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sweetaliencheeks · 2 years ago

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THE ONE WHERE SHE ADMITS IT

“Hey, there” Peter’s voice echoed through the room, drowning the insisting whirring and beeping of the machines that surrounded us.

“Peter” I offered him a warm smile, happy to see him there so late “Hi, what are you doing here?”

“Wanted to check up on you, make sure you’re good…” he walked up to me, a hot drink in his left hand a blanket in the right “You look terrible”

“Thanks” he handed me the drink, warmth instantly spreading from my fingertips all the way up to my chest “I feel terrible”

“I know” I felt the soft blanket being set on my naked shoulders and a sigh left my lungs, I had been freezing for hours but nothing could make me leave him. Peter crouched beside me, his eyes locked on Rocket “Anything?” I shook my head.

“Not really, I think I saw a twitch” tears began to form in my eyes as I ran my thumb across Rocket’s hand, my whole arm was numb from being in the same position for so long. I sniffled and took a sip of my drink “But I haven’t slept in a while, so I don’t really know anymore”

“We’re gonna get him back” his hand went up to give my thigh a soft squeeze “I promise you”

“I want to believe you so bad, Peter” I kicked my had back and set my eyes on a little smudge on the ceiling above me, trying to stop the tears from falling again “But I’m gonna be devastated if we don’t…”

“He’s my best friend, I’m not giving up” Peter’s voice sounded almost like a growl, he was just as angry, and sad, and frustrated as I was. Rocket was his as much as he was mine and despite their differences, they had a bond stronger than the both of them could ever comprehend “We’re gonna find them, we’re gonna fix Rocket”

“Mm…” with a sigh, I let go of Rocket’s hand and brought it up to pet the top of his head “Do you think he knows we’re here?”

“He better, so he knows how uncomfortable it is to sleep on that fucking chair” with a thumb pointed at the chair I was sitting on, Peter snorted.

“It is a shit chair” I said with a chuckle, ignoring the fact that everything from the back of my thighs to the nape of my neck was sore “But I mean, does he feel it when I hold him?”

“You’ve been holding him?” Peter asked, a small grin at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah?” I shrugged and looked away from him, taking a swig of my drink “Is that weird?”

“I don’t know, is it?” he nudged my leg with his shoulder.

“Shut up, Peter” I playfully pushed him off me, a comforting silence setting between us. I took a deep breath, feeling a sob climbing up the back of my throat “I can’t wait to hear his voice again”

“Yeah, I miss being insulted for no reason” Peter scoffed, his own eyes now as full of tears as mine.

“You’re too dramatic” I set my drink tightly between my knees and offered Peter a sweet squeeze on his shoulder. I began to weep in silence, hoping he wouldn’t notice, but then I just slumped on my chair, face covered by both the blanked and my hands. The sob I had been trying to suppress rolled up my lungs like a wave and thick heavy tears began to run down my cheeks and staining my skin, coming out from the depths of my soul with an anguished scream. I couldn’t stop it now. It was somewhere between the grief I wish I wouldn’t feel and an unspeakable sense of despair and crushing loss. Anxiety spreading through my veins like wildfire and a pain so strong, that it almost burnt my bones. A string of uncontrollable sobs came out, strained by the fact that I simply couldn’t get any air in my lungs. I was choking underneath the weight of my own chest, shaking so hard that I almost felt sick.

“Hey, hey, breathe” Peter quickly rose to his feet to uncover my face, forcefully holding my arms down and holding me up so I wouldn’t fall. It was consuming, all the regret and nostalgia. It was pressing against my chest, my whole body ached and I was beginning to feel dizzy “Come on, breathe” he held me tight against his chest, this different and much more comforting and loving feeling of being crushed quickly took over the anxiety that threatened to asphyxiate me if I didn’t start breathing soon. So I laid my head on Peter’s chest and took a few deep breaths, as he rubbed my back.

“I love him, Peter. I love him so much it fucking hurts” I sobbed softly into his T-shirt, pools of tears staining the fabric. As I spoke, I could feel another crushing wave begin to form in my entrails “I never got to tell him, he can’t die”

“He won’t die, we got this” he pulled away to grab my shoulders as he spoke “We got a plan”

“But what if-” I looked up at him, searching in his eyes for the hope he preached and that I so desperately needed. I was wailing, I was screaming and I was thrashing around in Peter’s arms. I felt like there was no floor beneath my feet and like the air around me was as heavy as iron. I couldn’t bear how unfair it all was, it was unfair that he had lived most his life knowing that he didn’t belong, feeling like an outcast, feeling like he wasn’t worthy of the kind of love I felt for him. Amongst the regret and pain, I felt guilt. In a way, it was my fault if he didn’t know. I had countless opportunities to tell him and I kept choosing not to do it, all the mornings I woke up in his bed, all the kisses and intimate moments we shared, and never once did I tell him “He’ll die not knowing what he means me, he deserves to know! He deserves to know that he’s loved the way he is”

“I know, sweetheart. I know” Peter’s hand travelled to the back of my head, and I could now hear him sniffle into my hair. I realised that he too, needed support and affection, that it was selfish of me to assume that I was the only reason why he was there. My arms tightened around his waist and I gripped the back of his shirt.

“He’s perfect for me, Peter. He makes me so happy, please. I must tell him, he has to know” as we stood there holding each other, my breathing started to slow down and finally settled on the same rhythm as Peter’s.

“He knows. In fact, we all know how much you love him” once again, he pulled away to look down at me, brushing the stray hairs away from my face. I frowned at his statement and slightly tilted my head to the side “What? Do you think you’re any good at hiding it?”

“I’ve got nothing to hide” I could feel a blush rise up my cheeks as I looked away.

“Oh, please. It’s always giggling and pet names and touching, with you two. And the flirting? Do you know how much it takes to get me bothered?” he chuckled, his cheeks turning red as he wiped away the tears.

“It’s just banter, and attraction. It wasn’t supposed to be love” I replied, letting go of Peter to hold my own arm “He’d never love someone like me”

“Excuse me? You should see how he looks at you” I chuckled, I knew Rocket had a soft spot for me. But then again, we had been through so much together that acts that could be perceived as being of love, as small as they were, had become frequent between us. We’d always fix each other’s clothes and hair, always get double drinks or extra food for the other, always said goodnight and goodbye more intensely, always looked out for each other. Always. But I had never thought he’d do it from a romantic place. Although we’d been spending some quality time together in hotel rooms and bathroom stalls at the bar, it had never been anything more than that. Love was never on the table.

“You really think he loves me?” I whispered. Of course I wanted to believe Peter, but believing him would mean hoping and hoping would possibly lead to heartbreak. But I still needed to know.

“Obviously” he laughed, smoothing my hair down and setting a hand on my cheek “You start preparing your speech for when he wakes up, can’t be telling him you love him with mascara on your cheeks and snot all over your face”

“Yeah, sure” I scoffed, my eyes landing on Rocket’s body again as I suppressed another sob. I shook my head and let myself drop on the chair behind me “Like I’d ever tell him…”

“You’re so fucking dumb. You’ve got someone who loves you, and he isn’t dead” this time, his whole face turned red, and his voice went up a notch. It bounced off the walls and echoed in the room like thunder “So you still got time, better make it worth”

“I guess” it started to down on me why Peter was angry and the pang of guilt I had been feeling got worse, so bad that I could have thrown up. He had lost his soul mate. Gamora was dead and I was standing there, in front of him, refusing to acknowledge how lucky I was to still be able to hold Rocket in my arms “You’re right. I just wish there was an easy way to let him know”

“Just tell him” some gadget started to beep and made him rummage through every single one of his pockets before finding it and turning it off. He gave me a side smile and a pat on the head “I gotta go, you keep him company” with a small nod, I watched him leave into the darkness and let out a long sigh, relieved to finally be alone with my emotions. I stood up again, my aching bones screaming for comfort and my soul begging for rest.

“I hope you don’t mind if I hog a little bit of your space, but I always sleep better next to you” I went around and under all the cables and appliances around Rocket to lay down next to him on the hard metal table “I won’t leave your side, I promise” I set my hand on the side of his face, rubbing my thumb against his cheek before planting a kiss there “Just come back to me, my beloved raccoon”

A big thank you to @hypothermia-brrrr (who for some unknown reason I’m unable to tag), for suggesting this <3 I hope it’s as you hoped and I hope you all like it!.

This is part one, and part two is in works! Don’t know each way I wanna go with it after Rocket confronts the reader after hearing this talk. Do I make it sweet and romantic, or angsty and FULL of sexual tension? Please, help a girl out.

Love you all sm 🤍

#fanfic #rocket x reader #gotg fic #gotg vol 1 #gotg vol 3 #marvel #rocket raccoon #gotg x reader #gotg2 #marvel x reader #star lord #peter quill #peter quill x reader #gotg 3 imagine #gotg3 spoilers

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steamed-yakosobaa · 3 months ago

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Death and Rebirth — Yumiko

TW: Heavy Descriptions of Child abuse, Yumiko’s dad is an alcoholic, cursing, death (father throws Yumiko outside in the middle of winter), more death (whole house is burned down), Suiren. Do not read if easily triggered.

The wind howled outside as snowflakes tumbled from the darkened sky, blanketing the small house in a layer of icy silence. Inside, the warmth that once filled Yumiko’s home had long since disappeared, buried under years of cruelty and suffering. Twelve-year-old Yumiko sat curled in the corner of the living room, her knees tucked to her chest as she clung to the stuffed fox her mother had given her—a fragile reminder of the love she had once known.

Her father had changed after her mother’s death. Where there had been a semblance of affection, now there was only rage and bitterness, fueled by the constant presence of alcohol. His new wife, a woman as cruel as him, only made things worse, treating Yumiko like a nuisance, a burden.

The door slammed open with a loud crack, and her father staggered in, reeking of alcohol and anger. His eyes, bloodshot and filled with contempt, locked onto Yumiko, and she shrank back instinctively.

“Yumiko!” he bellowed, his voice thick with venom. “Why are you just sitting there? Useless… just like your mother.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, fear threading through her veins as she scrambled to her feet. “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, backing away as he approached her. His footsteps were heavy, each one reverberating through the floor like a death knell.

“Sorry?” He laughed, a cold, bitter sound that sent chills down her spine. “Sorry doesn’t fix anything! You’re a worthless little brat, and I’ve fucking had enough.”

Before she could react, his hand shot out, grabbing her by the arm. She cried out as his fingers dug into her skin, yanking her forward with brutal force. “You think you can just sit around while I bust my ass? Think again.”

The slap came fast and hard, a sharp crack that echoed through the room. Yumiko stumbled, her cheek burning from the impact, but she didn’t have time to recover before he hit her again, this time knocking her to the ground.

“I don’t want you in my house!” he roared, his face twisted with rage. Grabbing her by the collar of her shirt, he dragged her toward the front door, his grip bruising and unyielding.

“Please… dad, no…! Let go! Please!” she begged, but her words fell on deaf ears. With a grunt, he hurled her outside, slamming the door shut behind her.

Yumiko landed hard on the frozen ground, the snow seeping through her thin clothes as the bitter wind bit at her skin. The cold was merciless, wrapping around her like icy chains that sank deeper with every passing second.

She struggled to her feet, her body shaking uncontrollably as she pounded weakly on the door. “Please! Let me in!” she cried, her voice barely audible over the howling wind. But there was no answer. Inside, her father’s voice grew distant, swallowed by the storm. He wasn’t coming for her. No one was.

The freezing air stole the warmth from her breath, her body trembling as the cold pierced her skin. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep moving, but her legs felt heavy, her fingers numb. The snow swirled around her, a frozen wasteland with no escape.

Her breaths became shallow, her vision blurring as her body started to give in to the cold. The ground seemed to pull her down as if urging her to surrender. She stumbled, falling into the snow, her body too weak to stand again. Her mind drifted, her consciousness slipping away as the world around her dimmed. In her fading awareness, she heard something—a soft, gentle voice, different from the cruel tone she had grown accustomed to.

The stillness around her broke as the sharp, otherworldly presence of Inari Ōkami stirred. A soft, glowing figure, radiant with divine energy, appeared by Yumiko’s side. The fox goddess knelt, her face serene yet filled with the weight of ancient wisdom.

“Yumiko,” Inari whispered, her voice carrying through the frozen air like a warm breeze in winter. “You have suffered greatly, and yet your suffering is not in vain. I have heard your cries, and I will give you the strength to make right what has been wronged.”

At Inari’s touch, warmth surged through Yumiko’s body. Her spirit stirred, rising from the cold grip of death as her form began to shift. Where a broken girl had once lain, a fox now stood, her sleek silver fur glowing faintly in the moonlight, her sharp eyes reflecting a smoldering rage.

Yumiko had been reborn—not as a helpless child, but as a Yako, a wild fox spirit with a singular purpose: vengeance.

She gazed up at the house where her father and stepmother slept, unaware of the storm brewing at their doorstep. The anger that had simmered within her for years, restrained by fear, now burned hot and fierce. Her fur bristled as she prowled toward the house, her paws sinking into the snow without making a sound. The fire within her mirrored the biting cold around her—both elements waiting to consume everything in their path.

Inari’s voice echoed in her mind, soft yet firm. “You were wronged, Yumiko. Now is the time to reclaim your power. Fulfill your purpose.”

With each step closer to the house, Yumiko’s form began to shimmer, her fox body rippling with the magic bestowed upon her. The foxfire within her roared to life, burning brighter with each flicker of her tail. The moment she touched the wooden door with her paw, a flame ignited, its orange and blue light licking up the frame and growing fast.

The wood hissed and crackled, the fire spreading rapidly as the heat intensified, consuming the house that had witnessed years of cruelty. Smoke curled into the air, a signal to the stars that vengeance was at hand. Yumiko leapt into the house, her fox form dancing through the flames as they spiraled up the walls.

Inside, her father and stepmother woke to the scent of smoke, panic taking root in their hearts. They stumbled out of bed, coughing and wheezing, only to be greeted by the sight of the inferno raging around them.

“Yumiko!” her father bellowed, his voice barely audible over the roaring flames. His eyes, bloodshot and wild, darted through the smoke in search of her.

But what he found was not the daughter he had abused, nor the helpless child he had thrown into the cold. What stood before him was a creature of vengeance, her fur glowing with ethereal fire, her eyes filled with a fury older than the gods.

Yumiko bared her fangs, a low growl rumbling from her throat. The flames around her surged in response, growing hotter, hungrier. She didn’t need to speak—the fire would do the talking for her.

Her father’s voice faltered, fear overtaking the anger he had always wielded. “What… what are you…?”

Without hesitation, Yumiko lunged forward. The flames followed her, engulfing everything in their path. She didn’t stop as the fire wrapped around her father, burning away the last of his cruelty and malice. The smoke thickened, swirling around them as the house collapsed in on itself, the flames consuming her stepmother in the process.

Their screams echoed through the night, quickly silenced by the fire’s wrath. Yumiko watched without flinching, her fox form moving with grace through the destruction. There was no hesitation, no remorse. This was the justice she had been denied in life.

The house, now a charred ruin, crackled beneath the weight of the flames. As the fire died down, Yumiko stood in the center of the wreckage, her fur still alight with the faint glow of foxfire. Her heart, which had been heavy with pain and fear for so long, now felt strangely light.

She had fulfilled her purpose. The ones who had wronged her were gone, reduced to ashes by the fire of her vengeance.

But as the last ember flickered out, Yumiko felt a shift in the air. Inari’s presence, which had been a constant source of warmth and guidance, began to fade. The divine power that had protected her, fueled her, was slipping away.

“You have done what was asked of you,” Inari’s voice whispered, distant and calm. “But vengeance comes at a price. You will no longer be under my protection.”

Yumiko’s fox ears twitched at the sound of the goddess’s final words. She understood. Her time as a spirit of divine justice had ended. What came next would be her own path to walk.

The divine warmth left her, and for the first time since her rebirth, Yumiko felt the weight of the world pressing down on her. Her regeneration abilities would protect her from many things, but not from the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

As she stood alone in the smoldering remains of her old life, a soft, soothing voice broke the silence.

“My, my… what a sight you are.”

Yumiko turned, her sharp eyes narrowing as a figure stepped out from the shadows. A woman, dressed in white, her pale skin untouched by the cold night air. Her eyes gleamed with curiosity, her smile gentle yet strangely unsettling.

“I saw what you did here,” the woman said, her voice kind yet carrying an undertone of something more. “Such strength�� such power. You must be cold, yes? You’ve had a difficult night.”

Yumiko tilted her head, watching the woman warily. Something about her was off, but Yumiko’s instincts, still raw and burning from her vengeance, didn’t immediately raise alarms.

“I run an orphanage,” the woman continued, her smile widening. “A place where children like you—those who have lost their way—can find a new home. You needn’t wander alone anymore. Let me help you.”

The fire in Yumiko’s eyes flickered, the pull of safety and warmth suddenly feeling enticing after the chaos of the night. Her heart hesitated, but her body, tired and aching, was swayed by the woman’s soft words.

“My name is Ougai Suiren,” she said, extending her hand. “Come with me, little one.”

Yumiko stared at the offered hand, her thoughts swirling in the cold night air. Slowly, she shifted into her human form, her body weak but resolute. She reached out and took Suiren’s hand, unaware that she was walking into a new kind of darkness—one far colder than the winter night.

And as the ruins of her past smoldered behind her, Yumiko took her first steps toward a future filled with torment and secrets she could never have imagined.

Tagging…

@respiratory-kristem

#ׂ╰┈➤♥ Chiwrites ♥#‎‧₊˚✧🦊𝓨𝓾𝓶𝓲𝓴𝓸 ✧˚₊‧#bsd oc #ׂ╰┈➤ oc lore #Bungou stray dogs #Bungou stray dogs original character

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mosquitinho · 2 years ago

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btw i had actual extreme bad luck on friday the 13rd fellas i feel like i unlocked an achievement

#yesterday i ate a bad fruit by accident and had The WOrSt food poisoning of my life jgdnnfnfngnf #i was vomiting and diarrhea-ing literally at the same time in absurd volumetric proportions .#i was shaking uncontrollably + my whole body was numb and heavy + i was screaming like i was possessed due to the extreme dehydration #and had to go to the er 💀💀💀💀💀💀#thank god i was w my gf + our friend who is a Nurse (!!!!!!) was nearby they fucking saved my life..........#my gf carrying me in the streets looking for a cab that could take us to the er while i was trembling so bad and nearly convuncing . nvnxnc #anyways thats what happened 1on my friday the 13rd im way better today !!!!#still pissing thru my butt but i dont feel like death is coming to take me in her sweet embrace anymore .

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heartshyuck · 2 years ago

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Die for me

pairing: haechan x reader

genre: ANGST, thriller/horror, some fluff ig, established relationship, magic au.

synopsis: Grief leads to desperation and fear. Haechan can no longer handle the grief that eats away at him. He’ll do anything to bring you back to his side, even if it means to defy death.

word count: 7k

warnings: death, smut but it’s … not?, manic episodes (funeral mania), delusion, hypo mania, blood, violence, rituals to bring back the dead, distorted bodies, suicide, self harm and profanities.

a/n: this is my first fic after a while! Of course it’s a hyuck fic but because it’s been so long I apologise if it’s a little rusty. This fic actually made me sob lol, like full on ugly cry. Now what I mean by smut but not smut is that it happening but like bro wtf is happening yk. If you don’t get it then you’ll see, minors please dni. It has a lot of dark themes, don’t read if you’re not fully comfortable reading about all the warnings.

Grief is an ugly emotion. All consuming and rooted into the depths of your bones, muscles deteriorating and flesh being eaten away - it rots you whole but it does not change you. Grief only reveals what is the worst of you, stripped down to your core. Desperate. It feels like fear.

Stage one: denial

Haechan sits in your shared apartment, or what used to be. His hands twisting and turning the silver band that weighs heavy on his finger. His eyes, red and drooping but still tears manage to fall slowly despite the sting. He stares at your ring that now lies on the table, its once matching silver band now coated in a crust of dried blood. The images of your lifeless body lying on the road resurface and a new fresh wave of tears break the dam once more. His breath becomes heavy, fast and uncontrollable, he lets out a sob - lips quivering. His face is contoured by pain that lies heavy in his chest, a pain that forms a numbness, emptiness. He cries until he tires, eyes drooping and red, they finally close - the cycle continues.

The doorbell rings again. Haechan is still in his suite from the funeral when he rubs his eyes awake. His head pounding and ears ringing, he looks around to see where he is and he’s still lying on the couch. “______” he calls out, getting up to find the bedroom empty, “_____” he calls again as he heads to the door, the doorbell still ringing. “_____?” he questions as he swings the door open, only to find Mark with a deep frown on his face.

“Hey” Haechan says, yawning, rubbing his eyes that are still sore. “Come in” he says, opening the door wider for Mark to step in. “_____ isn’t home right now, must have gone out to go get something.” and Marks frown only deepens, his eyes watery and he stares at Haechan as if he’s hurt. “What’s wrong?”

“Hyuck” Mark’s voice cracks, his lips quivering

“What’s wrong?” Haechan panics “Mark what is it?” but the older doesn't answer, tears streaming down his face “What is it?” Haechan’s jaw is tight and the words struggle through as he grows impatient, fear settling in the pit of his stomach. “Mark!”

“_____’s gone” he says crashing into him, arms engulfing Haechan

“What do you mean gone?” He says in a small unsure chuckle

“She’s gone, Hyuck. She died two days ago” he sobs and Haechan’s legs give way below him, dropping to his knees, he shakes as the tears come back once again and Mark’s still holding on to him.

“This is a sick joke Mark” Haechan tries to even his breathing, “seriously not funny” he sniffles and Mark only pulls him in closer, holds him tighter. “Where’s ______?” Mark doesn’t answer, shivering with sobs that echo throughout his body, “Mark?!” Haechan’s voice is desperate and broken. “Please” he begs.

Mark can only shake his head, gripping onto Haechan’s suit jacket, “She’s gone.” He repeats again and again until the words swirl around in the air, Haechan’s mind going dizzy and his vision blurring with tears, his breathing shallows and his heart aches.

Haechan wakes up in his bed this time, shoes kicked off , jacket and tie thrown onto the floor - there’s no sight of you or Mark who he remembers being here. His head is pounding but he doesn't remember drinking, he presses the base of his palms into his eyes trying to get rid of the soreness. He grabs for his phone that’s on the bedside table and displays it’s eleven pm, and he turns to his side to see your side of the bed is still empty. “______?” he calls out but there’s no response, you must be wearing your headphones he thinks. Sighing, his body heavy, he swings his legs out of bed to search for you.

