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colderdrafts · 2 years ago

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13: Home safe

The Great Assembly, gender neutral reader x monster (male naga). Sfw. Previous Next

Elise lives alone in a regular sized house in the outskirts of town. It's an older brick building with a matted roof, and connected to a large unkempt garden - many things grow here, but it's clear to see Elise doesn't bother much with controlling where it grows.

The interior is a different story, however. It reminds you of a cozy farmhouse a nuclear family would visit to 'get away from it all'. Lots of earth colors, old furniture and cupboards, and a large heap of plants in every room. From the entrance is a road to the kitchen and living room, and a bathroom behind the staircase. Upstairs is another hallway, leading into three separate smaller rooms; Elise's bedroom, a guest room and a home office.

"Sometimes my brother stays over for a few days, so I put up a space for him," Elise explains while you unload your things.

You've been given the guest room, where there's an actual bed, seeing as Amren is just as comfortable on his coils, so he'll take the office.

"Pardon the mattress is a bit stiff, the wierdo likes sleeping like it's on a rock," she chuckles.

"It'll be fine," you assure her. Though when you sit down you realize she wasn't exaggerating. How a mattress can just promptly refuse to give in to you putting weight on it is something you'll have to file under 'troll things' in your mind.

Elise leaves you to get some dinner started, and you settle in. You sit back down on the brick mattress, and breathe out slowly, trying to get all the tension and dull aching in your battered body to settle for a bit. Just a little moment of calm. You’re safe.

It doesn’t work very well.

You grimace, and pull out Irwin's phone. Poor thing has run out of power. Not that you would have much use for it now, though something about letting his phone die rings an illogical guilt deep in your core. You couldn't take care of him, and now you can't even take care of his phone?

There's a knock on the door, and you welcome the distraction, getting into a sitting position. It's Amren.

"Elise says dinners ready in about an hour," he announces as he enters, but then frowns. “..Is that Irwin’s phone?”

“Yep,” you reply.

“You did not hand it to the police?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

He suddenly looks very tired. “Tiny, you’re not considering trying to find Irwin on your own, are you?”

Are you?

You can’t stop worrying, and for good reason. He’s missing, and you didn’t even feel comfortable collaborating with the people who are supposed to find him. What options does he have, then? You look up at Amren. “I don’t know,” you repeat.

He flicks his tongue and sighs, looking like he's trying very hard to keep from reprimanding you. He enters fully and closes the door behind him, settling in front of you. “Did what the Officer said make you think to keep it?”

You're honestly surprised at the very patient tone he's using right now. You'd expected he'd at least tell you how dumb the decision was, quip at you or something. Right now he just focuses on you and patiently waits for you to speak - it's almost like he's done this before.

Oh, right. He's a security guard. He's using his training to deal with this conversation on legality matters.

You elaborate as best as you can what you felt when talking to the Officer, going over again how something in the conversation didn’t add up. He heard it himself, but it seems he wants the full version. Amren listens intently, but he’s difficult to read.

“You realize this might make it harder for them to do their jobs and find him?” he asks.

“I do. I still don’t trust them.”

To your surprise, he just nods. “You mistrust is not entirely unfounded. What happened is.. odd. I don't necessarily agree with the decision, but until we know for sure, perhaps you should hold on to it."

"I know it's dumb, but I can't just hand it over not knowing what I'm giving to who," you frown. "It feels like taking one of Irwin's chances away."

He studies you for a beat. "Let me know if you change your mind."

He uncoils himself again, and goes for the door. He looks back over at you with his hand on the doorknob, nodding at the phone in your hands. "Don't leave that thing in plain sight all the time, Tiny. It'll just make it worse."

With that, he silently leaves and closes the door behind him.

"Thanks for the pep-talk," you mutter under your breath.

An hour to spare gives you time to shower and get some clean clothes on. Amren helps you re-wrap fresh bandages at the dinner table while Elise sets it.

"Thank the stars," Elise comments. "It was bad enough to have one snake stinking up the place, we didn't need two."

"Two?" you ask. "What are you talking about?"

Elise looks at you for a beat then her eyes widen. "Right! Sorry. Yeah, you reeked of Amren a bit ago. It's gone now, thankfully. You must have huddled pretty close to the fire for that level'o stank, tho."

You try not to get too offended at the prospect that you've apparently been stinking up the place, chasing away any slight embarrassment as you know exactly how that might have happened.

Amren scoffs and butts in before you can say anything.

"May I remind you I did not come here at my own volition? You dragged me here. It's your own fault it smells like me in here now." He carefully secures the bandage with claspers on your arm, sideeying her. "And you're not the best smelling individual yourself, Elise."

Elise stares at him for a beat before she splutters and laughs. "No need to get on the offensive big guy, just an observation!" she holds up her palms in a placating gesture, but her face shows only amusement. "Horse crackers, what are you so on the fence about?"

"What do you mean I 'Reek'?" you ask, halting Amren's retort.

He glares warningly at Elise, and then turns his attention to you. "I must have rubbed off on you while we were out and about," he replies. "It happens."

"Especially when it's put there on purpose," Elise trails off, nodding sagely.

Amren finishes securing the last of your bandage, ignoring her. He gently rotates your arm to check his work before he releases you, satisfied. "Done."

"Thanks," you say, expertly moving on to change the topic. "Is it a general thing with smelling each other all the time for you guys? In that case, pardon the forest don't really offer much in terms of bathing."

"Ah, no no, don't you worry, regular hum stink ain’t so bad, kinda tame honestly," Elise says, and hesitates before continuing, "all those perfumes you insist on wearing however, they're terrible. All of them. No offense."

She starts setting plates on the table. You get up to help her, but she shoots you a stern look that roots you back to your seat wordlessly.

Amren nods in agreement. "I cannot figure you out with them. It's like they're cloaking you from my senses, I can't tell what's going on with you when you wear them," he flicks his tongue as if to underline the fact.

"Perfume? Really? You prefer we go around stinking of sweat?"

"Yes," Amren says flatly, "though the neutral soaps you use are an adequate alternative. A bit off putting at first, but a few hours later you're back at a tolerable level."

You snort. You're not unfamiliar with the whole social stigma on how to smell nice with a wide variety of opinions, however with stronger sense you suppose it makes sense to dislike the stronger smells of perfume.

"Do all mons feel like that, and you've just been too polite to tell us?" you ask, somewhat amused.

"Nah, not all of us. For example, some fae love that stuff. The more you can smell like a bottle of concentrated flower-incense the better," Elise chuckles, setting a big steaming pot on the table, while Amren moves some plates out of the way, "I remember shortly after the Assembly, mons with stronger senses shared that annoying 'Hum Perfum''-thing. It was both funny and stupid. Perfume was obviously important to a lotta hums, so the meme quickly died down and we learned to deal."

Elise begins pouring a gracious amount of a hearty looking vegetable stew up on two plates, and sets them to herself and you. Your mouth waters at the sight of food that hasn't come out of a can. She then fishes out a separate smaller pot and dumps the contents on a plate for Amren. It's a healthy serving of some kind of deboned cooked meat, though it smells delicious.

"You didn't have to bother removing the bones, I can digest them just fine," Amren says.

"That's his way of saying 'thank you'," Elise winks at you, "my pleasure, Mr. Grumpy."

She grins, effectively bringing Amren's neutral expression back into a scowl.

Dinner is delicious, and you have a pleasant time chatting mostly with Elise. The flow of conversations comes pretty easy in her company, and though you're still tired, it's nice to have a distraction. Elise was right in affirming you needing company after this, your isolated apartment would just have let you sit and mull over your thoughts, worried. The down-to-earth atmosphere, the rustic vibes and your two current co-habitors provides you a sense of safety you would never have gotten at home.

Elise hurriedly sends you off to bed afterwards, though, refusing your argument that you should at least help with the dishes. You foolishly look to Amren for support, and he flat out tells you you look terrible and should sleep.

So here you are in the dark, trying to settle in on the stiff mattress, yet not being able to sleep. Fleeting images of the past nights events still intrude in your mind, bone crunching, snapping teeth, red eyes chasing you through the dark - you shudder under the covers. It's like your body doesn't want to rest, that it shouldn't. What if something happens while you're under?

You hear movement outside, and it seems Elise and Amren have finished downstairs. You get a tidbit of their conversation as they approach the foot of the stairs;

"-not sure how they just forgave me that easily. I feel so guilty," comes Elise's voice.

"Elise, even you should know that that doesn't make any sense. Why are you wasting energy on something you can't fix?" Amren says.

Elise growls in annoyance. "Because of exactly that, you insensitive slab of rocks. I can't fix it, and it's tearing me apart."

There's silence for a bit.

"..I see," Amren mutters.

Elise huffs. "Anyway. It's nice to finally see you break out of your shell a little bit," she says, changing the topic. "You're a lot different here than at the company."

"I'm at work at the company. Of course it's different," he replies. "And I wouldn't say it's as much me 'breaking out' as the hum trying to shatter me with a hammer."

Elise snickers. "Well, it worked, didn't it?" he doesn't reply, so she continues. "Genuinely apologizing? Getting defensive on their behalf? It's been barely a week and you're already a changed person."

He grumbles unintelligibly under his breath so you can't make it out, but whatever it was makes Elise stifle a spluttering laugh, mindful not to 'wake' you.

Elise says goodnight, Amren growls something, and you hear two doors opening and closing in the hallway. You lie silently in the dark with a sort of odd feeling.

About two days pass at Elise's house like this. There's not much to do out here, but the calmness of the area helps you clear your mind of the past days' troubles and focusing on healing. Mrs. Hansen has, true to her word, sent out a widespread notice for all workers that the company will remained closed until further notice while the investigation is undergoing. There are still no news of Irwin's whereabouts, and the constant gnawing worry in your stomach never really goes away.

You have come to loathe sitting still inside the house, so you distract yourself by spending most of your time in Elise's garden, wandering the paths through years of overgrowth. Despite the haphazard distribution of branches and leaves, it's rather peaceful. Your arm still aches from time to time, but it's healing nicely and the pain is at tolerable levels.

Elise spends most of her time tending to smaller projects around the house, and Amren occupies himself either wandering around the area or reading coiled up in a corner of the veranda. You've noticed despite what he sets out to do, he is somewhat always within earshot of you, like he’s scared a harpy will swing by a pluck you off the ground.

Your evenings are spent with board games and idle conversation, and the small reprieve is welcome in your current situation - but you can't truly feel at ease when you're still worried for your friend. It feels almost shameful to just hide away in an idyllic house while he's somewhere out there in danger.

Once again your nights are restless, the images of horrifying memories wont leave you alone. They’re clawing into your mind as if just daring you to try and forget them. Irwin's drunken promise rings through your head, clear as day; "I would do. Anything for you".

You wake up more than one time in a cold sweat, breathing hard to still your rampaging thoughts, murmuring of guilt, fear and worst of all, anticipation. The lack of answers and the lack of news on the situation keeps in a constant loop of anxiety - worry for Irwin, and for yourself.

You can't stay hidden here forever. But what happens when you finally go back to your own apartment?

"They're looking for someone just like you" Mira's honey sweet voice echoes in your mind, both a promise and a threat. It makes you shiver.

Who is? And why? Are they the same people who took Irwin?

Sighing, you haul yourself out of bed yet again. Maybe getting some water would help calm you down.

On the way out you pass by Irwin's phone laying on the desk and hesitate for a moment. You've been avoiding approaching it for a while now, not really ready to face what's happened - but Irwin is trapped somewhere on the other side of your hesitation, and you once again reprimand yourself for allowing him to wait. Maybe fiddling with it isn't the best idea in your current state of being, but if there's any inkling of answers or closure..

You grab it and start rummaging around your backpack for a charger - but when you fail to find it feeling around, you give in to tired impatience and simply dump the contents on the floor. Rested you can deal with the outcome.

You still don't spot your charger, but you do spot something else in the dark.

A small green leaf is sticking out from under your spare pair of shorts that is now unceremoniously lying on the floor. Your first thought is it's perhaps a leafy hitchhiker you somehow managed to pick up from the forest, and go to pick it off of your clothes - though its stem is golden, it has four petite leaves and it is completely intact despite its haphazard journey as a stowaway in your backpack.

You're holding one of the two golden clovers.

#colderwriting #monster romance #gender neutral reader #x reader #monster lover #naga #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #naga x reader

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daintyduck99 · 2 years ago

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Crush crush! Being asked to take photos, rulie

Everyone jokes that Reggie is the band's Instagram boyfriend for a reason.

He takes beautiful candid photos, seemingly at random, but the end result is always, as he says, worth it. Or, well. Almost always. It had scared Julie to death when he nearly got run over once, no matter how ethereal Willie looked in the picture Reggie had managed to take.

He'll do anything for that perfect shot, anything besides stopping in the street after Julie had cried that last time: lay on the floor, crack a joke, even sit on Alex's shoulders or rearrange the furniture. Carlos had been convinced they were being haunted until he saw Reggie do it.

So yeah. He deserves the title, and he deserves recognition for the beauty he captures, the pure amount of love he manages to filter through every photo.

The photos he takes of everyone but her.

Okay, that's not entirely fair. Julie's in plenty of group shots. She's just…not in any of the gorgeous solo candids.

"Am I vain?" she asks Flynn in a fit of desperation, frowning down at the latest picture that she isn't in. "For caring?"

Flynn wraps her in a hug. "Aw, Jules. I don't think so. Of course you're feeling left out. For what it's worth, though, I'm pretty sure he just can't look right at you."

She sighs into Flynn's shoulder. "Sure."

"I'm serious! Remember when you wore that new halter wrap bikini? He nearly fell off of the pier. Boy kept his distance so he wouldn't drown and die."

Julie shakes her head as they unravel, but she can't suppress a smile.

"There's no way. Reggie's practically part fish, Flynn."

"He was so flustered, Jules. He would've forgotten how."

She doesn't quite believe it, but it does prompt her to hatch a plan.

The next time she sees Reggie, she's wearing a new sundress and a shy smile, along with a complex braid.

He looks like a startled deer.

She lays her hand on his arm before he can retreat behind his bass, soundly ignoring the bemused looks that Luke and Alex are sending them.

"Could you do me a favor?"

A pink flush pools high on his cheeks, and she feels a little bad for putting him on the spot, but then he swallows and says—

"Anything."

And he says it so lowly and sincerely that sparks dance in the pit of her stomach.

She looks at him through her lashes.

"Would you take some pictures? So I can really see what this braid looks like?"

"Yeah," he breathes, "yeah, of course."

But he doesn't have that intense shine in his eyes as he aims her phone at her. He doesn't bite his lip, or lay on the ground, or say anything to make her smile or laugh. She eventually turns of her own volition.

And the photos he took are…fine.

They're just fine.

Every time she asks, rinse and repeat. She never gets those photos that glow.

She's starting to feel just a little unloved.

It's Flynn, of course, who figures it out.

"Jules…when's the last time you went through your deleted photos?"

"Never? You know me," she replies slowly, tracking every astonished twitch of Flynn's face with mounting dread."What is it?"

Flynn wordlessly passes her the phone.

Julie's breath catches.

She swipes through shot after shot, multiple candids of her with Reggie's signature warmth shining through. There's a softness to them that she's never seen before, though, something in the composition and the coloring and the moments he's captured that make her…

Beautiful. Bewitching.

Beloved.

The next time he sees her, he's wearing that deer in the headlights look again.

She supposes that's fair. She can count the amount of times that she's stood on his front porch on one hand.

