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ugh-yoongi · 2 months

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the very last thing i decide | pjm

(or, the one in which a love exists that's easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.)

✘ PAIRING jimin x f. reader ✘ SUMMARY you learn what it means to love with blood on your hands. ✘ GENRE hitman/assassin au; angst, smut ✘ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✘ WARNINGS they are both hitmen (hitpeople?) so there's all the content that goes along with that: violence, death, mentions of blood (a lot) and weapons, murder, but no explicit gore. everyone is morally grey at best and downright psychotic at worst (especially yoongi). reader gets stabbed. no one knows how to be a functional human being. swearing, smoking, light smut (penetrative & oral sex), miscommunication and unrequited love but not really, i drop a classic tumblr meme in a line of dialogue. ambiguous/hopeful ending!! some of the themes here are kinda heavy and i am not entirely sure how to tag them so if you have any questions pls don’t hesitate to ask! ✘ WORDCOUNT 12k ✘ LISTEN TO manchester orchestra - telepath ✘ THANK YOU i cannot remember everyone i’ve showed this to over the years. @the-boy-meets-evil for looking this over and brainstorming with me today. @hot-soop for always being a help. @effortandmore because you told me an embarrassingly long time ago this was worth finishing. and i’m pretty sure i also sent this to @jihopesjoint at some point too. i did a quick edit of this on my own, but after nearly three years i just wanted it posted and out of my wips so i'm sure i missed things. pls ignore them. ✘ AUTHOR'S NOTE fic drops two days in a row?? who am i?? i started this in may 2021 and it was supposed to be a simple pegging fic. i abandoned it bc i was convinced no one would want to read it. between today and yesterday i have written thousands of words and made it across the finish line. i hope you like it. the violence is a metaphor for love or whatever.

[37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA]

Jimin’s hair had been red the first time he met you.

How fitting, he thinks, considering he’s currently bleeding out on a table.

Well, there’s still a bit of fight left in him. He hasn’t lost consciousness yet, which he assumes is a good sign; he can still hear Hoseok barking out orders quite clearly. The edges of his vision are fuzzy and the pain in his abdomen is sharp and unrelenting, but he still has enough brain power left to wish he’d died instead.

Because you’d saved his life. And now he’s further indebted to you.

(Jimin never leaves a debt unpaid, but he’s not sure how to make even on something like this.)

Jungkook and Taehyung are fetching supplies faster than Hoseok can ask for them. Two pairs of frazzled, spaced-out eyes. Four sets of trembling limbs. Namjoon’s wearing burn marks into the floor, his cuticles bloody and nearly worried to the bone since he can’t keep them out of his mouth.

And then there’s you.

Sitting cross-legged in a chair as you scroll through your phone. Jimin’s blood is still drying on your hands, leaving smears as you drag your thumb back and forth across the screen, and this doesn’t seem to faze you one bit.

Behind you, Yoongi takes a seat at the piano and starts playing Toccata and Fugue in D minor, and Jimin simply cannot die like this. He can’t die on a wooden table in a room with a piano on which Min Yoongi is playing Baroque organ pieces.

“What is this, a fucking funeral?” Hoseok snaps, though there’s a desperation creeping into his tone that Jimin does not like, does not want to hear. “Cut it out, Yoongi.”

Said man staunchly ignores the doctor, transitioning flawlessly into the fugue. Jimin barely hears the tinkle of your laughter but he hears it all the same, and he wants to pretend it doesn’t calm him, bring him back down to earth when he starts drifting too far away. But you do, and it does, and all he can think about is: will you miss him if he dies? Will it take you long to wash his blood from your hands?

Hoseok’s absolutely incensed, pushed to the limits of his stress at the thought of not being able to save Jimin’s life, and Jimin appreciates this, really, but not when Hoseok pushes two gloved fingers deep into the wound in his stomach so hard all he can do is cry. “Yoongi—”

You snort. You don’t even look up from your phone.

