#therapy through taking the backroads

[rubydracogirl]

A short, angsty one-shot.

Stanley finds a distressed Reader. He's not good with words, but he means well.

Sometimes you just need to take a drive to process things...

Rated T, just in case.

"The Scenic Route"

It happened again.

Just when you thought you were in the clear, life took you by the collar of your shirt and dragged you through the mud again. The numbness of your heart hadn’t settled in- you still felt the stabbing pain of your anguish. Tears were flowing from your eyes- you hated them, you hated crying like this, you were so ugly when it happened-

No matter how hard you tried to hold it back, they dripped down your red cheeks and slid down your neck. Your nose ran and you looked down at your trembling hands. When would the numbness settle in so you could stop feeling like this?

The thought that someone would find you hadn’t crossed your mind. Least of all that it would be him.

“There you are, toots! I’ve been looking all over for you…-” Stan’s gruff voice trailed off as he noticed how hunched over you were.

You twisted away from him, trying to apologize, trying to hide your tear-stained face but he brushed off your apologies, silently walking over to sit beside you. His warmth radiated against your body like a furnace, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. It was embarrassing enough that he’d caught you like this.

“Who made you cry?” There was an edge to his voice that spoke volumes of what he might do to the perpetrator, but you shook your head. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, and you took deep breaths, trying to get control of yourself.

It felt impossible-

The weight of Stan’s arm wrapped around you and he softly murmured, “C’mere. It’s ok. You don’t gotta talk about it if you don’t want to… But lemme hold you, doll.”

You kept your face hidden against his chest, allowing him to pull you against his warm body. He was simultaneously soft and firm; one arm kept you close while he stroked your hair with his other hand. The comfort of his touch was enough to help you regain control of your breath and you finally settled down, breathing a little easier.

“It’s just… I'm so tired.” You whispered finally, the sting of your pain still throbbing in your heart.

His fingers faltered in your hair before he tilted your face up to his. You resisted.

“Sweetheart, look at me.”

You finally turned your face up to him. His dark eyes were like warm pools of amber, and you saw your pain reflected in them. His rough palm caressed your cheek gently, wiping the bitter tears from beneath your eyes. His lips twitched with indecision before he spoke.

“You and I both know I’m no good with this sort of thing. Besides, there’s nothin’ I can say that you haven't heard a million times before already… Whatever's bothering you, I can't take it away... But I got a car. Why don't we get out of here for a while?”

You decided that, yes, you did want a ride. 

“Well, then.” He stood up, taking your hand. “What the hell are we waiting for?”

You let him lead you and with every step, the pain began to lessen if ever so slightly.

The Stanleymobile roared to life and you felt a flicker of exhilaration as you settled back against the seat. Stan passed you a tissue.

“Don’t worry, it’s clean. What kind of guy do you take me for?” He chuckled at the skeptical look you sent him before accepting the offering.

The car rolled from the driveway, and the world became a slow-moving blur of sweet-smelling pine trees. Stan flicked the radio on, and the wind brushed your face and played with your hair as he took you down the winding roads of Gravity Falls.

You knew, deep down, you’d have to face your problems when the ride ended, but for now, it was just you, Stan, and the gorgeous views that were passing you by. The sun set, rendering the sky with watercolor textures of orange, pink and soft lavender.

Not one more word was spoken between you and Stan during the ride, and that was ok with you. His presence was enough to comfort you.

You leaned back, letting your eyes close as you drummed your fingers with the music, swaying with the motion of the car, and inhaling the smells of the surrounding forest.

The chill of the evening air became a bit much, and he turned to look at you.

“Ready to go back?”

“No, not really.”

He chuckled softly.

“I know where we can go.”

The Overlook wasn’t exactly a secret spot, but it was still fairly private, and as Stan parked the car, you took off your seatbelt and slid closer to him. He wrapped his arm around you again. The edges of dusk were giving away to twilight. The sight was beautiful, and for a moment, you really forgot about your pain. 

In that moment, all you could feel was warmth, and you glanced up at Stan. He squeezed you a little closer, his mouth pulled in an uncertain smile.

“You’re gonna be ok, toots.” He hummed.

“I know… Thank you, Stan.” You leaned against his broad chest. He shifted slightly, and you felt his lips brush the top of your head affectionately.

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

[mypimpademia]

— [2:42 AM]

TW: Slightly suggestive

LATE NIGHT DRIVES WITH KATSUKI are the only therapy you’ll ever need. You always get stressed when you’re frantically texting him as you put on your shoes, getting ready to sneak out of your back door and sprint to his car. But the moment you pull open his car door, the smell of his citrus scented freshener flooding your senses, nothing else matters but the two of you.

You take his phone and put in the password, immediately going to put on your shared playlist as he pulls away from the curb in front of your house. The gas station is always your first stop, he fills up on gas while you take the cash out of the cup holder and go in to buy snacks. Two bags of Takis, two Arizonas, and a pack of gummy worms. It was such a regular thing that the clerk at the front always knows your total before ringing it up.

You’d drive aimlessly for hours, on highways, backroads, emptied main streets, ending up hours away from home without even realizing. The music bounced around, your tastes meshing together. From Ice Spice and Nicki Minaj to Deftones and Flyleaf, you either sang along or let the music do the talking for you.

These nights were your favorite. But your favorite part of the night was when you found somewhere to park. Somewhere that had a perfect view of the moon and cityscape, a cool breeze to cut through the warm summer air, and the smell a grass. Somewhere that had you turning down the radio and cracking open the windows to listen to bugs, animals, and the distant bustle of the city. Somewhere you could finally rip open your snacks and crack open your drinks, and talk for hours and hours about everything and nothing.

Somewhere you can talk about yourselves, talk about others, talk about each other, talk about love, talk about hate, talk about the world, talk about the universe.

Somewhere you can laugh, cry, fight, love, scream, whisper.

You’d always find sanctuary in his back seats, with the rows laid back and covered in layers of blankets that he always kept in his trunk for nights like this. Entertaining yourselves by using it as a change of scenery for your conversation, or watching movies, or playing games, or obscenities that you wouldn’t dare mention to anyone else that happened to sit back there.

Towards the end of it all, you’d be sitting in silence. Not on your phones, or watching the long forgotten movie, or playing video games. Sometimes, you were in a tangled mess of sweaty limbs, but regardless of if you were clothed or not, the night always ended the same.

The sun would break through the dark sky, and you’d both scramble, shoving the sheets to the back and setting the back row of seats into place. He’d give you the last of his chips, or his gummy worms, or his Arizona, before starting the car up, determined to get you home before anyone woke up and noticed your absence. It worried you too, the first few times at least. But you trusted him then, and you trust him even more now. You’d never once been home too late, getting caught sneaking back in through the back door.

And Katsuki never once failed to say,

“Same time tomorrow night?”

—

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—

Thank you for reading, comments and reblogs are appreciated! Follow for more!

[highhhfiveee]

okay, this has been my literal roman empire. what if gf!y/n and abby are having a little karaoke moment to a song and mike walks in and sees both of them together, and you can write the rest.

i don’t know why but i can’t stop thinking about it.

remember to take care of yourself 🫶🫶

this is so very cute (,: but alas, for "to crumble" mike and reader, this is but a thing of the past.

tags: "to crumble" mike and reader, foreshadowy fluff (: pretty cute stuff that hurts in retrospect 💔

karaoke therapy

a "to crumble" ficlet.

original fic: 🩹 / additional ficlet, facetime: 🤳🏽

you come over to watch abby on a friday night so you're able to stay with her and mike for the entirety of saturday. your weekends are usually occupied by grading since you're nearing the end of the fall semester, but you're forcing time with abby and mike into your schedule because it's what you really want. life wasn't all about work and bills and adulting; you could do the things you enjoyed if you planned for it and so you did.

you'd driven over with enough haste to get you pulled over, toting enough stuff to last you a day and your excitement, large and beaming brightly in your demeanor. you were jittery walking up the drive, shaking out the anxiety in your body as you knock on the door.

abby answers the door, causing you to shift your gaze downward. she's already in her pajamas, the cute, pink bunny slippers you got her for her birthday donned on her feet. she smiles at you, opening the door further so you can step inside. "hi, y/n. you're just in time, mike made lasagna."

"yeah, it's on the stove. it's slightly burnt," mike calls from down the hall, walking into the living room as he slips his arms through the holes of his security vest. "but we'll say crispy on top instead. hi, baby." he grabs your face, pulling you into a couple small pecks, ones he backs away from with a lazy smile. you twist your lips, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. you and mike hadn't been dating for long, a short but serious four months, and you always felt so dizzy when you saw him, bewildered at the fact that he was your boyfriend. he was so sweet, so caring, hard-working, and unlike anyone you'd dated before. he worked so hard to provide for abby and change his future, and it made your attraction to him greater. he wanted you in that future, and it excited you for what was to come.

"gotta leave so soon?" you pout. mike's eyes soften as you caress his cheek, sighing as he reaches down for his bag.

"unfortunately. traffic's bad tonight, there was a huge crash and i gotta take backroads, howeverrrrr," mike ruffles abby's hair, causing her to grumble and gives you one last kiss, the dreamy, far-off look in his eyes accompanied with a lip bite, "i will see you both tomorrow morning, bright and early. have fun, and goodnight."

mike gives abby a kiss on the top of her head before he exits to his car, and you close the door behind you, dropping your duffle onto the floor. "okay," you announce, placing your hands on your bent knees as you turn to abby. "lasagna while we play board games or do karaoke?"

karaoke wins by a landslide. abby's been loving to sing recently, starting to get more comfortable with her growing vocals. she really only shows it to you, and ever since you've showed her karaoke, you've encouraged her to have fun and try different things; different inflections, tones, anything else she feels like she could do to make it her own. you loved to see her blossom singing in front of the brightly colored, ever-changing lyrics, using her hairbrush as a microphone.

you use your own too, setting it down on the coffee table to take a bite of lasagna and garlic bread while you watch abby sing along to call me maybe. she rocks on her heels in front of the tv, eyes tracking alongside the moving text.

you encourage her between forkfuls, providing her with background vocals and hype, giving her an "okay!" once she gets to the prechorus. she begins to dance, bouncing around the space between the coffee table and the tv. she gives her all to the chorus, making a good attempt at belting the notes.

"you sound so good, abs," you praise, wiping your mouth off on a napkin before grabbing the remote to change the karaoke video. "here, let's try some other ones. eat some food while i find them, 'kay?"

meanwhile, mike is sat in his car, idling behind others on the backroad he decided to take. traffic on these roads had increased because of the crash on the freeway, and there was no way he was getting to work any time soon. he'd been sitting bumper to bumper with these cars for about ten minutes, and he feels irritation creeping up into him, tapping his fingers against the wheel and leaning his head into the palm of his hand, elbow resting on the window. not even listening to the radio helps him, and eventually he just turns it off, succumbing to the sound of bad brakes and purring engines.

his mind floats away with thoughts of you, and how happy you looked he saw you at the house, all giddy and excited to be there. he loved you, loved when you were around. abby did too. you'd both agreed that your presence made the house feel complete, and that's all mike could think about, wondering how to bring up the question he'd been dwelling on for the past few weeks.

he should be home, on the couch watching tv with you and abby, or eating dinner, sat at the table and talking about your days and what hopes you had for the future. what things you found interesting. interacting like humans, having real moments; being present. mike had trouble with that, sleeping so much to keep up with the demand of working overnight. he tried to be there for abby as much as he could, helping her with her homework and making sure she was fed and feeling okay after her school days, but sometimes he felt like it was just an autonomous thing he did, moving on autopilot. the days blended together until you entered the equation, completely breaking up the monotony in his life with your being.

he should be home, not sitting in between all these aluminum machines, breathing in the acrid smells of oil and gasoline.

"fuck it," mike mutters, checking his blinds before pulling a turn off the main road and making his way around all the traffic, heading back towards the house.

freddy's was locked. no one would be around to do anything, no one ever was, and he was sure that it would be fine if he missed one night. he speeds back home, gripping the steering wheel with intent. he has people to get to, time to spend with the ones he loves. life's too short, he ruminates, and there's never enough time for moments of happiness like the ones he gets from you and abby.

he pulls into the driveway, exiting the car with the same jaunty energy you had earlier and unlocking the door with zeal. "decided to come back home. traffic wa---"

"my loneliness...is killing me,"

"and i...."

"i must confess, i still believe..."

"still believe!" you point your index finger to the sky as you hit the note, giggling along with abby as she attempts it too. "when i'm not with you, i lose my mind...give me a signnnnnnnnn," you're spinning around with your brush clutched in both hands, eyes closed and body fully invested in the music. mike doesn't think he's heard you sing before, not so solemnly like this. your voice is beautiful.

"hit me baby---oh jeez, mike!" you squeal in time to the music as abby finishes out the chorus, turning to face her brother as well. he's just staring at you two, jovially twisted lips and crossed arms and this twinkling look in his eye that makes you squirm. no one's ever looked at you like that, and you replace your hairbrush with the remote, stopping the video.

"sorry, i'm just...helping abby expand her iconic pop song repertoire. gotta start with one of the classics." abby nods as mike waves off your apology, setting his bag next to yours on the floor. "yeah, y/n is introducing me to such great songs. i'm really enjoying britney spears. what was that other song we did?"

"toxic," you reply, tucking your hair behind your ear. "that was a really fun one."

"uh huh, it was! it was all---" abby mimics the whiny synth strings, causing mike to laugh, coming around to the front of the couch. he wraps his arm around your waist, twirling you to face him. you place both of your hands on his shoulders, gazing deeply into his content eyes. "let me hear more of your singing, abs," he asks, and she starts the video up again, pretending the small sliver of space where she stands is a professional stage.

mike begins to sway your bodies, slowly waltzing you around as abby's untrained voice soundtracks your dance. "don't know why you were apologizing. hearing and watching you two have fun is the greatest thing ever, baby. love seeing you spend time together."

you blush, ducking your head into his collarbone. "it's just a silly thing i do by myself at home. guess i kinda got abby super interested in it...lots of fun though. lots of fun."

mike is quiet for a while, spinning you around gently. you can feel his heartbeat through his clothes, speed up-ticking with every second. he's looking down on you, watching your eyelash flutter with each serene blink you take, then looking at abby, who's searching through other karaoke videos and humming the melody of baby one more time with a bob of her head.

all mike can feel right now is this moment. he feels every second pass, overly-conscious to the fact that he's living and breathing in this instant. this was the present he'd always wanted to be in, and he doesn't want to let go of it. he wants this forever. his question gnaws at him, chewing away at his stomach, and he finally just blurts it out.

you're about to pull away from him to ask him if he's okay when he whispers, "move in with us." you're taken aback, raising from his chest and staring at him, eyebrows furrowed and lips wrinkled.

"mike.."

