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azullumi · 8 days

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“under the burning hill” ; aventurine

premise — you say you know him, what will he choose?

tags — angst, with comfort if you squint, mentions of death, a lot of metaphors, spoilers to his backstory, i seriously don’t know how to tag this one, not proofread, 0.9k words; ficlet

tagging — @toorurs

note — i once cried to those tiktok slideshows that are like “if you really know your mother/self/father/sister/brother, what will they choose?” and then this fic happened. this is NOT my celebration fic for getting him, i have different one in my drafts

you say you know aventurine, what is he choosing?

a chance to be with his family again

he dreamt of flowers and gardens, of empty fields and large floating clouds, of tears and warmth, and he knelt into the dream where he felt the warmth of his sister’s hug and the soothing melody of his mother’s song. he buries his corpse who knew his father’s voice and how he would hold his child. in his dreams, he is good and he is loved.

he had nightmares of blood and fire, of wounds and tainted, dirty clothes, of screams and cries, and he’ll run away from the blades that will chase him, his body will become a corpse along with many others as he hides in the bloody waters. he has known death even before he saw his reflection.

and when he awakes from this, he’ll find himself in an empty bedroom despite the corners and the walls adorned with furniture, decoration, and dust. he’ll find himself alone—waking up yet he’s still in a nightmare. his family isn’t there.

for his shackles to never exist

the chain suffocates him—there’s the harsh smell of rusting metal and the cold tug of the chain when he moves his hand. his clothes are tattered, the collar and the hems burned off, and he stands before the eyes that scrutinizes and looks down on his existence. their gaze leaves letters that burn on his skin and it forms into a scar that will never heal, a reminder of what he is meant to be and will always be.

but he walks in the streets in flamboyance, the chain never seen on his wrist and neck as if it never once touched him. he treads the line of freedom and restriction recklessly and like a bird who has never known how to spread its wings, he could never reach far into the sky.

the form of his shackles have changed; it doesn’t mean he also has.

to stop the tremble of his hands

he fiddles with his fingers, adjusts the way his watch rests on his wrist—he keeps his hand busy and hidden. he wears a smile on his lips and utters such words filled with confidence as he places his bet, as he gambles his life, yet he desperately tries to conceal the way his hands tremble as he clutches on to his chips.

he wagers his life as if his existence was only a mere chip on the table, but it’s the only control he’ll ever have over himself.

an apology

he has dealt with scornful gazes and harsh remarks, has dwelled on the hidden meaning behind people’s words. he’s all too familiar with the cruel and unkind thread that weaves into their tongue as they speak—some may sing praises to him yet their eyes would harbor only hatred and disgust.

he wishes someone would ask for his forgiveness, but why would he even deserve one? what did he even do to deserve one? what did he do? does his existence outweigh the heaviness of a single syllable the word carries? was he worthy of one? does he even have any worth?

he can only let their gaze taint his skin, rearrange the letters of the words they utter into the one he will never hear.

(he has never forgiven himself either.)

to finally let go

how bruised are his knees and how long will he repent for the sins he has never committed?

he holds on to his burden as if it was a part of him, as if he’ll be nothing but an empty vessel if he loses his hold on it. he knows it's holding him down, knows it's making his hands bleed but it’s everything and the only thing he has known for—the thorns has been engraved into his palm and became part of his skin. he’ll stuff his mouth full of rotten food and leave his stomach empty, and he’ll believe this is what he’s made for.

perhaps when he'll finally find a place to put everything down, he’ll learn how it feels to live for himself and not for the things he carries.

you say you know kakavasha, what is he choosing?

to never have to say goodbye

farewell is a form of poetry and he is a poem.

in most days, he’ll hear his sister’s voice in the empty corridors of his home, he’ll hear the echoes and follow him into places she could never reach (his wishes will never be enough to save her). he’s haunted by the unspoken farewells and the goodbyes he is forced to make, watching their backs as they leave or his own.

(he wishes he never knew the word.)

(his child self) having a conversation with future him

children are bound with endless dreams and light to see into the dark as they walk into their future—he was (once) one of them. he’ll stay up at night wondering what’s ahead of him, grasping on to what little left of his hope that things will become better, and when he sleeps, he’ll dream of talking to his future self.

“are you happy?”

if he’ll have a conversation with his future self, he’ll tell him everything and anything, make him recall the memories lost when growing up, trace the stars with him as he asks him the questions he’s curious to know the answer to (his future self will know him inside out but he, the child he once was, will never know him). and maybe he’ll put their palms together once he notices his agitation—and he’ll see the differences of their hands and notice the dying light in their eyes—as they ask for their god’s blessings.

he’ll tell him: everything will be okay, even when he’ll only be met with silence.

(get onstage

fear not

never look back.)

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fineprintedsunsets · 7 months

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curiosity killed comforts the cat

【 Synopsis: Curiosity was never supposed to comfort the cat 】

Word Count ꨄ︎ 1.2k

Warnings ꨄ︎ TATTOO TRACINGGGGG. skin tracing. soft negan. platonic comfort. (regardless of negan saying kiddo reader is 18) age gap obvi. IM IN MY NEGAN ERA YOOOOO. Fwuff (fluff).

Negan's Master-List

"So Trace The Lines Of My Tattoos, Whisper That You Love Me Too"

This morning wasn’t going well, it was the type of morning you just want to run away from. To bury yourself deep in the blankets of your bed and hide from it all.

Unfortunately, there’s work to be done.

Which included giving a certain Alexandrian prisoner his breakfast. Why you were in charge of this particular task was a question you couldn’t answer, but nonetheless, it had to be done.

You walked into his holding place, letting the door slam behind you, a large frown on your face. It was hard not to cry. You kept replaying this morning's events, how you had been embarrassed when you weren’t allowed on a run, or when Michone had yelled at you for forgetting to clean your room.

It was the littlest things that made you so upset, and those were just two events that took place out of your shit-hole morning. You can see Negan sitting against the bars, reading a book he doesn’t even look mildly interested in.

You place the tray of food down next to the small opening in the bars. You can’t order him to eat, you are afraid if you open your mouth you’ll break into tears. Negan closes his book with a coy smile, looking down at the plate of food.

Like his book, he doesn’t look interested.

“Thanks, kid.”

You don’t look at him, you just nod once, careful to keep your tear-stained face out of his view. The sound of a book gliding across the floor echoes throughout the small room. You turn to leave, heading straight for the door just a few inches ahead of you.

Negan’s gruff voice stops you right in your footsteps, making the hair stand from the back of your neck. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”

How did he know?

“Nothing.”

Your voice quivers despite it all, even as you try to keep it neutral. The events are evading your mind again, making you relive your morning. “I may be in a cell, but I sure as shit know how someone acts when they're upset. It used to be a full-time job.”

You shudder but turn around regardless. You’d never thought you’d be this desperate for comfort you’d take it from Negan, but so far everyone seems like they despise you. Like they hate your existence and your only purpose is to make things difficult.

Negan’s deep voice cuts through the air, his fingers hitting his rusted cell bars. “Sit, tell me. I’ma guessing dear old Dad doesn’t care to listen?”

“Don’t you have enough problems?”

He scoffs, chuckling a little. “The only thing I have to worry about is whether one of those assholes is gonna remember to feed me or not.”

You turn around, keeping your eyes glued to the floor, avoiding Negan’s gaze as you come to a halt next to him. Before you can stop, your body is sliding down the wall, sitting on the opposite side of the bars.

You can feel the cold metal biting into the side of your hamstring as you lean up against them, in the same exact position Negan’s in. One leg out, one knee bent. You can feel his stare cut through the holes of his confinement, even as you refuse to meet it.

“Start talking.” The demand is so thorough it should have been cold, but somehow it holds no expectations. Like if you wanted to just sit in silence next to him, he wouldn’t mind.

You twiddle your thumbs as you attempt to find the right words. The reality of this situation hasn’t dawned on you yet, you are about to tell your problems to a prisoner. One’s that he may very well use against you.

“I feel lost, not empty…but-” You can feel the tears threatening to resurface again, but you keep them down, focusing on the cold ground of the concrete room, the feeling of skin sliding against skin as you twirl your fingers.

“It’s like I'm living just to live. You know? Like the world is one big movie and I’m watching myself participate in it.” You look at the floor, counting the cracks running through it as your voice breaks. You can hear the sound of Negan’s attentive breathing, and the thrum of his heartbeat as he listens.

“It feels like I’m a burden like no one wants me around. I’ve been yelled over and over again. All for little things too-” You take your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing on it nervously. Your heart is cracking as you say the words, and your voice is filled with uncertainty.

“It shouldn’t affect me as much as it does. The little side comments or weird glances. But it does, it ruins my-” And here come the tears. The one thing you hoped to avoid during this interaction.

You feel the wetness, and before you know it, it becomes a proverbial puddle of emotions. All stirring inside of you. “Hey, Hey.” Negan’s voice is softer now, a tone low and almost caring.

You ignore him though, in your mind your replaying those same events again. Walking through your morning like one would a DVD, fast forwarding and replaying, pausing ever so often to zoom in. You feel the tears gather in your eyes, and then your breathing stops.

You feel a pulse underneath your fingertips. Your fingers are being moved by someone else's, skating along a muscled forearm. Your pulled out of your auto-biography, as you watch what’s happening. Both of Negan’s arms are protruding from the metal bars.

His left is expanded in front of you, and his right has your fingers clasped in his as he drags your digits across a tattoo in the shape of a cross, whispering little things, almost to himself.

“That’s it”

“There you go, kiddo.”

“Breathe, relax.”

Once he sees he’s grabbed your attention, he lets go of your fingers, but you keep tracing the tattoo, running them up the faded ink, tracing its forgotten details. You love the way he groans just a little at your touch, a shiver coursing through his body.

It calms you, the simple act of going around in that t-shape over and over again, letting the tears fall freely now, not ashamed. Negan keeps his arm through the bars, letting you get lost in his other ink portraits.

However, he can see your chest still rising rapidly, and the soft sniffles of your crying. “Kiddo. Please. I need you to breathe.” He begs, and for some reason, you listen.

“Count with me, yeah?”

You nod slightly, focusing on another tattoo, this one is in the shape of a coffin. You trace the front line and then follow the other awkward diagonals. You breathe in once when you fully trace it and release the pent-up oxygen when you trace it again.

“One,” You both say in unison.

You continue to draw invisible lines across Negan’s skin for what feels like hours until your breath slows and your tears stop. You felt better, dare you say. The dull ache in your chest has vanished completely.

