#angst minific

[forlix]

𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫・h.h.

— an impromptu drive to the airport at five in the morning rekindles conversations and feelings alike.

words・2.5k pairing・ex-boyfriend!hyunjin x gn!reader genres・angst, mutual pining, hurt w/no resolution, established (former) relationship, Airport Scene™ warnings・implied toxicity, strong language, Not a Happy Read

a/n・dear anon who asked where this went after i posted and deleted it a few months ago & dear other anon who requested mentioned hyune angst: this is for u, my loves

“I’m outside,” was how you were greeted over the phone earlier, in a tone so callous and cold that you barely recognized the speaker. Barely.

“Sorry, you’re what?”

“You have a flight today, right? I said I’d take you to the airport.”

One second, you were at a complete loss; the next, you thought you were going to erupt with how much you felt and how much you wanted to say, the weight of the situation hitting you with full force. Your ex-boyfriend, to whom you hadn’t spoken in nearly three weeks, had just materialized outside your home with no warning at the ass crack of dawn and suggested you get into a car alone with him for an hour.

As if that wasn’t the very last thing you wanted to do.

Briefly, you reflected on how you parted ways; you wouldn’t say the breakup was malicious, but it certainly wasn’t amicable, either. The longer your relationship went on, the more questions you raised—important and unavoidable considerations of your future together, none of which Hyunjin could give you substantial answers to. Whether it was because he couldn’t or because he simply didn’t care to try, you didn’t know. But the fact that you had to ask yourself that at all was enough for you to take a step back.

Distance morphed into passive aggression. That, in turn, precipitated constant conflict. The starlight that you saw in Hyunjin fizzled further with every biting word and slammed door. The resulting supernova was far from the beautiful spectacle you’d been promised in your astronomy textbooks.

Standing on the sidewalk outside your apartment was your fallen star in the flesh.

“Let me do this, Y/N."

You’d gone silent for what felt like whole minutes before Hyunjin spoke again.

"Please," he added. You perceived how the word weakened towards the end, some of the frost in his voice displaced by quiet exasperation.

It was these observations, plus the time displayed on the clock hanging above your bathroom door, that prompted you to take your luggage in hand and leave your apartment. You were going to miss your flight if you stood there, glowering silently, for any longer.

When you emerged into the frigid morning, you spotted Hyunjin’s silhouette immediately, and something inside you came undone, as though a knot had been doing itself over and over since you and him parted ways. Your eyes locked together, your gaze contemplative, his a little surprised, as if he didn’t actually expect you to accept his offer.

The first word that came to your mind was exhausted. You could tell that the shadows on his face weren’t just products of the lone streetlight above his head; he had his back curved in a slouch that made him look a few inches shorter than he was. You were reminded of a balloon with an indiscernible opening somewhere on its surface, gradually and inevitably deflating.

Much to your irritation, the second word to surface in your mind was beautiful. Hyunjin’s normally sharp features, from what you could see beneath his hood, were bare and smooth from fatigue; thick strands of dark hair, longer than you remembered, fell effortlessly over his forehead and his cheekbones; his figure somehow looked even broader, leaner when fitted in the loose material of a hoodie and sweatpants.

He was the spitting image of a man you used to know, who looked just like this whenever he wandered into your bedroom at the end of the day, whenever he wrapped you into his arms and littered kisses over your skin until sleep overcame the both of you like a warm, clear tide, whenever he greeted you with a smile that shone like the tropical sun the next morning.

You were standing in front of a ghost.

You broke eye contact first, averting your eyes to your luggage instead. Just in time to see and feel his hand brush against yours when he took your suitcases from you and loaded them into the trunk, all without saying a word.

Now, twenty minutes have passed since Hyunjin started driving, and forty remain before you reach the airport. The vehicle is deathly silent save for the drone of wheels against pavement and wind whistling against dusty windows. You haven’t looked at Hyunjin since you met him outside your place. Instead, your eyes are fixated on the lights of Seoul and the way they flicker out of sight one by one as you drive further away.

And you remember.

The different memories you have of this car blow through your mind like you’re skimming a flipbook. That time you burst into tears mid-drive and Hyunjin pulled over on the side of the highway, giving you his undivided attention as you ranted about the terrible day you’d had. That time you noticed a paparazzi van stationed around the corner and the two of you sank so low in your seats that you had to later unfold yourselves from beneath the glove compartments. The assorted dog-shaped air fresheners you bought for him, a new one hanging from the rear-view every month (except the one that resembled Kkami, which stuck around for almost a year). The caffeine-flavored kisses shared over the cupholders between the seats, one person tipping over the drinks precariously, the other moving to catch them with a soft huff of laughter. The extra hoodie he kept in his backseat for if you ever accidentally underdressed when you went out together. The playlist you curated together, always playing quietly in the background.

You never gave this car a second thought when you and Hyunjin were together, but it is only now that you realize the place felt a little like an extension of home, of him.

The silence becomes fucking excruciating.

You are not sure if Hyunjin is interested in speaking to you. You’re less sure if you even have anything to say to him. But you open your mouth anyway.

“Thank you,” you say, hardly audible. “For doing this.”

A pregnant pause follows. Hyunjin probably wasn’t expecting you to start a conversation—neither were you, to be fair.

Little do you know that he has been trying and failing to string together a sentence since the moment he started the engine, and hearing your voice feels like clouds parting on a foggy day, a singular ray of sunshine settling on his cheek.

“It’s no trouble,” he returns. He’s quiet for a while after this, and you’re beginning to think the conversation is already over when he clears his throat.

“How are you feeling? About the trip, I mean.”

“Good. I think it’ll be nice to get away from Seoul for some time.”

Your choice of answer is intentional, and you can tell by Hyunjin’s lack of immediate response that he picks up on this.

“And you?” You return. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine, thanks. The members and I went to the states a few days ago, finished up album promotions there.”

“Oh, right.” He’d told you about this; they’d been in Japan prior, if you remember correctly. “And everything went well?”

“Yeah. It was a lot of fun.”

“When did you get back?”

You don’t expect him to hesitate at such a simple question, but he does.

“Few hours ago,” he mumbles.

This takes you a few seconds to process. And then, so surprised at his answer that you can no longer help yourself, you finally lift your gaze to the side of Hyunjin’s face.

Your eyes comb over the fluorescent lights of the highway illuminating the slope of his nose; the weariness clouding his irises; his teeth latched gently around his lower lip, as if trying to prevent himself from saying another word.

Hyunjin turns his head to look at you, too, only for a few seconds and more out of anxiety than anything. But you have long mastered the art of reading the fine print of his facial expressions, and that brief interval is enough for you to catch what hadn’t been there the last time you’d looked him in the eye: the true reason why he’d hardly set his bags down on the dormitory floor before he was leaving again, piling into a car and going to you; the same entity that you know is etched all over your face, too.

Yearning.

He is the one who looks away first this time, with a soft snap of his head like he has to force himself to do it—but the damage has already been done.

“Idiot,” you mutter under your breath, and you mean it in every sense of the word.

And it’s so unexpected (and so damn true) that it wrests a laugh from Hyunjin’s lips, the sound every bit as light as it is dark. The bittersweet smile that it leaves behind on his face mirrors helplessly onto your own.

You don’t say another word to each other for the rest of the drive.

The sun has risen by the time Hyunjin pulls up to the curb of the international terminal, but there’s hardly anybody around at this time of day, so he doesn’t mask up before stepping out of the car. He places your suitcases in front of you, then holds up a finger as a silent gesture of wait right there—and he dashes up the curb, beelines towards the line of trolleys, and pulls one over. 

You feel a helpless warmth in your fingertips as you haul your suitcases onto the metal platform together. Even now, he’s taking care of you, as thoughtlessly and naturally as respiring.

“Is that everything?”

“I think so.”

And the two of you find yourselves two feet apart and facing each other, examining your counterparts as if the answer of what the fuck to say now lies in the curves of their cheeks, in the purse of their lips.

But all you obtain from looking at Hyunjin is a glimpse of that wicked entity again, yearning, now in the form of eyes softened by the sunrise and lips parted by forbidden words, sitting readily on the tip of his tongue.

You feel a deep, hollow sadness within you, derived from knowing and hating that no amount of yearning will change the reality that he’s not yours anymore.

“Have a great trip,” Hyunjin says at last. “Be safe, okay?”

“I will,” you answer. “Thank you again. Get some rest today.”

Your arms move to push your trolley, but not before they nearly twitch in his direction with how much you want to hug him goodbye. The last thing you see before turning around is his hand in the air, and then you enter the airport, wondering vaguely if you will ever see him again.

You're in a bit of a numb state as you check in your bags and step into the line for security. The last hour has left you feeling like your heart and mind have filled with static—the kind that shows up when there are too many television signals in the air, all of them unintelligible and amorphous.

But then there is a shout of your name behind you, so urgent that the familiar voice cracks over the last syllable, like bone breaking upon boulder. You turn around.

The white noise clears.

The soles of Hyunjin’s sneakers echo as he runs across the mostly-empty airport; his hood has been knocked down and his long hair set free, combed backward by the wind; there are other eyes on him, but he is only looking at you, something else burning in his gaze now, something certain and familiar. 

You move your suitcases aside and extend your arms, your pulse racing with anticipation—just in time for him to positively crash into you. He very well could have hurt you with how quickly he’s moved toward you, but the very instant his skin meets yours, he’s gathering you so tightly and securely in his arms that he cushions his own fall, costing you only of the breath in your lungs.

And the two of you fuse together like a cosmic collision, imperfect but quintessential. The moon’s craters themselves.

He knots one hand in your hair and cradles the back of your neck with the other; you form fists around the fabric of his hoodie, your face disappearing into the junction of his neck and shoulder. And you feel the tears come at last: tears of relief, of regret, of remembrance.

There are a billion things Hyunjin wants to say to you then. He wants to thank you for loving him. He wants to blame you for loving him. He wants to tell you that it was all worth it for him, so long as he was once the reason that you smiled. He wants to convince you—and himself—that nothing was meant to last forever, that the two of you were destined to burn out, the same way even the biggest and brightest of heavenly bodies have shelf lives too.

But there is one train of thought that overshadows the rest. It rings louder and truer than anything he has ever known and emerges straight from the chambers of his heart.

“I—” He sounds shattered when he speaks, his voice muffled where his lips touch your skin, his words a rasp that is only audible to you. “I still—”

“I know,” you whisper, squeezing your watering eyes. “Me too.”

And you think the shaky “fuck” that leaves his lips is an apt summary of the absolute mess that the two of you have found yourselves in: entirely and obtusely enamored with the person who has proven themselves to be incompatible with your love, time and time again.

You are only willing to pull away far enough from Hyunjin so that you can look at him, his cheeks now damp with saltwater and flushed with emotion, his dreary eyes swimming with adoration and sorrow. You cradle his face with both hands, and he drops his arms to circle around your waist. His fingers lace together against the small of your back.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you murmur. You wipe at his tears with your thumbs, touch your forehead to his. “We’re gonna be okay, Hyun.”

His reply is so sad and so small that your heart feels like it’s being carved out of your chest with a blunt pocket knife. “When?”

You don’t know the answer.

You don’t know the answer when you finally go through security, the final boarding call for your flight booming through the intercom, Hyunjin’s face buried in his shaking sleeves.

You don’t know the answer when you return to Seoul a few months later, and Hyunjin is not there to give you a lift this time.

You don’t know the answer when your birthday passes and you still receive texts from Hyunjin’s parents, wishing you well, reminding you to take care of yourself. Nor do you know the answer on the birthday after that, or the birthday after that, which is when the texts stop coming.

You won’t know the answer for a very long time—so much so that you spend years of your life doubting there’s an answer at all. But you find it one day when you least expect it, and it congeals in your mind like expired milk, numbs your mouth like the strongest of anesthetics. 

You have your answer then, but you don’t want it.

You never have.

🔖・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

#hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #hyunjin imagines #k-labels #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #hyunjin scenarios #stray kids angst #skz angst #hyunjin angst #stray kids #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #skz #*writing #*minific

[showf4lls]

Saw your post asking for ted requests SO HERE IT IS! 

prompt: head canons for: making up after an argument. like post-angst fluff, how would they apologise, makeup to the reader, etc.

( if you could do the full chuckle sandwich boys+ wilbur, that would be pretty cool. And if not, still cool)

― the come down; various

cw + info! angst, hurt/comfort?, fluff [not really but i tried], minifics / implied fighting, the boys are a little insensitive sorry

includes! ted nivison + charlie slimecicle + jschlatt + wilbur soot

notes! sorry, this turned out a little more angsty than i intended, but i hope you enjoy! it’s more hurt/comfort than fluff, my bad homies :/. i’ve also decided that i’m writing these minifics and then i’m putting out fluffier headcanons to go along with this because i don’t feel like these fill the actual request :> also when you fight with your partner, you should probably sit down and talk about it, not just say sorry and move on, i just didn’t know how to write that conversation so my bad y’all

TED NIVISON

it’s like dropping a nuke; the big bang before the smoke clears, and then, silence. you can’t bring yourself to look at him, lips curved downwards and eyes watery. and he watches with careful, wide eyes, mouth hanging open on his words. then you make to leave the room, quietly maneuvering around him. he turns to you, making to set a hand on your shoulder, warm the icy facade he’d been responsible for creating, but you dodge, stepping just out of reach. “ted, please,” you hiss, voice quivering. barely holding it together.

and ted's hand falls back to his side. head drops, and he gives a single, understanding nod. without another word, you hole up in the guest bathroom, face buried in your sleeve.

ted waits. knows it’s important that you both have your space. to process, to cool off, to come down. he gives you time despite the magnetic pull behind his sternum. sits with his head in his hands as his mind lingers on how hurt you looked. how that had been because of him.

after a while, he moves to sit outside the bathroom door, legs folded against his chest, listening. making sure you’re not hurting too bad. and he waits. waits until he’s sure you’re ready.

he stands. quells the shaking in his fingers by curling them into a loose fist. raps them against the door so softly he hadn’t been entirely sure you would hear him - i mean, he didn’t want to scare you after all, you had every right to be upset with him after what he’d said-

and the door falls open to reveal you. teary eyes, hair messy from combing through it, cheeks red. and he wants to cry all over again. “god, y/n, i’m so sorry.”

your laugh sounds awfully close to a sob, but the wobbly smile you give settles him. “ted-”

“can i please just hug you?” he breathes. “hold you? just for a little bit.”

you stand for a moment, just watching him, before nodding your confirmation. “yeah,” you mumble, opening your arms.

ted scoops you up. squeezes you against his chest, peppers kisses over your head. “i’m so so sorry, i shouldn’t have said that-”

you shake your head. hum as you press your face against his heart, beating like a caged bird in his ribs. take fistfuls of his shirt in your hands and just hold him. “we were both way out of line.” you let him hum as he rubs circles into your back. “i’m sorry, too.”

both of you stand like that a while, taking a moment to just be present with one another. communicate without words how truly sorry you were and how much you love one another. ted, playing with your hair, is the first to speak. “i wanna make it up to you. i’m just so sorry.”

you pull back, frowning up at him. “i wanna make it up to you.”

