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ppangjae · 4 years

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PLANET GIRL | part two

SUMMARY. When Jaehyun turned twenty-one, he started to hear his soulmate’s voice singing an unfamiliar song in his head. He should be happy, right? Wrong. There are two things wrong with this:

He’s taken. He’s off the market. He’s in a 3-year relationship and,

The voice singing in his head is not his girlfriend’s voice.

Now what?

WORD COUNT. 5k+ words

author’s note. finally LOL. it’s been a hot minute. here’s part two! also, i’ve gotten such positive feedback for part one and i wanted to say thank you for reading and enjoying it! i hope you enjoy this update! happy reading!

PART ONE. cupid | PART TWO. jupiter | 2.5 intermission | PART THREE. PLANET GIRL

The humming and singing in his head follows him in his sleep. But don’t get him wrong, the unidentified voice of his soulmate singing in his head doesn’t haunt him to sleep. It actually helps him fall asleep, especially on nights where the future seems so out of reach and unpredictable, where he wonders how he’ll break it to Ara that he’s not the man she’ll be spending the rest of her life with even though they’ve been together for three long years. In fact, the harsh reality of his relationship with Ara is a nightmare caused by the voice that sings in his head, but it so happens to be the same voice that puts him in a deep, peaceful slumber.

How ironic.

One night, the humming hums louder and louder that it prompts him to wake up. His eyes land on his keyboard sitting in the far corner of the room. His feet carelessly drag him towards the keyboard and he plops down onto the seat with a soft ‘oof’. As he gently places his fingers down onto the keys of the keyboard, his eyes flutter shut and he focuses on the melody echoing through his head.

As if his fingers had a mind of its own, they start playing out the melody by ear. The corners of his lips twitch up into a soft smile. It’s almost like a lullaby, but he’s forcing himself to stay awake and take in the sweet melody. Soft humming, inaudible words mumbling in between. He’s sure he’s never heard such a song before.

Suddenly, the humming halts to a stop and his eyes flash open. There’s a sudden feeling of loneliness. He lets out a sigh before an idea pops into his mind. Immediately, he grabs a blank piano sheet, forcing himself to recall the notes he had translated from his soulmate’s humming in his head.

It takes a while. It takes him a while to get it all on one piano sheet. But when he does, there’s a feeling of sweet victory. It’s like he’s accomplished something big. It’s like he’s one step closer to finding his soulmate.

“One day,” he mumbles to himself, staring at the piano sheet with a faint smile spread across his lips. “I’ll finally meet you.”

His thoughts are cut short when his phone vibrates to notify him of a text message from, oh right, his girlfriend, Ara.

It’s a situation that cannot be helped.

It’s May and the cherry blossoms bloomed and the pout on your face almost seems permanent. You’re not sure what to do anymore. Time is surely ticking and yet, you haven’t started fulfilling your duties of bringing Ara and Yuta together. It’s your consciousness that’s keeping you from doing it. It’s Jaehyun’s innocence that’s keeping you from doing it. It’s Ara’s friendliness that’s keeping you from doing it. Yuta, however, you’re not quite sure—

“I had a feeling it was you, but I wasn’t fully sure.”

You snap out of your trance, following the source of the unidentified voice. Yuta’s looking down at you with a soft gaze. He shifts his gaze towards the cherry blossom petals that have landed on the top of your head. He gently removes them from the strands of your hair.

“Thanks,” you mumble, suddenly feeling shy by the nice gesture.

“Do you mind if I join you?” He asks, pointing towards the empty seat next to you on the bench.

You shift down the bench, making more room for him. He takes it as a ‘yes’ and sits next to you, looking up at the cherry blossoms. You awkwardly fiddle with your fingers. “So—”

“Homecoming.” He interrupts you. “Be my date?”

“What?” You blurt out. You look at him as if he has three heads sitting on his neck. He tilts his head, analyzing you carefully. He points at the event flyer you have in your hand. You almost forgot it was in your hands. You’re caught off guard and you cover it up with a fake cough. “I mean—why would you ask me—or—we’re not even close—”

“Because the one I want to go with is going with someone else.” He shrugs his shoulders. He lets his head hang low and you feel bad for him. That is, until he looks back up with a mischievous grin spread across his lips. “And I’m sure the one you want to go with is going with someone else too.”

“I don’t,” you mumble, shaking your head. “I don’t have someone in mind that I want to go to homecoming with. Besides, I always pass up on homecoming.”

“You do have someone in mind.”

You squint your eyes with suspicion. “And how would you know what?”

He smirks. “Because I’m a mind-reader.”

“A mind reader—”

“And a Cupid.” He cuts you off.

It takes you a couple of seconds for you to process his words into your mind. But when they finally make sense to you, all you could do is burst out into laughter. Yuta’s eyebrows furrow in confusion when you bend over to continue your laughing fit.

“You—You’re a—You’re a Cupid?” You laugh. “You’re a funny guy, Yuta. I never thought you’d be the funny type.”

He looks at you innocently. “But… I am a Cupid.”

“And a mind reader?” You question, stifling another laugh.

He scratches the back of his neck. “Well, now that was a joke. I’m not a mind reader but I am a Cupid—”

“Then that means you could read my mind, right?” You ask.

“Well—”

“Two words. I have two words on my mind right now.” You begin. “Can you read my mind? Do you know what they are?”

“I—”

Your laughing fit dies down and you look at him dead straight in the eye. Yuta feels his blood run cold. Were you ever this cold-hearted and intimidating? What seemed like a light-hearted conversation turned into a conversation he wishes would just end already.

You purse your lips into a tight line. “Nice.. try. I’ll see you around?”

Yuta watches you as you begin to walk away from him. When you’re a couple of metres away from him, your pace slows down. Looking down at the flyer for homecoming, you hesitantly look over your shoulder to see Yuta catching cherry blossom petals from the tree. He can’t be, you think to yourself, shrugging off your thoughts. As you continue on your own way, you hear your name being called out.

Turning around, you spot Yuta looking at you with a grin. “Yes, Yuta?”

“The offer still stands if you’re interested!”

“But I’m skipping out on homecoming again this year. Don’t worry about me.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“Have you seen the homecoming flyers all over campus lately?”

Jaehyun tilts his head in confusion. “Johnny, this wasn’t a part of the script—”

“Have you?” Johnny gives him a warning look.

Jaehyun lets out a scoff. For the nth time this evening, Johnny decided to disregard the script that they planned out for almost a week. He will seriously kill Johnny during commercial time. But Johnny is completely invested in ticking Jaehyun off.

“Yes I have, Johnny.” Jaehyun says through gritted teeth. “And what about it?”

“Well, for those who don’t know, this year, the university’s event committee decided to spice things up with homecoming.” Johnny pulls out another piece of paper that so happens to be a different script. “I’m just relaying this from the event committee. Homecoming will be completely different this year! Prepare your suits and dresses and pair them with masks because this year’s homecoming will be a masquerade ball.”

Jaehyun almost choked on air. “A masquerade ball?”

Johnny nods his head. “Yes, which will make the night a bit more interesting. Imagine falling in love with someone on the night of homecoming but you’re blacked out drunk that you forget to ask for their name or their—”

“What is this, modern-day Cinderella?” Jaehyun jokes.

Johnny snaps his fingers and points at him. “Bingo! Now, if you’re interested in getting tickets for this year’s homecoming, the event committee will be putting up a ticket booth starting next week up until the week before homecoming. Make sure to get your tickets! Will you be getting tickets, Jaehyun?”

Jaehyun is completely baffled. The event committee must’ve commissioned Johnny to have homecoming promoted on the radio show. “Yes. I’ll be getting tickets. Will you?”

“Of course! Now, speaking of Cinderella, there’s someone out there that reminds me of the lovely princess.” Johnny begins to segway into the next song. “We’ve been playing this artist’s songs on the show for quite some time now, but until this day, we don’t know who this artist truly is. Rumour has it that this artist is a student of this university.”

Jaehyun’s ears perk up. Is Johnny talking about someone who he thinks he’s talking about?

“Planet Girl, if you’re listening to the show right now, feel free to hit us up! We’d love to meet you and find out who you are!” Johnny continues. “Here’s Planet Girl’s new single, My Future.”

As Johnny mutes his microphone, he leans back against his chair. He could feel Jaehyun’s burning gaze drilling two holes through the side of his face. Jaehyun frowns. “How much did they pay you to advertise—”

Jaehyun’s mouth clamps shut when the song begins to play through his headphones. It’s familiar. It’s terrifyingly familiar that his blood runs cold and he starts to get goosebumps. He’s heard of this song before. He didn’t hear this song on the radio. He didn’t hear this song in the local cafe he usually gets his morning coffee from. He didn’t hear this song on shuffle on a random evening. In fact, he’s heard this song—

“You were saying, Jaehyun?” Johnny snaps him out of his distant gaze.

“What—What was I saying?” Jaehyun chokes out.

“You were saying something about—you know what? Nevermind, it’s not really important.” Johnny mumbles, waving it off. He stares at his co-host who looks like he’s gotten his soul sucked out of his body. Jaehyun looks quite odd. “It’s not really important… anymore.”

Jaehyun’s heard this song before.

In fact, he’s heard this song, this melody, in his head.

Jaehyun scoffs in disbelief. “She can’t be.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow. “Who can’t be what?”

Jaehyun shakes his head. “N-Nothing.”

Planet Girl’s voice is the voice singing in Jaehyun’s head.

Planet Girl is his soulmate. What is he supposed to do with this information now?

“They played it! They played it!”

Mark barges into your room with his hair disheveled as if he had just woken up from a nap. He has his headphones on and his glasses seem to have been lazily put on, for they’re sitting lopsidedly on his face. You look at him endearingly, shaking your head and letting out a soft chuckle.

“What did they play?” You ask, pushing yourself away from your desk.

Mark takes off his headphones and yanks out the other end of the wire connected to the AUX jack, turning up the volume of his phone. The song being played on his phone is a soft melody, almost similar to lofi. You lean back in your desk chair, spinning around in slow circles as you listen to the song. Mark waits for some sort of live reaction from you.

“I’m guessing this is—”

“Planet Girl.” Mark cuts you off. He tosses his phone onto your bed, followed by the flinging of his own body onto the mattress. He lies down with his back against the sheets, a smile slowly forming across his lips.

You analyze him. “Do you like the song?”

He nods his head. “I love it.”

You purse your lips into a tight line, slowly turning back around to face your desktop screen. You blow a raspberry, hesitant to ask him a question. “Do you ever wonder who she is?”

“Who? Planet Girl?”

You hum in reply. “Yeah. You seem to like her music a lot. Don’t you ever wonder who she is? What she looks like? If she puts cereal before milk—”

“Every now and then, when I listen to her music, I do wonder who she is and what she looks like. But I also think that if she were to reveal herself, the entire campus would go nuts.” Mark explains. “I think that she should lay low for now. She’s extremely popular to be exposing herself. Unless, that’s her plan.”

“What plan?”

“To reveal herself when she becomes popular. It could give her more leverage. But it seems like she just makes music as a hobby and I’m not sure how her personality is, which means that she probably isn’t interested in ever revealing her identity. I guess it just really depends on her.”

You slowly nod your head. “I see… makes sense.”

Suddenly, your desktop computer crashes and shuts down. You find yourself staring at your reflection through the desktop screen that’s turned off. Your mind seems to wander off to your current situation. Ara… Jaehyun… Yuta… All of your past love assignments weren’t as messy as this one. It may be because you have a good heart and you hate ruining people’s lives. But at the same time, there’s a risk you must take in order to save your own life.

You’re not sure what’s better: ruin a relationship to keep your abilities or keep a relationship and lose your abilities. What are you destined to be? Are you destined to be a Cupid for the rest of your life? What’s the point of existing if you’re only placed on Earth to bring two soulmates together? What’s the point of existing if you can’t even find your own soulmate, your own happiness, your own freedom? Will you be locked down with this curse forever? At this point, do you even know yourself?

Mark turns up the volume of his phone to its maximum and as you analyze your reflection, the lyrics to the song begin to echo in your head.

And I, I'm in love But not with anybody else Just wanna get to know myself

You almost let out a laugh.

What a coincidence.

“Did she really know what I meant when I said, ‘you know where to find me’?”

“Yuta?”

He jerks up, his posture straightening at the sound of your voice. He turns around to see you standing right behind him. You tear your gaze away from him as a cherry blossom petal catches your eye. It falls gracefully, landing on top of his head. The situation feels all too familiar, especially when you pick out the cherry blossoms that landed on his head.

You chuckle. “Sorry, did I scare you? Am I that scary to you?”

He shakes his head. “No. I just—I just didn’t expect you to come.”

“Oh, well, I’m here. Let's just get to the point of why I’m here.”

He grins. “Have you made up your mind?”

You hesitatingly nod your head. “Yes, I have.”

“Hm, I wonder, am I going to be dateless this year at homecoming—”

“I’ll be your date.”

His eyes widen like saucers. “What?”

You smirk. “What? Did you expect me to say no or something?”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I mean, yeah, but—”

“But there’s a catch to this.” You fold your arms. “I’ll only be your date to homecoming if you help me with something. This isn’t just a give and take situation.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Yuta feels his blood run cold.

“You want me to do what now?!”

You give Yuta an innocent look. From an outsider’s perspective, it looks like the two of you are in the midst of making a deal. And you both sure are, but what you’re not sure of is whether Yuta will help you out.

You clasp your hands together. “It’s simple. I’m a Cupid and—”

His loud laughter cuts you off. He’s laughing so hard that he bends over and almost hits his head against the table. You’re afraid that he’s going to knock his cup of coffee over too. You look at him with confusion.

“You—You’re a—You’re a Cupid?” He stifles a laugh. “You’re a funny one, Y/N. I never thought you’d be the funny type.”

“But… I am a Cupid.” Oh, how the tables have turned.

His laughing fit dies down. “And how would I know that you’re not joking around?”

“Because I really am… a Cupid.” You deadpan.

He snorts. “Yeah, and I’m Mickey Mouse in the flesh.”

“What do I have to do to make you believe me?” You sigh, leaning back against the cushion of the booth and looking out the window. There’s a couple that stops and stands outside of the cafe, skimming through the pages of the cafe’s menu. Yuta swears he could see a glint light up in your eyes.

“It’ll take a lot for me to believe you—”

“Ara is your soulmate.”

Yuta’s face pales at the words that slip past your lips. You’re too busy staring at the couple outside of the restaurant. You let out a soft sigh, looking away from them to meet Yuta’s gaze. Yuta gulps nervously. “How would you know that?”

You fold your arms. “Because I’m a Cupid.”

“No, how would you—how would you know such a thing?” He says, completely in disbelief. You squint your eyes at him in suspicion. He seems to grow nervous whenever Ara is brought up as the topic of conversation. Huh… it’s cute.

“Valentine’s Day.” You mumble. “On Valentine’s Day, I bumped into Ara. I’ve never met her until that day. Usually, I’ll forget about people I bump into. It’s just a fleeting moment. But Ara… I’ll always remember her. Why? Because when I looked into her eyes… I saw you.”

Yuta’s eyebrows furrow. “You saw me? Through her eyes?”

You nod, a small smile spreading across your lips. “Correct.”

“I don’t believe you.” He shakes his head. “If you saw me through Ara’s eyes, what was I wearing on Valentine’s Day, then?”

“Your soccer jersey. You were attending soccer practice.”

“Holy shit.”

You chuckle. “Believe me now?”

He raises up his hands in defense. “Say less. What else do you want me to do?”

When Yuta asked you what you wanted him to do in return for being his homecoming date, he did not expect this. He did not expect to use all of his willpower to tear Ara and Jaehyun’s relationship apart. He did not expect to find out that you’re a Cupid, just like him.

You’re a much more different Cupid than he is. He has the ability to matchmake, to tear two people apart when they’re not destined to be together. But when it comes to someone like Jaehyun, who so happens to be dating Ara, he suddenly doesn’t know what to do. But you’re different. Here you are, fulfilling your duties no matter what the circumstance, even if it meant that you had to ruin the relationship of two people you know.

Here you are, spying on him as he hesitatingly takes a seat next to Ara on the bleachers.

“Oh, hey, Yuta.” Ara greets him, grabbing a towel for him. “Here, it looks like you need it.”

“Thanks,” Yuta mumbles. “Hey, are you going to homecoming this year?”

Ara takes a quick swig of her bottled water, nodding her head. “I’m going. Are you?”

“I am. I’m guessing you’re going with Jaehyun?” He asks, internally facepalming himself. What kind of stupid question was that? He glances towards you, and you gesture him to continue. “Well, yeah, duh, of course you’re going with Jaehyun. Have you picked out your dress yet?”

Ara slowly nods her head. “I picked it out last week, actually! I’ll be picking it up this weekend.”

Yuta scratches the back of his head. “Well, my date doesn’t know where to get her dress. Do you have any suggestions?”

“She can pick one out at the shop I went to! Here, I’ll send you a picture of my dress along with the shop’s address so that you can show her.” Ara pulls out her phone and starts scrolling through her photo album, sending him a photo of her dress.

He feels his phone buzz in his pocket. “Thank you so much, Ara. I’ve been stressing out for almost a week because of this—”

“No worries!” Ara giggles, placing her hand on his shoulder. “If you need help, just let me know! You have my number, anyways.”

He smiles, almost a bit too wide that he covers it up with a cough, looking away from her. He settles his gaze towards the clouds in the sky, leaning back against the bleachers. Ara joins him, lying right next to him. Meanwhile, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. You hide behind the tree, leaning against the trunk. As you read Yuta’s text message, a grin spreads across your lips.

“Bingo.”

“I think I’m going crazy.”

Jaehyun laughs to himself, placing his face in his hands. He lets out a sigh. The same stupid song has been on repeat for hours. It’s odd how the sound of his soulmate’s voice could make him go crazy, how it could make his heart flutter and do cartwheels on end, how it makes him fall into a distant trance. He wishes he knew who it is. He wants to know who it is. But how?

He pulls out his laptop, roaming the internet until he finds himself stumbling upon SoundCloud. A few clicks here and there, and he’s staring at Planet Girl’s profile. Planet Girl is consistent with her privacy. She doesn’t have a profile picture of her face, it’s a picture of a pink jupiter, with its outer rings a glowing gold. Her profile doesn’t even show her real name nor her age.

How is he going to find out his soulmate’s identity if his soulmate is making it ten times more difficult than it should be?

“I’m just… hopeless at this point, I guess.”

His eyebrows raise and he leans closer to the screen when he notices a new track released on her profile. The song was released two days ago. He clicks on play, shoving his earphones into his ears.

Oh, wouldn't it be nice if we could stay friends? But we Shouldn't, you know what I Couldn't, 'nough's enough If I had your heart, it wouldn't be this hard

He sighs. If he had his soulmate’s heart, if only his soulmate even knew that he was searching for her, it wouldn’t be this hard.

What a coincidence.

“I’ll pick you up here, alright?”

Mark looks out through the rolled down windows of his car. He sees you nod your head. “Alright. I won’t be long. I just need to run a few errands, visit my parents just to get some snacks for the apartment.”

“I’ll see you. Call me if you need anything or if you finish early.” Mark insists and you salute to him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright, take care.” He rolls up the windows to his car and begins to drive off.

You roll on the balls of your feet, watching his car get smaller and smaller as it travels farther and farther down the road. To make things less suspicious, you begin to walk in the opposite direction of his car, looking over your shoulder every now and then. When you look over your shoulder to see Mark turn a right at an intersection, you stop in your tracks.

You stand there for a couple of more seconds before making a beeline for the apartment building right across the road. You pull out a separate key that’s not grouped with your usual apartment key. Hopping into the elevator, you look into the mirror and comb fingers through your hair. You put on some lip balm before sucking in a deep breath.

As the elevator reaches the seventh floor, the doors open with a soft ‘ding!’. You step out of the elevator, making your way down the hallway. Right when you reach a door and right before you begin to knock, the door opens to reveal—

“Y/N, my favourite person on the planet!”

You chuckle. “In the flesh.”

“Come on in. You know what to do to get comfortable. Grab a cup of water to warm up your vocals. I’ll be by the computer and whenever you’re ready, we can get started.”

You smile. “Thanks, Taeyong.”

He pats your shoulder. “No biggie, Y/N.”

Yuta looks up at a familiar apartment window. The light is turned on. He squints his eyes in suspicion. He sees a shadow hover in front of the curtains of the window and it urges Yuta to hide behind a lamp post. He peeks from behind the lamp post to see Taeyong opening the curtains of his window. Taeyong stretches his arms and lets out a yawn. Yuta’s about to go back to his business when a familiar figure catches his eye. He looks up to see you. You have headphones on and you’re talking to Taeyong. The moment you stand behind the microphone and place music sheets onto a music stand, Yuta feels the gears turn in his head.

“Yuta?”

He tears his gaze away from them to see Ara. “Oh, hey, Ara. We keep bumping into each other, don’t we?”

Ara chuckles. “Yeah, that’s so funny! I just finished up my shift at the cafe and I was just about to go on my way when I thought you looked familiar. Turns out it was you.”

“Ah,” Yuta chuckles sheepishly. “Well, I was just on a convenience store run. I was running out of cup noodles so I decided to stock up on it.”

Her eyebrows raise. “Have you eaten lunch yet?”

Right on cue, Yuta’s stomach grumbles. The two of them share a look before bursting out into laughter.

“Let me treat you out for lunch,” Ara insists.

His eyes slightly widen and he begins to panic. “I—well—I don’t want to be a burden. You might have some plans with Jaehyun and I don’t want to bother—”

“There’s nothing to worry about! Jaehyun’s busy working with Johnny for their show tonight. Let’s have lunch, besides, I haven’t eaten yet and I’m pretty hungry too.”

“S-Sure, I mean, if you’re okay with that.” He feels shy.

She smiles. “Shall we get going?”

Yuta looks into her eyes. Ara blinks a couple of times until Yuta sees someone in her eyes. His breath hitches in his throat. He slowly tears his gaze away from Ara and looks up to see you. You’re singing into the microphone, pressing your headphones against your ears. He looks away from you to look back at Ara. The woman Yuta sees in Ara’s eyes is… you.

“If you walk further down the hallway in the west wing, you’ll see a room on the far end. In that room, you’ll find a grand piano. I suggest checking it out, play something inspired by your emotions. It might help you with your artist’s block.”

You push through the doors, looking left and right as you walk down the empty hallway. After consulting with Taeyong the previous night, you had concluded that you were going through artist’s block. Ever since your last song release, you haven’t been able to write lyrics. Even if you did scribble something down, they would soon be erased or crossed out. It’s quite frustrating not being able to convey your feelings like how you used to. It could be because of your dilemma with Ara and Jaehyun.

You stop in front of a room. The door is closed, but through the small window, you spot the grand piano Taeyong was talking about. As your hand wraps around the doorknob, your movements halt to a stop when your phone buzzes. Pulling out your phone, you see a new text message from Yuta. You let out a tiring sigh, ignoring his text and shoving your phone back into your pocket.

“Will I ever be free?” You ask yourself, opening the door.

You trudge towards the grand piano. You let your fingers trace the keys before taking a seat. To warm up, you start playing some classic pieces, Chopin’s Ballade No. 1, Moonlight Sonata, all the like. Your eyes flutter shut as you let the music take you to different places and imagination. Soon enough, you found yourself playing some of your songs. My Future, Shouldn’t Couldn’t Wouldn’t.

“Yeah, you, you always answer with More questions to questions that scare you We're not always peachy, look, love ain't that easy But one thing I know, I know it for sure, that it—”

“Jaehyun, you’re going in the wrong direction! The prof’s office is this way!”

Your eyes open wide. As you hear Jaehyun’s footsteps get louder and louder, you scramble to find a place to hide. You spot a door on the other side of the room and you’re running towards it. Just in time, you open the door and close it behind you. You let out a soft sigh of relief, slowly sliding down the door. There’s a window on the door, and you take a quick peek. Indeed, Jaehyun runs into the room. He looks breathless. He’s searching through the room. He spots the door that you’re hiding behind. Your eyes begin to widen again when you see him taking steps towards the door. You’re struggling to get up from the floor until—

“Jaehyun, where did you go? Office hours are closing soon. We have to get there or else we’re failing our assignment.”

You let out a yelp. Your eyes clench shut. You feel someone’s hand wrapped around your wrist. You’re breathing quickly out of nervousness. Your heart is racing. Your eyes slowly open and you’re expecting to see Jaehyun, but surprisingly enough, you see—

“When were you planning on telling me that you’re Planet Girl?”

author’s note. thank you so much for reading! sorry for taking so long in posting the second part. but here she is! skjdhfskjhdf

tag list (there are some that don’t work -- if you did not get the notification that you were tagged, it’s most likely because the tags are broken. let me know if that’s the case!): @billiondollarworth @cafemochi @stae-yong @chanyeolscoon @ggaayyyong @soothingjae @taestannie @plump-peach @oshmendes @lanadreamie @justineasian @jjpmoans @beryllium-io @jaeismytamtation @noonapabo127 @hanniesbubble @catthecandy @leesalts @jenojaeminrenjun @haechansthighsuwu @bands-messed-me-up @timelessyoonoh @jaehyunoos @hadesgirl1015 @ncttboo @looverzs @jae-canikeepyou @smileyyuta @waves-and-woods

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missinghan · 3 years

Text

caged in this lullaby ⤖ lee felix

❖ genre : assassin au; cop au; action; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 7,2k.

❖ warning : explicit language, mentions of blood, arson & violence

❖ summary : felix ultimately lets go of all and allows himself to drown in the ashes of bitter tragedy to see what stays. the last thing he’d expect is a stranger with his greatest secret.

❖ dedicated to @blueprint-han : a continuation of aria of an assassin. song used — the lullaby by sophism, all credits to the owner.

prologue.

Fire cares not for the time it vanishes, only that it gives the world heat and light.

The entire building burns deeply in red, orange, and yellow. The cries of the neighborhood echoes into the night with sirens blaring in the background. Your frozen figure can only watch in terror as glowing embers dance and twirl, searing through the ground, ripping through the roof in despair. Tendrils of smoke are reaching into the sky desperately as if attempting to escape the blazing inferno below.

“Kid, I wanna have Chinese for dinner today.”

“Okay, and I should care because…?”

“Because I’m housing your ungrateful ass.”

No. No!

You drop the plastic bags in your hand, your muscles move before your mind can register what’s happening. The next thing you know, you’re racing to the heart of danger, utterly unfazed about the fact that fire is the most beautiful weapon of them all. Powerful. Destructive. Heartless. In mere moments, everything you love can be reduced into nothing but sheer ashes.

“But we always have Chinese!”

“Who’s paying again? Was it you? No, I don’t think so.”

Tears blur your vision and you elect to ignore every white noise buzzing at the back of your head. Each step you take is rather a negotiation than an order. Your limbs move like they never belonged to you. This agony has an unpleasant warmth to it, eating at your stomach and searing inside your rib cage. Your body concedes to the torment, unable to bring a single thought into consideration. The entirety of your existence yearns to curl into something fetal, something primeval, and all while the pain burns and radiates.

“Officer! Stop her! She’s running into the fire!”

“Child! What are you doing?! It’s dangerous!”

But what you’re going through is nothing compared to his torment. He’s in there. Writhing and suffering alone. It must be so painful, so cold despite the enraged flames around him.

When a strong pair of arms slip around your body and every motion comes to a stop, there is a scream of the mouth and lungs, the sound of his name lingers on the tip of your tongue. Because a response is impossible, there comes a scream of the eyes and soul, the kind that bypasses the ears and speaks right to the heart.

You forget how to scream from that day on because you are either left with dead silence or punished with cruelty.

Because you couldn’t save him.

one.

