A/N: No spoilers for V route in this one, unless you don’t know what name Saeran goes by in the route I guess.
His head hurts like someone is repeatedly smashing it with a brick. His body feels like it’s on fire, like he’s burning in a sea of flames so hot that his tears have all dried up. He can’t seem to feel his legs as they stumble and buckle. He barely manages to reach his arm out to grip the foot of the mattress of the bed to steady himself, but his grip slips as another wave of pain pulses through his temples, sending him crumpling to the floor in an ungraceful heap.
His vision blurs, the room tilting and spinning in ways that defied the laws of Physics. He tries in vain to get up on his own, gritting his teeth in an effort to keep the groans from escaping him. No one likes it when he whimpers or whines. His mother hated it the most, despised it whenever he was as weak and useless as he was now.
But it hurts. It hurts too much. And before long he feels moisture gathering behind his tightly shut eyes. He wants to cry. He wants the pain to go away. He wants to eat ice cream. He wants to be un-sick. He wants to be useful, not worthless. Because worthless means abandonment and betrayal. Losing your value means losing the love and warmth of the ones you hold dear.
And that means… losing her too.
He wills the tears to go away, biting on his gum hard and clenching his fists. He cannot cry. Crying is for the weak. He’s supposed to be stronger than this. He’s supposed to have grown out of being the crybaby who could only rely on his brother for every little thing.
Just then, he hears the door thrown open, and on instinct, he flinches, holding his breath.
It’s his mother. She’s heard him crying and woken up. He can hear her shrill screaming ringing in his ears. Calling him a worthless, dirty brat. Saying he would be better off left in the dumpster since he’s as good as rubbish. Yelling at him to shut up or she’ll tie him up and lock him in the storage room again. Stuff him in there for a good few hours in the dark with no food or water. Then forget about him and leave him there to die as he should have a long time ago.
He senses her approaching, her quick, loud footsteps like gongs of a funeral bell in his ears.
Please no, I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll stop crying. I’ll stop being sick, please don’t tie me up, please don’t lock me in there, please!
He’s too weak to hide or shrink away, all he can manage is a sluggish backward crawl like a cockroach struggling to move while on its back.
She bends down.
He braces himself for a tight, hard slap across the cheek. And then another, and another, and another and another until it’s just a rain of slaps against his face, his pounding head, his arms and legs.
Please, please don’t hurt me Mother, I’m in the wrong, I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry–
His thoughts are interrupted when he feels a hand slowly cup his cheek. He flinches away, but the hand returns to his face. A gentle, tender, soft hand. He slowly opens his eyes which are wet with tears, and he sees her. Not his mother’s bloodshot, livid eyes, but soft eyes full of concern. He sees her lips moving, but he can’t hear what she’s saying.
All he can register are the tears rapidly falling down his cheeks, the patient and kind manner in which she brushes them away one by one, her thumb kissing his cheek with each stroke, and her scent. Not alcohol, but… the fragrance of fresh flowers blooming on a clear summer’s day.
He feels her arm around his shoulders, in an attempt to pull him up. He tries to get up with her help, and after a bit of a struggle she manages to plop him down on the bed and settle him into a lying position that’s comfortable enough.
“…fever, hold on, let me get you a wet cloth and some water,” she mumbles in a rush.
She abruptly stands up, and his body feels cold as if she’s already left him.
In a brief moment of clarity, his arm reaches out, grabbing her wrist to stop her from leaving him.
“Don’t go,” he croaks, another tear slipping down his face. “Don’t leave me here.”
She pauses, and for a second he thinks she’s going to wrench her hand from his weak grasp, determined to get away from him like everyone else always does. Because there is no use for trash other than to be discarded and burned to ashes and disappear with the wind.
But then all she does is to quietly take his hand in hers, before sitting down next to him on the bed.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here. With you.”
“Don’t go,” he repeats. Everyone says that. Everyone says they won’t leave. And then they do anyway, when they get tired of dealing with him when he’s weak like this.
“I won’t. I’m staying right here with you, Ray.”
She hums, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “Pinky promise. Now get some rest.”
He doesn’t close his eyes though. He keeps them trained on her. What if she leaves while he’s asleep? What if he wakes up, only to find that she’s gone, just like how Saeyoung had left him?
“Hold my hand… Don’t let go,” he murmurs, feeling his eyelids grow heavier and heavier as the seconds tick pass. No, he doesn’t want to sleep. He doesn’t want this to end. He doesn’t want this to exist as a mere memory when he wakes up.
She complies with a smile, taking his hand and intertwining it with hers, before raising his hand to her lips.
“I won’t. It’s okay, just rest easy for now, Ray. I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.”
“Don’t go…” he whispers once more. It’s not long before his exhaustion gets the better of him, and the darkness consumes him altogether. He barely registers the comforting squeeze that she offers right before he drifts off into sleep, sleep that eluded him for the past few nights, thinking that he would wake up to find her room empty and her person gone.
This time though, he drifts off to sleep with her scent permeating his senses, her warmth enveloping him and her soft humming of a lullaby in his ears.
And for the first time in forever he thinks, maybe there’s still some hope left that he can cling on to. For now, at least.
A/N: I couldn’t speak or do anything for the past hour after finishing the VN for day 10 right before the branch, and the only thing I could do was write it out, so this was just a spur of the moment thing, hopefully it wasn’t rushed.
I think I need to just… try to focus on something else. Still can’t really function properly.
I was commissioned by @exclusivetrashcan to continue the hotly requested Golem King story. I was so excited and I know you will be too. I also have to say this is probably my most favorite sex scene as well. Enjoy!
The Golem King has not been anything you had expected. Not only was he beloved leader in his kingdom, but he was charming and witty. You had expected a brute and a tyrant. If you had, to be honest, you were expecting someone like your father. You were happily proven wrong. When you sent him the first letter, declaring your wishes to end the war that has been raging between your two kingdoms, he has been nothing but agreeable.
You had agreed to a rather strange show of peace with the Golem King. In order to prove the peace talks were real, the Golem King suggested you live with him for a month. You agreed, but the Golem King had another surprise for you.
Warning: Sensitive Content (mentions of abuse; read at own risk)
This morning was somewhat peaceful, in comparison to other days anyway. Dad was here to stay for breakfast and maybe even lunch before he had to head out for late rehearsals again. Now, I say somewhat peaceful because mum would still give me death glares when dad wasn’t looking and when I was helping out in the kitchen, and mum would walk into me on purpose and because she did it as I had a knife in my hand, I ended up cutting my finger. Yelping out in pain, I dropped the knife I was holding. I turned and saw dad looking at me as he walked over to me.
“What happened?” He asked me, with concern in his eyes and a glint of something else. Something else that I couldn’t read. Mum rushed over from behind me at this moment calling out in panic.
“Baby, what happened?” The fakeness in her voice was thick, but only I would notice that.
“Grab the first aid box.” Dad said to mum, not taking his eyes away from my bleeding finger.