#its been heavy and had its moments but the depressive void of cold and pain hasnt been there | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

builtbybrokenbells · 8 months ago

Text

belladonna | iii (pt. 1)

too beautiful to resist, and too deadly to survive; the tragic tale of belladonna in all its glory.

masterlist | taglist

Pairing: Danny Wagner x f!reader, f!reader x OC

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: mentions of toxic/abusive parents, mentions of/toxic relationships, mentions of criminal activity/criminal records, poverty, mentions of homelessness, mentions of physical violence, mentions of blood, mentions of AA/NA, NA meetings, heavy descriptions of addictions, use of/mentions of drugs, mentions of relapsing, mentions of OD, mentions of drinking, flirting, mentions of hookups/sex, smoking, depression/anxiety, mental health struggles, swearing, sorry if I miss any!!

here’s part one of two! lots of heavy stuff in this part and some more character background, but we do get to see some romance begin to blossom. im excited to share, but even more excited for you guys to read the next part. thanks for being amazing, i love you guys 🤍

April 22, 2022

The morning was violent, so much so that it managed to pull you from a slumber fit for the dead. As you rolled over on your couch, your journal tumbled from your stomach and landed on the floor with a thump that echoed through the entire room. The large panel windows with rotted sills glistened under the blazing sunlight, too bright and warm for you to withstand. You squeezed your eyes shut again to block out the rays, but instead of blackness, the usual void seemed red with the light beaming directly on your face. You withdrew a long breath, rubbing your face in your hands to pull yourself out of the claws of exhaustion. After a moment, you managed to invigorate yourself enough to sit up straight, but it came with ample consequences.

Your body ached so desperately that it felt like your bones had twisted and morphed into something new, and your throat scratched with dryness every time you tried to swallow. Your head pounded with every breath and only ever worsened as you moved. There was a kink in your neck that you could not massage out if you tried, and your stomach was twisted with upset. You woke up the same every morning, like you were still in active addiction and your body was craving the substance with a fervor. It was a phantom pain that passed not long after you started your day, but while it existed, it was incredibly difficult to get through. No matter how long you had been sober for, you awoke every morning with the incessant urge to fall back into old habits.

That specific morning it seemed so much worse than others, and you feared that if you had even the slightest lapse in willpower, you would end up on the bathroom floor submitting to an entity so sinister that it would ruin your life all over again.

So, instead of taking the risk, you checked your phone to see what time it was. When the white letters splayed ten o’clock, you knew you could rush to the old AA hall they had donated to the druggies when the state funded a new building and catch the morning meeting. If you were lucky enough, you could make it in time to grab one or two of the stale muffins from the day prior and save some money on groceries. You noticed the pen that had once sat atop the journal (that had once sat atop you) had fallen onto the torn cushions of the couch and was now stabbing into your side. With a huff of frustration, you tossed it to the floor, where it struck the old vinyl tile and rocketed under one of the other pieces of furniture.

You stood, feeling woozy from the illness plaguing you and seemingly eating away at your insides. With a vow to ignore it, you trudged to the bathroom to comb your hair and brush your teeth. The intense mint from the toothpaste was aggravating your already sick stomach, and you fought back a gag as you struggled through the basic task. You washed your face, hoping the cold water would distract you, but the sting of the frigid liquid on your tired skin only annoyed you further. In a poor mood, you forced yourself through the rest of your routine and ran to your bedroom. You changed into a pair of jeans that once belonged to your oldest brother, and a sweater that belonged to your youngest brother. To top it off, you threw on a fleece lined plaid jacket to keep out the harsh wind, noticing yet another rip in the already worn out fabric.

You grabbed your pack of cigarettes from the counter on the way out the door, tying your boots in the hallway after deciding that tripping over laces would be the (theoretical) straw that broke the camel's back. You broke out into the bitter air, the smell of city smog filling your lungs and the nip of morning frost biting at your cheeks. You shoved your headphones into your ear, pressing play on a playlist that had been ringing through your living room all night long. With a brief check over your shoulder, you hopped to the other side of the street and began walking down the winding side road in hopes of finding a Hail Mary.

After a seemingly treacherous journey, you trudged up the wooden steps that were nearly rotten all the way through. You clasped your fingers around the large metal handle and pulled the oak door open, the creaks echoing through the barren entryway. You stepped inside, your mind still swimming with relentless thoughts and your cheeks blushed with chill. You slipped your headphones into the pocket of your hoodie and moved further inside, surveying the room before going any further. The old building was once a church, and when it was abandoned, the state took it over and rebranded it for Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. Back then, it went hand in hand with the motto, as most that turned vile due to their addictions believed themselves to be devout Christian’s. Some believed it was blasphemous to use such a building for people who had disgraced the name of god, and others thought it to be perfectly fitting. Either way, God did not have a hand in what happened in the building, nor was he worthy of credit for the recovery of the people.

When the government decided AA was worthy of a better building, they still failed to recognize addicts as people deserving of recovery (or help, even), and left the old building for anyone to do as they pleased with. For a little while, it was home to a small family of homeless people, and only once the city grew sick of them did they decide an NA program was worthwhile. State ‘funded’ and utterly disappointing, they held meetings twice a day that were led by a single member of the mental health board (and not even an addictions expert, at that) and were mostly self-guided. As much as the program lacked, you still found it comforting to sort through your issues with fellow addicts who also fucked up their lives beyond repair. That, and it was the only intervention that was consistently accessible, and free.

You hated knowing that your recovery was based off a paycheck, and that bettering yourself as a person was dependent upon affordability, yet you knew this to be reality. Treatment programs were expensive, and the only one you had ever been to had left you with a debt you would never shake off your shoulders. From then, you knew you had to be in charge of your recovery, and that started with improving your willpower to stay sober. You could not afford anything more than self-help journals, and with every backslide, you understood that medical bills were piling higher and higher. Sobriety was the only option, because if not, poverty was the punishment. Unfortunately, poverty was a breeding ground for mental illness (which you already suffered enough of), and mental illness was a slippery slope that lead you straight back to square one.

Complaining about NA would not get you any further ahead, so you often had to swallow your distaste and appreciate it for what it was. At least there was some type of intervention, even if it was lousy. Without it, you would have nothing but yourself, and you had come to realize that was one thing you could not solely rely on, as you were a nothing shy of a trained professional in bad decisions and fucking up.

You noticed the circle of fold out chairs, half filled with zombie-like shapes that only passed as people on a good day. Today, as it seemed, was not a good day. Most of the attendees were forced to be there by parole regulations, and others only came for a warm place to sit for an hour. Some, like yourself, wanted help, but most cared about the free food more. As you approached the group, you made a stop at the table with the coffee canister and expired creamer, pouring yourself two cups to sip away at while you spilled your guts. Thankfully, there were plenty of muffins left, and when nobody was looking, you managed to slip a few in your large pockets (which was the exact reason you wore that specific jacket).

As you took a seat, you surveyed for any familiar faces. There was an older women, frail looking with mousy blonde hair and sad eyes. Her name was Carol, and she was the most frequent attendee of all of the meetings. Even so, you knew her to be a woman who was sober, but nowhere near recovered. She’d been through the twelve step program a hundred times, yet never seemed to harness all that she’d learned. She was tired, sorrowful and a little timid, yet had a fiery side that matched the devil. She often talked about her mistakes like they were small blips, yet did not seem to comprehend that even if they were unavoidable, they had consequences that were detrimental to her and her family. More specifically, it affected her children, in which she mentioned their no-contact order at least once a meeting.

You felt bad for her, but not enough to extend a helping hand. She was a great example of ‘reap what you sow’ and she reminded you too much of your own mother to ignore it. Every time you began to feel some shred of sympathy, you would think of her four kids who suffered at the hands of her own lack of self control. She knew nothing about accountability, and was in so much denial that she was blaming the no contact order on the children who filed it, rather than the woman who caused it. She would never recover unless she understood the implications of her actions, and that she caused all that happened, even if she felt powerless at the time. She could abstain from using drugs until her last breath, yet she would never escape the addict mentality.

The coordinator, Liam, was by the windows organizing his meeting checklist. He hadn’t noticed you yet, but you were certain that when he did, a smart comment would be casted in your direction. He was in his mid-thirties, and he wasn’t the worst person in the world to share a piece of your soul with. If anything, over the months of going to meetings, you had actually grown quite fond of him. He was a trained mental health professional, and even if his specialty was not addiction, he still cared enough to dedicate his time to helping others. You were certain that he was not paid well for his two hours a day, and he was working it atop his other job. There was a part of him that loved the charity, and as a true councillor should, cared about helping people more than anything else.

As you sipped at your coffee, Liam approached the group with his head still nestled in his clipboard. As more people trudged in, he looked up to smile as they situated themselves, and that’s when his eyes landed on you. There was a sparkle of something you could not place your finger on, and it made you bite back a laugh. He stepped in your direction, tapping his pen against the cork material of the board as he thought of a snarky remark. “You lose your calendar?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not Wednesday.”

“No, it’s not. Astute observation, smartass.” You replied, smirking at him. The one good thing about NA was him, and the fact that you felt like you could be yourself around him. He was not a bible thumper, nor was he a hardass; he was a person who knew struggle, taking time to help other people with their struggle. He understood that you were a barely-adult who dealt with your pain with humour, especially after watching you interact with Dylan and Vincent, and he used it to his advantage. Every now and again, he had to crack the whip to ensure you weren’t using humour to deflect, but most of the time, he agreed that it was a good coping mechanism.

“You just missed me so much, huh?” He sighed, tapping the end of his pen against the board, now. It send a dull yet steady sound through the immediate air, and it was the equivalent to nails on a chalkboard for your already migraine-ridden brain.

“Hardly,” you muttered, taking another long gulp of coffee while hoping it would ease the pain in your skull. “Figured if I had to choose between you and the detox box, I’d pick you.”

“Smart choice.” He complimented. “Where’s your company?”

“You really think they’d come to a non-mandated meeting? Are you insane?”

“Some would say so.” He shrugged. “Proud of you for choosing sobriety, y/n.”

“Oh, fuck off with your sentimental bullshit.” You grumbled, but couldn’t deny the tugging of your heartstrings. If there was one thing you loved, it was being told that someone was proud of you. Of course, you were never willing to show your appreciation for the fact, but you definitely held the words close. “You better get started before Carol starts crying or Joey falls asleep.” You said, nodding your head in the direction of the two sitting side by side. Joey seemed as if he was nodding off, and Carol was already weepy-eyed.

“Right, it’s about that time.” He sighed, nodding curtly. “Alright, everyone! Come grab a seat so we can get started!” His voice echoed through the mostly empty room, bouncing off the walls peeling of their paint. The large windows sent flutters of golden light through the room, illuminating the specs of dust in the air. When you looked above the pointed window tops, you could see the shadow of a cross that remained stained to the wallpaper even long after it was removed. The grime of the building ensured that the memory would remain indefinitely. As Liam walked towards his chair at the head of the circle, the small heels of his dress shoes clacked against the rickety floorboards. When he sat, the legs of the plastic foldout chair scraped against the already scuffed panels. It was underwhelming in its entirety, yet you found it oddly comforting.

As the bodies pooled into the chairs, leaving ample spaces between themselves as they sat down, you crossed your legs and pulled the frumpy jacket closer to your body. The building was drafty, shifting and groaning under every strong gust of wind and threatening to give out under the pressure. You picked at the threads of loose skin around your fingernails, awaiting Liam’s routine meeting opener.

“Good morning, everyone.” He spoke, his voice echoing throughout the whole room. He was cheerful, but not overly, and he was excited to get his part over with so he could sit back and observe. “As some of you know, Friday’s are completely open discussion days, just the same as Monday. If this isn’t your cup of tea and you’d like to check out the speaker meetings where I guide you through the steps of recovery, you can stop by from Tuesday to Thursday. I’m here at the same time every day, 11am and 2pm, so if you require another session outside of your normal attendance schedule, you know where to find me.” There were a few mutters of agreement from the crowd, but most of them had their eyes on the clock, waiting for the hour to finish despite it only just getting started.

“Are there any newcomers in the crowd today?” The question was mandated, even if he already knew the answer. He recognized you all from the minute you stepped in; the whole crowd was familiar with each other now. “Right, okay.” He nodded, jotting something down on his clipboard. “As always, remember that if you run into any issues outside of the normal meeting times, we always implore you to give a call to the friends you’ve made here. There’s a list of numbers available by the door for anyone who has volunteered to be a sponsor. Remember—“

“Dial it, don’t file it.” The whole group chanted back to him before he could speak. The mantra was drilled so deeply into your brain that you were sure you muttered it in your sleep. He gave a tight lipped smile, understanding the redundancy of his words.

Open speaker meetings were your favorite. You did not find much solace in Liam droning on for a half an hour, as his personal experience with addiction was nonexistent. It was a comfort to tell your story and have it touch others, and it was nice when you could hear the struggles of other people. It made you feel less alone, and it felt less clinical. When Liam took up an hour of your time, yapping away about resilience and self awareness, it was difficult not to fall asleep in your chair. You chose Wednesday’s as your regular days when you learned it was Vincent and Dylan’s scheduled day, but not for many other reasons. Sometimes, it was nice to hear advice and encouragement, but in the long run, it did not hold much value to you. You opted to go to plenty of meetings outside of your normal time, just so you could get all of the benefits of it.

“Remember to stick around after the meeting so we can hand out chips or tags, whichever you prefer. If you brought your white chip with you today, we can upgrade you to silver.” He gave a smile, as if handing in a surrender token was a victory and a 24-hour token was a milestone. You were certain that everyone around you had a million silver and white tokens littered across their homes, yet it never seemed to stick. You knew that for you, at least, a silver token was a punch in the gut rather than a pat on the back. “So, if there’s no questions, we can get started.” He said, surveying the crowd for a raised hand or an interested eye. When he was met with nothing, he gave a slow nod, crossing his legs and taking in a long breath. “Would anyone like to start us off?”

The silence was so abundant that you could hear the honking of horns from the road. You waited for the chirp of crickets, but you knew that the building was filled with too much asbestos to house any living creature, insects included. Spiders on the other hand had seemed to grow resilience when it came to the toxicity of the environment, which only made them superhuman in comparison to their former self. You could see a few dangling from cobwebs in the corners of the room.

“I’ll go,” you said, speaking up only when the silence grew unbearable. “If nobody else wants to, I can start.”

“Sure,” Liam nodded, smiling at your willingness to proceed. “Whenever you’re comfortable.”

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, making yourself wonder why you had actually shown up on that solemn Friday morning. What had been so troublesome that you rushed out your front door the minute you woke up so you could attend a meeting?

That was a loaded question, one that likely had a million answers, but you settled on the thoughts that felt most pressing to you.

“I often hear the same sentiment when I talk about my addictions. I get the same sad smiles and sympathetic eyes, the ones that tell me that I’m more fucked up then even I can comprehend. I can see the refrain in their faces, like they want to run and hide. I get that it’s hard to understand something when you’ve never experienced it, but sometimes it makes me wonder how it’s so easy to dehumanize people who’ve gone through or are currently facing struggle.” You didn’t stop speaking for a reaction, but rather to gather your many thoughts before speaking them aloud. It seemed as though you were in more of a talking mood than you previously thought, because now that you had begun, you felt no inclination to stop.

“When someone grieves, we do not go out of our way to alienate them from us. When someone gets in an accident, we parade around with bouquets of flowers and well wishes. When alcoholics drink themselves to the point of no return, we put them on a transplant list for a new liver and hand out brochures on how to live a sober life. Why is it when someone learns that I’m an addict, I am denounced to nothing but a thief and a criminal? What makes my struggle different? What makes me less worthy of help?” You posed the question to the crowd, not expecting a real answer. “All of the aforementioned reasons are worthy of sympathy and compassion, but it makes me question why my struggle is not. Why, even when I walk into an Alcoholics Anonymous hall and speak my troubles aloud, they look at me as if I’m evil, as if their addiction is better than mine? The superiority complex of an addict who deems their addiction more digestible than my own makes my skin crawl, yet I see it every day.”

“I’ve been an addict since I was born, even if I didn’t touch drugs until I was a teenager. The addiction was engraved in my brain since conception—no matter active or not, I will always have the symptoms of the disease. It was shown to me first by my father, who was willing to abandon his three children in search of a high. I learned the rest of it from my mother, who was the highest functioning alcoholic I have ever met.” You paused, forcing your thoughts away from the face of your mother, which only ever seem to enrage you.

“When I was three, I was addicted to apple juice. I used to scream and cry and kick my feet until I was red in the face and my lungs started to ache. As soon as they placed that Disney Princess sippy-cup in my hands, it was like they shot me with a fucking tranquilizer dart. Two hours later, it started all over again. When I was seven, it was marshmallows. When I was eleven, it was that stupid fucking ‘Peggle’ game on my brothers Xbox. When I turned thirteen, I drank alcohol with my best friend for the first time. We stole it from her parents' liquor cabinet and drank so much we threw up for two whole days.” You explained, leaning forward in your chair and looking towards the floor.

“Even as I spilled my guts over that toilet and spent forty eight hours in misery, I knew that apple juice had nothing on alcohol, and it had given me more satisfaction than anything ever had. On my fifteenth birthday, all of my friends were out of town, so I thought I’d have my own fun at home alone, and hopefully drown out the sound of my mother terrorizing my brothers in the living room.” You explained, giving an empty smile. “I looked through my mothers pill cabinet, pulling out bottles and typing names into my phone to find out what it would do for me. I went back to my bedroom with three little white pills in my hand, locking the door behind me and sealing my fate for the rest of eternity.” You took in a long breath, closing your eyes for a moment. “That night, I discovered that OxyContin was far more effective than ‘Peggle’, and from there, I became the worst version of myself.” You heard a few hums of agreement around the room, unable to look up at the sad eyes staring at you. You knew that they hated seeing someone so young face the evil fangs of opiates, but no matter if they were sympathetic or not, you were still hurting over it just the same. Silence became you and you were unsure if talking was making it better, or hurting you more.

“My point is,” you continued, feeling your courage begin to return. “I didn’t wake up on my fifteenth birthday and decide to be an addict. I didn’t decide to be an addict every time I used after that, because it was never a choice. If you have bipolar disorder, it was in your brain long before you ever showed symptoms. If you have cancer, half of your insides are rotten before they catch it. I had an addiction long before I ever touched drugs, and I’ll have an addiction until the day I die. It does not make me lesser than anyone else, and it doesn’t make me a bad person. I had shit luck and poor genes, and I’ll suffer for the rest of my life, but my suffering does not make me a bad person, and it does not make me any different than another person walking down those streets. I’m not inherently evil because of it; I’m just someone who’s made mistakes, trying to atone for them. I’m still that little girl crying for apple juice, or that pre-teen begging my brother to play a game. The only difference is, I’ve had a taste of something far more powerful and much more lethal. I’m tired of being painted the villain, because it was the substance that turned me bad. I hurt people, and I hurt myself, but every day I wake up and choose to be different. It does not take away from what I have already done, but it does change to who I will be. That is the difference between a good person and a bad person, not the demons they’re fighting against.”

“I’m an addict, and I know I will be an addict until the day I die. I was born that way, but I made the conscious decision to use, and I will be stuck repenting for that until my last breath. I can’t sit before you and tell you I regret my decisions, because those were some of the best days of my life. I don’t regret it, even if it was a mistake. It was the best thing I have ever felt. I wake up every day still craving the high, wondering if it’s easier to just give in and let go. I spend every waking minute chasing that feeling, and even if I know I can never have it again, it doesn’t mean I don’t want it. It’s a constant struggle, a reminder of my own mistakes that I’m still trying to run away from, and it’s torture. At the same time, I came here today because I’ve been stuck wondering if it’s possible to change, to not be this person anymore.”

“I want to be good, to love life without being dependent on substance, but I worry that it’s not possible. I want to breathe without restraint, and I want to live without chains constantly holding me down. When I think about how hard it is to stay sober, I try to remember how hard it is to be an addict, and sometimes not even that can scare me away. I want to go back to the days where ‘Peggle’ and marshmallows could make me feel the same way. I’m trying to be something I’m not, and I’m afraid it’s not ever possible to be what I want. Will I be seventy years old and happy that I stayed sober, or will I be in that rocking chair looking back at my life, surrounded by grandchildren yet still remembering what it felt like to swallow that pill? Worse than that, I worry that seventy will never be in my hands, and I’ll die of the sickness before I can ever see it.” You paused, realizing that you were taking up far too much time. You blinked hard, bringing yourself back to reality and settling back in your chair. You looked to the water stained ceilings with tears pricking your dry eyes, wondering how the hell you got yourself here.

“Sobriety has been my best friend and my worst enemy, and I came here today because it’s my enemy. I know what I need to do, but today just it doesn’t seem possible. For now, I’m here. Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and try again, because that’s all I can do. When it feels impossible, I just keep telling myself that it’s for the best. I'm no stranger to starting from zero, so what the hell is one more try, right?” A slow round of applause echoed around the room. You fought back an eye roll, knowing that all that you had said was not worthy of a celebration. It was a ugly thing, a eulogy to your former self, and sobriety had never been something you were proud of. It was a struggle, and it was something you could never seem to commit to. Trying again was your area of expertise because of how good you were at fucking up, and you did not feel right celebrating a temporary victory while the hardest battle was still looming just overhead.

“I can speak for everyone when I say that we’re incredibly happy that you decided to come here today.” Liam said, sending you a smile from across the circle. You forced one back, unable to hold his gaze for very long. “You’re not starting over again, y/n, you’re just starting to try harder.”

“Right,” you nodded, tracing the scarred stick-and-poke tattoo that was already fading away from the back of your hand. It did not feel like you were trying harder. If anything, it felt like you were closer to giving up.

If you had a shred of self awareness, you would have been able to see that because of that fact alone, you were trying harder than you ever had.

As Liam opened the floor for another poor soul, you thought over all you had said in your confessional. You wondered why you were feeling all of those things so strongly, and why they seemed to be worse today even in comparison to the days you spent sweating and shaking on a bathroom floor. Then, you remembered Vincent’s harsh words thrown your way the night prior, feeling yourself ache from the memory as if he was standing in front of you saying it all over again.

Vincent was your best friend, the one constant you had since packing your entire life up and moving across the country. He knew everything about you, held you at your worst and shared the happiest days. You cared so deeply about him, and definitely in a way stronger than friends, but you so badly wished you didn’t. Him knowing you so well made it easy for him to hurt you, and despite all the good he had and could still do, he consistently proved to you that he did not want to do good by you. He knew you so well, but it was the very reason why he had so much power to hurt you. Vincent wanted to love, but he did not know how. His feelings were fragile just as well as his ego, and he did not understand a thing about change. He was stuck in his way, never willing to see a different side of things, and because of that, it drove the two of you apart. The night prior, when he’d been so crude and unapologetic about his feelings about you and Danny, he wanted to hurt you in the same way he was hurting.

Lucky for him, he did just that, and even more so. He wanted to hurt, and hurt he did. It was so bad that you found yourself seeking comfort from strangers in an NA hall. It was so bad that it made you want to turn to drugs to take the ache away.

What he said stuck with you, and not just because he was the one who said it. Of course it hurt that he would say such terrible things to you, but you had grown used to Vincent taking his anger out on you in the form of harsh words and insults. Most of the time, you could brush it off after a while of sulking, but it hung over your head because you were terrified he was right. You liked Danny for many reasons, one being that he was nothing like Vincent. That being said, he was also nothing like you.

He did not know what it was like growing up with parents like yours, nor what it was like to spend most of his adolescence in and out of rehabilitation programs and therapy. He did not understand what it felt like to be at the police department, filing yet another missing persons report for his father, or better yet, getting detained for a night but unable to be held due to age. He did not know what it was like to run away from home every other weekend because sleeping under a park bench seemed more appealing than sharing a space with his mother. More than anything, he did not understand what it was like for drugs to take precedence over every other thing in his life. You certainly didn’t take him as such, and you were sure that by now, you would have seen some inkling that he was like you. You wanted to find anything that could relate to your tragic life, but there was nothing.

You looked back on all of your conversations, wondering if maybe you missed something he said, but it all aligned perfectly with Vincent’s venomous words. He played golf, specifically with his dad, he was traveling the world with his best friends to find ‘inspiration’ without needing to find a part time job in every city, and he confided in you once on a Sunday evening that he missed his mom.

Danny did not know what life was like for you, nor would he ever, even if he tried. Your struggle was completely foreign to him, and although he seemed like someone with a big heart and the desire to understand and sympathize with everyone he came across, you feared that once he knew all of you, he would run with no intention of ever coming back. You couldn’t blame him, because your baggage was too heavy for even yourself at times, but you would be lying if you said it didn’t hurt. It was a terrible feeling to have, knowing that no matter how much you like someone, you can never be completely transparent and honest with them about yourself. You would never expect him to accept the tragedies that accompanied you, and you felt foolish for thinking that you could have a relationship with someone so normal while you were so far from it.

You wanted him to be the one to take you away from such things, but you feared the tragedy ran so deep that you would be the one to bring him down with you.

Of course Vincent would be the one to point out your flaws and ruin a good thing before it happened.

Then again, you could not blame him, because you were equally as good at fucking things up.

You liked Danny too much to cut him off entirely, so you decided to continue on with the texting and calling, and even the laughing until 4am and the harmless flirting. You would cut it off when the time was right, just so you didn’t fall too hard for him. You knew it was best, because he was too good to get caught up in you. He was someone you could have fun with, to distract you while you built yourself back up. He would leave eventually anyway, and you would never have to think about it again. Your skies were much too dark for a rainbow, and now that you were thinking of it, you weren’t sure they had ever seen anything as bright as him. This way, you could enjoy him for the time being, but you wouldn’t get your heart broken when he decided you were too much for him. It was a win-win for both of you.

Even if you chose to believe such things, you failed to see that you had already gotten your heart broken at the idea of being too broken. Your current situation made you believe all of the previous notions even more deeply, because you had not even faced rejection at Danny’s hands and you were already sitting in a talk circle listening to people drone on about their love of smack and resentment towards their family for keeping them away from it. You were fragile enough that you’d hurt your own feelings with feeble ideas and assumptions, and you were so weak that it nearly killed your ambition to stay sober. Most of all, you were selfish for wanting to subject Danny to such things at all.

That was one habit you could not kick when you got sober; you were a selfish being who loved to feel good, and now that you could not get high, you had to search for thrills elsewhere. Danny made you feel good, and so good that you could not fathom giving that up even if it was better for everyone to do so.

The meeting wrapped up later than usual, mostly due to Carol’s inconsolable crying as she blubbered on about her youngest daughter's wedding and how her invitation got ‘lost in the mail’. You bit your tongue, knowing that correcting her assumptions about the situation would do no good and would only get you a scolding from Liam (and those were the worst). You made sure your phone and your cigarettes were in your pocket before standing, feeling the muffins bounce against your leg. As if on cue, your stomach growled at the memory of the double chocolate treat that was wrapped in plastic, awaiting your attention. Liam instructed everyone to stop by before they left, to which only some of the attendees obliged to. Despite your growing stomach and desire to leave, you complied with the request and approached him before making your departure.

You were the first in line to speak with him, but it did not come as a surprise; usually you were the only one willing to see him once the hour was up. He still had his clipboard in his hand, his pen hovering over the paper as he searched for your name and crossed it off. “You’ve got a thing for apple juice,” he noted, looking up over the frames of his (seemingly expensive) glasses.

“What?” You chuckled, curious as to what he meant.

“You talk about apple juice at every meeting. Is that code for something else, or do you really just like it that much?” Now, you laughed, finding his inquiry less invasive and much more amusing.

“Not code,” you shook your head, the smile lingering on your lips. “I just really like it. When I was a kid, it was the only type of juice my mom would let me drink. Guess it reminds me of easier times, or maybe I still wish apple juice was the only addiction I had to worry about. I don’t really drink it anymore because I worry that I’m trading a drug addiction for an apple juice addiction. In my head, neither are good.” You theorized, looking towards the ground for a moment.

“I see,” he chuckled, reaching over and grabbing his bag and pulling out a red key tag. He handed it to you, smiling at the sight. “Three months as of tomorrow. I feel like I can trust you enough to give it to you a day early. Some motivation to get through the weekend.”

“Right,” you nodded, forcing a smile as you reached for it. “Maybe it would mean more if it was my first time.” You couldn’t help but feel some resentment at the sight. It was your second time getting a red key tag, and it lost all of its novelty once you had to give up the blue tag that signified six months. You almost had your hands on a yellow one, but you fell just shy of nine months after one particularly reckless night at the Pony. You’d had an arrangement of surrender and thirty day markers, but they were less catastrophic to lose when you started over again. Knowing you had nearly a year under your belt just to throw it all away made you sick to your stomach.

“You have to celebrate the little victories, y/n. You can’t always feel like you’re failing, because you’ll never have any motivation to get better.” He said, giving you a stern look.

“But it doesn’t really get better, Liam. It doesn’t matter if I have three months or three years, I’ll still be an addict and I’ll still want it just the same.” You shifted uncomfortably on your feet. “Recovery is just a bandage to keep yourself together. The longer this goes on, the more I feel like I’ll actually be seventy and still feel this way.”

“It’s easier to see when you’re further away from it. Right now, it’s all you know, but that doesn’t mean it will always be all that you know. Life grows around you, but you have to choose if you want to grow with it, or get lost in it.” He explained. You took the tag, shoving it in your pocket. You knew he was right, but it was easier to feel miserable than it was to be hopeful. It felt better when misery was proven wrong rather than when hopefulness was crushed. “You’re doing better than you think. You have three months under your belt. It doesn’t matter that it’s for a second time, it matters that you did it. Some people don’t even get there once.”

