#i miss them to pieces so much that *i'm* the one in pieces

[coline7373]

1. Oh, dear. Procreate on this second hand pad I bought specifically for it and sketchbook (the app) on my phone. It's a Samsung note, so I have a digital pen. My screen is pretty scratched.

2. Not sure. Some have more kudos then others but they have been posted longer. Just like that, without checking, I would say my latest cadet!Cody and cadet!Rex, as well as my codywan "would you still love me if I was a worm?"

3. Definitively not my most popular! 🤣

I love two pieces I did for codywankiss2023, the one that is all red/pink, and the one under the stars at night.

I am mighty proud of my Mace in armor.

I have also done a fanart for Prince with a thousands Ennemies by independant_variables, which doesn't get much love but is dear and close to my heart.

And I looove my Fox & Haunted Couch. It's funny (to me) and I'm really proud of how the flammes came out!

4. Eh. The one that don't have much kudos on my ao3, maybe? People don't leave much kudos there because I'm not A Big Name, and when they do, it's often on the same pieces.

I'm unsure if it's because the viewer lost interest and thus the will to go through all my fanarts (admitedly, nearly a hundred of them) or if they genuinely don't like the other things.

5. Jeezus... No idea? "Just Do It"? 😆

I have things I often do and sometimes I Try Things Out. But I'm not sure I have a style or that it's specific enough to be named. Doesn't bother me.

6. Love, romantic or friensdhip or familial or agape. Intimacy. Kindness. Happiness. Hope.

7. What's all this? 🤣 Some things are *easy* for you???? Good for you but I don't have that experience 🤣🤣🤣

Sometimes, I have an easy time and other, not at all. Skills just won't come. The drawing drag on. Nothing come out right or quick. It's horrible and I want to throw my pad out of the window. Others, everything flow and it's magical and I wonder afterwards what made it happen this way. Haven't been able to reproduce the magical effect voluntarily 🤷‍♀️

8. Anatomy with weird perspectives. Sometimes, I have An Idea in my head and I want to make That One and then, when I get to it, I realise it's super hard T_T

9. Cody, sun and skies. For no reason, I'm sure 😉🌞💖💛🧡

10. Do it anyway. It looks like crap? Do it anyway!

If you mean ideas block, that has litteraly never happened. I have so many projects waiting for me, I could quit my job and devote myself to fanarts entirely and not run out for years.

11. Nope.

12. I have an idea in my head, I look for references pictures for the people in it (perspectives T_T), I do a first line art with the references pictures' opacity at 50%, I hide them, I adjust that line art opacity to 50%, draw a second one over it because the first never looks right (either they don't look like the character's actual face or the body type is shorter, stockier, ect, the arm looks Super Weird), repeat the process as much as necessary for it to looks okay, fill under on a new layer the flat colors, fill over the flat colors but under the line art on a new layer the lights, same with shadows on another layer, correct and do over and over and over and over... until I'm happy with how it looks or don't think I can do better.

Do the same with background if there is any.

That's it!

13. I like my WIP for jedi june. Yes, we're in november.

Also, another one that looks wonky but it's an idea I had for a long time so I'm happy to be working on it.

14. It can be very relaxing. I love when it come out pretty, even if it's in a way I didn't intended. I love making my ideas come to life. And I love how happy authors have been when I have made fanarts for their fics.

15. When it's not working 🤣 The frustration... I have genuinely screamed and cried.

16. "Drawing regularly keep your skills sharp." It's like working out. If you miss some sessions, it's crazy how fast the skills rust.

And "Keep going before the creativity run out". Sometimes, I just Do Not have the flow. It's like someone cut off the water. I don't know how to explain it. So, when the flow is there, I try to make the most of it.

17. Uh... It looks ok? Most of the time? And it's made with love. Some fanarts from other people don't look good but you can tell it was made with enormous amount of love or that the person was having fun or it's telling a story, or it's moving... I love that. I love those arts. There's plenty that's worthwhile other than "correct" look.

18. Boy... everything? It's a work in never ending progress. I look at art that blow my mind, think about what caught my eyes and try to work on that but it varies from time to time. Anatomy and perspective can always use work.

19. Star Wars. The Clone Wars. Pictures I have seen in museums, exhibitions, magazines, online, pinterest, series, movies... Life around me. Memories. Lot of things.

20. I think I'm organised? It makes sense to me.

21. Hahaha! No idea! Maybe a toast, with butter and honey on top.

22. I definitively use warm colors a lot and more saturated than not. Orange, for Reasons 😉🌞🧡

23. Not sure I understand the question. But I have tried (1) Once to imitate amarcia's style and it was very hard. I love their style! But it only looks simple. It's often that way in art, which should have been my first clue 😆 It was definitively very hard and I didn't quite succeed in the end, but it was my very best attempt 💖

24. I have been very lucky to receive several compliments and my favorites are always related to how happy it has made the viewer or how much they enjoyed it 💖

25. Mmmh. Size are uncomprehensible to me. When I was on my phone, I think the images were too small. Now that I'm on procreate, I think they are too big. For Tumblr, at least. They look blurry when viewed on the mobile app.

26. Ipad and Ipen. And Samsung Note 8 and Samsung pen.

27. Unfortunately, yes. I have so many wips. They accumulate and some get finished and some get buried under more WIPs. I'm terrible 😅

28. None. I wish I could finish all the pieces that I have started. No time or will for redo. Once it's done, it's done. There is so many fics I would like to do fanarts for, on top of all my WIPs too...

29. Yes!!!!!! A lot! And even afterwards, I redo the line art a lot. Like, a lot. It's all very time consuming. People who do amazing stuff in less than one hour have my absolute respect.

30. Nothing? I'm not proud of my art. I get happy when it come out well or better than I expected. I get happy when I'm done with a piece that took me a long time. Sometimes there is pride in that, but I'm not what you would call proud of my artstyle.

I hated it for the longest time actually, and it took me until I was well into my 30s to make my peace with it. My style is not the type of style I prefer or admire.

I am happy to contribute to the fandom and makes my ideas come to life, happy to create, but pride? No.

31. Star Wars. Definitively.

32. Next to none. Not out of distaste for the idea. I just don't know a lot of fandom person and events' deadlines stress me out.

33. I don't think so? One class during 6 months, then a year of art school before I quit because I am not so talented I can compete with what's on the market. Other than that, completely self-taught.

34. Some pieces, I remember being very happy making them or feeling happy at the results or the person I made them for was happy to receive them. It's definitively about sharing in our joy of fandom for me.

35. It's never going to look like you want, so you might as well stop crying, obssessing about it and just do it. Some people will love it anyway, even when you hate it. And eventually, you will get a bit better and learn to love some of them.

Remember to have fun and make yourself happy.

@cacodaemonia @journen @secretly-a-trekkie @rochenn @amarcia @raphaerolo @ghosts-of-rishi @orientalld @anaclastic-azurite @dontbelasagnax @jejejijiju @moriaarts

with how much this site loves its writer ask games, im astounded ive never seen one for artists, soooo

ARTIST ASK GAME!

1. what medium do you use most (if applicable, what software)?

2. most popular piece?

3. your favorite piece(s)?

4. piece you wish got more love?

5. how would you describe your art style?

6. favorite thing to draw?

7. easiest thing for you to draw?

8. thing you struggle to draw?

9. whats something you always come back to when drawing?

10. how do you deal with artblock?

11. do you listen to anything while drawing?

12. describe your process while drawing

13. talk about a wip you like!

14. whats your favorite thing about drawing?

15. least favorite thing about drawing?

16. how do you motivate yourself to draw?

17. what is something youre confident about in your art?

18. something you feel like you need to work on?

19. where do you find inspiration?

20. is your workspace, digital or not, organized (not neat, organized)?

21. what do you think your artstyle would taste like?

22. do you have a favorite color palette to work with?

23. how many artstyles can you work in confidently?

24. whats a compliment about your art that has always stuck with you?

25. what size canvas/paper do you use?

26. what do you physically draw with (pencil and paper, tablet, etc)?

27. do you ever have multiple wips going at once?

28. whats a piece you would like to redraw at some point?

29. do you use a lot of references while drawing?

30. whats something youre proud of about your artstyle?

31. which fandom have you drawn the most for?

32. have you done a lot of collabs?

33. have you taken a lot of classes for art?

34. whats something you still like from your old art?

35. if you had one piece of advice to give your younger artist self, what would it be?

(remember to give the person you reblog from an ask!!)

[frehyun]

Coffee Machine Love

boyfriend!jisung x afab!reader x coworker!hyunjin

warnings: swearing, threesome, unprotected sex (don't), oral sex (m and f receiving), mxm things, slight bondage, one (1) slap, sub!hyunjin, idk how to label the other two so I'll go with soft switch!jisung, soft switch!reader

genre: fluff, smut, coworker AU

word count: 4.2k

author's note: i'm alive again! Hyunsung has been running rampant on the tour lately so I couldn't resist writing something about them! do not ask me what the project is about, do not ask me what the company is even for, i don't know either, please forgive me 💀 hope you enjoy reading and i'd love to hear your thoughts! <3

masterlist

divider by @firefly-graphics

Your boyfriend was practically trembling beside you as you bite into your sandwich, unbothered by his leg steadily moving up and down. You follow his gaze and weren’t surprised at all when it landed on one of your newer coworkers a few meters away at the coffee machine. If you knew Jisung at all – and you like to think you do – you could guess that his eyes zeroed in on his hands deftly working around the piece of electronics that broke every couple of weeks. His long and slender fingers expertly taking the poor coffee maker apart to fix whatever went wrong this time.

Your gaze travels back to the man beside you and you have to hold back the smirk growing on your face when you see him practically drooling over the other man, probably wishing that the fingers wrestling around with the inner small machinery were wrapped around his neck instead.

“It’s 9 in the morning, relax” – you chuckle and slap your hand on his thigh to wake him up from his stupor.

Jisung gives you an incredulous look, like he can’t believe you’re not as mesmerised by the newest addition to the office as he is. He narrows his eyes at you because he knows he can’t say anything about your betrayal while he was still within hearing distance.

The front cover of the coffee machine clicking back into place makes both of you jump.

“If he’s tense because he hasn’t had any coffee yet, that can be fixed now” – the man of Jisung’s dreams exclaims from across the two of you, his smooth voice like honey.

Now you were swooning too. Great.

Jisung almost chokes on his own spit trying to answer him as fast as possible, waving his hands around in dismissal, “no, no”, he chokes out, “she’s just being silly, I was…uhm- I’m just nervous because of a project. Yeah.”

What the fuck was he talking about? He could’ve just said ‘yes, I need a coffee, thank you so much, man I haven’t asked about his name yet, you really saved my morning, let me thank you by sucking your dick” or whatever and it would have been fine.

Luckily for him, the guy just gives one of the cutest, goofiest smiles you’ve ever seen and it hits you right in the heart. Maybe Jisung was onto something.

“Is that so? Well, if you ever need any assistance, feel free to call on me! They’re barely giving me any work and I’d rather help someone than sit around and do nothing for my remaining work time.”

Jisung nods fervently, stuttering something between ‘yes, oh my god, thank you’ and ‘you’re an angel” but it just comes out as ‘yes, you’re my angel’, making you and him visibly cringe. This couldn’t go any worse.

The guy, however, giggles sweetly as he moves to leave the room and this is the first time you notice how long his legs are, how lanky and tall he is.

“I’m Hyunjin, by the way. My room’s down this hall, I’m sure you can’t miss it. Feel free to stop by anytime!”

He doesn’t wait for either of you to answer or introduce yourselves back to him, so the two of you are left to watch as he strides down the corridor.

“Oh my God, he’s into idiots.”

“He wants me so bad.”

Jisung lightly slaps your shoulder at your remark.

“You liked me first! That says more about you than it says about me!”

You roll your eyes at him and get back to your sandwich before your break is over. Unfortunately, your mind is now also filled with Hyunjin.

The way his hands delicately but deftly repaired the cursed coffee machine.

The way his shirt perfectly spanned over his broad shoulders as he leaned over the counter.

The way his ass looked in his slacks.

And God, when he turned around, his smile making his eyes into little crescent moons, a dimple appearing on the side of his cheek. His full and plush lips. His kind and soft eyes.

You groan into your sandwich and kick at Jisung’s shoe.

“You infected me with the Hyunjin disease, are you proud?” – you say with red-tinted cheeks.

“Extremely. We desperately have to check in with him if he’d be into two people wanting him. But like, in a way that doesn’t scream ‘We’re desperate!!’, you know?”

You can’t help but agree with him.

And so began your and Jisung’s mission to scope out whether Hyunjin would be interested in you two.

You didn’t want to kick down his door and straight up ask him, in case that scared him away, because even if he declined, he seemed like a nice guy and it wouldn’t hurt to have him as a friend. So Jisung and you really did stop by his office later that week to ask for his assistance with a made-up project.

His office only housed him, so he was allowed to decorate it how he wanted to, potted plants scattered around the sunny spots and little trinkets here and there that made the place seem more lived in than any other office you had ever been to. His desk was neat, the pinboard beside it home to various little reminders and sketches presumably made by himself in that endless free time he mentioned. You had to admit that he was quite talented, his pencil lines precise as they combine into the image of a beautiful flower bouquet.

“So, the two of you are on this project, after all? I thought it was just him” – Hyunjin nods towards your boyfriend, who was inspecting a little bear figure on his shelf.

Hyunjin doesn’t seem to mind you two sniffing around the place.

“Because he failed to mention that last time, he got nervous when you caught him off-guard like that” – you sigh and shake your head, leaning back against his desk.

You don’t miss how Hyunjin’s eyes seem to flicker down to where your hips pressed against the wood for just a second and a small smile finds its way onto your lips.

He tilts his head and apologises with a candid smile, saying that he didn’t mean to scare anyone off. If only he knew.

Jisung and you had previously come up with an elaborate plan on what your project entailed. It was a simple project that required a little bit of knowledge from Hyunjin’s division that the two of you weren’t a part of. Easy enough to make it seem like you actually needed his help. Also easy enough to pretend the project was real.

The thought that all of you probably had too much free time on your hands crosses your mind.

“So you just need me to work my magic a little bit and your head of department is gonna be happy?”

“Hopefully!”

“What is this even for? Didn’t we showcase this to upper management a few months back already?”

How did he know that? Why didn’t you think of that? You shift against the desk and Hyunjin’s eyes flit back to you, his gaze now trained on you intently, waiting for your reply.

“They just wanted a redo of the model since the first one got deleted in that data leak a while back” – Jisung lies casually, suddenly disinterested in the décor.

Hyunjin seems to accept that answer as he nods, eyes still on you as if he was gauging your reaction. You shift again under his gaze, looking into his eyes and giving him a slightly shaky smile.

Seemingly satisfied with whatever he was observing, the three of you proceed to go over the rather uninteresting details of what needs to be done.

During your little discussion, Jisung makes a not-so-subtle attempt at situating himself closer to your colleague under the guise of ‘I want to watch you work, it’s fascinating’.

It’s still crazy to you that all of his attempts have worked so far. You’re still close to Hyunjin as well, perched against the corner of his desk, his arm almost brushing against your thigh whenever he needs to reach for something or move the mouse around in a larger motion, mumbling a quiet ‘sorry’ when he does accidentally touch you.

Jisung almost leans on his shoulder with the way he’s sitting so close beside the older man.

While Jisung seems genuinely interested in Hyunjin’s work, you take this opportunity to further check him out as he works. You can’t help but let your gaze linger on his hands again as they work their way across the keyboard, his long fingers flexing to reach the keys.

While having them wrapped around your neck is certainly an enticing idea, you rather wonder what they would look like prettily bound together.

You could swear there was a slight reddish tint to Hyunjin’s neck and ears ever since he was practically caged in by your and Jisung’s body.

You sigh, more to yourself than anything. This was gonna be a long and grueling mission, but at least it didn’t seem like Hyunjin hated being around either of you.

That same evening, you find yourself in your boyfriend’s lap, grinding needily against him, your arms around his neck, while he busied himself biting and licking at the expanse of your skin of your neck.

“He’s really nice” – you suddenly say and Jisung hums in agreement between bites, his hands finding their way to the backs of your thighs, guiding your movements to be harsher against him.

“He was so flustered when you got closer to him, his neck and the tips of his ears all blushy and red” – you ramble on and it seems to spur your boyfriend on, his breathing growing more ragged, his movements more desperate.

“I think he’d rather enjoy being under us than above us, don’t you think? He seemed to lose all his previous bravado when it was just us three in a small space. I bet he’s cute when he’s begging on his knees, just imagine it” – Jisung lets out a broken moan in response, his grinding against you coming to a halt.

“Ah, shit” – he whispers against you and you giggle lightly.

You lean back to take a look at him, his honey skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat. He shyly looks anywhere but you and you take his face into your hands to force him to look at you.

“It’s pretty hot that you came from just that” – you plant a soothing kiss against his lips as he whines about your words. You card your fingers through his hair, softly scraping at his scalp as he’s still slowly coming down from his high.

“I’ll make it up to you” – he murmurs and taps your thighs, signaling you to get off him to return the favor.

And he does make it up to you, his face buried between your legs until you finally reach your high as well, fingers tangled into his hair and pressing him against you.

“We really have to do something about this” – he sighs as the two of you settle down on your bed.

You hum, nuzzling your face further into his chest, too tired to try and come up with a plan on how to break it to Hyunjin softly that two of his coworkers want him romantically and have been lying to him about needing his help.

The next couple of work sessions with Hyunjin were rather uneventful. There were some moments where either Jisung or you got closer to him, ‘accidentally’ brushing your hand against his thigh, ‘accidentally’ going shoulder to shoulder with him, ‘accidentally’ sitting as close as possible so that your thighs would touch. Without fail, Hyunjin would turn slightly red at the contact but never shying away from it nor seeming uncomfortable. Sometimes, you could swear that he even reciprocates the touch, his thigh pressing against yours more firmly, his body slightly leaning towards your hand whenever it brushed against his bicep.

Hyunjin was wonderful to work with, he took instructions well and added his own flair to whatever you wanted from him in a way that elevated your work immensely. Outside from your little mission, you three got along really well, which encouraged you to further pursue getting closer to him.

You were now situated across from him, enjoying your lunch. You didn’t expect your previously innocent conversation to take such a turn when Hyunjin seemed to have found the courage to ask a question he had been dying to ask for quite a while now.

“I gotta ask… I don’t want to misunderstand. Are you… flirting with me?”

Jisung almost chokes on his rice. You stare at Hyunjin.

“I mean! I know you two are in a relationship and everything but… I can’t help but feel like you two are getting… awfully close at times. Not that I mind!” – he hastily tries to explain himself, his neck getting redder by the second again.

“Wow.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m impressed it took you this long to notice, actually” – you can’t help but tease him a little.

“What? So both of you ARE flirting with me? For real?” – Hyunjin’s eyes were as big as saucers, his mouth hanging open a little. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The two coworkers that he’d been working with (and found extremely attractive) for weeks did actually flirt with him whenever you met up.

“Yeah. You’re cute. Jisung’s been losing it over you ever since that coffee machine incident a few weeks back” – you admit easily and receive a glare from Jisung beside you.

Hyunjin chuckles out of disbelief and the nervousness creeping up in him.

“The project… It’s not real, is it?”

“Nope” – Jisung answers swiftly, popping the ‘p.’

Hyunjin should be mad that the two of you made him do extra work for free, but for some reason he isn’t.

“Uhm…so what? Is this just a ‘your vibe matches with ours and we want to play around a bit’ or is this something… more serious?” – you could observe him starting to fidget with the ends of his sleeves, nervously biting the skin of his lips and your gaze immediately softened.

This was important. Don’t fuck it up. Don’t make him believe you’re just here to play around with his feelings. That’s no what you’re here to do.

“Listen, I know this is a lot. I mean, two people who are already in a relationship coming up to you like this. This is definitely something serious, not just playing around. We really like you” – you reach across the table with your palm up, giving him the chance to take your hand if he wanted to.

He sheepishly takes your hand into his, his large hand filling yours out with ease, yet as you gazed over to him with a gentle smile on your face, he seemed so small, so unsure of himself.

“If you don’t want any of this and want us to stop flirting with you and would prefer to be friends, that’s fine by us as well. Just be honest with us, I’d hate it if we made you uncomfortable or did something you didn’t want.”

While Jisung is decidedly quiet beside you, he’s nodding along to what you’re saying, softly smiling at him.

Hyunjin grabs your hand tighter and shakes his head slightly, his eyes still big.

“N-no. This is all fine. I’m okay with this”, he swallows around the lump that formed in his throat, “I like you two as well. I thought I was just imagining things, wishing they were really happening. I’m glad that wasn’t the case.”

There are two ways one can react to this.

One, smile at him, telling him you’re glad he’s reciprocating.

And two, clapping your hands and audibly going ‘fuck yes.’

You stare at your boyfriend.

“Really?”

“What? He’s hot.”

Hyunjin giggles at that and you have to begrudgingly remember that Hyunjin seems to be into idiots as much as you are.

You groan and theatrically put your head on the table while Idiot 1 and Idiot 2 are laughing with each other, getting rid of all the tension that was previously building up in your small break room.

You jolt a little when Hyunjin’s hand removes itself from yours and instead starts patting your head in pity.

Maybe this wasn’t going to be that bad.

Your relationship with Hyunjin develops beautifully, he was as romantic as they come, regularly bringing the two of you flowers, writing little encouraging messages when he knew you and Jisung had to attend a particularly exhausting meeting.

It was nice getting to cuddle not only one but two people you loved dearly, waking up in the morning to two pretty faces whose cheeks you wanted to squish.

Another pleasant development was that Jisung and you could test out your theories, which is how Hyunjin found himself kneeling on your bedroom carpet, looking up at you with large eyes, his cock heavy and red between his legs. While Jisung is busy getting something from your dresser, you cup your hands around Hyunjin’s small face.

“Please…” – he whines at your touch, already so beautifully needy even though you haven’t done much yet.

He had been driving you insane at work today, teasing you at every opportunity, ‘accidentally’ letting a touch linger too long on your hip, a kiss a little bit too passionate and lasting a second too long. You knew he was just driving you up the wall on purpose and you guess he got what he wanted but that also meant that you were allowed to torture him a little to get back at him.

“Please what, princess?”- Hyunjin nestles his face against your hand and sighs contently.

