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brittledame · 4 years

Text

Pairing: Semi Eita x Reader

Warnings: Explicit, A/B/O-verse, Knotting, Creampie, Biting, Marking, Scenting, Blow jobs, locker room sex

Word Count: 7k

Summary: Semi's temper got the best of him during practice when Shirabu almost accidentally serves a ball straight into their manager. Both you and the team are worried about the older setter, but don't know what's going on with him. Unknowingly, you stumble upon Semi after his shower whilst doing chores in the empty change rooms. Semi shows you exactly what has been driving him crazy the past week. Unknowingly, you stumble upon Semi after his shower whilst doing chores in the empty change rooms. Semi shows you exactly what has been driving him crazy the past week.

Series: Part 1 of 2 (Part 2 here)

Now, you were not known for being over-dramatic, nor were you known for over exaggerating things. So, when you say aloud, “Semi has been very moody lately…” The team were beyond the point of pulling hair out in pure frustration over said male.

Safe to say, Eita is known to be a little hot headed, but when it came to anything involving Shirabu, he seemed to devolve into the human equivalent of a hair-pin trigger. Prior to whatever had triggered Eita’s down-right nasty attitude, any off-hand comments from the younger setter would at most elicit a scowl and a quick-fire jab in return.

Now though? You watched in abject horror as the situation unraveled faster than a poorly tied rope. Just as the coach had stepped out to get more paperwork for you to look over and discuss the advancements the boys have made over the past week, a ball ricocheted over in your direction, close enough for you to feel a breeze caress your cheeks.

“What in the ever-loving fuck Shirabu? I know that you have more control over your piss-poor serves than that!” Semi seethed as he marched over towards the partially stunned brunette.

Shirabu’s usually placid façade quickly evaporated into thin air as the distance between them rapidly shortened, instead it was replaced with a scowl that even had Goshiki widen his eyes and beat a hasty retreat.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Shirabu sarcastically replies, “I’ve just been a little distracted that someone has been riding my ass for the past week, so I’m sorry that I’m not performing at my best.”

Before Semi could place his hands on the shorter male, Reon and Tendou intercepted him. The latter male chucked a gangly arm across the seething setter’s shoulders, much to Semi’s evident annoyance. Reon placed a calming hand on Shirabu’s shoulder and you were relieved to see the second year’s shoulders relax slightly at the comforting touch.

“Now, now! I hardly think throwing hands with a second year is going to help whatever is going with you Eita,” Tendou wagged his finger in the air as he continued chiding Semi. “You’ll scare off poor ol’ Manager-chan if you keep up your snarling.”

You tensed up at the mention of your role. You hadn’t moved a muscle since the ball came flying your way, which honestly is a normal hazard of being manager to a power-house team. If you couldn’t handle a misfired ball here-and-there then how could you honestly function working with the rambunctious volleyball team?

You slide your eyes over to Semi, only to find he was already staring at you with dark eyes. A spark shoots down your spine, making your fingertips tingle at the sensation. You quickly break eye contact and look over to the left where Shirabu was standing quietly sulking.

“It’s fine Shirabu, it didn’t hit me, and besides,” you grin at him, “even if it did hit me, it would never trump that one time Ushijima spiked one straight into my face.”

Chuckles broke out across the group of boys, thankfully shattering the tense atmosphere. Forever missing the point, Ushijima bows and gives another apology to you while you wave him off and laugh at his serious expression. Meanwhile, Tendou steered Semi off to the side, well away from the boys now playfully teasing the ever stoic Wakatoshi.

“Honestly though dude, you’ve been stinking up the place lately. Are you really alright? And don’t brush me off again.” Tendou’s light tone turned serious, revealing to Semi just how badly his badly managed temper has effected those around him. “Is this an alpha issue or…?”

Semi rubbed at his eyes and sighed heavily .

“I’m-I’m dealing with it. I’m sorry that I’ve been a bit aggressive lately,” he said tiredly. Maybe his rut was coming a week sooner than he had anticipated, he’s never felt so on edge, especially when you were in the vicinity.

A sharp whistle cut through the air, causing a few of the younger years to wince, with the third years sighed at the loss of their short break. Practice goes back into full swing, the scene quickly forgotten as Washijou barks out commands and demands laps as retribution when they fail to satisfy him. You yourself couldn’t ruminate any longer on Semi’s apparent bad temper lately as you rush to fill in the sheets Washijou handed you and keep up with the team’s moves.

All too soon, practice was called to an end. A few whoops from the more energetic boys sounded at the whistle, but it seemed like most of the boys were exhausted from this particular practice session. The heavy mix of sweat and pheromones was enough to make you wrinkle your nose. Even after all these years you’d think that you would get used to the smell of a couple dozen alphas and betas and the occasional omega stinking up the enclosed area.

As per usual, all the members gathered around the coaches and waited for the hazing critiques coach Washijou was sure to dish out. It seemed that poor Goshiki suffered the brunt of the harsh comments, looking for all the world like he was trying not to cry. Reon and Yamagata moved closer to the first year and gave a few encouraging pats on the back, once Washijou had moved onto his next victim. Shirabu shook his head at the scene. Guiltily, you kind of understood the sentiment.

One had to be able weather all sorts of scathing critiques and comments to last long on this team. There’s a reason most omega’s don’t stay long on the team, most pushed to tears and dropping off the team before they could make a whole term. You were the longest standing omega team member and that was purely driven by spite to prove to Washijou that you weren’t a “waste of space” as he once so kindly called you.

Sliding your eyes over to Semi, you were shocked to find the dark-tipped ash blonde male already staring at you with burning eyes. Locking eyes for all of a second, he quickly looked down at the floor, tightly clutching at his towel. He was still wiping the sweat off of his brow, chest heaving as he tries to draw cool air into his tired lungs. Trying to be subtle, you scent the air, trying to locate Semi’s unique musk under the many layers of scents in the gym, but like always you couldn’t push past the reek of teenager’s sweat.

After the short intermission, he really threw himself into his serves and sets. The force he hit every ball caused a knot of something to settle in your abdomen. You couldn’t help but wonder what it’d feel like if he’d used that same force on your –

“ – and that’s all for today. I expect you all to improve on those points within the next week or you will be riding pine for however long I desire. Understand?” You gulped as you were ripped out of your dirty thoughts for a guy that wouldn’t even give you a second glance.

A resounding “Yes!” signaled the end of another day’s worth of work. Everyone started filing off towards the showers, hoping to get one of the few stalls that had decent water pressure. Thankfully, hot water was a non-issue with the mountain-load of funding appointed to the high-ranking team, otherwise it’d be a blood bath.

Steeling your nerves, you sought Semi out. You spot him standing near the entrance of the hallway leading to the locker rooms, talking animatedly to a smiling Reon. You really didn’t want to interrupt the conversation between the two alphas but you needed to talk to Semi about his attitude problem. Anymore days like today and you’re not sure if Washijou will hesitate to chuck Semi to the curb, irregardless of the power the setter brought to the court.

Thankfully you didn’t have to awkwardly catch Semi’s attention. You caught Reon’s eye and gave him an awkward wave, he nodded at you and said his goodbye to the bewildered setter. You always did love Reon’s fatherly nature, you’d have to treat him to his favourite meal of mackerel cooked in miso as a thank you sometime soon.

Semi froze when he met your eyes and you tried to not show any hesitance as you addressed him.

“Hey, I just wanted to ask about what’s up with you lately. I know it’s not exactly easy to talk about that kind of stuff to the team but…” Semi watches as you nervously tug at a piece of your hair. “You can talk to me if you want, I’d be more than happy to at least listen to anything that’s been on your mind lately.”

Semi bit his lip, eyes cast off to the side in (what you hope is) contemplation. His eyebrows furrow as you notice him scent the air, obviously displeased with what he smells, as his entire face tightens.

“I’m fine. Thanks for the offer though.” He says in clipped tones, turning away from you.

Panicking, you grab his wrist to stop him. This turned out to be the worst possible choice, as Semi’s entire body freezes. You hold your breath, not wanting to fuck up this situation more so than you already have. A short eternity passes before he brusquely shakes off your loosened grip and stalks off towards the lockers, not breathing another word to you.

Hurt, you twist your hands together. Wow, you managed to piss off one of the hottest guys in your year in less than a minute, that has to be new record. Shit, maybe he was disgusted that an unmated omega near her heat touched him? No, that wasn’t likely. Semi wasn’t one of those uptight pretentious alphas that dominated Shiratorizawa's halls, in fact he was quite sociable and friendly when he was off the court.

On the court he had a one-track mind and an itch to show the team that just because he was benched doesn’t mean he had nothing to bring to the table. It was something you greatly admired about the male, asides from his jaw-dropping physique that you had the pleasure of viewing a handful of times during the hottest days in the summer.

Still spiraling into your self-made pit of despair, you listlessly set off to complete the rest of the chores assigned to you before it got too late. You usually were the last to leave for the night, so you had the keys for lock up jingling noisily in your pocket as you drop off your annotated charts and completed stats to coach Washijou’s office. On the way back, you drop by the laundry room and sort out some of the player bibs and towels needing to be washed from the ones needing to be folded up for use the next day.

Usually you can find some enjoyment in these menial tasks, as it allows you to ruminate in your thoughts or hum a new song that’s stuck in your head, but today you finish your chores in silence. You fail to not over-analyse Semi’s new apparent distaste for your presence this past week. He was usually more than amicable towards you, popping up to offer a helping hand at random times, and offering to help carry some heavy course material when he spots you struggling in the hallways.

Sighing, you set down the last folded towel on top of the pile needing to be delivered to the locker room. You have no idea what’s gotten into him recently, but it has nothing to do with anything alpha-related, as you’ve spent many times together in the days leading up to his rut and he’s never been this adverse to your touch before.

Physically shaking the thought from your head, you straighten yourself up and check the time. Great, it was late enough that none of the boys should still be in the locker room, so you could deliver the pile of towels, go back to your dorm and sulk for the rest of the night.

The hallways were empty and silent now that the boys were more than likely filed up for dinner. Cautious, you give a precautionary knock just in case someone was loitering around instead of rushing out like the others. At the lack of response, you swing open the door and begin to place the towels around the room and sort the dirty laundry into the right washing bins.

Lost in the monotony of your everyday motions, you missed the padding footfalls leaving the showers. Eita stood there in shock when he saw your figure bent over the washing bins, left to the lockers. He cursed his luck (his misfortune, he corrects) of having the one person in the school that Eita couldn't bare to lose control around alone with him. Already he could feel his tenuous grasp on his self-restraint slipping as he observes your clueless form sort out laundry.

Sniffing at the air, Eita could scent nothing but you in the air now that there was no one else around and he could feel his dick twitch at the thought. For fuck’s sake he already went above and beyond to avoid you today and the team after that disastrous practice. He even stayed behind to rub a quick one out in the empty showers, thinking about your soft skin against his.

As Eita stood behind you, lost in his turbulent thoughts, you stand up and turn around, meeting the half-naked setter's eyes. He looks just as shocked as you, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted, failing to say anything.

You can’t help your eyes as they take in his almost nude form, feeling almost envious at the white fluffy towel hiding his modesty from your view. Water droplets fall from his partially dried, tousled hair onto his pectorals and trace translucent trails down his tight abdomen and disappearing into the towel. Your mouth dries at the sight Semi makes before you, a casual sort of attractiveness that models strive to perfect.

Amused, Eita watches you rake your eyes over his form. He’s humble enough to know he looks pretty damn good for an eighteen year old, but he still preens under your appreciative look. Licking your lips unconsciously, you once again meet his eyes, fire clashing with fire.

'Oh god, keep it in your pants!' You admonished yourself. 'The poor guy is just trying to get dressed and here you are eye fucking him, for shame!'

Blushing heavily, you turn your gaze downwards. Eita gnaws at the inside of his cheeks at the sight of your embarrassed form. If this goes down the same track Eita’s illicit thoughts had journeyed down not that long ago, Eita is going to make an embarrassment of himself.

Throwing all caution to the wind, Eita mumbles a rough “fuck it” as he marches towards your prone form. Refusing to look up at him, you petulantly turn your head away from him. Semi huffs at the act and instead draws your head up with a crooked finger under your chin. You forgot how to breathe for a moment as you met his heated gaze. God, that look alone was enough to make you shiver and feel slick start gathering in your panties.

Eita chuckled at the wide-eyed expression on your face. “Don’t look so surprised. You’re the one person who could make me lose my mind like this, and you’re all alone with me at the worst possible moment.”

It’s at that moment that you’re hit with a wall of pure alpha scent, unsullied by any of the other’s pheromones or sweat. The smell of coconut body wash mixed with his natural musk, along with sharp undertones of bergamot, overwhelmed your senses. You whimpered at connotation of such a scent, Semi was interested in you – very interested.

‘Maybe he’s close to a rut, that’s why he’s acting like this. Of course he’d be like this around an unmated omega.’ The thought was sobering and practically kills your mood.

Drawing away from the stunning male, you shake your head. “No, you’re close to a rut, that's why you're acting like this. You just want an omega to warm your bed. Any omega will do.”

You had too much self-respect to waste any time or emotion trying to play into your number one fantasy of Semi actually reciprocating your feelings and wanting to fuck you, only to find out he was just looking to get his dick wet for the night.

“That’s not true and you know it,” Semi spits out between clenched teeth, drawing you back into him. “I’ve wanted to be with you romantically since first year. You’d have to have been blind to miss it.”

Offended, you rear up and scowl at him. “I’m not getting into bed with you because your horny mouth spits out some flattery. I know for a fact you don’t see me in that way, the past few days is proof of that!”

“Have you listened to a single word I’ve said? I've been dealing with so much sexual frustration lately because all I can think about is all the different positions I could fuck you in and mark up that soft skin of yours.” A flush of heat rolls through your body at his words.

“Lately, I’ve felt so out of control around you. I really don’t want to fuck up and lose our friendship.” He finishes, whispering the words into your hair.

Okay, so Semi has also been struggling with the same feelings you’ve been fighting back with a stick since first year, that's relieving. It’s sweet that Semi regarded your friendship so highly that he wouldn’t risk a potential mishap like this to fuck it up. The thought warms you in a way different to before.

“We’re such idiots,” you huff, burying your face into his chest. “I’ve liked you for awhile now as well. I just thought you'd always regard me in a platonic way. Kind of funny now that I think about it.” You slowly inhale, drawing in his soothing scent, as Semi wrapped his arms around you.

“Satori once commented that if there was anymore sexual tension between us, he expected us to spontaneously start fucking on the floor like animals.” Semi chuckled, tightening his grip minutely.

You hum thoughtfully. “Nah, I always imagined our first time either in one of our dorms or against the lockers.”

Looking up, you had the pleasure of watching a delicious-looking blush coat Semi’s cheeks at your teasing tone. Bring his hand up, he cups your cheeks and swipes his thumb gently under your eye, while the other draws circles over your hip. You tip your head back and relish in the feeling of his soft touches.

“Oh, really now?” He lowly teased back. “Why don’t we try it then?”

Semi releases your cheek, winds his arms around your waist and picks you up, walking you towards the very same lockers that had a starring role in your midnight fantasies. You have no idea who initiated the kiss, but your lips collided together just before your back was pressed against the cold metal.

You didn’t feel fireworks going off in the background, nor little birds start singing at your first kiss, but good god, did he make you feel light as a feather and make your heart all fluttery. Without thinking, you hook your legs around his torso and wind your fingers through his still-damp hair.

His lips were surprisingly soft and so very plush, you could easily get addicted to kissing Semi. You waited until the last possible second before you drew back for breath, panting against his lips for a moment, before diving right back in.

Out of nowhere, Semi roughly nips at your bottom lip and you gasp in response. He doesn't hesitate as he slides his tongue between the seam of your pink lips and entangle your tongues together. Moaning, you draw your trimmed nails down his naked back, blindly taking in each ridge and ripple of muscle of his toned physique. Semi's body trembles at the sensation.

This time Semi was the one to pull back with a gasp, burying his head in the crook of your neck, panting heavily.

“Do that again and I’ll really lose it.” His growl shot straight down to your core. You decide to tempt fate and really push Semi’s buttons, excited to see how far he’ll take it. You grind down onto his growing erection, while simultaneously raking your nails down his back hard enough to leave pink trails of irritated skin.

Semi almost immediately bucked up into up and moaned aloud. That moan alone was enough for slick to start pouring out of you, not to mention the dark look the alpha gives you.

“I warned you.” He says lowly, tone heavy with a dark promise.

Without letting you catch your breath, he dives back down to your mouth, kissing and nipping you with fervour that left you dizzy. Without thinking, you grind onto him, your core clenching on nothing as it grinds against Semi’s rigid length.

You couldn’t wait to see Semi’s cock, you had your guesses on what it might look like, maybe it was average size with above average girth, or maybe it was a little on the longer side, enough so that it could reach depths unexplored by your wondering fingers.

Well you always were the one to take advantage of any situation you were placed in and this one was no different to any other. Disconnecting your lips, a thin string of saliva connects the two of you snaps as you draw away and unhook your legs from around his back. Gliding out of his grasp, you slide your back down the lockers.

“Whoa, what are you doi-?” Grabbing his hips, you swing him so that his back was flat against the lockers and swiftly removed the infernal piece of fabric. The sight before you was drool-worthy, a cause to rub your thighs together to try and relieve the itch to just grab his dick and just cram it up inside of you – prep be damned. Instead, you just gawk at his dick, watching it twitch up against his stomach as Semi gives you a curious look.

It was of average thickness, but the length? That was well above average. The sight of a throbbing vein on along the right side of his cock caught your attention and god would that feel absolutely heavenly inside of you. If you were on the fence before, you now decided not to leave this room until you get the dicking down you deserve from putting up with his hormonal bullshit for the past week.

Licking your lips, you make eye contact with Semi as you grasp his dick and place the tip at the seam of your mouth. You absolutely adore the passionate heat in his gaze, giving him a slight smirk as you deliver a few small kitten licks to his tip.

“Stop playing around, gorgeous. I know exactly how skilled that tongue is.” Shivering at the demand, you close your eyes as you slowly make your way down his shaft. While you don’t regret showing the boys your odd talent of tying cherry stems with just your tongue, it seems to have come back to bite you in ass.

Unsurprisingly, you’re not able to fit the entirety of his cock in your mouth before you draw back for a moment before starting a faster pace. It only took a few tries before you could fit his entire length in your mouth, moaning when you feel it hit your oesophagus. You were eternally grateful for your lack of gag reflex, you would hate to ruin this life changing moment by chucking up on the poor guy.

Remembering the vein, you seek it out with your tongue and rub against it, appreciating the fact that you could literally feel how fast Semi’s heart was beating.

Groaning, he threaded a calloused hand through your loose locks and gave an occasional tug whenever you did something exceptional. You increase the sucking pressure and encouraged Semi to thrust up into you mouth by pressing his hips towards you. Receiving the message loud and clear, Semi set up his own fast pace, rolling his hips back and forth, almost overwhelming you.

Wanting to get back some control, you gently scrape your teeth down his shaft as he pulls out. Semi’s body immediately started trembling as he groaned aloud. Pulling at your hair, he tries to suppress the orgasm building quickly up in his abdomen. He would rather die than have a premature orgasm, he’s waited so long to have you like this, and he’ll be damned if your sinfully skilled tongue pushes him of the edge a lot sooner than he’d like.

Pulling your mouth off his slick dick by your hair, you whine at the loss, while he pants slightly. “I am not cumming in that pretty mouth of yours before I get to fuck you properly.”

Not even a moment later, Semi had you by the waist and splayed out on the – thankfully – cushioned bench. He stands there for a moment, committing to memory the sight of your pink cheeks, spit-slick chin and heaving chest.

“It’s not really fair that I’m naked and here you are all modest.” Bending over you, Semi tugs at your shirt. “Be a good girl and take this off for me?”

Your mind filled with static at his words, a wave of heat burning through you at the nickname the alpha gave you. Without thinking, you quickly strip out of your managerial clothes, not even trying to be sexy as you rush to slip off the maroon polo shirt and black shorts. Once you reach your undergarments, you pause, looking up at the alpha.

‘Thank god I wore a matching set today.’ You belatedly think. A quick glance at your plain black cotton bra and panties, with a tasteful amount of lace covering the fabric and peeking over the side. You judge it adequate enough for tonight. Not that you left your room this morning thinking anyone was going to see them, but still grateful for the choice, nonetheless.

He grins at the slight sign of submission, his inner alpha pleased at the silent question. Semi’s eyes swept over your nearly bare form, teeth buried in his lip as he takes in smooth skin that seems to go on endlessly, eyes pausing over the strips of black fabric covering your modesty.

Sitting on the bench, he gestured you over to him, watching intensely as you move towards him and throw a leg over his lap to straddle his thick thighs. He runs his fingertips from your throat, through the valley of your breasts, and stopped them just at the edge of your panties, fiddling with the lace there.

“Do you have anything on tomorrow?” He asks mildly, catching you off guard. You gave him a confused look and shake your head. Tomorrow was Saturday, the one day that was safe from coach Washijou’s back-breaking fitness regime, and no one had anything school-related to do tomorrow either.

Pleased Semi ducks down and hums in your ear. “Then I don’t suppose you’d mind if I mark you up a bit, right?” You felt your breath rush out of your lungs, failing to return.

“Go ahead.” You said breathlessly. You could feel the alpha chuckle from where he was pressed up against you.

“Good.”

You grasp at his biceps as he starts to suck a mark just under your ear, pausing to inspect it before giving a pleased hum and moving to suck another one along the column of your unblemished neck. He pays special attention to the major scent gland based just a few centimetres down from your ear. Sharp canines scrape across the sensitive skin and the feeling leaves your knees weak and slick start accumulating in your panties.

He buries his nose in the spot, taking in the rich scent of dark cherries and sugared plums. Single-minded, he noses the delicate area until it was swollen and imbued with his own scent. A rumble tears through his chest at the pleasing smell of your intermingled scents, part of him being simultaneously calmed yet exhilarated.

“Fuck you smell so damn good.” He breaths. You groan as he continues to brush up against the sensitive skin.

At your noise, he leaves the abused gland, clearly feeling accomplished. Semi thought if any more blood rushed down to his erection he’d pass out, but the sight of the marks he made littering your neck, looking like a beautiful abstract painting of purple lilacs, he could feel his blood begin to boil.

Making his way southwards, Semi continues to leave physical reminders of his love in ardent lavender and rose-pink marks. Slowly, he tilts you back until your back once again meets the cold bench, causing you to shiver. It definitely wasn’t from the scandalous sight of Semi situated between your legs; lips tantalizingly close – but not close enough – to your clothed core. No sir.

An immoral part of you wants to watch as Semi, hopefully, goes down on you, so you prop yourself up on your elbows. On a second thought, you also remove your bra, thankfully getting it off without any major mishaps, flinging it off to the side. Looking down at him, you wriggle your eyebrows out him.

“Like what you see?”

“Yeah, more than you could ever know.” He grins up at you, a devious glint in his eye. “So let me show you how much I appreciate you.”

Obviously fed up with waiting around, Eita goes straight for gold. His thick tongue licks a hot stripe over your clothed core, tasting the slick-soaked material. You gasp, grabbing for his head, threading your fingers through his soft ash-coloured hair. After a few long strokes, he eventually bores of that and hooks his thumbs into the elastic band of your panties and slowly drags them down your legs.

You wordlessly keen as Semi’s hands come back and dig into the fleshy part of your thighs, separating them to bare your naked core to him. Breath hastening as he views your glistening hole, you feel some slick trickle out at thought of what was about to go down – quite literally.

His eyes flash up towards yours as he slowly descends upon you, not breaking eye contact as you finally feel his tongue against your bare folds.

Back arched, you clutch his hair harder as you tilt your hips to match his movements, encouraging his tongue to reach deeper. Unlike you, he doesn’t hesitate to jump straight in, tongue breaching your hole with such ease, you’d think he’s done it a hundred times.

Wet, sloppy sounds fill the air as he starts to vehemently eat you out, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you feel the warm muscle dip in and out, and best of all, curl inside of you.

Eita savours the flavour of your arousal, a greedy part of him wanting more and more until he’s had his fill of you. With the faces you’re making, he knew that day would never come around, he’s already addicted to the feeling and taste of you.

Hands tightening their grip on fleshy part of your thighs, keeping your thighs apart to prevent them from crushing Semi’s head, you knew there's going be bruises there tomorrow. He chuckles when you moan at one particular tongue flick. The vibrations of him causes another moan to rip through you.

Long, calloused fingers soon join the fray, Semi apparently tiring of using just his tongue. Although you’re pretty sure his tongue alone would bring you to orgasm, but oh well, he can save that move for a rainy day.

Semi was a very skilled setter and musician, long and pretty fingers pair with amazing hand-eye coordination help with that, but this? His fingers felt phenomenal as callouses created the perfect amount of friction rubbing against your walls.

It wasn’t long between the synchronous actions between his skilled fingers and tongue that you felt your orgasm building up, hot and tingling. The thumb rubbing at your clitoris left you seeing literal stars, as you fail to keep your breathing under control.

Eita noted your arching back and trembling thighs and concluded that your orgasm was close. He paused his actions for a short second as he weighed his options. He could either continue and let you orgasm then fuck your brains out, or he could stop and watch you orgasm for the first time when he’s buried in you.

He resumed his movements for all of a second before your sharp shout of his name tore him from his thoughts. It seems that you spared him from making that hard decision, he mused.

To you, the orgasm seemingly came out of nowhere. It crested and washed throughout your entire body, filling it with an electrical zapping sensation, leaving your ears ringing. Mind filled with static, you could vaguely feel your body slip back onto the bench as your arms gave out on you.

Eita watched with glee as you came on his tongue and fingers, covering them with your juices. He removed his tongue and thickly swallowed at the sight of you splayed out in front of him with a blissed-out expression on your flushed face. It was so dirty, but so fucking hot. Eita knew the sight before him will help him through many a lonely night when he makes good use of his right hand.

When you come back to your senses, you have the pleasure of seeing Semi’s slick-slick face. He must not have been bothered enough to clean it off. Arms flexing, he props himself onto his elbows, lips only a breath away from yours.

Mouths meeting, you taste each other’s essence on your tongues. You never thought the taste of yourself on his tongue would be so hot, but you’re glad to be proven wrong in such a manner.

Legs parted around his body, Semi’s hand grabs your right leg and wraps it around his hips, not breaking the kiss. Tongues clashing, you grind up into him, relishing the feeling of his stiff dick pressing hard against where you wanted him the most.

Just half an hour ago you were stressing about Semi despising you and now here you were, spreading your legs like a seasoned whore for said male.

Smirking, his hips pin yours to the bench, his hard dick resting teasingly between your slick folds. Breaking the kiss, he smirks down at you, eyes filled with the promise of wrecking you. You could feel hot anticipation lick down your spine and coil tightly in your abdomen despite cumming only moments ago.

“Are you sure about this? I’m scared that once I start I won’t be able to stop myself.” He admits.

Reaching up, you brush the hair out of his face and tuck it behind his ear.

“I’ve been thinking about this moment for the past two years, I don’t think I could wait another second.”

You tense slightly as you feel his tip nudge at your entrance, forcibly trying to relax your muscles before he entered, otherwise the experience wouldn’t be enjoyable if you were too tight to enter.

Your teeth dig into your cheek as he slowly, but surely, enters you. Semi has to pause half-way through to gather his wits, with clenched teeth he reigns in his thoughts of just thrusting all the way home and ripping everything from you, tooth and nail.