“I know.” You cleared your throat, fighting the tears rising in your throat. “Thanks, Liam. I’ll see you next week.” You said, finally looking to meet his eyes.

“Hold on,” he said, reaching back into his bag. You watched for a moment, wondering what he was searching for. Then, after a moment of uncomfortable silence, he pulled out a bottle from his bag. You looked to the ceiling, feeling your face burn and tears rush to your eyes. “I brought it for lunch, but now I think I brought it for a much different reason. You need it more than I do.”

“Liam, I can’t take that.” You shook your head, still looking at the peeling paint at the top of the walls.

“I insist.” He said, using a tone of finality. After a few seconds, you took a deep breath and looked towards him once again. Once you saw the certainty in his eyes, you reached out and took the bottle of apple juice from him with gratitude written all over your face. “Sometimes things are just as simple as apple juice, y/n, not the big complicated mess that you try and turn everything into. It’s not a metaphor, and you’re not trading apples for oranges. It’s a bottle of juice that’s going to make you feel better, and it’s something that won’t hurt you unless you make it into something bigger. You can enjoy it and not have to feel bad about it, just like you’re allowed to fuck up and still believe that you can do better.” He explained, giving you a smile. “You’re in control, whether that means getting high or drinking juice. You decide whether you should or not. Today, you decided to come here instead of getting high, and right now, you’re deciding to drink juice. You’re capable of doing better and being better, because you already have. Don’t convince yourself otherwise.”

“Your right,” You took in a long breath, closing your eyes to regain yourself. “Thank you, Liam.”

“No need for thanks.” He brushed you off, straightening up in his seat. “You have a number to call if you need it this weekend, right?”

“I do.”

“And you’ll use it?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I will.” You nodded. He did too, happy with your answer.

“Okay. I’ll see you next week.” He gave you permission to leave, happy that he seemed to have helped. You were a tough nut to crack, between your raging self-destructive attitude and your inability to see the positive side of things, but he was happy to be the one to finally make the difference.

You walked out the front door (sipping on apple juice, thanks to Liam), finding that the air had warmed since you had gone inside. The sun was brighter and the wind was less intense, making your spirits brighten as it gave you a promise of summer. You reached into your pocket to grab a cigarette, finding your chest had loosened from its earlier tension and your migraine begin to subside. As you pulled out your pack, you grumbled at the lightness of it. When you flipped the top open, revealing one last cigarette (upside down for luck, of course), you closed your eyes as you tried not to let the disappointment consume you. You wondered if you had enough money to buy another, hating yourself and the world for having to choose between paying rent or buying the only thing that was keeping you sane.

As you reached for your phone to check your account balance, the screen lit up to show the time. It was already well past twelve thirty, yet that wasn’t the thing that caught your attention. Below the bold numbers was a missed call, which was followed by an incoming text only a few moments later.

“Fuck!” You exploded, uncaring of the passerby’s giving you strange looks.

The addiction had been so pertinent that it allowed you to forget about your anticipated plans with the incredibly cute and sweet boy you couldn’t stop thinking about.

You dialed the number back, pressing the phone to your ear. Within seconds he answered, his cheery tone warming your heart immediately. “Utah! I was wondering when I’d hear from you. Was worried you forgot about me.”

“I’m so sorry Danny,” you sighed, looking around at the people passing you by. “I, uh… I had an appointment I forgot about.”

“That’s okay. How long are you gonna be? Or do you just want to call it off and reschedule?” His understanding was astounding, but it did not make you feel better; it was gut wrenching, and it made it so much harder to keep your heart out of things. Danny seemed fun, sure, but he also seemed like someone you could easily fall in love with. You were playing very a dangerous game.

“No, I’m all good now.” You promised. “If you still want to hang, of course.” The morning has thrown you so violently off course that you were doubting everything, including his interest in your despite him being the one who called first.

“F’course I do.” He chuckled. “I called, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” you forced a chuckle, having to agree with him.

“You okay, Utah?” He asked, now seeming a bit concerned. “You don’t sound like yourself.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” You assured him. “Was just a rough morning is all, I’m okay now.”

“Hopefully I can make the rest of the day better, then.” He replied, sympathizing with your rough start to the day. He had no idea, but hearing his voice alone had already brightened your spirits. “We’re just driving around. We’re near the Fox if you want me to pick you up, or we can meet somewhere if that’s easier for you.”

“If I send you an address, you think you can find it?” You smirked, knowing he was in unfamiliar territory. You remembered how disoriented you felt when you first came to New York, wondering if he felt the same, or if he was one of those people who didn’t worry about anything at all.

“I’m sure the two of us could figure it out.”

“Whatever you say, Michigan.” You grinned. “See you in a few.”

“Can’t wait.” He said, sincerity laced within his tone.

With that, you ended the call and proceeded to check your bank account, happy to see you had more than you thought. You looked around, checking for cars before jumping off the front porch of the old church and crossing the street. As you cut through an old alleyway, you texted Danny the name of the gas station you were headed to, knowing you would be there before him. There was no way in hell you were going to let him pick you up from an NA hall on your first ‘date’.

Of course, you had little hope that it would be a real date at all, nor did you think that any date like activities would ensue afterwards. They were probably just looking for something to pass the time, and you served as a great tour guide.

As you walked through an old parking lot after the alley, you could already see the old sign for the store. You waited to cross the busy street, and when you saw a break in traffic, you sprinted to the other side. By doing so, it seemed like you instantly left the rough part of the neighbourhood. Fancy cars drove by and women in expensive clothes walked in and out of the convenience store. All the same, you felt immediately out of place.

Tired and still not feeling the best, you tossed the empty apple juice bottle in the garbage, pushing through the door and walking inside. It was moderately busy, but not enough to be bothersome to you. Before running to the register to grab a pack of cigarettes, you walked towards the back of the store where the candy aisle was located. Without much effort, you found the biggest bag of Warheads sour candy that you could see. After that, you turned towards the drink coolers and grabbed the cheapest energy drink. Satisfied with your choices, you walked to the register and placed the items on the counter. The older lady who was working gave you a long look, studying you as she rang in the items.

“Pack of reds?” She asked, already reaching towards the cabinet before you answered.

“How’d you know?” You chuckled, knowing that every few days you came in for the exact same thing.

“Think you’re the only one who buys these.” She said, looking over the bag of sour candy. “Have no idea how you can stand eating them.” She chuckled, watching as you tapped your card against the reader.

“They’re not half bad.” You smiled, waving her off as she tried to hand you the receipt. In truth, you didn’t love them. You had grown to tolerate most sour foods as it was an easy way to curb the craving for the things you could not have. The sourness was a shock, immediately distracting you from the relentless thoughts, and the sugar gave a nice dopamine rush that made you feel better for a few moments. You repeated the process until your tongue was in too much pain to have another, and by then, you were over the worst of the craving. “Have a good day!” You called over your shoulder as you walked out the door, not hanging around for long enough to hear an answer.

As the door shut behind you, you grabbed the last cigarette from your pack and struck the lighter. As the flame ignited the tip, you heard a commotion off to the side of the store where the bulk of the parking lot was. You turned, curious about the sound, but you were not stuck wondering about it for very long. As you focused your eyes under the blazing sun, your gaze fixated on a Jeep, but it was not the vehicle that kept your attention. Instead, it was the curly haired boy hanging his head out the window with a blinding smile on his lips. You could not help but smile back as he waved you over, uncaring about hiding his excitement to see you.

“Long time no see, Utah.” He greeted you as you walked within earshot. “Told you I could find my way around New York.”

“Seems like it.” You chuckled, taking a drag from your cigarette. Without any further comment, he opened the car door and stepped outside with you. “I’m glad you found me. Saves me from sending a search party out for you.”

“You really had such little faith in me?” He raised an eyebrow, his sunglasses sadly blocking your view of his pretty brown eyes.

“It doesn’t matter anyway, ‘cause you proved me wrong.” You grinned, already feeling the hurt in your chest begin to subside. When you were in his company, it was hard to feel sad about anything. He was so easygoing and excited about life that it was difficult to feel any differently than him. Then, he reached forward and pulled you into a hug, which made your stomach twist and your heart flutter. What would normally be an awkward moment, felt nothing like it. It was comfortable, it was safe, and it was right. You wrapped your arm around him, making sure to keep your cigarette away from his expensive looking jacket so you did not burn it.

The small gesture made all of your fears obsolete; he wanted to be with you, to hang out and waste the day with you. He was disappointed at the idea of cancelling plans, and overjoyed at the prospect of seeing you. He was genuine, and he was nothing like Vincent was trying to portray him as. You didn’t have to feel stupid for liking him so much in such a short time, because he felt the same way.

“I’m glad we didn’t have to cancel, Utah. Been looking forward to seeing you all morning.”

“Me, too.” You breathed. “I’m sorry I forgot about the appointment. Promise I wasn’t trying to blow you off.” You explained, still trying to hold on to the lingering scent of his cologne as he let go.

“No worries, I’m just glad you’re okay. And I’m glad you didn’t change your mind.” He confessed, a sheepish smile crossing his lips. “We still have a few hours before you have to get to work. I’m sure there’s lots we can do by then.”

“Yeah, for sure.” You nodded. “So what about this Sam guy I’ve been hearing all about? Is he imaginary?” You said, looking to the front seat to see nobody else in the car.

“That’s me,” You jumped in surprise when a head popped out from the backseat. A smiling face stuck between the two front seats let you know that Sam was in fact real. The tint on the windows allowed for him to stay concealed, but it did not answer any questions about why he was sitting in the backseat. Then, a second head popped out from between the seats, but this one was much cuter than the two boys combined. “And this is Rosie. Hope you like dogs.” Sam grinned, reaching up and wrapping an arm around her.

“Hi,” you laughed, unable to keep a straight face at the sight. “And I definitely do. No need to worry about that.”

“She is pretty, Daniel. You were right.” At that, your cheeks turned red, but not nearly as badly as Danny’s did.

“I should have left him at home.” Danny muttered, shaking his head at his friend.

“No worries,” you said, reaching out and landing a soft hand on his arm. “Good to know you think I’m pretty.”

“As if that wasn’t obvious enough.” He said, looking down at your hand on his arm for a moment, then back up at your face. The two of you shared a glance for a moment, wondering how it seemed so easy between you despite you barely knowing each other. You wanted more, to know him and to spend every afternoon making jokes and laughing. You wanted to kiss him, and you had since the very first time you laid eyes on him. He seemed like he wanted it too, yet the both of you remained frozen in place, neither one of you having enough courage to move first. “So, you have any ideas for what we can do today?” He changed the topic, too nervous to continue staring.

“Depends on what kind of day you want to have.” You said, only mildly disappointed at the change of subject. You knew that kissing him right now in that moment was not the wisest idea, especially with his best friend observing the both of you so closely. Plus, you feared that if you leaned forward and captured him in a kiss, you would only be doing so in hopes of covering up all of the misery from the morning. If you were to kiss him, you wanted to be certain it was for the right reason. “There’s a park not too far from here. It’s a super nice spot, not too many people go. I’m sure Rosie would love it.” You said, motioning to the dog that was clinging to Sam’s side. “Or there’s a few shops a few streets over. I think they’re all pet friendly. I see lots of people in an out of there with loads of different pets.”

“We can do both if you want.” Danny offered, looking inside the vehicle momentarily to see if Sam was in agreement.

“Okay,” you nodded, taking the last drag from your cigarette and tossing the butt into a nearby puddle. The snow was long gone now, replaced with rain as dampness lingered on the ground to remind you of the winter. You were excited for warmer weather, and the sun in the sky seemed to be promising of a nice day.

“Hop in, Utah.” Danny nodded his head towards his car, but quickly second guessed his choice. He took a step in your direction, but walked past you and to the other side of the car, opening the passenger door for you. You followed after him, sheepishly climbing into the vehicle after muttering a small thanks. Within seconds, he was back in the drivers side, smiling over at you. “You just tell me where to go and I’ll drive.” As he spoke, Rose seemed to be fighting with Sam to try and get to the front seat, intrigued at your presence and excited to get to know you.

You sat the bag of candy down beside your leg on the seat, then placed the energy drink in the empty cup holder. You slid your lighter in your pocket and shifted around to get a better look at the dog that seemed so eager to greet you. “Hi, baby.” You reached out cautiously, not wanting to scare her. She sniffed your hands for a moment, which quickly turned to licking, then she shoved her head into your hands so you would pet her. As you scratched behind her ear, Sam seemed to be laughing at the two of you.

“She likes you… We’re gonna have to keep you around.” Sam deducted, his hand still resting on her back. You noticed he was holding the back of her harness, ensuring she wouldn’t proceed any further than she already had.

“I guess so.” You chuckled.

“Is that… breakfast?” Danny asked, stifling a laugh as he looked down at the bag of candy and the beverage you had purchased. He’d been trying to hold the question back, but it seemed too pressing to ignore. You looked down at the items he was referring to, feeling a small blush dust across your cheeks.

“So what if it is?” You shot back, trying to keep your tone light despite feeling defensive over the fact. He let out a chuckle, shaking his head at you for a moment. You reached down, tearing the bag open and grabbing one of the candies. You extended your arm towards him with a stupid smile on your lips. “Want one?” He watched you for a moment, trying to figure out if you were being serious. His gaze flickered to your hand and eventually, he reached out to grab it.

“Do you want something to eat? You know, other than caffeine and cigarettes?” He offered, a smirk stuck on his lips.

“No,” you shook your head, reaching into one of your large coat pockets. You pulled out one of the wrapped muffins, flashing him a smile. “That’s what this is for.”

“You really came prepared, then. I can appreciate that.” He laughed, not sure if he was willing to accept you having only a muffin for breakfast. Then again, he didn’t necessarily feel like it was his place to say anything, even if he wished he could.

“Yeah, you can say that.” You chuckled. “If you cut through the parking lot and go down that little side street,” you paused, pointing in the direction of the street that was just barely visible. “And you drive down the road for a while, there’s this cute little antique shop that I think is pretty cool.” You explained, sitting back in the comfortable seat. It was way better than the leather seats in Vincent’s old car, but you neglected that thought. You shouldn’t have been thinking about Vincent at all. Instead, your focus should be on the boy sitting across from you, the very one you stayed up until sunrise writing about in your journal. The same one you had been texting until you were too tired to respond, and the one who infiltrated your dreams and put a smile on your face even during sleep.

You did not know Danny very well, but you knew him well enough to know that since meeting him, the world seemed a little bit brighter. The rain was less dreary and not even the bitter wind could bring you down. You were excited to wake up, happy even to foot the phone bill that was usually paid with a twenty dollar bill, because the new price meant that Danny had not grown tired of talking to you. You wrote in your journal until your fingers felt like they would fall off, and you had a growing collection of notes scribbled on scrap paper left on the dirty tables at the Fox. He gave you something to look forward to, and he gave you something to smile about. When you finished talking to him, you were not plagued with guilt or worry like you often were when you spoke with Vincent. You did not know Danny well, but you wanted to, and you were determined to. You made a pact with yourself to know him as well as you could by the end of the day, because you never wanted to stop learning about him.

And Sam now, too. You could not forget about him and his big personality sitting behind you just out of sight.

“To the cute little antique shop, then.” Danny said, smiling as he reversed out of the parking space and drove in the direction you told him to. “So what makes this place so special?”

“What?” You chuckled, looking over at him.

“It’s gotta mean something to you if it’s the first place you thought of.”

‘Damn him and his observant self.’

“Yeah, I guess.” You nodded. “I go there a lot. Was one of the first places I found after I moved here. I bought a journal there my first day in the city, and I used it until there was no way I could fit anything else in it.” You explained. “They have lots of old paintings and household stuff, and a huge collection of records and books. They get most of their stuff from estate sales and the rest of it from people who were sick of looking at it.”

“Do you collect records or books?” He asked, curious about your hobbies other than writing.

“No,” you shook your head. “I have some books, but I write a lot more than I read, so I don’t really see a need to buy more than I’ll ever need. I love the records, and I would buy them if I had a record player. Been trying to save up for one, but it never seems to work out.” You smiled, looking over at him. It did not break your heart that you didn’t have a record player, mostly because it was a luxury, and you were used to never having anything luxurious. You were thankful for the roof over your head and food to eat, and unless those were taken away, complaining wasn’t something you were fond of.

“What records would you buy if you had a player?” Sam asked, piping in from the backseat. You took a moment to think about it, but eventually settled on the first ones that came to mind.

“Bringing It All Back Home by Bob Dylan,” you said, confident in your answer. “I remember my grandfather playing over and over again until my grandmother was so fed up she turned it off herself.” You chuckled. “Harvest by Neil Young, too. He was a big fan of that one.”

“Good choices.” Sam commented, surprised by your answer.

“Can’t Buy a Thrill!” You exploded, unsure how you could forget such a monumental album.

“Steely Dan?” Danny looked over at you from the drivers seat, intrigued by your enthusiasm. There was a smile still lingering on his lips as you looked over at him, the sight nearly taking your breath away.

“The first time I heard ‘Dirty Work’, it changed my whole life. My brothers got so sick of it that they would pay me to turn it off. They’re not the brightest though, cause I made at least a hundred bucks off of them.” Both boys got a good chuckle out of the thought.

“Noted,” Danny said, switching between watching you and the road. “How many brothers do you have?”

“Two,” you replied. “Both older. Patrick is 26 now, and he works for some fancy tech company back home. Hunter is 25 and works at a construction company.”

“Are you close with them?” He continued to ask questions in hopes that he could know you better than anyone else. Knowing you was his top priority, much like how you wanted to know him.

“Not as much since I moved away from home, but yeah. Even when we were kids, we did everything together.” You explained, not wanting to dive too deep into it. You were close not by choice, but out of necessity. Your family was so fundamentally fucked up that relying on your siblings was the only way to survive. “You said you had a sister, right? You mentioned her the other night when we were talking.” He nodded at your words, happy that you remembered the small detail. Little did he know, you clung to every word that left his mouth. “Just her, or do you have more siblings?”

“Just her, but Sam is close enough.”

“Do you have siblings, Sam?”

“Three of ‘em.” He chuckled.

“So you were never bored growing up, I take it.”

“Never.” He confirmed, giving you a smile from the backseat.

“The store’s just up here on the left,” you told Danny, glancing over at him. You couldn’t help but admire him for a moment, finding that the sun was shining on him in the most perfect way. It illuminated his already glowing cheeks, shadowed by the curls of his hair hanging over his shoulders. The sunglasses sat atop his nose, but with the sun shining on the dark lenses, you could see him looking over at you, too.

Danny pulled into an available parking space that you pointed out, looking around the streets as people walked by. Many had leashed dogs and coffee cups in their hands. The scarves wrapped around their necks made it seem like it was colder than it was, and so did the expensive coats. You always felt slightly out of place when you visited the shops. They were decorated with people screaming with wealth. Leather handbags and clothing that had never experienced a tear or a stain. You knew you were from the poor part of town, your apartment complex falling apart and homeless people littering the sidewalks and alleyways by your home. The corner stores and bars were in just as bad shape as the Fox, and the skyscrapers stopped tickling the skyline about a mile out from the section of the city you called home.

You didn’t mind it, but you did fear that the other two would if you brought them by your place. You were always conscious of what others thought, even if you knew you shouldn’t care. It was much easier said than done, and even if you believed you weren’t doing that bad, you were doing quite poorly in comparison to the majority of the population. The discounted rate on rent from subsidized housing was the only reason you could afford your shitty apartment, and even if you had made it into a home, it was far from flashy. The entire building looked like it would give way under a strong wind, and the inside was only slightly better. You covered most of the holes and peeling paint with art, but it only went so far. The appliances were older than you, and the landlord had aesthetically fixed all of the major issues, but it did not help the structural integrity.

You always felt out of place when you were in a store, no matter fancy or not. You feared your card would decline every time, and you wondered if the few items in your refrigerator and cupboards would last you until next payday if you purchased anything extra. Most people tried not to pass judgement when they realized your economic status, but you could see it in their eyes. It was pity more than anything else, but you would be lying if you said it did not bother you. It killed you to think that Danny would look inwards at your life and feel the same things, but you knew it was a possibility. Unfortunately, as much as you wished it wasn’t, not only was it always a possibility, but a reality.

“You ready?” Danny asked, breaking your focus from your internal brooding.

“Yeah, f’course.” You nodded, pushing a smile on your lips. You got out first, stepping on the sidewalk and turning to face the vehicle as you waited for the other two to join you. Danny stepped out first while Sam made sure Rose was leashed properly. Not long after, the other two were walking happily to accompany you. You looked at the door, smiling as you saw the little sticker with the silhouette of a dog encased in a big green circle. “See, Rosie?” You grinned, looking down at her. At the sound of her name, her tail began to wag as her tongue hung happily out of the side of her mouth. “Told you they’d let you in.”

With that, Danny stepped towards the door, letting his hand fall on the small of your back. The gentle touch was barely noticeable, yet it turned your whole world upside down. Your stomach erupted into butterflies and your heart sped, and you began to question your own sanity. A man had never before made you feel so strongly from such a small action, especially an innocent one. You all stepped inside, taken by the scent of old books and oil paint. The store smelled the same every time, and when you got closer to the register, you could notice essential oils and brewed coffee. It was a comforting feeling when you stepped inside, familiar as if you had lived a thousand lives inside that store alone.

“I’m gonna check out the paintings.” Sam said, his eyes immediately catching on the fancy frames and landscapes encased inside.

“Sam’s a bit of an art whore.” Danny mumbled, turning his head down to look at you. He was standing closer than usual, definitely closer than he would at the dinner, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

“Aren’t we all?” You challenged, wishing he would move closer.

“True,” he nodded. “If you don’t like art, you’ve gotta be a pretty disappointing person.” You let out a laugh, abrupt and loud at the harsh words coming from such a sweet mouth.

“Right.” You nodded, wondering if it was possible to live in the moment forever. It was so simple with his hand on your back and a laugh stuck between your teeth. The world didn’t seem so terrible, and unlike how life normally felt, the small world the two of you were existing within seemed right. There was no fear of the unknown, no guilt or shame, and it didn’t feel forced. You felt like you’d spent 23 years of your life faking it, but with him, the connection felt real and not based on any external factors. It was simple attraction and nothing further than the fact that the two of you got along well. “Come with me,” you whispered, nodding your head in the direction of your favourite room in the entire shop.

The building was quite similar to that of a townhouse, and if you had to guess, you imagined it once was. They allocated the different rooms for each genre of items they sold. There was a record room, a room for books, home decor, and clothes that looked to be made decades ago. The main area had the register and was plastered with paintings and posters all waiting for someone to take them home, and miscellaneous items were displayed on tables within various rooms. Most of the things inside the store were much too expensive for you to even imagine buying, but every now and again you stumbled across a tiny treasure that you could afford to bring home with you. Sometimes, they heavily discounted things when they were getting ready to bring in new items, so you knew to keep your eye out for any advertising signs.

When you passed through the doorway, Danny was still close behind. He took a few moments to look around the room, taking it all in. After a while of shared silence, he let out a long exhale. “Wow.” He stated, unwilling to leave your side despite being eager to look around.

“It’s great, right?” You chuckled, taking in the shelves full of vinyl records. “I knew a music guy like you would have to appreciate it.”

“Music guy…” he trailed off, looking down at you for a moment. “You remembered?”

“Obviously.” You gave him a soft smile. “Drums, guitar, little bit of mandolin if I remember correctly.”

“You do,” he breathed, a bit surprised at how well you remembered his late night rambling.

“F’course I do.” You reiterated your point, cementing the notion in his brain. Instead of dwelling, you guided him towards the shelves holding the baskets of records. Absentmindedly, you began flipping through the vinyls, hoping he would, too. When he finally took your lead and began his own search, you spoke again. “M’sorry again about earlier. I hope you didn’t think I was trying to ditch you.”

“I actually didn’t think that at all.” He chuckled, taking his time as he read over the name of every album. “I mean, maybe for like a minute, but I honestly thought you slept in a bit longer than usual. I didn’t want to call you—was worried I would wake you.” He pulled one sleeve out above the rest, taking an interest for a moment before putting it back. “You seemed really tired when we were talking on the phone last night.” You froze as his words hit you, suddenly remembering the sleep-laced conversation and nervous butterflies that plagued your entire body. You remembered mumbling sentiments while your wrist wrote out the deepest desires of your heart on paper. Then, you remembered falling asleep, but not a goodbye.

“Did I… did I fall asleep on the phone?” You asked, looking over at him. Redness began to creep up on your cheeks as you waited for an answer.

“Yeah,” he nodded, saying it as if the instance was completely normal. “Thought it was cute.” You bit down on the inside of your lip, praying that your face wasn’t giving away your feelings yet knowing it was. Then, the strangeness of the situation hit you and you could not hold back your inquiries.

“Speaking of… what the hell were you doing up at six in the morning?” You asked, turning the tables on him. He glanced over at you without turning his head, suspicious without even speaking. “Actually, you seem to be awake every morning when I get off work.” It was a question that crossed your mind more often than not, yet you never seemed to care to ask.

“Early riser.” He shrugged, hoping to avoid the topic entirely.

“Right…” you trailed off, less focused on the crumbling vinyl sleeves and more focused on the crimson of his cheeks. “See, that would be believable, but considering you were at the diner at one in the morning last night, I don’t think that’s the case.” You pressed further. “No way you’re so cheery for a man who only got four hours of sleep.”

“Okay, you caught me.” He sighed, pretending to be upset about your discovery. Truth was, he knew he would have to fess up sooner or later, and sooner seemed to be his only option. “I usually wake up for a little while to talk to you when you get home, and then I go back to sleep when you do.”

You were stunned at the thought, mostly because you could not comprehend someone wanting to talk to you so badly. The effort and thought that went into setting an alarm every morning at six was far beyond anything anyone else had ever done for you. You wanted to chastise him, but it was a bit too touching for you to make a joke out of it.

“You don’t have to do that, Danny.” You whispered, hoping he would look over at you so you could catch sight of the beautiful brown eyes you’d grown to love so much. “I love talking to you, but not if you’re losing sleep over it.”

“It’s not like I have anything else to do.” He dismissed you. “Besides, I want to. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t.”

For some strange reason, you wished he answered differently. Not because you wanted him to care less, but because you were terrified of him caring at all.

Everything you touched always seemed to turn to dust, and Danny was someone you could not fathom inflicting that fate upon.

“Unless you don’t want me to?” He said, taking your silence as something bad.

“No,” you shook your head. “No… I mean if you want to—if you’re okay with doing it, I definitely don’t mind.”

“Then it’s settled,” he hummed, switching to a different bin to search through. “They have some good stuff here.” He said, pulling out a blue coloured album. You glanced over, recognizing the sight immediately. A smile crossed your face as you watched him.

“Joni Mitchell.” You stated, craning your neck to get a better look.

“You know this album?” He asked, looking back at you over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” you scoffed, stepping towards him. “My grandpa might have liked Dylan, but my grandma loved Joni Mitchell.” You were right behind him now, close enough that you could have placed a hand on him had you been courageous enough.

“You talk about your grandparents a lot.” He noted. “You close with them?” He could hear your breath hitch in your throat as he finished speaking, wondering if maybe he never should have spoken at all. After a moment, you recovered enough to answer.

“I was, yeah.” You cleared your throat, covering up the strain of the words. “I spent most of my time there, actually. My grandma was my best friend, and my grandpa was a close second. He passed away when I was fifteen, and she passed away not long before I moved here. If they were still around, i probably never would have moved at all.” He turned towards you, letting the record slide back to its original place. His hand landed delicately on your hip, but in no way did it appear romantic. Even if your face was stony, he could see the pain plaguing your eyes.

“I’m sorry, Utah. I didn’t mean to bring that up for you.”

“It’s not your fault,” you shook your head. “I love talking about them, and I’m glad you asked.” You assured him. A small smile crossed his lips, stunned by your resilience to pain.

“I’d love to hear more about them, if you ever feel like talking.” His hand on your hip still remained, and the longer he touched you, the more comfortable it became. You never wanted him to stop. Suddenly, it all became a little too real for you. You blinked twice, bringing yourself back to reality as you turned back towards the record bins.

You wanted it, but you did not know how to let it happen. You were so good at making bad decisions that it seemed inherently bad to choose the right thing.

“Yeah, maybe.” You nodded, knowing that you never would. Then again, never is a strong word, and for some strange reason you had the impression that Danny was someone you could trust. Maybe someday, ‘never’ would turn out to be a distant memory.

You stepped towards another shelf, your eye catching a familiar cover. Carefully, you reached out, sliding it from the stack of records to get a better look. “Oh, wow.” You breathed, buzzing with excitement and nearly forgetting about the heavy conversation seconds before. “Look at this.” You said, catching Danny’s attention without breaking your stare from the vinyl.

He stepped up behind you, much closer than you were anticipating. Your back was nearly pressed against his chest and his hand lingered gently on your side. You knew he could see perfectly over your head; the height difference made it seem like he towered over you. He did so as an excuse to be close to you, and no other reason. You were okay with it, because for the few seconds you had stepped away from him, you’d already grown to miss the feeling.

“Bella Donna,” he said, studying the familiar sight. “Stevie Nicks fan?”

“Who isn’t?” You chuckled, turning it over to check the back of it. All of the records were secondhand, but it made them all the more special. Not only did they come with fantastic tracklists, but a story within every fraying edge and fading color. “She’s fantastic. She’s… everything.” Danny was silent for a moment, taking in your statement. When he finally answered, he wasn’t looking at the album, but rather at you.

