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#but what the FUCK kinda drug smells like old blood & is kept in a tiny bottle??

cloudycaffeinatedcryptid · 6 months

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it's so funny to me that Abi finds that empty blood vial in the tree, sniffs it, recoils in disgust & is immediately like "ugh gross! is this Dylan's???" like girl what? what the fuck?? what is his reputation around camp that a nasty little bottle in a TREE could be involved?? Abi did him so dirty & it makes me laugh SO hard

#at first i was like... drugs #but what the FUCK kinda drug smells like old blood & is kept in a tiny bottle??#in a TREE #i cant ever get over it #these people are so funny #the quarry #dylan lenivy #shut up moth

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endless-whump · 4 years

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S/O: Purpose

@whumptober2020 day 4: Buried Alive!

CW: whumpee buried alive, suffocation, noncon drugging, pet whump, panic attack, implied self harm out of panic, extreme guilt tripping and self guilt/self deprecation, trafficking, kinda emeto?(dry heaving/nausea), claustrophobia, starving, conditioning, fucked up headspace about conditioning

Whumptober Masterpost

Simon/Oliver Masterpost

*slams fic on table* its here, bois, I told ya I’d get it done

-----

It was an exercise. That's what they insisted. Oliver was too tired to give much resistance as he was guided down into the box, eyes glazed over with exhaustion and the haze of drugs. They ruffled his hair and handled him gently, muttering encouragement and praise that made him smile sleepily. This was ok, they weren’t hurting him. He was being good.

He wobbled and almost fell over as he was let go, his only support to stay upright suddenly gone. He frowned in confusion, trying to push himself up before a hand pressed against his chest, keeping him down.

“You’ll be ok, trainee.” A soothing voice reassured. Hands touched his neck gently and Oliver tried his best not to flinch, more confusion piling on top of his dazed thoughts as he heard the distinct sound of the buckle unclipping, the leather slipping easily off his neck.

Not safe

“Sir-” He tried grabbing at the handler weakly, knowing it wasn’t allowed but being so consumed by the fear of not being safe that he completely ignored it. The collar meant he was safe, that he was cared for, that he was wanted. Did they not want him?

Oliver didn’t have time to react as the lid slammed shut with a loud thud, leaving him completely alone in the dark. He lifted a weak hand to push at the lid, brows furrowed in confusion at the sudden darkness. It didn’t budge, so he tried pushing it harder. Still nothing. Even through his drugged state he could feel panic starting to rise in his chest, choking on a breath as he pushed against the top.

They weren’t supposed to hurt him, he was being good.

I was good I was good I was good

Was I not good enough?

He pushed and pushed but he could barely put any strength into it, arms weak and shaking with the effort it took. Tears filled his eyes and he choked on a sob, confusion making his head spin.

Do they not want me anymore?

Oliver flinched when there was a loud thud at the top of the box, like something hit it. Dirt dusted down onto him, a weak cough racking his body at the sudden dust in the air.

The real terror only hit when he realized it was dirt, and it wasn't stopping.

“H,Hey...sir?” His words were slurred, quiet and confused as the hard thuds to the top of the box kept coming, each one seeming to get quieter and quieter as time went by. “Sir I.. I....what...”

He couldn’t breathe, whimpering in fear as clarity started to take hold of his mind. The air smelled like old wood and dirt,

The drugs were wearing off, the shake they gave him was eaten hours ago. His mind was becoming freer, freer to panic. He scratched at the wood, eyes wide with desperation as it got quieter and quieter, the box seeming to get smaller and smaller around him. He tried bringing his legs up, knees hitting the top of the box, and the wave of claustrophobia truly sunk in.

Oliver screamed.

He wasn’t sure why he did it, but the sudden rush of terror shook him to his core, his voice breaking. Legs thrashed frantically in some attempt to move in the tiny space, the boy simply wanting to curl up but unable to even move his legs from their straightened out position.

What did I do wrong

----

“He’s...he’s what?”