A short eternity later, he’s finally seated fully inside of you. Testing yourself, you flutter your walls around the foreign body and feel warmth bubble up in your chest at the way Semi groans deeply in your ear.

“You feel so fucking good, you know that?” He slowly rolls his hips up into you, hoping you’ll give him the go ahead. Moaning at the sensation of his throbbing member buried deep inside of you, you quickly get used the feeling and start unthinkingly grinding up into him, giving him the nonverbal signal to start.

It’s only then that Eita starts fucking you exactly how you always imagined he’d take a lover, with ardent intensity and a single-minded determination to get you off before he finishes. The thought of what sweet expression you’ll have when you take his knot comes unbidden, making his dick twitch inside of you.

He hastens his pace, mouth latching on to the side of you neck once again, biting hard enough to make you gasp and tighten around him, setting him off and causing him bite down even harder. You could’ve sworn he drew blood, but honestly didn’t have the higher brain function to worry much about how you would go about trying to hide his marks for the next two weeks.

Digging your nails into Semi’s shoulder, you throw your head back in ecstasy as he miraculously hits your G-spot three times in a row. Toes-curling, you felt your orgasm swelling up within you, molten and mind-frazzling.

“Don’t – fuck – Don’t stop. Right there!” You gasp into the cool night air, hoping that his dick will go back to abusing the bundle of nerves.

Like a piston, he rapidly thrust his hips back and forth, watching as his dick gets swallowed up by your greedy wet hole. Slick pours out of you and drips onto his dick, smearing onto his sharp hip bones and the backs of your thighs every time he slams up into you.

“You feel so good, I want to stay buried in you forever. You’d let me do that, wouldn’t you baby?” He pants into the crook of your neck, hot breath washing over sensitive skin.

Groaning at the words, you clench around his length, nails digging into his shoulders as his pace starts to speed up again.

“You’d be so good for me; I mean look at you now. You look so pretty taking my cock like this, and your not even in a heat.”

You swear you could feel your soul ascend to the next dimension as he blows your mind – and back – out with his heaven-sent dick. Pulling him down you repay him in kind by biting and sucking a few marks of your own into his neck, the purples and pinks looking so pretty on his sun-tanned skin.

“I haven’t even started my rut yet, but you’re here you are about to get my knot. Look at what you’ve done to me, baby girl.” He groans, swapping out hard and fast thrust for long and deep ones.

Sure enough, you could feel the base of his dick swell with a pre-rut knot. Well damn. While it wasn’t unusual for that to happen out of a rut, it was uncommon enough for it to swell as large when not in a rut, so you grind even harder on him, hoping for it to catch.

Semi reaches down, blindly searching for your clit and rubbing it fervently once he located it, causing you to tighten considerably around him. Eita hisses at the vice-like grip you have on him, speeding up the short strokes of his thumb, hoping to push you over the edge before his already roiling orgasm crashes down on him.

His rutting hips don’t falter when the hot ball of liquid arousal exploded inside you. Another orgasm rushed through you, this time stealing your breath and causing you to see stars behind your eyelids, with your extremities going numb from the overwhelming sensation.

You come with his name on your lips, your walls constricting around his dick, slick gushing out around his dick, causing his hips to stutter as he hurriedly thrust back up into you with enough force for his knot to finally catch on your hole, swelling to lock the two of you together.

Eita comes with a feral shout, arms locking as he unloads inside of you, the residual fluttering of your walls from your orgasm milking his knot for all it had. He groaned at his prolonged orgasm, having never ejaculated for so long, he slumps his tired body over your prone body, nose buried in your soft hair.

Coming down from your high, you start blinking the dark spots out of your vision. The heavy weight of Semi resting on your chest becoming more apparent, as does the knot still inside of you, weakly pulsing out some more cum.

You shiver at the feeling of being so full. Fuck, you really could get used to this, knot pushed deep inside you, Semi snuggled up into you, skin flushed from exertion and painted in perspiration.

Waiting for the knot to go down, you brush a hand through his hair, while Semi draws spirals onto your bare shoulder.

“You’re so lucky I’m on the pill or we would have a huge issue on our hands.” You tug at his hair, admonishing him for his reckless actions. You had a plan after high school and it certainly didn’t involve a baby. While Semi has swept in and ruined most of those plans in one fell swoop, you refuse to let him saddle the both of you with that extra responsibility.

He props himself up and gives you the cutest little pout you’ve ever seen, looking very out of place on the usually severe-looking face.

“I knew you were on the pill. You were complaining the other month that it was making you gain weight ‘like super crazy easy’ if I remember right.” He teases, poking at your puffed-out cheeks.

“Well it’s fucking true! Why don’t you try taking some hormone drugs and see what it does to your metabolism.” You huff, ignoring his chuckling at your petulant tone. “Besides, that doesn’t really excuse the fact that we did it raw straight off the bat.”

Eita purses his lips. “True. I’m sorry, I could’ve taken the extra second to get a condom out of my bag.”

You pause, taking in his words. “It’s fine, that’s kinda on both of us. Also, why the hell are you carrying a condom around in your bag like it’s a pack of tissues?” He laughs at you, not even bothering to answer the question, much to your dismay.

The scent of a sated alpha flooded the room, pleasing a deep and primal part of you, leading you to give a pleased hum, changing the subject.

“Oh god, it stinks in here. We’re gonna have to open the windows to let some of it out.” You groan, throwing an arm across your eyes. The last thing you wanted to think about after coming twice in less than an hour was cleaning up the evidence of your tryst, so that the team didn’t find out.

Eita’s deep laughter fills the room, chasing away any insecurities you had about any regrets he may have had about tonight. Smiling, you wrap your arms around his snatched waist and lean up to scent him, rubbing your nose back and forth until your scent had taken root.

Satisfied, you leant back and admired your handy work. His scent gland was swollen and tinged pink, and most importantly, he smelt of you.

Eita’s eyes glint with humour as he closely regards your happy, sated expression.

“Probably not the right time to say this, but I really do love you, you know?” You could feel your heart flip within your chest, squeezing painfully at his soft, smitten tone.

“You’re right, probably not the best time to say it for the first time with your cum inside me, but I love you too, you idiot.” Blushing, Semi looks down at the mess between where your bodies met. Judging his knot was finished, he carefully pulled out. You shiver at the sensation of his cum slowly drizzling out of you, feeling weirdly empty now that he’s not inside you.

Getting up, he rushes over to the pile of clean towels you brought in, came back and started gently cleaning the both of you up.

After trading a couple dozen stolen kisses between cleaning up the bodily fluids off of the bench and yourselves, laughing at Semi’s comment of never being able to look at that bench ever again without getting a boner. You have never so light and elated in your life.

Notes: I was originally planning on Semi dragging reader to his room and having his wicked wicked way with her for the whole weekend, to ride out his rut but then I thought that you can never go wrong with good ol' locker room sex. Critiques, comments and notes are always appreciated!!

#haikyuu!!#semi x reader #semi x you #shiratorizawa #reader insert #semi eita x reader #haikyuu reader insert #a/b/o au #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! fic #haikyu!! x reader #semi eita

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tradgicworks · 3 years

Text

Heartfelt:P-1 A World of Sorrow

When a student of a private school disappears during stormy night, three strangers come together to look for her and end up discovering the dark secrets of the world around them. WORD COUNT - 3134

The light of the setting sun peered into the old diner. Black clouds dotted the sky. Sophie took a long sip from her milkshake and stared wistfully at the horizon. Her golden bangle bracelet slid down her arm as she did.

“What’s wrong?” Gwyneth asked as she noticed her gaze.

Gwyneth brushed her bangs aside. Her dark brown colored eyes were filled with concern. She had voluminous long black hair that covered her shoulders like a fluffy mane. She wore a uniform which consisted of a long skirt, a simple tucked in blouse, and a blazer- all in different shades of purple.

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just thinking about some stuff,” Sophie said with a meek smile.

"What kinda stuff?" Gwyneth asked.

"Midterms, winter vacation, piano practice. The usual," Sophie replied.

“Wow, not even trying to hide the fact that you weren’t paying attention to my story, huh?" Gwyneth gave an exaggerated sigh.

"I'm sorry," Sophie awkwardly smiled.

“It's okay, I forgive you. Anyways, remember that girl that went missing a couple months ago, she was a freshman, um, vice president of the chess club or something. Well some of the older students have been talking about how this isn’t the first time that it has happened,” Gwyneth ate one of her few remaining fries. “Near the end of last year’s spring semester a different freshman suddenly moved away. This normally wouldn't have been seen as strange except for the fact that it was right in the middle of finals. Supposedly, one of her friends decided to call her parents to ask about what happened only to be told that the phone number had been out of service for weeks.”

“Spooky,” Sophie commented simply.

“Mhm. So, the older girls started talking and it turned out that a lot of students went missing over the years. They say that it's been about fifteen students in total that have suddenly disappeared. For every single one of them there was a convenient excuse for why, but all of it just seems too coincidental,” Gwyneth leaned in for dramatic effect. “Me thinks there’s a conspiracy afoot.”

“Really? I suppose it is strange, but it could just be that the seniors get overactive imaginations with how much free time they have during finals,” Sophie sighed.

“Aw come on, humor me at least," Gwyneth leaned back. “Don’t you think it’s weird that the academy has a dedicated security team that answers directly to Capital City’s police department? We even have a creepy name for them- Wardens- that’s not normal!”

“Well, given the kind of students that attend it’s not that strange,” Sophie said.

“You really are playing devil's advocate today, huh?” Gwyneth gave a friendly smile.

“Sorry,” Sophie lowered her gaze.

Gwyneth’s smile turned to a face of concern.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay-'' Gwyneth started before she was interrupted by the chimes of their phones.

“Curfew,” Sophie swiped at her smartphone. “It’s time to head back.”

“Right...” Gwyneth gazed at her for a few seconds as she packed up her things and got ready to leave before following suit.

The two left a tip for the waiter and headed out into the cold air of the coming winter. The sleepy sky matched the energy of the few students that remained outside, all of them in a quiet hurry to get back to the main campus of Dorothy Elaine Atham's Private Academy for Young Women, or “the academy” as the students plainly referred to it. It was originally constructed in the early 1940s, yet it managed to remain one of the most prestigious high schools in Capital City. This was mostly due to the academy having the support of the Capital City Police Department. They would employ off-duty officers to act as the academy’s security team, or ‘Wardens’ as they were officially referred to. As a result the academy set itself apart as one of the safest private high schools in the entirety of the United States. Strict curfews, no relationships, mandatory dorms, quarterly inspections by the Wardens, uniforms and an arduous curriculum were some of the measures taken to keep the students safe. Wealthy families from all over the country enrolled their children with peace of mind that they would be safe, allowing the school to afford top of the line facilities, staff, and to further its reputation even more. It was said that the academy was so stern with its policies that even the lightest violation could lead to expulsion. Of course that was just a rumor.

Sophie and Gwyneth eventually found themselves back at the main entrance of the academy. Tall walls made of brick and black fencing led to two large half open gates. A flower bed filled with wilting violet roses that matched the student’s outfits sat underneath them. A tall Warden stood at the side of the entrance. Her bright green eyes filled with overwhelming sternness locked with Sophie’s. Sophie averted her gaze and made her way in alongside Gwyneth.

“W-Well, see you tomorrow,” Sophie said to Gwyneth as she took out a pair of wireless earbuds.

“Wait,” Gwyneth gently grabbed her arm before she left. “How about we walk back to your dorm together? I got some more spooky stories I want to tell you about.”

“You won’t make it back to your dorm in time if we do that, you’re on the other side of campus.” Sophie replied.

“I could just stay at your place, y’know like a sleepover,” Gwyneth doubled down as she let go of her arm.

“We both know you can’t do that,” Sophie let out a long breath and held Gwyneth’s shoulders. “I’m fine, really. I know you’re worried about me but I just haven't been getting a lot of sleep. That’s all.”

“Are you sure?” Gwyneth asked.

“I’m sure,” Sophie looked her in the eyes. “I promise that I’m okay.

“Breakfast?” Gwyneth asked dejectedly.

“Of course, breakfast sounds great,” Sophie gave a convincing enough smile. “Now let’s hurry, before the dorm doors lock.” She said as she let go of her.

“Yeah, goodnight,” Gwyneth smiled slightly.

“Goodnight,” Sophie replied before putting in her earbuds and selecting a classical music playlist.

The sun was halfway nestled into the horizon by the time they split. Night was rapidly approaching. The pitch black clouds moved as a mound, thunder rumbled in the distance. The academy resembled a small college more than a high school. Four buildings took up the majority of the campus, each housing their respective grade. A well decorated plaza rested in the middle of the four buildings, where the freshmen, sophomores, juniors, and seniors could interact with each other during lunch or after classes. The dorms sat a few hundred feet from their respective buildings. Wilting but mostly green grass took the majority of the empty space in the campus. Trees and flower beds stood beside the lamp posts that lit up the sprawling walkways. The campus barely had enough room for everything that was built on it, but it was efficient nonetheless.

Sophie’s brows furrowed as the freshmen dorm came into view. It was tucked away in the farthest corner of the campus. While the other dorms enjoyed a nice view of the academy, the freshmen dorms were greeted with the old auditorium. It was by far the oldest building on campus and in a desperate need for renovation. Unfortunately, the construction was inexplicably postponed until the end of the semester- leaving the freshmen with the sight of an ugly, half finished, and decaying building.

Sophie glanced at the front doors. A girl leaned against the doors as she chewed gum. Sophie overlapped the ends of her blazer together and averted her eyes. The girl stopped chewing as Sophie walked to the entrance. Sophie quickly took out her ID card and pressed it against the door’s scanner. The girl swatted her ID to the ground as it finished scanning.

“Whoops,” The girl, Eva, leered in a pretentious tone as she put her arm around her shoulder. “Didn’t see you there princess.”

Eva blew a bubble with her gum and popped it with a sharp snap. Her dyed ash blonde hair was tied into a messy bun. Her hazel colored eyes were flecked with dull orange blemishes. She wore a thick black hoodie and a short skirt which barely fell within the academy’s dress code. A faint but irritatingly smug smirk stretched across her face.

“What do you want, Eva?” Sophie said meekly.

“Nothing much, nothing much at all. I just wanted to talk to my dear friend for uh,” Eva glanced at her wrist watch. “Five minutes.”

“We’re not friends,” Sophie kept her gaze glued to the floor.

“It hurts me to hear you say that,” Eva squeezed her shoulder until she winced from the pain. “Listen, I need a little favor. As you know, winter break is in a week and I’m running low on funds, so I was wondering if you can help me. It’ll run you about five thousand dollars, but of course that’s nothing compared to all the allowance money your mommy and daddy are giving you, right?”

“No,” Sophie muttered.

“Excuse me?,” Eva tilted her head until she met her gaze. “You need to speak up, I can’t hear you through your teeth.”

“I’m not giving you anything,” Sophie pushed her off of herself. “Leave me alone or I’ll report you to the Wardens!”

“Oh, really now?” Eva chuckled dryly. “I think you and I both know you can’t follow up on such a threat, not without putting that friend of yours in a whole lot of trouble…Well you do have a point, I can’t take what’s not in my hands after all…” She glanced at her watch and gave a sadistic smirk.

“But neither can you,” Eva said before sweeping Sophie’s legs and causing her to trip backwards.

Sophie yelped in pain as she just managed to catch herself. By the time she got up Eva was already inside of the dorm with her ID in hand. She rushed to the doors only to find that they were already locked. The sound of a grandfather clock chimed through the PA system signaling the start of the curfew.

“It’s a good thing you managed to scan the door before you dropped your ID, huh? That way it's on record that you got in here before curfew. Your perfect attendance is not in danger, though it was a real shame you lost your ID. Don’t worry though I’ll turn it in to the lost and found in the morning. Have a nice night, princess! I hear it's going to be a dark and stormy one,” Eva laughed while waving Sophie’s ID in the air.

“Wait!” Sophie pleaded as she desperately tried to open the door, but no matter how much she pushed against them, the doors refused to budge.

She froze as she felt a cold drop of rain fall down her neck. She looked up at the rumbling dark sky. It began to pour. Sophie clung to what little shelter could find at the side of the building. She took out her phone and tried to call Gwyneth, only to find that her screen had shattered completely from when she tripped. She looked around for a Warden but found none. She yanked out her earbuds and angrily threw them into her bag in frustration. Pathetically faint music leaked out of them. She leaned against the wall and sunk until she was sitting with her knees to her chest.

Despite its claims to security, the reality is that the school can’t keep everyone safe. With the majority of students coming from wealthy backgrounds, treating one too harshly could lead to the parents withdrawing their donations. Without those funds, the school would cease to function- something the academy avoided at all costs. As such, there was an unwritten rule that the wealthier the family, the more lenient the punishment. Though many students did not take advantage of this reality, after all attending the academy was a privilege. All except for Eva. Nobody really knows why, but the school would turn a blind eye to her many misdeeds. Some speculated that it was due to her role as one of the academy’s star athletes, others thought that she was secretly related to the headmaster. Regardless of the rumors, the reality was that she was cruel, spiteful, and above all, manipulative. She made a habit of harassing students that had unfortunately drawn her attention. Whether it be through blackmail, harassment, or slander, she would abuse her victim until they were forced to do whatever she wanted. No matter how much students tried to retaliate she always seemed to have the upper hand and the academy would turn the other way. As a result she had gained an infamous reputation amongst the freshmen and sophomores as someone to be avoided at all costs. Unfortunately for Sophie, Eva seemed to be obsessed with making her time at the academy as miserable as possible. Eva’s persistence was so overwhelming that Sophie ended up being isolated from the rest of her class out of fear of Eva alone. The only person brave enough to still talk to her was her closest friend Gwyneth. She did her best to make sure that Sophie was rarely alone and felt safe. However, even that backfired. Eva had somehow managed to take a photo of Gwyneth that would lead to her expulsion if revealed to the public. Ever since then, Eva has hung that threat over Sophie’s head and she couldn’t let anything happen to her best friend. As such, Sophie felt so alone. She felt as if she was left to fend for herself against the clutches of a monster.

Sophie pressed her face against her knees, frustration weighing at her heart, and began to cry. Harsh winds began to pick up and slam waves of rain against her. Sophie took a shaky deep breath and slowly rose to her feet. She looked at her surroundings to try to find better shelter. Her gaze eventually lingered on the auditorium. She choked down a cough before grabbing her bag and heading towards the unfinished building.

. . .

The outside of the auditorium was a mix of moldy wood and peeling paint. Its towering size gave it the imposing essence of a Victorian mansion. Overgrown vines and unkept leaves dressed the entirety it’s walls. Sophie steeled herself as she approached the entrance. She stopped under a small awning that hung over the front doors where no rain seemed to fall. Lightning followed by thunder struck as she gripped her rain soaked skirt and wrung out the excess water. She shivered from the cold as she dried herself the best she could. When she finished, she leaned against the door.

“The dorms open up at 6 am, I’ll be able to get my ID back then,” She thought to herself as she stared at the hole riddled awning. “Maybe father will buy me a new phone, it was pretty old anyways.”

She grabbed her wrist and felt for her bracelet, her only reminder of warmth. A wave of sadness surged through her.

“Mom, Dad, I want to go back home,” She whispered to herself.

Chills spread out through her entire body as the door she braced herself against suddenly flung open with a sharp clang. She regained her balance and turned around. The door’s handle laid on the floor completely broken. The darkness of the auditorium greeted her with a gust of musty, but warm, air. She took a step back only to have the freezing rain fall on the back of her neck. Sophie looked at the entrance with an uneasy face. After a few moments she hesitantly walked in.

The building was much larger than it appeared. A few work-lights left turned on lit the auditorium with sheets of inconsistent light. Door frames to rooms that were used for the construction’s storage lined the walkways. The long hallways on either side of Sophie curved out of view. In front of her sat two large doors. She pushed the heavy doors open and stepped inside. She found herself in the academy’s theater. Rows of weathered red fabric seats stepped down into the center stage. The stage’s walnut flooring was scuffed from years of use and subsequent neglect. Two large maroon curtains blocked the view to the backstage. A small podium sat at the front of it, its paint flaking off to the bare wood. She climbed onto the stage, its visage faintly lit by the work-lights that peered through the half opened doors.

Sophie stared at the seats in a silent awe. She imagined what the theater would look like if it were full of people and wondered why the academy refused to finish renovations. As she pondered, her gaze lowered to the podium. Her eyes narrowed. Faint scratches lined the bottom of it. She wiped a layer of dust off with her hand and revealed a string of faintly recognizable letters.

“Save me?” Sophie slowly read out loud.

“Heard.” A breathy and raspy voice that stretched out every syllable echoed through the theater. “You.”

The doors slammed shut, snuffing out the work-lights and leaving her in complete darkness.

“W-Who’s there?” Sophie stammered.

A bittersweet melody of hums snaked through the dark and into Sophie’s ears in reply.

“Show y-yourself,” Fear gripped at her heart, she clutched her school bag ready to swing it whatever was lurking in the darkness.

“Heard,” The voice repeated, this time more strained. “You.”

“T-This isn’t f-funny, please stop!” She said with a slight whimper.

“Save. You. You. Want. Me. To. Save...” The voice called from behind her causing her to jump in fear.

She swung her schoolbag wildly but it collided against nothing.

“Go. Somewhere. Safe. You. Want. To. Go. Somewhere. Safe. Somewhere. Home...” The voice grew louder.

“Stay away…” She said silently.

Her breaths grew frantic. An overwhelming dread welled in her gut. Panic coursed through her entire body.

“I. Can. Help.” The voice whispered.

A raspy strand of flesh wrapped around her feet before she could react. Her horrified scream was cut short as another strand that gagged her mouth shut. More and more threads wrapped around her body until she was stuck in an airtight cage. She shrieked in muffled terror as she was yanked behind the curtains. Lightning flashed illuminating the theater in a pang of white before decaying back into darkness. Silence followed. The night continued as normal as a stormy night could. Though a few freshmen swore that they heard strange noises coming from the old auditorium that night. Screams of struggles, pleads for help, and a blood curdling shriek to name a few. Of course nobody took it too seriously. It was just a rumor after all.

#oc #ow #writing #mystery #thriller #horror #anime inspired #female protagonist #heartfelt #cw bullying #First time using tumblr and writing online please be patient C:

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seekstrivefind · 4 years

Note

can i get some jamilton laser tag????

You sure can! Disclaimer: I haven’t played laser tag in 15+ years and I haven’t written Jamilton ever.

Want a Hamilton mini-fic? Prompt me!

Jamilton, laser tag, 1907 words

“Okay, so. Here’s our strategy—”

Alexander’s jaw is set, brow furrowed in determination. He’sgot his vest strapped on, the blocky plastic laser-gun held across his body,and he’s addressing his friends like a general addressing his gathered troops.Lafayette is listening intently. Hercules is shoving John, who’s bouncing onhis toes, eager to get going and barely paying any attention at all.

“—how about ‘lose graciously’?” drawls a familiar voice frombehind Alexander. Alexander scowls. Hercules rolls his eyes and John gives anaudible ‘ugh’. Lafayette’s face lights up as he waves.

“Thomas!” he exclaims cheerfully, and then catches sight ofAlexander’s murderous expression. “Ah, sorry. I forgot; we are enemies.”

Lafayette taps the blue of his vest, and nods towards thered of Thomas’. Alexander lets out a steadying breath, and turns on his heel toface their opponent.

Thomas looks ridiculous. Despite knowing that they would bespending the afternoon running through a darkened room with laser-guns pointedat each other, he’s wearing a button-down and a tie. An actual tie. The veststrapped over the top tapers towards his narrow waist and hips, the laser-gunswings idly from one long finger. His hair is pulled back, something thatAlexander has seen only rarely, and it seems to accentuate the high line of cheekbones,the slender column of elegant neck, and did Alexander say ridiculous?Because he’s not even convincing himself. His scowl deepens.

“Any tips for losing graciously, Jefferson?” he snaps. “Ohno, that’s right—you’ve never done anything graciously a day in your life.”

“Never lost anything, either,” Thomas remarks coolly, oneeyebrow quirking up.

“Dunno, pretty sure you lost big when they were handing outfashion sense,” John pipes up from behind Alexander.

“Oh, you trained your monkey to talk?” Thomas remarks, fauxsurprise colouring his face as he presses his hand to his chest. “You couldmake real money off that little trick. Finally buy yourself a decent suit.”

“Fuck you,” John says, and Alexander hears a brief scufflethat sounds to his experienced ears like John Laurens being held back by oneHercules Mulligan. Thomas takes a step closer, and Alexander remembers to makea conscious effort to untie the knot in his tongue and come up with some wittyrejoinder.

“Yeah, fuck you,” is what he actually manages, which—notexactly his best work. But Thomas is stalking towards him with an almostmesmerising poise, and Alexander’s mouth is suddenly as barren as a desertwasteland. He swallows. It’s distinctly unfair that Thomas—an arrogant,pretentious, privileged son-of-a-bitch determined to put Alexander down to getahead—is also a complete wet dream, like somebody somewhere went down atick-list of Alexander’s desires and then slapped a faulty personality inlast-second.

Makes arguing with him properly real difficult, and this ishardly the first time that Alexander’s been trapped in the confused placebetween anger and arousal.

Thomas extends a finger, and prods Alexander in the chestwith it, leaning down so that they’re face-to-face.

“We all know who’s going to come out on top,” Thomas says witha smile, and Alexander sinks a sharp tooth into the side of his tongue in a determinedattempt not to think too hard about that phrasing. “Might as well cometo terms with it now, Hamilton.”

And then he’s gone, sweeping past them without even a secondlook.

“—well!” Lafayette says brightly before whatever collectionof inventive curse-words John has been stringing together can leave his mouth. “Ifor one am looking forward to this. Let’s go, shall we?”

Alexander, still glowering darkly and trying to calm the jitteringthump of his pulse, follows his friends without a word.

It’s chaos once the buzzer sounds. Any strategy they’d beenrelying on quickly falls apart as grown men and women start sprinting andshrieking, hammering plastic triggers and swearing sharply when their vestsflash to show they’ve been hit. Hercules ducks away without any of the rest ofthem actually noticing him go. John gets hit from behind and takes off with awar cry in pursuit of his attacker, determined on revenge. Lafayette is laughingdelightedly, and it’s not long before Alexander is separated from him, too.

Not that any of it matters. It’s just team-building,a stupid day out with colleagues that they’re forced to endure once a quarter.It’s laser-tag, for God’s sake, it’s for children. Except that the office livesand dies by the winners of the team-building games, and Alexander’s departmentare on a winning streak that he’s determined not to break.

He tucks himself into an empty corner, listening to the mayhemand deciding on his best strategy now that he’s alone. Points-wise, finding agood spot and staying put, sniping his competition as they move around isprobably the most efficient, and judging by the bedlam of the first sixty secondsof the game, they’re going to need all the points they can get.

He ducks out from the corner, advancing down a narrowcorridor, staying low. He hasn’t been hit yet, and that’s a badge of honour initself; a hard one to keep hold of in these games.

Alexander wouldn’t have noticed the branching corridor if anarm hadn’t come out of nowhere, practically clotheslining him before grippingthe strap of his vest and pulling him bodily into it.

“What the f—”

That’s as much as he gets out before there’s a hand clampedover his mouth, and Alexander is blinking rapidly up at the face of ThomasJefferson.

“You’re welcome,” Thomas says flatly. Alexander makes asound that’s close enough to what for, asshole? to be interpreted, and Thomastips his head just as a knot of red-team vests tumble past, whooping andhollering. It’s a long moment before he removes his hand.