“I need you so bad…” – he murmurs against your hand, giving a little kiss to your palm and you suddenly want to hand him the world served on a silver platter.

Seeing as Jisung has finally found the rope hidden in your dresser, you bend down to take Hyunjin’s hands into yours.

“Get up, love” – after helping him find his footing again, you teasingly give his cock one generous pump before tying his hands together with the rope and practically tossing him on your shared bed.

He lets out a whimper as you climb after him, hungry eyes zeroed in on his leaking cock. Your hands ghosts over his tip, barely touching him. Another whine leaves his lips as his hips buck up towards your hand, desperate for any kind of relief.

On the other side of his body, Jisung busies himself with kissing up his chest, leaving a trail of wet kisses up his body.

The new unspoken mission was to fuck Hyunjin silly and find out what shades of red he could turn to.

While you still refuse to give in to Hyunjin’s needs, ghosting your fingers across the length of his dick idly, you watch as Jisung put his fingers underneath his chin to tilt his head up to force him to focus his eyes on him.

“You’re gonna be a good boy, aren’t you?” – he asks him sweetly.

Hyunjin nods frantically in response and lets out a tiny ‘yes’, hoping that this would mean one of you would finally touch him properly.

Jisung smiles down at him before kissing him deeply. You take the opportunity to wrap your hand around his length at the same time and start pumping him agonisingly slow.

You love how squirmy Hyunjin gets when he’s needy, writhing underneath both your touches, not knowing what to do with his body, where to turn next, which touch to chase. You know it kills him that he can’t hold onto Jisung’s shoulder properly or put one of his hands on your thigh with the way his hands are rubbing against the ropes.

You make a mental note to unbind his hands in a bit so his wrists don’t get chafed up too badly.

One of Jisung’s hands finds its way down to his chest, playing with his nipples leisurely as he kisses him, the other lightly wrapping around Hyunjin’s neck, not applying pressure yet. It still forces a delicious moan from his lips.

“You’re being so good” – you say in a low voice, slowly undoing the ropes around his wrists. You pepper a few kisses on the slightly reddened skin up to his fingertips, kissing them delicately one by one.

Jisung whispers something in his ear that makes Hyunjin laugh breathily and while you wonder what’s so funny, it warms your heart to see the two of them so at ease with each other.

You give a light slap to Jisung’s ass to get him to move further up and he yelps loudly.

“That’s for not including me in the joke. Now get your cute butt up there.”

“Boy secret” – Hyunjin cheekily says and giggles again. You playfully roll your eyes at him and as revenge, move down to take the head of his cock into your mouth. The sudden warmth makes his giggles die down into a loud whimper, his face contorting from pleasure.

Jisung, as instructed, crawls up the bed and takes a handful of Hyunjin’s hair into his hand, angling his head towards him.

“You want some too, pretty boy?”

Hyunjin licks his lips in preparation and nods up at him, opening up his mouth obediently before wrapping his plush lips around his length and sucking.

As Hyunjin gets closer to his climax, his hand gently pushes your face away from him, to signal you he’s close while he can’t say it verbally.

You let Hyunjin get further away from his high as you watch him and Jisung fool around fondly, your hand splayed out on his tummy. You feel awfully neglected, the slick between your thighs only an indication of how aroused you were.

Jisung was still blissfully lost in the warmth of his mouth, rutting his hips into him over and over, small gasps and praises leaving his lips that only spurn the older man on. Deciding that Hyunjin had enough time to come down and that it was unfair that they were the only two getting some action, you throw your leg over his hips before sinking down on him, eliciting a long, muffled moan from him.

The vibration of his whimpers are enough to tip Jisung over the edge, some of his cum still making it onto Hyunjin’s tongue as he hastily pulls out and drops to sit beside him, catching his breath.

Seeing as Hyunjin can now focus entirely on you, you grin down at him, bracing yourself against his chest as you deliberately start to move your hips against him, his hands immediately coming up to grab at the flesh of your thighs.

“Focus on me now, angel” – you sigh, chasing your and his high, your hips steadily moving up and down in a rough pace.

Hyunjin throws his head back against the pillows as he lets out a strangled moan, tears already formed in his glossy eyes.

“You’re so pretty, so pretty, just for us, Hyune” – you say between gasps, your climax steadily approaching as you ride him.

“So fucking pretty. You were made for us.”

All your pretty words seem to work wonders on him, his hips meeting yours in shallow thrusts, desperately trying to get the two of you off and snap the tension that had been building.

You don’t know when he moved but Jisung’s warm lips press kisses into your shoulder, his hands now also on your hips, guiding you alongside your other boyfriend.

“I love you, I love you” – Hyunjin chants and the chord between you snaps, the two of you coming undone in eachother’s embrace, your juices mixing as you come.

Once your head clears, you lean down and press your lips to his in a sweet kiss, whispering an ‘I love you too’ against them. You grab Jisung by his shoulder to also press a kiss to his lips before plopping down beside Hyunjin, utterly exhausted.

Your boyfriends take care of the cleanup before racing to get under the covers with you.

“Glad that stupid fake project brought us together.”

“I think I did a pretty good job at it even though it was fake, don’t call it stupid!”

“Not our fault you put so much effort into it.”

“And do what? Half-ass it?”

“Yeah?”

“I wasn’t aware it was fake! Do you think I half-ass all of my work?”

“I don’t know? Maybe?!”

With a grin on your lips, you let out a loud sigh at their bickering, as you settle back against the warmth of their bodies. The bed feels a lot more complete now that Hyunjin was by your side as well. Their scent surrounds you, their voices fill your ears, their warmth warms up your body and a peaceful calmness finds your heart.

Surrounded by enough love to let you drift off to sleep even amongst their yapping.

It doesn’t take long for them to notice you slumbering between them and smiles filled with affection grow on their faces. They decide to leave their squabble for another day with a soft goodnight kiss before they too settle back against the pillows and hope for sleep to find them in the embrace of their lovers.

(extra photos from today's concert because look at them)

[rootedinrevisions]

To the Sky and Back

SUMMARY: After a falling-out with Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, reader tries to piece her life back together, avoiding every place and routine that reminds her of him. But when Bradley faces a high-risk mission, a visit from Natasha "Phoenix" shatters her fragile peace, forcing her to confront the depth of her feelings. With Bradley’s life hanging in the balance, she must decide whether to risk her heart again and let him know just how much he means to her before it's too late. A story of love, loss, and second chances, To the Sky and Back explores the courage it takes to hold on to what truly matters.

A/N: This was a combination of two different asks that I received! One was requested for the prompt and then the other was requesting some angst with Bradley where the angst is a little more prolonged. Thanks to both of the people who sent the request for this in! Hope you enjoy it!

PROMPT: "I'm sorry I'm not the person you want me to be."

WARNINGS/TAGS: Angst. Some more angst. And then some fluff.

WORD COUNT: 7.4K

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell: Himself (RPF), Characters He's Played

Twisters: Tyler Owens, Boone, Scott, Javi

Top Gun: Maverick: Rooster, Hangman, Bob

Marvel/MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

WWE/Wrestling: Cody Rhodes, Corey Graves, Damian Priest, Drew McIntyre, Finn Balor, Jimmy Uso, Jey Uso, Kevin Owens, L.A. Knight, Pat McAfee, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins (if there is someone you're thinking of from WWE and they aren't on the list feel free to ask! There are so many guys on the roster that these were the ones that came to mind.)

The Hard Deck hummed with its usual Friday night energy. Glasses clinked, laughter rose in waves, and the jukebox crooned an old Tom Petty song. You sat at the bar, absentmindedly tracing the condensation ring your drink had left on the wooden surface. It had been four months since you’d seen Bradley Bradshaw—four long months of waiting, wondering, and overthinking. You couldn’t decide if the knot in your stomach was from excitement or the growing anxiety about what, exactly, you and Bradley were.

Your heart jolted when you heard it—the unmistakable low rumble of the Bronco’s engine pulling into the parking lot. Your pulse quickened, and you felt every nerve in your body go on high alert. Turning toward the door, you saw him.

There he was. Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, in all his casual, rugged glory. Light wash jeans clung perfectly to his long legs, paired with a simple white undershirt under an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt. His aviators, always a part of his signature look, were perched on his face, but as he stepped inside, he slid them off, tucking them into his shirt pocket. The room seemed to dim around him, your focus narrowing solely to the man you’d spent countless nights thinking about.

His eyes scanned the bar, and the moment they found yours, a lazy, lopsided grin spread across his face. He didn’t break eye contact as he ordered his beer from Penny. Then, beer in hand, he made his way to you.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he said smoothly, his voice low and warm, like a melody you’d missed without realizing it.

A soft laugh escaped your lips as you slid off the stool, your arms wrapping around him instinctively. The tension of the last four months melted—if only for a second—as he looped an arm over your shoulders and pulled you in. He smelled of salt and sunscreen, the lingering scents of the ocean clinging to him.

“Missed you, sweets,” he murmured near your ear.

Your throat tightened at his words, but you forced yourself to play it cool, smiling up at him. “Missed you too.”

For a moment, you were lost in the way he looked at you, the warmth in his hazel eyes making your chest ache. But then, with a slight squeeze of your shoulder, he pulled away.

“I should go say hi to the gang,” he said, gesturing toward the pool table where Phoenix, Bob, and Coyote were gathered. “You don’t mind, right?”

“Of course not,” you replied quickly, shaking your head. “Go catch up.”

He gave you another of his disarming smiles before walking off, his long strides carrying him toward his friends. You watched him go, heart sinking slightly as you turned back to the bar. 

The reality of your situation hit you again: you didn’t know where you stood with him, and the months apart hadn’t brought any clarity.

The laughter from his group reached your ears, and you sipped your drink to distract yourself. You wanted to be happy just to see him again, to feel his arm around you, to hear him call you “sweets.” But in the pit of your stomach, the question gnawed at you: What are we?

The night had deepened, and the cool ocean breeze filtered into the bar as the laughter and music continued around you. Bradley had been with his friends for most of the night, his easy smile and quiet laugh lighting up the group. You didn’t begrudge him the time to reconnect, but your heart weighed heavier with every passing minute. You couldn’t wait any longer.

When he came back to the bar to grab another beer, you saw your chance. Before he could return to the others, you touched his arm, stopping him.

“Bradley,” you said softly, your voice almost drowned out by the jukebox. His hazel eyes met yours, warm but questioning. “Can we talk? Just for a minute.”

His brows knitted slightly, but he nodded. “Yeah, of course. What’s up?”

You gestured toward the patio doors. He hesitated for a beat, then set his beer down and followed you outside. The night outside was quieter than inside the bar, the faint crash of waves filling the space between you. 

Bradley leaned casually against the patio railing, but there was tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there a moment ago. He seemed almost hesitant as he met your gaze.

“What’s on your mind, sweets?” he asked, his voice warm, though a flicker of unease crossed his features.

You exhaled deeply, gathering the courage to say the words that had been circling in your mind for months. “I need to talk about us, Bradley. I need to know what we’re doing.”

His expression faltered, confusion laced with discomfort. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “We’ve been doing this for a year. And I’ve been happy—really happy—with you. But I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with not knowing where I stand. I need to know if this is going somewhere.”

He shifted his weight, dragging a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think we needed to put a label on it,” he said, his tone measured. “I thought we were good.”

“That’s the problem,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly. “I might have been okay with that before, but I’m not anymore. I want more, Bradley. I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine. Officially. Exclusively.”

He frowned, the lines on his forehead deepening as he crossed his arms. “I don’t see why we can’t just keep things the way they are. I like what we have. It works.”

“Does it work for you? Because it’s starting to tear me apart,” you shot back, your voice louder now. “I’ve spent the last four months not knowing if I was the person you missed or just someone to pass the time with when you’re here.”

Bradley’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes burning with something between guilt and frustration. “You think I don’t miss you?” he asked sharply. “You think I don’t care about you?”

“I don’t know what to think, Bradley!” you admitted, throwing your hands up. “You never tell me how you feel, and you keep everything so damn vague. I don’t even know if you’ve been with anyone else, because we’ve never talked about it!”

His jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I haven’t been with anyone else. It’s only been you.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache, but it didn’t ease the tension coiled tightly inside you. “Then why can’t you just say it? Why can’t you call me your girlfriend?”

“Because it scares the hell out of me!” he snapped, his voice breaking slightly. He turned away, bracing himself against the railing. “I’ve seen what this life does to people. My dad left my mom behind, and it destroyed her. I can’t—” He exhaled roughly, his broad shoulders rising and falling. “I can’t do that to someone. To you.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You think you’re protecting me by keeping me at arm’s length? You think it doesn’t hurt to feel like I’m asking for too much just to be something more to you?”

He turned back to you, his hazel eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I’m not the person you want me to be.”

His words cut deep, and a tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. You swiped at it angrily, stepping back. “I’m sorry, too. Because I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending this is enough.”

“Wait,” he said quickly, reaching for your hand. “Don’t go. Please. We can talk about this—figure something out.”

You shook your head, pulling your hand away. “We’ve been ‘figuring it out’ for a year, Bradley. I can’t keep waiting for you to decide I’m worth the risk.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, his voice breaking. He stepped closer, desperation flickering in his eyes. “You are worth it—I just—”

“You just don’t know if you’re ready to admit it,” you finished for him, your voice trembling. “And I can’t keep waiting for you to be ready.”

The silence between you was deafening. He looked at you like he wanted to say something—anything—that would make you stay, but the words never came.

Finally, you turned and walked away, tears blurring your vision. 

“Wait!” Bradley called after you, his voice raw. “Let me at least drive you home. Please.”

You stopped but didn’t turn back. 

“No,” you said firmly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t follow me, Bradley.”

As you reached the parking lot, Jake Seresin stood leaning against his truck, his arms crossed as he watched the scene unfold. When your tear-streaked face came into view, his expression softened.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low.

“Can you drive me home?” you asked, wiping at your cheeks. “Just drop me off and come back.”

Jake nodded, his usual cocky demeanor nowhere in sight. He opened the passenger door for you without a word, and you climbed in.

As Jake’s truck rumbled to life, you glanced back. Bradley stood on the patio, his hands on his hips, his face a mix of heartbreak and confusion. The sight of him cracked something deep inside you, but you forced yourself to look away as Jake pulled out of the parking lot.

The weight of what had just happened settled heavily on your chest, and for the first time in months, you felt the full brunt of the unknown you’d been living with.

The hum of Jake’s truck filled the silence as you stared out the passenger window, the cool night air brushing against your face from the barely cracked window. You gave him quiet directions when needed, your voice soft and distant. Jake didn’t press, didn’t ask what had happened right away, and for that, you were grateful.

But the silence couldn’t last forever.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked finally, his voice even but cautious.

You shook your head, your eyes still fixed on the darkened streets. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Jake glanced at you briefly, the furrow of his brow barely visible in the dim light of the dashboard. “Doesn’t seem like nothing,” he said carefully. “You looked pretty torn up back there.”

Your jaw tightened, and you exhaled sharply through your nose. “I’m fine,” you said, though the crack in your voice betrayed you.

Jake didn’t push, but he wasn’t ready to let the conversation drop entirely. After a moment, he said, “You know, Rooster talked about you while we were deployed.”

Your head turned sharply toward him, your stomach twisting. “What?”

“Yeah,” Jake said casually, his hands steady on the wheel. “Nothing too specific, but… you came up. Enough to know you were on his mind.”

The words stung more than they soothed. If you’d been on his mind, if he’d thought about you during those long months apart, then why couldn’t he just give you what you needed? Why couldn’t he make things official?

“Great,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “That makes it so much better.”

Jake glanced at you again, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Look, I’m just saying… the guy cares about you. He might not say it the way you want, but he does.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Caring about someone isn’t enough if you can’t show it. If he cared, he wouldn’t make me feel like I’m asking for too much just to have some clarity.”

Jake didn’t have a response for that, and the silence returned, heavy and thick.

A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of your place. The truck idled quietly as you unbuckled your seatbelt and reached for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride,” you said, your voice softer now.

“Anytime,” he replied, his tone sincere. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

You nodded, though the tightness in your chest said otherwise. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

Jake didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t argue. “I’ll wait till you’re inside,” he said, his voice firm but kind.

You gave him a small, grateful smile before stepping out of the truck. The cool night air hit your face, grounding you for a moment as you made your way to your front door. You fumbled with your keys, finally unlocking the door and stepping inside.

As you turned to shut the door, you glanced back at Jake. He gave you a short nod before driving off, his truck disappearing into the night.

The quiet of your home wrapped around you as you leaned against the door, your chest tightening with the weight of everything that had happened.

For the first time in a long time, you felt completely alone.

The silence of your home was interrupted by the sharp buzz of your phone on the counter where you’d dropped it. You hesitated before picking it up, already guessing who it might be.

The screen lit up with Bradley’s name. The first message was simple, almost hesitant.

Bradley: Just let me know when you’re home safe.

You stared at it for a moment, your chest tightening. A second buzz followed.

Bradley: Can we talk? Please?

Then another.

Bradley: I shouldn’t have said what I did. I just—I didn’t know how to handle it.

And another.

Bradley: You can put the label on it. Whatever you want. I don’t care. Just… don’t shut me out.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat growing with each buzz. His words were frantic, almost desperate, but that only made the ache in your chest deepen.

He didn’t want the label because he wanted it. He wanted it because he thought it would keep you from walking away. That wasn’t what you’d asked for. You wanted him to want you, fully and without hesitation. But this? This was him trying to patch things up without really understanding what had broken.

The phone buzzed again, another message lighting up the screen.

Bradley: I care about you. You know that, right?

You sat down on the edge of the couch, the weight of everything settling heavily on your shoulders. Your thumb hovered over the screen, debating whether to respond.

But you didn’t. Not to this. Not to him trying to fix things for the wrong reasons.

Instead, you set the phone down on the coffee table, face down, and leaned back, closing your eyes. If he really wanted to know you were home safe, he could ask Jake. The thought was petty, maybe even cruel, but right now, you don’t have the energy to be the bigger person.

You needed space. Time to think. And if Bradley wanted to prove he cared, he’d have to do more than send a flurry of panicked texts.

Your bedroom was dark except for the soft glow of a streetlight filtering through the curtains. You kicked the door shut behind you, your chest heaving with the weight of unshed tears.

Stripping off the shirt and jeans you’d worn to the bar, you rifled through your drawer for something comfortable. You yanked out a pair of sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt, tugging it over your head in a rush to get comfortable.

The scent hit you before the realization. That faint mix of salt air, pine, and his cologne.

Your heart plummeted.

It was his shirt.

You froze, staring down at the faded Navy insignia printed across the chest. A lump rose in your throat, thick and unrelenting. Without thinking, you ripped it off, balling it up in your fists.

The scream tore from your throat, raw and full of anguish as you hurled the shirt across the room. It smacked against the wall and slid to the floor like it had no right to exist, like it hadn’t just unraveled you completely.

"I hate you," you whispered, your voice trembling as you sank to your knees. "I hate you, Bradley Bradshaw."

But even as the words spilled from your lips, you knew they weren’t true.

You hated the way he made you feel. The way he held you so close but never close enough. You hated the way he smiled at you, like you were the only person in the room, and the way your heart betrayed you by falling for him.

You hated that you weren’t enough for him.

Tears streamed down your face as you pressed your palms into the carpet, curling over yourself. He wouldn’t put a label on it to protect you, but what good did that do now? You were already in too deep. The dates, the late-night conversations, the stolen kisses, and the nights spent tangled in his sheets—none of it had been casual for you.

God, you were in love with him.

The sob broke free before you could stop it, wracking your body as you crawled onto your bed. You grabbed your pillow, clutching it against your chest as if it could anchor you, and let the tears fall.

It hurt. It hurt because the label didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Whether he called you his girlfriend or not, it wouldn’t stop the fear you felt every time he flew. It wouldn’t protect you from heartbreak if he didn’t come back.

And yet, the label was everything. Because it meant he chose you. It meant he wasn’t holding back, wasn’t keeping you at arm’s length because of his own fear.

The pillow muffled your cries as you curled into the fetal position, trembling from the force of your grief. You hated him, but only because you loved him so much more.

The light from the morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting warm, golden hues across the room. You woke with a start, blinking against the brightness, your head heavy from the weight of last night’s tears. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust, the remnants of your sobs still echoing in your mind, the sting in your throat lingering.

You sat up slowly, the tightness in your chest reminding you of how broken you had felt when you finally gave in to the exhaustion and let sleep claim you. You hadn’t expected to wake up with this much pain still sitting in your bones. The weight of everything felt heavier today, more unbearable.

Then you heard it.

A knock.

A sharp, insistent pound against your front door.

You flinched, the sound jerking you from your thoughts. Your gaze flicked to the alarm clock on your nightstand. Barely eight in the morning. Who would be knocking at your door this early? You pulled the blanket off your body and swung your legs over the side of the bed, feeling the dull ache in your limbs from the previous night’s emotional rollercoaster.

With trepidation, you padded down the hallway, the floorboards creaking beneath your feet. Your mind raced with thoughts of what could be waiting for you on the other side of the door.

You reached for the handle, taking a deep breath before opening it.

And there he was.

Bradley Bradshaw.

Standing there, one hand raised in the midst of another knock, his eyes wide, full of uncertainty and something else. Something deeper. His jaw tightened when he saw you, and for a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with the unspoken.

He was still in the clothes he’d worn to the bar last night, like he hadn’t bothered going home first. His expression was a mixture of regret and frustration, but there was something else too—guilt, maybe. Or maybe it was just that damned vulnerability that had always been so hard to read with him.

“Hey,” Bradley’s voice was softer than you expected, rough around the edges, like he’d barely slept.

You didn’t respond right away, your eyes flicking over his face, searching for something. What did he expect from you right now?

You weren’t sure you even had the energy to be angry with him. The night before had drained you, and the last thing you wanted was to face him again.

“I… uh, I wanted to talk.” His voice cracked, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

You stood there, frozen, still not sure if you were ready to hear what he had to say. Last night had hurt too much, and you weren’t sure if you were willing to put yourself through more of it.

But, against your better judgment, your mouth opened. “About what?” You didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but the words slipped from your lips, laced with a bitter edge.

Bradley shifted his weight, his eyes dropping to the ground for a brief moment before meeting yours again. There was something desperate in his gaze now, something that mirrored the pain you’d felt last night.