The breeze was welcome on the hot summer day, trees surrounding them in the dense, wooded area just outside the facility, still within the gates. This was training grounds, Simon recognized dully. What he was more focused on, however, was the pile of dirt he was shoved in front of, a small black collar placed on top.

“You heard me, trainee. You wanted to break the rules and sneak food for some romantic, this is the punishment.”

Simon stared wide eyed, alarmed, at the small mound of dirt he was shoved in front of, speechless. His chest heaved with labored breaths, terror making his blood run cold. He...they did this? He did this?

Simon fell to his knees in front of the mound of dirt, hands trembling. This was on his hands, this guy's blood was on his hands. This was his fault. He barely even knew the kid, just that they were around the same age...and he looked so hungry. The trainee was exhausted and starved, always appearing in the common areas with more bruises and more broken expressions. He looked empty, and that was the worst part.

It had just been one meal, they were left alone and he just wanted to do something nice. He knew how romantics were but this one was...different. This one was being hurt.

This was his fault

Now he had...he had someone's death on his hands. That trainee...he didn’t deserve that. He was quiet and sweet and obedient-

Simon leaned over, dry heaving, palms pressed hard against the ground to keep him upright. His arms shook, nausea taking over. He felt sick.

Obedient? That's what he thought of the other trainee? Was that all they were reduced to, now? That trainee was so, so empty but always so kind, sneaking his food to others even when he was starved and offering shreds of comfort to the hurting souls around them when he could. He was worth describing with more than the disgusting idea of obedient.

“Well, aren’t you going to dig him up?”

Simon blinked, looking up at the handler in confusion. Tears ran down his face, chest tight with agony at the idea he caused this.

“W,What?” He asked hoarsely. The hander just smiled, grabbing his chin almost gently to tilt his tearstained face up.

“He’s going to suffocate if you just leave him there, don’t you think?”

They wouldn’t

Simon tore his gaze from the handler. He stared with a newfound horror in his eyes at that mound of dirt, feeling like all the air was pulled from his lungs.

They would, and he knew it

---

It was getting dark when Simon finally hit wood, arms seizing with agonizing pain at the hours spent frantically digging through dirt. His shirt was soaked with sweat, throat sore from crying. He brushed off the dirt frantically, close to hyperventilating with the sheer dread of what he’d find.

My fault

His fingers were bleeding but he didn’t care, prying open the wooden top with all the strength he could muster, shoving it out of the way. The pale boy he caught sight of, shoved inside the box, shattered him.

I did this

God, he was so small it was hard to believe they were almost the same age. He kneeled over the other trainee, chest heaving as he placed his shaking hands on either side of his head. The trainee was still, curled up as much as he could with his face tucked against his arm, like he was trying to hide. Simon slid a hand around the back of his neck, leaning down and pressing his ear close, desperate.

He felt his heart shatter when he heard the tiny, shuddering intake of breath from the other trainee, relief crashing into him like a wave, enough to sweep him off his feet. The other boy’s skin was warm, enough to reassure him that he was alive, that he was ok. He wasn’t sure why, but the urge to hold him took over any reasonable thought, and Simon scooped the unconscious trainee into his arms. The overwhelming urge to protect him was overwhelming, a guilt and need eating him up like nothing else the facility could do.

Simon lifted a shaky hand to hold his face, eyes darting over him to see if he was hurt. There were scratch marks along his hands and arms, bleeding in some places. There was one on his lip.

He didn’t even know the trainee, not really. He didn’t know why he felt like he was dying at the idea of being torn apart. This was simply what he needed in this hell of a place; he needed something to protect, a purpose where he before felt like he had none with his handlers but to hurt. This..this he could protect. This could be a purpose for him in a world where he didn’t even know his real name, or if he ever even had one.

“639, meet 423. I think you two will get along quite well in the following stages of your training.”

----

taglist

@insanitywishes @18-toe-beans @castielamigos-whump-side-blog@simplygrimly @cinnamonflavoredhugs @finder-of-rings @deluxewhump @ashintheairlikesnow @briars7 @albino-whumpee @thatsthewhump

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dawnstruck · 7 years

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i think i’m entitled to your body

Yoonbum’s eyes are black mirrors, reflecting Sangwoo’s madness back at him.