Namjoon, for all his leadership and stoicism and poise under pressure, is just as frantic and panicked as the rest. It’s not everyday one of his people is inches from death ten feet away from him. Most people usually die in the shadows. Kim Namjoon has faced down death more times than most, yet watching the life slowly fade from Jimin’s eyes is too much even for him. “Yoongi, please—”

But the fugue keeps going, tempo change after tempo change, the two pillars of this organization spiraling completely by the time the coda starts, unfocused and sweating and praying. To gods they don’t believe in, to hope, to chance—whatever and whoever might be listening. Jimin usually loves hearing Yoongi play. It’s the only thing that humanizes him, and Jimin had spent so many restless nights shoulder to shoulder with him on that exact bench in the blue hours of the early morning, hypnotized by the way the older man’s knobby fingers moved across the keys.

This is it, he thinks.

Jimin’s going to die with Toccata and Fugue in D minor playing in the background.

He’s imagined his death so many times. Stupid not to in this line of work. Violent, quick and painless, in his sleep, drawn out and gory, a message. And in all of those scenarios, it’s either jarringly silent or there’s someone screaming. Usually him, sounding much like he is now, two fingers stuck in his gut. In all of those scenarios, Min Yoongi is never playing Bach as everything fades to black.

You sigh. “Shut the fuck up, Yoongi,” you say, your tone as blasé and inconvenienced as ever.

Shocked at your audacity, one of Yoongi’s fingers slips and hits the wrong key, something dissonant and metallic as it rings out. But the music stops all the same, the silence nearly giving Jimin whiplash. Now he can hear the clinkof Hoseok’s tools, the squelching of his wound, Jungkook’s desperate pleading for him to just be alright, please God, just hang on. He wants the music back. He doesn’t want Jungkook’s crying to be the last thing he hears. Doesn’t want the sound of his own organs imprinted into his memory.

“What’d you say?” Yoongi asks, because no one talks to him that way. They wouldn’t dare. Most people try not to talk to him at all.

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

You roll your eyes. “You go deaf in your old age? I said shut the fuck up. Hoseok’s two knuckles deep in Jimin’s fucking stomach and you’re over there having your little Amadeus moment.”

He bristles. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Yoongi repeats, and Jimin can’t see him, but he knows his eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl, fists clenched at his side.

“Oh, princess,” you coo, and Yoongi’s fury is palpable, permeates every inch of this place, overrides all the fear and anguish. “I’m talking to you, baby. I know Jiminie’s busy trying not to die and that’s stressful for all of us, but please do try to keep up.”

Jimin hears the flick of Yoongi’s switchblade. Then he hears him say, “Please let me fucking kill her,” in that lazy Daegu drawl of his, like forming full words are beneath him. Not worth the effort when they’re directed at you.

Still seated, you uncross your legs and, through blurred vision, Jimin watches you grab Yoongi by his belt loops to tug him closer, grab the wrist that holds his knife and press it to your own throat. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Yoongi. Be a good boy and make it hurt.”

Jungkook’s near hysterics at Jimin’s side. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? He’s dying!”

Jimin tries to say I’m not, Kookie, I’m okay but the pressure on his abdomen is too intense. He can barely breathe, and Hoseok’s still digging around, still looking for that stupid fucking bullet, had to do something and do it quick so there’d been very little anesthetic and finesse, and he’s silently screaming for someone to just comfort Jungkook, tell him everything’s going to be okay, but instead—

“Serves him right for being a fucking idiot,” you say, words muffled by the knife still pressed to your throat. “What a painful, permanentlesson in not forgetting your fucking vest.”

“Stop it!” Jungkook sobs, fingers ghosting along Jimin’s matted fringe.

Yoongi’s still scowling. “Just say the word, Joon-ah. I’ll make it quick.”