“Care to pass me that tray?”

“What-” You realize Negan’s pointing at his breakfast tray, and so you do, a little confused. He pulls his arm away from you to pull it to him. You start to stand, seeing this interaction is done with.

“Where you going? Sit down.” He demands as he props up the tray on his lap.

You dust off your jeans, “Why?”

“One of those assholes fed me today, figured I share it with someone.”

You chuckle lightly, smiling for the first time in a while. As you wipe away the dampness from your red cheeks, it’s hard not to miss the way Negan smiles to as you finally meet his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah”.

#fanfic #masterlist #oneshot #fluff #the walking dead negan #twd negan #negan x reader #negan smith #negan fluff #twd #the walking dead #walking dead

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stardust-in-my-mind-blog · 9 days

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rusted spade

maybe it is in your awakening

where you realize you are the tree

you've grown yourself

in a garden you now tower over

allow sunlight where it is needed

you don't mind bending a few branches

you'll even let a sweet and hungry creature

take a leaf or a bloom

just to see them smile

with deep satisfaction

at how your presence tastes

you have rings as scars in your trunk

as though your petaled skin

wasn't allowed to bloom and weather

every season looks different

and so allowed are you

please remember my friend

that creature of a tree

who blooms and bears fruit

was once a bleeding spirit

who wounded itself to grow as it was cultivated

healed what it could with amber sap weeping

drew a dragonfly in the tear

so to the world it was stained rainbow glass

in trapped sunlight

a memory of love in a song

our souls awaken newly in the spring

none can resist the new vitality

but I'll remember sweetly

the pain winter coldly brings

before its forgotten in the melting dew

of summer and the nostalgia of autumn

all reflected in our leaves

that float in the current of our thoughts

may the breeze of my memory

be unpredictable

#nature poetry #nature poem #happy tree friends #trees and forests #forest #branches #nature #field #grass #trees #Elysium #queen of shadows #greek mythology #greek gods #ares #achilles #the song of achilles #patrochilles

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myfeelingshavefeelings · 3 months

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Kitsune

A piece I wrote for my creative writing class that was inspired by @normal-horoscopes (now @cryptotheism)'s post about a fox trapped in their ribcage, which i figured i'd share here :)

[CONTENT WARNING: body horror, blood/bleeding, self-harm]

There is a fox trapped inside your chest, and it is biting at the brittle bones of your ribcage, it is clawing at the tender flesh of your aching lungs, it is feasting on your failing heart.

Here’s the thing about foxes: they will gnaw their own leg off in order to escape a trap.

Here’s the thing about you: you do not know how to set this fox free.

You carry on, unable to soothe the savage beast lurking behind your breast, unable to catch your breath, and you endure it, for what other choice do you have? There are no atheists in foxholes, but no god can save you here.

Here’s the thing about foxes: they are notorious for being tricksters.

Here’s the thing about your fox: it is trickier than most.

It learns to lie in wait, lulling you into a false sense of security, before striking just as you lower your guard. It is a powerful predator, and you are its current choice of prey. You may try to gain its friendship by offering it food—grapes or cheese, perhaps—but it has no qualms about biting the hand that feeds it.

Here’s the thing about foxes: they have a diverse diet and will even eat carrion.

Here’s the thing about you: sometimes you think you may already be dead.

There is only so much damage the fox can do within the confines of your ribs and spine before the wear and tear starts to take its toll. Your heart is struggling, like your father’s before you. You are prescribed poison in the form of foxglove – the irony is not lost on you.

Your breath becomes distinctly musty, taking on a persistent air of leaf-rot and animal-musk. Your lungs fill with blood until it feels like you are choking on it, drowning in it, until it is all you can taste and smell and think about. It climbs your throat like a crimson tide, threatening to overwhelm you.

So you spit the blood out into the sink and greet your reflection with a rust-colored grin and

you bear it,

you bear it…

…until it starts to look less like you’re grinning and more like you’re gritting your teeth. You wash the blood in the sink down the drain with water from the tap. You wash the blood in your mouth down your throat with another pull from the whiskey bottle. You call it a night.

Here’s the thing about foxes: they are normally nocturnal.

Here’s the thing about you: you are abnormally nocturnal.

Insomnia has been as constant a companion as the fox, keeping you company from sundown to sunup. Your friends notice the ever-darkening circles under your ever-reddening eyes, and jokingly liken you to the roadkill on the highway. They don’t know how close to the truth they really are.

You stare blankly into your coffee as your fox screams at the sky, calling out to Vulpecula. You resist the urge to start screaming yourself, calling out to anyone who can stand to listen.

Here’s the thing about foxes: they are mostly solitary creatures.

Here’s the thing about you: you are scared of being alone.

You think about telling someone, anyone, about the fox that you are holding hostage, are being held hostage by, but the words do not come, and you spend the rest of the day picking russet-colored hairs out of your teeth with your too-sharp nails. You find yourself scratching at your chest, leaving angry red marks all across it. Eventually, you start to draw blood. It spills out, staining your skin, making your hands slippery as you scratch, and scratch, and scratch. Finally, you reveal bone, the ivory a stark contrast to all the scarlet. You crack open your ribcage only to find a stuttering heart and heaving lungs, no fox in sight.

Here’s the thing about foxes: they will gnaw their own leg off in order to escape a trap.

Here’s the thing about you: you have been the fox all along.

#writeblr #writing #foxes #mental illness #tw: body horror #tw: blood/bleeding #tw: self harm

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milfcoven · 3 years

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DONNA U BETTER GET UP 🗡

#THEYRE JUST. CHILLIN ON THE FLOOR #resident evil spoilers #r8 spoilers #horror tw #body horror tw #resident evil tag #girl I think a little bit of your brain has fallen out let me fix that for you #maybe this is after Ethan has killed her??#or something. I’m in denial. ignore me #May my tears leave rust on your skin #ask to tag

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dollwritesarchive · 2 years

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kink roulette with Loki 💚💚💚🥺 only if you want of course!

EEEK FOR YOU? OF COURSE I WANT TO! Also, it’s been a hot minute since I posted something loki anyways 🥺 it’s overdue!!

the random generator chose: teasing.

warnings: dubconish, mention of possible free use/threats?, degradation — minors dni

“Remember what I said, angel,” his breath is thick and hot in your ear as you melt into his embrace, “don’t make a sound, even if it feels so good tears form in those pretty eyes of yours. I would hate for the other Lokis to find out such a soft, frail little thing has made it past Alioth. Every, single one of them would want a piece of you. And I’d not have much of a choice, but to permit the lot of us to fuck you into madness together. I’d much rather keep you to myself, break you myself.”

you roll your tiers together to muffle a needy whimper, both hands bracing the side of the rusted school bus you’d previously been hiding within. you could already feel your ducts welling with potential tears, but not from fear of what this stranger may do to you— quite the opposite. from how good it felt to be at his mercy.

your head drops forward, vision blurry as you stare at his cock sliding between your clenched thighs. the crotch of your tights had been shredded, your panties also torn to oblivion, and the length of him was pressed to your damp folds. but he doesn’t slip into you, nor does he slot himself beneath your nether lips. instead, he’s placed both hands to your hips, digging wicked digits into the vulnerable flesh to create an organic sheath to swaddle his manhood.

your core aches from the friction alone, your clitoris buzzing with every near-miss from the swollen head of his cock. you want him, even though you shouldn’t.

grunting behind grit teeth, you push back against his thrusting, wishing you could guide him inside— at least then your interior walls wouldn’t be clenching miserably around air. but it’s no use, you can only watch as he spears your thighs; your skin gives and forms around him, slathered in your glistening arousal.

“If you’re going to fuck me, then just do it already.” you cry out. you wanted it to sound indifferent, like the conquest of your body meant nothing, but instead it sounded… desperate.

“Silly thing,” Loki grunts, grabbing a fistful of your hair at the very roots to jerk your head back. the crown of it rests against his clavicle, and you stare at him, wide eyed, from your peripherals. he grins, rutting against your body as he moans against your cheek, smearing saliva on your skin with his tongue, “I am fucking you. Your entire body was created with the purpose of serving cock, but you must not have been trained properly. No matter,” he scoffs, pecking your temple, “because I would love the honor of putting you in your place— at my feet. Do you know how I’ll do this?”

grinding your teeth, you give a faint shake of your head as the only response you can muster, because you can’t seem to stop yourself from mewling.

“By showing you how little your pleasure really matters. You’re an object, angel, a little plaything to be used how I want. So, I’m going to fuck you in every way imaginable except for the way that you really want,” one of his hands slips between your hips and his fingers coast over your sticky, wanton core, leaving you twitching, “This soft, greedy cunt will have to wait until I’ve decided you’ve earned the right to enjoy yourself.”

#loki #loki laufeyson #president loki #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x reader #loki smut #loki laufeyson smut #marvel #marvel smut #marvel imagine

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venusguks · 3 years

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— saccharine boy

pairing : reader x jeon jungkook

summary : the new transfer student is a bit strange…

genre : yandere jk, future smut, angst, dark, obsessive/possessive jk

warnings : this includes DARK themes with heavy topics. i dont support this unhealthy relationship dynamic irl. a huge TW for suicide, suicidal thoughts, tendencies, coaxing, themes. this is pure fiction so please know that if you’re struggling with suicidal thoughts, this may be really really horrible to read :(( yn and jk both say shitty things

part 1 of ??

☽

i loved you before i even knew you

in days fleeting moments, the sun dipped into the ocean, casting a surge of honey waves to engulf the city whole.

it’s vast, golden essence poured through the mid-open windows and into the empty school hallways.

moments before, the laughter of the baseball team dissipated, and those who confessed to the whim of spring filtered emotions had left with tear stained cheeks.

it's empty enough that you can hear your own slip ons click against the floor.

click, click, click.

you walk up the stairs, stopping right in front of the rooftop door.

the rusted knob is cool under your skin, and bracing yourself for the wind, you twist it open.

the wind whisks past you ferociously, as if urging you to turn back. you should've heeded the warning then (how foolish of you not to), but instead, you open your eyes to the tangerine streaks of the sky.

that’s when you see him.