As soon as he steps through the screen door, though, she launches herself at him, and he stumbles from the force of it, the way she presses him against the house.

The way she presses him to her heart.

She tucks her face into the crook of his neck. She tries not to cry. "Reggie."

"I'm here," he murmurs, rubbing her back. "I'm right here, Julie. What's the matter?"

"You love me," she says, stubbornly sliding her fingers through his belt loops when he flails, "and you weren't going to tell me."

His throat clicks. "How—I—how could I?"

She pulls back to look at him through her slightly tear-clumped lashes.

"You could've just showed me any of those photos. I was starting to think that I'd done something…that you didn't love me at all, and I must've done something because you love so much. I thought you never took photos of me. It…really hurt."

"Oh, Julie." He presses his lips to her forehead, a soft contrast to the roughness of his voice. "I'm sorry, I never—I only—I love you so much. Too much. I'm in love with you, Julie, and I couldn't hide it. Not unless I kept deleting all my pictures of you. The good ones, anyway."

She takes a shuddering breath. Tilts her head to meet his eyes and all of the emotions shimmering there, like so many facets of a precious set of gems.

"I wish you would've said. Reggie, don't you know? You're easy to love. I really, really like you, and I know I could fall in love with you, too. If…if you'll let me."

"Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah, if you're sure."

When she leans in to press her lips to his, she's never been more sure of anything.

The next photo he posts is one he caught of her, laughing and unaware, as she adjusts her sunhat in the passenger seat. Orange light streams through in an artful flare, and she doesn't hate the way her nose is scrunched, for once.

@therealreginald: best date w/ the best girl

@ julie's_butterflies: 💜💜💜

So. Everyone jokes that Reggie is the band's Instagram boyfriend for a reason.

Julie's just glad he's her boyfriend for real.

#rulie #reggie x julie #fluffy crush prompts #apparently this is 1000 words exactly somehow lol #ficlets with ash #julie and the phantoms

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fangsanddaggers · 11 months ago

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Astarion had dressed, but he lingered, making the bed, fussing over the man's clothes. He'd opened the window, was ready to run to it and leave, but the sound of footsteps lock him in place.

He deserved the pain he was about to receive as his eyes clenched tight and his shoulders pinched up. He wonders how it might happen, surely kindness only goes so far for a monster like-

He hears the anger first before the words. He laughs, a bitter, broken thing. The man knew nothing of the world he lived in, of the sick delight he took in killing since he was free. Cultists, goblins, undead, fiends, duegar-

They were all wretched people that deserved to die. Not once did his blade even raise towards an innocent. He'd say except to Gale, but he was far from perfect.

He turns to look at the other, trying to school his features into something empty, but he knows there's shock clear as day. He doesn't halt the hand, rather seems to almost, very nearly, lean into it. There it was, that kindness all over again. It was like that damn bard, or that frustratingly endearing warlock. And that smile. Oh, it could keep him sated for a week.

He's struck all over again with the reminder that this man truly knew nothing of his world. Elves were from story books, vampires completely foreign, perhaps his abuse is familiar, but, well. Not really a topic for a first date, is it?

He snorts at the mention of a familiar mindset, suddenly wanting to shred anything that could possibly make this impossibly sweet man think he's a monster, if that is what the other meant.

Perhaps it's the sassy wit and ease of reading people he means. Who knows.

Reporter. Huh. Somehow, that just fits.

The other leaves his side, looking for the shirt he'd folded atop the jacket on the bed for him, a strict instinctive thing to make excuses to linger in places he likes. Cazador would allow it because he was such a good-

"Tch. Something tells me anything more I say about myself might have a few broken items around the home, darling." He tuts lightly, but dares to sit almost daintily on the bed, showing he didn't want to go.

"I am two hundred and twenty seven years old." He looks to his hands, taking a shaken breath. "Near two hundred of that, was spent as His spawn. I'm sure with your sharp eye you've noticed what he's taught me, how he trained me. Starved half to death the entire time, ravenous and desperate for any putrid scrap he'll give me. Until I was infected." He taps his head, a strange amusement tickling him into a near hysterical laughter.

"To think, I'd be delighted to be infected with a Mind Flayer tadpole!" He scoffs at that, knowing the other had no clue. "It's supposed to turn me into one of them. A tentacle faced alien. Yet mine, Jeremiah as I call him, doesn't want to." He still wants to laugh at that, the idea so wild to him.

"They feed on your brain, devouring it before morphing inside your body. Yet mine refuses even a little nibble." He cackles, but still he pets the temple where Jeremiah sits, calming as he looks out the window, as sun kisses his pale skin.

"I hadn't seen the sun for near two hundred years until I was kidnapped by these creatures. Now infected? I can do what Cazador cannot; walk in the sun and live to bathe in it's warmth." It was wild, to think there was even anything he could do that his wretched Master could not.

"In short, a dull read filled with sufferance, drama and no happy ending." He sighs, leaning back to rest on a hand, rolling the other. "Blah blah, tragic backstory, blah blah, horrible and unending trauma, blah blah, tragic mess turned free yet infected. No, it's not contagious, if he leaves my head I die. you cant have little Jerjer, he's mine. If you want a tadpole, find your own." He was a touch possessive of his friend.

Without him, the sun will kill him. Without him, Cazador can take control of him again.

Without him he's no longer Astarion.

Yeah, he hadn't thought Astarion was planning on making a meal of him. That visceral physical reaction tells Roberto all he needs to know, more than the words ever could. The mask can't hide the self hatred and terror written in every line of Astarion's body.

"Figured I'd ask to be sure. Dunno how these things work after all. Didn't figure that was your angle anyway." Roberto can also tell that he's legitimately hurt Astarion for asking that, even if he really didn't think that was the goal of feeding him.

Clearly, this is a complicated thing he's stumbled into. Trauma all but oozes off Astarion, and it's all tied up in things Roberto doesn't understand, from a world he's not a part of. Asking questions and making statements is a minefield where anything could be taken poorly and cause offense and hurt.

He has the brief thought, wondering if it's worth it to even try. But then he remembers Astarion's face last night when Roberto gave instead of took and...

Fuck but Roberto is a damn bleeding heart. Just like Vash, and this is why he tried so hard to keep apart from people. The kids warmed him up again, and it's hard to go back to being cold.

So he listens. Listens and tries to keep his reaction to the descriptions to an empty expression and a tightening of the grip on his mug. Its like learning about Nicholas all over again, created to be someone's toy or pet or weapon, all but killed and remade with a chain around his neck. It makes Roberto want to break something, for all that he's not the kind of man that usually reports to violence.

That Astarion thinks himself a monster for it is just another nail in the coffin for Roberto.

He lets Astarion slip away, gives them both a moment while the elf can get dressed and covered and feeling more secure and Roberto can breathe out the need to punch something. Then he slips from his seat and follows, makes sure his steps aren't quiet enough to be missed as he steps into his bedroom and right up to the slight, pale figure.

"Someone making you a monster doesn't mean you are one," he says, voice low and still slightly tight with the edge of anger. He sighs and carefully reaches out, gives Astarion plenty of time to retreat from the hand aiming for his hip. "Me asking questions isn't the same as making accusations. I'm dealing with something I don't have a frame of reference for. Didn't mean to offend you. I don't mind the company, it's nice having someone with a familiar mindset around." He gives a little smile, one side of his muchstache tilting upward.

"Can't say I'm always in the mood for a wild night or anything, but I had a good time. Wouldn't mind a repeat or if you're just keen to talk. Been told I'm a good listener, though that might just be the reporter in me." Then he pulls away and sets to retrieving his shirt and jacket, giving Astarion space to finish getting dressed and bail of he wants to. Roberto won't try to keep him there if he's had enough.

#drunkelreporter #drunkelreporter th 1 #Thread 1

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biaswreckingfics · 2 years ago

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About that prompts list...is really hard to choose something omg

Idk what to do lol like do I go for something spooky or do I want to suffer from angst 🥴

If you can, please do Wooyoung (ateez) 122+134 since is the month of Halloween something spooky will be good

And...

Yeonjun 20+21, please I'm always weak for your angst

Thank you for doing this prompt list ❤️ and if you can't write the requests is totally fine, no pressure love 😘

Wooyoung + Spooky -Yeonjun's will be coming soon!! I like that you've decided to do both angst and spooky, and thank you for requesting spooky one!! ❤️❤️-

(Did you hear that? + Whatever you do, don't turn around.)

When your small group of friends suggested you all break into the haunted house at the edge of the woods, you nervously laughed. You're all chicken shit, so you didn't think the suggestion would ever be taken seriously. To your surprise, they all worked each other up, and the next thing you knew, you were all standing outside of the house, working up the nerve to go inside.

Your hands immediately clench onto Wooyoung's hoodie and he looks back at you in amusement. Although, you don't know why because you know the second he gets into the house, he'll be terrified. You look up at the dilapidated structure and take in the busted windows and broken porch. This is such a stupid idea. If you don't all die from being scared to death, you can always die from an infection thanks to a rusty nail instead.

Following Yeosang and Hongjoong, you and Wooyoung walk into the house. The inside is just as disgusting as the outside. Overturned furniture is thrown around, graffiti is painted on the walls, and pieces of glass crunch under your feet. A sound on the other side of the house reaches your ears and your fingers twist into Wooyoung's hoodie even more.

"Did you hear that?"

"It's an old house," Hongjoong tries to calm you. "They make all types of weird sounds… or maybe it's an animal that lives here."

You try to let his words calm you, but something isn't sitting right with you. This entire place feels wrong. Maybe it's because you're not supposed to be here, but you're getting bad vibes from the rickety building.

The front door slams shut behind you, and you all scream and turn towards it. There's no reason that door should've shut. There's no wind, and it doesn't feel like the place is leaning or angled weird, but there has to be a logical reason, right?

You feel Wooyoung begin to move away and you turn back to see the group moving deeper into the house. Before you can complain about how stupid this is, banging on the walls surrounds you. The sound comes from everywhere all at once, but you see nothing that's causing it.

The group takes off in different directions, scared by the activity, and because you're attached to Wooyoung, you end up trailing behind him. He runs into a room off to the side and leans against the wall next to the door. You come flying in after him and the two of you drop to the ground and hunch over.

Facing Wooyoung and the door to the living room, you see the fear on his face as the banging continues. You watch the living room, wondering where the other two went when it suddenly goes quiet. The banging stops and you peek around the corner to find the room as boring and empty as it originally was.

You glance at Wooyoung and note that he's looking over your shoulder at whatever room you ran into. "Whatever it was, I think it's over."

He doesn't acknowledge your words and when you begin to stand up, his arms dart out to grab yours and keep you squatted to the ground.

"What are you doing? Let's get the hell out of here."

When you try to stand up again, his grip tightens. You become irritated until his eyes slowly slide over to yours. The pure terror in them has you freezing in place.

"Whatever you do, do not turn around," he whispers. "I want you to stand up and run out of this house like it's on fire. Do you hear me?"

His expression, his tone, and his intensity have you gripped in fear, but you nod. The urge to turn around is now extremely strong, but you maintain eye contact with him. He nods back and asks if you're ready.

When you tell him yes, an answering growl behind you causes you to whimper. He quickly stands up, grabbing your hand, and the two of you run out of the house like the demons of hell are chasing you themselves.

#wooyoung drabble #wooyoung fic #wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung au #wooyoung scenarios #wooyoung imagines #ateez drabbles #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez scenarios #ateez au #ateez imagines #spooktober #spooky #jung wooyoung fanfic #jung wooyoung fic #jung wooyoung scenarios #jung wooyoung au

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saeyoungchoismaid · 5 years ago

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#48 w/ Mammon

Pairing: Mammon x gn!reader Genre: angst, fluff, vague smut Warnings: smut but it doesn’t go into detail Summary: after being with Mammon for so long and watching him go back to his old ways, you decide that you don’t want to be with him anymore Prompt #48: “I love you more than I love {item/thing}, and that’s saying a lot.”

You watch Mammon go with a frown, seeing him count the cash in his hands that's he's going to put in his account. So, he can use Goldie. You sigh once he's gone, burrowing under his blankets.

You just don't understand. When you both started dating, he was all about you. Lucifer’s-trying-to-kill-him who? Grimm who? Gambling who? His mind was filled with you and you alone.

So, what changed?

Now, all he thinks about is money, which you thought you'd never have to witness again. Sure, as the avatar of greed, he can't help it. But since dating you, that addiction to money has lessened significantly.

But here you are, lying in bed alone as Mammon leaves to go make more money. He does this every day all day, not spending a lick of time with you except for when he comes home to go to sleep, where you're waiting for him in his bed.

But then, instead of greeting you with a sweet kiss that warms you up inside, he'll just start talking about how much money he made that day. You aren't really sure how he's going about making money and you don't really want to know, nor do you really care.

After a couple of weeks of this though, you can't do it anymore. You've kissed the man maybe ten times within the last week. You need your kisses.

That night, you sleep in your own bed, finding it incredibly uncomfortable since you’ve grown so used to his luscious sheets and soft mattress.

You miss wrapping all four of your limbs around him, snuggling your face in his chest or neck. You miss his face being pressed to your head, kissing it and whispering sweet nothings to you until you fall asleep.

Before you can stop yourself, you're crying. You just want your boyfriend back. Your dork of a boyfriend who gets jealous so easily and needs one hundred kisses to be reassured that you only love him. Your boyfriend that would hold your hand under the table during meals. Your boyfriend who’ll constantly tell you just how much he loves you.

When he comes home, he's excited to see you and tell you how much money he's made. He walks into his room with a grin, looking to the bed to see your beautiful face. He pauses halfway through the door when you and your beautiful face aren't there, his brows furrowing as he begins to worry.

He walks to the closest bathroom, hoping you were just in there taking a shower or getting ready for bed. He starts to panic when you aren't in there either, his heart starting to race. His legs move before he can even process what's happening, his two limbs bringing him to your room.

He pants from how fast he ran to get here, staring at your door with fear for a long moment. What happens if you're not in there? What if you're in one of his brothers' rooms? What if you’re out in the dark Devildom and you’re in danger?

Before he can ponder anymore, he gently knocks on the door, holding his breath as he hopes that you're inside. "Go away," he hears, the reply shaky and harsh. He frowns as he turns the handle, glad it's unlocked.

"Baby? Why are ya ‘n here?" he says softly as he peeks his head in, frowning more when he sees you curled up on your bed with your back to him.

"Baby," he tries again, voice even softer.

He then hears a sniffle and all his worries amplify by three hundred. "Baby, are ya crying? What's wrong, baby?" When you don't immediately reply, he tries to fill in the blanks. "Are ya hurt? Did my brothers say somethin’ to ya? Do I needa go fight someone? Cause I will. I might lose but I'll-"

"Shut up," you snap, your voice thick with emotion. His eyes widen as his mouth snaps closed. He stays quiet, waiting for you to tell him what's wrong. When you don't, his worries grow even more.

"Darlin’," he whispers, fingers lightly brushing your back to try and soothe you.

"Don't touch me!" you shout, suddenly sitting up straight. He removes his hand from you quickly, faster than he would've if he was burned. He stares at you, hurt flashing through his eyes.

"I..." he trails off, trying to find the right words to say. "I don't understand. Let me help ya. Just talk to me, love. What's wrong?" he says quietly, wondering if that'll set you off again.

Your eyes flash to his and his heart absolutely breaks at the sight. Your eyes are red and swollen, making him wonder just how long you've been crying. Why didn't you call him? You should know that he'd drop everything to be by your side. So, why didn't you contact him?

