#e entertainment news hosts

[prolix-yuy]

Chapter 3: That Was the First Time I Lost Her

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader “Sugar”

Summary: It only takes a little digging.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: More angst, insinuations of creep behavior, making shit up about Westworld, a million questions and no answers, will be E in later chapters so full series is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: Sugar's got some soul-searching to do, and there are very few people who can help her with that. Where Cognitive Dissonance had a lot more Westworld characters in it, this series is gonna have a few cameos from Kingsman characters and you better believe this is one of my favorites. Enjoy!

Cross-posted on AO3

Decoherence Masterlist   ||   Whiskey & Westworld Masterlist

It takes you three weeks before you say anything about Jack to anyone. Three weeks of going back and forth from your job, sitting in front of the large glass screen your work is projected on. Three weeks of seeing the world you live in - advanced far beyond Sweetwater’s rustic charm - in a new light, knowing there’s someone living in it that feels so out of place. Now, you feel out of place too. 

In that time you argue with yourself back and forth over what happened that fateful morning.

He’s a delusional man who violated your trust.

But he didn’t act delusional. Didn’t try to push you to come with him, didn’t try to get your number or find out where you live. He gave you a way to contact him, but didn’t press when you didn’t promise to.

But how did he find you?

That thought twists your stomach. Had he used some database to scour personal records for you? Had he been trailing you and you never even noticed? It clearly didn’t go to plan for him, but what had he planned? 

He wants to “explain.”

The most you would do is call him. Only to tell him to be prepared for a lawsuit. Maybe to scream at him a little more about how violated you felt. Definitely not because you want to know what he could possibly say to make this make sense.

Why are you entertaining this?

This is where you always come to a halt. You can reason around most of your internal arguments, make good decisions that would make your parents proud, but it’s when you get to this question - why are you still thinking about this? - that you falter. 

Because his plea - let me explain - and the furtive way he looked at you - I am a host - tug at something you hid away for the year since you saw him. That there was something more to Jack, but not this obvious of a betrayal. 

I didn’t get to tell you something that night. Something important. 

He tried to tell you something that day on the train platform. What was it?

I was a coward, and I wanted you more than anything Sugar. 

He was going to tell you he loved you. And it was going to shatter your heart to hear it, so you showed him the photograph. Because it would hurt less to prove him a fantasy. You forced him to reveal the machine behind the man, because he was going to tell you he loved you.

Right?

But if this is the last moment I get to say it before you leave my sight, I have to. 

I need you to know.

Was this it?

It’s Dina that helps you gain some clarity, though not in a way you imagined.

“I had my trip to Westworld refunded, ruined my whole vacation,” she says nonchalantly over lunch. The “cool bridesmaids” actually stuck together after the bachelorette, and you see Dina every few months for a boisterous lunch and catch-up. This particular revelation, two weeks after Jack sauntered into your life and left you with a handful of mirror shards for memories, makes you choke on your drink. 

“You were going back?” you finally ask once you can breathe again. Dina smiles knowingly, swirling her iced matcha latte loudly in her glass. 

“I’ll admit, it’s pretty fun. Only went once since the party, it’s damn expensive, but I was really looking forward to my third visit. Sounds like there’s some operational issues.” You listen with as much nonchalance as you can muster, but Dina smiles coyly at your ruse. “Didn’t see your man there last time. Maybe he was just for you.” 

You scoff, a clammy sweat on the back of your neck sending goosebumps down your arms.

“They probably rotate them,” you say weakly, thumb smearing away a drip of coffee from the lip of your cup. 

“Listen, baby, maybe this isn’t my business, but if Jack still gets you this fired up, it might be worth talking to someone about it,” she says gently. Your heart leaps into your throat, worrying that your face has given it all away.

“What, like a therapist?” you laugh, trying to put on a bright smile but you’re practically thrumming now. Dina scoffs instead.

“Hell no, my girl Ginger. She used to work for Delos, doing…programming or something. One conversation with her will definitely ruin the magic for you. Like seeing Mickey without his head on in Disneyland.” You both giggle at the image, trying to school yourself into a calm that won’t betray how close to the truth she is.

“She left on bad terms, so she’ll tell you the truth about shit. Doesn’t care about her NDA, or much else for that matter. She’s a badass,” Dina says, scrolling through her phone and typing quickly. “Ask her your questions, get your dreams dashed, and move the fuck on.” Dina means well, but the worry gnawing in your stomach draws much of your attention away.

Former Delos staff could definitely tell her if Jack was a host, or a fucked-up guest, or a host based off a guest that is now playing a terrifying game of switcheroo. 

“Promise she won’t think it’s weird?”

“She loves to dish about it, you’ll be making her week.”

Ginger doesn’t want to meet in a public place - I’ve seen a little too much of what can be done to risk it - so she invites you to her condo instead. You almost back out, shame and nerves getting to you, but the need to know grows at a greater pace. So, bringing two coffees and pastries (not from the shop where you saw Jack, you don’t think you could go back there), you climb her third floor walkup.

She’s business chic with a dazzling smile, a collared shirt under a sweater with dark-washed jeans. Her hair is spiked through with honeyed highlights that compliment her brown skin. A pair of serious horn-rimmed glasses frame her face, but look fresher on her than any academic. 

“Hi, I’m Dina’s friend,” you start as Ginger leads you into her home. Dina mentioned she was a programmer, and her design aesthetic screams “I care more about my processor chips than artwork.” Stacks of hard drives on tables, large manuals of computer code on shelves, all neat and tidy in a controlled chaos way. She brings plates for the croissants as you sit at her table, rolling your opening remarks in your mind as she settles across.

I had a strange experience in Westworld that made me question everything. Can you tell me if I’m crazy or not?

Before you get the chance Ginger speaks. 

“Dina told me a bit about your situation,” she says simply, regarding you with rapt attention and sparking intelligence. The confusion must have slapped across your face, because Ginger barks out a laugh just shy of impolite. “I made her spill the beans, I’m too suspicious otherwise.” 

You sigh audibly, covering your face with your hands.

“Great, now I’m just pitiful,” you bemoan, joining in on the laughter. Slouching back in your chair, you share a look that radiates I guess we’re here now.

“So, you had questions about hosts. Maybe one in particular. I haven’t worked for Delos in a few years, but I’ll do my best to help. God knows those assholes keep their mouths shut tighter than their assholes,” Ginger says, waiting for you to lay out your questions. So many bubble up, but you let the most important come to the forefront:

“How can you tell a host is a host?”

Ginger’s smile turns conspiratorial, cocking her head to one side.

“One really got to you, huh? Made you think he - or she - was real?” 

You twist your hands in your lap, shoulders tensing for laughter.

“It’s silly, right? A host is a host and a person is…completely different.”

Ginger talks as she darts around the room, gathering items - a laptop from a desk, a silver and orange hard drive, a handful of cords. She gestures with her hands while she speaks, face softening with the passion that shines through,

“It’s a testament to how well we programmed them. They’re supposed to trick you, keep you in the illusion. I was more in design and aesthetics, moved into expressive programming before they culled my team.” When she catches your eye, the first etchings of confusion on your face, she backtracks. “I designed the exteriors - faces, bodies, you know - before I moved into writing code for their facial expressions and body language. Cram years of what we as humans would observe and develop over a lifetime into a little computer chip. They learn too, just not the same sorts of things. They’re designed to interpret our body language, give us what we need before we think we need it.”

What had Jack read from your body?

Ginger plops down at the table, fingers moving quickly over the keys and eyes trained on the glowing screen. 

“But Delos axed my team, said something about ‘new coding avenues,’ the assholes. Just didn’t want to pay us if they could automate us. But!” She hits the last key and folds her arms, finally looking at your nervous posture. “They didn’t pay me well enough for my IP, so I took everything I could get my hands on. Most of it’s too outdated for them to care about, but I’m pretty goddamn proud of it.”

She motions for you to sit on the same side of the table as her, waiting until you’re settled to drag a window onto the screen. It looks like tiny image thumbnails all neatly stacked, face after face scrolling by.

“So who is it?”

You steel yourself for whatever answer may come next.

“Jack Daniels.”

Waiting for a confused noise, for a bad search return, for some reason to hate the man who came back to you, instead you get a knowing laugh.

“Ah, I’m pretty proud of that one,” she says, typing in Jack’s name and pulling up a profile. “I was going through a very dashing cowboy phase, wanted something a little Burt Reynolds, a little Robert Conrad, flirtatious but a disaster at it, smooth talker.” As she talks she tabs through sketches, achingly beautiful pencil drawings of his hawkish nose, the pout of his lower lip, the tilt of his head up to look at something. 

“Then fucking Sizemore dumped him in that shitty Golden Circle timeline, which was a goddamn waste. Gave him a terribly written, cliched backstory and half-assed his motivation to make a shockingly underthought double cross villain arc seem edgy.” Ginger pauses on a dystopic photo, Jack standing in a glass and concrete cube, hand on his jutted hip and a smile you’ve been in the path of aimed right into the camera. You can almost hear his voice.

You can have all the Whiskey you want.

“Our cowboy deserved better than that,” she sighs. Managing to break from your reverie, you try not to stumble too badly through the most important questions.

“And he’s not…based on anyone else? There’s no Jack lookalike wandering the streets?” You try to make it airy, joking, unsure of your success. Thankfully Ginger skims right over the tremor in your voice, tapping into a file that details every scar and freckle over the expanse of his skin.

“If only. Unfortunately, the best men are designed by women. I’ve never met someone quite like Jack.”

Neither have you, and the implication settles heavy in your chest. 

You spent an hour more with Ginger, peeking into the secret workings of Delos and picking at flaky pastries without appetite. It’s more out of politeness than interest. Half of the things she shows you flow right through your consciousness and into the ether. 

Jack is a host. 

From the mouth of his…creator? Herself?

Maybe that combination of features could find its way in nature, but not his story, or the intimate details you both know in very different contexts. The groove she drew in his lower lip pulled softly across your stomach. The graphite glint in his eyes lifting to capture yours. The thick strokes that built a hand you’d felt hold your face so gently. 

Ginger knew him as well as you did, certainly more so, and there was no better explanation for what this means. 

He’s not a man. So what is he doing here? How is he here, in a world you never thought he could enter? 

Thanking Ginger for her hospitality and her patience, you take the longest way home possible. The rhythmic beat of your feet on concrete lets you ruminate. The air is warm across your cheeks, errant breezes dancing around your aimless path. The “park” has never been your favorite place to soul search, the lack of trees and tightly governed shrubs clashing against what you consider wilderness. Today, however, it’s so stark and blank as to clear your mind.

If not a host in a world built for pleasure, what is Jack? How can he survive in this world without a narrative, a directive, a fucking charging port for his battery? Does he run on batteries or did they slap a solar panel in that gorgeous head of hair?

Dropping onto a bench you bury your face in your hands, fighting the urge to laugh madly. You've seen under the facade and now you’re left with even more questions, and there’s only one person who can answer those. 

“Jack Daniels.”

“Hi. It’s…”

“Hey. It’s…it’s you.”

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner.”

“I didn’t know if you would at all, after all that.”

“I wasn’t sure either.”

There’s a pause while you gather courage, but Jack jumps in first.

“Listen, I just wanted to say I’m sorry about last time. I saw you and I meant to sneak out before you saw me, but…it was just a perfect mess, huh?”

Right to the meat of it then. Somehow that makes it easier.

“Did you know I would be there?”

Another silence, but you wait for this one to end. Jack sighs heavily, and your body aches.

“I knew you could be there.”

“And you were…what? Waiting to get up the courage to talk to me?”

“Something like that.” Jack sucks in a breath. “I had some questions of my own. I wasn’t sure I wanted the answers.”

This admission dazes you. All Jack knew of you in Westworld was a lie. The footing feels more even knowing he’s just as trepidatious as you. 

You sigh deeply, pressing the palm of your hand against your forehead.

“I think I should let you explain.”

A softer sigh tickles your ear.

“I’d really like to do that, Sugar.”

You scoff.

“You still call me that.”

“Sweetest thing I’ve…”

“Please, Jack. Don’t. Not right now.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not…I’m not sure how I feel about everything yet. This is all frankly terrifying to me, and I need some time to understand it.”

“I understand. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be the same rodeo as before.”

Lips curling up, you warm to his words. Same old west charm. Same teasing lilt. 

Same old Jack, but maybe more than you thought.

“Can I see you Friday?”

PREVIOUS NEXT

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Complications

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

|| Consent universe oneshot but can be read independently from the series ||

{ Fuck Yeah Holidays | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Prompts: Dieter shoots a watch ad | New Year's Eve

Summary: Dieter shoots a watch ad at a New Year’s Eve party. What could possibly happen - specifically in the VIP powder room - when the ball drops?

Warnings: !WATCH KINK!, dirty talk, fingering, semi-public sex. These holiday fics are for fun, so not as *rigorously edited* as my regular stories, please forgive any mistakes or plot holes!

Word count: 2.3k

In horology, a complication is any feature of a mechanical timepiece beyond the display of hours, minutes and seconds.

Dedicated to Maddie @imaswellkid for loving watches on Pedro boys as much as I do 😘

‘Sweetheart. C’mon, stop pouting.’

‘I’m not pouting.’

Dieter brushes the pad of his thumb across your lips, pursed petulantly despite your denial. ‘You so are.’

You swat away his hand then cross your arms. ‘I’m scowling. There’s a difference.’

You’re not sure who made the executive decision to appoint Dieter Bravo as the brand ambassador of a watchmaker. The man’s never worn a watch in his life. Time is but a social construct to him.

But what’s done is done, and he will be launched as the face of their new line of luxury watches at a New Year’s Eve party hosted by the brand this very evening - a last-minute decision that’s upset your plans for your first new year together.

Pete is throwing a bash at the warehouse conversion he’s just moved into, and you’ve been looking forward to seeing your backstage friends from Resurgence since you got the invite. You pull out your phone to text him your apologies, which Pete responds to speedily with a string of sad face emojis, and follows up with a call to Dieter.

You can hear Pete whining through the receiver even though the phone isn’t on speaker as your boyfriend pacifies him. ‘Man, you know how much I wanted to come, but this work thing came up last-minute. We’ll make our way over right after the countdown, I promise. Yes, pinky promise.’

Your lips quirk despite your mood.

Hanging up as the car rolls to a stop in front of a swanky hotel, Dieter sighs at your long face. He leans over to press a kiss to your impassive lips, his brown eyes pleading. ‘I’ll make it up to you sweetheart, ok?’

‘Fine,’ you huff, softening just the tiniest bit as the car doors are flung open, and with one last smile at you, Dieter is whisked away by his PR team.

Midnight is still a few hours away, and the schedule is tightly packed with a photoshoot beforehand and filming of behind-the-scenes footage for social media. They settle you in the lounge of the presidential suite while Dieter gets ready in the other room, and you begrudgingly accept a glass of champagne and the plate of canapes they leave you on the coffee table.

You pace yourself, making the bubbles last. Pumped up dance music spills from his room as the door opens and closes with the rush of pre-shoot chaos. Garment bags, shoe boxes and makeup trolleys come and go as you entertain yourself with the glossy magazines on the coffee table while the PR team buzzes about, wired to earpieces and shouting orders into their phones.

You’re halfway through an embarrassingly engrossing magazine quiz - how hot is your sex life according to your fave side dish - when a shadow falls over you.

‘Sweetheart, we’re heading down to the party now. Come with?’

You can’t help but stare.

To be honest, you had no expectations whatsoever for this gig. You thought they would dress him up in a generic black suit, take some generic shots with him fiddling with his cufflink while showing off his timepiece like every other generic watch ad. It’s not like you don’t appreciate a sharp suit or a nice watch, you do - but it’s just not Dieter.

And it looks like the stylist heard your prayers.

Instead of a traditional two-piece, Dieter is wearing relaxed dress pants, a light knitted pullover tucked into them over a smart belt. Rounding off the ensemble is a smart knee-length black coat with sharp lapels. His signature sunglasses perch on the tip of his nose, his curls styled messily.

The sleeves of the coat are folded up to expose his strong hands, but what really catches your eye sits on his left wrist - a large, square-faced watch with a steel chain bracelet.

While you don’t count yourself a connoisseur, you know enough to recognise that this watch is the real deal. The time display is in refined Roman numerals, and an elegant moonphase complication sits at the top of the dial. The pièce de résistance is the small, circular window at the bottom of the face that offers a peek into the sacred inner mechanics - the tourbillon. Beneath the glass is a gorgeous criss-crossing of gold wheels, brass cogs, and silver springs, all tangled in perfect synchronisation, endless moving parts that tick and spin.

It is a beautiful watch, no doubt, and a hugely expensive one at that.

To your consternation, they’re letting him wear his ratty knitted bracelet he bought from a vendor on a farflung beach in Thailand on the same hand, as well as his rings with the black gemstones on his index and pinky fingers.

While unusual in theory, the contrast somehow pays off. The whole look just works - it’s Dieter. You could kiss the stylist on the mouth with joy even though your boyfriend is standing right there.

‘Sweetheart?’

Your eyes fall to Dieter’s palm, open and outstretched in invitation. Then they move just a few inches upward, lingering on the smooth steel encircling his wrist.

You swallow thickly and put your hand in his, letting him pull you onto your feet, knees wobbly. A shiver runs down the length of your spine when the watch brushes your skin.

It should come as no surprise to you that Dieter is just as good on the set of a photoshoot as a movie. He works the angles, ever aware of the lighting and the cameras, hitting pose after pose like the professional that he is.

The photographer’s assistant shows you the stills on a laptop as they snap. With the set outdoors in the dark, the raw lighting - bordering on harsh - lends a gritty overtone to the photos, the tone far more artistic than commercial.

There’s no tweaking of cufflinks or stale power posing here. Dieter’s smouldering at the camera, peeking through his hand while the watch takes centre stage. He’s raking his fingers through his hair, lips grazing the metal strap as he gazes into the lens.

But when he brings it to his mouth, biting the steel case with the pink of his tongue peeking through, your knees all but give out.

By the time the photographer yells it’s a wrap, you’re a mess. Tension hums under your skin and there’s a stickiness between your legs that puts you in a highly inconvenient position given that Dieter will be fully occupied for the next hour and a half. You adjust your dress as discreetly as you can, jumping when his palm lands warm on your back as he ushers you indoors before you can pull yourself together.

This party is not your scene. Formulaic pop music blares from the speakers, beautiful people mill about in sequins that sparkle under the disco lights and bounce off blindingly from mirrors everywhere you look. The only redeeming detail is the delicious champagne that flows liberally, at least that tempers the tedium.

