Status: Open
Prompting is currently open. Prompting is open from 28 December 2024 to 19 January 2025.
About
"the poem begins not where the knife enters, but where the blade twists"
"beauty is terror"
"you'll just have to taste me, when he's kissing you"
Calling all readers, lovers of poetry and music, screen and stage. Quote collecters and lyric hoarders, unleash your archive. For this round, every prompt must contain a quote - you can combine them, add commentary, link to articles, do whatever. Steal from a literary classic, or copy a hit tweet.
🛑 HOLD UP
If this is your first time on 17hols please check out our About Page which has helpful information about dreamwidth and HTML. We are a prompting fest where all the action happens in the comment section.
Rules
- Sign up is not required.
- Fills have a minimum of 400 words for prose, haiku-length for poetry (3 lines), and 400px by 400px for art (memes are also art). Other mediums are fine too!
- There is no maximum cap.
- Tag and provide content warnings at your discretion, but a good guide are the Ao3 four (Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage) and this list of common CWs (cr: SportsFest).
- NSFW/Explicit content should be tagged
- NSFW art should not be visible, please provide a link and a warning. You may crop the artwork and embed a SFW preview.
How it works
Prompting
- Click on [Post a New Comment] at the bottom of this post;
- Change the subject;
- Copy+Paste the following HTML into your comment and edit the sections. Feel free to add as much detail as you want!
Need ideas? Check out our 2021 and 2022 Quote rounds.
Filling
- Reply to the original prompt;
- You must change the subject to [FILL] - this is to help the mods track. Feel free to add a title
- Copy+Paste the following HTML into your comment, edit the sections, and add your text.
You may also upload your fill to the AO3 Collection.
Remixing
- Post as a reply to the fill you are remixing, using the same HTML as above;
- Change the subject to [REMIX].
Art/media
- Upload your work to any platform (twitter, imgur, youtube, soundcloud, google maps, etc.)
- Using the same HTML code as above, copy the link into your fill or remix. That's it!
- Optionally, you can embed a picture into your comment. Please use the following code instead.
(To explain, the HTML resizes your picture to 400x400px so that it fits on most screens. Users can view the full size if they click on it. You can also add a link to your work on twitter so that others can share it, or to any other website you want)
On dreamwidth, you can't edit a comment once someone has replied to it.
|
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
they sit together on the porch
Major Tags: death ..?
Additional Tags: N/A
Do Not Wants: None
Prompt:
[FILL] Re: they sit together on the porch
Major Tags: character death, manslaughter
Additional Tags: implied infidelity, that scene in gatsby after myrtle’s death (daisy and tom with a plate of fried chicken) but modified, implied jealousy, complicated relationship/marriage dynamic, marriage as a contractual thing for financial and social security
Permission to remix: Yes (wonwoo pov very welcome!!)
***
Through the gilded square of the window, the sun is setting guilelessly over the curve of the bay, the leftover fried chicken is going cold on the table, and sirens are streaming down to the person they’d just killed on the highway.
The air is dense and cool inside the house, a fine layer of dust on all the fine china, the silver cutlery. Minghao swipes a crystal whiskey glass off a shelf, coughing through the dust motes, rinses it, and downs a glass of tap water. Metallic bitterness coats his tongue in one fluid gulp. Minghao winces. It’s still better than the oily aftertaste of the dinner he just managed to get down.
Wonwoo’s face is turned out the window when he sits down again at the table, one hand cradling his chin. In the faint reflection of the window, his eyes are blankly thoughtful.
Minghao sets his glass down with an unceremonious sound. It’s enough to get Wonwoo’s eyes back on him. Minghao crosses his arms on the tabletop.
“Well?” Wonwoo tilts his head. Minghao does not elaborate. He watches Wonwoo’s shoulders shrug.
“Well, that’s the end of that,” Wonwoo seems to settle on, tone unrevealing. Flat. Light, even. The line of his mouth isn’t hard, but Minghao detects the faintest quiver at the corner anyway.
“You’re not…sad?” He asks, a little carefully despite his best efforts. He fiddles subconsciously with the ring on his left hand, watches Wonwoo’s eyes zero in on the motion.