“I screwed up. I know I did.” He spoke like he hadn’t planned the words but they’d come out anyway, raw and real. “I just… I didn’t think you’d want a label, but I get it now. I see that I’ve been messing this up for both of us.”

Your chest tightened. The familiar ache in your heart was back, that throbbing reminder of how close you were to breaking. He was standing there, telling you everything you needed to hear, but it didn’t change the fact that it was too late.

“I didn’t want to pressure you into something you didn’t want, but if I’m being honest… I don’t want to lose you.” His voice softened, and there was a flicker of something that could almost be called regret. But the words didn’t feel right. They didn’t feel like they were coming from the heart. They felt like something he was saying out of guilt.

The silence stretched between you. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, feel the weight of the decision that had to be made in the pit of your stomach.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out. It was all too much, too soon.

Bradley stepped closer, closing the space between you, his expression pleading now, vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache. 

“I want this with you, I do. But I—” He stopped himself, breathing out like the words were caught in his throat.

You looked at him, really looked at him. You could see the cracks in his façade, the uncertainty that was so unlike the confident man you knew. But even with that vulnerability laid bare, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all just words.

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Bradley,” you whispered, shaking your head slowly. “I don’t want to be some maybe or could be. I need to know where I stand.”

Bradley’s face fell, his lips parting as if he were about to say something else. But nothing came. He just stood there, looking at you like he was piecing together what he should say next.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and for the first time, you saw the true weight of regret in his eyes.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the emotions that threatened to spill over again. “I don’t think you are, Brad. Not really.”

The air between you both thickened, and you couldn’t take it anymore. Without another word, you stepped back, closing the door gently in his face.

You leaned against the wood, closing your eyes as you heard his footsteps retreat, his presence now a memory.

You were alone again.

And maybe that was how it was always meant to be.

* * * * *

The days dragged on in a haze of quiet frustration and longing. Each morning you woke, the weight of the night’s emotional unraveling clung to you like a second skin. The sun would shine through your window, the world would move forward, but you felt paralyzed by your own hurt, by the thought of Bradley, by the pain of what could have been and what never would be.

You tried to get yourself back on track. You tried to act normal, to resume your routine, but everything seemed to remind you of him. His absence was like a wound that wouldn’t heal, reopening with every corner you turned.

The grocery store was the first hurdle. You knew Bradley went every Monday, and it used to be something the two of you did together. It felt like some unspoken tradition, something that was both ordinary and deeply comforting. But now, it just felt like a reminder of everything that had gone wrong. So you avoided it, switching your shopping day to Tuesday. Even though you knew he wouldn’t be there, the thought of running into him in that same mundane space, where everything felt like a memory, was too much to bear.

The Hard Deck was the next obstacle. The bar where you’d spent so many nights with him, the place where you laughed, argued, and shared quiet moments between chaos. You knew there was more than a 50% chance Bradley was there any given night. The bar, the music, the dim lighting that you once enjoyed felt suffocating now. You could hear his laugh in your mind, could see the glint of his eyes as he grinned across the room. But you refused to risk seeing him, to risk letting the pieces of your heart shatter again. Even when you drove by a few nights, when his Bronco wasn’t parked in its usual spot, you still didn’t stop. What if he had caught a ride? What if he was inside, and you just didn’t know? You couldn’t take the chance. Not when every interaction with him had the potential to destroy you further.

And the texts… the texts never stopped.

At first, they were constant—his messages coming in one after the other, in a rhythm that mirrored his thinking. Morning, noon, and night. He texted like he couldn’t bear the thought of you not knowing what he was doing, where he was. He sent them as soon as he woke up, like he needed to remind you that he was still thinking about you, even if he hadn’t quite figured it out himself. Those morning messages were the hardest to read, because you knew he hadn’t forgotten you. He was still holding on in his own way, but that didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t fought for you when it mattered.

And then came the late-night ones. The ones that were sent in the early hours, long after the world had gone quiet. You would wonder if he was sober when he wrote them, or if he had been drinking, a little too far into his own thoughts and regrets. Those messages were the ones that made your heart ache because they felt like half-baked apologies, like words spoken too late. They didn’t fix anything, they just twisted the knife.

But the ones that hurt the most were always in the middle of the day. The ones sent out of habit, when he was about to head into the sky, the ones that used to bring you a sense of safety, a quiet assurance that no matter what, Bradley always had a way of telling you what he was doing. “Hey, I’m headed up. I’ll be in the air for a couple hours, but I’ll let you know when I’m back on the ground.” It was something that had become routine between the two of you. You never asked for it, but you always appreciated it.

Now, those messages made your stomach drop. You hated the anxiety that came with the first text, the one that told you he was headed into the sky. And you hated the sense of relief you felt when the second one came, telling you he was safely back on the ground. It was stupid. It was pathetic. But no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t stop caring. You couldn’t stop the gnawing feeling in your chest, the pull of wanting to make sure he was okay.

And that’s what drove you mad.

You hated that you still cared. You hated that despite everything, despite his distance and his indecision, you couldn’t make yourself stop thinking about him. You couldn’t make yourself forget Bradley Bradshaw.

Even as you tried to rebuild your life, to find new routines, new places, new things to focus on, it all felt like an illusion. Nothing felt normal anymore. Your world had become a strange, hollow echo of what it used to be. And no matter how hard you tried to avoid him, to erase the pieces of him from your day-to-day life, you couldn’t escape the truth.

You were still in love with him. And you were still waiting for him to make a decision.

But you knew you couldn’t wait forever.

You just didn’t know how to stop.

* * * * *

Two months had passed since that early morning when Bradley stood at your door, and in that time, you’d learned to carry on without him. It wasn’t easy—some days were harder than others—but you were slowly learning how to exist without waiting for his texts, without hoping for him to just show up at your door again.

You still thought about him. Not every day anymore, but almost. And that, you decided, was progress. It didn’t feel like much, but it was something. There were days when the memories of his laugh, the warmth of his hand in yours, didn’t sting quite as badly. And then, there were days like today, when the past came rushing back to you in a way you couldn’t avoid.

It was just a knock on your front door. You weren’t expecting anyone, and yet, when you heard it, you knew something was about to change.

When you opened the door, there she was—Natasha "Phoenix," standing in front of you. Her usual confident demeanor was a little softer today, like she was carrying something heavy that she didn’t want to talk about.

"Hey," she said, her voice low but steady. "Can I come in?"

You nodded, stepping aside to let her in. Something about the way she stood at your door made your chest tighten. It wasn’t just the fact that it was her—it was what she was about to say. You didn’t know how you knew, but you did. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this anxious.

The two of you made your way to the kitchen, where you offered her a drink. She politely declined, settling down at the table. You sat across from her, your hands fidgeting in your lap.

"Everything okay?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure why, but you already had a sinking feeling that you weren’t going to like what was coming.

She hesitated for a moment before speaking, her eyes meeting yours. "There’s a mission coming up. I can’t tell you much—it’s classified. But I wanted to let you know that Bradley might be flying it."

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. You knew this was bad. You could feel it.

"Bradley’s been flying high-risk missions for years," Phoenix continued, her voice steady but firm, "but this one is different. This is the most dangerous mission he’ll have flown. The odds… they’re not good. It will take two miracles happening at the same time for him to get home safely."

You couldn’t breathe. You wanted to stop her, to tell her that you didn’t need to know all the details. But you couldn’t. The words had already come, and they were burning through you.

She leaned forward slightly, her eyes serious. "But there’s something else. Something I need to tell you, woman to woman."

You swallowed hard, trying to brace yourself, though you already felt like you were crumbling.

"Bradley hasn’t been flying with a clear head," Phoenix said, her voice dropping to a more quiet, urgent tone. "Not since the last mission. He’s been distracted, pulled in a thousand different directions. And if he doesn’t fly this one with a clear head… I don’t think he’ll make it back."

The words hit you like a physical blow, and you felt your chest tighten, the air suddenly impossible to breathe.

Bradley hadn’t been okay. He’d been struggling, and you hadn’t even known. You hadn’t been able to help him, to fix whatever had been broken inside of him. But this… this was worse than anything you had imagined.

You stared at Phoenix, your mind reeling. All you could think about was the possibility—the reality—that Bradley might not come home. You had never imagined a world where that could happen. Where you could lose him forever.

And then it hit you—the realization that it was never just about the label. It was about so much more. About how, no matter how much you wanted to be enough for him, you weren’t the one who had mattered enough to him for him to put everything aside, to fight for you. And that was painful. But the thought of him not coming home? That ripped you apart in ways you didn’t know you could be broken.

"Please," you said, the words breaking through the suffocating silence. "Please tell me he’s going to be okay."

Phoenix didn’t answer immediately, her gaze shifting away as if she was trying to find the right words, the right reassurance. But there was nothing she could say.

"I don’t know," she finally said, her voice so low you could barely hear her. "I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I’m not sure. I don’t know if he’s going to be okay."

The words hung in the air between you, suffocating you in their weight. And all you could do was sit there, trying to grasp onto the fragile threads of hope that felt so far out of reach.

It was the hardest thing you’d ever had to hear. The thought of him not coming home, of him being lost to the sky forever—it made your entire world feel like it was unraveling.

You thought you were past him. You thought you could move on, heal, and put him behind you. But now, all you could think about was the future, the one where you would never get to see him again.

It was too much to bear. And you hated it. You hated that you couldn’t walk away from him, that you couldn’t turn your back on the love you had for him—even if it was unspoken, even if it was unfinished. You hated that you couldn’t fix him, couldn’t make him see you the way you needed him to.

But worse than anything, you hated that you might never get the chance to tell him how much you loved him.

Phoenix’s voice cut through the overwhelming weight of your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. "They’re getting on the aircraft carrier at 7:00 a.m. tomorrow," she said, her words steady but carrying a weight you couldn’t ignore. "I’m not asking you to come. I’m not asking you to talk to him. That decision’s up to you."

You felt a lump rise in your throat, the tightness in your chest making it hard to breathe. She wasn’t asking you to go to him, but she wasn’t telling you not to, either. The choice was yours, but it felt more like a trap than an option.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the quiet hum of the fridge in the corner. Phoenix didn’t seem to expect anything from you, but you could feel the gravity of the situation pulling you under. You didn’t know what you wanted, what you were supposed to want. All you knew was that Bradley was flying, and there was a real possibility he might not come back.

You swallowed, blinking back the tears that threatened to rise. "Thank you for telling me," you said quietly, your voice betraying the emotional weight you were carrying. "I—I don’t know what to do with this. But I appreciate you coming to me."

Phoenix gave you a nod, her face unreadable. "Just make sure you take care of yourself, alright? Whatever you decide."

You didn’t know what that meant. Taking care of yourself? How were you supposed to do that when the person who had occupied every corner of your mind was potentially flying into danger?

She stood up, her movements deliberate. "I’ll leave you to think about it," she said softly, her tone still serious but warm. "Take your time. But just know, whatever happens tomorrow, you’re not the only one who cares about him."

You nodded, not trusting your voice enough to say anything else.

She left then, and the silence in the room was deafening. The weight of her words, the knowledge of Bradley’s upcoming mission—it all settled like a stone in your stomach. You wanted to scream, wanted to run to him and beg him to stay, to take care of himself, to put everything on hold until he could figure it out. But you didn’t know if that would even make a difference. You didn’t know if anything would.

You sat there for a long while after Phoenix left, staring at the kitchen table as your mind raced, desperately trying to put the pieces together. Could you let him go again? Could you really do it?

Your phone sat on the counter, and you found yourself staring at it, knowing the texts from Bradley would come soon. They always did. But you didn’t reach for it. Not yet. You couldn’t bring yourself to open that door again, to let him back into your heart when you were still so unsure of everything—of what he felt, of what you felt, of whether or not he’d make it home.

And then, as the evening wore on, you found yourself pacing the apartment. You didn’t know what you should do. You didn’t know what to feel. Should you show up tomorrow morning? Should you see him off? Should you do what you’d always done—pretend like everything was fine, like nothing had ever changed? Or should you face the reality of it all, admit to yourself that you might never see him again?

The decision was suffocating. You were pulled in two directions, unsure of what the right choice was. Every part of you ached to see him one last time, to tell him what you had never said. But part of you wondered if you were just chasing something that had already slipped through your fingers.

And so, you sat with it, the uncertainty eating at you, and waited. Tomorrow would come, and with it, the moment when you would have to decide whether you could let him go—or whether you would risk it all to see him one last time.

* * * * *

The morning air was cool, but the nerves gnawing at you kept your body warm as you pulled into the parking lot at 6:15. You wanted to be here early—too early maybe—but you couldn’t take the chance of missing him. It had been two months since you last saw Bradley, and now, you had no choice but to face everything you’d been running from.

The lot began to fill as you sat in your car, watching people say their goodbyes—families, friends, all of them hugging and holding on to each other a little longer than usual. Each goodbye seemed to break something inside you, a reminder of what could be lost, of what you had once had and might not again.

And then you heard it. The familiar rumble of an engine. Your heart skipped a beat as you glanced to your right and saw it—the Bronco—pulling in next to you. You didn’t even have to look twice. You knew it was him.

For a split second, your eyes locked through the windshield, the kind of silent exchange that spoke volumes. Neither of you moved for a beat, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you like a thick fog.

You didn’t know who moved first, but before you knew it, the car doors opened, and you were walking around the front of the Bronco to where Bradley stood.

There was a long pause, the air between you thick with everything you were both carrying. Your lips parted first.

“I’m sorry,” you said, the words coming out choked and raw. “I’ve been… so messed up, Bradley. I’ve been pushing you away and—” You stopped yourself, your chest tightening as emotion swelled. “I didn’t mean it. I just… I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Bradley’s jaw clenched, his gaze turning hard with guilt before he stepped toward you, cutting you off.

“No, I’m the one who should be apologizing,” he said, his voice low but raw, full of regret. “I took you for granted. I lost you.”

The tears you thought you had already shed seemed to fall again at the sound of his words, and before you could stop yourself, you felt the sting of them, hot and sudden, blurring your vision.

His hands were on you then, pulling you into his arms, warm and solid. He was trying to comfort you, but it only hurt more, the realization that he knew—he knew it was his fault. The pain you’d been carrying had finally broken through, and you couldn’t help it. You cried harder into his chest, unable to control it.

Bradley’s arms tightened around you, his own breath shaky as he pressed his cheek against the top of your head. You could feel the way his body shook with something deeper than just the coolness of the morning air.

And then, between sobs, you whispered it—the thing you’d been holding in, the thing you needed him to hear.

"I love you."

There was no hesitation. No stiffening, no pulling away, just him pulling you closer, if that was even possible. 

His voice was rough when he replied, “I love you too, sweets. So damn much.”

The world seemed to stop then, everything else fading into the background as Bradley’s words sank in. The walls you’d built around yourself felt like they were crumbling as the words you’d longed to hear washed over you, finally, finally making everything feel right again.

But even then, the worry gnawed at you, pulling you from the moment. Your voice trembled as you looked up at him, hands gripping his shirt tight, “Come back to me. Please… come back alive.”

His hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours. 

“I promise,” he said quietly, and you believed him.

But then, as if the weight of the moment suddenly hit him too, Bradley pulled back just enough to look at you fully. 

There was something in his eyes, something that made your heart beat faster as he asked, “Will you be here when I get back? Will you wait for me?”

You nodded quickly, the answer spilling out of you before you could even think about it. “Yes,” you whispered, breathless. “I’ll be here.”

Bradley’s gaze softened, a hint of relief flashing across his face, and then he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was desperate and filled with everything you both had been holding back for so long. His arms wrapped around you tighter, and before you could process what was happening, his hands were lifting you off the ground, your thighs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he pulled you closer, his lips never leaving yours.

You heard the whistling before you could think about it, the sound of someone teasing. Maybe it was Jake. Maybe it was Coyote. Maybe even Bob, though it didn’t matter. None of it mattered because all you could feel, all you could think about, was the heat of Bradley’s kiss, the way his arms made you feel safe and wanted, the way he was home in a way nothing else could ever be.

In that moment, there was no question—no more uncertainty, no more fear. You were with him. And that was all that mattered.

[loveesiren]

Help Me (Pt. 1)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!reader

Synopsis: When Rafe finds out Y/n's in trouble, he's determined to keep her safe.

Warnings: Language, drug use, fentanyl, mentions of sex trafficking, abuse, 18+

Word Count: 4.1k+

"I can stop whenever I want, Y/N, I'm just fucking stressed out, alright?"

You watch as Rafe leans down and takes another line before leaning back against his car seat and pressing his hands to his head.

Rafe was really the only friend you had made on the island so far. Besides JJ's friends of course. After your mom died you were forced to move back with your dad and JJ. You were ecstatic to see your little brother, but Luke was a different story. Nothing had changed. He was still an abusive, alcoholic, piece of shit, always taking his anger out on JJ.

That was not something you had shared with Rafe. In fact, he didn't even know you were a Pogue, much less related to JJ.

You had a job at the club. One night after your shift you wandered down to the beach to sit by the water. Thats where you found Rafe Cameron passed out drunk in the sand. You helped him home and gave him your number. Ever since then, the two of you met up practically every night. He'd pick you up after work and the two of you would go to the beach and talk. You loved spending time with him. He made you laugh and smile and forget the hell that awaited you at home. But you knew he was king of the Kooks and hated the Pogues. You knew you couldn't hide that fact forever but you really didn't want to lose him over something so stupid.

"I don't like seeing you kill yourself, Rafe." You told him softly, choking back tears. Your mother had just died from a drug overdose not even 2 months ago.

"Then don't watch." He told you dryly as he set up another line on the center console.

You scoffed. He's never talked to you like that before. "You know my mom died because of this shit?" You yelled at him. "And cuz of that I have to move to this shit island and deal with my dad beating on my brother and I all day?"

He looked up at you, concern in his eyes now. "I-I didn't know you had a brother. You've never even told me about your family."

You sighed, clenching your jaw. "Yeah," You said before pulling back your hoodie to reveal the bruises forming around your neck.

"Y/N..." He said as he reached out, placing his fingers gently on your collar bone. You flinched at his touch.

"And JJ gets it a lot worse." You stated as you grabbed your things. Rafe was silent, taking in the new information. You were JJ's sister?

You hopped out of his truck, leaving him with the secrets you'd just revealed to him, knowing good and well this was probably the end of you and Rafe Cameron.

"I'm a Pogue," You said calmly, shrugging your shoulders with a half smile before slamming the door and walking off towards the Cut.

——————–

Rafe noticed you immediately as he entered Midsummers. You were working the bar tonight but because of the event, you were a lot more dressed up than usual. A tight black dress hugged your curves. Your wavy hair pulled back in a half pony. He noticed the diamonds draped around your neck. You looked nothing like a Pogue. He could also see the slight discoloration of the bruises you had tried to cover with make up. He wouldn't have noticed them if he hadn't seen them for himself the other night.

His eyes lingered on you for a moment as he watched how elegantly you moved and interacted with others. How the hell was she a Maybank? He thought to himself.

You met Rafe's eyes for a moment. He didn't seem fucked up. He seemed concerned. You bit your lip for a moment before turning away, not offering him a smile or anything. You had avoided talking to him for a few days. As much as you missed him, you couldn't risk getting close to someone who used drugs to cope. Weed never bothered you. You'd even have a beer once in a while. But after everything you and JJ witnessed growing up, you knew how badly the outcome could be.

Rafe was standing around with Kelce and Topper, sipping on a cocktail when he noticed JJ making his way through the crowd. "Shit," He whispered under his breath as he noticed the bruise surrounding JJ's left eye.

"Well, well, well," Kelce said, stepping out in front of JJ, catching him by surprise. "I'd love if you could get me a mai tai, my friend."

"Yeah, see I'm kind of on the clock right now but if you guys just wanna wait by the bar-" JJ said before taking off in the crowd.

You darted your eyes towards the locker rooms as you saw your brother running through the sea of people, Rafe, Kelce, and the rest of their posse chasing him. "What the fuck," You said to yourself. JJ was not supposed to be here.

"Hey, Jesse!" You leaned over to your coworker. "Can you run the bar for a minute? I gotta use the bathroom."

"Sure thing," He responds and you made your way towards the locker rooms.

You had just reached the door when JJ was being dragged out by security. "What the hell is going on here?!" You ask.

"Tell your sister she's pretty hot for a Pogue!" You hear Rafe's voice call out after JJ.

JJ quickly slips away from the security guard and rushes towards him. "JJ!" You said as you and the security guard pull him back.

Rafe's eyes go wide as they meet yours. He wasn't expecting to see you, immediately regretting what he just said.

"What the fuck, Rafe?!" You said, storming towards him. You slapped him across the face as hard as you could. But before you knew it, Kelce had pushed you to the ground.

As a second security guard began to pull you away from the scene you saw Rafe slam Kelce up against a wall and scream at him, although you couldn't make out what he was saying as you were dragged away.

You and JJ were thrown out in front of the entire party. JJ helping you to your feet as you fell in the grass.

"Don't you EVER FUCKING TOUCH HER AGAIN!" Rafe screamed in Kelce's face, pinning him against the wall by his neck.

"What the fuck dude?! She's just some fucking Pogue!" Kelce responded.

"Never fucking again. Do you understand me?" Rafe said, eyes locked on Kelce. Kelce nodded in agreement.

Rafe took a deep breath before pushing off of Kelce and heading outside.

He watched as you stumbled away with your brother.

"Fuck, JJ!" You said as you walked along the beach. John B, Kiara, and Pope trailing behind you. "What the fuck was that?! I just lost my goddamn job!"

"I did nothing!" He yelled back at you. "It's those fucking Kooks!"

"Why the hell were you even there in the first place?!"

JJ was silent.

"Is this about your little treasure hunt again?" You asked, aiming your question at the group. They all stayed silent. "Great. That's just great. Leave me the hell out of it!" You said as you stormed off, making your way home.

You were almost to your house when your phone buzzed. A text from Rafe.

Y/N, I'm sorry. Can we please talk?

You rolled your eyes and shut off your phone.

You took a deep breath before you headed inside. Your dad was still up. Fuck. He was wasted as usual.

"Hey Princess," He mumbled. Your stomach turned at his words. You always hated when he called you that.

"I'm going to bed," You said dryly as you headed toward your room. Luke grabbed your arm and spun you back towards him.

"Now that's no way to greet your daddy, is it?"