[Read on AO3] Rated Explicit. Warnings: Rape/Non-con

Iconography.

Sangwoo, in essence, is a creature of habit.

He doesn't have OCD or anything stupid like that, but he believes in maintaining a certain order. So he keeps his apartment clean and his clothes nicely folded and put away. His aftershave and hair gel bottle stand by the sink with their label facing forward. He goes shopping every Thursday afternoon, and once a months he drops by the library to return his books and check out some new ones.

He generally also has a strict routine when it comes to his victims, mostly just for efficiency's sake.

First he charms them, then he wines and dines them, then he fucks them, then he chains them, tortures them, kills them. He makes them enjoy his presence first, makes them cum and quiver and hungrily lick their lips at him. That's half of the thrill for him, to turn things around like that, to confuse them, to watch the sudden whiplash realization in their eyes as they begin to understand that this is happening.

With Bum, things are different. This is one of the reasons he is even still alive. Because he is something new, something unprecedented, something aberrant.

Girls moan Sangwoo's name when he's got his tongue on their clits and his fingers up their cunts, but they start screeching as soon as they see the knives. Yoonbum stares up at Sangwoo and his baseball bat like a pious man whose prayers have just been answered by a capricious god and he says I fell in love with you.

Still Life.

The thing with people is that they are quite boring when they are dead. There's that short surge of adrenaline when he kills them, of course, but that only lasts so long.

Bum, he decides, is more entertaining when left to live.

Aesthetic.

The radio is idly playing old love songs and Sangwoo sits at the kitchen table while he watches Bum scrub the floor.

Bum is wearing his old outfit, the one the CEO's daughter had worn. It's one of Sangwoo's favorites, just because it's such a familiar sight. The crop top rides up every time Bum leans forward, exposing his white spine, vertebra by vertebra, before sliding back down again. The folds of the skirt are splayed around him and his ankles peek out from under it. His knees are perpetually blue with bruises, but his broken legs seem healed now, at least superficially. The soles of his naked feet face towards the ceiling. They are slightly dirty, which is why Sangwoo told him to clean to fucking floor in the first place.

He makes Bum shave his legs now, too, because the hair is kinda off-putting. Bum ends up accidentally cutting himself more often than not, but the droplets of blood welling up and the smooth expanse of skin make it worth it.

Bum's fringe swishes across his forehead and he pushes it back with a careless forearm.

He's almost pretty this way, dressed like a girl and working like a woman. He really deserves a reward.

“Hey, Bum,” Sangwoo says and sets his feet down on the still wet floor, “Let's go out tonight.”

Pastiche.

He enjoys dressing Bum, using his miscellaneous collection of trophies. The shoes and coat are what Bum wore when he first broke into the house. The skinny jeans Sangwoo bought for him on their last shopping trip, from the girls' section no less, because Bum was too tiny for anything else. The shirt is a leftover from Sangwoo's high school days, from before his military service had made him buff up, but it still hangs off Bum's narrow frame like a flag of surrender. The many wrinkles, however, just barely disguise the outline of the old bra Bum is wearing underneath, the off-white one Sangwoo had found in his trashy apartment. His favorite, though, are the deep red panties, the ones that looked quite nice on the girl from two weeks ago, but that are rather too snug around Bum's front, making him wriggle in discomfort.

It's like a little secret that only he and Sangwoo know about.

“Try to look more alive tonight,” Sangwoo tells him, “Last time, the others thought you were demented. They thought I had been roped into babysitting my dumb little cousin or something. I had to explain that we are friends and that I actually like you. Embarrassing as hell, let me tell you.”

Bum ducks his head but gives a quick nod.

“Just smile a little,” Sangwoo says and ruffles his hair, “I'm sure they'll like you.”

Fauves.

The bar his friends choose is a nice one. Sangwoo has been here before, but not in a while. He frequents other establishments when he is actively hunting, not wanting to risk that someone might remember his face and connect it to the disappearance of whatever girl he took home that night.

