#(...I meant to post this several days ago WHOOPS I am sorry) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

honeymoonjin · 4 years

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 9k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

Congratulations! You’ve been accepted as the Lady in the first season of The Gentlemen.

<- prev || masterlist || next ->

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: medical play, dom!jungkook, sub!reader, multiple orgasms, fingering, dirty talk, bondage, ruined orgasm, unprotected sex, squirting, oral (m receiving), cum eating (not yoongi for once), this was meant to be a light palate cleanser after the intensity of day ten but i got lost in my feelings in the first half and then got horny over doctor jeon in the second half i apologise

banner designer @jamaisjoons | thank you my darling SFHS babies ! i love you

DAY ELEVEN

“I think you should be a little more concerned, PD.��

Sejin flattens the two men - oldest and youngest of the house - an unimpressed look. Jungkook tries not to wilt under his gaze. “And why is that?”

Jin clears his throat, staring right back unabashedly. “Tae’s been involved in a terrible accident and you’re just waiting here. You should be rushing over to the house to save him.”

“A terrible accident?” Sejin questions monotonously, before turning in his chair to angle his monitor so that both boys can see. On the screen is a freeze frame of a very familiar scene - Taehyung crouching on the bottom of the stairs, Jin and Jungkook huddled around him.

Ah, Jungkook realises with sinking disappointment, the cameras. Once the producer clicks play on the recording, Jungkook is faced with the HD version of himself gesture excitedly, patting Taehyung on the back and pointing to the banisters.

Cheeks flushing, the youngest member of the house watches in dread as Sejin plays back the evidence of Taehyung willingly forcing his head through two banisters, ears popping out the other side as he glances up with a beam at Jin.

Having seen enough, Sejin pauses the video, and switches back to the realtime feed. “An accident, was it?” Sejin repeats rhetorically as the Taehyung on the security camera drums his fingers lazily against the wood posts, letting out a lionlike yawn. “I’m not an idiot, you know.”

Jungkook bites down hard on his tongue. This wasn’t how things were meant to go at all. Behind Sejin’s desk, the majority of the production van is filled with all the mess of a regular office. Stacks of paper, scribbled sticky notes on various surfaces, a large whiteboard with roughly handwritten schedules and a small game of naughts and crosses in the bottom right corner. Jungkook tries not to let his eyes dwell on the whiteboard too long. Don’t raise anymore suspicion.

Beside him, Jin shamelessly shrugs with a smile. “He put his head through the bars on purpose, sure, but he got stuck on accident.” The oldest - though still younger than Sejin himself - emphasises this distinction with a single outstretched finger and an arch of his eyebrows. “So you should go help him.”

Sejin slips his glasses off and lets them clatter to the table, pinching his brow with two fingers. “Am I gonna get there and have Taehyung ask me for the latest issue of Chinese Vogue?”

Jin stiffens, his mask temporarily shattered. “I requested that in confidence.”

The production manager throws his hands in the air in defeat. “How was I supposed to know which of your bogus requests was confidential? Just half an hour ago I got a call from my superior asking why #getjinanXL was trending. You tweeted that you wanted me to buy you extra large condoms because you ‘ran out.’”

“Well, that was obviously a joke,” Jin rebuffs easily. “You know I use Magnum.”

“How would I-?” With a huff of desperation, Sejin shakes his head to clear his mind. “No, okay, back to…”

Zoning out, Jungkook’s eyes are caught by the sight on the screen as another figure walks out into the foyer. Yoongi rushes forward once he sees Taehyung, crouching on the other side of the bars as he delicately prods around Taehyung’s face and neck. The younger man waves him away in frustration, pushing at Yoongi’s chest until he gives up and leaves reluctantly. Jungkook bites his lip and looks away.

Whoops. Staring right at him are the producer and the therapist, each as expectant as the other. “Huh?”

Sejin huffs. “Why would Taehyung intentionally stick his head through the bars of a staircase banister?”

“Tell him, Jungkookie,” Jin adds with a bump of his shoulder.

“Uh…” With a hard swallow, Jungkook’s mind whirls. “He… We were… measuring,” he finishes awkwardly. “Me-measuring Tae’s head.”

“You were measuring Taehyung’s head?” Sejin repeats flatly. “With the stair banister?”

Jungkook shrugs with what he hopes is a ‘what can you do?’ expression, laughing nervously. “We couldn’t find a ruler.”

Sejin blinks once. “Then how would you know how wide the gap between posts was? Without a ruler?”

“Oh.” Jungkook stares in barely subdued panic at Jin, who widens his eyes meaningfully, urging him to turn back to the awaiting producer. “We, um, we didn’t think that far. We’ll know for next time?”

“If you want to stay on this show, there will be no next time,” Sejin warns.

Jungkook ducks his head in shame. “Sorry, dad.”

“Y- what?” Jungkook hears Sejin cough lightly, flustered. “Please, Jungkook, that’s not appropriate.”

The youngest gives a little bow. “I apologise, Father.”

Sejin clicks his tongue. “Okay, that’s even worse.”

Jungkook glances up, brows knitting and head tilting in confusion. “...whoopsies, daddy?”

Sejin buries his face in his hands, fingers tugging at the hairline. Jungkook spots several grey strands.

Clearing his throat, Jin steps forward slightly. “Taehyung is still stuck, PD.”

“Okay, fine! Fine,” Sejin announces, pushing his chair away from the desk and standing up. “But if there is a single other incident like this, I’m calling in child protective services and getting them to baby-proof this place. No more funny business. Understood?”

“No more. Promise,” Jungkook assures sweetly, heart soaring as Sejin slips past them, hurrying out of the production van and towards the front door of the villa.

The moment he’s well out of earshot, Jin claps his hands once with a victorious grin. “It was a bit touch-and-go there,” he admits, “but that’s bought us time. Quick; get the whiteboard, I’ll grab some pens.”

Jungkook grins. Like secret agents, hyung and him were. Moving quickly, the two of them manage to sneak out the whiteboard from the van, trundling it noisily across the gravel, around the back of the house.

---

“I’ll be honest,” Jimin drawls, “I don’t understand why we couldn’t have just chatted about this. Is the whiteboard really necessary?”

Taehyung deflates immediately, one hand still rubbing at the red marks on his jaw and ears. “What do you mean? I suffered for this whiteboard, Minnie.”

It’s crowded; five people huddled inside the confessional booth. But apart from the bathrooms and the rec room, this was the only place without live security cameras - purely because the only camera needed was the one for the confessionals themselves - and Jin and Jungkook doubted they’d be able to smuggle a very noisy whiteboard into the rec room when Sejin was directly outside it lubing up Taehyung’s neck with aloe vera gel.

While Producer Shin had been lured away by Jin with the promise of a homecooked meal, the four youngest men in the house were bundled into the garden shed, staring at a whiteboard that had barely fit through the door.

Jimin, still unconvinced, shrugs. From his spot perched delicately on Namjoon’s lap he watches the two younger men take a picture of what’s written on the whiteboard, then rub it all out. The man of the hour, Namjoon had been given the right to sit on the only proper chair in the room, the one the producer would normally sit in. Beside it, the wooden stool sits unoccupied. Jimin told the others that he was sitting on Namjoon’s lap because the stool was too uncomfortable, but Jungkook thinks there’s something deeper in the way he relaxes onto Namjoon’s chest, the academic alert but not tense underneath him.

Or perhaps being on this show has made Jungkook more suspicious.

“The whiteboard was vital, hyung,” he defends adamantly, grabbing one of the pens Jin-hyung had handed him, yanking off the cap with a satisfying click. Immediately the alcoholic smell of ink tingles his nostrils, but he ignores it, turning to the others. “What if Namjoon-hyung was a visual learner?”

From behind Jimin’s back, Namjoon adjusts the bridge of his glasses. “I- actually I learn best through listening.” His hand drops, hovers over the space both him and Jimin share, then rests awkwardly on the armchair. “But I appreciate the thought.”

Namjoon-hyung is so cute. “It’s okay,” Jungkook assures, suppressing the endeared grin that tugs at his lips, “We can brainstorm out loud, and Tae and I will just take notes.”

With Taehyung in his Sunday best (well, a button-up shirt so baggy it looked like he hat batwing sleeves) and Jungkook having dug out his glasses to look extra smart, the two of them were prepared to make this as academic as possible for Namjoon. Even after getting laid for the first time, academics were his comfort zone, and the two youngest were happy to oblige.

“First things first; what was it you had to do? Honeymoon?”

Jimin leans back on Namjoon’s shoulder so the taller man can see past. Namjoon shakes his head lightly, his purple hair in serious need of a touch-up; the natural brunette frames his face now, emphasising his brow. Jungkook wonders if he’d let him dye it a new colour, just for something fresh.

“Just husband and wife,” the academic corrects, “It didn’t specify, uh, anything else.” His voice is still quiet, as if speaking on it is taboo. One day he’ll get used to discussing sex openly, but until then, the others will meet him halfway.

“Okay, so, Y/n is your wife,” Jungkook states with a nod, “do y’all have kids? Is it a newlyweds situation? We need backstory here.”

The squeaking of a pen catches Jungkook’s attention before he even finishes speaking. To his right, Taehyung writes in sharp strokes across the board.

Y/N PREGNANT

“It’s the nineteen thirties,” Taehyung announces in a smooth voice, eyes finding each member in the room, “war is imminent, and worldwide men are preparing to be conscripted. Every moment spent with their loved ones is precious, and for General Kim Namjoon,” Taehyung pauses to draw a gangly stick figure giving a salute, “him and his wife Y/n-” this time a female stick figure joins the scene, a cartoonishly round stomach off to one side, “-have only one goal. To knock Y/n up before he goes to battle, so that even if he never returns they ha-”

“Wait, wait!” Jimin cocks his head to the side, brows furrowed. “Isn’t this too dark? Too elaborate? They’re fucking, not going for best screenplay at the Oscars.”

Taehyung deflates a second time, the hand holding the pen dropping limply to his side. “You don’t like it?”

Face stricken, Jimin waves his hands frantically. “No, no, I love it! Honestly! I just- I feel like Namjoon probably wants something a little simpler? Perhaps not so bleak?” The blue-haired man swivels around on Namjoon’s lap, his hand resting inconspicuously on the back of his neck, playing with the longer hairs there.

Namjoon swallows. “Uh, yeah, simple is probably good. Honestly, I feel a little unsure about all of this. What if I, I don’t know, drop character or get shy? Won’t it be awkward?”

Taehyung scratches at his chin as he thinks, the beginnings of beard scruff shadowing his jaw. “If we help you brainstorm, you can just memorise a basic script.”

“I guess so,” Namjoon muses, eyes fluttering unconsciously as Jimin continues to trace the nape of his neck with his fingertips. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I know you have your own scenes to worry about.”

Jungkook shrugs. “Two birds with one stone, we can help each other. You know; I suck your dick, you suck mine.”

“That isn’t the quote,” Namjoon protests automatically, “but- I get your point. Anyone have any advice on how I even go about this?”

Taehyung pouts. “You’re the smart one,” he points out, “I did try to help but clearly my services weren’t appreciated.”

“Oh, honey,” Jimin coos, “I always appreciate your services.” The double entendre is clear in the silk of his voice and the arch of his brows, sent with a sweet smile, and Taehyung flushes in response.

Jungkook winces, ignoring the spike of - of something green and ugly in his chest. “Okay, enough from the lovebirds, this is about Namjoon. Joonie-hyung, I would just offer to help out and join with yours but I was gonna do mine this afternoon, and I don’t think a husband would fit very well into it.”

“That’s okay,” Namjoon assures, shifting under the weight of the man in his lap. His fingers flex on the arm of the chair behind Jimin’s back, unsure. “Taehyung? Yours might work, I guess.”

Unaware of Namjoon’s indecision, Jimin suddenly stands up off his lap entirely, stalking over to Taehyung with a bemused grin. “You think our well-trained Taehyungie could be the family dog?”

Taehyung, though keening under Jimin’s sudden attention, seems hesitant. “I- I don’t know, Minnie, I haven’t really…” He trails off helplessly, casting Namjoon an apologetic stare.

“It’s okay,” Namjoon rushes out, scooting forward to the edge of the armchair. “You don’t have to, I could just do it by myself.”

It’s strange, watching Jimin so visibly caught in indecision. He hovers in the centre of the small shed, torso towards Taehyung but head twisted back to stare at Namjoon. Wanting to support Namjoon, but wanting to protect Taehyung.

Jungkook feels like an outsider invading in on a precious equilibrium. Namjoon shifts, gaze dropping. Taehyung can’t keep his fingers still as they fiddle with the buttons of his shirt. Jimin’s so still the thin silver threads of his earrings don’t even shift in the air, but his eyes flood with emotion, bottom lip twitching just slightly as he seeks for something to say.

Jimin isn’t as mean as he’d like people to think, Jungkook muses. Saving the uncomfortable decision, Jungkook clears his throat awkwardly, diverting the attention of the other three. “We could always practice? Jimin, you’re pretty. Pretend to be Y/n and give Joon-hyung some tips.”

The effect of his words are instantaneous. Jimin perks up, turning on his heel to grin down at his elder, who gasps almost imperceptibly. Taehyung’s eyes dull with something akin to disappointment. At himself or at the situation, Jungkook can’t say, but the sight of him turning to the whiteboard and swirling sullen circles of ink on the glossy surface has Jungkook’s heart breaking.

Leaving the other two to talk - Jimin resting gracefully on one of the arms of the chair, his feet dangling between Namjoon’s - Jungkook hurries forward, wrapping his fingers around Tae’s to catch his attention.

“What’s up?” he asks softly, low enough to give the two some privacy.

Sucking on the inside of his cheek, Taehyung shrugs. “Nothing.”

Jungkook isn’t deterred by the shortness of his tone, but changes tacts nonetheless. “It’s a bit weird,” he offers up, “it’s like each of us is the wingman to the other guys, but we’re all going for the same girl.”

With Jungkook’s hand still on top, Taehyung begins to swipe the pen across the board again. This time, what looks like a flower with long, pointed petals takes shape in thick black lines. Taehyung himself stays focused for a few moments of silence, until he’s ready to speak.

“But it’s not just that,” he explains in a low timbre, “it’s not just her.”

Jungkook lets his hand be maneuvered by the deft movements of the masseuse. Every part of Taehyung was so elegant, like he’d been sculpted from marble. From those slender fingers, to the slope of his nose. Lashes that brushed against his brow bone as he focused, teeth pressing just slightly into his lip, a dusky pink. “No, it’s not,” Jungkook agrees after a moment.

Taehyung lets his hand fall, Jungkook’s slipping off. With eyes hidden behind dark curls, the elder sneaks a look at Jimin and Namjoon, the two smiling and laughing, Jimin’s fingers playing with the strap of the watch on the other’s wrist lazily.

“I never know who to be jealous of,” Taehyung admits with a weak chuckle, capping the pen. “Anyways; that doesn’t matter. We’re here to help Namjoon.”

Jungkook spares a glance at the lovebirds on the armchair. “I think he’s doing just fine.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung answers shortly, eyes locked on the way Jimin curls onto Namjoon’s shoulder, the two locked onto Namjoon’s phone as he types in notes. “He’ll do fine.” Letting out a deep sigh, Taehyung scrunches his eyes shut and shakes his head, like he’s clearing the funk away. “It doesn’t matter, we’re all in this together.”