“how about,” ted starts. “you go take a nice, warm shower while i get started on making dinner?”

you purse your lips, thinking. “only if we get to cuddle and have a movie night after - i know you’ve been wanting to watch that new film that came out on netflix.”

ted, raising his eyebrows, considers. “that does sound pretty nice.”

leaning up on your tiptoes, you resist the urge to giggle. “i’ll even make popcorn the way you like it,” you whisper.

“oh?” ted asks playfully.

you nod, the water eyes and the argument long forgotten. “deal?”

ted, nodding along, shakes your hand. “deal.”

CHARLIE SLIMECICLE

god he’s such an asshole. that comment was totally unwarranted, and then he’d had the audacity to laugh it off, as if it wouldn’t hurt you. now he sits on the other side of the door to your shared bedroom, listening to the love of his life cry. he’d never regretted anything so quickly.

after a good 20 minutes of silence, he opens the door. slips in quietly. he knows you’ve acknowledged him, the sound of shuffling clothes and now-muffled sniffles says as much. if his heart feels like a bruise in his chest - if it aches like this - he can’t even imagine how you feel. wordlessly, he slots himself behind you and wraps himself around you in the most i’m sorry hug he’s ever given. “is this okay right now?” he whispers, cheek against your shoulder.

and you cough out a sob behind the sleeve of your sweater and nod. relax a little where your knees are pulled to your chest in what had been an attempt to fold yourself into disappearance - into the nothing that grows in your ribs. and now charlie’s crying and you’re crying and god, does it feel good to just let him hold you. “hey,” he rasps. reaches for the hands that clutch at your knees, wraps his around your own, slots his fingers between your knuckles and squeezes. “i’m so sorry. i shouldn’t have said any of that, it wasn’t fair of me. it was completely unwarranted.”

and now he’s rambling and you can tell by the way his voice breaks that he’s hurting every bit as much as you are, that he’s really sorry and he would do anything to take it back. now he’s stumbling over his words and crying into your neck and rasping apology after apology against your skin. so you lean into him and everything slows down. i forgive you.

charlie lets out a wobbly breath. inhales deeply, pulling the trembling, wobbly parts of himself back together. focuses on his breathing, focuses on the warmth of you in his arms, focuses on the squeeze of your fingers against his. “i love you.”

you hum in return, wiping at a few final tears. “i love you,” you agree.

and you yelp when charlie rises suddenly, accidentally jostling you forward. he clambers onto the bed, pulling his shoes off while holding a hand out for you. “come here,” he mumbles, not bothering to hide his falling tears. “please, come here. i just want to hold you for a little while. if you don’t want to, that’s okay, but-”

without a word, you stand. shrug your sweater up your shoulders and lay down in the middle of the bed. you let him roll over beside you. let him scrunch you up and pull you into his chest. let him move up so you’re resting comfortably in the space below his chin. and you stay.

JSCHLATT

as soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he’d crossed a line. jaw clicking shut, silence blankets you and the both of you stare at one another incredulously. a lump sits in the back of your throat, but it doesn’t do anything to stop you from leveling him with a glare. “really, jay?”

ouch, that hurt. he watches almost helplessly as you cross your arms and make to leave the room. “y/n-”

you just shake your head, not turning around as you make your way to the backyard. and sure, it’s pretty chilly, but you don’t have it in you to sit inside with him right now.

schlatt is at a loss. he doesn’t know what to do with himself now that you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’re upset with him. he doesn’t know what to say, what to think. just knows that he hurt you.

it’s hard. he wants to do something, but he doesn’t know how to do feelings. how to hold his heart in his hands for you, vulnerable and sorry. and he is sorry, he’s just not good at the communication part. never been one for wearing his heart on his sleeve - it makes him feel just a little too exposed. he loves you, but god it would kill him to put himself somewhere vulnerable and deal with it if you decided to hurt him. but you didn’t, because why would you? no, he struck first, and now he had to fix it if he ever wanted you to look at him the same.

he sits on the bedroom floor, jambo sitting across from him, thinking out loud. spends so much time working it out that the sun has fallen below the horizon by the time he stands. hesitates by the back door, wringing his hands and fidgeting, eyes fixed on your back.

you sit on the steps of the back porch, half scrunched up. crossed arms rest on the tops of your knees, a clumsy rest for your chin, as you stare up at the few stars that dot the horizon, having found peace in the moon and her companions.

schlatt’s scared of startling you. tries his best to open the sliding door as quietly as possible, but it screams on its track. he winces, but you don’t move an inch. bad sign.

ever cautious, he moves to sit beside you, legs stretching almost to the bottom of the steps. looks over to spot dried tear tracks in the dim backyard light. his heart aches.

the silence is tense, shattered when you mumble without turning to look at him. “took you long enough.”

he lets out a surprised laugh, a hot puff of air from the back of his throat, before sobering up. a beat passes before he gathers his bearings enough to speak. “look, i never should’ve said those things, alright?” you level him with a blank stare, and he continues. “it was uncalled for and fucked up of me and i’m-” his voice cracks and he pauses, giving a frustrated huff. “and i’m really sorry. i really don’t like that i said those things to you, and not just because they upset you. it... it didn’t feel right saying that. i’m sorry.”

you sigh, letting yourself fall into his side. “i know.”

schlatt yelps, one arm flying up to catch you. he laughs a little when you dodge it, opting for the softness around his ribs as opposed to his bony shoulder. he looks down at you. lets his arm rest around your shoulders as he observes you. “you know?”

you hum an affirmative, craning your neck to peer up at him. “you’ve never looked more like a kicked puppy in all the time i’ve known you.”

he rolls his eyes, suddenly bashful. “oh shut up.” and you two sit, just a few minutes, staring up at the sky. the silence is a little too fuzzy for his liking still, so he nudges you just barely. “i am sorry, you know.”

silent, your hand moves up to find his lingering somewhere near your elbow. you thread your fingers together and squeeze, just light enough for him to be sure that’s what you’re doing, to be sure that you meant to. “i’m sorry too.”

“i don’t even remember what we were fighting about, if i’m being honest.”

you laugh against his side, sniffling. “neither do i.”

another beat. another nudge.

“so... are we good?”

you laugh again. turn your head to bury your face in his side. “we’re good, jay, don’t worry.”

WILBUR SOOT

it had started as a playful debate - you hadn’t even realized when it began to spiral out of control. now you’re both sitting across from each other, red in the face and practically steaming. “are you serious?” wilbur counters, sneering. “how would you even- come on, y/n. listen to yourself.”

“hey-” your breath catches in your throat and your lip wobbles. “i was being serious, wil.”

a tense moment of silence. you cross your arms tighter to your chest, eyes focused on the table between you. suddenly you stand. “y/n-” he starts.

“i’m going on a walk!” you call over your shoulder as you approach the front door. “and you are not coming with me.”

he half-stands, chair scraping backwards. “wait, are you sure you should go out this late? the sun’s-”

the front door slams behind you, effectively shutting down whatever he was going to say. unsure, he sits back down. laces his fingers together. then suddenly moves to the window, waits to watch you make your way down the street. he’d at least make sure you made it out of the building alright. then it’s back to the table, hands clasped, to figure out how to make this right.

the minutes tick on and anxiety begins to buzz in wilbur’s veins; not only had he not apologized yet, but you haven’t returned home. he sits a moment, knee bouncing, worrying his lip as the wheels turn in his head. he stares out the window, debating internally. on one hand, he should give you space. you’d set a healthy boundary with him to have your own space while you both cool down. on the other hand, the sun had set. the sky is darkening rapidly; every second that passes is light lost, and it’s supposed to be cold tonight. with a hum, he stands. shrugs a good jacket on and holds one of your sweaters in the crook of his elbow as he leaves the flat, locking the door behind himself. he’s descending the front steps when he finds you sitting at the bottom, arms against your chest, hunched over your knees. “y/n, love, it’s cold out. you should come inside-”

“i’m fine, wil,” you insist, not facing him.

he frowns. sure, he deserves it, but he doesn’t want you to force yourself to suffer for it. without a word, he drapes your sweater over your shoulders, taking the opportunity to sit beside you. though, you don’t acknowledge him, only glare out at the streetlights. it’s silent for a moment.

then you huff, dropping your head. “maybe my opinion was stupid.”

ouch. “no, not at all, love. i promise,” wilbur assures you, leaning some weight into you from the way he leans against your side. “i- look.” he faces you, not expecting you to face him. and you don’t, but he counts the tiny shift of your body towards his as a win. “i didn’t mean what i said. your opinion is just as valid as mine, i just lost my temper and i’m really sorry for that. it won’t happen again, i just- i’m so sorry y/n. i didn’t mean for things to go that way.”

you sigh and let yourself slump against him. “it’s alright, wil,” you mumble, reaching for his hand. he meets you halfway. watches as you lace your fingers with his, as you swipe your thumb against the back of his hand. “i supposed i wasn’t much better.” he opens his mouth to protest, but you shake your head when you hear him inhale. “it’s both our faults, i think. we both took it a bit too serious.”

the lightness of your tone eased some of the tension from his shoulders. “i guess you’re right.”

you elbow him halfheartedly, energy zapped. “i know i’m right.”

he smiles fondly. “yeah, yeah.” presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “would you like to go inside now? your hands are cold.”

the corners of your lips curl, tired. you don’t move against his side. “and we can watch a movie or something?”

“course we can, love,” he mumbles against your temple. “anything you want.”

#໑ yours truly! #໑: ted nivison #໑: charlie slimecicle #໑: schlatt #໑: wilbur soot #໑: angst #໑: fluff? #໑: hurt/comfort #໑: minifics #໑ moot moot! #cw fighting #dsmp x reader #dream smp x reader #mcyt x reader #chuckle sandwich x reader #ted nivison x reader #slimecicle x reader #schlatt x reader #jschlatt x reader #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x reader

[traumadumpwriter]

Heavy trigger warning for abuse, SA, assault, violence, self harm, mentions of r*pe

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I do update more frequently and there r already more chapters on my Wattpad @/slowlychanging!

Check out the other chapters by going to the Freedom tag on my page!

Freedom: A John Shelby Mini Fic

Chapter Nine: 4311 words

Hours passed until 'Go time' finally arrived and the adrenaline was just starting to kick in for Alice. She and Tommy were sat in silence as he drove her towards the agreed location - a seedy hotel just outside of town, ran by the Turks with a grand suite that Ergin often stayed in.

The window to his suite was visible from the street below; red velvet curtains pulled shut behind the thin glass panes. Alice was relieved that to see it was only on the second floor - knowing it to be her most likely route of escape incase things went wrong.

There were blinders surrounding the property, hidden in bushes and under cars, and the plan was clear in Alice's head. She could do this.

"We'll be an hour at most." Tommy spoke quietly, his eyes staring at a figure promptly coming towards the car.

After receiving strict instructions from him for the last hour, Alice found his voice to be extremely annoying and also looked to the figure, having nothing pleasant to say to Tommy.

A tanned man in a suit eventually came to the door on Alice's side, opening it with a smile and holding out his arm for her to take. She looked back at the Shelby one more time and he sent her a nod before sending her out into the cool night air, her hand placed gingerly on the arm of the small man.

Upon reaching the lobby, he stepped away from Alice with a polite nod and she suddenly found herself surrounded by an entourage of colourful characters; even the other women emitting an intimidating energy. They were all sat around a large table, decorated with intricate cloth, drinking from ornate glasses and laughing merrily. Alice looked around and tried to work out which one was Ergin, but had no luck - all of the men wearing similar, cream suits with no real distinction from each other.

A cough from the polite assistant quickly drew their eyes upwards and although they initially looked so unimpressed, the men's faces instantly softened upon seeing Alice - stood there like an innocent doe.

"The Shelby woman aye?" One of the men stood up with a grin and held out his hand for Alice to take, to which she quickly did. His accent was thick and he exuded suaveness. "Even more beautiful than I was told." He placed a kiss on her hand before pulling away and gesturing for her to follow him. "The boss's room is just up here, I show you."

"Thank you." She replied, being careful to smile and be polite but not too much - Tommy said it was important that she came across as unintelligent and innocent but still sexual and willing; a difficult mix to nail.

As she followed his path, she could feel all eyes on her; devouring the white, corseted dress and how it draped her frame perfectly. Polly had gotten her measurements and rushed into town to get it not long after the initial family gathering, worrying about Alice not looking the part. The older woman hated the plan and it had been even harder getting her approval than Tommy had originally anticipated, but she eventually caved in and agreed to help - citing the trickery and murder of Jones Buckley to be her main motivation. She owed it to Clara after all.

John on the other hand had disappeared from the house for hours, unable to handle the rage or betrayal his family had made him feel. Hidden, he watched Alice from a distance after she first tried on the dress; practicing her gun draw with Polly in the back street whilst the other Peaky boys rushed around preparing for potential bloodshed that night. The dress was absolutely beautiful on her and he struggled to watch, stepping away after a moment whilst painful thoughts started to ravage his brain again. There was no way he would ever forgive Tommy for asking this of her, and if she got truly hurt there was no way he'd ever forgive his family for allowing it.

Now he sat in tense silence, waiting for his signal to burst into the cellar and begin the raid, desperately praying that Alice would be okay.