You actually laugh at that. The kind of full-belly laugh Jimin would kill to be able to produce. “You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Someone snarls. Probably Yoongi. “You’d look so good gutted on the floor like a fish,” he replies, and if Jimin knows him at all, he knows he’s got that dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. The one he always gets when he’s about to kill—the one that makes him so unhinged and dangerous. “Left there to bleed out and die all alone like the trash you are.”

No one’s survived that look before, but you just grin, as if being on the receiving end of it is nothing more than another simple inconvenience. “Do it, then,” you prompt. “You’re so big and bad, yet here you are, waiting for Namjoon’s permission like some kind of pathetic fucking dog.”

“I’m no one’s dog.”

Your eyes slowly flick over to Namjoon. “No?” you ask, smile widening as Jimin watches you drag your heeled foot up the inside of Yoongi’s calf, his thigh, stiletto coming to rest in the center of his sternum. “That’s a shame, princess. That pretty neck of yours was just made for a collar.”

There’s no doubt in Jimin’s mind now that he actually died back in that penthouse and is now residing in whatever level of hell is watching you give his associate a semi despite him being a millisecond away from murdering you.

Yoongi would do it, too. No hesitation. You’ve been on his shit list for as long as Jimin can remember, and you’ve been daring him to put his money where his mouth is and just kill you already for just as long.

Taehyung groans. “Can you two just fuck already so the rest of us can be spared of this?”

You click your tongue, tone melting like butter. You’re fond of Taehyung, soft on him. “No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie, and god does that hurt his little feelings.”

Your wicked smile gives away nothing—whether you’re telling a bold truth or just unnecessarily needling Yoongi further—but Jimin’s caught off guard and chokes on your words nonetheless.

Hoseok’s forceps still digging around in his stomach, there’s a quiet hurrah of triumph as he finally locates the bullet. Jimin feels nothing as he retrieves it and plucks it out, a reverberated clank! as he drops it into a kidney dish, your words the anesthetic he’s needed as they play on a loop in his head.

When he finally blacks out, either from the pain or the adrenaline or both, it’s your face that greets him. He never gets the chance to tell you why he forgot his vest.

[64.1466° N, 21.9426° W | Reykjavík, ICELAND]

Jimin’s hair is blue when it happens the first time.

It’s November. Namjoon has sent the two of you to Reykjavik and it’s dark all the time, the midnight hue of his hair blending into the impenetrable nighttime that surrounds you. Jimin works best like this—out of sight, part of the shadows. He’s light on his feet, lithe in ways no one else is, not even you, and he’s impossible to anticipate under the cover of darkness.

That’s why Jimin always takes care of the appetizers.

It’s your job to clean up the main course.

The two of you are two halves of the same lethal coin, working together flawlessly after years of carefully honed practice. Jimin slams an unsuspecting man’s head into a wall and you’re right behind him to put a bullet in it.

It’s just how it goes.

And he trusts you. He has to, otherwise he would’ve gotten taken out years ago. You’re not always in his line of sight, but he always feels you, senses your movements before you’re even on your feet. The times it’s gone wrong—and it’s gone wrong so many fucking times, despite how cautious and skilled the two of you are—you’re always right there to catch him before he even hits the ground. Just like a ghost, as if your only purpose in life is keeping Jimin safe and alive.

(It isn’t, but it sure feels that way.)

Tonight it’s another hit carried out in an overpriced penthouse overlooking the northern shore. You’re in and out, don’t waste a second more than you need to. Jimin doesn’t spare a glance at the carnage left behind. Nothing he hasn’t seen a hundred times before. All blood bleeds the same, but he still wonders, foolishly, if his looks different to you. If it feels wrong when it stains your hands and seeps into your clothes.

Jimin has never been covered in your blood before, but he likes to think it would.