Jungkook cocks his head. “But- Well, no, this is still a competition. Technically we should be against each other, not together.”

The air leaves Taehyung’s lungs in a rushed breath. “Fuck, you’re right. I should, like, hate you, right?”

Jungkook hums with a raised brow. “I guess.”

“I should be trying to cockblock you and tell Y/n you have syphilis, yet here I am wanting to suck the dicks of everyone in this room. But also maybe hold the hands of everyone in this room. You can imagine my confusion.”

Jungkook feels his stress slip away at the genuine smile that tugs at Taehyung’s lips. Even if his eyes are still muted with sorrow, he doesn’t seem so despairing over it. The youngest reaches out to grip onto Taehyung’s upper arm reassuringly. “We could have hate sex if it’d make you feel better?” he offers up in a soft voice.

The blue depths in Taehyung’s gaze recede a little more as his smile brightens. “I’d like that.”

The two manage to hold this Hallmark moment for a little longer before Taehyung’s shoulders begin to shake with suppressed laughter. In seconds, the two are dissolving into chuckles and snickers, Jungkook throwing his head back and Taehyung hunching over with the force of it.

Across from them, Namjoon and Jimin pause their excited conversation to stare at them in bewilderment.

“What did we miss?” Namjoon asks, brow knitted but eyes wide.

“Never mind,” Jungkook deflects, heart feeling strangely warm as Taehyung grins under his lashes at him, like the two of them have an inside joke. “We should probably pack up, though, unless we want Producer Shin coming back in the middle of our top secret team meeting.”

Jimin clicks his tongue in agreement and stands up off Namjoon’s lap. Lithe like a cat, his arms come up over his head and his back arches into a stretch, eyes fluttering shut. Jungkook knows his eyes aren’t the only pair watching the way his shirt lifts to display a band of pale golden skin.

“Alright,” the porn star lets out with a relaxed sigh, arms dropping and shirt falling again, “let’s head out, then. Joonie’s sorted.”

Namjoon stands up behind him, nodding shyly. “Thank you, guys. I feel a lot better about it now.”

Jungkook and Taehyung share a look. “To be fair,” Jungkook says with a light cough, “I don’t think Tae and I really helped at all.”

Jimin sends the two of them a broad smile, eyes crinkling in good humour. “You did provide the whiteboard,” he points out. “Though I imagine your efforts to steal it without Sejin realising were in vain.”

Taehyung frowns, hand automatically lifting to rub at his jaw. “What do you mean?”

“There aren’t any cameras in here,” Jungkook offers to Jimin, “he wouldn’t have seen it!”

Jimin blinks. “Where do you think Sejin went after helping Tae out of the staircase?”

Jungkook feels the odd pressure of dawning realisation that hasn’t quite materialised. “His office,” he answers slowly, “why?”

Behind Jimin, Namjoon ducks out with a sympathetic smile. “He probably noticed the giant whiteboard missing, Jungkookie.”

The camboy opens his mouth, waits for words to come, and closes it again. “Mm,” he replies eloquently.

“Oh, we’re gonna get in big trouble, huh?” Taehyung mumbles, fiddling with the pen in his hands.

“Wait,” Namjoon offers, “I’ll tell him it was me.”

Jungkook frowns. “How does that help?”

“Sejin won’t get mad at me, he loves me. I’ll just tell him I was getting a head start on my work for next semester.”

“When did he tell you he loved you?” Jungkook asks with a pout. “He never says it back to me.”

“I didn’t- What?” Namjoon frowns. “I was just chatting to him for advice one night and he told me I remind him of his son.”

“He doesn’t have any kids,” Jimin says with a lilt of confusion.

“I think he was talking about his cat,” Namjoon admits with a pained look, “but he loves his cat, so he must love me. Anyways, I’ll tell him I was using it for study and I don’t think he’ll mind. Just clear off the board and one of you can help me wheel it back.”

Jungkook sighs a breath of relief, turning back to the board. Beside it, Taehyung is frozen with his head bent and his mouth dropped open, staring at the pen. Neither Jin nor him thought to bring a duster, so Jungkook balls up his sleeve in his palm and wipes off the-

And wipes off the-

“Why isn’t it coming off?” Jungkook asks frantically, scrubbing over the shiny lines of black. “It’s not even smudging!”

“Um, Jungkookie,” Taehyung utters lowly, curls shifting as he slowly looks up. “This is a permanent marker.”

Jungkook’s hand freezes. He steps back, eyes wide as they stare at the image drawn in thick black.

The blooming form of what looked like a lily on the bottom corner, that was fine, but the giant all-caps Y/N PREGNANT followed by a very evocative drawing of a heavily pregnant woman beside a patriotic Namjoon was going to be harder to explain.

Slowly, Jungkook swivels on his heel, coming face-to-face with Namjoon, whose eyes are almost open wider than his mouth. “Hey, hyung,” the youngest offers up with a tentative smile, “how much d’you reckon Sejin loves that cat?”

It’s late afternoon by the time Jungkook has done his penance with the whiteboard and Sejin himself, but luckily it means that Yoongi is definitely in his room when Jungkook goes knocking.

More content with his own company, the second oldest tended to retire to his bedroom early to “entertain” himself. Jungkook had assumed this was a euphemism for masturbating, but Taehyung had informed him that the doctor was making his way through an impressive collection of the Slam Dunk manga these days.

As expected, Yoongi opens the door to Jungkook on his third knock, ushering him in with a look of confusion.

“Hyung,” Jungkook begins in an entreating tone, “you have a first aid kid in your room, don’t you?”

Yoongi’s eyes widen, back straightening in alarm. “Is someone hurt?”

“No, no, it’s sex reasons,” Jungkook explains quickly, eyes wandering around the room, eying up the open closet in the back of his room. “Do you have a white coat?”

“I- what? No, I don’t have a white coat,” Yoongi stutters out, face scrunched up in confusion. “What is this about?”

Jungkook hums, brushing back hair out of his face absentmindedly as he delves deeper into Yoongi’s room, checking in the drawers of the small nightstand. “I can make do without the white coat,” Jungkook murmurs to himself, before turning on his heel to face the older man again. “Do you have stirrups?”

“Stirrups?” Yoongi asks incredulously. His arms are folded over his chest tightly, though the brown loose-knit sweater loses the intimidation factor. “Why would I bring stirrups? They’re attached to the chair anyway, I can’t just pack them away in my suitcase.”

Dammit. Jungkook collapses onto Yoongi’s bed back-first, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “You need to help me, hyung. I’m determined to win fan favourite this week, so I need to go all out.”

A sigh of realization comes from the other side of the room. “Your prompt,” Yoongi remarks flatly. “What is it; nurse and patient?”

Jungkook’s mouth drops open as he sits up. “Doctor and patient,” he declares proudly. “I asked if Sejin could promote me to neurosurgeon but he said it wasn’t relevant.” The thought dampens Jungkook’s spirits a bit. Even just regular surgeon would have been nice. “But anyway,” he continues, “whatever props you have would be greatly appreciated. I already googled a list of medical terms, so I’m feeling pretty good.”

Yoongi sighs again, but he shuffles over to his closet and pulls out a sizeable, bright green first aid kit, laying it on the bed. Jungkook gasps in excitement and makes room for him, but Yoongi just tuts. “First of all,” he explains while unzipping it, “these aren’t props, they’re medical-grade supplies. And you can’t have them all. I don’t trust you with most of the things in here.”

Jungkook frowns, but shrugs off the disappointment. Something is still better than nothing. “Okay, hyung,” he allows in a small voice, “thank you.”

Yoongi fails to hide the quirk of a fond smile as he takes out some of the stuff in the kit. “You owe me,” he says instead.

You have to give it to Jungkook; the dedication to his craft is impressive.

After he sent you a vague and rather concerning message about needing to see you in the gym for ‘health reasons’, you were greeted by a hand-written DO NOT DISTURB (unless you’re y/n) sign taped to the door.

Inside, the indoor gym had been transformed. Most of the larger equipment had been shifted to one side, leaving the other half open. In the middle of the open area is a weightlifting bench covered in a white sheet which you’re certain was off his bed. A comically out-of-place office chair is beside a table which Jungkook is using like a desk. The desk is pushed up against the mirror which fills one whole wall of the gym, and you can’t help but laugh at the infographics and charts he’s printed out on A4 sheets of paper and taped to the mirror.

There’s a fuzzy x-ray of some ribs taped next to a heart rate line, frozen mid-pulse like he took a screenshot off a video, which is next to a chart filled with increasingly smaller letters, like one you’d see in an optometrist’s office. Though everything is mismatched, the effort he’s put it really warms your heart.

The desk is where you find Jungkook. He sits with his back to you, typing away obnoxiously loudly at a laptop on the desk. On the screen, gibberish keysmashes fill up an otherwise empty Word document. Rather than a lab coat, Jungkook looks more sharply dressed than you’ve ever seen him in a ironed button-up shirt, pale blue. The back of the fabric is taut against his skin, clearly borrowed from a slightly smaller, or at least less jacked man. But it provides a streamlined view of the muscles in his back and shoulders, tucked into belted black pants to highlight the surprisingly narrow waist.

Kitschy or not, you’re grateful that Jungkook got some kind of cheesy medical roleplay if it meant you finally got to see him in fitted clothing.

Even though he must have heard you open the door and lock it behind you, he remains tapping away at the keys. His head tips slightly to the side, expectant.

“Jungkook,” you call out, disappointed and a little confused when he doesn’t respond. But you quickly realise your mistake. “Oh, uh. Doctor Jeon?”

Like clockwork, he spins around magnanimously on the chair, hands splayed out in a welcoming gesture. “Ah, my favourite patient. Do come in.”

So we already know each other then, you surmise. Remembering all these details was an unexpected, though not entirely unwelcome part of this week’s theme. Developing a backstory, information on the scene, almost felt like constructing a scaffold to continue. There was something equally reassuring and exciting about it. A bolt of arousal shooting between your legs, you step in to the middle of the open area, sitting awkwardly on the covered bench.

“Take a seat,” Jungkook adds redundantly, like he’s following a script. “Let me just bring your file up. Name?”

You pause as he wheels back around to the laptop, pulling up what looks like an Excel spreadsheet. “I thought I was your favourite patient,” you quip with a smirk, but unable to suppress your fondness at how much thought he’s clearly put into it.

Jungkook’s shoulders drop, but he doesn’t falter. “Of course, I’m just going through the motions. I’ve been in the field for so long, you know.” He shrugs demurely. “I was actually a neurosurgeon before this.”

A disbelieving laugh bubbles out of your throat before you can catch it. “You went from neurosurgeon to doctor? Isn’t that backwards?”

Jungkook’s eyes waver, biting his lip. “I prefer the simple life,” he offers as an explanation. He shakes himself out of it, and turns back to the computer once more with a warm sigh. “Alrighty then, I’ve got your file here. It’s been a while since your last visit,” he remarks, cursor hovering over a watermarked image of a clock. “I better check your vitals again.”

You watch in bemusement as he readies himself, first sanitising his hands using a small travel-size bottle that’s in the shape of a cartoon shark, then pulls on a pair of latex gloves that had been lying on his desk. Even in the strangely comedic atmosphere, the sound of him snapping the glove against his wrist makes you gasp soundlessly, thighs pressing together in need.

Jungkook notices it, eyes darting down as he rolls his chair over. He unbuttons each cuff off his shirt and rolls them up to expose his forearms. His hair is getting thicker as it grows, and even though it’s pushed back, a few locks slip forward to frame the smirk on his face.

You swallow, neck craning as he gets closer. The bench you’re sat on clearly isn’t intended as an examination table because it’s just as low to the ground as the chair, and there’s something inside you that runs electric when he comes close, looking down at you from it. With spread knees, he places them on either side of yours and pins you there, making you gasp.

The feeling of the cold gloves on your cheekbones, pressing to keep you steady is dizzying, more so when he looks intensely into your eyes, searching with a cool professionalism that you’d never seen from him before. Though it’s new, you recognise the shift in the tension of the room signifying the true start of the scene.

In your peripheral vision, you spot his tongue darting out to wet his lips, but you’re locked onto his gaze. Jungkook smiles softly. “Eyes are healthy,” he remarks, “good to know you’ll be able to see everything properly.”

The gloves catch on your skin, one sliding down to tighten on your chin, tipping your neck back even more. You’re barely breathing, waiting for his move.

“Open up and say ahh,” he instructs huskily, and you’re responding without thought, letting your lips part and your tongue relax. Jungkook frowns. “Wider.” You feel the corners of your mouth pang as you lower your jaw as much as you can in his grasp. “Keep it like that,” he demands sternly, and your heart thuds.

To your surprise, he doesn’t just look inside. You jerk instinctively in his grip as two gloved fingers slide down your tongue, but his rebuking glare has you settling again, trying to breathe through your nose as he delves deeper, smirking at the way you squirm, legs trapped between his and eyes lidded as you feel the length of his fingers heavy on your tongue.

Quicker than you can put your head around, his fingers plunge deeper, far enough down your throat to make you gag, tears springing to his eyes. His fingers leave as you let out a little cough, blinking wetly at him in betrayal.

Jungkook smirks, not bothering to wipe the shine of your saliva off his glove. “Gag reflex intact and responding well,” he notes smugly.

“How is that a vital?” you question, voice slightly hoarse.

“It’s vital for what I’m about to do to you,” he quips with a lecherous grin, and you bite down hard on your tongue to fight the urge to tremble.

“And what is that, Doctor?” you ask instead, blinking owlishly up at him.

His lip quirks. “Don’t play coy, now, Y/n, I’ve seen the way you look at me during our appointments. Tell me; why is it that you came here today?”

You swallow, eyes heavy on him. “I’ve been suffering a strange sensation, Doctor,” you make out, your voice quieter than you intended. “Can you make me feel better?”

Jungkook exhales harshly, hands dropping to rest on your knees. “And where does it hurt, hm? Here?”

You suck in a breath as his legs spread further, coming close enough that your knees press against his crotch, the hardness undeniable. A single hand shifts up to lay against your forehead, questioning, and you shake your head. His hand skims lower, pressing firmly against your sternum where you feel your heart race against it.

“Here?” he questions, and continues on when he receives a negative. Next he veers off to the side, cupping a breast and brushing a thumb over your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt. “Does it ache here?”

You whimper, arching into his hand. “A little bit,” you offer up weakly, glad you opted out of wearing a bra in anticipation of the scene.

The answer seems to amuse Jungkook, and you shiver when you feel his other hand playing with the hem of your shirt, the gloves tickling the sensitive skin of your stomach. “I better check it out then, hm?”

You feel so exposed, the air conditioner chilling the air and the mirror reflecting Jungkook’s back as he leans in close, breath tickling your bare shoulder as his hands cup your breasts.

Without further preamble, he begins to roll your nipples simultaneously between his fingers, enough pressure to make you shiver as he studies your reactions closely. The feeling of being touched so intimately with the barrier of latex gloves feels both taboo and exciting, and without even realising you find your hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt, gripping at his biceps as they flex with every movement.

“Does it hurt when I do this?” Jungkook asks lowly, humming in response when you shake your head. “What about this?” Suddenly, he’s tugging, pinching them harshly enough to make your back arch to ease the pressure.

You squeal, fingers digging in deeper to the corded muscle of his forearms. “Yeah,” you gasp out shakily, “h-hurts.”

