He, who hadn’t flinched when he took out the fifth galactic monster that destroyed another fourth of Metropolis that year. He, who could soar straight through the atmosphere and launch himself into space without breaking a sweat. He, who had literal X-Ray vision and lasers. He, Superman, was quickly being unraveled down to a blushing, stuttering mess. And it wasn’t at the hands of an evil mastermind that had designed all of this to make him weak. No, it was a woman, and that somehow was the scariest foe he’d ever faced.
Clark couldn’t stop the rapidly tapping of his pen against the wood of his desk that he hunched over. He kept his eyes trained straight ahead, his other clammy hand covering the bottom half of his face, worried of the lack of the control he had over his expression. Clark kept his gaze trained on Perry’s door where you disappeared approximately 15 minutes before. He thought he would have the self control, let alone the manners, to not snoop this time but like his restraint, even that was wearing thin. Still, he held the line, choosing only to burn metaphorical holes into the closed door.
Clark was struggling to deny Jimmy’s constant teasing whenever he was caught staring at you. He wasn’t subtle, he knew that, heck, you knew that. But he couldn’t resist looking over at your desk multiple times a day to the point of losing track. It had become a habit as the weeks passed by. It was a delicate dance of admiring you from afar, noting all of your little mannerisms. The way you would roll your neck when you stared at your monitor for too long. The way you’d get distracted from your work because you’re too busy daydreaming out the window where the sunlight glowed off of you. The way you laughed, when you really laughed and not the polite ones you’d give when some of the other interested staff writers would try to make a move on you, a wrinkle would appear in the center of your forehead. You only really laughed like that when you were around Lois and sometimes, the few times Clark managed to not make himself look like a fool, you’d laugh with him too. Small, all of it, but Clark remembered it all as easy as breathing.
He felt like a lovesick fool every time he’d think about just how he’d finally ask you to a proper date and not one of the casual meet ups at the bar with the others. No, a true date for just the two of you. He thought of maybe writing a little post it and sticking it to your tea he’d place on your desk at 2 O’clock everyday -- two tablespoons of honey, not sugar. Or maybe you’d prefer something more romantic? Like one of those Rom-Coms you said you absolutely detested but secretly enjoyed. Flowers, perhaps? Followed by a short and sweet conversation with a single objective. A perfectly respectable, appropriate dinner date between…what exactly? Clark didn’t know.
Were they friends? Yes, they worked together and they spent time outside of work, but could you really call him something beyond coworkers? Could you ever? Clark felt his stomach clench sickeningly as a wave of anxiety rolled over him. Maybe he was reading this all wrong. Maybe you’re playful jabs, the times when you two would catch the same elevator and your shoulder would faintly brush against his sleeve -- maybe he was reading all wrong. The two of you had become closer but if Clark finally did ask you out, would you reject him right on the spot? He couldn’t even think of the outcome of such a rejection. Exile seems fitting.
Suddenly Clark found himself becoming envious of himself, more specifically his super persona. As Superman, it was easy to be brave, the city’s very own knight in shining armor who never faltered no matter the threat. But as Clark Kent, Daily Planet staff writer and resident Superman informant (self appointed), would he even measure up? You were independent, witty as all get out and ambitious. You were like fire -- untameable and wild and Clark had never wanted more to get burned. His mind raced back to that day all those weeks ago as you both stood amongst the rubble of that corner store. It was like he was still there fighting two battles: one between him and a giant starfish and the other fighting to continue standing there with you. To stare deep into your glimmering eyes. God, how he just wanted to stay there with you, taking in all of you, but fate had other plans.
Little to say, you weren’t exactly pleased when Clark up and disappeared, leaving you alone in the wake of a gigantic stomping alien. That was very evident the next day when you sent him a blood-chilling glare when you saw him back at work the next day. No matter what excuse he cooked up he wouldn’t earn your forgiveness so easily, and half of him was content despite this. He didn’t want to leave you, if anything he had to fight every cell in his body to not wrap his arms around you and take you far from the monster’s path, but he knew his secret wouldn’t be a secret after that. And then the enemies of Superman would become your enemies. Clark flinched at the thought. If he had to deal with the cold shoulder from you in order to keep you safe, so be it.
Clark groaned as his nerves got the better of him, letting his head fall, his fingers lacing through his messy hair. Jimmy curled a brow as he leaned back in his rickety chair seeing the poor man’s state.
“Writer’s block hitting hard?”
Clark sighed and shook his head, already embarrassed enough that he was falling apart in the middle of the bustling bullpen. But it was as if the world disappeared around him when he thought of you.
“What’s got your panties in a twist, Kansas?” Lois rounded his desk to lean against it, her arms crossed over her chest.
“It’s nothing,” Clark said, wishing for the topic to fade altogether as he rustled through his written notes.
“Your face is as red as the time you spilled coffee all over my interview notes,” Lois smirked. “What’s eating you?”
Clark’s brows pinched, “I already apologized for that, and no, nothing eating me.”
Jimmy kicked his feet against the hardwood, rolling over until the back of his chair hit Clark’s, knocking the taller man forward a little bit.
“I think I know,” the dirty blonde said. “It’s the new girl. She’s been giving him the silent treatment for weeks!”
Clark frowned like someone had just kicked his puppy at the reminder but quickly reined himself back in.
“Is that it? You sleeping in the dog house?” Lois mused, leaning over to get a look at Clark’s flustered expression. Upon seeing his pink-tinted cheeks and his adamant decision to avoid her piercing gaze, Lois’ expression twisted into something akin to surprise. “You are! You’re actually upset she’s not talking to you.”
Clark sighed, falling back against his chair, throwing his hands up in defeat, “yeah, yes, ok, it’s true. Can we drop it now?”
Lois laughed lightly and shook her head, “oh no way in hell. You really like her, like like like her.”
“I mean, I could’ve guessed that with all the painful looks he keeps giving her,” Jimmy huffed. “What I don’t get is why you haven't just asked her out yet?”
Clark ran his fingers through his hair for what felt like the fifth time in a span of ten minutes. Suddenly retreating back to the Fortress didn’t sound like such a bad plan.
“I just…I don’t think she really cares for me,” Clark sighed a long sigh.
“I mean, I wouldn’t really care for you either if you left me in the middle of an alien invasion,” Lois shrugged.
Clark winced, “she told you?”
Lois rolled her eyes with a smile, “she tells me everything, Kansas.”
Clark felt his gaze soften, "everything, huh.”
Lois who was attuned to everything noticed immediately, “I see the hamster wheel turning in your head, and I don’t like it.”
“No, no, wait, hear me out!” Clark raised his hands as Lois took a step away from his desk. “If she tells you everything, then you must know what she likes, right?”
Lois curled a brow, “what exactly are you expecting? You want me to tell you everything about her like she’s your crush from across the yard, when you could just ask her yourself?”
“I would but she won’t talk to me,” Clark was nearly pleading now, “I’ve tried! I’ve apologized so many times and she seems just disinterested. I’m afraid I blew it before I even had the chance.”
Lois smiled pitifully on the man, clapping a hand on his shoulder, “she’s not some mean girl. She’s tough, sure, but she’s not going to rip your heart of your chest and stomp on it. She’s much more sensitive than you think.”
“Really?” Clark relaxed into his chair a bit. “Has she said anything about me?”
Lois shook her head, “oh no, I’m not spilling any of those juicy deets. You’ll just have to figure that part out yourself.”
Clark groaned feeling like the many times he’s hit a wall in one of his stories. Except this was one thousand percent harder. Lois chuckled, moving her hands on to her hips.
“Listen, just be yourself and I’m sure you two will get on fine,” Lois said earnestly.
“You really think so?” Clark mumbled.
“Yeah, trust me, you’re not completely lost for the count yet, Kansas,” Lois waved her hand as she made her way back to her desk. “Oh, and don’t listen to anything Jimmy says.”
“Uh, excuse me? I give great advice!” Jimmy said in defense. “You know my pull, Lois, it is undeniable.”
“I won’t get pulled into another debate about your interesting love life, Jimmy, of which I will never understand,” Lois dropped back into her chair before focusing on her monitor again. “I just know that she isn’t looking for anything short-term. If she’s looking for anything at all.”
Clark felt his mind swirling with more questions than he had in the beginning. Had you talked about him with Lois? His chest fluttered with the idea but dread sank low in his stomach of what was being said. His mind raced as he reasoned what Lois and yourself had shared between friends combined with what he knew was true. It broke down like a formula in his head:
You were fiercely independent and not afraid to speak your mind.
You were clearly observant of his mannerisms because you had spoken about him to Lois.
Lois’ advice was to simply be himself, which means there had to be something that wasn’t a complete turn off.
A + B + C = …
Clark couldn’t stop the smile that stretched bigger and bigger across his face. A jack rabbit thumped in his chest as the feeling settled in, a feeling he thought that was quickly slipping away. Hope, and it felt like it was here to stay.
His eyes snapped up the second Perry’s door opened from his peripheral. His attention was instantly on you as you stalked across the bullpen. Clark noticed how your fingers curled into fists that got tighter with each step. Your shoulders were hunched high as your gaze stayed strictly at the floorboards. It didn’t take much to know that whatever was said between you and Perry in the privacy of his office had left you less than pleased. Clark watched openly as you dropped into your chair, slamming your phone face down on the desk before your fingers tangled into your hair. Jimmy leaned over to him, both of the men observing you from afar.
“If I were you, I’d take care of it sooner than later,” Jimmy said with an almost bored tone. “The more you let it fester the worse the delivery is going to be. Trust me.”
Clark tongued the inside of his cheek as he weighed his options. Part of him very well knew that the reception of him asking you would be less than favorable due to your current bad mood, but the other part wanted to know what was wrong so he could comfort you. That part shouted louder than the latter, which convinced him to finally stand to his feet. He nervously fixed his suit to sit perfectly over his shoulders before fiddling with his tie as he willed himself to take the first followed by the other. He let his feet guide him straight to you, you who still didn’t stir as you continued to hang your head.
Clark stood there for a moment, waiting, in case that small little nagging voice at the back his head would talk him out of it. He shook his head and willed himself to reach out for you. His hand stayed suspended in the air above your shoulder before deciding to take the (safer) approach of knocking lightly on your desk. You didn’t flinch, you didn’t even react right away, just let out another heavy sigh before finally lifting your head. For a moment Clark could see the exhaustion in your eyes with a tinge of sadness before you quickly buried it behind an expression of disdain. It looked like you hadn’t forgiven him, yet.
You heave a heavy sigh before diverting your gaze from Clark. A tiny part of you felt guilty the way he’d been moping around the last few days, looking like a kicked puppy. But then you quickly corrected yourself -- who just up and leaves someone in the middle of a giant kaiju attack? You frowned, remembering the tongue lashing you earned from Perry for not turning and running the other way which he had warned you so many times to do. You could barely get a word edgewise, Perry being completely unimpressed by your alleged promise of an interview from the city’s flying cape. At this rate you’ll be stuck doing fluff pieces for the Planet until the day you retire. Your expression hardened, your notorious rebellious streak settling in once again.
“I wanted to say-” Clark choked on his words when your heated gaze reconnected with his, making his spine stiffen.
“You can reach him, right?” you said.
Clark blinked in shock, taken aback by your sudden and sturdy questioning. He felt himself shrinking under your speculative gaze.
“R-reach who, exactly?” He murmured, breaking into a nervous sweat.
“Santa Claus, who else, Kansas?” You quirked and unimpressed eyebrow but cleared the air from any other clues. “Superman.”
“O-oh, right, Superman,” Clark could feel his face turn redder and redder the more you stared up at him like that with that annoyed expression. Clark found himself memorizing it, filing it away with the rest of his favorite things about you, of which the collection was growing. It made him wonder what other expressions he hadn’t witnessed from you, and what he would have to do to achieve them. He knew then he would do anything for you to continue looking at him, even if it was with annoyance.
“So, can you?” a small smirk curled on your full lips as you leaned back in your chair, one leg crossed over the other. “That is, if you want to make things right.”
Clark gulped and nodded rapidly, “yes, I do, I really do. I’m so sorry-”
“Save it,” you hold up your palm to him. “I don’t blame you for running away from obvious danger. It was the smart thing to do. Just a little heads up would’ve been nice.”
Clark nodded, his head hanging low as if he was a kid back on the farm and he’d just caught again terrorizing the chickens. You smiled a small but earnest smile, finally standing to your feet. Clark froze as you stared up at him, which only reminded him again just how small you were compared to him. He dominated you in almost every way, physically that is. He knew he could easily lift you and he’d happily carry you wherever you wanted -- maybe this was going too far.
Clark scratched his throat taking a step back and actively avoided your gaze. You cocked your head as you studied him scientifically, something you’d made a habit of. It wasn’t difficult, Clark stuck out like a sore thumb in the mess of the bull pen. Not just for his physical build that made him a literal giant amongst men, but also his boyish smile and the way he’d laugh when Jimmy made a not-so-funny joke, but he’d laugh out of politeness. A deep, rumbling chuckle that warmed your chest too. Or how when he was running late Clark would always pick up coffees for Lois, Jimmy, Kat and yourself without even asking as if it was a silent gesture of an apology. He knew your order, but you didn’t remember ever telling him. Clark would hand out everyone else’s order first before he ever took a sip of his. Little things like that, anyone could’ve picked up on them.
“So can you do it?”
Clark looked at you, the red tinge on his cheeks stubbornly steadfast. His lips were turned into a soft frown as he pondered what to say. You could sense the hesitation in his expression, softening your gaze. You knew what it was like to have an exclusive on a source -- it took a lot of trust for that source to even speak to you, let alone another reporter. You didn’t want to jeopardize this for him, but call it selfish, you needed this.
“Please, Clark,” you said, no teasing lilt in your tone to be found. “I need this. Perry won’t ever give me a real story at this rate and I’ll be stuck doing little ditties for the rest of my career. I really don’t want to ruin what you and your source have, I get it-”
“I can see what I can do,” Clark finally muttered, his tone sincere and his gaze equally so.
You couldn’t help but grin, “seriously? You’re not messin’ with me are you?”
Clark smiled and shook his head, “I’ll pass it along that you’d like to do a photo op, maybe an interview, but I can’t promise anything.”
You nodded excitedly, “right, right, of course. Gah- thank you, Clark. Seriously.”
Clark smiled and he felt like he was healing in front of a thousand yellow suns just standing in front of you. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so good.
“Yeah, of course,” he hummed. “Anything. Anytime.”
A moment came and went between the two of you as you froze at his words. It wasn’t just his words, it was the ardor behind them. Is that the right word to describe it? Warm, maybe? Or better, affectionate? No. No way. You must be hearing things.
“R-right,” you laugh nervously, turning back to your desk to reach for a stack of pastel blue Post-its.
Clark watched as you scribbled down your address before tearing the tiny paper from its adhesive. You grabbed him by his wrist, your grip gentle yet firm, before placing the paper in his awaiting palm. You noted how his palm not only dwarfed the paper but your hand too. He had to have played football with mitts like that, you thought. You quickly released his sleeve before hurriedly packing up your things into your knapsack.
“Ok, tell him to meet there, preferably sometime around sunset so we could capture some golden hour,” you sling your bag onto your shoulder with a determined smile. “I gotta go get my equipment set up, but tell him I’ll be there waiting.”
Clark remained frozen in the same position of where you grabbed him, staring down at your messy handwriting, barely making out your address. North 135th, Briar, rooftop.
“Rooftop?” Clark read as you brushed past him, turning his gaze after you.
You stopped and shrugged your shoulders, “I mean, what better place to get the perfect shot, right?”
Clark could’ve named a few that wouldn’t be so high up, places where you could sit comfortably, maybe in an armchair with a plate of blueberry pancakes in front of you. He blushed, realizing he was imagining you sitting in his living room, wearing considerably less clothing. Not naked per say, no Clark had enough self control to picture you in something more domestic, cozy, like his old high school football jersey. Go Crows. He could see it clearly, how the red jersey would swallow your little frame, hanging off your shoulder revealing the blooming bruises-
Clark wouldn’t allow himself to sink any further into the clutches of this ebbing desire as he watched you go. You looked over your shoulder seeing the tall man’s dazed look and smiled.