“Yeah, she is.” The conviction in his tone made you pause your previous train of thought, turning to look at him as he gazed down upon you. It was evident that Stevie Nicks has long fled his train of thought. You didn’t have the courage to call him on it, so instead, you enjoyed the fleeting feeling of finally being important to someone. It was something you hadn’t felt in a long time, and even when you could remember a time when you did, it felt nothing like it did then. You were overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him, unable to comprehend how he seemed so perfect. Every word that left his mouth drew you in, every smile melted your heart, and every touch (albeit few and far between) took your breath away.

You were waiting for something to show, or to peek through the perfect exterior he’d put on for you. You longed for something to appear that could demolish the pedestal you had placed him upon, but it never seemed to come. You knew that with time, you were bound to find something that would taint your view of him, whether it be something major or a plethora of tiny things that steadily creeped up on you. Nobody could be without fault, and the fact that he’d gone so long without showing you any bad traits made you worry that when he did, it would be worse than anything you ever imagined.

Maybe that was your problem; you could not bear the thought of something going well for you, so you self-sabotaged by actively looking for something that would force you to run away.

Most of the time, there was nothing to find, and you were running from a monster created by your very own mind.

When you thought about it for too long, the more it seemed like running was the only thing you had ever known how to do.

You could not wrap your head around the idea of wanting to stay, but as Danny looked down at you with emotion stronger than lust in his eyes, you knew there was nothing else you would rather do. You wondered if running was always your first choice because nobody ever cared enough to give you a reason to stay. You’d known Danny for a short time, so short that he was nearly a stranger. You didn’t know his middle name, or his birthday, or even his favourite color. Despite that, you knew that the feeling of his company was something you’d searched for your entire life, and up until now, you’d only ever found it in one other thing. The difference was, you were confident in saying that the aftermath of Danny’s company was nothing like the aftermath of a good high. He seemed fulfilling, like his aura would surround you long after he left and the feeling in your heart would last even if he was not within reach.

If you weren’t so stubborn, you would have noticed that it had already affected you in such ways. When you stretched your wrist, it ached from all of the writing you had been doing in the early hours of the morning. When you woke that very morning with urges stronger than ever before, your first thought was to go to a meeting rather than submitting to the temptations of substance. You weren’t dreading waking up, nor were you struggling to sleep.

Danny did not fix your life for you, but he did make it easier to cope with. He could not fix problems he did not know existed, nor could he do so even if he knew your troubles. Instead, he allowed you to see a brighter side of life than what you’d grown so comfortable with. He helped you feel excitement for the next day and the possibilities it held. He gave you a person to talk to, making your nights much less lonely. He gave you the feeling of being wanted, and for nothing greater than the feeling of mutual want itself. He didn’t want to see you for ulterior motives, and he did not want anything more out of the interaction. He simply enjoyed your company, and it made you feel more human than you had since you were a child.

You’d been standing for so long in the same position that you feared you’d both turn to stone with your faces hovering inches apart. You did not want to suffer an eternity waiting to kiss, only for the moment to never come, but in that moment it appeared to be your destiny. He was leaned down slightly, and you were straining upwards, but there seemed to be a barrier between you two. The world was begging you to harness the courage to lean forward and close the gap, and as your noses brushed together, even the still-photograph of Stevie was pleading with you not to let cowardice win. Your heart was pounding in your ears, and your stomach was twisted in a knot that seemed to be suffocating you the longer you sat there.

He was so close, the scent of his cologne surrounding you once again, this time much more powerful than the last. You were angry that he wouldn’t make the move first, but appreciated his concern for your comfort. You’d fallen into the position so easily, as if it were natural for the two of you to be together in such a way. You could practically feel his lips on yours despite the distance still existing between you. Perhaps it was so easy to imagine because you wanted it so badly. He reached up, tucking your hair behind your ear before he cupped your cheek in his hand. The touch made your lungs burn, inherently causing you to forget how to breathe.

You had never felt so good. You had never felt so alive. You wondered, if his company felt so rewarding even after such a short period of time, what would months feel like with your heart and soul entangled in his. For once, the unknown was exciting rather than paralyzing. As gravity pulled you closer, you began to believe that you could live in the unknown with Danny until the end of time, and it would be inexplicably better than existing within the known without him by your side. He was so close, and it was hard not to jump. You wanted everything all at once, but savoring him seemed like the only option. His lips were nearly brushing against your own, and despite your earlier efforts at shoving the feelings away, you needed him to close the gap between you. You needed it like water, but you were so parched that you couldn’t speak the words nor go in search of it yourself.

You knew how foolish it was to leave your fate in the hands of another, but for once, not even your own psyche seemed to be able to ruin the moment for you.

part two is soon to be yours 🤍

TAGLIST: @imleavingyoufornewyork @itsafullmoon @bladenotblaze @jessicafg03 @dont-go-home-without-me @peaceloveunitygvf @torniturntomyarrow @lostoverseer @clairesjointshurt @jordie-gvf @lallisonl @smoking-jakelane @gretavangirlie @hollyco

23 notes · View notes

ugakiknight · 2 months ago

Text

Dear Lillian

My best friend, my childhood partner in crime, your ignorance hurts me the most. I don’t know if you remember that conversation we had not too long ago, but I've been carrying its weight ever since. It was a moment when I bared my soul to you, sharing the darkest corners of my life—my struggles with Braedon, my battle with depression. I trusted you with my pain, hoping for understanding, for a comforting word, or even just a reassuring hug. Instead, your response felt like a door slamming shut, leaving me standing alone in the cold. It isn’t that you said anything hurtful; it's that you didn't say anything at all. Your silence echoed louder than any words could have, a void that swallowed my hopes for support whole. In that moment, I felt abandoned, as if my pain were too heavy for you to bear, or perhaps too inconvenient to acknowledge. You pushed aside my cries for help, and in doing so, you pushed me away when I needed you most. It is hard to put into words the hurt I felt, the ache of realizing that the person I thought would stand by me through thick and thin couldn't even hold space for my struggles. It isn’t that I expected you to have all the answers or to solve my problems, but I hoped for listening ear, a compassionate heart, someone who would walk alongside me in the darkness. Instead, I was met with indifference, and that indifference has lingered, casting a shadow over our friendship. My entire life people left me and neglected me and acted as if I didn’t exist. Imagine a wilting flower, parched and unnoticed in a forgotten corner of a vast garden, its petals drooping with the weight of unshed tears. Each day a silent scream echoes within, unheard whispers of longing lost in the cacophony of indifference. Like a shadow in a crowded room, invisible yet present, the soul weathers the storms of neglect, a solitary figure in a world bustling past, untouched by the chill of isolation. Each heartbeat a muted plea for recognition, each breath a silent symphony of unspoken dreams, the essence withers in the shadows of perpetual neglect, a poignant tale of longing left unfulfilled. It has left me questioning the foundation of our bond. I have replayed that conversation in my mind countless times, searching for some sign that maybe I misunderstood, that maybe you were just caught off guard and didn’t know how to respond. I needed you to be my friend in that moment—to hold my hand, to lend an ear, to offer a shoulder to cry on. Instead, I was left feeling more alone than ever.

#sad poetry #creative writing

1 note · View note

neonacidtrip · 5 years ago

Text

#soooo #how is life #never thought wed be living through the plague but hey guess those memes last year were right #hhhh #venting is so weird i never really did get a feel for how to do it so i normally just vague post on fb to my nonexistent friends #but part of me feels like i need to do it here because part of what made me break down before was feeling unsafe here #and nothing like shattering your comfort zone to destroy your vulnerabilities eh #maybe im just tired or maybe its because i just had a long night and another fight with my family #and gosh i dont want to get up early or go to bed now or just anything really #but my chest feels like its full of this cold oppressive emptiness and i need to get it out somewhere #because its lonely always keeping to yourself and feeling unneeded or worse yet only used when youre useful #i feel like the last few months have been a free trial period.... not of happiness.... but of life #its been heavy and had its moments but the depressive void of cold and pain hasnt been there #so feeling it come back now is well...... horrifying and devastating.... to say the least #ive been fighting it and searching for distractions in otome games of all things but its didnt work so ehh might as well vague about it here #nothing to lose and nothing to gain as they say #to be clear im not asking for support or anythinf i just want to clear my thoughts #i want to release the poison inside of me without... i dont know...... whatever happened before #maybe its just the month of march. ive hated march ever since *that* year #i havent even changed my routine for self isolation to be the blame for this i just live like this #i feel stuck in my writing and stuck in my life and so very afraid of the things i refuse to name even in my own head #but im nearing the tag limit so guess i should shut up now haha #venting #negative #vague #sorry folks its sad witch hours #*meme voice* maybe if i sit down and cry ill feel better #im gonna vibe check myself with some game that has an oikawa-looking character and get the positive machine back online soon~ see ya around #might fool around and start another throw away wip draft that ill never finish for yahashira who knows #love you all stay safe wash your hands kiss your pets for me and remember capitalism is the virus not people <333

1 note · View note

anfie-in-the-box · 3 years ago

Text

Dreamtale_Not_Found

Notes

Remember this thing I wrote out of the blue for Aftermare Week by @bluepalleteuniverse? Well, now the story truly begins!

Warnings: depression; a bit of manipulation, guilt-tripping, and an overall mean attitude of a random villager towards both Nightmare and Dream; not a panic attack, exactly, but definitely something similar.

Do tell me if there's anything I missed!

。。。

A negligible shift

Nightmare is done. He needs a change. Something. Anything. Please.

He sits between the roots of the Tree, hugging himself with both hands, chin on the knees. The position gets awkward, uncomfortable, but he doesn't have it in himself to move. He's drained.

He's fearful, uneasy with the deepest pain that never ends, but he's also empty. That's how it feels, at least. It's a void that nothing can fill, not even anxiety and doubts that have Nightmare in their cruel cold claws. The way misery blooms in the emptiness of his being is so alluring though, so mesmerising. Nightmare lets himself drown in the feeling. Nightmare never fights it, like he never fought the villagers, neither verbally nor physically. He's weak, isn't he?

But he isn’t evil. He's not. Can't be.

Right?

These thoughts break him more than any of the villagers ever could. Nightmare doesn’t know who he is anymore, and that makes it so much more frightening. He can't bear it. He's not brave, and he's not strong.

His hands are trembling. His whole body is trembling, Nightmare notices belatedly. His vision is blurred, too; he's crying again. He can't help it, useless even against his own tears.

Nightmare hugs himself tighter, so tight it almost hurts.

Can it be that the villagers are right? Were right all along?

No, no, no. Please, no. He doesn't want to be evil. He doesn't want to be a freak. It's supposed to count, right? He tries, he really does. It must count.

If only Nightmare could find a way to prove himself. Abruptly, he stops hugging himself, both hands limp by his sides. Does he even deserve this poor attempt of comfort? Is he really what the villagers say, a useless, stupid, good for nothing villain?

No!

The tears keep flowing down his cheekbones. He doesn't hiccup, doesn't sob, doesn't tremble anymore.

He's drained. Done.

He really, really needs to change something. Or something to change — and wouldn't that be perfect?

Too good to be true.

His fingers touch the grass beneath him, and the trunk of the Tree is solid as ever, always there to rely on.

Nightmare tilts his head back. Just then, he sees the apples. Black, but also some golden.

Maybe... Just maybe, but...

He'd need to stay alone for that though. Dream consistently declines any help requests from the villagers, seemingly determined to never leave, but he’s just too kind, there’s bound to be someone he can’t say no to. It’s a matter of time. And waiting is fine by Nightmare, now that he has a plan. He’s not wasting his time anymore; instead, he’s being patient, ready to take the first chance he gets. It’s a smart move. Besides, the reward will be worth it.

Tired, Nightmare wipes the tears with his sleeve and makes himself as comfortable as possible, resting beside the Tree’s rough trunk. If he’s lucky, he’ll even drowse and nap a little.

。。。

Ironically, an opportunity comes up later that day.

Nightmare doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have at some point since some noise wakes him up. When his head gets clearer, Nightmare realises it’s two voices, one his brother’s and the other only distantly familiar. A villager, then.

“Please, don’t talk so loudly,” Dream pleads in a small voice. “Nightmare is sleeping.”

How Dream always manages to be so caring and gentle is beyond Nightmare’s understanding. His little brother doesn’t deserve all that. Luckily, Nightmare knows what to do. Currently, he just has to keep listening intently, and it’ll be better if they think he’s still asleep. So no movement or sound. Nightmare’s good at that, he likes to think.

“Of course that useless garbage is sleeping in the middle of the day. But who cares!” the villager says, clearly irritated. They do lower their voice, though, if only to please Dream a little. “We need your help, and you can’t sit this one out!”

Dream sounds tired and somewhat hurt when he replies, “I’m so sorry if my brother upset you, but please, don’t talk about him that way.” Only when the villager mutters a “Yeah, whatever” that Nightmare barely hears from his position on the other side of the Tree, Dream continues. “Can you tell me what’s so important you think I need to leave the Tree?”

“Took you long enough to ask! Some guardian you are!” the villager huffs. “Just so you know, Ava is so sick she’s dying, it’s getting worse, and we’ve tried everything, but nothing helps! There’s no cure but the golden apples. It’s our last hope.” They insist, not giving Dream a moment to hesitate, “Come on! Do you really want us to lose Ava just because you decided to be stubborn?”

Nightmare tenses. He knows exactly how much of a bleeding heart his brother is. No chance he’s turning this one down; not when it’s a matter of life and death. He’s coming to the aid if only this one time. Meanwhile, Nightmare can set his plan in motion — prove himself worthy and good. Everything’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to get better. Finally.

Despite himself, Nightmare smiles. However, he keeps his sockets shut, just in case Dream decides to check on him before going to the village. He will go, without a doubt.

And indeed, Dream gasps, terrified, “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry to hear it! Of course, I’ll help poor Ava!” Then, there are steps and rustling, quiet huffs, and at last, this specific sound of a fruit being picked from the Tree. Nightmare knows that sound, although he’s never done it himself. Nobody asked for a black apple, after all. Nobody wanted it.

Nobody wanted him.

But now, that’s alright. He’ll just show everyone that he can take care of the golden apples, too. Everyone loves them, and they will love him as well. It’s so easy, Nightmare just cannot fathom how he hadn’t come up with it before.

For a few seconds, there’s a pause.

“What are you waiting for? You got the apple, now let’s go!” the villager hurries. Suddenly, the steps sound much closer to Nightmare, and he’s been ready for that, it’s exactly the reason why he never opened his eyes, then why does he jerk?

Luckily, it doesn’t give his act away. Dream sighs and whispers, ever so softly, “I’ll be right back, brother. Sleep tight.” He goes away and says a bit louder, worry evident in his voice, “Let’s go. I really hope we’ll arrive in time...”

If the villager replies, Nightmare doesn’t hear it. He counts to a hundred five times, just to be sure, and gets up only after that.

This is his chance to make the tables turn.

。。。

For a minute, he simply stands there, looking at the Tree, his chest heavy with anticipation. His gaze is fixed on a single golden apple, the nearest to him. The one he’s going to pick and keep from harm all by himself.

While Nightmare stares at the apple, a strange feeling arises in his entire being. It’s light and unobtrusive, but also comprehensive. He’d try to identify it if he had more time, he thinks. As it is, he can’t quite put a finger on it right away and so just lets it be.

It’s getting late, Nightmare notices. The sky darkens steadily, the sun already gone. Pinks and purples linger on the horizon, and for the first time in a while, Nightmare finds himself appreciating the view. It’s been so long since he last enjoyed... anything, really. Everything except for misery and pain has become dull, faded. Being able to drink in the sight now, suddenly thrilled by that fleeting moment between day and night, relishing in the cool breeze...

Nightmare forces himself to look away. He has a plan to execute, and Dream might come back any minute. His brother is nice, but... he doesn’t understand. He wouldn’t even if Nightmare explained. So he has to do this alone.

Not like it’s the first time anyway.

Deepest sadness and utter hopelessness creep back into Nightmare’s mind and heart, but before they take hold of him, little guardian decisively comes closer to the Tree and reaches for a golden apple, the one he’d chosen before.

A moment stretches to what seems a tiny eternity. That’s what it feels like to Nightmare, who freezes, terrified. His hand trembles. The apple is so close, one slight movement and he’ll have it, feel its surface. Is it warm or cool? Nightmare wonders, distantly. Is it soft or hard?

After a long, long pause — one that lasts barely a minute, Nightmare’s mind knows, but his heart doesn’t believe it, — his hand withdraws. He holds it with his other hand against his chest, aching all of a sudden.

What’s wrong with him? Why can’t he do this? He’s a guardian just like Dream, who’s done this plenty of times! It’s so simple! It should be simple.

But his body refuses to cooperate. He’s shuddering, so anxious and afraid it’s suffocating. No wonder his chest hurts.

Tears prick the corners of Nightmare’s sockets.

Come on! Why can’t he move? Just why?

It’s not fair. This might be his only chance. Dream made an exception today, sure, but it’s not every day someone is on the verge of dying. He’s going to come back, and stay beside the Tree like a good guardian he is, and nothing’s going to change.

Filled with despair and fear, Nightmare tries one last time, putting all effort he can into stretching out his hand.

It doesn’t work. His body doesn’t work, not properly, anyway.

What’s even happening?

Just then, Nightmare hears familiar footsteps from behind. The sound makes something in him snap. The pain in his chest, the tension in his body, the feelings in his heart, and the thoughts in his mind — everything dissipates, leaving him tired and empty.

And — oh.

Nightmare sees now. That light feeling was hope. And it’s gone.

“Nightmare!” Dream calls out, not quite close yet but already explaining himself. “Sorry I left when you were sleeping, I hope you weren’t too worried when you woke up all alone... I didn’t mean to take so long or to take any time at all, but it was urgent and you don’t sleep much, so I...”

Utterly exhausted, Nightmare shrugs his brother off with a quiet “It’s fine” and, when Dream abruptly stops talking, goes away to the other side of the Tree.

Leave it up to him to not do a single thing right.

Of course, it’s all in vain. Pointless and futile.

He’ll just sleep.

。。。

Only that night, Nightmare tosses and turns restlessly.

As energy beings, they don’t exactly need sleep, so for Nightmare, it’s more of a way to escape than anything. Being awake means thinking and feeling, while sleep, although it seems to last just for a moment without dreams Nightmare’s only read about, gifts him a blessing of unconsciousness. When he sleeps, it’s almost like time and space cease to exist.

Almost like he ceases to exist.

It’s sweet and alluring. It’s also terrifying.

But none of this matters anymore, because, after that incident, even light sleep just won’t come. It’s called insomnia, Nightmare thinks.

Something did change after all. For the worse, that is.

It really could have been funny, but after a week of long, long days and nights Nightmare’s forced to spend wallowing in his misery, he can’t find it in himself to laugh.

Tired.

He’s so very tired.

。。。

Credits:

Undertale © Toby Fox

Dreamtale © jokublog

Read English version on ao3

Read Russian version on ficbook or fanficus (to be added)

。。。

Notes

This story is canon compliant, which means Nightmare is six years old at the moment of the (absence of the) Apple incident. But because he never got corrupted, he has a chance to grow up, and that he will do. His meeting with Geno will happen years later, when Nightmare is an adult.

It will become obvious as the story progresses, but I felt the need to clarify right now. Maybe I'll remove this part of the notes later.

Also, since we don't know about Dreamtale as much as I'd like, I'm trying to fill in the gaps. All places and characters mentioned are my version of Dreamtale, except for Dream, Nightmare, Nim/the Tree of Feelings, and Neil. That makes Ava just a random name to make the dialogue feel personal.

Feel free to let me know what you think if you'd like!

。。。

Navigation

First (you are here) | Next (to be added)

#anfie writes #dreamtale not found fic #nightmare!sans #passive nightmare sans #dream!sans #dreamtale #undertale #utmv #aftermare #I can't believe I forgot the ship tag (x

54 notes · View notes

criticofallthings · 3 years ago

Text

SO IT’S 5:12AM BECAUSE I’VE BEEN TYPING AWAY A NEW HEADCANNON PIECE OF CRACK IDEA THAT WOULDN’T LET ME SLEEP IF I DIDN’T. edit: bc tumblr mobile app is dumb I had to restart in a web browser and it is now 6:03 AM.

Anyway yeah so that Hawkmokn lore tab where we see Guardian lad and Crow get drunk and be merry (brain’s a little scramble rn, but I’m preeetty sure its the Hawkmoon lore tab)?? Yeah so that and trauma bonding / healing bc if I haven’t said it a thousand times and then sme yet, Imma say it again: POOR TRAUMATIZED GUARDIANS OMFG 😭😭😭

No title no beta bc literally just shat this out the past couple of hours:

cw/tw: ptsd, referenced major character death, death, implied depression/major grief, self depreciation

ps. usually I write nonbinary Guardian, but today we got lady she/her Guardian

pps. this fic is a heckin chonker compared to the previous ones

———————————————————————

Crow’s lips were gentle against the Guardian’s own, a bit dry, but sweet and heady with the lingering wine. The kiss was sudden. It was spontaneous. And it made something warm and so soft and so, so very fragile, hatch within the Guardian’s chest.

Until she opened her eyes and saw those golden eyes, glowly softly in the dark, beneath dusky white and raven black fringe. The pale smokey blue of his skin, luminous where it reflected the warmth of the campfire, and cast in deep shadows where the night’s darkness fought to shade his face. The smell of ash suddenly weighs much heavier in the air.

That warm, soft, and fragile thing in the Guardian’s chest goes cold and sharp and hard. Time slows and speeds up at the same time within her mind, stealing her away to a prison of memories. Blood rushes to her ears, drowning out the warning from Ghost to Crow and Glint.

The Guardian shoved Crow away and stood up, a heavy handcannon with a white spade on the stock materializing into her hand, aimed at Crow’s heart. An errant blip of data-Light to Crow’s left is all that hints at Glint’s swift dematerialization. Crow stays prone on the ground, spawled on his back, one hand raised up, in an attempt to pacify —unwittingly making it harder for the Guardian to snap out of that memory.

The stench of burnt oil, sweat, and soot fills her nose. She only hears the crackles of flames and electric buzzing as her heart pounds, coldly staring into Crow’s bewildered eyes. Those deep golden eyes that had haunted her waking hours and chased her down in nightmares. Those eyes filled with cruelty as they watched her stumble to Cayde’s dying side. She doesn’t realize yet, but the tears she couldn’t shed before, now weep from her eyes. The handcannon trembles slightly in her grip.

Ghost floats over into his Guardian’s field of view. He’s careful to let her know he’s doing so by giving her shoulder a bump as he glides to a rest above the stock of the handcannon. He hovers there, his one eye searching both of hers, glow dimmed slightly. His shell gives a soft whirl before he speaks, leaning in gently towards her.

“That is not him.”

The silence is deafening, every second only increasing the tension. Ghost clicks his shell, uncertain if his words were even heard. He tries again, bobbing in the air.

“Crow is not him.”

The handcannon trembles. But the Warlock doesn’t move, bound by so much tension you’d think she was a Hunter about to leap into the air to throw a Blade Barrage.

“Crow is not him.”

Ghost speaks again, insistent, shell whirling softly as he flits closer to his Guardian. A flicker of recognition crosses her face. The handcannon falters, no longer aimed directly at Crow’s chest. Ghost nudges her hand, bumping the Guardian’s aim to the ground.

She trembles, a full body shudder and the handcannon slips from her grasp. Suddenly she’s aware, all too aware of what happened, and the tension holding her still dissipates. She falls to her knees, energy completely spent.

“I, I-I’m so sorry.” She’s barely able to whisper the words in his direction.

Before her, Crow watches, eyes wide and doe-like, shocked and unsure of what to do. Of what just happened. A sinking feeling blooms in his gut.

He knows he wasn’t a good man before he died. Plenty of guardians had made that clear through their boot heels and fists, gunfire and knives, with their Light in three different energies: arc, void, and solar. As did the Eliksni, who cursed him in their language while their Captains tore him apart with their four arms.

Crow knows it’s an understatement to say he wasn’t a good man in his previous life. Even if he could never learn about who that man was, what he did, and would only by the number of shattered bones and bruised flesh just how much pain that man had caused —Crow decided early on that he could take it. It was penance. It was justly due and therefore he couldn’t call it painful.

But this? This hurt.

It hurt because now he knows that the man he once was had struck an incomprehensible blow to the Guardian he had come to know more of. It hurt because he had been holding on to a small hope, an indescribably small bit of hope, that of all the people he had encountered in his previous life that he had never met the Guardian. Because if they had never met, then maybe, maybe there was someone he didn’t hurt. His first friend. His savoir. His now not-so-secret-crush. And the longer he thought about it, the greater that sinking feeling in his gut grew.

He could no longer deny the shock and subdued anger and almost very well hidden grief he had seen flash across her face when he revealed himself to her and Osiris. He could no longer deny the way they had kept him at distance while easily in sight with a hand hovering over their gun every time they met him for a Hunt or to study a newly sprouted Cryptolith. Why his attempts at humor and jokes were met with cool silence. Why whenever he saw that handcannon, he instinctively recoiled away from it, phantom pain bursting sharply in his heart.

——————

Crow remembers the first time he saw the Guardian wield that gun. How she had effortlessly cleared a pack of thrall in one clip, each headshot exploding in a flurry of solar. How his body reacted: legs collapsing beneath him, his heart burning painfully, lungs gasping for air that never seemed to make it into him, retching pathetically, as tears streamed down his face.

Why was he crying?

Why did he feel an insurmountable wall of sorrow and regret?

She had seen him fall and before the last thrall had burnt away completely, she came running towards him. All he could see in that moment was that gun getting closer and all he felt was an innate desire to get away.

Run, run, run, run, run before you die!

Run you before you burn!

The Guardian came close, hands splayed before her, voice speaking in soothing tones, words lost upon his panicking ears. He had screamed then, in abject terror. It was a garbled and pitched sound as he tried to breathe and vomit and scrabble away all at the same time; his eyes riveted to the handcannon now holstered at her side. Her Warlock mind, keen to details, quickly realized what had triggered his panic and she deftly threw the gun to her Ghost who transmatted it away mid-air.

Crow doesn’t remember what the Guardian said to him, but he remembers how carefully she reached out to him. How she framed his face in her gauntleted hands, so gentle, so lightly, as if he might shatter into glass —just to touch her forehead to his. How the puffs of her outward breaths ghosting by his cheeks helped calm his own.

And he knew then, in that moment that no matter what that gun meant that he was already in too deep. When with a simple touch, the Guardian could soothe away old terrors he himself knew nothing of, Crow knew then. He loves her.

——————

Crow slowly got to his feet, mindful of the Guardian (who was despondently staring into her open hands while Ghost hovered on her shoulder). He looks at that gun, chest starting to burn, heartbeat increasing. Clenching a fist at his side, Crow takes a tentative step and then another until he’s close enough to pick up the handcannon. He gingerly picks it up by the barrel, keeping his hands off the stock on purpose. It’s another small step towards the Guardian before he kneels in front of them.

He pauses there, unsure of what he can do —of what he did that caused the Guardian to react so violently before. He doesn’t think it was the kiss itself...that seemed to be fine until she looked at his face, into his eyes. Ah. Crow rests the handcannon on his thigh and pulls up his hood, jerking it to cover more of his face. Cautiously he grabs the handcannon by the barrel again and with his other hand, slowly reaches for one of the Guardian’s own. She lets him guide her hand to the handcannon and once he’s sure she won’t drop it, Crow gently pushes both towards her again. The Guardian looks away, but cradles the handcannon in her lap.

More hesitantly now, Crow raises his hands to cup her face just as she once did for him. He can’t exactly see with his hood covering so much of his face, but he slowly gets nearer and carefully moves his hands over the side of her face. He leans forward to rest his forehead against hers, the edges of his hood brushing across his nose as he did so, fully obscuring his vision. Crow doesn’t know of anything he could say in this moment —what could he of all people say to her, Guardian of guardians, that could possibly make a difference? So he doesn’t say anything. Instead, Crow softly hums.

It’s an old melody, a lullaby he found while exploring abandoned freighters and passenger ships in the Reef. When Glint discovered his fondness for it, the Little Light would often hum the tune, sitting on his chest, to soothe him on several sleepless nights in Spider’s Lair. Crow hopes that this at least, can help ground the Guardian in the present and away from the painful memories in her past.

They stay like this for a while. The Guardian’s breath evens out and somewhere along the time past, Ghost had dematerialized. It was just the two of them now. Crow stops humming when he feels the Guardian raise a hand to cover one of his over her face. She leans into his palm, then forward against his forehead for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Crow, I’m so sor—“ She starts to apologize and it’s a whisper until she says his name to apologize once more. Crow doesn’t want to hear this, he doesn’t deserve an apology. So Crow cuts off the Guardian by dropping his hands to her sides and pulling her into his chest.

The sudden movement sends the Guardian toppling onto Crow. He curls forward to protect his head, but keeps his arms around her, falling flat on his back. The Guardian doesn’t move to get off of him and Crow takes that as an okay sign. He keeps one arm around her, the other he moves to card his fingers through her hair.

“Of all the people in this world, Guardian, I am the last of anyone to whom you owe an apology.” Crow let’s his words hang in the air, trying to keep his breathing even so his heart would stay less frantic too.

“If anything,” he pauses to admire a particularly silky strand of hair as it slips through his fingers.

“I am the one indebited to you.”

There’s another pause as he sorts his next words before speaking. His hand idly resumes carding through the Guardian's hair again.

“So much so that I wonder if it’s selfish greed that makes me want to stay like this.” Crow sighs, looking straight up into the star speckled sky above them. At this angle he can’t see the Guardian, but he feel her shift slightly in his arms.

