#spiraling is exhausting but there's weed

[fat-psychward-sockgrippussy333]

Smoking in the apartment, window open n tits out :3 just made veggie pasta for dinner. 💕💕💕

[hellfireeddiemunson]

sick of making plans with a specific friend only for her to not reach out abt actually hanging out until the afternoon after i’ve waited all day to hear back from her or for her to just cancel last minute entirely after i’ve again waited all day to hear back from her

[joelsrose]

Guns & Roses

previous chapter

Chapter 2:

After your tense exchange with Joel, his venomous words hit hard, leaving you taken aback by a sudden wave of insecurity—feelings you thought you had long moved past. Sensing this, Joel begins to question his own actions, unsure of the impact his words have had on you, but the tension between you remains unresolved as you both navigate the emotional distance that continues to grow, unsure of how to bridge the widening gap.

TW: depressive/anxious themes related to emotional abusive/traumatic previous relationships, also this is a slow burn yall so plss be patient i know i want them to be in love right neoowww but first they have to hate each other xxx Also let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list x

The next morning, you lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, your limbs weighed down by exhaustion, but the heaviness in your chest was far worse. Patrol was in an hour, but the thought of moving—of facing the day, of facing him again—felt impossible.

Yesterday had been a disaster—worse than you could have imagined. It wasn’t just that you had nearly died, although that should’ve been enough.

It was Joel—his words.

The way they had sliced through the air, cold and brutal, landing like a blade straight to your chest. You could still hear his voice echoing in your mind, sharp and biting.

“Fucking burden.”

It wasn’t just the insult—it was the way the words felt like something you’d heard before. The familiarity of it. Hearing it brought back memories you’d fought hard to bury. Memories of another time, another voice—his voice, saying the same thing, over and over.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the flood of memories to stop, but it was no use. They slipped through the cracks of your defenses, no matter how hard you tried to push them away. You thought you had buried those moments, locked them up where they couldn’t touch you anymore. But Joel’s words had torn those scars wide open, and now they were bleeding again.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been called a burden. That word had haunted you for years, ever since him—the one who had made you feel small, insignificant.

You had spent years trapped in a relationship where every step you took was wrong, every emotion too much, every need a flaw. He made you feel like a weight around his neck, dragging him down, and every argument ended with him reminding you that you were too needy, too sensitive, too flawed.

A burden.

You believed him. For years, you let those words become your truth. Everything wrong in your life was your fault, and the idea of being loved felt so far out of reach that you stopped hoping for it. Even when you finally found the strength to leave, the damage had already been done. The lies he had planted in your mind were like weeds, tangled in your thoughts, impossible to fully uproot.

Brick by brick, you rebuilt yourself after walking away. You told yourself you were stronger now, that no one would tear you down like that again.

But Joel’s words—delivered with such cold finality—had brought it all crashing down. It was as though he had reached inside and ripped out the deepest, darkest insecurity you had tried so hard to keep hidden.

You tossed and turned, the memory of every moment, every word, replaying on a loop. The way he had looked at you, the anger in his voice, the disgust. It hurt more than it should have, more than you wanted it to. But the truth was, Joel had unknowingly triggered something much deeper.

You curled deeper into the blankets, pulling them tight around you as if they could shield you from the weight of your own thoughts. You weren’t just sad—you were spiraling. Slowly sinking into a pit of doubt, worthlessness creeping back in like poison, the same way it had years ago.

Because the truth was, you had never fully healed. You had put bandages on the wounds, told yourself you were fine, but you had never truly faced the scars. And now, they were unraveling. You blinked up at the ceiling, wondering if you would ever truly escape this feeling—this heavy, suffocating belief that you were always going to be too much. Too much for the people in your life. Too much for anyone to really love, to want.

And Joel? He probably didn’t even care. To him, it was just another day. Another patrol. He’d probably be glad if you called out sick. Glad not to have to deal with you at all.

You thought back to last night, Tommy had come by, knocking gently on your door, his usual wide smile in place.

“How’d patrol go?” he asked, his voice full of warmth, his eyes bright with that familiar, unshakable optimism.

You lied. The words slipped out before you could even think twice.

“It was fine. Nothing much happened.” You even forced a smile, adding something trivial about the snow getting heavier. And Tommy, being Tommy—trusting, kind, always believing the best—had smiled right back. He gave your shoulder a light pat, that easy grin spreading across his face. “Good,” he’d said, clearly relieved. And then he left, looking so genuinely happy that it twisted something deep inside you.

The guilt of lying to him weighed heavily in your chest. But how could you have told him the truth? How could you have explained what had really happened out there with Joel? The things you had both said still lingered in the air, unspoken but present in every breath you took. You couldn’t admit that the person Tommy looked up to—his own brother—had made you feel like nothing, like something broken and worthless.

So you kept the truth buried, hidden behind that forced smile, letting Tommy walk away, blissfully unaware of the weight that had settled on your shoulders. You told yourself it was better this way. Less messy.

Now, as you dragged yourself out of bed, pulling on your patrol gear, you couldn’t shake the sense of dread clinging to you like a second skin. You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your jacket, wondering if you were making a mistake by going. The tension between you and Joel was thick, palpable, and the thought of spending another second with him made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

But you swallowed it down— the hollow ache in your chest—and forced yourself to leave the house. You told yourself you could get through this day. One foot in front of the other. That’s all you had to do.

•••

The snow was heavier today, thick flakes falling in a relentless flurry, blurring the world into a monochrome haze. It seemed to swallow everything—your surroundings, your thoughts—leaving behind a cold, biting quiet as you trudged toward Joel. The wind was sharp, stinging your skin as you walked, your mind racing with everything that had been left unsaid the day before.

When you finally saw him, standing by his horse, the same hard expression etched across his face, it was as if yesterday had bled straight into today. Nothing had changed. The tension between you was suffocating, thick like the snow that blurred the edges of your vision.

Joel didn’t acknowledge you. Not with a nod, not with a word, just the stiff set of his shoulders and the tightness in his jaw. His whole posture was guarded, closed-off, as if he were bracing himself against more than just the cold. And you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything either, your pride weighing down every word you considered. Instead, you mounted your horse and set off, the only sounds the crunch of snow beneath the hooves and the distant howl of the wind.

The cold words from yesterday still hovered between you like a storm cloud, dark and ominous. You thought, for a fleeting moment, about breaking the silence, about reaching across the vast space that had grown between you. But every time you opened your mouth, the weight of your own pride, your hurt, held you back.

And Joel? He seemed just as unwilling. His eyes stayed fixed ahead, his body tense, his lips set in a grim line.

Hours passed as you patrolled deeper into the woods, scanning the treeline for any signs of movement. The snow fell heavier and faster, the wind picking up as it screamed through the trees, the world around you shrinking into a blur of white. By midday, it had grown too much—the path ahead was barely visible, the storm swallowing it whole, the danger in pushing forward palpable.

Joel finally broke the silence, his voice rough and barely audible over the howl of the wind. “We need to stop.” His eyes flicked toward the horizon, where the dark silhouettes of trees loomed through the snow, distant and unreachable. “There’s no way we’re making it any further in this.”

His voice, though low, felt like it shattered the heavy quiet that had hung between you all morning. For a second, you met his gaze, the intensity there catching you off guard. It wasn’t just the storm or the danger—it was everything that had been simmering beneath the surface. Everything unsaid. But just as quickly, he looked away, his eyes scanning the snow, the moment slipping away as fast as it had come.

You nodded silently, following Joel’s lead as he steered the horses toward the nearest shelter you could find—a small, weather-beaten outpost nestled at the base of the mountain.

The cabin looked forgotten by time, its roof sagging under the weight of heavy snow, but it was better than freezing to death in the open. The two of you dismounted, still wrapped in the oppressive quiet that had grown between you, tying up the horses in a practiced silence before heading inside. The sudden stillness of the enclosed space was a small mercy, a temporary reprieve from the biting wind.

Inside, it was cramped, the air thick with the stale scent of damp wood and long-forgotten memories. The cabin was barely holding itself together, but at least it was shelter.

The cabin was freezing, the cold seeping into every corner, making the walls feel like they were closing in. You glanced at the fireplace, its hearth blackened from years of neglect, a thick layer of dust coating the stone.

You muttered under your breath, more to yourself than to Joel, "I’m gonna go look for something to light a fire."

Joel didn’t respond. You heard the low groan of the ancient couch as he sat down heavily, the springs creaking under his weight. The fabric was threadbare, worn thin by time and disuse, much like the rest of the cabin. He rubbed his shoulder, his face twisted in discomfort for a brief moment before settling back into his usual unreadable expression. His jaw was clenched, muscles tense, his whole posture tight and closed-off, as if he were bracing himself against more than just the cold.

You glanced at him briefly, your eyes catching on the lines of tension in his face, the way his hands flexed against his knees. But you didn’t linger on it. Joel was always like this—guarded, closed-off, like he was constantly holding something back.

You turned away, letting your eyes scan the small, dilapidated cabin around you. The place had clearly been abandoned for years, and it showed. Broken furniture was shoved into corners, splintered chairs piled against one wall, and shelves sagged under the weight of old, forgotten items that hadn’t been touched in decades. Dust clung to everything like a blanket, thick and undisturbed, the kind of dust that only settles when time forgets.

You ran your fingers absentmindedly across the surface of a rickety table, leaving a streak in the grime. The cold air from outside seemed to have seeped into the very bones of the cabin, giving it a lifeless, hollow feel.

As you rummaged through a crate in the corner, looking for anything useful—something to light a fire, something to stave off the cold—you could hear Joel outside. He had decided to check the area around the cabin, muttering something about seeing if there were any supplies worth bringing back. Old medicine, tools, anything that might have been left behind by whoever last used this place. His heavy footsteps crunched through the snow, fading in and out as the wind howled around the cabin.

You pulled out a few pieces of old, dry wood from the crate, hoping they’d be enough to start a decent fire. A few minutes passed, and you heard Joel's footsteps return. The door creaked open as he stepped inside, bringing with him a blast of cold air.

He grunted, clearly frustrated, as he dropped something heavy onto the floor—a bag or maybe a crate, you weren’t sure. You glanced up briefly, watching as he walked toward an old cupboard in the corner.

“Anything?” you asked, keeping your tone neutral, but there was no answer. Joel was already focused on the cupboard, tugging at the stubborn door, his expression set in that familiar, determined way.

You turned back to the crate, rummaging deeper when suddenly, a loud crash echoed behind you, making you flinch.

“Fucking hell!” Joel’s voice followed, sharp and filled with pain.

Your heart jumped into your throat as you spun around, eyes wide. Joel stood hunched near the cupboard, his body tense, one hand pressed tightly to his chest. Blood seeped through his fingers, dark and thick, dripping onto the wooden floor below in a slow, menacing rhythm. The cupboard door hung askew, a jagged shard of glass sticking out from where the door had broken. He must have accidentally shattered it when trying to open it.

“Jesus Christ, what happened?” you rushed toward him, panic rising in your chest. Joel grimaced, his face pale, sweat beading on his brow from the pain.

“It’s nothing,” he bit out through gritted teeth, his voice taut with a mix of irritation and discomfort.

“It’s not nothing, Joel—you’re bleeding,” you replied, your eyes widening as you stepped closer, heart racing. He was leaving a trail of crimson, blood spilling from his hand and staining the floor, a stark contrast to the muted tones of the cabin.

“Just cut myself on the damn glass,” he muttered, his other hand pressed tightly to his chest, trying to staunch the flow. The shallow rise and fall of his breath spoke volumes; he was in more pain than he wanted to admit.

“Sit down,” you ordered, pointing toward the old couch, but Joel shot you a hard look, his eyes narrowing in defiance.

“I don’t need to sit,” he snapped, attempting to step away from you, the stubbornness radiating off him like a palpable force. His body was tense, coiled like a spring, and you could see he was resisting the pain, unwilling to admit he needed help.

You stood your ground, planting yourself in front of him. “You’re bleeding all over the place, Joel. Sit down. Now.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, it felt like a standoff. But you refused to back down. His irritation flickered in his eyes, but eventually, he relented with an exasperated grunt, sinking back onto the couch with a wince, the weariness in his posture finally giving way.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and quickly pulled your first aid kit from your pack. Taking a seat next to him, you reached for his hand, but Joel recoiled again, trying to pull it back.

“I can handle it,” he growled, the edge of his voice betraying his discomfort.

You shot him a fierce look, refusing to let his bravado intimidate you. “Can you not be so stubborn for once?”

For a heartbeat, his gaze flickered to yours, something unspoken lingering in the air between you. Finally, he relented, holding his hand out toward you. “Fine,” he muttered, though the annoyance in his tone still hung heavy. “But make it quick.”

You wasted no time, gently pulling his hand forward. His fingers were calloused and rough, the result of years of hard work and struggle, a testament to the life he led.

The cut was nasty—glass had sliced deep, leaving a gash that continued to ooze blood. You pressed a cloth against it, trying to stop the flow.

“Shit,” you muttered, your heart racing as you examined the injury. “I need to suture this,” you mumbled.

Joel shook his head, his face hardening once more. “Like hell you are,” he growled, attempting to retreat again, but you tightened your grip, refusing to let him pull away.

“What, you’d rather let it get infected and fall off?” you shot back, your voice rising slightly in frustration. “Just let me do this, Joel.”

The intensity in his gaze flared for a moment—anger, maybe, but beneath it, there was something softer, a flicker of vulnerability. He seemed to weigh his options before finally relenting. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

You grabbed a bottle of alcohol from your kit, and without warning, began to clean the wound. The moment the liquid touched the raw flesh, Joel hissed sharply, his body tensing as a stream of curses left his mouth.

“Jesus Christ!” he swore, his jaw tightening as he tried to keep still.

“Sorry,” you muttered, though you didn’t slow down. “But it needs to be disinfected.” You worked quickly, trying to focus despite the tension radiating from him.

With deft hands, you cleaned the wound, your fingers steady even as your heart pounded in your chest. The needle slipped between your fingers like second nature, but the closeness between you both felt anything but routine. Knees brushing, neither of you dared to move, the tension crackling between you. His scent, earthy and warm, mingled with the faint trace of sweat, filled your senses, stirring something. Heat rolled off him, maker it harder to concentrate.

As you worked, Joel sat still, his jaw clenched tightly against the discomfort. The tension in the room was thick. You glanced up at him briefly, catching his gaze as you focused on stitching the cut. There was an intensity there, a flicker of something deeper than just pain.

“Just breathe,” you murmured, trying to keep the mood light despite the weight of everything unsaid. You concentrated on your task, the delicate movements of the needle requiring your full attention, but every time you looked up, Joel’s eyes were fixed on you, filled with an intensity you hadn't seen before.

When you tied off the final stitch, a wave of relief washed over you. “There,” you murmured, gently wiping away the last traces of blood. “That should hold. Just try not to move too much,” you added, pressing a bandage over the wound, your fingers lingering for just a moment longer than they should have.

Joel didn’t respond right away, his eyes darting anywhere but toward you, as if the weight of the moment was too much to confront. Finally, he released a slow, ragged breath. “Thanks,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly, the single word laden with all the things left unsaid.

You nodded, feeling the weight of the silence settle between you again, heavier this time.

•••

You stayed in the cabin for hours longer, the silence between you and Joel stretching out like an invisible barrier, thick and unspoken. Neither of you had spoken since you’d tended to his hand, but this time, the silence wasn’t charged with anger or frustration.

Instead, it filled you with something much heavier—an aching sadness that settled deep in your chest.

You weren’t sure when it began, but as you sat there, watching the snow fall outside, your mind drifted back to the words Joel had spat at you the day before. The weight of them, the way they had pierced something tender inside you, was impossible to shake. They had stirred up feelings you thought you’d buried—the same feelings that had kept you awake last night, thoughts you couldn't push away no matter how hard you tried. Now, as you stared at the endless white landscape beyond the cabin walls, you felt stuck in that spiral again.

You’d been here before, trapped in a loop of doubt and self-loathing, questioning your worth, your place in this world. Joel’s words had pulled it all back to the surface, like ripping open an old wound that had never truly healed. The silence in the cabin only amplified those thoughts, the quiet making the weight of them impossible to ignore.

You didn’t even notice when Joel spoke.

"Seems like the snow’s died down. We should get going." His voice broke through the fog of your thoughts.

It was rough, as usual, but there was something different this time—something softer, almost cautious, like he knew the air between you had shifted and wasn’t sure how to navigate it.

You wiped at your cheek, suddenly aware of the tear that had slipped down your face without you realizing.

The sadness that had been pressing down on you felt too heavy to carry now, like it had become too much all at once. You nodded, your voice barely audible as you replied, “Yeah… let’s go.”

For a brief moment, you caught Joel’s gaze. His brows furrowed, his eyes searching your face like he was trying to read something there, something more than the tear. Maybe he saw the pain you were carrying, maybe he didn’t. But for a fleeting second, there was a flicker of concern in his eyes. A hesitation. And then, just as quickly, it was gone. The wall came back up, his expression unreadable once more.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and stood, gathering your things with a sigh that felt like it came from the deepest part of you. The exhaustion wasn’t just from the cold or the events of the day—it was from the constant battle you were fighting inside yourself. And in that moment, you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep it up.

The journey back to Jackson was cold and quiet, the only sound between you the steady crunch of snow beneath the horses' hooves. The storm had passed, leaving the world around you still and blanketed in white, as if the entire landscape had been frozen in time.

The ride felt long, each minute dragging on, the cold biting at your skin as the wind whipped through the trees. All you could think about was getting home, sinking into the warmth of your bed, and shutting out the world.

The silence between you and Joel made the journey feel even longer, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on your shoulders.

Your mind wandered back to the cabin—Joel on the couch, the tension in his face as you tended to his wound. You wondered if he even knew what his words had done to you. At the end of the day, he shouldn’t have said what he did—that much was clear. But deep down, you knew he hadn’t meant for it to cut this deep. He couldn’t have known the depth of the pain his words would unearth, the way they’d pull you back into a spiral of doubt and self-loathing.

When you reached the stables, the familiar routine of tending to your horse became a lifeline, a small anchor in the swirling storm of emotions. The simple motions—loosening the saddle, brushing down the coat—gave your hands something to do, something to hold onto.

You could feel Joel’s eyes on you, the unspoken weight of his gaze making your skin prickle. Embarrassment washed over you, creeping up your neck and settling in your chest. He had seen you cry in the cabin, had watched that tear slip down your cheek—and it was enough. That single moment of vulnerability felt like too much, like you had exposed a part of yourself you hadn’t meant to.

You didn’t wait for Joel, even though his presence lingered close by, the soft sounds of his movements cutting through the still air. You could’ve asked how his hand was, could’ve wished him goodnight, maybe even walked home together—it would’ve made sense, living on the same street and all.

Instead, you gathered your things, the silence swallowing the unspoken words as your boots crunched against the snow. Without a backward glance, you walked away, your breath clouding in the cold air, leaving behind nothing but the imprint of your footsteps.

What you didn’t see, what you couldn’t have known, was the way Joel’s eyes lingered on you as you walked away. His gaze followed your every step, his expression unreadable, though shadowed by something heavier, something that settled deep in his chest and refused to loosen its grip.

He didn’t call after you, didn’t ask you to wait, even though the words itched at the back of his throat.

Instead, he stood there in silence, watching as you disappeared into the night, your figure swallowed by the darkness and snow.

And in that quiet, as the cold wrapped around him, he felt it—the guilt gnawing at him, the weight of his own words hanging heavy in the air between you. He’d seen the way you’d changed after he said it, the way something in you had pulled back, retreated, and now the regret settled in like a second skin.

It wasn’t just the bite of the wind that cut into him—it was the sharp sting of realizing what he’d done, and that he couldn’t take it back.

