#for now he's just an old man stubbornly clinging to power to me. but not to say that i worked on his character much | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lonely-lost-soul · 3 years

Text

Since I've Been Gone

Request: what if...Platonic fluff things with reader and bench trio?... Like they're all in a flower field chilling then Tommy is like, "You guys wanna make flower crowns?" And reader, ranboo, and tubbo just look at him like 👁👁 what, Turns out Tommy picked up flower crown making from his big brothers techno and Wilbur so now he does it when he's either bored or stressed. Anyways hope this inspires you <3 -🐱 Anon

(Platonic!Bench Trio x Gn!Reader)

The server had been through a lot, Tommy was just recently revived and was coming off of finding out his two best friends were married. The young boy had a white streak in his blonde hair and was still trying to adjust to the life he missed. Especially when it came to his longtime friend and roommate (y/n). Tommy had recently found out they were off living with Karl and Sapnap in the Kinoko Kingdom...the bitch. After Tommy had disappeared after he...died Karl had found them hiding out in his old library. You had scared the time-traveler half to death when he found you camping out in a corner of the room. However, after seeing as you had nothing, no weapons or armor he concluded you weren’t much of a threat, especially after you told him your sob story. You told him you lived with Tommy and you couldn’t go back there now that he was dead, Ranboo and Tubbo were off doing married things and you had felt so alone. Karl decided at that moment he would take you in, no matter what the cost. Sapnap had a bit more trouble adjusting to your presence, but as soon as he saw you had some fire within your belly he began to warm up to you. It only took a few days for Karl to practically adopt you and since he was engaged to Sapnap the fire demon was stuck with you for a child.

Not that he minded, you weren’t a loud kid, very pleasant to be around hell even his dad took a liking to you. Sapnap was baffled when Karl told him you had previously lived with Tommy, the most obnoxious child on the server. The two of you couldn’t be more different, and when Tommy was revived, he and Karl weren’t enthused. Karl was worried he’d lose you to the trouble maker and it was well known Tommy and Sapnap didn’t have the greatest history. Their worries were quelled the moment you introduced them as your dads to Tommy, Karl burst into tears and Sapnap put you in a headlock much to your protest. Tommy stood by awkwardly, he had missed a lot, he hated the fact that he felt like his friends were happier without him in their lives.

He was brought back to the present by the idle chatter of Tubbo and Ranboo by his side Tubbo was on Ranboo’s back declaring walking was way too much work for him. You snickered nudging Ranboo in the ribs, he let out a yelp and glared down at you halfheartedly. Tommy watched you turn towards him a smile on his features,

“What do you think Tommy?” He blinked a few times at you, not wanting to admit he wasn’t listening to the conversation next to him.

“I don’t fucking know,” He scoffed “This conversation is bullshit anyway who cares.” You had a smirk on your lips that he was all too familiar with, he narrowed his eyes at you.

“You weren’t listening were you?”

“Of course I was listening bitch!”

“Oh really? What did she ask then big man?” Tubbo mused resting his chin on his husband’s shoulder. Hair covering his vibrant, green eyes, horns peeking from beneath his shaggy hair. Tommy glared at his long time friend flipping him off eloquently,

“Probably something stupid and useless.”

“She asked if you knew where we were going,” Ranboo piped up with a casual hum, bouncing in his step. “Cause we’ve been walking for a while, I know Tubbo’s tired.”

“Yeah Tommy, I’m tired.”

“You’re not even walking!” You argued as Tubbo stuck his tongue out at you, lifting his hair from his eyes to wink at you. His one eye glowing with a yellow nuclear symbol, “Put that symbol away! You’re not cool.”

“Says the person who doesn’t own nukes,” He mused letting his hair fall back into place while grabbing onto Ranboo’s horns. “Or who doesn’t have any cool powers,”

“Ow! Low blow! Just cause Tommy and I are the only two humans in the group doesn’t mean you can pick on us! Right, Tommy!”

“Yeah! Exactly! Fuck you guys!” Tommy agreed linking your arms together, “Plus, I know exactly where we’re going. We’re almost there, Wilbur used to take me here all the time when I was little.” Tommy said almost in an afterthought, the kids around him grew quiet, each one knew Wilbur was a touchy subject for Tommy especially after his time in the afterlife. Yet, people seemed to forget that Wilbur wasn’t always crazy, wasn’t always a manipulator, once he was an older brother. Once he cared for Tommy and wanted to protect him from some of Phil’s neglect, protect him from Technoblade’s voices. Tommy wanted to remember that Wilbur, not the one stuck in purgatory who blew up the country they all fought so hard to retain. He felt your hand squeeze his arm,

“I’m excited to see where Wilbur decided to take you, hopefully, it’s not a fish pond.”

“Oh gross.” Ranboo groaned pinching the bridge of his nose as Tubbo laughed loudly from above him. Tommy made a disgusted face,

“Stop talking about all the fish who fucked my brother!”

“I didn’t you did.” You hummed skipping ahead of the group feet crunching on the leaves on the ground.

“YOU BASTARD!” Tommy shrieked running after you,

“Onward steed!” Tubbo pointed at his two friends who ran off, Ranboo grumbled but trotted after the duo.

It only took a few more arguments and a few more minutes of walking before the quartet came to the destination Tommy was eager to show them. You stopped on your heels jaw-dropping in awe,

“Holy shit…” You murmured, in front of all of you was a gorgeous field of flowers a giant dark oak tree sat in the middle. It was giant spanning up far into the sky but it created a nice shade to keep all of you cooled off. Tommy had a rare peaceful smile on his lips as he let the sun touch his face, he slid off his boots and ran into the field of flowers.

“Take your shoes off so you don’t crush them or I’ll crush you!” Tommy snickered falling back, letting the flowers tickle his cheeks. He opened his eyes just a crack to see you sliding off your boots and joining him in the field, you didn’t lay beside him instead he watched your form head to the tree. Meanwhile, Tubbo kicked off his boots, Ranboo wasn’t far behind his husband. Tubbo laughed running over and flopping next to Tommy, holding his arm close much to the blonde’s displeasure.

“Ranboo! Help me reach the taller branches!” You called to the tallest member of your friend group. He nodded walking over to you, grabbing your waist gently he lifted you into the air. You grabbed onto the nearest branch and hoisted yourself into the air, Ranboo was always shocked at your upper body strength, but then again you trained on your own for years. Ranboo hovered at the base of the tree nervously, both of his tails flicking side to side.

“Don’t climb too high!” He called watching you slip and cling onto the trunk to steady yourself. “(Y/n) CAREFUL!”

“I’m fine, mom!” You stuck your tongue out at him from above, “I’ve fallen out of taller trees!”

“If you get hurt Sapnap would literally burn me alive! So PLEASE try not to fall!”

“Boo calm down a little!” Tubbo snickered, “if they fall I’ll film it.”

“Tubbo has the right idea,” you agreed as Tommy laughed from beside Tubbo. Ranboo frowned ears twitching in distress, you only continued to climb higher to his dismay. Eventually, you came down falling elegantly into the arms of Ranboo who caught you easily. He was breathing heavily, recovering from the shock of your sudden drop. His long nails dug into your skin as he clutched onto you like a lifeline, “Ranboo let go!” You huffed trying to wiggle out of his tight grip.

“Absolutely not! Are you a lunatic!” His voice broke, “I could’ve missed! You could’ve broken an ankle!”

“But I didn’t,” You poked his nose with a teasing hum. Ranboo groaned louder placing his head in the crook of your neck, you snickered as he finally let you onto the ground. You walked over to Tommy and Tubbo and sat down next to them, you leaned against Tommy’s back who grunted in distaste. “Deal with it gremlin, be my backrest,”

“Fuck you bitch!” He snarled but didn’t move or push them off, you smiled teasingly winking in the direction of Tubbo. He snickered into his palm as Ranboo pulled Tubbo into his lap, and the young goat hybrid got comfortable. The four of you sat in peaceful silence, letting the sun beat down around you all. A nice breeze blew through the area causing the leaves of the nearby trees to shake, a few animals rustled around in the bushes.

“We should make flower crowns,” Tommy spoke up suddenly his nails digging into the dirt. You titled your head in confusion and Raboo looked equally as baffled, the only person who didn’t seem surprised was Tubbo.

“Sure man but you gotta collect the flowers,” Tubbo said tiredly Tommy clicked his tongue stubbornly.

“We’re surrounded by flowers you’re just lazy.”

“Yeah obviously.”

You gave Tubbo a look and sat up on your knees, “What do you need to get started?”

“Can you grab me some of those daisy’s, tulips, and some bluebells?” You nodded standing up and popping your knees before heading off in that direction. Meanwhile, Tommy grabbed some lilacs and began stringing those together, his tongue poked out from his bottom lip as he gave his full concentration to the task in front of him. Ranboo watched curiously ears flicking every time Tommy let out a mumble, you came back and dumped the flowers beside him. He grunted out thanks making the final knot in the crown, “Done!” He declared looking over at Ranboo, he flushed a little under Tommy’s gaze.

“Didn’t mean to stare.” Tommy huffed holding out the crown to the halfling, he pointed at himself and Tommy rolled his eyes.

“Take it. If you don’t want it I’ll just give it to (Y/n)-”

“I want it!” Ranboo reached out to snatch the crown from Tommy, he placed it gently on his head mindful of the horns. Tommy’s eyes widened and he flushed red, he quickly turned back to the pile of flowers. “Teach us how to make them,” Ranboo offered to try to ease the awkward tension. Tommy huffed but nodded, a smile spread across your lips,

“Teach us your ways oh wise one.” You teased picking up the daisy’s spinning the stem between your fingers.

“Yeah! I am wise! Call me master innit!”

“I’d rather choke,”

“Fuck you!”

You snicked as Tommy punched you hard in the shoulder, you doubled over falling into the flowers. Tommy growled pulling you up by the shirt, “Pay attention bitch! I’m only telling you this once!” Sitting back up you nodded and followed his instructions carefully, he ended up taking the daisies and you the tulips. Ranboo grabbed the bluebells reaching over Tubbo to follow Tommy’s instructions as well, by the end Tommy’s was pristine. The one you made was decent but Ranboo’s looked worse for wear considering he was trying to put it together with claws. He put the crown on top of a snoozing Tubbo, he was proud of his work nonetheless, his husband smiled tiredly nuzzling against his chest. You on the other hand placed the tulip crown you made atop of Tommy’s blonde hair, he flushed and rolled his eyes. He brushed his fingers over the daisies and placed them on top of your head, you looked up at the crown and smiled warmly.

“Thank’s Big T,” you hummed falling back into the flowers and Tommy joined you in laying down. Both your fingers interlocked and Ranboo shuffled to the ground as well, although he didn’t reach out to take Tommy’s hand, Tommy reached out to take Tubbo’s. The four of you stayed in that field until your walkie-talkie screeched cutting through the quiet atmosphere, it was the gruff voice of Sapnap’s. One of your fathers

“Earth to (Y/n), come in (y/n). Your dad wants you here for dinner, George is joining us tonight. I grilled!”

“Ugh. Buzzkill,” Tommy sneered kicking the dirt with his barefoot. You shushed him and pressed the button in to speak,

“Yeah papa, I’ll make my way back soon. Give papa a big kiss for me and if you see Quackirty tell him hello!”

“Don’t have to tell me twice. Karl come here honey~” You snickered as Tommy gagged, you heard your dad meow before your walkie cut off then and you sat up. You stretched your arms above your head and popped your arms into place, you kissed your teeth hopping to your feet.

“I gotta head back unless I want dad to beat my ass. Thank you for today boys and Tommy thank you for sharing your place with us. I’m glad we were trusted with this special secret.” You winked wiggling your toes in the long grass, “we should do this again yeah?”

“Yeah!” Ranboo agreed as Tubbo gave a sleepy thumbs up, your smile only widened. Tommy nodded giving a thumbs-up as well, he watched you head off to collect your boots and head back home. Head to a family, a family who cares about your wellbeing, or if you’re staying out too late. Hell, even who cared about who you were hanging out with, Tommy couldn’t help but wonder what that was like, he didn’t think he’d be very good at listening to any parental figures. He didn’t have that, he would never have that, he looked at your retreating figure, then back over at Tubbo and Ranboo. They both were half asleep and he couldn’t help but glance at the golden rings on each one of their fingers.

He missed so much since he’s been gone.

But maybe all wasn’t bad, he touched the tulips on his head, thinking for a moment.

Maybe he didn’t need a normal family with a mom and a dad, or two dads or moms, he had a family right here. He brought his hand to the scarf on his neck and squeezed it in his fist, who needed that shit when he had everyone he loved in this field with him today.

For once in his life, Tommy was happy.

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kissmetae · 3 years

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Hope

❧ AU: x Taehyung || Friends to Lovers (Lowkey slow-burn)

You felt distressed, caught up in your own emotions and confused by your over-thought thoughts. Going through a rough patch as some would say, where everything felt hopeless and you found yourself scrolling pinterest till 1am looking for "angsty" core aesthetics to fit your new "vibe" of life. But it was easier said than done to dig yourself a hole when your best friend constantly stood by filling the hole back up as you dug in an attempt to stop you, help you and make you feel better, despite having his own issue to deal with... his crush on you.

|| ANGST + SMUT | 11k | x reader | masterlist in bio ||

❧ Disclaimer: This is fiction. Actions and events in these stories are often exaggerated and to a certain degree unrealistic. Please have this in consideration when reading fiction, especially if it includes sexual content.

❧ Rating: EXPLICIT || sexual content, unprotected sex || Warnings: mention of feeling hopeless, "deep reflection", (reader is troubled by something going on in their life but it's open for interpretation/unspecified)

❧ Smut features: Vanilla, desperate, first time together, unprotected, reassuring/concent asking/'checking in' (is this ok? Does it feel good?) top!Tae and a power outage.