“_____” He calls out again as he enters into the living room where he expects to find you on the floor, papers sprawled out in front of you, laptop on the coffee table and you furiously typing away and he’d probably have to drag you away from your work and into bed. You’ll insist that you’ll be finished in five more minutes but you both know that’s a lie. He’ll ask if you have eaten anything and you’d guiltily shake your head, so Haechan would head into the kitchen and make the bargain that you could work until he came back with food, then after you’d have to eat and join him in bed. But you’re not there.

Maybe you’re coming late from work, he thinks and makes his way back into the bedroom to call you. It rings once, twice, three times, four times, five times and then finally “Hello” Haechan smiles, “Hey Hyuck! Nah i’m just kidding, this is my voicemail loser! Leave me a message if it’s important, love you” You voice says back to him and no matter how annoying it is, Haechan can’t help but smile when he hears it. “I love you too” is all he leaves in his message.

There’s one more person to call when you go awol like this, head buried in work forgetting that there’s a life outside of that office of yours. “Hey Jaemin” Haechan says as the rings finally stop

“Hey hyuck” Jaemin’s words are careful, his voice solemn.

“Is ______ at the office still? It’s pretty late and I’m guessing you’re still there too because you’re just as bad as her” Haechan laughs but Jaemin stays quiet.

“No she’s not here.” Jaemin says softly after some time.

“That’s strange” Hyuck replies, a little worried.

“How about I come by?” Jaemin offers

“Sure?”

It’s close to midnight by the time the door rings and Haechan jumps up hoping you forgot your keys but once he swings the door open, his smile drops upon seeing Jaemin standing there instead.

“Come on, I’m not that bad” Jaemin offers a small smile. “How are you doing?” he asks, carefully

“I’m okay” Haechan says as he lets him, leading him into the living room, “worried where _____ is though, I called her parents but they just said I shouldn’t be alone right now and told me to drive down.” He shrugs confused.

“Maybe you should take that offer?” Jaemin lifts an eyebrow “or go to your parents, I know your mum wants you back”

“Maybe but they’re acting weird, I’m not sure what it is really” Haechan says as he drops onto the couch “I’ll talk about it with _____ and see if she wants to go this weekend” he yawns and at his words Jaemin grimaces.

“You want to spend the night at mine? Come on I insist” Jaemin pushes

“I’d love to but ______ isn’t home yet.”

“Hyuck” Jaemin sighs

“What?”

“_______ is dead.”

“I don’t know why you and Mark think this is funny but seriously this needs to stop” Haechan sighs

“Get up. Now!” Jaemin pull Haechan off the couch, “put your shoes and jacket on”

“Jaemin seriously I’m not going anywhere until ______ comes back”

“I’m taking you to her”

The drive was silent, Jaemin didn’t say where you were but Haechan got into the car without hesitation, it felt like years he’d spent away from you. The only sound that filled the silence was the splashing of rain against the surface of the car. The windshield wipers are relentless in their work, continuously wiping again and again but to no avail as the rain too is relentless.

Jaemin stops the car outside a graveyard and fear rises in Haechan “What are we doing here?” he asks in a panic but Jaemin doesn’t answer, instead turning to open the door he walks out and waits for Haechan to follow him. “Jaemin?” he calls out after him as he follows him through the rows of graves “Jaemin! Answer me!”

“No you listen to me!” He turns as he screams; rain drenching him, his hair sticks to his forehead. He grabs Haechan’s shirt, pulling him closer and turning him towards the headstone that reads __________, beloved daughter and wife. “She’s gone and she’s not coming back” Jaemin cries as he shakes him. Haechan stares at your name etched onto the stone and his mind swirls, his eyes blur and reality finally falls into place. He pushes Jaemin off of him, falls to his knees, and an ugly sob ripples through him.

“She’s gone hyuck but she wouldn’t want you to live like this. It’s time you accept it, to remember the amazing person she was and why you fell in love with her and then learn to live without her. You have to accept this so you can heal. Jaemin says as he falls beside Haechan, rubbing up and down his back - trying to comfort him.

“I can’t heal.” Haechan chokes out “I don’t want to”

"Grief is all that untold love that you have for her and you told her you loved her everyday. It's love being preserved" Jaemin whispers

And Haechan feels the cold settle in his bones, the rain washed off his face by the steady stream of tears. His throat closes up, his mind fills with fog and he goes dizzy. His heart stops beating

Denial is protection from the pain that follows after. When you finally come to terms with what has happened, finally comprehend the loss in your life; guilt rises up and eats your consciousness away. Your mind goes from delusion to fixation, constantly thinking about that day. What could have been different? How could you have stopped this? Who’s fault was this?

Stage two: pain and guilt

Haechan’s at Jaemin’s place tonight, the doctors advised it’s best not to be alone during difficult times. He doesn’t want to be constantly doted on by his mother, constantly asking if he was okay when she knew he wasn’t - impatient to see him heal. He couldn’t take up your parent’s offer, everything about that house reminds him of you, it was you; where you grew up, where he first kissed you, where he asked you to prom and where he asked you to marry him.

Under the apple tree at the far end of the garden, the swing your dad put up one summer still hanging onto the branches and it was after dinner with your parents. You sat on the swing as Haechan pushed you, he didn’t plan it and you hadn’t spoken about it but he knew in that moment with the moon breaking through your hair, the most beautiful smile on your face as you laughed at something stupid he had said, he knew this was it. You were the one. The question fell from his lips clumsily. “Will you marry me?” he sounded uncertain, as if he was asking himself and your laughter halted, you turned with eyes wide and glossy but when you asked “are you serious?” He didn't need time to think and he didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” he replied in an instant “will you marry me?” this time more confidently and you pressed your lips to him muttering a yes against him.

The memory burns him, the pit in his chest fills with fire and spreads throughout his body with an ache that leaves him paralysed. Jaemin is no better than his mother really, taking days off of work to look after Haechan, cooking his favourite food - constantly doting - but at least he doesn’t ask if Haechan is okay, if he’s feeling better or telling him that time heals all and that things will get better. Haechan doesn’t believe they will and Jaemin knows that.

“The doctors prescribed these for when you have” Jaemin pauses “ an episode” he places the capsule into the draw of the bedside table

“A manic episode” Haechan corrects him but Jaemin brushes it off

“It’s Sunday.” Jaemin says as he pulls the curtains back “You want to go to the florist and deliver ______ her flowers?” He smiles as the sun rays flood the room. Jaemin introduced Haechan to you, all the way back in middle school when Haechan was still a rambling mess when it came to talking to a pretty girl but Jaemin thought you two were made for each other - even back then. It was a Sunday morning and Jaemin had stayed over at Haechan’s convincing him to go out and pick a sunflower out of his mother’s garden, which he later got told off for but it was worth it when he delivered it to your door and you had taken it after placing a kiss on Haechan’s cheek. Every sunday after that Haechan would pick a sunflower to give to you, when you moved in together a vase of them was waiting for you on the kitchen counter. Every sunday.

Haechan only nods in response, no matter if the promise was death do us part, his love for you was alive and it was the only thing he was sure of.

Haechan has visited this florist countless times but this time he can’t seem to step foot inside, to see the people he’d see and speak to about you. The woman at the back who’d cut and arranged every bouquet he’d bought, who’d ask how you were? Her husband who assisted her, who had given Haechan advice for every time you would get into an argument and he’d come here to buy an apology flower, and their daughter at the till, who had given many bunches for free, saying she couldn’t capitalise on love.

“I can’t do it” Haechan turned to Jaemin

“Slow steps” He replied with a smile before stepping in, the small bell announcing his entrance and the daughter at the till suddenly straightened, her head looking towards the customer who had just entered and she greets Jaemin with a familiar smile and it pains Haechan, just how much of his life were you ingrained in? When Jaemin has been invited into the back to pick out the flowers he wants, she spots Haechan and she waves, a small smile painted across her face and he waves back. She picks a small bouquet of white chrysanthemums - symbol of death- and places them around a single sunflower.

And the bell announces her arrival, “I’m sorry for your loss” she says with a soft voice, her arm extended for Haechan to take the flowers. His vision blurs with tears but he focuses it enough for him to take them from her.

“Thank you” he says, choking on the lump that forms in his throat.

“You’re welcome” She mumbles but the sob escapes regardless and she wraps her arms around Haechan and he hugs her back, a small fraction of his pain reflected

“Tell her I said hi” she says before she heads back in, Jaemin waiting for her by the till.

“She refused to let me pay” Jaemin says as he steps out

“Of course she did,” Haechan smiles, wiping his cheeks and waving one last time through the window.

“Let’s go” Jaemin urges, leading the way.

“Hey ______” Jaemin says as he sits in front of your grave, pulling Haechan with him. “I brought Hyuck with me like I promised you last week and he bought you flowers like he promised he would.” he says, placing down his separate bouquet of flowers. “I miss you at work, everyone does but especially me. I miss talking shit about everyone with you, Renjun isn’t as fun. I miss driving you home and I miss seeing you smiling stupidly at my best friend” he laughs “I miss you” he mumbles. Haechan hasn’t seen Jaemin cry for you but he supposes it’s because of him he doesn’t but Jaemin can’t help the tears that drop, which he is quick to wipe away. “I’ll let the idiot speak to you now, I’m sure he has a lot to say” Jaemin stands and walks away to leave Haechan alone with you.

“I suppose I owe you an apology” Haechan says as he places the flowers down “I’m not taking this well but I suppose you know that. You always did say I’d be hopeless without you.” Haechan’s eyes begin to well with tears once more “I just can’t help wondering what if I had picked you up from work instead or what if your boss hadn’t kept you back an hour later.” His voice breaks “I just play that day out in my head and wonder what I could have done to stop it from happening or to at least stop it from happening to you.” he lets out a deep sigh and sniffles “I miss you so much ______. I love you so much. I don’t know how I’m supposed to just live on, when my life was supposed to be spent with you. I can’t. I can’t do this without you.”

Haechan joins Jaemin a while after and a silence fills in as guilt rises in Haechan, towards you and Jaemin. “You know” he starts off as Jaemin begins to walk ahead and he hums in encouragement for Hyuck to carry on, “you don’t need to hide your emotions because of me.” he says quietly, guilty “This must be hard for you too, you were her best friend too … you loved her too” Haechan says looking at the park across the road and there’s a long silence as if Jaemin is contemplating what to say next.

“I’m not hiding my emotions” he finally breaks the silence, “I’m not that considerate of you” he laughs and pauses. “Don’t feel guilty. You’re my best friend too and I love you too. I’m going to be here for you as long as you need” he smiles and it warms Haechan, the slightest glimmer of happiness but it’s almost instantly stopped out by guilt - that he could be happy without you.

“We should get everyone together” Jaemin says, “Just the guys. They’ve been dy-” he clears his throat “begging to see you” he corrects himself. “I didn’t let them because I thought you needed some time to yourself before you were suffocated in hugs” Jaemin let out a small laugh, looking to Haechan to read his expression.

“Thanks, I appreciate it” And Haechan really does, without Jaemin he probably would be sprawled out on his apartment floor, still looking for you. “And yeah, we should have them round”

When enough guilt builds up and you feel guilty for even hurting, for even feeling any pain because you’re alive. Your life wasn’t stolen from you. Because you’ve laughed and you haven’t lived every moment in dread and sorrow. When enough guilt has built up that you wish you were dead and then you feel guilty about that. That’s when the anger settles in.

Stage three: Anger

Haechan thought he was doing well. He thought he was getting better. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he could do this. Yet seeing all these faces, so familiar and so comforting just made it more clear that something was missing. Someone. He looks around the room to see Jisung and Chenle fighting over what movie to watch tonight and he could just imagine you ruffling their hair and telling them we could watch them both. He watches Jaemin cook with Jeno trying to assist and you’d tease him saying that he’s only by Jaemin’s side so he could eat whilst they cook. Renjun and Mark would be setting the table and you’d be helping, dragging Haechan up to go wash glasses to bring to the table. This was Haechan’s family.

But now sitting around the table with the empty seat beside him, where you would have sat. He doesn’t think he can do this anymore. Everyone laughs and talks as if nothing has changed and he’s sure they’re just trying to be normal but they do it so effortlessly. The only thing giving them away is their careful eyes, hovering over him and he hates them. Hates being watched like he’s in a cage in the zoo, just waiting for him to do something. He hates that they’re careful with what they say, not mentioning you but he would hate it if they did because the pain would burn brighter in his chest. He feels guilty that he doesn’t want them to have a good time, he feels guilty that he doesn’t want them to talk about you and celebrate you, he feels guilty that he feels at home when you’re not here and he feels guilty that he wishes he had died instead and it was you who had to live with this pain.

The noise is too much, the laughs are too much and they were all too much. “I can’t do this” Haechan whispers and no one seems to hear or notice. “I just can't,” he says a little louder and only Jaemin turns his head, a little concerned look on his face as if to ask if Haechan is okay and Haechan looks back hopeless and lost. “I can’t do this” He sobs and now all heads turn to him. The laughter stops, the noise falls into silence. The silence is too much.

Haechan grips onto his fork, knuckles turning white and he holds his lip in his teeth to bite back a sob and he draws blood, his teeth sinking in. He’s shaking and tears are already falling and they all look at him, stunned - wide eyed and shocked. As if he was something else. Haechan bangs his fists on the table, again and again as he chants “I can’t do this” and he gets louder and louder until he’s standing on his feet. “I CAN’T DO THIS!” he shouts, shaking.

Jaemin slowly makes his way to him, placing a hand around his shoulder. “It’s okay, slow steps” he whispers and it irks Haechan, sending his skin shivering as it crawls up his neck and into his ears. Slow steps is all he’s been hearing but he can’t even take those. He pushes Jaemin off him, hard enough to have him staggering back a little and then he punches him. Once, then twice and Jaemin doesn’t fight back and it pisses Haechan off more, so he tries to punch him again but someone’s caught his arm, pulling him off and pinning him down. He struggles against the arms pushing him down, kicking his legs and pulling away at the intense grip - he manages to break free. There's shouting and screaming, ringing in his ears and his eyes blur into white as the noise begins to fade. Silence; that is too much.

Haechan waves his arms around trying to find something. Anything. His fingers brush against something smooth, cold and he grabs it, water spilt down his arm. He smashes it against the floor again and again, beating it. The glass cuts through his skin, wedges itself in, water mixing with blood. More restraints pull at him, he punches blindly until one hits. Haechan screams as the noise finally floods back in, as his hands throb and his heart aches. A pill thrown in the back of his throat, water invading his mouth and he’s forced to swallow.

“No!” he pulls free once more, shoving two fingers down the back of his throat, retching to try and get the pill back out but his body goes lax, mind clears and eyes droop down.

There’s a bright white light burning into the back of Haechan’s eyelids, strong enough to wake him from his slumber. He has the urge to rub his eyes open but he can’t seem to move. His body is sore, tired and he can’t fight the restraints holding him down as his wrists are tied to the bed. Haechan’s in a hospital, he knows he is because he knows that smell - overly clean. He spent days in here, holding on to your hand, praying you’d wake up. He spent every night here, sleeping by your side because he couldn’t sleep without you at home.

“You’re awake!” An unfamiliar voice says “He’s awake!” their voice gets further and Haechan tries to move to sit up but his body won’t respond.

“Stop struggling” now that’s a voice Haechan recognises but not one he expected to hear anytime soon. The bed moves up with the click of the button and Haechan now sits up and can finally see Jaemin’s face. Bruised and slightly swollen, he has a few cuts - one by his lip and another by his eyebrow.

“I got you good” Haechan says in an awkward laugh, not knowing where their relationship stands now. Jaemin laughs too, deep and loud and it’s comforting to know that even after all this, Jaemin is still here beside him.

“I let you win, I didn’t fight back.” and Haechan knows that but he still says

“Didn’t or couldn’t” Haechan lifts a brow, smiling.

“Whatever. I look hotter like this, even got a nurse's number” he smiles back and Hyuck snorts as Jaemin waves around the small piece of paper.

An uncomfortable silence fills the room after the conversation dies and Haechan supposes he owes Jaemin an apology but he isn’t sure it’s enough. There’s still that anger that sits at the bottom of his stomach, embers coming to light and will burn his whole body again. Is there any point in asking for forgiveness when you know it’s going to happen again? And just as Haechan was about to open his mouth, Jaemin spoke first.

“Don’t apologise” he says calmly “we both know why it happened and it doesn’t excuse you being an asshole but I am going to be more understanding. I also told you that I’ll be here until you need me, so don’t think I’m going anywhere.” and Haechan smiles at his words, nodding slightly.

There’s a knock at the door interrupting the conversation, the doctor entering. “Hello, Mr. Lee. It’s nice to see you in better conditions.” “How long was I out for?”

“Three days” and Haechan’s eyes widen “Manic episodes tend to last for five day, sometimes more and sometimes less. We thought it was best to keep you under strong sedatives.” The doctor explains “we recommend you see a therapist to help with your grieving, we understand this is a difficult time for you but we hope to see you better and this seems like a good option. Consider it.” The doctor says before he leaves.

“You should” Jaemin says as the doctor walks out the room “just try it” he says when Haechan gives him a sceptical look “also your mum flew into the city” Jaemin warns as he gets up “She’s waiting outside. I didn’t let her in because I didn’t want you to get overwhelmed and we all know how she is but you know she loves me so she took to reasoning” Jaemin says in a smile “I’ll go get her”

And once you’re too tired to be angry anymore, you begin to bargain. Trying to find a way to make life a little more bearable, to subside the guilt and anger, to contain it. You look to cope.

Stage four: Bargaining and depression

Haechan has moved back home, even after it was clear that Jaemin held no hard feelings; it just felt wrong to burden him with that again. Haechan was scared of himself, scared he’d lash out again and hurt Jaemin and just how many times is Jaemin going to take it. He’s scared of losing him too. Scared that Jaemin would fear him.

Also his mum had come into the city, Jaemin couldn’t house the both of them, though he insisted he’d sleep on the floor. The apartment still smelled like you and in a way it comforted him, you were home. Though Haechan’s mum immediately replaced that with the smell of her cooking and that was home too.

“Donghyuck” she called as he stared down at his phone, swiping through old pictures of the two of you, the therapist that Haechan had been seeing had suggested looking through them whenever he missed you, to live in those memories, a temporary solution to try and contain the manic episodes. Problem is, he missed you every waking second, he missed you in his dreams. “Hyuck!” she called again

“I’m coming!” he groans, feeling as if he was seventeen all over again.

Dinner was great, Haechan hadn't seen his mum in a few months and he felt as if he was in highschool, scolded and adored all at once. His mum was careful not to mention you but she loves reminiscing and you're in every story.

"Okay last story" she giggles and Haechan smiles as they sit with their plates empty in front of them.

"You said that two stories ago" he laughs "and I don't know who you're telling, I lived through them all"

"I know" she hums, moving around a few cold vegetables with her fork "but I love telling them and there isn't a whole lot of people to tell them too. And this one isn't even a proper story!"

"Last one." Haechan smiles

"Okay." She claps her hands "Remember when you were first dating _____" and she says it carefully but her excitement overrides it. Haechan loves watching her speak about you, the way his mother's eyes bright up and her lips just lift into a smile. She did always adore you.

"Of course" he smiles

"She gave you that nickname", Haechan, "and you refused to be called by anything else" she laughs "and back then I thought that it was childish love and you were being a young kid drunk on infatuation but then I met her and when she would say your name," Haechan's heart inflated at the memory, the way you would say haechan or hyuck was as if you gave it a whole new meaning. When you said his name it meant love, adoration and warmth.

"It was the way she spoke to you and the way you gave her all your attention. I knew from that moment that she'd shape who you were." And Haechan’s mum takes a deep breath trying to calm herself . "I must have sent you to go get something but it was just me and ______. All we spoke about was you. It was all she ever wanted to speak about with me" she snickers "she made me so proud of the man you were growing up to be, I just want to remind you that that amazing man was there before you met her." She smiles. "Anyway, it's getting late" she stands and takes both their plates, heading to the kitchen.

"You know mum," Haechan follows her with two glasses in hand "I'm pretty sure ______ fell in love with me because I was amazing" he grins

"You owe it all to me" she giggles

"I was gonna say, dad" and she hits the back of his head causing him to yelp "I'm kidding" he says as he braces for another hit.

"You better be" she scoffs and Haechan laughs, a true laugh and one he doesn't feel so guilty about. He kisses his mum on the cheek "Goodnight" he wishes her before they both separate into their rooms.

Haechan's phone rings as soon as he closes the door behind him, as if on cue. "Hey" Haechan says as he presses the phone against his ear.

"Hey" Jaemin, sounds too enthusiastic for eleven pm "how are you doing?" He asks carefully and this is how it is. Straight after breakfast, Mark will call to check how Haechan is feeling - if he isn't feeling too well then Jisung will call in less than ten minutes for him to hop online and play with him, that would keep him busy until late afternoon. Jeno would then call quickly, followed by Renjun, who's phone calls always seem to last longer than necessary. Then Chenle would either show up with dinner or ask to go out, if he's busy he'll just drop in a few texts. Then finally once the day is done, Jaemin calls to make sure everything is okay. Haechan appreciates it he really does, having such a supportive and caring friend group but he feels like he's on a twenty four hour watch. Everyone waiting for another episode. Everyone, trying to catch the signs to make sure they can stop it.

"I'm good. Played basketball with Chenle and kicked Jisung's ass in overwatch again." And Jaemin laughs

"Go easy on the kid, let him win sometimes"

And Haechan blows air out of his lips and scoffs "As if. It's not a win, if I let him"

"Is this coming from the same person who claims they beat the shit outta me when i wasn't even fighting back" and Haechan goes quiet "I thought so" Jaemin snickers. "Anyways I was just checking in. How's your mum by the way?"

"She's good. Loves being with me obviously"

"Obviously" Haechan can practically hear Jaemin roll his eyes. "You thought about going back to work?"

"Maybe?" He says uncertain "I'm not so sure though"

"Slow steps" Jaemin says in a yawn

"We should head to bed" Haechan whispers remembering the time

"We should. I'll call again tomorrow, night"

"Night" Haechan says before hanging up. Sighing, he falls on the bed and closes his eyes. He sees you.

Figure laying beside him, hair messy and intertwined between his fingers. He pulls at it and you moan, leaning closer towards him and hungrily capturing his lips in a desperate kiss. Your eyes are hooded as you climb on top of him - sheltering his body with your own. Everything fades as you bring your lips back to his once more, warmth engulfing him, every cell in his body shivering with fuzzy pleasure. Your hands roam lower, down his chest and abdomen, he bites his bottom lip holding on to his last bit of sanity. But he’s going over the edge as the euphoria has his eyes rolling back as you wrap your lips and make their way down his body. He’s shivering and begging for more. It’s too much and not enough. Your touch is ice but his body reacts like fire, a fever burning its way down his body. He is stickenly in love with you. His eyes roll back as your mouth makes your way around him. His breathing shallows, his mind scrambles as he holds onto the back of your head. Thrusting up, faster, harder as he meets you in the middle. He watches you worshipping him between his legs, tongue swirling and pulling him to the edge and his mind is reeling to hold on. Just a little bit longer. Only to stay with you for a few more minutes.