“What,” Alexander repeats, tugging on the bottom of his vestto fix it, riding up askew on one side where Thomas had pulled on it, “is yourgame, Jefferson?”

“What, a man can’t do something nice for a colleague?”Thomas asks, and there’s a sharp glint to his smile, preternatural in theglowing blue lights of the course. Alexander narrows his eyes.

“A man? Sure. The devil himself dressed in a person-suit?Not so much.”

Thomas tuts, leaning back against the wall and folding hisarms as Alexander finishes brushing himself off.

“You think so little of me, Hamilton.”

“And every time I think I’ve hit the lower limit, you find away to prove me wrong,” Alexander mutters.

“You think I’m playing an angle?” Thomas asks, apparentlyexamining his fingernails idly, though the low light must make it impossiblefor him to see much other than the vague outline of his hand.

“Obviously,” Alexander retorts. Thomas pushes himself upfrom the wall, and Alexander steps back reflexively as Thomas advances on him oncemore. In this narrow recess, there’s nowhere much to go; he feels his back hitthe wall. Thomas doesn’t stop, not until they’re toe-to-toe.

“Then ask yourself this, Hamilton,” Thomas suggests, leaningone hand on the wall next to Alexander’s face and leaning close. “Why are youstill here?”

There’s a long and laboured silence, tense despite the lowthump of the shitty electronic music that’s being pumped in through too manytinny speakers, cut through by the sound of two dozen adults behaving likekids. Thomas is close enough that Alexander can feel the heat rolling from him,the warm dance of Thomas’ breath against his own lips. Another shift and they’repractically chest-to-chest, and either Alexander is having a delightful aneurysmor Thomas’ knee is pressing between his thighs.

Alexander swallows hard against the tightness in his throat,gaze hooked on Thomas’ own. And he might be imagining the feather-light brushof fingers against his hip or the way that Thomas presses yet another half-inchcloser, but he knows he’s not imagining it when Thomas’ eyes flicker downtowards his parted lips.

“You seem to know everything,” Alexander says, faintly. “Youtell me.”

Thomas kisses him with a slow deliberation that chafesagainst Alexander’s impatience. When he runs his tongue across Alexander’s lipsit’s with unhurried intention. He laughs, a low and curling chuckle thatAlexander feels echo between his ribs, rattling between his lungs, whenAlexander tries to push up against him, to coax something more urgent from him.Thomas won’t be moved, won’t be pushed. He only waits, smiling into Alexander’sfrustration until Alexander is forced to meet Thomas’ terms, to move at Thomas’pace.

Thomas finally licks in behind Alexander’s teeth, suckslightly on Alexander’s tongue, drags teeth against his lower lip, and Alexanderis almost dizzy with want, hands pawing slackly at Thomas’ chest, frustrated bythe bulk of the vest that means he can’t feel the smooth curve of muscle thathe knows hides underneath.

“You lose, Hamilton,” Thomas murmurs against Alexander’slips, half pulling back. Alexander chases the kiss, freezing when he feelssomething jammed against his chest. He hears the descending bleep, sees theflashing of his vest as it illuminates Jefferson’s predatory smile. “Again.”

Alexander looks down in disbelief at the laser-gun pressedagainst his chest, and then back up at Thomas.

“You absolute fucking cu—”

“—ah, ah,” Thomas says disapprovingly, presses his lips againstAlexander’s once more to cut off the obscenity. Alexander tries to bite down,to drag sharp teeth against Thomas’ lip, but he’s already pulling back, a lookof smug satisfaction on his face. “What I did tell you about losing gracefully?”

And then Thomas is gone, and Alexander stands there, utterlyenraged and hopelessly turned on, heart jack-rabbiting in the cage of his chestand laser-gun hanging loosely by his side.

Once the lights come back up, Alexander finds the others inthe lobby. John is wild-eyed, bordering on the manic. At some point, his hairhas come loose and his curls are splayed wide around his face, a mess of darkhair that Lafayette is laughing fondly over, doing his best to finger-comb itinto some semblance of order.

“Why the long face?” Hercules asks as Alexander approaches,knocking a punch against his shoulder that rocks Alexander onto one foot for abrief second. Alexander glances at the screen, where the team scores are yet tobe listed. It flickers to display individual high scores, and John whoops whenhis name appears at the top, punching both fists up into the air.

“I am amazed he did not get hurt,” Lafayette laughinglytells Alexander. “He was running wild; shooting people point blank. Like Rambo.”

“I wish they’d let you have two guns,” John says, mournfully.

“Hey, man,” Hercules says, pointing up at the screen wherethe teams have been ranked in order. “We won!”

There’s assorted whoops and groans throughout the room as people,breathless and sweating, celebrate victories or bemoan defeat. Money changeshands, as is common. Alexander catches sight of Thomas, vest and gun alreadyabandoned, talking to Madison. He notices Alexander, and grins widely, closingone eye and stretching out an arm to aim one finger like a gun right atAlexander’s chest.

“I’m not so sure,” he mutters to himself under his breath,and then deliberately turns his back to Thomas to watch John slap Lafayette’shands away from his hair.

“Celebrations are in order!” John proclaims. “Let’s get wasted.”

And yeah. Yeah, Alexander can get behind that plan.

#jamilton #hamilton fic #mini fic #things I write #cut for length!#Anonymous #shout out to my fav asshole for the 'john laurens idiot savants his way to the top' angle

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iamalivenow · 4 years

Text

“Objectively, objectively-” Melanie tries to say, with a straight face. “Objectively if you had to pick a cosmic horror terror to pledge your entire life to willing-” Daisy chucks an empty paper cup at her and she breaks down into a fit of laughter.

“Objectively, I'd pick neither. None.” Jon says from the couch.

“Objectively, you're no fun.” Melanie mumbles. Daisy, who's also sprawled out on the couch, taking up way more space than Jon- with her legs in his lap nodded sagely as if there was any space to have this conversation.

“I think if I had to pick, I'd go End.” Basira comes in with another bottle stolen from someone's upstairs office. It's not like any of them would get in trouble for it. “It seems low effort.”

“Ha.” Daisy's voice is dry. “All you do is research anyway.”

“Right, but, and this is very important.” She fills up a cup with amber liquid and passes it on to Jon, who's still holding his last one. Maybe it's meant for Daisy when she decided to sit up like a normal person again. “The Eye can choke.”

“Here here.” Melanie knocks back the rest of her drink and then holds out her cup.

Jon has no idea how they talked him into this- it was just another quiet day, Melanie out doing errands, Basira in the library, and Daisy and Jon in his office, recording statements- well he was recoding statements. Daisy was doing something that looked like Yoga if it was even slower.

“Jon, your turn.” Daisy nudges him with a foot and he has to lift the two cups he's holding.

“Why my turn?”

“Because you've been doing this the longest.” And after a second, “And you've had the least to drink.”

He sighs and Melanie goes off on another set of giggles.

“I don't want to be part of any of them- if we're talking about life goals and aspirations, I'd have a nice house in the country side far away from all of this. With a cat.”

“You're a cat person?”

“He is.” And Melanie fumbles to get her phone out. “Georgie showed me this for blackmail, hold on-” And before Jon can stop her, or even try to stop her, because again, drinks and legs, Melanie is showing Basira the video of Jon dancing with The Admiral. It was four in the morning, they had just gotten home from some unremarkable party and Jon had been consumed with the all too human need of bothering a cat right then. The Admiral was so soft- still is.

“Oh my god.” Basira brings the phone over so that Daisy can stare at the screen too and Jon is still helpless. He should set these down. “I don't think I've ever seen you this happy before.”

“Yes, well.” He says, face a little flushed.

“Your hair wasn't always gray?”

“Of course it wasn't!”

He didn't know that Georgie had filmed him until she had shown it to him a few weeks later.

“Jon!” He almost jumps when Melanie calls his name. “Jon. Answer the question.”

“I don't know.” The video finally quiets down. “Spiral, I guess?”

“Justification?”

“Do I need one?” Jon sighs. A justification- “Free travel, I guess.”

“Why not vast then?”

“Scared of heights.”

“Huh.” Daisy says, a grin on her face. “Makes sense considering you're tiny.”

“I'm a perfectly normal height, thank you very much. It's not my fault all of you are so tall.”

“Melanie's only a higher bigger.”

“It's still not my fault, certainly.” And he finally pushes Daisy's cup into her hands. She's going to spill it on herself but that's no longer something Jon entirely wants to prevent. “What about you then?”

“I've thought about this before.” At stakeouts, she means. Jon doesn't blame her. It's a lot of time spent doing very little. Not that- Not that he ever went on one, but- “I think maybe I wouldn't hate the heights as much.”

“Really?” Basira doesn't sound all that surprised. “You did always want to travel.”

“Would it be so bad to just, get out there? Aside from the heights.” Another nudge with her heel. Jon can't blame her, the temptation after what they've been through is certainly there for him. He can't imagine what that desired weightlessness must be like for her.

“And you, Melanie.”

“I don't know.” Basira laughs, and Jon's glad. Glad, now, that they talked him into this. It's nice, listening to them be happy with him.

“You brought it up.”

“Come on.” Jon smiles now. “Objectively, if you had to.”

“Yeah, well. Objectively, I'm fine with End too.”

“What-” Jon, Basira, and Daisy all say it in unison, varying inflections but indignation all there. “Be original!”

“Listen-” Melanie giggles again, light, airy, followed by more drink- “Low effort is worth a lot. I'm a chief researcher- I'd love to sit on my ass all day.”

“Then you'd just end up like Jon. No offense, Jon.”

“I mean it's partially true, at least.”

“I don't know.” She smiles again- almost privately- and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Something comfortable about inevitability.”

It rests in the air, as the rest of them go quiet, until it's just their breathing and the flickering of the lights. That point in the party- the lull, he guesses. It's not nearly as awkward as he thought it would be, maybe because they're all a little day drunk or maybe because he's gotten so used to Daisy being quiet beside him and it's just like that, but more.

He never would have met any of them- well Melanie maybe eventually, through Georgie at Some point, but he likes to think they're friends. Or at least friendly. He knows with some misplaced confidence or maybe divine intervention that he and Daisy are friends, truly. They don't have a lot of talking points outside of work, sure, but true friendship can be found in comfortable silence.

“Do you like books?” He asks out of the blue- true and natural curiosity.

“They're all right.” Basira says. “Do you still read?”

“I used to, when I was younger. When I was eight.”

“Younger younger.” Melanie says, like a clarification. “Audio books are fine sometimes. For commutes, or whatever.”

“That feels like a betrayal somehow.” Jon clears his throat. “To the authorial intent.”

“God.” Daisy's head is dipped all the way back over the arm of the couch. “You're so pretentious.”

“I'm sorry we can't all listen to radio plays.”

“Oh, you can listen to them. You just choose not too because you think you're above common folk entertainment.”

“You can like soap operas.” Basira's smiling from her seat. “No one but Jon is going to think less of you for liking soap operas.”

“I'm not going to think less of you for liking your repetitive family drama.” That gets him a kick in the ribs and half of his drink down the front of his shirt. “Daisy-” Melanie, who was already busy snickering from her seat, starts laughing in earnest. Basira in her infinite kindness passes a stack of napkins over.

“Whoops.” Daisy's up now, sitting and dabbing away at his shirt.

“It's fine. You didn't mean it.”

“Yeah.” It's a small thing, her taking the time and effort to try and clean up the stain slowly forming across his shirt. It still makes him happy, in some small way, that someone is bothering to, that his first impulse isn't to snap and lurch away.

“Are we winding down?” Basira gets up. “I still have research.”

“You're drunk.”

“That's what's going to make this fun.” She puts a hand on Daisy's shoulder before leaving as quietly as she came in the first time.

“What about you?” Jon asks, looking up. “Any work?”

“None that I'm going to do.” Melanie sighs. “Maybe I'll head out early, call all of this pregaming.”

“Stay safe.” Daisy calls, not even bothering to look up.

“You two also as well. Both of you two too. Hm.” Melanie gets up. “No good way to say that.”

“Just you too?”

“Well I didn't want to leave Jon out.”

“I appreciate the sentiment. Tell Georgie-”

“Yeah, yeah.”

And then it's just Jon and Daisy, kind of drunk in the break room.

“How did you know she was heading to see Georgie?”

“I- Oh.” Jon sighs. “You know.” And Daisy, his friend, his maybe only friend who he's on really good terms with, pats his head like he's five. “What are you doing?”

“Comforting you.”

“Ah.”

“Should I stop?”

“I- No. No. It's nice. That's nice, just like, objectively. Are you drunk?" She shrugs.

"Does it matter?"

"Not- Not really. You just don't usually-"

"I don't usually need to comfort you. If you hate it I can stop."

"I already told you, I don't mind."

"Uh huh." She says slowly, and pats his head just a little harder, like she's trying to a prove a point. "Your hair is soft, actually."

"Why do you sound surprised."

"You look like you have old man hair."

"I'm thirty."

"And yet your hair- easily eighty." Basira comes back four and a half hours later.

They haven't moved.

#the magnus archives #writing #full fic #i wrote this for an exchange a while ago

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anotherdayinchuckletown · 4 years

Text

They’re Funny That Way, Chapter 1

Hey, guys! How’s it going? I’ve been writing for about ten years now, but this is only the second ever fic I’ve shared anywhere, so I’m super nervous!!!

This is basically my take on a Harley Quinn origin story tailored to the universe of Joker (2019). It’s going to be Harley like we’ve never seen her before, with lots of Arthur, lots of Sophie, lots of original characters, and lots of twists and turns.

I’m SO beyond excited to finally share this with you guys, and I hope you all enjoy! Please like, comment, reblog if you do so that I know if you guys love reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it! This fic is also posted to my AO3 account (https://archiveofourown.org/users/marie_deneuve), so you can also read it there if you’d like!

Without further ado, heeeere we go!!

Chapter 1

The apartment building at Eleven-Forty Anderson Avenue is an eyesore situated in the midst of a likewise ugly city called Gotham. A pimple on a face only a mother could love. A pariah among pariahs.

Management has long since stopped caring about its maintenance, leaving it a patchwork of leaking ceilings, cracking foundations, and broken windows haphazardly boarded shut. Even the most seasoned resident of Gotham City would quicken his pace when passing the telltale archways which separate the apartments from the rest of the city.

Sophie Dumond is currently doing her best to avoid saying any of that out loud.

“It’s really not that bad,” she lies. “Definitely a far cry from where you’re living now, but once you get used to it, it’s not the worst.” Although she is on the phone, she looks down at her shoes anyway, so as not to look her guilt in the face. A crack in the tile beneath her feet stares back accusingly.

“Really? My brother told me his appliances never work, and the maintenance crew is impossible to reach,” the voice on the other line replies skeptically. It belongs to another young woman by the name of Emma Boulanger – Emma Scott, actually, ever since her marriage – who has been Sophie’s best friend since the two of them met in elementary school. She is also the godmother of Sophie’s five-year-old daughter, which was an unpopular decision she had been made to justify more times than she would have liked (honestly, though, her sister could call her if she ever became less of a pretentious bitch).

This phone call marks the first time Sophie has heard from her in one month, two weeks, and six days. Not that she’s been counting or anything.

It’s just strange not to talk to her, as she’s always the first to know of any big changes in her friend’s life. Emma is certainly the first to know about changes in Sophie’s life as well. She’s there when they both open up their letters of acceptance into Gotham University, whooping and cheering and dreaming of finally, finally leaving this shithole, getting glamorous jobs in the big city. She’s there when Sophie is curled up on her bathroom floor, crying and clutching a positive pregnancy test, wanting the best for the child growing inside of her, yet fearing she would never be able to provide it.

That’s why it’s so odd when Emma’s twin brother is the one to mention in the hallway one day that his sister has filed for divorce. And furthermore, that she’s returning to Gotham to live with him until she gets back on her feet.

“Like I said, Emma, it’s not perfect,” she relents. “But hey, at least it’ll be nice to hang out again. It’s been way too long.”

“Yeah, it really has! I moved, what, almost two years ago?” Emma’s voice brightens marginally, and Sophie can nearly see the lopsided grin spreading across her face, so familiar is she with every tic, every tell, every minuscule inflection to her words. “Metropolis is boring as hell, by the way. I almost miss Gotham - call me crazy.”

Sophie huffs, knowing full well that Emma is playing it cool - trying not to let on how much she dreads moving back to a city she called a living, breathing prison for so many years. Best to keep things lighthearted then. Empathize with her, acknowledge her feelings, but never, never pity her. “You’re definitely crazy, Em,” she shoots back, raising an eyebrow. “What exactly does it for you, the enormous rats or the graffiti dicks?”

An almost imperceptible chuckle filters through the receiver. “Well, no one ever really escapes Gotham, do they? I figure I might as well develop a little Stockholm Syndrome.”

Sophie doesn’t immediately respond to the bleak sentiment. It’s simply a joke, of course, and as a matter of fact, very on-brand. But there’s enough truth to it to cause a momentary lapse in the lightness of their conversation.

Sophie has found gradually that Emma was right growing up. Gotham truly seems less like a place and more like an entity. It has a certain way of taking, taking, taking from a person, and when that person has nothing left to give, taking just a little bit more. The citizens meander like restless spirits, doomed to wander to and from their low-wage jobs for eternity. The air is heavier out there, tugging their faces down into sour expressions, aging them prematurely. A reflection of their surroundings.

Sophie often wonders if she looks the way they do.

If Emma notices the shift – which she certainly does, she always does – she politely ignores it. “I guess beggars can’t be choosers… It was nice of Eddie to let me stay with him on such short notice.” Fondly, she adds, “He may be a bit of a shithead, but he’s a good brother.”

Before Sophie can stop herself, she laughs aloud. “No comment. We do live on the same floor, you know.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Do you two ever hang out?”

“Not particularly.” Sophie doesn’t dislike Eddie – quite the opposite, in fact. She always chalks up her lack of chemistry with him to simply having nothing in common. He and Emma share nothing but a birthday, a head of golden hair, and a pair of striking ice-blue eyes.

Rapid footsteps make their way into the foyer, breaking Sophie out of her reverie. “Mommy, look what I drew!”

Muttering a quick “hang on a second” into the receiver, she turns toward the source of the sound, and a sheet of paper is practically shoved in her face from below. She is met with a mish-mosh of various shapes and colors, one large brown figure taking precedence in the middle of the page.

She smiles warmly. “Wow, that’s very good, Gigi! What’s that a picture of?”

The artist beams with pride. “It’s the roach you killed in the bathroom yesterday!”

Son of a bitch.

“Can we put it on the fridge, Mommy?”

Blinking owlishly, Sophie scrambles for a response. They really don’t teach her this shit in those parenting books she sometimes finds at Gotham Central Library.

She settles on, “Honey, you already have so many nice ones up there, I just can’t decide which ones to keep! Let’s put this one away for now, and I’ll think about it, okay?” She offers her free hand to take the drawing so that she can accidentally misplace it later.

It does the trick. “Okay!” her daughter chirps, proudly handing over her portrait. Encourage, then swiftly change the subject – a motherly sort of manipulation that works in everyone’s favor.

“Holy shit, I haven’t even asked about Gigi yet!” Emma exclaims. “God, she must be getting so big! She starts Kindergarten this year, right?”

“Yeah, in the fall. And she comes all the way up to my waist now, isn’t that insane?” Unmistakable pride colors Sophie’s response.

“That’s so awesome! Did she miss me at all?” comes over the receiver as Gigi simultaneously begins an onslaught of “who’s that, Mommy, who’s that?”

“Miss you? Are you kidding? Listen to this.” Sophie crouches next to her daughter, holding the phone away from her ear, but nearby so that Emma can hear. “Gigi, your Aunt Emma’s on the phone. She’s coming to live here again soon, isn’t that great?”

The resounding shriek is a good indicator that she agrees. And that Sophie is going to have to bring the neighbors another gift basket so they don’t complain about her to the landlord.

“Can I talk to Aunt Emma, Mommy? Can I, can I, please, please, please?” Tiny, impatient hands grapple for the phone as laughter pours in from the other line.

“Come on, if I let you talk to her now, we’ll be stuck here forever.” A quick glance at the clock reveals that it’s nearing eight o'clock. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for bed soon?”

Gigi wrinkles her nose in distaste, and Sophie cuts her off before the complaints can begin. “No arguments, Gigi. Go start your bath – I’ll be there in just a minute.”

She receives a defiant huff; nevertheless, Gigi stomps her way to the bathroom, and Sophie waits for the sound of running water before she returns to the previous conversation.

“So anyway, Eddie tells me you’re holed up in a hotel room until the weekend. I’m guessing that Daniel didn’t take the…the breakup news very well?” she asks, somewhat cautiously. Talking about Emma’s husband – now ex-husband – is a mixed bag, even back when they were dating.

“You could say that,” Emma responds sheepishly. “It wasn’t pretty, let’s leave it at that. I thought it would be best for me to get out of the house right away, give him some time to himself.”

It makes Sophie nervous that she is skirting the question, but then again, Emma’s in a vulnerable position at the moment. And she’s rarely one to talk at length about her own emotions in the first place – she’s much more of a listener.

Sophie would like to ask what she means by “it wasn’t pretty”, but decides against prying. She would also like to ask why she ever married that jackass in the first place, since their relationship had been obviously strained from day one. It was always as if the two of them were tightrope walking over a volcano – bubbling quietly, boiling and threatening to swallow them both whole. The smallest change in the wind, the most harmless comment about Daniel not picking his towel up off the floor could send them tumbling into the inferno. She supposes one of them finally fell.

Something about that man has always creeped her out, but she gave up voicing her discontent with him after about the thirtieth time Emma brushed her off. She won’t say “I told you so”, since she wouldn’t want to belittle whatever pain Emma is going through. Still, she can’t help but feel a little relief – that doesn’t make her a terrible friend, right?

All of this can wait, though. It can wait until they’re seeing each other face-to-face again. Until Sophie isn’t on a strict time limit. She needs to wrap up the current conversation quickly because if she doesn’t, she could possibly be dealing with a flooded bathroom shortly. Five-year-olds do not generally care about the cost of repairing water damage if it seeps into the downstairs neighbor’s ceiling.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay, with…you know…everything.”

“Of course!” Emma reassures her. “I’m perfectly fine. Like I said, I’m looking forward to being home. Honestly.”

Sophie is not convinced, and frankly, it sounds like Emma is not either. She wonders if her friend has been checking in on the worsening condition of their hometown from Metropolis. The homeless population is growing by the day, and the working class is becoming more and more restless due to low wages and poor working conditions in the inner city. Rumor has it that sanitation workers are chief among the dissatisfied, and a garbage strike is all but guaranteed by winter.

So much she wants to say. So much she can’t say. “That’s good. I’m happy for you.”

_______________________________________________________________

Emma remembers around this time last year taking a trip to Paris, France. She saw the premiere of a musical there called Les Misérables – it was based off of her favorite book by Victor Hugo, so naturally, she begged and begged to go.

And what a payoff! The show was spectacular, from the costumes to the stage design to the music. Oh, the music! Despite being there with her then-husband, she had the most fun she’d had in years, letting the melancholy chords turn her as light as the air and the lyrics carry her far, far away in the wind.

Even more than the music, she was captivated by the plot. She could practically feel the plight of the poverty-stricken citizens. One of the opening scenes depicted the starving masses singing of their grief over the way they were snubbed by the wealthy, left to rot in the streets.

That is the scene Emma finds herself stepping into today. Only this time, she is not a passive observer, watching the events unfold without being affected. From today on, she is one of the characters.

From the moment she arrives in downtown Gotham City by taxi, the tension claws at her with icy hands. It digs into her ribcage with each glare aimed her way, even in the mild September breeze. She knows she sticks out like a preacher at a Pride parade in her obviously expensive skirt and heels. It’s not like she had time to go digging around her closet for something more appropriate that night she left her house.

Handsomely tipping her driver, she climbs out of the car and rushes underneath a set of archways and inside the apartment building where she’ll be living for the foreseeable future. She doesn’t look very closely at it from the outside, so desperate is she to get off the street and away from whatever the hell that smell is.

Emma uses the opportunity to finally look around a bit, taking her surroundings in with narrowed eyes. The lobby is dimly-lit, with no color to it whatsoever. The walls are painted a chipped-up brownish yellow, which could have been white many years ago. It reeks of mold, to the point where the smell outside might be the lesser of the two evils.

Leaning carefully against the nearest wall, she mutters, “Not that bad, my ass.” From her purse, she retrieves her recently-purchased copy of a new novel titled Jumanji, and she waits.

And waits.

…

Emma’s eyes snap open - she hadn’t consciously closed them to begin with. She realizes with embarrassment that she almost fell asleep standing up. God, she’s more exhausted than she thought. How long has she been standing down here anyway?

“I’ll be home from work around four; I just need a little time to tidy up before you head over,” Eddie had said on the phone the night before. “I’ll meet you in the lobby and walk you up at six, okay?”

“That works,” Emma had replied. “As long as you’re actually there at six.”

“Hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve never exactly had a reputation for being punctual.”

“Jesus, Em. You think I’m gonna leave you hanging out down there alone?”

“We’ll see.”

Shutting her book, Emma checks her watch.

Six forty-five. That fucking flake forgot.

She groans, pushing herself languidly off the wall and scanning the room for assistance. No one at the front desk - in fact, there hasn’t been anyone there since she arrived, making her wonder briefly if she’s even in the right building.

Her eyes next land on the myriad of mailboxes against the opposite wall, closed off from the rest of the lobby by rusted wrought-iron bars, most likely to protect the postman. She walks through the open gate tentatively, and upon closer inspection, each mailbox has a sticker labeling the residents by apartment number. Bingo!

It doesn’t take long to find what she’s looking for. On the eighth floor, perfectly spelled out for her, she sees both S. Dumond in 8B and E. Boulanger in 8H. Why not visit the one who didn’t leave her stranded for an hour first? She could always call Eddie on Sophie’s phone anyway - the asshole probably smoked a joint as soon as he got home and passed out on the couch watching Magnum, P.I.

She heads for the elevator and presses the call button. As it whines slowly and almost menacingly down the shaft, she hears someone softly trudging along behind her, the very first sign of another life in here. As she enters the elevator, she politely holds the door open, and makes room for the clown getting on after her.

No, not a silly person. An actual clown. Painted face, red nose, neon green hair and all.

Of all the weird people she might expect to see in a place like this… Not even two hours in Gotham, and the evening is already shaping up to be quite the roller coaster.

Emma can’t help but stare as the doors shut and the clown punches the button for, coincidentally, the eighth floor. She settles into the far corner as she discreetly analyzes him. His posture, his defeated gait, the pitiful expression underneath his painted-on smile… His aura permeates the entire space, seemingly enough to weigh them both down, causing the elevator to drag slowly up the shaft like molasses, screeching all the way.

This is without a doubt the saddest clown Emma has ever seen. And she’s seen Pagliacci.

Around the third floor, there’s one long, particularly loud screech. Emma’s heart leaps to her throat as their ascent suddenly comes to a complete halt, and the lights in the tiny elevator space flicker on and off once. Is a three-story drop enough to kill a person her size? She prays that this isn’t how it ends - in this dingy elevator, terrified, with no one but a fucking clown. A clown who hasn’t moved an inch this entire time.

Thankfully, after a few seconds that seem to drag on for a lifetime, they start to slowly crawl up the shaft once more. Emma breathes an audible sigh of relief, and the clown seems to finally notice her, tossing a quick look of sympathy in her general direction.