“Even though you’ve done so much for a worthless stain of a being as me…Even though I can never atone for the things I’ve done befo—“ He’s interrupted by the Guardian slapping a hand over his mouth.

“You are not him.” She shifts in his arms, sitting up, moving a leg over to straddle him properly.

Crow grabs his fallen hood in a panic, pulling the fabric so swiftly up around his face he hears the fabric creak as its seams struggle to stay sewn. Still, he doesn’t let the material go, trying to keep his face hidden.

“You are not him.” The Guardian repeats herself, lifting her hand from his mouth. Crow can’t tell with what emotion she said it with and he’s too afraid to check just yet. He doesn’t want to cause her harm again, regardless of how circumstantially accidental it was.

“Crow…”

He freezes at the way she calls his name. It was different from how she usually said it. It sounded soft and so warm in her voice. The Guardian prods at one of hands clamped on his hood. He turns his head to the side, trying to escape beneath a look he could practically feel brushing against his hands.

“I...I-I don’t want to hurt you...again.” Crow’s heart beats skittishly within his chest, causing a lump to form in his throat. He’s barely able to say these words out loud without an audible whimper to them. He tries to speak again, but fails.

The Guardian leans forward over him and a shifting moment later he feels her tap her forehead against his. Her hands rest, half-covering his own, but exerting no force to push of pry his fingers away from his hood.

“Crow.” She whispers his name, just as soft and warm as before. Her lips ghost across his clenched hands when she spoke, sending goosebumps down his arms. Crow tenses.

It’s a full body reaction as Crow completely freezes up. Once more he tries to swallow down the lump in his throat with little success. His tongue feels dry and too heavy in his mouth. He can feel his heart rate spike, beating so hard now he’s unsure if the metaphorical ache that had been nesting there is becoming a real one.

“Please, Crow?” The Guardian pleads softly, leaning back and letting her hands slide from his face to over his chest.

“You can’t hide your handsome face forever.” She tries to make it sound light hearted, an easy joke, but the anxious tapping of her finger against his chest reveals her anxiety. Crow takes a deep, shaky inhale, holding it a second before letting it out.

“I-I can’t.” Crow sputters, the breath he had taken just before speaking seemed too little for all the things he wanted to say. Did she really just call his face handsome right now? Oh Traveler, why was that now all he could focus on??

He feels the Guardian shift in his lap again. The movement snaps Crow out of his thoughts and inadvertently he tightens his grip on his hood again. Somewhere behind his head, a seam in the hood gives way and the fabric tears from the stress.

A small chuckle near his ear catches him off guard and Crow isn’t able to stop his head from jerking sideways. This gives the Guardian an advantage and she presses against him, letting her head rest side by side to his. It keeps him unable to turn his face again. Even still, Crow maintains his hold over his ruined hood.

“Well then...” The Guardian pauses. Her voice, low and smooth, is right next to Crow’s ear. Crow flinches slightly, swallowing rapidly again, not expecting her to be so close.

“...how am I supposed to kiss you back?”

“Huuh??”

Crow lets out a confused sound, brain derailing instantly, but also cutting some of the tension out of his body. Certainly, he must have heard the Guardian wrong. But the sound of two ghosts re-materializing interrupts the Guardian (who Crow is now very aware is straddling him) from speaking as she suddenly freezes.

“OH. Oh! Oh...well uh, w-we’ll come back later!! N-n-not too soon, ofcou—” Ghost’s shocked rambling is halted by metallic clinking as Glint’s shell collides with his. In the background, Glint’s hurried whispers of “Just go! Just go!” are just barely audible before the two Little Lights decompile once more.

Above him, the Guardian lets out a heavy breath once the two ghosts are gone. Beneath his hands, Crow breaks into a brief smile at that. The brief interruption had brought a measure of calm to him and he didn’t want to waste the moment.

“I, well...the man I was did something pretty horrible to you, didn’t I?” Crow lets the question hang in the air, but pushes on. If he lets the Guardian speak now, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to say these words again.

“Not just you, to all the guardians...the Vanguard, and even the Eliksni, maybe even to the Scorn.” The Guardian is still above him, listening, but against his chest Crow can feel the heavy, measured beating of her heart.

“A-and I know. I just know. That that handcannon --the one with the white spade— I know that man died to that gun...This body remembers, but I also think it’s much more than that.” Crow stops to take a shuddering breath in. He focuses on the steady feeling of the Guardian’s heart against his chest to center himself.

“When I see that gun...it’s like I can feel that final shot burning again and again. But then there’s so much more to it. So much pain that isn’t from that bullet, so much grief, and fear, and even anger. Anger at myself, knowing I —all I did was —all I caused was…” He trails off, not able to find the words to describe how those moments felt. When he speaks again, it’s all in whispers.

“But when I see you, I know it’s not right, I know it’s selfish, I know you didn’t even like me at the beginning….but when I see you, I know I’ll be okay. Because the Light gave me a second chance to be okay and you did the same.”

Crow stops when he feels the Guardian shifting again. She grabs him by his elbows and slides off of his lap, tugging on him to join her in a sitting position. His knees are now tucked under his chin and he can feel her legs framing his own. It’s silent for a moment, but then he feels her edge closer to plant a chaste kiss to the back of his hands.

“It was an accident, a trick of the light and shadow…I—you are not like him in many, many ways.” For a moment Crow’s heart plummeted to his gut, wrenching at her first few words. Her hands cover his own again and Crow’s heart grows light.

“Please. Look at me.” The Guardian asks Crow while gently pressing against his knuckles. She rubs her thumbs over the side and backs of his hands, small soothing gestures.

Crow clenches his jaw, then decides against it. He releases his hold on his cloak’s hood, fingers stiff and aching from how tightly he had clung to the material. Crow doesn’t let the hood fall from his face and keeps his eyes shut. The Guardian takes his hands into her own, warming and massaging them to ease the stiffness.

Once she deems his hands warm enough, the Guardian lets them go. Crow rests them at his side, not confident yet to open his eyes. He focuses on the way the air moves instead, trying to anticipate her next move so he doesn’t jump.

Slowly, the Guardian moves the hood off of his head. She cups his face with one hand while the other strokes his cheek before tucking several stray strands of hair behind his ear. Throughout it all, Crow is still. However, his heart beats fast within his chest.

“Wha-“ Crow’s questions are cutoff before he could even start to ask —the Guardian smothering them beneath a passionate kiss. She teases his bottom lip with her teeth and in his surprise, Crow opens his eyes.

He’s immediately consumed by the Guardian’s smoldering eyes, half-open to catch his reaction. Crow’s not one to be outdone, and he raises a hand to cradle the back of her head as he presses into the kiss. He teases the Guardian back with a lick of his tongue, half expecting nothing, but pleasantly surprised when she returned in kind. It’s a sweet and warm moment and once again the Guardian feels that soft and fragile thing flutter in her chest.

“See,” the Guardian whispers against Crow’s lips as she caresses his face, maintaining steady eye contact, “all okay. You are you.”

Crow’s brows upturn at her words, feeling almost overwhelmed. Those words offered more solace to his heart than the kisses —kisses which he could hardly believe happened. He’ll have to make sure she was on the same page as him later, because any further and Crow would fall even more inextricably in love with the Guardian.

They lean into each other for some time, letting the comforting silence speak for them. Beside them, the fire pops as it fades off, nearly just embers now.

Crow’s the first to move, stretching behind himself to reach a spare log. He tosses it onto the middle of the fire. It doesn’t catch right away, but the Guardian flicks a bit of solar Light at it and soon the fire cackles warmly again.

Adjusting himself, Crow scoots closer to the Guardian so that they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder.

“Could you tell me—only if you want to—about…” Unsure of how to ask and knowing it’s taboo for guardians to learn details of their past, Crow trails off.

“I-I just want to listen...if that would help.”

The Guardian catches his hand at that and brings it to her lips. She plants a gentle kiss on his palm. Looking into Crow’s eyes, she slowly nods. He leans forward to give the Guardian a chaste peck on her lips. Crow adjusts how he’s sitting to embrace the Guardian from behind and she shifts to lean into him.

“No questions about details related to your past, alright? Only if you don’t understand something like time or place.”

Crow nods several times, suddenly feeling shy and too anxious to speak. He hugs the Guardian tightly before easing up to let her speak.

“Alright,” She sounds a bit tired now, the exact kind of weariness that only comes from raging against a deep grief and losing the battle, but accepting the scars and moving on. One foot in front of the other. “it’s a Golden Age saying that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.”

“Let me tell you the story of how a beloved space cowboy, an enigmatic jailer, and a terribly misguided, but utterly-devoted-to-his-dead-sister brother collided into absolute tragedy.”

81 notes · View notes

camslightstories · 4 years ago

Text

Tolerate It - Part 6

Lena Luthor x reader, Kara Danvers x reader, Alex Danvers x reader. Baby Danvers.

Notes: It’s finally here! I'm sorry for not posting it earlier, i just wanted to make sure to be as good as I could think of. I hope you guys like it, part 7 is coming later today.

Its been so lovely to chat with you guys about the story and its just so unbelievable to see all of you liking this story. I'm gonna be looking out for every comment, feedback and request you guys have. Have a nice day!

Taglist: @multi-images

3 years later

The soft sunlight of the morning came into the room. The smell of grease overwhelmed the studio apartment. The beaming and uncomfortable beeping of the red alarm in the nightstand invaded your ears. Piles of books overloaded the place.

Feeling the bothersome sound of your alarm and the sun coming through the blinds, you groaned as you moved the sheets over your head. Minutes moved by, and you got up, walking to the bathroom, massaging your temple. As a headache took over your head.

“Shit” You exclaimed as you glanced at the black clock in the bathroom. The bathroom had a simple black and white decoration, as did the rest of the apartment. After a few minutes, you ran through the apartment with mom jeans and an oversize black shirt.

The only thing that popped out in the apartment was a photo, a Christmas photo if we begin specific, the one that was years before as your wallpaper. You started a few seconds, before grabbing your cell phone and heading out.

The first year was of mixed emotions. Breakdowns at midnight and midday, consuming heartache, solemnly depression, and many others. Every once in a while it would all consume you, leaving like when you first left, but somehow a few days later of remembering and hoping that they were happy and okay. The feeling would go away. Some days were harder than others but you tried.

After a time your feelings slowly began to work themselves into a bottle, which you would box or shoot at it. You became a numb person, pain would be only physical felt, the sadness and heartache you once had become the base of the now built on walls, you created for yourself.

Boxing became your exit for multiple things, including anger, sadness, and fear. And in the path, you encountered a Russian, who became your family. Anatoly was a strange man, someone who cared in their own way. In the escape of your past, you became part of the now new organization Bratva.

The good, cherry, positive, and type C personality became blank. Your laughter became silence. Your smiles became void looks. Pain became something you only could be the maker of. Changing into a soldier made you not gain anyone except for Anatoly.

Working as the mechanic of the Texan town, became somehow soothing since you could be at peace and alone. And as the mechanic of the town, who was a total ice person, social interaction became minimal and only when they were necessary.

“Принцесса, good afternoon” The man in suit voiced, with a thick accent and a smile walking towards you.

You responded without moving out of the car, repairing the brakes. “I would say it's great to see, but it's not.”

“I got a meeting, are you coming?” Anatoly commented as he moved to sit on the chair at the side of the car, waiting for you.

You rolled your eyes and went to move your head when you felt the hit in your head. Groaning and now with grease over your face and body you slide out of the red car, cleaning your now black stained face and hands.“Okay".

Now in a hoodie and sweats. You walked inside of the car where the suited man waited, glancing at you, giving you the arms before you could speak.“You said it was a meeting, not that I need to punch anyone”

“Well, work is work, isn't it. Принцесса” He said with a smile, making you start the car.

You murmured as you drove off, putting both of the guns in your back.“Let's get over with this”

The warehouse was dark and empty. The only light on was the one beside a pile of boxes, and the cold breeze of the night hit you as you walked calmly to the light.

Two bodyguards at each side of the man, heavy but not strong. It was obvious they were more for intimidation than for actual defense of the old Australian man.

The event scaled quickly, going from simple gun trade to the bet of the fight rings. The man started to bet and trade with nothing less. When Anatoly called the ‘no’ for all of the things, the bodyguards stepped forward. Making you roll your eyes as you spoke.“Now we don't want to go there, do we?”

“Okay, your decision” When both of the men went to raise their guns, you had already begun to fight them, Anatoly not minding any business but answering the now entering call in his phone.

After the old man ran, the two bodyguards shielded him. You killed one with a single shot before you grabbed the other breaking his arm, putting him on the floor as you pressure your body weight on it.

The tall dark said as you were slowly torturing him.“Please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry”

“I gave you your opportunity and you didn't want it, idiot. I'm not letting you go away now.” You concluded getting up, and shooting him in the chest, before walking away to the car where now the Russian man is seated with a worried expression.

Putting the radio on, ignoring the man. You drove to the Hotel where the Russian stayed before dropping him off. He looked at you, before speaking goodbye.“Принцесса, good business.”

You stared at him before locking the doors driving away to the market down the street of the shop. You entered before grabbing a shopping car. Passing through isles, grabbing beer and chips, before walking to the register.

The young woman on the register had made her life goal to annoy the hell out of you each time. Taking a big breath when you turned, the blonde flirted as you took out the cash to pay. “I like beer too, wouldn't you mind sharing with me?”

“No, I got work to do '' You responded with a cold tone, waiting for the receipt.

The blue-eyed blonde didn't seem to get the memo, and continued as she checked you out up and down, biting her lip before commenting.“You always do, beautiful”

You looked at her before, rolling your eyes, as she gave you the paper. Before shaking your head slowly walking away.

The truth was that even after you tried millions of different ways, you couldn't forget about Lena. You tried screaming at a photo, you tried meditating, drinking to numb, crying to exhaustion, and more. But there wasn't a way that you could get the black-haired woman out of your heart.

Getting out of your thoughts when you felt a sharp knife, on your back and a voice whispering in your ear. “Keep walking, pretty girl, keep walking to the ally”

You rolled your eyes and did what the man told you before turning around to be met with a tall guy in his 30s with a shit-eating grin and the smell of alcohol and cigarettes coming out of him.

Your hand went to your back, taking the gun and raising it to his eye level. The now wide-eyed man began to shake, dropping the knife. Making you sigh, as you felt the headache get stronger.“Next time, just go home”

The man closed his fist and kicked the knife out of the way, before sprinting down the alley, only to make you pull the trigger, hitting his leg. The cries of pain became the annoyance of your night, walking up to him putting pressure on the now bleeding leg, you spoke frankly without any doubt. “Nothing happens, because if it did next one goes in your head”

Darkness and coldness was the only thing that could be felt at night, in Texas. The smell of barbeque and fries could be detected at miles away, and the comfort of the quietness made you feel relax and somehow safe.

With a beer in the hand and a book in the other. You were laying on the couch, chips, and pasta on the table as you did. Guns, large and small on the side table with silencers and packs of bullets on the side. Pills of depression, anxiety, and pain were beside the arms. The packet of beers on the ground, missing one.

The door-knocking sound interrupted you from the relaxation moment you had. With a gun behind your sweats, a sports bra on, and the beer in hand you walked to the door, before scolding in a cold tone without looking away from your book “Anatoly, like you already know I punch once a day, now if you don't want one for yourself. I recommend you leave-”

“Y/N?” Interrupted Sam, looking at you with a confused glance.

#supergirl imagine #lena luthor x reader #lena luthor #alex danvers x reader #kara danvers x reader #baby danvers

175 notes · View notes

pars-ley · 4 years ago

Text

VOID

Pairing: Jackson x female reader ft Yugyeom x female reader

Summary: Jackson ending it with you was supposed to be for the best, but instead it spirals you into a pit of unhappiness and bad luck. What happens when meeting someone new can't compare to what you've already had?

Genre: Angst / break up au / established relationship au / marriage au / fluff

Rating: 16+ (SFW)

Warnings: Heavy Angst / swearing / some depression and depressive thoughts

Word count: 6.1k

A/N: This is for the flight log project with @got7writerscollective the prompt was ‘The Journey’. This is also unedited because as last minute Ley strikes again I didn’t have time. Thank you to everyone from the net who read this and wrote their reactions to this in the channel, you guys made my heart super happy.

Meeting Jackson wasn't planned but it happened.

A shy glance from the table across from you and you knew he was interested. All it took was one smile and he was at your table asking to join you.

Your conversation, free and absorbed and never ending.

The late night dates for dinner or to the movies, with walks in the park watching the sunset fade and the inky sky take over as you stroll in the moonlight hand in hand.

The early morning coffee stops that made you smile as soon as your eyes opened and you wiped the sleep from them. Just knowing you would see his handsome face and be on the mercy of his playful banter.

Every moment you were together felt like home.

Falling for him wasn't your intention but it happened.

The silly things he would do to try and cheer you up when you were sad, even if he made himself look like a fool, he didn't care as long as you smiled.

The long, hot nights of steamy love making that always took your breath away, as he explored your body until he knew it better than you. Prying his name from your lips more than once during those pleasure filled nights. Never tiresome or boring.

The quick lunch dates when he made it to the top of his career, bringing him lunch when you knew he had no time to eat but he still made time for you, no matter how busy he was.

Something had clicked fairly early on and you knew he was the one you wanted to spend your life with.

You fell hard and fast, your feelings never fading in four years, your love and lust for him still in abundance and only growing day by day.

Now suddenly, everything you've built together so solidly, so secure, has come crumbling down in front of you from six words...

"I think we should end this."

They echo like a distant voice concaved in a tunnel of stone desperate to escape, like you are. You struggle to find the end, to see the light, to feel the relief of being out of that darkness.

You feel like your drowning, gasping for air, fighting your way to the surface. But which was it? How can you get there when his words are the ocean, smothering you with its liquid jaws.

"Why?" You squeak out, fighting the tears that desperately fight their way out.

His eyebrows knit together as he watches your face. "Because I cannot give you what you want."

You shake your head, lower lip trembling fiercely. "I can wait, it's ok, I'll wait." You hear the desperation in your voice and the sound makes you sick.

"Baby, I don't know when I'll be ready, I'm finally where I want to be in my career and I've got to work hard, long hours to stay here. There's no place for children. It's not fair to ask you to wait."

"Y-your not asking. I'm t-telling you, I'll wait." You whimper, tears spilling from your eyes.

He sighs and wipes your tears away, his own eyes glassy and bloodshot. "And what if I'm never ready? You have always told me how important being a mother is to you. I will not be the one to take that away from you. I can't. I need to let you go. To let you find someone who can give you the things I can't."

Your tears fall freely now, feeling hot on your cheeks but the trails quickly turning cold in the air. Your body shivers uncontrollably, blood feeling like ice in your veins.

"But I-I don't want anyone else." You argue, the sound is petty, hardly audible.

You're losing, you know it. He's slipping through your fingers no matter how much you try to grasp at him.

"I don't either, but I think this will be better for you in the long run. I don't want to lead you on a road of disappointment because of my selfishness." He plants a long, lingering kiss on your forehead. "I'm sorry. I love you."

Before walking away and out of the door.

You crumple, your cheek finding semblance against the cold, hard floor. That's it. He's gone. You're alone.

6 months later…

The letters on the newspaper practically fly out and slap you in the face. The gaping hole he left in your chest when he took your heart with him begins pulsing with fresh agony.

Your emotions rush at you all at once, coming up and escaping from your mouth and into the kitchen sink.

The emptiness of your stomach feeling heavy as a rock, weighing you down, urging you to greet the floor. Your legs wobble under your weight as silent tears fall, leaving clear splashes on the mahogany wood under your feet.

Why is this happening? How?

So many questions, so many thoughts swirl in your mind, deafening you.

You get up from your chair and shuffle weakly back to bed, unable to face anything today.

Your phone rings wildly but you ignore it, the sound growing more distant the more your thoughts and woes consume you. Your friends have probably seen the news, they'll be worrying. Let them.

Climbing under the duvet and hoping to forget the world as your tears fall, staining your pillow, you see the print inked on the back of your eyelids. Everytime you close your eyes, it's there mocking and tormenting you.

"Millionaire CEO Jackson Wang expecting first child with Swedish actress and model, Scarlett Borgsson."

The blanket of sadness you pull over yourself, reminding you how much you still love him. Meaning he's never truly gone and you will never be truly free.

He's moved on. You should too.

But right now all you can envision is his hands on her swollen belly.

A child with his smile and her eyes.

Your chest aches agonizingly beyond belief for one that’s so empty and useless.

For three weeks you stay locked away, ignoring the world, hardly sleeping and then sleeping too much. Hardly eating but then binging late at night, when you eat in an attempt to ignore the screaming inside your head and the pain piercing your ribcage.

You remember real life. Your job, money, bills, friends. And you pull yourself out of the dark void. The thick shadow that clings to you, constantly pulling you back, giving you the easy and very tempting option. But you fight it.

You shower and wash your hair. You attempt to eat normally but food doesn’t interest you, everything has lost its flavour, everything is bland, tasteless and black and white without him.

You sleep during the day and lie awake at night, attempting work on your sculptures, everything you create shows heartbreak, devastation and sadness. But it'll have to do.

A deadline for an exhibition is rapidly approaching and you need to get back to some semblance of normality. To think about something other than him. To be productive and to work.

3 months later…

You stroll around the room, watching as people critique and fathom your artwork, listening to the theories and stories they invent. This is the best part.

No one knows you created these pieces. You can go undiscovered and walk among people, no fake niceties or pleasantries, just honesty.

You feel happiness creeping into you, filling your empty places with a new fulfilment, one you haven't felt in so long.

It's the moment you hear a familiar voice that every part of you freezes.

Any emotion other than dread or heartbreak leaves your body instantly, running away leaving you empty again. Your blood turns to ice in your veins. GET OUT OF HERE! You scream to yourself, willing your feet to move but suddenly, they feel chained to the spot, your body betraying you.

You manage to turn towards your escape, his face entering your view and masking everything else.

Just as handsome, just as perfect as he was when he was yours. Dark hair swept back not a strand out of place, a flawless fitted suit that shows off every muscle and curve of his chiseled body.

You take a step to the doors with the bright red ‘EXIT’ above them but as soon as you move it's almost as if he senses it. His head snapping in your direction following your movement. His eyes lighting up for a moment the way they used to, a small glimmer of hope flares inside you, maybe he still loves you, maybe he realises this has all been a mistake.

Until, a swollen belly makes its way into your eyeline and it all comes crashing down like a thousand shards of glass, as a reminder where you belong. Wounded and bleeding with unreciprocated love.

You finally tear your eyes away from his to look at her. All slim legs and breasts, nipples braless and pointing aggressively at Jackson.

Her small, pregnant stomach is perfect; the envy of every expectant mother. A perfect set of teeth behind full lips smile at all of those around her.

Long blonde hair shimmering, strands reflecting the light as if purposefully trying to blind you.

You’re not good enough to even be looking at her, they tell you.

Something else glinting catches your attention and your eyes immediately travel to her left hand. On her boney ring finger sat a rock the size of a baby's fist, glaring at you, teasing you. Of course. The cherry on top of a fantastic year.

Jackson follows your gaze and when you meet his eyes again he stares at you with wide eyes and a sorrow brow. A hand outreached towards you.

A bitter taste in your mouth at his pity sends your feet pulling you away and out of the room. You’re out of those doors before you know it, cold air whipping at your face but you barely feel it. You’re numb, unable to form the energy to feel and yet feeling everything so deeply, all at once. You want to scream into the night sky. Wondering what it is you’ve done in a past life that was so awful to deserve this.

8 months later…

Meeting yugyeom wasn't planned but it happened.

An aspiring artist featured alongside you in one of your exhibitions. You got along instantly.

The first time in a long time holding a conversation or getting to know someone didn't feel like hard work.

You both ran in the same creators circle, you had a lot in common so naturally you become fast friends.

You weren't sure when it changed for you, when it became something slightly more, but you did know he was the sweetest, purest soul you'd met and you couldn't let him slip through your fingers.

Jackson still ran through your mind constantly of course, using you as his own personal treadmill. His face still haunting your dreams, memories still sneaking up on you when you least expect it.

You'd caught headlines about his baby or wedding but most of the time you avoided everything about him completely. Not wishing to know anything about his life, for fear the pain would return and your chest would open up and become the gaping, black hole it used to be.

Yugyeom deserves your full attention and your whole heart, what was salvaged of it at least.

After he moves in with you it's all late nights cuddling on the sofa, early morning runs through the local park, dinner parties with friends and holidays to new destinations having adventures.

Yugyeom being with you means having your best friend around. He makes you feel safe and comforted, the wall of heat when you get home after a long day out in the cold. The blanket around you when watching your favourite movie. The bubbles that surround you in the bathtub when having a relaxing soak. He is your solace.

"Marry me." He whispers in your ear with his arms wrapped around your stomach.

You freeze, stirring the vegetables in the pan no longer matters once you hear those words.

A million thoughts race through your mind, one jumps out.

I thought it would be Jackson saying those words to me.

You catch it and toss it out the open window allowing it to be carried in the breeze. Jackson is married and has a child, he is gone.

Yugyeom stands behind you, cradling you and offers you his heart on a silver platter with all the trinkets.

No matter what expectation you had for your life before, you're on a new path now. A path that deserves a chance.

You turn in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck and bringing your lips to his, dancing in a mellow kiss.

"Is that a yes?" His mouth smiles against you, hands either side of your face, tucking hair behind your ears.

"Yes."

He beams at you, pulling a ring box out of his pocket and presenting it to you.

A large, gaudy diamond wrapped in a thin, gold band. None of your jewellery is gold, in fact, you detest it but this man has given you his heart, the least you can do is wear the ring he's bought.

He slides it on your finger. Looking down at your hand, you don't recognise it, it looks alien like it belongs to someone else. But you smile and kiss him until you're a tangled mess on the kitchen floor, dinner long burnt and forgotten.

9 months later…

You stand central to everyone, rows of packed seating behind you, eyes focused just on the two of you as you both recite your vows.

Looking around at the decorations you never would have picked, it's far too showy and glitzy for your taste but Yugyeom's mother had insisted, including what type of dress you should wear.

Not wanting to start a new life with atmosphere and anger, you opt with keeping your mouth shut and hoping for a quiet life.

She practically planned it all, even told you who your bridesmaids would be.

You sat there watching everyone around you move at a different speed, as if you were stuck in syrup and unable to catch up.

All you could do is watch, watch as your wedding and life was planned for you.

An alarm bell sounded in your head, screaming at you 'it's not right' but Yugyeom would come into view and give you a smile that would cloud all your fears and ease your worry.

Now the second alarm bell sounds as you stand here, on your wedding day, in a dress you hate, with Jackson's sweet smiling face staring back at you instead.

Somehow having replaced Yugyeom.

You look around frantically but no one else seems bothered by the silent exchange. Panic seizes your heart. This should not be what you're thinking of on this day. You blink furiously, shoving him out of your mind, willing him to disappear.

Yugyeom's face returns and you breathe a sigh of relief.

***

The ceremony is over. Husband and wife.

You greet everyone with their grins and cheers, finding yourself smiling with too much teeth, too much enthusiasm you don't feel inside.

Shouldn't you feel happier than this? You finally have a husband. You're finally somebody's wife. Why don't you have that instant feeling of completion? You should be jumping for joy right now. Instead you feel...normal, like you do on any other day. Maybe it just hasn't set in yet, maybe you just need a few days. So you wait. And wait. And wait.

That feeling doesn't come, not after your honeymoon in which you became restless, quickly realizing there is nothing else to do apart from lay on a beach and have sex.

Your busy mind grows louder, screaming at you, but you ignore it and swallow it down into the pit where it belongs.

Upon returning from your week in the sun, you settle quickly into a mundane routine together. Easy, calm and comforting. Some might say boring, some might even say mind numbingly dull.

But you continue on day to day…

"I want one." He says nodding towards the screen.

"What? A new tv?"

He laughs and points. "No, a baby."

You look up at the advert for nappies, a baby grinning with two little teeth protruding from his gum, big cheeks and a bald head.

Your heart stops, stutters then slams into your ribcage repeatedly. A baby. That's all you've wanted, a little version of yourself. A little bundle of joy to love unconditionally.

But is now the right time?

"Are you sure you don't want to wait a little while?"

"Wait for what? We're married, why waste time?" He clings to your hands enveloped in his.

He makes a good point. What are you waiting for?

You've already wasted enough time being with Jackson, hoping one day he'd be having this exact conversation with you.

Then spending your days after him wallowing in heartbreak and self pity.

You have the opportunity to live out your dreams with someone giving you the chance to, literally holding his hand out ready for you to take and walk the path with.

"Let's do it." You nod.

1 year later…

Your period is a week late.

You have been regular as clockwork since the day you started trying for a baby. Every month, the disappointment is undeniable when you see the crimson shade in your underwear. And every month you have to will yourself not to give up, to keep trying. Another month of ovulating tests, scheduled sex on precise days and times and legs in the air after, an attempt to help mother nature as much as you can.

Needless to say the excitement radiates off you in waves.

You rush home from work, pregnancy test in your bag, hardly able to contain yourself.

Yugyeom at the door, as excited as you, waiting and ready.

"Are you going to do it now?" He asks following your every footstep to the bathroom.

"Yes."

You shut the door and open the package, reading the instructions carefully. You'd drunk about a litre of water on the way home, your legs clenched together to stop you wetting yourself.

You sit down on the toilet and take a deep breath.

Once it's done you open the door for Yugyeom. Both of you sitting on the tiled floor staring up at the bright white stick resting on the sink. Gazing up at it like it holds all your answers, like suddenly life would make sense seeing those two red lines.

You've never realised how long two minutes is, you wring your hands nervously in your lap until he cups them in his, squeezing you reassuringly.

