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bontenten · 3 years

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Sleeping Beauty

Pairing: Shirabu x f!reader WC: 5.6k Genre/Warnings: smut, fairy tale retelling, incest, dubcon/noncon, drugs (sleeping pill), somnophilia, abusive past relationship, implied rape (not Shirabu), panic attack, victim-blaming, hero-complex with a bit of god-complex, hints of yandere, uhh medical malpractice, Shirabu’s bangs

Summary: The real story of Sleeping Beauty is anything but beautiful. Shirabu will do everything he can to keep you in a safe haven where you can freely dance with your prince once upon a dream.

A/N: This is a part of the whorehouse intoxicated collaboration, rest of the pieces of this toxic journey can be found here! Thank you Ria and Angel for helping beta <3 Love you both so much.

Unofficial bgm: Once Upon a Dream & Once Upon a December

"You'll never wash me from you," he sneers, pulling you back by a handful of hair. You feel a blanket of pain shoot across your scalp. "You'll never really get away. Time to wake the fuck up."

"G-get away from me!"

You thrash and kick your legs wildly hoping something will land. The moment you hear a pained grunt and feel his grip loosen, you scramble up to your feet and run. Your shoes grate against wet cement as you take off. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you will your legs forward one after another. The caw of birds seem to act as a beacon leading you through the twists and turns of the terrain.

A left turn here, two blocks straight. Past the corner store and beyond the stoplight. Three blocks. Right turn. Two Blocks. Five steps away. Four...Three..Two...Safety...

----

"In the forest, the princess played with a lot of animal friends. She grew up there in the cottage with three fairies looking after her."

Thunder claps and lightning strikes outside.

"It's so loud Kenjirou-nii!" you cry, burying yourself into Shirabu's arms.

"Shh, I'm here," Shirabu coos, rocking you back and forth until your sobs subside. "One day, the princess was singing with the songbirds..."

Shirabu begins to recount the fairytale of Sleeping Beauty to you, slowly easing your mind away from the turbulence outside.

"Do you think you can sleep now?"

You shake your head and jump again when the thunder claps over the roof of the house.

"It's okay, I'm right here. Big brother’s always going to protect you."

"Like the prince protecting the princess?"

"Yes, exactly. You're always my princess, now go to sleep. I'll wake you when the sun's up.”

After a while, you calm down and slowly drift into sleep with your breaths evening out. Shirabu pulls the covers over both of you and enters sleep as well.

The winds continued to howl outside the window...the branches tapping...tapping against the window...tap...tapping…

----

Shirabu Kenjirou opens his eyes. He had just fallen asleep while studying for the third time that night. There is no use staying at the library if he is going to treat it as a hotel; he’ll be better off going home first. He yawns and stretches his neck, then packs his bags to return to his apartment. There are few students left in the building at this ungodly hour. Dark clouds loom overhead and the air is filled with the pitter patter of autumn rain hitting cement. Shirabu zips up his coat, opens his umbrella, and walks into the dark.

You would have been so frightened by this sort of weather, whimpering under your blankets, counting sheep with shaky breaths. Just like how you did in that dream of his earlier.

While growing up, Shirabu hadn't cared all that much about anything else considering he spent most of his time with his studies or playing volleyball. Although there was you, his little sister, he figured you had your little bubble anyway. But on a stormy night, you teetered down the hall after finding your parent’s room locked. Afraid and sleepy, you looked for comfort elsewhere and arrived at Shirabu’s room.

Shirabu had been most irritated and decided to shoo you out with strings of curses and profanities, but he couldn’t. The sight of your form huddled right outside his bedroom, with young eyes pleading for him took hold of a bit of humanity in Shirabu’s heart. So, he let you into his room, a safe haven, and eventually a world that was composed of only the two of you against the rest of the world.

Shirabu has known for a long time that you are the most brilliant, precious, and purest thing he’ll ever encounter. Always perfect. Forever unsullied.

There are many things that Shirabu wants to shield you from. If he can secure one more hour of innocence, one more day, one lifetime, he’ll do so without a moment of hesitation. The real world is unlike the fairy tales that you hear about while growing up.

The real story of Sleeping Beauty is anything but beautiful. There isn’t a handsome prince the princess meets in a forest. No color changing cake. No kiss of love. In the real story, the princess is put into an endless slumber and has her virginal body taken by some unknown beast of a king, used like a rag for his carnal pleasure. When he leaves, the sleeping girl is then forgotten like trampled daisies under the hooves of horses. And she will wake to find her womb bulged with bastard life as a result of the damnation. The stretches clawing around the navel as permanent reminders that nothing will wash him from her.

The real world is dark. Horrible. Wretched. Dirty. Filled with suffering. That is why he, Shirabu Kenjirou, responds to the call to action and enters a life of service. In his heart he yearns to save and help, even if just a little, by becoming a prince with a white coat. He will not give up trying to salvage pieces of humanity he’ll touch, and in the process, carve out a haven, a little forest with a cottage, for his dearest sister to safely live in.

It has been a while since he last heard from you. Partly his own fault, really. Ever since Shirabu entered university and then medical school, the number of times you two would meet up dwindled. The hours on the phone became texts and soon after, communication vanished into mostly silence.

You are in university now, grown up and stepping into the real world, but that doesn't mean you are no longer his little sister. And because you are the one and only, Shirabu feels that he should try to do a better job as an older brother and check-in with you to see how you are doing. So, Shirabu takes out his phone that’s still on silent after studying.

27 missed calls from Sister

Shirabu pauses in his tracks and returns the call. Cars zoom by on the streets while he waits for the line to connect.

He was right, you must have been frightened.

The first call doesn’t connect, so Shirabu immediately tries the second time. You pick up on the third attempt.

"It's me, I'm so sorry I didn't pick up earlier."

"K-Kenjirou-nii..." your voice weakly translates over the speaker.

Shirabu presses the phone closer to his ear and turns up the volume. "Where are you now," he demands. "At school?"

"...Your place..." Your voice sounds so dangerously faded, like petals beaten to the ground from the rain.

Shirabu bolts. His apartment is just a couple blocks away. Around the corner just up ahead. Shirabu makes a sharp turn and splashes through a puddle.

"Stay...on the phone with me," he urges, paying no mind to his soaked shoes and socks.

You nod in understanding, as if he’ll hear your action.

"I'm almost there okay, almost."

Shirabu isn’t lying. A few moments later you hear the frantic footsteps coming closer to you. The stomping noises make your skin crawl, but the familiar face of your brother melts those fears away. He appears with his wet bangs stuck to his face and his shoulders heaving up and down. It’s him, your niichan, your prince finally here.

You scramble up and dive into his open arms, in relief that you are safe at last, as you finally allow tears to mix with rain.

"I was so scared. I missed you so much, Kenjirou-niichan," you sob into Shirabu's wet coat. "Where were you, where were you?"

"I'm sorry. I'm here now, I'm sorry," Shirabu apologizes, "Let's go inside first, alright? We’re both drenched.”

----

Under the bright lights of the living room, Shirabu gets a better look at you. You catch his discerning eyes studying you up and down, visually tracing the markers of your demise. That’s when you crack.

“Kenjirou-nii...the real world, the world is a horrible place. I trusted him, you know? I trusted that man.”

Foolish and stupid, Shirabu wants to say. It’ll be easy to simply yell at you.

Shirabu is not someone without a temper. He was quite known for it back in his high-school days. The bruises, the scars that did not heal well. Shirabu reminds himself to keep his composure, especially in front of you. He’s to be a doctor. He’s to be a protector, a savior. And with the training he already has so far, Shirabu knows he’s already as good as any board certified, licensed white-robed saint. He just needs to do what he’s meant to do. Heal. Clean. Purify.

After listening to your brief tale, Shirabu tells you not to worry about anything else tonight other than take a hot shower and get some rest. He gives you a reassuring smile and sends you off to the bathroom with towels and a large t-shirt.

While you wash-up and lose your thoughts piecing together the messy events of the night, Shirabu paces in the living room after he changes his own wet clothes. Nevermind the medical books he still needs to pour over, all Shirabu wants to do right now is track down the culprit and stick a scalpel through his socket. No, that’s just too easy. That bastard deserves something much more horrible, a slow and patient torture, a death within grasp but just out of reach. As if agreeing with Shirabu’s thoughts, your phone on the coffee table lights up. Shirabu picks up the device and watches the notifications pop-up.

Shirabu sees an unknown number call you. He doesn’t pick up, letting the phone ring while he reads the numbers across the screen and commits them to memory. The phone calls stop and an onslaught of texts follow; some coherent and others far from decipherable. There are messages of broken apologies and confessions of persistent love. Requests for you to go back to him. Shirabu scoffs at the language.

Shirabu continues to wait with impassive eyes, but the tight death grip around the device gives away the boiling rage beneath his skin. How dare the man behind that accursed number treat you, his little sister and princess, in such a foul manner. This beast who stole from you. Who is the reason behind the tainting of your now sullied innocence.

Finally after a few minutes of silence, the screen lights up with a series of curses and condemnation that show the man’s true colors. A morphed beast due to your lack of response. Shirabu scrolls through the list of notifications again with impassive eyes, but the tight death grip around the device gives away the boiling rage beneath his skin.

"You will pay," Shirabu seethes, taking a knife from the kitchen and ramming the sharp end straight into the device glass. The phone buzzes desperately and goes dark. You have no use for that phone anymore after all of this anyway, and the cursed number is already memorized by Shirabu for his own purposes.

----

Shirabu’s room is tidy. The two bookshelves on either side of the table are filled with books, photos, and many other accolades. That’s your older brother alright: perfect, proper, always right. Always right about everything, except one thing. The world you know really isn’t the wonderland he told you about growing up. Not at all.

You bury your face into Shirabu's pillows and will yourself to sleep. You are safe here in his bed. It’s a haven...safely tucked in a forest. You are in a forest. The trees and the breeze. Songbirds are singing.

You can dance here, twirl about...safe...free…

The trees melt.

Birds squawk and screech, scampering away…

Ink engulfs you....swallowing you whole

Falling...falling…

"You'll never wash me from you," he sneers. "You'll never really get away. Time to wake the fuck up."

