It was supposed to be a morning filled with optimism and excitement. I was going to wake up with a rainbow in the gray winter sky, a singing heart, and swaying hips as I went about my chores. But between missing my chance to secure Pete’s fan meet ticket, Minnie’s shoes, and Pa’s downcast face, the day gloom is all there is.
I breeze through my chores, sweeping, then gathering the laundry. As I iron Pa’s clothes he tends to the compound, then takes out the trash before showering and getting dressed. Before he is done, I package his lunch, egg rolls and chicken soup. He has missed lunch twice this week, and I will not have it happen again. I made it last night and left it in the fridge so this morning it’s easy to package.
“Heiii…” Pa sneers at me I enter the sitting room. “Didn’t I warn you not to make it!”
“It was ready in no time, Pa. Hurry, you’ll miss the morning customer rush,” I say, placing the food on the center table. I gaze out the window and catch a glimpse of the fog rising. An ice dust storm was not on the weather forecast last night.
The winter fog is dangerous for market traders like Pa. Last year, over fifty traders died from winter fog accidents. It gets so terrible in the capital city of Bisari than anywhere else in the kingdom of Hazalu. We are too close to the North Pole, so the wind blows in so much ice dust to the point where drivers can hardly see street traders which usually results in many accidents.
I hurry upstairs and retrieve Pa’s yellow winter coat. “Wear this one, Pa!” I say, running back down just in time before Pa reaches for his brown winter coat hanging by the door.
“Tsk tsk tsk…” He shakes his head. “The weather forecast is doing a terrible job! They should fire all of them,” he grumbles as he takes the yellow jacket from me and slips it on.
“They are doing their best, Pa.” I open the door and we both hurry to the small van packed up front, Pa is still grumbling about the weather, like it’ll magically change if he keeps complaining.
We stack up the vegetables and a few cartons of snails into the van and Pa hops in the driver's seat. “Hurry, eh, so you don’t miss the train, and don’t take your bike in this weather.”
I nod. “Naiguso te!” Goodbye, I say with a wave and a big smile.
“Naiguso tumisu aki!” Goodbye, darling son! Pa says as his engine roars to life.
I shudder from the cold, not waiting till he’s gone before running back into the house and racing up the stairs. Brush, shower, throw on a pair of black low-waist jeans and a cropped fuckable not breedable gray t-shirt, then a sweater, winter coat, wool hat, and ear-muffs and I am set.
I only have time for eyeliner, lip liner, and lip gloss before I race downstairs, hurriedly packing up my things. The laptop chimes and the black screen comes on. I recognize the sound, an Outagram notification. I only have my notification turned on for one person and one person only, Pete! Stuffing two eggrolls into my mouth, I scurry to my laptop and descend upon the keyboard.
It is a picture of Pete in a red diamond-studded leather jacket and pants, his pitch-black hair perfectly styled away from his face, bronze skin glowing under heavy mirror lights as he is getting made up by a careful plump hand. With two fingers wrapped around each other, he is making the unity sign, his smile glowing with perfect dimples to die for.
Pete’s caption: Stay safe today, the weather forecast says there will be an ice dust storm. Wrap yourself in a blanket, sip sweet teak, and think of me. Wink wink.
I internally scream, swooning on the inside, he’s so gorgeous! I cup my cheeks with cold fingers and gaze at him for a moment. They already hurt from smiling too hard, but I can’t help it! It’s Pete’s first update in weeks!
Catching my breath I get to work. Screenshot, crop, then run the image through Findterest. Working on my laptop is a bit slower than my phone, but it must be done.
Findterest helps me find all the designer brands Pete is wearing. Jacket by Squaremain, blouse by Takenchy, shoes by Blurberry, his diamond jewelry are all from Karry Kingston, no surprise there, he is their brand ambassador. Our boy only wears the most luxurious brands and they don’t come cheap!
I sharpen the image, add a filter, then crosspost on Outagram, Xwitter, Handbook, Findterest, and then my personal blog: Pete’s Boy Toy. A hiccup slows me down as I try to swallow the entirety of my eggroll at once, chewing too rapidly. Two pounds to my chest and I am back to work.
