Bone Deep Color Stains - Chapter 20: 2-5 Inside Out
“Who are you?”
Something about the voice even gave Cassandra chills. Her gaze shot down the hall to see what must be their other target. Donnie failed to give them much of a description of Frida, so Draxum filled in the blanks that he could. Black hood, armor, three fingers with gold claws. One of those talons pointed in her direction right now.
The mask Donnie mentioned was indeed on her face. Angry painted eyes and massive teeth. But the expression didn’t unsettle her nearly as much as the odd miasma that floated from the sides of it like toxic smoke.
“Answer me!” Frida demanded. “Do you think I didn’t recognize that agent of the council? And Lenny’s corpse?”
“He’s not dead.” Cassandra scoffed. “Just unconscious.”
“Who are you!”
New chapter in which everyone is fighting for their goddamn lives
I wanna read a fic where Bart casually is like, "I mean, sure I've crashed every car I've ever driven, but I could fly a spaceship like a boss"
And this is how people found out that not only has Bart owned, but also operated, a spaceship, but also he's crashed the batmobile Tim hid in the batarang budget
Wooyoung nearly sobbed at the intense wave of pleasure that washed over him, body writhing in the ebbing tide. His voice choked out of him, eliciting a deep and fond chuckle from above. He hated how warm San’s laugh was for how very cruel he was being.
“Sannie please for the love of God move.” He begged, trying to kick out one of his legs only to have it pinned to the lumpy mattress, leaving Wooyoung reluctantly spread open. His cock wept against his stomach and he couldn't help but think ‘Me too, buddy.’
San leaned down, pressing their lips together with lazy, lingering kisses. He was such a juxtaposition of unwavering strength and endless tenderness. He knew Choi San was one of a kind and he was so lucky to have met him that fateful rainy night. He’d never find anyone like him again.
“Why don't you ask nicely?” San smirked against his jaw and he couldn't help but roll his eyes.
“San if you don't fucking move I’m going to book the biggest, meanest bastard for your next fi-ah!” Breath swept into his lungs in a harsh gasp, expelled in a low and pathetic whine. It wasn't that San was the biggest he’d ever slept with - he was average, maybe above - it was that every movement was done with so much intent. He rolled his hips, gave teasing touches, and panted crude compliments all for nothing more than the satisfaction of his lover.
It had been a night a lot like this, blowing off steam from an unsatisfying fight that San felt he won too quickly, when the revelation had struck Wooyoung. He had watched San then as he did now, the concentrated furrow of his brow, the clench of his jaw to stave off his own orgasm until he knew his lover was unequivocally satisfied. All of it came to the same conclusion Wooyoung drew in the current moment; He was unbearably in love with Choi San.
“Why are you crying, jagi?” San’s movements stilled as he lifted his calloused palm, cupping his cheek gently.
Wooyoung blinked slowly, unaware of when the tears had begun to streak down his face but he could feel them carving tracks backwards. He kept his gaze on San, opening his mouth to speak but a cold tear dipped uncomfortably into his ear. He blinked and when he opened his eyes he welcomed a new cresting tide of tears.
He was back here, in the almost clinical bedroom in the corner of a house that had never felt like home. His eyes burned with tears and he knew he’d been crying for much longer than the brief snippet in his dream. He stumbled to his feet and tread into the bathroom, grimacing at the image staring back at him in the mirror. His long hair was a mess, greasy and in disarray, and his eyes were nearly swollen with how puffy they were.
Wooyoung ducked his head, splashing icy water on his face several times. He was so tired of crying, so fucking tired of it, and yet he couldn't stop. Every single morning he woke up and pressed a cold compress to his eyelids until he resembled something close to human again. He ignored that step today, turning off the sink just to turn on the shower.
He wanted to wallow, to stay in bed all day and cry himself to sleep again, to rot in his silk sheets on his stupidly expensive mattress. He craved a lumpy mattress permeated in the smell of cologne, sweat, sex, and San. It was so tempting to fall back under the covers and shut out the world but he knew, as much as he hated it, that San would never want to see him like this. And somehow that was enough.
Wooyoung finished his shower quickly, wrapping a towel around his waist and going through his skin care routine that had way more steps than even made sense. He finished rubbing in his moisturizer before he opened the drawer beside him. Multiple watches in a variety of styles lined the inside, save for a vacant spot in the very center.
His heart dropped through his feet, thrashing and writhing somewhere on his heated bathroom floor.
Where is it?
I put it here, didn't I?
My nightstand- Not here.
The dresser-
No, no, no, nononono- Where is it?!
His breath came in a rapid staccato, unsustainable and painful. He didn't really care if he ever breathed again, not if he’d truly lost Sannie’s watch. He needed it, needed to feel close to him in the only way he was allowed now.