•••

Tag List: @immyowndefender @babygals-world @zenrobbins0021 @malfoycassimalfoy

[urhoneycombwitch]

my baby puts his mouth on me

Eddie Munson x shy!Reader

foreword: okay this is kind of written as a bonus scene for i know what they call you bc that version of reader deals with being quiet, too! (not necessary to read that one first but does provide a bit of context as far as interpersonal setting.) sort-of AU that ignores most s4 events.

cw: discussions of college, shy!reader, oral + fingering (R receiving), R has breasts and a V, weed usage, softdom!Eddie, shifting POV a bit soz 

wc: 2.2k

___

Somewhere between Eddie’s late nights at band rehearsal and your early morning diner shifts, you’ve both been too exhausted to properly fuck when you do see each other, barely time for a spare handjob in the past week. You’re crawling out of your skin by the weekend, missing and craving Eddie in equal measure.

So when your Saturday off happens to line up with his, Eddie makes an afternoon of it- picnic lunch on the shore of Lover’s Lake, lazing around in the August sun while your food settles, then stripping down to your underclothes (even though the spot Eddie scored was totally isolated, you’re still leery about skinny dipping) and cooling off with a quick dip in the lake.

You’re both sprawled out in the blanketed back of Eddie’s van, sun-warmed bodies pressed together, legs dangling out of the open rear door; smoke hangs hazy in the air from the joint being shared. 

“Almost end of summer,” Eddie says, nestling his nose into your neck, arms wrapping around your middle. He can’t look at you, dread unfurling in his stomach but needing to ask, to clear the air, to prepare in case this is one of the last times he gets to touch you like this- “Thinkin’ of going to any colleges?”

”Maybe.” One of your hands slides into Eddie’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp while the other lifts the joint to your lips for a long drag. “They love me at the diner and I make good tips, so I’ll prob’ly keep doing that. Can’t afford anything fancy, anyways- I’ll likely just go to Hawkins Community.”

You still haven’t told him the full story of the mall fire, yet- or about the underground world simmering beneath the surface. He never pushes you to share more than you’re comfortable, which you’re grateful for, but he knows something happened: something that paints your sleep with dark night terrors, something that causes you to slip in the middle of conversations, mind spiraling where he can’t follow. 

For reasons you can’t fully explain to Eddie, college is real low on your priority list- you’ve dedicated this summer to reconnecting with base instincts (weed and Pretty Boy being at the top of the list).

Meanwhile, Eddie tries to still the vibrant thrum of his heart at the news of you staying local, possibly for the next few years; he lifts his head to press his lips against your collarbone. “You should go to college. Jus’ try it out, at least. You’re certainly smart enough.”

“Mmm-” you hum around the joint, another inhale-exhale of smoke before murmuring, “So are you. For the record. We could apply to be nerds together, if you want-”

With a sharp gasp, your sentence drops out of midair when Eddie kisses over your nipple, already peaking through the thin material of your bra. In his hair, your grip tightens, and Eddie groans.

In one fluid movement, he props himself into his elbows on either side of your torso, bottom half of his weight pinning you in place, plucking the smoldering joint from your grasp to dampen it into a nearby ashtray.

“Gonna be my little student,” Eddie says, wet kisses trailing down your neck, flash of teeth making you squirm. “Get you some academic… skirts. The ones with the pleats. Maybe some stockings…”

“You’re so- oh, fuck- dirty…” It’s hard to keep the admonishment in your voice as Eddie noses between your thighs, bumping at your clit through the thin cover of high-cut cotton.

“Mm-hmm.” He seems pleased with the already-visible wet patch, your core leaking steadily as he burrows deeper, until all his senses are blacked-out with nothing but the sharp tang of your honeyed arousal- who needs weed. He could get high off your smell alone.

Eddie suckles at your throbbing clit, purring encouragement low in his throat when your hips jolt forward. “And you love it."

He’s one deep inhale from being completely pussy-drunk, mouthing sloppily at the junction where thigh meets pelvis, nimble fingers toying at the band of your underwear. He slides them down and off your legs, and you let him, wiggling in anticipation against the pressure he’s keeping you pinned with.

“Could take an electrician course.” Well aware of how close to the wire this conversation is sliding, you let the crown of your head tip back, staring at the van’s ceiling, handfuls of the flannel floor blanket squeezed into fists as you try getting one last word in- “You’re good with your h- hands.”

Said hand is cupping your bare sex, warm and wide between the V of your legs, other hand pushing your thigh back to spread you wide, obscene and on display how Eddie likes; embarrassment blooms hot in your chest as he runs a finger through your folds, slick practically loud against the far-off backdrop of forest sounds.

“What was that about my hands?” He’s teasing now, can hear it in his voice even though you can’t see the lazy grin it’s paired with; a long middle finger breaches your entrance, wet warmth swallowing the length greedily.

Your eyes flutter shut, sighing. There will be a time for arguments again but right now, with a second finger addition and Eddie’s mouth working you up, there’s no room for speech.

On your end, at least- Eddie’s proven on multiple occasions to be a master at multitasking, talking you through it while managing your pleasure, and this afternoon is no exception. His fingers curl expertly into the gummy front wall of your cunt, mouth running every second it’s not latched on to your pulsing button, dirty talk smooth and easy in his low timbre.

“Yeah, honey, that’s it. Fuck, you’re so hot. Can feel you squeezin’ around my fingers, y’so tight, angel, shit… like that- there you go…”

Etcetera. Until he’s bullied his way completely into the cradle of your legs, lying flat on his stomach to get as close as possible; until your cunt is spasming around the push and pull of his fingers, wet dripping and pooling into his palm and down your ass to the blanket below.

There’s a familiar tightness coiling in your stomach, thighs bracing around Eddie’s ears in anticipation of the unraveling. A pleasure-soaked sob gets caught in your throat, dull whine escaping instead through clenched teeth, grip on the flannel doubling until your knuckles creak in protest.

“Hey.” 

There’s a confusing lack of authority or command in Eddie’s voice; you sift through the brain fog of arousal, propping your weight up into your elbows to look down at him.

Eddie looks crazy. Debauched. Lips pink and spit-soaked, chin shimmering, pupils blown out with lust as he presses a chaste kiss to the wiry curls at your mound. “Kinda quiet up there. Everything okay?”

His thumb sweeps a comforting path up the soft skin of your thigh, the abrupt switch from animal to gentleness making your head swim. He’s still looking at you with those puppy-brown eyes, fingers still buried to the hilt but unmoving; you stammer out an excuse.

“Um- yeah. M’sorry. It’s just been awhile, since you’ve had me… like this.”

It’s the truth; over the last busy week in your lives, time has eroded some of what Eddie’s been working on building with you, bravery at making noise faded with the lessened practice time.

“No one else out here, ‘cept you and me, sweetheart.” Eddie’s coaxing his fingers back into steady rhythm, watching your face carefully for any signs of withholding. “Can make as much noise as you want. Lemme hear. Please?”

Usually, Eddie’s not so soft- a sharp crack of palm to ass, flesh jiggling as he draws all the noises he wants from you- but here, in the back of the van, heady weed and warm sun an intoxicating mixture as he asks you to melt for him. 

You obey. Let the floor take your upper body’s weight again as you fuck yourself on his fingers, hips lifted and seeking release. His mouth seals over your clit again, tip of his tongue lashing quick and precise against it, frizz of his curls tickling the insides of your legs as he shakes his head.

The weed is certainly a help as trapped noises heave from your chest, mouth falling open, lax and pliant with moans. “Oh, my god, Eddie. Fuck. Holy shit. Hah- right there, please, don’t stop-”

As if he would. Eddie moans in tandem with you, his own hips chasing the maddening pressure of the floorboards against the hard jut of his cock, leaking through the front of his boxers as he adds a third finger, spurred on by the fountain of breathy words this pulls from you-

“Oh god, oh god- f-fuck- Eddie, Eddie Eddie Eddie-”

Your speech devolves into a mindless, babbling chant of his name. That coil pulls taut, has you crunching forward in a half sit-up, hands fisting at the roots of Eddie’s hair to hold him in place (perhaps harsher than you intend but based on the way his hips stutter and grind, you can safely hazard a guess that he’s into it). 

The pattern breaks when he grazes his teeth against the pulsing nub in his mouth; you have just enough time to gasp out, “I- I’m coming, Eddie, shit, m’gonna come-” before the orgasm hits you full-force.

There isn’t room in your brain to hide all the noise that threatens to suffocate, so you let them all out, muscles tightening and flexing around every bright point of pleasure that he fucks you through. High-pitched whines, panting that wracks your lungs, a moan to top it all off that feels like it comes from your toes. 

“Jesus christ.” Eddie swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, sounding wrecked himself as he climbs back over your body, silver chain necklace and dark curls swinging in front of your blissed-out face. “Fuck, princess. That was so hot.”

“Yeah?” Bashfulness hasn’t fully settled in yet, you’re still loopy from the force of your pleasure, arms slipping over the boy’s freckled shoulders as he leans down to kiss you.

His tongue has a bright tang of you, as you lick into his mouth, one hand leaving his shoulder to trail down his chest. Dark ink whorls beneath your fingertips as you reach the scratchy trail of hair just before his boxers-

“Shit.” Eddie hisses, forehead thunking into yours when you palm the hard length of him, precum soaking through the fabric, softness of your palm contrasting with the damp and rough drag of cotton. His long lashes tickle your cheek, eyes fluttering closed, soft exhale magnified by close proximity as he slowly pushes into your hand. 

You’re mildly surprised he hasn’t come, yet- usually Eddie gets off on getting you off, then uses the rest of his energy to make you both come again, together. 

What Eddie hasn’t told you yet is that he’s done some prep of his own, this week: every night you haven’t spent in his bed, his own spit-slicked fist has taken him right to the edge, stopping just short of coming with a choking grip at the base. The idea was to build up his stamina a bit, to take advantage of lonely evenings in service to a future you.

A very noble cause that is quickly being forgotten as your hand moves with more intent and pressure against his aching cock- the drug haze is almost enough to have him completely at your mercy, to tuck his nose into the curve of your neck and find sweet release by way of your pretty palm.

But he recovers. Get just enough distance from the warmth of you to clear his mind and snake his own hand down between your bodies to capture your twisting wrist. 

The protest dies on your lips when Eddie brings your hand to his mouth, sucking your middle and index finger against the pad of his tongue, saturating your digits in spit.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do.” His eyes stay locked on yours, even as he guides your newly-wet fingers back down your bodies to rest atop your cunt. “You’re gonna touch yourself until you come. Again. And if I feel like you’re holding out on me with your noises, I’m gonna make it real difficult for you to make any noise. At all.”

A thrilling shiver races up your spine, goosebumps prickling in response to the shift in Eddie’s tone. His eyes flick to your lower lip, which he bites, unable to help himself, before following the path of your hand south.

There will be time for unwinding the past, for dreaming about the future. For now, there’s a boy between your legs and the feverish glow of summer calling your name. 

___

for more shy!Reader content: masterlist

[darksturnz]

THE COST OF LEAVING

CONTENTS:・angst-heavy plot ・artist!chris ・mentions of drug use・terminal illness・financial hardship ・parental abandonment ・unintentional child neglect. WC: 1.9k

The house had a strange hum to it now, a mixture of silence and sounds that only reminded Chris of what was missing. When James Sturniolo walked out, he didn’t slam the door or pack a dramatic bag. He just… left. There was no screaming, no scene. Chris could still remember the steady cadence of his dad’s boots crossing the wooden floor, the brief exchange of heated whispers between his parents before his father’s voice cut out entirely. And then, silence.

Chris was sixteen, old enough to understand what had happened but young enough for it to devastate him. For Lila, just two, the loss wasn’t as visceral. She toddled through the house the next morning, dragging her stuffed bunny by its ear and calling, “Daddy?” in her tiny voice, as if he’d just been misplaced. Chris had stood frozen in the hallway, watching her, something breaking in him that he didn’t yet have the words to explain.

Evelyn tried to pick up the pieces. She worked longer shifts at the diner, pulling doubles when she could, but she always came home with a tired smile for her kids. She was the kind of mother who baked birthday cakes from scratch, even when the pantry was nearly empty. The kind who sang Lila to sleep at night and stayed up late to help Chris with his geometry homework, even if she didn’t understand it herself. She made life bearable.

But James’s absence left cracks no amount of glue could fix.

At first, Chris was just angry. He lashed out at teachers, snapped at his mom, stormed out of the house more times than he could count. His grades began to slip. Once a B+ student with the occasional A, he now stared blankly at tests and left half the questions unanswered. Evelyn did her best to rein him in, but between work and caring for Lila, there wasn’t much of her left to go around.

By the time he was seventeen, Chris had all but given up on school. He spent most of his time with a group of kids his mom didn’t approve of—guys who always seemed to have a joint or a flask in hand, who laughed too loud and drove too fast. They weren’t friends, not really, but they made it easy to forget the ache in his chest.

Drugs became his escape. At first, it was just weed, something to dull the edges of his anger. But soon, he found himself experimenting with harder substances, chasing a numbness he could never quite reach. He told himself he could stop anytime. That he wasn’t like the guys who used until their faces hollowed out and their hands shook. He was just… managing.

Then came Evelyn’s diagnosis.

It was two days after Lila’s fourth birthday. Evelyn had been complaining of fatigue for weeks, brushing it off as stress or overwork. But when she collapsed in the kitchen, Chris had to carry her to the car and drive her to the hospital himself.

“Leukemia,” the doctor said, his voice clinical and detached, as if the word wouldn’t shatter their world.

Chris didn’t cry in front of her. He held her hand and promised it would be okay, even as his mind spiraled. He didn’t cry that night, either, when he sat in his car outside the hospital, staring at the dashboard and trying to figure out how the hell he was supposed to keep his family afloat. He didn’t cry the next morning, or the morning after that.

Instead, he got to work.

Evelyn insisted on continuing to work, even as the chemo sapped her strength. Chris hated seeing her like that���pale and frail, her once-bright eyes dull with exhaustion. He picked up a part-time job at a local auto shop, but it wasn’t enough. The bills piled up faster than they could pay them, and Chris felt like he was drowning, so he made a decision.

The same guys he got high with had connections. It wasn’t hard to start selling on the side, just enough to make ends meet. At first, he told himself it was temporary. Just until his mom got better. Just until he could figure something else out. But the money came fast, and for the first time in months, Chris felt like he could breathe.

Then came the night Evelyn collapsed again.

Chris had been out making a drop when it happened. Lila, now six, found her mother unconscious in the living room. She didn’t know what to do, so she grabbed her stuffed bunny and wandered to the neighbor’s house, tears streaming down her face.

By the time Chris got home, the ambulance was already there. The neighbor—a middle-aged woman named Mrs. Carter—tore into him as soon as she saw him.

“What kind of son leaves his sick mother and little sister alone like that?” she hissed, her voice sharp with judgment.

Chris didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He just stood there, watching as the paramedics loaded Evelyn into the ambulance, feeling like the worst person in the world.

Chris followed the ambulance to the hospital in silence, Lila curled up in the backseat with her stuffed bunny clutched tightly in her arms. She didn’t cry anymore; her wide eyes just stared out the window, as though she was trying to process the enormity of what had just happened.

When they got to the hospital, Chris parked haphazardly in the lot and scooped Lila into his arms. She didn’t protest, just buried her face in his shoulder.

The doctors stabilized Evelyn that night, but the news wasn’t good. The leukemia was progressing faster than expected, and the treatments weren’t working the way they’d hoped. Chris sat by her bedside, his hand wrapped around hers, while Lila slept fitfully in the chair beside him.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Evelyn murmured, her voice weak but firm.

“Doing what?” Chris asked, though he already knew what she meant.

“Carrying all this on your shoulders,” she said. “You’re…you’re just a kid, Chris. You should be in school, not… whatever it is you’ve been doing.”

Chris’s jaw clenched. He wanted to tell her everything—to confess the depths of what he’d done to keep them afloat. But he couldn’t. The shame was too heavy.

“I’m fine, Mom,” he said instead. “I can handle it.”

Evelyn’s eyes softened, and she reached up to touch his cheek. Her hand was cold, her fingers trembling.

“You’re not fine,” she whispered. “But you’re trying. And I’m so proud of you for that.”

Those words broke something in Chris. He stayed by her side until morning, holding her hand and trying to memorize the feel of it—just in case.

Over the next few weeks, Evelyn’s condition worsened. She couldn’t work anymore, which meant the financial strain was worse than ever. Chris picked up more shifts at the auto shop, but it still wasn’t enough. He found himself taking more risks with his dealing—bigger quantities, sketchier buyers.

One night, he came home to find Lila sitting at the kitchen table with Mrs. Carter. The woman had a hard look in her eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“She showed up at my door again,” Mrs. Carter said, gesturing to Lila. “Said she was hungry.”

Chris felt the blood drain from his face. “I—she—” He didn’t know what to say.

“I know you’re doing your best,” Mrs. Carter continued, her tone softening slightly. “But you’re just a kid, Chris. You can’t do this alone.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Chris snapped, his voice rising before he could stop it. Lila flinched, and he immediately regretted it.

Mrs. Carter stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. “There’s always a choice,” she said. “But you need to think about what’s best for Lila. She’s just a little girl. She shouldn’t have to grow up like this.”

After she left, Chris sat at the table with his head in his hands. Lila climbed into his lap, wrapping her small arms around his neck.

“Don’t be sad, Chris,” she whispered. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

Her innocence was a knife in his chest.

The decision to leave wasn’t an easy one, but it felt inevitable. The town was a dead end, a place where hope went to die. Chris had no future here, and neither did Lila.

One night, after putting Lila to bed, he sat down with Evelyn to tell her his plan.

“You’re going to move us?” she asked, her voice quiet.

Chris nodded. “We can’t stay here, Mom. It’s not working. I’ve saved up enough to get us somewhere else—somewhere cheaper. A fresh start.”

Evelyn’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t argue. She just reached out and squeezed his hand. “You’re a good boy, Chris,” she said. “Better than I deserve.”

“Don’t say that,” he replied, his throat tightening.

They sat together in silence, the weight of everything they’d lost hanging heavy between them.

The day they left, the house felt like a hollow shell of its former self. Most of their belongings were gone—sold to pay bills or crammed into the trunk of Chris’s black 1963 Pontiac Tempest. The car sat in the driveway, gleaming in the soft morning light, a sharp contrast to the tired faces of the family leaving everything behind.

Chris stood at the edge of the driveway, staring at the house that had been their home for so long. It still looked the same—faded shutters, a crooked mailbox, and the porch steps that creaked when you stepped on them. But it didn’t feel like home anymore. Too much had happened here. Too much had been lost.

Evelyn sat in the passenger seat of the Tempest, leaning back against the headrest with her eyes closed. She was exhausted, her thin frame barely filling the seat. In the back, Lila was strapped into the seatbelt, her stuffed bunny perched on her lap. She stared out the window, quiet and solemn, as though she understood the weight of what was happening.

Chris took a deep breath and opened the driver’s side door, sliding into the cracked leather seat. He ran his hands over the steering wheel, the cool metal grounding him for a moment. This car had been one of the few constants in his life—his sanctuary on countless nights when the weight of the world was too much to bear.

“Ready?” he asked, glancing at Lila in the rearview mirror.

She nodded, her small hands gripping the bunny tighter.

Chris looked over at his mother. Evelyn opened her eyes and gave him a weak smile, the kind that broke his heart every time he saw it.

“You’re doing the right thing, Chris,” she whispered. Her voice was faint, but the conviction in it was strong.

He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

The Tempest roared to life with a deep rumble that filled the air, steady and reliable. Chris shifted into gear and glanced one last time at the house. The memories it held—both good and bad—swirled in his mind.

But then he looked at Lila, her wide doe eyes watching him in the mirror, filled with quiet trust. She was the reason he kept going, the light in a world that felt too dark most days.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and pulled out of the driveway. The Tempest rolled smoothly onto the road, leaving the house—and the life they once knew—behind.

As they drove away, Chris felt the faintest glimmer of something he hadn’t felt in a long time: hope. The road ahead was uncertain, but it was a chance to start over. A chance to give Lila the life she deserved.

And he’d do whatever it took to make that happen.

AUTHORS NOTE: i love a good lore drop + you need to understand artist!chris just a tad more :3 as always, ask about any and all of my au’s are welcomed.

TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @mattsmunch @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams

[partycatty]

thinking about young mk11 johnny being a bad boyfriend then you meet him again years later when he’s mature and he REGRETS IT SO BAD

i have so many ideas but i can’t get them out recently so ur account gives me life lol <3

OUGH it aches in the bones

older!johnny cage > as the day you left

notes: oooghuig "in another life" trope hurts so BAD.

[ masterlist ]

• a military job wasn't in your grand plan, but a position opened for equipment maintenance it was hard to turn down the potentially heavy paycheck.

• you were buried in your paperwork, taking quick strides to your office to make sense of your diagnostics and order the proper parts for one of the on-field machines when you slam into what feels like a brick wall. just as the force of the blow sends you backward, a hand grabs your arm and suspends you mid-fall.

• you don't even have time to properly react to the scene, only opening your harshly clenched eyes to meet your savior.

• "sorry, i wasn't looking where i—" your apology was cut off when you properly processed just who was in front of you. even with the tattoo peeking through his shirt, you knew that face from anywhere. "johnny?"

• you expected johnny to not even remember you, maybe take a second to realize you weren't just a fan. this expectation is torn from you when he replies with your name, loud and clear. his eyes are wide. gently, he lets go of you to allow you to regain your footing, pulling away as if you were a glass doll bound to shatter.

• he looked the same as when you walked out, perhaps a little more weathered but glowing with charm and personality just as he did twenty odd years ago. thankfully, you thought, he never lost that puppy-like shine in his eyes.

• the moment was lost to him the second he locked eyes. just like that, a torrent of memories flooded back to him. you two were young, too young to be serious in his eyes. johnny was in his acting prime and he couldn't help but flaunt it. all those smiles and sparkly outfits for the cameras but as soon as you were behind closed doors you were nothing more but exhausted.

• "i can't keep living like my life is under a microscope," you huffed, shrugging off the luxury shawl johnny went through hell to make sure you'd have for the red carpet. "would it kill you to just settle down, slow down? i want kids, johnny! i want to go to the store without paparazzi up my ass, i don't need stalkers on our property, i don't need the gold and glamor all the damn time!"

• "well, that's on you for choosing a megastar!" johnny shouted back, undoing his tie in one harsh tug. "all you've ever done is complain when you are literally living large! mansions, super cars, money! and you're complaining."

• you spin around, a horrified expression on your face as you unpacked his wording. "i didn't choose a megastar," your voice drops, so angry you couldn't bring yourself to shout. "i chose john carlton. where the hell is he now, because all i see is a narcissistic child that refuses to grow up."

• you slide your engagement ring off and you slam it into the ground. johnny's eyes widen as he immediately drops to his knees, trying desperately to grasp at the ring as it rolls and spirals out of grasp. he curses to himself, then at you.

• "look at yourself," you grit your teeth. "you care more about a rock than your fiancée. we're done, johnny. you can go tell the media that, too, since that's all you care about."

• johnny blinks once, then twice. he swallows thickly.

• "i'm sorry," is all he can mutter out. god, how he wishes he could say more, but time felt nonexistent when looking at your face. you, however, didn't quite understand his meaning and brushed yourself off.

• "no, it's fine, really," you try to shove past him, anything to break this eye contact that feels as if it's pulling you apart piece by piece. as you think you're out of the weeds, his hand finds its place on your arm once more.

• "please look at me," he pleads, voice barely above a mumble. "i-i haven't seen you in..."

• "—twenty six years," you blink up at him, straining yourself so hard to not break down. "forget it."

• "i'm sorry," he emphasizes the phrase again. "i... i was an asshole, an arrogant, self-centered—"

• "johnny." you cut him off, face stern but voice soft. "it was so many years ago."

• "i know, i know, but — fuck — you've... you've been on my mind this entire time. you never left. god, when you left it felt like my entire... everything fell apart."

• you want to interject, stop him from this spiral, but you can tell he had it bottled up for so long, you'd be cruel to deny him of it now. that, and you had an unfortunate tendency to hear people out and forgive those who don't need your forgiveness.

• "when you walked out i realized just how good i could've had it. you were the only sane person in my world, you tried so hard to keep me in track but i was so afraid of being nothing that i... chose my priorities wrong. you know, i've kept your contact information, even... just in case."

• "i changed my number years ago, johnny. to stop the media from bugging me for a comment."

• "just another thing i fucked up," he runs a hand through his hair. "sorry, i don't mean to be all self destructive." he pauses, and eyes you down. you yourself aged well too, fine lines and trickles of grey hair peeking through your uniform hat. johnny chuckles dryly as his eyes focus on the little details. "you look just as beautiful as the day you left me."

• "don't do this," you quietly plead, eyes now feeling wet and face feeling hot. "not now. not after all this time."

• "i..." he swallows again, now averting his eye contact. the pause is long, and you almost considered walking away before he speaks up again. "i got married, by the way, though i'm sure you saw... in the news."

• "i haven't." johnny shoots a dubious look at you, then realizes you probably avoided his name like the plague in news articles.

• "my wife runs the army. my daughter is commander."

• "daughter?" now it was your turn to frown.

• "cass... cassandra?" johnny explains, though you sense a hint of shame in his tone. "cassie."

• "didn't strike you for a family man." the irony stings when it slips past your lips.

• "i didn't either," he wipes his face. "but i realized... far too late... that what i wanted more than a legacy for myself was a legacy for my family. i wanted my efforts to mean something. i wanted to better the world with more than just shitty movies."

• just as your turn rose to frown, now you couldn't help but let out a chuckle yourself. "your movies weren't shitty," you reply, smiling weakly. "i liked them."

• "no you didn't," his grin is teasing, and you notice just how deep his smile lines were. "no need to lie."

• "honest to god," you hold a hand up, swearing. "they were a nice escape from reality."

• his lips turn into a fine line. maybe your choice of wording was more painful than intended. his fists clench and unclench and you watch his mouth fight to get more words out.

• "i wish..." the always confident actor couldn't bring himself to look at you. "i wish i had grown up sooner, you know." johnny could be digging a dangerous hole, but he didn't care in the moment. he felt young again, nostalgic. "we could have had a life like this together, like you want... wanted."

• "you have that now," you get defensive, trying to put a barrier between his words and your heart. "a wife, a kid, a good job. you got what you wanted."

• "but it's not with you."

• whether it was dread or excitement, your heart flutters. was it really true that after all this time, he still wanted you, missed you like you missed his mature self? your thoughts of what could've been claw their way into your mind, and you feel hazy. your eyes wander around his form again, taking in his impressive physique, kind eyes, mature outfit... stopping at the ring finger. your breath feels sucked from your lungs when you pull yourself back to reality.

• "maybe in another life," you propose, a weak shrug tugging at your shoulders. "but i hope you know i don't... i don't regret what we had. our story, though, ended twenty six years ago, johnny. you're in a new chapter, enjoy it, okay?"

• the rejection at his desperation feels like a gunshot to the chest, like he could just die then and there. yeah, he had roots here, but if you had just asked him to run away with you, lord knows he'd consider it. but you wouldn't ask him to do such a thing, when he's finally got his shit figured out.

• another coworker enters the long hallway, entranced in their task that tears both of your attentions away from the heavy conversation. you know even still that his reputation is important, on screen and now off, too. so, you abandon the conversation as it stands, not giving johnny a chance to agree to your request and spin on your heel, returning to your own assignment and leaving him to his own. your head is down as you hug the papers, wishing to forget that you work with your ex-soulmate. it's an impossible task, really, when you catch his lingering cologne and scent on your body from his hold. that scent didn't change, either.

• johnny feels frozen in place, afraid to move and lose the moment where it stands. he watches you until you turn the corner, and listens for your footsteps until there isn't a trace of them anymore. his heart feels... heavy.

[circlebuttons]

Coming down- Rafe Cameron

-

-Rafe is so Coming Down by The Weekened coded

A/N| i promise this is my last drunken/high Rafe crawling back to reader😭

-

Rafe Cameron has a bad habit of using partying and substance abuse to attempt to drown out his problems. His habits on top of his poor communication killed your relationship. He tried so many times over to quit, but the sensation of being faded and the bliss of being able to forget would also make him forget what you mean to him. It's never until he starts coming down, feeling alone, and lets reality sink in that he crawls back into your arms at night and now that you aren't there anymore he's beginning to spiral. 

As soon as you open his text, your phone rings again. You shut your eyes tight and take a deep breath before answering. You dont say anything and neither does he, both of you sit listening to each other breathe.

"I need you." hes calm, although slightly slurred.

You sigh into the phone, "You don't need me, just go to sleep Rafe."

"Well then I want you. I always want you." he declares, his voice containing a short burst of urgency that fades out.

"You only want me when you're coming down." you scoff at him, angry that he's putting you through any of this, angry at yourself for letting him.

"That's not true. You don't know what you mean to me." It hurt you to hear him speak like that because although he's prone lying to himself and you, especially you, it was true. You don't know what you mean to him because he's never told you. He never knew how to say it and because of that it kept you awake many nights trying to figure it out.

"Where's Topper?" You ask him, ignoring his comment.

"He left. I can't be alone right now, please-"

You cut him off, "Where's Kelce?"

"Sleep downstairs."

"I need you to go downstairs with Kelce and go to sleep." You tell him, patience slowly running thin, he's too old and he's hurt you too much for you to want to coerce him into bed like a child.

"I can't go downstairs." he mumbles into the phone quietly.

"Why not?"

"I'm outside."

You're stunned in disbelief at his admission. You take a deep breath before testing his bluff. "No you're not."

"I'm sorry, I am. They left my phone with me, I called an uber as soon as Kelce went down." He confesses, sounding selfishly sorry while you can't even begin to piece together why he's at your door. Kelce and Top are mutual friends of yours and take it upon themselves to make sure Rafe gives you space. They'll spend the night with him, locking him in his room, pocketing his car keys, and sometimes even taking his phone, but even exhausted, trembling, and nauseous Rafe is relentless and you know that. You say nothing before hanging up and making your way downstairs.

You pace, biting the inside of your cheek a bit before having the courage to open the door. You crack it at first, catching a glimpse of him sitting in front of your door with his head in his hands. He's quick to get up and face you once the door is open. "You shouldn't be here" is all you say to him.

"I know, 'm sorry." he emptily apologizes for the a thousandth time. He looks down at you and somehow transformed his sharp features into soft round ones, since he's still coming down he's quiet and dismal, everything he won't be once the sun rises. He looks so soft and sorry for the moment, it almost makes you sick. You don't even bother to accept his apology. You know it's never a good idea to receive apologies or promises from someone who isn't sober and you could smell a mixture of weed and tequila on him as soon as the door opened, knowing that there's way worse is in his system. You silently close the door behind him while he kicks off his air forces. He then stands and watches in silence as you walk towards the hallway closet to pull out spare bedding. The silence kills him, he wants to know what you're thinking and how you're feeling, but you give him nothing on the account of you feel queasy just at him standing there. You take your time calmly setting up the couch, before looking back at him, "There's ibuprofen in that first cabinet, leftovers and half a bottle of pedialyte in the fridge"

"Thank you." he mumbles while sitting down. He looks up at you waiting for you to say something. The eye contact is unbearable, he's looking at you like a kicked puppy and you feel like crying, screaming, and throwing up all at once. You just still can't find it in yourself to speak to him, so you turn to walk away. You're stopped dead in your tracks once you feel his hand wrapped around your wrist. You look down at where you two are connected and then back up at him, he's barely got a grip on you, but the only thing you can feel is him. His touch makes the hair on your neck stand up and goosebumps appear. Neither of you say anything, he just lightly pulls you towards himself. You curse yourself for the way your body submits to him, you let him pull down on top of him and he adjusts both of you to be laying down on the couch together.

"I am sorry" He's barely audible so you pretend not to hear him, but he holds you closer, repeating himself, begging for an answer from you. You say nothing, overwhelmed with emotions and thoughts. The toll he's taken on your mental is too much and you can feel yourself falling apart. Your head is pressed against his chest, so you listen to his elevated heart beat and before you know it hot tears are soaking into his shirt. He goes still before reaching down to cover the both of you in the blanket you had set out. Eventually you cry yourself to sleep in his arms while he clings to the feeling of holding you just incase it's his last time ever doing it.

[lewkwoodnco]

I take you like you do your tea, with lemon and with honey - Lockwood x Reader/ Locklyle

And then you’re gone, along with half my hyper heart, leaving me alone with half-formed images of soil, rich and dark, burying what’s left of me. Oh darling, I wanted to write, I fear it is the future I hear calling, and I fear that it is from no further than our garden.

a/n: it's been a while since I've been inspired to write a fic impromptu and GOD have I missed it!! this was very cathartic to write and is one of my fav pieces of writing yet :) I decided to try something new by writing it in first person, from Lockwood's perspective, to the reader/Lucy (so it could technically also be considered a lockyle fic) there's not exactly a linear storyline heheh and i hope u enjoy!

warnings/tropes: first/second person writing, love??? fluff at least, sickeningly romantic, but also a dash of angst

word count: 720

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

I watched you make your first cup of tea on a blustery January morning. The kitchen was too bright, and with the pounding in my head, it hurt my eyes to look. But I watched you add a drizzle of honey and a squeeze of lemon.

What's the point, I asked, of adding both honey and lemon? One sweet, the other sour, only tasting whichever’s sharper in the moment. You smiled at me. You held your cup like it was home. Outside, the curtains were singing and sighing. A new day had begun, just like any other, except now I knew how you took your tea.

You are a thousand different flavours that riddle my tongue blunt all the time. How to handle the scrapbook of memories that you are, I wonder. One moment you’re pressing a flare into my hand, making me promise not to blow up in a fit of recklessness, and the next you're resting your head on my chest, and I am too terrified to breathe.

When I'm in a mood and when you're rough with your words, I burn my tongue on you. A part of me eggs me on, pushes me to be something violent and unforgiving. Another part of me is crippled, and won't move on from the deathly quiet you left behind all those months ago. Tell me how I am supposed to love you when I don't have the capacity to do anything but, I wanted to demand. I was tired. Exhausted. You exhausted me. But still I thought, oh, love is stored in the tea leaves you wrung the very life out of.

What's the point, you say, if we are dizzy with grief as we spiral all the way down to ground zero, again? Then you look at me strange, and I realise no one's spoken. What’s the point, I ask, if we’re only running this into the ground. What’s this, you ask. I leave the door ajar.

On the morning of your trip, we’re having breakfast when George looks out the window and says the garden needs seeing to. He’s right - the grass needs cutting, the weeds need weeding but for a moment I watch the dandelions toss their heads in the wind. And then you’re gone, along with half my hyper heart, leaving me alone with half-formed images of soil, rich and dark, burying what’s left of me. Oh darling, I wanted to write, I fear it is the future I hear calling, and I fear that it is from no further than our garden. That night, I forget to sleep. I sit at the kitchen table just like I did in the morning, and continue watching their ghostly heads sway in a nonexistent breeze. I dream of you, miles away from me, and I humour myself by thinking you can feel the disease rotting away at my heart. It is some dream that you float back home, back to me, on a cloud of hope and contentment. It is some dream that I can make you happy.

I hold you close to my chest when my throat is raw, clutching you desperately like a promise for salvation. You tell me I'm hallucinating, and press a cold pack to my head, and I'm too weak to explain myself. I’m terrible and you don’t know half of it. You yell at me, wrap up my scrapes, and make my tea something bitter awful, and you still don’t know. You sit there at the corner of the table with your pencils, colouring something happy, and you don’t know that you make me half decent.

Every day, I hold you like water in my hands. You are forever slipping away and there is nothing I can do about it. I am no anchor, but rather the rough seas which capsize any hope for freedom from calamity.

There is the sweet, and there is the sour. There is the good, and there is the bad. I take them both. I take it with your palm slotted against mine, grimacing, like a bitter vitamin. I take it all. Just keep your fingers laced with mine.

Maybe love is the brew you use to irrigate my system when you get too sick of my cough. Or, maybe, love is you, and not your tea.

TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @ahead-fullofdreams @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits

[souliebird]

hi!! i saw your Matt x Reader getting high idea and loved it, but i’m not big on posting my writing, i js do it for fun lol. but yeah here it is, not the exact idea but it was fun to write!!

“hey, you okay?”

“yeah.. yeah i’m fine. can’t sleep.”

your hands trembled slightly your whispers quivered. you had slept an average of four hours a night for the past two weeks, your anxiety had just been… very persistent. mind constantly running laps around worst-case scenarios.

you felt even worse about it because your boyfriend, matt, got an equally low amount of rest. and now you were waking him up with your worries. you put your face in your hands and let out a whine in frustration.

“baby it’s alright, s’ not your fault, kay?”

“i’m just so tired,” your whisper broke midair.

“i know, you’re gonna be alright,” and you believed him for a moment. he took you into his arms and held you tight, whispering reassurances in your ear, having an invisible battle with the volume of your own thoughts.

—————————

the next morning, you met your friend for coffee. you would’ve forgotten that you were supposed to meet her if matt hadn’t reminded you. he had acted energized in the morning, as to not make you feel bad, but you could tell he was tired.

“have you ever considered trying weed? for your sleeping problems?” your friend knew about your issues, and no, you hadn’t considered it.

“no, the smell is awful. you know how matt is about stuff like that,” you mindlessly sipped at your coffee. still not enough to make you feel energized in any way.

your friend shrugged, “well, i am a therapist. that shit works. i get it though,” and just like that the conversation ended, the subject changed. but you were desperate for a solution, and the idea stuck to the back of your brain just like the overwhelming exhaustion of past weeks.

—————————

“baby? what’s up?” matt’s head perked up when he heard your heartbeat, he stopped his braille reader and got up to greet you.

you kissed him back and some small fraction of the world’s weight was lifted for just a moment.

“foggy did like, weed in college, right?” you asked tentatively, matt seemed startled by the abrupt question.

“hey, i heard that! it was definitely a chapter,” foggy called from the other room, now involved in the discussion.

matt tilted his head at you, his way of silently asking a question. he may be charismatic in front of the clients and in court, but at heart, matt only spoke when he felt he had to. you enjoyed that you were one of the few who understood his secret little language of gestures. his head tilt said, “why do you ask?”

“y’know my friend? the therapist? she recommended it for my sleep,” you were still a tad unsure about the whole conversation, “i don’t know. i know you’re sensitive to smells, and i don’t love it either, but i just feel like i’ve tried everything—“

matt cut you off before you started rambling and spiraling, “sweetheart, slow down for a second. first of all, i shared a dorm with foggy, and we live in New York. it’s one of the few smells i barely even notice anymore. second, i know how much your anxiety affects you and your sleep, so if you want to try it, it’s completely fine,” matt rubbed a hand up ad down your arm soothingly.

foggy chimed in, “i still have some know-how from college,” and both you and matt chuckled.

—————————

through your therapist friend, you had gotten some low dose edibles. you hated the idea of smoking, plus this would reduce the smell.

you looked at the clock, 10:12 PM. you held one of the small gummies in your hand, unsure.

matt came into the bedroom from the living room, “how’s it going?”

“haven’t taken it yet. i guess i’m nervous, i never did anything like this in school,” you admitted.

matt paused for a long moment, making his way to sit next to you on the bed.

“…what if i took one too?” he smiled softly, eyes flitting around your face, trying to catch eye contact.

“really?” you felt like you were infringing upon his night enough already on a daily basis.

“it’s really no big deal, i got dragged to a few parties in college. he may not admit it now, but he was a full-on stoner. i probably got a little high just from the second-hand smoke,” he gave you that wide grin you loved, and you giggled.

“…okay. good to know i wasn’t the only goodie two shoes in school,” you smiled as you took a second gummy out of the bag and placed it in matt’s already outstretched palm, which he put in his mouth immediately.

you let out a confident sigh and ate yours, too.

matt sensed that your nerves were still present and squeezed your hand before getting up to do some work, “let me know when it kicks in,” he pecked you on the cheek before going to his laptop in the kitchen.

you just flopped onto your back and let yourself sink into the bed, checking your phone occasionally.

you looked at the clock again right before matt came back in, it was 10:30.

“hey, baby, i think i feel it,” you could tell from the way that his sentence trailed off that matt was definitely high. as you looked at him and felt a sense of pleasant unawareness you realized that you were too.