The housekeeper wakes with a tight knot in her stomach. Her body topples the sheets over to reach for her nightstand, flickering on some source of light. Only silence accompanies the hard throbbing inside her chest until a loud thud comes from the hallway. Her body jolts up instantly, a hand over her chest as a soft string of melody saunters into the emptiness of the night.

“When the night is falling, and you have lost your way.”

Her quivering figure quickly exits her room with a flashlight. Her right hand clutches at her other one as an attempt to stop the shaking as adrenaline sears through her vessels. With dreaded steps, the housekeeper manages to reach the staircase, approaches the end of it, and proceeds toward the living room.

“When the rain is storming, and your world’s turned to gray.”

The voice smoothly slips through the chilling nightfall like an allure yet there’s nothing musical about it. The lullaby sometimes goes off-tune or comes out in broken waves as though whoever’s singing genuinely doesn’t care. They sound more dead than angry, more tired than irate, making her innards shift uneasily.

“When the wolves await outside, and you feel like you’ve nowhere to hide.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, just remember. Remember when I said.”

And they stop. The housekeeper musters up every bit of courage left. A breath in. A breath out.

In the darkroom, even the ticking clock has a relaxed feeling, as if it’s merely a heart-beat at rest. She feels as though the air moves like cool water and the aroma of the house owner’s scented candles infuse her far more deeply than it did in the light of day. The hollow space is etched with charcoal, the fabrics are muted hues as if they too await dawn to ignite their colors for all to see. The moment she heaves a sigh of relief, her eyes make the mistake of averting to the ceiling, unveiling a scene of unimaginable terror.

Fear floods her system, it pumps and beats like it’s trying to escape. Her heart might as well explode right now because even her jaw is shaking non-stop. Her body urges her to either run fast, away from the horror laid out flat in front of her eyes, or to stay quiet and do the right thing, calling the police. But instead, she remains where she’s standing.

There is Mr. Yuuki, the house owner she’s been working for over three years, hung upon the crystal chandelier. His limp body lets its limbs stick out awkwardly, white eyes rolled to the back of his head as blood drips to the floor, forming a dark pool. The flashlight drops to the floor, and so does her trembling gaze. She gasps sharply when a thick smear of crimson is splattered across the wooden tiles, sinking into the cracks like poison.

Her adrenaline surges so fast she almost vomits, she can taste saliva thickening in her throat and beads of sweat trickling down on her forehead. At some point, she’ll have to move and risk the chance of getting herself killed.

Just then, a shadow comes into view and her legs go weak, letting her body collapse to the ground like a crooked puppet. Incoherent pleas pour from her lips as she screws her eyes shut, bracing herself for whatever comes next. “Please! I’ll do anything! I won’t call the police! Just don’t kill me, please! Please!”

Footsteps are advancing toward her, getting louder by the tick of the clock. They echo listlessly until the sound slowly fades away, only a soft response comes afterward.

“Greetings to his boss for me.”

two.

The mansion has been his home for decade upon decade, embraced by nature on the outskirts of the city, away from all the noises, the buzzing flow of time people have signed their souls up for. It is all concrete and tall glass windows that give overlooking views of the clear horizon, a chance to relax and take in the changing of the seasons from the comfort of an easy chair.

Yet coming from the hollow building is a strange sound, a melodic voice of pain and sorrow, of heartache and loss. The tune is soft, like grass on a summer day, or the tenderness in the air in which only spring possesses. It can fill one with warmth while weaving a sad tale of indescribable, rather forgotten memories.

“Darling, close your weary eyes. Everything will be fine.”

“Let the breeze wipe away your tears. There is no need to cry.”

He’s seated at the edge with his back straight, he no longer feels dwarfed by the grand piano as he used to as a kid. His fingers are limber as they glide on ivory first and ebony after, his neck slightly bent down, tousling his hair to the front while his eyes flutter shut in serene.

“You can lay down. No one will hurt you.”

The music stand lies empty, has been so for years. He only ever reads the notes within his mind because he goes as far as playing the instrument to this day for this peculiar lullaby. Slowly, the music seems to fill the room to the brim, then spills out through doors and windows and the cracks in the walls, while at the source trembling fingers dance sweetly on.

He knows that he needs to calm down.

“Let your fears be carried by the streams. The twilight gleam watches over you.”

In his head, he reads through the music scrupulously as though he’s practicing during the old, innocent days, beat by beat, bar by bar, note by note. His fingers know precisely where to go and how each key reacts when he applies the same, adequate amount of pressure. It’s as though he can make the hammer hit each string in a way to resonate with the most beautiful of sounds.

The thought of playing as a kid eases the spike in his heartbeat and clears his mind. He can still vividly remember the first time he got lifted onto the bench on his sixth birthday, his tiny legs dangled over the edge and his figure completely overwhelmed by the mammoth-sized instrument. His arms could barely span the length of the keyboard, his feet could only do so much as graze the pedal below.

“And when the morning arises…”

He recalls the mounts of sheets cluttering his father’s old bookshelves in such ways that he himself can’t remember their initial color. He recalls the tall figure seating beside him each time, guiding his hands across the keys, ones that were unfamiliar to music and the swell it can bring to one’s chest. He recalls those starry eyes staring down at him, the outburst of laughter, and the cat-like smile that brings love and harmony to his fragile soul.

“I shall be by your side…”

Yet he never recalls a proper goodbye, only tears.

“Minho.”

The melody pauses sharply, his body stiffens at the name. Minho isn’t here.

“Minho, is that you?” Minho isn’t here, a voice inside him snaps.

A deep breath. He elects to ignore the strings that are bound to break inside his chest before pushing himself off the wooden bench. With a swift turn, he sees Mrs. Lee standing by the door with her hair in her face, her soulless eyes lighting up once they graze the sight of him. “Minho, my sweet child. You’ve come home. You’ve finally come home!” Her voice echoes in joy, a hand clamped over her mouth as her eyes brim with tears.

Minho isn’t here! His heart yells aloud, yet his mind can’t comply.

He doesn’t know what’s urging him to approach her, to let her lean on him. Perhaps, it’s guilt. Or the yearning for the warmth of a mother who abandoned him long ago. “Yes, mother, I’m home,” he sighs softly when she clutches at his shirt. “I’m never going to leave you again.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here.”

Hurried footsteps flood the hallway rapidly until the housekeeper barges through the door, simply breaking the agonizing silence. “Good gracious, Mrs. Lee! Goodness, she must have forgotten about her sleeping pills again.” She then hastily rushes to his side, supporting Mrs. Lee by her waist while bowing continuously. “Young Master, please, allow me.”

“It’s alright, you’ve done enough,” he waves his hands with a small smile. “I’ll tuck her back to bed, today is my day off anyway. You may go home and rest now.”

He can’t forget how much lighter Mrs. Lee has gotten, how paler her face has been. He’s afraid that one wrong movement and he might send her frail body flying to the floor. Only when she’s fully covered by her blanket, the stars come out to play and the evening takes on the aroma of a breezy night. He likes this, the softness, the quietness of the sense of resting. Moonlight is streaming through the windows yet his mind, clouded with grey, throbs uncontrollably when he realizes the sudden pang inside his chest.

It’s been fifteen years…

His phone rings. “Sergeant Lee Felix, Seoul P.D,” he keeps his voice from shaking. Suddenly, his eyes grow wide. “I’ll be there.”

And I still couldn’t do anything for you.

three.

Light fog seeps into the depthless night when Felix exits his car, throwing on his blazer in a hurry as he staggers toward a water fountain. There’s barely any vehicles operating at this hour, leaving the streets chilling and empty. He quickly checks his watch one last time. One AM on the dot. Another sleepless night.

“Lix! Over here!”

His blank expression breaks into a grin when two familiar faces come into view. “Changbin? Hyunjin? You both got called in too?”

“Yeah, can’t believe the Chief had the audacity to interrupt my beauty sleep for a simple homicide,” the taller officer, Hyunjin, has his face contorted in faint annoyance, brushing through his long locks of hair with his gloved hand.

“The night duty squad is handling another case on the other side of the city. We know the neighborhood like the back of our hands,” Changbin gives him a hard smack on the chest, only to wince quietly later to himself. Ugh, I’m so out of shape. “If anything, we have the best chance to catch up to the culprit.”

Hyunjin protests with a forced smile, “Shut up, Lieutenant, I know that.”

“Alright, let’s review,” Felix hops into the conversation, clasping his hands together in feigned excitement. “Someone dialed 911 with a murder case on the line. The culprit, escaped or not, we’re still uncertain of. But they did leave behind a witness.”

His coworkers nod simultaneously as he recaps what Seungmin told him on the phone earlier and the three of them find themselves standing right before the provided address. The house seems oddly quiet for someone getting murdered. “Right, chances are they’re still in there. We’d better-”

The front door comes flying open. A woman dressed in her nightgown collapses to the ground instantly, fear echoing through the rumble of her voice. “Help! P-Please! Mr. Yuuki! He-He’s dying! Please, I beg you! Save him!” With her face buried in her hands, a wave of laughter bubbles up her windpipe, shaking her core tremendously. “They did it again! They’ve claimed another victim!”

Changbin is the first one to step up, helping the housekeeper to her feet. “Miss, please try your best to stay calm. Everything is alright now, we’re here because you did the right thing of calling us. You’re safe with us,” he gently supports her by the shoulders, his voice soft but serious. “If it’s okay for me to ask, what exactly happened to Mr. Yuuki? Is there anyone else inside?”

The housekeeper seems to still be shaken. Tears are threatening to fall but she bites them back, shaking her head to answer the second question first. “N-No, Mr. Yuuki has a son but he’s currently studying in Europe so I’m the only one other than…”

Her voice trails off, the pools of tears in her eyes are clouded with those moments of horror she wishes she could erase forever. “It was horrible! I-I was having trouble sleeping before a strange sound woke me up completely. Someone was singing. Th-The culprit was singing. And there was s-so much blood. Mr. Yuuki was hung upon the chandelier when I went downstairs! So-So much blood. I didn’t know how- or why- I- I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!”

“Miss, please try to stay calm. I won’t ask you any more questions, I am not here to interrogate you,” Changbin exhales deeply, looking over at his underlings. “Hyunjin, go check up on Mr. Yuuki. Felix, look for the culprit. I’ll call Seungmin for more back-ups.”

The two officers comply, “Roger that.”

Entering the house, Felix is bathed in a whirlwind of chilling silence and utter darkness. The smell of blood makes something inside him twitch, prompting him to look over at his friend. “I’ll go upstairs, you stay down here and handle the body until Jisung or Seungmin comes.”

The Sergeant advances up the long flight of stairs with his gun clutched between his hands. Almost immediately, he takes notice in the stream of moonlight illuminating the end of the hallway and rushes toward the wide-opened door. His figure barges into the room with caution and is met with the night breeze kissing his face and white curtains fluttering gently.

Just then, a loud bang is heard in the distance.

Felix feels himself tense up, eyes darting from one place to another in hopes of finding- there! On the rooftop from across the streets.

In a heartbeat, he picks up his transceiver and speaks, “I have eyes on the suspect. Pursuing on foot.” With his feet on the window frame and his arms on the tiles of the roof, he manages to lift himself while his muscles contract in pain. Facing forward, Felix begins to sprint.

The wind screams into his ears, his feet flying over steel and leaves. His shoes pound heavily across the hard surface, causing what’s remaining of the downpour this morning to slash up his legs. From one rooftop to another, his calves burn tremendously yet he keeps darting past houses, buildings, and trees with his eyes glued onto the shadow before his eyes.

Adrenaline courses throughout his system; he can feel his whole body working, his leg muscles running warm, a thin layer of sweat covers his nape. The cold air keeps biting at his blood and lungs but he keeps his breaths as steady as he can, pushing harder and going faster. For a split moment, his foot slips when his mind is frantic with cloudy thoughts. How is it possible for one to move this fast?

The hooded figure a few feet ahead of him speaks volumes in the silence; they’re running. They’re running like the devil himself is in pursuit. Only it’s worse because the felon is flesh and blood and means to send people straight to hell just the same way. His breathing quickens at the thought process, trying to appease his need for oxygen.

Several thuds of footfalls later, he finally decreases the proximity although fresh air now shocks his lungs, making him want to spurt and pass out in exhaustion. His body trembles from the consistent pace he’s forced himself into, yet his hands lift the firearm swiftly, his gaze shaking with the pounding inside his chest.

It only takes so much strength to pull the trigger. He shouldn’t be hesitating like this. Felix stops himself completely, regains his composure, and raises his gun once again. He elects to ignore the blood roaring in his ears, the throbbing of his anxious heart, and squeezes the trigger.

The bullet cuts through air and comes flying toward the wanted figure, missing them by a strand of hair. His face contorts in anger as he mumbles out a curse word. He missed. He shouldn’t have. He can’t miss. Missing isn’t an option.

Felix pumps his legs, gaining momentum with each push. But it feels gut-wrenching all of a sudden after a few thrusts forward—his body is giving in. He watches the culprit quicken their pace until their steps turn into leaps. Just a few more feet and they’ll jump the other side of the neighborhood.

He won’t make it in time.

Three. Two. One. The figure gathers enough strength and takes one final leap into the night. His heart immediately drops to the pit of his stomach, every movement comes to a full stop like the sudden stretch of silence within his rib cage.

“Shit!” He perks up at the scream and glass shattering. “Ow! Ah! Ouch! Ugh…” And...dogs barking?

“Oh come on!”

four.

His feet slip outwards on the wet autumn leaves as he rounds the corner, his breaths coming out in spurts, hot and nervous as he inhales deeper, faster. With each footfall, a jarring pain shoots ankle to knee, ankle to knee. Perhaps jumping off someone’s rooftop in a time crunch wasn’t the smartest decision.

“Give me a break. Do you have any idea how much time it took me to outrun those dogs?”

“I won’t let you slip away. It’s best for either party if you cooperate. Don’t do anything foolish and mercy might be an option,” Felix clicks a bullet into the chamber, gaze falling onto the hooded figure.

In the dim light that oozes through a narrow gap lies the alleyway. It's the underworld of any town: gloomy and unpleasant. Darkness is lurking in every corner inside the labyrinth of narrow passages and dead ends. Litter is dumped on the street and birds nest amongst the sprawling rot. Moonlight lights up the pathway for him, making it easier to back the felon up into the corner.

“One more step, officer, I dare you.” A warning like poison pours into his ears.

Although something seems different this time. They sound more frantic. Is there something that’s bothering them? “You just committed murder, you filthy scumbag. One more step, I dare you.”

“Oh, you’re so unoriginal,” they clutch their right arm and chuckle lightly. Felix squints his eyes with the limited source of light; inevitably, they go wide upon seeing crimson dripping to the ground. But as the second ticks by, less and less blood pour from the wound as though the muscles and skin are simultaneously closing up the seams.

What the hell am I looking at?

A smirk. “Don’t mind if I do.”

What are they... Wait, shit-

At the kind of speed he never thought humans could acquire, the hooded figure approaches him in what seems like seconds. The sudden whiplash blows the hood back and allows them to bathe in the moonlight raw.

“Say, what are you going to do with a filthy scumbag like me again?” Something sharp and shiny comes into contact with the warmth of his flesh but he can’t bring himself to register or counter it.

Your features flash before his eyes, glowing from within, leaving him in complete awe. Although you’re talking nothing but venom, pain is evident in the crease of your lovely brows and the way your lips are pressed into a straight line. Your eyes are deep pools of restless gold, an ocean of hopeless grief. There’s something so damn familiar about you. Felix almost finds himself resonating within your agony. He almost gasps.

In this growing light, your dark silhouette becomes full colors.

But why aren’t you moving? He’s completely open like this.

“You!” Your voice suddenly trembles and so do your pupils. “You-You’re-”

Snapping back to his senses, Felix leaves no time for you to finish your sentence and grabs your armed limb with one hand while striking a harsh blow at your stomach with the other. You let out a hushed wince at the impact, falling to the cement ground along with the blade in your palm. He swiftly flips you over, cuffs your hands, and puts his gun at the back of your head.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.”

“Oh, spare me, Robin,” you involuntarily snort. “I’ll be gone before you can finish reading my rights.”

He nearly sneers, “Move an inch and I’ll put a bullet through your head. Your hands are cuffed, don’t you try to make your face worse than it already is.”

“I’m an Ace, darling. It’d be insulting if a pair of handcuffs and your scrawny little ass could stop me.”

His grip on the gun grows a fraction tighter, his heart starts beating faster at the name. “You work for the House of Cards?” The name rolls off his tongue bitterly, leaving a lick of fury consuming the rational side of his brain.

House of Cards—thieves, terrorists, assassins, dealers—the largest criminal organization that has been the dread of the country for decades. Just like the playing cards, the organization consists of four main groups: Diamonds, Clubs, Hearts, and Spades. The Kings and Queens lead these groups for they’re either new or incompetent for the higher ranks. The Jacks come second in commanding and are often advisors while the Jokers remain anonymous to all as messengers. The four Aces are the most trusted by the chairman and only take orders from him themselves.

“I do,” you reply flatly, a sigh going unnoticed. “Shouldn’t you be fleeing by now upon receiving this information?”

“A murder. A gunshot right across the street. A living witness,” he grits with a timid smile. “All that and you call yourself an Ace? We’ve encountered worse than amateurs like you. You’ll be rotting behind the bars before you know it.”

“I like your optimism, officer. Genuinely, it's a blessing for you to bring us light in this time of darkness,” you turn sideways, smirk, and make sure that he sees it. “Ignorance is truly bliss sometimes.”

Something inside him snaps, water overflows the cup and he instantly grabs you by your head, burying it further into dust and cement. “I don’t know who you think you are. But you clearly don’t know what I’m capable of and the fact that I will stop at nothing to bring your boss down. I will make him face justice as you’re hearing it from the news in prison. I’ve promised. I’ve sworn.”

“Oh?” You dare to glance at him again. “I never knew cops detested my boss so much. Or is it just you? Is your hatred personal? You’ve broken a protocol from the get-go, haven’t you? Is it the reason why you even became an officer in the first place?”

Shit, Felix curses inwardly as your words stab him in the chest, twisting the tip of the blade deeper and deeper as though you’re not allowing him to breathe properly. His hands start shaking; the vibration against your nape makes you exhale, drawing yet another grin on your lips. “Tell me, who did they kill?”

To hell would he ever tell you.

“A family member?” Focus.

“Your loved one?” Cover your ears.

“Or a close friend, perhaps?” One wrong move.

His shaking freezes midway, his voice comes out monotonous. “Shut up.” And you’ll die.

“Bingo,” you feign excitement before clearing your throat. “Also, I wouldn’t pull the trigger if I were you. Because I am your best asset to get to my boss. You and I aren’t so different, trust me. After all, we both want his head.”

He yelps in surprise when you twist your back slightly, swinging your arm and elbowing his jaw while disarming him simultaneously. With a swing of your leg, he loses his balance on the knees and lands harshly on his back.

With your knife pointed at his neck, your orbs bore onto his like you’re about to set him on fire. He gulps nervously, “What? How did you?”

“Listen up, I have a deal for you.”

You were injured, how could you risk tearing your wound up like that? His chest rises then falls inconsistently, eyes darting to your forearm. It’s no longer bleeding. There’s no way!

“...what are you?”

“Call me what you want. Murderer. Killer. An assassin. A monster.”

Felix squirms under your grip, spatting in aggression, “If so, you’re daydreaming if you have the audacity to believe that I will get my hands bloodied with you.”

“I’m not telling you to pick a side, officer. I’m just trying to say that I know something you don’t and you know something I don’t. If we pool our information we might actually have a good shot at capturing the bastard. If you brought me back to headquarters now, I’d escape either way and you’d get nothing from me. But if you pretend like our encounter never happens, you’ve got yourself a new partner.”

“What feud do you have with your boss so bad that you’re willing to work with a police officer like me?”

“I never considered him as my boss. I never considered the organization as a place that I belonged to. No one knows who the leader is. I’ve been tracking him down for years already.”

“...what? That’s-“

“They killed someone very important to me, too.”

five.

Chan murmurs tiredly at the knock on his door, “Who’s there?”

“Sergeant Lee’s present to report on the assassin from last night, Chief.”

“Come in.”

Chan fixes his collar as Felix closes the door shut, strides straight into his office, and collapses on the nearest armchair. Usually, he’d be complaining about the lack of sunlight in the Chief’s working space. Because like any other civil office, there are enough windows for one not to choke to death but Chan has made a habit of keeping them close. Now, he decides to open the blinds and lets the light in completely, prompting Felix to throw an arm over his eyes dramatically.

“Shut it. The lights are killing me,” he groans aloud, forehead creasing in frustration. Focus.

Chan says pointedly, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, “But you look like shit.”

“Of course I look like shit. You should try chasing down an Ace yourself some time. Really, it’s been a pleasant distraction from my unfinished paperwork and impotent stress,” the junior officer mumbles, dropping his arm and staring blankly at the space ahead.

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” Chan sighs, sitting back. “It just makes sense, you know. Yuuki and his neighbor were moles the Yakuza planted in that filthy organization. No wonder their leader had to send one of the four Aces to finish him off.”

Felix closes his eyes for a moment, resting his arms on his knees, the muscles are still aching from last night’s incident. His fingers unconsciously reach for his bare neck, tracing the shallow cut as goosebumps bubble upon his skin. Focus. “Enough being mopey,” Chan grins and slaps something cold against his cheek, causing his friend to jolt up in surprise. “Aren’t you here to report?”

He flashes Felix a cheeky smile when the younger clenches the cold towel on his face in annoyance. Nonetheless, there’s a twinge of faint nostalgia and affection lighting up inside his stomach—the kind that comes from long-time friends. “Alright, I gotta come back to my desk before Changbin goes off about my productivity anyway.”

“Good, elaborate,” Chan whips out a pen with his crusty notebook, eyes narrowing and turning serious.

“The Ace escaped,” Felix starts, “After checking in with Yuuki’s housekeeper, Hyunjin and I went inside the house. He handled the body while I was heading upstairs. I pursued them as soon as I heard the gunshot from across the streets. I only managed to wound them from afar, but it’s not enough to slow them down. They were too fast so I was outpaced at the end.”

The Chief raises a dark brow, eyeing the cut on his throat, “I can see that you’re injured, too. Did they shoot you? Seungmin only found a semi-auto pistol next to the second victim.”

“No… I did this to myself during the chase,” Felix touches his wound again, gulping, “They only carried a knife, of all the things.” Don’t be obvious. You can’t risk getting them to suspect you.

“You couldn’t get close enough to see if we’re dealing with a man or a woman, right?” Chan then casts a meaningful look at the mountain of unfiled paperwork upon his desk, feigning interest in the light reading that awaits him for the rest of the day.

“Unfortunately, no. They have a good physique, clearly well-trained and more skilled than the little fries we’d managed to throw behind the bars,” Felix shakes his head, eventually pushing himself off the black armchair. “What about the housekeeper? According to what I’m able to recall, she did, in fact, see the Ace.”

Chan wants to scream at the mention, fingers massaging his temples. “That woman is far too traumatized to even speak a word right now. She’s been giving Seungmin headaches all morning.”

“Yeah, about that...sorry, I couldn’t be more helpful,” Felix bites his lips as he can feel his own lies suffocating the space around him, filling his lungs with water and squeezing at his windpipe. He needs to get the fuck out of here.

The Chief chuckles lightly and waves his hands, “No, no, we’re all kinda impressed, actually. No one has ever been able to propose a mere chase with them before. It’s already a miracle that you came back alive.”

His heart instantly sinks, his fists curl up unconsciously. Felix could have died. He should have died last night. But you hesitated. Why? Why would you spare him? And why were you looking at him like that? “Hey.” A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of it. “Don’t worry about it. You should take a day off today. You look unwell.”

“But-”

A figure lands soundlessly on Chan’s balcony, swiftly turning around to face Felix.

His brain stutters for a moment and his eyes take in more light than they should, still, they widen when shock riddles his senses. Every part of his body tries to catch up and his thoughts go on a dreadfully long pause. It’s you. Standing in broad daylight without anything to cover up. Distanced a few feet from his grasp.

One shout and you’ll be cuffed in mere moments. It’d be insulting if a pair of handcuffs and your scrawny little ass could stop me. His precinct has been desperate, ramming into one dead-end after another for a single lead to House of Cards.

Felix can turn you in right here. Right now. If you brought me back to headquarters now, I’d escape either way and you’d get nothing from me.

“That is an order, Sergeant,” Chan grins, not noticing how pale his friend has gotten in such mere moments. “You’ll collapse the moment you head out for patrol, trust me.”

“No, Chan! You don’t understand, I-”

“Do it,” you mouth, sealing his lips instantly.

“I just didn’t get enough sleep last night. I’ll take a nap in the infirmary.” You slap on a devilish smile at his words, wiggling your phone high enough for him to see.

As soon as Felix closes the door behind him, the spike in his heartbeat finally falls with the stiff smile on his face, his breaths short and uneven. The urge to punch something is cut short when his phone vibrates timely. A message from an unknown number: “Ten PM. The waterfall in Yellow Woods. You’ve got one chance.”

six.

Felix has underestimated the cold since nightfall. His muscles ache and shiver all at the same time, momentarily yelling at him to turn around to head back to the comfort of his family’s mansion. Yet the dark Yellow Woods seems to silence time and space, only leaving him with the urge to march forward.

He lied to Chan about your encounter, lied to Changbin so he wouldn’t have to go on his night shift, lied to Hyunjin that he’d go home and rest like his friend always told him to. Humans have been taught not to lie but deception still exists and one cannot escape its grasp. Even Felix never knew there would be a day where he’d become this desperate. Just thinking about it makes him want to vomit, utterly disgusted.

Clutching his gun tightly, he begins walking faster into the light fog.

“My my, look who it is.” His frantic steps come to a halt, his head snapping back immediately. “Someone was so hellbent on giving me a headshot the last time we met. What changed?”

Felix raises a brow in confusion. “What the- Didn’t you ask me to meet up at the waterfall?”

“The waterfall is the other way, you fool,” you jerk your head back, clearly unimpressed.

“Cut me some slack, my phone was dead! Wait, how did you- were you stalking me?!”

You can’t help but stifle a chuckle; his face is priceless. “Tracking sounds more appropriate, don’t you think?”

“You-”

“You’d better pick up the pace if you want to survive this little partnership of ours, officer.”

Eventually, he complies and stumbles through the woods with you, his feet feeling like they’re being dragged across cement. During the day, Yellow Woods is alight with the serenity one yearns for at their lowest, birds chirping and leaves rustling to one united song of Mother Nature. In contrast, it is now hollow, colorless, almost empty to a sense with all this darkness around him.

“I never said that we had a deal,” Felix says while trailing after you, cautious not to trip over any branches.

You turn around for a meager moment, giving him that sly grin of yours. “Suppose that you do, we need a contract. Some simple protocols between comrades. What do you expect from me? Keep it simple. Excessive details bore the shit out of me.”

“First, no with-holding information. If you know something, I need to know it and vice versa. Second, no personal questions. I don’t want you in my life nor do I want me getting my hands dirty with you.”

You hum in response, “Hmm, short and sweet. But I have my own as well.”

He gulps, “Go on.”

“I don’t work with dogs. I don’t care if it’s licensed as emotional support. I won’t hesitate to shoot if you even let one do so much as breathe in the same room as me.”

“...that makes way too much sense.” So that explains why-

“What about you? Afraid of the dark?”

“I wasn’t born this morning.”

To the East lies the waterfall you’ve mentioned this morning, which you lead him down a dirt road and right behind it, straight into a small cave. There are two paths diverged that catch him by surprise but there’s nothing he can do other than taking the left side, hastily following the source of light from your phone. Your final destination unveils before his eyes as a small, underground lair.