"I want to break up," you croak out before clearing your throat, wiping at your wet face. "I want to break up," you try again. His eyes are the size of saucers, his jaw dropping to your bed.

He then starts to laugh it off, shaking his head. "Funny. No, seriously, babe. What's wrong?"

"Stop calling me that! I just told you! I want to break up! You're what’s wrong!" you shout, your face puffy from crying.

You see his heart shatter from the expression on his face, almost making you want to take it back. But you can't. You have to end this. You won't be happy if you continue to live like this.

Almost instantly, his eyes start to water. He doesn’t understand. He voices this to you. "I don't understand. Why? What did I do wrong? Lemme fix it," he stutters out, his throat starting to get tight as he tries to stop from crying.

You shake your head, looking away from him. Every time he cries, you cry. You can't cry in front of him, you have to stay strong. "Baby, please! Lemme fix this! I dunno what I did wrong bu-"

You caught him off with a sharp, cruel laugh, it not being the beautiful laugh that he's used to. "You don't know what you did wrong? It's so obvious."

The gears in his head are turning wildly, his brain working on multiple things at once. What did he do wrong? Do you really want to break up? How can he make it up to you? How can he get you to stay with him? Is this some sort of cruel joke?

God, he prays it's a cruel joke, as ironic as it is. He'd rather have everyone pop up from their hiding spots with cameras pointed at him and make fun of him while laughing. And then you'd smile that blinding smile of yours and tell him you're sorry, that his brothers made you.

But none of that happens. You just stare at him with a cold look, waiting for him to agree to break up and leave so you can cry until you have no more tears to shed. He doesn't do that though. He just stares right back at you, crying his eyes out.

"'m sorry that I dunno what I did wrong! 'm sorry for whatever I did! Just lemme make it up to ya! Tell me what I did and I'll never do it again!" he promises. He can't lose you. He might actually wither away to nothing if you do. What's he supposed to do? Go back to living hundreds of years without love other than his obsession with money?

He doesn't want that.

He wants you.

You scoff at him, looking away from him again before you start crying again. "I'm sick of being second. To money, of all things. You aren't going to change. You're the avatar of greed, so I understand. You can't help it. I'm not mad at you for it. I just want us to be over, my suffering to be over," you reply softly, cursing yourself for going soft. You just had to look at his crying face.

His crying pauses momentarily, shock taking over his sadness. That's what you're upset with him about? He starts to laugh, relief taking over his entire being.

Your eyes widen and move back to him. You can't lie, you're a little freaked out. Why in the world is he laughing now of all times?

You sigh, ready to tell him it's over and to get out when he grabs your hand. Your words die in your throat, your eyes moving from his face to your conjoined hands. You always grow weak when he touches you, you can’t help it.

"’u're so stupid. I'm so stupid. We're so stupid. But we'll be stupid together." You gape at him a bit, having trouble believing that he would call you stupid right now.

"Excuse m-"

"Baby, the money is for you. I've been workin’ so hard to get this money for ya," he whispers, his eyes shiny from the tears that were falling from them only seconds ago. You gape at him once more, trying to wrap your head around what he's saying to you.

"What?" you whisper softly, afraid if you spoke any louder, your voice would break. He laughs and suddenly pulls you into a hug, your eyes growing in size at the affection.

He laughs brightly, practically squeezing the life out of you. "I love ya so much. I love ya more than I love any of the money I could ever have, and that’s saying a lot. The money is for ya. I didn't want to tell ya cause I wanted it to be a surprise but I'm savin’ all this money for ya. Way to ruin the surprise. And don’t even ask me what the money is for cause part of the surprise is already ruined," he says lightly, teasing you at the end.

You gently push him away with watery eyes, your mouth hanging open. Before you can stop yourself, you start to sob. You can't even speak from how hard you're crying. His eyes grow wide again, watching you plummet into his chest to cry there.

"Hey! Woah! You should be happy! Why in Hades are ya crying?" he shouts, his hands coming to soothingly rub your back. You cry for a couple of minutes, just wanting to be in his arms. He doesn’t mind holding you, moving to where he's laying on his back and you're on top of him.

You pull away with a gasp of air after letting out a big sob, looking at him with bright red eyes. "You moron! I didn't know what you were doing! I just missed you constantly and I had this giant ache in my chest! You're so stupid!" you wail between shaky sobs and the hiccuping gasps for air that you can't help from how hard you’re crying.

He smiles up at you, tucking your hair behind your ear so it's not hanging in front of, or on, your wet face. "Shh, baby. I need ya to calm down first. Take some deep breaths for me, ‘kay? There ya go. I want to see my beautiful baby smile nice ‘n pretty for me."

You take some deep breaths, your chest getting lighter with each breath. Once you've calmed down, you give him a small, watery smile. He grins, cupping your cheeks with his cool hands.

"There it is! There's that smile! Oh jeez, I think I just fell ‘n love all over again! What the heck am I s’pposed to do now?" he says loudly, wanting the whole Devildom to hear about his love for you.

You giggle and try to cover his mouth, making him violently shake his head to try and get your hands off enough for him to speak. "Ya can't keep me quiet! I love (Y/n) and there's nothin’ anyone can do about it!" he screams at the top of his lungs.

You squeal with laughter, trying to get him to shut up. You eventually do the only thing you can think of that will successfully shut him up.

You push your lips to his, his head instantly stilling. He smiles into the kiss, your chest the lightest it's ever been. His hands curl around your back, sliding under your shirt to smooth over the bare skin of your back. You hum into the kiss, your chest growing fuzzy when one of his hands finds yours to hold.

He pulls away when his hand successfully finds yours, smiling lovingly up at you. "'u're so beautiful. I love ya. I love ya so much," he says softly up to you, ending each sentence with a kiss. You giggle before giving him another long kiss, trying to not let a smile break it.

"I love you more," you playfully argue, sticking your tongue out at him. He grunts and swoops in, taking your tongue into his mouth. You happily allow him to do so, humming lowly as your free hand comes up to tangle in his hair.

After making out for some time, you pull away for air to stare down at him. The atmosphere has definitely changed within the last fifteen minutes. First, it was filled with despair and rage. Then, it was filled with love, happiness, and relief. And now? Well, now you're looking into his half-lidded eyes with eyes clouded by lust.

"Lemme prove to ya that I love ya even more," he whispers, sensing the change of the mood. You smirk and happily connect your lips with his again.

You kiss until you're breathless once more, his hands wandering to find bare skin. He eventually doesn't like the fact that you aren't naked, pulling away from you to switch places with you. He tugs your shirt off before trading places with you though, throwing it onto the ground.

You smile up at him, watching him take off his shirt before connecting your lips for the nth time. You kiss for a while, Mammon's hands eventually finding their way to your nipples. He plays with them as his lips travel down, licking and sucking on your neck.

Your hands wander over his own chest before going down, being interrupted by his pants. You whine and tug on them, letting him know you want them gone. He pulls away from your neck with a smirk, pulling his pants off but leaving his boxers on.

You groan, wanting to have him inside of you already. He chuckles lowly at how impatient you are, smiling after giving you a sweet kiss. "Patience. I said I wanna show ya how much I love ya," he whispers, slowly slipping your bottoms off. He then proceeds to kiss just about every part of you, your body writhing as you try to keep from touching what his boxers are hiding.

After a while of foreplay, he finally gives you what you want. He makes sweet love to you, very different than what you two normally do. Not that you're complaining. You love to see this sweet, soft, vulnerable side of him.

You want to love him forever, to die loving him. He loves you with everything that he is and would do anything to prove so to you.

MASTERLIST

200 Followers Quote Prompt

More with Mammon

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aureatescars · 8 months ago

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He lets Leon go, thankful for the clothes and his help, but his throat is too tight to say anything again just yet. And even if it wasn't, what is there to say that Leon hasn't already said? That he doesn't already know, too?

These questions Leon is voicing out loud now are maybe the first real glimpse into the inner workings of his mind Sasha has gotten during the entire time he has known him. If nothing else Sasha has learned one thing about Leon and it is that he is a very private man, keeping things close to his chest and biting those away that dare stray too close to any kind of truth with sarcasm and crude, sometimes even cruel humor.

That Leon's thoughts are occupied by Sasha's men dying, that he thought of their deaths as a fault of his own, of failing them when they weren't his responsibility in the first place... it paints a picture of the man Leon really is, more than it speaks of the front he puts on. He is a skilled fighter, a seasoned agent, a man who — as Sasha is slowly learning — has fought too many fights and counted too many dead. He clearly has seen far more than Sasha can even imagine. But he is above all, or perhaps beneath it all rather, a caring, compassionate man.

A good man.

A good friend, too, if Sasha lets him.

He sighs when Leon leaves. But his words ring in his ears the entire time while Sasha dries himself off and struggles his way back into a cleaner, more comfortable set of clothes. Even so it takes him a quite a while before he finds the strength to speak up again after. Sasha sits in silence and looks down at his hands resting in his lap, traces the lines of his open palm with his gaze. His mind a mess, his body aching. It's difficult to find a clear thought, let alone call out for help again.

If you really had wanted to be left behind, you wouldn't have taken my hand in the first place.

A part of him, the part that is angry and griefing, wants to blame Leon for all of this. It would be easy to let him feel all of his frustration, far easier than holding it all in. He cannot fault Leon for saving him. He tells himself over and over. He is grateful. And Leon is right, he didn't want to die, but this—

He looks at his legs, weaker than ever, thinner, muscles deteriorated after weeks of little to no use. Bile rises in his throat, frustration a tight knot in his gutt. He decides to try and scooch closer to the sink and brush his teeth, the toiletries just close enough for him to reach from where he is sat.

Afterwards he splashes some cold water into his face for good measure, towelling it off roughly. With no more excuse to stall, he does call out again at last. "Leon?" He hopes he manages to keep the worst of his darker mood out of his voice. "I'm done."

Just like the first time, Leon doesn't take long to return and despite lingering embarrassment in the back of Sasha's mind he lets himself be hoisted off the chair and led to the wheelchair waiting for him outside. A worldless moment of communication passes between them, a look, a nod, and Leon moves to push Sasha down the hallway to his room by the handles of the chair.

It's not a long walk from the door to the bed either and yet Sasha knows it will remain an obstacle for him for the entirety of their stay. The wheelchair doesn't fit through the door. Leon would have to help him to and from the bed every day, morning and evening. The thought doesn't sit well with him, but there is nothing he can do other than grit his teeth and bear it.

At last, the mattress dips beneath him. It's softer than he remembers, as are the sheets, or maybe that's just the fact he spent too long in a hospital bed of late. Maybe he'll be able to sleep through the night for once, even the medication seems to finally be doing what it's supposed to as his pain slowly fades back to something more manageable.

He doesn't move to lay down just yet, still feeling vulnerable. After another deep breath and a wince when some of the tension leaves his lower back Sasha does eventually look up at Leon again. He still doesn't think he has the right words to convey what he wants to say, fears they will come out wrong in any case, but he still has to say them.

Except, it seems he's been quiet for too long. He sees Leon turn towards the door, ready to say his good night and be done with the day. He reaches the door when Sasha finds the courage to speak up again. "Leon?" His name has already become so familiar to say. He wonders how often he will get to do so before he eventually leaves and how many of his secrets he will take with him.

There is another pause in which his throat feels tight. A part of him, an ever growing one, wants to know more, wants to ask about the reasons for the hollow, haunted look he sometimes sees on Leon's face, wants to ask about the scars that he laod eyes on before, about the one on his chest in particular. It seems to pull at something within himself, a curiosity he didn't know he could possess. Sasha has never been one to pry and prod and yet, he wants to know, wants to touch even. It's disorienting, almost downright unsettling.

Pushing all his other thoughts aside he clears his throat when Leon's gaze finds his own. He still looks like he did before, defeated, tired and if it weren't for his earlier words, Sasha would think it is just the long day on the road weighing him down. But it's not. Leon made that clear with his unexpected honesty. So, when Sasha speaks up, it is all he can do to repeat what Leon said before, to make him hear it, too.

"You saved me." Despite everything. Despite them starting out as enemies. Despite him trying to kill him more than once. "You've continued to save me every day since Holigrad." His gaze is unwavering as he looks at him. "Isn't that enough?"

Put this guilt down. He thinks but doesn't know how to ask it of him. Put it down. It doesn't have to be yours. It wasn't your fight and their deaths are not on your conscience.

His brows furrow as he watches with suspicion as Leon leaves and come back again with a chair, all the while fighting the ever present embarrassment and shame that make his entire body line with tension more and more.

It only gets worse when Leon chooses to take off his shirt. He takes in Leon's bare torso, unable to keep his gaze from flickering over all the different lines and healed mementos of wounds long overcome. Sasha is no stranger to scars, his own body is lined quite a few from the civil war, but none are quite as prominent as those he can see on Leon now. Well, none except the one in the middle of his own chest and the matching one on his back where the bullet cut through him.

He can see something similar on Leon's shoulder, the scar so similar in nature to Sasha's own that it can't be from anything other than a bullet. But while prominent it is not this mark that captivates Sasha's attention.

There is a twinge of something in the back of his mind as his eyes find the center of Leon's chest. The burn he sees there is unlike anything he has ever seen before and it's almost as if an echo rings in his mind as his eyes remain glued to the area, taking in the discoloration, the shape and every other odd detail about it as if it would reveal its origin to him if he only looked at it long enough. Except... it's not, it's more like he knows somewhere deep within him what it is already.

His eyes focus on Leon's hand when he holds it out to him, and when he looks up to find his eyes again Sasha is rather abruptly reminded of where they are and what they're doing. "Right..." He says and beaces himself for the unpleasant feeling of helplessness and uselessness. The fact that he is naked makes him feel even more vulnerable, and he doesn't like it one bit. It doesn't seem to bother Leon much as he pulls Sasha's arm around his shoulders and then winds his own around his middle.

Sasha grimaces when a stab of pain foes through him, and grits his teeth against the sound of frustration that threatens to escape him when he can't get his legs to obey him at all. They are clumsy and weak, they even look weak. The past weeks of physical therapy did painfully little to prevent his muscles from getting weaker and weaker. He is no longer fighting his injury as much as he is fighting time itself. The longer he takes to adjust to this constant pain, the longer he'd go without proper exercise and this would only get worse.

He feels Leon's hand grasp him a little tighter as he pulls him up and Sasha tries to step over the edge of the tub, he really does, but he just can't find the strength to do it. More of his weight shifts onto Leon and Sasha flails awkwardly when his legs threaten to give out beneath him. His other hand lands on Leon's chest as he is the closest thing to hold on to. He avoids looking down at his shame this time, but also doesn't look up or find Leon's eyes at all, simply stares forward blankly, catching sight of himself in the mirror. His wound just healed, the skin still red around it, his body weak from weeks of lying in a hospital bed. He looks thin, almost sick and it reminds him of his early teens when he hit his first major growth spurt. He looks awkward, feels awkward, unfit for his body. "This is humiliating..." He grouches and hangs his head, brows furrowing.

But Leon doesn't waver. Despite their difference in height Leon's hold on him is surprisingly strong. This too brings back memories, but this time Sasha knows exactly where this feeling of familiarity comes from. A warm solid weight against him, reassuring and safe, pulling him along, guiding him, refusing to let go until he is out of danger...

"I still can't believe you didn't just leave me there." Sasha mumbles. Can't quite believe you're still here either. He breathes out harshly, close to a laugh without any true humor to it.