“Thank you again, Clark. You’re really saving me here,” you smiled with a laugh. “Maybe you and Superman are the same in that way, huh?”
Clark felt his shoulders slump as he felt your laugh float and tangle in his chest. He nodded with that same smile that you were trying to term (Sweet? Sunny? Lovingly? Scratch the last one).
“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Clark mumbled as he waved back at you, watching you until you disappeared into the hall.
Only then did Clark’s gaze fall back to your handwriting, noting how you didn’t really lift up the pen as you wrote. It was a mix of chicken scratch and cursive and so uniquely yours. Of which you’d given him to hang onto. Well, not really him, but Superman. Clark’s mind immediately searched for a way out of this, knowing that this would make it too close for comfort. He knew he couldn’t ever reveal that he and Superman were one in the same, literally, knowing that it would only put you in peril danger. Clark couldn’t stomach the idea of one his many, many enemies coming after you. It would be so easy, too easy to make him fall apart if they did. So he couldn’t but Clark also knew that he couldn’t not keep a promise. He’d have to follow through, no matter what came next. In that way, it kind of excited him. Dancing along that delicate line of wanting to completely pull you into his world and wanting to keep you safe. He had to keep you safe.
Clark’s gaze hardened as he looked down at the address, committing it to memory. Though he wanted his top priority to keep you safe and out of harm's way, a part of him - a selfish part of him, wanted you completely to himself. And couldn’t he be selfish, just this once?
“Just this once,” he whispered. “Please, just this once.”
-
You waited. Very patiently, in fact. You climbed up to the roof an hour before sunset, setting up a stitched quilt over the gravel of the roof before organizing everything else. Your trusty camera with another digital one for backup and plenty of film. You carried up a plastic bag of takeout, trying to bury the embarrassment of buying a second plate. You couldn’t explain why, you didn’t even know his order, if he even had one. Did aliens even eat human food? It all became suddenly very real to you. Here you are, setting up a picnic to interview a flying, laser-beaming alien who had saved your life a few weeks prior.
That nagging voice began to itch at you. Why would someone as important as Superman even agree to an interview with a little reporter like you? He had a whole city to look over, after all. Saving cats from trees and helping old ladies cross the street, oh and the occasional other-worldly threat too. Why would he make time in his busy schedule for you? The more time passed into the perfect golden hour the more these thoughts began to make sense.
You were boredly picking at your takeout plate, shivering slightly as the cool dusk breeze blew against you. You looked to the horizon, watching as the sun came closer and closer to welcoming the night. You were losing precious time from this golden hour and the more the sky changed into different hues of pink, orange and purple, the more that feeling began to take root. You clicked your tongue and closed the lid to your takeout box.
“I knew it,” you grumbled. “I knew this would happen -- ugh! This is so stupid.” You stood to your feet, your rear slightly sore from sitting on the roof for two hours. You grumbled as you crouched down to begin clearing up your blanket when a voice spoke up from behind you.
“They say talking to yourself is a sign of genius.” The voice was deep, warm, with a hint of amusement in his tone.
You jumped and spun around with wide eyes. There, suspended in the air at least ten feet above, was the infamous man in red and blue. He had a toothless smile stretched across his face with a single curly-cue falling in front of his sparkling blue eyes. His arms were crossed and you couldn’t help but notice the sheer size of his arms. What material is that suit even made of? Your shocked expression seemed to amuse him as he chuckled, his laugh reminiscent of warmth, like a campfire.
“Are you surprised?”
His question seemed to snap you out of your stupor as you found yourself standing out a little straighter and mimicking his crossed arms.
“I’m surprised that aliens like yourself don’t appreciate punctuality,” you cocked your head to the side.
You jab seemed to catch him off guard, though it seemed to be short-lived as he smiled that
heart-skipping smile again.
“As you can imagine, I am quite busy,” he shrugged.
“Saving the city from more giant starfish today?”
Superman laughed, “you know, that front has been pretty quiet today.”
You let your smile fall slightly, the feeling of awkwardness creeping in. You felt like an amateur, this wasn’t your first portrait, not even your hundredth but for some reason standing in front of him, all your prepared questions flew out of your mind. Except for one.
“Are you hungry?”
Superman blinked in shock, seemingly caught off guard for a moment before smiling a big, toothy smile.
“Yeah, I could eat,” he said as he lowered gracefully down until his boots landed on the roof’s gravel.
You kneeled down onto the blanket, crossing your legs underneath as you reached for the takeout boxes, arranging them on the blanket.
“I wasn’t sure what you would like, or if you’d like it at all,” you rambled, averting your eyes from his attentive gaze.
“Thank you,” he said warmly before gesturing to the spot next to you. “May I?”
You looked up at him for a moment before nodding. The man took the space next to you on the blanket, choosing the box of beef and broccoli. You noted how you chose the chopsticks over the fork.
“Chopsticks,” you said with a small smile. “How long did it take you to pick that up?”
The corner of his lips quirked in a playful manner, “are we on or off the record?”
You chuckled with a nod, “so not only are you superhuman, but funny too. Superman, the whole package.”
Your sudden praise made the alien’s cheeks change to a slight tint of pink as he rubbed the back of his neck shyly. The move looked familiar but you couldn’t put a pin on it.
“You flatter me,” he smiled, picking at his food. “Clark, he told me a bit about you.”
Your expression faltered a bit. Perhaps you did hold a little grudge from the escapade last week. Superman seemed to notice your change in demeanor, turning his attention back to the blooming skyline.
“He told me what he did, and how awful he felt about it,” he smiled a sad smile. “He was a wreck, I’m telling ya.”
“Oh yeah,” you murmured, picking at your food now, suddenly uninterested.
Noticing a change in your demeanor, the extraterrestrial smiled a seemingly sad smile as if wishing he could say something, but couldn’t. You decided not to push, even if something in your gut told you to. So you decided to try something else.
“How do you and Kansas know each other, exactly?”
Superman smiled, “um, well, he kind of…helped me get used to the big city, in a way.”
“How so?”
He let out a soft sigh, “when I first arrived at Metropolis, I was lost. I didn’t exactly know how to really fit in. I wanted to help people, but I was worried that no one really wanted my help.”
“I don’t see why not,” you shrugged. “People need something, or someone to believe in.”
Superman’s gaze tore away from the horizon only to land on you. His bright blue eyes sparkled with the lights of the city, almost resembling a starry night sky. Alright, you’ve been reading too much poetry.
“Do you believe in me?” he said, his tone soft, vulnerable.
His gaze stayed locked on you, reading your expression as you struggled to put your thoughts in order to respond.
“I…” You tore your eyes away from him, your face suddenly feeling warmer than it had a few seconds ago. “..I think I’m beginning to, yes.”
Superman chuckled a hearty sound that rumbled low in his chest, “I’ll take it. Thank you.”
You shrugged, unable to look him in the eye for a reason unknown to you -- or at least one you weren’t ready to name.
“Ahem- so, the questions,” you try to shake it off.
“Yes, the questions,” he smiled.
“Your powers, what all do they include?”
“Well, there’s flying, super strength, super speed,” Superman counts them off on his (rather thick) fingers. “Oh, and then there’s the heat vision and X-Ray vision-”
“Wait, you can see through things?” Your brow cocked. “Like, people too?”
“Well yeah, but-” his hands reach out into the air in front of him as he sees you inch back a few scoots. “But it’s nothing perverted, I promise!”
“Uh-huh,” you say, only slightly unconvinced as you returned to your notepad. “So you said you arrived in Metropolis, that would mean that you aren’t from here, correct?”
“Correct,” he nods.
“So where exactly are you from?”
“Well, I came to Earth when I was a baby, after my home planet was destroyed,” the smile on his face seemed to fade away with his answer. “My home was called Krypton. My parents and everyone like me perished with my home.”
You frowned, stopping your scribbling, “that’s awful. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you, it was a long time ago. But luckily I was able to make a home here and I’m willing to do anything to protect it and everyone in it,” he said.
“I mean, if anything the people are pretty lucky,” the notepad settles on your thigh. “I mean, you’ve seen this place, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. There are plenty of awful, evil people with so much power, it’s easy to fall into the trap of not caring about anyone else, just to survive -- but you didn’t. And I think that we’re pretty lucky that you didn’t.”
The alien was too stunned to speak. He stared at you wordlessly, his mouth slightly agape. Reality hit you like a freight train as your mini speech sounded a little too vulnerable for your liking.
“O-oh, that was unprofessional of me, I’m sorry I-” you scramble to find your words, flipping through your notepad to find the next question.
You tensed when you felt his warm hand land softly on your forearm. His hand was massive compared to you, making your arm resemble a twig. Did I mention it was warm? Almost unnaturally so, but that would track. Your head shot up to look at him, eyes wide. He didn’t look nearly as surprised as he did a few seconds ago. Instead, he had a soft warm smile stretched across his slightly pink face.
“Thank you,” he said. “That’s very kind of you.”
You blinked as his hand retracted from you and you had to fight yourself not to frown when his warmth went with it. You followed his sky blue eyes to your notepad, watching as he admired your handwriting that was charmingly in between cursive and chicken scratch.
“So, the questions,” Superman chuckled, changing the subject.
You straightened your posture and adjusted your glasses in a sad attempt to steady your racing heartbeat.
He, who hadn’t flinched when he took out the fifth galactic monster that destroyed another fourth of Metropolis that year. He, who could soar straight through the atmosphere and launch himself into space without breaking a sweat. He, who had literal X-Ray vision and lasers. He, Superman, was quickly being unraveled down to a blushing, stuttering mess. And it wasn’t at the hands of an evil mastermind that had designed all of this to make him weak. No, it was a woman, and that somehow was the scariest foe he’d ever faced.
Clark couldn’t stop the rapidly tapping of his pen against the wood of his desk that he hunched over. He kept his eyes trained straight ahead, his other clammy hand covering the bottom half of his face, worried of the lack of the control he had over his expression. Clark kept his gaze trained on Perry’s door where you disappeared approximately 15 minutes before. He thought he would have the self control, let alone the manners, to not snoop this time but like his restraint, even that was wearing thin. Still, he held the line, choosing only to burn metaphorical holes into the closed door.
Clark was struggling to deny Jimmy’s constant teasing whenever he was caught staring at you. He wasn’t subtle, he knew that, heck, you knew that. But he couldn’t resist looking over at your desk multiple times a day to the point of losing track. It had become a habit as the weeks passed by. It was a delicate dance of admiring you from afar, noting all of your little mannerisms. The way you would roll your neck when you stared at your monitor for too long. The way you’d get distracted from your work because you’re too busy daydreaming out the window where the sunlight glowed off of you. The way you laughed, when you really laughed and not the polite ones you’d give when some of the other interested staff writers would try to make a move on you, a wrinkle would appear in the center of your forehead. You only really laughed like that when you were around Lois and sometimes, the few times Clark managed to not make himself look like a fool, you’d laugh with him too. Small, all of it, but Clark remembered it all as easy as breathing.
He felt like a lovesick fool every time he’d think about just how he’d finally ask you to a proper date and not one of the casual meet ups at the bar with the others. No, a true date for just the two of you. He thought of maybe writing a little post it and sticking it to your tea he’d place on your desk at 2 O’clock everyday -- two tablespoons of honey, not sugar. Or maybe you’d prefer something more romantic? Like one of those Rom-Coms you said you absolutely detested but secretly enjoyed. Flowers, perhaps? Followed by a short and sweet conversation with a single objective. A perfectly respectable, appropriate dinner date between…what exactly? Clark didn’t know.
Were they friends? Yes, they worked together and they spent time outside of work, but could you really call him something beyond coworkers? Could you ever? Clark felt his stomach clench sickeningly as a wave of anxiety rolled over him. Maybe he was reading this all wrong. Maybe you’re playful jabs, the times when you two would catch the same elevator and your shoulder would faintly brush against his sleeve -- maybe he was reading all wrong. The two of you had become closer but if Clark finally did ask you out, would you reject him right on the spot? He couldn’t even think of the outcome of such a rejection. Exile seems fitting.
Suddenly Clark found himself becoming envious of himself, more specifically his super persona. As Superman, it was easy to be brave, the city’s very own knight in shining armor who never faltered no matter the threat. But as Clark Kent, Daily Planet staff writer and resident Superman informant (self appointed), would he even measure up? You were independent, witty as all get out and ambitious. You were like fire -- untameable and wild and Clark had never wanted more to get burned. His mind raced back to that day all those weeks ago as you both stood amongst the rubble of that corner store. It was like he was still there fighting two battles: one between him and a giant starfish and the other fighting to continue standing there with you. To stare deep into your glimmering eyes. God, how he just wanted to stay there with you, taking in all of you, but fate had other plans.
Little to say, you weren’t exactly pleased when Clark up and disappeared, leaving you alone in the wake of a gigantic stomping alien. That was very evident the next day when you sent him a blood-chilling glare when you saw him back at work the next day. No matter what excuse he cooked up he wouldn’t earn your forgiveness so easily, and half of him was content despite this. He didn’t want to leave you, if anything he had to fight every cell in his body to not wrap his arms around you and take you far from the monster’s path, but he knew his secret wouldn’t be a secret after that. And then the enemies of Superman would become your enemies. Clark flinched at the thought. If he had to deal with the cold shoulder from you in order to keep you safe, so be it.
Clark groaned as his nerves got the better of him, letting his head fall, his fingers lacing through his messy hair. Jimmy curled a brow as he leaned back in his rickety chair seeing the poor man’s state.
“Writer’s block hitting hard?”
Clark sighed and shook his head, already embarrassed enough that he was falling apart in the middle of the bustling bullpen. But it was as if the world disappeared around him when he thought of you.
“What’s got your panties in a twist, Kansas?” Lois rounded his desk to lean against it, her arms crossed over her chest.
“It’s nothing,” Clark said, wishing for the topic to fade altogether as he rustled through his written notes.
“Your face is as red as the time you spilled coffee all over my interview notes,” Lois smirked. “What’s eating you?”
Clark’s brows pinched, “I already apologized for that, and no, nothing eating me.”
Jimmy kicked his feet against the hardwood, rolling over until the back of his chair hit Clark’s, knocking the taller man forward a little bit.
“I think I know,” the dirty blonde said. “It’s the new girl. She’s been giving him the silent treatment for weeks!”
Clark frowned like someone had just kicked his puppy at the reminder but quickly reined himself back in.
“Is that it? You sleeping in the dog house?” Lois mused, leaning over to get a look at Clark’s flustered expression. Upon seeing his pink-tinted cheeks and his adamant decision to avoid her piercing gaze, Lois’ expression twisted into something akin to surprise. “You are! You’re actually upset she’s not talking to you.”
Clark sighed, falling back against his chair, throwing his hands up in defeat, “yeah, yes, ok, it’s true. Can we drop it now?”
Lois laughed lightly and shook her head, “oh no way in hell. You really like her, like like like her.”
“I mean, I could’ve guessed that with all the painful looks he keeps giving her,” Jimmy huffed. “What I don’t get is why you haven't just asked her out yet?”
Clark ran his fingers through his hair for what felt like the fifth time in a span of ten minutes. Suddenly retreating back to the Fortress didn’t sound like such a bad plan.
“I just…I don’t think she really cares for me,” Clark sighed a long sigh.
“I mean, I wouldn’t really care for you either if you left me in the middle of an alien invasion,” Lois shrugged.
Clark winced, “she told you?”
Lois rolled her eyes with a smile, “she tells me everything, Kansas.”
Clark felt his gaze soften, "everything, huh.”
Lois who was attuned to everything noticed immediately, “I see the hamster wheel turning in your head, and I don’t like it.”
“No, no, wait, hear me out!” Clark raised his hands as Lois took a step away from his desk. “If she tells you everything, then you must know what she likes, right?”
