#Him plus venom would be my downfall | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cowboygenesis · 13 days

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18+ knuckle up | astarion x reader

summary: after a drunken night and a dumb bet you're left in an emotional (and physical) chokehold by your favourite vampire companion.

pairing: astarion ancunin x afab!bard!reader tags: 18+, smut, fluff, switch dynamics, m/f, fingering, unprotected sex, resolved tension, playfighting, sex after training session. word count: 7.8k notes: this fic was SO fun to write even if im a gale girlie myself. this is my first attempt at writing ANY bg3 character, so i really hope i did okay. if not, let me know! comments help me improve my writing (and warm my heart, seriously, thanks to anyone taking the time out of their day to comment). anyways gang, no beta as ALWAYS, you know how we roll. ENJOY! masterlist.

It still made little sense to you.

You had honed your skills at the most prestigious music schools in Faerûn for years, pouring your heart into every note, every chord, only to find yourself shamelessly ridiculed for an entirely different kind of performance. And by a man you’d grown to like, no less.

"Get up, darling," Astarion’s voice drips with amusement, the self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips with infuriating smugness. His crimson eyes watch you with a predatory glint, locking onto your vulnerable form sprawled in the dirt—a definitive result of his frustratingly agile moves.

You groan lowly, propping yourself up on bruised elbows, wincing as a dull ache pulses through your body. A stray lock of hair falls in front of your face, and you blow it away in frustration.

"I’m starting to think this isn’t educational at all." You glare at him with all the venom you can muster, eyebrows furrowed as his arms cross.

Your eyes absentmindedly scan down his body, taking note of his slightly disheveled shirt and tousled hair. He looks… good. Beautiful, even. Basking in the soft moonlight seeping through the vast greenery above, he stands there like he’s in his element.

He chuckles, seemingly unbothered by your vapid tone. "Oh, but it is, my dear. Think of it as a new, humbling experience. Valuable in its own right."

You bite back a retort as he offers you a hand, his expression making your eye twitch. You never thought you’d fall for arrogance, yet ironically it’s your own conceit that might have brewed your upcoming downfall.

After a particularly boisterous night of drinking in camp—brought on by the recent victory over a pack of gnolls—you foolishly accepted Astarion’s challenge to best him in hand-to-hand combat. Your alcohol-addled brain had been more confident than your body, and now, after a series of harsh jabs and sidesteps, you were being taught the harsh reality of “real” combat.

Defeated, you eventually obliged a quick lesson from the master himself, which he had (admittedly suspiciously) made you take after losing your bet.

At the very least, the bruising would rid you of your lingering hangover once you were done taking the thrashing. Plus, you hoped it would bring you two closer. Figuratively and physically.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your hesitation. "Come now, my dear, don’t be so stubborn. You seemed so eager at first,"

"You told me you’d teach me to fight, not fall on my damn face," you lament, but begrudgingly accept his help, allowing him to pull you to your feet.

His grip is firm, and the coolness of his skin sends a small jolt of electricity down your spine. You had often imagined what holding his hand would feel like during the colder nights alone in your tent, and while the circumstances ended up being less than ideal, it was good enough for you. For now.

You rub at your sore arm with a frown and catch that Astarion, unmistakably, stands completely unscathed, his pale complexion almost glowing in the ambient light.

"I’m thinking…” he muses, glancing at the weathered lyre resting peacefully by the roots of a tree. His lips curl into a smirk, and you can feel the teasing jab sting your pride. “Perhaps you’re better suited to the more... delicate aspects of life,"

Your jaw clenches. While bards famously went underestimated— a fact you were reminded of frequently— it hurt more coming from someone you so badly wanted to fuck.

"Oh, I don’t know," you say with a saccharine tone, brushing the residual dirt from your pants; your favorite pair, yet you’d probably end up having to toss them out after your poor performance today. "I think a harp string could make a fine garrote in the right hands."

Astarion’s laughter rings out clearly, and your heart skips a beat unbeknownst to you. "Dully noted. Fortunately for the both of us, we’re stripped of any weaponry in our current pinnacle."

Your eyes roll, running a hand through your disheveled, sweat-slick hair and adjusting your posture to the one he had taught you: one foot forward, back straight.

"Again," you demand, squaring your shoulders. If he wanted to mock you, fine— but you wouldn’t go down without a proper fight.

Astarion’s eyes widen, but his smirk never falters. He sighs in faux exasperation but quickly matches your posture. "So eager to be tossed into the dirt again, darling."

Your face flashes with heat at his painfully languid remark, your mind going places it probably shouldn’t. You knew the pet names were simply an inherent part of his vocabulary and that he used them generously, with everyone, yet a part of you liked to imagine they were reserved for you, and you only.

“Try me again,” you reply curtly, lowering your gaze as you feel the tension sprawling through your aching body.

He shoots you an arrogant smirk, his gaze penetrating your soul with an intensity you didn’t think possible. He bares his fangs, licking over his bottom lip lazily. “Let’s see it, then.”

Astarion approaches, but this time, you’re ready. As he moves to close the distance, you anticipate the first jab, ducking low before he can catch you off-guard. You dart to the side, aiming a swift thrust toward his midsection. It’s clumsy and unpracticed, but it seems to work.

Your fist connects with his toned stomach. He topples off-balance, but only for a fleeting second. His reflexes are too sharp, too honed through his century-long life for you to overcome with your pitiful attempt.

He catches himself with a graceful pivot, turning the stumble into a curt spin that has him facing you once more.

"Fast learner, are we?" he muses, watching you closely through his fists. "I might actually have to try now."

"Don’t flatter yourself," you shoot back, heart racing. At that moment, you recognize you can’t win. Not this time, probably not the next. But you don’t want to forfeit, even if it means enduring a day or two of terrible muscle soreness.

Every sidestep, every deflected blow, brings you closer, the air between you growing heavy with static. You aren’t sure if it’s the heat of the fight or the dangerous proximity, but you can feel it—an irresistible, undeniable pull.

"Careful now," Astarion purrs as you barely miss his face with a rugged swing. He catches your wrist, holding it tight as he leans in, breath ghosting over your ear. "You wouldn’t want to harm me, would you?"

You swallow hard, your body tensing under his tight grip. The closeness is intoxicating, but you force yourself to stay focused, pushing back against the growing heat in your chest.

"Maybe I would." You don’t.

For a moment, neither of you move. The world seems to narrow, the charged atmosphere thick with tacit suspense. You can feel your pulse hammering in your throat, senses sharp, attuned to every breath he takes as they intermingle with yours.

"Darling," a dramatic pout creeps onto his lips, only to be replaced by a sly grin seconds later. You feel his grip on your wrist loosening just enough for you to slip free. It’s a calculated move, once he grants you himself. "You wound me with your words."

You take a step back, breathless. This isn’t over, not by a long shot, yet your muscles fight against that thought. They scream at you with pain, worn and stretched by what feels like hours of sparring.

“Sounds like you’re the one trying to wound me,” you taunt, shooting him a lowered gaze. “Why’d you take me out here? Trying to make your next kill less obvious?”

The vampire had insisted you two train away from the bustle of camp, even if it meant missing out on tonight’s feast. While the rest of your companions enjoyed the finest ale Baldur’s Gate could offer, you were stuck trying to prove something to your crush.

Astarion's grin widens, his eyes flashing with amusement as he takes a slow, calculated step forward. “Now, now,” he purrs, voice dripping with mock innocence. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have seen it coming— no need for childish theatrics.”

You hold his gaze, refusing to let him see the slight tremble in your legs from the strain of the sparring—or maybe it’s from something else entirely, you can’t be sure. You know he’s dangerous, that this game you’ve been playing with him has always had its sharp edges. But there’s something about that edge, about the way he dances so easily between teasing and threatening, that weakens your knees and makes you breathless every damn time.

"Then why are we here?" you challenge, taking a step back to match his forward one. Your voice is steady, but your pulse is hammering in your throat. The woods feel like a world apart from camp, the sounds of chatter distant as you sit in your isolated little bubble of the world. “It’s a little… intimate, don’t you think?”

Astarion tilts his head, studying you with a curious twinkle in his crimson eyes. “That sharp tongue again,” he says quietly, “Do you truly believe I’d go through all the trouble of bringing you out here just to end you? If I wanted your death, I’d make it enjoyable for both of us.”

Your breath catches at his words. His words drip with venom, but somewhere deep down, in the depths of his blackened heart, you swear you feel an instance of temptation.

“What’s the game then?” you ask, holding his gaze despite the anxiety twisting in your chest. “Because by the Gods, I know you love those.”

Astarion’s smirk softens, but the intensity in his eyes never falters. He steps closer again, until there’s barely any space between you, his presence intoxicating. “Maybe I just wanted to see what you’re capable of,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvety. “Maybe I wanted to see how far you’d let me push you before you push back.”

His hand hovers near yours, fingers brushing lightly against your skin, but he doesn’t make full contact.

“And maybe,” he continues, leaning in just enough that his breath grazes your cheek, “I’m curious what could happen once we both stop playing.”

Your heart is racing now, and you’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline from the sparring or the charged air between you that’s making your head spin a hundred miles an hour.

“You’ll never know,” you murmur, meeting his gaze with a boldness you don’t quite feel. “Because I’m not backing down from this.”

His grin widens at your rebellion, and with a swift, fluid motion, the man’s playful smirk turns into a vicious one. Before you can react, he spins you around, movements smooth and practiced, making you lose your balance.

Your back hits his chest, and within seconds he wraps one arm around your neck in a tight headlock— his grip is firm, but not painful. Your mind strays to his other arm, feeling it press against your waist to keep you securely against him.

“Such a feisty little thing,” he purrs into your ear, his breath warm against your sweat-slick skin.

You struggle against his hold, trying to twist free, but his grip is relentless. “Fuck you,” you manage to scowl, though the words are strained by the pressure on your throat.

Astarion chuckles softly, and you feel it reverberate through your body. “Oh, she bites back,” he teases, his voice a dark, seductive buzz. “Are you taunting me, darling?”

You try to shift your weight, to find a way out of the headlock, but his grip doesn’t waver. “You’re projecting,” you growl breathlessly.

“And you’re persistent,” he replies, “Suits you well.”

You feel a warmth spread through your belly, tickling your nerve endings and making your thighs squeeze. You thank the Gods he can’t see your flustered face right now.

And suddenly, he releases. Not fully, but his grip weakens enough to allow you a moment to slip out again, stumbling over your own feet as you face him.

“Here’s your second freebie,” he chuckles, getting into position again. “Careful, next one might come at a price.”

“Like I need a third one,”

You recalibrate, then in the spur of the moment, pounce. Your arms extend as they barrel toward him. His eyes widen, but he manages to catch them mid-air; his hands clasping into yours and pushing against you.

“Fair strategy,” he commends, and you sense it might at least be partially earnest. “Desperate, but fair.”

You strain against him, breath hitching when he periodically pushes back. Whenever he does, you feel his gaze boring into you with a crazed intensity.

Then, you try not to think about the fact your digits fit together really damn well— and fail. Take what you can get, right?

“What’s wrong, my dear?” he sneers, slender fingers tightening around your palm. He leans in, your chests threatening to collide. “Getting distracted?”

You grit your teeth, leaning in with your full body weight, but he barely budges. “You wish,” you shoot back breathlessly.

“I feel it,” he corrects in a whisper, leaning in just enough that his lips hover dangerously close to your ear. “It’s in your eyes. You’re not even thinking about our little lesson anymore, are you?”

Your breath hitches at his words, the undoubted truth in them cutting through the haze in your mind. He’s right. The bet, your lesson —somewhere along the lines, your sparring posture went lax. All that matters to you now is the palpable closeness, your hands in his, and his hot, idle breath on your neck. Your throat threatens to cast a strained groan, but you withhold.

“I—” you start to protest, but your voice falters. His chest is now pressed flush against yours, pushing you forward.

“Admit it,” he murmurs, his voice low, seductive. “And I’ll let you win.”

Your hands tremble in the small space they lock with his, the smoldering red of his gaze telling you he knows exactly what he’s doing—how his actions leave you a mess in body and soul.

“I won’t, I— I can’t,” you manage to stutter, but the words sound weak and unconvincing even to your own weary ears.

He chuckles softly, the sound reverberating through you like a slow current. “Liar,” he whispers, and you catch a glimpse of his pearly fangs in your hazed peripherals. “Not a good one, either. Another thing I should school you on.”

Your eyes roll, but the implication accelerates the growing tension within your guts. “Just how generous you are.”

His head tilts gradually, and you go pale as you catch his tongue running along the length of his bottom lip.

“No, darling,” he purrs, “I haven’t shown you generous just yet.”

And then, you catch his eyes darkening. There’s a certain mania to them when they widen, pupils blown out like a cat’s when he suddenly pushes firmly against you. Your feet stumble backward, staring into him as a wild grin plasters on his face.

You yelp when you lose balance, lips ajar and eyes closed shut as you feel your back crash into something soft, or at least, soft enough to leave you un-bruised.

When your eyes flutter open, he’s on top of you. You study his broad shoulders, the pale neck between them, and finally let your half-lidded gazes connect in a silent, tension-filled juncture.

The ambiance of dusk quiets down to a soft murmur, crickets chirping in the distance as his strong body hovers inches above you, hands placed firmly around your wrists to successfully lock you in place.

“Seems to me you’ve lost our little bet,” he purrs out, and your breath hitches as one of his legs slides between yours, slowly inching to put a distance between your knees.

All you can do is stare up at him hungrily, desperately, drinking in his weathered features and pray he’d let you run your fingers through his flaxen locks at some point in the night.

“No clever retort? That’s not the little bard I know and love,” he teases, and your hips almost buck into him at that one word. You know he doesn’t mean it, yet your teeth still clench when your body jolts in response to his familiar lilt.

“You’re playing dirty,” you finally breathe out, cringing at how strained your voice sounds as you lie under his weight.

“No one ever said this would be a clean game,” he retorts, his crimson gaze boring into you before gradually disappearing into your neck.

His lips hover over your skin, hot breath tickling the soft spot near your pulse point as you gasp quietly. You feel him hesitate, arms tensing and releasing over your own as if soaked in apprehension. You strain your muscles, eyes shutting in preparation for the inevitable, sharp bite coming onto your poor vein. Gods, was this his plan all along?

But then, you feel the grip on your wrists loosen.

Your eyes flutter open, and you quickly catch the tousled white locks in your neck as the vampire looms over you.

“Here’s your chance to run,” he hitches, and somehow he sounds just as out of breath as you do.

You lie on the blanket of moss, chest heaving and gaze tracing languidly over the treeline as you feel your body go limp. He’s giving you one last opt-out before… before something happens, be it a bloody massacre or... Or?

Your mind shrieks at you: take advantage, prove yourself on top in this stupid bet— but the little voice in your heart urges you to stay under his firm body; find out if your instincts rang true after all.

You stay. Not only that, but you let your hands slip out of his, one of them snaking down his shoulder while the other runs through his waves. They’re silky, and soft, and when you catch a whiff of rosemary in the air, your grip tightens.

“Astarion,” you whisper, voice surprisingly steady as your heart beats a constant rhythm into the space between you.

His body jerks abruptly, albeit subtly, and you feel him smirking— smiling— into the soft flesh of your neck. “So I was right, after all.”

His face withdraws from you slightly, the residual condensation of his warm breath leaving you shivering. You catch his gaze, half-lidded and scanning your expression with apt concentration.

“Feisty, spirited little thing,” he continues, inching towards you again.

Your stiff body jerks, grazing against him as your shaky hand snakes to his cheek. You cradle it gently but with urgency, and there’s a beat of silence before you finally understand what to do.

You inhale softly, catch his questioning gaze, and crash your lips onto his.

He groans softly when you meet in the middle, lowering himself with his arms. Your chest thrums with the beat of your heart, shooting waves of dopamine down your worn spine.

When you feel his nimble hand on your jaw, your lips part with a sigh. He matches your buzz with his own self-satisfied murmur, stroking your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

You smile. He’s sweet and bitter, and you whine gently into the kiss when you recognize brandy on his tongue.

This is what you’ve been waiting for all these lonesome months.

The culmination dawns on you like a powerful current, making your eyes squeeze and your hands tremble in his waves.

He seems to notice your tremor, but instead of slowing down or (Gods forbid) stopping, he dives deeper. You moan into his mouth as he wriggles a hand around your waist, holding you close to his hips and suddenly, you feel a steady pressure grinding into your crotch.

The movement is slow, precise, practiced. His hips buff into yours in a controlled rhythm, making you sense his already taut erection through the thick material of his linen pants.

“Do you get it now, darling?” he murmurs, breaking the kiss to stare lazily into your glassy eyes. “Look what you do to me.”

His hand snakes to your blouse, and before you can register what’s happening, you hear three ivory buttons pop off followed by the cool, evening breeze tickling your heated skin. You don’t need to open your eyes to know your nipples are standing taut in the chilly air, yet the image makes you redden.

“How— how unceremonious,” you croak out, moaning softly when his large hand begins palming at your right breast.

His thumb and forefinger squeeze at your erect nipple, toying with it in smooth, tactile movements and relishing the way his name sounds coming out of your kiss-swollen lips.

“Mm, forgive me,” he chuckles darkly, planting a quick, ardent kiss on your lips before lowering his face to your chest. His tongue licks a slow, tender strip up your sternum before he looks up to smile at you; it’s a genuine look of satisfaction, untouched by the plague that is his faux arrogance. “I’ll make sure to be good next time.”

’Next time?’

You look at him lazily, gaze puzzled and lips ajar to ask but he doesn’t even offer you the chance. His hand dips from your tits to the band of your pants, sliding underneath it with his finger, the coolness of his skin making you gasp.

His mouth assaults your other nipple with sucks, nibbles, and gentle bites, making you mewl under him as his hand continues to travel down the soft flesh of your thigh. He rubs it gently, lovingly, starting under your hip and slowly stroking his way toward the inner region, where you’re most sensitive.

“Divine,” he mumbles against your chest, pressing a kiss to your rib. “So divine.”

His free palm moves to your exposed belly, massaging it gently. You sigh at the slow, consistent pressure, moving your trembling hand to the back of his neck.

When your one eye pops open in curiosity, you see him snug against your body, face contorted with empathic fixation as he labors down your body. It’s intimate, yes, but also… loving. His tongue is warm against your breast, and his palms caress your skin with slow, delicate strokes; the same hands you’ve seen wield blood-soaked daggers and longbows.

He runs two digits along the stretchy fabric of your bottoms, lip caught between his teeth. He catches you staring and smirks up at you.

“Enjoying yourself?” he husks out, and you’re desperate enough to nod wordlessly.

He chuckles at your enthusiasm, hand smoothing down the waistband of your panties that peers from behind your bottoms. Not even your cutest pair, but oh well. He doesn’t even seem to notice, as his digits play with the elastic.