So he pulls you up, lips meeting once more with your tongues fighting against each other, teeth clashing. He presses himself into you as if to hope he can find home in your skin, bruising your lips and taking all the air from your lungs. You position yourself on top of him, fast and rapid movements bringing you both to a euphoric trance and Haechan’s eyes are closed. He can hear you, soft moans finding their way out of you. He can feel you, tight and warm wrapped around him. Smell you, the addictive smell of your body he presses his face into the side of your neck as he meets you halfway. “open your eyes” you say softly in his ears and he shakes his head. “Open them Hyuck, look at me” you moan louder.

And when Haechan finally pries his eyes open, the room is empty and the white sticks to his abdomen and palm.

Haechan flinches at the sight coating him, he withers in the after lasting pleasure and shivers with slight disgust at himself but he can’t help that his body yearns for yours. His body itches with desire, aggravated within its own skin and seeking only your soothing touch or your melodic voice.

He needs just a part of you.

He holds the phone to his ear. One ring. He knows it won’t go through but for a moment he’ll let himself pretend. Two rings. That you’ll pick up, all excited and happy; ready to tell him about your day or how much you miss him. Three rings. Even if you don’t pick up he’ll hear your voicemail anyways.

Four rings.

Five.

Six.

Sev-

“Hyuck?”

and Haechan can’t breathe. His lungs have ceased their ability to pull in air, and no matter how hard he tries to inhale they’re already full. Yet his mind spins, his eyes spot with black.

“Hyuck” you call out again “breathe”

But he doesn’t. He can’t.

“Haechan” your voice comes out strangled, broken and scratchy. “We’re running out of time” you warn, impatient. “Answer me!” The voice comes out deep, a ringing in the back and goosebumps make the way to the surface of Haechan’s skin.

“Yes” he gulps past the lump in his throat, getting air in his lungs finally.

“Save me” your voice returns, slow and loving. “You can save me”

“How?” Haechan doesn’t hesitate, “I need you ______” he begs, tears already dropping down his face. “I can’t live on in this suffering” sobs breaking through, he’s hunched over and saliva drips onto his hand as he holds it over his mouth. He shudders and sniffles, face contorted in pain.

“Death is the release of all suffering” you say, voice slightly distorted. “but we were never suffering. You can bring me back.”

Haechan stills.

Reality is shocking. After so long being stuck within your pain, your feelings and in your head, it feels like being splashed with cold water. The reality is, death will always have a presence in life. It is the only thing in life that is promised.

Stage five:

“I feel great!” Haechan is sitting opposite Mark and Jaemin at a coffee shop downtown. It’s been a while since he went out and he almost missed his favourite time of the year. Spring. The time for new beginnings and life. Haechan was ready. “I’m going back to work soon, I’ve been thinking about it”

“That’s great dude” Mark smiles

“And I think I’m gonna go through ________’s stuff too”

“You sure?” Jaemin asks

“Yeah I think it’s time”

“You can take more time you know hyuck” Mark says

“I know but I feel like I’ve already taken up so much time and it’s time to finally move forward” Haechan sighs and the conversation stills, Jaemin and Mark clearly have something to say but fidget and side eye each other uncomfortably. “I’m gonna head back home” Haechan announces, this conversation coming to a statement, and him not having the energy to hash out problems.

“Sure” Mark says awkwardly “bye”

“I’ll walk with you” Jaemin gets up

The walk is silent. Haechan can feel Jaemin staring at him, eyes heavy on his figure. He doesn’t say anything because everything feels like a test, if he’s going to break or not. Haechan is sick of failing but not too confident in his words. He also doesn’t want to lash out at Jaemin.

“Are you okay?” Jaemin breaks the silence

“Great” Haechan says through closed teeth

“Yeah seems so” Jaemin says but an underlying tone confuses Haechan.

“What does that mean?” It’s comes out more aggressive than Haechan intended

“You seem happy”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

Jaemin takes time to respond, silent until they finally reach Haechan’s apartment complex. “Sorry.” He apologises first “it is a good thing, I’m just being over cautious” he laughs awkwardly rubbing the back of his head.

“Don’t worry about me anymore”

“I’ll always worry. Especially now that your mums gone back home”

“Worry about me less” Haechan pats his shoulder “thanks for everything over these past few months, I’m sorry and I love you” Haechan doesn’t specify what he’s apologising for but Jaemin can take a guess.

“It’s what friends are for” Jaemin shrugs “love you too” he says taking him into a hug and Haechan melts into his embrace, eyes watering up but he blinks them away.

“Bye” Haechan breathes out and Jaemin waves walking away.

The house is empty. The blinds are drawn. There’s a faint lining of ash along the floor and along the windowsill candles burn low. Haechan takes off his shirt and slumps down onto the floor. He breathes in deep before taking the knife and slashing it against his palms. Digging his fingers into the wound, he dips them in blood and drags his finger along the floor to paint a pentagram. He places a candle on each point, and lights them.

Haechan begins slashing more skin, blood dripping and merging with his painting until the neat drawn out lines are slighting blurring together. He walks back towards the kitchen, grabbing at coal by the stove. The black rock is coated in his blood. He places it on the fire. He turns back towards the pentagram.

He sits and waits. His head spinning and throbbing. He sees you emerging from the fire, screaming and crying as you reach out a hand for him to reach and he does. Heat kicking away at his skin, he smells his skin melting away. He hears you calling him, your sweet voice taking his mind off the pain. His stomach lurches, his chest tightens as he comes closer. His legs smear at the blood as he sits within the pentagram, both hands I’ve the fire of two candles, the other knocked over and holding their flames against him.

He begins to wretch and gag, bile rising up and saliva flooding his mouth. He spills the contents of his stomach out onto himself. He heaves and retches again and again, falling to his side, spreading along the floor turning pink as it mixes with the blood. His eyes are heavy, he no longer knows where he is, he sees you smiling. He sees a younger you in middle school, still shy and still only talking to Jaemin. He sees you in highschool, more confident and still radiant as you giggle at whatever stupid thing he said, he sees you ok that swing looking up at him the moon beaming on your face. His mind goes blank, his body goes lax.

Death is the release of all suffering.

a/n: thank you for reading until the end! It been a long long time since I have put something out (I feel like I've come back from the dead) I do hope to write and put out a lot more this year and do have a lot planned but I won’t say much else bc I'm bad at sticking to my word. Sorry this one is disturbingly depressing but happy hyuck soon! Thank you once again for reading my writing <3

280 notes · View notes

barzyyy · 4 years ago

Note

I’m hella in my feels. Break my heart.

one too many.

a/n: prepare yourselves for this one. TW: includes mention of death, alcohol/heavy drinking and self-depricating thoughts. it is heavy. please read at your own discretion. my dm’s are open if anyone needs to talk!

italics = flashback.

read this first, if you haven’t already.

————————————

mat could feel the alcohol meeting his stomach. when did he become this way? he knew that he was not in a condition to be drinking as much as he was. he hadn’t eaten in at least a day. somehow the simplest tasks have become the most difficult.

it didn’t help that it was the offseason. all of his teammates were off on vacation. the jealousy quickly turned into resentment. he deleted all of his social media apps because he couldn’t bear to see anyone else happy. he locked himself inside your once shared house, alone. what used to feel like home now felt unsafe. with every corner he turned, there was something that reminded him of you. lipstick on the counter, your shoes kicked off next to the couch, he left them all in the same spot, praying that this was all a dream and that you would come walking through the door again.

he couldn’t get himself to come to terms with reality.

he drunkely stumbled to the couch, mindlessly turning on the tv and surfing through the channels. he landed on a random channel because his thoughts were overtaking him once again.

mat dreamed of being a dad. you both used to talk about starting a family of your own. would your kids have mat’s hair and your eyes? which one of your personalities would they adopt? he wanted so badly to look through the glass at a game and see you standing on the other side with your baby. he wanted to raise a son and teach him all he knew about how to play. he wanted a little girl to put makeup on him and make him sing the songs of all of her favorite disney princesses.

now, he didn’t want a family at all. you were going perfect mother. no one could ever compete with you. and now that you’re gone, he promised himself that no one would ever take your place. sure, he could have kids with someone else, but they would never be the kids he would have had with you. he didn’t want it.

it was easier to put up a wall and block out the feelings. his grief of losing you was too much for him to handle. he would rather just push everything out, experiencing nothing rather than experiencing everything all at once. every time he thought of you, another part of him was taken away. he was a shell of who he once was.

things would have been different if he had went home to you. had he not gone out to the bar with his teammates after the game, you would have never been in the accident. there would have been no reason for you to go over to your friend’s house. now, instead of remembering the celebratory reason why he went out, his memory was plagued by the phone call he received as he got the worst news of his life.

mat could feel the alcohol meeting his stomach. who was he to turn down free alcohol? getting the game winning goal in game 7 made him feel like he was on top of the world. fans in the bar were covering mat’s tab, and he was partying with all of his teammates. out of the corner of his eye, he saw his phone light up with your caller i.d. and his favorite picture of the two of you. he picked it up and started walking through the mass of people to find a quieter place as he answered the call.

“babe, you won’t believe how many people are here! everyone is buying me drinks and-“

“hello?”

the manly voice was unrecognizable. mat stopped in his tracks.

“who is this?” he questioned.

“this is tom haltford, i’m a paramedic with the long island fire department. do you have a relationship with (y/n) barzal?” he asked.

he immediately sobered up. “she’s my wife, what is going on?” his heart was beating out of his chest.

“sir, i regret to inform you that your wife was in an accident. she was in a head-on collision with an impaired driver. she is currently being transported to nassau university medical center. do you have a safe way of getting there? i can send a police officer to pick you up.”

mat could only muster one sentence.

“is she alive?”

silence.

“i am sending an officer to your location. i am so sorry.”

what brought him out of his trance was the feeling of tears hitting his hand. he had not realized that he was crying, but did nothing to stop the onset of emotions that were to come. he buried his head in his hands, taking in the weight of the fact that you would have still been here had he not decided to go out. his shoulders heaved, but he stayed silent. he sobbed for a half an hour straight.

silence was something mat was becoming all too familiar with. he could no longer listen to the radio because every song he heard remided him of you. he didn’t dare go outside, because he couldn’t stop the jealousy that arose when he saw a couple out together. the best he could do was stay at home. his interaction was limited. when he did eat, all he did was get it delivered. even then, his options were scarce because he didn’t want to eat anything that felt significant to your relationship. he no longer ordered take out from your shared favorite thai restaurant down the street. he avoided anything that remided himself of you.

he would have teammates, family and friends text him every now and again to check in. he made it a point at your funeral to promise that he would reach out if he needed help. deep down, he knew from the beginning that those promises were as hollow as the newly-formed void in his heart.

maybe the irony of it all was that what killed you was the same thing he was using to self medicate. over time, one beer turned into to three, then six. he felt as if it was his only escape - alcohol only solidifed the numbness that he had been feeling. but tonight, he knew that he had gone overboard. there were freshly-chugged beer bottles on the table, and the only thing stopping him from taking some of your sleeping pills was his hope that you would come back for them. in addition to the beer, he was down a glass and a half of wine when his body finally began to reject the liquid. he tried to run to the bathroom, but the closest place he could make it was the kitchen sink. his stomach uncontrollably emptied itself, and he was left gasping in between his heaves. when he was done, he ran his hands under the sink and put water on his face. pulling the kitchen towel from the oven to wipe off his face, he looked up and his eyes were met with the picture on your counter from the wedding.

he was in immediate tears as he saw you walking down the aisle. your dress perfectly hugged your curves and your smile had been the biggest he’d ever seen. he felt a soft nudge from behind him.

”stay strong man, stay strong.” beau whispered, trying to help mat preserve any ounce that was left of his ego.

“bro, i can’t.” he whispered back, tears running down his face. at that point, you began to cry, and then the whole room was crying.

you both struggled through the tears to read eachother your vows. you were so impressed with how heartfelt his were.

“you helped me learn who i was outside of hockey, and i still fall in love with you every single day. ...and you’re a smokin’ 10, too. so that’s a plus.”

the after party was absolutely insane. you danced and drank the night away with your closest family and friends. you were talking to your best friend when mat came stumbling over to you, hugged you and said “can you believe we’re fucking MARRIED BABE?”

that was it. he couldn’t give up on life anymore. who he was becoming was scaring him. he knew that this is not what you would want. with a shaking hand and a breaking heart, he haphazardly picked up his phone and dialed the first number he could think of. there was an answer halfway through the first ring.

“hey man, you all good?”

inbetween sobs, his words slurred together. “beau, i need you.”

——————————————————

#islanders #mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #nhl imagine #nyislanders #prompt #hockey #fanfic #barzal #mathew barzal #barzy

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thecolordemon · 5 years ago

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Short story: Belphegor kills MC

This is a angsty and sad short story about the MC during their dying process after Belphegor hurt them so bad...

⚠️❗Angst, Sadness, mentions of blood, wounds and death❗⚠️

Title: "I forgive you"

The nightly silence in the House of Lamentation was broken when Belphegor pushed you against a huge vase. The fragile object crashed to the ground and shattered into million pieces. The fragments on the black marble looked like spilled stars and there was a strange beauty in it. But you couln't care less about it right now because you couldn't breath. The marks which Belphegor's rough tail left on your sore throat just seconds ago were bright red and the sensitive skin was on fire.

You fell to the ground after your harsh collison with the vase and a painful gasp left your lips when the sharp shards burried themself deep inside your pink flesh. The pain was hot and jolted through your whole body like a lightning bolt. Crimson copper oozed from the many jagged wounds inside your palms and colored the floor like red rain. Your breath hitched in your throat and inhaling air was like swallowing knifes down your trachea. It felt like a hot blade sliced right through it and the pain made you feel nauseous.

Belphegors laugh ringed inside your ears from the room behind you. Sounding like a dark curse. "You humans really are foolish, idiotic, weak creatures, aren't you?" His evil snicker dripped from delight and you could hear his footsteps coming closer. "It's your own fault if you trust a demon. Don't blame me for your current situation, MC." His sing-sang voice scared you to death and you tried to crawl forward and away from the door. Away from the gates of hell... "That's all your fault."

But your hands couldn't carry your own weight and that's why you collapsed on the ground again. The adrenaline throbbed inside your ears and the sharps just pressed in further. Shakly you robbed forward and tried to get up on your knees. The fragments cut all through your clothes and left hurtful cuts all over your arms and legs. Some of them even sank into your kneecaps and made you cry out in pain.

Right at this moment Belphegor's long tail shot forward and wrapped itself around your left calf. All it needed was just one strong pull and you were on the ground again. Belphegor stood in the doorframe, all tall and drunk with power, when he dragged you over the black marble, over the the whole mess of broken glass and towards himself. He laughed like a maniac when the cutting continued and you cried because of the stinging pain. Being dragged all over the sharp shrads felt like you were being dragged over jagged gravel. Your legs already started to bruise from the impact before. The demon towered above you like a predator above it's prey and the sadistic grin on his lips bared his razor-sharp teeth.

"You smell delicious, you know that? Your blood really makes it even more fun." Now you laid right in front of his feet and his tightly wrapped tail cut of the blood supply to your leg. It already started to tingle and to feel weirdly numb. "Please-" you begged and the words stung in your throat, your voice being nothing more than a raspy whisper. "Please don't do this-"

"Oh MC, begging will get you nowhere." Belphegor kneeled down next you and grabbed your chin harshly. His dark, pointy nails burried themself inside your flushed cheeks and they drew blood. The smell of iron filled your nose and made your stomach twist with desperate protest. Tears watered in the corners of your eyes and dribbled over your flaming hot skin. Belphegor grinned and his rough tongue slid over your overheated flesh, catching all of the tears. He left sticky stripes of saliva on your right cheek and grinned even more when you crunched your nose in disgust.

"Who do you think you are to make such a face..." He licked over the red stains of blood that oozed down from your abused face. "You should be more grateful towards me, MC..." Suddenly his fist shot up and hit you violently on your right eye. You screamed in pain but he covered your mouth to shush the noise. He wanted to enjoy the show and he did not want to be interrupted too early. The hammering pain made you quiver and you were sure you heared some of your bones crack. You couldn't even see rigth with the eye anymore. Everything was a pounding, hurtful, black and red mess-you were pretty convinced that all the blood vessels in your right eye did burst because of the impact of his fist. But you were still losing tears.

Belphegor laughed louder as he examined your face closely. "Such a fragile creation! Useless! Utterly useless!" He laughed uncontrollably and his shoulders were shaking because it was so strong. His lilac eyes were those of a madman and he let go of your face with a painful twist of his wrist. His tail loosened a little bit and you were able to free your leg. You pulled yourself up but because of the lack of proper eyesight it was hard to keep a solid balance. Within mere seconds you grabbed one of the bigger shards and threw it at Belphegor. The demon flinched and dodged the thrown weapon which caused him to back away into the room from where he came.

Without looking back you stumbled away as fast as possible. The fear blinded you and all your nerves were on edge. You could hear him roaring viciously and staggered around the corner of the next floor. The pain was nearly taking over your body but you had to move further!

I can't give up- I can't- If I stop,I'll di--' Your legs gave in and you fell to the ground. The glass splinters pierced nerves and, muscles and caused your wounds to vomit even more blood. Like an hurt animal you crawled over the rough carpet beneath you. But you had to get up again-otherwise-

"YOU'LL PAY FOR THAT!!"

The blank anger in Belphegor's voice triggered you so much that you got up again. Fear can be a motivation-. You could feel a strange mixture of tears and something else dripping down from your abused eye and had to struggle with the feeling of throwing up. "-help-" you breathed out as you stumbled rashly along the never ending floor. "Somebody--help-" The beast was approaching. His thumbing steps were coming closer and closer within seconds. Furniture crashed behind you and a broken picture frame missed your head with mere inches/centimeters. You limped faster and wanted to scream but just as you opened your mouth, a heavy and powerful body smashed you to the ground.

You hit your head very hard on the black marble and again you heared a sickening cracking sound. You could feel something running down your neck, how something agglutinated your hair... You blinked dizzily and had a hard time to stay conscious. Your whole head was overwhelmed by the hot and dull throbbing pain and little black spots danced across your, already bad, vison. The heavy creature on top of you was growling dangerously and the monstrous shadow fell on your demolished features. It was hard to breath-

"I'll kill you, you know?" Belphegor's voice was a dark snarl and his teeth grazed the sensitive skin on your throat so carelessly that he drew more blood. "I'll will erase you from all the three realms and your soul will perish-" His hot breath made you sick and your weak attempts to push him away from you failed miserably. The power within you faded faster and faster... You wanted to say something but the words were like lava, heavy and gooey-You couldn't even understand them yourself.

"Don't you dare to look away MC! I want to see your eyes when their light fades away-" He laughed maniacally and grabbed your jaw violently. His nails dugged deep inside your chin and you could feel them claw over the bone beneath the skin. The hammering pain got more awful as his other hand slid to your hips to hold you in place. You tried to kick him away but your legs weren't listening to you anymore. His tail twitched threateningly above his head like a agressive snake and whipped through the air. It was hard to focus on anything else but the thickening atmosphere around both of you. The danger was so present, that it seemd like you could cut it with a knife. Belphegor hold your head in place with the other hand and his eyes glistened crazily and were glassy. It seemed like he wasn't there anymore...Like something overtook his body...

That wasn't the demon you knew-

"B-Belphie---pl-please-" you breathed. "Shh...don't waste your last breath, MC!" he replied happily. This was the biggest fun he had in years...He longed for this! "We were friends-" You could taste iron in your mouth. "Oh no. We never were friends. You're just a toy that I mobilized for my purposes." His lilac eyes pierced your dizzy vision and his long tongue curled in excitement. "I trusted you-" you whimpered. "Bad thing to do...Good bye, MC." And with this words he pierced your soft body with a harsh snap of his tail.

You wanted to scream but the only thing that left your lips was a sore whimper and a deep, aching breath of air. It felt like someone knocked the wind out of you and your lungs screamed in terror. Belphegor's tail was burried deep inside the pale flesh of your body and when he pulled out, he left a deep, bloody hole. Your heart went on a rampage and pumped the blood with all it's remaining energy through your veins. Calling out for help... It was like your heart was crying. It cried red tears of broken hopes and shattered promises, tears of despair and a lost love...

You didn't knew what hurt more...The fact that your life slowly faded away into the dark or the horrible reality that you've been so wrong about Belphie? Your hearbeat got weaker...you felt kinda cold and breathing in felt like inhaling razor-blades. "B-Belphie-" The demon above you frowned at your desperate whines. "Don't call me like that!" That was a thing only his twin was allowed to do, just him and nobody else! "You know nothing, you hear me? Your death means nothing to me! You're just like every other human being in this world."

Now, with your physical form broken, he tried to hurt you otherwise. And in a way more personal way. He was aiming for your psyche. He tried to break you in every possible way. He showed no mercy. He had no mercy. He was a wild beast driven mad by hatred and bad treatment. You winced and tried to calm your breath. "If-my death means nothing-then why are you-so eager to kill me anyway?" Belphegor blinked in confusion. "What's--the difference?-" You managed to look the avatar of Sloth right into his eyes. He stared at you like you insulted him. You could see his thoughts wild'n behind his head. He tried to find a valid reason. He tried to think of a justification why it would help him to kill you.

But there wasn't a valid reason. You helped him. He knew that. Without you he would be still stuck in the attic-locked away from the world like a caged animal. "Can't you see that you became the monster that Lucifer feared you could be?--" You coughed and spit blood all over your lips. Your breath lacked of power and the words sounded pretty slurry. "Shut up-I'm not a monster-" You interrupted his denial. "You are. -but that's okay--" You closed your eyes and hot tears poured over your lashes and cheeks.

You cried harder. "I forgive you-"

Belphegor's eyes widdened in shock and his fangs grew even sharper. Anger darkened his face like a dark cloud. "NO! YOU CAN'T FORGIVE ME! DON'T YOU DARE!" He grabbed your wrist and twisted it back in a sharp motion. Your bones cracked under his strong grip and you screamed in pain when he broke every single one of them. Your hand fell limp. Belphegor growled hatefully into your face. "You.won't.do.that!" His pupils were narrowed strongly and that made him look even more crazy.

This was his perfect moment, he wouldn't let you ruin it!