Lois curled a brow, “what exactly are you expecting? You want me to tell you everything about her like she’s your crush from across the yard, when you could just ask her yourself?”
“I would but she won’t talk to me,” Clark was nearly pleading now, “I’ve tried! I’ve apologized so many times and she seems just disinterested. I’m afraid I blew it before I even had the chance.”
Lois smiled pitifully on the man, clapping a hand on his shoulder, “she’s not some mean girl. She’s tough, sure, but she’s not going to rip your heart of your chest and stomp on it. She’s much more sensitive than you think.”
“Really?” Clark relaxed into his chair a bit. “Has she said anything about me?”
Lois shook her head, “oh no, I’m not spilling any of those juicy deets. You’ll just have to figure that part out yourself.”
Clark groaned feeling like the many times he’s hit a wall in one of his stories. Except this was one thousand percent harder. Lois chuckled, moving her hands on to her hips.
“Listen, just be yourself and I’m sure you two will get on fine,” Lois said earnestly.
“You really think so?” Clark mumbled.
“Yeah, trust me, you’re not completely lost for the count yet, Kansas,” Lois waved her hand as she made her way back to her desk. “Oh, and don’t listen to anything Jimmy says.”
“Uh, excuse me? I give great advice!” Jimmy said in defense. “You know my pull, Lois, it is undeniable.”
“I won’t get pulled into another debate about your interesting love life, Jimmy, of which I will never understand,” Lois dropped back into her chair before focusing on her monitor again. “I just know that she isn’t looking for anything short-term. If she’s looking for anything at all.”
Clark felt his mind swirling with more questions than he had in the beginning. Had you talked about him with Lois? His chest fluttered with the idea but dread sank low in his stomach of what was being said. His mind raced as he reasoned what Lois and yourself had shared between friends combined with what he knew was true. It broke down like a formula in his head:
You were fiercely independent and not afraid to speak your mind.
You were clearly observant of his mannerisms because you had spoken about him to Lois.
Lois’ advice was to simply be himself, which means there had to be something that wasn’t a complete turn off.
A + B + C = …
Clark couldn’t stop the smile that stretched bigger and bigger across his face. A jack rabbit thumped in his chest as the feeling settled in, a feeling he thought that was quickly slipping away. Hope, and it felt like it was here to stay.
His eyes snapped up the second Perry’s door opened from his peripheral. His attention was instantly on you as you stalked across the bullpen. Clark noticed how your fingers curled into fists that got tighter with each step. Your shoulders were hunched high as your gaze stayed strictly at the floorboards. It didn’t take much to know that whatever was said between you and Perry in the privacy of his office had left you less than pleased. Clark watched openly as you dropped into your chair, slamming your phone face down on the desk before your fingers tangled into your hair. Jimmy leaned over to him, both of the men observing you from afar.
“If I were you, I’d take care of it sooner than later,” Jimmy said with an almost bored tone. “The more you let it fester the worse the delivery is going to be. Trust me.”
Clark tongued the inside of his cheek as he weighed his options. Part of him very well knew that the reception of him asking you would be less than favorable due to your current bad mood, but the other part wanted to know what was wrong so he could comfort you. That part shouted louder than the latter, which convinced him to finally stand to his feet. He nervously fixed his suit to sit perfectly over his shoulders before fiddling with his tie as he willed himself to take the first followed by the other. He let his feet guide him straight to you, you who still didn’t stir as you continued to hang your head.
Clark stood there for a moment, waiting, in case that small little nagging voice at the back his head would talk him out of it. He shook his head and willed himself to reach out for you. His hand stayed suspended in the air above your shoulder before deciding to take the (safer) approach of knocking lightly on your desk. You didn’t flinch, you didn’t even react right away, just let out another heavy sigh before finally lifting your head. For a moment Clark could see the exhaustion in your eyes with a tinge of sadness before you quickly buried it behind an expression of disdain. It looked like you hadn’t forgiven him, yet.
You heave a heavy sigh before diverting your gaze from Clark. A tiny part of you felt guilty the way he’d been moping around the last few days, looking like a kicked puppy. But then you quickly corrected yourself -- who just up and leaves someone in the middle of a giant kaiju attack? You frowned, remembering the tongue lashing you earned from Perry for not turning and running the other way which he had warned you so many times to do. You could barely get a word edgewise, Perry being completely unimpressed by your alleged promise of an interview from the city’s flying cape. At this rate you’ll be stuck doing fluff pieces for the Planet until the day you retire. Your expression hardened, your notorious rebellious streak settling in once again.
“I wanted to say-” Clark choked on his words when your heated gaze reconnected with his, making his spine stiffen.
“You can reach him, right?” you said.
Clark blinked in shock, taken aback by your sudden and sturdy questioning. He felt himself shrinking under your speculative gaze.
“R-reach who, exactly?” He murmured, breaking into a nervous sweat.
“Santa Claus, who else, Kansas?” You quirked and unimpressed eyebrow but cleared the air from any other clues. “Superman.”
“O-oh, right, Superman,” Clark could feel his face turn redder and redder the more you stared up at him like that with that annoyed expression. Clark found himself memorizing it, filing it away with the rest of his favorite things about you, of which the collection was growing. It made him wonder what other expressions he hadn’t witnessed from you, and what he would have to do to achieve them. He knew then he would do anything for you to continue looking at him, even if it was with annoyance.
“So, can you?” a small smirk curled on your full lips as you leaned back in your chair, one leg crossed over the other. “That is, if you want to make things right.”
Clark gulped and nodded rapidly, “yes, I do, I really do. I’m so sorry-”
“Save it,” you hold up your palm to him. “I don’t blame you for running away from obvious danger. It was the smart thing to do. Just a little heads up would’ve been nice.”
Clark nodded, his head hanging low as if he was a kid back on the farm and he’d just caught again terrorizing the chickens. You smiled a small but earnest smile, finally standing to your feet. Clark froze as you stared up at him, which only reminded him again just how small you were compared to him. He dominated you in almost every way, physically that is. He knew he could easily lift you and he’d happily carry you wherever you wanted -- maybe this was going too far.
Clark scratched his throat taking a step back and actively avoided your gaze. You cocked your head as you studied him scientifically, something you’d made a habit of. It wasn’t difficult, Clark stuck out like a sore thumb in the mess of the bull pen. Not just for his physical build that made him a literal giant amongst men, but also his boyish smile and the way he’d laugh when Jimmy made a not-so-funny joke, but he’d laugh out of politeness. A deep, rumbling chuckle that warmed your chest too. Or how when he was running late Clark would always pick up coffees for Lois, Jimmy, Kat and yourself without even asking as if it was a silent gesture of an apology. He knew your order, but you didn’t remember ever telling him. Clark would hand out everyone else’s order first before he ever took a sip of his. Little things like that, anyone could’ve picked up on them.
“So can you do it?”
Clark looked at you, the red tinge on his cheeks stubbornly steadfast. His lips were turned into a soft frown as he pondered what to say. You could sense the hesitation in his expression, softening your gaze. You knew what it was like to have an exclusive on a source -- it took a lot of trust for that source to even speak to you, let alone another reporter. You didn’t want to jeopardize this for him, but call it selfish, you needed this.
“Please, Clark,” you said, no teasing lilt in your tone to be found. “I need this. Perry won’t ever give me a real story at this rate and I’ll be stuck doing little ditties for the rest of my career. I really don’t want to ruin what you and your source have, I get it-”
“I can see what I can do,” Clark finally muttered, his tone sincere and his gaze equally so.
You couldn’t help but grin, “seriously? You’re not messin’ with me are you?”
Clark smiled and shook his head, “I’ll pass it along that you’d like to do a photo op, maybe an interview, but I can’t promise anything.”
You nodded excitedly, “right, right, of course. Gah- thank you, Clark. Seriously.”
Clark smiled and he felt like he was healing in front of a thousand yellow suns just standing in front of you. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so good.
“Yeah, of course,” he hummed. “Anything. Anytime.”
A moment came and went between the two of you as you froze at his words. It wasn’t just his words, it was the ardor behind them. Is that the right word to describe it? Warm, maybe? Or better, affectionate? No. No way. You must be hearing things.
“R-right,” you laugh nervously, turning back to your desk to reach for a stack of pastel blue Post-its.
Clark watched as you scribbled down your address before tearing the tiny paper from its adhesive. You grabbed him by his wrist, your grip gentle yet firm, before placing the paper in his awaiting palm. You noted how his palm not only dwarfed the paper but your hand too. He had to have played football with mitts like that, you thought. You quickly released his sleeve before hurriedly packing up your things into your knapsack.
“Ok, tell him to meet there, preferably sometime around sunset so we could capture some golden hour,” you sling your bag onto your shoulder with a determined smile. “I gotta go get my equipment set up, but tell him I’ll be there waiting.”
Clark remained frozen in the same position of where you grabbed him, staring down at your messy handwriting, barely making out your address. North 135th, Briar, rooftop.
“Rooftop?” Clark read as you brushed past him, turning his gaze after you.
You stopped and shrugged your shoulders, “I mean, what better place to get the perfect shot, right?”
Clark could’ve named a few that wouldn’t be so high up, places where you could sit comfortably, maybe in an armchair with a plate of blueberry pancakes in front of you. He blushed, realizing he was imagining you sitting in his living room, wearing considerably less clothing. Not naked per say, no Clark had enough self control to picture you in something more domestic, cozy, like his old high school football jersey. Go Crows. He could see it clearly, how the red jersey would swallow your little frame, hanging off your shoulder revealing the blooming bruises-
Clark wouldn’t allow himself to sink any further into the clutches of this ebbing desire as he watched you go. You looked over your shoulder seeing the tall man’s dazed look and smiled.
“Thank you again, Clark. You’re really saving me here,” you smiled with a laugh. “Maybe you and Superman are the same in that way, huh?”
Clark felt his shoulders slump as he felt your laugh float and tangle in his chest. He nodded with that same smile that you were trying to term (Sweet? Sunny? Lovingly? Scratch the last one).
“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Clark mumbled as he waved back at you, watching you until you disappeared into the hall.
Only then did Clark’s gaze fall back to your handwriting, noting how you didn’t really lift up the pen as you wrote. It was a mix of chicken scratch and cursive and so uniquely yours. Of which you’d given him to hang onto. Well, not really him, but Superman. Clark’s mind immediately searched for a way out of this, knowing that this would make it too close for comfort. He knew he couldn’t ever reveal that he and Superman were one in the same, literally, knowing that it would only put you in peril danger. Clark couldn’t stomach the idea of one his many, many enemies coming after you. It would be so easy, too easy to make him fall apart if they did. So he couldn’t but Clark also knew that he couldn’t not keep a promise. He’d have to follow through, no matter what came next. In that way, it kind of excited him. Dancing along that delicate line of wanting to completely pull you into his world and wanting to keep you safe. He had to keep you safe.
Clark’s gaze hardened as he looked down at the address, committing it to memory. Though he wanted his top priority to keep you safe and out of harm's way, a part of him - a selfish part of him, wanted you completely to himself. And couldn’t he be selfish, just this once?
“Just this once,” he whispered. “Please, just this once.”
-
You waited. Very patiently, in fact. You climbed up to the roof an hour before sunset, setting up a stitched quilt over the gravel of the roof before organizing everything else. Your trusty camera with another digital one for backup and plenty of film. You carried up a plastic bag of takeout, trying to bury the embarrassment of buying a second plate. You couldn’t explain why, you didn’t even know his order, if he even had one. Did aliens even eat human food? It all became suddenly very real to you. Here you are, setting up a picnic to interview a flying, laser-beaming alien who had saved your life a few weeks prior.
That nagging voice began to itch at you. Why would someone as important as Superman even agree to an interview with a little reporter like you? He had a whole city to look over, after all. Saving cats from trees and helping old ladies cross the street, oh and the occasional other-worldly threat too. Why would he make time in his busy schedule for you? The more time passed into the perfect golden hour the more these thoughts began to make sense.
You were boredly picking at your takeout plate, shivering slightly as the cool dusk breeze blew against you. You looked to the horizon, watching as the sun came closer and closer to welcoming the night. You were losing precious time from this golden hour and the more the sky changed into different hues of pink, orange and purple, the more that feeling began to take root. You clicked your tongue and closed the lid to your takeout box.
“I knew it,” you grumbled. “I knew this would happen -- ugh! This is so stupid.” You stood to your feet, your rear slightly sore from sitting on the roof for two hours. You grumbled as you crouched down to begin clearing up your blanket when a voice spoke up from behind you.
“They say talking to yourself is a sign of genius.” The voice was deep, warm, with a hint of amusement in his tone.
You jumped and spun around with wide eyes. There, suspended in the air at least ten feet above, was the infamous man in red and blue. He had a toothless smile stretched across his face with a single curly-cue falling in front of his sparkling blue eyes. His arms were crossed and you couldn’t help but notice the sheer size of his arms. What material is that suit even made of? Your shocked expression seemed to amuse him as he chuckled, his laugh reminiscent of warmth, like a campfire.
“Are you surprised?”
His question seemed to snap you out of your stupor as you found yourself standing out a little straighter and mimicking his crossed arms.
“I’m surprised that aliens like yourself don’t appreciate punctuality,” you cocked your head to the side.
You jab seemed to catch him off guard, though it seemed to be short-lived as he smiled that
heart-skipping smile again.
“As you can imagine, I am quite busy,” he shrugged.
“Saving the city from more giant starfish today?”
Superman laughed, “you know, that front has been pretty quiet today.”
You let your smile fall slightly, the feeling of awkwardness creeping in. You felt like an amateur, this wasn’t your first portrait, not even your hundredth but for some reason standing in front of him, all your prepared questions flew out of your mind. Except for one.
“Are you hungry?”
Superman blinked in shock, seemingly caught off guard for a moment before smiling a big, toothy smile.
“Yeah, I could eat,” he said as he lowered gracefully down until his boots landed on the roof’s gravel.
You kneeled down onto the blanket, crossing your legs underneath as you reached for the takeout boxes, arranging them on the blanket.
“I wasn’t sure what you would like, or if you’d like it at all,” you rambled, averting your eyes from his attentive gaze.
“Thank you,” he said warmly before gesturing to the spot next to you. “May I?”
You looked up at him for a moment before nodding. The man took the space next to you on the blanket, choosing the box of beef and broccoli. You noted how you chose the chopsticks over the fork.
“Chopsticks,” you said with a small smile. “How long did it take you to pick that up?”
The corner of his lips quirked in a playful manner, “are we on or off the record?”
You chuckled with a nod, “so not only are you superhuman, but funny too. Superman, the whole package.”
Your sudden praise made the alien’s cheeks change to a slight tint of pink as he rubbed the back of his neck shyly. The move looked familiar but you couldn’t put a pin on it.
“You flatter me,” he smiled, picking at his food. “Clark, he told me a bit about you.”
Your expression faltered a bit. Perhaps you did hold a little grudge from the escapade last week. Superman seemed to notice your change in demeanor, turning his attention back to the blooming skyline.
“He told me what he did, and how awful he felt about it,” he smiled a sad smile. “He was a wreck, I’m telling ya.”
“Oh yeah,” you murmured, picking at your food now, suddenly uninterested.
Noticing a change in your demeanor, the extraterrestrial smiled a seemingly sad smile as if wishing he could say something, but couldn’t. You decided not to push, even if something in your gut told you to. So you decided to try something else.
“How do you and Kansas know each other, exactly?”
Superman smiled, “um, well, he kind of…helped me get used to the big city, in a way.”
“How so?”
He let out a soft sigh, “when I first arrived at Metropolis, I was lost. I didn’t exactly know how to really fit in. I wanted to help people, but I was worried that no one really wanted my help.”
“I don’t see why not,” you shrugged. “People need something, or someone to believe in.”
Superman’s gaze tore away from the horizon only to land on you. His bright blue eyes sparkled with the lights of the city, almost resembling a starry night sky. Alright, you’ve been reading too much poetry.
“Do you believe in me?” he said, his tone soft, vulnerable.
