#trigger warning -> mentioned past drug and alcohol abuse | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trashmouth-richie · 10 months ago

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𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬

masterlist

𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: implications of: adult prostitution, physical child abuse, child neglect, poverty. series trigger warnings include drug use and abuse, alcohol use and abuse, neglect, etc

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: eddie is determined to make things right, past hardships mentioned. 6k — eddie leaves in 1982 when he is sixteen, there is a scene that takes place in 1984 when reader is eighteen and eddie has already been gone for two years at this point.

He watched the sun creep through the blinds, the Indiana skyline sending hues of pink and purple against the dawning morning.

Birds chirped noisily, greeting each other in flapping winged ‘hello’. He wished he could feel their joy, wished his eyes didn’t throb from lack of sleep. His throat was caked with the dry cool air still blowing through the vents.

He so badly wanted to be right, have an answer for one of his many questions that kept weeding into more and more. An unending tether.

Rubbing wet from his eyes he swung his long legs to the floor. Back aching from the heavy spring loaded frame, he stands and heads toward the shower itching the curls on his head.

The water from the shower head was warm and welcoming, bringing forth a blanketed calm to his cold exterior. The water washed over his face and wet his hair almost down the length of his back. As he scrubbed his body his mind was elsewhere.

A million different “what if’s” shattered through his mind. What if… he came back sooner, you had run away with him, what if you had answered his letters, what would have happened to you if you weren’t left here to rot like the foundation of Forest Hills?

Did you think he didn’t care about you? That he was better off? He wasn’t. And if he could have come back he would’ve. It’s not as if his old man would have welcomed him back with open arms. He’d be lucky to get back handed instead of the usual a meaty fist to the side of the head.

But Eddie would have done it, for you. And he’ll be kicking his own ass about it until the end of time for not taking the risk. For not having you hop through your window like you’d done so many times before, and run away with him.

Hand in hand. Into the dark night. Rescuers style.

With shampoo barely rinsed, he hits the faucet with a bang. Too many years of guilt hung like a weighted cape on his shoulders, but now? Now he had the wits and means to make it right. A promise he kept to himself, to you.

The itchy towel dried his skin hastily as his fingers raked through his hair, tussling his bangs into a messy submission. His watch beeps on the nightstand, an alarm telling him he had only fifteen minutes before he was supposed to have his meeting.

It was settled, Eddie wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Certainly someone in this town had to know where you were living.

Locking the door to the motel he dropped the keys into his pocket and swung a leg over his Harley, he took a deep breath as he revved the engine, satisfied with his decision, a rose blossoming in his stomach, if he could leave Hawkins; so could you.

The smell of bleach was an odd comfort to you. The astringent burn in your nose brought a calming peace, cleanliness. Washing away spills and stains from any surface it touched. Today in particular were the bedsheets from the club.

You splash another cupful into the correct compartment for good measure, slamming it shut and inserting quarters into the slotted mouth of the washing machine—cranking the dial to the heaviest wash and hottest water. Your head pounded and throbbed, the hangover headache worsening by the hour.

The sheets spun around and around as water filled the drum, and you stared in a hypnotizing trance at the thick glass door, thinking about the list of to-do’s Rick had told you needed to be done in his absence.

“… don’t forget the laundry, okay? Nobody wants to fuck a whore on a dirty bed. I left you something special on the nightstand,” he winked before bending down to kiss your cheek, his suitcase already tucked into the backseat after you packed it and placed it there yourself, “don’t do it all at once, it’s some pretty strong shit.”

He waits for you to nod and he bites his lip, “be good, Tommy’s in charge for the next two weeks while I'm gone.”

He smirked half assed and flicked his sunglasses down onto the bridge of his nose, climbing into his car and reversing down the driveway.

A choked breath finally releasing from your lungs as his tires squeal on the black top.

A wave of nausea hits you from the sickening tickle of broken winged butterflies tumbling in your stomach at the way Rick had smiled at you.

Making you wish bleach was edible. Maybe it would kill the butterflies, poisoning them from the inside, just as you had been.

Rick wasn’t the big bad wolf of your life. That title was held to another man, one whose blood coursed through your own veins. Was he an upstanding hero type? Not at all, his wings were clipped like any other fallen angel.

But he was right lastnight— he came to your aid at the time you desperately needed someone. And in a weird, sickening way, he had saved you.

If being “saved” meant going from one evil to another that is.

You weren’t naive enough to think that you were dating. What Rick and you had was simple…cash register transaction, complete with the clinks and clanging bell noises. He provided you with shelter, kept your needs met, gave you a job. Your payment for such luxuries transpired behind closed doors.

It wasn’t love, quite literally a situation formed on the grounds of a business deal. But oh how foolish you were to think it was anything more than that in the beginning.

—

One black garbage bag. That’s all that was needed to collect your belongings, and it wasn’t even full.

“Do you really have to go?” Lolly’s wide eyes were full of tears, knobby knees tucked to her chin as she sat on your shared bed, watching you unpack drawers and slide a big silver ring over your thumb.

You have always been strong for her. Protecting her from the evils that took place in this trailer. Sheltering her away when dad’s fist was looking for someone to blame after mom left. Bruises faded easy on your skin, and you’d take them again and again if it meant hers never had to be painted.

“Lover’s Lake isn’t that far, you could bike there.” your tone is nonchalant like you aren’t being torn to shreds from the inside out, and it’s taking everything in you to not break down in front of her.

She sniffs loudly, “everyone leaves me.”

The words break your heart, and you can practically feel the tissue ripping inside your chest.

“Mom, Molly, Pickles, and now you,” her lip quivers and the tears drop on the tops of her knees.

“That’s not true,” you tut, rubbing a hand down her back, “Pickles was probably a hundred years old when you found him. Even old Jimmy said that he’d been living here longer than anyone.”

Deflecting with humor was something you picked up to have Lolly look on the bright side when things were worse for wear. But deep down you hurt just like she did.

Molly would have been almost eleven now, and you hadn’t seen her since you were her age. You remembered her birthday was the 17th of July and still lit a candle on a gas station twinkie to celebrate it every year.

“You’ll get the entire room to yourself, that’s pretty cool Lolls, right?”

She shrugs, wiping a tear away with a pink polished hand.

You know it’s time to be serious. It’s time to warn her, to try to keep her safe while you aren’t under the same roof anymore.

Taking her hands in yours and squeezing you plead to her, “stay out of his way, don’t speak unless he asks, don’t stop going to school.”

Lolly opens her mouth to interrupt but you stop her with another pleading look. You had already left school last year, Dad claiming he needed you to help take care of things at home rather than “waste time at that fuckin’ place.”

“Remember the treehouse in the woods, behind the grove of cedar trees by the big gray rock?” she nods silently, “…nobody knows it’s there but me and E—” your voice breaks on the first syllable of his name and you clear your throat, “it’s safe there,” you don’t tell her how you had made sure to stock the treehouse with her favorite things as a little escape for her. Magazines, cans of food with pull top lids, packaged sweets, your favorite nail polish, a warm blanket, pillow, flashlight etc… anything to keep her company to keep her safe.

“.. it’s kinda cozy.”

The tip of your nose tickles and your throat feels heavy as you try to swallow down sobs. Not here. She couldn’t see you that way.

“I'm not leaving because I want to… you know that, yeah?”

Her little arms fling around your neck and she squeezes you as hard as an eight year old could, and you hold her tight, wishing you could morph together.

The bedroom door flies open and the boom of your dad’s bark ricochets off every surface, breaking the sound barrier. “Fuckin’ Christ Clove, you ready or what?”

Lolly’s fingers grip you tighter and you hug her just as tight. You whisper quietly to her, “don’t cry in front of him, he doesn’t like it, I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

You let her go.

Your own tears wetting your cheeks adding to your wet shoulder, but you smile through the pain of your heart breaking.

Dad scoffs in the background, muttering under his breath something about how he’s not raising a bunch of fucking crybabies.

His meaty hand grabs your wrist and yanks you upwards, the stench of unwashed armpits and a thick ash of his cigar fill your senses, drying your tears immediately.

“Let’s go!” he roars, “makin’ me look bad in front of the new client.”

He looks around the room with shifty eyes, as if he might say something else, as if he might apologize for the bullshit you’ve had to go through, but when you’re a living breathing demon yourself, you don’t have a conscience, and he rubs his other hand over his balding head, rubbing the grease and gel further into his comb-overed scalp, “…don’t need him thinkin’ I’m a liar because you’re too goddamn selfish to be on time.”

Your virginity, your innocence was traded to a new drug smuggler in Hawkins for the price of discounted dope. Bought like property, sold like cattle.

Black plastic fisted hotly in your hand as you walked behind your dad’s crippled sway down the length of the hallway to the front door.

The childhood home you had imagined leaving behind was blurring past you. The cracked windows, the creaky floors, ratty carpet that was barely glued together, the water stained tub with the leaking faucet. It was all going to be part of your past.

If only Lolly could fit.

Fit inside the one plastic garbage bag.

The jagged chip in the corelle plate was keeping Eddie’s fingers occupied as Wayne’s girlfriend sniffled and quietly blew her nose, talking about the final days of him being alive.

Cancer. Caught late and untreatable. He lived a whole year longer than what the doctor’s had expected him to, that alone was a miracle.

Eddie was wrong. Wayne didn’t own a trailer or even live in Forest Hills. He had been renting a small apartment before he got sick and apparently had paid his rent in advance until the end of the year, giving Patty somewhere to stay while she cared for him and the comfort of not having to worry about making ends meet.

Boxes labeled with loopy handwritten sharpie were stacked in the living room and leaning against the kitchen table that Eddie and Patty were sitting at along with half of a sandwich still sitting on her plate.

She wipes her nose and shoves round glasses into her auburn graying hair, dotting her under eyes from another trickle of tears.

Eddie felt bad for her, and maybe he would feel some sort of grief if he had known his uncle more than just the handful of times he had gotten to know him. He was embarrassed to say he couldn’t even remember what Wayne Munson really looked like.

“He was a great man, talked about you a lot,” she half whispered, picking at the crust of her sandwich, “always felt like he should have done..something.”

Eddie didn’t accept pity, it was a Munson trait. So he did what he always did, brushed off any seriousness with a charmer’s smile.

“No worries ma’am, honestly, I- I managed just fine.”

She nods and reaches into the front pocket of her apron, her voice meek and hesitant, “I have everything packed. The crematorium opens on Monday, appointment’s at ten.”

A brass key twinkles between her fingers, “I have a sister out in California… with Wayne gone I don’t,” her voice warbles and she looks around the apartment, “…there’s nothing here for me, anymore.”

A soft wrinkled hand slides towards Eddie as Patty leans forward on the chair, the key scratching against the wooden table top.

Eddie smiles softly, knowing the feeling of not being able to stay after tragedy strikes. And from the sound of it Patty deserved a quiet life.

She explained that he had until December to figure out what should happen with the apartment, but everything else was already put into motion. Maybe he could even find someone to sublet the place until then.

Her soft eyes still wet as her lips tremble, “you’re more than welcome to go through the boxes and take what you need before the folks down at the Salvation Army load everything up.”

“When do you leave?” he asks after taking a sip of unsweetened iced tea.

Patty folds her hands and smiles for the first time since Eddie had knocked on the door, “Greyhound leaves this afternoon.”

Four loads of sheets were folded and heaped into a basket that was on the verge of tipping over in the back seat of your car. The Diet Coke you bought at the Spin n’ Dry left your stomach grumbling more than it had before you slurped the carbonated drink down in a few gulps.

With a knock of your hip into your driver's door it slammed home, the noise rattling your brain like a jug of shaken pop. Hangover still ringing loud between your ears.

The world’s darkest sunglasses couldn’t have shaded away the blinding rays of the sun, the heat felt like it was cooking your skin, making your temples and upper lip drip with sweat, an unusually warm day in the middle of May.

You didn’t recognize the plates on the motorcycle you had parked next to. Definitely not from Indiana. But maybe Wendy’s boyfriend finally got out of prison in Ohio? or was it Colorado?

In desperate need for a shower, you hoist your purse strap higher on your shoulder. Only having a few hours before you needed to clock in at the club, you didn’t have time to take a nap, or grab something to eat.

You could delegate your tasks to someone else but most of the girls had other jobs during the daylight hours. The only one wrapped up day and night in the club was you.

The apartment building you resided in had a shared water heater between the 6 units, meaning that hot water was scarce. But you were used to the unpredictable temperature of the water, and on this sweltering day you were glad when the water hit your back like icy daggers.

Like the bleach, it was an odd comfort.

The cool water jarred you awake a little, allowing your senses to come back to you after a night of inebriation, god knows you needed it.

Working shampoo through your hair you mentally check off things you’d completed, and everything else to be done for tonight’s shift.

Laundry ✔️

Set up testing appointments ✔️

Inventory ✔️

Restock napkins

Advertise for Ginger’s position

Call Kenny

Saturday’s were nickel wing night, and that brought with it a crowd of regulars and the occasional out of towners looking for a hot meal, and the typical extras that Queen’s offered.

Tommy had the brilliant idea last year that the girls would dress up in angel wings with halos or devil horns with a spiked tail to replicate the sauce of sweet or spicy wings the kitchen served. As miserable as it was to trot around dressed like a she devil, the tips on saturday nights were good, even if you left with greasy BBQ sauce fingerprints on your skin.

Tilting the devil horns into submission atop your head the plastic cherry red pleasers hung by the straps from your painted fingers as you click the front door locked with your keys and shuffle with slippered feet down the stairs.

Your purse jingled and clanked around as you descended down the steps. A shift at the club meant you could never be too sure on what you might need. Barrettes, an extra pair of panties, hair pick, bobby pins, mascara, lip liner, lotion, tylenol, icy hot for Jolene and the most important of all, an unlabeled package left on a nightstand.