"You're nothing! A mere human like you does not have so much power over me! No one has! Your dumb and naive! Your dumb and naive if you think your stupid little words affect me!"

He was going insane. How could you not hate him?! How could you not beg for him to stop this torture?! Why were you still undermining his authority even though you were dying?!

You cried more and couldn't stop yourself from feeling sorry for the him. He was so lost in anger, so lost in his own mind that he lost all references to reality. "I forgive you, Belphie--"

"NO!" he roared and trew you across the whole floor. Again you hit your head hard but that didn't make such a big difference anymore. You were feeling awful anyway...

Belphegor kneeled on the floor, several metres away from you, crouched over and quivered like hell. His whole body shook from his jagged cries and his hands fisted into his bluish-grey strands of hair. His nails clawed over his face and left red stripes. He was fighting against himself, against the effects your words caused. It was like you put a spell on him and he tried to fight it off.

You were laying on your side and watched him apathetically. The blood colored the whole upper part of your uniform and stained the floor with it's red puddles. 'That's it...' you thought to yourself. 'It's going to be over soon...I am alone...'

That's when you heared a familiar sound.

Someone was talking-no...Lucifer was talking. You could here his voice growing louder as he came closer. He seemed to discuss something with Mammon. Powerlessly you rolled over to the other side, so that you could look down to the floor beneath you. You were lying on the balustrade on the second floor from which two stairs lead downstairs. Through the little pillars (that supported the railing)you were able to see Lucifer and Mammon coming closer. As you thought, they were busy with discussing something. Both of them totally clueless about the fight of life and death. That was your chance-

"L-Lucifer-" Saying his name was so exhausting... "M-Mammon-" They stopped right underneath the big chandelier but not because they heared your little pleas of help.

"-help-"

Lucifer spoke. "Mammon one last time, I'm not participating in your omnious bets. You'll lose all the money again because you do not learn from your failures." Mammon scoffed. "I'm not dumb, of course I learn!! It was just bad luck!"

You trembled and felt a strange cold approaching you. With your last ounce of strength you grabbed the railing with your good hand and pulled yourself up. It was hard and you had to balance your weight from one abused leg to another. Your body begged you to give in, to fall asleep-to give up-but your mind told you to keep on fighting. Now you were able to look down at Lucifer's raven hair and Mammon's white head. You were so close-

"Lu--cifer-m-mammon-"

One single drop of blood dripped from your chin and fell all the way down. You saw everything in slow motion. The little red drop brushed over Lucifer cheek and landed on his black shoulder pad. Mammon flinched and looked up. Lucifer did the same. When both their eyes land on you, you felt safe for a little moment.

Mammon smiled. "MC what--" He stopped right away when he noticed your terrible state of condition. His smile disappeared and turned into a shocked expression. All the color left his face and he looked like he saw a ghost. Lucifer's eyes widdened in shock, his mouth hung a little bit ajar.

Tears streamed down your face and the salty liquid mixed with blood and cold sweat. But you smiled powerlessly. They would help you-

"--thank yo-"

Suddenly something big appeared behind you. Before you could do anything else, claws digged deep inside your back and threw you over the railing. The next thing you remembered is that the whole room was rotating wildly. It all went so fast. You couldn't even scream. With a loud crash you fell to the hard ground.

Lucifer saw everything in slow motion. Your abused face, painted with dried blood and steamy tears, how hopefully your eyes lightened up when they noticed you, your broken hand which you pressed close to your body like a hurt little lamb...and Belphegor, his youngest brother, as he appeared behind you and hurled you over the balustrade like a doll.

Your fall was endless. But he couldn't do anything. But one thing was for sure. He would never forget the sound your body made when it crashed into the black marble ground. Your hair sprawled out around your head like a fading halo, sticky with blood and nearly all of your limbs were twisted in a sickenly wrong way.

Before Lucifer knew what to do, Mammon already started screaming in terror. "MC--NO--HELP!!!" He ran towards your body and crouched down beneath you. His screaming alerted the rest of his brothers and fast steps were coming from every direction. They all gasped in shock when they saw you laying there. You breath came in thin little gasps and you couldn't move. Everthing hurt so bad...at the same time you felt nothing at all. The crystal chandelier twinkled like a planet made of stars and mirrored your horrible reflection. You really looked awful...

That's you? The bloody mess with a smashed eye is supposed to be you?

Satan, Asmodeus, Leviathan and Beelzebub stared at you in shock. They couldn't move. They couldn't breath. They could just stare at you. Speechless. Hopeless. Clueless.

Lucifer fell to his knees and tried to stop the bleeding. He pulled his gloves off his hands and his long, slender fingers touched every cut, every bruise and every stab wound. "MC--stay with me-please-" His eyes were glassy with tears as he tried to heal the wounds but you already lost to much blood. Mammon sobbed. "MC--"

Belphegor stood on the balustrade and watched the whole thing going down. Pushing you over the edge seemed like the last possible thing to do. He watched how Lucifer failed to stop the bleeding and how your eyes wandered aimlessly over the ceiling. Your chest rose and lowered slower and slower with every passing second. Mammon cried loudly and hold you into his arms trying to protect you. "Dont do this MC-please-YOU CAN'T DIE!!"

Mammon's scream shook everyone to the core. You hiccuped blood and tried to say something but the red liquid drowned the words ruthlessly. Beel had to come forward and pulled his older brother to his chest. The big demon trembled and Mammon fought against his grip-screaming loudly and calling for help. But Beelzebub didn't let him go. He had to protect him. He had to protect MC-

Lucifer couldn't hold his tears back and he cried without any shame. "I'm so sorry MC--I'm trying b-but it's-it's not working--" Your eyes landed on his and he let out a shaky breath. You knew.

You knew you were going to die.

Lucifer embraced you in his arms and he pressed your fragile, abused body to his chest. "Please--someone--get Diavolo-he'll know what to do-he-" His voice broke as he lost his fight against the tears again. Diavolo was Lucifer's last hope--his only hope- After all he declared his loyal devotion to the demon prince. But he wasn't there. Diavolo wasn't there. And he wouldn't make it in time. Lucifer knew that. His brothers knew that. But it was impossible for him to just sit here and watch his beloved MC die in his arms-He had to do something, he-he is the oldest! He has to fix this, he has to find a solution, he-

"l-lucifer-"

His eyes shot back to you. You had lifted your good hand and managed to softly touch his cheek. Your fingers smeared blood all over his skin and the contact made him flinch. "-I'm sorry-" you whispered in a very thin voice. "I-should have-listened-to you-"

His hand found yours and Lucifer sobbed desperately. "MC-stop-don't say that-"

"it's--all my fault-" you explained with rasping breath. It was harder for you to focus your vison and big black spots interrupted the sight. You could feel your own life slipping through your fingers.

"-I'm-so grateful--for everything--you treated me like family-you welcomed me-I'll keep you in my heart-forever-"

Everything was going strangely numb...

You heared distant cries. They were from all the brothers. From all your beloved demons. You felt bad for leaving them. You felt bad for making them cry. You whished you could see them one more time.

Lucifer kissed your fingers softly and held onto you like his own life depended on it. His hands were shaky and he tried to keep his voice calm when he answered you.

"I love you-" he hiccuped and the tears streamed down without a stop.

Everthing was starting to black out.

You smiled sadly. "I--love you too--"

Your heart stopped.

"I---forgave---him---"

Your breathing stopped.

Your thoughts stopped.

Everything stopped.

Your hand fell to the ground. Lucifer could still feel your last touch lingering on his blood-smeared cheek. Time stopped.

And he screamed.

#obey me #obey me short fic #obey me sad #obey me angst #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me lucifer #obey me lord diavolo #obey me leviathan #obey me mammon #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #obey me story #obey me hc #angst #sad short story #obey me satan #obey me brothers #obey me beelzebub

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starlightrows · 4 years ago

Text

In My Arms

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Tags: Angst, strangulation, kidnapping, hurt/comfort

Summary: The events of Chapter 14, where you do everything in your power to defend Grogu and suffer greatly for it

AN: Originally posted on AO3 in December 2020

Standing atop the mountain on Tython, you watched the ragged cape of your husband disappear of the ridge. Neither of you able to get through the magical energy field surrounding the Seeing Stone upon which your small vulnerable green foundling sat.

“Stay with him,” he had told you. “Stay with him, I’ll protect try to push them back”

You wanted so badly to try again, to push through whatever held you from him, to get him in your arms and run.

“Grogu!” You called out to him “Grogu, it’s me! We have to get out of here!” But he could not hear you, and he did not move.

Suddenly you hear a ship’s engine, followed by another. You turn from the child just in time to see both of the carrier ships have take off. You watch as a missile launches into the first carrier and crash into its backup. They burn up and make an awful noise on impact with the rocky terrain. The silence that follows, brings you such relief.

Only to be cut off, by the red light that illuminates the sky. You track the beam with you gaze, and watch as your home, the Razor Crest is obliterated. A choked sound escapes your body, halfway between a gasp and a scream.

Its quiet again, and you realize it’s too quiet. Whipping around you see the magical energy field has dissipated. Grogu is slumped on his side panting from the exertion, and making pitiful little sounds. You rush over to him, bringing him into your arms. Your instinct is to run, run to the ship. But there is no ship... the storm troopers have gone. So you stand there holding him, too stunned to move.

Too late... it’s too late when you realize it is not quiet at all. And it never was. You’re too overstimulated from the explosions and shock to realize they are descending until it’s too late. You have no where to run, and they surround you.

You draw him in closer, and pull your blaster from its holster. It doesn’t matter how many shots you unload at them, or where you hit them, the blasts seem to have no effect at all as they advance on them. You don’t think, you keep shooting as you try to back away.

Heavy metal prongs close around your neck and lift you off the ground. Your blaster drops from you hand, but you refuse to release the child. The vice grip tightens without mercy and you can’t help the drool escaping your lips with your futile attempts to breathe. Your vision is blurry and your head is pulsing, but you don’t let go.

Suddenly you feel intense pain, just at the end of your rib cage on the right side. Electricity flows through you, causing all your limbs to go rigid and then spasm uncontrollably. Grogu is yanked from your grip by another of the massive droids. As suddenly as they came, they take off into the air, releasing you without provocation.

You’re left laying on the dusty mountain top. Sweaty, shaking, violently coughing and trying desperately not to vomit. You become aware of the woman, Fennec Shand turning you over on to your side and holding you in position.

Din stands a few feet away speaking into a comlink. You can only hear the roaring of blood in your ears, eyes focused on whatever you’re eye level with, his boots.

You’re no longer coughing, but still breathing ragged and painfully. You squeeze your eyes shut, and pull out of Fennec’s hold. Rolling onto your knees and leaning forward. You press your hands into the ground, the feeling of the rough gravel pressing into your hands. It hurts, but it’s grounding. Your head is spinning. He’s gone. Your baby boy, is gone. The ship is gone. These two people, Fennec and the other Mandalorian seem to be helping now. It’s too much. It’s all too much. And you’re truly afraid you might black out. When his sturdy boots land in front of you.

He’s pulling you up with a gentle firmness. He’s upset and worried, you can tell. But you can’t find a single word to say to him. Not even sure you could manage to get any out give the state of your crushed windpipe.

He says your name and gives you a little shake “Answer me”. You don’t even realize he had been speaking, without the visual queues masked by his helmet you couldn’t distinguish his voice from the ringing in your ears.

“I’m sorry,” you rasp out, you’re horrified by how awful your voice sounds and more so by how painful even those two words were to get out.

He shakes his head. And helps pull you to your feet. He doesn’t say anything more, but leads you down the mountain. Towards the still billowing ashes of the ship. He sat you down on a fairly sizable rock, leaving you with Fennec and the other Mandalorian. You watched, with hollow gaze as Din descended into the crater. He kneels down a few times, picking through the rubble.

Returns to the small group, holding the only thing that survived, the spear Ahsoka Tano gifted him not even a week earlier. You stand peering at him for a long moment, hoping your eyes are locked with his beneath his helmet.

Finally he steps around, and stands beside you. Boba Fett explains the armor truly does belong to him, and he is the child of a foundling Mandalorian named Jango. You expect this to be it, a parting of ways, and being left to figure everything out from here. But you’re surprised when Boba Fett continues speaking, promising his help in rescuing your son.

“A deal is a deal” he says “come, we have work to do” he leads Din, Fennec and you to his ship. You can’t help looking back out at the black ash crater one last time before climbing in.

In ship is significantly more claustrophobic than the Crest, and that’s saying something. You try to stay out of the way, as Boba and Fennec prepare to take off. You sit against the wall of the hull, and tuck your knees into your chest. Din comes over and kneels down, placing a hand on the back of your head and pressing his helmet to your forehead.

“I’ll be right back,” he says. You nod numbly. And he disappears into the cockpit, presumably to give coordinates to wherever it is you go next after something like this.

True to his word, he returns closing the door to the small enclosed cargo hold. He reaches up and removes his helmet. You’re surprised to see his dirty face is streaked with tears. He was so composed through all this... to the point where it had begun to bother you.

He collapsed in front of you, bending his head down to touch yours again unencumbered by the beskar. His eyes squeezed shut, streaming with tears. His hands rest on your cheeks. He doesn’t say a word, and neither do you. What is there to say? It’s gonna be okay... you did your best... No, there may be a time for comforting words later, but right now the only thing you can stand is his gentle touch.

He lifts his head, and tilts yours up so you are forced to meet his gaze. His hand travel down from your cheek, and gingerly touch the red splotchy bruises forming on your neck.

“Are you in pain?” He asks through silent tears. You nod ever so slightly. You can’t lie to him, you are in pain. Your whole body feels achy and numb from being electrocuted, you throat is raw and throbbing, and the front your head seems to have a persistent pounding headache. But you don’t say any of that, it would only hurt you more to speak. His hands roam your body in a confused assessment of your physical health; as if he’s prepared for a limb to be missing or a blaster wound. Something he can treat with bacta and bandages. There’s only so much one can do for asphyxiation bruises and an electrode burn.

Finally he just pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you, cradling your head and neck while gently rocking back and forth. Your tears, and his spoke more words than you could ever vocalize in that moment. The pain of loss and vulnerability of terror, had shaken you both to your core. You don’t know how long you sat there holding one another.

“We’ve heading to Nevarro,” he said at last “Our friends will help us, we will get him back”

You squeezed him a little tighter, and nodded. That’s all you wanted.

“I want him back in my arms Din. I love him so much,” you sobbed

“I know cyare,” he breathes “I know”

Din Djarin Tag List: @spideysimpossiblegirl

#the mandalorian #The Mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #back logged fic

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frenchpuppycormier · 4 years ago

Text

I had so much inspiration after last night, so I had to write a lil somethin'. As I'm sure lots of other people did too ;)

Lena went home that night with grief ripping out of her seams. Her heart felt heavy, like a boulder had taken up residence in her sternum, and there was no escape route. As she makes it into her lavish kitchen, she gently sets her phone on the counter then locates the decanter of scotch hidden in the cabinet beneath the television.

She pours herself two fingers and swallows it in one gulp, burning the whole way down. While trying to pour another, her hands shake and she doesn’t know if it’s from the nerves of losing Kara or if it’s because she hasn’t eaten all day. Realistically she knows it’s the latter, but if she were a betting woman, it’s only likely that it’s the former. It’s always been the former.

Minutes go by, as she stands there in her living room, the loud ticking of the clock on the mantle not-so-pleasantly reminding her. She kicks off her heels and collapses on the couch in a heap, the scotch sloshing over her wrist, and spilling on the carpet. Lena can’t even bring herself to care.

Normally, Lena isn’t the type of person to just give up. Her multiple awards, scientific breakthroughs and accomplishments, her MENSA certificate, the fact that she at one time owned two multi-billion dollar companies, all say otherwise. However, right now she’s at her breaking point.

She flips on the TV for a distraction, but it only works for about a minute. Lena downs another glass and another and another. When she pours her fifth it doesn’t even make it into the glass. The dark thoughts begin to swirl in her mind, and without warning her body takes over and she chucks the glass across the room. It shatters against the TV, leaving the expensive screen cracked and broken, and dripping in liquor. She screams in agony. Another thing that needs fixing.

Lena stumbles over and picks up the glass, the blood and cuts on her hands not even registering in her mind. She’s simply numb.

Her brain thinks apparently now is a grand time to rehash everything Kara told her before she essentially died. The Phantom Zone. She hears Kara’s words repeating over and over in here head. “I was stuck in the Phantom Zone replaying the destruction of my planet for nearly a decade.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lena weeps to herself. She buries her head in her hands, but when the warm, sticky residue stains her cheeks, she pulls them back and gapes with abject horror. She squeezes her hands into fists to try and stop the bleeding, but it’s no use. Realizing what’s she’s done, Lena falls to the floor on her knees and sobs uncontrollably. She curls into herself and gradually ends up in ball, visibly shaking and unable to do anything about it.

She thinks back to the time when Supergirl was fighting Reign. The moment she fell from the skyscraper with a loud crack on the pavement. Kara’s still and lifeless body. Lena had been watching along with James, and the rest of National City, not knowing it was her best friend the whole time.

She remembers when Supergirl told Reign to take her instead while her fingers were wrapped around Lena’s neck, choking the life out of her.

The sobs continue and her body wracks with guilt. Her throat tightens making it hard to breathe.

She recalls Lex bragging to her about the other Supergirl, Red Daughter, beating Kara to death. The rage in him and the sneer on his face, he was practically seething with intense joy over what he thought was the defeat of Supergirl. Alex had confided in her one night, not knowing what else to say to the woman who was at her sister’s throat, that Supergirl had died that night. She had died and Lena would have never known. What would they have told her about Kara?

Her memory finally serves her to the beginning when Supergirl sacrificed herself to Lillian to protect Lena. When she distracted the nanobots when they were trying to kill Jack. The time she willingly gave CADMUS an inside as to how her heat vision worked and vials of her blood, all so they wouldn’t hurt the ones she loved. Or every time she risked her life to save Lena.

And now her best friend will suffer in the Phantom Zone, again, and Lena doesn’t even know how to get there, how to save her, what she’s thinking, how to live without her, or how to process any of this. All these crushing realizations of what she feels weighing down on her, and she can’t move. Lena isn’t the type of person to just give up, but right now the only thing she feels is hopeless.

The sobs get louder and more enunciated.

That’s how Alex finds her; curled up in a ball, on the floor, shivering and quaking with choked sobs, dried blood caked on her hands and face, broken glass strewn all around her, and the TV flickering with glitchy blotches.

Alex glances around the room and with a weary face, she sighs. She walks over to Lena, glass crunching beneath her boots, and carefully kneels in front of her. “Oh, honey,” she cards a hand through raven hair, parting it away from the woman’s face. Her eyes are glazed over and splotchy. “Have you been here all night?”

Lena shoots up as if an electric shock went coursing through her system, and groans from the hangover. She glances around and flinches when sunlight hits her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Just after 7 in the morning,” Alex winces. “I tried calling you, but I see you’ve been busy…”

“Alex,” Lena’s voice is hoarse, “I didn’t get a chance to—” she hiccups. Her breathing is labored and she can feel another panic attack coming on. “I never told Kara.”

Alex frowns and helps her sit up properly, resting her hands on Lena’s forearms. “What?” she lowers her head to meet her eyes. “What didn’t you tell her?”

“I never told her how I feel,” her lip wobbles and she rips an arm away from Alex’s grasp and rubs away the tears roughly, like she’s angry at herself and has no one else to take it out on. Actually, that’s exactly how she feels. She’s furious at herself. “I never told her how I feel about her! I love her, Alex! I love her and I never told her!” she yells and thrashes and Alex takes it all like a champ.

Alex manages to wrangle her and wrap her arms tightly around the other woman’s shoulders. She rubs soothing hands along her back. “She knows.” Alex pulls her back and looks her dead in the eye, hands firmly planted on Lena’s shoulders, “Hey. She knows.”

Lena’s tear-filled eyes widen and the dam breaks once more. Alex pulls her in for another hug and they stay like that until the breathing is under control. “Will you tell me about the Phantom Zone?” Lena asks, hesitantly, when they pull back.

Alex nods. “Actually, that’s why I came over here. I’m not gonna stop until we find her and get her back. And I need your help.” Lena smiles lightly, the light in her eyes slowly coming back. “But first, we’re cleaning you and this place up,” she gestures around them with a pointed look on her face.

So, that’s what they do.

Alex tells her about the Phantom Zone, at least what she knows from what her sister has told her, while together they work tirelessly in finding a way to get there and save Kara from any more pain and torture inflicted upon her. They keep plugging away.

A few weeks later it happens. They find her.

When they arrive, Kara is hunched over herself, leaning against some type of space rock inside of what appears to be a cave. Lena and Alex share a look before Lena tentatively steps forward, and crouches down next to Kara.

“Hey,” Lena reaches a hand toward her. Kara flinches and makes herself smaller. Lena swallows thickly and tries again. “Kara. It’s me. It’s Lena.”

Kara peeks out behind her hands and looks at Lena with a darkness she’s never seen come from those deep ocean eyes. She’s almost lifeless. “You’re not real,” Kara rasps. A drop falls from Lena’s eyes and onto her lap. Kara watches it with rapt attention, and falters for a moment.

“Lena?” she touches her cheeks with the palm of her hands and lifts, “Is that really you?” Lena smiles widely and nods. Kara wipes away her tears with nimble thumbs. Kara sobs loudly and rests her forehead on Lena’s. “It’s really you,” she finishes with a whisper.

“It’s really me,” Lena replies. “We’re here to bring you home. Come on,” she pulls back, regretfully, and helps Kara to her feet. She takes one of Kara’s arms and puts it around her shoulder and wraps her own arm around the hero’s waist. While they’re hobbling toward Alex and the portal, Kara stops.

“Wait!”

“Kara, we have to go.” Lena glances around with nervous eyes and hears the telltale sound of phantoms whooshing around outside the cave. She continues her way toward Alex while making get moving gestures at Kara.

“I love you!”

Lena stops and stares in shock. The moment is here and knowing their track record for important conversations, it just had to take place in an area laced with death and rot. Alex looks impatiently between the two women.

Kara limps to Lena, who catches her before she falls. “Lena, I’ve been stuck here for who knows how long, and all I could think about the whole time was you and how much I love you. You’re what kept me sane.” Before Lena can reply, Kara is surging forward and pressing their lips together in a searing kiss. At first, Kara thinks she’s made a mistake, but then Lena returns the kiss with just as much fervor and excitement.

When they open their eyes they’re back on earth in the Fortress. They collectively frown and notice Alex smirking at them with a raise of her eyebrow. “You guys were taking too long so I just came to you while you were…” she motions around them with a wave of her hands, “You know, busy.”