Once she’s certain she can speak without her voice quivering, she does so. “Does…that happen often?”

Her voice really gets his attention. He whips his head around so fast she almost worries his little hat will come flying off like a frisbee. He blinks at her once, then twice, as if processing the fact that she is addressing him. For a split second, it looks like he’s going to say something.

Then, remembering himself, he simply shrugs bashfully. Emma lets out a breath she doesn’t realize she’s been holding.

She notices the decorative red flower adorning his lapel, one of those prop flowers that’s actually a tiny water gun. Smiling in a way that she hopes is charming instead of ill-at-ease, she points to it. “I, uh…I like your flower. It’s very pretty.”

The clown tilts his head curiously. After a beat, he wordlessly reaches up and into his bright plaid coat, holding said flower slightly out toward her. Offering for her to come closer, to lean in and smell it.

Emboldened, she grins, shaking her head at him. “No way, mister. I know how that trick ends.” She’s kidding around with him, but she really can’t afford to get her clothes wet right now; she only has the ones on her back, after all.

Still, his lips at last curl upward, a real smile that reaches the lights of his eyes. And it’s then that Emma can see the color in them, an enchanting seafoam green that inexplicably draws her in, pulling her away from the corner and toward his side. He watches her carefully and intensely with an expression she can’t quite read. When he turns to face the doors once more, it’s not without keeping her settled in his periphery.

Most people would probably be a bit nervous being…examined so thoroughly. However, Emma finds his mannerisms endearing in an odd way. She’s never cared much for clowns before, but this one doesn’t seem so bad.

They ride in comfortable silence for another few moments. When they reach their destination, Emma is the first to exit.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m definitely taking the stairs from now on,” she says.

The clown nods in response as he exits behind her, giant red and blue shoes flopping comically over the threshold.

The hallway is a bit noisy, voices of the residents drifting through the paper-thin walls like a mist, creating a fine haze over everything. The walls are just a touch too close together, making Emma claustrophobic and urging her to get to 8B as quickly as possible.

Not wanting to come off as rude, she introduces herself. “I’m new to the building, by the way - my name’s Emma. It’s a pleasure.” She extends a hand to shake.

The clown does return the gesture, but not before staring her hand down for an abnormally long period of time. And his grip through the rough material of his gloves is so soft and careful, it’s as if it’s barely there.

She’d honestly like to chat with this fascinating new neighbor of hers a bit longer, but instead, she pulls her hand away, settling for a polite nod and a cheerful “good night”.

She does not look back to see that the clown’s unwavering gaze follows her all the way down the hall.

#joker 2019 #Joker (2019)#joker #arthur fleck #sophie dumond #harley quinn #my fic #joaquin phoenix joker

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bedrock-to-buildheight · 5 years

Note

Can you just talk about your art? It’s very cool to read.

I'll start by saying that this is not my actual art style, which looks like this

That entire paragraph is real pretentious sounding lmao and if you're asking ab how I physically construct a drawing then whoops

(i dont have a lot of art on my phone for examples sorry)

The style I'm using for hc is a combination of what i think looks good and easy on the eye (Tracy J. Butler of Lackadaisy has excellent tutorials on this) + whatever floated through my dash/mind atm + what is easy to bucket color and scan well. It's never been ab having a solid style, I adjust what I draw based on what i want to communicate (which is why jukebox is a thing, it's easier to draw when i have a song to set the tone for me). Oh and I'm CONSTANTLY VIGILANT and take note of colors and composition all the time . That have never resulted in me standing in front of the fridge for 15 mins contemplating the fridge light color effect on translucent tupperware./s

#ask bedrock #i hope that's what you're here for??#kinda open question so i took a blind shot #not mc #is this a mineblr or an artblog :thinking emoji:

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splatoonmaster69 · 4 years

Note

Hi, I'm the same person who over-though their last ask WHOOP I'm back again! I was thinking that I might be non-binary? And if so is Charlie an ok name to take? My friend came out as nb a while ago and the rest of them are all bi/gay. I feel a bit pretentious coming out too?? Like I'm trying to fit in because they joke about me being gay a lot and it might make them feel bad if I came out? What do? Sorry for pouring out my woes into your inbox

hi! i honestly dont really know how to help but if you like the name charlie then its definately an ok name to take. I dont really know what to do but if you want to come out then i say you should do it. it sounds like your friends would be accepting people. idk tho im sorry

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lifesizehysteria · 6 years

Text

United We Stand | An AdamsFoster Fic

Prompt: (Day 30) “If you insist”

A/N: For day three of the #elitewritingchallenge. I decided to do the prompts in the order they inspire me rather than in numerical order since I’m not staying on schedule anyway.

A/N: This is the haunted house story that precedes the flashback in The Night Before Christmas. It was cut from that fic because it didn’t feel necessary but I’d written it and wanted to share it. So I held onto it until I was able to tweak it into a full, standalone one-shot. This prompt seemed like the perfect opportunity to share it.

“Look, look!” Brandon pulled at Stef’s hand and pointed through the rows of white tents and food carts, toward a haunted house on the other side of Fall Fest. “Can we go? Please, please, please?” Brandon danced before his moms, his hands folded under his chin as he begged.

“Maybe not today, B,” Lena said.

Brandon’s face was already forming a pout. “Why not?”

Lena looked down at the two children who stood between her and her partner. She couldn’t see how this could possibly be a good idea. They’d only been fostering the twins for a few months but the alarm bells sounding in her head made her very wary about how either of them would handle a haunted house. A shared glance over their heads told Lena that she and Stef were on the same page.

Stef turned to Brandon. “I think maybe it’s a little too scary, bub.”

“I’m not scared!” their son declared and puffed out his chest.

“You’re not the only one here,” Stef reminded him. Brandon was still adjusting to having siblings and he wasn’t always good about considering their feelings.

“Well, if they’re scared, can’t you just take me by myself?” he complained with a scowl.

“Brandon,” Stef warned.

“I wanna go too! I’m not scared!” Jesús piped up, breaking from beside his sister to join Brandon.

Lena looked at Stef again, trying desperately to communicate through near imperceptible facial expressions and telepathy.

Finally, Stef shrugged. “I guess, if you both really want to go, I can take the two of you through the haunted house.” Lena cleared her throat and looked to the ground to stifle her shock. Clearly the telepathy had not worked. “Mariana and Mama can meet us at the end.” When Stef looked to Lena for agreement on the compromise, there was a No on the tip of her tongue but Mariana broke in first.

“If they’re going, I’m going, too,” her little voice chirped.

Lena touched the girl’s shoulder. “You don’t have to go, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

When Mariana looked up at her, determination flashed in her eyes. “I want to. I’m not scared.” With her chin jutting in the air, she marched over to take up rank next to Jesús.

The three stood in a line of protest — defiant and unmoving, demanding their right to be scared out of their minds.

Stef threw her arms out to the side in surrender. “Okay. If you insist.”

The boys whooped with delight while Mariana’s face paled.

“Last one there’s a rotten egg!” Brandon slugged Jesús on the arm to give himself a head start as the boys took off in the direction of the attraction.

“Hey, wait for me!” Mariana called and ran after them, her fear forgotten at the threat of being the rotten egg.

Stef looked helplessly at Lena.

“I guess we’re all going,” she said with far more amusement than Lena felt. When they looked back in the direction of the kids, they were already alarmingly far ahead. “Hey, hey! Slow down! No running!” Stef called out a warning as she followed them in a brisk jog, leaving Lena standing alone.

“I guess we are,” Lena said to herself before trudging in the direction of her family who were all barreling toward this terrible, terrible idea.

By the time Lena caught up to her brood, Stef had managed to wrangle the boys as much as one can contain a whirlwind. At least they were no more than a few feet in front with Mariana lagging behind them and Stef bringing up the rear. The boys were trying to one-up each other with the possible horrors that awaited them in the haunted house. They had quite the imaginations and as each new suggestion was more gory and detailed than the last, the distance between them and Mariana continued to grow.

“I can’t believe you agreed to this,” Lena hissed as she came up beside her partner. She walked with her arms crossed tight over her stomach.

“I’m sorry, love,” Stef whispered back. “How was I supposed to know she’d want to go?”

“She doesn’t want to go,” Lena scoffed, shaking her head, wondering how Stef couldn’t see that. “She just doesn’t want to be left out. And even if she did, I don’t think a haunted house is a good idea.”

“Okay, sure, maybe it’s not ideal but I don’t think it’ll be that bad. We went with Brandon last year.”

“Yeah, Stef, and he ended up sleeping in our bed for a week.”

“Sure but look at him now.” She gestured toward him as he pretended to projectile vomit while Jesús was doubled over in a full belly laugh. “It obviously didn’t traumatize him or he wouldn’t be dying to go this year.”

“Brandon has had a very different life than Mariana and Jesús have,” Lena stated, her tone bordering on condescension. They may not have been fostering the twins for very long but Lena already knew that Mariana, though courageous in the truest sense of the word, was a highly sensitive soul. She was such a clever girl with a keen imagination and some very deep-seated insecurities that her short yet troubled life had given her. That coupled with an environment meant to elicit fear was a recipe for disaster. And Lena wasn’t too eager for Jesús to go through, either.

“I am aware of that, Lena,” Stef replied, her words terse in defense.

Lena softened. “I just don’t want to put them through anything that’s…” She paused, searching for the right words. “They’ve finally started to feel safe with us and I don’t want to undo that.”

“Neither do I. But sweetheart, as much as we want to, we can’t protect them from the whole world and trying to is just going to end up hurting them more in the end. We have choose when to protect them and when to give them the space and the agency to make mistakes. If that means we deal with a week of nightmares, then we’ll deal with it.”

Lena exhaled and let her arms fall to her sides. She knew that if their roles had been reversed, she would have told Stef exactly the same thing.

“So you do listen to me sometimes,” she teased, moving closer to slide her hand into Stef’s, their fingers lacing together.

Stef gave a nonchalant shrug, a smug glint in her eye. “Sometimes.”

Lena shook her head, her face alight with laughter. “Do I sound that pretentious when I say things like that?”

“I plead the fifth.” Stef winked and nudged Lena with her shoulder.

The two women closed the distance between themselves and the kids as they approached the line for the attraction. The boys were still going with the graphic predictions as they queued up to wait their turn.

“Boys.” The single word was a stern warning from Stef.

Jesús dropped the conversation without question, hanging his head a little, but Brandon looked at her, affronted. “What, Mom?”

“That’s enough.” Noting her seriousness, he huffed but relented as he turned away.

“There are lots of other kids around and we don’t want to scare them,” Lena clarified. After the explanation, Jesús’ head perked up. He had a real tendency to lay blame on himself for any and all minor behavioral corrections. Since noticing, Lena had been making a conscious effort to offer more explanations along with corrections and so far she had noticed quite an improvement.

The line moved at a steady pace. Groups were being let in about three minutes apart. The three children were involved in a game of I Spy, which kept them occupied as they waited. Lena and Stef stood behind them, touching at the shoulders and sharing snippets of conversation between lengths of easy silence. As they neared the front of the line, the sounds from inside the house began to reach them. Squeals and shrieks drifted out of the makeshift building and with each one, Mariana looked more apprehensive. By the time the family before them entered, the little girl’s back was rigid and her hands were balled in tight fists by her sides.

Lena nudged Stef with her elbow, nodding her head in the direction of their foster daughter.

“You alright, sweet pea?” Stef asked. Mariana jumped at the question but turned her head over her shoulder and nodded, her black ponytail rippling down her back.

In the presence of Mariana’s trepidation, the family grew quiet during the rest of their wait. Lena chewed the inside of her lip. She wanted so badly to yank her out of the line for her own sake. As if she could read Lena’s mind, Stef’s hand slipped into hers, affording her strength with a gentle squeeze. If only that telepathy had been working earlier; they wouldn’t be here now.

“Okay, folks. You’re up.” The gentleman working the attraction beckoned them forward. He rattled off his script like a seasoned flight attendant. “Remember, keep your hands to yourselves; no touching, no running, and certainly no hitting. You’re here for thrills, they’re here for bills; the monsters are people, too. Have fun and happy screams.” He waved them toward the entrance and the two women held their breath, waiting for Mariana to move. She didn’t.

“C’mon, Mariana,” Brandon urged. He was inching closer to the entrance, impatient after waiting in line so long.

Mariana’s feet had taken root in the grass.

When the host looked expectantly from her to the two women, Lena offered an apologetic wave. “Sorry. Just give us a minute.”

“Can I let the next group go?”

“Of course. Thank you,” she said as she knelt down on one knee beside Mariana. “It’s okay if you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared.” Her quiet voice trembled, giving herself away.

“You know, I get scared too, sometimes. Especially when I don’t know what to expect.”

The girl’s brown eyes were bright with worry and curiosity as she looked at Lena. “You do?”

“Yeah. All the time.”

Mariana fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. “Are you scared now?”

Lena nodded. “A little bit.” Of course, it wasn’t the haunted house itself that scared her but she kept that detail to herself. “Are you?”

The girl’s eyes dropped to the ground and she hesitated before nodding her head.

Jesús took his sister’s hand before Lena had a chance to speak again.

“If you’re scared, we don’t have to go.” His disappointment was obvious when he looked with longing at the dark entrance in front of them but his jaw was set with certainty. Lena felt a tightness around her heart at the touching gesture. He was alway so willing to sacrifice for his sister.

“Yeah, it’s okay if you don’t wanna go.” Brandon stepped in front of them, facing Mariana with his hands on his hips. “It’s just a lame haunted house. It’s probably not even good.” Pride swelled in Lena’s chest at her son’s sudden change of heart and she shared a quick look with Stef who seemed just as surprised as Lena. Maybe he really was getting a hang of this big brother thing.

Mariana looked between Brandon and her brother, her mouth pursing as she considered his offer. Finally, she shook her head.

“I wanna go. I won’t be scared if you guys are with me,” she said and reached for Brandon’s hand. United, the three turned toward the haunted house, their hands linked while they waited for their turn. Lena shared a look of love and pride with Stef as she returned to her side. She took her hand and squeezed it gently, grateful despite herself that Stef had agreed to this terrible, wonderful idea.

#elitewritingchallenge #adamsfosterfic #the fosters #adamsfoster #otp: adamsfoster #written by lifesizehysteria #fanfiction

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1800-seungshine · 6 years

Text

i’m serious.

member: ong seongwoo genre(s): fluff, romance, college!au summary: there are numerous perks of being his teasing, mischievous self but one disadvantage? he can’t seriously say how he truly likes you. (bullet point format) word count: 1.9k

note: ok so this is not a requested scenario but rather something my mind has been bothering me about for a long time and i need to dump it somewhere or else i can’t do anything else lmao. lowkey inspired by one of my favourite songs (click here) bc day6 songs are life and need more love and attention < 3

p.s. i’m sorry if i haven’t posted a scenario recently, i got sick and while laying in bed watching wanna one videos is fun, not writing bc of a constant headache that made me take so many naps (which i don’t really regret ehehe) made me sad :’((

ong seongwoo

first thing people think of is his good looks

i mean just take a look at his face

one smile and congratulations! you just turned into a puddle

but y’all srsly do you even know how good looking he is like oh my god

the next thing people remember is his lit ass humour

he’s the funniest guy you’ve ever seen

besides, his humour was why you both got closer

you weren’t necessarily the most social person in the world

but he was

and it was that one class that you shared together where everyone knows who he is

yet somehow he takes the seat right next to you

“the other seats weren’t appealing enough. someone with looks as good as mine needs a chair that represents his shining visuals.”

ok first of all,,,

what a c0cky hoe

usually guys who say such pretentious things would have met your fist but there was something different about him

and achievement unlocked! ong seongwoo made you laugh

might not be a big deal to other people but your laugh indicated a lot more to him

bc if he can make you laugh in one go you’re instantly his friend

hence the beginning of your blooming friendship

eventually you ended up looking forward to that class bc seongwoo was there

even if he did distract you all the time by pulling weird ass faces

and whispering jokes to make you laugh

but that was the joy of befriending a guy like him

really, it wasn’t that hard for you to get along with seongwoo

so what was simple class interactions became lunch hangouts to study sessions and everything in between

you two matched each other really well

you always laugh at his jokes

he drags you to his adventures

you have a sense of humour that blended with his

he has the funniest memes to combat your savage remarks

you would always help him when it came to anything

and he knows how to instantly cheer you up

your best friend has to grab ice cream before she can hear you rant

yet when it came to seongwoo all it took was one mobile phone and fingers rapidly typing in allcaps to emphasise the anger in your body

and you’d feel a million times better bc he had the funniest replies that makes you happier than eating your favourite flavour of ice cream

so is ong snatching the best friend title??

yeah probably

and while you two may consider yourselves as close friends

it doesn’t seem to be that way to the eyes of others

the amount of times you and seongwoo have been assumed as a couple became so endless to the point where you two gave up on counting

and seongwoo being the prick he is eventually played along to people’s assumptions by wrapping an arm around your shoulder, “come on babe, i don’t want you falling for other guys.” he’d teasingly say, sending a cheeky wink before he’d drag you elsewhere

he does it anywhere, no matter who you two were with, just to tease you

you: you’re such a little prick, ong - i’m gonna end up jumped on by your admirers >:(

seongwoo: whoops my bad ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

you: smh you’re deleted bye. i hate you so much-

seongwoo: love you too y/n ;)

the closeness of your friendship was so tight that it was ultimately questioned by everyone else

and kang daniel were one of the few who had enough of simply pondering and presuming so he bluntly asked you when he invited you to sit with him for lunch one day

“y/n....are you dating seongwoo hyung?”

you were about to spit the water you were drinking at him bc of the sudden topic but you hurriedly gulped the water down, lightly choking along the way

“is this a new approach on conversation starters?” you asked after having a coughing fit, “because i’m rating it a zero.”

“no, i’m genuinely asking; nearly everyone on campus think that you two have something going on and i can see why they think that way.” daniel pointed out.

you let out a seemingly forced chuckle as your eyes land on seongwoo who stood across the vicinity, surrounded by swarms of girls

seeing the sight of seongwoo smiling and laughing with other girls, you pushed the giddy feelings aside by instantly shooting it down with your denial before you discreetly point at him

“turn around,” you told daniel who obediently followed your instruction to observe his best friend for a minute before his attention returned to you

“see? ong treats me like that too, there’s nothing special - we’re just friends.”

you took your gaze away from seongwoo to get rid of the sudden heaviness in your heart and met with daniel’s confused expression as he scratched his head.

“really...? but it doesn’t seem that way to me though.... i’ve known seongwoo for a long time and the way he treats you is different. for me at least.”

“daniel, what are you talking about?”

“ah, forget it.” daniel remarked as he ruffled his hair, mumbling a little to himself before digging into his food, “hopefully you figure it out.”

time skip bloop bloop

“hey, seongwoo!”

a voice calls out to him and quickly he spins around, hoping that you’d be there

even if he already knew from the start that the voice didn’t resemble yours, disappointment still washes over him as he realises that it wasn’t you

but rather it was your best friend approaching him

“y/n doesn’t feel well so she can’t come to today’s lecture but can you please take notes for her?”

(ngl i got inspired by my flu and overall inability to properly breathe)

the neutral expression on his face is visibly replaced with worry, “is she okay? what happened?”

“she just needs to rest - i have to go now, my class is starting soon.”

“wait!” “the passcode’s 0000. bye seongwoo!”

seongwoo furrows his brows together in confusion, “how did she know i was going to ask that...?”

meanwhile you were casually dying on the sofa with multiple blankets wrapped around you

your best friend was the one who got you in the living room in the first place as you couldn’t get up in the morning

and before she could leave for her classes, she forced you to eat and made sure that you drink medicine

(#bffgoals)

now you’re just cuddling a tissue box as you try to watch television

but there’s a sudden knock on the door and you hear the door opening

believing your best friend came back, you rise from your resting position, “oh why are you back so earl-” you abruptly end your sentence as you see who came entered in

“seongwoo...?”

“you look like a sad burrito.”

“i’m going to take that as a compliment,” you say with a sniffle, “what are you doing here?”

he simply lifts up the plastic bags he’s been holding, “i’m here to take care of you, what else?”

“don’t you have other classes to attend?”

seongwoo places the bags on the table, gently pushing you back down on the sofa as he kneels beside you

“first class was our lecture so i took notes and left as soon as it finished,” you watch him speak as his hand reaches out to touch your forehead, letting it sit there for a few seconds, “you have a slight fever...”

you remain silent as you observe his face at a closer glance; your gaze travelling from his eyes, his nose, the constellation moles adorning his face and down to his lips before you find yourself looking back at those dark brown eyes staring right at you

and suddenly you’re unable to breathe even more than your current condition was letting you.

bc in that moment, you finally accepted how much you liked seongwoo

that it wasn’t even out of friendship anymore

and knowing that you got caught, you begin to hide under the covers from embarrassment as you try to calm your palpitating heart

“oh my god, ong get out.”

“but i just came??”

“i’m just sick, this is nothing - i’m fine. my heart’s fine.” you ignore the fact that seongwoo’s presence still remains in the room as you talk to yourself under the blankets

until he pulls it away from you and your eyes immediately land on the person you last wanted to see that day

“what? are you okay, y/n?”

you grab the blankets once again and hide yourself from him, “no i’m not okay. i practically look and sound dead, don’t do this to me”

“do what? we’re both dead inside- come on, just look at me and tell me what’s wrong.”

“no thank you. i already caught the flu, i don’t need a broken heart.”

“and what makes you think that way?”

words fail to escape your mouth as you’re unable to reply and you both fall into complete silence

seongwoo takes this opportunity to hold onto the blankets and gently pull it away from you, “what makes you think you’ll have a broken heart?” he questions

although you’ve seen his serious side a number of times, it still sends chills down your spine

because you know that this time he isn’t kidding

you finally sit up curling into a ball, “because i’m just a friend - nothing more, nothing less.”

you feel him sitting down beside you and you avoid his stare as much as possible by looking at the television that became a mere background music since seongwoo’s arrival

his soft chuckle rings sweetly into your ear, “what’s so funny? did you just think of a weird joke in your head again?” you casually ask, pretending like nothing happened a few minutes ago.

“it’s funny because i don’t treat friends with coffee every morning.

i don’t spend money to go cinemas just to watch a movie with friends, especially when there’s just two of us

i also don’t think i’d spend fifty bucks in an arcade to cheer up a friend

nor do i send my friends pick up lines to brighten their day

and of course, i don’t ditch daniel for friends.

so if i ditch daniel for you then you’re very special to me - a lot more special than daniel himself and that’s a lot for me to say because that guy is like my brotp,, my soulmate even.”

after his words sink into your head, you realise that everything seongwoo has listed

he’s done them for you

“so how many times have you ditched daniel?” you ask as you turn your head to him, instantly caught in his stare as you realise that he had been staring at you this entire time.

“never.” he starts off, “but for you? countless of times.”

you feel your cheeks heat up and you were sure that it wasn’t your fever acting up, “i hate you, ong. do you know that?” you tell him.

you hated him because of what he was doing to you.

you hated him because of what you were feeling towards him

you hated him because you were falling for him

and you hated him because of the next words he says

“i love you too, y/n.” he simply says as his lips curve upwards into a heartwarming smile as his gaze never leave you

“and this time, i’m serious.”

#ong seongwoo #seongwoo #ong seongwoo scenarios #wanna one #wanna one imagines #wanna one scenarios #ong seongwu #seongwu #seongwoo scenarios #seongwoo imagines #pd101 season 2 #produce 101

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romaniassexdungeon · 6 years

Text

Go on, Yankee, break my heart

Pairing: HuttMol

Summary: Orad writes letters he cannot send on a beach he wishes was less lonely.

Notes: Whoop, second in my sad Hetalia fics based on Pogues songs series! This one is based on Sayonara.

Given that I’ve always written him in the third person, I’ve never truly unlocked the full extent of Hutt’s narrative voice and let me just say: it is the most needlessly flowery, pretentious voice ever. Like damn, calm down and stop trying to be a poet.

Again, very sad so sorry.

Read on AO3

Michael - Molossia

Orad/Oscar - Hutt River

Apari - Australia

Manya - Wy

OK, it's time for Sayonara

Go on yankee break my heart

Dearest Michael,

You were different from the other Americans.

What I mean is, you looked different anyway. I expected the whole bloody lot of you to be blond and tanned and tall and built like Greek statues, uniforms fitting perfectly and just adding to how stupidly handsome you all were.

Like your brother, I suppose. He was all bright smiles and flashing blue eyes but something about you intrigued me.

I mean, you had the tan at least. But it was not the sun-kissed gold of your brother, rather baked red, a farmer’s tan, a mark of hard work and honesty. You were a man of the earth with a love for the land and I just knew it the moment I saw you.

Your hair was the furthest thing from blond, but, now that I recall, it was styled like a typical flashy American soldier, but you weren’t swaggering about the place, plying girls with chocolate and stockings and cigarettes.

I could see the appeal though. Even though you were slouched against a wall, watching your brother laugh and chatter with anyone who would give him a second of attention, you still fascinated me. Yes, let us use the term “fascinated” for the moment.

I could see what the locals meant about your uniforms.

I remember the sunglasses too; oh how could I not? You were the first American I saw with a pair that did not look, hmm, how should I describe it? Obnoxious? Then again, we all thought you lot were obnoxious.

It went well with your scarf. The red one. The red silk scarf tucked into your jacket. It screamed trouble to me. Well, not my trouble but your own, like you were off to jump in front of a bull. People have told me the colour red means a lot of things besides earth: love, passion, fertility, danger. Mostly danger. I worried for you, though I did not even know your name.

You would soon be off to war, after all.

You did not exactly look in the mood to talk to anyone, so I did not approach. I never approached people though.

But still, you saw me.

I never asked what you thought when you first looked at me, whether you were instantly captivated or angered that someone had disturbed your reverie or curious if I would say something. I should have asked. I will ask the moment you get home.

There are a lot of things I wish to ask you when you get home. Our time together was so short… so here’s to figuring something out when the war is over.

All the hugs and kisses,

Orad

Darling Michael,

I do not know why I write to you like I would write in a diary, but I suppose this is the closest I will come to actually talking to you until the war is over. Maybe then you can read these and laugh at my silly worries that you may not return. Maybe then I can hear your replies to my questions, and tell me all you are currently seeing in Asia.

Where are you now? Singapore? Burma? I am in the dark about most that is going on. But we are winning, right? I think that is true, that the Yanks and Aussies are pushing back against Japan? They won’t let me in any of the shops to buy a newspaper, and people are secretive about this sort of thing, lest a German is somewhere listening.

No Germans here, just me. Wanting to know how you are.

I hope you are keeping safe.

Hopes and wishes for the future,

Orad

Michael, my love,

I remember the first time you talked to me.

It was at the beach, evening time and I remember the sun painting the sky the colours of life, of nature. I remember letting the sand fall through my fingers as I watched you talk with the other Yankee soldiers and, to this day, I wish I could convince you I was there by accident. The beach is my special place, where I go to feel free and safe. Sometimes when the world is too much to bear, I go for a swim and let the cool water cleanse my face and body.

In all honesty, I was trying to make myself invisible in your presence, sitting quietly and not making a sound, but you still saw me, again. I was probably creeping you out at that point.

When the other soldiers went to the bar, you stayed behind and I wanted to flee. You were coming my way! There was, quite suddenly, no time to run.

But you just said hello, gave an awkward wave, and stood there.