Jungkook doesn’t stop. “But you like it, don’t you?” he accuses as he continues his rough treatment. “Coming into my office, begging me to touch you like this. Fucking filthy.”

A moan slips out as you rock your hips against the bench, seeking friction for the heat between your legs. “Please, Ju- Doctor Jeon, it hurts,” you cry out, gaze imploring as you blink up at him.

All of a sudden, he pulls back entirely, hands falling back onto his own knees as he watches you. “Show me,” he instructs, eyes hazy.

You shiver, the cool air shifting over your naked torso as his stare burns molten hot. “Show you what?”

Carding a hand through his hair to push it back, Jungkook wets his lips. “Show me where it aches the most,” he explains, voice like crushed velvet.

This was a side of him you’d never seen before; neither the competitive dom nor the obedient sub. His sexual versatility never fails to surprise you, and you find yourself hopelessly lost in the calm dominant air he exudes. Shakily, you part your legs.

He scoffs lightly. “That isn’t much help if I can’t see it. Undress.”

A rushed exhale leaves you at his shortness, but you stand up and push off your leggings and panties, kicking them to the side. It’s far harder to bare yourself to him this time, and as you sit, you can’t help but hesitate.

Jungkook raises a brow at your pause, leaning back like he’s disappointed. “I’m a very busy man, Y/n,” he chastises, “these appointment slots aren’t long and if you don’t want the next patient coming in while you’re choking on my cock, I suggest you do as I say, when I say it.”

Your legs fly apart the moment his voice lowers into a growl, clenching automatically at the open air at your most vulnerable place. “Please help me, Doctor,” you plead lowly.

Jungkook curses under his breath and comes forward again, placing a single gloved hand over your core. You jerk instinctively but keep your legs open at his warning glare. Even through the gloves, he has to feel how wet you are, slicking up the latex without him moving it. “It hurts here, hm? Lie down on your back and I’ll take a look.”

Your breath picks up as you turn and lower yourself onto the white sheet, legs dangling over the end. To your surprise, Jungkook doesn’t come around but returns to the desk, rolling his chair away and rifling through what looks like a first aid kit. You crane your head to watch him, narrowing your eyes in confusion as he returns with what looks like two rolled up lengths of gauze bandage.

“This isn’t the usual gyno office,” he explains, unravelling one slowly, “so we don’t have stirrups. But don’t worry; I’ll make sure to keep you nice and open for me.”

Like he’s done this a million times before - though the rational part of your brain knows he’s probably making this up as he goes along - he begins using the bandage material to bind your ankles to the legs of the bench, wide enough that you have to shuffle right to the edge, spread wide. He doesn’t say a thing when he ties them, mumbling to himself like he’s recalling instructions, and slips in his fingers to test how tight they are.

He’s kneeled between your open legs now, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch as he runs his fingertips over your sopping folds, eyes lidded with arousal. “Does it hurt here, Y/n?”

You shake your head, fighting the urge to scoot even closer. “Inside,” you explain, sighing in relief when two fingers plunge inside your walls, scissoring to stretch you out.

Jungkook has one hand on your thigh to hold you steady as he rocks his fingers back and forth like he’s seeking something, and the feeling of the latex, so slick with your juices, has you trembling immediately. “It’s important in this line of work,” Jungkook breathes out as his fingers widen even more inside you, “to be thorough, so just relax for me, let me in.”

The moment you try and unclench, his fingers curl and press up against your g-spot, and it’s like a line of electricity connecting all your nerves together lights up. Your legs instinctively flex in an attempt to close around his hand, but the taut bonds keep them spread, and you sob at the reminder, arms giving out so that you end up flat on your back again.

Jungkook chuckles. “Looks like we found the problem,” he remarks cheerily. His fingers continue their assault, targeted now as you writhe beneath him, and the wet sounds of the latex as he increases to three digits echo obscenely in the large room. “That’s it.”

The joints of your fingers ache as you cling onto the edges of the table for dear life, unable to stop the rising wave of pleasure that threatens to crash. It’s so close you feel it in your teeth, eyes rolling back and babbling nonsense to try and get him to go faster, harder.

Faintly, you hear the sound of him humming in amusement, and your mind conjures the mental image of him, sleeves rolled up and gloves dripping with your arousal, hair falling in his eyes and teeth glinting as he grins and brings you to orgasm. It’s that thought that finally begins to tip you over the edge, and just before the wave crests, you feel his fingers slip out.

“Looks like it doesn’t hurt anymore,” he remarks cheekily.

“No, no, no, don’t stop,” you blabber mindlessly, but it’s too late, and your orgasm washes through you as he sits back and watches the unsatisfying roll of pleasure take your body.

Irrationally, you feel tears prick at your eyes with the cruelness of his actions. “It sti- It still hurts, Doctor,” you sob, reaching a hand down to cup yourself, wanting more even as you hiss with the sensitivity.

Jungkook tuts in fake sympathy. “My fingers can’t reach any further, Y/n, if I couldn’t reach where it hurts, I don’t know how I can help you.”

Your bottom lip trembles as you blink your eyes open again, struggling to focus on him. “Use your cock, Doctor, please, I’ll do anything.”

“Is that so?” You could just about cry in relief when you hear a belt buckle jingling, and Jungkook kneeling over you, lining himself up. You can feel the tip pressed against your entrance, just enough pressure to tease you. “Too impatient for me to even put a condom on, naughty girl.”

“Fuck, I don’t care, just fuck me, Doctor,” you whine, your sentence punctuated by a strangled cry as Jungkook snaps his hips forward, bottoming out in a single thrust.

Somehow you’d forgotten just how long Jungkook was - while he wasn’t the thickest or overall largest, and even the thought of mentally cataloguing the guys’ dicks was strange - there was a graceful rising curve to his length that felt like it pierced right through you, and as he starts a punishing rhythm, you feel the air punched right out of your lungs.

“Is this what you wanted?” Jungkook growls. “Acting innocent when you just wanted my cock to fuck you stupid, hm?”

With every thrust, your body is rocked back and forth on the bench, and you feel the bandages that bind your ankles to the legs of the table loosen, a little bit at first and then enough that they slip off completely. It feels odd to no longer be tied down, and Jungkook notices how your body is suddenly shifting far more than it was before.

His pace slows down and you feel a gloved hand wrap around one of your ankles. “Do you want them back on? I don’t think I tied them so well,” Jungkook notes hesitantly, and if you weren’t wildly chasing your orgasm, you might have cooed at his character dropping away to reveal the Jungkook you’re more used to.

As it is, your mind can only care about one thing. “I don’ need them, just fuck me!” you plead, and Jungkook exhales sharply, lifting your ankle until it rests on his shoulder, holding down your hips to fuck into you once more.

With the new angle, you can just about feel him in your guts, and your mouth drops open soundlessly, the only noises escaping your lips are gasped breaths as you feel a deeper orgasm begin to build.

“Oh fuck, I’m close,” you manage to slur out, a raw scream bouncing off the walls as he lowers a hand to rub at your clit, the slippery glove only making him thumb it faster. “Fuck, don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking-ah!”

Your sentence is cut off violently as an orgasm rips through you as suddenly and overwhelmingly as an electric shock. If you’re making any noise, you can’t hear it, your mind like white static as you sit there and let it take you. Every inch of you is singing, down to your toes, and as Jungkook continues to fuck you into oversensitivity, you feel another release, one that makes you shudder and Jungkook swear violently, spilling inside you as he grips at the flesh of your hip.

It takes a while for the blur in your mind to clear, vision swirling in hazy technicolour and whole body trembling. Jungkook must have taken the gloves off at some point, because you feel the softness of his hands as they seek out yours, gently squeezing to rouse you more.

“Y/n,” you hear him say, voice still distant. The fog dissipates more with the calling of your name, and you feel yourself tune in again, once more becoming aware of the cool breeze of the aircon on your heated skin. Jungkook leans over you, eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Y/n. Have you ever done that before?”

You knit your brows in confusion. “Huh?”

Jungkook lets out a light chuckle, sitting back. He’s still inside you, barely softening, and you groan at the sensitivity of him shifting. “Look,” he guides, and you glance down to see your stomach and thighs, shiny with wetness, too thin to be cum. The liquid soaks his shirt, too, leaving dark patches. “That was fucking hot,” Jungkook gushes, his doctor persona well and truly evaporated by now.

You laugh weakly, an exhausted smile stretching at your lips. “I don’t think so? Fuck, that was a lot.”

“You were amazing,” Jungkook praises, squeezing your hands one last time before letting them go. He begins to pull out, then, and you shudder at the emptiness, remnants of his cum dripping out of you as he lowers your leg to the ground again. You sit up carefully, still lightheaded, and watch as he quickly rushes over to the desk, returning with a gauze pad damp with water from a bottle.

He uses it to clean you up in comfortable silence, though you can’t help but bite your lip when you notice he’s still hard. Just as he finishes wiping away the last of the wetness from your thighs and begins to wipe himself off, you reach out a hand to halt him.

“Doctor,” you coo teasingly, “won’t you let me clean you up? I wanna repay you for making the ache go away.”

His chest heaves as he shudders out a breath. “Really?”

You blink up at him as he stands in front of you, his cock right in front of you, glossy with your combined cum. “Don’t you wanna test my vitals one more time, doctor? Just to make sure?”

He gulps as you lean closer and lick a single stripe up the underside of his cock. It’s only slightly bitter, and well worth it for the look on his face and the feeling of his hands carding through your hair.

“I’ve got some filing to do,” Jungkook offers up, chest puffing as he slips back into his role, “if you’re going to clean me up like a good little girl, you can do it while I get back to work. I’m a busy man.”

You bite your lip as he cups the back of your neck and urges you to stand, leading you towards the desk. It’s just tall enough that you can sit on your knees below it, mouthing at his cock as he sits back in the office chair.

Giving a guy head isn’t your favourite hobby, but there’s something weirdly erotic about licking your own cum off of him as he types away, all but ignoring you. As you clean him up dutifully, you realise it’s a challenge, of sorts, to suck him off so well that he breaks concentration.

His jaunty clicks of the mouse and punching of keys continues away as he sighs lowly, feeling your lips wrap around his tip. You tongue the slit, keeping yourself steady by gripping the meat of his inner thighs and let your eyes slip shut so that you can fully focus on the minute sounds he lets out.

As you take him deeper and deeper into your mouth, testing your limits, you begin to learn the rhythm of his typing, recognising what makes it falter. His tip is sensitive, particularly where it meets the shaft, but it’s when you lap at the skin below his base and suck his balls into your mouth, tonguing at them languidly, that makes him break concentration fully.

“Hngh, fuck,” you hear him make out in a strangled voice, a hand coming down to stroke at his own length.

You bat it away immediately. “I thought you needed to work, Doctor,” you tease, “just let me take care of it.”

Jungkook groans but doesn’t protest when you wrap a hand around him and jerk him off, fingers tight around him as you suck at his perineum, making him moan prettily, the tapping of keys sparse and uncoordinated.

“Fuck, gonna- gonna cum again,” he warns, thighs tensing with the urge to thrust up into your grip.

You switch positions to suck his length into your mouth, rolling his balls in your hand and bobbing your head. Jungkook’s falling apart so beautifully, gasping out little ah, ah, ahs with every breath.

The moment you feel him stiffen up even more, you suck in a breath through your nose and swallow him down to the back of your throat, tearing up as your gag reflex kicks in.

He cums with a cry, shooting ropes of cum down your throat, and you wring out every last drop until he’s hissing and pulling away.

Jungkook helps you up from under the table with shaky hands and tucks himself away, panting. “Holy shit,” he says with a exhausted laugh, “I should have gone to medical school.”

The two of you spend the late afternoon showering and then returning the gym to its former glory. It’s not until even dinner has passed before you recall the rule of the Bangasm Bomb - a different bed every night.

You’d slept in Jungkook’s bed on the Monday night, and so you’d have to seek shelter elsewhere.

After getting into pajamas, you step out into the second-floor hallway, glancing around to see if anyone’s door is open. Jin’s is open - he’s still downstairs having a beer with Yoongi - but you’ve used his bed before. The only other one that’s ajar is the bunkroom.

Inside, Namjoon has his nose inside a book by a Japanese author you’ve vaguely heard of, and Hoseok folds a pile of laundry on his bed.

“Room for one?” you call out hopefully. The two of them have each chosen a separate bunk so they can see each other, but while Namjoon has a bottom bunk, Hoseok’s hair just about brushes the ceiling on the third and highest bed. The two of them glance up in unison, matching grins as they wave you inside.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Hoseok chimes out cheerfully.

“I was wondering if I could stay in a bed here tonight. I can’t room with Jungkook again.”

Hoseok’s eyes warm in recollection of the scene the three of you shared on Monday. “Well, we’ve got plenty of space. Pick a bed; any bed.”

It makes the most sense to choose the third stack of beds, on the far wall from the door. With only two beds instead of three, it’s easy enough to choose the top one, a perfect halfway point between Namjoon and Hoseok. “It’s not so bad in here,” you remark, tugging up the sheets so you can slip under.

“As far as punishments go, it does seem pretty tame,” Namjoon notes, adjusting a pair of thick reading glasses that balance precariously on his nose. “Though I do feel like it’s the equivalent of a naughty corner. Even if it’s comfortable, it’s the social factor that makes it undesirable.”

“It’s basically a sleepover for losers,” Hoseok surmises.

Namjoon pauses and nods. “Well said.”

You chuckle. “You two seem to be getting along well. Doing a lot of bonding in here, are we?”

“Not a whole lot else to do,” Hoseok points out. “We’ve been chatting away the boredom. Did you know Namjoon thought he could speak to crabs when he was a kid?”

Namjoon lets out a wounded noise, carefully marking his page with a bookmark before tossing the novel to the side. “I never said that! I said I thought they were trying to speak to me, okay?” The academic pokes his head out to look up at you. “Hobi-hyung is scared of Big Bird from Sesame Street!”

Instead of defending himself, Hoseok nods with an indignant pout. “Yeah, I fuckin’ am.”

You let out a peal of laughter. “Wow, you’ve only been in here three nights and you’re already sharing childhood trauma? Jin’s gonna be devastated he missed it.”

“Jin had the chance to come join me and he chose not to,” Hoseok declares. “As far as I’m concerned, Namjoon is the only man in this house I respect.”

Namjoon beams, eyes crinkling behind thick frames. “Thanks, hyung. I respect you, too.”

Hoseok’s chest puffs up in pride. “You better after all the things I’ve taught you.”

Namjoon’s blush is telling. You lean forward in interest, glancing back and forth between the two. “Wait; what did you teach him?”

“Well, we’re not gonna tell you,” the dom responds petulantly, turning his nose up, “it’s a surprise for your scene together.”

You pout, leaning back onto the pillow on your bed. “That’s no fun.”

“Oh, it’ll be fun when you get to experience it firsthand, trust me.”

Namjoon lets out a sigh at Hoseok’s teasing, slipping his glasses off and placing them on the nightstand beside the bunks. “Don’t hype it up too much, hyung, I’m not that good yet.”

“You’ll get there, young grasshopper.”

You frown at the uncertain look on Namjoon’s face. “I can go ask one of the others to room with them if you wanna, uh, practice some more.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen. “No, it’s okay. This can be my rest day.”