Lena blushes and drops her face into her hands before stuffing it in the crook of Kara’s neck. Kara responds by chuckling softly and encircling her arms around Lena's waist. She rests her cheek on her love's head and smiles at her sister, “We’ll catch up with you later, if that’s alright?”

Alex kisses both of their heads and whispers to Kara, “We’re glad you’re back.”

___

(AO3) leave kudos please :)

#asdjflkdsjklfj #this took me all morning to write #and it probably sucks #but here it is anyway #btw i'm willing to write kara's version of what she went through #if anyone wants that #supercorp #supercorp fic #supergirl spoilers #kara danvers #lena luthor #alex danvers

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parlideldiavolo · 3 years ago

Text

have mercy, pt. 03

(CW: Violence and injury.)

lll.

The building was empty. Vic wondered if it had any significance—the Saints tended to be premeditated in what they did and loved their symbolism, as evidenced by the sound of a heavy whip hitting the ground.

Killian--Mercy, he corrected himself--wouldn’t do this just anywhere. Vic wanted to pick the thought apart further and see where it led but his attention was drawn instead to the heavy coils that pooled around the Saint’s feet.

He wanted to laugh. Love, huh?

(It made sense. If the stories were true, his race had been cursed because of love--the love of one being turned into punishment, because devils had love for an imperfect world free of its chains. Something like that.)

Mercy watched him from across the warehouse floor with same unchanging sorrow that had haunted his face since they’d first seen each other. The older man closed his eyes and took a deep breath (and that was an opportunity.)

(Vic didn’t take it.)

The following exhale was deep and shuddering. When Mercy next looked up his face, from line-worn eyes to graying beard, was tear-stained. Vic wasn’t sure what he felt, seeing that. More anger? Jealousy?

The brightness in his eyes sharpened as Mercy slid his palms across the heft of the whip. What looked to be two or three gold trammel-like items, or spikes, had been seated in his belt. The older man’s shoulders rose and his body swelled to fill the room. With his next breath a serpentine cross was revealed to be seated at his collar. The dress he wore was dark and ashen.

It was about time he looked less like a kind older man, Vic thought. A monster hunter stood in front of him instead and it matched far better with the man Vic had last seen many years ago. The devil’s attention drifted up to the old burn scar on Mercy’s face. He thought of the burnt-out phone lying crumpled in the car and hoped seeing that had opened up an old, old wound.

“When they took you into the Sanctum,” the older man began, and there was the faintest tremor in his voice as he spoke, ”I didn’t know what would happen.”

Vic’s fists tightened. “Didn’t expect me to burn your face, I’ll wager.”

The burn scar that crossed Mercy’s skin tugged as he spoke. “That moment, when you were on the pyre, I was reaching for you. I meant to pull you free.”

That wasn’t how Vic remembered it.

Mercy blinked the tears away. “You can’t help your nature. And I... have learned.”

It didn’t change anything. Not if they were still standing here.

“Nothing left to say?” Vic asked while hooking fingers into his gloves and ripping them off.

“Yes,” Mercy replied. “But I know you won’t listen.”

“Then give me something worthwhile to hear besides ‘I love you.’”

Mercy’s smile faded. “It is like a devil to not understand love.”

Vic sensed the shift before it happened. The floor where he’d been standing shattered as the heavy throng of the whip broke the concrete into slabs. It whipped back with an audible groan but Vic was already blazing across the floor.

<“Try again!”> he snarled.

The rage was easier to direct. It slammed him into the Saint with a flurry of fire and smoke that roared over the heartbeat in his ears or the worries that swept like currents. He struck fast, landing blows across shoulders and bearing the weighted buffet of Mercy slamming the hilt of the whip across his side. It felt like acid.

Vic spun away, dodged the next crackling roar of the whip as it flew and lunged through the spiraling loop it made before the coils could snap shut and crack his spine in half.

A concrete column exploded when Mercy whipped it back. The dust cloud erupted like a sudden storm of ash; Vic sank low, flipped over the next swinging link like a dancer and swooped close to catch Mercy’s forearm and wrench away the punch that might have shattered his jaw. Mercy gasped in pain and spat blood. A quick shp sound was all the warning Vic received before a blade shot out of the Saint’s wrist and glanced off the devil’s rib. Blood steamed as it sprayed and the hallowed blade ripped clean through Vic’s shirt.

Vic had experience with Saints’ weapons. He knew what they were like—how they burned and debilitated, paralyzed, or inflicted unusual agony to the monsters they were unleashed on. He knew what to expect and could feel the sanctified thrum of energy that buzzed off the whip every time it swung.

Being prepared helped to withstand the effects themselves, but the simple reality of their pain remained. Vic felt his next blow land with a sharp crack that had Mercy doubling. The next attempted gutting swung wide.

<“Show your face,”> Mercy roared as they spun and tangled like a flurry.

Vic wanted to roar back this is my face but settled for grabbing Mercy’s head as his eyes went black and then erupted with the same flaming scarlet that poured from his mouth when Vic breathed fire straight at the Saint’s eyes.

Mercy twisted out of the pillar of flame and caught most of it on the side of his head, ear and beard. He swung Vic aside and ripped a hand through the grey-streaked strands to rip the flames out.

Another column exploded. Vic caught the edge of a link on his next series of snarling vaults through the whip’s labyrinth of chains and felt his forearm snap.

None of the hits he received were rewarded with even a murmur of pain. Vic’s tongue stayed behind his teeth as he stumbled to clap a hand over his bloodied arm. His tattoos roared to life as the wound was healed.

Mercy was breathing heavily, bruised and flushed by fire. Vic met his eyes and could feel the light smoke curling from between his sharpening teeth. The storm of grey in his eyes flared ruby when the storm receded to black out the whites of his eyes.

Is this the face that you want?

Vic’s tapered tail whipped out and cracked across Mercy’s wrist when the blade came up and dark wings buffeted them across the room to crash them against iron shelving and send Mercy reeling. The next hilt jab caught Vic across the hip. His hands ripped at the Saint’s neck and the disabling cross that hung there--one made in the likeness of a gilded, crucified serpent.

Fights rarely last long. Most happen in heartbeats before they’re finished and the dazed dance of fire, smoke, gold and blood comes to a close. Mercy’s chest heaved ragged and he smelled burnt and torn as blood streamed from his nose and brow to smear across the dress he wore. Blood stained Vic’s teeth. The desire filling his mouth tasted like death and ash.

Mercy went to grab his hand, or so it seemed, but Vic felt something pierce it instead.

Ah, the calculating part of Vic thought through the veil of anger. This is new.

In that split second Vic could have killed him. It would have been easy—either with claws, teeth, fire. The tattoos that spanned his body erupted with light.

He hesitated.

(He’s fourteen years old, perched on the arm of a chair holding a box with a wounded kitten in his lap. His uncle is smiling; Killian says, ‘you should be a healer.’ He lights up.)

Vic’s hand went numb. The split second his fingers relaxed a crack of the whip caught the side of his head, snagged a horn and yanked.

He was able to catch himself and rip free but the numbness in his hand remained. When Vic glanced down he could see one of the small, spear-head shaped trammels he’d taken note of earlier embedded in his hand. The arcane light that flared from the tattoos on that hand dimmed and wavered.

Vic could hear his heartbeat again. It pounded in his pinned-back ears when Mercy wrested himself off the floor; the blood that erupted around the sanctified gold steamed.

He had to end it.

The Saint must have had the same thought—he didn’t have the body or endurance that Vic did.

Vic’s hand still wasn’t responding when the next assault came. By the time he felt the next piercing sensation the whole room was lit with smoke.

This wouldn’t be the end. It couldn’t be--an end for Vic would be much more grand than this.

So, he kept fighting even when feeling drained from his fingertips. He fought because there were people who couldn’t be hurt, not by the Saints, not by this Saint, and not by some fucking god. He fought until Mercy, hedged against a wall, ripped a serpentine cross from his belt.

It was bladed at the end. Vic discovered that when it sank into his chest with the hand of a Saint at its hilt. This was something he could shake off and recover from.

Usually.

Vic stumbled back. The room spun. Mercy released the bladed cross and stepped back with a catch of breath and clutch of his own chest as he doubled over.

Vic stumbled again. That’s when the devil, who had so far been silent except for his anger, heard himself scream.

It was a raw, seething sound. Agony exploded inside his chest. It had pierced something, something vital, more vital than a simple organ and Vic was hemorrhaging power uncontrollably as the room spun.

He couldn’t pull it out—his hands wouldn’t respond. He couldn’t heal—the blazing of his tattoos danced wildly like a candle caught in wind as his power surged inward, deep, deep within to try and heal what the cross had punctured.

Strands of fire and smoke dripped from his mouth like blood. If he’d been aware he would have noticed his body uncontrollably shifting from one form to another as he convulsed. Whatever threads had woven his endemic memory together were snapping at the seams, because Vic was suddenly Falling.

Mercy watched, stricken, through a veil of broken skin and burnt hair.

It occurred to some small, lucid part of Vic that he was afraid--not of Mercy, not of anything, except... dying.

Vic’s vision blurred. He’d spent all this time coming to terms with it—with a horrible end and thinking he could meet it with a grin—but now all he could think about was Ireland. They were supposed to go there.

(Mercy had also stumbled back. Now the older man painfully lifted himself from the wall.)

So many unfulfilled debts and promises. Friendships. Vic couldn’t fail them.

(The Saint braced a hand against it and pushed himself upright.)

He didn’t want to lose them. Or his dad. Meph. His family.

(“I… mercy,” the Saint murmured as he began to walk forward. His voice shook. The first blade shone in his hand. “I'll have mercy.”)

He didn’t want to leave him.

Vic’s unfeeling fingers slid from burning gold, and his legs finally buckled as the world fell away.

#standalone #post #(feels self conscious) (posts anyway)#chad moments

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redvoid-40 · 3 years ago

Text

Checkmate

So, I decided to write a part 3 of my FyodorxMary citrusy thingy; now with the actual lemon in it. For all the other rat Fyodor simps out there, enjoy! Let me know if you like it. ;)

(this is a direct continuation of part 2, so you might want to take a look at it before starting to read this)

TW: heavy NSFW content; some heavy pressuring into not-so-healthy sex by Fyodor (borderline non-con?), a tiny bit of yandere tendencies at the end.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Fyodor never thought it was possible to derive pleasure from servicing another, but having his tongue and fingers in Mary’s pussy did things to him he couldn’t explain. The way she whimpered his name, how her body trembled beneath him, the warmth and wetness of her cunt spasming around his fingers… it all made him dizzy with desire. Even the way she tasted was lovely - a bit salty, a bit citric, but still ridiculously pleasant on his tongue. It tore a deep moan from his throat as he squeezed a third finger inside her, chuckling at the gasp that left her pretty lips. She really was a tight fit.

“Take a breath, relax…” Fyodor cooed, smiling up at Mary as he slowly moved three fingers back and forth inside her cunt. “There’s still another one coming.”

Mary’s eyes widened, and she tried to pull her hips back, but Fyodor’s free arm locked around her waist, keeping her trapped against the mattress. He understood her trepidation, but she needed to understand that all of this, this burning stretch of too many fingers inside of her, was in her benefit. If it was up to him, he’d shove his cock inside her without gentleness or hesitancy. But Fyodor wanted Mary to enjoy this too. And if she was to revel in the feeling of taking him whole - and, by God, she would -, he needed to prepare her. So she should just stay still and be thankful for it.

“Fyodor, I don’t think I can take it,” Mary whispered, staring down at him with wide eyes that were equal parts aroused and scared.

“Of course you can,” Fyodor said, fingers gaining speed as they moved in and out of her, making loud, squelching sounds that went straight to his cock and all but physically forced him to thrust his hips against the plush mattress for some sort of relief. “Look at how wet you are. Look at the mess you’re making on my fingers,” he said, purple eyes darkening as he stared at the delightful amount of liquid gushing out of Mary’s cunt. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Fyodor dived head-first back between Mary’s leg, mouth closing over her clit as his fingers continued to push their way in and out of her, in and out, in and out, in and-

“Fyodor!”

Mary screamed, arching her back as Fyodor made good on his promise and shoved a fourth finger inside her without warning. She tried to pull back from the sudden stretch, but once again Fyodor tightened his hold on her with a growl against her cunt, disallowing any escape. Her head thrashed side to side, but he kept his fingers inside, unmoving as his tongue attacked her clit mercilessly, trying to numb her pain with pleasure.

“Fyodor, Fyodor, please,” Mary whimpered. “Please, please, please!”

Fyodor’s eyes rolled back in his skull as he almost came from Mary’s voice alone. Her pleas were the sweetest melody he had ever heard. Neither Tchaikovsky nor Rachmaninoff could ever hope to achieve such perfect sounds, and Fyodor cursed himself for not having the forethought of setting a sound recording system alongside the hidden cameras in his room to record her voice and make it his lullaby.

“Please what?” Fyodor spoke, voice rough with his arousal, and face glistening with hers. “Use your words, Mary. Tell me what you want.”

“Please,” she said again, teary eyes clouded with infinite pleasure. “Please, keep moving.”

Fyodor smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners in delight. “As you wish.”

Slowly, he started moving, using his entire arm to ease his fingers inside of her. Fyodor groaned at the sight, enjoying the way Mary’s cunt squeezed the four digits together, fluttering around them as it struggled to adapt to the stretch. Tears made her eyes glisten prettily and her entire body shook on the bed, overwhelmed by him as Fyodor kept playing and pulling sounds from her with the same reverence and care he showed when playing his violoncello.

Fyodor lowered his head back to the pink, glistening nub between her folds as his fingers gained speed once more, pumping in and out of her increasingly fast, until Mary couldn’t differentiate pain from pleasure. Chest heaving, she could only grab onto the sheets as she took whatever Fyodor gave her with buckling hips and shaking thighs. It made him double his efforts, veins popping on his forearm as his hand thrusted rapidly inside of her, and deep moans vibrating in his throat as his tongue see-sawed all over her clit.

“I-I’m close, I’m so close,” Mary whined, back arching off the mattress. “Fyodor, I’m gonna-!”

The words melted in a loud moan as Mary arched her back, thighs clenching around Fyodor’s head as her climax washed over her. The Russian moaned loudly alongside her as drank in her orgasm, loudly slurping everything she gave him while his fingers continued their assault, pushing her pleasure to new heights until it bordered on painful overstimulation.

“T-Too much,” Mary said, trying to pull away from Fyodor’s hand and mouth. When he didn’t allow her any leeway, she began pushing gently against his scalp. “Fyodor, please.”

Fyodor chuckled against her clit, amused at her protests, and didn’t ease his actions in the slightest. He had heard women could have multiple orgasms in a row, and he was determined to find out.

“Fyodor!” Mary called again, fist suddenly clenching against his hair, tearing a groan from his throat. He had always enjoyed a bit of rough handling from his partners, and having the gentle woman grab him like that made him rut his hips against the mattress like an animal. Mary really was testing his limits.

Fuck, yes, Fyodor thought as he enforced a second orgasm over Mary, making her body spasm uncontrollably as she tried to escape him, crying and begging for a reprieve. He smiled, permitting himself a few more cruel thrusts of his fingers to enjoy her pleas for mercy until finally loosening his hold around her waist, allowing Mary to finally scurry away from him.

Breathing hard, Fyodor sat back on his heels as he stared at the dazed woman curled on his pillows; her unbuttoned blouse and bra still hung over her shoulders, and she glowed with a thin layer of sweat as she stared at him with blown eyes. The vision made Fyodor smile. His face was messy with Mary’s essence, but still he raised his fingers to his mouth, gaze locked with hers as he licked off every drop of her essence so he could appreciate her taste like the nectar it was.

Legs shut in front of her, Mary watched him with wide, watery eyes, like a rat cornered by a hungry, mischievous cat. It’s nice, Fyodor thought, smiling widely, to be the cat for once.

“Come here, Mary,” Fyodor said, hands slowly unbuckling his belt. His fingers ghosted over his clothed erection and he hissed; he was so hard, even the slightest touch was torturous. “Spread your legs again. It’s my turn now.”

The blush on Mary’s cheeks spread to her neck and the top of her breasts as her eyes zeroed on his hands. His smile erupted in laughter as those intelligent, beautiful eyes of hers widened dumbly when he - finally, thank God - pulled his cock out of his pants.

“You see now,” Fyodor began, crawling over Mary as his hand pushed her knees open. “Why I needed four fingers?”

Fyodor heard Mary swallow thickly, gaze glued on the erection between his legs as she nodded her head. He knew he was big - too long, too thick, too much please stop it hurts, his partners said - and he knew it seemed to bring much more pain than pleasure to anyone who was dumb or desperate enough to fall into his bed. Which was why he hoped the pleasure he had given Mary was enough to lower her cognitive abilities, so she’d fit in at least one of those two categories. He didn’t know what he’d do if she backed out now; for a first, he didn’t wish to pressure someone into doing his will against theirs, but he wished even less to let Mary out of his bed until he was done with her.

The sound that left Mary’s throat was that of a wounded animal, but the way she bit her bottom lip spoke more of curiosity than hesitancy. It made Fyodor raise an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised with her reaction.

“You want it?” He asked, pinching her chin to raise her gaze to his.

“I must admit, I’m a tad scared,” Mary said as she laid her warm palms over his pectorals. Then she smiled, planting a soft kiss on his lips. “But yes, I do. Just… be careful with me. Please.”

Fyodor closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Truthfully, he didn’t want to be careful at all, and he doubted he would be able to once he was inside her. If Mary’s cunt felt so impossibly wet, warm and tight around his fingers, he bet it would feel like heaven once it was squeezing his cock. And seeing how much she enjoyed his earlier treatment of her, he knew Mary could endure his rough handling further.

Still, he didn’t want to traumatise her, didn’t want to watch her leave his room with sobs stuck in her throat and tears tracking down her face, like so many others before her. So he decided to meet her halfway. He could be kind to her, offer her a way out if his desires became too much. However, Fyodor hoped Mary wouldn’t use it, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stick to such a noble resolution once he was balls-deep inside of her.

“Checkmate,” Fyodor said once he pulled back from the kiss. It caused Mary to furrow her eyebrows prettily at him, and he couldn’t help but smile. “That’s your safe word. Repeat it for me.”

Mary smiled back, soft and full of warmth. “Checkmate,” she said, enunciating each syllable carefully.

Fyodor nodded and, in an uncharacteristic moment of softness, kissed her forehead as he dropped his forearms by each side of Mary’s head, caging her. He moved his right hand to the base of his cock and guided it to her pretty pretty cunt, shuddering as he ran his tip up and down her slit, smearing her essence all over it. He was about to thrust inside when-

“Wait,” Mary whispered, pushing gently against his chest. “There’s a condom in my skirt’s pocket. We should-”

Without warning, Fyodor began to push in, making Mary’s words wobble into a breathless gasp. He went slowly, letting Mary adjust as much as possible as he carved a path inside of her, inch by inch, by inch, until he met resistance. Breathing heavily, Fyodor looked down at the spot where they joined and was unsurprised at finding there were still a few inches of his cock out. Still, he groaned at the gorgeous sight, letting his weight fall on her as he buried his face on the crook of her neck. Mary felt even better than he anticipated, and it took everything he had not to fuck into her like an animal to force the rest of his cock inside and tear her apart. She felt too good, all of her did; her soft breasts squished against his chest, her breathy whimpers on his ear, and most of all, her tight, sopping wet pussy squeezing his cock like it never wanted him to leave.

“Fyodor,” Mary breathed out in his ear, letting her short nails dig in his shoulders. “C-Condom.”

Half-mad with pleasure, Fyodor giggled at her words. He had never dared to fuck anyone else bareback in his life - didn’t trust those unclean sinners to be free of disease or using proper contraception -, but he knew there was no other way to fuck the woman beneath him other than raw. Mary was crazy if she thought he’d hinder the feeling of her velvety walls spasming around his cock with a tight barrier of latex. And even crazier if she thought he’d miss the chance to watch his cum drip out of her pink little pussy.

“No,” Fyodor said. “There is no way I will not feel every inch of you squeezing me. I could feel the thread of your IUD, Mary. We’re safe from pregnancy.”

“T-That’s beyond the point,” Mary said, voice stuttering as Fyodor slowly dragged his cock out, only to push it back in, putting a bit of force at the end of the movement to try to shove everything he had inside.

“I know a proper lady like you would never have any disease to give me,” Fyodor cooed, giddy with pleasure. “I promise I’m clean too.”

“But-!”

Fyodor swallowed Mary’s next words in a bruising kiss as his hips snapped against hers, already tired of her protests. Clearly, he was not fucking her hard enough if she still had enough neuron capacity to speak so many full sentences.

Mary’s whole body shook with the impact of Fyodor’s thrust, and she wrapped her arms and legs around him to hold on for dear life as his movements gained speed. Her head fell back to let out a loud moan that threatened to pierce through the walls and echo into the rooms next to theirs.

Mary’s reaction made Fyodor grin, and with sweat sprouting all over his body, he sat up, wrapping his hands around her waist for purchase as he began pounding into her, entranced by the way her breasts bounced up and down with every thrust.

Fyodor groaned and moaned, teeth clenched as he fucked Mary, doing his absolute best - or worst - to fully sheat his cock in her, revelling in the gasps and moans that escaped her lips every time he slammed against her cervix. Still, no matter how hard he thrusted, her cunt refused to take the last inches of him.

That just won’t do, Fyodor thought, narrowing his eyes. Without warning, he pulled Mary’s legs from around his waist and shoved them over his shoulders. The new angle allowed Fyodor to fuck her deeper still, pulling a scream from Mary’s throat as she finally took the entirety of his cock.

Fully inside her, Fyodor froze, fingers digging on Mary’s thighs as he stared at her; purple eyes blown wide with pleasure as he willed himself not to come just yet. Her cunt felt like heaven, and if he could, Fyodor would be inside her all hours of the day, letting her sit prettily on his lap and be his perfect cock-warmer as he stared at those too-bright screens for endless hours. He’d bet time would flow much faster like that.

“Too much, Fyodor…” Mary whimpered as she looked back at him with her mouth open as her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow bursts of air. Fyodor couldn’t help the smile that pulled on the corners of his lips at her plea. Mary was so overwhelmed, so sensitive... and still she didn’t resort to her safe word.

“You’re taking me so well, Mary,” he praised, voice soft and warm as he ran his thumb over her cheek. “I can’t quite believe you’re real.”

Mary, little minx that she was, clenched her velvety cunt around him, drawing a broken moan from his lips. “Well, you’re feeling pretty real to me.”

Fyodor chuckled at her words, folding his body over hers, forcing her to bend obscenely to accommodate his affections. “Come here,” he whispered, holding her face in place. “Kiss me again.”