How do you know when you've reached the complete state of hopelessness? Do people ever become 100% hopeless? You inhaled deeply and sighed it out. Gaze to the white ceiling, back on the bed and legs up against the wall. The tingle in your feet from the lack of circulation made them look somewhat less alive and feel cold. With a tilt of the hips you allowed your legs to slowly fall to the side, forming a new pose in the shape of a 90 degree angle on the bed and allowing for the less zombie-ish color to return to your feet. Hopelessness. Feeling like there is no point yet still stubbornly aching in the inner crevice of the head with a wish for there to be a chance for something else. A change, a plot twist a sudden eureka to make the entire world loose it's zombie color pallet and become lively and vibrant again. Hope. Or a wish for hope. It's probably some basic programming, like survival instinct, hope instinct. But at this point you didn't want to believe. You wanted to be grumpy, upset, frustrated. To curse society and curse what isn't fair and curse all the norms and expectations around you regardless of who made them up! Curse the media, curse the mold for perfect and the lip filler ads, curse the restrictions planted by your own beliefs and curse the cause of said belief! But feeling frustrated and angry is hard. Not only is it exhausting but it's the hardest emotion to let out fully and feel satisfied by after. If anything anger and frustration feels like a self-fueling fire that keeps burning more and more until you get exhausted and slump down on the bed with your legs up the wall. Crying would've been easier. You sat up, feeling a brief spin in the head due to your advanced modelling poses and reached for your water bottle. Water, Zen, calm rivers, refreshment, sound of clucking water in the harbor... rain. You turned towards your bedroom window at the sudden raging pattering sound outside. Even the sky needed to cry today. You reached for your phone, having it be faced down for the past hour or so after giving up on ranting about your dilemma to your friend. You had two types of friends. Those who were there for you when convenient and those who were there for you regardless. Taehyung was one of them. 3 missed calls. 15 texts- make that 16. A sting of guilt washed through realizing he must've been worried sick the past hour. Too exhausted to use your vocal chords you opened the text chat. Taehyung was the definition personified of a caring person. Sometimes to the extent where you'd question if it was more than anyone deserved. Did the world deserve Taehyung? You didn't make it through the second text before your doorbell rang followed by a loud bang. It sounded urgent... You got up from bed and slipped your feet into your white fluffy slippers and made your way to the front door of your apartment. You unhooked the clasp and unlocked your door to see one of the rainstorm's victims dripping water onto your doormat. Taehyung, Dressed in a green raincoat and hair clinging to his forehead and temples. His chest was rising unnaturally with his attempts to regain his breathe. "Tae-" He stepped in, an arm wrapping around your side and the other pressing your head to his wet shoulder. "If you didn't make me so worried... I would've removed my raincoat before hugging you." He squeezed. "See this as my revenge." His heart was beating fast. He pulled back after a few seconds, breathing stable and his red hands reaching to unbutton his raincoat. Did he not wear gloves? He pulled the door shut behind him and gently kicked off his boots. Apparently not. "I'll... go hang your raincoat in the bathroom for it to dry" you said, taking it from him. He was quick to address the elephant. "Why didn't you reply to my texts?" He followed behind you. "I... I left my phone to charge and I got distracted..." you made up, hanging his raincoat up in the shower. "I didn't come here to scold you, but when you tell me you're feeling hopeless, you get that it makes me worried right?" His voice was gentle and he looked at you with concerned eyes, stood in the door to the bathroom. Actually.... you didn't. Why would anyone worry... everyone seemed to always take it as nihilistic comedy or something and swat it away with something along the lines of "you’re just hungry" or the classic "are you on your period?" Maybe you were or maybe you weren't but why would that matter? Just thinking about it made you feel annoyed. As if any deep emotion only was caused by a period, it's just a period, why would anyone, let alone someone with a period themselves ask someone else that in a way that minimizes the reason they feel upset or angry or whatever emot- "Hey?" Taehyung pulled you back out from inside your head. "I don't know..." He crossed his arms over his chest and you knew that look far too well. "We'll talk about it, but right now, I'm here to make it better and take care of you. Did you eat?" You shook your head. "Great! Because I stopped by at the shop on my way... before the rain attacked me and picked up some stuff, including~" he said with an eager tone and walked towards the grocery bag you hadn’t noticed until now. He picked it up and dug his hand in for something. "Du du du du" he sang dramatically and slowly pulled out the familiar dark blue packaging. The love of your life, the source of all things good. Chocolate. The good one! Not the weird orange wrapping one you hated, but the blue one, the holy blue one, your favorite one. "I remember your frustration when you saw the empty shelf of horror last week and it was restocked today so i picked up three just in case." "THREE?!" "Mhm!" He nodded proudly. You could cry, finally, but for other reasons. "TaeTae you're the best." You walked towards him, hugging him tight. He was the bestest of the best, the hero, the savior, chocolate delivery man. Oh what would life be without him. A blush spread across his cheeks. "You did it again." He said shyly "Hm? Did what?" "You called me TaeTae." "You don't like it?" "... I do." -- Taehyung had you stationed at the kitchen table while he cooked. With a focused gaze he scrolled on his phone, reading the next step for the recipe while stirring the pot. You were pretty sure he knew this recipe by heart now, he'd cooked it for you before and he should be confident in it but seemingly not enough yet to put the recipe down. The kitchen smelt amazing and you could feel your hunger cry out for whatever was simmering in the pot. Taehyung gently tapped the wooden spoon against the pot as he added another ingredient. "Are you going to tell me what happened?" He asked. That's where you'd left him hanging in your texts when exhaustion took over... "I just..." "Is it /that/ thing?" Taehyung asked, very much knowing of your source for distress already. "Kinda... but this time it feels different... I’m not nervous or eager, I just felt like I was waiting and waiting and what if I waited so long for nothing and I.... it doesn’t make sense but I just feel numb at this point and like I'm losing hope. Like every odd is set against me and I'm the only one dumb enough to still bet on myself." "And me. Except I'm not dumb, nor are you and I'll always bet on you. Always." Oh Taehyung... "Well, as your personal doctor and advisor and therapist and nurse, care-taker, comfort teddy and so on, I am going to prescribe you with some stuff." You chuckled. "Please go ahead." He placed a plate in front of you and another on the opposite end of the table. "Firstly, a good healing meal." "And you’ve already done everything in your power right now, you’ve been working hard. Maybetoohard." He mumbled under his breathe followed by a fake cough. "That said, let me distract you." "How?" "Well, some old school friends wanted to go out clubbing this weekend and-" "You don't like clubbing." "Hold on, let me get to the point. My suggestion is that you can come too, it won’t only be them. There will be the general club people too of course and I think most of them were bringing other friends or their girlfriends too so... it might be fun? If it sucks, we'll ditch and go to the midnight bowling place or noraebang, yes?" Maybe having some social interaction, an excuse to dress up and good music wasn't such a bad idea? The only thing bugging you was the potential mess there could be... and lately with your stressed mind you hadn't been the best at handling those environments, but after all this was just a club, with dancing people... it couldn't be that bad right? Bowling did sound fun too though... But you knew distraction and fun was what you probably needed. Maybe it wouldn't solve the issues but maybe it'd make it weigh less. The small distractions did a lot, a big one should do even more. "Sure." "Really?!" You could've sworn you just witnessed his ears wiggle from excitement. "I'll come." -- When Taehyung said "clubbing" you expected big flashy neon signs, a red rope and a guard and pulsing music coming from inside... not a giant base, a sax and a set-up of almost 4 different types of synthesizers. A jazz club. You should've known. The band was some sort of electro jazz fusion sprinkled with funk type band, as they introduced themselves as and they weren't bad, not at all. In fact this was a lot cozier than an uncomfortable packed nightclub. You just wish Taehyung told you so you could've worn your comfy flowy favorite dress rather than your tight little black one, wanting to fit in with the scene... Taehyung was dressed in black slacks, a green sweater and a brown coat that was hung over his chair, paired with his trademark assortment of bracelets on his wrist. Including the one you gave him for his birthday two years ago. He never took it off since the day he got it. It made you smile seeing it on his wrist. Taehyung's old school friends, the few you had managed to great during the evening were all really nice and most of them had their arm either around another or a hand held by another. You couldn't help but feel a little awkward, the questioning looks that didn't need to be vocal for you to understand. "Is this your girlfriend?" Taehyung just smiled, maybe playing it off was best... or did he just not notice the silent question? At first you expected a shrug or something but nope... "Would you like something more to drink?" Taehyung asked, leaning in so you'd hear him over the music and pointing towards your nearly empty glass. "I think I'm alright." "What?" "I'm ok." You leaned in closer. "Do you want to dance?" You and Taehyung were seated alone at one of the many tables as the majority were occupied dancing to the beats of the band and the rest drinking at other tables or mingling around. You had been up there at least twice, maybe even three times dancing the best you could and Taehyung always being by your side but your brain was starting to get a little drowsy. "I think I'm going to call it a night. But you can stay if you want." "No no, if you want to go home I'll come with you, let me walk you home." "I'll take a taxi its ok" "I insist." "So do I" the few drink he had had were enough to make his words braver and bolder. "It's late, I don't want you to go back alone regardless of if you take a taxi. I'll walk you." Fine. "Ok" Taehyung swept the remainder of his wine and grabbed his coat and waved some quick goodbyes. It was cold outside. Dark and empty... maybe it was good Taehyung insisted after all. He stumbled slightly, alarming you. Your hands instinctively reached for him and he giggled. "You only had two glasses I doubt you're drunk right now." "Maybe I wiwwle tipdie" he giggled, clearly acting up. "Does wiwwle tipdie Taehyung need help? Should I carry you on my back?" "No! I should be carrying you, do you have a blister on your heal from your shoes? Sore feet? Sore legs? Anything I can use as an excuse?" You laughed, patting him gently on the back. A cold breeze travelled through the street and you pulled your jacket tighter around you. "You're cold?" Taehyung asked "A little... my choice of dress wasn't the best." "I think you look beautiful." The sudden compliment caught you off guard. "... thanks." "Thanks? For what?" "The compliment" "I'm simply stating the facts." He said, looking to the side and slipping his hands into his pockets. "It sure is cold..." Why was it feeling awkward suddenly? Silence between the two of you would usually be comfortable... "Thanks for bringing me too." "Did you have fun?" He turned to face you again. "Yes, it was better than I expected." "I'm glad to hear that." "But let’s go bowling next time." "Sure!" He smiled widely. A source of warmth suddenly surrounded you and you looked up to see Taehyung's face turned away yet again but his arm resting around your shoulder, wrapping his coat around you and urging you closer into his side till your hips almost brushed against each other. The rest of the walk back home was a few minutes of silence, but luckily you didn't live far. "Home sweet home" "How will you get home?" You asked, concerned. "Ah..." he checked the time on his phone. "Well I've missed the last train... so unless I can find a taxi which so far I've seen none I'll have to sleep at the station." "No you're not, come, you can call a taxi from my place and at least wait inside instead of out in the cold." You said, grabbing his arm and pulling him with you through the entrance. "Nobody's picking up?" You asked Taehyung looked down at his phone with a confused look. "It keeps hanging up on me? I don't know if maybe their line is down or something?" "It would explain why we didn't see any on the walk back." "I guess so... so now what?" He looked up at you. "Guess you'll have to stay the night." He grinned. "Can't remember the last time we had a sleep-over" he chuckled and removed his coat. He was right, it must've been years ago... the last time you could remember was a movie night gone sleep over during winter when it had snowed so no traffic was able to move at all. You grabbed a spare cover and a pillow and handed it to Taehyung, sleepiness already present in his eyes. "Hey." Taehyung said, laying out the pillow and cover on your sofa. "If I have a nightmare can I come lay next to you?" He grinned. "If you have to." He replied with a puppy gaze. "Good night TaeTae." His eyes widened and he looked down at the couch. "... Good night." -- The question was when would you wake to the sound of birds chirping instead of the aggressive rasp of the snow plow dragging across the street? It almost sounded like it was more ir less plowing the asphalt off the earth rather than the snow. More irritating was that it just added to your unsatisfying sleep and rough awakening streak. One good morning was all you asked for... You sat up, slid off the edge of the bed and slipped into your slippers that were neatly set up by its side. A scratch of the head and an adjusting pull of the bun on your head and you headed to you first destination; tea. With heavy steps you dragged yourself out of your room and were met by the surprise you had forgotten was left on your couch from last night, sprawled across the sofa... in only boxers. Oh god. The covers were halfway on the floor, only covering his legs, barely. It was cold too but should you just ignore him... no, you couldn't... but what if you woke him up? He was only in boxers and you were already trying your best not to look but your brain had already registered that they were black and Calvins... please no more information... thigh muscles NO! Chest, focus on the chest. He was breathing, he was alive. Inhale, exhale. You carefully made your way towards him. His chest was toned... the type perfect to rest your head on NO! Messy hair... It really didn't help that your best friend was as attractive as he was. You bent down and carefully picked up the cover, pulling it back up over his upper body. He must've been really cold, his nipples- NO. You shook your head furiously to get rid of the thought. You turned around 180 degrees and marched to the kitchen. Tea. Tea. Tea. Tae. TEA! You could hear the covers rustle as he shifted, followed by a soft groan. Oh no... Please no. Although... why was it so dangerous for him to see you in your own home, making tea. I don't know! But regardless it felt like an action movie stealth scene for the grand heist judging by your heart beat. The boiler was too loud, the accidental clink of the mug as you set it to the counter too, the rip of packaging of the tea bag, the wind whistling outside! Sweat? You were sweating, stress consuming you yet again over the moist pointless little thi- "Hey?" The tea cup smashed against the kitchen floor along with your gasp and you grabbed the door handle of the kitchen cupboard for support. Taehyung starred at you with wide startled eyes. Maybe your screech scared him as much as his sudden presence scared you. "Sorry." He chuckled, voice so deep and raspy you could practically feel his vocal chords vibrate. Your heart was pounding hard. Could he at least have been swaddled in the covers and not in his boxers right now... You diverted your eyes to the porcelain shards across the floor. "Wait wait wait!" Taehyung yelped, holding his hand out to stop you from moving. But it was too late. The dark kitchen along with your giddiness had of course resulted in the unfortunate miss step. You sighed, lifting your foot from the chard as you felt something wet trickle down your foot. Taehyung quickly reached to turn the lights on, the bright shine blinding both of you briefly and making the view of him even clearer. "Stay there." Taehyung ordered. Your kitchen was pretty small so there wasn't much space to move without risking another wrong step. A cup of tea and now all this. You slapped your arms to your sides in a deep pout. Making a new cup now just felt wrong but you craved a cup so bad and it was cold... the floor was cold, you were cold... and not to mention everything hanging in form of heavy weights on your shoulders and chilling on top of the imaginary storm cloud above you right now. It's like your issues were mocking you and just making everything worse. Maybe the issue was that you related to the once-was intact mug. You felt split and unorganized, all over the place and dependent on things you knew you shouldn’t be depending your hope and happiness on but yet day after day you’d lose yourself in a visualization of a scenario of perfection were everything would be ok until again the door was slammed in your face and you had to start all over again. No matter how many times you felt like this time would be different and this time you were ready, this time it'd all go your way because the past was forgiven and your time wasn’t right but again and again .... Your patience was running out. You sniffed, wiping the tears from your cheeks with the back of your hand. Taehyung came back holding a broom and a dust pan when he saw your face of tears. "No..." he sounded panicked. He leaned down quickly sweeping the chards to the side of the kitchen and tossing the broom and pan into the pile so he could approach you. Strong lean arms embarrassed you like out of a 6 different angles k-drama scene. A hand found its place on the back of your head, softly petting you as the other pressed you closer to his warm chest. Never had you expected that hugging Taehyung would feel this safe. May it be because he was the one you could be truly vulnerable with or that he was the one that knew what was going on right now, but whatever he did... he did it just right. "You don't need to say anything." He whispered. "I know." He squeezed you a little firmer. "I know." He reassured. "Sssh" his hand felt so gentle as it caressed you. "It's going to be ok." He felt so warm. "I'm here." His skin felt so soft against your hands. "I'm not going anywhere." Your heart calmed down. Taehyung didn't pull away until you became silent and your breathing stable. But even then he didn't pull away completely, only enough to look at your face and caress his thumbs under each eye gently. "I'll reheat the water for you." He smiled softly and reached for the switch on the kettle. You didn't want to let go, not just yet. But he slipped away carefully and kneeled to sweep up the shards and discarded the pieces into the bin. He briefly disappeared and came back holding his sweater, arms slipped in and pulling it over his head as he entered, causing his shoulders to naturally flex slightly as he slipped it on. He grabbed two mugs from the cupboard, added a bag in each and filled them with the hot water. You tugged and fidgeted at your sleeve as you watched, feeling unusually shy in his presence. "Come, let’s sit on the sofa" Taehyung said and grabbed a mug in each hand but quickly came to a halt. "Your foot!" You had forgotten about it too. He placed the mugs back down and watched you as you lifted to check the cut. "Fuck." Taehyung said and quickly ripped a piece of kitchen towel off and handed it to you. Holding one hand against the fridge for support and the other wiping the smeared mess on your foot you watched as Taehyung quickly disappeared and reappeared again with your med kit. "Does it hurt?" He asked, rummaging through the kit. "No, it just stings a little." He pulled out some disinfectant solution and eyes you quickly up and down. Before you knew it he was stood in front of you, kneeling slightly as you felt his large hand grab a hold behind your thigh and his arm scooped you up on him. Your heart was back to its rapid pace again. He set you down on the sofa carefully and went back to grab the disinfectant and the tea mugs. He sat on the floor in front of you, soaking a cotton pad with the solution and gentle pulling your foot towards him by the ankle. "Ah, thanks goodness it doesn't seem to be deep." He said with relief, gently dabbing the cotton pad to the wound. It stung a little but it wasn't too bad. "All nice and clean, do you have cute band-aids?" "Only boring plain ones I'm afraid." Taehyung scrunched his nose. "Boo." With a band-aid beneath your foot and your longed for tea in your hands you sat next to him on the sofa. "An eventful morning." "I should become your fulltime caretaker at this point." Taehyung joked. "Not that I'd mind." "Will you pay me?" He raised his brows as well as the mug to his lips. "No way." You smiled. "Charity work is good for karma." "I already have good karma!" Taehyung protested, pretending to be offended. He laughed that trademark warm laugh that was like a smooth cackle that somehow always triggered a little firework to go off in your chest. You smiled, looking into your mug as if it'd tell you a fortune. ... you swallowed and looked up. In winter the sun rose late and had begun its voyage above the horizon, painting the sky a bright warm orange tone as it shined in through the window behind Taehyung. No. You didn't have feelings for him. You just felt some post-event shakiness and nerves and for the matter of a fact you finally got your much needed cry. It must just be your chest feeling lighter thanks to the cry. "So, do you have any planes today?" Taehyung asked. "I don't even know what day it is." "Good, I don't have plans either and it's Saturday for your information. But I do have a potential plan and that is, since I'm already here, to spend the day with you unless you have important to do's, which you shouldn't, because you need a break." He whispered towards the end. "A fmnn break." He repeated, biting his lip on the word to censor himself, but he got his point across. "A break would be nice... but when I try, I feel distressed as if I shouldn't be doing it because I'm wasting my time. I need-" "A distraction" Taehyung filled in. You nodded. "Then thou shall sit here and watch my live-in-action cooking show live from your kitchen." He said cheerfully, slapping his hands to his thighs as he stood up. "Do you have strawberries?" He asked. "In the freezer." "Yes!" He made his way to the kitchen, worth to mention is the open floor plan of your apartment so you could see him well enough from where you were seated. The soft messy curls on his head bounced with him as he walked. He dramatically pointed at you with a spatula in his hand. "Welcome." He said, speaking deeply into the spatula. "The pancake and strawberry smoothie extravaganza extraordinaire show with your host." He point his thumb and index under his chin. "Kim Taehyung." His goofiness never failed to bring a smile to your face. He went to grab his phone on the sofa table. "I need background music...." he hummed as he scrolled, spatula still in his other hand. "Jeopardy music 10 hours?" He looked up at you for an opinion. "Please no." He giggled and a calm upbeat song started playing from him phone as he put it back down and resorted to the kitchen. While frying up the first batch he was spaced out, humming on the theme tune to jeopardy anyway. You had made yourself comfortable on the sofa, lying down. The sofa smelt like him now. The same sweet comforting scent as the hug had... and his coat the numerous times he'd wrapped it around you when it was cold or shielded you from the rain with it. But speaking of memory, thinking back at those often occurring times you were also reminded about how a previous "friend" used to try and provoke you into being nervous and shy in Taehyung's presence. You'd been close for years and maybe she had an issue with that or something but she'd always find ways to tease you in way. Claiming Taehyung was giving you "looks" or "checking you out" in ways she as a self-declared expert in men deemed were of more than friendly nature. And since she as expert of men by that likely thought all men were the same, proves how reliable of a source she was. Taehyung he just.... you were close. She just wanted to make you feel embarrassed and self-conscious and make it awkward between you. You hated thinking about that. It made you overthink and feel awkward. Like an evil loop. You looked up at the breakfast chef, catching his eye as he quickly looked back down to the pancakes. You could get used to this view. Handsome man in boxers and sweater making you pancakes when you’re feeling blue, the headline in your head spelled out. The Zen experience of the kitchen fan being turned off brought stillness and Taehyung emerges with a plate of pancakes, disappearing and re-appearing again after denying your offer to help with the strawberry smoothies, plates, forks, knifes and every suitable pancake topping he had been able to locate in your kitchen. And a tube of mustard as a joke that you only kept in your fridge for when your dad came over to dinner and his weird obsession with having mustard on everything. It was probably even expired. "Enjoy your meal." "You're my hero Taehyung." You said, stabbing a pancake. "I can be your hero baby." You froze. "What?" "Haven't you heard that song?" He smiled. Oh.. "Hero? By Enrique Iglesias?" "Ah, now that you mention it-" "With the weird music video were goes on this road trip with the girl and then he's suddenly rubbing money over her body in this random stone house." "Is this what you binge on youtube at 2am when I wake up to 15 links and emotional texts." "Do not judge me!" You giggled. "I'm not, I like waking up to those texts from you. You sent them to me for a reason." Taehyung smiled shyly. "Yeah... anyhow! I have a suggestion, a proposal, a-" "Go on" "Since I'm your hero, but even I weren't. I thought maybe I could stay here a few days? Only if you want me to, of course. I just-" he became shyer. "I like to think that you seem to feel better when I'm around and you're going through a rough time so I'd like to be there for you, like you are for me." Your heart made its presence in your chest known yet again. "You should think.... because it's true." "So?" "It'd be nice." He smiled widely. "Great! But I do need to go home and pack some clothes and... some pajamas and Yeontan! He is a great comforter trust me, he has cheered me up many times when I've cried." "Cried? What were you crying about?" "Oh- uhm it's nothing, it's ok now so." He swatted it away. "Boys cry too." He joked, but it tasted weird. "But he's staying with my parents this weekend, but if you want I can go pick him up." He suggested. "It's ok, he needs time with his grandparent." Taehyung chuckled. "Well they love their grandson so I'm sure they wouldn't mind having him stay an extra day or two." -- You couldn't help but feel bad that Taehyung had to sleep on the sofa... His bag with clothes and necessities was placed in the hallway and the covers neatly hung over the backrest. "We could take turns and sleep in the bed every other day." "I told you it was fine." Taehyung insisted, again. "I just feel bad..." "Then let’s both sleep in your bed and call it even." "...." your cheeks felt hot. "See, so I'll sleep on the sofa. Don't worry about it!" What does he mean "see"? ... you were simply imagining what excuse to use as to how your head would coincidentally end up on his chest instead of your pillow. "Or we'll both sleep on the sofa, but it might be a bit cramped." He continued. "Maybe this was a bad idea..." "Hey no! No, I'm just joking. Don't feel bad ok." Taehyung's hands smoothed down your arms. "Beds are better at healing wounds on the feet too." You exhaled deeply. "Oh TaeTae..." "Doesn't this feel like we're having a pajama party or sleep over?" He smiled. "Kinda, should we build a blanket fort and watch movies?" His mouth dropped open. "I'm just kidding!" You laughed He pouted. "Oh you want to?" A nod. "You want to build a fort and watch movies?" You asked with more excitement. More enthusiastic nodding. You both cracked up laughing on the sofa together. "I'm serious though." Taehyung grinned. -- You lied awake in your bed, eyes to the ceiling. For some wild reason you both thought it would be a great idea to binge through the entire twilight saga series as a source of comedy but you only made it up to half-way through eclipse when it became too much to handle for both of you. The first movie was easy to mock and laugh at and make fun out if but once it got more serious and romantic in new moon it started getting a little awkward. To say the least, feeling flustered from watching twilight but not due to the movie itself but from the presence of Taehyung right next to you in your make-shift sofa blanket fort. You couldn't stop thinking about him. And he was out there... on your sofa, right now. And who knew if he was in cute polka dot pajamas with his hair a mess on the pillow or his tight fitted boxers and his hair tied up.. You bit your lip, crossing your legs at the visual. You remembered the first time you witnessed Taehyung tie his hair up and how it felt like being punched in the gut. It's not possible to be that attractive. "Then aren't you attracted to him?" The voice echoed in your head. Just because you find someone attractive doesn't mean you're attracted to them! Which is very much true. But Taehyung's personality was attractive too which was harder to justify the same way. And his person. And him. The entire package. You sighed. Maybe the stupidest thing you could do right now was reach for your phone and google "do I have feelings for my best friend?" Ah yes. A quiz. Maybe it wasn't so stupid after all, it'd say maybe you like him but you're not into him at the very most. Question 1, do you find them attractive. Well who wouldn't? And like mentioned it doesn't mean you're attracted to him. Yes. Question 2, do they like you? Pfft... what kind of question is that? How would you know? I don't know... or yes I guess? I mean he clearly likes you as a friend or he wouldn't be up to making all this effort for you but do they mean platonically? You ticked maybe. Question 3, Do you stalk them on social media? What the??? He's your best friend! The algorhythm shoves his posts in your face weather you like it or not. Sometimes. Question 4, Do you see them a lot? Yes. Question 5, Do you want to know more about them? You already know everything ... but what he cries about to Yeontan is something. Yes. Question 6, when you see them with somebody else who isn't considered their friend, how do you feel? Jealous. Question 7, when they're around you how do you feel? Nervous or self-conscious or nothing or i don’t know... well nervous AND a little self-conscious depending on the situation and if he's dressed or in just his boxers. Nervous. Question 8, Do you think about them? Yes. Always. Question 9, Do you laugh at their jokes? Another weird one but yes. Question 10, are they your ex? Huh? No. Definitely. A lot. You placed your phone screen down on your chest and let out a sigh. Maybe visualizing a kiss or two while in the shower was a crime after all... or was the question why were you in the first place? He was amazing in every type of way and you wanted to know if he was amazing at kissing too andmaybeinbed but you can't just ask him that or try it out, so you had to resort to imagination.... Who were you even trying to convince at this point? You liked him. Definitely. And a lot. The realization did nothing to help you fall asleep unfortunately. Another 15 minutes in dark silence passed when you suddenly heard the floorboards squeak. Maybe Taehyung was going to the bathroom or grabbing a glass of water... But the soft pats of his feet should've stopped by now... Your half open door pushed open a bit more shyly and Taehyung peaked in. Dressed in pajama bottoms, but no shirt. "You're awake." He said, whispering. "So are you." "I can't sleep..." he rubbed his arm. "I feel lonely." As if you'd deny him looking all shy and vulnerable in your door. You scooted to the side in your bed, making raise his brows in hope and anticipation, fingers fidgeting. "Come." You said, patting the bed next to you. The bed dipped gently as he lied down and you put the covers over him. He shifted onto his side, placing his head on your pillow. This was better. But since you just took an online quiz to realize you had feelings for this man currently shirtless in your bed, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly awkward. "How come you're feeling lonely?" You asked, trying to conceal your stiffness "To a start I sleep better when I get to hold something." He said shyly "Who?" You asked, intending for it to be a thought. "When I'm at home, Yeontan." Of course... "He lays on the bed and I feel less lonely and hearing him walk around or do something makes me feel soothed knowing I'm not alone... for the most part." "Are the tears you cry... tears of loneliness?" You could tell it triggered something in him. He bit his lip and nodded gently, eyes glossy. "For the most part it's just me and a pillow." He confessed. "But you could say-... it's something like that, yes." Face to face, mere inches apart. You thanked the darkness of the room that he couldn't see you blush right now but unreasonable fear that he'd somehow "sense" it in the atmosphere still worried you. You shouldn't have taken that stupid quiz it only made you start overthinking and it was probably rigged and the questions were weird so why should you listen to it? Get back to your senses! He's your best friend and you're comfortable with him! Calm down! "... I know it's dumb" Taehyung mumbled. "I know it seems like I'm this easy-going social butterfly with lots of friends who can find someone to hang out with within seconds... but when I'm alone at home, I just feel so empty. Like if nobody sees me, I don't exist. Thus when I'm alone, I'm not real anymore." "That's very philosophical, but what if someone thinks about you while you are alone? Then wouldn't you exist since somebody has you on their mind?" "But it'd be impossible for me to know and people have better things to do than walk around and daydream about me." It stung a little inside hearing him say this. "People are actually capable of multitasking you see, they can do these better things you speak of and think about you at the same time. I think about you a lot, sometimes I think about you while doing the laundry, riding the bus or taking a show- that sound's wrong." Taehyung chuckled. "But you get what I mean." "What do you mean?" He asked "That I think about you and that you aren't alone TaeTae, you never are. If you're ever feeling lonely, maybe think about me. If that helps. Or get to know yourself more, become your own friend or create an imaginary friend!" "I already do that." "Have an imaginary friend?" "Think about you." Oh. "... does it help?" You asked shyly. He shook his head. "It just makes me miss you and want to come to see you." Is it possible to experience a softer heart attack than you just did? Rather than a heart exploding in saw gore-level mess it gently poofed and became a small cloud of red feathers gently falling to the ground. Since when had you become a softie? Two hours ago you were all if there's no sex in the romance novel, it's not worth my time but now you suddenly felt an urge to ransack the romance section of the nearest library to read every cheesy romance story you could find until you could find one similar to your own. Your... own? What? With... with Taehyung? ... not that you’d visualize every male lead character as coincidentally similar to him regardless of how their looks were described in the book.... "Maybe I do need to spend some time with myself to get over it..." No! Stay here with me! "I can spend more time with you." Taehyung looked up. "I think that could benefit us both." He sounded more hopeful now. "Well, you're already here so it's also convenient." Despite the darkness you could make out the smile on his face that appeared. Cute. But wait... did Taehyung suggest he could stay here for you, because he felt lonely? He shifted slightly and the sheets rustled. His leg accidently brushed against yours and your first thought was to tangle your legs with his in a leg tackle war... but you still felt too on edge to act casual and playful with him like you normally could. You swallowed. "How long have you felt this way?" "A while... a long while. At first it was nothing but then it got worse and even more worse when I realized this one thing." "What thing was that if I may ask?" He sighed. "It's hard to explain... but, say a friend." "Mhm?" "A friend feels kinda lost, existentialism and stuff going on, doesn't like to be by himself, then he finds this person and they make him forget it all but once they’re apart it all returns to him again like they were his escape but only for as long as they were together." "Is that only with that one person or all?" "No no, only that person. And then he realizes he might be in love, or he's addicted to the person in a way, but in a good way not an obsessive way just-" "In love?" "Something like that." "You're in love?" "Huh?! What no! This was about a friend! I'm not talking about me!" "Then what did you realize Taehyung?" You could tell his mind briefly blanked in panic. "I realized that maybe I, as said friend need to find that person for me." "A person?" He nodded shyly. "You want to fall in love?" "I don't know... something like that." 'Something like that' seemed to be his catchphrase this evening. But in love? A person? His person?... that couldn't be you... could it? Did he want you to be his person? Were you his person?? The questions and confusion kept spiraling through your head, (finally) making you feel tired and exhausted. "I think... I just want to tend to someone else than myself, to not have to think so much about it and instead take care of somebody else." "Is that why you offered to stay?" "Yes and no, I want to take care of you because I am genuinely concerned and worried about you, I want to be there for you. But also, sleeping on the couch last night, hearing you tiptoe around the kitchen... it made me feel comforted." His voice sounded drowsy. "If you want... I can be your person in this scenario." You suggested. "You've already become.. person." He mumbled, sinking deeper into his half-awake state. -- You stretched your leg out one at the time, twisting your body gently and inhaling deeply into a stretch, gently batting your eyes open. You pushed a palm against the bed to get up into a seated position when something suddenly restrained you, heavy over your abdomen. Surprised, you raised the sheet to see the reminder of what you had forgotten last night. Over your waist, a lean arm with faint thin dark hairs and a few subtle veins travelling up the forearm from the large hand clung to the side of your waist... all attached to the source of warmth to your left, Taehyung. His dark locks a mess on the pillow, his bare upper body now fully on display in the daylight and his polka dot pajama pants haven travelled down a bit too far low for your sanity... Cursed be the eyes in your skull for travelling down the view. You would've noticed it sooner or later regardless, especially since your thigh was a hair between touching it. It, being the weird relief of knowing he got some deep relaxing sleep in... but with an awkward morning surprise... and his arm wouldn't grant you freedom without you accidentally or intentionally having to wake him up. You carefully shifted to at least have your thighs at a safer distance, but your bed wasn't intended for two people, so it was easier said than done. His grip suddenly tightened and a low groan escaped him as he shifted. Why did you feel fear as if you shouldn’t be present in your bed in which he entered himself. If anyone Taehyung should be the one fearing his life right now. His thumb caressed your side gently and it felt nice... soothing. Until his eyes suddenly opened wide with a soft gasp as you felt his morning hard on grace against your thigh. Eyes that pleaded and begged you didn't notice pierced into yours and you decided to play along. "Did you sleep well?" His hand quickly retreated to your disappointment. "Sorry i... I did it in my sleep it wasn't-" "It's ok, you said you sleep well holding something and being held didn't feel too bad..." "Well, in that case, I actually slept better than I have in a really long time." He said, voice raspy and deep still. He rolled onto his back, thankfully, and placed his hand behind his head. "Did you?" "Huh?" "Did you sleep well?" "In fact, I did." You said, answering truthfully and resisting the urge to put your head on his bare chest. If only the lord or whoever would stop testing me... "Hungry?" He asked. You nodded. "Great, I'll fix something ok, but close your eyes." "Why?" "I'm shirtless." ... right. You covered your eyes with your hands and the warmth left your side as he got up and escaped the room. You slowly got up, trying to win some time for him but a few brief seconds later heard the sound of the bathroom door down the hall closing and locking. Yikes. That went smoother than expected. You set up some tea, knowing Taehyung described coffee as the closest to unlethal poison you could find, you knew he'd prefer tea or hot chocolate and that there was no use to ask. You knew him too well. It was nice having him here. And waking up with a strong arm around your waist wasn't too bad either... if only you could've let yourself enjoy the moment instead of freaking out, what if he grew cautious now and you'd never experience it again? You sighed softly, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard. After a while, the kettle clicked and you poured some water into each mug. It had been a while now... ... was he meditating in there? There was no sound of the shower, or anything, not that you were listening. Would it be weird if you asked if he was ok? Since the kettle was off the entire apartment became significantly more silent. You heard a faint mumble. "Fuck..." You swallowed. Ear please momentarily turn off, mind and imagination too please. You reached to put the kettle back on but since the water was already hot it clicked off again after 5 seconds. The bathroom door opened and you braced yourself to not look down. Luckily, he was now wearing his oversized sweater or else you would've failed immediately. He let out a soft chuckle. "I spaced out." His cheeks were flushed red and glowing. Right. "I made you some tea." -- Why were deep topics always easier to talk about at night? Were people like clams? You wake up and it opens a little and once we hit the night the clam is fully open and then closes during sleep to a new no-talk-me-I-not-have-tea-yet to ask-me-about-how-i-view-existentialism cycle? Or were nights just vulnerable with the darkness? In that case you should metaphorically speaking be an open clam all day during winter when the sun goes into its own hibernation. But here you were again, just like last night, except... 20 minutes into the sudden power outage that made your impromptu movie night come to a halt. And it was getting really cold. Bundled up under a cover together, staring at the flicker of the candle on the coffee table in silence. "I was going to offer to make you tea to warm you up but the kettle..." Taehyung said with a soft chuckle. "The power will probably come back any moment soon." He said optimistically. As you looked out of the window earlier, you noticed it wasn't just your place, but the entire block seemed to have an outage. Unusual. But the current roaring rain storm outside likely had something to do with it. The wind was aggressive, the windows shook, it whistled in a creepy way and the trees outside rustled loudly. "How about we play a game?" Taehyung suddenly suggested, breaking off the silence again. He was feeling awkward, you could tell. He always rested his hands in his lap, fidgeting or poking at the cuticles of his nails when he felt awkward. "Sure, what should we play?" His face lit up. "Questions and answers? I can start!" "Shoot!" You folded your legs and shifted to face him on the couch. "What's your ideal type." ... he... immediately went there. "Looks or personality?" Taehyung shrugged. "Both." "Well it depends on the vibe they give off of course... and mainly. I guess tall, but it's not that important, wide shoulders are always nice." You paused to think, how can I describe Taehyung without it sounding like I'm describing Taehyung. "Funny, caring, optimistic, outgoing..." "Like me!" He smiled widely. You leaned back, squinting while caressing your chin, examining him playfully. "Hmmmn" He placed his hands under his jaw, like he was displaying his face and batted his eyelashes. "Not bad, not bad." He looked disappointed. "Just not bad?" You playfully nudged his arm. "It's your turn to answer. "Fine." He pouted, crossing his arms over his chest but cracking a giggle. "I'll ask you the same question." "Very original, you." "It's called recycling, so tell me." "I did." "Huh?" "You." Your heart froze briefly before beginning to pound. "Me?" "Mn!" He said confidently. "You're not bad" he mocked. You swallowed. "I have a question about the rules." "Go on" "If I ask you anything, do you have to tell the truth?" "Yes! Nothing but. So you better tell me what you actually think rather than 'not bad'" "Is the friend you talked about actually you? And am I the person?" He tensed up, swallowing. "I guess it was obvious..." he mumbled, rubbing his arm and looking down at his lap. "I just..." he began, but reluctance interrupted him. "I understand." You said. He looked up, seemingly surprised yet still tensed "I make you feel less lonely." He nodded slowly. "Which makes sense. After all we're best friends." You continued. "... right." He looked away. "Best friends." Taehyung reached up to move his hair away from his eyes, still facing down as if he was considering something. "So... what do you think of me?" His voice sounded more serious. Where to start of course he was gorgeous! Wide shoulders, a build you'd die to slide your hands down, dark big eyes, a sweet smile with plump lips, sculpted perfectly and his honey skin. Person wise... he was someone you'd want to have as your person. "A nice person" He scoffed. "Seriously?" He seemed upset. He finally looked up, meeting your gaze. There was a sparkle in his eye. The warm light from the candle made his face glow even more. "I mean person as in the person you have, a your-person" "A nice your-person?" He tilted his head. "You told me yesterday in bed that you can feel like someone is your person because they bring you comfort and make all your problems go away and you feel better just by being in their presence! A nice that-type-of-person." "But I was talking about you!" He pleaded "And now I'm talking about you." "You are my person, what do you mean?" He asked, placing emphasis on "my" "That you're my person too. Am I being unclear?" "No, not at all. I just wanted to hear you say it." "So you tricked me?" You scoffed. "Not really." He leaned closer. "But maybe I set you up and you simply walked into my trap." "So now what? We're just going to sit here in denial over the fact that we both admitted to being each other's person?" You questioned, feeling slightly panicky and picking at your nails. Was this platonic or not? "We don't have to" he grinned. "But to be clear, I'm not talking about you being my person as in my other half, my best friend type person, even though you are that too bit this isn't it." "Are you trying to tell me that you're in love with me?" He tensed up again. Fuck it. "Then just say it, stop confusing me with your riddles and metaphors and I won't do the same. Just tell me-" His hand pressed against the back of your head as he leaned in almost all the way. He caressed the back of your head gently and your gaze dropped to his soft pink lips with the tiny freckle to the side. You leaned in close enough to brush a gentle touch before Taehyung pressed you closer for your lips to finally collide. It started off desperate yet a little shy. You pressed back, grabbing at his sides and the kiss deepened. Your heart was pounding. Never did you expect he'd just go for it and kiss you when you showed some bold courage towards him but you didn’t have a slightest regret because he tasted so good against your mouth. His plump pink lips so passionate, so needy but also so gentle and triggering an explosion in your chest. Taehyung leaned over you, making you lay down on the couch as he crawled on top and it turned into an even wilder heated make out. Your hand tangled into his hair, his hand rubbed against the side of your waist under your top. Fearing it'd be the first, last and only, you wanted every single piece of this moment you could have. Unintentional, his touch triggered a soft moan to escape your throat, which subsequently triggered a groan from Taehyung. Making a sound like that with his voice should be illegal. It did things to you, things you didn't want to confess. But the box of secret confessions was torn open within seconds as Taehyung, a heavy breathing mess suddenly pulled away from your lips and landed by your ear, exhaling deeply. "Fuck, I'm hard." He groaned and you knew the box was flying out the windows with your filthy confession floating aimlessly around for him to hear but all you managed to stutter out was a choked "huh?" "If you knew how long I've wanted you for." He whispered. "How scared I've been of being rejected because I knew it'd shatter me." The hopeless romantic you knew he was made his attendance known. "A friend?" You chuckled. "Maybe I set myself up with that one, I admit. But I was hoping you'd catch on." He chuckled, still breathless. He planted a kiss against your neck. Were you about to have sex? Would it lead to that? Did you mind? Certainly not... Taehyung pushed up slightly, looking down at you. "May I?" You nodded and he smiled widely, pressing a kiss to your lips. Shifting, he easily found his place between your thighs and grinded up against you slowly with pressure, causing both of you to exhale into a sweet needy moan. Your feelings felt scattered all over the place but this wasn't the time to pick them up. You wanted to let go, to surrender, just for this moment. Let go of everything clawing at your back, clouding the sunny skies and draining you. There is nothing more exhausting than smiling pretending everything is ok while whatever inflated issue in beast form is clawing its nails across your back and the scars sting like lemon juice was just rubbed all over you, feeling disgusting and sticky, let alone in pain and with a sore back from the held tension. He grinded again, sensually this time as the tip of his nose travelled up your neck, inhaling your sweet scent. "Mmm" he hummed softly. Your hand made its way to his nape as he settled by your neck. "I could fall asleep here." He chuckled. "Right here in your neck, it's so warm and smells so nice. It's more effective than lavender." "Are you enchanted by my odor?" He laughed his trademark bubble laugh. "I wish you knew how much fun you are." He squeezed you, rubbing up firmer to you with a desperate grunt. "Fuck I can't take it anymore." He stood on his knees, crossing his arms in front of him and grabbing the hem of his sweater, pulling it up and off, exposing his soft skin and toned chest as it fell to the floor. His hand reached for the button on his pants but before making it to the zipper his attention returned back to you with his hands sliding up under your top and pulling it up over your head. "I just want to make sure again... is it ok?" He asked, eyes big. "Yes, touch me, kiss me, do whatever you want just don’t leave the couch. At least not without me." He smirked at this, finally able to surrender to his greed. Taehyung reached for the waistline of your pants, unbuttoning, unzipping and pulling them down your hips with your underwear going off with them. His fingers softly rakes over your skin as he travelled down your legs, your hips lifted to assist him and then they were tossed onto the floor. He reached for his own zipper again but you sat up, quickly swatting his hand away and reaching for it yourself. He was on his knees between your thighs. You pulled them down, sliding your hands over his soft curved hips, revealing his tight fitted boxers with little to any space left for his hard on. You swallowed. He blushed. Relieved that Taehyung took over the lead again you lied back down as his hands gently pushed you back, slipping the bra straps off your shoulders and reaching behind you to unhook and free you from your final piece of clothing. But with this one he wasn't in a rush. He slowly tugged at the lacey fabric, revealing your chest to him as he bit his lip. "Wow." He mumbled and his patience was gone. One hand grabbed your left boob, feeling it and squeezing it softly as the other slipped into his boxer to touch himself. He whimpered, seemingly trembling as a result of his desperation and the discomfort he must be feeling in those tight pair of... he let go of your boob, quickly pulling his boxers down and himself out. You felt your core twist and ache and his boxers joined the pile of clothes on the floor. Taehyung fell forward onto all fours on top of you. Fully exposed, fully erect and a full sight to take in in the dim light in the dark. Distracted and eyes travelling all over him, his hand suddenly cupped your chin, tilting it up for you to face him. His nose graced over yours in a sweet eskimo kiss before his lips, just as gently pressed to yours. Taehyung's hand slid down your neck, your chest and down until he found himself. Your toes curled as you felt his touch where you wanted him the most in this moment, the tip of him slowly sliding up and down your slit, triggering your need even more. Taehyung let out a shaky exhale. His lips were parted and eyes staring right down at your exposed curves. He positioned himself, slowly sliding the tip in, just to feel... just to get some urgent relief... he leaned his head back and his hands landed a tight grip of your waist. He couldn't take it anymore. Slowly and carefully he began to push. Making sure by studying your every expression that he wasn't hurting you and that it felt good. A sweet whimper escaped you, causing him to grin in delight as he pushed in deeper. He was thick... the gentle stretch he caused felt amazing and you couldn't stop yourself from clenching around him, making him moan and managing to make you even wetter just by the sound. With a soft grunt he slipped in all the way. Giving you a moment to adjust to his size, he moved his hand up to caress your cheek with the back of his hand. His touch felt like magic. Like a gentle feather smoothing over your cheek, but slender and strong, with long dainty beautiful fingers. You leaned into his touch. "Does it feel ok?" He whispered. You gave a reassuring nod. He pulled his hips back and thrusted back in, not too soft and not too hard he picked up a slow but deep rhythm for his movements. Your hands felt their way up and across his back, studying every curve and where he naturally flexed as he moved. His hands were firmly holding you in place at the waist, every desperate exhale and every shaky inhale sending almost an ASMR like tingle down your spine via your ear until your name suddenly slipped his lips. Most people feel a fuzzy like feeling inside hearing their proper name be called but this... this was unlike no other time. His deep voice, following a whimper, exhaling your name like a magic spell and it fading into a shiver-causing moan. To put it simply it was the sexiest thing you've ever heard and it activated a whole new part within you that felt foreign but so so so good. Like your blood had suddenly turned into liquid gold, all happy hormones releasing in a firework spelling the world "nothing else matters" in an imaginary sky. You wrapped your arms tighter around him, moaning his name out felt liberating. And it clearly triggered an equal reaction. His cheeks were already flushed and his eyes went wide. He smirked, growing more desperate, fucking your harder and deeper, chasing release. "Please cum for me." He whispered, pleading. "Please." He didn't need to place a formal request, you were already loosing yourself. The only sound echoing in the darkness being the roaring wind and rain along with your breaths and groans and the sound of his hips and your thighs. Wet, heavenly sounds to you. His sweet moans, his broad back, his dick... everything about him made you feel euphoric. The ever building tension below, the sweat forming on his forehead... "I'm gonna cum" he whimpered. Thinking your body couldn't possibly react stronger to him than it already was, it did. The thrusts grew faster, grunts louder and you could feel yourself leak even more. Back arching, tension growing... it felt even tighter now... you could feel him so well, every movement until you suddenly came un-done with a loud whimper to his ear, setting him off into his own orgasm, cumming deep inside with a string of "oh"s and groans, gritting his teeth together and tensing his face in a greedy expression. He slowed down to a halt, remaining inside, breathless on top of you. The light on the sofa table had reached its end and the faint scent of smoke filled the air as the flame went out, making the room completely pitch black. Taehyung's face nuzzled softly against your neck, inhaling the scent of you deeply and being soothed. "Wow." He coughed, followed by a groan. "Wow." You repeated, happy that the light went out so he couldn’t see your flushed face. "You ok?" He whispered, vulnerability present in his voice. "I didn't go to hard right?" "It was amazing." He let out a breath of release and an awkward chuckle. "I'll pull out.." he said shyly, moving his hips back slowly and gently, slipping out. To your surprise, Taehyung climbed off of you, standing on his feet. The cold air made your nipples ache and your skin shiver. You wanted your human blanket and source of heat back. But you didn’t have to wait for long. A pair of strong arms slid in under you, lifting you up with ease. "The sofa is too tiny." He carried you into your bedroom, gently putting you back down on the bed and laying down on his side next to you, pulling you close to his chest where his heart was still pounding hard. He hugged you tight, caressing the back of your head. His lips pressed against the crown of your head gently. "My good girl." He whispered, sounding almost proud. Your cheeks burned and a weird sense to cry bubbled up but you quickly swallowed it and hugged him tighter, burying your face against his chest. Never had you thought being called a good girl, specifically "Taehyung's" good girl would be able to move you to tears. But maybe it's what you needed to hear, mixed with the hormonal serotonin cocktail your body just released upon you. "You'll always have me." He nuzzled his nose in your hair. With a click the power came back on, including your pink hue nightstand lamp next to the bed. Taehyung's cheeks were deeply flushed, amplified by the flattering pink light cast over him. You giggled. Had this really just happened? Because it felt so right. Or was it just the relief of sex? But masturbating had never made you feel this emotional before... You looked up at Taehyung's face again and he smiled softly, his hand caressing your bare back up and down. It was definitely him.