Your alarm goes off on your phone signalling the end of waiting and your heart pounds frantically in your chest.

He leans over and grabs the test.

"You ready?" He asks.

You take a breath and nod. Ready to see those two red lines. Ready to call your doctors and set up your appointments and scans. Ready to make a list of baby names and shop for all the necessities.

One line. Yugyeom shows you the test, with its mocking one line and your smile drops, so does your stomach. How? How could this be negative?

"Wait a minute, it says on here 'for the most accurate result use the first urine sample of the day as there will be a higher concentration of hCG.'" He looks over at you, a hesitant, optimistic smile plays across his mouth.

Yes. That's true. You cling onto that with every fibre of your being and agree to do the other test first thing in the morning.

***

As soon as your eyes open your mind is there, on that test in the bathroom. You climb enthusiastically out of bed, all traces of drowsiness vanish, as you tiptoe quietly to the bathroom.

If you do the test, then while you wait you can wake Yugyeom and you can both look at it together.

You quietly close the door and prepare the test, your fingers fumbling with excitement as you tear open the packet.

As you pull your underwear down, stick poised and ready, red catches your eye in your otherwise white bathroom. You look down, only to be greeted with your monthly agony, here to haunt you once more.

The test falls to the floor. It's useless now anyway. You're not pregnant, never was and likely never will be.

You let your head fall into your hands and let your misery wash over you. Tears stream down your face as dismay feels like it infects your soul with a never ending sadness.

A heavy cloud smothers you in a blanket of sorrow, choking the air from your lungs...you have no idea how long you stay in that bathroom before Yugyeom finds you. But you feel no better when he does and cradles you in his arms.

5 months later...

"When are you going to admit to yourself that it's not me you want?" His voice sounds into the silence and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

The weekly fights he starts are almost timed like clockwork.

"What are you talking about?" You reply, continuing to type your ideas for your new art show.

"I've seen the way you look at Mark when you're working on your art pieces." He spits, slamming his drink down on the table.

This catches your attention. You close your laptop and swing your feet off the couch, heading over to the cupboard to pour yourself a Gin.

If you were going down this path, you needed a drink.

"Mark at the gallery?"

"Yes 'Mark at the gallery.'" He mocks you and you fight the urge to laugh.

"Dear, Mark is gay. I can assure you I look at him the same way I do all my other colleagues." You take a sip of your drink, eyes fixed on him.

He frowns for a moment then waves a hand in the air dismissing your statement. "I don't care about Mark."

"Then what do you care about Yugyeom, aside from starting fights with me?"

He stands abruptly from his seat, the wooden chair legs screeching across your wooden flooring making you wince.

"Do you ever ask yourself why I start these fights?" He shouts, a vein bulging in his neck.

"You start them because you like to get drunk on Friday's, and when you get drunk, you get mean." You say matter-of-factly, recalling all of the horrible things he's said to you lately, things you never thought could have come from his sweet mouth, things you won't forget.

His eyes pop in surprise as he's taken aback by your answer. "N-no," he sighs, returning to his chair, suddenly looking drunker than he seems. "I start fights because it feels like the only time I have your attention lately."

Guilt pangs inside you, pulling at your chest. You take a seat next to him and place your hand gently on top of his, the action feeling alien nowadays.

"I've had a hard time since we stopped trying for a baby." You admit.

"I never wanted to stop in the first place!" He yells, snatching his hand from yours. "That was your choice and you made it alone!"

"Because I can't keep putting myself through it! Can't you understand that?" You snap back, finally being open about your feelings, knowing it will only fall on deaf ears.

"I want children!"

"And you think I don't? I can't handle this pressure you put on me! You know my ovulation schedule more than I do."

"Because you never want to have sex anymore!"

"Because you've taken the fun out of it, it feels like a fucking chore! I'm not here for you to enter at your leisure to deposit your seed. What happened to spontaneity, romance, foreplay for god's sake? You're like a man possessed!" Your hands grip around the glass to stop them from trembling with anger. Finally being able to release the words that have been pent up inside you for the last five months.

Without a word he stands and walks to the front door, snatching his jacket up along the way. "I understand Jackson more now."

Hearing Yugyeom say his name, you freeze.

"Maybe he just knew you couldn't give him what he wanted." He says, looking over at you with watery, hate filled eyes before leaving, slamming the door behind him.

Your glass follows in an instant, smashing against the closed door, clear liquid and glass decorating the entrance to your apartment. Maybe you'll leave it there for him to step on when he comes home even drunker later.

An angry tear escapes as you sit here feeling trapped in your own home, wanting to be anywhere but here, anywhere but have to deal with your husband anymore tonight.

The word 'husband' feels foreign in your mind and on your tongue.

Nothing has felt right for the better part of eight months. You hardly talk to each other and when you do it's mostly fights and angry words spat or slurred in the other's direction. This is no way to live.

What you had given him of your damaged, used heart has slowly come back to you. With every alarm bell you hear ringing, every hurtful word sprayed in your direction, your heart has winced its way back to you. Putting up its own defense, from every barb that's thrown your way is turned into a wire fence, wrapping it in a sharp, pointed cage of protection.

***

Yugyeom doesn't show his face until the next afternoon, coming home looking rather sheepish.

"We need to talk." He says quietly.

The four words everyone dreads to hear.

You know what's coming, you've felt it for a while, it still doesn't ease the pain in your chest as you listen to his every word.

As you both apologise for your part in the break down of your short marriage, admitting maybe it was rushed from the start and accepting the fact that maybe you're not right for each other.

Two hours later and countless tears from the two of you, you both decide to call it a day. Even though you care deeply for each other, it's time to admit defeat. You have tried and given it your best shot.

"The worst part about this…" you say, wiping at your constant stream of tears. "I feel like i'm losing my best friend."

He pulls you into a tight, warm embrace, "hey, you are not losing me, I will always be here for you. We'll still see each other plenty at work events too. You can't get rid of me that easily."

You laugh, feeling thankful that you met him and thankful that you gave him a part of yourself, you had meant every word of your vows when you said them and you too would always be here for him. He'll always have a part of your heart to take with him, not that there's much left for yourself now.

2 months later….

A cup of morning coffee and reading the Sunday paper has become a routine you rather enjoy. You relax with your feet up on the dining table, crossed ankles.

You flick through anything that doesn't interest you, when a name catches your eye, drawing you to the headline.

"Jackson Wang scandal: Millionaire files for divorce from Scarlett Borgsson."

Your eyes pop. Scandal? What scandal?

You grab your phone and type his name into your search engine. You click on the first link and skim through.

"Model Scarlett Borgsson reportedly had an affair early on in the couple's relationship. An insider reveals she is now demanding a DNA test for their two year old little boy."

Your stomach drops as you click the next link.

"Jackson Wang revealed not to be Father of Scarlett Borgsson's son."

You read through story after story saying the same thing. How had you missed this?

You pick up your phone and dial the number to his office without even thinking.

You can't imagine how he feels right now, all you want to do is reach out and let him know he has someone he can talk to.

When the receptionist's voice sounds in your ear, you now doubt if he'd want that person to be you. You lose your nerve and hang up.

Your heart aches for him. Maybe it shouldn't but it does. No matter what he's done or how he's upset you, he does not deserve this.

You feel severe hate for that woman, thinking back to the last time you saw them both in the flesh.

The way she smiled arrogantly at everyone, as if they should all bend to her will with a flick of her hair or a swish of her hips.

Your stomach churns.

For the next few nights, your thoughts are consumed of Jackson as you toss and turn restlessly in bed. Maybe you'll gather the courage to speak to him…maybe not.

7 months later…

"You look good." Yugyeom says as you smooth down your pale blue dress.

"Thank you, so do you." You smile at him, looking at his impeccably tailored suit.

"It's nice to see you."

"Yes, it's been a while." You agree.

You do the usual catch up chit-chat until it dies down, he even introduces you to his date who seems like a very sweet and pleasant lady.

The newly wed couple enter the hall and cheers erupt all around, echoes bouncing off the wall. You cannot stop the grin that stretches across your face as you watch them take the centre of the floor for their first dance.

You'd known Jasmine since you were children, you'd always been inseparable. Your mothers were best friends growing up so naturally you spent a lot of time together.

Seeing her in the intricate, elegant wedding gown smiling up at her groom, elation in her eyes makes your heart smile. The joy you feel for her is stronger than most happiness you've felt for yourself.

Watching the sheer adoration in Jinyoung's eyes warms the deepest, darkest pit of your heart. They are so right for each other it's sickening.

You wonder briefly if you ever looked at Yugyeom like that and can collectively say 'no'. You two are the perfect example of two people almost forcing yourselves to be more than friends. You wouldn't change the time with him and you definitely learnt a lot from your marriage.

Jinyoung twirls her before bringing her back in close. You know him through Jackson, they had met at uni and become fast friends. As far as you were aware they remain that way.

But you haven't seen him here, not that you were hopeful he'd come.

The evening continues on, through dinner, speeches and finally opens up to the party.

The loud music pounds through you, realising you've had a little too much to drink you decide to step outside on the balcony and get some fresh air.

The gentle breeze skates across your skin leaving a delicate trail of goosebumps across your skin.

A jacket drapes your shoulders, an all too familiar scent intoxicating your senses, as your head snaps to the side to see him.

Jackson.

All this time you've thought about him and pictured him, your memory had not done him justice. He looks flawless, his hair swept back perfectly as usual, his smooth skin and unguarded eyes welcoming you. His soft lips stretch into a hesitant smile.

"I was hoping I'd see you."

Your heart flutters wildly in your chest making you feel light headed suddenly, although you don't show it. You take a breath and compose yourself.

"I wasn't sure if you'd come." You reply.

He takes his position next to you, shoulder brushing lightly against yours. How this man can still feel like home to you after all these years is mind boggling.

"I almost didn't. But Jinyoung told me you would be here as a bridesmaid and I couldn't stay away."

Your stomach flips dramatically at his words, large butterflies caged and desperate to escape.

"I'm sorry about your marriage." You say quickly.

He shrugs. "Thank you but I'm not."

You turn, raising a questioning eyebrow to him.

"She was not the person for me, let's put it that way."

"Why did you marry her then? 10 months after telling me that's not what you wanted." You jibe. You couldn't help it, anger threatening in the pit of your stomach at your same old reaction to him.

He sighs, hanging his head and rubbing his eyes. He looks tired, you hadn't noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

"I know, I know. That wasn't my plan. I meant what I said to you that day, every word." He looks behind you. "Can we sit?"

You follow his eyes to the ornate metal table and two chairs and nod.

Taking your seat with his jacket still draped around your shoulders stare out at the sunset, pinks and oranges streaming across the sky. When you look back at Jackson he's already watching you, his eyes soft but pained.

"I'm so sorry. For everything."

He means it, that much you can tell.

"It's in the past now."

"But I don't want it to be." He reaches across for your hands, holding them so tight his knuckles start going white. "There hasn't been a day that's gone by that I haven't thought about you, that I haven't obsessed about that moment I let you go. I'd give anything to change it you know, anything, but I can't. I truly wanted you to find happiness and I thought I was doing the right thing by you, giving you a chance without me holding you back."

You laugh, the sound almost bitter. "And yet, happiness still eludes me."

His eyebrows knit together in sorrow. "When I met my ex wife, it was a casual thing, nothing more. When she told me she was pregnant my world changed overnight. I didn't know what to do. All I could think about was you. It was supposed to be you having my babies one day, not this woman. I wanted to run to you then but how would you ever want me?"

He brings your hands up to his face and rubs his cheek along your fingers.

"My mother pressured me into marrying her, told me how it would look for someone in my position, said I'd lose everything. So I proposed, the words tasted like ash in my mouth but it was done. Then when I saw you at your art show, I almost came over and ended it all right then and there. But when I saw the tears in your eyes I couldn't bear the thought I'd done that to you. I felt so ashamed and I knew it was over."

You want to comfort him, to reach out and cup his cheek but you resist, letting him finish what he's so desperate to say.

"Then I heard you got married and I was happy for you, truly, I thought maybe I had done the right thing by you after all. Then all this shit came out about the affair and everything collapsed around me. All I wanted was to talk to you, like we used to, those late night talks where we would really open up. God, I craved that."

You squeeze his hand and he straightens a little, seeming a bit less dejected.

"When Jinyoung told me you'd gotten a divorce I was shocked and felt responsible somehow. He seems like a good guy by the way, he gave me one hell of a lecture about not hurting you as soon as I walked in."

You laugh and look through the double doors to see Yugyeom watching the two of you intently as he moves side to side on the dance floor with his date.

"He is a good man. Just not the right one for me."

The hope in Jackson's eyes could not be more obvious.

"I have to ask you something." He says leaning forward on the table, the action creaking the old iron underneath the weight on his elbows. "Could we start again? I know I don't deserve your forgiveness but I would like to try and earn it."

Mulling it over in your mind, you feel yourself nodding before your thoughts are even processed. But the resulting smile that lights up his face has you knowing your decision is not a mistake.

He leans in and strokes your face. "It's always been you."

Those words reiterating how you feel are like music to your soul. You feel at ease for the first time in a long time, your broken pieces mending and your heart more hopeful than it has been in a long time.

#got7writerscollective #flightlogproject #GOT7 fanfiction #got7 fanfic #got7 #jackson wang #got7 jackson wang #jackson #got7 jackson #got7 jackson fanfic #got7 jackson fanfiction #jackson angst #got7 angst #got7 yugyeom #yugyeom

85 notes · View notes

curly-bangtan · 5 years ago

Text

A Drop of Heaven IV: Unravelling

[Series Masterlist]

Pairing: ot7 x reader // this chapter: Yoongi x reader, Seokjin x reader

Series summary: Seven vampires have secretly been roaming the darks of your world for millennia. Each brother selects a Feed who becomes supernaturally bound to him, whose blood will be fed on until their inevitable mortal death. They have spent their eternity hunting for the exorbitant rarity that is angel blood - the most heavenly of food for vampires that fuel them with desire, lust and satiety. So what happens when they all find you, the first angel-blooded being they’ve encountered in two centuries?

Genre: vampire au, poly au, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (e2l)

Warnings in this chapter: mentions of blood drinking, depression and suicidal thoughts, slightly gruesome, probably a lot of confusion, plot heavy chapter

Word count: 11.1k

A/N: I’m not sure if it’s just me but I feel like my writing style for this series has kind of shifted, so apologies if you don’t like the change. Thank you for being so patient with this update, I know it took forever, but I hope it was worth the wait! ❤︎

[prelude, i, ii, iii, iv, v, vi, vii, epilogue]

❦

They say that humans are immensely adaptable creatures. In the face of a drastic change, when thrust into a foreign environment, we possess a biological plasticity that allows us to mould into our novelle surroundings, no matter how alien. All for the purpose of survival. Humans are resilient. Humans survive.

You have survived, and you keep on surviving.

A week has passed. Almost in a flash, yet also agonisingly slowly. But in your memory, all the feeding has merged into a blur. Every time a pair of fangs sink into you, you’ve come to switch off your mind completely. You don’t recall where your consciousness has travelled to, you just remember floating in a cold darkness. Stagnant. Void.

On Thursday, broken and hanging on by a thread, you were tossed to Hoseok. The flash of craze in his eyes, despite your gaping wounds that took longer to heal than it should have, even after drinking Yoongi’s blood, managed to instill a droplet of fear in you. But only just.

Because after Yoongi, you no longer know fear.

Still, Hoseok’s insanity is something you’ve never seen before, a wildness exacerbated by the centuries he has lived.

Hoseok looks at you like a brand new toy. When he touches you, you can feel the tremble of excitement beneath his skin. Sometimes, you wonder if he is the worst one of them all, even worse than Yoongi. Because you at least know what the others are thinking. With Hoseok, he speaks to you as if you’ve been acquainted for years, asks how you fare as if he doesn’t know of your suffering. He smiles at you like he means it, and you know he is genuinely happy to see you, but not for the reason you hope for.

“You seem sad…” He had said, staring at you intently as he brushes the sweat-dampened hair out of your face. “Yoongi hurt you?”

Your eyes were transfixed on one spot of the colourful wallpaper of his Feed Room. Your head barely nodded.

You didn’t see his mouth quirk up in amusement, but you could sense it. Hoseok was prodding you, like a zoo animal. Testing your temperament, seeing how broken you are. And you were too tired, too drained to put on a show like the circus monkey he wanted.

“No worries, Y/N, it won’t hurt with me, I promise.” The ghost of his lips traced your shoulder. “We will have so much fun together.” His long fingers prickle your thighs as he pulls you onto his lap. “Just relax and smile for me.”

It had hurt, at least very briefly before you could shut it out. Out of everyone, Hoseok has the least control. He never knows when to stop. Though he wasn’t bleeding you dry just yet, it visibly took him his entire mental strength to cease his drinking. And once he stopped, he began laughing maniacally.

“Sweet Satan, we’re in for a ride.” He kissed around the puncture wound at your collarbone where blood was weeping out of you. You didn’t move or make a sound.

The sire bond hadn’t surfaced at all. But it didn’t need to in order for you to ignore the pain; you’ve grown so accustomed to it by now that you hardly even blink, sire bond or no. You’re afraid of yourself, the lifeless husk you’re becoming.

The scariest aspect of Hoseok is perhaps how quickly he changes his mood after feeding. His ability to act as if he hadn’t just ripped into you, taking your around the house and telling you stories of his adventurous life while you eat, is uncanny. And when you fail to put on a smile for him, because how could you, his eyes would darken, jaw tighten.

“Isn’t that just hilarious? Can you believe I did that back then?” He would ask, and you’re not sure why your entertainment brings him validation.

But for self-preservation, you have learnt to giggle like you’re enjoying yourself and say cheerily, “I know right! That sounds wild!”

And Hoseok would nod madly, giddy from your approval, acting blind to your ingenuity as if he hadn’t forced the response he wanted out of you.

That was your Thursday.

Jimin was a salve, a soothing balm over your hidden wounds.

You no longer care whether his affection towards you is genuine. Beggars can’t be choosers, you’ll take any kindness where it is doled. It’s funny because, amidst suffering, amidst torture, you are able to resist the floods of tears that should be completely justified in your predicament. Yet as soon as someone shows the remotest care towards you, you feel the ocean pushing against your brick walls, threatening to rupture the dam.

It wretched your heart how tender Jimin was with you. You had almost broken down in his arms when he brushed over the skin where Yoongi and Hoseok had torn into. Your wounds are invisible. Vampire blood hides your cuts under fresh new skin, but doesn’t truly heal them. Yet Jimin had managed to sense your scars nonetheless.

He kissed them softly. You knew he wanted to kiss your mouth too, yet he didn’t. Is this what respect feels like?

Thus, you were completely willing when he fed on you. His preferred feeding spot is the inside of your thighs. When his cold breath arrived there, you could have sworn you felt something flutter in your core.

You had wanted him. You’re embarrassed to admit but you want him. Completely on your own accord, as the sire bond had also failed to lock in place with him too. You wondered if it was the damage Yoongi had done…

But then Saturday came, and the moment Taehyung’s fangs touched your flesh, you were swept away.

At first, it felt like drowning, as you struggled against the formidable waves that would not let you resurface. But then you calmed, a serenity took hold of you, and you began floating in the most soothing, clear blue water. The water healed you, almost, as you just drifted there on your back, watching the star-splatted night sky.

Taehyung swam up beside you, those sharp fangs of his never withdrawn, a wolfish yet reassuring smile, telling you it’s okay, everything will be okay, I can make you feel good.

And he did make you feel good.

The one thing you crave the most in this world is affection, you’ve come to learn. With Yoongi, you had wanted to feel something so badly, something other the numb wreckage of your mind you had trapped yourself in. Except he had made you feel worse, worthless, self-loathing just like him. With Hoseok, you were a broken doll, smile when expected to, laughing when required. You weren’t a person. With Jimin, you had been too grateful for his tenderness to function, unable to comprehend how, for once in the longest time, someone is treating you as if they care about you.

With Taehyung, you grew desperate to cling onto this intimacy.

It was like a drug, flooding your mind with peace and euphoria, drinking him in as much as he is drinking you. His kisses felt unhealthily good, and they tricked you into thinking that you’re worthy of someone like Taehyung, someone so beautiful, so intoxicating. He fucked you like he was making love to you, but also not. It came as waves - his sweetness, then his ferality.

You couldn’t get enough of it. You know it’s no good to feel so attached, when he probably sees you as no more than an object, his meal, but you couldn’t help it. You were just so desperate for that feeling of being desired.

He promised to make you feel good, make you forget, and that he did.

You hadn’t known what to expect from Jungkook. As you sat, waiting, on the bed of his Feed Room on Sunday, you pondered Jin’s words of his past.

He was a bright star once, before this curse. And even after, he had fed on humans once. The curiosity gnawed at your brain, pleading to find out what had happened.

Jungkook never showed up.

And so you slept the day and night away, replenishing your health with soup that Seokjin delivered, until you woke up and the cycle continued once more.

You watch the round dewdrop roll off the viridescent green leaf, and splatter onto the cold white tile. The greenhouse has soon become one of your favourite places to pass time. The walls of that manor are suffocating.

The faint sound of a piano whispers into your ears. You shut your eyes, appreciating the beauty of the pieces as it plays flawlessly. You wonder who is pouring out their emotions to the ebony and ivory sisters.

The glass of the greenhouse is fogged by the dawn dew, shielding you from the world outside and those who wish to take from you. Almost smiling, you pace around the kingdom of plants, enjoying the tranquility. Today is Thursday; Hoseok allows you to do as you please after he feeds on you; though it could be of his genuine good intent, you suspect it’s to instill you with a false sense of freedom. Let the dog out of its cage, let her roam their land, so the bitch never seeks to leave the house.

The thought of escaping had crossed your mind a profusion of occurrences the past week. Though, at this very moment, you don’t think there is much purpose in leaving anymore. Here, you at least are provided food and shelter, and maybe one or two friends whose friendship comes with a price. It’s not living in here, you’re merely surviving. But you’re surviving nonetheless. Compared to out there, where you’d be left to fend for yourself, constantly fleeing from seven vampires who you’re eternally bonded to.

You’ve thought about killing yourself too. A coward’s way out, but hey, you’d rather be a coward than a blood bag for the rest of your life. But when you had snuck into the kitchen last night after Yoongi’s heartless torment and raised a knife to your chest, an invisible force had pushed against your arms, freezing them in place and preventing them from taking action.

The sireship is so cruel. It humanises the vampires who captured you, makes you empathise with them, and forbids you from harming yourself.

On deeper thought, you wouldn’t have been able to kill yourself that way anyway. The moment your blood is spilled, in a house full of vampires, at least one of them is bound to smell it right away. They would have healed you before the pain could kick in - their way of sweeping everything under the rug nowadays - and you would’ve been back to the start. Except worse, as they would then know of your intention.

You crouch down beside a rose bush, petting its velvet white petals between your fingers. Flowers are beautiful yet fickles things, but roses have thorns. They lure people in with their beauty, but if anyone tries to pluck them off and keep one for themselves, they get cut. Your fingers travel down its stem to where a thorn is staring enticingly back at you.

You push the pad of your finger into its prick, hard. You don’t feel a thing. Not even as a bead of crimson oozes from the cut. It’s chilling.

Then you sense a presence behind you. When you turn, your eyes meet with those of Namjoon. Watering pot in one hand, he watches you, brows furrowed at your previous act.

“What are you doing?” There’s a hesitancy in his voice, almost as if he doesn’t recognise you.

“Admiring the roses.”

You no longer speak to Namjoon in that defying tone of yours. He was right, there’s no use in challenging him, trying to topple his superiority complex. It only took a week to tame you into a docile creature. You’re ashamed.

“No, I mean why did you purposely touch the thorns like that?” Still frowning, he stomps over, water in his gardening can sloshing about. As he sinks down beside you, his air of intimidation infiltrates your peaceful bubble.

“I… I don’t know, I just wanted to know what it feels like.” You mumble. Setting the pot aside, Namjoon snatches your finger and brings it close to his face for examination.

“Well, it was obviously going to cut you.” He hisses. When his nostrils flare, you know the scent of your blood is vastly tempting him.

“I know.” You pull your finger away, not that you don’t trust his self control, but because his touch was beginning to scald. The bond was trying to take hold of you despite it not being the day where you belong to him, and you hate how drawn you are to him because of it.

Spinning away, you stand and begin pacing towards the door. Your moment of peace has been disturbed, there’s no point in staying here anymore. But then you hear him call after you, “W-Wait.” The vulnerable expression that greets you when you look back takes you by surprise. “Um… You spend an awful lot of time in here nowadays… How come?”

You hadn’t been aware that Namjoon notices your growing presence in the greenhouse, not since you have never come across him here before. “I like it in here, I feel safe. Why, am I not allowed?” Your question lacks the challenging impudence it should have, more like a young girl asking her father for permission. You’re disappointed in yourself at how quickly you’ve deflated, even at the obnoxious Namjoon. Yet, you’ve lost your drive at standing your ground, you’ve got no fight left.

“N-No!” He is quick to dispute, standing up from his crouch as well. “I just meant… Nevermind.” His voice trails weakly to a tense silence. You watch his eyes flicker up at yours rather nervously, trying to decipher his intention. Then he speaks again, “I’ve just seen you here quite a few times… I enjoy being here myself; I find tending to my plants right before the sun rises fully a therapeutic pastime.”

His admission strikes you. You would never imagine a man as demanding, efficient and severe as Namjoon to enjoy a hobby as mundane as gardening. You’re not sure what to make of it to be honest, nor can you understand why he’s speaking to you so… conversationally. Is this his attempt at making peace with you?

“Well, you’ve tended to them very well, they’re beautiful. I enjoy being here too.” You guess you should accept his decency. He had been rather distant on Monday, leaving you to your own devices, only feeding on you once and hardly speaking a word. His contrasting moods are confusing.

Namjoon’s lips purse, brows raise ever so slightly, as if surprised by your kind response. His eyes flicker to your finger again. The tiny cut has yet to dry, fresh blood still leaking from the open wound despite its miniscule size. You should probably have some food; your body is frail, especially after Yoongi yesterday.

“I’m going to leave you to it, sir.” You nod courteously, but freeze as the name you address him as slips out of you. No, it was drawn out of you from the bond. It doesn’t take a second for heat to rush to your face in embarrassment. Namjoon noticeably stiffens. Gulps.

The coil within you is starting to wind. It tightens around your chest like thorned vines, piercing into your heart the more you try to wriggle free.

You know he feels it too.

But before he can take a step towards you, as you sense he intends to, you’re turning around and speeding out of the greenhouse. And it’s not until you’re within the confines of Hoseok’s Feed Room that you feel the liberty to breathe again, Namjoon’s sire bond reluctantly waning into the background.

You could tell something was off about Hoseok straight away when he entered the room. There were multiple telltale signs.

One: He was stumbling over his feet, tripping over to the bed in a drunken manner as he navigated the room. His words were slurred, hardly coherent sentences at all. His wine red hair in disarray.

Two: He smelled noticeably different. Though you’ve not spent more than two days as his feed, Hoseok has a clear distinct smell, most notable from the other vampires. He smells clean, sweet even; it’s the one thing you can’t help but indulge in about him. Yet even to your human nose, he had a weird, doggish musk to him as he approached you.

Three: From his rogue smile dribbled drying blood. And no, it wasn’t a mere droplet of crimson, he was drenched in blood, chin to toes. Despite the gore you’ve witnessed, it was still a chilling sight.

And four: Though his eyes were half shut, you briefly saw the way they flashed beneath his lids. Only half conscious, the other half gone and crazed, though full of purpose - purpose to get to you.

You catch him in open arms as he falls onto you, the mattress dipping at the sudden crash of his weight. “Hoseok, what happened?” Your voice harbours more concern than you would like to show, and you don’t know why you care at all.

His face presses against the crook of your neck, his lips stretching into a smile at your presence, right over your pulse. His hands wander to your waist, pulling you into his embrace. You recoil from his forwardness, but with nowhere to back away to except further into the bed. You try to ignore how pleasant the tip of his nose feels as it rubs against your skin.

“Missed you…” Hoseok mumbles, still grinning widely, mouth travelling to your jaw where his warm breath tickles. His breath should be cold; the heat tells you that the feeding of whoever’s blood this was recent.

You can’t help but feel flustered at his sudden touchiness. Of all vampires here, save for Jungkook, you would say you’ve been the least… intimate with Hoseok. It has never been your dynamic. It was always him flinging you around like a puppy shredding its new stuffed toy then chewing on the spilled cotton. So this is… new.

“Why are you acting like this?” You ask again, trying to pry his arms off your torso but to no avail.

“Sweetness…” He mutters unintelligibly, and you shudder as his teeth grazes your ear, an involuntarily sensual tingle following.

“H-Hoseok…” Your breath hitches, his proximity growing more and more unignorable. So you grab his face, cheeks cupped in one hand, and shake him for good measure. His closing lids flash open like gradually awakening from slumber, yet still not recovered from his daze. “What happened to you?”

“Werewolves.”

An icy cold settles in your bones. Werewolves. There are such things as werewolves as well. Vampires, witches and werewolves. What other creatures of horror are plaguing your world that you don’t know of? That explains that muttish stench he carries. The blood he’s soaked in… Is it his or theirs? You think you feel slightly sick.

Brushing his hair out of his face, you point his drooping head at you again. “Tell me what happened.”

“Those stupid mutts… picking a fight… Taehyung, Jungkook and I had to put them in their place.” Hoseok begins peeling himself off you, and finally your body is no longer crushed under his. Your hands around him fall to your side idly as you watch him stumble off the bed and head towards the door, though he doesn’t make it two steps before tumbling onto his knees. You hurry after him to catch his upper body before he falls completely onto the ground.