NO! you try to scream. You can’t, the weight on your chest sinks you deeper, only silence is uttered...choked…

Wake up.

"Wake up!"

Your eyes fly open and you see him. Him. A blood curdling shriek finally tears through your throat and you thrash. "Getawaygetawaygetaway! NO!"

"It's me, hey, it's me. You're okay, you're safe." Shirabu’s eyes widen with worry at your outburst, but gives you ample space to breathe and compose yourself.

This familiar voice. It does not belong to him. It’s definitely not him.

"...Kenjirou-nii?" you ask quietly. The shadow is backlit from light coming in through the door and your vision is still fuzzy from the nightmare.

A tender hand closes around yours. "Shhh, it's okay, you're okay now. It was a bad dream, you're safe. You're safe. I'm here."

Cold sweat runs down your temples. Your breath is fast and shallow.

"Follow me, okay. Breathe in..." Shirabu takes a deep breath. You follow his voice and movement as if they are lanterns guiding you through a maze. "And breathe out. Good, you're doing great. Breathe in...and out..."

You feel your mind slowly beginning to clear with each inhale and exhale. Finally, you see Shirabu clearly again. You can smell the scent of his body wash from him. The texture of the blanket rubs against your fingertips. You’re here in Shirabu’s room. Safety. Haven.

"I'll be right back," Shirabu tells you, before leaving you for a moment and going towards the bathroom. He opens the medicine cabinet, pops out a few white pills from a box.

"Here," he says holding out the small tablets in the middle of his palm. The off-white seems to almost glow in the dark.

"It's zolpidem, a sleeping pill I sometimes take for insomnia. It'll help you for tonight, and then we'll get you something else tomorrow that'll work better."

You look at the pill and then at Shirabu. Shirabu is someone you love and trust with all your heart. His embrace is your anchor and haven when the rest of the world has turned a blind eye. He’s your brother. One and only. There’s no reason not to trust him.

"I won't see him will I?"

"No," Shirabu affirms. The pills don't really manipulate dreams, but if reassuring you can placebo sweet dreams, then what harm really is there? He didn’t pass Ethics with top marks for nothing.

Shirabu gently presses the pill body against your lips and you part them, allowing the small object to slip through. He feeds another and you open your mouth obediently. You look at Shirabu’s eyes which are fixated on the way your lips wrap around his three fingers. Kenjirou-nii’s lashes are so nice and pretty, you think.

One gulp of water later, and you feel nothing but a cold sensation traveling down your throat and disappearing into your belly.

"It'll take about half an hour, I'll stay with you until you fall asleep," Shirabu says. He supports your back and gently lowers you back into the comforts of the plush mattress. Shirabu will surely carry the same attentiveness and care when he becomes a full-fledged doctor. You are sure of it. The big brother you grew up with has truly grown up and matured. But no matter how much he changes or how much you mess up, he’ll always be your big brother.

"Can you lie down next to me again, like when we were young?"

An innocent request from a patient-in-need. Shirabu complies and lies down next to you.

"I remember when we were young, I would make you dance with me to live out my princess dreams. You remember?”

Afternoons next to the stereo, crayons scattered on the floor. The smell of something baking in the kitchen. Shrieks and laughter in the living room. Even though Shirabu would be mildly annoyed at first, he found humoring your imagination to be a pleasant and soothing experience. Even he was sometimes whisked away from textbooks into a magical forest that was just you and him. The stress and burdens of everything else all seem so much lighter on his shoulders when you’re simply just there.

"Of course I remember, silly."

You hum softly and continue waiting for the medicine in your bloodstream to make its way through your body.

"Do you...remember the sleeping beauty story you would always tell me?"

"Yea?"

You pause for a moment before quietly asking, "Kenjirou-niichan, why did you lie to me?"

Shirabu does not respond and only glances over at you, eyeing your closed lids. Closed though they may be, the tiny beads of glimmering tears are beginning to emerge from between the lashes and trail down your cheeks.

"There is no prince, Kenjirou-nii...no prince for me, no one...niichan...," you mumble between your breaths. The drug is starting to take its effect, ushering your mind into another dimension far away from hurt and pain. It swallows you like a pit of ink, sinking you deeper and deeper...

----

Kenjirou-nii, why did you lie? Earlier, Shirabu felt his breath hitch when you asked that.

He calls out your name softly, brushing over your cheeks, and listening to your soft breathing for a good while to make sure you are in fact asleep. At long last, maybe this is a good dream.

A lie? No! Not a lie, Shirabu wants to tell you. For you, his dearest sister, who only ever deserves happiness, in the rawest and truest form. You are supposed to have a life of others giving gifts of love, never having to offer anything of your own.

Shirabu feels his blood boil once more at the thought of that man who stole your innocence away. The one who took your body for his own carnal pleasures. The one who dared to steal you from him, Shirabu Kenjirou. If Shirabu's nails are not kept in immaculate condition for his profession, no doubt, his grip would be drawing blood from his palms.

Those marks and scars across your skin. Shirabu traces his finger down your neckline and along your arms...

Your head turns from left to right and you manage to shrug the big collar of the t-shirt off your shoulder. Shirabu can see, under the glow of moonlight from the cleared night sky, a nasty mark. A permanent mark. And before he realizes it, his fingers are already traveling over, tracing along and testing out the patterns and bumps.

Shirabu feels his chest burn beyond the anger and fury. Guilt. Where was he all this time when you were suffering? Why hadn't you just called him then? Anguishing thoughts of his little sister writhing in pain under that beast's grasps tear Shirabu apart. Did you cry? Were you scared? All these years studying for what? For what noble purpose is Shirabu trying to pursue if he can’t even save those closest to him?

Shirabu continues to search for any other marks or discolorations that are splayed across your skin like a map. It is what it is now. But Shirabu still has his calling. He is a man who answers to a life of service and healing: a prince in a white coat. No matter what happens, even if you’re tainted now, you’ll still be his little sister.

Even if your naivety and stupidity got you into the mess in the first place. Of course, why didn’t you listen to your brother’s warnings and stay in a safe haven like a good girl? Stay in your room and study for your future like a good student? Like him? Why did you think running off for fun, enjoying “youth and freedom” like the other degenerates would be a good idea?

Shirabu grits his teeth. Look at you now, damaged and past the point of no return, used. Injured and ill. Still, he needs to get the full story first, and see where else you might possibly be hurt. A complete diagnosis needs to come first. After the messages from the man, Shirabu is all the more certain that there are more clues left, and he needs evidence. He needs to know. The comforter is pulled away and careful hands examine the lines of your palms.

Once upon a time, you grabbed Shirabu’s hand and tried to use the methods of schoolyard palm-reading on him. You even exclaimed, “Kenjirou-niichan, this line means you’ll live a long life! And we can be together forever because my life line is really long too!”

Shirabu smiles at the memory and presses a kiss to the center of your palm. It must have been so painful, how could you have possibly endured? But you did and you survived. You are so brave.

Probing fingertips trace across your collarbone and push the fabric of the large t-shirt up to reveal your torso. Shirabu blinks, realizing that this is now the body of a fully matured woman. You take a deep breath in your sleep from the cold air running across your exposed breasts. Shirabu can see the nipples perk up from the chill and hesitantly touches the bud with a hint of academic curiosity.

“Mmm, that tickles...” you giggle softly. Your hand pushes Shirabu's off and scratches the same spot he just traced, fondling your own breast briefly before letting go and continuing to sleep. Even grown up now, still the same adorable little sister.

Shirabu lets himself tease your nipples and knead the soft flesh of your breasts, toying around and watching your cute little expressions. Sometimes you’ll respond again and paw the tickling hands away. It’s fun, like playing a little game.

But when he lets his eyes wander down, Shirabu’s eyes narrow. Below the breasts, on either side of the waist, Shirabu sees damning marks of deep purple turning into a disgusting yellow. Like cursed claw marks. Shirabu hesitantly presses on the bruise, watching the color transform under his touch. He stops immediately when you begin to whine in pain. Carefully, Shirabu presses a kiss on these markings too, just like any other little injury you sustained in the past. A kiss so the pain flies away.

Foolish, foolish girl. Naive princess. Why did you let this happen to yourself? In the future, don’t run anymore. Stay here where it’s safe.

There is just one place left Shirabu did not examine yet, a hidden spot that is supposed to be locked away that someone else discovered. Shirabu looks down at the dark lace panties obstructing his view like gates of a castle. It’s a poor “keep out” message; if anything it entices anyone who sees it to come in. A tempting invitation to see what’s behind.

Shirabu allows his clean fingers to easily slip through and begin a thorough investigation through the soft folds of flesh. His fingertips dip into a pool of wetness. He furrows his brows. When did this happen?

Why are you wet? His eyes focus on your sleeping face that still has a relaxed smile. What are you dreaming about that makes your body like this? Shirabu drags the fingers covered with your slick to circle your clit. In response your thighs clamp and twitch. So sensitive, still inexperienced, even if you’re sullied.

Shirabu slides the soaked panties off and pushes your thighs apart so he can continue his examination. That person must have touched this area too, his fingers have been here, and then…plunged his fingers into you like so. Your body trembles as Shirabu’s two fingers probe in, fully examining your inner anatomy. Soft, warm muscles clamp tightly around his digits and try to stop them from entering further. It’s for your good and his knowledge. He pushes deeper into you, dragging alongside the bumps and ridges of your walls.

You whine loudly and arch your back when Shirabu’s fingers find a sweet spot. Your head shifts on the fluffy pillows.

“Did you like that? Did that feel good?” Shirabu asks, probing your hole once more. As if in agreement, your body twitches again and your hips automatically roll against the palm, pressing your sensitive clit into the surface. Your breathy sighs are soft and sweet, unlike any other sound Shirabu has heard from you. It’s like a spell that enchants Shirabu and beckons for him. He shudders as he feels his cock responding to each noise coming out from between your lips.

It’s good, something feels so good. Under the sunlight, you feel warmth pooling throughout your body. There are tingles in the soles of your feet, like grass tickling skin while running around barefoot. Your body feels so light and relaxed. It’s warm and you’re not in this forest alone. The shape of a prince appears. You know he’s a prince because his voice is gentle and his touch feels safe.