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datawyrms · 3 years

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snap

It is The Day I post my Invisobang fic! it was a wild ride to write everything and not post. This is actually the second fic I did, as the first fell into my pit of ‘i hate it now’ and will sit in limbo for the rest of eternity. I teamed up with Spirit ( @ghostportals ), who has done some accompanying art! That, and Red @redead-red saved my bacon by doing some betaing last moment, so tell em they’re great too. Hope you’re all enjoying the flood of finished fics and art this week! Only the first chapter is here, the rest is posted on my Ao3 and complete. hope you enjoy!

One careless fall changed Danny's life forever. He was kind of hoping one fall like that was enough for any lifetime. Clearly fate disagreed.

It's fine though! He's got this. He's fine. He can totally explain why he ran off with his own body to mom and dad.

The stairs had always been a little too steep, a titch too narrow, but he was used to them. Jazz worried too much- the whole Fenton family knew how to take them two steps at a time. He wasn’t going to admit she might have a point just because he’d slipped one time. He wished there was a railing to catch himself with- it would have spared him some of the pain of his head knocking on the stair.

It didn’t hurt that much. Plenty of ghosts hit harder, and far more frequently.

“Took a bit of a spill eh, Danno?”

Great, dad saw him slip like he was three again. He wanted to speak, wave his behemoth of a father off before he got tangled up in some long lecture about whatever they were working on down here. Just had to sit up.

He was a little stunned or something. All those late nights made his limbs rebel when he wanted them to hurry up. Come on, before he tries to help and accidentally shaves his hair off with some anti-ghost stepladder or something.

His arms stubbornly rejected his internal horror story. His attempt to say ‘I’m fine’ was more a gurgle than anything. Way to go, Fenton. Do everything to get dad to worry! Really using those genius genes. Jazz probably stole his anyway, or they got fried in the accident. Come on! A bit of self berating should have him sitting bolt upright by now. Maybe his arm twitched. He felt something move, anyway. More like a muscle spasm.

“Danny? You okay?” The large man came closer, his usual jog slowed.

Of course he’s fine. He could see dad, sort of. He totally moved his eyes to see him better, even. Stupid ghost powers were just acting up. It’s okay, just give me a second to stand up. You’re worrying over nothing.

Jack had already made it over, crouching to get a better look at his fallen son. Like he was trying to look smaller or something with how carefully he was moving. Where was all that slow, ginger movement when he was driving? Or trying to tell them about some new invention that might burn off your eyebrows?

I’m fine, dad. He couldn’t get the words to come out, but he was just fine. He really didn’t like the strange look on his father’s face. After all, ‘Jack Fenton doesn’t know the meaning of the word fear’ or whatever random thing he felt like shouting when chasing after entities from another dimension. Come on dad, stop looking like that. It was creeping him out. Moving should be easy, a snap, but part of him didn’t feel like doing it. Apparently an important part? He could visualize exactly what to do, but he wasn’t sitting up. He swore he could feel his muscles clenching but not finishing the movement. Maybe they were testing something down here that just made all the ectoplasm hiding inside him take a nap. His ectoplasm was so fired after this.

“Can you look at me kiddo?”

Coaxing him. This was weird. Why wasn’t he just hauling him off the floor and laughing about how clumsy he was at his age too? Looking at him was easy. Pretty hard to miss him, with all the bright orange.

“Maddie? Can you come over here?” His question was strangely stilted, not much of a bellow.

Dad was going to get the wrong idea because his body didn’t want to cooperate. Great. Fantastic. He could feel the warmth in his chest, the sign his heart was still going. He was just fine, just a bit inconvenienced at the moment. Why couldn’t dad just be dad and do something dumb like pick him up with one hand while sounding way too excited about some new tool that he built?

“What’s wrong?” His mom said, her footsteps doing the same thing dad’s had. Speed that suddenly cut down to almost nothing. “Danny, did you hit your head?”

“I think he might have, he’s not responding. I didn’t want to try to move him-“

“You did great Jack, it’s okay.”

Gross. He hoped they didn’t get caught up in one of their lovey dovey circles while he was stuck trying to get his stupid legs to remember how to do things. He was responding! He groaned, and he definitely twitched a bit. Weren’t they paying attention? He tried again, a bit more forcefully and ignoring the pang in his neck. More of a jolt from someone with too much static cling than actual pain, really.

“Should I call 911? He isn’t moving! He just stayed there- didn’t even act all tough for his old man!”

Jack was panicking. Dad was panicking. Over nothing! Why wasn’t mom distracting him with fudge or some random study? No one was being normal today. Danny shuddered, he knew he did, it went with the pulse under his skin.

“That’d be great sweetie, just stay close.”

“In case you need my big strong arms to help carry him, right?”

“Just in case.” She wasn’t wearing the hood of her jumpsuit, at least.

It didn’t make it more comfortable when she crouched down, biting her lip and staring at him. Like this was concerning. It was the opposite of that, he was a klutz, a gangly teenager, it was normal for him to be a bit banged up. This shouldn’t concern her, or anyone. The only reason it bugged him was the not being able to move right now nonsense.

“You aware in there sweetie?” she said, rather loudly and clapping near his ear.

Yes I am, but I can’t tell you. Maybe he could focus on taking a breath and it would kick off whatever turned off his mind to body connection. Had he done anything strange before coming down here? Not really. He could absolutely feel her digging her nails into his earlobe though, ow! More motivation to move, but something wasn’t getting across. Maybe he was getting a bit freaked out about it too. Only because of his parents being weird. He was fine, he had to be fine. It was nothing, less than nothing.

“I’m just going to make sure he’s still breathing Jack, do you have anyone on the line yet?”

A loud response, but not to her question. “No it’s not a ghost emergency! It’s a human emergency!”

Of course he was breathing. He couldn’t look that bad from such a small fall. Just breathe out the words ‘Hey mom, personal space’ and they’d laugh and it’d be nothing. All this fussing was making his skin crawl but of course he had to have ‘special ghost freezing up’. Was it his ice powers? Like he could get his powers being snarky like that, appreciated it in a twisted sort of way- but it would be better around people who wouldn’t assume the worst? Like anyone else. Even Dash.

“Tell the operator he isn’t breathing.” Maddie’s voice was cold and controlled, even as she went back to biting her lip right after.

He was totally breathing. He could feel the air that ran in and out of his lungs, the swell and fall that other ghosts knew as a weak point, a way to slow him down. He knew what being doubled over, air shoved right out of him from a harsh blow felt like, how it felt like the portal again. Throat twitching, body heaving and trying to regain what it lost. The darkness that bit at the edges of his vision as every nerve went screaming You’re Dying . Hated that feeling, shook the ghosts who did that hard once they were in a thermos. This was nothing like that.

“He isn’t breathing, you need to hurry! My wife knows CPR- just tell them to hurry this is my son , please”

Yelling to hide the quaver in his voice. Like a kicked puppy yelping. It sounded so wrong. This was going to be so awkward after. They’d just...pretend this never happened, right? That’d be for the best. No, he was going to get grounded forever for some ‘dumb prank’, since he was fine and worried them so much. Which didn’t seem too bad if it stopped all of...this.

He moved a little. A toe, he was pretty sure. More notably was his mother, carefully getting him off the uneven stair to be flat on his back. Trying to keep his head from moving, and she couldn’t see he was looking at her? When she was this close? Too busy trying to be calm. Who could be busy enough to think he wasn’t breathing or tracking with his eyes? Another twitch, another inward curse that he couldn’t get back in control.

“Just hold on, help is coming.” She said, but the half ghost couldn’t tell who she meant, exactly. Him, dad or herself? Either way the quiet remark did not prepare him for the sheer force slammed into his crest. Like she wanted to slam right through him! Was it so much to ask that his parents stop nearly killing him by trying to help? Just try moving again and everything will be fine.

He couldn’t keep the mental mantra up when he heard- when he felt his ribs crack from the pointless force. She was killing him, he didn’t need help breathing, he had to get it through to them no matter how much his body buzzed and resisted his need to move. He had to focus and push through it, ignoring how cold and wrong it felt, how it seemed like he was squirming free of something that didn’t want him to go.

Her bone crushing assault stopped once he got his arm up, not even needing to touch her before she froze. The fear was wrong, out of place so he redoubled his efforts, twisting and struggling against himself, the sticky mass that wasn’t letting him act or speak to calm them down.

The phone hit the floor. He heard it. So why didn’t dad say anything? Danny twisted, wanting to make sure he was okay. Still stuck. At least he had a hand free and most of an arm, the edges of his fingers tracing the tiles of the floor. He could brace himself that way, pushing down hard to try and jar his shoulder loose. He could hear air moving, like a harsh breath out. Good- breathing was good. Even when it sounded so harsh and low.

“Jack- are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Maddie moved back, giving him the space he wanted ever since she’d cracked his ribs. They still stung under his skin, hissing at him to keep his parents away before he managed to get even more injuries over something so silly.

“I’m not sure what we’re seeing.” The phone remained on the floor.

That didn’t seem right. He’d sat up, mostly. Half sat up, propped up with an arm. Still mostly stuck and uncomfortable, the snapping and crackling sensation still clinging to his free shoulder. Really, he felt worse than how he started. at least there wasn’t pain in ‘hah my body is playing freeze tag without me’ land. The pulling sensation made his head ache and vision swim to the point he wasn’t actually sure if he was still looking at the ceiling or not. He couldn’t go back to just being frozen though, that’d suck. So just convince the rest of himself to get up. No problem!

Were lies in his head always this unconvincing? It felt like yanking himself free of a too sticky slime, strands clinging and tugging back until they finally snapped, parts still stuck but free of the main mass. At least ectoplasm had the decency not to stretch when you got drenched in it most of the time. Come on, focus and keep it together. He let out a wheeze as the last stubborn strands snapped, ignoring how loud it sounded to properly reorient himself.

Sitting up, properly, good! Parents staring with weird, half horrified expressions: bad. Very, very bad.

“I’m okay, I just fell.” Danny spoke, he could speak properly again. So why? “Sorry for scaring you guys?” He tried again, trying to ignore the first thought across his mind.

They kept staring. Maddie seemed to be recovering, shoulders starting to relax, but she seemed to be reaching for her belt.

He didn’t sound right. No, that wasn’t quite right, he just sounded wrong for Danny Fenton. Who he should be right now, he hadn’t been able to talk, let alone go ghost. This probably looked really, really bad. How had he switched, anyway?

Mom was reaching for a gun, wasn’t she? Crud. Now he regretted talking at all, how was he going to explain why Danny Phantom was treating two ghost hunters like his parents? Or how he managed to look like their kid. Maybe he could change back and convince them they were seeing things?

Yeah no, that was way too dumb.

“Wait.” Jack rested a hand on his wife’s shoulder, causing her to stop pulling the weapon. He wasn’t looking at the ghost at all, just her. Maddie remained stiff, not able to ignore the glowing kid on her floor.

Okay...dad was usually the gung ho one. Maybe he could get away with this? Danny tried to get a better grip on the situation. Felt a new pain, sharp and cold in his throat. Deep green scars clashed against his white gloves and ran all across his jumpsuit, glow intensifying as the panic choked him into silence. Fresh and angry like back- back before he managed to stumble out of the portal when he died when the accident happened.

With his human arms just as scared below them, still against the tile. The damage looked old, half scabbed over with only a dull glow deep in the death marks wounds. His arms attached to the rest of his body- that he was half out of.

Why? How was his body still and silent while he was sitting and looking at it. He’s cold. His body is cold. It isn’t breathing there isn’t some other facet of his personality sitting behind the dull blue eyes. This isn’t how it works! If he splits, it’s just temporary, he can fix it but his other half- corpse is wrong.

The pulling and clinging at his legs doesn’t feel like slime anymore. Rotting flesh that wants to drag him back, smother him in a cloying warmth that will only remind him why it burned, how it hurt. He had to move, he couldn’t stay half like this, it would get better once it wasn’t like this.

It didn’t want to let go as he tried to pull away, ectoplasm getting snagged on every nerve and muscle fiber, each pause a reminder of the shock and pain of his end that day.

He knew he screamed when he pulled free and slammed into the wall, furious green scars still marring his jumpsuit where there should be none.

What would Mom and Dad think?

No no no no no. He spotted movement from them and acted. He couldn’t let his mom break his body more, or look at it too closely. Dad couldn’t see what happened! This was fine, he could fix this!

He grabbed his corpse and fled through the wall.

#Danny Phantom #invisobang #invisobang 2021 #jack fenton #Maddie Fenton #there are a lot of way better fics made for this #but hopefully you'll enjoy mine too

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 8.2k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: fxf smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, technically a mff threesome

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and with a special appearance from eight special guests

A/N: due to burnout, i’m unfortunately putting tgm on hold and logging off of tumblr for a little while, so there will be a bit of a wait before you get the new chapter. i’m going to log back on after 48 hours when the vote is done, because i’m considering putting the results behind a ‘read more’ option so that if you don’t want to wait, you can choose to reveal who is being voted out, otherwise you have the freedom to wait for the chapter. i have a post coming out explaining why i’m going on hold and what that means. please keep an eye out for it xx

ELIMINATION

The vote has closed.

DAY TWENTY-ONE

Your ass is still still a little sore the next morning, and having Hoseok smirk at you every time you shifted is a special kind of torture in and of itself. Waiting for everyone to gather, you’re one moment away from begging Taehyung for a massage right then and there before Sejin finally enters, rapping awkwardly on the doorframe as he steps in.

Skipping the pleasantries, he hunkers down on the coffee table in the middle of the couches, gesturing for you to join.

You swallow, aware of the attention on you. “Can I just stay on the couch?” You stubbornly avoid Hoseok’s gaze, leaning further back into the cushions, Taehyung’s arm wrapped around you as you tuck your head against his shoulder. Maybe you’d ask for that massage later, you reason, massages are platonic, right?

“Sure,” Sejin allows after a moment, eyes softening in sympathy. You flush at the unspoken reminder that he definitely saw the footage, but the producer powers on. “Let’s get started, then, we have quite the day ahead of us.”

Your phone burns a hole in your pocket. You’d been chatting earlier this morning over text with your friend, who was already on a train on his way here. You wonder how the boys will react to Eric. Part of you had worried, but you’ve yet to meet a single person that didn’t like him. It would be good to finally catch up.

The other guys don’t seem suspicious about the news, but before you can dwell on it, Sejin is clearing his throat and lowering his voice into the announcer-like tone he used for the meetings. “This week’s theme was Work Hard, Play Hard. According to the Bangasm Bomb, Week Two’s fan favourite Yoongi was allowed to distribute them. Instead of asking Y/n to guess, I want the players to each say whether they were happy with Yoongi’s choice or not. Starting on the right with you: Jin.”

Perhaps due to their splitting up yesterday morning - you hope their conversation went well in the end - Jin and Yoongi are on opposite couches, and Jin is a little subdued when he speaks to Yoongi. Not necessarily sad, just calmer than normal, like they were old friends. “So, Yoongichi gave me foodplay. As much as I appreciated getting the prompt, and I had a wonderful time with Y/n, never fucking again will I use something so messy. I swear to god, there’s still caramel in my hair, and I don’t think it’ll ever come out.”

You wince at the description, jostled slightly by Taehyung’s laughter rocking his body. Sejin confirms that he’d successfully fulfilled his prompt, and moves along to Namjoon, who looks about as red as a fire hydrant.

“Mine was ageplay,” Namjoon explains, voice dipping so quiet that you can barely hear him, before he clears his throat and glances up again. “I enjoyed it a lot, if I’m being honest. Um- thank you, Yoongi. I’m a little concerned that you knew to give it to me, though.”

“Come on,” Jin jibes, punching his shoulder lightly, “you’re absolute Daddy material. When it doesn’t look like you crawled out of someone’s pocket, at least.”

Namjoon frowns down at himself, the denim overalls rolled up at the ankles, mismatched socks and a t-shirt with a little embroidered sun on it. “Was that a compliment?”

Jin sends him a solemn, meaningful look. “It’s whatever you need it to be.”

“Anyways,” Sejiin jumps in, “congratulations, Namjoon, you’ve avoided the bunks again. Following on, we have Jimin. Go ahead.”

With legs that look a mile long in some skinny black jeans, Jimin winks across the room to Yoongi. “I got breathplay,” he explains, “which I’ll admit isn’t my favourite prompt out of them all, but I still had a really good time. Though I did try and go a little easy just in case.”

Your eyes widen, remembering ringed fingers around your throat and his cold smirk which contrasted with the heat of him inside you. “That was going easy?”

Jimin shrugs. “I’ve barely scratched the surface, Y/n,” he states vaguely and sits back, tilting his head to Sejin to indicate he’s finished.

The producer quickly informs him he was successful, and moves onwards. On your couch, the only active player is Hoseok, who sits on the opposite side to Taehyung. He sends you a mischievous grin before leaning out to face Yoongi. “Wax play for me,” he reveals to the group, “which was an absolute delight. I’m very glad I got this one, just for safety reasons. It sounds like some of the prompts this week were a little more intense.”

He sits back, but Sejin doesn’t move on this time. “Hoseok, unfortunately you failed your prompt this week.”

Hoseok blinks, brows lifting. “But there are cameras in that bathroom! I checked.”

