#also I got the permission of the author to post this little story so

[nadiajustbe]

I cannot express how much I LOVE small fandoms because we're all actually like a small village of two and half people where everyone knows everyone and I mean in in the BEST WAY POSSIBLE because this bring the funniest stories ever.

Probably one of my most precious fandom experience I've ever had in a HUGE time of my internet existence happened because I was following one really cool modern AU hmc book fanfiction. And when I really like something I engage with it as much as it's possible to do so, and so I was leaving a pretty big comments (1k+ words each) under every chapter just ranting about the plot, my emotions, predictions and also fitting in some of my favourite hcs. Me and the author had a little chat in the comments for a while, and that's not the main point of the story, but we had pretty similar visions and headcanons for the characters and were both laughing about it.

The funniest thing happened when in one of the chapters they randomly mentioned one of my favourite, random fandom rare pairs, never mentioned anywhere in the fanfiction fandom page before (yes, Justiman. It WAS Justiman) as a canon in the fix instead of canonical pair-up the characters had.

Needless to say I was the happiest person in the world, immediately writing a huge paragraph about how I was absolutely sure that I was the only person shopping them and how good it fit into all the other small details in the fic. Then, between the lines, I asked them where did they get the idea of a ship, because god how happy I was. They said they got the idea from Tumblr and immediately jumped aboard. I asked If they can tell me the name of the account. They did.

It was.

My account.

[scarletwinterxx]

cluelessly yours - jeon wonwoo imagine

helloo ~ i'm back, was gone for a while bcs i was busy with work and life in general🥺 it's almost the end of 2024. i'm not sure yet how many more fics i'll post before this year ends but for now here's another cute story. hope you enjoyyyyy

for my other svt fics, check them here

if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You’re in your favorite café with a slice of chocolate cake and a steaming mug of hot cocoa. It’s your sanctuary—sweet, cozy, and entirely stress-free. That is, until Wonwoo slides into the seat across from you, wearing his usual hoodie and that slightly smug but mostly unreadable expression.

“Hey,” he greets casually, sipping his black coffee like it’s the nectar of life.

“Hey,” you mumble back through a mouthful of cake, barely glancing up. You’re trying not to think about how soft his hair looks today.

“So…” He leans forward slightly, setting his coffee down. “What kind of chocolates do girls like?”

Your fork freezes mid-air. “What?”

“Chocolates,” he repeats, his voice almost suspiciously nonchalant. “Like…what’s a good kind to buy? You know…for a girl.”

Oh. For a girl. Your heart sinks, but you keep your expression neutral. Of course, it’s for her.

“Uh, I guess…” You poke at your cake, suddenly uninterested in eating. “Milk chocolate is a safe bet. Might be boring to some, but personally it's my fave”

He nods thoughtfully, like you just revealed the secret to the universe. “What about flowers? Roses? Or is that…too much?”

You feel your patience thinning. How considerate he is. For her. “Roses are fine, daises are cute too. Or sunflowers” you say, trying not to sound clipped. “Why? Who’s the lucky girl?”

Wonwoo nearly chokes on his coffee. “No one!” he blurts, a little too quickly. “I was just…curious.”

From a table nearby, Mingyu and Hao exchange wide-eyed glances. You and Wonwoo complete unaware your other friends are also a the cafe.

Mingyu gestures wildly with his spoon, clearly saying something like, Are you seeing this? Hao just shakes his head, muttering, “Idiots.”

“Well,” you say, plastering on a fake smile. “Good luck impressing her.”

Wonwoo frowns slightly but doesn’t respond. He just sips his coffee in silence, while you silently curse the unfairness of the universe.

The next day, you walk into your first class of the day to find a small box of chocolates sitting on your usual seat.

“For me?” you whisper to yourself, picking it up.

It’s a fancy box, with a ribbon and everything. You examine it like it’s a puzzle, your brain spinning. Is this from Wonwoo? Or maybe Mingyu, pulling some kind of prank?

As if summoned by your thoughts, Wonwoo appears in the doorway. He stops short when he sees you holding the chocolates.

“Oh, uh…” He scratches the back of his neck. “You found those.”

You tilt your head at him. “You…left these for me?”

“Yeah.” He shuffles his feet awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. “You like chocolate, right?”

“I mean, yeah,” you say, your heart doing an involuntary somersault. “But I thought you didn’t like chocolate?”

“I don’t,” he admits, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “But…you do.”

The simplicity of his words hits you like a ton of bricks. You stare at him, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or throw the chocolates at him.

From the other side of the library, Mingyu peeks out from behind a shelf. “Can you believe this guy?” he whispers to Hao.

Hao just shakes his head again. “She’s not getting it. And he’s terrible at this. We might actually need a miracle.”

You don’t know how you got roped into this. One moment you were joking with Wonwoo about his gaming obsession, and the next you were sitting on his couch, controller in hand, with the eerie music of a zombie horror game echoing around the room.

“Are you sure about this?” you ask nervously

“You’ll be fine,” Wonwoo says, smirking as he starts the game. “Just follow me.”

You squint at the screen. “How do I even move?!”

Wonwoo laughs, leaning over to press a button on your controller. His shoulder brushes yours, and you momentarily forget how to breathe

“There,” he says, sitting back. “Now just keep up.”

Easier said than done. The first zombie jumps out, and you scream so loudly that Wonwoo pauses the game, laughing so hard he doubles over

“Okay, okay,” he says, wiping tears from his eyes. “Let’s take a deep breath. I’ll protect you, alright?”

You glare at him, clutching a pillow for moral support. “If I die, it’s your fault.”

Of course, ten minutes later, your character is cornered by a horde of zombies, and instead of helping, Wonwoo is laughing too hard to aim properly.

“You’re useless!” you yell, swatting at him with the pillow.

“You’re the one who threw the controller at me!” he retorts, holding his stomach as he laughs. It ended a few rounds later when you threatened to throw his controller out the window when he won't stop laughing at you.

The next time you hangout with him it was like any other evening with your group of friends.

You, Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Hao had gathered in the living room, sprawled across the couches and floor, the usual banter flying around. The air was relaxed, yet you couldn’t help but notice how quiet Wonwoo had been. You assumed it was just his usual introspective mood.

You were snuggled up on the couch, trying to avoid looking at him too much, your heart betraying you every time his voice sounded a little too close.

However, it didn’t take long for Mingyu and Hao to notice the silent war happening between you two. You were both pretending like nothing was going on, when, clearly, everything was going on.

Mingyu, as usual, didn’t have the patience to wait for you both to work things out on your own. He got up from the couch with a dramatic flair and walked toward the center of the room, crossing his arms.

“Alright,” he announces, his voice carrying a sense of authority that you knew meant trouble. “I’ve had enough.”

You and Wonwoo both look at him, completely clueless.

Mingyu takes a deep breath, looking between the two of you. “This nonsense ends today. No more pretending. I’m putting an end to this charade.”

“Charade? What charade?” you stammer, glancing at Wonwoo, who is equally confused

Minghao, who had been sitting quietly with his phone, lets out an exaggerated sigh, clearly more annoyed than anything else. He taps the screen for a moment before looking up, his voice dry as ever. “You two are hopeless.”

“Totally hopeless,” Mingyu agrees, then points directly at you. “You like him.”

You blink. “What? I—no, I don’t.”

“Oh, please,” Mingyu scoffs, rolling his eyes “You literally get flustered when he speaks to you. And let’s not forget how you always act weird when he does something nice. Like the chocolates he brought you? Come on.”

You glare at Mingyu. “You’re imagining things. I like sweets, that’s all.”

Mingyu leans closer, voice dropping to a mockingly serious tone. “Sweets, huh? That’s what they’re calling it these days?”

“I—” You start to protest, but before you can finish, Mingyu swivels toward Wonwoo with a pointed look

“And you!” Mingyu practically growls. “What’s with all the mysterious questions about what girls like? The whole ‘do girls like milk chocolate?’ and ‘roses or something else?’” He throws his arms up dramatically. “You don’t need a whole investigation, Wonwoo. We all know you’re talking about her. Stop playing dumb!”

You freeze.

Wonwoo, who had been fiddling with the corner of his hoodie sleeve, stiffens and turns an alarming shade of red. “I’m not… I wasn’t asking about her,” he stammers. “I mean, I… I thought…”

“Oh my god, he’s so obvious,” Mingyu mutters, rubbing his temples. He shoots a glare at Hao. “This is painful.”

Hao looks up from his phone, sighs deeply, then slowly stands up. “Okay, okay. I’ll handle this.” He walks over to you and Wonwoo, leaning in dramatically

“You two are in love with each other,” he declares matter-of-factly, as though he’s just stating the obvious.

You blink, your face lighting up in horror. “W-What?! No!”

Hao looks at you deadpan. “Come on. The way you two can’t look at each other without blushing, the way he buys you chocolate even though he hates it, and you, you’re terrified of scary games, but you still play them with him. Stop lying to yourselves.”

You turn to Wonwoo, who’s practically the color of a tomato. His eyes are wide, but he’s too embarrassed to speak. You feel your heart thudding loudly in your chest

“You... like me?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly, trying to hold back your surprise

Wonwoo shifts nervously on his feet. “I thought… I thought you liked someone else.”

“I thought you liked someone else!” you say, now feeling utterly ridiculous.

Mingyu, who had been watching this whole conversation unfold with the kind of smug satisfaction only he could have, claps his hands loudly. “Finally! Thank you, Hao. That took way too long.”

Minghao crosses his arms and leans against the wall, clearly satisfied with himself. “You two could have saved us all a lot of trouble, but fine. We’ll take the credit.”

You stare at Wonwoo, unsure what to say. The silence stretches on.

“So,” Mingyu begins with a grin, “now that you’re both on the same page… what’s the next step?”

Wonwoo looks at you, his face softening a little. “So… you don’t like someone else?”

You laugh nervously, glancing at Mingyu and Hao for moral support. “No, I don’t. You… you really thought that?”

He nods sheepishly, clearly relieved. “Well, I thought you were being kind of weird about everything, so…”

You smile softly, your heart racing. “I thought you were being weird.”

Mingyu claps his hands. “Look at that. You two are adorable. Don’t go making things awkward again, okay?”

“Yeah, no pressure,” Hao adds, “but seriously, finally.”

A week later, you’re back at the same spot on the couch. No more confusing, awkward questions. No more playing games to dodge the truth.

Just you and Wonwoo, finally figuring things out.

“So, you still hate chocolate?” you ask with a smirk, holding out a piece of your favorite chocolate, teasing him. It's cute because he got the chocolate, again.

“I hate it,” Wonwoo admits, but this time, he doesn't protest when you hand it to him. He takes the piece, chewing it slowly as he grimaces.

“You don’t have to eat it just because I like it,” you say with a laugh, watching him struggle with the sweetness

“I’m suffering for you,” he mutters, but there’s a fond smile on his lips now, something you’ve never seen him wear before

From the kitchen, Mingyu peeks his head out with a knowing look. “Told you it would work.”

Minghao follows him, rolling his eyes. “Do I get credit for this? Or are you two going to keep pretending we didn’t help?”

You roll your eyes playfully but can’t help the smile spreading across your face. You glance at Wonwoo, catching him staring at you with that soft, shy smile of his.

“Guess we owe them one,” you say quietly, not breaking eye contact.

“Guess so,” he agrees, his voice gentle. He reaches over, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, making your heart skip a beat.

Mingyu, hearing the sudden silence, turns to Hao and shrugs. “Well, they’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah,” Hao agrees, grinning. “They’re hopeless, but cute.”

And for the first time, it really feels like everything has finally clicked into place.

[scariusaquarius]

rehab. 46.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

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A/n: i got a new job :3 it's remote work, which means I don't have to sacrifice much writing time, but !!! I'm making some pretty big moves and I'm honestly proud of myself for manifesting the life I dreamed of having for so long <3 I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed by it, ngl, but big shoutout to my ancestors, spirit guides, and the universe for being kind to me after teaching me so many lessons I needed to learn <3 Also, I had a hilarious thought of 'what if sebastian stan found my fanfiction' and the very next thought was 'block him' L;KSDJ;FLAJSF

Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

NOTE: I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR ANY OF MY WORKS TO BE FED INTO AI FOR BOTS, I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE TRANSLATED, REPOSTED, REWORKED, ETC, IN ANY WAY, SHAPE, OR FORM!!!

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Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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rehab masterlist. / rehab masterlist 2. chapter 42 / chapter 43 / chapter 44 / chapter 45

The night was dragging on, tensions rising as everyone was beginning to prepare for the mission. Kurt's uniform had many little gadgets strapped to his belt, Tony continuing to fine-tune the tech as Kurt asked him questions about everything.

Peter was currently showing Hank his web shooters, the older biologist looking fascinated as Peter went into an in-depth explanation about the web fluid itself. Strange was currently in a conversation with Charles, and Bucky was standing against the wall by himself.

His uniform felt strangely claustrophobic, too tight and constricting, and his nerves were beginning to become shot. Everything was too loud, everything smelled so intense, and Bucky swore that everything was too in-focus; his blue eyes beginning to hurt. His muscles were phantom-spasming; feeling as though they were tensing and tightening despite him not moving a single inch.

Logan was on his own wall, simply smoking his cigar while shoving his Zippo into the pocket of his leather jacket. He was observing the room, keeping a keen eye on everyone, but particularly, Logan was watching Bucky.

The mutant knew exactly what Bucky was going through. The memories of his own trauma still haunted his dreams to this day; the feeling of the adamantium being forcefully implanted onto his skeleton and the feeling of his claws becoming heavy and too sharp still making appearances every now and then.

Logan could remember the fear and confusion that came over him when he became aware of what Stryker had been doing to him, and though Logan hadn't remembered who he was or who Stryker was or where he was and why, Logan had remembered how much he just wanted to run.

Just as Logan exhaled a slow stream of smoke, Charles paused in his conversation with Strange; a faraway look in his eyes. When Strange questioned him, Charles just smiled comfortingly before he sat up a bit more in his seat.

The doors to the armory slid open, and in walked Sam Wilson in just a hoodie and jeans, like he’d just sprinted in off the street. His eyes were looking perturbed, and Logan immediately kicked himself off of the wall with a growl.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Peter exclaimed in surprise as Tony and Strange looked confused by his arrival, and Bucky was taken back by his appearance.

"Sam! What are you doing here?"

Charles glanced at Logan as the man began a very intense stare-down with Sam, stating.

"It's alright, Logan. He's here to bring us news."

Sam tilted his head a bit, pointing at Charles with a raised brow.

"You were the dude in my head? Quick heads-up, but a lot of people don't like it when you just rummage through like that. Shit feels weird."

Charles chuckled, shaking his head as he comforted.

"Do not worry, Mr. Wilson, I assure you that no rummaging was done. Only a glimpse to make sure you are not a threat to the youth here at the Institute. You can never be too sure."

Sam looked perturbed before he glanced around the room before finding Bucky's eyes. Bucky and Sam stared at each other before Sam announced to everyone in the room.

"Listen, I know you guys are going Ghost, and I want to help. I got contacted by the FIS of Switzerland, which is why I came here. You're going to want to hear this."

Everyone immediately gave Sam their undivided attention, and Sam instantly went into work mode, glancing around the room as if he was giving a debriefing.

"Director Natalia Schwarz of Swiss Intelligence believes that Lukas Meier is behind everything and is using (Y/n) as a way to ascend the political ladder." Sam slipped out his tablet and tossed it to Tony, who caught the tablet in mid-air. The image on the screen was bright, and on the screen was the still frame of (Y/n). Tony's expression shifted instantly, his jaw clenching as he stared at (Y/n) standing ominously in the corner behind a man that he didn't recognize. Sam pursed his lips.

"There's more information I need to share. Three heads of state are dead, and Director Schwarz has discovered that Lukas has been in close proximity to every assassination except for the French Prime Minister. Lukas' career is too fast-tracked, too clean, and she thinks that he's part of HYDRA."

Strange scoffed, shaking his head.

"I could have easily told you that."

Sam gave Strange an annoyed glance, and Charles asked with a questionable expression.

"And this woman, Natalia...she trusts you?"

Sam nodded, stating to Charles.

"Natalia stated that she's certain everything has been compromised somehow, and she won't trust Fury. She isn't sure how deep the infiltration goes. She confirmed something else: Baumann's death was staged. At first, the government wasn't going to release security footage of Baumann visiting Meier's residence, but then doctored footage came out, and Natalia recovered that frame of raw footage."

Tony suddenly frowned, glancing down at the tablet.

"For an organization that glorifies working in secret, they sure as hell were sloppy with this footage."

Hank pointed out, looking over Tony's shoulder at the tablet.

"It's...it's almost as if they knew we were going to find this footage. They want us to know what they're doing because HYDRA knows the Avengers can't touch them."

Sam interjected, his expression grave.

"Natalia knows this too, and she's not going to wait on us. She's already starting to move, and if we don't act now, (Y/n) either kills again or gets taken out before we even get a chance to try."

There was a long silence. Then, Charles looked up, his gaze steady as he looked at Sam.

"Then, it is about time that we begin. We have about four hours before the President-Elect is sworn into office, and we are not certain if he will bring (Y/n) along. Kurt, Strange, are you ready to begin?"

Kurt looked conflicted for a moment before he nodded, and he stated softly.

"She is in great pain...this little Sonnenschein. I can feel it deep within my gut...like a heaviness that not even my faith can chase away. We must retrieve her, and therefore, I am ready."

Charles nodded, and Strange stepped forward, rubbing his hands together as he informed Kurt.

"I will create a portal approximately half a mile from the estate's rear security fence. After that, it will be up to you."

Kurt nodded, and Sam asked, raising a hand.

"Wait, wait, give me the rundown here so I can make sure Bicentennial Man here don't do nothing stupid."

Bucky gave Sam an offended look, gesturing slightly with his hands.

"Seriously? This is the first time you acknowledge me and that's what you say?"

Sam just deadpanned at Bucky, and Bucky turned away from him, muttering.

"Unbelievable."

Strange just groaned, letting his head fall back, and Peter glanced around before he began to explain in true Peter fashion.

"So, the bad guys have, like, these security measures in place that make it hard for Strange to get through, and if we try to go through the front door, they're gonna know. So, Kurt, whose Nightcrawler by the way, can teleport so fast that the security wouldn't even notice him. So, Mr. Stark gave him some tech to scramble the security long enough for F.R.I.D.A.Y to take a scan of the inside, find (Y/n), and Kurt can grab her and get out, and then we're gonna throw her into the Danger room so she doesn't try to kill all of us while we try to figure out how to deactivate the failsafe."

After a long pause, Sam just sighed and muttered.

"Right. Danger room, huh? That sounds really welcoming."

Tony then spoke up, pointing a finger in the air.

"Listen, it was either the Danger room or my panic room, and I trust the Professor's holograms more than my titanium steel doors. Especially with knowing that (Y/n) has become much more stronger and, therefore, more dangerous."

Bucky pursed his lips at Tony's wording, but he stayed quiet, and Sam crossed his arms.

"Yeah, tell me about it. I still got a bruise in the shape of her damn boot on my chest. It's a solid plan, but what about Director Schwarz? How do we handle her?"

Charles then hummed, turning to Hank as he asked him.

"I'd like to seek your opinion about this...but...perhaps, we could have Ororo speak to Director Schwarz?"

Hank blinked wildly before whispering to Charles despite everyone in the room being able to hear him.

"Are you sure about that? I mean, Ororo is a great negotiator...but do you think it would be wise?"

Charles nodded before he glanced at Hank with an even smile.

"I trust Ororo's judgement and her ability to see people past their titles. If there is anyone that I believe can get through to Director Schwarz, it is Ororo. And, from what I have already gathered, Natalia is much more complex than her dossier suggests she is."

Strange glanced at Charles, raising his brow skeptically.

"You're betting a lot on a single conversation, Professor."

Charles replied steadily, tilting his head slightly.

"I am betting on empathy. It does not always have to end in a fight."

Bucky muttered with a deep frown, Sam and Logan glancing at him.

"It always ends in a fight. You said it yourself to be prepared for the worst, and I know what the worst is. This is going to end in a fight...maybe not right now, but soon. HYDRA won't like their asset being taken from them again."

Sam raised his hands, gesturing for Bucky to pause as he spoke.

"Wait, man, because if we can get Director Schwarz on our side, she has enough evidence to take Lukas down. Once it's exposed that HYDRA has infiltrated the highest positions possible, it's going to start a political firestorm."

Tony shook his head, humming as he replied.

"Uh, that's not always a great idea. You do remember what happened with SHIELD, right?"

Bucky involuntarily flinched, and Sam turned to Tony with a deep frown.

"That was a good thing. It doesn't matter how much you disguise fear as freedom when it all turns out the same in the end."

Tony's mouth shut and Logan couldn't help but to nod his head.

"That's pretty good."

Suddenly, the room began to get cold, and Bucky immediately froze up. His eyes widened, breathing beginning to quicken, and the feeling of frost began to crawl over him. Tony and Strange looked all around the room as Peter's Spiderman suit instantly heated up, steam rising over his body, and Logan, Hank, Kurt, and Charles looked completely unbothered.

Floating down from an open skylight was Ororo Munroe, her eyes encased in white as she kept her power activated, and when she landed, her hands were on her hips; a subtle distant crackle of thunder sounding as she spoke.

"Do you guys have to argue right now?"

Tony blanked, muttering to himself.

"Thor would be shitting a brick right now if he was here."

Peter's eyes widened with surprise and awe, and Strange was looking at the woman with an interested look upon his face. Bucky, however, was struggling with the climbing panic.

Despite the cold within the room dissipating once Ororo landed, his fingers still felt as though there was frost on them, and Sam was watching as Bucky closed his eyes and began to breathe, holding onto his arms the same way that (Y/n) did when she was trying to come down from a panic attack.

Logan was watching as well, an empathetic frown crossing his face, and his attention was stolen by Ororo crossing her arms and speaking to Charles.

"I understand what you are asking of me, but playing diplomat to a woman on a warpath to kill or apprehend a gifted individual? Are we sure this woman would even listen to me?"

Charles hummed, coming closer to Ororo as he spoke to her softly.

"I know that you are the most capable of us gifted to reach to the hearts of those around you, Ororo, because you see people. You see past their fear, their titles, and the orders they've been given. And that — that is what might save this woman.”

Ororo pursed her lips and she placed her hands on her hips, stating.

"Professor, if I do this, it risks exposing the X-Men — all of us. The Institute. The kids. Mutants are already being shunned, and some are hunted in places. How much more of this are we expected to take?"

Kurt suddenly spoke up, making Ororo glance at him, her eyes softening just the slightest.

"I said this earlier...but I can feel that she is terrified...trapped within a body that is no longer hers. If we do not help...then I fear that the consequences....they will be most undesirable for all. We must at least try."

Ororo was quiet for a moment, and Sam spoke up, crossing his arms.

"I'm with the blue man here. If we don't do something to help (Y/n), we're never going to get her back. And if we don't do that, a lot more people are going to die or (Y/n) is going to over nothing. I don't know about you, but I don't think you want to see Bucky go nuclear. He's got a pretty mean left-hook."

Ororo tilted her head, asking with an incredulous look on her face.

"Wait a minute, are you threatening me?"

"Not entirely, just forewarning you that Bucky's kind of an asshole."

Bucky mumbled, glaring down at the ground as he continued to attempt to steady himself.

"Standing right here, Sam."

Sam said nothing, and Ororo glanced between Bucky, Kurt, and Charles before sighing and letting her hands fall to her sides.

"Alright, I'll talk to Director Natalia. But we better get a move on if we want to do this before the Inauguration. Who is going to be watching the extraction point?"

Tony, Logan, and Bucky all hummed in unison while Hank announced, Peter glancing back at him with surprise.

"Peter, Strange, and I will be hanging back to begin working on a deactivation for the failsafe once we retrieve (Y/n)."

Ororo then nodded, asking.

"And what are we going to do once we get this woman? You're not just gonna let her run loose, are you?"

Logan scoffed, shaking his head.

"That's a rookie mistake. We're putting her into the Danger Room so it can tire her out. Once that damn failsafe activates, she's gonna be all machine, and the Danger Room will be perfect to tire her out enough for us to knock her out and get her put under."

Sam then spoke up, making Ororo frown at him.

"Listen, I think I should come with you. Director Natalia reached out to me personally. She might not take too kindly to someone else showing up. But if I vouch for you, we might have a shot at keeping this peaceful."

Ororo nodded before she turned to Charles, quietly waiting for the go ahead. Charles finally nodded before he stated.

"You may all proceed. I will be watching...just in case."

Everyone nodded, and Strange sighed to himself.

"With how great of a distance this is, there might be some magical turbulence with the portal. Just keep your legs straight."

Ororo, Sam, Kurt, Bucky, Tony, and Logan all stood together in one spot as Strange began to summon the portal. Orange sparks lit up in front of the group, and Hank couldn't help but to exclaim as Kurt's lips curled into a wide and boyish smile.

"Oh, my word!"

Kurt muttered to himself, his voice excited as Strange completed the portal.

"Das wird lustig." (this will be fun)

The next thing the group knew, the portal had opened, and there was a sudden sensation of falling. Then, suddenly, there was a thud, a grunted curse, and the sound of someone rolling onto grass.

"Damn it, Barnes!"

Sam groaned, shoving at the weight pressing against him.

"He told you to keep your legs straight!"

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't take Portal Landing 101,"

Bucky snapped, untangling himself with a grimace before he added.

"Maybe next time we can hold hands and jump like it's gym class."

Ororo stepped gracefully through the portal behind them, her boots barely making a sound as she landed in a half-crouch. She gave both men a look — equal parts unimpressed and entertained.

"Are you two finished?"

Tony came through next, snorting behind his glasses as he informed Sam and Bucky.

"I want you both to know that I have that all on camera."

Sam and Bucky stood up, and the men glared at Tony as Logan walked through, his nose crinkling in disgust as he sniffed the air around him.

"Ugh, smells like shit."

Kurt arrived last, teleporting at the last second before doing a flip as he landed on his feet perfectly, a wide smile on his face as Bucky muttered beneath his breath and brushed more grass off of his uniform.

"Show-off."

"That was wunderbar! We must do that again sometime." (wonderful)

Tony became distracted as he pulled up a holographic map where a red dot was moving through the streets. He stated, turning to the group.

"Director Schwarz is already on her way here with an envoy. Bird-brain, Thor 2.0, you both go ahead and intercept her so we can get as much time here as possible."

Sam and Ororo nodded before they both flew away as fast as they could to get to Director Schwarz. Tony then turned to Kurt, stating as he gestured.

"Papa Smurf, you go on and get into the building. Like I told you before: the second you get inside, the equipment that I gave you is going to scramble the security system like egg-fried rice long enough for F.R.I.D.A.Y to get a thorough scan and identify (Y/n)'s specific signature so you know where to go. Manchurian Candidate, Mutton Chops, and I are gonna hang back here to keep an eye out for HYDRA or any other possible curveball."

Logan glared at Tony for a moment before snarling and lighting a cigar, and Bucky was glancing at Kurt as the mutant smiled.

"I will be back before you know it!"

Kurt suddenly disappeared into a puff of smoke, and the waiting game was on. Bucky, Tony, and Logan moved to a more inconspicuous spot behind a couple of trees as they gazed at the house.

The sun was just beginning to crest over the rooftops, casting long shadows across the quiet street. Geneva was waking up — birds chirping, lights flickering on in distant windows — and Bucky hated it. He wasn’t worried about the light. He was worried about the world opening its eyes before they were ready. If anyone inside that mansion stirred too early, this would all go sideways fast.

-WILSON-

The world was passing by fast, trees and buildings passing him by almost at NASCAR speed. Ororo was keeping up with him with almost no problem, and to Sam, it was quite impressive. He knew the woman was holding back to allow him to keep up, and he couldn't help but to yell over the wind.

"Man, I don't know whether to feel appreciative or offended that you're holding back on me like that!"

Ororo smirked mid-flight, the wind barely rustling her white hair as she called back effortlessly,

“I’m being considerate. You wouldn’t want me to embarrass you in front of Geneva’s airspace, now would you?”

Sam scoffed, flipping once mid-air just to show off.

“Please. I’d dust you if we weren’t on a clock.”

Ororo just rolled her eyes as she flew a tad faster.

“Uh-huh. Tell yourself that when you’re still catching your breath at the rendezvous. Look, that's Director Schwarz' convoy.”

A few yards away, Director Schwarz was sitting in the front seat of the vehicle, a deep frown on her face. When Ororo and Sam landed on the ground in front of the vehicle, Natalia's eyes widened, and she slammed on the brakes.

The vehicle skidded across the road, tires squealing loudly, and the three black SUV's that had been following behind her immediately gathered to her sides. Agents piled out, guns raised, and Ororo and Sam placed their hands up in surrender.

"We're not here to fight. We just want to talk."

Natalia snapped open the car door, raising her hand as she glanced around at the agents.

"Hold your fire and lower your weapons."

The agents hesitated, giving Natalia cautious looks before they finally lowered their weapons, and Natalia turned back to Sam before glancing at Ororo with a deep frown.

"You better have a damn good reason for dropping out of the sky like that. I'm on a very time-sensitive mission here, Wilson."

Sam raised his hands more as he stepped forward.

"I know. That's why we are here. Director Schwarz, whatever it is that you're about to do, I'm asking to you please leave (Y/n) to the Avengers and X-Men."

Ororo stepped forward then, cutting Sam off as she added.

"She isn't the true enemy, but she is being forced to work under Lukas Meier's control. The X-Men, and Charles Xavier, are asking for you to grant us jurisdiction over (Y/n) (L/n) as we have the means to deprogram her permanently."

Natalia's face became stone at the mention of Lukas, and she asked.

"You have solid evidence that Lukas Meier is with HYDRA?"

Ororo stated firmly, Natalia glancing into the woman's eyes as the mutant spoke.

"We have much more than that. Currently, a team from the Avengers and X-Men are attempting to retrieve (Y/n) at this moment of time. Not only that, but Doctor Stephen Strange has been watching through (Y/n)'s eyes up until the moment a neurobiological failsafe was activated; cutting off contact."

Sam nodded along, glancing at Ororo before looking back at Natalia.

"Director, we both want the same thing, and that's to stop HYDRA. However, we can't do that if we don't work together. Nobody that is innocent needs to die."

Natalia frowned heavily, pointing out.

"She assassinated our president. How exactly is (Y/n) (L/n) innocent in all of this?"

Ororo frowned, holding a hand out slightly as she spoke.

"(Y/n) (L/n) is by no means innocent. However, if you are familiar with James Barnes' case and were watching the United States vs Rollins & Holloway case, you know that (Y/n) (L/n) was, and is, a victim as well. She has no control over her body nor her actions. Do you truly want to punish a victim for something they couldn't control?"

Sam added, a desperation to his voice as Natalia's face softened slightly as she began to think.

"We wouldn't be trying to talk you down if we didn't think (Y/n) could be saved. Lukas Meier's is all yours, and on the behalf of the Avengers, we will help to take him down."

Sam then sighed before revealing, hoping that the information could finally convince the Director.

"Our mission was to get inside HYDRA and destroy them from within, but Lukas was anticipating on (Y/n)'s deprogramming in order for this failsafe to be activated. She is essentially trapped in her own mind, and if we let this go on any longer, there's gonna be nothing left of her but a killing machine."

Natalia was quiet for a moment before she asked with a raised brow.

"If the reports of (Y/n) being rehabilitated were true, then why was she sent to do this mission? You essentially hand-delivered HYDRA's weapon right back to them."

Sam became frustrated, shaking his head.

"Believe me, none of the Avengers wanted to do it. It was Fury's idea. He said that it'd be easier for her to slip in because HYDRA still trusted her and wouldn't have refused her. Bucky wouldn't have been able to because the whole world is aware that the programming is completely gone."

At the mention of Nick Fury, Natalia frowned deeply again, muttering to herself in disdain.

"This is why dead men should stay dead."

"Tell me about it."

Ororo glanced between the two of them before she pleaded softly.

"Please, allow us to take care of (Y/n). We're the only chance that she has. As Sam stated: if we allow this to go on or if (Y/n) is forced to kill anymore, there won't be a (Y/n) anymore...but a HYDRA killing machine."

Natalia frowned, her jaw tightening as she glanced down at the ground as she thought everything through. After a moment, Natalia looked at Ororo.

"Where will she be held once she is in custody? If I am not convinced it will be secure, then I am uncertain if it will be moral of me to allow her to leave."

Ororo explained, her arms crossing.

"She will be kept at Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters. The Institute is equipped with the means to house a dangerous gifted individual. Nevertheless, we have many people who are capable of handling her."

Natalia pursed her lips before she huffed.

"Fine, you have until 8am. After that, if (Y/n) isn’t in containment, or if even one civilian ends up dead, I’m pulling the plug and taking her out myself."

Natalia then turned, her eyes filtering over the agents as she ordered.

"Someone patch me through to the Swiss Council — I need to stall the Inauguration briefing."

Ororo and Sam both breathed sighs of relief before they turned to take off. Sam complimented Ororo with a smirk, Ororo rolling her eyes as they flew off.

"Way to go there, Sky High."

"Trust me, this isn't my first diplomatic rodeo."

Sam laughed before he took off a bit faster, calling out.

"How about a little friendly competition?"

Ororo raised her brow before she shook her head.

"If only to deflate that big ego of yours!"

-KURT-

The second that Kurt had teleported into the mansion lobby, he could feel the dark and weary atmosphere that was within. The decorations inside oozed an essence of wealthy cruelty, and when Kurt's eyes landed on a statue of the Archangel Michael, Kurt pursed his lips from the irony before glancing around for any potential threats.

In order to keep himself from being potentially seen as the mansion slowly began to come to life, Kurt quickly climbed up the walls and hung from the ceiling as the tech that Stark gave him began to work its magic.

One of the small devices on his belt flickered green as the signal completed syncing, and it immediately began to send invisible pulses through the mansion's security grid.

Beneath him, the hallway lights began to flicker, security cameras focusing and unfocusing before twitching, and the hum of hidden electronics grew silent for a brief moment. For a minute, Kurt waited with bated breath before Tony spoke into the earpiece that he had provided him.

"Got it. (Y/n)'s located about three sublevels down on the southern side, closest to you. You got about five minutes until backup protocols start and everyone gets angry. Sending you the map and coordinates to you now."

Kurt whispered his thanks just as the watch on his wrist lit up, and he was given a 3D model of the home; objects and people included. For a moment, Kurt was impressed before the red figure on the lower levels showed up.

(Y/n).

Frowning slightly, Kurt whispered to himself.

"Ah, there is our missing Sonnenschein." (sunshine)

The soft glow from the watch faded as he disabled the display, not wanting to risk giving away his position as Kurt began to move. Without another moment of hesitation, he teleported through the nearest wall, emerging into a dark corridor lined with old paintings and marble busts, each one watching with hollow, judgmental eyes.

Every corner he passed felt colder, as though the air itself recoiled from what was hidden below. At the sound of voices, Kurt teleported beneath the floor and into another open hallway, and he braced himself within a shadow on the wall as two agents passed him by.

"Security's got a sudden issue...everything's down."

"Shit, do you think someone might be trying to get in?"

The one agent scoffed, his voice slowly starting to fade the further the two agents walked.

"Are you serious? The Avengers, and anyone else for that matter, would be idiots to try to infiltrate a place like this. It's probably just some maintenance."

"Yeah, let's hope. It's too early in the morning for this shit...and I still haven't had any breakfast yet."

Their voices disappeared around the corner, and Kurt popped out, glancing up and down the hallway before he teleported one more level. When Kurt arrived to the room, Kurt froze as he looked down the hallway. On either side of him were cells, and as he slowly walked, Kurt peeked into the rooms with concerned curiosity.

Some of the rooms were empty, thankfully, but others...Kurt couldn't bear to look. Instead, Kurt raised each of his wrists to the cells, the watches taking photos of every person that was detected in the rooms for evidence. Then, Kurt made it to (Y/n)'s cell.

Despite knowing that he had no choice to hesitate, the man couldn't help but to do so as he took her appearance in.

(Y/n) was curled on the cot, limbs limp, her eyes unfocused and trained on something that wasn’t there. There were bruises that looked new all over her body, dried blood in others, and there was grease all in her hair from remaining unclean. Moreover, Kurt was shocked at the scars that littered her skin. Kurt pursed his lips, and Tony's voice came through the comm link.

"You've got about two minutes. Tag 'em and bag 'em."

Kurt shook his head before he teleported inside, and at the sound of him bamf'ing into the room, (Y/n)'s head perked up. Immediately, Kurt placed his hand on her arm, an apologetic smile on his face.