— ❝ hey, do you regret it? ❞

his silhouette wavered beyond the metal railings of the rooftop.

you don’t know why—what had possibly gone through your mind when you spoke. it wasn't your business—you could honestly care less for people like him,

because people like him were the same as you.

despite that, you couldn't stop yourself from screaming, "you're such an attention freak, you know that?! do you really want to be seen that much?"

his head slightly lifted.

would he listen to you? would he care?

because if it were you past that railing right now, you wouldn't stop for anyone.

but doesn’t he see?

if he jumps, right now, right in front of you,

doesn’t he know how much that would break you?

please, the wind swallows your desperation. i’m already broken enough, so please don't make it any worse.

when i muster up the courage like you someday, i need to die without the thought of you jumping in my head.

— ❝ oh, i see… you're scared of me.❞

"there are so many other ways to kill yourself. drowning, the rope—you can jump off literally any other god damned building for all i care—but don't you dare make it this building! don't you dare jump off in front of me."

you saw it, as the wind danced past him, just how lifeless his eyes were

it was as if the sun himself feared him—preferring to quickly drown into the blue abyss rather than be in his mere presence.

"i know this place is terrible—but the janitor is so kind. he's a single father of three children and if you jump, he'd have to break his back scrubbing your blood for hours. he'd come home and put on a happy face despite worrying if his children will turn out like you. so please, for the janitor's sake, deal with haunting this school a different way. your death would affect more people than you’d know, so please.”

he doesn’t move, so hesitantly, as if it would change anything, you quietly add, "ah, he gave me food one time too.”

the boy’s back quivered, and your own trembling heart ached for him—but what you thought was sniffing turned into a loud, hearty laugh

you stood there, dumbfounded as you watched him.

"you're..." he tries to say through his giggles. when he catches his breath, he finally turns to you with the biggest smile.

"you're really stupid."

— ❝ but would it help if i said i've always loved you? ❞

frozen, you can only stand there gaping at him.

"i was just watching the sunset, but your reaction was so funny. you don't know how hard it was not to laugh."

what…?

you blink once, twice—then turning your heel, you begin to walk away.

"h-hey! wait!" he called from beyond the railings. "i'm sorry, okay? i was having too much fun—i didn't mean to scare you. please forgive me."

"scare me?" you scoffed. "kill yourself for all i care. it doesn't have anything to do with me."

— ❝ since that day... ❞

you just blurted it out of spite. you knew it was cruel, you didn’t mean it. you were just so angry. how dare he make a fool out of you? make a joke out of this? in your eyes, he was far more cruel.

“fine then.”

you turn back with a vile glare, but your heart stops as he takes a step back.

the boy hums in viscous amusement when he sees the horror in your eyes. in front of the blazing red of the sun, wearing his wide smile, he resembled a demon.

"forgive me, or i'll let go."

"d-don’t be stupid," you scowl, but you could barely feel yourself breathe.

then, just like that, one of his finger tips leave the metal bar—then another, and another.

you don’t know when you started running or how you even got there, but as soon as you hooked your fingers around his collar, you gave everything to pull him back.

"are you crazy?!" you scream, hot tears trickling down your eyes.

his annoying fit of laughter only angered you more.

— ❝ i loved you before i even knew you. ❞

"like i said, forgive me—and i won't try it again," he chimed in a playful tone.

you couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

it scared you, his carelessness.

he scared you.

“okay, okay! i forgive you!” you yell exasperatedly. “god, you—you think this is funny? what the fuck is wrong with you?! you could’ve—just because i—y-you could’ve…r-right in front of me…and i-i…”

"hey, hey..." he chuckles softly, interlocking his fingers with yours through the metal fence.

you refused to look at him, but you could still feel the tingling warmth of his skin. you were close, the bars only stopping at your torso. when you look back at it, you remembered the seeping reality of his beauty.

his voice, his touch, him...

everything he did made you feel so out of control, so vulnerable.

who was he? why did you have to meet him?

"i knew you'd catch me, its fine."

"that's not the point here you suicidal bitch! i mean—what were you thinking? are you out of your mind? i swear to god—if you jumped and i became a suspect of murder, i'd dig up your own grave and kill you again!”

the boy’s eyes widened, shock dancing with his own bemusement. they were the same lifeless brown, but golden specks glimmered in where he looked at you.

finally, he smiles, “you’re horrible.”

you give a viscious glare, but before you can retort something, he continues, his hand trailing up your arm.

"but at the same time, horrible people don’t try to save a horrible person from dying. no, you can’t be horrible,” a cold shiver runs through your body when his fingers brush against your collarbone. “you’re just a sweet girl, aren’t you? an angel who saved me…”

he pulls you closer by your neck, his lips barely touching the shell of your ears. your breath hitches, and your knees suddenly feel weak.

“i’d love to ruin you.”

nothing comes out of your mouth.

all you can hear is your heart thumping against your chest. all you can feel is the unbearable heat blooming on your cheeks, and all you can see is him.

finally, his words settle in.

“get the fuck off me you creep!”

— ❝ you're never leaving me, my love. i won't let you. ❞

a/n : i’m so so so sorry if this triggered some people. this may be poorly written as well as i’ve written this YEARS ago. as you might tell, i was suicidal then and i often incorporated that in writing—its a way to get it off my chest sort of. to have relatable characters is something thats always made me comfortable. honestly rereading it again nothing makes sense LOL but i thought i’d continue it just for fun. i hope whoever has come across this is having a lovely and healing day, stay safe starlights <3

#bangtan sonyeondan #jeon jungkook #bangtan boys #bts fanfic #bts #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #bangtan #jungkook smut #bts jk #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #yandere jungkook #yandere bts #bts yandere

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qianinterprises · 3 years

Text

Summer '78

Pairing | bully!Jeno x chubby!Reader

Warning(s) | bullying, harsh words, cussing, sexual assault, name calling, fat shaming, poor shaming, face slapping, angst, hurtful comments, yelling, the Dreamies are not nice people (I know I did Jaemin wrong, I'm sorry)

Synopsis | Jeno was a bully, and you were his primary victim. Nothing should have changed, but Jeno began getting tired of bullying the girl he was in love with simply because she didn't conform to societies beauty standards. So she was chubby? So what?! His friends didn't see it that was.

Genre | ANGST, retro-flashback

Author’s Notes | So I wrote this a while back for an event of NCTA, which was basically writing a retro fic. This fic is very different than the fics I usually write. For one, it is told in Jeno's perspective rather than the readers. For two, this is a "chubby fic." Meaning the reader is seen in the fic as having a larger body weight, which, may I add here, is not a problem, nor should it ever be. If you are being bullied for anything, please don't let it go unreported. Report it as many times as you have to because bullying is not ok, whether it's done at school, at home, or anywhere else. Also, there is a possibility that there will be a part two, I have had some people (before posting it here) request a part two but I'm on the fence about that, but perhaps a part two will show some change and growth on Jeno's part. So we'll see. Tell me your opinions though! I hope you enjoy~

Word Count | 3.5k

Taglist | @treasuretaeil @hachanbaecon @nschitty

A group of six boys sat around a table talking and laughing until a loud crash resounded through the snack shack that brought their attention to a waitress on the floor, yellow heels scattered behind her, empty tray in her hands and spilled drinks everywhere as well as on a girl by the table the waitress had fallen at.

“Clutz,” one of the boys, Jeno, mumbled, shaking his head.

“Fatass,” Jeno’s best friend, Jaemin responded.

The other four muttered something along the lines of agreement as they watched the waitress cowering on the floor with a bright red face as the girl now covered in cola shrieked about her ruined clothing and hair.

Jaemin got up from his seat angrily.

“What the hell are you doing to my girlfriend!” he yelled, approaching the pair.

“Jaeminnie! She poured soda all over me!” the girl pouted, running into Jaemins arms.

Jeno rolled his eyes.

Jeno shook his head. Out of all of the boys in their biker gang, Jaemin just had to be the most gullible, falling for the Queen Bee of the high school who used him for nothing more than his money and face.

“She ruined my shirt,” Jeno heard the girl whine.

Jaemin embraced her tighter.

“You’ll have to pay for her clothing, fatty!” Jaemin demanded.

The waitress was someone Jeno recognized. (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N). She had been one of his best friends when he was a shy ten year old trying to fit in. They both befriended Jaemin and the rest of their group and somewhere along the way, he’d gotten muscular and tall while she’d gotten chubby. With Jeno’s looks, he’d always been popular with girls, but when he became interested in them as more than friends, he’d dumped the girl in favor of girlfriends.

She was a bullied girl wearing outdated clothing that made adequate grades. A nobody. She didn’t fit into any groups. She drifted through high school being shoved against lockers while her books were thrown across the hallway and what little lunch money she had was stolen. More often than not, Jeno or one of the other guys was the perpetrator.

“I can’t…” (y/n) muttered, looking down at the floor.

Jaemin kicked the carrying tray away from her, making the girl flinch.

Something in Jeno’s heart snapped against his chest, but he’d never allow it to escape. He watched tears gather in the corner of the girl's eyes and Jeno fought the urge to pull her to his chest.

Feelings began to stir their first year in high school when he and (y/n) had been seated side-by-side in homeroom and he’d leaned over to tease her about her recent, awkwardly styled hair when he’d met the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.

The feelings made his stomach twist in knots and his body tingled. Feelings and sensations that only grew stronger when their skin brushed or when her angelic voice met his ears.

The feelings were what drove him to brash treatment. His hands shoving her shoulders against the lockers as he demanded for her money. Fingers harshly tugging at the ends of her hair. His voice yelling horrible things at her just to hear her speak back.

He couldn’t tell anyone how he was feeling either. Dating the chubby girl would cause him to lose whatever popularity he had obtained along with his pride and his gang. Their leader couldn’t be seen as the weak punk who decided to date the chubby girl from a poor family.

Jaemin sneered down at the blushing girl, taunting her loudly and Jeno watched her feeble attempt at hiding her face.

“Jaemin! Let’s go. Chubby over here isn’t worth our time,” Jeno called loudly, voice filled with authority that had Jaemin immediately moving away from the girl.

“Fine. But she owes us free meals for a week! Those clothes were expensive!” Jaemin whined.

He kissed his girlfriend's cheek and walked to the door to wait on the rest of the gang who were stuffing their last few fries in their mouths or finishing off their milkshakes.

“Let’s roll,” Jaemin called, a grin on his face.

Jeno shook his head at how fast the male changed perspectives. He grabbed his leather jacket off the back of his chair, sliding his arms into it and let it snap against his back.

The last few members finished their plates, leaving them on the table before grabbing their own jackets and following Jaemin out the door. Jeno took the end, stopping by the waitress on the floor.

