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ghost-proofbaby · 5 hours ago

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"AND JUST LIKE ALL THOSE TIMES BEFORE, YOU WEAR YOUR BEST APOLOGY. BUT I WAS THERE TO WATCH YOU LEAVE."

summary: you finally see all the damage done.

warnings: strong language, angst, mentions of alcohol and drug abuse, direct mention of cocaine usage, reactions to possible overdose, mentions of making someone throw up/someone throwing up, thoughts of death/losing someone. dead dove - do not eat. and, please, minors dni.

wc: 5.3k+

a/n: i need to emphasize the warnings for this chapter. it's not a pretty one, and i must emphasize that this is not meant to be glorifying this behavior at any capacity - if anything, take note of how damaging and destructive it is. if you are unable to read due to warnings, let me know, and i will post a more direct summary of this chapter to be read in place of it.

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Show me what you’ve become, Eddie.

You need to be more careful what you wish for these days.

Gareth nearly runs into you when you pause mere steps within the apartment, looking around and trying to swallow down all your shock. He’d warned you, tried to prepare you for the worst, but you hadn’t expected this.

The penthouse is hardly recognizable from how you’d witnessed it during the weekend.

It’s a mess, an explosion of loose-leaf paper and empty beer bottles across every room within view – the living room, the kitchen, the hallway. Not one, but two ashtrays filled to the brim sit patiently on the coffee table. You can make out butts of cigarettes, as expected, but there’s also plenty of roaches to catch your eye. Burnt down to the filter, sucked dry for all they were worth. You swear you see broken glass, and when you find the strength to stumble forward one more step, you confirm it.

Not broken out of anger, but seemingly having slipped off the edge of the coffee table.

“Fuck,” the expletive falls from your lips before you can think better of it. The longer you stare at the scene, the worse it all comes to light.

Pens thrown astray, plenty of glasses laying on their side on both the floor and couch. Sticky rims, sparse ashes flickered about. You see one empty bottle of whiskey, and have no doubt there’s another – possibly multiple – scattered throughout the apartment.

“I told you,” Gareth says weakly, placing an attempt of a comforting hand on your shoulder, “It gets bad.”

How can so much damage happen over four measly days?

You try to shrug off Gareth’s hand, but he tightens his grip, “Look, maybe we should leave. Matt and I can handle this-”

“No,” you snipe, pulling far from him, taking several steps into the wreckage. “I told Matt that Eddie was my problem now, and I meant it. You can leave if you want, but I’m staying.”

Eddie’s clearly not out here in the living room. There’s a deep imprint on the couch that looks like he may have been there recently, but he’s long gone. All that’s left is the mess, and a sinking feeling in your gut as you spy another terrible item on the coffee table.

Gareth spots it just as you do, as well.

“Listen, I really think we should leave.”

The magazine with that blurry, candid photo of the two of you on the cover, bold and bright letters obscuring it. Those, and the little white line you can spot remnants of across the shiny paper.

“I’m not fucking leaving, Gareth.”

What the fuck happened in the last four days?

Had you said something wrong that night? One wrong step, in a fatal direction, sending Eddie right into this crash out? Had it been the contract, and how hastily you had signed it, that sent him straight into spinning out of control?

You lean down to snatch up one of the glasses discarded onto the floor, unphased by the residue of alcohol that clings to your fingers. The overwhelming and nauseating scent of pure whiskey almost makes you sick.

“Does this happen every time?” you ask, trying to keep your voice even, almost too quiet to be heard over the drumming in your chest, “Does this- is this fucking normal to you guys?”

He gets this way.

You kick a pile of papers, eyes wandering over deeply scratched words in black ink.

This is sort of normal for him.

“Do you guys just-” you struggle to find the words, looking around at this mess. All the red flags, all the reasons to run, and all you feel is a terrible pull towards Eddie. The need to find him, the need to refuse to leave him alone through this all, is rampant in your chest. “Do you guys really just leave him during times like this? When he clearly needs you most?”

You swear, you’ve started to see red.

When you turn to face Gareth, he’s holding his hands up, face twisted in defensiveness, “Hey, listen, it’s not like that-”

“Then what is it like?”

If Eddie’s in this apartment, he can surely hear you. Your voice is no longer quiet and timid, wavering with each syllable. Loud and clear, ready for a fight.

“You haven’t been here this last year!” Gareth raises his own voice to match yours, seeming more desperate than agitated, “It’s not like we just- just- gave up on him!”

And yet, that’s exactly what it looks like has happened.

Every single person that has become a staple in Eddie’s life has seemingly given up on him. They’ve given up fighting for him, on pushing him, on offering a helping hand. They claim to have grown weary, broken bones and patience alike in the battle of forcing Eddie to be a better person. And standing here in this apartment, seeing what they so clearly try to cover up and ignore, you know they’re going about it wrong.

You don’t have to force Eddie to be a better person. He already is a good person, somewhere deep down.

“That’s exactly what it looks like!” you laugh coldly, waving about the apartment, “You all clearly knew what to expect, what- what this place was going to look like. You knew what was happening, and you’re doing nothing.”

Gareth’s nostrils flare with one deep breath, and you already know what he’s about to say is going to cut deep, “Aren’t you the one that simply vanished on him? On all of us?”

He’s right. The blow of the truth would have jarred you more had you not been prepared.

“I didn’t know,” you say lowly, narrowing your eyes at the boy before you, “I had no idea he had gotten this bad-”

“Oh, c’mon,” Gareth shakes his head, turning and walking carefully through the damage, gesturing about just as you had been, “You’re not stupid. We both know you aren’t. What else did you think was happening?” Another step, and you can hear the crunch of glass beneath the sole of his shoe that has you cringing, “That Eddie was just… having the time of his life? That everything was perfect?” he pauses on the other side of the couch, and you can see a world of hurt behind his big brown eyes. “You knew better than that. You knew him better than that.”

What had you thought was going on when Eddie pulled away so suddenly?

Had you really known Eddie as well as Gareth is assuming right now?

Your eyes flutter shut as your throat tightens, because the hard pill to swallow is that’s exactly what you had thought. That Eddie’s life was finally perfect. That he was living his wildest dreams. That there was only one bump in the road to his otherworldly success, in the terrible shape of you.

“You…” You don’t know what those last months were like. You don’t have the sound of Eddie’s voicemail memorized. You don’t wake up from nightmares to the sound of a dial tone in place of future plans bursting into flames. You don’t know the silence. “You’re right.”

You could spend days standing here as you made excuses. One after another, a list longer than the miles once put between you and Eddie. Dissect every possibility you’d deemed possible, and drudge up all the ones you’d simply refused to see in the daylight.

Fighting with Gareth doesn’t make this right. Fighting with one of the boys you’d grown up with doesn’t erase the situation at hand.

“Everything was going to shit a long time before you left, y’know,” Gareth’s voice finally breaks a bit, and you look up to find the rims of his eyes pink as they hold back tears, “I don’t know why you left, none of us do, but I’m willing to bet all the blood money I’ve made from this band that it’s because of something an awful lot like this.”

“I did what I had to do,” you defend yourself so weakly that even you don’t believe the words.

“Exactly. Just like we have been since you left.”

There’s more to say and more to argue about, but it’s enough for now. You don’t want to waste another second here, pointing fingers at who’s in the wrong and who’s to blame. Really, all you want to do is find Eddie.

So you do just that. You decide to make a beeline for the hallway.

“I-” Gareth takes a few steps towards you, but you don’t slow down. He has the common sense to follow, “Where are you going?”

“He’s obviously not in there,” you say through heavy breaths, fighting tears and pausing between the two doors at the end of the hall. The in-house studio, or the bedroom. “We can fight about it later. I don’t care, I just-”

You choose the bedroom.

All your words die on your tongue as you throw open the door and see him, all the oxygen in your lungs expelled forcibly to make room for a hole like never before in your chest.

He’s sprawled out across the bed, still in a t-shirt and jeans that look eerily similar to what he had worn Sunday.

“Eddie.”

You’re not sure if it’s your voice or Gareth’s that echoes through the room as you throttle forward, body in autopilot.

What happened to him? Is he okay? Is he breathing? Is he alive?

The bed jumps from the weight of you as you crumble beside him, quick to press your ear to his chest.

Is he alive?

The first thing you notice is the warmth of him beneath your palms. A good sign.

Please be alive.

The next thing you notice is the shaky breaths resonating within that chest you cling to. A heartbeat mingling somewhere beneath the press of your cheek as you slump in relief. A grunt as the weight of you pins him down.

“What the-”

The words are croaked and slurred, as if Eddie hadn’t spoken out loud in days. You feel him start to shift beneath you, and the moment of serene relief that had overcome you from him just being alive evaporates as quickly as it had momentarily lived within your chest.

Please stay alive.

You sit up straight, eyes finding his, “What did you take?”

Blown out pupils. Whiskey breath. Powder residing at the tip of his nose, barely noticeable until you were as close as you currently were.

“I-” Eddie blinks up at you slowly, mouth ever so slightly agape, looking confused as ever, “What do you mean?”

I need to keep him alive.

“I mean,” you hiss out, sitting up fully and dragging him with you. You can’t focus on the fear creeping up at seeing him this way; it’s as though he might not be within his body, like he’s vacated the premises and you’ve been left with an uncoordinated vessel. “What the fuck did you take, Edward Munson?”

“Maybe we should give him a sec-” Gareth starts, but he’s cut off when you stand up entirely, Eddie in tow with your hands around his biceps.

The boy makes no move to help you, clearly shocked, but Eddie is pliable. He lets you toss him around like a ragdoll, no protests to be heard beyond ragged breaths that you can’t quite be sure you aren’t just imagining joining your own.

I need him to stay.

You’re not giving him a second. Depending on what he’s taken, that second could be the line between life and death.

“Tell me,” you grunt with persistence, working your way under Eddie’s arm to support his weight against your body properly, “What you’ve taken,” Gareth takes a step forward but pauses at your sharp glare, “So I can make sure you don’t fucking die on me, Munson.”

Your voice is terribly fragile as you start dragging him along towards the bathroom. His feet are moving, stumbling right along with you, but he remains mostly slumped against your side. Head lolling, eyes closed every time you sneak a glance through your struggle.

I need him to stay with me. Please.

Gareth is a foreign stranger, a mere on-looker to the catastrophe.

That’s fine. It’s fine. It’s becoming abundantly clear that he doesn’t recall any of Eddie’s speeches, lectures, regarding the mixing of drugs that he gave once the group had discovered his side gig back in Hawkins.

Which drugs did he warn against mixing? Which substances should I be worried about getting out of his system first? What symptoms should I be watching for?

You rack your brain with each step towards the bathroom, only being able to remember one thing crystal clear. If nothing else, you recall Eddie telling you the easiest way to sober someone up a great deal, across most substances they might have taken.

The shower. You need to get him in the shower.

It’s not the cold water you need, although it’ll certainly help. Maybe it can shock him out of this trance just a bit, doing away with his droopy lids and any lingering substances on his body. Sweat, cocaine, alcohol – it’ll clean him up, surely, but that’s not your only goal.

“Anytime Rick has seen someone try to mix the harder stuff with alcohol,” Eddie had once drawled to you in his van after a party he’d let you join him in attendance of, a milkshake in both of your hands as you’d reminisced on the night, “He makes ‘em chuck it all up. It’s gross. But efficient. Gets ‘em in a shower, or out in the yard, and just… makes it vomit town. Doesn’t do much but does somethin’, I guess.”

All your movements are robotic, your mind hardly your own as you go through the motions. You don’t know how you’ve dragged him fully into the bathroom so quickly, no help from Gareth – but you have. You don’t know how you kept him upright, pressed tightly to your side as you turn on the water – but you have. You don’t know how you manage to situate him on the floor of the tiled shower, water soaking his knees and calves – but you do.

Your body isn’t your own. Just like Eddie, you’ve become a witness to the events, no longer feeling as though you’re actually partaking in them as you take the final step.

It’s not a pretty sight.

You don’t register the feeling of you shoving your fingers down Eddie’s throat, but soon enough, his head is hanging between his knees and Gareth is hovering behind you in sheer distress.

“Did he just-” he starts to question, trying to peer past your kneeling figure to get a better look.

You don’t make him finish the sentence, doing the honors, “Throw up all that shit in his system? Yes.”

Look at me. Stay with me. Stay alive.

Your chest feels two sizes too tight as you look at his heaving shoulders, a hand hesitating in mid-air as it reaches out to land on his back. That space between your palm and his shaking back. Two inches of space as your skin constricts a bit tighter.

Stay with me. Please.

Gareth is saying something, probably having a complete meltdown as you should be, but it’s static noise. Nothing else matters as you completely destroy that final bit of distance, and you let your palm fall against his back. Feather-light, so unsure, quivering even more than his figure as you go deathly still.

You can feel every breath. Every little hiccuping gasp he takes as he regains composure.

Look at me, please.

Your pride, your fear, and your panic all collide as you give in. Your still hand is now in motion, palm rubbing his back feverishly with desperate comfort. You collapse entirely on the ground, letting yourself fall half into the shower to be close to him. You don’t care about the metal railing digging into your thighs and hip, you don’t care about your clothes growing damp as you enter the edges of the stream of water now washing away all the vomit.

You only care about him.

You’re about to open your mouth to say his name, surely being your voice this time as Gareth continues to hang back in shock, when umber brown eyes are finally looking up at you.

The rivers of blood below the surface of your skin run far colder than the stream of water coming from his shower ever could.

It’s simple syllables, the quietest of noises, and it has the power to absolutely crush you – all he does is sigh your name, and the world stops.

You can’t speak. He slowly leans back up, back colliding harshly with the tiled wall of the shower, and you can’t speak. You hardly even move that pathetic attempt of a comforting palm out of the way in time.

He’s squinting as he groans, eyes darting between you and Gareth, “What the fuck happened?”

You lean back out of the water a bit, unaffected by the feeling of wet jeans sticking to your skin, as Gareth scoffs out, “You went on a fucking bender. That’s what happened. Again.”

“It wasn’t a bender-”

“Bull-fucking-shit.”

All his words are still slurring. His pupils are still just a tad bit too big for those whiskeyed eyes.

“I was just having a bit of fun-”

“What about this is ever fun?” Gareth’s voice raises, louder than he had even been when fighting with you in the living room. “The part where we find you high out of your mind, half-dead in your apartment? Or the part where we’ll be cleaning up your mess?”