"My apologies."

Immediately, they teleported out of the mansion and in front of Tony, Bucky, and Logan, and an orange portal was already open and waiting. Before anybody could say anything, greet Kurt, or take a good look at (Y/n), Kurt teleported through the portal and to the Danger room, dropping her off before teleporting back besides Strange.

He placed his hands on his hips a bit, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple, and Kurt exclaimed.

"She has been reclaimed."

Ororo and Sam flew through the portal, and Bucky wasted no time in running in, passing everyone by as he made his way towards the Danger Room. Logan and Tony stepped through next, and Tony was tapping on a holographic screen before he announced.

"Alright, Operation: Catch That Homicidal Maniac is closed. Great job, everyone."

Charles, Hank, and Peter came into the lobby where everyone was at, and Charles asked Ororo as the woman gave him a nervous glance.

"I take it that it went well?"

"Yes, and it seems that Director Natalia was also already onto Lukas as well."

Charles nodded, and Logan glanced at Charles, stating.

"We should probably get to the Danger Room."

Charles nodded, and Kurt hung back a bit, looking upset. Strange was confused, glancing at him before he asked.

"I'm asking more out of courtesy, but are you alright?"

Kurt pursed his lips before he opened up, clasping his three-fingered hands together as he spoke sadly; Tony hanging back just slightly to listen.

"The second that I touched her, it was as if I was beneath a waterfall of pain and emptiness. It was...heavy. I feel that there is a large part of her that has lost her faith...like she was beginning to accept the erasure, even though she didn't know what was happening."

Strange narrowed his eyes a little, but not out of suspicion, but rather intrigue.

"You talk as if you are an empath, but I don't detect anything like that from you."

Kurt's eyes were sad as he replied quietly.

"You don't have to be an empath to know and share pain. Our scars are more alike than anyone may realize...just for different reasons."

Kurt's words were cryptic, but Strange understood him instantly. Turning away, he began to walk with Kurt to the Danger Room. When the two men arrived, they were surprised to see Bucky gripping the railing just behind the glass, his metal arm bending the metal to the shape of his grip.

His eyes were trained onto (Y/n), his expression dark and jaw clenched, and Tony and Peter was standing close by, both wearing equal expressions of concern. Charles was watching silently with Strange, and Hank, Sam, and Ororo were wearing varying expressions of surprise and awe.

Logan was nonchalant, not allowing his wariness to be noticed, and Kurt looked upset as he wrung his hands together again, his tail twitching anxiously.

The soldier was going insane.

The Danger Room had conjured up a hologram, and at first glance, it was almost normal. The environment had turned into a basic rendering of Lukas' mansion; a complete rendering of the front lobby. However, after a moment, there was movement; curtains from open windows flowing from the wind; sunlight shimmering through; and the front door opening.

Holographic versions of Bucky, Tony, and Logan entered the room with their weapons holstered and expressions neutral. There was no hostility, no anger, nor any indication of frustration upon their holographic faces.

However, for the soldier, it didn't matter. Her body tensed like a spring snapping into place as she shot up from the floor, and her limbs were poised with an alertness that hadn't been there moments ago in her confusion of the change of environment.

The hologram of Tony opened his mouth to say something, but the chance never came. (Y/n) launched.

She moved like a tiger in the wild; her body twisting and moving through the air with calculated efficiency and intent. Despite not having a weapon, (Y/n) was moving with purpose as she threw a right-hook at the hologram of Tony.

Suddenly, a voice came over the intercom as the Danger Room reported to the X-Men watching behind the glass.

"Failsafe activation confirmed. Subject has been engaged. Protocol: Obey. Targeted Outcome: Elimination."

Peter was surprised by the voice, jumping back a bit, and Logan growled slightly in thought as (Y/n) fists collided with the holographic counterpart, sending the projection sputtering into fractured light. The sight caused the soldier to pause for a moment, but in the next moment, she was moving onto her next target. Each attack was controlled, flawless, and brutal.

There was no hesitation to kill.

Bucky grit his teeth slightly, and Ororo muttered.

"My god, it's like she's mindless."

Hank replied grimly.

"That's because she is. (Y/n)'s body is currently on autopilot while her conscious is trapped. Right now, you're looking only at the Winter Soldier."

Charles was quiet as he stared at (Y/n), and for a moment the room was silent until Charles suddenly winced and placed a hand to his head. Ororo asked with concern.

"Professor?"

"The failsafe is preventing me from being able to get through...(Y/n) is there, I can feel it, but the block that has been integrated within the failsafe is unlike anything I've encountered before."

Strange glanced at Charles before Peter glanced back, asking with a slight shrug.

"What if you and Strange and Wanda worked together? I mean, I know Doctor Strange isn't entirely psychic, but if we had three people who can mess with minds trying to get through...maybe we'll be able to do something."

Tony raised a hand, stating with a hint of enthusiasm to his voice.

"Right, three psychic's on one mind: one to open the door, another to hold it open, and one to get through. Almost like a much better, much more ethical Human Centipede."

Strange closed his eyes as Peter paled, and Strange muttered as he exhaled through his nose.

"I regret every single moment that I have known you."

Sam stated, shaking his head.

"Don't encourage the man. Here's the thing: how do we get Wanda here without giving anybody any idea of what's going on? I'm telling y'all, if any of the others get a whiff of what's happening, they're gonna want to come."

Bucky muttered as he watched (Y/n) defeat the holograms that continued to appear without breaking a sweat, tearing a table up off of the floor to launch it at a holographic image of Natasha.

"We'll use a secure line to contact her. Tell her the problem, Strange opens a portal, we get her in, and we start getting (Y/n) back."

Hank couldn't help but to ask, Logan nodding along with curiosity.

"Forgive me if this is a sensitive question, but why do you not want the other Avengers to know about us retrieving (Y/n)?"

Bucky didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed locked on (Y/n), her body moving like a ghost through the fake battlefield, dispatching enemies without pause, without remorse. There was something mechanical in it.

Something too familiar.

After a long moment, he finally spoke, voice low.

"It's not the others that I'm worried about, it's Fury. He doesn't know her the way that we do...and because of that, he treats her like a threat, not like a person. Why do you think he chose her for the mission? It was a fucking test."

That silenced the room, Peter and Tony looking particularly forlorn as Sam's lips pursed. Bucky clenched his jaw, glancing over his shoulder toward the others.

“I’ve seen that look before...the one people usually wear when there's no other choice. Hell, I’ve been on the receiving end of it. And maybe Steve or...or Shuri wouldn’t say it out loud, but they’d be thinking it...wondering if it would be possible to stop her and if she’s worth saving.”

Peter swallowed hard, visibly uncomfortable, and Strange stayed quiet as he allowed Bucky to voice his thoughts.

“She's worth it."

Bucky said flatly, eyes burning.

“She’s worth saving. Even if she can’t see it right now.”

Strange raised a brow slightly, but he didn’t disagree. Neither did Charles.

Sam let out a breath, slipping his phone out of his pocket.

"Alright. Stark, secure a line. I’ll call Wanda."

Sam stepped out of the room to call Wanda, and Logan glanced at Bucky before looking back at (Y/n) as she continued to fight.

"She's not gonna hold back on ya, bub."

Bucky's jaw clenched tightly, and he muttered.

"I know. I'm hoping on it."

Logan then glanced at him, asking.

"Yeah, but what the hell are you gonna do when you're gonna have to hurt her to stop her?"

Bucky glared at Logan, and the two men shared a deep look before Logan muttered in warning.

"I ain't the enemy here, bub."

"Then fucking act like it."

Bucky stormed off, tearing off the sleeve of his uniform to reveal his metal arm completely before he stepped into the danger room. Logan growled before he muttered to Charles.

"I'm starting to think that boy is more trouble than he's worth."

Charles gave Logan a disapproving look, retorting.

"You were once that boy. Don't be angry with him, Logan. He's hurting very deeply inside...just as you had once."

Logan grumbled to himself before watching as Bucky stepped into the room, and Peter wrung his hands together in anxiety as he mumbled.

"This is gonna go so bad."

Tony took out a box of blueberries, popping one into his mouth as he replied and offered the blueberries to anybody who wanted them.

"Well, I think we'll be able to break them apart if need be. We've got a big group of people who could easily restrain (Y/n) if need be."

Kurt, Hank, and Peter all took some of Tony's blueberries while Logan frowned at the man.

"Where the hell were you hiding those?"

"Magic."

Strange deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

"That's a bold-faced lie. There's literally nothing magical about you."

Tony gasped before he said as confidently as possible.

"Uh, yes there is, it's my d-"

"-Alright, I'm shutting you up right then and there, Stark."

Ororo exclaimed, and Tony just sighed before Sam came back into the room.

"Wanda's all-in and ready whenever you are, Strange."

Strange heaved out a breath through his nose before opening a portal, stating.

"I really am not a magical taxi service."

Kurt snorted, and the two men shared looks of understanding before Wanda stepped through the portal. Her gait was calm but determined, her eyes glancing around the room in silent greeting before she asked.

"Where is she?"

Charles turned to Wanda, nodding his head gently before turning back and gesturing to the Danger Room.

"She is within the Danger Room. It is our training facility here for our X-Men and youth alike. James is already inside."

Wanda pursed her lips as she watched (Y/n) and Bucky fight for a moment, and Wanda turned to Charles.

"Tell me what to do."

-BUCKY-

The second that he had stepped into the Danger Room, the simulation that had been running glitched for a moment to account for the new signature within the program. The room changed into a replica of Shuri's lab, Doris Day playing quietly from the simulated speaker, but it did nothing to curb (Y/n).

The second she had felt his presence, she immediately attacked, launching herself at him from over a table, and Bucky immediately threw his hands up to block the punch. Her fist connected with his vibranium arm, the vibrations making his spine shiver uncomfortably, and Bucky blocked the kick she had attempted to land to his knee.

"(Y/n), I know you're in there."

His words meant nothing to the soldier, her lips curling back into a snarl as Bucky grabbed onto her forearm to stabilize her. However, (Y/n) spun, her elbow landing against his cheek. Bucky let out a yelp, stumbling back a bit, and (Y/n) followed up with a kick to his face. Bucky was thrown back a bit, wincing, and he wiped his lip of blood.

"You don't want to do this. I know you don't."

Her eyes were still dead, her body moving with murderous grace that had him almost hypnotized. The soldier swiped lowly, trying to take him down, and he jumped back; barely missing it. Instead, Bucky grabbed onto her arm, trying to get her into a judo lock, but the woman was quick to headbutt him with an angry yell.

Bucky cursed as his nose cracked, blood gushing down his nostrils again, and Bucky was starting to become agitated. His muscles were tense, that instinct to survive starting to rear its ugly head, and when (Y/n) tried to throw a punch to his ribs, Bucky blocked with his metal arm before shoving her away as hard as he could.

The soldier skidded backwards, crouching low to the ground before running at him again. The soldier was relentless, focused entirely on taking him down, and Bucky knew that he was going to have to stop playing defense at some point.

Just as she met him, Bucky sidestepped and tried to put her into a headlock. She struggled for a moment before biting down on his flesh arm, and Bucky let out a cry of pain before loosening his grip. Instantly, the soldier ripped herself from Bucky with a growl, her body twisting mid-air as she slammed her heel towards Bucky's head.

Bucky blocked just in time, his metal arm absorbing the force of the impact, but his bones still rattled; spine shivering from the pain of the metal tugging on his flesh. Bucky growled slightly, shouting desperately.

"Dammit, (Y/n), stop!"

But the Soldier didn’t stop. She pivoted on the ball of her foot and launched into another attack. The soldier was a dangerous tornado; a blur of fists and knees meant to incapacitate and kill. Bucky was blocking high and low, deflecting the best that he could, and he grunted as her elbow scraped across his ribs.

He was fighting with everything he had, and he was barely holding his ground.

He had to stop holding back if he wanted to survive.

-STRANGE-

In the control room, Wanda stood between Strange and Charles, her fingers lightly resting on each of their temples as they worked. Her eyes glowed red as her power manifested, waves of chaotic energy rippling outward like heat off asphalt.

Every psychic in the room had their eyes closed, straining under the weight of the mental fortress they were trying to breach. Strange was having a difficult time trying to push through the barriers, but when he was able to, he ordered with labored breaths.

"Wanda, I need you to make the bridge for Charles to get through."

She nodded once, and in her mind’s eye, a bridge began to form—red energy twisting into a path across the void and toward (Y/n)’s locked consciousness. The air crackled with tension. Charles slipped through.

Wanda nodded, and in her mind's eye, a bridge began to form. Red energy was twisting into a path across the void and toward (Y/n)'s locked consciousness, and as the air crackled with tension, Charles was able to gain access.

The connection was unsteady; fragile and shifting slightly with every second that passed. There wasn't enough time to have a full conversation, perhaps even to pull (Y/n) out, but when Charles arrived in the cell where (Y/n)'s consciousness was locked away, Charles was stupefied.

The prison cell was coated in ice, snow drifting down from nowhere as frost and ice continued to slowly manifest itself seemingly out of thin air. The walls shimmered with crystalline frost, and jagged mirrors lined the far corners like thorns in flesh.

In the center of the room was a cage, ornate and twisted into the shape of a birdcage. Inside of the cage was (Y/n). She was curled up, arms around her knees. Her hands were blackened to the wrists with frostbite, patches of her skin pale and blistered. One of her shoulders was entirely stiff with ice.

There was a mirror just behind her, and Charles was perturbed to see that there were parts of (Y/n) that were showing up in the mirror. An arm here, a shoulder there, a side of her face. She was slowly being sucked into the metaphysical mirror as the Winter Soldier continued to take over. Charles stepped forward the cage, stating softly.

"(Y/n), can you hear me?"

At first, (Y/n) didn't respond, and Charles urged.

"(Y/n), how can we help you?"

Charles placed his hands onto the bars of the cage, but he recoiled in pain. The bars were so cold that they burned the second he made contact, and he was startled by (Y/n)'s whispering voice; sounding so tired and in pain as she spoke.

"Lavender and Vanilla."

Charles was confused, asking.

"What do you mean?"

(Y/n) looked up, and Charles was disturbed by the sight of her eyes being frozen over, looking akin to rigor mortis as her bottom lip trembled from the tears and the cold.

"Lavender and vanilla."

Charles felt a presence behind him, dark and evil, and he whispered to her before whipping around to see the Winter Soldier standing behind him with a knife raised.

"Remember the sunlight, my dear girl."

Charles was sucked out the second that Strange detected the danger, and Charles sucked in huge breaths of air as she slumped over within his chair slightly. Wanda was disturbed, placing her hands on Charles' back as Charles continued to catch his breath. Strange was concerned as well, stepping forward as he asked.

"What happened, Professor?"

Charles sat back a bit, stating as he glanced at Strange.

"She kept repeating 'lavender and vanilla'."

Wanda looked confused, glancing back at Strange.

"Lavender and Vanilla?"

Strange's expression began to slacked as he remembered.

"The candle. The one from her aunt’s house. It was lavender and vanilla scented. I smelled it in her mindscape once—thought it was disgusting. She said her Aunt Mavis had it burning all the time.”

Wanda looked confused, but Charles understood almost instantly.

"The key for the deactivation...it must be induced by scent. Quickly, if we can program the room to begin emitting the scent, we might be able to deactivate the failsafe."

Wanda asked, stepping towards the console and looking almost flustered.

"What do I do?"

-BUCKY-

Bucky was almost covered in blood, his teeth grinding slightly as he clenched his jaw. (Y/n) was circling him like a panther on prey, her eyes watching him closely. She was reading his movements, calculating and strategizing, and Bucky was breathing hard. He had managed to get a few good hits in, a cut on her chin from where he was able to get a good left-hook in, but nothing was deterring the soldier.

HIs adrenaline was spiked, his heart racing and body trembling, and Bucky was starting to lose his composure. His instincts were kicking in, a long-forgotten haze subtly taking over Bucky, and he swallowed thickly.

If he was going to survive, he had to even the playing field. Bucky just didn't want to. He didn't want to have to rely on that training that was still engraved into him, but Bucky wasn't being given a choice as (Y/n) launched herself at him again. Their fists connected as Bucky grunted, pivoting his body to anchor himself, and her knee came up to land a blow to his diaphragm.

Bucky blocked, however, twisting and dropping low, and he let out a yell as he drove an uppercut into her sternum. The soldier choked on a breath, and Bucky followed up with a sharp hook to her jaw. (y/n) was thrown backwards, and there was a subtle and strange scent beginning to fill the room.

Bucky didn't make the connection, however. Bucky was running completely on survival instinct, and he didn't notice the moment that (Y/n) hesitated for a moment, her feet stumbling. Bucky threw a punch as hard as he could, yelling out, and his fist connected with her temple.

There was a sound of bone cracking, and (Y/n) instantly dropped. Bucky was breathing heavily, and for a moment, he waited for (Y/n) to get back up.

(Y/n), however, was completely still. Dread began to fill him as he waited, but it was almost as if she wasn't even breathing. Panic began to fill him, and Bucky immediately ran over to drop to his knees by her aside as the room became filled with the familiar lavender and vanilla scent.

"(Y/n)?"

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STORY NTOES: 8.4k words ;-;

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[lovingperfectionsblog]

I'm Not A Spy?

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: There’s no way THE Max Verstappen got you flowers, absolutely no way. 

Warnings: Swearing, other than that, just silliness and fluff. 

Word Count: 1616

Authors note: This was literally a dream I had and I was encouraged to write it as a fic by my absolute dream of a friend @0-atmilk-latte so thank you sugar <3 I hope it’s okay. I really want to get back into writing my silly little stories so, let's try to do this. 

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______

Enemy territory. 

This is where Max stood currently. Dead center in front of the Mercedes motorhome door, where everyone could see him. 

And every single person to walk through those doors sent him glares that would make sure he knew he was on enemy territory. 

He knew it was risky. Redbull merchandise adoring him. Sticking out like a sore thumb. It was a risk he was willing to take. 

“Horner send you?” Toto stepped through the doors after watching Max stand there for the past hour, “Although, I can't imagine who Horner would be giving those to?” eyes flicking between Max’s face and the bouquet of flowers he was currently white knuckling. 

“No sir, these are for your assistant.” Max tried to sound confident but even he could admit Toto was a terrifying man and this entire situation was feeling far too similar to the idea of trying to get your fathers permission to ask you on a date. 

“From?” Toto knew he was making Max squirm, but the only thing that would bring him more joy was if it were Horner himself standing in front of him instead of Max. 

“From me sir.” Max tried to stop his hands from shaking, the rustling of the leaves and flowers becoming oddly unbearable as he tried to stand his ground in front of your boss. 

“Why?” As much fun as Toto was having, he was also curious. He knew Max had been eyeing you up these past few weeks, paying more attention to you, attempting to talk to you every opportunity he could. He had even caught Max attempting to make small talk with Lewis and George, which he was now assuming was a bid at getting closer to you. At the very least attempt to make everyone around you like him in the meantime. 

“Because I was hoping to ask her to dinner sir.” Toto couldn't hide his surprise at Max’s honesty. Expecting at the very least some work around to that answer after some back and forth. 

God Max irritated him. He had no choice but to add this to the increasingly growing list of things he respected Max for and it infuriated Toto to no end. 

It didn’t mean he couldn't stress Max out in the meantime. 

“Well,” he let out a chuckle, “good luck then son.” 

“Boss, what’s the redbull scum doing on our turf?” George shouted towards Toto as he made his way towards the motorhome. 

Toto didn’t even give Max an opportunity to answer before he was shouting back, “Apparently he’s here to ask my assistant out to dinner.”

“Oh, makes sense why he’s been so nice to me and Lewis these last few weeks.” George made his way up to the entrance, joining his boss and rival, “Is this why you wanted to hang out in Monaco the other day?” 

Toto and George could only laugh at the uncontrollable blush that had made its way across Max’s face at being called out. 

And the situation was only made worse by, “Morning Boss, George,” you eyed the odd one out, cocking an eyebrow up in question, “and Max?” 

“Well then, go ahead,” was all that came from your boss in lieu of a greeting from any of them. 

And suddenly Max felt shy. All that previous bravado had clearly been used up with Toto, leaving none for the actual important interaction. 

He had to do something and soon, because you were standing there staring at him, waiting, for, well, something. 

Next second there was a bouquet thrust in your direction, gripped to near smithereens between Max’s hands. Your eyes darted between the flower and the three men in front of you, one completely avoiding eye contact, the other two doing a poor job to hide their smiles as they watched the interaction between you two. 

“What’s this for?” you refused to take the bundle from Max, unsure of what was happening. 

“You.” It was all Max could get out. 

“From?

“Me?” 

“Why?” 

“Jesus.” 

Toto barked out a laugh at the near identical conversation he and Max had just had. 

The flowers rustled in front of you as you assumed Max shook them for you to take. 

He would never admit that it was his nerves. 

You hesitantly took the flowers, eyeline switching between max and the, admittedly beautiful, bunch of flowers you were now holding. 

There was a long silence as you just stared at the flowers, eyebrows furrowing. Neither Max, Toto nor George fully understood what was going on in your mind. The silence extended so long that even Toto began to feel nervous, so he could only imagine what Max was feeling as he just stared you down just as intensely as you were staring at those flowers.  

Just as Toto reached out to nudge Max in an attempt to get him to say something to you, you began violently shaking the flowers. Petals and leaves began flying everywhere. Whole flowers landed on the floor at your feet. At least one had hit Max in the face. Toto stepped back in fear. Max shielded himself from the onslaught. By the time you were done, all that was left in your hand was one measly flower consisting of maybe four petals and a few leaves. The rest lay at your feet after your massacre. 

All three boys stared on in horror as you stood there breathless. Eyes fixed on Max like he was your prey. 

Everyone could hear the gulp from Max’s throat as he took a single step backwards. 

“You think just because I’m some girl and you’re the Max Verstappen in your fast little redbull you can treat me like some pawn in your weird little game?” you spat the words at him. 

Max desperately looked over to Toto and George for some help, but even they looked too scared to intercede on his behalf. 

“This isn’t some game, I just,” 

“You just what? Thought you could spy on my team?” you didn't even let him finish before throwing out a secondary accusation at him. 

“Spy?” George hadn’t meant to have that come out as loud as it did, but suddenly all attention was on him as he hid slightly behind Toto. 

“Obviously George. He probably put a listening device in the flowers to spy on us.” All three looked at you like you were insane, “Why else would he be giving me flowers?” 

“To ask you on a date.” The silence that followed Toto’s comment was deafening. 

“No.” It was all you could get out. 

“No to the date or no to him giving you flowers for that reason?” Totot was desperately trying to be the voice of reason here. 

“To him giving me flowers?” You’d yet to look at Max since the original accusations. 

“Why would Max be spying on us? Redbull is the fastest team on the grid?” George was emphatically nodding along with what Toto was saying, trying to get you to see that this was completely innocent. 

“I’m not a spy?” Max had finally spoken up, far too alarmed at the accusations beforehand to offer much more than this, beyond thankful to Toto for helping him explain. 

“Then what’s with the flowers?” You were sharp and blunt and Max couldn’t help but fall just that little bit more for you as he watched you defend your team. 

“To ask you on a date.” Max hesitantly pointed at Toto, showing that the original reason that was offered was correct. 

“You want to take me on a date?” Max could only nod, “and these flowers were to ask me on a date?” Another nod, smile growing as he watched your cheeks flush, “in front of my boss?” you side eyed your boss, hoping he’d take the hint to get out of there. 

“In my defense, I didn’t expect him to come talk to me, not stick around” Max’s eyes refused to leave you, a little nervous to at this point. 

“I’m not going anywhere, is it a yes or not?” Totot refused to budge, his massive presence looming over both you and Max as George peaked over his shoulder to continue watching the interaction. 

“Yes,” you watched as Max’s smile grew even wider than before, him already grabbing his phone out of his pocket so you could put your number in it for him, “as long as you promise you aren’t a spy!” you emphasized by shoving his phone, now containing your number, into his chest as a warning. 

“Not a spy. I promise,” Max stuck his pinky out, waiting for you to reciprocate, giving you the most legal of all promises, the pinky promise, “so it’s a date.” 

You nodded as you wrapped your pinky around his own, “A date.” 

After a moment Toto coughed, catching your attention and forcing you to let go of Max and straighten out your attire, “We should go, yes, we have, there’s work, yes, job, okay, bye” and with that, you had disappeared through the Mercedes motorhome doors, soon followed by Toto who clapped a hand against Max’s shoulders, muttering a “well done boy” as he followed you in to begin the day, leaving Max to stare after you as George sidled up next to him. 

The two stood in silence, Max staring at you as Toto clearly teased you about the interaction, and George stared at Max, gearing up to do some teasing of his own. 

“Never thought The Max Verstappen would be into women who scared him” 

“Shit, she’s so scary.” Max nodded along with his own statement before making George choke on his coffee with the next one, “I think I’m going to marry her.” 

_______

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[fiveht]

hi five, do you have any smut recs? Your smut is probably the best I've ever read (and I've read A LOT of smut) and you're becoming my gold standard, so I'm curious, who is five_ht's five_ht? Any fandom/pairing you like!

Oh my god anon, the rabbit holes this ask sent me down.

It may surprise you to learn that I don't actually read a ton of PWPs, in spite of the fact that I used to write PWPs exclusively. For me, the appeal of a smut scene comes from the dynamics between the characters, which obviously can be well established in a short, porny one-shot, but it usually takes a bit more time and plot than that. Also, smut doesn't have to be particularly explicit or detailed for me to consider it top-tier porn. Gutter filth is my own approach, but it's not the only one that works.

So I managed to come up with a list, one for each of the pairings that I'm currently into. Most of these are on the longer side, and if you're unfamiliar with any of the source materials, consider this a strong recommendation that you give them a shot if the fics pique your interest.

First, Wolfstar:

For My Impertinence by synonomy

Regency (non-magic) A/B/O AU with all the standard associated tropes

This one is an example of absolutely top notch UST followed by brain-melting porn. Alpha Remus is just… perfect. I always appreciate an author who can balance the omegaverse tropes with a character like Remus, who we generally take to be fairly quiet and level-headed and not tending towards those typical alpha impulses. Seeing him break, just a little bit, in the heat of the moment, is almost hotter than the porn itself. Also, credit where it's due: it is NOT easy to incorporate truly explicit porn into a universe like this without either going over the top flowery with the language, or causing an abrupt shift in tone, but synonomy manages it. So hot, and so satisfying.

Damen/Laurent, Captive Prince:

Switch by AstraBlue

Modern AU, BDSM, daddy kink

This thing is long, and still a work in progress, but it's so, so worth it. I don't even normally read WIPs, but after I read Captive Prince I was jonesing for some fic, and I'll be honest, the prevailing fandom view on the relationship dynamics between these two wasn't really working for me. Like, okay, if we did not have canon sex scenes in the series, I could maybe buy into the concept of Laurent being a topping-from-the-bottom kind of guy as the popular fandom opinion seems to lean, but we DO have canon sex scenes, and what I see in those scenes is a repressed little bean who clings to control in his social life and is desperate for someone safe to give him permission to let go and stop thinking for a little while in private. And lucky Laurent, he has the ultimate soft Dom literally gift wrapped and delivered to him, in "giant animal" form.

So that's the kind of dynamic I was looking for when I started reading fic for this pairing, and Switch scratched that itch like nothing else. Daddy kink, soft Dom Damen, aloof imperious Laurent who turns to putty in daddy's hands. It's got all the things. It's got Damen running into Laurent at a sex club dressed in his Dom clothes with a man grovelling at his feet and in spite of all that, sizing him up in under a minute and concluding, "I'm going to fuck him until he cries, and he's going to call me daddy while I do it."

It's also worth noting that this is the sort of AU that can easily stand alone as its own story if you're unfamiliar with the characters. Not because it represents any major departure from the characters in canon, but because it does such a good job of establishing them within the universe that you can read it and feel like you're reading an original work. (That being said, as long as you're cool with some technically problematic tropes, you should read the books, because they're fantastic.)

Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish, The Raven Cycle:

twist by thesehands

Canon setting (post Dreamer trilogy), short and porny, daddy kink

It was hard to decide on one specific fic to rec for this pairing, but most of the ones I was debating were by the same author, so I went with this one, because daddy kink. This one is canonverse based, though they also have written a number of really amazing AUs. (Also check out "eights" for some quality horse girl Ronan action.)

Thesehands just has the most perfect approach to this pairing, I would read literally anything they wrote for them. Any author who acknowledges the sacred truth of Ronan as an unapologetically slutty bottom is a good one in my book, but this author really gets it. Their Adam voice also cannot be beat; domineering, attentive, detail oriented, a little bit mean in a way that Ronan gets off on; that is Adam Parrish. Management.

Anyway, this fic in particular is such a great exploration of the way daddy kink might work between these two. Because really, if we want to talk about an established power dynamic between them, surely we'd say that Ronan holds the balance, considering he is a literal god of creation, and is also physically stronger and more imposing in every way, but he defers to Adam in pretty much all matters anyway, because he chooses to. I could write whole essays about how this all works for them, but that's not what this post is about. This post is about telling you to go read this fic where Ronan redecorates his late father's office for Adam to use and then goes out and gets a womb tattoo and then watches a porn video entitled MUSCLE BOTTOM BEGS TWINK DADDY FOR ORGASM.

Andrew Blur/Sam Halse, Summer Sons:

speak to me (don't say a word) by bothybitch

Quasi-gapfiller, PWP, canon D/s vibes

This pairing (and fandom) is woefully underappreciated, but I would keep coming back to this fic for them even if there were hundreds more to choose from. This fic picks up from the middle of a canon scene and asks, what if Andrew wasn't on some ghost bullshit and instead let himself be gay and horny for the second time?

If you've read the book (and if you haven't, you should), you'll know that the D/s tone between Andrew and Sam (and Andrew and every other attractive, masculine alpha male he's ever met) is well established in canon without ever needing to be stated or explained. Andrew unknowingly craves direction and dominance, and Sam gleefully obliges. This fic weaves in that dynamic effortlessly, which is honestly not always easy when the story is so short and the actual sex acts are so tame, what with Andrew's complete lack of experience with men. This fic gives us a little taste of what might be going through Andrew's head on those rare occasions when it's clear enough for him to directly acknowledge that yes, he is into men, and beyond that, he is into dirty, rough, dominant men who call him princess.

Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, All For The Game

quicksand by likearecord

No-exy AU, college setting, heavy on the yearning and pining and UST

Okay, if you read ANY fic in this fandom, you should be reading likearecord. They are the absolute GOAT, not to mention amazingly prolific. NO ONE writes Andrew's voice like they do. (Or Neil's, of course, but Andrew's seems to be much harder for a lot of authors to grasp, for obvious reasons.) This particular fic is an AU that's considerably lighter in tone than canon, but it's so fucking good, and funny, and engaging, like the perfect quirky queer romcom. I've reread it probably like a dozen times. Andrew's inner monologue makes this whole fic what it is, just his constant, intense pining for Neil that colours literally his every thought and action. It also gives us one of my favourite "oh no, he's hot" moments in anything I've ever read, ever:

Andrew follows their eyelines across the deck and comes to an abrupt stop, his feet refusing to take even one more step once he sees the erotic mirage in front of him. The guy is barefoot, topless, in swim trunks that leave most of his sculpted thighs bare and cling wetly to the muscles of his ass and the soft handful of dick between his legs. Above that, abs so cut Andrew is pretty sure he could outline each individual muscle with his tongue; they form a defined V that slopes towards the trail of auburn hair that disappears tantalizingly beneath the waistband of the swim trunks. Belatedly, Andrew drags his gaze up. The guy is toweling off his hair with one hand, making the muscles across his chest and arm ripple. Andrew meets his eyes—a bright blue that puts the sparkling pool water to shame—and flushes hot at the curious amusement he finds in them. This is—this has to be Neil. Kevin’s little brother Neil. Andrew had been expecting dangerous—a cheeky menace with a honed steel tongue and a fondness for risk—but he hadn’t expected lethal. He hadn’t expected Neil to be fucking gorgeous, actually, but here he is. Strong jawline, straight nose, cheekbones you could sharpen a knife on, a lush mouth that imprints its shape onto Andrew’s brain instantly, and the hint of a dimple peeking out around his half-smile. Andrew is pretty sure Neil is moving in slow motion, that it’s taking long, long seconds for Neil’s hand to stop moving over his hair, for him to blink those enormous blue eyes, for him to toss the towel onto a chair. A stirring instrumental plays in the background, ringing through Andrew’s apparently otherwise empty skull.

Gay disaster Andrew Minyard is a masterpiece.

Anyway, I realise this fic is technically rated M, but I assert that that is irrelevant when the buildup is this good. I also think that the epilogues were added after the fact and that the porniest of them could easily merit an E rating. That shit is so hot, I swear to God. Andrew's unending thirst for Neil has such a presence, it's like a whole character in and of itself throughout the entire story.

[perfectlynormalbooks]

Harnessing What Remains by @wynn-ing - Slay the Princess, 72k, folio. TWO COPIES!! ONE FOR ME ONE FOR THE AUTHOR!! OBVIOUSLY!!!

Okay, so, I may have lost my mind a little when I did this one, because I fully illustrated it. There's close to 50 individual illustrations in this whole thing - I made a point of doing one for the first page of each chapter, and then I ended up doing extras, especially for the last few. As such, there's way too much art here to post it all to Tumblr... which is why it's excellent that the author has given me kind permission to share the full typeset, so other people can peruse it (and bind your own copy, if you want!). Here you go!!

I played around with using a lot of the game's fonts and formatting, so while the regular text is Georgia - DejaVu Sans, Kelmscott Roman, East Sea Dokdo and Amatic SC are all used at various points! The 'scary' Princesses in particular have their text in shades of red, too!

I really like the way that Slay the Princess uses color very sparingly and only for jarring emphasis, so I wanted to lean into that with the illustration style and typeset. THERE'S A LOT GOING ON IN THIS BOOK. I wish I knew what to say about it!! I may talk about design choices later!!!! Prompted or unprompted!!!! I'm just super glad I finally get to actually share it publicly!!!

...I also got really sad that I couldn't draw any of Wynn's OCs from the rest of the series because I just didn't have the time to do the other stories... so I ended up drawing all of them anyway. The post is over here. I'm so pleased with them.

And just for fun: a bunch of notebook sketches and doodles from when I was trying to figure out what sort of character design and style vibe I wanted to go for!

[mrs-delaney]

Hide| Chapter 12 | Public Pressure & Private Efforts

✨ catch up on hide if you’re just getting here ✨

🌙📚 browse the masterlist for more love, mess, and maybe a little magic ✨💔

🎧 listen to salvage—the album riley swore she’d never release, and then did anyway.

pairing: joe burrow x riley carter (oc) word count: 19.5k requested: no warnings: explicit sexual content, strong language, performance anxiety and the vulnerability of laying yourself bare on stage, pre-show jitters that feel like game day nerves, the exhaustion that comes after pouring your heart out for two hours straight, finding your people in a crowded room, and the relief of being with someone who sees all of you and stays anyway.

a few quick notes: 📌 this story is only posted on wattpad and tumblr under miss_delaney. if you see it anywhere else, it’s been stolen. do not repost, translate, or share my work without permission. 📌 requests: closed! 📌 want to be added to the taglist? drop a comment or message me.

📝 author’s note: not gonna lie—this chapter took longer than i planned. writer’s block hit hard, and for weeks i stared at scenes that felt flat, dialogue that didn’t land, and a performance that just... wouldn’t come to life. thank you for being patient while i wrestled it into something real. this one is about stepping into the light—literally and emotionally. riley performs the full *salvage* album for the first time. joe brings his closest friends into her orbit. they both stop hiding. writing the troubadour sequence felt like being there—the backstage nerves, the hush of the crowd, the ache of “the smallest man who ever lived,” and the flicker of “daylight.” i wanted you to feel every song. to know why this night mattered. but it’s also about the quiet stuff: joe texting her band to make sure she’s eaten. a bathroom makeout that’s more comfort than lust. his friends loving her because she makes him lighter. thank you for sticking with me through the blocks and the delays. for cheering for these characters. for knowing some chapters take longer because they mean more. i hope this one feels worth the wait. 💛 💛

Taglist: @wickedfun9 @starsyoongi @amiets2 @palmettogal508 @throwaway12356123 @lilfreakjez @destinyg237

The warehouse in Burbank hummed with the controlled chaos of preparation. Riley's fingers moved across the piano keys, sweat already beading at her temples despite the industrial fans spinning overhead. They'd been at this for hours.