“That’s not the issue,” Sejin explains with a sympathetic smile, “it’s that you directly revealed to Y/n what your prompt was. Now-” he begins, seeing Hoseok’s clear disappointment, “I had a talk with some of the editing and producing teams on this, as well as the higher-ups. Because we understand and appreciate that you revealed the prompt for reasons related to safety and wellbeing, we’re going to change things up a bit. You have a choice. Either you take the penalty and stay in the bunkrooms, or you stay in your own room. The caveat is that you randomly have to draw a name, and that person will join you.”

Hoseok winces. “God, this feels like a variety show,” he complains, “but I’ll risk it and take my bedroom. At least I’ll be comfy, and I’m fine sharing a bed with most of you anyway.”

Sejin’s already prepared, nodding and retrieving seven strips of paper from his pocket, all folded in two. The rest of you hold your breath as Hoseok’s hand hovers over the splayed-out options, finally tugging one out from the bottom. He takes it, flicks it open, and immediately deflates with a frustrated groan.

“This is fucking rigged,” he protests, ripping the paper into two, “I pick the bunkrooms.”

Sejin patiently holds his hand out for the torn shreds, reading them over. Is that a smile on his lips? “Jung Hoseok, you’ll be staying in the comfort of your bedroom with fellow contestant Park Jimin until the date of the next Sunday meeting.”

“Hey!” Jimin shrieks. “I did my prompt! Do I get no say in this?!”

“You don’t, unfortunately,” Sejin replies promptly. “Next up is Jungkook.”

Jimin squawks, collapsing back onto the couch with his arms tightly folded and his mouth screwed up into a scowl. Across from him sits Jungkook, clinging to Yoongi. With his legs tucked under him and his sleeves balled in his hands, the youngest gentleman is reminiscent of his subbier side when you played with him. “I got anal play,” he declares proudly, “I can’t believe it took me three weeks to get pegged. Shoutout to homeboy for sending that prompt my way.” He punctuates the comment by gently bumping his head against Yoongi’s shoulder, like a cat on its owner’s leg. Rather than sitting up, he stays there.

Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind, finishing off before Sejin can even step in. “I was cumplay,” he states plainly, “so of course, I took that. Who needs to fuck around with wax and food and shit when you can stick to the basics?”

The producer nods formally, tapping his shoe against the carpet. “And the two of you both successfully completed your prompts, congratulations. That means nobody will be staying in the bunkrooms this week. Taehyung,” he turns and fixes the boy with a warm stare, “you’re welcome to go back to your room for the rest of the competition.”

Taehyung beams, a boxy grin and crescent eyes. “Noted, sir,” he says with a chirp. “Do we get to find out fan favourite now? I know who I’m rooting for.” Taehyung sends Jimin a shy smile, and the older boy winks at him fondly.

“Yes, of course,” Sejin allows, clearing his throat. “As usual, we tallied up the results from the voting page on our website. I’ll say the top three. Third place this week was Jungkook. Congratulations.”

The youngest man sits upright suddenly with a wide-eyed look. “Seriously? I didn’t even dom! Oh, wow, uh-” he cuts himself off and looks around, finally fixing his sights on one of the cameras near the roof that are streaming to the fans. He pumps his fists with a little cheer, then folds them together and bows. “Thank you! I’ll do even better next week.”

Yoongi’s cheeks go pink as he tries to act like he isn’t cooing over the boy, reaching out to ruffle his ever-growing hair. “Good job, kid,” he compliments shortly.

“Second place,” Sejin continues, “Seokjin.”

It seems as if the therapist hadn’t seen it coming at all. A picture-perfect expression of shock blooms on his face before he lets out a bright peal of laughter, clapping his hands together with a single smack. “I did it! Ah, I knew I still had it in me. Old age won’t stop me yet, see. Everyone should learn from this.”

You shake your head with bemusement, lifting your brows at him. “Silver medal and it’s already going to your head, huh? The fans have created a monster.”

“The fans have seen the light,” Jin corrects placidly, before a line forms between his brows. “Wait. Who got first, then? Who outdid me plus caramel sauce?”

“In first place, and winning the chance to spend an evening outside the Villa with Y/n,” Sejin starts, before pausing for dramatic effect, “is Hoseok. You’re having quite the emotional rollercoaster this morning, Mr. Jung.”

Instead of a hooting cheer, a smug grin, or even disbelief, perhaps the one thing you didn’t see coming was Hoseok blinking quickly, before pressing the back of his hand to his nose. You don’t have to be watching a 1080p close-up to see his eyes misting.

Taehyung immediately croons, throwing his arms around the dom in a tight hug, wiggling in place as Hoseok laughs tearily. “I’m so proud,” you hear Taehyung say, muffled in Hoseok’s shirt.

“I- Goodness, I’m sorry- I really just wasn’t expecting that,” Hoseok admits, tilting his chin up to stare into the ceiling light. “That means a lot. Phew, wow, the audience are some kinky fuckers,” he finishes, relieved when the strange atmosphere splits into easy laughter.

Heart warm, you reach over and squeeze his arm. “I’m really happy for you, Hobi,” you say in a soft voice. “You deserve it.”

“Where will you take her tonight, hyung?” Jungkook chimes, teeth poking out of a teasing grin. “Is it ‘take your fuckbuddy to work’ day at the Red Room by any chance?” His comment rouses whoops and whistles around the room, Taehyung giggling and pinching the dom’s cheek.

“Ah, about that,” Sejin jumps in quickly, a hand held out to settle the noise, “the reward won’t be scheduled for tonight, unfortunately. We’re going to put it on Monday night, since today - as I’m sure you all know - we have some special guests.”

Your brows lift. Guests, plural? Maybe you weren’t the only one who was asked to contact a friend. Your heart skips a little faster at the prospect of being exposed to close friends from the boys’ real lives. What if they didn’t like you? Would it even matter?

Sejin isn’t done, standing up from the coffee table to give the announcement on foot. “A few days ago, you all received text messages from me with some instructions to find a close friend, colleague, or family member to join you on the show. This was up to your discretion, as long as they agreed to a quick police check, however there was one condition. Y/n; you were asked specifically for a male friend. The guys were asked to bring a female friend.”

You suck in a gasp. After three weeks being surrounded exclusively by dudes, you’d suddenly have seven new ladies to talk to. “Just for the day, right?” you question, knowing the plans you’d had to make with Eric.

Sejin’s lips quirk up. “For most of the guests, yes. However, for one lucky lady, they’ll have the opportunity to stay for a full week. At any point today, Y/n, you can draw a name from this box-” he pauses, glancing down at his again-empty hands, “-I’ll, uh, I’ll bring the box out in just a moment. But you’ll be able to randomly draw one name, and if the recipient agrees, they’ll be staying in the bunk room for seven nights. Questions?”

Taehyung raises his hand tentatively. “Hypothetically, would we be allowed to have sex with the guests?”

Sejin sighs. “All but two of them signed a contract in which they consented to the possibility of sexual interaction, yes. But none of them will be required to at all.”

You bite your lip. When talking with you, Eric had mentioned the contract, and stated that since it was just one day he’d rather not offer himself up for that. One of the girls must have done the same, then, but that still left six people who were joining for a day - or a week - willing to consider having sex with the others on the show. Perhaps you were raising your sex drive being on the show, or maybe you just missed the company of women, but that thought excited you more than anything.

“When do they come on?” Yoongi asks with a grimace. While the others are practically vibrating with the anticipation of being reunited with their friends and meeting new people, Yoongi seems begrudging, and you can’t help but wonder what girl in his life he asked to join him.

“They’re waiting outside right now,” Sejin reveals, “we’ll bring them in one by one to introduce themselves. As they come in, I want the person who invited them to get up and stand on the side with them until everyone’s paired up.”

Taehyung’s hands slip into yours and Hoseok’s, gripping them into tight fists with a hoot of excitement. His enthusiasm is contagious, and you sit up straighter, eying the doorway. “Do you think there’ll be a game?” the masseuse hisses, positively wiggling in his seat.

On the other couch, Jungkook’s eyes widen comically. “We’re doing a game? Oh, hell yeah!”

Sejin, who had been sending a text, glances up quickly. “The game isn’t ‘til the eve-” he cuts himself off, but it comes too late. “Ah, dammit. Anyways, please give a warm welcome to our first guest. Please come in.”

Before the person even rounds the corner, you hear an excited squeal. A slender girl with toffee-coloured hair and bright features careens into the room, her giddy smile widening as she lands her eyes on Jin.

If you had pictured someone to be friends with the therapist, it probably wouldn’t be this boisterous woman in tiny shorts and strappy sandals that’s currently cannon-balling onto him, but he lets out an oof, wrapping his arms around her with a fond smile.

Sejin clears his throat. “Could you please introduce yourself?”

“Oh!” The girl sits up, elbowing Jin in the stomach as she gets up to smile at everyone. She looks gorgeous in a summery red lipstick, and the voice that comes out is just as sweet. “Hi everyone, I’m Hyuna, Soogie’s better half.”

Rubbing his hip, Jin scoffs. “You’re my sidekick at best.”

Ignoring the person whose lap she’s sitting on, Hyuna beams. “If he’s been cool on this show at all, it’s my positive influence.”

“Thank you, Hyuna, the two of you can go stand to the side,” Sejin deigns, glancing towards the doorway. “Next?”

In this way, all the guests appear one at a time and pair off. Eric’s next in, and you rush up to give your old friend a tight hug, grinning as he immediately stands beside Jin and Hyuna and begins to schmooze, making the two of them alike fawn over him.

“Hi, everyone,” he announces in a cheery tone, “I’m Eric, longtime friend of Y/n and aspiring Gentleman. Pleased to meet you all.” Sejin nods at him, and Eric’s smile turns down a few watts to sober up. “Also, I didn’t sign the contract, so if there’s any funny business, feel free to not invite me.”

Unlike the first two, the third person that enters the room is shy, a reserved posture and sweet smile. She dresses in a corduroy dress and long-sleeved shirt, her dark hair up in a ponytail. Introducing herself as Ji-eun, she explains that she, too, chose not to sign the contract for sex, blushing at the word.

Equally blushing is Jungkook, who repeatedly bows to her as she comes in, hand hovering over her waist as he leads her to the side. You and Jin share a bemused look as the girl introduces herself as a family friend and Jungkook’s old babysitter.

Picking up the energy, the fourth guest is someone you actually recognise. Jessi, a Bangasm powerhouse in every right that Jimin is, turns the corner with a sultry look, sidling up to Sejin playfully before tugging Jimin up from his seat.

“Jessi, as most of you are probably aware,” she introduces, looking insanely stunning in a fitted crop shirt, high waisted shorts and eyeliner to kill. “Come on, Park; you’re with me.”

As he stands up, letting her ruffle his hair and gushing over his choice of earrings, you marvel at how different he appears around her. In the industry, if you’d heard of Jimin, you’d heard of Jessi. She started a few years before him, met him on a shoot, and the two were practically a power duo ever since. From the videos they had together, they portrayed an image of the King and Queen of porn, always working with each other whenever they could. But now, instead of some sex-crazed couple, all you see is Jimin being fussed over like a younger brother, leaning into Jessi’s fond yet teasing touches.

The two of them sit beside you, and your cheeks can’t help but burn up when she pokes her tongue out between her teeth and flicks you a wink, turning to Jimin and giving him a meaningful nod.

So far Taehyung, Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi remain on the couches, and when the next girl rounds the corner, you just about think you must be seeing double.

With a black bob of hair sharper than her jawline, perfectly arched brows and a pouty mouth, an absolute copy of Min Yoongi scans the room. Her face changes, turns mischievous when she spots a begrudging Yoongi, and jerks her head. “I’m the hotter twin,” she announces, “Min Yoonji.”

As Yoongi huffs and gets up to join her, you watch with wonder as the two lookalikes stand together. She mumbles something low, ruffling his hair as he desperately tries to duck away, and the twins settle on the far side of you, beside Jungkook.

Quickly, another raven-haired girl steps in, barely even looking at you as she takes in the decor. “Fuck, this place is nice,” she mutters, before her eyes look directly ahead of her, maroon lips stretching into a smile, “Joon-ah, you’ve been here rent-free for the past month? Holy shit.”

Namjoon winces, bowing awkwardly to her, and you tilt your head. Why does it seem like they barely even know each other? Sejin must hear your internal monologue, as he clears his throat. “Could you please introduce yourself and state your relationship to Namjoon?”

“Oh, my name’s Sunmi,” she says with ease, “Namjoon and I are...” She trails off, looking to him for help.

Namjoon’s eyes widen, and he blurts, “best friends!” before going bright red. “Uh, we’re, um, we’re best friends.”

Sunmi beams, nodding matter-of-factly to the rest of you, before walking forward to pinch his cheeks and wiggle his face back and forth lightly. “Oh, yes,” she coos, “we go way back.” Letting go, she takes his hand and guides him to the side of the room where everyone but Taehyung and Hoseok are gathered.

You try to send Namjoon a questioning gaze, but he avoids everyone’s gaze but Sunmi’s, nodding shyly at the things she tells him quietly.

Luckily, the second-to-last guest takes up your attention fully. With velvet boots that reach the middle of her thighs, and a black shirt that reaches just as low, she’d look cute and preppy were it not for the black harness that brackets the shirt, reminiscent of Hoseok’s leathers, the sharp smokey eye and a red lipstick so dark it’s almost black. It doesn’t take you much to work out which of the remaining boys she’s accompanying. “Thank you to Hope for inviting me,” she begins, and your eyes widen at how silken and sweet her voice is, a total 180 from the typical dominatrix stereotype, yet it seems to fit her perfectly. “I’m Bee, I’ve worked at the Red Room for several years, and been friends with him for just as long.”

The two share a light hug, but you can see the affection there as his eyes crinkle and her beam widens. She hooks a finger around one of Hoseok’s belt loops and follows him to stand beside Jimin, barely enough room for them as it is.

Lastly is Taehyung, who’s already on his feet by the time a gorgeous blonde enters. Before you can get a good look at her, the two are bear-hugging, Taehyung lifting her off the ground for a moment as he grins so widely all his teeth are on full display. It warms your heart to see, and even when she settles back on solid ground, the two are attached at the hip, his arm tightly holding her to him.

“This is Chungha, my best friend,” Taehyung announces proudly, “we met at work when I was a trainee.”

“Aren’t I supposed to do that?” she questions with a throaty laugh, but still gives a warm smile to the rest of you. “But yeah, that’s me!”

They go to move over to the crowded corner, but Sejin steps in, clapping his hands once to gain everyone’s attention. “Alright, everyone!” he declares. “Welcome to all our new faces! You’ll have until 10pm tonight to socialise, have fun. For lunch today, we’ll be having a barbecue and picnic outside, but after then, you’re free. Be sure to respect Ji-eun and Eric’s choice not to partake in any sexual activity. And Y/n, I’ll be right back with the box. Make sure you pull a name before 10.”

Once he leaves, you let out a dramatic breath, collapsing into Eric’s side. “Today is gonna be busy,” you anticipate, “so many pretty girls to talk to. So little time.”

“Hey!” your friend protests, wrapping his arms around to trap you against his front. “Forget about the girls, you should be hanging out with your best friend! I’ve missed you, lest you forget!”

Suspicious, you wiggle around to face him, narrowing your eyebrows. “You just want me to be your wingman,” you accuse, “who is it? What guy here are you crushing on?”

Eric scrunches his face up, clutching at his chest in offense. “I am not crushing on anyone,” he insists, before glancing over to Hyuna, Jessi, and Sunmi have gathered around Namjoon like a flock of seagulls, cooing over the little embroidered patches on his overalls. “I just want the Iron Giant over there to crush me.” Squinting his eyes, he inspects the room until he locates Yoongi, who’s pouting like a wronged child as Yoonji makes herself at home in the kitchen, pulling out drawers and cabinets like she’s searching for something.

“He’s the doctor, right?” Eric asks of Yoongi. You nod, suspicious. “He likes to eat cum, I have cum to spare… I’m no mathematician, but x equals sex, you know?”

You wince. “Not your best line,” you say in a disappointed tone, “but anyways: I thought you told me you didn’t want any funny business? You didn’t sign the contract.”

Eric’s eyes skirt over you, taking in the seven men as he shakes his head slowly. “I was young then. Foolish. I know better.” Suddenly, he grips your shoulders and ducks his head to look you intensely in the eye. “Take me to Sejin’s office. I have a contract to sign.”

It’s a beautiful day for a picnic, and an even more beautiful day to watch the muscles in Jin’s back flex under his t-shirt as he mans the barbecue.

Sharing the same sentiment is Jessi, who sighs dreamily at him, sitting beside you on the sun-warmed grass with her legs stretched out in front of her. “They don’t make men like those anymore,” she muses, “face of a fucking god. You get to fuck him?”

You chuckle at the abrupt question, quickly learning that Jessi wasn’t one to beat around the bush. “Generally once a week, yeah. Unless I vote him out, I suppose.”

“God, please do,” she enthuses, “save some for the rest of us, you know?” Suddenly she sits up straighter, glancing around to take everyone in. “You know, when I heard about this, I thought for sure they’d either get a bunch of porn-addicted dweebs who jack off into crusty socks or all the airheads in the industry would sign up for a vacation. I guess they really filtered out the duds. I’m impressed.”

“They did good,” you admit, smiling fondly as you watch Taehyung jump around a small cross-legged group on the picnic blanket, holding out handfuls of beads. The masseuse had discovered Hoseok’s penchant for jewellery-making somehow and had demanded a tutorial. Jungkook and Namjoon look like two flustered schoolboys as they quietly help their respective friends, and Yoongi has his sister in a headlock as he tries to tie a bright pink and green bracelet around her wrist. Hyuna and Chungha are practically in each other’s laps, giggling as they wind delicate anklets onto each other.

Some of the others hang around Jin as he cooks. Bee is chatting up a storm with him, hip propped against the edge of the barbecue, and Jimin steals pieces of caramelised onion, sneaking glances towards you and Jessi. Your heart warms at his inquisitive look, the look of happiness and relief on his face when he sees the two of you getting along.

So caught up in your observation of the group, you don’t realise you’ve been silent too long until you get roughly punched in the shoulder. “Holy shit!” Jessi declares. “You like them!”

“Who?” you counter defensively.

She laughs, her whole face lightening up. “Fuck, maybe all o’ them. Is there anyone you don’t have a crush on? Anyone that doesn’t make you feel all giddy and happy?”

You’re stumped at that. For a long time, you’d been seeing having a crush as some grand, dramatic realisation. Realising you liked Tae and Jimin, and then more recently being confronted with your feelings for Jin, those romantic notions seemed so loud and all-encompassing. But the guys making you feel giddy and happy? Their presence cheering you up, missing them when you spent time on your own? It was a lot easier to admit to yourself that perhaps all seven of them fit within those constraints. “I… I hate to say that you have a point.”

Jessi squeals, briefly attracting the attention of the haphazard circle of jewellery makers. “I knew it! Oh my goodness, isn’t this so exciting? Have you had an orgy yet?”

You gape. “Jessi!”

“What?” she asks innocently. “If you’ve been here several weeks and you still haven’t had an orgy, you’re wasting your time, girl. Get onto that.”

“I have, actually,” you admit with firing cheeks. “Before Tae got eliminated.”

“The puppy?” When you send Jessi a bewildered look, she just shrugs, tipping her head over towards the barbecue where Jimin has taken to kissing the back of Jin’s neck and shoulders, standing up on his tiptoes to try and bribe the older man for some food. His friend sighs at his antics. “Park told me,” she explains in a matter-of-fact tone, “said he was an absolute delight to play with when he’s got his collar on. Fuck, and looking at him now really solidifies the image, you know? I’d love to make him beg for a treat.” Your face must sour, because without a pause Jessi is cackling, poking you lightly in the cheek. “Oh my goodness, you’re jealous! You can’t fuck him anymore so you don’t want me to!”

“It’s not that,” you protest, not wanting to expose that selfish desire.

“It’s fine, I get it! I’ll keep my distance,” she allows, rolling over on the grass to lean in, chin almost resting on your shoulder as her voice deepens to a conspiratorial tone. “But if I’m honest, you should just fuck him and take the penalty. I know I would.”

You bite your lip. “What if he accidentally touched me? He’d be sent home. It’s such a risk.”

She just shrugs, leaning back to watch him as he sits in the middle of the group, Chunga reaching out to playfully ruffle his hair. “Tie up his hands,” she deflects easily, “there are always solutions, you know? And if you really like him, I kinda think he’d appreciate you making the sacrifice to be with him.” Sighing out one last time, she stands up, brushing off her pants. “Food for thought. And speaking of food, there’s a big hunk of meat over there that isn’t on the barbecue.”

As Jessi makes her way over to Jin with a heavy swing to her hips, you decide to join the group. There’s a small gap between Ji-eun and Jungkook as they keep a respectful distance, so you wedge yourself in with a few muttered apologies.

Up close, Ji-eun is gorgeous, rosy features and kind eyes. It’s no wonder Jungkook looks at her like she hung the stars in the sky. Perhaps you’d normally feel jealous, but you get it. “So,” you start, reaching out for a cord to begin a bracelet, “the two of you are family friends?”

Jungkook nods hastily. “Our parents went to high-school together,” he divulges, fiddling with his finished bracelet to look busy. “And since my mom and dad both worked full-time, noona babysat after school.”

You coo, tying a knot at one end of the waxed cord so the beads don’t fall off. “That’s so cute, oh my goodness! Ji-eun, was he a troublemaker as a child? I bet he was.”

“Hey!” Jungkook protests, but the older girl just chuckles, sending you a genuine smile.

“Gukkie was actually a sweetheart,” she admits, “always super polite. He was cute, too, had this coconut haircut and the roundest eyes, little tiny hands. Not like now.”

Jungkook gasps again, clutching at his chest like he’s been mortally wounded. “How dare you! I’m still cute!”

You hum in an unconvinced way, turning to poke at his cheeks, tapping his button nose. “You’re a little bit cute,” you allow. “Though I bet you were cuter with the bowl cut.”

The camboy’s temporary pleased look vanishes and he abruptly stands up. “This is slander, it was not a bowl cut, I just have a very round head! I’m going to find Yoongi-hyung, he respects me.”

You glance around the group in confusion, but Yoongi isn’t in the immediate vicinity like he was earlier. In fact, the group has dissolved into a few stragglers finishing off their bracelets as most of the gathering emigrate to the sheltered patio. “Oh shit, is lunch ready? I’m starving.”

“Looks like,” Ji-eun chirps, but once the two of you stand up, she hooks her hand in your elbow, preventing your departure. “Before we go, I just wanted to say,” she begins, eyes earnest as they lock onto yours, “thank you for making Jungkook so happy. I know it’s not like it’s just you, and I’m going to try and thank everyone in due time, but he speaks so highly of you especially. He’s really coming out of his shell here, I can see it now.”

Your heart swells, instinctively turning to seek out the black and red hair in the crowd. Jungkook has slipped a glove on one hand and is cutting up pieces of meat with tongs and a pair of kitchen scissors, a broad grin on his face as he hands them out. “I’m really lucky to have met him. You helped raise him well.”

She beams at that, tugging on your arm as the others call out for you to join them. “It’s not me. That’s all just our Jungkookie.”

Throughout the lunch, you can’t help but think that every time you look at him. Our Jungkookie.

Much like Taehyung, Chungha is very generous with her hands.

The offer comes quickly after lunch. Most of the guests and guys are still outside socialising (Eric has managed to con a bunch of them into playing a rather hands-on game of football on the grass), but while you were inside getting a drink, both massage parlour workers joined you, Taehyung’s arms naturally slipping around your waist for a lazy back hug.

“Pour us one?” he requests casually, his voice like molten brown sugar. “I want you two to get to know each other. Maybe we could go upstairs for a bit?”

Beside you, smiling with her eyes as well as her baby pink lips, Chungha pats your hand. “I’ve heard so many good things,” she assures. “But Taehyungie is so disappointed that he can’t take care of you anymore.” Your heart freezes in your throat when she comes in close, smelling like cherries. Her voice dips so that only you and Taehyung could hear, the latter nuzzling his nose against the back side of your neck. “I could take care of you for him, if you want?”

You turn around in Taehyung’s grasp, seeking out his confirmation. He smiles, nods, and lets go to take the two extra drinks you’d poured. It’s only lemonade, but he takes an indulgent sip as if it were champagne.

Without another word, he begins to make his way to the stairs, glancing back to make sure you’re following. You think back to Jessi’s words, of showing him that you cared. It seems like, in his own way, he’s reaching across that divide and showing you he cares too. Chungha’s fingers winding between yours, you follow the two masseuses upstairs.

Perhaps it’s their job experience, or maybe just their sweet, puppy-like personalities, but being near them both feels so comforting and relaxing. In Taehyung’s bedroom, he sits on a chair, as close to the bed as he dares. Chungha tugs you directly onto the mattress, and you gasp as a slight push to your shoulder sends you collapsing backwards, head on the pillow.

She looks divine above you, smiling down as her pale golden hair hangs down and brushes against your collarbones. With a knee on either side of your hips, she straddles you and leans in closer, lips barely brushing. “Can I kiss you, Y/n?”

Your heart thuds strongly against your ribs. You nod, feeling dizzy as the pressure on your mouth increases and her hands slip into your hair. Her lips and fingers move in sync, massaging your lips and scalp indistinguishingly. Perhaps she’s even a better kisser than the others on the show, or perhaps it’s that the touch of a woman after three weeks of men feels like pure oxygen, like eating with a gold spoon after years of stainless steel.

Her fingers slide further, molten relaxation with every stroke. Soothing your temples, the crown of your head, the nape of your neck, she keeps you feeling warm and light, even a little hazy. Lips parting from yours for just a moment, Chungha whispers to you, her fingers playing with the waistband of your pants. “Will you let me taste you?”

Arousal thrums hot between your legs, but something makes you hesitate. Or, rather, someone. You shift your head on the pillow, looking past the curtain of Chungha’s hair to where Tae sits, cross-legged, on the armchair.

His eyes widen, soft and concerned. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Y/n,” he assures.

Chungha pulls up at that, sitting back against her heels again. Losing the closeness makes a whine catch in your throat. “It’s not that,” you confess quietly, “I just… I don’t want you to feel left out.”

The blonde masseuse straddling you coos as Taehyung turns pink, and she beckons him closer. “I don’t feel left out,” Taehyung assures you as he tentatively perches on the edge of the bed, tugging your hand gently to clasp between his own. “I can’t touch you like you deserve, at least not now. But Chungha can. If you want this, I want you to have it, Y/n.”

Your hand feels so warm between his smooth palms, but your heart feels even warmer. “I do want it. But… Stay close to me.”

Taehyung laces his fingers through yours, holds your hand up, and delicately presses a kiss to the back of your hand, making your breath catch. Afterwards, his eyes dart accusingly to the cameras recording your every move and sound. “That was technically platonic contact,” he insists quickly, “they do it in movies all the time.”