“Maybe get some heels your fat feet can walk in, huh Dollface?” he sneered.

Her face flew red again and he rolled his eyes.

“And you should stop blushing. You look like a tomato. Vegetables aren’t attractive. Although it’s fitting. Tomatoes are plump.”

He walked out the door without another word, heart hammering painfully in his ears. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, but that was a problem. He couldn’t think chubby girls were beautiful. What would his friends think?

The loud purr of an engine met his ears and he sighed happily, most of his regret getting washed away, uprooted by the smell of motor oil and tires.

Jeno’s ride was a cherry red 1960 Harley-Davidson motorcycle with shiny silver wheels that didn’t match the rusted gas tank or muffler that Jeno was now saving to restore among other things. The black leather seat was slightly cracked from wear over the years and the breaks didn’t always work great. His headlight needed a new spark plug and the oil line leaked. Still, with all of these issues, he loved his bike. Each new issue gave him something to work on at night in his father's tiny little garage when all he wanted was grease on his chest and a wrench in his hand.

“Let’s go Jeno! I wanna ride!” Donghyuck moaned from his spot on his own bike, revving the engine with his right hand.

Jeno rolled his eyes at Donghyuck’s whining. Out of all of them, he was the one that loved traveling the most. They’d gone all the way up the coast the day they’d let Donghyuck lead them.

Jeno nodded and threw his leg over his bike, kicking the kick start lever and sighing happily as the bike roared to life beneath him. He pushed off his kickstand and allowed it to roll forward.

“Let’s go!” he called.

He rolled to the front of the group before revving the engine and turning onto the main road leaving the beachside snack shack behind.

When Jeno pulled into the driveway of his house, he parked his motorcycle beside his elder brother's black and gold Harley, letting the kickstand rest against the dirt driveway and dismounted..

He made his way into the house where his older brother, Jaehyun, was sitting alone in the living room flipping through channels.

Jeno’s heart hurt. All through the ride, he thought about (y/n) and the pained look in her eyes every time someone teased her. He knew it wasn’t right to bully her, especially for something as shallow as her weight or her clothes, but when the girls Jeno dated began mocking her, Jeno joined in, and pretty soon, she was alone. It hurt that Jeno could have stopped it. He could have kept her as a friend instead of ditching her, and now, here he was, hopelessly in love with the girl he bullied and too afraid to stand up to his friends out of fear that they would dump him.

“I have a problem,” he groaned, flopping down on the couch.

Jaehyun turned the small box television off and turned his attention to Jeno. Jeno rolled his head back on the plush green sofa and sighed.

“There’s this girl I like…” he started.

Jaehyun groaned in disinterest.

“So tell her. Not like you can’t get any girl. I heard you’re one of the kings of your class,” he replied.

Jeno whined. It was true. He could virtually have anyone he wanted, yet the one person he couldn’t have was the one he desired.

“I can’t. My friends wouldn’t approve and she’d never go for me… not after everything I’ve done,” he muttered hopelessly.

“Why do you care so much what your punk friends think? Do what you want, not what they want you to do.”

Jeno sighed. It wasn’t that easy and Jaehyun should know that.

“She’d never go out with me anyway and I can never tell her!” Jeno whined, hoping his brother would understand.

He was far too ashamed to come out and say exactly why she wouldn’t. “There’s girls that don’t like you?” Jaehyun asked, clearly shocked.

Jeno nodded sullenly.

“Just one…”

That seemed to make the links click in Jaehyun’s mind and Jeno wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

“You don’t mean you like the poor girl you always bully, do you?”

So Jaehyun knew about that. No wonder his brother had grown distant since Jeno had started high school.

“Um… yes…” he mumbled.

Jaehyun shuffled around on the beige chair he was sitting on before one of his dirty socks was being chucked at Jeno’s head.

“Hey!” Jeno snapped.

“You don’t treat people like that! You and your friends are assholes! That poor girl won’t forgive you for what you’ve done to her!” Jaehyun yelled.

Jeno wanted to yell back, but he knew Jaehyun was right. He was an asshole.

“What do I do to get her to like me… I don’t know how to stop this mess…” he mumbled. Jaehyun groaned and grabbed the large remote, flipping the television back on.

“You make things right. Stop bullying the girl and apologize like you mean it. Even then, it may be too late,” Jaehyun answered before his attention was back into the heavy box television.

Jeno sighed. He knew his brother was right.

The next afternoon, Jeno pulled his motorcycle into the parking lot of the snack shack, parking alongside Jisungs rusting brown one he refused to let Jaemin or Jeno strip and repaint.

Jeno dismounted and walked into the shack. His friends were crowded around their usual table, talking loudly.

Jeno walked over to the table and slid into the booth beside Renjun.

“What’d I miss?” he asked.

Jaemin was cackling and fishing ice out of his soda glass.

“(y/n) is on our table today!” he smirked.

Jeno’s heart dropped. That meant they’d be extra cruel to her today and Jeno really couldn’t do anything to tell her or his friends how he felt. The universe must really hate him.

Jaemin got the ice out of his cola glass and held it in his palm, his faze shifting to where (y/n) was shuffling around in her red striped shirt and black pants, wearing those same yellow heels.

“What are you gonna-”

Jeno was cut off as Jaemin smirked and launched the ice cube across the table, getting enough air to fly across the room until it dived down into the low cut v-line of (y/n)’s striped shirt.

“Yes! 10 points!” Jaemin cheered loudly.

(y/n) squeaked at the sudden intrusion of ice, a sound that Jeno found oddly adorable, even if it wasn’t a good kind of squeak.

Her face flamed red and she hurried back to put her notepad down on the chef’s counter before moving back to their table.

“Can I get you guys anything else?” she asked, her voice having gone up an octave from embarrassment.

“I want a chocolate milkshake,” Renjun answered.

(y/n) jotted it down and moved to look at the rest.

“I want a burger that’s charred on one side, but not too charred. Don’t bring me burnt meat or I’ll make your fatass eat it,” Jaemin said.

Jeno sighed at his friend, shaking his head subtly.

“I want a burger with a dollop of ketchup and three pickles. Don’t you dare give me any more or less than three pickles,” Donghyuck ordered.

Jeno rolled his eyes. Donghyuck didn’t even like pickles.

She glanced at Jisung and Chenle, both who were contently sipping their cola’s and completely ignoring her existence, so, after scribbling down everyone else’s orders, she turned her eyes to Jeno.

“Coke with ten pieces of ice and a burger.”

(y/n) nodded, writing all of the information down and shuffled off to the counter again.

“Do we really have to be that mean to her? She looked like she was going to cry,” Renjun muttered.

Jaemin rolled his eyes.

Jeno nodded in agreement to Renjun. Her face was sullen and her eyes glistened with tears that hadn’t fallen. His heart sank at the thought that maybe something had happened at home or that their words had finally gotten to her. In all the time they’d been bullying her, she never once said anything much to them, and they’d never seen her cry.

“Do you think we should lay off her?” he suggested.

Donghyuck and Jaemin snorted at the same time.

“Why would we do that?” Donghyuck asked.

Jeno shook his head. His friends could be such assholes sometimes. They wouldn’t even stop for someone that seems to be almost crying, they just use it to play more games. More buttons to press.

“If you’re so worried, Jeno, go check on her,” Chenle challenged.

“Yeah, go check on her!” Jaemin cackled.

Jeno shook his head and sighed, getting out of the booth. He knew very well what they expected him to do, or at least, what they wanted him to do, but he didn’t know if he could take calling her names anymore. Not when it felt like his soul was screaming at him not to.

He didn’t have much of a choice as he made his way over to her, however. He couldn’t control what his friends wanted and what he was obligated to give.

He moved up behind her and while her back was turned, he brought his hand down hard on her butt as his friends cackled loudly from their table. Jeno’s ears burned in embarrassment and guilt. If his mother knew what he’d just done, she’d be dragging him out of the snack shack by his ear.

He didn’t really know what to expect from (y/n). What he didn’t expect however, was her body whirling around rapidly, her hand raising angrily, and the sharp stinging sensation across his cheek.

“YOU HAVE NO RIGHT! I HAVE DONE NOTHING TO YOU, AND YET ALL YOU ARE YOUR ASSHOLE BUDDIES WANNA DO IS BULLY ME! WELL PISS OFF! I DON’T NEED THIS!” she screamed.

Jeno’s eyes widened. This was new…

“YOU ARE A BUNCH OF PUNKASS BOYS WITH NOTHING BETTER TO DO, BUT I SWEAR THE NEXT TIME I HEAR A COMMENT ABOUT MY WEIGHT, CLOTHES, OR HAIR, OR ANYONE TOUCHEs ME, I WILL SHOVE MY FAT FOOT UP YOUR BUTTHOLE!” she screamed angrily.

The cackling from the table had stopped as the boys gaped at their waitress in shock.

“AND YOU IDIOTS CAN GET YOUR OWN DAMN BURGERS!”

The snack shack had gone deathly quiet. Jeno stood as still as a statue, face still stinging, but not quite as painful now. The outburst from this usually quiet and reserved girl shocked him to his very core, but it also made him feel worse. Sure, the ice throwing, name calling, and excessively stupid orders had added fuel to the fire, but it was Jeno’s action that had thrown her over the edge.

“I-I’m… sorry…” he stammered out.

“DON’T SAY SORRY TO ME AFTER THE HELL YOU’VE PUT ME THROUGH!” she screamed.

Jeno’s heart pounded in his chest and his eyes gazed at her fearfully.

“I think it’s time you go home, (y/n), calm down and come back tomorrow,” the owner of the snack shack said, walking out of his office.

(y/n) nodded and let out a sniffle. Jeno didn’t know when she’d started crying. She grabbed the bag the owner handed her before running out of the shack.

“And you, young man. You and your boys get out of my shack. You’re all banned for a week. Come back in here acting like that and you’ll be banned permanently,” he said, eyes fixed angrily on Jeno.

Jeno turned to look back at his gang and sighed, waving a hand for them all to follow.

After the incident, Jeno hadn’t felt much like going on a ride with the rest of the gang. They were all perfectly fine, cackling and talking about the outburst, but Jeno couldn’t stomach it. The way she’d screamed. How upset she’d looked. He was done being a bully. Now he just needed to figure out how to go from bully to courting her, if that were even possible.

He parked his bike beside Jaehyun’s again, happy to see his brother was home and not at the rusty body shop he worked at.