Wonwoo shrugs again, looks back out the window. Dusk is bleeding down to the horizon. The last of the sun splashes a faint blood red over the water. A muscle in Wonwoo’s jaw jumps. Minghao notices the lack of a wedding ring on his left hand. “What use is there in being sad?” Wonwoo murmurs, after a while. “He wasn’t ever going to mean anything, really, in the first place.”
Minghao slides his own ring home and stops fiddling with it. There’s a little bit of relief sliding down his throat, although in response to which piece of information, Minghao’s not too sure.
“I’m sorry, still,” Minghao says anyway, feeling obliged on some level. Compelled not by morality but by the hint of darkness lingering in Wonwoo’s eyes, the set of his mouth, the grip of his hands. The words feel laughably useless, and insufficient in honesty.
“Don’t,” Wonwoo says, short, suddenly pushing away from the table in one swift motion. The chair screeches over the tiled floor, knife against a sharpening block, and Minghao barely manages to hide his flinch. Wonwoo billows into the kitchen, snagging another whiskey glass and turning for a cabinet all in the same breath. He navigates the bottles with a familiarity that startles Minghao, somehow, as though a death should have wiped away Wonwoo’s memories and habits in this dim tomb of a house.
Amber liquid wells into the cup, and Wonwoo tosses it back carelessly. “You don’t mean that anyway.”
“Mean what?” Minghao deflects, knowing full well Wonwoo means the half-hearted apology. The truth is, he’s not sorry about Mingyu’s death. But Wonwoo’s pointed remark withers him a little anyway.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Minghao tries. Wonwoo remains staring into the depths of the liquor cabinet. “If he did or didn’t mean anything, it’s all in the past. We can walk away from this now.”
They’re not going to come after us. They never have. It goes unsaid. It’s the least of Minghao’s concerns.
He walks over to Wonwoo, lays a hand on his elbow, and thinks briefly about coaxing his husband’s face toward him. It has been so long since they’ve touched. Since he’s touched anybody.
“Come,” he says, as Wonwoo remains stone-still beneath his fingers, “let us prepare to leave this all behind.” He does reach out a hand then, flicking fingertips over the smooth slope of Wonwoo’s cheek bone. He keeps his hand calm as it collects a singular tear. As calm as his hands had been when they’d let go of the wheel. As gentle as his foot had been when it had floored the gas pedal, in the looming shadow of Mingyu’s wobbly, lanky figure on that grey, cold highway.
He hadn’t seen Wonwoo’s expression then, and wonders about it now—wonders if Wonwoo might crack open again, might let him inside, now that Mingyu’s gone.
“I thought you weren’t sad,” he whispers, cupping both hands around Wonwoo’s face. Wonwoo says nothing. His mouth shakes. His head leans into Minghao’s hands. It feels like the final acceptance Minghao has been waiting for.
No one’s going to come after them. That is not the issue. Wonwoo is going to keep choosing Minghao. That also isn’t the issue.
“We make for Manhattan tomorrow,” Minghao says, once the tears slow to a stop, and Wonwoo is breathing silent but slow and measured. In Columbus Circle, there is a penthouse waiting for them, and here is the issue: there is also Junhui.
Wonwoo has always held revenge closer than he’s ever held Minghao.
Re: [FILL] Re: they sit together on the porch
Re: [FILL] Re: they sit together on the porch
(Anonymous) 2025-01-01 09:43 pm (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] Re: they sit together on the porch
i loved reading this so much it made me look silly <3
Re: [FILL] Re: they sit together on the porch
Re: [FILL] Re: they sit together on the porch
Re: [FILL] Re: they sit together on the porch
[FILL] leave a light on
Major Tags: Major Character Death, sexual content
Additional Tags: unhappy ending, pain
Permission to remix: Yes
apologies to mingyu for being targeted in literally every fill i've written so far.
***
The apartment is quiet and dark when Wonwoo gets home, the low hum of the ice machine the only sound that greets him. He flicks on the light, revealing the usual mess: Mingyu’s shoes kicked off haphazardly, his jackets draped over the entryway bench. Wonwoo sighs, toeing off his boots and sliding into his house slippers. As he loosens his tie, he moves into the living room, tossing his bag onto the couch before glancing at the clock.
Mingyu is late, but that’s nothing new. He’s always overcommitting, always stuck at the office or caught up helping someone with something.
“I’ll make it up to you later, I promise,” he always says with that boyish, irresistible grin. And every time, Wonwoo folds.