The lights here are dimmed, the music loud enough that you have to raise your voice a little to be heard all the way across the table. They are a rambunctious group, so it's no problem, really.

Bum is by his side, crammed into the corner of the bench, drowning in his heavy coat. Sangwoo casually leans back, putting his arm up onto the backrest. He doesn't touch him, but Bum shrinks anyway. Sangwoo smirks into his drink.

On the other side of the table, the guys are teasing Jun about something and it takes Sangwoo a while to catch on. Apparently, they caught her looking at edited pictures of some k-pop band and, hah, she is one of those girls who is into gay guys. Everyone's laughing now and her face is red, but she does not even deny it.

“It's just wrong,” Seong-Ho says, carelessly flapping a hand, “What kinda guy would do that?”

“A gay one, Seong-Ho,” Nari says with a roll her eyes, “That's kind of the point.”

“Still,” Seong-Ho insists. He's always too loud, to direct. He wouldn't know subtlety if jumped into his face and bit him. Though subtlety probably wouldn't do that.

“What about you, Sangwoo?” Hwan asks in that moment, leaning across the table, “Would you kiss a guy?”

“Ah,” Sangwoo makes a show of thinking about it, lifting a finger to his mouth, “If he were really cute, I guess.”

There's surprised laughter and Seong-Ho yells, “No way!”

“I would, I would,” Sangwoo insists playfully and then, just for the hell of it, proves it.

The back of Bum's head feels fragile in his cupped palm, like the skull of a newborn, like an overripe peach that will bruise too easily. Amid the music spilling out of the speakers overhead, Bum's breath is little more than a wheeze.

There's laughter all around them. Bum quivers, a rabbit in a snare. Move and you'll suffocate. Don't move and eventually just stave. His lips are cool and bloodless. Sangwoo angles his head and pushes his tongue in.

He makes it dirty, revels in the jeering and giggling of his friends. They are so easily entertained by such ordinary things. It's just a kiss but all they see is depravity. Sangwoo wants to show them what it's like to cut a heart open.

Well, he thinks when he pulls back and Bum's mouth is wet with saliva, maybe he had shown them that anyway.

“And this,” Nari says, “Is why Jun likes that kinda stuff.”

“What, what?” Seong-Ho says, “I still don't get it.”

“Because that was hot,” Nari insists, “Two guys making out is hot.”

“It's not,” Seong-Ho groans, “They're just... C'mon, girls are much better.” “Double standards,” Nari complains and elbows Jun in the side as though asking for backup, but the blush is still high in Jun's cheeks and she seems incapable of speech.

Bum is red, too, but it's a different kind, embarrassed, yes, but sort of sick and feverish.

Just a kiss, Sangwoo thinks. Just a kiss does that to him.

And he'd never thought of fucking a guy before, but lately the idea has taken root in him like a cancer, changing his very being to the core. It's too late to purge it now; he's let it fester for too long.

Palimpsest.

Yoonbum is a great many things, has been a great many things, always depending on what Sangwoo wants him to be. A little monkey kept for entertainment. An obedient lapdog. A child that needs to be taught how to play by the rules. A victim. His mother. A comrade. His lover.

Sangwoo barely lets the paint dry before he starts on another work of art right on top of it.

Grotesque.

There used to be that slightly sick smell about Bum, like a dying animal. He's almost bizarrely underweight, but lately he's been filling out a little. Sangwoo has been feeding him well. He's still not much to look at, but Sangwoo likes the way his bones make the shadows bow on his skin.

He spreads his hand across Bum's concave belly, runs it up to his chest, so his thumb is on the right nipple and the tip of his little finger on the left. He grins. Bum is so small, childlike and feminine and just this side of morbid.

Bum sucks in a shallow breath and turns onto his front, presenting Sangwoo with his ass, so Sangwoo hooks a finger into the waistband of Bum's panties and pulls them down a little.

There's still hair there, on the pale cheeks and running along the crack, and Sangwoo grimaces in distaste. It's not too bad, he guesses, but for next time he'll have to figure out a way to get rid of that.

