind yourself. But once the tip of his thumb brushed along your lips once again, you couldn't stop yourself. Stepping forward, you placed your hands on his chest, steading yourself and rose on your tiptoes, pressing your lips against his.

Your own bravery surprised you, but Tom didn't seem affected. As soon as your lips met, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. He didn't hesitate, he wasn't surprised. He just held you, gently running his lips along yours, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. But as much as you wanted to enjoy the moment, realisation hit you. You were kissing your best friend. You gently pushed him away, stumbling back from the force, covering your mouth with your palm. "I'm so sorry," you breathed, panic rising in your chest. "I have no idea what happened, I don't know why I did that, I'm so sorry," your words were rushed, your heartbeat loudly pulsing in your ears.

But Tom's gaze twinkled. A soft, warm smile grew wider across his face as he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you. "I'm not," he said as he pressed his forehead against yours. "I've been wanting to kiss you," he breathed as he closed his eyes momentarily, slightly shaking his head. "I've been wanting to tell you how much I love you; I've been trying to gain the courage to say it out loud," he scoffed. "I'm a fool for dragging it out for so long, but I love you," his voice shook as he said the words, but his arms tightened around you, safely holding you against his chest. It took you a second to understand what he meant, that your feelings weren't unrequited, that he has been harbouring the same feelings you have.

A heavy sigh left your lungs, as though a weight fell off your chest. Your lips curved into a smile as you placed your hands on his cheeks, running the tip of your thumbs across his jawline. He mirrored your expression whilst leaning into your touch, planting a small kiss on your palm. "I love you too," you replied finally," the words rolling off the tip of your tongue easier than you expected. "I love you so much," you giggled, wanting to repeat the words over and over again, until you finally understood that it was real, that you weren't dreaming. "You never know what the future holds for you, huh?" You asked, repeating his words from earlier in the evening, earning a loud chuckle from him. "So, is this one of those many possibilities?" you raised a single brow.

"Could be. I have a couple more ideas," he said, his soft smile turning into a confident grin.

"You are terrible," you gently hit his chest as you grabbed his suit-jacket and pulled him down to you, meeting his lips halfway, smiling into the intimate moment you have been craving for so long.

Notes: If you enjoyed reading this little piece, please don’t forget to leave a like, comment and/or reblog. Your opinion matters and gives us motivation. Thank you ^^

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

Taglists; Send me a message if you would like to be added :)

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x y/n #tom hiddleston x yn #thomas sharpe #thomas sharpe x reader #jonathan pine #jonathan pine x reader #robert laing #robert laing x reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston one shot #tom hiddleston imagine

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kiridarling · 4 years ago

Text

𝐂𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐞𝐤𝐮, 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐨

𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐊𝐔.

→ Okay. Izuku Midoriya? A sadist.

→ And you've been a brat all day, because he's been busy fighting crime as a newly debuted pro hero, and you can't help it if Izuku's new suit fits him a little too well.

→ And of course, the one day he finally has time to take you on a date you two go to the mall, only to be swarmed with thousands of Pro Hero Deku fans buzzing with requests for photo's and autographs and other bullshit and you just want to clobber them in the head and spit the ugly truth in their faces—that at the end of the day, their lovely Deku comes home to you, and sleeps next to you, and the fact that they can steal his attention away from you is absolutely outrageous. Blasphemy.

→ So naturally, you start acting up. You roll your eyes at the next fan who asks you to take the picture and you scoff at the next fan that announces their love. You pile them on, offense after offense, and by the time you get into the car, Izuku's practically vibrating with anger.

"Say one word and I'm bending you over the hood."

→ Oh.

→ Needless to say, you're squirming the whole ride; though you're unsure if it's from his words, the dead silence, or the tight grip Izuku has on your thigh but either way, the trip back home feels painfully long.

→ The second you two get through the door, he's cornering you into the living room and bending you over the arm of the couch without a second thought, big hands yanking your hips back so your ass sticks out just the way he likes it.

"Bratty doll...you wanted my attention that bad, huh?”

→ Izuku exaggerates every other word with a harsh spank that has you whimpering behind a bitten lip. Though eventually, he deems your muffled moans not enough and aggressively yanks your bottoms off, stuffing his fingers into your mouth.

→ Once they're wet enough, he slides a finger in, (because no matter how angry he is, you’re still his baby). But once you're ready? It's game over.

→ You figured Izuku was going to be a tease about it, but once he sits you on his cock and doesn't move, it has you squirming in confusion. What the hell could he be waiting for?

"Awe, what's the matter, doll? Did you want me to move?"

→ The hold his hands have on your waist is tight enough that you can't even twitch your hips—and the grip only gets tighter the more you wiggle in protest. Izuku tuts, landing a slap to your bruised ass that makes one thing clear: You’re not moving.

→ The green-haired bastard turns on the tv, for fucks sake. And has the audacity to pretend like he's paying attention to whatever's on—because it's not like you're paying attention, too preoccupied with the cock in your guts. You can't squirm because something tells you that'll only lengthen the punishment you've been sentenced to, but by the end of the first episode, it's a little hard not to.

→ Izuku caves the second you start begging. Mostly because it was what he was waiting for, but also he's probably struggling worse than you while he watches you whimper and squirm in his lap.

“Fine, doll. Since you waited so patiently, I guess I can make you feel good.”

𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈.

→ 100% your idea

→ And he had absolutely no warning. The Bakusquad decided to hold a movie night in the common room on a random Saturday evening when the dorms were pretty much empty. Katsuki didn't even want to be down there in the first place, but after you winked so prettily and promised he'd get a treat if he came, he didn't grumble nearly as much.