The sidewalk scuffed the rubber bottom soles of your slippers as you walked to the parking lot. A throat cleared loudly followed by a voice saying your name. First, middle and last.

A voice you’d recognize in heaven or hell. His voice.

He was standing next to what you now realized was his motorcycle, of course the out of state plates made sense. His jaw was pressed into a tight clench, a Marlboro dangling from his ringed hand.

Eddie looked different with the sun’s ray on him compared to the haunting neon lights from the club. They colored his hair a pretty caramel swirled in coffee tendriled curls. Standing next to him you finally comprehended how much taller he was, but when the cheshire cat like smile broke across his face you found it hard not to smile back but you managed not to.

The scowl on your face sets him back. Hurt riddling his chest. Your eyebrows pinched the same way they used to but it was never a look that he saw very often, at least not towards him.

Your face was scarred, but beneath all the difference and the makeup he’d never seen you wear, he still could see that girl. His best friend.

You roll your eyes and turn away from him, stomping quick to your car and shoving the key into the lock, still not finding it easy to look in his eyes, “stalking is illegal in Indiana.”

His nose rumbles with a wrecked laugh, blowing smoke from his nostrils and he chuckles, “didn’t know you lived here.”

“Sure,” you say over your shoulder in an annoyed huff, “you just happen to show up at my work and now at my apartment. Totally by accident, or is this your bullshit idea of fate?”

He opens his mouth to speak and you cut him off before he can utter a word, “.. that was rhetorical, I don’t want your answer.”

“Looks like you got your license after all.”

You know what he’s referring to, and you hate the way a smile spreads against your lips. He was trying to break your shell, not knowing it was rock hard and super glued shut.

His olive branch is stretched out again, arm aching from the strenuous amount of leaves and offerings, but it quickly catches fire from the embers harbored in your stare when you whip around to face him.

“Well I’m not sixteen anymore, and I definitely didn’t need your help getting it.”

His face falls, “Cl—..”

You cut him off again, “I gotta go, I have a million things to do before we open tonight and you’re wasting my ti—”

This time he’s interrupting, talking fast to avoid your annoyed pouts, “can we talk, please? I’ll expl—”

You both might be older but the bickering between you could mimic teenagers, neither of you letting the other finish a sentence.

Rage pours through you like lava, hot angry and red. The wave of hurt it’s riding on stabs like a knife. “I don’t…goddamnit, I don’t have time for this Eddie!”

You look at him letting his warm eyes capture yours and you notice how handsome he’s gotten, how his features fit him well, but it doesn’t stop you from delivering the hurt you were feeling for years, “… and most importantly I don’t want to make time for you.”

You spin on your slippered heel. Shoving down the burning ache of regret and possibly vomit from your pounding headache.

Fuck this, and FUCK him.

Somewhere between the haste of needing to flee and fumbling with your keys, your bag tumbles to the ground, scattering your belongings all over the asphalt.

Eddie reaches down to pick up your things the same time you swing your door open hard, and in a comical blur the door connects with his bent head knocking him flat on his ass.

You gasp and he hisses through his teeth, mumbling curse words and rubbing his forehead.

Stifling a giggle you tuck your lips behind your teeth as you bend at the waist to look at him, your fingers fly to his head trying to pry his hands away.

“Are you..”

“Don’t laugh,” Eddie fake grumbles, a wide smile on his lips, “don’t you dare..”

You bite your lip to stop giggling, “‘m not...let me— oh c’mon, let me see it.”

Finally getting his fingers from his head you’re able to take a look at the small cut above his eyebrow.

“Jesus Christ Slick, when did you learn to box?”

You’re both laughing now, falling so easily in sync again it was making your head spin. And for the first time in a long time, you let your guard slip.

His palm is braced against his head, holding the growing goose egg he was sure to get.

“Please,” you mutter between raspberry blown lips, “I’ve never fought anyone, not with you arou—”

You look at him when your sentence falls flat. Both of you knowing that Eddie’s fists got into more fights defending you than himself. Trailer trash or not, he wasn’t about to let Hawkins jockstrap wearers treat you like dog shit.

Eddie winces when your fingers graze over the small gash by his outer brow, “how bad is it killer?”

“Remember when you tripped over your own feet playing hide-n’-seek in the cemetery?”

Eddie snorted through his nose at the memory, “you mean when you had to give me a piggyback ride back home?”

“I forgot that part… this isn’t nearly as bad, maybe a tenth of that.”

You dig through the remaining stuff in your purse, finding the small tin full of bandaids and neosporin you kept for blisters. “Should have taken you to the ER that night.”

Thumbing through the collection, you find a suitable sized bandage.

“Yeah,” Eddie scoffs, “I’m sure Al would’ve loved gettin’ that bill in the mail.”

His eyes meet yours and you notice the pool of childhood fear bubbling to the surface. Years have come and gone since then, but one never really forgets the pain from those days… How could you when the evidence was scarred into your skin?

You shut your eyes and shake your head as you peel the slicked backing from the bandaid— a yellow cartoon background with Mario and Luigi.

Eddie gives you a look with a cocked eyebrow and you shrug, moving his bangs back from his face so you could get a good look at the cut.

His hair is surprisingly soft like french silk. You wonder if his girlfriend buys special shampoo for him meant for curly hair.

Placing the sticky bandage against his cream colored skin, you rub the seams of the bandaid with your thumbs so it’ll stay in place. His breath fans across your forearms, and he watches in silence at your first aid handiwork.

You haven’t been this close to Eddie in years. It shouldn’t be weird, it shouldn’t feel awkward to touch someone’s forehead. The same someone you had shared a bed with more times than you could even count. But this was different, you were kids, teens then, now you were both adults. Living completely separate lives.

Clapping your hands in a wiping motion you unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, “there, good as new.”

He pushes his hands on the pavement and stands up, as you pick up the rest of your things, tossing them absentmindedly into your purse.

“Thanks doc,” he breathes, clearing his throat, “I don’t mean to be a dick.. don’t hit me again, but are you wearing horns?”

You scoff and look up at him. He stands tall above you, and you actually take notice of what he’s wearing. Black boots and a light wash of denim jeans, a navy and brown patterned flannel fit snug against his arms, rolled to his elbows.

He looks like a grown man, no longer a trailer park boy with holes in his jeans and stolen sneakers on his feet.

A large hand is extended down to you and you take it, his right your left, the two tattoos aligning for the first time in what seems like forever.

When you stand to your full height he’s still inches taller than you are, and where your noses used to be practically at the same level, yours barely hits him in the chest now.

“Does Hawkins celebrate Halloween in May now?”

You shake your head and let out a sad sigh, “it’s umm.. it’s for work.”

You’re embarrassed that you have to explain to your old friend that you have a job that requires you to dress like a slut, that your ass literally paid for your car, that since he left your life turned upside down for the worst. Your cheeks are hot and you pick at the polish on your nails.

“Oh,” his voice grows small, “that’s…”

“…yeah.”

You’re praying for a miracle, for lightning to strike, or a car to backfire— anything, to have this awkward conversation die.

You don’t have to wait long.

“Well,” Eddie exhales, swinging his arms, “since you beat me up in my first twenty four hours of being home, I think you owe it to me to let me take you for a cup of coffee,” he smirks, fingers gliding over the bandage and shaking his hair back into place.

Home.

A common word that had held no meaning to you, but with Eddie here standing in the flesh, breathing the same air and staring down at you—the four letters felt colossal, and it made your stomach flip.

“I don’t like coffee.”

Eddie’s smile falls. The small glint of hope in his eyes dimmed out like a burnt lightbulb. Leaves on his olive branch curled and charred next to your embers.

Keys jingle in his pocket with his hung head and he fumbles with his words.

“Sure, yeah.. sorry. I just wanted to..” his shoulders sag, “it’s been a long time, Clove.”

You stare blankly at him. Whatever wind was in his sails was snuffed out by you, and you fucking hated yourself for that. All you wanted to do was scream in his face.

Tell him yeah, it has been a long time because he left you. He was the one who skipped town in the middle of the night. It was him who left nothing but— goddamnit… his doe eyes could convince a nun to rob a bank, hopefully you don’t end up regretting this..

“Do you like wings?”

—

“Okay easy! Easy!”

“I got it, calm down!”

“The van’s top heavy y'know? This fucker will flip like that.” Eddie says snapping his fingers, his other hand was gripped right on the ‘oh shit’ handle knuckles glaring white.

Eddie did it. Between working weekends at Z’s shop and saving whatever nickel and dime he had, he finally saved up enough cash to buy the shitty brown van the Templeton’s had for sale in the front of their trailer.

The windshield was cracked, the passenger door was permanently locked shut. But to Eddie it was a means of escape, a venture that Al Munson had no say in, it was dirty and the seats were mouse bitten and full of dust. It was paradise.

“Just ease into the parking lot, try not to hit anyone..” a smirk catches the corner of his lip, “but if you do, aim for Higgin’s sedan.”

This wasn’t your first time driving Eddie’s beloved vehicle, usually you practiced on the open highway, turning onto gravel and coasting with Eddie’s hand waving out the window, but today he thought it’d be good for you to drive in town.

You were nervous, never really having to maneuver through vehicles or watch for anything more than a scared rabbit from the tall ditch weed, driving in town was wracking every nerve to the highest meter.

“Eddie, uh, how do I park? There aren’t any lines.”

He mouths around a cigarette, pointing lazily with his forefinger, “here’s fine, just whip her in there.”

The van comes to an abrupt halt, and the grinding sound of metal on metal groans loudly. You sit wide eyed and breathing heavily, foot still on the brake. The cigarette from Eddie’s mouth falls on his lap.

What would have been a normal ass chewing and possibly a slap to the back of the head from your dad, is only met with a grin from your bestfriend.

He reaches over and throws the gear shift into park. And coaxes your hands from their death grip on the steering wheel.

Fear riddles through your body and you stutter an apology, “I’m sorry Eddie! I’ll pay for it!” he says your name but you ignore him, “how— however much it is! I swear! I’ll—”

A hand clamps tight over your mouth and your eyes well with tears, ready to flood over the dam of your eyelashes.

“Clove, stop…it's fine,” his eyes plead for you to believe him but you don’t, your mouth keeps moving against his hand so he holds your face gently with both hands, “I swear, it’s not a big deal.. alright? You think I care about the paint job on this big lug o’ shit? C’mon, scoot over.”

You move across the center counsel and back into the heaping pit of whatever Eddie thought was necessary to keep back there. His long legs scramble and tangle up in the steering wheel before he’s sitting comfortably behind the driver’s seat and you crawl to the passenger side, wiping at your eyes.

“‘m hungry, you?”

Of course you were, the box of scalloped potatoes you made for supper last night ended up being crunchy and watery. The last pieces of bread went to make Lolly a mayo and cheese sandwich. The potato monstrosity ended up feeding the strays, and your belly grumbled ever since.

“Not really,” you lied.

Eddie shrugs and throws the van in reverse, wincing as the van groaned against the rear fender of Jonathan Byers’ olive colored car.

“Don’t worry,” he lies, “he won't even notice.”

—

The powdered gas station donuts left a white film of sugar on your lips. Yoo-hoo dripped down Eddie’s chin as he took another long swig, biting the rope of a Twizzlers in half.

Eddie had spread a flannel blanket he had “borrowed” on the floor in the back of his van, and you both climbed in amongst the trash and nonsense to enjoy a sugary breakfast.

The crinkled white donette’s wax paper is tossed behind him carelessly and he reaches for a second bottle of Yoo-hoo. “So much better than first period, McCannon can suck a fat one.”

You wipe your lips on the back of your hand, “I kinda like History, it’s interesting.”

Eddie snorts, “you like History because you’re hot for teacher.”

Mr. James McCannon was good looking, but that’s not what made you interested in his class. He was your roundabout, average middle aged family man.

A father, a husband, a friend, a coach, an employee—but most importantly, he was respected, put together, polished.

He probably taught his kids to play catch, took family vacations to some National Park, and without a doubt, his lawn was more than likely manicured in a way that looked magazine ready at all times.

His wife brought his lunch in a brown paper sack, toting along a thermos which you imagined would be filled with a creamy tomato soup or maybe coffee. She always had their toddler in tow. A smiling little cutesy thing, sparkling eyes and dressed to the nines. She too was an average American woman, cookie cut and baked to perfection— still that wasn’t what drove you to like his class.

It came down to something rather simple. You were jealous.

Seeing a father be so loving and caring for his own child, excited to see the young kid and always giving a kiss to her little cheeks, it drove you mad. The way his eyes lit up when his little family knocked on the door, the way they seemed so fucking happy— made you yearn for normalcy.

Because your life would never be like theirs.

Guaranteed little Kelly McCannon didn’t get cigars flicked into her face whenever her dad felt like she deserved it. She probably would never have to care for a sibling like a parent, never have to rummage through couch cushions in search of loose change to buy a gallon of milk.

She would never know the gut wrenching feeling of having her mother pack up only one of their siblings and disappear into the night, never to be seen again.

So the answer was no— you weren’t in love with Mr. McCannon. You were completely enthralled that he was a good person, a doting father, and that more than likely— never in your lifetime or the next, would you experience the bond of unconditional love from a parent, probably not from anyone.

Scowling, and burying the sadness of the truth, you shove his arm, “you’re hogging all the Yoo-hoo.”

He laughs, leaning forward and handing the glass bottle over. The dark blues and purples around his eye from last week were now shaded to a gross jaundice-like color, much like the fingerprints on your arms.

Eddie stays quiet for a while, watching you nibble your breakfast, taking small sips at the chocolate drink. He picks at his jeans, fraying the holes wider, his knuckles still swollen from Tommy’s chin.

A fight he’d gladly start again if he ever caught that son of a bitch trying to— Eddie shook his head, he’d fucking kill him, plain and simple.