The two of you don’t speak until you’re in the quiet safety of yet another hotel room, chain lock thrown across the door, deadbolt secured. A small arsenal of weapons is retrieved from ankles and waistbands and cleaned and packed away meticulously. Jimin’s the one who makes the call to Namjoon, tells him in code that the job’s done. You’ve barely broken a sweat, but under the fluorescent light of the bathroom, Jimin can see a small smattering of blood just along your temple when he closes the distance between you.

Someone else’s, of course.

Anyone who made you bleed your own blood wouldn’t be a quick, clean kill. Jimin would make sure of that.

There’s less to be done about the half-inch scar in the hollow of your throat—a pearlescent reminder of the twin scar he has just below his navel; a callback to the day your devilish mouth said the words Jimin can’t stop thinking about.

“No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie.”

Maybe it’s stupidity. Maybe it’s the feral, years-long build up that’s been simmering between the two of you—low enough to keep warm, contained enough to never evolve into a rapid boil. Maybe Jimin’s just finally desperate enough to go seeking out answers to questions he’s far too scared to put a voice to.

(Really, Jimin knows it’s adrenaline. Nothing more than chemicals. The two of you high on it, heads floating above the clouds. Powerless; or, at the very least, indifferent to stop the very clear path that’s unfolding on the ground below.)

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

Needs to know if there’s even a chance you feel it, too: the magnetic ebb and flow the two of you have been dancing around for years. If you see how fondly he looks at you. If you have any idea how easy it is for him to get lost in you. If you know he’d let someone put a bullet between his eyes before he placed his life in the hands of anyone else.

Jimin knows he loves you. He’s known it for a long time, just like he knows all those other things that are second nature to him. Loving you is easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.

At least that’s what he’d thought. Until your devilish mouth said those devilish words and sent him into a tailspin he’s yet to recover from.

You have to feel it. God, can’t you? The way the air crackles between you. The way his skin ignites with a simple look from you. The trembling of his fingers at his sides, desperate to just reach out and touch you—fingers that have been bathed in blood, that have taken life. Fingers that now just want to graze softly across your cheekbones, catch on your bottom lip. Fingers that want to hand you the world on a silver platter. Jimin would do anything for you, give you whatever you wanted. You wouldn’t even have to ask.

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

Jimin is composed, elegant. He kills with grace and still maintains as much of his softness as he can. Isn’t ruled by emotion the way Yoongi and Jungkook are. But now, as he teeters on the edge of the unknown, all he wants to do is jump. Wants to buck all his training, all his resolve and forethought, and jump.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice thick. Fingers curl into the expensive silk of his shirt just so they have something to do—something to keep them from reaching out and touching you. “Back in Seoul.”

You’re the smartest person Jimin knows. When you ask, “Did I mean what, Chim?” he knows you’re fucking with him. Dragging this out. You know exactly what he’s asking and he knows you’ll never give anything away so easily.

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

You tsk, eyebrows raising in intrigue. As much as Jimin trusts you, as well as you know him, know all those dirty, dirty secrets he’d never tell anyone else, he’s never been so bold with you. “That those long fingers of his would look good wrapped around my throat? Yeah, I meant that.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches at your taunt. “Don’t play games with me.”

A smirk graces your lips. “Trust me, sweetheart,” you say, voice sickly-sweet as the affection starts popping at the last seams holding him together, “if I wanted to play with you, there’s nothing you could do to stop it.”

With Jimin pressed into the wall behind you, you turn to meet his eye in the mirror. Another smile, teeth bared as you run your tongue across your lips, and this one is his undoing. Makes his cock twitch in his dress pants. Makes him bold. “Do you want to, then?” He takes a step forward—close enough to smell the gunpowder stuck to your clothes, your hair. Close enough for the sulfur and metal to sting his nostrils each time he breathes you in. “Do you want to play with me?”

You love Jimin. Maybe it’s a trauma bond or the implicit, unwavering trust the two of you have in one another, but you know you love him limitlessly. But you also know you can’t love him the way he loves you, the way he deserves to be loved by someone, which is why your mask slips as you say, “I can’t give you what you want, Jimin.”

