#i need to get a job at some fabric factory I would suck ass at it but the idea is alluring

[caffeine4myseoul]

[fanfic] Life of You - Super Junior - TeukChul

Jungsu is here for Heechul.

Gray. Colorless.

Cold, lifeless, dull, dusk draws a veil across the world, sucking all warmth and color from its being. It stills everything, the world takes a deep breath in foreshadow of yet another day, just another turning point in the endless circle of time that holds the world in its grip. Slow, dull, a veil of smoke frees itself from the glowing stick lingering between slender fingers, taking off to the skies in a graceful, asymmetric dance, yet never letting go of the cherry red-hot glow that feeds its life; free, yet ultimately bound.

Kim Heechul coughs, his chest convulsing in aggressive tremors. Coming up for air as the cramps release his body and let him breathe through, a series of knocks resonate from the office behind him. He recomposes himself, takes a last pull from the cigarette before flicking it over the edge of the balcony. He turns around to face Hangeng, who is in his office, and not waiting on the other side of the door, which he swears was closed not two minutes ago.

“Some might say smoking isn’t exactly beneficial to the improvement of a cough,” the Chinese comments calmly.

“Some might say when knocking on a closed door, one should wait on the other side of said door instead of walking straight into someone else’s personal space.”

“Had you wanted personal space, perhaps you should have gone to your home, not spent another night in the office of a building with a very large number of employees. Also, talking about what you perhaps should do, counselling for medical attention for that cough might not be half a bad idea.”

Heechul lets himself down in the chair by his desk. “I don’t recall hiring you to be my nurse.”

Hangeng looks - disappointingly much - remarkably unaffected by the aggressive sneer of his boss. “Me neither,” he says leisurely.

“However, I do recall hiring you to provide me with essential things to lead this hellhouse of a company - such as caffeine,” Heechul adds, watching his lanky first assistant make himself comfortable in the chair across him, entirely without any invitation to do so.

“No, you didn’t,” Hangeng replies, wistfully. “That’s Donghae’s job.”

A frown grows on Heechul’s brow. “And where is he, might I ask?”

The man across him takes a long, measuring look at his wristwatch. “I’d say he’s with much probability acquiring your coffee right now.”

Heechul lets out a deep sigh and tugs at his tie.

“So, onward to business,” Hangeng bursts out with too much enthusiastic energy to make Heechul feel anything but in despair.

“No,” he snaps before the Chinese man can throw himself into whatever financial or strategic lecture he has prepared. “No business before shower and coffee. Do be quiet, for the love of god. Or go away. Yes, go away, I’m gonna have a shower.”

He can just about physically feel his employee impatiently crossing his arms across his chest as he walks towards the large bathroom attached to his spacey office, paying as little attention to him as possible - he might or might not have muttered something about blasphemy and atheism.

“See to it that there’s a fresh suit hanging on this door within the next thirty minutes,” he throws over his shoulder.

“A shower of thirty minutes isn’t much beneficial to company growth, you know that?” Hangeng comments loudly. “This entire fricking company would shrink to nothing within days if you didn’t have me.”

“And that is why I hired you,” Heechul flings at him before shutting the door.

“I know that,” Hangeng says in heartily agreement to no one but himself. He sighs a little, stretches in his seat and reaches over the table to grab his boss’s packet of cigarettes and fish out one of the whitish sticks before raising his phone.

“Donghae, we need a fresh suit, tie and shirt. And underwear. Boxer briefs, and nothing but that,” he adds, well aware of the fact that he just used the same tone when stressing timely punctuality to one of his employees.

A sobbing, inarticulate noise of panic-laced despair reaches him through the speaker. "The coffee shop mid-town is closed, god knows why, I have to go across town and traffic is in a complete state of war and I-”

“Nevermind, Donghae, I’ll put Ryeowook on it,” Hangeng interrupts the hectic second assistant in mild concern of the latter’s mental well-being. “Just get the coffee, and cigarettes.”

Lee Donghae sobs a relieved thanks and he hangs up, reaching across the table to press the intercom. “Ryeowook, we need a new set of clothes.”

“On it,” a soft voice calls calmly over the speaker. A series of wet, violent coughs sound from the bathroom and Hangeng’s forehead forms worrisome wrinkles. He could probably manage to lure his boss into a doctor’s appointment, would he be under the delusional impression Kim Heechul would take willing part in any sort of treatment course - or even stay in the room for more than three seconds. And Hangeng isn’t of the delusional kind.

Worried frown still in place, Hangeng shoves away the mental list of whatever more or less severe medical issues could cause such a cough. Shaking his head mildly, he heads for his desk to busy himself for the coming half hour with sorting paperwork for today’s meeting and see to it that Ryeowook gets those clothes in time.

Heechul steps out of his pants, shrugs off his shirt and walks into the fuming warmth of the shower, letting the streaks of hot water hammer down on his skin. He lets his head fall back as the warmth seeps in through his skin, into his flesh. He is just about always cold these days. And tired. At twenty-seven years old he feels tired, a constant, deeply reaching, consuming tired. He feels worn out, as if he’s used up all the energy he has been given this life time. He closes his eyes, feeling the warmth spread through his body.

A series of sharp knocks on the bathroom door snaps him back into reality.

“Sir, not to disturb you but you’ve been in there for forty-five minutes.”

Heechul sends the glossy, black tiles of the roof a long, threatening glance through the damp fog.

“I did not hire you to be my human watch,” he barks in the general direction of the door. “No, you did not,” comes the calmly casual answer through the door. “You hired me to keep this company from falling to crumbs.”

“Exactly.”

“Which is why I’m telling you to get your ass out of that shower, because you have a board meeting in fifteen minutes. Respectfully, so.”

Clenching teeth, Heechul growls at the ceiling.

“Fourteen minutes and a half,” Hangeng leisurely presses.

“Coming,” he growls under his breath, turning off the faucet with just a wee bit of violence.

“Fourteen,” Hangeng urges as Heechul grabs one of the large, soft towels off the rack.

“Coming,” the dripping brunette snaps again, louder. Burying his face in the airy fluff of the towel for half a heartbeat, he briefly calls down a very long, detailed curse upon his Chinese assistant, his secondary assistants and pretty much every person employed by or affiliated with his company, all the way down to the cleaners and whatever individuals are in charge of restocking office supplies.

“Thirteen and a half,” Hangeng comments on the other side of the door, his voice a shade more urgent.

Heechul swears. “I am coming,” he snaps, flinging up the door, only vaguely hoping it will blow up in his assistant’s face. It clearly does not, as Hangeng’s gangly statue meets him, a rack of clothes in his hand and eyebrows raised meaningly.

“Thirteen” he says, dryly.

“Give me my damn clothes,” his boss all but growls, tiny pearls of water dripping from his soaked strands and clinging to the milkily pale skin of his shoulders and chest, towel hugging his slim waist.

“Why, yes, sir,” comes the barely smug reply.

“Shut up, Hangeng,” Heechul all but hisses, grabbing for the pair of black briefs his assistant holds out to him.

“What is this meeting about?” he mutters, threading his long legs through the briefs while the Chinese with less vague smugness directs his gaze towards the ceiling.

“I do believe it is budgetary.”

Heechul stops his ministrations of rubbing his hair dry. “Budgetary? Why the hell am I doing a budgetary meeting? I have associates for that. And you.”

“Budgetary briefing on our expansion to Hong Kong.”

Heechul emits a noise halfway between a mutter and a hiss. “Socks.”

“Here. Also, the new model is being introduced.”

“Pants.”

“And the factory in Busan is opening a new department -”

“Shirt.”

“- which needs to be structured, staffed and approved.”

“Jacket.”

“And after the board meeting the development department wants to present new software,” Hangeng wraps up, holding up the jacket for his boss to reach into. “Tie,” he holds out the little roll of silky fabric.

“And coffee,” he continues as a ruffled-looking Lee Donghae bursts through the door looking like he was just chased across town by a gone-rogue hippopotamus; out of breath, hair standing in every given direction, shirt escaping the hold of his pants and his tie over his shoulder.

“Coffee, sir,” he brings out between ragged breaths, putting the paper mug down on the desk, the two other men observing him with raised eyebrows.

“Is he okay?” Heechul asks his first assistant, pushing the knot of his tie up in position, regarding Donghae with sceptical concern as the younger brunette takes a supporting hold onto the desk while all but bent over trying to regain control over his therrasic system.

Hangeng tilts his head slightly, eyebrows still raised.

“No - I’m - I’m fine, sir,” Donghae pants, “it’s just - traffic, sir.”

Hangeng gives a nod and a dismissive gesture. “See. Traffic. He is perfectly fine,” he states. “Drink your coffee. And follow me to the conference room, me and Ryeowook will brief you on the meeting on the way there.”

Heechul mumbles a grunt and follows Hangeng out of his office, where Kim Ryeowook rushes to his side, his slender arms full of folders and reports and what not and dives right into a quick-paced account of the budgetary stand on their soon to be opened branch in Hong Kong.