Felix suddenly feels cold for no reason. “How do you even sleep?” He scrunches his nose while rubbing his hands together.

“I don’t,” you say without looking at him, exhaling and shrugging off your coat. “Make yourself at home. I’ll go heat up some tea before you freeze to death.”

Not knowing what to do with himself, his eyes roll around the seemingly confined but commodious space in curiosity. Your working desk is as big as the one in the conference back at headquarters, mounted with an overwhelming amount of files. To the right, the wall is lined with weapons, target boards, and rag dolls; you seem to prefer blades over firearms. The whole place is lighted up with candles all around, giving it that eerie feeling like something straight out of an old movie.

Still, not bad.

His careless feet drag him across the concrete, subconsciously reaching out for the files on your desk. He can’t fight the urge, he can’t resist it. Before his mind can register and his conscience can yell at him, the plastic binder is already yanked open. Experiment #180108–Y/N, it reads. “What the hell… Enhanced strength and agility… Instant self-healing… Metamorphosis? Is this what they’ve been doing under our noses all this time?”

“No, only my parents.” Your voice snaps him out of it, prompting him to drop the files. “Your office was giving me anxiety, by the way. Thank god for home sweet home.”

“What the hell were you doing in my-“ A dagger flies past his head, missing him by a strand of hair and ending up embedding itself on the bull’s eye of a nearby target. “Daughter of a bastard,” he breathes out in disbelief, eyes boring holes on you. “What kind of tea was that?!”

“Lee Felix. Only son of the Prime Minister. Ranked Sergeant at the eighth precinct, Seoul P.D. The precious heir to one of the five great families.” Words leave you. You only stare into those bright, brown eyes burning with anger, his heart almost falling silent. “Gosh, you’ve got quite the profile. Shouldn’t you be worried about the image of your family instead of shaking hands with the devil like this?”

Felix clenches his jaw, everything is slow and warbled as he looks down, shaking violently. “And yet you still thought I’d be crazy enough to make a deal with an Ace?”

“You’re not crazy,” you sigh, grinning internally. “Just extremely desperate-“

“I am not desperate!” A lie spats out, leaving him with a bitter aftertaste. “I have no reason to be.” Focus.

A mocking shrug. “Right, you’re not desperate. You just followed me all the way here without taking out your gun or rambling on with your boring death threats. Like a little, perfect pet. Exactly what I needed.”

“Death threats don’t work on monsters,” he croaks, fists balled and eyes wide. Even so, the way you gaze darken still goes unnoticed. “I’ve seen your kind kill anyone without hesitation. Getting blood on your hands without even blinking. You, all of you, aren’t humans anymore. You’re all a complete write-off of a species.”

Felix lifts his head, pupils trembling at the sight in front of him. For a moment there, you look sad and broken. Raw, naked, and vulnerable like the rest of humanity. It makes him ponder, how can humans be so weak yet so cruel at the same time?

“...why? Why are you doing this?” he inquires shakily, head racing with a thousand thoughts. “I don’t understand. Actually, there’s a lot that I don’t understand about you.” No! Focus, you idiot!

“You don’t have to.” Finally, you speak after the long dread of silence, combing a hand through your hair tiredly. “You know. It’s funny how the same thing happened to us. And now look at where we ended up individually.”

His brain pauses and chokes up. “What are you saying?” Cover your ears. Do not be misled!

You look away, simply knowing that you won’t be able to hold it in if you’re making eye contact. “I know you’re not the rightful heir of the Lees. You weren’t part of the bloodline in the first place. You’re simply a replacement. A second option. Nothing but an afterthought-“

“No! Shut up! Just shut u-“ Cover your ears. Do not trust anyone!

“—the real heir supposedly went missing during the Eiji Station tragedy where my organization ordered a bombing fifteen years ago. It’s been over a decade and they’ve already concluded his death even though a body was never found. Am I right, officer?”

Choose the wrong path.

Felix buries his face into the palms of his hands as streaks of silvery tears burn his cheek. His exhausted shoulders shake in each rake of emotion through his frame, the fire of anger and despair boils past the seams he can no longer hold together. With his knees weak, he can only sob and drops down on his knees, screaming with all his might.

And you’ll die.

But even you, the devil itself, can’t save the man who’s drowning himself in his own tears of hell.

“Welcome to the team. The name is Y/N,” you offer him a hand, blankly eyeing his quivering figure. He finally picks himself up with difficulties, eyes glowing with tears and fury. After a split moment of hesitation, his hand reaches for yours, firmly clasped and sealing your deal.

Because he’s falling down the same bottomless abyss with you.

Because you both couldn’t save him. You couldn’t save Minho.

epilogue.

__ fifteen years ago

“Hey, Minho, you’re really good at playing the piano. Are you gonna be a musician?”

“Hmm, I do like music. But I’d rather become a police officer.

“Why? Didn’t you say that you like music?”

“I’ll become anything for my mother.”

“Then, I’ll be a doctor when I grow up! And we can save people together.”

“Okay. It’s a promise, Lix.”

165 notes · View notes

yminie · 4 years

Text

nine one one | tres | fin | pjm (m)

pairing: Jimin x reader genre/warnings: angst, fluff, oldflame!pairing, detective!jimin, firstresponder!reader, mentions of death, mentions of murder, mentions of mental health problems, mentions of weapons, explicit language, implied stalking, physical assault, fight scenes, mentions of blood, implied attempt at sexual assault, smut, brief oral sex (female recieving), unprotected penetrative sex. words: 15.3k summary: Your living nightmare has found its way into your home, and you’re all alone.

a/n: it only took me a year (sobs), but it’s finally here!! Thank you so much for all your support over the past two years with this storyline, and I hope you’ve all loved detective Jimin as much as I have! I love you guys so much, and I hope you enjoy it! Lemme know what your think <3

**********

Prev. on Nine-One-One;

Warmth grows in your chest at Jimin’s return, and you stretch out your legs from where they’d been tucked up close to your body as you await the call of your name or perhaps the familiar clicking of his shoes as he crosses your entryway to return to where he’d left you.

But like the night shadows drown the sun’s light, the warmth quickly freezes over into chilling terror as a dark silhouette moves across the room silently, not a sound following his gentle footsteps as he passes between you and the only light in the room. The blue glow of the charger dock sitting on the table against the far wall casting an eerie glow over his form, and just as terrifyingly outlining the fact that his height is a good head taller, and his shoulders are a decent few inches wider than they should be.

And as he makes his way far too confidently towards the hallway leading to your room, and that eerie blue light glints off a large silver shape in his hand, you come to the tearful conclusion that you’re right.

Jimin did not just enter your apartment.

And you have no idea who did.

**********

Fear has you stuck in place, lungs burning as you hold your breath, and only the hushed sound of his feet brushing across the carpet is to be heard. The shape of him gets fuzzier by the second until he’s too far down the hallway to clearly make out his silhouette, and finally your instincts kick in as you carefully slip from the couch and down onto your hands and knees on the floor, heart racing as you crawl as fast as you can behind the couch.

Back flat against the surface, you hear him again as he returns from what you assume to be looking in your room, but his footsteps this time are more stilted, each brush just a few milliseconds off to the last to seem like a normal pace, and it has your panic levels rising even further. You already know for a fact that your phone is up on the breakfast bar just a few metres in front of you, but you can’t bring yourself to move at the risk of him spotting you.

When he comes to a stop across the room, you can’t help but to risk a lean over to the right side of the couch and carefully peer past the corner. Your heart batters harder against the base of your throat at the dark shape of his body stood directly in front of the charging dock, the light bright in the absence of the city’s glow, and you can clearly see the shape of a rounded nose and sharp jaw. Eyes keen on soaking up every detail, you watch with a sense of disturbance as he gently plucks a photo from the stand before him and tilts it towards the light in an effort to see better.

He doesn’t grab your belongings with the aura of someone touching a stranger's things, but with the attitude of a person in their own apartment, merely giving a moment's attention to something they own, and the sight has bile creeping up the back of your tongue.

It feels like forever, the time that passes as you merely sit in eerie silence and watch with burning eyes as he slowly makes his way around the room, stopping at every shelf and surface to touch and hold even the smallest of trinkets that decorate your living room. Filling you with such discomfort and sadness that, you know already, you’ll never be able to look at any of the mementos and photo frames the same way after he’s gone.

You flinch when he turns suddenly, his left side to you now, and the dread swirling in your abdomen even seems to freeze as his features are once more sent into shadows, and he walks confidently to the curtains lining the majority of your apartment, hiding you both away from the world.

It’s barely possible to hold in the cry of shock that chokes its way up your throat when he reaches up and, with two hands, rips the curtains away from the wall with a loud crash.

Back hitting the couch again with a thud, you press a closed fist to your lips to hold all of the panic inside as your eyes squeeze shut against the sudden onslaught of light, and the beginning of the weekend nightlife is bustling away beneath the two of you, oblivious to the happenings right above their heads.

It’s sickening to imagine how many times you’ve been just as unaware as them.

Your whole body tenses up as his feet slide closer to where you’re hidden, and he paces a few steps before spinning on his heel and doing the same in the other direction, moving back and forth in front of the window as you shut your eyes tight and ignore the ache of your muscles. Distantly, you register the muted sound of a dial tone behind the crackle of his shoes over broken plastic and fabric, but it’s the shock of a fuzzy, familiar voice suddenly filling the space around you that has the fear truly setting in your bones.

“Hello, what is your emergency?”

**********

“Ah, yeah, hello?” Taehyung stands in his apartment, back stiff straight as he stares hard at the wall of his kitchen as if he could see through it into your apartment. “I’d like to request an ambulance, and possibly police too.”

“What seems to be the problem, sir?” The first responder on the other end of the line sounds tired, just as Taehyung imagines he would be this time of the night, but it’s even more so in comparison to the way his own body is hyped up with anxiety, ears keen as they listen out for any other crashes coming from your apartment next door. The sound hadn’t been too loud, but it was clashing enough to tell him it hadn’t come from his side of your place, but rather the other end, where he knew your kitchen was located.

The thought of you falling or dropping a plate crossed his mind, but it just didn’t seem to compare to the way the noise had truly made him feel.

“It’s-I heard a loud crashing noise from my neighbours apartment.” The clicking of the responders fingers are fast on the keys of the computer he’s imaging in front of him, and he pauses before speaking again. “And she’s all alone in there most of the time.”

“And she’s not someone prone to making noise? What was the address?”

“No.” Taehyung steps closer to the wall as he lists off the location, so close now to the front door. So close to just going over to check on you himself. “She makes none at all. She’s very quiet usually, I-” He pauses again, deaf to the sound of the general noise coming through the phone as he loses himself to his thoughts. “I’m scared something is really wrong. It just feels really off.”

“I’ll have the closest officer inbound and you’re on the list for the next available medical response, but I apologise since there’s no guarantee of injury or crime,” a few seconds tick by and Taehyung’s heart pounds with worry for you, “our response unit is done by priority so it could take some time as nights like these can be very busy, okay? Be sure to ring back should the situation escalate.”

“Okay.” His throat is dry. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t look away from the wall, merely places his phone down on the counter.

The waiting is almost worse than the fear.

***********

“Hello, what is your emergency?” The loudspeaker on the strangers phone is entirely too loud in the tense silence of your dark apartment, and you shiver uncontrollably at the sound of Taemin’s voice. There’s a tickle in your throat that itches for you to speak up, to yell for help from your friend, but you know it would be useless.

They’re nowhere near you, and lord only knows all the possibilities of things that could happen to you before anyone reaches you.

“I want to speak to the detective.” Head pressed to the back of the couch and body tight with stress, your eyes press shut as the voice of your nightmares echoes in your head, and you ignore the tears as they start to bud on your lashes.

“I’m sorry, you can’t be using this call line for non-emergency calls. We have the office number you can find on our website between the hours of–”

“What if it is an emergency.” His voice is colder than you remember, more than a little empty, and the complete 180 degree turn his attitude had taken from the last time you’d spoken was almost haunting. “What if it’s the worst emergency he could ever face.”

That sickening, burning feeling is back in your stomach, the same as the night you’d woken up in Jimin’s arms on the couch, and you fight against your tongue when you try to swallow. The semi-conscious part of your mind is fighting to remind you that he hasn’t seen you, he doesn’t know where you are. But you can’t seem to beat the way your body is growing evermore repulsed purely at his presence in your apartment.

More than a few seconds tick by, Taemin’s side of the call quiet all but the clicking of his keyboard as he types in a rush. Before they pause.

“It’s you, isn’t it?”

The heavy clang and thundering rattle of your window vibrating in its frame bashes around in your head when the stranger lashes out at it with a tightly closed fist, and you can see the shadow on the floor between the breaking blur of tears as he presses his hand flat against the surface with a snarl.

“I know he’s there, you’d better get him or else I’ll–”

There’s the clatter of the phone being transferred from one person to another, and you can faintly hear the indistinct noise of Taemin frantically speaking to someone on the other end before being hushed.

“Hello?” Hoseok’s voice comes over the line and you tense up even further, mind running wild with the possibility of where Jimin could be. “This is Detective Jung, you’re looking to talk to my partner?”

“Don’t want to talk to you. Don’t fucking–” The strangers head whips to the side, and you can see the silhouette of his features distorted and stretched in his shadow, and a lonely tear drips from your chin to the carpet with a noise far too loud for how sensitive your ears are. “Where is he?”

“You want Jimin right?” The stranger's feet drag as he takes a step to the side, shoulder coming into your peripheral view as he staggers a little, body looking off kilter as he hunches over before straightening once more. The way his body moves is unnerving, something not quite right in the way he seems to tense and relax repeatedly, hand fisting at his side sporadically. “I can get him for you. Can you wait just one minute?”

“Don’t like to wait.” He sounds distracted as he grunts, crushing a piece of plastic further under his foot as he peers down at the streets below. “Waited long enough.”

“I’ll get him for you.” There’s a rattle as the discarded earpiece hits the desk, and as the crunching beneath the strangers feet gets louder, the hushed whispering on Taemin’s end gets louder. The more frantic they get, the more agitated he becomes, vein in his neck throbbing as his head jerks to one side, muscles coiled and ready to pounce. A lot like your own, legs aching from being so tightly wound with stress.

There’s an abrupt break in the dull noise and chatter before the gentle chime of hold music cuts through, and then the hiss of white noise and the rev of a car's engine. And Jimin.

“This is Detective Park.” His voice sounds guarded from the moment he speaks, and you assume Hoseok had spoken to him quickly before handing the call over. “What is it that I can do for you?”

“Wanted to say–” His head jerks again, swallowing as though the words are hard to get out. “Thank you, hyung.”

“Huh?” Jimin’s front disappears, clearly caught too off guard to keep his usual composure.

“All the years of being so selfish, you finally did something for me.” The stranger's tone is awfully bittersweet, and it sends chills down your spine. “I’m happy. Things can be much more simple this way.”

“And what way is that?” There’s the blare of a car horn cutting through Jimin’s words, and you hear his car rev even harder as he drives as fast as he can during no doubt lots of peak hour traffic.

“You left her alone.” Your heart feels hollow, heaviness sinking into your stomach like that’s where it decided to fall, and your lower lip shakes before you hold it tight between your teeth, enough for an iron tang to coat your tongue. “I can...finally take care of her. The way she deserves.”

“Listen to me.” You’ve never heard Jimin’s voice sound so dark and thunderous, and it makes goosebumps pimple the skin of your exposed arms. “I’m only going to say this once, Jungkook.”

‘Jungkook’ stiffens, breath pushing through his nose in a huff before he starts to breathe roughly, a grating in his lungs like he can’t quite get enough air in. And it’s then you register just who you’ve been looking at, the person you recognized in the elevator, the boy behind the desk in the lobby of your apartment building…

The same boy who’d been so young and timid when he’d approached you in the lunchroom at the station, stammering and shaking as he’d confessed how pretty you were, and how he’d like to know if you wanted to come to the cafe across the street for lunch.

The same boy Jimin had laughed at, ruffled the hair of, and teasingly told that you weren’t free real estate. That he had kissed you right in front of; Jungkook’s expression tight, embarrassed, and whispered in your ear how ‘cute’ it was that you’d gained an admirer. Not seeing the way the young cadet's face had pinched and the way his frame had caved in to make himself seem smaller.

The same boy you’d defended with a gentle push and a light giggle against Jimin’s chest, telling him not to tease. Jungkook hadn’t looked at you when you thanked him for the compliment, or apologised for Jimin’s well-intended need to poke fun. In fact he didn’t look at you much after that...and you didn’t care enough to notice. You couldn’t even pinpoint the last time you’d seen him and recognized him, remembered his name or said hello. He’d merely faded into the background of your life along with the crowd. And the guilt feels nauseating as it creeps like thorny tendrils up your throat, choking the air from your lungs.

“If you even think for one second that you’re going to get as close to her as you did today ever again, you have another thing coming.” The more Jimin speaks the colder your blood runs, and you can’t help but note the irony of his words. “I’m not going to leave her side, not even once you’re gone. I’m going to catch you, Jungkook, and when I do, you’d better hope karma doesn’t catch up to you with me.”

Jungkook starts to shudder in front of you, and it takes you a tense second to realise he’s laughing. Chuckles wracking his chest until he wheezes for breath, and you can barely hear Jimin still talking over the sound of his husky coughing.

“Locking you in a psych ward would be a mercy for you, Jungkook. You’ll be lucky if Hoseok gets to you before I do.”

“Oh, hyung.” Jungkook giggles but Jimin isn’t done.

“You’ve gotten messy Jungkook, and today is the end of your little game.” Jimin grunts, the car revving again, and you pray he’s on his way to you. Unsure how long this can be dragged out before Jungkook snaps and rips your apartment apart, no doubt finding you in the process and carrying out whatever god-awful plans he’d had in mind tonight. “Your plan is over, she’s not going to be one of your victims. But you’ll be one of mine, that I can guarantee you.”

“It’s all mine, hyung.” Jungkook stops giggling, going so still and stone-faced it’s almost too haunting to witness. “This life. Being here with her. It was always meant to be me.” Jungkook's head hits the glass of your window with a heavy thud, and you jump in shock. Your eyes are still leaking slowly with tears, growing more blurry and stinging the longer you stare, and through your muddled thoughts, you’ve forgotten yourself.

So when he finally turns, the glow of the city haloing his face as he drops the phone in his hand to the floor with a clatter, his eyes lock onto yours instantly, where you’ve leant too far out of the safety of your hiding spot. And Jungkook’s lips twist in a shaky smile as he raises his voice. “She’s tried so hard to hide for you, hyung.”

Jimin doesn’t reply, and you’d almost think the line was cut could you not hear the struggle of him trying to speed through unseen traffic. Your eyes slips from Jungkook’s face to the phone discarded at his feet, tears dripping to the carpet once again, and it takes the crackle of debris under his shoe to note he’s turning further toward you, and its then you see the glint of the large dagger reappearing in his hand

“I ‘can’t get near her’?” Jungkook’s words have your eyes quickly lifting to meet his again, and you can’t even tell how badly you’re shaking, nails painfully dug into the carpet as he twists his neck to the side with a dull crack. “I don’t think your car is that fast, Jimin-hyung.”

Torn from your throat is the scream that shatters the silence, numb legs scrambling underneath you as he takes his first step in your direction, and you stumble over your own feet before picking up speed and shooting as fast as you can down the hallway. Your heart thunders in your ears as you feel the vibrations of Jungkook’s feet slapping even harder against the floor behind you, and it’s by sheer miracle that you manage to tear through the door to your bedroom seconds before he can catch up.

The slam of the door behind you hurts your arms with the force with which you push it, back pressed flat against it as you pray to whatever god might hear you for help. The sobs that are escaping you go without your notice, heaving pulls for air as you desperately try to blink the tears from your eyes and you cry out loud as the door is almost pushed out from behind you, wood creaking as Jungkook slams against with an almost inhumane sound of anger.

“_____... let me in before I have to hurt you.” You’re frozen against the door, heels pressed painfully into the floor as you hold the door in place with all the strength you can muster. And for a few seconds you almost believe it's working, hope creeping up your spine that you can hold him off long enough for someone to come to your aid.

The door shakes with a loud clunking noise right beside your head, before all attempts of penetration stop, and your head whips to the side as you listen to his footsteps start to retreat, heart thrashing in your hollow chest.

And then movement catches your eye across the room, and you compute the creeping of his shadow coming from your adjoining bathroom with a shriek as you scramble for the doorknob beside you.

Only for the knob to loosely rattle in the frame, mechanism broken from the outside, and you then realise your mistake. The reality of how trapped you are sinking in as he steps out into your line of sight, bloody knuckles and fingers red from his efforts. And you shrink into yourself in the corner of your room, eyes sliding shut as you begin to sob in fear once more.

His footsteps are deafening in the silence, the heavy sigh he releases as his feet come into your blurred vision humidly warm on the back of your necks as he leans down, bent at the waist. A cold chill runs down your spine when you feel his fingers on your hair, nails slipping in close to your scalp and filling your mouth with bile at the feeling of stickiness on his skin dragging through the strands.

Slowly, he crouches down, filling your nose with a sharp combination of fresh sweat, blood and an almost alarmingly clean scent. Disinfected. Citrus. Bleach. The way one may smell after visiting a hospital. And it burns. Singes through your noise and has every last inch of your body cringing in discomfort.

“Look at me.” His voice is alarmingly soft, almost sickly in its sweetness, and your skin crawls as he strokes through your hair again, playing with it with that same air of familiarity that he’d portrayed in the living room. Moving naturally as though he’d done so a million times over, his hand slips down to the back of your neck, cupping a cold chill around your nape with freezing fingers that has you shrinking even further into yourself. Every nerve ending in your body screaming at you to get away from him. “_____.”

The next few beats of silence are shattered as he rips his hand from your hair, stinging pains of tangled strands being pulled from the tender area of skin pulling another sob from your throat as his now free hand cracks against the wall beside you with force. You straighten up instantly, eyes clenched tight, not having to look to know the plaster is caved in around his fist and only able to feel slightly thankful the lash of anger hadn’t been directed at your body.

“Look at me!” You can feel the drops of spittle hitting your face and he screams hoarsely, voice cracking on the last word as the now even more injured hand returns to your chin to pull your attention. And with a shuddering breath that feels void of oxygen, your head spinning too much to focus properly as the adrenaline and fear spikes in your blood, you force your eyes open to land on his hallowed face.

Jungkook is far from the way he had lived in your memory. Bigger, yet more hollow. Stronger, but with a weakness floating just beneath the surface waiting to be broken. Older, and somehow still seeming so young behind the pain in his eyes. The Jungkook sat before you had physically grown, but mentally his pain is real, raw, as though it were just yesterday you’d managed to tear his heart apart and leave him cracked and broken at the seams. The only solace he’d found to hold himself together being the anger that lives now in his core, the expression being that of someone that loves you, but the energy of someone that has nothing but hatred in his being for you.

So many emotions are conveyed in his eyes, it’s hard to look at, but the terror you feel has you unable to look away, as though watching a hundred cars crash together at once.

“Don’t cry, I’m gonna take care of you.” Gut wrenching, you flinch as his hand lifts to brush stickiness over the tear tracks under your eyes, and you can feel the thickness of blood now streaking your face and suffocating your pores. He leans in close, breath washing over your cheeks, and you can feel the cool of the wet spots his fingers had left behind.

“Please don’t kill me.” The whisper is ripped from your raw throat before you can stop it, the chill in your hands and feet reaching all the way through your arms, legs and torso, as though he’d reached right through your ribs and grabbed a hold of your heart.

“He can’t have you.” The venom is back in his voice as he twitches, hand shaking under your chin before he moves it down to brush his fingers over your exposed clavicle, running a careful thumb right over your carotid artery, and you flinch away again as his fingers stray even further down towards your breasts, his breathing starting to come in pants before he groans. “Can’t.”

Crowding into your space, Jungkook leaves no room for you to dodge his advance as his grip returns bruisingly on your jaw and he pushes forward to press his lips against yours. His kiss is hard, painful and wet, with the moisture on your face. His tongue slips in around the cry of shock that escapes you, and for a few nauseating seconds you’re subjected to what you can only think he imagines to be a passionate kiss.

You turn your face in an attempt to break the kiss, but he follows you, hand pushing back across the left side of your face to curve around your ear and pull your lips back to his, leaving an agonising spike of pain behind as he jarr’s your neck in the process. Your hands are trapped against his chest, pressing futilely, unable to gather enough strength in your arms to push him away.

In one last desperate attempt, you open your mouth into his kiss and as his tongue slides across your lip and back into your mouth, you quickly bare down and bite his tongue as hard as you can. Blood is coating the back of your teeth when he rips away from you, and you spit it out without a second thought, flinching as he changes like a lightswitch. “No! Mine! You’re mine!”

In a flash the desperate softness is gone, the hollow emptiness back in his eyes as he grabs you by the throat and pulls you from the faux security of your corner with a painful tug. You wheeze as he pulls you close, wrapping the dagger-wielding arm around your waist and using his hold to twist your feet out from under you and push you backwards in the direction of your bed.

“Can’t have you–can’t have you. Won't let him.”

It’s your body's natural instinct to struggle, and struggle you do. Arms pinned under his are barely of use, but you thrash them anyway, unable to scream with the pressure he still holds on your neck, but your throat muscles contract painfully under his hand regardless. Only managing an airy screech, you break off into a choked gasp as the cold of the dagger finds its way onto your skin through your shirt, moments before he releases his hold and lets your weakened body drop back onto the bed.

The moment his hold is relinquished on your airways you’re gasping for air and bunching your legs up towards your chest as he rushes to climb utop you. Every self defense masterclass Jimin had ever made you take flashes through your mind as his hips quickly move in to press against the backs of your thighs, and you muster all the strength you can in your arms to lifts them right as he swoops in and brace your splayed palms firmly against the front swells of his shoulders.

Jungkook bares down against you with his entire body weight, and even as the both of you grunt in effort, his hold on the dagger limits his mobility just enough, too focused on getting his body as flush to yours as he can. The fingers of the hand not holding his weapon are slipping under your waistband, sticky, cold fingertips clawing at your bare flesh in struggle, and encouraging your efforts as you keep your arms locked at the elbows and plant your left foot on the bed. Jimin’s voice is in the back of your head, screaming the instructions at you over and over again, and you quickly twist to the left, right leg curling up even further until your foot can find the bend of his pelvis.

The pressure of your foot pushing him forces the hand on your hip to tear back out from inside your pants and clutch at the bed, trying to keep his stability, and hope reignites in your chest as he sways long enough for your hold to slip from his shoulders to just above his elbows. From here you have enough mobility to bring your left leg up to match the right on his other hip, effectively trapping him where he is and keeping him slightly off kilter.

The fabric underneath you makes it harder to move up the bed away from him as he pushes against you with a growl of anger, frustration clearly getting to him as he struggles to retrieve the power you’ve managed to regain. But with a relieved sob, the strength of your legs is just enough to have him slipping back on his knees, increasing the space between your bodies with only a slight struggle.

His anger mounts to the point where he attempts to lash out again, losing his grasp on the dagger somewhere in the sheets as he tries to pull back out of your hold, swaying only for a moment before attempting to swing the momentum towards you. Yet with a flash of movement, and the miracle of space between you, your leg rears back far enough to get some force behind it, and with your hands slipping down to claw a rough grip on his wrists, you deliver a swift, straight-on kick to his stomach.

Visibly winded, Jungkook forgets his advancement on you with a pained gasp, falling far enough back to slip half off the edge of the bed, barely catching one leg under him on the floor and one knee on the mattress as he curls over on himself and dry heaves a sob of absolute torture.

Taking the small window of chance you have, you don't look twice – rolling off to the side and falling onto the floor yourself. Ignoring the pain in your knees, as you scramble your limbs under you, and make a break for the bathroom doorway.