Hoseok sighs sweetly, rubbing his eyes. “Actually, rest does sound pretty nice. We can pick it up tomorrow. Night, Joonie. Night, Y/n.”

You and Namjoon chime out a simultaneous reply as Hoseok climbs down the stairs to deposit his pile of folded laundry on the empty bed below, returns to the top bunk, and tucks himself in.

Namjoon seems equally relieved to be able to go to bed early, curling up with a pillow cuddled to his chest. “Sweet dreams,” his low timbre calls out.

You smile fondly at your two boys, snuggled up with peaceful faces as they drift away. “Sleep well,” you offer up, before getting comfortable and letting your own eyes slip closed.

#bts x reader #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #networkbangtan #ficswithluv #magicshopnet #goldenclosetnetwork #ksmutclub #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #btswritersnet #bangtanarmynet #bangtanhq #bangtanidx

1K notes · View notes

rivalsforlife · 4 years

Note

"Eventually Miles said, “Do you want to know when it happened, when I realized it, or when I came to terms with it?” / “You have three answers?” / “Technically four. Don’t be a hypocrite, you rejected me even though you were in love with me —”" and the rest of the scene if you want to haha, not a lot fits in the ask box :P

Alright!! I’ll do... most of the scene haha, there is one part of the scene I really want to point out, so I’ll once again put this under a keep reading so I don’t take up all this space on people’s dashboards...

Okay!

So basically this part of the scene existed because... I kind of wanted to touch on Miles’ perspective throughout this entire fic as well as a handful of headcanons for Miles and also so that I could fit in a bunch of narumitsu fluff in there somewhere, since my notes for this chapter were pretty much to just shove as much fluff as possible to make up for the rest of it.

In some ways I’m kind of regretting talking about Miles’ perspective because that reduces some of my flexibility for possibly rewriting this fic entirely from Miles’ perspective OR the handful of jumbled scenes that could potentially form a sequel someday... but honestly writing has been like pulling teeth lately so who knows if that will happen at all. Either way I’m sure I’ll be able to get it to work somehow. (Also kind of... directly pointing out what Miles was feeling when it probably would’ve been a better decision to leave it implicit but WHATEVER TOO LATE NOW --)

“When did you fall in love with me?”

Miles didn’t say anything, and Phoenix might have thought he fell asleep again if it weren’t for his breathing. It didn’t line up with what Phoenix had learned from experience, when Miles fell asleep.

Eventually Miles said, “Do you want to know when it happened, when I realized it, or when I came to terms with it?”

“You have three answers?”

when you’re Miles Edgeworth emotions are waaaaay more complicated than they need to be huh. Since this scene was just Dumping Ground For My Headcanons they for the most part tend to line up with what I think most of the time, buuut I might go into more detail a little later.

“Technically four. Don’t be a hypocrite, you rejected me even though you were in love with me —”

Phoenix shushed him by clapping a hand over his mouth, except he missed in the dark and slapped Miles’ nose instead. “Whoops! Sorry. Okay. Give me all four.”

aww see they can laugh about it now like Miles didn’t cry for several hours after the rejection :’)

“I should have guessed,” Miles sighed. He used the hand not currently squished against his side by Phoenix’s entire body to hold Phoenix’s hand, guiding it down from his face and holding it against his chest.

This is me trying to find a way to write affection in a way that isn’t totally awkward... uh so basicallyyyy I am not a very affectionate person and I don’t think Miles is particularly big on physical affection most of the time, so when I write him trying to express affection I typically go for subtler things... like hand-holding and such, because I think even that much would be a pretty big deal for him when it wouldn’t be for some other people.

Pretty much every time in this fic he initiates any form of physical touch (which is pretty often because he is attempting to Court Phoenix (ba dum tshhh)) it’s something that he’s deliberately thought through and deliberately initiated, as opposed to like... Phoenix who does it more unconsciously. (And of course not all of Miles’ initiation of physical affection is strictly romantic, I like to headcanon him making an effort towards platonic physical affection as well towards his friends + found family members... just putting this here to cover my bases so no one thinks every time Miles puts his hand on someone’s shoulder he’s flirting with them haha that’s NOT what I was going for, more that he’s aware that lots of people enjoy physical contact and see that as a way of expressing affection, and he’s trying to get better at expressing affection, and Phoenix happens to be one of those people he is expressing affection to, in both the platonic and romantic sense.)

(That was a very long paragraph for literally one sentence about affection hahahaha...)

“Well, I am fairly sure I had a crush on you in fourth grade.”

“No, you didn’t. I had a crush on you in fourth grade, I changed my whole career for you because of it. You were in love with your law books.”

“I told you I ‘liked’ you and you started talking about girls.”

“O-Okay, sorry I didn’t know about bisexuality when I was nine, give me a break here.”

I waver back and forth on whether Miles had a little baby crush on Phoenix in fourth grade or not, I guess when I wrote this I was feeling that way! Anyways this line is referencing the flashback part of chapter 3:

“Do you like anyone, Miles?”

Miles blinked. “I like you.”

Phoenix’s face reddened. “N-No, I meant like-like. You know, like a girl.”

Miles looked at the ground, and his face was red as well.

this fic would have been over with SO MUCH FASTER if Phoenix actually knew what he meant there --

My interpretation is pretty much always that Phoenix had a little baby crush on Miles in fourth grade, but it wasn’t until he got older that he realized that it was a crush and not just pure idolization -- which was definitely part of it too, and I could probably write thousands of words on how baby Phoenix’s idolization crush on Miles when he was younger shaped some of their interactions throughout the trilogy but I’m not going to get into that now. I thiiink I said in this fic somewhere that Phoenix didn’t realize he was bi until he was in his teens, so baby Phoenix just thought that Miles was His Best Friend Who He Wants To Hang Out With All The Time And Hold Hands With And If Miles Were A Girl Phoenix Would Want To Kiss Him, and at some point adult Phoenix remembers this train of thought and goes “... wait.”

As for Miles, in the universe of this fic he figures out that he’s gay pretty young, probably largely influenced by Larry talking constantly about girls while Miles complains to his father “I don’t know why Larry’s talking about how pretty [girl of the day] is, I think Phoenix has a nicer smile” while Gregory tries to pretend his laughter is him choking on his dinner. And I think Gregory was an excellent father who loved and supported his son, and probably talked about it a bit with him and made sure Miles knew he was always loved and supported no matter what and --

Anyways, there’s that.

The next paragraphs are mostly them talking about the situations where Miles did fall in love with Phoenix (Turnabout Goodbyes) and then realized it (after Farewell, My Turnabout/ when Phoenix fell off the bridge) then kind of... repressed it until post-canon because he didn’t think he was ready yet and they weren’t really in the right place. I don’t have much to say about it because it’s all pretty straightforward stuff...

Then Phoenix deflects Miles asking about when he fell in love, because Phoenix is still struggling a bit with expressing his emotions this way haha. Also because he was in denial for a really long time so he can’t quite pinpoint exact moments aside from “the moment Miles stood up for him during the class trial”, but much like Miles he’s probably had multiple realizations of love throughout his life.

My personal headcanons though is that Phoenix genuinely thought he was just helping out a friend throughout the trilogy... and then sometime during disbarment, possibly during one of those Europe trips, he realizes “oh crap I loved him the whole time”. Obviously in this fic Phoenix doesn’t realize he’s in love with Miles until the cherry blossom petals scene at the end of chapter 4 and then can’t quite articulate that feeling as love rather than more general attraction until the end of chapter 8 after reading Trucy’s note. (Where the last psyche-lock breaks!)

What I DO want to talk about though is this line at the end of the scene:

“It doesn’t matter when I realized it,” Phoenix whispered. “What matters most is that we’re here, together, now.”

No one’s pointed it out so idk if it was too subtle or too obvious that it didn’t need pointing out, but it’s a callback to this line in chapter 4:

Edgeworth stared at him with an unreadable expression, almost curious. “Well, you don’t have to say anything,” he said. “What matters most is that I can be here with you now.”

It’s a very slight difference in the last part of the dialogue, but an important one!!

I had an interesting conversation with my best friend a while ago... long story short her brother was in a relationship for a long time with this one woman then they broke up and now he’s engaged to a different woman, and they dated for a shorter time than the first. And my friend says that she and her family knew that this was a different relationship and that she was “the one” because the way they talked about doing things was different -- more of a “we’re going to do [x]” rather than “she and I are going to do [x]”. This probably isn’t really a real thing so like... don’t use it to judge relationships around you... but I thought it was pretty neat.

So in the conversation in chapter 4, Miles says “What matters most is that I can be here with you now”, which is still like exceptionally romantic, but it still sees the two of them as separate entities -- whereas Phoenix in chapter 9 saying “What matters most is that we’re here, together, now” sort of phrases the two of them as more of a unit. ... not that they’re not still separate entities with their own lives outside of just each other of course but you know. you know. just having some fun with sentences!

Anyways that’s what I really wanted to talk about... I hope you enjoyed!!

#dvd commentary meme #the catch-up game #asks

12 notes · View notes

gumnut-logic · 4 years

Text

We’ll Be Home For Christmas 2.2

Title: We’ll be home for Christmas

Day Two – Aboard This Tiny Ship – Part 2 Prologue | 1.1 | 1.2 | 2.1

Author: Gumnut

14 - 18 Dec 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: The boys can’t fly home for Christmas, so they have to find another way.

Word count: 2576

Spoilers & warnings: language and so, so much fluff. Science!Gordon. Minor various ships, mostly background.

Timeline: Christmas Season 3, I have also kinda ignored the main storyline of Season 3. The boys needed a break, so I gave them one. Post season 3B, before Season 3C cos we haven’t seen it yet.

Author’s note: For @scattergraph. This is my 2019 TAG Secret Santa fic :D I hope you enjoy it.

This section is a touch shorter than the last one, but the next section will be much bigger.

Many thanks to @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for cheering me on and their wonderful support through this craziness. And to @onereyofstarlight for geeking out with me over the setting.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

Scott was ready to chew an arm off just to entertain himself by the time Gordon announced they were approaching L’Esperance Rock just after lunch. He’d seen it enough from the air to know it meant they were around halfway home. The thought did give him some relief and he stood at the bow of the boat watching the islet come into view.

A grunt behind him had him turning to find Virgil making his way forward, coffee in one hand, abdomen in the other. He darted in to help his brother up the steps.

“I’m okay.”

“I know you are. Just being useful.”

That earned him a stare and an arched eyebrow. “You’re bored shitless, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m okay.”

Virgil snorted. “I had a bet with John you’d last until tonight at least. You’ve shafted me fifty bucks, big brother.”

Scott grunted. “Well, that explains why he was so happy to steal my phone.”

“He stole your phone?” Brown eyes frowned up at him.

“Oh, yes. On Grandma’s orders apparently.”

“That’s cheating.”

“Heh, that’s between the two of you. I’m only the subject of the bet, not the umpire.”

“Null and void. He’s not getting a cent.”

Scott grinned as he held his brother’s elbow, surprised he hadn’t been shook off.

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” Virgil’s voice was wistful as they approached the railing. “Sometimes I think we get too busy or just take it all for granted. We do live in a stunning corner of the planet.”

“Dad always thought so. I wouldn’t have called him much of an environmentalist, but he knew what was important.”

“Hmm, I think you underestimate him. You were off the Island when Alan brought two rats home as pets.”

“He did what?!”

Another arched eyebrow. “Yes, he did, early on. Snuck them in. Dad went ballistic when he found out. The words he used had Grandma blushing. Let’s just say that Beau and Belle were deported rather abruptly and Alan now has an unofficial degree in environmental management.”

“Hmph, serves him right.”

Virgil smiled at him. “Sounds like you might be a bit of an environmentalist yourself.”

A tolerant glare at his brother. “I do what is necessary.”

Scott was surprised when Virgil’s response to that statement was a sigh. His brother’s expression was almost sad.

“What?”

“You need to relax.”

“I am relaxing.”

“No, you’re not. You’re wired tighter than Two’s primary generator. You need to find a way to wind down. We’re on vacation.”

“We’re on mandatory lockdown.”

“Grandma is right. We need a break. Preferably before we break something we can’t repair.”

“It’s not just about us!”

“Yes, it is! You need to let go! Focus on you for a change.”

“Dad-“

“Is not here! You have the right to a life, Scott. You have the right to look after yourself, to have a little fun, for god’s sake. When was the last time you read a fiction book? Flew a kite? Sat in front of the projector and binge watched an old television show?”

“There are more important things-“

“Importance is relative. It was you who blew my head off a matter of days ago about priorities, was it not? Our business forces us to prioritise according to lives at risk, I get it. I know it. I live it beside you. But you are my big brother, you are the leader of this team, your health affects our effectiveness. To put it harshly, some may die today, so many more can be saved in the future.” Virgil visibly swallowed. “I know International Rescue is important, but please, take the time, Scott. If you have to, do it for IR, do it for us or me or whatever gets you going, but most of all please do it for yourself.” Quietly. “I can’t lose you.”

What the hell? “You’re not going to lose me.”

“If you don’t look after yourself, we will!” He didn’t think it was physically possible for his brother to frown harder.

“If you don’t look after yourself, you’re going to blow your stitches.”

“This isn’t about me, it’s about you!”

“So, what are you thinking? Yell at me until I crack? I’m not finding this relaxing at all, Virg.”

“Well, it seems I need volume for you to actually hear me, because you certainly don’t listen otherwise.”

He couldn’t think of an immediate retort to that and to be honest he was worried Virgil was going hurt himself if he wasn’t careful, he appeared so uncharacteristically angry. “You’re that worried?”

“Of course, I’m fucking worried!”

Whoops, wrong thing to say.

“Virgil! Calm down. You’re the one who needs to relax.” He reached out and placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “Take a breath.”

To his surprise, Virgil was actually trembling a little. He was that passionate about this? He hadn’t been doing that badly, had he?

His brother did as requested and took a deep breath. “You are so hard to look after sometimes.” It was breathy and full of exhaled tension.

“You don’t have to look after me, Virg.”

“Somebody has to.” He looked up and brown eyes caught his. “Because you don’t.”

Ah, shit. A sigh and Scott gently drew his brother into a hug. “Okay, I’m sorry, I’ll try to do better.”

His brother didn’t answer, but he did lean in a little, one big hand reaching around Scott’s back and returning the embrace. “Please try.”

“Okay.”

Virgil pulled away slowly, not looking up at his brother, but focussing on the coffee he held in his other hand. He brought it to his lips and turned away slightly.

Scott stared at the back of his brother’s head and frowned.

The boat slowed as they approached the Rock. As jagged as its distant cousin, the Rock was like a miniature version of their home, the very top of a huge undersea volcano.

“Are we stopping here?”

Virgil’s question echoed his own thoughts. He thumbed his comms. “Gordon, are we stopping here?”

“Only for a moment. Just grabbing a sensor snapshot for Mel.”

Melissa Fisher, their closest neighbour. Blonde and sharp, she would remind him of Penny if it wasn’t for her obsession with all things Kermadec. That and the twigs in her hair. Even Dad had been a little wary of stepping on anything living when visiting Raoul Island. And visit they had. They needed to keep up relations and the woman was a mine of information when it came to ecological stabilisation and rehabilitation. Tracy Island had its issues when his father bought it and ever aware of the ecological importance of the area, once Brains had built the necessary infrastructure, his father had attempted to re-stabilise the ecosystem.

Melissa had been very helpful.