"Let's run 'Mad Woman' again," she called to Pete, who was adjusting levels at the sound board twenty feet away. "The bridge still feels muddy."

Andy groaned from his position stage left, guitar hanging loose around his neck. "We've run it six times, Riles. It sounds fine."

"It sounds good," Riley corrected, pulling her hair back into a messy knot. "But it needs to sound perfect. We've got three weeks before the first show."

Daniel, sprawled behind his kit with a water bottle pressed to his forehead, gave her a look. "When's the last time you ate something that wasn't a protein bar?"

"Riley ignored the question, already counting them in for another run-through. The opening chords of 'Mad Woman' filled the space, but halfway through the second verse, she held up a hand."

Halfway through the second verse, Riley held up a hand. "Stop. Stop."

The music cut off abruptly, leaving only the whir of fans and the low buzz from the amps.

"The tempo's dragging," she said, frustrated. "We're losing the bite."

Pete looked up from his board. "Riley, we've been at this for hours."

"So?"

"So maybe the tempo's not the problem," Daniel said gently. "Maybe we're just tired."

Riley opened her mouth to argue, then felt the weight of exhaustion hit her all at once. When had she started carrying this much tension in her shoulders?

Her phone buzzed against the amp beside her. A text from Joe.

Joe: How's rehearsal going? Taking breaks?

Despite her exhaustion, she found herself smiling. Since their conversation by the pool two weeks ago, Joe had been... different. More present, even from a distance. He texted during her lunch breaks, called when he knew she'd be driving home, asked specific questions about her day instead of generic check-ins.

Riley: Define "breaks."

Joe: Sitting down for more than 30 seconds

Riley: Does playing piano count?

Joe: Nice try. Real breaks. Away from instruments.

Riley: Then no

Joe: Riley

Joe: Go eat something real

She was typing a response when Pete appeared beside her, arms crossed.

"Joe?" he asked, glancing at her phone.

"Telling me to eat actual food," she said, still typing.

"Smart man." Pete looked over. "He showing up for you better now?"

Riley shrugged, but her voice had eased. "Yeah, we're both slammed—but we still talk every day. Calls, texts, whatever we can manage. One of us always checks in."

Pete raised an eyebrow, smiling. "Sounds like he's showing up, then."

Riley rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too. "Don't jinx it."

Before she could respond, her phone rang. Joe's name on the screen.

"Perfect timing," Pete said, then raised his voice to the others. "Twenty-minute break. I'm going to get food that doesn't come wrapped in plastic."

Riley answered on the third ring. "Hey."

"Hey yourself." Joe's voice was warm, slightly out of breath. "You sound tired."

“I am tired,” she said, sitting back a little on the bench but keeping her hands on the keys. “But we’re getting there. ‘Mad Woman’ is being a pain in the ass, but that’s nothing new.”

“That’s the one about the gaslighting,” Joe said. 

Riley’s head tilted. “You remember that?”

He gave a small shrug. “Hard not to. That line—‘Every time you call me crazy, I get more crazy’—kinda punched me in the chest.”

Riley let out a slow breath. “Yeah. That one cost me.”

Riley felt something ease in her chest. Joe hadn’t just heard the songs—he’d remembered what she told him, really taken it in. The lyrics, the stories, the weight behind them. He’d been paying attention.

"The acoustic stuff is solid," she said. "But the full-band arrangements are... it's like translating between languages, you know? Making sure what works in the studio also works live. Especially the heavier tracks."

"Makes sense," Joe said. "Like adjusting plays for different defenses."

"Exactly." She lay back on the stage, staring up at the warehouse's exposed ceiling. "How was practice?"

"Good. Productive. Dak's got me on this new mobility program that's actually hell, but I can already feel the difference."

Riley could hear the satisfaction in his voice—that particular contentment Joe got when his body was doing what he asked of it.

"You sound happy," she observed.

"I am. Focused, I guess. Things are clicking." He paused. "I miss you, though."

The simple honesty of it caught her off guard. The old Joe would have buried that admission in qualifiers or deflection.

"I miss you too," she said softly. "How much longer until I see you?"

"Three weeks until the Troubadour show."

Riley sat up, surprised. "You're still planning to come?"

"Of course I'm coming." There was something almost offended in his tone. "Why would you think I wouldn't?"

"I don't know. It's preseason. I thought maybe—"

"Riley." His voice was firm, certain. "I'm coming. Already moved things around."

She felt her throat tighten unexpectedly. "You moved things around?"

"Rescheduled a couple of meetings, shifted a training session. It's not a big deal."

But it was a big deal. A few weeks ago Joe wouldn't have rescheduled anything for a concert, even hers. The fact that he'd done it without her asking, without making it seem like a sacrifice, felt huge.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"You don't have to thank me for showing up."

The simplicity of the statement hit her square in the chest. You don't have to thank me for showing up. Like it was a given. Like it was the baseline, not the exception.

"I'm bringing some friends," Joe continued. "If that's okay. Figured it was time they met you."

Riley's eyebrows rose. "Friends?"

"Zac, Micah, Trae. My guys from home."

The guys from home. The ones who'd known him before the NFL, before the cameras, before any of it. The ones whose approval actually mattered.

"That's..." she started, then stopped, not sure how to articulate what that meant to her. "Yeah. Yes. I'd love to meet them."

“Good.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “They’ve been asking about you for months.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. They’re curious. But in a good way. I think they just want to see who’s got me this spun.”

Riley laughed, surprised by the phrasing. “Spun?”

“You know what I mean,” he said. “They’ll love you.”

In the background, she could hear voices—teammates, probably. Joe's world calling him back.

"I should let you go," she said, though she didn't want to.

"Yeah. But Riley?"

"What?"

"Get some actual food. Pete's right to be worried about you."

"You talked to Pete?"

"I may have texted him earlier. Asked what you needed."

Riley blinked, processing this. "You texted Pete?"

"And Andy and Daniel. Just... checking in. Making sure you're taking care of yourself when I can't be there to do it."

Something warm spread through her chest. Joe had reached out to her band—her family—not to check up on her, but to ask how he could help from afar. It was thoughtful in a way that felt entirely new.

"What did they say?"

“They said you’ve barely eaten all week and you keep telling them you’re fine.”

Riley exhaled through her nose. “I am fine.”

“Not according to Andy. He said you nearly passed out on Tuesday.”

“That was one time,” she muttered.

Joe didn’t let it go. “So I said I’d try to get you to eat something decent. Apparently that wins me extra points.”

Riley could picture it—Joe texting the guys, Andy giving him shit, Daniel overcomplicating, Pete probably glad for the extra set of eyes. He’d told her he’d do better, and this was proof he meant it. He’d listened, and he actually got it.

"Okay," she said. "I'll get food."

"Real food."

"Real food," she agreed. "With vegetables and everything."

"Good girl." The words were casual, affectionate, but they sent heat racing down her spine anyway. "I'll call you tonight?"

"Please."

"Talk soon, birdie."

Riley smiled at the nickname that always made her feel cared for.

"Okay, lovey."

After he hung up, Riley sat on the edge of the stage for another moment, phone warm in her palm. Around her, the warehouse had gone quiet except for the muffled sounds of crew members moving around.

Pete appeared with a sandwich wrapped in white paper. "From Joe." he said, nodding at her phone.

She accepted the sandwich gratefully. "He said you guys had a conversation."

"Brief one. He wanted to know how to help without being overbearing." Pete settled beside her on the stage. "Smart question."

"What did you tell him?"

"That you're stubborn and driven, and you'll work yourself into the ground if we let you. And that sometimes you need someone to tell you to stop, even when you don't want to hear it."

Riley took a bite of the sandwich—turkey and avocado, exactly what she would have chosen for herself. "And?"

"And that he's doing better than I expected. Making the right moves."

Coming from Pete, that was high praise. Pete, who'd been protective of her since they were teenagers, who'd watched her heart get broken and put back together more times than either of them wanted to count.

“He’s bringing his friends to the show,” she said.

Pete looked over, interested. “What friends?”

“His close friends from back home. Zac, Micah, Trae.”

Pete nodded, processing. “That’s big.”

"Yeah." Riley finished the sandwich, surprised by how much better she felt with actual food in her system. "I'm nervous."

"Why?"

She considered the question. "What if they don't like me? What if I'm too... much?"

Pete looked at her, steady. “They’re coming for him. That means they’ll show up for you, too.”

Despite herself, Riley laughed. "Fair point."

“Besides,” Pete said, “if he’s bringing them, he wants them to see you. That means something. Trust him—and trust yourself.”

From across the warehouse, Andy called out, "Break's over, shitheads! These songs aren't going to rehearse themselves!"

Riley groaned, but she felt lighter than she had all day. Fed, reassured, reminded that she wasn't navigating this alone.

"Back to work?" Pete asked.

"Back to work."

But as they ran through "Mad Woman" again, the tempo finally clicking into place, Riley found herself thinking about Joe in a training facility in Cincinnati, probably running drills with the same focused intensity she brought to rehearsals. Both of them pushing toward something, but no longer pushing away from each other.

It wasn't perfect—his schedule was more intense than it had been all spring, and the constant juggling of time zones took effort. But Joe was showing up differently now, making space for her in ways that felt intentional rather than accidental. After the rough patch in early May when everything had felt fragmented, this felt like they were finding their rhythm again.

* * *

Two weeks later, Riley sat in the sterile comfort of a Beverly Hills hotel suite, staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Hair and makeup had left her looking polished and media-ready, but she could feel the exhaustion she'd been carrying like a weight.

The interview was scheduled to start in ten minutes. Rolling Stone, a major feature tied to the album release. Jenny had assured her it would be friendly, career-focused, and maybe some questions about the creative process, the tour. Easy stuff.

Riley had learned not to trust "easy stuff."

She checked her phone one more time. A text from Joe, sent twenty minutes ago:

Joe: Proud of you. Call me when you’re finished.

She'd responded with a heart emoji, but hadn't mentioned her nerves. Joe was in meetings all day, preparing for preseason. He didn't need her anxiety on top of his own pressure.

"Riley?" A production assistant knocked on the bathroom door. "They're ready for you."

"Coming."

The interviewer, Jessica Martin, was younger than Riley had expected, with kind eyes and a warm smile that immediately put her at ease. They settled into matching armchairs in front of a wall of windows overlooking the city.

"So," Jessica began after the photographer finished capturing their setup shots, "this album feels like such a departure from the bands previous work. More vulnerable, more personal. What changed?"

Riley paused, thinking it through. “I don’t think this album is more vulnerable than our older stuff. I’ve always written from a pretty raw place—sometimes too raw. What’s different this time is the focus. Instead of writing a bunch of songs about different things, I wanted to tell a single, cohesive story, from start to finish. What it looks like to lose yourself and then figure out how to get back.”

She met Jessica’s eye, voice steady. “The honesty was always there. The difference is, now I’ve got enough distance to really see what happened, instead of just writing while it was all happening to me.”

"The honesty is striking," Jessica agreed. "Especially on tracks like 'Lilith' and 'The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived.' Those feel like direct confrontations with your past."

Riley shrugged, a half-smile playing at her lips. "They're both confrontational, but The Smallest Man is me calling someone else out—just putting it all on the table, no filter. That one's not subtle at all."

She paused, the smile fading slightly. "Lilith is different. That's me calling myself out, how I went completely off the rails when I was already lost. It's messier because it's harder to admit what you did to yourself than what someone else did to you."

She met Jessica's eyes directly. "I guess both songs are just me being done with pretending. About any of it."

Jessica nodded, making notes on her tablet. "And 'Daylight'—the closing track—feels like the emotional resolution to that journey. It's such a hopeful note to end on."

Riley's chest tightened slightly. She'd known "Daylight" questions were inevitable, but it still felt strange having strangers analyze something so personal.

"Yeah, that song..." Riley paused, searching for words that felt true but not too revealing. "It came to me right at the end of the recording process. I realized I didn't want to end the album in darkness. There had to be something on the other side of all that pain."

"It's beautiful. Very different from the rest of the album—more tender, more romantic. Was there someone specific who inspired that shift in perspective?"

And there it was. The question Riley had been dreading and expecting in equal measure.

"I think," she said carefully, "that song came from a place of possibility. Sometimes you meet someone who shows you that not all love has to hurt. That's a revelation worth writing about."

Jessica leaned forward slightly, and Riley caught a glint in her eyes that made her stomach drop.

“Speaking of new love,” Jessica said, her tone still light but with that reporter’s edge, “there’s been some buzz about you and a certain NFL quarterback. People noticed he was in New Orleans not long ago, and the timing’s got fans speculating. Any truth to those rumors?”

Riley's media training kicked in automatically. Deflect. Redirect. Maintain control.

She met Jessica’s gaze. “People can think what they want. I’m not going to feed the rumor mill. The album’s the most honest thing I have to give.”

"But listeners are curious about your personal life - you've got devastating songs like 'The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived' and then 'Daylight' which feels so hopeful. That shift suggests something changed for you personally."

Riley’s pulse quickened. The interview was tilting somewhere she didn’t want to go.

She took a slow breath. “I get why people are curious, but the album’s where I put the real stuff. That’s the only place I feel okay sharing it.”

"Were there specific people you were writing about? Your ex Ethan, or the rumored relationship with Joe Burrow?"

"Some songs are true, some are just me trying to figure out what I want. But I'm not going to connect specific songs to specific people."

"That's very diplomatic," Jessica said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "And very different from the Riley Carter we saw a few years ago—the tabloid headlines, the dramatic exits from restaurants, the public arguments with Ethan Mills..."

Well. This wasn't the friendly album interview she'd been promised.

It's really impressive how you've turned things around. Your career is at an all-time high, you seem genuinely happy..." Jessica paused, consulting her notes. "Though some industry sources suggest that songs like 'loml' and 'The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived' might be too raw, too personal. That putting that level of pain on display could be seen as... well, some would say vindictive."

Riley's expression didn't change. "People are allowed to feel uncomfortable with the truth. I'm not writing songs to make anyone feel better about what they did to me." She leaned forward slightly. "It's interesting how when men write about their relationships—their pain, their anger—it's considered art. Raw, honest storytelling. But when women do it, suddenly we're being vindictive or airing dirty laundry." 

Her voice stayed level, but there was steel underneath. "I spent years making myself smaller to protect other people's feelings. I'm done with that. If my truth makes people uncomfortable, that sounds like their problem, not mine." 

Jessica shifted in her chair, clearly not expecting this level of pushback. "Of course. I suppose what I'm getting at is - your fans have been speculating about your personal life for months. Don't you think they deserve some clarity?"

Riley's smile returned, warm but completely controlled. "You know, in the past my personal life has been very public, and I've learned that's just not something I'm interested in anymore. I think the music speaks for itself about where I am emotionally." 

"But surely you can understand people's curiosity—" 

"Of course I can," Riley said graciously. "But I've also learned that some things are worth protecting. I'm much more interested in talking about the creative process, the tour we're planning, and the incredible musicians I get to work with every day." 

Her tone remained perfectly pleasant, but the message was clear: try me.

* * *

Two hours later, Riley sat in Pete's kitchen, a glass of wine finally in front of her. Pete, Andy, and Daniel had been waiting when she arrived, summoned by her text from the car.

“So that was interesting,” Andy said, scrolling through his phone. “The interview is already blowing up.”

Riley raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Daniel looked up, grinning. “You’re getting props for not letting her push you around.”

Pete set down his phone with a satisfied look. “Twitter’s going in on the journalist. Looks like Jessica Price has a history of this kind of ambush interviewing.”

Riley took a sip of wine, processing. “Huh.”

“You sound surprised,” Pete said.

Riley nodded. “A little. She seemed cool at first—felt like a real conversation. Usually when I stand up for myself in interviews, it gets spun like I’m difficult or emotional.” She let out a slow breath. “Guess there’s something to be said for keeping your cool and letting people show who they are.”

Her phone buzzed. Joe’s name lit up the screen.

“Speak of the devil,” she murmured, then answered. “Hey.”

“Hey.” His voice was warm, but there was something underneath—concern, maybe pride. “Saw some clips from your interview today.”

“That was fast.”

“Someone on the team showed me. You handled that perfectly.”

“Yeah?” She felt a flutter of relief she hadn’t expected. “I never know how it’s going to look once it’s out there.”

"You were incredible. Professional, firm, didn't give her anything to twist." She could hear the smile in his voice. "I'm proud of you."

The simple statement hit her harder than she’d anticipated. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

There was a pause, and she could sense him choosing his words carefully. "I know that probably wasn't easy. Having to deflect like that." 

Riley exhaled slowly. "No, it wasn't. But I get why it's necessary right now."

"I appreciate you understanding that. I know it's not ideal."

"It's not," she agreed quietly. "But I'd rather protect what we have than let someone like her pick it apart for clicks." 

"We'll figure out the rest as we go," Joe said. "But today? You were perfect."

After they hung up, Daniel looked around the kitchen at the others. "No more solo interviews for Riley. One of us goes with her from now on, or we all do."

"Agreed," Pete said immediately.

"Absolutely," Andy added. "That was bullshit."

Riley started to protest. "Guys, I can handle—"

"You handled it perfectly," Pete interrupted. "But you shouldn't have to handle ambushes alone."

* * *

Riley stared at the ceiling of her LA bedroom, her phone screen glowing 2:47 AM when she checked it again. She'd been lying here for over an hour, her mind still buzzing from the day despite the wine and the reassuring presence of her friends until they'd finally headed home around midnight.

The interview kept replaying in her head—not the parts she'd handled well, but the moments when Jessica's questions had hit closer to home than she'd let on. The way her chest had tightened when Joe's existence was reduced to "speculation" and "rumors." How it had felt to smile politely while describing her own truth as something worth protecting rather than celebrating.

She rolled over, reaching for her phone. No new messages, but she scrolled through anyway, landing on Joe's contact. He'd be asleep—his schedule was ruthless was picking up now—but the urge to hear his voice was stronger than her consideration for his sleep.

Before she could overthink it, she pressed call.

It rang twice before his voice came through, rough with sleep but immediately alert. "Riley? You okay?"

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I know it's late. I couldn't sleep."

"Hey, it's fine." She could hear him shifting, probably sitting up. "What's going on?"

Riley closed her eyes, suddenly feeling foolish. "I don't know. I keep thinking about today. About having to sit there and pretend like you don't exist."

Silence on the other end, but not an uncomfortable one. Just Joe listening, the way he did.

Joe was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was softer than usual. "You know I've never been good with the public stuff. Having people in my business—it's never felt right to me."

Riley stayed silent, something heavy settling in her chest.

"It's not about you," he said quickly, like he could sense her pulling away. "It's never been about you. I just... I don't know how to be any other way."

"I know," she said quietly. "But it still feels like I have to pretend you're not mine."

The word hung between them—mine. Possessive and vulnerable all at once.

"You don't have to pretend anything," Joe said, his voice rough with something she couldn't name. "Not with me. Never with me."

"But everywhere else?"

Silence.

"I'm sorry it's hard," he said finally. "I'm trying to be different about this stuff.

She closed her eyes, hearing both the apology and the boundary. "I'm not asking you to change overnight. I just... I wish it didn't hurt sometimes."

She rolled onto her side, pressing the phone closer to her ear like she could somehow get closer to him through the connection. "Tell me something real. Something that's just ours."

Joe was quiet for a moment, and she could picture him in his bedroom in Cincinnati, probably shirtless, hair messy from sleep, those blue eyes thoughtful in the darkness.

"I've been thinking about the Troubadour show," he said finally. "About watching you perform 'Daylight' for the first time."

Riley's breath caught. "Yeah?"

“Just wondering what it’ll be like,” he said. “Hearing it live. Knowing what it means.”

The raw honesty in his voice made her heart race. "Joe..."

"I'm proud of that song," he said quietly. "Proud that you wrote it."

Riley felt her chest tighten. "Yeah?"

"It's a good song, Riley. Really good." His voice was matter-of-fact, but she could hear something deeper underneath. "I understand what you're saying in it."

She smiled faintly, her words barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

"I liked that you ended the album there," he said, his voice dropping lower. "After everything else... ending with something that sounds like that."

Riley closed her eyes, feeling something warm settle in her chest. 

"I feel like that too," he said simply.

"I miss you," she said, the words carrying more than just absence. They carried want, need, the ache of loving someone whose touch she could only remember, not feel.

"I miss you too." His voice had roughened, and she could hear the want in it that matched her own. "How much longer until I see you?"

"Eleven days." She'd been counting. "God, that feels like forever."

"Switch to FaceTime," Joe said. "I want to see you."

Riley felt her breath catch. She didn’t tease, didn’t protest. Just hit the button and waited for his face to fill her screen.

He looked half-asleep and a little wrecked, hair messy, eyes dark and open just for her. He took her in for a long moment, gaze unhurried.

“That’s better,” he said, his voice low. “I hate having conversations like this and not being able to see your face.”

Riley couldn’t help but smile, even with the ache sitting behind her eyes. “God, you look about as tired as I am. I’m sorry I woke you up. I was just… in my head.”

Joe shook his head, eyes steady on hers. “You can call me any time, you know that.”

She nodded, the silence between them suddenly comfortable, heavy with everything unspoken.

He held her gaze for a long beat. “You want to just… stay like this for a minute?”

Riley settled back, letting the phone rest beside her. “Yeah. I do.”

They didn’t talk much after that. Riley just let herself watch him, letting the quiet do the work. After a while, her eyes drifted closed, the weight of the day finally catching up to her. She was half-asleep when she felt, rather than heard, Joe say her name softly.

“Hey, go to sleep,” he murmured. She managed a sleepy hum in response.

He watched her a little longer, making sure she was really out, then smiled, quiet and private. “Goodnight, Bird.”

She didn’t answer—she was already gone. Joe ended the call and set his phone aside, the morning pressing in on his side of the world, but not minding the lost sleep.

* * *

Joe stared at his phone, rereading Riley's text for the third time. Just got to the venue. Sound check in an hour. Are you nervous about tonight?

He'd typed and deleted three different responses.

"You gonna answer that or just keep staring at it?" Trae asked from across the aisle.

Joe looked up, realizing his friends were all watching him. "What?"

"Dude," Micah said. "You've been weird since we got on the plane."

"I'm not weird."

Zac raised an eyebrow. "You rearranged your schedule to fly us to LA to meet some girl—"

"She's not some girl," Joe said, sharper than he intended.

The cabin went quiet. Zac held up his hands in surrender.

"Okay," he said carefully. "To meet Riley. The famous musician you've been sneaking around with for months."

Joe set his phone down, running a hand through his hair. "It's complicated."

"Most things are," Trae said quietly. He'd been the one Joe had actually talked to about this stuff, late-night calls when the distance felt impossible and Joe couldn't sleep.

Micah looked between them. "Am I missing something here?"

Joe was quiet for a long moment, staring out the window at the clouds below. These guys had known him since high school. They'd watched him date Olivia, seen how he kept even that relationship carefully contained. Football here, personal life there, never let them bleed together.

"I've been trying to keep her separate," he said finally. "Like I always do. But it's not working."

"Separate how?" Zac asked.

Joe struggled to find the words. "You know how I am. Football season, she stays in her lane. Off-season, maybe I visit her world a little. Keep it clean, keep it controlled."

Trae was nodding. He'd heard versions of this conversation before.

"But?" Micah prompted.

"But she's not staying in her lane," Joe said. "And I don't really want her to anymore."

He picked up his phone again, finally typing back: Not nervous. Ready.

"That's why you brought us," Zac said, understanding dawning. "Because you're done keeping her separate."

"I don't know what the fuck I'm doing," Joe admitted. "This whole... mixing everything together. I've never wanted to before."

"What's different about her?" Micah asked.

Joe thought about how to answer that. About Riley's laugh in his kitchen, about the way she'd called him out when he was being distant, about how she made his carefully organized life feel less like a schedule and more like something worth living.

"She doesn't fit in a box," he said simply. "I've tried. But she's too... much. In a good way."

Trae was watching him carefully. "And that scares you."

"Yeah," Joe said. "It does."

"So tonight..." Zac said.

"I told her I'd stop trying to manage this," Joe said. "Stop trying to figure out how she fits into my life and just... let her be in it. I want to do that for us." He paused. "I don't want to lose her because of my shit."

His friends exchanged glances. This was new territory for Joe Burrow, who planned everything, controlled everything, kept everything in its proper place.

"And if we don't like her?" Micah asked.

Joe looked at him steadily. "Then we'll have a problem."

The directness of it surprised them. Joe didn't usually draw lines like that, didn't usually put anyone ahead of his inner circle.

"But you will," he added, his voice softer. "She's... fuck, she's amazing. You'll see."

The plane began its descent, and Joe felt his stomach drop with it. Not long from now, he'd be sitting in a room full of people watching Riley perform, and he wouldn't be able to hide how he felt about her anymore.

* * *

"The private jet touched down at LAX with barely a bump, dusk settling over the tarmac. Joe could see the last light reflecting off the asphalt as they taxied toward the private terminal."

A black SUV waited at the edge of the tarmac, driver already standing at attention. Joe recognized the efficiency—this had Scout's fingerprints all over it, probably coordinated through Sarah. Riley's world meeting his in small, practical ways.

"Mr. Burrow?" The driver stepped forward. "We're heading directly to the Troubadour, correct?"

"That's right," Joe confirmed, shouldering his bag.

As they settled into the SUV, Zac looked around at the tinted windows and premium interior. "Riley's team arranged this?"

"Yeah," Joe said, checking his phone. No new messages, but he hadn't expected any. Riley would be deep in her pre-show routine by now.

The drive through West Hollywood was slower than Joe had anticipated, evening traffic thick on Sunset Boulevard. He found himself getting more aware of the time, of what Riley was probably doing right now.

"Hey," he said, turning to his friends. "I should probably give you guys a heads up about something."

"What's up?" Trae asked.

Joe chose his words carefully. "When we get there, Riley's probably going to be... focused. I don't talk to anyone the day of a game, and I'm thinking she might be the same way before a show."

He glanced out the window at the palm trees lining the street. "I've never actually seen her in her element like this before. So if she seems distant or busy, it's not personal. She's probably just in her zone."

"You want us to stay out of the way," Micah said, understanding.

"Not exactly. Just... don't take it personally if she doesn't have a lot of time to chat. I don't want you guys thinking she's rude or anything."

"Zac looked over at Joe. 'Don't worry, man. We'll be cool.'"

"Yeah, man. When's the last time you flew us somewhere to meet someone you were dating?" Trae asked quietly.

Joe considered this. "Never."

The SUV slowed as they approached the venue, and Joe could see the iconic Troubadour sign ahead. He felt that familiar pre-game focus settling over him—calm, controlled, ready. In a few minutes, he'd be walking into Riley's world for the first time, seeing her perform rather than just the Riley who was quietly his.

The driver pulled around to the back of the building, away from the main entrance where the show would begin in soon.

* * *

The back alley behind the Troubadour buzzed with pre-show energy. Crew members moved equipment between the venue and loading trucks, grabbing last-minute supplies. Security personnel checked IDs at the stage door, and Joe could hear the muffled sound of final instrument checks bleeding through the back entrance.

As their SUV pulled up, a woman with a headset and a clipboard materialized from the backstage entrance. She spotted Joe immediately and walked over with the efficiency of someone who'd been watching for their arrival.

"Mr. Burrow?" she asked, though her tone suggested she already knew. "I'm Casey, stage manager. Riley's expecting you." She pulled four laminated passes from her clipboard, handing them out. "You'll need these backstage."

She gestured for them to follow, leading them through the back entrance and into narrow gray corridors. The hallway thrummed with activity—crew members brushing past with last-minute items, someone shouting about monitor levels from a room down the hall, muffled voices calling back and forth.

"She's just getting ready," Casey said over her shoulder as they navigated toward a staircase. "Sound check wrapped a while ago, so we're in that final prep phase. You know how it is before showtime."

She led them up the stairs toward the green room. "Riley's upstairs. Fair warning—it's packed up there, and not exactly spacious to begin with."

Joe nodded, already mentally preparing himself for what they were about to walk into. 

"Joe!"

He turned to see Lola weaving through the crowd toward him, Harlow close behind. Both women looked genuinely happy to see him, and Joe felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease at seeing familiar faces.

"Hey," he said with a slight smile.

"Riley's gonna be so happy you made it in time," Harlow said. "She's up there finishing up her makeup."

Joe gestured to his friends, who'd been watching the exchange with interest. "Lola, Harlow—these are my guys. Zac, Micah, Trae."

"Nice to meet you," Lola said, shaking hands with each of them. "Riley's mentioned you."

"So you're the friends Joe's been hiding," Harlow said with a grin.

As they climbed the narrow stairs, Joe could hear Riley's laugh before he saw her—bright and unguarded, cutting through the general buzz of conversation. When they reached the top and stepped into the crowded green room, he spotted her immediately.

She was perched on the old brown couch by the windows, legs tucked under her, a small mirror balanced on her knees as she applied mascara with steady, practiced hands. Haley sat cross-legged on the floor beside her, gesturing animatedly as she told some story, while Laura leaned against the wall nearby, nursing what looked like a beer and laughing at whatever Haley was saying. Across the room, Daniel sat hunched over a small drum pad, headphones on, his sticks moving in quiet, precise rhythms.

There was no frantic energy around Riley, no last-minute panic. Just a visible buzz of excitement and genuine enjoyment. She was having a good time, completely at ease in the controlled chaos of pre-show preparations. When she finished with her mascara, she tossed the tube to Haley and picked up a tube of lipstick, continuing her conversation without missing a beat.

"Burrow! Buddy!"

Pete's voice cut through the room before Joe had taken more than a few steps inside. Both Pete and Andy looked up from where they'd been passing a joint back and forth in the corner, immediate grins spreading across their faces as they spotted him through the crowd.

"Dude," Andy said, pushing through the packed room toward them.

Pete was right behind him, navigating between crew members and industry friends. "Man, good to see you."

Andy grinned. "Perfect timing."

Joe nodded, a slight smile tugging at his mouth.

Riley's head snapped up at the sound of Joe's voice, her eyes finding his across the room. The smile that broke across her face was instant and unguarded—pure joy at seeing him there.

She set her mirror aside without looking, lipstick tube forgotten in her lap as she unfolded herself from the couch. People were packed shoulder to shoulder in the narrow space, but Riley moved through them like she had a map—ducking under someone's elbow, sliding between two industry guys deep in conversation, never taking her eyes off Joe.

"Excuse me," she said to someone, but she was already past him.

When she reached Joe, she didn't hesitate. Her arms went around his neck and she pressed up on her toes to kiss him, right there in front of everyone. It wasn't performative or showy—just Riley being Riley, unafraid to show exactly how she felt.

"You're here," she said against his mouth, like she couldn't quite believe it.

His arms came around her. "Yeah."

She pulled back just enough to look at him, not letting go. There was something about seeing him here, in her world, that made her chest feel tight with happiness.

"I missed you," she added quietly.

"I missed you too," Joe said, and leaned down to kiss her again, right there in front of everyone.

She turned to the three guys standing slightly behind Joe. "And you must be the friends."

Zac, Micah, and Trae exchanged quick glances, clearly taken aback. Joe had prepared them for Riley being focused, maybe distant, caught up in her pre-show routine. Instead, here she was, turning her full attention to them with genuine warmth.

"Zac," the first one said, stepping forward with a slight smile.

"Micah," said the second.

"Trae," said the third, and Riley could see the surprise in all their faces—not at meeting her, but at how completely present she was despite the chaos around them.

"I'm so glad you came," she said, and meant it. "Joe's been talking about you guys forever. I was starting to think you were made up."

Micah laughed. "Shit, we were starting to think you were made up too."

"Fair," Riley grinned. "Though I have to say, you guys are exactly what I pictured."

"Oh yeah?" Micah said. "What did you picture?"

"Definitely good," she said. "I promise what I had in mind is good - you're exactly like he described."

Trae was looking around, taking in the energy—people moving with purpose, the hum of conversation, the underlying buzz of anticipation. "This is incredible," he said. "You can feel it in the air."

"Right?" Riley said, lighting up at his understanding. "It's like everyone's plugged into the same current. I love it."

Zac was watching the interaction between her and Joe, how easily she moved between focusing on him and including them, how she made it look effortless despite the obvious demands on her attention.

"Joe said you'd probably be too busy to hang out," Micah said. "But you seem pretty..."

"Available?" Riley finished with a laugh. "I mean, I've got about thirty minutes before I need to start getting my head fully in the game, but until then..." She shrugged. "This is my favorite part anyway. The anticipation."

She looked back at Joe, squeezing his hand. "Plus, I wasn't about to miss meeting the people who've known this one since he was probably a pain in the ass teenager."

"Oh, he was definitely a pain in the ass," Micah said, grinning.

"Still is," Zac added, but his tone was fond.

Riley laughed, and Joe felt something settle in his chest. This was going exactly how he'd hoped—his worlds colliding without friction, Riley being completely herself, his friends seeing exactly what he'd been trying to explain about her.

She turned toward the room, still holding Joe's hand. "Come on, let me introduce you to everyone properly."

She led them toward where Pete and Andy were still lounging in their corner, Daniel having migrated over with his drum pad now silent. Haley and Laura had moved closer too, curious about the new arrivals.

"Guys," Riley called out, "these are Joe's friends from home. Zac, Micah, and Trae."

"What's up," Pete said, nodding at them with genuine warmth. "Good to meet you."

Andy was already reaching into his pocket. "Hey, I just rolled one for you guys," he said, pulling out a fresh joint.

"Thanks, bro," Zac said, accepting it with a nod.

The joint made its way around the expanded circle—Zac to Micah to Trae, then to Joe, who took a casual hit before passing it to Riley. There was nothing forced about it, no one making a big deal. Just people sharing before a show.

"So what do you guys do back in Ohio?" Haley asked, settling cross-legged on the floor near them.

"I'm in investor relations," Zac said. "Corporate stuff."

"Tech," Trae said simply.

"Fashion design," Micah added.

"Nice," Daniel said, looking at Micah with interest. "You do your own line or work for someone?" Joe felt himself settling into the easy rhythm of the conversation. Riley's hand was still in his, her thumb tracing absent patterns on his palm as she listened to his friends talk. Pete was asking thoughtful questions, Andy was making jokes that actually landed, and Laura was nodding along like she'd known these guys for years.

This was how Riley's people operated—immediate acceptance, genuine curiosity, no pretense. They didn't care about credentials or connections. They cared about the person in front of them.

As Micah started explaining his work, Joe felt Riley's hand tighten slightly in his. She leaned closer, her voice low enough that only he could hear.

"Come with me for a second?"

She led him through the crowded room, weaving between people until she reached a door he hadn't noticed before. She pushed it open, revealing a small bathroom—barely big enough for two people, but private.

"Sorry," she said with a slight laugh, closing the door behind them. "This is literally the only quiet space in the building right now."

The sudden silence felt almost loud after the buzz of the green room. Riley leaned back against the door, looking at him in the dim light.

"Okay, now I can actually look at you," she said with a slight smile.

She reached for him, her hands sliding up his chest to rest at the base of his neck. "It's been three weeks."

"Yeah," he said, his hands finding her waist. "Too long."

"Way too long." She tilted her head up toward him. "I missed this."

Joe leaned down to rest his forehead against hers. "Me too."

"So…wanna make out for a bit in this horrible bathroom?" she asked, her mouth quirking up.

Joe laughed, caught off guard but not surprised. "Only you would ask it like that."

Then he took control, his hands finding her waist as he pressed her back against the door, kissing her like he'd been thinking about it all day.

They broke apart for a moment, both breathing hard in the small space. Riley's hands were still tangled in his hair, her back pressed against the door.

"Your friends are perfect, by the way," she said quietly. "I can see why you love them."

"They're already half in love with you," Joe said. "I could tell the second you introduced yourself."

Riley smiled. "Well, they're important to you, so they're important to me."

She kissed him again, and there was an urgency to it—three weeks of distance and the energy already building for the show making everything sharper. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer in the cramped space.

Joe's hands slid up to frame her face as they kissed like they both needed this more than air. When they finally broke apart, both breathing harder, she stayed pressed up against him.

"Fuck," she breathed, her forehead against his. "I needed that."

She took a shaky breath, her hands smoothing down his chest. "But we gotta go out there so I can get my shit together. Can't fuck in this tiny bathroom..." She grinned. "Although I will say, if you haven't fucked in a horrible tiny bathroom, you haven't lived. Rain check?"

She turned toward the door, and Joe laughed, swatting her ass as she reached for the handle. "Get out of here."