The roar of pure rage behind you has every hair on your body standing on end, and you scream as you slip on the bathroom tiles, almost losing your footing before you manage a hold on the bathroom counter. Dashing off to the left once you’re stable enough, you try your best to ignore the crash of Jungkook’s pursuit as he collides with the door behind you and seemingly breaks it right off its hinges.

He’s still affected by the aftershocks of your kick, gasping and staggering as his body tries to recover while he still pushes himself, but you’re equally struggling as your nerves are locked up with anxiety, legs stiff and uncoordinated as his growing proximity has you panicking. Right after you tear out into the hall, arm brushing against the wall as you swerve, he clashes with the plaster right behind you, reaching out and swiping at you roughly with the dagger. And you can hear the whistle of the blade slicing through the air, missing you by millimetres...the first time

“Help me, ple–ah!” You shout as the dagger manages to catch you on an upsweep, grazing your shoulder and sending a burning pain instantly across the area of skin. You grab your shoulder, staggering again before picking up the pace and finally escaping the hall into the openness of your living area. “Help!”

“No!”

As you manage to round the island in the centre of your kitchen, Jungkook finally comes to a stop on the opposite end of the table. There, the two of you stand-off in a tense silence, staring hard at each other as you both pant for breath. He spits a mouthful of blood out onto the countertop, a streak of it marring his chin before he lifts an equally bloody hand and swipes at it, careless of the proximity of the weapon he holds as he spreads the red stain further across his skin.

Neither of you move for a good few moments, and as you start to catch your breath, and the ringing in your ears starts to wind down, you hear it.

Sirens. Loud. And getting closer by the second. And–

“_____!” Taehyung’s voice cuts through the tension, the door to your apartment rattling as he bashes into it from the outside. “_____! Let me in, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“N–No! NO! YOU’RE MINE. MINE! HE DOESN’T GET THE HAPPINESS I DESERVED!” Jungkook steps to the side, as if to dash around the island towards you, but you immediately counter his movement with a step of your own, closer to the apartment door, and he immediately corrects himself and steps back, which you mirror.

“_____! The code! What’s the code?!” Taehyung is desperate, and it has Jungkook panicking even more, head whipping off to the side before snapping back to you.

“It's over, Jungkook.” You whisper, calming down faster as you listen to the sirens get even closer. They’re right outside now, and you know it’s only a minute or two before they get up here. But as you watch, Jungkook starts to shake with fury, and faster than you can comprehend, he’s flicking the dagger in his hand to pinch the blade between forefinger and thumb before lining up his shot and readying himself to launch it at you.

You won’t be able to move fast enough, this much you know instantly, and the sudden confrontation has you panicking, eyes wide with shock and pulling a smirk on his lips as he watches your expression change.

“If I can’t have you, _____. No one can.”

“Taehyung! The code is 64785!” You act on survival instinct, hands grabbing ahold of the counter as Jungkook’s arm rears back, and you can hear the beeping of Taehyung entering the code immediately, hope blooming in your chest.

But dread is what holds onto your heart like cement.

“I’m going to kill your friend.” Jungkook’s voice is merely a poisonous whisper, and as fast as you can register his words, he’s moving. The small throwing knife he has procured in his left hand whips through the air faster than you can move. You throw yourself to the side, regardless, not even registering the chime of your apartment door unlocking or the crash of Taehyung breaching the entryway.

Pain flares through your right arm as the knife embeds itself through a decent amount of flesh, a shriek leaving you as you sway off to the side and collapse to the floor. But the sight of the two men before you colliding in the entryway of your apartment is what truly leaves pain stabbing through your heart.

Taehyung barely manages to throw a punch in Jungkook’s direction, too distracted with your collapse and not enough on the opponent in front of him, and in one short, swift movement, Jungkook curls his arm between them, and pierces the blade right into Taheyung’s stomach.

“NO!” The scream that rips from your throat is dry and burning, and tears well up anew in your eyes with a feeling akin to needles. Futile, you struggle on the floor with only one good arm, immediately beginning to crawl towards the pair as Taehyung drops to his knees, eyes wide and gasping up at Jungkook’s still form.

Jungkook let’s go as Taehyung falls, leaving the dagger embedded in his abdomen and turning to you with an empty look. You can still hear Taehyung fighting for air as Jungkook takes his next steps towards you, watching with an almost numb expression as you whimper and battle with your own body to move backwards away from his approach.

“_____!” The two of you have barely a moment to freeze in place as heavy footsteps scatter into the hallway outside your apartment, and Jungkook cracks. You can barely hear your own noises of panic as he launches himself at you, scrambling to do whatever he can to reach you but Jimin is faster. You can only watch as Jungkook spins on his heel to meet him head on, as Jimin crashes into him.

They fall hard in front of you, Jimin immediately gaining the upper hand and rearing above Jungkook to rain a heavy fist down over his face, but Jungkook recovers faster than you’d have expected, hand pulling from his side with a glint of silver, and Jimin’s name leaves you in dry shriek as Jungkook swipes up from underneath and tries to stab into his chest.

Jimin manages to jerk back fast enough, the thin blade now in Jungkook’s hand only managing to very slightly slice through Jimin’s shirt and over his stomach before the knife is knocked from his hand, but you heave and scramble up onto your knees as a sliver of blood is left behind and Jungkook is rearing back for another attempt. He uses his advantage of having gotten Jimin off balance over him, lifting his body and using the space between them to land a well placed palm into his jaw, and you sob as Jimin’s back and head hit the floor with a dull thud.

You move in synchrony with Jungkook, lifting yourself up even as your legs scream beneath you. The dazed, pained look on Jimin’s face and the sight of Jungkook getting the upper hand, wide, bloody palms wrapping tight around Jimin’s neck and the choked sound that escapes him filling you with enough energy to launch yourself forward.

“Jimin!” Hoseok finally appears in the doorway in your peripheral vision. “_____! Fuc–!”

Jungkook howls and jerks under you as you pierce his back with the blade you’d ripped from your own arm, the blood covering your hand making it harder to hold it firm but the pure blind panic filling your every sense keeping your grip tight even as he twists off Jimin and attempts to face the new attack.

Twice, three times, four–eight–eleven–nineteen, thirty.

You have no idea how many times your fist plunges the blade into Jungkook’s abdomen, losing time in the grey haze that settles over your mind.

“_____! Jesus, fuck, baby stop! He’s dead, baby, stop!”

Jimin holds you tight, battling the way you thrash and twist in his arms as he attempts to catch your chin and tilt your face towards his. You’re gagging on your own gasps, whimpering and pushing at his chest as he drags you further away from where Jungkook’s body lays prone between the back of your couch and the island. The knife he’d wrangled free of your fist lays somewhere in the splattered pool of blood that halo’s Jungkook’s form.

Slowly, slowly, you come to, and the moment your body recognizes the safety and warmth of Jimin’s embrace, you sag into his arms with a heavy sob, clutching at him tighter than ever as more voices fill the room.

But nothing else matters now, because the only thing you can hear is his heart as yours beats in sync.

**********

You haven’t a clue what time it is, staring blankly at the wall of Jimin’s office as people rush back and forth outside the glass windows. Only thin slivers of light make it through the shuttered blinds, casting beams of white that barely manage to light up the room. Shivering again, you tuck your feet tighter beneath you on the leather chair, Jimin’s blazer pulled tight around your shoulders, and you bury your nose down into the fabric, trying to fill your senses with him as an attempt to keep yourself calm.

The numb feeling that had gripped ahold of you hadn’t yet dissipated, sticking around long after the tears had dried up, eyes burning and head throbbing with pain. Detective ‘So-and so’ Min had done his best to take your statement, frowning and sighing through your harrowed silence and broken sentences, finally conceding when Hoseok had quickly dismissed the questions for the rest of the day.

Jimin had been pulled from you shortly after arriving at the station, promising to come back to you within a couple of minutes but disappearing for close to an hour. You could only console yourself with the knowledge it wasn’t by choice, only imagining the pile of questions and paperwork that had awaited him, regardless of how badly you ached to be back in his arms.

Hoseok had come in to check on you periodically, but even he had left you to the silence, instead retreating to his own office with the reminder he was only next door if you needed anything. You appreciate the sentiment.

Your eyes had begun to grow heavy quickly, drooping and fluttering before a noise in the hall outside would have you jumping back into place with your heart beating out of your chest and your skin crawling. Each time forcing yourself to calm down with whispered words, closing your eyes and reminding yourself that you were safe, and Jungkook couldn’t get near you anymore. But after last night, nowhere felt secure enough to calm your raging anxiety.

Footsteps outside the door merge with a shadow, breaking through the blinds and flowing over you before they stop behind the wood and the handle gently turns. You no longer have the energy to greet Hoseok each time he comes in, so you stay in place on Jimin’s office chair, almost huddling yourself deeper into his blazer.

“Hey.” Jimin’s voice immediately breaks through your exhaustion, and your head whips to the side as you quickly stand to meet him, blazer falling to the floor without a second glance. His arms wrap around your shoulders, and your face buries into the warmth of his chest, inhaling his scent deeply as you shiver against him. Instantly, his palm is stroking the back of your head, squeezing you tight enough to make you feel like you’re whole again, and you finally start to feel more at ease just being with him. “The doctors got back to us about Taehyung.”

“He’s okay?” You pick your chin up only far enough to see up into his eyes, and he gives you a tired smile, hand shifting around to cup your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.

“He’ll definitely be sore for a while, but he’s being well taken care of. There’s no serious damage done which is very lucky.” Your bottom lip quivers, the relief affecting you more than you thought it would; cracking through the emotionless shell that had started to harden on your face. Jimin pulls you close again, this time pressing his lips gently to your forehead before rocking you back and forth, and your eyes instinctively slip shut. “You already know he doesn’t blame you for what happened, sweetheart. He’s just happy you’re safe.”

“He could’ve died.” Your voice is little more than a croak, throat too dry and tender to speak comfortably at regular pitch, and you can feel Jimin shake his head slowly where his lips are still pressed against you.

“He’s not the only one.” He reminds you, finally relinquishing the embrace to lean down and sweep the blazer from the floor, shaking it out before slipping it back around your shoulders and rubbing firmly up and down your sides. You can see the muddy stain of dried blood on his neck, knowing just as well that your own body has similar stains in a few areas –some more intense than others– as well as a few aches and pains.

The arm which Jungkook had managed to injure was luckily all flesh wounding, the angle having merely skimmed past the muscle and luckily left no permanent muscular damage, and a small pit stop at the hospital, some high strength anti inflammatory painkillers, and a short sit had you stitched right up in no time. And even better was the mark on your back, barely a scratch that had felt like a scarring wound.

But the fatigue hasn't taken long to catch up to you, your body weary from stress and adrenaline, aches that only time will fix lingering in your bones, and now that he’s back with you, it makes it ten times harder to resist finally letting your eyes fall shut. And though Jimin wears a strong mask of composure for you, the tightness around his eyes and the slack of his shoulders tells you more than he could ever say.

“You’re okay too, right?” Pulling away, you look down at his stomach, mind flashing back to the sliver of red Jungkook had swiped across his stomach, and you automatically reach for the hem of his freshly-changed tshirt. He chuckles, shaking his head as he grabs your hand halfway, and you frown up at him.

“I’m fine, you don’t need to worry.” You continue to press on, waving off his attempts to convince you, but you quickly see he’s not just lying for your benefit when the toned muscles are revealed. “Heh–“

You can certainly see the mark, a thin, arching line that starts deeper to the left of his navel and the feathers off up under the right side of his ribcage. It’s still more than you would want, but you’re relieved to see no stitches or heavy bandaging, the sliver of damage no doubt going to disappear in a few days.

“See?” He teases, distending his tummy out and slouching to make his stomach more pronounced, only stopping when your lips lift and you poke at his bellybutton. Bright smile dropping, he pulls your hand till his shirt falls and holds you close again, looking down into your drooping eyes. “There’s that smile.”

For a few calm, peaceful moments, the two of you stand in the hush of his darkened office, ignoring the bustle of the work outside the door. Looking into his eyes, there’s so much sitting within them that you know he wants to say, and you don’t doubt he finds the same in yours. So much has happened in the last 12 hours that your outlook on life and the way you want to live it has changed entirely. Including who you want to live it with.

But before anything can be said, Jimin squeezes you tight around the middle and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear before taking your hand in his and leading you away from his desk.

“Let’s go home.”

**********

A sense of relaxation, even as the bureau disappears into the horizon behind Jimin’s car, seems far off and unattainable as ever, the silence between the two of you covered with the layer of deafening noise within your own head. Jimin’s hand moves occasionally between the gearstick and your thigh, fingers warm and grounding as he does his best to soothe the war he can see raging behind your irises.

Your skin stays raised in goosebumps under the too-thick fabric of your jeans, the layers of clothes tightly trying to hold you together whilst only making your skin feel like it’s ready to rip apart. Exhaustion weighs heavy in your bones but your muscles haven’t seemed to lose their sense of adrenaline, and the way each different part of your body fights for your brain's attention makes you feel even more numb while you try to overcome the overload of sensation.

Every dark corner and unfamiliar noise on the way up to Jimin’s apartment has you flinching and holding onto his arm tighter and tighter, but he simply pulls you into his side and wraps his arm around you, pressing his lips to your temple as the elevator stops on his floor and he leads you down the hall.

The chime of the security system locking only serves to make you feel the slightest bit safer, and as much as it makes your head hurt to consider, you can’t help but remind yourself over and over that Jungkook is dead, and he can’t get near you anymore.

“You want some water? How is your head feeling?” You turn to look at Jimin as he gently pulls the jacket from your shoulders and slips it over the back of the nearest dining chair.

“I don’t think this headache is gonna go away with just aspirin.” You try to lift one side of your mouth into a smile but you lack the energy, and Jimin frowns at the emptiness behind your eyes. “My brains working way too hard trying to process this whole...this whole day. I don’t know what I’m meant to do, I just...I feel so numb, Jimin. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like myself again.”

“No one expects anything from you right now, _____.” Jimin steps forward to rub at your arm, and you feel sick to find that this kind of careful, weary comfort does nothing but make your skin crawl. You crave more from Jimin, the kind of consolation you know only he can provide you, and though the hurt flashes deep in his eyes before he can hide it, you’re recoiling out of his reach and taking a deep, shaking breath. “And you don’t have to try and force yourself to process this. Take your time, reflect on the way you want to feel, and we can go from there.”

You stay looking into Jimin’s eyes, soaking yourself in the underlying strength he’s always been able to hold even on his most tired of days, and trying your best to take some of that on yourself. And after a few moments of silence, you step forward and wrap your arms around his middle, closing your eyes when he returns your embrace and squeezes you tightly.

He holds you there. Long enough that you start to feel the way he’s holding the million fragile pieces you’d become, together in one piece in the palms of his hands. Achy bodied, you eventually pull back just far enough to look up into his face, and he immediately presses a soft kiss on the crinkle between your brows “What can I do for you, sweetheart?”

“I’d…really like a shower.”

He nods, smiling gently, and seconds later he’s pulling you through to the bathroom and leaving you momentarily to fetch a change of clothes from his room for you. Though you’d rather avoid it, your eyes immediately run over your reflection in the mirror, and you find yourself leaning in close as though you can search for the answers to your hundred and one questions somewhere in your hallowed eyes. There’s a few smudges of blood still on your chin and neck that you hadn’t managed to clean up completely, and the water from the tap is freezing on your skin as you scrub it raw.

When you finally stand from where you’d bent over the sink, whipping at your dripping chin, you make eye contact with Jimin behind you in the mirror, and it takes the heavy look on his face and the breathlessness taking over your chest to realise you’d started to gasp for air, eyes growing teary and aching.

“Oh, baby.” He drops the clothes and towel on the bench beside you, pressing himself against your back and slipping his arms around you. One hand lifts to cup the side of your face, thumb meeting a stray tear halfway down your cheek and swiping it away. “Shh.”

“I can’t...I can’t go back, Jimin.” You sob roughly as he holds you even tighter, keeping his eyes locked on yours no matter how much you blink or shake. “Everything I own, he’s tainted. My home isn’t my home anymore. I don’t have anything, I don’t know what I’m gonna do…”

“Shhh, sweet, silly girl.” Pulling you until you face him again, Jimin cups both your cheeks. “I’m right here. What’s mine is yours, _____. Always has been, always will be. No matter what you need, you have it. Even my heart is yours, _____. That’s never changed even for a second.”

“I love you, Jimin.” It’s not at all the way you’d hoped to have told him, feeling so out of sorts it’s hard to recognize your own reflection as yourself, but if anything has shown you that time is too short to bite your tongue over the way you feel, it’s today.

Jimin inhales, not a gasp but a deep, steadying breath, and his thumbs indent the soft parts of your cheeks as his hands tighten their hold on your face. Your fingers tangle in the hem of his shirt as he leans down closer, and you almost shut your eyes on instinct before your lashes flutter open again.

“I love you. So much.” Stroking over your cheeks, his thumbs trail down to your jaw before he slips one hand behind your neck, the other dropping to hold you tight against him with a palm pressed to the small of your back. “My darling girl. I love you more than you can ever know.”

Jimin’s lips meet yours like two waves crashing together, colliding against each other before blending together as one, and as your eyes slip closed, and Jimin guides your head to deepen the kiss, you finally get that feeling of safety and comfort that you’d been waiting for.

There is no goal to be made in this embrace, no race to be won. Simply the two of you locked so tightly together as you both give your entire soul to make the other feel all the things you want to say but can’t find the words for. Jimin’s hand cupping the side of your neck sweeps back, shifting your hair behind you, and soon his arm is holding you tight as his palm finds the nape of your neck, and the hand on your lower back relaxes and comes forward to hold you at the hip.

The skin of Jimin’s stomach is balmy on your palms where your hands have slipped beneath his shirt, searching for his warmth as you start to shiver in his arms, and he pulls away from you to press heated lips down over the tear tracks on your cheek.

His lips find yours with a soft press one, two, three more times before he simply rests his forehead against yours and holds you close for a moment, nothing but the sound of your two heartbeats to fill the silence. “Shower?”

“Yes, please.” You concede his pulling away from you, trying not to feel too hollow when his warmth moves away from your chilled skin, watching as he flicks the shower taps on with practiced ease, adjusting it to the best temperature and holding his hand beneath the stream to test the heat. “Will...will you stay with me?”

There’s not even a second thought crossing your mind before you ask, the sheer desperation to keep Jimin close at all times for the foreseeable future, something you don’t dare to deny yourself for the fear you may fall apart without him.

“Of course I will.” When you glance back up, Jimin is already looking at you over his shoulder, shaking the water off his hand before turning to close the bathroom door most of the way shut. Your hands reach for his shirt as he returns to you, and he doesn’t question you for a moment, simply lifting his arms above his head and letting you slip the fabric from him and drop it to the floor. He finds the buckle of his pants on his own, belt clanking on the floor with his shirt before he kicks the slacks to the side and soon he’s completely bare in front of you, both body and soul, and before you can think he’s reaching out to help you.

Kneeling on one knee, Jimin quickly and gently plucks open the button of your jeans before shuffling the too-tight fabric down your legs. He soothes the goose-pimpled chill that follows with a caressing hand as you lift each foot out of the jeans one at a time, instinctively using his shoulders to stabilise yourself and letting your eyes slip closed as he presses the softest of kisses along your inner left thigh, his hand cupping your calf as you find your balance again.

Your shirt and bra are handled in the same manner, Jimin’s tentative touches and soothing warmth seeming to cover every place you need it to, and when you’re down to just panties you take that step yourself, hooking your thumbs under the band and letting them drop to the floor before Jimin grasps your hand and pulls you into the steam-filled shower.

The water is almost too hot, the steam fogging up the glass walls and blocking out the outside world, and you finally allow yourself to relax into Jimin’s arms fully, the warm water streaming over the back of your hair and down your spine as your bare flesh presses to his completely. It's been so long since you’ve felt comfort to this extent, and you can help but hum into the base of his throat as his fingers run down the length of your spine to tickle circles into the small of your back.

Your arms are wound loose around Jimin’s hips, as you allow him to simply guide you himself, twisting the two of you side to side under the stream of water, avoiding your bandaged arm regardless of the waterproofed dressing. One arm releases you to reach somewhere behind you, and the sound of a bottle cracking open echoes against the tiles moments before you feel him rub his hands together.

Reaching up to pull your hair away up from your back, you look up as Jimin presses his lips to your forehead, hands finding the base of your spine and massaging the tense muscles lining your back to up and around the base of your neck. The water streams down between your bodies from the side where he’s turned you, slicking up the press and slide of him moving against you, and your eyes slip shut again as you simply enjoy the feeling as he washes the rest of your body.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you the way I should’ve been.” Your eyes snap open as you feel his fingers trace the outside of the bandage on your arm, and you can see the complete devastation in Jimin's face without even needing him to meet your eyes.

“Jimin.” You let go of your hair, trading it to hold his face until he finally returns your gaze, and you can’t help but press a kiss to his lower lip, unable to resist now that you’ve been given the chance again. “Jimin, I’m alive because of you.”

“You’re in this position because of me.” He pulls away from you, using his hold on your hips to push you back under the water until you’re forced to let go of him. He guides your head back under the stream further until every inch of your hair is drenched and then pushes you to turn until your back is to him. “Because of the way I acted. If I had been better, if I’d done the right thing and treated people the right way back then...none of this would have happened.”

“Stop.” You reach back to grab his arm, pulling it around you and urging him to hold you tight. “I dont...I can’t talk about things like this, please.”

Jimin spins you once more in his arms, eyes still sad but a twist to his mouth that tells you he’s doing his best to do as you ask, and you hold his gaze until you no longer can, hair rinsing out under the water.

He washes you from top to toe, cleaning every inch of you until you start to feel a little more human, a little more put together, and when he guides you to step from the shower it's straight into his arms and the fluffiest towel he owns before you can blink.

Nothing much else is uttered from there, only words unspoken that linger in his eyes as he dresses you and himself before tucking you into bed. And you simply lose yourself in those moments between consciousness and sleep, finding the only comfort you need in his arms and between his lips and yours.

**********

You’re torn from sleep by your own scream, mind unable to remember or comprehend the nightmare that had taken over you. Heart beating out of your chest, your eyes fly around the room before landing on Jimin’s worried face above you, and for a few seconds you simply stare at him as the ringing in your ears starts to subside and give way to the gentle murmuring of his voice as he does his best to reassure you.

“S-Sorry.” You sit up into his embrace with his help, sweeping the hair back away from your face and taking a shaky breath. Jimin stay’s close, pushing your hair behind your ear and blocking the outside world out as you slowly regain your composure.

“Don’t be.” He whispers into your cheek, nuzzling his nose against you and pulling you close as you both close your eyes and simply breath. You can hear the faint sound of the city below outside his bedroom window, but there is not yet any sunlight to break the darkness. “I’m here. Everything’s okay.”

You can’t explain the way you feel even to yourself, skin feeling too tight over your muscles and the sour sense of discomfort that has seemed to linger no matter the efforts of Jimin’s consolation. And nothing is truly as draining as the feeling of inescapable numbness that lines your consciousness, and you know it’s your brain struggling to process everything that’s happened and trying to give you something you can truly feel.

But all you can stand to feel is Jimin.

It takes a mere second to lift your head and press your lips to his, feeling his own part instantly in acceptance of your embrace while his hands press to your shoulder blades to help hold you where you’ve lifted yourself to wrap an arm around his neck. Yearning for more of his essence has you lifting yourself up onto your knees and crawling into the triangle of space between his own, and he cradles your waist as you move towards him.

Jimin’s hands tighten at your hips with the desperation building in the ardent presses of your lips and for a second you feel him start to pull back before his questioning hum is immediately silenced by your tongue trailing along his lower lip. All at once he withdraws from you, firm in his ignorance of your pleading whine as he pushes you back just far enough to stop your advances and fix you with a weary, confused expression.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Jimin pays no mind to the way you reach for him, holding you solidly in place as he studies your features carefully. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, I need to know you’re okay.”

“M’fine, J’min, please…” Your hands reach for him again and he lets you get close enough to touch, eyes still piercing as his brows pinch together in concern. “Just, I just wanna feel… something good. I–”

“Baby, I wanna take care of you.” He reassures you easily, finally letting you get close again without losing your eyes. “I want nothing more than to make you feel good in every way I possibly can. But I need to know that we’re doing things the right way for what's best for you right now.”

You gaze up at him quietly, fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck as he plays with the ends of your own. His brown eyes look black in the darkness of the night that paints his room, but there’s an uncompromising warmth that no amount of light or darkness has ever been able to hinder.

“Please.” Frustration starts to bubble in the pit of your stomach. The one thing you want right now so close yet so far in this moment that it has tears starting to prickle your tired eyes. Embarrassment whirls in the forefront of your mind but you’re too tired to care and, as a lonely tear manages to escape you, Jimin quickly surges forward and pulls you tight against him. Lips cover your cheeks in tiny kisses, and he hushes you gently as a whine is pulled out of your throat once more, only to be cut off but Jimin’s lips.

This kiss is different from the last. Heat now underlines the ardent press of his lips and he holds you close like he fears you may disappear into thin air should he release you. This time when you lift higher above him on your knees and slip a leg over his, his other hand follows to pull you more easily onto his lap, and his legs spread out beneath you as he slowly reclines back onto the bed.

You shuffle up, straddling his hips properly, and Jimin pushes your hair to one side when he reaches up to grasp your chin and pull you back down to his lips. You feel jumpy, almost like adrenaline, desperation in the way your hands press and grip at the hard curves of his shoulders and biceps, flexing when he’s got a handful of your thigh and is pulling you ever closer. His tongue meets yours with a tentative flick, teasing as you deepen the kiss and he sucks your lip between his teeth with a hum of pleasure.

His thighs twitch upwards when your hips start to roll slowly, without you even noticing, and the squeeze of flesh over your hip between his fingers has you jerking to a stop before pressing down again even harder, feeling the way his length starts to respond quickly under your ministrations as he groans into your mouth.

Breathlessness pulls you away from him as your face starts to flush, starting to become overwhelmed by sensation as he caresses every inch of your body with his touch. But he doesn’t give you a moment of pause before moving his kisses down your neck, and a firm hand eases your head to one side to expose the most sensitive spot that he’s never forgotten about.

The spot that made your breath hitch under a gasp, and your hips undulate just that little bit faster. That one spot that, combined with the hand that has now crept up to tease the stiffening peak of your nipple through the fabric of your nightshirt, has the crotch of your shorts starting to stick between the apex of your thighs.

Jimin is unhurried when he reaches up, pulling the end of your shirt up and over your head to expose your torso, and as he thumbs at the waistband of your shorts, he presses his face into the swell of your breasts to take a deep inhale of your scent before pushing against you to lay you back on the bed. You cradle him to your chest, moaning as his hands slip underneath your shorts to take two handfuls of your ass and encourage you to lift up just enough to quickly pull the fabric from your legs.

It’s instinct, the way your hands immediately reach for Jimin’s own waistband to even the scores but you’re interrupted by your own gasp as he pushes you down with a hand on your chest, the second slipping between your thighs to leave you scrunching his waistband between your fingers. His heated stare keeps your gaze locked with his as he runs his fingers through your folds, gathering the wetness on his fingertips slowly as you gasp against his lips.

His mouth pouts against yours gently, eyes never breaking focus, and the corner of his lips perks up when you swallow a moan at the sparks of pleasure starting to ignite as he strokes slowly over your clitoral hood. Fabric crackling under your hands, you try and pull his hips closer to yours, but your efforts prove futile when he easily pulls further away to kiss down over your breasts. The sky outside is starting to lighten in the early morning sunrise, warm light only just starting to peak over the horizon, and it means that when Jimin finally pulls back to look down at your body properly, you can’t help but instinctively turn your head to the side shyly knowing he can see every inch of you like this.