He ran into the house, taking the front steps two at a time, and when he was inside, he made his way to the room he shared with Jaehyun.

“I need to borrow your boombox!” he yelled at the male.

Jaehyun, clearly not expecting the sudden intrusion, jumped off the small bed, stuffing the adult rated magazine he’d been “reading” under his mattress. Jeno rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time to find ways to ruin Jaehyun’s relationship with his girlfriend or rat him out to their mother.

“I. need. Your. boom. Box!” he enunciated.

Jaehyun stared at him incredulously.

“Uh… Why?” he asked.

Jeno shook his head angrily and shoved past Jaehyun to siffle through his side of the room searching for the large, heavy, cassette playing boombox his brother had bought a month ago.

“I need it to fix my (y/n) situation!” Jeno explained as he searched.

Jaehyun groaned.

“Movies aren’t real! That won’t work!”

Jeno ignored him. The guy always showed up at the window of the girl he was hoping to impress and the girl always forgave him. It’d work. It had to.

Jeno grabbed the large boombox from beneath Jaehyun’s bed, groaning at the weight. He heard Jaehyun sigh.

“Good luck then.”

Jeno didn’t need it. This would work. It had to work.

The ride to (y/n)’s house had proven to be a bit difficult as he struggled to hold the boombox against him. The box was large and heavy, with a small cassette player at the top that already had his chosen tape resting inside it.

The trip over was one of many stops and repositionings in an attempt not to drop the box that could very well make everything alright. He could just imagine her grinning in glee and running down to meet him, forgiving him for everything he’d ever done to hurt her.

By the time he got to her house, dusk was falling. He had maybe ten minutes before darkness engulfed the sky. Ten minutes in which he’d be tasked with making everything better.

He moved around the side of the common two story house and found (y/n)’s window easily. She appeared to be dancing to the music playing from the vinyl record player he could almost see perched by the window. It brought a smile to his lips. She looked so happy and carefree.

He could watch her all night, but he was here for a reason. He had to apologize for everything he’d ever done and confess.

He found a rock likely from her driveway by her window in the grass and picked it up. It was only one so he had to make it count.

He pressed play on the cassette player portion of the boombox and ‘It’s sad to belong’ came flowing out melodically from the speakers.

”Met you on a springtime day,”

He threw the rock hard against her window, flinching as he heard the rock bounce off. He was surprised it hadn’t broken the window.

”You were mindin’ your life and I was mindin’ mine too. The window opened and Jeno’s heart hammered in his chest.

“(y/f/n) (y/l/n)! I am so in love with you it hurts. I am so sorry for everything I’ve ever done to hurt you! All the bullying. All the teasing. I’m so sorry. You’re not fat or ugly! You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen! I just couldn’t show it! But I don’t care what my friends think! I love you! I want to be with you! I want to court you! Please forgive me!” he pleaded, not giving the girl a chance to say anything.

When he finished speaking, the song was nearing an end and his body was shaking. The girl looked almost close to tears again and Jeno grew hopeful that in any second, she’d run downstairs and jump into his arms.

“Yes it’s sad to belong to someone else when the right one comes along.”

“You love me huh? Well you have a funny way of showing it,” she sneered.

The window slammed shut and the drapes were immediately dropped, leaving Jeno alone in the darkness of the evening, his hopes dashed across the grass.

He’d waited too long to apologize.

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drwcn · 3 years

Text

midnight sun [snippet 14], following [10]

*aka the reveal scene y'all are probably waiting for, sorry it doesn't live up to expectation, lol im v tired*

↦

Lan Wangji used to have a dream, a repeating one. Nothing much happened in it, except he was back in the cave at the Burial Mount. It was how he remembered it before the Siege of Nevernight and the subsequent raid. Wei Ying was always there, perched on that slab of rock she claimed as bed. Lan Wangji knew she wasn't real. There was nothing in this world that could make him forget the terror of her wrenching herself from his grip and falling into the molten chasm. Yet there she was, sitting cross-legs on that rock, smiling at him, always smiling, as though she hadn't died violently and alone.

L-Lan Zhan - Lan Z-Zhan - Lan Zh-an -

He had never been able to discern what it was that she had tried to tell him...

Now, he finally knew, knew that he'd been fooled - no - that he'd been a fool.