You try to make him understand that. Really, you do—because Jimin is the smartest person you know, and you know he’s thought about every possible consequence down to the most minute detail and has decided this is worth it anyway. You want to believe in something the way Jimin believes in you, even though he’s wrong. You want something worth throwing all of this away for.

Maybe it’s Jimin, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just been so fucking long since someone has looked at you with any gentleness in their eyes at all that when Jimin meets your gaze and says, “I don’t want anything more than you’re willing to give,” you take his hand and jump, too.

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

It’s all raw, urgent need, Jimin trying desperately to convince himself it’s more than it is while you convince yourself it’s less.

It’s the two of you finally giving up and giving in, letting yourselves be pulled taut by that invisible string tying you together.

It’s Jimin’s sharp intake of breath when you fully step out of your clothes, the sight rendering him immobile. Whatever plans he’d had before seeing the curves of your body, all the scars from years of working by his side, the mottled yellow-greens and purples from the bruises lining your skin—he has no plans now. Can barely think. Wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you with a gun to his head.

It’s the final bricks of the wall he’d built around himself—around his heart, around all those words and feelings he’d never put a voice to—crumbling into ash at his feet. Now he knows he can’t go back. Can’t return to a reality where this isn’t his truth. Where there’s no you and him, him and you. Where it’s just a physical exchange, a give-and-take, tit for tat.

And god, he knows he shouldn’t think like this; knows he’s keeping the truth buried somewhere deep behind lock and key.

…But now that he knows how it feels to move inside you, what else is he supposed to do?

You’re everywhere. Clenched around him. Your taste on his tongue. The feel of you on the pads of his fingers. The smell of you making a mockery of all logical thought. No—no, he can’t do a goddamn thing to stop the avalanche now it’s started.

“Fuck,” he whines, fingers digging into your hips. The soft skin he finds purchase in such a contrast from your hardened exterior, but Jimin knows. He knows you, knows the person behind the mask, sees straight through you each time it slips.

What stared back at him had always been just out of reach.

Taunting him.

Screaming come and get me, come make me yours, come and fucking take what you want.

Until now.

Now it’s tangible. Now it’s breathy, fractured moans that echo off tile walls. Now it’s the sound of his name thatleaves your lips like a prayer. Now it’s the sheen of sweat that covers both of you. Now it’s nails scraping down his back, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

(And Jimin won’t tell you this, but those red welts are proof that this is real, this happened, and later on when he’s alone, when his mind is working overtime, he’ll look at them and he’ll smile. Because they’re real. Because this happened.)

Now, it’s the way blue becomes his favorite color. Because he can see his reflection in the mirror as he unravels and comes to his own demise as he spills inside of you; can see the fluorescent lights reflecting off the hue of his hair.

Jimin’s hair is blue when he realizes he’s in love with you.

[34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA]

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

The details had been scarce: a diplomatic advisor with a rap sheet of human rights violations that have been continuously swept under the rug and his equally-corrupt lawyer. A candid photograph paperclipped to another manila folder, Namjoon a fan of all those old cliches. Likes being a little cheeky that way when he can get away with it, because god knows he can’t get away with much, doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

It’s a simple job. You and Jimin will have it dealt with in a matter of hours. Less if you’re lucky and the universe is agreeable. But the humidity sticks to your skin, has sweat seeping into your clothes and rolling down your temples, and if there’s one thing you can’t stand it’s the heat. Makes it hard to think. And Namjoon—Namjoon, who makes sure all of his agents want for nothing—is a cheap bastard. Rarely approves nice lodging, says it’s too risky despite your arguments to the contrary, that people don’t care what you do when you have money, so you’re stuck in some shithole motel room with an aircon unit that keeps blowing out stale, warm air.

And maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you should be more cognizant of Jimin and all his feelings, but it’s fucking hot, so you peel your shirt over your head and undo the button of your pants. Sit on the edge of the bed and try to think about anything other than the temperature, how it’s starting to prick uncomfortably at your skin.

Jimin clears his throat, keeps his eyes glued to the disgusting carpet. “Got a text from Seokjin-ssi,” he says, words strained. “Looks like they’ll be solo jobs.”

You groan. Leave it to Seokjin to change the plan at the last minute. “Tell Kim Seokjin he��s a useless piece of shit.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“Tell Kim Namjoon if he ever sends us to South America in the summer again I’ll kill him myself.”

Jimin has a laugh like an anodyne. A laugh that takes all those broken, bleeding parts of you and soothes over them like a balm. “Seokjin-ssi says he’s not passing along that particular message.”

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

“He hasn’t done field work in years and he’s probably too vitamin D deficient to leave the basement. He couldn’t even kill a fucking rat.”

There’s another laugh. More forced, less tinkling. You recognize it right away, the sound of anxiety. Solo jobs aren’t common for the two of you. For Yoongi and Taehyung, sure, but not you and Jimin. You’re a team for a reason, and though you’re more than capable of getting this done and out of the way, it doesn’t feel right. Settles in your gut like something rotten, knowing you’ll be without Jimin.

And you know he’s thinking it, too. How he turns the burner over and over in his hands, as if there’s some combination of words he can send back to Seoul to get Seokjin and Namjoon to reconsider. Plans don’t change often; not like this, anyway. These have been declared solos for a reason, and that’s a thought you can’t linger on too long.

“Are they leaving it up to us?” Jimin nods, still not meeting your eye. “Do you have a preference?”

He shrugs, tossing the phone on the small table in the corner. Nothing else to be done. “Not really. What do you think?”

“Nah, don’t care, either. Just toss me one.”

Santiago Aguirre… 47 years old… Resides in a high-rise luxury apartment in Retiro…

Your eyes skim the file, study the black and white photograph of the lawyer. Read over the list of all his high-profile, degenerate clients and all their high-profile crimes. You read about the previous attempts on his life, the seemingly never-ending list of people who want him dead. Your eyes go back to his photograph, frowning at the smug look on his face. What stares back at you is a man who thinks he’s invincible, who thinks a penthouse apartment on the top floor and a security team in the lobby means he’s impervious to harm. A man who has made money off people just like him: dirty, corrupt, hands stained red.

“Okay?” Jimin asks, looking up from his own file.

He’s so striking. So safe. And you know what he’s done, giving you the hit he thinks is easier, willing to risk himself on a solo mission to ensure you make it out. There’s no guarantees in this line of work, in life in general, but Jimin’s brand of selfless love is certainly one.

So you just nod, knowing someone slimy like this can quickly go sideways, and decide you can do the same.

“I’m gonna get ready,” you say. “The plan is the same as all the other solo jobs. Get in, get it done, get out as quickly as possible. Lay low. Don’t come straight back here.”

Jimin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Anything else?”

You exhale. Try to quiet the nerves roiling in your stomach. Barely resist the urge to press a lingering kiss to Jimin’s forehead before you swallow hard and say, “Yeah. Stay alive.”

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

Rarely feel much guilt over it, either, which—well, you’re not sure what that means. That something is permanently broken in your psyche, probably. Being able to take life so easily and without remorse. It’s not natural.

Kim Namjoon is a man who plays God, is the one who decides who gets to live and who has to die. His word is the only law you adhere to. And that’s… that’s something. Makes it less burdensome, takes some weight off, because Kim Namjoon wouldn’t accept a morally-ambiguous job. He wouldn’t ask you to put your life on the line for some petty bullshit.

This is how you’ve lived for the last four years. Four years of blindly following Namjoon’s word, of being a good little soldier and doing whatever is asked of you. Four years of being responsible for not only your own life, but Jimin’s as well, just as he is for yours. Four years that have served you well, all things considered.