“Huh,” he says, pressing a thumb to the hole, surprised by how velvety soft it is. He's never done anal before, since most girls don't exactly offer on the first night, and it's not like Sangwoo ever gives them a chance for a second.

He closes a hand around Bum's upper arm and turns him onto his back, before leaning over to fish for the plastic bag from the drug store he went to a couple of days ago.

“I bought lube,” he explains, weighing the bottle in his hand and popping the lid open. The smell is neutral. He doesn't like any of the scented, self-warming shit, so this is just some random cheap brand.

When he scoots back, Bum has turned back onto his stomach. Sangwoo frowns.

“Turn around,” he says, pushing at Bum's shoulder, and Bum obeys, if reluctantly.

“I looked this up online,” Sangwoo explains, squirting some of the lube onto his fingers, “Sleeping with guys is a little more complicated. But I guess if you're used to taking that huge dildo, I don't have to be too careful.”

Bum lets out a shuddering breath, but pushes the panties down all the way, shimmying out of them until they are tangled around his ankles. His dick is still limp, but Sangwoo doesn't care about that for now.

He lets his lube-covered finger circle around the clenched hole a couple of time, waiting for Yoonbum to at least marginally relax into the touch. Then he dips in, just the tip, shallowly thrusting. It's unlike what he expected.

It's not like a girl, not like a girl at all. But while girls are hot and tight, Yoonbum is even hotter and tighter. It seems impossible that Sangwoo could actually fuck him, but he had seen the dildo and that was bigger after all. Still, he feels himself getting excited at the thought of actually pushing his dick into that heat.

He'd been vaguely curious before but now he has made up his mind. With a quick hand he adjusts himself in his pants, while the other lets his middle finger push deeper into Yoonbum.

He adds another finger soon, starts out gradually again, but then crooks his fingers like the online articles had instructed him to, and – there.

Bum's breath hitches and he bucks his hips. His eyes are wide and when a whimper escapes him he presses his hands over his mouth, as though surprised by the sensation.

Sangwoo, however, is distracted by how Yoonbum is clenching down around him, even as he repeatedly scissors his fingers. It's pure muscle down there and Sangwoo can't wait to actually fuck him.

Patience, though. Patience.

He takes his time, more or less, properly opening Yoonbum up, until he is subtly writhing against the sheets, but then he reminds himself that Bum has done this before, in a way, that he should be able to handle it.

With his free hand he shakes the pack of condoms from the plastic bag, wrestles it open and pulls out a condom. He carefully tears the wrapper with his teeth and then he pushes down his underwear to get at his dick. He has to pull his fingers free from Yoonbum to properly roll the rubber down; it barely takes a few seconds but as soon as he is done, Bum has rolled over again.

“What the hell, are you really that much into doggy?” Sangwoo snorts, “C'mon, it's no fun if I can't see your face.”

This time, it's more difficult to maneuver Bum around. His hands are clenched in the bedroll and Sangwoo has to knock his knees aside to get at him.

Bum is full-on shaking now, one of his arms thrown across his eyes as though to hide himself. His hesitant erection is wilting again. Sangwoo wrinkles his nose, annoyed by the pathetic display.

“Geez, I'm not going to rape you,” he sighs, before grabbing Yoonbum by the hips and then pulling him forward so that his ass is snug against Sangwoo's hard cock.

Yoonbum whimpers but does not move again. His breath is shallow and rapid. Sangwoo frowns.

So far, Bum had always wanted all of this. He had wanted to kiss Sangwoo, to jerk him off, too suck him off, to kiss his feet and massage his shoulders and wash his hair. He's supposed to be begging for this, too.

In the faint moonlight streaming in through the window, Sangwoo can see the shiny scar tissue crisscrossing along the blue pulse of Yoonbum's wrist.

Dick in hand, Sangwoo takes a moment and thinks about what little he knows. Bum has never exactly been forthcoming about the details of his life, clamping up whenever the subject arose, even though Sangwoo had told him about his own past the moment they really met. He had thought that Bum was just a loser who didn't have any hobbies beside stalking, that he was embarrassed about how no one wanted to keep him around. But maybe there is more to it than that.

