#see ao3 for warnings! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

miasmaghoul · 10 months ago

Note

sooo.. how do we feel about swiss fingering transdew in the passenger seat

"Why me?"

Swiss tilts his head, spinning a heavy set of keys around one finger.

"Why not?"

Dew raises an eyebrow, gestures at the guitar in his lap, the papers spread out on his bed.

"Oh please," Swiss scoffs, pushing himself away from Dew's doorframe and striding into his sunlit room. It's a gorgeous day, early spring, the sweet scent of the rose gardens wafting in on the breeze. "You're tellin' me you'd rather practice than go for a joyride?"

Dew snorts, crossing his ankles and adjusting his beat up old acoustic. It's true that he's been at it for a while now, since just after breakfast, but this solo has been giving him shit and he's determined to nail it before their next group session.

"I don't think taking Sunny and Lus to the grocery store counts as a joyride."

Dew strums out a few chords while Swiss flops into his desk chair, leaning it back onto two legs. It creaks under his weight.

"Maybe not," Swiss concedes, unbothered, "but you could still come keep me company."

"What, the girls not enough for you?"

"They would be," Swiss replies with a shrug. "If they didn't spend every trip making out in the back seat."

Dew snorts at that - Swiss has a point, Sunshine and Cumulus are not ones to keep their hands off each other in any context. Still, he grumbles.

"C'mon, Sparky," Swiss goads, scooting his chair closer so he can rest his elbows on the mattress, propping his chin in one hand and prodding at Dew's knee with the other. "Don't make me beg."

"But I like it when you beg."

Dew throws Swiss a wink, and Swiss reciprocates with his best puppy dog eyes. Big and wet and completely irresistible. Dew sighs, throws up his hands in mock defeat.

"Fine, fine," he grumps, setting his guitar on the bed. "But I'd better get something outta this."

Swiss grins, delighted. Pats Dew on the thigh as he stands, shoving the chair back under the desk.

"I'll tell Lus to buy that spicy jerky you like," he offers, and Dew gives him a little ooh.

"The cheese too," he insists, shuffling to the edge of the mattress and reaching for his boots. "The one with the habaneros."

"Yeah, yeah," Swiss chuckles, heading for the door, "but warn me before you eat it, I'm not sleeping with you on cheese night again. I learned my lesson."

Dew hurls a pillow at him, and Swiss scampers into the hall with a boisterous laugh. The little ghoul works on lacing up his boots, and makes a mental note to never tell Swiss when it's cheese night.

Twenty minutes later they're on the road, and as the breeze blows through his hair Dew wonders why he was so reluctant in the first place.

It's a gorgeous day, sunny and hot, but not enough to need the a/c. They're flying down the highway in Copia's ancient whale of a car, the windows down and a Judas Priest cassette blaring through the speakers; Swiss belts out the chorus to Breaking the Law while Dew taps out a matching rhythm on the outside of his door. In the back, Cumulus provides backing vocals while Sunshine dances in her seat, and Dew can't help the massive grin that splits his face.

It's a 45 minute drive to the nearest grocery store - the one downside to the abbey being so remote - but the trip passes quicker than he expects. They're trundling into the parking lot before Dew knows it, Swiss killing the engine and groaning through a solid stretch. Dew flips down the visor, looks in the tiny mirror and makes a displeased sound at the state of his hair.

"Okay," Cumulus pipes up from the back seat. Dew peers at her in the mirror, not missing the fresh hickey just below her ear. "I have the list, I have our allowance, I have..." she pats at her chest, searching the pockets of her denim vest, "ah, and I have my phone!"

"You got my snacks on that list?" Dew inquires, working at his knotted ends. Cumulus makes an affirmative sound.

"Sure do," she lilts, leaning forward to dangle the paper in his face. "Jerky and cheese, as requested."

"Get some of that chocolate I like too," he mumbles, "the dark stuff, with the salt." He turns his head to give her outstretched hand a quick peck. "Please."

"You got it, sugar," she giggles, tucking the list away. "You two coming with us?"

"No boys allowed," Sunshine and Swiss say in unison, and the lot of them chuckle. It's a known fact that Dew isn't a fan of crowds and that Swiss can't be trusted around free samples, so in the car they will stay.

"Besides," Swiss adds, leaning across the bench seat to throw an arm around Dew's narrow shoulders, "I got good company right here."

He nips at Dew's ear and the little ghoul elbows him in the side, hard enough to make Swiss yelp. It turns into a quick little slap fight, a moment of playful stupidity that Dew will never admit to enjoying as much as he does.

"Play nice, kids," Sunshine chides when they break apart, resting her chin on the back of their seat with a toothy grin. "Or mommy won't bring back any treats!"

"Gross," Dew complains, but settles anyway. Goes back to working the kinks from his golden locks. Sunshine leans over the seat to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek and Dew squawks in protest.

"Aww, but you I thought you loved calling me that!"

Dew shoves her away, suffers through a chorus of snickers while his cheeks go pink, and resolutely avoids looking over as Swiss. The girls get their things together and then they're clambering out of the car; Sunshine glues herself to Cumulus, laces their hands together, and together they stride across the parking lot to the hulking monolith that is the grocery store.

"Mommy, huh?" Swiss pipes up moments later, and Dew groans.

"Shut up," he grouses, giving up on his messy hair and slouching down in his seat. "It's her thing, not mine," Dew lies. "Besides, I've called you worse."

"Can't argue that," Swiss lilts, stretching his arm along the back of the bench seat. "Remember that time you called me Mr. Army?"

Oh, does he, and Dew really doesn't want to think about that right now. Thick fingers tease their way into his tangled hair, blunt nails scratching against his scalp.

"You were the one that put me in a schoolgirl outfit," Dew huffs, crossing his legs for reasons totally unrelated to that particular memory. "I can't be held accountable for anything I said."

"I just never thought I'd get anyone but Rain to call me that," Swiss murmurs, a lascivious grin sliding onto his face. Dew looks at him from the corner of his eye, unwilling to lose the pleasant pressure of Swiss' hand in his hair.

"Rain? Really?"

"Oh yeah," Swiss says, converational. His hand moves to cup the back of Dew's neck, and oh is that lovely. "Wanted me to spank his ass raw and tell him what a naughty boy he was while he said it. Poor guy went off against my thigh before I could even get him on my cock," he sighs, wistful. Swiss turns his head, fixes Dew with that vulpine smile. "You were a nice surprise."