Meanwhile, the woman was surprised by how pleasant the Turks had been to her, although she now suspected that things would change as the varnished door to the huge suite opened.

"Ah, Ms Buckley. You look incredible." Alice cringed at the name but nodded graciously to the man in front of her; his facial hair meticulously groomed and his suit black. "Do you mind if I call you that? Or are you a Shelby now?"

His tone was mocking and as Alice studied him, she realised he was one who'd been at the campsite that day - her face almost going red from anger and embarrassment.

"I'm my own woman now, you can just call me Alice." She answered with a sultry tone, eyeing his body in a way to suggest she didn't care if he eyed hers - even though she really just wanted to punch the man.

"And your name is?"

He chuckled slightly, staring her down as he closed the door behind her with a loud bang.

"My name is Maximus, Alice." He winked and patted her waist before leaning in to her ear. She expected an uncomfortable kiss to her neck, not the menacing tone that then quietly fell from his lips. "And I don't trust you one little bit.. I don't know how you escaped your husband, but I can have you sent back to him with the click my fingers, long before any of those Peaky brothers could find you. Don't forget that - whore." He almost spat that last word before suddenly standing straight again with a smile. "Now let's go see the boss, shall we?"

Alice didn't have time to even fully process his shocking words as another door was opened and they stepped deeper into the suite. She immediately spotted the red curtained window before she even looked at Ergin or his associate; both larger men, clad in expensive suits and golden jewellery. They had glasses of wine on the table in front of them, along with a pile of cards and an ashtray full of fat cigar butts. There was an empty chair opposite them and Maximus gestured for Alice to sit on it before leaving the room, leaving the three in silence for a moment.

Now she could ponder on the sinister man's words. She tried not to believe him, to keep her faith in the brothers, but a seed of doubt had now been planted and she was starting to accept that she would in fact have to sleep with these men if she wanted to stay alive - or atleast not get sent back to Jones. She'd rather die than have that happen.

Her panicked thoughts almost started to spiral until Ergin suddenly announced something to his friend in Turkish, instantly making her alert again. He cheered as he placed down a card - obviously winning whatever game they were playing - and then finally acknowledged the nervous woman in front of him.

"Sorry, I had to think about that move." He chuckled before meeting her eyes, his demeanour instantly softening. "Wow, look at this kadin, Aylin! Even more beautiful up close."

His friend, who Alice assumed to be named Aylin, laughed and nodded as he too studied the woman - staring as if she were an object and not a person.

"What you doing with a dog like John Shelby huh? You really just a whore like his brother says? I don't believe it." Ergin scoffed, once again sparking an anxious flame in Alice's belly that she had to quickly stamp out. "And what is this Maximus says about you being some kind of gypsy whore also? You are far too beautiful. I don't believe."

Alice was shocked by the seeming interest that Ergin had in her, taking a moment to collect herself before cooly replying "I thought I was here to dance with you, not be interrogated."

That seemed to surprise the men as they laughed again and exchanged few words in Turkish before Ergin leant forward and locked eyes with Alice again.

"I think you are an interesting woman.. The scars are something I like." Alice immediately went to pull down her sleeves as she realised they'd ridden up but he stopped her, his big hands enveloping hers with ease. "No no, don't cover, I said I like."

She didn't know how to respond to that. No one had ever liked her scars. A discussion about them wasn't what she had mentally prepared herself for. Instead, she was now thinking about how she would open the red curtain to send the signal without it seeming suspicious.

"It shows-" Ergin lit a cigar and placed it to his lips, drawing her attention again "-that you are not scared of pain. At least not pain inflicted by yourself. Am I right in this?"

Alice nodded slowly, unsure of where things could go from here. Her heart was racing and her handbag felt like a tonne weight placed gently on her thigh as she thought about the gun hidden inside.

"I want you to take off the dress and cut yourself right now then." His voice had a sudden firmness to it that paralleled to the friendly tone he'd shown a second prior.

With the four eager eyes on her, Alice knew she had no choice but to undress and started to slowly pull down her dress - the undergarments also being purchased in town by Polly that day. It was all white, a corset and frilly bra with matching garters and panties. Alice felt exposed but less exposed than she should've - so used to this objectifying treatment that it almost felt normal.

She took the small knife from Ergin's large, leathery hand and moved it to her thigh, taking a deep breath before making a quick red line. Even in such forced circumstances the pain felt a relief to her, visibly so as the two men let out another laugh and Ergin quickly snatched the knife back from her.

"Wow. You really like that huh? I didn't actually expect you to do it. Maybe you are a whore. Or maybe you are just crazy." He chuckled, earning an awkward forced chuckle back from Alice before his tone went serious again and he stood up. "Now dance with the knife. I want you to cut yourself with it as you dance. I expect all clothes to be gone by time the song is finished."

Alice's stomach dropped once she heard the record playing and felt the knife being placed in her hand again. Ergin was stood against the wall next to the phonograph - right by the window - whilst his friend remained leant into his cushioned seat, taking casual sips from his wine. Her eyes scanned the room desperately, looking for some kind of help, until she saw the mini bar in the corner.

"Do you not want me to make you a drink first? I thought I was meant to do that. I'm a barmaid you know." She fluttered her eyelashes and giggled, trying to act as if she was perfectly comfortable - a real whore like Tommy had obviously tried to sell her as.

"You can make any drink you want but know that you'll be testing it before either of us drink it. We're not stupid, Alice. Know this before you try anything told to you by Thomas Shelby."

"Fuck!" She started to mentally scream at herself as she realised nothing would go as smoothly as she'd hoped. She looked at the clock on the wall and saw it had only been seven minutes, she would have to think of a plan, fast.

As she sauntered over to the corner, Ergin called for Maximus to enter the room and she knew she'd have to pour the powder into the cups before the vulture like man was watching over her shoulder. So quickly, she pulled the vial from her bra and poured the white substance into each of the three glasses before covering it with whiskey - just as his thin frame reached her side.

She played it cool, pouring mixer into each of the drinks and stirring it with an ornate, metal spoon before she felt a hand gripping her thigh, instantly making her stop.

"You see? She is not a whore. Even one touch and she freezes up." Maximus scoffed. "I bet these drinks are poison too, go on, try one little lamb. Let's see."

Luckily, the drinks weren't too poison, just a tranquilliser, and Alice knew that if she just drank considerably less than them she would stand a better chance at staying awake than the men did. At least the older ones. They already seemed pretty drunk, after all.

"Fine, I'll show you. Maximus." She hissed his name and took a quick gulp from one of the glasses, earning an amused holler from the other two men.

"And the other one too-"

"Ah that is quite enough, my boy. A frightened whore does not perform as well as a comfortable whore. You will see this in a moment." Ergin cut him off with obvious authority, although there was enough care in his tone to imply a close bond between the two - perhaps uncle and nephew or father and son.

Either way, the younger man shut up immediately and stepped back, watching intently as Alice handed the drinks to the men. She now knew it was time to perform and stepped over to the phonograph before Ergin would stand up again to do so, earning a thankful laugh from his fat face as he and his friend lazily gawked at her.

As she gently placed the needle onto the record, she was careful to lean against the window and shift the curtain open - even it was only slightly - knowing that would be enough to let the boys below know the bosses were distracted.

That short feeling of relief was quickly replaced by the anxiety she'd been pushing down as the music started to play and she knew she couldn't postpone the dance any longer. Almost all forms of self harm had always been extremely appealing to Alice until this moment, awkwardly trying to cut her skin whilst remaining sexy and moving on beat. The men didn't care though, excited as she cut off her garters, corset and bra leaving only panties by time the song finished. Her mind had been miles away, not really seeing anything in the room as she danced, so when the trance ended with the music, she was relieved to notice their two cups empty although Maximus' remained full.

"Very nice, but remember what I said? All clothes off-" just as Ergin's instruction struck another deep pang of fear into Alice's chest, a loud bang followed by some shouts came from downstairs and all attention was averted.

"What the fuck was that? Max you go look!" Ergin demanded and the younger man immediately complied, shooting Alice a sharp glare before racing out of the room. From that point on everything moved fast. Too fast for her to properly comprehend.

All of a sudden, Alice felt a heavy force against her face and went flying to the floor, taking a second to realise that Ergin had hit her and was now bent down beside her. The woman could already feel the small amount of tranquilliser making her drowsy and so she knew that he would pass out any minute now - he had to - she just had to hold him off until one of the blinders arrived.

"What have you done, whore? What did you put in Aylin's drink? And what was that bang? You and the blinders have come up with some plan! What is it?" He grabbed her by her hair and pulled her face so that it was inches from his. Out the corner of her eye she could see that his friend had passed out so she just prayed that he would too - but he didn't.

"I said what have you done?" He repeated himself louder, spit flying from his mouth onto her face before he struck her again, once again sending her body to the floor.

She groaned in pain this time and struggled to move away as Ergin towered over her. There was blood all over her body already from the cuts she'd made, now some leaked from her mouth as her lip started to swell and she knew her face would be bruised the next day.

"You really think I drink a drink made by a Shelby whore?" He scoffed before kicking her hard in the ribs, earning another painful groan. "I may be fat and old. But I am not stupid."

From her position on the floor, Alice tried to take the knife off the table but Ergin quickly grabbed her hair again and dragged her around the room, to the chair she'd originally sat on. Memories of Jones flashed agonisingly through her brain every millisecond and she started to really hate Tommy for putting her up to this - yet hate herself more for agreeing to do it. John was right; she did love putting herself in danger. That was until the consequences of the danger hit her like they were right now.

"If he dies, I promise you will regret it very much." As Ergin spoke he placed bullets into a silver pistol, shaking and dropping some as he did.

Although his thick accent was still intimidating and booming, Alice realised he wasn't as powerful as he seemed and was in fact scared or at least nervous.

She looked around desperately for something to defend herself with, slowly regaining her hope; until she saw her handbag and felt a powerful surge of adrenaline. Just as he finished loading the weapon, Alice reached for the bag and pulled it to the ground with her, bloody hands desperately fumbling for the gun inside as she heard the violence downstairs.

"Hopefully that's the Blinders I can hear and not the Turks." Her thought was cut off by Ergin grabbing her again, this time by her neck, and pinning her against a wall. He squeezed tight and stared into her eyes as he did, watching the hope drain from them as the air did from her lungs.

She was almost convinced that these would be her final moments, staring into an ugly face - just as she had been with Jones so many times. Gradually, her body was going limp in his hand, her limbs feeling heavy as she thrashed against him, scratching and spitting like a wild animal.

"You planned ahead for this huh! What is the antidote for this poison? Tell me now!" He shouted, loosening his grip with wide eyes and letting her catch her breath for a second.

Her head was pounding and dizzy but it still worked fast.

"It's, it's in my dress. Sewn in. A small vile." She choked out, the noises downstairs getting louder and her body getting heavier.

As soon as the words left her mouth he dropped her and rushed to the crumpled white velvet by the phonograph, looking worriedly to Aylin before starting to desperately rip at the material.

"You stay there whore or I will kill every single member of the Shelby family, you understand?" He barked with his back facing her, but soon froze as he heard a gun cock and felt the metal pressed to the back of his head.

In that half minute, Alice had managed to get herself up, grab her gun and quietly slink over, leaving a trail of blood behind her on the already red carpet. There were few thoughts as she placed the gun to his head, only one real loud one that screamed "Fuck you!" He didn't deserve a chance to explain himself, he was a pig and now he was going to die.

"There's no antidote. It's not poison, it's a tranquilliser. Your friend would've been fine, you stupid fucking-"

"Please!" He cut her off with a loud beg but before he could let out another word she pulled the trigger - a loud bang echoing through the room.

It didn't move in slow motion like Alice thought it would, instead it was quick and sudden; skull fragments flying and a heavy thud. She'd never taken a life before and it was easier than expected.

Meanwhile downstairs, John heard the gunshot and even amongst the fighting in the lobby, he knew that it came from the suite. His blood immediately ran cold. The Blinders were winning and the Turks were massively outnumbered, but he felt no sense of victory until he knew it was Alice who fired that shot. He looked around the reception desperately, bloodshed all around him, until he spotted a waiter cowering in the corner - obviously not paid enough to be dealing with this.

Eyes wide, he grabbed the man's collar and shouted "Ergin's suite! Now!" to which the man immediately complied, taking him to the hidden staircase that lead directly to the exclusive room.

However, John hadn't been the only one to hear the gunshot. Maximus was already halfway up those stairs when he heard it, running as he reloaded his own weapon and prayed to God that his uncle was alive.

Upon opening the door, he was enraged to see Ergin dead and Alice stood with her gun to Aylin's head, about to shoot the passed out man until he suddenly tackled her, throwing her to the ground and pinning her down with bared teeth - foaming like a rabid dog.

"You fucking bitch!" He shouted, a guttural, grief filled scream as he started to violently shake her shoulders, banging her head against the floor. She was struggling to stay awake at this point and could feel herself slipping into darkness between each painful bump to the head. Still, she tried to fight back against him, punching, screaming and spitting. It was no use though.

He was in a trance like state, mad with grief, rage and shock, turning him into a complete animal with enough strength to break the girl's neck if he wanted despite his skinny frame.

"You evil fucking slut." He hissed, holding both her hands above her head with just one of his whilst the other groped her chest with such force that she screamed in pain. "You think you had it bad with the gypsy scum? Just you wait little girl." He dug in his nails so hard it drew blood, running them down her chest and digging into the fresh cuts made during her dance. There was definitely at least one broken rib he pressed into too, the pain becoming so intense that Alice could barely breathe as she cried out for help.

His hand finally reached her underwear, ripping them off in one swift motion despite her attempts at kicking him away. The feeling of his sharp nails drawing so close to her privates filled Alice with pure terror. A horrific scream left her lungs, followed by a loud sob.

But then suddenly he withdrew and his body was no longer on top of hers - giving her an immense sense of relief. That was until she heard John's voice calling her name and realised the psycho was going after him now.

"He's got a gun, John!" She desperately cried from the floor, her vision fading and not even certain her voice was loud enough for him to hear. She couldn't lift her head or keep her eyes open anymore, all she could do was listen as bullets started flying, empty shells flicking onto her naked body but from who she couldn't tell.