The wind seemed to be attacking your coat more successfully than your hair and the sun dying at the other side of the city made you look like a fire. You smiled a goofy smile and the dimples in your cheeks made me smile back. I introduced myself as Oscar, and you told me your name was Michael.

You were alright, for a Yank.

We talked until we could no longer see, about our lives and the war we both knew little about. You told me about the USA, and I talked about my home on the edge of the city, a brother and sister, my birthplace out west that I had not seen in years. I told you my brother was off fighting and I had to stay here to look after my sister because something horrible would happen if I wasn’t around to protect her.

You told me it was your brother Alfred who was enlisted, and you volunteered to be with him, and do your bit. I remember that, Michael, how desperate you were to help, to save everyone. A man of morals, truly, and I still admire you for that. You mentioned another brother, one you only knew was alive because he was in a POW camp somewhere in Germany. I hope he will be returned to you one day.

The sun kept dipping and dipping, but you did not care. All that mattered was talking to me like we were a pair of regular boys, discussing our hopes for the future and worries. You saw me as an equal and I appreciate that. No one else here did, not the Aussies or Americans or anyone except my siblings.

Of course, there was nothing regular about your fear of death, of the real war. Everything was still a dream-like trance for you. A crappy holiday but not yet the hell your veteran father warned you about. That would soon come.

You disappeared for a while at some point, leaving me to my exhilarated thoughts and returning with a bottle of scotch.

We walked as far as we could as we drank, singing and paddling in the sea. For the life of me, I cannot remember what we sang, if we tried to teach each other the words, if we danced. No, there was dancing, I’m sure of it. When I fell in and got my hair wet, you dried it with your scarf.

I remember that well. It settled around my shoulders; you didn’t seem in any hurry to take it back. That scarf smelt of your cologne and I pressed it to my nose; I apologised for getting my salt and sand stink on it.

You… did not mind at all. Quite the opposite as you wrapped that thing around the two of us and kissed me. We were completely alone, but you still pulled away too soon. Your face… yes I understood the fear, but you did not need to fear me.

To prove it, I kissed you back.

I… am not the best kisser. I want to be the best at everything but, alas, I was terrible. So were you, I have to admit. It was something we could both laugh at, in between little pecks to noses and cheeks.

Then I wrapped your scarf back around your neck and told you to get going, that you’d be missed and we couldn’t have that now.

But, of course, if you ever needed to find me, you’ll find me on this beach.

I’m still here today; the moment you come home, you’ll know where to look.

Kisses to your nose,

Orad xx

My beloved Michael,

As strange a place as it was to meet in secret, the beach became our little, safe world. That is, when we met outside the city, behind this rock outcropping where we could kiss in private, and maybe more.

Everyone said you Americans were overpaid, oversexed and over here. I can confirm at least two of those are true.

No, wait, you’re no longer over here. You’re over there. In Burma, that is what a soldier who knew you told me. His legs were missing and so were his eyes. I begged that would not be you.

Since you left, the worry has not left my body, but it was dull, a far away but painful truth I did not want to admit to myself. And now?

There was a chance you were not coming back at all. And what state would you be in when you came back? Not that I would care about you any less, no matter how gnarled and scarred you became, not even if half your body was missing.

I just don’t wish such a fate on you.

And Apari too! Is it too much to hope you are both returned to me safe? And your brothers too. I just want us all to be fine, and together when the war is over. I want both my brother and sister by my side again, and you in my arms.

I could take on everyone responsible for this war right here right now!

I did want to sign up, and I told you as such. Apari told me not to. I needed to stay with Manya and I was a kiddo who couldn’t go throwing my life away for no reason.

But Apari can, apparently.

I hope he comes back safe.

If I didn’t worry about my sister so much, I would volunteer anyway, maybe fight with you and know just what was going on and if you were still alive. There isn’t even a way of knowing if you have been injured or captured because who is going to tell me? We made sure no one knew of our relationship for a reason, and I can hardly walk into the barracks and ask.

I have convinced myself you are safe, and that is enough for now.

Lots of wishes,

Orad xx

My life and light,

It was strange, but I had never felt as safe as when we were swimming together, in our own private lagoon. I pulled you underwater and kissed you, knowing we would be disturbed by no one in our liquid crystal.

You looked ghostly as the moon filtered through the water, like the very sand you skidded across as you let the tides – and my hands – guide you.

When we came up for air, you laughed and I couldn’t help joining in, dear. You remember, right? Your laugh is the best sound in the world, you know that, right?

Hugs and kisses and walks on the beach,

Orad xxxx

Beloved, darling Michael,

I hope our last night together is as deeply carved into your memory is it is into mine.

Oh, how could it not be? The moon was full and illuminating the sea and sand in a silvery shimmer. Everything was warm and calm as we lay together on the beach.

You laughed as we danced, jacket abandoned and your shirt soon following. You pulled off my shirt between kisses and - gently - pushed me down onto the sand.

You held my face in your hands as you cradled my soul in yours, our bodies intertwined and as loss was already building up in my heart; I did something I’d been meaning to for a while.

I told you my real name.

I wanted you to call me Orad.

And that was what you called me for the rest of the night. For once, I did not even care how your accent made it sound so ridiculous, or that my name was too foreign. I wanted you to tell me you loved me for the rest of our time together and speak words of truth.

My ears and neck burn from the ghost of your voice, memories of trailing fingers up and down my skin. I ruined your hair with my wayward hands, but you didn’t care. Mine was soon coated in powdered gold.

I pressed a hand to your chest to feel your heartbeat and wrapped that scarf around the both of us, fire all around us. Fire in me. Fire on your lips. My heart.

Your heart was my own swing band, playing furiously, like the world was ending the moment the sun rose. And it was, for us.

My mouth had a hunger only you could satisfy, and my heart had an ache that would not leave, no matter how I pressed your body against mine. I wanted that night to last forever, to feel your warmth until the sky fell around us and the earth reclaimed our bodies, but all too soon we had to kiss for the last time as sunlight tore our world apart.

I want to remember everything and hope you don’t mind. If this is too embarrassing to read, I understand. I will be right here ready to make new memories.

My hand in yours forever,

Orad xx

Faithful Michael,

You

You’re

I saw your brother today.

They carried the maimed off a truck that looked like a shrivelled olive and he was there, standing off away from the crowd as the legless and limping and broken were taken to the hospital and barracks, hidden away from the horrified, silent stares of the locals. He refused all help, and refused to go inside with the others. Most of him stood on the pavement, hunched and colourless.

His left arm is still in Burma.

I had to have some news, and besides, in caring about you I grew to care for him too, and we had spoken once or twice before, when he came to collect you. I did tend to steal you away from your countrymen.

Alfred seemed willing to talk to me now, and I lead him away from everyone staring, down to our beach.

I held out as long as I could, and so did he. Alfred talked of the war and losing his arm and watching his friends get gunned down, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak of you until I asked.

And so, with my eyes on the sea and ears in hell, I learnt of your fate.

You.

Michael.

Oh, my Michael. One piece of lead.

You’ve been dead for months.

Yours, devastated,

Orad

#huttmol #aph hutt river #aph molossia #APH America #hetalia #Hetalia Fanfiction #pogueverse

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jasperrollswrites · 7 years

Text

Finer Things

This is...something special.

@aardvarkia has been something of an inspiration of mine - there was a period back in mid-2015 when I first discovered his initial Bear Cap story on CYOC and spent the next week and a half or so obsessively re-reading it. It’s still one of my absolute favourite TF stories today. I always felt like I couldn’t quite match up, however - before, I’ve struggled with making stories go past 8 pages.

So, imagine my surprise when he contacts me saying he liked one of my earlier stories and is willing to commission me for something. To be honest, it got me a little panicked, and I found it hard to even start. But as with most things I’m afraid of doing, once I did get started, I found it easier than I thought...and ended up writing my longest story so far.

This is a bit different from my usual thing, more archetype than character TF, but really I’m game to do more of this kind of thing - I think not having to make the subject align with a rigid set of character traits leaves a lot more room for creativity.

So with that out of the way, please enjoy this story of a life-changing trip to the West End of London! (Side-note: that watch costs nearly £7,000. kid’s lucky he didn’t actually pay for it.) (Extra side-note: this one’s also pretty NSFW so if that isn’t your thing then maybe skip a bit towards the end)

———————

Prologue

Being a parent can be tough in a lot of ways. Parents want to pass on something of what they’ve learned and raise their kids the right way, but kids can be difficult - some kids especially so. No matter what they try, how they phrase it, no matter what values they try to instill, some kids just never take on the lessons their parents want to impart. They wonder where they might have gone wrong, but sometimes, it really isn’t the parents fault. Sometimes the kid is just a little shit.

Garrett Parsons could, if you were feeling unfair, perhaps be described as one of those kinds of kids. It wasn’t like he’d lacked any opportunities. He grew up in a upper-middle class family - parents who were happy to work hard to achieve the finer things in life. His older siblings had gone on to do respectable things with their lives, getting their own houses, paying their own way. His parents had spent just as much time on him as a little kid as they had on his sister, Katherine and his brother, Barry, although maybe Garrett didn’t see it that way.

Maybe it was the friends he’d ended up with throughout school, maybe it was perceived pressure from the relative success of his siblings, maybe it was just something about being the youngest of three. Maybe it was all of those things, or none of them. Finding the reason for this kind of thing is always hard, but the ultimate fact of it was, whatever upper-middle class values his family had tried to instill in him, it was like absolutely none of it took.

Where his siblings and extended family had all gone to college to further their education, Garrett got out of school as early as possible and never went back, much to his parents consternation. Where his family appreciated fine restaurant dining, Garrett went to bars and pubs as early as he could - the more of a dive the place was, the better, it seemed. Where his family enjoyed high-quality HBO drama, he spent his time watching the soap opera of pro-wrestling. His family tried to broaden their music tastes - Garrett had only time for hard metal, sneering at anything that wasn’t played at 120+ decibels and practically shook the house. Perhaps the lens of pop culture is a limiting view, but the simple fact was, now at 18, Garrett rejected almost everything his family appreciated.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t tried to bridge the gap. After all, that was what this whole vacation was about.

The family was from Massachusetts, but for their summer vacation, they’d gone outside of America for once and taken a trip to London, England for two weeks. Garrett and his parents had travelled separately from his siblings, so they’d met up with Katherine (hair dyed blonde recently) and Barry (trying and failing to grow a beard) at Heathrow on the first day. They’d gone to a restaurant Katherine had recommended - she made a habit of making sure she knew about what was hip and cool back home, so of course she would do prior research for England. Everyone else seemed to have enjoyed it, but Garrett considered it all very pretentious. The food was too artsy, the waiters were stuck up, with their poncy British accents...No-one agreed with him, but it had been awhile since he’d found common ground with anyone in his family.

They were spending their week at a pretty high class hotel, which wasn’t something Garrett was about to complain about - it had a big underground pool. He’d tried to stay out of family activities, but he’d skipped too many for his parents liking, so today he was being dragged to a West End show - although Garrett had almost stopped them from going when his mother had found out he hadn’t bothered to bring any smart clothes. It had turned into a shouting match, his mother’s curly red hair shaking about as she wondered what she was going to do about Garrett, telling him she’d informed him of this months in advance, while his father scratched the top of his bald head, staying out of it, having given up on trying do anything about Garrett about 2 years ago.

Garrett, for his part, couldn’t understand what the big deal was. They were just going to see some crappy musical. Who cared what he was wearing? They’d all be looking at the stage, why would they care about some guy wearing a grey hoodie and some jeans? Big whoop, what an embarrassment. So what? It wasn’t like he made much of an impression anyway. He was only about 5 ft 4, he’d never put any time into working out, and his relatively fast metabolism kept him thin, for now, so it was hardly like he was noticable to anyone. He just looked like anyone else. Mom had been yelling something about expectations or etiquette or something, but it all just bounced off Garrett at this point.

In the end they’d dragged him along anyway, even though Garrett would’ve much preferred staying in the hotel. He’d even offered to stay if he was such an embarrassment, but his Mom had said it would be a waste of the money they’d spent on getting a ticket for him. God, it wasn’t like he had asked her to buy one. With that, Garrett had elected to tune out for the rest of the day. He didn’t care about his family, he didn’t care about this crappy show, he didn’t care about any of it. They could nag him all they wanted, he wasn’t going to say anything. All he wanted was to leave and go back to the pub back home.

That would probably be why he never understood what happened when they got into the theater. There’d been some kind of mistake or something, but Garrett had, as previously mentioned, tuned out. They’d mixed up the seats or something, or...they’d probably offended Mom somehow, she got offended by everything if it wasn’t up to snuff.

“We’re very sorry, Mrs. Parsons”, some young, clean cut staff member was saying, in a simpering, sort of wimpy English accent, “but they’re the only seats we have left.”

“I paid specifically for these 5 seats! T-7 to T-11!” Mom said in a shrill tone, her Boston accent a stark contrast to the English surround her. “Look, it’s on the receipt!” She was digging into her handbag now, finding the receipt out of the billions she seemed to keep a hold of. Garrett watched impassively, scratching at his shoulder length brown hair as the two went back and forth - seemed like they’d miscounted and only four seats were free. He stuck his hands into his pockets, his blue denim jeans hanging low on his thin waist - if he hadn’t been wearing his hoodie, you’d be seeing his pants

As they were talking, another staff member was coming over. He was pretty smartly dressed, even for theater staff - a freshly cleaned and pressed black dinner suit with a black tie. He was looking to be approaching his mid-50s, but he didn’t look bad for it - a handsome face, not unlike Sean Connery with a buzzcut. His hair was grey, but it only complemented his look, in combination with the well looked after beard. He was clearly something of a bodybuilder - the suit hid his muscles somewhat, but it was hard to miss that this guy was big in every way. He seemed to be approaching 7 feet tall, with all the muscle he’d gained.

“Hello, Mr. Parsons, Mrs. Parsons,” the man said, in a calm, deep voice. Unlike his colleague, his English accent was smoother, more confident. “I’m the senior manager here, Jeremiah Carter. I’ve already been informed of the situation, and I think I’ve worked out something of a solution.” Garrett raised an eyebrow. Senior manager? He looked more like a club bouncer.

Garrett’s mom suddenly seemed quite taken with Mr. Carter. “Oh, well, what is it?” she asked, the shrillness gone from her voice almost immediately.

“Well, Mrs. Parsons,” Jeremiah began, “Unfortunately it’s not a perfect solution, as due to the planning mixup we can’t get a full set of five seats side-to-side for your family. We do have five seats, but one of them will be separate from the others. It’s a private seat - it was previously reserved, but the person who reserved had to back out at the last moment. It’s quite an excellent seat, really, you’ll get a great view of the production, but it would be separate from the other seats.”

“So...someone will have to sit on their own?” Katherine said.

“Like I said, it’s not perfect, but, as a form of compensation, your meal after the show will be on the house.” Jeremiah offered.

“Oooh...that sounds great!” Mom said. “Although, yes, someone would have to sit on their own…”

There was a moment of silence, as the family pondered what to do, but to Garrett it seemed obvious.

“I’ll take the empty seat, you all want to sit together, so…” he said.

“Oh, Garrett, well...I don’t know, we…” Barry said, umm-ing and ahh-ing.

“It’s fine. I’ll take it.” Garrett said, with resignation in his voice. “Just show me where it is.” It wasn’t like he cared anyway. It was just another way besides the clothes that he was separated from his family. At least he’d get a nicer seat. The younger staff member they’d been talking with before looked at Garrett a bit funny, like he thought Garrett didn’t deserve it.

“If that’s fine with you, Mr. Parsons?” Jeremiah asked. “The show is starting soon so I would advise you to be quick.”

“Hey, we’re getting a free meal, aren’t we?” Garrett’s dad replied good-naturedly. “You won’t catch me complaining.” The rest of the family seemed to nod in unison, almost like they were happy to be rid of Garrett for a couple of hours.

“Excellent!” Jeremiah said. He turned to the younger staff member. “Ellis, show the Parsons to their seats, and I’ll take, uh...Garrett, was it?” He looked back at Garrett. Garrett was silent for a second, then nodded. “I’ll take Garrett to the booth.”

“Come talk to us at the intermission,” Katherine said, as the young man took the rest of the family away. Garrett made a noncommittal grunt.

“Well, if you’d like to come with me…” Jeremiah said, leading the way.

The two men walked up some steps, Garrett following behind the mountain of muscle that was Jeremiah. Things were awkwardly quiet for a good half a minute, until Jeremiah spoke up.

“You don’t want to be here, do you, Garrett?” he said. It was a question, but he said it like he already knew the answer.

“How would you know?” Garrett said, somewhat rudely.

“Mm...the clothes. The attitude. You were very eager to take this seat. Almost like you don’t want to be with your family.”

“Why do you care?” Garrett said, angrier now. Who the fuck did this guy think he was, acting all buddy buddy?

“It doesn’t seem like that long ago that I was like that. I didn’t appreciate my family.” Jeremiah said, wistfulness in his voice. “You shouldn’t let those connections slip. Wait too long, and before you know it, they’ll be gone, and you’ll be left with a lot of regrets.”

“Fuck off.” Garrett responded.

“Mmhm. Well, here’s your seat, Garrett.” Jeremiah said, as they came to a door. He opened it, revealing a little balcony with a single, red plush seat with a golden frame. Garrett stepped in, and sat on the seat - it was very comfortable, perhaps the most comfortable chair he’d ever sat on in his life.

“I hope you enjoy the show.” Jeremiah said, and stepped back into the hallway, closing the door. Alone again, he rubbed his hands together, to generate a little bit of heat, and looked at the small sign to the left of the door, unseen by Garrett. It was blank at the moment, but before long, little letters wrote themselves in.

Reserved for Rupert Carter

Producer

Jeremiah blinked. He hadn’t expected that. Maybe it was a coincidence. Too late now. He walked away, a little bit of doubt in his mind.

Act I

Garrett wasn’t sure whether the single seat he’d been given was a good thing or a bad thing. One the one hand, he didn’t have to listen to his parents nagging at him about how he wasn’t appreciating the...culture or whatever. On the other hand, it was somehow even more boring up in this private balcony seat. He looked down at the audience below, to try and see if he could spot his family, but quickly gave up on it. It wasn’t like he really cared. The only thing he really gave a shit about right now was getting out of this stuffy theater as soon as possible.

The lights went down, and as they did, Garrett had pulled out his phone. He’d already decided he didn’t really care to watch this. He wasn’t even sure what they’d gone out to see, since he hadn’t been paying attention. He’d heard something about a musical, something about 50/60s America or something like that. It was already enough for him to decide it wasn’t worth his time. Musicals never had any good music, it was all...poppy, Glee shit, and the fact it was about history made it worse. Nothing interesting happened in the past, it was all boring civil rights marches, shit that got buried decades ago but people kept bringing up, like it meant anything these days. Not to mention the fact that they were in England - he bet none of these idiots could even speak a good American accent, let alone sing in one.

Garrett tapped the Twitter app, having to tap it a couple of times for it to register, due to the crack going diagonally across the screen. He wanted to see if he could catch up with what his friends back home were doing, but the signal inside the theatre was crappy - only one bar showing up, so it was taking ages to load anything, and he was just stuck looking at a grey screen with the infuriating little spinning wheel.

Tweets aren’t loading right now. Please tap to retry. Garrett rolled his eyes. Well, he might as well look at the show while he waited. At least it was something to watch. Some fat girl was on-stage, with the most obvious wig he’d ever seen on her head. He had to admit the stage looked pretty good - the backdrop looked convincingly like a street, and the thing they were doing with the rising light to make it look like the sun was coming up was pretty neat, but...that song was grating. It was something about Baltimore, and she kept holding the note...god it was annoying. As far as Garrett was concerned, the fat lady had sung, so the show was already over.

He looked back down at his phone to see if Twitter had elected to load yet. It had, but...something was wrong.

He didn’t know...any of these people. Where were all his friends? It was a bunch of weird, gay shit, bodybuilders, and people talking about theater shows, and crap. Had he somehow been signed into the wrong account? He went to check his profile, but before he could, his right hand suddenly seized up with pain, and he dropped the phone, leaving it to clack loudly on the wooden floor of the little balcony.

“Shit”, he hissed to himself, half because of the pain, half because he hoped he hadn’t cracked the screen even more now. Where the hell had that come from? He held his hand, pain still shooting through it, leaving his hand paralyzed, his fingers curled tightly, but still open. He looked down at it - had he suddenly been hit with carpal tunnel or something? He was trying to rationalise it, but as he held his hand, it was quickly becoming clear that this was something altogether different.

He could feel his right hand...growing. It was the only way to describe it. He had placed his left hand over the back of the right, holding on around the wrist, but the fingers on his left hand were being pushed further apart, struggling to grip his right as the palm was expanding. He heard some muffled cracks, feeling the bones his hands and knuckles pop as his fingers got thicker. He brought his left hand away, as the pain subsided, checking to confirm that he wasn’t just imagining this, holding it next to his right.

The difference was impossible to miss. His right hand was almost double the size of his left, but it wasn’t just the size that was different. The skin on his right hand had changed, looking rougher, more wrinkled...older. Not horrendously old, but like...the hand of someone at least 25 years older than him. He moved his right hand, almost a little afraid of it, like it was an alien. With his thickened index finger, he gingerly brought it to the back of his left hand. Once again, the difference was impossible to miss - the skin on his left hand felt young and smooth, while the feeling of his right hand was more weathered. Older, but well looked after. He turned his hands over, and curled his fingers, looking at his fingernails - the ones on his left hand were grubby, while the fingernails on his right looked much cleaner, and clipped too. The difference was like night and day.

Garrett was at a loss for what to do. He was afraid of what had just happened to his hand - it seemed like something he should go get someone qualified in first-aid about, but what was he supposed to say? His hand spazzed out and then suddenly it was like 50 years old? They’d think he was making some kind of joke until he showed them. He rapidly opened and closed his fingers, then shook his hand, and looked back at the stage, stony-faced. He was...he was...hallucinating, or something. He’d skipped breakfast and they hadn’t had lunch yet. He was hungry, so he was imagining things. Just ignore it. He clamped both hands to the armrests of the chair - then remembered he’d dropped his phone. Still looking at the stage as best he could, he reached down, making sure to use his left hand, and reached around blindly for the phone, finding it by feel and coming back up again.

He looked down at the phone, trying to angle his view so that he couldn’t see his right hand out of the corner of his eye, and checked Twitter again. The same shit as before - accounts for West End shows, celebrity actors, and...unnerving amounts of muscular men in very little clothing. He scrolled a bit, but couldn’t see any of his friends. Either he was hacked, or signed into the wrong account. He checked the profile - it was the second one. The username was @real_ru_carter. Garrett had no idea who this was supposed to be, or how he had ended up signing into this guy’s account - judging by the checkmark and the amount of notifications he was getting, he was someone notable. If things had been different, Garrett might have tried to mess around with this account, but he was freaked out enough by the...hallucination he’d had, so he just wanted to get rid of it.

He shut off the phone, and jammed it into his pocket. He might as well watch the show anyway. His family would probably be interrogating him about what had happened during the intermission, and if he’d just said he’d been on his phone the whole show it’d probably grounds for another shouting ma--

His line of thought was cut off by the feeling of another pop, the sound of bones cracking again - and his sleeve feeling tighter. Garrett looked up from the phone, and stared at the stage again, not wanting to look at what was happening. The show was still going on - the fat girl was now whining to a fat guy in drag, begging to audition for something. He tried to focus really hard on the show, trying not to notice the feeling of the right sleeve of his hoodie getting tighter and tighter. Now it wasn’t just on the sleeve, it was all along the arm it was getting tighter. It felt like his hoodie was starting to struggle holding his arm. No! Don’t think about it! It’s not...it’s not happening. Just pay attention to the show. What was happening? The fat girl, Tracy, she wanted to be on some dancing show. Her accent was pretty okay, actually, although it seemed like the guy in drag wasn’t even trying. Maybe it was part of the joke.

There was a loud rip, and Garrett felt the sleeve of his hoodie come apart over his wrist. He looked down without thinking, and nearly screamed.

It was happening to his arms now! His wrist had caught up to his clenched fist, becoming appropriately thicker to support it, but the real change was in his forearm. The ripped sleeve had ridden up exposing it a little bit of the arm - and it was a lot bigger. His forearm had pumped up with frankly terrifying muscle, once again, practically double the size that it had been before. He could see veins pushing against the skin, and judging by the way his hoodie was outlining the rest of his arm, his skin was struggling to hold the sudden growth of muscle in.

Garrett ran his eyes up his arm, and finally saw what was happening that he had been taking so much effort to ignore. He’d been holding his arms close to his body, but that was becoming harder and harder, as his tricep began pumping up too, his hoodie getting tighter around his shoulder. He could feel it practically pulsing, racing to catch up with the rest of his arm, as the muscles beneath the skin tore up and reformed, quickly becoming stronger with every minute that passed. It was a slow process, but it was one that Garrett was finding it a little difficult to look away from.

Hallucination. Trick of the light. It was dark in the theater, he couldn’t see properly. He must just be making a mistake. Nevermind the fact he could physically feel his arm pumping up, the shoulder of his hoodie practically ready to explode, unable to contain what was growing beneath it. Nevermind facts, full stop. Garrett was firmly in “deny reality” mode, even as his sense of reality was being challenged. He tore his eyes away and looked rigidly at the stage again. Just focus on the show. What was happening now? Tracy was, fawning over some young, attractive dancer whose name Garrett had missed - was it something with an L? Lance? Larry? No, with a face like that it was something more snappy.

“Link Larkin,” Tracy said. “So near, yet so gorgeous.” Link, that was it. Garrett was surprised his guess was that close, given that he had never given a shit about a musical before now. The actor playing Link bumped into Tracy, and Tracy practically immediately launched into a slowly rising ballad about bells and marriage and dating. Garrett tried to force himself to enjoy the song, although he was having a little difficulty - melody was nice enough but...god, it was so sappy and sugary. If he wasn’t having a spontaneous growth he was desperately trying to ignore, he’d be gagging.

But before he could think much more about how he felt about the song (and a stray thought about why no-one had done a death metal musical - man, that would actually rock), his train of thought was once again interrupted as he felt a searing pain blast through his shoulder, like someone had stabbed a spear through it. His entire upper body felt scorching hot. The pain was going right behind his right shoulder blade, and all over his chest. He leant forwards, and looked down, as the feeling of warmth spread across to encompass his entire chest...then it too started growing.

Garrett leaned back, his breaths short and sharp, as his chest began to inflate before his eyes. The same feeling of muscle tearing up and reforming, becoming stronger every time was repeating, only it was across the breast of his body. He’d never worked out, and his chest had been flat, almost a little fat, but that fat was definitely gone now, as it was pushing out into bold, muscular pectorals. The zip of his hoodie came down, unzipping to reveal the white shirt he’d been wearing underneath, which was getting stretched just as much as the sleeve of his hoodie - he was surprised neither had torn completely. There was, however, a slight tear that was growing larger, as the collar of the shirt opened up to accommodate his gigantic pecs. The hoodie zip was pulled down by unseen force, until it was resting just beneath his chest.

The tear that had opened up his shirt exposed the pecs to the air of the theater slightly - it was hardly risqué, but Garrett rarely ever showed this much skin, even in summer, and he felt exposed regardless. He was just glad no-one was in a position to see what was happening to him. He looked down at his chest - he couldn’t even see his lower body over the shelf he’d gained. If this was really happening, he had pecs that even someone like Kurt Angle might be jealous of. He slowly raised his right hand, forgetting for the moment what had happened to it, and reached up to feel one of the melons he’d just grown.