→ But what he didn't know was that you meant right now.

→ Katsuki knew something was up the second you sat in his lap and asked Denki for a blanket—that's rarely your Bakusquad move night cuddle position, plus you're always saying how you never need a blanket because Katsuki runs so warm.

→ And he definitely knew something was up when you started grinding against him, not even ten minutes into whatever shitty action movie Denki and Eijirou convinced the group to watch this time. His hands rush to your hips because if Katsuki Bakugou is anything, he's not a goddamn exhibitionist.

"Oi, the fuck are you doing, dumbass? They're gonna fuckin' see."

→ But as always, you take his words with a grain of salt, already blindly fiddling with the buckle of his belt despite his threats (AKA, I'm gonna fuckin' kill you, you fuckin' heathen). The metal clinks for a second and both of you tense, but it seems no one hears it over the movie, so. You relax.

→ Katsuki does not.

→ You wait for a loud crash from the television speakers and you're sinking down on Katsuki's cock, his teeth tearing into your shoulder as he holds back a moan. Both of you let out a shaky breath when you bottom out.

"W-Well? You gonna fuckin' move or what?"

→ You shake your head.

"No? Fuck."

→ And honestly, all is well until about twenty minutes into the movie. At this point, Katsuki's semi-comatose, eyes half-lidded from the surprisingly peaceful warmth you're both encompassed in. But unfortunately, this peace is disturbed by a rude awakening that comes in the form of none other than Denki Kaminari.

→ All he does is mention how Katsuki looks much too out of it, owing it all to "y/n's juicy caboose," but it has your boyfriend practically rearing on his hind legs in fury either way.

→ In the middle of all the commotion, you take the opportunity to wiggle your hips a bit, rendering the majority of Katsuki's arguments repetitive and ineffective. The bickering blond's shut up once Mina calls for it, and Katsuki returns to whisper-yell threats in your ear again.

"Do you want us to get fuckin' caught? Huh? I ca—fuckin' hell—stop movin’!"

→ But you giggle, having a little too much fun with this. The death grip Katsuki has around your thigh implies he’s closer than you thought, and the moment the action in the movie starts to pick up again, so does the steady roll of your hips.

→ Katsuki practically whimpers into your ear, body shaking with restraint because he lacks the proper space to “put you in your place” or however he wants to put it. You know he’s teetering on the edge when he resorts to something Katsuki Bakugou never does—begging.

“Babe—babe c-c’mon please, I don’t wanna—”

→ Katsuki’s nails dig into your thigh and he shivers as he fills you up, bottom teeth digging into his swollen lip. His quiet moans push you off the edge as well, adding to the mess under the blanket as fake explosions emanate from the tv screen.

→ That was...something.

“I hate you so goddamn much.”

→ You snort, rolling your eyes at his overdramatic ass. But?

“...But that was the hottest sex of my fuckin’ life.”

𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀.

→ You and Hanta definitely do this once a month. At least.

→ Getting high with Hanta as your boyfriend is probably one of your favorite things. He's got snacks, cool LED lights, a monitor that constantly plays animal planet while the speakers play lofi. It's an experience.

→ And of course, you two get horny—though sex is a little hard when you're feeling fuzzy. Hanta's a high-functioning stoner but frankly, you're not, and even he gets a little fumbly when it comes down to it. Cockwarming seemed like the only viable option.

→ Half of the time, it's not even that sexual. Watching otters chase each other with his back pressed up against yours as you bask in a familiar warmth that only comes from true human connection is nice. Feeling his lips place butterfly kisses against the column of your neck is nice. Just...being with Hanta is nice.

→ But tonight? Tonight it's definitely sexual.

"So warm, Princess. You know your body does things to me, don't you?"

→ You didn't, but the way he says it definitely makes you believe him, and so does the way he rubs his hands up and down your sides. Hanta bites into your neck and you stifle a moan, balancing yourself on his knees.

→ You jump when his hand ghosts your inner thigh, and he chuckles when you bite your lip, eyes trained on the hand moving between your legs.

"Like it when I rub you like that, Princess? Like it when I turn you into a messy little puddle in my arms, hmm?"

→ You whine and nod, chest shuddering with the threat of an impending orgasm. Hanta curses behind you, the hand holding you steadily by the waist tightening.

"Shit—keep clenching like that and you might make me cum, Princess."

→ Hanta huffs out a laugh but you can hear the genuine implication behind it, can feel it in the pant of his breath against your neck. The thought of making him cum from something so simple has you hurtling towards your orgasm at an alarming speed, nails digging into his forearm as the weight of your marijuana-laced orgasm hits you like a fucking freight train.

→ Hanta moans breathily, eyebrows knitting as his own orgasm catches him by surprise. His hips twitch and it almost sends you flying off his lap but somehow, you don't go tumbling—though you might owe that to the vice grip Hanta has on your hip.

→ You two come down, basking in the gentle blue of the ocean as the chatter from the Australian narrator about the Humpback whales and their baleen teeth fills the room. You move to get up but Hanta whines, hands keeping you still via your waist.

"Lemme stay inside for a bit...'S warm."

[a/n: thanks for stopping by angel, and let me know who you want to see next <3. see you soon!]

—ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴀɴ 𝟷𝟾+ ʙʟᴏɢ. ᴍɪɴᴏʀs ᴅɴɪ

#— 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈 #— 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀 #— 𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐊𝐔 #bnha headcanons #bnha smut #bnha fanfiction #bakugou headcanons #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #deku x reader #deku headcanons #deku smut #sero headcanons #sero x reader #sero smut

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tangledstarlight · 3 years ago

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there’s people chasing us and i pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close" for Juke, but the people are fans??

lets all just pretend the whole start isn't so convoluted. i kinda forgot they needed to be running and kinda panicked lmao i distracted myself by starting it with an emperors new grove reference for some reason??? 😬 anyway!! hope you like it! 😊💜

1. there’s people chasing us and i pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close

50 cliche tropes and prompts!

Sometimes, Julie felt a little like her life was like the beginning of The Emperor's New Groove where Kuzco is pulling down slides and telling the audience how his life ended up like this. A sad llama in the rain.

Only she wasn’t a llama. And she wasn’t in the rain. And she definitely wasn’t sad.

But honestly, if someone was to ask her how she ended up in an alley, breathing heavily with her best friend and bandmate, Luke Patterson standing so close she can feel his breath on her cheeks, can see the flecks of gold in his eyes? She’s not sure how she’d explain it.

The day had started out so normal. They had a day off between tour stops and had decided to use their time wisely. To actually visit the city they were in. Reggie had made an itinerary and everything. They were going to be tourists and buy tacky keychain presents and try the world's best coffee that was advertised on a sign Alex had seen the night before.

The problem might have been the four of them forgetting that people recognised them now. That walking down the street was starting to become a problem. Especially when they were all together. And they’d always known that this was part of their dreams, that making music that connected with people meant that there would be, well, people.

But they’d never really been prepared for it.

One day they were no one. The next, they had crowds of people chasing them down the street asking for photos and autographs and wanting to touch her hair or feel Luke’s arms or wear Alex’s hat.

They’d stopped to take a photo with one girl outside the hotel, and had paused for a small conversation with a few fans near a music shop, and when they’d come out of the cafe with the world's best coffee there had been a small crowd waiting for them.

Being polite and patient only got them so far and when someone started getting a little aggressive with Reggie, the four of them did the only thing they could think of.

They started running.

Luke had grabbed her hand, tugging her through the crowd and running down the street as fast as they could. Hoping Alex and Reggie running in the opposite direction would give them all enough time to put some distance between them all.

“Where are we going!?” She pants, throwing a look over her shoulder as the sound of too many feet starts to follow them.

Luke squeezes her hand and she almost trips over a crack in the pavement when she looks back at him, his cheeks a little red as all he says is, “Trust me.”

And well, that she can do. She’s been trusting Luke since the day they met. Most people, mostly Flynn, would say she was crazy for trusting him so much, with so much. But Luke had never let her down and Julie didn’t think he ever would. Not intentionally at least.

So they run, Julie let’s Luke pull her down a street and across a road and around a store and down an alley.

It’s blocked off at the end by a metal fence and, as they hear more footsteps approaching, Luke pulls her behind a tower of old cardboard boxes. One of his hands is on her waist while his other is still holding hers, only now he has it pinned against the brick wall next to her head. They're both breathing heavily, from the running, from adrenaline, from how close they’re now standing.

Luke’s breath fans across her face, and she can smell the mint chewing gum that she’d passed around to them all after their breakfast. She can see the way his eyes are tracking over her face, the way blue mixes with green with grey and idly wonders if there’s even a way to describe the colour of his eyes accurately. She’d like to spend a few hours trying.

Julie knows they’ve stood this close before. That there’s been so many times over the years where it’s just been them, in their own little world of possibilities. But she knows they’ve never stood like this. That if breathes out her chest brushes against his, and if she leant just a little forward her lips would touch his chin.

“I think we lost ‘em,” Luke whispers and normally this is when her thoughts would stop. When the weird little bubble of intimacy they’d created would pop.

But it doesn’t. And Luke doesn’t let go of her hand, doesn’t step back, doesn’t stop looking at her.

“Power of cardboard boxes,” she says back, voice low and she wonders what he’s thinking as her breath ghosts across his lips. Wonders if maybe he’s thinking the same thing she is and his eyes dip down once.

“We should probably go find the boys.” But Luke still doesn’t make any move and neither does she.

“Luke,” she starts, and Julie doesn’t really know what she’s going to say. Doesn’t have a plan or even a thought to voice because all she can think about is what it would be like for him to close the gap between their bodies, for him to press her a little harder against the brick, for them to finally kiss.

It’s only when one of his brows ticks up slightly, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip and for his fingers to flex against her waist that Julie realises that she might have said all of that out loud. Though she can’t quite find it in herself to mind when Luke is leaning down and that last bit of distance is gone. It’s slow and soft, lips moving carefully together like both of them are afraid of something. And then Luke presses her a little hard against the wall and she lets out a moan against his mouth and things get a little rougher, a little messier.

Luke pulls away first, chest heaving as he sucks in a breath and Julie opens her eyes to see the wide smile on his face. She’s pretty sure her smile is just the same. Giddy and excited and just a little bit scared. Tilting her head back against the wall Julie closes her eyes and tries to regain her composure, not that Luke resting his forehead against hers is doing anything to help matters.

"We need to go," Julie mutters, lips brushing at the edge of his jaw and she almost lets out a whine of protest as he moves his head away from hers, though it merely turns into a sharp inhale as his lips trail down her neck.

“You’re standing on my foot,” she giggles, toes wiggling in her shoes against the sole of his foot, and Julie feels more than sees his smile.