Your lip was still split, and he had spent an hour picking gravel out of your palm while you sat on his bathroom counter. Snotty nose and tears flowing from your eyes.

It was probably then— he realized, or maybe it was years earlier when you were both younger. But right now sitting across from you in the dingy air of his van, Eddie is sure he’s never seen anyone look more beautiful.

The rolling feeling in his gut he got whenever he couldn’t fix what was making you sad, when you came to school with new bruises on your skin unable to stay awake in class, the countless times you had snuck out and showed up at his window in the middle of the night when things got really bad— it all came to fruition, like a lightbulb going off in his brain.

You meant more to him than anyone in his life, he’d protect you with his own life if he had to. You were all he ever needed.

He knew at thirteen, and he knew now. When he thought of the word love, he thought of you.

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daechwitatamic · 6 months ago

Text

Vice;Grip || chapter 3 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose. A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!!

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out. Section Specific Warnings: penetrative sex, language, reader on top, angst, depictions of depression/depressive episodes, edging, dirty talk, emotional constipation, bar scenes and recreational drinking, brief mention that reader had a sick (unspecified illness) parent in the past, sexual acts in a technically public place but they are not discovered, arguments and hurt feelings

wc: 6200

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

11 months ago

Vernon was afraid of drowning. All those rocks he carried - they weighed him down, pulled him under. He considered this as rain beat against the windshield of his car, ran down the windows so thickly that he struggled to see the front door of your building through the onslaught, didn’t even see it open and close, had no idea you were already outside until his passenger side door opened and you threw yourself into the car, squealing, wiping rain out of your eyes.

“Can you drive in this?” you asked breathlessly. Above you, the clouds lit up and went dark again. Vernon didn’t answer you; instead he silently counted the seconds until thunder cracked, sharp and insistent, somewhere behind them. Eleven seconds.

“Buckle up,” he said, no irony in it.

Stopped at a red light, he glanced over at you. Watched as you turned to trace a raindrop down your window with your fingertip as it worked its way through fragmented droplets, cast red by the stoplight, by the brake lights of the car ahead of him. Another flash; Vernon didn’t catch the bolt this time, either.

One, two, three…

Eight seconds until the thunder broke.

“Were you scared of storms when you were little?”

You turned to look at him, something quizzical on your face. He kept his eyes on the road, embarrassed. You and him - you didn’t ask personal questions. You didn’t talk about things. Even now, over a year since you’d started hooking up, you kept things strictly business, but for a few hiccups.

It was starting to wear on him, weigh on him. Neither of you had been with anyone else in a year - so what were you doing? Just spinning your wheels?

It was the first time Vernon realized he was angry. With you.

Lightning flashed as he slowed to turn into his building’s lot, the bolt snaking down so quickly he could have imagined it.

Vernon knew it wasn’t fair to be mad at you for not giving him something he’d never asked for.

Thunder cracked again, above the car. Five seconds.

“Actually, yeah,” you said finally, and Vernon startled a little; he’d already forgotten he’d asked the question. “My sister and I used to hide under the bed.”

He didn’t know you had a sister. He bet you didn’t know that he had one, too.

What are you doing?

Inside, his window flashed white, the whole room going greyscale, and then darkened again. The thunder snapped, furious and louder than before, and you screamed a little, then covered your mouth with your hand to hide your self-conscious giggles.

Vernon laughed, then lowered his body over yours and murmured, “Let me help you calm down.”

Three seconds.

The rain beat against the windows in waves, the sound coming from beside his bed and the ceiling in tandem, nature’s surround sound. Vernon slid his fingers through the mess between your legs, sinking two of them deep into your heat just in time for a roll of thunder to drown out your wavering moan. He fucked you steadily, the way he knew you liked, then shifted to rub circles on that place on your front wall. Your breath caught, your back bowed, your hands fisted his comforter, your head tilted back to expose your throat. The room went white and dark again in a single second, and the silhouette of your pleasure burned into Vernon’s brain like a photo on film.

He moved to replace his fingers with his cock before the thunder could answer.

Two seconds.

You wrapped around him - your cunt squeezing around his length, your arms looping around his neck, your legs wrapping around the backs of his thighs, trying to bring him closer.

He gripped your hips and rolled, giving you the chance to ride him, his hands caressing the backs of your calves as they flexed.

His eyes squeezed shut when he came, teeth gritted as he groaned out his own answer to the clouds’ cacophony. Your hands, gentle in his hair, guided him back down.

He found your hoodie near the foot of his bed, after. He carried it wordlessly to you, holding it out like an offering.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice tiny. Like you were accepting something bigger than clothing.

“You could stay,” Vernon heard himself say, and something inside him started kicking and screaming, panicked and trying to grab the words and pull them back in.

You looked at him sharply, your eyes a little wide. You didn’t do that, you didn’t sleep over.

“Why?” you asked, the word leaving your body with all your breath, almost a gasp.

Vernon felt his lips part, felt his stomach clench. “I -”

The syllable stretched, loomed, filled the room so completely that it crowded out the flash of lightning and the immediate rumbles. Zero seconds. The pounding rain drowned out the roaring in Vernon’s ears.

Maybe he’ll drown, too. Maybe he’ll let himself.

I want you to. I want to sleep next to you.

I need to know what this is. I need to be closer.

I need to kiss you and mean it.

His stomach sank as he watched the way you waited, breath held, for his answer.

“I just meant, because of the weather,” he said, his voice ringing hollow and flat even to his own ears. “If you don’t want to go back out in this - you don’t have to.”

“Oh,” you said, and he wished he could read it, wished he could translate that single sound. Was it disappointed? Relieved?

He couldn’t fucking tell.

“No, it’s okay,” you said, and you were already moving towards the door. “I think the worst has passed us already.”

Vernon thought that was bullshit; the worst hadn’t passed - he was standing in the middle of it, wind-whipped and drenched to the bone, watching the sky alight again and again, unable to make himself move.

10 months ago

whats up for tonight

idk

want me to come there?

i dont think i want anything

sorry. shouldnt have sent that one. door’s open if you decide to.

Vernon came into the apartment so quietly, you didn’t even hear him until he was shuffling into your bedroom. The cat leapt from the foot of your bed and wove itself around his ankles twice before darting into the living room.

“You good?” he asked, eyeing how you were curled on your side, watching him in the doorway with a small frown.

“Mhm,” you said, nodding a little, even though it was only a little true. “Just. One of those days, I think.”

He laid behind you first, one arm crossing your torso and pulling you tight against his chest, pressing kisses to the bare skin above your shirt collar at the nape of your neck. The sensation tickled just enough that goosebumps rippled down your arms.

“I can make you want something,” he offered. Or threatened. Or promised.

“Cheesy,” you accused, but a smile played on your lips, and you felt his own smile curve against your neck.

“Watch me,” he said, reaching for your hem. He worked you up with teasing touches and kisses until you were squirming, fucked you on his tongue and fingers until you were panting, then pulled away, letting the building crescendo quiet into silence again.

“Vernon,” you threatened, sitting up on your elbows and narrowing your eyes at him.

He cocked his head to the side, all innocence. “Is there something you want?”

“I’m not playing this game with you,” you growled.

He smiled beatifically, then went back to kissing your collarbones, starting at the very beginning again. That time when he stopped, you let out an exasperated shout.

He cocked an eyebrow, as if to ask, yes? but didn’t speak. He waited for you to say it.

It took three more rounds of this - getting you close, waiting you out - before you caved, admitting what he wanted you to admit:

That you wanted it. That you wanted him.

“Please, fine, you menace,” you cried, so frustrated that your chest was hot with it. “I want you to fuck me - I want you, I want to cum, please, Vernon -”

When he gave you what you asked for, pushing into you in one easy motion that made you cry out and squeeze your eyes shut, your tongue tripped up, telling him a truth you hadn’t meant to.

Instead of I want it, as he set a quick pace, burying himself inside you again and again, you babbled, I want you, I want you, I want you.

The sideways glances he sent you while he got dressed had the question all over them. He may as well have just asked - did you mean it? Did you?

In his absence, you pulled the blankets over your head and pressed your face into your mattress, trying to drown out the question in his eyes, trying to forget the feeling of his lips on your neck, the sound of his sighs in your ears, the taste of his kiss. Your bed retaliated, assaulting you with his smell on your sheets.

I want you.

Kicking at the blankets in frustration, you got up and slept on the couch, instead.

9 months ago

wyd?

ah, going out with some friends tonight. sorry.

come over after?

i would, but my friend is here from out of town and shes staying with me

bring her

you’re so gross.

next time then. have fun :)

dont smiley face at me chwe hansol

oh god the government name. fine, i take it back

You hadn’t done a girls’ night in over a year; your friends made sure to remind you of this frequently as the night wore on, as if it was singularly your fault. It was different from a night out with Chan and Soonyoung and Seungkwan - different because the shots being pressed into your hands were pink instead of clear; different because no one was handing you beer bottles; different because they wanted to dance, not talk shit around a table in the corner.

But you leaned into it, sneaking to the bar between songs to order shots that didn’t taste good, dancing with your friends until your feet ached, until your ears rang, until the colored lights bled together above you, until you forgot that you were annoyed about all of this.

When the lights flashed in warning - the overhead lights, the go away now it’s 2 am lights — you went to close out your card, casting a glance over your shoulder to make sure your friends were all accounted for. They were - mostly still dancing, but a few headed to the table to gather coats.

You were heading back across the dancefloor when you saw them. You spotted Mingyu first - one of Chan’s friends, one of those cross-over friends that knew both Chan and Vernon.

Your stupid heart jumped. Had he come out? Had he somehow ended up at the same club as you? You wouldn’t be able to leave with him, but you’d see him.

That wasn’t something you should want. It shouldn’t excite you that you might get to smile at him across a crowded dance floor. You didn’t like him, this wasn’t a crush.

Besides, crushes happened at the beginning; you’d been hooking up with Vernon for over a year now.

You scanned the crowd near where Mingyu was standing, waiting for the moment that your gaze snagged on a spark of familiarity. It didn’t come, so you pressed into the crowd; at this point in the night everyone was pretty faded, dancing with abandon, unaware and uncaring that anyone could see them - you’d all be leaving in minutes anyway. This one last song should matter, this one last song should seal the envelope on the night with a lipstick kiss.

The spark of familiarity eventually struck, but it came with a flash of warning. It wasn’t Vernon’s big smile or his conversely stoic expression that you recognized, it was his jawline - snapback twisted around, his lips close to some girl’s ear as he leaned in to talk to her.

You looked away quickly, as if he’d feel your gaze and you’d be caught staring, but you couldn’t help but peek again as you kept walking. The girl was laughing, tucking dark hair behind her ear, her eyes eagerly on Vernon’s face.

Your stomach heaved. You wanted to go over there - to slide an arm behind him where it belonged, to smile in this girl’s face because Vernon was yours. Because he was going to text you before he texted her and she needed to know it. Because he let you in when he shut everyone else out and she was everyone else.

Your friends found you then, saved you from yourself, pulled you back to the table to gather your shit, trouped outside to find the Uber home.

In the car you all fell quiet, tiredness creeping up on you. Your thumbs tapped anxiously on the dark screen of your phone, and then you opened your messages.

you gonna leave with her?

The lack of response radiated through you, and you felt sick as you wondered why - because he was pissed that you’d even asked? Because he was already busy with her?

Then -

lmao were u at dark horse?

You didn’t answer, too embarrassed, the shame flying overhead to catch up to you for the first time in a while, its wings spread and claws stretched as it prepared to land.

Your phone lit up again.

i honestly wasnt gonna but now youve got me curious

would it be a problem if i did?

No, you thought defensively, a reflex. But he didn’t give you the chance to answer.

and if it IS a problem… why?

“Who are you texting?” your friend asked, craning her neck to peek at your phone. You turned off the screen.

“Chan,” you lied.

Then why?

Because he was yours and he belonged with you - not with whatever random girl he found at the club. Because you wanted to be enough for him, wanted him to be impervious to anyone else’s advances because you were all he wanted.

Because you did like him. Because you felt something for him - something that might have been a crush eight months ago, but was certainly a bigger beast now.

Fuck. Fuck!

Your feet felt like they were plunged in ice, and you closed your eyes, swallowing back panic and nausea.

At home, you lay across your bed while your friend used your shower, turning your phone screen on and off, typing and erasing, your mind dizzy with the war it was waging against itself.

Vernon was a wildfire, catching and migrating, drawing closer and closer. Something in you screamed to take action - start digging a trench, start running if nothing else, just get away get away get away before you’re not just burned but reduced entirely to ash. Something else argued that Vernon’s fire was the only thing that kept you warm, vital for survival against the icy nights that overtook you at their whim.

How to protect your dignity, deny that you need him, deny that you’re trying to keep him all to yourself, without losing him completely?

You imagined him at his place, rereading these messages. You wondered if he was mad, frustrated. You wondered if he felt suffocated by your display of possessiveness.

You’d never answered his why.

You never did. You left it unanswered, and his next three wyd’s went unanswered as well.

Then he stopped trying.

8 months ago

sorry. i - - can we just go back to normal - - wyd later? - - i’m sorry - - hey - - it’s not a problem, you can do what you want - - it is a problem because i - - sorry for not answering, hru? - -

Unsent, each. Deleted.

You had Bestie Night with Chan during a deep freeze, your radiator working overtime as you split a bottle of red.

You sketched absently on your napkin as you caught up.

“I dunno, Chan, the co-worker thing always scared me a little. Mom always says don’t shit where you eat and I think she’s right.”

Chan, who was head over ass in love with Jinseo in marketing, scoffed at you heavily.

“A romantic situation scaring you means nothing to me,” he said, dead serious. “I think someone asking for your number would scare you.”