If this feels good, it’s only because this is an act of love. If this makes you happy, it’s because it’s love. If it’s love, it’ll fill the empty pools of hurt. And if you’ll be whole again, you’ll heal. Shirabu makes up his mind and caresses your cheeks tenderly, So beautiful. Always beautiful. A sleeping beauty. His hand reaches to the waistband of his pants.

The prince rests his hand on your hips and excitement jolts through your body. You wrap your arms around his neck and smile back.

Shirabu freezes the moment he feels your arms wave into the air and reach for him. The sneaky fingers run across his skin.

"Dance..with me," you slur before falling back into silence.

The alarm washes away when he confirms you are still sound asleep.

"Are you dreaming of your prince?" Shirabu asks while tearing open a condom packet. Medical safety. He should have worn gloves earlier too, if he wasn’t already too entranced. "Dancing? Then I'll dance with you."

Forever. I'll be your prince, my sweet darling.

Shirabu runs the length of his hardened cock along your glistening slit. Rather than take, rather than pillage and steal...Shirabu will give. Replace the gross markers of pain with soft fleeting kisses. Replace the innocence stolen with love given unconditionally. Shirabu will give you all the love you deserve and more.

Shirabu’s fingers weave into your delicate ones, the palms join together, and your fingertips automatically lock with your niichan’s. It’s the starting position for a waltz in the forest, once upon a dream.

The man takes the initiation, the leading step. Shirabu closes the gap, sinking his length into your sweet embrace in a fluid and wet squelch. You respond, digging your nails and tightening your grip on his hands. Your other arm hugs around your partner, your niichan, pulling his body close against yours. Your blank eyes flutter open briefly to look straight at the shadow of Shirabu. Of course, you don’t see anything, you’re actually in a warm forest shyly gazing at your prince. Shirabu almost thinks that he woke you up, but you only let out a quiet moan before your body relaxes again.

Shirabu groans and rests his cock in your warm and tight embrace. This is the way it should be, how it ought to be done. No one else can lead you in this dance the way he can. The way he will. This is not the self-fulfilling king stealing the princess’s virginal body for his own pleasure. This is the loving prince who loves and gives selflessly. Your big brother knows you the best, knows how you’ll respond, knows how you’ll like it. Shirabu slowly draws himself out and thrusts back in.

The prince presses himself so close to you, and you inhale sharply. During the waltz, you always have to maintain body contact with your partner. You feel his breath on your cheeks, and you’re sure he can feel your hammering heartbeat. The intimacy builds in the tender but secure hold. The steps are quick but the movements are not violent. It’s just enough that the heat stirring in your core spreads throughout your body.

Breaths become more labored and raspy into the act. Shirabu sees your face morph into bliss as he continues his pace and rocks his hips into you. His own brows furrow as Shirabu feels his grip over rationality falling apart with each thrust. Each flutter of your walls against him only invites him to come in deeper, farther. Harder.

“...K-Kenjirou-nii...,” you softly cry out.

Your honeyed voice is a thick syrup trapping Shirabu, coaxing him. It’s like a melody inviting a weary traveler, a lost prince, in for rest. Your voice, your body, it’s tantalizing.

"Too good," Shirabu groans to himself. Why is it so good? You, his little sister, how? He looks down towards where he sees his cock, covered with your fluids, disappear into you. The thin latex barrier doesn’t stop how close the two of you are, Shirabu feels each clench and spasm around him. “My little sister, I didn’t know…”

Shirabu can now understand just why that man did all that to you. Why that man wants to keep you by his side. Why he incessantly sends messages and tries to manipulate you back into their world.

It’s the only explanation, really, when you don’t even know how bewitching your body is. How enticing your voice is. Anyone would want to keep it as their own. Your warmth, your sweet, sweet hole. This cunt of yours is itself a safe haven. And Shirabu feels like he’s the one being made whole from you. It’s all because of you.

Each moan from you. Those gentle mewling cries, a witch’s spell, an incantation for addiction. That man is trying to manipulate you? How? When your whole existence manipulates everyone first, drawing them all in with the image of your unsullied purity.

Shirabu feels his impending release around the edge. His pace quickens and his thrusts meet with each of your twisting squirms. Your head tosses side-to-side on the pillow as your sleepy climax washes through.

Spin. Faster and faster in the forested ballroom. Twirl for the finale. You feel a dizzying jolt as the prince dips your body back. It’s a whirlwind of love. In your dream, the sunshine is so warm and growing so much hotter. It feels like you’re floating. So light and free. That prickling tickle in your feet is growing stronger until little fireworks set off across every corner of your body, filling you completely. The forest melts as the colors blend together in a dreamy painting.

Euphoria, as Shirabu finishes spectacularly, clutching your sleeping body close to him in a messy ending pose. The final winds of the dead storm outside sound like a rumbling applause for this sinful waltz. He can hear his own pants and your shaky breaths mix into a fading duet. Shirabu lets himself bask for a moment, resting, entangled with you.

Everything makes sense now. He completely understands why the bastard king forces himself onto Sleeping Beauty. He completely understands why your allure is much too exquisite to pass on. Shirabu pulls out and carefully removes the condom, collecting the white essence you bewitched out from him into a little package with a tie. Dangerous little princess, that you are.

Even though Shirabu now fully understands the complete story after careful examination, there are still a few lines Shirabu will draw. One, that man has still committed a very grave sin, being the first to sample your purity, stealing that away from Shirabu? Damaging your flesh and skin? Unacceptable, he thinks as he tosses the used condom into the waste bin. A complete low-life who doesn’t know how to cherish. Punishment will be due.

Shirabu returns to the bed where your unconscious body is still sprawled between bunched sheets. His blank eyes study your spread legs and puffy cunt that’s still quivering every now and then. He taps his index finger against your sensitive clit. As if it is a magic button, your body briefly trembles on command. As if you are ready to enchant another unsuspecting traveler into your safe little haven. A little bit of fluid leaks out from your hole, presenting itself seductively. Welcome.

Shirabu scoffs. And number two, you’ll be better off staying here with himself, your big brother. You’ll be safe here with a prince who knows best how to love you right, and give you the world. This is the way it should be; before you completely lose yourself into degeneracy and invite just about anyone into you.

Those sleeping pills will be insufficient for the long-run. A different concoction while you are still healing from your terrible trauma will be needed. A cocktail of sorts that will target different needs. Yes. Shirabu files that thought away, putting it towards the top of his to-do list. There’s so many things he has to take care of. Too much pain in this world waiting for him to don white robes and be out there.

“But you’ll always come first on niichan’s list,” Shirabu whispers, slipping your panties back on and pulling the comforters over your body. He’ll never allow you to be sullied again. You’ll stay here in this safe haven, like a little cottage tucked away in the forest. Dream here. Find happiness with the only prince you need.

The first rays of dawn begin to brighten the sky, shooing away the cloak of night. The first songs from the birds announce the arrival of a new day. The morning light filters through the windows of the room, spilling over onto the bed and your quiet, unmoving form.

Time to wake up now, sleeping beauty.

#shirabu smut #shirabu x reader #shirabu kenjiro x reader #hq smut #haikyuu smut #tw:incest #tw somnophilia #tw yandere #tw drugging #tw dubcon #tw noncon #the intoxicated collab #emi.freshtea #🍵.shirabu

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staple-soap-blog · 6 years

Text

Fade - II

The sequel to Scars

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 ||

Genre: Angst | Soulmate AU!

Word Count: 7400

“Cause I don't wanna lose you now, I'm lookin’ right at the other half of me” [🎵 ]

“Sehun.”

It felt like hot stones were being pressed into your eyes as you watched him smile, the familiarity and comfort that came with the gesture branding your retinas, causing them to water. Sehun’s his eyes creased into half moons, perfectly mimicking the images in the memories you had stored. He looked so perfect you swore you had to be dreaming.

Sehun’s lips parted, and you watched as he mouthed the most simple of greetings, “Hey.”

Despite the buzzing electricity that was rocketing through your figure, somehow your brain finally caught up to your racing heart, and your brain was telling you to run. A chill slowly settled over you, freezing your emotions within your body as well as physically freezing you, until your muscles ceased to move. Your mouth dropped open as you tried to console your heart, which was yelling at you to go towards him, and your mind, which was telling you to get away. The mixed signals rendered you motionless, and you were trapped, stuck in front of the man who was responsible for destroying your heart, but now, it felt like his presence had somehow brought it back.

You felt Sehun’s thumb brush against your cheek, your skin crawling at the action. He stared into your eyes, which were still blown wide with complete shock. “I’m so glad I found you,” he croaked, voice wavering with emotion, the same emotion you were currently experiencing underneath the frozen body your brain and heart had paralysed. A thousand words were coursing through your lungs and lodging in your throat, forming a painful lump which blocked your windpipe.

You couldn’t breathe.

The lack of oxygen dizzied you as the clump of words that sat in your throat slowly began to form into incoherent lines, the pressure forcing them to slip out.

“You…” you stammered. “How did you…why did you…” Your hand slowly lifted, fingers brushing against your lips which were still warm from the contact of his mouth. They tingled, almost as if a spark of static had zapped you.

Sehun’s body drifted closer, so close that your noses were mere millimetres away. His warmth seemed to surround you, willing you to relax even though your brain was screaming and struggling to get away for the incredible heat. “It’s okay,” whispered Sehun, forehead pressing against yours and his hands finding your wrists, holding them lovingly. “I’m here now.”

You were unsure if mere seconds or hours had passed as the both of you stood there, unmoving. The shock kept you from saying anything more as Sehun’s electric heat continued to infiltrate and consume every single nerve and fibre both inside and out. It felt like magic. It felt like fate.

Sehun’s eyes never broke away from yours, his glance anchoring you to his soul. The magic flowed through the both of you, uniting you, trying to repair the bond that had been broken.

However, slowly but surely, the magic began to dissolve into the air, allowing the adrenaline to drain from your bloodstream.

Then you felt it. The pain. That terrible pain from long ago.

The scars in your heart. They had opened up.