You’re already so exposed, but nothing can prepare you for what he does next.

With a few more kisses to your breasts, he tugs at the two waistbands, pulling down your pants and panties in one go.

The material slides off your legs and you hiss out, feeling the coolness caress your slick core. Your hands instinctively reach to cover up, but you’re stopped in your tracks by a strong grasp around your wrist.

“Oh no, no,” He looks up at you with an arched eyebrow, and somehow, despite his collected mien, you catch a soft dusting of pink across his cheekbones. “Don’t you dare deny me this view. Not after I’ve waited for so long.”

Your face heats up at the brazen comment, but that only seems to draw him closer. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, and he takes the hint immediately.

You connect in a heated kiss, and this time, Astarion is the one groaning against you. You work in tandem, like a gentle, effortless dance, heavy breaths intermingling in a sweet symphony of hums and sighs when…

You feel a touch against your heat. The contact is almost impalpable, yet your eyes flutter open in shock as the man’s fingers trace over your slit.

He withdraws from your kiss, hovering inches from your lips with a soft smile.

“S’unfair,” you slur, gazing up at him with a pleasure-drunken gaze. He exhales loudly, and you gasp. His fingers dip in, rubbing slow circles around your clit. “You— Gods—”

“Yeah? Tell me,” he taunts lowly, continuing his torturously languid movements with a devious smirk plastered on his perfect face. “What’s got you so bothered, my sweet?”

He dips down, teasing your entrance with his index. You pant softly at the prolonged stimulation, trying your damn best to stay focused on furrowing your eyebrows in mock anger.

“Got me so exposed and—” you trail tensely as his finger probes your entrance. “—And you’re still in your damn clothes.”

He hums in acknowledgment, but you doubt he’s even listening to you by how he surveys your body, bottom lip caught between his fangs. “I’m about to show you ‘generous’, like I promised.”

And then, he bottoms out. You moan, feeling two of his digits sliding into you, the slickness of your opening making it an easy feat.

You squeeze around him, and he pumps into you once, then twice for good measure. The sound of his movements is unbelievably and utterly obscene, making your stomach knot in delight.

“So wet already,” he purrs through a smirk, watching you writhe under him, “Don’t tell me our little sparring session got you this bothered.”

You roll your eyes, thighs squeezed tight around his wrist as you move your hips in tandem with his rhythm.

“Come on, talk to me,” he taunts again, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek and letting his fingers fuck you in a steady, purposeful rhythm. “Now’s not the time to get coy.”

He switches gears, stopping his movement so he can curl his fingers inside you. He presses against the sweet spot, his thumb reaching to simultaneously rub slow circles against your swollen clit.

You cry out at the newfound pressure, the warmth in your belly twisting into a vortex of fiery delight.

“I—” you mewl against him, wrapping your fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt. “I’m gonna— c-cum—”

His movements quicken at your desperate words, digits working hard against your favorite spot.

“Cum then, my darling,” he taunts firmly, his free hand roaming under your jaw and holding it in place. “Cum for me. Let me— let me look at you, sweet thing.”

Your glassy eyes struggle to focus on his face, but once they do, he hits something white-hot inside you.

His lips crash desperately onto yours, but you struggle to kiss him back through the blinding pleasure of your climax. It thunders down your legs, up your belly, making you cry out against his mouth as everything melts away into a wonderful oblivion.

The last thing you see before your muscles go lax is red.

He rubs your clit methodically through your high, letting you ride it out peacefully as he burrows into your neck again.

When your breath steadies, you feel his fingers slowly withdraw. The emptiness that follows makes you cry out softly, helplessly watching as the man runs his palms up and down your sides.

He presses a soft, soothing kiss against your swollen lips, and you can’t help but glare when you see that he’s still fully dressed, even after your heated orgasm.

He catches your pouting and raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, darling?” he purrs, pulling away to take you all in. You’re caught speechless when his hungry gaze scans down your nude body; starting at your smitten face and ending with a lingering glimpse at your spent pussy.

“Please,” you mewl out, raking your hands down his clothed abs. “Gods— Please take these off, I can’t—”

He does.

His hands momentarily withdraw from around you, and with a swift, deft move, he tosses his shirt off.

The silken cloth comes flying into the night like a phantasmal figure, and you watch it catch onto a stray branch to your right.

Your gaze skims hungrily down his sculpted body, watching his muscles tense and release with every little movement. Yes, you’ve seen him shirtless before, yet the context of your current predicament somehow makes it feel like it’s the first time all over again.

Unbeknownst to you, his hands work at his bottoms, swiftly unbuttoning the waistband and letting it sit loose against his hips. You catch a soft, white trail against the edge of his undergarments, leading down to a straining, tented mess below.

Your hand reaches out absent-mindedly, still drunk off the high of your climax and so, so desperate to finally feel him for yourself.

“Not so fast, darling,” he scolds, gently slapping your hand away and letting it wither at your side.

“Let me touch you,” you retort desperately, but he only chuckles as his fingers begin working at his waistband.

“You lost our bet,” he explains, sliding a thumb under the elastic and letting it lower. You catch the very base of his straining erection, and that taunting alone makes you gasp. “Gives me the upper hand.”

“Says who?” you hiss under your breath, failing to give him the glare he deserves as your eyes bore into his.

He gives you a once over, gaze drawing languidly over your exposed body, and only then does the extent of your nudity finally dawn on you.

“Don’t make me laugh.”

You shift under him, shimmying within the small space he allows, and he takes your brief distraction as a moment to unravel his pants completely. They drop to the ground behind you, leaving him in his undergarments, and you bite your lip at how dangerously lax they sit around his hips.

“I think I’ve left you waiting long enough,” he mutters, and your lips go ajar.

The thumb hooked into his briefs starts sliding down his waist, lower and lower until you’re finally even in terms of undress— and you’re ever so starstruck by the sight of his bulging cock hovering over your belly. It stands thick and taut within arm’s reach and you find the fact makes your mouth water.

Then, before you can think of touching him, you feel him place either hand below your knees. He looks up at you with a sly smirk, and you gasp softly when he pushes your thighs flat against your torso, feet in the air and scandalously exposed in front of him.

“You’re playing with me,” you mutter breathlessly, hissing as you feel his length stroking against your inner thigh.

His arms compress you tighter as you feel him lowering, the underside of his cock slapping against your tummy. The gasp that leaves your throat at the sudden contact widens your eyes, and he catches your gaze with his self-satisfied one.

“Do you like that I’m playing with you?” he follows up without a beat, his hips rutting forward. The movement is gentle, yet the pressure is enough to make you whine out in desperation— it’s also the only answer you manage to choke up for him before his cock slides between your wet folds.

“A-Ah— you fucking— fucking prick,” you hiss at the vampire, and so he bears his fangs at you through a wide grin. You find that it makes your breath hitch even amidst your despair.

“Now, now,” he reprimands, words syrupy, “bold words coming from someone so vulnerable.”

His nails dig into the soft flesh of your legs as he slides back and forth, taking meticulous care so that the head of his cock butts against your clit with every dip. The stimulation feels electric, and soon enough, you feel your still-sensitive body ramp up with heated energy for a second time this night.

A minute passes, yet it feels like an eternity. The air between you is thick with tension and the soft, repetitive harmony of your strained moans and his little gasps. You watch his eyes close in concentration, and despite his otherwise relaxed facade, you can tell he’s struggling to resist you by the way his eyebrows knit in the middle.

“Fuck me,” you breathe out, one of your hands extending to claw at his withholding forearm.

When your gazes meet, he looks surprisingly spent; eyes glassed-over, mouth ajar, and the slightest hint of sweat glazing his pale forehead. You realize that his domineering act seemed to come at the expense of his stamina: a resource you had slowly replenished in your comfortable position.

“Not— not yet, darling,” he hitches out, but the words appear tender and helpless to your trained ears. “I— I want to enjoy this— enjoy you—”

Your grip on his forearm tightens, making the bucking of his hips stutter. His eyebrow raises at your touch, but before he can shoot you a witty comment, you’re pushing him forward.

It happens within seconds.

Your knees straighten, feet slamming into his abdomen. He coughs at the sudden, unexpected impact, and you take the opportunity to grab tight onto his forearms. He falls backward, and just before his spine hits the soil beneath, you use the momentum to push yourself onto him.

When his eyes flutter open, you’re straddling his waist.

He blinks in brief confusion, surveying his surroundings before the crimson gaze finally turns to you.

He surveys your face, and you let him. The moment is like a silent meditation, heavy breaths intermingling as he takes your raw beauty in; the longing in your eyes, the soft dusting of pink across your nose, and ultimately, the plush of your lips he had ravaged mere moments ago.

Next, he moves to your body. His eyes scan down your taut nipples, down your tummy, and to the softness of your thighs squeezing his midriff to the ground. When he reaches the junction between your bodies, your hips buck as if on instinct.

“My, just how courageous we are,” he purrs under you, hands reaching to rub down the outside of your thighs. “I wouldn’t be so nice about your dirty tricks if I didn’t find this view thoroughly delectable.”

You shiver at his honeyed words, yet your gaze stays determined on him. Your palms go to rest atop his, marveling at the eccentric softness of his knuckles and the polarizing edge of the nails.

“No one ever said this would be a clean game,” you grin playfully, rocking your hips back to feel his hard length against the curve of your ass. When a soft hiss escapes his lips, you feel your ego inflate. “Sound familiar?”

His eyes roll, but the grin creeping onto his lips deceives him immediately.

His head tilts at you, fangs bearing in the soft moonlight. “You’re trouble.”

The mischief of your smile spins into a warm fondness. Your cheeks warm, and your heart swells, but you don’t quite understand why. “Oh how rich that is coming from you.”

And then you’re rising on your knees, hips hovering over his throbbing erection. Your palms connect, digits intertwining with his as you lower yourself onto him.

You test the waters first, letting his tip brush over your slit with feather-like touches. You hum gently at the teasing pleasure, and so does Astarion.

When you feel your tummy tightening with anticipation, you dive in. With a light shimmy, you line your hips with his, and with more desperation than you planned, you slide down.

You both hiss as the head of his cock penetrates you, the stretch making your palm tighten against his. You bend at the knees, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the delicious sensation of being filled to the brim after such a long, lonesome time.

Finally, you let your hips slam against his. The sudden, harsh movement makes you gasp out into the tantric air as his tip pokes against your womb. The dull pain quickly shifts into a flat, resonant pleasure, and you waste no time.

Your hips begin to buck against his, building a slow, steady rhythm until you’re confidently riding your vampire lover with a self-satisfied smirk on your lips.

Each thrust makes you mewl, moan, and cry out into the night, that pleasant angle of his cock hitting that same spot his fingers did just minutes ago.

His head rolls back into the ground, and with the remnants of his energy, he issues an occasional, quick rut into you. As it’s rare, you decide to savor it. You squeeze around him with the thrusts, and soon, you feel yourself running out of breath.

“I— I could let you do this for—hells— forever,” he hisses out, and suddenly, you feel his hands unclasp from yours and snake around your waist. “Where have you been all these centuries?”

Your upper body is dragged forward, your tits colliding with his toned chest when he pulls you into a tight, possessive embrace.

You gasp at the warmth between you, and your eyebrows soon furrow when you realize the position limits your hip movement. As you’re forced into a pause from your delirious riding, his lips crash onto yours.

Your tongues share a private, slack dance, heads tilting to adjust as you both hum and groan into the fiery kiss. You attempt to rut into him, and soon enough he gets the hint.

Keeping you immobilized against his chest, his hips pound up into you. The first few smacks are scandalously loud, and you revel in the newfound angle.

You’re lost in him, completely and utterly. When he moans, you respond with a hum— when his embrace tightens around you, you kiss him harder.

The familiar, fiery heat in your tummy bubbles up again. You feel it amp up, grow, and send jolts up your spine when suddenly, you’re being pushed up. When your eyes flutter open, you catch his still closed.

His chest stays firm against yours as he positions you upright, letting you straddle his hips as you’re both left sitting in the soft patch of grass and wildflowers.

With your body regaining its mobility, you start grinding against him again. The position allows for a deliciously intimate closeness, his cock burrowing deep into you as you resume riding him.

The pressure within you grows, emerging as a knot— threatening to unravel with every other thrust. Your clit rubs against the base of his groin, amplifying the pleasure into a sensation you’ve long forgotten about.

“A-Astarion—” you mewl out between kisses, and his hot breath tickles your face when he chuckles.

“Cum for me,” he sighs out, and the assertion comes off soft and pleading as it settles into the groves of your heart.

“O-Okay— I… I—”

He tightens his hold on your waist with one hand, as the other moves to cradle your cheek. His touch is unbelievably delicate and affectionate, and out of all the stimulation he had so graciously provided you this night, it’s that soft touch that sends you over the edge.

Your lips connect in one last kiss, and you moan throatily into his mouth. Your hips still, thighs squeezing as your pussy tightens around his cock in a moment of pure bliss. The steadily rising pressure in your belly finally tips over, sending a wave of bliss down your entire being.

Still, he keeps moving. You almost want to scream against him as his hips begin pounding into you again, the soft slaps quickening as he slowly peaks with you.

Withdrawing from the kiss to lean against your neck, he cums. Hard.

Your slowly declining climax seems to slam the gas pedal as you feel him release deep into you, the warmth spreading through your body like a genial embrace, a fact that makes him groan loudly against your mouth. Your breath stills in your throat, before finally releasing into a long, guttural moan— it echoes into the night, and your vision blurs.

White-hot bliss envelops your body, and you melt into Astarion’s for solace. You feel him grip you, caress your face, kiss away your adrenaline-fueled tears, and pant softly against your lips as your pussy spasms again.

Your orgasm envelops you in slow, pulsating waves as it withdraws, and you’re soon left huffing into the vampire’s flaxen locks. You think you hear him speak, but the ringing in your ears is too potent to know for certain.

Then, as the ringing finally retires, you hear him whisper your name. It’s a soft, patient call against the burning skin of your neck, one you commit to memory as you’re finally awarded your senses back— if only partially.

The forest feels exceptionally silent as you fall into his arms. You recognize the soft chirp of crickets in the distance, perhaps a distant hoot of owls, but it all seems to blend into an indecipherable blur as exhaustion floods your system.

Your head falls into the crook of his neck, and your mind sinks into the soft, languid thumps of his heart. His hand caresses your back, and you sigh deeply.

You sit there for what feels like hours, drinking each other in. You’ve waited so long, and finally, you’re at ease— it’s a feeling you wish to cherish, and if it wasn’t for the pesky passage of time, you’d choose to stay in this damned forest for eons; with him.

You feel him shift against you. His hands withdraw from your waist, and he whispers softly against you. “Come, my love.”

You hum in disagreement, face burrowing deeper into him. Yes, rosemary and brandy— now it’s clear to you.

He exhales sharply, and you smile into his neck. He waits for a beat, before placing a soft kiss to your temple. “Wait here.”

You nod gently and finally allow him to withdraw. The separation makes you sigh, your body shivering in the newfound cold of the night, but you persevere. In the longing to hold on to the moment for a little longer, you keep your eyes closed and hope he’ll return before you open them again.

You hear him shuffle around, walking from left to right, before finally returning to face you. “Hands up,” he mutters softly, and you do as you’re told in your pleasure-drunken stupor.

You feel him drape something silken over your sweat-slick body, the soft material draping your hips before coming to a stop at your thighs. When you breathe in, you immediately realize it’s not your shirt, so you grin.

When you’re comfortably wrapped up, he leans in. Once you finally sense the familiar warmth of his chest, you lean against his shoulder and breathe in his scent.

You’re surprised he does this for you. Tenderness is not exactly something you’d connect with a man of his past, of his skill. Yet, when his hands move to rest under your knees and back, you don’t resist.

He lifts you off the ground, letting your fatigued frame rest against him. He takes it upon himself to get you back to camp, safe and sound, and only slightly perturbed.

You drink in everything you can, letting yourself be greedy for once. The steadiness of his breath, his warm chest, the crinkling of leaves under his feet— it’s an image you swear to place, no matter what difficulties might threaten to befall you in the future.

And he’s silent up until you reach the campgrounds. The chatter of dinnertime has long died down, and when you open your eyes, you spot the crackling embers of firelight flickering away among a circle of stones. The flames cast a soft, warm light onto the closed tents, and you revel in the intimacy of the moment.

“Everyone met their bedtime while we’ve been naughty sneaking out,” he murmurs with a chuckle, and you close your eyes hurriedly in hopes of feigning slumber. Still, you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face at his brazen comment.

You reach the outskirts and finally spot his tent just below an old, sturdy oak tree. You recall the talks you had out front so many times before, back when your feelings were just sparks of something much stronger and much, much warmer.

He crouches down and with an unsurprising agility climbs into the little shelter with you still in his arms. You lie slack against him, letting his arms lay you gently onto his woolen mat. You melt into the warmth almost immediately, sighing out dreamily when you feel his presence beside you.

It’s silent for a moment, and when your eyes finally flutter open, you catch him staring at you. His gaze is thoughtful but warm, lingering over your form with a certain glimmer.

“I guess it’s official, then,” you sigh out, closing your eyes again and letting a lazy smile drift over your features.

He pauses for a moment, then clears his throat. “What… what is?”

You chuckle softly at his awkward tone, shifting to the side and letting one of your eyes pop open to glance at him.

“My victory,” you state matter-of-factly before quickly shifting to your other side, facing away from him just to let a satisfied grin creep onto your face.

You don’t witness it, but his expression goes from tense, to disconcerted, to irritated in a matter of seconds. His eyes roll, and you suddenly feel a flat slap against your ass.

“Woah there, hey!” you gasp, followed by a cheeky giggle. Your head turns to face him from your comfortable position, and you catch him mirroring your grin.

“Quiet, now,” he commands softly, pivoting to lie beside you. His arm comes over your waist, pulling you into his chest. “Bet’s over, darling. I’m sorry to say, but you’ve not proven yourself capable. Shame, really.”

You blow a raspberry through your smile and shimmy closer to him, your body melting perfectly into his— a fact that has you near to falling asleep.

“Shame indeed. The look on your face was priceless when you ate dirt,” you shrug nonchalantly, “At least that’s the version I’ll be telling everyone come morning.”

He scoffs, the low rumble of it vibrating against your back, but his arm only tightens around you. You feel his face in your hair, breathing in your scent.

“If you do that, I might just have to kill you,” he mutters, but despite the intensity of the words, his voice is soft and loving against your head. His hand drifts to your belly, fingers tracing lazy circles against the soft skin there.

“You would never.”

He’s silent for a beat. Your lips open to build on your clever retort before you feel his sharp exhale on your neck.

“Sleep, darling,” he reprimands, squeezing your midriff gently.