You scowled at him, defensive. “We haven’t had enough wine to start the personal attacks.”

He laughed. “Okay, okay. I’m just saying. You spook easy. It’s not a secret.”

You stuck out your tongue, went back to your doodle.

“It’s nice to see you drawing,” he said, casually, and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Are you intent on being a busybody tonight?” you asked, and he laughed, holding his hands up in surrender.

“I’m just saying!” he cried, still chuckling a little. “It’s nice to see! It’s a healthy outlet for you!”

“I’m kicking you out,” you deadpanned, then reached to refill your glass, because if he was in this kind of mood, you were going to need it.

In all honesty, sketching wasn’t really your thing - you weren’t drawn to pencil or charcoal or ink or even digital sketches the way you were drawn to painting. But you hadn’t in so long now you felt almost stubborn about it, like starting again would be the same as admitting something. Like starting again would mean admitting that you were dumb to quit in the first place. It would mean admitting that you’d fucked away every good opportunity you’d had, and for nothing.

Nothing had even happened - that was the part that kept you up at night, gave you a stomachache. You’d fumbled your entire future, a few years ago, and you didn’t even have a good reason for it - no major trauma, no life-altering crisis. Just your own worthless brain doing everything in its power to bring you low.

You’d graduated from undergrad already knowing you’d been accepted to a great visual arts school - prestigious, even. You’d had to submit a portfolio, had forgone sleep for months trying to make it perfect. But every time you’d tried to move on it - send in paperwork to register or officially enroll, forms for financial aid, any of it - you’d frozen like a rabbit in headlights, too scared to push a single button unless it was the X in the corner of the screen.

Your dad had been sick at the time, that was true. But he’d been okay in the end - just a few touch-and-go months, some hospital stays, nothing worse than that. He was fine now. You weren’t even living at home, didn’t have to deal with it - it didn’t factor in. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t enough to take the blame from you.

And, true, you’d just come out of an episode right before graduating, and found yourself standing among the rubble of what your life had been before the episode started noticing that your two best friends were no longer present - hadn’t waited around for you. But that wasn’t a good excuse either. Friendships faded all the time. Life went on.

“So, are you gonna ask her out?” you asked, hoping to turn the conversation.

“I would love to, but I think if I tried, I would throw up right there in front of her,” he said, and you were pretty sure he wasn’t kidding.

“Text her,” you suggested.

“That seems… so sad,” Chan admitted. “I’ve got to have the balls to just do it. Right? Aish, Lee Chan.” He buried his face in his hands, frustrated with his own cowardice, and you reached out to give his arm a reassuring pat-pat.

“Did you talk to her this week?”

“Yes,” Chan said emphatically. “We took our breaks at the same time on Thursday, and we talked about the cold snap!”

You leveled him with a look. “Have you talked to her about anything besides the weather?”

He pointed at you, expression darkening. “I will not be judged by the likes of you. When was your last date? What year?”

“Wow,” you said flatly, and he began cackling, delighted with himself. “Wow. Just… wow. I truly have nothing else to say to you.”

“Ask her if she’s watched any good shows lately,” you offered. “Then you have something you know she likes to talk to her about.”

“Eeeehhh,” Chan said, which meant I don’t think I like your idea.

You shrugged. “Stay lonely, then, I guess.”

You should have enrolled in the grad program. You should have pursued painting.

Instead, you’d convinced yourself it was stupid - not lucrative for a real career, just hobby-chasing, and you weren’t good enough anyway.

The deadline had passed. You got a job in an office, an apartment, the cat. Life went on. Your bunny-rabbit brain had said hide scared hide scared hide scared and you’d listened, had pushed away the scary thing until it was too late to grapple with it at all.

It was the parallel to now, and maybe the wine, that pushed you to look steadfastly at your kitchen wall and admit, “Actually, there’s something I haven’t been telling you.”

Chan’s smile dropped quickly, and he leaned a little closer, ready to listen.

“I’ve been hooking up with this guy,” you admitted. “For a while.”

Chan’s gaze sharpened and you wanted to flinch. “Only him?” he asked. And then, “How long is a while?”

Shame beat on the window, scratched its nails down the panes line a chalkboard, the screeching sending shivers down to your toes.

“A little over a year,” you mumbled.

Chan’s silence rippled out like you’d thrown a stone into the quarry. He said nothing, just watched you carefully, swirling his wine around in his glass just for something to do.

“That’s a long time,” he said. A long time to keep the secret from me, he meant. A long time to be with one person, you heard behind it.

“I know,” you said, deflating. “I’m sorry. I really am. I just… I knew you’d romanticize it, try to talk about it like it was a thing - and I… I really, really wanted it to stay just hooking up. None of the other stuff.”

He very nearly grimaced when you said this, and it made your stomach sink even further. You knew you were broken, unable to connect, unable to give or receive anything close to love - but to see your best friend react like he knew it too? It sucked the breath out of you.

“And he’s okay with that?” Chan asked, instead of addressing your allergy to feelings. “For a year, just sex?”

You shrugged. You were the one who’d gotten possessive. Vernon had never asked you for more, had never indicated that he might want to shift your boundaries. “Seems like it.”

Chan shifted in his seat, frowning a little. “Well, if you’re on the same page, then I guess… I’m happy for you?”

“Eh,” you said. “Don’t be. I screwed it up. As usual.”

He gives you a look that says don’t do that. You drink the rest of the wine in the glass and reach for the bottle again, but it’s empty.

“Can you fix it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I haven’t tried.”

“Okay,” Chan said easily. “So try.”

When Chan left, you stayed at the kitchen island, pulling out a notebook and pen. You sketched across four pages - flowers, faces, the clock on the wall, the frost patterns on the window.

It wasn’t a paintbrush, sliding through a shade you’d worked to make just right. But it wasn’t nothing. It wasn’t terrible.

You picked up your phone.

hey. sorry for the silence - really. that was shitty of me. you been okay?

You passed your fingers back over the last page of sketches, feeling the tiny ridges where the pen had pressed. You traced back over a flower - hyacinths, just like your mother used to grow under your bedroom window.

You were prepared to receive no answer; you would have deserved a taste of your own medicine, and you knew it. But it wasn’t much later when an answer came through.

no worries. my place is freezing, our boiler broke. can i warm up there?

You thanked every star in the whole sky that Chan wasn’t there to see your smile at Vernon’s answer. You could never have denied it - the smile said I am feeling something, allergy be damned.

And just after the smile came the bunny-rabbit instincts: hide scared hide scared hide scared.

of course. i’ll be here.

7 months ago

“I think I’d be happier as a cicada,” Vernon mused, squinting at Seungkwan through the half an inch of vodka rolling like a sea in the glass he held aloft.

Seungkwan’s face dropped into a frown. “Is this, like, would you still love me if I was a worm?”

They were on opposite sides of the tiny, wooden table he usually ate at, the bottle open between them and sweating a circle onto the wood. Vernon dragged a finger through the condensation until the streak ran dry.

“Nuh-uh. I just think I’d be happier.”

The frown deepened. “I can’t tell if you’re being ironic or if I need to be concerned about you.”

Vernon dodged, said something that might make more sense outside of his own head. “What if I dropped out of grad school?”

The vodka in the glass did nothing to blur the flat expression Seungkwan leveled at him. “Now what in the fuck would you do that for with only four months left? That’s just financially stupid. It’d be like running a marathon and giving up on mile twenty-two.”

“Counter-point,” Vernon said, lowering the glass as far as his mouth, teeth clicking on the rim of the glass, “I fucking hate it and I don’t see the point in finishing.”

“Money down the drain,” Seungkwan intoned.

“Years of my life down the drain,” Vernon grumbled.

“That actually adds to my point. You’ve invested time and money. Might as well see it through.”

“But for what?” Vernon demanded, finally getting closer to the truth he’s been circling.

“The job opportunities?”

Vernon drained his glass, waited for things to soften just a little around the edges. “I don’t know if I want them anymore,” he mumbled, then made an escape into the kitchen to put another few ice cubes in his glass, to get away from the way Seungkwan’s gaze sharpened as he caught on to how much Vernon meant what he was saying.

The problem was that he had to leave the kitchen eventually, and Seungkwan was waiting, his face carefully blank.

“You don’t want to -?”

“I don’t know,” Vernon interrupted with a grumble. And that was the truth - he just didn’t know. He didn’t know if he’d like his field, didn’t know if he’d be good at it or if he’d find it fulfilling or if he’d hate it and regret his choices and wake up every day feeling just as bored and - frankly - unenthused about his life as he did these days.

And he was tired. He woke up tired every day, fought exhaustion the whole time he was awake, went to bed tired. His eyes ached from wanting to close, his heart screamed for a chance to rest. He was tired of it - of fighting the exhaustion, the apathy. He wanted sometimes (often) to just give in - sleep however long it took. Months, maybe.

“Gonna have to pay your bills somehow,” Seungkwan reasoned. “See? Cicadas don’t have bills,” Vernon argued, and Seungkwan rolled his eyes so hard that Vernon couldn’t help but laugh, leaning sideways against the kitchen’s doorframe as his body shook with it.

Later, after Seungkwan left for the night, Vernon squinted at his phone until the letters held still.

wanna be a cicada with me?

vernon what the fuck

its a serious question

i mean, maybe??? sleep for seven years, come out and scream for three months, then die? i could get behind this plan

i knew you’d get it. seven years of sleep? bet.

personally i think screaming for three months straight would fix me

exactly.

[ ]

wanna come over?

yeah. omw

“You’re so drunk.”

Vernon squinted at you, unsure if he was hearing judgement in your tone (which would be rich) or if he was projecting (much more likely). “‘S ‘Kwan’s fault,” he muttered, still squinting, even though it really wasn’t Seungkwan’s fault. In fact, Seungkwan had been the one to twist the top back on the vodka bottle and walk it gingerly to Vernon’s freezer, claiming he was just helping tidy up when they both knew he’d thought Vernon had had enough.

Vernon was still seated at his little table, body turned so the wall behind him held him up as he leaned back against it. When you dropped into his lap, his arms came around you automatically, pulling you in tight. You leaned into him, brushing your lips gently across his cheekbones, down his jaw, and then resting your head against his shoulder so that you were almost burrowed in the nape of his neck.

The room swam around him a little, but Vernon flexed his hands against your waist every time it spun too much and it helped him ground himself, helped him remember that if you weren’t spinning then he couldn’t be either.

“They molt, too,” you said, and for a long minute Vernon thought he’d blacked out and missed part of the conversation. But then you ran a hand down his chest, letting it land on his forearm, and clarified, “Cicadas. They shed their skin. I like that part, too. Getting to step out of a self that doesn’t fit now, leave it behind - leave behind physical proof that you aren’t that, now.”

Vernon’s hands flexed around you for a different reason.

He liked that, too - the idea of leaving himself behind, a self he didn’t want to be anymore.

His eyes slipped shut, but he heard himself say, “So, it’s settled, then. We’ll be bugs.”

Your giggle, the light sound of it as well as the feeling of your body moving against his, brought him back a little, and he cracked his eyes open to see you smile.

“Yeah,” you told him, sitting back up and smiling lightly. “We’ll be bugs.”

6 months ago

going out with seungcheol-hyung later. u gonna be out?

yeah - going to maestro with some friends

i dont think hyung would step foot into maestro but i’ll try

Vernon is sharp. Sharp wit, sharp eyes, sharp angles, sharp smile twisting into something leering.

You were chasing lights, trying to track pink beams as they carved paths across the club’s dark walls, when you caught his gaze across the crowded dance floor. He leaned against the bar, watching you, still and jagged, a serrated edge.

You held his gaze long enough for him to know it was a message, then you began pushing your way through the mass of people around you - not towards him, but away, towards the barely lit back hallway that led to the bathrooms.

You knew he’d follow. You didn’t have to check.

When he pressed you into a dark corner, you wrapped an arm around the back of his neck for stability and let your eyes slip closed, let the colors you’d been chasing flow around you as you floated.

“Where’d your hyung go?” you breathed as Vernon traced your silhouette with heavy hands.

“Don’t care,” he muttered.

He tucked his chin low, focused, slid one hand up the trembling inside of your thighs, slipped his fingers past the thin layer of your panties, pushed two fingers deep inside you and sucked in a breath when you moaned out loud, your head falling back against the wall.

“Already fucking wet for me, so wet for me,” he growled, fingers working you in even, steady pumps that made your walls flutter and your legs shake. “Didn’t even do anything yet.”

You whimpered his name, the muted bass from the club’s main room settling around you like a fog, syncing up with your pounding pulse. You said it again, a little louder, desperate. Somewhere in your mind, you were aware that you could be found, and that piece of you urged him to be quick.

“Hurry -” you gasped, “-before -”

“Hurry?” he laughed, the sound almost mocking. “Why would I hurry? Want to stay knuckles deep in this pussy all night -”

You gasped, your hips bucking, and he groaned out loud, unashamed.

“Fuck, you fucking gushed when I said that, christ,” he whined, voice suddenly thinner, like it might crack. Like he might shatter, leave more sharp pieces behind.

You shattered before him, trying desperately to keep the long, keening noise buried in your throat as he pushed the pads of his fingers against your front wall, urging out every last shudder.

When he slipped his fingers from you, he paused, face freezing with his mouth stretched into an exaggerated grimace as he tried to work out where to wipe them. It surprised both of you when you surged forward and grabbed his wrist, bringing his sticky fingers to your mouth and licking a stripe from the edge of his palm to his fingertips before taking them between your lips.

You thrilled when his eyes rolled back, when he slapped his spare hand against the wall next to your head to brace himself, when he rutted against you furiously as if you weren’t in plain view of anyone who decided they had to pee right now. He pressed against you, so hard you could feel the heat of him even through his pants, as you laved his fingers with your tongue, mimicking what you’d be doing on your knees if you were in private.