I tag all the brands and mention them in the caption alongside: He’s back!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Going feral RN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It only takes seconds before the comments start flooding in.
Commenter 1: OMFH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Commenter 2: Saw it! He looks so hot! OMFH!!!!!!!!
Commenter 3: Heartbreaker! Also, I am buying that jacket.
Commenter 4: I got tickets to the fan meet!
I sigh at the comment about the tickets. The whole fandom will be talking about it till the meet day and I’ll be moping about. I should be there to create content for the blog.
Commenter 5: BoyToy, when do donations start for the meet, let's make our money cakes very big.
Commenter 6: BoyToy please start taking donations for the Fanmeet. You’re the only fan account I trust.
Commenter 7: BoyToy can we send him sweet tea for the cold?
I reply the comment about the sweet tea. “Yes! I will open a donation box for sweet tea, let us deliver as much sweet tea to the filming set. Winning!”
Commenter 7: Winning!
My eyes fall to the bar at the right side of the screen, the time is 8:15 am! I slam the laptop shut, hurriedly shove it in my backpack, and race out the door.
“Sorry Pa,” I apologize though he’s not here, because if I take the train, I certainly will not make it to work on time. I mount on my bike instead, jerk the engine to life, and drive out of the compound.
The chill air brushes against my face as I drive through the haziness of my neighborhood, bringing with it the smell of wet dust and freshly baked bread from Grandma Lily’s home kitchen, which also doubles as a bakery for the region. She bakes everything, from cakes to lemon pie to butter bread. Finger-licking type of delicious. She is the oldest succubus in the region at sixty-five, and her hands have greatly mastered the skill.
Most homes in the region are much like mine, bungalows with shallow concrete fencing only high enough to cover the small buildings, surrounded by well-trimmed bushes. Ma saved up for years to buy a house in a middle-class neighborhood, so we’d get to play in the community playground and have access to decent schools. I like it here, the people are kind, nosy but not in an uncomfortable way. Everyone helps each other out, even the werewolves and vampires who live here, though they are so few.
I drive up to Timi, my best friend's house to see if he needs a ride. I can't call him since my battery is dead and most mornings, I drive him to school. Mrs. Sando informs me he already felt. I thank her and continue my way to work.
In a few minutes, I am out of the neighborhood and driving down the long empty roads of Lane Express, then around the Statue of Hope at Nimgi round-about before cutting into Nevara highway, one of the largest in the capital with four levels hanging over each other. I turn into the lane for reserved bikes and continue on it for another fifteen minutes, arriving in the ever-bustling metropolitan area of Bisari, surrounded by skyscrapers, air trains and cars, massive holographic billboards, neon signs blinking here and there, honking and whistling exploding.
The city is submerged in ice dust from the winter fog, making the buildings appear as if they glitter in all the gray. I drive into West Anchor Tunnel, one of my favorite parts of going to work recently, because Pete’s new campaign billboard for Koca Kola now occupies the three-story walls in bright blue, white, and pink hues. His dimpled threatens to rip my heart apart as I drive that it.
“Winning, Pete!” I cheer, my fist in the air. “Nangali te!” I love you! The solar bullet tunnel train drives past me at six seconds per hour and I let my voice get lost in the rumbling noise it makes, laughter shaking my whole body as it speeds. “Whoooooooooooooo!” The heavy breezes rustle my scarf and I hold onto my wool hat to keep it from flying off.
I make my way downtown to Ezula Street, also known as The Pink District for all its sexual travesties. It is where the retail shop is located. I work part-time at a men's underwear retail shop, which also happens to be a sex toy shop, catering specifically to the male body. It’s my favorite part-time job. I love being surrounded by all the trashy, slutty magazines. Dildos, masturbation sleeves, condoms–in every color and every flavor—and of course sexy underwear.
I love watching hot male bodies strut in and out of the store. Eye candy, and occasionally, mouth candy. I get shopping discounts, which is great for my elaborate collection of toys. Not like I get to use them as often as I wish, the line of people who want to fuck an incubus is quite thin, but I like having them.