She did and Fyodor melted, hips moving in and out at a mellow pace. Once again he felt pleasure build up in his lower belly, filling him so quickly he knew he could burst at any moment now, and this time he would not stop himself.

“I’m going to come inside of you,” Fyodor whispered against her lips, causing Mary’s eyes to widen. He liked the mix of dumb desire and palpable panic in them. “I’m going to fill you up, Mary. And you’re going to take it, won’t you?”

Mary moaned, shutting her eyes tightly as she tried to turn her face away, then stilling when Fyodor’s hand fisted her hair to hold her head in place. “Answer me, Mary,” Fyodor demanded, with words that trembled because of the moans struggling out of his lips. “Tell me you’re going to take it,” Fyodor clenched his teeth, nostrils flaring as his hips lost their rhythm, moving fast into Mary, making her eyes roll back in her skull.

“F-Fyodor, again,” she said between moans and whimpers. “I’m going to c-cum again. Please!”

Fyodor’s eyes widened, and he quickly shoved his hand between their bodies to play with Mary’s clit again. He didn’t believe he’d be able to draw a third orgasm from the woman, but by God, hearing her pleas made him want to make her cum again, cum all over his cock and squeeze the soul out of him as he followed her down into ecstasy. But he was so close, far too gone into the heavenly feel of her pussy spasming around him, that he didn’t know if he could wait for her. She felt too good, too good, too fucking good.

“Tell me!” Fyodor growled, purple eyes wide and crazy. His hand moved frantically over her clit and the headboard slammed loudly against the wall as he fucked her so hard the entire bed moved with them. “Tell me you’ll take everything I give you and then ask for more. Tell me you want me to cum inside you! Tell me you l-”

Fyodor’s words dropped into a deep moan as he arched his spine, throwing back his head as the pleasure became too much for him. All the build-up exploded in white hot ecstasy that made his brain - always moving so fast, always working and planning and scheming - short-circuit. For one glorious moment, there were no thoughts running through Fyodor’s brain, only pleasure. Pure, orgasmic pleasure that could rival ascension to Paradise itself.

Then the pleasure gave way to a heavy fog as his vision tunnelled. Fyodor was barely able to move his head to the side to avoid head-butting Mary on his way down into unconsciousness.

---

Mary positively squeaked when Fyodor suddenly dropped, body limp and heavy on top of her.

“Fyodor?” She called, letting her legs settle comfortably around his waist as she raised her fingers to his neck. She let out a sigh of relief at finding his pulse going strong.

Breathing hard, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and laid a hand over Fyodor’s head, letting her fingers play gently with his hair. As Mary played with the silky strands absent-minded, there was no helping the petulant pout on her lips; she had been so close to cumming again...

Oh well, she thought as she gazed down at Fyodor’s lax features. He looked even more beautiful when he was asleep, face pale and placid with soft, rosy lips half-parted to let out warm gusts of air over her chest. It was hard to dwell on her frustration when she had such an angelic-looking creature so close to her.

The key word being “looking”, Mary lamented. She knew she couldn’t trust the man in any way, knew he had his own agenda and second intentions when he had agreed to help her - well, when Eric had hired him to help her. Still, despite hearing the alarm bells and knowing they rang for a reason, she now found herself in his bed, sore and satisfied, with his semen leaking out of her and making a mess of them and the sheets.

It’s just a brief distraction. For both of us, Mary thought to herself. It should be fine. It’s just once.

At that thought, Fyodor stirred on top of her, slowly regaining consciousness. He pushed against the mattress with wobbly arms until he was looking down at Mary with dazed eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Mary asked, reaching up to run her thumb over his cheek soothingly.

Fyodor ignored her question, eyelids drooping as he leaned into her touch. “How long was I out?”

“A couple of minutes, less maybe,” Mary answered. “Must have been a vasovagal syncope. It’s not uncommon during eh… extraneous activities.”

Fyodor snorted, turning his face to kiss her palm before fully sitting up. His eyes were still dark as he smiled lazily, hands grabbing the soft flesh of Mary’s thighs and pushing against them to open her up for his viewing pleasure. Mary blushed, following his line of sight down to the absolute mess between their bodies and how his cum was leaking out from the infinitesimal space his softening cock allowed. Slowly, Fyodor pulled out of her and Mary hissed at the friction; now that her body had cooled down, she was feeling incredibly sore, and she expected to be a bit of blood mixed with both of their essences.

What she didn’t expect was the way Fyodor’s breath hitched as he stared at the result of their… activities, nor how his fingers floated softly over her labia, gathering the juices leaking out of her before pressing two slender digits in, pushing his cum back inside as his lungs seemed to struggle to breathe.

“Fyodor?” Mary called, letting out a whine when his fingers reached her cervix and stilled for a moment to feel her walls clench around them before slowly pulling out again. She stared wide-eyed as brought his fingers up, glossy with their combined essences and a speck of blood, and closed his lips around them. Fyodor’s lids fell shut as he hummed in some sort of trance, savouring their combined tastes.

“I believe,” he began, pulling his now-clean fingers out of his mouth as purple irises stared at her through half-lidded eyes. “That I finally understand why the French call this la petite mort. It did feel like I had died and ascended to heaven.”

Mary felt her face burn as she turned away from Fyodor’s smouldering gaze. He chuckled softly, and the sound reverberated through her bones as he laid his open palms on her hips, thumbs floating up and down the soft skin in the area between her most intimate parts and her thighs.

“You’re bleeding a little, and there are some bruises,” Fyodor mused, voice soft. If Mary didn’t know better, she’d even call his tone apologetic. “I’ll try to be gentler next time.”

Those words caused Mary’s eyes to widen as she turned back to him, letting out a high-pitched little noise at how close Fyodor’s face suddenly was to hers. Still smiling, he captured her lips in the softest kiss Mary had ever tasted. It made her close her eyes as she melted beneath the man, fingers running up his shoulders to rest on the back of his neck. Fyodor’s moan echoed inside her lungs as he relaxed above her, trusting her to bear his weight for a little more before pulling back to stare into her eyes.

Fyodor smiled at her, in a way so child-like and carefree that it made Mary’s blood freeze in her veins.

“Wait here,” he said, giving her a last peck on the lips before standing up from the bed. “I’ll bring a towel to clean you up.”

Mary watched Fyodor disappear inside the bathroom of his private en-suite with an indescribable weight pushing down on her chest. Wait here? She thought, thoughts running a mile a minute. Next time?

Mary pushed herself up on her elbows, letting her open blouse and bra finally slip from her shoulders, and stared at the bathroom’s ajar door as the sound of running water reached her ears. Slowly, she laid her feet on the floor, hissing at the burning pain between her legs and the sticky feeling of Fyodor’s essence inside her. With a deep breath, she pushed herself up, but her legs buckled under her weight and she fell to her knees by the bed.

“I told you to wait,” Fyodor said as he marched out of the bathroom, naked as the day he was born and with a wet towel in his hand. “Come here,” he purred, kneeling by her side.

Fyodor wrapped his arm around her torso, pulling some of Mary’s weight to him as he laid his head on the top of hers; purple eyes still heavy with the fog of pleasure as he stared down at the area between her legs, pink and puffy and still leaking. Humming, he pressed the wet towel gently against Mary’s core, and she couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped her at the cool touch of the fabric against her heated centre.

“Good?” Fyodor asked, pulling her tighter to him.

“So good,” she moaned, burying her face in the crook of his neck as she relaxed against his body. “But I think I need a shower. And I need to change your sheets. I… I made a mess.”

Fyodor laughed, but Mary did not recognise the sound; his joy sounded carefree and almost honest, something she did not expect from a man such as him.

“We made a mess,” Fyodor corrected, helping Mary to her feet. “And we can worry about the sheets later. I’m already filling the tub for us.”

Mary’s eyes widened. “Oh?”

“What?” Fyodor asked, looking down at her with the silliest, most childish expression of confusion she had ever seen on the face of a grown man.

“I just thought you would rather I leave you be after we, well… I didn’t take you for one who enjoyed aftercare,” Mary explained. “You don’t have to force yourself for my sake, Fyodor. I promise it won’t hurt my feelings if you’d rather be alone.”

Fyodor froze as his hold on her tightened uncomfortably, and his expression morphed into something akin to displeasure. It remained there for less than a second before a bright, dumb smile stretched on his lips.

“Are you trying to get away from me, Mary?” He asked in a teasing tone that was anything but friendly.

“That’s not what I said at all,” Mary said, pushing agitation down her throat in favour of a tone of dull confusion. “Why would you put those words in my mouth?”

Fyodor’s smile lost its edge, softening alongside his grip on her flesh. “Just a joke,” he said, even though it was clearly not.

Mary opted not to make any more comments as Fyodor guided her into the bathroom. She didn’t want to antagonise the man who would be the answer to her problems and, if she were to be honest with herself, the idea of a nice soak in a bathtub with such a beautiful and intelligent man was stupidly appealing to her.

“Come on now,” Fyodor urged, smiling softly. “I’ll even rub your shoulders as an apology for being so rough.”

Mary moaned in delight. Yes, this was quite appealing indeed.

#bsd fyodor #fyodor x oc #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky #bungo stray dogs #bsd #oc mary shelley

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pretendingboyfriends · 4 years ago

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A/N: heyyyyyy i know this took a long time to finish BUT shit happens and mental health comes before fanfiction. anyways, i hope u guys love this part and pls do not hesitate to send comments, suggestions, etc. when you’re finished and pls don’t forget to reblog!! also, thank u @sunflowers-styles and @fromyourstrulyh for beta-ing this part it would be a mess if u hadn’t <3

Warnings: angst, sadness, slightest bit of sexual tension, deidre being a bitch

Word count: 6.5k+

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Harry’s aching to talk to you. He still has no clue what he did wrong and he desperately wants to fix things, but you won’t even give him the chance–refusing to do so much as make eye contact with him when speaking. You’re humiliated. Not only because you wanted to kiss him, but also because you made it seem like he did something wrong. However, being your non confrontational self, you haven’t gained the courage to explain anything to him. Plus, you don’t want to make Deidre suspicious, so you force yourself to act just as casual as you had before and, of course, she hasn’t noticed a thing.

The day has been nothing out of the ordinary, you’re sprawled across the couch with your leg in the air, allowing your toe-nails to dry after their first coat of olive green nail polish. The weather is exceptionally nice and your hair is still wet from the dip in the pool you had taken earlier when the sun was significantly hotter than it is now. Harry left for groceries an hour or so ago and now you’re just waiting for Deidre to come out of the bedroom so that the two of you can go out and do something together.

“Okay, so-” She calls from the end of the hallway as she walks, “There’s this party tonight that the boys invited me to and I think you should come with me.”

You frown, swinging your legs back over the edge of the couch so that you can sit up straight and look at her. “What?”

She shuffles through the doorway in a crop top and skirt, her shoes clutched in her hand as she runs her fingers through her hair. “C’mon, It’ll be fun! We haven’t gone to a party together in ages.”

“I thought we were gonna go out together, just the two of us. Wasn’t that the whole purpose of this beach getaway? Just us spending time together?”

She shrugs, “I mean, we never really made a plan, it was just an idea.”

“Well, that’s not fair,” You bite, standing from your spot on the couch and crossing your arms over your chest. “I feel like it was implied that we were going to hang out tonight and now you’re going to some party with people you barely know?”

She rolls her eyes, “We can still hang out at the party!”

“No, Deidre, because I don’t want to go to a party with a bunch of people I don’t know!”

“Oh, come on,” She groans, “Nobody knows anyone at these parties, we’re all just there to have fun!”

“I still don’t want to go.”

“Fine. I’ll just go by myself, then.” She huffs, hunching over to slide her shoes on.

You take a deep breath, “I don’t think you should go either.”

“Oh my god,” She groans, “What are you, my mom?”

“No, I just think, as your best friend, that going to a party with a bunch of people you don’t know very well--a bunch of men you don’t know very well--isn’t a good idea.”

“It’s just a party, I don’t understand why you’re so worked up about it!” She yells, arms flailing around her in frustration as she walks across the living room to the door.

You drag both your hands down your face, groaning in exasperation. “Deidre, you met these guys a few days ago and they’re asking you to get drunk with them. How do you not see how dangerous that is?”

“They’re nice guys, they would never do anything to hurt me!”

“You don’t know that!” You retort, “For all you know, they could be planning to drug you and drag you back to a room to do who knows what to you!”

You hear the honking of a car horn coming from the front of the house and she huffs, shaking her head at you as she leans forward and grabs her purse from the coffee table. “I’m leaving. I’ll send you my location when I get there.” And with that, she’s gone.

You’re left alone in the house, the only sound that can be heard is the choked sob that erupts from your chest as soon as the screen door slams shut behind her. Tears spill down your cheeks with each sob, your body collapsing into the couch before you drop your head into your hands. All you can feel is anger, frustration, and anxiety. You’re concerned for Deidre, however, you’re also infuriated with her. She’s selfish; so selfish, in fact, that she doesn’t even consider that you and her entire family might be affected if anything terrible happens to her.

You sit there on the couch for what seems like decades, your body wracked with sobs as tears stream down your cheeks. Every emotion from the past few days has suddenly burst from within you and you’re unable to contain it.

Finally, after gathering your emotions as much as possible, you lift yourself from the couch and trudge to the kitchen for some comfort food. Swinging the fridge door open, your eyes almost immediately land on a large, unopened bottle of red wine.

“Fuck it.” You mutter, reaching forward and grasping the chilled, glass bottle by its neck. You place the bottle on the counter as you recklessly search for a corkscrew in one of the many drawers lining the countertop. Moments later, you’re mustering every bit of strength inside of you to open the bottle with the screw and after nearly 10 minutes of struggling, the cork pops out with a loud “THUNK”.

You sigh, reaching for the cabinet above you for a wine glass out of reflex, but you quickly decide against the use of a glass and gulp the liquid straight from the bottle. You know your behavior is reckless, but you can’t find a single part of you that cares. You need the pain and frustration to go away somehow and drowning them with an $11 bottle of wine would suffice for now.

Dragging yourself out to the patio, you allow the thick, heady liquid to slide down your throat and settle into your empty stomach as you plop yourself into one of the chairs. A loud rumble of thunder in the distance draws your attention from the bottle, causing you to pull it away from your lips for a moment. You watch as a faint, almost unnoticeable, drizzle gradually turns into a steady shower and then into a heavy downpour. The scarce amount of people that had been on the beach when you first stepped out onto the patio are now shoveling all of their belongings into their arms as fast as they can to avoid being trapped in the downpour.

Soon, the beach is completely vacant. Not a soul is in sight and, oddly enough, you’re drawn to it. Nearly two-thirds of the bottle is resting warmly in your stomach at this point, so your decision making skills are not the most reliable, but something’s telling you to go out and sit in the rain. So, after chugging the rest of the bottle (and quickly rushing inside to use the bathroom because alcohol on an empty stomach is like a free pass to pissing yourself), you allow your intoxicated brain to wisp you down the patio stairs and into the thick, sopping wet sand.

Your clothes have already begun to soak through from the rain as you stumble along the shore, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Your eyes are swollen and bloodshot from crying and your head is throbbing with every step you take. Then, you stop, allowing your body to drop down into the sand before looping your arms around your bent legs and tugging them to your chest.

It’s nearing dusk as you sit there, the sun slowly sinking further and further beneath the horizon behind thick clouds. Your clothes are completely soaked through by this point, but, in your drunken state, you can’t find a reason to care. Tears begin to spill down your cheeks again, mixing with the rain drops already pelting your face and you don’t even bother to wipe them away. Your chest feels numb from the sobs that incessantly wrack your body, but you can’t find the strength to stop. It feels like you’re trapped. Unable to escape the sinking loneliness that increases with every moment of every day and ignoring it only makes it worse.

When you’d first agreed to the trip, you were given a sense of hope. You thought that maybe, if you were around people that made you happy, your loneliness would dissipate and you wouldn’t feel like this anymore; but it’s only become worse.

Unbeknownst to you, Harry is sprinting from his car with an armful of groceries to the front door of the beach house and swinging it open. He calls for Deidre, then calls for you finding silence within the house. He frowns, stumbling further into the living room towards the kitchen so that he can set the large, paper bags down on the table to relieve himself of their weight. He leaves the bags there and begins to search the rooms, finding each one of them empty and becoming even more confused. Lastly, he slides the patio door open to find each chair empty, the empty wine bottle sitting alone on the metal patio table. He steps out, shutting the door behind him before walking to the table and taking the bottle into his hands. The glass is still damp with perspiration, but there isn’t more than a few tablespoons of wine left sloshing at the bottom of the bottle. He places it back where it had been resting before as he lifts his head to look out at the beach. The downpour is so thick that it’s difficult to make out any sort of shapes, but when his eyes land on your figure in the sand, his heart nearly leaps from his chest.

He calls your name as he bounds down the porch stairs and into the sand, jogging to where you sit with your knees pressed to your chest. You turn to him with a sorrowful expression, lip quivering uncontrollably with your weak sobs.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” He stutters, dropping to his knees beside you with one hand on your back and the other on your knee. “Are you hurt? Should I call somebody?”

You shake your head. “M’alright.”

“It doesn’t look like you’re alright,” He frowns, reaching his right hand up to gently turn your face towards him. “Wh- why are you- what’s going on? Why are you out here in this weather all alone?”

The rain is still incessant and it’s hard for either of you to see anything but you’re able to sense just how much Harry cares. You wipe your nose with the back of your hand and shake your head.

“Dee went out,” You slur quietly. “Then, I had a bit of wine.”

“You’re crying.” He points out.

You shake your head again, avoiding his eye contact. “S’just the rain.”

He sighs in defeat, hand dropping from your face as he pushes his wet hair from his own. “C’mon, let’s get you inside.” He grasps your hands gently as he stands, pulling you up with him. You stumble slightly, falling into him and his arms reflexively wrap around your waist, mumbling: “Easy, darling.”

The unremitting mizzle of rain pelts against the both of you as he drags you back up to the house with one arm wrapped around your waist. Your head leans lazily against his shoulder and your body melts into his due to the alcohol coursing through your veins. Keeping a tight grip on you, Harry quickly leads you up the porch stairs and back inside the house, careful to keep you from tripping over your own feet.

The temperature of the house is slightly cooler than outside and you’re unable to keep your teeth from chattering as you step inside. Harry notices this.

“Stay right here, I’m gonna go get some towels.” He mutters, shuffling off down the hallway and leaving you standing soaked, shivering, and intoxicated in the entryway. He returns within a few moments holding a stack of fluffy pink towels (courtesy of the beach house owners), quickly unfolding one of them and wrapping it around your shoulders. You tug the fabric around yourself, teeth chattering as you take a deep breath and look up at him through bloodshot eyes.

“Thank you.”

He nods, taking a towel for himself and leaning over to shake out his dripping hair. You step past him into the hallway, walking towards your bedroom with the towel still wrapped around your shivering frame. The house feels like it's spinning with every step you take, your hand pressed against the wall to support yourself as you guide yourself to the bedroom. You know Harry’s watching you, longing to ask you why you were out in the rain completely wasted, but you don’t feel sober enough to trust him or yourself.

Stumbling into your bedroom, you shuffle through your drawer for some dry clothes, settling on an oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants. You don’t even bother with closing the door all the way as you peel the wet clothes from your skin, carelessly dropping them onto the carpet. After you successfully pull the sweatshirt on, you attempt putting on the sweatpants, discovering that in your drunken state, finding the correct leg hole is much harder than you anticipated. So, after struggling for all of one minute, you huff and throw them aside.

“Need help?”

You glance up from where you sit on the edge of the bed to find Harry leaning against the doorway, dressed in a dry t-shirt and sweatpants. You frown, “Were you watching me?”

“No,” He pauses. “I mean- just for a moment, but I swear I didn’t see anything.”

You nod slowly with a yawn, “It’s okay. I’m too drunk to care, anyway.”

He chuckles at that and watches as you stand, stumbling to the upper end of the bed and pulling the comforter down to make room for you to slide beneath it. You plop yourself onto the mattress with a yawn, patting the empty space beside you and looking up at him.

He raises his eyebrows, “Y’want me to…?” You nod at his unfinished question, giving him a small, drunken grin. So, after a moment of hesitation, Harry walks over to the bed and climbs into the empty spot beside you with your eyes glued to him the whole time. He sighs, “What now?”

“Will you… hold me?” You request quietly, avoiding his soft, virescent stare.

He pauses. There isn’t a single fiber of his being that doesn’t want to feel your warmth against him, arms looped around your waist, nose buried into the crevice of your neck; but he knows that you’re drunk and he can’t be sure that you won’t regret anything once the intoxication has passed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” You shrug. “Unless, of course, you aren’t comfortable with it,”

“I am, but you aren’t fully… ‘here’ right now and I don’t want you to regret anything.”

You sigh, “I think I’m sober enough to ask you to harmlessly spoon me to sleep.”

“Alright,” He nods, moving to lay on his side, head against the pillow. “C’mere, then.”

You smile to yourself, leaning over to switch the small bedside lamp off before allowing your body to lie against the mattress fully before turning to face away from him, waiting for him to wrap his arms around you. The hem of your sweatshirt rides up with your movement and, although you’re completely oblivious to it, Harry notices. His eyes focus on the soft skin of your hip and the thin fabric of your panties resting against it. Fuck. Swallowing the heavy lump wedged in his throat, he moves forward and loops his arm around your waist, tugging your back into his chest with a quiet grunt.

One may assume that two people in this situation, given the status of your relationship being strictly friends (in the lightest sense of the word), would feel uncomfortable or awkward, but both of you, somehow, feel a sense of relief. Two long, breathy sighs emit from both of you in unison as your bodies fit together like two pieces of thread, meant to intertwine perfectly to create a beautiful piece of clothing.

The two of you lie there in the dark silence, taking slow, deep breaths to calm your fluttering heartbeats as the tension builds. If you were sober, you definitely wouldn’t have even considered being in this situation, but since there’s nearly 25 ounces of liquid courage coursing through your veins, you’re unable to keep yourself from being brutally honest about what you want. Silently, you move your hand from where it rests on the mattress, sliding it over his hand that rests just between your stomach and ribs and taking it into your own. He feels your hand, but doesn’t say anything.

Every sense of your caution has been thrown to the wind at this point, so you don’t even consider hesitating when asking: “Do you remember that song that came on the other day when we were in the car?”

He’s caught completely off guard by your question and frowns. “I-uh, yeah, I remember. ‘Dancing With Myself’?”