"you don't have to answer right now," he clarifies, sighing as he shakes his head. "i meant to ask it as a question, i'm sorry." you chuckle, reaching your fingers up into the hair at the nape of his neck. "just...let me know if you want to. i love having you here, abby loves having you here. i know it's still pretty early for us but...we could be a bona fide family, the three of us."

you squeeze mike a little tighter, a sort of answer to his question. there wasn't anything stopping you, truly. his house was closer to the school you worked at, and you could drop abby off at her school in the mornings so mike could get enough rest to pick her up in the afternoons. you could have home-cooked dinners, and spend the weekends together, taking abby to art museums and libraries, theme parks and other attractions.

you really could be a family. you were still young, your relationship with mike moderately fresh, but...the idea sounded nice.

"think about it," mike instructs, pulling away from you and ducking down to look at your obscured face. "no rush, okay?" he steps away from you after giving you a kiss to the forehead, grabbing for your hairbrush. a video for i'm like a bird by nelly furtado has started playing, and mike saddles up to abby, hip bumping her as he prepares to sing. "gonna be your backup singer, that okay?"

"yeah, yeah, just do it well! c'mon, c'mon it's starting! you're beautiful, that's for sure..." you take a seat on the couch, hugging your knees to your chest as you watch and listen, giggling along to mike's off-pitch ad-libs and timing mistakes. abby squeals at him, bursting into a fit of laughter and incorrect lyrics as he tickles at her torso.

you could get used to this, you think. maybe moving wouldn't be so bad.

how cute for it to all just go ka-blammy (,: going to write a part 2 for "to crumble" and i know y'all said y'all wanted it sweet but hmmmm...i think we need some angst. just stay tuned 🤞🏽

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz-@0-tatiana-0-@dusstory-@delwrites

[isa-ah]

isaiah reference sheet! (finally). hes 5'1", his age slides between 15 and 25 when i write with him, hes gay, poly + trans, & hes from the fictional rural appalachain town of Jackalshide. hes a tattoo artist and occasional mechanic by trade (he built his motorcycle cherry from scratch! hes no good with anything else tho), and in some aus he has a crime-boy alter ego who goes by ruckus the kid.

backstory under the cut for anyone whos interested!

isaiah was born to melanie and elias richardson sometime in the nineties. they were a young couple, too young to really be married and having babies yet, and it leads to his mother dying in childbirth and his father spiraling thereafter. despite being a nasty drunk, hes the town deputy and is regularly shielded from consequence by his old highschool buddy, sheriff sullivan. their relationship lends to isaiah and the sheriffs boy, cam, having a longsuffering but close friendship, as well as covering for the cruelty elias shows his son.

isaiahs friendgroup otherwise consists of his bestie hunter reyes, tiny matthew riker who later grows up to be a gentle giant, and bette, a fellow trans man with a likewise trans masc twin. the four of them cause absolute havoc together, and are very close as kids. (close enough that riker and bette have an accidental teen pregnancy, leading to their daughter billie being born in their highschool years).

isaiah tends to burn hot as a teenager, putting all of his energy into starting fights at school (mostly with cam lol) or building his pet project motorcycle, cherry. hes a revolving door; in and out of every entry level job in jackalshide to pay for her parts, but the adhd in him and no small amount of input from hunter leads to losing every one of his jobs within the first few months.

it doesnt help that around his eighteenth birthday hes riding cherry down the desolate backroads and ends up t-boned in an otherwise empty intersection. it claims his leg, and the van that was responsible took off immediately- leaving isaiah to wallow under thousands in medical debt for all of the proceedings thereafter. (ambulance, emergency care, the multiple surgeries, physical and emotional therapy, mobility aids and prosthetics, fixing his bike...)

as they get older, hunters career as an actor picks up, leading him out to california fulltime. bette moves soon after, taking up animation in college out in cali with riker in tow a few years later so they can coparent billie. isaiahs the last to leave town and bitter over it, but he puts his nose to the grindstone and manages to get through an uneventful apprenticeship at a tattoo parlor in the nearest city.

with a solid job (finally), he moves into a little apartment of his own out there and puts most of his effort into paying down his deep medical debt. eventually with help from hunter (or, in some aus, riker or cam) isaiah moves out to join his friends in cali and finds himself a new parlor to work at, making enough to get his life truly started.

and thats it! anything beyond that really depends on the au! i tried to keep it a loose timeline, lord knows i could spend all day talking about every little part of his life. hope u enjoyed :)

[veetlegeuse]

👀 for Crystal and Wendy - THIS. INSTANT.

eeee my girls ok

crystal:

— crystal was actually in band in middle school, she played the flute, but the summer before her freshman year she went to a cheer camp with her cousin because her cousin didn’t want to go alone and crystal realized she really liked cheering and she couldn’t do both, so she ultimately decided to join cheer because she was actually good at it and was not so good at playing the flute.

— crystal was born on february 29th, 1968 (making her one of the youngest in her class) so she celebrates her birthday on the 28th of every february. robin likes to joke that she’s technically only like five years old.

— crystal really likes to drive. if anyone wants to go anywhere, she’s the first to offer to drive or if her parents need something from the store, she’s out the door before she can even hear what it is they need. she spends quite a bit of her free time just cruising through the backroads of hawkins with her windows down and her music up. it’s her own form of therapy.

wendy:

— wendy has read every single book in her two (2) bookshelves at least three times. if she really buckled down, she could easily finish two books in one day. she uses fiction to escape because she thinks her life is pretty average and boring. (of course, that changes, and she never takes normalcy for granted ever again.)

— wendy got her job at the cave purely by being in the right place at the right time. she had been asking the owner, devin, about some new music and he’d just had someone quit and thought wendy was the perfect candidate because she was so knowledgeable. he offered her a trial shift and taught her how to use the register and the rest was history. wendy ended up liking it so much that she never left.

— wendy feeds every stray cat that she sees in forest hills. this became a big problem when her parents discovered a small horde of hungry cats waiting on their small back porch. (she still feeds them and has named them all)

[thesefevereddays]

Just as the Darkness Got Very Dark / Another Data Point

By Erika Meitner

People going through

hard times don’t listen

to songs about people

going through hard times,

says my son. Debt, addiction,

chronic bad luck, unemployment—

I’m with you, I say. The only

exception is heartbreak;

when you’re deep in it

you just want a late-night

DJ to spin your pain. The car

radio is playing Jason Isbell

through Wyoming, part of it

in Yellowstone National Park,

home to 500 of the world’s

900 geysers. Mesmerizing

eruptions! Geothermal wonders!

Hot holes and fumaroles!

Last week a Bison

gored a Phoenix woman,

but who knows how close

she got before it charged.

Bison run three times faster

than humans and injure

more people than any animal

in the park—even grizzlies.

In thermal areas the ground

is just a thin crust above

acidic pools, some resembling

milky marbles, others the insides

of celestine geodes reflecting

the sky. Boardwalk signs

all over Yellowstone shout

Dangerous Ground! Potentially

fatal! and despite that—

despite the print of a boy

off-balance, falling through

the surface into a boiling

hot spring, his mouth an O

of fear—despite the warnings

in writing that more than

a dozen people have been

scalded to death here and

hundreds badly burned

or scarred, there are still

the tourons taunting bears,

dipping their fingers

off the side of the Boardwalk

into a gurgling mudpot.

Got a loan out on the truck

but I’m runnin’ out of luck,

sings Isbell, and the parking lots

are packed with license plates

from every state—so many

borrowed RVs taking the curves

too hard, so much rented

bear spray dangling from

carabiners clipped to cargo

short waistbands, and ample

Christianity too: the Jesus

& Therapy t-shirt, the Enjoy

Jesus baseball hat, the all I need

today is a little bit of coffee

and a whole lot of Jesus tote,

Mennonite families with

women in bonnets

hauling toddlers. I want

to tell my son it’s not

shameful to need

something or someone

to help us out of the darkness

when it gets very dark.

Jeff Buckley. Joy Division.

Jesus. Dolly Parton. Even

Delilah and her long

distance dedications

cracking the silence of

every solo backroad

I’ve been driving since

before he was born.

He is sixteen. Does he know

the black hole of loving

and not being loved in return,

the night and its volume?

And the moon—nearly full,

rising over Old Faithful

which erupts on cue

to an appreciative crowd

every ninety-ish minutes.

And the moon, keeping me

insomniac with its light

shining like an interrogation

trick into this cabin

through the crack

between the window

and the blind.

[bookloveletters]

Her romantic life could be summarized by one ultimate moment of heart break and rejection.

Her first love, it seemed, was a crash course in frivolous adolescent fantasies. The first time she had felt seen and loved and appreciated. Though it wasn't perfect, as most high school romances are, it was hers. Her story and love to experience and relish in. He was attentive and attractive and made her feel good. And suddenly, she was changed by the love. No longer able to look at life the same way. To be loved is to be changed they say, and as she sped down the backroads, music so loud to block out her thoughts, endless tears coming, she couldn't help but agree. To be loved is to be changed, and also to be broken. When that love was torn from her, a man of his own volition taking it away, she realized how little power she had in guarding her own heart. To be loved is beautiful, powerful, to be loved is like laying your head on the alter, ready for sacrifice. Anyways. After that initial rejection, her early twenties were characterized by a relentless cycle of begging for a scrap of attention, and being devastated when men continued on after only a cursory glance in her direction. Pathetic really.

After college and a world altering pandemic, the only thing she had gained was perspective. She was growing now, shaping herself into the person she'd thought she'd maybe like to be.

Overwhelmed, of course, by the prospect of 80 more long years of life. Perspective and pain brought quiet, and quiet turned into numbness. And the numbness lasted 6 long months. So long that she had not even really noticed when it had become so quiet. But after a summer of oppressive heat and solitary, she had become accustomed to the silence. Day by day, motions and machinations, quiet and screaming at the same time. She walked into her second year of masters studies and promptly woke up. Someone asked her how her summer was and she realized she couldn't unlock her jaw to say anything. She panicked, looking around, why did it feel like everything was in slow motion? Why did it feel like she was treading through a raging stream? She ran to the bathroom and splashed some water on her face. The cool surprising her. She looked into the mirror and became very still. Who was she looking at? Certainly not herself. This person was a shell. Lifeless behind the eyes. Stringy hair and clothes that were too tight now. And she had a terrifying thought- how did I lose such control? So badly? How did I forget I had a body and a life beyond the four walls of her apartment? And so began the next phase, waking up in a terrifying situation and just trying to survive. Everything became harder.

There were deadlines and papers and applications piling up, but didn't they understand that she was trying to muster the energy to feed herself every day? Survival mode continued, a constant feeling of pain with no relief. No hope. Until one day she realized maybe she needed help. How do you begin to ask for help when you haven't spoken in months? And still, with a determinedness she had not felt in some time, she made the call to ask. So began the next phase: Recovery. It was difficult to wake up everyday in a new body and try to be better. But she did it. And soon she was walking, quickly, to being okay again. A year passed, one with medication and therapy and trying new things. Overcoming new fears that had manifested over the sleeping period, like talking with friends. One by one, she learned how to care for herself a little bit better. In a new house and city, with new friends and sunshine in her living room in the morning, she got a little bit better. Things were turning a corner, occasionally she looked back on the before time, trying to remember what it felt like to worry about small things like love. She didn't have the capacity for it yet, but wondered when the time would come where she would be willing to try.

Everything was moving in the right direction, until it all came crashing down again. A kidney infection, and horrible pain. Driving herself to the emergency room and sitting in the waiting room, who could she call? Who could hold her hand as they pierced her skin with needles and injected her with morphine. As she sat in the small bed alone, the morphine making her head spin, she looked on the ground and saw a puddle of her own blood. Who could she tell? When they admitted her to the hospital and everything felt so surreal, the nurses asked, will anyone be coming to visit you? She laughed to herself and shook her head, no, no one is coming. They nodded and made notes in their computer. By the fourth day of her ordeal, she ate her hospital food in silence and wished for the hundredth time that someone was there to hold her hand. When she finally got released they put her into an empty elevator and waved goodbye. She got to the ground floor and immediately got lost. Where had she put her car?

She tried to walk, but God she was tired. Every step was heavy. No one was there to carry her.

No one there to witness it. So she closed her eyes and steadied herself, no one was coming to help her, so she would have to help herself. Even with a historically shitty record of caring for body, she was determined to do better this time. It's unfortunate then, that her body was never the same after that. Its tiresome for her to think of the months that followed. Constant new pain, pitying glances from doctors, tears and tears and more tears, and only her. It seemed like, everything was bad again, and new bad things kept happening, and maybe they would always keep happening, and it would always be the familiar struggle of trying to keep her head above the water.

Sometime between then and now, things had gotten better. Maybe out of spite really. The daily pain became familiar, the loneliness of the experience became just a fact of the situation, and she grew in her desire to do more and be more. So here we are. Sitting in yet another new apartment, alone and yet somehow okay with it. Maybe this is how life is? Maybe its really just a stream of small moments filled with quiet pain. Maybe this is not everyone's experience, but maybe it's just the way it is for some people? When she thinks of how she will be alone forever, no part of her balks the way it did when she was younger, there's really only a bitter acceptance. Life isn't fair it seems, and for all the things she's been blessed with, maybe this is the payment. It's sad she thinks, but not worth fighting about. It's interesting, the dreams she had as a young girl about a husband and a family, children of her own, has become more and more of an escapist fantasy. When she lies awake at night, she soothes herself to sleep imagining the arms of a caring and gentle man wrapping around her, telling her everything will be okay. In the darkness of the room, she allows herself to nuzzle into this imaginary man, allows him to run his fingers through her hair and for her pain to go away. When the sun rises in the morning, the man disappears and she stares into the ceiling fan. He was a man of my own creation, and today in the sunlight I am only myself.

[littlebeethings]

Fast Car

Pairing: Ricky Hauk x Reader Word count: 2996 Warnings: Smut Summary: You finally found the car Ricky Hauk had built you in high school and with it the memories you two created in it Masterlist | Ao3

The Keurig purred to life and started heating up water for your preferred morning beverage. Rays of light creep across your kitchen floor as the sun rises. It was so peaceful, a morning like this. The house was quiet but quiet in a way that kept your mind quiet as well. You didn’t worry about money, work, or your family. At this moment you just were. 

It reminded you of a different time. A harder time where mornings like this were nonexistent. When mornings were hectic. The only time you could find a peaceful moment was late at night, driving down quiet backroads in your hometown. Even now, if you close your eyes and focus long enough, you could feel the old car hum beneath you.

The mug you had set out was filling now. You normally take your drink back to bed or when it’s not too cold or wet, to the porch. This morning you went to your garage. Your first car sat there, it hadn’t been driven in a while, didn’t even run anymore. You had sold it long ago, it went through a few more drivers before landing here. Its final resting place.

You climbed in and closed your eyes. Taking a deep breath, you thought it still smelled like the first time you got in it.

“What do you think?” A voice said beside you.

You jerked and there he was. In his dark mechanic jumper and red baseball hat on backward. He had his arms folded and resting on the open window. A smile spread across his face.

“You built this?” You asked, running your fingers over the steering wheel.

“Well, I,” he blushed, looking down at the ground. “Yeah, I did.”

“It’s beautiful, Ricky,” you said, brushing your fingers over his arms. “You have to take me for a ride one day.”