“… so basically -”

“We need to financially restructure three departments, otherwise  we’re good to go, I get it,” Heechul breaks him off and takes a large chug of coffee, the bitter warmth burning his tongue and throat as he steps into the large glass-walled room full of suit-clad men and women.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he starts as Ryeowook hurries around the languid table handing out folders. His gaze sweeps over the room. And catches one face. Slows to stop and linger. For no good reason.

Eyes that seem to shine and glisten with lingering mirth under golden bangs, a smile that forms deep dimples, the features somehow soft. A lean body clad in a plain dark suit over a gray shirt, no tie and the top button undone to reveal a hint of silky skin, arms crossed over chest, leaning against the wall in a far corner.

No tie in a board meeting. Something seems to be bothering the back of his consciousness, but he cannot grasp it, like a shadow at the corner of his eye that disappears as he turns to look at it. He is not even sure whether he’s about to mention the tie-lacking inappropriateness - him calling employees out publicly during constellations as this for some behavioral or visual fault is granted not something that he often finds himself in the need of doing, however, it has occurred, and he does find it a most efficient way to deal with the issues - but before he can figure it out, his chest rawly convulses in a harsh cough.

Straightening up again, he sees the people in front of him through a blurry sheen of involuntary tears. Frowns lining foreheads, raised eyebrows. Ryeowook is back at his side, procuring a water-bottle from out of thin air to hand it to him.

He takes a sip of water to soothe his throat, pulling his lips into a smile to excuse himself, and he draws a shallow breath before taking to explain to his employees the status of their Hong Kong expansion. His gaze follows a confident pattern, well-practiced and routinal, from one face to the next as he walks his listeners through the presentation on the screen behind him. Between financial balances and department structures, the glistening eyes. Again, he lingers for just a moment. And again, something in the back of his head is bothering him, but he can not quite put his finger on the identity of what.

He finishes his talk to approving nods and a rustle of claps and he moves to sit back in the chair Ryeowook is gesturing him towards, to listen to whoever is in charge of bringing the new department in Busan to life. Glistening dark orbs fluttering at the edge of his vision, smooth skin folded into the thinnest lines of laughter that’s just about to break the surface. Something bothering at the back of his head. He keeps his gaze focused on the gentleman talking about Busan, nodding and frowning at appropriate places before giving a short and concise judgment at the end of the man’s talk.

The two fellas from the department of development scramble to the front of the room. Of course they had the mind to stand in the farthest back, and a struggle follows of people getting up and making way, a folder or two falling to the floor.

Heechul doesn’t bother to hide his itching irritation as he openly taps a finger against the ebony surface of the table. A glint, all but sparkling; the laughter closer to the surface. He doesn’t meet the dark eyes, does not engage. Sharp jaw-line, smooth skin.

No tie in a board meeting.

The two from development finish arranging themselves and their folders and queuing their presentation and cough to mark the start of their talk. Heechul resumes his tapping, slower now, after five minutes. He asks himself how come the people from development at all time lack all ability not to simultaneously bore him senseless and irritate the sanity out of him. They finish their unorderly speech with a halfhearted conclusion and fearfully hopeful glances towards their boss.

Heechul only near swallows a snort. “Not good enough,” he informs them dryly. “And I shall remind you all that my employees will all be properly dressed and properly prepared. At all times. Meeting dismissed.” He rises from his chair and flaunts out of the room, seeing in the corner of his eyes how a nervous wave of fabric-straightening-pats and adjustments of ties and collars goes through the gathering. Kim Heechul is not a man known for either his mild temper or long patience.

A glint of dimples. Of glistening dark, luring oceans and the flash of a snow white smile. He curses under his breath without certainly knowing why. He needs a cigarette, he does know, and preferably more coffee, which he growls out loud to whomever it may concern.

It does not concern Hangeng, but that is who happens to offer him a reply, regrettably, as he hurries after his boss. “I do believe you should have some breakfast first, sir,” he says in a tone that might just convince an orca to attempt to fly. It does however not convince his boss of anything at all.

“Make sure development get their thumbs out of their lazy asses and come up with something I can put on the market without wanting to crawl under a carpet in shame,” Heechul replies, wholeheartedly ignoring his assistant’s comment.

“Will do, sir,” Hangeng says brightly. “What would you like to eat, then?”

“And see to it Ryeowook cancels my afternoon meeting with the Busan manager. The man is a moron and I can not bear his presence today, I’ve had enough idiocy for one day. Or tell him to send the secondary instead.”

“Very well, sir, then I’d say we should invite young mr. Byun to dinner while he’s here. Ryeowook?” He adds as the smaller man catches up to them. “4 o’clock is cancelled unless it is Byun Baekhyun who will be there. And book a table at the Jungsik Dang, 5 o’clock.”

“Whatever. And find out if Jaejoong has returned to Tokyo yet, if not, schedule a meeting with him.”

“Yes, sir. Topic of the meeting?”

“I intend to give him officially longer reigns in Japan, he does not need to run everything by me, it’s time consuming and he is sane enough to run the branch by himself. But there’s no reason he needs to know that in beforehand.”

“Sounds good,” Hangeng beams and turns to Ryeowook who’s at his heel, busily tapping away at an iPad. “Find out if the secondary of Tokyo is still in town, if so, book a 2 o’clock.”

“I don’t give a damn how it sounds.” They turn the corner and Heechul stops in the door of his office and turns to his two assistants.

“Pancakes or toast for breakfast, then?” Hangeng replies.

“Coffee. Now. And is it not concerning coffee or a financial collapse of the Eastern hemisphere, stay the fuck out off my sight,” he says, not even near as unkindly as he could have. He simply lacks the ambition at this moment. And with that, he pushes the blackly ebony doors close, hiding both his assistants and the entire goddamned department from his vision. There’s a dull headache throbbing at the base of his skull as he frees a cigarette from the packet and heads with it towards the balcony.

He leans against the glass railing, supporting himself on his lower arms, hands and the cigarette hanging over the far nothingness as he gazes out over Seocho’s planes of glass reflecting rays of dim autumn sun, an enormous forest of metal and brick and glass, a glimpse of the Han River between two buildings. Rising from it all, a constant stream, slowly winding, a low rumble of engines and honking horns, voices, shouts, crashes and thunders, rising with the thin veil of grey floating from his hand, lazily winding in the air.

“It is quite a view.”

Heechul is this close to jumping out of his own skin and falling over the railing. The cigarette tumbles from his hand as he scrambles around to face the source of the voice.

A brightly white smile, glinting eyes. Dimples like sharp cuts. A lead grey shirt with the top button undone. The man stands lounging against the frame of the door leading out to the balcony, hands buried in the pockets of his dark suit pants, head tilted slightly to the side as he looks straight at Heechul.

Heechul scrambles, at a loss of words, something that simply does not happen. Ever.

“You,” he manages to splutter after regaining control of his ability of speech and recollecting his lower jaw from where it’s ended up around his knees.

The man just blinks, slowly, tilted rays of sun playing with gold in his chestnut brown hair, an amused smile still playing along soft lips.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Heechul demands, regaining more of his composure. “Who the hell are you?”

The smile widens. “Jungsu, my name is Park Jungsu.”

Heechul manages a snort. “Oh yeah. Good for you. And what the hell are you doing in my office? I am not taking any meetings today. And even if I were, I don’t recall having a meeting scheduled with whatever-the-hell-your-name-was-again.”

The glint of amusement sparks brighter, a shining star on a night sky. “Jungsu. Park Jungsu.”

“Fine,” is all that Heechul can come up with.

“I’m not here for business.”

Heechul snorts and makes an urgent mental note to install security directly outside his office doors. Whom he’d be sure to tell not to let Hangeng in, either. On second thought, especially not Hangeng. “Well, then you most definitely should get the fuck out of my office.”

The smile of the man softens in a way that makes Heechul falter. “I’m here for you, Heechul,” he says, his voice as soft as warm honey.

Heechul has to keep himself from swallowing. The words of the man, the unquestionable sincerity of them, sends a shiver down his spine.

The man smiles. There’s something final about it, something decided. Then he turns and the ebony doors fall shut behind him within a few seconds, leaving Heechul standing in a silence feeling like heavy, thick fog.

He imagines he would feel a lot similar if someone had just walked up to him in the middle of the street and punched him in the face. Yet he is not entirely sure why.

He stands very still for a long while, then his numb fingers start fumbling at his pack of cigarettes to light another. He feels odd, numb and somewhat violated. Though the man, whatever his name might have been, merely said something that he cannot decipher as anything else but utter nonsense, there is something about the words that seems to have hooked onto the inside of his chest, barbs sinking deep into flesh and sticking, going deeper with every move, every breath he takes. “I’m here for you, Heechul.” The words, the voice as smooth and soft as honey and silk echo in his mind, washing away the sound of the busy city beneath, branding themselves onto the very inside of his skull. Though they make no logical sense to him - and he might just deem the randomly appearing man gravely insane and a general public health hazard should he ever glance upon the image of him again - there is something about the unyielding sincerity of them that is haunting, clinging onto Heechul like a firm grasp at the base of his skull.