“If I cum in my pants in the fucking club, I’m going to be so mad at you,” he gasped, and it made you laugh, giving him the chance to pull his hand away, to back away from you desperately, chest heaving. You laughed again, feeling a little victorious.

You straightened yourselves up and made your way back to the bar; you ordered shots and took them in succession. Then, one eyebrow raised, you asked him, “So - want to finish what you started?”

He laughed, teeth flashing. You ordered a ride on your phone. You stood and he trailed you closely as you made your way unsteadily through the crowd. A group of girls tried to pass the opposite way and you had to pause, stopping short as they wiggled past you, sending you grateful smiles. Vernon bumped into your back, his hands finding your waist.

You stayed there, even when the path cleared, feeling his body solid against yours, his hands tight on you, losing yourself in the tidal pulsing of the room, as if the whole club inhaled and exhaled each time the beat changed up.

“What?” Vernon asked behind you. “What is it?”

Everything in your bloodstream - from alcohol to adrenaline to oxytocin to you weren’t even sure what else - spoke for you. Turning just slightly, you asked him something you’d kept caged for months on end.

“When are you gonna leave?”

Shock crossed his face before he could school it. Then, confusion, or something like it, his brows furrowing. “You want me to go?”

“No,” you said quickly, knowing what you’d already said was a mistake, knowing anything else you said could only make it worse, but unable to stop the words that your mouth provided. “No, I didn’t mean tonight. I just. I meant… in general.”

Something cold slid over his face. “That’s not better,” he said, his voice suddenly so even that it sent shivers down your arms. You turned to face him fully; around you, bodies moved, voices shouted, and the music was almost deafening.

You barely noticed any of it.

“I meant -”

“I know what you meant,” he interrupted, angry. You could see it all over him - his shoulders tight, his mouth turned down. “You meant you’re just riding out your sentence with me until I inevitably leave you. Right?”

“I -” No, you meant to say, but he was kind of right, and it was confusing.

He shook his head, took a step away from you. Miraculously, the crowd let him. “This is bullshit,” he told you, his voice low and brittle with hurt. “You don’t get to fucking put that on me - you’re the one who runs in this - in whatever this is.”

He took another step back, shaking his head, obviously disgusted.

“Vernon, that’s not - I do not run -” You couldn’t choose what to argue first; your head swam, and you pressed a hand to your eyes for a second, hoping to clear them. “Why are you so mad?” you asked plaintively, looking at him again.

He laughed, just as mocking as he’d been when he was toying with you in the back hallway. “Why am I mad?” he repeated. “Go fuck yourself.”

Vernon was always sharp. He left you standing there, bleeding on the dancefloor.

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thank you so much for reading!!! i'll update again next friday :)

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aft3rhrs · 1 year ago

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halloween masterlist 🦇

DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. yandere content. nsfw. trigger warnings to be expected are listed under the cut. please proceed with caution.

disclaimer: most of the themes mentioned below are not new here. however, for this event they will be explored in ways that could be considered extremely harsh and explicit, so please consume responsibly. as always, this is only fiction, it does not represent bts or my morals. please also keep in mind that all my characters are always 18+! thank you. ❤️

pseudo incest — step brothers, step fathers, step uncles, step sons... ooops.

gaslighting

cnc, dub con — including the use of triggering words in an erotic/degrading manner (r*pe, ab*se, m*lestation)

grooming

teratophilia — hybrid/monster aus

fear kink — physical and verbal threats

predator/prey

mature topics — mentions of depression, anxiety, neglect, past abuse, drugs, alcohol, smoking

blood, violence, murder

bdsm — whips, chains, cages, collars, leashes

necrophilia (in supernatural settings)

ღ the masterlist can be found here! it's still in the process of being completed.

ღ more warnings may be added as I go on writing.

ღ a taglist is available. 💌

ღ the fics will be posted under #dead dove, so please feel free to block the tag if in any way uncomfortable! thank you 🫰

#❤️#I don't take requests atm but my ask box is always open for suggestions ❤️#yandere bts #bts smut #bts x reader #dark bts #hoseok smut #jin smut #jimin smut #namjoon smut #jungkook smut #taehyung smut #yoongi smut #I don't wanna spam the tags so I'mma end it here ahshdhdhd #💖

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lokisprettygirl · 1 year ago

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Brokenhearted (Daemon Targaryen x Female Reader) (Non Canon Modern AU) (18+)

Read Chapter 13 here // Series Masterlist

Chapter 14

Summary: Samantha finally takes what she wanted but it might just be not enough for her.

Warning: 18+, Smut, Angst, violent thoughts, stalking, Discussion of mensuration and Pregnancy, bloodshed, Abusive relationship, mention of rape, toxic masculinity, gender norms, sexual abuse, Samantha, traumatic distressing content, Daemon is a big time smoker so if it’s something triggering don’t read it, alcohol drinking, mention of past trauma and therapy, cigarette smoking, possessive behaviour, violence, baby needs therapy, baby is trying

There was a palpable tension in the room between you, Daemon and Viserys, you knew you should have told him what Samantha wanted from him but you felt scared of losing him and your worst nightmare was about to come true. The only thing you could do was sit and watch as your world crashed and burned right in front of your eyes.

Samantha found him during his run that morning and had revealed to him what she had against him that could ruin his Life, his career and what she wanted from him in return.

Eight years ago during her last birthday party with Daemon, Samantha had laced his drink and under the influence he had not only indulged in several prohibited drugs under the federation but also participated in an orgy where he could barely keep his eyes open. She had planned all of that, once he was intoxicated she got his blood taken, and then she got his pictures and videos taken for further leverage, she wanted him to lose control so she'd have something against him whenever he'd plan to leave her but before she could use all that against him things ended rather drastically between them. You still had no idea what Viserys had told her that night in the hospital to make her leave him.

But she kept everything because she knew she'd never let him go completely.

Daemon remembered that birthday party really well, she was pregnant at the time so he wanted to be extra careful with her but he didn't remember everything from the night, he just remembered waking up the next morning with his cock in her mouth, he remembered feeling safe for once as she made love to him without wanting to hurt him, he really thought that the child would turn her, change the way she chose to love him.

He remembered it as one of the better days of their dysfunctional relationship not knowing what had happened the night before but now he did and he was ashamed of himself.

He was ashamed of how he'd be perceived if such things would make their way to the public.

"Daemon we can get the best of lawyers..we can-" Viserys spoke but he was interrupted immediately.

"Nooo" Daemon raised his voice at his brother and your eyes welled up. Why didn't he want justice? Why was he so adamant on not wanting to take any action against her? You didn't understand.

"Daemon –" you spoke but he cut you short as well.

"I'll come to you as well y/n" he said to you sternly. He never called you by your name so it was already an indication that this conversation won't end well, he seemed furious and you felt worried about what he was going to do. Your gut feeling told you that it was going to end terribly for you two.

"Go call her.. I'm sure your bitch of a wife stays in touch with her..tell her I want to meet her in the evening.. I need to talk to y/n now" Daemon told Viserys so the latter sighed and stepped out of the room to give you two privacy. This wasn't going to end well for you, he knew that and as much as he wanted to save your relationship with Daemon, he knew his brother far too well.

As soon as Viserys was gone Daemon looked at you, he was leaning against one of the bedposts just staring at you,

"Daemon –" you walked closer to him so he looked away. What he was going to do with you would make you hate him forever, and he would deserve that. He never deserved a woman like you in the first place, the selfless love you had for him, he was unworthy of it, he was too weak of a man to treat you better than this "I'm sorry I didn't tell you..I wanted to..I just"

"You have to go"

As you heard those words you could feel your heart stop for a moment . What did he even mean?

"Wha..tt?" Your voice cracked as you questioned him, you placed your hands on his forearms and stepped closer to him, he can't just ask you to leave this way, you were there for him.

"I'm going to give her what she wants, she wants me right? Then she can have me.. and for that to happen youuu need to leave y/n" he said nonchalantly, he pretended as if saying such cruel words to you wasn't affecting him at all but the reality was much different. He had never felt such intense debilitating pain as he did in that very second and he sure as hell knew a thing or two about pain.

"Don't say that, i know you're upset–" you tried to get through to him but he cut you off mid sentence. He can't have you arguing with him because he knew he'd get convinced easily.

"I'm not upset, not with you, I'm just done..I'm done trying to ignore the inevitable, she'd never let me go ..can't you see?" his eyes teared up, they seemed vacant and hopeless so you cupped his cheeks and kissed him softly, he didn't stop you either, he'd never get to hold you like this again or feel your tender kisses against his skin ever again so he wanted to relish your touch, live an eternity in those very few moments because a life of hurt and regret was waiting for him.

"There are other ways baby..don't do this please..i love you ..i love you so much..stay with me, let me be here for you please.. please" you cried as you clutched onto him, you can't lose him, especially not to her, you can't even imagine him getting hurt again.

"Please don't make this harder, darling" he said to you so let go of his shirt, he was just going to give up on this relationship and there was nothing you could have done to save it.

"So you just leave me to go back to her..that's your plan?" You looked him in the eye but he wasn't able to hold your gaze, he was truly ashamed of himself. "Why are you doing this dae?" You didn't understand his reasoning, why didn't he want to get rid of her? Have her punished for what she had done to him? What was compelling him to not drag her abusive ass to the court?

"Because I don't want the world to know me as the man who was too delicate to defend himself. That is not the legacy I want to leave behind"

You stepped away to look at him as he said that. He was worried about his past getting out because he was afraid of judgment from other people, he was afraid they would think of him as weak and unmanly, as someone who took it for years and said nothing.

"You can't think like that Daemon, nobody is going to judge you for being hurt by someone you loved so deeply" he snickered as you said that to him.

"Really? Look at me ..how does a man like me get abused by a woman? Tell me?" He gestured towards his physique and you opened your mouth to say something, to tell him that he was wrong about his own judgement but then did you know any better? You were in no position to judge him for his thoughts, he had suffered hell on earth and you weren't going to question the way he chose to cope with it.

You wished you had an answer for him but you didn't, you had a feeling nothing you could say would change his mind now.

"Daemon…don't leave me baby..i love you..i can't watch you go back to her and get hurt again" you whimpered and cried, the sight of you being so broken only fueled the hatred he felt for himself.

"I won't let her hurt me this time..I'll take care of myself" he said to you calmly and whatever hope you had dissipated along with his words. You stepped away further from him, shock was evident on your features that he was letting you go so easily.

"So that's it..you're going to let me go like i meant nothing to you?" He finally looked you in the eye as you said that.

"You mean everything to me ..you have no idea what I'm feeling at the moment ..you think this is easy for me?"

He asked you but you didn't have a response. It wasn't easy for him but it was definitely more difficult for you to be on the receiving end of this. Silence fell between you two after that, you asked to leave so he got your ticket booked immediately.

No questions asked, no resistance shown.

You couldn't even believe that this was happening, last night you slept in his arms, cuddling him like never before, he seemed so happy and so were you then why did your world turn upside down today. Why were you losing him now?

You were almost out of his hotel room when you turned around to look at him one more time, you couldn't help it, the thought of him returning to that monster only made you feel helpless but you couldn't help him if he wasn't willing to be helped.

He had his back against you, he couldn't even look into your eyes after this, he needed you right now more than ever but he had no right to ask you to stay. He had to let go of the safety of your arms and that was the hardest thing he'd ever have to do, he knew he had broken your heart and your trust and he also knew that you'd never forgive him for this but then he felt your arms around his waist as you sobbed against him and that's what made him give up the facade and have a breakdown.

You turned him around, cupped his cheeks and got on your tiptoes to place your forehead against his, one last moment of comfort, in that moment he knew you'd forever be his angel no matter what he does.

"Someday and I hope you'll see that day sooner than later Daemon.. someday you're going to realize that you're not a victim, that you're a survivor and the world will see you as such if you decide to tell them all about it.. whenever that day comes or whatever the reason will be for it.. I hope you'll build the courage to fight against her instead of allowing her to win again.. i love you..more than anything, i always will" you mumbled softly and kissed him one last time before you turned around to leave.

That would be the last Daemon would see you for a while. As soon as you had left his room he was reduced to his knees and in tears, he wanted to run back to you and tell you that he was ready to fight the world for you but he wasn't, he was too vulnerable.

He was a coward and he deserved a woman like Samantha, not you.

In the evening he met Samantha and she hugged him so tightly as she cried and then cried some more, there were tears in his own eyes but they weren't for her or because of her. Those tears only concerned you.

"I have changed Daemon i promise, I have grown in our time apart ..i only did all of this just to get you back, that's how much I love you my sweet boy"

She cooed in his ears as she clung to him. She got what she wanted and you lost everything you had when he was yours. He didn't say a word, he felt completely numb and he figured that's just how it will be for him moving forward.

Four days later, the day of the championship, Daemon stepped into the octagon with a defeated attitude. He didn't fight back, choosing instead to take the beating and stand there as his opponent pummeled him. He didn't deserve a win after what he had done to you, he wanted to feel the pain. He would have won the championship if he had you by his side, but now he no longer felt worthy. He felt weak and pathetic, just like how he had felt for the past seven years

Your eyes were glued to your tv screen, tears never stopped rolling as you watched the love of your life losing on purpose. Why would he do that? You didn't understand, did Samantha ask him to lose? Was he getting manipulated again? You hoped not.

Hours turned into days and days turned into months, he lived just a few steps away from the diner but you couldn't go see him. You couldn't go hug him or kiss him, he wasn't yours anymore to do so. A part of you wanted to hate him with passion for abandoning you like this but you couldn't hate him after everything he had been through, all he needed in his life was love that was safe and secured but he no longer had it. Samantha didn't love him, she just wanted to possess him like an object, a trophy to show off.