His breath smelled like whiskey and cigarettes. The scent made you gag. "Get off me!" You yell, shoving him backwards.

He grabbed you by your neck and threw you against the wall. "You don't fuckin' talk to me like that you little bitch." He said through gritted teeth. "You're a slut just like your momma!"

You spat in his face and he punched you in the side of the head. He continued to hit you several more times until you were a bloody heap on the floor, barely conscious.

You could feel yourself being dragged across the floor and placed roughly on the couch.

"Ya know," Luke started. You were barely able to register his words. "I bet I could make a real pretty penny off of you."

Your eyes fluttered slightly as you tried to catch your breath. You saw him stick his hunting knife into a small plastic bag. He came over and grabbed your chin, forcing you to open your mouth.

"Here ya go, Princess." He said as he forced your mouth open and pressed the tip of his knife to you tongue. "I gotta go make some calls. You just wait riiiight here." He said as you quickly felt your head start to get heavy.

"Dad, please..." You begged before the familiar feeling of fentanyl took over your body.

______________

"What the fuck did you do?!" JJ yelled at his dad as he saw your motionless body on the couch.

"Ya know yer sister has a real mouth on her," Luke spat.

JJ had his fingers pressed to your neck, barely able to find your pulse.

"Did you fucking drug her?!"

"It's none of your concern boy! Now get the hell out of here I have someone pickin' 'er up in 20 minutes." Luke said as he walked to the kitchen to make another drink.

JJ's eyes widened. "What do you mean picking her up?"

Luke was silent.

"Dad...did-did you fucking sell her?" JJ muttered.

JJ couldn't contain his rage anymore as he picked a beer bottle up off the table and threw it at the back of his dads head.

"Fuck!" Luke said as glass shattered against his skin. He didn't even have time to turn around before JJ had already pushed him to the floor, landing punches to the side of his head over and over again. Blood coated JJ's face and the walls as he took out all his pent up rage on his father.

The way he'd abused you guys your whole lives. Beating you, drugging you, and now going as far as to sell his own daughter to make a quick buck. He couldn't take it anymore.

Luke was barely clinging to consciousness when JJ finally let go of him.

He stood over his father as he tried to slow his breathing and think of his next move. "Fuck," He whispered to himself as he ran his shaking hand through his blonde locks. "Fuck, okay.."

He quickly pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

JB: Hello?

JJ: John B! I-I need your help man!

JB: What's going on?

JJ: I'll explain later just please come pick us up.

JB: Us?

JJ: Me and Y/N, man, PLEASE!

JB: I'm on my way!

JJ tried his best not to hyperventilate as he made his way over to you. "Come on, Y/N, please wake up!" He begged, shaking you lightly. He could see all the bruising and blood that coated your body and he didn't want to risk hurting you further.

He got up and paced around the room as he waited for John B. He spotted the clear baggie on the table and picked it up. He flicked it as he examined the small amount of white powder. He knew it wasn't coke. "Fuck!" He yelled, unsure of how much you had consumed. This wasn't the first time your dad had drugged you. He'd done it when you were kids to get you to sleep. JJ prayed he didn't overdo it as tears fell from his eyes.

His head snapped up as he heard a car pulling up out front. He inched the curtain of the doors window to the side, expecting to see John B. It wasn't.

A black Lincoln parked in front of the house and shut off the lights. "Shiiiit!" JJ whispered in a panic. He ran over to your and gently scooped your small frame into his arms, cradling your head against his chest. "I got you, sis." He said as he quietly made his way towards the back door.

He made his way through the trees as he heard two men talking as they approached the house. He moved quietly toward the road when he spotted the Twinkie. He ran out in front of it, John B swerving to avoid hitting them before coming to a quick stop.

Kiara slid the door open to let him in. "Holy shit, what happened?!" She asked, terror in her voice as she looked over the wounds coating your unconscious body.

"My dad," JJ choked out. "He-he was gonna sell her." He was sobbing now as he laid your body down gently, resting your head on a pillow.

"What?" Kiara and John B said in unison.

"He drugged her and beat her and these two guys showed up and I grabbed her and ran. I-I don't even know what to do. The things they were going to do to her..." He trailed off, unable to bare the thought. He pulled his knees to his chest and sobbed more.

"We need to get her to a hospital," Kiara said softly as she rubbed JJ's back.

"No! No hospitals. I'll call my cousin." JJ said as he took out his phone. "Just go back to the Chateau."

______________

JJ chewed on his finger as he paced around the room.

Ricky checked over you one more time. "She's alive." He finally said. "And she'll be okay."

JJ sighed in relief, as did John B, Kiara, and Pope.

"She has a concussion. I was able to stitch up these two cuts," He said as motioned to the one on the side of your head and on your collar bone. "She's going to be out for a while but he didn't give her a lethal dose."

"Thank you, Ricky." JJ said. "Seriously."

Ricky offered him a smile. "I always liked her more than you," He chuckled as he stood up and patted JJ on the shoulder. "If you need anything else, just give me a call."

JJ nodded. "Thanks, man."

______________

You were still out cold when the Pogues woke up.

"What time is it?" Pope asked groggily as he rubbed his eyes.

"11:30," Kiara responded with a sigh.

JJ stood up and pulled on his boots.

"Where are you going?" John B asked.

"Gotta get some stuff from my place," He said before leaning down and placing a kiss on your forehead. "Keep an eye on her, I'll be back in an hour."

"Okay," John B responded.

"Call me if she wakes up!" JJ yelled as he ran out the door.

JJ sighed as he adjusted the gun in his waist band. Making sure he would be able to grab it if needed. He stood in front of his house, the front door was wide open.

He walked in slowly. Scanning over his home in search of his dad. "Dad?" He asked softly. There was no response. He wasn't sprawled out in a bloody heap on the floor where JJ had left him the night before.

The house was quiet and when JJ was sure there was no one inside he headed toward your room. He grabbed a duffle bag out of your closet and started shoving as many clothes in it as possible. He grabbed a book that lay on your bedside table. He also grabbed your purse knowing all your important items would be in there. When he was done, he threw the bag over his shoulder. He was about to head out when something caught his eye.

He picked up the gold chain that lay on your dresser. A small locket attached to it. He popped it open to find a picture of your mother. He smiled. You looked so much like the woman she used to be before drugs took over her life. He noticed the picture in the other side of the locket. It was a picture of the two of you when you were kids. He brushed his thumb over the small picture as he remembered that day. You taught him to build sand castles and make jewelry out of shells you found on the beach. He remembers how well you were able to distract him from the sound of your parents fighting.

"Y/N!"

JJ snapped out of the memory as someone knocked on the front door, yelling your name. He shoved the necklace in his pocket and grabbed his gun.

He rounded the corner, pointing the gun at the intruder.

"Fuck!" Rafe said as he turned around and noticed JJ pointing the gun directly at him. "Chill dude," Rafe said as he put his arms up in defense. "I'm not here to start anything."

"Why are you here, Rafe?" JJ asked, still pointing the gun in his direction.

"I'm looking for Y/N,"

"Why?"

"I just wanted to talk to her about last night. Apologize." He lowered his hands as JJ lowered the gun. "And I think I can get her her job back."

JJ looked down at his feet. "She's not here," He said as he pushed past Rafe and out the front door.

"Well, do you know where she is?" Rafe asked as he followed him. "Look, JJ, I'm sorry about last night. I really am. But I care about Y/N."

"Rafe!" JJ yelled as he turned to face him. "Look, man, just-just go home, okay? We've got shit to deal with." JJ snapped.

Rafe looked him in the eyes, his brows furrowed. "I-is she okay?" His voice was soft.

JJ could feel tears forming in his eyes, but he wouldn't dare cry in front of Rafe. "Go home, Rafe." His words were quiet but firm as he turned around and stormed off.

Rafe ran his fingers through his hair. Nausea creeped through his body as he began to worry. What happened to you? He was beating himself up over the way he had treated you. You were the only person to actually care about him. That scared him and he pushed you away. Now he was scared he would never get the chance to tell you how he really felt.

_______________

Rafe chewed on his thumb nail as he made his way up to his room. He paused when he heard Sarah on the phone. He leaned closer to her door trying to make out what she was saying.

"He was going to sell her?! Like to traffickers?!"

Rafe's breath hitched. Was she talking about Y/N?

"Is she awake yet?"

There was silence. Rafe still held his breath.

"Well, we can bring her to Tanneyhill. She'll be safe here."

Rafe waited a few more moments.

"Alright, I'll be there soon." Sarah said before hanging up the phone.

"Fuck," Rafe whispered as he leaned his back to the wall and pressed his palms to his eyes.

Sarah opened the door and jumped at the unexpected sight of her brother. "What are you doing?" She asked him.

"Sarah, was that about Y/N?" He asked as he pointed down to her phone.

"Are you listening to my conversations?!" She asked, irritation in her voice.

"Sarah. Sarah!" Rafe yelled, squeezing his eyes shut and lowering his hand slowly to try and calm down. "Is Y/N hurt?"

"Why do you care, Rafe? I thought you hated Pogues."

His eyes began to water. "Is she hurt?" His voice cracked.

Sarah's expression softened. She nodded softly. "Yeah, Rafe. She is. And she's not safe, we need to bring her here."

"Where is she?" He asked, already fishing his keys out of his pocket and headed down the stairs.

"She's at John B's." She replied, following him quickly.

Rafe and Sarah both climbed into his truck. He turned it on and quickly threw it into drive as he sped off towards the Cut.

"Tell me what happened, Sarah." Rafe demanded.

Sarah had never seen her brother like this and it frightened her.

"Uhm, I don't know everything just that her dad beat her and drugged her when she got home. When JJ found her she was unconscious and her dad was getting ready to sell her off to some men. JJ got her out of there right when they showed up." She explained.

Rafe clenched his fists around the steering wheel as he sped faster towards John B's. Sarah gripped her seat tighter, nervous at the speed they were accelerating to.

Rafe pulled up in front of John B's house and quickly threw the truck into park before hopping out.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," John B said as he watched Rafe quickly approach his house. Pope stood behind him, ready to fight if need be. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"He just wants to help," Sarah said, standing between Rafe and John B.

"Where is she?" Rafe's voice was shaky.

John B stared at him for a moment before nodding towards the door. "On the couch," He said.

Rafe pushed past him and went inside, immediately seeing your bruised unconscious figure laying flat on the couch. Kiara had just put you into sweats and a t-shirt before using a warm rag to wipe away the rest of the blood from your wounds.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked as she turned to Rafe.

"Fuck," Rafe cried softly as he fell to his knees beside you and Kiara, taking your hand gently in his and putting it to his cheek.

"What the fuck?" Kiara mouthed to John B as him and Sarah came inside. John B just shrugged with wide eyes, equally confused as the rest of them.

"John B do you have like any clean-" JJ began as he entered the room. "What the fuck are you doing here, Rafe?" JJ spat when he saw Rafe kneeling by your body. "Get the fuck away from my sister!" He said, lunging towards him.

Rafe fell back and held his hands up. "I just wanna help!" He yelled. JJ paused as he saw Rafe crying. "Please," He whispered. "Let me help her." He begged.

"We can take her to Tanneyhill." Sarah chimed in. "Our parents will be gone for the rest of the week. She can recover there. And whoever is looking for her won't find her."

JJ thought for a moment, biting his lip. "Okay." He agreed, realizing that would be the safest place for you while he sorted all of this out. "Let's take her there now." He said as he went to lift your off the couch.

"Grab her shit," JJ said to Rafe as he nodded at the bag beside him. Rafe did as he was told.

Rafe ran out of the house and opened the door to the back seat. JJ climbed inside with you, resting your head on his lap. When Rafe was sure you were safely in the truck he jumped in the drivers seat. Sarah climbed in the passenger seat and the rest of the Pogues got in the bed of the truck.

You could make out voices around you but you couldn't get your eyes to open. The voices were familiar. "JJ?" Your voice was barely a whisper.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm here," He said as he ran his fingers through your hair.

"Is she up?" Rafe asked, constantly glancing back at you in the rearview mirror.

"Barely," JJ replied.

Rafe chewed on his bottom lip the whole drive back to his house. Once he pulled into the driveway, everyone was quick to help you out. Sarah guided them to the large spare bedroom and JJ laid you gently on the bed.

_____________

That night, Sarah started a fire in the fire pit out back. The Pogues sat around drinking beer and laughing. Rafe, however, never left your side. He sat in the chair next to your bed, focusing on the rise and fall of your chest as you slept peacefully.

"How do you know her?"

Rafe looked up to see JJ leaning against the doorway, beer in hand as he examined your state.

"She, uh..." Rafe began. "We met a couple months ago. Never met anyone like her before."

JJ nods his head. "She's a good person. Smart as shit too. Which makes me surprised she hung out with you."

Rafe chuckles and runs his tongue across his bottom lip. "Yeah, she's, uhm, special. The only person that's ever really given a fuck about me."

JJ was silent as he came to the other side of your bed, running a light finger over the stitches on your face.

"I was a dick," Rafe spoke up. "I fucked things up and I need to make them right. I mean, I-I just can't believe this happened."

"Well, I can't make her forgive you. And quite frankly, she's too good for you. But," JJ began. "I need to go find dear old dad and make sure she's going to be safe. Can I trust that you'll keep her safe here?"

Rafe nodded eagerly. "Yeah, of course. Anything I can do to help."

JJ studied Rafe's expression for a moment. He was being genuine. As much as JJ hated Rafe, he could tell the feelings he had for his sister were real and trusted that she'd be safe in his care.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I enjoyed your family day piece about Malleus setting Lilia up with a disguise to attend family day activities. It would be a shame if we didn't have an interaction with him now!

I was thinking that maybe the parents would go speak to the person in charge of club activities about how their child was doing. So, can I request Riddle speaking to Silver's Dad (Disguised Lilia) about his riding/training?

[Referencing this interaction!]

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

A steady trickle of families had been coming in through the day. It was, Riddle imagined, a respite to leave the crowded classrooms and corridors of the Main Building and exit to fresh air and sunshine. More space to move, more space to breathe.

Down by the stables, there were no stuffy professors to speak with, no grades or assignments to review. It was only the horses and him. And, from experience, Riddle knew that parents tended to be more eager hearing about fun extracurriculars than the usual academic activities.

The stress practically melted from their faces when they found themselves among the equines, who whinnied softly and sometimes nestled into open palms as he rattled off about the Equestrian Club's illustrious history. They would ask their questions about animal care and riding, nod approvingly, linger a bit, then be on their ways. Riddle didn't fault them--there's much to see, much to do. There was only so much time they can dedicate to him.

Riddle absentmindedly ran a brush through Vorpal's mane. The horse whinnied appreciatively, earning a small smile from him.

"Kufufu, such a fine stallion!" a chipper voice remarked, ripping Riddle out of his headspace. "All muscle, and so well-mannered."

There, standing at the entrance to the stables, was a short man in a suit. Riddle blinked several times. He wasn't certain why--was it perhaps the strong sun backlighting him?--but it was a challenge for him to piece together the man's face, which seemed to be shrouded in a mist. It was like when he did crossword puzzles and the answer was on the tip of his tongue, yet skittered away the more he attempted to wrangle it.

"You're familiar with horses, sir?" Riddle asked, lifting his brush.

"Oh, plenty! They used to be an integral part of many human settlements, be they for farming, leisure, trade, or war. We don't use horses much where I come from though. Valley folk rely on their own magic for most things--though I'd often witness the cavalry of other nations in combat. Poor things. I wish they didn't have to see the ravages of war."

A resident of Briar Valley and a veteran...

It instantly clicked.

"Ah, you must be Silver's father then. My apologies for not recognizing sooner." Riddle executed a bow. "He has shared many a story with us about you and your courageous service."

"Has he now?" His eyes twinkled, shifting colors. "Kufufu. It sounds as though he's proud of his old man. But enough about me! Tell me about Silver and his time in club. I'd love to hear about how he's doing."

Riddle inclined his head. "Silver is one of our strongest and most disciplined riders. When he rides, I feel as though I'm watching a knight leading a royal procession... if only he didn't fall asleep half of the time!"

"That certainly sounds like him, yes." He laughed, as if he had been expecting the news all along. "What else has Silver been up to?"

"Well, he's adept at befriending the horses and soothing them when they're unsettled. Sometimes this also extends to calming down fellow equestrians who become emotional and shout incessantly at the horses. He never misses a day of training either. Honestly, he's an example the rest of the club should follow."

"The noisy boy you mentioned,” Silver’s father said, “You wouldn't happen to be talking about Sebek, now would you?"

Riddle startled, flushing red. Not with anger, but with embarrassment. "I was trying to be subtle, but if you're going to come out and just say it like that…!"

"No need," he chuckled, holding up a hand. "I'm very familiar with what he's like! Always has been that way, ever since he was a child coming over for playdates with Silver. They'd train together too. Of course, my Silver would beat the stuffing out of Sebek 9 times out of 10, and Sebek would run up to him crying and demanding a rematch. Ah, youth!"

"I-I see..."

I thought that my childhood studies were rigorous, but this is on a completely different level!!

Riddle cleared his throat. "In any case, your son is doing quite well for himself and seems to be getting along well with his clubmates. We in Equestrian Club are proud to call him one of our own."

"That's excellent news," he cried, clapping his hands in a jovial manner, "though not a surprise at all. Silver has never been a problem child. Since he was but a babe in the cradle, he's been so mild-mannered and polite. Doing his own chores, wrestling bears, looking after himself while I’m away. That's my boy, going out into the world and making me proud~”

“Erm, yes…” Riddle’s voice trailed off. His mind was left spinning from the off-kilter energy radiating off of the older man.

What an eccentric individual! Certainly the strangest father I’ve met. And yet…

Riddle hesitated, looking again at the face of Silver’s father. It was pointless, just a garbled? blurry mess of colors and shapes. He could tell that the man was happy, but could discern nothing else.

… Why do I feel as though I know him from somewhere?

[scoonsalicious]

1/Uncovered

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Pocket!Reader

Summary: Family is complicated. Family is messy. Family is what you make it.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mention of sexual situations.

Word Count: 2.8k

Previously On...: Fuck the one-shots-- we're in miniseries territory now, baby! Consider this a kind of teaser that bridges us from Unwanted to Unbroken.

A/N: I HAVE MISSED YOU. I HAVE MISSED THEM. WELCOME BACK, BITCHES!

No release schedule for this one, though-- sorry. We going in raw.

Banner by my beloved @mrsbuckybarnes1917; poor recolor by me.

If you ever feel so inclined to support my work, hop on over to buy me a coffee; it's much appreciated! <3

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Laying on the chaise lounge on the apartment terrace, you lazily ran your fingers through Bucky’s soft hair as he rested his head against you. The two of you were taking the rare break in your busy schedules to enjoy some quiet reading time– you had finally convinced Bucky to read To Kill a Mockingbird after trying to (poorly, in your opinion, but you were a science nerd, not a literary major) explain how it was the most important piece of American Literature ever written. He’d argued with you, firmly stating that title belonged to The Jungle, and while you didn’t discount the importance of Upton Sinclair’s work, you failed to see how he could make the distinction when he’d missed out on almost one hundred years of The Great American Novel. 

He’d only conceded to giving it a chance once you promised to reread it along with him, so you could discuss it together and now, here you were, enjoying the cool breeze that came in off the Hudson that cut through the late Summer heat, letting your imagination wander along with the adventures of Scout, Jem, and Dill. 

“Gotta say, sweets,” Bucky said absentmindedly as he turned a page, “kinda surprised you love this book so much. Over a hundred pages in and nobody’s having sex; doesn’t seem like your kinda story.”

“Shut up,” you chastised him, playfully tugging on a strand of his chestnut locks. “Not all my interests are smut-related, thank you.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Bucky chuckled as he stroked his fingers along your thigh where it rested next to his side. “Always such a dirty mind to go with that dirty mouth.”

You tried to suppress the shiver that went through your body at his touch, but it was like trying to keep the sun’s rays from warming your skin– impossible. He was already lying between your legs on the chaise while you read, his head resting comfortably on the soft curve of your stomach, his vibranium arm propped posessively over your knee. 

“Behave,” you warned him, though your voice didn’t hold any real heat. “We’re supposed to be reading.” You both knew that, if Bucky really wanted to distract you from the book in favor of other more… intimate activities, it wouldn’t take much work for him to do so, and you wouldn’t even be mad about it. 

Though you couldn’t see it from the way you were laying, you could easily picture the smirk that was gracing his face in your mind’s eye. “Okay, okay,” he conceded. “I’ll be good, I promise.” 

You wanted to believe him, but the way he kept teasing you by drawing soft patterns on the skin of your leg with his fingertips told you otherwise. You’d tried to ignore him, but you were only human. 

“Bucky,” you groaned in frustration as his fingers climbed ever higher along the outside of your thigh. “You are not playing fair!”

Bucky tilted his head back so he could look at you. “Whaddaya mean, doll?” he asked, his face the picture of innocence. “I’m just readin’ my book. Not m’fault, you’re so sensitive.”

You rolled your eyes at him; you were minutes away from just tossing the book to the ground and locking your legs around him, and you knew he knew it, too.

Before you could make a move, though, your phone began pinging with incoming alerts, one after the other, in a seemingly neverending barage of notitifcations. You frowned as you both turned to stare at the device where it sat on the coffee table. 

“Who’s textin’ you like a crazy person?” Bucky asked, slowly sitting up between your legs to look back at you.

You shook your head and frowned. “That’s not my text tone,” you told him. “That’s my Google Alerts notification.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed and he leaned forward, picking your phone up from the table. “May I?” he asked, inclining his head toward it. 

“Please,” you nodded, granting him permission to unlock your phone and check the notifications as you sat up straighter, pulling your knees against your chest.

Bucky quickly tapped in your passcode and began scanning the screen. You were grateful he’d taken the initiative to look for you– there was only one thing you’d ever set a Google Alert for: your own name, and every time you received one, your heart would stop in your chest, convinced that this time, someone would have uncovered the truth about your abusive past and the horrible things that had been done to you as a child.

You weren’t ashamed of what you’d endured. No, the years of sexual assualt you’d suffered at the hands of your mother’s boyfriend and the men he pimped you out to had made you stronger, given you courage, tenacity, drive to make something of yourself, but the secrets of your past were yours to divulge at your discretion, and you’d lived under a constant cloud of fear that one day, the choice of who to share that information with would be taken from you.