You sigh contentedly, your lips brushing against the pillow as you settle deeper into his embrace. The tent is cocooned in warmth, but you feel the cool kiss of the evening breeze filtering in through the small opening at the entrance. Outside, the campfire crackles faintly, the last embers glowing like distant stars before fading into fine ash.

As you drift closer to sleep, wrapped in the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the world around you blurs into the peaceful haze of near-dreams.

Just as the veil of slumber begins to pull you under, you feel his lips press against your hair, a soft whisper brushing against your skin.

“As long as I'll live, I never could.”

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demonsfate · 11 months

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I think what makes Jin interesting as a character is the fact that he possesses attributes that make him a good enough definition of an anti-hero, rather than just a tragic hero. His struggles throughout the story and his downfalls that display the darkness inside him, opposing to the good he carries inside as the protagonist (from T3 onwards minus T6 & T7) is adding up to that nicely. That's just my own impression of him though. A realistically flawed protagonist is still much better than a perfect protagonist with little to no flaws.

I think it would depend on people's definition of "antihero". Which, by the actual true definition, Jin is definitely an antihero. As antihero simply refers to any hero that lacks the conventional hero traits, which hhhuhhhhh... practically just translates to any hero that isn't perfect LMAO. If you peek at Wikipedia's "antihero" list - they literally lump Oscar the Grouch with Walter White. So yeah.

I never usually call Jin an "antihero" just because when I hear the word, my mind goes straight to characters like Venom, Magneto, or Harley Quinn... which I don't see Jin fitting the bill of those characters lol. Just how Kazuya is considered the antihero in the first Tekken - but for totally different reasons than you may see Jin as. Kazuya wanted to get rid of an evil (Heihachi) - buuuuut he wanted to do it for selfish reasons (out of his own trauma and own desire for power). Which, Jin did wanted to do similar for selfish reasons, as what kickstarted him wanting to kill Heihachi and Kazuya was betrayal and trauma as well. BUT, Jin also primarily had the world in mind, and people's well being - as he wanted to save the world from Heihachi and the devil gene.

Jin's biggest flaws (aside from being possessed by a devil - but we're talking about Jin's flaws on his own) was his antisocialness, his fury, suicidal tendencies, and his homicidal tendencies towards those who have wronged people and himself. Which, the latter is a question of morality that's been debated for ages. But if we look at many fictional heroes, usually killing, even for the greater good, is a no - no. Jin still, however, had a heart of gold. Despite being antisocial, Jin was still very supportive of other people; Jin may have been antisocial, but he wasn't cynical at all. Which is why I liked Jin's story a lot. Because he is a good man, and damn he tries to be a good man. But... he struggles with making the right choices. And I think a lot of us can relate with that. Because we're all not gonna be Superman in situations, we're often gonna struggle with making the right call because real life isn't so black and white when it comes to more complex situations. And like Jin, we're also gonna have flaws we have to work on, maybe like him - we lose our temper easily. Whatever. Jin's struggles and character was relatable (even tho some fail to see because he's not Overly Expressive) and it's why he doesn't work in T6. Because Jin crosses the line of being that Unconventional Hero, his actions became too antagonistic. And well... as I've explained many times before, just doesn't feel like Jin anymore in character.

So, yeah! I do agree even though I don't use the term often with Jin just because of the most popular examples associated with the term. But Jin is technically, indeed, an "antihero." It's why I loved Jin so much; his flaws were what made him interesting. He was a good man who may have been prone to mistakes compared to other Good People, and he doesn't always know what's the right thing to do. And plus as I call him many times on this blog, often a failboss! So, Jin always felt very realistic to me and I wish more people would see that, as well!

#✏️ - ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏsᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏsᴛ // (ooc)#✏️ - ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ? // (inbox)

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creativecuteness · 1 year

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One of a Kind Vamp: Chapter 2 Who I was Before

Summary: After the events of Jesse's downfall Rory and Dakota take time to process and reflect the craziness of the past week, while discussing Rory's past and potential future

as I said before I wrote this and chapter one in one night while listening to Gorillaz debut album, G-Sides and Laika Come Home all of which are awesome, and you give a listen like I had so much fun vibing to them. Also this fic takes place shortly after the movie so if you can invasion Rory in his outfit at the end of the movie that would be great. And again, Dakota could either be ten or fourteen in this fic with that enjoy.

There was something about cuddling in the arms of a good friend that brought Rory insane amounts of comfort: a warm body pressed on his stomach, firm arms wrapped around his back, and a head resting on his chest as they lay there, listening to the sounds of their breathing and the silence of his still beating heart. Even though he was a newly full-fledged vampire, Rory never considered himself cold-blooded. Sure, his body temperature did fall after turning, but not to the point where he needed a heated blanket or warmer clothes, considering he could wear short sleeves and his thin flannel overshirt’s just fine.

Heck, he’s lived in Canada his whole life; he’s used to the crisp chill, fall brings and the harsh, bitter cold of winter. So maybe he truly was just used to the cold.

But if there was one thing becoming a vampire did do, was make him more aware of different heat sources, like the one holding him now, as if he’d disappear at any moment.

Now that Jesse was defeated, they all finally had the time to process everything that happened to them, and it seems now was the time for Dakota to process her shock of Rory’s near-death experience. He still couldn’t believe they came all that way to Jesse’s party to save him from being someone’s dinner or that he meant so much to them. Not to mention the fact that Dakota was falling in love with him; he never expected to catch the eyes of the new girl and her best friend, but here he was cuddling his little lover, hoping to reassure her that he’s not going anywhere. Plus, the loving warmth radiating off her from their embrace was comforting.

He could still see her face from that night—the look of fear when he was pushed in front of Sarah, forcing her to choose a world she doesn’t want to be a part of, the feeling of her small and shaky hand tightly holding his. The look of hurt and pleading as Erica shoved her out of the way to drink from him herself, and the betrayal as Erica bit down hard into his neck, draining him of his blood and replacing it with the venom that would soon change him from mortal to creature of the night. Even while fading in and out of consciousness, he was somehow acutely aware of her quickening heartbeat and her frantic breathing as chaos erupted as the rescue party began fighting for their lives. He swore he saw tear drops spilling from her eyes as she fought through the chaos, struggling to reach him, only fully leaving once Jesse reassured her that they’d be okay. And even then, Erica’s relationship with both her and Sarah has become strained, and Rory didn’t blame them.

While Erica’s new bad girl attitude was hot as fluff, he didn’t miss the fact it was also problematic. The new Erica was far from the sweet-hearted Dusk fangirl who would give anyone the time of day with a sweet smile and good-natured spirit.

“I guess what they say is true.” He thought as Dakota adjusted herself to a more comfortable position. “Absolute power corrupts absolutely."

“Did, did it hurt?” Dakota muttered, now burying her head into the crook of Rory’s neck, the tips of his curled hair tickling her cheek.

“What?” He asked as his friend untangled herself from Rory’s grasp to properly face him. “Did it hurt when Erica bit you?”

“Not really,” he tried to recall. “I mean, yeah, the fangs piercing into my neck was shocking, but I wouldn’t say it was excruciating or unbearable; it was oddly pleasurable.”

“Oddly pleasurable, how?”

“Well, like that girl who gave me that wicked hicky shortly before you found me.”

“Do you have a biting kink?” Dakota wondered, raising an eyebrow,

“Depends, would that trigger your sex repulsed side?”

“Yes.” She spoke simply and sternly.

“Then never mind.” He shook his head, and Dakota decided to drop the topic, laying her head back down on Rory’s chest, who began absentmindedly stroking her head.

“What were you like before? Like, what were your day-to-day actions as a human?”

“Well…” Rory had to think for a moment while it hasn’t been too long since he turned; it has been a while since he had to consciously think about his mundane routine.

“To be fair, I wouldn’t say my life was anything special, at least not like yours. I woke up, went to school with Benny and Ethan, went to class, and then went back home for dinner, homework, video games, and listened to music while I relaxed and fell asleep. wake up, and the cycle repeats. Up until recently, it was the most boring and uninteresting life I ever lived. But not a bad one; compared to you, mine isn’t anything worth writing home about.

But Dakota couldn’t disagree more as she shook her head. “At least you had a life. Sure, I’m the most extraordinary girl you’ll ever meet; I get that a lot, but you were human; you aged, lived, breathed, and slept. Now you can’t age; everyone around you will grow old and die, and you’ll be living till the end of the world, and even then, I doubt you’ll be able to move onto the afterlife; you’re basically a soulless demon. With a heart of gold to match, of course.” She added to lighten the mood,

And Rory understood, yes, there were sadly drawbacks to being immortal and all-powerful. He no longer slept as much or as deep as he used to, not to mention yes, he no longer aged; his best friends and his parents will grow old and die one by one, and he’ll stay forever young, forced to wander the earth in a cursed ageless body that is difficult to kill and easy to resurrect, or at least according to Jesse. He didn’t know how true that statement was, considering how cocky and manipulative he was.

“It’s true becoming a vampire has changed my life for better and for worse yet. Who’s to say it will stay this way?"

“What?” Dakota shot up, eyes wide.

“Well, who’s to say that in a few years I’ll change my mind and want to become human again? If there is a cure for vampirism, it’s bound to be found eventually. I mean, we’re already searching high and low for Sarah. Maybe I’ll be the one to test it to see if it works.”

“You’ll give up your immortality for us?"

He nodded. “Well, Erica won’t do it, nor will any other vampire; they’re too old; they’ll just shrivel up and turn to dust. And besides, I like you a lot, Dakota. If something happens and we start dating, that’ll place you at an unfair crossroad. I don’t want to make the same mistake Jesse made. I don’t want you to choose if you don’t want to. Not to mention the vampire counsel is against humans dating vampires, so there’s another issue. It’s a long and complicated procedure that I don’t want you caught up in; you’re too kind to be put under all that stress and pressure, and I’m willing to sacrifice my immortality and all the awesome perks that came with it just so we can live peacefully.”

“R-Rory, I I had no idea I meant that much to you.” She smiled, trying to blink back her tears and failing. "

“Well,” He chuckled. “If I don't, Emily will surely kill me. Not to mention… Hey, are you okay?” He asked, seeing her smiling, tear-stained face looking up at him.

Dakota, feeling too choked up to respond, flung her arms around the older teen, rubbing her check against his, leaning in, and whispered a phrase that made his heart melt. With that, the two melted into comfortable silence once more.

“I love you, Rory.”

#mbav #mbav stuff #rory keaner #my babysitters a vampire #my babysitter's a vampire #fanfiction #dakota natalie #mbav fanfic #day 2 #pre vamp #roryweek #roryweek2023

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notesofaninsignificantmusician · 2 years

Text

My Chemical Romance—Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge: Album Review

https://youtu.be/XthqX__6ekg

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youtube

Ranking: 7/10

A huge thanks to @myminddefiesreality for the recommendation

Overview:

To be totally honest, I have never listened to My Chemical Romance until I reviewed this album. I had a biased prejudice towards the group, based on my false beliefs that they were just another douchy, Coldplay sound-alike. And boy was I wrong…

The band in itself gives me major Green Day vibes, as well as many others. All their songs sound like an angsty teenager wrote them, which is probably true (which is not a bad thing, if done right, as it was here) there was one song off this album that gave me weird Chris Cornell feels, which was really cool as well.

Gerard Way definitely knows his way around a mic. I could tell straight away that his voice is the signature of the band, and leads the way through it all. I love it.

Song-by-Song Review:

#1: Helena (So Long & Goodnight)

Beginning started off rough on the ears. Idk what it was about it, (probably the fact that I’ve never listened to a single song of their’s before) but it didn’t connect with me. But 0:30 into it, I found my stride, and then the chorus smacked me in the face, hoh boy. Amazing chorus, and everything that followed afterwards

#2: Give ‘Em Hell, Kid

Only song off the album I gave a perfect score. Just a really great song. Started out giving me Nirvana vibes, then did a 180 on me and turned into a Garbage song. The Chorus, on the other hand, sounds like a Manchester Orchestra song

#3: To The End

A slight downfall, this song didn’t do much for me, but was good all the same. The chorus was cool

#4: You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison?

Ngl once this one began, I burst out laughing. The way Gerard sings, and the fact that only a piano accompanied him at the start of the song, it sounds like something Daniel Thrasher would write. After finishing it, this song is one of my favs from this album

#5: Im Not Okay (I Promise)

It’s okay, I guess. Idk what I have against it, it just felt like a cliche (exactly the kind of song I would expect from My Chemical Romance before I got into them) the chorus is really good tho, plus the guitar solo slams

#6: The Ghost of You

Idk but just how Gerard sings this one, I pick up major Chris Cornell vibes, it’s weird. Great song

#7: The Jetset Life is Gonna Kill You

A nice little song. Nothing special to me, except for the chorus. I looove this chorus

#8: Interlude

I LOVE interludes!! Very nice song, I could listen to this on repeat for hours. Gerard’s voice sounds creepily close to Tom York’s in this

#9: Thank You For the Venom/Hang ‘Em High/It’s Not A Fashion Statement It’s A Deathwish/Cemetery Drive/I Never Told You What I Do For A Living

Ngl, after the interlude, the album lost some of its momentum, it seemed to me that My Chemical Romance decided to aggressively switch rails with their music. The last few songs on the album are much more anger-based I can tell, which I’m all for, but wasn’t expecting. I have no bad things to say about any of the remaining songs, only that they are all the same in my eyes, so I’ll save time and space in this already-long post to say, they’re all very cool

Ive already listened to this album three times to its entirety since reviewing it this morning. I can’t thank you enough @myminddefiesreality for giving me a reason to finally break the ice and fall in love with My Chemical Romance

Based on your recommendation:

Manchester Orchestra—Mean Everything To Nothing

Dirty Pretty Things—Waterloo To Anywhere

Garbage

Green Day

Three Days Grace

Tell me what you think! I’d love to hear your thoughts on these

#my chemical romance #three cheers for sweet revenge #album review #song review #music review #thanks for the recommendation #music #music blog #make music great again #musicians #music is my religion

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marvelhero-fics · 4 years

Text

Snowman

Series - Chapter One

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You’re a HYDRA assassin that’s worked closely with the Winter Soldier, to each of your dismay you’re reunited with Bucky after the blip.

A/N: I haven’t posted in like 300 years, but I hope you guys enjoy this new series! This follows parts of TFATWS so expect spoilers! (Also I’m sure all the Russian is absolutely wrong, if you’d like to correct it please send me a message!)

Word Count: 1,815 (future chapters will be wayyy longer)

Snowman Masterlist || Full Masterlist

New York

2023

“So tell me about this-” the therapist looked down at her notes briefly, “(Y/N).” She finished.

Bucky paused momentarily, “No.”

“James, for these therapy sessions to be effective, you need to open up to me. I can’t help you if I don't know what’s wrong.” His therapist responded, laying her pen carefully on her small notebook.

Bucky thought for a moment, taking in the ambience of the room. What would he even say about (Y/N)? He hadn’t seen her in years. Bucky was kicking himself for accidentally bringing her up in his session last week. “I- uh-” he stammered, shifting his weight on the couch, “I met her in 2011. At least I think it was 2011. Date’s get kinda fuzzy sometimes, with all the cryo.” Bucky’s hand pressed against his head, feeling dazed as he tried to think back. “It was at the big HYDRA base outside of Moscow. We had to go on a mission together-” he was cut off,

“Did she work for HYDRA?” Dr Raynor interjected.

“Yea. She was an assassin too. She went by the alias the Viper.” Bucky pretended not to notice his therapist tense up. Anyone who knew anything about HYDRA knew who the Viper was. She was one of the most prolific assassins after the Winter Soldier.

“Tell me more about when you met her.”

“We were instructed to take out a terrorist organisation forming against SHIELD. Which was ironic because we were working for a terrorist organisation. But at this point SHIELD was being run by HYDRA and they couldn’t risk any slip ups, so they put 6 assassins on the job. HYDRA usually didn’t have their assassins working together, we were all too volatile. But we had to take out over 70 people in one night. It was (Y/N), a few assassins from the Red Room, and a few agents that HYDRA had trained personally, and me.” Bucky stopped.

“Where was (Y/N) trained?”

“At a secondary facility run by HYDRA. She was trained from a really young age. It’s all she’s known.” Bucky seemed somber. But his therapist continued,

“What happened on the mission?”

“Nothing. It went exactly to plan. The targets were taken out and we all left without a trace. But (Y/N), she- she kept trying to talk to me, or get to know me. I was the Winter Soldier. No one in their right mind ever tried to ‘get to know me’.”

“Why do you think (Y/N) did that?”

“She told me she was bored.” He replied bluntly.

Moscow

2011

The poorly lit conference room was filled with a myriad of assassins and officials. The only illumination came from old LED lights hanging from the concrete ceiling. The mossy green paint on the walls looked as if it hadn’t been patched up in years. The only new-ish part of the room was the large, oak conference table, surrounded by black, leather seating. It was difficult not to notice the red HYDRA symbol holding a spot on almost every piece of clothing in the area.

“TITAN terroristicheskaya organizatsiya, formiruyushchayasya protiv nas. (TITAN is a terrorist organisation forming against us.)” Kuznetsov spoke, “Izbrannyye budut otpravleny segodnya vecherom v Ukrainu dlya vypolneniya postavlennoy zadachi. Uberi ikh. (The chosen ones will be sent to Ukraine tonight to complete their given tasks. Take them out.)”

That was all it took. You stared at the file in front of you. You had read through it multiple times, going over every single name, every single skill set your targets had. You were more than certain you could complete this job on your own. But you had no choice on the matter.

Your eyes darted around, taking in the faces of the assassins that were to accompany you on your mission. Two youthful females, dressed in black leather sat next to each other. The older, grimacing woman behind them was Madame B., the head supervisor of the Red Room. You moved your gaze to the two agents in dark green uniforms and red, soviet berets. Neither looked particularly menacing.

You finally landed on the last assassin. His dark hair fell like curtains around his face. Gloomy blue eyes searched their way through the room. His sharp jaw seemed tense through his stubbled cheeks. He was large, extremely built. Covering his frame was an amplitude of black clothing and gear.

“Play nice.” Your mentor spoke softly over your shoulder, breaking you from your train of thought.

“I always do.”

Your padded snow boots ripped through the thick snow covering the ground. The six of you had hiked your way to the set point on your GPS systems, the clouds of snowfall covering your vision held the illusion that there were absolutely no structures nearby. A large helicopter had dropped the group a few miles out from the hideout to ensure nothing was compromised. The trek was in utter silence, fighting against the harsh temperature in mid February.

The waypoint became closer on your map, a tiny building slowly appeared in your vision against the foggy downfall. It was a small, wooden cabin. Everyone hustled their way through the unlocked door. It was barren, it held no furniture, no blankets, no means of any life. There appeared to be a few doors that led to small, empty rooms. The entrance only held a small fireplace, filled with old cut down logs that had been eaten by bugs.