Everyone wants a piece of him. Sometimes you find it hard to believe that this is the same guy who doesn’t know how to load a dishwasher. He handles the relentless demands with aplomb - a selfie with a fan here, a few words for New York Times Style magazine there, all the while performing for the live stream camera that trails two steps behind him.

You linger nearby, following discreetly while sipping on champagne. Even from a distance, the watch catches the light whenever he moves. Dieter notices you staring, jaw slack, more than once. But the harder you try to act normal, the more on edge you get. He sends you more than one quizzical glance over the top of his sunglasses, but with people buzzing around him like pesky wasps, it’s not until twenty minutes to midnight that he catches a break and drags you unceremoniously into the VIP bathroom.

The heavy oak door shuts out the blasted music as Dieter locks it behind him, wheeling you around with his grip on your elbows. ‘Alright sweetheart, what is it? Are you still mad about Pete’s party?’

You grit your teeth and force yourself to keep your eyes on his. ‘No.’

He sighs. ‘We can go afterwards. I told Pete we will, I just need to do this countdown thing and we can go right after.’

‘I said it’s not that,’ you insist, fighting the damn magnetic force trying to drag your gaze downwards.

Tugging you into his arms, Dieter traces his nose on your cheek. ‘C’mon sweetheart. I’ll make it up to you.’

Your voice trembles. ‘I’m not lying, I’m fine.’

Clearly unconvinced, he arches an eyebrow at you before pulling back, cocking his wrist to check the time.

The whimper slips from you without you knowing, suspended in the air between you that thickens instantly like some chemical reaction.

Dieter looks at you sharply. ‘What was that, sweetheart?’

You give in and take a peek at his watch for just one second, but he catches you - of course he does. A cocky grin tugs at the corner of his lips as he drawls, ‘What have we here - found a new accessory that you like the look of?’

You whine, a hot flush of embarrassment in your chest. ‘I don’t know why it turns me on.’

‘What does? The fact that I can tell time?’ he teases. Splaying his left palm on the nape of your neck, the cold bracelet of his watch caresses the side of your neck. ‘First my rings, now this? You filthy girl.’

‘I can’t help it,’ you gripe.

Knowing exactly what it does to you, Dieter takes another exaggerated look at his watch, head tilted to the side. ‘We have fifteen minutes. Can you be quick, sweetheart?’

At your desperate nod, he backs you up into the full-length mirror on the far side of the powder room before spinning you around, crowding you against the cool surface. His entire body engulfs from behind you as he trails kisses down the side of your neck, watching your reflection squirm in his grasp from the corner of his eye. With no preamble, he bunches your tight skirt all the way up your hips and tugs your panties to one side impatiently.

‘Look at how wet those panties are,’ he moans into your ear. ‘Have you just been standing there checking me out, rubbing your thighs together all this time?’

A gasp catches in your throat. ‘Yes.’

His left palm trails down your body, and you stare openly as the watch skims over your body, the hard steel scraping the swell of your cleavage as it descends. You’re panting by the time Dieter’s fingers slide along your folds until the tips nudge your slick entrance, a cry wrangled from you when the watch falls to the base of his hand and the strap grazes your clit. With a growl, he presses his inner wrist into the sensitive apex of your thighs. ‘Feel good, baby?’

You make an incoherent sound when two thick digits slip into your sodden pussy. ‘Oh fuck, yes, please.’

‘Rub that needy clit on my watch, sweetheart,’ he orders, dark eyes on you. ‘Smear yourself all over it.’

You mewl and do as you’re told. Riding his fingers, you feel every ridge on the watch strap as you grind into the smooth steel, your movements crude and fitful. Dieter has to hold you up with his free arm wound tight around your waist while your hands cling to the back of his neck.

‘Fuck, you’re getting so wet,’ he says through gritted teeth, as if in awe, and pumps harder into you. ‘Oh yes, I feel your cunt clenching around me, you’re close, aren’t you?’

You moan, words failing you. ‘Don’t stop, please -’

‘Fuck, baby, you’re getting my watch all wet,’ he grunts, pinching your chin between his fingers, making you look at yourself in the mirror. ‘See how it’s shiny with your slick? So fucking pretty, sweetheart.’

You feel another gush of arousal drip down his hand, and his watch slips, the bracelet catching your clit in an angle that makes your back arch. You cum hard, writhing desperately in his grasp as he whispers filth into your ear through your high. ‘So good for me, baby, that’s it, such a good girl, dripping all over my expensive watch, you filthy thing -’

Dieter nuzzles your neck as you catch your breath, the scrape of his beard on your sensitive skin making you tremble and squirm in his grip. He gently eases out of you, sucking his fingers clean before turning you around and kissing you slowly and deeply so that you can taste yourself on his tongue.

You’re still drifting in the aftershock when a frantic series of knocks on the bathroom door shakes you out of it. With an irritated snarl, Dieter barks, ‘What?’

‘Um, Mr. Bravo - we’re five minutes from midnight, you need to come out right now -’

‘I can read the fucking time,’ he snaps and gives you an apologetic kiss to the temple. ‘Sorry baby, work beckons.’

Your hand shoots out of nowhere to grab him, and locking your gaze with him, you drag the flat of your tongue across the damp strap, tasting yourself on the metal.

His nostrils flare and you can almost hear his jaw crack, pupils blown wide and black as you give him a wicked grin. Snaking one palm all the way down to rub his straining erection, you breathe into his ear. ‘I want you to stroke yourself until you cum all over that fancy watch later, okay?’

He groans, burying his nose in your hair. ‘How am I going to count down with this huge fucking boner in my pants, baby?’

You wink and give him a full-mouthed kiss. ‘Just think of it as a countdown to something else after.’

Dieter chuckles against your lips. ‘Happy fucking New Year indeed, sweetheart.’

Notes: I finally did it. A watch kink fic! Honestly, it's not as wild as it could've been, but damn I had the best time writing it. Thank you for reading, wishing all you wonderful people a very happy new year! ❤️

As soon as it was became clear from the results that NYE was going to be paired with the watch ad prompt, I just knew instantly I had to set it in a NYE party. Thank you Hayley @haylzcyon for this request that went perfectly with my idea:

ooohhh don't feel pressured to write this in if you do the NYE prompt but the idea of a swanky NYE party where reader and dieter get a little tipsy, sneak off for a quickie in a coat room or something and realize they missed the ball drop when they come back would be hilarious. dieter can't imagine a better way to ring in the new year than between your thighs 😏

[eemcintyre]

All Eyes On Us (Tom Cruise)

Another addition to the "Something to Talk About"/"One More Night" series. And yes, the title is a subtle reference to "So It Goes..." by TS bc that's the vibe. I hope you all enjoy this as much as me; I have been on that grind

TW- none

Summary- Oscars night finally arrives and you and 90s!Tom make your official debut as a couple. You are overwhelmed by the attention, chaos, and some invasive interview questions, but Tom is there supporting you through it.

At several points over the course of the plane ride home, Tom had to peel Y/N away from the entertainment shows and newspapers. He noticed that she kept trying to check to see what the outlets were saying about them, and it was making her visibly distressed. Each time he would lean toward her, snatching the paper from her hand or switching the television off.

“Honey, this isn’t good for you,” he would say, and she would begin to pout until he took her mind off the subject by bringing her into a kiss instead. “This is a much more productive use of our time. But think of how exciting it’s going to be- we don’t have to sneak around anymore, and I get to show you off at events.” He hit her with a playful, encouraging grin.

“As soon as we get home, I want you to start looking for a dress. I know you’ll pick something incredible.” Y/N perked up somewhat at that idea, toying with the buttons on Tom’s shirt. “It’ll be fun, you’ll get to meet everyone I’ve told you about- Cameron, Renee, Cuba… they’re a really fun group, you’ll like them.”

~

“Are you sure I look okay?” Y/N whispered, eyebrows furrowed, glancing up at Tom with anxious eyes.

“Are you kidding? No one is even going to notice that I’m there,” he grinned, shaking his head in amusement as he admired her gown. It was a sleek nude dress with a plunging neckline and ruffled, flowy short sleeves, encrusted all over with matching gems. Tom had opted for a classic black tuxedo with slightly elongated, silky lapels.

Tom gave Y/N a last kiss on the forehead, accompanied by a reassuring squeeze of her hand, as the limousine rolled to a stop. They had reached the drop-off point for actors and their plus-ones at the Dolby Theater- the location of the Academy Awards. She sucked in one last deep breath before it was time to exit the vehicle and face the intimidating wave of photographers preparing to descend. Gripping her clutch purse and a fistful of her dress in one hand, Tom took the other in his as he helped her from the limo.

They were immediately surrounded by a claustrophobic perimeter of camera lenses, flashing lights, their accompanying photographers, and other attendees. As Tom guided her along a path through the crowd, it took everything in her to focus on not tripping over her gown at the same time as she was trying to smile for the cameras. Fans in the distance behind a barricade started to scream when Tom came into their view and he waved, smiling broadly. Y/N followed his lead, squeezing his hand in a vise grip. He then caught her off-guard with a kiss to her cheek, bringing a genuine smile to her face as people’s cheers grew louder.

“How about her, huh? Isn’t she something?” Tom called, gesturing to Y/N before they continued on their way inside, waving goodbye to the onlookers.

Before too long, interviewing time commenced. Between briefly circulating the arrivals as Tom introduced her to former coworkers and industry friends, they traveled from television host to host, from the likes of E! News to ABC and CBS. Each interview was fairly similar and went something like this:

A TV host, wearing something resembling a prom dress, would announce them with maniacal enthusiasm after they ascended the stairs to a slightly raised platform on the red carpet.

“Aaaand now we have with us tonight, Tom Cruise! And his wife- Y/N! Now let’s see this ring…” she asked, and Y/N shyly raised her hand into view of the camera, blushing. “Oh my God,” the reporter gushed. “You must feel like a lucky woman.”

“I am,” she replied, trying not to look directly into the camera. “He’s a wonderful guy. I still can't believe any of this is real. And I’m so proud of him tonight, whatever happens.” She referenced his Best Actor nomination.

“Aww… and who is it that you are wearing tonight? You look fabulous,” the reporter gestured dramatically for emphasis.

“I know, isn’t she a knockout?” Tom agreed, squeezing Y/N's waist.

“You two are adorable,” the reporter exclaimed, maintaining the same forceful enthusiasm. “Now, you guys have been very secretive about your relationship; no one even knew you were dating and now you’re married- what is that about?” The interviewer’s voice took on a subtly harder tone as she brought her microphone in closer to her interviewees.  

The corner of Tom’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, and his eyes narrowed, although the charming smile didn’t drop. “I mean, I think I’ve always been a pretty private person. I’ve made it clear that my personal life doesn’t exist for ratings and reviews.”

Y/N looped her arm in his protectively as the host pressed on. “Are you concerned, maybe, about what your exes or the public might think? Y/N, does it bother you that Tom's already been through the motions a couple of times? I mean, when he moves on, he moves on...”

Y/N’s mouth fell open, and her raised eyebrows created a wrinkle on her forehead. Too disoriented to answer, Tom swiftly chimed in.

“Um… well, I don’t know where you heard that because it’s just not true. I’m on good terms with my former partners.” Tom cocked his head to the side, slipping a hand into his pocket as his posture stiffened and his smile faded. “Besides, all of that is in the past, and no one’s business but my own. I love this woman, and she’s my wife. Are we going to talk at all about the movie I’m nominated for?” He made a visible effort to relax his stance and expression.

The rest of the exchange, which was mercifully brief as time ran out and it was the next interviewee’s turn, was almost unbearably awkward as the host returned to softball questions about the experience of working on Jerry Maguire. As they walked away, Tom fumed, and though Y/N’s palms were shaking and sweaty, she was also angry on his behalf.

“You’d think with how much you’ve done for the industry they’d show you some respect,” she muttered when they stopped off to the side of the milling crowds to regain their composure. She softly brushed a runaway strand of his hair back into place, and he grinned sweetly at her, grasping her shoulders and rubbing them.

“It’s okay, I’m used to it. Comes with the territory, unfortunately. But you do know I love you? You know I’m not going anywhere?”

Y/N shook her head and chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Relax. I don’t treat the E! channel like gospel. And you know better than to leave me for someone else anyway. I’d take the cat, and I’d kick your ass.”

Tom laughed. “On the bright side, it’s almost time to sit and eat. I think there’s gonna be cake.”

Y/N made an exaggerated gasp, although genuinely excited by the prospect of a good dessert. “Well, then let’s get on with it; what are we waiting for?”

[allmyocsarebritish]

Kiss, maime, kill: Chapter 3 - My soul is yours

Pairing: Alastor X killer! Fem reader

Warnings!!!: Reader and Alastor are serial killers, Reader actually becomes self aware for once in this chapter, drug mentions, angst and fluff, love confessions, the warning list is getting quite long

Word count: 1k

1930

Louisiana, New Orleans

The sound of twigs snapping beneath your feet as you sprinted echoed through the empty woods. Alastor ran a few paces ahead, prompting you to push on, in order to match his stride. Uncontrollable laughter slowed you both down, as did the rather heavy knife he was carrying. Thankfully, it had been two years since you had ditched the shovel for the majority of your killings.

Any ordinary person would assume that the two of you were trying to get caught, the thrill of the chase. And, whilst that added additional excitement to you, it wasn't the main reason for your carelessness. Yes, you wanted your bodies to be found, but not for you to be exposed as the murderer. No, your main motive was to be feared.

The charismatic radio host and his dearest friend could surely never be suspect to such a vile crime. The town was shaken to it's roots by fear of the Louisiana Butcher, never knowing what kind of sick bastard was lurking in the woods at night. The utter dismay every time another person was added to the list of those who had gone missing in the past 3 years was entertainment for you and Alastor. It was so captivating.

Your thoughts raced as you caught up to Al, trying to keep some form of lid on your laughter. But the smiles present on both of your faces was enough to portray the pleasure this brought you.

"I really hope there's no brutal killers in these woods." You giggled, twirling the knife around your fingers.

"I suppose you had better start running now then, Cher." Al smiled, a dangerous glint sparking in his eye.

"Oh no, whatever will I do?" You stared at him with huge doe eyes, faking a fearful expression before taking off, dodging between trees. Alastor was hot on your tail, barely allowing you a moment's head start before giving chase. The hunt was exhilarating, and you felt a familiar excitement take control of you. Adrenaline was one hell of a drug, and your addiction was becoming more and more lethal each passing second.

Unfortunately, your game was cut short by a raised tree root tripping you as you dared to throw a fleeting glance over your shoulder at your pursuer. You landed very ungracefully on your ass with a thud, somehow managing, in your infinite clumsiness, to bring Alastor down with you.

Your face flushed as you realised the position you were both in. Alastor was all but on top of you, his hands supporting himself either side of your head. His rather long fringe (bangs) flopped over his forehead, and his glasses had begun to slide down his perfect nose. You reached out a hand and pushed them back up, his face softening into a gentler smile.

"Got you." He smirked.

"Guess I should stick to being the hunter, huh?" Overwhelmed with embarrassment and flustered beyond belief, you tried to cover your face with your arm, but Alastor pulled it away.

"Don't be so sure about that, my dear. I'm quite addicted to the feeling of the chase."

"And the attack?" You questioned, confidence and excitement rising.

"Just sublime." Alastor leaned in gradually, giving you plenty of time to escape. After all, he may have been a serial killer but he was still a gentleman, letting you establish your comfort zone.

You met him in the middle, all of the adrenaline, thrill chasing and emotions rising to the front of your mind.This. This was your new addiction. Passion. Danger. Sadism. Pleasure. All blended into that first kiss.

"Your presence has impacted me so much my dear, that, even when I'm not alone, i feel something is missing should you not be by my side" he pulled back slightly, voice low and quiet despite the solitude offered by the oh-so-feared woods.

"Where they see a merciless killer in your eyes, I see my future." You responded, relishing in the moment. Being overwhelmed by emotions was nothing new to you of course, but this feeling was foreign. You liked it. Craved it. "I hope you stay with me forever."

"Of course, Cher." He rolled off you, so that the two of you were lying on your backs, side by side, and staring up at the onyx sky. The stars reflected the lights of heaven above, a stark juxtaposition to the sins and atrocities you committed beneath. Brightness in the dark, like Alastor's presence in your life.

You turned your head, facing Al and taking in the moment. He looked serene, gazing at the night sky, and strangely normal. Perhaps in another life he was, just a charming radio host, nothing more nothing less. In that life would you still be at his side? Would you still have met? Surely if fate desired, but why should you receive suck a blessing after all the suffering you caused?

What the fuck? Never in your whole career had you given a second thought to ending someone's life. But reflecting, your morals had gone more than wayward. Though regardless if how remorseful you felt, it didn't change a thing. The past was the past, and addiction had already sank its claws into your unsuspecting flesh.

"Al?" You began tentatively, worried he'd grow distant if you were turning soft.

He hummed in acknowledgement, small smile still playing in his lips as he continued to gaze towards heaven. A paradise you would never see.

"I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you." Your voice began to waver. This was not a good rush of emotion.

"Look who's becoming self aware." Alastor turned on his side, now laying facing you. He gently caressed the side of your face, hand pausing over your cheek. "Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway. I want to love you without you having to hide the parts of you that you deem unlovable."

Your gaze met his, and you felt a high overtake you once more. "I adore you, Al. With my whole heart. And I'm sorry I created.. complexities."

"And I do not care how complicated this gets. I still want you. I always will, Cher."

He opened his arm to you, and you slotted underneath, basking in his warm embrace.

"I love with my soul instead of my heart or mind, in case my mind forgets or my heart stops. But my soul will forever be yours, Mon cœur."

Part 4!

[wildfernflower]

Tony is a Band Manager not Music Producer. Problem is that except for the major media that interviewed Cait most are crappy articles on dubious online sites that simply copy and paste wrong information from other shady sites and continue to post as clickbait. In a recent podcast with Lauren Lyle, the host clearly said that he knows Tony very well and that he is The Fratellis' band manager. HIs name is mentioned twice on the band's last album with thanks and appreciation. He doesn't need a SM to do his work. Phone calls, messaging, e-mails and in person meetings are still used to do business and obviously he does them all.

The fact that you continue to use wrong info. to push your own agenda is quite clear to anyone who is aware of both sides.