I open up the store and turn on the lights with a sigh, and then the heater. Once my phone and laptop are plugged in, I take off my winter gear and throw myself into work, vacuuming, dusting, mopping, then inventory update. It is an hour before I turn on the purple ‘now open’ sign and settle down behind the receptionist counter, turning on the desktop. It is usually crazy busy on Fridays, the weekend brings with it a lot of bedroom—and sometimes, roadside— adventures, but I have no doubt the winter fog will keep the customers away from the store today.
Logging into the company website, I check for online orders. There are quite a few to process, so I get to it. Another hour of packaging orders, mostly condoms and lube. Most of our condoms and lubes are sold online. I will never understand why people still get embarrassed about these things. Safe sex is important, why is it embarrassing? We always have to put a discreet sign on the package which is another hurdle on.
Taking a break I snag a bottle of Tepsy from the vending machine because of course, Koca Kola is sold out. It always is. Pete’s face is on the new bottle.
I power on my phone and numerous alerts begin to pour in. With over 250,000 followers on my blog, I can brag that Pete’s Boy Toy is one of the top three biggest blogs for Pete’s fandom. I have been updating it daily since I was thirteen. Getting my phone made things easier, instead of spending hours at an internet cafe, but sometimes it does feel like a full-time job.
With Pete’s new drama: A Kiss of Hate, coming out next spring, there is so much promotion the fandom has to do. We are determined to get it to number one on Webflix. So many dramas air in spring, it will be tough to keep the No. 1 spot for thirty-two weeks, but we are a massive fandom.
#PeteZen and #AKissofHateTheSeries have been the top trending hashtags on Xwitter since the announcement a month ago. The fandom went berzerk over their on-screen pairing. Pete and Zen have impeccable chemistry, we’ve been shipping them for years, ever since they played husbands in a Cior commercial. When the series was announced it felt like our plea for them to get a drama together was finally answered.
People do not realize how much hard work it takes to be a shipper and stan, let alone one with as many followers as I have, but the reward lies in having a thriving online community like no other. We use words only us understand, we make jokes only us understand. The fandom is supportive and loving. Millions of people across the globe with different cultures, different languages, united for one purpose.
It's the first place I met vampires and werewolves that didn’t despise people like me. Humans, too. No one cared what I was, they only cared that I stay healthy and happy, bringing constant updates, from recommended fanfictions to tour dates. Thirteen-year-old me got attached quickly and it has remained a comfort zone. A very welcome distraction from the harsh reality of life as an incubus. Maybe someday I will outgrow it, it’s been ten years. But that day is not today.
My phone rings, it’s Timi. "Naiguso te!" Hello! I cheerfully answer.
"Luke Luke! Help! Help!" His breathless voice comes through the speaker.
"Timi?" My forehead tightens as I rise from my seat.
"Help!" he yells. From his shaky breath, I can tell he's running and I know exactly why.
"Where are you?"
"Come to the… come to the courtside! Hurry! Please!"
I am running out the door before the last word leaves his lips. Leaving the lights on, I lock the door and break into a frantic race. Timi’s University is just a few blocks from the store, so I decide against using my bike to avoid running into traffic, cutting corners will be faster.
Our friendship began in middle school. I saved him once from a bully, after which we spent the day together going from class to class. The next day he came to me with lunch, and we ate together. I found out later that day we lived a few blocks apart, so I walked him the rest of the week to keep away the bullies. Afterward, he just showed up everywhere I went, it didn't take long for me to get attached.
I arrive at the university courtside, out of breath. My heart explodes in my ear as my eyes frantically search for him. Only A few students loiter about, there is no sign of Timi. A human girl nudges me over, then points behind the sports building like she knows why I am here. Believing it's a trick, I ignore her directions and continue my search.
“Hei! If you don’t get there soon enough, they are going to beat him to death!” she calls out to me dryly, her tone unbothered.
My eyes widen in her direction as I break into a run. “Thaki!” Thank you! I race to the building and find Timi pinned against a wall, being slapped and verbally harassed by three boys who appear younger than him, from their furry scent, I can tell they’re all werewolves. “Ya!” They turn in response to my call. “Nam din di!” Leave him alone! I bark.
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