The group quickly dispersed, you headed to one of the rooms alone, throwing down your belongings onto the floor. The bag you carried was mainly filled with weapons and ammunition, along with a very warm sleeping bag. You knew too well you wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, but you would need the extra heat for now.

There was no chatter anywhere in the house. Your mission would begin in 6 hours. Everyone was likely putting together their artillery. You decided to cozy up in your navy sleeping bag for a moment of comfort.

Someone had lit the fire in the lounge. A warm, orange light crept through the cracks in your door. The ambiance was strangely calming for a shitty cabin in the middle of nowhere.

Snow continued to fall against the tiny glass pane of your room. You weren’t a fan of assassinating in the snow. It was low vision, harsher climates, and it lessened the ability to move. Snakes weren’t creatures of the cold. Conveniently you’d been grouped with someone who called himself ‘The Winter Soldier’. I’m sure he loves the cold, you thought.

You’d heard a lot about him. Everyone had. He was the perfect assassin. He never failed a mission, his body didn’t reject cryo, every form of enhancement HYDRA had used on him had been a success. He was what every assassin had aspired to be.

Without thought, you grabbed the glass bottle laying next to you and walked off to the room the Winter Soldier had claimed for the night.

“Privet (Hello)”. You announced, pushing his door open with a creak. His head didn’t turn towards you. He sat on the floor, the sound coming from him indicated he was sharpening knives.

“Khochesh' vypit'? (Want a drink?)” You asked, motioning the bottle towards him.

He stayed silent for a moment. Finally he turned, looking up at you from his position on the floor. “What is it?” His dark tone asked back. The amber light from the fire crashed against his features. His strong jaw was covered with a dark stubble, his brunette hair tucked behind his ears. His most obvious feature was the hauntingly blue eyes that sat in sunken sockets, he looked drained.

“It’s vodka.” You stated, honestly. You were surprised to hear he wasn’t Russian, he sounded… American?

“You’re drinking before a mission?” He queried.

You shrugged. “Alcohol doesn’t freeze.” You sat down next to him. “Plus it takes the edge off.” A faint clinking noise announced as you placed the bottle on the floor between you two. He stared at you for a moment, before quietly going back to his knives.

“Wanna play 20 questions?” You interrupted the silence.

“No.”

“What about truth or dare?”

“I’m not 14.” the soldier replied, his eyes not leaving his handy work.

“How old are you?” You shot back,

“Why are you trying to get to know me?” He dodged your question.

“I’m bored.” You shrugged, taking a deep swig of the vodka. “And by my calculations,” you peered down at your watch, “we still have 3 hours and 27 minutes until the mission starts.”

He gave a shallow sigh, “93.”

“What?”

“I’m 93. How old are you.”

“93?! You were born in 1917?”

“Mhm. How old are you.”

“25. You look great for 93.” You chuckled.

“You look old for 25.” He jabbed back. His knife sharpener still grinding across a 6 inch blade.

“You flatter me.” You replied sarcastically. “So what’s your story? How’d you make it to 93?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Why would I ask if I didn’t want to know?”

Bucky looked over at you. “I’m telling you, you don’t want to know.”

“C’mon old man, I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” You smirked. He once again, went back to his knives. It almost seemed as if he was trying to threaten you, pulling out larger knife after larger knife.

You huffed, opening your mouth to speak, “I was born in Hungary to a drug abusing mother, and an absent father. I was kidnapped and sold to HYDRA when I was 6. I was placed under the care of the Kraken. Not sure if you’ve met him, he’s this large guy-”

“I’ve met him.” Bucky stated, interrupting your spiel.

“Right, well, he trained me for years. Eventually HYDRA got involved again and I was tested on, experimented on, messed with, ya’ know, all that fun stuff.” You explained.

“Are you enhanced?” Bucky asked, almost as if he was actually interested.

“Yea. I have this whole snake venom trick. It’s great for up close combat. The experiments really should’ve killed me though. But maybe that’s what makes us so good-” Bucky looked over at the woman next to him, her bright eyes stared back at him as she spoke “ya’ know, the best assassins are the ones living off borrowed time. Because we’ve met death before, so we’re not afraid to do it again.”

Bucky quickly grabbed the Barrett M82 rifle next to him, his metal arm making faint whirring noises. “I’m going to scope out the base.” He stated bluntly. And with that, his large black boots walked him out the bedroom, and out the door.

You let out a faint sigh, creeping back to your room to sort out your weapons. You were sure it was something you said that scared him off. I guess at 93 you have to be living off too much borrowed time, you speculated. You absentmindedly set up your pistols, your mind not being able to wander from the Winter Soldier. Maybe annoying the Red Room girls would get your mind off it.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #Bucky Barnes fic #Bucky imagine #bucky oneshot #bucky series #bucky barnes series #bucky #Bucky barnes #the avengers #tfatws #the winter solider #the winter solider x reader #the winter solider fanfic

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yeahimaloser · 3 years

Text

Come Home

I have had no time to write for Dabi but I finally did it :D although it's kinda a mini fic lol

Summary: You’ve always been there for Dabi, loving him and being there for him no matter what. But when he comes home one night that’s when things turn sour...

Word count: 2k

Warning: swearing, angst, breakup, drunkness

. . .

You tapped your foot anxiously against the hardwood floor of your home, checking the clock yet again, although you knew what it would say.

It was two a.m, five hours after Dabi had texted you to let you know he would be home soon. You had been excited at first, you hadn’t seen him in a few days due to a mission he was on, and you knew when he came home he wouldn’t let his hands leave you. He wouldn’t let your lips leave his, he would sit you down on your bed saying; “Dinner can wait, babe, lemme just lay down for a sec ok, then I can help.”

And you would say; “You would just burn it anyways.”

And when you tried to go back to cooking, Dabi would just grab your wrist and pull you to him.

“You can cook when I’m done with my nap.”

“And what do I have to do with your nap?” You would ask coyly.

“You know I can't sleep well without you.”

You loved when he came home.

But that didn’t happen.

Instead, here you were, waiting. Waiting for anything, and no matter what you did, your thoughts always came back to you.

What if he was hurt, what if he was dying? What if you would never see him again? What if he was never coming home?

You shivered at the thought. There was no telling when Dabi would be home, no telling if he would come at all really. You just had to hope, and that’s all you could do.

But the thought of something happening kept crawling back into your mind, the thought of Dabi getting hurt, being on the run, or worse.

You turned back to your tv, checking the news station yet again, waiting for them to announce that something had happened to your boyfriend. Waiting till you got the news he wasn’t coming home to you…

But that never came.

Not the sound of the News Reporter saying anything about your boyfriend, not your phone buzzing with the news alert of the villain Dabi on the run, or captured, not even the sound of the police outside your home, waiting to question you.

Nothing, everything was so silent it almost made you want to scream just to break the glass-like stillness.

But your throat felt constricted, your body felt rigid against your muscles.

You felt like if you moved, everything would fall apart. As if you moved you would be the cause of Dabi’s downfall.

Of course, you knew better. You knew that, if you did move, the only thing that would cause anyone any sort of pain would be your own muscles. You knew it was idiotic to wait up this long, you knew Dabi would be home, with some witty excuse for you. You knew he would give you a silent kiss as an apology.

But still, you held your breath, waiting for anything to shake you out of the stillness you had found yourself in.

Finally, after so long you heard the door open.

And Dabi stumbled through it.

The smell of alcohol hit your nose, and the light blush on your boyfriend's pale face only served to prove your initial thought.

Apparently, while you were at home, worrying and staying up for him, Dabi was out, getting drunk and not even thinking of calling you to make sure you knew he was ok. He didn’t even care to text you back after the more than twenty plus messages you sent him, ranging from, “I hope you’re ok”, too, “Please Dabi just be safe ok,” was it so much to ask of him to give you a response?

Apparently yes.

As you were still getting over your shock of the situation, all Dabi did was chuckle.

“What, did you miss me?” His words slurred lightly, and he stumbled towards you.

But you backed away, “Wha- Dabi, where were you?”

Obviously, you knew the answer, you just wanted to hear it from his mouth, you wanted to hear him say it.

“’S out drink doll, a victory drink babe. You should have come with us, would have liked to have your cute lil’ ass with me,” he smirked at the thought of having you with him, pulling your lips to his, whispering in your ear as you told him to stop because; “It’s embarrassing”.

Of course, though, you had been sitting at home, wondering and worrying about where he was. And when you heard him say that, you lost it.

“Yeah? Well, my ass has been here, worrying about you. But I guess you didn’t need me too, did you?” To be honest, you could care less if the venom in your voice sounded uneven in your tone, you just needed him to hear it.

But you were just met with a confused gaze, “What do you mean sweet cheeks? I texted you.”

Well, at least he thought he did.

You felt rage building up in your stomach, “No, you didn’t. And you know what? Why do I even care, you obviously don’t. God, I can't believe I spent all that time waiting for you, and for what? For you to come home fucking drunk?”

To your dismay, Dabi just shrugged, “Life of loving a villain babe, sorry.”

You felt your muscles tense up with anger, your fists clench hard against your palm, “You know what Dabi? A simple, ‘I’m sorry' would have been enough, but you just come home and act like a dick don’t you? God, what the hell would I even expect from you? You are far off from hitting boyfriend of the year. You don’t even care.”

Dabi felt his gut twist, but he felt the alcohol in his system mess with his line of thinking.

He put a hand to his head, “Look, can we just sleep? You can yell at me in the morning, but I don’t need a bitchy attitude right now ok?”

To be truthful, he didn’t mean to say it so rudely, he just wanted to sleep. Spending so much time away was hard on him, what with his skin condition and all.

He really did mean to come home to you early, he was really excited about it too, thinking about how surprised and happy you would be when he got home, wrapping your arms around him and saying; “Oh you poor thing. I bet you just want to lay down and let me get you something to drink.”

Obviously, you wouldn’t say that, you would probably scold him for being reckless again.

But Dabi knew you would always welcome him home with open arms, no matter what. You were always there for him, always taking care of him, helping him, and loving him. Even if he didn’t deserve it.

Dabi knew he didn’t deserve you, it was as plain as day. Yet, he really did love you.

He vowed to always keep you close to him, not even the league knew of you. It was mostly a safety measure, if he ended up betraying them for any reason, he couldn’t have you being used as leverage against him. Because he knew if he had to, he would give up anything for you.

Plus, if you ever got caught by a hero, he would only have to worry about his neck, not the others.

Not that he would care, though, in fact, he would probably let them die if it meant your safety.

And besides, he liked being the only villain you knew, it added a sense of taboo and suspense to your relationship. Which Dabi was very much a fan of.

But, Dabi knew you deserved better, he knew you deserved a man that would come home to you, that would spoil you in riches and love. Not him, a man that would all too often come home in the dead of night, only to crash against your bed.

Yet, you never said anything, only gently kissed the bridge of his nose before he fell asleep.

God, he didn’t deserve you.

And if he wasn't drunk at the moment he would have never said such vile words to you.

“Bitchy attitude?! All I do is worry and slave over you, and this is the thanks I get?! What the hell Dabi!”

“You knew what you were getting into when you started all this! Don’t act like I forced you into dating me! God, can you stop acting like a victim for two seconds you’re making my head hurt.”

His words kept slurring, and you knew that he couldn’t really think straight at the moment, but a part of you couldn’t seem to care.

You felt your nails dig into the flesh of your palm, you might have been cutting into your skin, but you couldn’t care. An overwhelming sensation of fury overtook you.

“Why the fuck do I even try? All I ask from you is to know where you are but you can’t even manage that much? Do I mean that little to you?” You couldn’t help the shakiness of your voice, although you hated it.

But Dabi could just snarl, “Whatever Y/N you just don’t get it, I’m not some nice guy who’ll whisk you away and promise you a nice life, I’m a fucking villain. And if you can’t get that through your dense fucking skull then maybe you should just leave.”

There it was, that one, tiny, inconsiderate sentence.

You felt your thoughts tighten as your eyes widened, your mind racing as you watched him roll his eyes.

You had put up with Dabi so much, you had loved him through everything, taken care of him, helped him, and held him when no one else would. And maybe that day, that day when you finally found yourself having enough, maybe that’s when you decided you would leave.

“Fine,” you said, although it didn’t come out with as much conviction as you had hoped. “You’re right, I should just leave. You clearly don’t need me anyway.”

Your voice was wobbly, but your mind was made up.

You pushed past him, not caring enough to grab anything, only you and your resolve to leave.

All Dabi did was tsk as you left, not caring to run after you, to beg you to stay with him, all he did was watch you leave, his cold and uncaring eyes set on yours as you opened the door, and left.

#bnha dabi #dabi touya #dabi todoroki #dabi fic #dabi bhna #dabi fanfic #dabi headcanons #dabi x y/n #dabi x reader #dabi angst #dabi x gender neutral reader #dabi x me #dabi x you #dabi #bnha #mha #mha x reader

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hoodoo12 · 4 years

Text

Elegy (6/6)

It can’t all be good. This is Beetlejuice, remember?

A very heartfelt thank you to @clairjohnson for this fun and heartbreaking rp. It was a delight to torture ourselves with this!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

@turtlepated @thewolfisapartofmysoul @beejiesbitch @janitor-boy @angelicspaceprince @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice

He felt dead – well, deader – inside. In a moment when there should be residual bliss, a sweet connection after such intimacy – especially with someone like her, someone he'd not only lusted after but someone he got to know and found he liked – the standard response was to bask in the glow and drift down from it gradually. Together.

Instead, that internal, infernal bitterness surged enough that Beetlejuice tasted it in the back of his throat. Semi-coherent and contradictory thoughts tumbled through his head.

He was such a fucking idiot. He'd fucked – literally – any slim chance he'd had with Maria now, one of the only people who put up with his shit. Although the effects of the booze he'd swilled were dwindling, he told himself he'd just taken advantage of her in a drunken stupor. She was kissing him and cooing and relaxed under him because she was playing a role, doing her best to get through this as quickly as possible before she could escape him.

Yet at the same time . . .

He was such a fucking idiot. He'd been used again. As a self-proclaimed 'Ghost with the Most' as he liked to spew, he was repeatedly duped. The thing he hated most about himself, that he wanted and needed companionship, was always his downfall. He was so desperate for the slightest bit of attention people took wild advantage of him, and he never fucking learned his lesson.

Caught in a web of his own self hate, Beetlejuice barely noticed Maria's continued caresses or her smile. As good as it was to have her so perfectly under him, he scowled.

"Betelgeuse . . ."

His name from her lips deepened that scowl, and with a hard glare into her eyes – that he couldn't hold for more than a second, "Ghost with the Most", what a fucking joke – he shoved up and away from her and whatever she was going to say: sweet lies or angry venom.

Maria felt any imagined warmth drain from her body when he pushed away from her. The loss of his weight, of the comfort she’d felt just moments before, was completely shattered by the glare he’d set on her. His eyes had been cold and angry – and she had no idea why.

Had she done something wrong? She replayed what they’d done, the things he’d said, over in her head. Everything had seemed right – more than right. Anxiety began to bubble up in her chest and she finally sat up off the bed. Betelgeuse had angled his body away from her in a position that screamed fuck off. Maria shook her head in confusion, trying to understand how the man that had begged her not to leave, had called her beautiful, had fucked her so perfectly, now wanted nothing to do with her.

The original reason why they’d gone to Dante’s hit her like a ton of bricks. He’d been inconsolable when he’d arrived in the waiting room. Blood soaked, angry, and devastated at the loss of people he cared about. And here she was – a pair of legs to bury his anguish in. Calling her pretty was all it took to have her jumping into his bed. God, and he didn’t even initiate it, she had. She wasn’t even a first choice for him to proposition while sad and drunk.

Swallowing down a sob that threatened to creep up, Maria reached out and placed a small hand on his arm – cursing herself when it trembled slightly.

“Betelgeuse . . .?”

Saying his name caused the first tear to roll down her cheek, and she quickly brushed it away with her other hand.

Legs swung over the edge of the bed, his back hunched and his hands so tight on the edge of his stained mattress that his knuckles hurt with the pressure, the same rancid thoughts spewed by the same gibbering voice echoed through his head.

He was a fucking idiot. Played for a fool by his own dick and her. Again. Cuck was more than apt. The story of his fucking life.

There was no way in this world or the upper he'd ever have had a chance with a woman of her caliber. He'd manipulated his way here, and as loathe as he was to admit it, deep down he knew that was the root of his problems. Nothing real came from that; hadn't the very reason he'd ended up back in the reception area been because of it?!

People saw the chinks in his armor, and used well-placed arrows to bring him down. They took what they wanted, took whatever he was so eager to give just for just a little acknowledgement, they used him – they fucking used him –

– Beetlejuice scowled again, but it was down into his own lap this time.

Maria shifted on the bed beside him, the broken frame made them both tilt towards each other whether they liked it or not. And she must like it, she must love seeing him further broken, because she continued the lie by touching him and saying his name, again.

Anger – as hot as the euphoria had been moments ago – flared in him.

"What are you still doing here?!" Beetlejuice roared as he spun on her. His vision was very slightly blurry, altered by his now slitted pupils; sometimes in rage he had less control over keeping them human and there was certainly no point in reining them in right now. "You've had your fun, you got what you wanted – ¿qué más quieres? To kick me in the teeth some more?!"

what are you still doing here

If her heart had been beating it would have stopped. The weight of his words, roared with venomous repulsion, pressed heavy on her chest. Maria couldn’t help the tears that freely ran down her cheeks and fell off her chin. Still so focused on his burst of rage she barely followed his next questions. She blinked a few times, silent as the tears continued to fall, and tried to understand what he was insinuating. Was he gaslighting her? How could he really believe any of that? Maria opened her mouth to speak, to try and articulate how devastated and confused she was, but the more she tried to search for the right words the angrier she got. At him and at herself.

“Fuck you,” she seethed, her voice surprisingly steady for how distraught she looked. How could she have been so stupid? This was Betelgeuse. Whatever rose-colored glasses she’d been wearing before he effectively slapped off her face.

Feeling very exposed and embarrassed Maria covered her chest and shifted off the bed. Hastily, she searched for her clothes, slipping on her underwear and dress (abandoning her bra). When she picked up her shoes at the end of his bed she stooped, giving his rage filled snake eyes a long look. This is what she needed to remember.

“Thank you.” The words were bitter and she couldn’t help the tremble now. “I don’t need to wonder what being with you is like anymore. I can shut the book on my naïve fantasies.”

She took a single step back, her mouth in a tight line while she shook her head. “I’m the same down here as I was up there. Foolish and never good enough – basura. But I can take myself out.”

The last word came out with a sob and she looked away from him – she needed to leave.

Oh, she was good. An Oscar worthy performance: those tears streaming so theatrically over her high cheekbones; her expression surprised bordering on devastated; the faintest, barely-there tremble in her hands. She was a waste working a reception desk.