He has but a moment to realize how warm Leon is before he helps Sasha lower himself down onto the chair next to the tub. Sasha lets go of him then, more reluctant than he strictly should be, shivering when the air around him makes his skin break out into goosebumps. Leon is still warm where he touches him and far too gentle when he puts the bathrobe around his shoulders considering that Sasha has done nothing but growl at him in the last hour or so.

Sasha worries his lower lip between his teeth, a different kind of shame overcoming him as Leon remains nothing but kind despite the bite in Sasha's voice.

"Thank you." He says eventually, although it takes far too much effort to overcome his pride and say it. He tries to make it sound genuine, less barbed and angry, but he fears he is failing miserably. He sighs again. He is tired. So. Tired.

#petrokhelidon #post damnation verse

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hellchilde · 4 years ago

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The Thing With Feathers

wow it feels like ten million years since i posted a real fic

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Sòng Lán | Sòng Zǐchēn/Xiǎo Xīngchén, Song Lan | Song Zichen & Xiao Xingchen, Xiao Xingchen & Xue Yang | Xue Chengmei

Characters: Xiao Xingchen, Song Lan | Song Zichen, Xue Yang | Xue Chengmei, Wen Qing

Additional Tags: Disabled Character, Blindness, Blind Xiǎo Xīngchén, Lack of Communication, Established Relationship, brief scene with blood, Recreational Drug Use, (but it's just weed), Alcohol, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Cock Warming, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Reincarnation Vibes

Words: 8970

Summary: Sometimes, all you need to throw your life into sharp focus it to stumble over a dying criminal in the street and let it consume your life.

Or: Xiao Xingchen finds Xue Yang injured alongside the road and the rhythm of the carefully constructed life he has with Song Lan no longer seems entirely stable.

It happens when he's walking home from class.

This time, the reason for Xiao Xingchen's loss of vision is not so noble or meaningful. Sometimes things happen for a reason, but sometimes things just happen and it's shit luck and you have to make due with the cards you're dealt. Sometimes you're too young when your vision deteriorates to nothing, but at least that means you don't have to see their pitying looks in the encroaching darkness. But sometimes, there is a good man who is there for you and can help you pick up the pieces when your life changes too quickly for you to deal with. That is a spot of good luck, because this man is someone you love and could picture a life with, even if it's not the life your parents had intended, or the life you set out to start back when the possibilities were endless. This time, Xiao Xingchen learns the lines of Song Lan's face with his fingertips before his sight is completely gone, and lets him reshape their lives to accommodate this unforeseen obstacle to what could have been a story of happily ever after.

With a white cane in hand and a determined set to his face, Xiao Xingchen walks the increasingly familiar path between home, subway, school, subway, home. Never did he plan on learning a new language in his late twenties, but that language is braille, and he refuses to be totally helpless in a world designed against him. Audiobooks help, but he can't listen to them while he walks, has to stay vigilant with his remaining senses or let himself be pummeled by people who won't see him. Shame the onus has to be on him. So it might be dark, but maybe it's not, when he trips over something and sprawls inelegantly, embarrassingly to the ground. His cheeks and ears are burning, he dropped his cane but finds it quickly. Stupid, stupid, he should have felt it.

He reaches back to feel what he tripped over, and feels fabric, flesh. He gropes his way up, increasingly concerned when the person doesn't move or make a sound, and he smells blood. Then finally he feels the blood, sticky and warm but cooling, and is worried he is feeling a corpse until he feels the chest rise and fall and hears the wheeze of breath. He snatches his hands away, worried, and scrambles for the phone in his pocket. It has a voice-to-text option, and that makes up for the lack of buttons. He's never had to dial 9-1-1, and he thinks his voice on the line to the operator is nervous and panicked. He can't even tell her for certain which street he's on, except that it's five blocks from the campus where he had class.

That must be enough. The EMT's arrive and take stock of the situation, and they reassure him, and when he asks them if he can ride in the ambulance, they agree without too much argument. The ride to the hospital is horrible, though, because he has no idea where he's going or how far away and every turn makes him motion sick. He still doesn't consider leaving behind the man he found. The emergency room is chaotic, but one of the EMT's spares the time to lead him out to the waiting room, and someone eventually gets him some water.

“He's in surgery, and then they'll be admitting him for observation,” one of the staff says to him. He's already given his report to the police, explained his innocent side. He's not a suspect for what appears to be a violent crime, but they took his contact information. Otherwise, Xiao Xingchen doesn't know much. “You don't know him, so … you can go home if you want. I'm sure he would appreciate the kindness of a stranger.”

“Were you able to find an emergency contact?” he asks. So far, he has been the only visitor present.

“No,” the staff says. “Don't worry, the police are looking into it.”

“I would prefer to stay with him,” Xiao Xingchen says, because he does always try to be noble, even without a sword in his hands.

The staff member, maybe a nurse or a receptionist but probably not a doctor, reaches out to touch his hands where they're clasped protectively around his cane. He makes a face because he wouldn't have accepted the touch if asked permission, but at least it's kind. “You're a good man,” the staff member says. “We'll help you to the waiting room near where he'll be resting.”

At some point, someone gives him a sandwich wrapped in plastic and a cup of coffee. The sandwich is ham and soggy, but he eats a little of it, and the coffee tastes old and watery. At some point, Xiao Xingchen sleeps in his chair. At some point, someone informs him that the man made it through surgery and is sleeping. At some point, Xiao Xingchen awakens to the feeling of his phone buzzing in his pocket.

“You didn't come home,” Song Lan's voice says, strained. “I was worried.”

“I'll be home soon,” Xiao Xingchen replies. “I have to make sure he made it through. I'm the one who found him, it's my responsibility.” He doesn't like the hospital, which is cold and antiseptic, and his chair isn't comfortable. He's still going to stay. He has to, even if he has to rely on the kindness of strangers to find the bathroom.

Song Lan sighs, too familiar with this side of him. “Call me to come pick you up,” he says quietly. “The hospital isn't far.”

Xiao Xingchen says goodbye and hangs up and only resents a little that the offer makes him feel helpless. He rubs at his eyes, which feel gritty and sore, and locates the remains of his soggy sandwich to at least get something in his stomach. He listens to the sounds of the hospital around him, beeping machines and ringing phones and quiet voices and people rushing by in non-skid shoes. He seems to be politely ignored, or perhaps forgotten, but he doesn't know how long it's supposed to take until he learns what happened.

At some point, another member of staff approaches him and sits beside him, clearing her throat softly. “I have some news, Mr. Xiao,” she says, accented Mandarin. He tries not to be insulted that they think his English isn't good. “The police have found out the identity of the man you found. Apparently … he's wanted for murder, and some other crimes. He works for some very bad men.”

Xiao Xingchen frowns, the information hard to take in. A criminal? He saved a criminal?

“You did a good thing,” she continues. “They'll bring him in to face justice. They wanted me to thank you.”

He manages to nod, trying not to reveal how shaken he is by the news. Why should it bother him so much? He doesn't know this man and has no connection to him other than finding him mostly dead on his walk to the subway. And yet he still feels betrayed. He did something good, he saved a man, and he turns out to be a criminal. It doesn't feel fair, but so little in his life feels fair.

His intentions have been to stay until the man wakes up and introduce himself, get to know him, but he no longer wants that. Instead he digs out his phone as soon as the nurse leaves and dials Song Lan's number to request a ride and pulls himself to his feet, legs feeling stiff from a long night spent in an uncomfortable chair. He still has that feeling that he should at least peek in on the man that he saved, but then, what's the use in that when he hasn't peeked at anything since his vision gave up on him?

It doesn't take very much help from others to make it down to the front of the building and out the doors – the elevator had braille, and the flow of traffic was relatively logical. He takes a breath of fresh air and stands by the curb to wait for Song Lan, his cane clasped in his hands. He hasn't bothered to ask the time, but by the temperature outside and the birds and the angle of the sun he can feel on his skin, he guesses it's midmorning. He's been out all night. No wonder Song Lan was worried.

He hears the car, and the door opens, and there's Song Lan's voice instructing him to get in. He reaches out to feel the edge of the car door and then climbs inside, settling gratefully into the familiar passenger seat to let Song Lan pull away from the hospital.

“Did he wake up?” Song Lan asks after a few moments of silence.

“I don't know,” Xiao Xingchen replies, collapsing his cane back down to make more room in the footwell for his legs. “They told me they found out who he was. A criminal wanted for murder, with mob connections. I didn't want to stay after that. I'm sure they'll arrest him.” He's still not sure how he feels about that. Bad, bad, like there's rocks in his stomach.

Song Lan thinks about that, his driving much smoother than that of the ambulance, mindful of not taking the turns too quickly. “Well, it's a good thing he's off the streets,” he says at last. “And good that you didn't let him die. It's best that he faces the consequences of what he's done.”

Xiao Xingchen nods and chews on his bottom lip, turning towards the window to feel the sun on his face. He's tired, more tired than before, and he thinks he'll sleep all day even if it'll totally throw off his sleep schedule. He feels depressed, for no reason he can put a finger on. How had he been the one to stumble on that man?

He takes Song Lan's help here and there to get inside, finding it reassuring to always reach out and find him there, and then they are safely behind a door and he finds the bed and collapses into it. When he wakes up again, Song Lan is stretched out beside him, breathing deep and even in sleep. Xiao Xingchen sighs, rolls over, and scoots unobtrusively out of bed to find the cigarettes he has hidden in a corner of the closet in case of emergency. He secludes himself on the fire escape to smoke in peace and rub his temple while he attempts to figure out what he's feeling.

He hasn't figured it out by the time he's finished one cigarette, and he has just enough self control to cut himself off after one, then retreats back inside to at least pretend to do some work.

The next time Xiao Xingchen hears about Xue Yang (which is the name of the man he saved, that murderer and mobster and … rapist, for all he knew) he is on the news. He emerges from their bedroom one morning in search of the coffee pot and some breakfast, and Song Lan actually has the TV on, a rare occurrence this early in the morning.

“... released from City Hospital this morning, in custody of the police,” the reporter says. “Xue Yang has known connections with alleged crime lord Wen Ruohan, and charges against him include murder, arson, assault, armed robbery, and fraud. Yang will be facing these charges in a court of law, following investigation into the listed charges, and is currently being kept in custody at an undisclosed location. Yang was found two weeks ago by a civilian on the street following a vicious stabbing, supposedly an attempt on his life carried out by a rival gang. The investigation into Yang's attack is still ongoing with no suspects.”

Xiao Xingchen feels his face fold into a frown, and he steps forward until he finds Song Lan, letting him press a bowl into his hands and starting to eat without really tasting.

“I guess he can walk now,” Song Lan comments with a dry voice.

“What does he look like?” It doesn't matter. Xiao Xingchen still wants to know, to satisfy some perverse curiosity about that evil man he happened to save from bleeding out on the street.

“Like a punk,” Song Lan says. “Like a smug little punk. Like he's going to get away with all of it.” He sets his bowl down and leans in to kiss Xingchen's cheek, running his hand over the other as if he can smooth out the frustration there. “Don't listen to too much of this. I'll be back tonight.” And then he leaves, the sound of his footsteps circling the kitchen island, pausing to pick up his coat and bag, pausing to slip on his shoes, and then the sound of the front door.

Xiao Xingchen takes a few more bites of the food – it's oatmeal, and it's alright, but it's not the way he would have prepared it – and the news is still on in the background, now on to some other story that he cares less about. He puts the bowl down and goes for coffee next, still half the pot left and soy creamer set out nearby. Thoughtful. Song Lan takes care of him.

He doesn't follow the direction. He gets his tablet and sets it up to search for this Wen Ruohan guy. He doesn't keep enough track of the news to have any idea about organized crime, but once his tablet understands what he's asking of it, it pulls up some articles. The text reader's voice renders the shocking events dry and bland, but at least it's something. It makes it sound like Wen Ruohan has fingers in pretty much every bit of crime in the city, maybe further out too. Not surprising that a criminal like Xue Yang would take up with him, do some of his dirty work. The top of the pack never lets that kind of thing touch him. That's why they can't make anything stick when it comes to bringing charges against him. The movies get that much right.

His next search is for Xue Yang himself. Most of what pulls up is the recent stuff about him being in the hospital, the stabbing, the murder charge they want him for this time. Few of the articles he finds come with image descriptions, so if there are pictures, he doesn't know what they are. He can access the public parts of Xue Yang's criminal record. People keep getting his name wrong, calling him “Mr. Yang.” He listens to the text reader list the dates and bare-bones facts of the previous charges. Some of them he had been arrested for, served time. Others seemed to disappear too quickly.

When Song Lan comes home, he is still on the couch, bent over his tablet, hair uncombed and falling over his shoulders and still wearing the loungewear he had put on that morning, which doesn't really count as clothes. He startles when he suddenly feels a hand on his shoulder, too wrapped up in what he had been listening to and thinking about to pay attention to the sound of the door opening or Song Lan saying his name.

“What are you … oh,” Song Lan says, and Xiao Xingchen feels the presence of him reading over his shoulder. “I see you didn't follow my advice.”

“I wanted to know more,” Xiao Xingchen says, feeling oddly defensive. He switches the tablet dark so Song Lan can't read over his shoulder. “Maybe he's a smug punk, but I saved him. I want to know what kind of man I saved.” Why he's weirdly obsessive about this, he still doesn't understand. Why he wants to know more of these dark details. It isn't like it gives him a thrill – well, not a good thrill, that would be kind of sick. It isn't like he's ever even interacted with Xue Yang. Except that he spent a good portion of one day covered in his blood and waiting for him to wake up at the hospital, and for some reason that made it feel like Xue Yang owed him something.

Song Lan sighs so it stirs the hairs on the top of his head, then pets them down again. Not the first time Xiao Xingchen has forgotten to comb his hair, especially on days he stays in. It's a worried kind of touch. “Will you please turn it off for a little while for dinner?”

Xiao Xingchen considers being contrary and refusing, but his stomach rumbles as a reminder that he only broke away long enough to eat some pickles and crackers in a lunch that required minimal effort but could hardly be counted as real food. He submits, then, pulling Song Lan's hand down from his head to kiss his inner wrist. He rises to his feet to follow Song Lan to the table, sits beside him and takes the prepared plate. Song Lan must have guessed some of his mood that morning, because a couple of the dishes are among his favorites from this particular restaurant.

That softens him, and he feels a little bad for considering being contrary or brushing off Song Lan's worry as being patronizing. Guilty, even. Doesn't Song Lan have enough to deal with without his boyfriend being bratty? It's the unfortunate truth of their circumstances that Song Lan shoulders more of the financial responsibilities, more of the housekeeping, more of the cooking. Xiao Xingchen does what he can, and he's gotten to be a pretty fair hand at cooking even without being able to read labels. It's still more for Song Lan.

Xiao Xingchen finishes up his pad see ew, wipes his mouth clean, and gets up to drape himself over Song Lan's lap. His chopsticks clatter lightly on the edge of the plate, and then his hands settle on Xiao Xingchen's waist. Xingchen feels a smile spread over his face, and his hands slide into Song Lan's hair, and he leans in for a kiss.