“So beautiful.” Reverent hands glide down over your breasts and waist to squeeze the extra flesh at your hips, and though you’re embarrassed to know you’re not the skinny young woman Jimin once knew, the heat in his eyes when you meet them has your skin tingling with excitement. His hands push back up to cup and roll your breasts until the peaks of your nipples are tight against his palms, and this time when he leans down, it’s to envelope one into his warm mouth and roll it under his tongue.

Your back arches up into his ministrations, and you gasp into the empty air far too loudly for this time of morning, teeth clamping down on your lower lip as Jimin hums tingles of delight into your skin until you’re thoroughly covered in goosebumps. He then switches to your other nipple to repeat the sensations until you’re writhing uncontrollably, and when you finally break and jerk against him to reach down and wrap your hand around his hardened length through his shorts, he pulls back with a hiss and reaches back down between your thighs instead.

You moan as he slips further down the bed on his stomach, far enough down to lay his head on your thigh, and you blush heavily as his eyes land on your core, shining with desire and clenching down in despair as your craving peaks. A gentle thumb presses on your flesh, easing back the hood of your clitoris and before you can mumble a complaint about his staring, his mouth is enveloping the sensitive nerve in warmth as his tongue grazes against it roughly.

His hand moves down to tease his thumb around your slit, gauging just how wet you are before his tongue swipes down over your folds to leave you even wetter, making the gentle prodding of his finger a little easier as he starts to drag it harder and harder over your entrance until the flesh starts to part for him on it’s own.

“Hnng-ah!” There is nothing gentle about the way your hands grab and pull at Jimin’s hair, unable to control yourself as the pleasure blooms between your hips way more intense than you expected, but he quickly eases up at your overwhelmed whine, using just the tip of his tongue to gently flick and stroke over the pulsing nub. “D-Don’t–”

Jimin pulls back instantly, hand moving to carefully caress your outer thigh as he eases your legs back together under his chin. Concern is clear in his eyes and you bite your lips, feeling silly to have lost yourself so fast and worried him. “You okay? You wanna stop, sweetheart?”

“N-no! I-I’m sensitive. I just–” Heavy blush is warming your cheeks and Jimin smiles up at you softly as he presses a kiss to your knee. “I-I havent...nobodies...not since you.”

A sweet smile breaks across Jimin’s lips at at the darling way you shyly whisper the words, and he reaches down under you to wrap strong arms around your waist and pull you back up to sit in his lap, hips pressing firm against each other as he uses the freedom of his hands to run soothing fingertips up and down your back.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders as he pulls you close, and you can't help but return his smile as he leans in and puckers soft lips against the crease of your elbow.

“Me too.” You blink down at him in surprise, but he simply grins up at you before easing the flyaway hair at the back of your head down with gentle fingers. “It’s always been you, _____. I don’t think I could bring myself to even think about someone else.”

“I love you, Jimin.” Your arms and legs wrap tight around him, and he squeezes you tight to his chest with a happy hum.

“I love you.” His reply is muffled by the way your lips crash against his, and this time when you reach down to tug at his shorts, he lets you. Leaning back to brace himself on one arm, he lifts his hips until you can both shimmy the fabric off and under the sheets somewhere, and when you finally wrap your hand around him, and he groans deep in your mouth, the heat fully envelopes your mind and every sensation is full of Jimin like you’ve craved for so long.

His abdomen tenses as he thrusts up into your hold instinctively, and his hand loops around your wrist to tug your grip away from his sensitive member as he pulls you up over his hips and scooches up the bed until his back meets the headboard, staring up into your eyes. He breaks your gaze only to reach over into the bedside table, the small bottle he procures leaving a smile on your face as he uncaps the lubricant and squeezes some into his palm.

The gel is warm by the time he spreads it over his fingers and brings it between your thighs, and you lift yourself up just enough, bracing yourself with arms wrapped around his neck as your hips twitch at the gentle touch. Liberally, he spreads it over your folds, running his fingers through and down to your entrance with a tilted smile, and his grin only grows when your hips jerk unintentionally.

Barely a minute can pass before the slight touches become almost unbearable, and you’re reaching down behind yourself to grasp him at the base. But he catches your arm behind you quickly, hand leaving your core to run whatever is left on his fingers down his shaft until his hand meets yours. And together, with the slightest tilt of your hips, the two of you ease him between your walls.

You don't even notice that you're holding your breath, the tension in your body fully encompassed by the way you gradually relax down onto him, and for a few long moments, all either of you can do is revel in the feeling of being connected again. And even though the moment has only just begun, it already feels like coming home, body opening up for him as though he’d never left.

Jimin’s eyes flutter as his head hits the wood behind him with a dull sound, and your eyes zone in on the muscle in his jaw that clenches the lower you slide onto him. His hand wrapped around your wrist behind you gives a squeeze, and as your hips nestle deep into his, his free hand lifts to grip your face as his hips give an unintentional roll, and it's like a punch to the stomach as air finally rushes down into your lungs when you gasp, thighs immediately clamping down around him.

“O-oh!” You’re barely strong enough to hold yourself upright, the intensity of finally being this close to Jimin again is staggering, and you can’t control yourself as your hips jerk down into his, leaving the two of you gasping at the surge of unprecedented pleasure.

“Shit.” Jimin’s fingers squeeze a little harder as he groans, and your fingernails dig in on his shoulder as you watch heat swirl in his eyes, any sense of composure he normally holds completely lost. He pulls you closer by the chin, the heat of his breath now brushing over your lips, and the arm behind you pulls you even further against him as your walls give a shuddering squeeze as they clench around him rhythmically. He can feel the way your breath hitches against his face, and the slow dance starts as the two of you groan and pant, hips rolling slowly into desperation against each other.

Blood is starting to rush through your ears as your movements become more depraved, and the way he pushes against all the right spots inside you leaves your memories a mere shadow in the distance. Nothing you’ve ever felt compares to this moment in his arms, and the shock to your body has you hurtling into the abyss as you lose all semblance of self, feeling as though you're dissolving into him.

Sweat coats the skin between you, hips gliding in slick movements as you writhe against him, and the moans vibrating through him hum right into your core, and you find yourself echoing him. He spears deep into you, another tilt of his hips and yours grazing the tip of his length deep into the front of your core, leaving you crying out as you finally fall against him, and with a sharp tug your lips are pressing to his and he’s drinking in the sounds that escape you like an elixir.

“H-nghh-ah!” Your eyes clench shut as you grasp for his hand behind you, fingers squeezing between his as he continues to roll his hips under you. And it’s with an impressive example of his restraint that he manages to slow them to an almost stop and pulls away from your lips to let you breath, throat burning around a shuddered breath that almost kicks into a sob with the moisture budding behind your lids.

“Baby.” Jimin eases you carefully back to the surface, and it takes you a few seconds to realise just how hard your panting against his neck, arms both around his neck as he strokes a gentle hand up your back and over the nape of your neck. “Baby, talk to me.”

“J’min.” Shock takes over as your voice wavers, and you swallow thickly as he eases you back from his neck to look into your eyes. Your core is still pulsing around him, but you’re grateful for the reprieve as the two of you start to calm down, needing just a moment to really soak it all in before you can revel in him too much.

“Breath for me.” You do as he says, taking a deep breath as he runs a gentle thumb under your eyes, and for a few seconds all you do is return his gaze as he runs his hands over your body. “Doing so well for me. So beautiful. Love you so much.”

The words are so quiet you could almost think he hadn’t meant to say them out loud, but the warmth in his eyes and the tilt of his lips say otherwise, and you give him a shy smile in reply, cheeks starting to heat. “I love you.”

Jimin pulls you down to his lips once more, and you meet him eagerly as the need in your centre returns with a vengeance. The hitch of a moan you feed into his lips is echoed by the pulse of his member deep inside you, and you lift yourself up just enough to feel the friction of his against your walls, smiling shakily as a hiss leaves his lips at your ministrations. The pleasure starts to take over the forefront of your mind again, and as your movements grow bigger and more eager, so does the knot starting to tighten between your hips.

“F-Feels s-so–” You sob, teeth finding your lower lip as you jerkily roll your hips into Jimins, and at his deep growl of pleasure your clit gives a heavy throb, and you fall back to brace yourself with hands on his thigh as you lift yourself with a debauched level of eagerness. Jimin’s hand drop to find your hips, fingertips deep in your flesh as he holds you tight and throws his head back in ecstasy. The way you can see his eyes roll back before he closes them tight, nostrils flaring as he clenches his jaw, leaves you throbbing, and had you been of sound mind, the lewd sounds of your hips pushing and rolling against each other might’ve made you blush.

“S-So good, I–” But you’re in far too deep now, a hiccuped sob leaving you every time your hips drop into his, and Jimin is hardly faring any better as he grunts and moans, the veins in his neck popping as he swallows thickly, and your eyes catch on his tongue as it runs over his lower lip. Chin dropping forward, his eyes pierce straight into you when they finally open, and you almost jerk to a stop as the sight has your core clenching tight with a shocking pulse of lust.

“H-ah! I’m–!” Shuddering over him, you try to get back into a rhythm that resembles controlled, but fail miserably as Jimin leans up and forward to brace an arm behind himself as the other winds around your waist. You follow his lead, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, but you fumble as he gives a strong tug and leaves you gasping as his length pierces straight into you, deeper than before. And he is unwavering.

“Come on, baby.” Deep slaps of your hips against his echo around the room, almost drowned out by your cries as your entire body tenses with shock, and you can feel more than hear his groan as he leans in to suck your lower lip between his teeth, teasing you into a messy, breathless kiss that you can barely hold for half a second. You’re weak against him, entire body thrumming with a pleasure that is so wholly encompassing that it catches you off guard, and all you can do is take it as he pushes himself back until he’s laying back against the pillows. You’re too far gone to notice the hand he lifts to his lips until it’s too late, fingers wet with saliva when they slip down against your clit, and you choke on your own breath. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

Your climax hits you like a freight train, not a sound or breath escaping you as you rip Jimin’s hand from between your thighs and fall down weakly against his chest. You can’t hear a single thing around the blood rushing through your head as you pull up and off Jimin’s length in instant oversensitivity, and he automatically catches you in his arms as he shushes your now heaving sobs.

“Good girl, baby. You did so good for me, sweet girl. God, you’re so beautiful cumming for me like that. Missed you so much–” Jimin brings you down, gentle kisses lining your cheek as he holds you close and whispers into your ear, and as you start to breath again, and your mind starts to slowly clear, you can feel the way your release eases down your folds and no doubt pools over his length.

“J’min.” You slowly pull back with a weak arm trying to brace you against the bed beside his head, and his eyes glint as he grins up at you, holding you carefully. He hushes you again, thumbing at your chin now as he pulls you in, and the kiss is tender against your swollen lips as he strokes his other hand down to your lower back.

You kiss languidly for a few minutes, the strength slowly returning to your limbs as you regain some energy, and ever so gradually, the kiss starts to grow more eager. And with the sheer burning heat of him right underneath you, it’s not hard to expect the way your body starts to desire the feel of him again.

He hisses as your hips undulate back down against him, the sensitive tip of his length grazing and parting through your folds and leaving you to moan against his lips as he twitches and grunts beneath you. The hand at your hip squeezes you tight, shifting to take a handful of your ass as he pulls you against him again before pulling away from your lips and fixing you with his heavy stare.

“Only if you’re sure baby.” You look at him for a moment, smile small but growing quickly as his thumb runs over your lower lip, and you quickly move in again to fix his lips against yours, and wordlessly you reach down to lift his length until it aligns with your core, grinning as he jerks and squeezes you in his hold.

Your jaw instantly drops, a heavy breath escaping the both of you as he parts your folds once more, and this time the slide is a little slower, a little more intense for you as he parts your walls and nestles deep inside, but it doesn't take long for you to start to rock back and forth over him, and Jimin hides his face in your neck as a high pitched sound of pleasure escapes him. Hips rolling, you close your eyes and focus on the sounds he makes as you pleasure him, engraving them in your mind and shuddering as they lift the hairs on the back of your neck.

Pulling back in an effort to ground yourself from becoming too lost in him too fast, you sit up slowly and start to properly move, pushing down on him right to the hilt before pulling away until his tip barely kisses the insides of your folds. The sunlight has peaked over the horizon in the distance, filling the room with a lavender glow that quickly intensifies as you ride him with increasing desperation, and soon his hands join your efforts and pull you against him as he gazes up at you heatedly. His lips are parted on his breath, and you bite down on your own as the sight of his eyes starting to roll again has your clit throbbing.

“Baby.” Jimin’s head flies back as you grind down on him hard, the delicious expanse of his neck now exposed to you as he cries out, and just by the sound of his breath hitching around his little gasps of pleasure and the way his hands are shaking, you can tell he’s starting to get close to his release. And so you double your efforts, slamming down against him hard enough to make you yourself cry out, eyes clenched shut as he brushes against the deepest spots. “F-Fuck!”

“Hmh-ah!” Your breath is punched out of you as you’re twisted to the side, your back hitting the bed unexpectedly, and your eyes shoot open to see Jimin now above you, length gripped in his hand as he squeezes the tip hard in a desperate attempt not to cum, while he growls as he pushes your legs apart and falls over you to claim your mouth once more.

His breath is scalding as it washes over your lips, his heaving gasps for air a reflection of the way the sight of him has you breathless, and while your lips stay pressed together he pushes his hips forward to connect the two of you once more. Your arms find their way around his neck as he lifts a hand to cup your jaw, and with the first drive of his hips your body is thrust upward closer to the pillows.

Elbows dent the bed on either side of your waist, and Jimin's hands slip under you to cup the back of your shoulders and hold you in place. A gasp escapes you at the way his length delves deeper still as his thrusts hasten, and he pushes his thighs further apart as he solidifies his position over you, leaving your own unable to resist as you’re spread wider and your hips tilt upwards automatically.

This minute change in position has your core completely victim to Jimin’s will. And with every drop of his hips into yours, your body vibrates with electricity as the angle drives him right over your most sensitive spots and deep within where even the slightest twinges of pain are left to ignite the burn of impending doom even brighter. You can merely hang on and try to breath as ecstasy mounts.

A heavy clench of your walls has Jimin’s hips faltering for just a second before he resumes with a deep growl that he muffles into your neck, and you hold onto him desperately as he shifts a hand to clasp the back of your neck instead, shifting his weight to his elbow and using the now free hand to curl your thigh even higher on his hip.

The heat between the two of you is stifling, the slickness of sweat coating your bodies as the push and pull intensifies, and as your lashes flutter and the feeling between your hips starts to mount, you pull him back by the hair at the nape of his neck and fix his heavy gaze with yours.

“J’min, please-ah!” He cries out as you feel him swell and throb at your centre, and his hips grind heavy against yours. The press of him catches your clit and you whimper in oversensitivity as you squeeze him tight and you feel your core clench repeatedly as the tsunami drowns you, his breath hitching and lashes fluttering as his hips stutter and then finally stop.

Warm wetness leaks out and down from where you’re connected, but you pay no mind to the way it pools on the sheets under you as you cup his cheeks and lose yourself in the kiss he pulls you into. You drink him in like nectar, returning his embrace fervently as his tongue teases at the tip of yours, and he leans his weight off to one side to twist his fingers through the hair behind your ear.

By the time he pulls away from you light has broken through the buildings and runs vertical lines through the blinds to decorate the walls and the side of his face, and you can’t help but to run fingers over them in reverence as he smiles gently down at you. A few more kisses find their way to your lips before Jimin manages to pull himself away, and regardless of the warmth of the sun's rays filling the room, you instantly feel cold without him.

But he doesn’t go far lifting himself just enough to wrap you in the sheet that’s found its way to the end of the mattress before lifting you smoothly into his arms and standing from the bed. You find yourself smiling as you wrap your arms around his neck and lean in to press your face to his warm skin, breathing in the scent of him that resounds so strongly as home even before.

Gentle kisses rain over your exposed skin as he walks to the bathroom, and your feet barely touch the cool tiles before the patter of water fills the room and you're deafened to the world as Jimin pulls your lips to his with a hand under your chin.

And you know that regardless of the trials that no doubt will still litter your near future, having Jimin by your side once more makes any hardship that little bit easier, makes you that little bit stronger.

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kinglazrus · 3 years

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Not Your Danny – Ch 6. Obsessions

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Word count: 3109

Eventually, Dani has to go back to Fenton Works. She stays with Sam and Tucker at the mall for a few hours, enjoying their company; but, as the afternoon wanes and evening draws near, their hangout time comes to an end.

"I can't believe my parents are making me stick to a curfew. I'm eighteen. I didn't have a curfew a month ago," Sam says when she notices the time.

"A month ago, they didn't know you part-time as a ghost hunter. I can't believe they made your curfew eight," Tucker says.

They manage to hit a couple more stores before Sam has to go, and even swing by the food court again to grab some food-to-go. By the time Dani goes home, she has four bags of new clothes plus a box of pizza all to herself.

"Here." Tucker leans across the passenger seat and holds something out to Dani.

When she takes it, shuffling the shopping bags around her arms so she has a free hand, she notices that it's a cellphone. Basic, with a touch screen.

"It's pre-paid. I have a bunch, so don't worry about it. Mine and Sam's numbers are on there, so you can text us if you want to hang out again."

Dani clutches the phone to her chest. "Thank you."

"No problem."

Dani waits until Tucker has pulled away before turning toward the house. It's hard to tell with the curtains drawn, and the harsh glow of the Fenton Works sign splashed across the building, but it looks as if the lights are off inside. A quick scan of the street shows that Jazz's car is gone, although she could have parked around back, or by the garage instead. Dani heads up to the front door and tries the knob. It doesn't budge.

Rather than trying the doorbell or knocking, she goes intangible and walks right through the door. Inside, the lights are off, just as she suspected. She doesn’t bother turning them on. With her enhanced vision, she can see perfectly well in the dark, albeit in dark, muted shades.

In the kitchen, she finds a note from Jazz: Mom and Dad out testing weapons. I will be at Spike's. There's food in the fridge. Dani doesn't know who Spike is.

When she peeks in the fridge, she finds a tin-foiled plate of meatloaf waiting for her, as promised. She doesn't bother with it, though, taking her pizza up to Danny's room instead. The house without the Fentons there feels... pretty much the same. Without the ambient noise of Jazz's typing or Jack's distant footsteps, the house is far quieter than Dani has ever heard it. Even at night, Maddie's chainsaw snores—which surprises Dani more than it annoys her—keep the house from falling completely silent.

Now, there's nothing but Dani's soft breathing.

It's quiet, and yet, the house feels no less empty than it always does.

She deposits the shopping bags at the foot of Danny's bed and takes her pizza to his desk. Since arriving, she has cleared away enough clutter that the box can fit, although it's a tight squeeze. One side of the box rests on top of the keyboard. She looks between the greasy cardboard and the keys, wondering if it might wreck them. There shouldn't be enough grease that it will leak through, but she decides not to risk it.

Dani lifts the box and shoves the keyboard aside. It smacks into the base of the Challenger's display case, sending it toppling over the edge of the desk.

"No!" Dani throws herself out of the chair, reaching for the model. Her fingers skim the glass but miss. Blind panic fills her and something in her chest bursts. A bright glow launches from her palms and surrounds the case.

The model jerks to a stop a mere inch from the floor.

Dani's heart hammers in her chest. The horrible realization of what would have happened if she missed drains the blood from her face. Careful not to make any sudden moves, she pushes herself onto her knees, arms still outstretched. A thin thread connects the light surrounding her palm and the display case. It tugs on her, like a sixth finger, each movement sending an unfamiliar ripple up her arm.

Telekinesis is not a rare ability among ghosts. A common power, like intangibility, invisibility, and flight, more than half of all spectral entities have some form of it. But unlike those first powers, telekinesis can rely heavily on a ghost's power level and general skill. Where one ghost may struggle to move a toothpick, another can uproot a whole tree with nothing more than a thought.

Dani, until this moment, could not use it at all.

When she flexes her fingers, the model drifts toward her. The moment she has it in hand, the light disappears, and the model's weight hits her. Heavier than expected, enough that her arms bow under its sudden presence. She holds the model in a tight embrace as she rises to her feet. With her elbow, she pushes the keyboard out of the way to clear space and returns the display case to the desk.

After a moment's consideration, Dani nudges the model closer to the middle of the desk. Even if it makes things tighter, she doesn't want that to happen again

She returns to the chair, but rather than eating her pizza, her focus stays on the model. It looks undamaged inside the case, still fixed to its wooden base. At a glance, it seems sturdy enough that it could hold up to a bit of knocking around. A hard smash to the floor would probably do it in, though. The thought makes her stomach twist.

With most of Danny's things, their importance still eludes her. Now that she has her own clothes, and a phone, it's starting to dawn on her why people like things. It's nice, to speak frankly. Being able to have something, to keep it somewhere and return to it, is a nice feeling. But then there are feelings attached to the items, too.

Jack said this model was Danny's favourite. Dani has no way of knowing if she is right about why it was his favourite. It was only a guess based on what she knew of her cousin, what he thought of his parents. Danny didn't smile a lot when it came to them, at least not as far as Dani saw. Maddie and Jack rarely came up during cousin bonding time unless they came after Dani and Danny while they were hanging out. But, sometimes, Danny would smile so bright at the mention of his parents.

If he had done well on a test and they congratulated him. If they took him to the planetarium. If they went stargazing recently. None of these things happened often, but when they did, and Danny told her about them, his smile would be so bright Dani found it hard to look at.

Thinking about her new clothes, Dani wonders if the smile she can feel on her face is just as bright as Danny's had been.

"I'm sorry I lost the music player you got me," she says to the Challenger. "I didn't realize how important it could have been." She shrugged it off at the time. Even now, what little guilt she feels over it stems from losing something that could have been dear to her rather than something that wasdear.

How many things has she lost that could have been important? She already knows the answer: far too many.

—

Jazz was distracted during the funeral. She tried to hide it, but Jack knew his daughter all too well. As she gave her final goodbyes to Danny, she kept wiping her eyes and looking over the crowd, her gaze searching. Jack looked over his own shoulder a few times, trying to see what Jazz was searching for. He couldn’t find it, obviously.

There weren't many people in the crowd. Immediate family; Sam and Tucker, plus their parents; Valerie came, as well, along with Casper High's vice-principal. Jack had no other family to speak of besides his wife and children—now child. And the only relative still in contact with Maddie, her sister, could not make it in time. Jack understood although it hurt.

Over the past few months, Danny had grown closer with his aunt. Jack wasn't sure when it happened, and it took him a while to catch on. Maddie and Alicia spoke on the phone at least twice a month since Alicia didn't have a cellphone or internet. It was standard practice for Maddie to drag one of the kids into the conversation to say hi. Jazz always went willingly. Danny usually complained.

However, at some point, his complaints stopped. If Danny caught Maddie on the phone, he would eagerly jump into the conversation. He even started shooing out whoever was in the room. Jack blamed it on teenage antics. It wasn't until Jack caught the tail end of one of their conversations that he realized something had changed.

Danny sat at the kitchen table, phone to his ear. When Jack entered, he sat up straighter.

"I'll try and bring it up next time I see her. Not sure when that will be, but her birthday's coming up." Danny paused as the person on the other end replied, then nodded. "Cool. Bye Auntie Alicia, love you."

"Alicia? Don't you think your mother would have liked to say goodbye before you hung up?" Jack asked.

Danny set the phone down on the table. "That'd be weird since Mom didn't call her. Is she even home right now?"

Now that Jack thought about it, no, she wasn't. Maddie went to the store nearly an hour ago to buy cookie fixings. "Good point!" Now that Jack was paying attention, he saw the phone on the table was Danny's cell and not the house phone. "Was she leaving you a message for Maddie?"

"No, I called her."

"Plans for your mom's birthday next month?"

"Nope." Danny stood up and pocketed his phone. "I'm going to Sam's. See you later."

Jack paid more attention after that. There were other phone calls, always the same, where Danny would find somewhere private to talk. Sometimes he clammed up when Jack walked in and quickly ended the conversation. Once, Jack thought he caught Danny crying. It was late. Jack himself had only gotten home a little while ago thanks to a particularly nasty ghost attack that day. For nearly twenty minutes, he and Maddie had chased the ghost boy, trying to catch him while he was down. Phantom was a damn good flyer, though, even when injured.

The first thing Jack did when he got home was check on the kids, and that's how he found Danny curled up beside his bed, his phone cradled against his ear. Every blanket in the room was pulled tight around him.

"I don't know if I can do it anymore," Danny had said. "It keeps getting harder, and today I just–" his voice cracked.

The moment that followed was quiet. Not a single sob escaped Danny, but his shoulders shook. Jack was about to step inside when Alicia's voice, strong and steady, so loud in the silence, came from the phone.

"You're gonna be okay, kiddo."

Jack didn't go inside. Maybe he should have. Danny asked several times when they would be visiting Alicia next after the phone call. Every time he asked was like a punch to the got, but Jack never spoke up. If Danny wanted to come to him, then he could. If he was more comfortable talking to Alicia about this mystery problem, that was fine too.

He'll come to me when he needs to. Jack kept telling himself that until the day Danny died.

—

Jazz hoped she might see Dani in the crowd. A small part of her whispered that maybe she had missed Dani, glanced away right as she appeared. But, considering how few people were in attendance, that seemed unlikely. Beyond that, if a halfa did not want to get seen, they would not be seen.

Which brought Jazz to another guest she expected, although did not welcome: Vlad. Her worrying proved pointless, though, when he never showed up. As the lingering crowd thinned, Danny's friends and loved ones saying their final goodbyes, Jazz searched the heads once more. No red beanie or glowing white hair, and no pompous ponytail.

At the first opportunity, Jazz pulled Sam and Tucker aside. "Have either of you seen Dani?"

"Uh... is this some kind of joke?" Tucker asked. He glanced none too subtly toward the freshly filled grave. Sam at least had more tact and waited for Jazz to elaborate.

"Dani-with-an-i."

"Oh." Tucker shook his head. "No. We've been trying to contact her, but there isn't a great way to reach her. Left some messages with some ghosts, but that doesn't help if she's not in the Ghost Zone right now."

"She isn't." Jazz checked on the whereabouts of her parents. They were nearer the grave, speaking solemnly with Angela and Maurice Foley. Most importantly, they were well out of earshot. "I saw her at Fenton Works last night, but she ran away."

"Damn." Sam lifted the black veil hanging from her hat, revealing red eyes and smudged makeup. "I hope she's okay. Did she say anything before she left?"

Jazz hesitated. Although the whole exchange only lasted a few seconds, it had yet to leave her mind, for reasons she was ashamed to admit. And yet, no matter how guilty she felt about her initial reaction to Dani, she could not forget about it.

"No," she said. "Dani saw me and bolted. She might have thought I was my mom since it was so dark."

"We'll have to keep an eye out for her. I don't if she would stay without Danny here, but it's not like she has anywhere else to go, either," Sam said.

"I will, too. I thought she might show up here, but..."

"Sammykins!" Pamela Manson called from the cemetery gate. She tapped her wrist, although she wore no watch. "There's a crowd forming, dear."

Jazz grimaced at the sight beyond the funeral gates. A small gathering of Danny Phantom fans stood on the sidewalk, some bearing signs, all dressed for mourning. It was the most inappropriate display she had ever seen. None of them had breached the cemetery, but Jazz suspected that was because of the hired security standing at the gate and not the onlooker's own sense of morality.

She dreaded what the crowd might do as soon as she and her family left.

Sam scowled. "I can't believe them. I get if they want to mourn the local hero, but this is such gross behaviour." She looked remarkably like her mother as she hissed those words, her lip curling in disgust as she glared at the onlookers.

