Categories > Original > Horror
Evil Angel
0 reviews[Songfic] Why Can't I Breathe, Evil Angel? Put Me To Sleep, Evil Angel. Don't, Leave Me To Die Here. Hoping To Find A Savior, Spreading Like Cancer, Open Your Wings, Evil Angel. Own Characters, unn...
0Unrated
Okay, guys. A lot of people LOVE my slash stories, but I am a horror writer, first and foremost. Always remember that...! Anyway, I wrote this because a real life friend loves the song and I asked her for inspiration and she said this song. Sooo...
I do-nut own Breaking Benjamin or any of these lyrics, lalalala why would I say such a thing? Lalalaaaa....
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Eyelids drooping, he fought to keep himself conscious, to keep himself alert. Body snagged in a tight embrace, courtesy of the couch and many blankets, he knew he could not move. Chest captivated by woven fabrics, breathing became so difficult; fingers trailing against the pattern, not even registering what it was they were doing, they danced to a tune in their own minds. Sleep lingered deliciously in his eyes, softly soothing him into a quiet and gentle slumber. Skin began to conceal the aberrant glow of cobalt that his eyes held. Grip loosened against the edge of his prison, face moved to the side to get more relaxed, more comfortable...
Why was he trying to remain awake? Don't remember! Remember!
Suddenly snapping to attention, he became vigilant, once again. "Nothing could be worse," he croaked, barely coming out above a whisper from his desiccated throat. "All these imaginary friends, hiding betrayal." Body leaning forward faintly, he struggled away from his bindings. Hands ripped against the confinements, legs tore at the chamber that hugged him, squeezed him, held him to death.
Just under a murmur, aloft over his head, came placid words, words that made his heart freeze into stone. "Nothing but lies and crooked wings." So soft, so deadly, it was a hiss, not a murmur; the sentence prickled against his neck, cold sweat running down delectably. Arms became solid marble as hair fell into his face. It felt matted, sweaty and sticky against his cadaverous skin. He inhaled deeply, holding it, not audacious enough to let it go.
"Hoping to find a savior, are you?" Cold, clammy skin suddenly hit his neck, causing him to shudder, to gasp out that hold of breath he had been clutching as if it were a blanket to a young child. A finger wrapped delicately around him, before the whole hand was placed against his windpipe. Head dipped, lips pressed gently against his exposed collarbone, whispered fragments flowing hotly against his skin. "I have the answer. You are the faith...inside me."
Eyes darted to the side, looking down at the hand that was placed so carefully on his body. He let his eyes travel forwards, not wanting to breathe, not wanting to move, not wanting to do anything that could be taken as a sign of weakness. As a sign of giving in. As a sign that she was winning, that she was, indeed, spreading the cancer of fear. Anything could be taken as flaw at this point, he mused to himself in the heat of disaster; a simple movement could be the death of him. All she had to do was tighten her clasp on him, and before he knew it, he would have no air left to breathe. No air left to gasp, no air left to drink, no air left to beg. Only enough air left to die.
Voice coming out calloused, he muttered to her, "Put me to sleep, evil angel." She seemed to find what he had said funny; she threw her head back, chuckling with mirth, before her glistening onyx eyes returned to their job. She pressed just ever so lightly against his neck, but it was enough to make him pause in fear, to make him gulp back a small sob for breath. The cover he had discarded only moments before lay at his feet, shriveled and lumped together. It felt, almost, as if the bedspread was binding his feet in some odd, obscure way. Just the way it seemed to stroke him, telling a story of comfort and warmth, before snatching so suddenly on to him and ending everything.
And, all too suddenly, breathing became so difficult once more. Upper body feeling as if bounded by a tight rope, he tried to take a lungful of luscious, sweet air; but he failed, barely getting half the amount he had asked for. A quick exhale, then turning so vividly into another wheeze. "Why can't I breathe, evil angel?" He couldn't help but keep the sneer out of his voice as he fumbled fruitlessly against her clutch. "Let go of me." It wasn't a command, in all honesty, but more of a plead. He had lost all ability to demand long, long before the moment.
She said nothing, but it wasn't as if he had expected her to. Other hand snaked around, truly throttling him now; self control is what it took to keep him from begging for life.