The room fell silent and there was a thud, sounding similar to the one Ergen made when he'd dropped dead earlier - instantly putting Alice's heart in her throat as she prayed it wasn't John's body she heard.

Apart from her own breathing and her heart thudding, she could hear nothing.

"Alice?" His thick Birmingham accent broke the silence and the woman instantly let out a relieved sob, alerting him to her position in the room and he immediately bolted over.

"Fuck." He muttered upon seeing her, more blood than skin visible, and quickly bent down to her side, ripping off his jacket to wrap around her. "Where'd they get you?"

His hands desperately searched her body for a bullet wound, shaking as he struggled to distinguish each injury from the next.

"Alice, where'd they get you?" He repeated, his voice cracking as his worst worries had seemingly come true.

"I-I'm not shot, John." She spluttered, almost laughing with relief. "They made me try the drink. I'll be fine."

Those were the final words she had the strength to say before passing out, much to John's incredible panic as he tried to shake her awake. It was after a few seconds of panic that he decided to believe those words - or at least try to - and he grabbed a blanket to wrap the woman in before rushing down the stairs with her in his arms, holding her tightly against his chest.

It only took a minute for him to get outside and into the closest getaway car, throwing himself into the passenger seat and shouting "Fucking drive!" to Isaiah.

"But Tommy told me to-"

John swiftly pressed his gun to the younger man's head, his pupils maniacally thin and sweat dropping profusely from his forehead.

"I don't give a fucking shit about Tommy! Fucking drive!"

This time the boy immediately complied, stepping on the gas and speeding away as the remaining blinders started the fire that would eventually burn the entire Turkish hotel to the ground - only leaving ashes behind.

#arthur shelby #freedom #john shelby imagine #john shelby #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder headcanon #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders #peaky fookin blinders #peaky fucking blinders #peakyedit #polly grey #polly gray #peaky blinder fanfiction #john shelby x reader #john shelby fanfic #imagine #dark imagine #angst #fluff #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder x reader #peaky blinders x oc #mini fic #minific #fanfic #tw #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader

[laawlesss]

;; Forgiveness is a fickle thing ..

— ;; minific monday! a oneshot every monday, usually under 5k words.. (..usually..)

>> in which zoro earns your forgiveness.

; words ? ; 4.5k.

; warnings ? ; mild language.

; genre ? ; angst, eventual comfort.

; request ? ; yes.

; pairing ? ; roronoa zoro x reader.

; notes ; no pronouns used for reader, crossposted on ao3 :3. this is like. my first time trying to write angst sorry if its terrible ksjdhghjsdhb

    “You can’t just go rushing out like that! You’re still basically in tatters from the last fight, and look! You’re bleeding through your bandages!” You shrieked at the green-haired man, your voice filled with worry and frustration. “Is it too much to ask for you to be careful, and maybe leave the fighting to the others for once?” His fiendish drive for battle drove you insane, and as attractive as it was seeing him cut down his enemies with ease, it sent your heart into a frenzy whenever he sustained such deep wounds. 

    “I’m fine. Quit yapping.” He sighed, dropping a heavy hand onto your head. His words were meant to comfort you, but it only riled you up more. Could he seriously not see how he looked? His torso was heavily bandaged, as were his arms and head, dark crimson stains blooming all across his abdomen. Despite Chopper’s warnings that he should rest and stop moving so much, he just kept throwing himself into sparring matches with Sanji and never strayed from his strenuous workout routine. He was going to get himself killed one of these days, and it broke you how small his drive for self preservation was. 

    “But you aren’t fine, Zoro! You’re bleeding from fucking everywhere!” You wailed, shoving his hand off of your head and urging him to lay down. “Please go lay down, please, even Chopper said you should.” You were nearly begging him at this point, begging him to prioritize his healing. Despite your words, you knew it was in vain. 

    Zoro scoffed, obviously tired and in pain. He didn’t need rest. He needed to get stronger, so he wouldn’t get hurt like this again. He hated seeing you so upset, especially over him. Those tears that threatened to spill from the corners of your puffy eyes cut through him sharper than any sword, but he had no way of telling you just how he was feeling. It was difficult enough for him to open up, to confess to you, he couldn’t tell you that he was weak. Weak for you, for everything about you. He desired to be the world’s greatest swordsman not only because of the promise he made in his youth, but also to protect you from anything and everything. 

    “You don’t know my tolerance. Hell, you weren’t even in the fight, you have no idea what I can handle and what I can’t.” Zoro nearly snarled. “I’m nothing like you, Y/N.” He didn’t mean it, he was exhausted. He just wanted to fall back to his comfortable and reassuring routine of shaking his doubts by getting stronger. He’d feel better then. He didn’t mean it, he didn’t. The second the words left his mouth he regretted it, his tense expression immediately softening as he saw the toll his words took on you. 

    Your eyes were wide, and your body had tensed. Something like betrayal— heartbreak— sparkled in your gaze, and Zoro felt another pang in his chest. You hiccuped, your tears starting to silently spill over your cheeks, and he had no idea what to do. He was frozen in place, his jaw slack, a loose sigh leaving his lips. “I—“ He started, but you cut him off. 

    “No, you’re right. We really are nothing alike, huh?” Your gaze flickered down to the deck of the Thousand Sunny, a shaky breath wracking your frame. You glanced back up, sending Zoro a half-hearted smile, one so full of sorrow that his legs threatened to give out underneath him. “Get well soon, Roronoa.” Your voice was soft, barely a whisper, sparkling tears dripping onto the deck. With that, you spun, leaving the swordsman to stand alone, stiff, as you paced to your own quarters. 

    You bunked with Nami and Robin when you weren’t crammed into Zoro’s hammock with him, on a small but cozy little bed in the corner of the women’s quarters. Preferring the peace and quiet of the room, you slunk to your bed and curled up, staring longingly at the yellow sweatshirt he’d given you after the incidents at Water 7. You sniffed, wiping away your tears with your wrist as you tossed the sweatshirt away, rolling on your side to face the wall. 

    Fine. He could die for all you cared. If he didn’t care enough to listen to a doctor, to listen to you pleading with him, then why should you care? Your mind ran in circles as your heart ached at his words. A part of you knew he didn’t mean it, but another part prodded at you, telling your mind in its fragile state that that was how he truly felt. He was right, you weren’t in the fight. Not because you were scared, but because you stayed back with a few of the others to defend the ship. You weren’t weak, you could hold your own just like any other member of the crew, but perhaps Zoro saw you differently. 

    Quiet sobs left your aching body, every beat of your heart driving another harsh pain through your chest. He did this every time he was hurt, refusing to rest. Perhaps he didn’t really love you. He’d only ever said it a couple of times, and only after you’d said it first. And he didn’t have a lot of romantic experience, he probably didn’t even know what love was. Maybe he was confused and was dragging you along, just simply enjoying your company a bit more than others. 

    Every thought that ran through your head only made the pain grow, and you begged for them to stop. Despite your efforts to think about something else, anything else, your subconscious continued to fill your mind with such hurtful thoughts. Your body ached from the emotions you felt, your throat closing up as your tears refused to stop. Your eyes were surely ringed with red as you wrapped your arms around yourself, hoping to give yourself some form of comfort. Your arms were nothing like the familiar embrace of Zoro’s, and it only made your heart shatter further. 

    Outside on the main deck, you could hear the distant and muffled shouting of someone, a loud shout of annoyance, and then tense silence. The door to the women’s quarters was opened slowly, and a soft sigh accompanied the sound of heels clicking softly on the wooden floor. You could feel the bed dip next to you as someone sat down, and gently lay a loving hand on your head. The motion brought another sob out of you, and you immediately shifted to clutch onto the figure. Nami, you figured, by the subtle smell of tangerines that filled the air. 

    You latched onto her, laying your head in her lap as she slowly stroked your hair, saying nothing for a few moments. Your tears stained the bottom of her shirt, and you mumbled out short, breathless apologies as you let your emotions flow. She shook her head, reassuring you with a soft smile. “It’s fine, trust me. I heard what Zoro said, that dumbass.” The navigator let out a huff, her other hand curling into a fist. “I knocked some sense into him, though.” She nodded, continuing her motions of rubbing your scalp. 

    The two of you sat there, in a comfortable silence, Nami making sure your sobs and tears were at least soothed enough to stop. She eventually left, a storm sweeping up out of nowhere, and her navigation skills were necessary. You felt a little bit better, which was more than nothing, but part of you still ached for the comfortable moments with Zoro where he’d let you lay all over him. You had no idea where to go from there, surely the two of you were still a thing? You weren’t looking to end your relationship after one measly fight, but his words were too venomous to just brush past them and forgive him so easily. 

    Rain began to beat at the sides of the ship, lulling you into a comfortable state of numbness. You didn’t want to think about Zoro, and how right now he was probably helping to furl the sails and ready the ship for the storm. You should probably be helping too, but Nami had told you to stay, that the rest of the crew could handle it. A knock at the door had you rolling to your other side, puffy eyes staring at the tall figure in the frame. Though it was dark, you recognized the tinge of green hair instantly, and another wave of pain rolled through you. A part of you was hopeful that he had come to apologize, another part didn’t want to see him for a while. 

    You watched as he made a move to step forward, but was blocked by a net of arms. “Not the time, Roronoa.” Robin’s sharp voice echoed even through the storm, and with a rough grunt he spun and made himself useful somewhere else on the deck. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, curling back into yourself. It was for the best that he was stopped, you didn’t want to speak to him anyways. 

    You were left alone for a while, appreciating the soft rocking of the boat and the gentle rush of rain against wood. It was calming, and you spent the rest of the day tucked in your room, slipping in and out of sleep. 

    +++

    The atmosphere the next day was tense between everyone but Luffy and Chopper, still cheerily chowing down on the delicious breakfast Sanji had carefully made. Instead of sitting next to Zoro like you usually did, you sat next to Usopp, who really did nothing to help clear the awkward air. You excused yourself early, hearing Zoro heave a sigh as you left. The tension in the dining room was stifling, and the breeze of the open sea hit you as soon as you left, blowing away the negative feelings. 

    You were still a bit hungry, but you pushed your grumbling stomach out of mind, figuring that you’d ask Sanji for a snack later. The ocean winds tugged at your hair, and the familiar smell of the saltwater soothed your heart. The rising sun beat down on your shoulders, filling you with a comfortable warmth. Despite your messy emotions, you loved the ship and the crew you called home. 

    Deciding to make your way to the back of the ship, you sat down on a small bench next to Robin’s flower bed. The scent of Nami’s tangerine trees filled the air pleasantly, the soft rustle of their leaves adding to the ship’s perfect ambiance. After making yourself comfortable, you debated taking a short cat nap, the warm rays of the sun fighting back the chill of the ocean air. Your eyes only managed to flutter closed for half a second, before you heard footsteps and turned your head to see who it was. 

    You bit your lip as you tried to fight back the sinking feeling in your chest, gaze falling on the green-haired swordsman making his way up to you. One hand was rested on the hilts of his elegant swords, the other clutching onto a small plate. He seemed to have a dark look on his face, his good eye cast down at the Sunny’s deck. Likely deep in thought, the second he approached you, you noticed the tips of his ears turn pink. 

    Once he reached you, he held out the plate in his hand, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand. His eye seemed to look everywhere except at you, his voice a low murmur when he finally spoke. “Here. You didn’t finish eating.” Zoro knew that the only reason you didn’t finish eating was because he was in the dining room. You rarely ever left food on your plate whenever Sanji cooked, you respected his ‘never waste food’ policy, and whatever he made was always too good not to finish anyways. He’d taken your plate after you’d left, making up his mind to bring it to you. 

    You blinked at him before taking the plate, holding it in your lap. You weren’t sure what exactly to do, awkward from Zoro’s presence. He was debating turning around and going to train, but ended up slumping down on the deck with his back to the bench. There was a terse silence, before you sighed and set your plate to the side, not hungry anymore. 

    “I’m sorry.” You were startled by Zoro’s sudden words, genuine apologies were not something that usually left the swordsman’s mouth. You glanced down to him, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. His legs were stretched out as he tried to make himself comfortable. Usually he’d be leaning against your thigh as you read a book and he napped, your positioning familiar, but now he made sure to give you a decent amount of space. “I didn’t mean it.” He mumbled. 

    You tapped your fingers against your side as you thought, swallowing thickly as tears threatened to form in your eyes again. “It sounded like you did.” You said after a few moments, gaze fixed on your lap. His words from the previous day still stung like briars wound tightly around your heart. You bit down sharply on your lip to prevent it from quivering. 

    Noticing that he had wound his coat tighter around himself to hide his bandages, you watched his posture slump. The two of you were stiff around each other, before Zoro leaned his head against the side of your knee. “I know. I didn’t mean it.” He repeated as he fiddled with the hilt of one of his swords, becoming frustrated with himself. He had finally been comfortable in your relationship, and now he’d gone and ruined it. 

    “You’re stronger than you seem, I admire you for that.” He slowly began to speak more, pushing himself to try and mend the pieces of your relationship. He’d hurt you, and it was the last thing he ever wanted to do. Zoro never wanted to see that look in your eyes again. His usual cocky demeanor was long gone, replaced by a more solemn look that had your stomach turning in knots. “.. I didn’t train yesterday. I didn’t go and lay down either, but I tried not to move around much.” He spoke gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

    You had the urge to run your fingers through his short hair like you usually did, but you fought it back, clenching your hand into a fist and tucking it into your lap. You took a deep breath. “It hurt. What you said.” His apology was welcome, but your heart still hurt. The way he’d spoken with such venom still echoed in your ears. “I know I’m not as strong as you, you don’t have to point it out,” You sighed, mulling over what you would say next. “You just… I just want to make sure you’re okay. I don’t like seeing you hurt.” Your nagging words always came from a place of love, you didn’t want to see him in pain, however well he masked it. 

    The swordsman was silent, his brow furrowed as he was deep in thought. He was never good with expressing his feelings, now he was forcing himself to. He rubbed his face with one calloused hand, drawing his legs up slightly. “..’M used to just dealin’ with it myself. It’s weird having someone else be worried about you.” He said slowly, as if processing it himself. Zoro was trying his best to repair what he’d screwed up, but trying to verbalize his emotions was more difficult than he’d originally thought. 