Jazz agreed wholeheartedly.

"I'll text you as soon as my mom takes me off house arrest," Sam told Tucker. "Jazz, let us know if you see Dani again. I'll sleep a little easier knowing she's alright."

Jazz nodded and gave her guarantee.

—

Vlad has lost obsessions before. Most well-balanced ghosts have. Any experienced ghost knows to have a few central obsessions and a handful of smaller ones. Latch on to a passing interest hard enough and all it takes is a little dedication to turn that into a full-blown obsession. Then, once it becomes tedious, let it go and move on to something else.

There have been some obsessions that he lost against his will. He once had a bonsai tree, a nice juniper, that he loved dearly. It went up in flames with his Wisconsin mansion the first time Danny destroyed his home. Vlad felt the loss like a bitter sting. At the same time, his determination to capture Danny for himself only grew, overwhelming painful prickle. Every slight against him only fuelled his desire more. Never had he fought so hard for something without immediate success. It made the game that much more fun.

And it was a game. Danny learned fast, but there was so much he didn't know, couldn't do. It was so easy to toy with him, egg him on, guide him to new abilities. The potential within him was limitless. Vlad could have overwhelmed Danny in seconds but there's no fun in that.

Perhaps that's why it was so easy for his other obsessions to slip away without him noticing.

He drifts through the halls of his mansion, familiar yet alien at the same time. On the landing, he drags his hand along the bannister, dust gathering against his fingers. His limb flickers, wispy blue, jumping sporadically in and out of intangibility. He designed the balustrades himself, inspired by the first twisted haunts he discovered within the Ghost Zone.

The wood cracks and splinters as his fingers solidify while passing through.

Before him, the front hall looms. Vast, open, a point of pride in every mansion he has owned. Better to impress the guests with a grand display upon entry. Now he finds it suffocating. All his hours of work, his obsessions wasted. Where simply looking upon his walls once filled him with pride, now they sicken him.

There is nothing for him here.

He went to such desperate lengths. Threats, bribery, manipulation, cloning. Nothing ever worked. Each new failure cut him deeper, made him more desperate, more eager. No. No, that wasn't right. He was subtle, clever, controlling an oblivious pawn in a cruel game. The winner, the mastermind. The cloak, not the dagger. The cat, not the mouse. But still always losing. Surely something he had to work this hard for, harder than anything in his life, had to be worth it.

And then, in an instant, in the span of an ectoblast, his obsession died.

"Maddie." Vlad moans, voice breaking. "Maddie. Maddie. Maddie." His please reach no one who cares. All his attempts to reach out, reforge that connection they once had, have been rebuffed.

"Maddie." Once, not so long ago, the sound of her name alone was enough to light his core ablaze.

But when, when, when, how, somewhere along the way that warmth died.

"Madeline, I need you." Please, please. Don't leave me to this. Don't go.

The cold wind whips against him, not unusual for an October day, but it startles him, nonetheless. He hunches halfway down the drive, the empty halls of his mansion long behind. He could return home, but... no. Home won't help him now.

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#phic phight #phic phight 2021 #notyourdanny #phanfic #phicc #dp fanfiction #danny phantom #dani phantom #danielle phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #trans danny #trans danny fenton #nyd chapter six

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lukatheselkie · 3 years

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Helltalia-inc - Space, stars, moon / “You’re better than you think.”

@helltalia-inc

Ahhhhh I had so much fun with this one! I had no idea where I was going when I started it, but I couldn’t be happier now! I’m probably going to write more on this in the future, I love it so much!

I only sort of used the first one, but I think it’s enough to include it?

Pairing: Sweden x Prussia

I have included nonbinary Prussia, along with mute, autistic, and sensory issues Sweden. Human-verse (sort of? You’ll see what I mean)

It starts with an unexpected encounter. Berwald is washing his plate in the sink when he sees a light streak across the sky. He rushes outside to get a better look at it. He doesn’t slip anything on his feet, because he’s expecting it to be a shooting star. He’s taken by surprise when it falls behind the trees, disappearing into the forest. Fueled by curiosity, he wonders toward the treeline. He knows he shouldn’t go in. Not at night. Not without shoes. Not without something to protect himself. But all of those things seem less important than figuring out what just landed. So he finds himself in the dark forest, looking around for anything out of place. Eventually he finds what he’s searching for, but it’s… Well, it’s underwhelming, to say the least.

He stumbles over it, actually. It’s so small, he doesn’t notice its existence until he’s on the ground from tripping over it. He stands back up, brushing himself off. He kneels next to the object he tripped over, and furrows his brows. He’s not certain, but it appears to be emitting a faint light. He grabs a stick and pokes at the sphere, but nothing happens besides it rolling away. He glances up at the sky, and determines this is roughly the area he watched it go down. So this tiny sphere must be what he’s looking for. Right? He flips over his hand and positions it closer to the object, testing for heat. Nothing. Against his better judgment, he slips it into the palm of his hand, wrapping his fingers around it tightly. It’s so smooth it’s unnerving. He shakes his head, and makes his way back home.

Once inside, he changes his clothes, including his socks, then sets the sphere on the counter. He stares unblinking at it for at least a minute, but it only shines back at him. What is the source of that eerie blue glow? Does it have batteries? He can’t seem to make out a seam. It’s definitely man-made though. Nothing is naturally that perfectly spherical. After an hour of trying to figure it out, he shakes his head at himself. He’s had a long day. He’s probably hallucinating! This thing doesn’t actually exist, and he’s been watching his blank counter space for an hour. Still, he grabs the object and takes it to his room. He lays it on his nightstand before curling up under the blankets. Maybe this will all make sense in the morning. It’s late. Or maybe the sphere won’t be there in the morning, and he’ll have to go back to his therapist. He doesn’t have enough energy to focus on any of that right now though. He closes his eyes, and lets sleep overtake him.

When Berwald rolls over and comes face-to-brighter-sphere with the object in the morning, he nearly falls out of bed. He shoves the covers off of himself, and frantically reaches out for his glasses. Once they’re securely on his face, he starts another staring contest with the sphere. It’s changed. For one, it’s slightly larger now. For two, it’s pulsating, which concerns him to no end. For three, it seems to be slightly changing colour? Light blue to medium blue to deep blue to medium blue to light blue to—he shakes his head hard. He should just get rid of this thing before it combusts. He scoops it up, and it beeps at his touch. Of course, this causes him to drop it, and it beeps angrily at him.

There’s an angry sphere on his bedroom floor. Should he just move? That might be the best thing to do. Still, he can’t help but look at it again. He wonders if maybe dropping it wasn’t the best idea, and picks it up. It beeps once more, then falls silent. Okay. He has a weird, glowing sphere that sort of acts like a baby in his hand. What the hell is he supposed to do with it!?

Before he can figure that out, it turns green and a… keyboard…(?) appears in the air. No, that’s not quite right. It’s a hologram. But the keys aren’t anything he recognizes. He shakes his head in confusion at the thing. What’s he supposed to do with that? A voice, he thinks, speaks to him through it. He has no idea what is being said. He understands the sigh though! He shouldn’t be as excited about that as he is. Another beep, then the same voice, but in English this time. “Stupid piece of-” They take a deep breath. “No. This is my fault. Don’t blame the technology. Hello? Is anyone there? Can you kindly answer?” Berwald taps one of the keys. “Oh! Good! Someone’s there! Can you hear me?” Again, he taps. “Alllllllright. Can you understand me?” Another tap. “Listen! If you don’t stop that, I’m going to arm this thing!” He doesn’t tap this time. He doesn’t want to risk that. “So you can understand me. Why didn’t you just say so?”

Normally, this is where Berwald would write that he’s mute and it’s rude to ask someone why they won’t talk, especially in a situation like this, but he doesn’t know if this thing has a receiving camera or not. So, he grabs his phone, navigates to the text-to-speech app he installed for similar encounters, and types in I don’t speak. When it says those words, there’s a soft noise of surprise from the… voice.

“Oh! Sorry. How rude of me. Everyone here speaks, so I just assumed… Sorry. Really. You’re on Earth, right? What an interesting planet!” Berwald can’t decide if he’s curious or angry. Interesting planet? Indirectly, the voice told him he’s “interesting” for not speaking. He has a feeling that word means something closer to “I’d like to observe” for them. Still, he’ll give them a chance. What do you want? “Oh! Right! That’s easy! I’d like my drone back. Please. You humans say that when you want something, right? Please?” It’s said to be polite. “Ah! Whatever that means. Well? Can I have it back? I was aiming for Mercury.” Berwald’s brows shoot up. “What? Is that not possible?”

Apparently, this thing does have a receiving camera. Which makes him wonder… Did you watch me sleep? “That’s not an answer to my question.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I can see I’m not getting an answer until you know. Yes. I watched you sleep. Humans are such interesting creatures! Why’d you take off your face glass thingies to sleep though? Seems like you need them to see. Why not wear them while you sleep, so you can wake up seeing?” The voice obviously knows very little about humans. They break. And no, it’s not possible to give your drone back. I don’t know how to use this thing. The invisible speakers crackle at the heavy sigh the… alien(?) does. “That sucks. I’ll have to come retrieve it myself. Please wait where you are! I’ll be there soon!” And it goes back to being a sphere. One that’s no longer glowing, in fact.

What, exactly, just happened? He flips the object over and over and over in his hands, trying to find a seam again. Nothing. But obviously there’s one somewhere. A speaker, a camera, a hologram maker, a GPS, and who knows what else is stored in this thing. He should take it to the government. He should throw it back into the forest. Whatever he does, he shouldn’t leave it in his house until the alien comes to retrieve it. But that’s exactly what he does. It’s probably because he’s in shock. He places it back on his nightstand, then continues the day like nothing ever happened. Cook, clean, knit, cook, clean, crochet, cook, cle-

“HETHAM.” Well that’s not part of his after-dinner cleaning. He dries off his hands and walks out the side door, closest to where he heard the sound. It’s night again; about twenty four hours after first seeing the sphere in the sky, to be exact. There’s a man dangling from his gutter system. He knows immediately this is the alien he spoke to earlier. Berwald wasn’t expecting him to be so attractive. Even upside down, he’s enchanting. His hair is white as snow, his skin only a few shades tanner, and his eyes a shocking ruby red. His facial and body features are decently sculpted as well. He shouldn’t be looking at his guest that way! He should be helping him down! Them? He’s not sure what pronouns an alien that looks like a human man goes by. Anyway, not important! He rushes to aid them, trying to internalize the pain at seeing his expensive gutter system ruined. Once they’re on the ground, upright, they give him the biggest grin he’s ever seen. It makes his cheeks hurt. “Thanks! I think that’s what you use here? I’m very new to Earth customs! Where’s my drone?” Berwald glances at the sky discreetly, looking for some sort of transportation device. “Oh, you won’t see anything. I teleported here! I was meant to appear next to my drone, but I guess I miscalculated.” Berwald scrunches up his nose in distaste. He’s thankful for the miscalculation. Having an alien appear in his room would be too much for him to handle.

“Hey, why don’t you talk, anyway? I thought only humans that couldn’t hear didn’t speak.” He rubs at his temples; he already has a headache. This is why he lives alone! People are loud. Animals are loud. He’s sensitive to that. His therapist told him he has Hearing Sensory Overload, but it feels like more than that. “Why aren’t you responding? Do you not have that cool speak thingie? Here, I’ll help!” They swipe something from their pocket, and hold it up to Berwald’s forehead.

“How annoying.” “They’re so loud, it hurts.” “I’m mute. That means I don’t talk, hearing or not.” “God, they’re attractive!” “Damned hot.” His internal voice echoes out all at once. “Enough!” He thinks, hearing it at the same time. “I don’t want your mind-to-speech thing invading my thoughts anymore. Turn it off.” The alien sticks their bottom lip out in a pout, but turns the device off without complaint. Thank you he mouths, signing it at the same time. The alien glances down at his watch, then nods. Probably a universal translator of some sort.

“You’re welcome! I didn’t know humans could think so many things at once! I guess it makes sense. You’re about as smart as my kind. Though you haven’t even started on a lot of the technology we’ve perfected.” They shrug then walk toward the door Berwald came out, letting themself in. The Swede follows after, deciding he’s going to un-learn English so something like this doesn’t ever happen again.

“Oh… You live… Modestly.” They grimace at the woodstove in his kitchen. This causes Berwald to bristle. That’s his pride and joy! It’s been in his family for generations! He brought it back from the dead! “Hopefully this is just a little vintage corner!” It is, in fact, not. The rest of his house is similar to his kitchen; outdated but solid. “Oh… Well, at least you’re bound to have a cat or a dog! Most humans do! Come here, kitty kitty kitty! Or puppy! Come here!” Berwald shakes his head slowly at them. “No?” Their shoulders slump. “What a lonely life you must lead.” That makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. He’s not alone! He has his family. Both chosen and blood.

“Hey. You’re better than you think. You’re worth more than you think. I understand why I lost control of my drone here now. Sometimes, our technology messes up when there’s a lot of sorrow around.” They step toward him with an extended hand, but don’t touch him. “You don’t have to be miserable just because you live in an overwhelming world.” Their words are so earnest, it makes his heart ache. No one’s ever noticed that before. No one’s ever mentioned his punishing himself for being so easily overwhelmed. But this… this stranger immediately knowing? It causes tears to come to his eyes. He wipes at them quickly, but it’s too late. “You don’t have to hide them from me. How long have you been hurting?” That’s a question he doesn’t know the answer to. How long has he been hurting?

Months later, Berwald returns home to his partner Gilbert with a diagnosis for Autism Spectrum Disorder. It’s thanks to them that he was even considered for it. After their customary welcome home hug and a bit of quiet excitement at finally knowing, Berwald settles next to the large fish tank they recently bought together to knit. As he watches the fish chase each other, he’s filled with a warmth he wouldn’t have recognized before Gilbert crashed into his life; quite literally, might he add. It seems both like yesterday and years ago that they teleported into his gutter system and broken the wall he had so carefully constructed over years within a matter of minutes. But it was the first day of many he felt actually seen, instead of glanced over. And Gilbert was always the source of that feeling.

After he had broken down that day, Gilbert had insisted they stay to help him. Neither of them had expected to fall in love, but they did. Gilbert visits home commonly, but the good thing about having a partner that can teleport anywhere in the universe in an instant is that Berwald never has to go to bed alone. And he always has physical support when he needs it, even if Gilbert is a galaxy away. That’s thanks to the drone that started all of this. He still doesn’t understand it, but at least he can call for Gilbert whenever. He might abuse that power a little too much. He just can’t help it! Gilbert makes him so happy.

“I made your favourite meal. I knew how anxious you were about this, so I started cooking the moment you left. You do too much for me. It’s about time I paid you back. I love you. So very much.” They nuzzle their nose against Berwald’s ear, then his forehead, then his nose. He rolls his eyes, signs kiss?, and presses his lips to Gilbert’s when they nod. He lets out a contented sigh when they pull away. “Come eat. You can knit and watch the fish later.” They pull him up, and he goes willingly. It’s strange, having someone to share his daily routine with. But it’s definitely not unwelcome, even if it is much different from what it used to be. And ever-changing, for that matter. Life with Gilbert is always a surprise.

#helltalia-inc #hetalia #aph hetalia #APH Sweden #APH Prussia #SuPru

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rainey-staerie-daize · 3 years

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02.12.21

Today was a bitch.

I finally snapped on Bry about keeping the family laptop in his room.

Mom said it and its charger are supposed to stay out here in the common areas, but every time he gets a hold of it, I don’t see it ‘til Sunday when he leaves for his dad’s house. Also, during a conversation with him earlier, Mom yelled from the living room about him going back to class, and we just looked at each other as he yelled back that he was. He was actually a few minutes late because he was playing Roblox, but he wasn’t about to tell Mom that. And I didn’t either, because I didn’t wanna start a fight, but I almost wish I did.

Xan wanted to charge his school laptop, but the only charger out here was for the family one, so I yelled for Bry, who’d taken his by mistake. And when he came out here to swap out the two, I yanked the family one out of his hands and put it on top of the printer next to me.

“So you want the family Chromebook to die?” (Mom’s spread the idea around here that the more something dies, the shorter its battery life gets. No idea if it’s true or not. Things might just wear out as they get older.)

I didn’t know what to say, and he stormed off.

I had enough, and after a second, stormed after him.

I yelled at him for being defiant as all Hell, and at some point I asked him if he was in school, or playing “with [his] stupid Roblox friends.” He said it was Roblox, and that the mic was on. Oops. He tried to shut the door on me, but I wedged myself in there, and shoved the door open. He got off the door, and I flew across the room and almost landed on the pile of toys (good thing I didn’t, because if I’d gotten seriously hurt, I usually don’t have the nerve to ask for medical attention).

Ended up wrestling him for the laptop (because nobody in this house seems to understand anything unless there’s physical force for some reason), which got pulled kinda hard, and he tried to kick me at some point, but I used my body weight against him and won. It was a struggle, because he’s apparently as strong as I am. Don’t know how, but he is.

Brought the laptop to the living room and set it next to the charger, and limply picked up one of Xan’s writing books, ready to continue reorganizing the desk, and I just fucking threw it and screamed because nobody ever listens to me. Not at the top of my lungs, and not for more than a second or two, but it briefly woke up Mom. And as she’s yelling to know what’s going on, I don’t respond as I open the door and leave.

Walking around the neighborhood was okay, I guess. Left the neighborhood onto the busy street we live near. Walked down a way that was kinda picturesque, with tall-ass trees. Saw a zip-lock baggie on the ground with two burritos in it, and came across a wash and an empty-feeling intersection.

Was kinda hot and disoriented after a while because I had left my mask at home and was breathing into my shirt for appearance’s sake (because I know damn well I don’t have COVID). Eventually, I decided to head back, wondering if anyone even came looking for me or if Mom had fallen asleep.

Got home, and was home for a few minutes (or half an hour? hard to tell) before Skye came through the door. Apparently, she was looking for me because “I can’t sleep apparently!” I guess my scream woke her up. She said she couldn’t find me, I told her I left the neighborhood, and she said she kinda figured I would and looked both directions. She couldn’t find me because I walked quite a ways down only the one by the Arco, which she told me was where she thought I was. Great minds think alike, I guess. She grabbed one of the last two ice cream cones in the freezer and went to our room, and I planned to take the other when I went out again.

Bry had taken the laptop and the charger off of the printer and was in his room playing on it again. No lessons learned here, it seems.

Used the bathroom, grabbed my flannel, hat, and compression socks because I like being a vampire, and left again at 4:20. Haha, LOL, blaze it.

Went a different way this time. Came across several neat things that I would’ve liked a pic of, but I didn’t bring my phone with me. I got used to the speed of the Chromebook, so now my phone just infuriates me. Saw an owl on a second-floor windowsill with eyes that seemed to follow me, and I toyed with the idea that the eyes were security cameras and the head would follow me as I walked away, but I was wrong about the head turning. Saw more than one playground with caution tape, and people at the park regardless, a house that had multiple owl decorations, plenty of neat architecture, and a park I didn’t know was nearby. Not like a tiny one for the neighborhood, but a BIG one. Lots of space. Signs said it doubled as a drainage ditch.

I thought the stairs leading into it would make a nice pic, with the orange late afternoon glow, but like I said, no camera. Wandered around for a bit. Thought I saw a bike in the distance and wanted to check it out, so I shielded my eyes from the sun (’cause the hat doesn’t do shit near sunset), but it wasn’t there when I got there. Checked out a map of the wash trail and tried to remember the names of the streets I passed, but no dice. Listened to the ice cream truck that only turned on its music after it saw me walking, and heard it move between different areas of the surrounding neighborhood. Just stood and looked around for a while, and it was nice. No siblings, no Mom, no time constraints. Full autonomy.

After a while, I started feeling kinda chilly, and I had to pee, so I headed home. Didn’t stop and observe my surroundings nearly as much, but I noticed the sun going behind some clouds and the sky turning a subtle rainbow. The park felt much more melancholy without the orange glow, but sunset always comes eventually. All good things come to an end.

Got home at 5:30, and the house is nearly dark. Whenever everyone is distracted by phones and Mom’s asleep, everyone forgets to turn the lights on.

It was okay, I guess. Skye was asleep again, and Bry came out of his room eventually. I forget if it was explained to me when I came home the first time or the second time, but I had apparently somehow damaged the keys to the laptop. Half of them wouldn’t work. Cue very low-key panic, which would’ve been more had I not been just absolutely tired of everything. I use this thing for SCHOOL for crying out loud! Well, that and Tumblr, but seriously?!

I asked to take a look at it, but I never got it.

Had to deal with Xan peeing on himself in Mom and Kare’s room, which Mom blamed on me taking too long in the bathroom once she woke up. I never actually used the toilet in there yet, was just taking two minutes to wash my hands, and Xan never came to this bathroom, but I don’t think she would’ve cared if I’d told her.

After I checked on Kare in the other bathroom, I snagged yet another of my compression socks on that damn staple by the door. I swear, it’s evil.

Finally got to take a look at the laptop, and concluded that it was the crooked hinge causing the issue, and tried to bend it back into place. Didn’t work. After a couple tries I accidentally scraped it kinda bad with the very sharp tool, and Bry messed around with his Bluetooth keyboard for a sec, making me think it was more broken than I had initially thought, and I almost cried.

At some point, I discovered that Kare not only disobeyed me when I said get out of the bathroom when Xan’s bathing, but Xan also splashed most of the floor outside the tub. Once again feeling like nobody listens to me, I decided to just let my feelings fester and try being mute again. Slapped another x of electrical tape over my mouth for a bit while Bry scolded the littles. I think I made it a couple hours before Mom told me to take it off. And I did then, because I was finally in an okayish mood then, but that’s later.

It was around this time in the story that Mom was woken up, and I moved my laptop operation into the bathroom. If I could get this fixed, then she would never have to know about it, and I would avoid getting yelled at. I decided to Google the problem (which I had to use the on-screen keyboard for), and I tried an EC reset. It worked.

Handed it back to Bry, because he was civil about giving it to me to fix and he was in the middle of some anime, and he asked if he could hug me. I’m not very comfortable with hugs, or a lot of emotions actually, so I just kinda sat there, but I appreciate that he thanked me.

I watched shorts on the TV, Kare joined me, and I barely started Up before Xan fucked with me by using the other remote to turn the TV off. Ended up starting up a different movie, that he got to pick. Mom’s glasses arrived, I told her about the pee via whiteboard, and she eventually got me to take the tape off. She has no idea about the laptop, and probably not that I left the house for a while. I let Bry know that I want to use the laptop for school on Saturday, and he gave it to me shortly before dinner, to my surprise. Said something about not being able to play with his friends until Sunday, and he’ll be at his dad’s then.

All in all, a Hell of a day, but I got some serenity for a little bit.

#Raine's daize #I think this is the longest I've ever taken to type a post #someone should probably teach me how to put things under the cut #or I could just Google it #sometimes Skye and I forget that we have the world's largest information source at our fingertips: the internet

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eastertag · 4 years

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@tracybirds gift for @overlordraax

Dissonance

Happy Easter @overlordraax! Thank you for your wonderful prompts and I hope you enjoy the read!! Thank you as well to @ak47stylegirl for your organisation of this fun event!! Be well!

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Just sitting on the piano stool was enough to calm Virgil’s racing mind and fidgeting fingers after a long, hard day of rescues. A day when he was too caught up in heartache to concentrate on anything arduous, when all he could do was form the familiar chords with his hands and lean into them. He allowed them to ring, I … IV … V … I, first in C major, then in A minor, G major, F major – the same chord progression he had been acquainted with since he was a child, played over and over again.

Eventually, the music restored his soul enough to move on to scales and arpeggios, still friendly and familiar to his ear. A juxtaposition to the way he felt inside.

He needed more, the repetition that had been a soothing balm becoming tedious and filling him with anxiety. It matched the way his mind replayed the events of the day and he knew he needed to break free from the pattern.

Virgil began to perform.

An outpouring of grief, slow and soft, the sustained notes holding his soul aloft as he reflected on the mission. As tears gave way to anger, the music shifted, the tempo increasing as his breathing quickened, to rising crescendos and structured dissonance that he could pour his heart into. The pitch rose as hysteria bubbled in his throat, his mind whirling as the musical phrase repeated again and again and again.

An electronic trill caught on the notes, discordant friction in the soundscape and changing the musical form he was sculpting out of melody and rhythm.

Virgil opened his eyes and glared at the holoprojector, the interruption ensuring he still felt jumbled up inside. There was no John hovering above the conversation pit however, just a ring of lights slowly orbiting in the air.

“I must request you stop this.”

Virgil’s sour mood took a turn for the worse as he stared at EOS. She didn’t know what she was asking, but his self-control was frayed and he couldn’t help the snapping response that fell from his lips.

“You can’t make me.”

The lights that marked EOS’s presence flashed and the holoprojector died. Virgil turned back to his music and if he banged on the keys a little harder than necessary, well, no-one was around to call him out on it.

“You must stop.”

He yelped and jolted backwards as EOS leapt into view in front of him over the piano itself.

“I can’t.”

“You must.”

Virgil frowned. EOS was rarely so insistent on her perspective when it came to things she didn’t understand. Her primary function was to play, and although John tried to keep her contained, her drive to seek out novelty and experiment with new ideas meant the family was used to narrating their daily lives as she peppered them with questions.

This was not the kind of request EOS usually made.

Virgil closed his eyes, knowing he would need to put aside his own emotions for the time being.

“Can you explain further, EOS?”

Instead of replying, her image was replaced by a projection of Virgil’s own biometrics.

“Your blood pressure and breathing rate have both increased. I am detecting a loss of stability in your extremities and your hormone production indicate the inducement of severe stress in your body.” She paused, allowing Virgil to digest her words. “The only stimulus in the last hour has been your piano. You must stop.”

The emotion swelled inside Virgil, bitter on his tongue and his heart constricted. He looked past EOS’s display and returned to the familiarity of pounding scales. A placeholder only – and no way to allow the pain that rested deep in his gut to leech from his core, through his skin and out into the air. As long as EOS was there, it couldn’t be released. He didn’t have the words to explain to her what was truly wrong, couldn’t bear to battle over the precise meanings of grief and anger and pain.

“Virgil, please,” she said, her voice ticking up a by a perfect fourth as she spoke. Her tone was exact and unwavering most of the time, and Virgil knew the sudden change was an appeal of pathos – as much as EOS’s programming could allow.

His vision blurred as he continued to move his hands across the keys, plucking the various forms from memories of long ago. He ignored the watery, laboured breathing that accompanied his music, ignored the fingers that slipped off the black keys and soured the notes even more. Anything to ignore that creeping guilt that told him to explain to EOS what was wrong.

“Virgil.”

He opened his eyes in shock, staring at the brother EOS had gone to fetch.

“Are you okay? EOS said you were in distress.”

John looked confused, assessing Virgil quickly as he looked him up and down.

“I’m fine.”

“No,” said John, now frowning. “No, you’re not. Your stress hormones are off the charts.”

“I said ‘I’m fine’,” said Virgil. His voice reverberated around the room, mixing with the piano. There was no more energy for scales running up and down the keyboard. Instead harsh, angry notes grouped themselves together under his direction. He didn’t care about chord progressions or musical theory, he only cared about his emotions trapped inside being lanced from his soul.

“Virgil, calm down,” said John.

Clashing discordance rang through the room as Virgil slammed his hands down.

“Leave me alone, John,” he shouted. He could hear footsteps running towards the living room, and turned away. His eyes were burning from both exhaustion and the effort to keep back his tears. “Take your damn computer virus and leave me be.”

He stood abruptly, the stool falling backwards with a bang.

“That was Mom’s.”