“same here,” you said as matt practically climbed onto you and spooned you for a few seconds before switching up and laying half on top of you, his arms around you as he breathed you in like a drug. much more powerful than some weed.

“mm my senses are a little duller… can’t block anything.. all of it is you,” he mumbled into your neck.

you felt the opposite. for the first time in a while, your thoughts silenced themselves.

“matt, i think m’ not worrying anymore,” you ran your fingers through his hair lightly. he had just told you that his senses were running amok, and you didn’t want him to get overwhelmed.

“foggy might’ve been into something in college—“ you felt his lips curl isn’t a smile against your neck, “i miss college sometimes. but also i don’t. felt like that was when i was the most blind, right? people treated me very blind. to be fair, i am blind. those glasses probably didn’t help. i like my glasses now. more mysterious. do you think they make me look mysterious?” he mumbled and rambled. you laughed.

“yes, matty, they make you look very mysterious. but i like your eyes without the glasses. a lot,” you admitted in your daze.

“mm, i only like when you see them. or foggy and karen. other people get uncomfortable cuz they can see i’m not looking. i can hear their heartbeats, it speeds up just a little for a bit when i first take off my glasses and then any time i try to look up. that doesn’t happen with you. i love your heartbeat, and how you are. i love you,” he kissed your neck and you felt your face heat up just a little bit. he pushed himself up and off of you with his arms on either side of your torso and kissed you gently but long on the lips.

“i love you too, murdock,” you whispered when he slowly pulled away. you immediately reattached your lips and made a mediocre effort to flip over and straddle matt.

his strong hands helped you, and you leaned down to kiss him, this time deepening the kiss. both of your kisses were slowed by the haze in your minds.

after being in one long, loving kiss for what could have been forever, you pulled away just slightly and realized how much you needed to take a proper breath.

matt chuckled at your panting.

“hi,” he whispered, almost inaudibly, and in those beautiful eyes of his was a look of pure adoration. you saw it in the lines next to his eyes, the way his eyebrows relaxed, and the way his now-wet lips quirked up at the ends.

you ran a hand through his hair, “hi to you too.”

you slid down to lay down next to him, and you both turned to face each other, kissing once more as his hand came up to hold your face.

eventually you found yourself laid between his two arms in a pure state of bliss.

you woke up the next morning more rested than you had been in months, not even remembering dozing off the night before.

Ahhhhhhh I hope it is okay to pay this but I absolutely love it!!!!

I love cuddly high Matt and I love the insight about his blindness and his glasses. 🩷 This is so sweet!!! Thank you so much for sharing this with me! I just want them to cuddle and have a Nice time.

[call-me-copycat]

The Weight of Regret

So... It seems I can't save requests to drafts without them disappearing... なぜこうなるのか…( ꐦ•᷄ὤ•᷅)و

I deeply apologize if I've never received your ask! I have many requests waiting right now, but now that I know about this I'll make sure to try my best to keep them from disappearing (_๑óωò)_

*I FORGOT TO SCREENSHOT IT!! NOO ｡°꒰ ՞ ´ ᗣ`°꒱°｡

➤ Welcome: Links to all my masterlists, rules for requests, and some info about me (⁠๑⁠¯⁠◡⁠¯⁠๑⁠)

▶ [CHARACTERS]: Dadzawa x Daughter Reader (platonic)

▶ [GENRE]: Hurt/Comfort + angst

▶ [SUMMARY]: You've always struggled with smoking, and it tears away at you until you're caught. Will you get into trouble, or will you be spared and helped?

▶ [WORD COUNT]: 6,868

▶ [WARNINGS]:

- This one is rather angsty all throughout

- Mental breakdowns

- Smoking (obviously)

- Mentions of addiction

A deep inhale. The smoke filling your lungs gave off a comforting feeling that temporarily masked the guilt that ate away at you. A heavy exhale. The remnants of your action shamelessly filling the air in a heavy cloud of smoke.

It was a tiresome night, and stress was breaking apart your mind as exams rode closer and closer to the present day. Too many things had to be done at that moment, and even more things were left undone or unfinished, waiting for you to come back and complete them. You didn't know when that time would come though.

It all seemed so heavy. You'd push yourself to complete the burdensome amount of classwork you were assigned and then will yourself to train on your quirk. You'd repeat this cycle day after day, but you never seemed to gain any benefits from doing all this. It seemed as though all your efforts were in vain. You weren't much of a suck-up, but there were still small expectations that at least someone would notice how hard you were pushing yourself. Alas, that day never came.

No one else seemed to be struggling this much. It caused your mind to wander where you didn't want it to. You began to think... Were you falling? Was there something wrong with you? Were you not cut out for the Hero Course? Troubling thoughts such as these began to slowly litter your mind. Beginning like a small weed, they festered and grew to unimaginable proportions.

They began to tear apart your sanity, and it felt as though you were having an argument with your own brain every single day. It was exhausting, and horribly painful to endure. But you didn't let anyone know. You couldn't. They'd think you were insane. Or they'd baby you, seeing you as too unstable to be a hero one day. All the work and effort you put in would all be wasted without anything to show for it.

Endure. That's all that rang about your head. All you had to do was to keep yourself moving. To endure it, that's what made a hero after all, right?

Too bad no one told you how pointless it all felt. It seemed as though you were spiralling, into an endless pit of misery that welcomed lost and pained souls into its gaping mouth. It was times like these that sparked the flame of your habit.

Twisting the white stick around your fingers, you thought back to how it started while staring into the flickering yellow flame at the end.

It was all too much that day. It was too much everyday, really, but that day in particular had hit you hard and knocked everything out of you without any preparation time. A misaligned testing schedule, a broken phone, a dropped dinner. Everything seemed to go wrong for no apparent reason. You wanted to burst into tears, but as a last resort you willed it away.

Your mind had been running a marathon, and you were exhausted beyond belief from the work your class had been put through. You had originally walked into your father's room to ask him if you could have some help on an assignment you had been struggling with, but it quickly changed.

Looking around Aizawa's room, you didn't see him anywhere in sight. You saw some of his things littered about the room, not particularly messy but in an organized chaos kind of way. Realizing he must've been busy with something or called by someone, you sighed and went to exit back to your own room not too far away. However, something caught your eye.

A white box was partially sticking out from under his work bag, and although you knew what it was you still lifted the bag to see anyways. A clean, already opened box of cigarettes met your drained and exhausted gaze. It was no secret Aizawa was a smoker, in fact a good chunk of the teachers smoked every now and then. However, unlike the others, you noticed your father never really talked about it openly. He'd answer questions briefly before moving the topic of discussion, and that was about as much as you got out of him.

Memories of him scooting you back inside the house when you were younger flashed across your eyes, as he always wanted you to be somewhere else when he was submitting to his slight addiction. It was almost like an unspoken rule, but it always infuriated you how he never outright told you anything.

You didn't have time to read in between the lines. Pushing yourself to simply get out of bed was a struggle, so that's probably why you weren't thinking clearly that night. All the tests, assignments, criticizing, and sleepless nights bursted throughout your mind, burning your thoughts on the rising anger.

You hadn't had time to think. What were you so angry about that night? You don't remember. Possibly the work without reward. Or the unspoken sayings. Or the fiery thoughts that charred your mind everyday and night. Who knows.

But what you did caused a chain. A chain that you wished never existed. Looking at the open box was tempting. But you were a good kid, right? You got good grades, you treated everyone decently, you did as you were expected. But what about you? You hadn't thought about that. And the rage filled your consciousness once again, fueling your shaky fingers to nab a single stick from the box before running out of there.

Only, you didn't know what to do when you got back to your room. You had clutched it to your chest, panting from the run. You had never even held a cigarette before, so you took the time to examine it. You didn't think it looked like much, but you heard it caused nasty effects and addiction that was overall very hard to cope with. There wasn't much you heard spoken about it, except for maybe a passing stranger on the streets.

It was seen as a taboo. To smoke was to throw yourself into being delinquent. You'd be seen as one of those bad kids that got tattoos and wore spiky clothing. Only... That's what you were taught, but seeing average people like your father, or even Nezu smoke every now and then debated that thought.

You wished you threw it away. Burned it without putting it in your mouth. Anything but smoking it.

A "cancer stick", a "coffin nail", you had heard it go by many names. It all worried you, but the thrill of doing something so wrong, of doing something just for you... It excited you for once. You didn't care that it was bad, nor did you care that you'd come to regret your actions. Life was heavy and cold, quiet and unforgiving. You needed something to pick you back up, to distract you from the swirling winds of reality that screeched outside the flames of the smoke that shielded you.

You lit it, watching the flame flicker. That was your last chance to throw it away. Too bad you listened to impulse instead. You certainly learned your lesson. Putting it to your lips was foreign, and it felt so dirty. The first inhale was the worst, leaving you in a coughing fit and a state of confusion and irritation on the lack of soothing that was supposed to come from it.

After trying again, it got easier for you. And easier. A little too easy. You sat there, enjoying the vague calmness that washed over you as the hot nicotine filled your lungs, pushing away everything that once hurt. It was refreshing, and you wanted more. You wanted a stronger escape, one where you were nothing but a floating blob in your head. Unfortunately for you, the cigarette ran down too far, the slight burn ripping you away from your temporary euphoria.

You watched the little flame burning the paper down in present day, eyes empty and brain too numb to cope properly. The memories haunted you, but in a way it had become routine. Although you knew it was bad, and although you knew the effects, you couldn't tear yourself away from it.

Addiction had long since clung to your head, taking control of your thoughts and behaviors. You soon found yourself doing things you wouldn't have before, your limbs being puppeteered by a broken mind. It spread, until there wasn't a single part of you that wasn't succumbed to this "infection", as you called it.

You never stole at least, you had already succumbed to one of the drops in life, and you certainly wouldn't let yourself fall even further. You couldn't. Knowing the look in your father's eyes if he were to find out... It was haunting. But it was the only form of restraint that kept you sane in a way.

You worked small jobs when you could, such as helping yardwork or cleaning. Being a student left no time for a side job, and even if it did you knew you definitely wouldn't have enough energy for one. So you had to make do with what you had.

You'd always buy from smaller stores, or ones that were in lower quality, trying to diminish the risk that they'd ask for your age. You only got asked once, but you panicked and said you were buying it for a family member. You never went back, but of course you were still new to the way things were at that time.

It'd long since grown into something that seemed ever so permanent, and you were only counting down the days until you knew you wouldn't be able to go a day without a huff.

A soul contaminated and controlled far too young by a never-ending, all-controlling force that seemed so powerless at the time. You couldn't brush the disgust from your mind each time you reached into the box. It was an obsession you couldn't bear to be a part of any longer.

That one event led to others, creating an even worse cycle for you to be a part of. The chain of events leading all throughout your life until it reached to where you were now.

Looking at the pale paper tube lit aflame in your hands, the memories only served to cause more self-loathing and repulsiveness. Sighing, you brought it back to your mouth once more.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

The morning after was one that mirrored every other awakening that had happened before it. You threw on your uniform, ate a quick breakfast, and went off to UA with your father.

As you walked through the halls in the early morning, thoughts of the previous night's memories flashed through your mind once more. Peeking over at Aizawa from the side of your eye, you wondered if he could possibly have known how to erase this addiction. With all his added years of experience with things of all sorts, he always had an answer to everything you asked of him. But this was different.

Lately you had been thinking of different ways on how you could force yourself to quit. The constant fear of discovery and disappointment continually unraveled your tattered mind, making it only so much worse to suffer at the hands of your own mind.

Too lost in thought, your attention was torn away from the delicate and intricate rays of sunlight shining through the tall glass windows of UA, coating the world in a filter of pink and orange as the sun began to wake up with its people of Japan. The wind swayed the leaves of the trees, causing a small flock of birds to rise up into flight. The world still spun around you in its elegant symphony of everyday life, and it would've calmed you if you had bothered to look up.

You stayed looking at the ground.

The day went by as normal as possible, a reminder of the continued cycle that constantly swallowed you without decision. General classes, lunch, more general classes, hero training, home. It was all the same, with only a few diminutive details that made that day slightly different from the others, just as they always do.

Except, to your annoyance you got hit with a craving right at the end of the day. It wasn't uncommon as the cravings had a habit of hitting you at random times, and if anything you considered yourself lucky since it happened to be the end of the day. Nothing a quick break out at the back of the school couldn't fix.

The back of the school was mainly empty everytime you saw it, and it was a sort of unspoken unwind-place for people to relax when they struggled being under the constant pressure of the expectations of perfection that came with being a part of UA. It was also the only spot without cameras as well, and there was only a miniscule risk of someone walking in on you. The only people that went to the back were tired teachers or students, or Lunch Rush every now and then who empties the waste contents of his equipment into the large ground drain that sits by the only door back inside.

The ground was covered in smudges and bits of debris, most uncommon to see from the elite UA high, but in a way it added to the charm since all other areas of the school were constantly squeaky clean. The bell had rung, and your father wasn't leaving until he finished his grading and daily training with Shinso, so you had a good amount of time to get what you needed done (you hated what you had become).

Opening a hidden side pocket from your school bag and bringing out the box, you promised to yourself you'd make it quick. You lit a stick. A deep inhale. A heavy, hatred-filled exhale. You watched with weary eyes as the cloud of smoke fluttered around in the wind, growing lighter and diminishing completely from the edges in. It was peaceful in a way, seeing something so terrible eventually disappear before your very eyes like you hoped. If only you could will it away from your head.

Taking another breath in, your little moment of calm was broken away from you as the back door creaked open, causing you to sputter and cough in surprise as your heart practically ripped itself from your chest.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Didn't mean to catch you off guard, Pocket Rocket!" A familiar voice reassured, the familiarity failing to do anything other than cause more panic and self-loathing.

You looked up to see none other than Present Mic turning around from where he had his back turned, his work bag in one hand and the other trying not to let the back door slam.

"Just trying to escape a little early, y'know?-..."

Too late to run away. There was no time to hide your wrong-doings as you saw your father's best friend turn around and watched as his casual smile faltered as it fell upon the white stick that was currently lit and in between your fingers and your eyes that were wide open in surprise.

A million thoughts ran across your head. Disgust with the fact that you let your addiction get this bad. Rage at the world for pushing you so far. Fear of getting a disappointed look and an even more heavy discussion. Too many things to focus on, much too small a window of time.

The air was thick and heavy, the awkwardness you felt in the moment ate away at your very soul bit-by-bit as you waited for the silence to be cut through somehow. To be cut loose no matter the cost was what you so desperately wished for. But he stood there, an unreadable expression on his face.

Eventually Mic sighed a bit, and even though it was small it ripped a hole like none-other across your state of mind as the weight of the situation finally bore down on you.

He took off his glasses and quietly cleaned them with a small cloth from his pocket, lengthening the stretch of painful silence further as you waited in terrible anticipation. Placing the glasses on his head rather than back across his eyes, he turned and looked at you with a tired expression, dragging his hand down his face and sighing once again.

"Geez, kid. You're really killing me here..." He muttered, loud enough for you to hear. "How long?..."

Such a simple question, just two words. Two words too much. Two words you never hoped to hear, nor to ever have to answer.

"I, um.. Awhile..." That was all you could get out, voice slightly raspy from the hot smoke that went down your throat not too long ago. The shame was unbearable to endure.

"Man... What'm I gonna do?.." Mic looked exasperated, and truth be told he was. Although he was confused and worried, you were caught off guard with how calm he was. You expected shouting, scolding, immediate action, something. The fact that he wasn't showing much made you stuck on as to worry about if he was hiding his actual anger, or if he actually didn't care that great a deal. You doubted it was the latter.

He shook his head, folding his arms and leaning back against the wall. "Your dad know ..?" He asked it with a shallow tone, almost as if it was redundant and the answer was already known. You could only meekly shake your head no in response.

"Look, I'm gonna be honest with you - 'cause I'm your uncle. I'm not going to ask any questions or anything, I just... want to know if you're doing ok?" His green eyes shone with concern, and you felt another hole being torn in your heart as guilt gnawed at you.

You didn't initially answer, opting to bring your knees up to your chest and stare at the ground as you tried to conjure an appropriate response. You breathed out of your nose as you decided that there was no point in hiding anything anymore. It was already uncovered, why bother with more layers of nonsense?

"No... Sometimes I feel ok. But, then I feel like this other times..." You vaguely gestured to your surroundings, signaling that you weren't feeling mentally well currently, causing your habit.

"Geez, I'm so sorry [name]... " His expression was heavy, but still displayed an air of lightheartedness in an odd kind of comforting way.

"Look, here's what's going to happen ok? First I want you to tell- no wait.." He cut himself off, thinking for a second before beginning again. "No, first things first; hand over the box", Mic reached out a hand in your direction, signaling to you with a quiet air of kind authority.

Your eyes widened in initial surprise, but you supposed it had to have happened at some point when you got caught. It was harder than you liked to admit, grasping the box a little tighter until you clenched your eyes shut and swiftly dropped it in his hand before your mind could further disagree and get you into more trouble.

Mic let out a little breath as he looked at the box, and once again he caught you off guard as he opened it and handed you a single cigarette.

"Here. I'm not sayin' it's ok or anything... But I know from experience that the urges are tough to handle. Just don't want to throw you straight into the pool without a little help, y'know?"

Tears welled up in your eyes as you pitifully took it from his hands, wishing you could just never have to look at it again. Sensing your disdain, he lightly sighed and patted you on your head. Your attention stayed fixated on the ground, avoiding his gaze.

"You know what you have to do next, right?"

Staying silent, you nodded.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Staring up into the night sky from the apartment balcony, you relished the quiet peacefulness you felt when you gazed up at the sparkling stars ahead.

The little town of Musutafu was always lit up at night. The distant sounds of cars and people's chatter filled your ears. There was a slight breeze that caused you to rub your uncovered arms despite it not being that discomforting. Windows were randomly lit up different shades of yellow or white from the surrounding buildings, and you distracted yourself by looking around to see if you could spot anyone walking around. You saw none, but you heard people all around.

You let out a heavy breath, wondering how you would be able to approach your father on the subject. You knew you had no choice, because if you didn't then Mic would definitely tell Aizawa himself, and that would make your situation worse and your reputation would go down. There was no escape and no more hiding.

At this point you'd accept any punishment that came your way - after all you were stuck at such a deep point in this hole you made that you couldn't even see a way out anymore. You'd get scolded, punished, people would think badly of you. You accepted it because what else could you do?

What hope was there really, when life pushed you to take such measures at your lowest only to punish you for falling into its trap? As much as you wanted to grow cold and bitter, you couldn't find it in yourself. You felt like a small child again, awaiting a cosmic trial that was about to be given to you by the mighty hands of the universe itself. A silly way of thinking, but at this point in your life you felt you needed it.

The breeze stilled, and the weight of the unmoving air settled on you. Looking up at the twinkling stars again, you tried to steel your mind as hard as you could so you could get the hard part over with. To have to come out all by yourself and to out yourself on a bad habit you gained from the lowest moments of your life made you feel like putty being pulled and twisted.

"Bit of a breeze out... Where's your jacket?"

You startled at the feeling of Aizawa's hand that suddenly placed itself on your shoulder without warning. You jumped a bit more than you would've under normal circumstances, much more tense than usual.

Blinking, you registered his question before answering with a feeble shrug of your shoulders, not bothering to look behind you to see where he was.

You heard the chair next to you creak before he spoke up again. "Bring your jacket next time you want to go outside. It's getting colder and I don't want you to get sick."

Sliding your eyes to the side, you glanced over at your father sitting casually in the soft chair that matched the one you were in, his hands in his pockets and his hair tied up. He was looking up at the sky just as you were, only with a more empty glaze as he scanned over it in exhaustion.

The sounds of the town didn't help the slightest in deterring the wave of stuffy silence that laid itself down over the both of you. It seemed you were the only one slightly bothered by it, which made sense since it took quite a bit to bother Aizawa.

You turned away and looked solemnly at the ground, eyes filled with the weight of all the dignity you knew were about to lose. The chilled breeze slightly numbed your fingers, it not being able to do much since the warmth of your hands clasped together kept it away.