    “…I’ll make it up to you.” He said after a moment, nodding his head and pushing himself to his feet. A plan was forming in his mind, one he was eager to set into motion. His hands reached out to you for a moment, before he let them drop to his sides. He didn’t know if you were okay with him yet, and he didn’t want to push anything. Giving him a soft smile, you stood up too, figuring you’d find something on the ship to do to occupy your mind. Looking at the handsome swordsman still sent a rush of pain through you after what he’d said, but you were set on working everything out and waiting for him to remedy your situation. 

    The two of you stood there for a moment, before Zoro abruptly turned and whisked himself off to find Nami. You cupped your hands around your mouth and called after him, “Don’t reopen your wounds! You’re still healing!” The swordsman stopped dead in his tracks, his shoulders raising, before he let his muscles slump and he sent you a wave. 

    “I won’t!” He resumed his pace, glancing over his shoulder and sending you his signature smirk before he thought over his plan for the navigator. You sighed, a slight twinge of frustration evident on your face as your boyfriend rushed off to who knows where. That impulsive idiot. 

    +++

    You weren’t able to find Zoro for the rest of that day, and he seemed to be avoiding you for the rest of the week. You’d pass him and he’d only give you a meager nod. You’d tried to catch him, but he was always one step ahead of you, vanishing somewhere else on the ship. Even your crewmates seemed to be up to something, and it frustrated you to no end that you were being left out on the secret. Even Nami and Robin refused to give you any sort of insight beyond a cheeky smile and a sly smirk. 

    You were tired of chasing everyone around to try and get an answer, so you gave up and resorted to just tucking yourself into a book while resting on the Sunny’s swing on the lawn deck. Exquisite smells were drifting from the kitchen, causing your stomach to rumble. You were excited for dinner, and couldn’t wait to see what Sanji was cooking. Alerted to someone’s presence, you looked up to see Chopper peeking out from behind the main mast. 

    “Chopper? Everything okay?” You were a bit confused as to why the reindeer seemed so shy. Once you spoke up, he seemed to freak out, glancing around hurriedly as if he was in a panic. Chopper skittered over to you, leaning up to whisper something in your ear. 

    “U-Uhm! Zoro is hurt again, he’s in the aquarium—“ He whispered, seeming on the verge of tears. You jolted upwards, dropping your book, hurrying to the aquarium. 

    “Well c’mon! You’re the doctor, aren’t you?” You shouted over your shoulder at Chopper, your heart pounding. You’d warned him about being careful, did he forget what he said about making things up to you? That idiot probably tore through his stitches and was smearing blood all over— Oh. 

    You made it to the aquarium, only to stop dead in your tracks. The usual blue mood lighting was cast over the familiar silhouette of a recognizable swordsman. It was picturesque, really, Zoro sitting cross legged on a large blanket, surrounded by an assortment of mismatched candles. The warm lighting reflected off of every plane in his face, his closed eye blinking open once he heard you approach. Your breath nearly caught in your throat at his deep black eyes sparkling in the candlelight, refracting the deep blues around him. 

    The atmosphere was stunning, pretty fish of all shapes and sizes swimming in the large glass windows. You had no idea why Zoro was choosing to sit on the floor instead of in one of the plush cushioned seats that lined the exterior wall, but you brushed it off as one of his usual quirks. He seemed to have tidied himself up a bit more than usual, freshly shaved, and his normally wild green hair had been brushed. He had exchanged his large forest green coat for a nicer shirt, and the bandages on his arms were clean and neat. 

    “Well? You just gonna stand there?” His arms were crossed over his chest, the faintest blush visible in the dark room. Laid out in front of him was an elegant and fragrant dinner, no doubt put together by Sanji. Your favorite dishes and desserts were organized atop the blanket, decorated with tiny heart motifs. A small tone dial played soft music, drifting across the expanse of the room. 

    Eventually shaking out of your stupor, you slowly paced to the blanket, sitting down across from Zoro. You gave him an odd look, raising a brow. “You do all this yourself?” Zoro was definitely not the type to pull a full-out romantic dinner, the man wouldn’t know classic romance if it stabbed him in the ass. You knew someone else had put him up to this, likely Nami or Robin. The man in front of you just scowled, his blush deepening as he looked away. 

“It was my idea, jackass.” He muttered good-naturedly, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “I asked the navigator and the perv cook for help, yeah, but it was my idea to make it up to you.” The swordsman was growing more and more flustered by the second, his cool demeanor slipping. His heart was pounding faster than ever. It increasingly frustrated him, how he was unable to maintain his usual snarky self around you. You were constantly on his mind, even in the middle of battles. You ramped up his adrenaline, made his heart pound, and filled his chest with a fluttery feeling that he couldn’t decipher. 

It was silent between the two of you, before Zoro sighed, lifting a small bouquet of flowers likely gathered from Robin’s garden. He refused to meet your eyes, the confident man suddenly sheepish. “Look, I know I fucked up. I didn’t mean what I said.” He murmured, waiting for you to gently hold the bouquet before he pulled back and rested on his hands braced behind him. “I just wanna get strong enough that you don’t have t’ worry about me, yeah?” His voice was softer, unfamiliar. 

You knew he was sorry the second the words had left his mouth, that it was brought on by exhaustion and adrenaline. He knew it wasn’t okay, and he was making up for it, that was enough for you. A soft smile graced your lips, and you tilted your head, admiring the flowers that now rested in your lap. He was trying, you knew it was difficult for him to verbalize his feelings, and you weren’t going to ask him to. “I’m always gonna worry about you, Zoro. It comes with the territory of being your partner.” You sidled closer to him, your knees touching. 

The swordsman turned to look at you, his hands itching to pull you closer. You looked ethereal in the low light, your features enhanced by the candles that surrounded the two of you. “This whole thing is… new to me.” He grunted, his eye wandering over the array of things he’d prepared for the date. “I need to get stronger so I won’t get hurt when I fight, then you won’t have to worry.” His meager way of thinking had you laughing softly to yourself, Zoro furrowing his brow. 

“Getting hurt in a fight is inevitable. All I ask is that you try and care about yourself a bit more.” Setting down the flowers, you reached out for one of his large hands, cradling it in both of yours. Your thumbs traced over the tiny scars on his fingers and palm, likely the consequence of playing with swords all his life. “Just love yourself as much as I love you, okay?” Pulling your eyes away from his hand, you realized that Zoro was staring at you intently, his good eye fixed on you. 

The intensity of his stare had your hair standing on end, butterflies filling your stomach instantly. “…What? Something on my face?” You mumbled, before Zoro pulled his hand out of your grip and instead used it to cup the back of your head, bringing your face to his. Hesitantly connecting your lips, he kissed you, the action full of longing and affection. You hummed into him, pushing your side flush against his when the two of you pulled away. 

He braced his arm behind you, letting you lean on his broad, muscular chest. You heard him quietly whisper to himself, “I feel like I ate a devil fruit and got doused with seawater.” You looked up at him in confusion and he quickly explained. “Something about you makes me feel all… gooey.” You laughed at his frustrated expression, bumping your shoulder against his. 

“That’s called love, Zoro.” You reached for some of the food in front of you, humming happily as you began to eat. It was nice, finally being back in his warm embrace. You heard him make a ‘hmm.” sound, leaning his head on yours after a few moments. The two of you dug into the dishes that Sanji had made you, a comfortable silence falling between you scarcely being broken. You felt content again, happy that you and Zoro had patched over your rocky argument. Pausing for a moment before bringing a spoon to your mouth, you launched a punch at Zoro’s chest. 

“What the hell was that for?” He barely even winced, looking at you incredulously. He didn’t know what he’d done this time, confusion clouding his mind as he tried to think about what all he’d said in the past few moments. It wasn’t like your punch hurt him, far from it. He just didn’t know what caused you to lash out. 

“Now we’re even.” You nodded, earning an annoyed snort from Zoro before he gently cupped your head again, bringing you back and smushing your face against his chest. You laughed, being careful not to lean into him too hard since he was still healing. 

The two of you spent a while like that, tangled together, enjoying your meal and each other’s company. You were bringing yourself to forget Zoro’s words, convinced he was intent on righting his wrongs. The man in question had pulled you into his lap and you stayed there, comfortable. Zoro pushed himself to be more affectionate than usual, something you thoroughly enjoyed. You were warmed by the extent he went out of his comfort zone to fix things. 

As the candles slowly burned down and you basked in the attention Zoro gave you, you heaved a content and loving sigh, relaxing completely in the embrace of your lover. 

#— 🤍 ; minific monday!! #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro x reader #one piece fic #one piece x reader #angst #angst with a happy ending

[portraitoftheoddity]

“I have a lead on Vash.”

It’s the first thing Meryl says as she slides into the booth at the back of the small diner where she arranged for them to meet by radiogram, not bothering with any of the niceties of small talk or helloes after over a year of not seeing each other. Wolfwood can appreciate that about her -- she knows he knows perfectly well that she wouldn’t call him here just to shoot the shit. They have one topic of shared business, and she’s getting right down to it instead of wasting his time.

“Where?” he asks, schooling his expression and keeping his voice flat. He’s trying not to get his hopes up, but feels his chest tighten nonetheless. 

“Small town about ten iles north-by-northeast of Lost July,” she answers, pulling off the reflective sunglasses she’s taken to wearing and folding them on the table. “One of my sources was talking with a freight hauler who does deliveries there, and he mentioned a blond man with one arm, so I put out feelers--”

“Lotta amputees in the world,” Wolfwood mutters, that flicker of hope sputtering with the growing sense that this is likely to be yet another wild thomas chase. “Doesn’t mean it’s him.”

“So I put out feelers,” Meryl repeats, a touch louder, purposely ignoring him, “and it turns out the guy in question goes by Eriks, and he turned up looking beat to hell just a few weeks after the July incident and got taken in by a local family.” She meets his eyes, and he can tell she’s almost buzzing with excitement. “All the physical details line up, the location lines up, and so does the timeline.”

Wolfwood exhales raggedly, reaching into his suit pocket for his cigarettes. “So, what--  you want me to go check it out? See if it’s really him?” Deal with the disappointment if it isn’t? He doesn’t say, as he pulls a smoke from the pack. The idea that Vash would just sit on his ass in a small town for two years instead of traveling Noman’s Land in search of self-flagellation following what happened in July just doesn’t track with what he knows of the guy. And despite how little time they spent together in the grand scheme of things, Wolfwood thinks he had a pretty good read on Vash the Stampede.

“I think we should both go,” Meryl declares, then presses her lips together into a line in the way Wolfwood’s learned she does when she isn’t being fully honest.

His eyes narrow, the cigarette hanging, unlit, from his lips. “What aren’t you telling me?”

She squirms slightly in her seat, and for a moment Wolfwood is looking at the fresh-faced rookie that hit him with her truck once more instead of the self-possessed reporter he’s watched Meryl grow into. But then she takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders, and the rookie is gone. “Word is that ‘Eriks’ is an amnesiac with no memory of his life prior to two years ago. Could be a cover, to escape his past, or he might have had head trauma from July and genuinely not remember, which would explain why he hasn’t turned up--”

The whining drone of the diner’s overhead fan is suddenly impossibly loud in Wolfwood’s ears. His hands ball into fists at his sides, nails digging deeply into his palms as he struggles to focus on what Meryl is saying. But he’s only half listening, mind iles away over half a sand ocean--

“--So I think if both of us go, we have a better shot of helping him remember,” she concludes, looking determined. “If we leave now and take the truck, we can make it in just under--”

“No.”

He cuts her off, unlit cigarette falling from his mouth and rolling across the tabletop. Meryl stops and blinks a few times. 

“Oookaaay, I know you’re not a fan of the truck,” she begins, but he cuts her off once more before she can continue: “We’re not going.” He pulls his sunglasses down so he can look her dead in the eyes and impress on her that he’s not fucking around. 

For a moment, she looks gobsmacked. Then, her brow furrows in anger. “What the hell do you mean we’re not going?” she hisses, “it’s Vash! And if he doesn’t remember anything--”

“If he doesn’t remember anything, there’s a damn good reason,” he argues. 

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, a traumatic brain injury! Which makes sense given what he survived, but--”

Wolfwood slams a hand down on the table, hard enough that several other patrons glance disapprovingly their way. Meryl jolts in her seat, finally shocked into silence. “Shortstack,” he growls, “you told me how messed up Spikey was after Jeneora Rock. About how long he wasn’t eating before we crossed paths, all because he blamed himself for what wasn’t even his fault, when he saved a lot of those ungrateful shits, right?” 

“...yes?” she responds, cautiously now.

“And how exactly do you think Needle-noggin’s gonna react when he finds out that his crash landing wiped an entire city and its population off the map?” he hisses, keeping his voice low, but no less full of venom. “That his shithead brother probably got vaporized in the process? You think he’s gonna thank us for that knowledge? You think he’s gonna be happy we filled in that blank and told him the entire planet wants his head on a damn platter?”

Meryl is frowning still, though it’s more thoughtful than angry. “He deserves to know who he is,” she insists quietly. 

“He deserves better,” Wolfwood snarls. “After all the shit this world’s put that spikey-headed idiot through, he deserves better than to be reminded of who he is in the worst damn way, and I’m not gonna be the one to tell him just so I can watch him blow his damn brains out to escape the truth that he got made into a weapon, into a monster--”

His voice cracks, throat closing painfully. He doesn’t even realize he’s shaking until Meryl takes his trembling hands in hers, eyes wide. “Nicholas,” she says, “breathe.” 

He struggles to inhale through a windpipe that’s suddenly narrow as a straw, equal parts mortified and feeling like he’s going to be sick. “I’m not gonna... be the one to tell him,” he mumbles wheezily as Meryl shifts her chair over, resting a small hand on his back. “Not again.”

“Okay,” Meryl agrees quietly, rubbing circles on his back like he’s a damn little kid again (he can’t find the breath to tell her to stop). “You don’t have to. I promise.”

He does his best to get a hold of himself, squeezing his eyes shut and banishing the image of Vash’s eyes widening like Livio’s had, right before--

He draws in a shuddering breath. “You’re still going to, though,” he says, shoulders slumping in resignation. 