I just wanted him safe. Alive. With me.

You can’t join in the fight, because you weren’t looking for a fight. You had been so focused on simply finding Eddie, making sure he was okay, that you’d never considered what would happen once you did.

“Oh, fun,” Eddie laughs coldly as his head throws back carelessly, and you flinch at the way he lets his skull bounce against the tile. Your fingers twitch, aching to have stopped it, to prevent any further damage, “We’re gonna have this argument again.”

I just needed him alive.

Your palms are sweaty against the tops of your thighs, pressed down tightly to prevent from reaching out to Eddie. There’s a ferocious need to clean him up further, to kick Gareth from the bathroom, to focus more on getting him sober than scolding him right now, but-

“Damn right, we are!” Gareth’s sneakers narrowly miss your lower back, and you’re looking over your shoulder with shock as he begins pacing, “Yeah, we fucking are having this fight again. How many times is it going to take? How many times am I going to have to explain to someone new how this is your normal now? How many times is someone going to stare at me like I’m the asshole here when I don’t do anything to prevent it, because I can’t?”

“Gareth-” you whisper, trying to calm him down, moving to stand up when Eddie laughs again.

“I don’t even fuckin’ know why she’s here,” you aren’t looking at him when he says it, and you’re almost glad for it. It’s in the way he says it – words easily mistaken for the ringing of a blade being sharpened, “What’s the point? Go ahead and do it now, Sugar.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, you turn back towards Eddie, “Do what?”

Dagger in hand, eyes so cold, he finally hits his mark, “Leave. That’s what you do, right? So just do it. Leave.”

Just how much blood can the human body spill?

There must have been a time you learned that fact.

Some time long ago, in a faraway classroom, the fact fell from the lips of a high school teacher in a droning tone. But you can’t remember it, because somewhere in that mystifying glimpse of the past, you’re sitting in a chair beside the man in front of you. You’re not bothered with facts of the human body or blood loss, because all you know is passing notes and giggles covered with coughs, the gentle tickle of knuckles brushing and knees bumping beneath desks. Your mind was on afterschool plans, which diner you’d meet up at and which of you would be picking the flavor of the milkshake you two would share. Who would claim they don’t want fries, and who would be sliding their plate across the table to let the before liar have easier reach. Who would be dozing off on the other's shoulder, as the other one finally brought up the responsible topic of homework.

Trivial things. Things taken for granted. Things that fall out of reach when you finally extend yourself towards them, with the whisper of never being able to go back. The weight of Eddie’s cheek pressed to your bare shoulder over the roar of summertime cicadas outside a diner window, or the flat tone of a teacher informing their students of a fact they’ll seemingly never utilize again in their life.

You don’t remember, because back then, you’d never expected the man before you to make you bleed.

You start to shake your head, but he prevents you from defending yourself, “You can’t deny it. You did it – it happened. We wanna air out all my dirty laundry? Cool, let’s start with yours.”

“Eddie,” Gareth has quieted down as you’d wanted, but you wish he hadn’t, “Give her a break, man.”

Every atom in your body is hardening to try and prepare itself for his next blow. All expression drained from your face, the life fading from your eyes.

“Why should I?” When he leans forward, you don’t even worry if he might get sick again all over you. He levels you with a wintery stare, and it’s the eyes of a stranger looking into yours now, “Why should I give her a break, or get my hopes up, when we both know how this ends? I’m saving us both some heartbreak, ain’t I, Sugar?”

The way each word bleeds into one another should lessen the blow. The haze over his eyes should make everything feel a little more dull, a little less precisely sharpened. The sluggish movements and the constant sway of his body even when frozen in place should make it all less painful.

But drunken words are honest thoughts, and you can’t help as the first crack of emotion bursts in the form of burning eyes.

Stay with me. I need you to stay with me.

You don’t have it in you to defend yourself, to defend whatever this is that you two have pulled out of the rubble.

All you can do is meet his stare, so vacant and so chilling, as you say, “I’m not leaving.”

And then, ironically, you do exactly that. You leave.

Shoulder bouncing against Gareth’s, you move as quickly as you possibly can out of the suffocating bathroom, the tables turning entirely. The roles have switched, and now you’re the one gasping for air.

“Hey, hold on,” Gareth tries to reach out for you, but you’re quicker than him in pulling yourself away from the two of them entirely.

“Clean him up,” you instruct flatly, unwilling to look at Eddie. You’ve seen enough, bled enough, for one day.

Neither man replies to you verbally, and all you hear as you exit the room is the pattern of water breaking against the tile. It almost sounds like your heart, if Eddie Munson hadn’t already done the honor of tearing it apart in his current state.

—

You stay true to your word.

You don’t leave.

Not the apartment, at least.

For the next hour, you put yourself to work, digging under Eddie’s kitchen sink and finding a large enough trash bag for the current task you busy yourself with. You never let a single tear fall as you glide around the living room, the kitchen, the hallway.

You don’t go near the bedroom. Near the bathroom. Near Eddie.

Gareth only shows his face once the entire duration, stepping outside of the room briefly but never glancing your way. You can only assume it’s to let Eddie get dressed, his clothes probably needing to be washed after the entire ordeal.

If he flinches as he hears you toss all the trash within reach of your hurricane in the bag particularly violently, you don’t say a word.

By the time there’s any sign of life on Eddie’s part, you’ve already cleaned up most of the apartment. Ashtrays emptied, all glasses not broken in the sink, a semi-neat pile of any pages you could decipher his handwriting upon. You were cruel, if Eddie’s presumption of knowing how this ends was anything to go off of, but you weren’t so cruel as to toss away anything he might have written for his career.

This time, you don’t snoop. You know better than to read a single line on the pages. If Eddie has something he wants to say to you now, he’ll have to say it to your face.

There’s a creak from down the hall as you’re finally collapsing onto the couch, a photo frame in hand as the overflowing trash bag is discarded to the floor temporarily, fingers already working nimbly at getting the back of the frame off before whoever it may be enters the room.

Just as the creased photograph is in your grasp, a throat clears from behind you.

“I…” he sounds smaller than he had in the bathroom, voice a bit clearer, “Uh, thank you. For…. for earlier.”

Slow, steady steps. No longer blundering, or needing the support of another body to guide him.

“I’m-”

If you were to turn around, you know you’d see the Eddie Munson you swear you know. The one who had sat beside you in science class, the one you would kiss under the bleachers every Friday night. You’d see the boy you’d followed across states, followed all the way to New York, sprinting to catch up with him as he’d trailed ferociously after his dream. Clear eyes, somber face, not a single blade in hand.

But you can’t keep chasing after that boy. You think before Eddie ever turned his daggers towards you, he had taken them to that boy first, and he was buried long before you could even think to say goodbye.

“Don’t apologize,” you force out, letting the words leave you as easily as the breath you were holding. The air in your lungs, however, stays put. “You were fucked up. It’s fine.”

Over the edge of the photograph you hold, you see his bare feet. New tattoos on unfamiliar ankles, the hems of pants he’d bought without you at his side.

“It’s not fine, and I shouldn’t have said that,” Each word drips with sincerity. Then again, his accusation in the shower had as well, as you recall it now, “Will you- Please look at me.”

Please look at me.

Please stay with me.

You can’t say that you break. Because, truthfully, you hadn’t been whole to begin with. Some sort of chasm had torn you apart the moment you walked into this apartment - no, the moment you had walked into that damned meeting room and seen his face for the first time in years.

Two years. Twenty five months. One hundred weeks.

Your brain has no capacity to break down the hours, minutes, seconds. All the time spent without him, unknowing that the man you had loved was rotting away in the ground six feet under, as the ghost of him haunted stages across the world.

“I need to finish cleaning,” you say suddenly, jumping up off the couch, keeping your vision downwards.

What if you look at him, and you decide to leave?

What if you look into his eyes and see the picture once painted by dial tones and automated voices announcing an electronic mailbox was full?

What if you just weren’t as strong as you were determined to be?

“I have all the cups in the kitchen sink,” the words slip over a frantic tongue, one hand twisting at the plastic material of the bag until your nails are piercing right through the thin veil to prod painfully at your palm as the other won’t let go of that damned photograph, “I emptied all the ashtrays, and-”

Why should I give her a break, or get my hopes up, when we both know how this ends?

When we both know how this ends?

How does it end? You want to scream at him, ask him the question that chokes you up now. Is this how it ends, with awkward encounters and coming to the rescue recklessly? Does it end with hurtful words said out of spite over the stench of intoxication, or does it end more quietly, over the whispers of apologies and thanks that should never have been necessary to begin with?

Does it ever really end? Because surely, it didn’t end for you two years ago. Twenty five months ago. One hundred weeks ago.

Why does this love of yours insist upon being a weapon, just as Eddie had written in his song?

“Sugar, please,” he tries to stand in your way, force you to look up, but you won’t, “Please, stop cleaning, and-”

“I can’t.”

“You can, just sit down, let’s talk about-”

“I can’t.”

“Gareth can get the rest of it all, it’s fine-”

“I can’t!”

You both stop all movements, Eddie’s shuffling and your attempts to escape him, as the yell falls off your lips. Finally, you look up at him, shocked to find red-rimmed eyes.

They weren’t that pink when you’d found him. Even when intoxicated.

The tears gathered proves it.

“I almost lost you, Eddie!” It feels good to scream. Feels good to watch him crumple right along with you as your voice bounces around the hollow room. “You almost left me this time, okay? And not- not in the- you wouldn’t just be somewhere out there!” At some point, your hands begin to curl into shaking fists, and you let them fall against Eddie’s chest in a broken pattern. Thump, thump, thump, “You’d just be fucking gone! There would be no contracts to fix it! I can’t make a deal with the fucking Devil or God to bring you back!” His fingers wrap around your wrists, fists still in motion. Not stopping you, simply holding onto you, “Gone!” Another smack to his chest, “No second chances!” Tears had started to fall, finally, but you pay your blurry no vision any mind as sobs tear out of your throat along with every weak toss of your fists, “De-”

You can’t finish the word. It’s coiled up at the back of your throat, a stopper to all the sobs you’ve started choking out.

A chest two sizes too small, a heart with a hole in the center of it.

Maybe you had been born with the hole in the shape of the man that catches you when you collapse against him. It was always there, nothing to be done about it, except to let him fill it. Slot himself right into your life, place himself over it just like a bandage, wrap his arms around you as small shushes fall from his lips.

It’s selfish – terribly, terribly selfish – that he’s comforting you now.

But he does. He lets you cry out, slumped against him without complaint. As though simply holding you might fix this. As if this entire day may be capable of being erased by this very moment.

At some point, you have no sobs left in you. Your entire body has been pressed into Eddie’s chest, and he’s clinging to you as though his life might rely on it as he buries his cheek against the crown of your head, but not a cry is left to give.

“I’m not leaving,” he repeats your words from earlier in the softest of tones.

They hold an entirely different weight on his tongue.

But the entire Universe holds its breath as it’s set into stone – neither of you are leaving. You’re both here, headstrong with feet cemented where you stand, and you are not leaving this time.

Your fist still homes the photograph, albeit adding new wrinkles to the picture as it curls within your hold.

Carefully, you start to pull back from Eddie, and he lets you. Arms dropping away as you take one step backward, sneakers crunching on the broken glass scattered about the rug below.

There, in your palm, there’s a lifetime you think you may always miss. A time that you’ll always remember like a sore ache in your back molars.

You, and Eddie, and Gareth. Even Dustin Henderson is in the photo.

“What’s that?” Eddie asks as his eyebrows wrinkle and he attempts to get a closer look at the treasure you stare blankly at now.

“A photo,” you blandly explain, another step back before you can collapse onto the couch once more. Eddie joins you this time, “From that first big show at the Hideout.”

There’s more words turning stale on the tongue, but you don’t need to reminisce anymore. You get it now. Sort of.

It hurts, it might hurt for a while, but it’s over with. It’s never going to be fair to continue to compare the two of you to what once was. You can’t go back, you can’t change a past already written. Two graves need to be laid to rest now, after one hundred long weeks, and it’s time to leave the cemetery.

That chapter was closed. The book wasn’t.

“I meant what I said, you know,” Eddie whispers. You swear you can hear noises from down the hall, suddenly remember that Gareth was still here, “I… I didn’t say it the way I should have, but I meant it. If you want out, I’ll let you go.”

Maybe the Universe had gotten the memo, but Eddie hadn’t.

You look at him with wild eyes, “What? I don’t-”

“I know, I know. The contracts and stuff. But I could get them nullified. If it’s what you want, I’ll force them to let you out,” you’re stunned into silence as he smiles sadly at you, “You didn’t sign up for this shit, Sugar. I can scrap the album, too, if you want. The guys can help me write new stuff, stuff not about us, and we can just-”

You toss that photo right onto the ground, let it flutter down to settle beside the trash can. Like flowers on a grave.

“Do you want to know what my first thought was when I came in here?” you interrupt him, staring up at the front door as you fight back tears. He doesn’t respond, so you continue on, “Please be alive. My first thought was for you to just be alive, be okay.”

That’s what it had been. No care for nostalgia or all that once was. Simply needing him to be breathing inside this apartment.

The callous laugh that escapes him isn’t quite as cold as the ones he’d let out in the bathroom, but there’s still no trace of humor, “Can I be honest? I’m definitely alive, and some of that credit belongs to you, but… Jury’s still out about being okay.”

You turn your body towards him, blinking your sore eyes slowly, “Then talk to me about it.”

His shock proves that this has clearly become a foreign concept.

“What?” he tries to chuckle, tries to force a little laughter into the tone rather than sheer nerves, but it’s useless when it comes to you. He used to laugh like that any time that he lied to Wayne – it was always his giveaway. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but like I said, you didn’t sign up for any-”

“I did,” you stress, almost reaching out to grab each side of his head, shake some sense into him if possible. Just make him understand. “When I signed Matt’s contract, I signed up for it. When I agreed to get just a cup of coffee with you, I signed up for it,” you pause, taking a deep breath, eyes shutting for only a moment to compose yourself. It’s hardly a second, a long blink if anything, just so you can keep him in your sights, “You keep acting like you’ve forced me into this, but I’ve always been able to walk away if I really wanted to. Every step of the way. I could have refused to take Corroded Coffin on as a client, I could have told you to go to Hell and meant it. I could have laughed in Matt’s face when he suggested the contract. But I didn’t. Get it through your dense skull, please, Munson – I’m here, I’m staying, and I signed up for it.”