When they slipped back into the green room, the energy had shifted. People were starting to move with more purpose—crew members heading downstairs, industry friends checking the time. The intimate hang-out vibe was giving way to something more focused.

"There they are," Pete said, looking up from where he was now checking his bass. "Riley, we should probably start warming up."

She nodded, already switching gears. Joe could see the performer starting to emerge—not dramatically, just a subtle sharpening of her focus.

"Guys," she said to Joe's friends, "Casey can take you side stage. If you stay off to the side by the curtain, it should be pretty private."

"Sounds good," Zac said.

Riley found a quieter corner of the room and closed her eyes, beginning to run scales—pure vocal exercises, no instruments, just her voice cutting cleanly through the space as she warmed up her range. The band sat nearby, letting her work, Pete occasionally nodding along to her rhythm.

Joe watched, fascinated, as she ran through different vocal patterns, her voice moving from low, resonant tones to higher, more powerful notes. This was purely technical—a professional preparing her instrument.

After about ten minutes, she opened her eyes, voice ready.

"Alright," Pete said, standing up. "Huddle time."

The four band members moved into a tight circle, arms around each other's shoulders. Joe could hear Pete's voice, low and steady, saying something about playing for the people who needed to hear these songs. Riley added something about honoring the music and each other. Andy made what sounded like a joke that got quiet laughs.

Then they broke apart, and Joe could see it—they were ready. Not just individually, but as a unit.

Riley walked over to Joe, rising up on her toes to kiss him. "See you after," she said quietly.

Casey appeared at the door. "Time to get everyone positioned," she said to Joe and his friends, as well as Haley, Laura, and the other non-band friends in the room.

Joe gave Riley's hand one last squeeze, then followed Casey out, leaving the band to have their final moments before taking the stage.

* * *

The last notes of "Sunshine Riptide" faded into the darkness of the Troubadour, and the crowd erupted. Riley stood at the mic, slightly out of breath, a genuine smile spreading across her face as she took in the energy radiating back at her from the packed venue.

"That was 'Sunshine Riptide,'" she said, her voice warm and conversational through the speakers. "And holy shit, it feels good to be back."

The crowd cheered, and Riley laughed, pushing her hair back from her face. "I'm not kidding—it's been almost two years since we've done this. Since we've all been together like this. And I missed you guys so fucking much."

Pete stepped closer to his mic. "We missed this too," he said, grinning. "Even if Riley made us practice that song about fifty times this week."

"Shut up," Riley shot back, but she was still smiling. "It needed to be perfect for you guys."

"It was perfect," Andy chimed in from stage left. "Now tell them about the pool house."

Riley laughed, and the sound echoed through the venue, intimate and real. "Okay, so. You guys know our contract with our old label ended last year, right? And we made a choice. We decided not to renew."

A few cheers from the crowd, and Riley nodded. "Yeah, we wanted creative control. We wanted to own our work. So we did a distribution deal with Republic instead. This record? It's completely ours."

She gestured toward Pete. "This one let us convert his pool house into a studio. We call it Sad Banger Labs—"

"Best investment I ever made," Pete interrupted, and the crowd laughed.

"Most of what you're about to hear was made right there in Pete's backyard," Riley continued. "Some of it at Electric Lady in New York, but mostly just... us. In this tiny converted pool house, staying up for days, figuring out how to say things we'd never been able to say before."

Daniel tapped his sticks together softly, a gentle rhythm that filled the brief pause.

"So tonight," Riley said, her voice dropping slightly, becoming more intimate, "you're going to hear the whole album. Front to back. Salvage. And it's... it's a journey. These songs came from a version of me I don't live in anymore, but I remember her. The girl who stayed. Who kept justifying things that weren't justifiable."

The venue had gone completely quiet, hanging on every word.

"This isn't a revenge album," she said, her voice steady but vulnerable. "It's not about one person. It's about the version of myself who stayed too long, tried too hard, and thought that was what love was supposed to feel like."

Andy adjusted his guitar strap. "It's also about coming out the other side," he said quietly into his mic.

Riley nodded, grateful. "It is. But we're going to go through some dark places first. And I need you guys to trust me on this journey, okay? Because where we end up... it's worth it."

She looked out into the crowd, and from the side stage where Joe stood with his friends, he could see the way she connected with every person in that room, making each of them feel like she was speaking directly to them.

"We made this album because we needed it to exist," she said. "And now it's yours. So let's go through this together."

The crowd erupted again, and Riley stepped back from the mic, nodding to Pete as the opening bass line of "Big Man, Little Dignity" began to pulse through the venue.

The song hit different live—heavier, more pointed. Riley's voice carried a controlled venom as she sang about smooth operators and shit-stained suits, her eyes scanning the crowd with an intensity that made everyone feel like they were part of the takedown. When she got to the bridge, her voice soared on "I memorized all your lies," and Joe felt the hair on his arms stand up.

The song built to its final chorus, Riley's voice cutting through the mix like a blade, before ending with that haunting repetition of "little dignity." The crowd was silent for a beat, processing, before exploding into applause.

Riley wiped sweat from her forehead, grinning. "That felt good," she said into the mic, and the crowd laughed. "That was 'Big Man, Little Dignity,' and it's about exactly what you think it's about."

She adjusted her mic stand, her expression growing more serious. "It's about someone who could get away with anything, so that's exactly what they did."

Pete leaned into his mic. "Riley wrote that one in about twenty minutes."

"Because I was pissed," Riley said with a laugh. "Sometimes the truth just falls out of you that fast."

She looked out at the crowd, her voice becoming more conversational again. "The next song is called 'I'm Not Mad.' And the thing is..." she paused, grinning slightly, "I was absolutely fucking furious when I wrote it."

Andy chuckled into his mic. "The title's a lie."

"Complete lie," Riley agreed. "But sometimes you have to tell yourself you're not mad before you can admit how mad you actually are. This one's got some bite to it."

She stepped back from the mic as the drum-heavy opening of "I'm Not Mad" crashed through the venue.

The drums crashed in with a vengeance, and "I'm Not Mad" exploded through the Troubadour with all the fury Riley had promised. The song was relentless—drum-heavy and sharp-edged, Riley's voice dripping with sarcasm as she delivered lines about hoping someone's back aches and knees hurt. The crowd was completely absorbed, some singing along to the chorus they'd clearly memorized from the early release.

When Riley got to the bridge about hoping he dreams of her, her voice took on this haunting quality that made the entire venue go silent except for the music. The song built to its final crescendo, Riley's voice soaring over the drums, before crashing to a stop.

The crowd erupted, and Riley laughed, shaking her head. "Okay, I feel better now," she said, wiping sweat from her forehead. "That was 'I'm Not Mad,' which is the biggest lie I've ever told myself."

"We could tell," Pete said dryly, and the crowd laughed.

Riley grinned. "The next song is called 'You Asked for This.' And this one..." she paused, looking out at the crowd with a slightly mischievous expression. "This one's about being told your whole life that you're too much. Too loud. Too intense. And also being told to grow up, be a big girl, handle your shit—and finally just saying, 'Okay, you want loud? I'll give you loud.'"

She adjusted her mic stand, her voice becoming more passionate. "It's about owning the reputation people gave you instead of trying to shrink yourself to make them comfortable. But it's also about wanting everything—wanting your cake and wanting to ruin all your plans at the same time. Like, you asked for this version of me—well, here she is."

Andy stepped closer to his mic. "This one gets loud."

"Very loud," Daniel confirmed, spinning his sticks.

"It's 90s grunge vibes," Riley said, her energy picking up again. "Because sometimes you need to scream about wanting everything and refusing to apologize for taking up space."

She looked directly out into the crowd, and from side stage, Joe found himself holding his breath.

"This is for everyone who's ever been told to be grateful for a life that doesn't fit," Riley said, taking the guitar a tech handed her as Andy's guitar came in with a grinding, distorted riff that immediately transported the venue back to the 90s.

"You Asked for This" hit like a freight train—all raw energy and rebellion. Riley's voice was powerful and unapologetic as she sang about summer feet and Levi's jeans, about wanting everything and refusing to apologize for it. When she got to the chorus, the entire crowd seemed to move as one, caught up in the song's defiant energy.

The bridge was pure chaos in the best way—Riley's voice breaking slightly as she sang about wanting a fist around her throat, wanting to cry so hard she chokes, the vulnerability mixed with the anger creating something electric. The song built to its climactic ending, Riley practically screaming the final lines before the music cut out abruptly.

The silence lasted for exactly one beat before the crowd exploded into the loudest applause yet.

Riley caught her breath as the applause died down, handing her guitar off to a tech who appeared at her side. The energy in the room was electric, but she could sense the shift coming—the move from rebellion into something more vulnerable.

"Alright," she said, her voice softer now. "We're about to take a turn here. The next song is called 'I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)." She paused, and a few people in the crowd laughed knowingly."

Pete stepped closer to his mic. "This is where Riley gets honest about her savior complex."

"Thanks, Pete," Riley said dryly, but she was smiling. "Yeah, this one's about thinking you can be the exception. About seeing someone's red flags and thinking, "But not for me. I can change him."

She looked out at the crowd, her expression becoming more serious. "It's about the delusion that love can fix anything. That if you just try hard enough, care enough, you can save someone who doesn't want to be saved."

Andy adjusted his guitar. "The bridge is brutal."

"The bridge is where I realize maybe I can't," Riley agreed. "But we get there when we get there. This one starts sweet, like a ballad, because that's how these things always start."

The opening chords rang out, gentle and almost romantic, as Riley's voice came in soft and vulnerable, singing about teaching lessons and fixing dangerous men. But as Joe watched from side stage, he could hear the building tension in the music, the way it was setting up for something darker.

When the song reached its crushing realization in the final line—"Whoa, maybe I can't"—the vulnerability in Riley's voice was devastating. The crowd was completely silent as the music faded.

Riley stood quiet for a moment, letting the weight of that song settle. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, more introspective.

"That was hard to write," she said simply. "The next one was harder. It's called 'Ego,' and it's about falling apart while trying to look like you have it all together."

She looked down at her hands on the mic stand. "This one's about imposter syndrome, about feeling like you're still just a kid playing dress-up in an adult's life. About success not feeling the way you thought it would."

Daniel tapped his sticks gently. "This one's got some bite to it too."

"Pop-punk vibes," Andy added. "Because sometimes you need to scream about feeling like a fake."

"Riley looked back up at the crowd. "It's about the voice in your head that tells you everyone's going to figure out you don't belong. That maybe you don't even like who you've become." Her voice grew stronger. "But it's also about admitting that, which is the first step to doing something about it."

A tech handed Riley her guitar as the drums kicked in hard and fast, and "Ego" burst through the venue with raw, unfiltered energy."

The drums kicked in hard and fast, and "Ego" burst through the venue with raw, unfiltered energy. Riley's voice was both vulnerable and powerful as she sang about killing her ego before it killed her, about acting like a baby while trying to be grown up. When she got to the bridge about wanting to go back to the beginning when it all felt right, her voice cracked slightly with genuine emotion.

The song built to its climactic ending, Riley practically screaming about not being happy being herself, before cutting out abruptly. The crowd erupted, but there was something different in their energy now—deeper, more emotional. They were really feeling this journey with her.

Riley took a deep breath as the applause faded, and Joe could see her gathering herself for what was coming next. The energy in the room had shifted—they were deep in the emotional core of the album now.

"The next song," she said, her voice quieter, more careful, "is called 'Lonely Is the Muse.' And this one..." She paused, tuning her guitar. "This one's about what it feels like to be reduced to just inspiration for someone else's life. To be useful until you're not."

Andy stepped closer to his mic. "This is the one that made us all cry in the studio."

"Multiple times," Daniel added quietly.

Riley nodded. "It's about realizing you've been building yourself into whatever shape someone else needed, and forgetting who you actually were underneath all that." Her voice gained strength. "But it's also about having your whole career, everything you've built, reduced to just... material for someone else's story. Like suddenly you're not Riley Carter who's been doing this for ten years—you're just inspiration. Just a muse."

She looked out at the crowd, her voice becoming fierce. "I've earned platinum records, I've built this career from nothing, and somehow I let myself become small enough to fit in someone else's narrative. This song is about remembering who the fuck I am."

The opening notes were haunting—nu-metal with a slow burn that built gradually. Riley's voice was both vulnerable and powerful as she sang about being built from special pieces she learned to unscrew, about always reassembling to fit perfectly for whoever decided she was useful. When she got to the chorus—"Lonely is the muse"—her voice carried years of exhaustion and recognition.

The song built to its devastating bridge about being a wind chime in someone's window, existing just to decorate their life, before ending with that repeated, haunting "lonely is the muse." The venue was completely silent when it ended.

Riley stood still for a moment, letting that weight settle. When she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper.

"That was hard," she said simply. "The next one's harder. It's called 'People Disappear Here,' and it's about... disappearing. About trying to let someone else be you while you just... fade away."

She looked directly out into the crowd. "It's about hurting yourself to make sure you still exist. About needing someone to tell you how to feel because you've forgotten how."

Pete's bass came in low and ominous, and the song unfolded like a nightmare—slow, grunge-heavy, Riley's voice floating over the music like a ghost. When she sang about hurting herself to make sure she existed, about pinching herself to make sure she was real, the rawness in her voice was almost unbearable. The repetition of "people disappear here" became a mantra, a warning, a cry for help all at once.

The song faded into silence, and the crowd seemed afraid to breathe.

Riley wiped her eyes quickly, and Joe could see her hands shaking slightly. "The next song," she said, her voice thick with emotion, "is called '3-17.' I wrote this song four days before my birthday, almost two years ago."

She looked down at the stage floor for a moment, then back up at the crowd. "This one's just... the truth."

The guitar came in heavy and raw, and "3-17" hit like a punch to the gut. Riley's voice was stripped bare as she sang about feeling in debt for every night spent in his bed, about words she couldn't say right. When she got to the lines about sour grapes and the same bullshit laugh, her voice cracked with genuine pain.

The song ended with devastating simplicity, just Riley's voice and guitar, singing "I didn't plan for that." The silence that followed felt infinite.

From side stage, Joe watched the crowd, many with tears in their eyes, all of them completely absorbed in Riley's journey. His friends stood beside him, equally transfixed. This wasn't just a performance—it was an exorcism, played out in front of 500 people who were bearing witness to one woman's truth.

The silence after "3-17" stretched on, heavy and profound. Riley stood at the mic, visibly emotional, looking out at a crowd that seemed to be collectively holding its breath.

"Okay," she said finally, her voice softer than it had been all night. "Everyone doing alright out there?"

A few voices called back "yes" and "we're with you," and Riley smiled, wiping at her eyes again.

"I know that was heavy," she said. "Those three songs... that's the deep end. That's where you realize you've lost yourself completely." She looked around the crowd, making eye contact with different sections. "But here's the thing about hitting rock bottom—eventually, you get pissed off about it."

Pete stepped closer to his mic. "Here comes the fun part."

"Define fun," Andy said dryly, and the crowd laughed, some of the tension breaking.

Riley's expression shifted, something harder coming into her eyes. "We're about to get angry now," she said, and there was a warning in her voice that made the whole venue sit up straighter. "The next three songs are... they're rage. Pure, unfiltered rage. And I need you to stay with me through it, because this anger? It's what saved me."

She looked out at the crowd one more time. "The next song is called 'Easier Than Lying.' And it's about what happens when you finally stop lying to yourself about someone loving you." She grinned slightly, some of her usual playfulness returning. "Also, I wrote the bass line for this one, so Pete had to learn my bass line. Let the record show - that bass line is mine."

"She's very proud of that," Pete said into his mic, but he was smiling.

"I am proud of that," Riley shot back. "It's a fucking good bass line."

The opening chords hit like a freight train—guitar-heavy with an underlying scream that seemed to come from somewhere deep and primal. Riley's voice came in powerful and raw, singing about being made into a villain, about hanging herself with rope someone else provided. When she got to the chorus about losing all faith and hope, her voice carried years of betrayal and exhaustion.

But it was the bridge that really hit—"Losing you is easier than lying to myself that you love me"—repeated like a mantra, like something she had to keep telling herself until she believed it. Joe recognized these lyrics from that night in LA, but hearing them in context, surrounded by the full emotional journey, they hit completely differently.

The song ended with devastating finality, and without pause, Riley handed off her guitar and moved to the piano.

"'Mad Woman,'" she said simply, and the piano began—restrained but simmering with controlled fury.

This was different from anything they'd heard so far. Riley's voice was controlled, almost conversational, as she sang about scorpions and mad women. But there was something terrifying in that control, like she was holding back a hurricane. When she got to the chorus—"And there's nothing like a mad woman"—her voice was both beautiful and dangerous.

The song built slowly, Riley's anger becoming more apparent with each verse, until she was practically spitting the words about taking her time because someone took everything from her. The crowd was mesmerized, watching this masterclass in controlled rage.

As "Mad Woman" ended, Riley's energy shifted again, something wilder coming into her eyes.

Riley stood up from the piano, her energy shifting to something rawer. "Lilith," she said, and that single word seemed to charge the air in the venue.

She walked back to center stage, grabbing the mic. "This one's about becoming exactly what someone said you were. About leaning into being called destructive, corrupted, disgusting - and just saying 'fine, if that's what you think I am, I'll show you what that actually looks like.'" Her voice carried an edge. "It's about the version of yourself that emerges when you stop trying to be palatable."

She looked out at the crowd, something fierce in her expression. "Sometimes you have to embrace being the villain in someone else's story. This is me doing exactly that."

The opening was industrial, grinding, unlike anything else they'd played. Riley's voice came in almost seductive before turning sharp and cutting. This was Riley at her most dangerous, singing about being corrupted and destructive, about fucking like a demon and being disgusting. The raw sexuality and anger were intoxicating and terrifying.

When she got to the bridge—"The more that you give away, the more that you have"—her voice was both broken and defiant, and Joe could see people in the crowd with their mouths open, completely transfixed by this display of unbridled emotion.

The song ended with a crash, and the venue erupted. But this wasn't just applause—this was catharsis. The crowd had been through something with her, and they were all feeling it.

As the applause from "Lilith" finally died down, Riley caught her breath, the wildness in her eyes slowly fading back to something more controlled. The crowd was buzzing with energy, but she could feel the shift coming—they were about to move into different territory.

"The next song," she said, her voice still carrying some of that edge, "is called 'Just One Yesterday.' And this one..." She looked back at Daniel, who was smiling behind his kit. "This is Daniel's favorite song we've ever written."

Daniel tapped his sticks together. "It's true. This one's special."

"It's pop-punk with heavy drums," Riley said, her energy picking up again. "It's about wanting to corrupt the voice in your head that tells you to be good. You know, choking the angel on your shoulder that says 'don't do it, be the bigger person.'" Her voice got sharper. "But it's also about giving someone all your love just so you can watch their face when you take it all away."

She paused, something fierce but controlled in her expression. "Sometimes the most devastating thing you can do is show someone exactly what they're going to lose. And then walk away."

Andy stepped closer to his mic. "The drums on this one are insane."

"Thank you," Daniel said with mock modesty, and the crowd laughed.

The drums kicked in immediately—heavy, driving, exactly what Riley had promised. "Just One Yesterday" was pure energy, all pop-punk fury and Daniel's incredible drumwork. Riley's voice was powerful and defiant as she sang about angels and halos, about trading tomorrows for yesterdays. When she got to the bridge about spilling her guts so the world would never look at someone the same way, her voice was both threatening and heartbroken.

The song built to its explosive ending, Daniel's drums absolutely thundering through the venue, before cutting out suddenly. The crowd went wild, and Riley could see Daniel beaming behind his kit.

"Daniel wrote that drum part," she said into the mic, still catching her breath. "And now he gets to show off every time we play it."

"Worth it," Daniel called out, and the crowd laughed.

"Riley's expression grew more serious. "The next song is called 'LOML.' Love of my life." She paused, walking back to the piano. "This one's... this is about mourning someone who's still alive. About realizing that everything you thought was real was just an impressionist painting."

She looked back up at the crowd. "It's about being told you're the love of someone's life about a million times, and then finding out what that actually meant to them."

The piano began, delicate and beautiful, and "LOML" unfolded like a tragic ballad. Riley's voice was achingly beautiful as she sang about waltzing back into rekindled flames, about embroidering memories and being told she was legendary. But as the song progressed, the pain became more apparent—the realization that what felt eternal was actually momentary.

When she got to the bridge about dancing phantoms on the terrace, about being second-hand embarrassed that she couldn't get out of bed, her voice cracked with genuine emotion. The final lines—she changed the lyrics, singing "I thought you were the loss of my life" instead of the recorded version—were delivered with such devastating clarity that the silence afterward felt sacred.

Riley stat still for a moment, letting that pain hang in the air. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, more vulnerable.

"The last song before we get to the end," she said, "is called 'The Lighthouse.' And this one's about survival. About realizing that maybe you never wanted saving—you just wanted to be found."

Riley stood up from the piano and walked back to center stage. "It's about swimming with the devil and meeting sailors who aren't saviors. It's about being glad you met the devil because he showed you exactly who you are."

The opening was heavy, metal-adjacent, darker than anything they'd played yet. "The Lighthouse" was haunting and powerful, Riley's voice carrying both vulnerability and strength as she sang about being cursed with rage, about lighthouses and deep ends. When she got to the lines about showing sailors her teeth and laughing out loud because she never wanted saving, her voice was fierce and triumphant.

The song built to its crushing ending with the repeated "waves come crashing down," Riley's voice soaring over the heavy instrumentation before everything cut to silence.

The crowd was on their feet, but there was something different in their energy now—they could feel they were approaching something significant. They were almost at the end of this journey.

The silence after "The Lighthouse" stretched on, and Riley stood at the mic, looking out at the crowd with an expression that was both exhausted and determined. She could feel the weight of what was coming next.

"Okay," she said, her voice cutting through the quiet. "Two more songs, and I need you to stay with me for this next one." She paused, her hands gripping the mic stand. "It's called 'The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived,' and it's... it's a lot. But it's the end of that chapter, I swear."

She looked down at the stage for a moment, then back up at the crowd. "This one starts as a ballad, and then it gets heavy. Really heavy. Because sometimes you have to burn everything down before you can build something new."

Pete stepped closer to his mic. "This is Riley's reckoning."

"This is me saying everything I never got to say," Riley said, her voice gaining strength. "Every question I never got to ask. Every piece of bullshit I had to swallow." Her eyes were fierce now. "This one's not pretty. This one's not…nice. This one's the truth, unfiltered."

Andy adjusted his guitar, and the venue could feel the tension building.

"I'm going to ask you to witness something," Riley said to the crowd. "And then we're going to walk into the light together. But first, we burn it all the fuck down."

The opening piano notes rang out, delicate and deceptively gentle, as Riley's voice came in soft and questioning, asking if any of it was true. But Joe could feel the building storm in the music, the way it was setting up for something explosive.

As the song progressed, Riley's voice grew more powerful, more accusatory. The questions became sharper, the observations more cutting. And then, when the song reached its turning point, the music exploded into something heavy and overwhelming, Riley kicking the mic stand down as her voice soared over the chaos, delivering line after devastating line.

The crowd was completely transfixed, watching this final exorcism play out in front of them. When the song finally ended with that crushing final line, the silence was absolute.

Riley stood, breathing hard, visibly shaken by what she'd just unleashed. But when she looked up at the crowd, there was something different in her eyes—relief, maybe. Or freedom.

The crowd went absolutely fucking crazy. The applause was deafening, people screaming and cheering, some crying, all of them having just witnessed something cathartic and brutal and necessary. Riley was still breathing hard, tears streaming down her face, but she was smiling through them.

"I told you it was heavy!" she called out over the noise, and the crowd cheered even louder.

She wiped her eyes, then walked over to the piano, settling onto the bench. The crowd gradually quieted, sensing this shift, this final moment.

"When I started writing this album," she said, her voice softer now, more intimate through the mic, "I was in a really dark place and I didn't give a fuck about hope or healing or any of that shit." She played a few soft chords. "But then, two years later, I wrote this next song. And at first, I wasn't gonna do anything with it."

She looked over at Pete, who was smiling at her. "I played it for this one, and he was like, 'Put it on the album,' and I was like, 'Absolutely not.'"

"She fought me hard on this," Pete said into his mic.

"But then," Riley continued, "I listened to the whole album front to back, and I was like... Jesus Christ, people are gonna want to jump off a bridge after this." The crowd laughed, some of them wiping their own tears. "So I put it at the end. Because sometimes you need to know there's light after all that darkness."

She positioned her hands over the keys. "This is 'Daylight.' And it's about letting go of all that hurt and stepping into the light with someone else. About what it feels like when love doesn't hurt anymore." She looked out at the crowd. "After everything we've been through together tonight... you've earned this."

The opening piano chords were gentle, hopeful, completely different from anything that had come before. And when Riley's voice came in, singing about not wanting to look at anything else now that she saw daylight, it felt like the sun rising after the longest night.

The song built beautifully, Riley's voice soaring as she sang about sleeping in a twenty-year dark night and finally seeing daylight. When she got to the spoken-word ending about being defined by the things you love, not the things you hate, her voice was soft but certain. The final piano notes hung in the air like a promise.

The crowd was on their feet before the last note faded, the applause thunderous and sustained. Riley stood from the piano bench, tears in her eyes but smiling, and walked back to join Pete, Andy, and Daniel at center stage. They took their bows together, the four of them who had created this journey and guided 500 people through it.

"Thank you," Riley said into the mic, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you so much."

She blew a kiss to the crowd, then walked off stage with her band, disappearing into the wings where Joe was waiting.

The moment she was out of sight of the audience, she walked straight into his arms.

* * *

The moment she was out of sight of the audience, she walked straight into his arms.

Joe caught her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her as she pressed her face into his neck. She was shaking slightly—adrenaline, emotion, exhaustion all hitting her at once after two hours of laying herself bare on stage. His own eyes were wet—hearing her sing the song she'd written about him, about them, in front of all those people had broken something open in his chest.

"Hey," he said quietly, one hand moving to the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair. "You did it baby. That was fucking incredible."

Riley pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes bright with tears but also something like relief. "Really? It didn't feel like too much?"

Joe cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears on her cheeks. "Riley. That was..." He paused, searching for words that felt adequate. "I knew these songs, but hearing you perform them, seeing you up there... that was something else entirely."

She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a moment. "I was so nervous about you seeing me like that up there."

"Like what?"

"All of it. The rage, the pain, everything." She opened her eyes to meet his. "Performing it is different than just listening."

Joe studied her face, this woman who had just commanded a room of 500 people through an emotional journey that had left everyone—including him—completely transformed.

"I saw you," he said simply. "All of you. And it was everything."

Riley's breath caught slightly. Around them, people were moving—crew members, her friends, his friends—but everyone was giving them space, understanding that this moment was theirs.

"Our song," Joe said, his voice dropping lower. "Hearing it live, knowing..."

"Knowing it's about you," Riley finished softly.

"Yeah." His hands were still on her face, and he leaned down to kiss her—soft but certain, tasting the salt of her tears and the sweetness of relief. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. "I've never had anyone write a song about hope because of me."

Riley smiled, the first real smile since she'd walked off stage. "Well, now you do."

"I'm proud of you," he said finally. "For all of it. For making this album, for tonight, for letting people see your truth."

Riley's eyes filled with fresh tears, but these were different—softer, warmer. "Thank you for being here. For bringing your friends. For making this feel safe."

Joe kissed her again, longer this time, his hands sliding into her hair. When they broke apart, both breathing a little harder, he smiled. "Come on. Let's get you some water before everyone wants to celebrate with you guys."

As Joe and Riley finally broke apart, still holding each other close, Micah was the first to approach. Zac and Trae hung back a few feet, still looking somewhat stunned.

"Riley," Micah said, his voice carrying genuine awe. "That was fucking incredible. I mean, we knew you could sing, but that was something else entirely."

Riley turned in Joe's arms to face him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Thanks. That was... a lot. Even for me."

"The whole room was with you," Micah continued. "When you got to that last song, I looked around and half the crowd was crying."

Riley let out a shaky laugh. "I was crying too."

"Zac stepped forward then, his expression thoughtful. "That song at the end," he said quietly. "That was about our boy, huh?"

"Yeah," Riley said simply, not embarrassed or defensive. Just honest.

Joe's arm tightened around her waist, and Zac could see something in his expression—a kind of quiet pride mixed with something deeper.

"We should probably let other people congratulate you," Zac said, noticing the growing crowd of people waiting to talk to her—Pete, Andy, Daniel, along with various industry friends and crew members. "But seriously, thank you for letting us be here for that."

Riley smiled, the exhaustion starting to show around her eyes but genuine warmth still there. "Thank you for coming. It means everything to me that Joe's people got to see this."

Trae, who had been quiet this whole time, just watching, finally stepped forward. "Anyone Joe brings us to meet," he said simply, "is family."

Riley's eyes brightened at that, and Joe felt something settle in his chest at the easy acceptance in his friend's voice.

As people began to approach—Pete already making his way over with a huge grin, industry friends hovering nearby—Trae caught Joe's eye and nodded toward a quieter corner of the backstage area. Joe understood immediately.

Riley's eyes brightened at that, and Joe felt something settle in his chest at the easy acceptance in his friend's voice.

As people began to approach—Pete already making his way over with a huge grin, industry friends hovering nearby—Trae caught Joe's eye and nodded toward a quieter corner of the backstage area. Joe understood immediately.

"Go," Riley said softly, noticing the exchange. "I'll be right here getting my ego stroked by everyone."

Joe kissed her temple. "Five minutes."

Trae led him a few steps away from the growing crowd around Riley, far enough that they could talk without being overheard.

"Man," Trae said quietly, shaking his head. "I thought I understood what you were talking about on the plane. But seeing that..." He paused, watching as Riley hugged Pete, who was clearly emotional about their first show back. "Now I get it."

"Get what?" Joe asked, though he seemed to already know.

"Why you've been different. Why this matters so much to you." Trae looked directly at him. "She's not just talented, Joe. She's... I don't know how to say it without sounding like a hallmark card, but she's real. Like, all the way real."

Joe nodded, his eyes drifting back to Riley, who was now talking animatedly with Andy and Daniel, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the excitement of pulling off their first show in two years.

"And that last song," Trae continued. "The way she looked at you when she was singing it..." He let out a low whistle. "Dude. She's in love with you. Like, really in love with you."

"I know," Joe said quietly.

"And you?"

Joe was quiet for a moment, watching Riley laugh at something Daniel said, her whole face lighting up. "Yeah. I'm there too."

Trae studied his friend's profile. "Good. Because after what I just saw, if you fuck this up, I might have to kick your ass."

Joe cracked a smile. "Noted."

Meanwhile, Riley was surrounded by her band and friends, everyone talking at once about the performance. Pete had his arm around her shoulders, Andy was gesticulating wildly as he recounted the crowd's reaction during "Lilith," and Daniel was just grinning from ear to ear.

"I can't believe we pulled that off," Riley said, her voice still hoarse from two hours of singing. "First show back and we do the entire album? What were we thinking?"

"We were thinking it was time," Pete said simply. "And look at that crowd—they needed it. We all needed it."

Lola and Harlow pushed through the small crowd, both of them with tears in their eyes.

"Riley fucking Carter," Lola said, grabbing her in a fierce hug. "I've seen you perform hundreds of times, and that was something else."

"The 'Daylight' moment," Harlow added, fanning her face. "I'm not okay. None of us are okay."

Joe walked back over just as a woman with silver hair and kind eyes approached Riley, pulling her into a warm hug. "Riley, honey," she said, "that was absolutely incredible. I've been in this business for thirty years and that was something special."

"Thanks, Sarah," Riley said, and Joe could hear the genuine affection in her voice. "This is Joe."

Joe shook hands with the woman, who smiled warmly. "Nice to meet you. I work with Republic on the distribution side—been following Riley's career for years. You must be so proud."

"I am," Joe said simply.

A man in his forties with kind eyes and a vintage band t-shirt joined them. "Riley! David from the label. That was everything we hoped for and more. 'Sunshine Riptide' is going to explode after people hear it in that context."

"Think so?" Riley asked, some of her performer energy returning.

"Absolutely. The way you set up the whole journey tonight, then hearing the single as part of that story..." David shook his head. "It's going to hit different when it comes out next week."

More friendly faces appeared—other musicians, a few photographers who'd been invited as friends, people from her management team. All genuine support, not business pitches. But Joe could see Riley's smile getting a little tighter with each conversation, the adrenaline starting to wear off.

Andy leaned in. “She’s running on fumes. We should probably get everyone moving soon.”

Joe glanced over at Riley, who was still smiling and nodding as someone from the label talked about radio play projections, but he could see the exhaustion creeping in around her eyes. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind the emotional weight of what she'd just put herself through on stage.

"Yeah," Joe agreed quietly. "Good call."

Andy nodded toward Riley, then looked back at Joe and his friends. "Pete's got cars waiting out back - we're all heading to his place to decompress. But listen..." He paused, glancing around to make sure Riley couldn't hear. "She's gonna crash hard in about twenty minutes. All that emotional shit she just put herself through up there? It catches up."

Joe understood immediately. "What do I need to do?"

"Nothing dramatic," Andy said with a slight grin. "Just thinking maybe you lovebirds take one car, and we'll take the other one with your boys here." He looked at Zac, Micah, and Trae. "That cool with you guys? Give Riley some space to come down from all this?"

Trae caught on first. "Absolutely. We can ride with you guys."

"Perfect," Andy said. Then he raised his voice slightly, addressing the group. "Alright, people! Cars are here. Time to move this party to Pete's."

Riley looked over from the conversation she was having, relief flickering across her face. "Thank god. I love everyone, but I need to sit down somewhere that isn't moving."

As people started gathering their things and saying final goodbyes to industry friends who weren't coming to Pete's, Andy smoothly maneuvered the logistics.

"Joe, Riley - you're in the first car," he said casually. "Rest of us will follow in the second one."

Riley shot him a grateful look that Joe didn't miss. Andy just winked at her.

"Subtle," Pete murmured to Andy as they watched Joe slip his arm around Riley's waist, guiding her toward the exit.

"I'm amazing and deeply intuitive," Andy replied with a grin.

* * *

The black SUV pulled away from the Troubadour's back alley, the sounds of the city muffled through tinted windows. Riley sank into the leather seat beside Joe, finally allowing her shoulders to drop for the first time in hours.

"God," she breathed, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back against the headrest. "I forgot how exhausting that is."

Joe watched her carefully, noting the slight tremor in her hands as she pushed her hair back from her face. The adrenaline was leaving her system, and he could see the crash beginning.

"Come here," he said quietly, lifting his arm.

Riley didn't hesitate, sliding across the seat to curl into his side. She tucked her legs up and pressed her face against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne.

"Better?" he asked, his arm tightening around her.

“Mmm.” Her voice was small. “Just let me stay like this for a second.”

They rode in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Riley's breathing gradually evening out as the tension left her body. Joe's hand moved in slow circles on her back, grounding her.

“I’m glad you brought your friends,” she murmured, still tucked into his side.

“Me too,” Joe said, his hand steady on her back.

"I kept seeing Zac during 'Lilith' and thinking, 'Oh god, Joe's friend is watching me sing about fuckin' like a demon.'" She laughed softly, but there was anxiety underneath it. "Very normal first impression."

“They weren’t judging you. They were… pretty blown away, honestly.”

Riley pulled back just enough to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "Yeah?"

"Besides, these guys have been in locker rooms before. They've heard worse."

She studied his face in the dim light from the passing streetlights. "I like them. Your friends. They feel like... like they really know you, you know? Not the public version."

"They do." His hand found hers, fingers interlacing. "Trae said you were real. All the way real."

Riley's expression softened at that.

She was quiet for a moment, her thumb tracing absent patterns on his palm. When she spoke again, her voice was smaller.

"You have to leave tomorrow."

"Yeah." The word came out heavier than he intended.

"And I really want to hang out with them tonight. Get to know them properly, not just the quick backstage thing." She paused, biting her lip. "But I also really want to just... be with you. Just us. And I'm running on fumes a bit."

Joe felt something twist in his chest at the vulnerability in her voice. This was the thing they never had enough time to figure out—how to want everything when there wasn't space for everything.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

Riley closed her eyes, considering. "I don't know. Both things? Neither thing?" She laughed shakily. "God, I'm a mess right now."

"You're not a mess. You just poured your heart out in front of 500 people for two hours. You're allowed to not know what you need."

The car slowed as they approached Pete's neighborhood, and Riley felt a flutter of anxiety. In a few minutes, they'd be back in a group, back to sharing him with other people when all she really wanted was to curl up somewhere quiet and just exist in his space.