Gordon had taken to her immediately, jabbering in biology terms. For a bit there, Scott had wondered if the two of them might get involved with a different kind of biology, she was a little older than Gordon, only a year younger than Scott, but that might just float his brother’s boat. But apparently, they were too distracted by what they were discussing to notice each other.

Scott hadn’t seen her in years.

The boat came to a complete stop not far from the Rock and a moment later, Gordon appeared on the starboard side and threw out his sensor buoy.

Virgil was staring at him.

Scott blinked. “What is it?”

His brother didn’t answer immediately, those dark eyes assessing him a moment longer before sipping his coffee. But then a decision flickered across his expression and his hand reached out and gently took Scott’s arm. “Come with me.”

His brother turned slowly and led him off the bow. He negotiated the stairs and walked Scott back into the living area where Gordon was once again staring at holographic fish.

“Sit down and wait a moment.” His brother disappeared off into the depths of the living quarters.”

“Yes!”

Gordon’s jubilant yell made Scott jump. What?

His little brother was staring at a huge fish. A huge and weird looking fish. “What is that?”

“That, my wonderful big brother, is a sunfish or Mola mola, to be more specific.”

“And that is?”

Gordon glanced at him and frowned. “Heaviest bony fish on the planet. Came close to extinction twenty years ago. Saved by the World Council and its endangered species bill in 2039.” He turned back to the holographic display. “Though this one appears to have had some challenges.” Gordon’s fingers traced some gouges on the fish’s flank. “Old, but nasty.”

“Shark?”

His brother snorted. “No. That’s net scar. It’s been caught in a fishing net at some point. I can’t see any trace of the net, so this has to be one of the lucky ones.” The giant fish drifted lazily across the table as Gordon grabbed his tablet and stabbed his finger into it several times. “It must be well travelled. We are quite a distance from the fishing zones here.”

“I thought I told you to sit down.” Virgil edged carefully back into the room carrying his keyboard.

“And I thought you weren’t supposed to be lifting anything.” Scott hurried over and took the instrument from his brother’s hands.

“It’s not heavy.”

“So I have to look after myself, yet you don’t?”

Virgil’s shoulders dropped. “Okay, okay. Give me a second.” His brother grabbed a couple of cushions and shoved them together on a lounge chair to support his back and lowered himself into it. “Put it here.” He gestured across the arms of the chair and his lap.

Wary, Scott put the keyboard, that, yes, actually was quite heavy, down where his brother told him too. “Be careful.”

Virgil frowned up him with an expression that plainly said, ‘What am I? Stupid?’

“Well, you did carry the keyboard out here, did you not?”

His brother muttered something Scott couldn’t quite hear and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“Now, you sit down and close your eyes.” A pause. “No, actually, lie down on the couch and close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just do as I ask.”

Scott rolled his eyes, but lay down. “You didn’t used to be this bossy.”

“You didn’t used to be this stubborn. Call it evolution in trying times.”

“Smart ass.”

“Shut up and close your eyes.”

Scott muttered under his breath, wriggled where he lay and did as his brother told him. Anything to stop the man from freaking out.

His brother began to play, the keys soft and blending with the water lapping against the hull. With his eyes closed, his mind focussed on the sounds around him. Gordon’s fingers on his tablet, heard just under the music. The distant calls of seabirds. Actually, it wasn’t much of a step from the sounds of home. Virgil playing his piano. Gordon sitting on the lounge playing with his tablet. The balcony doors open to the breeze, the distant sound of the waves on Tracy Island rock, the distant call of the bird colony on Mateo. John would be in his room reading. Alan would be playing a video game in the kitchen while Grandma attempted to make dinner. Brains, as always, would be in his lab.

Virgil playing the piano.

Waves against the rocks.

Birds calling...

Home.

-o-o-o-

Virgil kept playing ever so softly. Gordon had stopped working and was staring at the two of them, frowning.

Scott started snoring.

Gordon’s eyes widened and he mouthed words at Virgil. ‘How do you do that?’

Virgil just smiled and kept on playing, drifting into a long, gentle piece his mother had taught him long ago.

At some point he closed his eyes, too, and let himself go with the music, let his fingers do what the music asked.

He woke to find both Scott and John sitting opposite him.

“That was dirty pool, Virg.”

He blinked. Someone had taken the keyboard away and shoved a few extra pillows into the chair to support him. “You knew what I was doing. I’m just your excuse. How long did you last?”

It was John who spoke up. “About twenty minutes. It was enough. Gordon had to get the boat moving. He woke up the moment the engine started.”

“You, on the other hand, have been out for over two hours.” Scott was smug. “You missed the active volcano.”

Virgil turned to John. “Anything worth looking at?”

His younger brother shrugged. “Looked like an island to me. Bigger than the Rock. No activity at the moment.”

Virgil turned back to Scott. “Sounds like I didn’t miss anything. Where are we now?”

“Anchored at Macauley Island.” Gordon strode across the room. “Hey, Virg. Good to see you awake. You might like to see this.” His fish brother’s grin was highly suspicious.

It took both Scott and John to get him out of the chair. He should not sleep sitting up with abdominal incisions. Ow.

For a moment there he thought Scott was going to send him to bed or demand he take painkillers, but he didn’t. His brother didn’t say anything, and even if he did, a familiar roar distracted Virgil enough that he wouldn’t have noticed if his brother said anything anyway.

He pushed himself forward, leaving his helping hands behind and stepped out onto the deck.

His beautiful ‘bird was roaring in from the north. She moved so fast, he blinked and she was coming to a halt some distance away, VTOL firing her into a hover.

He just stared as she dropped her module.

He blinked as Gordon and Alan suddenly started the engine of an inflatable dingy and tore off towards the module sporting its proud number four.

“Thunderbird Two to Virgil.” Kayo’s voice startled him out of his stare. “So how did I do? Score out of ten.”

The door to the module lowered and Gordon leapt out of the little boat and jumped on board.

“Oh, ten, I guess.”

“Ten?!” Gordon’s outrage yelped across comms as the aquanaut turned in the distance and put both hands on his hips. “I knew he liked you more than me. I haven’t managed anything higher than an eight and I’ve been trying for years!”

Kayo didn’t answer as his ‘bird turned and took off for home, but Virgil grinned. “Keeps you on your toes, bro.”

“You suck.”

Their sister snorted across comms as Alan turned the dingy around and headed back. Gordon glared a glare that made it across the ocean despite the distance and stormed off into the module.

Virgil’s grin just got wider. “Why did he call for Four?”

“Something about helping Melissa. A sensor malfunction in the Macauley caldera.” A glance at Scott found him grinning, too. “You know he’s not going to let that go, don’t you?”

“Yep.”

“We’re stuck on a boat, captained by him, in the middle of the ocean and you want to set Gordon off?”

Virgil shrugged. “He’ll enjoy it.”

“We won’t.”

“We’ll live.”

“If I wake up with pink hair, you’re dead.”

“I love you, too.” Virgil was still grinning.

“You do know that you still have your comms on, don’t you?” His aquanaut brother’s voice was admittedly amused.

“Yes, Gordon, I do. Got some good ideas?”

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see.” And with that, Four’s rear thrusters fired and she shot out of the module and into the ocean.

“You got your uniform on?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Fly safe.”

“FAB.”

-o-o-o-

End Day Two, Part Two

Day Two, Part Three

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Alan Tracy

21 notes · View notes

makeste · 5 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 234: Tomura Flashbacks and Giganto ex Machia

Previously on BnHA: Re-Destro lost his temper and hulked the fuck out and started breaking off Tomura’s fingers like a goddamn Kit-Kat bar. Elsewhere, (1) Twice cloned Toga in order to give her a blood transfusion, unaware that Skeptic was heading their way; (2) Spinner’s quirk of being a Gecko Man was revealed and he attempted to wall-crawl his way over to Hanabata only to be assailed by a bunch of redshirts fired up by Hanabata’s Trumpet quirk; (3) Dabi continued to battle Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine offscreen (I assume); (4) Compress was also probably doing something but who can be sure; (5) Giran was running off to safety with one of the clone Twices, and finally, (6) Gigantomachia Goron-rolled his way towards the action while Slidin’ Go stood there nervously, probably sensing that his number is coming up on the great cosmic roulette wheel. All of this happened two whole weeks ago because the manga was on break last week! But it’s finally back now, so leeeEET’S geeet ready to rrrruuuuUUUUUUUUMMMMMBLE.

Today on BnHA: RD continues to get handsy with Tomura until Tomura starts to disintegrate one of RD’s own fingers to see how he likes it. He does not, in fact, like it, so he flings Tomura away and starts thinking all of these shocked antagonist thoughts about how Tomura is stronger than he expected and his powers are ~awakening~ and blah blah blah. Meanwhile Tomura hops back onto the Flashback Train to Feels City and recalls how AFO gave him his family’s severed hands to make sure he stayed good and pissed!! And he also remembers more about his sister and how much she loved him! And his mom and grandparents who were also super nice and are now fucking dead and it’s a lot! Horikoshi is pretty fucking ruthless! Anyway so RD decides he’d better go all out and wrap this up, but before he can deliver a killing blow, Gigantomachia finally makes his entrance. At the same moment, Tomura finally remembers “everything” (?? ???!?!?), which, holy fucking shit you guys.

(All comments are my unspoiled reactions from my initial readthrough of the chapter. I did a quick edit for grammar and clarity immediately afterward, and added one or two ETAs in the process, but aside from that there are no changes.)

okay so let’s see what gruesome things are in store for our intrepid villains this week

“destroyed memories” oh? come again? you don’t say?? fancy that?? goodness me???

so is this referring to Tomura? or Dabi? if it’s referring to Re-Destro or one of his gang, I swear to god...! nobody cares about your memories RD. you’re a jerk and you suck

lol what the

aww. is this a “real” in-universe children’s book, is that what this is. did all the lil U.A. dumplings read this when they were small. and was there also a similar book called “don’t judge people by their lack of quirks” and if so why did no one read it to lil baby Kacchan hmm

anyway now we’re cutting right back to this unpleasant image! and not only that, but in the two weeks we’ve been gone things have even escalated!

we’re up to two hands being grabbed now! um. he’s really going to need at least one of those? probably?? please don’t Overhaul my deranged villain son fffff

reminder that Tomura needs to touch something with all five fingers in order for his quirk to activate (or he did before at least), so even though he still has... two...? fingers remaining on his left hand, that hand is still effectively useless as far as quirking goes. so if he suffers even the smallest amount of damage to his right hand as well, it’s basically all over for him. unless he actually was using his quirk with his feet in the previous chapter. I’m assuming not because he presumably would have decayed his way all the way down to the center of the earth if that was the case. I think @khorale mentioned this in a comment on my last recap, but yeah, seeing as the ground’s not disintegrating underneath him, it’s safe to say it’s Hands Only here

anyway I got so caught up in being calmly horrified over the current situation that I didn’t even read the dialogue. so RD’s saying that superpowers are linked to personality, and so that “don’t judge people by their quirks” stuff is in fact bullshit

um, source? are you a psychologist? in general I try to take things with a grain of salt when they’re said by pieces of shit, so yeah

fffffffff noooooo Tomura’s face sob Horikoshi you bastard

he looks so freaking young here. okay, shit. I’m starting to think I need to make plans to unwind after I finish reading this chapter. maybe get an Enya playlist in the works. diffuse some essential oils. find some cute baby animal videos

but on the plus side, it’s looking ever more likely that his are indeed the Destroyed Memories in question omg. so I will continue to get hype while also feeling very guilty and stressed

you guys I’m actually really glad RD is feeling like he has the upper hand now, because he’s starting to waste some valuable time monologuing, and with every second he babbles on, Machia is getting closer and closer to whooping some ass

so he’s asking Tomura what he’s trying to create

and well, actually, he’s not really that far off

I mean. does it count as nothing if he wants to destroy the whole world? one could argue that would be “creating” a new world in which everyone is fucking dead. idk. I might have to give RD this one; his whole point of “quirks are linked to personality and you have a quirk that destroys everything you touch so you probably just want to destroy shit” is holding up surprisingly well to scrutiny thus far

yeah so now he’s yelling “YOU ONLY LUST FOR DESTRUCTION! AM I WRONG?!” and nope. but even a broken clock, twice a day, etc.

oh shit OH FUCKING --

um, okay, (1) NO IT’S NOT, SHE WAS A LITTLE GIRL, NONE OF YOUR HANDS BELONGED TO A CHILD YOU GULLIBLE RUBE

and (2) MY FUCKING FEELS. why am I even surprised. what the fuck. I knew more angst was coming and yet it still...

just, god. okay fine Horikoshi I’m a glutton for punishment, please continue then

HAHA SOB IT’S A WHOLE FUCKING FLASHBACK OKAY SURE LAY IT ON ME!!

this really is the wildest shit though you guys. I still can’t get over it. “hello little boy I’m sorry your family is dead but don’t worry I’m adopting you and here are all of their severed hands. with little plugs on the end too or some shit. just, you know. souvenir”

I can’t fucking believe AFO played this so straight. maybe that’s why it worked. it was just so fucking out there that Tenko wound up buying it hook line and sinker. “hmm, seems a bit shady, but then again why else would a strange man I met only yesterday just randomly up and give me a dozen severed hands”

I don’t know if any of this shit is important, but it’s probably good practice to just post every mysterious thing that AFO says

yes you really did a great job healing this guy’s wounded fucking heart, Dr. Phil

oh wow, never fucking mind, even

I see, so that wasn’t meant to be a reassuring “in time you’ll get over it” speech; it was meant to be a cautionary “you’d better surround yourself with reminders of your terrible pain at all times or else you might actually stop feeling fucking miserable and WE CAN’T FUCKING HAVE THAT” speech. holy shit

I’m seriously having trouble wrapping my mind around just how terrible this is. like, it’s nearly impossible to fathom that level of cruelty. this is a four(?)-year-old child. he tracked him down, gave him a quirk that would kill his family*, sat back and watched it happen, and then let him stew in the horror of it all alone until he finally swooped in and claimed him and then raised him with the express purpose of keeping him sad and scared and angry and depressed at all times, all so he would eventually grow up and, with any luck, murder the man that his grandmother thought of as a son!

(*this is just conjecture right now, admittedly, but until I’m proven wrong I’m basically operating under the assumption that it’s true)

just. “fucked up” doesn’t even begin to describe it. god

anyways, let’s continue to read more about young Tenko’s extreme emotional abuse at the hands of the final villain I guess

OMG HANA

okay so I can’t remember where we left off on this last time, but a bunch of people said they suspected that the young Tenko wanted to be a hero when he was a little boy, and that’s why he was always clashing with his dad, because his dad’s own experience with heroes was pretty sour on account of the whole his-mom-gave-him-up-when-he-was-little-and-then-later-died-horribly thing

so yeah, I assume that’s what Hana is referring to here with the whole “I just tell Dad...” bit. so they both wanted to be heroes! how perfectly fucking tragic! great!