Meryl makes an uncertain sound. “I... maybe. You do make a point, that it would be a lot to handle.” 

Her hands slip back into her lap, and she chews her lip thoughtfully while Wolfwood recovers his abandoned cigarette and fumbles for his lighter, hoping the nicotine will help settle him. 

“Maybe we can just... observe,” she offers after a few long moments where he’s finally succeeded in lighting up and pulling familiarly acrid air into his lungs. “Check and see if it’s him, if he really doesn’t remember, and... if he’s okay.” She looks down. “If he’s happy.”

“If he’s happy,” Wolfwood repeats gruffly, exhaling smoke, wondering what that would even look like -- Vash with a smile that wasn’t forced or tinted with sadness. 

“And if we decide we’d do more harm than good by telling him,” she continues, “we can walk away. Deal?” 

He considers it. It wouldn’t be the first deal he’s entered into involving the Humanoid Typhoon; but it might be the one whose outcome he’ll be able to live with.

He shakes on it, and tries to bury his dread.

#trigun: stampede #fanfiction #post-series #tristamp #trigun stampede spoilers #angst #nicholas d wolfwood #meryl stryfe #minific #lena writes #lena's trigun nonsense #got a worm in my brain about how Wolfwood might react to Vash not remembering himself after the Livio thing and then this happened

[what-if-i-just-did]

(Part of this)

This Broken Angel With His Shotgun

Cas was drunk. Getting drunk was easier nowadays.

..shotgun, fighting 'till the war's won,

He was crying, too. Things like that weren't under his control anymore.

I don't care if Heaven won't take me back

He took another swig and he started singing along. The lyrics were wrong, so he sang better ones.

I'll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe,

"I threw away my faith, Dean, just to keep you safe"

He was off-key and black-out drunk, drowning is his days past.

Don't you know you're everything I have?

"Don't you know you're everything I had?" His voice broke on the last word.

And I-I-I-I-I,

The song played on after that, but the human didn't listen much.

He'd been an angel with a shotgun, fought until the war was done, now Heaven wouldn't take him back.

He drowned in his bottles that night, the only memory that would last being a headache.

#minific #destiel #angst #tw alchoholism #destiel angst #human castiel #castiel #spn #endverse cas #I didn't write this with a specific era in mind #so it could be endverse or s9 or whatever #up to your interpretation

[islenthatur]

Ghost could not get the sound of the wet ragged gasps of Johnny's death from his head or unsee the bloody smile and cloudy white that stole the storm-blue of his eyes. It haunted him in the waking world – as if being asleep wasn't bad enough – everywhere he went with Johnny, it haunted him, as a spectre of all his nightmares rolled into one.

He never thought that he would long for the days where he spent his nights screaming in a coffin, the taste of grave dirt on his tongue and the feel and smell of decay... yet he longed for those nightmares again... they were better than this... better than watching Johnny die over and over again, several ways, always violent and bloody.

God, he was tired, so tired but the thought of sleep brought the taste of bile, causing his flesh to itch and sweat. How much longer must his mind torment him like this? He tried to stay awake but there was only so long a body could last without rest, only so long his mind could tell what was real from unreal...

"JOHNNY!" the scream tore through him as he watched Soap drop, face contorted in confusion as redredred dripped from between his fingers. Simon ran, feet tearing across the field, uncaring if he left himself open but Johnny was hurt, Johnny was dying...

He felt the rocks tear through his knees as he dropped and slid to Johnny's side, hands pressed down on the wound, eyes scanning the area for the enemy that shot him. It was wrong, all of this was wrong... how did he get here... That didn't matter, not when Soap's chest stuttered under his hands, not when redredred leaked from the corner of his mouth.

"You need to stay with me Johnny, stay with me!" He pleads while hoisting Johnny up into his arms, laying him out in his arms... pleasepleaseplease... "You can't die here. You promised to show me Scotland..."

Simon... his name was choked out, wet, raspy of a collapsed lung.

He couldn't... he couldn't lose Johnny... not now, not after everything, not like this.

A sob broke free as he felt the heart under his palm stutter and fall still, face buried in Johnny's shoulder as he screamed, heart shattering in his chest as it all crashed around him. Johnny was gone, Johnny was gone... And once again Simon remained.

"You were supposed to take me to meet your family..." He choked out in a broken whisper, lips brushing against a still pulse point. "You promised."

iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou

#Simon 'Ghost' Riley #john soap mactavish #GhostSoap #MacRiley #soap x ghost #Angst #Minific #call of duty fandom #call of duty #Ficlet #IdeafromBee

[breakfastteatime]

Cere leans against the engine room door, watching Cal at the workbench. She'd come to fetch him for dinner and found him tweaking his lightsaber, most likely to keep what remains of the weapon functional. She's seen some busted lightsabers in her time, but nothing quite like his. She'd known Jaro Tapal, remembered his dual-bladed lightsaber that Cal now wields. Cere has not, and will never, ask him what happened to damage it. She doesn't need to, just like she doesn't need to ask him what happened to his own weapon, one that would've suited his stature far better. Cal's obviously grown in the past five years, but he'll never be Lasat-sized.

BD-1 dances across the workbench and spies Cere. He greets her with a cheery whistle and Cal finally looks up from his work, blinking as his eyes shift to a more distant focus. "Oh, hi, sorry. I didn't hear you."

Deciding this is all the invitation she needs, Cere steps in. "Don't worry. It's dinnertime. I just didn't want to disturb you while you work."

"Oh. Sorry. I just wanted to tune the emitter. It feels a little off."

"I see," Cere says. She doesn't, given that she's never used his lightsaber, but Cal's a born tinkerer. She's amazed he hasn't fixed the bottom half of the 'saber yet. She laughs inwardly, knowing as soon as he has the right parts he'll be doing exactly that. "Fixed it?"

Cal ignites the weapon, brilliant blue light shining across the engine room. He lacks the space to swing it, instead listening intently. "Hmm, better," he says, deactivating it and clipping it to his belt. He looks at Cere. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"Don't worry about it," Cere tells him.

"Master Tapal always told me if I spent as much time practicing my forms as I did maintaining my lightsaber, I would've been able to beat Master Drallig before my eleventh birthday."

Cere laughs at that. "That man was unreal. I sometimes felt sorry for whichever Knight got it into their head to try and defeat him."

“Did you try?” Cal asks, not quite pulling off the naïve waif act he’s aiming for.

“Absolutely not,” Cere says. “And neither did Jaro Tapal. He was far too wise for such an idea.”

“What about Master Cordova?”

Cere almost chokes herself when she bursts out laughing. “No!”

Cal surprises her with his next question. “Do you… do you still have your lightsaber?”

“Only the hilt,” she says, an old wrench of anguish tugging somewhere deep inside. “You can see it, if you’d like.”

“Are you sure?” Cal asks, leaving the question hanging.

Cere realises what he means and nods at the workbench. “I’ll leave it there for you.”

After dinner, while Cal helps Greez with the dishes and BD-1 watches on, Cere returns to her cabin and pulls out her lightsaber hilt. She stares at it, wondering what Cal will pick up from it. She’s curious to know if she’s being brutally honest. Curious, and perhaps a little terrified. As promised, she leaves it on the workbench for him and spends the rest of the evening fighting the temptation to tell him to go pick it up and report back what he saw.

He doesn’t talk to her about it until the following morning, when he comes for breakfast with a poorly concealed smirk.

“What?” Greez bites out before Cere can even get there.

“Oh, hi, Greez!” Cal says with far too much cheer. BD-1 snickers on his shoulder.

Greez stares at him. “Have you been eating my plants? Did we not discuss the potential side-effects they’d have on Humans?”

Cal folds himself into a chair at the galley table. Cere stares at him, wondering what exactly it was he saw. Nothing bad, based on the look of him. He catches her staring and his grin widens. “Greez, did you know Cere once considered herself such a master with the ‘blade, she contemplated taking on the Jedi’s actual renowned lightsaber master?”

Cere stares. No. He hasn’t. Of all the memories, it’s that one?

Greez is suddenly very interested, and he serves up Cal’s breakfast eggs with a little more flourish than usual. “Go on.”

Cere sighs. Of all the damn echoes…

Cal pours himself tea. “Yeah, she’d just been knighted. Figured she’d better really test herself before she set out into the big ol’ galaxy.”

“Uh huh…” Greez is loving this.

“Cere was on her way to the dojo when she heard the sounds of a pitched battle. It was intense, and the Force burned with energy of the duel. Other Jedi gathered too, knights and masters, all of whom wondered who was mad enough to take on none other than Master Drallig, the Jedi Master who trained all others in the ways of the lightsaber.” Cal’s so caught up in his tale, Cere’s amazed he isn’t re-enacting it with his own lightsaber. “She steps in, and who does she see?”

“Don’t say Master Yaddle, kid, my heart couldn’t take it.”

“Oh no, it was Jedi Master Mace Windu, considered to be one of the top five duellists in the entire Order.”

Cal can’t keep his own wonder out of his voice. Cere remembers it only too well, remembers watching Mace Windu get absolutely wrecked by Master Drallig as her hand squeezed her own weapon, suddenly grateful she hadn’t arrived before Mace. He was indeed one of the greatest duellists in the Order.

But not the greatest.

And Master Drallig reminded him with ease.

“Top five, huh?” Greez says, pouring himself a fresh mug of caf. “Where’d you rank, Cere?”

“Not that high,” Cere admits, more grudgingly than she expects.

Cal’s smile is somehow broader than ever. Who knew there was such a smug little shit hiding under all that Bracca refinery? “When Master Windu finally yielded, Cere decided against her decision and opted to find someone else to spar with that day.” He leans forward, elbow on table, chin on hand. “So I guess what you told me yesterday was true, from a certain point of view.”

Cere musters all her dignity. “Indeed. I never challenged Master Drallig, and I felt sorry for anyone who did.”

#star wars jedi: fallen order #cal kestis #cere junda #greez dritus #bd 1 #i decided to have less angst attached to cere's lightsaber... #...well in this story anyway #jfo headcanon #jfo minific #i figured cal had to have held it earlier than ilum #and what i thought would be angst turned into this #because let's be real #sometimes #cal can be a little shit #and we are all here for it

[forlix]

𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞・l.f.

— felix misses you a little extra tonight; good thing you're way ahead of him.

words・1.7k pairing・idol!felix x gn!reader warnings・brief mentions of the ocean, drowning imagery genres・fluff, angst, established relationship, pining, hurt/comfort, lots of (happy) tears

a/n・i had exo's "been through" on repeat while writing this; pls give it a listen it's beautiful and so underrated and captures the fic perfectly. enjoy <3

When Felix steps into Tokyo's night air, he can still hear the remnants of tonight's concert in the distance, the occasional car horn and the low thrum of conversation floating over the dome of the stadium. But for the most part, it is quiet, and Felix is finally able to think.

He thinks about how he's happiest after performances: leftover adrenaline warming his skin, strobe lights still dancing across his vision, heartbeat still drumming against his ribs like the heavy bass that shook the stage prior. He thinks about how much he loves leaving each venue knowing that, even if only for a few hours, he owned the place; set it utterly ablaze.

But he mostly thinks about you.

From the moment Felix started loving you, his happiness became yours. A bite of brownie fresh out of the oven, met with widened eyes and a delighted mmm; every funny story relayed to you later that night (poorly, because he keeps interrupting himself to laugh); photographs, so many photographs—an especially rotund pigeon he spots on the way to practice, a new pair of earrings that’s way too expensive but looks way too good on him, cute texts from his mom—inevitably making their way into your camera roll.

He can’t help it. He only wants to experience the best parts of the world with you by his side.

So it is in his happiest moments that he feels your absence the strongest. And now, Felix so badly wishes you were here that he physically aches. It feels a bit like his heart is being swallowed by seawater, nothing in any direction for miles, nowhere to go but down.

Only when Chan materializes next to him does Felix manage to steady his feet on the cement once again.

“It’s not here yet?” Chan surveys the lot for their tour bus, to no avail. “Good thing, I guess. Everyone's taking their sweet time.”

The older boy gives Felix a glance thoughtlessly, looks away, and then looks back, his gaze lingering on the side of his face for longer this time, and Felix knows that Chan knows exactly what’s going through his head. For a second, Chan seems like he wants to say something, but Felix averts his eyes to his shoes, takes out his phone.

Not now.

“I think I left something inside,” Chan says instead, though he never leaves anything anywhere. Felix manages an appreciative smile. Without another word, Chan claps a hand to Felix’s shoulder and disappears back into the building, as quickly as he came.

A few seconds pass. Then, as naturally as if by muscle memory, Felix taps on your contact and holds his phone to his ear.

It rings once, twice, thrice—and then he hears your voice, but not in the way he yearns for.

“Hi, you’ve reached Y/N! I’m unable to come to the phone right now, but please leave a message and I'll get back—”

He ends the call, his brow furrowed. You knew he had a concert today. And you should've known to anticipate the call that would come right after, as faithfully as the sun’s rise and fall.

He calls a second time, hoping this was an obstruction of ‘do not disturb’ and nothing more, but is met with the voice message again.

The call of the ocean's depths becomes louder.

As he sits through the automated response, Felix leans against the wall behind him and tilts his head back against the plaster, his gaze moving over the night sky. Then, he hears the beep, and starts to speak.

“Hi, my love. I called, and you didn’t pick up, and I got worried. Is everything alright? Maybe you’re busy, or asleep? Remember to take care of yourself first and foremost—everything else pales in comparison. Everything."

His voice feels far steadier than he feels.

“Ah, I miss you, darling. The concert went super well; the energy was unreal. We have a few hours to explore Tokyo tomorrow before heading to our next stop, and I’m excited as hell, but I wish you could be here more than anything in the world. I haven’t stopped thinking about how much you’ve always wanted to visit this city since we got here—Seungmin even said he'd save his visit to the Pokemon Center for whenever we come back with you. All of us are thinking of you, babe. Me especially. Me hopelessly.

"One day, you and I are gonna travel the world together, responsibilities and schedules be damned, and we'll spend as long as you want wherever you want. As long as I can be next to you. God, I fucking miss you. I said that already, right?”