Her spit profanity was exactly what he expected. Exactly what he needed. It vindicated him that he was able to at least partially expose the truth of her. If he was able to twist and reduce whoever was using him to standard curses, he won.

Beetlejuice only watched from the corner of his eye as Maria haphazardly scooped up and stepped into her clothing. She didn't ask for help rezipping her dress.

Then, instead of simply stomping out, instead of a stinging slap across the face – plus or minus the heeled shoes she held – she looked him directly in the face, leaning low to get under his brow and hold his eyes.

She slapped him with her words.

His self-pity and rage swirled in the pit inside him, and he could barely process what she said. Sarcastic thanks? She'd fantasized about him? The word fool and garbage flitted through – he knew what he was – and then a hitched choke that added another perfectly placed, dramatic sob to the end.

Although his upper brain was still trying to sort through what she'd just said, his lizard brain was still quick and in charge.

"The fucking door's right there," he snarled. She wanted to play on sympathies with crocodile tears? He'd counter with justified fury.

He'd have liked to stare her down till she was gone, but that hurt like a knife in the chest. And he should know, since that was something he'd experienced so recently! Instead of keeping his eyes locked on her, he turned his face away.

His throat burnned.

His silent agreement of her self-deprecation and his cruel indication to the door sealed it for her. Part of her, deep down, hoped he’d see her anguish and apologize. Leave the bed and wrap his arms around her. But that wasn’t happening, and it wasn’t going to happen. That was clear.

Maria felt the fire in her drain when Betelgeuse turned from her. What was the point of being angry? She nodded solemnly and looked at the door he’d so kindly motioned to.

“Right.” Her voice was soft. “Goodbye, Betelgeuse.”

And it really was goodbye. She realized that then. There was a clear finality to her parting. That goodbye was a resolve to cut whatever semblance of a relationship, platonic or otherwise, they’d had. Maria mourned that loss. Packing away the memories of coy flirting, stupid jokes, and of his perpetual smile when he’d roll his chair over to pitch his latest get out scheme.

And she mourned the brief possibility of what could have been. The flash of something seen only through the rose-colored glasses of an afterglow.

He so firmly hammered the final nail in the coffin that now held this relationship – and no one had any final words before it was lowered down into the dirt.

Another nod, only to herself, and she turned from him. Her heels still hung from her fingers as she padded bare foot to his door and left.

She didn’t notice how long she’d been walking, busy filing away the decades of fond memories till she was left with the most recent one. The eternal red fog of the netherworld licked at her legs, and as she pushed their final night together down deep, she pressed her back against the closest building, knelt down into the haze, and cried.

The door didn't slam. She left politely, as if to show she was superior.

He fucking knew that, didn't she think he fucking knew that?!

The atmosphere in his room changed the second Maria walked out and left it looking grimier, shabbier, and shittier than ever before. Beetlejuice grabbed both sides of his head and bellowed wordlessly: a rage-filled noise that probably rattled his dead neighbors. She led him on, she teased him, she used him, she made a fool of him . . . the same excuses he always heard echoed through his skull. She led him on, she teased him, she used him, she made a fool of him.

Sheledhimonsheteasedhimsheusedhimshemadeafoolofhim over and over and over and over –

She'd said basura. Garbage. That one word crept passed the others.

In a terrifying moment of clarity, Beetlejuice realized she hadn't called him that, she called herself that.

She wasn't garbage. He had been sincere when he called her hermosa. Emperatriz. It might have been the booze that loosened his tongue, but it only spoke the truth. He'd never met anyone like her in the Nether or Upper world. She made him laugh. She gave as good as she got. She was beauty personified. He liked her, and more than that, he respected her. And now, and now –

– he'd continued to fuck over his existence. The weight of what he'd done, the sheer magnitude of how he'd treated her when she'd been nothing but supportive and caring –

A new sound ripped from his throat. Pain and suffering. Utter disdain for himself. Hate directed inward. He should run after her. He should find her and apologize; drop to his knees in front of her, prostrate at her feet, grovel belly-up and beg for forgiveness. He could never atone, but he could worship. But Maria made it perfectly clear she was done with him, rightfully, agonizingly so, and all he could do was curl in on himself on his sagging, stained mattress, and weep.

fin

#writing #role-play #BeetleTina #Beetlejuice #Miss Argentina #Beetlejuice x Miss Argentina #movie Beetlejuice #Musical Beetlejuice #fanfiction #rp

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bthenoise · 5 years

Text

Warped Memories: Read What Members of Bad Religion, The Used, Thrice & More Picked As Their Favorite Warped Moments

Photos by Aaron Birkshire & Braina Bonilla

If you’ve ever attended the Vans Warped Tour, there’s a very good chance you’ve accumulated some sort of life-long memory. Be it positive or negative, it’s difficult to walk through Kevin Lyman’s world-renowned punk rock summer camp and not take away something memorable.

Like most of you reading this at home, the bands who have graced the Warped Tour stages throughout its illustrious 25-year career have also garnered some pretty special memories as well.

Talking with some Warped Tour alum like members of Bad Religion, The Used, Thrice, August Burns Red and more at their recent stop at the last-ever Mountian View appearance, we were able to gather some pretty interesting Warped stories – like riding motorcycles backstage, avoiding life-threatening storms and more.

To read what the seasoned musicians had to say about their unforgettable summers on the Warped Tour plus their heartfelt goodbye to Lyman’s influential and iconic festival, be sure to see below. For more Warped Tour coverage, head here.

Brian Baker - Bad Religion

Favorite Warped Memory

‘98 Warped Tour, Montreal. Something was wrong with our gear and Greg [Graffin, vocalist] started singing “Generator” a cappella - it sounded like every single person in Quebec was singing with him! Whatever was broken got fixed just in time for the band to come in right at the first chorus - a bit of accidental showmanship that was so cool we did it on purpose after that for many years.

Least Favorite Warped Memory

Somewhere in the Midwest, 2004 Warped Tour. Riding my Honda 50 drunk at night at top speed into a chain stretched across the road right about chest high. Ouch.

Who was the first band you remember being starstruck by or just excited to be spending the summer with on Warped Tour?

I’m not sure what year it was but when The Damned came on for some dates I went straight fanboy and would even hang out near their bus hoping to strike up a conversation. Best punk band ever.

Final Words To Warped Tour

So long and thanks for all the shoes!

Jeph Howard - The Used

Favorite Warped Memory

I have a shit memory, it's so bad, and every kind of tour blurs together. Like, I barely remember anything other than backstages or like, the friends that were on that tour or something like that. But you know, maybe my favorite memory might be -- we've had a lot of good times on Warped Tour. We've met a lot of good people. We toured with a lot of cool bands. Like, we're friends with all the people and production. We're friends with everybody, you know? They kind of saw us come up in that sense. So I'll go and hang with people in production. This is a long story, I guess.

So it's cool to reconnect and come back every year and say hi to these friends. That's kind of my favorite memory of Warped Tour as a whole. I know that’s not picking a specific time period, which if I could go back to like the first Warped Tour, [that] would maybe be my favorite only because it was so exciting and different and new and we didn't really know it was going on. And all of a sudden, playing Warped Tour, people are watching us play. Because nobody really gave a shit, you know, like we had some songs [but] nobody was coming to watch. And it was chill, but playing Warped Tour, it was like it was almost spreading us out there and helping us get out. Which is the same case with all these other bands that are kind of starting out from the ground.

Least Favorite Warped Memory

Warped Tour is long and it's hot and it's sweaty. We live on a bus, it's hard to shower, it's hard to live. You have a toilet you can pee in and that's about it. It's not easy to be on a tour like Warped tour but that's what you put up with, that's what you do in order to get what you want. Warped Tour is so much fun because of the camaraderie of all the bands together. It's like a family vibe and that's really exciting but there are some downfalls.

Most Brutal Warped Tour Memory

One time on Warped Tour, AFI just played and we were walking to the stage. You have a small time in between [sets] -- I think it's like 15 minutes in between bands or something. So in between those 15 minutes from our bus to the stage, the sky turned black and all of a sudden tents started getting ripped up out of the ground right in front of us. Like it was that quick and it went from someone playing to like, craziness. On our way to the stage, they canceled the whole show and then it just started pouring rain for the rest of the day. Just like swamp water. We were supposed to stay on the bus I think because it was pretty much tornado weather. It happened a couple of times.

Who was the first band you remember being starstruck by or just excited to be spending the summer with on Warped Tour?

You know, I didn't really pay attention. I don't do well, I'm doing better now, but I didn't use to do very well around people. I got stressed out by them. But now, I've kind of figured out my ways around human beings. No offense to you guys if you're human at all. But I've kind of figured my own thing out and coming up on tours back then when I was younger, I was just kind of stressed out all the time. Like, I was still good at being friends, well trying to be friends with people. You know, I was kind of an idiot -- which is the case for anybody at that kind of time period. You live and learn. You do stupid stuff to learn not to do stupid stuff.

Final Words To Warped Tour

See you next time. They'll do a 30th [year anniversary], they'll do a 35th [year anniversary], I'm guessing. You know, it is cool though because I get it. That last Warped Tour, that was the last Warped Tour. These two shows they did, they're not part of Warped Tour. This is an anniversary to celebrate what Warped Tour was. Totally cool. I'm all about that. You know, do it [again] in five years. That's totally chill. 26th [year anniversary] and 27th [year anniversary] might be weird, but 25 is totally cool.

Yungblud

Favorite Warped Memory

Probably going out with Good Charlotte to sing [“Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous”] in Maryland. And then also going out with Simple Plan that night as well. They were just like, “Yo, we love your shit, you wanna come on stage?” And I was like, “Yes.”

Least Favorite Warped Memory

Our bus toilet flooded and there was piss all over the floor.

Most Brutal Warped Tour Memory

I saw someone get dropped kicked in a mosh pit. I think it was Twiztid. I can't remember though.

Who was the first band you remember being starstruck by or just excited to be spending the summer with on Warped Tour?

Good Charlotte. It was mad. I [was] like, “Shit. Wow!”

Final Words To Warped Tour

I gotta say, man, the legacy will live on. This scene is not dead. It's just been sleeping for a bit but I can see it waking up really soon.

Cody Carson - Set It Off

Favorite Warped Memory

I'm gonna have to do two; one as playing, one as a spectator. My favorite Warped Tour memory as playing was probably, we were playing in Orlando when it was the official last Warped Tour full coast to coast. So we were playing Orlando, which we're all from Florida, and we were the last band to play that night. So playing as the sun was setting for all the crowd and knowing that we were the last band, and we used to go to those Warped Tours, was just a really monumental moment for us. So I think that was just really crazy. That was my favorite for sure. But as a spectator, I’d have to say my first mosh pit. In the early 2000s, Avenged Sevenfold was on [Warped] and they played the song “Chapter Four.” I got pushed into the mosh pit, I got my phone knocked out of my pocket, almost got attacked by a guy who had a lightsaber [laughs]. That was another really great, fond memory. So many great times at Warped Tour.

Least Favorite Warped Memory

As a spectator, it's bittersweet. I was in the front row for My Chemical Romance and I remember being in the front row for like, Fall Out Boy [too]. The crowd was crazy. You’re packed in, you can't use your arms and you move like a wave of sardines. So I didn't make it through Fall Out Boy long before I had to crowd surf and get the fuck out. So for MCR, I was going to stick around. I made it about 4-5 songs in, they played “Thank You For The Venom” and everything went crazy. So I had to get out of that and I remember having a crazy panic attack, but that's not my worst. It was just like a moment of absolute fright but it was incredible at the same time.

Most Brutal Warped Tour Memory

When I think of that, I think of injury. And when I think of injury, I think of my worst injury I had on Warped Tour which was, it's so lame how it happened. So I get kind of pushy with people if they're not moving [in the crowd]. I'm like, “I want you to move, I want you to jump.” I saw one girl that was the front row obviously not there for us, arms crossed like, “I'm not jumping.” So I was like, “I want to fuck with this person.” So I came down, I jump from the stage down to the barricade, which is about like an eight-foot drop. Totally fine. And then I walked up to the barricade, which has like this one-foot step, and I grabbed her hand and I started jumping with her. She was not having it. She was not a fan at that point. But I did my best. I jumped off the one-foot step and I land wrong and I roll my ankle. I sprained the fuck out of it [laughs]. It happened during the second song and I had to hobble around the rest that set. [My ankle] was like super black, but that also made me think of a storm. So we were playing in New Orleans, I think a couple days after [my injury], and there was this crazy thunderstorm. Everyone was terrified, but I'm from like Clearwater, Florida, and we're just used to that shit. So I was like, “eh, it's a Thursday."

Who was the first band you remember being starstruck by or just excited to be spending the summer with on Warped Tour?

I remember the first one to me was Fall Out Boy because I got in line with a white t-shirt to have them sign it. But to play with? Oh goodness. Weirdly enough, Less Than Jake. [I’m a] huge ska fan. I remember, we were on tour and I saw their singer and I just was a total nerd and was like, “Hey I just wanted you to know that I really love your band.” And you could tell he was being very polite and he was like, “Thank you so much.” And I was like, “I totally just weirded that guy out.” But JR, he's a saxophone player. I'm a woodwind player myself, so I got to nerd out with him. But I'm a huge Less Than Jake fan. So I think that was the first one I got really nervous for.

Final Words To Warped Tour

God, that's sad to say. My final farewell words are thank you for the culture you've cultivated, for the community you've created and the overall home that you allowed us to walk into for all of us outcasts that needed a place to vent. It will be missed sorely. Hopefully, this isn't the actual last time.

JB Brubaker - August Burns Red

Favorite Warped Memory

This is hard because I probably have a few. One Warped Tour memory that is one of the best for me is the end of Warped Tour 2013. We were playing in Houston and we were the last band to go on the main stage. So we closed out the final day of Warped Tour and I thought that was really cool and a special moment. I just felt proud that my band got to play last at Warped Tour. In 2008, we did Warped Tour for the very first time and that was an incredibly fun experience for us because it was our very first time on a bus. We were so excited to be on Warped Tour [because] it was such a special tour for us that we had always wanted to do and we couldn't believe we were on it. It was just non-stop hangs and partying and it was one of the most fun tours of my life [even though] we only got to play on the first 12 shows. I remember we were just like begging to stay on the tour. We didn't get to stay on unfortunately but I remember just having the time of my life in 2008.

Least Favorite Warped Memory

Some of my worst memories on Warped Tour were standing in the catering line in like Bonner Springs, Missouri in 95-degree weather while it was just super humid and hot. That was pretty miserable. Like, the dog days of Warped, you know? I mean, when just the weather's hot and you're in the thick of it standing in line for catering is definitely like the worst part of Warped Tour. That takes its toll.

Most Epic Warped Tour Memory

My most epic Warped Tour moment I believe was in 2015. We were playing in Orlando, Florida and a massive thunderstorm blew in right as our set was kind of finishing up. We got to finish our set but like right after we ended, the festival got shut down for a bit. Our photographer Ray Duker took this crazy photo of us of [with] like this ominous dark sky and just a mob of people. It was just like a cool photo. It looks sick. That's probably our most epic moment that I can think of off the top of my head.

Who was the first band you remember being starstruck by or just excited to be spending the summer with on Warped Tour?

In 2002, I was a senior in high school. I went to Warped Tour in Camden, New Jersey and I met Matt Skiba from Alkaline Trio who was like a hero of mine at the time and they're one of my favorite bands. I got him to sign my CD and then I asked them if they were gonna play “Radio.” And he said, “Do you want us to play it?” And I'm like, “Yeah, I'd love that.” He's like, “Yeah, we'll play it for you.” And then they played it. Now, I don't know if they were going to play it regardless but it was still really cool the way he framed it and made me feel special. So that's something I'll never forget. And then I also met Geoff [Rickly], the singer of Thursday, also in 2002. I got him to sign my CD. Full Collapse was like a huge album for me at the time and he wrote on it, “Thanks for caring” which I thought was awesome. That kind of stayed with me and I've written it out on a lot of CDs I've signed over the years and that kind of left a lasting impression on me. That was a cool memory. I have way more good memories than bad.

Final Words To Warped Tour

Man, Warped Tour's been huge for my band. Huge for a ton of bands. Huge for me as a fan coming up. It's sad that this is really the end. It's sad. I feel like they should just keep rolling out like a couple cities per year and just keep it going. I don't know if that's the case or not but if this is the last one ever, thanks for the memories. It's been awesome.

Garrett Russell - Silent Planet

Favorite Warped Memory

My best Warped Tour memory is the last Warped show I actually played, which was the last day of the 2017 Warped Tour in Pomona, California. A lot of friends we’re there, the show was crazy and then it was just such a relief to be done with the tour. So that was definitely the best.

Least Favorite Warped Memory

The worst was probably playing a handful of shows in 2016 and we did not have [air conditioning]. So we were not sleeping at all and we were just sweating a bunch. We were super miserable. We made the best of it but I definitely lost my voice. It was rough.

Most Brutal Warped Tour Memory

In North Carolina in 2016, the storm was so bad that like 20 people lost their tents. Like, they just literally flew up into the sky. We were holding [our tent] down with like six other people we found and it felt like we were in like a 300 battle scene.

Final Words To Warped Tour

Warped Tour: You're very hot and I met a lot of sketchy dudes with tattoos but the mission that Kevin Lyman has and all the work that he does to partner with a charity and nonprofits is incredibly admirable. Definitely what this music scene should be about.

Riley Breckenridge - Thrice

Favorite Warped Memory

I think our first Warped Tour we did was in 2001 and we were in a van and trailer. It's a rough tour to do in that manner and we were exhausted. I think one of the last shows on the tour was in Denver and we were pretty young in our touring career and didn't really know like, where people cared about us or didn't care about us. We played one of the later sets in the day on like a side stage in 2001 and the crowd was just insane. The turnout was great and we honestly expected to play to nobody because you got the main stage bands that are finishing the day out. So to experience that at that time in our career was super encouraging and that kind of set the tone for Denver as a place for us to go in the future. Like, we've never had a crappy show in Denver. It's always been cool. That's probably my earliest and most favorite memory. But I mean, playing hometown shows on Warped was always awesome [too]. Being a part of these two twenty-fifth anniversary things have been awesome. There's never a downside to playing to thousands and thousands of people, you know?

Least Favorite Warped Memory

I have a few. If there's like a constant bad memory, it's just like trying to find a place to go to the bathroom. I mean [with] porta-potties, try to hit ‘em early. If you don't hit ‘em early, you got to deal with whatever everybody else has been offering for the day -- or the weekend, in this case. My worst memory, personally, in 2003 I hurt my back really bad. I had an old skateboarding injury where I screwed up something in my back, didn't have health insurance at the time, was young and naive and was like, “It'll just get better” ‘cause that's how you get better when you're young. So I screwed my back up pretty bad and it went away. But it was bothering me when I was playing drums and bothering me in my everyday life. And we were playing the Gorge in Washington in 2003 and I went into one of the bays on the bus to grab my suitcase and I yanked it out and I felt something pop in my back. I was like, “Oh man, that's not good.” This is pre-set. And so we play our set that night and I was in pain the entire set. The next day we played in Oregon, I could barely get through the set. Like, I could barely move my legs, my arms felt weird, my neck felt weird. I just felt awful.