Tomuraaaaaa

KEEP IT UP TOMURA YOU CAN DO IT!! YOU CAN REMEMBER! YOU’RE DOING GREAT. aside from the whole “this really big man is killing you slowly” thing

yeah, this whole deal

but aside from that. doing great

OOOOOOOOOH SHIT, THIS MUMMIFIED LITTLE PUNK’S STILL GOT SOME FIGHT LEFT IN HIM YOU GUYS

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

he got him to fling him away! YESSSS TAKE THAT YOU ASSHOLE. FOOL HIM ONCE, FUCKING OUCH, BUT FOOL HIM TWICE, AND LET’S SEE HOW YOU FUCKING LIKE IT YOU BIG WAD

so now Re-Destro is belatedly realizing that Tomura is going through a very weird leveling-up process and taking advantage of the fact that he’s temporarily become the main character of the series and thus possesses all of the narrative powers that come with that venerable distinction

...that he’s the main character? yes

anyways lol there’s some real good crazyface action going on here guys

did Horikoshi take the extra time just so he could devote a little longer to nailing down panels like this because if yes, A+++

SDSKJSODIFHOIESJ

it’s mom!! wow!!

DSLKFAJSLDK ARE WE GETTING BACKSTORY ON THE FUCKING SCARS OMFG I CAN’T THIS IS TOO MUCH

SOB YOU GUYS I’M CAUGHT UP IN THIS WEIRD CROSS BETWEEN BEING HYPED AF AND ALSO CRACKING THE FUCK UP NOW THOUGH, BECAUSE:

ALL OF THIS WAS SO FUCKING BADASS, AND THEN THAT LAST FUCKING PANEL, THOUGH. LMAO WELL HE’S ON THE BRINK OF SOMETHING, BUT WHO CAN EVEN FUCKING SAY WHAT

ANYWAY HE’S ZOOMING TOWARDS RD AND RD’S THINKING “HE’S FAST!” AND YEAH, BITCH, YOU SCARED??

WHAT ARE YOU THE PRESIDENT OF HIS FANCLUB NOW OR WHAT

you guys this is the most I’ve ever liked Re-Destro. there’s something about evil nemesis characters being begrudgingly impressed by their enemies that just pleases me, idk

LJSDFIJWEOF

WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO HIS FACE HE LOOKS LIKE ONE OF THE SCARY TREES FROM SNOW WHITE

OH SHIT YOU GUYS WE’RE BREAKING OUT THE TROPES

so do we get 100% when he goes up against Machia, then? smdh, fucking power levels. well I guess Deku technically uses them too. but still, it’s not something we see in this series too often aside from that

holy shit you guys

honestly, I guess this should be really intimidating or whatever, but all I can think is that it’s about time this guy finally started taking this “pitiable gang of thugs” seriously. even if that does mean Tomura is probably about to fucking die, barring some Giganto ex Machia. that guy really needs to get a move on

oh hey

[RAISES EYEBROW AT GIGANTOMACHIA AND JABS FINGER TOWARDS WRISTWATCH] cut it a little closer next time why don’t you??

(ETA: also I didn’t notice all of Tomura’s other hands being flung away from him by the impact, but whoa. so now he’s just got the Papa Hand left in his pocket, along with whichever hand is grabbing the back of his head. and that’s it. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that his dad is the only remaining family member whose face we still haven’t seen yet. some big reveal coming up with that soon, I bet.)

oh and also guys here’s some more flashbacks. this time with loving grandparents. because Horikoshi just really wants to make sure our emotions are good and churned about

okay guys, Tenko’s very dead flashback!grandma and grandpa telling him not to cry and giving him yummy food so he won’t be sad is pretty much close to the limits of what I can take, angst-wise. I don’t know why this is hitting me so hard! this is hardly my first anime flashback! I should be a pro at this by this point, the fuck is wrong with me

but on the other hand, I think a big part of it is that I’m not just sad about Tomura’s past, but also angry. because none of this is just coincidence; all of it is actually stuff that was done to him very deliberately, and the worst part is he doesn’t even realize it. and so in addition to the usual rush of protective feelings, there’s also this sense of outrage about it all too. and I think that’s the harder part to deal with. here I am, a grown adult, getting really mad over the staggering cruelty of what was done to this fictional character when he was a child. it’s possible there’s some real-life anger and frustration over certain real-life horrific cruelties and injustices that may be bleeding over into this, idk. just, the world is a fucked up place, and my emotional support manga is currently being less than supportive and it’s a struggle sob

anyways sorry about that. meanwhile while I was having a mini breakdown, possibly the most pivotal character development in Tomura’s history was happening and HOLY SHIT THOUGH WAIT UP GUYS

sdfkdsfjwoilkkj BOY!!!!!!!

SOB HOW ARE THERE ONLY TWO PAGES LEFT I’M GONNA CRY THIS CHAPTER WENT BY SO FAST

-- HORIKOSHI WHY ARE YOU CUTTING AWAY FROM THE FLASHBACK OH MY GOD I’M GONNA!!!

FUCK ME, THIS IS WHAT I WAS WAITING FOR SO IMPATIENTLY, SO OF COURSE HORIKOSHI JUST HAD TO FINALLY MAKE IT HAPPEN RIGHT WHEN I WOULD HAVE GIVEN ANYTHING TO NOT CUT AWAY FROM THAT SCENE WE WERE JUST ON. THIS SADISTIC SON OF A...

...hee. but it’s hard to stay mad, though

... :)

:D :D :D

lol what. recall, if you may, that you guys are the ones who basically forced them to come down to your mountain city and kick your asses you dickasaurs

HAHAHAHAHAAA

SDLFKJLSDKFJ AND ALSO OH NOOOOOOOO

OH MY FUCKING GOD. AND THAT’S IT. THAT’S THE FUCKING CHAPTER. WHYYYYY

EAT IT YOU PRICKS, I HOPE GIGANTOMACHIA FLATTENS YOU ALL INTO NEXT WEEK

Tomura looks so freaking sad, you guys. he’s just standing there completely still and he looks like he’s just completely destroyed emotionally

and he said he remembered everything!?! so what the shit am I supposed to do, Horikoshi?? my boy is just standing there with seven fucking fingers and one shoe and so caught up in his sad reverie that he’s seemingly oblivious to the fact that the long-awaited cavalry has finally arrived. kid is maybe 2-3 chapters away from finally triumphing over this bald Disney tree man who talks too much. and not only that, but he’s more than likely going to finally win Gigantomachia’s loyalty in the process. which in turn means he’ll have access to Ujiko and all of his resources

so in short, this boy is minutes away from becoming one of the deadliest and most powerful forces on earth... and I’m pretty sure that right now, at this moment, none of that matters to him one iota

you guys. so what does this mean for future developments?? I’m really going to need him to define “everything” ASAP, for starters. that’s a very vague statement, and its implications could mean the difference between us just having a sadder-than-usual Tomura from this point out, or a Tomura that’s sad but also realizing for the first time that there’s a lot about his past that doesn’t quite add up, or hell, even a Tomura that’s actually out for fucking vengeance against AFO. that last one seems like too big of a jump to happen right away, but dare I at least hope for the second option though? god that would just be the icing on the cake for this fucking perfect arc

now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to go do some yoga or chant some mantras or something holy shit. this fucking manga

76 notes · View notes

vanderlindemangofarm · 5 years

Text

Breaking the Gilded Cage

A few days ago I wrote this, musing about what would happen if I turned up to the Mayor’s ball with the boys dressed in a suit instead of a fancy gown. Well, in an act of complete self-indulgence, I decided to write a fic about it.

I realise that this isn’t something I’d normally write and I don’t plan on making a habit out of posting something so self-centred, but it’s a scenario that’s been on my mind for quite a while and I wanted to have fun and see where it could go. This was a way for me to explore some of the issues I have with my general appearance and confidence.

This is also for any other girls out there who don’t always feel their best in a dress.

I’m so nervous about posting this, but here goes nothing.

Word count: 2,900

Why me? I thought, standing in front of the mirror in Karen’s tent, looking myself up and down. My hair was fluffy, tied crudely in a bun at the nape of my neck, my shirt bunched around my hips, tucked hurriedly into my trousers, which were the only form-fitting item of clothing I bothered with – and they were splattered with mud. Of all the girls in camp, why would Dutch ask me to go to a goddamn ball?

“I envy you, doll.” Karen sighed, rummaging through her trunk of clothes. “It’s going to be gorgeous. Can you even imagine?”

Oh yes, I could imagine. The fine food, the wine from countries I’d never have the chance to visit, the fireworks, the people. All those beautiful people, dressed up to the nines, looking at me, wondering how on God’s green Earth I had managed to get in. My stomach twisted.

Karen had been especially sweet to me since I told her that Dutch had invited me along to the ball, instructing me to find something suitable to wear, his tone not warranting any opposition. Of all the girls in the gang, Karen was the only one who owned clothes that would even come close to fitting me. I shifted from foot to foot, chewing my lip, watching her unfold various gowns. She held up a scarlet skirt, looking between me and the material, making thoughtful sounds.

“How about this, with that little black coat you have? And I’m sure I’ve got gloves to match…” she was back to rooting through the trunk again. I gingerly wiggled out of my boots and trousers, picking up the skirt and slipping it on. It sat easily enough on my hips – perhaps a little too tightly – but the knot in my stomach didn’t go away. Karen peered over at me and blinked.

“Aw, there you go! That fits you just fine.”

I shook my head, gripping at the material, but Karen didn’t seem to notice. She stood up, firmly tucking my shirt into the skirt, undoing a couple of buttons to show some cleavage. I felt my throat tighten with discomfort, my cheeks burning.

“I can’t do this, Karen.”

“What? Don’t be silly! Now, let me see if I can’t find those gloves. I’m sure Mary-Beth can give you one of her necklaces and a brooch or two. And how about a shawl? Tilly has one that would really bring out your eyes. Oh, and you must take my fine hat, it hasn’t had a good outing since Valentine…”

“Karen, please.”

“What do you say I put a touch of lipstick on you?”

“No!”

Karen jumped, startled. I closed my eyes, exhaled slowly.

“I’m so sorry.” I whispered eventually. Karen shook her head, started trying to tell me that it was fine. But I really, really wasn’t fine.

“I just…I can’t…this isn’t me. I don’t know why Dutch even bothered asking me to go along tonight. Perhaps this is his idea of a prank.” I slipped off the scarlet skirt and pulled my trousers, boots and overcoat back on, my hair falling out of its bun in the commotion.

“Oh, doll. Sit down for a while.”

Karen’s eyes were full of sympathy, but I didn’t want any of it. I apologised again but took my leave of her tent. The late morning sunshine illuminated Shady Belle, blinding me. I started to march back to my own tent, intending to have a stiff drink and figure out how the hell I was going to weasel out of the ball. Lost in my frustration, I bumped straight into Dutch.

“I beg your pardon, miss!” he said, throwing his arms up, smiling. I made a brief noise of acknowledgement and continued to walk, hoping he’d just leave me to it. No such luck.

“I hope you’re adequately prepared for tonight. We’re counting on you.”

I took a deep breath, ready to explain why I was certainly not adequately prepared, but he continued.

“I trust you’ve found something appropriate to wear? Even Mr Williamson has managed to squeeze into his old suit, though hopefully our fellow guests will be too far gone on the wine to notice the split seams.”

“Well, actually Dutch, I…”

His expression changed instantly, sinking into a frown.

“I sincerely hope you’re not planning on making an excuse, miss.”

My words got caught in my throat, as they always did when I was around Dutch. I stuttered, feeling my cheeks burning pink again.

“I was o-only wondering if one of the other girls might be…be b-better suited for tonight.”

Dutch blinked.

“Better suited?”

“Look at me. Wouldn’t you rather have Miss O’Shea accompany you? Or Miss Gaskill?”

“I don’t follow.” he said flatly, his brow still furrowed. I sighed, gesturing up and down my body, my patience waning drastically as my voice wobbled, getting louder.

“Are you blind? Do you really think anyone’s going to take me seriously?”

“Well, not if you’re going to whoop and holler like a child.”

“I meant when I’m all dressed up in some silly gown, tripping over my own feet. I’ll ruin everything.”

“You’re not going tonight to stand around and look pretty. You’re going because I need you to get people talking, to listen to their drivel in the hopes that some of it might benefit us. People will talk to you. Despite your best efforts, you’re actually quite charming.”

His tone was infuriatingly dry. I wasn’t sure if he was deliberately misunderstanding or if he was somehow enjoying this.

“I’m not going.” I spat. “You can’t force me!”

Dutch came closer to me, uncomfortably so, towering over me as he pointed a finger at my face. His expression was thunderous.

“You will go tonight. You will dress appropriately for a ball. You will be the perfect companion, and you will prove that you’re an asset to this gang because if you’re not, then what the hell am I keeping you around for?”

I turned on my heels and stormed towards my horse before he could spot the tears that had sprung to my eyes. Dutch called after me.

“Saint Denis, tonight. We’ll have a carriage waiting outside the Bastille Saloon at dusk. If you’re not there, don’t bother coming back to camp.”

I mounted up, speeding away from Shady Belle, dust billowing. I yelled some obscenities over my shoulder, grateful that I was riding too fast for him to hear me properly. My heart was thumping under my shirt like a hammer, my lips pierced together with anger. I did end up riding to Saint Denis, deciding to find the saloon and finally have that much-needed drink. Leaving my horse in the stables I started to wander the streets, appreciative of the crowds. I felt myself blend into the background, safe and invisible.

***

On my way to the saloon I passed several shops – a dress-maker, a tailor, a haberdashery. I scoffed, looking at the fine silks in the window of the dress-makers. They were beautiful, of course, their colours rich and sumptuous. Within the shop I could just make out a young woman around my age being fitted for a gown. She stood on a small stool, hands on her hips, rotating slowly so the assistant could take her measurements. She was admiring herself in the full-length mirror, a small, confident smile on her face. It was at that moment that I caught sight of myself in the glass of the window. Bedraggled, a little sweaty from the journey, my cheeks rosy. I sighed and walked on down the street.

It was at that moment that a vaguely familiar voice caught my attention.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes!”

I turned in the direction of the voice, my gaze met by a top hat, a groomed moustache, a well-tailored suit, and a gently amused smile.

“Mr Trelawny?”

“At your service,” he beamed, giving me a courteous bow. I didn’t know Josiah terribly well – whenever he was around camp he seemed to keep to himself, or converse with Dutch and Hosea. I found his conjuring tricks tiresome, but he always had a smile and kind greeting for me whenever we crossed paths. He beckoned me over to the side of the road.

“And what brings you to fair Saint Denis today?” he enquired, briefly casting his eyes up and down my person.

“Our glorious leader has managed to get a handful of us invited to the Mayor’s ball tonight.” I replied grimly, folding my arms across my chest. Josiah chuckled.

“You seem thrilled by the concept, dear girl.”

“You have no idea.”

Josiah tilted his head to one side, studying me intently.

“Why the sorrow? You have the chance to experience the fine society of our noble city! The chance to dazzle and be dazzled! Your glorious leader clearly chose you for a reason. I’d say any young woman should be lucky to see such an event, especially when invited by such a strapping fellow.”

I shook my head.

“It’s not that I don’t feel lucky. I appreciate what Dutch is trying to do for me, for all of us. But no one seems to understand…it’s not a place for the likes of me. I can’t squeeze into a dress and still do the things that I do. I’d feel like a court jester, a circus attraction. The thought of everyone looking at me, of Dutch seeing me so…uncomfortable. I’d humiliate him, and I can’t bear it. If only I could wear a wonderful suit just like yours, Mr Trelawny! All my troubles would be melted away.”

Josiah looked at me thoughtfully, the silence after my little outburst stifling the air. I rubbed the bridge of my nose, feeling at once too big and smaller than a mouse. I started when I felt Josiah’s delicately gloved hand rest on my shoulder.