The stabbing sensation that had been overshadowed by Sehun’s warmth began to jab at your chest, followed by countless agonising throbs as your broken heart began to beat irregularly, the feeling as if your life force was gushing from the open wounds. It wasn’t used to this magnitude of emotion anymore, it had been dormant, almost lifeless for years, and now it had to process the energy that Sehun had injected you with. It was bound to give out eventually, and you could feel the damage worsening with every heartbeat. The scars felt like they were tearing themselves wider.

The pain tore through you, and your muscles were thawing from their previously frozen state. “No,” you barely whispered, forcefully taking one step back and away from the source of the unbearable ache. “No, you can’t…��

Sehun’s eyebrows narrowed. “What’s wrong?” he asked, concern spreading over his face as he closed the gap you had made.

“You can’t just…” Your voice cracked and you took another two steps away, holding out a shaky hand to keep him at a distance.

Your eyes flicked over his body. You needed more convincing that this was in fact Sehun even when your heart had confirmed it the second his lips touched yours. He was exactly the same, save for the brown hair which was now back to its natural black colour that you remember from high school. He stepped forward again, and you felt his torso come into contact with your fingers.

He was definitely real. This wasn’t a dream. Sehun was here, standing right in front of you.

Your hand flew to your chest, pressing down to try and subdue the piercing ache as your lungs gave in, forcing out a strangled scream. You backed away in fright before hitting the wall behind you. You collapsed onto the ground, tears now uncontrollably pouring from your waterline.

“Y/N!” yelled Sehun in panic, and he rushed towards your slumped figure.

“No!” you cried, slapping away the arms that tried to wrap around you. “You can’t!”

“It’s alright,” he breathed, trying again to take you into his hold.

You screamed, cried out, tried to push him away, but Sehun wouldn’t give up until he had taken you into his embrace. You struggled, clawing at his arms, trying to escape but he only held you tighter, pulling you against his damp chest and whispering conforming phrases into your ears.

Your nails raked down his biceps, leaving behind angry red lines as your knees tucked in towards your chest, intending to press your feet against Sehun’s body and kick him away. But it was no use. He was stronger than you, and your heart forbade you to break any contact with him in fear of it ripping in half from the sheer magnitude of energy produced by the ardent war between it and your raging mind.

“No,” you mumbled once more. It was the last coherent thing you said before the sobs overtook your body, causing you to jolt with every sharp inhale that would fuel your next cry of pain.

You felt so completely helpless. Like you had no control over anything in your life anymore. You screamed internally. Why? Why did you have to suffer so much? Was five years of living an emotionless and empty life not enough? Did Fate really have to bring back your true love and tormentor just so old wounds could be reopened?

Sehun’s touch was searing and hot, trapping you in a cocoon of heat which you so desperately wanted to climb out of, no matter how much your heart yearned to stay. You couldn’t let him do this to you again. You wouldn’t let him. He’d hurt you so much, and you weren’t prepared to go through it again. It would kill you.

You continued to struggle, wriggling within his grasp, trying to get away, but you were just exhausting yourself.

“Shhhh,” said Sehun, pulling you into his lap, his chin resting against your shoulder. “Relax, it's alright.” His arms were crossed over your waist with your own arms trapped beneath his. His hands soothingly rubbed your forearms until your sobs became less and less frequent.

Eventually, you gave up trying to run, instead allowing your body to deflate and mold into Sehun’s chest. Occasionally, you’d gasp as your sobbing tried to settle back into steady breaths, your tears drying in the thick air. Your head began to lean against Sehun’s as your body completely shut down, your energy thoroughly spent. All that was left behind was an odd ache in your chest. It wasn’t like the ache that had been plaguing you for years, but more of a dull throbbing sensation, almost as if something was trying to fill the void of your open wounds.

You stared blankly at your front door, which was still open, the howl of the wind echoing through the hallway outside as it blew up the staircase and through the building. The patter of rain also reached your ears, the low rumbling of thunder occasionally filling the air. But the strongest sound was your heartbeat. You could hear the blood pulsing through your body, and you could feel Sehun’s own heart hammering against your back, perfectly synced up with yours.

You blinked lazily, and your body began to slump to the side. Sehun carefully guided you off his lap and onto the hardwood floor below, but he made sure to return his arms to surround your waist. You rested your head against the plaster wall for support. You could feel Sehun’s eyes burning into your temple, so you rolled your head to look back into his chocolate coloured eyes which were bright and lively.

His smile was still there, his eyes narrow with genuine happiness. His head tilted at an angle to match yours and came to lean against the same wall. You felt his hands near yours, one finding your wrist and holding it, thumb stroking the skin while the other came up to your cheek to brush the stray hairs away. His palm then covered that same cheek, and your eyes closed at the gentle heat he delivered.

“Why,” you breathed weakly, eyes fluttering open again.

“Why what?”

“Why are you here?”

A small pout formed on his lips as he teased you, “Is that any way to greet your soulmate?” You winced at the sting his words caused. He noticed and immediately regretted it. “Sorry.”

You sighed, breaking eye contact and shaking your head slightly to push away his palm that rested on your cheek. “You never wanted that anyway,” you said, voice wavering as you crossed your arms, trying to separate him from you. “Why are you bringing it up now?”

You heard Sehun shuffle closer to you before resting his chin on top of your head. His arms circled your body. You could feel his throat vibrate as he responded. “That’s not entirely true.” You nudged his chin off your head so you could look him in the eye again, wordlessly begging him for an explanation. “I’ll tell you in a bit, but for now can I just...can we just stay like this?”

His eyes pleaded with him, so you had no choice but to nod. He smiled with pursed lips before returning his chin to its previous position, and you were forced to watch his adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed with both nervousness and relief.

He held you for a long while, his touch surprisingly warm despite the water which was soaked into his clothes. It seemed to subdue the piercing ache inside you to some extent, never completely hiding it but suppressing it enough for you to focus instead on the happiness that was filling your shredded heart. Like each second with him stitched a healing suture into the cuts that had opened, cuts that had scarred over from the events of five years ago.

After some time, Sehun shifted around as his breathing stuttered. “I don’t know how else to say this,” he finally began. “It sounds stupid just thinking about it. But then again, I’ve been acting stupid my whole life.” He gulped and took a few breaths in before continuing, as if he were struggling to string together sentences that could fully convey how he felt.

“I always used to say soulmates were stupid when we were kids, remember?”

Your chest deflated at this. “Yeah,” you muttered, disheartened. “I remember.”

Sehun tightened his hold around you, his hand gently rubbing your back in comfort. “That was back when I didn’t fully understand what it meant, and I just kind of kept saying it without thinking too much about it. But I got older, and in a way, I did start to care. So much that I hated it.”

“Why?”

Sehun paused, reluctant to continue until he had found the right words. “I never thought you’d be my soulmate,” he admitted. Your body buckled, his words cutting into your stomach, and you curled forward to subdue the pain. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” comforted Sehun.

His hand came up from behind you to your head and pressed it against his chest. His other hand which was on the curve of your back gripped the fabric of your shirt, clinging onto you any way he could. A few moments of silence passed, only filled with the sound of Sehun’s heartbeat. He sighed before continuing.

“I never thought you’d be my soulmate, but I always wished that you were.”

It took a couple seconds for you to register his words. A tingle of curiosity appeared in the back of your mind, and you uncurled yourself from your position. Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to make sense of what he had just said.

“You’d never shown me your soul mark, so I always thought it was in an awkward place. But I also thought that if you didn’t bother showing me, I wasn’t your soulmate. And that killed me.”

You didn’t even know the full story, and yet your pulse was already accelerating, his own heartbeat speeding up to match with yours. Your fingers began to clutch the fabric of his waterlogged shirt, dripping rainwater onto your sweatpants. But you didn’t care.

“You’d been my best friend for so long, and I didn’t want to ruin that by saying that I liked you, because I thought that you’d want to save yourself for your soulmate. And that’s why I hated this stupid soul mark thing. I was mad that no one would give somebody else a chance just because their true love had already been decided.”

Sehun’s grip grew firmer, and he pressed his body impossibly closer to yours.

“I never wanted a soulmate, I just wanted you.”

It felt like your ears were set ablaze when Sehun spoke those works to you. Your grip on his shirt tightened, knuckles turning white as yet another surge of emotions spread into your bloodstream. You couldn’t believe that you were hearing. Sehun liked you? For how long? You were too scared to lift your head and make eye contact, fearing that if you saw the candour in his chocolate irises, you would crumble.

“I remember when you arrived at prom with Chanyeol. You looked so beautiful, and I’ve always regretted not asking you. I thought you’d find it weird, since we were best friends. But I wanted nothing more than to take Chanyeol’s place that night. He was always by your side, holding your hand. I hated that it wasn’t me doing that.”

“But I wasn’t dating Chanyeol.”

“I know, but you two grew closer after that night. And that could’ve been me. I thought I’d blown my chance, so I just let it be.”

You chewed your bottom lip, processing Sehun’s words. Your eyes welled up, but they weren’t sad tears, they were tears of joy and longing. But there was still an itch that held you back from fully accepting his proclamations. “What about Yuna? Did you not love her?”

Sehun sighed and ran his hand through his black locks. “I did. I loved her a lot. But it took time for me to fall for her. It wasn’t anything like it was with you, I always felt some way about you, even when I was with her.” Sehun paused again, collecting his thoughts. “I hated the whole soulmate concept, and she did too. And I guess I found comfort in that. I’d never get what I want, I’d never get you, and I hated Fate for that, so I never wanted to find my soulmate, and Yuna didn’t either. We supported each other with that.”

You could hear cracks beginning to appear in his voice as he recalled the events of the past. At least you’d been right, the whole ordeal had hurt him just as much as it hurt you.

“You were right, the soul mark removal was my idea. When you hate something for as long as I have, it never leaves you. I thought of it as one last big ‘fuck you’ to Fate.”

Sehun sat up, removing his chin from the top of your head. His hand came under your jaw to tilt your head upwards. Your eyes locked with his teary ones as he stared at you with an unfathomable amount of affection and regret. He let out a shaky breath as he moved down to your right shoulder and tugged aside the fabric of your shirt. His thumb softly brushed over the light pink lines of your scar, causing his face to scrunch in grief.

“It was the biggest mistake of my life, and I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to you, for what I did to us.”