You nod in acknowledgement, silence settling over you again for a few lasting moments before you speak again. “The other day when you were talking about the meaning of that song, how it sounds upbeat and happy but the lyrics are actually him talking about how lonely he is, it reminded me of myself…” You pause, sighing quietly, trying to blink away the inevitable tears. You can sense that he’s listening, though, so you continue. “I just- sometimes it’s hard for me to feel at home with people even if they are my friends, and there are many times when I just see myself with them and I just don’t even feel like I’m there. Like, despite being in a room full of people, like the song says, I’m dancing with myself, trying in vain to make myself look like the exact opposite of how I feel. It’s like I just have to go through life alone, despite the people around me.”

He’s quiet for a while and it scares you. Maybe you said too much. Maybe he’s uncomfortable. You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for the tears to spill and then he speaks.

“Is that- is that why you were crying?”

“Partially,” You whisper, staring straight ahead into the dark room. Harry’s arm moves a little and then you feel his fingers brushing against your hand before lacing his fingers between your own without a word. His body presses closer to yours and you ever so faintly feel his lips against your shoulder for just a moment.

“I’m sorry.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, letting the tears fall and trickle down onto the pillow where your head lays. “It fucking hurts,” You take a long, shaky breath. “It hurts when I can’t even tell my best friend about how I feel because I feel like I’m being selfish for giving her the weight of my issues.”

“You’re not being selfish,” He whispers, squeezing your hand gently. “If you’re hurting, she should be there for you no matter what. Just like you are with her,” He pauses for a beat, taking a deep breath. “I think you’re one of the most caring people I have ever met. You have always been there for Deidre even though recently she’s been a bit of twat to you.”

“Yeah,” You chuckle at that and he breathes a small laugh, tightening his arms around you. Silence settles around you once more, and you think that maybe he’s fallen asleep but then he stirs and moves his hand from yours to tilt your face and body in his direction, leaning over you. Your eyes meet as he gently swipes his thumb against your damp skin, collecting the tears that had just escaped from your eyes with a small smile. Just as he is about to drop his hand from your face, you grasp him by the wrist, pressing his large palm to the curve of your cheek. His gaze flickers between your lips and your eyes, even in the darkness of the bedroom you’re able to make out each other’s faces and you see the edges of his lips curl up into the faintest smile.

“Also,” You breathe, thumb stroking the skin of his wrist gently, “I’m sorry about the other night.”

It takes a moment for him to process what you mean, but when he does he shakes his head. “No, no, it was my fault. You didn’t want me to kiss you and I shouldn’t have crossed your boundaries like that. I’m sorry.”

“No, Harry, that’s not-” You sigh, “I just- I was afraid it would mess things up with Deidre and I was putting her feelings before my own, which I now realize wasn’t fair to either of us.” You motion between the two of you.

“I get it,” He nods, watching as you take his hand from your cheek and interlock your fingers between his. You’re still mildly intoxicated, so your confidence levels are also quite a bit higher than normal. Harry watches you in silence, the two of you mindlessly fiddling with each other’s fingers like it was the most normal thing in the world for you to do. And then he clears his throat. “So, you- you did want to kiss me?”

You pause, bottom lip slipping between your teeth as you look up at his face. “Yeah.”

“Hm… good to know.”

Silence falls over the two of you again as you focus back on your fingers dancing against his. You want to keep talking to him; You want to say ‘fuck it’ and throw every bit of caution to the wind regarding Deidre, falling into this “scandalous” affair with her brother; You want to tell him how you feel, express every bit of longing you’ve had for him since the first day his dimpled smile met your gaze, but you’re finding it harder and harder to keep your eyes open, the alcohol in your system taking over and pushing you to surrender. So you do.

You yawn, “I think I should probably go to sleep now.”

“I can leave if you want…” He responds, lifting himself up from the mattress slightly, but you stop him with a quick shake of your head, tugging his arm back around your waist.

“Stay until I fall asleep?”

He smiles to himself, arms tightening around you as he nuzzles his face into your hair. “Okay.”

Harry hadn’t intended on falling asleep with you. He’d planned on waiting until you fell asleep and then would sneak off to his own bed, but it’s morning now and the two of you are lying fast asleep in the exact position you were in the night before. His arms wound tightly around you, chest pressed to your back, and his nose pressed into the base of your neck. In a way, the warmth and peace his arms give you feel completely normal; like you’re long-term lovers, dozing in the soft morning sunlight, awaiting the new day.

The alarming screech of your ringtone rudely interrupts your slumber and causes you to lift yourself from the mattress and angrily slap your hand around in search of your phone. Finding it, you squint at the illuminated screen to see Deidre’s profile picture and name, you groan and push yourself to sit up on the mattress as you slide your finger across the screen to answer the call.

“Hello?” You croak, knuckling frustratedly at your puffy, sleep-filled eyes.

“Hi,” She sounds out of breath, almost frantic. “I know you’re probably still mad at me but everything is okay. I didn’t come home last night because I ended up passing out on Jeff’s couch after everyone left and he failed to wake me up, even though I told him to. But yeah, um, I’m sorry, I’m on my way home. Please don’t be mad at me.”

You should be mad at her, but it’s early and your hungover brain is making it harder for you to form any sort of emotion. “It’s fine. We-I fell asleep early anyways so I didn’t notice.”

She sighs in relief, “Okay. Well, I’ll be home in like 10 minutes,”

“See ya.” You mumble half-heartedly before the line cuts out and you’re dropping your phone into your lap with a yawn. Somehow, during that conversation, you’d completely forgotten the presence of Harry. That is, until he clears his throat and shuffles on the bed, causing you to turn and look at him.

“G’morning,” He mutters, his deep, syrupy accent tainted with sleep. “Was that-?”

“Deidre, yeah,” You finish, rubbing your hands over your face. “She’s on her way.”

“Oh… then I should- I should probably get out of here,”

You nod and he pushes the comforter off of his body, sliding over the side of the bed and planting his feet against the carpeted floor. Once he’s left the room, you drag yourself out of bed to change into something a bit more appropriate.

Your memory of the night before is somewhat of a blur due to the amount of wine you’d consumed, but you do remember the things you said to him right before falling asleep; the way he touched and held you like you were his own. Your heart flutters at the memory of the way he brushed a fallen tear from your skin and spoke to you in a soft, soothing voice. You’ve deceived yourself by saying that this is just a crush, because it’s more than that and deep down you’re slowly beginning to realize it.

After pulling on the clean, discarded sweatpants that, in your drunken frustration, had been left in a crumple on the floor, you make your way to the kitchen. Harry’s there already, spreading mashed avocado onto freshly toasted bread before lightly salting it with garlic salt and placing a perfectly fried egg on top. He’s humming to himself as he works to make more slices and you smile, clearing your throat to catch his attention.

He turns his head in your direction. “Oh, hey! Do you want one slice or two?”

“Um, I’ll have two, please,” You respond, slowly making your way across the small kitchen to where he stands at the counter. “You didn’t have to make breakfast, though,”

He shakes his head as he sucks a bit of avocado from his thumb. “It’s no problem, really. I don’t mind.”

Just as he finishes his sentence, Deidre walks through the front door, calling: “Hello! I’m back!”

You walk through the kitchen doorway to find her at the door, sporting the same outfit as she had been last night. Her hair is tied up into a messy bun, though, and her shoes are in her hand instead of on her feet.

“Good morning,” You greet.

She tosses her shoes aside and smiles at you. “Hey, I’m sorry about last night. Can we talk later?”

“Yeah, sure.” You nod and give her a small smile back, lacking the energy to still be mad at her and giving into your tendency of forgiveness.

As she follows you into the kitchen, she greets Harry with a quick ‘good morning’, grabbing a fully assembled piece of toast from him before scurrying off for a shower and leaving the two of you alone once more. It’s easier being around him now. There’s a hint of tension now, but it isn’t malicious or uncomfortable tension. You feel drawn to him even more than you did before and you can tell he’s feeling the same way.

“God, Harry, that was so good.” You nearly moan as you wipe the crumbs of toast from your fingertips.

He smiles, swallowing and wiping the corner of his mouth. “M’glad you liked it.”

“You’ll have to teach me your cooking and baking skills someday,” You chuckle, subtly hinting at spending more time with him.

He downs the rest of the coffee in his mug, humming. “I’d love to.”

You smile at him, standing to take your dishes to the sink and holding out your hand for his. He frowns and shakes his head. “None of that, I’ll clean up.”

“At least let me help.” You pout.

He chuckles. “If you insist.”

You follow him to the sink, watching as he takes the dishes and begins to rinse them and hand them over to you so that you can place them into the dishwasher. There really isn’t much of a reason for you to be helping him, but you’re finding it hard to keep yourself away from him. The giddy flutter of your heart when his fingers brush against yours and the flirtatious smiles spread across your faces makes you feel utterly alive and you never want it to end. But, eventually, there are no more dishes to clean and you’re in desperate need of a shower, so he thanks you for your help and the two of you go your separate ways.

Cold, frothy water splashes against your bare feet as you walk along the sandy shore. Your sandals are dangling from your fingertips and your loose-fitted jeans are rolled up to your shins to allow a more comfortable stroll. The sun is just beginning to set, casting a peach hue along the crystal-like water as it rolls lazily back and forth.

Deidre is a few feet behind you, collecting a lone seashell she’d spotted during her stroll. A quiet moment passes and then she’s beside you again, palm stretched out into your direction to show you the small, detailed shell with a glowing pride.

“Oh, that one’s gorgeous.” You gush at its beauty, taking it between your own fingers to examine it further. It’s a small tulip shell, only about two inches in size, but its shimmery, pearlish gleam is almost breathtaking under the dim sunlight.

“Think I’ll try to find another one and make them into earrings.” She smiles as you place it back into her hand.

“Yeah, that’d be cute!”

The two of you have only just left the beach house in an effort to be somewhere alone so the two of you can talk things out. Deidre is silent for a moment, both of you ruminating the possible ways to begin the conversation. Then, she speaks.

“I’m sorry for leaving you like that yesterday, that wasn’t very cool of me.”

You smile a little, “Thanks. I’m sorry for getting so upset with you. I definitely could’ve handled that better.”

She nods. “Yeah. I think we both could’ve handled that much better.”

“Definitely,” You agree, kicking the damp sand with your bare feet. “I just think that, you know, you promised to spend time with me on this trip and I feel like I’ve barely seen you. And I’m glad you’ve made friends, but I’d kinda like to just spend time with you at some point.”

“Yeah,” She sighs, “I’m sorry.”

You turn to her, stopping in your tracks and opening your arms for a hug. “Are we good?”

“Of course.” She smiles and wraps you into a giant bear hug, causing both of you to stumble on the sand a bit. Both of you are giggling uncontrollably once you pull away, nearly falling into the sand beneath your feet.

“I’ll race you back to the house,” You smile deviously, planting your feet in the starting position and waiting for her to do the same.

She smirks and positions herself beside you. “Oh, you’re on.”

The two of you bolt towards the house at top speed, sand kicking up behind you in big clouds as scurry along the beach under the pale evening sunlight.

You reach the house moments before her, immediately collapsing into the sand in front of the stairs to catch your breath. Deidre is quick to stumble up behind you, nearly skidding to a stop as she takes several big gulps of air through a laugh.

“Still got it,” You wink at her, a similar image of the two of you in the same positions at a much younger age flashing across your mind briefly.

She flashes you a mocking smile with a tilt to her head and then the repetitive ring of her phone in her pocket interrupts the moment. You watch as she tugs it from her pocket, sliding her finger across the screen and lifting it to her ear with a peppy greeting to the other person on the line. Immediately by the tone of her voice you know exactly what’s about to happen. She’s going to do exactly what she’s been doing since the trip began– or rather, since the two of you were teenagers– she’s going to sputter out a mouthful of excuses and then she’s going to leave.

“Okay, I’ll be out front in five minutes! See ya!” She says before sliding her phone back into her pocket and smiling at you. “That was Jeffrey and his friends, they invited me out again tonight and I promised I would go.”

She doesn’t even fucking realize...

Sheathing your blinding frustration with a tinge of annoyance, you nod, motion up the stairs before mumbling: “Well, then, you better get going.”

Watching her scurry back up the stairs and into the house, your heart sinks into your chest. She’s so used to you just allowing things like this to happen that she doesn’t even realize how much it’s hurting your relationship and how much it’s hurting you.

After dropping your sandals there you find yourself wandering from the bottom of the stairs back out into the shore, lazily kicking at the shallow water whilst your arms are wrapped around your chest. It’s gotten much darker and people are beginning to filter out through the dunes, lugging their belongings or simply just walking hand in hand.

The waves crash repeatedly with a lulling, crisp sound that drowns out all other sound in your ears. The air is warm and so is the wind as it swirls and whips around you, causing the loose fabric of your sweater to flap obnoxiously.

Faintly in the distance, you can hear the screen door of the back porch swing shut and it draws your eyes back up to the house where Harry bounds down the stairs with a smile on his face. A smile just for you.

“Hey!” He calls, gasping for air as he jogs towards you across the sand. You wave back at him with a small smile, crossing your arms over your chest as you stand and wait for him to reach you.

“Hi,”

“You alright?” He frowns, stepping closer to you.

You sigh, fingertips pressed against your forehead in a weak attempt to hide your distress. “I- uh, yeah I’m okay.”

“Doesn’t really look like it,” He says, tilting his head to examine your face a bit better.

You squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to hold back the tears beginning to build at the edge of your lash line, taking a deep breath. “It’s just- fuck, Harry, she keeps doing it. She keeps telling me that she wants to spend more time together and then she just leaves me. And she doesn’t even fucking realize it,” You look back up at him in the dim evening lighting, wrapping your sweater clad arms around yourself. “Like- what am I supposed to do? She doesn’t listen to me.”

A pregnant pause follows when you finish speaking before Harry speaks. “I don’t know if you can really do anything. Deidre is going to do what she wants to do, regardless of how it affects you.”

He’s right. As much as you never thought you’d actually admit it to yourself, you know he’s right. It feels almost as if a weight has been lifted off your chest; a weight that’s been there since you and Deidre blossomed into teenagers and she gradually began to treat you this way. And then you’re looking back at Harry, gears turning in your brain at a pace that’s almost too fast for you to process. Then, without any sort of caution or judgement as to what it might result in, you’re surging forward pressing a hand to the back of his neck, beneath his mop of hair, and frantically pulling his lips against yours.

It takes a millisecond for him to react, but then he’s kissing you back harder, long arms coming to wrap around your waist and press you into his chest as his soft, supple lips move skillfully against yours. Every long, heart aching year that passed that you had grown to care for him flashes through your mind; every smile he directed at you; every time he wrapped his arms around you in a giant bear hug, mumbling: “Nice to see you,” in your ear; every moment that you spent falling in love with him.

He’s the first to pull away, arms unwavering from their place around you. “What about Deidre?”

You stare back at him for a moment before shaking your head, mumbling: “I don’t care.” under your breath, eyes flickering down to his lips before both of you are lunging forward once again.

Both of you stumble around on the sand for a moment and then Harry falls back into the sand, ass first, bringing you down with him. The two of you are a fit of giggles and snorts as you land in the fluffy, damp sand, limbs tangled between limbs. You land with your legs straddling his slim waist, hands planted against the sand beneath him, hovering over him with a smile. He gazes back up at you with his own dimpled smile, his hands resting cautiously on your hips. He stares at you, studying your face as the two of you catch your breath before he says something that has your stomach twisting into knots and your skin bursting into flames.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,”

You lift one of your hands to cover your face, giggling nervously at his words as he lifts himself to sit in the sand with you in his lap. “I’m serious.”

“Why?” You whisper in response, hands coming to rest on his shoulders.

“God,” He mumbles your name, “You might not see it, but I see it. And I’ve seen it since we were kids; since I was 18.”

You’re speechless, unable to form a full sentence to respond to him, so you just grab his face between your hands and latch your lips onto his again. You stay like that, lips dragging against each other’s lazily until the sun finishes setting and the only source of light comes from the bright glow of the moon. And then he pulls away again, hooded eyelids trained on yours.

“Let me take you out. Like, on a date.”

You smile, “Okay.”

don’t forget to reblog if u enjoyed!!<3

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the-slasher-files · 4 years ago

Text

Temper, temper - pt 3

INCLUDES BO SINCLAIR ONESHOT

TW: nsfw, rough sex, dirty talk, angst

WORDS: 2069

“BO” You yelled in the living room barely obstructing the sound of breaking glass in the kitchen “BO, STOP”

Again, he was lost, lost somewhere in his uncontrolled rage. Usually your voice would snap him out of the anger, but not tonight. It was a long, long night. Undenounced drifters found the town of Ambrose this afternoon, not knowing their fate by the end of the evening. You were at work in the next town over when you got the text from Bo “Travelers, don’t come home until I text you” That was all you needed to know, he would be killing tonight.

Following his instructions, you waited and waited. Stopping in at a local shitty bar trying to calm your nerves with whiskey and rum, constantly staring at your phone on the counter. The drifters came in around 1 pm and it was now pushing 2 am. No text, no call, no nothing. Worry, guilt and anxiety all formed a pit in your stomach. Usually they were done by now. Was he hurt? or dead? you thought, zoning out on your black phone screen, swirling the brown liquid in your glass.

“You ok lady? Do you want me to call someone for you?” The bartender spoke making you jump. Shaking your head you placed the cash on the bar, gulping the last of the alcohol grimacing at the burn in your throat. Grabbing your phone and purse you hopped into your jeep, checking the messages one last time before pulling away.

Tears were trying to force their way from your eyes as you sped down the pitch black highway. You were so consumed in your thoughts that your body just automatically drove you home.

At the washed out road Lester’s truck was sitting there, as if he was waiting for you. Both you and Lester jumped out of your vehicles, running up to each other. “Lester where is he? I need to know?” your voice breaking

“Now, now you don’t wan’ to go up there,” Lester reckoned, holding your shoulders trying to force you back to your vehicle.

“L-Les please, let me see him” You didn’t care if he was beaten or just raging, you needed to know if he was fine.

“Look, if you go up there... It ain’t pretty, the kills were not clean.. There was a lot of struggle, Bo-” he was cut off from his explanation.

“Bo is what?” you asked quietly trying to control yourself.

“Bo is a mess right now, ragin’ madly.. He is madder than a bull righ’ now... I haven’t seen him like this in a long while” Lester warned you, but could see in your eyes how badly you needed to see him. Bo’s brothers had seen you tame his temper before, so maybe tonight you were the sight for sore eyes he needed.

Lester let you go, running up the dirt path to the hidden town and up to the house. Bo’s truck was sitting outside, the front hood was dented and covered in blood. One of the house windows was newly broken, letting the yelling and clashing out into the cool night air.

So there you were, yelling his name trying to get his attention without getting too close. “BO ENOUGH!” you shouted, finally grabbing his attention. Whipping around with a wild look in his eyes, they were no longer baby blue, they were dark and hardened, this wasn’t the same man that you left this morning.

Bo was covered in a combination of sweat and blood, a few open wounds surrounded his body. His dark hair was dishevelled and formed curls from his dampness. This was a man he had only let you see a handful of times, and yet it was still jarring. Crazed, wild, not man nor beast.

“Baby,” You sweetly spoke to him trying to release him from his anger. Relieved to see him walking around and ok, you could breathe again. Bo’s temper always controlled him and it was something you knew how to handle or at least get him to come down from, but tonight might be different. “Babe,”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He bit back at you, kind of hurting your feelings, you knew it was in rage but it just stung. “I didn’ call you or text you, why’d you come home?”

“I needed you.. I needed to make sure you’re fine-” He cut you off from your easing voice.

“FINE?! Fine? You don’ think I can handle myself?” Bo questioned turning around to knock whatever was on the counter off it with loud smashes and clangs. Anytime he thought you questioned his abilities, especially to protect or take care of himself he lost it.

“Bo that’s not what I meant, you know that... I- I just couldn’t stop thinking about the worst... Like if you were injured or even killed.” It went quiet for a second as he gripped the sides of the sink huffing and puffing. “Bo... baby” Softly talking to him walking to the kitchen, seeing the broken glass all over the floor. Stopping at the doorway, you waited. Waited for him to do something. “look at me Bo, please”

Shooting back his gaze meeting yours, his eyes were still dark and wild. You could tell his mind was working in overdrive, a war between good and evil fought inside his head. One of his biggest fears was hurting or even killing you out of anger. Bo was suddenly hovering over you in the doorway, looking at you like a wolf about to hunt an injured lamb. “Bo” you tried to get him to snap out of himself for a minute.

Reaching his bloody hand up looking like he was going to caress you for a minute, he grabbed your throat instead, pushing you against the doorway almost lifting you. “Christ.. Bo” Clawing at the deep scar tissue on his wrist, trying to not go too hard for fear it will set him off into rage more, remembering his childhood.

With his other arm he grabbed your waist making your legs wrap around his, he growled when you adjusted yourself, grinding against him. “You need to learn how to listen to me... I did not text you... I did not want you here yet,” Bo heaved, pressing himself against you, forcing the doorway uncomfortably into your shoulder blades. “Comin’ home early you get to see this.... this fucking monster” He spoke about himself with a hint of sadness in his voice, trying to break himself of his own anger.

The sentence broke your heart, but before you could dwell on it his large hand came off your throat and carried you to the pool table in the middle of the living room. Trying to recover your breathing from his hand, Bo placed you on your back with your head lazily hanging off the wooden edge, knowing what was coming you just prayed Vincent and Lester would not walk into the house, or hear your impending screams of pleasure and Bo’s dirty talk.

Quickly Bo undid his belt and opened his blood covered mechanic pants letting his half hard cock free and immediately roughly forced it into your mouth, moaning as he did it. “Fuuuck.. what a good girl” Bo snatched your hands that were trying to grip onto something, letting you clench his forearm and numb wrist as he thrusted in and out of your mouth. His other hand trailed down to your jeans, unbuttoning them and rubbing your increasing wetness.

“All wet for me already... you little slut... getting off on my rage” He growled picking up pace, repeatedly hitting the back of your throat. So incased in lust he didn’t notice the fact your skull was being banged on the solid wood, or the fact that you were making choking noises around his now fully erect member.

Bo looked down seeing the stream of tears coming from your eyes, and the spit that was creating strings along your face. He loved this sight, he could stare at it all day. “You are such a good cock whore” Smirking at the names he called you. Bo always loved to say things that would make a sailor blush, it was just him in this state, all day he would call you angel or baby girl but in this world right now, you were his little fuck toy.

With his hand still teasing you over your underwear, making you a needy mess, Bo suddenly pulled the fabric aside pushing 2 thick fingers inside making you moan loudly on his cock. Precum coated your tongue and his member twitched in warning that he was about to reach his climax. Bo pulled out of your mouth leaving you gasping and coughing.