"I heard from Ectoplasm that you were struggling with certain aspects of math, that right?"

Sighing, you clenched your hands tighter to the point where your fingernails were digging crevices into the soft skin of your palms. You weren't in the mood for small talk, especially about things you needed help on or were struggling with, so you just nodded stiffly.

He leaned back further into his chair. "I'm going to put you in Vlad's Hero Financing, that after-school program, until I see improvement."

Ah, the place where the bad or stupid kids go, you thought to yourself. There were many after school programs, but the hero financing class was (unsurprisingly) the least popular, so teachers had to send in disobedient or struggling students just to keep its attendance record up. You were sure Vlad got forcefully assigned to teach it since he never seemed to want to be there every time you saw him.

You didn't need this extra weight being thrown on top of you, only serving as an unnecessary reminder of your struggles and failures that turned you into the person you were today. It already gnawed at your skull every morning as soon as you opened your eyes and up until the last second before they closed again at night. To hear further criticism being tossed onto the already overflowing pile was only helping to force the bottle closer to bursting.

Warm tears began to fill your eyes once again as the thoughts and memories began rapidly assaulting and battering your bruised mind that had already endured so much. At that moment you felt nothing but rage. If asked, you couldn't explain what it was that you were angry at. Possibly too many things built up to pinpoint one single reason.

You were trapped and pressured, and what else could you do when you hit rock bottom besides digging deeper and letting loose? You were going to be seen in a worse light, to be met with angry and disappointed glances and glares, so why bother trying to fix a plate that was broken so far to the point where it was just dust?

What was the point of trying to push yourself further if it was all going to be blown away before your eyes? Your mind was a spinning cycle of pain and color, memories of both hatred and loathing helping to boost the deep-seated rage that burned the edges of your thoughts with red fury. You couldn't see clearly, couldn't think clearly, not a single logical thought breaching contact to help restrain the broken reigns that tore after giving their all for much too long.

"Because that's all I am to you, right? A bad kid? One that can't even comprehend something everyone else can?"

You spat with a venom that wasn't intended, the fiery rage burning your logic to ash. Looking over, you saw Aizawa turn your way in his chair, eyes scrunched in either worry or irritation, now on full alert at your angered outburst.

"Now look, I never said anything about your behavior, but since we're on the topic I think you could certainly use an adjustment-"

"Let me guess, it's once again good enough for you? Not happy with me again?" You interrupted, heart racing in your chest as you finally spoke without a forced filter. You were in the moment, and the adrenaline rush felt exhilarating. "Because too bad! I guess I'll never be the perfect student or daughter you want! You raised a delinquent, a failure! "

It was too much. You clawed at your face, eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched tight as laborious breaths rushed out of you. The fear of being seen as a bad kid because of your habit ate away at you ever since that first smoke years ago.

Too overwhelmingly angry to think of anything further, you barely registered the gentle hands that urged your grip to loosen. Despite being detached from your surrounding environment, you still felt the soft pads of fingers wiping under your eyes and down your cheeks, and to your surprise you came to the realization that you had started crying at some point.

Trembling, you tried pushing away from your father's touch, still loopy on the rath you felt. Refusing to look up at him and avoiding his reaching hands, you hastily dug around your pocket, only for Aizawa to successfully grip onto your shaking hands and bring them into his comforting hold. He tenderly rubbed his thumbs over the soft skin on your hands, before letting one hand go to try to bring and bring your face to look at him.

"[Name]..." He breathed heavily out of his nose upon your blatant refusal to look at him once more despite his efforts. "Sweetie, what's going on? Talk to me, please."

The hurt tone in his voice caused another sting of guilt to burn its way into your heart. The concern, patience, and worry all made it so much harder to open up what needed to be let out.

You clutched his hand tighter in yours, earning an affectionate squeeze in response from your father before you pulled your hands out of his grip. Confused, Aizawa went to reach for you again, only to pause as he felt an unknown object in his hand that wasn't there before.

Opening his hand, he was met with a single, lightly crinkled cigarette sitting on the center of his palm, and his heart dropped upon the realization. This was a silent confession.

The silence was deafening, pounding into your eardrums with a heavy weight. Your heart was hammering so rapidly it caused concern as to whether or not it'd burst itself right out of your skin. In a way, you would've preferred that to sitting in that insufferable silence any day of the week.

Aizawa could only look at the object in his hand, cold and still. Memories of his own childhood and addiction haunted him everyday, but it had gotten to the point where he learned how to numb it out. So to see you, his one and only daughter, suffering from the same fate he had dealt with as a teen... It frightened him to an abysmal extent.

He felt in that moment that he had failed you as a father. After all, one wouldn't smoke without reason, and that reason normally wasn't something good. He knew you were pushing yourself, but that was something he had grown to expect. To be the daughter of Shota Aizawa meant that some burdens and expectations had to be carried, that was a fact. He never knew it'd get taken that far, though.

Oh, how he cursed himself. He cursed himself as much as he could mentally. Aizawa couldn't stand the thought of you hurting, of you struggling alone and in silence. He was your father, for goodness sake! And wasn't a father's job to care for their children, to keep them safe and happy? To be a shoulder for them to cry on? And yet, here he was, doing none of that, and his dear daughter suffering right in front of his eyes.

He looked up, only to see you staring at the ground, face hidden and hands clamped shut. There was no doubt in his head you were clenching your jaw as well.

Quietly, tenderly, Aizawa pushed your head up to face him, and this time you didn't object. Upon meeting eyes, he saw yours were watery and red, and you could only look at him, feeling pathetic as you let out a sniffle.

You were only able to wait. To wait for the disappointed speech you were given each time you messed up, to receive a harsh glare, or stern punishments.

But you received none. What caught you off guard was the gentle way Aizawa held your face in his hands, and the soft worried look that sat in his eyes. The complete opposite of what you expected.

"[Name]... Oh [Name]... " His voice resonated with remorse, as if he, in a way, felt more at fault for your bad habit than you were. You never wanted him to feel bad, you had only expected yourself to get dragged down because of this problem, and you fully accepted the thought too. So to see your father in so much pain... Stricken with grief and guilt over the habit you got yourself into... The hole already in your heart ripped further, and a heavy block of heartache settled upon you.

Choking back a sob, you were only able to get out a strangled "I'm sorry...". Aizawa shook his head no at your apology, eyes rimmed red now as well. "No, it's not your fault, kid." Gently pressing a tender kiss to your forehead in reassurance, he continued.

"... How long?" In a way, his question mirrored Mic's, although his voice held more distress, coming out in a slightly strangled manner due to his conflicting thoughts that jumped about his head.

"A few years..." You looked away, not being able to bring yourself to look at him in the eyes. You felt as though you should be completely honest in that moment, because after all lying would only bring about unnecessary complications, right?

You could see Aizawa visibly tense up a bit, obviously surprised upon receiving a solid answer so easily. He let out another sigh, continuing to look at you with a mix of bittersweet fondness and concern. Aizawa was never really an affectionate man, nor was he really one to show much emotion on the daily. But this time was different. His hands never left you, and his eyes gleamed with deep, thoughtful emotions that carried the weight of his thoughts.

"You aren't... You just-" He let out a heavy breath, struggling to get his words out. Normally he'd have an answer for everything. For some reason, at this moment his mind was failing him, possibly due to the fact that he had never expected to be visited by this day.

He opened his hand once again to take another look at the cigarette. He blankly stared at it before it evolved into a glare, angry at how both of your minds were bound to such a small, feeble item. Upset with how easily it took ahold of both of your lives, and how it preyed on the both of your vulnerable moments.

"I'm sorry... I don't want to be a bad kid... A delinquent..." Your shaky voice broke the silver of silence as you struggled to contain all the years of built up guilt and self loathing that were ready to burst from your mind, threatening to snap the reigns and break free.

Aizawa let out a soft sigh, his expression delving further from a look of anger into a more somber one.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, kid-"

His casualness and calm tone caught you by surprise, especially after you had steeled your mind in preparation for a lengthy scolding and disappointment. It seemed that wherever you went nobody gave it much thought, and although it was supposed to be relieving it gave off the opposite effect: as though no one cared.

"B-but I... I smoked! I'm no good, a delinquent, right? I-I..." Your thoughts began swallowing you, mocking you in its thick putty-like memories. The days when it was too much and you'd cry after. The anxiety that always came with the fear of getting caught. The forever fading hope that this would be over.

You weren't thinking properly, too many things you had imagined not coming true upon discovery. Your world was turned upside down, and it was a mess in your head.

You just wanted this to be over. You couldn't forgive yourself as easily as those around you had.

The flying thoughts and panicked irrationality of your mind was suddenly stalled as Aizawa abruptly placed a firm, solid hand on your shoulder - most likely to snap you out of it.

Looking up you were met with stern yet caring eyes, a swirling mixture of knowledge and pain behind the deep brown color they wore.

"I can tell you regret what you did, that's why I'm telling you to not be so hard on yourself. It'll only break your self-image if you expect perfection. Look..."

He signaled for you to sit, slowly pushing you back down into the chair you once were in before dragging his chair over so it was sitting directly in front of yours. His expression became serious, his features knotting into one of deep focus and thought. Hunching over and leaning his chin against his hands you suddenly realized just how close he was. Remembering him only acting like this once or twice, it was noticed that he only became like this for serious, close moments.

The first time he had sat you down such as this was after the USJ attack. He had held you in his arms after the bandages were removed, silent and... Different.

"We all make mistakes... " Aizawa spoke slowly, suddenly seemingly aware of life around him as you noticed his glazed look was no longer there.

"... We all tend to fall down at some point in our lives... But what matters is that we get back up. Even if you know you'll fall down again." He opened his hand and dropped the cigarette plainly on the small table that sat to the side of you both.

"What matters is that you learn from where you failed. That's why we mess up, to learn. And just because you've fallen certainly doesn't make you a delinquent."

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "You've made a mistake, you regret it, and you've learned your lesson. That's doesn't make you a bad kid, that makes you human."

You started tearing up, the weight of his words finally managing to sink in. Human. You were only human after all... Weren't you?

"Besides... It's not like you've committed some deadly crime. I was standing in your spot myself when I was your age, only..." He looked away and towards the stars littering the sky. "I didn't have anyone to go to. And look where that's got me" Letting out a humorless dry chuckle, he took a deep breath before letting some silence fall in between the two of you.

"I... I want this to end. I want it to all be over..." Voice meek and raw from all the crying, you didn't even know if you were speaking to Aizawa directly or if you were just letting thoughts fall out of your mind without restraint.

"Is that really what you want to do?" Years of teaching had given Aizawa a large handful of experiences, allowing him to meet students of all types who each suffered from something of their own. Of course he had known many who had fallen for this addiction, smoking without care. There were only a few, however, that actually wanted to drop it. "I'd be more than happy to guide you through it... I know it's redundant seeing as I'm still hooked myself, but I know I'm not ready yet..."

He looked up at you, surprised to see you looking right at him instead of the ground. "I've helped more than a few folks quit their habits, so I know a few things... If you want my help that is-"

Accidentally cutting Aizawa off by throwing yourself at him, you wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug of affection and regrown hope. He only chuckled, not the slightest upset, before hugging you back and patting you on the back a few times.

He had on the first soft smile of the night. "You sure you can handle it?" His voice was filled with concern, worried for how you'd handle the dark claws of addiction gnawing at you. He knew it was tough, because just as he said he himself had been in your very spot years before. He failed, but at least he knew he was content with where he stood.

"It's a difficult thing to give up, but if you really have your heart set on it, then I believe you. I'll help you through it as long as you're willing. And if you ever feel like giving up..." He paused for a second to get up and head back inside, helping to hoist you up as well.

After the back door to the balcony was open, he turned and smiled with a lighthearted wink.

"... Just remember why you wanted to quit in the first place."

A/N:

Again, I'm so sorry about the disappearance! I do hope this reaches out to the person that requested it... =͟͟͞͞(๑º ﾛ º๑)！！

Notes:

• Tags are okay with me! Just ask if you'd like to be tagged for something specific (like a specific genre, character, etc. Especially if you want to be tagged for either my art or my writing!). Once you do then I'll do my best to tag you appropriately! ✌️(˶｀‪‎‎ࠔ´˵)🙏( •∀< )👍

° Requests are open! Request rules are in my pinned post (I'm not that strict)! You can request and I'll do my best to write it, I just might take some time to do so. I promise I haven't deleted or forgotten anyone! (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

♡That's all I have to say, other than that I hope everyone here has a lovely day/night! ( ⑉¯ ꇴ ¯⑉ )

[iamthecomet]

hey comet if you’re still doing prompts could you please please do swiss x dew post nightmare comfort? thank you mwah

Writer's block has been kicking my ass. But apparently, I am able to write angst with a little bit of comfort again. So here, have this. <3

Dew almost never dreams. It's a lucky thing that most nights he can close his eyes and fall into a pit of nothingness. He doesn't like to dream.

He hasn't had a good dream since he became a fire ghoul. Something about the transition from water to fire rewired his brain completely. Before his dreams were gentle. Warm. They all felt like basking in brilliant sunshine, or jumping into the lake on a hot day. He dreamt of skimming his belly along the soft bottom of the lake. Gills contracting. Those dreams felt like going home. The ones he has now, while rare, are like being immolated. He dreams of being tethered underwater. He has all the muscle memory of gills and none of the actual organs. He tries to breathe. He can't. His new body betrays him. The water turns icy, gets caught in his throat. When Dew dreams. He dreams of drowning.

He dreams of looking up toward that ring of light, stretching his fingers for it, desperate for the kiss of air on them. He swims, endlessly, toward a surface that never comes.

He wakes up covered in cold sweat. Wet with it to the point that for ten horrible seconds he isn't sure any of it was a dream. His lungs burn, his joints ache. This is the fourth night in a row. The tour bus rocks and sways and it does nothing to assuage Dew's fears. The motion reminds him of the lull of the ocean. He opens his eyes and looks at his bunk wall, faded to non-descript gray in the darkness. He presses his palm against it, finds it cool and vibrating with the rumble of engine. It usually helps to ground him, but he can feel himself spiraling deeper. He closes his eyes, tries to swallow against the rising panic. He curls up tighter. He whispers a mantra into his knees. You're okay. You're okay. You're okay. He can't draw a full breath. It catches somewhere in the back of his throat, lungs aching as he tries to drag as much air as possible into them. The longer he keeps his eyes closed the worse it gets. He sees that ring of light again. Sees the dark blue above him, pitch back below. Feels the seal of cold thin fingers around his ankle, pulling him down. He opens his eyes. Exhaustion burns in his chest. He keeps his eyes open in spite of the heaviness behind them. He stares at the shiny gray wall of the tour bus and shivers. He doesn't know how long he stays like that, staring into the middle distance. Begging for blissful nothingness. Begging to close his eyes and dream of sunlight instead of the icy grip of a place he used to call home. He's startled out of it by a hand on his hip, and then the warm press of a body behind his. The smell of patchouli and weed wafts over him. Swiss. The bunks are small, even for Dew. Swiss snuggling up to him presses him up against the cool wall, knees digging into it as Swiss wraps his arm around Dew's waist and shoves his face into Dew's hair. "What are you doing?" Dew asks, trying to act like he doesn't feel like he's dying. Trying not to lean back into Swiss' hold like it's a lifeline. "You've been whimpering up here for twenty minutes," Swiss whispers against Dew's scalp. "And you smell like sulfur. Keeping me awake." "Sorry." Dew tries to wiggle away but there's nowhere to go and Swiss just tightens his grip. "You want to talk about it?" Swiss asks. "Not really."

"I dream about the pit sometimes," Swiss offers. "Fire. Running from something I can't see." "I don't remember the pit." Dew closes his eyes. He snuggles back into Swiss, letting the warmth of him soothe his racing heart. "Spent most of my time underwater. It was safer." "So what are you dreaming about then?" "Drowning." Swiss makes a soft noise, he holds Dew a little tighter. He presses a kiss to his temple. "That's fucked." Swiss didn't know Dew before. He met him as a brand new fire ghoul, skin and horns still raw and sensitive. But he has always understood what Dew went through a little better than the others. Has always offered him a gentle hand when those memories start to unravel him. There's something there that Dew could probably dig into. A story about the pit. Some awful thing that he and Swiss have in common. If Dew was Aether, he'd ask him about it. He would have asked him about it years ago. He'd know every little thing that ever happened to Swiss, every ounce of trauma the way Aether knows every drop of blood Dew's ever spilled topside. But Dew isn't Aether. And he doesn't have to know. Doesn't have to have the gory details about whatever made Swiss a hybrid to know that it changed him. Swiss drags his nose up the side of Dew's neck. "Feeling better?" "Why do you ask if you can smell it on me?" "Like to hear you say it." Swiss sounds exhausted too. They're not quite used to the rhythm of tour yet. The constant lack of sleep and physical demand is fresh. Dew would give anything to be able to sleep for even just five uninterrupted hours. "Yeah. It's better." Dew sighs. He closes his eyes. He doesn't feel the water closing in around him anymore. Doesn't see that ring of light going dim above him. He just feels the steady rise and fall of Swiss' broad chest. Feels the way his fingers press into Dew's belly. "Good. Now go to sleep." Dew sags against Swiss. He lets the heavy warmth of him drag him under. He doesn't dream.

[hyunnieshannie]

SUPERBOARD

Chapter 3: N/S

Pairing: Hyunjin x Reader

Word Count: 5.7k

General Synopsis: S_Class started off as a street racing team, built between friends but as the adrenaline rush died down, racing wasn’t enough. N/S was formed. What started off with petty crimes, quickly spiraled into a string of organized crime. 

Warnings: Mentions of sex PALACE. Mentions of violence, weapons, drugs, growing weed,

Added: If you would like to tour the N/S House please click here: Bedrooms Personal Rooms Common Spaces

A/N: Holy shit this one took a lot out of us...

Disclaimer: This is a fanfiction, this does not represent the idols mentioned in any way.

please DO NOT rewrite, translate, or repost this fic. Thank you.

PREVIOUS MASTERLIST NEXT

You didn’t sleep that night, your brain was too busy pestering you about the idea of needing to choose between Limitless, and S_Class. Your mind twisted with Felix’s words of warning. How would choosing a crew be a lifetime commitment? Who was Domino? Why was ‘Jinnie’ offered up? In what way was ‘Jinnie’ offered to you? Why did Jake let you spend the entire time with the S_Class crew? Was he sick of you? Was his plan to pawn you off to them? What would he gain from letting you lean towards S_Class? What would he gain if you joined Limitless? The more you learned about each group the more you wondered if these were just racing teams, or if you’d actually been brought into some weird type of cult. 

Why could questions only be answered by the respective groups? What the fuck and why the fuck are they so secretive? What about the weapons? Fighting? And seriously who the fuck was Domino, and why did Phobia look so pained to even hear the name? What had Phobia done for them to bring something clearly painful to him up? 

All the questions you had, would either go unanswered or you could find out. IF you joined S_Class. Limitless showed no real interest in you. Felix was right, they had handed you off from the get go. Sure Oddinary and NoEasy were both clear ring leaders with power over both groups you couldn’t even begin to comprehend, but if what Felix said was true, if Limitless wanted you, they’d have fought them and made one of their own members show you around. 

You were exhausted. Tossing and turning all night, from everything. The more you thought on it, the more questions you had. You wanted to know what was going on with S_Class, you wanted to know why Phobia looked so distressed. You wanted to know why you even cared about his stupid fucking emotions, when he had treated you like nothing more than a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe, that he was trying desperately to get off him. 

As you walked through the halls of your university, you couldn’t help but almost want to avoid both Jake and Felix, and whoever the fuck Yeosang was. 

“No name!” a black haired boy dressed in a pair of baggy black pants, a white tee and an oversized leather jacket comes jogging up to you, waving at you. You recognize him from the race yesterday, he was glued to NoEasy. AH! Double Knot. 

“Uh…”

“Jeongin,” he says, and quickly notices the confusion on your face.

“Hi?” 

“Oh uh, sorry. You might know me as-”

“No, no I know who you are, I just didn’t expect you to be here.” You feel an arm drape over your shoulder from behind you and you turn quickly to see Felix smiling at you and the boy standing in front of you. 