One evening, as Daemon returned to his condo after work, he was greeted by a box on his door. He opened it up and found all the gifts he had given you. All of the valuables, you didn't want to keep them anymore. He could feel the pain in his heart as he rummaged through the box. He always knew that his precious girl only loved him and didn't care about the materialistic values of the items but it still hurt that you didn't want to keep his gifts. When he didn't find the case of knives he had given you, he took a deep breath and let out a sigh. At least you kept what mattered to you.

As Daemon walked inside the apartment with that box, Samantha's eyes followed him. She didn't work, she spent her days just lounging on the couch all day long and spending his money like there was no tomorrow, that's all she did. It had been two months since they got together, but he wasn't ready for intimacy with her. He felt like he was cheating on you, like he was tainting the pure relationship he had with you.

A few weeks later as daemon got ready for bed Samantha turned up in the skimpiest nightie to turn him on but he only felt disgust and contempt for her.

"Come on love me tonight..i have had enough of your nonsense" she cupped his cheeks and kissed him against his will, the warm blooded man in him wanted to give in but he couldn't, there was no love in his heart for her, he hated her and he couldn't get himself to forget what she had done to him. After being doused in your love from head to toe he could clearly see that she had never loved him at all.

"I'm not in the mood" he grabbed her shoulders to pull her away but she wrapped her hands around his throat and began to choke him,

"Stop with your drama you idiot, you're mine now and you're going to be the man I want you to be. And as a man I want you to please me. What's wrong with you? Does your cock not work anymore?" She taunted him so he pushed her away with a force, sudden action made her lose her balance and she fell on the bed.

"Daemonnnn..come back'" she yelled his name but he grabbed his pillow and went to the other room to sleep.

As he laid down on the bed he heard the sounds of a vase crashing into the mirror in his room but he put his earbuds in and turned the music on to zone out.

Three months had passed since that god awful day and his fingers itched to touch you, to have you touch him in ways that brought him pleasure. His eyes longed for a gaze of yours, there was a ringing in his ears that only your voice could have shut down.

He opened his gallery and went through the pictures he had taken of you and with you on his phone, he had to save them all in a private folder so Samantha wouldn't see them, he wanted to keep you safe from her prying eyes.

A moan escaped his throat as he came across the pictures he had taken of you in his bedroom, with all the jewelries he has gifted you, you adorned nothing else but those jewelries and the sultry little smile on your face, your beautiful bare skin glowing in the dim yellow light of his bedroom was all he needed to get through this night.

He scrolled through the countless pictures in countless poses he had made you do, some lewd enough to work him up that his hand began to move of its own accord but some so innocent that it made him want to hold you right that moment. He worked furiously over his own length as he went through the pictures and then he stumbled upon the video he had taken of you some other night.

It wasn't just you though, it was you underneath, both of you were drunk and figured it would be scandalous to make a sex tape but the next morning neither of you could build the courage to watch it, the sight of your moans and groans and sweet whisper of his name as he fucked you senselessly was the push he needed to crumble into an orgasm.

He always thought he was being mechanical with you during sex, that he didn't give you enough tenderness but the evidence in front of him made him see otherwise, his eyes teared up as he looked at the way you held onto him and the way he'd pull you closer to him to latch his mouth with yours between thrusts, your eyes never leaving one another.

He was high on the much needed euphoria but as the feeling died down the guilt began to sink in, he had no right to keep these souvenirs, you were not his any longer but he couldn't bring himself to delete them either, your memories were all he had now.

Next morning on his way to the center he stopped right by your diner and looked in from the glass window, he had no intention of getting in but it felt comforting to just stand there knowing too well that he could just walk right in and see you. He was about to turn around and leave when the kitchen door opened and you stepped out, you were going into the employees room but you spotted him on the other side of the window, your heart skipped a beat as you noticed what he was wearing, a black hoodie with a black trouser, a sight too memorable.

His hair was braided from the sides, the rest of the mane was down below his shoulders, it had definitely grown longer. He looked as pretty as you had remembered, it's been just three months but it had felt like years to you.

You stepped out of the entrance, looking at him standing across the window. He gave you his typical look, narrowed eyes and non-existent brows scrunched all the way down. You couldn't help but feel a flutter in your chest at the thought of him staring back at you so intensely as if you still belonged to him

"Were you planning to come in?" You broke the ice first so he took a few steps towards you,

"Not really..no" you nodded as he said that.

"Come on in..I'll fix you a sandwich" you went inside as you said that, squeezing your eyes at your own eagerness to invite him in. As the bells on the door rang you couldn't help but smile that he had taken you up on the offer.

He sat down on one of the booths wondering what the hell he was doing. He knew he was being selfish, you didn't deserve this, you didn't deserve him disturbing your peace this way.

A few minutes later you placed the plate down in front of him and sat down on the other side, your arms situated on the table itself as you tried to decipher the look on his face. His skin was free of bruises, which was a relief, but it still didn't erase the pain of not knowing what he may have endured in the past three months. You hoped she hadn't hurt him the way she used to.

"How are you?" He asked you so you smiled,

"Alright..you?"

"Kay..I guess ..work has been good?" He asked you so you nodded. Neither of you could deny that this was as awkward as it could get, none of you knew what to say to each other, the way your relationship ended wasn't exactly mutual, you didn't want this and you knew he loved you so it's not that he wanted it either but how the world perceived him was more important to him than you and you didn't blame him for that.

That is how he was conditioned to believe, the scars she had left behind were permanent, as a man he didn't want the world to think of him as someone so frail that he couldn't defend himself against a woman that was physically weaker than him, it wasn't true, of course not, but he had to realize that himself. You just wanted him to stop thinking of himself like that.

He was nibbling on his sandwich like a bird and it made you smile, gods you have missed him and all his quirks, he smelled good but you could also smell the cigarette on him so that worried you, why was he smoking first thing in the morning?

You had to go back to work so you got up and as you were about to walk past him he grabbed your arm so you turned around to look at him, his puppy eyes melted your resolve instantly, you knew you had to be the one to remember that he was the one to let you go but perhaps a momentary lapse in judgment won't kill you right? Or so you had thought.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his head down on your torso to hug you the way he used to whenever he seeked comfort from you, your fingers ran through his scalp and as soon as he felt your soothing touch his hold only got tighter around you.

After a while as he pulled away so you immediately turned around and left, you didn't want him to see you cry again. What was the point really? However that wasn't the last you had seen of him that day, he turned up at your door with the box of gifts that you had returned to him a few days ago.

"Why did you give this back to me?" He asked you as he entered your apartment and your eyes welled up.

"Why not? Last time i checked i wasn't' your girl anymore" his jaw clenched as you said that. Well atleast you were showing him the anger he deserved instead of being a fucking angel about it, he needed your anger, he needed you to tell him that he had ruined your life, he wanted you to hate him in the hope that it would lessen the guilt and regret he felt every waking second of his life..

"It was a gift, you shouldn't return the gifts like that..you silly stupid girl" you scoffed as he said that. Oh how you wanted to be his stupid silly girl at that moment.

"Get out .. okay? Don't do this to me now..I want to move on but I can't if I keep seeing you like this ..stop looking at me like that you hear me?" the pain in your voice was transparent, countless nights you had cried yourself to sleep just thinking about him and how different your life could have been with him.

"What if I don't want you to move on?" He questioned shamelessly, he couldn't bear the thought of another man being lucky enough to earn your love and then be blessed enough to keep it at the same time.

"You can't expect that from me, you made your choice, you chose her" you raised your voice and he snickered in response.

"No i didn't choose her, i chose hell.. that's what I did..I chose misery, I let go my darling angel and picked a witch that is going to torment me all my life, don't act as if you're the only one that has been hurt here"

Tears rolled down his cheeks, his voice broke with all the pent up emotions that he was hiding underneath that cold hard exterior.

"You have no right to be upset with me dae..you have no idea how hard it was for me to let you go that day, to watch you go back to that woman that had ruined you.. how would you have felt if the situation was reversed? Would you have sat idly and watched me go back to my abuser?" Your voice trembled as you spoke so he walked towards you and cupped your cheeks, placing his forehead down on yours he closed his eyes, just having you this close to him again felt surreal. If the situation was reversed he never would have allowed you to do this.

"Why did you ever love me so deeply you sweet sweet angel of mine..I don't deserve it"

You wanted to hold him and tell him why, you could have described a million reasons why you loved him but then you knew at the end he'd hurt you again.

"I told you I was afraid of losing you and then you abandoned me the next day. You can't be here Daemon you have to go..you need to leave.. please just go"

He let go of you as you said that and turned around to leave. He knew neither of you would be able to control yourselves if he had stayed any longer and he didn't want to use you like that, he had caused you enough pain already.

When he came back to his condo that night Samantha was just glaring at him with a look of suspicion on her face.

"Where were you?" She asked him as she walked towards him,

"Work stuff" he walked past her to go to his room. He wasn't in the mood to deal with her today.

What he didn't know was that Samantha had followed him that morning and she had watched him meet you in the diner and then the apartment, she couldn't have that now could she? She had to make sure he was all hers now but she also knew that it won't happen as long as you were still here in this world. He'd always run to you as long as you were in his reach.

A few days later after work you were crossing the street when a car came speeding towards you with no time for you to react. The impact caused you to fly through the air before crashing onto the pavement.

As you laid there, stunned and disoriented, the last thing you remembered was the feeling of being pulled onto a stretcher before the darkness consumed you

🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

Taglist (please check your setting if I’m not able to tag you)

@simbaaas-stuff @ajthefujoshi @witchybitch2 @hypocritic-trash-baby @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @thefallenangel21n @kmc1989

@stupidthoughtsinwriting

#daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen x reader fluff #daemon targaryen x reader angst #daemon targaryen x reader smut #daemon targaryen #non canon au #modern au #read the warnings

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steddiebang2024 · 2 months ago

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Return to Sender | Explicit | 56, 918

Author: @steviewashere

Artist: @maikaartwork

Beta Reader: @billystarpip

[Link to fic] | [Link to art]

Pairings: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington & Steve Harrington’s Mother, Eddie Munson & Wayne Munson, Steve Harrington & Robin Buckley, Past Steve Harrington/Original Female Character(s), Steve Harrington & Original Child Character(s)

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Wayne Munson, Steve Harrington’s Mother, Robin Buckley, Original Female Character(s), Original Child Character(s)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Future Fic, Slow Burn, Drama, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, POV Alternating, Parent Steve Harrington, mailman!Steve Harrington, retired rockstar!Eddie Munson, Second Chances, Getting Back Together, Middle Aged Steddie, Tender Sex

Trigger Warnings: Cancer Diagnosis in Secondary Character, Mentions of Past Spouse Death, Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Addiction, Referenced Drug Abuse/Addiction

↳ Keep reading below for a summary!

Grabs the stack of mail that he needs, but realizes he also needs to grab a hefty package. He clambers into the back, hefts the last package in his truck, and gently grasps the rest of the mail, stacking it on the very top of the box. When he finally places his feet on the dirt and gravel path, he makes a steady effort to keep his head up, line of sight straight on. But then the stranger’s head whips up from where they’ve been looking down at their feet.

Steve is a very graceful person. Has been. Continues to be. Needs to in order to do his job. The sight of this stranger, though, nearly makes him drop the contents in his arms.

He’d recognize those damn soft brown eyes anywhere.

Stopping himself from going further, he stands roughly five feet away from the guy. Blinks. Blinks harder when said guy doesn’t stop staring at him. “Holy shit,” he breathes. “Eddie…is that you?”

#steddiebang24 #steddie #steddie big bang #steddie fanfic #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddiebang24 masterpost

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mar3ggiata · 17 days ago

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professional help, c31. Four or five.

simon riley x original character.

trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs, EDs and death.

song to listen to when reading this: Lo que puede, puede. Ca7riel, Paco Amoroso.

abstract: Simon here. You're following the story alright? Good, cause I'm not. Getting more and more confusing and everywhere I go, she's following. I can't get her to stop invading my space, it's getting repetitive.

'Oh yeah?' What a stupid fucking thing to say, Simon get it together. She looked at him, beautiful, tired siren eyes, beautiful long lashes, sad gaze. She nodded. She knew his family was dead, she knew cause he told her. How they died, she didn't know. Addiction? Something else? 'Yes, 'twas a…', lie Alba, '…drunk driver'. He nodded, his eyes still on her. He felt sorry. Why didn't she talk about her family more, why did she move away? Why was she so far from home? 'It's tough.' That's all he could say. I lost all my family, he could have said. But how do you explain something like that, how do you even say it out loud? How can someone like her understand what happened to him, how can someone like her comprehend. What happened to him was out of this world, his family, death, the bodies, what he had been through. It wasn't the same, sure losing a family member was awful, but it wasn't the same. They weren't the same.

He got up from the chair, taking a step away from her. He couldn't even look at her, he mumbled something about not staying at the base at night. And he was gone. She wasn't mad, she wasn't offended. She cursed herself for saying that thing about her brother, wanting him to feel like he could share parts of his past. It was probably too much, too soon. But still, if he wanted to, he would. Especially after throwing that tantrum at her place on the 24th. Don't expect me to listen to you bitching and moaning about my lifestyle and your brother and not wonder about it.

She went home soon after, she wasn't concentrating on her tasks, she was too tired. A walk with the dog, dinner, a shower. Things were only getting more complicated. She laid in bed trying to put the pieces together, the gentle snoring of the dog in the other room, the wind outside the window. How she was gonna manage to stay on top of things and stay sane, she didn't know. She had a meeting with Price on Thursday, three days after her chat with Simon. Didn't go well. She was sitting with her back straight, hair in a slick bun. She had a skirt on, a turtleneck, big chunky glasses. Her, Roman and Honey were academics in a room full of soldiers and men of war. With their stupid dictionaries and stupid papers, all written in gibberish. Price was mad. Honey, who took control over the situation, was trying to explain their findings to the captain. Behind the three, stood Scotland, Simon and Kyle, along with two other people. Scary stuff, it felt like they were being interrogated. They got new information about the mission. First of all, the Serbian group was talking about transportation. They were talking random numbers, they all suspected drugs. 160 grams per unit, 663 grams per unit. They started wondering which substance they were talking about, since the shipping was intended to reach different countries, and it was going to be pricy. One hundred thousand per unit. Cocaine, meth?