After a moment, Bucky sighed and held out the phone to you. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said softly, and you felt your heart seize in your chest. “Looks like we’ve finally been found out.”

With a confused frown, you took the phone from Bucky and glanced down at the screen. You were suddenly hit with the wildest sense of deja vu as you read the headlines that filled the page, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh at how you’d worried over nothing, or cry over the memories the headlines invoked:

Cold War Love Affair: Winter Soldier Caught in Scandalous Romance with Stark Exec!

Winter Soldier’s Shocking Romance: Bucky Barnes Steals Cap's Flame, Sparks Fly at Avengers’ Tower!

Captain America Left in the Cold? Winter Soldier Spotted Getting Cozy with Stark Industries CTO!

Is Bucky Barnes Breaking the Bro Code? Winter Soldier Moves In on Captain America’s Girl!

Demotion in Rank? Stark Industry’s Tech Queen Downgrades from Captain to Sergeant!

Winter Soldier & Stark's Leading Lady: Romance Heats Up Between Avengers' Baddest and Brightest!

You ended up breathing out a relieved laugh. Your past remained behind closed doors, exactly where you wanted it to stay and, unlike the last time you found yourself the subject of tabloid fodder, at least you were being romantically linked to the right man for a change. Granted, you could have done without the implication that you and Steve had any sort of romantic history, but you’d take what you could get when it came to these vultures.

Bucky, however, looked like he was about to be sick.

“Baby?” you asked tentatively as you put the phone down and picked up his hand. “Are you okay? Why do you look so upset?”

Bucky exhaled loudly and looked up at you through his lashes. “I’m so sorry, Pocket,” he said softly.

You looked at him, baffled by his demeanor. “Sorry? Buck… what on earth do you have to be sorry about? So people finally found out about us– so what? It’s not like we were ever keeping us a secret.”

“I know,” he sighed, running his hands through his hair, “but this…” he nodded toward the phone, “this can’t be good for your reputation. I can’t be good for your reputation.”

“Fuck my reputation,” you scoffed playfully, picking up the phone as you began looking through the headlines again. “Baby, the only people who’s opinions of me I give a shit about are you and the people who live in the Tower. I couldn’t possibly care less what the general public thinks of me. We don’t owe them anything. We don’t belong to them.” 

Bucky gave you a look as though you were being incredibly naive. “Sweetheart, people hate me. They wanna see me locked away for the rest of my life for the things I’ve done. They’re gonna look at you, and they’re not gonna see the brilliant, amazing woman that you are. They’re gonna see someone willing to date a monster. And they’re gonna judge you for it. They’re gonna treat you differently because of it, punish you for loving me, and I’m so sorry for that.”

You barked out an unintended laugh as you reviewed the comments on one of the articles. “Baby, I don’t think you have to worry about that.” He looked at you with a puzzled expression. “Oh, they definitely seem to hate me, alright,” you added, turning the phone back for him to look at, “but it’s not for the reasons you think.”

He curiously took the phone from your hands and scrolled through the comments, his face growing more and more angry as he read: bbarneslover: Ugh, how does she land Bucky Barnes? She's literally just… a nerd. → makemehowlcommando: Wow, really? Her? Guess even superheroes lower their standards sometimes.       → bbarneslover: I could treat him way better. What does she even have that the rest of us don't?

→ wintersoldierwifu: How much ya’ll wanna bet it’s just a PR stunt?!

→ hydrahottie4bucky: She better watch out. Bucky deserves someone who actually appreciates him—not someone chasing clout who fucked his best friend! → wokeupwithbucky: I can’t believe Bucky would fall for someone like her! It should be me! →hydrahottie4bucky: She’s only with him because of the Avengers connection, not because she cares about him! → bucky’snaughtynightmare: She couldn’t care less about Bucky’s trauma. She’s just after the Avengers clout, obviously. → barnesinmybedroom: Bitch probably doesn’t even understand Bucky's past like real fans do!

→ bucky'snaughtynightmare: First Captain America, now Bucky? I don’t want to call slut, but… → bbarneslover: Girl’s out here collecting Avengers like Pokémon. We all know the rumors about her and Tony Stark. → bucky’snaughtynightmare: Pathetic. What, is there some “Collect All Avengers” achievement we don’t know about?

→ barnesridesmerough: I’m sorry, but how does a glorified IT girl snag two Avengers? Must be some kind of tech magic.     → bucky’snaughtynightmare: Magic tech vagina, maybe.

→ makemehowlcommando: She’s just Cap’s leftovers. Bucky deserves so much better than some sloppy seconds! → bucky’sbadgirl: It’s obviously a attention thing for her. Can’t believe Bucky’s falling for this! → barnesridesmerough: I give it a month before he comes to his senses and dumps her. She’s not right for him! → makemehowlcommando: LOL, she won’t last a week. He’ll get bored and dump her for someone interesting. → barnesridesmerough: From your lips to Bucky’s ears! Ugh, this girl sucks!

→ brooklynbadboylover: Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry. Why does he make me so feral?! → bucky’sbadgirl: He could choke me out any day. Either with his arm or his dick, idc… → darkchocolate78: Ya’ll need Jesus. Besides. I think they're cute together.

The scowl on Bucky’s face was almost adorable as you watched him grow offended on your behalf. “How do we get them to take this stuff down?” he asked you. 

You gently took the phone back from him and began typing away at the comments section. “Not really much we can do about it, Buckaroo,” you told him. “Once it’s on the internet, it’s pretty much forever.

Bucky frowned at your lack of concern. “I’m not just gonna sit back and let a bunch of strangers talk shit about you like that, Pocket.”

“I’ve heard much worse, trust me,” you said with a shrug. “Besides, why should I be mad when they’re just jealous? I can’t blame them. You’re fucking delicious. I feel sorry for them for not being me.” You quirked an eyebrow at him over your phone, trying to be playful, but he wasn’t having it. You snorted as you finished typing. “Besides, I’m not doing ‘nothing.’” You grinned as you turned your phone back to him so he could see what you just typed. → BuckyBarnesFucker69: Oh, I’m sure she sucks alright… like a fucking Hoover. Probably the only reason he’s kept her around as long as he has. Only thing a mouth like that is good for. “Pocket, this…” Bucky spluttered, “this is awful! I—” He stopped and turned to look at you as you started laughing maniacally. His gaze went between you and the comment in front of him, then back again. “You’re BuckyBarnesFucker69, aren’t you?”

You bit your lip, trying to fight the grin that was desperate to escape across your face. “Mayyyyybee,” you offered mischieviously. 

Bucky glared at you, a combination of confusion and frustration clouding his features. “Why the fuck would you play into this?” he asked. “It’s like… you’re letting them bully you.”

His indignance on your behalf warmed your heart and you scooted closer to him to wrap your arms around his neck. “It’s very sexy that you want to defend my honor, Buck,” you said, pressing your lips to the stubble on his cheek. “But you don’t have to worry about it– I’m in on the joke, now. They think they’re laughing at me, but they don’t realize they’re actually laughing with me. So, I win.”

Bucky’s gaze was skeptical as studied your face. “You’re certifiable. You realize that, right?” he asked eventually, a slight smile pulling at the edge of his lips. 

“Uh huh,” you agreed with an enthusiastic nod. “But you love my brand of crazy.”

Bucky sighed dramatically. “God help me, I do,” he said, pulling you down into his lap. He brushed a strand of hair away from your face before his gaze turned serious again. “Are you sure this is all okay, though, doll?” he asked.

You repositioned yourself on his lap, straddling his thighs as you turned to face him. “I’m sure,” you told him. “I know it’s hard for you to believe sometimes, but I’m proud to be your girl, Bucky Barnes. I don’t care if the whole world knows it. Fuck, I want them to know it. I want them to look at you and see the man I see, every time. To see all the good things about you that I love so much.”

Bucky’s gaze turned soft as he stroked your cheek with his flesh thumb. “And what are all the good things you love about me?”

You pulled back slightly, giving him a wary look. “Oh, fishing for compliments now, are we?” you teased.

The grin he gave you was enough to light a fire low in your belly. “Maybe one or two,” he admitted cheekily. 

“You have a magic dick,” you told him with a grin. Your natural instinct was to make a joke of it, and you thought you were going to keep going in that vein, but in the moment, you suddenly felt the need to be serious, to be honest with him. “You’re a good man. Even after everything you’ve been through, you still try. No one would ever fault you if you just threw in the towel and said ‘fuck it, I’m done,’ but that’s not who you are. You keep fighting, even when you don’t have to, but you do it because it’s the right thing to do. You do it so that other people won’t suffer the way you were made to suffer. 

“You make me laugh, Bucky. You’re warm, and kind, and yeah, you occasionally fuck up sometimes, but you learn from it. You’re always striving to be a better version of yourself, and you make me want to be a better version of myself, too. You–” you had to pause to clear your throat. Somewhere along the way, you realized you’d started getting worked up with emotion. 

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I know… I know I’m not always an easy person to love. I know I have my issues, and a lot of guys would have looked at all my damage and probably just run in the opposite direction, but not you. You’ve never been anything but patient and loving and gentle with me.” You choked back a soft sob. “I never thought anyone would ever be able to love me, with my history and my baggage, but there you were. And baby, you love me better than I could have ever even wished for, because despite everything you’ve been through, you have such a big heart. And that’s what I love about you the most– they put you through hell, and you’d be well within your rights to turn your back on the entire fucking planet, but you don’t. You choose to save it. Every damned day, you make the choice to be a good man. And I fucking love you for it.” 

You sniffed and wiped at your face, your hand coming away wet with tears. “Shit,” you laughed, embarrassed at the way your emotions had taken over. “Was not planning on going full-drama on you. Should have just stuck with the ‘magic dick’ part. Sorry.”

Bucky was silent as you regained your composure, looking at you with an intensity that unnerved you.

“Say something, Buck," you chuckled in an awkward attempt to relieve the tension you felt under his gaze, "otherwise I’m going to think I embarrassed myself right out of this relationship.” You weren’t sure what you wanted him to say to you– just reassure you hadn’t made a complete fool of yourself in front of him, you supposed, but when he opened his mouth, he took you completely by surprise.

“Marry me.”

<- Previous / Next ->

[nectardaddy]

OH CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN. . . single dad! meian + f!reader

✮⋆˙ notes/CWs - brief mention of parental death, heavy underlying emotions, meian's a flirt when he wants to be, typos probably

It was all too early for the man that morning, the sun barely even breaking the horizon when his alarm went off. He rubbed at tired eyes the whole morning, fighting off the urge to do nothing more than get back in bed. But he couldn't do that, even if he had the chance - he had more than just himself to take care of. 

His daughter, Himawari, always, without fail, fought him on waking up; and now that it was earlier than normal, it was a complete lost cause. She fought against waking up, fought against getting ready, and fought against going outside because she refused to wear a jacket. But the chill outside turned her off to the idea of going to school all together. Stubborn, and moody from the change of schedule, he had to all but drag her to get in the car - she fought against that too.

They had to get to her school earlier than normal, his schedule clashed with all other times to meet with her teacher - a prerequisite, of sorts, to meet all new families at the beginning of the year - and he finally bit the bullet and asked for a time before school. Thank god her teacher agreed; despite the coaxing and near begging the man had to do to get his daughter in the building to begin with. 

She walked beside him, arms crossed over her chest with a scowl; a rather adorable sight at how small she was and the Hello Kitty bookbag she adorned. (But Meian told anyone who would listen to not let her fool them, she was as devilish as they came.) He shortened his strides whenever he walked with his daughter, he was tall enough that one stride was about three of hers; so he opted for picking her up with a groan. “Come here, you're killing me.” 

She fought against being picked up as well, “put me down!” A loud whine that nearly echoed in the empty hallway, “I don't wanna’ be held right now!” He only sighed as she squirmed against him, but eventually gave up once she realized she was no match. 

“It's not my fault you walk slow,” he groaned, but the smallest of smiles peaked at his lips once he cut his eyes over to her. She pouted, huffed, and did anything she could to make him feel bad; but it didn't work. 

“Maybe you just walk too fast.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Hima.” 

The hallway was long, almost liminal as the doors seemed to never end. Each decorated, or not, which showed the personality of who occupied it. The school was basically empty, besides the few staff members who got to work early on their own free will, and quiet. Quiet enough to hear the small sigh of defeat from his daughter, and she now rested her head on his shoulder. “Dad, I'm tired.” 

“I know.” Good god did he know. “Maybe if you went to bed on time you wouldn't be so sleepy.” 

“But I can't sleep when you're not there,” she sighed again. He felt his heart drop at her words, even though he knew them all too well. Every babysitter he ever had loved the girl, but every single one had never gotten her to fall asleep. The girl refused every time; and if she didn't, she laid in bed until she heard the front door open and shut, and the familiar voice of her father. She would drive herself to sleep deprivation all because Meian wasn't there. “I miss you too much to go to sleep.” 

“I know,” he repeated, much more softly than the latter. Filled with care, and hinted with regret, though he knew he had no other choice but to not be home. Games were important, not like the stray practices he would miss here and there; and the games that were later in the day he unfortunately couldn't bring her to. “I miss you too.” There was a small moment of silence, not knowing what to say as he felt his daughter fidget with the sleeve of his shirt.

The man prided himself with his encouragement skills and wise words, but more often than not he couldn't find them for himself. There was a missing piece to his mind it seemed, gaping and dreary as he wished nothing more than to be a good father - but to him, he always fell short. There were times he wasn't home, important events like school plays and concerts missed from commitments to his team, he couldn't help her with her homework as he wasn't home when she got back because of practice, and the period of time away for nationals felt like a stake through the heart every time it rolled around. 

An optimist with others, but a pessimist with himself. Always falling just shy of what he thought a good parent should be and what a good parent should do. It was utterly exhausting.

Despite his aching heart and rattling mind, he gave her a small smile and desperately tried to change the subject - more for himself rather than her. “Why don't you tell me about your teacher?” 

He heard the girl hum before she lifted her head to look at him with tired eyes. “I think you'll like her,” a tone that finally seemed to melt away the prior attitude. “She's really nice, not like my teacher last year, and she makes crafts with us.” She smiled, the first time that entire morning, “yesterday we read about bunnies and we made plates that looked like bunnies.”

“I know, you brought it home.” He smiled at the reminiscent thought; he came home just after she did, and she all but knocked him down running to show him the plate with construction paper and pom poms glued to it. “I'm actually pretty jealous, ‘sounds fun making bunny plates.” He chuckled, “you think the guys would want to make them?” Hima was well aware of the team he played for, moreover his teammates. She often saw them at the handful of practices and games that he took her to, but more so knew of them through the stories he shared.

She laughed at his question, and he took a silent sigh of relief. “Mr. Hinata might,” she giggled, “but I know Mr. Bokuto would!” The child picked favorites, most definitely; however, her favorite, out of all of them, was Sakusa - and he still had no unearthly reason why other than the dry humor he offered. Every practice he ever brought her to was always met with Hima hanging off of the man, annoying him, and pressing every button Sakusa had - and Meian let her, a silent act of revenge for the consistent arguments he started with Atsumu.

“You're right, he would.” Bokuto was just as childish as she, if not more - he would probably beg the man to make one if given the chance. “Do you want to show him yours later today?” While he didn't plan to take the girl to practice, the sentiment of longing still lingered in the back of his mind; twisted and turned until he felt sick. The awful feeling of thinking he spent too much time away from her returned; and he hoped bringing her with him might mend how he felt, and maybe make her tired enough she would, for once, go to sleep on time. 

“Really?” She asked excitedly. The girl cheered just before continuing on with her child like rambles. Himawari could go on for hours, days really, if he let her (which he more often than not did). She enjoyed talking about just about anything, and would find side story after side story as she went on through her rants. But the man never minded, he found it endearing that the girl had picked up his outgoing attitude. 

He smiled as she continued on, rounding a corner to the hallway that her classroom was on. The school was quite big, a primary school that housed kindergarten through sixth, so every grade level was split into smaller hallways. The man surprised himself that he could remember where to go, as the only other time he went was when she was in first grade. 

“She's really pretty, y'know?” Meian cut his eyes towards the girl, still holding her within his arms, and scrunched his brows.

“Who?” The word laced with confusion as his daughter only giggled again.

“My teacher.” He couldn't help but let a small breath pass his lips, and fought against rolling his eyes entirely. Himawari was prone to talking up the people within her life; which was an admirable trait to have, he was happy the girl wasn't a bully. But she was apt to make the older women around her larger than life - to play matchmaker. The girl couldn't remember her birth mother, she had passed when she was only a year old, but Meian made it a point to consistently remind the girl of her. Consistently reminded her, and himself, they were never abandoned. 

That never stopped Hima from yearning for another woman's presence though. Didn't stop her from the small smiles she would give her father when talking about women much older than she, his age, with an err of playfulness that made him roll his eyes. So to her latter statement he only hummed, “and what do you say about me then, huh?” 

“That you're old.” 

“Ouch-” he rolled his eyes at her nonchalant attitude, “I'm not even that old, Hima.”

“Yeah, ok.” Her sarcastic tone made him sigh, and he thought to himself that maybe he allowed her to hang about Sakusa all too much - his blunt choice of words rubbed off on her in ways he couldn’t imagine. Never rude, but curt replies that never failed to make him groan. But he kept his mouth shut on the topic as he continued walking, and thanked the stars he was almost to his destination. 

“Put me down, put me down!” The girl began to squirm in his arms, desperately trying to escape him to go to her teacher’s room that finally came within their view. The man quickly caved, picking his battles wisely with his daughter’s already flighty mood, and figured it wasn’t all that bad for her to be excited for school - quite the opposite really. 

He watched as his daughter ran through the doorway of the open classroom, and heard a cheery voice greet her from the other side. The voice was light and airy, joy mingling amongst syllables with every word spoken. There was an intent behind it that felt sound, secure - a voice that most definitely belonged to a second grade teacher. 

“Dad said I can bring my bunny plate to his practice and show his friends!” 

“Really? That's so cool, I bet they'll love it.” A small smile peaked on his lips at the woman’s words; although he couldn’t see it just yet, he could practically hear the smile she wore. “Did you get to show your dad yet?” 

Yet. 

The word alone made his steps slow just before he reached the door, letting his pace taper off before completely stopping and he let out a silent breath. It was her job to care, to provide comfort and joy, to create a sense of security and structure - but Himawara had no structure in her life. And it was all his fault, or so he thought. The girl, frankly, never knew her father’s schedule, as it always dialed and changed according to the needs of the team. He desperately tried, at any given opportunity, to cling to time with her - and while he cherished every second, it was never enough. 

He couldn’t help her as much as he liked with homework - yet. He couldn’t pick her up from school most days - yet. And he couldn’t find it within the chasms of his mind to give himself grace - yet. 

“I did! He put it on the fridge!” He wished he could be more like his daughter - happy and unknowing in the reality of real life. A childlike sense of certainty that everything was fine, that one could find joy in everything if they looked hard enough, and an unwavering belief that her father did everything under the sun for her. He couldn’t help but smile softly at the thought, and allowed the burden of ‘yet’ to pass him. 

“Now that's where real masterpieces go,” she mused. “Did you tell him the book we read?” 

“Not the title at least,” he chuckled as he rounded the doorway. “Everything else about it? Absolutely. I could probably quote it to you at this point.” A joke that landed fairly well, as he heard the woman laugh in response, but the comedic energy the man once held was quickly replaced with awe as he leaned against the doorway.

Himawari was wrong, utterly wrong. Her teacher wasn't pretty - she was beautiful.

He felt his stomach lurch to his throat, a brief sensation but one that made him cough. The realization that the woman was his daughter's teacher made him feel rather small, stupid even, and wildly out of his element. He woke up that morning and simply got ready for practice - a slam packed schedule as the practice started just after this meeting would be over - and now he deeply regretted it. 

“‘Morning, Mr. Meian.” He felt like a puddle of the man he once was only seconds ago, before she said his name. A subtle code switch that he picked up on from her - a voice for talking to children, and a voice for adults. He felt his mind go blank and nearly asked her to talk to him as if he were a child, maybe then he wouldn't have been so enamored. 

He couldn't help but linger in the doorway to the classroom, the exposed skin of his arm leaning against the cool wood of the frame. Hands shoved into the pockets of track pants as he watched the woman retrieve papers from her desk. Only then did she meet his eyes and his breath hitched in his throat. She paused for a fraction of a second, her pace stuttering just before forcing her eyes to the ground and continuing on. 

This was terrible. 

“You can come in,” her voice was softer in comparison to her latter statement, nervous even. It made him second guess why he was here in the first place, despite the flicker of his daughter playing with a puzzle on the floor nearby.

“How are you?” He asked, trying to fight against the heat that wanted to surge to his face. He felt silly making small talk, the man always fell flat on his face when it came to it, but felt even sillier if he had said nothing at all. 

“Tired,” she spoke through a chuckle, and he could tell. Behind a, semi, forced smile was tired eyes and a look of exhaustion. It was only Wednesday, and he suddenly felt bad for making the meeting in the first place. “But I'm here. How about yourself?” 

“About the same as you,” he smiled. “Sorry again for wanting this meeting so early, it's the only time that worked.” An apology didn’t seem like it should be enough now that he looked at the woman. Albite pretty, she looked weary, burnt out, and he sensed a twinge of discontent - like she didn’t want to be there in the first place. Groveling may have been a better thing to do, but it wasn’t as if he had a choice in the time he chose. He exhausted all other options from a meticulous schedule that was downright impossible to change.

“Don't worry about it,” she shrugged, “I'm just glad you didn't want it way after school.” 

“Feels like a crime to make you stay that long.” 

“It should be.” She met his eyes again and smiled, one that seemed genuine rather than forced this time. And he watched her eyes flicker to the other side of the room after a moment. “We can sit back there,” she motioned towards a semi circle table in the back of the room. “It's a little cluttered, but it's better than sitting at a desk made for a second grader.” The table didn't seem cluttered in the slightest; occupied with stacks of papers and different containers, each having a different color that he only guessed was for ease of organization. 

She sat down, he followed, and began shifting the papers and containers over, now lining the edges with organized chaos than the latter neat piles. “Sorry,” she chuckled. “They come back here to work with me, so keeping everything neat is almost unheard-of.” 