A short distance away, the building door opens again, and Felix quickly ducks his head out of view, suddenly conscious of his watery eyes and blurring vision.

“I gotta go. I think the members are ready to go back to the hotel. Call me back when you get a chance, okay?”

The next words catch in Felix’s throat, and he has to wince and take a long, shaky breath in order to get them out.

“I love you to the ends of the universe, angel. Share some of your light with the moon tonight, yeah?” He presses a kiss to the receiver. “I love you, I love you, I love you. Bye.”

With that, Felix hangs up, drops his phone into his pocket, and presses both sleeves tightly against his eyes, willing himself to calm down.

No, he thinks, shoulders quivering with the effort, it really never gets easier.

It takes a while for it to strike Felix as odd that it’s still quiet outside; he could’ve sworn that he heard the door open and close, that he should be hearing the tired chatter of his members by now. Apprehensively (obliviously), Felix lifts his face from his hands and turns around.

Chan, so solemn and quiet before, now wears a Cheshire grin that instantly devolves into a breathy laugh when he meets Felix’s eye. Hyunjin stands behind Chan, holding his phone up, evidently filming. Felix’s lips part in confusion, a question forming on the tip of his tongue. There are enough videos of me crying my eyes out on the internet, no?

But then his eyes fall on the person standing in between the two men, their arms piled so high with flower bouquets that their face is almost concealed entirely, and he forgets what he wanted to say; he forgets every language he knows.

“So we were contacted by a fan the other day,” Hyunjin says, beaming. “Kept calling you their boyfriend. Forced us to fly them out to Japan and everything.”

“It'd be real bad if we got the wrong person,” Chan adds, and a stifled laugh comes from behind the petals—one that Felix would recognize in every corner of the world, in every lifetime. “They look familiar?”

The bouquets part, and behind them you appear, cheeks visibly flushed even under the lot’s singular streetlight, smile so bright that it’s turned your eyes to crescent moons.

"Surprise," you say softly.

The empty lot finally erupts into laughter, Chan and Hyunjin no longer able to restrain themselves. Can't believe we pulled this off, they're saying to each other triumphantly, but everyone, everything around Felix vanishes save for the person he adores most in the world, holding more flowers than they should be able to carry, looking at him as if he's made of pure starlight.

And Felix's heart starts kicking upwards, towards the rays of moonlight filtering through the murky water, as fervently as if his life depends on it—and, in this moment, it does.

“Hand 'em over, fool,” Chan says to you. And as you start transferring the heaps of flowers into the leader’s arms, Felix has never moved faster in his life.

In the span of a few seconds, his hand finds the small of your back, and yours the nape of his neck. “Holy fuck,” Felix whispers, and then he’s pulling you against his chest tightly, desperately. There is no word that can describe the way you melt into one another except for destiny, one of your hands curling in his hair and the other running over his shoulder; his face burrowing in the crook of your neck, fingers lacing together against your spine.

His pulse is so loud that he hears it in all directions, in all parts of him. Felix squeezes his eyes shut against the material of your crewneck, his whole body shaking with silent sobs as the overwhelming array of emotions he'd harbored prior finally spills over. And he stops thinking entirely, simply loses himself in all that you are: the smell of your laundry detergent, the sound of your laugh, the feel of your embrace, so secure and warm as if promising him you’ll never let go.

“I love you, Lee Yongbok,” you murmur, the words only for the two of you to hear.

With the sound of his full name, Felix's heart breaks through the ocean's surface at last. Not only that; it performs a triple axel on the shoreline, and it sure as hell doesn’t stick the landing, slipping and sliding and fighting to regain its balance as you continue on.

“Forget the ends of the universe. You are the universe. You are everything that has ever existed and everything that ever will. And I couldn’t bear to be away from my galaxy for a second longer.”

Felix shakes his head from where it remains buried against you, his voice a broken rasp when he answers, “I’m not whole without you, angel. I never will be again.”

“I'm here, baby,” you reply, your hands tightening around his hoodie, among his long locks. “Whether I'm right next to you or on the other side of the world, I'm always with you. And I will be tomorrow, and the day after, and eons from now. That—”

Your lips find the shell of his ear, then his temple.

“—is a promise, my sunlight.”

Chan is standing with bundles of flowers still piled high in his arms, silent tears streaming down his face, and Hyunjin’s expression is contorted into a terribly suppressed weep, his still-recording phone long forgotten in his pocket. They don't have it in them to tell you to get a room. Not right now.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other works here. thanks so much for the support ♡

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · all works are pieces of original writing and all characters and relationships are purely fictional. please do not repost or reuse for any reason.

#felix x reader #lee felix x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #lee felix imagines #lee felix fluff #felix imagines #felix fluff #stray kids fluff #skz imagines #skz fluff #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #felix scenarios #*minific #lee felix angst #*writing #:'''''') #hahahahaha i am so in love

[sadsoftserve]

-Promises- An EE minific

(this is angsty. Really angsty. It's Bonnies backstory breaked down into a simple ~1,800 word one shot. This contains REALLY SENSITIVE CONTENT. The mentions of Domestic abuse, SA, and attempted murder. PLEASE IF ANY OF THIS TRIGGERS YOU AND OR MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. DO. NOT. READ. This is oc centric. Focuses on Bonnie, with mentions of her mom (Reseda) and her uncle, Ramsey..Not canon to EE. This is Fanwork)

Most of my early childhood was spent blocking out the screams of my parents, and hiding in the moist attic playing with whatever old anquite I could find. No matter what happened within the day, my drunk ‘dad’ would always find a way to beat me or my mother. I stayed as far as I could from them, out of fear it would happen to me. My mother was an amazing woman, Reseda Murdoch was her name, she worked tirelessly at a local library to support me and the drunk she was with. When she worked she often took me with her, she didn't want to leave me alone with the man who frequently beat us.

“Bonnie, baby, come on…” My mother gently cooed. “You know what happens when we’re late.” She loudly whispered as I sped up to match where she was walking. I didn't talk much as a kid, I had no need too. If I did speak it was because I absolutely had too. I shared a lot of physical attributes with my mom, the olive green eyes, and the red hair were the most prevalent. As we walked down the streets of the hood part of Sweet Jazz, my mother held my hand and prayed. Like she always did. She wasn't religious, just hopeful. Hopeful that one day the bastard would drop dead from alcohol poisoning or a drive-by. Me and my mother walked fast, the sooner we arrived the lesser the beating would be.

The closer we got to the house the more anxious my mother got. If we were lucky the bastard would already be asleep and we would go the day unscathed. 

Other days, we weren't so lucky. Like today, as soon as we walked through the door his abhorrent screaming was heard. From where I was standing I could smell the alcohol on his breath. The slurring I was used to, the smell got worse every time I inhaled it. “Wher’ the hell have you beeen!” He grabbed my mother's collar and she let out a yelp. “Keep yer’ mouth shut, whore!” He broke the bud light bottle over her shoulder as she dropped to the ground, holding back tears. She couldn't cry in front of him, if she did it would get worse. He spat in front of her and threw the bottle down next to her. “Get me another ‘ne."

My mother nodded as she quickly stood up and ran to the kitchen to grab the beer he had yelled for. He glared at me. He didn't like me. Not one bit. I was his plaything. Something he could manipulate and play with at his leisure. I didn't know it was a crime. Looking back on it, the nights he would beat my mom so bad to the point of unconsciousness, were the nights he used me. I was five. I was barely a child, and yet he found it amusing to make me do things for him and his friends. Things I didn't know were bad or taboo. He touched me In places I didn't know were private to me. He did the same to my mother, but worse. I could hear her screams, and his beatings as he brutally assaulted my mother. My mother often found herself confiding in my uncle. She called him on our old landline we kept in the attic.

“Ramsey… I can't do this anymore…” She sobbed out into the landline, I was never able to hear my uncle's voice on the other line. But I'd always imagine he sounded like a superhero. Like one from the cartoons. Looking back on it I should've known that's not what he sounded like, but the way my mother talked about him made him seem like a hero. “No… don't do that… he’ll- he’ll beat me worse…” Another unnervingly lengthy pause. She nodded and started to jot down a long string of numbers on an old bill. “O-okay… I'll try. Thank you…” She hung up. She looked at me. I was her pride and joy, she loved me more than she loved herself. Was as fiddling with an old doll I kept up there. “Bonnie… baby, come here.”

I obeyed her actions and went to her sitting in her lap, as she stroked my hair. “Love, your hair is getting so long… it almost looks like mine…” she sighed. “Bonnie, you can talk around me… you don't have to be quiet all the time…” I shrugged. I didn't like speaking. Everytime I did I would be told to shut up by the man who dared to call himself my ‘father’. She sighed once more. “We’ll be out of here soon. I promise. Its gonna be me and you against the world.” She smiled softly.

I leaned my head against her chest and closed my eyes. Listening to her heartbeat. It had an irregular pattern, but it was still soothing. I found myself falling asleep on her as she hummed a simple tune. 

A lot of my nights were spent like this. Cradled up in my mother's arms, years went by, repeating the same cycle of abuse. My mother, beaten and sexually assaulted, I, beaten and sexually assaulted. I was about 9 when ‘The incident' happened. That's what me and my uncle call it. It was December 27th, a cold, windy night for Sweet Jazz. Instead of spending my nights on the attic, I spent it outside. I would play with rocks, sticks, or any snake I could find. The usual screaming match was happening inside, bottles being thrown, punches landing, I was used to it. This particular night I was playing with a small wooden snake I had gotten for Christmas, it was small and bendy. I found myself growing fond of it. I was in my own little world, when the sounds of a gunshot were heard, and the blood curdling scream of my mother followed. The neighbors lights turned on as they heard the screams of my mother. 

The gates between our houses were simple wired fences. Missus Poppy lived next door, she was an older woman, about in her mid sixties. She ran outside upon hearing my mom's scream. Her bonnet and fluffy robe swayed in the late night chill. “Bonnie..? What's going on?” She asked me, I simply shrugged my shoulders.

“I don't know…” I said meekly. Missus Poppy ran around her house to the front door, which she banged on.

“Ray! Reseda! What on god's green earth is going on!” Her voice was loud, it awoke some of the other people on the block. We lived in the hood, hearing a gunshot wasn't rare, but it wasn't common either. We were a tight knit community, everyone looking out for one another, but my mom hid our abuse so well, no one suspected we were being abused. “I swear Ray, I have the police on speed dial!” My father answered the door, gun in his hand. He swung it open, letting the scene of what just happened be seen by everyone on our porch. Missus Poppys face fell immediately, and her dark skin turned a shade lighter. She put her hands over her mouth as she put her arm in front of me.

I saw it all. It was graphic. He shot my mother. Right in the stomach. She was barely clinging onto life. I pushed past missus Poppy, and my ‘father’. I didn't care if he shot me, do it, I couldn't care anymore. I ran to her side, stepping in the grotesque amount of blood spilling out of her. The authorities and my uncle were already being called. “Momma…?” I said, tears spilling from my eyes.

“...Bon-nie… baby…” She lifted a weak hand to put on my face. She gently caressed it. “Baby… I don't think mommas gonna make it…” she winced in pain as she held her stomach with her free hand. I could see the life slowly draining from her, and I didn't want that to happen.

“But… what about our promise…? You promised you'd always be here for me… you said everything would get better…”  I cried. My knees were soaking up the blood that was on the floor. My once purple leggings were now stained red, with my own mother's blood.

“B-baby… I'm sorry…” She said, her own tears spilling from her eyes. “I… want you to know…” The sounds of ambulances and police sirens were heard outside, along with the angry shouts of my uncle. “I want… you to know… that whatever happens… I'll still be here with you… and that… I'll love you no matter what… okay..?” 

I nodded. “Okay… promise?” I asked.

“Promise…�� She gave me a pinky promise. The paramedics quickly came and scooped her away. Nine year old me was left on the kitchen floor, kneeing in a puddle of my mother's own blood. I was in shock… then I broke down. I let out blood curdling wails of pain and grief. I was nine.

No nine year old should go through that.

The police had to hold back my uncle from completely beating my ‘father’ to death. At this point in time, I believe he was out on parole. The police were trying to make sure he didn't break it. He was shouting curses, profanity of all kinds.

“COUNT YOUR FUCKIN’ DAYS RAY! JUST WAIT TILL I GET BACK INTO PRISON! COUNT YOUR MOTHERFUCKIN’ DAYS!” I had never seen my uncle so angry. He was usually a calm guy. His body was entirely gold, he was ready and wanted to fight. I went outside, still crying, upon seeing me, he immediately stopped his angry rant and shoved the officers off of him. He ran up to me and gave me something I desperately needed. A hug. I cried into his shoulder. Staining his bright red Hawaiian shirt with tears.

“Bonnie… kid.” He said softly. He stroked my hair, just like momma did. “It'll be alright. Just… let it out…” I could tell he was fighting back tears too. His nose was scrunched up as his eyes closed tightly. He held me close.

Somehow, I had a stroke of luck. My ‘father’ was charged with attempted murder, two counts of domestic violence, child abuse, rape of a minor, and rape. He got life in prison. But, my luck ran out quick. My mother was out in a coma, to save her. She hasn't awoken yet. I was put in the foster system until I was twelve. Bounced homes frequently, I became a delinquent, fights, juvie, you name it. Foster homes didn't want me, I was trouble. The city had no choice but to stick me with my uncle. Ramsey Murdoch had a criminal record, but it was all petty. Embezzlement, forgery stuff like that.

He's a great caregiver. He supports me, gives me a good life I didn't have when I was younger. Hell I think he's even talking to Micah's mom. Maybe rat man will get hitched? I'm glad I still have someone out there to take care of me. Sure, he sucks at it sometimes. But I love my Uncle, he's still that hero a dreamed of when I was little.

Maybe one day we'll be all together again.

Only time will tell.

#epithet erased #ee #art #oc #ramsey murdoch #reseda murdoch #Bonnie Murdoch #ANGST #REALLY ANGSTY ANGST #artists on tumblr #minific #fanfic #oc backstory #its her canon event #i couldnt stop it #i litterally croed when wroting this #fr #not even joking

[verfound]

MINIFIC: Oct. 23: Day 4: Ghost Family (MLB, Lukanette, DLM AU)

Me yesterday: "No, these won't ALL be sad!" Me today: ". . ."