Being intimate like this has changed. As his sight faded, his other senses sharpened. In some ways it's useful, like being able to so distinctly smell the differences between spices, but his skin is now also more sensitive. Every touch, every brush of lips or teeth, has the potential to be overwhelming. It had caught him off-guard at first, the sheer electricity of it lighting him up more vividly than any lit room. It had been intense enough to scare him, and hence to scare Song Lan, and since then his touches had grown increasingly light and gentle, wary of startling him again. Or perhaps it is that Song Lan is no longer so certain of sharing himself with someone who can no longer see him. He has never been the most touchy-feely person, and Xiao Xingchen wouldn't blame him if the shine of their relationship had faded by now. Occupying that strange liminal space where he was part caretaker, part boyfriend – that can't be easy.

So how can Xiao Xingchen ask for that firmer touch, the way they could get so carried away with each other the way they used to when they were younger and more carefree? What right does he have to demand even more?

He still kisses Song Lan wild and reckless, soft lips and sharp teeth catching at Song Lan's mouth, kissing the flavor of Thai food off his lips. Song Lan sighs against him, hands slipping up under Xiao Xingchen's oversized cardigan and the t-shirt underneath, circling against his waist. There are calluses on his fingers, just rough enough to feel, and at least while they're kissing Song Lan isn't protesting. Xingchen squirms slightly, trying to get his hands to slide down, as if he could wiggle them down. They stay where they are, though Song Lan's grip tightens, starting to dig into his skin.

Xiao Xingchen breaks the kiss to pant softly against Song Lan's lips, only now realizing that he has one hand tangled up in his hair, the other pressed flat against his chest, feeling the steady thud of Song Lan's heart beneath his skin. His own heartbeat feels like it's echoing that beat, knocking up hopefully against his ribs. Maybe this time … maybe this time it would work out. Maybe this time he could somehow convey the kind of attention he was craving, and maybe Song Lan would be amenable to fucking his brains out.

Sure enough, Song Lan shifts his grip, finally down even if it is over his yoga pants, cups his ass and stands up with him clinging koala-style. Xiao Xingchen has no intention of letting go, pressing kisses into Song Lan's jaw, his throat, over his lips, wherever he can reach, his arms settling around Song Lan's strong shoulders and his back arching to press closer against him. This is better, this is closer to what he wants.

Song Lan deposits him on the bed, doesn't drop him, just setting him carefully on the mattress like fine china. But still he crawls over him, whispers kisses into his skin, teeth scraping lightly down his throat. The light touches make Xiao Xingchen gasp and writhe, his skin feeling so oversensitive that he can't even stand still wearing his clothes. Song Lan hovers over him, on his hands and knees, still barely touching him except for the brush of his lips.

“Zichen,” he breathes, needy, eager.

Song Lan pulls back, and Xingchen can just weather the feeling of being watched, breathing and trying not to feel self-conscious beneath the weight of Song Lan's gaze. His fingers are still in Song Lan's hair, twisting and trying to pull him back down. He bears it for a few moments, then stretches up to try and find his lips.

But before he can make it, Song Lan's hand takes his own, unpeeling his fingers from his hair and kissing his palm before pressing his hand to Xingchen's chest and sitting up. The gesture has an air of finality to it, and Xiao Xingchen can't help it, he covers his face with his hands. It's like being blind has erased any ability he had to control his expression, and he can only imagine what his face is doing right now, because it certainly feels all twisted up and hurt and mad and frustrated.

“I'm sorry,” Song Lan says, because he isn't good at reading people but he isn't blind, and he sounds regretful. “I'm sorry, it just wasn't...”

Xiao Xingchen rolls away, taking a moment, then sits up, his back facing Song Lan. “It's fine,” he says, as though merely saying the words will make it so, and he knows his voice sounds too tight. “It's fine,” he repeats. He wishes there was a switch in his body that he could just turn off, rather than having to sit with the coiling warmth still lingering in his stomach, refusing to dissipate just because Song Lan is no longer touching him.

He feels Song Lan touch his hair lightly, then the shift of the mattress as he stands up. The ensuite shower turns on shortly after, and entertains the vindictive thought of forcing his way in and pushing Song Lan up on the shower wall and just...

He doesn't know what. Song Lan had already made his “no” very clear, and Xiao Xingchen has no intention of crossing that particular boundary. He knows there wouldn't be any coming back from that. Taking care of himself feels equally out of the question. It's not what he craves, and doing it alone feels empty.

He goes to clean up after their dinner, finding some comfort in scrubbing off the plates and plunging his hands in the soapy water. It doesn't perfectly redirect his energy, but it takes the edge off. Then he steps out to the fire escape again, retreats, cowardice. The cold, damp wind slaps him in the face, and he takes a lungful of the foggy air, pressing his back into the wrought iron to feel it dig in.

He should tell Song Lan. There are things he should say, explanations, verbalizing his desire and upset and love and frustration. How it feels to be treated as an invalid, even when Song Lan does it so soft and gentle. Song Lan will tell his part too, the part where his desire can't always keep up with Xingchen's and that particular quirk where touching makes his skin crawl, where he treasures Xingchen and wants to protect him by wrapping him up tight in bubble wrap, kept and sweet and placed high on a shelf never to be touched.

He kicks the fire escape, just to make himself feel a little better, and wedges himself in. He should have brought his tablet. He could have done more research. Without it, he just listens to the sounds of the city at night, traffic and ambulances, someone singing, a baby crying in the distance. He lets it all flow and melt around him, lets his body relax into becoming the ambient temperature of the fog, cold and misty and amorphous.

By the time Xiao Xingchen retreats back inside, his thoughts are as cool and calm as the air outside. He slips into bed, fitting into the space behind Song Lan, slotting in, his knees in the crook behind Song Lan's knees, his cold nose tucked against the back of his neck. Song Lan smells clean, and Xingchen feels sorry for earlier, silly for letting himself get carried away. He's happy here. He is happy.

That thought circles his brain as he drifts off to sleep.

Time passes. Xiao Xingchen dials back his research to what he thinks is a normal amount of interest. There is always news to follow – Xue Yang seems to be at the same time the media's darling and their favorite villain. The tabloids keep commenting on how he looks, calling him angelic and sweet-faced while at the same time condemning him for what seemed like an ever-increasing number of crimes. Song Lan quickly learns to simply leave him to it, and in return Xingchen can moderate himself so he doesn't lose entire days to sitting on the couch and burying himself in news and police reports.

Life is pretty much normal. There's a routine, a rhythm, comfortable and familiar. Xiao Xingchen further adjusts to life in a world that isn't built to accommodate him, his steps ever more certain on his path. He can visualize his future stretching before him, and none of it looks bad. No surprises, no tragedy. He figures losing his sight is bad enough to fulfill the quota for drama for this lifetime.

Xiao Xingchen listens to the trial when it starts. From what he can tell, this is apparently very fast, but he doesn't know enough about the American justice system to confirm that. There's plenty of media coverage on it, but despite their efforts to highlight the most exciting parts, the trial itself seems to be fairly dull, nothing like the TV shows. That doesn't decrease Xiao Xingchen's interest, but it does help to prevent him from focusing too much on it.

Song Lan has a launch party for work. Xiao Xingchen doesn't know enough about computers to know what it's really for, some piece of software or another, something Song Lan has been working on for months. It's a cause for celebration, and while Xingchen doesn't relish the need to dress up, he lets Song Lan help him with it. Most of his wardrobe is in interchangeable shades of neutral, white and black and gray – he made sure of that before his sight was gone. But it's better to be safe than sorry and accidentally choose something inappropriate or clashing. Anyway, he knows Song Lan quietly enjoys dressing him, making sure he looks nice. It suits the same part of his personality that's so good at the nitty-gritty details of code, a fierce, strict streak of perfectionism.

Xiao Xingchen has no doubt that they make a sharp picture when they arrive. He left his cane at home, since it would be too cumbersome in a party setting, and thus holds Song Lan's arm to navigate their way inside. It's a club, it smells like a club, alcohol and bodies and several layers of perfume and cologne, and there's music playing with a low bassline that reverberates in his ribcage. It's probably dark, which means that people will be asking all night long why he's wearing his dark tinted glasses. Hopefully sticking close against Song Lan's side will decrease the need to explain.

Parties like this are always a little awkward. Xingchen is friendly and willing, but he doesn't speak the same language as these technology prodigies. Maybe he could have wandered and found other partners of Song Lan's coworkers, but he was always wary of losing track of Song Lan in an unfamiliar place. And Song Lan is good, he's considerate, but sometimes he gets so wrapped up in whatever conversation he gets involved in that Xingchen falls by the wayside despite being attached to his arm.

It's still fun and interesting to be out of the apartment, chatting with people, picking canapes off the trays, accepting the drink that Song Lan passes to him. It's one of the fruity ones that he likes, but strong enough that he can taste the alcohol under the juice. He's playing the role of arm candy tonight, but he lets it be fun, lets himself be the sweet and sparkly juxtaposition to Song Lan's dry, serious demeanor. Song Lan's coworkers forgive him easily when he doesn't know the more technical details and humor him by talking about other, more accessible topics.

Inevitably, though, they turn back to talking shop, and Xingchen tries to follow but it all starts to sound like gibberish. He sighs and ceases to pay much attention to the conversation since they're not really paying attention to him, and he sips his drink, wishing the music were better. Though, of course, the inevitable result of sipping a drink all evening is that he has to use the bathroom. Xingchen realizes it with some dismay. There's no good way to bring it up without sounding like a complaining toddler, but he doesn't even know which way to point himself to find it if he were to just wander off. So he just … waits. Song Lan will have to go eventually as well.

Except the situation is steadily growing towards urgent, and Song Lan shows no indication of breaking away from his conversation, focused the way he can get sometime. Xiao Xingchen starts to fidget anxiously, hoping to somehow telepathically convey what he needs. Unfortunately, he doesn't magically develop psychic powers. He's inches from giving in to the embarrassment of asking to be escorted to the bathroom when he feels another hand on his free arm.

“Hi,” a female voice says, one that he doesn't recognize. “Song Lan, do you mind if I borrow him for a minute?”

Xiao Xingchen could curse, and desperately hopes that Song Lan makes up an excuse to keep him from being pulled to another conversation with strangers. He can't focus on being friendly when his body is screaming at him. He feels Song Lan look up in surprise, finally breaking from his own conversation.

“Oh, right, of course,” he says, gently taking Xingchen's hand from his arm to pass him over to the woman. “Xingchen, this is Wen Qing. She's a doctor and a friend.”

“Alright,” Xingchen says, voice cracking, shooting Song Lan what he hopes is a desperate look before Wen Qing tugs him away. He's panicking, he thinks he might die, he wants the earth to swallow him up. He clears his throat and touches Wen Qing's hand, her pace never slowing. “I'm sorry, I'm terribly sorry, but...”

Before he can finish, she pulls him through a doorway. Their footsteps turn echo-y, and he feels a glimmer of hope. She continues pulling, then places his hand on what feels like the handle of a urinal. He makes a sound, desperate still, and feels for the edges of the porcelain before letting go of her entirely so he can relieve himself.

“You looked like you were suffering over there,” she says, only far enough away to give him the space he needs to get the job done. “I know how Song Lan can get too intense in his conversations and forget the world around him.”

“Thank you,” he breathes, shooting a small smile in the direction of her voice. “Unfamiliar places are always a little difficult, especially without my cane. I hope it wasn't too obvious.”

“Not to the tech nerds,” she says, putting her hand on his shoulder to help lead him over to the sinks after he gets his slacks fastened up. “They might be geniuses, but they're oblivious to any kind of subtlety. Feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you,” Xiao Xingchen says again, washing his hands and then relaxing a hip against the sink. He isn't in a rush to go back out to the music he doesn't like. “So you're a doctor?”

“Cardiac surgeon,” Wen Qing clarifies. “I normally don't get to see below the belt. But don't worry, I'll remain professional.” It sounds like she's smiling too. Xingchen isn't surprised to find that she's friends with Song Lan, with that dry kind of humor.

“I wasn't too worried about it,” Xingchen says. “Do you come to a lot of these things?”

“A few. I was dating one of them for a while, made some friends. They keep inviting me, and the appetizers are good, and every once in a while I get to help somebody's poor boyfriend find the bathroom.” He feels her pull his jacket straight, adjusting his collar slightly. “So. Been together long?”

“Since college,” Xingchen tells her. Maybe she isn't very close with Song Lan, to have not heard the story before. “Actually, we met in the airport when I arrived in America. I was so lost and overwhelmed, and he stepped in to help me find my way in a new country and a big city. It was just a happy coincidence that we ended up going to the same school while he was getting his graduate degree. And then from there, it's basically just history.”

Wen Qing laughs and touches his shoulder again. “Somehow, I doubt it's 'just history,' but we can leave it at that, if you want,” she says. “That's very sweet. I'm just glad you look as lost by all their talk as I am. Do you smoke?”

“Ah...” He doesn't want to lie, but also isn't sure about how likely it is his answer would get back around to Song Lan.

“Doesn't matter,” she says quickly, taking his arm again to lead him out. “Come hang out with the wives. We're all the wives, regardless of gender.”

Together, they wind through the party, past snippets of conversation and a speaker rolling out bassline in waves. Wen Qing pulls him out of a door, and the sound of music is dampened. A comforting cloud of cigarette smoke wafts around them, and there's a soft hum of conversation.

“Hey, wives,” Wen Qing crows. “I bring fresh blood.”

“One of us,” someone chants, and Xiao Xingchen grins and gives an irreverent salute.

The wives are apparently the company he was craving. He no longer has to pretend to understand or be interested in the technobabble, and instead he can pluck crackers smothered in cream cheese and prosciutto off of the platter that they stole from the catering staff and sip from the bottle of wine that they had also stolen. He can listen to one of them chatter about a thesis project on Emily Dickinson and steal drags from cigarettes and blunts passed to him. It's closer to the way he and Song Lan operated in college, parting for their own friend groups before drifting back together, and the wives are closer to the kind of people he would choose for friends, free to be bohemian while their significant others take advantage of the tech boom and bring home the bacon.

Xiao Xingchen hasn't bothered to check the time on his phone, but it feels late by the quality of the air and the conversation. They've stopped talking about anything of substance, and he's leaning on Wen Qing's shoulder. He's a little drunk and a little high and feeling soft and easy. Song Lan's touch doesn't even startle him when it comes to rest on his shoulder.

“Let's go home,” he suggests in a low murmur, and Xingchen peels himself up. The wives moan and complain, and someone reaches for him, fingers catching on the edge of his jacket with a soft cry of, “Chen-chen, don't leave us!”

Xiao Xingchen gives his goodbyes and makes his promises to stay in touch – his phone is full of their phone numbers. He leans on Song Lan to make their way out and down to meet their car. They slide into the back seat, and their hands find each other on the seat, fingers folding together in the most intimate touch Song Lan would allow in public.

“Time's it?” Xiao Xingchen asks, sleepy and smiley and soft.

“Close to one,” Song Lan replies. He sounds a little drunk too, and his thumb runs over the space between Xingchen's thumb and index finger, fitting into the hollow. “Did you have fun?”

“Mmm,” he hums and smiles more. “They were nice. Wen Qing was helpful, and you know how useless I am when you talk shop.”

“I should have known you'd get along with them. I should have introduced you earlier. I'm sorry you were bored with me.” He snorts softly. “Chen-chen.”

Xiao Xingchen's giggle is significantly less dignified, but at least it's not too loud out of consideration for their poor driver. “You know I can't help if they think I'm cute!”

Song Lan doesn't protest, but he doesn't have to. They're back home, and he thanks the driver, and comes around to help Xingchen out of the car and back into their building. They're quiet due to the late hour, so the sound of the keys feels like it echoes in the still night air. Xiao Xingchen lets himself inside with a sigh of relief and kicks his shoes off, and opens his mouth to suggest they go to bed only to have Song Lan's lips and teeth and tongue providing an effective gag.