His gaze stayed locked on you, reading your expression as you struggled to put your thoughts in order to respond.
“I…” You tore your eyes away from him, your face suddenly feeling warmer than it had a few seconds ago. “..I think I’m beginning to, yes.”
Superman chuckled a hearty sound that rumbled low in his chest, “I’ll take it. Thank you.”
You shrugged, unable to look him in the eye for a reason unknown to you -- or at least one you weren’t ready to name.
“Ahem- so, the questions,” you try to shake it off.
“Yes, the questions,” he smiled.
“Your powers, what all do they include?”
“Well, there’s flying, super strength, super speed,” Superman counts them off on his (rather thick) fingers. “Oh, and then there’s the heat vision and X-Ray vision-”
“Wait, you can see through things?” Your brow cocked. “Like, people too?”
“Well yeah, but-” his hands reach out into the air in front of him as he sees you inch back a few scoots. “But it’s nothing perverted, I promise!”
“Uh-huh,” you say, only slightly unconvinced as you returned to your notepad. “So you said you arrived in Metropolis, that would mean that you aren’t from here, correct?”
“Correct,” he nods.
“So where exactly are you from?”
“Well, I came to Earth when I was a baby, after my home planet was destroyed,” the smile on his face seemed to fade away with his answer. “My home was called Krypton. My parents and everyone like me perished with my home.”
You frowned, stopping your scribbling, “that’s awful. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you, it was a long time ago. But luckily I was able to make a home here and I’m willing to do anything to protect it and everyone in it,” he said.
“I mean, if anything the people are pretty lucky,” the notepad settles on your thigh. “I mean, you’ve seen this place, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. There are plenty of awful, evil people with so much power, it’s easy to fall into the trap of not caring about anyone else, just to survive -- but you didn’t. And I think that we’re pretty lucky that you didn’t.”
The alien was too stunned to speak. He stared at you wordlessly, his mouth slightly agape. Reality hit you like a freight train as your mini speech sounded a little too vulnerable for your liking.
“O-oh, that was unprofessional of me, I’m sorry I-” you scramble to find your words, flipping through your notepad to find the next question.
You tensed when you felt his warm hand land softly on your forearm. His hand was massive compared to you, making your arm resemble a twig. Did I mention it was warm? Almost unnaturally so, but that would track. Your head shot up to look at him, eyes wide. He didn’t look nearly as surprised as he did a few seconds ago. Instead, he had a soft warm smile stretched across his slightly pink face.
“Thank you,” he said. “That’s very kind of you.”
You blinked as his hand retracted from you and you had to fight yourself not to frown when his warmth went with it. You followed his sky blue eyes to your notepad, watching as he admired your handwriting that was charmingly in between cursive and chicken scratch.
“So, the questions,” Superman chuckled, changing the subject.
You straightened your posture and adjusted your glasses in a sad attempt to steady your racing heartbeat.
Hey, man, c'mere. Listen. Get in real close, this is important.
You're gonna make stuff again. You're gonna make stuff you're proud of. You're gonna make stuff you're excited to share. You're going to feel that overwhelming drive to create, not just the frantic I want to want to you're stuck in now. You're going to have awesome ideas, and you're going to make them into reality. You're going to create again. You're still an artist. You're still a writer. You're still home to the same passion you had before. You'll find it again. It's not gone. It's just resting. Let it rest. You're going to make stuff again. I promise.
the only reliable, effective way of "protecting children" is education. but people don't want to hear that because they don't actually care about protecting children, they care about protecting a mythologised ideal of innocence
Synopsis. When you came knocking at Nanami Kento’s mansion, stranded in the middle of a storm, he couldn’t turn you away just like that - could he? After all, you smelled so cold, so scared, so…delectable. And you might learn that there’s a reason they keep demons locked away in large, lonely mansions. Because didn’t you know that he’s one hell of a butler?
Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, demon butler!Nanami, Black Butler AU, plot, powers, mansions, use of ‘my lady’, slight bIood and vioIence, slightly yan!Nanami, slight angst, reincarnations, yearning, pússydrúnk Nanami, fíngering, oraI (fem rec.), spítting, chokíng, p talking, manhandIing, matíng presses, use of his demon powers, x-rays, he’s a gentleman until he breaks, rough s, running from it, creampíes, cúmpIay, soul bonding, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 15.6k
A/N. Spooky season isn’t over until I say so…
“Goddamm- oh.” The merciless hand of the storm swipes your face, and you instantly clamp your eyes and lips shut against the sting.
It was a night colder than cold, a storm crueler than cruel. Fallen instantly: it was as if someone had simply snuffed out the light of day, and plunged you into a world that hurtled on its axis. Despite the portico you stood underneath, you clutched your tattered coat tighter against the wind.
This place had been the first you’d encountered during your treacherous walk. A light. And without thinking, you’d stumbled towards it.
Perhaps a home. Perhaps shelter.
The fog thickens. Your fist raises, knock-knock-knocking against the tall, wooden door. It was decorated in intricate swirling patterns and engravings that you couldn’t make out in the darkness right now.
You wonder whether whoever was inside could even hear you over the storm. Desperately, your fist raises to knock again when-
The door opens.
And inside stands a handsome blond man.
Almost otherworldly.
“My lady.”
Your breath hitches, and you’re not entirely sure why. Perhaps it was the rich baritone of his voice, the way it pierced your ears even above the wind, wetness, and anger of the storm. Perhaps it was his classically handsome face - slicked-back hair, high cheekbones, a pert mouth that was somehow knowing - like in one of those historical paintings, a Prince Charming.
You wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint him in any century.
Or perhaps it was the way that when you stepped back, on instinct, he leaned down to loop a strong arm around your waist in a single, fluid motion. So fast that you muse he might’ve teleported.
Whoosh–!
You startle at the noise above you, and look up to find that the strange man had unfolded an umbrella over the two of you - one that you hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.
He lets the berth of it cover your frame, like the dark wings of a bat stretched taut. Uncaring of whether he himself gets wet, the man shields you against the icy billows of rain that blew through the portico. His warm grin stretches, urging. “My lady?”
“O-oh.” It registers that he was speaking to you. You’re unsure where to place your palms, and they lay flatly open against the man’s toned chest. Still. “My apologies for- for the intrusion so late. But I…”
You were getting distracted by his kind, molten eyes is what. But he finishes for you with a slight huff of amusement, “Happened to get caught in this monstrosity of a storm, am I right in guessing?” At your nod. “Well, it’s no wonder then, my lady. I’m only glad you made it here safe.”
“I-” You were right in feeling like you weren’t able to pinpoint which century he was from. Because his tone of speaking wasn’t reminiscent of any dialect you’ve ever heard before - something melodic yet stiff, something understandable yet…dated.
And despite your incessant pondering, he stands as patiently as ever. Holds you as patiently as ever.
Even though the wind ruffled that neat hair of his, and the rain pelted his sides without the cover of the umbrella. You hasten to explain yourself, “I was actually on my way from a work function, a bit far away. When this storm suddenly hit and my car broke down in the middle of it- actually, I think it ended up in some ditch with no power, which is why I ended up- well- here.” You finish, lamely.
He looks thoughtful, nodding empathetically.
“And I really do apologize for the intrusion, really, but if I could stay just until the storm blows over and I can call for help-”
“Do forgive me for interrupting you, my lady.” The man’s precise tone speaks once more, “But you may stay here as long as you like.”
Relief washes down your spine like a bucket of heat, melting you instantly. “Oh, thank you- thank you.” And before you know it, you’re falling deeper into his arms.
“A lady must not thank a mere worker.” He hums with a tut, and you wonder whether that means he was one of the staff at this large building - what little you could see of the silhouette seemed larger than a normal house, and you’d assumed that it was some hotel at first.
He steps soundlessly to help you steady yourself. And you’re soon being warmly gestured inside, the umbrella being held over your head with each step, even as he stepped aside into the rain to let you through. “Come now, we must dry you off at once. Being in the cold for this long won’t be good for your constitution, my lady.”
You step inside as he directs, and it feels like stepping into a warm bath - just right.
And what you’d seen in the distance - that yolky, blinking light that led you here, your body moving as if on instinct - wasn’t actually a lightbulb, as you’d thought. In actuality, it was about a dozen, flaring chandeliers.
Illuminating a fresco of gardens and flowers and spring. Lined along the sprawling ceiling like fruits that were overripe, fit to burst. They danced ever-so-slightly in the draught that the open door brought, yet not a single candle extinguished from what you could make out.
You felt so tiny in the house- mansion, as you were quickly coming to learn.
Greeted by an imperial staircase made of marble, and accents of gold that fought with the chandeliers over which one of them shined brighter. You don’t think you could possibly count how many hallways holed themselves into the mansion just from here. Hidden caverns filled with antiques, and ever-green chrysanthemums, and paintings that you could just see the corners of. Upon either side of the entrance were large Clerestory windows that provided snapshots of the flared lightning outside; so high up, so large, that it made the front door feel dwarfed.
You think it looks strangely familiar - perhaps something reminiscent of those illustrations you’d seen in classic stories.
Curiously, along the winding corridors, you note that there were many mirrors. Some small and bejeweled, some tall from ceiling to floor.
In intervals unknown to you, they stood out - the brightest of them all.
You jump at the feeling of something touching your elbow-
“My apologies for startling you, my lady.” Comes your host’s deep voice, and you whirl around to find him bowed. With a warm, citrus-scented towel presented to you (when did he even have the time to get that?) “Please, do make use of this towel to rinse off the water on your body. If you would like, I may do it for you?”
“No no, I can do it.” You insist, feeling your heart race. His stern lips quirk up ever-so-slightly when you reach for it. “Thank you.”
“It is my pleasure. I wouldn’t want my lady getting sick.”
My lady…
You shake your head, trying to get it free of that giggling lil’ voice that kept repeating those two words. Instead, you take the towel from the beautiful man and—oh.
Underneath your breath, you gasp through your nose. Because the very second that your fingers had grazed his own when taking the towel, a chill wafted down your spine. So cold. So…unnatural. You weren’t sure whether it was the sheer temperature, or the fact that it was the sheer temperature of his hand.
Why was he so cold?
Almost as if he sensed your thoughts, the man swiftly pulls his hand away. And it’s only then that you realize that he was dressed so smartly.
Shoes polished till they reflected your bewildered stare. Well-fitted black pants. A three-piece suit filled out by his broad shoulders. Black tailcoat. High collar. Steely buttons. And an emblem on his coat pocket that you couldn’t read from here. Gloves. Ah—so that was why he was so cold, you guessed.
Surely there was no other reason, right?
Lightning flashes.
The rooms lights up in ice-white.
“Oh dear, it seems the storm won’t be getting any better tonight.” He announces, clapping his hands twice. And then, previously unseen curtains start closing in on the windows so high above. Effectively shutting out the storm, the night, and with it, the world.
You wondered what automatic mechanism that was.
“We best get you to bed immediately, my lady.” The blond-haired man says, his hair gleaming in the candlelight - and you could’ve sworn that it’d been all ruffled and messy by the storm just prior. Now, it was untouched, as if he’d never stepped outside.
He rounds the entrance, politely gesturing at you to follow.
“Such a lovely place.” You observe, as you’re led up the staircase and into the East wing. The hallways were tall and ancient, humming with centuries of stories untold. And, as you’d expected, the antiques, the chrysanthemums, the paintings.
Blurs of faces that you were walking too quickly by to properly make out.
“Why thank you, my lady.” He looks back briefly, holding a golden candelabra to light your pathway. Still walking, he doesn’t need to stop to speak. “This is an old home, with old bones, old secrets.” The man cracks a grin, “I should know, I have been lucky to call myself a worker of this fine home for a long time.”
So he did work here - a butler, all signs were pointing to. You hum, butlers had always seemed like something out of a soap opera, or those regency novels.
Having him in front of you like this made you feel somewhat dizzy.
And you were entranced by the noiseless way he moved, “And how long is a long time?”
“Oh, one could say it feels like…centuries.” He chuckles to himself.
You make a few turns, heading deeper into the mansion. And you can’t help but notice that you’ve yet to see a single other person here except the two of you-
“The masters of this home are more in name.” The butler says, in his smooth tone. Like he could sense the question forming. “This house has been passed down through generations, and I fear that I have yet to officially meet whoever owns this grand establishment now.”
“Oh?” Your brows raise, “They seriously don’t come to visit a house this beautiful? Not even as a vacation home?”
“I’m afraid so. It is all but abandoned.” He nods, “But alas, I do not complain. They employ me here to clean and take care of this home, and that’s all I can ask. To preserve a piece of history so magnificent, no matter how much they try to forget…it shall always haunt you.”
“So you’re alone here?”
He stops then. And turns back to you with an unreadable expression- oh, something about the way the candelabra outlined the hollows of his face made you feel cold all over again. “I’m afraid so.” Voice quiet. “Would you prefer otherwise, my lady?”
In the distance, the growl of thunder trundles.
“No no, nothing like that.” You rush to answer, not wishing to offend the kind soul helping you for the night (and honestly, even despite that, you didn’t feel a speck of discomfort with him- in fact, you felt…at ease). “Honestly, you’ve been more than a delight- I was just wondering whether you don’t get lonely in such a big house, all by yourself. I certainly would visit.”
He observes you for a moment. Before his warm expression is back again- “Do not worry yourself over my wellbeing, my lady, of course, as all good workers do, I have gotten used to it. Yet…I must admit that there is the occasional night in which I, too, crave humanity—”
You listen, enraptured.
Before he then gestures to the door in front of which you’d stopped at - you hadn’t even noticed. It was an unassuming mahogany door, polished and pristine like all the rest.
His gloved hands gently twist the doorknob and lead you inside. “Your room, my lady.” He leaves the candelabra on top of a cabinet by the doorway. “I have arranged for a warm bath to be prepared for you, with a fine selection of body washes and shampoos from around the world. After which I ask you to allow me to treat you to a light supper in bed, as you must be hungry after such an exciting night. Kindly ring the bell-” He gestures at a slim handbell on the cabinet beside the candelabra that you hadn’t seen before. “-and I shall be here for you before the second ring.”
“This is…” You look around the room- chamber, more like.
The candles on the chandelier inside had lit up as soon as you stepped inside (you had to figure out that mechanism, somehow!) Bathing the expansive bedroom in a soft glow, like this, it almost looked like a piece of heaven itself.
An antique chamber. A four-poster king-sized bed in the middle. A plethora of sweet-scented flower pots. A few paintings of landscapes. A floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the balcony, the garden. Though now, you could only see the storm outside. On one side of the room, you could see a shelf of thick tomes, impeccably dusted, and next to it was a fireplace. Roaring.
You wondered how he had the time to light it.
On the other side it opened up to what you imagined must be an equally as luxurious bathroom. The polished tile squeaked as you made your way inside, reflecting your wind-torn coat that felt more than out-of-place in such a room. It almost felt like you were wading across a ballroom.
You whirl, and you note that one of the walls adjacent to the bed wasn’t taken up by some painting or mural or wallpaper- it was nearly covered by a gleaming mirror. How interesting.
“-this is amazing.” You breathe.
“I am glad that it is to your liking, my lady.” He bows, “If you need anything, or wish to ask anything, simply ring the bell.”
And as the blond-haired man moves to exit with a final bow, you reach your hand out- “Wait-”
He turns. “My lady?”
“Ah, I didn’t ring the bell but- your name.” You fiddle with the drenched fabric of your coat as you ask, wondering whether it was salvageable anymore. You tell him your own name, before questioning, “Can I ask your name?”
He smiles. “Nanami Kento, my lady.” And there’s a zip of excitement that runs through your body at finally putting a name to a handsome face. Nodding, you expect that that would be the end of your small pleasantries, and you turn back-
But before he leaves for good tonight, Nanami speaks over his shoulder. “And worry not, I am one hell of a butler.”
You snap your head back to listen to him speak, and find that he was already gone.