You laugh softly, but it quickly mutes into a silent gasp as Chungha suddenly moves down, hooking her fingers into your waistband and undressing your lower half as she goes.

Spreading your knees and sinking to her chest between them, her perfectly manicured fingers run teasing lines up and down your bare thighs. “Just relax,” she coos, “just let yourself enjoy it.”

Her hair, like spun gold, tickles your thighs as she lowers her face closer. So light you can only just feel it, she presses a kiss into the seam at the top of your right leg, so close yet too far from where you need her. Doing the same to the other side, she begins slowly trailing them closer to your core, giggling onto you when your breath hitches in impatience.

Taehyung shifts, situating himself behind you so that your head lies back and rests on his lap. With the same hand that holds yours, he takes the other, holding both of your wrists together in less of a restraint and more of an embrace. Together, him and Chungha bracket you in this cocoon of gentle touches, and as his other hand begins taking over the scalp massage Chungha had started earlier, you can’t help but let your eyes slip shut.

It’s because of this that when she finally licks a bold stripe up your folds, it catches you by complete surprise. You squeak, jolting between them, but Taehyung just tugs on your hair lightly, shushing you.

“Doesn’t it feel good?” Taehyung asks softly, bent over so he can speak lowly.

Chungha, now that she’s started, uses her tongue and lips just as expertly as her fingers, marking Taehyung’s question redundant. You nod anyway, and are rewarded with the subtle vibration of her chuckling, lips wrapped around your clit.

There’s something inherently different about the way Chungha eats you out, that’s clear even with your eyes shut. Her lips are plush like Jin’s, her cheeks soft like Yoongi’s and her tongue roving deep like Jungkook’s, but with every second that passes, it feels like she’s explored your pussy a million times before. Each swipe and suck and nibble seems practiced, learned, and in mere minutes your thighs are trembling.

She alternates attention to your clit with fucking you on her tongue, and Taehyung’s hand never ceases its languid journey through your hair. The two poles of pleasure have you unable to catch your breath, unable to even open your eyes as every movement makes the lids heavier.

Two separate people, yet they work in unison. When Taehyung presses behind your ears, Chungha flattens her tongue on your clit in a slow drag. When that muscle becomes pointed, flicking over you to make you jump, Taehyung’s fingers curl so that the nails run over your scalp. Each nip of Chungha’s teeth is punctuated with a tugging of a lock of your hair, and caught between these tides, the only things that feel incomplete are your lips. What you wouldn’t give to have Tae bend a little lower and brush his mouth against yours, even for a moment.

Instead, you slip your bottom lip between your teeth, occupying them needily. A coil tightens in your stomach so slowly, like a gentle bubbling simmer, but it isn’t until you feel two slender fingers sliding inside you that there’s a tangible shift in pleasure. Like taking an exit on a highway, you feel a distinct change of path, like you’re now moving directly towards your orgasm. Driven by that desire, you rock your hips, moaning as her mouth hones in on your clit and her fingers curl, seeking out that spot inside you.

Unsurprisingly, she locates it with ease, and before you can even catch your breath she’s massaging it without mercy, twisting her fingers inside you with every audible thrust so that the pleasure is inescapable. You writhe, but she still has an arm free to throw over your stomach and hold you down.

Taehyung is still deliriously in-sync, and you can’t hold back a moan as his fingers press harder and nails drag stronger. Eyes rolling back, you feel that crest build, so close you can taste it, and your moans become desperate.

The two of them read the signs and up the intensity one last time. Taehyung drops your hands so that both of his can bury deep in your hair, and Chungha switches to three fingers inside you, scissoring and grinding them against your g-spot.

You come with a broken cry, seizing up as the pleasure wracks your body. While Taehyung stops his massage to brush your hair back, carding his fingers through it comfortingly, Chungha fucks you through it without mercy, sucking harshly on your clit and spreading you open on her fingers.

It’s not until your whole body is shivering and you try anad wriggle out of her hold that she finally lets up, leaving you boneless in Taehyung’s lap.

Far more full of energy than you are, Chungha straightens up with a satisfied sigh, licking her lips. As you fight to catch your breath, she runs a hand up and down your thigh. “You’re a fucking gorgeous specimen,” she compliments warmly, “when you get out of here, come by anytime.”

Suddenly Taehyung’s arms wrap tightly around your arms and chest, chin tucked onto the crown of your head. Even as you can’t see him, you can hear the pout in his voice. “When she gets out, she’ll be coming by for me,” he protests sweetly, “but I’m sure we could invite you too if she wanted.”

You laugh tiredly, leaning your weight back against Taehyung. “I’m definitely not turning that down, holy fuck.”

Chungha giggles prettily, chin still glossy from going down on you, though it doesn’t seem to bother her. “Won’t you give me one last kiss before we go clean up?”

You can’t deny her sweetly batted eyelashes, though you wouldn’t even want to. Once Taehyung begrudgingly lets you go, you lean forward and meet her halfway, tasting yourself on her tongue. It’s filthy but chaste, a quick swipe of her tongue into your mouth, a peck, and she’s pulling away with a wink, jumping off the bed.

Once she prances into Taehyung’s bathroom and closes the door behind her, Taehyung goes slack, winding his arms around your torso from behind and tucking his face into your neck. “I hope you liked it,” his voice comes out, muffled and shy.

You ruffle his hair fondly, wishing you could do more than that. “It was perfect,” you say without a doubt. “Thank you, Tae. I-” There are words that you can’t say, shouldn’t say now. “I like you a whole lot.”

If it’s possible, his hug tightens. “I like you a lot too.”

The rest of the day goes without hiccups. You spend your time getting to know the girls - albeit in less intimate ways than you had with Chungha - and slowly the idea of pulling a name out of the box becomes both exciting and worrying.

Hyuna brings out a new side of Jin. He looks more unburdened with her than he has the whole time on the show, and their vibrant energy together is contagious. Jungkook acts like a smitten schoolboy around Ji-eun, and she’s so patient and endearing that you can’t help but sympathise with him. It’s very clear Namjoon and Sunmi don’t actually know each other very well, but fuck you could watch their awkward banter and dynamic for hours. Sunmi is a relentless, unflappable tease, and Namjoon eats it up with a nervous laugh and bright eyes. Chungha seems more interested in the other girls than she is with Taehyung, but they’re never far apart, sharing countless meaningful stares between conversations. Bee is much like Hoseok, in that she’s so sweet and bubbly when she doesn’t don her dominant persona, and quickly she wins you over, her kind words and cheerful laughter a highlight of the evening. Jessi seems like the type of bossy but protective older sister that seems perfect for Jimin, whose usually-concealed soft interior lifts closer and closer to the surface with every minute spent in her easygoing, boisterous company. And finally, Yoonji is an absolute enigma, commanding attention with ease but seeming entirely disinterested with it. The moment a conversation bores her, you watch her eyes shift, inspecting some person or other like they’re a science experiment. You’ve been under that gaze yourself, and you practically feel the heat of the magnifying glass. But at the same time, when she does get engaged and speaks up, she’s just as articulate and sharp as Yoongi, and you can’t help but hang off her every word.

After relaying all this information back to Eric, who seems equally supportive and bemused, the only conclusion you can draw is that it would be entirely preferable to have all seven of them stay.

“Goodness, you insatiable minx,” your best friend teases with a mock look of disapproval. It’s 9:58pm, and the two of you have been stuck in the living room for almost the whole hour, staring hopelessly at the box. “Seven men is good, but fourteen people is better?”

“It’s not that,” you defend with a whine, “not that I would protest. No, it’s just- I wanna get to know them more, you know? And I feel like I’m learning more about the guys while they’re here, which is going to prove very important for tomorrow’s decision. And once I pull a name there’s nothing separating me from elimination, and I have no fucking clue who to eliminate, but then at least-” You huff, unable to articulate it. “I’m procrastinating.”

Eric grimaces, nodding. “It took you roughly fifty-nine minutes to come to that conclusion, but I’m glad we got there eventually.”

You kick your feet up over his lap, throwing yourself back onto the couch in despair. “I could’ve been out there researching this whole time, why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs, bouncing his knees so that your feet are jostled off. “I thought you wanted to work it through and that explaining every vivid detail of the past three weeks was necessary. It was riveting, by the way,” he adds in a drawl, “I’m certainly relieved you felt it pertinent to describe exactly the size and appearance of all the cocks in this house.”

You jump up, kicking him in the shin. “Hey! Don’t be sarcastic, I’m in a crisis!”

“Oh, I wasn’t,” Eric defends, brows lifted. “I’m doing my own research. Taking into account the past several hours, as well as the interesting mental pictures I’ve now been able to make, I’ve decided I wish to become the sexy meat in a Namjoon and Hoseok sandwich. Do you think it’s feasible?”

You open your mouth instinctively to protest, but then you stop, mulling over the combination. They had spent a lot of time together…

Eric claps his hands together with a victorious cheer. “You considered it, that’s basically a yes! Anyways, I hate to say it,” he digresses, quickly sobering up, “but it’s time to draw a name.”

Nerves immediately alight down your spine, but you fight them off. “Fuck, okay, I guess it’s random so it doesn’t matter, right?” Before you have the chance to second-guess that statement, you lean forward and plunge your hand into the circle-shaped slot in the box, feeling sharp edges of paper bumping against your skin.

Managing to close your fingers around a slip, you pull it out, opening the fold. Two words, three syllables. Eric and you read over it in silence for a moment, before you let out a amused chuckle. “Yoongi’s going to be pissed, huh?”

ELIMINATION

On the seventh Day of every Week in the game, the Elimination vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the fan-favourite vote, which has already happened.

The vote has closed.

Below are the results for last week’s vote for Fan Favourite!

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much-obliged-timothy · 4 years

Text

Whumptober #7

Devil May Cry - #7 - Carrying

Nero didn’t know how the hell he ended up in this situation.

The giant demon slammed down, and Nero narrowly avoided getting crushed beneath it, using the moment to slice his sword at the creature’s leg. He struck it, but its skin was thick, and it only snarled and swiped at him.

It caught his shoulder and sent Nero flying, but he managed to regain his balance and land with only the slightest stagger. He braced his sword, readying for the next attack.

“You’re being reckless,” Vergil said, circling the demon and dashing forward to land a precise strike with the Yamato.

The demon howled in pain and swiped at Vergil, far too slow to actually strike him. Nero scowled.

“Show-off,” he grumbled.

He’d tried to stick Dante and Vergil together on this mission, but somehow he ended up fighting a giant demon with Vergil while Dante got to have all the fun with the bastard who summoned the damn thing. Dante owed him big time.

Vergil ended up shifting next to Nero. “We need to take out its legs to slow it down, or it’s just going to keep stomping around. Are you capable of doing that, or are you just going to get knocked around some more?”

“The best part about finding out who my father is, is that now I get to daydream about patricide,” Nero informed him.

Vergil flicked a glare his way. “Can you do this or are you-”

“If you call me deadweight, I’m shoving my sword up your ass.”

“Are you sure you’re not actually Dante’s?” Vergil said in irritation.

“Just try to keep up, old man,” Nero said, running forward at the demon. “I’ve got the front legs.”

“Nero, wait! I’m faster!” Vergil said, throwing his hand out as if to catch Nero.

But Nero was already charging at the front legs. He dodged around one as the demon slammed down again, catching hold of its foot and being lifted into the air. He tightened his grip on his sword.

He risked a glance and saw that, despite his complaint, Vergil was already attacking the back legs. Nero turned his focus back to the leg he was clinging to, positioning his sword as the demon moved to slam its front legs against the ground again to shake Nero off.

Right as it made impact with the ground, Nero stabbed his sword through its leg, piercing the thick flesh. It let out a cry and desperately tried to shake Nero off, but he clung to his sword, which was buried deep in its flesh.

The demon’s head swung down, sharp teeth aimed at Nero. Nero yanked his sword free and stabbed it through the creature’s tongue as its mouth closed around Nero, teeth narrowly missing him.

It shrieked, this time managing to throw Nero. Nero caught himself on the ground and dodged out of the way of its legs as it thrashed.

“You went in its mouth?” Vergil said.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m going to shower when this is done,” Nero said defensively.

The demon tried to swipe Nero, but he hopped onto its leg and slashed away with his sword. He was flung off a moment later, and moved to catch himself.

But his boots were slippery from being in the demon’s mouth, and he lost his balance, hitting the ground just as the demon began to bring a leg down on him in an angry stampede.

“Nero, move!” he heard Vergil yell.

He tried to shove himself out of the way, but he was too slow. He only got part of his body out of the way before the demon’s weight smashed into one of his legs.

Nero cried out in pain, unable to pull himself free. He lost his grip on his sword, and his hands pawed desperately at the ground, needing to get the weight off his crushed leg as agony tore through him.

“No!”

The word was snarled and angry. A moment later, Vergil was slashing viciously at the demon’s leg, until it stumbled back, squealing in pain, releasing the pressure on Nero’s leg.

But agony shot up it as he tried to move it, and he let out a hoarse yell, his body going still in fear of causing more pain. Vergil was relentless now, driving the demon back with quick, powerful strikes.

Nero grit his teeth, but a cry escaped him as he dragged himself towards his sword. His hands trembled, but he gripped it tightly. He would not be deadweight. Not in front of Vergil.

Despite his crushed leg, Nero forced himself upright, throwing all his weight on his good leg. He pulled his sword back and aimed it carefully.

There. The demon threw its head back in rage, and Nero threw his sword forward.

The sword struck the demon in the eye, and it let out a howl of pain, stomping its feet blindly on the ground and thrashing its head about, leaving its throat wide open.

Vergil seized on the opportunity, propelling himself upwards and slicing the Yamato across the exposed throat. The demon let out a horrible wet gurgle before collapsing onto its side and twitching.

Vergil stabbed the Yamato into the creature’s head until it fell still. He yanked Nero’s sword free and turned to face him.

“Sit down,” he ordered.

“No way. I’m fine,” Nero said, even as his vision wavered from the pain. “Give me back my sword. We’re catching up to Dante.”

“You lost an arm. Do you really want to lose a leg, too?” Vergil said.

“What, going to cut it off and leave me to bleed to death, father of the year?” Nero snapped.

Vergil pressed his lips together tightly. He strode forward and pushed his hand against Nero’s chest roughly.

Nero tried to catch his balance on his bad leg, but the pain was too great, and he found himself on the ground, blood trailing down his lip from how hard he bit it to contain his pained yell. He clenched his fists and shot a furious glare at Vergil.

“You shouldn’t have been standing,” Vergil said simply.

“Oh, fuck you, asshole. My arm grew back. I’m sure my leg will be fine in a little,” Nero said, though right now he wasn’t sure he believed his own words. Shit, it hurt.

“Even with your accelerated healing, that will take a while to heal. A human would’ve had to amputate their leg.” Vergil knelt down and began to feel along Nero’s leg.

“Ow, stop!” Nero snarled, trying to pull his leg away and letting out a frustrated noise at the pain. “Stop touching it! That demon weighed more than a goddamn house; I’m aware every bone in my leg is probably shattered. You’re not helping.”

“Dante probably already finished with the one who summoned this demon.” Vergil got one hand on Nero’s back, and carefully slid the other under him.

“Wait- what the hell are you-”

Vergil lifted him, and Nero involuntarily grasped at Vergil’s shoulder as pain tore through him. But Vergil was holding him carefully, and after the initial pain passed, it calmed to its earlier level of ache.

“You can’t walk,” Vergil said, heading for the entryway.

“I’d rather drag myself out than have you carry me,” Nero said, pushing stubbornly at Vergil’s shoulder.

Vergil kept a steady hold on him. “You’re just like Dante, and it’s infuriating. He doesn’t know when to stop and rest his wounds either. You’ll never be powerful if you break yourself in the process.”

“Fuck power! I want my dignity, and I’m sure as hell not getting that being carried by you while you talk down to me all righteously,” Nero said angrily. “I recall kicking your ass before. Don’t talk to me about power.”

But Vergil seemed genuinely confused. He tried to cover his expression, but Nero caught it before it was gone from his face.

“I’m not being righteous. I’m being honest. You’ll only be hurt worse if you try to get out of here on your own,” he said. “Stop being stubborn. I’m not attacking your dignity. I’m saving your leg.”

That got Nero to stop shoving at his shoulder. Was Vergil...taking care of him?

“I don’t care if you have to amputate my leg. I’m walking back if Dante shows up. I’m not getting caught like this,” he grumbled, turning his head away from Vergil.

Vergil bit back his arguments, knowing it was no use. His son was too much like Dante to be reasoned with.

Still, Vergil knew what that need for dignity felt like. So he made sure to avoid either of them being seen as he carried Nero back towards where they’d left the van. He’d save Nero’s leg and his pride, and Nero was silently grateful for it in the end.

#devil may cry #Nero Sparda #Vergil Sparda #whumptober2020 #no.7 #carrying #fic #devil may cry nero #dmc vergil #DMC #jtdoeswhumptober #my post #My writing

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theredpalace · 3 years

Text

@uchiha-madara

The discovery in the snow led to a panicked, emergency call for immediate backup from the nearest legion. A skirmish had been had, but thankfully no dead once the confusion was cleared up.

Terror had cleared the issue entirely when General Isshaku ordered his samurai to fall back. He recognized the man they’d been fighting from the stories. Had they pressed on fighting, they would all be dead.

They only lived because of the man’s mercy.

______

Musashi would not come down from the top floor. Isshaku had told him. It might have been just a tasteless joke, one he would have sternly berated the General for if he had not felt the chakra signature.

It was different. But unmistakably his.

The Era of Darkness laid open in his lap, and he turned pages, rescanned his own words on paper for something he might have forgotten over time. They outlined doom and death; a future twisted in the ideology he’d seen turn his father from idol to outcast.

Nothing in the book described him actually coming here.

“Musashi-” Mifune would not be sent away, even if the other Generals were. There was a state of emergency, everyone secured in the bunker while Uchiha Madara was in the city. The legendary shinobi waited outside the walls of the city, shockingly obliging to the requests made once Isshaku stopped fighting, and waiting in anxiousness, to talk. All the others were in the fortress, organizing their forces, making ready for a surprise ambush, for the great Uchiha to finish being patient and bully his way in. Mifune would not buckle under Musashi’s first sign of real panic, however cold and stiff it may look. “-we can’t afford to panic right now. Let’s just go and see what he wants.”

“Mifune-” Musashi’s voice was shaking, almost angry, but more concerned than anything, racking his brains for a reason. “-my father has been pretending to be dead for years. If he has broken his solitude in whatever hideout he’s been holed up in, it cannot be for anything good. I need only look into his Sharingan once-”

“That’s not what he says he wants!”

“Then he is lying! My father made it clear what he thought of his world! Do you really think a man such as him would be so willing to change his mind?!”

Musashi rarely shouted, but it only came out sounding pained, wrenched from an older self, tearful at his father’s grave and questioning everything he’d ever known. Why did you leave me behind? Was I too weak? Give me another chance-

The Shogun stopped and let out a heavy breath, snapping the book closed. “Something is wrong. I know it is.” He said, stubbornly. “If he is here, he cannot mean anything good.”

“Then send a General!” Mifune urged. “I’m not going to lie and say we’re not afraid of him, but at the same time we know what we have to do! There are no easy decisions as a leader Musashi!”

“Then you should have asked to become Shogun yourself!” Musashi snapped, standing up. “I told you years before, I am not-”

The sword at his hip rattled excitedly, and Musashi stopped. He was feeding his rage, and the Defiant Steed was eager for it, urging to be drawn, to end this argument with blood. Instead, Musashi forced the sword to heel with a burst of his energy, ice cold against the blade’s fiery hunger.

“....I have never trusted myself with power. I have seen what it has done to him.” He said, more calmly. He was clawing to regain his emotions, and trying to settle down. “I wish you had not told them to make me Shogun but you did. I wish I had not been that man’s child, but I am.”

“...Musashi-” Mifune put his hands on his old friend’s shoulders. “-send one of us down. Send me down. Let’s see why he’s here. Or even guess! We won’t trust him right away. But we’re in the dark. We need to know.”

Yes, the dark. Musashi thought, not answering, not saying anymore. Mifune decided for himself to go, leaving the room and declaring he was going to parley with Uchiha Madara. We’re all caught in this endless suffering, not matter how much we cling to the light....

Musashi sat in his chair in the long meeting room of the fortress’s top floor. The Era of Darkness laid before him, and on the walls the painted stallions seemed to be agitated, shifting in the dim candlelight.

Before the Land of Iron had even seen the dawn, night had come.

#uchihamadara #shogun au #rp starter

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idlecreature · 4 years

Text

*sidles up to you* hey man, want a Magnus Archives rarepair? I’ve got one right here you can have for free. It’s Mordechai Lukas/Hezekiah Wakely. Here’s my sales pitch:

Mordechai Lukas is only forty years old, but he’s in very poor health. Granted, he’s been on death’s door for several decades, having never fully recovered from the excision of a thyroid tumour - a surgery that scarred his throat significantly, making it hurt to speak. But this isn’t his usual moaning about feeling cold and depressed all the time. This is the doctor listening to the slow gurgle of his heart and telling him “you shouldn’t be alive. your days are numbered”.

(cut for length)

And Mordechai’s honestly fine with dying. A little.... too enthusiastic, even. On his trip to Italy he forwent normal accommodation to break into and sleep in mausoleums, and he might have returned from the continent a little... haunted. He’s designed and redesigned the family mausoleum a dozen times, and he’s had his own funeral planned for years much to the chagrin of his friends. “What flowers should adorn my funerary wreath?” he writes to Jonah Magnus. “Can we please change the subject?” Jonah replies. “And I swear to the one above if you send me a memento mori I am throwing it in the fireplace.”

Mordechai’s fulfilled his life’s requirements -- he’s married into the wealthy mercantile class, fathered children, and spends most of his time either in a graveyard or wandering like a ghost through Moorland house. His wife, Charlotte, really only wanted a man’s name on her letterheads and spends most of her time on a ship somewhere between London and India. She’s only interested in her possessions, her wealth, in ensuring the books are balancing. Her family made their money in opium prospecting and she’s pressuring Mordechai to open the lands surrounding Moorland for coal mining after a few test bores unearthed rich black seams. Mordechai’s essentially like, “over my dead body,” and Charlotte’s like, “so any day now! :))))” and Mordechai’s sole reason for stubbornly clinging to life is to protect his family’s ancestral lands.

Mordechai has to occasionally rub shoulders with Charlotte’s friends in the East India Shipping Company. Among them are the Beale brothers, Daniel and Thomas. They have a younger brother, rich but temperamentally unsuited for their family’s line of work. His name is Nathaniel Beale, and, oh boy, he is a treat. He’s awfully similar to Barnabas Bennett, shy and closeted and yearning. Nathaniel tells Mordechai all about his good friend Hezekiah, who he’s so, so worried about, who makes poor Nathaniel ache with hunger and longing and shame all the same. Finally, some delicious fucking food thinks Mordechai Lukas.

But if this man really is like Barnabas, Mordechai wants to enjoy his demise. So he obtains Hezekiah’s address with a mind to murdering Hezekiah and relishing Nathaniel’s grief and loneliness. It might be Mordechai’s last communion with his god.

And that’s how Mordechai ends up in a quiet countryside graveyard, staring at the man in a dead sleep at the bottom of an open grave.

And hot damn Hezekiah Wakely is a sleeping beauty. Muscular, square, with hands big enough to circle both of Mordechai’s wrists if he were to pin Mordechai down. (And Mordechai would very much like someone to pin him down.) He almost feels sympathy for poor, repressed Nathaniel but nonetheless summons the fog of The Lonely and it swallows Hezekiah whole.

But the crawling fog parts around the sleeping man. There is a certain solidness about him, the weight of someone touched by another power. Mordechai sighs in annoyance but keeps watching Hezekiah. Slipping away once the man blinks awake, stretches his long, tanned limbs.

Mordechai keeps close company with the Beales after that. Nathaniel passes away in January of 1839. Mordechai finds his grave in yet another lonely graveyard and is absolutely delighted that many of Nathaniel’s sparse acquaintances have forgotten him already.

Hezekiah is curled up on the freshly turned earth. “I should hang for it,” Hezekiah says.

“How about a new job?” Mordechai says.

“I’m a murderer,” Hezekiah says.

“Hold my beer,” Mordechai says.

Mordechai convinces Hezekiah to work as Moorland house’s groundskeeper. By the time the pair of them make it back to Kent, Hezekiah knows about The Buried, The Lonely, the whole wretched Lot.

“You have a lovely mausoleum, sir,” Hezekiah says.

“Shame no-one’s christened it yet,” Mordechai replies. (He plans to be the first.)

Time passes.

And Thomas Beale passes away in 1841.

The Magnus Institute opens its London branch in 1841.

Daniel Beale passes away in 1842.

By 1843, the world has forgotten Nathaniel even existed. Except, of course, for Mordechai, who keeps Nathaniel and Hezekiah’s correspondence.

Mordechai’s now spending 90% of his time watching Hezekiah. When one of Mordechai’s many faceless relatives dies, he sits on the steps of the family chapel as Hezekiah digs. He lets Hezekiah sleep in the grave before the burial. He likes how peaceful the man looks, even when the grave dirt falls in his eyes. He even thinks about burying Hezekiah himself, how that would be another kind of embrace.

Hezekiah more often than not sleeps outside, on the moor, and when the weather drives him inside he sleeps fitfully in his room in the cellar.

(Hezekiah sings when it rains, bitten-off, wordless, self-soothing melodies that sound like oncoming earthquakes through the thick walls of Moorland House.)

(Mordechai listens to him sing and tries to harmonize, and, although the knot of scar tissue in his throat makes his voice sound like grinding metal, isn’t that something?)

The next time Mordechai catches Hezekiah dourly shuffling to the basement for a restless night he snags the larger man’s wrist.

“You might sleep better in my bed,” Mordechai says.

“???” Hezekiah says.

“Come to bed with me,” Mordechai repeats.

“!!!!!” Hezekiah says.

And, well, Hezekiah likes the pressure of Mordechai lying on top of him. Hezekiah is warm, and soft, like peat, and if Hezekiah’s hands snake up to circle Mordechai while he sleeps, then what about it? In Mordechai’s world, they can’t be together in any way that matters. It’s just another thing that isolates him from polite society.

"The groundskeeper? The man who smells like a bog?” Charlotte says, but she’s relieved it’s not a mistress who might want to live more ambitiously, that they might have to keep a London townhouse for because Charlotte’s the one who’d be saddled with the fiscal responsibility. She’s already writing monthly cheques to buy the discretion of a certain J. Magnus.

And Charlotte has an idea. “Dear husband :)” she says. “If you don’t let me open a colliery I might expose your little affair and you’ll get thrown in jail and I don’t think you’d last very long, dear, with your poor heart :) and when you die I’ll do it anyway :) so how about it?”

Charlotte never makes empty threats. But at the same time, Mordechai is connected to the lands around Moorland house in a very real way.

He doesn’t really have a choice.