“It’s not mine,” Ricky said.

“What do you mean? You can’t sell it, you worked too hard—”

“It’s yours,” he said. “I built it for you. So you don’t have to take the bus to work anymore.”

“Mine?” You whispered. “Ricky, I can’t.”

“You can,” Ricky said. “I don’t want what happened a couple of weeks ago to happen again.”

“It was nothing, Ricky. Honestly, I’m fine.”

“He grabbed you,” Ricky shook his head. “It could’ve been so much worse.”

“But it wasn’t. I can’t accept this Ricky.”

“You can,” Ricky said. “I need you to be safe.”

Your heart broke a bit. You should never have told him what happened on that damned bus. It really wasn’t all that bad. Just some man got a little too touchy, that was all. Ricky had been furious when you told. You didn’t understand why, it wasn’t like you and Ricky were an item. You were just friends. Though your heart wanted so much more.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll drive it.”

“Thank you.”

—

When you opened your eyes, you were back in the present. A grown adult now. You wanted to go back in time and throttle your past self. Tell them that what happened on that bus was not all that bad. It took you years for you to fully accept what happened on that bus and then some therapy on top of it.

Tears formed at the edge of your eyes and your nose became heavy. You wiped your eyes and sniffed. You missed him so much.

  You turned the key, hoping it would purr to life.

“Why are you buying a car that doesn’t even run?” Your best friend had said.

You smiled, running your fingers along the top. “Because,” you said, “this was my first car.”

“And?” She said, “Did you lose your virginity in it or something? Even then, I don’t know why you would pay for this piece of shit.”

“Because of the memories.”

“There’s a story here, isn’t there?”

You bit your lip, running your fingers over the torn leather seat. “So many stories.”

“You have to tell me.”

“Maybe,” you said, closing your eyes.

— 

The car hummed beneath you as you sped down long, winding roads. It was night and the moon was full. These were the moments you loved most. The wind in your hair and music thumping low in your ears, and a hand in yours. This was the only time you could quiet all the voices in your head, telling you what you had to do. But being here, in these moments with Ricky, you felt like you could be who you truly wanted to be. You could afford college. You could get your dream job. You could marry your best friend and get out of this shit hole of a town.

As Tracy Chapman sang, you could be someone.

The road turned and you imagined coming up on a city. You could see it before you, a life in a crappy apartment, working part-time and studying the other half.

Your hand stroked up Ricky’s shoulder to the back of his neck. You ran your fingers through his hair and his lips turned up in a smile as he glanced over at you.

“What?” He asked.

“Nothing,” you said with a smile. You studied his face. His soft brown eyes, his sharp jawline, and cheekbones. That smile that you worked so hard to get just a glimpse of. 

“Ricky,” you whispered as he slowed to a stop at a stop sign.

“Yeah,” he looked over at you, his face shadowed in the dark.

Your fingers dug gently into the back of his neck, pulling him towards you. Your eyes drifted close as your lips touched. Ricky didn’t kiss you back right away. You thought for a second that you had fucked it and pulled away. Then his hand reached up to cup your cheek and he kissed you. Slow. So perfectly slow. 

When he pulled away, you were both blushing and smiling like crazy. It was so perfect.

“So I take it,” Ricky whispered, “that you like me?” “Yeah, a lot, actually.”

Ricky smiled.

“Is that okay?” You asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s okay.”

—

You got out of the car, it wouldn’t turn on. No matter how many sweet things you told it, it never hummed to life. Your friend had recommended a mechanic to you but you couldn’t bear the thought of giving the car to a mechanic who didn’t know her. This car was built from the ground up by Ricky. No one knew her better than him. No one ever would.

The memories of your past still followed you through your house, as you set your mug in the sink, as you got dressed and started your day, and you couldn’t help but let them.

Your evening drives became less of a drive and more finding a quiet place to park and make out. But you couldn’t complain. You loved feeling Ricky beneath you and against you. His lips are soft but kisses are warm and wanting. You hadn’t had a slow kiss since your first. It was as if that was just a test, a starting gate before you let everything loose.

You would often go to the local drive-in. Ricky would pull you close as you watched old movies on the big screen. You rested your head on his shoulder. It was these moments that you felt the safest, nothing could hurt you when Ricky was beside you. Not even the man on the bus.

Like your old car, your body was explored by him. During those long nights together, his hands would stroke you. He was always so gentle and slow, always making sure to get permission before exploring a new area. First, it was your mouth with his. Then when you were snuggled up together, it was your arms. His fingers moving up and down, causing bumps to appear and little shivers run down your spine. 

You explored him as well, running your hands through his hair, tracing his nose and mouth. Then it got a bit more intense. Ricky’s hands under your shirt, yours under his.

When his rough fingers brushed your nipples and you moaned. That sound filled his ears, his mind. He was constantly working to cause those sounds to fall from your lips.

“You know,” you said. “I never gave you anything in return for the car.”

You were parked at the movies which were mostly deserted. A dirty thought crossed your mind as you ran your fingers along his stomach, just above his jeans. 

“You don’t have to give me anything in return,” he told you. “It was a gift.”

Your hand pressed into the small bulge in his jeans. “What if I want to?”

“You don’t have to,” Ricky reassured you. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” “I want to.”

You slowly undid his belt and unbuttoned his jeans, pushing them down. Your name fell from his lips as you took his cock in your hand. His head fell back as you slowly moved your hand up and down him. 

“Let me give you something,” you whispered, turning your head and kissing his neck.

Ricky began to breathe a little rougher. Then you pulled your legs underneath you and leaned down. He groaned as your tongue pressed against the tip. His eyes hooded but on you. He couldn’t look away as you licked him. God, you were beautiful. He never understood what the boys his age meant when they talked about getting a blowjob. He thought he would never like it, using a girl like that, not giving her pressure as well. But then he saw your eyes, your cheeks hollow as you took him into your mouth. The moan you let out when you tasted him.

“Stop,” he groaned when he felt his balls tighten. “I’m going to come.”

“Go ahead,” you said, kissing the bit of skin on his thigh before taking him back in your mouth. Your hand cupped his balls, massaging them. His hip thrust up and then he was flooding your mouth.

“Fuck,” he groaned, rubbing the back of your head.

When you pulled away and licked your lips, Ricky’s hand went to your thigh.

“Can I?” He asked. “Can I do that for you? Make you feel like that?”

“You want to do that?” You asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

You shrugged, “most guys don’t like to. Say it tastes bad.”

“Has someone told you that?”

“Well, no, but some of my friends say that their partners don’t.”

“I want to try,” Ricky said. “I want to make you feel good.”

“Okay.”

His fingers slowly moved up your thigh and under your skirt. You leaned against him, closing your eyes and breathing him in. His fingers brushed your panties that were now soaked with your need. You bit your lip, groaning when he brushed it aside.

“What do I do?” He whispered.

You opened your eyes and looked up at him. “You want me to show you?”

Ricky nodded.

You took his hand, guiding his fingers to your clit and he slowly circled it and applied a little bit of pressure. “Right there,” you whispered. “Just like that.” You let out a shaky breath as you guided his fingers down. “Here too.” His finger dipped into you and you gasped, gripping his wrist.

“Did I do something wrong?” Ricky asked. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you said, guiding him so he was pumping into you. “No, not hurt. It feels good.”

He pushed you gently so you were laying down before climbing on you. He buried his fingers inside you and kissed you, tasting himself on you. His lips trailed down your chin, neck, all the while his fingers pumped into you, his thumb circling your clit. You gasped, tugging him closer, gripping his bicep.

“Ricky,” you moaned.

“Fuck,” he groaned, already hard again from watching you wither beneath him. “There’s not enough room.”

“Let’s go to the field.”

“Field?” He asked, kissing your neck. “Field.”

It took everything in him to pull away from you. But Ricky sat up and managed to drive out of the movies. You laid on the seats, legs in his lap, one of his hands moving up and down your thigh.

When you got to the field, he turned the car off and jumped out. Ricky grabbed your ankles and pulled you out until your ass was hanging off the seat. He kneeled before you and your heart stopped. Your skirt was pushed up around your waist, your panties disappeared, you didn’t know where. Then he was kissing you. His lips pressed into the soft skin of your inner thigh, moving up to your core. 

“You’re so wet,” Ricky moaned, dipping his finger back inside you and collecting your essence. He licked his finger clean before he leaned forward and took your clit in his mouth. He gently caressed your clit with his tongue before sucking it between his lips. His fingers buried inside you, rubbing that sweet spot that made you see stars.

“Fuck, Ricky,” you moaned, tears streaming down your cheeks. It felt so good. His free hand snuck under your shirt and kneaded at your breast. “I’m so close,” you moaned, which caused him to go faster. “Please, don’t stop.”

Nothing would stop him. Nothing.

Your hips began to rock up against his face as his tongue joined his fingers, his nose brushing your clit. Your stomach tightened, your toes curled, and like a wave, an orgasm washed over you. 

You pulled at his shoulder when you came down. “Need you inside me,” you whispered, kissing him.

You reached down for your purse and pulled out a little make-up compartment. Inside was a condom.

Ricky stumbled out of the car and took off his pants, tossing them in the back. You removed your skirt and shirt, throwing them in the back with Ricky’s. His shirt disappeared and he was rolling the condom on.

You leaned back as he crawled on top of you.

“If I hurt you,” Ricky began.

“You won’t hurt me,” you assured him.

Ricky lined himself up and slowly pushed inside you. You grabbed his arm, feeling the slight sting as he sunk into you. He filled you so well. When he was flush against you, he leaned down and kissed you gently. Slowly he thrust into you. The car rocked back and forth as he made love to you. His hands traced your breasts, pinching your nipples. His lips pressed into your neck, your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin. 

“I won’t last,” he said.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, gently running your fingers over his back and in his hair. “It’s okay.” Your lips pressed against his temple. “Let go.”

His hips sped up, his fingers dropping to your clit. You arched your back as a second orgasm began to flood your system. Ricky’s hips faltered before he buried himself inside you.

His breath was hot against your skin as he held you close. You held each other as you came down from your highs. You never wanted to leave this moment.

“I love you,” you whispered.

Without hesitation, Ricky kissed you just below the ear. “I love you, too.”

—

The car had been sitting in your garage for a few days now. The memories of your time with Ricky came flooding back. So vivid and real. You hadn’t seen him since you got out of that town. You worked your ass off through college, got a good job, and never once did you look back.

You had hoped Ricky would find the strength to do the same, but you knew that he loved his mother and brother too much. It was hard for him to even think about leaving them.

It was evening now, you were stopped at a gas station on your way home from work. You leaned against your car, watching the numbers on the screen climb.

“When did gas become so expensive,” you grumbled to yourself.

“I remember when it was a dollar a gallon,” a man said.

You nodded, looking at your feet. “Those were the good ole days.”

The man laughed, “They were pretty good alright.”

You glanced up. A truck was parked at the gas behind you. There Ricky stood, older now, but it was Ricky nonetheless.

“You wouldn’t happen to have bought an old car recently?” he asked. “I drove up here to buy it but was told someone else beat me to it. Was going to try and fix it up.”

You didn’t know you were crying until Ricky was in front of you, wiping away your tears.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“I thought I was never going to see you again,” you cried. 

“I didn’t either,” he said. “I hoped. I hoped every day.”

You reached up and brushed his cheek.

“This isn’t a dream, is it?”

“Not a dream,” he said.

“Prove it.”

He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. It was real. He was real and he was in front of you, kissing you like the first time. His arms came around your waist, pulling up closer to him. You had missed him so much. You never wanted to let him go again.

Ricky pulled away when your gas pump clicked.

“Did you really come here for the car?” You asked.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his neck. “I’ve been looking for it for a while now.”

You put the gas pump away and paid.

“It’s at my place. I couldn’t find the courage to get it looked at by anyone else.”

“Do you think I could see it?” Ricky asked. “I won’t take it if you want to keep it. I just. . . I want to remember.”

You smiled. “I wanted that too. Why don’t you follow me home? You can see the car and maybe if you want, we can catch up.”

Ricky smiled. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Good.”

Ricky walked back to his car.

“Ricky?”

“Yeah?”

“I missed you.”

[riboism]

frontier psychiatrist- chapter 3 [discontinued]

pairing: yunho x f!reader genre: angst, thriller, suggestive

chapter warnings: violence (nothing bloody), mentions of mental illness, bondage, cursing, please let me know if I’m missing something!

wc: 2.1k

disclaimer: the actions portrayed in this story are NOT reflective of those who suffer from BPD, depression, or anxiety as a whole. please do not generalize people suffering from these illnesses based on what you read in this story. this is all purely fictional.

a/n: I didn’t think anyone would be interested in this story as most people follow me for smut, but this is something I’ve been wanting to write for a while now and I was so happy to see that some of you guys are enjoying it! thank you to everyone for their nice comments (I read them ALL) and for requesting to be on the tag list :)

series m.list

“that boy needs therapy”- the avalanches

Week 1 

You sat back against the wall, nibbling at the skin around your fingers as you watched the door nervously. He could come any minute now. You tried to quiet your breathing, worried you might not be able to hear his heavy footsteps leading up to the door. You had to stay alert, no matter how tired you felt right now. 

You weren’t sure what time of day it was. You had no idea how many days had passed since you were abducted. Surely, the hospital had noticed your absence, right? At least Shirley, the front desk receptionist you were close with, did? Maybe she called you a dozen times. And when you didn’t pick up, she probably rang your house, thinking maybe you were home sick. And when you didn’t pick up again, she surely went to your house after work to check on you, right? Maybe she saw something on your driveway, your keys, your phone, anything,  and wondered if something happened? Maybe she went to the police and reported your disappearance. Maybe she told them about Jeong Yunho and his strange obsession with you. She could go through the office files and show the police detectives his address. What if they were on their way now? 

But you also knew that Shirley wasn’t so inquisitive. There was no way she’d go as far as going to your house to check on you. Even if she did and told the police that your car was still on the driveway but there was no sign of you, how could you trust that the police would be able to find you? You had no idea where you were, and if Yunho was telling the truth earlier, there were no other houses around here for miles. You were in the middle of nowhere, probably in some remote cabin in the woods, with no sign of life anywhere other than the man upstairs. 

Yunho planned this, probably since the moment he stepped out those hospital doors. He was highly intelligent, with an IQ of 132. He made sure to do this on a Thursday night. Thursdays were when you had to stay at the office longer, finishing up paperwork and answering emails you neglected since the beginning of the week. He knew you’d come home while your neighbors were fast asleep, so there were sure to be no witnesses. He covered your mouth with a handkerchief probably doused with some sleep chemical that knocked you unconscious before you could even scream. He probably used an unmarked vehicle, making sure to take the backroads to wherever you were, avoiding all the CCTVS and police patrol cars. 

You couldn’t rely on Shirley or the police to save you. You knew who you were dealing with. You were on your own. 

Your breath hitched at the sound of keys rattling into the key lock. You sat up straight, getting into a position that you could get up in fast. The door sprung open and Yunho stood at the top of the stairs with your breakfast on a tray. Your heart pumped out of your chest as he descended down the stairs, his face finally coming into the light. 