He’s quiet, dead silent as he stares at you with red eyes. You can see the bags shadowing beneath, all the damage done over four days that you can’t clean up with a trash bag and enough anxiety to fuel you for days. Things that take longer to heal, things that eat away at someone if they don’t talk about it.

You remember all that anger you’d felt when you’d realized this wasn’t the first time that Eddie had done this, that this was his new normal.

How it had stunned you that none of them had ever just offered to talk to him.

‘You knew him better than that.’

Gareth had been right. You do know Eddie better than that.

“I can’t force you to talk about it all,” your voice drops, something for just the two of you, “But I can ask you to stop bottling it up. I can ask you to stop self-destructing. Because, trust me, I’ve been there – and look where it left us.”

He tilts his head as he opens his mouth, but you’ll never hear his argument as Gareth finally enters the room.

“I, uh, cleaned up the room and bathroom,” he holds up a smaller trash bag, free hand rubbing the nape of his neck, “I just tossed his- your old clothes into the laundry basket, but…. Yeah. It’s clean.”

A small correction, a shifting of the eyes to acknowledge not just you, but Eddie.

“Thank you,” Eddie says, terribly earnestly, twisting his body to settle his arm along the back of the couch. You’re still thinking about that tilt of his head, and whatever he had to rebuttal you with, “I… I appreciate it.”

The words sound uncomfortable on Eddie’s tongue, as though he hasn’t said them in a while.

“I also called Matt and let him know you’re alive,” Gareth breezes right past the gratitude, but it moves as though a weight in the air has finally been lifted as he circles around the couch to drop his bag of trash beside yours, “He said to take a few days to recover, but… Keep in touch. Not specifically with him, if you don’t want to, just- Anyone.”

Gareth’s eyes catch yours as he says it, and you know exactly what he means.

Eddie won’t, can’t, speak to them – but maybe he can find a way to talk to you.

“Thanks, Gar,” you can’t fight the slightest twitchings of smiles on the corners of your mouth as you say it, and Gareth is quick to roll his eyes. It almost feels normal. It’s almost enough to forget what’s happened.

“If you’re going to start calling me that, I might just have to tell the guys that the pizza date is cancelled,” Eddie’s head snaps from Gareth to you, not angry but simply confused, “They still haven’t stopped talking about that, by the way. Better be good on your word, Hellfire.”

All you can do is nod, and try to not sink too deeply into the warmth sparking up in your chest at the nickname.

“Hellfire?” Eddie, for the first time since you’ve found him, is laughing genuinely. It’s a tired sound, a little breathless, but it’s actual laughter. “Haven’t heard that one in a while.”

“Haven’t had her around in a while,” Gareth is quick as he nods in your direction before finally moving towards the front door, “I’m heading out now, but… Call me if you need me. Or if you start craving pizza. Or… Don’t. I don’t know, I don’t control you two.”

You almost ask him to stay, but you’re starting to suspect Gareth had heard more of your private conversation with Eddie than you’d like, and that it might be better for him to leave before you two can continue talking.

Before you ask Eddie about the tilt of his head, the argument on his tongue.

“See you around, Gareth,” you hum, waving as you sink back further into the couch. Already preparing to settle in for a long night, a long talk.

“See ya,” he makes the effort to not just nod in response to you, but Eddie as well. Just as his hand is on the door, though, he suddenly turns back around, “Oh, and before I forget - catch.”

Your hands move faster than your mind, thankfully, as a shining object flies through the air from Gareth’s palm and into your chest, “What the f-”

“Matt can make a new copy if he really wants one. I think you’ll make better use of it than us for now.”

You look down at the silver key that Gareth had produced right as you had been on the verge of getting inside the apartment, of getting to Eddie.

Eddie sees it too, and his brows furrow quickly, “When the fuck did Matt get a key to my place?”

“Who cares?” Gareth shrugs, “Just be glad he did, or else you’d probably be replacing your front door from her kicking it in.”

It’s your turn to let out a sincere scoff, pocketing the key regardless. He’s right – your ankle almost screams out it’s thanks as you think about whether you would have tried (you would have) and if you would have been successful (you wouldn’t have been).

With that, Gareth leaves.

The front door doesn’t slam shut as you and Eddie are left properly alone. A new key to add to your own chain heavy in your pocket, and a million questions weighing down your mind.

You and Eddie turn back to one another in sync. Something simmers in the air – something hopeful, something promising. The rosy glow of sunset outside the skyline windows illuminates the room just so.

“Now that we’re alone, I’m going to ask you one more time, and I want you to be honest,” you start strong, sure, ready. Eddie nods along with each word, never shying away from your gaze, “Are you okay?”

Instead of answering immediately, Eddie suddenly shuffles around his position on the couch. You’re taken back, freezing up, but don’t dare protest once you realize what he’s doing.

His head falls into your lap with minimal hesitancy, and suddenly, big brown eyes are staring up at you.

“Honestly, Sugar? No. I feel like shit,” you can’t fathom how he manages to do it, delivering it with a boyish grin that doesn’t feel condescending, only slightly teasing. It should be inappropriate, but if this is how he needs to be in order to open up, then it works. “Got any preference on where I start?”

Your fingers find home in his scalp on instinct, “Wherever you want, Rockstar.”

You can bury the old versions of yourself all you want – some habits will never die. Some things will never change.

“Great,” he sighs, letting his eyes flutter shut for just a moment. You both bask in all the serenity that traces the edges of his face as the dipping sunrise continues to paint his cheeks gentle shades of pink and orange. “Then let’s start with promising I’ve learned my lesson, and I’m never mixing cocaine and whiskey again. Totally cancels out for me. A real buzzkill.”

“Not funny.”

“I know,” his eyes shoot open, and half his mouth raises at a sorry attempt for a grin. Still tired, still truly looking like shit, but there’s promise behind those twisting vines of amber and chestnut looking up at you, “But I mean it… Gotta start somewhere, Sugar.”

He’s right – it’s a start. And you hope he means it. Because, whether it be fortunately or unfortunately, you’re not leaving.

☆ prev chapter | masterlist | next chapter ☆

#ghost's stories #maroon #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #stranger things #tw drug use #tw drugs

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angelsberrymilk · 1 day ago

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this is for @runawaydr3amerao3 & @giulmu

Dean gets his Sammy back.

(sam winchester x soldier boy)

2.2k words

tags: dean's pov, attempted suicide, religious imagery (mostly christian and muslim), Djinns (according to north african/arab pre and post Islamic lore), themes of depression, hallucination, body horror, horror, vomiting, angst with comfort (?), canon-typical dean violence, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, beta by me so there may be typos + eng is my 3rd language. (if i missed any tags pls let me know)

important note: this is mostly part one of reuniting sam and dean again, but sammy brings home a stray (soldier boy) and then next bits will be them interacting and soldier boy getting used to seeing Dean in the flesh. There's an ask asking for jealous ben so that will be in the next part soon hopefully <3 But I meant to write like a paragraph or two of dean looking for his baby brother and jump to the reunion but the fic ran away from me lol. sorry dean ;p

i will also archive some of the samboy stuff on ao3 to add to the tag (it has 10 works atm! 10! but fear not! berry is coming to the rescue! haha)

+ those who are unfamiliar with soldier boy pls go read his wikifan page, but only the boys tv one! Not the comics! Because I'm not familiar with THAT soldier boy. But all you need to know is that he's the dark version of cpt america :)

Dean somehow finds a way to get his brother back after flipping the supernatural world on its head.

He terrorises angels through Castiel, goes on a killing spree on witches when they claim they can't help him and really, he doesn't need to kill them, but he may as well while he's at it. Dean summons so many crossroads demons and slaughters them in fits of rage when he doesn't get what he wants that he gets somehow blacklisted in hell, if Dean Winchester rings, do not answer.

He doesn't bother with hunting when Sammy goes missing. Finding Sammy is his number one priority. He reads every book and file on multidimensional travelling he can find because Castiel circled the Milky Way twice and hasn't found a single trace of Sammy. Sammy's soul is also nowhere in sight, not hell, nor heaven, which means he is not dead. So he must be lost to time and space, and Dean will find him, against each and every odds.

Dean summons gods and goddesses, demanding that they bring him his brother back, or take him to his brother. He gets laughed at and he kills half of them, and the other half? They swear to curse his existence for his audacity and leave him wild in the eyes and foaming at the mouth. A punishment far worse than death. At least, in Dean Winchester's book.

Dean curses all gods and angels in one breath, curses Abraham's God and goes on another killing rampage just to feel something that isn't hopelessness and emptiness.

The closest Dean gets to finding a way was when he travelled all the way to Morocco, met up with a witch who pointed him towards a cave in the middle of the mountains, the path treacherous and dangerous, a path no man has crossed for hundreds of years. The natural elements were against Dean's journey, hot burning sun in the day and ice cold winds every night, he barely saw any animals and he sometimes could hear noises, as if people were talking nearby, but not matter how much he looked, he could never find them.

Dean finally made it to the mouth of the cave, and there was a boy with a herd of goats surrounding him, as if waiting for him to get there. The person was only a boy in name, with a small body, skinny, with patches of fur breaking out of his skin, his hair thin and wiry, falling over his eyes. Dean thought the unforgiving sun had finally gotten to him, scrambling his brain and last bits of sanity he had.

The longer Dean stood and looked at the boy, the more unsettled he felt regardless of everything he's seen and went through. The boy didn't move, sitting on a boulder dressed in a brown Djellaba, his chest didn't even move under the fabric he was wearing, and every time he glanced at his face and looked away for half a second, he found himself forgetting what the boy even looked like. Did he even have a face?

The silence was deafening and Dean felt out of place, he felt like he shouldn't be here, his instincts finally urging him to turn around while he still had the chance.

Dean isn't sure what possessed him to open his mouth, but he did, voice scratchy and rough, throat dry, "Where's my brother Sam?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, the goats moved aside and Dean finally could see the boy's whole body, and the rotting hooves peeking out from the bottom of his Djellaba, his legs. Dean also realised with a racing heart that as soon as the goats moved to the side, they froze again, Dean has never seen goats stay so still, like statues, so still that even when a fly landed on one a goat's eye, not a single muscle moved, not a single blink could be seen. Dean wouldn't even be surprised if the wind blew and the goats collapsed like cardboard cutouts.

All of these things were clear warnings of what was awaiting him inside the cave. Not even Muslim believers dared to wander in here, why should they? Djinns were mysterious and dangerous creatures. Dean was the only man mad enough to go seek them out to get his brother back, and worst of all, he didn't even know if they even had him.

"I want Sammy, please," Dean pleaded.

He doesn't even know if this boy, creature, understood him, wasn't sure this creature spoke any human language for that matter. This is completely uncharted waters for him, this Djinn, this creature of Allah was something he's never crossed before. This is not like any of the Djinns he had come across before, they share the same name but are they really the same creature? Or is Djinn an umbrella term for creatures born out of a smokeless fire, whispering in the ears of man to commit sins and follow the desires of their stained hearts?

The boy slowly rises, his bones creaking and squeaking with each movement, like a rusty broken marionette, turning around and dragging himself into the dark mouth of the cave, the goats silently following him without even raising a cloud of sand and dust behind them.

When Dean stares at the back of the boy's head, at the patches of hair and the rotting flesh underneath it, he's frozen, petrified, his heart surges up his throat when the boy turns his head without moving his body, staring at him without saying a word, but how could he? When in mere seconds, he simultaneously has and doesn't have a mouth?

"You want Sammy? Well, come in," Dean thinks that's what the boy is saying with his silence.

Dean takes a deep breath and shakily takes a heavy step forward, Sammy's wet eyes in his head, his sad little mouth and baby chubby fingers, the smell of smoke and burning flesh, a phantom weight in his arms and a rope around his heart, pulling tight, tight until Dean is breathless and he's baptised into a sinner, wanting, yearning for his own flesh and blood, the greatest sin of them all; to desire his baby brother.

Dean is not looking for his baby brother.

Dean is looking to lose himself. Dean is looking to lose himself so completely and wholly to punish himself for losing his brother.

Dean wants to feel what Sammy is surely feeling, so that he'll be a little closer to him.

Dean wants to punish himself.

Dean wants to die.

"Dean? What are you doing?"

A flutter of wings and Dean feels the wind on his back as he gets closer to the mouth of the cave, his body getting heavier and heavier, whether it is bone deep exhaustion or his body finally shutting down, Dean couldn't tell.

Dean doesn't even look back because he knows that voice and he pushes his body harder, closer to the cave, following the Shepherd and his herd.

"Dean?" Castiel calls again, worried and horrified.

Dean is so close, so close to the cave, just one more step-

Strong arms wrap themselves around Dean and pull him back. Dean screams, his body easily lifted off the ground, the boy and the goats now laughing at him. And it's so loud, the boy is laughing but the boy has no mouth and the goats laugh but their mouths are sewed shut and Dean wants to die.

Dean is hysterical, inconsolable in the angel's arms, punching and kicking to be let go, his ears ringing and his skull pounding. They're laughing at him! They're laughing at him!

"Dean! Stop it! Dean!" Castiel pleads. He gets punched and kicked but he doesn't even react, his arms around Dean tight like a noose.

"What cave? DEAN?! WHAT CAVE?!" Castiel shouts over the storm raging in Dean's head and Dean finally can see clearer. He turns his head around and the cave is no more. Instead he's at the edge of a cliff.

Dean's body goes limp in Castiel's arms and his feet are finally back on the ground. The sun was brighter than ever in the sky, mocking him, and Dean doesn't understand. He lowers his eyes even more and sees how high he actually is, sees the tiny trees at the bottom of the hill and he doubles over, throwing up water, dates and bread with stomach acid.

Castiel relaxes his hold on Dean, rubbing his back as he heaves and gives back his meal to the dry earth below. Dean can't even get up, holding himself with hands on his knees, his eyes watering and his chest hurting. Dean starts to sob and he feels Castiel moving, standing over him, using his shadow to shield Dean from the unforgiving sun.

Dean brokenly cries and cries, calling out to Sam, his Sammy, until he passes out and is whisked away from the hill in angel arms.

Saying Dean somehow found a way to get his brother back would be a lie. It was the other way around, the way found him.