He pulls at the cigarette, hard, staring at the city without actually seeing it and a good while slips by him.

A loud knock behind him and the doors to the office opening makes him jump regrettably high a second time. The cherry red glow of the cigarette has long reached the filter and burned out and he does honestly not know if he actually smoked it or just held it. Grumbling inwardly, he turns to glare at Lee Donghae, hair still ruffled and a uniquely sheepish smile in place as he balances a huge cup of coffee and a plate with a sandwich. If Heechul didn’t know any better he might believe Hangeng isn’t trying to make up for the verbally explicitly unwanted sandwich with the largest cup of coffee he could possibly accumulate. Alas, Heechul does know better, and his glowering gaze follows Donghae intently as he with visible discontent sets his delivery down on the desk, and whether his inaudible mumbles are meant as an apology is unclear to his boss.

Heechul waits until his second assistant has skedaddled his way back outside of the closed doors before he makes his way towards the desk. He slides down into the generously sized turning chair, embracing the mug brimming full of hot coffee with his slim hands, feeling the warmth against the skin of his palms. Muttering about spectacle-clad Chinese mommy-birds that do not know their own business from their asses, he pokes at the sandwich with a long finger. He is well aware it is his favourite, from the undisputedly best place in all of Seoul, yet he only manages a few bites before the substance seemingly starts to grow in his mouth. He makes short process of it all by sending it squarely into his paper bin and blames unprepared employees with horrifying speech-skills and randomly appearing men with dimples but no ties, as he turns his chair towards the still open balcony and lights a cigarette.

Jungsu. Park Jungsu. He is all but irritated that he actually remembers the name.

I’m here for you, Heechul.

Heechul lets out a snort, loud enough to make himself startled. Now that he thinks about the words, they start to sound something like an offer of comfort, of affectionate support. None of which he is in the need of at all, thank you very much. Especially not from randomly appearing, nonsense-spitting, tie-lacking strangers. He is just fine.

With a further muffled huff, he turns back to the desk and the pile of paperwork that’s waiting for him. He buries himself in work, diving into it and letting it soak through his mind until all that exists is numbers, statistics and diagrams, strategics and model upgrades.

He has all but forgotten about the rest of the world as the familiar initial bleep from the intercom speaker right next to him makes him jump in his seat.

“Sir, Kim Jaejoong is here to see you,” Hangeng’s all too familiar voice announces, all too cheerfully.

Heechul mutters and sighs, and his breath turns into a cough that has him bent over beneath the desk as it releases his trembling body from it’s rattling grip.

“Sir,” Hangeng repeats urgingly.

Heechul blinks away the tears in his eyes, forcing down a shaking, deep breath as he straightens himself up, reaching out a slightly trembling hand to press at the intercom. “Send him in, Hangeng,” he says, willing his voice not to sound too coarse.

Still. “Are you okay, sir?” Hangeng sounds suspicious.

“Now, Hangeng.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Heechul clears his throat, rubbing at his eyes and running a hand through his hair before he pushes the papers and folders spread across his working space aside and into some order. He is just done and chugs down the last swallow of gone cold coffee as the ebony doors open to let a slim dark chocolate brunette step into the office. He is a bit shorter than Heechul himself, with broad shoulders, large dark eyes and features so fair they are known to make most women wee jealous - or greatly interested, mostly both in equal shares.

He smiles in greeting. “Hyung-nim.”

“Jaejoong, good to see you,” Heechul nods to him to take the opposing seat. “How are you doing?” Jaejoong had entered the company just a year after Heechul himself, and over the years they’d grown quite closely acquainted and fond of each other; one might just say he was one of Kim Heechul’s very few favourite employees and next in command. He’s a quietly charismatic fellow, easy and comforting to talk to during long nights over soju and reliable at his post.

“Me? I’m good. How are you? You look terrible, hyung,” he cocks his head to the side, looking at the other man with concern.

Heechul just shrugs. “I’m fine.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m busy and I have a cold, that’s all,” he waves off the others inquiry and reaches for another cigarette, offering one to Jaejoong, who accepts it with a grin.

“So.” Jaejoong blows out smoke to the corner of his mouth. “What can I do for you, hyung-nim?”

Jaejoong accepts the offered request of a promotion just as Heechul would have liked him to. His smile widens as a show of his approval but he doesn’t make a fuss as he shakes his hand firmly and suggest they go out for late lunch to celebrate. Heechul thinks of pork sizzling on a grill, and nausea rises in his throat like water filling an empty hose. He suggests coffee or drinks and a possible snack, all while quietly cursing the living daylights out of Hangeng and his entire existence for setting him up for dinner with Byun Baekhyun later in the day.

Jaejoong, unsurprising opts for the latter and they make their way towards a bar they both find agreeable. They settle down with a bottle of soju and some snacks at a table in a corner of the establishment’s terrace and Heechul finds it under circumstances quite enjoyable to spend about an hour mostly listening to the other chatting away. Eventually though, Jaejoong has to depart to catch his plane and Heechul lingers at the table, gazing unseeingly at the near-empty bottle of soju, pulling at a cigarette and barely noticing the taste or the smoke running down his throat.

A flicker at the edge of his vision and suddenly a body fills up his sight. He stares for a moment, his mind empty.

“You. Again?”

A crooked smile forms sharp dimples. “Me again,” he says calmly, a spark in the dark eyes.

Jungsu. Park Jungsu. It echoes through his mind like the whisper of a wind in a deserted cave.

Heechul gives out a snort that sounds much like a cry of despair.

“What do you want?” he growls.

“I’m here for you,” comes the steady reply. Which seems to make less sense every time he hears it. Not that it made any sense the first time, either.

“You’ve said that,” Heechul bursts out. “So what do you want?

“Nothing.”

Heechul is ready to grab the soju bottle in front of him and throw it into the other’s face. Yet all he does is stare. The man must be insane, violently deranged. Heechul is sure of it. And he would be horrified - should be - but there’s something in his face that seems to latch onto Heechul’s inner and pull him towards thinking otherwise. It’s not quite pity, it’s not patronising enough. It’s compassion, true and intense, seeping like a stain of red wine on a white sheet.

“Then why are you here?” he can hear his own exasperation breaking through.

“I am here for you.”

Heechul can feel his words catching in his throat, though what words they would have been, he doesn’t even know. Again he’s left staring at the other’s face in the slowly tilting rays of afternoon sun, which is as kind as it is open, clueless and frustrated. He tries one more time to get out a comprehensible series of words, fails, and decides to give up and flee the scene.

He has scrambled to his feet, cramming together his phone, wallet and pack of cigarettes and is grabbing his jacket as the other speaks again. Again, the voice is like warm honey running over silk, as soft as a summer’s breeze and yet it somehow pierces through his entire being like a red hot branding iron.

“Heechul.”

“What?” he isn’t even sure the choked word is uttered out loud as he turns back to stare.

“I am sorry.”

Now he doesn’t feel like throwing things. He feels nothing, like the words just sucked him empty from within, leaving nothing but a sharp-feeling vacuum behind. He stands frozen for a moment. There are thin lines drawn between Park Jungsu’s brows, his open face seeming vulnerable, the compassion that isn’t quite pity coloring his every feature.

Heechul turns then, and walks away, as little aware of his own actions as the world around him. The slowly tilting sunrays turn golden as he walks through the city, cruising unbeknownst through the sea of people rushing throughout their days, always in a hurry to get to the next place.

There something growing in the back of his mind, unidentifiable like a tease of light that vanishes everytime he tries to turn to look at it; cowering at the darkest corner of his mind, slowly growing and nibbling at the edges of his consciousness just enough to bother him. It’s like a shadow on a sunny day, dark and cold and it feels sore, like a lump in his throat, the iciness of nameless worry in the pit of his stomach and yet he does not know what it is.

Somehow, he ends up outside the familiar doors of Jungsik Dang, just before 4 and a whole packet of cigarettes later. He informs the fellow at the reception desk of his reservation and then heads for the men’s room. He stares at himself in the reflection of the large mirror in the softly lit bathroom. Jaejoong’s words of “hyung, you look terrible” echo in his mind and he can’t do much but agree.

The face that stares back at him looks oddly hollowed out; his eyes large with deep, dark patches beneath them, his cheeks like shadows against his so pale it’s closing on a greyish tone and his hair is a lanky mess of fraying stripes. He looks like a ghost, he thinks grimly.

Knowing it won’t help much of anything, he splashes cold water on his face, feeling it icily against his hot skin. As he straightens up, his world turns dark for a moment and he grasps at the marble edge of the sink, steadying himself. He blinks, pats his face dry and takes a few deep breaths, adjusting his collar, tie and jacket more habitually than anything else.

Byun Baekhyun has arrived while he was in the bathroom and greets him with a smile that just about reaches from ear to ear. Baekhyun is an admittedly active talker and fairly comparative to a puppy in more ways than one but he’s all in all a sane young man and an hour and a half in his company is mostly bearable, and would have been perfectly pleasant had Heechul been in a better condition. As he eventually bids his farewell, Heechul again lingers at the table.