Charlotte opens a mine on Lukas land.

They have their first grandchild, a boy, and Mordechai names him Nathaniel. Hezekiah just smiles at the baby, warmly. (His smiles are so warm.) (Mordechai is spending more and more time at his bedroom window, watching his groundskeeper. Surrounded by bottles of medicine that never make him feel any better.)

“Are you going to die?” Hezekiah says.

“It’s likely,” Mordechai says. For no reason he can name, the prospect of his funeral no longer delights him.

Hezekiah is silent. “I hope the Lord forgives me,” he says, eventually, and a tremor runs through the entire house, and Mordechai hears, far-off in the distance, the desperate peal of a ringing bell.

An accident in the colliery, they call it. A mineshaft cave-in, trapping 26 men and boys 150 feet under the earth, running out of breathable air, scraping at the cold, unforgiving rock until their fingers and lungs bleed. Crushed and choking and feared enough to paint the walls with it. There’s a thin plume of black smoke. (Mordechai can hear them crying and begging.)

The mine closes. There’s a lengthy investigation. It will cost a considerable amount of money to sink another pit. Echoing, cloying silence wraps around the abandoned worksite. Mordechai can leave his bedroom for the first time in months.

He sits on the chapel steps and watches the muscles of Hezekiah’s back work under his sweat-slick blouse. “Do you think...” Mordechai starts.

There’s something in Mordechai’s voice that makes Hezekiah straighten up.

“Do you think, when I die, you might cut a hole in the side of my coffin?” Mordechai says. “So, when you die, if there’s a hole in your coffin, our coffins could. Lie together. And. We might be able to hold hands under the earth.”

It’s the most he’s said at once in decades, and his throat is raw for it.

“I could do that,” Hezekiah says. “When are you going to die?”

Mordechai sighs. “You’ve bought me a little time. Soon.”

“I’ll make you a Coffin,” Hezekiah says, his voice oddly constricted, as if he’s speaking through silt. He drops his shovel and walks off, towards Moorland house.

Later, from his windowsill, Mordechai watches Hezekiah cut down a whitebeam, feels the heft of it in his large hands. He’s too far away to gauge his expression accurately, but he seems to appraise the wood and finds it passable. He hauls it inside.

The mere act of watching has left Mordechai feeling bone-tired, and he sleeps.

And sleeps.

(In between the sleeping, Mordechai finds himself cradled in long arms, sunburned by the late summer sun. The press of a spoon to his lips as he’s fed a soup that tastes like dirt and tannins.)

And sleeps.

(When he chokes a little on fluid-filled lungs, he feels warm hands rubbing his back and the choking eases.)

Moorland house is awfully quiet.

A hand scraping softly on his collarbone shifts Mordechai blearily into consciousness. “It’s done,” Hezekiah says. “Would you like to see it?”

Mordechai nods. His limbs are oddly discombobulated, his heart feels heavy and dragging, and he looks up at Hezekiah. The man scoops him up like he weighs nothing and carries him, bridal-style, down the cold, empty hallway.

The gate to the mausoleum opens on well-oiled hinges. It’s no longer empty; a single coffin now sits in the marbled room. It’s simple - rough, even - the whitebeam a pale, unvarnished yellow. But there’s undeniably a presence to it, an undercurrent that draws you towards it. Hezekiah approaches close enough that Mordechai can run his hand down its flank.

“I’m not an artist,” Hezekiah says. “It’s even a bit simple-looking, in this grand place.”

“It’s perfect,” Mordechai says. “Would it be too morbid for me to give it a christening? Try it on for size?”

“Pot and kettle,” Hezekiah says.

“True,” Mordechai says.

“Mordechai...” Hezekiah shuffles on his feet. “I would like to embrace you. Under the earth. It has to be deep enough that nothing can live there, where it is quiet and cold and the dirt clings like damp to your skin and dark enough that our touch can hide in secret, that’s the place we can be together. I think if I stayed here when you were buried the pressure of the world would be so much more than the pressure of the dirt and I don’t think I could bear it. I would like to hold you, under there, and you would have space from the choke and I would not be alone. I think I would like to do that forever, or, at least, until our bodies are less human than they are water and earth.”

“I would like that too,” Mordechai says. “It’s like a marriage.”

“It’s more than a marriage,” Hezekiah replies.

“Yes,” Mordechai says, and lets his head sink down against Hezekiah’s chest, measures Hezekiah’s strong heartbeat against his own, thready and uneven. It’s so much more than he deserves.

Hezekiah opens the coffin. It makes a comically sharp scraping noise like it’s the door to a vampire’s crypt in an opera, like thousands of paper bats will fly out of it and fill the room.

It is silent, and cold, instead.

Mordechai never gets his funeral.

Most of Mordechai’s papers get passed along to the Magnus Institute.

And two hundred years later, Jonathan Sims reads some letters.

#the magnus archives #mordechai lukas #hezekiah wakely #jonah magnus #m....monsters in love #this was supposed to be a bullet point list and it turned into improv fanfic halfway through #how the Coffin dovetails the Lonely and the Buried.... very interesting #tw terminal illness #tw death #ask to tag #tma blogging

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unsteadygalaxy · 3 years

Text

all is soft inside chapter 8

a miragehound multichapter fanfiction

Also posted on ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26475064/chapters/67835227

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8. you cannot kill what we are

Bloodhound sits cross-legged on the top of the Epicenter tower, still and silent, hands folded in their lap. Their Kraber lays next to them, easily within grabbing distance. In their hands, they hold a small silver case, and Elliott can’t see what’s inside it. Maybe a picture of a boyfriend or girlfriend? Or partner? Elliott thinks, and a spiky flicker of jealousy rolls through his chest. Bloodhound was free to have any life they wanted, of course. Elliott just wished they would tell him more about who they were. They were so secretive and so private it made him crazy, but he wanted to respect their choices. He would settle for any small bit of information they gave him, and last night’s discussion only proved to make him more interested in them.

It strikes Elliott that it looks as though Bloodhound might be praying. Or meditating. He can’t really tell the difference, because of their mask, and it’s not like he would know the difference if he could see them. Elliott had never been a religious man. Putting hope and faith in some imaginary person never seemed logical for him. But he had to admire Bloodhound’s devotion to their Allfather. They remain still, and their breath through the respirator is even and quiet. He wonders what they’re praying about. He wonders, for the millionth time, why they are so closed off, and why they need the mask. God, he wants to ask so bad, but he won’t. He can’t.

Makoa crouches across from them, watching the hill between Overlook and their current position. He occasionally aims down the sights of his G7 to observe faraway battles and update them on who still remains. Elliott hasn’t ever met someone like Makoa- he was so accepting and supportive of every person around him, which was something Elliott was very grateful for. Anytime he needed a little energy boost, he knew to strike up a casual conversation with him. He was almost like another brother.

His heart clenches at the thought of his brothers, probably dead out in the universe somewhere. It had been so long since he’d seen or heard from any of them, and part of him gave up hope a long time ago. Pain and discomfort begin to creep their way in, and his first instinct is to block it out. But he remembers again what Bloodhound had said to him. You are allowed to feel the pain you bear.

So he lets it come.

It washes through him like hot syrup, clinging on to the bruised and broken parts of him as it passes. It hurts horribly for a few awful moments, but begins to subside faster than he thought possible. Huh. That’s not so bad, he thinks. But then it surges up in a fury, grabbing him by the throat and closing his windpipe off. Pain clogs his lungs and cements his airway, making it impossible to breathe. Water floods his chest, but he tries to acknowledge it, to let it reside there. Uh… just… feel it. Try to feel it.

Time slows to a crawl, and it squeezes Elliott in its static-filled fingers. A thick, buzzing substance descends upon his shoulders and draws all of the air out of his lungs, replacing it with some toxic chemical that numbs his insides on the way down. Oh, god. This is horrible. This fucking sucks, he thinks. He holds himself a little tighter, trying to shake himself out of whatever the hell this is.

“You doing okay, bruddah?”

Elliott jerks his head up and sees that Makoa has his eyes trained on him, the bigger man’s face full of concern. It’s only then that Elliott realizes he’s not breathing, and he gasps, sucking in air like he’s a man dying of thirst. The static fog around his head subsides somewhat, but stubbornly remains. Nevertheless, he does feel a little better- at least the grief isn’t swallowing him in waves anymore.

“Oh, yeah, I’m great!” he replies, plastering a smile on his face. He gives Makoa a thumbs up. “Don’t worry about me, I was just d- devis- coming up with a battle plan for how we’re gonna win this thing.”

“If you say so,” Gibraltar says, but he doesn’t look altogether convinced. He chuckles and turns back to his sights.

“Remember to breathe, Elliott,” Bloodhound murmurs, not turning to face him. They’re still sitting quietly across the way, their head bowed, the case still resting in their hands. His name on their lips makes a brief flash of excitement zap through him, one which he promptly suppresses. How the hell did they know? he thinks, amazed by them as always.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies, rubbing the back of his neck as he tries not to stare at them. He doesn’t really want to sit with these emotions right now, but he does it anyway. The grief is still there, yes, but it’s subsiding, and Elliott can’t be more grateful. A brief surge of embarrassment makes an appearance, and he pushes it away. Old habits die hard, he thinks.

Makoa whistles, sharp and low, and Bloodhound is at his side in an instant. They cradle the Kraber in their hands reverently, and aim down the sights. Mirage pops to his feet, charging up his Holo emitters. Two squads are running down the hill from Overlook, and a third squad is running in from their left. Bloodhound lets out a small sound that can only be a laugh, and Elliott’s stomach jumps sharply. Not now, he thinks, berating himself. He can’t afford to get distracted by them today.

The sound of two Kraber shots ricochets in the air, and Bloodhound jerks back a bit, displaced by the recoil. Right before Elliott’s eyes, two members of one squad drop to the ground, bleeding out. The third member of their squad is quickly taken out by the squad behind them, leaving two squads milling about, about to face off. No- another squad is running in from the right, which means every remaining team must be here. Elliott’s heart begins to pump hard, and he knows that his squad will soon have to jump into the fight. The sound of rapid gunfire fills the air, and electricity shoots through his veins, amping him up, readying him for the struggle ahead, all thoughts of his brothers forgotten.

Mirage pulls out his Wingman, makes sure it’s fully loaded, and spins it around in his grip. He looks over to Gibraltar and Bloodhound. “What’s the plan?” he asks.

Gibraltar laughs at him. “I thought you had it all figured out, bruddah.” There was no malice in his eyes, just a sense of relentless teasing that makes Elliott relieved.

“Uh…” Elliott’s thoughts are a scramble. He looks over to Bloodhound helplessly, but they only shake their head and cross their arms. God, he hopes they’re smiling. He has no choice but to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Um, how about this? Once they’re all a little closer, let’s get Bloodhound on the ground to scan and see who’s nearby. If there’s a bunch of enemies around, then Gibraltar, you can throw your Ultimate down. Some of the missiles might hit the tower, but it will give us enough of a smokescreen to run around and take some suckers out, since Bloodhound can see through smoke and we’ve all got digital threat optics.” The words tumble from his mouth, and even he is surprised by how coherent the plan seems to be. Huh. Would you look at that?

“Well planned, vinur minn,” Bloodhound affirms, a note of amusement in their voice. A giddy sense of pride surges through him, and he’s determined to let that feeling stay as long as it wants.

“You got it, Mirage,” Gibraltar says, clapping him heartily on the back. All of his breath exits his chest in a whoosh, and he stumbles forward, coughing weakly. He can hear gunfire beating a wild tattoo against his ears, and he knows it’s almost time to join the fight.

Makoa tosses his Ultimate canister up and down in his hand, an infectious smile splitting his face. Bloodhound looks over to Elliott, and even through the goggles, their gaze makes him want to blush. Instead, he gives them a cheeky grin and a thumbs up. Bloodhound nods to them, and turns to the balcony under the zipline. They stretch their arms upwards, and then roll their neck, bouncing on the balls of their feet. The hunter takes a brief moment to bow their head once more. They open the service panel on their wrist gear to press a few quick buttons, and Mirage glances down at the squads fighting below.

They really don’t know what they’re in for, he thinks.

He watches in awe as Bloodhound takes a running leap off the Epicenter tower and howls into the sky, the familiar red hue glowing around them as they plummet to the ground. Their jump pack boosts them just enough so they don’t destroy their knees, and when they hit the snow, they immediately activate their scanner. Nine orangey-red figures highlight through the structures and ice around their team, and Bloodhound yells over the comms, “Gibraltar, now!”

Makoa follows suit, hurling his Ultimate canister down between the warring teams. The familiar hum fills the air, and a barrage of missiles scream through the sky. Thick gray smoke descends upon the landscape, and the missiles beat against the ground, creating miniature craters where they explode. “Two down!” Gibraltar announces, examining the scene through the digital sights of his Prowler. “Go get ‘em, Mirage! I’ll be right behind you.”

Mirage hops up and down on the balls of his feet, just like Bloodhound did, and snaps his goggles on. “It’s dupes o’clock!” he says, grinning like a little kid. The adrenaline was really kicking in now, and he feels powerful and confident, for once. He leaps off the tower after Bloodhound and hits the icy ground hard. His knees wobble and his feet ache, but this is no time for hesitation. It’s time to help his team.

Immediately he takes advantage of the smoke that’s still clouding the air, and sends a decoy running straight through it. He follows it and releases every clone he has. Even though he’s running blind, he trusts himself, because he knows the contour of the area like the back of his hand. Gunfire begins to ring out, and the churning sound of a Devotion greets his ears. Dread threatens to flood his stomach for a brief second, but he acknowledges it and lets it pass, surprised at how quickly it leaves. Three of his decoys are shot down, and Elliott has to smile. Bamboozling his opponents never got old.

A sinister, skeletal shape looms out of the smoke and Elliott cringes. Why did it have to be the damn murderbot? he laments internally. He raises his Wingman, aiming through the sights. Revenant turns to him, highlighted in red, his mechanical hand splitting in two to reveal the silencer. Mirage dodges the huge fiery projectile just barely, and his heart pounds harder than ever before. He aims again and two shots from his pistol connect with Revenant’s chest just as the robot levels his Hemlok. To Elliott’s horror, Revenant disappears in a flash of orange light, no doubt summoned back to his death totem.

“Dammit!” he yells, and he feels a peppering of bullets smatter against his head and chest. His shields are dangerously low, and as he turns to see his attacker, a hazy red and brown shape flashes past him. Bloodhound sprints across the battlefield, raises their Spitfire and shoots down an unfamiliar face in a matter of seconds. Must be one of the new hopefuls, Elliott thinks wildly, fighting the urge to just stand back and watch Bloodhound dominate the field. They run off behind another glacier in search of their prey.

He shakes his head and continues on.

By his count, there should only be six other people left- two of the previous nine had been taken down by Gibraltar’s Ultimate, and Bloodhound had just finished the third of that squad. He’s not sure who’s left, but he also knows there’s a big chance Revenant’s squad is still intact. His totem tended to complicate things, so Elliott hated trying to win against him. He’s not sure which he prefers- losing to Bloodhound or fighting against a squad of shadows.

The ring was getting closer by the second, and Elliott could almost hear it humming. “We’d better make this quick, guys,” he says over comms. “I like pork chops but I definitely don’t want to become them!”

“Come to me, félagi fighters,” Bloodhound replies, their voice raspy and deep because of their Ultimate. The sound of it electrifies Elliott’s insides in an instant, and he has to fight every weakness he’s got as his knees turn to jelly.

He rounds the corner and ducks into the room below the tower, fidgeting with his Wingman. Gibraltar jogs in with them, his Prowler smoking slightly. “Downed another one, but I think they had a gold knockdown. They’re probably up and running again.”

“It is no matter,” Bloodhound replies, and Elliott is sad to hear their Ultimate fading away. “We have the means to vinna.” They kneel on the ground quickly, regaining their balance from the rush. He places a hand on their shoulder.

“You all right?” he asks them.

Bloodhound stiffens, almost shying away from his touch. “Yes. Do not forget to recharge your shields. We have need of your skill.”

A weird sense of awkwardness sparkles in his ribcage, and he retracts his hand. “Oh, right.” He takes a moment to swing his backpack from his shoulders and to his feet. The familiar hiss and sting of the shield battery jolts through his veins, and soon enough he is fully charged again. “How many are left? Six?

“Four,” Bloodhound pants. “I killed two opponents before assisting you, so there should be four remaining, assuming the one with the gold shield evaded death. Who was it?”

“Don’t know,” Gibraltar says, popping a shield cell. “Didn’t get a good look at them. Might’ve been Dr. Nox.”

Bloodhound nods, and reloads their Spitfire. Gunfire echoes around them again, too close for comfort. Mirage darts to the other doorway and peeks out. Sure enough, the remaining squads are battling it out by the respawn beacon. Revenant and Lifeline are shooting at Wraith and Wattson from the hill, pinning the two women between them and Elliott’s squad. A blue-black void portal is hidden expertly among the rocks, no doubt leading to a safer location.

“It’s a two on two out there,” Elliott yells back to his team. “Lifeline and Murderbot against Wraith and Wattson. I don’t know what happened to their thirds, so keep an eye out.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Gibraltar says. “Wraith will be able to tell if we’re aiming at her, thanks to those voices of hers. Bloodhound, how about you take her portal while they’re distracted and wait for them to come through? Give us scans when you’re charged up. Mirage, you send a few decoys out as you get them. I’ll circle around to the side and try to gain ground on the two up the hill.”

“Hey, sounds good,” Mirage replies, just as Bloodhound nods their agreement. “Almost as good as my plan, but you know, you’ll get there!”

Gibraltar just shakes his head at him in amused exasperation. “You keep telling yourself that. You two ready?”

Mirage grabs an arc star from his bag. “Ready.”

“Ready.” Bloodhound’s voice is smooth and even, free from the heavy breathing from before.

“Go!”

Elliott runs through the door with no hesitation, sending a decoy in the direction of the gunfire. He lobs the arc star high and far, hoping to land it right between the squads. Bloodhound is close behind him, and they run straight to Wraith’s portal. Gibraltar jogs up the hill, pulling out his G7. Bloodhound disappears into Wraith’s portal in a flash of white light, and Elliott starts firing at Wattson with his R-99. About half of the bullets miss, whizzing over Wattson’s head when she ducks. Wraith disappears from his peripheral, slipping into the void. Elliott can only hope she’s gone after Gibraltar and isn’t sneaking around behind him.

Bloodhound suddenly cries out in pain over the comms, and Elliott’s heart twists itself into knots.

“What’s wrong?” he yells, his fingers fumbling as he ducks and reloads his R-99.

The hunter reappears beside him, heaving and groaning in pain. “Do not go through the portal!” they gasp. “Wraith left the other end outside the ring!” Bloodhound runs off to take cover, pulling a med kit from their backpack as they go.

Wattson fires her Flatline straight at Elliott’s head, and a dangerous amount of bullets make contact. His shields instantly vaporize, and his helmet is barely holding on. He knows it's now or never, so he takes a deep breath and fires his R-99 at her. His friend hits the ground almost instantly, and Elliott feels a twinge of sorrow. Wattson was one of his favorite Legends to be around, and he always felt this weird sense of guilt when he beat her in the Games, even though they’re here to repeatedly kill each other. “Sorry, Nat!”

“It- It’s fine,” she groans weakly, pressing a hand to her neck as the blood gushes from between her fingertips. “I’ll get you next time!”

He lingers for a moment, not really wanting to finish her off, but more bullets fly in his direction. He doesn’t really have a choice, so he fires a few more bullets at her, and her body goes limp.

A large, orange, sparkling something hits Elliott squarely in the chest, and he realizes too late that Revenant has hit him with his silencer. “Shit, shit, shit!” he mutters, diving out of the way. He ducks behind a pillar and pulls out a shield battery, willing it to charge faster. Bullets smack into the ground near his feet, and he scoots away from them.

“Wraith is down!” Gibraltar yells over the comms.

“Wattson’s out too,” Mirage replies, breathing hard. “It should just be Revenant and Lifeline, right?” Fully healed, he discards the battery and peeks precariously around the pillar.

A web of orangey-red energy sweeps the area, highlighting three enemy figures.

To his horror, a shadowy Revenant, Lifeline, and Caustic are running down the hill at full-tilt. Caustic raises an arm back, holding a large, cylindrical object in his hand, and Elliott is familiar with the sight. Still silenced, he can’t do much else besides run, so he darts away from the respawn beacon structure and back towards the imposing ring. It has closed just shy of the space under the tower, so he throws himself back in and waits for his abilities to return. “Bloodhound, where are you?”

Just as the words leave his mouth, Caustic rushes around the corner, still holding the canister in his hands. Elliott immediately sends a decoy in his direction, but he is not fooled- he steps aside and throws the canister right at Elliott’s feet. Caustic fires a round of ammo from his Havoc right into Elliott’s chest. Elliott throws himself backwards, but his right elbow smashes against the doorframe, and he feels it fracture. Mirage falls through the doorway just as clouds of green gas spew straight at his face.

“Fuck, shit-” he gasps, breathing in gas and crawling frantically away. He was so close to death, and his blood is pumping white-hot terror through his veins. Pain funnels into his lungs and into his entire body, radiating from his arm.

“Failure after failure,” Caustic seethes through the mask, slamming his foot on Mirage’s chest just as the effects of Revenant’s totem leave him. He reloads his Peacekeeper and presses the muzzle into Elliott’s forehead.

Same damn place I was just a few days ago, Elliott thinks, his chest seizing in agony. All this fighting, and for what? He grabs around frantically, trying to find something, anything to help him out.

His left hand brushes across the handle of his Wingman.

Three ear-splitting shots ring out, and Caustic crashes to the ground, three bullet holes in his forehead.

Elliott scrambles to his feet and instantly falls right back over, hacking his lungs out. He roots through his backpack in a panic, trying to find a med kit and a shield battery. To his dismay, he only finds two syringes and a shield cell.

“Caustic’s down! Hey, I could use some shields here!” he coughs, leaning against the wall and taking the syringes. He feels his arm heat up uncomfortably, and the fracture heals itself, but still aches.

“Give me a sec!” Gibraltar yells. “Lifeline’s low, but so am I!”

“Revenant has downed me,” Bloodhound calls, their voice thick with what Elliott can only assume to be blood.

This is bad, Elliott thinks as he pops a shield cell. His chest is tight with pain and fear, and all he wants to do is scramble to his feet and find Bloodhound. Gibraltar sprints around the glacier, throws down his dome, and drops a shield battery, which Elliott scoops up and uses as fast as he physically can. “Bloodhound, where are you?”

“Near the respawn beacon!”

“Shit,” he hisses. Bloodhound had to be right between them and Revenant, and Revenant had to be coming for them. “Gibraltar, did you finish Lifeline off?”

“Yup,” he says, reloading his Prowler. “Anyone got some heavy ammo?”

But his words fall on deaf ears, because Elliott takes off towards Bloodhound’s indicator.

Another fiery orange projectile hits Elliott squarely in the chest, and he yells in frustration. “Hold on, Bloodhound, I’m coming for you!”

“No, Elliott, finish the match!” they yell weakly. “Leave me!”

“But-”

“Go!”

“No!” Elliott protests. “I’m not leaving you behind, so shut up!” He slides across the ground to Bloodhound’s shaking form and plunges the revival syringe straight into their chest. They gasp hard, and their body convulses for a brief moment. “Come on, stay with me,” he murmurs. His hand goes to theirs and hovers over it for just a moment, but he thinks better of it. Now’s not the time.

A fiery orange projectile hits the ground only a few feet away from them, just as Elliott is pulling Bloodhound to their feet. “You good?” he asks them.

“Yes. Now go!”

Elliott pops to his feet and grabs a stray syringe from the ground, plunging it into his wrist as he runs. His Wingman is almost out of ammo, and he only has a couple clips of his R-99 left. “Gibraltar, you good?”

“Right behind you!” he replies. “But I’m low on health!”

Revenant’s skeletal form comes into view once more as Elliott runs up the hill towards Refinery. He’s kneeling over Lifeline’s body, attempting to revive her.

Elliott fires the last two Wingman shots he has at Revenant, but to his dismay, only one of them connects. It collides with his shoulder, and he jumps to his feet, leaving Lifeline behind. Good, Elliott thinks. Now she can’t back him up. He switches to his R-99 and sprints harder, trying to catch up with him.

Elliott rounds the corner and promptly ducks as he sees another of Revenant’s silencers flying towards his head. He shoots another decoy forward, trying to give Revenant something else to focus on. Gibraltar gets hit with the silencer and grunts in frustration. Elliott pursues Revenant relentlessly, determined to get revenge on the bastard.

Finally the robot comes into view, and Elliott raises his gun at him. Most of the mag hits his target, and Revenant has to be close to dead.

“Mirage!” Gibby yells. “Get behind me!”

“Wh-”

“Just do it!”

Elliott shakes his head in disbelief but he does as Gibraltar says. “I don’t know what you’re planning but I hope it’s good.”

“Trust me,” Gibraltar says, raising what’s left of his gun shield. Elliott reloads his R-99, and in front of them, Revenant fires back with a few well-placed Eva-8 shots, obliterating Gibraltar’s gun shield. Gibby falls to the ground, his arm and gut bleeding profusely.

“Dude, what the hell-”

“Just finish him!” Gibraltar coughs, blood spattering onto the ice.

Elliott looks up in alarm. Revenant is almost upon him, and he’s leveling his R-301. The too-familiar panic settles in, but Elliott takes a deep breath, allowing it to remain inside him.

Everything goes quiet and still.

His R-99 moves seemingly of its own accord, locking onto Revenant’s head with ease. His fingers pull the trigger, and the stream of bullets shoots out like a laser, deadly accurate. Every single bullet connects to its target. Revenant is knocked backward by the force of it all, and he slumps to the ground, dead.

The R-99 falls out of Elliott’s hands.

His eyes sting and his knees give out.

“Attention. Winner decided.”

#apex #apex legends #mirage #mirage apex legends #mirage apex #bloodhound #bloodhound apex legends #bloodhound apex #elliott witt #elliott witt apex #elliott witt apex legends #miragehound #miragehound fanfiction #my writing

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roboticnebula · 4 years

Text

Orbital Debris - 4 times being in space was unpleasant for Lan Xichen + one time it actually went alright

“Just ficlets,” I say, “short ones to get it out of my system,” I say as I keep writing more and more. Anyways, this is yet another installment of my Futuristic!AU (which I should have called the Space!AU!! I am a fool).

___

ONE

Lan Wangji immediately grabbed his hand when they stepped on the shuttle and Lan Xichen’s chest tightened with shame. At a time like this, he was the one meant to be comforting his distraught little brother, not the other way around. Yet there it was. His dìdi, usually uncomfortable with touch, face blotchy with restrained tears and eyes stubbornly fixed on the ground, still reached out to him.

