What’s Mine is Mine
cw: gore lots of gore you have been warned, kinda lab whump but more just a fucked up situation, intimate whumper? idk
Whumper brushed the tips of their fingers along the leather restraints. “How are we doing tonight?” Whumper walked two fingers down Whumpee’s forehead restraint.
Whumpee whimpered into the gag as Whumper tightened the leather. It may have been a protest, a curse, an indignant snarky retort, but all that came out was a choked, inhuman noise.
Whumper went on, undeterred. “Oh, yeah. Me too. I’m so very, very excited to take back what’s mine.”
Another choked whimper.
Whumper turned and there was the metallic clatter of steel, followed by the sharp smell of cleaning product. When they smiled down at Whumpee, they held a scalpel.
Whumpee jerked against the restraints. The restraints held firm— the vicious yanking reduced to shuddering.
Whumper smiled. They cut away Whumpee’s shirt as if it were nothing.
The cold air on their skin felt like the tightening of a noose. The flash of the blade— a guillotine dropping.
Whumper pressed the tip of the scalpel against Whumpee’s chest. “Your heart,” they whispered, “that—belongs to me.”
The first line brought crimson behind Whumpee’s eyes. They screamed into the gag as the blade drew another sharp line, parallel to the first.
Whumpee locked eyes with the overhead light and let the light burn them.
Burn, burn, burn.
Burning on their chest.
Burning in their eyes.
Fucking burning.
And then the scalpel slid under their skin. White pain slammed into their vision, spiraling into black.
Whumper was talking again— “You know, it’s kind of like peeling a peach. Slice and pull—“
Through the sickening white fog that everything was drowning in, Whumpee managed to put two and two together. They craned their neck upwards— horror blooming into trailing vines that wrapped around their limbs and nerves and muscles and tightened and tightened and—
More burning.
Whumper held up a cut-out heart. A patch of skin, blood still dripping from it.
Behind their eyes, white dots morphed into candy hearts.
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places we've been torn (i'm always, always yours)
pairing: soonyoung x gn!reader
rating: T
wc: ~1k
summary: you and soonyoung have been lying together for who-knows how long now, going back and forth asking each other about the various scars you both have. the stories have been mostly silly or stupid (or both), but it's as the night is winding down that soonyoung asks about the one scar with a story you're not sure you're ready to share.
warnings: scars, mentions of suicide, past near-attempted suicide (reader)
tags: fluff and angst, angsty fluff, reader is in a good place now but there was a time when they weren't, and soonyoung has to take some time to process that fact, i think this is still very soft??? despite the subject matter, but please please please be careful friends
a/n: this is for @diamondyjh as part of my emergency commissions and she requested angst to fluff (tho this turned into more angsty fluff than angst to fluff, but i hope you still like it) and the title is from always by switchfoot
You're not sure the last time you felt so content.
At the moment, you and Soonyoung are curled up on his bed over the covers, feet tangled together and heads sharing the same pillow. The past few hours you've spent just laying there and talking, mostly asking about each other's scars but drifting off to other topics as well. For the past ten minutes or so, it's been quiet, the two of you simply enjoying each other's company.
Everything about this moment is warm — from the way his hands hold one of yours and press a kiss to your palm to the way your heart feels like it's melting in your chest and spreading all the way to the tips of your toes.
"What about this one," he murmurs into the silence, rubbing his thumb slowly over the soft skin of your wrist. "It's so tiny; I never noticed it before."
And the scar in question is tiny, smaller than a grain of rice, nestled right in the center of your wrist.
The story behind it, though, is so much bigger.
For the first time all night, your first instinct is to lie — to make something up and brush it off and clutch at the secret you've kept tucked away in your chest for so, so long. Excuses like oh, it's no big deal - it's nothing - I don't even remember all sit ready on the tip of your tongue. But you bite them back.
You stare at Soonyoung, marveling at how soft he looks in the warm lamplight — trusting the small but fervent corner of your quickly-beating heart begging you to be completely honest for once in your life, whispering that you can trust him with this.
He keeps tracing his thumb in gentle arcs across your skin, and you breathe in — slow — breathe out — steady.
“It’s from a knife,” you say at last, calm, and not at all like this is the first time in the ten years since it happened that you’ve told anyone. A buzzing has started under your skin, anxiety humming through your veins at a frequency you’re sure Soonyoung must be able to hear.