Song Lan backs him against the wall in the entryway, and his hands span Xingchen's waist, broad and solid. Xingchen can taste the alcohol in his breath, but he probably tastes the same. His head spins, his stomach flips, feeling simultaneously over- and under-fed on those canapes, but thrilled with possibility. The kiss is rough, with teeth, not like delicate good morning kisses or gentle good night ones that he's gotten used to. This kiss demands, and expects him to answer – and so he does.

Xiao Xingchen moans into it and grips back at Song Lan's shirt, returning the kiss with equal fervor. Sleep is no longer on his mind. Instead, he has to get his hands on Song Lan's skin or he might just evaporate. He tugs until he can get Song Lan's shirt out of his slacks and he can slide his hands underneath, flat against the skin of his stomach. His skin is warm, solid, and he can feel the frantic rate of his breathing beneath his touch. It feels like a dream, like it's so much that it can't be real, and at the same time it's so real, so perfect, everything he wants.

It feels like Song Lan needs this as badly as he does. With hands tight around Xingchen's arms he pulls him away from the wall, further into the apartment. Xiao Xingchen assumes they'll go to the bedroom, to the bed as usual, but he finds himself bent forward over the couch instead, the familiar fabric under his fingers and the back digging into his stomach. Song Lan presses against him, rubs against his ass, pushes his shirt up and runs his hands over his back. Xiao Xingchen lets out a shaky breath and pushes back against him, just as demanding and desperate.

Finally, finally Song Lan reaches around to get his slacks unfastened, pushes at them impatiently, and locates the zipper to shove it down. Xiao Xingchen squirms to help get them down his legs and winds up with them stuck around his knees, but at least it's some relief. Song Lan seems to think that's enough; his fingers grip into the flesh of Xingchen's ass, squeezing and massaging and spreading. He pants into the couch cushions, his breath coming back hot and wet against his cheeks and the sensitive tip of his cock bumping up against the back of the couch in a way that isn't altogether pleasant but at least it is some sensation. He's hard, he needs it, his skin feels like it's sparking with heat at every brush of Song Lan's fingers.

He remembers with some despair that they don't have any lube in the living room and is just about ready to straighten up, drag Song Lan back to the bedroom so they can do it properly. Then he hears something tear and feels slick fingers slide against his ass. Song Lan came prepared. Such a good, thoughtful boyfriend, even if it is frankly out of character for him to anticipate sex like this. When it happens, if it happens, there's so much delicate kissing and foreplay and it's consistently in the bed or the shower where they're prepared. But he can't even speculate on it, Song Lan's fingers feel too good, pushing the lube inside him fast, impatient. He wants to spread his legs but he's trapped by his slacks and can only pant helplessly against the couch cushions.

Thoughtfully, Song Lan's clean hand reaches down to brush his hair out of his face, tracing the line of his jaw. The fingers inside him spread once more, then slide out, and that's all the warning he really gets before he feels Song Lan's cock press steady and inexorable inside him.

The sound he lets out would be embarrassing under any other circumstance, low and broken and wet. It's been long enough that he almost can't handle the stretch. It's almost too much and makes him choke. His knees feel weak. His spit is making a wet spot on the couch cushions. Song Lan still doesn't stop, not until his hips are pressed flush against Xingchen's ass. His breath is coming heavy now, ragged. He's thoughtful again when he pauses to let then both get used to it, his hands resting on Xingchen's hips, one of them tacky with drying lube, and he pets soothingly at one hipbone like Xingchen is a skittish horse.

Like that, Xiao Xingchen remembers that he's supposed to breathe, and he takes a deep, shaking breath before letting it out loudly, and he can feel it relax down his spine. Song Lan pets him again, approvingly, then eases out of him only to slam back inside. Xiao Xingchen chokes on another cry, and that seems to encourage him, the pace rough and quick.

Time ceases to exist. Xingchen can't see, obviously, but the pleasure feels like starbursts of color in his mind. The apartment is very quiet, except for the wet slap of skin and too much lube (Song Lan was always careful like that) and their labored breathing, punctuated with moans and whimpers punched out of Xingchen's throat. It is so rough, he knows he is going to be sore, aching and remembering this for days. But it's so good too, Song Lan's cock stretching him and hollowing him out, making a space inside him. He's so hard it hurts, and his own cock is leaking. Song Lan's hand reaches down to cup it protectively, preventing it from smearing over the back of the couch. The pressure is maddening without friction to go with it, and Xingchen sobs out his pleasure, trembling and pushing back on him.

When he cums it's a punch to the gut, fingers white-knuckled against the couch cushions and a cry ripping out of his throat. His heart feels like it's hammering so hard that all he can hear for a few moments is the whoosh-whoosh of his heartbeat. But he realizes quickly that Song Lan has felt it. He drapes himself over Xingchen's back, fucking him hard and fast, racing towards the end. It must crash into him too, because he grunts and transforms into a heavy, shuddering weight, pressing him into the couch, his cock twitching inside.

Time still doesn't really exist. They might stay draped over that couch for hours, for all Xingchen can tell. His ass is sore, he can barely breathe, he's going to have bruises where the couch is digging into his midsection, and he feels like he hasn't been this happy in months. It's not just the sex – though, to be fair, the sex is amazing and a big part of it. It's what comes with the sex. He feels connected to Song Lan like this, special, needed. And then, taken care of, because eventually Song Lan straightens up and helps him up, drops down to help him work off his shoes and slacks so they can walk back to the bedroom. His arm supports Xingchen around the waist because he's for surewalking with a limp right now. He helps him get his shirt off and brushes his hair back over his shoulder and kisses his cheek, so sweet.

Xiao Xingchen makes to go to the bathroom. He still smells like smoke and wine and sex, and Song Lan won't want that in their bed. But before he can pull away, Song Lan pulls him back in close, nuzzles his hair and kisses him again in a way that makes his heart feel soft and warm, honey in his chest. He lets Song Lan lead him to bed, even though he has the distinct sensation of cum slowly starting to leak out of his body.

“Here, keep it in,” Song Lan rumbles low, curling up behind him and pressing his fingers into Xingchen, pressing it back inside. Xingchen sucks in a breath, his body feeling oversensitive and raw but good. It's not too much. Then there are some sounds behind him, and then he feels Song Lan's cock press into him again. That is almost too much, and he makes a small sound, not sure if he could handle a second round.

But it's not to fuck him. Song Lan settles, their bodies pressed close, fitting perfectly. Song Lan's nose presses into his shoulder, and he kisses there a few times. Without too much preamble, they fall asleep.

The next morning, of course, they are stuck together. It's a little disgusting, but there isn't a thing that Xiao Xingchen would have changed about the night before. He stirs a little, then makes a sound of complaint, his body protesting the movement from the waist down. Song Lan wakes up next, and Xingchen can practically hear his grimace when he remembers the position they were stuck in.

He's as careful as he can manage when he pulls away from Xingchen's body, pressing a gentle hand to his arm to indicate he should stay still. There are some bathroom sounds, water running, and then Song Lan returns with a warm, wet washcloth to gently wipe him clean. Xingchen has to bite his knuckle; his ass feels raw, sore and swollen. He can feel precisely how hard they went. He still doesn't regret a moment.

Song Lan treats him soft and sweet that morning, brings him breakfast in bed and combs his hair. They're both quiet, Xingchen because he's hesitant to say anything that will break the spell, and Song Lan because he seems exhausted from socializing so much the day before. Sometimes it's harder than others. Then to recuperate, he's quieter than usual, minimizing his interactions, sometimes even with Xingchen himself. Xingchen doesn't take it personally, and usually uses the time to indulge his own inner introvert and work on his own projects.

Nothing wrong with that, except that they continue to not talk about it. Xingchen can't make the shape of his desire into words, the way Song Lan's touch lights him up, the way he craves the desperate way they came together after the launch party. Song Lan's touches feel apologetic, half guilty, wary of pushing too far, like he's afraid of his own attraction. They haven't had to navigate anything like this before, where before they were coasting on instinct and now the waters feel choppy.

Xiao Xingchen finds it a welcome distraction to turn to the trial. There's no shortage of material – Xue Yang continues to be the media's darling or scapegoat by turns, sometimes both in the same article. He figures out how to find the best news channel to listen to what he can, certain amounts of testimony from witnesses and arguments from lawyers. He thinks its a small blessing that he himself was such a useless witness when it came to the stabbing incident, so he hasn't been called to court. In any case, that's how he first hears Xue Yang's voice, surprisingly young, always irreverent and teasing, even when he's supposed to be taking the court show seriously.

And it really does seem like a show. The prosecution is fighting as best they can, but the defense is barely working at all, their questions lazy and confident at the same time. The judge doesn't seem in any kind of hurry to help the prosecution when the defense steps out of line. Everything is played to the media like a huge circus, and everyone is marching towards a foregone conclusion.

Then, as quickly as it started, it's over. The media coverage disappears overnight. It's not old enough to be old news, but that's how it's treated. Xiao Xingchen has to search and search to find anything about the conclusion, and all he can find is basically a footnote stating that a settlement was reached, which sounds frankly preposterous. The charges against Xue Yang included murder! He hadn't thought it was possible that a settlement could be found against a potential murderer, especially when the prosecution had brought witnesses and evidence galore. It feels profoundly unfair, a sincere lack of justice, and he wonders how natural-born Americans feel about their supposed “justice system.”

His dissatisfaction with the finale of the trial makes it hard to put it all behind him. He struggles with sleeping and focusing on his projects and his studies, he's snappish and short-tempered and withdrawn from Song Lan. Even if Song Lan asked what is troubling him, he has no confidence that he could articulate it to any understandable degree. So Song Lan can't help, and Xiao Xingchen doesn't know how to help himself.

It's on a random day when Xingchen hears a knock on the door. That's unusual – Song Lan left for work, but he would have texted if he forgot his keys, and Xingchen doesn't think they're expecting any deliveries. He debates just leaving it, pretending he's not home, but the knock comes again, more insistent.

Heaving a big sigh, he picks himself up from where he had been lounging, attempting to read and feel somewhat productive but mostly just feeling listless. It crosses his mind that Song Lan might have gotten it in his head to do some kind of gesture, getting him flowers or something – not that flowers aren't thoughtful, but he thinks the gesture is now lost on him since he can't see them. He doesn't think he brushed his hair this morning, but this delivery man will just have to tolerate him looking a little messy. He finds the door and opens it, trying to put a pleasant expression on his face.

“Hello, can I help you?” he asks, and waits for a response.

None comes. He waits a few moments, then frowns. Was something dropped off? He considers bending to check for a box, but there's a feeling rising, a prickling feeling on the back of his neck that tells him he's being watched. But if there's someone there, why aren't they speaking? Why aren't they telling him why they're there? Belatedly, he realizes this might be some kind of burglar who could take advantage of him. He doesn't have a weapon, but there's an umbrella in the stand next to the door and knives in the kitchen, and though it's been years he still has his martial arts training. How much that will help, he doesn't know, he hasn't even attempted to fight anyone even to spar since he lost his sight, and he doesn't think running through the exercises and stretches in the morning will really help if someone actually attacks him.

Whoever is at the door still hasn't spoken, and it's making his nerves go haywire, his heart pounding even though he hasn't even moved. Maybe he's being stupid and getting freaked out over nothing. Maybe there's no one even there, and there's no reason for his skin to feel nervous cold/hot. “Hello?” he says again, this time significantly less confident, his voice giving out halfway through.

There's another few moments of silence, then a wild cackle, not an attractive laugh at all. It feels familiar, somehow, though it's not until Xue Yang speaks that Xiao Xingchen recognizes him.

“Wow. I guess you're real, huh?”

#xiao xingchen #songxiao #song lan #the untamed #mdzs #fanfic #my fanfiction #cql

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machineryfield · 4 years ago

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At the Start of the World Chapter 1

Anything but Normal

Fiora wakes up, she brushes her hair and puts it up in two ponytails, and goes to check on Dunban. She changes his bandages and pushes him back down in bed, telling him to wait here while she makes breakfast. She does just that and they eat together, her sitting next to his bed.

She gets to work after that, making sure lunch is ready before too long. She stands in front of the pot and slaves away at the curry, cuts the supplies for the sandwiches at the same time. Reyn always likes a healthy mix of veggies and meat -- energy aubergines in rare supply and only for special occasions. Shulk likes more meat than veggies, but she always sneaks some in anyway, just in case. He needs it to grow healthy!

She listens to the meat cook on the stovetop and prepares the bread. It's always a busy day in the kitchen, but she wouldn't have it any other way. It's nice to keep busy -- nice to have a way to forget about the threat that was looming until just recently.

She frowns deeply thinking about Dunban. The Battle of Sword Valley had been a year ago, that cursed sword had nearly killed him so recently... And yet she knows he still thinks of it.

He's always talking about getting well enough to wield it again, talking about defending the Homs once more. Maybe that's why she's convinced herself the Mechon can't come back. If they can't come back, then Dunban doesn't have to hurt himself anymore.

She turns back to the curry and the meat, telling herself not to worry about that. Thinking about them is just a way of inviting them in. If she thinks of them, she gives them power. If she gives them power...

She once again cuts her thoughts off and gets back to work. Maybe today is a special enough day to give Reyn some energy aubergines on his sandwich. She knows they're a pain to find, but with some gumption she always does.

"Yeah, I think I'll do that." She tells herself, "a little treat never hurt anybody."

She reaches into the cabinets, and gets fully enveloped in the cooking.

Fiora touches the spot the Monado bounced off her and frowns. Shulk really hadn't cared, not one bit... What if it had done something to her?! Would he have even thought twice about it?

She swallows hard as she paces around the lab, the boys gone. They went to get ether cylinders... it should be fine, right? Reyn's a bit hardheaded, but he's got a good heart and no way will he let Shulk get hurt…

Unlike Shulk, he actually cares about the wellbeing of his friends, she thinks with a pout.

She just hopes he won't get overwhelmed. There's only two of them, and an entire nest of Mell Lizards... Rumour has it the nest is right next to Wallslide Gwynry's lair. She bites her thumb thinking about it... and... Oh, damn it!

She can't just leave them like that. She finds the canisters for the transfer of the cylinders laying right outside the lab and takes her chance. Slung onto her back, she starts out for Tephra Cave herself.

"Shulk, go." Fiora's voice is tense as she stands back to back with Reyn. "We'll handle things here, you get to the mobile artillery."

"Fiora! You can't be serious," he shakes his head. "I can't just leave the two of you!"

"We'll be fine," she promises. "We'll be right after you before you know it! I'm Dunban's sister in more than name, you know."

"I ain't been training for so long to not hold my own weight!" Reyn adds with a grin. "I know what to do. Knock 'em off balance then topple 'em, right? Fiora and I got that covered."

A Mechon charges, but Fiora's able to knock it off balance just in time. Reyn knocks it over, and Fiora dazes it where it sits. She looks at Shulk then, a fire in her eyes as she does.

"See? Go on ahead, we won't be long."

Shulk finally nods. "Both of you... be safe."

Shulk is off down the street then, and when Fiora is sure he's a safe distance away, she goes on the offensive. These Mechon... Coming back out of nowhere, putting Dunban and her friends at risk all over again... She decides she won't let it happen, not again.

She strikes with her knives, and Reyn is quick to follow. They build a synergy quickly enough, and Fiora doesn't feel like stopping. She'll take them all down, no matter what it takes.