“Nah, Innie here is just a baby, he’s still gotta attend classes you know Princess?” Felix teases in a sing-song tone. “Just because he’s dicking down one of the leaders, doesn’t mean she gives him a free pass on skipping classes,” 

“You’re just mad I landed on one of the sisters and you didn’t.” Jeongin puffs out his chest, obviously proud of the girl he gets to call his, a smug smile pursed on his lips.  

“Interesting way to describe my sister.” Oddinary huffs as she walks past, with Maniac in tow. 

“Shut it Kierra, you know it's true!” Felix laughs. 

“Remember your place Felix.” Maniac seethes at Felix. 

“Ooh big scary Minho, is threatening me in school! Common man, go back to quietly simping for your girl.” Felix teases, making kissy faces at Maniac, no, Minho. Dear god this is gonna get confusing.

“I'm not a simp?” Minho says and rolls his eyes at Felix’s childish antics. 

“You took an extra year to make sure she’d be safe. That's simping.” Jeongin adds.

“That's loyalty.” Oddindary, nope, Kierra says brushing Felix off your shoulder. “You pick a side yet No Name?” 

“That’s my job?” Felix huffs, as you see Jake running up to the group of people that circled around you.

“Jakey boy, here to find out the answer?” Felix teases, pushing and poking at Jake’s arms. 

“Partially that, partially to figure out where Seungmin is, dude was supposed to meet me like ten minutes ago.” 

They’re all watching you, waiting for some sort of answer. Earlier you had thought you came to the conclusion that you knew exactly where you’d land and pick neither group. But now, with them all in front of you. You were once again conflicted. Jake had come alone, once again. Meanwhile S_Class had presented themselves in front of you. Each waiting eagerly for your response. 

“I-” you look between Jake and the S_Class crew, eyes landing on Felix. “I think I’m a bit more comfortable with you guys…”

“You made the right choice No Name.” Kierra said, patting your head gently.

“I’ll tell Akira.” Jeongin said, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

“Today you ride with me, and Hyunnie.” Kierra says. “We have a lot of work to be done before you're brought into the crew fully, Hyunnie will be your guide for that part. While Akira and I find you a spot, you good to leave your car here overnight or?” 

“I don’t have one-” you say a little shyly and the people surrounding you all gasp. It does seem a little silly to join a racing team and not have a car…

“I can work with this.” Kierra nods slowly. “Surely I got something around. Maybe Bin can whip something together for you. Can you at least drive?” You nod your head. “Wonderful, meet me at the back end of the school at one. Don’t worry about whatever classes you have.” 

~𝄋~

You look at the clock displayed on your phone, the time read twelve fifty-eight. You were early. Something inside you told you, you didn’t want to push Kierra’s buttons when you’d be riding with her. You look up and see Phobia walking towards you. God he’s even more beautiful in the day time, the sun kissing his tan skin making it look like he’s fucking glowing. 

“No name,” he says coldly as he stands next to you. 

“Phobia.” you say shyly to greet him back.

“Call me Hyunjin here. It’s fine.” You’re playing with your fingers again, super uncomfortable with his cold disposition. “I see you dropped the Limitless losers.” 

“Felix made a compelling argument last night.” 

“With his dick?” You turn to him quickly and look at him in shock. What the fuck did he think you were? Did he think it was that you were that easy?

“Absolutely not?!” 

“He didn’t fuck you? Progress buddy, fucking progress!” Hyunjin laughs, but there was still a bit of seriousness to his praise to his friend. 

“So, where's Kierra?” you ask, shaking off the weird vibes that surrounded you both from his previous questioning.

“Getting her ‘child’ she should be here in a second. You’ll hear that monster of a practice car in a moment.” He emphasizes the word child on purpose. You just rolled your eyes at his comment and chose to ignore it. 

You hear the car before you see it. Kierra pulls up in a red Subaru wrx, her speakers blaring music as she smiles out the window at you and Hyunjin. You both wordlessly get in the car. You didn’t really ask where you were going, as the rules stated, “any information deemed worthy will be given”. Here we fuckin go I guess. 

~𝄋~

The drive was fairly long, for someone who was speeding down the highway at speeds that would kill you on impact if you were to somehow crash. Music blaring through the speakers, the bass reverberating through the car. Sending wave after wave of sound, physically through your chest. No one spoke the entirety of the way. Even with her speeding, the ride was roughly two hours long. By the time anyone said anything, you were headed into a forested area. You had no clue where you were. Your surroundings all looked the same. There was barely anything around, the only things that surrounded the lone road were tall trees and deep dark woods. There was no one else on the road. No cars for miles. The car stops, and both Oddinary Kierra, and Phobia Hyunjin turn to face you. 

“This is your last chance to back out. Before I give you any information I need you to think very carefully,” Kierra looks at you seriously through the rearview mirror. “This is a lifetime commitment, this is much more than just a racing crew. You can back out now, all you want; but if you choose to continue in, there's no backing out.” 

“Not if you value your life that is…” Hyunjin whispers, 

“My- what? My life?” 

“Think about it, no name. Think about it deeply.” They both turn to look at you seriously. Kierra’s seriousness was a little unnerving. 

What have you gotten yourself into? There was no information to make this decision, when you had originally made it you thought this would simply just be some team. A sports team of sorts. Now they’re saying your life would depend on your decision? Somehow this isn’t what's holding you back from wanting to continue on with them. Life has been pretty boring, stressful, and lately just not worth.. Continuing. Every move, every new school, every friend group made and lost, your family who cared about no one other than themselves. All of it added up, into what you were before moving to Seoul, to what you knew you would become the second you could escape them. “Can I have one question?” 

“You just asked one.” Hyunjin quips back at you. His tone is serious. He obviously doesn't trust you at all or like you very much. 

“Shoot.” Kierra rolls her eyes at Hyunjin, slapping his shoulder. 

“I have a shit family-” you start, “They move me around often. They don’t think of anyone but themselves. If this is a lifetime commitment, what happens if they decide to pick up and leave again?” Hyunjin looks at Kierra, he tightens his brows together and shakes his head slightly as if to say ‘no’. Kierra just looks back with a slight pout to her lips and nods affirmatively.

“Now let me answer that with a question,” Kierra asks. “Do you want to leave? If you had the option to stay, ignoring the money, and where you’d live. Would you? If you had a-” she pauses, picking her words carefully, “if you had a makeshift family, who would support you, financially, mentally, physically. Would you stay?” 

“I would.”

“Then you wouldn’t be moving.” Kierra says matter-of-factly. “If you choose to continue, you’d have all of that and more.” 

You think over her words. What have you really got to lose if you continue? The family who doesn't care about you? Kierra is offering you that family. They’re offering you so much more than you could get at home. “Then I’ll go on.” Kierra nods, as she slowly pulls the car forwards onto a gravel path. The forest thickens around you, until you reach a large clearing with a modern mansion in front of you. The house is massive from the outside, windows surrounding the front of the house, a large staircase leading to the front door, with an entrance to a garage right next to it. The house looks like it goes on forever. Kierra pulls in slowly to the driveway, from the outside; you don’t see how the driveway leading into the garage actually slopes downwards. She continues in slowly, the fluorescent lights all turning on as the motion from the car triggers their sensors. As the dark garage brightens you notice you’ve entered what looks like to be a garage the size of one that you’d typically find in apartment complexes. Who the fuck has a garage this big? You see the line of cars all parked in designated spots labeled with each person's name carefully written into a metal plate placed on the wall. 

Kierra pulls into the spot that is marked with her name. Each of you getting out of the car. 

“Hyunnie,” Kierra calls,

“Ki.” Hyunjin turns back to her.

“Be a doll?” 

“Yes ma’am.” Hyunjin says and he turns to you and says “I’ll be back,” before he heads out of the garage. 

“So, no name. What’s your name?” Kierra asks as she leads you towards the stairs. You walk past another garage, much smaller, but had a shit ton of equipment in it, music blasting throughout the room. She walks with you up the stairs and into a huge living room with black couches and windows that reach the tall ceilings. You both continue to walk into the living room and you can see the kitchen a bit further away. 

“Y/N.” you say as you look around the place in absolute awe. 

“Well, Y/N. Welcome to N/S base.” She motions her hand towards the couch, wordlessly telling you to sit on the black clothed couch. “This is where we work, plan, play, and live. Everything is done here.” Kierra says fondly as she looks around the room. You notice a large table behind her couch, with enough seating for 18 people. You see a staircase that leads to a loft above the living room. The house was all greyscale, blacks, grays, whites, and wood tones decorated most of the house that you have seen so far. Kierra turns to you a little more seriously. “This is our safe space, where we can do what we want when we want. Without the world telling us we’re wrong.” 

“This is our haven.” NoEasy says as she walks up with Hyunjin in tow. “And now yours as well.”

“Mine?” you ask confused, looking between the two girls and Hyunjin. 

Kierra hums and nods her head, “Jinnie will show you around while Akira and I work out the specifics. You’ll meet with Hanji later. I find it’s best to learn on the job.” Kierra smiles smugly as she winks at her sister. Hyunjin stiffens next to NoEasy Akira. 

“Ki-” Hyunjin stops Kierra before she continues. “Ki, are you sure sending her out with Ji is a good idea?” Kierra looks at him and gives him a look. 

“For now. You need to understand what you’ve been brought into.” Akira cuts him off before he says anything else. You are fully confused now. “I’m sure Hyune has mentioned, not to ask questions. Well now is your time to defy him, ask away.” You have just been given a gift. Any question you want. What the fuck do you ask first?? 

“I thought your team name was S_Class. What is N/S?” You ask carefully. 

“S_Class is our team name.” Hyunjin answers quickly. “N/S is the organization that owns S_Class. Next Question.” 

You're starting to piece things together - large house, many cars, code names, ‘Without the world telling us we’re wrong’, secrecy, your life depending on your decisions. Ahh, you got it. “What sort of business owns an illegal street racing team?” 

“An illegal business?” Hyunjin says snarkily, folding his arms across his chest.

“Jinnie,” Kierra scolds..

“Ki, babe seriously what kind of question is that? Did you really expect me not to say something back?” Hyunjin whines. You see Minho jump over the back of the couch and pull Kierra into his side. 

“Watch your tone, Hyunjin.” Minho threatens. 

“Yeah, whatever. Next question.” Hyunjin waves him off, looking back at you to continue. 

“If N/S is the organization that owns you all-” 

“Let me stop you there, N/S owns the team love.” Minho stops you before you have the chance to finish your sentence. “The ones who own us all, are sitting in front of you.” He points his finger between Kierra and Akira. A look of shock crosses your face. How in the fuck do these two women own all of these dudes? Were they slaves? Sex Slaves? Why are you here?

“So you’re a gang.” You say carefully. 

“Bingo baby,” Minho snaps his fingers and leans back to Kierra, gripping her thigh between his hand. 

“I see,” you nod in understanding. “So, why am I here?” 

“Jinnie.” Kierra calls. “Be a doll?” 

“Yes ma’am.” Hyunjin says and leaves the room again. You notice that whenever Kierra calls him ‘doll’ he goes off without a single word further of what he has to do. Like it's ingrained in him somehow. But without missing a beat, Akira continues for her sister. 

“To put it simply, we recently lost a member.” Akira says calmly. “Replacing a member takes time. Now I didn’t expect 7PM to just go and drop a replacement in our lap like that, but all is fair on S_Class territory. They lost their chance, not that you’d fare well with them anyways.” 

“That brat The8 would’ve eaten her alive,” Minho seethes through his teeth.

“My love?” Kierra says in a sing-song voice. 

“Yes, kitten?” Minho responds back immediately.

“Why don’t you go play with Innie, I’m sure he has a broken down new toy, waiting to be fixed. I heard it runs quite fast.” Kierra says and looks to her sister. Minho smirks at her and kisses her temple before getting up and leaving the room. 

“I love those kinds of toys,” Minho chuckles, rubbing his hands together. You look at him in confusion. What the fuck are they talking about. 

“Make sure Innie doesn’t go too hard after it, please? I’d like to actually see it today.” Akira chimes in before he can leave. 

“And Minho?” Kierra calls out, Minho turning around to look at her. “We don’t want a parrot.” Minho nods, the smile on his face is devious, scary. He looks excited to play with this toy. Minho leaves the room and the girls turn back to you. 

“So before I send you off with Hyune, we’re gonna have to get some rules straight okay?” Akira says and waits for your undivided attention. “Rule number one, everyone has a job. Respect it. Unless asked to help, stay out of their way.” You nod and her sister continues. 

“Rule number two. Nothing that happens within this group ever, EVER, leaves the group.” Kierra says, nodding to herself. 

“Rule three, ALWAYS make sure to present yourself as irreplaceable. Everyone is replaceable, make sure we don’t ever want to cut you lose.” Akira rattles off. You notice that the two of them are bouncing back and forth throughout this whole ordeal, as if it is well rehearsed, something that is shared between the two of them, two equals. 

“Rule four, do not EVER speak of past members, they’re gone for a reason. Hopefully, you’ll never have to witness someone leaving.” Kierra says the last part a little sadly. You take a mental note to ask about that next time you have permission to ask questions. 

“Rule five,” Hyunjin returns to the living room between Akira’s words. “Do not EVER, mention the name N/S or 7PM to ANYONE outside the organizations.” Kierra looks at Hyunjin and nods to him. 

Hyunjin walks up to you and motions his head for you to follow him, “lets go No Name.” He leads you to the top of the grand staircase, up to the top floor. “Kierra and Akira designed this house to have everything we need.” Once you reach the top of the staircase, Hyunjin motions his hand down the hallway for you to continue further. “This is the top floor. Kierra and Akira live up here. To the right, is Kierra’s room.” He opens the door to a black bedroom, bed facing the windows with a black bedspread, black pillows and black blanket draped across it. The walls are painted gray with black accent pieces, minimal lighting. The large windows have sheer gray curtains hanging in front of them. You’re led further into her room and enter her bathroom, her closet attached at the end. The bathroom is a stark contrast to the bedroom. The walls, floor, and countertops are covered in a bright white tile, the same gray curtains hanging around the windows in front of the white bathtub (which could definitely fit 3 people easily). At the end of the bathroom was her closet, which matched the bedroom. Black walls, black cabinets and smaller wardrobes lined the whole room. You took note that there were mens and womens clothing in her closet. Did Minho share the room with her? “She’s got what she needs here, closet, bathroom, whatever. Never come up here if you’re not called to. You will most likely never need to come into her room, but you might be called up in general because across the hallway is her office. Kierra handles- The” Hyunjin pauses as he leads you out of her room and across the hall to her office. “Physical plans.” He opens the door and you’re brought into a very plain looking office. Wood fixtures decorated the room, a lone desk sat at the end of the room. 

“To the Left is Akira. Her room, she's got everything she needs, closet, bathroom. You get it.” He leads you into Akira’s room which you notice is the complete opposite of her sisters. Her bed is decorated with a white bedspread, white pillows, and a gray blanket. Her walls are lined with mirrors to brighten the room when the light hits it. Her bathroom was the opposite of Kierra’s as well, black and gray tiling lined the room and dark wood cabinetry finished it off. Her closet, also at the end of her bathroom, was again opposite of Kierras. White tiling on the floor, white shelving, and bright light fixtures. You also noticed that there were mens clothing in Akira’s closet too. “Across the hall, is her office. Akira handles more of the logistics.” He leads you out of Akira’s room and across the hall to a large office, black flooring, black walls, black furniture, a large black desk with computer monitors and paperwork filed neatly across it. There was plenty of seating in her office as well. You assume this is where they hold some of their important meetings.

“So, the brains and the brawn?” You ask carefully.

“They’re both the brain and the brawn, but they know how to play to their strengths. Plus, not like Ki will ever let Akira get into a fight without her. Nor will Akira let Ki go into a business deal without her. Together or nothing. Is this their favorite saying.” He says proudly. You take note that he calls Kierra by Ki when he drops his bad boy facade in front of you. What’s up with them? You wonder. 

“Next floor.” He announces as he leads you to the next level down. “Three bedrooms down here, Chan, Jisung, and Changbin.” He walks all the way down the hallway and to the right. “Chan’s room.” He opens the door to a pretty minimalist looking room. The walls are lined with a glossy gray tile, soft lighting scattered throughout the room, a bed centered on the back wall. His bathroom was lined with a darker gray tile, with the same warm lighting, as was his closet. The closet was decorated with dark wood cabinetry and glass doors. Hyunjin leads you out of Chan’s room and across the hall. “Changbin.” You’re starting to recognize a theme. All the rooms in the house that you’ve seen are either black, gray, or white. There was no in between. This room was no different. The walls were lined with half white marble tile at the bottom and accented wood paneling at the top half. The bed is situated adjacent to the windows, his bathroom a mix of gray and white tiling, and his closet a warm charcoal. Hyunjin leads you out of this room and further back towards the stairs to another room. He leads you into the gray room, the bed fixed in the middle of the room, his bathroom a mix of black, white and marble tile, and his closet lined with dark black cabinetry. He takes you from Jisung’s room and across the hall. “Jisung, and this is a personal room. It belongs to Chan. Do not go in unless invited.” He quickly opens the door and you can see what looks like a recording studio. You can’t see much inside before Hyunjin closes the door in your face quickly. 

“A lot of rooms huh-” 

“Eighteen full rooms, eleven bathrooms, six common spaces, and a greenhouse. In the backyard, passing the pool.” Hyunjin says incredibly casually. As if it was completely normal to have a house of this size. Even though, now that you’re thinking about it, the house didn’t look that big on the outside. Maybe 3 floors tops. Where are the rest of the rooms he’s talking about? He’s leading you back downstairs to the living room where you left the two girls. They’re no longer there. “Ground floor.” Hyunjin says as he continues walking through the living room and past the kitchen towards a hallway with 4 doors. “This section has two rooms, two personal rooms. On the left is Seungmin.” His room has to have the most personality you’ve seen, the walls covered in half gray bricking and half bookcase. His bed is situated against the windows. His bathroom and closet are a bland gray. “And next to his room is his personal room.” He leads you next door to a room decked out in computers, random equipment that you wouldn't even be able to name if you tried. “Across from him, Felix.” You take back what you thought before. This room has more color and personality than Seungmin’s. His room was painted gray, but was decorated in red lighting, lining the ceiling. And a large mirror sat behind his bed. His bathroom and closet were also decorated with the same red lighting in contrast to the gray walls and floors. “Trust me when I say, you don’t even want to walk into Felix’s personal room, especially if you’re invited into it.” 

“Why-” you ask confusedly as Hyunjin escorts you to the room next to Felix’s. He rolls his eyes and flings the door open. 

“O-oh, oh my god.” The best way for you to describe this room was a sex dungeon. Fixtures that you have never seen before were placed throughout the room, bright red lighting, similar to what was in his bedroom, lined the entire room. 

“Now you know what you’re in for, if you’re ever invited in there” Hyunjin laughs watching your shocked expression. He trudges along, back past the living room and kitchen again and down another hallway. “My room.” His room was probably the coziest one you saw today. His walls a warm cream, a wood accent wall decorated behind his bed, and a fireplace? His bathroom was a mix of black and wood features, and his closet stark gray and black. He leads you across the hall to another door. “And my personal space. If you ever come in here without permission, I’ll kill you.” Hyunjin quickly opens the door to his space, a brightly lit room, canvases, paints, and sketches pinned to the walls. An explosion of color from the rest of the house. Two of the walls of his room are lined with windows, looking out to the pool and the greenhouse. You looked around the room in awe. How could someone so cold have the brightest, most colorful room in the whole house? He quickly ushers you out of his studio and across the hall again, stopping at the door, his hand on the handle. “Lastly, this will be-” he can’t seem to come to the right words, pausing his movements. “It will be your room.” Hyunjin says, basically wincing as he says the words. “Go at it. Walk in, familiarize yourself with it.” 