He sat the tray down in front of you. Scrambled eggs, two sausage links, and a cup of black coffee. Yunho had been experimenting with the eggs, unsure of how you liked them. He had asked you before but you told him that you’d rather die than eat his food. Yesterday, he brought you 2 eggs over easy with a few pieces of toast that were slathered in sun-dried tomato pesto, and the day before it was served fried in between an English muffin with some strawberries and freshly squeezed orange juice. Everything always looked so appetizing, but you couldn’t risk getting drugged. What else would be his intention with you chained up in his basement like this? 

He waited for you to take the tray, but you stayed immobile, refusing to look up at him. 

“I hope you like it this time. I figured, everyone likes scrambled eggs, right?” He laughed nervously. You sat still, not even acknowledging his presence. Yunho sighed, bending his knees so that he could be at eye level with you. 

“Dr. Y/L/N, you need to eat. You’re already getting so pale. You need your protein and vitamins. Can you just take one bite? One bite for me, please?” 

You scoffed at his tone. It drove you crazy just how nonchalant he was being. The inner psychiatrist in you told you not to judge, that he was severely ill and incapacitated, but the scared little girl inside you wanted to scream, call him a monster, call him insane. 

Slowly, you trudged closer, looking down at the assortment of food plated perfectly on the tray. Yunho smiled as you picked up the coffee mug. 

It smelled heavenly. Colombian roast, your favorite, how did he know that? Maybe he smelled your coffee cup during your sessions with him. You always had one during your morning sessions, and he was the first patient you’d see for the day. It kind of repulsed you just how attentive he was. 

In a swift motion, you jerked your hand up, splashing the hot liquid onto his face. He screamed, falling on his back as his hands reached up to cover the scorched skin. 

“Fuck!” he shouted, still squirming on the floor. You managed to get on top of him, running your hands at his sides until you grabbed onto the key ring. With haste, you plucked it off his belt hoop. 

You let out a cry, frustrated with the large assortment of keys. There wasn’t much time, so you tried out every key as fast as you could, heart-wrenching every time it didn’t fit into the keyhole of your shackles. Your fingers grew clammy, making it difficult to separate each key. Finally, at your fourth attempt, you were greeted with a satisfying click, the cuffs now falling off your ankle and to the floor. You did your other leg too and then quickly got up, bolting towards the stairs. Your heart was pounding and you could feel your blood coursing through your veins, the thought of freedom making your head dizzy.

You were so close. 

You almost made it to the top of the stairs before his hand grabbed onto your ankle, making you fall forward. Your head slammed onto the edge of the step before your brain shut off into complete darkness. 

Week 2

Your mother had drilled your head with stories much like this one, an attempt to teach you not to go out too much or wear skimpy clothing. Of course, you knew these stories all too well, even had a few of your own. You are a woman after all, and as a woman there comes a time when you realize just how powerless and vulnerable you are in this world. 

“This is just the condition of a woman,” your mother would say, “You are never really alone. There will always be a man standing in some dark corner, waiting for the opportunity to take advantage of you. It’s your job to never let your guard down and keep that from happening.” 

Apparently, that meant to be alert at all times, even when you were on your driveway, just a few feet away from the door. 

Yunho confused you. You knew for sure now that he was not interested in sex. If he was, then why was he being so kind to you? And besides, wouldn’t he have done it already? It just didn’t make any sense. In a prisoner/guard situation like this, there was expected to be some kind of neglect. The guard stops seeing you as a person and more like an object, but Yunho didn’t act that way at all. Of course, there was his temper, but for the most part, he took care of you. He made you three meals every day, brought you clean sheets and a new set of pajamas from time to time, and even let you shower with privacy. The bathroom was also in the basement, small but functional. Though, you still had to wear your shackles while you showered. You were shocked to see colorful shampoo bottles, conditioner, body wash, lotion, and even menstrual pads and tampons in the bathroom cabinet. He thought of everything. 

You were deep in thought as Yunho tended to your head wound. He changed your bandages nightly before going to sleep. You still refused to look up at him but you could see from the corner of your eye that he had a burn mark on his cheek. You hated yourself for feeling a little bad. He didn't even complain about it, not even once. Instead, he spent all his energy taking care of you, treating you like an expensive vase that was just seconds away from falling off a table. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

You didn’t answer. You told yourself not to talk to him anymore. You didn’t owe him a thing, not even a response. 

“How long are you going to be like this?” 

Come to think of it, Shirley is a fucking idiot. She’s probably still pissed that you never signed her birthday card. How were you supposed to? The day that everyone signed it was your day off! She was always a spiteful little bitch.

“I’m really trying here, can’t you see that?” 

And when have the police ever been useful? They have no issues patrolling minority neighborhoods, so quick to jail any teenager for ‘looking suspicious’, yet when an actual case is dropped into their hands, they take their fucking time, only to tell you later that they can’t do anything on their end. 

“Dr. Y/L/N?” 

You had to think of another plan, but it wasn’t going to be easy this time. The coffee plan was good until he caught up with you. And now you were forced to wear restraints around your wrists, only to be loosened when you asked to go to the bathroom. Maybe you can seduce him, ask him to shower with you, and then when he has his guard down, push him into the tub, lock the bathroom door, and run out. 

“Dr. Y/L/N?” 

Fuck, but he doesn’t bring the keys down anymore. How are you supposed to unlock yourself? You had to think of another plan, quick. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by a sting on your forehead. You hissed at the burn, unable to move away as Yunho held your head forward. 

“I was trying to warn you,” he said as he dabbed your wound with a wet gauze pad. “I had to disinfect the cut. But I think it’s healing up nicely. You might have a little scar, though it’ll go away in time. Hopefully.”

You watched his large hands screw the rubbing alcohol bottle shut before putting it back into the first aid kit. You noticed he had some burn marks on his knuckles too. 

He got up from the mattress, fiddling around for something in his pocket. “Oh, and here” he pulled out a lollipop. It was peach mango-flavored. Just like the ones on your desk at the office. You couldn’t see but he gave you a small smile, hoping you would take his token. When you didn’t react, he gently placed the lollipop next to your pillow. “For later then.”

He was gone again, leaving you feeling stumped. As anxious as you felt when he was near you, you’d prefer that to the unsettling fear you’d get when you were alone here at night. There was a small lamp near your mattress that you kept on all night, but it didn’t illuminate the whole room. The dark corners of the basement gave you the creeps, making it difficult for you to sleep. 

You laid down on the pillow, careful not to put too much pressure on the wound. You stared at the lollipop, feeling a strange sense of comfort. Your eyes welled up until you finally broke down, your body shaking as you sobbed into your pillow. No one was coming for you. You had no family anymore. No friends, no boyfriends, and your coworkers probably didn’t even notice that you were gone. You had no one to count on, no one to fight for you. All you had now was Yunho and this peach mango-flavored dum dum. 

You stopped crying and picked up the lollipop, examining the colorful wrapping for any trace of tampering. Oh, what the hell, you thought before unwrapping the candy and popping it into your mouth.

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chapter 4 →

[cjsinkythoughts]

FATWS One Shot #4 - Best Girls, Good Guys, Hand Art, Joy Rides

Word Count: 1922

Warnings: Cursing, Implied PTSD, Mention of IED, Motorcycle Ride Without Helmets

Setting/Characters: Captain America: The Winter Soldier in 2014; Reader, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Sam’s therapy group, Lady at the Front Desk, Mentions of Peggy Carter and Riley

A/N: Here’s number 4! Like I said in the previous One Shot, I’m hoping to get TWS One Shots done today and tomorrow. Um, I don’t have a lot to say this time since I unloaded pretty much everything in the last One Shot. So, I guess that’s all!

This isn’t beta’d, as usual, so please excuse any mistakes! Be kind to yourselves and others! Enjoy this part, thank you for reading, and stay tuned!

FATWS Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts Masterlist

(PICTURE DOESN’T REPRESENT READER, JUST WHAT THE ART STEVE DREW LOOKS LIKE!)

“How is she?”

Steve nodded, taking the helmet he insisted on keeping for you in the compartment under his seat out and handing it over. What a hypocrite. “She’s fine. I guess. She…forgot. We were in the middle of a conversation and she…forgot I was alive.”

You gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Alzheimer’s is a scary thing. I’m sorry. It must be hard seeing your best girl go through that.” He froze, his wide eyes scanning you. You ignored his gaze, giving him the helmet back. You really hoped it didn’t come out as sad and spiteful as you meant it. You didn’t want to despise her, you really didn’t. You couldn’t. You had too much respect for her. She did help build the organization you worked for. You just hated the position you found yourself in. “We’re just going to the VA. It’s not too far. I’ll be fine.”

“No, honey. I don’t want you getting hurt-”

“I won’t, Steve.” You pushed back. “I’ve done it before in a lot more dangerous places than the streets of DC. Plus, I trust you. You wouldn’t let me get hurt, would you?”

His lips turned up slightly, his head shaking just enough. “No. No, I wouldn’t. Hop on, then.” He jerked his head to his bike, putting the helmet away before sitting down with you following his lead. You pressed against him, an arm around his waist, thighs squeezing his hips lightly. “Ready?”

“Mhmm.” You hummed, setting your chin on his shoulder.

The bike roared to life underneath you before you took off. You were never worried when Steve drove. Sometimes he liked going fast when you two go for a drive through backroads of Virginia for a weekend, camping underneath the stars. But when you were in DC, he cruised, fast enough that you could get pulled over for doing ten over, but slow enough that you didn’t have to shout over the rush of the wind combing through your hair.

He usually talked to you while driving, but he was quiet this time. You turned your head to study him. His jaw ticked ever so often, his eyebrows furrowed and those pink lips turned down.

You didn’t want to distract him, but you couldn’t help but lift your free hand, tracing his jaw from his chin to his ear before pressing soft circles into the hinge of his jaw with your thumb. “Are you okay? Did I upset you?”

“No. No, you’re perfect, honey.” He reassured quickly, moving around a car, side eyeing you for just a second. “I’ve just…there’s a lot on my mind. A lot I need to figure out.”

You nodded. “If you ever need me. I’m here.”

He grinned, taking your hand in one of his to press a kiss to the knuckles, eyes not leaving the road. “I know.”

“Tell me more about this Sam Wilson guy.”

Steve chuckled before telling you about his run the day prior and how he lapped Wilson a few times and their conversation afterwards. He was just finishing up when he parked in the parking garage of the VA, “and then Natasha drove up saying she was looking for a fossil she was supposed to pick up.”

“A fossil.” You snorted. “I’m gonna have to use that.”

He gave you a playful glare as you swung your leg around and stood up. Catching your jaw between his fingers, he chuckled when he squished your cheeks together. “Call me a fossil, honey, and I’ll tell Fury the only way I’m doing missions is if you don’t.”

You gasped, shaking your head. “You ‘ouldn’!” You slurred out, trying to talk with your lips pursed.

He gave a little giggle, gently making your head move up and down in a nod. “Oh yes I would.” He pecked your nose, letting go of your cheeks. “C’mon, dame.” You blinked after him as he started towards the elevators with long strides.

“You’re an ass, you know that?”

He smirked at you over his shoulder as you jogged to catch up, holding his hand out behind him. “C’mon. You know I’d never do that to ya.”

Narrowing your eyes, you snatched his hand and huffed. “Well…yeah. But still.”

Another chuckle left his lips, pulling you closer to his side as you pressed the button for the elevator, leaving a kiss on your head. You fell into comfortable silence after that, Steve’s thumb tracing patterns on your hand while you waited for the elevator to ding.

When it finally did, Steve had a pen pulled out and, as you entered the elevator, he pulled your hand up closer to his face, lifting the writing utensil to the back of your palm.

You didn’t say anything, merely looking around the elevator after pushing the level you were going to. It was something you found that calmed Steve; drawing. So whenever he was bored or anxious, you let him draw on your hand. He used to ask, but he stopped after you told him you’d never say no.

The elevator dinged and the doors open, causing Steve to stop inking up your skin and drop your still linked hands down to your sides, shoving his pen in his pocket. You looked down at the partial flower and leaves wrapping around your wrist, smiling affectionately. He really was a good artist.

The lady at the front desk told you where to go when you asked for Sam Wilson, which Steve did rather eagerly, making you laugh. He had told you about Sam’s want to impress her when he came in. Apparently he was with a group, but she said it was okay for you to go in as long as you didn’t disrupt anything. Steve thanked her, before following her directions down the hall and around the corner.

You heard them before you saw them. A woman was talking, telling a story of how she got pulled over the previous week. Steve leaned against a column to the side of the room, out of the way, putting his hands in his pockets. You let his hand go to allow him to do so, linking your arm with his and holding his wrist with your free hand.

“I swerved…to miss a plastic bag. I thought it was an IED.”

You watched Steve’s reactions through the rest of the session. It wasn’t much longer - maybe ten minutes - before it ended. You had tried to convince him to go to one of these when he first got out of the ice, but he refused.

“I’ve already got you, honey. That’s all I need.”

And, yes, he did have you; your assignment was literally helping him with that stuff. But you still thought he’d benefit from it. Especially now since you had started going back on your own assignments. Maybe he’d start going to Wilson’s.

After the meeting, you and Steve walked up to the veteran who had just finished his farewells and started cleaning up the table at the front with brochures and things. “Look who it is. The running man. And who’s this pretty lady?”

You smiled, sticking out your hand, your name leaving your lips in an introduction. “Sam Wilson.” He shook your hand with a grin of his own. “Nice to meet you, cher.”

“You too, Sam.”

“We caught the last few minutes.” Steve stated, leaning on the wall again, keeping his arm linked with yours. “It’s pretty intense.”

You listened sadly as Sam told you two about his wingman, Riley, but you didn’t pity him. You knew what it was like to lose people and you hated the pity you received from others. You were glad to see he wasn’t beating himself up over it, even allowing himself to smile as the conversation shifted to his retirement. Steve was right; he did seem like a good guy. 

“Are you thinking about getting out?”

You glanced up at Steve as he answered “no.” You saw the hesitation in his eyes that flickered to you, before he met Sam’s again. “I don’t know.” Hearing Steve admit that he didn’t know what he wanted made your heartache. You wanted him to be happy, and the fact that he didn’t know what made him happy caused you to grip his arm tighter.

You, Sam, and Steve talked a bit longer, getting to know each other a little better. You even did the unthinkable and told him you worked for SHIELD when he asked how you two knew each other. Steve raised an amused eyebrow as your eyes widened, your hand slapping over your mouth.

“Holy shit. I can’t believe I just told you that. You can’t tell anyone.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t worry. My lips are sealed.”

You finally said bye when Sam mentioned needing to get back to work. Walking back towards the elevators, Steve chuckled and nudged you. “You warmed up to him quickly.”

“Ha ha.” You rolled your eyes, your face landing in your hands. “Oh my God. I’ve never told anyone that. Ever.”

“I told you. He’s a good person. Easy to talk to.”