Wonwoo isn’t much of a drinker, but tonight feels like an exception. He’s never taken the time to learn about vintages or blends and so the wine rack in the kitchen is exclusively stocked with Mingyu’s favorites. He grabs a bottle at random without bothering to check the label, the cork popping with an easy twist of his wrist.
Two glasses sit waiting on the counter, and he fills them both, the dark liquid swirling as he carries them to the living room. The coffee table is cluttered, his books and Mingyu’s sketch pads surrounding a half-finished architectural model Mingyu’s been working on. Wonwoo sets a glass down on either side of it before sinking into the couch with a sigh.
He sips his wine, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. As the night stretches on, a sliver of worry begins to creep in, but he brushes it off, picturing Mingyu rushing through the door at any moment, apologizing profusely, as if he doesn’t already know Wonwoo’s a pushover when it comes to him.
When the door finally does click open, Wonwoo doesn’t look up right away, eyes flicking to the battery symbol on his phone screen. 9%. “Took you long enough,” he grumbles.
“Sorry! I’ve been dying to get home,” Mingyu replies, smooth as ever. “Difficult client.”
Wonwoo glances up, and there he is—leaning in the doorway, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair perfectly tousled, his dress shirt untucked and just the right amount of rumpled. Typical Kim Mingyu, looking like he stepped out of a fashion spread without trying.
“You could’ve texted,” Wonwoo says, trying for irritation but falling short.
“And ruin the suspense?” Mingyu grins as he steps into the room. “Never.”
Wonwoo rolls his eyes but can’t stop the warmth that spreads through his chest at the sight of him. “You’re annoying.”
“And you love me,” Mingyu counters, dropping onto the couch beside him. He reaches for the glass of wine set out for him but pauses, his gaze shifting to Wonwoo’s empty one instead. “Long day?”
Wonwoo exhales, sinking deeper into the cushions. “Better now.”
Without a word, Mingyu drapes an arm around his shoulders and pulls him closer. Wonwoo leans into him, breathing in the familiar scent of cedar and leather.
“You always smell so good,” Wonwoo murmurs into Mingyu’s shirt.
Mingyu chuckles. “You picked this cologne.”
“I know.” Wonwoo laughs softly, but it falters when Mingyu shifts, pulling back just enough for their eyes to meet. There’s something in Mingyu’s gaze—an emotion that’s just a little too intense—and, for a moment, neither of them speaks.
“You’re staring,” Mingyu finally says, lips curving into a smirk.
“Can’t help it,” Wonwoo admits quietly. “You’re…” His words trail off as he reaches for Mingyu’s hand, his fingers tracing the familiar ridges of his knuckles. A frown creases his brow. “You’re cold.”
Mingyu hums, leaning in until their foreheads touch. “Then warm me up.”
Wonwoo doesn’t need to be told twice. He cups Mingyu’s face, drawing him into a kiss that starts soft but deepens quickly. Mingyu pulls him closer, guiding him into his lap until their bodies press together.
“Missed you,” Wonwoo breathes against Mingyu’s lips, his hands sliding under Mingyu’s shirt to feel the bare skin beneath. “Hate when you’re not here.”
“Well, I’m here now,” Mingyu whispers, his voice soothing. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
Mingyu shifts them gently, lowering Wonwoo down until his back meets the couch cushions. He pushes Wonwoo’s shirt up his torso, his lips traveling from Wonwoo’s mouth to his jaw, down the line of his throat. He lingers at the places where he knows Wonwoo is most sensitive, and sure enough, Wonwoo’s body trembles, his fingers tightening reflexively on Mingyu’s biceps.
“You’re so easy to fluster,” Mingyu murmurs, his voice low and fond, lips brushing against Wonwoo’s collarbone.
“Shut up,” Wonwoo mutters weakly, his body betraying him with a sharp intake of breath as Mingyu’s teeth scrape against his skin.
Mingyu grins, that devastating, cocky grin, and leans back just enough to take off his shirt. “Just relax, hyung. Let me take care of you, yeah?”
Wonwoo tries his best to obey but how can he relax when he feels like he’s drowning? How can he let Mingyu take care of him when—
Mingyu kisses him again, cutting off his spiraling thoughts, before sliding lower. With steady hands, he undoes Wonwoo’s belt, knuckles brushing against the bare sliver of skin above his waistband. Every touch sends sparks racing along Wonwoo’s nerves, whiting out his brain, and when Mingyu tugs his pants down and presses his mouth to the fabric of Wonwoo’s briefs, it’s enough to leave him gasping.