It was pure chance how he got his brother back, Dean was forced to go out on a hunting trip with Castiel because the angel worried if he left the man alone in the bunker, he'd kill himself, so he dragged him out and put him behind Baby's wheel, telling him the directions while Dean drove on autopilot.

The road was long and dark, free of any cars or life, an omen of what's to happen to Dean's life if he doesn't get his other half back. When suddenly, the sky ripped in half and light illuminated the road the endless fields of corn. Dean finally felt something in the weeks of breathing and living through the prison of his body. It felt like hope. That maybe that was it, this was the end, God finally decided to erase the dark of the night and everything with it, chucking their world into the bin like an unwanted first draft.

But instead a ball of light fell down in front of the car, cracking the dark asphalt. Castiel grabbed the wheel, swerving around the light as to not hit it and Dean finally braked the car, their bodies jolting forward with the force of it.

The two watched as the ball of light got smaller and smaller until a dark silhouette appeared, the light glowing from within the body, illuminating the lower half of their face. Castiel squinted his eyes and spotted another body in the arms of the glowing light. He got out of the car, his angel blade sliding in his palm as Dean slowly followed him, confused.

Thunder rumbled in the sky, loud and hungry, the angel watched the two bodies in weary silence when the sky rumbled again, splitting in half one more time, illuminating the road. Dean's breath caught in his throat when he saw floppy hair, broad shoulders and long legs. His body moved without his permission as he stepped away from the car, getting closer, to get a better look, and as if on cue, lightning struck again and there they were, the same sad eyes, green and wet and so Sammy in every way.

Sam took a step forward and the sky broke, thin rain spilling over them in baptisation and Dean knew this was it, his 40 days in the desert were over, he was finally replenished, he was finally whole again.

Sammy was here; his grace, his mercy, his peace, his promise, his baby brother, the son of his mother and father, Sam, Sammy.

Sam was in his arms in the blink of an eye, his body warm and alive. Dean hugged him tight, heart full and mind finally at peace. Dean squeezes him tight, as if trying to merge them together as one soul, one entity. Then Sam peels his face out of his big brother's neck, looking at him with wet eyes and Dean coos, wiping his cheeks with his fingers, holding him, petting him, then he can't help it anymore and leans forward, kissing Sammy between the eyes. It was so gentle, so worshipful, that Sammy felt weak in the knees. Sammy cries, his tears mixing with the rain from above and Dean kissed him again, this time on the forehead, then one in each cheek, the tip of his nose, on each eyelid and Sam didn't know what to do with himself so he held Dean tighter, his fingers digging hard on his arms, shoulders and neck, anywhere he could reach. And Dean didn't complain, he was over the moon. This is everything he's ever wanted.

After that it was a blur, Dean held his brother by the hand and walked him to the car, he wanted to go back home, his brother riding shotgun, where he belonged.

Castiel was the only one present and kept watch of the strange man wearing Dean's face with a glowing chest and Castiel knew he was danger. Castiel knew he should kill him, should get rid of him while Dean and Sam were distracted but then Sam calls over to the man and he walks to the car, reeking superhuman strength and predator.

Dean rides home with his brother by his side, an angel and a monster sitting in the back.

tags <3

@klingyklaus @toasty-broski @28confusedthoughts @winchesterdefender @blackkmariah @106skin @redpopcat @arwenadreamer @nguyetdahuong @asongfortheunloved @rancidlovers @bcatwinchest @supfan67 @unabashedhonesty @hellfire-fist @nanacupid @arthrodira @loserluizard @jocelynfan @waywardsamdean @sastielbeltscene @sam-sinchester @masoena @winchestermylove @sammybeann @azrielrose @saltmonellas @boypussysam @monkibizznes @daddysboydean @notanotherthembo @i-already-know-im-going-2-hell @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis @katamcauley @sams-princess-hair @redcl8ver @yuetyin940 @loserluizard @arthrodira @runawaydr3amerao3 @giulmu @palepuppytimetravel

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hitlikehammers · 1 day ago

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wouldn’t it be WILD if steddie were heartbroken 💔 without each other (steve thinking eddie’s dead 💀 post s4/eddie in super intense secret WITSEC and couldn’t find steve if he tried 🫥) but they’re both actually secretly making 🎶music🎶 ABOUT EACH OTHER & THEIR BROKEN HEARTS?!?!?!????

…and both of them are hearing it?

Today for @steddielovemonth y’all are going to be subjected to a very indulgent snippet for a fic I have about a million words of headcanon and backstory for, but can never be allowed to write. EVER. Quick summary for the context: post S4, Eddie’s whisked away for treatment and healing and then given a new identity so everyone who ever knew him thinks he’s dead. This is not appreciated by Eddie at all bc he thought he and Steve were…that they had a ✨SPARK✨ He eventually settles; finds musical success in paving the way in some metal-adjacent genre fusion (can’t outright be as he was, ofc, he is IN WITSEC) Weird, then, when a masked, intentionally anonymous and deeply private metal-fusion-y group (think 🎵🎸Ghost meets Sleep Token🎵🎹) start climbing the charts to encroach on join his territory. Extra weird that their lyrics are all about either metaphors that only barely hide viscerally-disturbing violence that sometimes ping Eddie’s nightmares a little close to home, or even more often: love. Lost love. Lovesickness because of the lost love. So much love. Again: weird. The fact that the lead singer reminds Eddie of Steve from the first roll of his hips onstage means nothing; to this day, everything reminds Eddie of Steve.

rating: t ♥️ my only remaining note is to encourage that you listen to the link in the prompt 🎶

for @steddielovemonth day eighteen: 🎵 I wanna dance with somebody - Sleep Token

Eddie had done the calculus in this head. No one had seen him in public for years, now. He’s far from Hawkins, and the government locked the truth down hard: there hadn’t been coverage that went widespread. He’d fought them on the whole fucking thing as soon as he was conscious and understood they’d taken him to treat him, but had no intentions of letting him go back.

Disappearing under interdimensional-WITSEC was one thing. One already unacceptable thing he never agreed to. But…when he found out everyone thought he was dead?

That…that—

Even take out the way things had, like, Eddie could have sworn there was something real sparking between him and Steve—not just because the way he held himself back from kissing him goodbye luck, good luck when they split up in that last stand would not have been their first, Eddie’d gotten actual proof that all the taffy-thick tension and the fucking looks weren’t just things he was weighing up with his own want in the shape of Steve’s lips on his own. In the knowledge of what Steve Harrington fucking tastes like.

It was an all around dick move, is the point.

And he misses his people. His friends.

For the way he’s yet to pass a day without thinking of Steve: he misses the man he was already most of the way in love with.

But that’s how it ends up even being a question: can he risk leaving the house and entering a place so crowded and contextually ‘risky’ as a fucking concert.

He sells it mostly as market research, rather than him just trying to the fuck out of the house. It can be both, really, but in reality? It’s not a threat to him directly—sure as shit couldn’t convince his G-man handler out the gate to try and be a metal musician the way he’d always wanted to, but he’s found (not easily, <i>not</i> easily) a way to weave genres so he’s as unrecognizable now in his discography as he’s been forced to be physically: scruff on his cheeks, head always covered in some absurd new hat, part of the bit, part of how he gets away with being too lazy, still to maudlin to keep his hair shorn tight—he needs something to tear at on the worst nights or he will fucking lose what laughable grasp on sanity he has left, so.

But the whole multi-genre thing’s kinda his corner. So he tells himself that’s the real reason he’s here. At this show, in public. For a metal-adjacent fusion act that’s rocketing up the charts for their cross-genre innovations, not to mention their rip-your-heart-out approach to lyrics.

So maybe part of Eddie’d come to size up the competition in person, seeing as these motherfuckers are the gods of anonymity—paint and masks like KISS on steroids, but a little flair of mystique, like robes and veils and just…drama that walks the tightrope of being too much in a way that’d ruin it, that’d take them down hard just as they’re still on the rise but they…they manage it.

Fuck if Eddie knows how, walking in to the venue that night.

By the encore, though, now?

Well, shit.

They don’t talk on stage—Eddie’s heard they don’t talk at all, the bare number of interviews they give all being written exchanges, save for who he thinks is one of the two fucking drummers, but they use some kind of voice alternation like they’re the motherfucking FBI and this is Deep Throat calling. Eddie gets that it adds to the drama, but also their claim to not want the attention on themselves, only their music: good or bad. And if that’s honest, Eddie can respect it.

And in person, after this: he can certainly respect the effect that it has on the music itself in how it’s received on the ground, Jesus.

The whole thing is a well oiled machine made of human fucking emotion, which is kind of goddamn absurd. But the impact, the fact that it works, feels like it’s mainly credit to the lead singer—he’s got a code name thingy but fuck if Eddie remembers it; fuck if Eddie remembers anything with that figure, not even a face, but that body mostly hidden by paint and a robe he could swear had a twin he used for Hellfire in the old theatre room—but the lead singer. He’s conducted the stage for the whole fucking show less like a director with their annoying pointy stick and more…more half like a king, but higher, a nameless deity, and god-emperor with no face but then at the very same time, leaping in like a battle master, a general rallying troops he will die for before he loses, and so will push them past the brink to keep them safe, no matter the costs. He seems to push himself the hardest, by far.

Maybe too far.

There’s a danger in the whole display, that way—something spellbinding; riveting. It grasps Eddie from the inside, those big hands on the microphone reaching to squeeze his heart and stroke his lungs as much as to stroke something lower, lower, harder—

Fuck. Well.

Here he is. And if the lights weren’t still down, he’d think the set was over.

But then Mr. Lead(-me-down-a-dark-alleyway-and-have-your-way-with-me) swaggers back on from the wings, to the kind of insanity, the pitch of screaming and applause that Eddie thinks requires ear protection all on its own. And the Lead has been keeping the crowd in order as much as his band, the mastermind behind the offensive, with the protective drive he exudes, this weird feeling like he’s…proud when the fans move and sway and push and break and sing and sob—like they matter. Like he cares, without saying a goddamn word.

Now he hold his hands up: peace, still, quiet, and they obey. Everyone. It’s…uncanny.

A piano appears behind him, and anarchy unfolds again in an instant.

Eddie noticed a lot of piano, especially from the Lead-man, and how it’s been used in unexpected ways, especially with the doubled-up drums, hell, the multiple players on various instruments, the way they’ve put together an orchestra without it sounding forced or overcrowded, pretentious or unnecessary.

The lone figure walks toward the edge of the stage, away from the baby grand, and tilts his head, extends a hand again but only one this time—it quiets but doesn’t wholly quell the noise and then he shifts his body weight, a hand settling on his hip; his judgement playful but powerful.

Everyone is silent again. Eddie is…fucking floored.

The Lead waits, surveys every inch of the crowd in a way that feels like he actually sees everyone from behind his mask, Eddie included, and isn’t that a thought for lonely night in the near future, goddamn.

Eventually, though, he nods, satisfied with..something, and struts to his piano.

Eddie is left in those moments being too fixated on how unsatisfied he is by comparison, in very specific ways, until the keys ring out.

Like starlight. Like drops made of angel tears or some shit.

And then Eddie recognizes the song.

It’s all over the fucking radio—the original—so much even he can’t avoid it, but in truth he doesn’t really want to. Whitney is a massive fucking talent and the song’s catchy as hell.

But this man. This man.

He’s reshaping it into something deeply other.

And maybe later Eddie will marvel at how the song’s being reimagined, at the technical level. Will pick apart the genius, wonder at the inspiration of transforming what’s on the charts into this.

But for now he can only watch. Jaw dropped. People around him are actually crying for the feeling in this man’s voice, spare and personal and otherworldly—and Jesus H., Eddie feels fucking close to tears himself, what the actual fuck.

He doesn’t play the whole thing—ends. Stands. Bows. The crowd erupts on a delay as the Lead’s mostly out of sight. Eddie…

Eddie is still stuck on what he just witnessed.

Mainly—unexpectedly—the words.

He says man, like the radio version: need a man who’ll take a chance—

Which could mean nothing. Could just be respecting the masterpiece as written.

But then Eddie, replaying it all in his head, doesn’t think he’s making up that the Lead on stage just now failed to change up the lyrics, as the original did intend in one specific place.

He’s clear about the call of his loneliness. Fuck, half their songs make that real clear. But.

He never once sang this song—picked deliberately, crafted so elegant and raw—but never once did follow the original and sing about his lonely heart.

But again.

Could just mean nothing.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @allmyfavoritethingsinoneblog @anthrobrat @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @disrespectedgoatman @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @madigoround @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

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yongility · 2 days ago

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NEO TV # i like me better when i'm with you ꗃ╭╯ jung jaehyun.

──────── chapter ⵌ9: the choices of a (dead) man.

𒄬 genre: slowburn / angst / suggestive / gang au / rich kid au / e2l

𒄬 warnings: drug use mention / gang activity / fights / use of weapons / adult language / nsfw scenes / illegal activities / mentions of cheating / toxic family enviroment / addictions / manipulation / insecurities / illegal street racing / death mentions / jeno is jaehyun's brother / lots of angst. for this ch I want to clarify that this is for fictional purposes, some things might not be accurate to real-life situations (like the witness program, yes I did my research but if I wanted to add it to the story or make it work it, I need to twist it).

𒄬word count: 5.6k

𒄬 a/n: wait— before you read this i want to say that next chapter (10) will be the end of the series (i'm positive i'll post an epilogue as a bonus scene), so we reached to the very and really climax of the story— i'm sorry teehee. I know I've put a lot of push and pull shit but what can I say? I'm a girl who loves drama. I'll make it better... maybe. But for real— i'd like to read what you think of the story so far and mostly because i'm posting two chapters in a week, something that rarely happens in this blog lol.

Three days before the exchange— the morning after Daeho's OD. 7:34 am.

Life sometimes felt like the ocean—constantly shifting, never still. (Y/N) wished, just for a moment, that her ocean could be calm. That the waves would soften, that the breeze would brush against her skin with warmth instead of chilling her to the bone. That the sand beneath her feet would bring comfort instead of uncertainty.

But life didn’t work that way.

Right now, her ocean was drowning her. The waves crashed violently against her chest, pulling her under, stealing the air from her lungs. The storm raged on, wild and merciless, leaving her lost in the chaos of her own mind.