The little ghoul rolls his eyes, and really hopes Swiss doesn't notice him squeezing his thighs together. He has nothing further to say on the matter - or, at least, nothing that won't get him into trouble - so he stays silent. Enjoys the way Swiss' thumb rubs the spot just behind his ear while he watches humans mill about the lot. Families and individuals both, with arms full of paper bags holding untold goodies.

For what it's worth, Swiss doesn't keep talking either. He's not quiet, still humming out a tune Dew recognizes but can't quite place, but it's comfortable. The sun's hanging high in the early afternoon sky, a gentle breeze flowing though the still open windows, and Dew would be lying if he said this wasn't a nice way to kill time.

"What's on your mind?" Swiss asks a handful of minutes later, giving his neck a squeeze. "You're never quiet for this long."

"Oh you're one to talk," Dew chuffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "I can't remember the last time you shut up for more than five minutes."

"Pfft, sure you can," Swiss insists, that large hand dipping into the collar of Dew’s t-shirt, callused fingertips drifting over his skin and dragging a soft sigh from his lips. "I'm pretty sure I don't talk that much when you're sitting on my face, spitfire."

Dew scoffs despite the tingle the words force through him, a warm feeling settling into his belly. He turns his head to give Swiss a look, an incredulous eyebrow raised.

"That's the only example you can think of?"

"No," Swiss shrugs, "it's just the one I'm thinkin' of right now." The other ghoul licks his lips in a very intentional way, and that tingle hits again. "I guess deepthroating Mount counts too, but -"

"So the only thing that keeps you from yapping is having someone's junk in your mouth," Dew interrupts, nodding sagely, "noted."

Swiss laughs, loud enough to get the attention of a few people loading their car nearby. Dew shrinks in his seat.

"Like you're complaining."

He shifts in the seat, scooching closer. Dew squints at him, suspicious, but doesn't protest. Not even when Swiss gets close enough for their thighs to touch, for the other ghoul to drape an arm around his neck and let that huge hand rest on his chest. For Dew to soak in his spicy cologne and for Swiss to rest his chin on a bony shoulder.

"Besides," he rumbles, nosing at Dew's temple, "we both know you love my yapping."

"Love is a strong word," Dew mumbles, tilting his head when Swiss nuzzles his neck nonetheless.

"Mm, I don't think so," Swiss hums against his jaw, stubble scratching at his skin in a way that makes Dew's eyelids flutter. "Don't think I missed that little leg squeeze when I was talkin' about Rain, baby."

Dew groans, gives him a little shove. Far from enough to dislodge the other ghoul, more of a nudge than anything else. Token protest. Swiss huffs out a soft laugh, kisses his cheek.

"That's what I thought," he coos, licking at the shell of Dew's ear to draw out a shiver. The hand on his chest finds a nipple through his shirt, and Dew has to bite his lip to keep from making a sound. Curse Swiss for knowing every one of his weak spots. "Can't hide from me, Sparky."

Dew hates that he's right, and hates even more that - even in a place like this - Swiss can get him riled up with so little effort. Dew bounces his leg, takes his lower lip between his teeth while he scans the parking lot. There are people everywhere, but none close enough to see them - a fact Dew is very thankful for when Swiss sucks his earlobe and gives one of his nipple piercings a tug. Any closer and they might hear his moan.

"Fuck," Dew grunts, squirming in his seat, "ugh, you bitch."

"Such language," Swiss taunts, tracing the tip of his tongue along Dew's pulse point. "Lucifer, you're so easy."

Dew growls as best he can, human glamour be damned, and it just makes Swiss laugh again. It's a shame he can't argue - Swiss and Aether are the only ones who have such an effect on him, and they both know it perfectly well.

"Aww, gettin' all hot and bothered already?" Dew tries to shake his head, but Swiss kisses his throat and it doesn't get him very far. "Don't lie, firecracker. I can smell it on you."

Of course he can. He always can. Dew sighs as his eyes slip shut, sagging into the seat as Swiss slowly but surely teases the spots that make him start to sweat. Swiss' other hand lands on his thigh, stroking tight denim until Dew’s legs uncross. He walks two fingers up the inseam of the little ghoul's jeans while he trails wet kisses along his jaw, and Dew really can't help the soft sounds it all wrings from him.

Then that wandering hand sneaks under his shirt, lifts it up to expose his belly, and Dew jolts.

"H-hey, wait," he breathes, fists balled at his sides. His eyes crack open despite the way Swiss continues to work his chest, his throat, his ear. He watches Swiss' talented fingers trace his happy trail, dip into his navel and disappear up his shirt, and when Swiss rubs at his bare nipple Dew has to clap a hand over his mouth to hide his moan. "Shit, Swiss -"

It's muffled by his palm, and Dew's eyes dart around the parking lot as Swiss pulls away. Fixes him with hooded eyes and a crooked smile.

"Hm?" Swiss tugs both piercings at once and Dew shudders. "Something wrong?"

"You - oh - fuck, Swiss some...someone's gonna hear, someone's gonna - nngh - gonna see -"

"So?" The hand under his shirt runs ticklish trails down his belly, makes the muscles there jump. Swiss nibbles at his collarbone and Dew makes an embarrassing gurgling noise. "You like being watched and we both know it."

That may be true, but Dew thinks there's a difference between Mountain spying on him through a crack in the door and being fondled in a public parking lot with the windows down.

Swiss' hand finds his belt then, and Dew throbs.

"Fucker," he bites out as Swiss unbuckles him, other hand still expertly working his chest, and Dew flushes at the dark chuckle Swiss lets out.

"Maybe later," he croons, kissing the hinge of his jaw. "I got other plans for you right now."

Swiss wastes no time it getting his belt out of the way, quick to pop the button and tug down his zipper. Dew's narrow chest is heaving by the time Swiss hooks two fingers into the band of his boxer briefs. The other ghoul gives him a cruel smirk, snaps the band against his skin, and Dew sucks air through his teeth.

"Better keep it down, baby," Swiss speaks against his ear, liquid silk. "If you can, that is."

That hand worms its way into his underwear, slips down between his thighs, and Dew clenches his teeth so hard his jaw cracks.