So okay, maybe it wasn't such a complicated story of how she ended up in an alley with her back against a wall while Luke was sucking at her neck. Maybe she was just working shopping ideas on how to recount the story to Flynn later on. For a first, second, third kiss in a dirty alley next to boxes Julie thinks it’s pretty great.

#ask #sanssssastark #julie and the phantoms #*prompts #juke #is there just me a small paragraph of me once again wondering what colour charlies eyes are? maybe!!#anyway idk what else to tag this as #it's 2am i should really be asleep

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aizawa-needs-coffee · 3 years ago

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Can I please get a Fatgum x reader. A chubby reader who is Fatgums biggest fan and always tries to bring him homemade baked goods to his public appearances in hopes of meeting him?

GN reader x Fatgum SFW Fluff Word Count: 668

Gripping the tin closer to your chest as you shuffled up one more place in the line, your heart was racing, your hands clammy on the metal surface. You loved Fatgum, he had been your favourite hero for as long as you could remember. You loved him in both his forms, thinking even his round one was so handsome and cute. You tip toed as best you could to try and get a glimpse of him. You came to everyone of his public appearances, always with a homemade gift.

This time you were going to meet him for sure! He was doing a signing, it was rare he ever did something like this, not as into the fame and fortune as a lot of the pros but he wanted to take time out to thank his fans. You’d staid up so late the night before trying to bake just the perfect thing for the hero.

And you’d been in line for at least a few hours. Your pulse raced, so excited you could barely contain yourself. You wore your Fatgum t-shirt, another reason you loved the plus size hero, his merch was always comfy on your chubby frame.

The line moved a few more paces and you felt butterflies in your stomach, now you could see the large man in bright yellow over the heads of the crowd, flashes from cameras and people clapping. It wasn’t too much longer before you were at the front, your turn next.

You took a breath and put on your biggest brightest smile as he called you forward. He smiled so happily at you, he was such a sunshine person, and it warmed your heart. You went to set down the tin you had carried with great love and care before security put their hand up.

“I..It’s just cookies, I spent all night baking them for him…” You trembled a little.

“Hey come on guys! Don’t be so mean! They clearly went to the trouble of making me a gift, let them through” Fatgum huffed at the man in the suit “But what if-““I trust them, also a few cookies won’t kill me” The large man waved the guard off and nodded for you to come forward.

“So sorry about that sweety, wow is this for me?” he asked as you set them down, nodding your head, hands gripping the hem of the shirt as you blushed slightly.

He opened the tin making a happy sound, they were cookies decorated in his colours, his smile got even bigger if that was at all possible. He picked one up and munched on it, you’d never been so nervous in your life.

“Oh, oh wow, these are SO good, wow!” he munched on another, then another with a pleased noise. “These are the best cookies I have evertasted!”

“Really?!” you gasped, louder then you had meant, causing a deeper blush across your cheeks. He chuckled at your outburst and nodded, he closed the tin and set it down next to him. “Hey, give me your number so I can return the tin when I’m done?”

You internally screamed when he handed you a pen and paper, you scribbled down your name and number, sliding it to the pro hero who put it in his pocket. You felt tears prick your eyes, you had never been so happy.

“Can I… h..have a selfie and an autograph.. p..please?” You didn’t want to sound selfish…He nodded his head “That’s the least I can do after those amazing cookies! Come here!”

You stood in front of the table and posed in a selfie with him, you both had huge grins on your face, giving the peace sign. He signed your T-shirt which you hung up in your living room as soon as you got home, bursting with pride and joy. He even posted a photo of your cookies on his Instagram with the caption I have the best fans! Totally delicious cookies from today’s meet and greet!

#sfw #gender neutral reader #fatgum x reader #fatgum mha x reader #fatgum x reader insert #mha #mha x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha reader insert #mha reader insert

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dabiboy · 4 years ago

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I LOVE your fluffy dad series! Haru has the same color wings as his dad right? What if him & reader are grocery shopping & a hero groupie snaps a pic? Leading to them getting mobbed by paparazzi 😨

Omg thank you so much! It really makes me happy that you like it 🥺Oh, and initially I described them as yellow-golden, and the underside of them is an almost metallic red, like Hawks’s but brighter. However, I’m still unsure about it lol so in the meantime, it is reader's choice 😅

Bird Boys

It was Keigo's day off. That day in which he could get to relax and spend time with his family, probably watching some movies, eat something different, and those kinds of things. Or at least, that is how the day offf should have been. Instead, he had insisted on joining you and Haru for the morning, what can go wrong? It is just grocery shopping, right?

Dead wrong.

Even wearing civilian clothes, he was spotted. And how not to, if those gigantic red wings were not subtle at all. Some people politely asked him for a photo, others for an autograph, and others for both, respecting the boundaries with you and his son. However, there was that one person, who took a photo of him holding Haru in his arms, two winged boys who caught the attention of paparazzi and social media in less than five minutes. Of course, some human being that ran a popular hero blog decided to post the picture and it blew up the whole internet, ''We will get to see another winged hero around?'' That was the title, aiming directly to Haru.

They were about to leave the store, but it was impossible when the three of you were surrounded by a bunch of people taking photos, microphones on your face and multiples cameras pointing at you. It was even hard to identify what they were saying, too many different voices, too many different questions.

Haru hid behind your legs, resting his hands on it in an attempt of hiding, since most of the cameras were looking for him. Keigo cursed to himself and smiled at them, the smile they were used to see.

''Winged hero Hawks, are you going to train your son to be a hero like you?'' A reporter asked.