His shoulders in your grip, you try to examine him for any wounds, and though there are some tears in his clothes, the skin underneath has been healed clean. So why? “Hoseok, look at me.” Your voice is urgent, authoritative, it almost has the life it once had to it. His eyes lock onto yours, this time permanently without closing. They’re blank, the amber green murky with an unreadable shroud. “What’s wrong with you? You need to tell me.”

So with obvious effort, he grunts out, “Werewolf blood makes us… It’s like… wine to us. Too much and our mind is” hiccup “inebriated.”

Oh. You let out a sigh of relief.

Hoseok is drunk on werewolf blood.

Though, you’re not sure why you’re relieved that he’s alright. Surely you should be wishing for the opposite.

With tremendous endeavour, you drag him up onto his feet and walk him to the ensuite bathroom, huffing as you sit him down on the edge of the lavish bathtub that every Feed bathroom contains but you have yet to use. Hoseok is uncooperative, trying for detours on the bed, attempting to hop onto the sink. With the knowledge of his intoxicated state now, he appears like a little child, an innocently fascinated smile constantly plastered on his face, too easily impressed by even his own reflection in the mirror. For you, it’s a contrasting sight. Though he has always possessed a child-like temperament in his playfulness and love to goof at silly things, his usual underlying insanity is nowhere to be found right now.

It makes his company more soothing knowing that his mind absolves of any ulterior motive.

You don’t know why you’ve taken it upon you to do so, but you rummage around to find a clean towel. Glancing at the mirror as you twist the faucet to dampen the towel, you try not to notice how you scarcely recognise yourself anymore.

Hoseok groans at the wet coldness you press onto his chin, the dried crusted blood once again watering into a river of rusty brown-red. His fingers fly up to catch yours, trying to pry the scrubbing towel off his face. “Mmmm.” He whines in protest, shut eyes frowning. You ignore his brewing tantrum, towel travelling down to absorb the red stains of his neck, though you clean with more gentleness now.

He isn’t so bad like this, you guess.

Still, the more you try to understand him, the more you lose yourself in the maze that is his psyche. The more you think you can predict him, the more he comes out with an unexpected complexity that adds another layer to his mask. Who is Hoseok? The entertainer, the mood maker, always seeking to please his guests? The little boy who wishes not to be tamed? The spoilt brat whose greed grows with the more he has? Who is he really?

You straighten and regard his state. Head drooping sluggishly, fingers fidgeting at anything in his reach, you realise a cold towel isn’t going to help him. You’re all too familiar from the nights your uncle stumbled back, the reek of alcohol finding you before he enters the room, to know that this state of inebriation needs to be conquered before he falls asleep, lest you wish to face an ill-tempered brute the next day.

“Hoseok.” You tap his jaw lightly, rousing him, and he looks at you with surprising focus that makes you cower a little. “You should shower.”

He blinks sleepily, and you think he doesn’t comprehend at first, but then he takes your hand in his and stands up. As he does, his face zooms dangerously close to yours, pointy tip of his nose a hair’s breadth away from brushing your lips. Your heart jumps. There’s a lag in your brain before you know to step back.

“Come with me, then.”

It’s evident that his whole demeanour has shifted. Gone is the childish giddiness he had. In its place: a solemn gravity, seemingly out of nowhere, his lips pressed into a taut line, jaw tense, a pinning glare possessing you unwaveringly. Even his voice has dropped deeper, forgoing its tangy cheer.

It takes more than a second for what he means to sink in. He wants you to join his shower.

“W-What? No!” You yank your hand from his, heat blooming across your cheeks.

At this point, you’re no prude, intimacy has been breached with several if not most of these vampires you share a roof with. Yet your dynamic and circumstance with each of them differs greatly. With Yoongi, it is a release of mutual resentment; Taehyung, it’s a seductive dance to pleasure you both; Namjoon, a reluctant magnetisation that you wish not to dwell on; Seokjin, a confusion of emotions and desperation; Jimin, a soft gentle healing. There has always been a sexual implication hinting at the back of your mind with these five, and with some, you’ve acted upon it. But never with Hoseok.

Because Hoseok has been too much of an enigma. Never once showing that type of attraction towards you, only a fascination that sits on the borderline of lunacy. Always just - ogling at you like you’re a show pony, marveling at the taste of your blood as if it’s a drug. And the confusion he inoculates when he acts as your friend, like he genuinely enjoys your company. Too baffling.

But right now, this very evening, something stirs in your stomach. A new sensation as another layer of him is peeled back to reveal yet another persona. A man desiring affection?

He looks at you for a while, as if he wants to say something. The absence of the smile that usually stalks his lips every moment of the day is throwing you off. You think he’s going to push further but he doesn’t, he simply tilts his head and says, “Suit yourself, sweetheart.”

Legs still rather wobbly, he makes his way, hand on the gold marble of the sink to balance his wavering weight, towards the shower. Standing there, stupefied at his sudden change, you don’t realise that he does not intend on waiting for you to leave before striping until he tears his blood-drenched shirt off crudely. Buttons fly towards the wall, scattering about in little clinks.

Faint scar-like marks dart across his back like a violent painting.

You’re transfixed. The light lines are not ridged, merely running smoothly on the surface of his skin. Some look like claw marks, some bite marks seemingly from an animal. Those werewolves he mentioned? Some look fresh, while others older.

But that doesn’t make sense. Why does he, a vampire with supernatural healing, have scars?

“So do you want to join or not?” He slurs, face half turned towards you, yet eyes trained low. His profile is striking.

“I- No. Um. I’m going to bed. Bye.” Your eyes immediately fall to the ground. Still incredibly flustered, you spin around and head back to your room, mentally trying to shake off the image of his scar-inflicted back.

At the door, you pause, back still facing him, and ask, “Will you be fine alone?”

You hear the whirl of his belt being pulled out, blood continuing to roar in your ears.

“I’ve been alone all these centuries - I think I’ll be fine.”

That’s not what you meant, but when you hear his zipper, you hurry to shut the door behind you, pondering the sourness of his reply.

His shower is quick, the water sounds stop not too long after you climb into bed. Though, Hoseok stays in the bathroom for a period of time before coming out. You debated going in to check in on him incase he has fallen unconscious or something of that sort, whatever werewolf blood does to vampires. But you weren’t sure if he would be dressed, so you stay tucked under the covers in a small huddle, quietly trying to dissect his character in your head.

The door eventually opens, though it doesn’t swing open as Hoseok normally does to announce his entry. He’s still in that odd sombre mood.

Lying on your side, curled up into a small lump, your back is facing him. Eyes shut yet wide awake, you hear a drop of water hit the floor every few seconds. You can’t resist the urge to look up, to see whether he has washed away the blood and intoxication.

But at the sight of his naked body, manhood only covered by the towel hanging loosely around his waist, you nearly roll off. Though his skin is mostly dry, there is still a lustre glossed over his unearthly sculpted body. The room is dark, his silhouette cast by the bathroom lights behind him. Despite the poor vision, you are mesmerised by the ridges of his abdomen, chiseled so perfectly that you wonder how they feel like beneath your touch. A defined V is carved on his pelvis, pointing down to a devilish place you’re glad the darkness doesn’t allow you to see.

You catch sight of his hand that is bunching up the towel loosen, just in time for you to swing back down into your foetal position away from him before you hear the cloth drop carelessly.

Is he purposely trying to tizzy you?

Your eyes close firmly as he paces to the dresser, and they stay that firmly closed while you hear him dress, hear the bathroom lights click off.

You jolt when you feel the pressure on the other side of that mattress, your knees curling up tighter, inconspicuously inching further away. To your relief, as he climbs into bed, he keeps his distance, doesn’t reach for you like you were scared he would.

The silence hums loudly, rhythmed by his shallow breaths. Is he finally sober?

No sound. Not a word. For Hoseok, that’s worrying.

Damn yourself, why do you care? “Are you feeling better?” You almost bite your tongue as you ask, cursing your inability to keep to yourself. At least you don’t turn to face him.

Silence, still. Steady breaths.

You begin to wonder if he fell asleep the second his back sunk onto the mattress. It wouldn’t be a surprise.

But then you hear the lightest sigh. “Feeling less drunk, but head still pounding. Dizzy.”

You’re unaccustomed to the deepness of his voice, wondering where its usual loud annoying cheeriness has strayed off to. You don’t want to say you miss it, you certainly don’t. You just… grew so used to it.

This version of Hoseok is too human. It’s uncanny.

Despite laying there in silence, it doesn’t feel silent at all. The tension is blaringly loud in the air, almost a physical pressure pushing up against you, goading you to do something. Turn around and face him. Let him feed on you to replenish. But no, he’s fed a lot today already. Your collar still feels sore. Find another vampire and ask them to cure him. But at this time of day, where the sun is already almost completely uncovered, they should all be asleep. Then at least talk to him, something, before he resumes back to his normal self that you have to cower from.

“What are those scars on your back?”

Your voice startles him. Though you can’t see well, you notice him jolt. Was that too much to ask? Too personal? And honestly, do you actually want to know the truth to your question or would you sleep much sounder without it?

He doesn’t answer.

Instant regret. You count your breaths, shut your eyes and try not to be hyper-aware of short the distance of an arm’s length actually is between your back and his side.

You shouldn’t have asked that. Of course it would be a sensitive topic. What else could explain the literal scars on his back that have failed to heal even with his supernatural abilities?

There is a line drawn between you and Hoseok. There are boundaries, though some particularly vague and hazy, between you and each vampire, but the line is especially distinct with him. You have to remember, you can’t act the same as you do with Seokjin or Taehyung with someone like Hoseok or Yoongi. He’s not your friend. None of them are your friends, really. Hoseok, one of the least of all.

Who knows what psychological trigger you’ve switched on by asking such question? Curiosity did kill the cat afterall.

“They…” It’s your turn to jounce, his response unexpected. “I don’t know, I guess there’s a limit to what my abilities can heal, and to be honest, I like the look of them anyway. I think there’s a word for it, but my mind isn’t working properly… M-something. Ma- You know, the opposite of sadism.”

You know.

“Masochism…?”

“Yeah, that. Masochism.”

The room goes quiet after he mutters the last syllable of a word you would never anticipate to be his answer. Hoseok is a masochist? He enjoys pain inflicted onto him? If it were even possible for your blood to go colder, you feel a chill spear through your veins.

Fuck, these vampires are dark. And you thought you were morbid…

“Why…?” So Hoseok is at the opposite of the spectrum from Yoongi. You vaguely understand Yoongi, how he lashes out due to self hatred. It’s a cycle of pushing people away due to fear of intimacy from his loneliness, and as a result feeling more alone. He likes to inflict pain because that way, he can convince himself that he’s an unlovable monster, and pretend that he is choosing to be alone. But with Hoseok, you cannot fathom how or why he enjoys pain. How could anyone? “If you don’t mind me asking…”

You’re tempted to turn, eye contact is human nature, but you don’t think you can stomach it. There is an inexplicable weight, an intensity bestowed. You feel as though you’re sinking in quicksand, a slow agonising submergence, swallowed up by the burden you’re seeking to know about but can’t resist.

“It’s so boring, living like this.” He mumbles. You hear him rustle around to get comfortable, or maybe to inch closer to you. “We’ve been alive for more than two thousand years. Life begins to get rather insipid, nothing really... stimulates me anymore. Yeah, fight with demons, get wasted on werewolf blood, sure, pretty fun.” Hiccup. “But after so many years, you start to not really feel anything anymore.”

Truthfully, you think you get it. You get his inertia, the lack of anything exciting him about life.

“Like yeah, I know how you see me. I’m this over-the-top, dramatic class clown caricature, so you probably won’t believe me when I tell you about how bored I actually am. But I am.” hiccup

“So pain is your remedy?”

“I guess, yeah, pain is my remedy. You know that feeling when your skin gets cut, that rush of cold that infiltrates you?” Unfortunately, all too well. “It’s pretty exciting. There’s no feeling like it.” hiccup “It’s just so refreshing, to be able to feel somewhat mortal. Get torn apart a little, because I know I’ll stitch back up together anyway. It’s the only thing that brings me thrill nowadays. Before we found you.”

“What if you don’t?” Vampires are immortal, but not invincible afterall.

“Then I guess I don’t.”

Hoseok says it with a finality, as if death is no big ordeal to him. If it happens, it happens. He’s not self-destructive perse, you know he isn’t actively looking to die. He just wants to feel something. Like you.

Yeah, you think you get it…

Despite the difference in the sufferings you’ve been exposed to, monotony breeds insensitivity to most stimulants of life. Food tastes blander, colours duller, sense of self starts to ebb away. Hoseok had been a cheerful man before becoming a vampire, one requiring extravaganza in his life, flamboyance, because his life was a show, the embodiment of entertainment. How long did that take to crumble? For him to grow out of parties and parades because he realised that they could no longer fill that void?

The fall from a life of exhilaration to one where you were only passing time is tragic. He puts on a show to convince himself that he’s having fun, imposes it on everyone around him.

You’re beginning to dissect the animus of Hoseok, what truly underlies his insanity.

It’s disconcerting, how much he’s opening up when he isn’t sober. He has kept this in for a while, you can guess.

“Hey…” He slurs sleepily, though you hear his purpose, a sort of determination to stay away and say one last thing. And finally, you turn.

In this darkness, you hardly see a thing more than the shadows cast around him. You can’t see his facial expression, and you think it’s perhaps a good thing; you don’t wish for it to confuse you more. What throws you off is the heat emitted from his body. Vampires are cold creatures, warmth absent in their touch. You try not to think about the werewolf blood still coursing through his veins to keep him warm, how it makes it feel as though a human lays beside you rather than the monster in actuality.

“Yes?”

Your reply falls flat. As your vision adjusts to the pitch black, you are hyper aware of the stillness of the night that encases you.

“I…”

He.

It’s silent. So silent you can hear the thrumming of your chest.

“Yes?” You repeat, egging him on. His hesitancy has a depressive tone to it, it is somehow so genuine, rather than for dramatic effect like one would expect from him.

“I’m sorry.”

Those two words shoot into you like bullets of chaos and disarray, their shells ricocheting. Your ear rings as if deafened by an explosion. Maybe this is a dream. You can’t tell these days anymore.

“I’m sorry for everything.” He sounds throaty, still dragging his words as he tries to grapple at sobriety but fails. He also sounds like he means what he’s saying, like he feels terribly guilty.

You don’t understand.

“What do you mean… Why…?” Your eyes drop to the distance between you, fixing on the shadow of a crease you can barely make out.

“I’m just-” Hoseok tosses onto his side to look at you. You stare at that shadow harder. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“But wh-”

“Every time I look at you, I just want to, I don’t know, shake you. No, not you. Shake myself, or my brothers. I want to shatter some glass, sprint at a wall, I don’t know. I don’t fucking know what I’m saying. But yeah, every time I look at you, I just feel so fucking bad, man. I’ve- I guess I’ve been pretty good at keeping the guilt at bay all these centuries - we kind of have to, or we wouldn’t have survived two thousand years. But like, when I look at you, I can’t forget how much you’ve suffered. That kind of damage scars you forever. I can fucking see that you’re a shell of a person.”

Your throat constricts. You hate this feeling. Not that people have ever pitied you before, seeing as there was no witness of your uncle’s abuse, there was no one to feel sorry for you. But right now, you get it. That wash of humiliation from the small satisfaction you gain from someone pitying you, someone acknowledging how bad you have it, all the shit you’ve been through. It makes you sick.

Yes, you’re damaged. Good that he knows. Good that it tears apart his conscience. You’re glad that it makes him feel horrible.

Then why? You want to ask him. But you know he’s not finished with his piece.

“I see that you try to hide how fucking empty you are when you’re with me, try to act like you’re enjoying my company and actually find my jokes funny. I guess that’s why I keep trying to make you laugh. I know I’m annoying as fuck. Hell, I would hate me if I were anyone but me. But, I don’t know, I just want to stir some reaction from you, make you feel less hollow. I know it fucking sucks for you here, and I want to make it suck less, you know?”

A shiver fires down your spine. You have never thought about it like that.

Drunk words, sober thoughts. Or so the saying goes.

All this time, you thought that Hoseok views you as some sort of dancing monkey, forcing you to perform tricks for him, smiling, laughing, stroking his ego.

But the truth is, he wants to spark some life back into you. His jokes, his stories, his antics. They have been for you, not him.

Your throat trembles.

“All that shit with your uncle, God, it was brutal, even for me. It was the fact that you couldn’t escape from it. You were living through hell for how many years? All because of us. And now you’re stuck here with us, have to continue to endure. It just doesn’t stop for you, does it? And I know it makes no sense coming from me. Especially from me, I guess. You know, I really wish I could control myself. But that sensation that overtakes our minds, I wish I could describe it to you, it’s fucking insane. Your blood tastes like a drug to me, I don’t know, heroin or something. Except it doesn’t kill me, it kills you.” His voice is drifting, quieter, duller, slower. Like he’s mumbling without knowing he’s speaking out loud. The words just keep tumbling out.

Glancing up, you see that his eyes are shut, chest rising heavily, on the brink of sleep. You want him to fall asleep. You don’t want to keep listening. Because it sickens you knowing that buried under all those masks is an emotionally empathetic person, hardly the maniac you thought him to be. Because it would be so much easier if he was that, so much easier to hate your tormentor and see him as a monster.

But actually, he isn’t. He senses your pain, holds remorse for his actions.

You hate it. You hate it.

Just let me believe that you’re pyschopathic.

“Anyway... what I was saying is that…” His head droops to the other side. Sleep will siege him soon, you’re glad to know. “I know I’m a hypocrite. Namjoon would give me hell if he heard me sympathising with the Feed, but I truly mean no malicious intent towards you... This is just the way things are for us…” His breathing slows, deepens. Words only just more than a slur of syllables. You lay there, clutching your fists, waiting for it to be over, but only for you to lie awake and ponder this revelation for hours. “I wish… I wish it didn’t have to be you... after all that you went through. But I guess you only went through that because of what you are… Hurting you was the only way to protect you...”

You don’t even hear it at first, silently contemplating his words. But then the last bit sinks in.

“Wait, wait, what?” You break your silence. Hoseok has stopped making sense, you shouldn’t expect more from a drunken vampire, but he had been making sense before. “What do you mean?”

“What do I mean what?” He mumbles and rolls away, but you grab his sleeve and prevent him from turning and entering a realm of dreams.

“What you said in the end. About how… I don’t know... I went through that shit because of what I am. What do you mean? And hurting me was the only way to protect me.” Your blood has gone icy. You don’t want to be left with nothing but those words and your endless imagination of what they could possibly mean for the next few hours.

“You know, the spell…”

Spell.

“What spell?” But his eyes are completely closed, hardly a stir at your question to indicate he heard you at all. His sleeve bunches up under your fist, you gently rattle his face. “Hoseok, what spell? What are you talking about?”

He tries to shake you off, frowning in annoyance at your disturbance. “You know. That spell, the one to keep you safe.”

“Keep talking about the spell, Hoseok. Please. Safe from what?” You continue to shake him, stomach tying into knots. What spell?

“Safe from us, whatever Creatures of the Night your blood attracts.” Vexed, he grabs your wrist, eyes half opening, and shoves them away. “The spell the angels put, remember?”

“I don’t remember. Tell me about the spell, what was it?” You hear the urgency, the degrading desperation in your voice, but you need to know. You need to. What fucking spell to keep you safe?

“It’s complicated. Some twisted magic? You know that car accident with your parents? That was some Hell’s magic, when the demons started to find you... Angel blood isn’t just valued by vampires. They would’ve taken you if the angels hadn’t been watching closely and intervened. Then they, the angels I mean, decided to shield your aura, you know, your angel aura. The thing that lets the supernatural know that you have angel blood? It’s a distinctive scent for us, and I’m guessing other creatures too. It attracts demons and whatnots and helps them hunt you. It’s like a beacon of light. So they had to suppress your aura. And the only way to suppress angel aura is to suppress the angel themselves. Make them suffer, endure tremendous pain, dull their virtues, make them lose the will to live, et cetera. That way you don’t ‘shine’ anymore, and we won’t be able to find you. So I guess they did some sort of spell, or whatever heavenly magic, on your uncle so that his mind was warped and unconsciously fixated on hurting you... It’s fucking dark and twisted, especially for angels... To protect you from demons by making you suffer so much that you lose the core of your being. To destroy you in order to save you from hell and the creatures from it. That’s what irks me... Don’t know why but it just makes me feel so fucking bad…”

Something churns violently in your stomach. And you would have thrown up if you had eaten much previously.

None of it makes sense. Or maybe it’s starting to make too much sense.

You can’t believe it. You fucking can’t believe it.

You let Hoseok drift off to sleep, the weight of his body falling limp. You let go of his face.

You just can’t. Fucking. Believe it.

There’s no way this is true. He’s drunk. He has made up some story in his head. There’s no way.

Because there’s simply no way that the past few years of your endless torture has been a gift from the angels, a path paved for you to endure. To shield you. To save you.

In what sick universe…

You scramble off the bed and rush into the bathroom, ignoring the loud pads of your feet against the cold wooden floor. Your fingers tremble as you turn the light switch on and slam the door behind you with your back. For a moment, all you hear is the ocean of your roaring blood.

That’s why that night your parent died had felt so strange, so off, your disagreement with your parents so out of the blue. That’s why there was a storm. That’s why a car drove into you and killed your parents. That’s why your grandmother died so shortly after despite normally having great health. That’s why there was a sudden change in your uncle’s demeanour, as if a switch had been flipped in him. That’s why he had locked you in the basement, broke your legs routinely to stop you from escaping, beat you and your sister without reason.

It was demons and Creatures of the Night and a so-called “protection” ploy from angels.

You want to scream. As your back slides down the door, you want to scream at the top of your lungs. The amalgamation of emotions is tearing you apart, piece by piece.

This is it, the tipping point, the loss of your sanity.

His words play over and over again in your head, a drunken confession that he probably did not realise the meaning of in his state.

To protect you from demons by making you suffer so much that you lose the core of your being. To destroy you in order to save you from hell and the creatures from it. To protect you from demons by making you suffer so much that you lose the core of your being. To destroy you in order to save you from hell and the creatures from it. To protect you from demons by making you suffer so much that you lose the core of your being. To destroy you in order to save you from hell and the creatures from it.

Like a prayer.

Panting hysterically, you feel your mind shattering into a million shards. You can’t comprehend it. You don’t want to. You don’t want to know that the pain you felt, day after day, for what felt like an eternity had been a plot. A fucking spell. You don’t want to know. You don’t want to. You don’t want. You don’t. You.

You. Can’t. Do. This.

01:01. The crash. The beatings. The death of your sister.

It’s possible that you are crying, shaking, but you’re not aware.

And after crumbling on the bathroom floor, for minutes, maybe hours, you make your decision.

You run.

The sun is still out.

That means they can’t come out yet. They can’t come after you. They’re probably still asleep, unbeknownst of your escape.

The house had been eerily quiet as you snuck out. And as soon as you stepped foot outside the front door, you had felt it.

The incredible weight holding you down. Like the manor itself was shackled to your ankles. Walking away felt like trudging through mud, dragging this boggling heaviness with you. Every sire bond that has formed was shrieking in your head, wailing, begging for you to stop leaving.

It was purely your willpower and determination that gave you the strength to overcome the supernatural ties that tethered you to those vampires. You had to ignore how much your limbs were aching, how much your heart was straining. You just had to run away. Keep going and don’t look back. It was melting your brain into a puddle, but your mind had been in ruins anyway.

You didn’t know where you were going, the forest faced every side of the house, but you just kept going, as far from them as possible. If you ran down one direction, you were bound to meet an end at some point, find civilisation.

There is no plan. No plan as you fled the walls of those wretched vampires. You just knew you couldn’t stay, couldn’t continue living like that with the knowledge that was spilled onto you. There’s no way you could have pretend not to know and face those vampires, let them drain your blood when they had been part of the reason behind all your suffering.

Fuck the Heavens and the Hells. Fuck the angels, the demons, the vampires, werewolves, witches, all the damnable fucking supernatural.

Angel blood in your veins. A fucking curse.

Every bone in your body is starting to hurt, lungs growing weaker every gasping breath. You keep running, ignoring the overbearing ache and faint voices in your head chanting sorrysorrysorry.

Sorry, child, we’re sorry.

The sun has set. It is dark. And you are still running through the forest, no inkling at all of how far you’ve gone and how far is left until you find your rescuer.

The night is eerie, enveloping you in a fog of oblivion, no perception of anything beyond this forest. Howling can be heard from a distance, or what you hope to be a distance. You’re hanging on by a thread, but only just. You don’t know how much longer you will last, you just know that you’ve passed the point of no return now. They would have been searching for you since the daylight began to dwindle. They are on their way.

There had been so many instances where you had just stopped, panting, and stared at your own two feet, wondering what the fuck you’re doing. Because where are you running to? Who is going to believe you when you tell them about the fucking vampires looking for you? Who is going to care about some crazy girl?

What is the point in running? Living, even?

But an instinct within you, the one sparked by this revelation, didn’t allow your legs to stop. The whole world is against you. The whole fucking world. Creatures of the Night are hunting you, the angels have abandoned you to a cruel spell, your family is rotting six feet under. No one is going to fight for you, except yourself.

You are a survivor.

Energy waning from the lack of food and the sparing gulps of water you had salvaged from a brooke, the only thing fuelling you is your adrenaline. At this time of night, your vision is no more than dark silhouettes of trees and rocks. Your limbs are numb. The only thing telling you that you haven’t stopped moving is the constant crunch of leaves beneath your feet, crisply ringing. Keep going. Just keep running.

Where are you?

You hear a voice, his voice. No, you don’t hear it, you sense it. You feel his worry, his fear.

Where did you go? Please.

They can’t possibly be near. Even with vampire speed, there’s no way that can catch up with you so quickly when you’ve been gone for hours.

Please.

The pleading makes your heart lurch. You stop, heaving over your knees.

Guilt. It’s the guilt. Why do you feel guilty for leaving? No, you don’t feel guilty, the bond is making you feel it. It’s trying to manipulate you.

I can’t lose you…

But that’s definitely his voice, his inner thoughts. Seokjin is afraid, panicked, in a frenzy to look for you. Genuine concern.

Maybe you should go back. What are you even doing anyway? Where are you going? There’s no purpose.

It also dawns on you that they will pick up on your scent right away. Even if they don’t find you tonight, everywhere you go, they will find you eventually. They had found you even though your aura had been muffled by your uncle’s abuse. They somehow found you. They are always going to find you.

Maybe you should give up. Just submit to them for the rest of your eternity. Either way, you would be suffering, the angels will see to that. Just give up.

Your fists tighten on your knees. It’s freezing cold; your clothes shredded by sharp grappling branches, the midnight breeze percolates pass the futile material and assails your skin. Thoughts racing at an uninterpretable speed, your lost purpose becomes blaringly apparent.

It’s not so bad in there.

Please be okay. Please come back. Don’t go.

They kind of care about you, in their own warped sense of what caring is. Right? They almost love you, some of them. Right? Right? Right? Right? Right?

I miss you. I’m coming for you. I love you.

Right?

Please be okay.

“SHUT UP!” You sob out loud. In the distance, your outburst scare away a flock of sleeping birds, their wings flapping in synchrony to your heartbeat. “Please just shut up.” As tears erupt like a dam, your slam your hands to your ears to shield you from the sound. But of course, it doesn’t stop. It isn’t a sound. It’s a feeling. It’s the sire bond telling your mind his emotions. “Shut up. Stop making this harder for me. Shut up.”

Falling onto your knees, you simply break. Every fibre of your mind is peeling away, your entity flaking into dust. The cold stings your damp cheeks, trickling down to your neck where you remember so vividly the feeling of their fangs.

They almost love you, some of them.

That’s good enough, right?

That’s better than… nothing.

More birds shriek into the silence of the night, so loud that you hear them clearly despite your covered ears.

Are they here? Already?

You keep crying, soil eating your crumpled frame.

And because of your sobs, your firmly shut eyes, your covered ears, you don’t hear the footsteps approach you until you sense a looming presence behind.

Here.

Which one is it?

Slowly, every inch of you trembling, you turn.

A shocked man stares at you in wide eyes. Some sort of camper or hiker judging by his attire.

Not here.

“Oh my god. Please help me. Please help me.” You crawl over to his feet, ignoring the protest of your exhaustion and your pitiful position. “Sir, please help.” Your luck has turned. Finally. You’re going to be okay. Finally. The tears fall harder.

“W-what happened? Are you hurt? Lost?” Gradually processing the dirt covered girl collapsed and crying at his feet, the man bends down and examines you in concern.

“Yes, please, just take me somewhere safe. Please, they’re going to find me.” The wash of relief almost overwhelms you to unconsciousness.

“You need to tell me what happened, little girl. You’re in shock. Who’s going to find you?”

In the dark, you can’t see well, but something in his eyes makes you trusting of him. It’s the genuine worry and care. What a normal man is supposed to look like. You’re saved. You’re finally saved.

“We have no time, just take me… take me to the police.” Your shaking hand grips at his fleece in desperation. You don’t know what you can tell him or the police, you don’t know anything more powerful than vampires than can protect you from them, but you can think about that later. You just need to go now.

“Okay, okay. Let me carry you.”

No. Child, no.

This time, it isn’t Seokjin’s voice. Someone else, like that faint chanting you occasionally hear.

“Thank you.” You shift into a position that better enables the man to reach under your legs. Behind him, you see a pack of black dogs, creeping warily towards you, sniffing. “Are those your dogs?”