"Maybe we can do both," Joe said quietly. "Hang out for a while, then find some time for just us."

Riley looked up at him, something grateful and tired in her eyes. "You sure? I don't want your friends to think I'm monopolizing you."

“They know I want alone time with you. Trust me, they’ll survive—and they seem pretty happy with your crew anyway.”

"Okay," she said softly. "Both things."

“I’ll tell them we’re ducking out early,” Joe said. “You don’t have to deal with it.”

Riley let out a slow breath. "Thank you, lovey. For taking care of me."

Joe squeezed Riley's hand once before reaching for the door handle. "Give me a sec," he said quietly.

Riley nodded, staying in the backseat as Joe stepped out. She used the moment to take a deep breath, pulling her small compact from her purse and checking her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup had held up well enough, though her eyes still carried that post-performance exhaustion. She could do this—a couple hours with everyone, then they could slip away.

Outside, Joe walked around to the driver's side window, which rolled down at his approach.

"Hey," Joe said, leaning down slightly. "We're gonna need you to stick around tonight. Probably a couple hours, but I'm not sure exactly when we'll be ready to go. After you drop us off at her place, you'll need to come back and take my friends to their hotel when they're ready - I'll give you the hotel info."

The driver nodded. "No problem. You want me to wait here or find somewhere nearby?"

"Here's fine, if that works for you." Joe pulled out his wallet, handing the man some cash. "For the wait time. I'll text when we need to head out."

"Sounds good, Mr. Burrow."

Joe straightened up, glancing back at the house where he could see shadows moving past the windows. Andy's laugh carried clearly through the night air, followed by what sounded like Micah's voice. His friends were already settling in.

He walked back to Riley's door and opened it, offering his hand. She took it, stepping out onto the gravel driveway. The night air was warm but carried a slight breeze that felt good after the enclosed space of the car.

"Better?" he asked, studying her face.

Riley straightened her shoulders, some of her usual confidence returning. "Yeah. Let's go see what kind of trouble your friends are getting into with mine."

* * *

Pete's house was alive with the kind of energy that only came after a show like tonight. The living room flowed into the kitchen and spilled out onto the back patio, every space filled with people Riley genuinely cared about—musicians she'd collaborated with, photographers who'd documented the band's journey, a few writers who understood what tonight had meant. Someone had queued up a playlist that was perfectly curated for the moment: nostalgic but not melancholy, celebratory without being too intense.

Riley moved through the crowd with a drink in her hand, accepting hugs and congratulations. She was genuinely happy to be here, feeding off the collective joy of people who understood what it took to put yourself out there the way she had tonight.

"That performance of 'The Smallest Man,'" said Maya, a singer-songwriter Riley had toured with years ago. "I got chills. Literal chills."

"Thanks," Riley said, meaning it. "It felt good to finally sing it the way it was supposed to be sung."

Joe stood nearby, nursing a beer and watching Riley light up as she talked to people who spoke her language. His friends had integrated seamlessly—Micah was deep in conversation with Daniel about drum techniques, while Zac and Trae were listening to Andy tell some story that had them all laughing.

"She's in her element," Trae said, appearing at Joe's side.

"Yeah, she is." Joe smiled, watching as Riley threw her head back laughing at something Pete said. "She needs this."

"But?" Trae prompted, reading his friend's expression.

Joe glanced around the room, noting how Riley's energy was bright but brittle around the edges. "She's been going nonstop for weeks. Tonight took everything out of her."

An hour in, Joe watched as Riley settled onto one of Pete's oversized couches, pulled into a conversation with three other musicians about the industry's changes over the past few years. She was engaged, animated, but he could see the way she kept shifting position, the slight tightness around her eyes that meant exhaustion was creeping in.

Andy passed by with a joint, offering it to Joe, who took a a few hits before passing it along. The weed added to the mellow atmosphere, conversations flowing easier, laughter coming more frequently.

"Joe!" Pete called out from across the room. "Come settle an argument. Who's the better quarterback—you or Tom Brady?"

"Brady," Joe said without hesitation, and the room erupted in protests.

"Bullshit," called out Marcus, a guitarist Riley had worked with. "Brady never had to rebuild a franchise from scratch."

Joe found himself pulled into a surprisingly nuanced conversation about football and pressure, his friends chiming in with stories from college that had everyone laughing. For a moment, he was just a guy at a party, not thinking about schedules or logistics.

But his eyes kept drifting back to Riley, who was now curled into the corner of the couch, still talking but with her legs tucked under her in that way that meant she was getting tired.

After another thirty minutes, Joe made his move. He caught Zac's eye across the room and nodded toward the kitchen. Micah and Trae followed naturally, the three of them stepping away from the main party.

"What's up?" Zac asked, though his tone suggested he already knew.

"I want to spend time with my girl," Joe said simply. "Tonight was huge for her, and we leave tomorrow. I want to take her home."

"Makes sense," Micah said immediately. "You should."

"Driver's gonna take us to her place, then come back for you guys. Hotel's all set—Sarah sent you the room details earlier. Everything's handled." Joe paused. "I'll meet you at the plane tomorrow."

Trae grinned. "Bathroom break at the venue, early exit from the party... I see a pattern here."

"Shut up," Joe said, but he was smiling.

"Seriously though," Zac said, "good call. She looked incredible tonight, but you can see she's exhausted."

"Plus," Micah added, "we like her people. We'll be fine here."

Joe nodded his thanks, then made his way over to where Pete, Andy, and Daniel were standing near the kitchen island, sharing what looked like a particularly strong joint.

"Hey," he said, joining their circle. "Can I talk to you guys for a sec?"

The three of them immediately gave him their attention, and Joe could see the protective instinct kick in—they were ready to handle whatever he needed to say about Riley.

"I'm gonna take Riley home," he said directly. "She's crashing, and I want some time with her before I have to leave tomorrow."

"Thank fuck," Andy said immediately. "I was wondering how long she was gonna try to power through."

"She's too polite to be the first one to leave," Pete added. "Especially when it's a party for her."

"But she needs to," Daniel said. "You can see it in her shoulders."

Joe felt something loosen in his chest at their immediate understanding. "Yeah. I figured I'd handle it so she doesn't have to be the one asking."

"Good man," Pete said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Trust me, she's ready for some quiet time with you."

"Driver's coming back for my friends," Joe added. "They're good to stay as long as you guys are up for it."

"Perfect," Andy said. "We'll take care of them."

Joe glanced back at Riley, who was now leaning heavily into the arm of the couch, her conversation with the other musicians still going but her participation becoming more listener than contributor.

"I'll go get her," he said.

"Joe," Pete called as he started to walk away. Joe turned back.

"Thanks for looking out for her," Pete said simply.

Joe nodded once, then made his way over to Riley. She looked up as he approached, a tired but genuine smile crossing her face.

"Hey," she said softly.

"Hey yourself." He settled onto the arm of the couch beside her. "You ready to get out of here?"

Relief flickered across her features so quickly he almost missed it. "Yeah, take me home, baby," she said quietly.

* * *

Riley's house felt like a sanctuary after the controlled chaos of the night. She kicked off her shoes at the front door and immediately reached for the light dimmer, bringing the harsh overhead lighting down to something softer, more intimate.

"Can we just get in bed?" she asked quietly, turning to face him. "I need to get this makeup off and I just want to be horizontal with you."

Joe smiled, understanding completely. "Yeah. Of course."

She led him toward her bedroom, already starting to work at the straps of her top. "I need like five minutes to wash my face."

"Take your time," he said. "I'll get changed."

"Joe could hear her moving around in the bathroom—the sound of water running, cabinet doors opening and closing. He found his clothes where she'd said they'd be, in the closet where he'd left them last time. Because this was how they'd been doing this—keeping pieces of each other's lives in both places, making the distance more manageable one t-shirt at a time.

When Riley emerged from the bathroom in an oversized t-shirt that hit her mid-thigh, her face scrubbed clean and hair loose around her shoulders, Joe slipped past her to brush his teeth. The familiar domesticity of it—sharing the small space, moving around each other—felt right in a way that still surprised him."

When Joe emerged from the bathroom in just his underwear and slipped into bed, Riley immediately moved to curl against him, her head on his chest, one leg thrown over his. This was what they'd both wanted all night—just this simple contact, no audience, no performance required.

His hand found her leg, fingers tracing slow lines along her thigh. Nothing urgent, just touch. Riley's breathing evened out, and she pressed closer, her palm flat against his chest.

He kept it simple—thumb brushing her hip bone, hand sliding up to her waist. When she tilted her head back to look at him, something shifted between them. The want that had been simmering all night, finally with space to breathe.

Riley moved first, leaning up to kiss him. Soft, then deeper when his hand slipped under her shirt. She made a quiet sound, and Joe felt her arch into his touch.

He rolled her back gently, taking his time. Her shirt rode up, and his mouth followed the path his hands had mapped. Riley's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

This wasn't for anyone else. Just them, finally able to take what they'd been wanting. Joe paid attention to every response, every shift, letting her body guide him.

When Riley whispered his name, breathless and needy, he knew he was exactly where she needed him to be.

His hands moved to the hem of her shirt, and she lifted her arms to help him pull it over her head. The sight of her beneath him, hair spread across her pillow, made his breath catch. She reached for him, her hands running over his bare chest, exploring the muscles she'd been wanting to touch all night.

Skin against skin, they moved together with the familiarity of lovers who knew each other's bodies. Joe's mouth found her neck, her collarbone, working his way down while his hands explored. Riley's back arched off the bed when he took her breast in his mouth, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Joe," she breathed, and the way she said his name—soft and desperate—made him lift his head to look at her.

Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted, eyes dark with want. She pulled him back up to kiss her, deep and hungry now, any trace of exhaustion burned away by need.

Joe's hand slipped between her thighs, finding her already wet for him. Riley gasped against his mouth, her hips rolling into his touch. He worked her slowly, watching her face, learning what made her breath hitch and her eyes flutter closed.

"Please, please, please," she whispered, and Joe didn't need more than that.

He shed the rest of his clothes quickly, then helped her out of her underwear. When he settled between her thighs, Riley wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer.

Joe entered her slowly, both of them breathing hard at the sensation. Riley's head fell back against the pillow, a soft moan escaping her lips. He gave her a moment to adjust, then began to move, setting a rhythm that was unhurried but deep.

They found their pace together, bodies moving in sync, hands roaming, mouths finding each other between breathless gasps. Joe buried his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin, feeling her pulse against his lips.

Riley's nails raked down his back as he hit that spot inside her that made her gasp his name. She was close, he could feel it in the way her body tightened around him, in the way her breathing changed.

"That's it," he murmured against her ear, and Riley shattered beneath him, her body arching as she came. The sight and feel of her pushed Joe over the edge, and he followed with a low groan, burying himself deep inside her.

They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard, hearts racing against each other. Finally, Joe rolled to the side, pulling Riley with him so she was curled against his chest.

"Fuck," Riley breathed, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

"Mmm," she murmured against his skin. "Thank you, baby. For knowing what I needed."

Joe pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Always."

* * *

The next morning came too early. Joe woke to the sound of his alarm, Riley still curled against him, her breathing deep and even. He allowed himself a few minutes to memorize the moment—her hair spread across his chest, the way she fit perfectly against him—before carefully extracting himself from the bed.

Riley stirred as he moved around the room, gathering his things. "You leaving?" she mumbled, not opening her eyes.

"Flight's in two hours," he said quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Go back to sleep."

She reached for him, pulling him down for a sleepy kiss. "Text me when you land."

"I will."

* * *

An hour later, Joe was in the back of the same SUV that had brought them from the venue, watching LA disappear behind them as he headed to the airport.

Joe settled into his seat on the private jet, already missing the warmth of Riley's bed. The flight back to Cincinnati would give him a few hours to decompress before training camp officially began tomorrow. His friends were spread across the cabin, Trae already asleep against the window, while Zac and Micah scrolled through their phones.

The plane had been in the air for less than an hour when Joe's phone rang. Mark's name on the screen.

"Yeah," Joe answered, keeping his voice low.

"We need to talk," Mark said without preamble. "There are rumors circulating that you were at some concert in LA last night. Riley Carter's show."

Joe glanced around the cabin, making sure his friends weren't listening. "Okay."

"Okay?" Mark's voice pitched higher. "Joe, training camp starts tomorrow. Everyone expects your full focus. The last thing we need is speculation about—"

"About what?" Joe interrupted, his tone remaining calm. "About me supporting my girlfriend?"

"About distractions," Mark said firmly. "You know how this works. Every move you make gets scrutinized, especially during the season. If people start connecting dots—"

"Let them connect dots," Joe said quietly. "I'm not doing anything wrong."

There was a pause on the other end. "This isn't like you."

"Maybe that's not a bad thing."

Bill's voice came through—they were on speaker now. "Joe, we're just asking you to be smart about this. Training camp is crucial. You can't afford to have your head somewhere else."

"My head's exactly where it needs to be," Joe replied. "I'm ready for camp."

"But—"

"I'm good," Joe said with finality. "We'll talk when I'm back."

He ended the call and set his phone aside, staring out the window at the clouds below.

"Everything alright?" Zac asked from across the aisle.

Joe looked over at his friends, who were all watching him now. Even Trae had opened his eyes.

"Management's worried about rumors," Joe said simply.

"About Riley?" Micah asked.

"Yeah."

Trae straightened in his seat. "What kind of rumors?"

"That I was at her show. Which I was." Joe shrugged. "They're concerned about distractions."

Zac snorted. "Distractions? Did they see what we saw last night? If anything, she makes you better."

"That's not how they see it," Joe said.

"How do you see it?" Trae asked quietly.

Joe was quiet for a moment, thinking about Riley falling asleep in his arms, about the way she'd looked at him when he told her he was proud of her, about how right it felt to have his worlds collide.

"I see the person I want to be with," he said simply.

Micah nodded approvingly. "Good. Because that woman is fucking incredible."

"And she's good for you," Zac added. "Like, really good for you. You were different last night. More... I don't know. Present."

"She makes you laugh," Trae said with a grin. "Makes you look relaxed. Like you're not carrying the weight of the world."

Joe felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "Yeah, she does."

"Then fuck what anyone else thinks," Micah said. "You're Joe fucking Burrow. You can date whoever you want."

"It's not that simple," Joe said.

"Why not?" Zac asked. "You're not doing anything wrong. You're not getting arrested, you're not causing drama. You're dating someone who clearly cares about you and supports what you do."

"And who's talented as hell in her own right," Trae added. "It's not like she needs you for anything. She's got her own thing going."

Joe nodded, appreciating their perspective. "Mark and Bill see it differently."

"Those mother fuckers see dollar signs and PR nightmares," Micah said. "They don't see the person who makes you happy."

"Are you happy?" Zac asked directly.

Joe thought about the question. Was he happy? Six months ago, he would have said he was content. Focused. On track. But happy?

"Yeah," he said, surprising himself with how certain he sounded. "I am."

"Then that's all that matters," Trae said. "Everything else is just noise."

Joe leaned back in his seat, his phone buzzing with a text from Riley.

Riley: miss you already. good luck at camp tomorrow. go be great ❤️

He smiled—that real smile his friends had just mentioned—and typed back.

Joe: miss you too. thanks for last night. all of it

Riley: thank YOU. for everything

Joe set his phone down and looked around at his friends, who were all pretending not to watch him text.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," Zac said innocently. "Just nice to see you like this. Remember that feeling."

Joe shook his head, but he was still smiling. "Get some sleep. We land in two hours."

As his friends settled back into their seats, Joe stared out the window again. Training camp would be intense, the media scrutiny real, the pressure enormous. But for the first time in his career, he had something—someone—that felt more important than managing everyone else's expectations.

* * *

Social Media Rumors

DeuxMoi Instagram Story

💌 Spotted — Bengals QB at a certain West Hollywood venue this weekend…could it be Joe B at the Troubadour? Multiple submissions say he was seen at a Riley Carter show, but so far, no pics. If you were there, slide into the DMs! 👀 #whoswatchingwho #rileycarter #joeburrow

Twitter/X

@NFLRumors Was Joe Burrow spotted at a concert in LA last night? Multiple unverified reports saying he was at the Troubadour. Training camp starts tomorrow 👀 #WhoDey

@CincyFootballFan Replying to @NFLRumors If true, hope he's focused on football and not distractions

@BengalsBabe22 Replying to @NFLRumors Let the man live damn. It's the off-season

@RileyCarterNews Riley Carter performed her full album at Troubadour last night and it was INCREDIBLE. Also hearing rumors about a certain NFL QB being there 👀

@SportsGossip BLIND ITEM: Which NFL quarterback was spotted at his rumored girlfriend's concert last night instead of preparing for training camp? 🏈🎤

TikTok

@troubadourfan23 Video of crowd at Troubadour "okay so I was at Riley Carter's show last night and there were definitely some non-music industry looking guys side stage... like very professional looking? idk but the energy was different"

@bengalsgirl_ Text overlay: "Joe Burrow supposedly at a concert in LA????" "Y'all I'm seeing rumors everywhere but like... training camp is TOMORROW. This better not be true or I'm gonna be pressed"

@musicinsider_ "Riley Carter's show was INSANE last night. She performed the whole album and there were definitely some VIP guests. Won't say who but 👀👀👀"

Reddit

r/nfl Joe Burrow spotted at concert in LA night before training camp?

Top comment: Source? I've been seeing this on Twitter but no actual proof

Reply: DeuxMoi posted about it. Take that for what it's worth

Reply: "If this is true and he's not focused on camp I'm gonna lose it 

Reply: Come on, if he actually cared he’d make it public. No way he’s sneaking around for six months and not getting caught once. Probably just PR or wishful thinking.

r/RileyCarter Did anyone else notice the VIP guests at the Troubadour show?

Top comment: There were definitely some people side stage who weren't industry. Security was tight around that area

Reply: Omg do you think it was actually him?? That would be SO random

Reply: Not that random if they're dating lol. The timeline matches up with when the rumors started

r/bengals Burrow supposedly at concert instead of preparing for camp

Top comment: It's literally two days before. Y'all act like he needs to be in a sensory deprivation tank preparing

Reply: This is why we can't have nice things. Focus on football Joe

Reply: Let him date whoever he wants damn

Reply: Not buying it. Joe’s whole brand is low drama and Riley Carter’s been all over the place lately. Seems like Deuxmoi just recycles the same names every few months.

r/JoeBurrowGossip So Deuxmoi posted a tip that Joe Burrow was at Riley Carter’s concert at the Troubadour. No photos but multiple submissions. Anyone have any tea? Seems wild for him to be out here days before camp.

Top comment: This man has ninja-level stealth, but honestly? If true, it’s kind of cute.

Reply: I was at the show—no idea if he was there, but there were some big dudes in the back who looked like athletes.

Reply: Can’t wait for the “my QB is distracted” discourse if we lose Week 1. Hope she’s worth the drama.

Reply: I just don’t see Joe with someone who’s such a mess tbh. I’ll believe it when I see a photo. They’ve been “rumored” since February but not a single real sighting? If he was really into her, wouldn’t he want to be seen together?

Reply: She’s cool and all, but I just don’t see Burrow hiding out backstage for anyone. No pics, no proof, same old story.

Instagram Comments

@bengals latest post Training camp announcement

@cincyfan99: "Hope Joe's head is in the game and not at concerts 👎"

@whodeynation: "Y'all are so dramatic it was ONE NIGHT"

@burrowstan: "The rumors aren't even confirmed chill"

News Headlines

ESPN "Bengals QB Joe Burrow Rumored to Attend Concert Night Before Training Camp"

TMZ Sports "JOE BURROW MYSTERY CONCERT APPEARANCE?? Spotted at LA Venue Hours Before Camp"

Cincinnati.com "Social Media Buzzes with Unconfirmed Reports of Burrow at Los Angeles Concert"

Sports Illustrated "Training Camp Distractions? Burrow Allegedly Seen at Rock Show"

[sheisjoeschateau]

"Oh, so we DO love Steve..." | Part X

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER X WARNINGS/NOTES: t.w.'s - strong language, more angst, mention of dr*g abuse during childhood trauma, mentions of death and injuries, Max in a coma, fearful tears, shared sadness, major end-of-the-world terror talk. 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: As we dive deeper into just how in love Steve and Bauman continue to fall...we also dive deeper into darkness.

We get a glimpse into the childhood past of Bauman Squared.

Steve finally gets to laugh again with his kids -- and with the girl he wants to have his own kids with one day.

Dr. Owens comes back, but it's not why they expected. Erica is given the hardest burden of all. Robin & Eddie are the whacky aunt and uncle that everyone needed and basically get shit back on track while being thrown hard news. Argyle is actually just a kind dude. Nancy is pulling away, while Jonathan finally feels the gut-punching gravity of what he is losing. Jopper is still carrying the weight of both worlds.

And surprise, b*tches: DIMITRI IS BACK AND BOY IS HE SOOO BACK.

Lastly: chicken nuggets. That is all.

WHILE THIS IS A FANFICTION STORY: IT IS STILL MY WRITING. PLEASE RIGHTFULLY CREDIT ME WHEN REPOSTING OR SHARING. I DO NOT GRANT YOU PERMISSION TO POST MY WRITING AS YOUR OWN. - MISHA @sheisjoeschateau PROOFREAD UNTIL MY EYES BLED. IF THERE ARE STILL TYPOS, SORRY BOUT IT. 18+

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

OH SO WE DO LOVE STEVE | Chapter X

“Why do I feel like this is some sort of twisted intervention?”

Erica Sinclair stood in the kitchen next to Murray as he cooked up something to share with a table of adults and teens — plus her.

“In a way, it is,” Murray responded to her as he stirred his ingredients. 

“...okayyyy,” Erica sassed, suspiciously.  “...then why do you want me here but not my brother or my other friends?”

Murray rolled his eyes.  Erica’s attitude was truly the one thing that could bring Murray’s entire mental empire crumbling down like a tower of cards being blown over by a gust of wind.  He pointed his spatula in her direction.

“Think of it this way, kiddo,” he said through a wry, condescending smirk.  “It’s like getting invited to sit at the adults’ table instead of the kids’ table for thanksgiving.  And you’re the only one we’re inviting before you get to go up there and hang out with your little friends.  Alright?”

Erica narrowed her eyes.  “What do I need to know that they don’t?”

Sauce dripped from the spatula as he stared at her.  Christ, she was relentless.  Then again…at least she seemed somewhat perturbed by the idea of knowing things before her brother and their friends.  That was pretty damn selfless for Erica Sinclair.  She cocked an eyebrow at Murray — who squinted back at her.

“Okay, why are you not as willing about this as I thought you’d be…”

“Look,” Erica said, crossing her arms.  “If I’m going to be made to keep a secret?  I need to know all the facts first.  Especially if I have to keep it from my brother.  And Steve.  And Bauman.”

Murray sighed through his nose.  She was right.  Mature, and right.

“I don’t want you to keep it a secret for good,” Murray clarified, speaking slowly.  “I just — we just need you to be made aware of some things before we bring it to everyone else’s attention.  And truth be told?  Harrington needs a break.  So does my niece.  And your friends?  They need some time with mom and dad.  You do, too.  But right now?  You’re the party member in charge of taking on some big information before we spread it to the rest of them.  And quite frankly?  I’m counting on you to help me — and the rest of us — help break it to them.  Got it?”

Erica let all of that land, her guarded expression softening into one of civil understanding.  She pursed her lips, considering this.  Finally, she nodded.

“Alright.  Deal.”

Murray shot her a thumbs up, resuming his cooking.

“That’s really lumpy,” Erica pointed to his saucepan with a soured expression.

“Ohforheaven'ssake —”

__________________________

Robin had taken on laundry duty on Steve’s behalf, knowing that Jonathan intended to talk with him.  Which is why she’d asked Nancy to help her with it, and it has turned out to be a good thing.

Nancy was clearly fraying at the seams.  There was a lot going through her mind, and it was all spiraling fast.  She needed someone to talk to, but none of her options seemed safe. 

She had no idea how or when to break everything she had been feeling to Steve. 

Her relationship with Jonathan was so tense and strained, any conversation shared with him had just blown up. 

And her mom would need to know everything about the upside down, in order to give her proper advice…and at this rate, that option seemed to have no place in this world. 

She couldn’t go to Joyce, because that’s Jonathan’s mom. 

Hopper and Murray were out of the question. 

She wasn’t close enough with Eddie to even consider it. 

And Argyle?  Well, he’d said about as much as he could say.  Far more than what she’d expected, if she was being honest.  

Nancy’s only other option was Robin Buckley.

“God, I swear — the air’s a disease at this point.”

Robin had sat next to Nancy on the porch, carrying the laundry basket.  Nancy quickly wiped a few stray tears, which Robin pretended not to notice – even when Nancy shot her a very forced, tight-lipped grin.

“Yeah,” Nancy chuckled wetly.  “It’s uhh, yeah.  Plagued at this point.  Thanks, Vecna.”

Robin nodded with a smirk.  “Yeah.  Thanks a lot, Vecna.  Fuck you, man.”

That made Nancy giggle, which Robin was grateful to see.  She decided to start off slow, not wanting to force anything.  After all, clearly Nancy was clearly going through it.  And the way she and Robin had started off?  Not great.  Buckley was definitely not trying to push her luck.  Sure, the two of them had gotten along super well as time passed, truly becoming friends while living in Steve’s house.  But they weren’t exactly best friends.  Friends for sure.  But not like Nancy and Barb had been.  Not even close.

“You know,” Robin mused.  “Sometimes, I think back to high school and how…I never really had a best friend while I was there.  Not like you did.”

That made Nancy turn to look at her, curiosity radiating for her bright blue eyes.

“You and Barb,” Robin explained.  “You two were thick as thieves.  She always made sure to take extra notes in Click’s class for you.”

Nancy’s eyes shone with melancholy fondness.  “She did…?”

“Yeah,” Robin smiled.  “Always.  Saved them on little flashcards and everything.  She was always like, ‘I gotta make sure I get this for Nance.’  Or whenever something crazy went down in the classroom, I could tell she was just itching to tell you about during lunch or after school.”

Nancy beamed at that.  She shook her head, grinning widely.  “God, I swear… Barb was like — like that little old lady who couldn’t help but wanna gossip.  Even though she hated drama, she loved it at the same time.  As long as it wasn’t hers or ours.”

“That totally tracks,” Robin snorted.  “What an icon, really.”

“Schyeah,” Nancy giggled wholeheartedly.  “Yeah, she…she was the best.”

Robin watched as Nancy gnawed at her lip, feeling the wave of sadness wash over her.  

“I just wish…” Nancy murmured, voice shaky.  “Just wish that I could…talk to her sometimes, you know?  Not just to tell her how sorry I am.  For everything that happened before she…”

Nancy’s voice trailed off.  Robin dared to reach over and touch her shoulder, relieved when Nancy didn’t push her away or tense underneath her touch.

“I just wanna ask her questions,” Nancy’s voice shook.  “So many questions, like…like the way we used to.  As best friends.  About — everything.  Life, family, love…friends…the end of the fucking world…”

Robin nodded.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I know.”

Because Robin did know.  Whenever she had become best friends with Steve, it had made her world significantly brighter.  Her heart was full, and her soul had been lifted out of its constant anxiety-ridden state.  Robin had been so closed off to bonding with anyone, especially the likes of Steve Harrington.  Little did she know, that guy would end up being her truest best friend and confidant.  The one she could lean on, tell anything to and count on for the rest of her life.  However short that might be, given the end of the world… But she had Steve by her side, trusting him with every secret she had and her literal life in his hands.  

Barb had been that for Nancy.  But she was gone.

“I don’t know what to do,” Nancy’s voice cracked.  She looked over at Robin with tear rimmed eyes, fighting them from falling as she bit down on her trembling lip.  “About…anything.”

Robin kept listening, wanting so badly to go on a rant but willing herself not to.  Because right now, it’s Nancy who needs to rant.  She needed to ramble until she couldn’t anymore.

“I’ve been so…God, I’ve been so in love with Jonathan since we met and…got through all of this together.  It just…just...worked.  Clicked, made sense.  Way more sense than Steve, but — but Steve and I, we…what we had was…it was real.  Really real.  Even Barb saw it, she just — just didn’t want me getting hurt, or…losing myself for a guy.  But I didn’t really.  Steve never pushed me to do anything that I didn’t wanna do, or…wasn’t ready for.  Ever.  Not once.  He was kind to me, and…and I feel like…like I just… I think I’m the one who did wrong by him.  Not the other way around.  All because I just felt so…lost, and conflicted, and scared, and unsure, and…and…”

Nancy curled in on herself, tears falling down her cheeks as she ducked her face out of sight.  But Robin scooched closer to her, enveloping her into a comforting embrace as she wept.  And Nancy let her, allowing herself to lean against her.

“I told him what we had was bullshit and it wasn’t,” Nancy cried bitterly.  “It wasn’t, he's not -- I was just…so fucking mad that Barb was gone.  And it was easier to blame Steve, all because he wasn’t hurting the way that I was.  The way that I still am.  But that’s — that’s n-not — b-because he d-doesn’t…c-care…”  

Nancy’s shoulders convulsed, and Robin’s heart broke for her as she held her tighter.

“B-but Jonathan had lost Will, so h-he…he got it.  H-he knew wh-what I was…going through… And I-I j-just felt...so r-right with him.  Because l-looking at him didn’t remind me of…of…”

Nancy choked on a sob.  

Robin knew she meant Barb.  She didn’t have to say it.

“I’m angry.  For me, for Barb, for Steve, for Jonathan…my mom, dad, Mike…everyone.  All the time.  And I just d-don’t know what to do, because…Jonathan shut me o-out, and w-wanted to b-break up with m-me all because he felt like…he was…holding me back, and wouldn’t just t-talk…to me…and then S-Steve… Steve, h-he wanted me back b-but now…h-he…he loves…he loves…”

Nancy ugly cried into her palms, muffling the noise so that it wouldn’t be heard from anyone inside.  Robin clung to her, rocking them back and forth with some gentle, soothing shushes.

“He loves her, Robin,” Nancy cried, heartbreak and anguish lacing her voice.  “He loves her, and s-she loves him back.  S-so much…b-better than I d-did…and I…I should be…so h-happy for him.  And h-her, but I just…I just…wonder if I…did I…did I m-mess up…?  Did I lose the p-person I was s-supposed to b-be with?  I just didn’t…think he’d…move on…and that’s so…fucking SELFISH of me…”

Robin squeezed her.  “It’s not selfish.  It’s human.  Steve is amazing.  But Nancy…it’s okay that you didn’t go back to him.”

“But you thought I should,” Nancy leaned back now.  She looked at Robin dead in the eye with bloodshot, red rimmed eyes.  They swam in regrets, sorrows and bitterness.

“You and Eddie both thought that we should,” she said, voice croaked and upset.  “Y-you both…thought that we…shouldn’t have…broken up, or…”

“You’re right,” Robin admitted, feeling bad but deciding it was best to just own up to it.  “You’re right, I did.  We did.  Me and Eddie.  But Nancy…sometimes we’re just so distracted by what seems right…that we can’t see what’s actually right in front of us.”

Nancy looked at her quizzically.  Robin sighed.

“Look, when you left Steve,” Robin explained, taking her hand into both of hers.  “Back in senior year, and you got with Jonathan…you two had your own journey.  You had each other.  Steve?  Steve had no one during his — except for the kids…and Bauman.  Because back then, he didn’t know yet.  He didn’t know about her and Murray intervening —”

“Yeah, I know,” Nancy said bitterly.  “We all know that now.”

“Just hear me out,” Robin pleaded with her softly.  “I promise, I’m with you, alright?”

Nancy stared at her for a moment, finally softening her tense jaw and nodding once.  Robin picked back up, on cue.

“Steve still had a lot of growing up to do.  On his own.  Dustin was the first to reach out to him.  Well, he basically forced himself on Steve.  And Steve needed that.  He’s an only child.  He needed a little brother to give him grief, and boss him around and pick on him.  You have Mike.  Steve didn’t have that until Dustin wormed his way into his life." Robin added with a smile, " ...and his heart.”

Nany thought about that, expression pensive with realization.

“Then Bauman came along,” Robin continued.  “She was Steve’s age… You and Jonathan were off with the adults.  He got left behind to watch the kids with her.  They went through…a lot of shit that night.  You did, too.  But so did they.  They fought off Billy Hargrove.  They protected the kids, fought off the demodogs in the tunnels.  They survived the night together.  You know what that feels like.  You and Jonathan bonded that way.  Right?”

Nancy hesitates but looks back at her, sniffing.  Eventually, she nods again.

“Right," Robin exhales deeply, proceeding. "So Steve… Steve had someone his age to be around, along with the kids.  And that was great.  Because she’s independent and badass, but also really chill and down to earth.  Like, some sort of femme tomboy.  Which Steve lowkey kind of needed, she really was exactly what --"

“Robin, I get it,” Nancy snapped, not wanting to hear about you in a complimentary way.  At least not at this moment.

“No, hear me out,” Robin insisted, giving her hands another squeeze.  “You need to hear this, Nancy, alright?  You know you’re beautiful.  You know Steve has been helplessly in love with you for years.  That’s not even a question.”  

Robin paused, shifting gears again as she refused to let Nancy look away from her.  

“...but Steve had to move on.  Or…find ways to convince himself that he could.  And Bauman?  She was there for that.  She was around, during all his growth.  And trust me – it was ugly.  You have nothing to envy there.  God, the way that they argued?  The way Steve talked to her, honestly?  Honestly.  You would’ve slapped him.  I sure as hell did a few times.  Mostly verbal slapping.  But I hit him a few times, not gonna lie.  You’ve seen the highlights of Steve’s growth.  You have seen the best parts of him, but…but Bauman was there for all of it.  She got to see it all happen in real time, from the second you and Jonathan met back up with them to right now.  And she owned up to her shit, too.  It wasn’t her fault, by no means was it her fault.  But hey, she took the hits.  Many times.  And she still ended up falling in love with Steve, who she swore was the last person who would ever win her over.  Those two knuckleheads were relentless whenever I came into the picture.  Fighting like lovers in a quarrel with absolutely zero history of affection to show for it.  But still, they got through shit together.  They put their differences aside for the kids, and when it came to fighting off the Russians?  She and Steve honestly kept me so sane.  And they kept us safe, too.  Me, Dustin and Erica.  They didn’t get along in the real world, but in the upside down world?  They did.  They didn’t even think twice.  Steve grew into a way better person because of her.  And she opened up a lot more because of him, and the kids.  She didn’t grow up with siblings either.  That’s another thing they have in common.”

Nancy took all of that in with a solemn expression.  Robin let that sink in before continuing.

“I know this is…a lot.  But really, Nancy…so much happened while you were gone.  Those two fell in love over time without even knowing it.  Shit, we didn’t know it either.  That was a plot twist for all of us — including Murray.  Despite what he says, that guy does not know everything.”

Nancy scoffed.  “I know that.”

“Of course you do.  We all do.  He does, too.  Especially now.  Now that his niece and Steve are clearly so head over heels in love with one another.”

Nancy’s heart sank at that.  She knew that it was true.

“I’m not…” Nancy mumbled, eyes downcast.  “I’m not mad at her for falling in love with him.  Or him.  I just…can’t help but wonder if I messed up.  Missed out on someone that I loved more than I allowed myself to when we were together.”

“You couldn’t have loved him more back then, Nancy,” Robin corrected her.  “Because who he was then, is not who he is now.  And who he is now is someone that Bauman has played a huge role in him becoming.”

Nancy sniffed a few times, bringing her knees to her chest and lost in thought.

“Do you still love Jonathan?”

Nancy looked at her, surprised.  “What?”

“Tell me what you’re feeling there,” Robin pressed gently.  “Why is that going wrong again?”

Nancy got defensive.  “Um, what’s wrong is that he clearly planned on leaving me while I was back here being loyal to him.”

“Right,” Robin mused.  “But…what about after he got back?  What happened then?”

Nancy opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t.  She thought about that for a while.

“We just…” she started.  “...we just…moved past it.  We let it go.”

Robin nodded slowly.  “After all you two have been through…knowing damn well that things need to be talked about…you both really thought that was best?”

“He doesn’t ever tell me how he actually feels,” Nancy snapped.  “I’m so sick of it.  I always have to push him to tell me things.  He just — shuts me out.  Clams up, retreats.  He won’t even tell me when he’s upset about something unless I make him.”

“Well then,” Robin nods.  “That’s definitely on him.  But what about you?”

Nancy scrunches her face in confusion.  