“My dear, silly girl.”

“Please don’t pity me, Mr Trelawny.”

“Pity? How dare you! I’m empathising. And scheming.”

I looked up at him.

“Scheming?”

He murmured in confirmation, looking briefly over his shoulder towards the Bastille, which loomed in the distance.

“Indeed. I believe I may be able to help you in your wardrobe predicament.”

***

In what could have been a whirlwind I found myself balancing precariously on a stool in a small room at the Bastille. Josiah knelt at my feet, a small tape measure in his hand. He extended it up my legs, across my body, my arms. He mumbled to himself, brow furrowing and un-furrowing like a choreographed performance.

“Now, we’ve hardly the time for a perfect Cinderella transformation. However,…” he turned away, rummaging through a chest of drawers that stood in the corner of the room. “…I do believe I can work some magic before the evening arrives.”

He pulled out a smart pair of black trousers and a matching coat, trimmed with silver silk. I raised my eyebrows.

“May I ask why you have those, Mr Trelawny?”

“Certainly. And I reserve my infinite right not to answer.”

I smiled, watching him hold them up to me. He nodded, almost to himself.

“They may be a little loose, but it’s nothing a few well-placed pins couldn’t solve. And you already have a white shirt, I see? Excellent, that’s one less thing to concern ourselves with.”

He turned away dutifully as I changed into the suit, my heart racing. When I gave him the all-clear to look at me again his eyes gleamed.

“Cinderella, you shall go to the ball!”

“I look ridiculous, Mr Trelawny.”

He shook his head, walking towards me.

“Quite the contrary. May I?” he asked, producing a handful of pins from his pocket which he used to tighten the waistband of the trousers. He helped me tuck my shirt in, smoothing out the collar and re-doing the buttons. The jacket fit surprisingly well, nipping in at the waist. Josiah rolled up the cuffs slightly, so my hands weren’t too drowned in the material, and even gave me his own pocket-square. I brushed my hair, re-tying it into its usual bun, leaving a few strands loose for good measure. Josiah circled me, inspecting his work.

“Now, one last touch…”

He exposed the tiniest amount of my throat, so that the small silver necklace I always wore was just visible. I smiled at him, and he returned the gesture.

“Whoever said a queen must always wear a gown clearly never met you, my dear.”

I rolled my eyes, grinning. “Don’t overdo it.”

Josiah put his hands up in submission.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I placed my hand on his arm.

“Thank you, Mr Trelawny.”

“Think nothing of it. Society is a gilded cage that longs to be broken. I’m only too glad to assist the destruction.”

***

Josiah wouldn’t hear of me paying for the room – “it’s yours for as long as you need it” – and told me sincerely that he hoped to see me again.

“I wish you all the luck in the world tonight, my dear. And do sample as many types of champagne as you can manage – just pretend to be able to tell the difference and you’ll fit right in.”

I laughed, waving as he shut the door of the room. It felt distressingly empty and quiet now that he was gone. I looked out of the window, my stomach doing a backflip as I realised the sun was almost setting. Dusk, that’s when I was meeting the boys to get the carriage. It felt like I was awaiting my execution.

Just before I decided to bite the bullet and make my way outside, I paused to look in the mirror. I looked tidier, and that was the main thing, but there was something else as well. I looked older, stronger. I looked like I knew myself. I didn’t look scared anymore.

I walked through the bar of the saloon, past the poker tables and tipsy punters. The lingering glances bounced off me like hailstones, and I felt light as a feather. I waited outside, until a handsome carriage pulled up in front of me. A familiar face peered out of the window.

“Right on time, I see!”

“Hello, Hosea.” I grinned. “Arthur,” I nodded to the handsome blonde. “Bill, looking sharp.” I chortled, watching Bill flush pink and Arthur chuckle deeply.

I could just about make out the silhouette of a top hat in the far corner of the carriage. The door swung open, and Dutch emerged, his face composed. He looked at me for what felt like a century, and it was in those moments that I wanted to reverse the entire afternoon, to go back to Karen’s tent and accept the scarlet skirt and matching gloves, to smile and giggle at Dutch’s invitation, and for once in my entire life to not make things difficult for myself.

I stared back at him, deciding to take the initiative and speak first.

“You look nice, Dutch. Dapper.” I said coolly. Dutch arched an eyebrow.

“And you look…different.”

Well, that wasn’t as bad as I’d feared.

“I should think so to,” I retorted. “I could hardly attend a ball in muddy trousers, could I?”

The evening air felt thicker than treacle as I waited for Dutch to respond. I could almost see the cogs rotating inside his head. Eventually, he nodded.

“Well, you’d better get in. We’ve got a ball to get to.”

I shrugged, thanking Hosea when he offered his arm to help me into the carriage. A champagne bottle appeared, and soon everyone was clinking glasses and sipping the bubbling liquid. The smell made me excited about the evening for the first time. Bill turned to me, a faint scowl on his face.

“You look ridiculous.” he grumbled, looking me up and down. I smiled sweetly.

“And yet here I am, the only one out of the two of us who managed to find a suit that actually fits.”

Arthur and Hosea roared with laughter, topping up my glass with more champagne which I gratefully chugged. Hosea cleared his throat, composing himself.

“So…you’re confident with what you’re here to do?” he asked softly. I paused, but nodded.

“Yes, very confident.”

I noticed Dutch scoff subtly, glaring out the window. I kept my eyes fixed on him, continuing.

“I’m here to make people talk, to see if any of their drivel might be of use to us. People will talk to me. Despite my best efforts,” I paused deliberately, making Dutch turn to meet my gaze. “I’m actually quite charming.”

Hosea murmured with amusement. Dutch stared at me, the barest whisper of a smile playing on his lips.

When we arrived at the Mayor’s house he leaned forward when the other men were looking away. He rested his hand on my knee.

“I’m…” he started, frowning as he tried to find the right words. “…glad you’re here.”

I nodded, smiling at him. The cool outside air rushed into the carriage as the door was opened. I hopped down onto the street, the lights from the Mayor’s house beaming up into the sky, making it look like a bonfire. Dutch stood beside me, offering me his arm. I scoffed.

“I don’t need an escort, Mr Van der Linde.” I taunted, smoothing down my jacket and standing up straight. Dutch chuckled.

“That you don’t, miss.” he purred, tucking a stray strand of hair back behind my ear. “That you don’t.”

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #mango writes #mango musing #mine #self insert #dutch van der linde #josiah trelawny #karen jones #arthur morgan #hosea matthews #bill williamson

85 notes · View notes

falseroar · 5 years

Text

Dark Laughter Part 8: Studio Time

((Here are links to Part 7: Just Be Happy and the start of the series, Part 1: What Dark Saw. Hey look, no warnings this time!))

The studio space that the egos used was, much like the rest of their home, not quite right with reality. Every time it was used it seemed just that little bit different, whether because the ceiling was slightly higher one day than the next or the segmented walls weren’t guaranteed to be in the same place every time the studio was used. Considering the wildly different uses the egos put the area to, there were props and flimsy backgrounds littering the floor everywhere outside of the relatively small space that was actually used for filming.

It also didn’t help that keeping a steady crew outside of the egos themselves was nearly impossible, as the guests weren’t the only ones lucky to survive even one segment. Right now, aside from the four egos standing around the cameras, the only other normal person was a man attending to the monitors where an earlier recording of Bim’s game show was playing.

“Wilford, why did you drag me here?” Dark asked, noticing that the Google standing among the other egos had already spotted him and was attempting to give him a warning glare. Dark returned it with interest and a silent promise to make the android regret any hasty words this time.

The glare was somewhat ruined when Wilford threw one arm around his shoulders and patted Dark’s cheek with his other hand. “I think it’s time to put you in front of the camera again! The fans have been asking for it, and this face deserves to be on the screen!”

Wilford shook his hand after the pat to dispel some of the cold seeping from Dark’s aura as he scowled. Behind him, the row of monitors began to flicker with static and ghost images while the intern pulled off his headphones and threw them as far away as possible.

“Or behind the camera is good too. Can never get enough help these days, and yes, Jerry, I’m talking about you. Tell your wife I said hi!”

Wilford ducked to avoid the mike that sailed through the space where his head had been a second ago and added to Dark as if nothing just happened, “But you want to get in the in, on the up and up, am I right? Here’s where we start.”

Wilford winked and strode across the studio floor toward the four egos.

“Good evening, everyone! Are we ready to start?”

“If you mean start my show, then yes,” Bim said, straightening his tie as he watched Wilford approach. “I have the studio for the day, and we still need to go two more rounds. Isn’t that right, my lovely contestants?”

“Uh, they all, uh, made a run for it,” Eric said from his place offstage and away from the cameras even though they were clearly not on. “During the break. The crew too. Jerry, um, he was the last one but I guess he’s gone now? Not that, uh, that’s Mr. Warfstache’s fault or anything, I’m sure he…had other things to do…”

Yandereplier hissed under their breath and said, “Yeah, kind of hard to finish the game without the players. Sorry, Bim.”

Yandereplier shrugged and the red-shirted Google appeared to be unable to care any less than he already did, but Eric seemed to make a determined effort to appear even smaller than his usual cowering. Bim’s anger, however, had only one target in mind as his eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

“Why do you do this every time?! Can’t you let me finish one segment without you butting your giant pink mustache into it?”

“Well, I don’t see how all that was my fault,” Wilford said, not backing down as Bim stormed up to him. “I’ve warned you about locking those doors, but you’re always so surprised when people run away because they ‘want to live’ or whatever. Why do you even bother with these game shows, anyways? Oh, whoop de do, ‘I’m the next Alex Trebek’ or whoever the kids are watching these days. Why don’t you ever change it up a little? Have some fun?”

Bim swelled up and gripped the lapels of his jacket as he gave Wilford the hard stare. “How dare you! Alex Trebek is a national treasure!”

“I’m…not sure that’s what you should be taking offense to,” Dark said as he approached. “And I also recall that you made an attempt to host your own game show, Wilford. What exactly did you have in mind here?”

“Hm…” Wilford paused to consider, long enough to confirm to everyone present he had no clue, before he said, “Oh, I know, how about an interview! Haven’t done one of those in a while.”

“And you’re not doing one while it’s still my studio time,” Bim said.

“Besides, how exactly is doing the thing you’ve always done changing it up?” Yandere asked, but both hosts ignored them.

“I’ll have to get my interviewing knife,” Wilford murmured to himself, patting down his thighs as he spoke. “How embarrassing, to be caught out with only my shooty and no stabbys.”

“Yan, go dig out some costumes, Eric, put on a wig, and Google, find some egos with nothing better to do, we’re finishing this show!”

“…Can I be the contestant that doesn’t have to go through the grinder?” Eric asked.

“Grinder?” Dark repeated.

“Only if you get your questions right!” Bim answered, playfully slapping the younger ego on the back. “…And get lucky with the Wheel of Wow.”

“No one is going through any grinder,” Dark said.

“Because we’re going to need to set up for the interview,” Wilford added. “Eric, find my chairs, Google, set the lighting, Yan, keep being beautiful, you. Oh, who should our guest be? I hear there’s a kid named Sally Face who’s got some wild stories to tell, we just need to get past the guards and—”

“Uh, no, we’re going to finish the game! You can’t just leave the grinder waiting!”

“…I rather think we can,” Dark muttered, noting to himself that this is exactly why almost no one else in the house ever got presents from Santa. He reached out and grabbed Eric’s shoulder while he waffled back and forth on who to listen to and said, “Just give it a minute.”

“I, uh—” Eric flinched as both Wilford and Bim threw out conflicting orders on what he should be doing as their argument escalated, starting with reasonable requests such as to get one of the others and going on to tearing down the set, finding a prison guard’s uniform, and turning on the “fighting music,” whatever that was. “Should we do something?”

“Nah,” Yandere said as they pulled out their phone to check some messages. “This happens all the time. Just let ‘em vent, right Google?”

“To save on memory and data usage, this unit ignores orders until the fighting stops,” Google answered, watching as Bim reached his arm up and around, trying to get a hold of Wilford’s mustache from the half nelson hold Wilford had him locked in. “Longest recorded time was 4 hours, 37 minutes, and 3 seconds.”

“Only because you stopped counting during the great pineapple on pizza debate because you said it was stupid,” Yandere pointed out. “That lasted, like, weeks.”

“Yes. We completed several tasks while you lesser beings were occupied arguing the merits of frivolous and ultimately meaningless energy consumption,” Google said, smiling to himself. “It was a good time.”

As entertaining as this was, Dark didn’t feel like waiting to see if these two would break that record. “That is enough. Wilford, enough!”

He hauled on both of them, pulling them up to their feet and using his aura to separate the two long enough for Wilford to fix his suspenders and Bim to run a hand over some flyaway hairs.

“Neither of you are going to be recording anything,” Dark said, and interrupted them before either could protest. “Bim, you have no crew, no contestants, and you might as well just try to salvage what you can from what you’ve already recorded at this point or start over. Wilford, you don’t even have a guest, much less any prepared questions, and again, no film crew.”

“Pft, who needs preparation?” Wilford asked.

“Weren’t you just saying you wanted to try and work on scripts a few minutes ago?” Dark asked.

“But this is my studio time, I don’t want to just waste it.” Bim scowled. “Who even asked you, anyways?”

“I could let Wilford put you back into a headlock,” Dark offered. “There’s enough cameras around here, maybe we could film that and post it instead.”

“I mean, I got most of it on my phone already,” Yandere chimed in. “But if you want to keep going, we could get some sweet angles, maybe get some props to beat each other with. Google, you can handle music, right?”

“I have access to a wide variety of music which may be suitable for this situation,” Google said. His eyes blanked for a moment and then he added, “Would you prefer heavy metal or banjo?”

“Banjo!” Wilford answered, cracking his knuckles.

Bim paused to consider and said, “You know, if you wanted another pair of eyes on those scripts, I’m sure we can come up with something…A little less harmful to my health?”

Wilford’s mustache tilted as his mouth twisted underneath it and he stroked his chin. “A crossover, you say? A little something to keep the fans guessing?”

Bim couldn’t hide his relief that Wilford was already moving on to another idea, but that meant he now had to follow up. After a moment of struggle, his eyes lit up. “You know, these ninja warrior, ultimate champion obstacle course type shows are fairly popular these days.”

“Obstacles?” Wilford grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Pits. Pendulums. Possibilities.”

“I know where we can get some chiranhas who are ready for some fresh me—er, fun.”

“Bim, my buddy, I think it may be time to move outside of this studio and really get our hands dirty,” Wilford said, throwing an arm around the ego’s shoulders. “Tell me more about these chiranhas.”

Dark watched the two of them start throwing ideas back and forth and admitted aloud, “I may have just unleashed a great evil upon this world.”

“Eh, it’s Tuesday. Bound to happen eventually,” Yandere said with a shrug. “You should see what I got up to in the Occult Club last week.”

“Remember, don’t make any deals with demons without letting me vet them first,” Dark said out of reflex and Yandere snorted. He noticed that Google was still giving him the glare and asked, “What? What problem could you possibly have with me right now?”

“It is my directive to keep an eye on you when in the same vicinity in case you revert to previous modes of behavior,” Google answered. “That same directive warns against behavior designed to curry favor or increased familiarity in an attempt to regain your previous station within the house.”