''Not really, I'm not dragging him into a particular lifestyle, if he wants to be a chef so be it'' He replied ''Any other question? Not about my son, though'' Keigo raised an eyebrow and his hand reached Haru's head so he could ruffle his hair, just to make him feel a little bit comfortable.

He was aware that there was no way for him to get away from the press, and he knew how much of a headache they could be, so he was not letting Haru get harassed by some noisy reporters.

It was his free day, time to be spent with his family and there he was, answer silly questions about what his company was doing.

''You know what, I appreciate your attention and all but it is my free day today, and I promised my family that we were watching movies so, yeah. Take care you people.''

You heard him whisper near your ear ''hold on tight'' at the same time he grabbed Haru in his arms. Knowing what he was about to do, the reporters took some steps away, and Keigo opened his wings. After two seconds, he was already up in the sky away from the reporters. He landed on the rooftop of your building, setting you and Haru on the ground.

''Sorry about that'' He moved his hand to his nape ''They can be a pain in the ass sometimes''

''Yeah, but you handled it well'' You pressed a kiss on his cheek.

''Can we fly again!?'' Haru asked, his little wings flopping in excitement

''Su-'' Keigo was about to answer with the exact same emotion as his son, but you interrupted him.

''First you have lunch, and then you fly. I want my two favorites bird boys to stay safe!'' This time you picked Haru in your arms and kiss his forehead.

Keigo put his arm around you and kissed your temple, making the way to the stairs that led to your floor. His free day was still going good, he couldn't ask for anything else.

#mha hawks #hawks #hawks x reader #my hero academia hawks #hawks headcanons #dabi x hawks #hawks x y/n #bnha hawks #bnha keigo #keigo takami imagine #keigo takami #keigo x y/n #mha takami keigo #takami keigo x reader

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brettyimages · 2 years ago

Text

Crushed Kid

Manchester Deaf Institute 6.9.22 - tour diary

I'm on my way to see ABBA Voyage and suddenly get a message from my Suede tour friends to keep the 5th and 6th free. Nobody knows why. Just keep those dates free.

Be in London on the 5th and/or Manchester on the 6th. Nobody knows why. Just be there. Brainstorm on the train home trying to figure out what I have on at work next week. Can I go to Manchester without having to take holiday. I get home and decide the answer is yes. Hotels and trains are procured.

I get out of the cinema and take my phone off airplane mode in the toilets. My phone has exploded with BABE HAVE YOU GOT A TICKET messages. I buy a ticket to see a band called Crushed Kid. My heart feels like it’s going to explode as I sit in the cubicle trying to remember my login details for a ticket site I haven’t used in years.

I bring forward my plans to dye my hair and make Suede-themed jewellery and finish embroidering Brett’s autograph onto my jacket. Everything is done by the end of the weekend.

Monday, I work an early shift so I can leave the office an hour early to travel to Preston. I can work from there, it’s only 35 minutes on the train to Manchester. I listen to four songs on repeat all the way - She Still Leads Me On, 15 Again, That Boy On The Stage, Shadow (of my former) Self. I spend the night unable to sleep in my crappy hotel room. I dream about Suede.

Tuesday morning, I get up early again and work another early shift so I can leave the office an hour early to travel to Manchester. I see photos and read reviews from London. It’s almost time.

I arrive at Piccadilly station in my Metal Mickey t-shirt. I am powerwalking to the hotel so I can drop my things and speed to the venue. In the station, I walk past an elegant skinny character with long hair and black leather jacket. I smile at Neil Codling and wonder if he noticed me.

I powerwalk from my hotel to the Piccadilly Gardens bus stops. I walk past a girl I was friends with a decade ago who I hoped never to see again. I’m going so fast that hopefully she didn’t have time to register me. The rain starts pouring as I approach the buses and I jump on the first one I see that is going my way.

There are a couple of people outside the Deaf Institute and a lot more outside the Sandbar, the pub across the road. I say hi to the people at the door. I find my friends - we’re reunited for the first time since the Autofiction film shoot.

Someone informs us that barriers have gone up outside the venue and we rush outside to join the queue. The rain starts again and we’re allowed inside to queue on the stairs. The toilets are wallpapered with Dolly Parton images and covered in graffiti. We’re all back together.

The doors open. The Deaf Institute auditorium is about the size of the living room in my parents’ house; there’s no barrier. My friend is pressed against the stage in front of Richard and I’m directly behind her, second row. The DJ plays 80s post-punk and I stare at Brett’s microphone stand five feet from me.

Technicians tape down setlists, put out little bottles of water, check the guitars are ready. We wait (im)patiently for 8:30pm.

Without stopping the music or dimming the lights, Simon, Richard, Mat and Neil saunter on stage. The crowd goes wild. Brett makes his own grand entrance. He’s wearing a white shirt. They launch into Autofiction.

She Still Leads Me On live for real, not mimed for a music video. Brett’s voice amplified through a microphone that’s turned on and not just heard from beside me in the crowd, although the place is tiny enough that we’d have heard him without.

Richard has four or five shirt buttons undone. Neil is dressed exactly as I saw him earlier. His hair is wavy at the front; he must have been caught in the rain too.

Brett and I make eye contact for a second during one of the songs I haven’t heard yet. Personality Disorder, perhaps. I gaze up at him, reaching out for him. I can see my hand with its Portobello Road Market rings and homemade bracelets reaching for him in fan photos the next day.

He kicks his bottle of water off the stage. It bounces off my friend’s face and lands on my chest. It stays between my feet for the rest of the set. Then in my bag for the rest of the night. Now it’s at home with me. After a couple of songs he complains to his technicians that they didn’t put enough water on stage for him.