So then after that show, we had like a 12-13 hour bus ride from Oregon back home for I think a day off and then we were playing like Orange County and Ventura or something like that. I woke up in the middle of the night to pee. I got up out of my bunk and I felt like the same shooting pain [in my back]. I walked into the front lounge and I immediately crumbled to the floor and I had to lay on one of the couches in the front lounge. I could not get up, could not move. It was the worst pain I've ever felt in my life.

I ended up going straight from the bus to a chiropractor who worked on me for like five or six hours, massages and all this stuff. He couldn't get me to a place where I was able to play those hometown shows so the guys had to play acoustic, which ended up being a really special moment for the band as that was a different way of presenting our songs. But being laid up at home or being in a therapist’s office and trying to get better to a point where I could play knowing my buddies are out playing in front of thousands of people having these cool moments and I wasn't there to help them or give the fans a normal show was really tough. Thankfully, I had a magical chiropractor who got me back into semi-working order in like three or four days and then I joined the tour again three or four days later and finished it out. Since then my back's been manageable but not great. I just have to take care of it. But missing those home town shows when the band was at the peak of its popularity was really hard. [The chiropractor] is a wizard. His name's Dr. G. He works on all these pro skaters, surfers, MMA guys. He had worked on a bunch of drummers like Travis Barker. Thankfully he's local, I still go see him pretty regularly.

Most Brutal Warped Tour Memory

There was a crazy storm one year in, I want to say Buffalo. It could have been on that 2003 tour or it might have been on like 2005 or 2006, the other year we did it. The sky looked ominous all day and right as we started playing, it started pouring. I think either a stage or something close to the stage got hit by lightning so our set got cut short. Merch areas were flooding, it was just chaos. Like you've got however many people coming to these shows depending on the market and it was just pandemonium. Like, people trying to relocate and [do] damage control [because] they don't want anybody to get hit by lightning or you got people like trampling people to get out of the way. It was chaotic. They pulled us off stage. I think we were hiding on the bus or something. I can't recall if we finished the set later, or how they resolved that, but you can't control the weather.

Who was the first band you remember being starstruck by or just excited to be spending the summer with on Warped Tour?

Bad Religion, no question, NOFX [too]. Like, I was steeped in the Fat Wreck Chords and Epitaph bands of the early 90s and mid-90s. So any band that was on that label I was starstruck by. But Bad Religion and NOFX were like the kings of that. Like Bad Religion is Epitaph and NOFX is Fat. So just to be around those dudes and see them play, they're so inspiring and so cool. We've had a few interactions with the NOFX camp. Not so much with Bad Religion, aside from being on Brett's label now. But I mean, those are the bands that made me want to be in a band. So being around and being able to watch them play is super cool, especially at that early point in [our] band's career. To get that kind of push and that kind of excitement, it's invaluable.

Final Words To Warped Tour

Oh, man. To put it simply, just thank you. Early on in our career, there was really no better way for us to get our music out to more people than to play Warped Tour. I've been going since it was called like, Bored in Orange County back in maybe ‘91 or ‘92 and it was early in my drumming career before Thrice was even a thought. Going to those shows, I was like, “Man, I want to do this someday” and then I remember going, I think it was probably like mid-90s three or four years before Thrice formed. I went to Warped Tour at the Anaheim Pond where the Ducks play and [I rememeber] watching the show and being like, “I want to do this, I want this to happen for whatever band I'm playing in.” And it ended up happening and it’s great. I mean, going back to the Denver show that I talked about, or the stuff in 2003 when stuff was really going crazy for us, even this stuff now. We're playing to people that have never seen us before. Like, they're Dance Gavin Dance fans or you know, whoever else that have never seen us or never thought about checking us out because there's so much music out there right now. And then maybe you're walking by a stage one day and you hear something you like, “Whoa, what is this?” Like, “Oh, I never heard of these guys.” So just getting a chance to play in front of more people than you would hopping on some support tour or doing our own tour is so valuable to our longevity as a band and it's something we're super grateful for.

#Vans Warped Tour #August Burns Red #Bad Religion #Set It Off #The Used #Thrice #Silent Planet #Yungblud #Interview

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staple-soap-blog · 7 years

Text

Scars

Genre: Angst | Soulmate!AU

Word Count: 11484

Everyone is born with a soul mark somewhere on their body. Their soulmate has the same mark. New technology has been developed that can remove the mark, but at great cost.

The voices resonating within the small living room blurred together into white noise and faded into the aether, leaving the abrupt thud of your heart stopping as the only audible sound. The walls felt like they were crumbling around you, and the velvet couch you sat on seemed like it was swallowing you into its depths, encasing you in a suffocating darkness. The pain you had suppressed for so long came flooding back, spreading through your every nerve. You felt like your chest had imploded and your bones were caving in. Your entire body had shut down momentarily as Sehun’s last few words echoed through the husk of your skull.

“I’m going to get my soul mark removed.”

There were muffled voices, a few louder than the others, but you couldn’t decipher what was being said. Your brain - consumed by grief - didn’t allow for it. Someone had placed their hand on your arm to try and shake you out of your stupor, but you could barely feel the contact through your numb skin.

But then, his voice called your name, penetrating through the void. That one familiar voice that for so long had brought you happiness and sweet memories, but now, it tore your very being apart. The words that voice had spoken had severed the few ties to him you had left. But still, his voice had so much power and influence over you, and it finally brought you out of your trance. You blinked a few times, and suddenly, you were returned to reality.

This wasn’t a dream.

You slowly lifted your head and locked eyes with the man behind the voice. Oh Sehun. The man who, for so long, had been your best comfort and worst tormentor.

“What?” you asked, your voice weak and quiet. You wanted to make sure that what he said was genuine, and it wasn’t your mind playing tricks.

“What do you think? About me getting my soul mark removed.”

It was real. The one shred of doubt you held onto was ripped away. You felt your thoughts mould into words, trying to overcome the screaming of your heart. But they caught in your throat and you choked. You were rendered speechless, and the most you could do was move your arm. It subconsciously travelled to your collarbone where underneath the fabric of your shirt was your own soul mark.

The one that was identical to Sehun’s.

“Well I think it’s a terrible idea,” boomed Chanyeol’s deep voice from beside you. Looking to your right, you observed said man’s face and saw that his eyes had narrowed and his brows were furrowed. It was rare to see Chanyeol genuinely angry about something, and it only made you realise how detrimental the situation was.

“Typical lover boy,” teased Sehun, a hint of a smirk on his features.

“This is serious, Sehun,” growled Chanyeol, and you realised that he was the one who had tried to shake you out of your trance as his hand was still wrapped firmly around your arm, his hold tightening as he spoke. “We’re given soul marks for a reason. You’re trying to go against fate and I don’t think that will end well for you.”

“I don’t care about that,” spat Sehun, his voice now laced with venom. “I’m in love with Yuna and nothing is ever going to change that.” You felt yourself flinch at his words. It felt like a blade had slashed through your chest, leaving your bleeding heart exposed and vulnerable. You tried your absolute best to keep your face unchanged. The apathetic façade you had constructed was the only thing concealing your pain from the world, and you intended to keep it up no matter how difficult it had become.

Perhaps it would’ve been easier if you weren’t completely and utterly in love with Sehun.

Even if you weren’t soulmates, you still would’ve fallen for him. And the fact that you were soulmates only furthered your infatuation. It fuelled the fantasy that maybe, just maybe, fate would turn Sehun towards the one he was destined for. The one person who had always been by his side. His oldest and best friend. You.

But you were afraid, and you were stupid. Afraid of ruining years of friendship. Afraid of rejection. Sehun was always the rebellious type. He never wanted to be bossed around and manipulated. He always wanted his freedom. That’s what kept you from ever confessing to him, and that’s what kept you from ever showing him your soul mark, even after all these years. You always had faith that fate would show him the right path.

And that faith had been your downfall.

You had let Sehun slip away from you, into the arms of another. A woman who had the same arrogant attitude towards fate as he did. Yuna was a feisty, successful and gorgeous woman. She was better than you in every way from her job to her looks, even her sense of humour was better than yours. You couldn’t blame Sehun for being attracted to her, but they weren’t a perfect match.

That’s what you had told yourself for almost two years. They weren’t meant to be together. Eventually, their relationship would fail. You knew it was selfish of you to think like this, and not a day went past without you chastising yourself for believing these cruel excuses.

But Sehun and Yuna’s relationship continued to grow. Through the first few months, it didn’t bother you. Sehun had dated other girls before, but Yuna was different. She managed to somehow completely capture Sehun’s heart, and soon enough, they had fallen in love.

You remember the night Sehun had called, telling you how he thought he had finally found true happiness in his life. I’m in love with her Y/N, I’ve finally found someone who truly makes me happy. How amazing is that? That was the first time you had felt real pain. That was when the first deep cut was made into your naïve, innocent heart.

As each day passed, you would tell yourself that fate would fix everything, and that allowed for your heart to heal ever so slightly. But every time you saw them together, staring into each other's eyes and holding hands or simply talking about nothing, it was like another deep incision had been made. Slowly, over time, the repeated healing and cutting had left your heart scarred and misshapen.

The day that Sehun proposed to Yuna had caused the biggest wound to date. It almost ripped your entire being apart when he had made the phone call, telling you of how he had got down on one knee and presented her with a sparkling diamond ring. And he left out no detail when he explained how Yuna’s face lit up when she said yes.

Maybe that was what you deserved. Fate had gotten you back for thinking those selfish thoughts, thoughts of Sehun being yours. Now he was going to be with someone else. Forever.

Everything would have been fine if you didn’t love him. You’ve heard stories of soulmates being friends and everything working out fine. But no, you had to screw it up for yourself and fall in love with Sehun. Your neighbour since you were seven years old. Your closest friend since you were ten years old. Your dearest love since always. Oh Sehun.

Your mind finally stopped dissociating, and you were once again returned to the suffocating prison that was Junmyeon’s living room. He had invited you, Sehun, Chanyeol and Baekhyun over to watch a movie together. Somehow, your group of friends started talking over the film and you all ended up in this position, arguing over Sehun’s impulsive decision.

“Chanyeol’s right, Sehun,” stated Junmyeon calmly. “You’re going against fate, and plus, the technology is still new and experimental. There might be side effects. I think you should think about your decision carefully. Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

“Yuna and I have already talked about this. We want to get it done before the wedding,” explained Sehun. “I want to do it. For her.”

There it was again. The familiar stabbing sensation in your chest. This time, you flinched. And it didn’t go unnoticed by Chanyeol. You saw him turn and look directly at you, and you debated whether or not to return the glance. Perhaps he would see through your protective barrier, so you kept your eyes trained onto the opposite wall. But it was no use.

“What do you think, Y/N?” asked Chanyeol this time, and you were forced to look into Sehun’s chocolate eyes and provide an answer. Taking a deep breath, you willed a smile onto your face and pushed those forbidden words out of your mouth.

“Do whatever you want Sehun,” you breathed, cringing at the slight waver in your voice. If there was any chance for you to show Sehun your matching soul marks, it had passed a long time ago. He was to be married in less than a month and you couldn’t burden him with the revelation. It was too late for you, but your heart refused to accept it, and it only made you hurt more and more. Perhaps letting him remove the mark was a way for you to finally let go.

“Are you serious?” exclaimed Baekhyun. “You can’t actually be agreeing with him?” He turned to look Sehun dead in the eye. “You said it yourself, nothing will change your love for Yuna. So why bother getting it removed?”

“It means more than that!” yelled Sehun, standing from his seat. “It’s a sign that we love each other and we’re willing to break the rules to be together!” Sehun grabbed his jacket that was hanging off the back of the one-seater chaise and began to walk towards the exit of Junmyeon’s apartment. “None of you understand. As my friends, I thought you’d be more supportive,” he quipped before yanking open the front door, walking through and slamming it shut.

The echo of the door being harshly slammed reverberated through your empty chest, leaving only a numbing pain in its wake. None of the other boys said anything, and you had time to think in silence. Did you want Sehun to go through with his decision? No. But was it best for him, for the both of you? Maybe.

***

A shiver was sent through your body as the cold water hit your face and began to drip down back into the sink. You wiped away the remaining liquid and looked at yourself in the mirror. Your mascara had smudged, and you watched as black droplets rolled down your cheeks, streaking your skin with black.

You looked at your reflection and saw a damaged woman. A person who had been repeatedly hurt over years and years, and the image you saw in the mirror was a visual representation of the remnants of your dead soul finally being expelled from your body. Black water dripped from your chin and onto your chest, running over your soul mark and soaking your shirt. You stared at the lines of melanin that formed a circle, with four crescents perpendicular to its circumference. A teardrop shape stuck out from the ends of each crescent. It looked like a hurricane, but now, it was stained with darkness.

The image you saw in the mirror haunted you. It reminded you of how broken you really were despite your attempts to ignore reality. Grabbing a bottle of cleanser, you quickly washed away the black splotches, expelling the picture from your memory.

The shower was usually a safe space for you to think and make important life decisions, but no cohesive thoughts could be formed now. Your mind was numb with grief, and you simply stood still, your eyes cast to the tiled floor as the water cascaded over your husk of a body and swirled down into the drain.

Robotically, you stepped out and dried yourself before throwing on a loose shirt and some shorts. You unlocked your phone saw that Chanyeol had texted you a while ago. Reading the contents of his message, it was clear that he saw through some cracks and asked if everything was okay. Crap. You shouldn’t’ve left Junmyeon’s so abruptly. But you had to get out of there. It started to feel like the walls were closing in on you, the echo of Sehun’s words creating a dense, suffocating atmosphere.

Your thumbs hovered over your screen, typing out a reply but later deleting it. Your response had to raise no suspicions. Your thumb hovered over the send button, your heartbeat accelerating as you read and re-read your response, but the sound of your doorbell stopped you. Locking your phone, you made your way towards the door, wondering who would be visiting at this hour of the night. Without thinking, you pulled open the front door, and almost instantly, your body seized up.

“Hey,” mumbled Sehun with a small smile on his lips. His chestnut hair was slightly dishevelled, most likely because of his hand running through it. Parts of his fringe hid his chocolate brown eyes, still so full of life and radiance.

“Glad to see that you’re dressed for visitors,” teased Sehun as he scanned your baggy outfit. Your eyes followed his, and you looked at your clothes, noticing that your collarbones were close to being exposed. You gasped and tugged the shirt upwards so it covered your neck, panic flooding through your veins. What if he saw the mark? Oh shit oh shit oh shit. “Relax,” he chuckled. “Can I come in?”

Your teeth began to grind against each other as you pondered, imagining every possible scenario. Everything you could think of lead to you hurting more than you already were. But hey, you had been stupid enough to put your faith in Sehun and fate for years. So why stop being stupid now?

You nudged your head to the side, wordlessly beckoning Sehun into your apartment. You felt dread follow you as you moved back inside what was supposed to be your sanctuary, a safe home for you to suffer in peace. You quickly ducked into your room to find a hoodie that would safely cover your soul mark, and you returned to the living room, finding Sehun sat on the couch comfortably.

Each step you took that brought you closer to him was harder and harder. It was like there was an invisible bungee tied to your waist that got tighter as you moved forward, but you somehow found the strength to make it to the seat beside Sehun and sit down. That strength didn’t come from love, it came from fear. Fear that Sehun would see through your protective barrier and everything would be exposed. Your friendship was the only thing tying you to him now if he decided to go through with his decision. You couldn’t lose that. It would be the final blow to your fragile, delicate heart. You had to make sure everything was alright even when it most definitely wasn’t. You had to do it for him. Why? Because you loved him.

“Sorry for leaving so suddenly,” began Sehun.

“You don’t need to apologise to me,” you answered, keeping your voice as neutral and calm as possible. Sehun smiled at you, and his hand found its way onto yours, his fingers enveloping your smaller hand. He squeezed it gently, and your gaze dropped to where your two bodies met. Your skin felt like it was on fire. His fingers were searing burns into your flesh, causing your heartbeat to quicken exponentially with each passing second. Such a gesture was normal for Sehun, but in this situation, it became something insidious. It was like he was taunting you with his affection, giving you so little but just enough that you craved more and more.

“Thanks for understanding,” continued Sehun. “You’re the only person that hasn’t yelled at me for wanting to get this removed.” With his free hand, he pulled away the fabric of his shirt, exposing his neck and the top of his chest. You saw the top half of his mark. A circle with four perpendicular crescents and teardrop tails. The exact same size as yours and in the exact same position, the right collarbone. Sehun released the fabric and it snapped back into place, only leaving the top half of the mark visible. You swear you heard a small voice in the back of your mind, like Sehun’s mark was calling out to you, begging you to fulfil your destiny with him. Your heart surged at the sight of his mark, but your brain knew better. You knew Sehun better. He was never fond of fate and he always wanted his freedom. He would reject you just to spite destiny. You had to make do with what you had left which were the memories of a friendship that had thrived ever since the fourth grade.

“You’ve always wanted your freedom, Sehun. I can’t tell you what to do. If this is what you want then…” you trailed off, physically unable to finish your sentence without choking. This was wrong. What you were saying was wrong. It went against fate and it went against your heart. But you forced delusion and convinced yourself that this was necessary.

Unfortunately, your self-control was slowly beginning to crumble.

“It’s what Yuna wants as well,” said Sehun, and you felt a chunk of your protective barrier break off and collapse. “I feel like doing this is my promise to her. That I will love and cherish her no matter what. I don’t care that she’s not my soulmate. In my eyes, she’s perfect for me.” Sehun’s eyes were almost sparkling as he spoke, and it made you sick to your stomach knowing that you weren’t the reason for it. Your words were caught in your throat, and the most you could do was nod and force yourself to smile.

Suddenly, Sehun leaned forward, and you soon found yourself enveloped within his arms, your body pressed flush against his. A sharp gasp escaped your lungs, and your heart was screaming inside your chest.

“You’ve always been there for me Y/N, I can’t thank you enough for that.” His hands rested on your lower back, holding you against him. Your own arms began to wrap around his torso, and even though your heart was in a frenzy, everything felt right, because it was right. Being held by Sehun allowed for a wave of relief to wash over you, and you couldn’t remember the last time you felt this complete. It was a simple gesture, but after all the torture and wounds, this was more than enough to make you feel just a little bit happier for a single moment.