He let a laugh pass his lips just before he cut his eyes to his daughter, then promptly returned his gaze to her. “Trust me, I know. She'll pull out everything and decide she doesn't even want to play anymore.” 

He felt his heart squeeze when she laughed in response, it was a laugh he could easily get used to, a laugh he wanted to hear more often than just at school. It was gentle, lighthearted, and voluntary - it didn’t feel like a laugh she had to force, as he suspected she did often. His mind kept circling back to the sound as she spoke; he didn’t even realize she had formally started the meeting just minutes ago. His thoughts were the furthest from where they should have been, as he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of her. 

Dazed, seemingly on cloud nine, he didn’t register that she spoke of grades, behavior, and reading level. He simply nodded along as he tried to memorize every detail of the woman in front of him: her eyes were dark and tired, she had smile lines on the sides of her lips, of which he guessed were from years of doing nothing but, her clothes were casual but nice despite the knowledge that children were frankly disgusting, and the side of her dominant hand was stained with multicolored marker, which he only imagined was the set up of a craft for later today. 

“Do you have any questions?” The sentiment jerked him back to the present, and his fuzzy mind cleared quickly once he realized he didn’t register a single thing she spoke about. “Anything you want to add, maybe?”

“When's the next time you're doing these meetings?” The only query that made headway in his mind left his lips at the same time; speaking without thinking, and noticing too late what managed to tumble from his tongue. 

“Conferences?” There was a sense of confusion riddled in her voice; if he were listening, he would have known that his daughter was doing just fine - excelling even. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. And despite his better judgment, he doubled down on the sentiment entirely. “When's the next time I can talk to you?” He watched the woman’s eyes widen, and for a moment he felt like an idiot until he noticed a barely there, bitten back smile. 

“You could always email me?” It was a subtle change in conversation, but one that both picked up on quickly. He was convinced the woman was trying to make his heart stop when she locked eyes with him, a cheekiness to the once serious discussion now diminished. “I respond pretty quickly actually.”

“Do you, now?” He leaned forward slightly, enough to rest his elbows against the table. At first the distance between the two was vast, professional, but he closed the door to professionality and locked it when he leaned in closer to her. She bit the inside of her cheek, still fighting the smile that desperately wanted to bloom on her lips. “That's good to know. But, I feel like I get a million emails every day. I'd never live it down if I missed one from you.” 

“Things happen,” she shrugged with a gentle chuckle. “Did you have a better alternative though?” It was then he realized she wasn’t talking to him like a teacher anymore; instead, the tone had shifted again. This was actually her - not a teacher, not a professional - her. A coy change in the color of her voice that made his heart do flips, but played upon regardless. 

“Getting your number was one.” 

The battle between her and her ever growing smile ultimately ended in defeat at his proposition. Her lips pulled upward in an inviting smile and she cast her eyes to the table, a sheepishness washing over her at the man’s boldness - but she couldn’t deny that she liked it. “It's not every day I give a parent my personal number.” 

“We don't need to talk about school.”

“Then what exactly would we talk about?” 

“If you're free this weekend, or any weekend really?” The question left his lips with ease, despite the nerves that overflowed him when he first entered. He saw her eyes flicker back up to meet his own, catching his gaze once more, to which his heart hammered in his chest. 

“What did you have in mind, Mr. Meian?” 

“We don't have to decide that now,” a cheeky reply as he flashed her a smile. “We have until Saturday to figure that out.”

“I guess we do.” She looked down again, biting at the inside of her cheek, before reaching next to her at a stack of sticky notes. “You better not use this to ask me questions about second grade math,” she teased as she wrote the number down. Her handwriting was pretty and neat, a whimsy to it that matched her job to a tee. Once done, she took it off the stack and handed it to him, their fingers briefly touching as he took it from her. There was a pause when their fingers met; her fingers were cold against his own and it sent a shockwave through him. He could die happy if he was able to feel that again. 

“That sucks. Because I've been really struggling with adding and subtracting.” He broke the brief silence with a boldness, one that looked all too good on him, and he smiled again. She rolled her eyes and laughed at his statement, “I’ll text you later today.”

“I hope you do.”

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Secret. - Part III

(Yandere Idol X Kidnapped Reader)

Trigger warning: mention of self-harm, blood, substance abuse, violence and suicide

·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

Prologue Part I Part II Part III

𝔸s you laid unconscious on the bed; a crouched Asher watched you intently. A mix of guilt and worry filled his azure eyes as one hand tenderly stroked your head in silence, while the other hand held yours – the fingers intertwined.

Your breathing was low and long, indicating a deep sleep.

One of the several side effects of the medicine he made you take.

He sighed, withdrawing his hand from your forehead to gently pull the chair close, as he took a seat on it – his other hand remained interlocked in yours. His icy eyes stared back at your asleep face that looked peaceful, devoid of any inner conflict or distress from before.

If only he could make you feel the same always on his own when conscious, he thought. Then he wouldn’t have to take the aid of a mind-altering sedative.

Each dose taking away a piece of the old you – but this was his choice, his ugly way to claim you whole – body and soul.

He didn’t want to erase the defiant look in your eyes – no, he cherished it all too well. However, he wished the feeling could reside alongside the maddening love he had infected you with. But alas, if only one could exist – it would have to be the latter.

Then suddenly, Asher’s phone buzzed in his pocket. His brows slightly furrowed, his expression turning colder by the second.

He clicked his tongue and picked it up to answer lowly. “I'm starting to think you have a death wish, Mr. Baek. First you get caught by Damian and now even a drunk maknae is too much for you to handle. Is that it?”

“No, I-I’m extremely sorry about calling again Asher! I do not want to interrupt your time with um—"The manager fumbled on the other side of the line. “But Nex suddenly woke up from his nap and caught me trying to wire his phone, he has locked himself up inside the bathroom—H-He is asking for you and threatening to take his own life if you don’t—"

“What’s the status of the other members?” Asher interrupted, asking coolly. “Did you manage to access their phones before you dropped them to their apartments last night?”

“Y-Yes, only Nex was the problem—I couldn’t find it on him, so I went back to the club this morning—but it wasn’t there, so I came back to his place an hour ago, and it was right there! —in his pocket—I must have missed it somehow—but then he—”

Asher scoffed coldly, in front of you, unable to hide his perpetual frustration with the incompetent manager.

He had once made a silent promise to himself to only show his good side to you, and nothing else. Perhaps, it still counted as long as your eyes stayed closed.

His blue eyes glinted with frost as he retorted sarcastically. “Are you telling me that junkie kid played you like a fiddle in that state? Have you truly lost your touch with age, Baek?”

“I-I’m sorry A-Asher—I--!” Mr. Baek’s voice abruptly died before Nex’s voice grew into a muffled shouting in the background - demanding the older idol to return ‘the stash’ he had rightfully paid for.

Then, the delirious maknae doubled in on it, threatening to ruin the eldest’s untainted reputation with his death— and let the rest of the world know what kind of an obsessive control-freak of a monster ‘his hyung’ was.

The blue-eyed idol sighed, rolling his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Asher had never heard a more pathetic, empty threat.

Unless the youngest had a two-way access from Hell, an exposé would be quite difficult to pull without a suic*de note or an alibi. Of course, both of which would have been easily taken care of.

Still, it was amusing for him to hear the usual timid maknae be so –brazen and loud.

Did he really think he could gain the upper hand so easily?

Asher stifled a cruel smirk, before he cleared his throat.

“I’m on my way. Make sure he doesn’t stop talking, Mr. Baek,” The blue-eyed idol said nonchalant, before adding dryly. “Hope that long tongue of yours is of some use.”

“Y-Yes absolutely Asher! I will—”

Asher cut the call before the manager could finish his sentence.

He then gazed at your sleeping face, knowing full well that you wouldn't stir until the next morning. Another reason why he would normally prefer you to take the weekly tablets – since they had a lower dose and came with milder side-effects. 

However, this time, it worked out in his favour – buying him time to deal with his…problem child.

Not that he needed more than an hour with Nex.

A soft smile played on his lips as he turned his attention back to you.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against the back of your hand to leave a tender kiss. As he pulled away, his fingers lingered, tracing the lines of your hand before finally releasing their hold.

With one last glance at your peaceful face, he turned to leave – a soft click of the door echoed through the cabin shortly after.

---

The fluorescent bathroom light flickered, casting jagged shadows across the tiled floor. Another wave of nausea hit Nex, forcing him to his knees next to the toilet bowl. He clutched his throbbing head, fighting off the last remnants of a hangover.

His thoughts spiralled into a restless haze, and he could feel the cold sweat trickling down his brow. He was a mess—every muscle in his body pulsed with a dull ache that he knew was more than just the alcohol.

Withdrawals. Again.

The pink-haired idol cursed under his breath.

Maybe he should’ve just taken Clade’s offer, he thought, biting his lip anxiously. Slept with that pervert for double ‘the stash’—if only not for his damn pride.

But then, the little voice of reason whispered, reminding him that it would be useless too – since his dearest hyung planned to monitor them all.

Nex let out a frustrated cry—feeling like a prisoner in his own body as his bruised hands betrayed him –shaking uncontrollably, as he tried to hold one still with the other in vain. His heart began to race like an anxious trapped bird – pounding against his ribs with every beat. With a mouth drier than a desert and his throat parched raw, he could feel the withdrawals getting worse— his terrified fingers clutching his dishevelled pink hair in a futile attempt to calm his overstimulated mind.

If only he could get his hands on one sip of that laced drink, he had tried so hard to arrange for.

But, of course, Asher had intervened, just like he always did.

Then suddenly—

Knock-Knock-Knock.

The door rattled again, grating on his fried-up nerves.

"Nex, open the door!" a voice demanded. It was Mr. Baek, his tone laced with worry. He could almost see the manager’s anxious face through the thin wooden barrier.

“Don’t be childish and throw away the razor blade!”

Razor blade?

His mind went blank for a moment before his grey eyes noticed the fallen razor blade on the floor in his peripheral vision.

Right, of course.

The razor blade, he recalled in a daze; before he stumbled to grab it back in his hand.

He was in the middle of threatening them with his life, which seemed to have worked out in his favour—since Asher was on his way to his place, hopefully with his stash.

Could his hyung really be that soft for him?

Nex chuckled darkly, colour rushing to his cheeks – as he blatantly ignored the gory carnage around, that he had wrought inside the bathroom just to get the point across.

Broken tiles littered the floor, their white surfaces now stained crimson. Blood, dark and viscous, smeared the once pristine walls, creating grotesque patterns that echoed the chaos of emotions in his head.

His gaze flickered to his reflection in one of the infinite shards, that had shattered when he punched the mirrored cabinet before.

His eyes once bright grey—were bloodshot, haunted.

Was this why his hyung kept pushing him to quit? Nex scoffed weakly, a feeble attempt to deny the sobering reality creeping upon him.

“Nex? Are you still with me?”

Mr. Baek’s voice interrupted the youngest’s line of thoughts. “Please don’t do this! —Let’s talk, man to man!”

The pink-haired idol snickered. "Talk? About what? About how you probably bugged my phone already while I’m stuck in here? Or about how hyung ordered you to spy on all of us? Which one will it be, Mr. Baek?"

Silence.

What else could he expect from his hyung’s puppet?

Nex laughed bitterly, before his grey eyes had a cryptic glint to them.

“Say, Mr. Baek…how about we talk about something more interesting?” The pink-haired male casually purred. “Tell me, where does hyung actually disappear to every time we finish a tour? Does he have a secret family or something…staying at a cabin? A lover, perhaps?”

Silence.

“Who is she? Do I know her? Have we met before?”

Silence.

“Mr. Baek, you do realize I’m the one with the leash here, don’t you?” Nex sighed, idly toying with the razor blade in his bloodied hand.

Silence.

“Ya! I’m not kidding Mr. Baek—!!!" Nex was about to harshly blackmail the manager again, when he heard the door knob unlock.

Click. Clunk.

His grey eyes shot in the direction of the bathroom door—as it creaked open, revealing the familiar face of his hyung.

---

Asher ’s face was momentarily unreadable, before his icy blues met the maknae’s terrified grey ones – his unyielding gaze filled with silent judgement for the latter.

His lips curled into a twisted smile as he jingled the bundle of keys in front of the dumbfounded boy, making the youngest flinch and instinctively scurry into a defensive ball.

“Took me some time to find the spare keys in my car,” the blue-eyed idol remarked with a casual shrug, though the glint in his icy gaze was anything but friendly. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long, Nex.”

“Hyung...”

Nex’s voice wavered, barely a whisper, as he struggled to meet the older idol’s cold stare. Years of ingrained fear rooted him in place, his trembling hands loosening their grip on the razor blade he had been clutching. It slipped from his grasp and tumbled to the floor, landing near Asher’s polished shoes.

“Ah.” Asher bent down to retrieve the sharp object before Nex could. His experienced fingers deftly played with it, spinning and flipping it in a manner that was both effortless and unnerving. Unlike the horrified maknae, he handled the sharp edges of the blade with ease.

Asher’s lips twitched into a devious smirk as he chuckled. “I know a thing or two about these. Want me to show you how it’s done?”

“N-No!” Nex stammered, his voice breaking as he scrambled backward, pressing himself against the wall. His arms shot behind his back as if to protect himself, his frantic grey eyes welling with tears. “I-I’m sorry, hyung! I-I must’ve lost my mind—I swear, please don’t hurt me!”

“Hurt you?” Asher echoed, amusement flickering across his face as he crouched down to Nex’s level. He reached out, prying the trembling boy’s hand from its hiding place. The maknae flinched as the older idol inspected his bruised and bloodied fingers. A harsh chuckle escaped Asher.

“Do I even need to?” he retorted, his tone sharp and cutting. “And here I thought you wanted me to return your things.”

“Huh?” Nex blinked in confusion, his tearful gaze darting to the small pouch that Asher slipped into his hand. The faint weight made his breath hitch. His timid grey eyes dropped to the bag, only for them to widen in recognition and panic when they flicked back up to meet Asher’s cold, unreadable blues.

It was a packet of his stash.

Impossible.

Nex’s hands moved instinctively, fumbling to open the pouch. The addict was moments away from scarfing down its contents when something stopped him—a sinking realization that this wasn’t right. His trembling gaze returned to Asher, who stood over him with a sadistic glint in his eye, his expression screaming of a hidden catch.

“Y-You… you did something to this, didn’t you?” Nex stammered, his voice barely audible as he gulped nervously.

Asher’s smile widened into something more sinister as he replied, his tone calm and detached. “You’re right. It’s laced with rat poison.”

The pouch slipped from Nex’s hands and fell to the floor. Panic surged through him as he frantically wiped his mouth, even though the contents hadn’t touched his lips. His wide, terrified grey eyes bore into Asher, his disbelief mingled with desperation. “Y-You... why would you do that?!”

Asher tilted his head, his expression almost bored, as though the question were absurd.

“Didn’t you want to bring me down with your death?” he asked simply, his voice void of empathy. “I thought I’d help you out myself—make it as pleasurable as possible for you.”

Nex stared at Asher in abject horror, unable to reconcile the twisted kindness laced in his hyung’s words. His unease deepened as Asher casually slipped another pouch into his trembling hand. The weight of it was all too familiar. 

“Don’t worry, I gotchu buddy~” The older male said with a cruel smile. 

The maknae flinched, instinctively trying to pull his hand back, but Asher’s iron grip on his wrist kept him in place. Those icy blue eyes bore into Nex with an intensity that made him shudder. 

“Withdrawals can be a b*tch, am I right?” Asher sneered. “So, hurry up and take it. Or should I help shove it down your throat?” 

“N-No—I-I’m sorry, hyung! T-This was a mistake! -” Nex stammered, his voice cracking as he tried to plead his way out. Tears welled up in his terrified grey eyes as he bowed his head in submission. “Please! Please stop!” 

Asher’s smile faded into a thin line as he slid his other hand to the back of Nex’s neck. The maknae flinched violently, his breath growing shallow as panic threatened to overtake him.

Without warning, Asher grabbed him by the scruff like a helpless kitten, forcing their faces close until Nex’s terror-stricken grey eyes met his cold, piercing blue gaze. 

“Are you sure?” Asher purred, his voice dripping with mockery. “Are you telling me you don’t want to have it your way?” 

Nex gulped nervously and shook his head in frantic denial. 

“Great,” Asher said with a mockingly cheerful tone, patting Nex’s cheek with false approval as he released him. But his eyes glinted dangerously. “Then, it’s time to do things my way.” 

Before Nex could react, a sharp sting pierced his arm. His breath hitched as his bewildered gaze dropped to see the syringe in Asher’s hand, its contents pressing into his vein. Warmth spread through his body, an unfamiliar calm overtaking his trembling form. 

“Don’t worry,” Asher said softly, his tone eerily gentle as he watched the youngest’s shivers subside. “It won’t kill you. Just something to help with the withdrawals.” 

Nex’s wide, confused eyes darted back to Asher’s icy blues, which were now studying him with a cold curiosity. His panic only grew as his body grew heavy, his limbs succumbing to the sedative coursing through his veins. The maknae collapsed forward, falling into Asher’s cold, unyielding embrace. 

“I should’ve done this earlier,” Asher murmured under his breath, stroking the back of Nex’s head with lazy indifference as the boy slipped into unconsciousness. His voice dropped to a chilling monotone. “Killing two birds with one stone.”

---

Initially, Asher had planned to scare Nex off—just another round of their usual cat-and-mouse game. It wasn’t the first time. Nex, with his predictable desperation, was the easiest to handle. But everything changed when Asher overheard the maknae’s conversation with Mr. Baek. 

The conversation had devolved into a one-sided exchange once Mr. Baek spotted Asher lurking in the shadows. The manager wisely clammed up, refusing to divulge anything further about you.

But the damage was already done.

Nex’s reckless attempt to extract blackmail material confirmed what Asher already suspected: the youngest was the weakest link. 

Desperate and impulsive, Nex’s addiction made him a liability. Yet, that desperation also meant he could be shaped into something useful—a better, much more reliable knight than the old manager to protect you from the outside world.

The idea appealed to Asher, though he begrudged the effort it would take. 

Time was the real issue. 

Asher sighed, glancing at the unconscious maknae. His time was precious, better spent with you. He resented the hours this would steal from him, but a compromise was necessary. 

“Mr. Baek, a hand please,” Asher ordered, his irritation evident as he adjusted the dead weight of Nex in his arms. Though the pink-haired maknae had a baby face, his muscular build made him heavier than expected. 

The manager scrambled to help, and together they carried Nex to the living room, unceremoniously dropping him onto the couch. Asher sank into the adjacent seat, catching his breath. 

His phone buzzed, drawing his immediate attention. The blue-eyed idol’s fingers darted to his pocket, but his tension dissolved when he saw the notification. Just spam—not the home-security motion detector app. 

Relief washed over him.

As expected, you were still asleep. 

Asher leaned back; his gaze distant as he recalled dismantling the cameras months ago. They had been convenient, but their presence had hurt you.

Your mind—already too fragile due to being saturated with the medicine and his love, couldn’t handle the perceived invasion of privacy.

He hadn’t understood why it upset you so much, but he couldn’t bear to see you suffer. The motion sensors were one of the smaller compromises he would end up making. 

Because more was yet to come. 

“Cancel all of Nex’s engagements for the next two weeks and prepare the guestroom in the cabin,” Asher instructed Baek. His tone was clipped, his displeasure clear. “And make sure it’s quiet. You know how light her sleep is.” 

Baek nodded hastily but hesitated. 

“What now?” Asher snapped, his patience wearing thin. 

“W-What should I tell Damien?” Baek stammered. “I know that he’s only a leader in name, but if he finds out about Nex’s absence without a proper explanation, he might grow suspicious. He could even come here to investigate.” 

Asher paused, considering the point. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he replied. “Good thinking, Baek. Tell him that the Old man* got Nex checked into rehab. Overseas. Leave the mess in the bathroom; it’ll make the story more convincing.” 

Baek blinked, momentarily awed by the blue-eyed male’s quick-witted deception. “Y-Yes, I’ll handle it.” 

“Good~” Asher chimed, standing up to get to work.

He gathered the evidence—the syringe and the empty vial—and sealed them in a disposable medical bag. He then tucked it in a separate compartment in his sling bag, away from the unused vials of medicine and sealed syringes—something he always carried on himself in case there was an ‘emergency’.

The blue-eyed idol cast one last glance at Nex, his expression devoid of pity. This was just another calculated move in his relentless game.

A game designed to keep his most precious treasure, you, safe and hidden.

·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

@shadowytravelerlover

[ratretro]

I think sometimes y'all forget what it means to be in Alien Stage. Alien Stage is basically auditioning to be their next pop idol. This is a competition created by the segyein solely for their entertainment now and in the future. Alien Stage wins have a number of factors that go into it and vivimeng have put several different ties to what actual showbiz is like in the series, as well.

That being said, there are four main things needed for an Alien Stage win: vocals, stage presence, fan service and mental fortitude. So, let's jump in.

Ivan had three. He had a fanbase thanks to his guardian's money and the fact that he played the game. He did the ads, the gravure shots, the interviews, etc. His vocal range isn't as large as Till's but his control is up there with the best (I'm bias I love Park Byeong Hoon). His stage presence doesn't lack either. When we watch Round 3, his opponent seems almost enthralled with Ivan to the point that he doesn't even sing his part even when Ivan gave him the chance to. We see a similar parallel with Luka's Round 4 where they don't even SHOW his opponent that's how badly they lost to Luka. He doesn't have mental fortitude. It is what it is.

Till has at least three (based on his Round 2 performance, not Round 6 and on), really only lacking in fanbase. Not to say he doesn't have one at all, but he's less cooperative than the other two which leads to him being an up and coming rookie from skill but he's not as likeable.

Luka is insane so he has all four.

I'll interject with a quick reason as to why I say mental fortitude. Mental fortitude is classified as the ability to have strength in the face of adversity; to get up and keep going even when you've been knocked down. They're literally singing for their lives. They need some strength to keep going. We all know Ivan doesn't have that strength. He didn't even plan on living past Round 6 because he can't live in a world without Till.

So, they all have a majority of these categories and that's why they all make it to being in the Top 3. Now, let's get into Till's Round 7 loss going by all four categories.

Till's vocal range is a better fit for the song 'Blink Gone' (this is my opinion), but his stage presence is what causes his score to suffer most. Till had a strong start until Luka started playing head games with him and started screwing with the parts that make concerts fun (for Till's portion, anyway): the interaction between idol and crowd and the ability of the performer to keep everyone charged up and excited.