Such a fool.

~~~

Everything happened slowly and all at once.

Yan'er!

Wei Wuxian shoved aside the arm Lan Wangji had raised to shield her from the blast of Jiang Yan's spiritual rage colliding with his xiongzhang's Shuoyue.

Lan Wangji watched, transfixed and horrified, as Wei Wuxian swept across the temple, a torrent of black cloth and dark unbound hair like demonic smoke coalescing around the girl curled on the ground.

The temple darkened. Shadows seemed to be drawn in to Wei Wuxian by a force unseen, and the epicenter of her being emanated a quiet eerie darkness that choked out any light. She gathered Jiang Yan from the ground and cradled the girl in her arms. Her eyes were red when she lifted them to cast a murderous glare upon Lan Xichen.

"Wei-gu'niang, I -" The master of Gusu Lan stumbled back half a step, horrified at what he'd inadvertently done and at the silent threat in those blood red eyes. "Is she - I did not mean to -"

Jiang Yan coughed abruptly, breaking the tension and jolting her mother's attention back to her. Rapidly, the demonic red faded from Wei Wuxian's eyes.

"Yan'er, Yueqian, you're all right; you're alright, just breathe."

Jiang Yan twisted and arched, pulling in several stridorous breath as she fought to quell the erratic torrents of qi flooding her meridians. Her gaze fleeted about, left and right, disoriented by the impact of her earlier rebound, until she focused in on the face in front of her, peering down in distress.

"You're alright, yatou. You're safe." (yatou = 丫头, girlie, lassie, can be an endearment term for girls)

For a minute Jiang Yan did nothing but stare up unblinkingly. She opened her mouth, teeth still rust-stained from the blood she'd spat up, but no sound came out. Then, all at once, she seemed to let go. Colour returned to her cheeks, overtaking her from collar to crown and drawing a shimmer to her eyes that Wei Wuxian realized, belatedly, was the refraction of candlelight through tears.

"阿娘。" A-niang. "哎- 哎，好孩子，我的好孩子，我是你阿娘。这么些年，是我对不起你。是阿娘的错，都是阿娘的错。" Y-yes, good child, my good child, I am your mother. All these years, I've let you down. It's my fault. All my fault. "阿娘，曕儿好想你。" A-niang, Yan'er missed you so much.

It need not be said that Jiang Yan could not conceivably have missed Wei Wuxian as she was, having never known her or known of her. Nevertheless, no one in that temple questioned the sentiment behind those earnest, innocent words. It was most natural, the longing of a child for the mother who must've have existed to bring her into this world but did not have the fortune to remain in it long enough for them to meet.

"A-niang, I feel...strange."

Wei Wuxian smiled. "I know, the feeling will pass. You'll be alright. Close your eyes, Yan'er, you need to rest."

Jiang Yan hesitated. "You won't leave? I still have so many things I wish to tell you. Promise, you won't leave?"

"I won't leave," promised Wei Wuxian, passing a hand gently across Jiang Yan's temple and leaving a glowing red talisman in its wake, which sunk softly into her daughter's skin. "Sleep."

Trusting, Jiang Yan smiled and grew still. Her breathing evened, and her head lulled to the side.

Across the temple, still reeling from the revelation, Lan Wangji struggled to his feet.

"Wei Ying -"

But he was not the only one. A sharp swoosh was all the warning there was before Sandu's blade edge swung beneath his chin.

"Jiang Cheng!"

"Jiang-zongzhu!"

"Jiang-xiong! " No one noticed when Nie Huaisang had awakened amidst the commotion.

Lan Wangji turned slowly to Jiang Wanyin and faced the man who had raised his daughter in his stead. In doing so, he had kept her identity hidden from the world.

Lan Wangji didn't know whether to thank him or hate him.

For thirteen years he had mistakenly believed that it was Jiang Wanyin who'd betrayed Wei Wuxian the most. He couldn't understand how anyone could do to the mother of their child what Jiang Wanyin did to Wei Ying at Nevernight. Especially yesterday, when Wen Ning had revealed the truth about his golden core, Lan Wangji had nearly been driven to murder by his fury. To think Wei Ying had given Jiang Wanyin everything she had, had hollowed herself out in more ways than one, and yet he had turned his back on her and treated her to the point of his sword.

Lan Wangji wanted him dead, had wanted him dead for so long. But he held back, employing his churlish silence and his spite as his only weapons of offense, not only because slaying a sect master would be an open declaration of war between their clans but because he could not deprive Wei Ying's only child of the one last parent she had left in this world. So many times he thought about telling her the truth, about how Jiang Wanyin had been the one to murder her mother, but what would that achieve but cause her more misery? She was happy as she was, living in her blessed ignorance, and because she could not hate Jiang Wanyin, Lan Wangji would hate him on her behalf.

But now, after the truth had been revealed and exposed to him every misconception and false notion he had stored like festering pus in his heart, he realized that the hatred that he felt must surely have been mutual.

"You don't get to speak to her, you faithless bastard." Jiang Wanyin cursed through grounded teeth. He glanced at Lan Xichen. "Zewu-jun, is this the true face of Gusu Lan? Hypocrites and liars who either uses and abandons or steadfastly defends a wretched creature beyond redemption at the expense of one of your own. Even if you do not recognize her as so, Yan'er is your niece!! She shares your blood!! How could you hurt her?!"

Lan Xichen had gone bloodless. Sweat dripped from his chin. His hands shook. "Jiang-zongzu, I - I did not know - I swear I did not mean - "

"Did not know?" Jiang Cheng laughed. "You think this matter can settled, can excused, if you simply exclaim ignorance?! What your perfect, honourable brother did to my sister, the absolute wretched state he had left her in after he violated her virtue - "

"A-CHENG!" Wei Wuxian yelled, head bowed and unable to look at any of them. "It's all the past; what's done is done. Stop, just stop -"

"I will NOT stop!" Jiang Cheng snapped back. "I've waited fourteen years for this moment. You may not care about yourself, Wei Wuxian, but you're of Yunmeng Jiang." He turned back to the younger of the Lan brothers, and continued through barely concealed malevolence, "What Lan Wangji owes you, owes Yan'er, I will make him pay."

[tbh]

#cql #the untamed #wangxian #midnight sun #lanyan #fem!wwx #cursed au #okay it's cursed #very very crused #corie fics #cql ficlet #apologies for any spelling or grammar erros #we don't proofread in this house #we die like lwj is about to be trottled by jc

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livingforthewhump · 3 years

Text

Bad Caretaker Part 4

No editing we die like men (meaning it’s 1 AM but my writer brain won’t let me rest until it’s posted)

Masterlist

—

Tobias’ chest heaved as he ran, harsh air burning his chest, inside and out, what with the new wound in his side. His legs ached from the seemingly infinite distance to safety, but he was still in the back of his team’s group.

Their pursuers were hot on his heels, and every step took more and more willpower. He focused on Michael’s back in front of him, hoping Levi’s chosen recon point was close. He’d be waiting with their getaway car.

Tobias didn’t see Jacob turn around from where he was leading the group, but he did hear him when he yelled, “Michael! Tobias is injured!”

Michael turned around, jaw clenching as he took in the blood soaking into the front of Tobias’ shirt. He’d been through worse before— it was just a knife wound. Wasn’t even serrated— but not while running.

Michael slung Tobias’ arm over his shoulder and all but dragged him forward. He couldn’t stop himself from screaming when his wound was pulled, tears rising to his eyes. Then he clamped his mouth shut.

“I’m sorry, I won’t- won’t do it again, please,” he whimpered instinctually, faster than his mind could process that it wasn’t Isaac beside him right now.

Michael stared at him, stumbling slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“Isaac doesn’t like it when I scream,” he managed, biting his lip to stop himself from doing it again.

Michael’s eyebrows drew together, mouth setting in a way Tobias couldn’t quite read. He seemed to want to say something, but the situation didn’t allow it, so he turned his face forward again and ran faster.

Tobias may have blacked out somewhere, because he blinked and suddenly he was lying down, the others hovering over him. He blinked blearily, confused. And then the pain hit. A pained whimper got caught somewhere in his throat and he tried to curl forward onto his wound, tears gathering pitifully in his eyes.

“Hold still, Tobias,” Jacob said, brown eyes wide with concern. “Please, you’re injured, we need to treat the wound.”

“No, n-nnh,” Tobias writhed instinctively, pulling on the hem of his shirt even though no one had made a move to touch it yet. He couldn’t let anyone see. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to know what Isaac would do if he showed his scars.

Jacob sat back a little, brow creasing further. “Tobias, please.”

Levi’s jaw set. “What’s gotten into you? You’re injured. Let us help you.”

Tobias whined again, soft words slipping out before he could stop them. “N-not, not allowed,” he whimpered, then his heart froze in his chest, combating horribly with the fire of the wound carved into his side. He prayed they didn’t hear, but judging by Jacob and Levi’s facial expressions, they definitely did. Tobias was studiously ignoring Michael, who knelt right next to him with a medical kit.

Soft hands touched his hair, pulling it back from his forehead where it had been sticking, and he would have sighed in relief had he not been so shaken by the unexpected content. That was wrong, he didn’t want to he touched right now and everyone was too close…

Isaac’s face came into view, upside down. Oh, it was Isaac’s hands in his hair. Was his head on Isaac’s lap?

Tobias’ stomach churned at the thought and he blubbered, pulling away. Isaac’s fingers tightened in his hair and pulled him back down discreetly, but harshly enough to make him wince.

“I think he’s getting fevered,” Isaac murmured.

Jacob shot him a scared look and reached forward again, too close, and Tobias choked on a sob.

It was all too close.

The blood in his veins was on fire and pulsing and wanting out, and it seeped through the gash in his side only to stain his clothes red and make them cling too him, sticky and smelling like rust, and all across his skin every permanent reminder of Isaac’s touch ached and scratched, demanding his attention and caging his heart in between their pale, raised lines, and he wanted them gone and he never wanted anyone to see them and he never wanted Isaac to touch him again but Isaac was here now and was still touching him and everyone was crowding around him and wanted to look at him and touch him and they wouldn’t stop talking—

“Guys BACK UP, he’s overwhelmed!” Michael shouted with so much authority in his tone that they all, surprisingly, listened. “We need to get him somewhere quiet with not as many people.”

“I’ll take him to his room,” Isaac agreed immediately, moving to scoop up Tobias’ limp and blood-soaked frame.

“No,” Michael said, voice firm. “I’m the one with medical knowledge. I’ll take him back and treat his wound.”

Isaac’s jaw flexed as he met eyes with Michael, but he quickly flashed a sheepish smile, conceding. “Of course. Just let me know if there’s anything you need. I know how to deal with him.”

“I’m sure you do,” Michael murmured in a bitter tone that was lost to everyone else.

“Besides, Michael’s got to be the least overwhelming of all of us.” Levi smirked and raised an eyebrow. Tobias found issue with that statement, and would have said something had he not been sniveling at the moment.

Jacob elbowed him. “Shut up.”

Isaac helped Michael gather Tobias’ weight—which, really, was much lighter than it should be. But Michael’s brain was a carnival of concerns at the moment, and wondering if Tobias ate enough was just confetti to be trampled underfoot.

As he got him into his room with the door closed behind them and the lights still off, the trembling boy seemed to relax just a little. Or maybe it was from the blood loss. Michael cursed, rushing him over to the bed and propping him up on the pillows.

“I need to see your wound, Tobias,” Michael said, reaching for his shirt.

Tobias whined and stiffened, curling in on himself. “Not, nn—Isaac-”

Michael fought helpless tears rising in his own eyes. “Tobias, please, we don’t have time for this. You could be bleeding out and I’m the one who’s going to stop that from happening, so please just let me.”

Tobias blinked sluggishly at him, muttering something that might have been a no, but Michael took it as a yes anyway. Tobias was really too weak to fight him as he pulled the shirt off, squelching and staining his fingers red with blood.

But even the wound was nothing compared to the scars covering Tobias’ torso. Jagged lines wrapping around him, places where skin had been shredded, ripped apart and left there forever. He recognized some of the marks, or at least knew what kind of instrument made them, but some of them he didn’t want to imagine. All of them made him feel sick.

Tobias whined, all the fight leaving him. He slumped backwards and let tears flood his already soaked face.

Michael took a deep breath, reaching for his supplies. Tobias was injured now, the rest could wait till later. But first… there was a doubt, a suspicion, that had been growing in his mind. He needed to know.

“Tobias… did Isaac do this to you?”

—

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @ros-is-writing @sunflower1000 @temporary-whump-sideblog @hurting-fictional-people @madrono-but-i-am-not-a-fruit @cupcakes-and-pain @sideblogformindtrash @starnight-whump @trans-writes @freefallingup13 @chartreusephoenix @multifandoms-multishipper @firewheeesky @lave-whump @misspelledwitch @tropes-for-my-md-daydreams @journey-the-panda

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lemon-boy-stan · 3 years

Text

SINGULARITY