Your head found its way into the crook of Sehun’s neck. Your eyes closed from the sheer delight you were experiencing, your hold tightening more and more. Each and every nerve was tingling with pleasure. You felt light-headed, and your trains of thought dissipated.

That’s when the cracks started to leak. Your heart finally had a chance to speak without the suppression of fear, and it was yelling at you to never let go. Don’t let Sehun get that mark removed. It was the only piece of evidence you had that you were both meant for each other. It was a sign of your potential as perfect lovers. Without it, you would be without match. You would be one half of a missing pair.

“Don’t do it,” you whispered before you had a chance to stop yourself.

Sehun’s embrace loosened, and regret began to consume you. He slowly pulled away and looked you in the eye, his eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion. “What? Why not? I thought you didn’t care?”

Oh, how incredibly wrong he was.

You swallowed nervously, trying to recompose yourself. But you could tell that your slip-up had broken your forced composure. “I…” you began timidly, trying to find some excuse for your sudden change of heart. “I’m just worried,” you stammered.

“About what?

You wanted to stop yourself from speaking. You wanted to think something different to what was currently running through your head. But your emotions had completely corrupted your body. “I’m worried that...you might be making the wrong decision.” Your eyes flew to his soul mark peeping out from behind his shirt, your words held a much deeper meaning, more than what he understood.

You’re making the wrong decision because you’re not choosing me.

“It’s just a stupid mark, Y/N. It doesn’t mean much. Don’t worry about it,” he stated casually. A lopsided smile found its way onto his lips in an attempt to ease your concern, but all it did was taunt you further. The mark truly meant nothing to him, and he was perfectly content with making you suffer even though he didn’t know it. Your heart began to bleed at his words, old wounds reopening and sending a dull ache into your every bone. You dropped your gaze, your eyes falling to look at his chest in a dead stare.

It was obvious to Sehun now that you were definitely not okay. You couldn’t contain yourself anymore. There were now too many cracks in your façade, and your emotions had begun to seep out. Even though your face was neutral, your body sagged with exhaustion and your eyes quivered with sadness.

Sehun placed his hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you to try and bring you to your senses. “Hey,” he said, grabbing your attention. Hesitantly, you looked up and into his eyes and lost yourself within the swirls of his irises. “You’re really that worried?”

Isn’t it obvious?

“I’ll talk to Yuna. I’ll think about it, okay?” he reassured, hoping it would bring you some relief. You nodded, and he seemed to be satisfied with that as an answer. Sehun got up to leave soon after, sending more words of encouragement your way. You constantly felt the urge to scream at him the truth. To pull away your collar and show him what you had tried to conceal all these years, all the years he had spent as your friend and all the years he had spent loving someone else. But you fought it with every piece of energy in your body, you fuelled it with fear of scaring him and losing him. Despite the protests of your heart, you fought it, keeping your cries to yourself.

When he finally stepped out your door, you silently begged him. Please. Please don’t remove that mark. Please don’t leave me behind. That mark is all I have left.

***

The weekend afternoon was cold and inhospitable, leaving you no choice but to remain on your couch for seemingly endless hours, curled up in pyjamas and a thick blanket watching whatever boring movies that played on TV. The films were a decent distraction from the pain of your lacerated heart, and your apartment acted as a safe bubble, protecting you from the dangers of reality that existed outside those four walls.

An orange glow began to fill the room as the sun prepared to set, the change in colour momentarily distracting you from the mundane scene of the film you were currently watching. You rubbed your eyes and stretched your body, groaning as your muscles were awakened from their sleep. There was a dull ache in the right side of your chest, and you pressed your palm to your sternum, hoping to relieve the feeling.

The ache didn’t cease, and you rolled your right shoulder to move the muscles, but it only seemed to worsen the pain. You winced in discomfort when you stood, intending to walk to the bathroom to retrieve some painkillers.

Your breathing deepened with each step you took, the ache growing exponentially worse. A cry slipped past your lips. You were unable to keep silent as you groaned and grunted your way to the bathroom. Tears began to pool at your waterline, the pain feeling like an anvil was slowly being lowered onto your chest and a blowtorch was heating it up.

Your body felt hot. Each nerve was on edge as you fumbled with the cupboards and the bottle of painkillers, your disorientated senses causing you to spill the tablets all over the floor. You looked at the mess through your tears, intending to reach down and quickly swallow a few.

And that’s when the agony began.

A sharp, searing pain exploded from your right collarbone, causing you to scream out and collapse. Your body hit the ground with force, but you couldn’t feel the impact for the pain in your chest was so extreme. It was pain you had never experienced before.

Strangled cries escaped your mouth as the burning sensation continued to persist. It felt like a sharp iron rod that had been heated on a fire was carving lines into your torso at a slow and gruelling pace, making sure that every cell of skin and muscle had been burnt before moving on.

Nothing would stop the pain. Nothing could distract you from it. The sound of your screaming dulled and faded away. Your thrashing limbs continued to bash against the walls and the floor, but you couldn’t feel anything but the burn. The hot, agonising burn emanating from deep within your chest. You couldn’t touch the affected area. As soon as your hand would near, a new jolt of pain would send that limb flying away uncontrollably.

There was nothing you could do but suffer.

It continued for what felt like a lifetime. The sunset filled the room with red light, seemingly intensifying the pain and you wondered if you had been transported to hell. That was the only colour you saw as the agonising pain continued to permeate every inch of your writhing body.

Eventually, the light vanished and the bathroom was plunged into darkness, leaving your body on the tiled floor writhing as the pain slowly receded. You noticed that your screaming had stopped. You swallowed for the first time, noting your dry throat. Blinking away your tears, you could make out your arms in front of you through the darkness, twitching as you continued to sob.

You refused to move for a long time, allowing your body to hiccup by itself as you wondered what had happened? What had caused so much pain? Were you sick? Did you catch some sort of disease? The possible answered made you shake with fear, and you remained reluctant to find out.

The ground had become your resting place for hours as you continued to sob, the pain still fresh in your memory and the dull ache it left behind persisted. Eventually, you found the urge to move your legs and you attempted to sit up. Your limbs moved slowly, and you used your left arm to push yourself up as your right was still throbbing with pain.

Stumbling towards the wall, your hands found the light switch of the bathroom, and the small area flooded with white light. You squinted for a second, allowing your eyes to adjust before taking a hesitant glance at the mirror.

Your eyes were red and puffy. It was clear that you had been crying for a long time. Your hair was messy and you could see bruises on your arms from where they hit the walls and floor as you were uncontrollably flailing around. Something caught your eye. A red patch of skin jutting out from beneath your t-shirt collar. Carefully, you pulled away the fabric, your breath hitching in your throat at what you saw.

The area around your soul mark was bloodshot and irritated. The mark itself looked like it had been burnt off, the dark melanin now replaced with raw, pink skin which glistened with liquid as your body tried to heal the wounded area.

Alarms went off in your mind at the horrific sight. What had caused this? Why did it happen? Was this a dream? You stood there staring at the reflection of your wound in the mirror in complete shock. No other emotion seemed to overpower you in that state. Finally, you were interrupted by the ringing of your phone that sounded from your living room, and you slowly peeled your eyes away from the mirror and trudged out of the bathroom.

You spotted your phone on the coffee table in front of the couch. It had stopped ringing now, but you saw the screen light up for a second time, your ringtone accompanying it. Looking at the contact name, you saw that it was Sehun.

You were still too confused to think straight, so you decided to answer. After pressing the green button you brought the phone to your ear, but you didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

“Y/N? Are you there?” asked Sehun from the other end. You stayed silent. “Please talk to me,” he begged. “No one will pick up my calls.” His voice sounded desperate and downcast, and you felt your heart swell. You still hated how much he affected you. “I can hear you breathing,” stated Sehun. “Please say something!”

Drawing in a quick breath, you spoke. “What is it?” you murmured, your voice weak and drained of energy.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sounding concerned. “You don’t hate me, do you?”

“What do you mean?”

Sehun sighed. “Chanyeol didn’t tell you? I suppose he didn’t have time. He was sending me angry texts for a whole hour.”

“What are you talking about Sehun?” you asked, exasperated and confused.

“My soul mark,” he said. “I got it removed.”

All at once, everything clicked and realisation hit you like a speeding train. This must be the reason why your soul mark was burned off. It made sense, didn’t it? If the two of you were destined to be together, it would make sense that if that bond was broken, it would affect both of you.

“It hurt so much,” continued Sehun. “They gave me some anaesthetic but it didn’t help that much. It felt like my skin was on fire.”

You swallowed dryly, the memories of the agonising pain you’d experienced flooding back to haunt you. Your body froze as you processed this information, but you could feel your heart palpitating at a relentless pace as tears started to drip down your face. Sehun kept talking, but his words felt like taunts. His voice became muffled as your ears started to block him out, but you heard him talk about the pain, about how Yuna had the same thing done, and he had the nerve to say that he was happy with his decision.

“Are you there?” he asked after a while. He called your name. “Shit, are you crying?” You snapped out of your trance and noticed that light sobs were slipping past your lips. You immediately suppressed them and wiped the tears from your eyes.

“Please don’t be mad at me. Baek and Chanyeol aren’t speaking to me and Junmyeon is still at work,” pleaded Sehun. You’re all I have left.”

You winced at his words, because they weren’t true, not anymore. Sehun had Yuna to support him. Sehun was going to marry Yuna. Sehun didn’t share your soul mark anymore. All ties to him were now severed.

Your years of friendship felt completely worthless now. Fate had brought you and Sehun together for a reason, but now that reason was pointless and all those efforts were wasted. You had no soulmate.

You had no purpose.

Sehun continued to beg for you to speak to him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to talk. His voice was becoming deafening. You felt a tension build up in your chest, causing the ache of the burned mark to intensify. You heard Sehun ask once again if you were alright before you hung up the phone and collapsed to your knees.

A strangled scream erupted from your chest as you felt your emotions overpower your entire being. Your heart had finally been ripped in two after years of small cuts weakening it. That was the final blow. The pain you felt matched the ache of your wound, and together they became unbearable. You pressed your hand to your sternum, but it did nothing to alleviate the pain.

Sehun called again, but you fumbled with the phone, switching it off and tossing it across the floor. The couch was your saviour as you didn’t have the energy to walk to your bedroom. Crawling onto the cushioned surface, you allowed yourself to cry.

Your love was worthless. It had been a waste of time. It had been a waste of Fate’s time. You felt like you had disappointed Fate. Fate had made you and Sehun neighbours. Fate had made the two of you attend the same school. Fate had made the two of you friends. But that didn’t matter anymore.

Your body felt like uranium, heavy and unstable. It was a miracle that you’d fallen asleep. But exhaustion had finally managed to calm your mind, and you drifted off with a broken heart and tear stained cheeks.

***

“I’m not coming,” you breathed into your phone for the umpteenth time.

“I’m still mad at him as well, but we have to,” pressed Chanyeol. “Plus, I kinda feel bad for ignoring him.”

“That’s not my problem,” you sighed.

“You haven’t spoken to him since the day he got it removed. It’s been two weeks. Don’t you think you should speak to him tonight? Besides, it’s the last dinner we’ll all have together before the wedding,” reasoned Chanyeol.

You chewed on your bottom lip in thought. You admitted that you felt bad for ignoring Sehun, as did Chanyeol and Baekhyun, but you never found the courage to speak to him after that night. It hurt just thinking about him, so you’d thought you’d spare yourself more pain by avoiding him at all costs.

“Hang on,” grumbled Chanyeol, and you heard him fumbling with his phone. There was a 20-second pause before he spoke again. “Sehun just texted me. He says he’s coming to get you.”

“No!” you yelled instantaneously. “No.”

“Well, either I’m driving you there or he is, so take your pick.”

You sucked in a long breath of air to calm yourself. “Fine,” you grumbled reluctantly. “I’ll go. Pick me up in an hour.”

Your shower lasted longer than it should have. You would momentarily dissociate for a few minutes before snapping back to reality. You spent another few minutes staring at your reflection in the mirror, water dripping from your hair and a white towel wrapped around your bare body. The remnants of your soul mark were mostly healed now, but it left behind an ugly scar in of the same shape. A raised circle of damaged skin with four perpendicular crescents and teardrop tails.

By the time Chanyeol was knocking at your door, you only had half your makeup done. You opened your front door to reveal the tall man, dressed in slacks and a button-up that had the sleeves rolled up. Chanyeol smiled at you, but it faltered slightly when his eyes met yours. He could sense your tortured vibe, but thankfully he didn’t mention it.

“You look nice,” he simply stated. “Are you sure about that dress? It’s hot outside.” You looked down at your outfit. The sleeves were lace but the body of the knee length dress was solid black which wrapped around your body, collarbones and neck. Perfect for hiding your scar.

“I’ll be fine,” you reassured. “Just give me a minute.”

When your makeup was finally finished, you grabbed your purse and allowed Chanyeol to lead you to his car. He definitely noticed your sagging body, completely drained of any will to live. But you had no energy to maintain your usual façade of content. He tried to make small talk with you, but gave up halfway due to your one word responses. You could tell Chanyeol was worried about you.

He parked the car and opened the door for you, and you walked into the restaurant together. The hostess led you to the table where you could see Baekhyun, Junmyeon, Yuna and three of who you assumed to be Yuna’s friends. You stopped in your tracks when you laid eyes on Sehun. He was dressed in black slacks, a dress shirt and a blazer, his auburn hair pushed back with gel. He was still handsome as ever.

Chanyeol forcibly tugged you towards the table and you reluctantly shuffled behind him. Baekhyun noticed the two of you approaching, and he immediately waved and called out. As soon as your name left Baekhyun’s lips, Sehun’s head shot up to look directly at you and he was out of his chair in seconds. You felt fear envelope your body as he approached. He completely ignored Chanyeol and pulled you into a tight hug, causing your heart to beat rapidly. But it wasn’t beating out of love, it was beating because you were scared and hurt.

“I’ve missed you,” mumbled Sehun into your shoulder as his hold around your waist tightened. You tensed at this gesture. His touch no longer felt comforting. Instead, it felt like you were being suffocated. All the memories of you hugging Sehun in this way flashed through your mind, and you were reminded that this was worthless. Your shoulders sagged and your arms fell to your side in defeat.

Sehun pulled away to look at your face. His eyes were filled with concern and apology. Suppressed guilt began to bubble back into your stomach, and you remembered how bad you felt for not speaking to him. And this was his special dinner just a three days before the wedding, so you gathered all your strength and forced a small smile onto your face. Sehun didn’t seem entirely convinced, but it was enough for him to smile back.

He led you to your table and pulled out your chair before you took a seat. You were grateful that the only available seat was the one furthest from him, and you were stuck in the corner with Chanyeol next to you. As you watched Sehun walk back to his own chair, your eye caught Yuna’s eye. Her eyes were squinted and her eyebrows furrowed, judging you from across the table.

You sent her a weak smile, which she returned, but it didn’t feel sincere. This was strange. You had met Yuna thrice before. She seemed to always be busy with work whenever your group of friends went out for dinner, but you never missed out on hearing Sehun ramble about her endlessly. Those times she’d met you seemed to go well, although you were jealous of everything she was and everything she had. But tonight, she seemed a bit more scrutinous.

Throughout the evening, you could feel Sehun’s eyes on you. You could see him in your peripheral vision frequently glancing at you with a worried and longing expression that made your skin crawl. Usually, it would make your heart flutter, but instead, it made your heart throb with anxiety. You kept trying to subtly press your sternum to relieve the ache, but it only made Sehun’s staring worse.

You didn’t want his attention for it caused so much pain. Your heart was still shredded beyond repair and each moment under his gaze felt like he was kicking your already dead body. You stared at your plate of carbonara for the majority of the night, twirling the noodles around your fork, only occasionally lifting it to your lips.

Chanyeol nudged you after a while, causing you to look up at him. “You’ve barely touched your food,” stated Chanyeol. “Are you alright? Are you sick?” You shook your head in response and tried to made it look like you weren’t dead inside, but Chanyeol was not having it. Your eyes gave away your suffering no matter how much you smiled and reassured him that nothing was wrong.

You went back to mindlessly playing with your food, only to have your fork snatched out of your hand. Chanyeol twirled the pasta around the fork and held it up to your lips and nodded at you. You huffed and obediently took the food into your mouth. This seemed to satisfy Chanyeol, so he repeated the action. You flinched away from the fork, but he pushed it closer.

“I can do it myself,” you mumbled with a mouth full of food.

“From what I’ve seen, you can’t,” he countered, pressing the pasta to your lips once again.

You whined in protest before giving in and letting Chanyeol shove more food into your mouth. He laughed at your chubby cheeks and said you looked like a chipmunk. You playfully slapped him, and he finally handed you back the fork. Your eyes met Sehun’s from across the table, and you felt your body seize up. You quickly looked away, realising that he had been watching you and Chanyeol the whole time with a confused look.

You went back to pushing your pasta around your plate, causing Chanyeol to sigh. “Why is everyone in a bad mood tonight?” he groused. “Junmyeon is grumpy because of work, Baekhyun looks bored, Sehun and Yuna are acting like they’re strangers and now I’m unhappy because everyone else is unhappy.”

You looked at Chanyeol inquisitively. “What do you mean they’re acting like strangers?”

“Are you kidding?” Chanyeol said lowly. “They’ve barely spoken to or looked at each other all night. Do you think they got into a fight?”

You glanced over at the couple seated on the other end. Yuna was busy talking to her friends, smiling at whatever they were saying and completely ignoring Sehun, who was sat there drumming his fingers against the table, looking down at his half-finished food in a dead stare.

You couldn’t help but wonder why he looked so downcast, and you hated that he still affected you like this. If Sehun was hurting, you were hurting. When Sehun was happy, you were usually happy until his happiness became Yuna. In every situation, you were hurting. It was unfair. You sighed and stood up from the table, grabbing your purse before mumbling to Chanyeol that you would be back soon.

Sehun watched you leave, but you didn’t look at him, instead heading straight for the bathroom. You needed to clear your head for a minute, allow yourself to calm down so you could continue blocking out Sehun. It was incredibly difficult to do so, but what other choice did you have? Even though your heart was already broken, you could still feel pain, pain which only worsened when you thought about him.

Turning the tap on, you patted cold water onto your cheeks and held your hands against your face as you looked into the mirror. On first glance, you looked normal, albeit a little tired. But on second inspection, it was clear that you were suffering, at least to you it was obvious. You couldn’t prevent the sad glint in your eyes, nor could you stop the sad aura that was emanating from you.

You took one more deep breath before leaving. You were just going to have to cop it. If anyone asked why you looked so depressed you could just pass it off as stress from work. As you exited the bathroom, you told yourself not to look at Sehun when you came back. Just ignore him for the rest of the night. You can do this. But as you stepped out, you nearly collided with somebody.

“Sorry,” you instinctually muttered. Looking up, your chest filled with dread and the tiniest bit of envy.