You walk into the room to a pretty bland room. Two walls covered in a white tile, one covered in black tile, and the last wall a line of windows. The bed is plain cream and white. “It’s uh-” You walk further into the room, the bathroom has nice white marble flooring white gold accents throughout, the walls a gray tile with white accents throughout. You walk into the closet last. The room is completely white, with gold accents on the drawers, bright lighting lining the cabinetry, and a squishy carpet draped across the floor.

“You can decorate it how you want.” Hyunjin shifts from foot to foot as you walk through the closet. “But please- try to-” 

“Jinnie built that closet, custom.” Kierra sighs from the doorway. “So please take care of this entire room, or he will never forgive you for it.” 

“Oh- okay,” You say slightly confused as to why Hyunjin is being so weird about this room in particular. “Umm, so about this being my room…” 

“You can start to move in whenever, bring whatever you want from home.” Kierra says to you, elbowing Hyunjin to snap out of his weird fog.

“How will I even explain this to my parents?” 

“Leave that to Aki, and I.” Kierra continues to poke and prod at Hyunjin who is trying his best to ignore her and whisper to her ‘not now i'm working’. Seriously, what the hell is up with their weird dynamic? 

“Anyhow, I need to run to meet with Min, so I’ll be back by the time you’re set to head off with Hanji,” Kierra starts to head toward the door before turning around quickly. “And Jinnie?” 

“Yes ma’am?”

“Do me a favor?” He nods to affirm to her he’s listening. “Lighten up sweetheart, stress doesn’t suit you my love.” Kierra smiles wide and leaves the room. Did she just call him ‘my love’??? Isn’t she dating Minho??? 

“Ignore her,” Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “You can explore your personal room after, you still need to see the rest of the house.” 

“The rest? There’s literally no way anything else can fit itself in here.” Hyunjin smirks at you and leads you towards the stairs you came up from the garage earlier. “Oh,” he turns to the left towards the kitchen, between the kitchen and the staircase is yet another door. “This is the library, could also be considered our designated quiet room. It’s soundproof. Nice place.”  You peak your head in through the door and see every wall lined with bookcases, every space of the shelving filled with books. You can see a small seating area that is down a small set of stairs inside the library. He leads you back to the stairs and leads you down towards the garage, stopping at the door you saw earlier. 

“Changbins personal room, this is the one room you’ll find yourself in more often than most.” The room was covered in tools, tires, basically anything that had to do with fixing up cars. There wasn’t anyone in there anymore. He leads you out of the room and down the steps. You’re back in the garage. He walks across the garage to another set of doors. “These two rooms both belong to Minho and Jeongin.” He opens the door to a dance studio, wood flooring, and wall covered in mirrors. “Though, I admit I come here too sometimes.” He walks to the next room. “Unfortunately I can’t let you actually walk in here, but this is their other room.” He opens the door and the walls are lined with guns, a huge wood table centered in the room with black office chairs surrounding it. WHO THE FUCK OWNS THIS MANY GUNS? “Down the hall you’ll find two doors. To the left, you go upstairs exiting near the green house. To the right, you'll find another basement.” You walk down the other set of stairs. This house was a maze, how in the fuck were you supposed to remember where everything was. You entered a huge training room with a boxing ring at the center. 

“Training room. Behind those glass doors is the gym. Gym is for personal time, training area is for group activities, or if you’re training with someone else. As long as you’re never alone.” You head back up the stairs and out to the backyard. “That is Jisungs personal space.” He points to a huge glass greenhouse covered in vines. 

“He’s a florist?” 

“Of sorts.” Hyunjin laughs, and you both walk in and are immediately hit with the scent of weed. 

“I see,” you say as you shake your head. Hyunjin chuckles and walks you back inside to the living room. 

“And that’s that. Any questions?” 

“How-” 

“Rich kid perks I guess,” Hyunjin shrugs. 

“How do two people so well off end up becoming gang leaders?” You mumble. “If I had that life I’d-” 

“Best not to ask questions about their past. Or anyone’s past here. We’re all here for a reason Little Star, try not to act like you shine brighter than the rest of us.” You can tell that he’s basically saying ‘youre no better than us.’ “Last thing kid,” he sighs. “There's one other rule you need to know, it will be your golden rule.” You nod your head, waiting on his words. “Everything goes through Kierra and Akira. Every, single, little, thing. Need a bathroom break? Make sure they approve. You want to even breathe in their presence? Make sure they fucking approve. Don’t even blink if they don’t say you can.” 

“W-what- Surely it’s not that extreme…” 

“One thing those two value more than loyalty, is organization, and no one. I repeat, no one is better at it than them. Therefore everything must go through them. Tell me you understand this- please Y/N…” He’s never said please to you before. It’s almost a little concerning how desperate he is for you to understand his “golden rule”, but he looks pretty stressed about making sure you fully understand it. You nod your head and you can see him relax his shoulders slightly. Why is this stressing him out so much?

Tags @chanlixiiee @channiesbub @jaebaebaegot7 @maeleelee @iadorethemskz @maenijw @hangin-out-with-the-street-rats @elizalabs3 @jinniespuppy @painstakingly-juno @lethallyprotected @multeciahucho @@jisungsbff01

[spacesapphi]

"Moving Forward, Spiraling Downward Chapter 13- Stargazers"

Shorter chapter this time, but one that will have a lot of importance later in the story! Thank you all for reading thus far :)

CWs for this chapter include depictions and discussions of addiction and its impacts

Summary: It's been a few weeks since the concert, and tensions have been running high between friends and family. Wishing for anything to give, four people find themselves looking to the stars for answers and wishes alike, hoping that change will be on its way.

AO3 Version Here

Tumblr Version Below the Cut

Spring had ended quickly, Summer taking its place. The valley was blistering hot now, the sun beating down on any and all with the misfortune of being outside. As much as the Winter made Marnie wish for the warmer weather and bright sun, she always regretted it the moment it started getting like this. She’d only been working out in her animals’ field for an hour now, and she was already completely spent. Drenched in sweat and limbs weak with exhaustion, she was already ready to call it a day. She wished she had help right about now, and before that night she would’ve… but it seemed that ever since the concert, Shane was avoiding being around her as much as he possibly could. 

She couldn’t exactly blame him. Marnie had been avoiding him to an extent too. The two of them barely spoke a word to each other anymore, barely looked in the others direction. If they did, it was usually stilted, or verging on an argument. They were both so angry at each other, both far too proud to be the first one to apologize. Marnie refused to be the first to give in. She still felt her blood boil at what had happened. All Shane had to do was tell her “no, I didn’t fix it” and everything would’ve been fine. Sure, she would’ve been annoyed that he neglected to do it, would’ve likely just stormed in to do it herself at that point. But this wouldn’t have happened. She wouldn’t have lost one of her sisters most important keepsakes, her favorite trinket from when she was still alive. Her heart felt like it had shattered with it, and no matter how many tasks she distracted herself with, she just couldn’t pull it from her mind. 

“Hard at work or hardly workin’?”

Marnie could recognize that raspy voice any day. Turning her head to the side she saw Pam leaning up against the fence, a content look on her face, “Hardly seen you around anymore, girlie… What gives?”

“Just busy, I suppose,” Marnie huffed, throwing her pitchfork to the side as she walked to meet Pam. Leaning against the fence herself, she gave her friend a frustrated look, a grumble escaping her throat, “It’s been hell, but what else is new?”

“Hear ya on that…” Pam muttered, shrugging lazily. She looked down on the other side of the fence, smiling when she caught a glimpse of a little sow chewing on some weeds at the edge of the post. Pigs were some of her favorite animals, just the cutest little things in her eyes! They were one of her favorite things to see when she’d come to visit the ranch, only out-beaten by Marnie herself. She leaned over further to give it little pets along its back, earning content squeaks in return, “Ain’t she the cutest thing!”

“Oh, that’s Houdini. A troublemaker, she is,” Marnie huffed, folding her arms. Pam gave out a snort laugh, “What kinda name is Houdini for a hog?”

“She’s a little escape artist, always getting through holes in the gate.. keeps stealing feed from the chickens too! It’s getting out of hand, I don’t know what to do with her anymore,”

“Well if she don’t get her act together…” Pam started, a smirk on her face, “Everyone likes bacon, right?”

It took just a moment for Marnie to process the joke, her brows furrowing in disappointment when it finally sunk in, “Oh, Pam!” she complained, her voice exasperated.

“Jest jokin’, promise!” Pam laughed, “I know you love yer animals, even if they’re lil troublemakers,”

“Mm-hm…” Marnie confirmed, not entirely convinced it was a joke. Pam stood back up tall, giving out one last quiet little laugh, “Anyways… you doin’ anythin’ tonight? Anythin’ fun, that is,”

“No, not really,” Marnie admitted. She hadn’t been doing much in the realm of entertainment as of late. How could she? Everytime she began to feel even a glimmer of happiness, everything would come crashing back down like a tidal wave. Pam drummed her fingers on the side of the fence, pursing her lips, “Well… in that case, y’should come fishin’ with me tonight maybe? It’s lookin’ mighty beautiful out… good weather, clear view of the stars tonight,”

“Oh I don’t know how to fish…”

“You can jest watch!” Pam offered, “Jest you n’ me, right outside the trailer. Nothin’ fancy,”

Marnie looked back towards the house, “I don’t know… Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll join you if I can,”

“Fair… I’ll count on it, though,” Pam shrugged, “See ya soon, girlie. Don’t leave me waitin’!”

It wasn’t that Marnie didn’t want to join Pam tonight… but she had a feeling that a certain someone may keep her from it. She still hadn’t seen Shane leave his room yet today, a bad sign to be sure. Chances were she’d have to be taking care of Jas again tonight, helping her with homework, getting her dinner, and getting her ready for bed. She hoped she was wrong, truly she did… but she didn’t have high hopes. Oh well. All she could do was try. 

Stepping into Shane’s room, Marnie immediately closed her eyes to ground herself. The mess was something she’d grown accustomed to, and she knew that any conversation about it was bound to result in an argument. What she couldn’t stand was Shane breaking one of the only rules and boundaries she had set when he had moved back in, a rule she had set for his own sake. Her nephew was sprawled across his bed, tangled in the blankets with various cans sitting around him in various states of emptiness. Some had spilled onto the floor and the mattress, soaking in and staining the air with the bitter scent of alcohol. He was blacked out, tangled, greasy hair hanging over his sunken face.

This had become a worryingly common sight in the home since the night of the concert. Shane had already been struggling with this addiction and reclusivity, but it had grown tenfold over the past few weeks. He rarely left his room anymore, not even to go to work. The ranch had received multiple nasty phone calls from the store manager over it in the past few days, Morris angry beyond belief at Shane’s ��insolence”. Marnie was concerned too. Shane had debts, rent, his and Jas’ necessities to be taking care of… what happened when he eventually ran dry of money? What would he do?

With a firm hand, Marnie grabbed him by the shoulder and tried to shake him awake, earning frustrated groans from Shane in response, “Ten more minutes… c’mon…” he grumbled, a *hic* trailing off.

“It’s almost four,” Marnie stated firmly, “Shane, I just… You need to get up. Please. Jas is getting out of tutoring any minute now.” 

Shane grabbed at his head, wincing as it pounded and throbbed beneath his grip, “Isn’t Penny walkin’ her back?” he slurred, his tone pathetic and exhausted.

“Not today, you know that…” Marnie sighed, speaking in a knowing, yet careful tone, “Shane, you can’t avoid having a conversation with him forever… At one point or another you’re going to need to,” 

“I don’t want to see him again,” Shane spat. He was still so angry even just thinking about Sam. The red hot anger that coursed through his veins that night hadn’t yet disappeared, and even the thought of that mans face was enough to add kindling to that flame. He’d been avoiding going to pick-up at the same time, and not going to work was in part due to Sam’s presence. He just didn’t want to look at him.

Sitting up reluctantly, he looked at Marnie, feeling shame burn a hole right through him once he saw her face. He knew she was so disappointed in him. She didn’t exactly try to hide it, after all. “Ungrateful piece of shit…” he thought to himself, “Breaking the simplest fuckin’ rule she set for you. Making her life miserable. Get yourself together, Shane, what the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“I… I won’t be home tonight. I’m going to be out. Please be responsible,” Marnie pleaded.

“I am responsible,” Shane knew those words were lies the moment they left his mouth, as did Marnie. But neither of them pointed it out. Neither said a word. Marnie just shook her head and left, leaving Shane alone in his little pit of misery. Being alone with his thoughts was a dangerous game, but Shane cared so little at this point, about anything. There was very little tying him to this world, very few things that were enough to keep him from thinking about doing something drastic, and he felt like he was losing those few things more and more by the day. Checking his phone, he felt like he was affirmed in that feeling. Barrages of texts awaited him, all ranging from concerned to frustrated, to even angry… though the latter was mostly from Morris. Texts from his aunt, Emily, Mo, and Sam sat in his notifications, dozens at this point. He expected it from the first three. They always seemed to be checking in with him, something he had grown to find he appreciated. 

But then there was Sam. There were apologies, lengthy ones at that. Shane didn’t care to do more than skim over them. Surprisingly, though… There were plenty of texts of Sam checking in as well. With his refusal to come to work combined with his silence, Sam felt like he needed to check in, needed to do something. If this situation were any different, Shane might’ve appreciated it. But now, he just couldn’t bring himself to care. Taking one last look at the time, Shane reached for the block button, pressing it firmly without guilt. Running a hand through his unkempt hair and getting a quick smell of his clothes, Shane knew he needed a shower days ago at this point. But he couldn’t be damned, honestly. It felt like too much of an effort somehow, too much to even attempt, though that frustrated him deeply. Why couldn’t he get himself to do the littlest things anymore? It looked so simple, so easy for everyone else. Why was everything he did such a damn battle? Whatever. He didn’t want to think about it. 

Slipping on one of his last clean t-shirts and one of his better pairs of shorts, Shane lumbered his way out the door towards the little museum to the east of town. Penny was waiting outside as always with Vincent and Jas in tow, the two children’s laughter carrying over the wind as they chattered away, sitting upon the brick wall of the bridge. He saw Sam with them, talking away with a smile on his face, as if nothing had ever happened. It made him angry. 

“So you’re a real rockstar?” Jas asked Sam, absolute wonder in her eyes. Looking proud as ever of his brother, Vincent answered, “Yup! Has concerts n’ everything! He’s super famous,”

“Not yet, but maybe someday!” Sam shrugged sheepishly, “Maybe if we get more gigs in the city… the last one did well enough!” 

“Wow…” Jas mused, a smile on her face. Her expression grew even more excited when she saw Shane lumber up behind Sam, scrambling from her spot atop the wall to meet him, “Uncle Shane! You just missed it, Mr. Sam was tellin’ us he’s a rockstar!”

Shane looked up at Sam, an absolute bitter anger on his face. Sam was tensed up, not knowing what to say, or if he should say anything at all. He gave his friend… coworker, a nervous smile, raising a hand to wave, feeling queasy as Shane continued to stare him down, “I’m.. glad you’re okay. Haven’t seen you at wo-”

“Let’s get goin’ Jas,” Shane cut him off without a second thought, completely ignoring the sentiment and the man who made it. He took his goddaughter's hand and began to lead her towards home, Jas waving ‘goodbye; to Vincent as they walked off, a confused expression upon her face.

Sam felt crushed, but couldn’t deny he understood to some extent. Shane was hurting, and he had grown to know that the man didn’t handle any form of intense emotion well, good or bad. In anger he could lash out and get mean, and Sam regretted being on the receiving end of it. The way Shane screamed at him that night, being called stupid and childish, it kept ringing in his mind, beating him down and breaking his heart. Sam wished he had never grabbed that camcorder. He wished that he had checked the underside of that tape, that he’d seen the sharpie label. He just wished he could properly apologize, that the two of them could be friends again.

“Shane, wait. Please,” he pleaded.

Shane stopped in his tracks completely. Turning his head to look back at Sam almost in disdain, but allowing him to speak. Sam swallowed and took a breath before speaking, “The tape… it still has some old footage on it if you want it ba-”

“No.”

“I just wanna do the right thing,”

“Well it’s a bit too late for that now, isn’t it Samson?”

“Shane-”

“Keep it. I don’t give a shit. I don’t care,” Shane in fact did care. He cared quite a bit, actually. But he didn’t want to have this conversation right now. He just wanted to get home already. It was starting to get dark, after all. Turning his back to Sam, he made strides back towards home, a very concerned Jas in tow. 

“I thought you n’ Mr. Sam were friends…” she mused sadly, looking back towards a very dejected, sullen Sam. Shane huffed and shook his head, “Not anymore,”

Vincent looked up to his brother, seeing just how upset he was. Sam rarely let himself look like this in front of Vincent, tried to be the one to stay strong when it mattered. It was… odd, seeing his brother this way. He didn’t like it one bit. Digging into his little pocket, he pulled out a tiny old toy car, its paint faded from age and play. It was Sam’s once, back from when he too was Vincent’s age. The boy knew well that it was a comfort to Sam as a child, and he figured it may still be a comfort now. He held out the toy car to Sam, earning a tired smile from his brother in return. 

“Thanks, Vinny…” he mused, taking the toy into his hand, “You’re a good brother,”

He looked back out to Shane as he walked away, that feeling of hurt still heavy in his chest. There was nothing he wanted more than for his coworker to turn around, to tell him he wasn’t stupid, to tell him he forgave him. To say sorry. Sam knew he wouldn’t get that. It was common knowledge that Shane was as stubborn as they get. But still, foolishly, he hoped that any second now he’d hear those words, even long after Shane’s silhouette disappeared over the horizon. 

The night was fast on its way, the sun finally setting behind the grand mountainscape as Sam walked the path back home with Vincent. Slowly, bit by bit, the stars became visible over the valley, much to Sam's joy. He remembered wishing on them when he was a little boy, sometimes for silly things like sweets, sometimes for more important things like his fathers safety in the Gotoro Empire. Today, he wished for something serious as well. In his heart, he wished to get his friend back. He wished everything would just go back to normal, as much as he knew it wouldn’t. Not for a long, long while.

---------------

The sky grew dark now, most villagers contentedly sitting in their homes, eating dinner and enjoying their evenings with their families. Pam instead sat outside in an old plastic lawn chair, fishing rod in hand, eyes trained towards the sky. It was a beautiful night out, all sorts of stars and constellations illuminating the valley skyline. How perfect it would be to sit beneath them with someone important, someone she loved. 

She flinched as she heard the crunching of the gravel path behind her chair, turning her head to see Marnie approach in a bright, yellow sundress that seemed to almost illuminate the space around her. She looked beautiful, Pam couldn’t deny, and her heart just swelled with joy seeing that Marnie indeed decided to tag along.

“Oh look who fin’lly showed up!” Pam teased, flashing a smile to her dear friend. She patted the arm of the seat next to her, “C’mon, set this up jest fer you,”

Marnie gently took a seat next to her friend, quiet as ever as she looked out onto the lake alongside Pam, who laser focused her sights on the bobber at the end of her rod, “Trainin’ fer the Ice Festival… ain’t lettin’ that Dodgens fella down on the beach beat me again,” she scoffed, leaning forward in her seat.

“That’s months away, training already?” Marnie raised a brow, “Feels a bit… overzealous,”

“That man trains ev’ryday of his life, Marn, I gotta keep up!” Pam shrugged, “ And ‘sides, it’s fun… somethin’ peaceful to do at the days end after I’m done haulin’ everybody on that bus,”

Pam caught a look of Marnie’s expression, seeing how distant and far off she looked to be. She placed her rod to the side, sitting it snuggly between her leg and the chair as she dug in her pocket for a cigarette and a lighter, popping the stick in her mouth. Before she got a chance to speak, Marnie held out an expecting hand, surprising her friend. 

“Since when do you smoke?” 

“Rarely. Only when I feel like I need it,” she admitted. Pam laughed teasingly, giving her a side eye and a smirk as she threw the pack over, “Always somethin’ new from Saint Marnie… what’s next, yer sneakin’ around in some secret relationship?”