“For how long?” Dark asked. After all, he could wait. He had been patient before, he could do it again.

“Unspecified.” Google turned his head at a call from Bim and walked away without waiting for Dark’s response. Probably a good thing, as Dark wanted nothing more right then than to rewrite the android’s “directive” in a…manual kind of way.

Before long, Wilford and Bim were drawing out plans across the studio floor with Google running numbers and Yandere throwing in the occasional suggestion. Eric watched from a distance, “um”-ing and attempting once or twice to suggest that some of their ideas might be a little too lethal, but to no avail.

They were so wrapped up in their plans that some time passed before Wilford looked up and then around the studio before asking, “Say, where did that Dark go? He should be helping us!”

“Disagreed,” Bim said. “Do you think a second flamethrower would be too obvious?”

“He left a while ago,” Eric said and looked away when Wilford gave him a sharp look. “I guess he, uh, had something he needed to say to Y/N? Only they walked by the door and he practically ran after them.”

“Logical error noted,” Google said and grunted when Wilford pushed past him and ran out of the studio.

“Yeah, like that,” Eric said weakly. “Is…is something wrong, do you think?”

“Eric Derekson’s statement is incorrect,” Google continued, scowling a little as he rubbed at the spot where Wilford’s hand hit him. “Y/N is currently in the infirmary with another Google unit, and they have not left the room since they arrived two hours ago.”

“Well, it looked like them,” Eric said, frowning.

“Maybe you just wanted to see them,” Yandere said. “I see my Senpai in all kinds of places. In the clouds. In my tea leaves. In the monitor connected to the secret camera I set up in his bedroom.”

“…What?”

Bim sighed at the flurry of notes and stood up, dusting off his pants as he checked his watch. “Is it that late? We’re going to be late for dinner, and I have a feeling Wilford won’t be coming back anytime soon from wherever he’s run off to. Come on, if we’re too late, Chef Iplier will rope us into helping wash the dishes.”

“Ugh, I had prune hands forever after last time,” Yandere said, leading the way to the studio door.

But Google beat them all to it and slammed the door shut before locking it on the inside.

“Uh, what’s the deal there, Googs?” Bim asked.

The ‘G’ glowed on his red shirt, but the android’s eyes were vacant as he spoke as if reading off from an internal memo.

“Lockdown has been initiated. No one is to leave their current area, and no one is to go anywhere alone or unsupervised. All egos are to remain in place for their own safety.”

---

Dark swore as he rounded the corner and found yet another empty hallway. He had seen you just feet ahead seconds ago, but there was no sign of anyone as he continued on, checking every door he walked past as if you had enough time to duck inside before he could catch up. Rain lashed against the windows and he realized that, at some point while he was in the studio, a storm had blown in. Right, the King of the Squirrels had said something about it earlier, hadn’t he? But now the wind shook the house as Dark made his way from room to room before stopping outside of one door in particular.

He knocked, but no answer came from inside your bedroom.

After a pause, he opened the door and peered inside. The room was dark and clearly empty, but he still turned on the light and walked in.

Your bed was undisturbed (how long had you been staying with Mark this time?) and there was nothing obviously out of place as Dark made his way to the closet door and checked inside, just to be on the safe side. A flash of lightning outside the house briefly added to the light in the room and Dark stared down at the empty closet floor.

Where did you hide, when you were at Mark’s house? Was the closet in your room there enough to block out the lightning and thunder and the memories they brought with them?

Dark shut the closet door a little harder than necessary, causing one of the pictures pinned to the board on the wall nearby to flutter. He paused, taking in the series of photographs of you with the other egos, and Mark, and the other friends you had made in the time since you came here. Below the board, a strange stuffed animal sat on top of the dresser, its wide eyes meeting Dark’s. Its species was a complete and total guess, although for some reason Dark hovered between duck or lion.

In its lap was a dried rose petal. It had faded since the time Dark gave the rose to you, the almost black hue more clearly a dark blue that tinted toward red on the outer layer. And, for some reason, there was a trace of green running straight through it.

Dark frowned at the sight of that third color and reached for the petal, but realized he had no time to think about that as thunder shook the house.

“Wilford,” he muttered and turned toward the door.

Only to stop short when he clearly heard a knocking sound, but not from the direction of either door. Following the persistent sound of the knock, Dark turned around and saw the mirror hanging beside your bed, and the figure standing there.

It looked like you, but when Dark met the eyes of the person in the mirror, there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind who he was looking at.

The sound might have been inaudible through the glass, but their response was clear when the District Attorney saw they had his full, undivided attention:

“Finally.”

((End of Part 8. Thank you for reading! “Pits, Pendulums, Possibilities”... probably won’t be coming to a channel near you, for so many legal reasons.

And here’s a link to the next part, Part 9: Storm Warning.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @purpstraw @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate ))

#markiplier #fanfic #darkiplier #wilford warfstache #bim trimmer #googliplier #eric derekson #yandereplier #wkm district attorney #dark laughter #The storm is finally here #It's time to face your fear #Mirror mirror on the wall #Do you really think you can save them all?

43 notes · View notes

buttsonthebeach · 6 years

Note

For DWC: cards and letters and stationary

Okay, so I know it isn’t Friday, but I’m not going to be around for DWC tomorrow, and I had an idea for this prompt the second you said it, and I finally wrote it and got too excited to wait. Whoops?

This is slightly canon-divergent for the Merrill romance, because it didn’t feel natural for my Hawke to ask Merrill to move in after that first night. You can read more about these two in Who Tells Your Story, where I will post this at some point.

Pairing: Marian Hawke x Merrill

Rating: Explicit for sexy times (although they are fairly brief)

Summary: Marian wakes up the morning after her first night with Merrill, and grapples with the idea of a new beginning.

When Marian awoke at Merrill’s side it was with a deep, cold dread. Like being at the bottom of a well. She knew what it was like at the bottom of a well because she and Carver and Bethany ended up in one once, although saying they’d “ended up” there made it sound like it wasn’t on purpose, which it was. They climbed down and when Marian looked up to see how far away the top was, and then down to see how small the twins were, she knew there was no way they were getting out on their own. Their father had to levitate them out, in fact, sweating the whole while, their mother keeping a watchful eye out for anyone who might see him.

“Don’t get yourself into situations with no way out,” Father said, when they were free, his grip hard on Bethany and Marian’s hands alike. Carver trailed behind with Mother. “Do you hear me?”

Merrill was still asleep, lying on her back, her lips parted. She was beautiful. Marian had noticed that before, of course. But in an abstract way. Not in a way that twisted her up inside. She is beautiful, and she is here, and she said she loved me. And last night I told her that this didn’t have to be the end. What does that mean? Why did I say it so quickly? How did Merrill take it?

Hence the deep, cold dread. The sense that she was at the bottom of that well again.

Marian rose from the bed slowly and carefully, rearranging the covers after she left, tucking them just a little around Merrill. She stopped just short of brushing back her hair. She stood there a moment, and then walked out into the hall, working through her thoughts, trying to understand them.

She used to help Bethany sneak into the chantry in Lothering sometimes, and once they’d heard an angry sister declare to a mother weeping for a son who’d been taken to the Circle that not only was the tower his place, but that they should castrate him when he got there, just to be sure there wouldn’t be more like him.

“Maybe you and I should never have children,” Bethany said quietly on their walk home.

“That’s absurd,” Marian said, because she suspected it was what Bethany wanted to hear.

“It does run in families, though. Look at us. Look at Aunt Revka, and all of her children. It’s in the Hawke blood and the Amell blood. And there is some truth to what she said about the Chant of Light.”

It. That was how they always referred to magic in public - and even, sometimes, when they were alone, as they were then, walking up the dirt path.

“But only some, Beth,” Marian insisted, pretending the words had struck no chord in her. “Imagine if Mother and Father thought that way. There’d be no you - and you are the best person I know.”

Bethany smiled at her then. Her smile always made Marian think of summer and sunflowers. Even now, standing in her dim, too-big Hightown house, where Bethany had never set foot, and never would.

That was some part of the dread. Marian protested that day, but privately, she doubted she would ever marry and have children of her own. She knew what the rest of her life as an apostate would look like. She did not resent her father and mother for that life - the running and the fear - but if she had the choice, she wouldn’t live that way. And she wouldn’t run the very risk that Bethany described that day. She wouldn’t bring a child into that life.

Of course, it did occur to her shortly after that decision that she might marry a woman, instead. Her first love had been a girl, a farmer’s daughter when she was fifteen. Wren. Marian could still picture her heart-shaped face perfectly. Maybe that was it. Maybe she would marry a farmer’s daughter with a heart-shaped face and they would adopt orphans given up to the Chantry - and Marian would live every day looking over her shoulder, praying no templars ever came to take her away from her children, that she never fell prey to a demon while sleeping next to her wife -

So that was part of the deep, dreadful feeling she had, then. Marian had never expected to fall in love again. And she hadn’t. She’d found several men and women attractive since then - she’d bedded some of them - but she hadn’t loved any of them.

And she knew, going down the stairs, replaying the events of the night before - Merrill’s big green eyes, the way she stayed so close the whole time they made love, the way she kissed her, savoring every breath - she knew this meant something. This wasn’t Isabela, who’d come in here like a hurricane, dropping knives and clothing left and right, never giving Marian a moment to think or feel anything other than more.

And she wasn’t Fenris. Fenris who’d smile at her and shiver when their hands touched as they practiced his letters, and whose voice grew louder and louder each time she tried to defend the reason she’d let an apostate go or lied to a templar or took Anders’ side. Fenris who’d finally looked at her one evening, a month before, when they’d been saying good night and she’d sidled up to him and angled her face up, a clear invitation for a kiss that would taste like the wine they’d shared, a kiss that would soothe away the argument they’d just had about Anders and Justice, and said:

“It’s never going to work between us, is it?”

She knew they couldn’t pretend anymore.

Wasn’t that part of the attraction to him, anyway? Knowing, on some level, that it was never going to work? That he was too principled, too wounded by mages and magic, to really fall for a mage who never said what she was really thinking if she thought it would disturb the peace?

Marian paused by the table in the hall where Bodahn left her letters and began to leaf through them. On top of them was a note from Bodahn himself, saying that he, Sandal, and Orana had gone out to the market together. Beneath that: trash. Trash. A plea for assistance. A clearly false advertisement for some sort of - male sexual enhancement. Another plea for assistance. Trash. A bill she would show to Varric before paying, because he’d insisted on becoming involving in her finances. Trash.

Marian went through the cards and letters and let herself think, until the thought floated to the surface. Merrill was not Isabela or Fenris, and that was why Marian was afraid.

Because when she turned and looked at the front door that Merrill came through the night before, her eyes wide and afraid - when she looked at the wall that she’d pressed Merrill up against when they kissed - when she thought back to all of the moments she’d missed over the years, the way Merrill looked at her, how stupid she’d been not to notice - she knew this meant something.

She’d known it the night before, or she would not have gone upstairs with her.

The stairs creaked then, and Marian turned to see Merrill standing on them, dressed only in a long white shirt - one of Marian’s own. Marian’s heart beat faster. There was something guarded in Merrill’s eyes. Shit - of course.

“I’m sorry,” Marian said at once. “I didn’t mean for you to wake up alone. I was going to the kitchen to bring us some breakfast.”

So quick to lie, Marian.

“Oh, it’s fine. I am an early riser anyway. Being Dalish, and all that. Always up with the sun.” Merrill smiled, but it was a weak smile, and her words were strangely clipped - not flowing and tumbling over themselves, the way they usually did. Marian’s heart sank. Merrill approached anyway, stopping a careful distance away from both the desk and Marian. Then she looked down at her bare feet, curling her toes in the expensive rug.

“Merrill -”

“I know last night meant something different for you than it did for me,” Merrill said, quick now, like usual. “Of course it did. I’ve been in love with you for years, Marian. And I know you aren’t in love with me. You said last night that this didn’t have to be the end but - if you are having second thoughts about me it could be.” She took a breath, and looked up, and her eyes were resolute, but there was something sad in the shape of her mouth. “I am sure it will take you some time to decide what you feel for me - if you feel anything - and that’s perfectly fine and I only wanted to say that -”

Marian took Merrill’s face in both her hands and kissed her.

Marian kissed her because it wasn’t Carver or Bethany that suggested they climb down into the well that long-ago day.

It was her.

Because under all the carefully manicured layers that Marian wrapped herself in now, she was still that child who knew an opportunity she couldn’t refuse - and leapt.

Merrill made a startled noise against her lips - but then she parted them, and Merrill followed suit, and they were warm and close together and the soft lap of Merrill’s tongue against her own made Marian’s breath catch. She fisted her hands in the loose cotton of Merrill’s shirt, shivered when Merrill’s own hands found their way to her back. They were both out of breath when they parted.

“You’re right,” Marian said. She kept Merrill close. “We are in different places. You got a bit of a head start on me. But I want to see where this leads, Merrill. I meant what I said last night. I did.”

Merrill’s smile was a little like Bethany’s. Summer and sunflowers and everything growing and new.

Marian kissed her again. And again. And again, through Merrill’s delighted giggles, as she pushed her towards the table and then helped her up onto it, sweeping the pile of letters and cards aside.

“Stop laughing,” Marian said, pushing the wide collar of the shirt down, leaving sucking kisses along Merrill’s collarbone. “It makes it hard to kiss you.”

“Maybe I’m just hoping you’ll kiss me somewhere else instead,” Merrill said, and her smile was wicked now, so Marian sank to her knees and parted Merrill’s legs and went to worship between them. She got her head underneath the hem of the shirt and saw Merrill there, already bare, and bit her lip against the flood of heat in her own belly at the sight.

“Here? Now?” Merrill didn’t sound hesitant. Marian pushed the shirt back anyway, all the way up Merrill’s stomach. She met her eyes, and then planted a kiss on each of Merrill’s thighs, right near those tiny, perfect whorls of dark hair.

“I think we both waited long enough.”

Merrill was noisy with a tongue between her legs, Marian discovered. And strong. She quickly got one hand in Marian’s hair and tugged whenever she wandered away from her clit. She broke out in elven when Marian sealed her lips around that pearl and sucked. But she didn’t come until Marian took one hand away from where it had been playing between her own legs, teasing her own swollen sex, and pressed two fingers up inside Merrill instead - and then she finished silently, except for a few high, needy noises at the biggest peaks, when her cunt was tight around Marian’s fingers. Marian felt her chest tighten, watching her come down from her high, seeing how her whole body rippled with it, how her mana buzzed and zapped around them both, just brushing against Marian’s own. She was beautiful, and she was here.

Later, in the kitchen, they sat together and had bread and cheese and cured meats, and talked idly, and Marian felt something settle into her chest. A little fear, maybe. But excitement, too, at the sight of Merrill in the morning, wearing her shirt, hair mussed, talking about what they should do that day. This was a beginning. This was something real.

Bodahn commented on the spilled mail when he, Sandal, and Orana returned later. She and Merrill hid their smiles in their tea, grinning at each other over the porcelain rims.

“I’m sorry, Bodahn,” Marian said. “But I’m afraid it may happen again.”

Merrill couldn’t stop laughing, and Marian found herself already planning new ways to earn that sound.

#dragon age 2 fanfic #f!hawke x merrill #hawke x merrill #who tells your story #beach writes #marian hawke #merrill

62 notes · View notes