“Yeah…speaking of,” you tilted your head up to him as you stepped into the elevator, the doors closing behind you. “Do you want to get out?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed thickly. “That’s not what I said. I just…I don’t really know…what to do.”

You pouted a little, tilting your head. “What would you’ve done in the 40’s? After the war?”

“I dunno.” He shuffled on his feet. “Be a lab rat.”

“Steven-”

“Forget it. Forget I said anything.” Your frown deepened, your arms crossing over your chest. “Please don’t.” He said softly, hands coming up to cup your cheeks, one thumb smoothing out your forehead while the other ran over your pouty lips. “Don’t be upset.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I’m not. I, just…worry.”

He placed his lips to your forehead, hands slipping to your waist to pull you closer. “Well don’t.”

Your hands mimicked his previous position, holding his face, thumb brushing under his eyes. Your eyes caught sight of the barely started design on your hand, and your lips pursed thoughtfully. 

“What?”

“Drawing makes you happy.” He blinked at your words, confusion in those ocean eyes of his. “You said you don’t know what makes you happy. Drawing does. And you’re really good at it. You could be an artist or something. Like a tattoo artist. I’d go to you. I mean, look at this!” You showed him your hand. “It’s not even halfway done and you did it with a crappy dollar store pen”

He gave you a small smile. “I appreciate that, honey, but I don’t think I could do that day in and day out.”

“Even with new customers coming in every day, asking for different designs in different places?”

Giving a chuckle, he leaned into your palm, kissing it. “You really want me to think about this don’t you?”

You scoffed. “Duh!”

He shook his head, ducking down to press his lips to your cheek, before laying his forehead on your shoulder. “I’m okay right now.”

“Are you?”

“Mhmm.” He hummed, arms wrapping around you. “Because I have you. And you make me happy, honey.”

You hugged him back, face pressing into his neck. You were glad you made him happy. And as long as you made him happy, you’d keep this relationship the way it was. Even if that meant you’d never be his best girl. “You make me happy too, bubs.”

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[hybridequalist]

Thinking Out Loud (Part 5)

I live! I write! It’s here!

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Your legs were bouncing as you sat in Lauren’s front seat, staring blankly out the window. You were focused on your breathing techniques to settle yourself, settle your pre-outing jitters. It had been a surprise, after all.

Eddie had called earlier and asked if you were available for a rescheduled lunch outing. You’d given the affirmative and Lauren had helpfully offered to bring you downtown to the cafe on the way to some errands she needed to run. You knew that she was offering just to be nice and give you some comfort and more time to transition to being in a social situation, but you appreciated it...even if it felt like your mom driving you to a High School dance.

The car halted at a stoplight and you automatically glanced at your landlady, just in case she wanted to talk to you.

Her finger tapped the steering wheel before she twisted to look at you, signing “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“If I’m not,” you sign back, “you’ll be the first to know. Just keep your phone close. But I think I’ll be okay. Eddie is nice.”

Lauren gave you a meaningful glance as the light turned green. Her thoughts reflected the look, full of a fierce protectiveness, one that all but screamed "if he makes you uncomfortable I will end him."

You fidgeted, tugging at the edge of your frilled blouse. You’d wanted to dress up since it was the first time in a while that you had gone out with a friend, but you were starting to remember why you never wore your nicer clothes: they were itchy and still felt too new. Just the minor friction of the less-than-comfortable fabric was stressing your nerves even more.

You took notice of the anxious energy building and took a few deep breaths before resuming the meditation breathing pattern you had learned in one of your infrequent therapy sessions. After a few minutes of focus, your heart rate slowed and you felt more grounded. You glanced away from your feet and out the window, realizing that Lauren was now looking for a parking space or some free pavement space to drop you off.

You pulled out your phone and started typing.

We just made it. Looking for a spot to stop.

Your phone indicated that Eddie had read the text. You pulled down the sunshade and checked your appearance, fiddling with the microscopic flaws that had developed.

This might be a meeting between friends, but Eddie was still a relatively new acquaintance--he was still investigating you and deciding what labels to give you. It was a time to put your best foot forward. Especially since he'd gotten a glimpse of your...issues.

You glanced at your phone, expecting to see the beginning indication of a return text, but instead you heard some muffled shouting. You automatically turned your head towards the sidewalk and saw a familiar figure waving at the car from the street.

“ EDDIE! SHE SAW US! CAN YOU  HEAR US?!”

The mental yelling rang through your skull, making you wince a little at the invisible volume. You waved out at them and tapped Lauren on the shoulder before she crossed the intersection.

“Eddie is over there,” you pointed out, letting her take the time to follow your gestures and resume looking back at you. “I’ll get out here. I will call your phone if I need to get picked up and text you the details.”

“If it vibrates, I’m turning right back around,” she promised. The two of you shared a quick hug before you unbuckled yourself and stepped out. Careful of other cars, you quickly speedwalked over to the sidewalk where your friends waited.

“Good to see you again,” Eddie greeted you, lifting his hand for a high five. You smiled and reciprocated.

“ DON’T IGNORE ME ,” Venom complained, sounding for all the world like a kicked puppy. You reached up and patted the sleeve of Eddie’s jacket, where you knew the alien was hiding. The preening feeling from Venom’s thoughts made you want to laugh aloud.

“So...lunch?” Eddie asked. “Have you tried this new cafe? They really go hard into the whole ‘sourdough is the food of San Francisco' thing. Probably meant to get the tourists, but the sandwiches still are great.”

There were a lot of things to respond to in that brief sentence and you fumbled with your conversation cards, flipping through them to string together a sentence that made sense.

“No. That sounds interesting. Let’s go.”

“It’s just this way,” he gestured, straightening from bending closer to read your cards. “Stick close; we might hit some of the lunch rush on the way in.”

You grabbed another card.

“I’m not good with crowds.”

“Then we can order to go and find somewhere else to sit. It’s no problem.”

“ WE WERE GOING TO SHOW YOU MY SURPRISE FROM LAST TIME ANYWAY. THE PRIVACY WILL HELP ,” Venom added.

Eddie offered his arm and you blinked at him before you caught his thoughts. He wanted to make sure you stayed beside them since you couldn’t very easily let him know you were being left behind--not like how most people let their friends know. Venom’s feelings were tacked onto the thought, revealing that he liked the thought of you holding onto them because he could protect you better the closer you were.

You looped your arm through Eddie’s.

The walk to the cafe was silent from a vocal standpoint: Eddie and Venom conversed with one another about their thoughts on the food and their past experience, the more deliberate wording telling you that they were actually talking to you without expecting any replies. All the same, you couldn’t help but feel awkward at how every passerby viewed you--both pedestrian and driver. Most thought you were on a date, others were convinced you just didn’t want to get separated. Almost everyone wondered why you and Eddie weren’t having a conversation. After all, wasn’t it the polite thing to do when out for a walk?

“ ARE YOU LISTENING TO US, MORSEL? ”

The symbiote’s question pulled you back. You’d gotten caught up in the overwhelming noise of everyone else’s thoughts, losing your ability to distinguish internal words from external ones with the din of other people’s conversations mixed with their observations of you. But Venom’s mental voice was much louder than the humans walking past and was able to cut through the ceaseless hum.

You immediately reached for one of your cards, feeling the well worn, bent corners and not needing to check it for the words on it.

“Sorry.”

You reached for another, equally used phrase.

“It’s difficult to explain.”

“Hey, no worries,” Eddie replied, tone deliberately soft so as to comfort you. “You just looked like you were spacing out a bit and I wanted to make sure you were okay. We’re almost there.”

You nodded and let your friend resume guiding you, deliberately focusing on his and Venom’s thoughts to let the others fade into background noise.

“ I tried your name a few times, but you weren’t answering. I’m glad you’re okay for now. Do you think you’ll be okay in the shop? Just because it’s closer quarters. ”

“ EDDIE, WE FOUND HER IN A GROCERY STORE. I’M SURE SHE CAN HANDLE A FOOD TRANSACTION. ”

“ Do you remember the spoons metaphor I told you about? ”

“ AND I STILL DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY IT HAS TO BE SPOONS! IT JUST MAKES ME THINK OF FOOD AND I AM ALWAYS HUNGRY. ”

Their banter was comforting. Their partnership might still be relatively new by normal standards, but spending all their time together--literally every waking moment--had quickly built their bond beyond what two ordinary humans could achieve in similar circumstances. They had actually reached a point where words, while convenient to keep their identities distinct, were not entirely necessary. Images, sensations, memories, all were equal communication tools.

It almost made you jealous at how easily they could literally share their thoughts with one another. You were stuck having to pretend you were oblivious to what people really felt.

The cafe was nice and cozy. There thankfully wasn’t a huge line--it gave you plenty of time to pick what you wanted from the menu and look at the carefully selected decor of the shop (mostly to ignore the man standing behind you, who was actively checking out anyone who looked to be of age and was daring to show even an inch of skin). You typed up your order on your phone and showed it to the cashier, who thankfully took it all in stride and smoothly got the process started. Eddie ordered a healthy sandwich and a slice of very rich chocolate cake, which had Venom purring at the thought of dessert.

You slipped out of the cafe, the line having grown significantly behind you and your friends even in just the short time. You could feel a headache forming from the combined vocal and mental chatter as you held on to Eddie and let him guide you away.

“Are you okay with taking a few backroads?” he asked and you saw he’d noticed your scrunched brow. “Just for some peace and quiet away from the main street? It’s probably only going to get louder.”

You nodded vigorously and Eddie picked up his pace, practically pulling you along with his brisk speed. He guided you through an alley onto a much narrower footpath with significantly fewer pedestrians, hesitating as he silently asked Venom to help him remember the way to a green space he remembered eating at before.

You took the break to check yourself over for signs of overstimulation. So far, nothing that some cleansing breaths and food wouldn’t take care of.

And then, like a ping on a psychic radar, you heard a familiar mind call your name.

“ Y/N?! But didn’t the suits snatch her?! ”

Your eyes snapped over to where you felt his thoughts and your heart began to race as you saw a face you’d prayed would never cross paths with you again.

At a first glance, he wasn’t a physically imposing man: barely five and a half feet tall, he didn’t show any obvious muscle or have any “red flags” to his features that might suggest he was dangerous. You almost would have looked right past him--his hair hadn’t been a blonde crew cut when you’d seen him last--but those deep hazel eyes held yours prisoner. You didn’t even need your powers to see the obvious greed ravaging his thoughts.

“Y/N? Hey, are you with me?”

Eddie’s words felt like they came from far away, even with Venom echoing them with his impressive volume. You were just staring at the other man, a silent scream trapped in your mute throat.

Your sight was suddenly filled with brown leather as Eddie stood in front of you, bending over to look you in the eye.

“Y/N,” he repeated. “Are you okay? Are you present? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Excuse me.” The familiar voice made your skin break out in goosebumps as a chill ran down your spine. “Ma’am, are you going to be alright?”

You jolted backwards, throwing your hands up to clamp over your ears. It was a futile attempt to block out the feeling of his mind, his thoughts, the way he felt the world and took delight in your weakness, in your fear, in the worry of the others who were witnessing your distress…

“ EDDIE, MASK? ” Venom asks.

“ It’s too public ,” his partner protested silently even as he verbally stated, “Don’t crowd her please.”

“Let’s go,” you signed frantically, unable to stop fixating. “Please.”

“Come on,” Eddie ushers you,  holding out a hand for you to take--which you did with an iron grip. “It’s not far.”

You kept pace with your friends as you put rapid distance between yourself and your old acquaintance, still highly aware of those hazel eyes on you. The sound of the city faded as your feet hit grass and Eddie sat you down onto a bench, dropping to one knee by the armrest.

“What do you need me to do?” he asks, looking you over.

“ WHAT CAN WE DO? ” the symbiote echoed.

You just kept holding Eddie’s hand, fighting tears as you made yourself breathe deeply, clinging tighter when he tried to retract.

They were concerned. They wanted to help. And that was enough to help ground you to the point where you could pull out your phone.

I’ve met that man before. His name is Mitch. We used to be friends. It didn’t end well.

“ I’M GOING TO EAT HIS HEAD! ” Venom howled. His human counterpart took the revelation a little better: he took a second to process it--suppressing the flurry of questions that flooded his mind--and then he stood to join you on the bench.

“Do you need to talk about it now, or do you just want to put it aside for now?”

Put it aside. Please.

“Not a problem. Shall we eat?”

You were a little surprised he agreed so quickly--especially with how vocal Venom was being--but it was a relief nonetheless. You opened your take-out bag and retrieved your food, setting about enjoying it despite the residual shakiness in your hands.

You were about half done when a realization struck you, making you bite your tongue by accident. You jolted your phone out.

Did you respond to me signing back there?

Eddie read it and then laughed a little.

“Uh, so about the surprise Vee had for you...I’ll let him show you.”

“ FINALLY! ”

You watched curiously as Eddie relaxed and then his hands began to move--and you could see in his mind that he wasn’t in charge of the motions. This was all Venom.

The motions were careful and slow, but you sat straight up as Eddie’s hands started forming familiar words.

“Hi. My name is--” there was some hesitation as they briefly conferred with what name to use but they quickly resumed-- “V-E-N-O-M. It is good to talk to you.”

You gasped and gave them a brief applause. You then returned to typing.

How did you learn that so quickly?

“Vee has lots of free time when I’m sleeping,” Eddie shrugged, smiling as he regained the use of his arms. “He’s been looking at Sign dictionaries trying to string that whole phrase together.”

“ I’M BETTER AT FINGERSPELLING ,” the alien admitted, still basking in pride. “AND I KNOW ALL OF THE BASICS: HUNGRY, EAT, DRINK, YES, NO, GO, STOP, PLEASE, THANK YOU AND CHOCOLATE.”

You laughed soundlessly as Eddie rolled his eyes.

But why? You asked. Why go to the trouble?

“ BECAUSE WE WANT TO MAKE IT EASIER TO TALK TO YOU MORE! ” There is no hesitation in Venom’s response. “ IF YOU ARE IN TROUBLE, WE NEED TO UNDERSTAND WHAT IS WRONG QUICKLY! ”

“Not that we’re expecting trouble,” Eddie adds. “I just figured it would be helpful in general. But you’re gonna have to forgive me if he--” he tapped his temple--“has to do some translating in the beginning since he’ll pick it up way faster than me.”

You could feel tears pricking at your eyes again. They were willing to learn Sign for you? No other friend had been willing to do that for you since High School.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” They’d noticed your watery eyes. They were worried. They knew you had been stressed out during the whole outing and wanted to make you comfortable and safe.

Nothing,” you fingerspelled, taking care to make each letter distinct so they could more easily follow. “Thanks.”

“ EDDIE, I WANT THE CAKE NOW ,” Venom complained, changing gears faster than you or Eddie expected. “ WE HAD YOUR HEALTHY SANDWICH, NOW GIVE ME THE GOOD STUFF. ”

“ You absolute addict ,” Eddie thought back, taking a determined bite of mostly lettuce just to make the symbiote pout. You gave another silent laugh as you too returned to eating, happy to just listen to their chatter for a while longer.