Lan Xichen gently squeezed back, hoping to convey he was fine, that Lan Wangji did not need to worry himself further. He focused on the warmth of that hand as they shuffled towards the back of the shuttle, to sit in front of the porthole as was their habit and did not let go, even as they buckled themselves in. Neither of them said anything as the shuttle smoothly lifted from the ground and the scenery below them got smaller and smaller.

Lan Xichen could never bear to look, he focused instead on his little brother. Lan Wangji was old enough now that he didn’t wave goodbye to the white figure stuck on the ground, watching the shuttle carry them away. He knew, now that she could not see them. He only sat stiffly as the distance grew, already counting the days before their next visit. All Lan Xichen could do was coax him to lay his head on his shoulder for some rest – a gesture he knew Wangji would also outgrow soon.

It was a half an hour trip between Gusu Lan and the moon that kept their mother in seclusion, a very short trip by space standards. But the distance wasn’t what worried Lan Xichen. He counted the satellites, the asteroids and the debris all in orbit between them and their mother. So much could go wrong, so easily. The smallest collision and they would be planet bound, unable to do the short trip, and what would happen to their mother then? Who would bring her supplies? Who would visit?

When they landed, Wangji was fast asleep, exhausted from the emotional day behind them. That was fine, because Lan Xichen was not ready to let go of him just yet. He lifted him in his arms, tucking his chin on his brother’s shoulder and carried him off the shuttle.

From here, their mother’s moon was no bigger than his fist. It looked horribly lonely, and not for the first time, Lan Xichen wondered why it had been necessary to strand their mother so far away.

TWO

Lan Xichen numbly followed his uncle who led him to the back hills, far from the main buildings where a single escape launch pad was hidden in the grass. It was odd to see him run. It almost let Lan Xichen believe this was all just a nightmare, if not for the panic beating between his temples and the heavy, heavy weight in his arms of their sacred texts, quickly downloaded into hard drives and packed into protective pouches. Cloud Recesses was well and truly burning.

His eyes were stinging from the smoke and he had long stopped wiping away the tears trailing grooves in the soot on his cheeks. The air was so full of smoke, they were short of breath when they finally got to the launch pad but there was no time for pause. Over the roar of the flames and even from this far away Lan Xichen could hear people screaming. He desperately wanted to turn back and help, but this had to be taken care of first. He had to see his uncle and their texts off planet and then he could go help the others.

Lan Qiren hurried to unseal the door and their precious cargo was loaded on board, but instead of climbing inside after it, he turned to Lan Xichen, holding the door open for him.

“Get in,” he said.

Lan Xichen reeled and took a step back.

“I can’t leave -”

“We don’t have a choice.”

His uncle caught him by the shoulders, squeezing tight and urging him to look up at him.

“Xichen. If Wen Xu finds you, he will kill you. For the Lan sect to survive, both you and the texts have to escape.”

His tone was measured but a tremor in his voice betrayed his worry. He gently reached up to wipe the tears off his cheek and Lan Xichen felt his resolve crumble. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat, tried to formulate one last argument for why he should stay -

“Wangji. What about Wangji -” he wheezed out instead

“Wangji is smart. The other disciples and I will protect him. You will see him when this is all over.”

Lan Qiren squeezed his shoulders one final time and, at Lan Xichen’s shaky nod, shepherded him towards the escape pod. He crawled inside, heart thumping in his chest, knees knocking on the sides and barely finding space between the bags. His uncle took hold of the door again, preparing to close it -

“Head to Lanling, it is the only place still out of reach from the Wens,” he instructed.

Then the door snapped shut and sealed itself, cutting off all sounds from the outside. Immediately, Lan Xichen fought the urge to jump out. The silence was heavy, unnatural, only a mocking echo of the quiet and tranquility of the place he called home and the small space felt horribly hot, beads of sweat already forming on his back. Still, with shaking fingers, he entered the coordinates that would take him off planet.

The last thing he saw was his uncle standing at a safe distance, surveying the area for any Wen that might come this way. Then the pod launched, the green scenery faded to white skies, then darkness. His heart squeezed even tighter when he flew past his mother’s moon, now empty.

Once in space, the inside of the pod cooled down quickly. Lan Xichen could see his own breath in the air and ice condensed on the porthole, forming spider webs of white veins. He was well and truly alone, hurtling far away from home in a pod that could be knocked off course by as little as a rock drifting too close.

But he couldn’t think about that. He had to survive, he had to protect the texts.

He forced himself to focus, double checked his course, verified all systems were functioning normally and when there was nothing left to do, curled up around his precious cargo, making himself as small as possible, and waited.

THREE

For the first time in a long time, Lan Xichen felt sick. The ship shook around them as the engines roared to life and he squeezed his eyes shut, curling in on himself as they launched out of the atmosphere of Lanling. His mind was spinning uncontrollably and the usual pull in his guts as the ship ripped itself away from the planet’s gravity was dizzying.

“There, there, er-ge, breathe, we’re almost there.”

A-yao – no, Jin Guangyao gently hooked a finger under his chin and tilted his head back to be better supported by the headrest, his hands flying over Lan Xichen’s body to simultaneously tighten the belt and the handcuffs, and caress his hair in comfort. Lan Xichen could only cling to his sleeves and waited for the artificial gravity of the ship to take over and for the nausea to pass.

He hated himself already for this moment of weakness. Hated that, despite the revelations of the past few hours and his own kidnapping, A-Yao’s presence could still be anything close to comforting and outraged that the man still took the liberty to behave so familiarly despite his betrayal.

It only added to his disbelief. How could the same man capable of this kindness be the one behind so many crimes? How could A-Yao be so kind to him when he had so ruthlessly poisoned Mingjue? The nausea, he realised, wasn’t only because of the space travel this time. In his heart, Lan Xichen still could not connect the man he thought he knew with the one he now knew was Jin Guangyao, as if one has suddenly replaced the other.

Finally, Lan Xichen felt the ship escape the last grips of gravity and smoothly start gliding through the void of space. His heart stopped fluttering like a caged bird, leaving only the familiar and more manageable weigh of loneliness in his chest. He took a deep breath to brace himself and opened his eyes to the grey walls and flickering light of the ship’s cargo bay.

He noticed that, on top of being adrift in space, he was now securely cuffed to his seat and his spiritual power still tightly sealed within him. His stomach back flipped anxiously and abruptly he urgently wanted Jin Guangyao as far away from him as possible. Before he could make his demand, however, the other man squeezed his shoulder one last time and pulled away, standing up over him.

“I know this was unpleasant for you, er-ge –“

“Don’t call me that,” interrupted Lan Xichen.

It was rude but he could not bring himself to care beyond the disgust provoked in him by the term. Jin Guangyao merely smiled placating at him.

“We will be at Guanyin moon in under an hour,” he continued.

Jin Guangyao urgently needed to leave this system and Lan Xichen knew this was why he had taken him along as hostage. The only possible reason he could have for the detour was for his mother’s body, but the moon was still a long way from the outer limits, so how far did he plan on dragging him along?

“And then what?” he asked, voice thin even in his own ears.

“As soon as I am able, I will set you free, uninjured.”

“Should I believe you?”

Jin Guangyao’s lips twitched up in another frigid smile.

“Do as you like. You don’t really have a choice,” he said.

He tugged one last time at the restraints to make sure they were secure and finally stepped back, heading for the door leading to the pilot’s cabin. Lan Xichen felt a spike of fear at the prospect of being left alone, but quickly crushed it down. He needed the space to think.

“Get some rest, er-ge,” said Jin Guangyao, before he stepped out of the cargo bay and sealed the door behind him with a hiss.

Lan Xichen was alone in the empty room, with nothing but the hum of the engines and the sound of his own breath, the cuffs cold around his wrists. He resolutely kept his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him, instead of the window that would give him a view of the stars flying past them.

Lan Wangji was probably aware something was wrong by now, his brother had been expecting his reply hours ago already. Lan Xichen hoped that he and Wei Wuxian had gathered enough information to guess where Jin Guangyao was headed. There was a chance they would intercept them at Guanyin moon.

In the event they didn’t make it, Lan Xichen would have to make his escape alone. He had a sinking feeling that Jin Guangyao did not intend to let him go in the near future and Guanyin moon was his best chance to make a break for it. When the opportunity came, he needed to be calm and ready.

He forced himself to relax into his seat, closing his eyes to meditate.

He focused on the weight of the little pouch still against his breast. There was still a chance that he could get it to Nie Mingjue in time. Maybe, just maybe it would save his life, even reverse some of the effects of the poison. Maybe he could still fix his mistake –

First, he needed to get out of here.

FOUR

Lan Xichen always felt more at ease in ships rather than smaller shuttles or pods, but today it seemed he wouldn’t be able to relax. He gripped the straps of his seat more tightly, wondering if he would at least manage to fall asleep for the duration of the 5 hour trip it would take to reach Yunmeng Jiang. A warm hand dropped on top of his, drawing his attention to his neighbour.

“Are you ok?”

Jiang Cheng’s eyebrows were slightly furrowed in concern. He had unbuckled his own seatbelt to stretch the moment the ship’s artificial gravity had activated and was now leaning in his seat, head tilted towards Lan Xichen, with all the ease of a man who had been in space thousands of times already.

“Do you want to have a walk around?” He asked

“I would rather stay here, if you don’t mind,” Lan Xichen tried for a reassuring smile, but was aware it came out strained when the pinch between Jiang Cheng’s eyebrows deepened.

“You know you could have told me you didn’t feel ready yet, right?”

Lan Xichen felt warmth pool in his stomach at the concern and his smile, this time, was more genuine. When Jiang Cheng had invited him to visit Lotus Pier, Lan Xichen had been delighted. It had felt right for it to be his first trip out of Gusu and even now, despite the stress of being in space again, he knew it had been the right decision to come. He let go of the strap to intertwine his fingers with Jiang Cheng’s and squeezed, already breathing easier with this small point of contact.

“I know,” he said and meant it, “but I promise, this is nothing important.”

Jiang Cheng raised an eyebrow at him, not satisfied. He was of the opinion that Lan Xichen should express his own thoughts and needs more often and so started drawing small circles at the back of his hand with his thumb in a clear sign he intended to wait him out.

“I was never really comfortable in space,” admitted Lan Xichen, eventually, if only because talking helped keep his mind off his current situation.

Admittedly, he had been better at handling it before. Lan Xichen had been required to travel often as sect leader after all, so he had managed to get his fears under control. But it seemed he was out of practice. The last space trip he really remembered had been the horrible one with Jin Guangyao. After that, he hadn’t been able to handle the stress of the trip back to Gusu and had asked the ship healer to knock him out for the duration.

“How come? Did something happen?”

“No, nothing like that. It just makes me feel… lonely. And without control. We are so small, anything could happen -”

He trailed off, bitten by sudden self-consciousness. Jiang Cheng travelled in space all the time and did not have a problem with it. Next to him, it felt very silly to get so worked up about a standard space trip, especially in this day and age where they were common and necessary.

“I suppose I never thought of it like that,” Jiang Cheng voice cut through his thoughts before they could spiral, “but then again, I was practically raised in zero gravity. My parents often brought us out on jobs so I had to get comfortable quickly.”

“It’s still silly, I know, I promise it doesn’t usually hit me so badly -”

“It’s not silly,” said Jiang Cheng, firmly, “Tell me what I can do to help.”

He squeezed his hand again and gave him a smile, one that lit up his whole face and softened his eyes and never failed to make Lan Xichen weak in the knees.

“This already helps,” he said, gesturing to their joined hands, delighted at the slight blush that powdered Jiang Cheng’s cheeks, “but mostly I just try to sleep or distract myself.”

He was amused when Jiang Cheng seemed to consider the issue very seriously. Then it was his turn to blush when the other man lifted the armrest between them and pulled him closer, wrapping an arm around him and guiding him to tuck his head on his shoulder.

“There, sleep.”

The embrace was warm, it felt safe. Lan Xichen’s stomach fluttered with that happy feeling again, all thoughts of the void outside forgotten. He nuzzled Jiang Cheng’s neck and let himself be lulled to sleep by soft fingers threading through his hair.

+ ONE

The satellite was the Nie sect’s latest creation and Nie Mingjue’s very own pet project, his first since he’d come out of his coma. Of course, Lan Xichen insisted he wanted to be there when Nie Mingjue announced it was finally ready for a visit. Satellites were still outside of Lan Xichen’s comfort zone, but this was important. He wanted to be there to show his support and he didn’t want either of boyfriends to worry about him, so he swallowed down his anxieties and declared himself more ready than ever for a jaunt in space with them.

Up to this point, he’d had no reason to regret it. It had actually been a pleasant walk around. He was still slightly on edge, of course, but that had been effectively drowned out by the waves of fondness he felt for the two men accompanying him.

Nie Mingjue kept pointing out all the different sections in excitement. The hundreds of docking stations along each leg leading up to a large central module, the diurnal cycle of the lights, the silent mechanisms of the doors and even the thrusters to correct orbital trajectory when they were visible from a window. Jiang Cheng was listening intently, obviously indulging him since the Jiang sect had done a significant portion of the engineering work. His expressions cycled from amusement, to fondness to exasperation when he noted something not quite up to spec.

Most of the explanations went over Lan Xichen’s head, but he loved watching the both of them. By the time they got to the central module he was actually excited along with them and relaxed enough to fully appreciate the breathtaking view waiting for them.

The roof was paneled with windows, giving them a direct view of the lush green surface of Qinghe Nie. Just beyond it, Lan Xichen could even see Gusu Lan shinning in the distance and right opposite of that, Yunmeng Jiang. The sight made Lan Xichen smile, as if seeing all three planets together made the distance between them seem not so unsurmountable.

He was just about to tell Nie Mingjue how beautiful it was, when there was a ring and the automatic voice of the satellite’s computer interrupted. Artificial gravity malfunction.

One moment, he had both feet firmly planted on the ground, the next he was slowly floating upwards. He shivered with discomfort when at first his body could not find its balance and his hand only met air when he tried to catch himself, heart jumping in his throat when he realised he was not equipped to be sucked out into space.

But now was not the time to panic. Lan Xichen had been enjoying himself and was determined to see this through, gravity or not and a quick look at his boyfriends’ more annoyed than worried expressions told him they were in no real danger. He forced himself to relax into this new weightlessness and smiled reassuringly at Nie Mingjue and Jiang Cheng.

At first, he tethered himself next to them, holding on to both their belts, but they quickly got into a heated discussion about the gravitational engines, most of which was incomprehensible technological babble to Lan Xichen so he allowed himself to drift away for a look around instead.

He never minded floating in zero gravity, and he’d been doing more and more space trips lately, his composure came to him more and more easily. And if there was anyone he trusted to get them out of trouble, it was Nie Mingjue and Jiang Cheng. It still surprised him sometimes, how much he adored them without restraint. There had been a time he didn’t think he would ever be able to trust himself again.

He took the time to admire the view, mostly the one of the two men below him, looking very handsome in their respective purple and dark green space suits. Jiang Cheng eventually seemed to give up and with one graceful kick floated up to Lan Xichen’s level, mirroring his earlier gesture by catching his belt to pull himself close.

“It really is quite a view, no?” He said, nodding at the stars.

“Mn, beautiful,” replied Lan Xichen, clearly still looking at him.

He laughed when Jiang Cheng flushed in surprise and when he retaliated by pulling him even closer and dropping a kiss on the tip of his nose. Just when Lan Xichen leaned up for a proper kiss, Nie Mingjue caught them both by the ankles and pulled them down to him, stealing a kiss of his own and wrapping one arm over both their shoulders.

“Nothing too bad, but artificial gravity won’t get fixed today,” he announced, “so we can go back planet-side if you want.”

Nie Mingjue had had the forethought of tying himself to a cable so they could pull themselves back down. They were flying suspended together like a balloon tied down against the wind and Lan Xichen was being held between the two loves of his life. There really was nowhere he’d rather be.

“No, it’s fine,” he said, smiling brightly, “I’m good here for now.”

___

In this AU everyone lives and that includes Nie Mingjue! He gets poisoned by JGY which puts him in a coma, but he comes out of it after a few years (because medical space tech). So pairings are: past Nielan, Xicheng and eventually Mingxicheng because LXC deserves to have two boyfriends.

#lan xichen #xicheng #mingxicheng #the untamed #mdzs #futuristic!AU #lmao this is so long I might even post it on my ao3 #lots of hand holding #Lan Xichen deserves the best 2020 #My writing

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pangzi · 4 years

Note

i just got hit with the overwhelming need of like nmj/lxc or jc (or both, that is also acceptable) in an actual relationship after sunshot and then just their reactions to his qi deviation and death. like in the moment kind of reactions and recovery not like flashbacks when wwx comes back. so i was definitely making myself cry about it

Oh man... You got me crying replying to this anon, and I’m really not a crier to be honest. You have no idea how much in denial I am about Mingjue’s death

Both lxc and jc would think for some reason that when it finally happens, they’d be ready for it. He’d been getting worse fast, they should’ve seen it coming, right?! But then it happens and it feels so sudden, and both are hit with disbelief. Xichen more than Jiang Cheng would be. (putting the rest under a read more because oof...... this got LONG

Xichen would refuse to believe it, even as he has the lifeless body of his beloved in his arms. He’d tried everything, why had nothing worked, why had he left him so fast? He’d be so shocked that almost nobody would be able to pry him away. He couldn’t believe Mingjue would leave him like that. His Mingjue that would never even leave a room without saying goodbye to him. It would take him so long to even process that it happened, even at the funeral, officially saying goodbye, he wouldn’t be able to believe it. And then when he finally start actually grieving and that’s when he completely breaks down. Tears finally finding their way to him and he doesn’t think that overwelming feeling of sadness will ever stop. Everything feels empty and wrong and not even the things that used to bring him the most happiness before could get rid of the hollow feeling inside the slightest. He had lost a part of himself, a part he’d never be able to get back. It would take him so long to find colour and happiness in the world again, to accept that a piece of him was gone and he would never get it back. I feel like he’d often find himself in moments where he’d think “I should tell Mingjue this”, but he can’t and it would hurt him a bit every single time. I can see him finding peace in writing down whatever he wants to tell Mingjue, a collection of unsent letters building over the years. He would find peace in knowing that in a next life, he would have another chance finding Mingjue again, getting to know this wonderful man all over again, falling in love with him all over again. That in a next life they will find each other again and maybe have a different fate. Seeing Mingjue’s fierce corpse then, seeing it sealed eventually in that coffin with the body of his murderer, his chance of reincarnation taken from him like that completely breaks him down again. It feels like he was taken from him all over again, but now it’s forever. He’d probably be in that dark pit of deep grief for a while again, before climbing out of it stubbornly. He has duties after all, he will fulfill them, but at the same time he tries with all his power to find a way to release Mingjue from where he’s sealed safely and give them that chance at another fate in a next life once again.

Jiang Cheng would be a whole other story. He would of course, at first, refuse to believe it. Nie Mingjue was the strongest, most stubborn man he knew, fighting off his qi deviation with all he had, and deep inside Jiang Cheng would’ve foolishly hoped it was enough. But then it happens and he can’t believe it, but it hits him fast, too fast. Mingjue had been that one light in the darkness after absolutely everything had been taken from him, that one light that refused to leave his side, and then it did just like that. Just like everything good that Jiang Cheng had ever had in his life. It was absolutely infuriating. He was mad at himself for believing that he could even have something good in his life for a prolonged period of time, mad at himself that he believed he was worthy of someone who loved him as much as Mingjue, Yanli already having been taken from him suddenly as well all those years ago. He was mad at Mingjue for leaving. He was mad at everything. He’s mad that the universe seems to favour taking good people, while it could just as well take him, all he was was a disappointment anyway. He wasn’t pure hearted and kind like Yanli, he wasn’t as fair and good as Mingjue. He couldn’t do half as much good in seven lifetimes than Yanli or Mingjue could do in one. He’s so furious that it wasn’t him. He’s angry because he knows both Yanli and Mingjue would want him to make the best of his life, make it as happy as he can but Mingjue had helped him come to terms with his loss the last time, the time before that he had Yanli and Wuxian, and now they weren’t there to help him and he didn’t know how to do this without any of them. Unlike Xichen, though, he just cannot afford to break down, to let his grief consume him completely for a while. He doesn’t have an uncle or brother to help him with his duties. He has a sect to lead, a nephew to take care of. He lives years with grief gnawing at his insides, anger consuming him. He spends so many nights screaming at nothing, asking why. His only piece of happiness left is Jin Ling, who he clings to so dearly, yet tries not to, so scared of losing him too. And then he finally comes to terms with it, and not long after suddenly Wei Wuxian is back, ripping open old wounds of loss and betrayal, but also giving him hope that maybe he is able to get back some of the people he has lost. Then he sees Mingjue’s fierce corpse and more old wounds get torn open, he has to go through that loss again as well. That slight shimmer of hope when he sees him again, that maybe he had returned just like Wei Wuxian, only to lose him all over again after which Wei Wuxian leaves him again too. Now he’s double heart-broken, but maybe this time he can deal with the grief, because Jin Ling hasn’t left him yet, and maybe he can at least get his brother back as well.

When it comes to Mingxicheng, I can see Mingjue’s death drive a wegde between Xichen and Jiang Cheng for a while. Jiang Cheng’s anger and fear of loss resulting in him pushing Xichen away. If he makes Xichen hate him, at least then he can’t be taken from him, having pushed him away himself, at least then Xichen will still be alive. Xichen would try so stubbornly to hold on to him. But it would be so hard, because Jiang Cheng wouldn’t be able to give him the comfort that he so desperately needs in that time. But eventually they’d find their way back to each other. Because them being apart is not what Mingjue would’ve wanted. Because being together made them feel a whole lot less empty. Because together it sometimes felt like Mingjue was still there with them. Together the loss was slightly more bearable.

#but nie mingjue is still alive :(#they'd gotten to him in time #meng yao locked away or dead or whatever #far far away from them at least #they're living a happy life with several kids and pets #Anonymous #nie mingjue

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qhostqizmo · 3 years

Text

Run to her before she’s gone

Don’t let her go

- - - - - - - - - -

Her fingers entwined with his; palm clasped to palm, was a familiarity Amon knew would never grow old. It was an exhilaration that tingled nerves, burned bone, and made his legs feel gelatinous. He had come to know her hands. He could tell a stranger how she was feeling almost by touch alone; how the limpness was for bad days, how they were clammy and sweaty when she was nervous, or how she squeezed when she was especially giddy. There were moments when her thumb stroked the soft spot by his own; moments that felt like concealed magic between the pair of them. He could describe the softness of her touch like a painter; which corresponded with her heart, but would not spill her secrets unwisely.

What he would tell any soul that would listen however was that as tender as such hands were, it was their strength he admired the most. Essätha was resolute when she held on to something. He was the perfect example. He had been reluctant to be held; sharp and barbed as his retorts, but she had held on nevertheless. She held him together when he felt he had nothing else, and he would never have enough words of gratitude to tell her how much her kindness meant to him.

The warmth in her eyes that usually lifted him and left him soaring was fading before him though, following the waning smile of sadness. He wanted to cling to to the feeling of her hands though, that said a different story than her face. Her gaze said heartbroken where her fingertips said hope.

“You will write me back, won’t you?” Essie probed, an unexplained quietness to her tone.

The nobleman still felt numb. All he could think about was her hands, and how they fit against his own so nicely. What was he supposed to do when hers were no longer there to grasp? What was he to do with his fingers, if not to hold hers?

She waited patiently, and with a growing sorrow in her eyes. His tongue felt too heavy to speak; his throat too tightly constricted to produce words. How could he answer such a question? With glee? With ushered affirmation? How was he supposed to say a word when his voice felt lost?

Those digits he adored fidgeted nervously against his own. She plucked her fingers free of his, but not without effort. Not with how he still tried so desperately to hold on.

Don’t go.

The words just wouldn’t come out. Was this not the peak of love? To let the dove fly where she wanted? To not let her go if only to pray she came back?

I have so much I still want to say to you, just don’t go.

Essätha let out a shaky exhale, a quiet murmur escaping her as she pat his frozen-hands, “Take care of yourself, my lord Amon.”

She leaned in close. Her presence left Amon even more breathless; her beauty, the air around her somehow gentler, kinder, too real and soft. The fragrance of orchid and pomegranate on her skin was alluring; a sacred sin you just wanted to sink your teeth into. She had the most enchanting of eyes; that golden-brown glow that just made the world fall silent. He could hear his own heartbeat. He thought he could hear hers, too.

Her lips grazed his cheek delicately, and she pulled away.

It was at that moment he realized he didn’t know how to say goodbye. He didn’t want to let go.

A marble statue turned to life, he reached out for her hand, but it was too late. She had turned away. He went unnoticed.

His lungs were so cold. The air around him was suddenly frigid and less vibrant.

What happens next? The mechanics in his brain caught; the gears and wires fried. Watching her walk away, standing on the side of the road, afraid and hurting. Is this what was supposed to happen? Was he the Eurydice in this story, bound to call her back and damn both of their souls? Was he doing the right thing, letting her go?

Amon inhaled sharply for the first time, and his chest heaved. The world ahead looked like a tunnel he remembered from before. Lonely, broken, the walls falling down upon him. Where was the exit? What was he supposed to do now? Who was he going to be? He could turn back and go home to his comforts, and take back the mantle that was his place but it felt so unfulfilling. Lifeless. What came after all was lost? How did you find yourself again after everything he’d lost before, and now this.

What did the blind man do when he could finally see the first time in his life? Go back to the shadows? Accept that the colors were too bright, and make no attempt to extend a hand to greet them?

He could not see Essie anymore. It was not just from the liquid swimming unshed in his eyes, either. She was too far from him now. His heart was free. Maybe this is how his story was meant to end. To go back to the beginning of it all.

Turning his glazed over gaze down to his fingers, he stared at their empty spaces. He could still hear her whispers against his calluses. He could still feel her breath making his pulse race; the promises they’d make together, the way she reminded him that he knew how to be delicate. He could still feel the ghost of her touch where her fingers laced against his own.

Was it really over? If he never said the words, not even once, was it ever truly over? Would he ever be able to let go of the regret?

Licking his lips, Amon took a step forward. Then another; aware of how unsteady his limbs felt. He took another. Gravity pulled him forward, as though he was bound to collapse if he did not keep the momentum. A jagged toddle turned into a brisk walk, into a jog, into a full out sprint as he charged down the street. Head down, his boots charged before him, pounding the dirt so fast it was almost like he was flying.

People turned to stare at him as he bolted by, baffled. A younger man he clipped nearly stumbled and fell, letting out a string of curses as his billowing cloak whipped behind him. Amon’s ears were ringing though; the air whistling. He had to tell her. If nothing else, his heart could truly be at peace. The earth could swallow what remained of him then and he would know he’d done enough, because he’d done what he could. He could learn to die slowly, and solitary, but he needed to lay it all out to her first and be sure. He had to be sure.