“Nice to see you,” muttered Yuna with a pursed smile. “How have you been?”

“Um...fine I guess,” you stammered as politely as you could. Your eyes kept flicking between her own and her shoulder. She was intimidating in a way, and you found it hard to maintain eye contact. You scanned her quickly. She was wearing a navy blue strapless dress, her black hair flowing over her shoulders. A silver necklace with a single pearl pendant adorned her neck, and her diamond engagement ring sparkled in the low light, casting rainbow specks onto the walls. You spotted a patch of raised skin on the underside of her forearm and couldn’t help but squint to get a better look.

“It hurt a lot,” she began, turning her arm over and holding it out. There, carved into her skin, were the scars of her removed soul mark. It looked like three parallel lines with a lightning bolt cutting through. “You couldn’t imagine the pain.”

You looked back up at her face as your mind began to replay the memories of you writhing on the ground, a burning pain in your chest and right collarbone. Yuna must have noticed a change in your aura, and she pulled her arm away.

“Was it worth it?” you heard yourself say before you could stop and think. Your broken heart was speaking out without a filter again. Regret flooded through your figure as you waited for her response.

Yuna looked slightly offended at your question, her eyes narrowing in mild scrutiny. Her mouth opened, intending to answer your question, but she said nothing for a few seconds, almost like something was holding her back from answering. “Of course it was worth it,” she replied, a slight edge now in her voice. “Why do you ask?”

You raked your mind for an answer. The only sound you could hear now was your pulse pumping blood and fear through your veins. “I was just...I was just worried about Sehun and-”

“Oh please,” she interjected. “If you were really worried about him you wouldn’t’ve ignored him for weeks.” Her blunt words shot bullets into you, and your eyes widened in surprise. “He hasn’t stopped talking about you since the night we got our marks removed.”

You shuffled your feet back a few centimetres, distancing yourself from Yuna ever so slightly. “I didn’t know,” you replied, your voice a borderline whisper.

Yuna huffed and stepped closer to you, causing your body to tense. “Look, I know you and all your friends were against this idea. But Sehun and I love each other, and we’re not going to let anything come between us.” Her tone darkened at the second half of her sentence.

You felt so small under her gaze. There was nothing you could do but listen and look upon the woman who, in three days, would be married to Sehun.

“You might care about soulmates and destiny, but Sehun and I can decide for ourselves. And he’s already made his decision.” continued Yuna, her voice increasing in volume with every word. By the time she uttered her question, you were flinching at every syllable. “Do you understand?”

“Yuna,” boomed a commanding voice. Said woman turned around, revealing Sehun standing behind her. “What the hell are you doing?”

“We were just talking sweetie,” answered Yuna in a softer tone. Sehun looked at her skeptically, then his eyes met yours. He took three steps forward, and suddenly he was by your side. His hand found purchase on the small of your back as he looked at you worriedly. Your gaze had dropped to the floor at this point, you knew that you couldn’t hide your pain anymore, so you had to keep your face hidden at all costs.

“Maybe you should go back to the table,” stated Sehun to Yuna. “I’ll join you soon.”

Yuna said nothing, and you watched her feet disappear from view, the sound of her heels against the floor fading as she walked away. Sehun placed his free hand on your arm, the other still resting on your back.

“Hey,” he cooed softly. “Are you okay?”

You stayed silent. You knew your voice would crack if you tried to speak. Your heart was accelerating exponentially out of fear once again. Fear of being hurt more than you already were. Sehun’s touch wasn’t comforting or reassuring anymore, it made you tense every muscle as you tried to block him out as much as you could. Every word he uttered was deafening. He was the physical embodiment of everything you had lost, and he had come to taunt you.

“Look at me,” he said, stepping in front of you now. You refused to move. He gently placed a finger under your chin and tried to tilt it upwards, but you flicked your head away and returned it back to its position looking down at your shoes. “You’re still mad at me, huh.”

Sehun sighed and observed you for a second. You prayed that he would walk away and leave you alone. You didn’t know how much longer you could last with him there. Then, he did the worst possible thing. He hugged you. His arms enveloped your slumped figure, and his chin rested on the top of your head. Panic shot through your veins, and your heart was beating so fast that it turned into a dull ache. You winced, you didn’t want to feel anymore pain, but Sehun kept finding more ways to hurt you. His simple friendly gesture occurred in your most vulnerable state.

“Remember when you used to say that your soul mark was nothing special so you could avoid showing me?” began Sehun. “I guess soul marks really mean a lot to you. You’re such a softie,” he teased, hoping it would cheer you up. It didn’t. “I always assumed it was in an awkward place, that’s why you didn’t want to show me. Am I right?”

His attempts at getting you to speak were futile. You tried everything you could to block him out. You told yourself to stop thinking about Sehun, but the more you did so, the more you thought about him. The pain in your empty husk of a chest caused you to clench your fists tight as a coping mechanism.

“Don’t worry,” he said, beginning to gently rock your figure from side to side. “You’ll find your soulmate. And when you do everything will get better, because he’ll love you like no one else can.”

If your heart was broken before, it was shattered now.

All you could feel was the fiery pain spreading throughout each of your nerves. Your ears rang, and you wanted to scream because everything Sehun was saying was impossible. He had made sure of it.

It was then that you finally realised it really was too late. When Sehun started dating Yuna, you told yourself it was too late to confess. When he fell in love with her, again, you told yourself it was too late. When he proposed, it was too late.

But it wasn’t. You still had your soul mark. You still had proof that you were meant to be together. Fate had given you every possible chance to redeem yourself, but you were too stupid to realise it.

And now, your soul mark was gone.

His soul mark was gone.

Fate had forsaken you, and left you to suffer.

And it was all your fault.

You didn’t think it was possible to feel pain worse than getting your soul mark scorched off. But that thought was now being challenged. The air was knocked out of your lungs, and you would have gladly let the ground swallow you up if only it would kill you and stop the pain. A whimper resonated in your throat, and Sehun tightened his embrace, but that only made things worse.

That was it. You had reached your limit.

You shoved Sehun away and drew in a shaky breath, but it still felt like you were suffocating. “I have to go,” you breathed, voice cracking and wavering. You turned to leave, and it took every bit of remaining willpower not to bolt to the doors right then and there. At a brisk pace, you headed towards the exit, but Sehun called you and tried to stop you.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Why are you…” he grabbed onto your arm, but you ripped it out of his grasp. “Hey!”

“Just leave Sehun,” you choked, still refusing to look at him.

Thankfully, he let you go, and you stumbled out onto the street. That’s when you ran. You ran down the sidewalk until you were out of breath and your vision has begun to fog up. You braced yourself against a wall to keep your balance, and you could now hear the ringing from your purse. Reluctantly, you pulled it out and tried to read the contact name through your tears.

It was Chanyeol.

You couldn’t pick up. He would ask too many questions. Instead, you waited until your phone stopped ringing to open your messages. You could already see a few from the boys. Chanyeol had sent you the most, and after scanning his messages, you realised that he was your ride home. But you couldn’t go back.

You sent him a quick text, lying that you had been sick for a while and you weren’t feeling well. He responded within the minute.

Oh, I hope you feel better

Do you still need a ride home?

And can you still come to the wedding?

You locked your phone, not wanting to reply. You didn’t want to think about anything else that would hurt you. You were already too consumed with self-hatred and regret.

Surprisingly, you didn’t cry during the bus ride home or the ten minute walk back to your apartment. You supposed that you were too spent and emotionally exhausted. Or perhaps you were used to the pain now.

The next three days you spent in isolation, curled up on your bed and unwilling to move. Not a single tear was shed. The dull ache in your chest persisted, and you found yourself mindlessly tracing the scar on your collarbone as you pondered to no end.

***

The golden sun beamed through the spotless windows of the room, and birds happily chirped outside. The sound of footsteps and voices echoed throughout the building as guests began to pile into the main hall. Every guest was probably already inside. Every guest except you.

This morning, you had rolled out of bed, forced yourself to shower and change into your dress before applying makeup so you looked less dead inside. You had allowed Chanyeol to drive you to the hotel where the wedding was to be held. He didn’t say much to you, assuming that you were still sick.

Not much was going through your mind. You had three days to think about everything, and maybe you simply grew tired of thinking, or there was nothing left to think about.

The whole morning, you remained in one room. The room where everyone in the wedding party had stored their belongings. It was lavishly decorated with white walls and gold detailing. You were reclined on a white velvet couch, your head resting in your palm propped up by your arm against the armrest. You hadn’t spoken to anyone since you arrived, and honestly, you felt fine. It felt fine because nothing had changed. Sure, things were terrible, and the dull ache in your chest still lingered, but if you avoided everything, it couldn’t get worse. And that was your reasoning for remaining inside the small but expensive room.

You remembered how you felt after Sehun’s proposal to Yuna. You had pictured every scenario of what would happen if you confessed, but they all ended up with Sehun rejecting you. That anxiety is what had kept you from speaking up, and now you had missed all those chances. Sure, you had thought about objecting to the marriage, in front of all the guests, pouring out your heart in front of him. But what was the point now?

Sehun didn’t want you. He never did.

You stood up from the couch and aimlessly walked around the room at a slow pace, finally stopping in front of the large floor length mirror. You stated at your reflection for a long while. Again, you saw a damaged woman, more broken than ever before. Behind that mask of makeup and flesh was a lost soul, detached from the world and left to rot in solitude.

The dress you wore was a pale yellow, a striking contrast to your current mood. And now, upon closer inspection, it was a few sizes too big. You had bought it in a rush, and now you realised that the straps kept slipping off, revealing your shoulders and collarbones.

The grotesque scar was exposed to its full, abhorrent glory. The pattern of raised and mutilated skin the size of your palm seemed to call out to you. It was like the voice of something dead was speaking, ridiculing you of all your crimes. Your jaw clenched as you stared at the ugly mark.

In your mind, you began to argue against the dead voice. You argued that you were too blinded by love for Sehun, that you only wanted what was best for him, and you thought concealing your soul mark was the way to go. You didn’t want to burden him with the whole soulmate thing, you knew he disliked the idea and he wanted his freedom. So you let him do whatever he pleased at the expense of your heart.

That’s when you felt it. Anger. Boiling up from the pit of your stomach after being repressed for so long.

Sehun didn’t want you. He also didn’t care about you.

Even though he knew nothing about your matching soul marks, he still hurt you. Years of friendship felt like he was leading you on, only to turn you away in the end. Your heart had been scarred over and over throughout those years, and now, those scars had physically manifested into flesh. A circular scar with four perpendicular crescents and teardrop tails.

You thought back to recent events, Sehun hugging you in the restaurant. He could tell you were more than unhappy, distressed even. But he let you go. He tried once at asking what was wrong, but then he just gave up and allowed you to walk away.

Further back, that night in your apartment when he’d first brought up the idea of removing his mark. He knew you didn’t approve. He knew Chanyeol, Baekhyun and Junmyeon didn’t approve. But he went ahead and did it anyway. Why? Because he was selfish.

He was selfish and you had paid the price for it.

You cursed yourself for allowing him to hurt you like this. The scar on your chest was a constant reminder of your mistakes and the pain you had experienced because of them. It would remain there, carved into your skin, forever.

And now you had to live with that. All because of Sehun.

Liquid salt began to drip from your eyes. You clawed at the scar, wincing slightly at the sting, but there it remained. If Sehun hadn’t removed the mark, perhaps you could delude yourself into thinking that Fate would bring the two of you back together. But no. The scar was there in replacement of your soul mark, and it meant you were nothing to him. Nothing but an expendable soul he could torment just for his own freedom.

You sank down to your knees and toppled over onto the floor, the rage building up in your body and turning into tears which splattered onto the marble tiles beneath you.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed as you silently cried, but eventually, the door to the room opened and closed, and you heard someone walking around. They rummaged through a bag, and there were beeps of a phone being dialled before a ringing. The phone continued to ring until a voicemail message played. The person sighed and called again, only to be met with voicemail once more.

The person dialled again, a different number perhaps because the person on the other end picked up.

“Hey, do you know where Yuna is?”

Your body slumped at the sound of Sehun’s familiar voice. The chest ache returned, and you hated it.

“She hasn’t shown up yet.”

There was mumbling on the other line.

“Yeah, we’ve been fighting a little more lately but that’s normal right? I mean, she wouldn’t ditch me, would she?”

Sehun sounded worried, but you were not in the right mindset to care.

“Can you see if you can find her,” breathed Sehun. There was a pause. “Alright, thanks. I’ll see you soon I guess.”

Sehun hung of the phone, and you could hear him sigh in exasperation. He groaned, and you heard the impact of a fist against a cushion. “Where is she,” you heard him grumble. There was momentary silence, only disturbed by the shuffling of cushions and Sehun’s foot tapping impatiently against the floor.

You kept your body still, you didn’t want to draw attention to yourself. If he didn’t notice you, he would leave, and you could be left in peace.

“Y/N?” he called, spotting you in the corner of the room seated in front of the mirror. The universe really hated you, it wanted you to suffer. “What are you doing here?” you heard him say as his footsteps drew closer. He crouched down next to you and nudged your arm. “Hey, are you okay.”

He had the audacity to ask that question. Was he blind or stupid? You slowly turned to look at him. You didn’t try to hide your true face this time. No more façades. No more lies. You let Sehun look upon your bloodshot eyes and furrowed eyebrows, nothing but pain emanating from your expression.

He looked quite taken aback, his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open. He seemed lost for words. You clenched your jaw and turned away, opting to look down at the floor. Sehun swallowed, and he called your name again, softer this time. The back of his hand gently stroked your arm, and his other fingers brushed the hair away from your face, tossing it behind your shoulder.

Sehun noticed that your dress strap was slipping off, and he moved to adjust it for you, but he stopped when he saw the scar peeking out from behind it. You heard him gasp slightly, and he placed his hand on your shoulder, his thumb brushing against the top of your scar.

“Is this...was this your soul mark?” he asked in complete shock. Clearly, this wasn’t something he would’ve expected you to do. “Why didn’t you tell me you got it removed.”

“I didn’t,” you croaked. You lifted your head to lock eyes with him once again. “You did. You did this.”

He narrowed his eyes in confusion, so you pushed the strap of your dress off your shoulder, fully exposing your right collarbone and the scar that came with it. Circular. Four perpendicular crescents. Teardrop tails.

You watched Sehun’s face transform from one of uncertainty and into one of shock. His brown irises were blown wide as the pattern of the scar triggered his memory. HIs hand slid up to his chest and over his right collarbone instinctively. He felt the same bumps of raised skin on his body.

“What?” he muttered in disbelief, his voice an unstable whisper. He looked into your eyes, silently begging for an explanation.

Fresh tears began to form at your waterline as you spoke up. “I was at home when you got it removed. I was alone. I had no one there telling me it would be okay. Not like you did when Yuna was with you. I was on the floor, screaming for God knows how long.”

“W-wait,” he stuttered. “You got it done at home? I don’t under-”

“The soul mark was a special bond between us,” you interjected. “If you lose it, I lose it.” Sehun seemed to understand now. His eyes kept switching between your teary ones and the scar.

“Do you know how much it hurt?” you asked, voice wavering. Guilt began to swim through his irises, and he swallowed nervously as he recalled the pain he experienced himself when he got his mark removed. He had no idea that it would affect you. “Not just the removal,” you continued, “but the years of listening to you ramble on about how much you hated soulmates. How you thought it was stupid.”

Sehun froze. He didn’t know what to say. He just watched as tears flowed down your cheeks.

“Do you know how much it hurt watching you love someone else?”

He could only look at you in despair. He ground his teeth together in thought before speaking weakly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You said nothing.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” he suddenly yelled, grabbing your arm.

You sighed. “Because I loved you.”

You could hear Sehun’s heart stop. His blood ran cold, and all his bodily functions seemed to shut down.

“I loved you so much, and I just wanted you to be happy. So I let you have your freedom, like you always wanted.” You finally found the energy to wipe the tears from your face. You looked away from Sehun and mumbled, “It was stupid of me.”

A thick silence settled between the two of you. Any ambience from outside the walls, the chirping of birds or footsteps in the hallway, it all became white noise. You pressed your hand to your chest and let out a small whimper. The ache never stopped, and it only continued to grow worse.

“You should’ve told me,” he muttered, his grip on your arm loosening.

You scoffed. “Would you have even cared?”

“Of course I would’ve!” he exclaimed. He looked hurt and despondent, but you couldn’t help but think he deserved it.

“Really?” you snapped. “Tell me, if I had told you that I was your soulmate, you would’ve changed your attitude about it. Look me in the eye right now and tell me that you wouldn’t have been scared, and you wouldn’t have rejected me.”

“I…” began Sehun, but his words caught in his throat. He simply sat there, his jaw hanging open, trying to figure out what to say through a haze of emotions. You waited, but still, he said nothing.

That was all the confirmation you needed.

“I knew it,” you sighed. “You know why? Because you’re selfish. You only care about what you want, and you don’t bother to realise that you’re hurting other people.” You sniffled. “I know the removal was your idea. Yuna didn’t deserve that pressure. Her soulmate didn’t deserve what must’ve happened. I didn’t deserve what happened.”

Sehun dropped his gaze to the floor in shame. He felt so guilty for putting you through all that suffering. He hated himself for being too blind to realise it.

It was in that moment that you decided you had had enough. You didn’t want to be a part of this anymore. You had stopped being a part of it the night your soul mark was mercilessly burnt off. You wanted out of Sehun’s life, and you wanted him out of yours.

Standing up slowly, you grabbed your handbag and hastily made your way out of the room and down towards the exit. As you dried your tears, you heard the whispers of the crowd that was scattered throughout the hallway.

Where is the bride?

Has something happened between the two of them?

Why is the wedding being delayed?

Your foot almost crossed the threshold of the doorway out of the hotel, but you were yanked backwards and into Sehun’s strong arms.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice was shaking with distress. You could see that there were now tears spilling down his face.

“Let go of me Sehun,” you demanded, punching him hard in the chest. “I never want to see you again.” You wriggled out of his grasp, but he caught you again.

“Please,” he begged. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please don’t leave, I can’t lose you.”

You shook your head and ripped your arm from his hold.

“You already have.”

The wind began to blow onto your hot face as you stepped outside, making your way down the steps and away from your tormentor. A crowd had gathered outside, surrounding Sehun, berating him with questions.

The last thing you saw was Sehun standing atop the steps of the hotel, watching you walk away from him with the most pained expression you had ever seen. Usually, you would’ve felt awful yourself, but your heart was no more, and you felt nothing.

You left that forsaken place for good, taking with you the scars that would last a lifetime.

Read the Sequel: Fade

A/N: Writing this wrecked me. I hope reading this wrecked you. You must suffer as I did. (Also it’s 4:30 am apologies for any typos I’ll edit later goodnight)

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