“Tony is a Band Manager not Music Producer”

Whether T is a music producer, band manager, or both, it doesn't make his persona look better, more professional, or just more "real". In numerous articles though he’s mentioned as a music producer:

According to your own words, these are “crappy articles on dubious online sites that simply copy and paste wrong information from other shady sites and continue to post as clickbait”. So these are not credible sources, as you’ve admitted, but no others exist. Nobody can verify his qualifications and find out what his real job is, because there is no mention about him to be found either in serious press or on serious websites like Linkedin – you have surely read my reply to an Anon, where I compared T’s skills and accomplishments (zero entries) to those of N. Brown, the tour manager of The Fratellis.

The difference is striking and puzzling, but you deliberately ignore it. It seems natural and beneficial for a career and recognition in any field, specifically in the music/entertainment industry, to have many skills, achievements, contracts, etc. and to make these facts public and widely known to the potential new clients. Well documented career path proves professionalism and competences of the producer/manager and encourages the clients to start successful cooperation, regardless of what your working style is. Why to harm your own career by staying anonymous and hiding that all? (Unless you have nothing to show …). T does have a phone (we saw him sitting at the table glued to the screen during the events C had dragged him to), possibly he has an e-mail address, too … Do you expect him reciting his competences each time a client calls him? E-mails and phone calls are “still used to do business and obviously he does them all” – do you know him personally to be sure what his working style is and that he “obviously” do them all? Perhaps you believe T enjoys such a broad recognition and his accomplishments are so significant that he’s in great demand and doesn’t need any publicity? So why nobody has heard about him? If he was that recognized, why - when press reported on C's wedding 4 years ago - had there never been any mention of how outstanding and talented man Caitriona had married? Usually, the journalists (especially tabloid journos) dig a lot to find out some interesting facts and details about the person with whom the celebrity is getting married to. But nothing more apart from T being a music producer had been found back then and hasn’t been so far. Isn't it a bit weird? I’ll bet many people hadn’t heard about him and his profession until then.

“His name is mentioned twice on the band's last album with thanks and appreciation”

That’s possible, maybe his name was mentioned also on one or two older albums of Fratellis, you probably know better than me. But have anybody heard about his other achievements? Is that all he did during all his professional life? One mention on the album? Almost 20 years in the industry working supposedly as a producer/manager, almost 47 year old guy and his only “success” is his contribution to one album and being acknowledged once or twice by the same band? No cooperations with other artists? No other projects? Simply these acknowledgements? That’s all? T and the members of Fratellis are surely good friends, there was a photo of them on IG, and probably that’s why he’s mentioned occasionally as a manager, and why Fratellis are his only connection with the music industry over many years.

“In a recent podcast with Lauren Lyle, the host clearly said that he knows Tony very well and that he is The Fratellis' band manager”

This was the first time anyone had spoken publicly about T in the context of his career in the music industry. How do we know what he said is credible? Perhaps, as I wrote in my comment back then, that journalist wanted to give his good pal T some publicity if he’s not doing well in the music industry? It’s a bit suspicious to mention him at all, and definitely unprofessional to suggest him managing Fratellis links OL to great music. If T is such “an amazing fella”, why does C never say a word about him and never mention his name, why isn’t she proud of him, why does she never walk red carpet with him, why does she avoid being photographed with him in front of the media wall, why is he always trailing behind her along the corridors, why does she use him as a coat hanger, why does she keep him in a background, why is she ashamed of such an “amazing fella”? It seems to me that T is much more involved in his job as Cait's paid assistant whom she drags along everywhere, even to insignificant interviews, to prove he’s her husband than he is in his alleged job as the music producer/manager.

“The fact that you continue to use wrong info to push your own agenda is quite clear to anyone who is aware of both sides”

I’m not pushing my own agenda, I don’t force anybody to adopt my point of view. I’ve explained how I see the things.

If you think I'm using wrong info, please, tell me the source of the correct one if you know. If you're “aware of another side” – perhaps you're in touch with T, or hanging around with the people who know him, or have tips from reliable friends in the know, etc. - feel free to share your knowledge and prove me wrong by evidence.

[desiblr-gapshap]

Gapshap is here again to entertain you.

Good evening everyone, I'm your self proclaimed host तितली (@alhad-titli)

Humans can't endure boredom... Hence we found many things to entertain ourselves with. Plays, music, books, movies, shows, and many more things.

Most of the time, we indians get rid of our boredom by watching bollywood movies (old era ofc. new bollywood is uhh well we all know what am I talking about.) No matter what kind of international web series, show, drama you may watch but you will feel home in only movies which are in your native language. We are separated by states, languages, culture but united by bollywood.

Yes today is bollywood night. There are many masterpiece movies, Mughal-e-azam, umrao jaan (both), woh kaun thi, om shanti om, kabhi khushi kabhi gam, mein hoon na, but our tonight's guest's personal favorite is "Jab we met" can you guess who's that? Keep guessing.

If geet and aditya ever come out of movie and had to say something to us then it would have been this:

Aditya: "In your opinion, what keeps a person going?"

Geet: "Golgappe yaarrrrrrr."

Aditya: "Geet, I am serious, give me an answer, tumhe ek baar me samjh nhi aata?"

Geet: *stares at him with puppy eyes*

Aditya(sighs): let me answer it, it's the love that keep us going, love has the power to change us, rebuild us, love can make a dead person alive and can also kill a living being. love hurts but its important. There are many types of love, platonic, romantic. For example, you dont like your family in many terms but you still love them right?

Geet: *nodding*

Aditya: similarly we love the love things that may hurt us , because those things those people are our people . love is simple and very complex at th esame time its fragile like a bomb but remember in all these ups an downs of life dont forget to love yourself and the people around you .

Geet: *glares at him*

Aditya: so Geet meri sardarni, tell me who do you love the most now ???

Geet: *laughs* golgappeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!

Aditya sighs and takes her on date.

Back to reality everyone.

"Geet is not only person who loves pani puri" I said. Who else love it? We, brown GIRLS idiot.

But but the girl who loves panipuri the most is our own @mainapnifavouritehoon humari desiblr ki professional simple and desi girl.

Vo sab to theek hai but it's golgappeeeeee not pani puri *says chai* (@masalalala-chaii)

*Smacking her head!* Ignore her guys please.

Let us start the interview with rapid fire questions.

So Geet tell us,

About yourself, your blog.

What kind of vibes you want to give by your blog?

how you became simp for him? *ahm ahm*

And you golgappe wali come with me at the backstage for a second, let's have a talk. *Smiling and dragging chai away with her dupatta trying my best to not strangle her with it.*

So Arunima, the stage is all yours now. Do bhangra or whatever you want here.

[ntls-24722]

[cracks back]

so @artastic-friend gave me some ideas

Since Music Man is canonically not made by Fazbear Entertainment, what if the company that made her made all sorts of other arachnid robots - Music Man being the trendsetter and personifying the entirety of the Arachnida class and having a bunch of other robots representing the other orders? Instead of a pizzeria or an animatronic band like Fazbear, instead they come from a robotics company that does have a restaurant but it's much less marketed for children and is a more adult-friendly place and has a bar and stuff. I got most of my inspo from Shinjuku's Robot Restaurant, partially because of the doctored screenshot that DJMM comes from japan but also because this looks dope and fits the rave vibe that DJMM portrays

The robots do serve the purpose enterainment but they do have a practical purposes like cleaning, bartending, cooking, construction and transport, security, providing medical help and even hunting down pests like rats and roaches. The showcases are not just for entertainment but are also showcases for potential buyers, as all the robots are on auction, but they are all extremely expensive at the moment on account of their versatility, size, and intelligence, as the animatronics, after showcases, actually freely roam the restaurant and directly talk to people and are general party hosts.

DJMM is obvi Aranae, but in the lore for this I imagine he not only has the most resemblance to Music Man, but he's also second oldest, which in this case meant he was made before they became extremely valuable, both of these factors leading to him being auctioned to Fazbear Entertainment. The company that created him is currently working on a new DJMM, which has led to him being very resentful, not just because he's replaced but also there's this copy of him that's going to be having the time of his life at a crazy robot rave restaurant everyday. I'd be pissed too if I was still stuck in the Chuck E Cheese That's Famous For Child Murder And Also Killed My Mom💔

I need to draw all 12 extant orders but I do have these 3 - the represantative for Uropygi, the order where vinegaroons are from, who i made cat-themed mostly because of a joke I made that these are the last catboys of spider nation on account of their tail. I don't have a name for the Uropygi bot, though I did have the ideas of Catman and Confetti Cat. I feel like I can do better. He actually takes up the job of DJMM as a janitor and a party host, but as of currently there is still no DJ. Yet.

There is also the representative for Amblypygi, the mime and the "Dazzle King." They feature no speakers anywhere on their body and is completely silent, and both mimes and actually helps with construction projects out of the restaurant!

peep the grabber

And we have Schizomida, or the kinglets/split kings. (the "kings" refer to the "scorpionlike" arachnids and "queens" refer to the "spiderlike" arachnids. therefore DJMM is a qween💅)

In the case of this au(?) the windups were not prototypes but were made with the purpose of being, like, robot pikmin, and Fazbear Entertainment bought all of those guys out, so Spider Robotics (no idea if thats gonna be the name) made the kinglets, who are in much higher quantity but have devolved in quality, as there are mainly so many of them because they keep breaking and are not very smart. They provide surveillance, alert staff of any emergencies or any information that needs to be known, and... also hunt down and kill pests. No mousetraps, they send a horde of Kinglets on mice. It's brutal.

also there will be a Bighand redesign soon, the idea for which provided by @artastic-friend. I wanted to draw it but i didn't have time but stay tuned 😈

[ellssbellss]

Lavender Roses ~ Kyoya Ootori x Reader

pairing- Kyoya Ootori x Reader

In which a rational head hides a generous heart, but you have always known how to see past his walls and help him bloom into the gorgeous rose he is.

Enjoy a slow burn between an honor student and our beloved glasses character!

summary: He stepped even closer to you, trying to reassure you the best he knew how. 

“Whatever it is you need to tell me, you can say it. You can trust me.”

word count: 14.3k

legend:

(e/c) = eye color

(n/l) = native language

(c/n) = home country's name

(p/c) = pick a color

see masterlist! : masterlist

taglist!: @abbysblogsstuff @sunukissed @kisskissshutmydoor @idonia-dovahkiin @greensnakegoblep @vervainnnn

The Grade School Host The Naughty Type! pt. 1

“What kind of music do you like, (Y/n)?”

You leaned forward on the table, your billowing sleeves falling down your forearm to reveal beautiful rings and bracelets covering your wrists and fingers. You gave your guest a loving smile, biting your lip slightly as you stopped to think.

“Hm,” you say, a seductive hum rolling its way to your guests ears, and resonating within the blush on their cheeks. “I’m not entirely sure. I love all kinds of music.” Your deep lipstick moves as another flirt slips out of your mouth.

“But, I think the sound of your voice is what brings me the most joy, honey.” The girl across from you loops arms with one of your male guests and they both lean on each other to keep from fainting. 

You reach out to steady them, the vibrant skirt of your dress swishing with your movements. The flowing cloth was dyed in a deep (p/c), bringing out the brightness of your (e/c) eyes. Your lipstick matched perfectly, and gold jewelry accented the entire look. 

Tamaki promised a royal Arabic theme, and boy, did he deliver.

“Careful,” You warn as you place your guests back in their chair. “You shouldn’t be falling for me so soon.” A blush is fabricated on your cheeks as well as all three of you giggle at your pun. 

But before you can continue your conversation, you pause your hosting to watch Tamaki excuse himself from his guests. 

A rare sight, indeed. Tamaki would never leave his guests alone if it wasn’t important. 

Hikaru and Kaoru rise with him, but you ignore the way they rush to their places in the foyer of the music room, getting into their positions. You didn’t want to leave your guests unattended.

The guest that you were laughing with suddenly becomes very close. You had entertained her many times, but she had never been this brave. It was a good-natured advance, so no alarm was needed on your part. It was just surprising. 

She looked confident, but a blush raged a war on her cheekbones as she grabbed your hand. Her friend beside her looked at her in awe. 

“I think it’s a little too late for that.” She admitted, a small smile on her face. It was your turn to blush when she grasped your face in your hands and planted a firm kiss on your cheek.

Her forwardness caught you off guard, a nervous sound coming out of your dropped jaw. 

Kissing was definitely not encouraged in the club. It was too sentimental, too intimate. If the hosts went around kissing guests left and right, too many people would be let on, and things could take a dramatic turn. All guests were made well aware of that fact, but some people thought that they deserved special treatment. Not surprising coming from a crowd of heirs and rich nobles. 

Your guest smirked at your disbelief, and you didn’t know what to say. As uncomfortable as this situation was, you didn’t want to make a scene. 

Before you could figure out something to say that could gently defuse the situation, the girl’s eyes flicked to somewhere behind you, causing her to draw back slightly. Her other friend swallowed.

A pale hand gently grasped your shoulder. 

“Kyoya?”

“A new guest is arriving. We need to get into our positions.” He said, his slightly-more-than-monotone voice piercing through the room. Over his glasses, you saw his stare catch onto the guest that had just crossed a club boundary.  

“I’m afraid to say that (Y/n)-san’s hours have unfortunately come to an abrupt end.” He voices to your guests, a host grin pulling on his face. His words were like ice. “Thank you for choosing to spend your free hours here, but you may be excused.” 

“You need to leave?” The girl whined as she leaned ever closer towards you.

Kyoya moves in front of you and offers a hand. You take it, his skin soft against yours, and gracefully peel yourself off your chair. 

“As I said,” Your best friend glazes a stare over his shoulder at the guest behind you. The grin was gone, and his gaze was casted to the women who sat below him. It was the look he used for when the people who worked for him disrespected his father’s work. For when inferior individuals questioned his authority. “You are excused.”

A chill went down your spine as the girl huffed then grabbed her friend’s hand. She pushed out her chair, allowing it to skid across the tile. Throwing a fit, her friend followed behind her embarrassed, his head down and a sad blush dusting his cheeks. Your eyebrows crinkled in sympathy as he was dragged away to another chaotic event that girl would surely create. 

You both watched them walk away before making your way to the foyer, where the twins adjusted their uniforms as they took their places around Tamaki, who draped himself over the couch, a royal centerpiece of jewels and fabric. 

“Please tell me she won’t be back here.” You laugh nervously, trying to play it off as a joke. But it was hard to contain the insecure wobble in your throat, and you tried to disguise it as a chuckle. Kyoya’s jaw set as he picked up the crack in your foundation, and squeezed your hand as he led you to your position: in a window position behind Haruhi. 

“She won’t.” He didn’t need to elaborate more. As cold as he was, you felt safer, appreciating the action Kyoya took when your boundaries were crossed. Add that to the lists and lists of reasons your heart yearned for this man. 

A breeze rushed over your palm as the ravenet let you go. He made his way to his place behind Tamaki’s right, directly to the side of you. A moment passed before your gazes met again and he offered a small smile, washing away the last bits of the scene that had played out minutes ago. 

On the other side of the coin, Kyoya’s nerves were a light with a new flame. 

There wasn’t much more he could take. A female host was a smart addition to the club, as you were bringing in more money and more popularity to the club every day. But with that came more risk, and the money was becoming less and less of a reason to keep putting you in the spotlight. 

Guests got courageous, lazy. A slip of the hand here, a caress there. He has seen the way some look at you, the least bit of good intention in their eyes. He especially had a bad feeling about the girl who had just made a new enemy of the Ootori company. It was a pity no one taught her to follow the rules. 

However, what was he going to do when someone made their advances clear, and you accepted them? 

That kiss on the cheek shocked him back into reality. He had become complacent with softened gazes and light touches here and there, but he wanted more. Kyoya wanted to be more.

He had to act soon. But how?

Being a club member didn’t automatically mean that Kyoya knew how to bring his relationship with you to the next level. Naturally, he didn’t know the first thing about relationships. 

He fidgeted, adjusting his glasses as he looked around the club, watching the girls cry when Honey and Mori-senpai said their temporary goodbyes as they walked towards your side of the picture they were creating to greet the guest that was on their way. Each host was skilled in knowing what these guests wanted in an entertainer.

Extravagant gestures, money, power. Promises of devotion no matter what consequences their choices led too, words of everlasting beauty and riches. 

The ravenet knew you enough to be sure that you were above all that. If there was one thing Kyoya knew he wanted to give you, it wasn’t empty promises. 

Before he could think about it more, the door to the club creaked open, a boy walking in tentatively, choking on a rose petal that had flown into his mouth. 

His thoughts instinctively transferred back to the reputation of the host club and the megane’s back straightened. 

“Welcome to the Ouran High School Host Club!” Your friends said in unison, setting the tone for the atmosphere that you all created around you. 

Your host smile shifted slightly when the short figure plucked the rose petal from his mouth, shaking it away when another one caught onto his fingers. He looked up in awe, his deep brown eyes glittering as they flicked over each costume, Arabian culture deeply rooted in the vibrant colors and jewelry. 

He was just a child, fascinated by the shiny things. 

Hikaru’s arms flopped to his sides, having put them up in a romantic, outstretched gesture. He blew a ginger strand of hair out of his face as his eyebrows drew close in confusion. You had dyed their hair a third time when they grew bored of the bright colors. They liked the sneaky potential of always being mistaken for the other, and the colored hair made it too obvious.

He grumbled to his brother and Tamaki posed in front of him. “Oh, it’s a kid.”

Tamaki, never one to break character, floated a hand towards the boy, gracefully splaying his fingers out to show off his rings. “What’s wrong little boy?” The prince’s voice drawled, a soft, royal tone passing over his tongue. “Did you come to my palace in search of something?” 

The kid shuffled, one foot pointing toward the blonde, and another pointing toward the doorway. His response shook in hesitation as he struggled to make eye contact with the blonde.

“Are you the King of this place?”

You immediately looked at Kyoya, and gray met (e/c) in an exasperated effort. You sucked on your cheek, trying not to roll your eyes as Tamaki sat straighter, a glimmer glossing over his violet irises. 

“Well?” The boy pressed on. “Are you?”

Tamaki’s hand turns, his palm facing upwards. A finger curls, beckoning the child to come closer. 

“Come closer, lost one.” Oh god.

The kid’s green uniform crinkles as he makes his way towards Tamaki, and your posture sinks even more as he adjusts himself to tower over the poor child. 

“What did you just call me, little boy?” Tamaki asks. Egotistical, lovable prick. 

Brunette eyebrows furrow on the young face. “The King?” 

The king lights up, standing to sway around the club room, basking in the words of a naive little child. “Ah, the king! Yes, I am the king of the host club!” You could’ve sworn you saw stars appear in his eyes. “Long live the king!”