'So you have no idea what we're dealing with?' asked Price.

She was fed up with the captain verbally abusing her and her colleagues, so she spoke, 'You know, they're not talking about shipping tons of heroine like they're talking about football captain', she was raising her shoulders, 'They're discreet.'

'Okay, what are you suggesting we do then, Jude? You guys have made no progress.'

She stopped him again, 'We did, we just told you…' she pointed at Roman's notes in front of her, 'they're shipping single units in separate containers, they're using trucks to make separate shippings, we know it's something expensive…'

She was calm, collected, she was fucking hot as hell. Simon stared at the back of her head as she controlled the room, she was assertive. She was tense, he could see the muscles in the back of her neck. 'You have two days', Price had said. When she got up from the chair she was too mad to even acknowledge him. She turned towards the other two translators, he didn't know who they were. They said something in italian he thought, they all knew italian? They left together. All three.

She didn't even look his way. What, cause she was pissed at Price it meant she was pissed at him as well? What did he do? He thought they could maybe talk, she could share more of what they found... Maybe these two new friends she was working with were taking his place, she didn't need him anymore. He watched her leave the room like they didn't know each other, and he felt a strange pressure on his chest. She didn't look his way, like she didn't care that he was in the room. And she was the only thing he was concentrating on every time they were together so... What a shame.

It all happened so fast, one random Tuesday at 5pm. Honey tapped his hand on the desk three times, she immediately turned around, getting tangled in her headphones. Roman spilled some tea in the attempt of running from his desk to Honey's. 'Shit shit shit', someone whispered. Honey took off his headset, turning up the volume so that everyone could hear. It was a male voice speaking, he was speaking broken English.

'At four, пет, не знам.'

She glanced up at her colleagues. She understood what they said. They said 'four or five'.

'They want job clear and fast, да, добро'. Clear.

Honey was scribbling on a piece of paper, trying to get everything down as the man spoke.

'Read that, да, not many men. како се каже, English… code, secret. Secret.'

He went on for a minute, when he finished they all went back to their stations, at the speed of light. The reason was, if some soldiers went to different rooms to speak about the attack that was just announced they could share thoughts and information, they had to be at the top of their game for the next thirty minutes. She put on her headset, trying to calm the beating of her heart that she thought could explode out of her chest. She heard Serbian, she heard English. Someone said Видим се. See ya, that was the translation. 'Alright…' someone whispered.

'Oh, oh porca troia raga…', that was the clue for Honey and Roman to quickly turn towards her.

Her eyes luminescent, her ears burning, quick fingers typing on the Word document in front of her.

'A job at four or five, don't know the date, they're shipping something to Iran, circa 20thousand maybe more, cocaine and something else, but I'm not sure…' It was Madison, she guessed, referring that information to them. He was whispering into the recording device, speaking quickly so that he could leave that spot without being suspicious. 'Sending you a copy of the paper, gotta go, they have prisoners, poor people, they're all sitting in a room…they're killing them, they want to kill them…' He soon after stepped out of the toilet.

She finishes writing, and got up. She looked at the two other people in the room, just as surprised and shocked as her. Shocked and happy, they finally got something. Shocked at what they just heard, people, prisoners…

'Job at four or five, are they selling drugs?' Roman asked. 'To Iran?' She tried, Honey understood immediately what she was on about. 'No way! Fuck, poor people in a room?' He covered his mouth with his right hand. She had never heard him swear, or lose composure. 'Honey, they're doing something for the Iranian at four or five, they're paying them to do something.' She got up from her chair. Poor people in a room…

'Holy shit…' That was Roman.

'I thought they were gonna attack them, sell the drugs at higher price'

Poor people in a room…

'Hold on, sorry…' Roman got up as well, a piece of paper in his hand. 'What we heard on Sunday, about the shippings. They're selling stupid amounts, look…' He got closer to the others, a paper with translations and calculations in hand. 'They're shipping to loads of countries, nearly 5 pounds, 4 hundred thousand for 5 pounds of what, heroine? Why are these prices so high?'

'Cause they're not talking about drugs. It's the poor people in the room.' She got it.

Her blood went cold. It was true, they had been going on about refrigerated containers, moving trucks that could fit tons and tons of materials inside, too large to go without being checked, too risky to use for a bit of marijuana. They were dealing with larger objects. Pricier material, fewer pieces. They had people to kill… No… They had prisoners, people in a room. The Iranian paid them cause they had the people. She clicked her tongue, shook her head. This was above them, this was… too much. It was the people.

'It's organs. It's organ trafficking.'

'Oi are you even listening?' Ghost turned his head towards the voice on his right, Johnny was walking beside him heading towards the hangar. 'Wot?' He said, an annoyed tone. 'I asked how many?' He wanted his head to explode, he had a migraine, he was tired, Johnny was speaking… 'How many what?' He raised his voice. He had things to do, reports to finish, he had to pack cause he was about to leave, and he didn't even know if he was deployed, they just told him 'in case we need help' and it was fucking stupid, did I mention he was tired? 'How many units per container, why are you not listening?' He rolled his eyes, they were walking towards Kyle. 'They're late cause of a bloody sandstorm', he informed. They had to wait for all the soldiers who were still in Al-Jareena to come back, they would have a meeting with Price and apparently Shepherd was back for a while.

'Where's Thomas?' Johnny asked, Kyle shook his head. 'Couldn't make it again, he still has problems with his back.'

'Ah shit'

'Oi, did you get that email about that human rights convention and what not?' They were walking beside him, they were not shutting up. He craved his bedroom, his childhood bedroom in the UK, he craved silence, he craved warmth of a fireplace and a steak…

'Did you get it L.t.?' I didn't. I don't care. He said no.

'You never answered my question, I was trying to do the math'

'What question?'

'How many units of drugs per container did they say, heroine or cocaine, cause the weight would be different...'

'I don't know, whatever Alba said.'

The ceiling collapsed, the floor crumbled under his feet, his body falling though the abyss of Hell. Blood rushing to his ears. He watched as the two men's faces went from shock to fear. They stopped in their tracks.

'What the fuck?'

'Who the fuck is Alba, mate?'

'How do you know?'

'No way, Jude is Alba?'

'No fucking way, it's her you've been seeing?'

'What do you mean, you're going out with her?'

Before he could register the immense mistake he had made, he heard a voice. A sweet, sincere voice. He heard the voice he normally heard in his dreams, in his mind. The two men were soon forgotten, she was coming his way. 'Hey!' She shouted. She stood in the middle of the hangar, making a few men turn towards her. Her, in all her grace, her dark aura, her aura of power and knowledge. She looked pale, she looked… she was crying? She looked scared. Watching all three soldiers stop and look at her, she signalled them to follow her with a single nod of her head. Come with me, that was the signal. 'All three' She said. They followed like they were some damn dogs.

'Are you out of your mind!?' Price's voice was loud, his hands on his hips. They were inside the listening post room, him, Johnny, Gaz, the captain and the three scientists. 'What?' She raised her voice as well, he had never heard her like this before. 'Literally, what is your problem?' She spoke to the captain, crossing her arms. Price went on for a few minutes scolding the three academics. The accusations and the theories on organ trafficking were serious, and they had always talked about drugs, why were they abandoning that route? 'Because it makes the most sense, captain.' Tried Honey. He showed Price the list of all the weights and measurements they had heard about, which, as they discovered, fit quite perfectly the average weight of kidneys, lungs and hearts. 'That explains the refrigerated containers', she chirped in. 'And the prices', Soap, unexpectedly, gave her a nod of credit. 'And the poor people', finished Honey.

They explained it wasn't rare for poor people to get into situations such as organ and human trafficking. They could make a lot of money, they were easy to convince, easy to manipulate and desperate. It all started to make even more sense when they found information in Serbian news articles online about people disappearing in the latest few months. They found many individuals started reporting to be victims, or suspect family members to have had illegal surgeries for organ trafficking. 'They said they're receiving a note with a code of some sort', she was standing on Simon's right, near her desk. Her hair was messy and undone on her shoulders, she glanced at the time on her phone from time to time. Have you got somewhere to be? 'Probably containing information on when the shipment might be made, or what to do with the people they're gonna take the organs from'. The room was filled with silence. It was sad, really. They were glad they made the discovery, but overall, not good news. Price crossed his arms, looking down at his feet. It was clearly more than they were expecting. Simon would't take his eyes off Alba. He was proud, he was sad she had to deal with this tremendous job. She looked at him. He gently tilted his head foreword, as to say, you're good. He didn't know why it was so important for him to let her know that he supported her. She gave him a small smile. He felt they were feeling the same emotion somehow.

'Will you be able to translate the code?' asked Price.

'Sure, yes, we'll do everything we can.' Honey.

Price sighed.

'Good work.'

notes: massive chapter, sorry!!!

taglist:

@ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut

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@rkrivees-blog @ghosts-hoe @kam1snotverysmart @gauky76 @freyjaaasstuff @spicyspicyliving @scottpilgrimvsmyfists @courtney0-0 @shinchanboi @darling006 @my-therapist-hates-me

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diffidentphantom · 2 months ago

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Built For Sin - Husk x OFC - Chapter I

Summary: Mystic is a fox sinner who has been in hell for 44 years. Like most sinners who have been around for a bit, she has seen and done a little bit of everything. But after finding out about the Hazbin Hotel, from a long-time acquaintance of hers, she goes there to seek redemption. (Or see if that could be possible for someone like her.) What she didn't didn't expect to find there though, was the now ex-Overlord who had owned her soul. Nor did she expect to see him have seemingly turn over a new leaf. Will Mystic be able to learn how to forgive and forget? Or will she stay stuck looking back at the past?

will contain Dark!Overlord Husk in flashback scenes

Story Rating: M For Mature - 18+ Readers Only!!! -

Please Read the Trigger Warning's Down Below to Decide if This Story Is Right For You!

Trigger Warning's: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dark Themes, Dark Romance, Enemies to Lovers, BDSM, DubCon, Alcoholism, Gambling, Owning Another's Soul, Master-Servant Relationship, Depictions of Physical Abuse, Depictions of Sexual Abuse, Depictions of Sexual Harassment, Mentions of Genocide, Mentions of Cannibalism, Mentions of Torture, Depictions of Drug Use, Mentions of Drug Overdose, Blasphemy - will update the warning's as needed

Author's Note: This story was inspired by a post that was written by @trashogram. Their original post containing the idea can be found HERE. I have their full permission to use this idea for this fanfic. Please consider checking out their stories too.

Story Posted: 09-25-2024

Publishing Schedule: Updates for this story will be every other Friday.

Word Count: 919

Husk let out a tired sigh as he wiped the inside of another glass at the bar located inside the Hazbin Hotel.

It had only been a few weeks and a couple of days since Alastor returned from his… sabbatical. A few weeks and a couple of days, since Husk had been pulled from his own life and dragged into this new scheme for entertainment. And while a majority of him grumbled about being back at the red-haired prick’s beck and call, another smaller part of him was grateful that Alastor was back.

As soon as he was out from under Alastor’s thumb, Husk quickly fell back to some familiar vices.

Gambling.

Booze. (both the expensive or cheap, depending on how much he had won in a game)

And of course, every now and then when the urge hit him, call girls. Or men. Depending on the mood.

Now, stuck at the ‘Redemption Hotel’ - Husk’s pockets were empty, and the only booze he got to enjoy was the cheap shit that was given to him by his boss.

— He didn’t have an issue with cheap alcohol. It worked great in a pinch for an alcoholic like him to satisfy the craving. But Husk, more often than not, missed the days when he had his private stash of the expensive stuff that he could access 24/7. (He mourned the loss of his imported beer, wine, and spirits from the human world. Small comforts of home that Alastor had quickly confiscated for himself, as soon as a metal collar and leash were wrapped around his throat)

Letting out a sigh and mumbling lowly in irritation, Husk took the rag out of the martini glass before slinging it over his shoulder. He then grabbed said glass and put it back into its proper spot. Eyeing the bottle of open beer he had left on the counter, Husk swiped it and began to guzzle down the liquid in large gulps.

It was honestly no wonder he was so easily frustrated and grumpy than normal. Cutting an addict off from most of their vices cold turkey is not a fun process to go through.

(The only company he also got nowadays, was platonic in the form of the other demons inhabiting the hotel. And he for sure, was NOT going to ask any of them to ‘canoodle’. Whether they were single or not.)

“Heya, Whiskers.” A male baritone voice with a Brooklyn-Italian accent greeted, as a familiar white and pink spider sinner entered the lobby.

Husk glared as he put his bottle down and wiped his mouth, with his forearm.

Angel Dust was one person in this hotel he wished he could avoid sometimes.

Husk disliked the porn star’s over-eagerness to please, the constant dirty jokes, and always getting into his personal space to the point it almost bordered on sexual harassment. (Not to mention the late nights, when he came to the hotel from his job, limping, exhaustion washed over him like a blanket, and bruises that were carefully concealed. Seeing the spider sinner like that, took Husk back to his early years in hell. Reminded him of-)

“What do you want?” Husk growled, his voice rough with barely concealed hostility. As he gripped the underside of the countertop in a tight grip. He couldn’t think of her right now.

But Angel shook his head and grinned as he plopped himself into a barstool. “Nothing besides water for me right now, Husky.” He teased using the stupid nickname curated for him.