Slowly, he connects the dots.

“Your uncle, huh?” he says dispassionately, watching as Yoonbum flinches violently, and that's enough confirmation. It's really too much of a cliché, but Sangwoo mainly finds himself disappointed by the fact that Bum is not a virgin anymore.

He's glad he bought the condoms, though. He doesn't watch to catch anything.

“Hey,” Sangwoo reaches out, prying Yoonbum's arm away and revealing his face. Bum is crying now, the sobs raking his body, and it's really a quite pitiful sight.

Sangwoo bites the inside of his cheek.

“Stop crying, it's annoying,” he says, though it does little good. Yoonbum merely presses his other hand over his mouth, feebly trying to silence himself. His tears should be ugly and they are, but there is something about them, too. Something innocent.

Distantly, Sangwoo finds himself wondering when the abuse might have started, whether Bum had been a still a kid, whether anyone ever noticed or cared. He wonders if Yoonbum actually tried to kill himself over it or whether the cuts on his wrists were just cry for attention. He wonders whether Bum always knew he was gay or whether that realization only hit him when he came for the first time with his uncle's dick up his ass.

“Bum,” he Sangwoo says, bowing down to nuzzle his face against Yoonbum's neck, “This is our first time. I want to enjoy this with you. Don't you wanna make me enjoy it?”

His tone his persuasive, saccharine sweet. It's the voice he always uses to take Yoonbum hostage with, the one that made him understand that chains were no longer needed between them. All Yoonbum wants is to be loved and Sangwoo's words can paint such a pretty picture.

And really, a few moments later, Yoonbum's milk pale arms twine around Sangwoo's neck like the tendrils of a young plant and Sangwoo presses a sweet kiss to his tear-stained lips.

“There you go,” he whispers, “Thank you, Bum. Thank you.”

He reaches between them then to take himself in hand and guide himself in. Yoonbum is still tense, still shivering, but he hides his face against Sangwoo's chest this time and lets it happen.

The size difference between the two of them is really rather ridiculous, and Sangwoo wonders whether he could crush him just with his body weight alone. Instead, he presses farther in, until Bum's back arches, his head falls back and his mouth forms a perfect little o-shape.

Sangwoo gives a smug little smirk. That first time he'd allowed Bum to jerk him off, Bum had been blushed at how big he was, but now he was feeling the full extent of it.

Yoonbum's ass, in turn, feels incredible. It's definitely different than take a girl, the angle is a bit off, and it's even tighter than expected. Sangwoo groans lowly.

“That's it,” he praises into Yoonbum's starving ear, “You're doing so well.”

Bum lets out a stuttering breath, forcing himself to relax; then he presses back.

“Yes,” Sangwoo says, pulling out and immediately fucking back in, “You've wanted this for a long time, right?”

He thinks of Yoonbum in his shitty little apartment, splayed on the equally naked mattress and furiously fucking the dildo into himself, like an animal wanting to be mounted. A surge of arousal hits Sangwoo and sits up again, pulls Bum into his lap instead and keeps thrusting up.

Bum's crooked legs try to find purchase on the sheets but he whimpers in pain, hoists his upper body up instead, his thin arms quivering under his own weight and the force of Sangwoo's thrusts.

Soon, his hair sticks to his forehead and, when Sangwoo looks closely, he can see sweat like dewdrops collecting in the hollow of his collarbone.

Sangwooo grunts again, digging his thumbs into the grove of Bum's hipbones as he keeps him in place. And a criminal should not be leaving fingerprints, but this is more a question of an artist claiming his masterpiece.

Yoonbum, it turns out, sounds quite lovely when he comes.

Diptych.

Afterwards, Sangwoo pulls him close, so that Yoonbum's head rests against his chest. Their naked bodies are still entangled with each other, half-wrapped in the sheets. It would not work any other way. Remove one and the scene is destroyed, the meaning lost.

They belong together, juxtaposed like this. This is how it was meant to be.

Surrealism.