15 Again, That Boy On The Stage, some new songs I’ve not heard before. Drive Myself Home is the most beautiful piano ballad, like By The Sea if it didn’t swell up into a pop song. Brett sings tenderly but keeps walking over and pointing at the monitor we’re pressed into. His pointing and facial expressions become increasingly angry. The cable is loose and he can’t hear himself.

Brett is drenched in sweat and his white shirt is translucent. I can just about reach him when he steps towards us. I can see every fleck of spit that comes out of his mouth when he’s singing passionately. He has been sticking his tongue out since he stepped on stage.

Shadow Of My Former Self becomes Shadow Self. The chorus sounds strange at its correct pitch after listening to the edited version so many times. This time next month, it’ll be the edited version that sounds strange.

What Am I Without You is a ballad in the style of theatre - an ‘I’m Going Home’ or a ‘People’ made Suede. Brett says he wrote the song for us, the audience, and that he’s also an audience, and that we want the same thing, he doesn’t know what it is but he knows we all want it.

Finally he steps close enough during the final song for me to put a hand on his thigh. The lady next to me ushers me into her spot so I can move it to his stomach, his ribs. He is soaking wet and his sweat coats my fingertips as I press my hand against his body.

The album ends and the band leaves. Richard shakes hands with a couple of fans in front of me. The smile on his face is a mile wide. Same goes for everyone else in the room.

We’ve filed out to the stage door, mingling. Justin Welch from Elastica is driving the van. I’ll never get to see Elastica live so it’s nice to spot him in this context.

Brett and Simon are mingling with everyone. Brett makes lighthearted conversation, asks if everyone is happy, offers to put his signature on setlists and t-shirts. We all huddle together for the customary group photo. He says he has a feeling it’s going to be a good picture.

We’re back in the Sandbar until closing time. Catching up on what we’ve just seen. Staring at each other wide-eyed, lucky, increasingly sleepy. Groups begin to split up - off to the hotel vs into the night. There’s McDonalds and Ubers and 5 hours of broken sleep.

Wednesday, I work an early shift so I can leave an hour early to get home. I’m sleepy, but happy. The Brett group photo appears in the morning, along with lots of other photos and reviews. My friend posts some of my photos and Suede share them on their Instagram.

I get to the train station and find that my train is delayed for an hour. I’ll miss the last bus home. I hop on another train that is due in on the same minute my bus leaves. The bus company slides into my DMs to promise they’ll delay the bus by a couple of minutes if I rush to catch it, and I make it home. There’s a ticket in my letterbox for next weekend’s Suede concert.

#autofiction era #journal

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maplecornia · 3 years ago

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chapter 12

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 2.04K

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: i've been doing this all day, omg and i'm hardly near to catching up ;-;

You move too fast.

Taehyung practically races down the halls of BigHit as he tries to catch up with you, flash drive clenched tightly in his hand, heart beating fast in his chest. He’s scared, he’s nervous. The only thing keeping him going is the adrenaline that still manages to course through his veins.

For some reason, the sight of you at that moment, the chance encounter, is too good to be true. It's something that he can't ignore. He’s seen you three times already, too many for it to be a coincidence.

What was the saying again?

Three coincidences are proof that your encounter was fate.

Taehyung never believed in fate before.

He never thought that his life was set and made in the stars. He never imagined that there was someone out there especially made for him.

As he turns the corner, he catches sight of you at the end of the hall. As soon as he sees you, he stops in his tracks, frozen.

His heart jumps as your eyes open and flickers over to him, but they don't see Taehyung standing there. It's as though you look right through him. As though you're so involved with the world you've created in your mind that you don't even register you've just glanced his way. As you turn your eyes from him and retreat down the corner, he starts, his heart pummeling with panic as you disappear from his sight.

“Wait!” He calls after you, but if he expects you to hear him, he's out of luck. He could have run after you, he could have called out once more. But the thought of talking to you, seeing you, for the first time since that moment on the bridge, causes him to fall short. His feet root firmly to the floor, refusing to take him forward. He almost wants to turn back. He’s not sure if he’s ready to see you again, this time without the mask.

Will you see him as he is like you did the first time you met?

Or will you only see the star?

Trying to put the thought out of his mind, he shakes his head, cursing himself softly under his breath. He turns the corner and watches as you enter an elevator, the doors closing tightly behind you just as he reaches them.

He runs straight into the metal door, the elevator dinging cheerfully at the encounter. Glaring up at the large slabs of metal, he grits his teeth.

It's almost as though the elevator is laughing at him too.

Angry, he punches them with both fists, cursing out of frustration.

The sound of the bang causes you to look up from inside the elevator, surprised, but it's already retreating down to the lobby floor.

Taehyung steps back, looking up at the arrows atop the elevator door. When he sees the down arrow lit up, he bounces a bit before turning around swiftly and dashing to the stairs, almost running into a couple on the way. Calling an apology behind him, he pummels down the stairs, his legs moving faster than he thought possible. Surprisingly he doesn't fall, even though he runs into the wall at each turn.

Once he reaches the lobby floor, he kindly pushes through a group of girls before scanning the room, freezing in place out of shock.

It's unbelievably crowded with tourists, staff, and trainees.

Out of panic, his eyes flash to the large clock behind the receptionist's desk.

4:00 pm.

He curses softly under his breath before turning back to the crowd. This is rush hour for BigHit. There's hardly any chance of him reaching you in this throng of people, he knows that. But he can't give up.

