iddyiddybangbang (incredible name tbh, delightful), the idfic big bang i've been participating in, has come to an end, which means i can now start posting the fic i wrote!
it's technically fuck-or-die, is definitely whump, and uhhhhhh also really dark, so like seriously do read through the tags first please!
it's post-game Wintersberg and will be a total of 5 chapters, with updates every few days.
Title: oh, bury us alive
Fandom: Resident Evil 8
Pairing: Ethan/Heisenberg
Rating: Explicit
Excerpt:
Maybe he was dead. He’d been dead for so long without knowing. You can’t return to your old world any longer. So where did that leave him? He was supposed to die and Rose was supposed to be safe. Like a tradeoff. Like a bargain. Like a spell.
It wasn’t supposed to keep happening. It wasn’t supposed to be drawn out like this. A sudden blast and then nothing. He was so fucking tired--
“Is this hell,” he heard himself say, his voice strangled, sounding like someone else, like it wasn’t him saying it at all.
“Well, I rather think you might find it so.”
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Imagining Bakugo finding out you haven't been taking your meds. He's pissed - not that you didn't take them, but you didn't tell him. You'd seen him off to work this morning as he went on an early patrol; you usually take your medicine then, right after he leaves. When he returns, he finds you in the kitchen kneeling before the open fridge, stuffing your face in another binge, eating just about anything in sight, trying to fill that emptiness inside. Those damn pills, they just make you feel so numb sometimes - and you hate your dependency on them, feeling like a stranger to yourself. Sometimes you just want to feel good enough without them, not so broken. That bottle mocked you this morning as you realized you'd need a refill soon, and the truth slaps you in the face.
So you'd refused the past few days. This time would be different. You'd show yourself that you could do it, you could function. And for the first half of the day, you felt great.
But then...
You startle when he walks in the front door, home early from patrol. An unmistakable shame washes over you, sending you even further adrift out to sea, the hole inside you as gaping and consuming as ever.
"I'm home - oi," he says, shutting the door behind him as you freeze. "What are you doing?"
Daring not to answer, you turn so your back fully faces him, the tears welling up in your eyes. Why now? Not now, not yet.
"Don't fucking ignore me, y/n," he growls, stomping over to you, the walls of your tiny, shared apartment shaking with his presence. You start to shake right along with them as he plants a hand on your shoulder and spins you around, glaring down his nose at you. The oxygen in the room seems to get absorbed by his fiery presence, stealing it from your lungs. You look down at his boots instead, finding them easier to face than his temper.
Bakugo is no stranger to your unhealthier coping mechanisms, but without a warning from you, his tone is harsher than it should be, like sandpaper scrubbing against an open wound. "The fuck are you doing? Look at me."
So you do, and with your lips trembling you tell him, "I didn't take my meds."
And as the last puzzle piece clicks into place, Bakugo's face softens, but his grip on you doesn't.
"I just... feel empty."
"Fuckin' tell me next time. Idiot," he gripes, leaning down to scoop you up into his arms, shutting the fridge door with a harsh kick. "You run out again?"
You stuff your head into the crook of his thick neck, his shirt soaking up your tears. "No..."
He clicks his tongue, but he doesn't scold you. This very refrain makes more tears come to your eyes, your body shaking with sobs as he cradles you to him. "Tell me next time, or there'll be hell to pay. Got it?" He asks, squeezing his concrete arms around you, settling the two of you on the couch.
"Mm'kay," you mumble against his skin, earning a kiss from him to your head.
"If you're feelin' empty, I'll fill you up with somethin'," he mutters into your ear, and you don't tell him that he already has.
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