[thejostenator]

The Foxhole Cinema: Chapter Two

Read up to Chapter Fifteen on AO3

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There was no doubt about it- Kevin Day was sitting right in front of Neil, arms crossed and his mouth curled into a sneer. He wore a mint green polo shirt and dark denim jeans, with his iconic #2 stitched above his heart and on his pockets. Although anger and disappointment warred in his eyes, but there was no recognition.

“Mr. Hernandez spoke so highly of you, Josten,” Kevin said, confirming Neil’s suspicions that his disguise had worked. “And this is what I’m met with?”

“I’m sorry your highness,” Neil replied, “do you want me to curtsy?”

“No,” Kevin hissed, pointing a finger at him and wheeling himself too far into Neil’s personal space for his liking, “but I do want you to listen to Wymack’s offer before you turn it down.”

Hernandez nodded and opened his mouth as if to speak, but he stopped short when he saw the withering look Neil shot him. He raised his hands in defeat, and said meekly, “I’ll show you three to my office so you can discuss this whilst I open up for the day.”

“No,” Neil said, waving him away, “we have nothing to discuss. I’ll open up and take the tickets as usual.”

Hernandez shook his head. “I meant it when I fired you, Neil. This is all for the best.”

Neil scoffed, but Wymack cut off his next scathing remark. “Look, I don’t want to draw this out any longer than I have to. My offer is a full-time job working at the Foxhole Cinema, free access to therapy, healthcare, dentistry, whatever. Free movie tickets too.”

Neil almost laughed. Healthcare meant nothing to him. He’d spent years on the run with his Mother, and for whatever reason, she’d insisted they never go to any hospitals. Even though she’d died a year ago, Neil could still remember how to swallow his pain, stitch up his wounds, and drink himself unconscious. He could take care of anything, from a papercut to a bullet wound. He had a feeling if he said no outright though, Wymack would keep pressing. If he got them off his backs for a few hours, he could pack up and leave Millport behind. He’d clearly stayed too long if he was being sought out like this anyway.

“Can I have a few hours to think about it?” Neil asked no one in particular. He didn’t really care which of the three answered him so long as the answer was yes.

Hernandez sighed in relief, and Kevin nodded. “That’s acceptable. You have until the Millport Cinema closes at the end of today to decide.”

Wymack shot him a dirty look, “You’re not the one who’s meant to be setting out the terms,” he grunted, before turning to Neil, “but also yes, what he said.”

Hernandez sighed again and scurried over to the ticket booth, where he pulled out two tickets printed. The pale yellow paper they were printed on marked them as viewing for a 3D film, and although Neil couldn’t read the small black words on it, he could imagine it was for Raven King. “Can I offer you some free movie tickets whilst you wait?”

Wymack looked from Kevin, who had gone suspiciously pale, to the tickets in Hernandez’s hands. “Sure, but preferably not Raven King.”

Well that was curious, wasn’t it? Why wouldn’t Kevin Day want to watch his own partner’s newest movie?

Hernandez seemed to be having around the same thoughts, but unlike Neil, he was foolish enough to voice them. “Why not?”

“Trying to avoid publicity at the moment,” Wymack said when it was clear Kevin wasn’t going to answer, “It was hard enough to fly out here without the paparazzi hounding us every damn step of the way.”

Hernandez seemed to accept that excuse and shuffled away to get different tickets, but from the way Kevin bit his bottom lip, and his eyes picked up a glassy, far-away quality, Neil doubted it was the truth. Could there be more to Kevin’s injury then he let on? Neil shook his head to clear it of those thoughts- none of that mattered because he would be out of the state in a few hours, and out of the country in a few more. He’d never been to Canada before. Perhaps that could be his next destination.

Hernandez led Kevin and Wymack towards whatever showing he had lined up for them instead, before opening the doors to let the throngs in and shooing Neil away.

“You don’t work for me anymore,” Hernandez huffed, “off with you to make your choice.”

“Not much of a choice if I only have one option,” Neil grimaced.

Hernandez flashed him a grim smile, and then hurried away to hand out tickets in Neil’s stead. Neil nodded and set off running to the apartment he was currently squatting in. He’d need to get up there, and then pry up the loose floorboard in the kitchen to get his duffel bag, which contained all his fake IDs and coded coordinates leading him to his Mother’s stashes of money across the world. It also kept safe all his clothes and the money he carried with him, as well as more knives than was strictly necessary. He didn’t see any tails as he ran, but his Mother had always taught him better safe than sorry, so he took a longer route that twisted through the heart of the city, relying on the shadows in the grimy alleyways and backroads to keep him safe.

Finally, he was back at the apartment. He removed his lockpicks from the secret compartment in the sole of his shoe and fitted them into the lock, easing them back and forth until it clicked open. It felt a little looser than usual, which was strange. Neil filed that information away in his brain as he took the stairs to his floor two at a time. Keeping an eye out for any possible threat, he strode into the kitchen… only to see Lola Malcolm sitting lazily at his table.

Lola Malcolm, who was one of his Father’s top men. Lola Malcolm, who was supposed to be in jail. Lola Malcolm, who was twirling a knife in her hand, and turning to face Neil.

“Hello Junior,” she cooed.

Neil flinched at her nickname for him.

“It’s good to see you after so long.”

“You should be in jail,” Neil spat at her, fighting to stay steady on his feet. He couldn’t run- he had to get the duffel bag or running would be useless. He couldn’t go anywhere without it.

“And you should be with Daddy dearest,” Lola chirped in her infuriating sing-song voice, “but we don’t all get what we deserve, do we?”

“What do you want with me?” Neil hissed, feeling the lockpicks in his clammy palm. They were small and thin, and sharp enough to cause some damage if dug into someone’s skin.

“I want you to come back home,” she smiled, spinning the knife frighteningly fast, “Daddy will be free in about half a year, but I came to collect you early because it seems you need to be house-trained again, ready for his return.”

“Fuck off. I’m not going with you,” Neil said.

“Oh really?”

“Really.”

Neil took a deep breath, shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and lunged.

[hansoulo]

ain’t it a gentle sound (the rolling in the graves) - pt. 5

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo/f!Reader

Warnings: grief, heavy angst, mentions of Hard Emotions and Past Events. it’s not super specific and it’s in the context of healing/working through those things but ik reading that can be hard so pls take care!! also talks about hospitals? no gore or anything but :P reader and horacio have a mini therapy sesh and then make out for a bit >:)

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: it’s taken almost a month but here u go 💀

masterlist  playlist  moodboard  gif by @el-cheung​

You’d been given time off from your shifts at the hospital, courtesy of the whole “kidnapped and experienced blunt trauma to the head” thing, but you were due back soon and knew you couldn’t keep dragging your feet. As much as you wanted to dig your heels in the sand, to bury your head in it until everything was muffled and coarse and static, you couldn’t. Not forever. You had a job and responsibilities and friends and a fucking life to get back to but everything still felt splintered and raw, pieces that were just starting to come together breaking apart again and leaving you, sitting on the cold tile of your bathroom floor heaving gulps of air like a drowning man and feeling just as desperate.

Everything had been too much, too slow and too fast at the same time and you just needed… space. To think. To try and not feel so fucking guilty and rotted from the inside. It had been eating at you, gnawing aimlessly for so long you hardly even noticed it before pushing it back down but now, now it was tearing you apart limb from limb with slow-snapping teeth, screaming everything and everyone you’d been trying to forget since this whole shitshow started. You used to be normal.

You used to make grocery lists and get called pet names and go to dinner parties. You used to gossip with the other military wives, sip wine with a warm hand on your knee and a chest against your back. You used to have so many things. Then… then you didn’t. And you were just starting to be okay with that because you could at least pretend you had him. For a moment, you did. You had him and he had you for a brief, sparking moment that felt like fire and tasted like blood but was the best thing you’d ever known.

Now you didn’t have anything. And it was your own damn fault.

You could hear Dr. Reyes’ voice in your head now, chiding you with a shake of her graying head. It’s not your fault, she’d say to you as you sat on the crinkly fake leather of her office couch, wringing a tissue in your hands until it chafed your palms. She’d called a few times since you’d come back - back, not home, because it wasn’t really home - concerned as to why you hadn’t been making it to your weekly sessions. Her voice was warm, familiar and grounding and a little pitying but you didn’t really mind. It was kind of in a therapist’s job description to pity. Maybe that wasn’t the right word but you appreciated the concern all the same, assuring her that no, you were alright and just not feeling very well. The last part wasn’t even a lie, because the ache knotting something awful in your head had yet to subside.

Horacio had taken you to the hospital after he got you out of the safe house, sitting in the waiting room and dwarfing the little plastic folding chair. He was still wearing his tactical vest, the gun holster digging into your hip as you leaned on him. You could barely string two sentences together with the bright fluorescent lights glaring in your eyes, so you’d screwed them shut and pressed your forehead into his chest, listening as he explained what happened to the receptionist.

You remembered her asking if you were married, feeling the shake of his head as his chin dipped slightly against your hair. Are you in a relationship? Another shake, Horacio’s arms sliding down to help prop you up on your feet. You didn’t really expect him to answer differently. It still stung a little bit, though. 

An hour later and you’d walked out with a mild concussion diagnosis and a prescription for some painkillers, pressing the heel of your hand to your temple as Horacio led you back to the Jeep. You tried not to think about the bullet holes in the passenger side door and how tightly his hands gripped the steering wheel.

He probably doesn’t have great memories of hospitals, you’d mused with your head lolling against the window, gaze bleary and unfocused as it swept over dusty backroads. With his wife and all. You hummed as the thoughts churned through your head, making your expression in the glass frown a little deeper. Maybe that’s why he always came back to his apartment so roughed up. Probably doesn’t like going if he can help it. I wouldn’t either, if I had to watch my wife die. I’d hate it.

⫸ -------- ⫷

Horacio sank deeper into the couch cushions, a hand cradling Isabella’s head as she lay across his chest. She was sleeping soundly for the first time in days and he let out a sigh, careful not to jostle her as he reached over to the phone on the table. He’d forgotten how difficult it could be, without you there.

He wanted to call. He wanted to see you, to talk to you, to do something. The plastic cord of the telephone tangled slightly when he held the receiver, thumbnail dragging over the buttons and catching on the shallow grooves of waxy plastic. It warmed under his hand, grown restless and waiting. He set it down again.

Your voicemail left two days prior still fogged his head like the static message of a radio, the signal too soft and too out of reach but still carrying over enough to whisper and root itself in every waking moment. It’s just- it’s just too much right now, Horacio. Maybe we can work it out. Maybe not. I- I don’t know. Take care, alright? I lo-

You’d ended the message then, the dial tone ringing mocking and sour in his ears.

⫸ -------- ⫷

It was Friday night. You were due back on Monday, but it was far enough away that you could pretend not to care. Things were a bit better now. You were eating and showering and doing laundry. Responsible-type things. You could finally sleep through the night, even if you were plagued by nightmares. Sleep was sleep, right?

He wasn’t sleeping much, though. Not tonight, at least. Undercut by the sound of Isabella’s fussy cries, you could hear him pacing. You laughed a bit, not because it was funny but because it was familiar.

Before you could realize what you were doing, you slowly padded over to the door, not caring that you hadn’t brushed your hair or were wearing old pajamas. He’d seen worse, anyways. You wordlessly took the baby from his arms. His eyes seemed sunken in, a bit darker and a bit more hollow. You didn’t say anything, though. Neither of you did. You just stood in the hallway, a quiet agreement to not look each other in the face blanketing the air in a way that made your tongue stick to the roof of your mouth.

She settled quickly against you, hiccuping breaths slowing underneath your touch. The air was hot, humid and sticky with the Colombian summer in a way that made your head soupy. You could hear cars in the distance, sirens and horns and all the violent things that had led him to you and you to him. You pressed a kiss to the top of Isabella’s head, smiling at the way she smelled like the color pink - the innocent softness that you’d grown to love like it was your own. You missed it.

Horacio’s eyes were downcast, broad shoulders taking up most of your field of vision in a way that had your throat closing up. You reached out to place her back in his arms, clearly your throat awkwardly when your hands brushed. He mumbled a thanks and you shook your head, stepping back towards your apartment. Your hand rested on the doorframe, tangible evidence of your hesitancy as you stood with your back still to him.

You turned, the ghost of your profile just catching the way he glanced up when you opened your mouth to speak. “I-” you began and then let the word drift off, hanging heavy and uncertain. A whispered goodbye finally escaped your lips as you turned the knob, the metal searing cold against your skin.

⫸ -------- ⫷

Still Friday night. Or Saturday morning. Hard to tell, in the witching hours when everything was dampened and tilted sideways. You felt tilted sideways. Off-balance. You didn’t even remember leaving your apartment.

Your steps faltered, the few yards from your door to his stretched out until it lay miles away, a distant exit on a road you’d been down before but couldn’t for the life of you remember when or why or how to get back on. Wrenching your eyes shut, you let your forehead fall against the plaster of the wall beside you, the stucco cool and pebbling hard beneath your skin. The air was tight in your chest, shallow breaths doing nothing to ease the choking feeling in your throat. It was like hands were wrapped around you, pushing down on everything until you felt ready to burst.

Legs moving of their own accord, you found yourself standing outside his apartment entrance, the painted wood staring back at you, impersonal. What were you even doing?

The door opened just as you were about to turn away, hinges creaking slightly and making you wince. He called your name, voice soft and slightly confused. It was late. Were you okay? Was everything alright? He didn’t get to finish the last question before you fell into him, arms thrown around his neck and gripping the fabric of his shirt so tight your knuckles paled. “I need you,” you whispered, your voice thick with tears.

You buried your face in his neck and his breath fanned out over your hairline, tickling your cheek when he looked down. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry but I- I just-”  He quieted you, whispering comfort into the shell of your ear until your hiccups slowed and the tears dried sticky on your cheeks. You could feel his hand on your back, the other braced against the doorway. Sniffling, you pulled away slightly. “I’m sorry.”

Horacio shifted to thread a hand through your hair, his touch gentle - almost hesitant. The front of his shirt was damp with your crying and you frowned at it slightly, moving your hands to his chest. He shook his head with a small smile, his own hands moving to rest atop yours and you were suddenly reminded of how big he was. It should’ve terrified you, standing there and being comforted by a man like that, a man capable of things you didn’t want to speak aloud, but it didn’t. It never had.

“Don’t worry about it,” Horacio  said. Oh. Right. The shirt. Hands reached up to cradle your face, rough fingertips smoothing over the curve of your jaw. You let your eyes fall closed, stepping closer until his feet widened. His thumb caught the downward drag of a tear, wiping it away across your cheekbones. “I’m sorry, too.”

⫸ -------- ⫷

He’d led you back into his apartment, your steps quiet and your voices hushed as you sat down by his kitchen table. Your eyes were still puffy and everything was fogged up, burning a little and blurry the way fighting sleep made you feel. It was dark outside. Your only witness was the moon.

You traced the rim of your glass of water as you spoke, a single finger circling until your nail caught its edge.

“We should talk,” he said as he drew up a chair. His voice was quiet, rounded out on the edges and tired. You laughed a bit as you took a sip.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Yeah we should.”