Marnie coughed harshly, hoping to pass the blame off on the cigarette. She shook her head, giving Pam her best poker face, “Oh, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, Pam,”

“That’s why I like ya so much… full’a secrets, always keepin’ me on my toes,” Pam mused. She leaned her head on her hand, gazing softly to her friend, “What’s on yer mind, girlie? I can see it on yer face,”

“It’s nothing,”

“Oh c’mon Marn…” “I’d rather step on a nail than talk about it, Pamela,”

“Damn…” the woman mused, leaning back in her chair, “That bad, huh…”

Marnie nodded silently, leaving Pam to think of something to continue the conversation. Pursing her lips around her cigarette, thinking deeply, “Sure is nice that the bus is back in service…”

“Yeah?”

“Course! You know how much I missed drivin’ all around the state… Haven’t been able t’ in years now” she sighed, “Feels like someone fin’lly gave me my wings back… I love bein’ on that open road, meetin’ new folks, seein’ new places. That’s the life for me, Marn,”

“Then why don’t you get back into trucking? You used to tell me it was your dream when we were younger,” Marnie asked, “And I can see how it lights up your eyes… you look happy,”

“I am happy!” Pam laughed, looking back up to the river, seeing that still bobber floating atop the water, “You know it’s been hard… Drinkin’, gettin’ so distant from my fam’ly, not havin’ much… It’s been a hard life, but I’ve just been trustin’ in Yoba, and … y’know what? It’s getting better,”

She twiddled with her cigarette, closing her eyes as she thought back on the past year, “I got my job back, I’m surrounded by good people… and me n my lucky Penny, we’re finally reconnectin’. It’s a shame we hadn’t sooner. She’s such a smart n’ sweet girl… I’m proud to be her mom,” Pam smiled softly, “So yeah… I’m happy. Don’t need to be truckin’ around to Yoba knows where to keep that happiness. I got all I need here,”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out, huh?” there was a twinge of jealousy in Marnie’s voice. How interesting it was that their family dynamics almost swapped over the past year. She’d known Pam’s family to be strained and difficult for as long as she could remember now. And while her own was never perfect, they were always fairly close. She was happy that Pam was getting that now, truly she was. But she also couldn’t help but feel so jealous that Pam had just what she wanted now. 

“Mm-hm..” Pam mused, “Besides, there’s so much tyin’ me down here, why would I give that up? My Penny is thrivin’, she just started seein’ that smart gal that works with the doc, too. Everythin’ here is just so perfect… and then…” she snuck a glance at her friend, feeling a soft pink tint flush onto her face. It made her grateful for the camouflage of the night sky, “I guess there’s someone else keepin’ me here too,”     

“Well if they’re keeping you here they must be special!”

“Oh, she is… ”

Pam turned her attention back to the rod, tugging on it just a bit, as if it would somehow urge something to bite, “Damn river… ain’t catch a thing all day,” she held the rod back in Marnie’s direction, motioning for her to grab it, “Here. You give it a try. You always have better luck than me,”

“I don’t know a thing about fishing,” Marnie protested, “Much better with land animals, you know that,”

“Oh, it ain’t a thing!” Pam scoffed, standing to meet Marnie. She all but shoved the rod in her hands, guiding Marnie’s hands to where they should be sitting, holding her own gingerly over her friends, “Just hold it like this, nothin’ to it,”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Marnie gave her a sheepish look, pursing her lips nervously, “What if I mess up the rod?”

“You need to stop worryin’ over every lil thing, Marn. Ever since I met you, you’ve been such a wreck. Remember that first day we met? The moment I stepped into that dorm you looked at me I’d bite yer head off!”

“Oh come on, you were a little intimidating… I’d never met someone quite like you before, I didn’t know what to expect!”

“I wore leg warmers and bows, Marn. What’re you gonna be scared of next, the yoba-damned tooth fairy? The Easter Bunny?” Pam teased, earning an eye roll from her friend. Marnie scoffed playfully and shook her head, “Oh, you are impossible,”

The two sat in a comfortable silence, Pam still standing behind Marnie, hands wrapped gently around hers.She realized she hadn’t ever taken notice of how soft Marnie’s hands were. Even after so many years of hard manual labor, they still felt so soft and gentle, perfect to Pam. Her own had grown calloused and rough over the years, but Marnie didn’t seem to mind it all that much. The touch between them made the women feel warm and safe… and another stronger, deeper emotion; something simply indescribable. Marnie couldn’t yet place what that feeling was, or what it meant, but Pam could. She had found herself to be quite familiar with it, knowing herself to have felt it towards her dear friend for many years now, though it seemed Marnie didn’t reciprocate it herself. 

The two were both staring off towards the stars, enjoying the swirling constellations, the beautiful array of light over the valley. How gorgeous it was to Pam, to stand there with someone she cared for so deeply, staring at such a sight. She enjoyed seeing Marnie actually smile tonight, seemingly enjoying herself. While she refused to speak on it, Pam knew exactly what had been going on at that home. Word traveled fast in a small town, especially when you had neighbors that were gossips. Just about everyone knew about how tense and difficult things were behind the doors of that ranch. Pam couldn’t help but feel terrible for her friend, wishing for nothing more than for things to be okay. She wanted to make things better, she wanted to help that family more than she could ever tell. Part of her just wanted to grab Shane by the ear and tell him off, but the other understood exactly where he was, exactly how hard this was to go through.

This entire situation felt so impossible. There was no villain in that home, no single person to blame or to be at fault. In truth, the villain was life itself, the sheer unpredictability of it all. It had caused such a domino effect that led them to this very spot and moment. Pam just continued to look to the sky, wishing for nothing more than to see her dearest friend and her family happy again, for them to have peace. 

The two were so far off in their own little world that neither had noticed something begin to tug on the line, not until the rod was ripped clean from Marnie’s hands, sinking deep into the river below them. She clasped her hands to her mouth, turning to look at Pam with a deep shame, “I knew I’d ruin it!”

Pam could only laugh in response, the sound deep and raspy, but comforting all the same, “You ain’t ruin a thing! It’s just a rod, I’ll get another one,”

“At least let me pay for a new one,”

“Like hell you will,” Pam scoffed, wrapping a strong arm around her friend, “I won’t take a cent from you, Marn… Yer a sweetheart though, y’know that?”

“I just want to do the right thing,” Marnie shrugged, “It’d be rude to not at least offer,”

“Just like I said, such a sweetheart… one of my favorite parts about you…,” Pam’s voice was full of sweetness, a tone unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, “I love you, Marn,” 

A smile curled onto Marnie’s lips, soft brown eyes crinkling at their corners, “I love you too… you’re such a good friend, Pam,”

Pam’s expression fell just a bit, a twinge of disappointment striking her in the chest. She nodded slowly, clearing her throat which began to feel oh-so choked up, much to her embarrassment.

“Ain’t I just…”

------------------

Back at the ranch, the night was going surprisingly well. One of Jas’ princess movies played on the tv as she ate dinner, and the girl sat patiently as Shane braided her hair. He’d picked up on a lot over the years, making sure to put great effort into learning styles for her. Even if the man didn’t take great care of himself, he always wanted Jas to be well taken care of, to feel good about herself and to have nice things. So now, even though he yearned to just hole himself back up in his room and drink the night away once more, he sat on the couch and watched the movie with her, just as Jas wanted. 

The story was predictable, Shane had picked up on it from the moment he looked at the cover on the box. It would be another princess wishing for more, going on a whirlwind adventure full of funny little characters before finding just what she needed, moving on to her perfect happily ever after. He’d watched enough of them when he was little to know that they all had that exact same ending. He once wished for that happily ever after ending himself, that there would be one person who would come in his life to give it meaning, to fix everything. What a goddamned joke that was. 

 Jas seemed to be enjoying herself though, and that’s all that mattered. She watched, enthralled, as the princess on screen began to wish on a star, praying that all her needs and wants would come true. A sparkle came to her eye, the gears in her head starting to turn, “Does that actually work?”

“Does what work?”

“Wishin’ on stars… does it work?” she repeated, “Do your dreams come true?”

“Yeah… yeah I think so,” Shane shrugged. He wasn’t about to dash her dreams, even though he thought the idea of wishing on stars was bullshit, “I suppose anythin’ works if you really want it to,”

“Promise?”

“... Sure. I promise,”

Jas looked to the window from the corner of her eye, seeing the stars shining bright in the sky. She always loved how visible they were from the valley, how bright and shiny they were up above. You could never see such a sight from the city skyline as far as she remembered. One star shone the brightest, a large one sitting right in the middle of the sky, looking just like the one the princess in the movie wished upon. She moved to stand up and make her way to the window before Shane made a sound in protest. 

“Almost done your hair, Jassy, just wait one moment,” he hastily finished the last braid, tying it off with a little flower clip at the end, matching the rest he had done. He wasn’t a master of the craft just yet, but couldn’t help but feel just a bit proud of himself for how it turned out. 

Jas immediately scrambled to a chair in the kitchen, opening a window to get the best view of the star she searched for. Bowing her head and folding her hands, she squeezed her eyes tight and silently made a wish, hoping that the star would hear what her heart desired, praying that it would come true, just like it did in the movies, just like Uncle Shane said it would. He moved to sit next to her, raising a brow when he saw just how intent she looked. What could a 6 year old be wishing for so badly? Whatever it was, it had to be important. Deeply so.

“So… what did you wish for?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone. Jas shrugged sheepishly, slinking back down in her chair, “I dunno…”

“Come on, you had to wish for something,” 

Jas looked to the side, seemingly nervous, “.... You won’t be mad?”

“Jas, what could I possibly be mad over?”

The young girl took a deep breath, preparing herself accordingly, “I wished you n’ aendi would stop fighting, n that Mr. Sam would be your friend again… n’ that you would stop drinkin’ that weird stuff,”

“Jassy…” Shane’s face fell, a bitter sense of guilt and embarrassment riddling him, “I-I don’t know about that…”

“You said if I wished it would come true, right?” she asked, now looking him in the eye with great intent, “It’ll happen right?”

“This… that’s a bit more complicated than other wishes Ja-”

“You promised!” she raised her voice.

Why did Shane have such a nasty habit of promising things? He sighed to himself, not exactly knowing how to explain things to Jas. He didn’t think it was even appropriate to. This was nothing she should have to worry about, nothing she should be getting in the middle of. His problem, his arguments with Marnie… the last thing he wanted was for Jas to be getting in the middle of things. 

The girl stared at him with an intensity, frustration and pleading. If wishing on stars could make anything come true, give someone their happily ever after, why couldn’t it do this? Why couldn’t it fix her family? Jas was still so young that the world seemed so simple sometimes. If there was a problem, someone could just fix it, nothing to it! She didn’t understand that these things took great time and effort, and found herself growing incredibly, deeply frustrated. 

Finally, Shane gave in, nodding reluctantly, “I did promise, didn’t I?... It’ll come true Jas, just you wait,”

“Starting now?”

“Yeah,” Shane lied, “Starting now,”

[dailyoyo]

Non Exhaustive list of claims me and pseud havemade about yoyo. do we even believe all of these things in our headcanons? Good quaestion

yoyo once ran a "cringe art" blog very briefly but all he put on it was his own childhood art, without specifying it was his?

yoyo has a bucket list which includes things like "convince a straight person they're actually closeted gay" and "commit perjury"

yoyo likes to follow tutorials its enriching for him

yoyo has his own pirate radio station that roboy helps him run under the moniker of "Undergraduate C". he plays nothing but meme shit and stuff that is straight up unlistenable

yoyo thinks he is a hollow shell of a person with masks upon masks where an identity should be

yoyo, if asked if he thinks people can be born evil, will answer "lol yeah, because i was!" it's hard to say if he's being ironic or not

yoyo would die if he went to the house on ash tree lane because he would do goofy tricks in the hallway and grind down the spiral staircase only to fall off and careen into the abyss

paradox!yoyo is shorter than yoyo's official canon height because it's disturbing for yoyo to only be an inch smaller than me

yoyo just gets real scared when he smokes weed. but this doesnt stop him?

yoyo is a prolific trollfic author with unreadable writings under dozens of pseudonyms for dozens of fandoms

yoyo had a brief stint as a member of poison jam under a different name and identity but he got booted out for consistently ruining movie night with his intentionally frustrating mockbuster choices

yoyo has attempted to join every single gang in tokyo-to and the ggs were his last pick

yoyo eventually picks up it/its pronouns in a mental illness kind of way

yoyo is worse at video games than pots is

yoyo would be really good at among us except everyone just automatically votes him imposter by default so he cant even play properly

yoyo regrets nothing

paradox!yoyo, if confronted with an alternate universe version of himself, would immediately tell them to kill themself

yoyo would honestly probably be a lot less fucked in the head once he's PAST THE DIRE AGE OF SIXTEEN YEARS OLD

yoyo has like one of those bootleg-ass 52-in-one fake game consoles. bastion of his childhood

yoyo often gets mistaken for being younger than he is and this is something he actively weaponizes

yoyo makes up a new backstory every time you ask where he's from

yoyo accepted at the tender age of 12 that he does not have a future and so he should just fuck around as much as possible since hes like doomed anyway

yoyo's hoodie is actually embroidered, which he did himself by hand

yoyo has a lot of really strong feelings about art in all its myriad of forms but good luck getting him to talk about it genuinely instead of saying some dumb bullshit

yoyo made a lot of jokes about himself being super suspicious and Totally Not A Rival Gang Spy Who's Gonna Betray The GGs when he joined because he thought it was funny. the only reason he was allowed to be in the gang at all despite this is because he made such a poor showing trying to prove himself to corn gum and roboy that they were internally like "if we turn him away i think he's going to straight up die out there."

[marshmallowprotection]

Could I have Saeyoung and GE Saeran (And maybe Ray?) helping me through an anxiety attack? Mine aren't like... "typical" anxiety/panic attacks, i don't hyperventilate or freeze up or anything. hell, i only recently found out that's what they were when my roommate was like "dude i think you're having an anxiety attack." it's like... racing/spiralling thoughts and my brain already goes a million miles an hour so when it manages to go even faster... it's an experience. and i end up talking a lot and really fast trying to keep up with my thoughts and I end up with a lot of restless energy and nowhere to direct it (usually manifests in my hands/fingers twitching bc i need to DO SOMETHING but there's nothing to do). having something to fidget with while talking through/gently countering the Doom Spiral Thoughts tends to help. and a nap once I'm calm. anxiety is exhausting

GE Saeran believes wholeheartedly that the best way to survive a storm is with someone you love supporting you. Now, that doesn't mean they have to be in the room with you, but it is important that there is somebody standing by when you need something or you decide that you want to be with someone in some capacity.

It doesn't matter if you can't quite communicate what you want or need, as long as you have somebody who understands you at the base level, you don't need to be afraid of those times when you can't speak and you don't know how to communicate what you need to feel comfortable. You can turn to them and know that they'll figure it out. That's why he's not afraid of having panic attacks when you're with him.

If you need something to do so that your mind isn't racing on everything that's bothering you, he can definitely help you work out something that is safe to focus on and won't make matters worse. He can go either way when it comes to his panic attacks, but most of the time he has to sit down and let it play out since it makes it hard for him to speak and use his hands. But, in your case, he'll help you put yourself to work.

Whether that means you're going to wind up ripping out weeds in the garden or making something in the kitchen, that likely doesn't matter much. What matters is that he would think of something that the two of you could do together so not only do you have something to keep you busy, you have somebody to talk to you about nonsense until you feel like you're coming out of your stupor.

You also don't have to continue working once you feel the drop hit, all you have to do is give him a look or a signal, and he'll know right away that it's time for you to go and lay down.

He is very good at nonverbal communication so there's nothing to be afraid of. Nothing is going to get lost in translation with him because it won't take too much for him to figure out what's going on inside your head and what you need.

Saeyoung is the kind of person who rides out his panic attack alone in a dark corner until it's over for good. That is to say, when he gets a panic attack that is so bad that he can't distract himself by making something or working on his cars, he physically is restrained by his own inability to focus and it is absolute torture.

He likes to keep busy with his hands and as long as he's doing that, the thoughts can't catch up with him. But, when he's in a situation where it's gotten to a point where there is no way to focus but to scream and lay down? That's when you know it's a panic attack that he can't hide. He spends a lot of time hiding them so you might not even know he experiences them until he gets to that point.

You can count on him in a moment of crisis because he will put everything on the back burner to take care of you and your needs. He already knows what makes you comfortable and he makes sure that it's already set up by the time you realize you need it.

It doesn't matter how nonsensical your wants or needs are, the only thing that matters is that he is more than willing to make it happen.

Even if what you need is almost impossible to get, he'll make it happen somehow, some way.

But in terms of a physical distraction, he can make that happen. He does that almost every day so there's no doubt in my mind he would already have something to keep your hands busy before you ask him. If you want to do something but you don't know what you need to do, he'll gladly ask if you want to help him out by holding on to tools or pointing out flaws in his designs.

He would specifically come up with something ridiculous to work on in these situations so that there would be a chance to make you laugh and defuse the tension in your spine. 

[crush-zombie]

Where I am in life? Things that have happened. The continuing circus of the wild west of my existence. It's a long post ;

I lived in Ontario for three years, from 2018 to 2022, in a couple of places.

The friend I was supposed to move in with, to ease my spiralling depression, backed out at the last moment with threats. The "you're lucky I'm not around or I'd beat your ass" kind of threats, because I refused to give up and let despair engulf me.

I ended up in the basement of a friend of my mother's for a year. For apartment-finding (and legal) reasons I had my sister (and her partner) come as well, and after a year of searching and filling out applications the three of us got kicked out. We stayed in the woods by a highway for a week before getting sent to a homeless shelter.

2 months there was bad. The details probably aren't necessary, but it was dehumanizing.

After that we ended up in one of Canada's "hot spots" for Covid when the pandemic broke out. It took about a month there before my sister's partner started (continuing to) abuse me. My sister didn't care. My illness(es) had been intensifying all throughout those years, but they really hit a fever pitch at this time. I spent a lot of time gasping on the floor.

Along with my illness(es), during all this time I was struggling with suicidal feelings and urges. That's why I moved to Ontario to begin with-- I hoped things would be better there somehow, like a complete idiot ;

After threats from my sister and her partner a friend back in Newfoundland offered me an out. I returned, tail between my legs and my dog, who I dragged through all this chaos, was getting so old he can barely walk. My energy was so, so low and I put just about all of it into caring for him.

About 6 months into living with my friend she unloaded all her issues with me (that I studied like a motherfucker, because I am and always am convinced that I'm the problem in everything)-- that I eat too much, I don't clean the house enough, I'm "disrespectful" (conversely another friend often tells me I'm "too polite"), I "over parent" her daughter (this still confuses me), that she didn't believe I was disabled, that covering for my old, sickly dog was disgusting. I spiralled very hard, and got brought out to the dining room table to be told all the things I should be doing and what I was doing wrong. Immediately afterwards I started planning my suicide. My dearest (internet) friend kept me from death, but in its place I started developing an eating disorder, eating nothing but one meal a day (which sometimes didn't happen) and being nearly bedbound with hunger and exhaustion every day. I started cleaning the house, sweeping, tidying, doing the dishes and folding laundry for the two other adults and one child in the house. No-one complained. I'm convinced everyone in the world would be flattered to have someone bend to their neuroses.

When I forced myself to stop believing I was disabled I lost the language to describe my experiences. I ended up with a counselor in a matter of a week because of my mental state, and he had the unfortunate and arduous job of piecing my shattered mind back together. It's still missing bits... rough in a lot of places.

April of last year, I had to put my dog down. I was spending all my time taking care of him because he couldn't even stand anymore, and the vet really laid it down for me: this was it. So... Even just writing about it puts a lump in my throat and hot tears in my eyes. Grief is hellish agony, maybe the worst I've ever experienced. "I wouldn't be surprised," my counselor said, "you loved that dog more than most people love their own children."

In June I moved again. Currently I'm renting a room with a bunch of dirty 20-something-year-olds who do nothing but smoke weed all day every day and spend 8 AM every morning coughing until they urge, so I roll over and stuff ear plugs in my ears. At least they seem to be good people, and they know to keep their noses out of my business. And $600 for a single room and access to a (disgusting) bathroom, a (disgusting) kitchen and a (disgusting) laundry room with everything included is far, far from the worst I've had. I'm poor, but... it's something, and something isn't nothing.