“Why didn’t you tell him how you felt either?” Robin asks, unblinking.

Nancy stares at her, not knowing how to answer that.

“I told him that I love him,” Nancy whispers.  “And that I…that we’re fine.”

Robin’s expression softens.  “Do you wanna be?”

Nancy’s face crumbles.  “I…I want…”

Robin waits, not knowing what to expect but knowing that it’s getting somewhere.  

“I want him to love me again,” Nancy cries in despair.  “I want him to fight for me, and — and love me the way that I thought that he did.  That he would.  That he always would —”

Robin holds Nancy again as she convulses with sobs in her arms.  They stay that way for a little while, allowing the dust to settle.  Nancy has said enough for now.  It would all unravel itself more over time. 

Meanwhile, Eddie had told Jonathan to make his way upstairs and talk with Steve.

“You’re on, buddy boy,” Eddie told him with a hard pat on the back.  

So while Jonathan made peace with Steve, Nancy had finally released some of her emotions and confided in Robin.

And now, all the adults were in the kitchen as Murray made some food for the older teens and Erica.  They’d asked Robin and Eddie to make sure that Argyle, Jonathan and Nancy were all going to be present for it, along with Erica before she could go upstairs and join the kids.

So here they all were now: sitting at the dinner table while Murray and Erica served them up plates and bowls of random foods.  

Jonathan had watched Nancy make her way into the kitchen with Robin, newly fresh faced and eyes puffy from crying.  She wore her pajamas now, having taken a quick shower and washing off the anguish from her meltdown earlier.  Jonathan’s heart cracked in two, and it did even more as Nancy went to sit next to Robin.  He stood up, unable to help himself.

“I got you a seat here,” he said, voice shaky.

Nancy had looked over at him, eyes cold and expression blank.

“That’s alright,” she said, voice level and cool.  “We share a room.”

Nancy sat next to Robin, demeanor cool and calm and collected.  She was stiff, but there was a chilling resilience to her that Jonathan had not seen in a while.  It terrified him, making his anxiety spike.  Had he lost her?  Was he too late?

He swallowed hard, accepting it — given everyone else at the table.  Hopper had awkwardly reached for some pepper as this was happening, working in slow motion as he felt really uncomfortable.  So Jonathan just nodded, and Joyce gave him a sympathetic look as she placed glasses of water and tea in front of everyone.

Eddie made concerned eye contact with Robin as he poured himself some water.  Yikes.

“I’ll sit next to you, my dude,” Argyle said warmly, knowing he needed to step in.  Jonathan was grateful for that, but still dying inside as he kept stealing glances at Nancy — who looked anywhere except his way.

Murray clicked his tongue loudly. “Alrighty then. Shall we?”

With a thud, he set down his plate. Joyce clenched her jaw but took a deep breath.

“Lay it on us,” Eddie said with a deep exhale, sitting down on the other side of Argyle. 

“Yeah, what’s this pow-wow and why is it just this group who's on it?” Erica questioned as she stationed herself on the other side of Robin. 

“Right,” Hopper sighed before shoveling a mouthful of mashed potatoes into his mouth and leaning back to chew, readying himself. Everyone waited patiently.

“Here’s the deal,” he began, leaning forward and eyeing everyone individually as he spoke. “No one here is being made to keep a secret. That’s not what’s going on.”

“So then why is it private?” Robin asked curiously. 

“Because right now…we need to set some things straight. Set in stone.  Before we dive into our group meeting tomorrow. Consider this…a board meeting of sorts.”

Jonathan furrowed his brow. “Don’t we want Bauman and Steve for that?”

Hopper sighed deeply, rubbing at his beard. “This affects them. And the kids.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows at that, feeling nervous. He looked over at Robin, who looked just as worried.

Erica scrunched her face up. “Then why am I here?…”

“Because I need one of you kids to be level headed and vouch for me,” Hopper explained. “And for Joyce and Murray. We’ve spent a lot of time figuring this out. Weighed out our options, talked to El about it.”

“Does she know?” Nancy asked.

“Some,” Hopper nodded. “Most… Not all.”

Erica leaned forward, truly listening and accepting that she was clearly going to need to stick with some sort of plan that her friends were not going to be keen on…

Hopper contemplated his next words carefully.

“Look. Tonight, I need those kids to rest. To laugh, play some card games. Eat too much candy, and just have a good night. Soak up all the fun they can get before this mandate goes into effect soon. And before we have to go forward with a plan.”

Hopper made sure that everyone was with him on that.  Off their nods, he continued.

“There’s two groups. One that’ll stay here, in hiding. Down in the basement, where we’ve already started making up basecamp. They’ll have to stay hidden.  Out of sight.  Quiet.  On high alert.  It’s a gamble.  Just because they’ll be home…it doesn’t guarantee them any safety.”

Hopper took a deep breath, eyes filled with dread.  He rubbed at the gap between his pinched brows.

“…the other group will have to risk getting back out there.  And we won’t be anywhere that’s not swarmed and completely surrounded by the government and — god-knows-who-else, before we can get ourselves back near the largest gate that’s torn itself open and is ready to swallow Hawkins.”

Everyone’s blood ran cold. 

No one was safe. They weren’t before, but now? Nothing was off the table. Everything was high risk, no matter where anyone was stationed.

“If you’re sitting here,” Hopper continued slowly, voice grave, “at this table, listening to this conversation…minus Erica and Murray...you’re in Group 2. ”

Nancy and Jonathan both felt their chests constrict, but they understood. It didn’t surprise them per se. And at this point, nothing should scare them. But it did.

Joyce looked at her eldest son, torn but knowing it had to be done.

Erica looked over at Murray, who gave her a soft nod.

Robin and Eddie looked at each other, along with Argyle, shuddering. 

“Dimitri is going with us,” Hopper added.

“Who’s he?” Jonathan asked.

“Russian soldier,” Joyce told him, holding up a hand to clarify. “He’s on our side.”

Jonathan hesitated but eventually gave her a small nod. He looked over at Nancy, who was staring down at the table with her teeth sunk into her bottom lip.

“He’s got insight,” Hopper continued. “Knows what we’re dealing with, and how to handle what we’re all up against.  We’ll need as many of us as we can get out there.  Those of us who know the risks, and know how to navigate this world.”

Robin processed that, thinking. “So that…where does that leave Steve and Bauman?”

Hopper was quiet. The way he gnawed his cheek made it clear that this was where it got messy.

“Steve is on the frontlines with us,” Hopper explained carefully. “…and Bauman is stationed back here with Murray and the kids, along with Dr. Owens.”

Robin’s heart sank, and so did Eddie’s. They both shared a sad, all-knowing look.  They knew this wasn’t going to go well.  At all. They knew that Steve was going to flip his shit at just the idea of leaving you out of his sight.

“Won’t Dr. Owens have a target on his back?” Eddie asked, concerned. “Won’t that — won’t that draw more danger here…?”

That made Robin look at Hopper, wide-eyed. The retired cop looked pale, eyes full of dread.

“He has to be here in case anything happens to Bauman or Max,” he explains solemnly. “Because if shit goes south here…they’ll need to run.”

Jonathan felt sick.  This also meant leaving Will behind.  “But…how? How can they run?”

“That’s where I come in,” Murray chimes in. “Between me and Erica and Dustin, we’ll be able to keep a close eye out for a signal — which Will can help us navigate.”

“Because he’s still connected to it all,” Joyce explains sadly.  “He still…feels it. He senses when it’s near.”

“Which is why he’ll be able to give us a warning,” Murray nods, adding to Joyce’s input. “Since El has to be out there with you guys, we’ll still have a connected source that's here with us.”

“The kids can’t do this,” Hopper adds, tone firm. “Not this time.  El doesn’t count, as much as I want her to stay back.  She can’t.  I know that.” He looks at Erica with parental eyes.  “But as far as the rest of you kids go?  No more.  It’s already bad enough having to risk you all staying here.  But if this is how it’s gotta go down?  You’re staying where there’s a controlled space, with 2-3 solid abort mission plans — which Murray knows from top to bottom.”

Erica hangs her head, but she nods. She knows this makes sense. 

“As for Bauman,” Hopper continues, eyes sad. “She’s not able to get back out there. Between her heart issues and her bad shoulder and ribs…she has to stay put.”

“No, I agree with that,” Robin says, voice full of gravel before she clears it. “But, umm…I’m just…really worried that…well it’s just — Steve, he’s um, he’s —”

“He’s going to have to do this,” Hopper interjects, but not unkindly. In fact, it’s full of empathy and remorse. “He knows the ways. You’ll all need him. His stamina, his strength. He’s strong, good with a bat and can outrun shit.  He also knows what to keep an eye out for, whatever comes our way.”

Eddie gulps, partially because he’s terrified about facing the underworld again…but also because he knows that Steve will be a wreck the entire time he’s gone with them and not with you. And if Eddie’s being honest, the idea of leaving you and the kids behind is killing him too. He’s especially grown to love you and Dustin over the last year.

“This isn’t open for discussion,” Hopper says, voice firmer and tone low.  “Tomorrow, when we have our living room meeting, I’ll be conveying this to everyone…along with Murray and Joyce.  And I need to know I have each and every one of you on our side.  Those kids are going to raise hell.  All of them are.  And this plan is not changing.  It’s either this…or we all stay hunkered down until we rot.  Am I making myself clear?”

Nancy and Jonathan nodded first, quickly followed by Robin and Eddie.

“Yes sir,” Argyle spoke first, and for the first time he genuinely looked aware of just how heavy all of this stuff really is.  Jonathan gave his shoulder a quick squeeze.

“Erica,” Hopper was looking directly at the youngest person sitting across the table.  “I’m counting on you.  I know that’s not fair, but I am.  You’re tough as nails.  You’re gonna have to be that way with your brother, and his friends.  Your friends.  You'll have to be hard...but gentle enough to get it through to him.  I don’t care what you gotta do, you do it.  Whatever you have to say?  Say it.  And if anybody gives you shit for knowing this before they did…send them to me.  Understood?”

Erica looked back at Hopper with the most somber expression.  But she nodded.

“Understood,” she said, voice low.

Hopper gave her a curt nod before looking over at the older teens.

“As for you guys,” he said.  “We all know the shit that just went down yesterday at the fence.  Bauman’s always been at the frontlines with us.  She can’t be now.  And Steve cannot hang back.  He’s got too much strength that we can’t afford to not have on our side of this battle.  And I don’t care if Bauman insists she can do it.  She can’t, and she won’t.”

“And if she gets stubborn,” Murray interjects, voice fierce.  “Tell me.  If she tries pulling a fast one?  You tell me.  Capiche?”

Eddie and Robin quickly nod up and down.

“I’ll talk to him if it gets bad,” Jonathan says in a weak voice.

Nancy narrows her eyes at him.  Since when do he and Steve talk?

“Good,” Joyce says with a sad, tight-lipped grin and nod at her son.  “He’ll need it.”

"I'll be there for him, too," Robin nodded at Jonathan.

“Will we be able to stay in contact with them at least?” Eddie asks pathetically.  “Via the walkies?”

“When necessary...yes,” Hopper confirms.  “We’ll have to be scarce about it.  Selective.  Nowhere is safe.  It’ll have to be reserved for vital communication only.”

Eddie frowned, but nodded in understanding.  Robin was currently biting her palm, consumed with dread and sickening anxiety.  Leaving you behind?  The kids?  Even Murray, who everyone had come to appreciate in their own weird sort of way — mostly because of how much they all loved you.  He was an extension of you.  The whole situation just felt…fucked.

But wasn’t everything fucked?  Wasn’t this entire world so catostrophically fucked in every single which way, seemingly irreparable?  

Was there actually an end to this nightmare?  A world in which the upside down would cease to exist…monsters would go back to their storybooks and dark, twisted fairy tales…the moon would only ever symbolize light within forgotten darkness...and the sun would never hide behind the ashy debris that currently clung to the air, just outside their windows?

Despite how everything looked grim, with seemingly no end in sight…you all persisted in choosing to believe.  Yes.  Yes, this was going to end.

The end of the world was nearing.  It was inevitable.

But it wouldn’t be your world.

***

You never really put much thought into what having a family would feel like one day.

You’d wondered.  Every little girl does.  In young girlhood, there’s the beauty of innocence that protectively surrounds all grown-up dreams that fuel your wildest imagination.  The dreams of never having to go to school, and being in charge of everything you want.  The dreams of being able to eat whatever you want, whenever you want.  The dreams of meeting your future husband, and getting to wear a big white, sparkly ballgown as you walk down the aisle to your happily ever after.  The dreams of being a princess in a big castle, ruling the land and having cake for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and tea parties everyday with your friends.

Sure, you’d had those dreams as a little girl.  How could you not?  It was inevitable.

But as you grew older, you didn’t really have a chance to fantasize about much.  You’d been made to grow up from a very young age.  Your grandmother had been there for you enough.  She kept a roof over your head.  Food on the table.  A very generous allowance, even though you never asked for one and you’d gotten yourself a job by the age of 13 painting peoples’ houses and doing yard work.  You’d even gotten hired by your uncle to do data entry for him, along with a couple of his contacts who did intense investigative research and needed someone to work remotely.  You earned your own living, and you did upkeep on your grandmother’s house — despite her never asking you to do so.  She was gone a lot.  She wasn’t very old.  Just a smoker who liked casinos and taking trips with her “friend” from time to time.  A woman, who she only ever referred to as her "assistant."  You knew better than to believe that, but you never said anything about it.  She was a closeted lesbian — which is why Robin coming out of the closet for you had been the easiest news to take, let alone support.  Your grandmother was a tough, long-acrylic-nails-donning boss bitch who did whatever the hell she wanted.  You’d gone with her many times to some casino resorts, mostly staying in the hotel room or just walking around the city.  It felt like living with a Mafia Mobwife.  It was cool, for the most part.  But it definitely meant being able to hold your own.  She’d raised herself when she was a kid — and in most ways, you did too.

It’s why you’d spent so much time with your uncle, who didn’t live very far.  He was home a lot.  Given his line of work, he didn’t go out much.  He became even more of a hermit as the years went on, and you liked that.  It meant consistency.  His spare room basically became your room.  It couldn’t exactly be considered a “guest room” when he never had guests over.  You’re the only person he invited over for company, and he loved it.  The two of you got along effortlessly.  His dark humor rubbed off on you early on, which your grandmother shared in but she wasn’t nearly as quick-witted as Murray.  That’s where you got it from.  But your dry, snarky wit was much more selectively timed than his.  He was all over the place.  You had solid social cues, given that you went to school and were around people often.  Your uncle was definitely an oddball.  But you loved him to death, and you got him better than anyone else did.

You weren’t babied.  You weren’t coddled, or sheltered, or given false hope about the world.  It’s why you held your own, and it’s also why you never victimized yourself.  It was to a fault, but you believed it was for the best.

So when Clark broke your heart into a million pieces, you told yourself it had been a risk from the start.  A gamble, just like the poker tables at those casinos that your grandmother frequented all the time.  Love was a dangerous game, and it spared no one.  There were winners and losers — and you’d lost this one.

But right now, in this moment, you felt as though you had just won every single jackpot that there was to win.  

Because right now, you were sitting in Steve’s lap on the floor of Max’s room in his big house, holding cards closely to your chest as Lucas screeched GO FISH at Dustin.  Steve’s hand was in plain sight, and if you were a cheater you’d have him beat in seconds.  But you didn’t need to win a stupid card game…because you had won the greatest game of all: life.

El and Mike were cuddled up close to each other, giggling and being young teens in love.  In a normal world, you would assume it to be puppy love between them.  But this world wasn’t normal, and the shit that they’d been through together wasn’t any different than what you and Steve had been through together.  It was real love, and you let them be that way.

Lucas was seated next to Max in her bed, holding her hand and laughing like a kid again.  Dustin was hoarding all of the candy from his backpack (so much for sharing) and laughing like a buffoon.  He bickered with Steve and the kids as usual, but something about it was just so…bright.  Hearty laughter bounced off the walls, and there were so many times that Steve had belly laughed — along with you and the other kids — that you’d all lost count.

Sometimes, you swore that you saw Max’s lips twitch.  As if she could hear you all in her coma, wanting to laugh along with everybody.  Lucas would talk to her as if she could hear you all just fine, squeezing her hand and kissing her forehead while showing her his hand in cards.  Dustin even gave her a sleeve of her favorite candy — just for her.  He might not have basic manners with the rest of you, but Max?  Always.  

Will was keeping score, seated next to you and Steve with the biggest smile you had ever seen him wear.  He laughed hysterically the entire night, even going as far as verbally expressing adoration for you and Steve.  Dustin would pretend to gag, but Will would just tell him he knew better than to think that the curly-haired smart alec wasn’t completely in love with the two of you being together.  Dustin had grinned all dopey and wide, rolling his eyes but not arguing with him any further.  

At some point, Mike suggested all swapping ghost stories.  

Lucas had barked the loudest laugh.  “How about the one we’re currently living??”

“Hey, hey,” Steve interjected.  “I got a better idea.  Tell your most embarrassing story.  One you’re scared shitless to tell.”

You'd grinned in his arms, snickering.  “Oh I got plenty of those.”

“I mean hey,” Dustin shrugged with a mouthful of candy.  “If we’re gonna die, we might as well get real.”

“Okay chill, we’re not going to die,” Steve scoffed, hiding his internal worry.

“It’s possible,” Mike shrugged, grabbing another bag of M&M’s.

Steve huffed.  “Dammit, Wheeler —”

Mike’s devilish grin was infuriating yet endearing at the same time.

“I wish Max could hear all of this,” El said with a tinkering laugh.

You gave her the warmest of smiles and a wink.  “Trust me.  She does.”

“Hell yeah,” Lucas smiled wide, squeezing Max’s hand.  “I’ll even tell one of her stories, for her.”

“...dude, she’s gonna kill you,” Dustin warned him, but there was a smirk lifting at the corner of his lips.

“I’ll go first,” Will announced, laying on his stomach as he ate some popcorn.  “One time?  I was asleep in bed but I woke up because I heard Jonathan moaning so loudly — like, disturbingly loud —”

“Okay, maybe I needed to lay down some ground rules here —” Steve starts with a very tight voice as you snorted into your palm.

“Just hear me out,” Will laughs, holding a hand.  “I thought it was with a girl —”

“William,” Steve scolded.

“But he was in the bathroom,” Will talked over him.  “Shitting his brains out.”

Dustin cackled while Mike audibly expressed disgust while laughing at the same time.  El looked shocked, giggling hysterically into her hand.

“Damn, that bad?!” Lucas roared.

“He lit every candle in the house,” Will cackled.  “Mom went to use it shortly after him and came barreling into our rooms to ask us in a panic what had died up one of our butts!”

Steve collapsed into you laughing, and you couldn’t even breathe from laughing so hard.  It was that sort of deep laughter that’s so painful because it’s quiet before you’re able to finally erupt with loud laughs that help you come down from a high.  All the kids were a fit of cackles and giggles, too.  Erica made her way into the room finally, jumping right into things and bringing cookies with milk.  All of you exchanged stories, allowing yourselves to only cry tears of joy.  It was exactly what you all needed, long overdue.

And for the first time in ages — none of you thought about the upside down, or the impending doom that awaited you just outside of the Harrington house throughout all of Hawkins.

That night, you and Steve tucked every single of your kids into their assigned sleeping bags and cots.  Lucas stayed with Max in her bed, asking you sheepishly if that was alright.  You’d nodded, along with Steve — more than approving.  And given you both would be chaperoning that night in the same shared room, you also let Mike and El cuddle up together in a sleeping bag.

“Hands outside of the covers, Wheeler,” Steve warned him, but he gave him a wink — adding please at the end.  Even Mike gave him a smile and nod, like a little kid who felt called out but also didn’t have any intention of disobeying.

Dustin and Will joked in high pitched voices about being bunkmates with their sleeping bags next to each other, given they were the two singles of the group.  Technically, Erica was too.  But even if she wasn’t, she would still demand her own space.  She had situated herself on the floor beside Lucas’s side of the bed, not planning to give him a hard time for a good while given what was in store for everyone tomorrow.

As for you and Steve — the two of you had stationed yourselves in the center of the room, closest to the door.  That way, you could see all your kids at any point during the night and also be the first to fight off any harm coming your way, should danger lurk on the other side of the locked bedroom door.

Steve ruffled Dustin’s hair as he dozed off, earning a sleepy little “hmph” from him.  After he made sure all of them were comfortably settled in for the night, he crawled over to you.  His nail bat was propped somewhere nearby — ready to be swung into action if need be.  But the need for it that night never came.

You curled into Steve’s chest, breathing in his clean, masculine scent and allowing it to fill all of your senses.  Sighing contentedly, you felt a rush of warmth wash over you as his lips pressed into the top of your head.

“I love you so much,” he whispered.

“I love you more,” you murmured in the softest of whispers.

You felt him chuckle against you.  “Impossible,” he breathed into your hair, pulling you so close to him you might as well be the same body.

And had you not been so completely relaxed in his arms, you might have fought him on it.  The whole "I love you more" thing. In fact you definitely would have.  But you just hummed, dozing off in his strong arms and allowing sleep to find you.

***

Waking up had been beautiful. The sun was even more hidden than usual, plagued by the new world coming into fruition. But despite the lack of sunshine outdoors, you felt as though it shone through the entire room as all the kids woke up and whispered to each other. You pretended not to hear them when they talked about you and Steve. Because if you were being honest? You’d been dying to hear their uncensored thoughts. If they thought that you weren’t listening, they wouldn’t hold back from saying what was actually on their mind.

Turns out?  All of them wanted this. The two of you together.  They laughed about how some of them thought that Steve was going to end up with Robin at first. 

“No way,” Lucas shook his head in a confident whisper. “Those two? They’re like brother and sister.”

“Yeah, but Bauman’s so out of his league,” Mike whispered back.

“She is not,” Will added in a defensive whisper.

“She so is,” Mike whispered indignantly.

“No way, Steve’s awesome,” Dustin defended in a whisper.

“Yeah but like,” Mike whispered, pondering with a sigh. “I mean yeah. He is. I like him. He’s cool. Way cooler than I thought he was at first. But Bauman’s literally a badass. She doesn't care what people think.”

“Steve doesn’t care anymore,” Erica chimes in, speaking softly. She’s actually pleading Steve’s case and it’s adorable.  “He used to. But when we were down there with the Russians? And he had to wear that stupid sailor outfit for work?…”

“Oh my god,” Dustin snickered. “That shit was so funny.”

“He looked like Shirley Temple from the Good Ship Lollipop,” Lucas snickered back, and Will had to shush them so that they wouldn’t wake you up.

“My point is,” Erica continued with sass. “Steve doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks of him now. I mean…he gave her hell the whole time I was around ‘em.”

“I still don’t get that,” Mike whispered.

“Me either,” El added quietly.

“What do you mean?” Dustin whispered in confusion. “I told you guys the whole story. That once upon a time ramble I had to sit through when Murray basically went on to give us an entire rundown on the two of them?”

“Well duh,” Mike whispered in annoyance. “I know that. But dude…she’s…like, she's...”

“Hot.”

Everyone went quiet, and you stiffened as you held back laughter. Because the person who had called you hot?  It was El.

“Bauman is hot,” El repeated.

Eventually someone snorted. Then, they all did. You bit back laughter, blushing into Steve’s chest with your face kept hidden.

“You’re hot,” Mike added to her in a coy whisper.

“No, you are,” she whispered back sweetly.

“Enough,” Erica whispered definitively. 

“Max thinks that Steve is hot,” Lucas scoffed.

“He is,” Erica and El said at the same time.

“Hey,” Mike whined, and they all shushed him.

“Face it, dude,” Dustin whispered flatly. “He is. I wish I looked like him.”

“You look great, man,” Will assured him. “You got a girl like Suzy. You gotta be a stud to catch someone like her.”

Dustin had blushed at that with a wide, dopey grin. “Think so?”

After listening to them chat some more, eventually Steve started to stir. He’d told them good morning, to which Dustin all too happily responded with a very loud good morning back —- making Steve audibly groan and bite back curse words. The kids all snickered. 

Will started handing out drawings out to everyone. You all had been sketching and drawing together in your assigned room earlier the day before, while Steve had been getting Max’s room ready.  Will had told you all to draw a picture of someone else in the party. He’d even chosen who was drawing who.  

Will and Lucas drew each other.

Mike and Erica drew each other.

El and Dustin drew each other.

And you drew Steve, before he joined you all and eventually drew his original art piece of you while you all played a round of the Game of Life.

Here you were now: holding your drawing close to your chest, and wiggling your eyebrows at Steve. He gave you the most adorable smirk, his cocoa brown eyes still a bit sleepy and his perfect hair the sexiest case of bed head. He stretched, toned arms flexing and his white t-shirt clinging to his muscles in all the right places while being loose enough to wanna rip it off of him…

Not the time, Bauman, you mentally scolded yourself.

Steve had reached underneath his pillow to fetch his drawing of you, holding it to his chest and sitting across from you — crossed-legged and shooting you a wink. All the kids mirrored you both, sitting opposite their assigned art piece subject with throaty giggles and snorts. 

Will looked at everyone excitedly, like a proud art professor, ready for his classroom to partake in show-and-tell.

“Alright,” he smiled. “Everyone ready?”

“Yeah, you go first, Byers,” Steve nodded at him with an encouraging grin.

Will blushed. “Oh…well…I mean…I should go last. You guys first. On the count of 3, everyone turn your photos around to your partner.”

Mike snorted as he stared down Erica. “Howdy, partner,” he drawled in a fake accent. El giggled, and so did Lucas. 

Erica shot Mike a wry smirk. “Easy now, cowboy.”

“Bet you made me look like a total loser,” Mike snickered. 

“I don’t have to draw you to make you look like that,” Eric’s said in the most sugary sweet, sarcastic voice.

“Okay snarkbutts, settle down,” Steve scolded lightly in a groggy voice, no heat behind it. “Will has the floor. William: proceed.”

Will saluted him. “Alright. Count of 3.”

“Please tell me you gave me teeth,” Dustin mumbled lowly to El.

“One…”

El shrugged. “I dunno.”

Dustin narrowed his eyes. 

“Two…”

Steve gave you a coy look, asking in the lowest of mumbles, “How big’s my hair?” 

You grinned like a devil, your voice lower. “Not as big as your other best trait.”

Steve lifted a very cocky eyebrow with a deepening grin.

“Three!”

Everyone turned their papers around, and a soft silence fell over you all minus a few little reactive intakes of breath.

Dustin had drawn El with a million eggo waffles in the sky around her. She looked like the most adorable cartoon character, with anime eyes and full cheeks. Her hair was shorter, the way she’d looked back in ‘83 whenever she’d returned. But it wasn’t slicked back. It was free, curly and a little wild. Her smile was innocent and childlike, and there was a policeman in the back waving. Hopper. 

El had drawn Dustin with his signature cap and his big toothy grin — which made him beam, because she did give him teeth in the drawing after all. And in this drawing, there were bubble boxes above him that read all the quotes she associated with him, like Steve! and She’s our friend and she’s crazy! and Shit shit shit shit shit!

Mike had drawn Erica into a comic strip. He showed her as just a wee tike, then at Scoops Ahoy with an ice cream cone, then playing DND. The last image of the strip showed her with her arms crossed and a triumphant smile, with a banner behind her that read Welcome to the Party.  (…as Erica looked at it, she felt the most unfamiliar warmth seep into her bones and the joyful sting behind her eyes sent her into pure shock.)

Erica had drawn Mike on his bike, riding through the neighbor with his backpack and a flashlight. His dark hair blew in the wind, and there was a thought bubble above him with little heads that resembled all of his best friends.  Above him and the thought was a quote: “Mike Wheeler: nerd, snark machine and superhero to all.”  (…Mike felt so emo, he didn’t know what to do with it.)

You had drawn Steve in a very chic sort of hot anime-like way.  It honestly looked like an actual character that existed in an anime universe.  In the drawing, Steve held his nail bat in one hand and a McDonald’s happy meal in the other.  He didn’t quite understand that part at first — until he spotted behind him, there was a Winnebago.  Six familiar faces, very stick-figure-esque, stood there waving.  You also stood there, with a quote above your head: “six-piece nuggets, coming right up.”  Steve breathed the fondest of chuckles as he took it all in, wanting to laugh and smile and cry and tackle you with his kids all at the same time.

Steve’s drawing of you was more adorable than you ever thought him capable of drawing.  You were the cutest little cartoon, backpack over your shoulder with combat boots — but you were wearing the most beautiful dress.  It was yellow, which complimented the happy blue sky behind you.  Yours and Steve's favorite colors combined.  There was a big house behind you, with seven other stick figures that looked an awful lot like Steve and your six nuggets.  And right next to you, there was a dictionary-esque definition of you:

BAUMAN (Pronounced bow•men)

A professional love-life ruiner; cute but psycho; hardcore but soft; too smart for her own good; humor darker than the dark espresso she drinks straight, because she’s a sociopath; also hotter than said cup of coffee; terrifyingly beautiful from the inside out; my mortal enemy turned favorite person; the girl who makes everything make sense; someone I can’t fathom living without, and can’t believe I ever thought I could; the love of my life, in this one and the next and so on, so long as she’ll have me.

You had never felt so full in your entire life, and neither had Steve. The two of you just stared at each other’s drawings. Grinning, glassy-eyed, chuckling, aching, filled with every ounce of joy and every ounce dread — all at once.  Neither of you could speak, but neither of you had to. Your eyes, along with his, spoke volumes. They said everything there was to say, just as much as your sketches did.

Lucas had drawn Will in a wizard’s outfit.  He held a tall, majestic scepter — with a large hat on top of his head.  Surrounding him was a large swirl of colors, whimsical and light, painting a galaxy of sorts.  And in this galaxy, there were little floating stick figures with all his friends’ names above them.  Will was smiling in the drawing, with his hands in the air and on top of the world.  Literally, because in the picture he was standing on top of a globe.

As for Will...he had drawn Lucas at a basketball game. He was scoring the winning basket, and an entire crowd cheered behind him.  All of you were there.  Will was there, next to all his friends.  You and Steve were next to each other, along with his mom, Jonathan, Nancy, Argyle, Eddie, Robin and Hopper.  Even your Uncle Murray.  

And Max…that’s where Will’s drawing got unique. 

She was piggybacking Lucas, as he jumped and shot the winning score of the game, her laugh radiating through all the pens and crayons and markers that Will had used to sketch her.  She was alive, as were the rest of you.  Very much alive.

Just as you all were right now, inside one of Steve Harrington’s many bedrooms in his big house with no parents.  

No matter what doom was swiftly approaching — no matter what monsters were looming underneath the surface, and already roaming the real world — you all were together.  You had each other.

You always will.

***

Late morning upstairs has been kind to you.  It's been light.  Hopeful. 

There’s something about walking downstairs that makes the energy shift.  It sends an odd sort of chill up your spine, despite Steve’s arm draped securely over your shoulders as you wear one of his large gray hoodies with your bad arm in a sling.  You feel a certain pang in your chest as the kids follow you all down into the kitchen…but this time, it’s not because of your heart arrhythmia.

As Hopper and Joyce smile at you all in the kitchen, greeting you warmly and having prepared a table full of pancakes that had smiley faces decorated with whipped cream and chocolate chips and strawberries on top — something about the scene frowns at you.  A deep frown that you’ve seen on everyone’s faces whenever there is bad news waiting to be shared.

Your uncle is coming over to hand you a hot cup of decaf coffee, winking at you and Steve as he gives him a tight shoulder squeeze.  He’s moving past you both towards the man named Dimitri, who is walking in from the living room.  Murray brings him over to introduce you.

“Dimitri, this is my niece,” Murray grins.

You shake his hand firmly with your good arm, smiling gratefully.  “Heard a lot about you.”

“You as well,” the man says with a genuine smile, kind vibrant eyes and a thick Russian accent.  He’s definitely seen some shit.

“And this is Steve,” Murray gestures, a bit of a coy glint in his eye.  “Her boyfriend.”

Steve blushes, a soft smile gracing his features and shining through his eyes.  He wholeheartedly adores being called that out loud for the very first time: your boyfriend.

Your uneven heart skips several more beats, which typically would raise a lot of concern — but at the moment, you’re too fucking happy to care or pay it any mind.  You watch Steve flash his signature charming smile and reach out to firmly shake hands with Dimitri, who is looking back at your handsome boy with the widest grin.  The masculine exchange of lighthearted friendly words between the two men makes your stomach dance for some reason, especially as your uncle chuckles along with them.  

This is completely uncharted territory for you. Nothing about this moment is familiar.  But you could really get used to it.  It’s new.  And you adore it.

Dimitri meets the kids, who all take to him very well.  Especially El, who seems to already be familiar with him.  Likely because of Hopper.  Jonathan and Argyle are being introduced to him by Joyce, while Eddie is rounding the corner with a big stretch and yawn.  Steve shoots him a smirk as the metalhead makes his way over for a big ole bro hug, whispering something to him that makes Steve snort while Eddie grins like a devil.  Steve swats at him playfully, successfully smacking him as Robin walks in with Nancy close behind.  Steve’s quirky platonic soulmate makes her way over to you with a warm smile, swinging an arm over your shoulders so that she’s nearly headlocking you in a hug.  She’s a bit taller than you, by just a couple inches, so it gives her some upper hand.  You’re chuckling lightly, nose scrunched and tightly winding your good arm around Robin’s waist as you smile back at Nancy.  Her eyes are still sad, a bit lost.  But there’s no animosity there, at least not that you see.  She looks at you shyly, timidly…but with utter kindness.

Unbeknownst to you — Robin had suggested to Nancy that she stay with her last night in Steve’s room.  For Nancy, that had been…hard.  Necessary, but hard.  For multiple reasons.  For one thing — the last time she’d slept in Steve’s room, she had been his girlfriend. Being asleep in there 2 years later without him, now as his ex, brought back a flood of memories — bittersweet and haunting.  Being in his bed, twisted up in his sheets, felt wrong.  But she just couldn’t bring herself to sleep next to Jonathan that night.  Not yet.  Not after everything that had unfolded.  So Robin had stayed up talking with her, having a heavy heart to heart.  But it turned out to be exactly what Nancy needed.  Just what the doctor ordered.  Robin Buckley had unintentionally become a nurse of sorts over the last several months, and maybe even somewhat of a therapist.  Although — Argyle sort of had her beat in that department earlier that afternoon.  But he was the much simpler kind.  Whereas Robin got deep, given her innate gift at rambling until you were given no choice but to cut her off because your most honest thoughts were yanked out of you as you were made to listen to her ranting.  Nancy had cried some more, but she’d also laughed.  A comforting mixture of both smiles and frowns were shared between the two unlikely friends.  Robin wasn’t Barb, nor would any other girl be that kind of friend to Nancy.  Robin was very different from Barb.  However, her heart was just as loving.  She loved hard, and it showed.  She let Nancy pour her heart out, pouring some of her own out in return.  And somehow…somehow…it brought Nancy some newfound peace and understanding.

So as she looked at you now, having seen you come downstairs with Steve and the kids — now introducing yourselves to the new Russian house guest, and sharing a special connection with Eddie and Robin in a way that only settled couples so effortlessly did — Nancy could see something in the two of you that she’d not known Steve capable of being while she in a relationship with him.  And while she selfishly ached for her younger self who’d missed out on having that with him (and sometimes still found herself pining after), she selflessly began to feel happy for Steve.  And she even began to feel some happiness for you.  Not completely.  Not yet.  She couldn’t quite commit to making full peace with it all, given that healing takes time.  A very long time.  But as time continued to pass, which Nancy hoped you all would still be granted given the circumstances of the crumbling world, she knew that she would eventually get there.  

Murray and Dimitri were saying something funny, making Hopper and Joyce share a hearty laugh with the two of them while the kids were asking the new gentleman a million questions.  Steve made his way over to you and Robin, hugging you both — and Eddie threw his arms around all of you, resulting in fond groans and grunts from you all along with big smiles.

Nancy and Jonathan made unintentional eye contact as this happened, but Dustin shouting GROUP HUG! snapped their focus away again. The boys all bear hugged you guys while El and Erica were already pouring syrup onto their pancakes.

Eventually, you all sat down to enjoy a feast.  And while it tasted so deliciously sweet…the bitter aftertaste stemmed from looming doom that creeped just beneath the surface of your feet.  The energy shift was still felt, and despite the warmth of homemade pancakes and Steve’s hand on your thigh…your blood ran cold.

***

It was the early afternoon that finally unveiled the darker energy shift you had all been sensing since that morning, after you left the comforting quarters of your little family sleepover.