"Mm, what's this?" Swiss glides the tip of one finger through his folds and Dew's thighs tense. "So slippery already. Just from this?"

Swiss tweaks his nipple, licks a nasty stripe below his ear, and Dew really has to work not to choke on his own tongue. His fat little dick throbs against Swiss' palm, and Swiss sounds absolutely thrilled about it.

"Oh, someone's excited," he teases, one thick finger prodding at his hole. "It's already tryin' to suck me in," Swiss sing-songs, and the little ghoul's shoulders sag.

Dew whimpers when he pushes the tip inside, clenching around an intrusion that feels far too good for how slight it is. He can't stop looking at everyone wandering the parking lot, trying to stay on high alert for the slightest hint of undue attention but struggling more and more with every passing second. Swiss wriggles that probing digit further inside, up to the second knuckle, and then there's sudden pressure on it front wall that has Dew's back arching off the seat.

"Fuck, fuck," he wheezes, hands flying to whatever he can reach - one paws at Swiss' shirt, the other gripping his forearm. Feeling the muscles shift as Swiss' finger works him open, groaning at the gentle stretch. "Oh you bastard."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, sweetheart," Swiss breathes, palming his stiff clit, and Dew's breath catches in his throat.

"Can't believe you're - oh shit, oh - fuck, can't believe I'm letting you - ah!"

Dew bites his lips shut as Swiss curls his finger just right, muting his cry and fighting to keep his eyes from rolling back. Clamps his thighs around that massive hand until Swiss chuckles in his ear, swirling that digit and making the little ghoul's eyes cross instead.

"You're so pretty like this," he rumbles, a second finger tracing around the first, spreading slick. "All shy. Makes you even tighter," Swiss tells him, and Dew clamps down even harder. Why is it so good? "Wish I could get you in my lap right now," his breath is so, so hot in Dew's ear. "Get you to sit on my cock and see how quiet you are then."

Dew shivers head to toe, legs spreading at the thought alone, and Swiss leaps at the opportunity. Pulls his first finger out only to slide back in with two, and there's no possible way he could stay silent through that. He turns his head just in time to sink his teeth into Swiss' shoulder, howling his pleasure into cotton and flesh, and Swiss groans right along with him.

"That's more like it," he praises, kissing the top of Dew’s head while he pants and shivers. "Gonna be a quick one, isn't it?"

Dew nods as best he can, moaning into Swiss' shirt when he rubs the heel of his hand in slow circles over his pulsing clit. Doesn't pull back until he's sure he can control himself, gasping when Swiss crooks his fingers but biting back the whine bubbling up in his throat.

"Y-yeah," he admits, thready. He can't be bothered to look out the window anymore, staring only at the bulge Swiss' hand makes in his jeans. "Fuck, just do it, fuckin' make me."

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Swiss lilts, one last taunt, and then the only sound filling the space around them is the wet squelch of skilled fingers plunging in and out of his tight little body.

It's perfect - the curve of Swiss' digits, the pressure against his sensitive little dick, the way Swiss rubs at that one spot inside that has Dew going boneless against Swiss' side. Huffing hot into his shirt, hair falling into his face and wafting in the breeze still flowing through the open windows. He can't stop grabbing at Swiss - his shirt, his arm, whatever he can reach. Skinny hips rolling against his palm in search of more, more, driving Swiss' fingers as deep as they'll go.

"C-close," he spits far too soon, every inch of him on fire and wound tight as a spring. Swiss gives his closes approximation of his usual purr, and Dew's thighs quiver. "Like...like that, just like that, shit -"

"Yeah?"

The hand still torturing his nipples stills, presses flat to Dew's chest. His fingers feel so perfect Dew can't handle it, on edge and covered in goosebumps.

"Give me a squeeze, baby," Swiss instructs, and Dew does. Clenches hard around those two wonderful digits and Swiss seems to predict the sound it'll drag from him, because the hand on his chest flies to cover Dew's mouth and catch his wail. "Fuck, that's my good boy," Swiss huffs, breathless in a way Dew adores even through his haze of pleasure. The other ghoul holds him close, keeps his mouth covered, and Dew scrabbles at the arm working him. "Now let me feel it cum for me."

Dew loses all sense of rhythm as Swiss curls his fingers one last time, hitting something that puts stars in his eyes and wrenches harsh moans from his throat, and with one perfect roll of Swiss' palm against his clit Dew's gone.

He's drooling against Swiss' palm when he comes down from the highest high, sweaty at his hairline and his cunt still snapping around Swiss' fingers. Holding him inside with the little ghoul rides out the aftershocks, breathing hard through his nose and blinking with one eye at a time. Swiss is muttering all sorts of nonsense into his hair, a litany of praise and wonderment that Dew cannot for the life of him understand but appreciates anyway.

Soon enough sensitivity sets in, and Dew hisses against Swiss' damp palm. Reaches up to peel his hand away with shaky fingers, squirming until Swiss gets the message and pulls out with care. There's a gush of warmth that follows, soaks into his briefs, and Dew heaves a sigh.

"Unholy shit," he slurs, collapsing back into his seat like a mound of jelly. "What the fuck, Swiss."

The other ghoul chuckles, and Dew rolls his neck just in time to watch Swiss pop his messy fingers into his mouth. Listens to Swiss suck them clean and groan at the taste of him.

"What?" He licks slick from his palm, exaggerated passes of his tongue that Dew finds himself fascinated by. "You said you wanted to get something outta this, right?" Dew blinks at him, brows scrunched together as he tried to make his brain work. "Just granting your wish, Sparky."

Swiss gives him a wink, and then he's leaning in for a quick kiss. Just a peck, really, before he's fastening Dew's jeans and putting his belt back into place. Smoothing his hair as best he can before he scoots back behind the wheel, lacing his fingers behind his head. Dew's fully back by the time he's done, very aware of their surroundings once more and ever so glad to see their activities seem to have gone unnoticed.

"Just in time, too," Swiss comments, nodding towards the store. Dew squits against the sun and sees the girls just leaving the building, Sunshine's arms full and Cumulus carrying what looks to be a single bag of chips. They're bumping into each other and giggling, Dew can tell even from across the lot, and his own smile curls into place.