“God, kid, what have you done?” You grumble, and watch as Haruhi’s shoulders struggle not to shake with her contained laughter. 

In the presence of the supposed king, the boy straightens his back, putting both feet together in a structured salute. 

“I’m an elementary fifth year! Shiro Takaoji!”

Shiro had a look of determination on his face that seemed too brutal for his age. His soft cheeks were clenched as he set his jaw, and the downturn of his eyebrows accented the shine of a purpose in his brown eyes. It was off-putting.

Then again, Honey-senpai didn’t act like how you would’ve expected either. 

Tamaki gasps as the posture of the child, and you didn’t think his head could get any bigger than it already was. That was before Shiro pointed to your blonde friend. 

“I want the host club king to take me on as an apprentice!”

You were sure the entire host club was going to suffocate under Tamaki’s ego. 

Tamaki rejoices, spinning the kid around in his arms as the boy kicks and spits until he settles under his grasp. 

More than displeased, you lean over to your left, scoffing as you whisper to the handsome director next to you. He notices and discreetly leans to his right.

“Please, an apprentice?” You scoff, your lips curling into a joking frown. “What is Tamaki going to teach the little squirt, huh? His detailed skin care routine?”

A small puff of air exerts from Kyoya, encouraging a small chuckle. He looks at you with a roll of his eyes while you turn your attention back to the boy in front of you, watching how you analyze the little boy like he is a mutant strand of the flu. His gaze softens without you noticing, then he looks to Tamaki as he immediately begins spouting small lessons to Shiro.

His eyebrow quirks as an idea flashes through his mind. If Tamaki is already going to be giving out free lessons on how to flirt with women, how bad would it be to sit in on a class?

“Oh my Tamaki, you have an apprentice?” A girl asks as she basks in the light that is Tamaki Suoh. Guests surround the prince like a moth to a flame, the center of the host club becoming something of a hive. But that wasn’t the unusual part. Today, there was a new kind of bug in their mist. 

Shiro watches intently as Tamaki grasps the girl’s hand, smiling down at her. 

“Yes. He is in elementary school, but I quite like the fire in his eyes.” 

“But are you sure it’s okay for such a young boy to become a host?” The guest says, looking between the elementary fifth year and the high school second year. 

Tamaki’s expression simmers down to a smirk, but clearly ignites a fire in the girl’s heart as he draws nearer, causing a blush to form on her cheeks. 

“Why wouldn’t it be? Love has nothing to do with age.” He rests a hand on her cheek, and you watch as she leans into the touch. “Take us for instance. When I’m with you, my heart starts pounding.” He leans a little closer. “Suddenly, I feel no different than a love-sick little boy.” 

She swoons. “Oh Tamaki~.”

Across the pastel tile, You, Kyoya, and Haruhi watch from the snack table as Shiro leans onto his tippy-toes, poking his head slightly above the table so that he can get a better look. 

“Don’t you think it’s weird that he’s making the kid observe him up close like that?” Haruhi asks, wincing as Shiro opens his eyes a little wider, hoping not to miss anything.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that this kid is here at all?” You say, frowning as you watch what you think to be a 10 year old take notes on how to seduce women. 

Leaning on a table behind you, Kyoya slightly glances up from his writings to check on Tamaki before focusing back on the pages in front of him. 

“There is a theory that people are considered more beautiful when observed up close.” He pauses, disguising it as a bored sigh, while taking the chance to glaze his eyes over your features. It wasn’t that you were more beautiful up close – because he didn’t think that was possible –, but he will always revel in the effect of your presence, and will never bore of you being inches away from his touch. 

“Tamaki seems to live by that theory.” He continues, and writes down the way Tamaki angles the girls face towards his, forcing a blush away from the thought of touching you that way. 

You roll your eyes as an irritating look on the kid's face forms when he tries to focus on the conversation happening in front of him. 

“Well, let’s leave them alone.” You say, as you gather what you came to the snack table for in the first place. You set pastries and sandwiches onto a silver platter, then begin walking back over to your guests for the afternoon. “I’m here to work, not to babysit.”

Both Kyoya and Haruhi look at you as you leave, taken aback by your harsh tone reserved for the fifth year. Haruhi looks between you and Kyoya, who has an eyebrow raised on his forehead, but otherwise seems unfazed. 

“What’s up with her?” The honor student asks, directing her question to the club director while still keeping an eye on you. As you pass Shiro, you give him a wide girth, your posture slouching slightly.

An amused chuckle resounds through Kyoya. “(Y/n) is scared of children.”

Haruhi’s brows furrow together, and she looks at you again. You are so bubbly and kind, accepting of everyone and everything. For you to not like something as innocent as children is almost hilarious in a way, if it wasn’t so confusing. 

“I was just as surprised as you are when I first figured it out.” Kyoya assured her. “But she finds them incredibly annoying, especially when they aren’t supervised by their parents.” 

“But that’s so unlike her, she’s usually so open.” The brunette debates, remembering how caring and motherly you can be towards the members of the host club. 

Kyoya sighs, glancing at you once more, and Haruhi catches a glimpse of sympathy in his facade. “(Y/n)’s past is more complicated than she makes it seem. When she was younger, her parents made her feel like a burden. She had to rely on them so heavily, being a child and all, and her parents weren’t able to live their lives the way they wanted too.” A chuckle of dark humor travels past his lips. “Because who can travel and do business with a toddler attached to their hip?” Kyoya’s tone is dry as he looks down at Haruhi, whose eyes have lost their mirth. 

“So, psychologically, she feels like she has to avoid kids at all costs. She’s scared to treat them the way her parents treated her.” 

His statement leaves Haruhi even more confused, and a little saddened to hear about your past. “Since when are you a psychiatrist?” 

“I’ve never claimed to be a medical professional.” Kyoya smirks once more. “I’ve known (Y/n) for a long time, and I’ll admit I’ve come to learn how to read people.” 

He shrugs. “Additionally, I know a thing or two about parental issues.” 

The ravenet lifts his gaze again and watches as the boy apprentice calls one of Tamaki’s guests a carp, and as Tamaki tries to comfort his offended guest, Shiro casually walks around, looking for something more interesting after grumbling under his breath.

Kyoya’s jaw clenches from holding back a smile as he follows Shiro’s path. “Would you like to know the irony of the situation?” 

Haruhi nods and aims her brown eyes in the direction of Kyoya’s gaze.

“Because (Y/n) is so kind and open, children are drawn to her.”

As if punctuating the megane’s statement, Shiro drops down into an empty seat next to you, and they both laugh as you stiffen. 

“Man, what a crybaby.” Shiro casually says, resting his elbows on your table as he interrupts your conversation with the guy across from you. 

“You look like you won’t annoy me.” He says to you, and you wince internally. 

You look at him, your (e/c) eyes piercing through him, and Shiro gives a little gasp. You definitely remind him of someone. A girl in his class. She has the same smile that you do.  

Too bad he didn’t know that this smile was forced. “Shiro, you can’t sit here right now. I’m working.” You’re trying to be kind, you really are. You might be uncomfortable around children, but that didn’t give you the right to be rude to them. 

“Who says?” He looks back at you. Your cheeks puff out, and your face takes on a deadpan expression. Your eyes slide back to your laptop as you continue working out the budget, typing up financial plans to save up for some more specialty items for those who are a part of the point system. 

“What are you doing?” Shiro asks, and he sits up on his knees, prying his eyes over your computer. 

As he gets closer, you slide the laptop away from him. He leans even more, and you slide it away. Eventually, he is crawling on the table, scrambling to get a glimpse at your screen.

Biting your cheek to keep from cursing at a kid, you stop typing and pick him up from his armpits, treating him like a radioactive piece of lab equipment, and set him back down at his chair. 

“Stop being nosy, or go find someone else to bother.” You say, firm, but there was no anger in your words. Just exhausted annoyance. 

He huffs, folding his arms and pouting, but he stayed in his seat nonetheless. Your company was somehow less stressful than the king he was observing from your table.

That is, until two gingers came up behind you and wrapped around each shoulder. Like you weren’t already annoyed. 

“So how’s it going, (Y/n)? That’s an adorable little buddy you got there.” They tease you, also knowing your distaste for the young.

The twins laugh at your dismay, and you hunch further over your computer, struggling to focus on the task in front of you. Not with three immature little brats surrounding you. 

“But, Hikaru…” Kaoru suddenly becomes very sheepish, his laughter coming to a halt. You turn slightly to see a blush painting his face, and you roll your eyes in favor of watching your screen. 

Kaoru continues. “Do you wish you had a little brother like Shiro?” 

Stars and moons light up in each guests’ eyes as they watch Hikaru gather a tearful Kaoru in his arms, cradling his head as he looks down on him with dramatic longing. 

“Don’t be silly.” As if on cue, rose petals fall over them, most likely from the ones Renge had installed in the ceiling for moments like this. “I could search the whole globe and I’d never find a better brother than you, Kaoru.” 

“Hikaru…” Kaoru sighs.

Boys and girls all swooned around them as they shouted praises at their brotherly love act, especially after being deprived of it for so long.

But beside you, Shiro scrambled, leaping off his chair and pointing at the two brothers. He tugs on your sleeve, and with more strength than you would expect from a fifth year, pulls you out of your chair. He drags you away from the twins and sets you in front of him like a human shield, pointing at the Hitachiians in disgust.

“What the hell? Their brothers! That makes this totally insectuous!” 

You rip your hand from his grip while you roll your eyes, already exhausted. You’re so used to the twins’ act by now, you forget it takes a while for people to get used too.

You sigh as you try to make your way back to the table. “I think what you meant to say was incestuous.” 

You stop and turn at a grunt from Shiro as Honey jumps on his back, a cute smile on his round face. “Hey Shiro-Chan! You wanna have a piece of cake with me? We’ve got three kinds: chocolate, strawberry, and lime!” 

Manically, Shiro shoves the third year off, and you wince as Honey lands on his butt. “Hey back off! What grade are you in anyway? Why’re you wearing a high school uniform?” 

A shadow looms over him as Honey stands, rubbing his sore backside. You watch as Shiro looks up to see Mori, tall as ever, looking down at him over the bridge of his nose. 

“Something wrong, Mitsukuni?” Moris deep voice swept over the kid, and he backed away, finding refuge behind your legs, much to your dismay. 

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Shiro cries. “A little kid like you can’t have a cool older friend like him!”

Mori picks up Honey while you back away from Shiro, turning only to run into Haruhi. Why can’t you just make it the two steps to your seat?

Startled, Haruhi looked up from what she was doing. She grips a fragile tray in her hand, balancing a teapot with snacks that you helped prepare this morning arranged in a small little circle. 

“Sorry Haruhi- oof!” You say as the elementary schooler bumps into you once more, and you take a deep breath before you could explode on the poor kid. 

The honor student peeks behind you and sees Shiro gripping onto your skirt for balance.

“Are you alright?” She says, and both of you face the kid, considering you were awkwardly trapped between them. Might as well become part of the conversation. 

Haruhi leans down so she can be slightly more level with Shiro, and a kind smile traces her features. “I know, it’s kinda hard getting used to all the weirdos around here.”

Her joke puts you a little more at ease. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all. 

“It took me a while to get adjusted to all the craziness, so don’t freak out.” You say, hoping to give the kid some sort of comfort. Your voice doesn’t come out as confident and bright as you would like it, but it was soothing. So A for effort. 

Haruhi nods. “We’re sure you’ll get used to it.” 

You both pause as Shrio’s face becomes wrinkled with concentration. His eyes pin down Haruhi’s face as he studies her, confusing you to no end. Was he listening to anything you were saying?

You try again. “Shiro? Is there something wrong?” 

The kid’s eyes squint at Haruhi a bit more before he opens his mouth, causing your breath to stop in your throat. “Are you a crossdresser?”

You gasp. “Oh no.”

Suddenly, the twins and Tamaki are at your side, Kyoya walking over at a leisurely, but purposeful, pace. They become the Keep-Haruhi’s-Gender-A-Secret committee as Tamaki covers Shiro’s eyes.

“Okay! That’s enough!” The prince declares, chuckling nervously as he tries to direct Shiro away from your best friend, but the student doesn’t budge. “I think Shiro should take care of the tea for us! Don’t ya think?” 

You nod urgently and promptly take the tray from Haruhi’s grasp. The twins form a tag team, reaching out and patting her on the back to assure her of her manliness. 

“Wow, Haruhi, you’re looking extra manly today!”

“Yeah, you’re too macho for tea sets!”

Kyoya arrives at your side, humming in interest. “This kid is smarter than I thought.” 

Your mouth curves in distaste as you move to hand Shiro the tray. But not before you’re able to respond under your breath. “He may be a kid, but he has quite the eye.” The sarcasm couldn’t have been thicker in your tone. 

Trying to be more polite for Shiro, you paste a light grin when you face him. The tea tray extends out in front of you, and you give him a gentle warning. 

“Now be careful with it. It’s pretty heavy.” 

When you pass it to the kid, a crash sounds when he immediately drops the expensive pottery. Your gaze falls to the porcelain that lays shattered at your feet, just like your patience. 

“It’s not my fault I dropped it. It’s your fault because you’re the one who made me take it in the first place.” 

Your hands were frozen out in front of you, still grasping an imaginary tray as you prayed that you were dreaming.

“Are you kidding me?” You ask, mainly to yourself, despite being in the company of the entire host club.

Disbelief flooded your senses at the spoiled audacity of this kid, and your mood deflated even more when you realized that you were the one who had to clean it up. Your hands came up to rub at your face as you turned on your heel, heading for the broom closet. Baring your teeth behind a closed grimace, you kept your profanities to yourself as you calmly walked away from the little devil.

Throughout the years, you had come to realize that Music Room #3 was larger than it seemed. Tucked into corners of the clubroom were closets, hallways, and cabinets that were hidden in plain sight, and once you found them, you couldn’t figure out how you had missed it. The broom closet was one of these rooms. Past the kitchen and to the left used to be a door you had never opened. But at some point, the twin’s curiosity got the better of them, and a vast storage space was discovered. 

So, briskly, you made your way to the privacy of the broom closet, already a little emotionally overwhelmed from this aspiring new host, even if he had been here for only an hour or so. 

Once you’re faced with the entrance to the broom closet, you sigh, letting your head rest against the white paint on the wood of the door. Eyes closed, you will your bubbling anxiety to simmer, but it doesn’t really go away until you feel another presence lean against the door beside you.

“That tea set was one-hundred-thousand yen. I’ll have to add that to your debt.” A familiar voice resounds within the confined space of this hallway, erasing the rest of your tension.

Leave it to Kyoya to find the humor in your dismay. 

“And what debt would that be?” You ask, opening your eyes to see his shoulder pressed against the closet door, a smug look with a touch of softness painting his face. “It seems I only owe you favors, Ootori.” 

The club’s director hums, a teasing light sparking in his gray iris. “Then I suppose you owe me two favors.” 

The heartbeat in your throat is no longer caused by anxiety and you scoff, annoyingly enamored by the banter you two share. 

Motioning him away and moving towards the door handle, a monotone response leaves your lips. “What a joy.” 

With a creak, the door opens to reveal various multiple cleaning supplies. At the esteemed Ouran Academy, even the janitor’s closet is a walk-in space. Reaching above your head, you pull a small silver chain, turning on the lights and walking towards the back corner of the room. 

Shelves on the walls are illuminated by the bright light of a fixture in the center of the ceiling. Different tools are organized on all levels, while the larger of them hang on the walls in front of you. You scan the room before stepping in, trying to get a better look when you realize that what you were looking for wasn’t in its usual place. 

“I could’ve sworn the hand-held broom was back here.” You say, pantomiming the kind of tool you were looking for, as all you could see hanging from the walls were mops and brooms taller than you were. 

“You mean this?” His voice projects behind you, and you spin to see Kyoya holding a small brush and a dust pan. Gratefully, you smile and reach for it, only for him to move it slightly out of your reach.

“Kyo?”

“Are you alright?” He asks, and you blink. It takes a second to process the change in mood, but a small smirk appears on your face nonetheless

“Are you worried about me or something?” He deadpans, and his concern is replaced with a slight regret of ever being associated with you.

The ravenet crosses his arms, the small broom hanging over the crick of his elbow. “I am simply aware that your emotions might be a little more than negative at the moment.” 

You give him a ‘really?’ look, but he meets it, peaking over his frames for an answer. 

Taking a deep breath, you give in. “I’m fine. Kids just put me a little on edge.” 

“It seemed like you were about to rip the poor child’s head off.”

“I know, I know.” You wince at your previous behavior. Apparently, as much as you tried to hide them, your feelings still managed to be sewed onto your sleeve. “Honestly, being in here helps me cool off a little.”

With a classic eyebrow quirk, Kyoya turns his wrist, holding out the small broom in front of him for you to take. But when you take it, he doesn’t move out of your way. 

The megane studies you before pushing himself off the wall and reaching towards your face. Delicately, his pale fingers push a runaway hair out of your face, tucking the strand behind your ear. His light touch causes something to bloom in your chest, and he takes comfort in the way you don’t push him away. 

The light touch of his fingertips morphs into a palm resting on the side of your face, your cheekbones warm from the pressure. Your flustered confusion manifests in a slight drop in your jaw when he draws in a breath, adjusting his hand to tilt your head slightly. 

“I realize that this may be a stressful situation for you.” Kyoya says, and in the small closest space, his quiet tone bounces off the walls and settles into the hollows of your rib cage. “But I hope I can be a place of comfort for you, if you need it.” 

It takes you a while to find your breath, but the oxygen rushes in soon enough, pulling along a fluttery feeling by a romantic ribbon. 

“Thank you, Kyo.” 

A soft smile etches into his handsome features as time stops for a moment, allowing the two of you to bask in the other’s presence, a treasure that is always hidden in plain sight, but doesn’t present itself often. 

That is, until a slam is heard from outside your little energetically filled bubble. 

Your mind is given whiplash as you are yanked out of the dazed feeling Kyoya always seems to give you, and harshly released into the present. Kyoya follows your lead as he spins his head, trying to peer his vision around the corner.

“What the hell?” You ask, trailing off as you quickly circle around Kyoya, shoving your shoulders together before dashing off towards whatever made that disrupting noise. 

In your dust of sunlight, Kyoya stands. He doesn’t follow you in favor of pulling out his notebook. He flips to the most recent page and scans it, finding the checklist he started at the beginning of the day. 

In his neat handwriting reads: Head Tilt. 

Shaking his head, Kyoya goes back to that moment when his hand touched your cheek, sighing at the electricity he felt surge through his fingertips. Maybe he didn’t copy Tamaki’s movements well enough?