For @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers October Minific Challenge 2023.

Read on Ao3

To Feel Alive Again: Day 4: Ghost Family

“Marinette?”

She froze at the voice, her nails digging into her scalp where her fingers were still buried in her hair.  She heard the heavy footsteps approaching, and even with the more than fair warning she still jumped when his hand landed on her shoulder.  She swallowed and looked up, trying to keep the guilt off her face as she stared into Luka Couffaine’s…not concerned face.  Luka didn’t get concerned over her.

He was just…nice.

Too nice, for someone as standoffish as she’d been since…

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his narrowed eyes cutting to the window display behind her.  The bread baskets lining the shelf.  The Chinese woman behind the counter who didn’t smile like she used to anymore.  “You know you shouldn’t be here.”

“…fuck off, Luka,” she mumbled.  His eyebrows rose, and if she had bothered looking at him she might have seen the smile flicker at the corner of his mouth.  “I was just…”

“Going,” he supplied, and she sucked in a breath as he looped his arm through her own and shoved his hand in his pocket, tugging her along as he went.  “Excellent idea.  Bread has too many carbs, anyway.  Or so the models tell me.”

“Luka, what-?!” she protested, but he was already hauling her across the street into the park on the other side.  “St-stop it!”

“You can’t be here, Marinette,” he whispered, pulling her closer.  At some point his hand had slipped out of his pocket and found her own, and she stumbled as he squeezed it.  “I know you want to.  I know how hard it is.  But you can’t.”

“…they’re my family,” she whispered, daring to look over her shoulder.  She faltered again when she saw her maman in the window, a hand held over her heart as her eyes scanned the street beyond.  Like she was looking for someone.  Waiting for…

It had only been a few months.  She wondered how many times her maman looked out the window, watching for someone who was never coming home.

“Not anymore,” Luka said softly.  She hadn’t realized he’d stopped as well until he pulled her into a tight hug.  “You’re just a ghost to them now, Marinette.  Don’t haunt them.  Don’t torment them like that.  Don’t torment yourself.”

“…that’s not fair,” she choked out, her throat too tight around the words.  “It’s not fair.”

“…I know,” Luka said, his hand resting on the back of her head and holding her closer.  She wondered if he really did, if he had ever visited old haunts and spied on a family that couldn’t be his anymore, too.  If he really understood how much this was killing her, or if he had been dead so long his words were no more than empty platitudes.  She didn’t know which option was worse.  Her hand fisted in his hoodie, and maybe she cried a little for him, too.  He sighed and turned his head, resting his cheek on the top of hers.  “I know.”

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain-cheng #luka couffaine #sabine cheng #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #lbsc october minifics 2023 #lovebugs-and-snakecharmers #ml fic #ver fic #to feel alive again #day 4: ghost family #angst #dead like me au #dlm lukanette au

[hunter-sylvester]

Left Behind

Unrequited Hunter x Kevin ficlet.

"It happened as gradually as wallpaper is yellowed by years of cigarette smoke."

Length: 338 words Rating: T (No archive warnings apply)

Read On Ao3

#it's tiny but I still made a post for it cause why not #metal lords #hunter sylvester #metallords #kevin schlieb #my post #kevin/hunter #hunter sylvester fanfic #gay hunter sylvester #angst #hunter metal lords #metal lords fanfiction #metal lords angst #hunter sylvester angst #cw cigarettes #minific #ficlet #metal lords ficlet #hunterwriteswords

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

SNAKE only has three memories of his mother. One of his father, entwined with one of the memories of his mother.

Of those three memories, the worst one is sharpest in focus and he hates thinking about it. The rest of them are fuzzy and he loves them.

In the first one, he remembers he was small. Maybe two years and a handful of months old, toddling everywhere, but still clinging to Mother’s skirts like shy children do.

The memory is a grassy field, sunlight warming his cheeks, and dirt under his bare feet. He can remember smiling, laughing. He stopped when he came across a small snake who was coiled in the grass, who hissed at him when he got close.

Back to Mother he went running, wailing with big tears rolling down his face. He was so young then, and having been alive for so little time and (he knows, he knows by his other memories) being so loved by his mother, it was the worst thing which had ever happened to him.

She scooped him up, giggling at his worries. She kissed his tears away all the same and soothed him with gentle up-and-down bouncing held against her chest. “Shh, my love, it’s alright,” she said as she took a step toward the animal which had frightened him.

And she lowered him down, just enough so that his feet were barely against the dirt, a safe distance away from the snake. Instead of hissing at him again, the creature flicked her tongue. And he thought he heard a woman’s voice. Oi, thought you were gonna step on me.

Mother tried to smooth down his hair, though he supposes that cowlick of his didn’t cooperate even as a child. “You see? She was just trying to make sure you didn’t hurt her. She didn’t mean to frighten you. That’s just her way of telling you to take a step back. No creature will hurt you unless you hurt them first.”

Mother was so unafraid and the incident left him curious instead of afraid. She must have thought he was a bit too young to be told that the only creature to hurt another without reason was a human.

The second memory is clearer only because he was a year or two older when it happened. He doesn’t think it was something he was supposed to hear; Mother had put him to bed, and he was meant to be asleep.

But he woke up to the sound of quiet voices and shadows on the wall outside his room, just beyond the door that he insisted Mother leave open so that his dreams could go visit hers. One of the voices belonged to her, and the one he didn’t recognize belonged to a man.

The man’s voice was soft, soothing. Snake is certain that man was his father; he only wishes he’d caught a glimpse of him, to see what he looked like. Mother didn’t have the scales on his body that Snake does… the question of whether or not his father did, of why he looks the way he does, will haunt him forever.

“… Please. You must trust me, my darling.”

Mother’s voice was strained with emotion, like she was crying. “Are you sure? We can’t come with you? But…”

“I know. I know.” Here was where their shadows merged, as Father took Mother in a comforting embrace. Maybe a kiss. Snake will never know exactly what happened between the two of them. “I’m sorry that I can’t stay with you. But he’ll be safer here, without me. You both will be.”

He thinks Mother laid her head on Father’s shoulder, and Snake can remember the big feeling that came with realizing that his mother got sad sometimes. “He won’t know you. It breaks my heart. My love, are you certain you won’t… you don’t want to go in and say goodbye to him?”

“I… I can’t.” Father’s voice sounded tight. Sad, like Mother sounded. Looking back, Snake understands it as a man longing and conflicted. “It’s too dangerous. Just… please… don’t tell him about me. Or what I am.”

Mother gave a small hum, a breath mixed with a laugh. “I’ll tell him the good parts.”

And Father made the same sound. “Alright… just the good parts. When it’s safe, I hope to come back, but… I’m afraid he might be grown by then and you might be gone. I love you so much, my dear.”

“I love you, too.” Mother’s voice shattered into a million pieces. “Don’t forget us.”

“… How could I ever?” A shaky breath followed by a sigh. “Maybe… maybe I will go see him. I just don’t want him to know I was here. Is he asleep?”

The last bit of the memory is Snake’s favorite part, something he tucks close to his heart when he starts to feel worthless. It’s rippled like a pond which has had a stone tossed in it, because he was a tired child and had begun to drift off by then.

It was a strong, careful hand on his head, and Father’s voice. “Ah, I wish I could stay, but… I’m leaving so you and your mummy will be safe.”

A pair of lips that weren’t Mother’s left a kiss on his forehead. “Goodbye, my little boy. Papa loves you.”

The last memory he has of either parent is just Mother. And it’s horrible. And he curls up into a ball and cries silently whenever his mind forces him to remember it.

He thinks he was four. A little older, still too young to recall much else of his short childhood. His mind has blocked out the unnecessary details of this memory, like where he was at the time or why it was happening. It was so fast and it hurts so bad.

He remembers Mother screaming, reaching for him, because people were taking him away from her. She’s the most prominent person in the memory ― because she’s the most important person there.

Everyone else are faceless men, grabbing him, restraining him, and pulling him away from Mother. He remembers being so confused and sobbing. “Let go of my mummy!” still rings inside his head sometimes, his own voice echoing like some terrible chant.

As much as both of them fought, it was two against so many more. Mother couldn’t escape, and neither could he. All he saw were the men dragging her away, then one of the men holding him hit him in the head with something heavy. The world went black.

When he woke up, there was a ringing in his ears and a crude bandage covering a wound on his head.

He was in a cage, and Mother was gone, and he would never see her again.

Late at night sometimes, when he is very, very lonely and homesick for the life he lost, Snake hopes that his parents might still be alive. His father left presumably to keep him and his mother safe. He never saw what happened to his mother, but because he didn’t, he doesn’t know definitively whether or not those men killed her.

He curls up in bed, with at least a few of his snakes coiled around him. Both for the warmth that whatever human part of him possesses, and because they know he needs their company.

And he lets himself remember these memories, and he hopes violently that perhaps his parents will find him again someday. Or he will find them.

He closes his eyes against the tears that want to come. Years of abuse at the hands of someone who took him from his family have trained him to break down quietly, so he barely makes a sound as he cries despite his whole body shuddering.

The memories are allowed full reign over his being, so much so that they seem like all he is.

Snake wonders what his parents named him.

#violence tw #Black Butler #Kuroshitsuji #Snake #minific #platonic #familial #angst #SORRY GUYS I ANGSTEDDDDD #but it's good it's fine it's ok #headcanon that Snake's father was a snake demon and that's why he. Looks Like That and can talk to snakes #also can u imagine lil baby Snake SOBBING because a snake hissed at him dfkladsjflka my sweet summer child #PLEASE LOVE HIM HE REALLY NEEDS IT I HOPE HE FINDS HIS PARENTS AGAIN SOMEDAY

[lyconite]

Marble Heart

#spn fanfic #spn fanart #minific #fanfiction #dean/cas #dean/castiel #endverse #destiel #dark poetry #poetry #Lyconite's Minifics #sensitive content #tw sui implied #dark content #supernatural #spn #fanart #angst #Lyc'sArt

[loksven83]

Wheezing. That's the only sound Bug made as they stood, frozen seemingly in a trance as they stared at the red juice that ran down their clawed fingertips. Their prosthetics smelled like tomatoes now, The knife on the counter. Jim poked his head into the kitchen.

"Bug?" He asked, checking on them. They snapped out of their daze, turning their attention to their caretaker. "Oh, hi, pops.." they said, shifting on their feet a bit. They looked back at the sandwich ingredients that were, besides being covered in tomato juice, were all arranged neatly on the counter. "I uh, I need to tweak one of my arms, I guess.. I went to make you and kitty some Sammies, but I guess I grabbed the tomato too hard." They tried explaining. Jim chuckled, bending down and wiping some juice from their mask with his thumb.

"we all make mistakes, and that is okay." He said, petting Bug. Whenever he pet them, he always made sure to be attentive about their antennae, as they were quite sensitive. "Maybe I was lost in thought again." Bug said, mostly to themself. "Have you seen Uri around?" They asked.

"Uri is out with your uncle Matt. He wanted to spend time with her." Jim answered, moving some of his long, reddish, almost mahogany colored hair from his face. "So.. you and I get to go out tonight?" Bug asked hopefully. Jim nodded, chuckling. His kind eyes met Bug's single 'eye', and he appeared to be thinking. "Maybe we could go and.. hm.. you aren't one much for people, no," he mumbled, apparently starting to think out loud. He paced around the kitchen as Bug started to clean up their mess.

"I've got it."

"hm?"

"I will take us to see Arlus at his pub. We haven't seen him in a good while," Jim finally decided. Bug finished making him a sandwich, handing it over and starting to make themself one.

"oh, yeah! I miss him, it'll feel good to see him again. What's his pub's name again?" They asked.

"The Cat-Sith. He does love his culture, yes?" Jim mused, Bug now munching on their sandwich as well. They nodded, pouring themself a glass of soy milk. "Bug?" Jim asked. Bug looked over, tilting their head. Jim had finished his sandwich and was now cleaning himself up. He approached them, kneeling to their height. "Could I check something..?" He asked. Bug swallowed a mouthful. Their mask apparently had a sort of.. organic.. property to it, allowing them to use the 'mouth' like a normal mouth. Bug shrugged, unblinking.

Jim gently lifted Bug's mask up, revealing their real face.

Their entire face was covered in burn scars, their left eye gone and covered by now healed melted flesh. They had no bottom jaw. Their nose was gone, a hole where it used to be. Bug's single eye that remained somehow shifted between Jim's eyes and his hands, looking.. nervous? The eye that they DID have was a gold color, the white of their eye having a off grey tint to it.

"Bug, can you see out of your left eye?"

They were silent. The communication device around their neck gave off a odd clicking noise. Jim sighed. "It is okay to say no."

"..no." they answered.

"can I ask you a few questions?"

"no. Can I go back to eating?" They asked.

Jim flipped their mask back down.

Bug grabbed their food and headed upstairs to their room.

#minific #ooh new character incoming?? #Oc #story #worldbuilding #angst?? #LORE!??

[chrwrites]

Day 16: Photo

read on ao3

Marinette collapsed on her bed that night, too tired to even think about changing into her pajamas. She let out a heavy sigh as she pressed her face on the pillow, but that didn’t make the lump in her throat and the heaviness in her heart disappear.

She had broken up with Luka.

She knew it was for the best, she couldn’t protect Paris if she was distracted by something so trivial like dating. She was the Guardian of the Miraculous, her mission was to keep the Miraculous and the city safe from the threat of Shadowmoth’s new powers. And Luka… he fell victim to those powers.

Luka got akumatized because of her.

Marinette felt naive and stupid for thinking that she could just do the things normal teenagers did for once. Instead, all she got were interrupted dates and breaking Luka's heart in the meantime.

He didn’t deserve this, he deserved better than someone who always left and changed plans last minute, or sometimes even forgot about said plans. He deserved the best, and Marinette could not give it to him. Not while Shadowmoth threatened the city and all the people she cared about.

She turned her head, meeting the pictures she had hung on her wall just a few months before. Her and Luka’s happy smiles were staring at her as bitter tears streamed down her face.

#here have some angst #lbsc minific challenge #writer's month 2021 #lukanette #pro lukamari