"Damn," he laments, sitting up straighter. "Guess you'll have to wait 'til we get back for your turn, huh?"

He turns to give Swiss a playful wink, and finds Swiss looking...he isn't sure. Smug? Maybe? Hard to say.

"What's your problem?"

"Nothin'," he shrugs, eyes wrinkled at the corners. "Just find it funny that after so long you still don't know what you do to me."

Dew blinks as Swiss reaches over to grab his wrist, guiding to his crotch and -

"Oh no fuckin' way."

"Tell anyone and I won't eat you out for a month," Swiss threatens, but Dew's too busy enjoying the sizeable wet spot beneath his hand to care.

"We're ba-ack!" Cumulus calls once they're in earshot, and Dew gives Swiss a squeeze before he pulls back. Licks at his palm while Sunshine loads up the trunk, just to make the other ghoul suffer a little bit more. The back doors swing open and the girls slide inside. "You boys have fun without us?"

"Oh, Lus," Dew tells her, rifling through the cassettes in the glove box with the tang of Swiss still coating his tongue. "You have no idea."

#miasma's work #the band ghost fic #will post to ao3 later since this is like a million words #dewdrop ghoul #swiss ghoul #cumulus ghoulette #sunshine ghoulette #trans dew #swiss/dew #swiss x dew #swissdew #quick warning for mentions of forcedfem amd teacher/student rp but no actual content as such #not rereading before i post so if you see mistakes #no you dont

478 notes · View notes

pyrosomatic-metamorphosis · 1 year ago

Text

“There’s a problem.”

Bad twitches, pausing briefly, but doesn't stop crafting. “What is it?”

“The entity crammer won’t work,” Cellbit says. Bad’s hand crunches suddenly into the mine. He blinks down at it to see that a little red light, blinking sweetly, has been unearthed by the abrupt handling. He uses his thumb to gently push the explosive beneath the surface of the mine once again, smoothing the dirt back over it. He takes in a slow breath.

“We could blow him up with mines.” He knows that won’t work. It’s worth saying, anyway.

“It wouldn’t be fast enough.” Bad can hear movement behind him as Cellbit shifts on his feet. Bad keeps his ears perked for any sudden movements, but keeps his back turned as he works. If Cellbit suddenly turns against him... well. He isn’t going to just walk into a cage trap this time. “He has too many totems. We need another plan.”

There is another plan- this would be the perfect time to mention it, but the words stay locked behind Bad’s teeth. It would be so easy. All he would need is someone to keep Forever distracted while he sets up the scanner somewhere unavoidable, and then Forever would just need to walk through it, and that would be that. But that would be that for Bad, too. The scanner can take everything from Forever. The scanner can take everything from Bad. His warpstone and his enderpearls and his chorus fruit and his totems and his scythe- no, it’s not worth it. Bad remembers the cage. He remembers how quickly everyone turned on him. They’ve proved how much he can’t trust them with this.

He needs to find his kids, first. Then, maybe, he’ll let them know about the scanner. Then, if they really, truly, cannot find anything else... Then. It might be worth it then. For Forever.

Bad promises, “We’ll think of something,” and he crafts another explosive.

–

They think of mines. They think of the slingshot. They think of mobs. They think of everything.

It isn’t enough. Forever has so many totems that no plan is good enough, and they’re running out of time. Whatever they do, whenever they do it, it has to work, and it has to work fast. Forever on the Risus pills is very happy, and a little dumb, but he isn’t stupid- if he figures out that they’re trying to take the pills from him… Bad doesn’t want to think about it. But every new plan is just another dead end and a fresh headache, and they’re running out of time.

So- he does what he has to do.

One night, only a few days after Bad and Cellbit had their conversation about the entity crammer, Forever leads Bad to the beach. On the sand is a lonely little picnic blanket, red, surrounded by red candles and bunches of roses. Wine and crepes and a chicken dinner. Bad asks if the blanket’s wool was stolen from his base, Forever laughs and says no. The stars twinkle mournfully down at them; the waves mute their voices; the sand is so, so soft. Forever doesn’t stop smiling.

The candles are too dim to light them well, but the ring gleams in the moonlight. Forever holds it out to him, beaming, and Bad’s blood is rushing in his ears so thunderously that even as he sees Forever’s lips move he can’t hear the question over all this noise.

It doesn’t matter- Bad knows the answer.

He says yes.

It’s easy to play fiance. It’s so easy. Bad sits on his bed all day, spinning the Sunshine Protector over and over in his hands, and wonders if the world has always looked so dim. There is always a weight in his chest and a lump in his throat, and it feels like if he doesn’t move he’ll combust but he barely has the energy to stand. Most of the time, he feels stuck in standby. He can’t look for his children, because Forever gets agitated if Bad isn’t home when he gets home, and that’s against the whole point, isn’t it? The point to keep Forever happy. Keep him pliant. Pliable. Easy to worm into his heart so Bad can rip it open from the inside out.

It’s hard.

He’s just… he’s sad.

He’s angry, too. It sits below the surface of his soul, buzzing. He wants to scream. He wants to tear. Whenever Forever smiles at him Bad wants to chew his face off with his teeth. But Bad has a job to do, and he needs to stay reasonable to do it. He’s gone wild before- he knows what happens. He knows he needs to cling to his own leash with both hands and never let go. But Dapper is gone, and Pomme is gone, and there is a ring on his finger -not even diamond- and Forever is always smiling.

It’s the pills’ fault. Bad knows it’s the pills’ fault. He still wishes that Forever would try to kill him again. That would make everything very, very simple, very, very quickly.

But then the plan would be ruined, because Forever has so many totems that he could escape, and Bad-

Well, by that point, Bad would probably be a little ruined, too.

The door slams in the other room. He goes still, then stands. He can hear his fiance calling for him. “Bad!” Forever. He sounds cheerful. Happy. “Meu docinho de côco! I’m home!”

Bad expertly pulls cheer into his own voice. There are many things he is good at, and one of those things is lying. “Forever!” he calls back, and exits the room with the Sunshine Protector still in his hands. Forever, as always, doesn’t seem to notice. He perks up at the sight of Bad, like a golden retriever whose owner has just stepped in through the door. His perpetual grin is still on his face, being perpetual. There’s a wide, almost wild joy in his eyes; his happiness is tacky, like hard-candy drizzled left in the sun and then drizzled with syrup.