"You know, Fiora..." After a few moments, Reyn begins to pant out words. "Maybe you should go after Shulk, you ain't much of a fighter."

"And leave you without a way to throw the Mechon off balance?" She shakes her head. "No way!"

He shrugs. "Fair enough."

A pillar starts to collapse and first Fiora thinks crap, that's the way Shulk went. Then she thinks shit, it's falling right towards us. She dives to the side, and Reyn does the same.

Rolling across the ground, she braces herself and lets out a groan, pulling herself up. Mechon had already come at Reyn, trying to get to him. He's barely holding them off...

She runs forward and strikes against the Mechon, her knives doing nothing.

"Fiora! Get out of here!"

"I can't just leave you, Reyn! We promised Shulk we'd be right behind him, right?" She strikes again and grunts. "I can't go back on that!"

She keeps trying, as impossible as it seems, and a blue light flashes by her. Before she knows it, the Mechon around them are falling to the ground, destroyed. She lets out a gasp.

"Dunban!"

He's breathing heavily, and she can see his arm twitching in pain. "Sorry to keep you waiting!"

Reyn's eyes are shining. "The Monado...! I had a feeling you had it!"

"He shouldn't," Fiora frowns. "Dunban, you shouldn't have left your room! You're still injured!"

"I'm fine." He shakes his head, brushing off her worry. "Shulk's not with you?"

Fiora shook her head. "We sent him on ahead, to the Residential District. We were supposed to be right behind him."

Reyn looks that way, "looks like we have to go the long way 'round, think Shulk'll mind."

"I doubt it, but..." She glances at her brother. "Let's avoid fighting as much as we can, okay?"

Fiora watches as blood comes from Dunban's mouth, watches the Monado fall and slide forward. The cursed sword that hurt her family so much. The blessed sword that kept Homs alive this long.

She grits her teeth and finds herself running forward. She won't let Dunban get hurt, not anymore. She grabs the Monado and holds it tight, it feels weird compared to her knives... Unnatural.

"I'll protect you this time!"

"Fiora, no!" Dunban's voice is strained. "It'll kill you!"

She ignores him, like he always ignores her pleas to forget about the Monado. Rushing forward a scream rips from her throat and she rushes the Mechon. For a moment, she feels as if she's seeing the future, moving so deftly to avoid each and every attack. A gift from a god, one would say if they were a believer.

She wonders if this is what Shulk saw earlier, when he touched the Monado in the lab. She wonders if she's rushing down the same path as him, an obsession with a weapon they can never understand.

That can wait until later, though. For now, she cuts down the Mechon. She'll ask Shulk about this later, when she finds him. If anyone has even an inkling of an idea of what that meant, it would be him.

"Fiora!" Reyn's yelling and Dunban seems stunned in awe. "More incoming!"

Dunban pulls himself to his feet then. "Reyn!"

"Yeah!"

The two join the fray and, in no time, they have the advantage. The Monado still feels foreign in Fiora's hands, but bit by bit she's acclimating, figuring out what to do.

Dunban slides to a stop at her back. "Fiora, are you alright?"

"Fine, I just..." She frowns. "I think I know what Shulk saw earlier. I think he saw into the future. Is that something the Monado can just do?"

"First time I heard of it was from Shulk," Reyn replies, fighting off another Mechon. "You sure you saw the future?"

Fiora nods.

"...Dickson once mentioned a potential hidden power of the Monado, is this it?" Dunban asks, kicking a Mechon away from Fiora.

"That so? Guess we'll have to ask him more about it later." She grips the Monado tighter. "For now, we need to get to Shulk!"

The Monado doesn't work on the Mechon with the face. That fact makes her blood run cold, makes her freeze as she watches Dunban fight helplessly against it. She thinks he's going to die, thinks she'll lose him to this war, when a blast sounds through the night.

The Mobile Artillery, Shulk rushing forward. It's flying to the side, the Mechon with a metal face is stabbing through something. She hears herself screaming.

"Was that... another...?" Things click into place as she looks up and sees Shulk rushing for the Mechon. "Shulk, no! It'll kill you! Turn around!"

Shulk doesn't listen, all he does is yell that he'll help them. That they'll save Colony 9. He's shooting at the Mechon now, but still almost no reaction. Even less than a normal mechon would have. Does it have to do with the eerie red glow?

"Shulk! Please get out of here! Run!"

He's up against it now, shooting directly at it. Still nothing, even as the artillery falls. Even as the Faced Mechon gets up. Fiora can do nothing but watch as it lifts it, looks at Shulk for so long, and throws it to the side as if it's nothing.

She listens to Shulk's whimpers and yells, she hears herself screaming as Shulk screams. As he lets out what is his dying breath. She's shaking, coming back to reality. She grips the Monado, and a jolt goes through her, like a cold shock of electricity, right through her veins.

"I'll kill you...!"

#Xenoblade #Xenoblade Chronicles #Series: At the Start of the World #Fandom: Xenoblade #Character: Fiora #Character: Shulk #Character: Reyn #Character: Dunban #Character: Mumkhar #Post Type: Chapter #Content Warning: Character Death

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gone4neow · 5 years ago

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DUOTROYS ⚠︎ pcy

Chapter Seven

- chanyeol x reader, soulmate au, fantasy au that i threw together (inspired by the movie Pacific Rim)

- warnings : violence, swearing, mature themes, and robots

- word count : 3,165

chapter six or chapter eight or masterlist

⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎

"Whose room is this?" Chanyeol asked when the trio came up on a metal door. He watched as Naoki answered his question by pulling out her key and unlocked the door. She entered the room quickly and the two men followed after her. Jongdae shut the door behind him. He realized that this was his first time being inside the room, despite showing up and knocking on the door every morning. His eyes scanned the plain room. It was a sharp contrast to others he had been in. Most people attempted to make their rooms feel like home. Naoki seemed to avoid doing that entirely.

"Do you have to be so tall?" The woman huffed as she turned around and faced Chanyeol's chin. The room was small enough with just her in it and now she was accompanied by two others. It didn't help that one was practically a giant.

"You don't like tall people?" The man replied in a panicked tone. She looked up and met his eyes. They were narrowed, full of worry, and had a bright glimmer within them that she found enduring. She had only seen light like that in someone else's eyes once; it had been Totty's.

"Shut up," she breathed out as she scanned the room. She pointed at her bed before speaking one short word.

"Sit."

The giant man obeyed, turning slightly so that he could place himself down on the bed. The woman almost laughed at the way she had to lower her eyes to meet Jongdae's gaze after the tall man was no longer being a wall between them.

"You can sit too," she told the man softly as she turned to rummage through the stack of books on the table behind her. She didn't read very often before she arrived her, but after visiting the facility's library she found herself recalling the days before the invasion where she would read any book she could get her hands on. Though she had shaken off the habit after the invasions began, she couldn't resist the way they called out to her when she had no other sources of entertainment besides Jongdae. Old habits do die hard.

The men watched her as she fiddled around with the books until a light, victorious 'ah-ha' filled the air. The woman turned around with a notebook in her left hand and a black ink pen in her right. She passed the objects over to Jongdae, who glanced between her and the objects with raised eyebrows.

"Here's how this is going to go down. You're going to write down a word on the paper, I'll read it, tell Chanyeol what it is, and then he will tell you what it is," she told him as she crossed her arms across her chest.

"Ooh! That sounds fun!" the tall man exclaimed cheerfully from beside him. Naoki's eyes skimmed over his excited expression, hating the way the sight of his crinkled eyes and wide smile made her feel. The man was an overgrown child - how was she not supposed to find him adorable?

"He'll see from beside me," the man holding the notebook protested in the form of an exaggerated whine. It was a sound the woman had grown used to. She rolled her eyes again for the second time that day.

"Okay. Then up! You and I will go out into the hallway and Chanyeol can yell through the door. The people next door totally won't mind," she told him in a grumpy tone as she walked towards the door. She waited for him to join her and she opened the door for him to exit when he finally made it to her. She went to step outside, but suddenly froze. Chanyeol met her eyes as she turned her torso just enough to look at him.

"Don't go through my stuff or I will slaughter you," she warned as she pointed a finger in his direction. He swallowed nervously, knowing she was more than capable of slaughtering him.

"Slaughter? That's-" she heard Jongdae begin to tease the woman just before the door was shut. Their voices became muffled once the metal door sealed them off from the room. Chanyeol glanced around the room with the woman's warning still echoing through his head. His thumbs chased each other subconsciously as he waited for the woman to reach out to him.

"Okay, I don't know what word to write," Jongdae confessed after his hand had hovered over the notebook page for a minute. The woman had thought he had been writing a sentence this entire time. She scoffed in disbelief.

"Any word, Dae! It doesn't have to be something specific," she told him with a small sigh. He frowned, trying to think of a word. The woman watched him concentrate and after a few seconds she found herself about to reach over and right a word for him. It was his sudden snicker and rushed hand movements that made her hand relax by her side.

'Park Chanyeol smells bad,' she read on the paper when the guard finally showed the page to her. She wanted to make a comment about how she was surrounded by nothing but childish idiots but she held back. She was in a rush to prove the guard wrong. So, she repeated the sentence back to Chanyeol. The man yelled something from the other side of the room, but Naoki realized her plan was flawed. She reach over and cracked the door open, calling out for Chanyeol to repeat hisself.

"I don't smell bad!" He yelled with offense in his voice. The woman glanced over her shoulder at Jongdae, who had frozen completely. There was a blank expression as he stared at the door. She wondered what was going through his mind.

"Do another one," she told him gently. His movements were slow but he found himself moving to write something else on the paper.

'October 16th' she read when he had lifted his hand from the page. She wanted to ask what the date meant, as it was recent, but she refrained from doing so. Instead, she repeated the words back to Chanyeol like she had last time.

"October 16th?" The giant called from inside her room. Jongdae's face paled at this. He looked at Naoki with horror on his face. It was the first time he had ever looked at her with such an expression.

"It's true then," he whispered, more to himself than to her. She found herself nodding in confirmation anyways.

"My father used to tell me that if I ever met a pair that could communicate telepathically that they were bad, bad people and that I should not associate with them in any way," the man confessed in a distant tone as his eyes drifted away from the woman and landed on the dark colored wall behind her.

"Is that why you didn't believe us?" The woman asked in a quiet tone. The man nodded weakly. Naoki found herself at a loss for words. What could she possibly say that would cause a change in the atmosphere after that? It was tense, all throughout the hallway, and anyone would have been able to feel it.

Chanyeol was focusing on the table of books when his hand felt as if he dipped it in a pool of lava. Then came her emotions. He felt the combination of shame and pity that she felt and he called out for her silently.

"Jongdae's father warned him to stay away from people like us," she explained to him. He frowned at her words and pushed himself off the bed to join the two out in the hallway. He was met with the sight of Jongdae staring blankly at the wall and Naoki looking over her shoulder at the man with a frown on her face when he pushed the door open completely. She turned to face him when she noticed his presence.

"What happens now?" He asked her quietly. She shrugged, not knowing what to say to him, either.

"I'm not going to leave because of this. My father was a good man - a great man - but he was easily frightened by things he didn't understand," Jongdae paused as he let his eyes avert away from the wall and over to the pair of soulmates. They stood by the door with their eyes, now, focused on him and he felt almost intimidated by they power they radiated when standing next to one another. He licked his lips before he spoke again.

"I've never once doubted my father's beliefs in my life, but I know you, Naoki. You're not bad, and Chanyeol seems like a good guy. I didn't know how to take this information at first - I didn't want to believe it at first - but I understand now. I felt it when I first met you, Ki, and this has only strengthened by belief that you will be the one to save the world."

"Dae," The woman whispered as she saw the hope glimmering in his eyes. She didn't know what the relationship between the guard and his father was like, or even if the man was still alive, but she knew it must have been something that meant a lot to him from the way he had reacted towards her over the telepathic ordeal. To have him say that he had to go against his father's beliefs because he believed in her so strongly made her feel a way she had never before. The weight on her shoulder felt heavier. His words were a burden, but she welcomed them. They were a good burden.

She turned and looked at Chanyeol with misty eyes. She would have never admitted it, but the man knew she was fighting hard to not release her tears. Jongdae had an effect on her that not many people had managed to achieve during her lifetime. In fact, she could probably count the number of people that had succeeded in doing so on one hand. In that moment, all of her fears seemed to vanish. There was nothing that she wouldn't do for the guard. I'll be brave for you, she thought to herself.

Though her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she could hear it in her ears, she found herself raising her left hand up. It trembled as it always did when her nerves got the best of her. Chanyeol's eyes immediately flickered towards the hand, before they found her dark eyes staring at him with an intensity that made his heart flutter. He understood what she was asking of him.

"Tell me it's what you want. Tell me you won't regret it tomorrow," he whispered to her with that low, husky voice of his. His eyes searched hers for a sign that she didn't want it, but he couldn't find one if it existed. His eyes flickered down to her pink lips, awaiting the sound of her voice to escape the confines of her mouth.

"Please do it," she begged him quietly. She knew she didn't have the strength to do it herself; she needed Chanyeol's help with this one. With his own shaky hand, her soulmate reach up slowly. She watched his hand as it closed the distance between it and then it was there. She could feel the warmth of his palm immediately. The sound of his heartbeat mixed with hers for a second, and then it quietened down. If she focused enough, she could hear it in the back of her mind where she heard his voice when they communicated silently. It was as if he had his own little home in the back of her head.

Chanyeol's long fingers danced along the skin of her hand until they were sneaking their way between hers. He expected her to pull away, to push him to the side, and to hide away in her room for the rest of the day - she didn't, though. She let her eyes close as she focused on the rhythm of his heartbeat and held his hand tenderly in her own.

"I believe this calls for a celebratory dinner," Jongdae suddenly spoke from behind the pair. Chanyeol looked up at the man with wide eyes, startled by his presence even though he had known the man was there. Naoki pulled her hand out of her soulmates in a hasty manner, turning to look at her best friend with flushed cheeks. She had forgotten he was there.

"It's been a minute and you've already forgotten I exist?" He teased her playfully when he noticed the look on her face. The smile that formed on her face at his words only made him grin. He glanced down at his watch and his grin faltered at the time of the hour.

"Ah, it's the big guy's bed time in twenty minutes. We should head out," he announced as his gaze shifted from the object on his wrist to Chanyeol. The dark haired man released a sigh but stepped around Naoki carefully to stand by the guard's side. She swallowed nervously as she eyed the two men. What would happen now?

"I'll be here late tomorrow. Sleep in for once. You deserve it after today," The guard told her as he pointed at her. There was still a small smile on his face.

"Okay mom. Rest well," she joked. The corners of Chanyeol's mouth rugged upward at this and her eyes found his seconds later.

"Goodnight," she said to him.

"Goodnight," he told her before the guard reach over and tugged at the sleeve of his uniform's shirt. The woman watched as they walked away, ignoring the way her stomach reacted when the giant glanced over his shoulder at her as he left.

"Do I really stink?" She heard him as Jongdae once they were farther down the hall. She scoffed in disbelief before she turned around and entered her room for the night.

Jongdae hadn't been lying when he said he would be showing up late the next day. He arrived around eleven thirty, his light knocks disturbing the woman from the nap she had been trying to take. She hadn't gotten much sleep that night due to the previous day's events. It was okay, she didn't mind it too much.