So you talked.

“Are you alright?” Horacio asked after a few minutes where you both sort of said things but didn’t really say much at all. You nodded, resting your cheek on a propped hand, the grainy wood digging into your elbow.

“Yeah,” you looked back at him, smiling. You were trying to be, at least. “I think- I think I was just scared, y’know?”

He frowned slightly. “I would never let anything happen to you.”

You shook your head. You already knew that. “No, no, it’s not that.” you began, your eyes downcast and swimming murky in the water glass. “I was scared of myself. Of things all going to shit again. I didn’t want you to-” you blinked back tears, reaching to wipe them away with the heel of your palm. “I didn’t want what happened to him to happen to you. I don’t think I could, I- fuck,” you whispered, cradling your head in your hands. You closed your eyes. “Sometimes I can’t help feeling like it’s my fault. And I know it’s not, I know that it’s just- ”

“It’s easier to blame yourself,” Horacio whispered, his hands coming to your wrists. “Believe me, I know.”

Yeah, he would, wouldn’t he?

He brushed the hair back from your face and you remembered when he kissed you, thinking of spun sugar and amber and other sweet things that could still burn your tongue.

You entertained the idea of facades for a moment, the notion that you could somehow still manage to build something out of brick and mortar and silence and keep him out. He’d already seen you with all your walls crumbling down, though, so that wouldn’t accomplish much. A self-deluded exercise in futility, pretending like you didn’t need him and he didn’t need you. You were fighting a losing battle with yourself, a civil war of body and mind and heart that left you sick and dog-tired, just searching for someone to heal with.

It seems you’d found what you were looking for.

You moved your hands, threading your fingers into his. Ghosting your lips against the inside of his wrist, your words were hoarse and came out before you could stop to think. “Can I kiss you?”

A large palm came to your cheek, coaxing your face closer. Horacio’s chair scraped the tile as he moved but you barely noticed the sound, your eyes closing as his forehead fell against yours. You felt his smile instead of seeing it. His voice wrapped around you, all-encompassing and rushing in your ears like the roar of a heavy ocean wave. “If you want to.”

The first kiss had been nice. Hell, it’d been a lot more than nice but this… this was different. Somehow better. Slower. Quiet and soft but still kindling a smoke in your belly, gentle blue gas flames licking at every inch of your skin until you felt dizzy with heat and with touch. His hands had fallen to your waist, shifting your weight with no argument until you sat draped on his lap. He was strong underneath you, solid and warm and safe.

You recalled the feeling of stubble beneath your hands that first time in the hallway, so you moved to press a kiss to his jaw, over all the contours and shadows you never had the time nor the courage to map out before. You wanted to memorize him, everything from the way his fingers felt on your hip to the feeling of his mouth against the hollow of your throat. You didn’t want to run anymore.

“Stay here,” Horacio breathed as you shifted in his arms, reaching to card your hands through cropped hair at the nape of his neck. You nodded, still hiccuping leftover tears into his mouth as they bled into moans.

“Okay,” you whispered.

permanent: @ah-callie @itzagoodthing @spookypym @opheliaelysia @watsonwise @damndamer0n @amarvelousmandalorian @bunnyart-blog @agirllovespasta @pascalispedro @pascalplease @coffeencontemplation @chelsfic @lesqui @javierpenaspinkshirt​​ @symbiont13 @glowingpena @squidlywiddly87 @1zashreena1 @hiscyarika @lostingoogletranslate @keeper0fthestars @bobafvtt @halfwaythereroyal @starwarsiscooliguess @huliabitch

ain’t it a gentle sound: @paniclana @huliabitch @jayoknrjk28 @raabiac @sparrows-books @popculturepriestess  @pascalplease @ididntmeantobutiaccidentally @lockedoutofmyotherblog @multifandom-fiasco @wherethefuckiskathmandu​

my tags have been all weird lately so if it doesn’t work/notify you im so sorry 😭😭 

[salemroleplayhq]

❝ To need someone is a very dangerous thing. ❞

MEET…

Liam Wagner

Age: 27

Birthday: October 1, 1994

Gender/Pronouns: Cis Male, He/Him

Hometown: Boston, MA

Length of time in Salem: 19 years

Occupation: Artist/Internet Content Creator

Faceclaim: Ronen Rubinstein

HIS STORY

tw: alcohol, drug addiction

Liam Gabriel Wagner didn’t ask to be born into a family with more dysfunction than love. He never asked to be a child that was unwanted or to be given a family name that would mean nothing to him by the time he was eight. Liam had wished his whole life that someone would love him and want him so when that day came that a mother and father looked at him and asked him if he wanted to be part of their family, it was almost hard to believe. His parents had surrendered him to child protective services when he was five and it took three years of waiting before he was finally placed in a foster home with parents who were looking to adopt. When Liam was ten he was finally adopted by John and Melissa Wagner and for the first time in his life felt like someone wanted him.

He had moved to Salem when he was eight after being placed with a foster family there and at the time he was a sweet kid who was working through his traumatic childhood in therapy and starting to assimilate into the new town he was calling home. He made friends easily and found that he had a talent for drawing that later turned into a passion. Everything was fine with the Wagners until December of 2010 when the family was caught in a winter storm that would take away the only family Liam had.

The car accident claimed the lives of both of his parents and at the age of sixteen, Liam was once again, alone. He had been lucky enough, or unlucky if you asked him, to survive that black ice on a backroad but his life was once again torn into pieces. He had an older adoptive sibling who took custody of him and let him live with them until he turned eighteen but Liam was done trying to have a family. It was clearly not in the cards for him and he didn’t want to burden anyone else with his desire to be loved. So instead he started finding comfort in things that could fill the void in his life without involving anyone else.

At first it was just alcohol, easy enough to obtain and didn’t draw any attention to him. But eventually the alcohol turned to experimenting with drugs and that turned into a habitual use and before Liam knew it, he was drowning in his addiction. The drugs almost claimed his own life several times, a few because of overdosing and a few more because of the things he was willing to do to get his hands on drugs. Liam had lived on the street for a while after his older sibling kicked him out for his behavior, and during that time he’d let men of all kinds mistreat him for somewhere to sleep or another fix.

There was only ever really one person that knew Liam for who he was and didn’t judge or try to fix him and that was Ale. From the first time they met he knew that Ale understood him. The only person he’d ever shared his deepest and darkest parts with and the only one he wanted to share it with. Liam had relationships here and there but rarely anything serious because his own abandonment issues made it impossible to commit to anyone else. But Ale was different because he understood the weight of his losses. When his life was falling apart, it was Ale’s door step that Liam would show up on, out of his mind and needing a place to crash.

He’s been to rehab a few times and regularly attends NA meetings but Liam’s sobriety is always in question. Without any real ambitions or idea about how to make something worthwhile out of his life, Liam’s held down a few different jobs over the years but never for very long. He makes most of his money by selling his artwork online, and sometimes a little more than artwork if anyone were to do a thorough search through the internet. But recently he’s been thinking about his future and wondering when he’ll ever get his act together enough to get a real job.

PERSONALITY

+   gentle, forgiving, easy going

-   forgetful, distant, secretive

Liam is played by ANDI.

[itsliamwagner]

— BASICS

Name: Liam Wagner Age: 27 Birthday: October 1, 1994 Gender/Pronouns: Cis Male, He/Him Hometown: Portland, OR Length of time in Seattle: 19 years Occupation: Artist/Internet Content Creator Faceclaim: Ronen Rubinstein

—BIOGRAPHY (tws: drug use, addiction, car accident, death)

Liam Gabriel Wagner didn’t ask to be born into a family with more dysfunction than love. He never asked to be a child that was unwanted or to be given a family name that would mean nothing to him by the time he was eight. Liam had wished his whole life that someone would love him and want him so when that day came that a mother and father looked at him and asked him if he wanted to be part of their family, it was almost hard to believe. His parents had surrendered him to child protective services when he was five and it took three years of waiting before he was finally placed in a foster home with parents who were looking to adopt. When Liam was ten he was finally adopted by John and Melissa Wagner and for the first time in his life felt like someone wanted him.

He had moved to Seattle when he was eight after being placed with a foster family there and at the time he was a sweet kid who was working through his traumatic childhood in therapy and starting to assimilate into the new town he was calling home. He made friends easily and found that he had a talent for drawing that later turned into a passion. Everything was fine with the Wagners until December of 2010 when the family was caught in a winter storm that would take away the only family Liam had.

The car accident claimed the lives of both of his parents and at the age of sixteen, Liam was once again, alone. He had been lucky enough, or unlucky if you asked him, to survive that black ice on a backroad but his life was once again torn into pieces. He had an older adoptive sibling who took custody of him and let him live with them until he turned eighteen but Liam was done trying to have a family. It was clearly not in the cards for him and he didn’t want to burden anyone else with his desire to be loved. So instead he started finding comfort in things that could fill the void in his life without involving anyone else.

At first it was just alcohol, easy enough to obtain and didn’t draw any attention to him. But eventually the alcohol turned to experimenting with drugs and that turned into a habitual use and before Liam knew it, he was drowning in his addiction. The drugs almost claimed his own life several times, a few because of overdosing and a few more because of the things he was willing to do to get his hands on drugs. Liam had lived on the street for a while after his older sibling kicked him out for his behavior, and during that time he’d let men of all kinds mistreat him for somewhere to sleep or another fix.

There was only ever really one person that knew Liam for who he was and didn’t judge or try to fix him and that was Ale. From the first time they met he knew that Ale understood him. The only person he’d ever shared his deepest and darkest parts with and the only one he wanted to share it with. Liam had relationships here and there but rarely anything serious because his own abandonment issues made it impossible to commit to anyone else. But Ale was different because he understood the weight of his losses. When his life was falling apart, it was Ale’s door step that Liam would show up on, out of his mind and needing a place to crash. 

He’s been to rehab a few times and regularly attends NA meetings but Liam’s sobriety is always in question. Without any real ambitions or idea about how to make something worthwhile out of his life, Liam’s held down a few different jobs over the years but never for very long. He makes most of his money by selling his artwork online, and sometimes a little more than artwork if anyone were to do a thorough search through the internet and stumble upon his Only Fans account. But recently he’s been thinking about his future and wondering when he’ll ever get his act together enough to get a real job.

—PERSONALITY TRAITS

(+) gentle, forgiving, easy going

(-) forgetful, distant, secretive

—EXTRAS

Older Sibling: This is the person who took Liam in when his adoptive parents passed away. At the time they might have been close but Liam fell into a dark head space after they passed and he started drinking and doing drugs and burned that bridge.

Just for Tonight: A hookup that Liam sees semi-regularly. He doesn’t do well in relationships so he just uses his body to get his needs met and then leaves it at that. He’s openly bisexual so any gender is fine with him!

Almost the One: Someone who dated Liam in his early twenties. They probably could have worked out and been amazing together if he could have kept his act together but his inability to commit and stay sober ended up being the death of them.

[zigtheeortega]

to hell and back

✿ pairing: logan x mc

✿ word count: 4174

✿ warnings: mentions of violence from book one & angst

✿ tags: @diamondsless ; @agentsewell ; @violinet ; @messofakind ; @hudush ; @roguemal ; @troublemakerinspace ; @choicesarehard ; @litgpop ; @auroraemery 

✿ author’s note: i’m incredibly nervous to post this, as this is my first ever logan fic so please be gentle! i got the idea for this fic after watching portrait of a lady on fire, after being reminded of the myth of orpheus and eurydice, which if you haven’t ever heard of it, read up here! the idea of a forbidden love always breaks me but i’m a sucker for punishment, so i thought i’d apply that myth to future logan x mc (my mc’s name is raquel). i hit a follower milestone, too, so i thought i’d celebrate by pushing myself out of my comfort zone! woo![disclaimer: i’d never want to accidentally upset anyone by writing him ooc, so if you have any pointers, please dm me] 

•─────────✦✿✦────────•

He was the last person she’d expected to hear from. It’d been years. Her life was finally getting back on track, and she was moving on.

She white-knuckled the steering wheel, her hands slick with sweat, and peeled out of the parking lot of her dorm, leaving her world to enter his again.

Some days, her time with the Mercy Park Crew felt like a distant dream, a day dream she’d conjured while bored at school. Other times, she’d reminisce on his specific features to make sure she’d never forget what he sounded like, how he looked, how he felt.

Some days, she’d zero in on his eyes, the way the brown tones were multidimensional, layered, and how dark and full his lashes were, shading his dilated pupils when he’d stare at her lips before leaning in for a kiss.

Other days, she’d focus specifically on his hair; the strong coconut smell of his deep conditioning mask, which he unabashedly used, a secret she swore to keep, and the silky feeling of his thick waves beneath the pads of her fingers.

She’d spent years mulling over her time with the Mercy Park Crew, spilling tears every time she came across her prom photo with Logan, so often that she had to lock it up in a journal she’d filled long before. She was used to the feeling of a choked sob, the tension in her lungs and the soreness that came after a good cry: a comfort so familiar to her that it was one of the only things that reminded her she was alive – that she was human.

She’d spent so much time grappling with her morality, the guilt of her involvement weighing heavily on her for her entire freshman year. The depression that came with it was unrelenting, the loneliness of moving across state lines settling in almost immediately. The nightmares were worse.

They came as quickly as they went – in short blips, interwoven with her worst memories. It wasn’t unusual for her to wake up in cold sweats, vivid details of bullets ripping through flesh, the metallic smell of blood burned into her memory.

She often woke up trembling, panting, always quick to muffle her cries with her pillow as to not wake her roommate.

She spent the majority of her first year in isolation, a self-inflicted punishment for the people she’d harmed in such a short span of time. Thankfully, her roommate was rarely there.

She was homesick, but not for Los Angeles. 

No matter how much she wanted to go back, she wouldn’t allow herself to go. Not for holiday breaks or summer.

For the first year, her chest felt like a gaping wound, and she struggled with aimlessness, the thoughts of her purposelessness a constant mental burden. She toed the ledge, always close to jumping but never committed.

It took intense therapy to get her to a safe distance.

She slammed on the brakes, the red hue of the brake light in front of her the only thing warning her to stop. The burst of adrenaline she got from almost rear-ending another car was the most she’d felt in a long time.

She had chased the high relentlessly, either isolating herself completely during depressive episodes or throwing herself into high risk situations to feel something – anything.

Driving had become a utility to her, transportation and nothing more.

She associated the exhilarating sensation of pressing the gas pedal until her foot was nearly pointed, the smell of burning rubber, her tangled, windswept hair caught in her lip gloss – with Logan. It was wrong to try to recreate it without him.

When she’d left for Langston, she’d never looked back. Partially because she felt like she had nearly nothing anchoring her to L.A., but also because her last semester had a sense of finality to it. The crew vanished without a trace, and her inhibitions returned.

It took her five days of driving and stopping to make it to the campus. Her once intimidating, tightly packed car barely filled her half of the shared dorm room. And once she was on campus, she rarely drove anywhere, unless absolutely necessary.