“Bad!” Forever cheers again, laughing. His white suit is perfect, the Brazilian flag pinned neatly across his shoulder. Every day, when he comes home, Bad looks for blood. As always, he finds none. Forever bounds over to take Bad in his arms and spins them both, as if they’re lovers long-apart finally reunited after a dangerous sea-bound journey. Forever leans in, quick, for a kiss.

There is a game they like to play. Bad doesn’t know if it’s a game for Forever, but it is a game for him. Since their engagement, Forever has gotten more bold with taking his pills in front of Bad- he’s gotten more bold in trying to get Bad to take them with him. Bad has only ever accepted kisses from Forever on his nose, cheek, and forehead- even before he saw Forever, moments before trying to catch his lips again, slip a pill between his teeth.

The game goes like this: Forever attempts to -literally- kiss Bad into oblivion; Bad dodges.

This scene plays out like all the ones before it. Bad turns his head to the side just in time, and Forever, undaunted by yet another failure, presses an enthusiastic kiss to his cheek instead of his lips. His free hand is on Bad’s other cheek, pressing their faces together with unfiltered affection. His hand is warm, and a little rough with hard-earned calluses, and his beard tickles Bad’s skin. His breath fans hot across Bad’s cheek.

He’s so happy.

Bad has never lost their game, but he thinks about it sometimes. Even if Forever managed to get a pill into his mouth, there’s nothing that would force him to swallow. But there’s nothing that would force him to spit it out, either… And then he holds onto the Sunshine Protector even more tightly and he messages Phil or Cellbit about whatever mass-murder attempt they’re thinking about trying next, at least until he can think about anything other than- that. They’ve gotten Etoiles in on it, recently, and any day now they’ll come up with a solution. They have to.

For now, Bad wraps his arms around Forever when he pulls back, grip loose, and plays his part by not stabbing him. “Hi, Forever!” he chirps. The enthusiasm feels wrong, but if he tried to pull up fondness he thinks he would just pull up bile instead. Maybe he should. Maybe he should spit acid into Forever’s face and see if that will kill his smile, make him angry, make them fight, just like they used to. He wants, more than almost-anything, to see Forever snarl. As a precaution to unfiltered impulses, Bad flicks his wrist and sends the Sunshine Protector back into his inventory.

“Hi, Bad!” There’s a flash of the pill between Forever’s teeth, sparking white hidden in his smile, and then he swallows audibly. Nothing happens for a moment, and then his eyes dilate, he starts to shake, and his grin widens far enough to show all of his teeth. Forever’s trembles turn almost violent, every other breath catching on a giggle. He falls against Bad, his weight pressing heavily into his fiance as the drug makes its way through his system. His hand goes from Bad’s cheek to his hair, pulling hard and clinging to it like a lifeline. His totem-hand digs painfully into Bad’s side. Bad just tightens his grip, and holds.

It never lasts for long. Soon, the two are left standing in an almost-peaceful embrace, with Bad’s arms wrapped securely around Forever and Forever’s cheek pressed against Bad’s shoulder. Forever’s shoulders are relaxed; his back open; his neck bared. If Bad’s leash were looser, he could lean down and tear his throat open with little more than teeth.

His head stings where Forever pulled his hair too hard.

Bad’s voice comes out too soft when he asks, “How was your day?”

“Oh,” Forever sighs. “Perfect, just perfect…” He nuzzles his face into Bad’s shoulder, the scruff of his beard making little scrtch scrtch sounds against the fabric of Bad’s robes. “But it’s even better now that I’m here with you.” Bad’s heart twinges. “And I’m going to go see Richarlyson when he wakes up,” Bad’s heart weeps. “Do you want to come with me?”

His tongue is like lead in his mouth. “Sure.”

Forever beams again. He squirms, and Bad lets him go. Forever doesn’t pay him any mind, just wanders over to the nearest mirror to peer at his own face. There’s scrutiny in his expression- Bad almost feels hopeful, and then Forever asks, “What do you think of my beard, Bad?”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re too nice to me, Badboy,” Forever scolds brightly. He’s still watching himself in the mirror. There’s a glaze over his eyes, almost fevered. “I want to look nice for our wedding.”

Bad’s stomach swoops. “Well-” he starts, scrabbling for yet another reason to delay it. He needs to wash his hair? No, he used that last time-

Forever derails all of Bad’s excuses by not mentioning a date, and instead saying, “Can you help me shave?”

Bad freezes. “What?”

“My face, Bad,” Forever insists, grin blinding as he turns towards him. “My beard. O cabelo do meu rosto.”

“I know what a beard is,” Bad snaps suddenly, sharper than he intended.

Forever’s smile twitches. “Great! So you’ll help me? Por favor, meu anjo?”

Give and take, don’t push too far. He’s here to stall for time, not to fight. The further he pushes Forever, the less he can control him. Bad takes a deep, slow breath, and shoves the anger back down. “...Okay.”

Forever beams.

–

That’s how the two of them end up in the bathroom, Bad sitting on the counter as he watches Forever meticulously craft the supplies. Bad had offered one of his own (many) blades for the procedure, but Forever’s grin had just grown wider as he shook his head and shuffled Bad into the bathroom.

It’s cramped in there, both of them in their full gear. Bad watches Forever mix the shaving cream, golden totem glittering in his palm as he awkwardly holds the bottle still. There’s a faint rushing in Bad’s ears. The knife is already prepped, laying on a warm, damp towel on the other side of Forever, furthest away from Bad.

His eyes keep going back to that totem. The rushing in his ears grows slowly in volume, until he thinks that he’s never going to hear anything else ever again. Bad is holding a totem, too. A totem of death, darker in colour and promising more pain. It’s not as good as a totem of undying but, as long as he holds it, he doesn’t need anyone to pull him up after a fall. The both of them, holding totems.

He’s surprised when he hears himself say, “Forever?”

Forever hums a curious noise. “Yes, meu xuxu?”

Bad swallows hard. He doesn’t know where this is going, but he has a feeling, and over a dozen code attacks have taught him to trust when he gets a feeling. Carefully, he gives voice to the thought that’s been nagging him, “I need both hands to shave you.”

“Okay!” Forever agrees, unphased.

“Forever,” Bad says. “I need to stop holding my totem.”