Husk let out an annoyed huff but got out a new glass and filled it with water anyway before handing it to the arachnid. After he passed the drink, he leaned back against the liquor shelf behind him and stared at Angel. Contemplating.

The bar area was silent for a full two minutes. An air of tension hovers between the two male sinners. And then Angel Dust spoke up.

“Didya’ know we got a new guest?” He asked.

Husk raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t known that which was surprising for several reasons.

“Did we?” He replied, tone curious as he reached for his bottle again. “When?”

This time instead of gulping down the drink, he took a small - but generous - sip.

“Some time last night.” Angel Dust supplied with a shrug. “She knows Smiles though. They at least seemed to be acquainted with one another.”

Husk rolled his eyes and took another swig of his bottle. He really didn’t need to know any more of Alastor’s friends. Rosie and Niffty were special cases. Rosie because she was an old friend of his as well, and Niffty because…well, she was NIffty.

Husk watched as Angel opened his mouth to say something, but cut himself off when a mix of voices rounded the corner.

“—and of course, we have the lobby area with the reception, lounge, and bar.” Charlie’s voice informed (who Husk guessed was) the newest hotel resident.

Husk had just taken another swig of his drink, when Charlie rounded the corner with a large smile her arms extending wide, as she did a twirl while showing off the space.

“Well,” an eerily familiar female voice spoke up. “The hotel is really…something.”

Husk choked on his drink, causing him to splutter and cough in surprise.

Four heads turned to look over at him.

Charlie and Vaggie gazed at him in concern and confusion.

Alastor in open mockery and amusement.

And…the one face that haunted his dreams in pure, unadulterated hatred and shock.

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lemonluvgirl · 1 year ago

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The Miner's Wife by MockingJayFlyingFree (Review)

Hello Hunger Games fanfic readers, this week I am reviewing the wonderful and compelling tale of The Miner's Wife written by MockingJayFlyingFree. (Trigger warnings for Drug abuse, alcohol abuse, forced prostitution, non-con, and mention of abortion.)

I picked this story first to review because it's at the top of Everlark Fic Questions Top Ten Fics by Statistics and because I've read it before so I figured reviewing it would be easier since I was familiar with the story. So with that reasoning explained let's get down to the review.

The story is set in Single Victor AU where Prim was never reaped but Peeta Mellark was. Peeta went on to win the 74th Hunger Games by himself and Katniss stayed in the Seam and married Gale at age 18. She had two children with him before a mine accident killed Gale and left her financially ruined and starving. In a last-ditch effort to feed her children, she turns to prostitution and finds some unlikely help in the form of the two District 12 victors.

One thing I really liked about this story was the setting felt a lot like the original trilogy. There's a certain grimness and desperation that makes it feel very authentic but the stakes are more adult in nature. There is also some extra world-building. We get to see the before-unseen shady dealings of the Capitol Elite who were not as prominent as in the original trilogy, as well as more of the Vicors/Mentors (from the Quarter Quell) who were previously one-dimensional characters in the original trilogy. By changing the timeline when the story takes place, 12 years after the 74th Hunger Games we get a different view of some very familiar characters, and different perspectives on some characters who were never fleshed out in Suzanne's Catching Fire.

Like the original books, the story starts in District 12 which is a microcosm of what is happening to Panem at large.

Peeta Mellark is back home after weeks of mandatory attendance at festivities in the Capitol. The district is dirty and grey, the people struggling even more than usual. There has been another large mine accident and many families have been affected. Including one familiar protagonist.

Katniss is all grown up with a family. She is once again thrust into the role of sole provider and head of her household. Except this time going beyond the fence to hunt won't save her family in time. She is forced to make the hard decision between her family's survival, staying true to her own values, and holding onto her dignity. Once again she chooses to do whatever is necessary to ensure her loved ones can live another day, which echoes back to the part of Katniss' character we saw in the original trilogy on the night before the start of the Hunger Games where Katniss said she couldn't afford to think about the moral quandies of killing other children because she had her sister to consider. The meaning implied is that Katniss' mindset going into the Games was doing whatever it took to win to get back home to her family because they were counting on her.

On the other side of the equation, we have Peeta Mellark. The story actually starts with his point of view and right off the bat we see that this story's version of Peeta Mellark is more in line with the hijacked version we became familiar with in the Mockingjay novel. Peeta is worn out and barely hanging on. It's been over a decade since he won his games. He's been mentoring children and watching them die for years and he's been sold as a prostitute in the Capitol for almost as long. The story delves into his depression and his alcoholism, as well as his dependence on drugs. It also touches on his past suicide attempts and his suicidal ideation. Yet through all of that, his desire to protect the people that are important to him is still there.

We see from the get-go that even though Katniss never had to go into the arena and Peeta made it out alive, they are still fighting a battle for survival mentally and physically every day. They have both been exploited in different ways and are dealing with the lingering effects of trauma. Katniss with the trauma and grief of losing both her father and the father of her children to the same mine that has killed so many Seam people, and Peeta with having to endure the horrors of being a young and desirable victor sought after by the Capitol elite, as well as mentoring a new crop of tributes every year.

The human tragedies playing out in District 12 set the stage for Katniss and Peeta's paths to cross again merge in new ways and evolve from what we saw in Collins' books. The struggles they face may be slightly different from their teenage counterparts in the original trilogy but one thing I think MockingJayFlyingFree does well is stay true to the inner core of these characters. Katniss is still a consummate survivor who in the right circumstances with the right people is won over by compassion and empathy. While Peeta goes through a horrible ordeal of having his humanity stripped away and becoming a ghost of himself, he is brought back by those who understand his pain, and his mission of trying to save the girl he threw bread to when he was eleven.

Their struggle to stay true to themselves, and find freedom and peace under an oppressive totalitarian regime is very inspiring and at moments heartbreaking. While this story does not have a clear-cut happily ever after it does end on a hopeful note and readers walk away with a very authentic and thought-provoking experience.

I enjoyed reading this story immensely and I can completely see why it's on the list of top ten Huger Games fanfiction stories. I highly recommend this fic to readers who enjoy the grittiness and high stakes of the Hunger Games.

#thg #everlark #fanfiction #lemonluvreviews #LLreviews #THG reviews

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enhalusional · 3 months ago

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Chapter 1

Sohee has a chance encounter with someone who has an enhypen fansign ticket. Fate was dangling the opportunity in her face. Why would she let go?

Words: 1.7k

Trigger warnings: Physical abuse, indication of assault, theft, mentions of alcohol and drugs.

Series masterlist

The door-bell chimed loudly, indicating the arrival of a new customer. Sohee willed herself to put on a smile despite her clearly evident tiredness. She had been working double shifts for the past two days in the same café on top of her 3 other jobs. Sleep had been reduced to a mere three hours a day. She badly needed a day off how else was she supposed to make her ends meet? She envied all the people her age who were able to go to college. They had their lives on track. And here she was, not knowing if she would eat the next week. College was out of question. She was grateful for knowing how to read even.

She made the order for the girl who barely looked sixteen years old. The girl had on a white undershirt with a beige tunic cinched at her waist with a white belt. Her smooth and silky hair was left open in waves.

Old Money.

Rest under the cut

Sohee was sure of it. After being the barista in this place for more than a year now, it was easy for her to judge people through their clothes.

Don't judge a book by its cover.

But that was exactly what Sohee did. Clothes and how they carried themselves in it. It kept her mind off of other things. Like her addict of a father at home who must be waiting to suck her dry of today's tips. Or the due payments to be made to the landlord before they were evicted. The landlord had pitied her enough and given her extensions. And four months was stretching it.

She wondered what this girl was doing here in the first place. Not that it was her business. But she felt bad for any possible encounters the girl might have to face. Sohee sighed for the nth time that day. It was 7:45 PM. Her shift ended at 8. She bobbed her head to the music playing in her ears.

I would give up heaven if I had to

Just to get another taste of your...

Right before the beat drop, the girl in front of her started yelling into her phone. Irritation shot up in Sohee. It had to be now. Did she not deserve to at least listen to her Idols in peace? Enhypen was the only thing that stopped her from doing something awful. Because if something happened to her, how will she listen to their music? See their pretty faces and smiles? Enhypen was the only good thing in her life. The only thing she was the sensitive spot she had. And she went berserk when she was interrupted in her alone time with them. The mental image of Enhypen's body rolls faded away. Her ears picked up on the girl's conversation.

"I can't wait to see them. I'm sure Niki remembers me...I know I am, aren't I? He even calls me Riyu Noona...like of course why wouldn't he? He might be used to pretty faces but none like me."

Of course, everyone was meeting them except her. She was the unlucky one here. Sohee cursed her fate. How can a girl younger than her have everything she had ever wanted? Money, a good house, probably a good family as well and the most important thing, her idols. Life was cruel. But the next second, Sohee heard something that made her eyes go wide.

"I just brought the tickets you know? Premium seats that too...uh huh...you bet I'm wearing that one. As much as I love Niki, I'm also looking forward to catching Heeseung's attention as well..."

She just brought the tickets? Sohee concentrated on her face and her clothing once again. They were ruffled. Her face was a bit tired. She had been out for a good while. Did that mean she had the tickets on her now? Inside that pretty white purse?

Sohee's breathing turned ragged. This could be her chance, right? A young girl was of no match to her strength. But she was rich. Influential probably. Sohee pocketed her phone. Her latest phone that she had recently got.

Or...stole.

She needed to be careful. The girl was leaving already. Sohee bounced in her place and looked out frantically. Why was her coworker always late? She watched in frustration as the girl started fading away from her sight in the night fog.

Shit, Shit, Shit...

From a distance, she saw her coworker approaching. Sohee immediately threw her apron aside and got her bag from the shelf. Without even waiting for her coworker to come in, she dashed out.

"Emergency. Sorry." She told her coworker in a hurry when they met at a distance.

Not hearing her response, Sohee ran towards the empty streets. She frantically looked around trying to spot the girl. She was betting all of this on the assumption that the girl had the tickets in her purse. God forbid, she didn't. All of this would be in vain. After turning the corner, she heard someone slurring. Cracking her knuckles, she inched forward to peep.

"Hey pretty, what are you doing here this late at night? Did your driver not arrive yet?"

You bet he didn't. Sohee thought.

But it was a relief. Both that she had found the girl and that she didn't have to get her hands dirty. She put her hood up and wore her mask. She peeped again and saw the girl whimpering in the corner. One man. She could take him out easily.

She walked over without making a noise. The man got close to the girl, his hand now on her shoulder. A predator. Not a thug. This was going to be fun. The girl saw her through the tear strained face. As soon as the man turned around, Sohee punched him in the eye and kicked him in the balls. Once he fell, she stomped on his balls again for a good measure. The man cried and cursed at her. In the meanwhile, she went to check on the girl.

"There, there. It's alright. He won't do anything now..."

In the process of consoling her, Sohee's eyes fell on the purse beside her. In an attempt to give her a reassuring hug, Sohee swiftly and discreetly reached inside the clasp. She had to suppress the cry of joy when her hand closed in on the stiff paper. She pulled it out carefully and patted the girl's head.

"Be safe. This isn't a good neighborhood. Lots of thugs and delinquents."

And I'm one of them.

Sohee started walking back to her house. These alleyways were her routine. Living here taught her many things. Things that she wasn't proud of. But it was either fight or death. She might've been dead a long time ago if she hadn't adapted. She opened the door to her house. The shabby two bedroom apartment reeked of alcohol. An outsider would've puked at the smell. But over the years, she had gotten used to this. This and the small particles of leftover white powder on the table.

Her father was nowhere in sight. Maybe he left. She wished he wouldn't comeback for another few days. She went to her room and immediately locked the door behind her. But she wished she hadn't. He was one her bed. His big unkempt beard hid the permanent snarl on his face. The drawers were open, the little contents strewn on the floor. Most of them being idol photocards and little pieces of jewelry she had stolen over the last few days.

"You hid the money from me, you bitch." He said.

"I don't have anything." Sohee countered.

"That's a lie." He said. "What use are you even making out of yourself? At least that pretty face gets you tips. Empty your pockets."

Sohee took a few notes out of her pocket. "Not a lot of customers."

Her father cornered her. She held the money up in hope that he would leave soon. But instead, he slammed her into the wall and started choking her.

"Lies. I give you a roof and all you do is lie."

He started going through her pockets in search of money. But instead he pulled out the tickets.

"What is this?"

Upon seeing Enhypen's faces, anger simmered in his eyes.

"Someone you're whoring yourself to?" he asked in contempt.

Fear crept up in Sohee. Her sole joy was in his hands. If anything happened to them, she had no idea what she would do.

"N-no. Please..." she whimpered.

His eyes glinted with delight. He slowly started to crumple the tickets, taking full satisfaction from the panic in her eyes.

"Money! I-I'll give it to you." she said frantically.

"Good girl." He cooed at her and left her throat.

Sohee fell to the ground and scrambled to get the rest of the tip from her inner pockets. But her father wasn't satisfied. He tore a little piece from the ticket with a short laugh.

"No! Wait." She stumbled over to the drawer and opened a hidden compartment. Holding out a bundle of notes, she pleaded him to let it go.

As soon as he saw the huge bundle, he snatched it from her hands. The tickets fell to the ground and Sohee made a dash for it. She hid them behind her and her father smirked at her.

"I'm in a good mood today. You can keep those."

He slammed the door behind him. Sohee rushed forward and locked it shut. She breathed heavily and turned the tickets over. They were torn from the corner but nothing important was amiss.

Good. The staff will surely miss the tear. It's not that big of a deal, right?

She sacrificed all the money she was saving to get out of there. Surely life wouldn't be so cruel to her and take away her hope and love at once. She deserved a break from reality. And she was going to get it, by fighting tooth or nail.

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