summary: a millennium ago, your heart was broken by the only boy who loved you. a forever later, his heart was broken by the only girl he ever loved. genre: angst, vampire and witch!au (y/n is a witch). warnings: none, heartbreak. a/n: listen to/loop ‘singularity’ while reading.

The old birch door swung open with a creak, the rusted sign clattering in the eerie wind. You sighed. This place was old, and there might not be any Wi-Fi here. But it was your only shot at getting a good night’s sleep without the possibility of being murdered or robbed.

The empty road was dangerous at night and you were almost out of fuel, deserted in the middle of nowhere, miles away from Seoul. It was spooky so quiet.

There was a soft ring as the door shut and a different kind of ambience filled the velveteen walls with a ghostly light and you felt at home. A pale woman with a hunched back and greying hair appeared at the front desk - which was also birch. Birch and rusting. Like the wood was so old it rusted like metal.

A cold breeze blew and the lady frowned, raising up her tortoiseshell glasses to her face. “We haven’t had any visitors for a long time... especially since... gosh, it’s been a while. He’ll be very happy, yes, you do look quite like her. Perhaps... perhaps the time has come... a millennium, she said... perhaps it is now time for me to rest... if only...” she appeared to be talking to herself.

You took a step back. You didn’t like this place as much as you originally did. It wasn’t as fancy, more scary. It didn’t help that the woman was really, really creepy, either.

Despite your discomfort, the lady smiled, clearing her throat, the attention of her gazed eyes turning to you. “But of course, it’s far too dangerous for you to stay outside! Especially not at night...” she shivered, like she’d been reading your earlier thoughts.

“Follow me, dear, there’s a room down the hall. Unfortunately, you will have to share, as the other six have been occupied for quite a long time, if I do say so myself...” she chuckled at her own joke, though you didn’t really understand it. The place looked kind of empty. “We can move your things inside once you’ve settled in.”

“Oh, no,” you interrupted her quickly, “thank you, but I’ll just be staying overnight.” you might not even stay the whole night. You’d probably find a way to sneak out later without offending the old woman, she looked lonely.

The lady chuckled sadly, “that’s what they all say, isn’t it? He always lures them here, looking for her. Poor man. Feasts on all those pretty girls. In and never out, just like clockwork. Leaves the rest for his hyungs. You’re different, though. Perhaps there is something about you, he might like, hmm? I wish you farewell and good luck, dear, this is your stop. I hope you enjoy reading.” with a tilt of her hand she waved, and then she was gone.

The door swung open by itself, whistling in the air. It was pretty spooky, and it wasn’t even Halloween yet, it was May, but the interior designers obviously didn’t think so.

The Victorian walls were laced with black swirls that looked like cobwebs. The mirror on said wall was round and coloured an ominous black shade. The bed was black and ghastly, with black and red sheets. Above it hung a black clock that seemed to be broken.

You checked yours, and it appeared to have stopped as well. You clicked your phone but the screen remained dark. You began to back out of the room, instincts shouting danger. The door slammed shut. The candles, scattered all over the room in black mantles, flickered, their flames swaying in the breeze as a lump formed in your throat. Whoever was here was trying to scare you, and it was working.

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” a thick, chocolatey, hollow voice oozed out with warmth, making you jump. The voice chuckled at your surprise obnoxiously. You turned to the corner of the room, where a man with dark hair, pale skin and a ruffled white collar sat at a writing desk, returning his fountain pen to the pot of ink.

The beautiful man smiled, getting up. “Chaewong really outdid herself this time...” he murmured the words quietly, taking a step forwards, approaching you carefully. “What a brilliant witch she is, hmm?” the woman at the front desk was a witch? Now, that didn’t make any sense.

“Am I high?” you didn’t mean to say. The man glared at you and you were afraid you’d offended him but thankfully, he sighed, uncrossing his arms.

“Your generation... you’re all so naïve.” he scoffed at his own words, prancing around you like a predator stalking his prey; as if he were some kind of higher power. You frowned. What did he mean, ‘your generation’? You were the same age as he was, if not a few months younger. Anyone could tell.

“Look,” you went with your guts. “I get that this is a joke. So, you got your eomma into it somehow, and got a bit of technology for it, too. I gotta say, great job on the set. But this is getting really creepy, and I just really need a place to stay. I don’t mind sharing a room with you, but if you don’t mind just backing off for a bit -”

Your own eomma had always said you were bad at choosing words of speech. The man growled before huffing and uncrossing his arms again. “You always were the same, weren’t you? Stubborn. Forgetful. Ignorant.” he laughed at forgetful and you clenched your fists; you really didn’t like this guy’s vibe.

“Alright, that’s it. I’m going to call the police. You’re going to jail for harassment. See here? I’m going to call the police on you.” you wove your phone around even though you’d been having trouble turning it on.

The man sighed sadly, “that won’t work.” he hung his head low, sniffing. The voice that dripped confidence now dripped misery. “I’m sorry, Y/N... I learnt my lesson. I really did. I love you forever. I didn’t mean to court her. I only ever wanted you; only you.”

“How do you know who I am?” these serial killers were dangerous on a whole new level. The black-haired man sighed, pushing back his dark locks. “Magic doesn’t stop time,” he murmured sadly, “but love does.” He stepped closer, hoping, praying, that you recognised those words. All you recognised, however, was that you needed to get out of here, and fast.

“Magic always came with a price,” the man continued on, “but you won’t remember that.” you felt sorry for him, perhaps he had a bad case of amnesia. “You’re the one under a memeory spell! Your own, if I do recall.” could everyone here read your thoughts? “Yes,” he crossed his arms, “yes, we can.”

“‘We’?” you thought out loud. The tall man grumbled loudly. “You used to know them. And it’s your fault you forgot them. They are members of our kingdom’s court.” now he was talking nonsense. “I am not talking nonsense,” he retorted, “merely the truth. You knew them, once, and you left them. But nevermind that. You’re here now, and right now all that really matters, is us. You and I, together again.”

He advanced, and before you could object, hooked an arm around your waist, and placed a kiss on your lips. You gasped, but not from the kiss. A white light flashed through your mind at an instant; a thousand memories tumbling into you all at once, pouring the heart back into your soul.

The boys at the palace were brats. They had you set the table only for them to mess it up again. They would send you to fetch things, only for them to tell you to return them shortly after. You went to school, hoping to make friends, only for them to have spread a rumor about you weeks before.

They did get better throughout the years, though, and began treating you as an equal. As their friend. And you didn’t mind, being the only girl in a group of eight. You liked it.

But you liked one of them in particular, more than the rest. He was kind, quiet, beautiful, and he felt absolutely heavenly. His soft voice always sung you to sleep. His warm heart always comforted your broken one. He was the closest that you’d ever been to someone. He was -

“Kim Taehyung.” you spoke into the breath, gasping out the tears. You felt like someone had torn you open, pulled out your heart, thrown it away for years, only for you to find it again. “I’m sorry,” he choked, “I didn’t mean to. She. I was helpless, she...” only to find it broken again. “Please, please forgive me.” the words stung. “You let her,” your voice broke, “you let her make you a monster.” Taehyung flinched at your words.

“She made me,” he insisted, still holding you tight. “She made me. I couldn’t let her get to you, I couldn’t. I couldn’t let her turn you into...” he choked again, “into what I am.”

Suddenly cold, you turned around, back facing him, taking a step forwards. “No!” his voice towered through the walls. Chairs and tables worked together to form a barrier that trapped you in with him. “Please,” his thick voice was shaky, “please let me love you.”

A single tear bit your cheek on its way down. That was as much as you would allow yourself over this man. He’d broken your heart one too many times. “I’m sorry, Taehyung,” you shook your head, shaking silently with tears. “But I love you too much.”

He moaned with such misery that you wanted to break down and cry on him, just like you used to all those years ago. “At least break the curse,” he pleaded, “none of those girls are anything compared to you.” your heart screamed at you. Your lip trembled, “it’s already broken.” you knew he was frowning, “true love’s kiss.”

BTS MASTERLIST // TXT MASTERLIST

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cherryblossom-chopper · 3 years

Note

Hihi♡ Can I please have an angst scenario for Benn Beckman where he had an argument with his fem S/O and said something rude then the S/O gets off at an island and is captured; and he finds her tortured and stuff. Sorry if it's too much hehe,, I've been soo deprived of angst lately. And if you don't write for Benn, can you do it for Ace or Shanks instead? Tysm in advance😘 love your writing btw😌 Keep up the amazing work honey💕

Hi dearest, I’m sorry for taking so long to get this up but here it is. I hope you enjoy it. Also, you may have seen this but here's something kind of similar I did awhile ago with Shanks. Love you!

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1,243

Faith

Benn flung open the cellar door. The musky smell of dust and rot floated past the pirate. He wrinkled his nose, and he took his first steps down into the cellar. The stone steps were crumbling under his feet as if they hadn't been touched in years. The unsettling cold of the near-empty cellar clung to his skin. Benn had to crouch to protect his head from hitting the ceiling. The farther he traveled from the steps, the meaner the chill became, and the smell of mildew became stronger. Benn let out a long low whistle; the sound bounced off the walls and into darkness. He listened keenly for his responses. His heart jumped into his throat as a broken-sounding whistle replied. It was broken, but it was her whistle. They continued their game of Marco-Polo until (Name) finally came into view.

Benn knelt in front of her. In the darkness, he cupped (Name) 's face and whispered, "Hey Sugarcane, are you with me?"

(Name) nodded her head yes before whispering in a hoarse voice, "I think I'm hurt."

Benn sucked in a breath, "Where? Where are you hurt, (Name)?" His hands gently began trailing down her skin. His warm fingers soothed the goosebumps for a moment. In response to her silence, Benn draped his coat over her shoulders as he began trying to find her wounds. His lips pursed as his fingers felt the rusted metal on the cuffs clamped far too tight on (Name) 's wrists. Benn struggled to pry them apart, then began investigating the chains attached to the wall. He was sure he looked pretty foolish at the moment; if a light turned on at the moment, it would certainly look as if Benn was the feral beast keeping (Name) captive.

He pulled his gun from his waist and began bashing the butt of the weapon against the chains. Benn desperately pulled on the chains, and the wall the chains were attached to began to give. With more furious beating against the cracks and then a final pull on the chains, the first one popped out of place.

(Name) watched with a tired but relieved expression as Benn began to work on the second chain. She couldn't help but reach out to him while working on getting the next chain free. She managed to grasp the hem of Benn's dark shirt before whispering, "What if they catch us?"

Benn looked over his shoulder with a sly grin on his face, but it's not like (Name) could see it. "Do you really think it was just me coming for you?" he chuckled, "I'm not the only one who loves you, Sugarcane."

(Name) couldn't help but smile back at Benn. "The captain is coming?" she asked as Benn pulled the final chain free.

"Of course he is. Shanks is probably tearing the town upside down as we speak in search of you," Benn pulled (Name) to his chest, "Can you walk at all?"

In her stubbornness (Name) did make an attempt to walk. She managed to take a few awkward steps before her legs couldn't move anymore.

Benn did his best to hold (Name) as he moved through the tight cellar. "Damn, I'm sure you're the only one who fits down here, Shortie," Benn swore as he awkwardly moved about.

When they finally reached the steps, Benn sighed in relief. Not only could he stand up straight now, but the sunlight poured in from the surface. He held her close to his chest and hurried up the steps; there was no time to waste now that he could move properly.

(Name) squinted and groaned at the light and hid her face in Benn's chest. "It's so bright," she murmured.

Benn smiled a little before jostling her in his arms, "Let me get a better look at you now that I can see." His breath caught in his throat when he saw (Name) 's face clearly. Blood caked on the side of her face. It was beginning to crust at the edges. Part of her hairline was sticky, and her scalp was stained red. Her face and arms had been sliced and bruised. Benn couldn’t bear to imagine what other horrors were hidden beneath his cloak.

Benn's entire body started to tremble as he looked at her bloody and beaten face. "(Name) I'm so sorry," his mouth was dry, and he looked sick, "Gods, (Name). I'm so sorry, if I had known this would happen, I would've never…" Benn trailed off as she tried to turn away from him. He swallowed hard, then began heading towards the docks. As they left, Benn was murmuring apologies between stern reminders. "I know you're angry with me, but keep your eyes on me," he kept saying.