“Hooohhllyy fuuuhuuuck…” Garrett let out raggedly, trying very hard not to moan too loud. It was...so sensitive. He’d barely rubbed his thumb over his nipple, which he could feel pushing hard against his shirt, and a rush of heat had run straight to his groin. He could feel his pants straining a little bit, his cock getting stiffer already. He was half lustful, half embarrassed. Why was he so horny all of a sudden? Then he squeezed the pec with his thick hand, and he was immediately at full attention. As fast as possible, he slammed his hand back onto the armrest. He felt like he was going to explode if he played with his chest anymore.

It wasn’t real. God, it felt real though. Maybe it was a dream? Was he dreaming? He must be, this...this didn’t happen in real life. People didn’t just grow muscles out of nowhere. They might in something like Captain America, but they didn’t in the real world...and even then, in Captain America, Steve Rogers was going through some kind of experimental procedure, so it made sense. As far as Garrett could tell, he’d just walked into this balcony booth and then his right arm and chest had exploded with muscle. It didn’t make any sense. It had to be a dream, or something.

Just focus on the show. Just focus on the show. It’s not real, whatever this is isn’t actually happening. Tracy was surrounded by a group of African-American kids, who were teaching her to dance. “Not bad for a white girl,” one of them said.

The one who was standing with Tracy (Seaweed was his name, Garrett’s mind told him, even though he hadn’t actually been paying to when the character had been introduced) turned and responded to the other guy. “There ain’t no black and white up in here. Detention is a rainbow experience.” He did a little shuffle and step.

“What’s that step?” Tracy asked.

“Oh, this?” Seaweed replied. “I call this one ‘Peyton Place After Midnight’. I use it to attract the opposite sex.” The audience laughed at the joke, and Garrett found himself laughing with them. It was corny, which he usually hated, but it felt earnest, and he could appreciate that to some extent. He tried not to think too hard about how he must look like some sort of half-muscled freak, or how he could swear his collar was simultaneously getting wider and rising up, as his neck muscles were getting thicker. He tried to pretend he couldn’t feel the process that had happened along his right arm happening in reverse along his left arm - the shoulder bulging in size, the biceps and triceps pulsing outwards, his left hand seizing up like his right had earlier, as the forearm doubled in size, and the palm of his hand became broader, thicker, digits growing, knuckles popping.

It wasn’t...happening...it was...definitely not happening, at all, and it was just a dream, even if it felt incredibly real and...felt…

...good…

Because that was how it felt. If he looked past all the fear, and the worry, and the flat-out denial, what was happening to him felt...really good. It was a feeling that had been niggling in his mind since he had groped his pec before and immediately popped a boner. If he let it, he felt like he would be...intoxicated by how good his new muscles felt. His nipples rubbed against his shirt, keeping him semi-hard even as he had tried to calm himself down.

But at his core, Garrett was still a nervous, if bratty kid, kept in an extended adolescence by his refusal to grow up - and so the fear and denial and worry was overpowering the lust by a good measure. He kept his hands tightly gripping the armrest, his overly muscular arms hewing close to his body as he could manage, and he stared straight at the stage, just trying to focus on the show and the songs. And to his surprise, that particular element seemed to be getting easier and easier. A good while earlier, he would’ve been faking gagging noises and probably trying to heckle the cast, but he’d been distracted by the growth...and in his eagerness to ignore that growth, he’d found himself beginning to be wrapped up by the show.

He was genuinely appreciating the poppy tunes now, as Tracy’s mother Edna got a makeover to a melody about embracing the present day. He tried to breathe slower, calming himself down, as he tried not to notice how he could feel his back growing with more muscle, his deltoids and the muscles around his shoulder blades packing on the strength. As Tracy and Amber got into a spat over dodgeball, and Penny and Seaweed found a connection, hampered by their parents narrow-minded views, Garrett was genuinely beginning to feel touched by the themes - and his spine made a couple of uncomfortable pops, as it extended, and the young man began to grow in height as well as muscle, jumping spontaneously up to 6 feet tall.

And as Tracy rallied the kids at the record shop to protest the segregation of the Corny Collins Show, and it all turned to tragedy as Velma called the police, the protest was broken up, and Tracy and all her friends were sent to jail, Garrett felt genuine disbelief and concern for the characters. He didn’t know how it had happened, but this show had taken him, and he didn’t even know its name.

“We’re here to dance!” Seaweed yelled.

“We’re here to stay!” Edna followed up.

Link turned to Tracy. “Tracy, this was beautiful.” He said, and Garrett could feel the love between them finally sparking, the dream man Tracy had wanted all this time.

“Big, blonde, and beautiful lead the way!” Motormouth Maybelle belted out, the most incredible singing voice Garrett had heard in ages.

“No-one’s getting on TV today!” The whole cast sang in ensemble, and the song ended. The audience burst into applause, and Garrett found himself clapping along with them, his larger hands making his claps even louder, making his own ears ring a bit. He smiled. This show was great! Why had he never taken musicals seriously?

And then the curtain was lowering, and the lights were going up, and Garrett’s clapping slowed as he wondered what was happening. They were ending on a cliffhanger? What?

No, no, wait. It was the intermission. Oh, fuck. It was the intermission. He looked down at himself, at his body in the new light, unable to see his lower torso over his pecs. The show would be back, but like it or not, Garrett was going to have to deal with a reality he couldn’t deny - and how the hell he was going to explain it to his family.

Intermission

As Garrett left the booth, his first thought was to get a look at himself. He needed to get in front of a mirror, see what had happened to himself, because he was hardly able to tell. He had tried very, very hard to ignore everything that had been happening to himself. All he could really see of himself was his arms and chest, and he had no idea if anything else had happened. He headed back out towards the lobby, hoping to find a bathroom, trying to go as fast as he possibly could, which was something of a difficult feat, unused to his new muscles as he was. Every article of clothing on him felt tight, restricting him. He was surprised his grey hoodie hadn’t been torn to shreds, given how much more of him it had to cover; it felt like if he were to flex, the whole thing would burst off him, including his shirt.

He re-entered the lobby, where other audience members were congregating. He scanned the room - easier than before, thanks to his increased height - looking for a bathroom, somewhere he could get a good look at himself. He spotted the sign, and began making his way towards it. The lobby was packed with people, and Garrett struggled to get around them.

“‘Scuse me...sorry...just need to...get through…” Garrett mumbled apologies as he crossed the lobby floor, and people were willing to give him a wide berth, but the lobby was so packed it was hard for him to make his way through. He could’ve easily just shoved past them, especially with what he’d gained, but...well, he’d just be making a scene, being so rude. As a result, he was only about a quarter of a way towards his destination when he heard the familiar voice of his sister.

“Garrett! Over here!” Garrett turned, and saw Katherine waving at him. He looked anxiously towards the sign over the bathroom, then back at Katherine. She was smiling and beckoning to him - Garrett wondered how she’d even recognized him, but she didn’t seem to have any kind of reaction the fact that he’d gained a whole bunch of muscle over the course of the last hour or so. He really needed to take a look at what had happened to him, but...she was...like, his sister. He changed direction, making his way over to her.

“Everyone’s in the restaurant, it’s too crowded out here.” Katherine said as Garrett came over. She took his larger hand in her own and began to lead him towards the restaurant. She didn’t seem to have anything to say about the fact that his hand was practically twice her size - she was more interested in talking about the show. “Did you enjoy it? It’s amazing so far.”

“Uh, yeah...it was...good.” Garrett was at a loss for words. Had she not noticed what had happened to him? They walked into the restaurant part of the theater, and Katherine lead Garrett over to a corner seat where the rest of his family was waiting. He could maybe Katherine’s ignorance down to being something of an airhead, but surely they’d have to notice...but no, as they came over, all that happened was his family smiling like nothing was wrong.

“Garrett!” his mom said excitedly. “You enjoying your special seat? The show’s been so good so far!” Garrett looked down at his family, quiet for a moment, expecting someone to say something. Barry must have at least some comment about his changed body, but they just sat, expectantly awaiting his answer.

“Uh...it’s...good.” He said slowly.

“Well, come on, pull up a seat”, his dad said. “Though I dunno if you’ll fit on the bench with us!”, he said, laughing at his own joke. The others giggled along. Was that a comment about his growth? But...he was saying it like it was just something normal. Like he hadn’t been about a foot shorter the last time they’d seen him. Garrett looked behind him, and grabbed an empty chair from a nearby table, pulling it over and sitting at the table. He felt awkward.

“So, good is all you have to say?” Katherine asked. “Come on, you gotta have something more than that, Garrert.”

“We...I mean, I guess...what did you just say?” Garrett responded. He felt his shirt shift a little underneath his hoodie, but he paid it little mind.

Katherine looked at him, a little bemused. “Uhh...I said your name?”

“Yeah, but...you said it weird.”

“Uh...Garrert. Seems about right to me. Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, Garrert”, Barry followed up, “You seem kinda off. Everything alright?”

“I…” Garrett was a loss. Was some sort of joke being played on him? He didn’t know whether to push the issue or not. For the moment, he decided against it, because he was realizing he did have a bit more to say about the show than just ‘good’.

“No, uh, I’m fine. But, yeah, the...the show. Yeah, I didn’t think I’d like it, but uh...I mean. You, you know how I am, right?” Garrett said. “Not a big fan of all that...poppy stuff.”

“Are you kidding me, Garrert?” Katherine said, skeptically. “You don’t have to pretend around us, you know that.”

“What?” Garrert replied. He nervously fiddled with his jeans absentmindedly - jeans that were starting to become darker as he did so.

“We all know you love this kind of thing.” Barry smirked.

“Wha...what are you talking about?”

“Are you sure you’re okay, honey?” his mum asked. “Did you forget? It was your idea to bring us here.”

Garrert’s head felt fuzzy, and he put a thickened hand to his temple. “No...I...hate this kind of thing, why would I…” Did he hate this? He’d enjoyed the show, but...he could’ve sworn he couldn’t stand show tunes or anything like that. He liked harder stuff, like...like...like what? He’d listened to metal bands, hadn’t he? But he couldn’t remember any of their names, or any of their songs. He stood up, feeling a little like he was about faint. “I...I think I need to go to the bathroom for a minute.” he said.

“You want me to come with, Garpert?” his dad said. “You’re lookin’ kinda pale there.”

Garrert leant on the chair for support. “No, I...what?”

“Huh?”

“You said my name wrong.”

“Garpert, I would be the last person to say your name wrong. I should come with you.” he stood up to help him.

Garrert pushed himself away from the table, stumbling a bit. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll be fine, Steven. Just need a moment to myself.” He coughed, clearing his throat. “Go...go enjoy the show, it’ll be starting up in a minute again.” His voice sounded croaky. He tried to clear his throat again.

“Well...if you’re sure.” his dad said, and looked back at his mum. She looked up at him, a look of concern on her face.

“Let us know if it’s something serious, Garpert.” she said.

“It’ll be fine.” Garrert said, stumbling away. He looked around the restaurant - there was a bathroom in here too, closer than the one in the lobby. He made his way inside. his head spinning, and made it into the men’s room.

The room was sparkling clean, as it should be. Garpert made his way over to a sink, and started running the cold water. He splashed some on his face, and looked up in the mirror.

“...oh my.” he croaked out.

His perspective, being unable, unwilling to properly take a look at himself in the booth had meant he hadn’t really taken in how much he’d changed. He really looked like some kind of bodybuilder. Or, kind of did. His arms were big and pumped, up and so was his chest and his neck, and his torso a bit too, but it was like he was...half done. He was undeniably bigger in almost every part of his body, but it was like his lower half hadn’t quite caught up to his top half just yet.

And for another thing, his clothes looked different. Not...hugely, but he could’ve sworn this hoodie was more of a light grey when he’d put it on this morning. It was darker, slate grey colour now, and it looked kind of comical as it struggled to stay on him. His jeans were darker too - they’d been a light blue earlier, now they were a deeper darker blue, and...had he put on a belt this morning? He didn’t remember doing so, but there was one there - a black leather belt, that looked kind of out of place on the jeans.

He felt like there was something in his throat, and he coughed again - and it turned into a coughing fit. An almost violent hacking noise came out of his throat, as his neck muscles thickened further with each cough, until finally it came to a stop. He rubbed his neck, shocked by how bad that fit had been.

“Shit...what the bloody hell is happening to me?” he asked his reflection. It didn’t cross his mind that his voice had changed. It had gotten deeper, and had lost the low vowels associated with his home in Massachusetts. It was clearer, plummier, hewing closing to Britain than Boston. But Garpert had different problems on his mind, as he thought over the conversation he’d just had with his family - in particular, the end, when he’d been telling his father he’d be okay.

He’d said Steven. He’d called his father by his first name. He’d never done that before, but it had just slipped out as naturally as he might call Katherine or Barry by their names. Steven hadn’t seemed to have a problem with it...but...why would he? Why was Garpert worrying about this kind of thing?

He looked down at his wrist, where his hoodie had split open around the sleeve, but nothing was there. He raised an eyebrow. It felt like something should be there. He rubbed his wrist, and dug his hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone, not noticing that the screen had fixed itself while in his pocket. He checked the time.

“Oh, shit, the second act!” he cried. He was running late. He stuffed the phone back in his pocket and checked himself in the mirror, and pulled his hair back, trying to smooth it down. Streaks of grey followed behind where he touched his hair with his fingers, the brown colour draining from it completely, while the longer strands of hair fell off his head, although this didn’t seem to concern him a whole lot. He gave himself a little grin, and headed out of the bathroom.

Rushing quickly through the restaurant, he noticed that the Parsons had already left. It must be starting up again. He picked up the pace. He didn’t want to miss the rest of this show.

Act II

Edna and Wilbur were singing their duet as Garpert came back into the theater, settling back into his balcony seat. He didn’t know why, but he felt this strange sense of...release, or relief, or something. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but he felt like he’d been...stressed. Very stressed, or upset about something, but now he wasn’t. All he could think that was bothering him was that he’d missed the first scene, but it wasn’t like it was a big problem. He only had himself to blame for that - been too busy making sure he looked good.

He couldn’t seem to stop messing with his hair though, even though he wasn’t looking in a mirror any more. He wished he’d brought a comb of some sort, but his fingers would have to do, rough as they were. With every brush of his hands, his hair was losing its colour, and getting shorter. Some of the longer clumps of hair were simply falling off his head, rolling off his shoulders and falling to the floor by the chair, while other parts actually receded into his scalp. It was like he was giving himself a haircut with only his hands, but with the added change of his hair turning grey as he did so.

“Oh, come on, Garpert” he chastised himself quietly, stopping himself from adjusting his hair any further. “You look fine.” He set his hands down in his lap, determined to just enjoy the show as they moved onto the next scene, with Link coming to see Tracy in jail. He smiled warmly to himself as the pair began a duet, and the smile spread throughout his face - crow’s feet formed around his eyes, the corners of his mouth pushed into dimples as his cheeks filled out a little bit.

His clothes weren’t quite done changing, either. For the past half an hour or so, the shirt he wore underneath his hoodie had clung tightly to his chest, struggling to hold in his pecs, the collar having been ripped open already, but it was finally adjusting to suit Garpert’s changed needs. The fabric was losing some of its softness, as the cotton converted to polyester. The formerly ripped fabric was fixing itself, the torn edges folding back and becoming straight as little buttons bloomed out on the right side. The shirt continued to split down the middle, going all the way to the bottom, but buttons appeared out of nowhere to hold it together. Feeling constrained, he reached up and undid another button, exposing his pecs just a little bit more. He felt his cock harden in his jeans a little more at the thought of it. God, he really was the most, wasn’t he?

Meanwhile, the collar of the shirt was coming back up, reaching up around his neck, before it folded over into a formal collar, for a tie or bowtie. His hoodie wasn’t far behind in its own adjustments either. The grey colour continued to darken, becoming a solid black, while the zip continued its journey of rolling down by itself, before finally, the hoodie came apart. Now it was growing to fit him, his torn sleeves fixing themselves as the material became thinner. He felt a familiar weight, as a silver watch with a gold stripe down the middle of the band appeared on his right wrist. Meanwhile, a gold ring appeared on the ring finger of his left hand.

The teeth of the zip sunk into the hoodie, disappearing, and to replace them, two shiny black buttons appeared in their stead, on the lower part of the hoodie. The upper part, however, was folding over on itself, becoming the lapels of a suit jacket. The hood part of the hoodie shrunk away, getting tighter around Garpert’s neck, melding with the lapels to become the collar, and within moments, it was like he’d never been wearing a hoodie in the first place. It was, and always had been, a tailored suit jacket. It wasn’t quite tailored to fit him, being slightly too large, but there was no need to worry about that, since he was going to be fitting into it shortly.

As his shirt and jacket finished forming, his abs finally began to catch up to the rest of his body. The little bit of puppy fat he had before was sticking around, although he was starting to gain some serious muscle under there, a good 20 years worth of crunches and stretches making for some hardened abdominal muscles. But the fat was gaining a bit too - not too much, but it was beginning to look like he hadn’t been quite as strict about whatever exercising regime as he should have been to get those abs. His stomach was pushing out into a ball gut to compliment his pecs. A rock hard gut, one with muscle behind it, certainly, but he could doing a bit more to be trim.

Garpert ran a hand over his gut, and smiled a little to himself once more. It may not be strictly good for him, but he did quite like how it looked on him in the mirror. Plus, there was a certain appeal in the contrast. He scratched his head, a few more hairs receding and turning grey, as his hairstyle became a buzzcut, a far-cry from the shoulder length, uncombed hair he’d had before. Wait a minute. What did he mean by contrast?

The thought of contrast had come to him automatically, but now he actually considered it, he wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Contrast with what? With whom? His head buzzed again, and he began to feel dizzy like he did in the restaurant. He felt like he was forgetting something, something very important. Contrast...contrast…shit, maybe he should have let Steven help him. He clearly wasn’t well. Today of all days, after all the effort they’d gone to to get them seats, and now he was...what?

What was happening? He hadn’t...put anything into this process, had he? He was pretty sure he couldn’t have cared less about this whole thing, but now...now there was this distinct memory of looking at a computer screen, selecting seats in the theater. Special seats, for Steven Parsons, and his wife, Amelia, and their kids as well. Katherine, Barry, and...oh, fuck. Didn’t they have another kid? They must have, because he remembered...he remembered there weren’t enough seats when they got here. Amelia had gotten into a tizz about it. He wouldn’t forget that kind of thing, she always had a habit of making a scene, that was why they’d...they’d what?

As Garpert had a silent mental breakdown, his body was building up, the changes not slowed as the show went on. His spine made a few more pops, getting him a few inches higher, and that height was increased as his gluteal muscles started to swell, and his hips widened, better suited to supporting his rotund belly. His butt had been nothing to write home about before, but now it was becoming rounder, more like a proper booty. Garpert rested his buzzing head in his right hand, as he reached down with his left, feeling his growing buttocks. It was like with his pecs again, as after a couple of strokes, he felt himself getting harder once more. But that wasn’t all it was doing. As his cock strained against his pants - pants that were converting from denim to polyester, turning black - it was, impossibly growing in length. It had been below average before, something of a private point of perturbation for him, but now it was snaking down his left pant leg, reaching down along his thighs. Garpert got the feeling his body was telling him he needed something, and he was finding it hard to deny.

He thought about the embarrassment if anyone were to catch him doing something so crude...and it only seemed to make things worse, as his legs thickened with muscle, beginning to ache, like he’d been running a marathon. God, he shouldn’t, it would only confirm Jeremiah’s jokes about being obsessed with himself. But his head was hurting so bad, and for some reason, he had this inescapable feeling, that all he needed was to indulge this base pleasure, and things would be okay. It wasn’t like anyone could see him. All he had to do was keep a straight face.

He felt a little bad about doing this during “I Know Where I’ve Been”, Motormouth Maybelle’s soulful gospel-esque tune - it was one of the replacement actresses tonight, and she had a powerful voice - but Garpert needed this. Besides, no-one had to know. He reached down to his fly, the gold metal button changing to a black plastic one as he undid it, and pulled down the zip. Fishing into his white briefs (hadn’t he put on boxers today?), he pulled out the lengthy shaft, enjoying the feeling of his foreskin. It was bizarre, it felt like a completely new sensation, but he didn’t know why that would be. They didn’t do circumcisions in England unless you were Jewish, so why would he think he was...oh for god’s sake, his head was already buzzing enough without him getting confused over his own cock. Just indulge.

He started slow, leaning back in his chair, slowly pumping with his right as he raised his left up, as far as he could manage without it being immediately obvious what he was doing, and rubbed his thumb over the part of his jacket under which his nipple rested.

“Oh my”, he breathed out huskily. It was electric, the feeling it gave him, and he felt his cock twitch a little as it grew a little bit longer, even as it was clasped in his paw of a hand. The physical impossibility of everything that had happened to him and was still happening to him did not seem to concern Garpert a whole lot. Instead, he reached back down, and pulled his testicles free from his briefs, letting them feel the air. He smiled to himself as he felt their size - big as oranges, Jeremiah had said before, although Garpert thought that was a bit of an over-estimation.

And despite it making no real medical sense at all, it seemed like Garpert’s intuition about getting himself off relieving his stress was coming true. His head was starting to ache less, but maybe that was because it was reforming. His soft jaw was hardening, becoming larger, the bones pushing out as it became firmly square set, a much more masculine jawline than he’d ever had before. His skin was wrinkling, becoming older, a bit tougher, as the tone of his pale skin began to darken, becoming fuller, turning to a sunkissed bronze, the kind of tan you only got if you spent a couple of weeks in the Canary Islands. That had been an amazing holiday. The first he’d taken with Jerry.

He moaned quietly, audible only to himself - a repressed childhood meant that Garpert had perfected the art of silent masturbation, and even when he was in the throes of something more passionate, he was never particularly loud. He brought his free hand up to the left side of his face, and stroked his fingers along his chin - and as he did, little grey hairs sprung out of his jawline, forming a tight, well groomed beard. He split his fingers up, one running over his upper lip, and the hairs followed behind, creating a goatee to compliment the beard that flowed up the right side of his chin. He brought his hand back down, running it over his chest once more, down his open shirt, popping another button open. Like with his chin, where his hand had touched, a furry carpet of silver hairs was spreading across his chest now, as his pecs pumped out just a little bit more.

Everything about Garpert’s face was becoming more and more masculine, his brow furrowing, his nose becoming longer, and a little bit bigger on his face. He blinked a couple of times, and his brown eyes were suddenly pear green, the thing that Jerry had said had attracted him in the first place. He was pumping faster now, making little noises to himself. He knew in a couple of seconds it would be over. He kind of wanted to draw it out a bit more, but he couldn’t just jerk off for the rest of the show. He could feel it coming up, his balls churned, his cock tensed up--

As quick as he could, Gupert brought his free hand down and covered his pulsing cock with both hands, as he involuntarily let out quite a loud moan; not loud enough to be heard over the music, but certainly loud for him. It felt like he hadn’t done this in ages - he could feel cum hitting the palms of his hands, but it just kept going, some of it squeezing between his fingers and hitting the floor. He was too caught up in the lust to be worried about it, but it felt like the longest, most pleasurable orgasm he’d ever had in his life. His eyes rolled backwards as more ropes of cum spurted between his fingers, his hands almost completely coated in the stuff. Unable to hold it in, he opened up his hands, his right lazily stroking his pulsing shaft, as a couple of other shots of pearly white cum shot up into the air, before falling back and landing on his suit and shirt. After another couple of seconds, Gupert was left with his cock dribbling cum onto the floor, and himself leaned back in the chair, breathing heavily.

The buzzing was gone, and Gupert was coming back to his senses...and realizing what exactly it was he’d just done.

“Oh...bollocks.” he said to himself. Why had he done that? Now he was going to have to clean this up. If Jerry came up now he’d never hear the end of it. He raised his right hand. He wanted to get the packet of mini tissues he kept in his left breast pocket, to clean himself up, but his hand was soaked - he’d just get even more on his suit than there already was...there was only one course of action he could think of at the moment. He brought his hand close to his face, and began licking the cum off. It was crude, as was most of what he’d just done, but he couldn’t deny he enjoyed the taste of himself quite a bit. Jerry was right, he really was a narcissist.

It gave him time to catch up with the show at least. He’d been going at it for a bit. Amber was just getting to the end of her song about Tracy. Gupert smiled - the actress was doing an excellent job of making Amber perfectly hateable as she sang her childish song about Tracy having cooties. His hand was mostly clean now, and he reached into his pocket to grab the little packet of mini-tissues, already opened, like he’d used a few. He pulled some out, and began wiping himself down - first his left hand, then his genitals, and then his suit. He was going through quite a few tissues cleaning it all up. He looked down at the floor - yep, some down there too. He was glad he’d covered himself up at first, he might have ended up shooting over the balcony. He shuffled off the chair, using a couple of tissues to clean up what lay on the floor, before bunching the tissues. The balcony thankfully had a little bin installed - Gupert had requested it - so he dumped the whole thing in there, before settling back into his chair.

Ah, at least he was in time for the finale. It was the best part of the show. Tracy was coming in, interrupting Amber’s set.

“Right on schedule!” Corny yelled, showboating perfectly. “I mean, uh, I know nothing about this complex plan. Ladies and gentleman, I give you the never to be counted out Tracy Turnblad!”

The music struck up, and Gupert was already tapping his feet, smiling again as he got back into the show. There were so many good songs in this musical, but for Gupert’s money, “You Can’t Stop the Beat” was the undoubtable champion of them all. As he tapped his feet to the beat of the music, and it swelled as the musical headed towards its climax, the converse trainers on his feet were finally changing to match the suit that adorned his muscular body. His feet were growing in them, becoming longer and wider, and the trainers were increasing in size to match. The light blue colour deepened as the long white laces began to wind back into themselves, shrinking both in length and width. They darkened too, becoming pure black, like his shoes were, the material hardening, becoming more rigid. The tongue of the shoe was receding as well, becoming shorter as it slid under where the laces bound the shoe up. The cuffs lowered, and the socks covering his became a more comfortable black cotton. Little dots marked the seams of the shoes, building into a floral-esque pattern. The trainers were long gone, leaving a pair of formal dress shoes in their place

The audience was clapping to the music now, and so was Rupert, doing a little dance in his seat as he sang along to the music - “‘Cause you can’t stop the motion of the ocean or the sun in the sky, you can wonder if you wanna but I never ask why” the words came to him naturally, like he’d known them all his life. Well, no, about a decade and a half of his life, really, the musical had only been made in 2002, but that hardly mattered - the music was moving through him, and he sang with his heart.

“‘Cause the world keeps spinnin’ round and round

And my heart’s keeping time to the speed of sound”

Rupert heard the door open behind him, but he didn’t care if anyone was watching. Now the Von Tussles were finally getting in on the dancing, as the rest of the cast convinced them, and the final chorus began.

“‘Cause you can’t stop the motion of the ocean, or the rain from above

They can try to stop the paradise we’re dreaming of

But they cannot stop the rhythm of two hearts in love to staaaayyy

‘Cause you can’t stop the beat!”

The song finished with a bang, and the audience burst into applause as the curtain fell, Rupert along with them.

“Enjoying yourself, hun?” a smooth, deep voice said from behind him, a voice he knew well, as someone else’s hand reached down over his shoulder and touched one of his pecs.

Rupert looked up to see the warm face of Jeremiah looking down at him, as the curtain came back up and the cast bowed to the audience. “Jerry! Where’ve you been?” he asked. “You missed the whole thing!”