She clung to the hope that she’d be able to find a crew of her own in undergrad, and that she’d hear his voice again. Envisioning Logan’s lips enunciating her nickname gave her a rush close to adrenaline, but not quite.

The soft pattering of rain on her windshield drew her out of her reminiscent thoughts. She blinked, glancing around the pitch black road, searching for a road marker. She flicked her high beams on, bouncing off of a distance marker. “Greenwood – 13 miles”.

He’d called at nearly midnight, his voice trembling, quiet, the bass of his voice keeping him from a true whisper. “Raquel, I need you.”

His tone was pure fear, the four words dripping with the subtext of a flubbed deal, a job gone wrong.

She kept the same phone number, clinging to the belief that maybe, just maybe, she’d hear her name roll off his tongue one more time. 

It took three years for her to hear his voice again. And he was terrified.

She’d spent three long years dealing with the aftermath of the spring of her senior year of high school. A couple months of living in a new world had left a lifetime of damage, and she’d come out of it changed. The damage had festered, so much so that she had to seek help.

She’d promised herself that if she ever saw him again, she’d stand her ground, and try to pull him out of the deep end. She was strong willed, and well intentioned, that much she was sure. She learned so much about herself during that last semester, and she was grateful for it.

And all of that was abandoned the second he spoke her name.

She turned off the highway, and after a long stretch of backroads framed with gravel driveways, the bar came into focus. The open sign flickered, overshadowed by the numerous draft beer logos shining brightly around it.

The parking lot was nearly empty, a couple of reverse-parked pickup trucks scattered across the gravel. The muffled music met her ears, barely audible over the electric bug zapper near the entrance.

She still couldn’t get used to the muggy, swampy weather of the east coast, much less the mosquitoes and the irritating itchiness of a fresh bite.

The chill of the air conditioning hit her before her nerves did. With nothing but a few bills, her driver’s license, phone, and determination, she’d set out to save him. She hadn’t even prepared.

What was she supposed to say to the one person who burrowed his way into her subconscious and never left? The one that she was forced to live without, even though she craved daily him like the sweet bitterness of nicotine, the fleeting high enough to keep her coming back, no matter if it’d eventually kill her.

In the back booth of the dingy bar, she saw him.

She noticed the stubble first, so foreign from the smooth tanned skin she remembered running her fingers across. The dark circles under his eyes aged him, the years of trauma finally catching up to him. It’s like his light was dimmed; she thought he was broken before, but whatever healing journey she’d had, he’d endured the opposite over the years.

His cheeks looked hollow, like he hadn’t eaten in days. From the look of his greasy hair and dirt stained white tee, he’d been on the run nonstop.

“Logan?” She called out, just loud enough for him to hear.

He met her eyes, and for a brief second, they were empty, devoid of emotion, just long enough for her to notice, before they filled with tears. He jumped up from the tattered booth seat: grabbing her in a crushing hug, burying his face in her neck.

He murmured her name into her neck over and over, like he couldn’t believe she was real. She wrapped her arms around him, his familiar warmth bringing her to tears. 

And they stayed like that, enveloped in each other, not a single thing around them mattering, except the feeling of being in each others’ arms after years apart.

When she pulled back to look at him, he stared at her lips, and ran his thumb across her chin. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she breathed, her arms snaking around to his front, and she grazed the tight muscles of his torso.

A drunken man shoved past them towards the restrooms, taking her out of the moment.

“Should we sit?”

He nodded, sliding onto his side of the table. “Do you… want a drink, or?” He asked, a bit nervously.

“No, I’m driving.” She fiddled with the braided keychain attached to her car keys, pulling at the frayed edges.

“That’s the responsible Raquel I missed,” he chuckled, breaking the tension a bit. He took a deep gulp from the beer bottle in front of him.

“I missed you so much,” she sighed, watching his face intently, committing every new detail to memory, tucking it away for later.

“I missed you, too.”

It was a hard conversation to initiate, much less navigate. She was still deciding if he was real – she’d dreamt of the moment she’d see him again, and it wasn’t anything close to what was happening.

She’d daydreamed of him pulling up to her dorm, parked out front like he did when they first met, as cliche as it sounded. Donned with the same white tee and jeans, he was leaning against the car (in her dream she pictured a convertible, so she could watch how beautifully the wind’s rough caress styled his hair, able to tousle it in a way a pair of hands never could), a smirk on his face, his arms folded, but his body language was never uninviting. He was relaxed, untroubled, as she kissed him, and they drove off into the sunset. A cliche, but at least they were both happy.

“So…” she started.

“I know you have a lot of questions, but I don’t know if I can answer all of them right now,” he finished, apologetic.

“Why not?”

“Let’s just say that… subter-fudge doesn’t always work to get you out of sticky situations.”

“You mean subterfuge?”

“Okay, truth be told I’ve never used that word in my life, but it was the word of the day on this dictionary app I have. And I was saving it for a good time, but I think I fucked it up,” he smiled, shaking his head.

She reached across the table, covering his hand with her own. “Let me get this straight. You not only learned a new word to use on me, but you have a dictionary app? You know you can just Google words, right?”

He shrugged. “I try to learn a new word as often as I can. It’s not much, but I feel smarter, even if I never use the word.”

“I thought it was cute.”

He chuckled, tracing his thumb across her knuckles. “You’re just trying to flatter me because I messed up.”

“No, I’m flattering you because you tried… and I missed you,” she said, squeezing his hand, the roughness of his skin comforting to her.

“God, I missed you more,” he whispered, eyes roaming over her face. “You really answered after all that time?”

“Yeah, of course. I knew you’d come back for me, eventually,” she smiled, burying the years of grief underneath the momentary gratification.

Her life since meeting and leaving Logan had been a probability. The numbers were infinite, the outcomes varied. She thought her psychology class would’ve been more rough on her mentally, but numbers didn’t lie.

Her calculus and statistics classes had been terrible – not just because she had to work twice as hard for a good grade in math classes, but because the problems so well translated to her life.

There were so many times that she could’ve died – so many times that she could’ve gone to prison for working with “criminals.” So many times that she jeopardized her future. And she was offered a way out, to start fresh.

But as many times as she tried to scare herself into feeling lucky and grateful for being steered back onto her path to success, she felt hollow. She had a one in a million chance of getting out of that life alive, but she had a one in a million chance of meeting Logan, too.

There were millions of people in Los Angeles County – she could’ve gone her whole life without knowing him, blissfully ignorant to the rough underbelly of the city she’d grown up in.

He changed her from the second he met her. Her probability split down the middle, branching into paths and subpaths, and multiple more until each move she made was critical. And the moment he left, she clung to him, despite the probabilities of them ever meeting again slimming more and more with each passing day.

He squirmed a bit, looking uncomfortable. She could tell that he was holding back. “Look, Raquel, I have to be completely honest with you, or it wouldn’t sit right with me. I know you haven’t seen me since you left for college, but… I’ve seen you.”

Her breath hitched in her throat. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, all of the jobs I’ve taken since leaving L.A. have been on the east coast, so I could stay close to you. To protect you.”

It shouldn’t have been music to her ears, but witnessing those words fall from his lips filled her soul with a sensation she could only describe as tranquility.

Her first year of college was riddled with depressive episodes, but the ensuing paranoia that came after she was reminded of The Brotherhood was even heavy, even more suffocating. She watched her back so much that her body was covered with bruises from the times she’d run into door frames, trash cans, people, sometimes causing her to trip and fall.

She was so unhealthily fixated on all of the possibilities and outcomes that she withdrew, not wanting to be the reason anyone close to her was harmed. She spent so long worrying that it nearly ruined her.

But hearing that he was always there, close enough to keep her safe, alleviated her, renewed her, replenished her. It nearly undid the hurt, minus a critical detail.

“Why didn’t you reach out to me?”

“I couldn’t… hurt you. The crews I ran with… it would’ve –” he cut himself off with a shake of his head, throwing back the bottle to finish it off.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Logan,” she whispered, watching his labored breathing, like he was so close to crumbling before her eyes.

“No, I can handle it. It just might take me a few tries to get it out,” he smiled weakly, gripping her hand, and she held firm, grounding him.

“Truthfully, I wanted to call you. You don’t know how many times I typed your number out and deleted it. I know your number by memory now.

“I was already here by the time you moved in. I’d been recruited by one of Teppei’s old friends, if you could call him that. He seemed like a great guy at first, but…” he trailed off, pained.

“It got really bad. This guy said he never worked with the same crew twice, and I thought since he kept calling me back that I was special.” He laughed curtly, the familiar look of brewing rage bubbling beneath the surface. “It was stupid, but each time he kept pushing me into doing more than I bargained for. I did a lot of things I couldn’t stomach, but by the time I realized what I was doing, I was already getting orders for the next job.”

He watched her hand on his, refusing to meet her eye.

“I always thought I’d dip when things got too rough, but I couldn’t give up being so close to you.”

“You didn’t run?”

“I told you I was tired of running,” he grinned, and it seemed alien on his gaunt face – like it’d been so long since he smiled he’d forgotten how to do it.

“So, what are you doing now, then?”

“Running.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, so deadpan, so pragmatic, that she knew not to pry. He was at rock bottom, and she was his only way out.

“What can I do?” she asked, no hesitation, ready to throw herself in the line of fire for him.

“I just need a ride to the used car lot on the other side of town. I have cash and someone there waiting to sell me one, so all I need is a ride.”

“You could’ve just called a cab or something, though. Why do you need me?” She prodded.

“I don’t know if you’re gonna like what I’m gonna say,” he hesitated, clearly torn.

“I can’t like or dislike it if you don’t tell me.”

He sighed. “Well, this might be the last time I can see you… for a while.”

“Can’t you just hide out and wait out till it’s safe? You can’t leave now, I just… I just got you back,” she choked, panicking and grieving all over again. 

“I have to. There’s a pretty hefty warrant out for me. And I’ve got people looking for me. I can’t drag you into that,” he said, solemn.

“No, you can get out, Logan, we just have to plan it out. We can beat this, we just have to try,” she whispered, vision blurring with tears.

“Hey, hey, Raquel, it’s okay, I’ve accepted it,” he soothed her, reaching out to stroke her face, swiping his thumb across the streaks of water the teardrops left behind. “I just wanted to see you before I left.”

“Logan, I can’t say goodbye again. I just got you back,” she repeated, the familiar sense of dread creeping in, her chest tight.

“I can’t. I’m in too deep.” And he left it at that.

He left a tip, and they walked to the car, hands intertwined. She wanted so badly to just talk – to catch up on the years he’d missed, to make him proud, but it wasn’t the time. There’d never be a time. Being together in that moment was precious, every minute counting.

She’d have to memorize every second; they would have to last her a lifetime.

“Do you want to drive?”

He chuckled in response, a spark of his old self coming back. “Nah, I’ll be doing enough of that. I really missed seeing you behind the wheel.”

They slipped onto the warm leather seats – the moist air left over from the rain had seeped into the atmosphere of the car. She cranked up the AC, sweat beading on the back of her neck.

She peeled out onto the gravel backroad, not knowing what to say next. Thankfully, he leaned forward to tap the volume knob, turning on the radio, but the soft hum of the engine drowned it out, white noise in their silence.

He slipped the dog tag from around his neck, ruffling his hair, and placed it on the neck of the rearview mirror. It dangled, catching the occasional light of the passing streetlight.

“Is that a new necklace?” she asked, watching it sway as she turned onto the ramp to merge onto the highway.

“I hope you don’t think it’s weird.”

“I think we’re past that.”

“After I gave you my last necklace, I wanted something of my own to remember you by, so I got this done,” he rotated the piece towards her.

“Troublemaker” and her phone number was carved into the metal, scratched and slightly rusty.

“Oh, Logan,” she breathed, gripping the steering wheel harder. She couldn’t tell him bye. She’d just gotten him back.

“I want you to keep it.”

“No, you need it to remember me by, like you said,” she forced through a sob, the composure she’d thought she’d had a grasp on crumbling with each syllable that fell from his lips.

“I don’t need it, Raquel.”

“If I take it it means that…” she couldn’t say it.

“That it could get ugly. And I might not ever come back for you.”

“I want you to, though, Logan. I’m so close to finishing college, and I’m going to start med school soon, and I’m gonna have a great job, and I can take care of us and I–” she cut herself off, crying, her body heaving.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, and was met with the calloused pads of his fingers on her jaw.

“I can’t do this without you.”

“You can. You’re way stronger than you think. I know you made it through some hard ass classes without anyone’s help,” he joked.

“You are too.”

“This isn’t about me anymore. It was never really about me,” he said, tracing a hand down her shoulder to rub the nape of her neck lovingly. “I know you never moved on. Hell, I didn’t really let you move on since I was secretly playing bodyguard for years. But this time I’m serious. You’ve gotta let me go, Troublemaker.”

“You know I’ll never do that,” she laughed feebly.

“You have to at least try. For me.”

She didn’t answer him. She pulled off of the highway, begging for the car to break down, for some divine intervention to happen to prove that they deserved to be together.

When she parked in the empty lot, the only light coming from her headlights and the flashing streetlight, he turned to her, a softness in his haggard appearance.

They stared at each other, drinking in every inch of their bodies. She wanted to remember him as bright, more vigorous, more alive.

And before she knew it, their lips were on one another’s, fervent and hungry. He smelled exactly the same, and she breathed him in, lacing her fingers in his hair, taking full advantage of their brief moment of solitude.

He parted his mouth, tasting her, groaning. They kissed over and over, reacquainting themselves. It morphed into her breaking down, yet again, kissing and embracing him over and over, trying desperately to reclaim the moment as healing. But she couldn’t see it that way, even as he whispered affirmations in her ear, reminding her of all of the things he loved about her.

The rain picked up again, tapping insistently against the windshield, setting a much more soothing ambiance than the situation called for.

Finally, she leaned back, so unwilling to part from the warmth of his arms. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he breathed, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I need to hit the road so I can make it over the state border by sunrise.”

“Logan…” she whispered, begging. “I know we can make this work.” She sounded like a broken record, proposing empty ideas with no solutions. She knew there wasn’t a solution, but she preferred empty words to the stinging slap of the truth.

“I’m a fugitive. You’re going to be a doctor. I can’t compromise that. It’s selfish.”

“But I want you to be selfish,” she clasped his hands in hers, holding it to her chest. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

“That’s the problem, Troublemaker. I can’t let you do that,” he brought her hands to his mouth, kissing her knuckles once, twice, before unlocking his door, and stepping out. “You were always too good for me, Raquel.”

He circled to the front of the car and smiled at her one last time, the tears in his eyes glimmering, reflecting the headlights. She watched the rain dot blotches all over his ratty tee, clinging to his form, and it made her wish she’d been able to see all of him. 

Then he turned, and walked further and further into the lot of cars, his form becoming hazy before disappearing completely. 

And she couldn’t stop him. 

Probability always won in the end – the numbers didn’t lie. She could’ve seen it coming from a mile away, but she didn’t want to see it.

She was paralyzed in fear, knowing that there was no way she could save him from the hell that’d engulfed him, but refusing to believe it.