The nagging, horrible cold in the back of his mind, just out of reach, is growing, accumulating like a storm at the horizon, imminent and threatening. And Heechul isn’t a man who easily feels threatened; at age of 28 he is leading a financial empire and people and obstacles alike tend to sway for him. But now there is something within, taunting his mind like a near-forgotten knowledge, like something beneath the surface of the Han-river, just almost visible. As if he just looks hard and long enough, he’ll be able to see it clearly.

“Sir. Excuse me, sir.” Heechul starts and looks up in wonder. A young waitress is looking carefully at him with wide eyes. “Sir, we’re closing. You need to leave. I’m sorry, sir.” He simply stares at her for a moment until he gets to look around. The establishment is entirely cleared of customers and waiters in their white shirts are drifting about and cleaning tables.

A cool rain is slowly filling the chilly air as he steps out in the night. People are pulling their coats tighter around them, hurrying in under shelter and deploying umbrellas like giant flowers blooming in fast-forward in the streets. A numbness that has little to do with rain or cold is slowly creeping through his body and he barely feels the reaching on icy drops.

He is barely surprised that his feet carry him to the office-building, looming in illuminated planes against the night-sky, rather than to his apartment. He can not quite remember the last time he set his foot in his actual home - just as little as he can really remember the time when it was a home. He is just as barely surprised to find the lean figure of Park Jungsu on the pavement steps just outside the entrance, rain flowing down his temples and shoulders in rivulets, elbows braced on jeans-clad knees.

“You should go home, Heechul,” he says as Heechul passes him, his tone as soft as it is intense.

Heechul doesn’t find he has an urge to answer. He leaves patches of wet on the marvel floor of the lobby and little pools at his feet as he stands in the elevator, staring emptily at nothing until the patches of mirror and gold float together to a soft golden world of clouds.

He stands in the shower until the skin of his hands wrinkles with moistness, still the warmth doesn’t quite reach under his skin. He lays on his wide couch, smokes and stares unseeingly at the patch of Seoul’s reaching peaks visible past his balcony, and he isn’t quite sure if he’s even slept as Hangeng knocks on his door the next morning. He chooses not to see his assistant’s darkly concerned gaze. He’s seen it being sown in nothing, growing stronger with every passing day, every night spent in the office, every cough, every skipped meal. It isn’t helping and he does not want to see it any more. So he isn’t quite sure why he makes the effort to wash down a few morsels of kimbap with significant amounts of coffee.

As night has settled its velvet embrace over the city like heavenly soft feathered wings, Heechul leans against the railing of his balcony, dangling a cigarette and a bottle of red wine over the multi-color-lit abysses. He almost feels it.

He turns around. Park Jungsu is leaning against the frame of his door, watching him, head cocked to the side, ghost of a smile playing on his lips; a look like warm gold in his deep brown eyes.

Heechul swallows and a chill runs down his spine like an electrified drop of ice. “Are you gonna hurt me?” He barely gets the words out and he can hear the rasping fear in them, like rust against shining metal.

Jungsu shakes his head, slowly. “No, Heechul. I’m here for you.”

Heechul isn’t entirely aware he repeats the last four words to himself under a rough breath as he turns back to the kaleidoscopic image of the city. “How did you get in here?”

“I did,” comes the reply like down feathers drifting in the darkness. It’s not a response in any way whatsoever but Heechul is lacking the ability to care. He takes a last pull of the cigarette and drops it, watching the needle-prick fall out of sight.

“You should take better care of yourself.” He isn’t even sure he actually heard that, it might have just been a whisper of wind. “You lost someone.” He sees the bottle shake in his pale hand. Distantly he feels his own breath hitch, just slightly. At least he doesn’t cough.

It’s very quiet for a long while and at some point Heechul walks past Jungsu on his way to the bathroom, not entirely loathing the shared quietude.

He emerges from the bathroom to a dark and empty office and almost admits to himself that he wishes it hadn’t been. The light from the city is sharp and cold and he stares emptily at a patch of silky night sky, the nagging, threatening darkness nagging at the base of his spine.

It lingers there, as if solidified to the bone; bothering at the very edge of his mind and tugging at the bottom of his heart, never growing enough for him to see clearly, never really fading. Park Jungsu lingers, too. Never enough to be a real botherance, never entirely gone. Heechul eventually forgets how to care. He settles with seeing a glimpse of him sometimes as he walks the hallways of the office, finding him lounging at the door to his balcony or on the edge of his desk or against one of the great marvel pillars in the lobby that have no actual practical functionality in carrying the next floor. There is nothing threatening about his presence and as long as it doesn’t bother anyone else, Heechul finds he does not have it in him to accumulate the energy to care, and there is no point in arguing or asking; he knows now what the answer will be.

*

Rain pours from the sky in streams rather than drops, as icy as the chill to the air. Heechul can feel the freezing dampness to his skin, but it seems, he can not care.

“You should take better care of yourself.” Jungsu’s soft voice is a familiar whisper in the stream of city-noise. You should take better care of yourself. I am here for you. Frequency is slowly making those two sentences as familiar as the burn-mark on his desk. Heechul finds in this moment there’s almost a comfort to the repeatedness.

“What use is there.” The coarse mutter comes on its own accord.

“It’s cold tonight.” Like often, Jungsu’s reply is loftily unrelated to Heechul’s snide remark, as if he simply chooses to ignore out of sheer gentleness. Heechul does not quite understand why it isn’t annoying the living hell out of him.

Distantly, he hears slow steps nearing, just a couple of paces. The warmth of another body softly against his backside runs like a static shock through him and for a moment it’s as if he waits for an explosion, for the world to end. Nothing happens, and so he stands there for some time, just almost leaning back against the warm body behind him. Jungsu has his hands in his pockets: he does not speak or move, like an immobile wall to steady him for just a while.

Heechul knows deep in his rational, calculating core, that he might in fact be in danger. He knows nothing about the man, not even how he can enter and leave his office as he pleases; he’s never seen him wearing a badge. He could be a stalker, and that possibility might still be favorable in comparison. Most possibly is he aiming for whatever fortune and privileges come along with Kim Heechul’s standing. And yet, there is something so unexplainable, irrationally, primarily comforting and familiar about his presence. So Heechul ignores all reason and loses himself until all but the steady warmth against his backside disperses into vague shadows at the edge of his vision,

*

“And you need to sign these about-”

“Enough, Hangeng,” Heechul bursts out. “Put everything on my desk and be done with it.”

Heechul ignores the Chinese’s disapproving argument and ducks into his bathroom, fingers fumbling for his tie desperately, numbly; the silken strip suddenly hugging his throat way too tight, the very walls of the bathroom shifting, crawling nearer and tilting swindlingly. He can’t breathe; blood rushes deafeningly in his ears, his heart hammering against the bare walls of his ribcage, the insides of his veins are on fire and there’s no air.

As the world slowly fades back into focus, appearing like a landscape from a slowly subsiding fog, Heechul stares up at the black marvel roof of his bathroom. He is drenched in icy sweat, his shirt clinging to his skin and the tile against his damp back throbbingly cold. His throat and chest feel like something clawed and punched its way out of there, metallic taste thick in his mouth. He takes a slow breath that feels like inhaling rusty gravel, and raises his head carefully. Pain throbs through his skull with every movement as he struggles himself up to sit against the door for a few moment before he can raise to stand. There’s red spray on the white of his shirt-front, his wrists and hands.

He gives himself a moment to close his eyes, leaning back heavily against the door.

Jungsu is sitting on the corner of his solid ebony desk as he emerges after a shower, and were there any emotions available in him right now, he might just have been almost happy to see him. He says his name and it’s as soft and emotional as it is full of regret. Somehow it makes his knees buckle beneath him and he’s just barely able to deliver himself onto the couch. His hands feel weak and strangely disconnected as he fumbles at a pack of cigarettes, his vision is swimmy, as if there’s fog in his office. He doubts it.

Hands steady his and Jungsu sits down fluently on the arm-rest right next to him, the warmth of his body tactile through the fabric of clothes. And Heechul relaxes into the warmth, feeling his own strength flow out of him like a spring creak as he gives himself away to it; gentle warmth, soft voice like a whisper in the night, tender touches. And he can sense it, staring unseeingly at the landscape of shadows drawn in the roof of the office, the threatening, crawling feeling, so close he can nearly feel it now, feel it like the whispering butterfly touches on his skin.

He’s floating in shadows and moonlight, Jungsu’s steady touches and smooth skin and breath on his own cold skin weaving a torrent around him, electrifying him from within and carrying him away until the world ignites around him in a firework like warm summerwinds.

He gets a few moments in warm arms, then his chest cramps spasmodically and for a while the world falls away to a painlaced blur as he fights with all his might to get oxygen down into his lungs. His vision is layered with a sheen of tears. From somewhere far away he can sense Jungsu rubbing his back, whispering wordlessly into the night.