Yoonbum is full of surprises. Yoonbum doesn't make sense. Yoonbum does not stab him, but tries to feed him rat poison. Yoonbum begs to suck his dick, but flinches when Sangwoo brushes a strand of hair from his face. Yoonbum tries to escape but hides from the nosy police officer.

Since Yoonbum showed up, it's as though Sangwoo's world has been titled, bit by bit. At first he didn't notice, but one day he looked up and everything was off and he couldn't quite recall how things had been before.

He's not sure what to make of it. It should feel like a loss of control but instead he merely finds himself intrigued.

So he waits. And he waits. One day, he is bound to find an answer.

Impressionism.

It's a Sunday and Sangwoo does not feel like studying. His professors are always lenient with him, even when he hands in his homework late, so he's not too worried about lazing about.

They are lying on the sofa together, with some dumb action movie playing on the TV. Sangwoo's eyes are on the screen, but he isn't really watching.

He's got Bum pulled into his lap instead so that Bum lies cradled against his chest, but if he glances down along the bridge of his nose he can see the tension coiled in Bum's shoulders, in the line of his neck.

Sangwoo bought some cheap chocolates at the corner store and he's been dropping single ones into his mouth at irregular intervals.

“Hey, Bum,” he says now, chewing on another praliné, “Want a taste?”

He tilts Bum's chin up to kiss him, to push the remnants of sweetness into his mouth. The mixture of molten chocolate and saliva is honestly somewhat gross, but there is always something intimate about sharing bodily fluids with someone. Maybe Sangwoo will do him bareback after all one day. It's a nice thought for the future.

“Okay, this sucks,” he says a few minutes later when he has finally given up on the movie and is reaching for the remote control. He hesitates.

“You wanna keep watching?” he asks with a sideways glance at Bum.

Bum, fingers curled into Sangwoo's shirt, quickly shakes his head.

“Alright,” Sangwoo says and presses the off-button. The screen goes black. “Next time, you get to pick.”

He leans his head back against the armrest then, looking up at the wood-paneled ceiling. His hand comes up to settle between Bum's protruding shoulder blades.

A few minutes later, Yoonbum has fallen asleep.

Self-portrait.

It's quite strange to think that Yoonbum's life seems to be the inverse of Sangwoo's. Sangwoo killed his parents to escape them, but when Yoonbum was orphaned he ended up in the hands of his uncle. Yoonbum stalks people to get them to like him but keeps getting caught while Sangwoo kills the people who trust him too easily and no one suspects anything. Yoonbum, a really sweet gentle guy if you get down to it, but easily written off as a creep, and Sangwoo, who is constantly underestimated, misinterpreted, just because he has a nice smile.

They really are made for each other, in a macabre sort of way. Their jagged edges fit where previously Yoonbum had cut his wrists with them and Sangwoo had sliced through people. They fit and they match and someday, maybe, they will even merge and become one, indistinguishable from one another. Maybe it's already started.

“I love you,” Sangwoo says and the words quietly echo off the steamed up bathroom walls. He brushes the wet hair out of Bum's face, laying him bare, even though they are both already naked.

“I love you,” he repeats and Yoonbum's eyes are black mirrors, reflecting Sangwoo's madness back at him.

Abstract.

Yoonbum's gaze is liquid, his voice gossamer. He's a whore who learns to ride Sangwoo's cock with little prompting. He still cries sometimes, lachrymose as he is, though most days he is more demure than deceitful. He kisses like he smiles, with panic crouching at its edges, but he is always there when Sangwoo returns after vagrant hours, and usually that is enough.

He's a parasite who has dug his roots into Sangwoo's flesh, or maybe its a symbiosis, or maybe they are not living things at all.

So they fall asleep next to each other and there's something cathartic about the sunrise now, something almost sanguine.

Sangwoo thinks of slaughter and of the steel he keeps in his basement. Yoonbum mumbles in his sleep, rolls over to bury his nose in Sangwoo's side of the pillow.

Death, Sangwoo knows, would really be too easy.

#ks #killing stalking #tw: rape #fanfic #mine #artsy

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Welcome To Mehra CPA

emmathebean

Emma J. Bean