Next to it, he writes Ineffective before pulling the chain above him, darkening the small space. 

As you turn the corner from the closet, you nearly drop the small broom onto the polished tile when you find the newest addition to your club trapped in a giant metal cage. 

“What’s going on here?!” The kid shouts. “Why did you put me in a cage?”

“Yeah!” You say as you stomp over to the group that has now been made around the poor child, making your presence known. “And where did it come from?”

Haruhi is also in awe, speaking through a dropped jaw. “Isn’t this supposed to be a music room?”

Shiro bangs on the bars as they ring in defiance. “This is no way to treat your loyal apprentice! Now let me outta this cage!”

“Jesus Christ, I was gone for two seconds.” You say next to Tamaki as you watch the elementary school kid bar his teeth at the seven of you as Kyoya joins the commotion. 

“His attitude was in absolute distaste and he insulted Haruhi. Drastic actions call for drastic measures.” Tamaki states, arms folded in a scold towards the boy. 

The blonde grabs a cup of tea that was freshly made by Haruhi before all of this began and sips on it, completely brushing off the kid’s whines. 

“I will not let you out of that cage until you’ve learned your lesson. I made you my apprentice because I thought you were serious about becoming a host, but I guess I was wrong.”

Another cry comes from Shiro, and sympathy pulls uncomfortably in your chest. “I am serious! I am totally serious!”

His pleas seem to fall onto deaf ears as the King continues to ignore him, so he tries again. Your brow crinkles at the tears that glisten in his eyes. Maybe this was too much. 

“I want you to teach me how to make a woman happy!” With desperation and defeat, he slumps to his knees, his knuckles white from his hard grasp on the prison bars. “I’m gonna run out of time.”

You share a look with Haruhi, both of you catching that brief example of vulnerability while Shiro takes another wet gasp. “Please, won’t you teach me?” The boy looks up, still on his knees. 

“You’re a host because you like girls. You like bringing a smile to a girl’s face.” The kid swallows, not having the proper adult experience in controlling strong emotions like these. “That’s why you do it right? Please, won’t you teach me to be like you?”

Tamaki still continues to give Shiro the cold shoulder. Your discomfort for the child is momentarily erased as you come to Shiro’s aid. 

“You should help him, Tamaki.” You say, and his violet eyes meet yours in suspicion. “After all, you are a genius. The King at making women swoon. You’re the only person that could help him.”

Tamaki drops the tea cup, but he skips over the shattered pieces towards Shiro with stars in his eyes. At least you already brought a broom from the closet. 

“Well, you may be a brat, but I admire your ambition!” The prince exclaims with eagerness in his voice, his pride overflowing more than the tea that was previously in his cup. “So, I’ll teach you! You know Shiro, you and I are so much alike!”

You roll your eyes as Tamaki starts hugging himself, and the twins saunter up to each side of you. 

“That poor kid…” Kaoru starts.

“...He doesn’t know what he just got himself into.” Hikaru finishes. 

Chuckling, you roll your shoulders, feigning annoyance as you shove them off. They’re laughing too, but they twist their heads, trying to see if anyone was within earshot of the three of you. 

“Too bad you weren’t here to see the shit Shiro pulled to get him landed in a cage.” The mischievous twin states, his golden eyes locking with Kaoru’s in another spurt of twin telepathy. 

“Yeah, wonder what took you so long in that broom closet? Didn’t we see Kyoya go in there with you?” Kaoru states, and relishes in the blush that quickly rises to your cheekbones. They start snickering at your burning face, but their humor is interrupted as you yank on each one of their ears, crouching down and pulling them with you. 

Your voice is a hushed whisper as you try your best to not bring any attention to yourselves. “If you guys don’t cut it out, I’m gonna call your mother and have her cease your weekly allowance for a month.” You tighten your hold on them and they wince. “Ms. Hitachiian and I are very close.” 

They roll their eyes once you release them and dust off your skirt. “Geez, since when was your grip so strong?” They whine in unison as they rub their red ears. 

You smirk as you walk past them to tune back into the conversation, serving them a fake smile. “It’s powered by my pure annoyance for the two of you.” 

Rolling their eyes for the second time in a row, the three of you make it back to the host club’s shenanigans. 

When Tamaki’s voice comes back into earshot, his tone has taken one akin to a teacher. “If this is really what you want, Shiro, then you’ll have to figure out how to use the material you already have.”

His innocence is highlighted when Shiro scrunches his eyebrows together. “What does that mean?”

The click of a pen is heard as Kyoya opens his book, turning to an earlier page. You scan it to see all of the host’s names, along with the advantages and disadvantages of each persona that you all hold. You were pleased to see that your category was recently added in a different color of ink, the few sentences suggesting that there was more to learn about how you can contribute to the club’s image. 

“You see, here at Ouran Academy, our policy is to use our individual personality traits to meet the needs of our guests.” The ravenet speaks, a tiredness twisting into his tone as if he’s had to explain this exact thing several times over. 

He gestures to Tamaki, who puffs out his chest proudly. “For example, there’s Tamaki, who is the Princely-Type.” Kyoya’s open palm then moves to each of you as you are introduced, seemingly proud of the system he has put together. 

“Then, there’s the Strong Type, The Boy-Lolita Type, The Little-Devil Type, The Cool-Type, and the Natural-Type. It’s all about variety.” Finally, he points to you. 

“And now our group is complete with the addition of (Y/n), the Sweet-Type.”

The brown-haired honor student points to herself, clueless of the nickname that had unknowingly been given to her. “The Natural?” You chuckle to yourself at her question.

Kyoya continues, looking up from his journal. “It would seem now that we have the perfect blend of characteristics. So it’s going to be hard to find a new one for Shiro.” 

“If you go by his age, he would be the Boy-Lolita type.” You think out loud, the logical side of your brain taking over.”

Honey’s eyes wells up, his pupils glistening with sudden tears as he looks at you. “Is he gonna replace me?” 

Before you can comfort him, another sudden noise pierces the air. Machinery crashes together with tremendous power, but unfortunately it wasn’t loud enough to silence an annoying voice tearing into the host club. 

“Oh, come on! Is that all you’ve got?”

Your stomach ties in knots at the familiar voice, and you spin on your heel. 

Laughing nervously, you wave to the rest of the host club. “Sorry guys! Last minute robotics club meeting, gotta go!” You briskly walk towards the front door. But before you can make it to the large double doors, the floor below you begins to open. 

Wobbling on the edge, you nearly crash into the tiered platform rising out of the tile, but strong hands steady you just in time. Mori pulls you back onto stable ground, but as a pink bow reveals itself from the depths of the music room, you wish you would’ve fallen anyway. 

Renge stands on three metal circles that get smaller as your vision rises, each acting as a step as she descends into the host club. You suddenly feel emotionally worn out, all of your patience draining at the sight of her sickly sweet smile. 

“I need to sit down.” You tell Mori in a lower tone of voice than usual, rolling your eyes at her victory laugh as she makes her way over to the host club. 

The otaku sighs dramatically. “Sorry to interrupt gentlemen, but what’s with the lackluster character analysis? I must say I’m quite disappointed. I thought I taught you better.” 

You sink deeper into your chair when Haruhi appears at your side, her tolerance equally spent. 

“What’s up with this place?” She whines. “I thought it was supposed to be a music room?”

“A Renge-free music room.” You grumpily add on.

Tamaki sighs and folds his arms at Renge’s statement. “Alright then, Miss Renge, how would you work Shiro into our collection of characters?”

“Hmm.” She taps her fingers against her chin cutely as her eyes scan the room, landing her gaze on you, pinning you against the cushions.

Renge smirked and sighed. “First of all, I think you have too much variety. (Y/n) sullies what a host club is supposed to be!” 

Grasping her hands together, her eyes shape into hearts as she twirls. “A room full of beautiful boys! Take her out of the club, put her back on sole errand boy duties, take her away from my Haruhi.” She stops twirling and points to the boys. “That’s what I would do first.” 

On the other end of her finger, the host club deadpans. 

Haruhi chuckles next to you. “Wait until she finds out I’m not a boy.” 

Kyoya steps out from the group. “(Y/n) will not be leaving the host club. If you don’t have anything that’s actually useful, then feel free to escort yourself out, Renge.”

Renge pouts. “So mean.” But her demeanor completely shifts once again, from an annoying whiny spoiled brat, to an annoying loud spoiled brat. 

“Listen up!” Your head reels from the whiplash of her emotions. “There are plenty of girls out there who have a thing for younger boys, or boys with baby faces. These girls are considered Shota fans.”

She begins to pace, walking in a pattern similar to a military general commanding her troops. “Now shota can be a broad category, so it’s important to know that the genre can be broken down into many different smaller categories.”

You hear scribbling and scoff as you see Kyoya taking notes on Renge’s mini lesson. 

“If I had to pick a category for this little boy,” Renge contemplates as she walks in front of Shiro’s vision and crouches down, scanning the poor boy from head to toe. “Then he would be the Naughty-Boy Type for sure!”

A creaking sound emits from the ceiling as the cage rises, disappearing into the room as if it was never there. A now freed Shiro points to himself, confused.

“The Naughty Type?” He asks.

Renge rushes him, pulling a whistle out of the neckline of her dress, and blowing it. “Now to be the Naughty Type, you have to wear shorts!”

“He’s already wearing shorts.” You point out as you stand, a headache budding behind your eye sockets. How you were still sane with a kid and Renge in the same room, you couldn’t say. 

Too focused to insult you, Renge blows her whistle again, and the noise ricochets off of your skull. “Okay! Then, you gotta have bumps and bruises! Give him a couple scars!”

Skilled in the makeup department, Hikaru and Kaoru get to work, painting on scratches and securing some bandaids to Shiro’s body as you make your way towards the ruckus. 

Too soon, Renge slaps Shiro on the back, making that same damn whistle noise. “Now run like a spoiled child. Make it reckless!”

Flabbergasted, Shiro sprints to one side of the room, flicking his heels behind him and staying low to the ground, throwing off his balance and making a messy sprint. Renge watches as he runs suicides for a minute or so before she interrupts with another blow, catching his attention. 

“Now I want you to trip and make it big!” Shiro does as he’s told, and takes a nasty fall to the tile. It looked like it hurt.

“Jesus Christ, Renge, he’s just a kid.” You say as you rush to him, grabbing the spot under his arm and pulling him up gently. “Are you okay, Shiro-chan?”

Renge laughs victoriously. “Now say your catchphrase!”

Shiro simply smirks, wiping the dust from his mouth that came from the unswept floor. His voice comes out scruffy and forced. “No big deal, it was nothin’.”

Realizing you’d been played, you promptly drop the kid and walk away. “Last time I help a kid like you.”

But Renge squeals. “That was perfect, Shiro!” 

Tamaki claps behind her. “That was outstanding! I never knew you were such a great coach, Renge!”

You rolled your eyes and took a stance between Kyoya and Mori, the land of non-expressive annoyance. 

Shiro stands, and when he lifts his head, he has the same look that all children have when they are frustrated, or can’t understand why something is happening. 

His brow furrows, and there’s a desperate shine to his eyes as his mouth parts in disbelief before his entire facade shifts into anger. 

“You’re idiots!” He shouts. “You’re all a bunch of idiots!”

Before any of you can stop him, he starts towards the door. “I’ve had enough of you people!” Shiro’s voice drops to a sad tone before he steps out of the club room. “This is so stupid, none of this is ever gonna make her happy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Who’s her?”

But Tamaki is calling after the kid. “Wait, Shiro, we haven’t taught you how to apply the techniques you’ve learned yet!”

It was too late. Shiro had left Renge’s crappy teaching in his dust, along with a hint to a secret he has clearly been hiding. 

‘None of this is ever gonna make her happy!’

Completely ignoring Shiro’s feelings, Tamaki marches back to the group. “I can’t believe he ditched us because he didn’t like the lesson. What a selfish little brat.”

“It takes one to know one.” Haruhi says, and you both snicker as Tamaki whines. 

“Haruhi! Mon ami!” He runs to hug Haruhi and cries, but the noise is swallowed by the sound of the platforms turning. You spin to see Renge slowly lowering herself back into the floor, the machine descending into wherever it came from.

“You’re leaving?” You ask, maybe a little too hopeful.

She sighs. “I swear, young boys are good for nothing. I went through all that trouble, and he quits!” Renge throws her arms up in an exasperated expression just before the tile closes around her, placing her out of sight and out of mind. 

The air in the clubroom seems suddenly calmer, for some reason.

Haruhi breaks herself from the prince’s grasp. “Listen Senpai, weren’t you listening to what he said?” 

Tamaki stops trying to grab her and pull her to him to tilt his head, humming in question. 

Her brown eyes meet yours as Haruhi silently asks for your support, considering you heard the same things she did. 

“He said ‘I’m gonna run out of time.’” You clarify as you make your way to her. “What do you think he means by that?”

Haruhi gets a thoughtful look on her face, her eyes drawing downward to focus on the tile that apparently holds many secrets. 

But soon she answers with a quiet confidence. “I think, maybe, it’s a girl.”

Giving her a confirming nod, you think back to how desperate a reckless little boy was to take instruction from a bunch of uptight strangers. But you guessed that nothing was a better motivator than love. 

Why Kyoya let Tamaki make up these ridiculous plans was beyond him, but here he was nonetheless. In the dark, pressing himself against a wall of a school he hasn’t stepped foot in in over a decade. He rolled his eyes as the idiotic trio couldn’t stop themselves peaking out from the door they hid behind, watching as Haruhi and Honey pranced around in grade school outfits, Haruhi’s being more revealing than was needed. 

“You think the fact that Tamaki practically forced her to wear that outfit would reveal a little secret crush or two, wouldn’t you say?” 

Ah yes, you were here as well. Crowded against him in another conveniently small closet where your shoulders were pushed together and the air smelled a little sweeter from your presence. He felt you chuckle against him at your comment, and soaked in the sound as he shook his head. 

“Those two are too stubborn and ignorant to interpret their behavior as anything other than a close friendship.” He whispered.

Without light, it was hard to make out how close your face actually was to his, but you were close enough that he could see a few features in the shadows. The shape of your jawline, your nose, your jewelry that reflected the small sliver of light that was streaming from Tamaki’s peephole.

You were close enough to make his heart race.  

His response expelled another small laugh from you, causing a small smirk to rest on his face. 

You peep out the little crack in the door and shake your head. “Why did they even bother with those disguises?” You ask while Kyoya brings out his notebook. “They stick out like a sore thumb.”

The ravenet hums as he flips to the first page with some open space and begins to draw small spirals. He couldn’t bring out his phone since it would be too bright, so doodling seemed to be the next best conqueror of boredom. 

“Oh ho, (Y/n), never doubt me.” Tamaki says in front of you. He’s crouched, and there’s a creepy glint in his usual violet irises. “There’s a reason, a damn good reason.”

“Gross.” You chide next to Kyoya, watching suspiciously as he rubs his hands together like a madman. 

The twins sigh next to him, and Kyoya rolls his eyes at the drool that leaks from their mouths. “Isn’t she the cutest?” They admire, watching Haruhi being pulled around the elementary school by Honey’s direction.

“Just because she is helping you infiltrate the school and look for Shiro, doesn’t mean you can ogle at her the whole time.” You say, and Kyoya’s shoulder feels colder when you move away from him to wack all three of them. 

Tamaki barely feels the impact, the evil glimmer in his eye turning into adoration. “Look at her in that little mini skirt! Haruhi looks like a little doll!” He whisper-squeals.

You roll your eyes and hit him again for good measure. 

“So basically, you just wanted to see her dressed like that.” Kyoya says as you slowly make your way back to your spot in the dark. He reaches a hand out and you take it, feeling a small buzz in his palm while he gently guides you back to the wall.

The twins turn back, and the megane watches as their eyes drop to your intertwined hands and then back up to him. Kyoya lets go and rolls his shoulders, emitting a practiced nonchalant aura around him. 

But the red heads smirked anyway, and he braced himself. 

“You wouldn’t let us dress up (Y/n) like that, so Haruhi was our next best option…” Kaoru whispered, raising the right corner of his mouth. 

“Let us enjoy this, Shadow King.” Hikaru finishes, the left corner of his lips mirroring his brother’s.

Kyoya ticked his jaw, not bothering to look at your reaction. Not like he could see it anyway. 

Thankfully, there wasn’t time for you to reply when Haruhi and Honey walked into a classroom at the end of a long hallway, moving out of sight of the host club. 

“We need to follow them.” Kyoya looked at another dark shape across from him when Mori spoke. From where Kyoya could see, he was leaning up against the wall, keeping a watchful eye. 

At the stoic’s words, the club files out of the closet. You stretch next to him, sighing as you both are released from another small closet space. 

“Is this your elementary school?” You ask beside him, and he looks down at you over his glasses. The two of you had fallen behind the rest of the group, and he watched as you looked at the walls full of trophies and pictures, appreciating the memories. 

He hums, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “It is.”

“I bet you were kind of a nerd.” You say and he rolls his eyes. Kyoya thinks back to those times where he sat at a cafeteria studying rather than enjoying the period with friends. At the time, that’s what he preferred, but now he could barely imagine what lunch would be like without the chaos of the host club. 

He supposed he would miss it. 

“As were you, I assume.” Kyoya replies while turning his head to look down one of the corridors. Classrooms bustled inside and nostalgia hit him like a truck, remembering what it was like to be about a foot shorter, roaming the halls silently and carefully just as he did now. 

A whack on his shoulder brings him back to the present, and he sees you scoffing at him for what seemed to be the hundredth time today. And then that scoff turns into a smile. 

There wasn’t much that could incite an obvious emotional reaction from the megane. While there was quite a bit that could make him feel something, usually anger or annoyance, an apparent expression of contentedness and joy was rare to come by for him. 

From the mixture of nostalgia and love, he feels a smile bubbling behind his lips, the corners twitching from the restraint of holding it back. The usual knot in his chest is unwound, falling instead to the bottom of his stomach, the strings feathering slowly and tickling the muscles beneath his abdomen. 

He is too distracted, something that has never truly described him before, to realize that they've made it to the end of the hallway. Or to realize that a door has opened up from a corridor behind them. Or the gasp that sounded off in the distance. 

The classroom that the club has stopped in front of set off another round of bursts. This was his old music classroom. He had played the flute for a time in elementary school before his dad made him drop it to focus on his academics. This was his old music teacher’s classroom.

Kyoya calmly made his way to the front of the crowd, leading them behind Haruhi, who had stepped in first to examine everything. 