It’s like drawing aside a curtain, suddenly it’s simply there, as natural as the existence of Seoul city’s presence all around them. He doesn’t start, doesn’t feel like the bottom suddenly falls out of him and he’s plunged into dark nothingness. For a long time he simply breathes, staring into the unmoving sheet of light from the city in the night draping the office, while Jungsu draws little patternless circles on his skin.

“You’re here for me,” his voice is a hoarse breath in the silence.

Jungsu moves behind him, raising himself on one elbow over Heechul. Golden brown strands of silk fall into gentle bottomless eyes. “Yes, Heechul.”

“You’re not here for me. You’re here for me.”

“Yes.” It’s final sorrow and sympathetic pity that draws sparks in his eyes now and suddenly it makes perfect sense. Heechul isn’t afraid, he realizes with a sort of detached observance, maybe because it makes sense, because it’s logical, like reading a financial rapport, there’s clarity.

“I’m sorry,” says Jungsu, his voice like warm honey and the scent of vanilla.

“Don’t be.” Heechul isn’t. He imagines he maybe should be, but he isn’t. He settles into the others steady embrace, staring emptily into the night. “Now?” he asks after a while.

“Not now,” comes the ever gently stable reply, stroking his shoulder like a butterfly wing. He twists slightly in the soft warm cage, watching the others face drawn on planes of light and shadows. “Not tonight.”

Heechul nods, slowly, thoughtfully rather than anything else.

*

“What do I do?” It’s late noon and Donghae has just fled the space of Kim Heechul’s office, beyond unsettled by his employer’s unreadable and unusual gaze on him. Jungsu enters the office from the balcony, flicking a cigarette over his shoulder, lining his slender figure against the frame of the door.

“Finish.”

Heechul turns his over-sized chair towards him. “Finish? I can’t just finish this -” he gestures vaguely around the office.

“You don’t have a choice,” comes the still reply.

Heechul allows himself the joy of glaring at the other.

“Prepare.” It’s so much more gentle and comforting than a warning.

A short, abrupt series of knocks and half a heartbeat later Hangeng strides into the room, seating himself unasked in the chair opposite Heechul’s before he dives cheerfully into a briefing, fluently handing his boss papers in between words.

As he exits, Heechul spends some time frowning at the door, pulling at a cigarette and sipping cold coffee. He coughs, digs out a sheet of paper and begins to write, ignoring the wet sounds his every few breaths make.

*

He lies in his own apartment, watching panes of yellow-tinted city-lights and shadows, the stable warmth of Jungsu’s slender shape behind him, nearly enough to chase away the bone-deep chill in him, steadying him, holding him.

“Go to sleep, Heechul,” the whisper is a stroke of silky feathers.

*

Donghae is still sobbing, loudly and uncontrollably. Hangeng doesn’t have the heart to tell him to shut up. Ryeowook is both wet- and red-eyed but his usual quiet and gathered self. Hangeng finds he’s quite grateful for that. Lee Hyukjae from the design department has appeared at some point and is patting at Donghae’s back, looking an equal measure of confused and lost and awkward. Byun Baekhyun and Kim Jaejoong are there, looking stricken.

“What’s that?” brings Donghae out between chest-heaving sobs.

Hangeng shakes his head quietly at the paper in his hands. He hasn’t cried yet, and he wonders if he will. He can’t say he wasn’t prepared. He has seen his boss’s deteriorating health for weeks; from the weightloss and the cough to the nights on the couch and the increasingly distanced state of mind. Maybe he’d let his guard down, though, for the past days, as he’d noticed the office empty during nights. Perhaps there was a reason for that, he thinks now. He’d known as soon as he saw the police men approaching his desk that morning, the spacey office behind his desk yet empty. He’d been told housekeeping had called it in.

“It’s his will,” he answers Donghae’s question absently. “He’s named me to take his place.” And Donghae hiccups softly.

[dootznbootz]

DIFH x2 Chapter 4: Hoarding?

Nalu multichap Basically it’s Natsu’s and Lucy’s point of views in which their away from each other and sad/mad about it.  And if any of you have read my other fics, You KNOW It’s going to have more Fluff in it than a Build-A-Bear Workshop and a Pillow factory combined! Sometimes so fluffy that it may seem out of character at times so yeah! (Better summary in first chapter!)

On fanfiction

Rating: T (swearing, puberty, violence, some mentions of abuse and there is sadness but there is not smut or sex in any way shape or form!)

Words: 

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I really couldn't figure this out and I've rewritten it SO many times but out of all of the ones I had this one was my favorite. It's really cheesy, but whatever. What do ya expect? I have a dairy farm! There's gonna be cheese! And honestly I was kinda just letting my writing go wild on this one...

"What the fuck are you doing Salamander?" Gajeel said, one metal eyebrow up, looking at the pinkette who currently had the top half of him flopped out the window, from his sitting position on the couch. In the tall man's hands, was the metal box that was on the couch earlier.

"I'm trying to see if I can see any sign of Luce but... it's so dark in there right now. There was so much noise before but now it's gone. What do you think they're doing?"

"Uh, probably sleeping. Which I am tryin' to do and what you should be doin' too!" Gajeel sneered. When Gajeel didn't hear a response, he looked up to see if Salamander or his blue cat was looking. Happy was sleeping on his green sack that he always carried on his back while Natsu still out the window but now whimpering and whining softly. Tch, what a moron… Gajeel thought. ...Can't he see how damn lucky he is? Even though deep down, Gajeel was in the same state. But by now, he was used to the pain of being away from the one he loves...

Knowing that Natsu was occupied and Happy sleeping, (He didn't have to worry about Pantherlily seeing, he already knew) Gajeel looked back at the intricate metal box and smiled softly. Patting the top, he opened it carefully as if it was the most precious thing in the existence.

Inside was a book, an orange T-shirt, and a yellow polka-dotted headband. Quickly, he tucked the items into his arms, flipped over on the couch so his back was facing everyone. He took in the scent of paper, ink, and lavender of all the items and immediately relaxed, the familiar rumbling from his throat began. All tension left his body all at once. Although the scents of the items were faded, they were enough to calm him.

The whimpering pinkette had his eyes squinting and nose twitching, searching for any sign of his most precious person but nonetheless, even the comfort of his absolute favorite scent of vanilla and fruity sweetness was nowhere to be found as he stared at the building. It took every fiber of his being to keep from jumping out the window and going to her… He promised Gajeel and Natsu neverbroke a promise…

No matter how much it sucked.

Natsu sighed in defeat, knowing that this was better than nothing. He was disappointed that he didn't get to see Lucy. But he understood why Gajeel didn't want Natsu to do what he originally wanted to do. He would be mad if someone told Lucy or anyone else about him sneaking in her home to sleep next to her. Speaking of sleep he was starting to feel drowsy.

At least if I'm here, I'll see her first thing when she comes out... She'll have that pretty smile on her face like she always does… And with that, the pinkette laid his head against arms and closed his eyes…..

But painful stab of abandonment and longing washed over him before he could even get comfortable on the windowsill, unknowingly yelping as it did. His hand that was not holding him up was clutching his aching chest. He felt as if his heart and guts were being brutally ripped out of him with some sort of poison. As if they were being slashed into tiny little pieces. His head felt like it was being ripped apart, as if someone was trying to rip him in half. It felt worse than motion sickness.

Mavis, how he hated this! It hurt so goddamn fucking much! It made him want to rip everything apart and wreak havoc on anything and everything that was in his way, keeping him away from her. The world seemed to spin and flip around plain darkness. He just wants to be with her. That's all he wanted. Nothing seemed right without her. Was that so much to ask?! He groaned and keeled over, sweating profusely. His hair and clothes sticking to his overheating body. He luckily fell on the floor and not out the window. He shook and shivered, pleading to any merciful being to just let him be by her side…

"Open your eyes, dumbass!" Was all he heard in his state of pain and then suddenly the world was...back to normal?

"Ugh..." Nope, scratch that.

"Hurts doesn't it?"

Natsu looked away from the ground and instead looked to where the source of the sound was, but everything was so blurry...

"Gods, is that you? If it is please take this pain away…" Natsu croaked, his face crinkled in pain.

"What? Hell no! I ain't no God! Where'd the fuck you get that fro-Oh, shit! HE'S BURNING A HOLE IN THE FLOOR!" Gajeel retorted, but Natsu just moaned back curling further into himself, making the metal floor slowly turn into a bright red and melting underneath him. Gajeel growled. "Happy?!"

"Aye?! What can I do?!" The blue exceed looked up from his hurting friend. He knew Natsu was too hot to comfort him even though Happy wanted to.

"Go to Lucy's hou-"

"LUCY! What about Lucy?! Is she here?! Where is my Lucy?! I need to see her!" the pinkette tried to look around but was too delirious and in too much pain that he just flopped back over.

"Oh geez, Lily please don't tell me I am this pathetic when I get like this?"

Lily just laughed. "You act exactly like this guy."