“Mingyu—” Wonwoo chokes out his name, broken and pleading.
Mingyu pauses, the playfulness slipping from his expression as he looks up. One hand lingers at Wonwoo’s waist, thumb gently circling the sharp jut of his hip, while the other reaches to brush a tear from Wonwoo’s cheek—a tear he didn’t even realize had fallen.
“Wonwoo-yah...” Mingyu says softly, his voice so gentle it hurts.
“Don’t,” Wonwoo snaps, though he regrets it immediately. He pushes his glasses up and wipes at his eyes. “I’m sorry. I—”
“I know,” Mingyu interrupts, leaning back down to press a kiss to the sensitive skin of Wonwoo’s inner thigh. “It’s okay. I know.”
Wonwoo exhales shakily, his fingers threading through Mingyu’s hair, his body arching helplessly towards him.
"Please," he breathes. “Please, Min. I just…I need you.”
Mingyu doesn’t make him wait. He tugs Wonwoo’s briefs aside and takes him into his mouth, starting slow. He maps the shape of Wonwoo with his tongue, coaxing out groans and desperate shudders of pleasure with ease. It’s an intensity born of familiarity. Mingyu knows exactly where to linger, where to press just a little harder, where to ease off.
The pressure builds steadily, tension coiling tighter and tighter in Wonwoo’s middle until it feels like it might turn him inside out. He’s fighting it, though he doesn’t know why, his fingers clutching at Mingyu’s shoulders, at the cushions beneath him, at his own thighs…anywhere he can find purchase. But it’s a war he can’t win. It feels too good, his body too desperate for release.
When Wonwoo finally comes apart, it's with a choked cry, his whole body trembling as he spills over Mingyu’s fist. The aftershocks leave him breathless and wrecked, his vision blurred and his thoughts scattered.
For a moment, all Wonwoo can hear is the sound of his own ragged breathing. He feels warm and boneless in the most deliciously satisfying way, and he smiles faintly, blissful exhaustion tugging at the edges of his consciousness. But then his gaze sharpens as it drifts to the coffee table, and something twists deep in his stomach. He sits up so fast his head spins.
The glass of wine he poured hours ago still sits untouched, waiting for hands that never reached for it. The sketch pads, filled with Mingyu’s detailed drawings, lie beneath layers of dust, their edges curling. The miniature architectural model sits forgotten, its tiny details left unfinished.Â
A cold chill spreads through Wonwoo’s chest, hollowing out the heat of moments ago. His hand, resting on his thigh, feels slick and tacky, but he can’t bring himself to look down at it.
Still, the truth sinks in. Slowly. Cruelly.
He glances sideways at Mingyu, who’s still there beside him, watching him with those familiar deep brown eyes. But something is wrong. Something that makes Wonwoo’s heart stutter.
His hand shakes as he reaches out to touch Mingyu’s cheek, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin. But his fingers pass through empty space, meeting nothing but air.
Mingyu isn’t there.
He hasn’t been there for a long time.
Wonwoo’s pulse quickens as he pulls his hand back, his chest tightening with panic. The cedar and leather scent lingering in the air is real, but it isn’t Mingyu’s anymore. It’s his. It’s the cologne he puts on every morning, desperately clinging to a memory he can’t let go of. Someone who left him too soon.
He closes his eyes, leaning back against the couch as a tear slips down his cheek. He wipes it away absently, his gaze drifting back to the empty space beside him.
Mingyu isn’t coming home.
He won’t walk through the door again. Won’t wrap Wonwoo in his arms, apologizing in that low, raspy voice. Won’t flash that stupid, cocky grin that always disarmed him in seconds.
Wonwoo knows this. Has known it for months.
But waiting is all he has left. Irrational, hopeless, unhealthy—it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t know how to stop.
Before heading to bed, he pours the untouched glass of wine down the sink. He adjusts the boiler temperature, turns off all the lights one by one, his fingers lingering on the switch for the entryway light.
He decides to leave it on tonight.
Just in case.
Mingyu is always running late, after all.
ao3
Re: [FILL] leave a light on
Re: [FILL] leave a light on