A tear rolled down Sehun’s cheek. Your hand came up to instinctively brush it away, and you felt how hot and flushed his skin was. You could sense that the energy you were experiencing was shared with him, and you leaned forward, capturing him in a hug, pressing your bodies together as if somehow it could make up for the lost time you spent apart. He squeezed you back, showing no sign of letting go.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered into your hair.

You whimpered back, “Me too.”

And that’s how the two of you stayed. On the floor of your apartment, bodies linked in a tight embrace as the storm outside passed, and the clouds cleared away, allowing the bright twinkle of the stars to shine through your window.

Nothing needed to be said as Sehun’s mere presence seemed to affect your body in the most mysterious and wonderful of ways. It felt like you were healing, and you knew that he felt the same too. The magic shared between the two of you was indisputably strong and powerful.

“I’m tired,” you yawned eventually, head dropping against the wall for support. Sehun smiled and stood up and began to walk towards your front door. You winced a little, thinking that he would leave, but he shut the door instead and walked back up to you.

A squeal escaped your lungs as you felt yourself being lifted into the air by the work of Sehun’s muscular arms. You clutched onto his broad shoulders for dear life as he led you further into your apartment. “Which one is your bedroom?”

“Second door to the left,” you replied, and he made a beeline towards said place.

He gently set you down on your bed and pulled the covers over you, a smile adorning your face throughout the whole process. His hands brushed over your shirt. “Your clothes are a bit wet, sorry about that.”

You’d completely forgotten about that. “Yours are still wet too,” you said, sitting up and feeling the damp fabric of his shirt. It had dried off a little in the time that he’d been inside your apartment, but it felt uncomfortable to be wearing, and you bet that his jeans were just as soaked. “How did you get here?” you asked, curious.

“I drove.”

“You drove all the way from home and got completely soaked just from the sidewalk to here? The rain was that bad? You could’ve had an accident!” you scolded, frowning and tugging angrily at his shirt.

Sehun smiled and pulled your hand away from the garment, lacing his fingers with yours instead. “I couldn’t wait. I had to get to you as soon as possible.”

“How did you find me anyway?”

He smirked. “How do you think?”

You cast your mind into recent events and the answer came easily. “Chanyeol.”

“I guess lover boy wanted to help fix us.”

You shook your head and smiled. “He’s always been like that. He’ll never change.”

Silence settled over your two bodies, filled with only the sound of your heartbeat. Sehun stroked the back of your hand, his bottom lip caged between his teeth in thought. “I should leave. I kinda just barged in here uninvited.”

He dropped your hand and took a few steps away. He was through the doorway of your bedroom before he stopped, turning around to look at you, incredibly reluctant to leave. “Sehun,” you called out. “Stay with me. Please.”

He smiled a little. “But my clothes are all wet,” he teased, but you could tell from his eyes that he wanted nothing more than to be with you.

“I don’t care.”

Sehun stepped back into your bedroom and closed the door before removing his shoes and climbing under the sheets with you. He said nothing as his arm wrapped around you and pulled you against his side. A few moments ticked by before a question slipped past your lips.

“Sehun?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you want to find me? It’s been so long.”

There was a delay before his reply came. “Remember how Yuna was late to the wedding?” You nodded. “She found her soulmate that day. Some guy called Jongdae. Her maid of honour told me they got into a fight which kind of ruined her mood I guess. But after you left, I didn’t want her anymore. And I guess she made up with Jongdae and left me soon after.”

Your mind buzzed at the intake of information.

“After she left I thought that if Jongdae could forgive her for what she did, maybe you would too. I knew I had to at least try. I couldn’t live with myself if I let another opportunity go to waste.”

You buried your face into Sehun’s chest, remembering how you’d let every opportunity slip away from you. He held you close and whispered words that set your heart ablaze.

“I’ll never make that mistake again.”

And that’s how you remained for the entirety of the night. Enveloped in the arms of your true love. Your heart may not have been completely mended, it probably never would return to its state before the heartbreak, but it was alive and working now that Sehun was here.

It felt right. Everything felt right in that moment. This was always your destiny, how it was always meant to be. Joy was the only thing that consumed your existence, something that you hadn’t experienced in a very long time. And you couldn’t have asked for anything more.

***

Happy. That’s what you felt as you woke up the next morning with the bright sun peeking through the empty rain clouds and shining its rays through your bedroom window. Normally, you would awaken, and the familiar low hum of pain would make itself known by consuming your chest, staying there for the entire day until you drifted out of consciousness that same night, only to return the next day.

Now, it wasn’t gone, but it was overshadowed by a much stronger feeling. It wasn’t a foreign feeling, you had experienced it before a long time ago. You don’t remember when exactly, but you knew why. Because when your eyes fluttered open, there in front of you was the perfect face of your other half, your soulmate, Oh Sehun. He was there in the flesh, peacefully sleeping, an arm draped around your waist with the fabric of your shirt bundled into his fist as if he were afraid of you slipping away. It really wasn’t a dream. He was with you. And that feeling in your chest intensified with every passing minute, making your heart race as a smile began to spread across your lips.

“Good morning,” groaned Sehun before his eyelids slowly opened, his chocolate eyes finding yours.

“Morning,” you replied, your grin growing wider.

“Have you been staring at me?”

You bit your lip. “Maybe?” Sehun chuckled and pulled your body closer, his lips finding your forehead and pressing a chaste kiss to it. Your skin tingled at the contact, sending goosebumps over your body and accelerating your beating heart.

He pulled away with a smile. His fingers danced over your back, drawing shapes into your skin as he looked at you lovingly. You gazed back at him with equal amounts of love and tenderness.

“Do you mind if I use your shower?” he asked.

“Wasn’t the rain enough?” Sehun scoffed and squeezed your side, his fingers sending a spasm of tickles through your waist. A giggle slipped past your lips before you spoke again. “Did you need a change of clothes?”

He shook his head. “My clothes are pretty much dry now.” He moved to roll off your bed, but you whined in protest. “What?”

“Can we stay here for a bit longer?”

“I’ll be gone for like five minutes,” he argued.

“Fine,” you groaned with a pout. “The bathroom is the next door to the right and there are clean towels under the sink.”

A smile spread over Sehun’s lips in thanks, and he leaned down to press another kiss to your cheek, causing another set of giggles to slip past your mouth. The mattress springed back upwards as Sehun’s weight left the bed and he made his may out of your room, tugging off his shirt and flashing you his muscular back just before he disappeared through the doorway. What a tease.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, basking in the heat that was flaring up inside your chest, overshadowing the constant ache that had resided there since your last encounter with Sehun. You couldn’t believe that he had returned to you, even after all this time. Sure, you acknowledged how idiotic it might seem. The man who had caused you so much pain, the man who had shattered your heart and left it on the curb to die, he had returned to fix it with his touch. It would never be the same, but it was better than the five years of misery you had to suffer through.

Five years, and you had never felt anything like this. Nothing like when Sehun was with you. Well, maybe just not as intense. There was an itch in the back of your mind, reminding you of something. Memories from not too long ago. Memories of just a sliver of that same warmth and energy drifting through your body, slowly taking away the pain.

The sound of your doorbell ringing through your apartment snapped you out of your thoughts. Groaning, you slid off your mattress and headed towards your front door, your previous thoughts melting away into the depths of your mind, but never fully dissipating. Instead, they lurked in the shadows of your brain, festering with each step you took through your apartment.

A rush of dread suddenly washed over your body as your steps towards the door slowed in pace. The thoughts in the back of your mind were agitating every last nerve ending, and you couldn’t stop the anxious feeling that began to consume you. Your fingertips touched the handle of your front door and you looked through the peephole.

Your heart dropped into your stomach at the sight. There, stood outside your apartment was a messy haired, slightly sleepy Kyungsoo dressed in a puffy packet, clutching your purse in his hands.

It felt like you had been pushed into a frozen lake and you were trapped beneath the ice, forced to drown in the sudden flood of guilt and anxiety that suddenly rushed through your veins, causing your muscles to tense.

Your hand left the handle, considering not opening the door, but for some reason, you knew you would feel guilty about leaving him hanging, and he had driven to your apartment early this morning and you would hate for him to do that again. There was also the added nagging in your mind telling you that you missed him, that you wanted to see him, spend time with him. An odd conflict between your head and your heart ignited, building up in your throat and you swallowed the vicious lump as you heard the second chime of your doorbell echo through your eardrums.

Your head whipped around to glance behind you, confirming that Sehun was still in the shower. With a quick breath in, you opened the door, convincing yourself that this would be a quick exchange.

“Hey!” you breathed a little too enthusiastically.

“Hi,” responded Kyungsoo, a little taken aback by your sudden enthusiasm. “I...brought your purse.”

“Oh, right, thank you,” you muttered, lunging forward for the item. Your fingers were wrapped around your purse, intending to pull it away and run back into your apartment, but Kyungsoo’s larger hand pressed over yours. Your arm seized up and your shoulders rose in surprise at his touch, bones locked into place.

“Is everything ok?” he asked, a questioning yet concerned look on his face. His thumb began to rub against the back of your hand, and he looked deep into your eyes, searching for an answer.

“Yeah, why?”

“You look a little tense.” Were you being that obvious? You struggled to find a reply as you felt your heart rate increase, guilt beginning to seep into your chest. “Hey,” called Kyungsoo, stepping closer. “You can talk to me, okay?”

The smile that spread across his lips only intensified your remorse. Kyungsoo looked at you with such affection, such genuine care, and you had to bow your head to break the gaze in fear that it would break your facade. You felt a different warmth grow inside you, the same warmth that was present during your first night together, when his lips were on yours and his hands were tracing the curves of your body. You’d felt content then.

But now your soulmate had returned, and he made you feel like your heart was on fire. Years of misery felt like they could disappear with his touch. Even though your heart was permanently damaged by Sehun’s actions, it still yearned for his presence and love. Stupid heart.

The guilt that was spilling into your chest through the cracks in your heart began to grow wider. If your heart was a dam with a leak, the guilt was the water, pushing through the concrete and chipping away at the mighty wall until the dam threatened to collapse entirely.