Gajeel groaned and slapped his hand to his forehead. "Whatever. It doesn't matter right now. Happy like I said, go to Lucy's house and-No, Natsu, she ain't here right now! Stop bein' so dramatic, ya piece of shit!-when you get there grab something of hers like a T-shirt or somethin'. Do NOT grab any of her panties or bras! You'll kill 'im if you do. Now go!"

"Aye, sir!" And with that Happy flew off, you could hear him yell 'Max speed!' as he went. Gajeel sighed and shook his head looking down on the groaning pinkette, "Shoulda known you wouldn't have been able to handle it right away. It's your first real night that you're tryin' to go to sleep bein' this far away from her without anything of hers, right? Maybe it woulda been better if I'd just sent your sorry ass back to her place... At least you can go to hers..."

"Wha…?" Natsu felt as if his mind was warring against itself. One side was screeching at him to go to her, but the other was resisting. Knowing that promises are meant to be kept. He was in hell right now…Where was his Angel when he needed her?

All of a sudden Happy burst through the window, landing in a metal bucket that made a 'clang!' sound on impact, panting heavily. "I got... the stuff…" He wheezed as he showed what he had in his arms. A little blue T-shirt, a yellow and pink tank top, and a little ripped white blanket.

"Damn, you're quick. Good job now give 'em here," Gajeel said, putting out his hand for the items which Happy gave to him, then began to walk towards Natsu. "Lily, what do you do when I do-"

"GIMME!" A blur of pink flew past him and suddenly the items that were in Gajeel's hands were now in the possession of the Flame Dragon Slayer as he crashed into a pile of scraps.

The boy, who wasn't even affected by the crash (it was nothing to the pain he felt earlier), marveled at the wondrous treasures in his hands, he fondled them, just indulging the fact that they were in his arms, as if they may disappear if he were to let them go. Everything about them screamed 'LUCY'. He brought the articles of fabric to his face as if he were trying to suffocate himself and deeply inhaled the sweet, sweet scent. Relief came over him as the excruciating agony he was in seconds before ebbed away until it was only a slight throbbing ache in his chest and head. It was only a substitute for her after all. He began to purr softly, something he only did when he thought of her or was with her. He remembered how he got embarrassed by it at first and smiled.

He and Happy were hanging out with Lucy at her house when he first purred. It happened a few weeks after they met. She was doing the dishes while Natsu and Happy dried them, when the two boys looked at each other, forming an idea. They snuck up on her as she was humming to a tune, wiping the inside of a bowl when they picked her up! (She squealed! It was so cute!) Next, they threw her on the bed and tickled her! She laughed her pretty laugh and yelled for them to stop but they refused and kept tickling her!

The boy and cat started to laugh also as the girl beneath them squirmed and giggled trying to get the boys to stop. The cat laughed because Lucy screamed 'Stop! I'm gonna pee!' and the boy laughed because he was just so happy because she was so happy! He noticed that something was vibrating within him he just didn't think much about it.

Soon, the boy and the cat decided that that was enough and stopped tickling her but Natsu still kept his hold on the beautiful girl. As she calmed down from her torture, she was about to punch and scold the boys when she heard something. With every cackle that Natsu released, there was a low rumbling with each breath. She said 'Wait, Natsu hold still!' before she put her pretty head on his chest trying to hear his breathing.

Natsu immediately froze as the color of his hair started to show on his cheeks, he was not expecting her to do that. He was surprised that she didn't hear his racing heart as she listened. He… really liked her being there. As if she belonged there…

The boy, distracted by the girl who he so very much adored, unknowingly began to purr louder. Lucy gasped suddenly and jerked away from him, making him very disappointed, and giggled cutely 'OH MY GOODNESS, NATSU! YOU PURR! THAT'S SO CUTE!' Happy and him were surprised to hear that statement, but Natsu was still delighted to hear that she thought he was cute, making him purr even louder to the point where they were able to hear it without being close to him. Happy gasped too and jumped up and down and shouted 'We're purring buddies!' then began to purr also.

Natsu made them pinkie-promise not to tell anyone which they agreed to.

Ever since that day, whenever Lucy came around, he would purr. Sometimes so softly that only he knew that he was purring, sometimes so embarrassingly loud that he felt like he was causing an earthquake! Sometimes he would hold his breath trying to make it stop! It was so embarrassing! Imagine if Gray or any of the guild for that matter found out! At least Lucy thought it was cute…

"-mander! Salamander! Get your lazyass up!"

"You didn't take this long…"

"NATSU! ARE YOU DEAD?!"

"Salamander's fine. He's purrin', ain't he?" came not so cute voices. Natsu groaned from his position, still breathing in the heavenly scent. Couldn't they just leave him alone!

"YOU'RE NOT DEAD!" Happy said well, happily and flew into Natsu's back for Natsu was laying on the scrap pile face first, curled around his precious treasures.

"Well, that's good. I'm gonna sleep now, and you two better be out of my house in the morning," Gajeel grumbled, his own precious treasures still in his hands. With that, the tall dragon slayer went back to the couch getting ready to sleep again.

"What?! You just can't leave him there! You need to help him!" Lily yelled in Gajeel's sensitive ears.

"Ouch! That hurt ya jerk!" Gajeel got up and yelled back at the cat, forgetting that he was supposed to be quiet. "And anyway, you know this is the best we can do for him right now!"

"What's going on? I don't get it!" Happy cried, then pointed at the limp boy in the pile of metal scraps. "What happened to Natsu?!" "He's hoarding that's all. That stuff you got him should last him through tonight at least."

"What's hoarding?! I still don't get it!"

"Ya don't know?!" Gajeel shouted back, honestly surprised.

"Tell me…"

All the males in the room stared at to where the new voice spoke. Natsu, was now sitting up, his eyes, the only part of his head you could see, staring everyone down menacingly.

But…

Let's just say that it is really hard to be taken seriously when you have a white blanket, a blue T-shirt, and a yellow and pink tank top wrapped around your head making you look like a mummy who went berserk in a paint shop.

Happy, Lily, and Gajeel burst out in laughter.

"You look stupid!"

"Oh, like you're one to talk, Gajeel!" Lily said, in between his laughter, holding his sides. "You do it too!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP LILY!"

Although you couldn't see it, Natsu started to blush under his makeshift mask, still breathing deeply while pressing the cloth to his nose and mouth, rubbing the soft fabric with his fingers. It felt so nice...

"Don't change the subject! Tell me what's going on!" Natsu demanded.

"How do you not know? And you call yourself a dragon slayer! Oh, and quit shouting!," Gajeel said between boisterous laughter.

"No!" Natsu shouted back, pointing a finger into the older dragon slayer's chest. "This obviously is somethin' that I apparently don't know! This has somethin' to do with being a dragon slayer right? I'm not that stupid! You've been holding onto that stuff of Levy's for the longest time and I need Lucy's stuff to function! I think Igneel said something 'bout this but...Arhgh! I don't remember!" He threw his hands up in frustration. "Wait, what about Lucy?! What's she got to do with this?! ANSWER ME, GAJEEL!"

"Geez, you're loud. You're just lucky that you didn't burn a complete hole through the floor so that I was able to fix it quick. By the way, you are stupid. Especially if you don't remember your dragon telling you this," Gajeel replied still snickering.

"Gajeel just tell us!" A little voice shouted. Happy had jumped in between the 2 blinked in surprise, and stepped away from each other.

"I already told ya. He's hoarding."

My goodness, give them some info Gajeel! Pantherlily thought, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then he sat next to Happy who was now on the floor waiting for answers.

"Hoarding?" Natsu asked, tilting his cloth covered head.

"Yeah, at least that's what I call it," Gajeel said. "You seriously don't know what's going on?"

"No, I don't."

"Wow. Ok, uhhh," Gajeel said, thinking about how he should word this to the unknowing dragon slayer. He for some reason felt an older brother teaching his kid brother about puberty. "So, Bunny Girl's very important and precious to you right?"

"Yeah! She means everythin' to me!" Natsu responded, saying it as if it was the most the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, uh… Damn this feels weird to talk about. Ok, to sum things up, Dragons like keeping whatever is most precious to them close to them and safe. Whether it be gold and jewels or friends and loved ones. They're able to be away from them for a while, just as long as they come back to whatever it is to sleep. Don't know why but dragons feel reassured when they are able to be with them to protect them because when they're asleep they can't watch over them in the way they want to. So they like to be with them, makes 'em feel comfortable. Kinda makes them feel safe too. And with us bein' dragon slayers, we kinda have the same thing. That pain that you were in was basically your body telling you "You can't go to sleep yet, you need to go back to the hoard" The pain is supposed to wake you up or something so you can go back. Ya catching on so far?"

"But…Then why hasn't this happened to me before? I've been away from her before-"

"But you would usually stay at her house right? At her house, Bunny Girl's scent is everywhere. So in a sense, she's "there". At least enough to fool you or whatever."

That makes sense, Natsu thought. That's why he can't sleep without Lucy…

"Wait a sec, if we have to be near them or whatever, why didn't I just run over there?"