Everyone was now seated in the living room now — the way you always were, when it was time for you all to have a group meeting and listen to Hopper go over a plan of sorts or give a rundown to the household.  Except this time, Dimitri was here along with Dr. Owens.  It wasn’t like all the other times.  This was different.  Very different.

This one scared you.

Maybe they all should’ve. All these talks that centered around the end of the world. All these household meetings about the impending doom that came with said end-of-the-world. But somehow, you’d grown accustomed to them.  Comfortable.  It meant you were all still alive and that you all had something worth fighting for. And it had always meant there would be another meeting.

But there was an unsettling sort of feeling of finality to this meeting that set it apart from all the others.  And as Hopper stood with both Joyce and your uncle Murray…you felt goosebumps scatter up and down your arms and legs, regardless of Steve’s warm oversized hoodie and your leggings and socks.  Their faces were somber, a bit grim.  Murray kept his arms tightly crossed while Joyce fiddled nervously with her hands.  Even Hopper, ever the strong and firm type, looked nervous.  Maybe even afraid. 

They spoke all slowly, taking their time with why everyone was there — why Dimitri was now in the picture along with Dr. Owens — and what all needed to be discussed.  And the longer they spoke, the thicker the air got.  Tension spread around the room.  It was especially evident as none of the kids were making a sound.  They hadn’t uttered a single word.  Not one of them.  The adults had the floor, and when they asked Dimitri to stand with them, you all knew this was going to go in a bad direction.

So when they all told you the plan, looping Dr. Owens into the picture and why he not only was here for this talk — but here to stay — the gravity of the current situation landed.

You all felt your souls plummet to the deepest depths of your stomachs with a hard thud, as Hopper revealed two large whiteboards.  They both had entirely different detailed layouts…and beside each one, there were two separate lists of names.

One list of names would be at the frontlines.  The people who would be diving head first into the upside down and all of its perils. 

One list of names would be hiding out here.  The people who would maintain home base, helping operate things from the other side in the real world, while risking the chance of being found, caught and killed.

Both sides were at risk.  Both teams could die.  Both groups might not ever live to see another day, or each other, ever again.

As Steve stares at your name, along with the names of all of his kids aside from El, on the opposite whiteboard from his own name…he feels bile rising in his throat.  His stomach twists into knots, deeply tangled with unbearable anxiety and anguish.  His mind races, but his lips don’t move.  Fear paralyzes him, rendering him speechless as the adults keep talking and gesturing to the boards.  The castle on a cloud that his dreams have just began to build for the two of you, walls high and protecting you both along with his kids — his family — was drifting away from him.  And all he could do was watch it drifting further and further away, into the void, as he stared into space.

You felt his grasp on you instinctively tighten as his muscles stiffened.  Steve was rigid against your back, and you were grateful that he couldn’t see your face right now.  You were sitting between his legs on the longest part of his couch, facing the same direction as you took in the whiteboards while absorbing all the information that was being relayed to the group.  With a harsh swallow, you risked peeking at everyone else’s reactions — quickly scanning the room with your eyes.

Mike’s usually sour expression looked far more sad than it usually did.  He only ever looked like that when El was in danger, or things were spiraling out of control.  He sat on top of the coffee table with his elbows in his lap, crouched forward and staring a hole into one of the whiteboards.  Dustin’s mouth was agape, and his unusual silence was loud.  He hadn’t said a word from where he sat on the couch next to Erica.  Will sat on the other side of Jonathan, brow furrowed and heart blue.  He knew the risks being taken, and it hurt his soul seeing that he would be apart from his mom and brother.  He felt as though he always had been, ever since this all began, and it seemed to be a never ending circumstance.  Lucas was taking it all in from his seat on the leg of the couch, hands wrung and expression reserved — but defeated.  He’d really grown into a young man this past year, and he’d been taking so much in stride.  But even so, he looked conflicted.  Really conflicted.  

After taking in the kids’ reactions, your eyes swept over to Robin and Eddie.  She was seated in the giant loveseat, per usual, with Eddie perched on the arm of it.  You narrowed your eyes as you caught sight of Robin fiddling her thumbs, eyes darting up and down from her fingers to the adults with the whiteboards.  Eddie was bouncing his knee anxiously, nibbling at his fingernails — which were already bitten to stubs.  While the two of them looked to be taking this hard, the way that the rest of you were…they also seemed to be absorbing it a bit differently.  As if maybe they had a hunch about it already…

It wasn’t until Erica stood up to sit by Lucas with zero prompt that you felt slightly suspicious.  Because as she did, Robin shot a very quick tight-lipped smile in Erica’s direction with eyes that radiated sympathy.  Did they know this was coming?  Is that why Erica had come upstairs with the cookies and milk later than the rest of the kids?

You sighed through your nose, focusing back on Hopper as he gestured for Dr. Owens to stand up with them.  The older man made his way to the center of the tense room, hands dug deeply into his pockets and wearing a very sympathetic smile.

“I’m really grateful you all have put a lot of faith in me, despite everything,” he said humbly.  “Truthfully, it’s not owed.  I know that.  Still…I promise you’re in good hands with me.  Not those guys out there.  Hence why I’m here.  And I know you’d have already figured out by now if I was still working for that side of things.  Between El and Will, and all of you crazy smart folks, I’m outnumbered.”

He added a light chuckle at the end that nobody returned.  Dr. Owens sighed, taking no offense.  He knew this was not going to be taken well.

“I’m in this fight with you,” he said, stronger than how he spoke before.  There was conviction in his tone that he never really used, and it only heightened just how severe things currently were.  “If it were up to me?  None of you would be out there.  I’d be out there on the frontlines.  But…given Max’s comatose state, and Bauman’s heart condition, I know I’m needed here.  Which is just as big a risk that’s being taken out on the battlefield, because we’re staying in Hawkins as the evacuation notice and mandate goes into effect.  The city will be swarmed with government officials who are all behind this.  We’ll be surrounded from all angles.  No one is safe.”

You’re pretty sure that Steve had stopped breathing at this point, and the veins that prominently stuck out from his arms tightly wound around you made your throat close up.  

“I’ll be here to monitor Max, along with Bauman.  I’ve got plenty of medication to help steady the heart arrhythmia, and anything vital needed for a medical emergency — on anyone’s behalf, not just Bauman’s and Mayfield’s.”

“But…what happens if…”

A tight voice made everyone’s heads whip in its direction.  It was Dustin speaking, eyes wide with fear.  He wasn't being his usual cocky, overly confident self.  He looked and sounded genuinely fearful.

“…what happens if we’re caught?  What do we do?  Where do we go?”

Murray sighs, stepping forward.  “We’ve thought about that.  Right now, there’s only 2 options.  But they’re solid.  The best we’ve got right now.  One more than the other.  See, look —”

Murray went into detail about an abort-mission plan, but it sounded distorted in your ears as the gravity of the situation weighed down on top of your shoulders: you were all splitting up.  And this time might be the last time.

At some point, Mike had started to finally come to life.  His snark was returning, but even he wavered and the fear in his voice wasn’t concealed.  Hopper and El had to level with him, which only flustered Mike and caused him to stutter.  They had him beat, and he knew it.  He wanted to storm off, but Erica had told him to sit his ass down and listen.  It was so unexpected that he did as she said.  But your own brain was playing it all in slow motion.  As Will began asking questions with Dustin, you could see how Lucas had looked like he wanted to ask Erica if she might have already known something — but he didn’t.  Dr. Owens was saying something about Will being tied to the other side of things and being the assigned “El” of their group opposite of her, which fired up Mike as he demanded to know why the hell that required him to be out of the group heading to the frontlines alongside his girlfriend.  Before Hopper could even respond, Eddie was jumping into action along with Jonathan — coming to the retired cop’s defense.  That only bewildered Mike more, which fueled Dustin’s confusion into high gear as he made arguments alongside Mike.  Lucas had thrown his voice into the mix, but when Erica’s was louder — telling them all to listen, for the love of god listen, and Lucas stared at her in silent bemusement.  Will was weakly pleading with them all to please calm down, along with Joyce, who shot Argyle (of all people) a desperate look, and he made his way over to sit down next to Will and tell him it was going to be alright.

“NOTHING ABOUT THIS IS ALRIGHT,” Mike cried, angry and sad and scared in the way a child made to grow up too soon has every right to be.

“Mike, please,” Nancy’s voice trembled, her blue eyes glassy.

“Nancy, this isn’t okay!!!” Mike wailed.

“M-Mike,” Nancy stammered, her own emotions giving her a shake she couldn’t stop.  “Just l-listen to me…”

“No, you never listen to me!!!” Mike bawled.  “Never!!!”

“Hey hey, Wheeler, hey.”  

Steve finally found his voice as he reluctantly made his way to stand up away from you and approach his kid that was having an absolute breakdown.  Mike was still wailing, but as Steve approached with an unwavering look in his eye — baby Wheeler allowed for the group's assigned babysitter to actually place his hands on his shoulders and try to level with him.  Mike’s face crumbled, his words not making any sense the more he stumbled over them.  All that could be made out was something he was trying to say towards El — something about why and how could you and tell them I’m coming — which made Steve get a firm grip on his shoulders as he told him not to blame her for this.  After all, Steve had all the experience in the world as far as wrongfully placing blame on someone else was concerned…and it made your entire body ache as you watched him soothe Mike, who just bawled and mumbled nonsense in his hold.

El began to cry, too, leaning into Hopper — whose bottom lip trembled.  He bit down on it hard and willed it to stop, his eyes overwhelmed with everything that was unraveling before his eyes. 

Dustin was going back and forth with Erica, but he sounded so pitiful it made your uneven heart crack.  He kept looking over at Steve, begging him to understand.  Please Steve, please, let me go with you.  Eddie moved to immediately hold him, crushing him in more of a death grip than a hug.  The metalhead mumbled into his curly hair — not this time, kiddo, not this time.  Robin had a hand clamped over her mouth, emotions taking over as she barely managed to bite them back.

You stood up instantly, moving to hold Buckley.  She didn’t hesitate to make room for you on the seat, letting you take her in your arms as she shook like a leaf.  You gently swayed her side to side with you, murmuring quiet little words that were meant to be comforting — knowing they weren’t, but offering them anyway.

Your eyes met Jonathan’s across the room as he swayed with Will as well.  His pupils were blown, consumed with dread and drowning in pure misery, and you knew that yours weren’t much different.

Mike had buried his face into Steve’s chest at this point, and it made Nancy cry into her own palms as she curled in on herself.  

“I can’t do this,” she whispered, voice cracking at the end.  She looked at Hopper and your uncle, eyes guilty and full of shame.  “I - I’m sorry.”

Before you could even process what just happened, Nancy was barreling up the stairs.  Jonathan watched her go, panicking.  He looked at Will, then at you — eyes pleading.  You didn’t even let a second pass before you’d squeezed Robin to signal her, standing up to bring her over to where Will was seated.  You took Jonathan’s place as he went after Nancy, holding him tight as Robin leaned against you on your opposite side.  Argyle kept a kind hand on Will’s shoulder, still sitting to the other of him.  

“Steve, please, you die I die, remember?”

Dustin’s whimpered words had to have been the saddest plea you’d ever heard in your life.  Steve almost broke but before he could he flung an arm to sweep Dustin into his hold, as baby Wheeler kept bawling into his chest.  He held them both steady, letting them fall apart in his protective arms and doing everything in his power not to break down with them.  He couldn’t.  If he did, he’d failed them.  But to Steve’s dismay…he did anyway.  He ducked his head down, shaking against the two of his kids, letting himself silently weep with them.  For them. 

Lucas looked utterly heartbroken, which Erica noticed.  The youngest Sinclair cast aside all her pride, looking at her older brother with the most sympathy and love she could have towards anyone in this world, and she threw her arms around him.  He only let it shock him for a second before he held her back, a grateful silence falling over them both.  

You felt tears of your own begin to brim your eyes, but before letting them fall you looked up towards the adults…seeing your uncle first.  Murray looked back at you with every ounce of empathy and solace that could be found inside his dark soul. 

You gave him a soft nod, silently communicating with him.  I understand.  I’m sorry you had to deliver this news, but I’m here and I understand. 

And he returned the soft nod, lips pressed into a thin line but communicating back through eye contact and body language.  I love you and I hate this.  But I’ve got you.

Dimitri stood next to him, eyes somber and downcast.  He was new to the picture, but having seen the other side of things and just how bad a toll this has clearly taken on you all — he mourned for everyone’s pain. 

Dr. Owens had to sit down, unable to speak and wringing his hands.  

Hopper and Joyce held each other, along with El.  They looked at each other, devastated but steadfast.  

This plan was not open for discussion.  

This plan was not open for debate.  

This plan was final.

And so you let the tears crawl over the edges of your eyes, feeling them skate down your cheeks as you clung to Will and Robin and felt the world sit on top of your shoulders.

***

-- so as you can see, shit's getting intense. the gut-wrenching angst approaching has me overwhelmed but I'm so sickeningly happy about it. suffice it to say, Steve & Bauman are my Roman Empire and they are endgame. so if that gives you any sort of hope, given the inevitable doom that is in store for them and everyone else involved...then yay.

<3 this story forever lives on. forever and ever amen. - misha

TAGLIST (ILYSM) If I forgot you or you wanna be added, lmk :)

@aloneinthehellfire @xprloki @erastourvip @get0ut0fmyr00m @Eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00 @poppet05 @wiltedflowersundertowers Originalthingparadise Pleuviors pumpkinonice Ihaveproblemsihaveproblems Brinleighsstuff Definitelynotherr sucker-4-angst bookkeeperlove notlilyyyy @goosy-goose nevillescomslut

[moonbeammist]

The Peasant's Secret (Part 1)

A plunge into absurdity

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Dune characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

I don't give permission for any of my fanfiction to be posted, this is also cross posted on my account w/ Archive of our own

PAIRINGS: Feyd Rautha x Fem!Fighter!Reader

AUTHORS NOTE: I drew heavy inspiration from the Dune Part Two Soundtrack, truly sets the mood and tone for the story if you wanna have a listen. I appreciate this community of writers/readers! Any feedback and thoughts are most welcome! The 1st Part serves as Prologue, an introduction to your character and her world. Enjoy 💚

WARNINGS: (Mostly for 2nd Chapter): (Adults only 18+) DARK! profanity, extreme violence, torture, gore, sadism, masochism, dubious consent, erotic undertones, heavy petting, reader is a fighter who get's extremly hurt, bigotry against the poor, very immersive, intimacy, touching, feyd-rautha is his sick self, praise, public humiliation, light smut

SUMMARY: As a rice-harvester hailing from Planet Caladan, you knew these things to be true. You and your people were "peasant scum". And as far as you can tell, peasant scum deserved a shot at the vast unknown as much as any noble folk did. Even if the only thing protecting you is a flawed battle-tactic and the falsehoods that you tell yourself. Even if it has you riding a wave into the wicked evils that lie.

WORD COUNT: 2.2k words

PART 1 PART 2

You were in a colourless oasis. It wasn't really an oasis in the scenery sense; it was an oasis in the sense that it felt like a bottomless void, a strange, deafening dream. It was an oasis because it didn't feel like reality. A desolate vision to where no judging eyes would befall you as you threw your whole self, your body, into its ultimate test. That’s how they all made their mark here, isn’t it?

You reflect on Giedi Prime's obscure, bone-dry alternate reality to your home planet of Caladan - you were of peasant descent in the lush, grassy, biodiverse settlements. You and your mother had strengths in labour as rice planters, trading their services to the wealthy nobles in exchange for military protection. A life of labour and sweat in the rice fields, the economy depended on their work, as such, they had little free time.

Stepping foot into the outdoors, the crunch of your cheaply-made, scraggly brown boots is heard as you line up with the rest of the prisoners. The earth smelled of crust, rot, and blood. You somewhat know where you're supposed to end up as Harkonnen soldiers round you up, but at the same time, you haven’t got a clue where you’ll be settling before battle. Wide, dark tunnels arch over the sand like a protective roof against the beating black sun.  You've been given the finest privilege to represent your low-status family members in a brutal and bloody ceremony where this pale, ghostly Harkonnen House cuts you down, down into the dirt. A death deemed worthy. 

A death is worthy when you die with passion because you’re trying - kicking and screaming. It's a beautiful way to go because you feel everything.

The height of your human complexities is shown at the forefront - pushing yourself, testing yourself.. You who initially thought fighting was for those who have a reason to fight, like for political gain and power, defending your home and planets among the stars. However, you have never felt so alive, representing the absolute bottom of the barrel. What joy it would be to see an enemy fall from not hand-to-hand combat, not brute force, but peasant trickery. 

This is worth something.

That’s what you tell yourself. What else can you cling to? You were living for the cultivation of rice before you came here.

Horns erupt in a deep, haunting bass. The ground is shaking. Shaking with such strength that your feet stumble forward, knees scraping the grainy, white sand. Your hands bite into the sand. A guttural song emits from the speakers suddenly, the force of it hitting your chest like a bang. Your body stutters.

Your fellow no-name fighters eyes snap at your movements. Hushed chuckles erupt over the heavy bass. You feel slightly embarrassed as you quickly stumble back up and rub the grainy sand away from your knees and palms. Your eyes narrow.

This is all of your first times, all of your fellow fighters' first essential phases into proving yourself worthy to Harkonnens. Granted, you were vermin first, something to gawk at, something like cattle. As far as you heard from your briefing on the way here, this whole spectacle was based on a test round. If you pass your initial testing round, then - maybe, just maybe, you can live in comfort. There was not much more elaboration than that. Either get cut down, sliced down, gutted down -  or prosper. So why do you feel like you're the only one on edge? You’re in your head too much.

Because I might fucking die.

You swallow that thought down, burying it deep in your stomach, where it should stay.

Underneath the arena, there is a place where the Harkonnen soldiers stop - a small, enclosed burrow tucked away from sight, away from the audience members that fill the seats of the large dome-like sphere of the arena. Through the dark, enclosed area you can make out the bleached atmosphere stretched and rounded out, seeing several egg-like craniums darting up and down in the stands. Their eyes were like inky, beady pools of onyx - almost insect-like. They were thrashing in excitement, the low murmur of chatter and whooping heard.

You look around to your peers. There is nothing really notable about any of you. Dressed in meek wool, burlap, or loin cloth. Prepped with various weapon satchels latched onto waists or knees. You have no advanced shields or armour, that is true. As suicidal as that may seem against these elite brutes, It’s what you represent that really matters. The peasant trickery you have up your sleeve.

You were an only child born to common people. In the small moments, you would take to the hills with your mother and run and play. Your mother's long, flowing hair would crack like a whip against the wind behind her, in a game of “cat and mouse," as she would call it. You would try to grasp at the ends of her hair - your mother's high, sing-songy laughter echoing in the distance as you chased her.

You did not know your father - just that he was a passing tradesman who fell in love with your mother’s quirks and tenacity for adventure; in the odd breaks she could have them between planting rice grain. They spent 6 months together, you heard, and it was passionate. But he could not stay on this planet.

Your mother did not know if he was alive. But despite him leaving, she spoke fondly of him.  “He defied appearances. They thought of him as a simple, dull man in the trades, a grunt. But his intellect was his greatest secret.”

You supposed that maybe you were that small reminder of him to her, as her description of your father shadowed your mother’s slow moulding of your personality over the years. A weak, feeble rice labourer by appearances, always dressed in brown, murky colours to disappear. She did not want anyone to notice you at first glance; let that be your first safety. If they must stumble on you or pester your forgettable existence, you must keep up the act at first glance. You were scared, you were begging for your life like a common peasant. If they continue to prod and seek to damage or harm you, they would pry open the bottle of secrets that came spilling out of you in this fight-or-flight scenario.

You had a lot to learn and a lot to process as Caladan civilians. The threat of Caladan’s as well as other planets' potential hostile nature was something you were keenly aware of, a foot on your back of sorts, as you couldn’t do anything formidle to stop an enemy. 

The peasants, not permitted to use weapons or obtain shields or anything of the sort, could only offer you certain wisdom that was passed among the peoples. One they passed to your mother’s watchful eye and then onto you. They call it the peasant’s secret.

The art of dodging.

“Remember the game of cat and mouse?” You remember your mother’s voice barely over a whisper as she lay beside you one night in woolly sleeping bags on the soft greenery beneath you. The weather was hot enough to enjoy a night outside.  The flow of the river’s stream is heard against her.

You haven’t used the peasant’s secret in awhile. You primarily used it against your mother and your fellow people, as they would take turns throwing you into mock battles. They didn’t have any weapons, but they did collide, push, and throw themselves into your body at full speed, so you had to react quickly. 

They did push you to the limit. Bless them. Until you were an exhausted heap of limbs on the ground and had the wind knocked out of you.

You knew that wasn’t as valuable as practicing it against someone who genuinely wanted to kill you. You didn’t know if the peasant’s secret had successfully saved someone’s life against a brutal attack or if it was just used as a quick get-away.

So yes, you could fall into the trap of thinking you knew what you were doing when, in reality, it was based on instinct. Of course, the arena was a circle. A never-ending loop. Eventually, even though your stamina was now crafted to be well above average, you would eventually get tired. The peasant community of Caladan had a careful, pinpoint focus on the art of dodging rather than hand-to-hand combat or brute force, which made for a very interesting opponent, if you could even call it that. Most of the time, if you could, you were told to outrun them first. So your speed heavily improved. If they were just as fast, then you could begin your dance.

Now, you could finally put it to the test. To see how you fare, to see if it could actually prevent you from getting sliced and diced by the Harkonnens in the arena—albeit for a while. The main thing to keep in mind, as your mother had warned, was to keep your opponent on their toes, snapping not only their mental state but their body. Then, when the time is right, you steal their weapon and use it against them. Today you were permitted a small dagger, strapped and holstered on the outside of your thigh. Although you weren’t concerned about it, you told yourself you would use it as a last resort when they weren’t suspecting you to. You didn’t know how to dance with a weapon; you only knew how to bob and weave without one.

Count Fenring, the Siridar-Absentia of your homeworld Caladan, while the Atreides occupy the planet Arrakis, had dealings with the Harkonnens prior to your descent here. You were never meant to come here. But Count Fenring had called upon the rice labourers one day for a strange proposal. Gathering in the high-esteemed buildings and feeling out of place, your people had looked upon Count Fenring’s narrow, proud face. You knew him to be conniving and manipulative in nature, a renowned assassin, and the Emperor Shaddam’s right-hand man. He was neutral toward the labourers; as long as they kept up on the plantation of their planet’s rice, he had no issues. He would often make dealings with the noblemen and women of Caladan; it was very rare that the rice labourers were added to any conversation.

“House Harkonnen of Giedi Prime is seeking entertainment, to those willing-"  Count Fenring’s voice boomed, sitting atop his makeshift throne. 

His voice is cut off by your thoughts at the Planet’s name. Baron Vladimir Harkonnen of Giedi Prime, called your Count “The ambassador to the smugglers” in spice production. 

He continues. “I know you do not get to leave your trusted duties among the fields very often, but consider this a gift of sorts - whoever is able, and willing to be “battle entertainment” to the Na-Baron of House Harkonnen, Feyd-Rautha, will be permitted to win your chance at freedom to travel to a new planet, a new experience.. You don’t ever have to return.”

An audible chorus of gasps are heard amongst your peoples. Hushed angry whispers fill the room. You gape at the vagrant display of lack of remorse for human life. You knew little, but House Harkonnen enjoyed pleasures in gore and sadism, is what you did know. What’s in it for your Count? This has to do with spice dealings.

“Freedom to die?”  a male voice questioned loudly. “You dangle freedom in the air as if House Harkonnen has any, and to dangle us in front of the Harkonnen brutes like meat!”

The crowd got louder and louder in frustration and opposition. The Count’s voice bellows as his army hits their swords to the ground in a clang to signify the rice labourers to quiet their naysayers. “Enough. To those who are not interested, you may leave. You are not forced to stay. To those that are, please remain.”

A number of your people shuffled out in a hurry, their bodies a large mass squeezing through the royal entryway. You blink. This is downright morbid.  You had never considered such a thing before, as you only knew your planet to be worthy of laying down your roots until the end of time.

You feel your mother reach for your hands. They are warm, and so is her eyes as she peers into the core of your being.

Your planet is beautiful -  access to bodies of lakes, rocky mountains, majestic trees and budding flowers, delicious rice... 

“You should go.” she mutters. “Live for us.”

Her words a grim truth. Brutal honesty. And that was enough for you.

A handful of the peasants stay alongside you. Your mother places her lips upon your cheek in a chaste kiss.  Your tear ducts well with water as her hand leaves your grasp. Somehow, you know it’s too late to turn back now. You don’t know what made you follow Count Fenring onto the ship and not look back. A chaotic chance for something other than field work? A plunge into absurdity?

You could try absurdity for a while, you decided.

PART 1 PART 2

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Editor’s note: This hypothetically open letter was originally posted by its anonymous author on Medium and was rapidly removed as “hate speech.” We found it to be a refreshing dose of honesty, a charming and relatable open letter from one parent to other parents (not to the child, obviously!) about dealing with a challenging and dangerous moment in raising children, especially “weird” adolescents who search for their identities harder than others and risk making life-damaging mistakes in a way never before possible. We are reposting it here on New Discourses with the permission of the author.

--

By: Donna M.

Published: Mar 5, 2021

My dear, sweet, son,

I’ve got to break it to you: you’re not trans, you’re just weird.

This seems like a cruel thing to point out right now. Clearly, you are struggling and feeling pretty awful about things. I can see that you are in a rough patch, and one of the first rules of parenting is to not pile on. The world is pretty heavy on your shoulders. You’re fifteen. There’s a pandemic going on. But here I come anyway. I’m about to throw more on you.

When you were two ­– a happy, chubby, little tyke in pull-ups, you watched the world with wary eyes behind the thumb in your mouth. You leapt with joy in the rhythm of the toddle music classes. You chattered and shared stories about your stuffed animals. You loved your little sister. Enjoyed cookies and finger painting. That was all pretty normal.

But you also started to count to one thousand on our walks. And you started to call out the store names as we drove around. And you preferred reading books rather than playing with the other two-year-olds at preschool. And you hated sitting in the circle when instructed. And you hated the feel of blue jeans. And you threw big tantrums when you lost any kind of game. In other words, you started to show signs that you were… weird.

The grandparents were the first to notice. They said gentle things like “You oughta keep an eye on that one,” and sent us links to Wall Street Journal articles about child prodigies. And then the other parents in the play groups started to comment; “He’s pretty intense, huh?” And the teachers were on to it pretty quickly. They started to use fancy terms like “asynchronous development.”

By third grade, we realized you were different, but we still didn’t realize you were weird. Truthfully, we’re used to people like you. Our family is full of engineers, artists, musicians, computer programmers, and a lot of “free-thinkers.” Family gatherings always have chess, political debates, and quartets around the piano. That’s just us.

And besides, you had a small but solid group of friends. There was Pokémon, then Minecraft, then Magic, then Dungeons and Dragons, then Catan. You were never in the center of things, but you weren’t alone.

But then, in middle school, things started to change. By 7th grade, school finally started to require some effort, and it turned out you were pretty disorganized. People kept calling you smart, but the teachers were annoyed at your humor, and frustrated that you wouldn’t or couldn’t follow the guidelines for assignments. Classmates didn’t appreciate your frank (if accurate) descriptions of their efforts. I’ll admit, we got pretty frustrated with you, too.

And then puberty arrived, with its triple curse of acne, braces, and bizarre growth. The girls appeared to have it all together (I know they don’t, but they do appear that way). And the popular boys seemed to know exactly what to do. They can talk sports to each other, they brag about their romantic exploits. They never get in trouble for stupid reasons like forgetting an assignment three times in a row. Your anxiety started to kick in, and it seemed like you got smaller. And some of your guy friends moved on.

So you drifted over to the weird-o crowd. Well — I’m not sure what you call yourselves, but that’s what we would have called you back when I was in school. At different schools these are the geeks, or the theater kids, the math team kids, or the artsy-fartsy kids. This used to be where the gay kids ended up, but I think they’re more dispersed now. You get some kids whose parents are going through some rough times. Some girls with anorexia. A few boys who are edgy and angry. Kids with a great sense of humor and big hearts.

And some of these kids are really passionate. Just full of righteous anger about the injustices of the world. And some of them are dramatic. And truthfully, that looks pretty attractive to you. Because you share some of that confusion and anger about the world. And though you may not be sure what you think or what you feel, you are certain you don’t want to be on the bad side. You certainly aren’t like those popular boys with their suave charm and dominating manners. You’re not like them at all.

You’re actually more like those vibrant girls who can speak for hours about their ideas. Well, you would be if you could find the words to speak. And there is something so fascinating about those girls, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. You’d never think about talking to those girls anyway, because that’d be weird. Because you are weird. You’ve never been good at chit-chat, or eye contact. Or girls. And besides, you wouldn’t want them to get the wrong impression. You understand that your peers are starting to date, but you really don’t see the point. Sex is still gross and weird to you. It’s better to just call yourself “asexual” or “pansexual.” It’s like a get-out-of-jail-free card that helps you avoid the whole mess. And your group of friends tell you that you are super cool and brave for being able to say that about yourself.

But you’ve fallen into a funk. Anyone can see that. But computer games help. And there’s always trying to beat the speed record for that one game you’re kinda good at. And that one guy on reddit always has good tricks. And the people on that message board seem to get your humor.

So when one of them posts a meme about trans rights, it makes sense that you’d check it out. You’re curious! You’re a free thinker! You’re not like the normies. And the web quiz hits home. You do feel discomfort with your body. You don’t like sports. You do wonder what it would be like to be a girl. You’ve always felt like something was different about you.

You’re right. There is something different about you.

But you’re not trans, you’re just weird.

So we’re right here for you. We’ll always be here for you. But those online folks who urge you to “crack your trans egg” and rush to hormones and surgeries don’t know you at all. They don’t know that gifted kids and ADHD kids and Autism kids and Asperger’s kids are slower to develop emotionally and sexually. They don’t know that sexuality takes time and experience to figure out, and that the majority of trans teens seeking medical treatment haven’t even masturbated or kissed someone yet. They don’t know that 80% of trans children end up becoming comfortable with their birth sex if you just give them time. They don’t know that there are increasing numbers of desisting and de-transitioning people in their twenties. They don’t realize that hormones permanently stunt your growth, decrease your IQ, and can cause sterility. They don’t know that these hormones are prescribed off-label and there’s no research on the long-term outcomes. They don’t even know that the most recent research shows that short-term outcomes are clearly worse.

They don’t realize that you’re weird. But I do. You’re weird, kiddo. You’ll figure that out in a year or two. But that’s okay. We are all weird. And I love you anyway. You’re going to be just fine.

==

You always hear stories and justifications like, "she never liked wearing a dress," or "he always hated having his hair cut." This is post-hoc confirmation bias. Not only does this confirm everything critics say about this being a movement based on gross stereotypes, but they always leave out things like, "she refused to eat anything yellow," and "he was obsessed with elevator and crossing buttons and would cry if he wasn't the one to light it up."

It's okay to be weird.

[scarletwinterxx]

your beginning and middle and end - mark lee imagine

hello🥺 sooo this one is a bit longer than my usual posts. think of it as a valentine special. i loved writing this one, i hope you like it too🤍

if you have a request or scenario you want me to do, just send me a message I'll see what I can do😊💌

For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

FEBRUARY 09, 10AM

"That's the fourth date you declined, girl valentines is around the corner" Yun-jin tells you the moment the other guy walked away

"Genuine question, do I need a guy to celebrate it or do I even need to celebrate it?"

"If Valentines has a version of the grinch it would be you"

You laugh at her statement, reading over the small note that was given to you along with a single rose. It was cute, you appreciate the thought but you really didn't want to go out with the dude. You'd rather let them down now than pretend to have fun during a date.

"It's just not my thing" you tell her

"Then what's your thing? Tell me and I will personally look for him"

Looks like luck is on your side because you spot the big clock behind her, your next class about to start.

"Once I know, I'll tell you. I'm gonna be late. Bye" you gather your stuff and rushed out the hall, you can hear her protests making you laugh on your way out.

When you got to your next class, the other students are just arriving. A lot of vacant seats, you choose the one in the middle. You get your notes and laptop out to skim over your notes from the last session.

"Another one?" you hear someone say from behind you making you look up

"Yep, want to read it?" you chuckle, passing the rose over to Mark.

Mark Lee, the boy you sit next to class with. You see him enough around campus to get acquainted. He's friendly, known by many, a poet by heart. And he's also well aware of the failed confessions to you.

The first time you brought a flower to class he didn't say anything, the second time he thought it was from the same person but then the third time it happened right in front of him. He witnessed how you gently turned down the poor lad who was asking you out after handing you a rose.

Mark takes his usual seat beside you before reading the note

"You and Me, on v? huh like Valentines?" he laughs, holding the little card in his hand

"I'd give it a 4 out of 10"

"Ouch, so the lowest one then. I'd say my favorite is still the one about cats" he tells you, passing the rose back to you

Do you like cats? Because I’d like you to take meowt

You remember that one too. You thought it was cringey, but Mark smiled when he read it. You even let him keep the card.

"Do you still have it?" you ask "The card? Oh yea, I drew like little cats all over it. I'm sure it's somewhere in my bag"

"Why? Planning to use it on someone?"

"Yeah right, I think I'd have a bit more game than that" he jokes

"Ha, we'll see about that" you snorted. Missing the way Mark is looking at you with small grin on his face. Trying to be as inconspicuous as he could be.

The two of you might be on good terms but he wouldn't put it past you to reject him too. Since he got to know you, one thing he learned about you is that you're always so sure of yourself. To you, no is a full sentence. You like what you like and say no to what you don't. You're unapologetically you and he likes that.

He's not sure yet whether he likes you or likes you.

"Earth to Mark?" you wave your hand in front of his face, making him break out of his thoughts

"Lost you there, where'd you go" you joke

"Was just thinking about this paper I have due on Tuesday" he says, it's not a total lie. He does have a paper he needs to finish before Valentines day.

"Need help? I have a few works to catch up on too"

"You don't have plans?" he asks, it's like asking if you have a date on Valentines without asking if you have a date on Valentines day.

"Not really no, and if I'm being honest I heard this guy planning to ask about dinner and I'd rather not..."

"Am I... the getaway car?" You chuckle at his question

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but if I could avoid it I would. So library or the cafe near campus?"

He looks at you like he's weighing his options, playfully hitting him on the arm making the guy laugh "Cafe it is, I'll see you there?" he says

"It's a date" you grin at him

FEBRUARY 12, 11AM

"It's not"

"You said she said it was" Jungwoo says, looking at Mark who is currently trying to find something to wear. After that little moment with you, Mark made sure to clear up his schedule for that day. Ofcourse Jungwoo being the nosy bestfriend didn't let it pass without making Mark tell the whole story.

"Also if this wasn't a date, why are you freaking out about what to wear? You're just going to study, are you going to study her?"

Mark throws the hoodie at Jungwoo's face before looking through his closet again, "Maybe it was just a slip of tongue. It's Y/N, she rejects everyone who asks her out" Mark says while his head is buried deep in his closet

Jungwoo rolls his eyes at his bestfriend, Mark swears he doesn't like you like that and yet here he is. He only met you a couple of time, Mark introduced you before when he went to give Mark a book he forgot to bring.

"I can think of something else you want her tongue to slip in" he mumbles, "Shut up, don't talk about her like that" Mark stands up straight, looking at the other guy. Jungwoo holds his hands up, "Sorry"

Mark gives him another glare before getting a hoodie inside his closet, "Whatever, I'll just wear this. Should I bring an extra one just in case?"

"Just in case what? You spill something?" Jungwoo jokes

In case she gets cold, Mark thinks to himself.

"Just cause" Mark grumbles, walking back to his closet to get another hoodie then stuffing it inside his backpack.

"You're going to be late, go have fun at your not a date date"

About an hour after that, Mark is waiting for you at the cafe. He got there first and sent you a quick text. After a few minutes, the door chimed making Mark look up.

And that's when you walk in, a bouquet of blue tulips in your grasp. You look around, quickly spotting Mark. You make your way towards him, Mark stands up to pull the chair out for you. Saying a quick thank you then you set your stuff down.