“Hm, there’s nobody here.” She states, and everyone else files in. Or, at least he thought it was everyone. 

Tamaki enters the space, a hand to his chin. “So the kid’s classroom is empty, is it?”

But instead of being curious, the twins look as elated as Kyoya feels. “Man, this takes me back.” They say in unison. Hikaru rounds one of the desks, bending over to look on the underside of the wood. 

“I wonder if my doodles are still on my desk.” 

Another hum emits from the club’s director, except this one was dismissive instead of amusing. “Doubtful. The school changes the desks out every year.”

When he came back to his second year of flute lessons, he had thought the same thing when secretly observing each desk, looking for the tell tale sign of spirals. They had been wiped clean. 

The twins, conventionally, ignore him and continue spelling off nonsense. “Let's check out the cafeteria after this!” Hikaru exclaims, with Kaoru nodding along with him.

“I wanna see the old gym!”

“Great idea, Kaoru!” Tamaki chimes in, still looking around. But unlike the rest of the host club, there wasn’t the glint of nostalgia in his stance. Kyoya’s mouth draws into a thin line before continuing to slowly walk the classroom. 

Before you, Tamaki was Kyoya’s only source of this peaceful feeling. Even if he had to fight his way in, the blond prince had proven that people could and would take the time to truly get to know someone like Kyoya. So when Tamaki had opened up to him months later about where he had come from, Kyoya knew that he needed to be there for the prince. The same way that the prince had been there for the Shadow King. 

Haruhi cleared her throat, breaking the ravenet from his thoughts. A vein was popping from her forehead in an attempt to control her frustration. 

“If you’re just gonna barge in here like that, then why did we wear these stupid disguises?” 

Tamaki flicks his wrist, ignoring her while the brothers laugh. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Hikaru assured, shaking his head. 

“Yeah,” Kaoru agreed. “There’s no one here to catch us.”

Ironically, at that moment, a pair of footsteps was heard walking down the hallway. 

Like rats, the host club scattered. Heads ducked underneath desks, even if some fit more awkwardly than others. Kyoya adjusted his legs around the weirdly placed support bars of the table as the footsteps got closer, two muffled voices becoming clearer as the intruders grew near. 

Weird, Kyoya thought, to label them as intruders when I’m the one hiding with a metal chair leg stabbing into my back. 

“Is everyone hidden?” A cute whisper sounded in the classroom as Honey checked to make sure that everyone found a hiding spot. Always analyzing, Kyoya scanned from his uncomfortable position, taking a sort of attendance. He checked off a list of names in his mind to the beat of shoes against tile, the assumed teacher inching closer and closer every second. 

Silence followed as the footsteps stopped right outside the door, and Kyoya realized he was missing someone. 

A very important someone. 

Doing his best to keep calm, he double checked. 

Tamaki, Mori, Honey, Haruhi, the twins, and-

Where were you?

His collar felt uncomfortable against his neck when he angled his body slightly so that he could see farther down the line of desks. Catching the attention of Haruhi, who had picked the desk right beside him, he asked her if she knew where you were.

You and Haruhi  had grown so close in these past few months, if you hadn’t told him where you were going, then certainly you would let her know-

“I thought she was with you?” 

Confusion pulsed inside of his rapidly beating heart as his jaw clenched too tightly. The tip of his canine scratched the tissue of his lip as he rewinded the past few moments. His nostalgia had distracted him from those short moments between the closet and now, which had felt much longer in the moment. 

As he looks deep into his memory, he swallows, remembering a small gasp emitting from where you were beside him before he took the lead into the classroom. 

But before he could start the search party, the door to the teacher’s classroom opened, an airy laugh filling the space.

“This is my classroom.” A deep voice speaks in (n/l) as the two pairs of footsteps file onto the tile, and the host club instinctively pulls their feet closer to their bodies, making them as small as possible. “I just need to grab some sheet music, and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Wow, Mr. Salling.” Another voice compliments in the same language as she begins to walk between the aisles. “This is much better than the classroom back home.”

Kyoya meets Haruhi’s shocked gaze across the way. That was your voice. How in God’s name had you become acquainted with a teacher? All while not being detained by the school?

Who the ravenet assumes to be Mr. Salling laughs, a deep but quiet chuckle that was nothing other than genuine. “Yes. While I loved what I did back in (c/n), opportunities like this don’t come around very often.”

“You definitely deserved it, though! The music room was never the same without you.” You said as you continued walking. It sounded like you were dragging your palm against the desks as you slowly passed, taking in the new environment.

Black dress shoes came into Kyoya’s vision, and the moment of freedom was fleeting when he recognized the Ouran Academy sigil on the heel. 

Shooting his hand out from beneath the desk, he laid his hand on the top of your foot. Tapping it twice with the pale pad of his fingers, he smirked as you jumped a little before looking down. (E/c) eyes met with his gray ones, and he watched fear, shock, and then annoyance pass through them as you noticed little tufts of hair scattered under the desks.  

“(Y/n)?” The (n/l) speaker asks as your teacher notices your pause, and Kyoya raises a firm finger to his lips. 

“Yes! Yes, sorry.” You cleared your throat as you quickly, but calmly made your way back to Mr. Salling. “I was just still processing that I was able to see you! What a small world!” 

Another laugh emits from him. “It is nice to be able to speak (n/l) outside of the house.” Mr. Salling’s feet shift as he adjusts his weight when leaning on his desk. “What have you been up to all these years? Still practicing piano?”

“Oh, god no.” You scoff. “We both know I gave that up years ago.”

Even under the stress of the situation, Kyoya takes the risk of opening his journal to write down the fact that you had taken piano lessons. 

You and your teacher take a moment to laugh a little more before it dies down. “I actually have a club that I joined that I’m really enjoying so far!” You lean back on your heels with a sigh. “Even if the people I work with can be pretty annoying.”

“Sounds exciting.” Mr. Salling says knowingly. The twins and Tamaki share offended glances. 

You walk towards him again as you change the subject. “I hope I’m not keeping you from your students. I know you mentioned you didn’t have much free time.”

From where Kyoya can see, the brown shoes of your old teacher turn towards the clock, and then turn frantically as the megane hears papers rustling together. 

“You’re absolutely right, Ms (L/n). I’m sorry to leave you, but my students are waiting for me in the practice room.” Salling rushes as he goes around his desk to retrieve the last of his things. 

“You’re more than welcome to stay here until I get back, but it will probably be a while. If I don’t see you again, call my office. We can catch up over dinner with my husband.”

Your shoes follow him out, then stop by the doorway. “That sounds perfect! It was amazing seeing you, Mr. Salling!”

Down the hall, his footsteps are growing quieter as he calls out his reply. “Please, call me Esben.”

When the music teacher from the past is out of reach, the soles of your shoes spin as you close the door behind you. 

“He’s gone.” The sweet voice you were using with Esben dropped many octaves as you alerted the bodies under the desks. The hosts crawled out of their hiding spots, stretching their torsos from the longevity of unnatural folding. 

When Kyoya rises, you’re folding your arms across your chest. 

“Where were you?” Haruhi asks.

“Where was I?” Your eyebrows raise in disbelief as you scoff. “I turned around for one second to say hello to one of my old teachers, but when I looked back, you guys were gone!” 

A chuckle follows your amazed tone. “Of course you guys were hiding in the one classroom I just happened to follow Esben into.”

Haruhi shakes her head, but is satisfied with your answer. “So what do you think we should do now?” She asks as the hosts begin to explore the classroom. 

Mumbling voices fill the classroom as the hosts pair together and split up, knowing that this place was as good of a start as any to begin their search for answers. 

Kyoya makes his way over to you, the light in his eyes darker than usual. 

You smile at him as he approaches. “What’s up?”

“You left.” He realizes his tone comes out flat as he speaks to you, and he tries his best to inflect it differently. “Without telling me?”

Another small laugh passes your lips. “Do I need to ask permission?”

“Not necessarily.” Kyoya turns, and he feels you naturally begin to walk at his side as you both scan the numerous pictures on the walls of the classroom. It feels right. “I’m just disappointed I wasn’t invited on your rogue mission.”

“Was that a joke?” Your finger pokes lightly into his shoulder, and he can’t fight back the smirk that appears on his lips at your playful voice. “Did Kyoya Ootori just make a joke?”

The ravenet jolts his shoulder, shrugging you off lightly, and scoffs when you act offended. “Get away from me.”

You laugh again, and the constricting knot in his chest loosens. There was a time in a certain private dressing room where he wasn’t close enough to help you. When you disappeared this time, that feeling of panic surfaced too suddenly, crescendoing into something monstrous and consuming. 

But you came back, and that was what mattered. You were your own woman, and could take care of yourself, but he still wanted to be with you, in case you ever needed him. 

“Here’s something interesting.” You muse as he snaps out of his daze. He sees you standing in front of another picture hanging up on the wall. 

“What did you find?” He asks, making his way to your side while eyeing the picture in a golden frame. 

Kyoya’s gaze softens as he processes the image. Shiro sits at a grand piano, a happy smile on his face. His fingers are dancing across the keys, but they aren’t alone as another set of hand rests next to them. Delicate fingers belong to a girl sitting next to him, a happy blush across her cheeks as they play and talk, joy seeping through the captured memory. 

You hum next to him, and Kyoya sees an expression similar to his on your features.

“He may be a pain in the ass, but it seems he’s found the thing he loves doing.” You say dreamily as you zone in on Shiro’s content face. “And the person he loves doing it with.” 

(E/c) orbs meet gray as you look at him then, and those words combined with the emotion in your eyes conduct an orchestra in Kyoya’s chest, his heart beating to the melody it creates. 

The look lasts longer than it was meant to, but it’s broken as the rest of the host club gathers around to look at the photo. 

“Wow, is that Shiro-chan?” Honey asks next to you, taking Kyoya away from his sweet (e/c) oasis as you nod.

“I’ve never seen him look so sweet. It’s nice to see him enjoying himself.” Haruhi says on the other side of you, and Kyoya focuses on the image again.

“It seems that he is in the classical music club. His teacher must be Mr. Salling, the man (Y/n) met earlier.” The ravenet states, and the rest of the class nods. 

“Let’s see if we can find him.” You say, and with that the club pours out of the space, everyone staying together this time around. 

Now, the eight of you watch from outside the window of a classroom, trying your best to stay out of sight. It was creepy, yes, but the club’s curiosity on this new side of Shiro was overwhelming, even Mori looked interested as you watched Shiro sit on a chair in his classroom. 

The host club gathered closer toward the window when the same girl from the photo made her way over to him, a blush on her face as she clutched sheet music in her hands. 

Her voice is cute and high, and she stutters when she speaks to him. “Excuse me, Takaoji? I-I’m sorry, but have y-you been practicing the new piece that Sensei gave us?”

When Shiro looks at her, there are no daggers, no downward glances. Just warmth. “The new piece? Not really…”

She perks up at the opportunity. “If you want, I can show it to you! Do you wanna come play it with me?” The little girl gestures to a grand piano near the far wall of the classroom, the sun reflected off the elegant, black exterior. 

Shiro looks, and the warmth is replaced with a quiet sadness. “No thanks,” he says to her, his eyes meeting hers with less joy than before, “you go ahead. After all, there’s only one grand piano. You should use it, Kamishiro.”

The little girl’s disappointment rests in her shoulders as they droop slightly, but she keeps a kind smile. “Thank you, I will then! But if you want to join me, just let me know.” Kamishiro says before giggling and making her way to the large instrument. 

As she places the sheet music on the stand and settles in front of the keys, Shiro’s eyes follow her the whole time. It’s even hard for the club to look away from her as she begins to play. Her fingers dance gracefully over the keys, showcasing the skill, talent, and love that she holds for her art. The hosts watch as she sways with each crescendo, falling into muscle memory and contentment as she plays. 

A ding from a bell is heard, the sound interrupting the host club’s trance with this little girl, as another one steps out from the hallway. The child seems more bubbly than Kamishiro as she dances out of the room, into the hallway, only to pause at the sight of eight random teenagers looking like they just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Her innocence is practiced as she shrugs and keeps walking, sensing no apparent danger, but Tamaki stops her politely. 

“Excuse me, mademoiselle.”

“Huh?” The girl stops, only to see a white rose in her face. Her eyes grow wide and happy as she takes it from the handsome prince, and looks up at him with her full attention. 

“I’ve never seen a rose more beautiful than you, my dear.” The little girl gasps while you cringe internally. If someone had talked to younger you that way, let alone a stranger, you probably would’ve either crawled into yourself or bolted away at the speed of light. 

The prince continues. “I was wondering if you could tell me anything about the young lady playing the piano. Do you know her?” He says in a gentle tone, and you soften slightly at the interaction, feeling your soft spot for Tamaki grow as he interacts with the young girl. You imagine you can’t be the only one feeling it. 

The young girl perks up, happy to help. “That’s Hina Kamishiro!”

“Her name is Hina?” Tamaki asks, still gentle in his inquiry. 

She suddenly gets serious. “That’s right, but you better not fall in love with her.” 

A small chuckle emits itself from the prince’s mouth. “Why not?”

“Didn’t you know?” The small girl asked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Hina has to move away soon. Her dad just got a new job in Germany, so they have to move there at the end of the week.” 

You and Kyoya meet eyes, both of you connecting this recent piece of information to all of Shiro’s previous actions. It made perfect sense. 

“What are you idiots doing here?!”

A deeper, but still pre-pubescent, voice interrupts their conversation, and the hosts look to see Shiro in the doorway of the classroom. He walks up to the eight of you, ignoring the girl with the white rose. “I want you to leave immediately!”

But Tamaki is not stunned. Instead, after a moment to think, Tamaki reaches down and scoops up the younger kid, Mr. Salling completely oblivious to the actions happening outside of his practice room. After throwing Shiro over his shoulder, Tamaki leads the host club out of the school. Trudging along, you drag your feet, unenthused about having a kid back in the music room. 

The soft tone that Tamaki used with the little girl was gone when they got back to the clubroom. Heaving Shiro from off his shoulder, the kid bounces on the couch, shock inhibiting him from speaking. 

“Tamaki, what are you-” You were about to scold him for tossing Shiro around like a sack, no matter how funny it was, but the prince cut you off, disappointment and anger twisting through his words like vines. 

“What is your problem, you big idiot?!” Shiro yells, his voice cracking slightly from the volume.

Tamaki huffs, his eyebrows creasing with restrained emotion. “I’m sorry, but you’re the idiot! You said that you wanted me to teach you how to make women happy, but that’s not it, is it? You’re not concerned with the happiness of just any woman.”

You jumped in, catching onto where Tamaki was going with this. “You’ve got your sights set on one woman in particular. You only care about Hina Kamishiro.”

Tamaki moved to kneel in front of Shiro, taking on a sort of brotherly aura. “Listen Shiro, I know I told you it’s the job of a host to make every guest happy, but when you care for someone, you must find the courage to express what is in your heart!”

Your head turned as Tamaki stood again, a determined look in his eyes as his words resonated throughout the host club. “You have to tell her how you feel! You didn’t come to me wanting to be a full-fledged host, you wanted to be a full-fledged man.”

Your breath was hitched when you subconsciously met Kyoya’s eyes during Tamaki’s speech, swallowing at his indirect advice. When you realized that you had slowly fallen into his gaze once again, a blush burned your cheeks as you smiled slightly and looked back to the front, heartracing. 

Kyoya’s heart matched your pace. 

A sigh brought your attention back to the couch as Shiro dipped his head, his bangs falling sadly in front of his face. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve run out of time. I just- I wanted to hear her play before she left…that’s all.”

Just as your heart slowed down, it broke in two at his admission. Forgetting your vendetta against him, you knelt down beside him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“That piece she played…it’s Mozart’s Sonata in D major for two pianos, isn’t it?” You asked him, sweetness pouring out of your voice like sugar. 

He looked at you in slight amazement. “How did you know?”

Another soft smile graced over your lips. “We have the same music teacher.”

With a slight tilt of your head, the prince walks over a large sheet near the back center of the music room. He pulls it away like a curtain, the fabric floating through the air before billowing to the polished tile. 

The host club relished in the sight of a glorious grand piano, barely used to the point where it was basically brand new. The window behind it surrounded the instrument in the light of the sunset, but the image wasn’t complete until Tamaki sat down behind it. 

“Wait a minute, since when was there a grand piano in here?” Haruhi asked. 

The twins smirked as they turned to look at her. “Well, this is a music room.” Hikaru stated.

“So why wouldn’t there be a piano?” Kaoru asked, expecting the frustrated look Haruhi gave them. 

A smirk tightened on Kyoya’s lips. “This is a music room after all.”

“It is a music room.” Mori adds with a curt nod while Honey stuffed his face.

“It’s always been there, we just had it covered up.” The boy lolita explained through the crumbs of his cake. 

Kyoya looked at you, expecting you to join in on the bit. And you would’ve, if Tamaki wasn’t playing the most beautiful thing you ever heard. 

Your fingers caged around your mouth, trapping any sound that might disturb him as Tamaki’s finger moved expertly on the keys. The piece was perfect, technically and artistically as Tamaki brought his own emotion into the piece. The feelings translated so strongly that you fought to keep the tears in your eyes from falling. 

It wasn’t everyday you got to hear Tamaki play. The first time was at one of the school’s recitals a while back. You had cried then too, not prepared for the sheer light of his content smile as he made every single audience member sit on the edge of their seat. 

Since then, he played rarely, the most frequent being when you had asked him to teach you a song. He had laughed and pushed you onto the chair, and he spent the whole afternoon watching you fumble over the keys. Then it was your turn to laugh. 

Now you need to learn how to listen to Tamaki play without crying. 

Snapping out of your daze slightly, you look over to Shiro, hoping you’re not the only one struck with inspiration. You laugh softly when he looks as amazed as you do, his eyes fuzzy as he sinks deeper into his thoughts. 

A touch on your shoulder drew your attention away from the little boy and onto Kyoya, who was giving you a soft look.

He glanced around the two of you before raising his hand to cradle your cheek. His thumb came up to wipe a stray tear that was rolling down, gentle and slow. The piano grew louder, the notes adding to the moment as a chuckle escaped his lips, watching your surprised face.

“I apologize if I’m intruding.” He said in a quiet voice, but he still moved closer, so as not to draw attention to the two of you. “It’s hard for me to see you cry without trying to help you.”

A wet giggle blows past your lips as you cover his hand with yours, leaning into his touch.

‘You must find the courage to express what  it is inside your heart!’

“Not at all.” You say in an equal whisper, the music wrapping around the space where your hands touch and holding them still for a moment. “I would do the same, I think.” 