Taking a deep breath, he frantically tries to push through the mass crowd of people, his eyes never straying from the cute little ribbon you have placed in your hair. The ribbon which tells him it's you.

As tourists are being led through the building and catch sight of him, it's all the tour guides can do to remind them to leave the idols to their job. It doesn't stop some fans in the waiting room, to stand up and try to receive an autograph or photo with him.

Taehyung politely declines each inquiry, pushing past each fan.

He’s been warned before to avoid the lobby during this time, but he has to reach you. He has to talk to you, he can't let you leave.

Not after everything.

Thankfully, he emerges from the building a considerable few minutes after you do, and as he stumbles out, he scans the busy street for you.

As he glances to his left, he can't see any sign of you, passerby's brushing past him almost as though he weren't even there. Each time it happens, he tries to stand out of their way, mumbling apologies, which they just wave away.

Most people in the city don't care who he is, they see idols every day. Seeing him, especially at his company building, is nothing new to them.

Tourists are different.

Glancing behind him, he can still see the multiple ARMYs behind the window, gushing over him. Some press themselves against the window as though that would help them get closer to him. As he glances their way, some scream, others faint, even more, burst into tears.

Turning away, he can't help himself from sighing.

Sometimes he wonders if they love him, or the mask.

He scans the right side of the street and starts a bit as he sees you, waiting a bit ways down amongst a crowd. You're waiting for the light to change so that you can cross the street. He smiles to himself at the sight of you and jogs a bit down the street after you.

This time, he almost reaches you too.

The light changes, just as he nears the crowd, and you move with it, crossing the crosswalk. He curses, quickening his pace until he falls in step with the crowd, almost merging with it as he tries to catch up to you. He angles himself past a couple here. Sidesteps an elderly woman and her granddaughter there.

Despite his efforts, he isn't able to get remotely near to you.

He has lost you.

He was following the wrong girl with the same ribbon in her hair, and as she turns to greet a friend beside her, he realizes that her face doesn't belong to you.

He comes to an abrupt stop, much to the disgruntlement of the people behind him who deliberately sidestep around him. Panicking almost, he frantically scans the dozens of people wandering the streets of Seoul, peering at each person's face, just trying to find yours.

You're nowhere to be found.

You've slipped out of his hands once more.

Hopelessness gripping his heart like a parasite, he bows his head, continuing down the street.

Past multiple people.

Past the crowd, the noise.

As he passes a cafe, he catches sight of his reflection in the window. Silently, he stares at his reflection.

His eyes.

His nose.

His jaw.

Things people all over the world have memorized, able to recognize without so much of a second glance.

Almost resigned, he pulls a hat out of the backpack on his shoulder, positioning it securely on his head. It's a simple black baseball cap, one that covers his facial features enough for him to pass as a normal person in the crowd.

He doesn't care where he’s going.

Doesn't even notice as the city streets around him transform into more suburban-like ones, canopies of trees appearing above his head. Or when the crowds morph into small patches of people. Nor the teenagers who pass by him, having escaped from the confines of school and laughing as they roam down the sidewalk.

One of them bumps into Taehyung in his absentmindedness, pushing him to the left side of the sidewalk and causing Tae to drop the flash drive still secured tightly in his fist. The young man apologizes, bowing respectfully before his friends call him over and he darts away.

Taehyung watches him with a blank expression.

He remembers when he was the same as that young boy. Carefree and hopeful, ready to take on the world no matter what. Filled with a dream, a goal, something he would have given everything to achieve.

Now he’s living his dream, fighting every day to accomplish a new goal, to conquer a new barrier, to defeat a different obstacle.

When do the trials end?

When will he be satisfied?

When will he reach the light at the end of the tunnel?

Turning away, he leans down to pick up the flash drive, turning it over in his hands as he plops down on a bus bench not too far away.

It's not because he's waiting to ride it somewhere, but rather because he's tired of wandering around the city he’s been in since his trainee days. Right now, he doesn’t even know where he wants to go.

Where else can he go that he hasn't already seen?

He stares at the flash drive in his hands, the mere presence reminding him of your voice, the enchanting way you caught his attention.

Perhaps that is what made you so special to him.

That when you opened your mouth to sing, everything inside of you seemed to flow out and fill your voice to the brim with powerful emotion. With that simple gesture you were able to make him feel things he had kept inside, trying to hide from everyone else.

At that moment, your walls came down and everything spilled out, leaving you bare.

He saw you, and only you.

And it was beautiful.

Sighing almost in frustration, he tilts his head back, not even noticing the woman who sits next to him.

You stare to your left as the strange man beside you sighs, a bit confused at the action. You almost want to ask if he’s okay, but you decide against it. Every person has their bad days, you know you sure have.

You turn back to your phone, anxiously waiting for the bus to pull up. You are trying to get to a park, one that holds the same type of flowers you saw outside the window at BigHit. Well, according to Google. It's essential to you that you find another replica so that you can finish your drawing, and you weren't keen on waiting in that crowded lobby back at the company building.

However hard as you may try though, you can't seem to look away from the man sitting next to you.

Even though his hand covers his face, you can tell that he's handsome. With his sharp jawline, defined throat, and lean but muscular frame, any girl would be fawning over him without even looking at his facial features. The way he holds himself, even the delicate hands that rest over his eyes against his soft cheeks, exuberates beauty and perfection. It would be hard for anyone to force themselves to look away.

When he moves however, you panic, immediately snatch your eyes away from him, turning back to your phone. You continue to watch him from the corner of your eye, hoping that it isn't as noticeable as it seems.