“Yes, don’t worry, they are clever boys.”

When his palm touches the underside of your thigh, ice pierces into your skin.

No. Not him. Not safe.

You know that ice. You know that inhuman lack of body heat.

As he hoists you up, you nudge him away and roll back onto the ground. “Wait.” Moonlight illuminating part of his face, you survey his pale skin, his devilishly good looks. His brows pinch in confusion, but there’s a twinkle in his eye.

Not human.

You glance over at the dogs again. Sleek black coat, long sharp ears, crimson eyes. Where their legs should meet the ground are misty shadows, like ghosts.

Not dogs.

The man’s lips quirk up. His camper’s attire dissipates like dust to reveal a black suit underneath.

You run.

Twigs snap beneath your feet as you sprint as fast as your calves allow, away from whatever they are. Your chest aches from fatigue, ankles screaming for you to stop. As you run, you ignore the branches reaching out to scratch your cheek, your arms. You hardly even feel the cuts against the twisting feeling of dread in your gut.

Angel blood isn’t just valued by vampires.

Looking back, you see the man stood rooted where he is. He isn’t coming after you, but the smirk he wears is enough to tell you not to stop. But not long later, you realise why he isn’t chasing.

Growls, howls of excitement, absolute beastly noises erupt from left and right. The hounds are running at an astounding speed beside you, their pelts pitch black despite the moonlight that they should reflect. Jaws open, they pant at you wildly as they hunt you. Zigzagging between the trees to create a misleading path, you try to create as much distance from them as possible. But they’re quick things. Clever boys.

Soon, they are narrowing in on you, until the pack is an arrowhead surrounding you. The closest hound snaps his jaw at your ankle, barely missing you. The loud crunch from the collision of its canines as he shuts his jaw, you know your foot would have been gone if you had been one second slower. You don’t have time to yelp. You focus on running ahead, slipping between boulders and following your instinct for directions.

Where are you? You hear Seokjin once again.

I’m here! You try to scream down the bond. Save me.

You don’t know why. You don’t know why you are asking for help from the very ones you had been running from in the first place. But you just know that, whatever is hunting you, your fate would be much worse with them.

I’m coming. His utter distraught is gone, replaced by a calm composed determination instilled by the awaited reply from you at last. And you know at this moment that it was a mistake to flee. Seokjin at the very least, regardless of everyone else, would never harm you, would always look after you. Why did you leave? Why had you acted upon your deranged irrationality? We’re looking for you. Don’t worry.

Relief. Because that is a promise. And you trust him.

But now the guilt of fleeing from them kicks in. What the bond had made you feel every step you took, that ripping sensation as if you’re tearing apart something substantial, you can imagine being a mammoth’s weight worse for them with their heightened senses.

Something is chasing me. Please help me. I’m sorry.

His fear returns, this time a formidable wave wiping his away short-lived relief. What is chasing you?

Dogs, big black dogs. There was also this man.

Bloody hellhounds and a Drude demon. Shit.

You have no idea what those creatures are but you can tell by the explosion of terror in Seokjin that it’s some of the worse you could encounter.

Distracted by his disclosure, you misplace your foot on an uneven log and topple down, the bark you crash onto scraping fire against your skin. Pain explodes at the back of your skull where it hits something severe. You don’t see beyond a sea of pulsing black.

Then something rips into your leg. You don’t know if you are screaming.

You drift in and out of consciousness.

Tiny stars dance around the deep blue sky. They look pretty.

You think you hear something growling, whimpering maybe.

What is that leaking from you so briskly? Blood? Hmm.

Darkness.

You hear voices? Yes, voices. Unintelligibly arguing. But if you shut your eyes again and stop shifting on the ground, they could pass off as background music.

Then the volume grows. Fighting. Grunting. More Growling. More whimpering.

But you feel safe. You don’t know why but you feel safe. That’s how you know you’ve lost your mind for good. There are virtual flames burning around you, warmth licking at your broken body. Nothing can get past the flames. Nothing can hurt you. This phantom fire is shielding you.

You heart is burning too, fighting. Someone’s sireship is fuelling you, feeding you, forcing life back into you.

When you open your eyes, when a vaguely familiar face appears, hovering over you, obstructing your view of the towering treetops and wavering constellations. You can’t quite put of your finger on his name, but you know you’re safe.

His eyes are big, full of concern and trouble, his hair long, black, wavy but tucked behind his ears. A black liquid is splattered across him, some on his beautiful face that is taut in vexation.

You don’t protest when he carries you in strong sturdy arms, lifelessly flopping against his chest.

He is warm. Fire. Safe.

And then he is zooming past the trees, so fast the wind tickles at you violently, your limp body jostling. Though half unconscious, your eyes don’t leave him, studying his angular jaw, the round crook of his nose.

J…

A droplet of black liquid rolls off his chin and splats onto your arm. It tingles like weak acid, faintly sour, an unearthly sensation.

Your heavy lids seal you back into the darkness.

The first thing you notice when you wake is the softness around and under you. Arms from beneath you draw away, leaving your weight to sink into the bed. Your eyes stay shut.

Warmth is pressed onto your lips, gently, careful as if one hard prod would shatter you. Your throat knows to swallow the stream flowing into your mouth, its taste unfamiliar, but safe.

Warm. And safe.

Almost immediately, you feel its effects catapult into your system. Skin everywhere begins to sew back together, bones like toppled buildings building brick by brick, the chaos in your mind whispered to sleep. That protective fire around you blazing.

Still, you don’t open your eyes. You don’t want to. You can’t face them.

“Troublesome little shit.” He pushes the hair out of your face, touch possessing a surprising delicacy that contradicts his insult and completely entangles your preconceived conception of him. But his voice… So soothing like honey. Not what you expected.

You train your breath to be steadily slow, eyes to be unmoving under your closed lids, hoping to pass off as asleep. The silence creaks, followed by a rustle of bedding. Then you feel the heat of his breath stroke the tiny hairs on your forehead. You suppress a flinch. But he presses his lips onto your skin, so tenderly you almost open your eyes to see if it’s really Jungkook.

“Please don’t leave again.”

And then he’s gone.

❦

@taexxxiiaa @serendipity-secrets @killcomet @askingtheimportantthingshere@blackpanther4550 @comingjimin @unatempesta-dipensieri @dapppphhhhh @unatempesta-dipensieri @beach-bitch-bitch-beach @queerloser17 @linyi-lovbts @somewhereinthestarss @xxqueenwxtchxx @whitefeatheredwyvern @embrace-themagic @brokencrownqueen @i-dont-even-know-fck @bangtandimples @kalkeegan @beetaeass @confessionsofascientist @chimycthulhu @hisunshiine @shooklier @livetay84 @runlikeabuffalo @nanna022 @berryjam17 @thelouhvre @bluemooncnblue @enigmaticlove-03 @lanu-la @bangtanfancamp @brbkpop @jiminisnotavirginrecs @samariakeeper @goodnightbug @dont-touch-me-fwit @tastelessfoolsbts @queensavage1245 @laced-brds @ultraanonymousey @ashchats @godzillagirl-14 @lustremyg @animeshins @it-is-dana @itsavakent @strawberrym0chii @namchimtae @smoljams@brightenn @btsxdoll @d-noona @show-respect-to-your-queen @fyeebangtan@for-hobi @lx-leeta @thesoftuglies

❦

19/01/2020

877 notes · View notes

killthe-illusionarydreams · 4 years ago

Text

Chronic Emptiness

Fred x reader

After the war

Summary: Y/N having a depressive episode & Fred trying to help her through it. Basically me living vicariously through her. Soft moment.

Warning: Mentions of depression & plainly feeling like shit

——————

Y/N was exhausted. Not by her job or work, just mentally drained. This sort of thing happened sometimes. One moment she was okay, the next it all came crashing down on her & she’d feel pure hatred for the world she was living in. Fred had gotten used to it by now, he’d be the ever so caring boyfriend & try to help her through it however he could. Exept he really couldnt do much but reassure Y/N that he was there for her.

And of course Y/N appreciated him & all his efforts, she loved Fred more than life itself & everyone knew that. But sometimes she just needed space. Like today.

They were at a bar with George & Angelina and several other mates after their shifts had all ended from their various occupations. George & Fred at their joke shop, Angelia at the Ministry, Y/N at St Mungos.

Y/N never truly felt like she belonged, not growing up at home, not at Hogwarts, & certainly not in St Mungos where she was working as a nurse. Its not that she hated the job, more like it didn’t particularly cause her immediate joy. She just did it. She got on with it & did what she had to.

As her friends were dancing to the music Y/N leant into her boyfriends ear so he’d hear her say “Hey Fred I think I’m gonna head home early today, I’m tired.”

The man looked up at her, as if trying to read her thoughts “D’you want me to come with love?”

Y/N shook her head, declining the offer “No dont worry. I’ll go through the park, I need some fresh air anyway.” Fred nodded & bid her goodbye with a kiss, telling her to stay safe. “I’ll see you at home.”

It was already dark outside, the tall streetlamps being the main source of light for the woman, but she wasnt really paying attention to where she way going, not caring enough to look. Y/N got to the park near the flat where her & Fred lived, deciding to make a pitstop there she sat on one of the wooden benches that overlooked a small river.

Letting out a heavy sigh she put her head into the palms of her hands, it was feeling all too heavy lately. “Dear Merlin I’m so tired.” Mumbling, the woman rolled her head in her hands before sitting back up and gazing at the sky. Oh how beautiful it looked tonight.

Lighting up a cigarette, she put it to her lips & took a long inhale. She was supposed to be quitting smoking, Fred always got on her about continuing the habbit. In all honesty Y/N didnt care enough to stop, at this point she wasnt even sure if she still got the same boost of seratonin from smoking as she used to. But again, it didnt bother her.

“Fuck me why is life so draining?” She asked no one in particular, she knew why it was draining, the abundance of issues with her brain promptly being the answer. She just wished it were easier. Easier to deal with things.

Realistically Y/N had nothing to be unhappy about anymore, there was no war, she had a good life, an amazing boyfriend, a stable job, decent friends. But there was a permanent void in her heart that could never be filled. Ever since she was a child it stayed with her. Maybe her cold & harsh, unloving parents brought it on, or maybe how she didnt let herself feel love & would distance herself from anyone that ever got close to her. But it was there. Unmovable.

The woman let the smoke out from her mouth, sighing at why she was having another one of her episodes, feeling shitty about having said episode. Yet, there was nothing she could do to stop it from occuring. “Fuck off brain.” She mumbled to herself, cursing her biology & upbringing “Stop feeling so Shit.”

“I keep you alive you ungrateful idiot.” She huffed to herself “And I’m doing a pretty good job, so stop making me feel like its my fault.” It wasnt her fault. If it were, Y/N would know how to fix it & evidently stop feeing this way.

Some would say the war brought this Y/N on, but people knew that she was like this way before. However, before she was better at hiding it. Better at hiding the dark circles, the restlessness, the ‘I dont care what happens to me’ attitude. In all honesty it didnt bother Y/N that people knew she was like this, she didnt do it on purpose. And when she could- she’d be happy- the life of the party, in those instances she could hide her feelings. But sometimes they just got too overwhelming to bare.

“You’re being such a selfish prick.” She sighed and puffed on yet another cigarette “Go home Y/N. Go to the man who loves you.” Yet she made no motion to move. It’d probably been two hours since she left the bar, she wasnt keeping track of time, not feeling the need to.

Sometimes she thought that Fred didnt love her, not because he said something or did something, but because she thought that Fred puts up with her. Which wasn’t true, the man loved her to death, she made him feel alive. Y/N was a risk taker, an adventurer, someone that kept you on your toes- & he admired that about her. Y/N was smart & funny & the most gorgeous person Fred had ever seen, but he knew that behind her sarcasm & faux narcissistic comments, she didnt believe it. Oh what he’d give for the woman to see herself through his eyes.

A few more minutes passed & the woman got up with a sigh, throwing the butt of her cigarette down, she made her way home.

The door creaked open, a little too loudly for Y/N’s taste, she winced at the sound, hoping it wouldnt wake Fred.

“Where were you?” The light flicked on. Before her stood a dischevelled Fred, arms crossed “I got home and you werent here.”

“I was in the park.” She mumbled, taking her coat off “Lost track of time, sorry.”

Fred looked at the woman before him, he noticed the dark circles that she tried to cover prefousley with makeup, noticed the ash on her jacket and faint aroma of smoke mixed with sadness.

“Its fine.” He reassured her and went to hug her, pretending to not notice her cold body & how she stiffened when he touched her “Just let me know next time alright?”

The woman hummed in agreement and walked into the living room, as she sat on the couch she put the tv on to play some sort of muggle program but not really paying attention to it. She just didnt fancy Fred interrogating her about her feelings. She hated talking about them, normally just botteling them up. Maybe that was the cause of her unhappiness.

A few moments went by & she thought Fred had went to bed, but then she felt the couch sink next to her. “Here” he placed a blanket around her & handed her a hot mug of tea “You’re freezing.” Mumbling a thanks she sipped on her drink, not really feeling like talking she waited for him to say something, anything.

And he did “Is it getting bad again?” Oh. Was it? Probably. Most definitely.

“I’m fine.” She lied “I’ll be fine.” Y/N wasnt convincing anyone.

Fred watched her, not knowing what to say or do. He wished he could help, just magically cheer up the love of his life. But thats not how life worked. “You’re good enough.” He blurted out “You deserve to feel happy.”

Y/N didnt look up at him, she knew Fred was trying to help. But was he? I dont know.

“Do I though, do I really?” She finally asked with a sigh, those seemed to be coming from her a lot lately “Because I know I do, I just dont feel it coming to me and its so draining to get on with life when you feel worthless.”

Fred took in what she just said, pausing before trying to come up with a reasonable response “I know.” He sighed “I want to help you Y/N, what can I do?” What could he do though? Realistically?

“I dont know. Nothing. This’ll pass soon enough and I’ll be okay.”

Fred knew that, Y/N was always ‘okay’ or ‘fine’ or ‘just tired’ “But I want you to be better than okay. I want you to be happy, to enjoy life and all its moments.”

Y/N scoffed “And you think I dont want that?” There was a tense silence

“Why dont we take the day off tomorrow and go out somewhere? We havent done that in a while.” Fred suggested. It was true, with both of them being bombarded by work they hardly saw eachother in the last few months.

“Sure.” Y/N smiled sickly and set her tea down “Yeah alright I’ll just sack my job off to have a fun little date with you eh? Why not risk getting fired just because I’m feeling a little moody huh?”

Fred was taken aback by her words and immediately went back on what he said “If you dont want to thats fine I-“

“Im sorry” she cut him off “I’m sorry, that was a dick move I didnt mean it, just everythings gotten so much-“ she put her feet up on the couch to hug them “Im sorry.” A few stray tears fell onto her knees

Fred moved closer to her “Hey, its okay, its okay dont worry. I understand.” Oh sweet understanding Fred, Fred who gave you unconditional love and support. Fred who you keep snapping at.

Moments pass as he embraces you, your body leaning against his heavily. Not sure whether its the exhaustion or something else “I dont deserve you.” You mumble into his chest. He frowns cups your face in his hands, you lean in to his warm touch.

“Dont say that” you let out a quiet sob “Y/N you deserve the absolute world, and I wish I could give it to you & more. If I could take away your pain, I would. In an instant I would. You dont deserve to feel like this, to think like this. But I’m here for you okay. I love you, so fucking much you don’t understand.” He gazed into her eyes, wishing she could feel how much he meant it “You’re the best thing that happened to me & I’m going to prove it to you, whatever it takes Y/N.” He kissed your nose before letting you hug him tighter, relieved that you no longer shrunk away from his touch “Words cant express how much I love you.”

After a few more tears fall, Y/N laughs into his chest “Good because you’re stuck with me.”

Fred grins to himself “I wouldnt have it any other way.”

71 notes · View notes

justjeonday · 5 years ago

Text

Let Me Know | jeon jeongguk

In which you and Jeongguk have broken up, but he can’t bring himself to move on. He keeps it all hidden beneath a forced smile, only crying when he’s alone, ridding himself of thoughts by practicing for hours on end, but a man can only take so much pain until it all becomes too much.

“Love blooms like cherry blossoms but burns and becomes ashes.”

- 𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖌; let me know - BTS

- 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌; jeon jeongguk x reader

- 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙; 5,4K

- 𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌; PG-13

- 𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊; angst, break up, idol AU

- 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘; self inflicted torture to numb the feeling of heartbreak?? (gguk intentionally makes himself gasp for air), exhaustion, very brief mention of not eating, mild depression, pining, gguk has a broken heart :(

- 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖘; wow...I had so much fun writing this, and it also made my heart ache. This is inspired by the lyrics of the song, and I definitely have a new appreciation for it after writing this fic - the lyrics are absolutely beautiful, as always when it comes to bts’ music. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! feedback is always appreciated <3

this is a part of the bulletproof bingo event created by @ficswithluv! I’m very grateful for this opportunity, I think it’ll help me improve my writing a lot! thank you to all admins for your hard work!

and of course, a big thanks to Zoe for helping me finish this and beta-reading it! I don’t know what I’d do without you <333

Jeongguk awakes, eyes closing tightly at the sun hitting his face as he reaches an arm out to hug your waist and pull your warmth against him - but it falls with a thump on top of the mattress.

You're not there.

He opens his eyes to see your side unoccupied, the bed feeling cold and empty without you next to him. It hits him just as hard as the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that day.

You're not his anymore.

Jeongguk's heart breaks a little more as he reaches over to grab the pillow and hug it close against his chest, the smell of your shampoo still lingering, albeit faint, on the soft cotton. It reminds him of the mornings you spent together. The way you'd both lay in bed for an extra hour just holding and breathing each other in before lazily getting up to make breakfast. You love Sundays, and he has come to love them too. However, with you gone, they feel more dull than ever.

Tears sting in his eyes despite the warm feeling the memories with you bring, knowing he'll never experience that again - that you'll be nothing but a memory in his mind.

It still doesn't feel real. He has now spent two months in a cold bed, still sleeping on the left side of it and waking up expecting you to be right there next to him. Two months since the two of you were no more, two months since you broke his heart.

The moment feels blurry, like it had been a dream - a painful scenario created in his head.

Jeongguk presses the combination of numbers on your lock, expecting you to be laying on the couch reading just like you enjoy doing on Thursday nights like these while you wait for him to arrive. However, as he steps in, you're nowhere to be seen, and the TV isn't on like it usually is considering you don't like the silence when you're alone.

His eyes scan the apartment as he closes the door behind him, the clicking of the lock sounding through the space as it returns into its frame. After kicking his boots off and shrugging off his jacket, he walks further to look for you. His first thought is that you've already gone to bed, but it fades as he sees you on the balcony with your back facing him as you look out over the city.

The sight of you, his love, makes his heart flutter. He walks up to the glass door, sliding it open slowly not to startle you - but even that makes you jump slightly, causing you to turn quickly to find the source of unexpected noise.

"Hi," Jeongguk smiles.

You sigh. "Hey."

"You okay?"

"Uh..." you start, not really sure how to continue as you turn back to watch the city lights. "Yeah, I'm fine."

You're not fine.

Instantly he knows something's up, worry blooming in his chest as he walks up to stand next to you.

"What's wrong?" he asks, eyebrows furrowed. "Talk to me."

You breathe out, letting your head fall back as you try to keep it together. You'd been feeling like this all day, constantly finding yourself having to fight back the tears. You knew this moment was bound to happen sooner or later, but still, you dreaded it.

"We..." you stop, swallowing to keep your voice from breaking as you continue on. "We should take some time apart from each other." You say, eyes still not meeting his.

Jeongguk feels as if his heart stops, his breath getting caught in his throat. "Wh-What?" He stutters, searching for your gaze as you look down at your hands hanging over the railing.

The whole situation feels unexpected to him. He thought everything between you two was fine. Did he do something wrong?

He feels panic arising, quickly replacing the worry that found home inside his ribcage.

"I need to find myself," you speak, now gaining the courage to look into his eyes. "And you need to find you, and figure out who you are."

His beautiful eyes. Big brown eyes with countless amounts of stars sparkling in them, those eyes you've gotten lost in over and over ever since the two of you met years ago. Those soft eyes, and the wrinkles that form around them when he smiles - nose scrunching in happiness.

Your heart aches as you look into them, feeling tears sting in your eyes. You didn't want to do this. The last thing you'd ever want to do is hurt Jeongguk. Your sweet Jeongguk, your bunny, your happiness and your warmth. Your everything.

This has been the hardest decision you've ever had to make, but you know it'll be better this way.

You can’t help but feel like the two of you rely on each other too much for happiness and well-being, whenever there's a problem or when something is weighing you down - you always search for a solution in the other. You're grateful to have him, someone you can go to and feel better - you really are. But you found yourself wandering off inside your mind one day while waiting for him to return from work, wondering what life would be like without Jeongguk. He's been your light ever since the two of you met, the morning that dawned after a night that seemed to be endless.

You realised right then and there that, without him, you'd be nothing - everything would be dull. And as your mind wandered even further, questions started popping up in your head.

Do you love yourself? Yes, because Jeongguk has taught you to. Are you happy? Yes you are, because you have Jeongguk.

Are you really happy with your life? Do you wanna stay like this forever?

With Jeongguk? Yes, you want to stay with him forever. With life? No, you want to be genuinely happy, and you want to be independent in that - and be able to say that you've found true happiness, because and for you, not anyone or anything else.

You'd asked Jeongguk that same day; are you happy? Do you love yourself?

"Yes, because of you." He had replied, an unintentional reflection of your own answers.

His response should've made you happy, it should've made your heart flutter - but because of your concerns, you simply couldn't feel that way.

"What do you mean?" Jeongguk asks, voice weak as he hears his heart beat in his ears. "What's wrong?"

It pains you to do this. Like nothing else ever has.

"We're too dependent on each other," you explain. "We need to find happiness on our own, we need to learn how to love ourselves - on our own."

'On our own.'

At that moment, when those words left your mouth - that's when the ground beneath him shattered. That's when his world fell apart. When the stars shining above faded and the sun in his sky disappeared - leaving him lonely with a single grey cloud, and a world that became sombre.

What went wrong? What did he do that made you leave? Could he have done something to prevent it?

As Jeongguk recalls the moment, he feels a weight push down on his chest as he lays on his back, making his breathing heavy. Tears are now welling up in his eyes, running down the sides of his face and making his pillow wet. His hands come up to run over his face as he closes his eyes, biting down hard on his bottom lip to keep himself from sobbing too loudly. If he gives into the pain, he knows it'll be too hard to swim back up to the surface again - too difficult to put his mask back on and start the day off like nothing's wrong.

He’s been keeping it inside since it all happened, only crying and letting it get to him when no one's around. He doesn’t want to worry anyone, since he’s well aware they have their own burdens to deal with - not wanting to put any extra weight on anyone’s shoulders.

Jeongguk sucks in an erratic breath before getting out of bed, his body heavy as he walks over to throw yesterday’s clothes on before wiping his tears with the back of his hand and leaving his room as quietly as possible, wanting to avoid conversation with anybody. He manages to leave the dorm unnoticed, thankful the members are deep in sleep because of the late celebration that was held last night after their recent release of the new album. He wishes he could enjoy it, he really does - but without you everything feels meaningless, empty.

Twenty minutes later, he arrives at the bighit building, bowing politely to everyone he passes on his way to the practice room despite the sorrow weighing him down - making it difficult to pick his head back up again.

He’s able to breathe out as he enters the studio, a quiet void surrounding him as he leans back against the door. He feels relaxed here, only thanks to the fact it's his escape - his way of numbing the pain, even if it's just temporary.

He's been coming here every day since the two of you broke up. Tour is slowly but surely approaching, and there are several new choreographies to learn. Jeongguk and the rest of the members had been practicing them for a few months now, and even though Jeongguk knows every single move like the back of his hand - he still comes here everyday to perfect and improve them. He wants everything to be perfect on stage, a single mistake making him doubt himself for the rest of the concert.

You know this very well, how hard he is on himself. You were the one who could make him feel better about himself, reassuring him that everything was fine even though he might've messed that one move up. What would he do now that you were gone?

However, practicing has gotten another purpose now, to simply act as a distraction for him - to get you out of his mind as he moved along with the beat. To get to that point where the oxygen burned in his throat, his chest falling up and down quickly as he tried to catch his breath while laying flat on the floor.

And that's exactly how he finds himself many hours later, shirt damp with sweat and sticking to his chest as he falls down onto the floor, his legs weak. He almost gasps for air as he looks up at the ceiling, loud music still playing through the speakers. Even though the room is completely empty, it almost feels crowded, like the air is pushing in on him, like it's suffocating him.

It feels terrible, but he finds himself relishing in the self-inflicted torture. It almost works as an antidote, ridding his mind of you - and during those few seconds, he feels free, and his body feels weightless.

But then it fades and small pieces of thoughts and memories slowly re-enter his mind as he catches his breath, the weight of sorrow gradually pushing down harder and harder over his ribcage once again.

Usually, after a tough session like this, he'd drive back to your place and spend the rest of the night with you - hours filled with cuddling and sweet kisses as the two of you find comfort in simply being close to each other. He misses it. It feels empty without you, and his days feel excruciatingly long.

Being close to you, admiring you - he won't get to do it anymore.

He wonders if you miss him too, if you're hurting too. Are you thinking of him right now? Are you longing to hold him, just like he’s longing to hold you? He saw the look on your face when you told him you wanted to break up, he saw that you too found it hurtful. But why would you do it if you didn't want to? He can't really grasp the reason why. Couldn't you find happiness together? Wasn't it enough?

Wasn't he enough?

Jeongguk closes his eyes, trying to paint a picture of your face in front of him but the image in his mind is far from vivid. He can still remember everything, your beautiful eyes, your soft lips and how they felt against his own, your hand gestures you use so often as you speak, every single detail is still there, but the image is faint. He wants to reach out and run his thumb over your cheek bone, he wants to touch you - but he can't as you're slowly fading. It's torture, because even though your face might become more dim as the time without you increases, he's certain he'll always remember you and always compare you with everyone else. Compare the pink of your lips to others, compare how your eyes sparkle as you smile to others dull ones.

You'll always be it for him. You'll always have his heart.

Click.

The sound of the door opening brings Jeongguk back to the practice room despite the loud music already playing, his head turning to see Jimin walk in.

"Oh Jeongguk-ssi, I didn't know you were here!" Jimin says, smiling.

Jeongguk gets up from the floor, not really in the mood to chat or make small talk. He walks over and turns the music off, only now realising it’s dark out.

Jimin furrows his eyebrows in concern, slowly walking up behind Jeongguk. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine," Jeongguk replies, voice cold - more than he intends for it to be.

Jimin can tell something's up, and he's well aware that the two of you broke up - but for what reason, he has no idea. Jeongguk is usually really happy to see Jimin, always teasing and joking around with him - exclaiming 'Jimin-ssi' every time he enters the room. But ever since you two broke up, there's been this heavy energy around him pushing him down. He hasn't been eating as much as he usually does, and Jimin has never known someone who loves food as much as Jeongguk does - so seeing it naturally causes him concern. Jimin notices it all, he notices the way Jeongguk tries to hide it, but that's just how he is, he doesn't wanna trouble anyone else with whatever feelings he might have.

It's not the best trait of his. Eventually, it'll all become too much for him to handle on his own. Jimin dreads that moment has come.

"Jeongguk-" Jimin starts, but he's quickly interrupted.

"I'm fine!" Jeongguk says, his voice loud this time as the words echo through the silent room. "I'm fine," he repeats, now quieter as if he's trying to convince himself.

But he can't. He's not fine, and he knows it. He can feel his body getting weaker by the second, wanting nothing but to fall down and lay on the floor again - but at the same time, he feels like dancing more, he wants to move until he feels that burn in his throat again. The burn that numbs the pain of being without you, the heaving of his chest that forces him to focus on breathing instead of the bitterness your absence brings.

"Jeongguk," Jimin tries again, conscientiously deciding to continue when there's no reply. "I know you're struggling, but keeping it all in won't make it any better."

Jeongguk only listens, still standing with his back facing the older.

"You should talk to someone about it, anyone - just get it all out."

"I can't," Jeongguk mumbles, feeling as if someone is squeezing his heart with all their might.

Thinking about it over and over is one thing, but having to talk about it out loud would ruin him - it'd hurt even more. He'd have to accept it. Accept that you're no longer with him, that he won't get to kiss and hold you close again.

"Gguk," Jimin says, placing his hands on Jeongguk's shoulders.

The name sounds foreign as Jimin says it.

Gguk. That's what you always called him, except for when you were annoyed at him - only then voicing his full name. The memory makes Jeongguk want to smile and break down all at the same time.

It's too quiet, he's too still - and he feels the pain slowly seep back into his heart. "I can't," he repeats, but in a whisper.

"Why?"

Jimin makes Jeongguk turn to face him, only now seeing his glossy, tired eyes. How his lips quiver and how his skin seems unusually pale.

There’s so much pain, too much for him to handle.

"It hurts, hyung," Jeongguk sobs as everything he's been keeping inside bursts, his head falling to land on Jimin's shoulder. "It hurts so bad."

Jimin embraces him, a bothersome feeling appearing in his stomach at the sight of Jeongguk this way. His dear Jeongguk, having his heart broken for the first time.

You were his first love. You changed his life, and Jeongguk thought he had reached the peak of fortune even before you came along, but it turned out he hadn't. You quickly became someone he valued, that someone he had dreamt of - that someone he could give all his love to. But you're not next to him anymore. You're not laying next to him in the morning to accept his lazy kisses. There's no one next to him running their fingers over his back, connecting his birthmarks with light touches of a finger - creating constellations over his skin.