“And now it’s mine,” snapped Virgil, the hot rush of anger painting over the hurt on John’s face.

He pushed past Gordon, who had skidded into the room with wide eyes.

“Get out of the way,” he muttered, trudging past him.

The silence followed him all the way to his suite.

“Virgil.”

He should have known she wouldn’t let it lie.

“EOS, not now, I’m…”

He couldn’t find the words. They stuck in his throat. He could hear the sound they made, the sharp staccato of rash anger, the modulation between grief and guilt. Without his music holding him together, he crumpled onto the soft sofa and let himself cry.

“Virgil.”

EOS could sweeten her voice when she chose, could shape it so that its melody became soft and smooth.

“I wish to make reparations for my actions.”

Before Virgil could reply, a jaunty rag played from his speakers. Bright syncopation and cheery colour exploded around him.

“Mute,” he snapped.

The music sat unresolved, weighing down his heart all the more.

“You can’t make me feel better just by playing a happy tune, EOS. People died today. You can’t just forget that.”

“You could not have done more.”

“I know.” Virgil sat up slowly, making eye contact with the holo. “But I wish I could have. And I know what their families are feeling.”

He shuddered, the old memory still recalling fresh pain. The seeping wound that he couldn’t heal no matter how desperately he painted over it, no matter how loudly he played to drown out the sorrow. And now a new family would learn to live with that.

Because they hadn’t been enough.

“You are upset again. I sought to change that. Music does not help.”

“It’s not about changing my feelings, EOS,” said Virgil quietly. “It’s about expressing them.”

“But people use music to influence emotion constantly.”

Virgil shook his head. “We convey emotion with music. People are just naturally empathetic.”

“Then why do you not empathise with this performance?” asked EOS. “If you empathised with it, you would no longer be sad.”

Virgil ran his hand down his face.

“Because I’m not in a neutral emotional state to begin with. It’s difficult to empathise with happiness when you’re already feeling upset.”

EOS was quiet.

“What about this one?” she asked.

Virgil closed his eyes as one of Chopin’s Nocturnes filled his room.

“Closer EOS,” he breathed. “That’s closer.”

He lay back and allowed the music to flow over him. As the notes died away, he could feel his emotional equilibrium begin to realign.

“Thanks EOS.” His eyes fell on the old upright piano that stood in the corner of the room. It wasn’t as nice as the grand in the family room, the paint chipping away and the white keys yellowed with age. But it had been his first piano, the one his mother had dragged into the house before they were all born.

“Was it enough?”

“No,” he said quietly, sitting on the piano stool. His fingers ran across the piano lid before he lifted it and he sighed as he picked out the familiar melody of another Chopin.

“It’s not your fault EOS,” he said, leaning into the music. “Listening has never been enough for me. You did help.”

The ring of lights shone green for a second.

“How can I tell the difference?”

“The difference between what?”

“Between the happy and the sad pieces?”

Virgil paused for a second, thinking it over.

“Why did you pick the first one?”

“I cross referenced the metadata that was attached to copies of the music on the holonet. They all recognised the piece as happy, or of synonyms of the word. The specific combination of rhythm and pitch hold no more significance than any other, and I have no experience to compare them with.”

A soft round of simple intervals filled the air.

“Can you hear the difference?”

“Of course. One pitch remains the same and the other changes.”

“No, no,” said Virgil. “Listen to how they interact, can you hear the difference.”

A major chord. A minor chord. Only one semitone between them, a half-step that painted the world in simplistic feeling.

The notes faded away. EOS remained silent. Virgil played the chords again, waiting for her response.

“They combine differently. The ratio of their wave frequencies are different.”

“How so?”

“One produces a more complex sound. It has a higher frequency ratio.”

Virgil smiled.

“The more complex, the more dissonant. Usually.”

The notes repeated a few more times as EOS tried it out for herself using her own databanks. Virgil sat back, listening to her experiment. It reminded him of himself as a young child, banging enthusiastically on the piano. He wanted to make the same pretty sounds as his Mom, but at the same time, he just wanted to play.

“I don’t like that one.”

“Which one?”

The sharp, sour notes of the tritone interval filled the room.

“Ah, yes,” said Virgil wincing. “Used to be called the devil’s chord.”

The implications of what she had just said caught suddenly on his mind.

“What do you mean you don’t like it?”

“It has a 45:32 frequency ratio. It doesn’t superimpose well. The sound is… dissonant.”

Virgil’s face split into a grin. “That’s what we hear too. Except we can’t describe it as accurately, so we assign emotion to it instead. How does it make you feel?”

“I feel…” EOS paused and the clashing notes silenced. “I feel unstable. I know the sounds that are easier to comprehend and I want to return to them.”

A number of artificially sped-up pieces flew through the speakers.

“Not all music follows this pattern.”

“Well, no,” said Virgil. “A lot of music is about expectation. What you think should happen next and whether or not that is fulfilled is an important part of the experience. Different cultures, different time periods, even different styles use different patterns in music.”

His hands sought out the modal scales he had been taught in high school, the first example that leapt to mind. Smiling, he launched into one of his favourite jazz pieces.

“Some styles will rely on dissonant intervals so much, they become normal to the ear. The more you listen, the more you’ll be able to identify the different types of patterns.”

The music ended with a flourish.

“But we’re talking about emotion, aren’t we EOS?” A new melody spilled out of him, the memory of its last performance itching at the back of his mind. “Without dissonance, the music is dull, it’s monotony and boredom and drudgery. Like a life where everything is perfect and you always get your way. Dissonance breaks the pattern, it create interest in the music.”

“The change affirms your turbulent experience in the world.”

“Exactly,” said Virgil. “It can reflect so much, the way we explore new ideas, how we take risks or grow from failure. Without dissonance, music would be nothing more than a predictable pattern and have no creativity or drive behind it.”

“No life. No emotion.”

“And if we cut it off, if we never bring the music home?”

The final notes hovered in the air and Virgil could almost see the way they floated next to EOS.

“I feel incomplete. Like I’ve lost something but I don’t know what.”

Soft arpeggios brought the music back to life. Virgil watched as EOS processed and catalogued the newly made connections.

“The pitch of the sound can’t be the only contributing factor. The amplitude of your playing has changed in a manner consistent with your stress levels. If there are direct connections to be made, is this another one?”

Virgil continued to play, soft and light as he analysed his own emotions. He’d forgotten where all this had begun.

“Not always,” he said. “But often. You can’t just look at one part. You have to take them in relationship to each other. The choice of instruments, the articulation, the rhythm, the harmony. It all combines to make something greater than it would be if only one form of expression was used.”

“Music mimics its makers.”

Virgil blinked.

“I’m sorry?”

“You are only one part. And you combine to make something greater than you would be alone.”

“I–”

A sharp buzzer jolted Virgil from his thoughts and he stared dumbly at the door.

“Virgil?”

The worry was evident in his brother’s voice as it crackled through the intercom. He spoke softly, cautious of interrupting Virgil but convinced of its necessity.

For a moment, he considered retreating into the bedroom, where he knew Scott would leave him be.

He didn’t want to leave his piano though. Not yet.

“Thank you EOS. You should go.”

He turned towards the door, raising his voice slightly.

“Come in.”

Scott slipped inside and shut the door firmly behind them. Virgil could smell the soap as he walked closer, the collar of his shirt wet from the hair he hadn’t quite finished drying.

“John called me when he couldn’t get a hold of you,” he said simply, making himself comfortable on the sofa. “And Gordon nearly dragged me out of the shower to come talk to you.”

“You could have spared an extra minute to dry off.”

“Whatever.” He picked at the pilled fabric of his trousers. “Was more worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

Virgil didn’t know what to say. He had been angry, hurting, grieving. The ache was still present in his chest, but he wasn’t sure how to explain to Scott how already the solace he found in music was beginning to take effect. Scott wasn’t dismissive of his love of art but his experiences were firmly rooted in a more concrete reality.

“I was talking to EOS.”

The expression on Scott’s face was unreadable.

“I see.”

“She asked for more information about my… outburst.” Virgil turned to face the piano so he wouldn’t have to look his brother in the eye. “We talked about music. I explained how I was feeling.”

“Did it help?”

Virgil closed his eyes and listened. There was melancholy there, a rough bittersweetness that underpinned the soft, sad acceptance of the events of the day.

But there was a restful peace there too, a flowing movement of sound that had begun to grow louder with the reminder that he wasn’t isolated in his emotions.

The framework for a new composition.

“Yeah, Scott, it did. She did.”

Virgil rested his hands on the piano.

“Stay a while. I want to play something for you.”

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“Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.”

~ Victor Hugo (Essay on William Shakespeare)

STS.034

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2004 #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds tos #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #EOS #EasterTAG #submission

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a-patheticapathetic · 3 years

Text

Rishloo - Feathergun: Review

New year, new me. Let’s repeat that until it becomes true.

There seems to be a pattern with how I discover music. At a very young age, I hear a song in a very specific circumstance. It has a big impact on me, but I make absolutely zero effort to check out any of the artist’s other music and instead meander onto another earworm. Then, years later, I have another chance meeting with the same song/album/artist and fall completely down a rabbithole that foundationally changes my taste in music. It happened with Radiohead (High and Dry as one of the default songs in the original Rocksmith), Queens of the Stone Age (Lost Art of Keeping a Secret in a stick figure animation), and Nine Inch Nails (Hurt (Quiet) on Spotify radio). Then, there was this strange song called “Scissorlips” that I saw on a very small Rock Band 3 drum channel. I showed it to my brother because of how fun the chart looked, and made the mistake of watching his reaction to the video. His disinterest embarrassed me enough that I never chased the music. That is, of course, until many years later, when I was introduced to Tool. The rest is history, and is frankly stalling me from starting the actual review. Let’s get to it.

Scissorlips - 8/10

The strange, dark jungle the album begins with is a nice representation of the album cover, although it won’t rule over the entire runtime. Don’t let the de-tuned guitar under the vocals deter you; the rest of the guitarwork here is beautiful. As we reach the pre-chorus, the percussionists may hear why I was interested in this song as a kid. This is also where the sonic background really opens up, swallowing you for a moment before the intro verse comes back. The lyricism here is also very abstract, yet isn’t impossible to follow. A couple of metallic bites taken out of the mostly psychedelic walls of guitars, then, the first of many beautiful delay effects. The build-up got me pretty good when I heard this so many years ago, and It’s still damn good. For the love. There are so many guitar lines here that just intertwine and enlace you. Then, something a bit heavier (yet oddly hopeful) to round the song out.

Turning Sheep into Goats - 7/10

This intro is more of what can be expected for the rest of the album, sonically speaking. A lone guitar with delay playing a complicated and alluring line in a strange time signature, then built upon. The path you may assume this song will follow is extremely suddenly changed at the chorus, the vocals really driving it home. Then, back into that nice opening riff like nothing happened. The next time that chorus comes thundering around, listen to that low guitar and the way it combines with the drums. Then drop out the ugliness into a floating mesh of palm mutes and synthetic strings. And don’t miss the fl

Systematomatic - 7/10

awless transition into the next song. Immediately, a new riff rises from the pond of reverb. You may not identify it immediately, but don’t worry, you’ll get more chances to. Very fast guitar-work that somehow doesn't sound so frantic, although the chorus definitely has a certain desperation to it. The mood gets heavy again, before quickly sliding into a strange, feverish haze. Some hits of percussion, then a recontexutalized and slower return to the riff at the start of the song. Weave us back into war.

River of Glass - 8/10

Now this is an ear-catching introduction. What seems to be a calm wave of delay is punctuated by war drums and a grimier lead. The mood builds, then crescendos into the song proper. The chorus is hear damn near immediately, and is extremely catchy for prog. This album is really just full of extremely memorable vocals, and the instrumentals complement them perfectly. We get two goes-around before we fall into these twisting and sliding strings. The drummer is also on his A-game here. Then, the guitars push into the clouds before coming back down with another short but heavy low. Then it all cuts out for a second, juts to make the burst into the final chorus that much more effective.

Keyhole in the Sky - 7/10

This one is simpler, but also very filling and peaceful. Unfortunately it does begin to showcase my only problem with this album; the vocals are mixed too loud at times. And while the singer is absolutely incredible, sometimes I’d like the instrumentals to breathe a bit more. The walls of high guitar come back around, this time feeling much more friendly and familiar. One last chorus, closing on a quiet note. Though it’s not over; an alien feedback loop and somber, echoey horn passage lead us into the next track

Downhill - 10/10

This song has two main phases, and is absolutely perfect throughout. An easy start; a relatively simple and serene riff fed through a pleasant delay pedal, with some subtle synth and bass backing. The vocals shine through, as clear as ever. And wave, goodbye. Then, like stepping through a portal into phase one. A very interesting, rhythmic and almost bluesy instrumental accompanies the title-drop. Then, we fall for miles down a well of piano. The bottom greets us with a moonlit key solo, then an incredible Floydian guitar solo. Hanging on the last note, phase two begins with an ominous drone and repeating guitar line. The drums rise, give a false start. then... perfection. I cannot do phase two justice with words. Just close your eyes, listen, and be swept away in what I believe to be one of the greatest vocal performances of all time.

Lost.

Feathergun in the Garden of the Sun - 9/10

Not to be outdone by the previous masterpiece, the title track opens with another wonderful soundscape, before the distortion comes in. The drums pick up the tension, bringing us into the pre-chorus. That riff is going to be impossible to tap your foot to at first, but the next ones should be easier. And here we have perhaps the best chorus on the record; extremely powerful in writing and execution on the parts of every band member. The second time around is just as good as the first, then the brdige begins. Ready, aim... The heaviest riff on the album, and an abrupt switch into the last chorus. Fade out.

Dreamcatcher - 7/10

A nice break from the intensity. This feels like a peaceful tidepool on an alien world, with creatures and colors beyond the world floating around my head. Short but sweet.

Diamond Eyes - 6/10

By no means bad, I do feel like this one may be the weakest track on the album. While it’s certainly beautiful, I feel like it doesn’t do a whole lot that’s new or interesting. Also, when listening at high volume (which is the proper way to listen to this album), the faults in the mixing really rear their ugly heads during the choruses. Still, there are some very pleasant rolling delay loops here during the bridge, and a nice and satisfying buildup towards the end.

Katsushika - 7/10

While the guitar opening this track may be the most straight-forward and least effects-driven riff we’ve heard so far, this song will eventually become the most alien one of the entire lineup. In a good way, of course. I can barely even decipher exactly what’s going on in the instrumentation during that build. The chorus also ends with a nice drop-off into the next verse. You may be noticing a pattern with the songwriting, where the chorus usually leads into the second verse, following the pattern of the first one but with more layering. I like it; it gives the ideas present more time to mature and develop. Anyways, here comes the bridge, where everything changes. Out of everything going on here, I feel like the drums and the background vocals are the most striking thing about this outro. What a fantastic progression and dropout. Beautiful monsters.

Weevil Bride - 8/10

The finale. This riff here is extremely well-done. The tone here is somehow piercingly bright and concerningly dark at the same time. The lyricals themes of the album also come to a head here. This chorus is another incredibly written and performed beast; just wait until it’s modulated. The second verse lays away with the subtleties and strikes at the head. And I just need to know that everything is fine, and everyone’s alright. This bridge also kicks ass, with its heart-pouding combination of guitars and toms. Then, comes the heaviest part of the entire album: Yes, please. Then we are snapped out of the masochism and lifted back to hear the main point of the album, before the intro riff carries us into an uncertain but complete conclusion. After the “true” song ends, there is a long passage of somber horns and a tranquil, almost lullaby-esque keyboard. There’s something extremely nostalgic about this outro to me, but I still can’t put my finger on where it comes from. This section almost feels like the music they play after the end of a play, as the lights come on and you make your way down the dimly-lit theater steps on slightly numb and shaky legs. The story is over; this is your time to reflect.

The main reason I wanted to write about this album in particular is because I feel like it hasn’t gotten the attention it’s deserved. It truly feels like a masterpiece worthy of widespread recognition and praise, but despite being released over a decade ago, few people have even heard of this band. It feels like injustice, not only for Rishloo’s efforts, but for the people who would connect with this album as much as I have. Also, there’s the slightly selfish hope that increased attention would incentivize the band to work on more new stuff, or better yet, remaster their older works.

In any case, It’s very late, my back hurts because my spine hates my nervous system, and I need to actually get to sleep tonight so I can heal the godforsaken nerve that wedged itself in my inner workings yesterday. On a scale from “Your all-time low just lowered again”, to “Want some? Yes, please”, I give Feathergun a “Oh, what beautiful monsters”.

#music #music recommendation #music reccs #album review #track review #rishloo #feathergun

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belillinafireseeker · 4 years

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Bella’s speakeasy performance

youtube

After the stagehands set up the keyboard piano in the middle of the stage, Bella walks out swankily to it. The tassels on the bottom of her dress swaying from side to side, she blows a kiss out to Star, and takes her place on the small, padded piano bench. Turning on the instrument, she taps her foot down below the keyboard.

Several moments pass as her foot taps out the beat when she presses a button on the side of the keyboard and the melody of the muted trumpet plays from the speakers on the back of the stage. Placing her fingers down onto the keyboard, she plunks out the melody on the keyboard after pressing yet another button on the keyboard. Then after a moment of just the piano and trumpet, the entire band starts to play and she leans in to the mic to croon into it, “How can you see into my eyes, like open doors? Leading you down into my core, where I become so numb.”

Twisting in time with the beat, Bella continues to play, but now playing just a series of chords on the off beats. Her foot still tapping out the beats, the music switches to just the piano and the drum beats and cello coming from the speakers. The jazzy sound echoed in her voice as her torso moved with the beat, “Without a soul, my spirit’s sleeping somewhere cold. Until you find it there and lead it back home.”

Shimmying her shoulders in time with the beat, she leans in towards her keyboard while the full band plays in the background. Then as the next three distinct beats play Bella repeats the same motion, but moving back instead of forward as she starts to sing, continuing with her shoulders any time the three notes play. “Wake me up inside, Wake me up inside. Call my name and save me from the dark. Bid my blood to run, before I come undone. Save me from the nothing I’ve become.”

Skilled fingers glide over the keys as she plays out the piano solo, and the background melody decrescendos. Continuing on with the repeated piano melody from earlier in the song, Bella sings with the same honeyed timbre from the rest of the song, “Now that I know what I’m without, you can’t just leave me. Breathe into me and make me real, bring me to life.” Pushing herself up off the bench, Bella presses a button on the keyboard to play the recorded section of the piano melody.

As the stage hands quickly pick up the keyboard and set it off to the side of the stage, Bella shuffles back to center stage and starts to swing dance in its place. Hopping three times to her right and then the left in time with the beats. Taking out a fan of feathers, Bella twirls it around as she dances, repeating the chorus again of the song, “Wake me up inside, wake me up inside. Call my name and save me from the dark. Bid my blood to run, before I come undone. Save me from the nothing I’ve…”

Reaching her hands up in the air and freezing in place inside a chrysalis of ice with the fan spread out above her head, her lips are the only part of her body that moves at all and continuing on where she left off, “Frozen in time without your touch, without your love, darlin. Only you are the light among the dead!” The chrysalis explodes out towards the crowd but as soon as it nears anyone it turns to glitter, leaving a fine coating over all of the front row and blocking the view of Bella behind a veil of smoke.

When the veil lifts, Bella is standing there in a red and black corset top, a short crimson skirt and the same feathery fan in front of her face. The tempo of the music has changed as well and she walks slowly out into the crowd, her foot falls timed perfectly with the rhythm of the music. A grin forms on Bella’s face as she takes several steps in quick succession towards Alast singing to him as she brushes her side against their body, “All this time, I can’t believe I couldn’t see. Kept in the dark, but you were there in front of me.” Running her hand over alast’s cheek she moves her body to the other side to rest her head on his shoulder to sing the following lyrics, “I’ve been sleeping a thousand years it seems. Got to open my eyes to everything.”

Speeding up the tempo,and spinning away from Alast, Bella folds up the fan, tapping on her temple as she sings swiftly, “Without a thought…” without a moment’s hesitation, she unfolds her fan and holds it over her mouth, continuing on with the song, “Without a voice…” Folding up the fan she grasps onto it tightly and holds it against her heart, wincing slightly as she sings, “Without a soul.” Reaching out with a gloved hand, a pleading look shot out to the audience, “Don’t let me die here! There must be something more, Bring me to life!”

Walking swiftly back up onto stage after the stagehands put back the keyboard in the place it once was. Taking her seat back on the bench her fingers glide across the keys swiftly as the music crescendos in the background. Leaning in to the mic she croons, “Wake me up inside, wake me up inside. Call my name and save me from the dark. Bid my blood to run, before I come undone. Save me from the nothing I’ve become.”

Bella’s fingers on the piano race up and down on the keys as she sings the final few lines of the song, “Bring me to life. I’ve been living a lie, ooh, there’s nothing inside. Bring me to life.” Playing a few triplets on the piano after releasing the last note, and then finishing up with a short chord.

Pushes herself up from the keyboard she smiles and curtsies to them and tosses her feathery fan out towards Aelberyn before heading off stage, letting the stagehands carry the keyboard off.

@succulent-tart

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nitewrighter · 5 years

Note

I really like your fic "A Second Opinion", I hope you're going to continue it!

Why not now?

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3

----

“And you’re sure about this guy?” said McCree.

“For the 23rd time, yes,” said Hanzo, irritated as the door slid open to Athena’s secondary terminal near the Watchpoint training area.

“Agents, you must understand I’m diverting much of my processing power towards logistics with Winston and Lynx Seventeen,” said Athena as soon as they walked in.

“We know, Athena,” said McCree, pulling out the swivel chair and allowing Hanzo to sit down, “But you’re still able to run the comms systems, right?”

“Of course,” said Athena.

“I’m going to need you to open a new comm channel,” said Hanzo, tapping away at Athena’s keyboard, “Identification numerals 11--”

“You do not yet have clearance to open new comm channels,” Athena said automatically and Hanzo’s brow furrowed. He looked at McCree.

“I think we should think about--” McCree started but Genji stepped forward.

“Agent override,” said Genji, “Vocal confirmation: Shimada, Genji. Granting temporary overrides to probationary agent Shimada Hanzo to open new comm channels.”

“Override recognized,” said Athena, “Probationary Agent Shimada Hanzo?”

Hanzo drew in a steady breath and began typing at the keyboard again, “Identification numerals 111801110514.”

“Identification numerals accepted,” said Athena, “Would you like me to hail?”

“Yes,” said Hanzo.

“Comm or Vid-Com?” said Athena.

“...Vid-Com is available?” said Hanzo.

“Yes,” said Athena.

“Vid-Com,” said Hanzo.

“What difference does it make?” said McCree.

“We should,” Hanzo cleared his throat, “We should have visual clarification.”

McCree’s brow crinkled with skepticism but Genji just leaned forward and pressed a key on Athena’s keyboard.

“Hailing Comm ID 111801110514,” said Athena.

“Genji!” McCree said with irritation, “We need to think this through!”

“Angela doesn’t have time for us to ‘think this through!’” Genji snapped back.

“Connecting,” said Athena, “Connecting...”

Athena’s screen blipped to a blurred environment and several chimes sounded.

“Hailing,” said Athena, “Hailing.”

Something muttered and distorted sounded over Athena’s speakers and the screen unblurred to reveal a man in dim light in what appeared to be the bridge of a luxury yacht. A handsome man plopped into the captain’s seat, clearly exhausted and rubbing his eyes.

“This is Josué Dosou--head of staff for Vernand Sainclair’s yacht crew, currently reporting from The Sainclair...Vernand is not available at the mom--”

“Baptiste?” said Hanzo.

“Hanzo?” Baptiste’s eyes suddenly lit up and he slapped his hands on the dashboard of the yacht, “Hanzo! It is you!” His eyes instantly flicked to McCree and Genji on either side of Hanzo. “...is it safe to talk? Who are your friends?”

Hanzo cleared his throat, motioning to both McCree and Genji as he spoke. “Baptiste, this is Jesse McCree of Overwatch, and my brother, Genji.”

“Genji!?” a smile split across Baptiste’s face, “I’ve heard so much about you!” Baptiste seemed to catch himself and his eyes flicked to Hanzo briefly before flicking back to Genji, “Good things!” Baptiste saw fit to clarify.

McCree and Genji exchanged glances as Hanzo cleared his throat.

“As much as I would like this to just be a call to catch up, my friend, I’m afraid I’m contacting you regarding a very serious matter,” said Hanzo.

“Well, I did say if you ever needed a helping hand...” Baptiste started and a quiet smile crossed Hanzo’s face. McCree looked from Baptiste on the screen, to Hanzo, back to Baptiste, back to Hanzo, then finally to Genji. Upon making eye contact, Genji just shrugged.

“An ally of ours,” Hanzo continued, “Angela Ziegler, has been captured by Talon.”

Baptiste’s face suddenly dropped from its jovial expression. “Talon took Doctor Ziegler?” he repeated quietly.

“It’s of utmost importance that we get her back as quickly as possible,” said Genji, leaning into the call.

“No-no--I mean, yes, I understand completely,” said Baptiste, “If Doctor Ziegler has been taken, that means---” A bell could be heard ringing and Baptiste suddenly sprang to his feet, “Excuse me one moment,” he said, getting up and rushing offscreen. The ringing sound stopped and Baptiste could be heard grunting in the background.

“Baptiste?” said Hanzo, leaning into Athena’s microphone. There was only grunting on the other side. Hanzo cleared his throat and dropped his voice slightly, leaning into the microphone again, “Jean?” he said.

“I can hear you! I’m still listening!” Baptiste yelled from offscreen.

“Is... everything all right?” said Hanzo.

“Everything’s fine! Keep going about Doctor Ziegler!” Baptiste yelled from offscreen.

Genji cleared his throat. “Doctor Ziegler had been spending the past three days at a medical conference in Malta. About 5 hours ago, she was taken from the bar at the Hotel Eupheme. We don’t have any audio, but we do have video.” Genji hit a few keys on Athena’s keyboard and sent over the silent footage of Mercy and an enormous man with a white streak in his massive mane of black hair at a hotel bar.

“Give me a second!” Baptiste called again from offscreen.

“I’ll just... set it on ‘replay’ said Genji, tapping a few more things onto Athena’s keyboard.

“...loving this contact so far,” said McCree flatly.

“He’s an ally you’d want on your side,” said Hanzo, giving a sharp look to McCree.

“Sure. Ex-Talon. I’m itching for it,” said McCree with an eye-roll.

“Ahh... sorry about that,” said Baptiste, coming back into the view of the screen, a large dentex under one arm, still flapping slightly.

“Is that--” McCree stammered, “Were you just fishing?!”

“Man cannot live on Sainclair’s mini-bar alone, my friend,” said Baptiste, pulling a cooler out from beneath the yacht’s dashboard and stuffing the fish into it, “But now that I have the next few nights’ dinner secured, I’m more than happy to help with--Mauga!?” his eyes practically bulged and he looked back at Hanzo as if the video footage Genji had sent him couldn’t be real.

“So it is Mauga,” said Hanzo, thoughtfully, “I thought he matched your descriptions of him, but---”

“Wait, you know this guy’s name?!” said McCree, looking at Hanzo.

“I wasn’t sure,” said Hanzo, swiveling his chair in McCree’s direction, “And furthermore, I only had audio on your meeting with Jack. This is the first I’m seeing of him as well.”

“Oh I’m so sorry you couldn’t bug our conference room better,” said McCree with an eye roll before turning back to Baptiste on the screen, “So who the hell’s Mogwai?”

“Mogwai is a band. Or a gremlin. Mauga is an old coworker,” said Baptiste, “Really not someone you want to mess with.”

“Really? I thought he looked like 7 feet and three inches of fun,” McCree muttered under his breath.