You had to tell Kyungsoo about Sehun. You couldn’t work this out on your own. You head rose to meet his eyes, mouth opening to speak. “Kyungsoo, I need to tell you-”

He wasn’t looking at you. Instead, he was looking behind you, a look of shock, confusion and anger swimming through his eyes which were blown wide open. Your stomach felt like it had imploded, and you reluctantly turned around to inspect what Kyungsoo had seen.

It was worse than you expected.

Sehun was completely shirtless, with only his sweatpants covering his bottom half and a towel draped around his neck. He was staring at your hands which were covered with Kyungsoo’s, his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to deduce the situation. Then, a breeze of cold air brushed over your hands as Kyungsoo broke the calming contact.

Panic shot through your veins as you turned to look back at him, his face now consumed with betrayal. “Kyungsoo, it’s not what it looks-”

“Who are you?” barked Kyungsoo, cutting you off with his eyes still trained on Sehun. His voice was firm, but you could hear his composed demeanour cracking.

“Who are you?” retorted Sehun.

“I asked first.” You could hear the rising anger in Kyungsoo’s tone. His fists clenched, knuckles beginning to turn white.

You looked back at Sehun, dreading his answer. He took a step closer to you, and you felt his hand secure itself around your waist. No no no, this was making things worse! You winced at the contact, but his reply to Kyungsoo’s question made you cringe with guilt.

“I’m her soulmate.”

The wind was knocked out from your lungs at Sehun’s answer, and you snapped your head back to Kyungsoo, trying to gather the words to explain everything. You couldn’t find them in time.

You watched as Kyungsoo’s deep brown eyes - which were full of anger and bewilderment - scanned over Sehun’s body, tracing the pink lines that were situated near his right collarbone. Kyungsoo then looked over at your chest, and you saw his eyes widen as his composure collapsed. It looked like a knife had been shoved into his gut. You hastily pulled the hem of your shirt over your exposed scar, but the damage had already been done.

Kyungsoo’s eyes met yours, and you stared back at him, trying to wordlessly apologise in a single gaze. But something had changed, and that change snapped the remainder of your heartstrings, leaving behind nothing but guilt and regret.

That spark of hope you had once seen in his deep brown eyes, the one you saw at the bar when you first met him and the one you saw during your countless nights together, it had been snuffed out.

You had created the spark, and now, you’d watched it die before your very eyes.

Kyungsoo’s chest visibly deflated and his hands unclenched in surrender. The fight in him had trickled away. His eyes clouded over, and so did his soul.

“Who is this, Y/N?” asked Sehun, tugging you by your waist and coaxing you to face him. Sehun didn’t seem too concerned before, but your expression caused his eyes to flood with concern for you.

“He’s…” you swallowed, slowly turning back to the other, shorter man. “He’s my…”

You couldn’t complete your sentence, for you didn’t know yourself what Kyungsoo was. He wasn’t a stranger, but he wasn’t a friend either. It felt wrong to call him either a fuck buddy or your boyfriend. Your breathing deepened as you tried to fill the silence with non-existent words, your body filling up with shame with every passing second.

“I’m no one,” snapped Kyungsoo, his voice laced with venom and despair. “I was just leaving.” He didn’t glance at you as he turned and headed back down the hallway from which he came. You heard the sound of his shoes hitting the steps of the stairwell before he disappeared and his footsteps became softer as he moved further away.

Something snapped inside you, and you quickly tossed your purse inside your apartment before pushing a half-bare Sehun back inside. “Stay here,” you warned before bolting through the door, slamming it shut after you.

“Kyungsoo!” you cried, dashing down the stairwell as fast as you could, almost tripping over the steps as you did. “Kyungsoo, wait!”

You caught him three flights down, nearly crashing into him as your arms anchored themselves against his side to stop the momentum that was pushing you forward. You panted and looked up at him, but he refused to meet your gaze, his black fringe partially concealing his eyes.

“Please don’t leave yet, just...let me explain-”

“You don’t need to explain anything,” he deadpanned. “It’s pretty clear to me what happened.”

“Nothing happened!” you pushed, your fingers wrapping around his bicep and squeezing, as if it would help convince him. “I swear on my life, he just showed up last night and he was wet from the rain so I let him use my shower.”

Kyungsoo remained silent, his gaze trained on his shoes.

“I didn’t sleep with him. Please, you have to believe me!”

He sighed deeply and his eyes closed. His throat seemed to constrict as he swallowed deeply, and he took a shallow breath inwards, only inhaling what he needed in order to speak for it was too painful to breathe.

“It doesn’t matter if I believe you or not.”

A small gasp slipped past your lips, and your heart surged with emotion. Your train of thought stopped entirely, the string of excuses and explanations dying on your tongue. “Wh-what? Why not?”

“Because...you’re-” He suddenly stopped, his face scrunching up with a hiss blowing past his barred teeth. He doubled over and his hands pressed flew to his face. You moved closer to him, one hand remaining on his arm, the other coming up to wrap around one of his wrists. Concern, guilt and worry coursed through your system as you silently begged for Kyungsoo to look at you. That spark of hope you’d seen still had to be there somewhere. You’d do anything to see it once again.

A muffled groan sounded from his lungs, then his hands quickly ran down his face as his head shot straight upwards, quickly avoiding your gaze. You swallowed thickly at his glistening cheeks after his fingers had wiped away the evidence of tears. His head dropped back down with a shaky sigh, his eyes landing on your shoulder, like he was afraid that looking at you directly would cause him more pain.

“Look. I can’t…” he began, voice wavering with every word he spoke. “I can’t...he’s…” stammered Kyungsoo. He choked before shaking his head. ”Just go back to him,” he sighed, caving in defeat. “If he makes you happy even after everything you said he did then...”

“Don’t say that,” you countered, your oesophagus beginning to close up. “He’s...not the only one who can make me happy.”

The words flew out of your mouth easier that you expected with the pressure in your throat. Those thoughts that had been lurking in the back of your mind finally made themselves known, and you believed them to be the truth.

Kyungsoo made you feel. Maybe he hadn’t jolted your heart from it’s dormant state, but he had been nurturing it back to health, slowly, but surely. That warmth you felt when you were with him, it battled the ache caused by the scars of your past and emerged victorious each time. It soothed and comforted you whenever Kyungsoo entered your thoughts. Even though it wasn’t as powerful, it was undoubtedly healing you.

Dare you say it, that warmth was love.

You wondered what had kept you from realising it for so long, but now, you were terrified at the prospect of losing it, all because of you and the person who was supposed to be your perfect match.

“I believed that too, until now,” replied Kyungsoo to your statement.

“Kyungsoo,” you whimpered, shocked that he would say such a thing. He shuffled on his feet, gaze now trained to the floor. He was twitching and fidgeting, trying to distract himself from the heartbreak that you had caused. He cleared his throat before he spoke again.

“Thanks for making me think, at least for a while, that I didn’t need my soulmate to be in love.”

Your jaw fell open at his words. He finally met your eyes, and your chest near exploded at the lack of life and hope in his expression. His brown eyes were empty, his face void of emotion save for the salty liquid that pooled at his waterline. His lips were pressed into a thin line as he held his breath, suppressing the sobs that threatened to break free.

He pushed past you just as the first tear began to fall, shaking your hand off his upper arm. “Go back,” he grumbled defeatedly, his back turned to you. “Your other half is waiting for you.”

Kyungsoo continued down the stairs after uttering that, never once looking back to face you. He left you in the stairwell, alone and trembling with grief.

The irony of the situation hit you hard. There you stood, a broken woman, damaged by the actions of the man she loved, only to inflict the same damage onto a man that loved her. You were crushed, you knew how much it hurt to have the person you were so completely infatuated with to just brush you aside like you were nothing. You knew how much Kyungsoo had been hurting because of his soul mark that had been mercilessly scorched off only a little while ago, and you had to go ahead and give him false hope, making him suffer even more. You felt like a monster.

Your brain went into overdrive, trying to bargain and justify your actions, only for those arguments to collapse in on themselves. You kept switching back and forth, the devil and angel sat on each shoulder whispering into your ears, creating an ambivalent chaos of thoughts.

Kyungsoo didn’t mean what he said. He was angry and just trying to hurt you.

But the way he looked at you whenever you were with him, you saw yourself in him, the same emotions of love and want were parallel to when you were in love with Sehun.

Fate led Sehun back to you, you can’t change your destiny.

If Fate really did still have a plan for you, why would Fate lead Kyungsoo to you.

Sehun is your soulmate. There’s no way you could be in love with Kyungsoo.

But you were. You most certainly were.

The stairs caught you as you fell back onto the steps, the pain of the impact nowhere near comparable to the pain in your chest. Your head fell into your hands, mind swirling with paradoxical thoughts, leaving you confused and afraid. Your body trembled as the silent cries left your mouth, drenching your face with tears.

A hand suddenly gripped your shoulder, the contact soothing your arrhythmic heart, leaving only your head to spin with uncertainty and regret. That hand turned into two arms, wrapping around your figure and pulling you up against a firm, now clothed body. A sharp chin rested atop your shoulder as the embrace relaxed you, until you could finally speak without your voice wavering.

“What have I done,” you barely whispered.

“Was he…” began Sehun, hesitant to ask. “Your boyfriend?”

You sighed, not able to provide an answer, instead opting to bury your face into Sehun’s now clothed chest. You could feel him tense at the action, and you heard him swallow out of nervousness. Yet his hold around you seemed to grow tighter, like he was afraid of losing you again.

It was funny how your body fit perfectly into his. You were designed for each other after all. Sehun’s touch held so much meaning, so much comfort, so much love that had been sent down from the heavens. But it didn’t feel right anymore. Or, maybe, you didn’t want it to feel right anymore.

You closed your eyes, seeing a flurry of coloured swirls on your eyelids as your headache grew worse, fueled by doubt and guilt.

“Sehun,” you began, leaning away from his hold. “I think I need to be alone for a while.”

“What?! But-”

“Please,” you begged, staring into his brown eyes which were flooding with fear and sorrow. “I just need time to think.”

“But...when can I come back?”

You bit your lip in thought. “I don’t know, a couple days maybe? I promise I’ll talk to you then, ok?” Sehun’s jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists as he processed your words. He opened his mouth to argue, but your expression pleaded him to listen. “Do it for me?”