Benn managed to fish his handheld responder snail out of his pocket. He called his captain and confirmed that (Name) was alive but badly injured. She managed to croak out a hello to the captain as well. In which the Shanks-like face became upset at the state of his fellow crew member.

Once Benn got on deck, he was met with a serious-faced captain. Shanks’ face was dark with concern, and followed a very silent Benn toward the ship's infirmary. The captain watched Benn bring (Name) inside the infirmary and promptly get kicked out.

Benn tapped his foot impatiently and watched the door waiting for the doctor to let him back in. He was so focused on his thought that he jumped when Shanks patted his back.

"You can unclench your jaw now," Shanks said with a hint of a smile on his face, "She'll be just fine."

"Liar," Benn muttered, "She was trapped in a warehouse cellar." Benn began to fidget and pulled out a cigarette. After lighting it, he took a long drag from it and tilted his head away from Shakes.

"You can't wait out here forever, Beckman," Shanks sighed before turning to leave, "Have faith in your crewmates, won't you?"

And Benn did have faith. He waited and waited, and his faith rewarded him. He nearly collapsed with relief when the physician said (Name) would be alright. They asked him if he wanted to see her, and Benn said yes, but saying and doing are very different. The guilt began to bubble up in his mind and effectively make his stomach ache. If only he hadn't had shouted at her, maybe things would be different.

He took a deep breath and stepped inside the recovery room. Benn grit his teeth at the sight of his partner curled up on the bed. In a low voice, he called her name, the cowardly part of him hoping she'd be asleep. That part of him was overjoyed to hear the soft snore come out of (Name). The part of himself made of sheer grit and grease was agitated. Not with her, not really. Benn just wanted to kiss and make up.

Benn sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh. "You need to get better soon (Name). I need to apologize to you properly. Besides, if you leave me without at least getting the apology you deserve, I'll have to be grumpy for the rest of my life. And I'm far too scary as it is to win the heart of anyone else, so unless I'm destined to be a crotchety bachelor, you gotta get better. Please, have faith in me to do the right thing."

#benn beckman #x reader #benn x reader #benn beckman x reader #benn beckman angst #one piece #one piece angst

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theskywaslookingback · 3 years

Text

[AO3] - [read the rest of the series here]

Martin has the TV set to a low murmur, letting Bake Off reruns play in the background as he combs his fingers through Gerry’s hair. It’s warm in the flat, the summer worming its way in through the cracks of the place and turning everything hot and tight. The fan is louder than the TV, oscillating back and forth between the two bodies slumped on the sofa and the one on the chair.

Jon grumbles as the movement rustles his papers, his glasses low on his nose and gaze intent on the paper he’s reading.

“You know,” Gerry says from his comfortable position on Martin’s lap, “if you didn’t assign so much work, you wouldn’t have so much to grade.”

Martin pinches Gerry’s ear in admonishment as Jon makes a noise of protest from his comfortable perch on the arm chair. Gerry yelps and then laughs, swatting at Martin’s hand.

“I’m just saying, you do this to yourself.”

“Hush,” Martin says, tugging gently on a lock of black hair, “It’s too hot to deal with you.”

Gerry hums, picking his head up enough to wink at Jon who just sighs in reply. Gerry settles back in and Martin resumes his petting. It’s nice, despite the heat, one of the very few days they have to spend together. Jon had offered to help out with a summer class at the university that had been overbooked and Gerry had recently been promoted to manager at the bar he’d been working for, which was all phenomenal and Martin was so proud of them both, but it left them all with shockingly little time together.

Martin’s thumb strokes down Gerry’s neck, rubbing over an old tattoo of an eye, pressing down slightly at the pupil. Gerry huffs a breath into his lap and turns just enough to look at him. “Hi,” Martin says.

“Hey.” Comes the soft reply, warm and fond.

Martin would very much like to kiss him, but that would require a level of flexibility he’s never possessed, so he settles for bringing his own hand up to his palm and kissing the center of it before setting it back down lightly over Gerry’s mouth. He can feel the smile tugging at Gerry’s lips before his palm is being kissed in return and Martin brings it back up to his mouth. “Tea?” He asks after finishing the ritual.

“Christ,” Jon says, letting his papers and pen fall onto the small table at his side. The pen jumps at the small shock and rolls off onto the floor. “Please? If I don’t take a break I may actually start pulling my hair out.”

“Well we wouldn’t want that.” Martin says.

“Mmm, I don’t know.” Gerry says, tapping his finger to his chin as if in indecision, “Bald can be sexy. I seem to recall a time when you shaved your head and it didn’t look that bad.”

“Oh?” Delight suffuses through Martin like honeyed sunshine, “Now that’s something I would have loved to have seen.”

Gerry’s face lights up and he sits bolt upright. “Wait here a second,” he says before hopping off the couch and bounding toward the bedroom. There’s a loud crack, like the door has banged off a wall, and then the sound of things hitting the floor in a hurry.

Martin looks over at Jon, bewildered, but Jon just gives a helpless shrug, looking just as lost as he feels. He’s about to get up and go see just what the hell Gerry is doing when he comes tearing back into the room, clutching something in his hands.

“Look!” He crows, clearly pleased with himself, and hands out a book to Martin.

It’s not very large, about the size of a standard journal, and bound in worn, brown leather. The front of it is scuffed, the top corner bent inward like it’d been stepped on or stuffed somewhere and left like that for a long time, forgotten. “What is-“

From the chair he hears Jon say, “Is that-“

But Gerry drowns them both out with his plea of, “Open it!”

So Martin does.

Inside the front cover is a mess of pen drawings and doodles. A stylized eye, a moth, an anarchy symbol, a middle finger, half of them overlapping and the lines blurring. There’s a burst of black in the top right, a dark blot like a burst pen. In the center of the mess are big blocky letters, all caps.

PROPERTY OF GERRY KEAY

Below that, in a much smaller font that Martin can only decipher from years of recognition and practice.

and Jon Sims.

Martin looks up at Gerry who just grins and flops back down on the couch next to him, pressing hard up against his side like he’s eager to watch. Martin flips to the next page.

There’s a polaroid taped to the center, two young boys staring up at him with twin grins of mischief and joy. The boy on the left has chestnut brown hair cropped short. His mouth and hands look sticky and stained a bright red, the likely cause of which being the ice lolly stick still clutched in his right hand. The boy on the right is much smaller, with unruly black hair and red stains on his button down shirt and a matching red mouth. At the bottom someone had written in a tight, cursive script ‘Gerard and Jonathan, August 1999.’ Someone had drawn an ice cream van on the bottom of the page. At the top, in Gerry’s capital letter font, were the words PARTNERS IN CRIME.

The following pages are similar, photos taped onto the pages, sometimes overlapping each other. Some were clearly taken by Jon’s grandmother - the two of them dressed in suits for some function, the two of them sitting at a table and studying, the two of them asleep in the backyard. Others were clearly taken by the two themselves - Gerry smoking a cigarette and flipping off the camera, Jon holding a bottle of beer, Jon reaching for the camera and looking angry, Gerry riding a skateboard, Gerry on the ground with his skateboard upside down next to him. Some of them held commentary - WE LOOKED LIKE TWATS we were eleven!, Gerry has never once landed a kick flip HEY!!!!, we stayed up waiting for the meteor shower, BEST MATES FOR LIFE. Even more held doodles - ocean waves crashing against a rock, a pair of doves, zig zag mazes and tic tac toe, a lit cigarette and a bottle of beer.

“Ah-ha!” Gerry exclaims when Martin is more than halfway through the book, jamming his finger down at the picture taped there.

Martin jumps and looks at him.

“I knew it was in here,” Gerry says smugly.

By this point it looked as if Gerry had already started dying his hair black and growing it long, almost past his shoulders. His eyes were rimmed in black eyeliner and he had at least two piercings that Martin knew hadn’t come with parental permission. Next to him was Jon, hair buzzed down to his scalp and scowling impressively at the camera, wearing a too large leather jacket and a t-shirt for a band Martin had never heard of.

“Oh!” Martin says, grinning, “It looks so good!” He looks up to gauge Jon’s reaction, maybe even tease him a bit, but the words die quickly in his throat.

Jon’s looking right at Gerry, his face a mass of emotions that Martin is at a loss to try and describe. His eyes look wet.

“Jon?” Martin asks, concern tugging away his amusement and leaving it raw.

Gerry’s head snaps up, his own smile rapidly disappearing in the weight of Jon’s gaze.

There’s a long moment where none of them say anything and the room is stifling from the heat and tension. Martin looks between the two of them, trying to piece together what on earth could possibly be wrong, but he’s coming up short on pieces to work with.

It seems like forever before Jon finally says, “You kept it?” The tone of his voice is raw and brittle.

Martin very gently closes the book and sets in down on the coffee table.

Gerry’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times, confused noises eeking out like the squeaking of a rusted hinge. He seems almost as lost as Martin is. Finally his words take shape and land on, “Yes? Yeah, of course I did. Why wouldn’t I have?”

Jon’s eyes flicker away, to the oscillating fan and then to the TV kindly asking if they were still watching. He picks at a loose thread on the chair, fingers working anxiously. “I thought…after your mother- after you left- I thought that…”

Gerry’s eyebrows pull together, his lips tipping down into a frown. “What? Did you think I’d thrown it away?”

Jon shrugs, first one shoulder and then the other, like the collapse of a building. “Just kind of...assumed.” His hands were wringing together now, picking at the skin gently and scratching at his wrist. “After the...after the funeral we weren’t really talking, and then you were just...gone. Thought maybe…” Jon shrugs again, this time lower, hunching himself down smaller, “maybe you didn’t want to remember.”

Oh, Martin thought distantly. Gerry’s mother, Mary, had died when he was only 16, apparently by suicide. It had been a sudden, violent thing that had sent Gerry’s childhood spiraling in a direction he couldn’t control. Less than a week from the time his mother had died, Gerry had been uprooted from the home in Bournemouth he’d always lived in and made to move in with a distant relative named Gertrude up in London. He’d barely had time to process any of it, let alone let Jon know what was happening. It was over ten years before they’d seen each other again, and the gap had always been a sore spot for both Jon and Gerry.

Gerry makes a choked noise and crosses the room in quick strides to kneel in front of the chair. He gathers Jon’s hands in his own, cradling them together. “No,” he says, so softly Martin can barely hear him, “Not you.” He brings their hands up so he can kiss the backs of Jon’s hands, brush his lips over the knuckles. “I never wanted to forget you.”

Jon’s breath hitches.

Martin watches Gerry hold Jon’s hands to his face and mumble something that he can’t make out. Jon’s fingers twitch in response and he huffs out a breath. After a moment he gets up and goes into the kitchen to make them all some tea, flicking the switch on the electric kettle and rummaging through the pantry to find the container of lemongrass tea that he knows Jon likes and the mint tea that Gerry prefers. It doesn’t take long, but he likes the ritual of it anyway. He gathers their two mugs in one hand, and his own mug of a spicy black tea in the other and heads back into the sitting room.

Jon has moved over to the couch, tucked under Gerry’s arm with the book in his lap.

Martin smiles and sets their tea down.

When Jon looks up, Martin bends down and kisses his forehead and then grins wider when Jon’s nose and forehead scrunch up.

“Okay?” Martin asks.

Jon waves at him dismissively but makes a grab for his shirt when Martin turns like he’s going to take the chair. “Yes,” he says, exasperated, “come here, please.”

Gerry squishes himself into the corner and pulls Jon closer to make room, so Martin sighs and fits himself in next to them on the sofa. It’s a cramped fit, but ultimately worth it for the way Jon relaxes against him, flipping absently through the book of memories on his lap.

“Gerry had a point, at least.” Martin says.

“Hm?”

“You looked good with a shaved head,” Martin says too lightly, “might be a good summer to try it again.”

Jon’s protests are drowned out by Gerry’s instant and joyous peal of laughter.

Jon says something about ‘nothing being sacred’, the tips of his ears burning, while Martin tries to hide his grin in his cup of tea. He almost succeeds.

#fic #my fic #visible world #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerard keay #jongerrymartin #((here I’ve been writing for like three hours))#((you can have it))#((edit: just realized this was missing a whole ass paragraph??))#((also added a keep reading since apparently no one will reblog anything anymore))

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