But he just wrinkles his brow in adorable confusion, lower lip jutting out just enough to form a soft, worried pout. “A knife?”
“Yeah.”
You can trust him with this.
You gulp and bite the bullet. “I was sixteen and... and I came really close to killing myself.”
A beat, and the world stops.
Your breath feels trapped in your lungs as you watch him blink, his thumb freezing as he processes your words. And for a moment, his face is blank.
But Soonyoung has always worn his heart on his sleeve, and you can easily read the emotions that start flashing across his face. First, a silent shock that bleeds into disbelief. His eyes find yours, searching, searching, yearning to find a falsehood somewhere in your words — a soft kind of horror dawning like a rain-soaked morning as realization sets in.
His grip on your wrist tightens, fear and worry evident in the way he takes a deep, steadying breath, and he pulls your hand to his chest and clutches it there, almost desperately. His other hand reaches out to cradle your face, stroking reverently, even as his exhale is shaky. It doesn't seem to be enough, though, because a moment later, he's scooting forward the foot of space between you and bringing your forehead to his. You lay like that for a moment, two, and then he's pulling you closer still, tucking your face into the crook of his neck and shoulder so that he can wrap his arms around you and squeeze.
You squeeze back, telling him with everything but your words that I'm not gone, I'm still here. I'm here, I'm here, I'm here. You let yourselves have this moment, burying yourself into his embrace as he holds you like you'll disappear if he lets go.
"I'm okay, Youngie," you murmur eventually.
His fingers curl into the back of your shirt. "But you weren't." His voice is a whisper, thick with the threat of tears. "You weren't okay."
You sigh, bringing one hand up to cradle the back of his head and gently scratch at his scalp. "No. No, I wasn't then. But that was a long time ago, now."
Between one blink and the next, he's pulling out of the embrace just enough to be able to cradle your face between his palms. He's staring at you with red-rimmed eyes, and you feel something crack in your chest.
"You'll tell me, right?" he asks. "If you're ever not okay again? You'll tell me, or someone, or—" He huffs a frustrated breath before pressing a gentle kiss against your forehead. For a moment that feels like your own eternity, he lingers there, lips against your skin — an invisible tattoo pressed into every thought floating around in your head. "Please promise me you'll tell someone, jagi."
"I will." You seal your vow with a kiss of your own pressed to his lips. "I promise."
And he must hear the truth of your words because you can feel the tension bleed out of him like he's a deflating balloon, and you deflate right along with him. You press another kiss to his lips, soft and chaste and full of all the reassurance you have.
"Hey, Youngie." You wait until he's looking at you, and then you let all of the warm, gooey feelings of hope and love and life bubble over into a beaming grin. "I love you, and I'm so happy that I'm here with you."
The smile he gives back could rival the sun's, you think.
~~~
Suicide Hotlines in the US
call or text 988
Spanish toll-free number 1-888-628-9454
Trevor Project/LGBTQIA+: text 678-678 or call 1-866-488-7386
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*darkness, that's everything that they could see, though it was weird. Even though everything was dark they felt a light hitting his eyes*
*once he got used to the "light" the first thing that he did was search for Xuthus, sobbing slightly when they realized that there was no sight of something red around*
>r-red guy!?....Where are you?
*they continued to search for them, walking slowly while looking around. After s few minutes their walk stopped abruptly because something pushed him and made him fall face first in the floor*
*he instantly got up, feeling something fall from his nose, though it wasn't important for him in that moment, he turned around trying to see what made him fall...there was nothing, only a small purple feather on the floor, when he tried to grab it something punched their arm, making his wings get completely open and puffed up out of fear, their breathing was slowly getting faster, after all they were alone or at least that's what he thought, until they saw it the purple shadow was standing a few meters away from him, holding what looked like a knife*
>w-who... who are you?! And why wouldn't you leave me alone?!
...cant
*Wing instantly got frozen in his place, all the forces that he had grabbed to speak to it leaving his body instantly, the purple shadow slowly started walking towards him though it started running out of nowhere, jumping while holding the knife in the air when they were closer to Wing*
.........
*just when the knife was almost touching them everything went completely white, the only exception was a purple and red portal, it was a few centimeters away from him though he stayed still where he was, not wanting to move close to it in case that it was a tramp*
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