The guard insisted on getting lunch together since they hadn't been able to get breakfast that morning. She agreed without hesitation. They were sitting at their usual table discussing the training schedule for that week when a man called out Chanyeol's name from the other side of the room. It was the same man that the giant always chatted with during meals. Naoki had even spotted them chatting while walking in the halls sometimes.

"Look at him," Jongdae scoffed as he watched the tall man walk across the cafeteria with all the confidence in the world. His head was held high, a wide grin was stretched across his face, and his skin glowed as if he were a mythical creature. Naoki could hear the amusement in the guard's voice as he watched the man strut around the room confidentially. She hadn't been particularly amused by it until the clumsy giant accidentally bumped into someone and made them drop their tray. He apologized repeatedly as soon at the collision occurred and, thankfully, the woman was kind enough to let it go. Naoki knew why the woman had been so forgiving. Her rosy cheeks and flirtatious smile had been enough for the entire room to know, but Chanyeol seemed obvious to it.

"He's embarrassing. Do we have to take him out in public?" Naoki asked the guard playfully as she looked over at him. He swallowed the bite of his sandwich he had been chewing on before he answered.

"I take you out in public, don't I?"

"Can I sit with you?" She heard Chanyeol's voice in the back of her head.

"No," she told him playfully.

"Can I bring Baekhyun, too?" the man added a moment later.

"Bigger no," she replied. It was about two minutes later that the giant appeared in front of her with a stranger by his side. The two sat down, one with a shy smile on his face and the other with a wide grin.

"Dae, can you explain to Chanyeol what the word 'no' means?" Naoki asked her friend as she pointed over at the black haired man.

"Friendship bracelets?" The man next to Chanyeol asked as he looked back and forth between the woman and the guard's wrists. They had both propped their elbows on the table at they ate their lunch. Naoki felt herself automatically lower her arms from view. Jongdae simply kept chewing his food, unbothered by the attention.

"Why don't we have friendship bracelets?" The man asked Chanyeol with a small pout on his face. The giant laughed as he looked at the man, thinking he was kidding. When the man didn't laugh with him, he froze.

"You want friendship bracelets?" He asked the man. The man looked away quickly, as if he didn't have a clue what the friendly giant was talking about.

"Who is he?" Naoki asked Chanyeol. She watched as the man's eyes widened. He snapped his fingers together before he placed a long arm around the stranger's shoulder.

"This is Baekhyun. We met on the bus ride here. Baekhyun - this is Guard Kim and Naoki, my soulmate," the dark haired man introduced the three.

"Hi," Jongdae smiled warmly at the man. Baekhyun flashed him a wide smile in return, reaching his hand out for the guard to shake.

"Hi," Naoki said after a moment. She didn't greet him with a smile and there was no enthusiasm in her voice, but Baekhyun reach his hand out for her to shake once Jongdae pulled away from him. She glanced down at the hand, forcing herself to reach across the table and shake it. She didn't have to avoid touching people anymore. She was already bonded to her soulmate now.

"You're even prettier than what Chanyeol said you were," Baekhyun complimented her. She felt her face grow warm. From the way the man's smile grew, he had noticed.

"You think I'm pretty?" She taunted the friendly giant with a raised eyebrow. His eyes widened at the question and snapped over to his friend as he hit the man's arm with mock anger.

"I think the exact words were 'ah, my soulmate is the prettiest woman I've ever seen. She's like a Greek goddess or one of those girls from those dramas I watch-" the man had been speaking in a high pitched tone as he imitated his friend, until Chanyeol's large hand rested over his mouth and blocked his words from escaping. Jongdae was laughing hysterically at the scene. The three men were so caught up in their own moment of chaos that they hadn't even registered the sound of the woman's laughter.

⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎⚠︎

a/n: listen, writing this chapter made me feel something that i cannot even describe and i hope that you all feel the same way after reading it. i love these characters so, so much. i try to reflect their personalities as we know them in my writing, but i have to wing it when it comes to how they would react to the situations i conjure up while writing - so i apologize if anyone seems out of "character". as always, thanks for reading! ☺︎

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fanwarriorfictions · 6 years ago

Text

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A Stranger Things 2 Fanfic

Chapter Nine- Part Three

Phina was trying her hardest not to die with laughter. Dustin was very excited about the dead Demodog in the living room. He made Steve pick it up in a blanket while he took everything out of the Byers' fridge to store it in.

"Shut up," Steve glowered at Phina, a glare on his face.

She raises her hands, "I didn't say anything."

Steve playfully glares at her, "maybe, but I know what you're thinking, asshole. Shut up"

She grins at him and tilts her head cutely, "bite me, Harrington."

Dustin sighs, shaking his head as he turns towards Steve, "it should fit now."

Steve gives him a look of exasperation, "is this really necessary?"

"Yes, it is, okay," Dustin answers, "this is a ground-breaking scientific discovery. We can't just bury it like some common mammal, okay? It's not a dog!"

"All right, all right, all right," Steve sighs as he walks towards the fridge, "but you're explaining this to Mrs. Byers, all right?"

He lifts the creature into the fridge and it's head slams against the side. Phina laughs sharply and almost falls off the counter she was sitting on. Steve tries to shove it in again but it doesn't work.

"Christ," he groans, "help me out?"

"What am I supposed to do," Dustin asks.

"Get the door, man," Steve grumbles as he pushes the Demodog into the fridge more.

Dustin grabs the fridge door, "all right, I got the door."

Steve tries to pull back from the creature and the slime on it gets all over his arm, "Ew! Jesus-"

"God," Dustin yells.

Steve quickly pulls away from the creature and he and Dustin slam the door shut which makes the entire thing shake. They both stare at the door for a moment and then Steve puts his hand on Dustin's head, patting it like a dad would a son.

"Phew," Steve sighs.

Phina grins at the two of them. She thought it was cute that Steve and Dustin were getting closer. Steve looks over at her and rolls his eyes at her grin. She enjoyed that little show a little too much.

"I'll rub this slime on your face if you don't wipe that grin off your face," Steve jokes, gesturing to the slime on his arm.

She grins wider, almost like a cat, "I'll burn you."

"Point taken," he nods, a smile now on his lips.

From the living room, Lucas's voice says, "Mike, would you just stop already?"

"You weren't in there, okay, Lucas," Mike fires back at him, "that lab was swarming with hundreds of those dogs."

Dustin rolls his eyes, "Demodogs!"

"The chief will take care of her," Lucas says, ignoring Dustin.

"Like she needs protection," Max mumbles.

Steve, Phina, and Dustin walk into the living room. Phina had given Steve a rag to wipe off the slime from his arm

"Listen, dude," Steve says to Mike, "a coach calls a play in a game bottom line, you execute it. All right?"

"Okay, first of all," Mike says, clearly annoyed, "this isn't some stupid sports game. And second, we're not even in the game. We're on the bench."

Steve stammers, "so my point is..."

He pauses and they all look at him, "right, yeah, we're on the bench, so, uh, there's nothing we can do."

He throws the towel over his shoulder and Dustin speaks up, "that's not entirely true. I mean, these Demodogs, they have a hive mind. When they ran away from the bus, they were called away."

"So, if we get their attention," Lucas continues.

"Maybe we can draw them from the lab," Max adds, looking up at Lucas.

"Clear a path to the gate," Mike says.

"So El and Hopper can get in," Phina says.

"Yeah, and then we all die," Steve counters, looking at all of them with a look that said, are you even hearing yourselves?

"That's one point of view," Dustin argues.

Steve shakes his head, "no, that's not a point of view, man. That's a fact."

Mike pushes through Steve and Dustin, "I got it!"

He walks around a corner and they all follow him. He kneels down and points at a spot on Will's map that covered the walls of the Byers' house.

"This where the chief dug his hole," Mike says, "this is our way into the tunnel. So..."

He stands up and walks over to another piece of the map, "here, right here. This is like a hub."

He stands over a place where a giant blue area was, "so you got all the tunnels feeding in here. Maybe if we set this on fire-"

"Oh, yeah," Steve says, one hand on his hip as he points, "that's a no."

"The mind flayer would call away his army," Dustin says, ignoring Steve.

"They'd all come to stop us," Lucas exclaims.

"Then we circle back to the exit," Mike plans.

Steve leans towards them, "guys."

"By the time they realize we're gone-"

"El would be at the gate-"

"Hey!" Steve claps to get their attention. "Hey! Hey! This is not happening."

"He's right guys," Phina says.

"But-"

"No, no, no," Steve yells, "no buts. I promised I'd keep you shitheads safe, and that's exactly what I plan on doing."

Phina crosses her arms over her chest, "it's too dangerous, guys. Steve's right, it's our job to keep you guys safe. I'd be damned if I let you guys go with me."

Steve whirls around on her, "with me? No, no, no, you're not going down into those tunnels either! We're staying here. On the bench. And we're waiting here for the starting team to do their job. Does everybody understand that?"

"This isn't a stupid sports game," Mike yells.

"I said does everybody understand that," Steve yells back, grabbing the rag of his shoulder and pointing at Mike, "I need a yes."

All of them turn towards the sound of a loud engine. Max instantly runs over to the front window and jumps on the couch to look through it, Lucas following her lead.

"It's my brother," Max says as the engine grows louder, "he can't know I'm here. He'll kill me. He'll kill us."

The engine revs a few times before the car screeches to a stop in front of the house.

"Stay in here," Steve orders all of them, "I'll talk to him."

Phina glares at him, "like hell I'm staying here, Harrington."

Steve knows not to push her when she gets like this so he just sighs and looks at the kids behind her, "stay hidden you dipshits."

Phina and Steve walk out the front door and close it behind them. Steve stands slightly in front of Phina to hide her from Billy's view. The boy mentioned slowly gets out of his car, a cigaret lit between his lips as he looks over at them, leaning on the roof of his car.

"Am I dreaming, or is that you, Harrington," he asks.

Steve has his hands on his hips, "yeah, it's me. Don't cream your pants."

"And is that the gorgeous freak of Hawkins behind you," he asks as his gaze turns to Phina.

"Better watch what you say, Hargrove," Phina snaps, "I'd hate to make do on my promise."

Billy throws his jacket off his shoulders and Steve walks towards him, sensing the trouble that Billy wanted to start. Phina catches up with Steve with her arms crossed.

"What are you doing here, amigo," Billy asks, his eyes turning back to Steve.

"I could ask you the same thing," Steve says with a fake uninterested tone, "amigo."

The two stop a few feet away from Billy, "looking for my stepsister. A little birdie told me she was here."

"Huh," Steve hums, "that's weird. I don't know her."

"Small. Redhead, bit of a bitch," Billy says, glancing over at Phina, "not to be confused with this beauty right here."

Steve glares at him, "doesn't ring a bell. Sorry, buddy."

"You know," Billy sighs, "I don't know, this... this whole situation, Harrington, I don't know. It's giving me the heebie-jeebies."

"Oh, yeah," Steve asks, pushing Phina back a little, more for Billy sake than hers, when he feels heat start to radiate off her, "why's that?"

Billy pulls the cigaret out of his mouth, "my 13-year-old sister goes missing all day. And then I find her with you, and the freak of Hawkins, in a stranger's house. And you lie to me about it."

Steve chuckles lowly, shaking his head, "man, were you dropped too much as a child, or what?"

Billy chuckles and runs his tongue across his teeth as Steve continues, "I don't know what you don't understand about what I just said... She's not here."

Billy uses his cigaret to point past Steve and at the house, "then who is that?"

Steve and Phina whirl around to look at the window. All of the kids are pressed up against is and they jump away when they see the teens look at them. Phina wants to strangle all of them.

"Oh, shit," Steve slowly turns back to Billy, "listen-"

Billy pushes Steve and he falls to the ground, hitting his head.

"Steve," Phina yells but Billy shoves her away from him and she falls too.

"I told you to plant your feet," Billy growls at Steve and he kicks him in the side when he tries to push himself up.

Billy walks past them and towards the front door. Phina pushes herself up and glares at the back of his head. Vines start to crawl over the ground towards him slowly.

"Phina," Steve groans, "don't."

The vines retract quickly as Phina comes to her senses. She couldn't reveal herself to Billy, or anyone for that matter, not if she wanted to live a normal life ever again, not if she wanted to stay out of places like Hawkins Lab.

Phina rushes over to Steve, "are you ok?"

He groans as she pulls him to her feet, "not important right now."

He grabs her arm and they run into the house hearing yelling from the kitchen, "you are so dead, Sinclair! You're dead."

Steve lets go of Phina as he grabs Billy, spinning him around to face him, "no... you are!"

Steve hits Billy with a punch that used his full weight, making his entire body spin to the side. Phina goes behind him and grabs Lucas, pulling him to the rest of the kids. Billy laughs maniacally as he turns towards Steve.

"Looks like you got some fire in you after all, huh," Billy yells, "I've been waiting to meet this King Steve everybody's been telling me so much about."

Steve doesn't flinch as Billy gets closer to him, he only hardens his gaze and sneers as he pushed Billy back, "get out."

Billy reels back and swings at Steve who dodges beneath his arm. As he comes back up, he hits Billy across the jaw and sends him back into the table.

"Yes! Kick his ass, Steve," Dustin yells.

"Get him," Mike yells.

"Murder the son of a bitch!"

Steve hits Billy again and he falls backward and leans on the sink, his teeth covered in blood.

"Now! Now!"

"Get that shithead!"

Billy laughs, throwing his bloody face towards the roof.

"Kill the son of a bitch!"

Billy grabs a plate off the counter and smashes it over Steve's head.

"Steve," Phina yells.

"Billy," Max yells.

Steve stumbles towards them and Billy walks towards him, rearing back for another hit at Steve. Phina grabs the kids and pulls them away from the fight. Steve stumbles into the living room and Billy stalks towards him. He grabs Steve by the shoulders and Steve squirms in his grip.

"No one tells me what to do," Billy growls, bitch-slapping Steve across the face.

"Steve," Phina yells again, not knowing what to do without revealing her powers.

Steve is sent to the ground as Billy yells, "Whoo! Get up!"

He stalks towards him and gets on top of Steve. He throws a powerful hit across Steve's cheek and then another one. Left, right, left, right. Blood spews from Steve's mouth and Phina's vision goes red.

The kids' yelling goes deaf in her ears as she feels something snap within her. It's like a dam has broken and power floods through her. Her hands twitch at her sides, her nails tingling as they go from normal, short, stubby things, to sharp thorns growing from her skin. Her eyes feel like they are burning within her skull, the emerald that had been referred to as flame go black as the depths of the sea. She stalks forward, the kids backing away from her, not in fear, but in the realization that she was a bomb about to explode. Her new talons drip with a toxin, nothing that would kill, just subdue, as she raises them above Billy. Time slows as she sinks her talons into Billy's neck, the toxin taking effect immediately. She rips her hand back, leaving four deep gashes.

Billy stumbles to his feet, turning to look at the girl. Fear shoots through him at the sight of her. She looked like a demon had taken over her body, her eyes black as night, her hair entwined with thorn laden vines. Whatever she put in him, he swore it was making him hallucinate. He falls backward, away from her. It draws her eyes towards Steve, passed out on the floor.

Slowly, the red in her vision leaves and the talons retracts, leaving her short fingernails in place. The black in her eyes changes back to the normal emerald as she stumbles towards him.

"Steve," she whispers, falling forward, the world turning black instead of red.

-2293 words-

Ooohhh, badass Phina coming out to play, and all for Steve ;) I hope you liked this chapter and are ready for the next four!

-Morgan

#steve harrington #steve harrington x oc #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #strangerthingsfanfic #strangerthings #one #romance #slow burn

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