The hallway was dark outside, and there was a slight wind coming in. You hasten to shut the door and find that you can’t even hear Nanami’s footsteps disappearing, can’t even hear his shadow—well, you always had the bell, right?
You shook off the slight prickling at your skin, and welcomed yourself into the clouds of warmth spiffing from the bathroom.
.
.
.
That night may have been the best sleep of your life, you had to admit. Like you’d been home, and doubled by the luxury of the place.
It might have something to do with the fact that the massive bed was amongst the comfiest things you’ve ever felt, or it might have something to do with the easy cotton fabric of the pyjamas that Nanami had left while you were bathing.
You’d come out of the bathroom, refreshed (the bathroom ceiling was blanketed with the most beautiful mosaics, and the bathtub was accented with gold), only to find that he’d left out nightwear of your liking.
Of your exact size.
You’d stopped then, wondering how he managed to find something that fit you so perfectly.
Perhaps it was a lucky guess, and a previous owner of the mansion happened to be your exact size? Then again, it did feel so new in your hands…
Without wearing yourself out even further, you’d rung the bell and partaken in a quick dinner (you’d been famished, having only scoffed down a protein bar during the conference). And then chosen to ignore the shivers that ran down your spine to tuck yourself in. Soon oblivious to the storm, and the mansion’s creaking, and the eyes that seemed to watch you at night.
It all felt like part of a dream.
In the morning, you’d awoken to the twittering of birds, and a slab of golden sunlight, like butter, filtering in through the window. Nanami had already laid out a gorgeous princess-line dress of emerald green for you, with a deep v-cut collar that showed just a coy bit of skin, and a silhouette that flattered your frame perfectly.
That, too, was the perfect fit.
You adjusted your sleeves and couldn’t help but titter to yourself as you felt like a princess. In no time after you got ready, there was a knock at the door.
“Oh, come in.”
It couldn’t be anyone but Nanami. And he looked as handsome as the last time you’d seen him (earlier, in the late hours of the night you’d almost wondered whether it was the dimness that made him look so extraordinarily handsome).
But no, he was as beautiful as ever. His golden hair glinting in the sun, like a halo, and his smile beaming as he walks closer to you. “Good morning, my lady.” Nanami bows, “I see you have already prepared yourself for the day. How exquisite you look, should my eyes fall upon such a sight every morning then I should be blessed. Am I correct in assuming that the dress is adequate to your tastes?”
“It’s just beautiful, Nanami.” You run your hands down the sides, admiring. “I don’t know how you managed to get my perfect size.”
He brings a gloved index up to his lips, with a wink. “A butler always had his secrets.” Before he straightens up, “Now, if you would allow me, may I help you with your hair and make-up?”
“Oh-” You’d just thought about rifling through the vanity’s drawers, with the slight hope that you might find the products you use. And as if he could read your mind, he was offering. “Are you…sure?”
“It would be my honor, my lady.” Nanami sits you down on the chair before the vanity mirror. His broad frame behind you- from here, you could see just how snugly that tailcoat fit his slender waist. “You may keep your eyes on me, or on yourself- please tilt your chin up—”
Soft, cold hands get to work.
And you really did feel like a princess.
.
.
.
By the time you’re walking downstairs for breakfast, you find yourself all dolled up just the way you like it - and you didn’t even have to give Nanami too many directions. You thoroughly considered taking him back once you leave.
With the crook of his elbow stuck out for you to hold onto, his biceps flexed, you made your way to sit at the head of a long table. Narrow and at least as lengthy as two of your bedrooms back home.
Him trailing behind you at the entrance, you excitedly walk forwards to sit down- and have your chair pushed in by…Nanami?
You look towards the entrance once more, you could’ve sworn that he was still there the last time you looked.
He swiftly placed a steaming silver dish of breakfast in front of you, and then filled the table up with so many fruit platters upon toast upon sneaky puddings. Your eyes took in the kaleidoscope of food, feeling slightly dizzy at the sheer amount. “Did you—did you make all of this just this morning, Nanami?”
“What, this?” He looked in slight surprise at the table, as if wondering whether that was really an incredible amount. “Just part of my duties, my lady. Along with the cleaning, the baking, and the watering, a few to name.”
You look behind you - the dining room overlooked part of the garden that you hadn’t noticed last night during the storm.
Plush plants that somehow seemed unaffected by the torrents of water that had poured down: roses, chrysanthemums, marigolds, and weeping willows that all swayed idly in the wind. Like they were welcoming you. Welcoming you back. They were planted in a maze-like pattern. From here you think you could see flower-filled archways, and a lake that glittered underneath the sun.
You wondered how you missed it all last night - surely you would have stumbled across a few of the hedge growth? It all seemed so barren as you’d wound your way up to the portico, so acrid. But now…
“And if you don’t mind me being so brazen, I hope you do forgive me for this.” Nanami says, and you whip your head back to him- him and a very familiar set of car keys he was holding. “I took the freedom to move your car into our driveway.”
Your eyes nearly pop out of their skull, “You mean you pushed it all the way here?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Nanami smiles that secret smile, “Would you like to take a look at it after breakfast, my lady?”
You nod fervently, gulping down the rest of your breakfast.
In a few minutes, you’d already finished and was being tutted by Nanami into drinking enough water and putting on the outside slippers (procured by him, also your exact size) before you went outside. As expected, your car was a wreck.
There was one wheel missing and the engine seemed to be completely busted.
“I have already summoned the town’s mechanic.” He’s telling you, as you looked on at the car in gloom - that thing had taken up a lot of savings to acquire, and above all you hated to see it in such a sorry state. How would you get home?
“And?” You ask, eagerly. “Did they say when they would get here?”
“I’m afraid he won’t be here for at least a few days, my lady.” Nanami frowns empathetically, mirroring you. “The storm last night was quite vicious, you see. It has most of the roads blocked with trees, and until those get cleared up, he won’t be able to make it up here.”
You swear underneath your breath.
“But the good news is you can stay here as long as you like!” He attempts to lighten the mood, with a smile. “In fact, I might just keep you even longer.”
“Oh, but I really couldn’t impose…”
“I insist.”
And that was that, it seems you’d be staying here for a little longer than you’d originally planned. Though, with Nanami’s hospitality, you doubted you’d feel anything but at home.
Right?
.
.
.
The rest of your day and the next was spent simply reading the fantasy novels in your bedroom, lounging in the gardens and corners of the mansion.
By your second day there you’d explored every inch of the mansion that there was to explore (except for, perhaps the basement. A strangely nostalgic door outside. Which you had reached the very foot of, before Nanami had gently nudged you back inside with some comment about wines being mulled there that cannot see the light of day until the time was right). It’d taken you five entire days to get yourself properly acquainted with the place.
And with your profanities.
Spewing them out, you don’t think you’ve ever used before as you attempted to get even a single bar of signal for your phone.
“Goddammit-” You grit your teeth, for the nth time in the past hour. It’s your second day in the mansion, and you’re leaning over the balcony of your bedroom, so far outwards that you think you might just fall off.
With your hand outstretched, phone fisted in the air and searching for a signal. You couldn’t call anyone like this, let alone the mechanic to confirm. None of your messages or emails went through, either. “How are we this far up and yet I can’t get a single bar- oh, when I get home I’m cancelling this stupid subscription mark my words.”
“Might I suggest, my lady–” Nanami says from behind you. He stood beside your bed, changing the blankets and fluffing the pillows. “-that in the meantime you perhaps take a look at our library? I think you’ll find that we have certain books that are quite riveting.”
“Maybe…” You respond, still stung by the uselessness of your phone. “I don’t suppose that in the meantime you could also arrange a messenger pigeon for me, could you?”
He perks up, “I shall tame a pigeon immediately-”
“No no, it’s alright.” You wave off, with a stifled laugh. Ah- he always did manage to put you in a better mood, despite your circumstances. “Maybe I’ll take a look at the library tonight, it beats trying not to smash my phone to bits.”
“Quite.” Nanami quips.
And before you can say anything more, he’s walking over to you. Placing his hand on top of the phone - effectively on top of yours—“After all, it is a beautiful day outside. Would you fancy a walk in the garden, my lady?”
“Y-yes please-” You whisper, at his proximity. Cold to the touch.
“Then, I shall get your slippers ready.” He smiles, and leaves. You can only look from afar as he exits, letting a breath leave your chest that you didn’t know you’d been holding in for the moment.
Your head drops down without thinking to look at your phone. Only—
NOT FOUND ERROR 404.
You furrow your brows, trying to press on a few buttons- but the error message doesn’t leave. It glitches. Different from the meager ‘no signal’ symbol that’d been there earlier. And the crashed page is all you can see once more.
NOT FOUND ERROR 404.
NOT FOUND ERROR 404.
NOT FOUND ERROR 404.
.
.
.
The error message lasts until your walk in the gardens.
The error message lasts all the way until after lunch. After dinner.
It was in the dead of your third night here, under the veil of darkness, when you finally manage to find a signal.
Despite your phone having crashed, and despite your feet aching from your productive day, you found yourself leaning over the edge of your bedroom balcony once more. The edge of your phone reaching outwards—one bar of signal obtained.
You breathe out in relief, falling back onto the heels of your feet. The wind was whipping in spirals around you, creating a cloud of your nightdress to billow. Soft silk. Feeling like the touch of a hand.
You look at the phone screen that had finally stopped flashing that error sign, and eagerly tap towards the phone app. Only—
Your phone vibrates with a call.
Confused at the Unknown number, you wonder whether this might be someone from home that’s been worried about your whereabouts. And so you don’t question it much when you slide the blaring bar and answer the call. “Hello?”
No one answers.
You repeat, “Hello? Can you hear me?”
No one answers.
Perhaps it was the wind that was making you hard to hear? You turn away from the gales slightly, careful not to lose the humble signal that you have. And you press your phone harder against your face. “Hello? Who’s this-”
No one answers.
But that’s when you hear it: heavy breathing.
Low and labored. Like someone had just run a mile and immediately picked up the phone, somehow dialing your number.
“Is this some sort of prank?” You hiss, “Because it isn’t funny. Who is this?”
No one answers.
Heavy breathing.
“Answer me-”
No one answers.
Heavy breathing.
“Hello?”
No one answers.
Heavy breathing.
“Answer me-”
There’s a sharp tone as the phone ends, whether by you or whoever was on the other end of the line you’re not quite sure.
Heavy breathing.
This time, not from the phone.
You whirl around with a gasp—the curtains gust out at a sudden wind. And there’s no one behind you - there’s no sound of breathing behind you, either. But you’re sure you’d heard it before. You’re sure.
Lightning flashes in the distance.
There’s the rumble of thunder that almost sounds like laughter- in fact, you’re sure that if you let your ears keenly listen in, it was laughter. Masculine and deep. Echoing into the distance, like it was someone surrounding you.
With your phone clutched to your thundering chest, you’re quickly walking to the safety of your bedroom inside. And you decide to lock every window that night.
You couldn’t sleep.
.
.
.
The day after that - your third day in the mansion now, your fourth night - there was still no sign of the car mechanic. You’d taken to sleeping during the day, lounged upon an intricately woven love seat that was inside your chambers.
Of course, Nanami hadn’t questioned a thing.
He was as warm and welcoming as ever, of course. Always so efficient getting you the things you needed, helping you get ready, and cooking your favorite foods - almost too efficient. Any time you looked at him, he never seemed to have a hair out of place, despite being embroiled in the toughest of domestic tasks (he took offense any time you offered to pull your own weight until the mechanic arrived).
Practically perfect.
Almost unnatural.
You wondered how he had the time to do it all…
And that foggy night, you tossed and turned amongst the sea of expensive silken blankets. Ultimately, as the clock struck 2AM and you still found yourself unable to sleep, you got off the side of the mattress and walked. To the candelabra on the cabinet. And then outside.
With no fixed aim nor destination, your feet took you down one of the paths you’d explored during your days here. Though, you had the faintest feeling that even if you hadn’t explored- you’d have known your way around here. Past unwilted flowers and paintings that seemed to stare you down as you passed. And soon enough, you were standing in front of the great double doors of the library.
One of them, at least.
Nanami had told you that the mansion boasted about five massive libraries, filled to the brim with books across all ages and authors. And the smell of pages and put-out fires greet your senses when you enter, your slippers thudding across the cold stone floor.
The ceiling was high, almost never-ending.
And from above peered severe gargoyles, their wings outstretched, and their mouths mid-scream as if to warn you not to take a step closer. You wrapped your arms around your body and shivered, looking up at the high shelves.
With one hand craned out, you trace your fingers down their thick spines. Not a speck of dust on them.
Until, finally, the hairs at the back of your neck seem to raise–
You look behind you.
Nothing.
It was dark in the library, the sole source of light being the paper-thin moonlight that filtered in through the windows. Casting an almost eerie glow on everything it’s spindly fingers touched.
Though, you still don’t think you would be able to sleep if you headed back to your bedroom right now. And you curiously read the book spines where you stopped walking (it was too dark to make them out properly, yet you still take a few of them with you, in hopes of a distraction).
You sit down at the nearest wooden table, and the singular candle holder in the middle of it flickers to life. As if awakened by your presence.
You really wondered what this mechanism must be - you made a mental note to ask Nanami tomorrow. And in the glow, you could now see what books you’d actually picked up.
Baker’s Book (1901)
Sebastian’s Book on How to Keep the House Warm
Pride and Prejudice
A Historical Analysis of the Nanami Mansions
That one was struck through, its scabrous leather cover torn as if someone had ripped through it with a knife. You squinted as you tried to read through the title, to no avail.
Of Demons and Servitude: The Hellish Agelong Contracts That Surpass Love
That last one seemed a little out of place amongst the rest- well. You took a look around. Perhaps it wasn’t that out of place.
And in the dancing candlelight, you open the first book and begin to read.
.
.
.
You’d fallen asleep there.
Somewhere midway through a paragraph about how this very mansion had no official founder, and how it had been handed to the first owner by chance; thus, resulting in its descent into discourse over ownership (with masters who, surprisingly, rather than fighting for it had been fighting not to have it), and how the whereabouts of the last master was unknown.
You dreamt of contracts and haggling masters and packed bags and demons. The red, red eyes of a demon that watched from the shadows.
As much a part of the mansion as the mansion was part of him.
And you swear that in the depths of your slumber, you felt cold, cold hands graze your skin. Your cheek. Your arms. With his pointed fingernails that were meant to kill.
A candle snuffs out.
You woke up and it was morning, and someone had draped a blanket over you.
.
.
.
Nanami had noticed that you were becoming more and more engulfed in your books. After several more tries to reach a phone signal had failed, you’d resigned yourself to merely waiting for the mechanic to get to you.
He informed you that the road clean up seemed to have been taking longer than usual, given the constant downpour the land was experiencing. And you understood.
After all, you weren’t lacking for anything here at all. Nanami made sure of that.
You’d moved on from the mysterious, and half-recorded, history of the mansion. Somehow more interesting than you might have imagined. On towards the baking book, the novel, even the domestic book.
Until the only thing left out of the book you’d picked was the eerie one about demons. Though you could easily go back and choose another, you weren’t a quitter!
And so you found yourself flipping through its pages, all the while watched over by a silent Nanami.
You begrudgingly admitted that the book had you enraptured. And soon enough, you were drinking in all there was to drink about the rituals it took to summon said demons, the way they could take on the most exquisite appearances, and even a few ‘real life’ recounts of people who’ve encountered them.
“Look at this one, Nanami.” You pointed somewhere on the page, and he leaned over your shoulder kindly to follow your finger. “The person saying they saw a demon here is from this very town, hah! What a coincidence.”
He smiles, “What a coincidence indeed, my lady.”
“Just imagine- meeting a demon. I wonder what it would be like- I’d probably get my soul stolen in an instant.”
“Demons steal souls only after they’ve bound a human in a contract, my lady. Though other methods of payments for a demon’s services can manifest themselves in the form of blood, flesh, sex. They thirst for those things, demons. Going without is almost worse than death- of course, a demon can’t die.” At your slightly stunned silence, Nanami cocks his head. “Chapter sixteen, the ways of the body.”