His fanbase is severely lacking in comparison to Luka's. I really don't need to delve into this one, it's extremely clear just looking at the crowd in Round 7.

His mental fortitude, by this point, has taken the hardest hit from Mizi's missing presumed dead status. Then, Ivan dies hours prior to this round. Ivan dying kicks Till into gear, giving him a burst of "I WANT TO LIVE!" but it leaves a giant Ivan-sized hole in his psyche. Till is like a game of Jenga, one piece from crashing down. Luka takes advantage of this with zero hesitation.

Now, keep in mind this is about how much fun the aliens are having while watching and they see humans as toys, let's be honest. What they're watching in Round 7 Luka vs Till is a cat playing with a mouse.

Especially, in the latter half. Till is unfocused, he has a nosebleed, he is visibly freaking the fuck out and at one point seems blitzed out of his mind, but Luka remains perfect and he keeps both the segyein and Till connected to his overall performance on stage. In a normal human civilization the show would have been stopped to take care of Till, the crowd wouldn't have wanted to keep watching, but this shit is what the segyein are here for. Reminiscent of "Are you not entertained!?" And they are because segyein don't have a moral compass. Humans mean nothing to them, evidenced by the fact that Alien Stage exists at all.

This isn't about "Till sounded better", this is about "Luka gave them a show, he gave them an experience" and he sounded fantastic while doing it.

I love Till and Akugetsu but I also happen to love Luka and BL8M. Till dying broke my heart but I can easily see why he lost. He fell to the pressure of the stage and it can happen to anyone. It could have even happened to Luka, it's just that Till didn't have what it takes to go against Luka. He didn't have the mental fortitude, the fanbase, and the stage presence to fight against Luka. He had vocals but that just isn't enough when what they're looking for is another Luka.

This isn't just about the better singer, it's much more nuanced than that. Till lost because he just wasn't as strong a performer, that's it.

[more-than-a-princess]

She seemed almost optimistic, Sonia thought, as she sipped her tea. Rather strange for a woman who was mostly solemn, if not dour most of the time. Unfortunately, her time as a Remnant of Despair left Sonia cynical. Mass murder leading the man she loved, a fellow murderer, to be disgusted by her did a number on a woman. "I'm not sure they'd care what I called them, if I called them anything," She replied dully. "As long as they're with their mother, fed, and kept safe, I doubt I can offer much more for them. Animals tend to know good and bad people, don't they? I suspect they'll suss out the truth about me soon enough."

Though with all of her doubts, the newborn kittens didn't look capable of hating her. Of hating anything, as they clung to their mother's nipples and drank and drank until their tiny bellies could hold no more for the meantime. Their tiny mews were quickly quieted by Miss Kitty, who began to groom each one despite her sheer exhaustion. Sonia sighed gently, petting the mother cat behind the ears. If anyone needed looking after, it was her.

Mostly, she was in a room full of strangers. Miss Kitty had relied upon her for food, the kittens were minutes, if not hours old, and Yaguchi she barely knew anything about. Only that she'd come from Japan, had attended Hope's Peak and was part of the Future Foundation, enjoyed coffee and for some reason, spending time with her. It wasn't like her former classmates, whom she'd befriended and murdered alongside and endured a simulation of joy and murder that had never truly happened. Convoluted and strange and painful and yet she would be bonded to them all forever, even when her time on Jabberwock Island was up. How could she form such bonds with anyone else ever again, after what she'd done?

"Sorry, but I'm afraid I wouldn't know," She muttered, relinquishing her hand once Miss Kitty had wrangled all of her babies to cuddle against her belly, and she nuzzled each one before closing her eyes for a well-deserved nap. "Your descriptors, that is. You said you attended Hope's Peak but I cannot place you from my time there. Again, I apologize: I keep trying to remember more of my time there but it comes in bits and pieces. Fragments, if you will."

Her own class, for example, she could remember vividly. But when Naegi and his cohorts insisted they too had once attended Hope's Peak Academy, Sonia had been surprised and bewildered. She hadn't remembered meeting any of them, despite the fact they assured her they did. Maybe Yaguchi was the same.

At least she'd understood her meaning: she was far more free than Sonia was and would ever be. That alone made her wealthy: with life, with experiences she'd be able to have in the new, rebuilding and changing world. "It would be a bit surprising, yes, but I cannot blame you," She assured her between sips of tea. "Despite once being billed a tropical paradise, this place is anything but. If you are able to go elsewhere, places that are less confining and more pleasant, you should. No one here would hold it against you, myself included."

They'd rather live vicariously instead, the ones who wanted off Jabberwock to experience something different: climate, view, people. Anything that wasn't seawater and excessive sun, reminders of death and despair for most of them. Even if they were envious, they couldn't hold it against the members of the Future Foundation who could come and go as they pleased.

And yet, Yaguchi's much-contemplated request wanted to do away with all of it. The freedom to make her own way in a new world, no longer beholden to her talent from Hope's Peak...all of it. Gone. If she was to accompany Sonia into her own future: behind thick stone walls and iron bars, time in the gardens and courtyards when she was on her best behavior and it was safe for her to do so. A world even smaller than Jabberwock, if that was possible.

Hopefully Sonia's shock, then, was understandable: wide-eyed and slack-jawed, she stared at Yaguchi as if the other woman had admitted she was eager to rip off her own fingernails and pour salt into the wounds. A long torture that would never fully heal.

"W-well, I cannot say I am opposed to the idea," Sonia began in a stammer, setting her mug on the end table. She worried that if she held it any longer, she'd spill it onto the bedspread. "I find your company pleasant. But Yaguchi, have you truly thought this through? Whoever is sent with me will be mostly confined to Novoselic Castle alone, unless it is deemed necessary, if not safe, to venture into the capitol. Unlike Japan, your safety and freedom aren't guaranteed. No one who has chosen to remain in the Castle loyal to me is, and the anti-monarchists who wish for my demise are only growing in numbers. From what I have observed in recordings and photographs, Novoselic is not the home I remember."

Jabberwock, for all of its faults, was at least quiet and peaceful. No riots in the streets, no burning down homes and businesses, no looting and fighting over resources. Novoselic would be anything but and worse, she'd be forced to see it all from her windows, unable to meet the people in person and ask for their forgiveness. She couldn't understand why Yaguchi would willing choose such a future, when she had so many other options ahead of her. Ones Sonia would never have, and she wanted the best for her when this was over and the Future Foundation deemed Jabberwock Island a waste of time and expenses.

"And besides, the person who is facilitating my Future Foundation assignment is the person currently in charge of my counseling and well-being," She added, giving Yaguchi a glum look: she could guess what was coming. "Togami. And barring him, it'll be the current Leader of the Future Foundation who will sign off on such decisions, Munakata. And well, you aren't exactly Togami's favorite person right now." She couldn't speak for how Munakata would see it, but she had a feeling that anything Yaguchi truly wanted, Togami would be all too pleased to deny her out of spite and a broken nose.

Difficulty accepting praise was the fault of the receiver? Well, Shinobu wasn't about to turn away any framework that positioned her as the person at fault, in any avenue. "I suppose so," she mused with a light shrug. She could try to explain it, but what use was that, really? Her own awful life stacked up poorly against Sonia's, and to try and elicit any sympathy from her in this scenario would be uncomfortably callous. Better, then, to simply go along with things - to need as little as possible, to ask for as little as possible, to take up the smallest space she could imagine in hopes that it wouldn't be too much.

Quiet for a time, eyes moving between the film, Sonia, and back against, they thought of how to say what they wanted to say. Shinobu's throat was dry, even as she drank her water. Was it because it would be so easy for Sonia to refuse her, and that would be that? She'd have no follow-up from there - if Sonia wished to return to Novoselic on her own, without Shinobu's accompaniment, then, they'd likely never see each other again. Shinobu would return to the ruins of their life in Japan, and that would be that. For as anxious as she was, for how much she feared imposing, surely it was better than that.

"I don't know," she murmured as Sonia looked over the cats, all stumbling around in the dark, "I think they'd appreciate any sort of name you gave them, fitting or not." She wasn't much for names in the first place - she'd discarded the one given to her, and as for her fish, she'd never seen a reason to differentiate them with words. It would be just as easy to refer to the cats by color or pattern, or personality, as it would to name them. "After all, the act of giving a name at all is a sign of care, isn't it?" At least from Sonia, they thought.

As for the matter of the topic they wished to speak upon, Shinobu couldn't help but give a weak, quiet laugh at Sonia's assessment. "Serious and mysterious," she repeated back to her in a soft voice. "Well, I suppose I can't argue with that. At one point, I think those would have been seen as rather apt descriptors of me and my personality." Although, she had to imagine any sense of mystery had been washed away, eroded by that which she'd done, and that which had been done to her. Or, perhaps it was just that mystery was no longer in vogue - too dark and ill-suited to a world aiming to rebuild.

But Sonia... she was cute - she was always so cute. "I know that you don't have an institutional control over my schedule, Miss Nevermind," she clarified with a small shake of her head. Though, if it would get Togami sent away, they'd prefer it if the Remnants did. "That's not what I meant, exactly." How to explain it... The feeling was bubbling up in her chest, awkward, anxious. Since she'd first arrived on Jabberwock Island, she' just wanted to be close to Sonia - to look after her, to support her, to shield her as much as possible from her own coworkers. This could be the end to all of that - the last time she spent with Sonia together.

That was no excuse, though, to stay quiet, even if her own cowardly instincts were to stay silent. "I think I should return to Japan for a short while in the near future. It might be in my best interest to take a small break from work, for the benefit of my health." Mental and physical. "I wouldn't want you to be surprised if I was suddenly gone for a week or two." A longer stay might be more beneficial, and with how long they'd been on Jabberwock Island without rotation, Shinobu was sure they could argue for it, but their own needs had to be carefully weighed against a litany of other factors - Sonia's needs, of course, chief among them.

"If I do, though, I thought, when I return..." Her voice trailed off as her expression, pensive as she looked to the floor, rather than to Sonia, or the film still running. "I don't know when you're returning to Novoselic, Miss Nevermind, but I overhead some of my coworkers mention that you're likely to be assigned a Future Foundation agent as permanent accompaniment, but that person has yet to be chosen." Finally, she lifted her head, looking over to Sonia. "I'd hate to impose upon you if you loathe the idea, but I wondered if you might accept that it be me."

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Thank you all for an incredible 500 days of love and support. I offer you: answers to questions that no one has asked.

(As always, more can be found in the tags <3)

[red-moon-at-night]

After doing some research on the types of pets people had in ancient Greece, I'd like to imagine that Helen is the sort of person who has a whole menagerie of birds — and she loves each and every one of them very, very much.

It fits well with her being good at mimicry, you know. Talking and imitating and singing with her beloved birds 💜

Close up under the read more:

I had to include that one necklace from the minoan 'saffron goddess' fresco because it's my favourite thing Ever

[beanghostprincess]

carrot and sanji's dynamic is so important to me

[spaceratprodigy]

(palette challenge) PINK LEMONADE OR WATERMELON FOR DELIRIS ⁉️⁉️⁉️

@oldworldwidgets — [ palette prompts ]

WATERMELON LEMONADE DELIRIS 💖💚

[yakool-foolio]

Only a game like TGAA2 can get me tearing up real bad over tapdancing

[unfinishedslurs]

welcome to eden

this is a love letter. inspired by this song

As soon as Steve picks up the phone, she knows she’s making a mistake.

“Rob?”

“No,” she says instead of hanging up like she should. 

“Nancy?” He sounds more alert now, and she can picture him standing up straighter, calling to attention at the sound of her voice. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

“Not really,” she sniffs, hating herself for it. “I—can we talk?”

He’ll say no. He’ll say no, because it’s one in the morning and he was probably asleep before the phone rang and she shouldn’t be asking to talk years after she broke his heart and didn’t even remember—

“Of course,” he says, and Nancy could kick herself. “Over the phone?”

“No. Not over the phone. I’m sorry, it can wait, you can go back to bed.”

She hears him huff a laugh, even though there’s nothing funny about any of it. “I wasn’t in bed,” he assures her. “Am I picking you up?”

Tears spring anew to her eyes. “If that’s okay.”

“Works for me,” he says. “See you soon.”

“See you,” she echoes, and hangs up. 

She spends the time it takes pacing quietly in front of the front door, berating herself for using him like this. But she needs to talk to him, and the sooner it’s over with the better. 

Headlights cut through the window way too soon, and she nearly throws herself out the door. 

She gives him a look when she opens the car door, telling him she knows how many traffic laws he must have broken to get here this quick. He just grins in return, ready to point out the felony in her closet. 

“Where are we going?” He asks, and her heart clenches. He’s so good. He’s so good, and she couldn’t-can’t love him like he wants. She has to tell him. 

Tonight probably wasn’t the best night for this conversation, but her skin feels like it’s peeling off and the faster she says something the quicker it will be over with and she can go back to how it was before. Back when she didn’t have anyone to talk to, because Robin might never speak to her again after she breaks her best friend's heart for the second time. 

Just rip the bandaid off, Nance. 

“I don’t know,” she says instead. Maybe she’s a coward. “A field? Somewhere I can see the stars.”

“I can do that.”

The drive goes by in silence, Nancy staring stubbornly out the window. She can feel Steve periodically checking on her, and she knows he wants to know why she called. She can’t open her mouth to say it in the suffocating enclosure of the car. She rolls down a window. 

They get to a field almost out of Hawkins, and the car is barely in park before she’s climbing out, going around to sit on the hood. Steve cuts the engine and follows. 

She still doesn’t say anything. She called him to have a talk, why can’t she just open her stupid mouth—

“Nancy?” Steve asks, gentle in a way that used to make her melt. She pulls her legs to her chest, feeling vulnerable. “What’s wrong?”

“Jonathan and I broke up,” she finally gets out. 

“Oh shit.” He looks genuinely surprised. “That sucks, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, it was never going to be forever.” Except she’d thought otherwise. She thought they were Nancy and Jonathan, the two of them against the world. She hunches her shoulders. “We never talk anymore, and he was pulling away from me, and he was lying to me for months-“ she shakes her head, clearing the anger she feels at that. “It doesn’t matter. I’m starting to realize there’s things I need to work on, too. A lot to work on, actually.”

“I don’t know what that could be,” he says, flashing her a smile filled with boyish, roguish charm. “You’re already the best person I know.”

She sniffs, and suddenly she’s crying into her knees, shoulders shaking. He freezes beside her, before wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into his side. She leans in for a second, chasing the comfort, before remembering what she came here to do and ripping away violently. 

“Fuck,” she whispers. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I don’t—I can’t—this isn’t what I—“

“Hey,” he soothes. “Slow down. Let it out.”

She wipes her eyes, suddenly furious. “I don’t want to date you,” she says, finally looking him in the eyes. “I don’t—I’m sorry for calling you. I just remembered how much better you used to make me feel, but then I realized that’s like…really shitty of me.”

“Why?” He asks, as if Nancy didn’t come out here to break his heart again. “I want to make you feel better. I like knowing I can make you feel better.”

“I don’t want to lead you on,” she says, mouth screwing up. “That’s why I called you out here. And I know it’s shitty of me—“

“Nancy, you’re not leading me on. I…I don’t want to date you either.”

That stops her in her tracks. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he echoes quietly. “I—don’t take this the wrong way, okay, ‘cause I know I’m gonna sound like an asshole saying it, but, uh, I can’t do that again. And even outside of that, I don’t like you that way anymore. Uh, sorry.”

She tries not to sag at the overwhelming relief she feels at that. 

“Are you sure?” She studies him closely, trying to see if he’s saying this for her sake or if he means it. “Back in the Upside-Down, and when we were fighting Venca, it seemed…”

He grimaces, and Nancy thinks if it wasn’t dark she’d see the beginning of an embarrassed flush on his ears. “I…may have been feeling things,” he admits. “I was testing the waters, I guess. I started feeling nostalgic, and you were there, and everyone was encouraging me, and it all just ended up in this weird…feelings soup. Sorry.”

“You said you wanted to have six kids with me,” Nancy reminds him. “And travel the country in a Winnebago.”

He groans, covering his face with his hands. “I am,” he says, “so sorry. I don’t know why I said that. That had to be so weird for you.”

“It was kind of sweet?” She tries, not letting her relief show. Not yet. 

“We haven’t been together in years, and I decided to tell you I used to dream about you having my babies. How do you deal with me?”

“Well it helps to know you were dropped on your head. Puts everything in perspective.”

“Yeah, yeah, yuk it up.” He looks at her, really looks at her, and she tries not to fidget under his gaze. Too earnest, too caring for someone who doesn’t deserve it. He’s always tried so hard. To woo her, to be a better person, to keep back the vicious streak she still sees in him. “I meant it, when I said I loved you,” he tells her gently, no sign of that cruelty that had him painting her as a whore for the whole town to see. “Back then, I mean. I just wanted you to know that.”

She wants to cry. “I know. I’m sorry I couldn’t say it back.”

“It’s okay,” he says like he means it. He leans back against the windshield, looking at the sky. After a moment, she copies him. 

They watch the stars together, and the air feels clearer. 

“Where do we go from here?” She asks, afraid of the answer. 

“What do you mean?”

“What happens with us now?”

“Well,” he says gingerly, like he’s testing the waters. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve heard you’re a pretty kickass friend.”

Friends. She doesn’t know that she and Steve have ever been friends, not properly. Even after the apologies they made to each other, she doesn’t know that she could call what they had friendship. It wasn’t substantial on its own, needing Jonathan as the barrier between them. When it fell, so did they. 

“I haven’t had a friend in a while,” she admits. “Robin is kind of a novelty for me. She’s amazing.”

It’s funny, in a way. She was so jealous of Robin, of how close she was with Steve in a way Nancy wasn’t. She’d thought, at first, that it was because they were so clearly dating. After Robin told her they weren’t, she realized how badly she’d just wanted friends. She missed hanging out with Steve, missed his laugh and his squint and his bitchy attitude. She’d hoped that eventually they’d get to that point, was sure they were almost there before Starcourt. In a way, she’d been jealous of Robin for stealing Steve. She knew it was ridiculous. Steve had found a friend, a real friend who hadn’t cheated on him or slept with his girlfriend. She couldn’t begrudge him that. 

She just missed him. 

“She is, isn’t she?” Steve grins, but sobers up quickly. “I didn’t really think about that. How lonely you must be, since…”

She’s already shaking her head. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t reach out.” 

“I didn’t exactly reach out either.”

They fall silent again, at a loss for words. Barb’s death, as always, the canyon between them. 

Finally Nancy huffs. “It’s both of our faults,” she declares, “or neither of our faults. I don’t know. I just missed you.”

“Well shit, Nance, I missed you too,” he says, touched. 

“I’ve heard you’re a pretty kickass friend too, you know,” she says, glancing at him. He smiles. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Nancy Wheeler, I would be honored to be friends with you,” he says, and sticks out his hand to shake, like they’re meeting for the first time. 

She stares at him, and starts laughing. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

She shakes his hand. 

Max has always felt like a mirror. One Nancy wanted to smash, pull her out of the shards of her reflective grief and hug. Stroke her hair the way she wanted someone to do for her and say you’ll get through this. So Max could hear it from someone who knows. 

Except Nancy doesn’t know anything. Still drowns in her guilt, the ball and chain dragging her into the depths. She can’t help when she’s still such a mess, three years later. 

Her hands clench when Mike says Max is pulling away from Lucas. She wishes she could look her in the eye and tell her you don’t have to be me. You can be better. 

She’s Mike’s friend. They barely know each other outside of a quick hello as they cross paths or fighting monsters. Max has enough on her plate, she doesn’t need her friend’s weird older sister butting in to tell her how to mourn the right way. 

Nancy just hopes she’s getting out of bed. Remembering to eat. Brushing her teeth. She had more cavities in the year after Barb died than she’d ever had in her life, and she knows Max doesn’t have insurance. 

Now, sitting next to Max’s hospital bed, Nancy wishes she’d reached out. 

With school back comes studying, and with studying comes Eddie Munson, in all his super-senior glory. Nancy is going to get him a diploma if it kills her. 

He laughs when she tells him so. “Shit, Wheeler,” he says. “The day something manages to get you is the day this shithole goes down for good.”

Robin turns down her offer to form a study group. “I’m pretty sure if I joined, I’d just distract Eddie, and let him distract me, and we’d end up throwing things at each other until you killed us. Sorry. Steve’s going to help me study for finals, though!”

She looks at Steve, eyebrow raised. She’s pretty sure it’s fair to be dubious, since she was the reason Steve passed his finals in the first place. 

“I’m her rubber duck,” he says as an explanation, and she nods in understanding. 

Her mom isn’t about to let her study alone with a boy in her room, though, and especially not a boy like Eddie, so she drags him to the library three times a week. He complains, he bitches, he tells her he doesn’t care about his fucking history class anymore. She just hands him a Rubik’s Cube she found to keep his hands busy as she quizzes him. 

Three sessions in, he slowly puts a worksheet down and screams into his hands. 

“Stop that!” She kicks him in the shin. “If you get me kicked out of the library I’m never forgiving you.”

“I can’t do it,” he says, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m so fucking stupid, Nancy. I can’t even get past question two. Is this torture? Did I die and go to hell? That would be fitting, wouldn’t it? Doomed to repeat high school for the rest of eternity?”

“Stupid” her ass. She knows what kind of work goes into those campaigns of his, has absently flipped through his annotated fantasy novels and left feeling as if she’d seen the story anew. Plus, she went and made a tape of everyone’s favorite songs, just in case, and she knew damn well how quickly he’d taught himself to play the song he did in the Upside-Down. “Stupid” and “Eddie Munson” don’t belong in the same sentence, much less belong in the same space in his brain. She hates Hawkins High just a little bit more for it. “Stop being dramatic. What are you stuck on?”

“Fucking nothing! I can’t focus, it’s driving me fucking insane. I keep trying, I swear, but it’s like I can’t even read anymore! This always happens, I swear to God it’s killing me more than the fucking demobats ever did.”

“Don’t joke about that,” she snaps. “You’re smart, Eddie, you know that. You just need to try.”

His face twists, and she realizes that was the wrong thing to say. 