Her gaze was hollow, unfocused, locked onto one of the sterile white walls of the hospital waiting room. The chair beneath her felt ice-cold, but it wasn’t just the temperature. It was the weight of the moment. The way her body trembled, the way her pulse hammered against her ribs.

Because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop seeing it—the image burned into her mind, replaying like a cruel, unrelenting film.

Daeho, sprawled across the floor of their lake house.

His body unnaturally still. His lips chapped.

Her hands pressing against his chest, desperately searching for a pulse, feeling the faintest flicker of life beneath her fingertips. The suffocating helplessness. The sheer, gut-wrenching terror.

She had almost lost him.

A strangled sob broke free from her throat, and she quickly buried her face in her hands. Tears slipped through her fingers, hot and relentless.

She couldn’t lose Daeho. Not him. Not after everything.

Tick—tock.

… Toe.

Time had become meaningless. She had no idea how long she had been sitting there, how many hours had passed since the wail of sirens had filled her ears, since her screams had shattered the night.

When the doctor finally entered the waiting room, (Y/N) inhaled sharply, wiping her tears in a futile attempt to appear composed. She rose to her feet, her parents mirroring her actions, tension hanging heavy in the air.

“We’ve managed to stabilize Mr. Hwang.”

The breath she had been holding finally escaped her lips, shaking, unsteady.

“We found a significant amount of heroin in his system,” the doctor continued. “After stabilizing his breathing, we administered Naloxone to counteract the effects of the opioid. His body is still adjusting, but we will continue monitoring him closely. He might be ready to be discharged by tomorrow morning— we’ll let you know when you can visit.”

“Thank you, doctor,” (Y/N) whispered, her voice raw, almost breaking. “Will he be okay?”

The doctor hesitated. “Physically, yes. But overdoses… they rarely happen just once. If it’s reached this point, it’s likely to happen again unless he gets proper help. Not just medical, but emotional and professional support. That’s a discussion you need to have as a family.”

With a polite nod, the doctor excused himself, leaving the weight of his words behind.

(Y/N) exhaled shakily and leaned against the nearest wall, pressing her palm to her forehead.

She wasn’t prepared for the storm that was still approaching.

Because she knew her aunt and uncle were already on their way. The moment they had been notified of the incident, they had taken the first available flight to Kwangya. And now, as they burst through the waiting room doors, their urgency made the air even heavier.

“I can’t believe this happened,” Daeho’s mother seethed, her voice laced with irritation rather than concern. “We leave him alone for one moment, and this is what he does?”

“The doctor just informed us that he’s stable,” (Y/N)’s father interjected, his tone calm, detached.

“That boy is nothing but trouble,” her uncle snapped. “We can’t control him anymore—do you have any idea what our business partners will think when they find out about this mess? The successor to our company overdosing like some street addict?”

(Y/N) felt something inside her snap.

Her breath hitched, her vision blurred—not from tears, but from sheer, unfiltered rage.

“That’s what you care about?” she whispered, her voice shaking with disbelief. “What do people think? Daeho almost died, and all you can think about is your reputation?”

Her mother’s sharp gaze snapped to her. “(Y/N), that’s enough.”

“No,” she shot back, stepping forward. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Daeho is lying in a hospital bed because of what you put him through! Because you treat him like an asset instead of a son! Because you suffocate him with pressure until he feels like the only way to breathe is through a needle in his vein!”

Her uncle’s eyes darkened. “And you? You’re just as guilty. You cover for him. You make excuses for him. You enable him.”

“My fault?” (Y/N) let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “I have been the only one who’s actually been there for him! While you ignored him, while you pretended he was fine, while you let him drown in his own pain, I was the one keeping him afloat! And now—now you want to act like you care?”

Her father sighed, rubbing his temples. “That’s enough. This conversation is pointless. We’ve already made a decision.”

(Y/N) froze, dread curling in her stomach. “What decision?”

“We’re sending Daeho to the States,” he said without looking at her. “He’ll be admitted into a rehabilitation center. He won’t return until his condition is under control.”

Her mother stepped in, her tone final. “And you will be sent to the States as well. You'll be transfer to a private school to finish your final year.”

(Y/N) felt the ground beneath her shift. “What? You can’t just ship us off to another country!” she snapped. “You can’t do this—especially not now! We’re months away from graduation—”

Her mother’s gaze was steely. “This is not up for debate.”

Her uncle folded his arms, voice dripping with disdain. “Frankly, it’s about time. You’ve been running around with that gang boy long enough.”

Her mother stepped closer, her grip tightening around (Y/N)’s wrist. Her nails dug into her skin as she hissed, “You are not throwing your life away over some delinquent.”

(Y/N) ripped her arm free, heart pounding, voice raw. “You can’t control me like this!”

Her father’s voice was cold. “If you don’t obey, you’ll lose everything. Your inheritance. Your connections. Consider this your last warning.”

(Y/N)’s hands trembled. She was trapped. Caged. And for the first time, she realized just how far they would go to keep her under control.

“Daeho wasn’t born an addict. You made him one. And you’d rather lock him away than admit that.”

Silence gripped the room, thick and suffocating. The weight of her words settled into the air like lead, pressing against every person in the room.

Her mother’s gaze hardened, her voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. “Do you really think Jaehyun would choose you over his own survival? You’re just another burden to him.”

The words felt like a physical blow, knocking the breath from her lungs. Her vision blurred, her chest constricting so tightly she thought she might collapse. Her fingers trembled, curling into the fabric of her sleeves as if anchoring herself to reality.

A cold sweat broke across her skin. They weren’t just taking away her choices. They were stripping away everything—her autonomy, her future, her relationships. They were reducing her existence to something small, something controllable, something they could manipulate.

Her hands balled into fists, nails digging into her palms as she struggled to steady her breathing. Her mother’s words echoed in her skull, repeating over and over again, venomous and cruel.

“You don’t know anything,” she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her mother didn’t flinch. “And yet, here you are, ruining yourself for someone who would never do the same for you.”

The walls seemed to close in on her. The air felt too thin, too heavy. Her heart pounded violently against her ribcage, her mind spiraling into something dark and suffocating.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. But all she could do was stand there, frozen, trapped in the nightmare of her own making.

Three days before the exchange — the decision moment. 8:45 am.

The room was too quiet.

Jaehyun could hear everything—the distant hum of a vending machine, the faint murmur of voices from another room, the slow ticking of a clock mounted on the wall.

The air smelled like cheap coffee and paper—familiar, in a way that made his stomach turn.

This wasn’t his first time in a police station.

But it was the first time he had walked in on his own.

His gaze remained fixed on the wooden table, watching the reflection of the dim fluorescent light bounce off its surface.

The room wasn’t particularly warm, and yet, a single bead of sweat traced a slow path down his temple. He wiped it away with his thumb, but the sensation lingered—uncomfortable, suffocating.

Maybe it was because of the room itself—small, almost claustrophobic.

Or maybe it was because of why he was here.

This? Sitting in a police station? Even entertaining the idea of working with the people he had spent years running from?

For the first time in his life, Jung Jaehyun could admit he had finally lost his mind.

But then again, his life had already been dragged to hell. And when you were already drowning, did it really matter how deep you sank?

His shoulders tensed at the sound of a glass being placed on the table.

He didn’t look up.

Not until he heard the voice.

"I have to say, I was surprised to get your call."

Officer Baekhyun.

His tone was unreadable—neither mocking nor welcoming. Just curious.

He took a slow sip of his coffee before continuing.

"I had already made up with the fact that we’d have to take Neo Zone down without your help."

Jaehyun didn’t answer.

He pressed his fists against his thighs, trying to ground himself—trying to contain the storm inside him.

"And if you’re really going to be part of this," Baekhyun added, setting down his cup,”I'd expect a little more than you sitting there, staring at a glass of water. "

Jaehyun finally lifted his gaze.

Their eyes met.

Baekhyun wasn’t smiling, but there was something almost… understanding in his expression.

Jaehyun swallowed, his throat dry.

"It took… certain things to get me here." His voice was hoarse, like it had been ripped out of him.

He leaned forward slightly, hands pressing against the table.

"But before we start this— what I need from you is a promise."

Baekhyun waited.

Jaehyun swallowed, his throat dry. “No matter what happens—no matter what happens to me—" he exhaled, voice steady but empty. “My family is safe."

Baekhyun nodded.

"You can trust the program. I’ve put years into making sure it works."

Jaehyun let out a sharp, hollow breath.

“Trust is a luxury I can’t afford."

Baekhyun tilted his head slightly, watching him.

"Once trust is broken, it takes an entire village to rebuild it, right?"

Jaehyun’s lips curled slightly—not a smirk, not a smile. Just a bitter recognition of his own words being thrown back at him.

Baekhyun didn’t press further. He just studied him, waiting.

"What made you change your mind?"

Jaehyun leaned back, running a hand down his face.

"I realized that the only things keeping me alive—the only reasons I’ve been holding on—are slipping through my fingers."

His voice was eerily calm.

"The first time you came to me with this offer, I laughed in your face. I told you there was no way out. That the moment I turned my back on Neo Zone, I’d be a dead man."

He lifted his gaze, something dark and unshakable settling in his eyes.

"That’s still true."

A pause.

"But I don’t care anymore."

Baekhyun didn’t react. He just let the words sit.

Jaehyun’s hands curled into fists.

"Death isn’t what I fear anymore."

He let out a slow breath, and for the first time, his exhaustion was visible.

Not just physical. Something deeper.

"As long as my family… as long as the people I love are safe, nothing else matters." His voice barely wavered. “If I have to sacrifice myself to make sure that happens, then so be it."

Baekhyun let out a quiet sigh.

"It must have taken a lot to reach that conclusion."

Jaehyun didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

His eyes said enough.

The dark circles beneath them, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched every few seconds—like his body hadn’t caught up with the fact that he had already made his choice.

Yesterday’s events had destroyed something in him.

Jaehyun exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening on the table.

"My father died in front of me."

Baekhyun’s expression didn’t change, but the weight in the air thickened.

"I didn’t know who did it back then," Jaehyun continued. “I was just a kid. They said the reason was a fight between gangs. And Sooman… he took me in. Gave me a place, made me think I owed him my life. I trusted him. I thought—" Jaehyun let out a bitter laugh. “I thought it was the only place I belonged."

His jaw clenched.

"I was wrong."

Baekhyun said nothing, letting him speak.

"I didn’t find out the truth until Mark Lee told me. He found out Sooman was responsible for my father’s death… and Winwin’s accident." He exhaled, shaking his head.

"The moment he told me, I wanted to kill him."

Baekhyun raised an eyebrow.

Jaehyun scoffed.

"Mark and Lucas stopped me. Told me that no matter what, Sooman would always win. That if I tried to take him down, I’d be the one to die."

A pause. The air between them felt suffocating.

"They were right."

Jaehyun swallowed hard, his voice quieter now.

"And now, I’m losing my brother." Baekhyun frowned slightly. “I spent my whole life trying to keep Jeno from ending up like me.” Jaehyun’s hands clenched. “But he’s already slipping through my fingers. He’s sitting at Sooman’s table. He’s listening to his words. He’s—"

He stopped. He couldn’t say it.

Baekhyun sighed. “And that’s what brought you here.”

Jaehyun nodded slowly.

“When they killed my dad, Sooman didn’t hesitate—he took advantage of it. Pulled me in. Made me work for him. That was the rule: if you lived in Neo Zone, someone in your family had to be part of the gang. And that someone had to be me. Then my uncle Dong’s accident was staged… but Winwin wasn’t supposed to be there. Now that I think about it, I realize why—once my uncle was gone, Sooman would’ve done to Winwin exactly what he did to me. But it went wrong. Winwin was in that car when it happened, and now he’s in rehab, paying the price for something that was never meant for him. And now, watching Jeno get too comfortable around Sooman… I know how this ends. My fate will be the same as my dad’s. The same as my uncle’s. This exchange might be the end of me. And when it is, Jeno will take my place. Sooman will make sure of it. He’ll sink his claws into him, just like he did with me when I was eleven.”

A shaky breath filled the room.

"I walked into this room knowing that once I start down this path, there’s no turning back. Either Neo Zone gets me first, or the program does."

His gaze locked onto Baekhyun’s.

"But at least this way… I can make sure my death means something."

Baekhyun studied him carefully. Then, he reached into his jacket, pulling out a folded file. He slid it across the table.

Baekhyun reached into his jacket and pulled out another file—thicker than the first. He placed it on the table, his fingers lingering on the cover for a second before sliding it forward.

Jaehyun stared at it. His heartbeat was steady, almost eerily so, but something inside him twisted. He knew the second he opened it, the second he pressed pen to paper, he would be sealing his fate. There was no undoing this.

His hand hovered over the file before he finally flipped it open. Words blurred together on the pages—legal terms, agreements, conditions—but none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the empty space at the bottom, waiting for his signature.

Baekhyun placed a pen beside it.

“Once you sign, there’s no going back."

Jaehyun let out a slow breath.

"There was never a way back to begin with."

He picked up the pen. His fingers were steady, but his chest felt hollow. The moment he pressed the tip to the paper, something inside him cracked. He signed his name in bold strokes, the ink bleeding into the paper like a wound that wouldn’t close.

It was done.

Jaehyun let the pen drop. The sound of it hitting the table was deafening in the quiet room.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Jaehyun let out a shaky laugh—one that held no humor.

"Feels like I just signed my own death warrant."

Baekhyun didn’t disagree. He only studied him, his fingers laced together as he leaned back in his chair.

"You don’t have to die, Jaehyun."

Jaehyun exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching.

"Don’t I?"

He shook his head, his voice raw.

"I don’t think you get it. My life was never mine to begin with. It belonged to Neo Zone. It belonged to the streets. Sooman owned my life— And now? Now it belongs to this deal."

He gestured to the papers with a bitter smirk.

"So tell me, Officer. Where do I fit into this equation? Because from where I’m sitting, I don’t see a future where I make it out of this alive."

Baekhyun sighed, but Jaehyun didn’t let him speak.

His hands curled into fists, his knuckles white.

"Do you know what it feels like to watch everything you touch turn to ruin? To know that no matter how hard you try, you only bring pain to the people you love?" His voice cracked. “I tried. I really did. But I lost Winwin. I lost Jeno. I lost her."

Baekhyun remained silent, letting Jaehyun spill out everything he had been holding in.