He groaned, voice laced with slight anger and a magnitude of anxiety. “I just found you again. Why are you pushing me away?”

“I’m not I just…” you trailed off, eyes closing, causing tears to pour down your face. Sighing, you looked up at Sehun again. “It’s just a few days. I need to sort some things out. Please.”

There was a pause. “Okay,” he replied reluctantly. His hands hesitantly came up to your face, wiping the tears before he stood up from the steps, reaching out a hand to pull you from your position on the ground. “I’ll be back soon, right?” he mumbled before planting a soft kiss on your forehead. He gave you one last glance of hesitancy before you nodded, reassuring him, and he finally let go of your hand.

As he descended the stairs, he kept glancing up at you, silently begging for you to change your mind and let him stay. Your heart began to surge at the lack of proximity, crying out for his presence, but your mind somehow remained stable, and it willed you to stay silent as you wondered if you were making the correct decision, or were you ruining your life all over again?

A/N: Ok I lied there’s a part 3 ehehe sorry I couldn’t decide yet

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when-the-spring-dies · 3 years

Text

Azumaya Sakurai (ENG)

LIFE IS a constant battle between Sakurai and God. Ever since he was born, nothing good served on his plate. On Monday, it would be pain; on Tuesday, it would be despair; on Wednesday, it would be violence; on Thursday, it would be regret; on Friday, it became milder, shame; on Saturday and Sunday, Lord gave him a little bit mercy and fun with lust.

Had Sakurai plead for more mercies, God might send him a packet of blessing every day. But no one ever taught the man how to kneel down or to slosh in tears, asking for forgiveness and hoping the heaven belonged to him. But for once, he saw and heard his parents shouting: “God! Oh, God! Forgive me. God!” while raising a kitchen knife. Later, they thrusting at each other with it, still calling out for anybody’s God.

When the shouting stopped and the red river claimed the lifeless builds, Sakurai crawled on top of them. His dark hair which inherited from his mother and his sharp strong-willed eyes gifted by his father, shaped him like a vulture in a huntㅡready to devour the corpse before flies and maggots joined the feast.

For days, he sucked on his mother’s stiff nipples, but no milk calmed his hunger; all left was dried blood and maggots eddying around him. They nudged his weakened cheek and hand several times as if inviting the boy to play. But he was too hungry to move and his mother’s warmth had gone, so he did what a three years old would do: crying. And when the vocal cords couldn’t support another weep, he fell asleep.

Days passed, Sakurai was saved. He didn’t know who and when, but what he faced once he woke up was a woman dressed in white, carrying him while feeding something unfamiliar. A year later, he learned that he fed from a cow and he loved it. He loved it more than his mother’s which he couldn’t recall the taste anymore.

Everything became blurred to him. How his parents look like? What nickname did they give him? What was the title of his favorite bedtime story? All those memories dead along with his parents.

Fighting over flower scented blanket or new donated toys was the usual activity. Some kids would use their fist and the others would cry. The strongest got the blanket and the toys while the weak ones bawled together in the corner of the room. Sakurai believed they shouldn’t cry because later, once someone took them away, they would have their own toys and bedroom. Just like Nanao who left with an uncle who had big belly, she sent some pictures where she went to the Disneyland and stuffed her pink bedroom with dolls from there.

Soon, Sakurai figured that not every child who left the orphanage could have a beautiful life like Nanao. He remembered he held hands with his fellow orphans, dressed in all black, following the caretakers who cried while hugging a photo of a kid named Genta. They said Genta was beaten and starved until he passed. The police arrested his adopted parents and threw them into jail.

After Genta’s death, everyone became murky. None of them excited whenever they were told to line up or to hear: “The parents are here!”. Sakurai saw them and himself like the goods being sold in the market. And it was just his luck that a woman dressed in kimono took interest in him. She said he looked handsome and not so Japanese; that his records showed he behaved well.

For a week, Sakurai who lived for only six years on earth, felt nervous. Would he end up like Genta? But did he have anything to lose? He didn’t even know how the future would like.

So he left with Makoto, the woman’s name. She took him to Gion, Kyoto, where she worked as a geisha in her early twenties. Now she in her middle thirties, no one interested being entertained by her. And with her charming mind, Makoto opened a restaurant which serving her hometown delicacies to tourists and the tea houses’ visitors.

Sakurai didn’t end up like Genta and didn’t end up like Nanao. He ended up as Azumaya Sakurai, the adopted son of Nakamura Makoto. Every morning he helped his mother to clean the restaurant and went to school with his friends from the same neighborhood. He grew up bright and playful. Everyone loved him, but some couldn’t help to tease him for being parentless and for being adopted by Makoto.

One afternoon, Sakurai got home with cuts and bruises. Makoto asked him if he were falling or fought someone. And the answer was the latter. “I defeated them,” he said. “Then, I’ll make sure to visit your school tomorrow,” she said.

After Makoto patched his wounds, Sakurai asked her if she didn’t want to know the reason of his fight. And with a motherly smile, she said, “I know the fight is for me. Thank you, Saku-kun. If I were born as a real woman, you wouldn’t need to through this embarrassment.”

And Sakurai yelled in rage: “What was the purpose of the sentence?” For him who left by his parents and knew nothing about how warm a mother’s love could be, Makoto was the most beautiful mother in the universe. Even when she turned into ashes.

Sakurai forgot how to count. He forgot how to count the times he had cried over Makoto’s full name on a tiny jar. It was unreal how he could feel a great sadness in his heart.

The aching, the yearning, and the emptiness he experienced, every single of it were for Makoto; for his mother. That day, Sakurai had his first conversation with God to condemn Him. My mother would still alive if You didn’t allow those drunkard yakuzas came in. I hate You!

An eleven years old boy who grew up with manner didn’t know how to cuss properly. Even when a stranger held him in his arms, Sakurai got nothing to say but to ask: “Who are you?”

His dark long silky hair swayed beautifully as he walked. And his droopy but keen eyes stared at him tenderly, just like Makoto’s. “I’m Makoto’s little brother. So, you are my responsibility now. But because Makoto didn’t have a good relation with our family, you should work harder than everyone else to gain the Oyabun’s favor.”

“I’m sorry, but who is Oyabun?”

Nobody said anything. Not even the men in the front row of the car, they were as quite as the dead. But once the car stopped and a grand gate appeared behind the tinted window, the man opened his mouth: “The Head of Sui-kai, my father.”

General Information

Name: Azumaya Sakurai (東屋櫻井)

CV: Howl

Place and Date of Birth: Tokyo, September 13 1991

Gender: Male

Height and Weight: 188 cm and 87 kg

Blood Type: A

Education: Bachelor of Science Communication University W

Job: Yakuza mentor to Hanase, Vice President of Celestial Entertainment, (former) kindergarten teacher

Outfit: Simple modern black suit, tracksuits, and hoodie

Pants: Anything that's comfortable

Shoes: Classic shoes (Oxford/Chelsea), sneakers

Tattoo: Irezumi style (on the back)

Accessories: Watches, earrings, and a belt

Perfume: Gentleman by Givenchy

Weapons: Daggers, swords, knives, and fists

Favorite Food: Anything

Favorite Drinks: Whiskey, tea

Favorite Cigarette: Camel Wide

Group: Murakami-gumi, Sui-kai (former)

Pets: Kyosuke, Hanase, Otsuka, You.

Personality

MBTI: INFP Alignment: Lawful Evil/Good Keywords: Analytical, intelligent, reserved, critical, helpful, conscientious

Usually, Sakurai is a good-hearted man. He is sensitive to his surroundings and tend to help his peers in need. Generally, he is respectable, hard-working, and bright in knowledge and practical matters. Everyone will search for him when they need advices.

Sakurai doesn’t enjoy spotlight. He prefers standing in the background as long as he is appreciated for doing things well. He may brush off people’s compliment harshly which leads to uncomfortable situation, but honestly, he’s just shy.

Not everyone knows that Sakurai is honestly a playful and has mischievous sense of humor. He’s a bright person who enjoys life and freedom; he loves to travel the world and meeting new people, creating many lovely memories.

Sakurai doesn’t like to hold back due to his temperamental nature. He’ll dealing with his problems right away so he can get on with other things. He secretly enjoys trouble and confrontations, stagnant life isn’t for him. And some people can’t hate him deeply because of his childlike innocence.

Even so, Sakurai used to live as a soldier; the knight in fairytale stories. He lives listening to the Lord’s command, not the one in command. He’ll submit and do the tasks bestowed upon him, bringing the victory for his Lord.

He is chained by the destiny. He is forced to do what his heart refused to do. All the blood, the suffering, the dying souls in the battlefield, he must weight them on his shoulders for years to come; eating up the little light inside him.

How to trigger him? Anyone who breaks the rules and creates a chaos will not live peacefully until they pay for their actions. Sakurai doesn’t get along with people who have bad manners and direct or abrasive expression of feelings. Not only they’ll keep fighting, but Sakurai has tendency to give in (avoiding conflict) and let the person always bullies him.

Physical Statistics

STRENGTH (2,205lb/1,000kg)

CONSTITUTION

stamina: 100%

endurance: 100%

vitality: 100%

recovery: 85%

resistance: 90%

fortitude: 100%

resilience: 85%

DEXTERITY

agility: 90%

accuracy: 97%

Mental Statistics

INTELLIGENCE (90%)

CHARISMA

presence: 100%

charm: 100%

social skills: 100%

PERCEPTION

awareness: 100%

POWERS

interrogation (4/5)

firearms (3/5)

hand-to-hand combat (5/5)

intimidation (5/5)

manipulation (3/5)

skilled acrobat (4/5)

multilingual (English, Korean, Japanese) (4/5)

technology (4/5)

Trivia

He has affectionate nature.

He has more networking with older people than younger ones.

Stamina King.

Twitching his eyebrows and gripping his buckle when he’s mad or irritated.

Changing his home or office interior regularly.

Controlling his sensitive side with working out and cleaning home (loves domestic works).

Discount Maniac, he knows when the supermarket will have great deals.

Contributed to society as a health instructor for the senior citizens.

Yes to extreme sports, not much scared of anything; even the dark side of human nature.