He thought he'd have you forever. Trying to imagine his life without you, it just came up as nothingness in his head - blank and pointless.

Jeongguk doesn't want to admit to himself it's over. If he tries hard enough, he's sure he could pretend this was just another day, finishing up at work to go home to you and hold you in his arms. But that wouldn't be fair to you, and not to himself either. Deep down he knows it, he knows it's over - that the two of you are no more. But he feels as if he's stuck at the end of a finished sentence, just before the punctuation mark. He wants to jump over it, but he can't bring himself to take that leap, that leap to move on from you and what the two of you had.

He's heard many times, in books and movies the two of you have watched together, that first love is something you'll always remember. So surely, there's no hope for him. He won't be able to move on from you no matter how hard he may try to.

He's certain he'll never find a love like that again. He's certain he won't find someone like you, who could make him as happy as you did.

Jimin softly runs his hand over Jeongguk's hair, thinking of what words to say next that could make him feel better. But his thoughts are halted when Jeongguk slowly pulls away from him, his breath irregular as he grabs his phone on the desk behind him before he starts walking towards the door.

"Jeongguk, where are you going?" Jimin asks, worry evident in his voice.

"I need to see her."

Jimin instantly starts walking after him. "You shouldn't."

"I have to see her," Jeongguk says, now exiting the practice room.

"I really don't think it's a good idea, Jeongguk," Jimin warns, having to jog after him to keep up.

Jeongguk only keeps walking, hastily passing staff in the corridor - not bothering to bow or greet anyone this time.

"Jeongguk, stop. You're not thinking straight."

He turns as Jimin grabs hold of his bicep tightly, keeping him from getting further.

"Let go."

He doesn't, his hand only tightening as his fingers dig into the skin.

"Let-"

"What are you gonna do? Huh?" Jimin asks, voice stern as he looks into the younger's eyes. "It's over, Jeongguk. You can't just go over there and see her, you don't have the right to anymore. It'll only make everything worse for the both of you. Seeing her will only make things harder than what they already are."

Jimin's words only cut deeper into his wounds and even more tears start falling from his eyes, creating wet paths down his pale skin. He groans out loud as the pain takes over once again, hands coming up to tug at his hair as he shuts his eyes tightly - trying his best to cope with the seemingly endless suffering.

"I just need her to let me know," he chokes, eyes opening to meet Jimin's.

"Let you know what?"

"That it'll all be fine, that I'll be fine," Jeongguk sobs. "I need her to let me know it's over."

"It's already over Jeongguk, don't you know?" Jimin says, concerned as his eyebrows furrow.

"It's all so blurry in my head I can’t remember anything clearly," he says through erratic breaths. "I need her to tell me it's all over, so I can move on. It hurts too much, I can't stay like this - I need to find peace."

"I'm not sure if it's-"

"Hyung," Jeongguk interferes with a desperate look in his now red and puffy eyes, taking a firm hold of Jimin's shoulders. "Please, I can't take it anymore."

Jimin sighs, his head in conflict with his heart. But after a few seconds, his grip on Jeongguk's arm loosens hesitantly.

After a last glance at Jimin, Jeongguk turns to continue towards his car - hurrying off to see you.

For the last time.

You're sitting at your kitchen table with your laptop in front of you, head resting in your palm as you try to come up with the right words for your essay. You've been sitting here since 10 PM, for almost an hour now, yet your document remains empty. It's almost funny how much it resembles your life at the moment.

Empty.

He's gone.

Jeongguk. Jeongguk. Jeongguk.

It’s all you've been able to think about.

You push the thoughts of him to the back of your mind for probably the eleventh time these past thirty minutes. You let out a frustrated sigh, sitting up straight in your chair as you feel your back ache.

You would've opted for the couch, but that would only bring you more burden. His scent still lingers on the fabric, the memories of him in your arms planting light kisses over your face all too fresh in your mind for you to face.

Two months, and still, you couldn't sit on your own couch. Pathetic.

You're weak.

You've done this to yourself. Everything about your relationship with Jeongguk was fine, but it felt wrong to rely on each other that much. You were raised to be independent, raised by your parents to be strong and stand up for yourself, to do what's right.

You longed to be with him again, to feel his skin under your fingertips - to feel his lips against yours and his hot breath against your skin as his face finds home in the crook of your neck as you hold each other close. But the timing wasn't right.

You want to be able to say you truly love yourself, that you're content with the person you are and that you're genuinely happy - without the influence of anyone or anything else.

Maybe fate will bring the two of you back together in the future, when all is right. You hope it will. Oh, how you hope it will.

You knew how big of a risk you took while making that decision, that it could ruin everything good you had together. But you felt it was the right thing to do, not only for your own sake, but for his as well. The both of you need to find yourselves, before you search for someone else. Perhaps Jeongguk even more than you, since he didn't have as much time as you for self-searching before you found each other, the reason being how early in his life he started to work.

Ten more minutes gone, and your document remains blank.

You need to stop thinking about it. You need to stop thinking about him.

You run your fingers through your hair before putting your focus on the display in front of you. A sudden inspiration hits you and you exhale in relief as your fingers start pressing the lettered keys.

But a sudden sequence of knocks against your front door interrupts you.

You close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose in annoyance.

The universe really doesn't want it to work out for you, does it?

You get up from your seat nonetheless, walking over and unlocking the door before pulling it open. The person standing in front of you almost makes you choke on air, taking a step back in surprise.

Jeongguk.

You simply stand in front of each other, the rest of the world fading as silence surrounds you. It's only the two of you now, eyes meeting for the first time ever since that night when you last saw each other.

You notice he's been crying, his eyes glossy and swollen. It makes your heart ache.

You caused this. This is all your fault. It’s your fault he’s hurting.

Your vision becomes blurry as tears collect in the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall. But you don't let them, blinking them away and swallowing the sobs back down.

"What are you doing here?" You ask, your voice weak even though you try your best to sound okay.

Who are you trying to fool? You're not okay.

You haven't been ever since that night on the balcony. It takes all of your willpower not to throw your arms around him, apologize and let him know it’ll all be okay.

Jeongguk's bottom lip starts quivering again at the sight of you. You’re right in front of him, but he can’t touch you - he can’t embrace you even though that’s all he wants in this world.

"I miss you," he utters with a broken voice.

You don't know what to respond with, but your mind wanders to a place where it shouldn't be - making unwanted words linger on the tip of your tongue.

I miss you too. Please come back.

You can't say that. It goes against everything that's happened.

Jeongguk turns as he hears the sound of keys rattling, knowing very well it's the building inspector that comes every eveing close to midnight to make sure it's peacefu. It's the sound you'd faintly hear outside the door when you had movie marathons, or when you just laid on your couch talking until the AM.

Jeongguk, to show respect and reassure that everything's fine, turns to bow to the man as he walks past - but as he does he's ridden of all strength, and it causes him to stumble forward and fall to his knees on the floor.

Out of habit to care and make sure he's okay, you gasp as you rush up to him and get down to sit on your knees in front of him - grabbing a hold of his shoulders to support him as his head hangs with exhaustion.

You’ve seen this before. This is how he gets when he overworks himself, when he neglects sleep or food because of work. It pains you to see him so weak he can’t even stand up.

All you want is for him to be okay, to be healthy and happy.

"Jeongguk," you say, voice laced with concern. "Hey, look at me."

His eyes flutter closed as you cup his face to hold his head up, and you feel him lean into your touch.

"What are you doing?" You ask, shaking lightly to get his attention.

He only lets out a weak groan in response, falling into your embrace and letting his forehead rest against your collarbone. You’re sitting in the middle of the hallway with a weak man in front of you, completely helpless with no one to call out to for help.

You look around to see that the inspector is long gone, probably in the elevator already on his way to inspect the last few floors.

Shit.

"Jeongguk?" you say to gain his heed again, letting him lean on you still.

"Mm?" he mumbles, voice rough.

"Are you not taking care of yourself?" You ask, guilt and sorrow creating a knot in the pit of your stomach.

You hear him as he starts to sob, tears running down and dripping off his nose - falling onto the fabric of your shirt, causing it to become damp. "I miss you so much."

"I know Jeongguk, I know," you hush, fingers running through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I love you so much it hurts, all I want is to be with you.” He cries. “Why did you let me go?”

Your heart squeezes tightly at his words, tears once again welling up in your eyes. You can’t help but let them fall this time, but you wipe them away quickly. You need to stay strong for him, and for yourself. If you let yourself fall down that hole, you won’t be able to trust yourself - th hurt could make you do something you regret.

You could take it all back and go back to the way you were before, but you know it's wrong. You can't play with his feelings like that. You need to stay true to your words and find yourself before giving your relationship with him another chance.

No matter how much it hurts to see him like this, and how much it hurts to be away from him - you need to stick with what you've said.

He gathers the strength to pick his head up and look at you, his face dangerously close to yours. Only a few centimeters and you could feel those pink, soft lips against yours again.

"Do you miss me, too?" He whispers, tears still running down the curves of his cheek.

You look away to avoid his gaze, his sad eyes, the stars in them faded - it hurts too much to see them that way. You find yourself caressing his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb, wiping the wet paths away. "Of course I miss you, Gguk. But we can't let it change anything, not right now."

"When?"

"When you've found yourself, and when I've found me - when we've figured out who we are as people, who we are without each other. Maybe we can try again then, if fate is on our side."

"Really?" He sniffles, breathing now a bit more steady as he sits up straighter.

You look into his eyes again as you let your hands fall from his face.

"Only on one condition," you say.

He looks at you with tired, but hopeful eyes. "Anything."

"I want you to take care of yourself. I want you to eat and rest well, and please don’t overwork yourself. Be focused on yourself, and on your own goals - and I don't want any of it to be influenced by me. And if you find someone who makes your heart flutter-" you pause, noticing how he opens his mouth to oppose you.

He wants to tell you he won't find anyone else, that he'll wait for you until the both of you are ready. But you speak again before he gets the chance to.

Besides, he shouldn't. If that's what you want, then he'll accept it if he finds someone special.

But no one will compare to you.

"- then I want you to explore that and see what it could turn into - maybe they’ll be your soulmate.” You smile at him. “I want you to have fun with your friends and spend time with your family. If you can do that for me, maybe we'll start over and try again in the future when we know who we are."

Jeongguk feels the weight finally lift off his shoulders and how his heart starts beating more easily at your words. Still sitting on the floor outside your apartment, he looks at you - and it doesn't hurt as much.

He feels free.

Everything is going to be okay.

He’ll still miss you, still miss waking up to you, kissing you, hugging you - but he can live with that. You’ll always be in his heart, and he’ll always be in yours.

You have each other.

"Promise me?" He says, holding his pinky out.

You look down, unable to hold back the small smile spreading on your lips.

You hook your pinky with his, looking into his eyes once again - seeing a spark of hope shining in them.

"I promise."

246 notes · View notes

nonbinary-ghost · 4 years ago

Text

More Bug Angst

Finals? No, no, no. We only write about bugs here.

Anyway! Here is a long-ish drabble about one of my favorite characters, Hornet, as she grapples with her own trauma after the infection. Content warning for violence and depressive thoughts.

Hornet had to dance backwards through a snarl of undergrowth to dodge the swing of the nail, her footing almost slipping on the carpet of moss and leaves. The tip of the nail narrowly missed her mask as it whistled past. She panted in exhaustion as she regained her balance to block the bug’s next strike, her pulse hammering at the base of her skull.

The strange bug pressed its attack relentlessly, forcing Hornet to give ground as she ducked and weaved and blocked its nail with her own. The force of its strikes against her needle made Hornet’s arms vibrate. Feeling the pressure of a mossy wall looming behind her, Hornet leapt into the air to avoid becoming cornered, summersaulting over the bug and lashing out with her needle as she passed. She could feel the crack of her nail striking home but the bug shrugged off the powerful blow with ease, twirling to meet her the moment she landed and again pressing in with a flurry of attacks. A powerful blow sent her needle flying from her numb hands and Hornet’s breathe faltered. Faster than thinking, she gathered the bright soul she could feel dancing within her and spun it into the fastest spell she knew.

Razor sharp thread as thin as spider silk lashed out around her, striking the strange bug and driving it a few steps away from her. The strike was powerful enough to make the bug drop its own weapon and Hornet snagged it with a sticky thread, reeling it into her grip. The nail was far shorter than her own needle, and heavy, but it would suffice. The bug was still regaining its balance when Hornet’s spell faded, its small body shaking as it, too, panted for breath.

This was her opening – her chance to end it.

In the space of a breath, Hornet reversed her retreat and sprang forward, nail leading the charge. She drove the blade straight into the bug’s middle. She could feel the slight resistance of an oddly soft shell before the nail drove through. All the way through. The jolt as the nail buried into the stone behind the bug vibrated all the way up her arms and into her skill. Hornet released the hilt, leaving the bug impaled on its own blade as she staggered back a step, at last able to look into the white mask of the thing she’d killed.

Ghost stared back at her, their mask cracked down one side.

Hornet’s heart gave a sudden, painful pound as a tingling cold dread swept through her. No…

Dark particles of void leaked from her sibling as they reached toward the nail she’d driven through their chest, the edges of their black hand as indistinct as smoke. Horror almost choked her and Hornet rushed forward to catch them just as they ripped the nail free. The clatter of metal on mossy stone rang in Hornet’s ears like a bell, a damning sound to replace the cry of pain her sibling could not make. Ghost toppled forward after the nail and Hornet caught them in her arms.

The void that formed their body dissipated at her touch, leaving nothing but a cracked mask in her grip and a limp cloak across her arms.

No. No no no no no no no-!

---

Hornet awoke from the nightmare with a sharp breath, every muscle in her body locked tight as fear and shame hammered through her with every galloping beat of her heart. Darkness pressed thick around her. Her gaze darted around the unfamiliar surroundings; a low ceiling of clay pressed close overhead, with empty air next to her as the space dropped off into a slightly larger room. It took Hornet a moment to remember that she was staying at Ghost’s and Hollow’s home in Dirtmouth for the night, before returning to her duties in Deepnest. She sighed quietly into the warm air.

Just a dream, she told herself as she forced her breathing to slow. Just a dream and nothing more.

But she could still feel the sensation of the nail piercing her sibling’s body as a phantom numbness in her arms.

Her gaze darted to the bundled figures of her sleeping siblings across the loft from her. From her own nest of silk, she could just make out the small shape of Ghost curled comfortably under Hollow’s lanky arm, the two of them bundled under a mess of blankets and pillows. Even the strange creature Ghost had acquired from the Grimm troupe slept soundly at the siblings’ feet. Hornet almost sighed in relief at finding them both safe and comfortable. But the relief was short lived as the guilt of her dream came crushing back.

It was just a nightmare, she scolded herself. Ghost it fine. You’d never hurt them.

But she had before.

The dark thought was just a quiet buzz at the back of her mind, but oh how it sent the sharpest ache of misery through her chest. She did her best not to think about it or acknowledge it, but she could not deny that she had hurt Ghost before. Quite badly. A number of times. She couldn’t even claim that it had been on accident, or even a miscommunication. No. She had intended to kill them, both in Greenpath and at Kingdom’s Edge.

“My needle is lethal and I'd feel no sadness in a weakling's demise.”

She cringed at the memory of the words she’d spoken before their last fight. Had she meant that? Watching Ghost sleep so peacefully now, the thought of raising her needle against them made her stomach roll.

What did they think when they looked at her? Did Ghost, too, have nightmares of their first encounters?

Hornet’s breathing felt unusually smothered in her silk hammock and she silently untangled herself. She had to get out of there. Just for a time. She could not stay in this warm darkness – feeling like an intruder in its comfortable sanctuary. Out of habit she picked up her needle as she went to slide off the loft that served as her siblings’ bedroom. The cold metal bit into her hand, its weight comfortable, familiar.

Damning.

She hesitated on the edge of the loft and stared down at the weapon a moment, tracing the slight swirls of spell forms etched in the blade with a thumb. How many lives had this blade ended? How much blood was on her hands?

She violently shook her head, shoving the thoughts away with immense effort. She returned her needle to its resting place against the wall next to her nest and silently hoped down from the loft. Without a word, she slipped out the front door into the cool night air, fleeing the warm comfort of her siblings’ home like the intruder she was.

The cold air filled her lungs with the welcoming scent of damp dirt and sweet grass, mingled with wood smoke and cooked food still lingering on the breeze from the celebration that had taken place earlier that same evening. It had been quite some time since Ghost and Hollow had defeated the Radiance and ended the stasis that had held the kingdom in perpetual night, and the town of Dirtmouth had decided to hold some kind of celebration in her siblings’ honor. That was why Hornet was here, instead of back in Deepnest rebuilding her home. The town was quiet now, but the remains of the party still decorated the town square – painted banners made by Sheo, strings of lumifly lanterns gifted by Sly and Myla, mismatched tables moved from homes still cluttered with empty serving platers, the glowing embers of a large fire pit where even the Grimm Troupe had made an appearance. It had been quite a long, wild night for the bugs of Dirtmouth.

Hornet’s feet turned her away from the town’s square and she tilted her mask up to the sky above, unaccustomed to having open air instead of rock overhead. No longer a flat, consistent grey, the sky was alive with color and light. The moon hung in the navy blue dome like a slender claw, thick sweeps of colorful stars blanketing the sky in intricate swaths of red, blue, and white light. She couldn’t remember ever seeing the stars before her father had sealed Hollow in the Black Egg and trapped Hollownest in stasis. Even now, despite the dark thoughts that cluttered her mind, she thought them beautiful. The surface town lent a spectacular view of the bright swirls of stars and the few dark, wispy clouds that passed between the moon and the earth, and Hornet began to pick her way towards the town cemetery, recalling a lift that went up the side of the mountain.

Despite the peaceful beauty of her surroundings, Hornet’s chest felt tight and she anxiously wandered towards the lift. She struggled to keep her mind blank, refusing to let herself think about the dark shadows curling at the back of her mind and the cold emptiness that clenched in her chest. Focusing on the sound of the loose sand grinding under her feet and the quiet singing of the family of crickets who’d moved into one of the houses at the edge of town with a dogged determination, she stepped into the rickety lift and pulled the lever to start its ascent. The town fell away slowly and she watched the flickering lumifly lamps decorating the square become as small as the stars above.

The lift stopped at a ledge more than halfway up the mountain that shielded Dirtmouth’s eastern border. Hornet stepped out into the cold wind and found a stone to sit upon as she stared off at the stars. The murmuring wind washed over her and she tried to take comfort in the solitude and space. Instead, loneliness weighed heavily in her chest. She mentally berated herself for wanting to be alone only to become depressed by being lonely.

But wasn’t that how she always felt?

She tried to remember a time when this hollow longing for others didn’t ache in her heart. Her memory offered thoughts of her mother, of following Herrah through the halls of her home in Deepnest. She thought of learning spells with the Pale King, of playing with the other spiderlings, of training in the Hive. But no… even then she had felt somehow apart from those around her. She was different from her peers, part spider part god and that had made the other weavers hesitant around her. She remembered how she used to try to bribe the friendship of the spiderlings and bees with dazzling displays of skill with her nail, or pilfered trinkets from the white palace. She could never figure out how to act with others, following the scrip of conversation and mimicking those around her in an attempt to find some sort of belonging. But it never worked. Some may have called her “friend” but she’d never felt close to any of them. She had known, even then, that her little gifts were just her attempts at making up for something intrinsically missing from herself, and maybe the other spiderlings and bees she trained with had sensed that as well.

Her father, too, had been distant, too focused on training Hollow and preparing his plan to defeat the radiance. She knew she was not a priority for the Pale Wyrm. Her mother had loved her, she knew that, but Herrah wasn’t there enough to completely quell the loneliness that chilled through her daughter. And then she was gone, leaving her child completely alone in a crumbling kingdom. When the infection inevitably came, Hornet had lost everyone she had ever known, but she had been alone long before that.

Even now, Hornet struggled to find a place where she felt she belonged. She pictured the bugs of Dirtmouth the night before, their warm smiles and easy laughter as they had mingled about. The music and lights and happy chatter had surrounded her in a warm comfort. She recalled watching Ghost dance with Grimm in a spectacular performance, and remembered watching them run from person to person, giving hugs to everyone they encountered. She thought about how even Hollow mingled with the bugs of their home and conversed in a hand language they and Ghost had been creating. They both had seemed so happy and comfortable, and everyone around them adored them.

But Hornet?

She had lingered on the outskirts of the party with a wooden smile. She had been among the excitement and joy, but she hadn’t been a part of it. The bugs of Dirtmouth had seemed to avoid her, only striking up awkward conversation when social convention had required it and drifting off as soon as it was appropriate to do so. She had tried to be a part of the group, desperately longed to be as easy-going and welcoming as they were, but she couldn’t. Everything she said sounded awkward in her ears, every genuine compliment or interest falling into obligatory praise the moment it left her tongue. Something within her refused to open up to those around her, an icy claw gripping her heart that would not melt. She wanted to be welcome here, but that cold grip kept her apart. Hornet hadn’t the faintest idea how to interact with the bugs she had spent her whole life protecting.

Protecting?

That thought drew a bitter snort from her.

She used to think of herself as a protector. During the infection, she had given everything she had to preserving Hollownest, to keeping it safe. But who was she protecting? More bugs had fallen to her nail than had been saved by it, of that she was certain. Her thoughts turned to her other siblings she had killed, the dozens of unnamed vessels that had managed to escape the abyss and the horrors of the infected Ancient Basin or Deepnest just to fall to her blade. She’d believed it had been necessary – each of them were compelled to challenge the Radiance, and if they were not strong enough to best her, they would have never been able to usurp Hollow. But had she done the right thing in cutting them down? She knew now that none of them were the empty things she had believed them to be. Had they been just as scared and desperate for a chance at life as any of the other surviving bugs of Hollownest?

She found herself staring down at her hands, the phantom sensation of something staining her hands making her shudder, and she wrapped her arms around herself to rub at her biceps in an attempt to rid herself of the feeling.

No wonder no one wanted her around. She was as monstrous as her father, and with far less justification.

Not for the first time, she idly considered leaving. Hollownest was safe from the infection, and what little of the population was left was quickly rebuilding. Even her own home in Deepnest could recover without her – she had put it well on its way to that. She wasn’t needed here, not really. Maybe if she left the place of her crimes, she could scour those stains from her mind, erase them from her memory. She doubted many here would miss her leaving, except for maybe Hollow.

So lost in her own brooding thoughts, Hornet didn’t notice the soft footfalls of someone approaching, oblivious to the newcomer’s arrival until they disturbed a stone startlingly close behind her. Heart leaping into her throat, Hornet’s head whipped around to find Hollow and Ghost standing awkwardly at the mouth of the cave that lead into the Crystal Peak mines. Hornet froze, confused at their arrival until she spotted her long needle in Hollow’s grip. They must have awoken when she left, and figured something was wrong when her needle was still there. Seeing Hollow once again holding a nail made something twist in Hornet’s belly and she stood as guilt washed through her anew. Hollow turned to lean her needle against the wall inside of the cave while Ghost’s hands slowly walked through some of the gestures they used to communicate.

“Can we sit with you?” they asked.

Hornet hesitated, taken aback. After a moment, she nodded, unable to think of a good excuse not to allow them to join her and wondering why they even wanted to in the first place. She tentatively sat back on her stone, leaving room for Ghost and Hollow to join her. Hollow was so tall that it was easier for them to just sit on the ground next to the rock, but Ghost hopped right up next to her. Hornet took a slow breath, her shoulders tense. Her siblings’ presence was wasn’t entirely unwelcome, but somehow having the two of them beside her made Hornet feel even more alone. They were close enough to touch, but she felt worlds apart from them.

“Hornet,” Hollow signed, the motion drawing her gaze. “Are you alright?”

The sincere concern in her siblings’ tense figures lanced through Hornet’s chest and she turned her head away, the dark thoughts she’d so desperately tried, and failed, to suppress rearing up like a viper. No, she was not alright. She was a murderer, the blood of her siblings staining her hands. The tremor of concern in Hollow and Ghost’s gestures only cut Hornet deeper as she considered all the pain she had caused them. She had no right to their concern. She didn’t deserve their sympathy. A lump rose in her throat as shame threatened to choke her. Realizing they were waiting for a response, Hornet swallowed past the tightness and lazily waved a hand, trying to dispel their worry with the careless motion.

“Of course,” she lied, angry as her voice betrayed her by cracking with emotion. “I am fine. It has been a long day, and I wanted some fresh air.”

Hollow and Ghost shared a look and Hornet turned away. Silence grew and an unusual tension settled around the three of them like a heavy cloak. Hornet found herself trying to think of a way to excuse herself, to run away from having to confront the confusing swirl of emotions coiling through her. Carefully, as if worried they’d startle her, Ghost rested a cold hand on her arm. The soft touch stirred a blend of warmth and fear in her chest, but Hornet didn’t pull away.

“If you ever need to talk, we’re here to listen,” Ghost signed when she glanced over, their gestures earnest.

“There is nothing you can say that will make us think any less of you,” Hollow added, reaching around Ghost to add their hand to her shoulder.

The lump in Hornet’s throat grew and she felt the warm pinpricks of tears threatening to fall. She thought of all the things she wanted to share but could never find the words to express. About how alone she always felt, even when surrounded by others. About how tired she was of perpetually running in circles trying to find a way to make herself worthy of people’s care, throwing herself into every task presented to her in order to earn the approval of those around her. How she still constantly looked over her shoulder and saw threats in every stranger that crossed her path. But above all of that, the faces of all the bugs whose lives she had ended threatened to swamp her, Ghost’s own broken mask rising foremost in her churning mind. Hopeless remorse clenched her chest and a silent sob hiccupped through her. She shamefully swiped at her eyes, bitter at the traitorous tears dripping down her cheeks. Ghost jumped up in shock at her sudden tears, and Hollow rocked forward as if to embrace her but hesitated at the last second, clearly uncertain of what they should do.

“By the void, Hornet what’s wrong?” they signed instead. “Can we help?”

Hornet wordlessly shook her head, refusing to trust her voice as she grappled with the emotions storming through her and she buried her face in her hands. She wanted to reach out to them, to accept their embrace, but the icy claws around her heart dragged her back, telling her they only cared out of obligation. The lonely emptiness pressed on her with the weight of a mountain, cold and jagged as she struggled to gasp in an even breath. The shattered edges of her heart she’d thought had been dulled by years of solitude after her mother’s first death suddenly tore at her with the viciousness of freshly shattered glass as a shuddering sob raked through her. Twin storms of desperate longing and potent remorse raged in her veins as she simultaneously wished to confide in her siblings and chastised herself for even considering asking their forgiveness after everything she had done. She knew it was too little, too late. But she had to say something. She needed them to know that she knew what she had done, that she’d hurt both of them. That she wasn’t just ignoring her own transgressions.

That they needn’t feel obligated to be here with her.

“I am so sorry,” she choked out at last, her face still buried in her hands. Once those words left her tongue, yet more poured out of her in a senseless jumble. “For everything. For letting our father lock Hollow away, for running away when you needed me. I’m sorry for raising my nail against you, Ghost. For hurting you and all of our siblings. I – I thought I was protecting Hollownest, but I know I was just hurting bugs who had already gone through so much. I know I can never make up for it, and I’m so, so sorry.”

It wasn’t everything, but it was more than she could manage as her throat grew too tight to keep speaking. They didn’t need to know about her own pain – she just needed them to know that she knew she’d hurt them, and that she regretted it.

She flinched as Ghost climbed into her lap to wrap their little arms around her shaking sides, their mask buried in the red fabric of her cloak as they held her tight. Hollow, too, looped their arm around her and tugged her off of her rock into their lap, holding both her and Ghost in their lap in a tight hug. After a few heartbeats of shock, the tension in Hornet’s shoulders flowed out of her and before she realized what she was doing she wrapped her arms around both of her siblings and buried her face against Hollow’s chest, clinging to the two of them as she let the misery overwhelm her.

For the first time in her life, Hornet finally let herself actually cry, completely relenting to the chaotic blend of emotions that threatened to suffocate her.

After a time, her sobs quieted, and Hornet rested limply in her siblings’ arms as she caught her breath, feeling like a rung out rag. A flicker embarrassment lit through her but she smothered it. She refused to allow herself to feel embarrassed or guilty for showing this weakness to her siblings. Ghost leaned back from her to have room to create their hand signs, shaping them slowly to be sure she could follow them.

“We love you Hornet.”

Her breath hitched at the words and Hollow nodded their head in earnest agreement, lifting their own hand to add: “It’s all in the past. It only matters what you do now.”

New tears threatened to fall but she stubbornly sniffed them back. She could feel those sharp claws of ice around her heart loosen just a little at the certainty in her sibling’s gestures. She pulled them both into another hug, holding them tight as the warmth of affection in her chest grew. She knew she didn’t deserve them, but maybe one day she would. Hornet’s self-pity began to turn to resolve. Even if she couldn’t change what she had done, she would do everything in her power to make sure her siblings stayed safe and happy. She would protect them and her people from any and all harm, no matter the personal cost. They were her family, wyrm damn it, and she would keep them safe. Maybe with time, this lonely hole in her chest would heal as she confronted her own remorse and feelings, as she worked to make up for her mistakes, but for now this was as good a place to start as any.

No more running from her siblings, no more hiding from her emotions.

If they wanted her in their life then by all the gods across every pantheon she was going to be there.

#hollow knight #hollowknight #my writing #hk hornet #hk ghost #hk hollow #just projecting onto characters and avoiding finals nothing to see here #cw violence #cw impalement #cw depression #I swear I want these characters to be happy!#I don't know why I keep doing this

34 notes · View notes