Jaehyun’s head dropped, his fingers pressing into his temples.

"And the worst part? I wanted to tell her. Wanted to explain. But what was the point? I think I hurt her enough… she’ll be better off without me."

Silence filled the space between them.

Baekhyun watched Jaehyun carefully. He had seen men break before—seen criminals collapse under the weight of their choices—

But Jaehyun? He wasn’t breaking. He was bleeding out slowly, and no one could stop it.

Baekhyun reached for the file, closing it with a quiet snap.

"We’ll do everything we can. But you need to be ready for whatever comes next."

Jaehyun scoffed, pushing back his chair.

"I’ve known my whole life that death is just around the corner”

He stood, shoving his hands into his pockets, his head tilted slightly toward the ceiling as he let out a slow exhale.

"Guess now we find out if I was right."

The fluorescent lights above hummed as Jaehyun was standing, his footsteps echoing like a countdown.

And for the first time in his life, he felt like a ghost of the man he used to be.

Baekhyun exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

"Three days. That’s all we have. You know what that means, right?"

Jaehyun nodded, jaw tight.

"We don’t have time.”

"Exactly." Baekhyun’s gaze darkened.

"We’ll have to work fast, under a tight curfew. Every move we make from this point on is calculated. One mistake, and you’re dead before we can even move in."

Jaehyun swallowed, the weight of it all pressing harder against his chest.

Baekhyun leaned forward.

"Your family will be taken care of. As of today, your family will be watched 24/7 without raising any suspicions so will know the morning of the exchange where their location is, my agents will get them to the airport. They’ll be flown out before anyone even realizes they’re missing. A new life, new names—no traces left behind. This is their only shot at safety."

Jaehyun’s fingers curled into fists.

"What about Sicheng? He’s at the Recovery Center, he’s— he’s not ready for discharge. I'm the one who takes care of everything related to his condition”.

Baekhyun breaths.

“I’ll make sure we can transfer him to another place in the country we’re putting your family in. He’s a consequence of Sooman's actions, so we can take care of it. He'll be close to your family."

Jaehyun hummed; nodded at Baekhyun's statement and sat down again a little bit more relieved.

Jaehyun nodded slowly, his heart pounding in his ears.

“How will this work? What will I have to do?”

"You’ll be wired, " Baekhyun continued. “A microphone hidden in your clothes, a tracker embedded in something you carry. We’ll be watching, listening, following your every move. The second we get confirmation, we strike."

"And the target?" Jaehyun’s voice was sharp.

"Sooman. No one else. One he falls down… it’ll easier to take Neo Zone down"

Silence stretched between them. The words hung heavy in the air, unspoken truths settling in Jaehyun’s gut like lead.

His throat tightened.

"That’s not enough."

Baekhyun narrowed his eyes.

"Jaehyun—"

"You don’t understand. " Jaehyun’s voice was tight, his nails digging into his palms. “Sooman doesn’t deserve a cell. He doesn’t deserve another day walking this earth. He needs to pay for what he’s done."

Baekhyun’s expression hardened.

"We do what’s possible, given the circumstances."

Jaehyun let out a bitter laugh.

"Right. The law has limits." He looked up, gaze sharp. “But I don’t.”

Baekhyun exhaled slowly, studying him for a long moment. Then, in a quieter voice, he asked.

"What will happen to me?"

The silence stretched.

Baekhyun sighed.

"We’ll do what we can. If everything goes as planned, we can work in your protection. A deal. If you’re making out alive and the Sooman situation it's taken care of … the judge can drop charges on you and we can take you with your family. But all of you have to go underground… no contact with your old life. But for you, there’s different possibilities the day of the exchange, you know what you’re walking into. You know what the odds are."

Jaehyun’s lips curled, something empty flashing in his eyes.

Either he makes it alive or dies in the spot.

"Yeah. I do."

"We focus on the mission first. For this to work, you have to go through with the exchange like nothing has changed. No hesitation, no second-guessing. If Sooman even suspects something’s off, he’ll take you out before we get a chance to act. So you can’t tell a soul about this. Not to Lucas. Not to Jeno… not to your girl. This stays between me, you and the agents for now.

Baekhyun reached into his jacket, pulling out another folded file. He slid it across the table.

"So then let’s make sure we do this right."

The day before the exchange — saying goodbye it's harder that it's seems. 5:05 pm.

Jaehyun’s heart felt heavier than it had in days. The weight in his chest was a constant, an unshakable reminder that tomorrow would be the end of everything he knew. His fingers brushed the GPS device tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket, the cold, metal surface reminding him of the irreversible decision he had made. He had signed the deal. There was no going back. The police had briefed him quickly—Baekhyun had a plan, but Jaehyun couldn’t care less about the details. He had no interest in the strategy or the steps anymore. Tomorrow, it would all come down to a single moment. The exchange.

He barely registered Baekhyun’s words as they filtered through his mind. His lips mouthed the necessary responses, nodding absently as his thoughts swirled in a haze of guilt and uncertainty. Mic’d up. Ready. Or so he told himself. But the truth was, he wasn’t ready at all. Jaehyun’s eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, the ticking sound of time growing louder with each passing second. It was almost time.

Without another word, Jaehyun left the police station, heading towards the recovery center to see Winwin. Every step felt like it weighed more than the last. The burden of everything—the deal, the exchange, the lies—pressed down on him like a heavy fog.

Jaehyun stood at the door to Winwin’s room, his hand hovering over the cold, metal handle. He wasn’t sure if he had the strength to face his friend again. His chest tightened with the knowledge that this might be the last time he would see him, the last chance to say something that mattered. The silence inside the room felt suffocating, like it was pressing against his chest. Jaehyun could feel it, the years of trauma, the pain that still hung in the air like a storm waiting to break. He took a deep breath, his heart hammering in his chest. This was it. There was no going back.

Inside, Winwin sat motionless by the window, staring at nothing. The dim light from the hallway barely filtered through the blinds, casting long shadows on the floor. Jaehyun stepped inside, his footsteps quiet, unsure of how to break the silence. He didn’t expect Winwin to say anything. He hadn’t expected a greeting, a word of comfort. It was always like this—for the past year always had been.

Jaehyun hesitated, his mouth dry, his throat tight. He had visited Winwin so many times, but this felt different. This was the final visit.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Jaehyun said softly, his voice thick with the weight of the words. He hadn’t meant to say it like that, but the truth hung heavy in the air.

Winwin didn’t respond. His eyes remained distant, unfocused. Jaehyun took a step closer, but the distance between them felt like an abyss. Winwin’s gaze was fixed somewhere beyond the window, lost in his own mind, his own world. Jaehyun’s throat constricted, the words getting caught there. He wanted to say so much more, but he couldn’t.

“So will you,” Jaehyun continued, his voice hoarse. “By tomorrow—your transfer will be arranged. You’ll be leaving. You’ll be safe with my family in another place. I’m sorry for this— but it’s for the best. This is all I can do to mend what I’ve done— A new life for you… for them. Far away from Neo Zone.”

His voice cracked slightly, but he forced the words out. Winwin needed this. He deserved peace. He deserved to get out of this hell. Jaehyun’s heart twisted, but he couldn’t afford to let that emotion show. Not now. Not here.

“The only thing— the only thing I hoped for was to see you smile once more,” Jaehyun said, his smile faltering slightly. “But I hope you can do that, even if I’m not here to see it.” “You’re my best friend, Winwin. No decision I make will change that.”

He let out a small, ironic laugh, reaching for the chair beside Winwin’s wheelchair and sitting down. The cold, sterile room felt heavier now, the weight of his words hanging in the air. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t say goodbye. Not yet. So he stayed, silently. He listened to Winwin’s slow, rhythmic breathing, feeling the lump in his throat growing. He had no more words left. All he could do was stay and let the silence speak for him.

For hours, he stayed there, watching over his best friend, just being there. He didn’t know what to say anymore. Nothing he said would make a difference. As he sat there, the realization began to sink in. He gently took Winwin’s hand in his own, an unspoken gesture of goodbye, of love, of everything they had been through together. And then, in a moment that felt almost unreal, he felt it—a slight, almost imperceptible squeeze. Winwin’s fingers tightening around his, a small, fragile grip that spoke louder than words ever could.

And at that moment Winwin couldn’t say it, but Jaehyun knew what that grip meant: I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.

But the truth was, only Jaehyun knew the reality of the situation. Only one of them would truly be fine. And that one person wasn’t Jaehyun.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jaehyun stood up, his legs heavy with the weight of everything. He looked down at Winwin one last time, but there was nothing left to say. He couldn’t stay forever. He had to leave. He had to face what was coming tomorrow. He couldn’t change it.

Jaehyun left the room quietly, stepping into the hallway without a glance back. There was nothing to look back on. The silence was deafening, but it was the only thing that made sense.

The night of the exchange — words spreads too fast and then the call that changed everything. 9:52 pm.

The night was thick with silence.

Not the peaceful kind. The kind that meant something was wrong.

Jaehyun sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. The visit to Winwin had drained him in a way he hadn’t expected. He thought seeing him would bring some kind of calm. Instead, all he felt was the weight of time slipping through his fingers.

Tomorrow.

Everything came down to tomorrow.

A deep breath. He pressed his fingers to his temples, letting his mind go blank. He just needed a few hours of stillness before the storm hit.

Then, his phone rang.

The name on the screen sent a cold spike down his spine.

Sooman.

Jaehyun exhaled slowly before answering.

"Didn’t expect you to call me personally." His voice was even. Careful.

"You think I’d let someone else handle this conversation?" Sooman’s tone was smooth, casual—too casual. "That’d be a little disrespectful, don’t you think?"

Jaehyun’s grip on the phone tightened.

"What do you want?"

Sooman chuckled softly. "Straight to the point, as always. I like that about you, Jaehyun. Makes this easier."

A pause. Then—

"We’re moving the exchange up. It’s happening tonight."

Jaehyun’s heart slammed against his ribs.

"What?"

"You heard me." Sooman’s voice didn’t change. If anything, it sounded amused. Like he was enjoying this. "You’ve got an hour."

Jaehyun’s jaw clenched. "That wasn’t the plan."

"Plans change."

Silence stretched between them.

Jaehyun forced his breathing to stay even, to not let the panic show.

"Why?"

Sooman hummed. "What kind of question is that?"

"A fair one."

"No, Jaehyun. A nervous one."

Jaehyun’s teeth ground together. This was a test. Sooman wanted to see how he’d react.

"Something wrong?" Sooman continued, voice laced with mock concern. "You’re not having second thoughts, are you?"

Jaehyun swallowed down the instinct to snap back.

"I need time to get things in order."

"You have time." Sooman’s voice darkened, amusement fading. "One hour. That’s more than enough for someone like you. Unless, of course… you’re not up for it?"

Jaehyun’s hands curled into fists. He could feel the noose tightening around him, but there was no way out.

"I’ll be there."

A beat of silence. Then, Sooman let out a slow, satisfied exhale.

"Good. I’d hate to think you weren’t still on our side."

The call ended.

Shit, shit, shit—- SHIT.

Jaehyun lowered the phone, staring at the screen as the weight of the situation crashed down on him.

One hour.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this.

Baekhyun wasn’t ready.

The plan wasn’t ready.

He wasn’t ready.

His family wasn't out of the country yet...

This wasn’t just an inconvenience. It was a trap.

Jaehyun shot to his feet, shoving a hand through his hair. He needed to think. Fast.

There were only two options:

Go in alone, pretend nothing had changed, and pray he could get out alive.

Call Baekhyun, warn him that everything just went to hell, and risk blowing his cover.

Neither option was good.

But one of them meant walking straight into Sooman’s hands.

Jaehyun grabbed his jacket, his movements stiff, mechanical. He didn’t hesitate—he couldn’t.

He dialed Baekhyun.

"Jung."

"The exchange—" Jaehyun inhaled sharply. "It’s happening tonight."

Silence.

Then, Baekhyun cursed.

"How long?"

"One hour."

"Shit."

Jaehyun heard movement on the other end—papers shifting, a chair scraping against the floor.

"That’s not enough time." Baekhyun’s voice was tighter now, full of barely contained tension. "We planned for tomorrow— the team isn’t in position yet."

"Then you better work fast." Jaehyun grabbed his keys. "Because this is happening whether you’re ready or not."

Baekhyun exhaled sharply. Jaehyun could almost hear him thinking.

"Can you stall?"

Jaehyun’s jaw clenched. "No."

Baekhyun muttered something under his breath—something that sounded a lot like "Fuck."

Then, he said something Jaehyun wasn’t expecting.

"Do you want to make it out of this alive?"

Jaehyun’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

Did he?

He exhaled slowly. “Just do your job, officer."

A beat of hesitation.

Then, Baekhyun muttered, "I need you to keep the GPS device with you at all times. If you're able to activate your mic before you go in, do it. I’ll send my agents to look for your family and take them. I’m coming to you”

Jaehyun hummed. “"My family’s safety it’s my priority. Whatever happens next, I’ll figure it out”

“See you on the other side."

Click.

Jaehyun stared at his phone for a second before shoving it into his pocket.

He took one last look at his reflection in the rearview mirror.

For a second, he swore he didn’t recognize himself.

Tonight, Jung Jaehyun either walked out alive—

Or he didn’t walk out at all.

a/n: NOT PROOFEAD! I know, i know i'm the worst— i just keep making Jaehyun suffer, but hey! what's a story without drama? I'd really love to hear some feedback from you, what you're thought about the story is— what do you expect to happen with Jaehyun, with (Y/N)? You can do it in the comments of in here.

taglist is open! if you want to be added just lemme know;)

taglist: @peachfulnight @gojoscumslut @bluedbliss @dear-97 @girlwholovespreppyattire @hana-off-icial @cigarettesafterjae @bts-iris @dojaejung @methneo @kriizztin @mrsuhnshine @pieddpiperr @completelyjae @kanekisheart @daegalismybiasinnct @spicyryujin @dear-97

(idk why some of the tags just don’t work out!)

Feel free to send any asks here if you want!

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princessmaeee · 14 hours ago

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Consuming Us _ Part One

Hello Sweeties ! Aaaah ! I'm so happy to post this part, I worked on it for like ... 4h. I'm dead. I didn't really knew how to start it and how I would like this part to finish. I had a plan in mind and I didn't goes until what I wanted to but at the same time I think it's fine. This show how Nam Gyu live and how he is and same for the reader. I think this first Part Set Up in a good way the story for the Next parts.