Love music and art, Makoto taught him.

Can’t sleep alone, he collects bear dolls to accompany him or sleeping with someone instead.

Cover Up Tattoo

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ecotone99 · 4 years

Text

Giveaway

Mumtaz folded her donations and placed them into a Target bag. She's moving from her home, Minnesota, to her future home in Canada. The extra property will be a hassle during the move. She reminisced the story behind a few of the clothes she will be giving away to Goodwill. The sweatshirt her friend gave her, the skirt she got from the Somali mall, Karmel, and the plain old grey t-shirt her mother bought from a dingy shop. The elderly store-keeper begged her mom to buy it. She always thought of the shirt as weird. The first and only time she wore it, she felt a burn in the midst of her back.

“Mumtaz!” Her mother yelled from downstairs. “Come down! We don’t have enough time to go to Goodwill, come back, and haul the truck!”

“Okay, I’m going to come down!” Mumtaz yelled back.

Mumtaz glanced back at her abnormal shirt. No more wondering if I’m crazy or if the shirt really is supernatural, she thought.

***

Five weeks after Mumtaz settled into Quebec, Rosa drove to the local thrift store in St. Paul, in search of casual shirts to convert into stylish tees. She brushed off her brunette hair and strode into the store, one naturally tan leg moving after the other. Rosa looked out of place in a store meant for the unfortunate. She looked as if she belonged in a high-end store, and but Rosa only had enough to buy cheaper clothing. She just wore them fashionably.

As she searched through the shirts rack, her eyes landed on a normal grey short-sleeved shirt. Her mind wandered with ideas as to what she could make out of it and ended with a tank crop top. Satisfied, she took the shirt. After discovering other articles of clothing, she brought them over to the cashier.

“$12.50,” the overweight cashier said drearily.

Rosa pulled out a 20-dollar-bill and handed it over.

“$7.50. Have a nice day,” the drab woman said as if it was scripted.

“You too.”

Later on, Rosa laid the grey shirt on the ironing board and turned her back to collect her supplies. Her small room was lit with dim lights and classical music played on her stereo. Now, recall the peculiarity of the top. It seemed as though, the shirt did not enjoy the idea of mutilation, and as a result, glowed a mighty red, a color of fury. Surely this cannot be a good sign. But Rosa, oblivious to this all, had made up her mind. Scissor in hand, she turned on her heels and walked over to the future crop top, which had returned to its usual shade of grey. The blade brushed the sleeve where the armpit should have been. Delicately, her fingers closed on the handles. The snip of the scissors drowned out By the beautiful violins.

***

Mumtaz missed her life in the Twin Cities, but she assimilated into the Canadian culture. She made new friends while still in contact with her old ones. That day she was going to meet with one of her newer ones, so she dressed in presentable clothes. Being petite, she can find many clothes to buy and choose from. Today it was going to be a black maxi skirt, a purple long-sleeve top, and a black hijab.

As she looked into the mirror, she felt a scrape on her right shoulder. She rolled up her sleeve to examine her chocolate brown shoulders, only to reveal a cut forming on the spot. Her eyes teared up at the pain searing from it.

***

Rosa had only snipped once and took a short-lived break to change the melancholy song. She needed something upbeat. She scrolled through her Spotify and chose her rock and roll playlist. Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song" played. Pleased, she resumed cutting the sleeve.

***

Mumtaz felt her bone crack. Her nerves racked up, and she screamed in agony. A V shape formed as a section of her shoulders tilted unwillingly to the side. Her arms fell limp and stained with blood.

***

Rosa completed cutting the last portion. It was time to begin the left side.

***

One last crack and Mumtaz's arm fell completely off her body. Mumtaz stared into the mirror with horror. Bits of red flesh hung off her arm, and she ran out of her room. Phone-less, she dashed to the occupied bathroom and pounded on the door, screaming for help. The occupier, which turned out to be her 5-year-old brother, Abdi, opened the door and began screaming himself. The townhouse was now flipped into chaos, and the siblings pranced around for help.

***

Rosa moved onto the left side of the shirt. She places the sleeve in between the inner and outer blade. Precisely, she closed her fingers on the handle and continued her business.

***

In a failed search of other family members, Mumtaz and Abdi prepared to go out to the neighbors to borrow a cell phone. Just as they reached the door, Mumtaz's left shoulder began to burn. A howl escaped from her lips, and her brother attempted to keep her arm attached to her shoulder. It was unsuccessful. Slowly, the V shape became wider and wider, until finally, it snapped in half.

***

Rosa admired her work. She contemplated whether she should cut it into a crop top. Deciding to go for it, she took a black Sharpie and drew a dotted line across the middle.

***

Mumtaz, blood-soaked and tear-stained, stumbled off to her neighbors’ house. She felt an itch on her stomach. Instinctively, she yearned to scratch the itch, but it was yet another painful reminder of her armless body.

***

Rosa took the scissors and prepared to cut a straight line athwart the middle. Snip.

***

“Hello-HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” the neighbor, Trey, yelled. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! What the fuck happened to you?”

“It just kept cracking until it fell completely off!” Mumtaz wailed. “My bones just kept cracking until my arms fell! It hurts, it hurts a lot! I don’t have a phone please call the ambulance!”

Mumtaz’s stomach continued to itch. Trey ran to the kitchen to retrieve his phone, and he commanded Abdi to get rags. Meanwhile, Mumtaz felt like she was stabbed horizontally in the left side again. Another cry escaped from her mouth. Abdi and Trey bolted to the door and saw her stomach drenched in blood.

“Oh my fucking God! Okay, Abdi put the two rags against her shoulders,” he quickly said.

“Put my shirt up!” Mumtaz screamed.

Trey grabbed her shirt and lifted it up to reveal the wide cut on the side expanding from left to right. It appeared as if an invisible knife plunged into her, deep enough to cut through her back, and glided sideways.

“How the fuck is this happening? How the hell is this happening? Sweet Mother of Jesus fucking Christ!”

Mumtaz made an effort to speak, but with a gurgling sound, blood spurted out of her mouth. Now in addition to her body lacerating into half, she was choking on blood. The question is: which of the two will cause her death?

The ambulance’s siren sound in the distance.

“Don’t worry sweetie. Help is coming and they’ll patch you up nicely,” Trey doubtfully reassured the poor girl as her ribs fractured with a crunch.

***

Only a little left, thought Rosa. She was almost finished with her “artwork”. Headless of the calamity transpiring one country over, she was a little over halfway done, but that would stay as is only for a brief amount of time.

***

Mumtaz heard the ambulance nearing her. She predicted it would reach her in 3 minutes max. She closed her eyes and waited patiently. Her mouth was left open to prevent choking. The cutting has stopped momentarily and Mumtaz coveted for it to stop permanently. Of course, it didn't. The carving resumed once more and steadily moved to the right. A bone came in the way. More snaps. The blood trailed down and soaked her skirt with was now dotted with white bone shreds.

Two inches. Two inches and a half.

The choking recommenced due to panic, and Trey placed a hand on the blade of her neck to avoid the blood-soaked rag, his other still lifting the shirt up. The cut inched closer to her waist. Trey and Abdi closed their eyes, helpless. The ambulance was only a couple of blocks away. The cut approached the end. Mumtaz gasped and coughed. She lowered her head down to her gory stomach.

“Oh my goodness!”

***

Rosa held up her crop top and adored the finished product. She thought: If I’m going to wear this publicly, then I might as well try it on right now to catch mistakes.

***

Trey had witnessed one of the worst moments of his life. Mumtaz's deceased body fell into half: the top half collapsed backward while the stomach down crumbled forward. Vital organs spilled out and splattered the sidewalk. Imbrued bones crashed onto the pavement. By this time and a little tardy, the ambulance truck arrived, and the paramedics sprinted to the scene. They may have seen some of the grisliest occurrences in their life, but the look on their faces told another story.

***

Rosa lifted the top above her head and pulled it down, wincing at a burn she felt on her back. Out of sight, a circle formed on the back, and a red glow etched in the middle symbolizing ownership. She studied her work and decided the shirt needed just a little more cutting.

submitted by /u/met_romance [link] [comments] source https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscarystories/comments/eyin2w/giveaway/ via Blogger https://ift.tt/2u7mhVW

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ecotone99 · 4 years

Text

{HR} Giveaway

“Mumtaz!” Her mother yelled from downstairs. “Come down! We don’t have enough time to go to Goodwill, come back, and haul the truck!”

“Okay, I’m going to come down!” Mumtaz yelled back.

Mumtaz glanced back at her abnormal shirt. No more wondering if I’m crazy or if the shirt really is supernatural, she thought.

***

“$12.50,” the overweight cashier said drearily.

Rosa pulled out a 20-dollar-bill and handed it over.

“$7.50. Have a nice day,” the drab woman said as if it was scripted.

“You too.”

***

Mumtaz felt her bone crack. Her nerves racked up, and she screamed in agony. A V shape formed as a section of her shoulders tilted unwillingly to the side. Her arms fell limp and stained with blood.

***

Rosa completed cutting the last portion. It was time to begin the left side.

***

Rosa moved onto the left side of the shirt. She places the sleeve in between the inner and outer blade. Precisely, she closed her fingers on the handle and continued her business.

***

Rosa admired her work. She contemplated whether she should cut it into a crop top. Deciding to go for it, she took a black Sharpie and drew a dotted line across the middle.

***

Rosa took the scissors and prepared to cut a straight line athwart the middle. Snip.

***

“Hello-HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” the neighbor, Trey, yelled. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! What the fuck happened to you?”

“Oh my fucking God! Okay, Abdi put the two rags against her shoulders,” he quickly said.

“Put my shirt up!” Mumtaz screamed.

“How the fuck is this happening? How the hell is this happening? Sweet Mother of Jesus fucking Christ!”

The ambulance’s siren sound in the distance.

“Don’t worry sweetie. Help is coming and they’ll patch you up nicely,” Trey doubtfully reassured the poor girl as her ribs fractured with a crunch.

***

Two inches. Two inches and a half.

“Oh my goodness!”

***

Rosa held up her crop top and adored the finished product. She thought: If I’m going to wear this publicly, then I might as well try it on right now to catch mistakes.

***

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