"I don't know man! All I know is that Dragon Slayers do this thing for some reason."

"Gajeel curls up into a ball and turns completely into metal," Lily stated.

"Thank you for saying that Lily," Gajeel said through gritted teeth.

"You're away from Levy right now. Why didn't you get like that, Gajeel?" Natsu asked, still playing with the fabrics across his face.

Not realising the can of worms he just opened.

"Because unlike you, asshole," Gajeel snapped, he stood up and glared at the pinkette, his red eyes narrowed dangerously. "I don't have the privilege you do! I don't get to be with Levy every fuckin' night like you do! This is as close as I get to be with her! I'm used to the pain! I had to get used to it! And it was hell! It still is hell! Think about it Salamander! Could you handle this every goddamn ni-"

"I think I heard something. It's coming from up there!" Said a voice from outside.

The voice was a girl.

A girl they knew.

It was Levy.

Everyone up in the metal treehouse froze.

I know it’s a bit different but please be nice! 

[violetsystems]

#personal

It’s been a pretty busy couple of weeks in terms of work.  It is a little surreal to identify as working for yourself.  I ran into one of the people who hangs out on this block.  I’ve known them for years in passing.  There’s a gang of people who hang out in the alley underneath the subway tracks.  They asked what I had been doing.  I replied I work for myself now.  My office is officially my kitchen.  It look out at those very tracks. They film Chicago Fire and PD on my block often.  I don’t watch either of those shows but it can have a Hollywood backlot kind of feel.  Most of the street level communication I have resembles grittier parts of New York.  There’s no one dominant kind of person on the block.  People tend to keep to themselves but know vaguely what the other’s deal is.  There’s a sort of hidden network of communication maybe.  A block culture.  That can get a little hard to read the further you get away from your safe zone.  I’ve travelled all over the world at this point by myself.  I started travelling to Asia back in 2011 with the intention of networking.  Later in 2014, I revisited making music particularly with a Chicago form of street dance called footwork.  Footwork at the time was on the tip of everyone’s tongue.  But the root of it was buried under layers of white dominated dance music.  In 2015, I decided to say fuck it and try to organize a music tour for myself.  I tried with people in my own city but their personal agendas always eclipsed my basic plans.  There was a bass driven night in Chicago at the time called Coldtech.  It had a sister night in Melbourne.  I tried to organize a tour that passed through on my way from New Zealand.  I went to New Zealand to visit a friend.  I ended up going out on a few dates then ghosted the final night.  Somewhere in there I got detained in customs and accused of being a gang member.  I eventually ended up in Japan where I met Jake Innes.  Jake was an anime nerd and video game freak.  He knew the Coldtech people but was more like me.   Out on his own trying to use his passion to promote something he loved.  Culture.  Just like punk back in the day, you could count on that culture in a pinch to survive.  We travelled all over Japan for a few days.  Jake was my translator.  I was guided to amazing food.  Amazing spots to shop.  We talked about what moved us.  I had come up with this dumb ass phrase at the time.  Yolonet.  A sort of blockchain word of mouth.  Jake had a lot of trust with people.  He was friends with Lil B after all.  It didn’t really matter who he was friends with to me.  I am a very genuine and transparent person.  You have to be when you’ve wasted so much time on liabilities.  You never expect those to turn out to be past friends.  After reading all this depressing news about the entropy in the job search, I felt down.  You don’t expect your professional contacts to just disappear without a trace.  I barely have the connections on professional social networking to prove it.  Those people never reach out.  Never ask how my employment is going.  Don’t even realize I work for myself.  And yet the block knows.  Jake knows too.  In fact, the last two releases I put out just for fun were purchased by him.  The only way I am connecting to people I can depend on is through culture.  Something I can trust beyond politics, sooth saying, and employment fraud.  

There’s people outside of that Yolonet who have gone dark.  Entire segments of ex-friends who memorialize people who have long died while pretending I just vanished from the face of the earth.  It’s been surreal to watch.  Much more disorienting to live.  And yet, I am still here and surviving.  The people in my dash are much realer and emotionally satisfying to me than the people who forgot about me.  And the mystery of why is a little harder to detangle.  I was reading a book about Chinese director Jia Zhangke.  He was talking about how as a kid the only way to escape the place you grew up was to join the army or go overseas to school.  It’s the same if not worse here.  America talks a great game about freedom but it’s at the expense of the coffers of the military industrial complex of world war two.  Thank the baby boomers for that.  It benefits mostly the rich and generationally wealthy first.  Wealth connects and is rewarded by those connections in America with more wealth.  People who have Military family ties seem to always fall victim to the state’s own hidden expectations of connection, opportunity and ability.  Hunted by recruiters since there’s little actual income to go around.  The rich are hording it without paying taxes.  So the military often bullies people into the reserves when there’s no valid occupational work or space on corporate payrolls.  Fight their wars as a gateway into a career in cybersecurity I’m already overqualified for. My current state of wealth is due to a benefit known as a pension.  This is to say I actually worked for it.  And this is also to say I’m not exactly retired by choice.  But I worked with a lot of people I knew for over twenty years.  I literally got people jobs at that place.  My ex girlfriend for one.  That ended horribly.  The other people I helped out to try to connect ghosted me out of guilt presumably.  And so the only people I seem to be able to rely on are in the culture I have built or connected to myself.  This blog has been one of those lifelines in ways I am not at liberty to divulge at times.  There’s people I have better friendships through a click of a button than I’ve had ever in my life.  I used to try to explain these things to people.  And generally my exile from anyone in real life giving a fuck is a harsh lesson in the reality.  People don’t actually listen.  They don’t actually communicate in anything other than comparison and contrast and monetary valuation.  I was reading how a person just literally asked to buy the rights to one of Elon Musk’s tweets for 7777$.  How a sentence from a billionaire is worth more than my pain in this entire process or the lives of the worker’s in his factories even.  We just got six hundred dollars.  That should be enough for us.  But I wasn’t valuable enough to insure past October even though I was paying the premiums.  It would seem the real world’s network isn’t very reliable or at least focused on something so out of sync it seems comically evil.  What can I rely on?  It seems a lot.  I never have felt alone in the last year or so.  Ever since Valentine’s day really.  Sometimes you can show you care by not even saying a word.  Words are worthless when you can buy them for seven grand I guess.  It’s the action of caring and attention that counts.  If you built a foundation on people who didn’t care, your path ahead will be volatile at best.  If you limit someone based on your fear of them outshining you, the results will be constantly mediocre.  And many times, later in life you find you’ve outgrown these limitations people envision you in.  And through that worthless feeling you seek out something true.  You take the once in a lifetime risk to set up your own network.  To leave the baggage and the past behind and see it for what it really is.  Your self worth is no longer shackled by people’s envy, jealousy and active sabotage.  You are a defective crash test dummy that served it’s purpose for capitalism.  Or you can leave the car wreck behind and opt out of the American social experiment entirely.  It’s a free country after all.

The baby boomers did have an answer to all of this.  Shut up and take their money because they know what’s best.  My dad would always say later on in life I’d understand Republicans.  Maybe I’d even want to become one.  Like many Republicans from the suburbs, he’d never be caught dead in the rougher areas of the city much less outside of the country.  I’ve never seen any politicians talking to people on the streets in passing.  I’ve never seen anyone answering, speaking for, or actively working on this privilege that acts like a monkey on my back.  I’m an only child.  When my parents die, my bloodline is some bullshit.  I’ll most certainly have to deal with some estate affairs on either side.  But when I die, who knows where my legacy will go.  Will I get married?  Will I have children?  Will I be able to fulfill my role in the helping America achieve it’s desired GDP?  I can’t even count on my government during a Pandemic let alone to hold people accountable for crimes.  Will I die alone, invisible, broke but talked about on the Internet.  Will people watch my life until the very end to see the tragedy unmatched to their own?  Are people just drunk on making me some sort of talking point?  The gossip will never end.  The sad truth of the last five to ten years for me is simple.  There is an opposite to block chain.  A network of people who only cover for themselves and their lies.  The great lie as they spoke of in Germany did something horribly foul.  A lie when it gets out of control.  A lie when it eclipses the truth.  When every word out of your mouth is gaslighted to protect an entire ecosystem that feeds itself and protects the criminal.  When your very presence needs to be edited and erased to continue the engine running.  A great lie can tear a hole in the very fabric of reality and the truth of a narrative.  And it can suck somebody so far out into space that they have to terraform a whole new network of support.  These days the writing is on the wall.  We trust everything and doubt further.  I have only had the luxury of looking to myself for answers.  I have other inspiration.  The best inspiration if you ask me.  But I keep that to myself for fear of breaches in trust.  But it’s no lie what I believe in.  A freedom that allows love to bloom.  A freedom that values people for what they do in deeds not speculation.  A freedom that is accountable in broad daylight and answers for what it represents.  Opportunities that exist outside of war economies and mark to market accounting.  Making art that connects people without controlling the dialog.  Being part of a culture and democratically so without disrespecting the read receipts.  I’ve been real for longer than most people have been breathing.  Not long enough to claw my way out of the designs these dinosaurs outspend me on.  But the one thing I know going forward is that you cannot get anymore hardcore of a foundation other than being true to yourself.  And I’m proud to surround myself with people who are true to me.  Wherever the fuck you may be.  You all live deeply inside my heart.  And that’s something there’s no price on to betray.  So let’s stop speculating and let’s live in the moment.  I built this Yolonet for us.  And instead of hello world.  Let the first words be simple.  I love you.  World peace forever.  Drink some water.  It’s your human right.  <3 Tim

[zionchubby14]

The Chocolate Factory - Part 5: The Golden Ticket

So here we are...the finale.  I want to say that this project has been an experience.  Writing the two middle chapters was something out of my comfort zone, but I am glad I did.  Hope you all enjoy this part.  And in case you didn’t read The Fudge Room, Blowing Up, I Want It Now, or By the Pale of the Television Light, just click on the story title and you can read them.  Enjoy!!!