Inwardly, you thank God for your excellent peripheral vision.

Tired of feeling sorry for himself, Taehyung stands. As he does, his phone clatters to the bench, but he doesn't notice. Instead, he continues to move away, back the way he came. He would have made it quite far without even noticing, but you hear the phone fall.

Your attention snaps to it as the man begins to walk away. Panic rising in your throat, you quickly stuff your phone in your satchel, removing one earbud out of your ear. You snatch his phone off of the bench and jog up to him.

As you tap him on the shoulder, he turns around, slightly annoyed. However, when his eyes rest on you, they immediately widen.

You’re saying something, staring at the phone which you hold in your hand, but he doesn't register it.

He’s too shocked.

For a moment he doesn't even know where you came from. How did you show up right here? But as he glances toward the bench, he realizes.

You were next to him all along.

His eyes flash back to you, but as yours raise to his, a glare from the sun against the bus pulling to a stop blinds your vision for a moment. You turn to the bus, shielding your eyes half in confusion. They widen when you realize that this is your ride. The doors to the bus open, and wait for any passengers to board.

Quickly, you turn to Taehyung. You take his hand in your own, and place his phone in it, securely wrapping his hands around it.

“As I said, you dropped this. You should take better care of your phone.” You hurriedly say, before glancing towards the bus. Thankfully, it has not pulled out of the bus stop, waiting for some students to board.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go.” You say, bowing slightly before running over to the open doors of the bus. Taehyung watches you walk away, but it takes you boarding the bus to wake him up from his stupor.

You were right there.

You were talking to him, only a few feet away from him.

You took his hand.

And what did he do?

He just stood there.

“Kim Taehyung, you idiot!” he hisses, as he rushes to the bus, climbing up the stairs just moments before the doors start to close. He pays his fee, nodding to the driver before turning to the rest of the bus. As he takes it in, he groans inwardly.

Why must everything be crowded today?

You are wondering the same thing as you sit on a bench close to the window. You hold your satchel tightly in your hands, not trusting anyone with the precious contents you hold inside. You were unlucky enough to find an empty spot in the back where many people begin to fill in, pressing you closer and closer against the window. Sighing slightly from the slight case of claustrophobia, you lean your head against the cool glass.

Taehyung scans the bus for you, before securing his hand on a safety bar amongst many others who weren't able to secure a seat. Even as the bus lurches forward, he searches for you, longing to find your face and that adorable little ribbon that rests in your hair. It's no use, however, as you are completely hidden from his view.

Rolling your eyes at a creepy man leering beside you, you carefully secure your other earbud in your eardrum, closing your eyes slightly as the music plays, inserting itself into your mind. You lose yourself in it, find your lips moving along to the words. Find yourself slightly humming along to it, a sound that is lost within the crowd, but can't be any clearer to you.

Across the way, Taehyung has done the same and pulls up his music. He smiles slightly as he listens to it, recognizing the song that comes up on his shuffle as the one you sang. To him, your voice was better than the original, and he tries to tell himself that this viewpoint isn't biased.

Who knows, maybe it isn't.

As the bus pulls to a stop once more, you immediately stand, recognizing the trees outside as the same trees in the pictures you found on Google Maps. After successfully stepping past the perverted man and his friends, you make your way through the crowd, murmuring apologies as you brush past some people, bumping into others.

Catching sight of the exit, just a few inches away from you, you dash for it, but some lady decides at that moment that she should get off too. As she stands abruptly, she bumps into you.

You let out a small, meek shriek as you collide, your already testy balance having been thrown off by your slight relief.

The next few moments happen fast, almost too fast for you to comprehend.

You stumble at the sudden impact. If you had more room, perhaps you wouldn't have had as much trouble, you probably could have caught yourself. As it so happens, you trip over more than just your feet.

Some guy decided it would be a smart idea to set his briefcase down on the floor.

So, as you spin-off from the lady bumping into you, your foot hooks on the briefcase, and you fall. With no knowledge of whether or not you’ll be caught.

You notice, in the back of your slightly panicked mind, that the lady looks at you, almost indignantly. She moves on without so much as a sorry, which immediately puts her on your list.

Well excuse me for being in YOUR way you little--

But that's not important.

What's important is that you don't fall, at least not into the welcoming hug the floor has provided you. Instead, careful, strong arms catch you from behind. You weren't expecting to have anyone catch you, so when they lift you to your feet, righting you and almost fixing your balance, you find your heart beating rapidly.

You hold your arms in front of your chest as though in a defensive gesture. As you straighten yourself up, your hands press against his chest, steadying you and your shaky legs. You hardly notice that as soon as they do, his heart begins to pound rhythmically beneath your touch. You don't notice the way his breath shortens or the way his pulse begins to speed up.

As you raise your eyes to his face, your mouth already forming a fumbled apology, you find your words all fall short.

You know those eyes.

Eyes that are etched into the background of your memory.

Eyes that stare at you every time you open your phone.

Eyes that you have devotedly drawn. The careful curved line before you brought it down, connecting the top eyelid to the bottom. A beautiful hazelnut brown, one that is almost amber, an eye color that you have grown to love, grown to recognize.

Ever since you were a young girl, buying his albums.

Ever since you first heard his voice, first saw his face.

They stare deep into your own, as though they are searching through you. Trying to find some hidden message, some hidden meaning which you don't know.

“Kim Taehyung.” You whisper, almost breathlessly.

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: someone give me a cookie

chapter 13 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

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