“Where is it?” He gasped, black spots dancing at the edge of his vision just before he heard a door open in the main section of his apartment. He yanked on a pair of sweatpants left hanging over a bedpost before stumbling out into his living space.
“Hyunsoo-ssi, have you seen my watch? The silver one with the big dial-”
“Oh, that atrocity.” He tsked and dread mixed with something else, something sticky and molten, bubbled in Wooyoung’s stomach. “I cleaned out all your old designs for this year’s collection,” He passed a judgemental eye to the sweats hanging off his hips. “Though it seems I might have missed some.”
Again, Wooyoung didn't feel when the tears started. He could only feel the cold streaks left in their wake as his skin grew impossibly warm. His fingers curled into his palms, nails pressing indents into the soft flesh.
“And where are they now?” He hissed through clenched teeth, eyes closed as those black dots appeared in his periphery again. He felt wound tight, a coiled spring ready to snap - or perhaps a leopard, crouched low in wait for one wrong move, one little -
“I threw them out. Don't worry, Wooyoung-ssi, this year's designs are much-”
He hadn't made a decision to throw the salt lamp across the room. Wooyoung hadn't even been aware he was holding it until it left his fingertips, hurtling towards the wall with an impressive amount of speed. His nostrils flared as the drywall crumbled and shards of the salt block scattered around his floor. He opened his eyes, vision tinted red as his eyes locked on his father's assistant.
Wooyoung hated himself for it, hated the way it reminded him of his childhood, but he took a sick thrill in the fear that washed over Hyunsoo’s face. Good. “Get out.” He croaked, voice hoarse with barely restrained screams.
There was a spot on the rug in his father's office, a deep brown and an odd wobbly shape. Spilled coffee, his father had said, knocked over by one of his visiting business partners who Wooyoung could barely remember. He understood now what that stain really was.
His mouth flooded with spit the moment Hyunsoo closed the door behind him and Wooyoung had only a moment to sprint to his kitchen sink, more grateful than ever for his open floor plan as he slid to a stop on the tile just in time to eject the contents of his stomach into the shiny silver basin. He’d barely eaten the night before, something his stomach hadn't thanked him for, but at least it was a benefit to him now as he had very little to offer up. Snot and tears spilled down the lower half of his face and he groaned, using the spray nozzle on his faucet to rinse both the sink and his face.
Wooyoung slammed the tap to shut it off before sliding down to the floor, back pressed against the uncomfortable grooves of the cabinet behind him and knees tucked to his chest. He tucked his forehead against them, the moisture dripping from his hair soaking the knee of his sweats. One hand lifted, rubbing a slow circle over the left side of his chest.
His last connection to San, gone with something as simple as a careless - or perhaps malicious - act of service. The hickeys had long faded from his sternum, the scent of San’s cologne no longer clung to the clothes he'd worn that night. The watch had been all he had left to prove that he had been lucky enough to have been known - been loved - by Choi San.
Wooyoung felt the rhythmic thumping against his fingers, an undeniable sign that blood still pumped through his veins. His heart was there, it was still there, so why did his chest feel so hollow? He wanted to thrash, to wail, to make sure the world could hear the pain that scraped his insides raw. Instead, he cried silently, vacant gaze locked on the mangled hole in the wall, lamp cord dangling down to the floor.
Crying had never gotten him anything but a scolding so he had learned a long time ago to keep silent.
When Wooyoung looked at himself in the mirror again the next morning another grimace spread over his face but this time accompanied by a nauseating twist in his gut. He lifted his hand to brush through his hair, twisting his fingers around the too-short strands and tugging until he felt a light sting at his scalp. It looked as wrong as he felt but he had an image to maintain now - Father’s perfect puppet.
The image nearly made him sick, not from an attractiveness standpoint, but rather he missed who he was before. He missed San carding his fingers through his hair as he sang to him softly, half drunk but full of love. He missed San gripping with his fingers close to Wooyoung’s scalp, tilting his head back to press open-mouthed kisses against his neck. He missed San rolling over onto his hair in the middle of the night, coaxing him back to sleep with hushed apologies.
He had hoped it would feel cleansing but instead it felt like a final goodbye to the man he could have had and the man he could have become.
HOLD UPPPP u said that if u told the fans your age they'd be shocked, and people didn't guess 14 under ur post BUT u put 14-17 as ur age range . so you're 14 ?? 🤨🤨 me as the new sherlock holmes
LMAO WENT SHERLOCK HOLMES AND EVERYTHING😭😭😭😭but no🤗🤗
If Florrie dies I'm going to write so many fix-it fics 😂😭, admittedly, my heart's going to break regardless of who it is! Everyone is so cute!!! I'm super attached 💖