‘You have to tell her how you feel!’

After a moment of forced motivation and relishing the sudden closeness, you both drew synchronized breaths, speaking at the same time.

“Kyo-”

“(Y/n)-”

Both of you gaped at the other. Kyoya quickly closed his mouth and swallowed into a small smile, while you laughed slightly at the accident. 

Ever the gentleman, Kyoya waited. “Please, after you.”

Feeling more confident as the music swelled to a dramatic ending, you licked your lips slightly before trying again.

“Kyoya, there’s something I need to tell you.” You moved both of your hands to the space between you, putting your other hand over his so you can grasp it tighter. 

You took a deep breath as your heart began to race. Everything suddenly felt wrong. 

Sensing the serious tone, the ravenet lifted an eyebrow, still waiting through your hesitation. 

Your head dipped as the floor spun, and you were discreetly aware of how many people were around you, even if they weren’t paying that much attention to you. The realization that you were about to maybe lose the best person in your life struck you like a bad note, interrupting the perfect feeling you had just seconds ago.

The notes on the piano began to bang, Tamaki reaching the end of the piece with the dramatism that was expected from him, and you felt rushed. Like if you didn’t do it now, then the moment would be over.

Were you supposed to feel rushed?

The hand that you weren’t holding felt cool against your chin as Kyoya brought your gaze back to him, and the spinning world came to a halt. 

“Are you alright, (Y/n)?” To him, your hands had gone tense on top of his, and the sweet look in your eye had turned a little wild. 

He stepped even closer to you, trying to reassure you the best he knew how. 

“Whatever it is you need to tell me, you can say it. You can trust me.” 

Cool air rushed through your lungs as you took another deep breath in the space of peace that Kyoya gave you. The wild look in your eye dimmed into a determined look, accented with a bit of nervousness. 

Your lips parted, and your voice was breathy as you muscled out the words you had kept hidden for all these months, maybe even years. 

“Kyoya…I-”

“That was awesome, Tama-chan!”

The moment shattered like glass, your confidence breaking with it as you realized that Tamaki had stopped playing, and was rising to get out of his seat. 

Both you and Kyoya panicked slightly, firmly aware of your proximity to each other, and jumped away, unclasping your hands and holding them back at your side. 

As Tamaki detaches himself from the piano, you fight the blush that lingers on your cheeks, trying to cope with the whiplash of being so close to expressing how you felt in front of everyone, just because of some motivational words and good piano playing?

It all happened so quickly. What were you thinking?

But Tamaki's voice filters back into your focus. “For the next week,” he speaks to Shiro, “you will spend your mornings, lunches, and free time after school in piano lessons with me.”

Shiro scrunched his brows, looking as confused as you were. “But why?”

The prince laughs softly. “You wanted to be my apprentice, didn’t you? Besides, that young lady looked like she wanted nothing more than to play the piano with you.”

He begins to play again, and you sneak a look over to Kyoya, with his jaw tense and pulsing. 

You hung your head back down. He didn’t look happy.

Everyone knows Kyoya is one of the most observant people in the room. His entire life, his mind was sharpened to process even the tiniest of details. Surely, he already knew what you were going to say to him. 

And he looked angry and sad because of it. 

Of course he did.

When piano notes filled the air, you couldn’t stand the emotion of it all. Turning on your heel, you silently left without another word.

sorry it took so long! here is a long chapter to tide you over till the second part! please comment if you can, i love reading them :)

[odaclan]

Good day. I know it's not exactly your area of interest, but decided to ask anyway. I recently bought and played newest addition to Nobunaga's Ambition title and it had surprisingly sympathetic depiction of Matsunaga Hisahide. I know it is entertained, that stories of his villainy are much exaggerated, but were there any recent academic works to shift depiction of him?

I don't know if there's any particular new discovery academically.

The only thing different in terms of scholarship that I can think of was the relatively recent discovery of Matsunaga's contemporary portrait (I think it was discovered around 2020-2021). Previously, there were only ukiyo-e prints of Matsunaga where he was depicted as looking utterly deranged. The contemporary portrait depicts him very sensibly, and visual imagery has been known to very strongly affect people's perception.

In my personal opinion, it seems like recently creative writers are simply starting to be able to deviate from long-standing tropes. Either through actually using proper historical facts, or simply framing the narrative in an unusual way.

Any action can seem sympathetic as long as you ascribe noble intentions to it, and the same actions can be made to look atrocious if you frame it in a negative manner.

To my knowledge, Matsunaga tends to be portrayed as someone with a terrible character simply because of long-standing fictive precedent. It's not that the facts aren't available. Creatives down the line either don't have the courage to do something different, or not informed enough to separate truth from fiction, or the powers that be are stifling the creators out of fear that deviation from tradition "will not sell".

That's different now. Real facts are more easily available through internet, with even certified historians hosting Youtube channels to share the information with the public. Online services like social media or webnovel sites allow for various unusual ideas to gain popularity, and so publishers and mainstream creators are more willing to have these ideas to be platformed in formal publications.

[simslegacy5083]

NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 9 Ep 27: New Friends and New Love

Following his health scare Luigi began managing his newly diagnosed condition and tried to keep his promise to his father about life balance.

He spent quality downtime with his cousin Denton, whose work in videogame streaming gave them a lot in common to discuss and enjoy together.

Both men also agreed that they were looking for a special someone. Denton was tired of “playing the field” and felt ready to settle down, while Luigi hoped to find love and start a family faster than his beloved Papa Jack.

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

On a day Denton and Luigi had a nice long break at the same time, they decided to meet their great-great-grandfather Don at a beachside bar.

Denton planned to interview their elder about his centuries of work as an independent “lifestyle expert”, to check off a cross promotion task his boss had assigned him. Luigi was along not just for support, but also to join a small virtual gaming tournament the venue hosted regularly.

Upon arrival Don introduced the pair to the rest of his club, inviting Luigi to mix them all up some icebreakers to start their meeting off right. While Luigi went to work Denton found himself really hitting it off with fellow gamer Bridget.

Conversation flowed easily between them as they talked about their shared love of games, and it wasn’t long before Denton was completely smitten.

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

When Luigi’s tournament started Denton reluctantly pull himself away from Bridget to go interview Don. The experienced romantic noticed his grandsons obvious desire to keep spending his time elsewhere and stopped him before he could even get started.

He told Denton to send his questions by e-mail and go enjoy the games instead, making sure his grandson wound up near Bridget’s station.

The event went well for everyone, with Luigi winning 2nd place and Bridget visibly impressed with Denton’s entertaining approach to gameplay.

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

Denton was shocked and thrilled when Bridget suggested they go somewhere a “little more private” to engage in her favorite two player game.

His heart suddenly beating a million miles a minute Denton squeaked out an enthusiastic reply in the affirmative, letting her lead him to one of the surprisingly clean, private, bathroom stalls just around the corner. Bridget’s “moves” did not disappoint, and Denton couldn’t wait for a rematch!

As they said their goodbyes Luigi thanked Denton for the invite, while he grinned from ear to ear as he thanked their grandfather for letting him “off the hook” for the interview. The Lothario Patriarch winked and replied that he was happy to do it in the name of young love.

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

That evening at practice Luigi too made an unexpected romantic connection. Professor Silva had invited the university’s Bot Savants, who held their meetings on the same floor of the Commons as the E-Sports Group, to observe their neighboring team in action. His student athletes were starting to prepare for the big end of semester competition against Britechester, and he figured some practice in front of an audience would do them good.

Luigi couldn’t help but notice a pair of pretty girls choosing to stand right behind his station. Hoping to impress them he concentrated hard on the scuffle, more thankful than ever that his iron supplements and Valentina’s advice on healthy eating were keeping him alert and headache free.

After helping his team to victory the brunette congratulated him and introduced herself as Noemi. She suggested that maybe he’d like to hang out after their respective meetings were done and get to know one another a little better.

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

After ditching their teams and team outfits, they found a quiet study corner to chat. Noemi was also studying computer science, with hopes to become a start up entrepreneur. To his shock, she topped his anecdote about living with his cousins with a funny story about apartment life with her wife…!?

At his confused, crestfallen, look she hastily explained her marriage was complicated, and both she and her partner had agreed to see other people.

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

Luigi really liked this girl, and if her spouse had agreed to an open relationship then surely, he wasn’t crossing any lines with some harmless flirting.

As they chatted and laughed about classes and professors they hadn’t realized they shared the romantic tension became palpable between them. Remembering his dad’s fondness for exchanging corny sentiments of affection Luigi decided to give it a try himself, firing off a silly, computer themed, one liner. It landed perfectly, and before Luigi knew what was happening, he and Noemi were frantically making out in the study hall.

When ejected by the scandalized Staff, Luigi invited Noemi back to his place, where they kept the momentum going. When they finally came up for air the pair exchanged numbers, promising to get together again soon. Luigi couldn’t believe his luck; he’d found his perfect match without even looking!

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

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

[lcv3lies]

YOUNGLUV.COM 𓂋 ᧔ enhaha ᧓

SYNOPSIS ✶ seol yn, member of NEWJEANS runs a popular fan account for ENHYPEN member sim jaeyun. what happens when yn attracts his fellow member, park sunghoon, who’s had a crush on her after seeing her for the first time in a cafe?

PARK SUNGHOON ( iceprince ) 🐧 021208

— istj , korean , visual , dancer , vocalist

introverted ex mubank mc. ranked 6th on survival show i-land. a hopeless romantic, falls quick and hard!! sees yn for the first time and is instantly in love. he used to be a professional figure skater, which earned him the nickname “ice prince.” he was chosen to be a music bank host alongside with jang wonyoung, and had his last broadcast september 2. 2022.

YANG JUNGWON ( leaderwon ) 🐈‍⬛ 040209

— istj, korean , leader , vocalist , dancer , rapper.

leader jungwon!! ranked 1st in i-land. has an obsession with his pet dog maeumi and will post him whenever and wherever he can! knows taekwondo. jungwon is definitely an all rounder!

LEE HEESEUNG ( hybeprincefrfr ) 🦌 011015

— istp , korean , center , vocalist , dancer , rapper

ranked 5th on i-land, vocal king heeseung will captivate you with his amazing voice. has an addiction to ramyeon and will eat it anytime he can with jake. is friends with tons of idols in the industry, and is a fan of newjeans!

PARK JONGSEONG ( jongseong ) 🦅 020420

— intp , korean - american , vocalist , dancer , rapper

ranked second in i-land. born in seattle, but lived to korea at age 9. jay is an amazing cook and takes so much pride in it. he also loves fashion. he always looks very expensive and put together, definitely sporting something luxury on him somewhere. he also always smells really really good?

SIM JAEYUN ( jayla4lyfe ) 🦮 021115

— istj , korean - australian , vocalist , dancer , rapper

born in south korea , jake was raised in australia. he loves playing sports , especially soccer and was known in school to be really smart, excelling in math. only training for 9 months, jakes talent was known to many as he ranked 3rd on i-land. part of aussie line, and he is friends with stray kid’s members bang chan and felix. he knows newjeans has two australian members, and once greeted their whole group at an award show.

KIM SUNOO ( slaynoo ) 🦊 030624

— enfp , korean , vocalist , visual , dancer

sunoo is definitely sunshine! always smiling and laughing and lofts the groups mood up whenever necessary . he’s super sassy and his remarks and faces often go viral. ranked 8th in final episode, he was the producers choice to debut. mint chocolate defender till the end of earth! goes absolutely insane when taking selfies (he’s very photogenic) and has no storage.

NISHIMURA RIKI ( giantmaknae ) 🐆 051009

— entj , japanese , maknae , dancer , rapper

ranked 4th on i-land, he was a fan favorite due to his amazing dance and performance skills, and for his persistent determination throughout the show at such a young age. this maknae is extremely tall, standing at 183cm and is considered the best dancer not only by the fans but also the members. loves his members dearly and would do anything for them.

ENHYPEN ( 엔하이픈) is the final 7 members of the survival show I-LAND under BE:LIFT Lab, a joint label created by HYBE and CJ E&M entertainment the group consists of heeseung, jay, jake, sunghoon, sunoo, jungwon, and ni-ki. ENHYPEN is a mix of an en dash and a hyphen that connects different words to create new meaning, members of ENHYPEN will connect, discover each other, and grow together. ENHYPEN debuted on November 30th, 2020 with their mini-album “BORDER: DAY ONE” and title track “Given-Taken”.

taglist (open ! cmt or ask to be added , bold can’t b tagged)

@ihrthni @luvhyun3 @urszn @jencthy @https-skzology @l0ve-joy @luvistqrzzz @astrae4 @noiacha @ 15yroldwholikesrockstars @sanriiolino

[sleepyselkiesims]

Part 49

With Hanabi at work more often, Aurora stepped up to be the entertainment at Tiana's Palace!

She'd gotten herself as drone so she could make some quick and easy money, but kept forgetting to use it... whoops.

Now that the host finally stuck around for good, life at Tiana's place went a lot more smoothly! Even if the host did let herself get distracted. And gave her pay to Aurora as a tip? Eh, who are we to complain.

Oh hey! Our most loyal customers, the Uchida's are back! And their kid made a comeback too!

Aurora decided to try her hand at being a good host; she hoped charm would open a lot of doors for her in the future.

I KNEW IT!!! MY GIRL HAD FIVE, F I V E CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO PICK FROM BUT NOOOO!!! Of course she'd go for the One teen sim that isn't someone she met as a youth like she was supposed to...

Tiana remained oblivious to her daughter's sudden feelings; no time like the present for a little demonstration of being a good restaurant manager!

But Maleficent noticed. And she was very, very displeased.

Unbearably flustered, Aurora decided to head home, clear her head, and see whether or not the benevolent god would stick to the script, or once again chart a new course.

Well, with Aurora gone, Hanabi had to come back to perform. But there was someone in her seat!

No one gets between Hanabi and her piano. No one.

(Especially when that someone is the first broken host and the guy who harassed Hanabi way back when)

Now if something could PLEASE get between Kumiko and her incessant need to shower nekked in the rain all the time!!

Tiana and the malevolent god had just about had it with Kumiko! The only thing that seemed to stop her was Tiana hunting her down to criticize her, which was awful for morale.

Gurl, if you would just STOP-

...oh. Apparently Kumiko was one-woman armying the restaurant wait staff. Ig Pranav died?? Surely we should get a notification when a staff member dies?!?

Uhhh RIP ig, Pranav. Unless you retired without notice? Either way, this was the last time you were spotted. Shame it's so... futile. But thanks for trying!

YOU! ...y'know what? I've decided to no longer give a bother about you, Host #2. Leave us alone. We've moved on.

At least the newest staff addition seemed to be a decent worker. Now to put up with the training payments all over again...

[alexagirlie]

Monstrous May Part 8 - Happily Ever After

(Masterlist)

A/N: I love vampire boys! This series takes place adjacent to my Vampire Fic The Latest Plague, some parts take place before, some during and some after. Divider by cafekitsune

Pairing: Finan/Sihtric/Uhtred mention of Osferth/Sihtric

Rating: E

Words: 3149

TWs: vampires. rimming. anal fingering. anal sex. threesome. masturbation. mutual masturbation. lots of cum. biting. biting kink.

Summary: Revenge completed, Uhtred assumed the title of High King, with Edward and Aefleflead installed under him to manage Wessex and Mercia respectively.

He throws a massive feast in celebration. Boys fuck.

Taglist: @gemini-mama @foxyanon @legitalicat

The feast to celebrate Uhtred's ascension to High King was unlike anything Finan had ever seen before, not even when he was still a Prince in an Irish court.

The feast was hosted in the newly rebuilt grand hall in Bebbanburg. The old wooden hall had been torn down and the carpenters and stone masons had been hard at work while Uhtred had taken his vampire hoard in a wave across Saxon lands. Work that had resulted in all new stone buildings and structures, making sure Bebbanburg would stand strong for as long as Uhtred was its King.

The grand hall had been filled with long, carved wooden tables, the surface full of intricate runes and designs. Not that the guests could see the craftsmanship that went into these tables as they were loaded with platters of food and strong ale. Casks of fresh bloodwine were plentiful and all the guests, human and vampire alike, were treated to the highest levels of hospitality.

The tables were arranged surrounding a great sunken fire pit in the middle of the hall. The fire was roaring, casting warm light over the room and over which 3 suckling pigs were skewered, filling the air with the aroma of roasting meat and melted grease.

The walls were draped in intricate tapestries depicting scenes of Dane and vampire legends alike. The classic scenes of the gods in all their glory and even a few showing Uhtred's own personal conquests.

It was a statement and the message could not be clearer. Uhtred, as the new High King would see all people of the lands living in harmony. Dane, Saxon, human or vampire, he could be generous and welcoming to all, as demonstrated with the effort he put into the feast. But at his heart he was a Dane and a vampire, through and through. He had chosen his side and no one would soon forget it.

Finan thought Uhtred looked every inch a King at that moment. With his hair freshly shaved on the sides and the long strands on top braided back and away from his face which left his strong jaw and cheekbones bare. He had commissioned a simple circlet for his crown, made from solid gold and had managed to track down, at great expense, another piece of amber to inlay on its gleaming surface. A match to the stone set in the pommel of Serpents-Breathe, the great sword resting against the table at Uhtred's side.

He was dressed in a brand new tunic, dark blue and embroidered along the seams in glittering gold thread. He had a great fur cloak wrapped around his shoulders, made from gleaming, dark brown bear fur and held with a large golden broach, another amber stone inlaid on its front.

Finan had a hard time drawing his gaze away but he did his best to pay attention to, and entertain, the honoured guests seated at the table with them.

Placement at the head table had been very carefully considered, with a nod to tradition that Uhtred had begrudgingly agreed to. Skade was seated to Uhtred's left, as was her right as his Queen, with Sihtric and Osferth beside her.

Finan was placed to Uhtred's right, the highest honour as the commander of Uhtred's houseguard and one of his most trusted companions. Next to Finan were the new stewards of Wessex and Mercia, Lord Edward and the Lady Aethelflaed.

Uhtred had installed Alfred's children as stewards under his rule as a bridge to tie the two peoples of England together. A gesture of goodwill and a sign of moving forward in peace.

Everyone had worn brand new tunics, no armour or dirt in sight, gold and silver adorning fingers and wrapped around arms.

Sihtric's hair was finally long enough again for him to pleat it back away from his face and he had several new silver beads mixed in. His fingers gleamed with rings and he had two thick gold arm bands wrapped around his biceps, contrasting with the deep blue tunic he was wearing.