In a large room built in the deepest part of the factory, Charlie started to fine tune the platforms for what he has planned.  This ends tonight, he thought as he tightens the last bolt of a wide steel platform.  With one last check on the supports, he wiped his brow and pulled out a radio from his pocket.

“Bring in the subjects.”

In a clutter, the doors open as several Oompa Loompas pulled in a large trolley.  On the trolley was a very large man with blonde hair.  His face covered in fudge as he sucked on a hose filling him with the creamy chocolate.

Charlie walked over as the Oompa Loompas struggled to roll the very obese man onto the platform, careful not to hurt him in any way.

“Hello, Augustus. How is my German piggy today?”

Augustus couldn’t respond anymore.  He was too enthralled with being stuffed.  Charlie lifted up his fat rolls around his penis, smiling as he found Augustus’ hard cock dripping with precum.  With a couple jerk of his cock, he could feel Augustus shoot his load without missing a drop of his daily diet of chocolatey meal.

“Good boy,” Charlie said as he wiped his hand onto the blubbery belly of the fat man. “Paulie, you keep him nice and fed while we set things up.  And start edging him.  I want his next load to be a big one.”

“Yes sir. He’ll be ready to shoot a massive load for you, sir.”

With a nod, Charlie went to check on the next person wheeled into the room.  A naked and hairy fat man laid on the ground.  He must’ve passed out from his daily feeding, as Charlie circled around him as the fat man was placed onto the platform.

“How is Vince today, Danny?”

“He’s doing well. The last of the blue skin faded two days ago, making him an endless eating machine.  He hasn’t cummed in a while, because whenever we tried to get him off, he would begin eating the Oompa Loompas.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.  Make sure to notify their families.”

“Of course. Anyway, he just finished his third breakfast a few minutes ago, so he’s going to sleep during the ritual.”

“Excellent. Lube him up the best you can and make sure his feeding tube is secure in his throat.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, Charlie went over to the next subject.  Vic was busy chowing down as he had several Oompa Loompas fuck him in his large ass.  Charlie smiled as he approached the line of horny men waiting for their chance to pleasure the greedy pig.

“Justin, I see Vic has been very well kept.”

“Oh, yes, sir. He has been craving the loads of all of his feeders.  He’s put on a good 300 pounds since the last bit of treatment.  I assume you’ve seen the footage of when he managed to break out of the box.”

“Mmm, I have. I made a GIF of it and posted it anonymously on Tumblr.  The fanboys are loving it.”

“Hot.  Well, after the precession ends here, he’ll be nice and ready for you, sir.”

“Good.  Make sure he doesn’t shoot his load just yet. I want it for me.”

“Understood.”

Charlie walked away from the fuckfest and walked over to the last subject.  A lone couch sat on the platform, carrying a very obese man staring blankly at nothing.  Mike has changed very rapidly over the last few days, growing massively as he filled out and broken the couch he was on.

“Hank, is Mike alright?  He looks dead.  I need him alive.”

“Oh, he’s still alive, Mr. Bucket.  We haven’t had a chance to place his TV in front of him.  He gets that way due to the transformation, only functioning when he feels the TV on.”

“Good.  When was the last time he ejaculated?”

“A couple days. Our programming focused more on food in the last few days to prepare him for today.”

“Good.  Have him get ready and get every non-essential personnel out of here.  It’s almost time.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that last check, Charlie made his way to the center of the room.  Things were finally set for tonight.  With a quick change into a skimpy pair of Speedos, he stood on a platform in the center of the room.  Pressing a button, he felt the platform rise slowly into the air.

“My friends, it is good to see how you have changed in these last few months.  I know you can’t hear me in your fat and sex crazed minds, but I still feel the need to say something.

“You see, I brought you all here for one purpose: to change me.  And you’ll do that by giving me the essence that led you to this moment.  Your gluttony, your greed, your selfishness, and your sloth.  I never had any of that.  As a child, I had and wanted nothing.  I was a humble child raised in a poor house.  I was happy.  But when I met all of you and won the prize from the tour, I knew I wanted more.  I wanted what bad behavior you all had that turned you into naughty children.

“So I had Wonka keep surveillance on your four for me.  He knew I wanted that essence.  In return, I ran his company well for him, making new and spectacular treats for the world to enjoy.

“But sadly, he passed away.  But before he did, he shared with me a way to achieve what I wanted.  A ritual that the Oompa Loompas performed to choose a new leader amongst the tribe.  And you will help me perform that ritual.

“Hank, Paulie, Justin, Danny.  You have volunteered for this job and I thank you for your services.  I will make sure you will be handsomely rewarded.  Now, begin the ritual.”

Charlie grabbed a chain shackle connected to his platform and clasped the metal shackle around both of his wrists.  Once chained, he began to mutter some words to himself.

“Deerg rieth htiw em llif dna ecnesse eht brosba!”

As he repeated those words, the four Oompa Loompas with their fat subjects began to get very turned on.  The arousal made the four subjects want release badly.  They started bucking their hips as their bodies shook from their movements.  The four Oompa Loompas started to masturbate at the thought of what their boss will become at the end of this.

As Charlie continued to repeat the chant, he could feel some of the essence being absorbed into him.  It was from Augustus.  The need to be fed massive amounts of food.  Yes, this is what he wanted.  As he absorbed this essence, he could feel his body slowly start to fill out.  No more was he the lanky man that ran the company. He was now a chubby man, with red stretch marks forming on his growing belly.

Soon, he could feel the essence of Violet, or rather Vince.  Yes, that selfishness.  He felt the need to not share his food with anyone.  He wanted his own food.  Yes. He wanted that in him.  He grew even more, filling out more and more with each passing second.  His belly now started to sag over the waistband of his Speedos.  His pecs started to grow and sag, as the fat started to fill them out.  His ass started to spread the fabric of the Speedos, becoming flabbier and meatier as he filled from the essence.

As he was inflating, he could feel Vic’s essence next.  Vic’s greed and lust.  His need to be stuffed and fucked.  Charlie could feel his sex drive change as he continued to absorb this essence.  His once 9” cock, hard from the thought of being fucked on a daily basis as he stuffed his fat face, now began to be swallowed up by the pubic fat that filled out his pelvic region.  As it started to inflate, he felt the fabric of the Speedos give way and tear away, leaving him naked in his growing glory.

Lastly, he felt the essence of Mike come into his body.  That need to do nothing but eat and fuck.  Yes, that need to sit around and let his body grow.  He relished in it.  His body did to, as his legs were thickening with fat.  Soon, he couldn’t stand anymore and fell onto his fat ass, causing his whole body to jiggle from the fall.

With the last bit of essence coming into him, he signaled the four Oompa Loompas to bring over the four subjects, who were eager to pleasure their new fat sex toy. Augustus started to suck on Charlie’s tit, his tongue playfully teasing the nipple.  Vince started to run his tongue on Charlie tight hole.  Licking the sweat and juices from Charlie’s ass sent Charlie to start moaning in pleasure.  Vic came over and place his fat-covered dick into Charlie’s mouth. Charlie began to suck on the hard dick as Vic began to thrust his hips into Charlie’s mouth.  Finally, Mike, in his stupor, began to suck on Charlie’s dick, sucking hard on the shaft and teasing the tip lightly.

Hank, Paulie, Justin, and Danny stood and watched the fatty orgy from a distance, each now jerking the other off as they enjoyed the view of five sex-crazed fat men give themselves the greatest pleasure of their lives.

 ***

 Months had passed since that day.  Wonka’s Chocolate soon closed down, as the company no longer put out anymore products in stores.  The town suffered from the lack of business.  Citizens were forced to move from the city, leaving behind the memories they made.

Deep inside the factory, the Oompah Loompas lined up in huge lines, each of them carrying trays upon trays of food.  They were waiting for their chance.

At the end of the lines were five very obese men, all naked and waiting in eager anticipation for their meals to fatten themselves even more.  They knew their masters were waiting for them to finish their meal to receive their reward.

 So if you have ever dreamt of taking a tour of Wonka’s, be careful what you wish for. You might just get your lucky golden ticket.