“R-right.” You start, “Sorry, I just didn’t think you’d be the type to be into such things.”
He bears a secret smile. A secret, secret smile. “There is much that you don’t know of me, my lady.” Nanami spreads butter on a piece of toast without you even asking to, and places it gently down on your plate. “But of course, there is much time to find out.”
.
.
.
It’s by your sixth day that Nanami finally knocks at your bedroom door, deep into the evening. And he informs you that-
“The mechanic shall be here in a few hours, my lady.” You look outside through your window, at the blue and gold night. And of course he notices that little action - he notices everything. “I may have had a hand in the somewhat ah- untimely manner of things. You see, I had pressured him into coming as soon as possible, and it seems that the roads have only just cleared.”
“Oh, I see.” You reply, “I expect I should go down to wait for him in a bit, then.”
“If you so wish, my lady.”
After dinner, you took your demon book with you and paced the halls of the mansion. Just waiting. It was a few hours past when the mechanic was supposed to come, and you could feel yourself getting antsy. No matter how many times Nanami told you the mechanic would be here soon, and that he would take care of it all.
Nonetheless, when you found the corridors thoroughly trodden, you stepped outside. It was a clear night out, and you sat on the porch with your book in your lap.
Reading through the passages in the dim twilight as you waited.
You were on the final chapter now.
“Chapter 22: Fables From the Shadows - Nanami Mansion.
Hearken, o’ mortal. In another story from the deep, the darkness, I entrust your ears with the legend of the Nanami mansion.
Hundred of years old. It stands still, braving the storms and the times, a relic of a past that never changes. And shall never change. Not as long as the mansion is haunted by the ghosts of its past, they say that the very walls of the house are infused with a force unknown.
Or so they say.
No mortal soul can say with utmost certainty when the mansion was built, nor by who, nor for what purpose. Only that the line of its masters has been both gruesome and bloody; history claims that what had once been impassioned family feuds over ownership quickly turned into a family heirloom that no pawn shop would accept.
No soul wished to be the master of a demon.”
A twig snaps.
And you gasp, looking up- though there was no one there. The light that flooded in from the mansion revealed no one outside, and so, shaking, you kept on reading.
The mechanic still wasn’t here.
“Yes, o’ mortal. It is true.
Though one cannot say for certain the dark forces that envelop the house, it is what resides inside that is sure to catch the interest of a demonologist such as you and I.
A demon.
They say that he - or, at least, he who takes the shape of a man - runs the household as if its masters still occupy its decadent bones. As if its masters weren’t taken by the very force that now cleans the windows, and grows pretty flowers in the mansion’s garden. As if its masters still live.
Still linger.
But do not be fooled, dear reader, the only thing that lingers in this household is the demon himself. His smile gentle. His face kindly. It would not be out of the realm of possibility that those of mortal desires, like us, are disarmed by the handsome face he uses to mask his bloodthirst. And he has snuffed the mansion of anything that makes this house a home.”
Someone was watching you.
Somehow, it didn’t feel human.
“One by one, it started with the other servants, centuries ago. Those who were lucky to flee their posts and tell the tale spoke of a shadow that haunted their every waking moment, of a fleeting presence that produced nail marks in the morning, or items in their chambers suddenly unravelled.
He was the model worker, unsusceptible.
And by the time the masters of the household realized, it was far too late for their mortal souls. The servants had disappeared, the livestock had fallen to plague, and the only residents of the mansion were them. And him.”
Someone was waiting.
You knew it didn’t feel human.
“There need not be much speculation on the fates of the owners in the house at the time, after which there was a scramble to pawn the mansion by living relatives.
Though, by that point, rumors of the mansion’s more supernatural occurrences were already beginning to fester, and the effort was futile.
And though the mansion stands lonely now, never think that it is abandoned, o’ mortal. Perhaps you shall find that the chandeliers are always lit, and the beds are made. Dinners at the mansion are lavish and a-plenty. All of this can be given credit to the demon that runs it, of course.”
You stand up.
The mechanic was countless hours past when he was supposed to come, and you guessed he wouldn’t be making it today, either. Perhaps something more urgent had come up. Your feet step backwards- but something stops you, as if an invisible force. And without taking your eyes away from the page, you step forwards.
“Why this ancient creature torments the mortals that reside in the mansion, yet takes such meticulous care of it is a question unanswered to us. Perhaps we may never know.
Though some whispers claim that the rightful owner isn’t any lord or ladyship or bastard heir. No, not at all. It is - and brace yourselves for this, dear reader - none other than the demon himself.”
Forwards.
“Of course, this is only one theory put forth by demonologists. But as the rightful heir to the estate, the demon takes his time finishing off the foolish mortals that believe that it is theirs to claim. When, in actuality, you are stepping into the very abode of the creature. And no one - no one - has lasted longer than six days in its abode.
A creature that cannot ache. A creature that cannot love.”
Forwards.
“And he will always have his door open to the ignorant that walk in. Into what one may think is a heaven named after his very self.”
You stop.
“Nanami Kento, of the Nanami Mansions.”
The book drops from your hands.
A scream in your throat, you’re realizing that you’d walked yourself - almost in a trance - right up to the shrub-covered door to the basement. The very same one that Nanami had nudged you away from last time.
Nanami…a shiver runs down your spine. You don’t know what to think.
Almost as if it will provide you the answers, you reach out and twist the basement door handle. It creaks out in agony as it opens, and you almost have half the mind to run away right then, right now.
But you’re no quitter.
In nothing but the pale moonlight, you step inside the basement and make your way down its narrow stairway. They were made of metal, biting through the soles of your slips with each step. You’re squinting your eyes in the darkness, hands reached out in front of you like you’d find something.
And then—
And then, right as you reach the landing of the staircase, you step in something wet.
It almost felt like a puddle after rain. Though the liquid stuck to your slippers, thicker than that. And as you raised your feet, it created a hollow squelch; the viscous sap looked much darker than water was supposed to be.
You gasp. It can’t be-
Lightning strikes.
Just a snapshot of light. Like someone had taken a photograph and burned it into your retinas.
In that split-second, you saw that what you’d thought was a puddle of water wasn’t really water at all. It was red. It was thick.
And it was leading a pathway all the way down to a body in the middle of the basement.
Two-toned hair bled red. Eyes pure white.
The mechanic lay dead on the basement floor. For how long, you weren’t quite sure.
With a scream, you almost slip on the blood as you sprint upstairs. Running out into the pouring rain outside - if you’d been guided in a daze to the massacre, then your brain was working in overdrive to guide you out.
Slippers squelching. Eyes stinging with rain. You couldn’t even see where you were going, and it reminded you of the night you arrived here.
Yet, you’ll always find the mansion - always. And in almost no time (though it felt like eons to your poor, shivering body), you’re running inside the mansion and slamming! the front door shut.
Body pushed against the door. Lungs heaving. You gulp.
With your eyes downturned, your watch the rich carpet beneath your feet drench with beads of water. Rusted water. Blood.
Fuck.
You had to get out of here right now.
Just as soon as the thought has struck your brain, the candles go out. Every. Single. One of them. Startled, you’re whipping around and trying to open the door- bang! bang! bang! It only rattles underneath your hands, firmly shut with unseen bolts and padlocks that you wouldn’t have been able to open no matter what.
And it’s only with the thin glow of the moonlight that you can move your urgent body, one step after the other. Jerky, as if you have to force yourself to do it.
As if you have to fight against some outside force to do so.
You knew that no matter where you went inside the mansion, Nanami would be able to find you. What if you—the balcony.
You gasp, and try to tamper the thought down as swiftly as it had formed.
Without a second of lingering any further, your feet dart you up the sprawling staircase. Spirals. Heart thundering, feet thudding, and your gasps laborious as you ran towards the bedroom that he had oh-so-graciously given to you.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Steady.
The complete opposite of your own, follow you the closer you get to it. Seeing that gleaming wooden door wink at you from the end of the hallway, like an old friend.
Until, finally, you’re throwing open the door and running inside-
“My lady.”
You howl in terror and it’s swallowed up by the sudden crashing of the storm outside. You hadn’t just raced into your room- you’d ended up bumping into none other than Nanami Kento’s firm, toned chest.
Carefully looping his arms around you.
“You’re-” You hiss, stepping backwards. “You’re a-”
“Yes.”
And then suddenly he’s behind you. Caging you inside the room, with no possibility of running back where you’d come from.
He looms, larger than life. His shadow walking inside- “I can’t believe you’re a-” You stagger backwards, “So all this time-”
“All this time.” Nanami breathes out, even though you knew that his lungs didn’t need to work. Then he grins and oh- it’s the one thing that you could see completely clearly in the dimness of the night: his stark-white fangs, those crimson eyes, pupils like a snake’s.
They bore down at you, especially when your limp legs stumble- and Nanami’s right there to steady you. With his inhumanly strong arms capturing your waist, and his chest pressed to yours.
Oh.
That low voice of his buries deep within your eardrums, sensual. “And I’ve been waiting…” He practically purrs, and your thighs clench. “-so, so long for you, my lady.”
You feel shivers go down your spine when Nanami nuzzles his nose against your throat, “A- a long time- so you mean that-”
“Yes.”
“Am I an descendant to the owner of this house-”
“Yes.” He sighs out his answers, like it took everything in him. Like he was breathing life into you. And you can’t help but notice that the two of you have edged towards the bed now, and you slightly turn your head to look at the mirror on the wall. “And you don’t know how starved I have been, my lady.”
Only to find that Nanami’s reflection didn’t show up on it.
It looked as if you were standing by yourself, and the blond-haired man (demon, more like) only holds you tighter in response. He murmurs in your ear, “Though enlightening, that book of yours doesn’t hold much truth.”
“It doesn’t?”
“Well-” His fangs glint, “-it does.”
You shiver. Not only with coldness, not only with fear.
Something more akin to a carnal need, with him pressed up against you like this.
“Though, it was wrong about two things-” Nanami’s plump lips graze down the column of your throat, and you wonder whether he can sense the way you grow…wet. “-a demon can yearn, a demon can love.”
Oh.
One of his overlarge hands drag down your spine, fiddling with the ties of a dress that he’d tailored to your exact size. Perhaps centuries ago.
“And this demon has been waiting for centuries for your soul to return, my lady.”
Your arms tighten on his shoulders, and tender slip up to loop around his neck. “I’m here, Kento.” Your body is boneless in his hold, and he holds you to him like he wants you to be of one soul.
.
.
.
There’s a sodden squeeeeelch as he’s lightly tuggin’ those cute panties of yours aside- how could you even walk around with something so sweet on you?
Nanami feels his oh-so-famished tastebuds start to water at the sight of your pretty, pretty cunt. Just a thin line of drool makin’ its way down the side of his stern lips, mirroring the way that your tight hole was weeping out.
He rubs his glove-clad thumb down the front of your glistening folds, and you whimper at the scratch of its smooth texture. “Have you ever done something like this before, my lady?”
With a mewl, you nod.
And you can’t help but notice the way that Nanami’s jaw clenches. “I see.” And there’s an inkling of something dark in his tone that you can’t quite pinpoint right now, roverin’ his mean fingerpads just over where your poor clit was. “And, forgive me if this is too forward, but have you ever fully enjoyed something like this before, my lady?”
“Well-” You try to keep your tone even, bucking off the bed. You were all sprawled out with only your drenched panties on, and Nanami Kento was on his knees by the foot of the bed.
On his knees for you.
His lips twitched impatiently, a sort of hunger in his eyes the longer he had to watch your needy pussy cling onto nothing. Continuing, “Well, I’ve liked it before with other people but-”
“Yes, my lady?”
And as you finish off, you slightly duck your head in shame. Whispering the words out (though you knew he’d hear with his demonic senses anyways). “But none of them have ever made me…cum before. I can reach it by myself but with other people- you know.”
“I understand.” You peer up to see the way that Nanami stares kindly at you. Something understanding in his eyes. Something…primal.
And your cunt starts to throb even more once he reaches his dominant right hand up to his mouth, then proceeding to bite down on the edge of his glove, and pull it off with his tongue. So unintentionally attractive. “Then, kindly allow me.”
In a split-second, his thick fingertip is probin’ between your pussylips.
Feeling the hotness of you clenching ‘round him and he groans- “You’re so ready for me, aren’t you, madam?” Just the slightest hitch in his tone as he’s then sinking in with a slooooooppy slurp. The kind that leaves your ears ringing and your mouth dropping with each scouring inch he eases in.
Your eyes roll to the back of your skull at the feeling of his tender girth poking your insides. “O-oh my god.” Bucking your hips even deeper into his touch- “How does it feel so good already?”
“Oh, is that so–?” Nanami’s blond lashes flutter in amusement, “But you haven’t felt anything yet, my lady. Won’t you just raise your hips for me-” He guides you, and you’re squirming down his lengthy digits. “-yes, yes. Just like that, keep taking it all, alright?”
“I am I am-” Sobbing.
And you don’t know where you’re bawling more from - your swollen lips on your face, or the ones down below. The ones that he was striking viciously with his mountainous knuckles, every time he thrusted to let the long, solid inches of his finger delve inside.
Inside and inside.
Pushin’ in- he was just so eager to plunge himself inside.
Until the very forefront of his knuckles smacked your pussylips, and Nanami’s ruthlessly pressing his ring finger against your outer cunt. Smooch-smooch-smooching the very round tip of his ring finger against your pulsing clit, until he’s trying to fit that inside, too.
“Easy does it.” Nanami hisses, blond brows furrowing. Beads of sweat start decorating his forehead as he concentrates. “Easy- eeeeeasy. You can take it, my lady.”
And if you thought that the stretch of one of his fingers was enough to drive you wild, then you weren’t ready for two. “Oh my- fuck. You’re so mean.” You whine, holding onto his other gloved hand. Nanami has his fingers romantically intertwined with yours, and you were just clawing at his wrist there.
The demon raises a brow - devilish. “Would you like me to stop?”
“No!” You rush to blurt out, your hips startin’ to gyrate. It took you a few vulgar strokes to get used to the size of him stretchin’ out your tiniest hidden nooks and crannies open - you swear that Nanami’s fingers were larger than normal. Scouring oh-so-deeply inside. “No no no- keep going. Ngh, you’re a-almost there.”
“Mmm, am I?” His lip curls, “And I wonder if ah- ‘there’ would feel even better with three fingers, hm?”
“O-oh…”
“That’s all you have to say, madam?” Nanami genuinely questions, though there’s a certain waver in his voice that lets you know he was teasing you. He was making your honeyed cunt grow even wetter with how Nanami Kento, of all beings, was being mean to you.
And with a few more slashing strokes, he’s fully opened up the clingy channel of your walls- fuck, he couldn’t even reel his two fingers back without your needy pussy trying to gulp him back up again.
Then with a sudden, soaked squelch you’re feeling a third of his fingertips kiss your tight hole. Tapping just a few times before he instantly presses down on your clit and makes you gasp- “Oh, fuck.”
The perfect moment for Nanami to shove his extended digit inside. All three of them expanding and contracting, scissoring a few times to engrave the crowned edges of his fingers against your most tender spots. “There-” Nanami hisses, between clenched teeth. “There there there-”
You’re suddenly seeing white- why?
Because on that fourth bludgeon of his, Nanami’s easily locating your g-spot to pummel.
“-you’re taking it all so well, my lady. S’like you’re made f’me…heh.”
“Shit-” Only blubbering and panting, he’s hittin’ your favorite spot so hard that your vision starts to blue - and you don’t know whether it’s because of tears or the sheer amount of white-hot pleasure that he’s making run through your body. “Shit shit shit shit- oh. Right there, keep going, Kento.”
Yet another smack! to that gooey bundle of nerves—“Ohhh, how I love when you call me that, madam.” Hard.
Push after push after push, and he’s spreading his prying tips so open- letting the doughy edges catch on the crevices of your g-spot. Meanly caressing.