Your eyes blurred with tears, as you tried to wipe them away you noticed Bo was gone, not standing above you anymore. Once you were ready to ask where he was, he grabbed your ankles from the other side of the pool table making you squeak. Bo pulled you to the middle of the table ripping off your clothes until you were completely bare, so vulnerable, like prey.

Climbing on top of you, his smell was overwhelming, cigarettes, sweat, and iron. His body was heaving and shaking possibly from the sex or still from his anger. Bo’s eyes were still dark and his body was tense, elbows on either side of your head and he straddled your body, caging you, looking at you like a feast. Kind of making you uncomfortable.

Without warning he thrusted into you letting your back arch so you were chest to chest. “Fuck your cunt is tight... so perfect” Bo sharply inhaled as all of him filled you, touching every place you needed. “You need to be fucked more”

His speed was growing and growing with each thrust, pulling out of you almost fully before ramming back into you, leaving you whimpering and writhing in pleasure under him. “Bo” you cried as his elbows were now digging into your shoulders having his thrusts moved you up, pushing the bones into your muscles. “Ah fuck, Bo”

“Louder” he hoarsely demanded, not in the state of mind to care about what his brothers heard. “I said louder”

“Bo.. BO, please BO” you were so close to your end, the heat coil burning in your stomach

“Let it go you slut... let the whole fuckin’ town hear you” growling against your neck now biting it

“BO” you screamed clenching your walls around his cock making him lose it as well, coating your insides with his seed. You went lifeless on the table. The night had too many emotions and feelings that your body had just given out, as did Bo’s. He rolled next to you, heavy panting filled the room.

Turning your head towards him, observing him, seeing what he was going to want next, but he looked dead tired, he looked almost broken. Bo turned his head meeting your eyes, his baby blues were back and the tension had released throughout his whole body as it shuttered. Your man was back, and he looked sorry.

You reached your small hand over his jaw, wiping away any sweat, blood or dirt from the eventful evening. “Bo.. baby... You are not a monster” recalling back to what he had said in the kitchen 15 minutes before. He just closed his eyes and kissed your hand as it came to his lips.

“You don’t deserve what they did to you.” your free hand gently caressing his closest wrist, rubbing the hard scars of the past. It was hard for him to feel anything there from the damage of the nerves and the tough skin, but he knew what your hand was doing. Your touch and words almost made him tear up, no one was like you, you were his world. The only one that could calm him and save him from himself. Bo left his eyes closed not wanting you to see the salty water trying to escape.

He groaned as he pried himself off the table, his injuries beginning to sting and become sore. Grabbing the blanket off the couch he wrapped you in it and lifted you to bed, placing kisses on your forehead. Pulling you close in bed once he undressed and showered.

“I’m sorry” He quietly spoke “You’re my everything angel”

#FUUUCK #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair imagine #slasher #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #my writing #house of wax #house of wax 2005 #horror #dirty talk

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alienoresimagines · 4 years ago

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Heart Meet Break | Eugene Sledge x Gender Neutral!Reader

Requested by Anonymous : Hi could you please write number 1 prompt list imagines “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it" with Eugene Sledge?

A/N : Here we are after 9 weeks without posting and more than one year after receiving this request!😂😅 Hope y’all didn’t forget about me 🤣 and that you are all safe for this holidays season To be honest I had written this in october but I’m posting it just now because.. well I have no idea but it’s here now ;) (actually I do and it’s because @inglourious-imagines kicked my a**) I started so many times and I’m not completely pleased with how it turned out but I hope you’ll enjoy! Also a big thank you to @punkgeekchic for beta reading, hope you’re doing okay darling see you in January!💙💙Title from Heart Meet Break de Liam Payne, also stream his songs please!😘

Taglist : @murphyism @mavysnavy @speirs-sexy-ass @order-of-river-phoenix @inglourious-imagines @liebegott @tvserie-s-world @stressedinadress @warrior-healer

Posted : 23/12/2020

Masterlist Taglist Prompts

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You could feel the beginning of a headache building behind your eyelids, and the welcomed pain in your feet after hours of passing on your bedroom's floor in a circle. Bringing a hand to your face to pinch the bridge of your nose and let out a long sigh, you let yourself fall onto your bed with a quiet flop. As soon as your back hit the soft sheet, the urge to go back to your feet and do something came back in a rush. A distraction would save your floor.

"[Y/N]! Could you take out the trash, please, dear?" Her sudden call startled you, too lost in your thoughts but you were quick to answer, knowing already there was only one good answer.

"I'm coming, mom!" You shouted back, putting on your shoes in a slow pace. A distraction was your floor's savior but definitely not your heart's or mind's. You could only pray you'd meet your neighbor while walking through the yard.

The stairs were cracking under your steps, as you still didn't know if you should feel nervous or hopeful. The twist in your stomach was a mix of both, the sweat on your palms said it all.

Always so thoughtful, your mother had put the trash bag just next to the front door, ready to be taken out.

"Ah, [Y/N], while you're out, could you bring this to the Sledges? Mary has been kind enough to share her pie with us, the least I can do is bake her one too." Your mother appeared at the door between the entrance and the kitchen with what you guessed was a plate wrapped in a clean cloth.

The years passing didn't do her past beauty's justice but her eyes hadn't changed, nor did the way she looked at your father.

"Sure, I'll go to the library after, do you know if Father needs anything?" You smiled, taking the package from her wrinkled hands carefully as she smiled at you, shaking her head in denial.

With the black trash bag in one hand and the white cloth covering the quite heavy pie, you went out, but not before kissing your mother's cheek.

The warm air of this beginning of autumn was like the wind of freedom after having spent the day in your bedroom like a lion in a cage. You were about to take a deep breath when you remembered the trash bag in your hand. Right. No matter how good and sweet your mother's pie was and smelled, your nose still felt attacked by the trash. When you finally had put the black bag where it belonged you started to walk out of your parents' property, heading to the house next door. His house. All the feelings and thoughts you had forgotten came back, overwhelming you and making your legs shake.

"Deacon! Deacon, where are you going?" Either your lucky star was laughing at you or pitying you. You'll decide tonight, hidden under your sheets with all your dreams and hopes.

Just a few seconds later, a small dog went panting at your legs, presenting his head for ruffles. You chuckled and kneeled down to his level, giving him what he craved for.

"Good boy aren't ya, Deacon?" Cooing, you couldn help the warmth that spreaded through your chest, and refused to acknowledge the man with the bicycle approaching you.

"[Y/N]! I didn't think I'd found you here." His tone was nervous and unsure as if he would've rather stayed silent. In some ways, you would've wished too.

"Fortunate we're neighbors, huh?" You heard him gulp and, with all the strength you could muster, you found in yourself all the treason, sadness, anger, uncertainty, confusion and hurt to finally face Eugene. Getting up, you looked at the sweet boy from next door in the eyes, searching for his thoughts.

"You've been avoiding me." He flinched. Your tone was harsher and colder than you intended, making you feel a pang of guilt but you didn't let it show. Instead, you crossed your arms on your chest, to protect yourself from things you didn't know.

"I- Hurting you was never my intention, it was actually what I wanted to avoid the most. But it'd seem I only hurt you more, I'm sorry, [Y/N]. " He was sincere, you could see it and it was harder to stay bitter about it. Your pride and feelings have been wounded, that much was a fact, but deep inside, you knew you simply couldn't be mad at sweet, loving boy Eugene. Heart and legal things.

"Can we be friends and not strangers again?" If you were in the right state of mind, you probably would've answered something witty and watch him laugh at you but you had enough of your games. The said and the unsaid, the little gestures and the avoidance.

"We're not just friends and you fucking know it, Gene. We've always been more and if you don't want anything to do with it, it's okay. But don't you dare act as if we don't know each other and the next day as if we were best friends. We're more than that, you are more than that to me." And I hope I'm more than that to you too. From the sad and wounded look on Eugene's face, your unspoken thoughts must've been obvious. Like a fish out of water, he opened then closed his mouth, furrowing his eyebrows as he fumbled over his words. Finally, he spoke a meteors shower over your fragile world, crushing and burning it down.

"I enlisted. I'm leaving tomorrow." Whatever was left from your previous anger died in your throat and your heart started beating faster and faster in your chest.

"What? When? What about your condition?" You blurted out, not believing what Eugene just said. He smiled thinly at you, like he didn't know if he should let you see just how happy and proud he was to finally be able to enlist.

"I went to the marines office two weeks ago; as soon as I knew it was gone." Tears started to well in your eyes, your entire body to shake uncontrollably.

"Oh. That's... that's good. You must be relieved." You forced yourself to add just a bit of happiness in your tone for him, for you knew just how important it was to him, no matter how much your heart was breaking. Eugene gave a small nod, his fingers playing with the handlebars of his bike. At your feet, Deacon was sitting still, his tongue out and his head going from you to Eugene, and from Eugene to you, as if he was understanding far more than he was letting you know.

"I'll do my part." There it was. The pride, excitement of a young man going straight into a wolf's open mouth. What felt like hours was in fact just a few minutes, not even 5 but your mind was replaying it like a movie in a theater. At that moment, it hit you like a truck. Two weeks. The last time you've both been yourself together also was two weeks ago. You swallowed back the knot in your throat and prayed your voice wouldn't shake as much as your hands were, hidden behind your back in an awkward formal position.

"When were you going to tell me?" His silence said everything you needed to know as he shifted uncomfortably, his head down in shame and sorrow. He looked at you again through his eyelashes, apologies and guilt in his eyes but you couldn't take it anymore. Eugene was too kind for his own sake, wouldn't hurt a fly and by wanting not to hurt you ended up harming you in one of the most twisted ways. It hurt because you couldn't be mad at him, that his intentions were good and genuine. You took a deep breath and made a step ahead, one hand clenching on Eugene's white shirt, looking at him in the eyes. If yours were narrowed and dark, his were widened and looking everywhere but at your face.

"You better not die, you hear me? You come back, in one piece and we'll sort it out. At all costs, you come back!" You almost shouted to his face, not caring if the whole street had gone out to see you. Eugene's gentle hands came over yours, squeezing it lightly. In your wounded pride and building fear, you refused to face him and see his reaction, knowing perfectly you'd find compassion, and sweet understanding.

Forcing the once forgotten home-made pie wrapped in a white clean cloth onto Eugene's chest, you've waited to see his hand cover it before you turned around, fighting the urge to rub your eyes so the moisture in them would go.

"For your mother. From mine." You whispered between two heavy breaths, nails digging into your palms painfully.

Before Eugene could fully apprehend what was happening and get out of the trance he was in, you were already in front of your house, looking at the floor.

"[Y/N], wait, [Y/N]!" You didn't look back, even though you ached to. But in a few hours he wouldn't even be in town anymore so what was the point? You just felt numb and empty, as if floating over your own body. Closing the door behind you, you walked up the stairs in silence and came into your room, your legs giving up on you as soon as the door closed.

You weren't sure how long you stood there, knees up to your chest, arms surrounding them and head buried in the safe spot it made. Your throat was still tight, making it hard to breathe.

Perhaps, it all would've been better if you hadn't spoken to him.

Silence would've been preserved, fragile but there. Now all you could hear were those words said with so much pride and relief over and over again.

I enlisted.

All you could hear was the sound of your heart breaking.

#the pacific fanfic #the pacific imagine #the pacific x reader #eugene sledge imagine #eugene sledge x reader #my writing

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myfeetkeepdancing · 4 years ago

Text

Lost Soul | Tom Holland x Male!Reader

Summary: Be warned, this is dark...

Words: 2280

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"Well… Well… Well… Look who has returned." The voice came from afar, somewhere from within the shrouded darkness that enveloped the room. Tom's eyes grew twice the size as he looked around him, frantically searching for the direction where it came from. A shuddering breath leaving his lips.

"It worked..." He mumbled to himself. Putting the knife aside. Taking a moment to gather his sanity. Feeling a chill shooting up his spine, and the hairs rising on his arm. Tom sat on the floor, kneeled in front of a candle, one hand clutching the other. The crimson red tainting his fingers and the floor underneath. Trying to talk himself up.

"Of course." The voice laughed mockingly. "Someone like you... willing to spill blood like this." Tom's heart began to race again, his blood boiling in anger, hearing that voice again. Sparing him not a moment. "How can the Devil ignore that?"

Tom gathered all his courage, cradling his bloodied hand in his lap. The pain doubling as the darkness crept closer around him—the flickering light of the candle struggling against the dark. Tom knew what he'd done. He'd done it before. And he knew what was set in motion. And what the consequences were.

"To what do I owe this pleasure." The voice sounded again, now materializing before him. His emotions began to take over. He knew. Tom looked up; from the darkness, he saw a figure. A body, a person, shrouded in nothing but a slim wrapped patch of cloth around the waist. He couldn't believe his eyes. Tears slowly welling in the corner of his eyes. His stomach churned from the nerves. His heart hammered against his chest—the uncontrollable shudders coming back once more.

"It's you..." He breathed heavily. Blinking away the tears.

"Oh, don't fool yourself-..." The figure closed the distance as the flame of the candle began dancing harder and harder. Slowly dwindling as the last bit of life was snuffed out between the fingers of the figure. "...-Tommy."

Tom averted his eyes as he hunched together. Moaning as he felt the temptations coursing through his body. "I know what you're thinking… " Tom felt a hand, slowly caressing his cheek. Lifting his head up from his hunched position. The figure now staring into the slightly watering eyes. Red with guilt. Blame and shame. Tom struggled. As the figure slowly let its tongue circle their lips. Tom completely captivated by the sight. "But the Devil appears only in ways your soul craves the deepest desire for." Yet the voice coming from the figure was still the same as before. It set him off. Despite everything he felt. Raking its fingers through his luscious curls. He wailed softly as they combed it through and through.

"I… know…" He groaned from the pain, gritting his teeth and locking his jaw. Trying to avert his gaze and fingers from his hair. But only shortly. Trying to gather his thoughts again. "C-Can you…" Holding up his bleeding hand. Dripping continuously on the floor. Keeping Tom from focussing. The cut wasn't deep, but the way his heart pumped, the blood dripped out faster than it should.

With a sly smile, the figure took his hand in his. Tom tried not to watch, keeping his gaze to the floor. Desperate not to succumb to it too fast. Nor let his emotions get the better of him. Bringing Tom's hand to its lips and taking in a finger. Caressing it softly between its lips and tongue. Tom had fought against it, tried so hard. But his heart couldn't bear it. His inner struggle became too great. Tom's eyes darted up, watching attentively as it sucked the blood from his fingers. The moans numbed his body, as he watched the tongue slide through the crimson in the palm of his hand, onto the wound, keeping eye contact the whole time. Teasing the torn skin. "What happens if I don't?"

"I… I..." Fear struck his gaze, but before he managed to utter a sentence. It let its finger run across the wound. Tom hissed at the sensation, slowly burning the wound to a close.

"Next time…" It leaned close to his ear. Tom shook more and more, the closer it came. Letting a small pause sink in-between. Licking the inner shell of his ear with its tongue. "...-don't cut that deep." Followed by a kiss to his neck with a small taunting chuckle.

"Just… Just g-give me what I want." He sobbed, bowing to the floor. "I'm not your plaything."

"Oh, Tom... You will… But why the Devil sends me again… I don't know..." It said, licking the remaining blood from his hand. "We don't talk much these days."

"You're the Devil himself!" He spat, glancing up with red-blood eyes. "It's…" Tom couldn't get angry at that face. Only at the Devil himself.

"Ooooh… Let me guess!" The Devil said, playing along in the whole theatrical play. "Is it because I can shapeshift into-"

"Don't mention his name!" Tom shot, balling his fists. A mix of anger and rage welling up. "You… You know the answer." His lips quivered at the sight of… you. His body shook at the sight of you. His heart raced even faster... at the sight of you...

But it wasn't you. The voice and actions were very much the Devils doing. He couldn't bear looking at you like this for too long. Not like this.

"What do you want of me?" The Devil's voice asked. Tom's entire frame heaved up and down by his heavy breathing. Glancing at your body and face for short moments. It wasn't you yet. "Will you tell me, Tommy?"

"N-No... horns this t-time?" Tom asked, pulling his hand free from the grasp. Rubbing the wound with the other. "I… t-t-thought…."

"Did you ask for me?" The Devil asked, lifting his head up by his chin. Forcing him to stare deep into its eyes. Tom was completely naked. His body glistened in the little light the room had left. The curves of his abs and muscles accentuated.

"Y-Y… You c-c-can r...ead." His voice trembled and distort. Hoarse almost. Pointing to the letters painted crudely in blood in front of the candle.

"I can't…" It smiled, hovering its lips close to his. "I want to hear it from you."

Tom struggled. Freezing on the spot, seeing a glimmer of you return to your body. The voice was almost the same. He heaved and puffed for air, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. His hair was all wet and messy. Hands clammy and shaking. And so did the rest of his body.

"I need... to hear it from you." Taking his lower lip between its teeth. Dragging the skin out, almost to the point of bleeding. "Tell me… Tommy."

"E-Even the voice…" He groaned. "It's… It's so… real."

"It's as real as you can get." The figure snapped its fingers. Summoning a circle of candles around the couple. But no ordinary flames, bright red and burning with an unorthodox ferocity. The strange light illuminating the both of you. Tom's eyes open up as the light hits your body. Everything now clear and obvious. "But for a price." The voice distant again.

"It's you…" He smiled painfully. But with a moment of happiness to it. "It's really you." Quickly pushing the tears from his eyes. "Yes… I… Yes, I wanted you." He blurted out. "Finally."

"That's what I wanted to hear." It said in the distance. "-Tommy." He shuddered at the way you finished the sentence, mentioning his name, in your voice again. If it was either fear or distraught. But he didn't care. It brought back memories.

"You have... your time." The voice laughed evil, and once again, all-around. Tom stared up at the body in front of him. A certain life, a glimmer returned to its eyes. The tears again welled. Blurring his vision. You again. It's more like you again.

"F-Fuck me…" He whimpered, looking at you. "...l-l-like… l-like… the last t-time we did." Tom was ready. Tom knew he had little time. And he knew no matter what was on his mind, and wanted to say to you. The words would never reach. Ending up only feeding the Devil with more than necessary.

"I know what you like." Tom shuddered as your tongue trailed along his cheeks. The voice alone made him whole. The softness. His hands cupping your cheeks. Finding great pleasure in finally holding you. Taking your lips on his. It's a passionate and extreme moment. Feeling you again. Caressing every inch of your body all over. His member pressed up against you, long, aching, and ready.

"You're that kind that did enjoy the Devil's Tail, didn't you?" The distant voice echoed all over. Silencing Tom's lips with your finger. Feeling his hands searching. "Don't say it." The ever seducing smirk stretching across your face. "I can see it in your eyes." Caressing your hands across his cheek. Forcing him up from his knees.

"Just g-give me what I want!" He pleaded, trembling on his feet. "Leave me be!" He snarled. "I… I already paid for it."

"Some things in life can't be bought with your… money." The Devil's voice echoed far and distant. Soulless and taunting. The typical laughter following after. But Tom once again got what he wanted. If only for minutes. That feeling of seeing you, being with you. "By… my... rules…only..." The voice warned, fading in the distance.

"(Y/N)...!" He cried out in joy. The pleasures he hadn't felt in years. Once again, there. Feeling you inside of him again. Everything was the same. The bed, the walls. The smell. Your lips. It was the place you had seen each other for the last time. Made love for the last time. It was intimate. Pure. Tom wanted to replay that night again. Feel it again. Hear your voice. Smell you. Touch you. Hold you. The words you said to him. Praised him. And the way you made him come. The rigidness that plowed into him. It was just like then. Numbed by pleasures and pure bliss.

But he knew the signs. Slowly coming into view. He could see the Devil's horns growing on your head. They were small, but so ever reminding. And of course, the Devil's tail. Whipped around his member. Making sure he came more than his memory could fathom. Teasing his sensitive body. Twisting and turning against his touch starved frame. It helped him reach previously unexplored highs. A constant reminder that this was temporary. An illusion that would end.

And as the stars danced before his eyes. Darkness surrounded him. His vision slowly came back. Life creeping back in again. He had come so many times. All matter of sense was shattered.

As if it was launched into a different dimension and slowly ascending back from the astral planes. Tom had seen a version of heaven. At least that's what he thought. The reality was far worse.

The fading touch.

"N-No.. No No No…. NOOOO!" He screamed from the top of his lungs. "NOT NOW! NOT AGAIN!" The clear image of you, with touch and smell, pleasure and joys, standing in front of him, slowly began fading away. The eerie fires of candles started to die down. "PLEASE!" Disappearing one by one. Time ticking away. One by one. Your appearance fading into the darkness once again.

"I BEG YOU! GIVE ME MORE TIME!" He reached out, desperate to hold you here. But to no avail. The touch of your skin under his fingers was still there. But it began to feel cold. Absent. The life slipping from your eyes. As the candles were snuffed one by one. The outlines of your face vanished into the darkness. His grip lost—nothing to hold onto.

Only that remained was the memory. But distorted by the Devil. Made greater than it already was. And Tom knew. He fell for it. Trapped in a loop he couldn't get out. Tom once again sat on the floor. Cold and hard. Brought back to reality once more. The bed wasn't there. The room wasn't there. You weren't there. Nothing was there anymore—only the tears streaming down his face.

"Until next time." The voice taunted. "And be careful with your soul. It will take its toll." Laughing hysterically as it ebbed away. Bringing back Tom to his room.

"TAKE IT!" He shouted, clinging to one bit of darkness left. "TAKE MY SOUL! ALL of it!" Begging for it. "Take me with you!" Screaming into the void that slowly dissipated. His voice went hoarse as the air in his lungs was pushed out. Coughing long and hard, struggling to find his composure. Knocking the candle over in front of him. The blood had dried up on the floor. Candle wax splattered across the floor. The photo of you slowly curling in its frame. The photo was still there. But you weren't. Fading from existence. Withering away. Consumed by evil. Only vague outlines remained visible.

"P-Please… I… I…" He cried, falling to the floor. Squinting through the tears to catch the last features of you. Desperate for a response. "I don't care w-what the future brings…" Feeling the memories fade in his mind. The laughs and cheers. Every moment he ever had with you. Slowly pushed away by evil. Bit by bit, his soul consumed. And so was his memory. "I… just…" He stammered with tears streaming down his face. The light slowly returning to his eyes. "I… w-wish I could hold you. Be... with you." He wept uncontrollably. The tears staining the glass frame, holding your picture. "I… miss you… so much…"

"The Devil takes no willing soul." The voice said, it's laugh fading away. Like the darkness that had set it. Now gone. But not without its toll.

#tom holland x male reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland x male!reader #tom holland x you #tom holland angst #tom holland imagine #tom holland #male!reader #male reader #mlm #tw blood #tw depression #tw loss

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