Forever doesn’t- falter, but he twitches, a little hiccup in whatever happy little daydream he’s been living in. “Don’t you trust me, Badboy?”

Bad thinks about the mines. He thinks about explosion after explosion after explosion at the end of a disastrous proposal. Bad licks his lips. “It’s not… about trust,” he says, words cautiously measured. He’s not the one on drugs, but he feels like vibrating from knotted-up anticipation. “You know I’ve been here a while. You know it was… hard. Even before the code. I’m…” Forever looks up at him. “I need your help.”

Forever cocks his head to the side, still smiling. “My help?”

Bad bites his lip, then, and doesn’t miss the way that Forever’s eyes train in on his mouth. “Yeah,” he says, warming to the lie. “Yeah. I need your help.” He starts unbuckling his chestplate.

Forever freezes, mouth falling open. “Badboy?” he says, voice a little tremulous. It almost sounds like him. Bad is embolded into continuing.

“You’re in danger, Forever,” Bad says, and oops- too true. He drops his chestplate into one of his backpacks, then continues, “As president, I mean. Not everyone loves the Federation. The code, political enemies- they all want to hurt you.”

“Political enemies,” Forever echoes with a laugh, and Bad feels something rush through him at the almost sardonic look Forever gives him.

Bad smiles back at him, letting it come out a little nervous. One by one, he removes the rest of his armour. Pants. Boots. His hands are shaking by the time he removes his helmet and drops it into the backpack. “I know what it’s like. That… worry. Even with your loved ones. So I don’t- I don’t want to scare you, Forever, but I want you to put your totem down, too.”

Forever keeps grinning. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” There’s a sharpness to his voice, a grated edge that just promises more shouting and more pills. A risk of him running off, escaping, and Bad can’t lose this opportunity now that he’s got it. But Forever is stubborn, and this isn’t enough, so…

Fudge. Okay. He’s committed now; he has to keep going. Bad takes out the Sunshine Protector just to obviously, visibly, tuck that away into his weapons bag. Anything, anything, he has to remember he’ll do anything. He starts piling the rest of his inventory into his backpacks.

“...Meu anjo? What are you doing?”

“I want to- to help you, Forever,” Bad promises. He feels so naked. He’s fully clothed. He has no armour, and his hotbar has no weapon to defend himself from the man who tried to kill him only days before. It- he exists in a strange state of limbo. It doesn’t matter how killable he is, because he can always respawn. What is death to a grim reaper? What is death to an immortal? What is death to a grieving parent? But- still. There’s a vulnerability to packing away his weapons, his armour, his things. All of his prep made obsolete, no scanner involved at all. “But I can’t- if you’re holding a totem, I need to hold a totem, see? But you want to hold a totem in our house, which is totally safe, for the same reasons I do. So, if- if you’re the most powerful player around, maybe- maybe you can put it down. For a little bit.” Bad puts the death totem into the bag, and closes it with finality.

Forever is quiet. His smile looks hollow now.

Anything, anything, anything. Bad hops off of the counter and throws his backpacks into the tub, out of reach, and draws the curtain for good measure. Forever’s eyes follow the arc of his hand. “There,” Bad pants, and turns around again. He stands there, bared but fully clothed, vulnerable in a way he hasn’t been since- since- since some point he can’t even remember. “Now I’m- it’s up to you to protect me.” Bad wants Forever to try to kill him. “Now- now it’s your turn.”

“Bad…” Forever says, his voice softer than Bad has heard in… a while. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Bad’s heart drops. He’s so close. He’s so far. The rushing in his ears is so loud. He wants to bite, and claw, and hurt. He wants to dig his claws into Forever’s skin and- “I’ll let you kiss me,” Bad blurts, the promise tumbling all at once from his mouth like a badly-kept secret. “Once I’m done shaving you. Just- please, Forever. You know what it’s like. Please. Don’t you trust me?”

Forever cracks.

Bad’s breath catches when Forever pulls out his backpack -the one with the totems. Forever’s knuckles are white where his hands grip around the straps, but he places the backpack carefully outside the bathroom door before he steps away again. He looks jittery already, like a wild animal, and brandishes the totem still in his hand at Bad like a cross.

“I’m keeping this one,” he says, and his grin looks painful. “I’m- this one, I’m holding onto this one. Okay?”

“Okay,” Bad agrees, breathless. There is a lump in his throat. It’s hard to keep his hands still. Is he shaking? He might be shaking. Forever only has one totem. Bad has nothing. Forever has one totem.

Forever picks up the towel and the shaving knife with one hand, then carries them over. He holds them out. Bad takes them- the blade he accepts by its sharpest point, but he’s careful not to bleed. “Okay,” Forever whispers. Then, too quick, almost desperate, he takes out his bottle and gulps down another pill. He stumbles to the chair as the shakes start to wreck him, almost toppling over before he snatches onto the chair’s back to steady himself. Bad, still holding the knife, does nothing to help.

Forever manages to climb into the chair just as the trembles subside. He slumps back with a loud, satisfied sigh, like he’s just completed some great feat. He tilts his head back to look at Bad upside-down, his relaxation a stark contrast to the tension from just a moment before. He smiles dreamily up at his fiance, and it almost even reaches his (dilated, too wide) eyes.

“Oh, Badboy,” he sighs happily. “Come on, come on! We’re all ready now, aren’t we?”

Bad can very clearly see the column of Forever’s throat, stretched out and vulnerable. “Yeah.” Bad’s chest feels tight. He steps up behind the chair and looks down- Forever’s throat is right there. It’s a nice throat. Bad thinks it would be easy to fit both hands around it. He starts with just one hand. The damp towel is wiped gently over Forever’s mouth and jaw, then down over his neck. He does it again, preparing the skin for the sharp edge of the blade.

Forever hums quietly, appreciatively. He closes his eyes, and Bad’s blood sings.

An open neck. An ignorant victim. A single totem. It doesn’t matter how empty Bad’s inventory is- he has a knife, handed to him by Forever himself. Bad should stab him now. Two quick slices to the throat, a spray of blood, and a fresh corpse. It’s what Bad would have done before- but. He’s tense. There’s a stiffness to his muscles, and he doesn’t have armour. What if he misses? They’re so close together, it’s impossible to miss.