I really love to have feed back so please don't be shy to let some comment or if you are to shy you can come in my request section talk to me or say what you have to say.

Word : 3.4K

Warning for this part : Talking about Drug/Alcool - Smoking cigarette - S M U T ( Oral Female receiving. It's Semi x Nam Gyu ) Language and insults ( More Se Mi to Nam Gyu cause you know, they love each other so much.Lol )

« - The Thin flame of the Lighter »

Nam Gyu woke up to the Annoying sound from the alarm he had set up in his phone. Grunting he turned it off before giving a quick look at the time ; 19h45. He still had some time before he had to leave for the club. A small Shiver ran through his body as he felt a gentle touch caressing his back before a pair of lips were pressed against it. He used to be alone when He woke up but he slowly remembered what happened last night. High, also drunk, probably, He came back to his apartment with a random girl he found at work, a customer probably or maybe one of Thanos many bitches.

“-Do you want another Round before you have to leave for work ?” Asked the girl as he turned around to look at her. Honestly he can’t remember anything from the previous night and when he faced her, he mentally said to himself that it's not that bad after all. She didn't look that good, she's not even his type. He was probably just really horny due to all he took. “-No, I can’t, he said with his still sleepy voice, I have shits to do.” That was a Lie, but he didn't want to have to discuss with her or anything and even less stay in bed and cuddle. He likes physical touch but not that type. It usually feels weird and wrong. “-You should leave.” He said he got out of bed.”-I can Call you a Taxi if you want.”

Nam Gyu put on his sweat pants as the girl rolled her eyes and sight. She seemed annoyed but also irritated by his behaviour. She got out of the bed as well and started to put on the clothes she had last night.’’-I’m gonna be fine.’’ She answered. Nam Gyu nodded and left his room to go to the bathroom. When he heard the sound of the door shutting, he sighs out of relief.

Turning on the hot water of the shower, he removed the pants he had put on minutes ago and got rid of his boxer before entering the hot steaming shower. His dark eyes fixed a point in the bottom of the shower as he get lost in his taught, trying to remember what he had took last night to be so fucking clueless about the situation. Maybe Su-Bong will know something or maybe if he can’t remember it weren’t that important.

Getting out of the shower when he’s done and putting on his towel around his waist, he goes back to his room and lets himself fall on the bed without even to wet the sheets. He closed his eyes, trying to rest a little more, but the sound of his phone telling him he got a notification, broke his plans. He ignored the first one… and the second, but after the third and the fourth, he opened His eyes and grunt before grabbing the little machine to look at the screen. Of course, Su-Bong had sent a little too much message. Too many messages to tell him about a hot Rich girl who’s gonna be at the club tonight to see Him perform. He also sent him a picture of the girl and her Insta, but Nam Gyu didn’t even bother to look at the link, only looking at the picture his friend sent him. ‘’ -Pretty, I guess ‘’ He answered. He didn’t really know what to think. She of course was cute. Long brown hair, almond shaped brown eyes, perfect clear and pale skin, or maybe is it just the filter ? Another Text from His rapper friend got his attention. ‘’ -Also, did you get Into a Fight with Se-Mi last Night ? She seamed fucking Upset.’’

With a Cocky smile, Nam Gyu answered ‘’ -It’s more of a surprise when we don't fight. But, yeah Maybe I Pissed her off. I don’t remember. ‘’ The answer from Su-Bong came quickly. Nam Gyu barely had time to get up. ‘’ -You should fuck her better ‘’ He let a scof passed his lips and answer one last thing before thosing his phone aside and start to get ready for work. ‘’ -Will consider it ‘’

Putting on a pair of black jeans, a white blouse and rolled up the sleeves to his elbows, he placed his hair behind his ears and sent the small amount of rebel hair in the back. He put his glass on and his favorite perfume before being ready to leave his apartment until dawn, at least.

Even if he has a Car, Nam Gyu prefers to walk and look around as he smokes a cigarette. Also it’s better for him when he's a little bit to High after his day of work, taking his car could be deadly and as tempting as it was, he's mostly scared to kill an innocent by accident more than himself.

As he enjoyed the view of the city slowly getting darker as the street lights opened as he walked while he let the smoke of his cigarette fill his lungs, making him shiver from the delicious feeling, his eyes stopped on something he spotted in the trash. He stopped and looked into it before getting out today’s newspaper. The title in big letters said ‘’ -Lee Myun-gy and Y/N get engaged ‘’ under it, a big photo of you and your newly fiancé with your , probably, two families. Removing the cigarette from his lips and letting the smoke escape from it, he turned the pages to go read the article. It was a boring one explaining how of an advantage it will be for you two to get married. Your father was a big politician and Myun-Gy’s father was the CEO of many compagnies, who could be a benefit for both of your families but also the economy of Korea if an alliance could be created from this wedding.

‘’ -So that’s what you’ve become, Y/N ‘’ Said Nam Gyu to himself before inhaling another puff of his cigarette. ‘’ -Pathetic ‘’ He said as he threw the newspaper back in the trash before continuing his walk to the Club.

As Nam Gyu walked down the streets, you, on the other side, were about to leave school. Your last class just ended and you felt exhausted, wishing for nothing else than a hot bubble bath. But it seems that your friend, Min-Ah, had other plans for you, asking you to go with her at Club pentagon tonight, only for her to meet up with a Guy. ‘’ -He’s not just a Guy Y/N it’s Thanos, THE Thanos ! ‘’ By the tone of her voice, you guessed how excited she was. ‘’- Oh so we should be careful if we don’t want to be erased from existence’’ You replied as a Joke, but Min-Ah didn’t seem to share your humour. ‘’ -Yeah, super funny’’ She answered sarcastically. ‘’ -Anyway, I'm gonna be in front of your door at 10PM, be ready ‘’ And she hung up before you had time to answer her.

As you enter the car, you go take a Look on Thanos instagram. He was good looking for sure, but also looked immature, but it wasn't a surprise coming from Min-ah, she alway loved this kind of guy. Hot looking but walking red flags. As you scrolled through his pictures, your eyes stopped on one specific picture. It was Thanos with a bunch of friends but one of them got your attention. Your heart started to pound faster in your chest. You clicked on the picture and when the username of all the others appeared, your eyes filled with tears when you saw his name ; Roh.Nam_gyuuu. No doubt it was him. It couldn't be a coincidence. You quickly click on his user name to see his profile, but it was a private one. ‘’ -Fuck…’’ You said to yourself. You thought about adding him, but after all those years it will be weird. Maybe he didn’t even remember you anyway.

You sigh and sink into the backrest of the car, looking outside as your driver drives you home. Putting on your headphones, you go on Thanos Youtube channel and listen to some of his music, just to prepare yourself for Tonight. After what you saw, you can no longer refuse Min-Ah's invitation to go to club pentagon.

When Nam Gyu gets to work, he goes into his office and drops his bag on the floor before sitting down on his chair. That's all He could do before Se-mi bursted into his office without even knocking. ‘’ -You little Shit ‘’ She hissed. Nam Gyu still could remember why she was mad, but he was about to find out. ‘’ -You fucking stole my drugs. Do you know how expensive it was for me ? ‘’ She gets closer to him and harshly grabs the collar of his blouse, getting closer to him. ‘’ -I hope You will pay me back at least. ‘’ Nam Gyu grabbed her wrist and gave enough pressure to hurt her just enough to make her release him before he did the same with her. ‘’ -First of all, Hi, nice to see you too. Second, what drug ? Cause I will be honest, I can’t remember shits from yesterday. ‘’

Se-Mi, who was definitely still mad at him, looked at the raven haired with a confused Look. ‘’ -What do you mean you don’t remember ? ‘’ Nam Gyu shrugs and starts to explain what happened when he woke up and what was his last memory from last night. In conclusion, Se-Mi told him it was probably a side effect on the drug he took. It was a new one and she paid a lot to try it since her friend told her it was the best drug she took in years, but for Nam Gyu it was the opposite. What’s the point of taking something if you can’t even remember how good you felt the night before ? Opening his phone, He gave a look at his bank account, which was almost empty, before looking at his friend who had her arms crossed on her chest. ‘’ -I will pay you back, but not now. I barely have money to eat. ‘’ As she was about to reply, Nam Gyu grabbed her waist and sat her down on his lap, forcing eye contact by grabbing her jaw. ‘’ -But I can pay half of it right now with my tongue, if you want ‘’

Se-mi cheeks get red from Nam Gyu’s offer. He released her jaw, grabbed her ass and lifted her to sit her on his desk. His lips rushed to meet hers and she answered his kiss, passing her arms around Nam Gyu’s neck, fingers sliding in his hair. Their tongues found each other, fighting for control. Nam Gyu’s hands unbutton Se-Mi’s pants and she lifts her hips to help Nam Gyu remove it along with her underwear. The raven haired Guy put his veiny hands on her tights and spread them before he pulled out from her lips to kneel in front of his friend’s cunt. He smiles at the sight of her already dripping. ‘’ -Fuck, do you want me that bad or what ? ‘’ He asked with a smirk as he looked up at her. She grunt and harshly grab his hair and press on it ‘’ -Shut up and Eat me out before I decide to increase your debt, dumbass.’’

Nam gyu’s tongue started to work between her legs. His lips come around her clit, sucking on it as his tongue moves around, looking for the most sensitive spot. His grip on Se-Mi’s tight was harder, squeezing it enough to make her moan under his touch. ‘’ -Asshole, you will let a Bruise ‘’ She let out between two desperate moans. Nam Gyu didn’t bother to reply, squeezing her more before his tongue slid in and out of her as his nose brushed on her clit. He was to concentrate to care for what she whimpers. He let go of her tight and inserted two fingers inside her when he pulled away from her cunt, moving it at a slow pace. He likes to play with Se-Mi and sees her in desperate need of him, of his touch. That's Nam gyu grave, deep inside. Even If his friend can be annoying most of the time, this physical relation they have, that’s all he needs. Someone to please, someone to be his, someone he can play with.

Returning, sucking his clit, Nam Gyu starts to move his fingers at a faster pace, touching this spongy place inside of Her, making her almost Squeal. Luckily for them, the music outside covered Se-Mi’s sound. ‘’ -Fuck, Nam…I’m so close…’’ She said as she started grinding to get more friction, making Nam gyu pull his lips away as his fingers went slower. His partner grunt and gave him a killer look, making his smile wilder. ‘’ -Fucker… please… make me cum.’’

She knows what he wants to hear. She hates having to say it, but if she wants release, she has to obey the raven hair. Only he can give her what she wants at this exact moment. ‘’ -Good little thing ‘’ Nam Gyu replies as he returns, taking care of her sensitive bundle of nerves. Se-mi’s grip in his hair got tighter as her legs started to shake. She got closer and closer every thrust his fingers gave, every lick his tongue made. ‘’ -Fuck…fuck… ‘’ She whines before her back arch and her head swings to the back. Eyes rolling as her tights squeezed Nam Gyu’s head.

Pulling away, Nam Gyu went back in his chair and looked at her as he whipped his mouth. Se mi catches her breath and slowly gets down from the high the orgasm sent her. ‘’ -Your welcome ‘’ Said Nam Gyu with a cocky smile as he watched her pull up her pants. ‘’ -Now I have some work to do. ‘’

Se Mi showed Him her middle finger ‘’ -You still owe Me money ‘’ she said before leaving his office. When she was out, Nam gyu replaced his hair and inhaled deeply to recompose himself. Slowly, memories from yesterday came back and He remember taking Se-Mi’s drug, but only because he was already drunk. Otherwise, he would never have done such a thing. He let out a low chuckle before starting his work.

Meanwhile, You get ready to go out with your friend. You take time to at least take a shower and wash your hair. You had many homeworks to do and projects to finish. Your plan was to start some of it after the good bubble bath you dreamed of all day, but it's gonna have to wait until tomorrow, if you’re not too wasted.

Putting on one of your favorite dresses, you dried your hair and put on some makeup and perfume before Min-Ah texted you to say she was on her way. You also noticed that you received some messages from Myun-Gy but you didn't open any of them. Tonight you have other things to care about other than Your newly fiancé. You felt an uncomfortable shiver run through your entire body when you Think about this. Myun-Gy and you, married ? Ew. He was nothing more than a friend for you, almost like a big brother so the idea of marrying him didn't please you at all, but you can’t cancel it since everyone knows about it now.

Before you leave your room, you take a picture of yourself in the big mirror of your room and go meet your friend. On the way to the club, Min Ah didn’t shut about Thanos. She said they talked a lot on Instagram and they even called many times. They added each other on snap and he sent her some hot pictures. ‘’ -Please don’t tell me he sent you dick pics ? ‘’ You asked with an expression of disgust. ‘’- No ! not at all, Just… hot pick of him in chest. Or teasing pictures… you knew. ‘’ She replied, cheeks red. You rolled her eyes and let her in her fantasy. You can’t say she’s delusional but she’s kinda. Yeah, the guy his hot and he seems interested in her, but for what ? Probably just for fun, for one night or maybe more she’s lucky enough, but he definitely doesn't want anything serious with her. ‘’-Be careful with him, Min Ah. He didn’t look like a serious guy. And I don’t want you to be heartbroken.’’ You said with concern. ‘’ - How can you know that, you never had a boyfriend so you can’t say you know mens ‘’ She replied, a little bit annoyed.

That hitted the spot. She was half right. You never had a Serious relationship. Myun-Gy and You weren't serious, all was arranged because of your dads who were good business partners but you never dated. Now you have to act like you do when you are in public, but in private it a completely different thing, so it didn't count as a boyfriend.

‘’ I had one before ‘’ You finally replied, making Min Ah Laugh ‘’ -Girl, no. This one didn't count. You were 15 years old and he just vanished without telling anyone. So except if his name was Gasper the ghost, you never had a R E A L boyfriend ‘’ And again, she was right, somehow and it hurt. You sight and mumbled a little ‘’ Whatever ‘’ before talking about something else. You listen to Min Ah talking about new clothes she bought, but your mind was somewhere else. Back 10 years ago, when you were in High School.