“I had some things to take care of. Boring manager stuff.” Jeremiah said. “Besides, we’ve seen Hairspray a thousand times before, Rupert.”

“That doesn’t make it any less good.” Rupert said.

“True.” Jerry admitted. “That stuff's done with anyway. I’m pretty much free now.”

“Good, because I want you to come to dinner with the Parsons.” Rupert said. He stood up, his eyes coming up to Jerry’s neck. Rupert was tall, but Jerry was always taller - they made quite a pair anyway. This was the contrast he was talking about - Jerry had always kept strictly to his regular gym visits, pumping the iron daily, while Rupert had let himself swell a little, but neither of them minded too much. They looked cute together as far as they were concerned.

“I know, I know.” Jerry replied. “I’ve sorted everything out with the restaurant staff - that was the manager stuff if you really wanted to know.”

“I didn’t, but thanks anyway.” Rupert replied, and stood on his tip toes a little to give Jerry a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to--” he was cut off from explaining whatever he was going to do by Jerry wrapping a muscular arm around Rupert’s back, taking the back of Rupert’s head in his other hand, and giving him a full kiss on the lips, the tongue poking through. Rupert was surprised at first, but gave into it, letting their tongues dance together, sliding over each other as they enjoyed it. There was a small feeling in the back of Rupert’s head - a feeling like he’d never done this before, or hadn’t done it in a while, or...what was he talking about? They did this every day. It was hardly new. They slowly pulled away, and Rupert let himself rest a little in Jerry’s arms. “What was that for?” he asked.

“Just felt like letting my husband know I loved him.” Jerry smiled. “Him and his sexy voice.”

“Are you still banging that drum? Whatever. He loves you too.” Rupert smiled back, and gave him another peck on the cheek. “I’m going to go meet up with the Parsons. Meet us in the restaurant?”

Jerry uncoiled his arms, letting Rupert go free. “Sure hun. See you in a minute.” He turned, as Rupert walked past him, leaving the little balcony seat. Left alone, he walked over to the edge of the balcony, and looked down at the audience, spotting the American family he’d barely known a couple of hours ago leaving their seats, talking with each other excitedly. He smiled to himself. The whole thing had turned out better than he’d expected.

Epilogue

“Oh Jerry, it’s hardly a new thing.” Steven was saying. “Even back when we was working over in Boston, Rupert couldn’t stop lookin’ at himself.”

“I did always say Culture Beat was talking about me when they wrote Mr. Vain.” Rupert said, and the table laughed good-naturedly - he’d made the joke a hundred times before, but they were all old friends by this point. Repeating a joke, a story or two, was forgivable.

“So”, Katherine said, as the group stopped laughing. “What’s up after Hairspray?” she asked.

“Oh, well, we’ll be doing Hairspray for a couple more weeks”, Rupert began, “then Kinky Boots next. We haven’t quite decided on what’ll be after that, I do need to talk to the directors about it. I’ve heard whispers that they want to do something original next, which is an exciting prospect, but that’s...ooh, that’s a long time off if it’s true.”

“We’ll be wanting to take a holiday of our own before that.” Jerry added. “We’ve all been working hard.” The Parsons nodded along with the sentiment, agreeing. As Amelia began launching into a list of places she’d like to go visit, Jerry sat back, watching Rupert smile and nod along as he listened.

It had been an unexpected outcome, to say the least. He’d only done this kind of thing twice before, and both times, those involved had gone on to lead very separate lives, so when he’d seen his own surname appear on the door, it had been a shock. He didn’t know what it was that had decided he should have a husband, but now he had one, and he found he couldn’t be happier. Perhaps he should feel some guilt - he’d essentially stolen a son from their family, but they seemed so much happier for it. He had been able to tell from the moment he saw them that the young man from before had been something of a stain on their lives - rude, hateful, and a disappointment all around. They had been making a desperate, last ditch attempt to connect to the boy, and Jerry had wanted to help, in his own way. He just hadn’t expected it to help in quite the way it had, but he found that he didn’t mind. He knew that was part of the trick, but he didn’t care.

And Rupert, for his part, seemed so much happier too. Gone was the uncouth, American boy, and in his place was a polite, older but still handsome man, as English as English could be. It was a gain, for everyone. A great friend, a loving husband, a good man, loved by many. It was funny, really. All you needed to do was learn to appreciate the finer things in life, and the world seemed so much brighter.

#writing #transformation #body builder #muscle bear

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lalainajanes · 7 years

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I’m cheating a tiny bit (shh!). There *is* a costume party in this story (though not in this piece of it) and Caroline’s in a masters program so I think that counts as University AU. It’s the second part of You’re The Nicest Thing and, since I’m a nice person I’ll warn you that the bad!sex comes in after the first page break and continues to the end so you can skip it if you’d like to. Good!sex coming, I promise.

You’re The Nicest Thing (Part Two)

When Klaus, and most of Caroline’s other friends, had graduated last year she’d been roped into helping with a lot of moves. Klaus’ place was one of the nicer ones – it even had a functional elevator that had undergone a safety inspection in the last year. She was one of the few people in their groups who’d known the messy details of Klaus’ family situation and so she’d had to play dumb when people had exclaimed over how nice his new place was. Their friends had cleared out after the requisite pizza and beer had been devoured but Caroline had stayed behind and insisted they go out and explore Klaus’ new neighborhood.

That’s when they’d found the bar. It wasn’t Caroline’s usual scene (she liked to dance, okay?) and the bartender had given her a funny look when she’d asked for a cocktail menu (because drinks with umbrellas were the best drinks) but she’s found she liked the place all the same. After years of student hangouts and loud clubs the mellow vibe, all comfy overstuffed chairs and the scuffed tables, was a nice change.

She’d decreed it their new grown up bar and Klaus hadn’t argued.

Walking in she spots him in the booth he prefers, the one farthest from the door and tucked into a corner, she waves. She motions that she’s going to head to the bar but he shakes his head and beckons her over.

Caroline shrugs and goes with it, weaving around tables to get to him. She spies the beer in his hand when she gets closer, sees a Long Island Iced Tea sitting on a coaster on the opposite side. Slipping into the booth she glares at him playfully. “I thought I was buying.”

“You texted me that you were close just when the waitress stopped by. It seemed prudent.”

“Sure,” she drawls, taking a sip of the drink. “I am buying the next one. Now, tell me about this new thing! What’s the story?”

“It’s the first in a possible series. A re-imagining of fairytales. This one is Little Red Riding Hood, the twist is that she manages to save herself.”

Caroline nods thoughtfully, “Makes sense. A girl can’t rely on a burly lumberjack popping up and saving the day. Not in this economy.”

Klaus shakes his head, a smile pulling at his lips, “Funny, Caroline.”

“Aren’t I though?”

He picks at the label on his bottle, brows furrowed in thought, before leaning back and stretching his arm along the top of the booth. There’s a challenge in his eyes, and a hint of something that makes Caroline a little nervous. Good nervous, the fluttery anticipatory kind. “I’m surprised burly lumberjack is your type,” he finally says, with a casualness that’s at odds with how carefully he’s watching her.

It takes some effort not to fidget, her mind racing. Finally Caroline shrugs, hoping it comes off as nonchalant. “It’s not but at this point beggars can’t be choosers.”

“And when was the last time you chose someone?”

She sets her glass down with a thump, liquid sloshing over the edge. “I don’t… you… it’s…” Caroline flounders and Klaus’s brows rise in amusement. Which kind of pisses her off. Caroline clears her throat and snatches a napkin from the dispenser, hurriedly wiping her fingers. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

Klaus doesn’t flinch at her snotty tone, if anything his delight grows. “No? And why is that? You’ve rarely had any qualms about sharing details about your conquests.”

She can feel that she’s blushing and she really hopes that the low lighting disguises her pink cheeks. “That was before,” she says.

Of course, tonight of all nights, Klaus seems extra determined to be difficult. He plays dumb, his eyes widening in feigned innocence, “Before what?”

Caroline throws up her hands, “Ugh, fine. It was before we had awful, terrible, no good sex.” Her volume had risen as she’d spoken and Caroline cringes, refusing to glance around and see if anyone’s turned to look at them.

They might have to find another bar.

Klaus nods, his expression filled with satisfaction. “There. Was that so hard?”

“Hard?” Caroline parrots incredulously. “Was it hard?” She takes a hearty swig of her drink, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Klaus, seriously. What are you even doing right now?”

“I,” Klaus says, lifting a hand in a sweeping motion, gesturing to the room at large. “Am addressing the elephant in the room.” It’s so pretentious that Caroline can’t resist lifting out of her seat and reaching across the table to smack his hand down.

“You’re such a drama queen,” she groans, throwing her arm on the table and bending to rest her head on it. “Why are we even friends?”

“You’ve often compared me to a particularly stubborn fungus,” Klaus supplies (so not helpfully). “And the drink you spilled is getting in your hair.”

Caroline rears up, grimaces when she discovers he’s right. “Great,” she mutters, “just great. Today is so not my day so I guess an awkward conversation is the perfect thing to cap it off.”

“It doesn’t have to be awkward.”

She snorts, “Pretty sure it does.”

A faint hint of irritation crosses Klaus’ face and Caroline feels a twinge of satisfaction when she spots it. She was flushed and stuttering, it was only fair that he felt a little off his game. “We’re both adults, aren’t we? I see no reason we can’t discuss the night we had sex rationally.”

“It shouldn’t have happened!” Caroline exclaims. “It made everything weird and I miss the way things used to be. How’s that for rational?”

Klaus plants his hands on the table, leaning forward. “It shouldn’t have happened then. We were too drunk. And I’d just graduated and it made me a bit morose. That’s what made it weird.”

“Seriously? You fell asleep while you were inside me, Klaus.”

His eyes drop, regret and embarrassment flooding his features. “And you were gone when I woke up. Avoided my calls and texts for days.”

“Because I didn’t know what I would say to you!” She drops her voice, adopting an overly perky tone, “Should I have gone with something like, ‘Oh, hey Klaus, sorry I couldn’t keep you awake in the sack, my bad. Do you want to hit the cheap theater this weekend?’”

He shakes his head impatiently, “It wasn’t you, sweetheart. Not at all. I’d waited so long to have you like that. I had so many plans. You can’t imagine how angry I was with myself when I found you gone without so much as a note and put the pieces together.”

Caroline sighs, props her elbow on the table and rests her hands in her palm. “There’s no reason to be angry. Bad sex happens. We’re just not compatible like that.” She offers him a smile, attempting to ease the tension. “You’re still my bestie.”

But Klaus won’t be placated. “I don’t believe that.”

“Do you want me to make you a friendship bracelet?” she quips.

Still, he won’t be deterred. “Not that. I don’t believe that we’re not compatible. Sexually.”

“Is this an ego thing?” Caroline asks, unable to help the skepticism in the question. “Like, it doesn’t reflect badly on your manhood if our sexual chemistry is a dud. I’ve met plenty of the girls you’ve dated and none of them had that ‘I haven’t had an orgasm in weeks’ pallor. Judging from the noises I’ve heard coming from the room I assumed they weren’t DIYing it.”

He runs a hand through his hair and Caroline presses her lips together to keep from smiling as it stands up. Frazzled Klaus was one of her favorite Klaus’ and witnessing him in such a state was a rare treat. Her amusement is short lived his next words leaving her speechless, “I want another shot. To do it properly. Come home with me, Caroline.”

Her jaw drops, eyes widening in shock. Memories flood her because, though he’d been slurring and unsteady on his feet, that’s exactly what he’d said to her on that fateful night last May.

She barely notices the rough brick at her back, Klaus’ lips on her throat a compelling distraction. She tips her head back and grips his Henley, pulling him closer. She yelps when his teeth graze her, a smidge too hard, and he mumbles an apology, soothing the sting with a hot swipe of his tongue. Distantly she hears the door of the bar opening, the sound of raucous laughter as a group spills on the street. She flattens her palms on his stomach, pushing him away slightly. He blinks, puzzled, his eyes bloodshot and hazy. Caroline giggles and pushes off the wall, toddling slightly in her high heels, directly into Klaus. They spin, trying to regain their balance, but manage to remain upright.

Klaus hugs her too him, “You’re giving me incredibly mixed signals.”

“Whoops,” Caroline mutters, running her hands down his back. She takes the opportunity to slip her hand into the back pocket of his jeans, her fingers digging in to him. Klaus hips jolt, his half-hard cock pressing into her stomach.

It was nice to confirm that his ass felt just as nice as it looked. She’d always wondered.

“Don’t mean to.” She flaps her free hand in the general direction of the opening of the alley they’d stumbled into. “Just… public. Super public. Too public for nakedness.”

Klaus mulls that over for a long moment, his hands doing some idle wandering of their own. He grazes the side of her breast and Caroline almost misses his reply. “Right. I suppose you’ve a point. My place is near. Come home with me, Caroline.”

She grabs his hand, dragging him out of the alley, “Good plan,” she praises. “I should totally get to take advantage of the bed I helped set up.”

The walk back to Klaus’ place is mostly a blur. At one point they have to linger at a cross street, dig out Klaus’ phone because neither of them remembers if they should turn left or right. Puzzling out the correct answer takes far too long for two people of above average intelligence but they do manage it.

Caroline holds up her hand when they’re on the front steps, bouncing on her toes, immensely pleased with their success, when they manage to find his building. Klaus attempts to return the high five though he misses a solid connection and lists to the side, bumping into the railing. He glares at it accusingly, “Where’d you come from?”

“It’s there for safety, Klaus,” Caroline admonishes. “Don’t make it feel bad.”

He pats the metal affectionately before slurring, “So sorry.”

She takes advantage of his distraction slipping her hand into the pocket where he keeps his keys, bypassing them to stroke along his cock teasingly. He groans, harsh and guttural, grabbing her wrist. “You said I can’t fuck you in public.”

Caroline pouts, reluctantly withdrawing her hand. She had said that, hadn’t she? Stupid Past Caroline. “I said you can’t fuck me in public tonight. Maybe later. We should totally do grown up things in our new grown up bar, right? The bathrooms were clean.”

Klaus looks thrilled, his mouth going slack, as he nods eagerly, fumbling in his pocket. “Yes. I concur.”

He doesn’t make any move to actually unlock the door, staring at her with something like awe in his red-rimmed blue eyes. Caroline huffs impatiently, crossing her arms. “Door, Klaus.”

He snaps to attention immediately, turning his attention to letting them into his building. Caroline takes the opportunity to step out of her shoes that had begun to pinch. She holds onto the railing to keep her balance when she goes to retrieve them.

Klaus didn’t know what he was talking about. It was a good railing.

When Klaus gets the door open he steps aside, sweeping his arm out and bowing at the waist like a total cheeseball. Caroline smiles at him anyway, “After you love,” he says.

They give the stairs some brief consideration – Klaus apartment was only on the third floor – but Caroline shakes her head. “Nope, too incline-y. I’ll fall and this dress is too short to crawl in. I’m a lady and I can’t be flashing your neighbors my undies.”

Klaus allows himself to be pulled in the direction of the elevator and it’s empty when the doors glide open. Probably a good thing because he crowds her into a wall, hitching her thigh over his hip and pressing his thumb into the damp cotton that covers her. He misses her clit and Caroline arches her back in an attempt to remedy that unfortunate fact, to direct the pressure where she wants it. He brushes a kiss over her cheek before teasing, “As long as you’re not too ladylike to flash me.”

She tilts her head to catch his mouth, parting her lips when his tongue traces them. He grinds into her slowly and she moans, pushing back until it’s even better. There’s a ding announcing they’ve reached the third floor and Klaus pulls away. He brushes her hair away from her face with a soft smile. “I think we’re almost there.”

“It’s been forever,” Caroline complains. “Why are cities so big?”

Klaus doesn’t answer and, to be fair, that was probably too big a question to tackle when one had been doing tequila shots in excess. He holds her hand as they exit and Caroline presses her other to the hallway wall for balance.

(Later she’ll be super pissed about losing her shoes in the elevator. They’d been 70% off and she’d only worn them twice).

Klaus tosses his keys aside when they enter, they hit the floor and skid away though he doesn’t notice, his eyes on Caroline yanking her dress over her head because zippers were hard. He backs away, cursing when his calves hit a table but he manages to fall sideways, ending up mostly on the couch. “Take your pants off,” Caroline demands.

Klaus hastens to obey, struggling with his belt before shoving them down. His boxer briefs make the trip too, a decision Caroline heartily approves of. She makes her way to him, straddling his lap and wrapping her hands around his cock. Klaus lets out a hiss, the tendons in his neck visible as his head digs into the back of the couch. He reaches down to wrap his hand over hers, tightening her grip and setting a quick pace. She shoves his shirt up, biting her lip as she watches his abs tense.

She’s so going to have to lick those later.

His eyes flutter and his cheeks flush. “Caroline,” he rasps, hips moving frantically in time with their pulls on his cock. “I can’t hold on, sweetheart. It’s too good. I’ve thought about…” He can’t finish the sentence, lips parting around a hoarse moan. He makes to sit up but she shakes her head. She exerts more pressure using the hand on his chest, “It’s okay. I like how you look like this. I like how much you want me. Do you want to come?”

He nods, eyes dark and desperate and Caroline shifts, leaning back enough to get her other hand between them. She grins devilishly as she wraps her fingers around him, using both hands, twisting and pulling in opposite directions while Klaus begins to pant her name, his legs shaking under her.

He was always so in control, so sure of himself. It feels incredible to watch him unravel. All because of her.

His entire body jerks when he comes and Caroline gentles her hands, ducking down to press a kiss below his ear and make soothing noises. He reaches out to touch her as the tension leaves his body, stroking along her sides, over her hips and down her thighs. He appears dazed when she pulls back to look at him, a small smile curling his lips.

Caroline laughs affectionately, wiping her hand on his shirt before helping him tug it off. “Feel free to say thanks. Maybe send a fruit basket as a token of your appreciation. I like peaches but pears are icky.”

“And raspberries are your favorite even though you resent the seeds,” Klaus mumbles. “I have some in the fridge for breakfast.”

Caroline’s brows furrow, something telling her that was an important bit of info but Klaus distracts her by toying with the clasp of her bra. She winces as he struggles, the band digging into her side, reaching back to help. He’s got his hands on her before the lace is even fully discarded, and his mouth quickly follows, hot on one nipple while he rolls the other between two fingers. She moans, sinking her fingers into his hair. Klaus looks smug when he pulls back, “Can I appreciate you in my bed now?”

He’s slower when they stand, sluggish, though his hands still roam over every bit of her skin they can reach. He collapses back onto the bed with a sigh, urging Caroline down next to him. He rolls to the side, scrabbles at his bedside table. He can’t quite seem to grasp the knob, “Condoms. In there. I’ll need a minute and I don’t want to forget.”

A quick glance down his body tells Caroline he’s only partially hard but that’s okay. There are other things they can do. She leans over him, sliding the drawer open and fumbling around. She finds the box easily, right near the front, and she raises an eyebrow, “How is it that you’d already unpacked these?”

“I planned to seduce you. Wasn’t it obvious?”

She pokes him in the side, “Oh, ha ha. Very funny. You…”

Klaus doesn’t seem willing to let her finish admonishing him, rolling them to the side and burying his hand in her hair before pressing his mouth to hers. He kisses her lazily, teasing strokes of his tongue and Caroline finds herself responding, sinking into him as the heat in her builds. She rubs her thighs together, the ache between them building. She feels Klaus hand push in between their bodies. Is a little disappointed when he touches himself.

Until she pulls back enough to look down. The sight of his hand on his cock, stroking while he thickens, does a pretty good job of turning her on, no manual stimulation needed. He stops for a moment, fumbling behind him for the box of condoms she’d dropped on the bed. He struggles with the box and wrapper (for long enough that Caroline considers doing it herself) before smoothing one on.

He grasps her knee and rolls onto her, sliding his forearms under her shoulders to prop himself up. His cock rests against her and Caroline squirms, Klaus kisses her chin before resting his forehead on hers, seemingly not cottoning on to the reasons behind her restless movements. “All right, love? Am I too heavy?”

She blows out a harsh breathe. The concern was sweet but she was reaching the painfully turned on point. “I’m good,” she rasps. “I need more. Please.”

It takes him a moment to get situated, his face clouding with frustration for a moment. Caroline gasps when he reaches down, his knuckles nudging her clit, and then he’s pushing inside of her. She closes her eyes, enjoying the slow stretch, wrapping one leg around him. Klaus buries his face in her throat and a contented hum rumbles against her skin when he’s all the way inside.

Caroline shifts, trying to indicate that yes, she’s totally comfortable and a little motion would be good, great even, but Klaus doesn’t move, resting heavily against her. She clenches down, her confusion growing. Klaus’ breathing is even and he’s… softening? Making more noises, ones familiar to her from the times they’d stayed up late watching Netflix or studying and had ended up crashing together.

A wave of frustration hits her, followed by embarrassment. She grasps his shoulder, shaking slightly. “Klaus?” she tries. “Are you?”

A soft noise, not even a word is her only answer and he rolls slightly to the side, his cock slipping from her body to rest on his thigh. Caroline stares at him for a long moment in disbelief, eyes darting down to confirm that yes, his erection had left the building and that he was fast a-freaking-sleep. “Oh my god,” she mutters, scrambling for a sheet, a blanket, anything. She curses when it’s a fruitless effort, all the bedding is hopelessly pinned underneath them.

She takes a deep breath, then another. Her body is slow on the uptake, the insistent pulse between her legs leaves her gritting her teeth as she wills herself to calm down.

She debates slipping her hand between her legs, quickly dismisses the thought. There was no way was she going to try to take care of herself while Klaus blissfully visited dreamland. Her humiliation would catch up with her need at some point, leaving her stuck once more.

And that would suck.

Caroline had never heard of a girl equivalent to blue balls but she vowed to invent one immediately. That way at least something good would come from her current situation.

#klarolineauweek #klaroline #klaroline drabbles #klaroline smut #kind of?#nshw

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gleefuldarrencrissfan · 7 years

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Chapters: 15/? Fandom: Glee Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel Additional Tags: Competition, Reality TV, Alternate Universe, Eventual Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson & Sam Evans Friendship, Kurt Hummel & Rachel Berry friendship, Duet, Slow Burn

Chapter 15- I Was Born to Be a Rock Star

Mr. Figgins sat at his desk, his hand to his head, clearly tired of listening to the arguments that had presented to him. Frankly, after listening to the newly red headed guy berate and threaten him for two whole hours, he agreed. “I’m sorry, my hands are tied. The audition episodes are set to air tomorrow because the live shows are set to air next week. We can not delay it or we could put this whole show in jeopardy,” the middle-aged Indian man explained. “I am very aware of the issues you are having with Mr. Smythe, but it is too late to replace a contestant now.”

“We could replace his footage with Kurt Hummel’s footage, and replace Hummel with Smythe,” Mrs. Tibbideux suggested.

“What do you think, Ms. July?” Mr. Figgins Prompted..

“Whatever,” Cassie said, laying her head down, waving her head submissively.

“Personally, I wouldn’t mind if they both went home. Sebastian’s voice is too nasally. And you already know what I think about lady Hummel. It’s like, I can sing up high and sing loooowwww. That’s a vocal warm up. Big whoop,” said Jesse dryly.

Mr. Figgins shook his head. “What do you think, Sue?”

“I don't think Porcelin would get us better ratings than Smythe, because, let’s face it, they are both snarky, skinny, white gay kids that sing.”

“I disagree,” countered Carmen. “They are very different. Yes, they are both, as you say, sassy and quick-witted, but they use it in different ways. Hummel comes off as clever and feisty, whereas Smythe comes off as pretentious and rude. Although I think fans would like Sebastian, but I think they would love Mr. Hummel. In addition, if we are going off of pure talent here, which we should, Mr. Hummel has a more unique sound.”

“Mr. Shuester. You’ve been there for vocal rehearsals for Sebastian and Sam. How is that going?” Mr. Figgins asked.

“Sebastian is smug. It’s hard to give him direction. Sam is trying, and he’s doing great, but I can tell that he is frustrated, though he’s trying to hide it.” Will remarked. “I know I’m not a judge, but I have to say that I agree with Madam Tibbideaux regarding Sebastian and Kurt. It would solve so many problems.”

“I thought they were getting along now, since your bonding experience.”

“It’s better, that’s true,” Will commented, “but there’s still a long way to go. Sam is a very forgiving person, as are some of the other contestants, but there are still hard feelings toward Sebastian from several of the contestants. Are you sure there’s no way we can do as Carmen is suggesting?” Will asked.

“I'm sorry, but it’s too late. Next time, I recommend choosing the contestants more carefully. We already have everything edited and set to air.” Figgins replied.

“So will there even be footage of Hummel shown?” asked Carmen.

“Yes, seeing that he made it so far. It will add some drama,” Thad, the editor, remarked, “although I'm not sure we need anymore of that.”

“So, might I suggest something?” Sue chimed in. “Let the audition show air, and then let’s encourage the audience to give feedback on it. Let’s get a perception about what the public thinks about Smythe and Hummel.”

“And how would we do that? Online polls?” Mr. Figgins asked.

“Social Media,” Jesse answered immediately. “Encourage people to tweet about their favorite contestants so far. Better yet, allow them a chance to tweet with the contestants, and then we can see who’s treading more, and see what people actually think. People don’t hold back on Twitter.”

“I’m not sure that’s fair,” Emma interjected.

“Oh Elmo, life isn’t fair. I mean, that should be painstakingly obvious just in what mother nature decided to do to you, I mean with your hollow bird pelvis and neat freak tendencies, it was like mother nature set you up so you would never get a chance to reproduce.” Sue snarked.

“Sue, that was uncalled for. Ms. Pillsbury, however unfair it may be, I think Mr. St James is right. What do the rest of you think?” Mr. Figgins asked.

Ms. Corcoran nodded. “I think it’s brilliant.” Will nodded in agreement as well.

“Ooohhh, I love that idea!” Cassie said smiling. “I’ll even volunteer to read the comments. Jesse’s right. People don’t hold back on social media. They can be downright vicious.”

“Then it is decided. We will give a verbal warning to the stylist, and demand that they apologize to Mr. Smythe. In addition, they must fix his hair. Do you all agree?” Figgins asked. Most of the heads nodded an affirmative, except Sue’s. “I think this meeting has concluded. Thank you everyone for your hard work. Sue, I need to remain for a moment.”

“The judges and the rest of the staff exited the Executive’s office as Sue paced back and forth.

“Sue, you know something you are not saying,” Figgins accused.

“Well of course I do. I know a lot more than I’m saying. I know a lot more than you do, but that’s not new. You’re pretty clueless.”

“Now, Sue, I’m not clueless enough that I don’t realize that Sebastian is only here because you want him to be. I heard you argue his case and sidestep the issue entirely. Why do you want him here?”

“Ratings, of course,” Sue answered quickly. “He has what this show needs.”

“Talent?” Figgins guessed.

“Oh no, Figgy. Lots of kids have talent. He has a go getter attitude. He wants to win, and he will stop at nothing to get it. He reminds me of a young, gay version of one Sue Sylvester.”

“What are you up to, Sue? This show is going to be successful. The projections are good.”

“I don’t want it to just be good. It has to be great. It’s going to live up to the network’s name. It’s going to be number one.”

“I asked Wesley Montgomery, in legal to come in here with me just in case Sebastian follows through with his threat to sue. So what happened exactly? David asked. “Sebastian is really upset about his hair.”