Even though he’s speeding up, slick dripping down the sides of his overworking wrists like a faucet, you don’t think he misses that lewd target of his even a single time. Push after push after push. Dizzy with the force, you look up n’ find that Nanami’s slitted pupils were glowing.
He was using his demonic powers to perfectly angle the strikes of his fingerpads against your sweetest, sultriest spot. Stickin’ straight against your nerves, you had absolutely no chance of a breather when he was using some sort of x-ray vision to keep your pussy captive.
“Captive?” Nanami reads your thoughts, “Madam, I fear that this isn’t even- hah, half of my speed. Would you like me to accelerate?”
And he does.
And you’re feeling so much bliss at the moment that you can’t stop yourself from anchoring your feet onto the mattress and pushing off- unsure whether you wanted to help meet his cadence or run away—
“Ah ah, what an adorable feat.”
His husky baritone breaks through your hazy thoughts- and before you know it, Nanami’s free hand untangles from yours to grip the sides of your neck n’ tug you right back.
Slapping that cutely sensitive front of your pussy with his knuckles, the demon chuckles darkly as you squirm at the pleasure. “You don’t think you can run away from me, can you, my silly lady?” With a growl, he tightens his restraint on your throat and makes you wince at the lack of oxygen. “You can’t. You won’t.”
And with that, Nanami cranes his watering mouth down to kiss the insides of your thighs. Letting the syrupy-sweet sheen of your slick coat his chin, “I’ve waited for you for centuries, and I’ll wait for you centuries more. I’ll find you.” Tightening. “Don’t think of running, madam.”
“Won’t- won’t-” You squeal out, and through the blurry gaps of your vision you can see the way that Nanami’s salivating. The way that his lips edge towards your heated core, the way he looks like he’s starving the longer he stares down at your cunt. “But, Kento, I do have one request of you.”
He snaps his head up immediately, “Anything, madam.”
“Could you please, ngh-” Your lips wobble desperately as you utter, and Nanami listens enraptured to every word. “-please put your mouth on me?”
And the stern man - a demon, living for centuries, unphased as he waited for your soul to meet him again - lets his mouth drop into a heated ‘oh’ as he registers. As he lets your words throb all the way at his furious cock.
“As you wish, my lady.”
Then you’re feeling the scorching hot sensation of his breath cloud your inner thighs, slithering upwards just in time with his mouth. “As you wish-” Nanami whispers, more to himself - more like a mantra.
“As you wish, as you wish, as you- mmm.” His mouth slips over the crevice of your cunt, and you’re feeling him perfectly slot his lips with your folds. He cracks his ravenous mouth open, “Allow me to- oh.”
Before immediately shutting himself up after the first candied taste of your cunt.
He lets his slicked tongue squeeze inside, gulping. “F-forgive me for not finishing my sentence. What I meant was, allow me to-” You buck, shoving him nose-deep between your sultry pussylips. “-oh, fuck. Forgive me, you just have me so…”
And he can’t even finish his sentence like this.
Because every time he’s parting those stern lips of his to speak, yet another glittery wad of your slick slips between that greedy maw of his. Pooling at the back of his mouth like some puddle, he can’t fucking get enough of your sweet, sweet juices. “It’s just- the taste of you. Shit. My lady, and who has allowed you to taste this sinful?” He hums. Guttural.
“Mmm, I dunno. Maybe you should’ve found out earlier-” You say, coyly. And raise your hips up to let his strong, velvety tongue pry inside n’ out. Almost fighting his fingers for space inside.
“Maybe you should’ve appeared earli- oh, fuck.” Shit, did he love hearing your gorgeous voice in conversation.
But if that meant breaking off his prolonged, open-mouthed kiss with your pussy then he wasn’t wasting any time. He was just slathering his maw widely agape, the flat tastebuds on top of his tongue moving back and forth and all over.
And spearheading just his honed tip inside, the crowned girth of his tongue snakes all the way to your innards. Jostling his own fingers-
You gasp when that only makes him skid his fingertips against your g-spot even further.
“I promise, I’ll be able to finish my sentences-” Nanami seethes. “-promise I’ll be able to, just with another- mmm, just another taste-” And his tongue lavishly licks up and down your slit. “-and another- oh, maybe one more-”
Again and again.
He’s trying to control himself but he can’t.
His sizzlin’ hot tastebuds probe their way inside, before ultimately pulling out and resting against your clit. Nanami counts your throbbing pulse one-two-three-four times before he starts fucking you with it again.
All three of his digits and his tongue. Swirlin’ in dizzying patterns around and around and drawing a cute heart on top of your nub. Followed right up by his silvery initials—‘N.K.’
You’re shivering, curling the tips of your toes as the fatness of his tongue rolls over your clit. Again and again. And his fingers are just merciless- digging three slender circumferences against the side of your walls, feeling that if he could thrust even deeper to hit the side of your cervix then he would have ages ago. In fact…
“Wh-what are you-” You jump your upper half off of the springy sheets - it was as if your wet dream was coming to life. Nanami was elongating the tendrils of his fingers with supernatural powers, slipping every thorough inch even deeper. “Oh my god- ngh, now that’s just unfair-”
“And yet, I’m not the one that thought of it.” He snickers, plunging his digits further. And further and further.
So deep, in fact, that you think you can feel his slimy, slick-glazed tips all the way near the back of your throat. Stabbing in thorough thrashes, you huff. “And yet- who’s the one that’s, mmm, pussydrunk, hm?”
“No- no no no, I’m not pussydrunk, madam.” Nanami insists, “Not at all. This is just a slight affliction that I- mmpf.”
You clench ‘round his fingers and that only makes him jerk his face even deeper- thank goodness he didn’t have to fucking breathe, because he was spending all his time swabbin’ away. Using the hand he still had on your throat, he pulls you in incredibly. “It’s not that m’pussydrunk—” Slurring his damn words. “-it’s just that…”
“Mhm—?”
You’re so wet by now that you begin to gush down his face. And Nanami didn’t have blood running through his veins, of course, but you should still feel his cheekbones burn with heat.
You’d made the centuries-old demon blush.
You’d made him gurgle on the slippery wads of your slick.
So completely pussydrunk that the thought of you realizing he was so- and taking your treacly cunt away made him glue his lips to your clit with a slight cry. A slight whimper—“D-don’t take this pretty pussy away from me.” His hand lifts off of your neck to hold onto your thighs, tugging. “Please?”
And as if to prove his point - to prove his desperation - the roverin’ tip of Nanami’s tongue moves even harder against your pussy.
Even faster.
And his scouring fingerpads probe in so deep that you throw your head back with a moan. Those wriggling tips filling up your every orifice, “Yes-” You weave your fingers into his unruly golden locks. “M’not gonna, Kento-” Gasping. “M’not gonna take myself away s-so you don’t have to- oh.”
“Thank you, my lady.” Just so rough with it. “Thank you- thank you- thank you-”
You swear he’s bruising at the battered innards of your walls, and he’s leaving nail marks for daaaaays upon your thighs. Battling with his own lecherous fingers. Moving his lush tastebuds again and again and again-
“Thank you for lettin’ me taste such a sweet, sweet pussy, madam.” Nanami scorches out against your cunt, slobbering all down it. “Thank you for letting ‘er- ngh, cum all down my tongue.”
“C-cum?” You lift your dazed head at his pussydrunk babbling - only to find that it wasn’t just babbling, after all.
Because Nanami’s honed abilities meant that he could sense when the zapping fireworks at the pit of your stomach grew, he could fucking smell the honeyed fragrance of your cunt growing close. And, sure as day, with a few more vulgar strokes, you’re falling apart on his fingers and his mouth.
Your back arching you even closer against his nuzzlin’ nose, you cry out as your high zaps right through you. “It feels so good- oh, Kento. Oh my g-god.”
“Mmm, the opposite, my lady.” Nanami chuckles, fucking you through every peak of your high- you should have expected that he has a sixth sense for it. And with the soaring peaks of your orgasm, Nanami mazes his fingertips to directly hit your g-spot.
So good.
You’re drooling through your entire high stupidly, your eyes watering through the sensitive pangs of pleasure. Tuggin’ on Nanami’s clammy scalp to pull him in even deeper, and he was more than happy to let himself be moved. To be ridden.
Long, sloppy drag of his tongue making you arch your back. “Sh-shut up-” Mewling out, you let yourself be wrung dry of the waves of pleasure.
“As you wish, madam.”
And he dutifully listens, there for only your euphoria. To which you respond by elongating your high by grinding down on his face—allll the way from the point of his handsome chin to the tip of his straight nose. “Shit-” You whimper, “Shit shit shit- never felt so good. Never felt like this.”
Nanami groans ‘round your clit, the vibrations sending you into a frenzy.
“M’serious-” You prattle out, your movements eventually slowing. That might just have been the best orgasm of your entire life - you were never going to be the same. “It just felt so good, Kento…wait, you’re not- ngh, done?”
He only shakes his head.
He only lets his slitherin’ tongue lap and lap at the teary crevice of your pussy.
With every lick, you’re feeling your body go into overdrive. Heat flaring. Heart racing. You absolutely thrash against the damp sheets of the bed as he continues- like you’d never even reached your high.
Just plap after plap after plap of his knuckles against your tender outer pussy- and you start to wonder whether it doesn’t hurt for him. Whether his wrist doesn’t sting. Whether his mouth wasn’t swollen n’ rubbed raw on your drippin’ wet pussy, “Mmm, told me to shut up and make you feel good, didn’t you, madam?” You weren’t entirely sure that that was what you said, verbatim.
Yet you’re too gone on his silvery tastebuds to bite back anything now. “Y-yes…?”
“And that’s exactly what m’doing.”
He’s overstimulating you even more. Thrusting his tongue between those sopping wet lips of yours to poke at your throbbing g-spot, you swear he’s able to elongate his wet muscle even further.
Slashing against your most tender spots-
“Sh-shit- but m’so sensitive.” Whining out, you half-heartedly attempt to tug him off of your pussy- but it was as if Nanami was plastered to your wettened lips. “I don’t even know if I can cum so soon again, Kento.”
He slightly raises his head - not enough to stop his drivelling mouth, of course - and raises a blond brow. “You don’t know, my lady?”
You shake your head.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out.”
And with that said, he’s fingering you to make a point. Staring at the writhing expressions on your face every time Nanami’s digits plunged inside, they hit the near-back of your pussy with such slurping sounds.
Hit after hit. Teasingly kissin’ against the throbbing spot of your nerves, and that’s when you can feel the fireworks start up again in the pit of your stomach once more-
And that’s when Nanami can sense it.
Smell it.
Taste it- fuck, it was as if you became even sweeter on his tongue any time you were nearing your high. And he doesn’t say a single word - doesn’t waste the time to - only thrashing and thrashing, he hits the bruised area of your g-spot and watches as you fall apart once more.
Pleasure zipping through your body.
Toes curling.
Tears were streaming down your cheeks, and your mattress was all but drenched with the moisture.
“Oh my god-” You’re all but limp by your second orgasm, letting it wrack your body mercilessly. “You were right-” Your breath hitches. “-ngh, m’cumming again, Kento. C-cumming—”
“Mmm, I know, madam.” Nanami grins, and you can feel it form against the tender folds of your pussy. Branding itself there. “I did that.”
He was mean.
You buck and you buck and you buck as he licks every crevice of your insides, and once he was done fucking you well n’ proper through your other high- the slicked tip of Nanami’s tongue slurps back in once again. As if to do it all over again.
He feels you clench ‘round him urgently, “A-again?” You ask, with a weepy tremble in your voice.
“Mmm, don’t think you can do it a third time?” Nanami gutturally groans out, “D’you wanna find- ngh, find out, hm?”
“Actually…” And he hangs onto your every word.
Your jittery fingers intertwine with his polished hair, tugging. Continuing where you left off, “I was thinking that m’ready for something else.” He looks on in something that almost looks like disbelief - desperation. As if he couldn’t believe that these words were really spilling out of your mouth. “Wan’ your cock, Kento.”
And something in him seems to…snap.
“A-as you wish, my lady.”
He bows to you, right then and there.
In practically no time - though, to Nanami who’d been waiting for centuries, it only felt like centuries more - you’re being pushed back on the mattress until your head softly nudges the headboard. Nanami heaves himself up on the bed.
And you can’t help but notice that for someone who always looked so prim and put-together, he looked absolutely gone.
Hair sticking up in multiple angles. Eyes half-lidded and drunk. Slick dribbling down the sides of his mouth and down his prominent Adam’s apple. It drops from his fangs, which have now elongated. And lecherously down the front of his suit, which was a darker color than it usually was- drenched in heaps of your mess. In heaps of his mess.
In quick, severe movements, Nanami takes his suit off. So fast and urgent that you can hear the whooshing sounds of the fabric attempting not to rip at the seams.
When it gets to his pants, your eyes drop down - it’s been a feast for the eyes with every layer that Nanami peeled away. First it revealed those broad, milky shoulders of his. Then it revealed his plush pecs, his ladder-like abs.
Until finally you were following the line of his sparse happy trail down to his thick, aching cock. And fuck- a few profanities leave your mouth, he was the biggest size you’ve ever seen.
Just about nine inches (perhaps ten), with a plethora of winding veins that made it look as though he’d feel like he was twelve. A thick hilt. Ready balls. And the fat mushroom tip of his cock was glazed in a glittery topping of precum, pulsing primally as the cold air hit him. Dripping.
“Anything you wish, my lady.”
Shivering at his serious tone of voice, you reach a hand up to your own collar-
Only to be halted in your tracks by an invisible force.
Nanami had one hand raised, his power surging. “Allow me.” He says, and with a harsh brush of his animalistic fingernails, he’s tearing your dress into shreds. Like butter under his touch. Easily falling apart.
Your dress to your bra, they fall into tatters. And the only thing left is your slick-flooded panties that he scrapes a hand down to tear off, as well.
Before stopping- and seeming to think better of it- “Actually.” Nanami starts, “Keep them on.”
Oh, he was being filthy.
He was being mean.
And before your hazy brain can even register it, your legs are being flapped open. Kept firmly apart by two of his soft hands, feather-light, he pins them to the mattress and lets his slick cockhead slide juuuuust between your pussylips.
Back and forth, back and forth. The weight of his throbbing girth only makes you grow even wetter, and you’re gasping by the time he’s glazed himself up ‘nough to start pushing in.
“Now-” Nanami hisses, fangs grit. His heated body hunches over, and sweat beads down from his forehead to yours. The first feeling of your pussy clamping all ‘round his rock-hard length, and Nanami is a broken man. Slamming his hand down on the top of the mahogany headboard. “Now, madam, we’re gonna have to breathe, alright? Breathe with me now-”
You gasp- “Fuck- fuck, you’re so big-”
“Mhmmm—c’mon, my lady, breathe with me.” And though he was almost falling apart at the seams, he found the ability to string together coherent-enough sentences. Seething. “Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in–”
In and out. In and out.
Just like the way that plush, pinkish tip of his was swabbin’ repeatedly- he was pumping out half-ruts, just trying to fit himself inside your pussy.
Opening you up wiiiidely—
You try to follow along with what he says, “Fuck-” But the stretch of the first inch of his cock fitting in was incredible, he was molding his way inwards. Shaping out your snug channel, “But how am I supposed to when you feel like- hah- that-”
“Awww, difficult, hm?” Nanami coos, empathetically. You nod, all teary-eyed and pretty taking his elongated shaft that he can’t help but let himself swell just a lil’ wider. Thicker.
You’re taking this change in size with a moan.
And he ponders to himself for a few more strokes, getting used to the warmth of your cunt. Before humming like he’d just been struck with an epiphany- and soon enough, Nanami’s holding out his strong, vein-covered forearm in front of your line of vision.
Murmuring, “Then bite on it.”
Your eyes widen, “What?” But before you know it, you’re already making use of the demon’s sinful little solution - the next inch that he’s somehow mazing inside you, you’re sinking your teeth into the golden flesh of his forearm and taking it.