Even Osferth had conceded to the grandiose of the occasion and wore a new tunic in a subtle shade of pale green. He had even allowed Sihtric to braid a single pleat into his hair with a single golden bead at its end.

Finan's new tunic was a deep forest green with golden thread. He had found a seamstress familiar with Irish clothing and she had embroidered the thick cloth with symbols of his homeland.

Even the witch wore a new gown, a red so deep it was nearly black, with gold jewellery draped along her slender neck and woven into her hair.

The great hall in Bebbanburg was overflowing with guests and it was loud, filled with the clicking of plates and cups and the chatter between guests.

Several lit braziers along the walls, and candles on the tables lent additional light to the glow of the fire pit, creating a warm atmosphere and the room filled with shadows as day turned to night. The later it got the more the festivities evolved into the sinful and heathen ways of celebration. The vampire way of celebration, the humans present swept along, aided by the ever flowing ale.

Attendees broke off in twos and threes to find guest quarters, or even just a dark corner to hump. The lewd sounds of skin on skin and wanton moaning mixing with the sounds of feasting and laughter.

Sihtric and Osferth were the first of their group to escape the high table and Uhtred watched them go with a smirk. They don't manage to get past without some teasing from the rest of their companions, Finan especially had some choice remarks but the Irish vampire relents when Sihtric shoots him a playful glare. He grabbed Osferth by the hand and all but dragged him out of the hall.

Uhtred supposed they must be eager, the Dane had spent most of the feast draped against Osferth's side, face pressed into the baby vampire's neck and whispering to him. By the way Osferth had been fidgeting in his seat and the faintest stain of pink on his cheeks the words were probably of the most sinful, filthy variety. Sihtric did love to rile Osferth up and was very good at it. Uhtred had hoped to have both Sihtric and Finan in his bed that night but he would be happy with just Finan and he hoped the other two vampires had a good evening ahead of them.

It was several hours later when Uhtred was finally able to escape the great hall, Finan close behind him. The feast had begun to wind down as the faint blush of dawn began to lighten the sky, casting pale light through the windows. Uhtred sent Skade to spend the night with her other lovers in favour of joining Finan for a private celebration.

They could barely keep their hands to themselves as they made their way down the hallway to Uhtred's sleeping chambers. Pressing each other against walls to kiss and touch. By the time they reached the door to his room Uhtred's was rock hard and leaking in his trousers.

They stumbled through the door, separating just long enough for Uhtred to pull Finan's tunic over his head and toss it to the floor before their lips met again. Finan was just returning the favour, unclasping his furs to drop them at their feet, sword calloused hands slid under his tunic seeking out warm skin when a soft sound came from the direction of the King's large canopy bed. They separated to turn and look and Uhtred was surprised to see Sihtric asleep in the Lord's bed, not a stitch of clothing on him. He had expected Sihtric to spend the whole night with Osferth.

The commotion must have woken their sleeping companion and Sihtric rolled over onto his back with a stretch and a groan, his eyes fluttering open. Spotting his two lovers watching him he grinned, stretching again with an arch of his back. The furs covering him fell away, the Dane unashamed of his nudity, or the half hard cock between his thighs.

He had several fresh fang marks lining the column of his throat and down his chest. His own intricate braids were messy and coming undone, evidence of Osferth hands at play.

“The baby monk was not enough for you?” Finan teased as his eyes greedily took in all that pale skin stretched over muscle.

“Osferth wanted to pray with the sunrise,” Sihtric answered as he raised himself up on his elbows, “and I wanted to pray to my King.”

“Well you can pray to me as Finan opens you up on his tongue.” Uhtred commanded as he finished undressing, pulling his tunic over his head and kicking his trousers off to join Finan's tunic on the floor.

Finan’s cock throbbed at the words and he chuckled at how fast Sihtric rolled back over onto his front and got his knees under him so he could raise his arse in the air.

Finan undid his belt and unlaced his trousers but left them on as he crawled up on the bed behind Sihtric. He knew both of the other vampires liked it when Finan remained partially dressed when they fucked.

He ran his hands up the back of Sihtric's thighs until he could grab his arse in both hands and spread him open obscenely. His rim was pink and slick and when Finan pressed his fingers to Sihtric's rim he found him still wet and open. Osferth had fucked him well.

Finan didn't care and he wasted no time licking a stripe from balls to tailbone before he nipped at Sihtric's arse cheek.

Sihtric moaned and rocked his hips back, silently seeking more contact.

“Greedy,” Finan teased, rubbing his bearded cheek against the smooth skin, loving the blush of pink that sprung up from the action. “very, very greedy.”

Sihtric buried his face in the furs and groaned as Finan placed several more biting kisses to the curve of his arse and his lower back. He applied just the right amount of pressure from his fangs causing a bead of red to well up and which made Sihtric beg.

“By the Gods,” he gasped, desperation clear in his voice, “please Finan!”

Finan’s hand connected to Sihtric's arse with an echoing slap, the pale skin turning even darker under his hand.

“You should be asking someone else, remember boy?”

Sihtric turned his cheek to the furs so he could look for Uhtred over his shoulder. “Please my King, please I want his mouth. Please, please, please!”

“Poor boy.” Uhtres crooned, walking to the bedside and running a hand through Sihtric dishevelled braids and undoing them further.

He turned to meet Finan's eye. “Enough teasing Finan, I want him soon.”

Finan flashed Uhtred a toothy grin before he buried his face between Sihtric's arse cheeks with vigour. He licked over his quivering hole, the taste of salt and musk on his tongue driving him mad with lust. He licked again and again, kissed his perfect hole with lips and tongue until Sihtric was a sopping wet mess and Finan could hear the catch in his breath with each pass and his hips were rocking back against Finan's face.

Finan spread his cheeks further open with one hand while the other came up to press two fingers against Sihtric's rim alongside the press of his tongue. They slid in with no resistance, Sihtric still open and relaxed from his earlier activities and Finan quickly added a third. Fingertips rubbing against that spot inside Sihtric that made the most sinful sounds from his lips. He keened and wailed desperately as Finan teased at a fourth finger against the tight furl of his body but Uhtred was done waiting.

“Enough,” he growled, and Finan was quick to move away and make room for their King. He soothed Sihtric with a hand down his flank as the other vampire whined at the loss of his touch.

Uhtred had been holding himself back all evening, kept a measure of proprietary during the feast even as the night devolved into feeding and fucking in shadowed corners. No longer, Sihtric liked their animalistic side and Uhtred was ready to let his out.

He yanked Sihtric to the end of the bed with another wordless growl, fangs out, itching to sink them into his lover's skin. He manhandled Sihtric over onto his back and slotted himself between Sihtric's thighs. He wrapped Sihtric's long legs around his waist, their bare cock pressed together and Uhtred ground down, chasing the friction of skin on skin.

He tangled the fingers of one hand in Sihtric's dark curls and forced his head back, exposing his neck to Uhtred's lips and tongue and teeth. Their King bit wherever he felt, pulling pinpricks of blood which spilled in thin streams down Sihtric's body as he moaned and begged Uhtred for more.

Uhtred stepped back, making room so he could roll Sihtric over again, this time to press his lover face first over the end of the bed. He placed a hand on the nape of Sihtric's neck, holding him so his chest was pressed to the bed but his arse was still presented to Uhtred's eyes and the wet slid of his cock between slick cheeks. The King teased the head of his cock against Sihtric's rim with each pass, letting the head catch on the relaxed muscle before sliding over and up his tailbone.

He growled again as Sihtric begged, louder and louder the more Uhtred teased him with the promise of his cock.

“Please.”

“Please My King!”

“Please fuck me!”

Each plea was ignored in favour of teasing Sihtric until Finan crowded against Uhtred's back, his trousers and smalls pulled down just enough to free his hard cock.

“Give our boy what he wants Uhtred,” He growled in the King's ear, yanking Uhtred's head back by the hair so he could press a biting kiss to the edge of Uhtred's jaw. “Give the boy your cock. Make him scream as you fuck him.”

Uhtred's balls ached as he finally pressed the head of his cock into Sihtric tight heat with a low groan. He pressed in inch by inch until his hips were flushed to their boys arse. He had to stop and take a breath, the way Sihtric's walls clung to his cock threatening to undo him already

When Uhtred finally started to fuck Sihtric properly he kept it slow, while still putting as much force into each thrust as he could. The sound of skin on skin, and the headboard slamming into the wall filling the room. As did the slick sound of his cock sliding into Sihtric's hole and the lewd sound of the Dane's moaning, desperate and needy.

He moaned, loud and unabashed as two slick fingers pressed against his rim, following the motion of his body to circle and just barely press inside. Uhtred once again found himself fighting not to cum as Finan opened him up in turn, preparing Uhtred to take the Irish vampire's cock.

Uhtred lost all track of time after Finan speared him open on his cock and he was rocked back and forth between his two lovers. Finan fucking into him from behind, driving Uhtred forward into Sihtric's waiting body. It was a constant struggle not to cum, not to finish before he had gotten everything he wanted.

Uhtred leaned his weight back against Finan's chest and tilted his head back on his broad shoulder.

“Want you to finish on me,” He panted, clenching his arse around Finan's cock, “ want you both to make a mess of me.”

Finan groaned, the words pushed him right to the edge and he pulled out and took his cock roughly in one hand. He stroked himself, fingers tight around his cock, once, twice, until he spilled, leaving streaks of white across Uhtred's back and arse. The seeding dripped down the King's legs.

Uhtred abruptly pulled out of Sihtric and the Dane whined, he had been so very close, so close to spilling across the furs, not a hand on his cock, just the perfect angle of Uhtred's fucking all thoughts from his head.

He moaned as Uhtred's hand connected to the curve of his arse, the sting sending a jolt of heat directly to his cock and it twitched and dribbled. They crawled up on the bed and Uhtred rearranged them so the King was laid out on his back and Sihtric was in his lap, sinking back down on his cock. Sihtric keened as he was stretched even further, the angle letting him take Uhtred even deeper.

Sihtric rocked his hips, relishing the stretch before he began to ride Uhtred in earnest. His muscles strained, flexing and starting to gleam with sweat. Up and down, up and down, until his thighs burned and he found himself on the cusp once again. He started to lose his rhythm and he growled in frustration, he was so close!

Luckily his lovers were there to help and Finan crowded against his back and took Sihtric's cock in his hand, stroking him hard and fast.

“Did the baby monk leave anything in your stones for us?” The Irish vampire teased him as he squeezed Sihtric's cockhead, “Are you going to come for our King?”

Sihtric nodded jerkily, his hands scrambling for purchase on Uhtred's chest as he rode his King for all he was worth. The perfect grip of Finan's hand around his cock gave him the last push he needed to come, spilling his seed in streak after streak, shooting across Uhtred's stomach and chest. Head hanging, mouth open as he moaned uncontrollably as he shook and trembled.

Sihtric tried to keep going, to keep riding Uhtred's cock but Finan could see his energy was finally spent. He pulled Sihtric off Uhtred's cock and dumped him in a heap on the bed. He gripped Uhtred cock, his fingers slick with Sihtric release and it helped ease the way as stroked Uhtred rapidly. Uhtred arched his back and groaned, his hips rocking into the pull of Finan's hand as he chased his release.

Uhtred was right on the edge, chest heaving and he moaned, long and loud. Suddenly Sihtric leaned over and sunk his fangs into the meat of Uhtred's chest and the King yelled as he finally finished. He spilled over himself, adding to the mess he already was, wet and sticky.

It was several long hours later before the three vampires reemerged from the privacy of Uhtred's bedchamber. They were greeted by Osferth, who was sitting in the great hall, a mug of bloodwine at his elbow.

The mid-afternoon sun shone through the windows, illuminating the evidence of all Uhtred had accomplished and he smiled.

[ncisfranchise-source]

As the NCIS franchise cemented its place in the television hall of fame with 1000 episodes, Vanessa Lachey also made history as its first female lead.

The actress, who currently leads the NCIS: Hawai'i series as Jane Tennant, exclusively tells PEOPLE about what it's meant to be a part of the millennial milestone as a groundbreaking addition to the crime-fighting family. Her character has been taking charge since the show debuted in September 2021.

"It’s an honor to be able to add to this incredible franchise and to do it as the first female lead has meant more to me than I can ever express," she reflects. "It shows the incredible evolution and longevity that NCIS continues to give its fans."

Lachey says getting to have a "family" both "across the generations as well as continents" is what she loves most about being a part of the NCIS universe.

"Not only with our cast but the fans as well," she adds. "The NCIS franchise is all over the world and it brings people together to watch and talk about, as well as provide comfort and entertainment, which is what you want when you dive into a show."

Shortly after landing the role, she and her husband Nick Lachey relocated to the Aloha State — where the show films on location — along with their three kids: Camden John, Brooklyn Elisabeth and Phoenix Robert.

In September 2021, Lachey revealed her husband had the "most supportive thing he could have said" when she broke the news of her casting.

"I just gave him the biggest hug," she recalled. "He said, 'This is your time. And I will do whatever I need to do to support you in that. I've seen you work so hard. This is your time. Let's go.' And I'm like, thank you!"

On Monday, April 15, NCIS will be celebrating its 1,000th episode, followed by NCIS: Hawai'i airing the franchise's 1,001st episode.

In March, Lachey told PEOPLE that the season 3 episode won't just serve as a reminder of how far the franchise has come and to "kick off the next 1,000" — it'll also be a way for her to reflect on her own past.

Calling the episode a "full-circle moment," she explained, "It dips into my mother who abandoned me. It is a very emotional episode, it is a very deep episode."

"It's actually Daniela Ruah, the actress on NCIS: LA, directed it. " lot of stuff happens, and I'm nervous. I'm always going to be nervous," she said, confessing that she feels nerves because she's taken on more light-hearted roles in her career.

"I came from hosting and comedy acting, and this show has allowed me to really dive into some depth," she said of NCIS: Hawai'i. "And this episode, specifically with Dani directing, I think has got some really great stuff that I hope the fans love and take to."

[inukag-archive]

Can you help point this wayward soul toward fics where the characters are involved with online accounts including, but not limited to, OnlyFans and stuff?? Thank you!!

Hello Hello Hello Nonnie!

OnlyFans/streaming is a very niche NSFW type, so to give you as many options as possible we also expanded this list to include online relationships and phone/video sex.

As always if any of our followers have suggestions please add them in the notes!

[Digital Sex Work Specific]

Members Only by @anisaanisa (E)

Working during a pandemic was hard enough, harder when you’re on the front line. If Kagome was so essential, why couldn’t she pay her rent at the end of the month?

Kagome tries to make ends meet juggling two jobs, an OnlyFans account and a cute coworker that just won’t quit living in her head rent-free.

--

Cam You See Me? (Series) by @keizfanfiction (E)

Inuyasha has a secret part-time job and Kagome has a shameless addiction. One day the pretty office worker confronts the hot male nurse when he’s sitting by himself in the mailroom, and then a discovery is made that might change their tentative relationship for the better.

--

Pennies and Dimes by @witchygirl99 (M)

The story of Kagome Higurashi: talking off clients, surviving her bachelor's degree, and having a secret Not-Friends-with-Benefits arrangement with the most attractive jerk ever. Who she definitely isn't falling in love with. Not even a little.

--

Love In the Time of COVID-19 by TheMondayChild (E)

One of Inuyasha’s tenants finds a very interesting way of supporting herself after being furloughed. He goes from being only a fan to being more than a landlord when she calls upon him to perform some maintenance.

[Online Relationships]

Massive Multiplayer Shenanigans (Series) by @clearwillow (E)

Modern college AU. InuKag and MirSan pairings. There's something to be said for anonymity in MMORPGs. A story about a game that's less about the game and more its players.

--

The Sound of His Voice by @splendentgoddess (E)

All she knows about him is he’s single, and shyer than he publicly lets on. They flirt openly on the air, but it’s all just an act...or is it? Kagome would love to meet DJ Ash in real life, to date him, or hell, even to just jump into bed with him. Kami, the sound of his voice does things to her. But he’s afraid it would ruin what they have if they ever met in person. What secret is he hiding?

--

You've Got Mail by @witchygirl99 (T)

One email can change everything. Two people in a world of unloving careers and deathly essays come together. There's a reason these two were meant to talk. Some would call it fate. They would call it annoyance. Really? It's called love.

--

Miscommunication by Disenchanter (M)

Inuyasha's not a 'one-girl' type of guy, so he leaps at the chance to get any pretty woman's number. Too bad he couldn't read his latest conquest's so he ended up texting a secluded author facing her worst enemy—writers block.

--

Quarantine Series by @superpixie42 (E)

Starting a new relationship can be hard when you have to host all your dates via webchat because of Covid-19 quarantine regulations.

--

The Right Wrong Number by @neutronstarchild (E)

A drunk Kagome texts her ex-bf Bankotsu a bikini picture of herself and Sango from a poolside bar at 2am, because he’s a cheating asshole and doesn’t know what he’s goddamned missing. But Kagome made a critical mistake: she hit a 6 instead of an 8, and the grumpy half-demon who received the text has some opinions about the lateness and the content. His resultant picture starts a sexy chain reaction, leaving both their lives changed.

--

Sexy Baby by KrissMe (M)

[COMPLETE] School girl by day, pornstar by night. After Kagome gets involved in the adult entertainment business at a young age to make ends meet, can she open her heart to someone who might actually love her. Does he even see it when he is just as promiscuous as she? And what about her perverted teacher who would do anything to have her?

[alarrytale]

How do you get so much interaction in your blog? Must be entertaining

Hi, anon!

I guess it's because i'm one of the only vet larry blogs who's still regularly around that answers anon asks? And i don't call my anons names, i recognise people's right to have an opinon (that differs from others and my own), and i critizise and love H and L in equal measures. I'm also willing to explain things to new fans. I even entertain antis if they're polite and bring their arguments. I try to not have such an antagonistic relationship with them, because it's not doing fandom any good.

It's mostly entertaining, but remember that i'm a larrie and i'm opinionated so i also get a lot of hate asks, like every fifth ask or so. I just never post them, (unless they're funny). I like interacting with people and host interesting discussions. But some days i do get tired of explaining the same thing over and over again. There are also days answering asks feels taxing, like i'm answering work e-mails. Most days i get more asks than i can answer and i'll feel guilty for not replying to them all when people have taken time out of their day to write me an ask. So it's not always just fun.

I wish more blogs answered anon asks to make this fandom more vibrant and interactive again, and to not overwhelm the few blogs who do. I also wish people reblogged asks and added their opinion instead of sending a new ask with their opinion. We could have a better discussion that way. But i understand why some people aren't comfortable with that.