“Oh, thank you, Miss Wheeler, why haven’t I thought of that? Sorry for wasting your time, I’ll get out of your perfect hair now—“

“Sit down,” she protests as he gathers up his stuff. “Eddie, I’ll help you work through the problem, okay? Just sit down, please.”

“No, Nancy!” He swings around, eyes wild. “It’s what everyone always says. Just sit still, stop doodling, be quiet, pay attention, try fucking harder…I tried, okay! I’ve been trying, I tried for fifteen fucking years, and I can’t do it! I might as well just drop out and get it over with. I’m fucking sick of this.”

“Okay!” She feels herself getting riled up. “You want to fail so bad, fine! I’m not your keeper, do whatever you want.”

“I will!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

They stare at each other, not moving. Finally Eddie storms off in a huff, flinging open the library door in a grand gesture she pretends not to see. There’s a sinking feeling in her stomach, but she can ignore it. 

She pretends not to notice when he comes slinking back five minutes later, shuffling his feet. 

“Sorry.”

“For what?” She asks primly, going over her notes. 

“Nancy, please.”

She sighs. “I’m sorry too. I’m just…frustrated.”

“I’ve been told I’m pretty frustrating,” he offers. 

“It’s not…”

“It is,” he says, sitting down. “It’s okay. God knows I piss myself off with this shit.”

She studies him, looking over his defeated face like he’s one of her flashcards. “You’re trying your best,” she says, sounding it out. She can’t really make sense of it. After all, trying her best has always been straight A’s, not stopping until she knew everything she needed to and more. 

“It’s not good enough.”

“It will be,” she says. “You’ve got me this time.”

“Listen, I know you’re trying to help—“

“Do you want fries?”

“What?” He blinks at her, shocked, as she starts packing up her things.  

“We’re not getting anywhere today. Sometimes you have to step back, and come back with a clearer head.” Usually she locks her door and cleans her guns, the repetitive motion soothing her mind until she can think again, but she has a feeling that won’t work for Eddie. 

“I usually just give up.”

“I don’t. Get your backpack, we’re going to the diner. Dinner’s on me tonight.”

At the diner, he makes her laugh so hard soda comes out her nose. The next day, they go to the library again. 

After a couple of days, he solves the cube. After three weeks, he nearly kicks her door down rushing to show her the B he got on a test. 

Two months later, he throws his cap into the air and his cane on the ground. Swings her around, both of them laughing. 

“Nancy fucking Wheeler!” He crows. “Achieving the impossible yet again!”

“Eddie, put me down!” She shrieks gleefully as he stumbles. She barely makes it back to solid ground before two more bodies are slamming into them, Steve and Robin whooping in their ears. 

It was weird, to see Steve and Robin effortlessly communicate the way she and Jonathan always had and have it be so unabashedly unromantic. She’d always thought that knowing someone like that was a sign you were meant to be, and they did it while still loudly proclaiming Platonic with a capital P. 

She and Jonathan didn’t do it much anymore. It was like dancing to a song that was always a beat off, syncing for just one moment before stumbling again, unsure that they were still allowed this. 

She’d known him better than anyone, once, and he’d known her the same. Now she wonders if that was ever true. 

“So,” Eddie says, throwing himself onto her bed. “Steve.”

She sits in her desk chair, raising an eyebrow. “What about him?”

“You broke up with Jonathan, right? Are you going to get back with him? I thought you would, but it's been months and neither of you said anything.”

“No,” she says. “No, that’s not what I want. It’s not what either of us want.”

“Really?” He rolls over, eyes searching. “What happened there, anyway? With both your boys. I’m a nosy little asshole, and I wanna hear it from you.”

It makes her laugh, the way he admits to it so freely. He grins wolfishly at her, baring his teeth in a grin. That’s probably why she tells him the truth. 

“I wasn’t okay, when I was with Steve,” she says honestly. “I was distant, grieving…I was a mess, and I stayed with him because I didn’t know what else to do. With Jonathan…I was getting closure, I was healing, and things were good between us. They were so good, but after a while, we just started to…deteriorate. I don’t know if we lost momentum, or if the stress just got to us, but we started fighting more and more,” She traces the desk with a finger, remembering the sour taste of Oliver Twist on her tongue. It was a shitty thing to say. “I thought we’d figured it out, for a little while, but then we just…stopped talking. I think, maybe if we’d talked more, we could have worked it out. But I’m…not upset that we didn’t, you know?”

It’s a different kind of loneliness when your partner won’t talk to you. It was different than grieving, different than not having anyone to talk to at all. Because even when she didn’t have friends, she had Jonathan. And then, slowly, she didn’t anymore. 

“Nancy, you’re one of my best friends, so-”

“Steve is your best friend.”

“Steve is my best best friend,” she agrees. “But he’s also more than that? Like, I think we’re literally soulmates. Platonic with a capital P soulmates, but, like, it feels like more than friendship sometimes? Like sometimes it’s like he can literally feel my bad days even when I haven’t talked to him yet. He told me once he just knows sometimes. It’s like I hit my hip on my desk and he felt it, but emotionally. It’s wild. It’s like the drugs literally combined our minds. Where was I going with this?”

“I don’t know,” she says, slightly bewildered. She wants to ask how they do that, but Robin barrels forward. 

“Right. So outside of mine and Steve’s platonic more-than-friendship, you’re kind of my best friend? And you’re, like, the coolest person I know.”

She blinks. She’s not sure she’s ever been described as cool before. 

After Barb, Nancy tried to cut her own hair. 

Her mom found her in the bathroom, unshed tears in her eyes and hair a mess on the sink and floor. 

She hadn’t laughed, hadn't said oh, honey, your beautiful hair. Just clucked her tongue and took the scissors from her hands. Stepped behind her and took over, took the uneven mess and made it something good, something presentable. 

She didn’t say anything until she was done, setting the scissors on the counter. “Sometimes,” she said, wetting her lips. “Sometimes we need a change, before we can move forward.”

The closer she gets to Emerson, the more she feels like she’s letting someone down. Mike. Max. Jonathan. All the people who have relied on her, all the people who trusted her to fight.

In a strange turn of events, her mom is the only one she doesn’t feel is disappointed in her. Her mom is more excited about college than she is sometimes. Chattering excitedly over dishes about the classes she’s going to take as Nancy dries and smiles and tries not to feel like the ground is being pulled from under her feet.

This is everything she’s ever wanted. Why does it feel so wrong?

She takes Eddie to the gun range, because having a gun in her hands has always made her feel safer. More in control. More like the badass protector she wants to be, than the scared little girl she feels sometimes. 

Eddie stares down the scope of the gun and shoots like he has experience, but doesn’t hit a single bullseye. 

“Your hands are shaking.”

“I’m in a fucking gun range and a bunch of small town hicks were hunting me not too long ago,” he snaps, taking another shot and missing the target completely. He swears and changes the magazine. “Excuse me if I’m a little bit on edge.” 

She hadn’t really thought of it like that. “You didn’t have to come,” she says. “I just thought with everything that’s happened, you should know how to use one. Just in case.”

“I know how to use a gun,” he rolls his eyes. 

“You know how to shoot one.” She looks from him to the target pointedly. “Not the same thing.”

“Deep. I could really feel the judgement there. Tell me, is there anything else wrong with me?”

“There’s security cameras all over this place. We’re not in Hawkins, so there’s no mob coming after you. I’m here, and I do know how to use a gun. No one is going to hurt you here.”

“I know all that.”

“Do you?”

He scowls at her. She looks back unflinchingly. She’s been here plenty of times, and the guys laughed at her until they didn’t anymore. By the time she brought Eddie, all she got was a raised eyebrow and a “boyfriend?” from Hunter at the desk. She didn’t know what was more incriminating, so she just shrugged. 

“You’re kind of a pain in the ass, you know that?”

She rolls her eyes, taking the gun from his hands and lining up a shot. “I’ve heard worse,” she says, thinking about Nancy Dre-ew, and Nancy “the slut” Wheeler, and priss, and shoots. It hits the bullseye. 

So do her next five shots. 

Eddie looks begrudgingly impressed when she reloads and hands the gun back to him. It’s more satisfying than it should be, to realize that while he’d known she had guns he’s never seen her actually shoot before. 

She raises a challenging eyebrow at him, and he huffs around a smile. “All right, all right,” he says good naturedly. “Let’s try this again.”

He does a little better this time around, now that he’s actually trying. He does a little dance when he hits one of the inner rings. 

“Take that!” He crows. “I bet Steve couldn’t do this. In your face, Harrington!”

“He’s much more of a close-combat kind of guy, isn’t he?” Nancy agrees. 

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” he says. “Does he really have a bat with nails?”

She blinks, caught off guard by the fact that Eddie hadn’t seen it. She never registered that he hadn’t used it during Vecna. Something about the fact seems weird somehow, as if it was as integral to Steve as his coiffed hair. “He keeps it in his trunk.”

“You and Byers need to update your Steve manuals. He said it’s under his bed now.”

“Ah,” Nancy says, thinking of all the times she’s slept with her pistol under her pillow. Empty, because she’s not stupid enough to sleep with a loaded gun when her little brother sometimes wakes her up after a nightmare, but the comforting weight of it alone makes it easier. 

“Just tell me one thing,” he says, widening his eyes imploringly at her. “Did he look as sexy as I think he did? Byers won’t give me a straight answer.”

It’s a joke, but his cheeks are a little pink. She’s not dumb, she’s seen the looks the two of them share, as if he and Steve were circling each other. Caught in a whirlpool, waiting for the moment the vortex would drag them down and they could finally touch. 

The looks between Eddie and Jonathan, too, that share a certain camaraderie she doesn’t entirely understand and at the same time understands all too well. Steve and Jonathan had always had a strange relationship, too close to not be friendship but not quite there. Surprisingly enough it was better after she and Steve broke up, Jonathan no longer avoiding them and the talk she’d forced the three of them into clearing the air. Sometimes, she’d wake up to Jonathan climbing into her bed, smelling of cigarettes and a hint of something stronger, and he’d tell her it was Steve who drove him there. 

She’s a journalist. It’s her job to notice things. She just wasn’t ready to confront that reality, where the two boys she’d wanted wanted each other as well. But she’s grown since then. 

She also knows that whoever Steve chooses, it won’t be easy. 

“You know,” she says, considering, “when we were dating, Steve never pressed me up against the wall or anything you’d expect from the King.”

Eddie gets this look on his face, caught between confusion and caught out. “…okay? Did you want him to do that or something? Are you trying to ask me to hint to him?”

“No,” she says. “I’m just saying, he never did any of that. It was kind of funny. He always made it so that he was the one pressed against the wall.”

Eddie misses the next five shots entirely, and she laughs at him through it all.

She’s hyper aware of touching other girls now. She didn’t used to be. Even with Robin, who is a lesbian and definitely won’t hate her. Who’s probably gone through the same thing. She can’t help it. 

What if they get the wrong idea? What if someone else sees? What if they can tell, what if they know, what if they hate me?

She hates feeling like this. She doesn’t know why it started, doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. She’s no stranger to casual affection—or at least she didn’t used to be. Why does it make her feel so tense now? It’s been years since she realized she liked girls, shouldn’t this have happened back then?

Deep down, she knows why. The Reagan sign in her front yard. Her dad sitting in his chair, the news always on. “Always that nasty disease, Karen, I swear some people are just asking for it.” She’s always known she could never tell him, but now she knows that if she gets sick he’ll say she deserves it. She doesn’t know what her mother thinks. She’s afraid to find out. 

She’s growing up, and her fear is growing with her. 

Objectively, Nancy knows she and Eddie don’t make sense. 

They’re not cut from the same cloth, like Steve and Robin. They don’t calm each other down, like Jonathan and Argyle. They’re too different, too alike in all the wrong ways, for them to get along. They’re both snappy, a little mean. Eddie’s dramatic enough to get on her nerves, and she’s prim enough to get on his. At their worst, they have earth shattering arguments that end in them not speaking to each other for days. 

When people see them walking down the street together, they whisper about “that nice girl Nancy Wheeler” and “that awful Munson boy.”

It’s not fair, never has been. Nancy hasn’t felt nice for a long time, maybe before Barb ever disappeared. Eddie isn’t always particularly nice either, but the court of public opinion takes it to extremes, twists him into something cruel instead of the kindness he carries under his leather armor. Someone to keep their children away from. It really is a shame, because Eddie loves kids in a way Nancy never has. She can see it in the way he interacts with them, his bright smile fading when a parent comes to drag them away. Even when he’s expecting it, his face falls, just for an instant, before spinning around with a grin that won’t reach his eyes. 

Nancy wants to take him out of here. There’s an offer on the tip of her tongue that she knows he’d refuse.

He’s not her brother, but he’s not…unlike one. It’s almost like talking to an older, flashier Mike. He’s annoying, is what he is. He picks at her, keeps pressing over the littlest things. Tries to get under her skin, succeeds, until she’s on the verge of stabbing him with her pencil. Looks triumphant whenever Robin has to grab her arm to drag her away, rambling an excuse about “some girl thing I totally forgot, yeah it’s an emergency,” while Steve drags him the other way to have bro time. 

“She loves it,” she’d heard Eddie crow delightedly once, when Robin didn’t get her out of hearing range fast enough. “Do you see that fire in her eyes?”

“Do I?” She asked Robin. “Love it?”

“I mean, far be it from me to tell you what you do and don’t like,” Robin answered. “But, uh, as far as I can tell, you totally love it. You look like you’re going to rip him to pieces and enjoy it, and he loves that. I didn’t think you’d be this much of a nightmare together, seriously, like, how are you two at each other’s throats one second and then best friends the next? Steve and I have debated locking you in a bathroom until you get along, but we’re kind of afraid you’ll kill each other.”

So no, Nancy and Eddie don’t get along. They’re kind of a nightmare together. They don’t make sense, and they don’t try to. They have other friends, who they get along with better, that they can seek out. 

But when Eddie knocks on her window, the only surprise is that he could even get there. 

“How?” She hisses, opening the window. He tumbles in, doesn’t even try to play off the utter gracelessness he’s displaying. 

“Wowie, I am never doing that again,” he breathes, flat on his back. “You’re going to have to help me down the stairs when I leave, had to leave my cane at the bottom and I cannot get back down that way.”

She doesn’t even want to know what he had to do to get up on her roof with his bad leg. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m but another lover, nothing but an ant in the face of your unwavering beauty, my queen,” he says, batting his eyes at her. The dramatics don’t hit the way he intends, given that he’s stuck on the floor. He holds a hand out pleadingly, and she rolls her eyes, hauling him up until she can get him to her bed. 

“Never mind.” She puts her hands on her hips, a gesture that is so obviously Steve she removes them immediately. From the glint in Eddie’s eyes, he notices.

She tries not to be jealous. She tries, she swears, but…

Three of the four (five? she doesn’t know what Argyle thinks of her) friends she has are dating each other. Two of them dated her, first. She can’t help but wonder, if she’d known that was an option, if everything would have been different. If she wouldn’t have this aching bitterness between her teeth. 

(Nothing would have changed, she knows. She’d been too desperate for other things. Trying so hard with Steve so her best friend didn’t die for nothing. Staying with Jonathan because he understood her more than anyone else, so maybe they didn’t need to talk. It wouldn’t have helped anything. She still wonders.)

It doesn’t matter. What’s past is past, and she needs to move forward. She can’t stop to think about could-have-beens, because thinking about boys is what got her into this mess in the first place. 

She closes her eyes, taking a shaky breath. That’s not fair. None of this is fair. None of it is fucking fair because Nancy stopped caring about fair when Barb died. 

She needs a drink. She needs a nap. She needs to stop feeling like Atlas with the world on her shoulders. 

She doesn’t do any of that. She calls Robin.

“Barb was my first kiss.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Nancy says, and keeps talking, because Barb is dead and Robin is a lesbian and she’s long forgotten what Barb’s favorite chapstick was back then. “We were seven, and I liked it but I didn’t know if I liked her. But I was convinced I was going to marry her, until my mom told me that girls don’t marry other girls. And I knew she liked girls when she died. She told me when we were fifteen, and I didn’t know the word bisexual but I knew I loved her and that was all that mattered. Not—not like that, not romantic, or maybe it was but it doesn’t matter because she was my best friend and I still love her but she’s gone forever. I loved her.”

She feels Robin lay a tentative hand on her back. 

“I had to look her parents in the eye and pretend. All those fucking NDA’s, I had to pretend there was hope. Pretend she was still missing. It was like everyone forgot about her except for me and them, and they sold their house to find their dead daughter and I wasn’t supposed to say anything and Steve kept reminding me about the fucking NDA’s—“

 “Nancy…”

“It’s my fault,” Nancy says, staring at the water. “I lumped in Steve, because it was easier than being alone. He didn’t know her like I did. She was worried about me. She stayed because she cared, and look where that got her.”

“That’s bullshit!” Robin’s eyes are wide, and she waves her hands around as she talks. “If it’s anyones fault, it’s those—those scientist guys experimenting on El! They knew there was a problem, and they tried to cover it up instead of making sure people were safe. You didn’t know it was dangerous. How were you supposed to know it was going to end up as anything other than normal teenage drama? None of this is supposed to be real, you didn’t know—“

“But I left her,” Nancy cuts in. “I left her alone to go lose my virginity to a boy she didn’t even like—“

“He was your boyfriend, it shouldn’t have mattered if she liked him—“

“It doesn’t matter!” Nancy shouts, and Robin falls silent, mouth still moving. “It doesn’t fucking matter how it happened, because it did and now she’s dead and she’s never coming back and it’s all my fault.”

Nancy is sick of crying. Sick of feeling helpless. Sick of not being able to change the past. 

“It’s not just Barb. I took Fred to the trailer park—he didn’t even want to be there, and now he’s dead. Eddie needs a cane, Max is almost completely blind and might never walk again and it was my plan that put them there. My plan that almost killed them. I’m responsible—“

“Fuck that.”

“Robin…”

“No, you listen to me, Nancy Wheeler,” Robin says, grabbing her by the shoulders. “You are one of the most remarkable people I have ever known. Max would have died without that plan. We all would have died. Venca-slash-Henry-slash-One would have won without that plan, and I am not going to sit here and listen to you blame yourself for saving lives. And-and Fred! Venca had already marked him, you know that. You couldn’t have done anything! And Barb is not your fault, okay? I-I-I know I can’t convince you, but I’ll say it as many times as it takes until you start believing it, because it’s true. You didn’t kill her. You didn’t kill anyone.”

“I killed Bruce,” she says, just to prove Robin wrong. And isn’t that shitty of her, to forget about him until she can use him to prove a point? She’s a fucking awful person.

“I don’t know who Bruce is, but given your track record I highly doubt that.”

“I bashed his head in with a fire extinguisher.”

Robin pauses, and Nancy’s stomach sinks. This is it, she thinks. This is what will convince her, this is what will make her see that I’m wrong, that I’m poison-

“What was he doing?”

“What?”

“Bruce. You had to have a reason for it. What was he doing?”

It’s like Robin doesn’t even care that Nancy just admitted to first degree murder. “He was flayed,” she admits, knowing Robin will take it as proof that she’s right.

“That’s not murder, that’s self defense,” Robin says, just like she knew she would. “Also, if he was flayed he was already dead. Sorry, I’m sticking to your side on this.”

“But I’m less torn up about killing my asshole coworker than I am about anything else. How does that not make me a monster?”

“He was already dead, Nancy!” Robin shakes her. “You’re not beating yourself up over it because you know he was already dead, a-a-and I know you’re using him to try and push me away and I won’t let you.”

“Robin…” she says, tears springing to her eyes. She’s so fucking sick of crying. So sick of the way she never seems to stop anymore. 

“Nancy,” Robin says. “None of us are going to leave you. Stop trying to make us.”

She pulls her into a hug, and Nancy sags into it, boneless. 

There, sandwiched between the sky and the water, Nancy starts to feel like she could forgive herself. 

“Nancy,” Steve says, putting a hand on her shoulder and ducking his chin to look her in the eye. “They won’t be alone.”

Tears well up, unbidden, at the way he seems to understand her now in a way he never did before. 

“I want this,” she insists. 

“I know you do,” he says. “Which is why you’re going to go out there, kick ass, and take names. We’ll be here, okay? We’ll keep an eye on them.”

“I know you will.” She swipes a hand across her eyes. “Can you talk to Holly, too? She gets lonely.”

Steve smiles. He’d always loved Holly, when they were dating. He used to braid her hair sometimes. Asked her about her drawings, her TV shows, listened to her talk with the same attentiveness Nancy’s father had never shown any of them. He’ll be a good dad, someday. To someone else’s children.

“I’ll talk to Holly,” he promises. “Does she still like princesses?”

“Ladybugs,” she says. “It’s ladybugs, now.”

“Ladybugs. I can do that. Black and red, and they’re all ladies. What’s not to like?”

“There are male ladybugs.”

“Wait, seriously?”

She laughs, tearfully, but they’re happy tears. Steve wipes them away gently, and she smiles at him to let him know she’s okay. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

“You’re the best person I know, Nancy Wheeler,” he replies, achingly sincere. “You’re gonna have the whole world under your thumb, I just know it. Ever thought of running for President?”

“Can’t be worse than the one we have now,” she says, grimaces as her own joke lands too bitterly to be funny. She sees his jaw tighten before he forces himself to relax. 

“I’d vote for you.”

She grins at him, sharp to punch through the tension she’d made. “I’ll make Eddie my Vice President.”

“Oh, fuck no. You lost me,” he says, and Eddie makes an offended noise from where he’s stealing snacks from the glovebox. Jonathan swats him, and she smiles at him too. He smiles back, tentatively, and wanders to her side. 

“You gonna be okay up there?” He asks quietly. She can hear the guilt in it, still, and she reaches down to squeeze his hand. The one with the scar that matches hers, so their palms line up. It feels full circle, somehow, the three of them together like this. 

“I’ll be okay,” she confirms, and feels the truth of it in her chest. Her boys are here with her, the ones who have been there since the beginning. Eddie’s watching them fondly, munching on a granola bar. Robin is inside somewhere, rambling at her mother. Mike and Holly are probably still bickering over the last cupcake. She loves them so much, all of them. 

“Of course you will,” Steve says. “You’re Nancy fuckin’ Wheeler. Nothing stops you.”

She wants that to be true. She can feel in her bones that it will be. Eighteen has nothing on who she’ll be at thirty. 

She’s Nancy Wheeler, and the world won’t see her coming.