There she was, standing beside a horse-drawn dray waiting to consult for passage out of his territory and out of his life. There she was, with her hand wrapped around the strap of her bag and the nervously twirling a lock of soft ebony between her fingers anxiously.

Gasping for oxygen, Amon nearly collided with a woman and child stepping out of a nearby building before him. He swerved; his entire body jolted, and he fumbled to skip around the pair. The lady, wide-eyed, clutched her toddler close in alarm as broke out into a run once more as he passed them, panting.

Essie dropped her bag on the back of the cart, and placed a foot up on a metal bar near the bottom to climb in.

“WAIT!”

She was part of the way hoisted up when her spine grew rigid, and she froze. Dropping her foot back to the ground, she turned to look back at him.

Oh Pelor, he could breathe.

Dragging in every bit of air he could, he pushed his burning legs harder; faster, hurling himself in what felt like the final mile of a long-drawn race. Essätha dropped her other foot from the bar to the ground and grew tense, as though expecting him to collide with her.

He did.

Unable to stop or slow his speed he skidded on his boots, stumbled, and grabbed her with arms out. There was only just enough seconds in his trip-and-tumble footing for him to turn, falling back into the wagon with a thud that made the horses jump and prance uneasily. Pain flared up in his hip where it struck the sturdy wood, but it was nothing compared to the agony in letting her just walk away.

Gasping raggedly, the nobleman embraced her tightly, wheezing, “Don’t go!”

Essätha sharply exhaled against his collarbone. “M’lord-”

“Please!”

“Amon-”

“Essätha I love you,” he groaned, squeezing her tightly to his chest. He felt whole. He felt whole.

Her stunned silence caused a creeping anxiety to crawl under his skin. The nobleman fought against its talons, scrapping at his vocal chords. He held her tightly a little longer to get his barrings; to let the sun melt away the ice on his soul, before he could let her go.

With shaky hands, he cupped her face. She was looking down at him, mouth agape.

“If you must leave; if my love is not enough or not what you wanted, I-” he swallowed down the lump in his throat- “I will understand. But I am begging you, if you feel anything for me; if only small, if uncertain but there, please. Please give me a chance, Essie, I swear I will do everything in my power to make you happy, to love you the right way if you will let me. If you’ll have me. Please.”

“I will give you everything I have,” he continued on, hastily, “Everything.”

The sorceress’ mouth still hung open. Her cheeks were warm beneath his palms; holding a dusky pink glow.

Amon pulled her face nearer, and pressed his lips to her forehead tenderly.

Something wet struck him on the cheek, trickling down his face.

When he pulled away, he could see the tears spilling over her features. His heartstrings felt pulled in every which way; tangled as he hastily; gingerly began to wipe the moisture from beneath her eyes.

“I thought…” her voice wobbled and breath hitched, “I- I’m sorry-”

A fissure appeared; sucking his heart into a void.

“- I d-didn’t think you wanted me. N-Not like… this.”

Clinging to faith, he asked with breathless confusion, “Like what?”

Essie’s lower lip wobbled. She reached for him; those sweet hands trembling as she stroked his beard, his sideburns, his cheeks and his nose. He felt consumed by her. Healed. Alive.

“I was leaving because… Because I- I thought it would be better than to see you… forget me.” She bit her lower lip. “Let go of me. Move on and… fall madly in love…”

“I am madly in love,” Amon defended gruffly, stubbornly pulling her closer until her forehead rested to his. “I am madly and fiercely in love with you.”

A smile rose up timidly on her lips. He could feel the stutter in his heartbeat, to see something so lovely so close.

“I am rather foolish,” she whispered with guilt.

“I should have told you sooner.”

“You were afraid?”

“Yes.”

Essie pressed her lips delicately against his; soft edges of flowerpetals whispering against his mouth. “I’m sorry I didn’t show you how much I love you, to convince you of my hearts yearning. I’m… still new to the feeling.”

“You love me?” he mumbled in a cracked voice.

Her smile grew, and twinkled joy in her eyes. “I love you infinitely, m’lord Amon.”

Throwing doubt out, Amon pulled her closer once more to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Her fingers, all the while, caressed his face. A touch he could never forget.

“I will help you navigate the feelings, if you will help guide me through mine,” he offered in a crooning, anticipating voice.

She smiled brightly, a quiet laugh escaping her. Her fingertips ran through his hair and lightly scraped his scalp.

“I would like that very much.”

Grinning like a fool, he brushed the hair out of Essie’s face. Relief and calm lowered his heartrate as she nestled closer, her nose rubbing against his own.

A quiet noise intruded on their intimate moment, as someone cleared their throat irritably.

“Would ye two decide if ye want on or off m’ah wagon? I’ve got places to be, and ye rallied up the horses ‘nough without your snoggin’.”

His face flushed as much as Essätha’s, Amon sheepishly helped her to stand up. His hip throbbed from striking the damn cart, making him since as he peeled himself off it. He reached for her hand one last time, nervously licking his lips as he met her eyes.

“Ready to go home?”

Essie reached around him. Worry gnawed at him.

Producing her bag, she slung it around her shoulder and took hold of his hand, squeezing his fingers in a familiar way as she gazed into his eyes.

“Lets.”

#qhost story #OTP: Essamon #Essatha Meduza #Amon Illiad #softly written

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mercurialmist · 3 years

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Orts, Meghan Murphy, 2021

When coral and poppy lipsticks melt into waxy pools they are scraped away. Yet the empty tubes remain, rimmed with colorful remnants of time.

The residue of laughing painted lips cling to hollow silver shells. The stifled air, moist with trapped memories, turns acidic, tarnishing the silver bullets in blues and greens. The weaker metals succumb to corrosion and the smooth geometric objects of the vanity descend into the mirrored surface…an infinite reflected universe of pock-marked moons and rust-cratered pits. Glass perfume bottles, whose contents have long-since evaporated, reveal droplets of gooey condensation on the inside.

Every time I turn on a faucet the water splutters in mud brown streams before finally fading to a pale yellow trickle.

Inside this house there is no letting go.

We can’t even replace the carpets, until the carpets speak for themselves—abruptly unraveling to trip us up. Failing plumbing stains the walls in murky teardrops, rivulets cascading down, down into the earth—and the same shade of paint is used to cover up the blooming mold. The wallpaper-ed rooms are less lucky—if the wallpaper is no longer in production then it stays, doomed to gradually be absorbed by the sweating house. A bathroom with walls of vibrantly colored, life-sized birds has faded from ornate detail to abstract shapes. The yellow finch that used to watch me with a discerning eye, has been reduced to the silhouette for a toddler’s puzzle.

The house gasps, groans, wheezes and secretes …

There are birds of all materials here. Porcelain eagles, taxidermy ducks and pheasants, delicate glass swans, a bronze peacock figurine…..

On the wall of the den is the mounted head of an indeterminant creature. Its mouth is open to reveal pointed white teeth and I see my brother and I reflected in the protruding marble eyes.

“It’s a fox,” I say.

��“No,” my brother responds resolutely. “It’s an opossum.”

The toy box, an excavation site where the heavy wooden blocks of my mother’s childhood lay at the bottom and my own plastic toys float towards the top, all webbed together by the roots of tangled doll hair. We prefer to play with the bronzes—a collection of dog-sized statues line a room, an infinite circular migration. We climb on to ungiving saddles, little hands grasping cold buffalo horns and clutching at the faces of stoic Mohican chiefs.

I am all too aware of the constant surveillance that follows my padded footsteps. The walls are covered in heavy oil paintings, depicting dramatic scenes of nature—a ship caught in the throes of an angry sea, horses (so many herds of horses) in various landscapes—galloping, grazing, leaping into the air with rolling white eyes—and two large portraits of them, stationed in the heart of the house.

The grand piano sits below their looming faces—a glossy sacrificial altar. The ebony surface is covered in a clutter of picture frames, the many factions of a tangled family tree. The newest faces and unions vie for the front, dangerously close to the edge, while past, ended marriages and children long grown linger in the back.…. It’s the photos that don’t make it in the frames that matter—those candid moments that break through the glossy sheen.

I enter rooms on tip-toe, and hold my breath, always waiting for…what? To see the statues scramble back into place? The portraits conversing? I can’t even find peace in the bathroom, where a framed, larger-than-life nude woman bathes in the moonlight, glancing accusatorially over her shoulder at me.

And when it all becomes unbearable, all that empty, heavy space, all the unblinking eyes, I defy the house the only way a child can. I open the home stereo system, installed under the old record player, and press play on the album ‘Now That’s What I Call Music. 9.’ There is something immensely satisfying about filling the space with the pulsating base of Missy Elliot and dancing spastically around the house. Pausing in front of china cabinets and display cases to flail my limbs wildly. I am both defying the on-looking artefacts and also moving, running, prancing, and crawling for them. I scream the obscene lyrics, and when I don’t know the words I fill the void with howls, yelps and guttural cries.

In the summer, we collect dozens of inky black tadpoles from the pond and bring them inside to observe their evolution into frogs. With transfixed satisfaction we watch the wiggling amphibians absorb their tails and gills, to sprout webbed feet, gradually preferring the floating branches to the depths of the tank.

By the time the frogs are leaping and croaking, their startling ruckus is too erratic and I can feel the house expelling their presence. When I release the frogs, I think of the mounted fox, collecting dust in his perpetual snarl, glass stags frozen in flight, the bronze boar in everlasting terror and the hounds always tensed to lunge.

We have granted these things a power and their stillness now vibrates with a tension that will surely crack if the white porcelain arms of ballerinas, extended high over heads, don’t finally rest.

Every closet and drawer is filled with them. Racks of dresses hang in a shocking burst of color that even years of mothballs can’t subdue. Stacked boxes of white leather gloves, waiting to either mold itself to my skin in a permanent grasp or disintegrate from the shock of warm, pulsating flesh. His imposing army of suits, the outgrown shells of a larger-than-life man.

Over the years, we grow bolder and shift through her dresses, fingering the stiff fabrics and choosing our favorites.

“Try them on girls,” they whisper.

We are all silent as the rigid materials swallow our pre-pubescent bodies, but there is no warm encasing or folding of fabric over our slight frames. The dresses stubbornly maintain their womanly shapes, and we are just sticks propping up the figure of her.

It’s when we start to move that the ritual commences. There is something intimate and precious, and thrilling, because we know it is wrong to be wearing her clothes. In these gowns we feel elegant and graceful and hold our heads high as we twirl and pirouette through the house like a coronation—a sense of importance and birth-right.

We baptize the stiff dresses in our sweat and the dusty-dry fabric greedily soaks in youthful beads of perspiration…a secretion of inheritance.

…10 years later

“Now that I’ve left, when I come back to the house I feel like that boy, Holden, from Catcher in the Rye,” he says with a half-smile. His posture is rigid though, and I find my brother’s resigned behavior maddening, as if we hadn’t spent our childhood living here. Hands stuffed in his coat, he winds through the room, giving the furnishings a wide berth.

“Remember,” he continues, “how Holden loved the Natural History Museum as a child and suddenly he can’t bear going back because he’s changed and everything remains the same inside the museum?”

I only vaguely remember something about a red (or was it orange?) hat and a carousal. His eyes finally land on the oversized portraits of our great-grandparents, dominating the living room, and his expression sets.

“Meg,” he is resolute but I can sense a dread in his voice that alarms me.

“I love you and I want to set you free.” He emphasizes “free” as if it means so much more than I understand.

“Sometimes the power of a place, an artefact, or a story, can help guide us into our own. But this has gotten way out of hand. We,” he gestures around the room to indicate our family, “we were once the weavers of our truth. But, suddenly our hands couldn’t keep up with the loom, or it was like the loom didn’t need us anymore…and now we’re tangled, trapped, suffocating in our own creation, while the story shuttles on. I hope that you are able to let it all go…leave this tangled mess where it lies. Perhaps pause to wonder at the knots, frayed ends, and faded dyes…at this jumbled creature that has enveloped you, and what it once was. I want you to feel the blood start to circulate back into limbs that you haven’t even realized are numb, wrapped up in this vice-like thread. When all this is over, maybe take a strand or two with you to carry around as a reminder.”

In the back of my mind I can hear my cousins’ comments about how lost my brother is. How ungrateful he is to turn his back on all that our family has worked so hard to achieve, and how our spoiled upbringing is the only explanation for his dissatisfaction.

“I don’t understand…”

He surges on:

“You know how Grandpa taught me how to fish? And how I was so excited that I nearly hooked myself in the eye?” I smile fondly as he touches his brow, where a small scar disrupts the arc of hair.

“That never happened. I got this scar from hitting my head on the coffee table. I don’t even like fishing. And I barely remember them!”

He gestures accusatorily at the serene, smiling faces on the wall.

I am horrified.

I was born shortly after my great-grandparents had died, and grew up envying and reveling in everyone else’s memories of them.

“I started to catch on that everybody in our family had these special moments with them, and that there was never any kind of timeline or specific setting. And everyone is always trying to up each other with how meaningful their memories are. Aunt Susan got herself into trouble when she went a bit too far with her sailing story, involving that storm and shipwreck, forgetting that Grandpa never learned to swim.”

He picks up a porcelain horse from the mantle-piece and snaps a leg off. For a moment I swear I hear the terribly crisp ‘crack!’ of breaking glass, resounding through the house. Instead, there is only my own sharp gasp and a dull splintering sound.

“This isn’t hand-made, limited edition porcelain from Vienna. It’s acrylic. Probably from China. Maybe there was an original figurine once-upon-a-time, and maybe Grandma really did smuggle it back from Europe in her jacket, but this particular one is the third acrylic replica—in our lifetime—to be placed here.”

He looks at me pleadingly, “surely you must have caught-on that something was up…”

I look around the room; was there an imperceptible dulling of color and light? Had there always been so much…stuff? Every surface is covered with the treasured belongings of my great-grandparents. I finger the scratchy wool of pillows she crocheted. Here was his rifle collection, above a desk littered with her stationary and a heavy glass paper weight. And suddenly I feel those binding ties that he had been talking about. Every object, painting, and photograph that has been eternalized in my memory over the years, is connected to me by hundreds of threads tied to my ribcage. As I stare at the tremoring silky strands, I wonder whether I spun this web or if the objects themselves cast the net. And now I can never unsee or un-feel myself caught, suspended, propped-up in this thing. I realize that these are ties only I can sever. But what if these little connections are what hold me upright? I picture myself a crumpled heap on the floor, with no more wonder and certainty to buoy me back up.

“Hurry!” My brother says, an edge of desperation in his voice, “before it is too late.”

I frantically begin to pull…and pull and pull and the fibrous strings just keep coming….slipping, wet and glistening, through my skin… and then with a panic I press on my stomach and, instead of my bottom ribs, all I feel is soft, vulnerable intestines. I am unraveling myself. I am this thread, and I was moments away from unmaking myself.

Suddenly, my brother’s face transforms. As I watch, it continues to mutate between gender and age, and yet there is something familiar looking back at me. In skin that is soft, taut, and lined—all at once—I glimpse iterations of the same eye-shape, and pointed chin. And I am not afraid. “You have passed the test. And so, you have earned these—The Scissors of Acceptance, and The Stone of Truth.” They pass me a pair of small silver scissors and a whetstone, that sits reassuringly in the palm of my hand.

“But ask yourself: why was it so easy for my little tale and demonstration to nearly unspool you?”

When does the silence of family secrets, glaring omissions and mysterious gaps, accumulate to become more substantial than what is known? Perhaps the unspoken and unacknowledged is the backbone of the narrative. Perhaps one doesn’t necessarily contradict, or negate, the other.

I can not pull, or exorcise this thing from my body; I must accept it for what it is and be grateful that it supported my trembling legs until I could stand on my own. I use The Scissors of Acceptance, sharpened by The Stone of Truth, to cut the strings. Each snip of the scissors is a snapped chord—a violent jerk, quivering, and finally stillness.

I leave the house. And these ‘orts’—leftover fragments of the past—trail behind me in a soft silver wake. As I continue moving, the ghostly little strings begin to tentatively seek each other, connect like grasping hands, and eventually these remaining ties are the beginning of something new, and whole. A sheening garment, light as air, covers me like a second skin—as comforting as a blanket and protective as armor.

See more of Meghan’s work at: https://www.everythingforever.net/meghan-murphy

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dancingsparks · 4 years

Text

The Only Thing Worse Than Spotting A Spider

A silly little Dron fic, inspired by my own incompetence at dealing with spiders. Thank you so much @randoyoyo for beta-reading this!

Also on Ao3

“And bring that lovely man of yours with you next time, you hear me? I get terribly lonely with no visitors all day.” Ron snorts — Ethel is many things, but she is most certainly not lonely. Ethel has a family big enough to rival Ron’s own, everyone coming by regularly, carrying food and bringing stories to entertain the old lady. She is sweet, a little too forward sometimes maybe, but nobody can stay angry at her for long. She is the kind of neighbour who invites you to tea, who sees everything and gives you knowing smirks when you pass her in the hallway. Ethel had realised Draco moved in with him way before Ron did, for example — a fact they both still tease him mercilessly over.

“As if I could keep him away if I tried. You know he is already planning which cake we should bring next time.” Ethel cackles at that, her laugh reverberating in the corridor and up the stairs, filling Ron with warmth. He truly didn’t expect to make such good friends when he moved out, and into a muggle area too! But now, standing here with Ethel after being dragged in for a quick cup of tea on his way up to his and Draco’s flat, Ron can’t imagine anything else.

“Chocolate dear, it’s my favourite.” Ron can already picture Draco, only his curls showing over the heavy books with complicated recipes, scoffing at the mere mention of something as plebeian as chocolate cake. He would whip out something spectacular, fancy and elegant, proudly present it and get awed compliments — but never as good as chocolate cake.

If he’s honest, Ron never understood Draco’s problem with chocolate, why he doesn’t just bake the cake already. He himself loves it, and Draco has a sweet tooth — he loves everything with chocolate. And yet Draco stubbornly refuses, pulling on his apron and setting to work. It’s endearing, and Ron loves watching him, the concentrated little frown, the graceful movements through the kitchen, the faint layer of flour settling on him and giving him a ghostly look, the inevitable dough tasting.

“He knows that, Ethel.” Ron presses a kiss on her cheek, salutes her and dashes up to meet his boyfriend before she can keep him any longer. All this talk of cakes made him hungry. Or maybe it’s the anticipation, the giddy excitement.

Today is his and Draco’s one-year anniversary. No one thought they would make it this long. Hell, Ron didn’t think they would make it this long. When he saw Draco working in the Bakery, following Harry around who insisted he was up to something — poisoning cakes, money laundering, potion smuggling — they quickly became regulars, Ron eating Draco’s delicious cakes and Harry watching him suspiciously.

Ron doesn’t remember how Harry talked him into dating Draco to find out more, to gain his trust and destroy the evil scheme from behind enemy lines. He does remember the gobsmacked expression on his face when Ron told him he wasn’t pretending anymore, hadn’t been for a long time and won’t ever be again. It took a lot of groveling for Draco to forgive him his less than pure intentions at the beginning, but Ron wouldn’t change a thing, not if it meant giving up what they built for themselves.

To celebrate, and spite all those who told them they wouldn’t last a month, Draco chose a fancy dish Ron can’t even pronounce to be prepared by themselves. And with that he meant of course Ron would do the cooking, while he himself does everything in his power to distract him. That is how it always goes when they cook, Draco’s skills limited to an astounding palette of soup — the talent for potions definitely showing — and screwing up the meals Ron would cook. He would season them all wrong, use the worst possible ingredients, nibble on Ron’s neck just so. They ended up with far too many burned meals, ordering take away instead.

This meal would probably be no different. The thought that Draco would restrain himself so they could eat Ron’s first and most likely barely passable attempt at an incredible complicated meal is ludicrous. If Draco wanted a fancy meal, he would have dragged him to a restaurant. Ron can live very well without that though, without being stuffed in in formal dress robes, without being observed by others and forced to behave all stiff and appropriate. He would do it for Draco, though he didn’t want to do it as often as Ron feared, thank Merlin.

Whistling some tune that is stuck in his head through frequent repetitions in the radio, Ron unlocks the door. “Love, I’m home.”

He waits for the shouted reminder Don’t call me that, sweetheart, the ritual a mockery of surgery-sweet pet names they themselves would never admit to using. He frowns when it doesn’t come, closing the door and placing the groceries on the floor, out of the way. He slips out of his shoes, lines them up carefully — Draco wouldn’t shut up about it for a month if he didn’t — and steps on socked and thus silent feet further into the flat.

It’s silent, eerily so, tension in the air, and Ron is gripping his wand, whole body ready to attack, to deflect and defend. Dread pools in Ron’s gut, spreading heavily through his veins, creeping over his skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. He is wound up tight, ready — needing — to burst.

“Draco?” Keeping the waver, the uncertainty, the fear out his voice is harder than expected, the hold on his wand tightening subconsciously. Ron didn’t expect an answer, and when he hears Draco call from the kitchen he quickly moves towards him, not letting up his guarding but hastening his steps, wanting to help him, to free him — whatever he needs.

The picture that greets him in the kitchen is … not what Ron was expecting. Draco seems unharmed, a little ruffled but not hurt or injured. That’s good. It would be great, but he is also standing on a chair, clutching his arms around himself and looking frightened, eyes frantically searching.

The surge of relief that washed through Ron at seeing Draco not in a puddle of his own blood is quickly crashed in the realisation of just how not alright Draco actually is. Taking measured steps towards him, hands raised to show he doesn’t mean harm, Ron moves farther into the kitchen. Draco eyes flit to him but don’t stay, searching the walls. Ron looks around himself, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

There is their counter, things already set up for Ron to start cooking; there is the fridge, with their many photographs of themselves, of friends and family; there is their table, Draco standing on one of the chairs. That is not all that unusual, now that he thinks about it: Draco is a drama queen. After having assured himself everything is fine, Ron is pretty confident Draco is exaggerating.

Ron loves these moments, when he can come in and save him, sweep him of his feet like a chivalrous knight rescuing a damsel in distress. Draco, however, did not appreciate the comparison and Ron slept on the couch for a week after foolishly mentioning it to him.

“Where is the monster?” He expected Draco to laugh, indulge him in the game and describe a fearsome beast hiding under their table maybe, glare at him and threaten him for daring to make fun of him.

Draco does none of these things, he keeps looking around, searching.

“You think I would be standing here if I knew?” Ron frowns at him, that’s neither here nor there. But at least Draco doesn’t sound scared, more impatient and annoyed than anything else.

“Okay what is going on here?”

“There was a spider here, climbing on the wall, and now it’s gone.” Draco is looking at him now, raising an eyebrow at him as if Ron is supposed to fix this.

But Ron can’t move, the words hitting him over the head and paralysing him. He can feel them, the spiders, crawling on his skin, legs moving quick and light, ghosting touches creeping up his body and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Without thinking, trying to escape the sensation, the threat, Ron jumps up onto the chair, clinging to Draco for dear life.

“Let go of me!” Ignoring his protest, Ron looks around, frantically searching, mind running wild with images of spiders emerging from every crack, every corner, coming down the walls and covering every surface.

“Ronald, look at me.” His head is being turned around, slim hands holding him and stroking his face, Draco looking at him with wide grey eyes, concerned. “Now, that is better isn’t it?”

That really is better, yes. Ron can feel himself calming down, the sensation of hairy legs on his back lifting and replaced with the soft touch on his face, Draco taking up his senses.

“There you are, better now?” Ron nods mutely, embarrassment coming over him and making him blush. The worried frown on Draco’s face disappears, replaced with a smirk that rings every alarm bell in Ron’s head. This particular smirk seldom means good for him.

“What kind of Gryffindor are you, fleeing from a little spider?” Against all expectations, they jab doesn’t hurt, doesn’t remind him of his failure in bravery, but instead calms him down further, even makes him laugh. He shoves at Draco in retaliation; wouldn’t do to let him think he can get away with that kind of thing.

Draco sways precariously, letting out a most undignified squeak that he would deny later, not expecting the shove. Ron abruptly remembers they are standing on a chair, that place is limited right now. Not wanting Draco to fall on the floor — he would never let him forget about that, Ron can already hear him complain: that one time Ron tried to feed him to a spider and hoped to flee while it was distracted, gorging on poor, helpless Draco. Ron quickly grabs him, pulling him back in.

“What kind of Slytherin are you, not having come up with an ingenious plan to get us out of here?” Draco glares at him, cross over his near fall, blushing and trying very hard to appear unaffected. It is, despite their circumstances, rather lovely.

“The plan was to make you deal with it, obviously. Don’t blame me for neglecting your duties.” Draco is adorable when he is pouting, not that he takes favourable to being told. Draco has many wonderful traits he doesn’t like pointed out; Ron learnt to appreciate them silently.

“My duty, is it?”

“Of course, why else would I keep you around?” Ron can think of quite many reasons why Draco is keeping him around; like the fact that he is providing food, that Draco makes him carry around the heavy stuff when needed, that he makes him laugh every day.

None of these are worth bringing up now, not when indulging Draco in his antics always proved to be entertaining.

“Yeah? Let me deal with this then.” Casting another look through the room, searching for the spider again and not finding anything, Ron nods to himself. He can do this, he is a Gryffindor, for Godric’s sake!

Determined he steps down from the chair, pulling a startled Draco down with him and carrying him out of the infested kitchen as quickly as possible. It’s neither as easy nor as heroic as expected, Draco struggling in his hold, testing his balance and complaining loudly.

Ron ignores him, taking long steps to bring them into safety.

He only stops once they are in the living room, far away from the kitchen and with the floo close should further escaping be needed.

“Fine, you are a true Gryffindor, foolish and brash and constantly needing to prove your valour. Will you set me down now?” Ron doesn’t want to, now that Draco finally stilled and holds on to him instead, sitting him back down is the last thing he wants to do.

Draco, clever as he is, realises that too. “No! I know this look, there is no way I’m kissing you while our house is —”

He doesn’t continue, instead gesticulating wildly and grimacing in the direction of their kitchen.

Right. The spider.

Ron certainly doesn’t want to go back in, and he knows that letting Draco deal with it would entail the entire house being meticulously cleaned by the exterminators. Which is a totally unnecessary and overly dramatic path of action. All they need is someone to go in there, catch the darn thing and release it in some garden far away from here. Ron still remembers the lecture Harry held about not killing — Harry!

That is the solution! Harry could deal with the spider while he and Draco drink a nice cup of tea to recover from the shock, and as thanks he will invite Harry to stay for dinner sometime. Watching Harry and Draco bicker and pretend not to like each other is hilarious and it has been way too long since Ron got the chance.

“No worries love, I have a plan.” Draco raises an eyebrow at that and opens his mouth to argue, but Ron just drops a quick kiss on his nose, distracting him, and grabs the floo powder.

Ron won’t allow their anniversary to be spoilt by something trifling as this. They both dealt with worse, fate would have to try harder if it wants to ruin their happiness.

#draco x ron #ron x draco #dron #hp #fanfic #my writing #domestic fluff

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