There’s something almost… ritualistic about a good shave, anyway.. Bad can’t put the blade to his throat, not yet. Forever will know if he starts too soon. He has no armour. He needs to do this right. The shaving knife disappears into his hotbar.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this,” Bad murmurs. He gently runs the towel along the bottom of Forever’s jaw, almost holding his mouth shut, but the president doesn’t seem to be bothered. Eyes still closed, he just makes a peaceful little humming noise. Bad moves the towel up a little higher- it hides the smile. It hides the smile, so Bad takes a moment to just… look. His stomach flips. Yeah, that’s Forever. That’s him. His lashes rest delicately against his skin, eyes shut and face smoothed into something peaceful. His hair has fallen into disarray, strands loose across his forehead, and Bad gingerly brushes them away.

He could lift the towel higher. It’s already over Forever’s mouth, and it could go over Forever’s nose, too. Bad could press down- or topple the chair, first, maybe, leave Forever falling into him as Bad suffocates him. Although- it would be difficult, but Forever could probably get a few good cuts into Bad before he suffocates, armourless as Bad is. But, then again, damp cloth is even better for a suffocation. Bad doesn’t think it matters if the towel is damp from water or from blood. Maybe he’d be able to keep the towel pressed down until he bled out. Maybe he’d die before Forever would; maybe he would fall across Forever and trap him beneath the wet cloth and the weight of his limp body, forcing the president to drown on the blood of his own fiance. Wouldn’t that be perfect?

No. Too risky. It’s too risky. Forever still has all of his items. If he puts down a sponge and hits Bad hard enough, he’ll be able to get away before either of them could die. If Bad screws this up, he will never get a chance like this ever again. He has to be smart.

So- cream, next, it’s shaving cream, next. Bad steps away as he throws the towel into his hotbar, then grabs the bottle and returns to Forever’s side. “How did you learn?” Forever asks. Bad pauses a moment to realize what Forever’s asking, then laughs a little lowly.

“I owned a pie shop, once,” he says. He pours the mixture into his hands to lather it. “I rented out the top floor to a barber. He was nice. Showed me a few things. Let me try a few things out with his clients.”

Forever’s brows raise. “‘Try a few things out with his clients?’” he echoes. He’s -of course- still smiling, but there’s a note in his voice that Bad can’t read.

“Yeah! Pies,” Bad explains. His heart twinges at the thought of simpler times. “They were pretty good. Now keep your mouth closed, Forever, or you’ll get foam in it.”

Forever acquieses, but he purses his lips playfully until Bad gets his hands on his face. Once upon a time, when Bad first arrived on the island, his claws were sharp enough that he’d needed to wear gloves at night, just so he wouldn’t accidentally cut himself in his sleep. And then there were the eggs. Ever since Dapper arrived, Bad has taken a day out of every month to file his fingers down to dull, harmless nubs. Swords could do all of the cutting he needed, and what would he do if he poked Dapper too hard and ended up cracking him? He couldn’t bear the thought.

But now. Bad uses the pads of his fingers to lather Forever’s face. If his claws were longer, they could gouge deep, bleeding ruts into his skin. As they are now, though, they do nothing more than scratch lightly over the stubble. At the worst, they leave a thin white line where they scrape over Forever’s actual skin.

In a moment of weakness, Bad swipes his dulled thumb under Forever’s eye, imagining the red tears that would bloom from the wound. Forever won’t cry over their lost eggs, but Bad could make him.

Bad swipes his thumb again, pressing the pad of his thumb down with just enough force to feel at the edge of bone that gives way to eye socket. It’s an almost tender gesture, and Forever’s skin is soft. But Forever makes a little noise and Bad jolts, jerking his hand back. He swallows quickly, then wastes no more time in getting back to work. He lathers Forever’s jaw, his cheeks, around his mouth, a little way down his neck- he’s quick, and efficient, and doesn’t linger. And then… and then there’s nothing for Bad to do but wash his hands, and grab the knife.

The shaving knife feels heavier. It falls into his hand from his hotbar with a solid weight. Inventories keep most items in the same state they were stored in, so the handle is still warm from Forever’s hands.

Bad hand is steady when he puts it to Forever’s neck.

His breath comes quicker, the rushing sound loud in his ears. Forever’s skin is warm and soft under his hand.

Forever hums. His skin flutters beneath the blade. His eyes are still closed, his smile is wide. “What’s your favourite type of flower?” he asks.

Bad hesitates for long enough that Forever opens his eyes to look at him. Bad swallows and doesn’t meet his gaze. He makes up for his hesitation by drawing the blade slowly up Forever’s neck, just an inch, and then summons the towel from his hotbar to wipe the shaving cream from the knife. “...Cornflowers,” he answers quietly. “Cornflowers are my favourite.”

“Ah, cornflowers,” Forever sighs happily, smiling widely up at Bad again. Bad keeps his eyes pinned to Forever’s neck and draws the blade across a fresh patch of skin. “Those are the blue ones, right?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re nice.” Forever hums. Bad puts the blade to his neck again, but then Forever keeps talking. “I think they will look nice in our wedding. We can have flower eggs! Imagine them, Badboy, all of them in their cute little outfits, throwing cornflowers around.”

Ow. He can see it so clearly, too. His little eggs all dressed up and covered in flowers as they march down the aisle… smiling. Happy. Bad swallows hard.

“I think the colours should be all black and blue,” Forever says, and shuts his eyes again. “And then you can stand out all pretty with your black and red, Bad. Will you wear your hair down again?”

“...Maybe,” Bad says quietly. “Now shhhh, Forever… I need you to hold still, and stop smiling.” Black and blue… He felt stuck on that. Black and blue. Like a bruise.

“Stop smiling?” Forever giggles. “But there’s so much to be happy about, meu anjo!”

“Are you sure?”

Forever opens his eyes to look up at Bad again. Bad looks back at him. The knife drifts upwards, slow, to press against Forever’s pulse. Bad’s hand is already slippery from the cold shaving cream, but he knows that the blood will be warm. He twitches when something warm touches his face- and he realizes, abruptly, that Forever’s hand has lifted up to tenderly cup his face. “Yeah,” Forever says, smiling.