Baptiste stared at the screen, apparently studying the replaying footage of Mercy leaving with Mauga. “Talon had to have had the hotel locked down,” Baptiste said, apparently mostly to himself, “Mauga knows how to throw his weight around, but from my own experiences with Doctor Ziegler, not even he could get her to a second location just through intimidation. A lockdown of that level couldn’t be Talon’s long-distance drop teams. It would have to be local--they probably only took her to a facility a few hours away.”

“You worked with Ang--with Doctor Ziegler?” said Genji.

“Only for about a week, in Venezuela. She leaves an impression though,” said Baptiste.

“You worked with Mercy and Talon?” said McCree, leaning into the screen.

“McCree,” Hanzo hissed under his breath indignantly, but McCree kept up his glare at Baptiste.

“I had defected from Talon well before meeting Doctor Ziegler,” said Baptiste, “But as I was saying, the facility they took her to would likely still be in the mediterranean--You said she was taken from Malta, right? And if they didn’t knock her out, that means they needed her medical know-how, rather than just striking a blow to Overwatch, which means they’ll be keeping her at a Talon facility with well-equipped labs. My money’s on Venice--highest possible security with all the administration there.”

Genji gave a somewhat impressed look over to McCree but McCree just shook his head. “We already knew that,” said McCree, leaning into the screen, “How can you help?”

“Aside from pretty much having all Talon attack strategies and logistics memorized?” said Baptiste, leaning back in his seat, “I’m a full-fledged combat medic and on top of that, a pretty good shot. And I want Doctor Ziegler safe just as much as you do. For what it’s worth... I really wanted to join Overwatch when I was a kid.”

“If you can help us---” Genji started.

“Hold up hold up hold up,” said McCree, before looking at the Shimada brothers, “Sidebar?”

“Baptiste, I apologize---” Hanzo started.

“No, no, it’s fine,” said Baptiste with a wave.

“Athena, mute audio,” said McCree and a small crossed out mic icon appeared in the corner of their screen.

“We’re rushing into this way too fast,” said McCree.

“I assure you, no one wants to take down Talon more than Baptiste,” said Hanzo.

“And how do you know that, exactly?” said McCree, “And if Genji hadn’t rushed in, I would have asked this question earlier, but how the hell do you have this contact?”

Hanzo’s lips thinned thoughtfully and he cleared his throat. “Technically we had known each other only briefly while he was still in Talon,” said Hanzo.

“...I’m sorry, what?” said McCree.

“It--it was negligible,” said Hanzo, “A few words exchanged. Little more. I knew he was a good man back then--even if at the time our father decided against an alliance with Talon.”

Genji’s visor suddenly brightened. “I thought he looked familiar!” said Genji, excitedly, “The estate security had to practically drag you off--”

Hanzo cleared his throat sharply and Genji gave a short glance to McCree and a nervous chuckle. “I--mean---” Genji just looked at Hanzo, “Go on.”

One corner of McCree’s mouth twisted up in a grimace. At this point, he was used to drawn out and dramatic stories where Hanzo was involved, but now he had a pretty strong idea of where the story was going.

“We wouldn’t meet again until a few years later,” said Hanzo, “It was shortly after Genji confronted me at Hanamura castle and said we must take a side. I am not proud to say I decided to flee as far from Hanamura as I could. I decided to run from the decision. And in my flight I found myself in the Caribbean, and then...I met Baptiste... again. Through a whole... mess of circumstances, we found ourselves fighting against a Talon incursion in San Pedro de Macoris. He is---His fighting style is unparalleled.”

They fucked, the thought came to McCree as a knee-jerk reaction but it was all he could do to stuff it down and fold his arms. Hanzo was withholding too many details, too many exchanges between himself and Baptiste for that not to be the case. But he didn’t care--at least he told himself that--and anyway if Hanzo was emotionally compromised that just undermined Baptiste’s whole presence in this mess, didn’t it?

“Well that’s a vote of confidence,” said Genji, looking at McCree, but McCree was now avoiding eye contact with both of them, itching beneath the brim of his hat.

“...I don’t believe I would be here without Baptiste,” said Hanzo, “I knew there were two sides, that conflict was unavoidable, but my time with Baptiste showed me that I could not flee in grief forever. That eventually... I would have to take action.” Hanzo drew in a steady breath, “I know I do not have your trust. But I would have you trust Baptiste before you trusted me. That is his strength of character.”

“I trust you,” said Genji, putting a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder.

“He killed you,” said McCree, flatly.

“I trust you,” Genji said insistently, giving Hanzo’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Genji, you don’t trust him, you’re just terrified of losing the Doc,” said McCree.

“I can do both,” said Genji, his shoulders bunching up.

McCree huffed.

“It’s a two to one vote,” said Genji.

“Hanzo’s status is probationary. It’s one to one. And if I bring Ana in here you can bet we’ll actually be involving the vetting process for this Baptiste guy.”

“I thought you believed in redemption!” Genji snapped.

“I do!” McCree said on reflex.

“Then why is it so hard to believe Baptiste might share our cause? That Baptiste might want to help Angela?” said Genji.

“I--It’s--I--” McCree tried not to look at Hanzo as he stammered. He inhaled sharply through his teeth. “Fine! Fine! Let’s bring in Ex-Talon-Look-At-My-Fish guy! Don’t come crying to me when it blows up in our faces!”

“I assure you, you’re making the right decision,” said Hanzo.

“Yeah,” said McCree, not making eye contact with Hanzo, “Yeah let’s hope so.” He looked back at Hanzo and Genji. “So... unmute?”

Hanzo and Genji gave a simultaneous nod and McCree said, “Athena, unmute.”

The crossed out mic icon in the left corner of the screen disappeared.

“Baptiste, you still there?” said McCree.

Baptiste glanced up, slightly startled and in the midst of cleaning the dentrex he had caught and pouring the guts into his bait bucket. “Hm? Oh-” He nearly fumbled with the fish, then smacked it against the bait bucket a few more times before throwing the fish into the cooler again and setting the bait bucket aside. “Yes. Yes, I’m listening.”

“What are your current coordinates?”

“I can calculate that, with his permission or your override,” said Athena.

“That’s really not--” Baptiste started.

“35°34'24.8″ North, 15°52'07.8″ West,” said Athena, projecting the map on a picture in picture.

“...you’re in sneezing distance of Gibraltar,” said McCree.

“You mean this stupid party boat actually made it across the Atlantic?” said Baptiste incredulously.

“With Agent Vaswani’s help, we are theoretically capable of opening up a teleporter at his coordinates without compromising our satellites,” said Athena.

“Huh,” said McCree, before looking back at Baptiste, “You said you wanted to join Overwatch, right?”

“Yes...” said Baptiste, hesitantly

“So how soon is good for you?”

“Well that depends---”

“Five minutes enough?”

“What?” said Baptiste.

#gency #mchanzo #bapzo

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luckyspike · 5 years

Text

An Absolute Menace - A Good Omens fanfiction

behold and lo for i have heard your cries for a sequel to the whole Crowley is a twitch streamer story

and i have written this monstrosity (4k words)

have fun enjoy

(credit to BrownMan and LetsPlay, without whose playthroughs I never would have been able to accomplish this level of detail since i do not own the game or requisite gaming system)

2000 hours GMT: Stream time.

There is only one problem tonight, and that problem is that Crowley, retired demon and part-time Twitch streamer, has lost his voice. Oh, certainly, he could miracle his vocal cords back to health, soothe the inflammation brought on by an entire afternoon screaming at Manchester the day prior, no problem. But that would remove his excuse to look forlorn while Aziraphale brewed yet another pot of honey-infused tea, and more importantly, would negate his entire strategy for the stream tonight.

If asked directly, he would deny that he had intentionally screamed exceptionally loudly the day prior. That would be an outright lie but, well, demon.

“Come on, angel,” he wheedles hoarsely, over the rim of a steaming mug of tea. “Please?”

“I don’t know the first thing about video games, dear boy.” Aziraphale maneuvers the mug away from Crowley for a second, long enough to deposit a dollop of honey into the mug and stir it in. “I don’t understand why you don’t just fix it for yourself. Really, frivolous miracles aren’t exactly something we should be worried about anymore -”

A memory swims to the forefront of Crowley’s brain, and he slumps. Tries to look pathetic. Aziraphale is better at it, always, but Crowley is fairly competent when he needs to be. “It’s not the same,” he manages. He sounds absolutely pathetic, and his voice cracks pitifully at the end. “It doesn’t work the same.” He sips the tea - too much honey for him, it mingles unpleasantly with the ever-present taste of ash, but it does feel good going down. “Come on, angel, I’ll pick a really easy game. Just tonight. Please?”

Aziraphale watches him for a moment. Frowns thoughtfully. Sips his own tea. “You planned this.”

“I did not.” He sets the mug down, sprawls across the counter, and looks up at Aziraphale, eyes wide and pleading. “Please, Aziraphale. It’ll be on the Switch, nice and easy, I’ll sit right next to you the whole time in case you need help. I can’t do a three-hour talking thing tonight.”

“Hm.” He purses his lips. Takes another sip of tea. “You’ll owe me.”

“Absolutely. Anything you want. Baked goods, rare books … I’ll even go to the opera, if you want. One whole night, not a word out of me, just respectful and quiet.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” It is an agreement, and the angel sets his own mug down, the better to straighten his bow tie. “You swear it’ll be an easy game, yes?”

“Cross my heart,” says Crowley, solemn. “It’s about animals. You like animals.”

“I do, rather.”

Aziraphale sits, awkwardly, in Crowley’s usual chair in front of the bank of monitors in the den while Crowley fiddles with a few things on the computer. He hands Aziraphale the controller, briefs him on the buttons (“Right, move with that thing, yeah just push it around, you’ll figure it out, and your right hand has all the little letter buttons”), and then, after affirming that they’re both ready for whatever Crowley has in store, starts the stream.

He starts, as he always does, with the introduction: “Hey guys, welcome to the stream, I’m your host AJ, variety streamer and quite possibly the oldest streamer on Twitch*. And this is … uh, Ari Fell, he’s been in a few videos, why don’t you introduce yourself?”

[* He definitely is. By a long shot.]

Aziraphale had been in a few videos by this point, most significantly the infamous Nuzlocke run of Pokemon X, which was thrilling and captivating and ended up with both of them crying over the untimely demise of Blanche Devereux, the plucky little Diggersby that perished in the final conflict with the Elite Four. He’d been in a few others, too, and by now they have a routine down. Crowley has the same standard introduction every time, but when Aziraphale makes an appearance, he likes to mix it up.

“Yes, I’m Mr. Fell. AJ’s best friend, his eternal nemesis and your … ah, local tartan enthusiast.”

Crowley snorted. “Accurate. Anyway, as you all -” all 500 people, and counting, although Aziraphale tries immediately to banish that thought and forget that section of the monitors ever existed “- can probably tell, got a bit of a voice problem right now, not really up to a full stream, so I’ve pulled in the backup to try out a little game that’s gotten a lot of press in the past but I never got around to it. You’ll like it, s’got animals in it.” He taps a few buttons on the computer, and the game screen changes. Soothing piano music begins, and they are both bathed in the blue light of the monitor. “So this is Untitled Goose Game by House House. Now, angel -” Aziraphale ignores the deluge of heart icons that fills the chat “- you have never played this game before, correct?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“Great. So the whole point is to be a goose and complete the items on your checklist. Hit ‘begin’.” He coughs, and takes a swig of tea as the screen loads in an image of a little clearing. “Right, says ‘press Y to honk’ so press the Y button and honk.”

Honk. Aziraphale frowns. “Is this the whole game?” Honk. Honk. Honkhonkhonkhonkhonk.

“Nah, says press B to run.” Aziraphale, a little tentatively, begins to maneuver his goose avatar around the screen. He gets increasingly confident, following the tutorial as it directs him.

“Oh, wings, of course, my wings. Can I fly?”

“Nah. Grounded like the rest of us poor saps.” He grins in the face of Aziraphale’s scowl, and takes a diversionary sip of tea. Honk. “Right, through the gate, there you go, tutorial done.”

“Seems simple enough.” Aziraphale is studying the screen, thoughtful, as his goose paddles across the lake. “Now, you said a to-do list - oh! Oh, where’s the dash button? Ah, there. Yes. Excellent, alright. So first it looks like we need to get into the garden.” Crowley nods, and Aziraphale reads on. “Get the groundskeeper wet? What has the groundskeeper ever done to me?”

“Nothing. When has a goose ever needed justification for its actions?”

“Hm, yes. Yes, I suppose you’re right. ‘Steal the groundskeeper’s keys’.” He sighs. “Crowley you picked this game on purpose. You wanted to tempt me into making mayhem.”

Crowley is laughing. “I did,” he confirms. “Oh, definitely, definitely did.”

“Right, well, I suppose it’s just a video game.” He straightens up a little. “And I am a goose. They’re practically agents of chaos in their own right anyhow, so nothing lost.” Crowley is laughing and coughing in the background, curled up in his chair with his free arm around his knees. “Very well. ‘Make the groundskeeper wear his sun hat.’ That one’s not so bad. ‘Rake in a lake’ … well rakes are waterproof so - oh! Have a picnic! How nice.” Crowley does not agree, mostly because he is too busy laughing.

“I suppose I’ll start with the nicer ones.” He leaves the to-do list, and starts wandering around in the game. “Is there a way into the garden? Perhaps if I get on top of these bags. Is that a radio?” Crowley giggles, although it comes out more of a whimper. “I’ll just move that. I say! Bagpipes!”

“I think I need this for the picnic, anyway, don’t I? Where do I go to find the blanket?” He runs around for a minute, radio playing some kind of bagpipe rendition. Honk. “Argh!” The groundskeeper appears from stage right, and begins to pursue the goose. “No, I need this! No, it’s mine now!” The goose swims into the lake. “Hah! Mine. No!” The groundskeeper pursues him, and the goose drops the radio. “No, I took that!” Honk. Honk honk. The goose pursues the groundskeeper now, and snatches the radio back out of his hand, turning and escaping hurriedly into the pond. “Haha! Catch me now!” The goose paddles across the pond, escaping under the bridge. When he crosses under the bridge, the groundskeeper turns back, defeated. “Crow - AJ, look! I got the radio!”

“Yeah.” Crowley is wheezing, curled up in the chair, the tea safely stashed on the nearest plant stand. “Good job, buddy, you got it.”

“Did you see him chase me into the pond? The cheek. I did mark off the ‘get the groundskeeper wet’ item though.” On-screen, the goose is wandering around, tinny music blasting from the radio. “Now if I could only find the blanket …” He looks happily surprised. “Aha, but he opened the garden gate!” The goose waddles toward the gate, when suddenly the groundskeeper appears from the garden, summoned by the siren song of his radio. “No! No, not again!” Honkhonkhonkhonk. The goose, once again, flees into the pond and under the bridge. “Give up already, you stupid man!”

“I’m dying,” Crowley gasps hoarsely in the background. “I’m actually dying.”

“Where’s the blanket?” Aziraphale is coming as close as he ever does to snarling. “I have never in all my years had to work this hard to have a picnic!”

Crowley is clutching his sides. “That makes one of us,” he manages, before lounging back in the chair and coughing, face aching from laughing. “Oh I’m gonna die.”

“When have you had to put in this much effort for a picnic?” Aziraphale grouses, before he brightens when he spots the plaid picnic blanket. “Ha! Got it!”

“Oh, I dunno, basically from ‘You go too fast for me’ until about three years ago.” Honk. The goose freezes because Aziraphale has whipped around in his chair, the better to glare at Crowley.

“Dear boy.”

“You asked,” he says, before he dissolves into giggles again. “Go on, you have to finish the picnic.”

Honk. “We’ll discuss this later.”

“I imagine we will.” Crowley lunges forward, taps a button on the keyboard, and leans in close to Aziraphale, smarmy grin plastered on his face. “Love you, you’re pretty.”

“There’s a microphone -”

“Muted it.”

“... You’re an absolute nightmare.”

“And you’ve got 600 people watching you pretend to be a goose.” He jerks his head toward the computer. “Game on, angel.” The button is tapped again, the microphone live again. “Sorry, technical difficulties, nothing to see here. How’s the picnic going?”

Gradually, the items for the picnic are assembled. Aziraphale, as the groundskeeper goes on chasing him, becomes more antagonistic. “I’m going to steal this crate just because I can.” He gasps. “A goose hole!”

“A goose hole!” Crowley wheezes behind him. “Yes, a goose hole! Get his keys and throw them in the pond!”

By the time the to-do list updates with ‘make the groundskeeper hit his thumb with a hammer’, Aziraphale has fully embraced his bastard side and is more than eager to honk with prejudice. The second phase of the game is worse: the shopkeeper that continuously chases him away with a broom becomes the fully-realized subject of his ire, and Aziraphale pursues her with all the determination of a spiteful avenging angel. When the challenge comes to lock her in the garage, he complies with gusto, even confining her beyond the required instance.

“You stay in there you hateful creature,” he grumbles, as the door once again comes down and entraps her. “Forever.”

“You bastard,” Crowley snickers in the background. “You’re brilliant.”

When he proceeds to the third portion of the game, he waddles straight into the meticulously-kept garden of the older gentleman reading his newspaper. Honk! “This is the next twenty minutes of your life, sir, dreadfully sorry, but I’m sure you’ll do something in the next fifteen seconds to absolve me of guilt.”

The man does not, truthfully, do anything to make Aziraphale feel less guilty about stealing his slippers, his hat, and the rest of his possessions, although the woman next door with the painting is annoying enough with her constant fence repairs that the angel is able to alleviate some of his guilt by mis-directing his frustration with her to the man. After he accomplishes the ‘do the washing’ task, the two of them watch in amused fascination as the man tries to throw the woman’s bra back over the fence and misses, repeatedly.

“I spent eight pounds on this game,” Crowley observes. His voice is barely-audible at this point, between the laughing and the occasional instructions to the angel. “What a spectacular physics engine.”

“Is that a lot for a game?”

“It is a criminally low amount to charge for this game.” The man again fails at throwing the bra at the fence. “Can you imagine if we walked outside one day and saw our neighbors doing this?” His eyes widen. “What if you could possess a goose and instigate all this in real life?”

“Can demons possess geese?” Aziraphale has moved on, and is dragging the woman’s duck statue away so that he can impersonate it and get dressed up with a ribbon.

“Nah. Geese are already demonic - too much evil for one soul, probably explode. Or become a Mega-Goose and destroy the world.” He looks thoughtful. “I hope demons can’t possess geese.”

“Mm.” The woman fastens the bow on his neck, and Aziraphale beams. Honk! The woman falls down. “Look how dapper he looks with the ribbon!” He flees, through the hole in the fence, and into the next zone. Crowley groans, nearly silently. He checks his watch.

“Angel, you’ve been going for three hours. You want to save this for later?” If Aziraphale hears him, he doesn’t acknowledge it, instead studying the to-do list.

“‘Make the old man fall on his bum’ … Mhmm. Let’s do that one first.”

“Oy.” Crowley slouches forward, his hands folded and resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “You’ve been going three hours. You can call it and finish the game next stream, if you want.”

Aziraphale turns to him, brow furrowed, entirely incredulous. “Dear boy, you can’t possibly be serious. This town is absolutely discriminating against fine, upstanding geese -” Crowley lets his forehead fall onto Aziraphale’s shoulder, his own skinny shoulders once again shaking with laughter, “and I will not rest until I’ve put them all into their place.” Honk. “Now go get yourself some more tea, you sound dreadful.”

“Don’t break the computer.”

“I won’t.”

When the demon returns with a fresh mug, the typical honking of the goose has been replaced by a frantic off-key harmonica. “Serves you right for playing such an appalling instrument! Stop chasing me!” Crowley adds a slug of honey to the tea out of the plastic bear-shaped container, and relaxes back into his chair.

“What’re you doing now?”

“I’m going to make this man fall on his bum,” Aziraphale announces. “Hang on, wait for it …” The old man in the game starts to sit on the little stool, and Aziraphale directs the goose to snatch the seat out from under him. “Take that!” The character drops his harmonica too, and the goose snatches it up, waddling away and tooting through the infernal instrument relentlessly. “Mr. Fell strikes again!”

Crowley puts his face in his hand, although he is grinning from ear-to-ear. “You’re a madman. You’ve gone mad with power.”

“Goose power,” Aziraphale agrees. “Nearly god-like.”

Crowley winces. “Careful,” he rasps. “Not that I don’t love the hubris but … you know.”

“Tell me it’s not.” He drops a bucket onto another man’s head, and then cackles as the man falls into a full box of tomatoes. The back of his trousers are splattered with tomato. “He’ll never get that stain out. It’d take a miracle.” Crowley snorts.

The most thrilling part, by far, is probably supposed to be the end of the game. The stealthy lift of the beautiful golden bell, and the sneaking back to the goose’s den where the bell is to be deposited to join its fellows. Crowley imagines that if he were to be the one playing it, he would be sneaking through, crouching all the while, waiting around corners for people to be distracted before slinking by with the bell, careful not to make a sound.

But Crowley is not playing, and never before, he thinks, has the difference between a celestial soldier and an infernal demon of temptation and subtlety been so stark. Aziraphale seizes the bell, honks triumphantly, actually out loud with his mouth yells the word ‘Honk’, and takes off through the town. “The goose is loose, catch me if you can, suckers!” Crowley has just enough time to put his tea down on the plant stand before he is overcome with laughter once again, doubling over and spilling onto the floor. “It’s my bell now!”

He makes it all the way through the pub and into the garden of the poor neighbors before the first bell-theft occurs. The painter catches up to him as he drops the bell to destroy the desk, and Aziraphale squeaks in indignation. “No! No, I worked hard for that!” He tugs the bell back away from the painter, and makes a bid for the desk. She catches up to him.

“No! No, you won’t - just drop it, I’m taking it, you can’t stop me!” She snatches the bell again, and begins to walk away. “You’ll be the first to fall under my vengeance!” The goose waddles to the larger bell in the garden, and a resounding bong distracts the painter from her task. The goose, once again, grabs the bell from her hand and hurries over the desk, across the fence. “Hah! Thwarted!”

“You showed her,” Crowley wheezes from his place on the floor, where he has resolved himself to watching the finale upside-down. “Go, angel, go!”

“You’ll never take me alive!” His eyes widen. “Oh, no the shopkeeper. We’re going to have to get past the shopkeeper. She’s atrocious.”

“Just run?”

“She’s fast. She’s wily.” He frowns. “Oh, this part would be perfect for you, dear boy - I’m sure you’d slip past her without any trouble.”

“Oh, indubitably, but you’re the one playing. Just try sneaking.”

He tries to sneak. Probably. It’s a terrible attempt, and the shopkeeper is alerted to the goose with the golden bell soon enough, giving chase. Aziraphale flees, straight into a dead-end. “No! No, you abominable woman that’s mine, that’s -” Honkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonk. The woman knocks the bell from the goose’s beak. “Assault! Thief! Stop!” Honkhonkhonkhonk. He nips the bell from her hands and runs. “Later loser!”

The groundskeeper, for all the consternation he caused early in the game, does not present much of a problem. Aziraphale darts past him, bell jangling, honking madly, and swims briskly across the pond to his base in the little glade. Proudly, honkhonkhonk, he proceeds to the gulley where a good five-plus bells are already deposited. He drops the bell. Crowley claps.

“Angel! You beat a video game!”

Aziraphale throws his hands up in victory. “I’m the greatest goose in the world!” He turns to Crowley, who also has thrown his hands in the air in celebration, and slaps him with a high-five hard enough to nearly dislocate the demon’s elbow. “The town surely has been taught the error of their ways.”

“Yep, you showed them. You’re a bloody menace.” The game tinkles out another piano riff, and they glance at the screen. “Oh, there’s more.”

“Is there?” But the angel is already studying the task list. “‘Make the boy fall into a puddle’ - oh, I’m certainly doing these.” Crowley has since slithered back up into his chair, and is sipping at his tea, the better to soothe his voice which, after the laughter Aziraphale induced with his bell escape, is essentially completely gone. Aziraphale pats him on the knee. “I’ll play off-stream, though, Cr - AJ. I wouldn’t want to steal your time.”

Crowley shakes his head, and points to the chat stream. Aziraphale looks, and then smiles. ‘No, on stream!’ seems to be the overwhelming sentiment, accompanied by various pictographs and variations on ‘Nooooo more Fell!! More Fell!’ “Oh, you’re all much too kind.” Hearts explode in the chat. “Oh, my.” He turns to Crowley the better to disguise the flush in his cheeks. “I suppose I did alright, then?”

Crowley nods, encouragingly, and then gestures to the computer. “Sign off and end the stream,” he whispers, with a heavy element of hissing. Aziraphale considers that if they hadn’t known each other for so long, he might not have understood him. Crowley waves a hand again, as if shooing Aziraphale toward the computer screen, and he turns back around, suddenly unsure of what to say in the face of the camera.

“Ah. Very well. I suppose that’s all for tonight. I … I’m afraid I don’t remember what you usually say at the end, dear.” He looks to Crowley, who shrugs. “I suppose I could make up my own. Ah …” He thinks about it, and then smiles, peaceful and content. “Thank you for staying, I hope you had a nice time. Be kind to one another.” He turns, nods to Crowley, and the demon nods back, leans forward, and taps the stream off.

“Did I do alright?” Aziraphale asks, as soon as the screen showing the viewers’ perspective goes dark. Behind him, Crowley tosses his sunglasses onto the plant stand next to his mug.

“You were perfect. Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No, it was … fun.” He looks toward the computer. “What nights do you usually do this?”

Crowley swallows, the better to make his voice at least somewhat audible. “Well, tomorrow’s one, typically. And I doubt I’ll be up to a full stream even in 24 hours …”

“Perfect. Back to Goose Town, then.”

“Back to Goose Town.” He grabs his mug off the plant stand, takes a slow, meditative drink, and watches Aziraphale for a minute, yellow eyes fixed on blue. “You can really be a bastard sometimes, you know it?”

“Yes, but as a goose I am absolved of my actions by virtue of being a goose. It’s just goose-driven mischief.”

“True.” Crowley sighs, and leans into the angel, eyes closing, at peace. “I still like it.”

“You would.” Aziraphale idly runs his fingers through the demon’s hair, and sighs as well, equally content. “So I’ll play again tomorrow. And then …?”

“Well, if you don’t finish, you can take another day, too.” He shrugs. “You want to do another one?”

Aziraphale considers it. “Are there … games for two people?”

“Oh? Oh, yeah. Loads.” He coughs. “Bunch of ‘em.”

“Without a lot of murder?”

“Yep.” He is quiet for a long time, and Aziraphale thinks he must have fallen asleep like that, slouched up against Aziraphale’s shoulder, mug of tea nestled loosely between his knees. Aziraphale is considering how he will take him to bed; last time he tried to carry him in a bridal carry, and he tripped over the rug in the hall and dropped the demon, who promptly turned into a snake and hid under the couch for twelve hours. He figures he will start with the tea, and inches his hand toward the mug, before it spills. Unexpectedly, Crowley stirs, and takes another gulp of tea. “You think you might like a game about farming?”

“Farming?” He hums thoughtfully. “Maybe. I’m sure if it’s with you, I’ll enjoy it.”

“Maybe we can do that one next, then.” He blinks his eyes open and yawns. “Long as you let me organize the greenhouse. You can have the galaxy sword.”

Aziraphale smiles softly. “Might not be a good idea. I don’t have a great track record with swords.”

“Hm. True.” He shrugs. “Figure it out when we get there, I suppose.”

#good omens #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #in which crowley is a twitch streamer and aziraphale is a good sport #goose omens #mbmbam references #crowley #aziraphale #i wish i didn't enjoy fanfiction so much #untitled goose game

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