He was Smart, a good student with a bright future. He was Kind with everyone, he was student council president. He always had good grades and we could always find him at the library, reading a new book every week. He knew a lot of stuff, even the less important thing. You learned a lot by talking with him and that how you slowly fell for him as you got closer. But one day, he stopped coming to school. The professors never wanted to tell you why or where he was now. You couldn't text him since he didn’t have a phone but you knew where he lived so you went to see him, but when you got there, the house was boarded up by some yellow warning banner. That’s how things ended and it explained why you never had any news from him ever again, cause you thought during all those years he was dead, even if no one had confirmed it. What you saw in front of his house was a good sign that he was, but everyone around you told you he probably just had to move, otherwise the news would have told it. A young and brilliant Student like him can't just die and stay unnoticed after all.

You Snapped out of your head when your friends called your name, telling you that you had arrived at the Club. ‘’ Did you even listen to me ? ‘’ Asked Min Ah as she got out of the car. ‘’ Yeah I was, but I got lost in my mind in the middle of it. I had a Big day At School ‘’ You replied, half lying.

When you got out of the car, the cold air of the night made you shiver and you rubbed your arms in search of warmth. Your friend took your hand and quickly brought you to the door. As you follow her, from the corner of your eyes, something catches your attention and you turn your head. It was a brief moment, a fraction of a second, but you noticed him. You recognize him even meters away and it was enough to make your heart pound faster again. On the balcony on the side of the building, Nam Gyu was Smoking, exhaling the smoke in the air and just like if it was meant to be, he turned his head to look at you, the same brief moment. Your eyes found each other in the slight lights emanating from the club and you both felt a soft and warm feeling in your chest. But it was really just a brief moment before both of you were out of sight from each other.

#squid game #namgyu smut #nam gyu x y/n #nam gyu x reader #x reader #se mi squid game #kang mina #choi su bong #player 124 #player 124 x reader #smut #squid game nam gyu #squid game x reader #nam gyu x you

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geekynotfreaky · 23 hours ago

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ok so as I have learned, the merlin fandom is still alive HI MERLIN FANDOM

a few people have shown interest in my freya thoughts so I'm going to try to coherently ramble about season 2 episode 9.

I genuinely stayed up all night last night thinking about this. the freya arc is SUCH a Moment™️ for merlin. correct me if I'm wrong, but losing freya is one of the first big bad losses that happens to merlin in the show. like, yes he went through his mother AND gaius almost dying in season 1, but key word almost, that was reversed. they were okay. him losing his childhood friend in season 1 is the closest thing I can think of, but that was a very different scenario.

I think the reason merlin falls for freya is important too because like. merlin has such a big heart, and with freya he sees a part of himself almost. she is scared of herself, she is lost and she doesn't know what to do. merlin, not knowing that she genuinely is cursed, thinks maybe she has a secret gift like him that she's been made to hide. to merlin, no one else in his life understands how difficult it is for him to have to constantly hide such a big part of himself--not even gaius, who's in on the secret. but freya...freya could understand, freya was just like him. (but she wasn't). and because of this, he felt he could actually be himself around her without hiding anything.

it's literally the same angle he came at wanting to help morgana with. but with freya he just has so much sympathy for her and he wants to be the person who helps her through all of her problems (though let's ignore the fact he was pretty much ready to leave camelot for her sake, like hi merlin hello arthur still needs you).

and SPEAKING OF ARTHUR PENDRAGON. I had completely forgotten about the last scene in this episode. I'm not capable of being coherent about it. arthur noticed. he noticed. that merlin was upset. despite not knowing anything about merlin's relationship with freya. like he had no hints as to why merlin would be upset. he just knew. he just observed. because he. he pays enough attention. to merlin. to know when he's upset. and I hfkgdfj. and arthur makes him feel better. like imagine arthur entering that room and thinking I am going to find out what's wrong with merlin and make it better. because he cares. becuas dehrjskd I CAN'T BE COHERENT BUT. they have such an emotional bond that makes me go insane. they would literally die for each other like they love each other so much idc if it's platonically their bond means so much I. RAHGjkdf.

since I'm only just now rewatching the show for the first time, I don't remember every beat and plot thing that happens, but I do remember that there are a lot of "that got dark" moments character-wise and you get so attached. merlin is so silly and goofy and lovable and then bad things happen and you're so attached to silly goofy merlin that you feel the weight of what he's facing. like back in the episode where gwen's father died and morgana decided she wanted uther dead. and merlin was torn between saving uther or listening to what the dragon said and letting him die. like really think about that for a moment. merlin is probably 20ish years old and he was put in such a severe moral dilemma where not only was the life of a man in his hands, but the future of the kingdom as well. which is pretty much the story of his life.

ANYWAY I WROTE AN ANGSTY FANFIC DRABBLE ABOUT FREYA AND I'LL POST IT MAYBE IF PEOPLE WANT TO SEE. (I have to revise it HEAVILY first because it was 8am and I hadn't slept).

#bbc merlin #merlin fandom #merlin in the year 2025 #arthur pendragon #british shows #colin morgan #bradley james

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sturnsstars · 3 days ago

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THANOS— the guy that…

authors note: been wanting to do this for a while. not proof read!

tags: abuse (verbal and physical), sexual content, manipulation, love bombing, drug use, drugging, non con, narcissism, dead dove do not eat (?)

I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME.

THANOS— the guy who made you guys invest all of your money into his rapping career, swearing he’d be a big hit and you’d make millions, making you two immensely poor, barely able to afford food.

THANOS— the guy that took it too far one night, punching you and giving you a bloody nose, begging for forgiveness when you pushed him out of the house and threatened to call the cops.

THANOS— the guy that drugs you when you’re half asleep at night, using your body without any regards of your care or input, falling asleep after and leaving you alone to wipe yourself off.

THANOS— the guy that ended up nodding off one time, scaring you to death since he was unresponsive, calling you a bitch and yelling at you for ruining his high when you got him out of it.

THANOS— the guy that promises he’s better when you two reunite again, giving you all of his care and affection for a week before discarding you again.

THANOS— the guy that posts your guys’s tape on twitter for even a bit of fame.

THANOS— the guy that laughs at you whenever you show any bit of vulnerability, using it to feed his ego into a power trip.

THANOS— the guy that adopts a cat with you, naming it godzilla and absolutely loving the little thing, but leaving you to the feeding and bathroom duties.

THANOS— the guy that has you suck him off while he plays his video games.

THANOS— the guy that also pushes your head down, even if you’re on the verge of suffocating or throwing up from gagging so hard

THANOS— the guy that thinks condoms are stupid, always threatening to come inside of you.

THANOS— the guy that loves slow mornings with you; waking up together, having sex thats slower than usual, then having you make breakfast for the two of you.

THANOS— the guy that hogs the bedsheets like crazy. a fortress will be on top of him when morning comes around.

THANOS— the guy that will literally just walk around the house naked. bonus points if hes smoking a joint.

THANOS— the guy that calls you a dumb fucking bitch if you make the slightest mistake, or use his words against him, proving him that he is in fact wrong.

THANOS— the guy that asks you to paint his left hand because he cant do it himself otherwise his nail polish would look like a kid did it.

#like #follow #squid game #choi su bong #thanos #thanos squid game #player 230 #headcanons #dead dove do not eat

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villainbait · 1 month ago

Text

Midnight Warmth

Pairing: Toji x Reader | Toji x fem!reader Rating: NC-17 Tags: toji x reader, toji x you, toji x fem!reader, quick and dirty toji smut, pov: you’re toji’s wife, cockwarming, cuddling, kissing, intimacy, intimate sex, lovemaking, teasing, porn without plot, this is honestly just smut from start to finish, fushiguro toji has a big dick, soft fushiguro toji Word Count: 1500~

Description: Keys jangle loudly to announce his arrival, and he tosses them carelessly into a useless decorative bowl by the entryway. He starts to walk through the apartment but thinks better of it as the memory of what happened last time filters through his mind. The scarred corner of his mouth quirks upward as he sheds his soaking wet clothes at the entryway, instead of tracking water throughout the apartment. Once nude, he shivered as frigid air ghosted over his chilled skin. He remembered the heat pump was broken and not due for repair until tomorrow. Toji’s smirk blooms into a mischievous smirk when he remembers that he has a perfectly good warmer cozy in bed. He even proudly named you wife.

“I promise I won’t move,” Toji wheedles, already sliding into bed and completely destroying any semblance of relaxation you were trying to have before he got home. Even from your side of the bed however, you could feel how cold he was. Just how long had he been out in this awful weather? The rain was loud against the windows of your shared bedroom and you distractedly worried about how well he took care of himself when he left you like this.

“C’mon.” He nuzzles his face into your neck. “Warm me up, babe.”

With a face like that, how could you say no? Honestly, with a cock like that, it was–

His icy feet suddenly skate against the back of your calves, and it's enough to distract you so that he snatches you against him; holding you captive against his chilled body. Your squeak of outrage is drowned out by his chuckle and his hands roam over your body, effective as the ice cubes he liked to drop down the back of your shirt in the summer. Your nipples stiffened instantly, and you bite your lip to keep from asking him to warm them with his tongue.

“Fineeeeee.” You groan and his hand eagerly tries to sneak between your legs, but you swat it away. Everywhere he had touched raised goose flesh along your sensitive, heated skin.

You wiggle out of your bottoms, leaving them abandoned somewhere near the bottom of the bed. Your own hand slips quickly between your thighs and he groans, lamenting about how he can’t watch you get yourself ready to take his cock. He sulkily nuzzles your neck instead, nipping at the sensitive skin. The whimper gets caught in your throat as your fingers stretch yourself in preparation to take that monster laying hotly against your thigh. You loved Toji, but he was often too much for you to handle without proper foreplay.

Toji gets impatient and pushes your hand away to replace it with his. The added cold sensation of his fingers joining yours to touch your aching clit is enough to make you soft, pliant, and ready. His fingers were so much bigger than yours that he has to work them to get them inside of your wet heat, but he makes you feel so full with just this much that you know with a little more work he could easily make you cum.

Instead, once you’re stretched to his satisfaction, he hooks one of your legs over his. He wedges a powerful thigh between yours, lining his cock up at your slick entrance. You knew you weren’t wet enough and so did he, but he wanted to be inside you so badly he couldn’t wait anymore. He was so cold and he desperately wanted to be warm. He wanted you to warm him in the way only you could. The only one he would allow to thaw his frigid heart.

Toji slides his cock to the hilt inside of you, and your gasps mingle in the frigid air of the bedroom. The repairman swore he’d be here in the morning, but you didn’t mind if repairs were delayed if it meant Toji would tease you like this every night. His cock made you feel so full you swore you could feel it bulging obscenely against your abdomen, even though that couldn’t really be true. It made you squeeze around him, eliciting another groan from his lips as he clutched you more tightly against his chest.

Then, infuriatingly true to his word, Toji doesn’t move.

“What are you doing?” You try to grind your hips against his, but he has you effectively pinned; halting your movements with his hands on your hips. “Why-”

“Go back to your reading. I told you I wouldn’t move.” He doesn’t lift his head from where it was buried against your throat. You could feel his hot breath feather along your pulse and you miss the way he’d leave deep, bruising hickeys there to claim what was his. Instead, he was taking his time teasing you, pressing soft kisses along your jaw. His light stubble tickled your skin and you tried to turn your face away but he crowded more closely to continue his lazily persistent affection.

“How am I–ngh–supposed to read when you keep doing that with your tongue?” You tried to sound accusatory, but the breathless way you moaned gave away how much you liked what he was doing.

His deep chuckle made his cock pulse inside of you and you whimpered, attempting to move again. Toji also didn’t offer a solution to the problems he was causing and you were so close to begging, his name a plea on your lips.

“Toji….” you whined and his lips playfully nipped your ear. “What?” You rocked your hips against his and he stilled them with a playful soft slap to your bare ass. “Stop that. I’m trying to be nice, y’know.”

“Well stop it,” you pout. His scratchy chuckle rumbles against your throat and it makes you squirm even more, desperate for any kind of friction between your thighs.

“Maybe I don’t want you to be nice.”

Toji froze and then his fingers curled into the softness of your body hard enough to bruise. “Do you work tomorrow?”

“No.”

“Good.” His smile curves against your shoulder. “It means you can read your book all night, right?”

His answer was infuriating, but so was the subtle and rhythmic flexing of his hips to tease you. You almost hadn’t noticed it with how sly Toji was, but once you did, it was driving you insane.

“Stop that,” you grumbled as you tried in vain to read your book and his kisses along your throat only made it harder for you to focus on anything at all.

“Stop what?” He asked innocently and his hips stuttered into yours more obviously this time, chuckling into the crook of your neck. Toji’s breath fanned hotly against your throat as he fought to maintain control and not flip you onto your back and fuck you until you were screaming his name loud enough for the neighbors to hear. It didn’t help when you squirmed, your own hips rocking back against his.

Finally you threw the book aside and grabbed him by the hair, jerking his lips to yours, finally too needy to deny what you wanted anymore. Your hips ground against his and he groaned into your mouth before he broke the kiss and flipped you on your stomach.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, princess.” He withdrew enough to pull you to your knees before slamming back into you with enough force it made the bed creak. Your groans collectively mingled in the air as Toji did what you asked and fucked you hard and fast, the tip of him kissing your cervix with every bruising roll of his hips into yours.

The room felt warmer now as sweat rolled off your bodies and you found yourself reaching the fever pitch of pleasure, Toji’s name a soft, intimate litany on your lips. His quiet grunts and words of encouragement heatedly whispered into your ear only added to that pleasure, or maybe that was his deft fingers that delved between your thighs, his fingers frantically working your clit to send you careening over the edge until you screamed his name.

Both of you lay panting in the aftermath, Toji’s cock still throbbing inside of you despite his release and he pressed you down into the soft mattress, trapping you.

“You’re heavy,” you whined and he chuckled but didn’t roll off of you. Instead, he wedged an arm around your waist and tugged your ass more firmly against his hips; turning onto his side. He drew the covers back over the both of you to trap the heat your combined friction had caused, but Toji’s intentions were clear. He nuzzled his face comfortably into your throat and absently caressed your stomach.

You realized he wasn’t going to let you go, but your protests fell on deaf ears. All you get for your efforts is a low, rumbling chuckle as he holds you fast against him.

“Goodnight, wife.” You didn’t sleep at all.

#idk where this came from but here it is #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro #fushiguro x reader #toji smut #toji x you #toji x reader #jjk toji #fushiguro toji #toji #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #i post it in the dead of night then leave

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