Bad’s hand is shaking. Not a lot- not enough to cut, but enough for him to notice. They’re close. How long has Bad been leaning in? He presses the knife more firmly against Forever’s artery, but he doesn’t slice. “Stop. smiling,” he hisses. The words feel like grit spat from his mouth.

Forever’s thumb caresses the skin just beneath Bad’s eye, a mockery of the purely violent gesture Bad had subjected him to just moments before. Bad flushes hot in- in anger, or something else, but definitely with some anger, and then- and then Forever says, “Okay,” and he stops smiling. He closes his eyes again and leans back -Bad is startled to realize Forever had been leaning up towards him too- ultimately taking the blade away from his own neck, and he stops smiling. His hand falls away from Bad’s cheek, but it falls to lightly rest on the wrist of the hand that’s holding the towel.

Bad is quiet for a long, long moment, just staring down at his broken fiance. And then- and then he gets back to work.

The knife glides easily across Forever’s skin, shaving away the fine hairs of his beard. Bad is out of practice, but not so out of practice that he makes Forever bleed. When he moves on from Forever’s neck he has to lay the towel down so both hands are free to manipulate Forever’s face. He carefully pulls the skin taut where necessary, and only presses his dull nails down too hard once or twice. Forever sits peaceful and blank faced through it all.

And then-

And then it’s done.

Bad turns Forever’s head to one side, and then the other, and he barely has it in him to pretend he’s inspecting him for any missed spots. And then he lets go, and he steps back. The knife hangs almost limply in his hand.

It’s when Forever is grinning again, standing now and inspecting his own face in the mirror, that Bad asks, “Is it nice? Being happy?”

“What?” Forever turns to him, smile a little puzzled. His eyes are downright twinkling with fevered joy.

“Is it nice?”

“Yeah! You did a really good job, Badboy!” Forever praises. Bad’s traitorous heart leaps at the rare praise. Forever bounds the half-step over to swoop Bad into his arms and spin them, the two of them almost knocking over thr chair in the small space. Bad clings to him, and the single totem digs painfully into Bad’s side.

“Forever, that’s not what I asked,” Bad insists almost even before they come to a stop. He feels lightheaded. “Do you like being happy?”

“Yeah!” Forever chirps. “I’m with you, aren’t I?” And he leans in. When he kisses him, Bad doesn’t dodge.

Forever is so warm. His lips are soft and the kiss is so tender, gentle like Bad is a wild animal who might be frightened off at the first wrong move. Forever’s hand comes up to cup the back of Bad’s head, the other arm wrapping itself around his waist. Bad is pliant, and he doesn’t kiss him back, but his arms wrap around Forever and pulls him in closer. Their bodies are flush together with no room for even air between them, and Bad thinks that if he focuses hard enough he could feel Forever’s heart beat against his own. He splays one hand across Forever’s shoulderblades, pressing hard to pin him close, and he uses the other hand, the one with the knife, to stab Forever in the back six times over in quick succession.

Blood sprays on the mirror behind them. Blood coats Bad’s hand. There’s heat at Bad’s back as the totem pops! and the room is filled with a stinging, magical shower of green and golden sparks- his ears ring from the minor explosion. Forever gasps into Bad’s mouth, and he tastes like iron. The knife was deep in his back when Forever’s heart stopped- the skin is already healing over it, so Bad holds on tighter and rips the blade out.

Forever gets pulled back violently with the knife- their lips are disconnected with a slick sound that makes Bad’s head spin. “Bad?” Forever gasps. His eyes are wide, but not with joyous fever- with shock. It’s a good look. “You- you stabbed me?”

“I did.” There’s something wrong with Bad’s brain, some wires that must have been crossed on a bad respawn because he’s dizzy, he’s too-warm, he’s going to vibrate right out of his skin- he’s grabbing Forever by his hair and forcing his head down to kiss him.

There must be some wires crossed in Forever’s brain, too, because he kisses him back. It’s not tender or gentle- it’s a fight, just another battle that both of them are too stubborn to lose. Their teeth clack together and it’s awful and Bad’s blood sings. Forever tastes like his own blood and Bad bites his lip, hard, just to taste more. Forever gasps into his mouth, faltering, and Bad presses his advantage.

He shoves Forever backwards, towards the wall, stumbling forwards with him so they don’t separate more than a few inches apart. Forever makes a shuddery keening noise when his back hits the stone- and Bad knows it’s not just from pain, but he thinks it’s mostly from pain, because the knife had been between Forever’s back and the wall and now it’s been aquainted once again with Forever’s flesh. Bad pants hard, and it’s Forever who drags Bad closer and catches his mouth again.

There’s so much blood.

And then, suddenly, the blood is all that’s left.

[[PRESIDENT]Forever was slain by BadBoyHalo]

The shaving knife clatters into the ground as Bad falls into the space where Forever’s body once was. He catches himself on the wall, startled enough to stop breathing. There, on the ground, is the knife, shining wetly in the too-bright light of the bathroom. Next to it is a small pack that’s left behind after each player’s death- the remains of Forever’s inventory. Bad’s ultimate prize.

Bad is frozen for a moment. He’s vaguely aware of more chat messages coming in at a rapidfire pace- Cellbit, maybe, and Philza, and Etoiles and whoever else is awake right now, but he doesn’t look at any of them. He falls to his knees instead which are promptly stained by the bright-red mess across the floor. He finds out that doesn’t care- nor does he care when he stains the pack when he scrabbles for it, and and he doesn’t care when he stains the inventory items when he rummages, and he doesn’t care when he stains the pill bottle when his hand finally clasps around it.

He stares at Cucurucho’s smiling face on the too-white bottle, surrounded by smudges of red, then wipes his dirty thumb across its eyes to blind it with even more bloody smears. The bottle gets thrown into his inventory, then- the briefcase, right Forever had a briefcase, too, Bad needs to grab that, and-

and then that’s it.

That’s it.

Mechanically, Bad pushes himself to his feet. He leaves the shaving knife where it is. He gets dressed in his armour, gathers up all of his backpacks, and then he goes home.

He gets changed. He lays down in Dapper’s room, curled up on the floor next to Dapper’s empty bed. He holds the Sunshine Protector with both hands, closes his eyes, and tries to sleep. Bad doesn’t sleep. Bad also doesn’t answer any messages until morning, and maybe that can count as rest.

His mouth still tastes like blood.

186 notes · View notes