“Mmm, just like that.” He pants, squeeze-squeeze-squeeeezing his way past your puckered folds. The globular front of his cock kisses either side of your walls, pinpointing specks of pre everywhere his fingers had touched just moments earlier. “Take it- take it take it take it- sloooow and easy. You’re doing so well, my lady.”
Sensually, he’s managing to let your ravenous cunt swallow up his inches.
And your sobs hitch after every stroke, it just felt like his fleshy tip was gracing your very lungs. You straddle his slim waist- tugging. “K-Kento…”
“Impatient, are we?” He raises a brow, “You have to take it easy, madam, if we want it to fit- breathe in. Breeeeathe in—”
And every time you did, he was shovelling in a few more inches. But the thing about Nanami Kento is that he made sure he tended to your every need; playfully rolling his thumb over your clit as he pumped himself into your hot core.
Which meant that he took things slow, took things at a pace that your feverishly needy mind was being infuriated by.
Without warning (though, later on, you’re sure that he’d sensed it coming and simply let you), you lock your ankles around his hips and pull-pull-pull him in.
And with that, his roverin’ wet shaft.
Bottoming out.
The headboard he’s holding onto cracks under the pressure.
You wanted him deep inside you. And Nanami can only respond by spitting out a line of swears that hits you in a scorching breeze, his face twisting into something of pure ecstasy. “O-oh.” Nanami’s voice stutters. Nanami’s voice cracks. “Ohhh, you shouldn’t have done that, my lady.”
And without further ado, he’s fucking you like a madman.
“Wanted to t-take it easy- you shouldn’t have done that-” He manages to spit out. Body shivering. His cock throbbing angrily right at the spongy platform of your cervix. “You r-really really…” Dazed, slightly, like his body was moving in water, he unhooks his palm from the now-splintered headboard. Then he throws those cute legs of yours over his deltoids.
Letting them lock firmly behind his sweaty neck, Nanami’s bending his ripped body doooooown. Folding you in half, too- you swear you’re hearing a few of your joints pop!
And Nanami’s only hazily gliding his palm down your limbs, a soothing coldness overcoming them. No broken bones on his watch (even if his body was moving before his mind right now). So there’s no excuse for why you can’t bend in half for him. No excuse for why he can’t press his sticky forehead to yours and drill his hips even harder.
No excuse for the way that rotund tip of his scrapes your cervix with a rapid thud! thud! thud! The tender curve of his ballsack strikes the front of your pussy all raw—
Your mouth waters with the impact, “Y-you’re reaching in so deep, ngh.” But of course he was: he had you manhandled until the caps of your knees hit your tits.
“Mmm, just how you like it- hm?” Nanami chuckles, though there’s a certain pleading tone in his voice. Those drunken, honeypool eyes of his are boring straight into yours, and he memorizes even the slightest expressions you’re making at the massage of his puffy cock. “It feels good? Feels great? Makin’ this pussy feels so- oh, loooovely like she deserves?”
“Yes-” You’re gasping, your throat hoarse at the feeling of his zig-zagged veins that just kept intruding into your deepest hidden crevices. “Yes yes yes yes- yes-”
Somehow, he always managed to find the area that your drippin’ wet cunt needed him the most. Just straightly heading his wet tip towards that spot, and pressing a thorough smooch that made you damn near scream into his mouth.
And it’s then that a sudden thought hits you.
“Oh.”
“Oh?” Nanami echoes- fuck, you’d almost forgotten that he could read minds. And with those demonic powers of his, he was echoing out a certain cockdrunken idea that you had. “So you want to know whether I can use my extra vision to hit your g-spot with my, mmm, cock, huh?”
Restless, you nod.
“And you know what you need to- d-do to have me fulfill your wishes—right, madam?” Uttering out - stumbling though his words.
Shit, even he was affected by the idea.
The ends of his tight fingertips shivering as you finally unfasten your mouth to ask- “C-can you please- ngh, use your powers to hit my g-spot, Kento?” And when you flutter those teary lashes of yours for effect?
Fuck, you might as well just call him a dead man (he was too far gone on your gushing cunt to register the fact that he, technically, wasn’t living).
Because with a sudden, concentrated surrender of his hips- Nanami perfectly angles the blushin’ red end of his shaft. That lil’ divot on the very end streamed out precum that made you splosh around from the inside, “Breathe in.” He rasps, thumb flitting down to press on your clit. “Breathe- out-”
“Oh- oh my–” More like you’re squealing out at the rough jab of his cockhead. The demon’s eyes activate into something glowing when he perfectly targets your needy g-spot.
Snickering. “Breathe in.”
You breathe in.
“Breathe-”
This time, he doesn’t even finish his damn sentence before letting the slit of his shaft snag your sweetest spot. You had so many cute, clingy ridges inside that he loves to stretch out with his sheer girth- and one of them was right by your g-spot that Nanami just kept rubbing and rubbing and rubbing all over.
Wadding out a mess of his precum until your walls likely looked like cobwebs from the inside- “You don’t know what you’re- hah, doing t’me, little mortal.” The fatness of his thumb rolls over your clit, making you see stars. “Have no idea. No- oh, have n-no idea.”
His free hand holds your quivering jaw, turning your face up to look at him and only him.
“You’ve made a demon fall in love with you, my lady. Tut tut.”
You’re squirming in his hold- he was losing control over his body. Unraveling at the seams. Rutting like an animal. Even the smooches of his hardened cock left your insides all bruised n’ battered, swat-swat-swat.
“And not only that—” Nanami continues, in his slightly breathy tone. You half-wondered whether he even knew what he was babbling away- “Oh- not quite, madam. I do apologize.” He answers your unspoken question.
Your breath catches - so he was pussydrunk enough to simply be prattling away. Unthinking.
The spit-slicked edges of his mouth gluing against yours, his tone was absolutely shattered as he mutters into your open maw. “But you’ve made me fall in love with your- your pussy, too.”
As if in response, your dampened cunt lets out some of the most lecherous noises. And you huff out a teasing giggle, “You’re talking as if this is your- mmm, first time, Kento—”
But Nanami doesn’t laugh.
Nanami doesn’t do anything but look at you so-very-seriously.
“W-wait-” Realization starts dawning on you, and you can feel your heartbeaten quicken as it sets in. “Don’t tell me…it really is your first time.” He grins…and nods. “And earlier with your mouth, too- was that-”
“But of course, madam.” The demon breathes, thoroughly ruined on your sweet, sweet pussy. “I did say that I have been waiting- mmm, centuries for you, no?”
Oh, shit.
If this was what he was like when he was inexperienced, then you almost feared to wonder just how good he’d be when he was experienced - with none other than you, you’re imagining. And as if to prove his point, he plunges and plunges his thickened shaft into you.
The plump circumference of his tip fitting against where he was causing your g-spot to indent—hollowing out with his rotund end.
In time with each of his thrusts, Nanami’s fingers pinch your perky clit. You were throbbing with need for him, and his mean thumb drew out so many things right on top of where you were most sensitive.
Swirls n’ hearts n’ his initials.
You could feel the branding of his name stinging against your core, each movement of his fingerpads creating the sloppiest slurps. “Oh, please-” Whimpering, you rut against his glissading abs. “Please please please please-”
“You can’t just say ‘please’ with no- mmm, command.” He chuckles to himself, as if you were the cutest thing in the world. “You have to tell me what you want. Your wish is my command.”
“I want you…”
“Yes—?”
And to utter these very words, you’re dragging him in closer. Touch burning. His breath laborious. You’re pulling Nanami in reeeeeal close and letting his straight nosebridge graze yours, lips tenderly touching yours. “Will you be cumming inside, Kento?”
He nuzzles the crook of your neck, “I shall do so as you wish. But first, don’t you know that you must give a demon permission to- take- a part of you?”
“So you can’t cum inside until I say the word?” You blink, a strange zap of power running through your body.
“That is so, madam.”
And oh- he’s pounding you into the aged bedsprings like he was trying to pound the words out of you. Thumb becoming frenzied on your clit, simply driving you wild. “I see- I- oh, ngh- I see-” A smirk stretches your lips, “And do you want to cum inside, Kento?”
“Not if you don’t wish for me to-” But just then, your cutely heart-shaped insides clench—and Nanami’s cutting himself off with a few rough swears. “Oh, f-fuck- yes.”
As you try to catch your breath, he’s completely losing his.
Again and again and again.
The lines of his veins throb n’ plaster against every ridge inside your velvety walls- “Yes, I do-” From the back of his throat, constant groans wrench. “I do I do I- do-” And each one was punctuated with the most probing jackhammers of his. “Oh, how badly I want to cum inside you.”
Before you can respond, his free hand drags down the front of your stomach. And he rests it easily where that lil’ bulge of his cockhead was thudding into your cervix.
“I need it. I desire it- I desire to stuff you full of my cum right h-here.” And then he presses down to put force on where his cylindrical length was tunneling. “I desire to see you all swollen with my seed, having taken so much that it has no place to go other than to drip onto the sheets.”
You’re squealing, feeling the world spin around you. “Oh- fuck. Please, m’not gonna last long-”
“I desire to feel every wad of cum of mine as I fuck you.” He gruffs out, “I desire to bind you to me forever-” Nanami leans in closer, as if he was whispering a secret to you. “-to let myself be truly yours. For eternity, this time.”
Sounding so pained.
“Let me cum inside, my lady-” He begs now. “I-inside. Let me cum inside, let me cum inside- please.”
“Yes- yes, I want it.” You crash your lips against his, feeling his fangs nip against your lower lip. “You can cum inside, Kento.”
And then with a final few thrusts, you’re exploding into your high.
So powerful that it results in your eyes clenching shut, white behind your vision. Back arching into his chest. You could hear the thundering of your pulse in your eardrums, right along with the husky, attractive groan of your name that Nanami lets off before he, too, finishes.
And you’re feeling it before you’re registering it.
That sultry splash! of something hot and wadded hitting the back of your pussy. It trickles all the way in lines down your cervix, and then ends up overflowing in your snug channel.
“Oh- oh, you’re really taking it.” Nanami’s hand presses down on your front, eyes activating. “Look at you—swallowing up every single drop. This pretty pussy of yours was- ngh, hungry, hm?”
“Shit, you’re so filthy.” You whine, clawing down his muscular back. And Nanami Kento only smiles like he knew it was true.
After all, he was feeling everything that he’d described earlier - the sploshing of webbed-up seed inside you, the way it glissaded down his shaft. Every line of his veins was coated in ivory sap, and the demon was fucking in each gluey wad inside you.
Your own high is overtaken by his - and you don’t know what else you expected: Nanami was cumming like he hadn’t in centuries.
Just bucketloads of cum that left your mind all stupidly hazy. With each quiver of your own pleasure, you could feel the clingy mess slipping out of your hole. It created this intricate white ring ‘round Nanami’s hilt that he’s thumbing away with a smile.
Pushing dooooooown- “S’taken.” Nanami breathes, somewhat in awe as he gazed down adoringly at where your womb was. With those powerful eyes of his. “Fuck yes, s’taken, my lady. I’m so proud of you.”
“You mean…?”
“Yes.”
“F-fuck.”
He watches as that white hot mess dribbles down his fingerpads, and he says—“Stick out your tongue, madam?”
Slightly befuddled in the aftermath of your high - nothing more than a few sensitive twinges at the pit of your stomach by now, oh, he’d dragged it out so perfectly with his ready cock - you do as he says. And in a few sultry seconds, Nanami has his cum-glazed thumb sticking in his own mouth. Said mouth of his edging even closer to yours to spit.
And then he kisses you fully.
You moan, shocked by his sinful, sinful antics.
And it’s only then that you start to feel a strange rush go down your skin. It’s only then that you feel atoms stop in attention around your body, where yours met his.
So caught up in the feeling, you barely even notice when Nanami finishes riding out his own high. Each n’ every ounce of his sap pushed thoroughly into your deepest innards. And he was so proud of it- no, you’re too caught up in the fact that you knew that.
In that fact that you knew he was proud.
You could sense it.
You could remember it: fragments of a time spent in this very mansion, that didn’t include the last few days. A flourishing garden where you stole kisses. Pale blond hair in the darkness of this very bedroom. The screams of the scullery as they found out. Blood. A new life. You remembered it - not all, it came to you slowly.
With a gasp, you’re pulling back to look at your hands; they looked as normal as always, except for a strange tingle of…something that left you feeling like you could smash this very bed frame if you tried to.
Wait- you turn your head to the mirror on the wall, only to find that…nothing was there. Nothing but the room, in all its emptiness.
For mirrors don’t reflect demons.
“You’ve made me a-” You gulp, and he purrs in affirmation. “-a demon.”
“I’ve contracted us for life, my lady.” Nanami responds, “Look here.”
He taps his index down on the spot where his palm had been plastered mere moments ago, where he was feeling for his cum sprayin’ out into your womb. And as you look down, you can see that your skin was emblazoned with a glowing purple mark of supernatural sorts. Swirling spirals and hearts: you were branded.
“And here.”
You raise your eyes to where Nanami had stuck his tongue out now- and there it was. A matching tattoo (symbol? Branding?) that matched the one you had, right in the middle of his tastebuds.
Two peas in a pod.
Two demons in a mansion.
You could feel the exact moment that Nanami’s cock throbbed at the fact that you were growing even wetter at the notion - a soul that was formerly yours, shared now, for eternity. And you’d spend it all with this handsome man, in a mansion that would never crumble.
“I can smell it on you—” Nanami snarls, canines showing as his lips twist into a feral snarl. He gives another squelching thrust, “We’re going to have a looooong few centuries to make up for, my lady. Mistress of the house.”
.
.
.
“Chapter 22: Fables From the Shadows - Nanami Mansion. (Cont’d)
And yet, the tale of the scorned heir is only one theory seeking to explain the existence of this deeply demonic yet tragic figure of Nanami Kento.
I think you will find, dear reader, that this author in particular is quite inclined to believe a much lesser-known theory. It is one slightly less blood-curdling, though with no less a flare of drama: the theory of the scorned lover.
Though most records of interviews with the original servants that served the Nanami Mansions have been lost to time, what few have been procured did speak of what has been aforementioned in this chapter. Yet, it is in the footnotes that the most jarring pieces of information start to reveal themselves.
They speak of a rather different character to the demon, Nanami Kento. A demonic yet agreeable character: sharp, sensible, no less human (or at least acted so) than the other humans that it worked alongside, keeping the mansion shining like a crown jewel.
And perhaps most representative of the demon’s humanity of all, was the way in which he fell - and quite hopelessly, it is said by one worker - for the daughter of the mansion’s master. Her name— And her wits, her laugh, her kindness seemed to have enraptured this demon. And it makes us think that, perhaps, even the most hellish creatures of all are asinine in the face of love.
Love makes a fool of us all.
And yet, there is a reason that demons do not fall in love.
For once this secret dalliance was discovered by the household, it is said that the master was enraged - till one could not tell the difference between human and demon. In the owner’s fitful anger, some say that the dishonored daughter was made a sacrifice of, others justify that she was discarded from the mansion, never to be seen again.
Whatever the result of misplaced love (perhaps it was not misplaced, after all, who are we, as mortals, to judge?), the demon had lost her.
And that loss manifested into grief, that grief manifested into anger. The once-proud stone pathway to the Nanami Mansions painted itself red, and it has not had a master since.
They say that Nanami Kento still roams the empty halls, and keeps the house a home, in wait of his lost lover.
As for the fate of them, only time will tell.
Do you believe in reincarnation, o’ mortal? For, demons certainly do. And if a soulless being could not love a mortal centuries ago, perhaps there is hope that her soul may find him once more. Whether by accident, or by chance, or by fate altogether. Demons always are quite stubborn.
And perhaps, this time, they may love one another as two souls who have ever loved one another should. As one.
This author, in particular, chooses to believe that their souls are already one. For there is a home for every lost soul, doors and arms wide open.”
—Of Demons and Servitude: The Hellish Agelong Contracts That Surpass Love by Sebastian Michaelis.
A/N. Was technically supposed to be posted last month but ah-