"Sorry I'm late"

"Nah, I'm just early" he tells you, "You uh the guy caught you?" he jokes, pointing at flowers

"Oh these? No, I got them actually like I bought it this morning. Yun-jin forgot to buy milk so I had to go out this morning then I saw these. Here" then you're handing the flowers over to him

When you notice the confused look on his face, you giggle. This made Mark look more confused at what's happening, "What? No one ever gave you flowers?" you joke

"No, it's suppose to be the other way 'round?" he asks but accepts it nonetheless

You shrug, getting your stuff out

"I don't like flowers, main reason why I always say no to those dudes. I appreciate the effort, I do but it's not my style. But I remember you said these are your favorite during our class introductions, so I got them for you" you smile at him, he smiles back.

"Thanks, no like really thank you" he says, this made you chuckle finding the situation cute.

"Okay, back to business. I do have like three agendas to finish today" you tell him, gesturing at the small stack of papers on the table

"I'll buy you a chocolate cupcake if you finish it all" he offers, your face lighting up at the mention of the sweet treat. Mark also remembers something about you during that class intro.

Actually he remembers everything about you and that day. The professor asked everyone to say their name along with two random facts about themselves.

"Hi everyone my name is Y/N, I love chocolate cupcakes and I can recite the graduation speech from Twilight"

That earned a few laughs from the class, and from him. You really did leave an impression on him. As days, weeks and months passed by the two of you got acquainted.

If someone asks (mainly Jungwoo) Mark when was the exact moment he felt different about you, he can't pinpoint the exact moment. It just sort of happened for him. Maybe from all the small gestures you unknowingly do, or how it's easy to talk to you. You just get him.

"Can you make it two?" tilting your head to the side for effect, making Mark laugh and nod his head "You got it"

A few hours later, and a few cups of coffee the two of you finally finish. Mark actually finished his paper an hour ago but you weren't done with the last module you had to do,

"Are you done? Am I making you wait?" you ask, noticing he stopped doing anything and was just looking at you

"Huh? Oh uh yea, but don't worry about it. I can wait" he tells you with a smile

"You sure? I'm almost done"

"Don't rush it, I'll still buy you the cupcakes" he tells you, you shoot him a smile before going back to work. Meanwhile Mark goes to the front of the store to get you your cupcakes.

You didn't even notice he stood up, focusing on saving the file before sending the final file to your professor.

"And done! Mark?" you look up only to find the seat infront of you empty. You spot him over the counter, choosing to wait and tidy your things in the mean time.

"Hey, you done?" he asks when he got back to your table

"Mhm, finally. Sorry for taking up your whole afternoon"

"No worries, I finished my work too and I enjoyed your company. And as promised, here's your cupcakes" Mark then opens the box, he might as well presented you with a pot of gold with the way you're grinning from ear to ear. Your joy radiating, making him smile too.

"For me?" you asked, he nods his head

"These are the chocolate ones, I got two. The others are their best sellers, then this one I just thought you might like" he points at the cupcake with heart sprinkles on it.

You laugh, getting the box from him "Okay fine, I believe you. You definitely how to make a girl say yes"

He shakes his head, suddenly feeling shy "Believe me I'm not an expert when it comes to girls" he mumbles

"No, but you got this type of vibe about you you know" you tell him, getting one cupcake from the box

"What vibe?"

"You know like someone could've been in love with you for ten years without you knowing, a classic case of unrequited love but not in a mean way you just don't really know. It's the way you see the world, it's always nice, forgiving, full of chances. You see meaning even in little things. You got this boyish charm about you, the kind that girls would pick over their fictional boyfriends. You're better than any guy written by anyone" you tell him not noticing the way he's just staring at you

"I follow you on your socials, it's cute when you take pictures of the moon or the sky. Makes me remember to take a breath and be in the moment every once in a while"

He don't say anything, still processing what you said. He has never heard himself be described that way, atleast not to his face but he doubts anyone can be as eloquent as you.

"Can I ask you something?" he finally finds his voice, you nod at him

"Why do you say no to all the boys who ask you out? besides the cringey one liners and flowers"

You chuckle, "Because I know me. All of them would've just ended one way or another. I know what I want, what I like. I like a guy I can have an actual conversation with from philosophical point of views to something so random. Someone that makes it feel easy to talk and listen to"

"Do you know how hard it is to control my expression when I'm in public? Yun-jin said my face is too judgy" you jokingly add "I'm an open book if you know how to read it exactly, if that makes sense"

"No, I totally get it. You're not complicated or hard to get, they just don't know how to. You deserve more effort than that" he tells you

"See, that's what I'm talking about. If you keep on doing that I'm gonna be the one asking you out" you tease him, the guy across you laughing. Trying to hide his blushing cheeks and fluttering heart.

The two of you talked some more before he offered to walk you home. It's almost sunset when Mark got back to his place,

"And he's back, how was the date?" Jungwoo shouts from somewhere inside. Mark spots him lounging on the couch, taking a seat beside him with the bouquet of flowers on his lap

"You got rejected too?" Jungwoo asks and Mark just shakes head

"Did you forget to give it? Got too shy? I'm pretty sure you're suppose to give it to the girl not take it back home"

"I didn't get it, I mean I got it but I got it from her. She bought me these" Mark clarifies, taking the bouquet to look at it again,

Jungwoo looks back and forth between Mark and the flowers, "Let me get this straight, the girl whose notorious for turning down guys who gives her flowers gave you flowers on your not a date date?"

Mark just stares back at his bestfriend because honestly it doesn't make sense to him too.

"Homegirl got more game than you" Jungwoo says with a chuckle

"She said she remembered I said these were my favorite. I mentioned it once during freshmen orientation week and she remembered"

"Oh my god, he's in love" Jungwoo laughs

"And you know, I gave her cupcakes and she got so happy I actually thought about signing up for baking classes" Mark grumbles, setting the flowers on the coffee table before taking a thrown pillow to bury his face in.

Jungwoo watches his bestfriend realized what he's known for a while now. Mark likes you. He just never said it. It's Mark. He thinks everyone is nice, most time he overlooks the nice gestures of other girls to him thinking it's normal when in reality they were trying to get his attention.

"Oh. This must be serious then. You don't even know how to cook"

"Yeah I know! Like I know I like her, I didn't know I like her." it felt surreal finally admitting it out loud.

"So you do like her? like like her"

"I think?"

"It's a yes or no"

"No, I don't"

"You got him flowers"

Meanwhile back at your dorm, Yun-jin is also interrogating you. You just finished giving her a recap of your day, she was half listening half watching her show when you suddenly mentioned you got flowers for Mark

"Just because I got him flowers don't mean I like him, I just remembered it was his favorite" you shrug, trying to not make a big deal out of it.

"What's my favorite flower?" she asks, you blink back at her coming up with a blank answer

"See! Oh my gosh, my baby girl is growing up" she dramatically hugs you

"Was that weird? That I gave him flowers?"

"No, it's the 21st century. Guys can get flowers too"

"He got me cupcakes too" you mumble, looking at the box on the table.

Yun-jin watches you, smiling to herself. She's with you twenty four seven and she's never seen you like this. There are a few times she's seen you on campus with Mark, you always smile whenever he's around. Choosing not to push further, she gives the topic a rest and changing it to something else

"So what are you doing for valentines? because if you're free I know this dude who's free also-" "Actually Mark and I are hanging out again" you cut her off

"You're spending valentines with Mark?"

"Yea, so uhm actually I'm gonna call it a night. I have classes in the morning, we're meeting again around lunch. Night" then you're making a beeline towards your bedroom.

FEBRUARY 14, 10AM

Come Valentines day. Yun-jin thinks you're out with Mark while the boy is completely unaware he's being mentioned.

Choosing a place you know Yun-jin won't find you, you stayed at the farthest lounge area after class. Most students won't even walk all the way here since it's a long way going back and forth.

Finding a spot to sit on, you spot someone sitting alone on one the benches

"Mark?"

The boy looks up, immediately smiling when he sees it's you

"Hey, you. What are you doing here?" he asks, getting his stuff from the seat beside him to make room for you. Putting your stuff on the table before taking the seat beside him

"I just finished for the day, and currently hiding from Yun-jin"

He chuckles, "Why?"

"She's trying to set me up with a blind date so I pretended I had plans" leaving out the part he was mentioned

"You don't have plans?" he asks, giving himself a pat on the back for not sounding too nervous

You shake your head, "I have something to say though, I might have told her I had plans... with you"

Mark just looks at you, feeling shy under his gaze you look away.

"With me?"

"Yea, sorry. You don't have to stay though if you have plans don't worry about it. Go enjoy your valentines day" you told him a bit too energetic than you intended.

Then he smiles, Mark smiles at you like he's keeping a secret he can't wait to tell.

"What?"

"I don't have plans, I was going to ask if you had plans yesterday but I didn't want to overstep"

"What do you mean? You're just asking" you smile back at him, "Did you think I was going to say no like always? Oh my gosh I swear I'm not as heartless. I wasn't-"

"No no no, of course I didn't think that. I mean I don't think you're heartless" he pauses to collect his thought because right now words are flying out faster than he can think of them.

And if he got one chance at this, he'll make sure to do it right the first time.

Then you start speaking again, surprising Mark once again with your words

"Yun-jin said I smile a lot when I'm with you, now that I think about it I think I do. It's just you're easy to be with, and I feel relaxed like I can talk to you about anything and you listen. It's also so fun to listen to your stories, especially when you get this animated look on your face. And when you laugh before you can even say the joke. Am I rambling, sorry I'm rambling"

He takes your hand, holding it in his. Testing the waters to see how you'll react. When you don't pull away, he gets a card out from his notebook. Then he hands it over to you,

Today we are obliged to be romantic And think of yet another Valentine. We know the rules, and we are both pedantic. Today’s the day we have to be romantic. Our love is old and sure, not new and frantic. You know I’m yours, and I know you are mine. And saying that has made me feel romantic, My dearest love, my darling valentine.

You read the note carefully, a smile slowly forming on your face while Mark watches you. When the thinks you finish it, he speaks up

"I read that, and I thought about you. You're worth more than a one liner, more than a single flower. You deserve poems to be written about you, gardens to walk through with the prettiest flowers"

You playfully hit him, reading the card again before putting it in your bag for safe keeping

"I love it, thank you. Now I feel bad I got you nothing"

"It's okay, I didn't even know I was going to give it to you. I was ready to just hide it in my bag for the rest of time" he admits

"Why? It's so nice though"

"Yea but I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable"

"I appreciate it really. Out of all the notes I received, I'll keep this one"

At that he smiles.

Like how the story began, with one liner notes and a single flower, who knew you'd find a friend and now something more. Mark is someone you didn't expect you'd have something romantic with especially since you're not really looking for it but it makes sense that you'd end up with him. He makes your days brighter, it's like he bring everything that is good into your world.

When you said he's the kind of guy who beats every fictional character, it's true because he gave you something better than a fairytale; a reality worth living in.

And yes spoiler, you do end up with him. The story ends with you and him. Spending all of your valentines together.

end.

[solavelyan]

I was tagged to do a fic author self rec with 5 of my personal favorites by @crackinglamb! I wrote rarepair stuff I really liked last year and feel like some other stuff aged well, so I'm gonna go for it. (And it's all Dragon Age, so I'm doing this on ye olde sideblog whee.)

Solas/F!Trevelyan is kind of what I hang my hat on around here a little bit, so I'll start with those. Most of the time the Trevelyan in question is my best girl, Thayet. She's not my most self-indulgent OC but she's definitely up there.

pull the moon to the waves (Explicit, Solas/F!Trevelyan, 10,640 words) - A canon divergent fic where Solas and Thayet admit their feelings for each other (kind of) during the journey from Haven to Skyhold, and that kicks off the romance instead of the Fade kiss in Skyhold.

This fic ruined my life a little bit because apparently if you write the Inquisitor getting fisted in a tent one time, three years later your friends are still telling "tentfic" and "fisting" jokes like they're getting a tax writeoff for it. It's also just the story that seems to keep coming back! It's actually a rewrite of an older fic called "the responsible thing" (objectively a horrible title but I'm not changing it now) from 2018 that I did as a kink meme fill, and it's getting a second rewrite as part of a longer fic that I'm working on right now but isn't getting posted yet.

Bittersweet & Strange (Mature, Solas/F!Trevelyan, 37,188 words) - A Beauty and the Beast retelling where Skyhold is the enchanted castle and Fen'Harel is the beast that haunts it.

I wrote this in less than 2 months for the @dacreateathon in 2022, and there's a part of me that would love to do a rewrite to let it be longer (...and smuttier), but I'm intensely proud of how it turned out given the time frame. I actually had Lamb and @ir0n-angel beta this one for me to help me stay on schedule, which was invaluable, I never, ever would have finished it without them being my accountability buddies and spellcheckers. I really really enjoyed writing it and think very fondly of it.

Hawke is Dead/Not Dead (Explicit, Fenris/F!Hawke, 3,224 words) - Fenris and Hawke both make for Skyhold after Adamant, Fenris because Hawke is dead, Hawke because Hawke is alive.

I wrote this for my very first exchange ever, @dasmutquisition, in 2022 (which currently has open sign-ups, btw!). I'm so fond of it and I honestly think the best parts of it are before any of the smut happens.

dying now a second time (Mature, F!Trevelyan/M!Lavellan, 17,058 words) - Taking place mostly pre-Inquisition during Thayet Trevelyan's time as a Templar, this one is mostly from the perspective of the First Enchanter of Ostwick Circle, who is a very, very canon divergent M!Lavellan, Aeryk. Told in four vignettes, it focuses on the requited but ultimately tragic love affair between them in the Circle and in the aftermath of its fall.

Aeryk is my wife's OC, so this is part creative endeavor, part personal love letter. We write together a lot, and over the last 10 years Aeryk and Thayet have gone from kind of a silly ship that we fell into during an RP game to something rather serious and dramatic that makes it into... pretty much everything we do together. They've both changed so much over the years, and DA!Aeryk has been a vague figure in Thayet's backstory for years before I really sat down to hammer out details. The wife gave me her endorsement and a lot of freedom to add details to him for this continuity.

Although it might say something about me that I got her permission to use Aeryk for fic and immediately used it to basically edge him for 17,000 words before metaphorically murdering him. So, uh. Sorry, buddy. I love u. It's a really good fic, though, I swear.

more and smaller ways of dying (Explicit, F!Trevelyan/M!Lavellan, 5,011 words) - An alternate version of chapter 3 of "dying now a second time", where Aeryk is cured of his Tranquility by the Breach and he and Thayet fuck on the floor of the Redcliffe Chantry after dispatching Alexius.

I felt bad about the other fic. Felt like they deserved it. And honestly this isn't even the only time I'm spinning off from "dying now...", I'm halfway through the first chapter of a fic that starts just after the end of the first chapter. I love them. Make them kiss. Mwuah.

I'm going to tag @volkoss, @queenaeducan, @dismalzelenka, @jellydishes, @sulky-valkyrie, and whomever else would like to do it :D

[mirisss]

Enhypen poly reaction to "The new Kard"

Pairing: Enhypen OT6 (not including Niki because he’s a minor) x idol! (Y/n)

Wordcount ≈ 600

Warning: Kard’s song Cake is referenced (quite a sexual song & choreo), some sexual innuendo, mdni, nothing explicit,  

Summary: In a world where the Kard we know today doesn’t exist, instead a new Kard is created. “The new Kard” = (Y/n) - 02 liner dating Enhypen, Keeho (P1harmony), Ricky (ZB1), & Yunjin (Lesserafim). So how will Enhypen react to their beloved girlfriend’s debut? 

Authors note: Thank you for the request! This was such a fun idea, I’m not an expert when it comes to Kard but I listen to their music every now and then. It’s sort of short but it’s mostly because it’s a reaction fic. Not my best work, but I hope you still enjoy it. 

Request by 🍮 - anon

Please reblog! 

Third person POV

(Y/n) participated in I-Land with the Enhypen boys where they all fell in love and entered a poly relationship, though unfortunately, (Y/n) did not debut with the boys. Instead (Y/n) had to wait another 2 years until she got to debut, her debut group was one-of-a-kind as it was a four-member co-ed group consisting of Yoon Keeho, Huh Yunjin, (L/n) (Y/n), and Shěn Ricky. 

Enhypen was waiting for the MV for (Y/n)’s debut song to drop. They couldn't wait to see the choreo or hear the song as (Y/n) had told them, they would be very surprised. The members were counting down the seconds to see the MV, just the same as a lot of pre-debut fans were. Enhypen had gotten permission from HYBE to stream their reaction to the MV as it was well known that Enhypen and The New Kard were good friends, the relationship between Enhypen and (Y/n) hadn’t been released yet but the fans knew the two groups were good friends. 

“3, 2, 1! It’s out!!! LET’S GO!!!” Jake screamed as the other five boys laughed. Jake clicked on the now-posted MV for “Cake” by The New Kard, they were very intrigued by the name ‘Cake’. (For reference here, check out Cake by Kard). Throughout the entire MV, the Enhypen boys kept shouting “OH! WAH! Holy!” And things alike it. The fans watching the stream were freaking out over Enhypen’s reactions as the boys seemed to be speechless but also a little turned on by the way they were blushing and watching one of the Kard members. The fans couldn’t tell if it was Yunjin or (Y/n) they were so focused on. 

Once the MV was over, the Enhypen boys were blushing and giggling like crazy. “Wah, that was, wow,” Was all Jay managed to say. A few minutes later they ended the live and called (Y/n), asking her to come over. 

* When (Y/n) arrives at Enhypen’s dorm * 

“Hey guys,” “Hey, baby,” Heesung said as he gave (Y/n) a hug the second she stepped inside. (Y/n) noticed the looks the boys had in their eyes, it was playful. “Come on, come inside,” Sunoo said giving her his signature innocent smile that she loved, though the look in his eyes told a very different story to his smile. “What’s up with you guys?” “Hmm, (Y/n), why don’t you show us the choreo to Cake? We want to see it live,” Sunghoon whispered in her ear, causing chills to run down her back. “Please, baby? It looked so good in the MV, I bet it looks much better in real life,” Jungwon said before kissing her cheek. “Of course,” If anyone else had asked, (Y/n) would never have done it but now it was her dear boyfriends and she too felt very excited by their reaction. 

Not my gifs - but this is pretty much how I imagine their reactions

[diffidentphantom]

Built For Sin - Husk x OFC - Chapter I

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

will contain Dark!Overlord Husk in flashback scenes

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

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

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

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

Story Posted: 09-25-2024

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

Word Count: 919

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

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

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

Gambling. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Four heads turned to look over at him. 

Charlie and Vaggie gazed at him in concern and confusion. 

Alastor in open mockery and amusement. 

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

[andronomenom]

Bruisers Part III: Can I Still be Gentle?

18+ MDNI

Content warnings: addiction, relapse, alcohol, hangover/vomiting, honestly mostly angst, tiny bit of comfort

Word Count ~ 3.8k

Author’s Note: Part three? Two parts in two days? I’m not done with this yet. So much for a one shot.

Not edited, hopefully coherent. Heed the content warnings.

Bucky Barnes x Reader, not even remotely canon so don’t come at me, reader and Bucky have been posted at a military base together but have no established friendship, no use of Y/N, reader is referred to as “Scout”, no assigned gender. Reader relapses, Bucky’s there to pick up the pieces.

In the rare event that this is worth stealing, I wrote this myself. You do not have permission to copy or repost this without crediting me. I may not know where you live, but I can figure it out.

~~~

It was a few days before you were ready, really ready to return to base. Not something you were looking forward to, but something that you told yourself needed to be done.

For the first time in what may have been years, you had done nothing. A few days in quiet, your biggest ventures being quiet walks through the woods. You remembered why you got into your line of work.

You enjoyed the quiet of the forest, you enjoyed trying to move like you weren’t there. Move silently not because you needed to hide, but because you were enjoying watching. For these few quiet days, everything else felt a little less important. It had to come to an end eventually though.

Bucky dropped you off at your car so you could drive back to base alone. It gave you time to fall back into routine without alerting anyone to your temporary fragile state of mind. Or, at least you hoped it was temporary.

It was easy to say you were fine, it was easy to greet your team and turn any questions they had about your brief break back to them. Did the commander get their reports? Did he try to send them anywhere while you were gone? No to both.

You weren’t surprised to hear either. Of course he didn’t want their input, he just wanted things to run smoothly. And that was probably the same reason he let your team rest while you were gone. You kept things running smoothly. You listened to every complaint. You let your team vent, you stood up for them as needed, you kept it under control. God forbid he had to get his hands dirty with the concerns of others.

And then, it was time to make your own report. Time to fill in both your commander and Bucky on the events that had transpired on your last mission. You had managed to avoid getting into it since you left. Now, you had no choice but to do so. At least were alone in the commander’s office, able to say your piece without acknowledging how painful it was.

It wasn’t all that bad at first. If you just stayed the facts it was almost like it had happened to someone else. You could just be a third party recounting a story, not a character in it.

“Lietnenant, I don’t need to know the time of every event. Tell me what you saw so we can decide whether or not to move in.”

Shit, he was onto you. Onto the way you delivered every detail as if they were all related incidents that concluded in a difficult day. You were almost tempted to play it down. Make it seem like there was nothing to worry about because you knew who the first boots on the ground would be. But, you also knew he wouldn’t rest until he got what he wanted out of you. He always seemed to know more than he was letting on, he just wanted to hear it from your lips.

“I don’t know who they are or what they want, but someone is building a base of their own there. They don’t want company, and they’re armed. They heard us before we saw them. Maybe fifty people. I told my unit to retreat before it turned into a fight and they were able to.” You didn’t get into the various mild injuries that occurred or how scared everyone left. The medical reports would spell that out on their own.

“Do you have anything to report or do we need to send in someone else to do your job for you?” The commander sneered. You knew what he was doing, and you hated it. Hated the way he managed to rile you up just by questioning your competence and hated how badly it made you want to try harder. Put more on the line, forget more of yourself, just for the sake of proving yourself.

“You can’t send a unit back in. Whoever is running that operation will be waiting for us now.” You weren’t lying, a dozen people wouldn’t go by unnoticed. But you knew that wasn’t enough. The commander always got what he wanted and sometimes he even managed to make you think it was what you wanted. “I can get more information for you. If you send me back in, I can get a proper layout of the place, but you can’t send the rest of them back in.”

“Good. You have half an hour to get ready. We’ve put this off long enough in your absence.”

You left. This was one of the few times you wouldn’t fight back. It would only make things worse, it would make him apply more terms to the service you so begrudgingly supplied.

~~~

Bucky watched you dart from the commander’s office back to your own room and emerge not ten minutes later dressed in your gear and carrying a rucksack.

He fought the urge to stop you, to ask what was going on. He had given you all the support you were willing to accept and at the end of the day you were still soldiers. Distracting you or making you question orders was the last thing you needed at this moment. You had to keep your head clear so he let you.

He let you go even when you did so alone, but he had to know at least something about what was happening. He could just ask the commander a few details, play it off like he just wanted to plan for the company’s next move.

“They need to bring back more information before we can do anything. Sit tight, Barnes, and wait for their report.”

That was it, that was all he got and there was no chance in hell he would get any answer other than that. So, he waited. He tried to return to his own normal. Tried to distract himself with training and whatever entertainment he could get his hands on and his head into.

The library always seemed to have something, but not for today. Not for tonight. Not for the next forty-eight hours while you were gone. He couldn’t read anything too real and even the characters in the most fantastical stories faced trials that hit a little close to home.

~~~

When you returned, it was well past midnight. It was pouring rain and there wasn’t a star in the sky. You were so cold. The kind of cold that settled into your bones and made your headache. If you were honest with yourself, it wasn’t just the cold making your head pound.

You immediately headed into the commander’s office. He was waiting for you, like a starving wolf, hungry for whatever information he could glean from your experience. You obliged, you recounted your journey and you didn’t bother to complain. It didn’t matter if you did, there was no one to complain for, aside from yourself.

You didn’t bother seeing a medic before going to bed. You peeled off your soaking gear and thanked the rain for at least removing some of the dried mud that had stuck to your skin. You loaded yourself into a shower and sat on the cool tile floor. The water turned cold but you couldn’t work up the strength to get up.

You were finally able to scrape up enough will to exit and get dressed when you thought about how much better it would be to lie down under covers. And yet, when you had finally showered off as much of the stress as you could, you felt so awake. So awake and so fucking exhausted and so restless. You walked the base like a wind up toy. Around and around with no regard for direction, hoping the next lap, the next turn, the next breath would be the one to wear you out.

Your thoughts were so loud that you didn’t notice Bucky approaching. You weren’t able to hide how jumpy you were, especially when it seemed like he had appeared from the shadows and your hands were still shaking from adrenaline.

“Sorry.” Why were you apologizing? What about showing any vulnerability made you more nervous than you already were.

“How’s your night?” He asked, keeping step with you.

He didn’t make you slow down or explain yourself. He was just there and you didn’t know if that frightened you or comforted you.

“It’s going.” You laughed dryly. If you were vague enough he might not try to push.

“You were gone for awhile. Were you alone the whole time?”

“For the most part.” Fuck, what about him asking made you want to talk. Why did you slip in anything that would open the door to more questions.

He nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on the path ahead. “You wanna talk about it.”

“No.” You huffed, the weight in your chest pushing out the oxygen you so desperately needed.

“You alright?”

“No.” You surprised yourself with your own honesty. You could have just pretended. You could put on a show for him, make it look like you were recovering just fine. You knew it wouldn’t fool him though.

“Have you been reading anything lately?” You tried to deflect, even if it was a poor attempt.

“Tried, haven’t found anything interesting yet.”

“What about the rest of The Lord of the Rings series?”

“Couldn’t get into it.” He shrugged. He had a thoughtful look on his face, as if he was weighing of pressing or letting you distract yourself would be more harmful. But this wasn’t his cabin, this was regular life. Life where you had to find a way through because there would never be a way out.

“Scout, tell me what you need right now. I know it isn’t my place to ask questions or push you.” He wanted to say that it wasn’t right, he wanted to tell you things should’ve gone down differently, but he couldn’t do that to you. Not without your permission at least. “It might be good to talk about it, but that’s your prerogative.”

“It really fucking sucked. That’s all I can say right now. I need to get to bed though. Tomorrow’s a new day.” You didn’t mean to sound angry. Did you sound angry? Stressed? On the verge of falling apart again so shortly after being put back together?

“Of course. I guess I’ll see you in the briefing tomorrow.”

“Yes, I’ll see you then. Have a goodnight Bucky.” You were formal, you kept your back straight and nodded to him before making your way back to your bed.

You couldn’t sleep and so you didn’t. You swore to yourself you would still get a few hours in but when the birds started chirping to signal a new day, you gave up on that. You were curled into a ball on your bed. Maybe if you cried you would feel better, but you couldn’t. So you stayed in bed until your normal waking hours and went around your morning like it was any other.

When the time came to brief Bucky with the commander, you couldn’t look Bucky in the eyes. You stared at a spot on the commander’s forehead, faking eye contact and confidence. You were told that’s all that was needed for now and you left and you went back to your team.

It was different though. Not really, not to anyone else when you joined them for lunch. Just to you. To you it felt like the conversation and laughter was so fragile. Like one thing could tear apart your whole dynamic of you didn’t keep it together.

So you kept it together. You kept it together for weeks while you were sent on various missions and hid your trepidations. They couldn’t know, no one could know. Sky you kept them all at arm’s length, including Bucky. If you started relying on another person for help, you might get used to it. If you got used to it, it would make it so much harder when they weren’t there anymore.

~~~

It started out slow, at least for you. You started stashing liquor in your room - no one else visited it anyway. You snuck out with your empties, dropping them off in whatever recycling bin that was far enough from the base that no one would connect the dots and close enough you weren’t gone so long. Funny, the same bar whose walls had seen you break down offered a perfect landing spot for every glass bottle that carried your shame in its empty figure.

You were hiding it, and hiding it well. No one noticed, not even Bucky. If he did notice, he didn’t say anything. It was the kind of separation that would either hold you together or tear you apart and you couldn’t tell which it would be yet.

For now, the distance was good. It was so much easier to pretend. You were on time for everything, you were just chatty enough. You were warm and comforting and anything else anybody needed you to be.

Did Bucky think you had taken advantage of his kindness? Use his space to escape and leave once you were better? Was that so bad when compared to letting someone in when that honesty might shatter your composure?

You were getting used to it again. Used to small meals, washed down with the burn of the bottle. You could barely taste it anymore, you could barely feel it anymore. The hangovers became easier to deal with. The nausea was bearable, easy to ignore. Why should you be concerned with your own pain anyways when you were the one causing it?

A particularly volatile night pushed you to quit again. Instead of quieting your mind, the bottle had brought out something ugly. Not ugly in a violent way this time, but ugly in the way of making you spiral.

You did. You stopped just like that. The shame had won and you quit without weaning yourself off. Quit like it was the easiest thing in the world. It was affecting your work and nothing could affect your work.

You could see your hands trembling when you organized reports and you told yourself it was just because you were tired. It didn’t have to do with dropping the liquor. It was something else, it couldn’t be withdrawal.

It lasted maybe a couple days, then something happened, something small enough it wasn’t important but something big enough that it made drinking seem like it was the lesser evil. By the third, you had forgotten what you were so upset about.

Bucky wouldn’t stay away though. He gave you space as often as he could but he saw the bags under your eyes and watched as you withdrew from the world.

You were always in your room when you didn’t have any responsibilities to take care of. He found excuses to interrupt you. Something he had to fill you in, something he had to borrow. Anything to make sure there were at least a few minutes each day that you weren’t alone.

You didn’t want this though. You didn’t want him pushing his way into your life by asking what was wrong. You knew he could tell something was off, but your walls were back up and it was getting easier to lie.

~~~

“Scout?” There was knocking at your door and you rolled over to check your phone. Why was someone bothering you? What gave them a right to knock on your door at this time?

The time that popped up on your screen was enough of an explanation and this wasn’t something you could ignore.

“Oh fuck.” You muttered to yourself, practically jumping out of bed to change. You were already thinking of excuses. You changed faster than you thought yourself capable of and ran to the door.

“Scout,” Bucky nodded to you as your opened the door with a mostly convincing smile on your face. “I just wanted to let you know the meeting was cancelled. Something about new information from outside sources.”

You barely held in a sigh of relief as you nodded in turn. “Yes, I’m so sorry about that.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Bucky raised an eyebrow before creases settled into his forehead and brow. Was he worried? Was he worrried about you?

“I… um… never mind. I’m just tired.”

“Can I come in?”

You wanted to say, wanted to hide the monster you felt that you were turning into. It was too late though, you saw his eyes focus on the empty bottle beside your bed and he slipped in before you could protest.

“It sounds like they want us to meet someone and get them talking by any means necessary.”

“Okay, when do I need to be ready for?” You didn’t dare ask why he was going with you. Ask if anyone else could tell you were drowning.

“I… Scout.” Bucky took a step toward you, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course!” You were too peppy, too obviously trying to hide something. Maybe he had already seen what you were trying to hide, but you could at least try to pretend it wasn’t affecting your life.

“Bullshit.”

“Please Bucky, don’t.” You sighed.

“Listen, I know you don’t want to talk about it. I know you think you’ve got this handled. I still need you to be honest with me. Can you handle this right now?”

“Yes.” You were certain you could. Duty came first, everything else could be pushed aside.

He nodded and never had you been so unnerved by silence.

“Hm.”

Fuck, why couldn’t he just say something? Why couldn’t he berate you so the anticipation would stop building?

“From what I gather, they’re going to be calling us in after lunch. Pack now, be ready by then. They’re trying to keep it under wraps, but it will be easier if you’re ready.”

You nodded then turned away to start packing.

“Scout, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you listen to authority. What’s changed?”

“Oh I don’t see you as an authority, that’s why I respect you.” You joked. You hated how he said your name. Hated how he said it like it mattered and wasn’t some shitty title that you accepted as a prize for being relentless in your pursuit of knowing.

“It isn’t a typical mission. Pack what you need to travel, we’ll have clothes waiting for us when we land.”

“Who’s all going?” You asked, but you already knew the answer. It would just be you two. It would just be torture trying to hide how far you’d fallen this time.

“It’s not solid yet, but you can guess.” He shrugged and turned around. He didn’t want to leave, but his hand left your shoulder reluctantly.

“Bucky.” You breathed, reaching out for his hand despite yourself. It wasn’t professional, it wasn’t something a healthy person did with their coworker. “It will take me about half an hour to get everything sorted. Can you…”

What the fuck were you asking? What gave you the right?

“Can I what?” His reply didn’t sound sharp, just didn’t leave room to deflect. Why was he being this way? Why was he making you vocalize your needs when he knew exactly what you were asking?

“Um, never mind.” It was your turn to shrug and you busied yourself with going through drawers, deciding what you needed to bring.

He had turned around to face you, to watch you rummage through drawers and neatly pile your clothes for the trip on your bed. He stayed as you readied yourself and he didn’t say a thing until you had finished.

“Good to go?” He wasn’t just acting about you suitcase.

“Yeah, whenever we need to.” Your hands were shaking again and you sat on the edge of the bed.

“Can I join you?”

You nodded then slowly slid under the covers as he took your place on the edge.

“Can you please stay?” Your voice was small, pleading. You reached out for him again, resting your hand on his bicep as gently as you could.

“Yes, doll.”

“Can we watch something?”

Bucky nodded and found the remote for your little TV. He waited until you found something you felt was worth watching at the moment.

You found some body horror movie and he didn’t complain one bit about how cheesy it was. You drew the blankets up to your face as you watched. Yes, it was horribly written and disgusting but at least you didn’t have to think. Without thinking, you were entranced by the film and squeezed his hand, giving a gentle pull so he would lay next to you.

He obliged, kicking off his boots and laying down, arms at his sides in an open gesture for you to get closer. You turned your torso towards him, draping a leg over him and resting your head against his chest. You had a brief moment of concern that you had pushed too far, but the warm skin of his right hand met your cheek. You crumbled, letting your full weight sink into him.

His hand slowly moved upward, gently stroking your hair, and you melted into him. His other arm wrapped around your waist and squeezed. Not so tight as to make you feel trapped, just tight enough that you could really feel him there. Feel something outside your body that didn’t make you feel alone.

~~~

***

P.S. Can’t believe I posted two parts in two days! Thank you so much if you got to this part?!?! I have so many ideas now. I love you for listening to my ramblings! I keep looking for a fic that satisfies my very specific need for comfort, but couldn’t find one, so here we are.

[lennsart]

The pipeline from sweet apple to sour lemon?

HEHEHEHEHE Anon I am very happy that you asked about it ! Congratulations, you chose the wip that I am currently working on :D

Full disclosure, the idea for this wip was inspired by two one-shots that I obsessed over around the same time :

Hiding behind plaster and ceramics, by @occasionallyprosie

And there are ten, by @staring-at-a-blank-pagee

I'm a little bit terrified by tagging the authors since I haven't asked for permission to post work inspired by what they did yet, but I don't want to do anything in their back jnezjnejnez so :

Hi ! If you see that, you both have had wonderful ideas that inspired me to write something that is becoming a massive project of mine ! I am talking about it because I got asked about my wips, but if you're not okay with me posting the actual fic, I'd be fine keeping it to myself :)

In both these fics, Legend, Twilight and Wind know each other from the adventure they shared during Triforce heroes, except when they're brought together for Linked Universe, Twilight and Wind don't recognize Legend. He changed too much, he lost too many people and is now unrecognizable from the kid that he was during Triforce heroes.

In And there are ten, though, there's a twist : A tenth hero arrives, and... It's this younger version of Legend, that Wind and Twilight of course recognize this time !

Basically, this wip takes the scenario from And there are ten, but with the background story from Hiding behind Plaster and Ceramics : no one stayed in Legend's life and he is traumatized by partings, so he decides to be cold and rude with the others in order not to get attached and not suffer when they inevitably have to separate.

Except, after a few weeks of travelling, a new portal appear, and Apple, a younger version of himself, comes out of it... And obviously, this time, Twilight and Wind recognizes him, and everyone is protective of him since he's the youngest one here, and though Legend decided himself that he'd be mean on purpose so that no one cares about him, the comparison between how they act towards Apple and towards him makes him very bitter.

You can guess, with how I talked about liking to write about healing and stuff, that it's going to get worse before it gets better.

This was supposed to be a little something that I wrote for myself, just because I craved more for these ideas, and then I talked about it to @sweeteastart, and... They were so invested ? Like full-on asking me questions and if they could read it and stuff, and I just realized, yeah, it's starting to become a good story, I should try to flesh it out !

It's also the wip that inspired this beautiful art of hers :

Oh, and it's also their fault that this wip has this title lmao, they kept calling Legend sour, and mixed with Apple's nickname... You get it !

Anyway, it is my current brainrot, and I had to consciously stop myself from writing on this wip in order to finish A cave like a net first 🤣