"Don't, leave me to die here." But she did not answer his questions, for those pale pink fingers merely held tighter onto his neck, his only source of oxygen. Mouth open, wheezing like a floundering fish, he moaned darkly. Vision swam, chest hurt, body hurt all around. He no longer had the strength to hold himself up, so he let himself fall, crashing down so pitifully against the couch. Or, he would have, if it had not been for the hands that engrossed his lifeline. He was held up by the hands, but they only constricted tighter, tighter, tighter...
"Open your wings, evil angel."
I do-nut own Breaking Benjamin or any of these lyrics, lalalala why would I say such a thing? Lalalaaaa....
---------
Eyelids drooping, he fought to keep himself conscious, to keep himself alert. Body snagged in a tight embrace, courtesy of the couch and many blankets, he knew he could not move. Chest captivated by woven fabrics, breathing became so difficult; fingers trailing against the pattern, not even registering what it was they were doing, they danced to a tune in their own minds. Sleep lingered deliciously in his eyes, softly soothing him into a quiet and gentle slumber. Skin began to conceal the aberrant glow of cobalt that his eyes held. Grip loosened against the edge of his prison, face moved to the side to get more relaxed, more comfortable...
Why was he trying to remain awake? Don't remember! Remember!
Suddenly snapping to attention, he became vigilant, once again. "Nothing could be worse," he croaked, barely coming out above a whisper from his desiccated throat. "All these imaginary friends, hiding betrayal." Body leaning forward faintly, he struggled away from his bindings. Hands ripped against the confinements, legs tore at the chamber that hugged him, squeezed him, held him to death.
Just under a murmur, aloft over his head, came placid words, words that made his heart freeze into stone. "Nothing but lies and crooked wings." So soft, so deadly, it was a hiss, not a murmur; the sentence prickled against his neck, cold sweat running down delectably. Arms became solid marble as hair fell into his face. It felt matted, sweaty and sticky against his cadaverous skin. He inhaled deeply, holding it, not audacious enough to let it go.
"Hoping to find a savior, are you?" Cold, clammy skin suddenly hit his neck, causing him to shudder, to gasp out that hold of breath he had been clutching as if it were a blanket to a young child. A finger wrapped delicately around him, before the whole hand was placed against his windpipe. Head dipped, lips pressed gently against his exposed collarbone, whispered fragments flowing hotly against his skin. "I have the answer. You are the faith...inside me."
Eyes darted to the side, looking down at the hand that was placed so carefully on his body. He let his eyes travel forwards, not wanting to breathe, not wanting to move, not wanting to do anything that could be taken as a sign of weakness. As a sign of giving in. As a sign that she was winning, that she was, indeed, spreading the cancer of fear. Anything could be taken as flaw at this point, he mused to himself in the heat of disaster; a simple movement could be the death of him. All she had to do was tighten her clasp on him, and before he knew it, he would have no air left to breathe. No air left to gasp, no air left to drink, no air left to beg. Only enough air left to die.
Voice coming out calloused, he muttered to her, "Put me to sleep, evil angel." She seemed to find what he had said funny; she threw her head back, chuckling with mirth, before her glistening onyx eyes returned to their job. She pressed just ever so lightly against his neck, but it was enough to make him pause in fear, to make him gulp back a small sob for breath. The cover he had discarded only moments before lay at his feet, shriveled and lumped together. It felt, almost, as if the bedspread was binding his feet in some odd, obscure way. Just the way it seemed to stroke him, telling a story of comfort and warmth, before snatching so suddenly on to him and ending everything.
And, all too suddenly, breathing became so difficult once more. Upper body feeling as if bounded by a tight rope, he tried to take a lungful of luscious, sweet air; but he failed, barely getting half the amount he had asked for. A quick exhale, then turning so vividly into another wheeze. "Why can't I breathe, evil angel?" He couldn't help but keep the sneer out of his voice as he fumbled fruitlessly against her clutch. "Let go of me." It wasn't a command, in all honesty, but more of a plead. He had lost all ability to demand long, long before the moment.
She said nothing, but it wasn't as if he had expected her to. Other hand snaked around, truly throttling him now; self control is what it took to keep him from begging for life.
"Don't, leave me to die here." But she did not answer his questions, for those pale pink fingers merely held tighter onto his neck, his only source of oxygen. Mouth open, wheezing like a floundering fish, he moaned darkly. Vision swam, chest hurt, body hurt all around. He no longer had the strength to hold himself up, so he let himself fall, crashing down so pitifully against the couch. Or, he would have, if it had not been for the hands that engrossed his lifeline. He was held up by the hands, but they only constricted tighter, tighter, tighter...
"Open your wings, evil angel."
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