“It was a big mistake,” Elliott explained. “I took over Sebastian’s make-over when he got hostile toward Unique, but he made rude comments to her on Friday too. I was trying to help her out. He was actually pretty rude.”

“I see that ‘highlights’ is circled on the composite. Who was responsible for that?” Wesley asked.

“I did,” admitted Unique. “We were talking about his look, and I meant to circle dye. I think I just got frazzled when he got so mad. He didn’t want it originally when we talked Friday. He added it when we were reviewing what he wanted. I circled the wrong one on the form.”

“So this wasn’t revenge,” Wesley asked.

“It was a mistake,” Unique answered.

“Kurt, Sebastian said you might have it out for him,” David stated.

“It’s no secret that Sebastian and I don’t get along, but this wasn’t a big elaborate conspiracy.”

“The highlight mixture came from you, right?” David asked. “One of the assistants said he overheard you making jokes about giving another contestant unwanted highlights.

“It was Santana, and I’m sure all of the girls were aware I was joking, including Santana. Elliott did ask me for the leftover mixture for the highlights, and I honestly didn’t think anything of it. Chandler mixed too much, and I was trying to help him out. I think we were all so busy, we just didn’t question it.”

“Well, Sebastian is pissed. He wants you all fired.”

“Mr. Thompson, you can ask the guys and the assistants.” Kurt spoke up. “Sebastian was completely hostile and out of line even before the mix up. Unique was nervous, as I would be. He called her rude names and insulted her expertise. It was really uncomfortable.”

“Are you saying she had cause to want to get even.” David inquired.

“Yes, but that’s not what it was. She made a mistake,” Elliott said, patting Unique’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Unique said. “I’ll fix it without pay. And I’ll apologize, but I think I deserve one too.”

“I think both are fair, and you do need to fix this, although I don’t want you alone with him. I talked to Madam Tibbideaux, and she said that Sebastian has had issues with contestants, so I have no reason but to believe it was as you said. Your other clients all praised your work, so I think once we get his hair fixed, we will just deal with this with a warning that something like this will never happen again.” David said sternly.

“Yes sir,” Unique, Kurt, and Elliott said simultaneously.

“Elliott, you will do the dye job, but I’ll be there so you don’t have to deal with his attitude. In addition, we are installing a camera so that we have evidence if anything like this ever happens again. Understood?” David asserted.

The stylists all nodded.

“You all may go,” David stated. Kurt put his hand on Unique’s shoulder as she let out a deep sigh. “Do you believe their story?” David asked Wes.

Wes smiled. “Not completely. I don’t think this was pre-planned, but I don’t think it was completely an accident.”

“I don’t either. They are all too good at what they do, and I just don’t see them making a mistake like that. However, I do see Unique and Kurt especially as people that don’t let people push them around.” David grinned. “Kurt’s intelligent. Gifted even. I’ve seen his file. His IQ is up there. He’s a problem solver, and he thinks quickly on his feet. Sebastian is a pretentious snob, and Kurt knew exactly where to hit him.”

“Well, Sebastian definitely deserved it, according to the reports from the other contestants. No one likes him, and they all have a reason not to. Maybe this will teach him to play nice,” Wes reasoned.

“Do you think it will?’ David asked.

“No, I don’t. I think this is far from over,” Wesley answered. “But maybe, at least, he will leave the stylists alone. I think he’s too smart to mess with them again. He’ll play along, but he strikes me as the type that will try to get revenge, and he will do it when everyone least expects it.”

“So what do we do about it?” David asks.

“We can do nothing right now, except alert Ms. Sylvester that she has a real problem with Mr. Smythe.” Wes remarked. “Although she didn’t seem to mind that too much when we had that discussion before.”

Just moments after Sue concluded her meeting with Mr. Figgins, Becky entered her office. Sue was laughing so hard she almost fell out of her chair. Wes and David had explained what happened, which made her immediately pull up the footage she had from the hidden cameras she had in the salon. She couldn’t believe that the pasty-faced kid had it in him. Well played, Porcelain, well played, she thought, as a gigantic grin spread across her face.

“Coach, one of the contestants is here to see you,” the girl explained. “Do you want me to throw him out? He doesn’t have an appointment.”

“Send him in, Becky.

Sebastian stormed into Sue’s office, waving his arms hysterically. “Look what those twinks did to my hair,” he accused.

Sue cackled. “Kathy Griffin’s attorney called. You are being sued for copyright infringement. She wants her hair back.”

“Well, my father will be calling you soon with our lawsuit against those horrible excuses for stylists that you all hired!” he shouted. “This is a conspiracy. And I wouldn’t even be surprised if you were in on it,” Sebastian accused.

“Why, Annie, I’m hurt. Do you really think I would do something like that?” Sue pouted. I think you should look no further than Spongehair Squarechin and Mr. T. They probably got tired of being the only ones with pathetic hair. I could see where all that procuct seeped into Buttchin’s head, and made him snap. Why, I bet Porcelain, Urethra Franklin, and Glitterrock Vampire were just all helpless pawns in this entire affair,” Sue cackled.

“So you think this is all a joke? Do I need to remind you of the evidence I have on you. This is unacceptable. I will not be tampered with!” Sebastian yelled.

“You mean the way that you tampered with Porcelain?” Sue fired back.

“I didn’t physically cause any harm to him,” Sebastian argued.

“Neither did he. There’s no proof he was even involved. Besides, I dig your new style, although I can’t decide whether I’m craving a Big Mac or a Baconator Burger more.”

“I’m sure that Gayface is to blame for this!” Sebastian shouted.

“You know, I don’t know who you are referring to. I think every color of the rainbow is represented in that house,” Sue laughed.

“You know what? That’s it. You don’t want to handle this, I will find someone who will!” Sebastian threatened.

“Oh yes, your daddy, King Triton. Go ahead, Ariel, and swim off to the BigShot State’s Attorney,” Sue chuckled.

“Do you think my father is the only person of power and influence that I know, Ms. Sylvester?” Sebastian sneered. “My mother is a close friend of June Dalloway, who is one of the benefactors and producers of this show. All I’d have to do is contact my mother, and this show will be cancelled faster than a flight from the North Pole in a blizzard.”

“Please, do you really think I’m buying the crap you’re selling there, Syndrome,” Sue snarked. “There’s no way you would have the plug pulled on this show. It hasn’t aired yet, so you will get no airtime, and all the little horny pansies and twinks whose pants you want to get into still won’t know who you are,”

“Do you think this is the only means I have to get famous?” Sebastian snarked.

“Yes, I do, because otherwise you would have used all those powerful contacts that your precious mumsie has to get you a record deal.”

Sebastian gulped. Damn, she was smart. He had underestimated her. “This isn’t over,” Sebastian snarled. “I want them fired.”

“Can’t, all the fire is in your hair, Sexy Spice.” Sue laughed. “Look, we will see to it that your hair gets fixed so you can return to looking as stupid as you did before the makeover, and I’ll reassign your stylists so that you don’t have to worry about this happening again.” Sue said, extending her hand. “Scouts honor.”

“Yeah, sure. I believe that as much as Batman believes the Joker,” Sebastian huffed. This isn’t over.”

“Coach, phone for you!” Becky hollered.

“Thanks, Becky,” Sue hollered right back. She turned toward Sebastian. “Actually, for right now, it is over. I have another matter to attend to. So, get the hell out of my office, Carrot Top.” Sebastian snarled. “And next time, I’d be a little more careful who I mouthed off too! Karma’s a bitch,” Sue grinned.

“She said get out, Loser! Who did your hair? Elmo!” Becky taunted. “Oh Snap!”

Sebastian stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

“What are you doing? Will asked Emma.

“I’m cleaning.” Emma sighed.

“That spot again?” Will asked.

“Um, I never stopped. I mean, those girls seem clean enough, and they said that they cleaned, but then I found dust bunnies under the bed and the trash wasn’t emptied, and there were spots on the wall,” Emma explained as she continued to scrub at the spots on the wall with a magic eraser.”

“Emma, that’s not a stain. You wore off the paint,” Will said, walking over to her and gently removing the sponge from her hand. “Emma, it’s clean. Trust me, I worked as a janitor in a theater until I could get a role I desired. ”

“I can’t, Will. I could never sleep in here if I knew it wasn’t clean.” Emma reasoned.

“Well, then, let me at least help you,” Will offered. “Actually, I think I owe it to you. The contestants have been working together so much better since that team building exercise. Even Sebastian’s playing nice, although I think that the stylists may have had something to do with that,” he chuckled. “It’s good that we can move in here and help so that we can prevent issues instead of watching them erupt like they have been.”

“I agree. But I feel bad. This place was cramped before, and I don’t want to be intrusive,” Emma fretted.

“I don’t see it as being intrusive at all. I think we’re being supportive. They aren’t children, but they have a lot going on. It has to be overwhelming. I think this will be better for everyone,” Will smiled. “Besides, it will give us time to get to know each other.” Emma blushed. “I meant, all of us. The contestants, you know. It will help them develop trust in us so maybe, if something does arise, we can help, like the situation with Kurt.”

“I don’t know what to think about this situation with Sebastian. That guy has a lot of issues. And I really don’t know what I think about this underhanded attempt to replace him with Kurt,” Emma admitted.

“I don’t think it’s underhanded. Carmen is being practical. Kurt has a moral code. He has a good relationship with the other contestants. They respect him. Sebastian doesn’t have any of that. And honestly, Sebastian has done more than enough to justify being removed from the show. I think Carmen knows that the dynamic would be more harmonious with Kurt,” Will explained. “And I think Carmen feels guilt that Kurt left the show.”

“Do you, feel guilt about him leaving the show?” the red-head asked, looking softly into Will’s eyes. “Because I do.”

Will cleared his throat. The way Emma’s honey eyes looked into his caught him off guard. “Yeah, I do. And when I went to the hospital and talked to his dad, I really felt responsible. I mean, we were told that his health was dire. Of course Kurt would resign. That’s the kind of guy he is,” Will marveled.

“So this Twister thing?”

“Twitter, Emma,” Will chuckled.

Emma blushed. “Twitter. Do you think it will work? It sounded kind of mean.”

“Not necessarily. I mean, yeah, sometimes people are more brutally honest online than they would ever be in person, but that may be what they want. They want to see how an audience will respond to the contestants. And it will be a great way to draw people in and keep them watching. They will be invested in the contestants.” Will commented.

“Well, I don’t know if I like it. What if people say things that are hurtful, damaging?”

“Well, then, they have you to help them see that it’s not true,” Will smiled.

“And what if I can’t?” Emma asked.

“Well then, we’ll just have to all work together. But I have faith in you, Emma. I just wish you had faith in yourself. You’re doing great,” he assured her, his green eyes once again meeting hers, and then looking again at the wall. “Well, I think this is clean. Now what?”

“The floor. I saw dust bunnies under the bed,” Emma remarked.

Will sighed. “Well, then, let’s take care of that.”

“Finn, I think we found something you are truly bad at,” Puck chuckled, after Finn messed up the steps for the fourth time in a role.”

But I’m getting better right?” Finn asked.

Mike took a deep breath. “Finn, I think that we need to adjust this routine.”

“I don’t understand why we have to do choreography in the first place. I’m a musician, and this is a rock song. Why can’t I play?” Puck complained.

“Play what?” asked Mike.

“Drums,” the tall man answered.

“And I play guitar,” Puck added.

“Are you serious?” Why are we trying to teach you a dance? I think playing would be impressive, although you may not be seen as easily by the crowd, especially behind the drums. We would have to get it cleared with the cameramen and the judges. Are you sure that you want to do this?” the Asian asked. “Because I won’t stop working with you until you master this, boys.”

“No, Puck is right. Some of these guys can really dance, like Puck’s brother, and there’s no way we are going to look as good as him, or that tall blonde chick.”

“And we aren’t going to outsing that heavy black chick,” Puck added.

Finn smacked Puck’s arm. “Hey, you can’t call her that. That's insensitive, dude.”

“Sorry, we can’t outsing that heavy, black girl,” Puck nodded.

“I think we should do what Kurt did in his final audition.”

“Sing a showtune in skintight gold pants? Man, I’ll never get laid again,” Puck complained.

“No, he said he was going to do some boring show tune, but he changed his mind and sang a completely different song!” Finn exclaimed.

“Yeah, another campy show tune, in gold pants! I still don’t see your point.” Puck sighed.

“He said he decided to change his mind because the song was more him. And that Madam chick said she was really impressed because he decided to do something that was more like him,” Finn rationalized.

“I’m incredibly confused,” Mike said.

“Well, Puck’s kinda rock and roll, and I love classic rock. It’s our thing. That’s why they picked us and not another pretty boy?” Finn answered.

Puck was clearly offended by those words.” “Hey, are you trying to say I’m not a pretty dude?”

“Your brother’s right. Sometimes, you do say the gayest things,” Finn chuckled.

“Uh, I'm still unsure if I follow?” Mike said, clearly puzzled.

“Sorry man. Neither of us speak Asian.” Finn apologized.

“I’m Chinese, man. You know that Asia’s not a country, right?” Mike asked.

“Yeah, man. It’s a condiment,” Puck responded. Finn gave him a thumbs up.

Mike shook his head. “You’re studying to be a teacher, right?” Mike asked, looking at Finn. Finn nodded. “Not geography right?”

Finn shook his head no again. “Nah, I suck at math.”

“Ok, well, explain to me why you don’t want to do the dance routine.”

“Well, there’s this gay dude that does women’s songs and show tunes because he says it’s the most “me,” and they love him. We aren’t broadway broads. We are rock and roll dudes that play instruments, and that’s what we are going to do. We’re gonna get on stage and rock instead of dancing like some boy band or the Beibs.”

Mike nodded. “That makes perfect sense. We’ll play up your strengths. It’s brilliant!”

“See, I knew that tall blonde chick wasn’t the only genius,” Puck grinned. “So, we’re playing, right. So no more of this dance crap.”

Mike frowned. “Well, I still think you two would benefit from dance lessons. You may not always get lucky enough to get rock songs,” Mike explained, losing focus slightly when he saw the pretty Korean girl in her tights and black leotard. He took a moment to admire her beautiful new hairstyle, which was wavy and had light brown highlights. She looked up and caught him staring, and she waved tentatively.

Puck chuckled. “Earth to Mike, man.”

“Uh, sorry,” Mike answered. “What was I saying?”

“Um, something about continuing dance lessons,” Finn answered, but he wasn’t really paying attention either because his eyes were staring at Rachel as she walked in. She was sporting her new look, dressed in a leotard and tights as well.

“Well, I think practice is pretty much over today, boys, right?” Puck laughed.

“I’d say so,” agreed Mike.

“That was better,” Mr. Shuester complimented the two boys in front of him. “Take a break, and then we will run through it again. Mr. Shuester went over to the water cooler while Ryder wiped the sweat from his brow.

“And it would be even better if one of us wasn’t sharp,” Jake quipped.

“I wasn’t sharp. You were flat,” Ryder accused.

“The only thing that is flat is my abs,” Jake smirked. “And your game.”

“Oh please. Do you really think anyone would want you over me?” Ryder laughed.

Jake waved at Marley, who blushed and smiled. “I don’t see anyone sneaking into your room.” Jake sneered.

“What’s going on between you and Marley?” Ryder demanded.

Jake jerked his head around. “Nothing! I just like her,” he admitted.

“I like her too, but there are rules. If we mess around, we could get eliminated, or get her eliminated. You need to cool it,” Ryder warned.

“I told you before that you need to butt out,” Jake said, his voice raising.

“That was before you kissed her,” Ryder retorted. “A kiss that she didn’t ask for or seem to want.”

“When are you just going to admit that you’re just jealous of me, man?” Jake smirked.

“And why would I admit to something that is clearly false.”

“Because it’s totally true. I’m better than you at dancing, singing, and better with girls. Admit it. You only wish you were a badass like me.”

“Yeah. That rides a razor scooter. Because nothing says I’m a badass like a razor scooter.”

“Well, at least I can read.”

Ryder’s face turned hot with rage. He turned and tackled Jake to the floor, his fist rearing back when he heard a shout.

“Guys, stop it. Please stop. This is stupid!” Marley screamed, running over to the boys.

Ryder stopped immediately. Great, so you are calling me stupid too. Just great!”

“Wait, Ryder, that’s not what I meant,” Marley called out after him, but Ryder stormed out of the studio.

“What was that about?” Marley demanded, her eyes glaring at Jake.

“Hey, he attacked me. Don’t look at me like that.” Jake defended himself.

“You guys were arguing. Ryder doesn’t seem like a confrontational guy. What did you say to him?” she repeated.

“We argued over the number, and other things,” Jake responded.

“What other things?’ the brunette questioned, looking sternly into Jake’s eyes.

“You, apparently,” Jake answered.

Marley looked stunned. “Me? W-Why m-me?” she stammered.

“Did you tell him? About us?”

“Jake there is no us. You kissed me. I didn’t ask for it. I mean, I think you’re cute, but it’s against the rules.”

“And what, do you always do what you’re told to do?” Jake asked.

“Yeah, I pretty much do. And I want this, Jake. This is my dream. And you need to respect that. You need to respect my boundaries. We can be friends, and that’s it,” she explained.

“Well, then, I’m glad I know where I stand,” Jake replied, turning abruptly and heading for the door.

“I can’t believe Dad didn’t mind me going out tonight,” Kurt told Elliott, walking to the table to join Sugar and Unique.

“You’re a grown man, Kurt,” Elliott replied. “Besides, didn’t you say that his nurse was staying with him tonight. Maybe, he’s totally fine with the two of them being alone together,”

“Shoot, I didn’t think about that,” Kurt groaned.

“Hey, it’s fine. They are both grown-ups. Let them have their fun,” Elliot laughed, grabbing pens and slips from the table to write out their song choices when it was their turn to sing.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Kurt giggled. “It’s actually nice to just go out. I mean, I love working and I love my dad, but things have been busy since I moved back here. I haven’t even really gotten a chance to do much at all besides work, sleep, and care for my Dad.”

“Well then, I’m happy that I could be of assistance,” Elliott answered, smiling gently. “What are you singing first?”, he said, tilting his head to try to get a glimpse of the fair-skinned boy’s song slip.

“Nu uh. It’s a surprise,” Kurt giggled again.

“Well, then fine, If you won’t show me yours, I won’t show you mine,” Elliott smirked.

“Uh, did you two want to be alone?” Unique chuckled.

“No, no.” Kurt responded, scooting his seat back a little. “This guy was just trying to peek at my song selection.”

“Oh, cause from the sounds of that conversation, it sounded like he was trying to peek at something else,” Sugar giggled.

Kurt sipped his shirley temple as Elliot drank his Long Island Iced Tea. “You aren’t drinking. It’s karaoke, Kurt,” he laughed. “How can you do karaoke sober?”

“Probably easier than the people that get sloppy drunk and screech the lyrics of some pop song into the microphone,” Kurt said, cringing as he heard the KJ call Sugar onto the stage. He saw the title ‘Blank Space’ pop up. “Dear God, let her be able to carry a tune,” Kurt sighed.

“No such luck,” Elliott laughed as Sugar attempted to sing the first verse. “How about that duet that we talked about yesterday?” he asked.

“Sure, we can do one later.” Kurt nodded. “What do you want to sing?” Kurt asked curiously.

“How about I write something down. I’m sure you’ll know it,” Elliott suggested.

“Sure, I trust you,” Kurt smiled. “We’ve talked enough about music that you should know that I have a pretty extensive repertoire of music under my belt.”

“And it’s a pretty awesome belt, Mr. Hummel,” Elliott flirted, his eyes dropping to Kurt’s slender waist, admiring his jeans, which might as well have been painted on, as tight as they hugged his legs and crotch.

“You know who else has an awesome belt?” Unique asked. “Me, on this next song. I challenge you to upstage me tonight.”

“Oh it’s on, girl!” Kurt countered playfully, giggling again..

“Well, you’ll have to beat what I just did,” Sugar gloated, waltzing back to the table. “So, what are you singing?”

“You’re about to find out,” Unique called as she headed to the stage. Unique really got into “Blow Me One Last Kiss,” eliciting catcalls and cheers as she strutted off the stage. “Top that boys,” she challenged.

“Next up, the vocal styling of Starchild!” Elliott walked over to the KJ and whispered in his ear.

“Hey, everyone, are you ready to rock?” he shouted to the crowd. The crowd roared in response.

“Wait! The fabulous Starchild requested a Mr. Kurt Hummel to join him on stage. They’re going to ‘duet’ right here on stage for you,” the KJ announced suggestively.

Kurt blushed and took a big swig of his drink before walked slowly onto the small wooden stage. He looked at the screen, nodding in approval of the track Elliott had picked. He signaled for Elliott to take the first part.

Elliott

There's a girl in the backyard banging on her drum

Sitting in a junk pile laughing at the sun

Singing "Ah-ah-ah, I just wanna be a rockstar"

Kurt became intimidated as he watched Elliott belting out the verse. Charisma jsut radiated out of him as he sang. Elliott smiled warmly at him before singing the next lines. He motioned for Kurt to sing the bridge with him.

Elliott with Kurt:

If there's a meaning can you show me a sign?

The more I look it just gets harder to find

The world is spinning and I wanna know why

Kurt warmed up to the performance, noticing the crowd getting into it, whistling and hollering. Kurt began to let loose, shimming his shoulders and turning his waist so that he was pointed towards Elliott instead of the crowd. In turn, Elliott removed the microphone from the stand and leaned in closer to Kurt, their voices harmonizing every step of the way.

Elliott with Kurt:

And maybe we will never figure it out

I got a feelin' that's what life's all about

I'm learning anything is possible now

Unique and Sugar stood up from their seats and moved toward the stage, whistling and dancing to the music. The crowd joined in, cheering the boys as they sang.

Kurt watched Elliott let loose and perform for the crowd. He had to admit that Elliott had an amazing stage presence, the way he seemed so confident and uninhibited. Kurt understood feeling at home on stage. He was the same way, but Elliott had this sexy quality that just oozed from every pore as he sang. By the end of the song, a crowd had formed on the stage, and Elliott just leaped, landing in the arms of the audience. He continued to sing as the crowd passed him around until he made his way back to the stage, singing the final line with Kurt.

Elliott with Kurt

I was born to be a rockstar

The crowd cheered and applauded as Elliott embraced Kurt in a gigantic hug. “You were fabulous.” Elliott complemented, pulling back hesitantly. He really enjoyed spending time with the feisty boy, and rules stated that staff could date. Elliott knew that Kurt had feelings for Blaine, although Kurt wasn’t allowed to act on it. He started to exit the stage, as Kurt leaned in and whispered to the KJ.

“Wait a second!” The KJ called to the dark headed boy. “Judging by the response from the crowd, I don’t think they would mind an encore. What do you say everybody?” The KJ asked the crowd, who answered immediately by wolf-whistling and cheering even louder than before.

“What do you say?” Kurt asked, grinning mischievously.

“We gotta give the crowd what they want,” Elliott winked, as a bra landed at his feet. “Um, well, except that lady,” Elliott smirked. He smiled even bigger when he saw the song title appear on the screen and the guitar intro began blaring over the speakers. Kurt motioned for Elliott to start.

Elliott:

Can't explain all the feelings that you're making me feel

My heart's in overdrive and you're behind the steering wheel

Kurt thought back to the duet he had sang with Blaine, which felt like ages ago, and he remembered their conversation that followed. Blaine had told him him he was adorable. Jesse told him he looked like he was having gas pains. Kurt shut that voice off in his hand and decided he was going to try once again to bring in sex appeal. Elliott had really gotten into the last performance, and Kurt wanted to get into that same mind set.

Kurt:

Touching you

Touching me

He leaned in toward Elliott, sliding his hands down his thighs. He confidently got ready to belt out the next lines.

Kurt:

Touching you

God, you're touching me!

Elliott with Kurt:

I believe in a thing called love

Just listen to the rhythm of my heart

There's a chance we could make it now

We'll be rocking 'til the sun goes down

I believe in a thing called love!

Elliott:

Ooh! Yeah! Come on!

Kurt straddled the mic stand, leaning forward.

Kurt:

I wanna kiss you every minute, every hour, every day

You got me in a spin but everythin' is A.OK!

Elliott and Kurt:

Touching you

Touching me

Elliott removed the mic from the stand, and leaned in closer to Kurt, their foreheads almost touching as they both mimicked the motions from the song, first running their hands down their own arms and bodies and then touching each other’s arms teasingly, swaying their hips suggestively. Elliott even slid his finger down the middle of Kurt’s chest, causing Kurt to about forget to sing the words.

Elliott and Kurt:

Touching you

God, you're touching me!

Kurt and Elliott now had their backs leaning against each other, asses touching, as they harmonized with one another.

Elliott with Kurt:

I believe in a thing called love

Just listen to the rhythm of my heart

There's a chance we could make it now

We'll be rocking 'til the sun goes down

I believe in a thing called love!

Elliott

Ooh! Yeah, guitar!

During the guitar solo, Kurt ran over to the pole on the side of the stage that was supporting the stage, and spun around it once, testing its stability. Noting it was secure, Kurt spun around it several times seductively, Elliott moving over to the other side of the stage to do the same. The crowd was banging their heads, shouting and whistling aggressively, some of them clearly aroused by what the two attractive men were doing on the poles.

The boys moved from the poles back to the microphone stands, once again back to back, singing toward the crowd.

Elliott and Kurt:

Touching you

Touching me

Touching you

God, you're touching me! Oh!

Elliott (Kurt)

I believe in a thing called love

Just listen to the rhythm of my heart

There's a chance we could make it now

We'll be rocking 'til the sun goes down

(I believe in a thing called love!)

Oh, woah! ( Woo!)

Kurt with the crowd (Elliott):

(Oh, yeah!) I believe in a thing called love (Yeaah!)

(Oh, yeah!) I believe in a thing called love (Oh yeah! Come on!)

I believe in a thing called love (Ya-he! Ya! Hey! Hey-yeah!)

I believe in a thing called love

Elliott:

Whoa, yeeeaah, yeah! Oooh, yeah! Heey! Ow!

Elliott watched Kurt as once again the boy swung around the pole, this time inverting himself and spinning downward slowly and skillfully. He knew Kurt was feisty and sexy, but damn! He wasn’t prepared for all of that. Elliott was aware that he was developing a crush on the countertenor, but what was going through him now was pure blown lust.

“Well, it sounds like the crowd enjoyed that,” Kurt laughed. “It was fun pretending to be sexy.

“Like Hell, pretending!” Elliott blurted. “Kurt that was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Kurt shook his head as they made their way back to the table, both of them dodging ass grabs. A burly man took Kurt by the arm and started grinding against his leg as the next song started. Kurt looked uncomfortably at Elliott.

“Hey, didn’t you just see him with me. Back off! I don’t share well, or at all, when it comes to my sexy-assed boyfriend,” Elliott threatened.

“Yeah, prove it!” the man challenged. Elliott winked at Kurt, letting him know of his intentions as he leaned in and planted a searing kiss to his lips, his hands gripping the sides of his face, before pulling back abruptly, leaving Kurt panting and trembling slightly.

“Fine, sorry man!” the burly man huffed, sulking away.

“Hey, sorry. I just got this vibe that you didn’t want to dance with him, and I just did the first thing that came to mind,” Elliott apologized.

Kurt stood stunned in the middle of the dance floor.

“Kurt. Are you ok?” Elliott questioned again. “Hey, I’m sorry. I was out of line.”

“I have to go,” Kurt said a little louder than he intended, and rushed for the club’s exit.

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