Until now.

Something about this job hits you hard. Doesn’t settle quite as quickly as the ones that have come before. For the first time, you’d looked down at the lifeless body at your feet and couldn’t stop the trembling, could barely quell the nausea. Thought what the fuck am I doing, what kind of life is this for the first time. Thought back to that day four years ago when Kim Namjoon saved your life and offered you a job and wondered, for the first time, what would’ve happened if you’d said no.

Now, as you suck on a cigarette, legs dangling off the roof of a building looking not far from collapse, a new thought:

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

He’s taken care of you. For four years you’ve wanted for nothing. Have socked away more money than you’ll ever be able to spend, even if you live to a thousand. You could go anywhere, become anyone, and no one would suspect a thing. There’d just be you and a million lifetimes’ worth of transgressions, alone under the weight of all that burden; alone, except for all the ghosts that come to greet you every time you close your eyes.

Doesn’t matter. Namjoon might be willing to let you go, give you the chance to salvage something from this life in the name of normalcy, but Yoongi would gladly put a bullet in your head before he let you disappear with all his secrets.

Doesn’t matter.

You stub out the cigarette and put the butt in your pocket. Make your way down to the street. Stay under the shadows—just visible enough to redirect any suspicion shot your way. You pretend to take a call, flawless Argentinian Spanish falling from your lips as you tell the imaginary person on the other end all about your fucked up day at work. How your manager never gets off your ass, doesn’t trust you, thinks you’re too fucking stupid to run a simple executable.

No one spares you a second glance.

Not here, on this nondescript street in a nondescript Argentinian neighborhood, and not when you stumble into the tiny lobby of your shithole motel. The poor kid behind the desk doesn’t even glance up, just mutters a good evening, miss under his breath that you return in a voice far too high-pitched to be your own.

Better to be seen and be unremarkable than draw attention to yourself trying to stay invisible, you figure.

The cameras in the stairwell are broken so you take the steps two at a time. Pull the room key from its place inside your boot, happy to no longer have it digging into your skin. Pause just long enough to make sure you don’t hear anything on the other side of the door before you’re unlocking it with your free hand wrapped around the trigger of your gun.

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

Jimin stashed the burner in a place no one but you would think to look. You text one simple word to Seokjin—Hey!—and you get two in return: Who’s this?

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

It takes a few seconds, but the reply is a simple—

Sorry.

Then you toss aside the phone and float in the darkness of the room. There’s nothing to do but wait, because you don’t dare to do anything alone. There’s sweat and blood and fuck knows what else stuck to your skin, your hair, but you can’t risk taking a shower. Can’t risk the water dampening your senses. Can’t risk being cornered in a moldy bathroom, only one way out. Can’t risk doing anything alone. Can’t take a fucking shower.

It’s this thought, more than anything else, that has your body flushing with rage.

What kind of life is this?

Namjoon had never mentioned repaying your debt. He’d never insinuated you owed him anything at all for saving your life, but you know something like that never comes for free. Namjoon doesn’t do anything just because. Has no goodness in his heart to do anything in the name of it. Watching Jimin nearly die in front of him had been the exception to his usual nature; a rare slip-up by an otherwise detached, uncaring man.

Still, whatever you owe him has surely been repaid by now. Tenfold, if the bloodstains along your collar are anything to go by.

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

Two hours have ticked by and there’s no word from Jimin. No word from Namjoon or Seokjin, either, which is the only reason you’re still in this nauseating motel room and not out on the streets searching for him. Solo jobs don’t go like this. The two of you are always in and out, tragically efficient. Back to where you started and then back on a plane, nothing left behind except a singular bullet hole and another fragmented piece of your conscience.

You’ve had a lot of jobs go wrong, but never two hours.

You’re about three minutes from coming out of your skin. Sick to your stomach with worry, anxiety weighing you down like an anchor. You wouldn’t be able to go out searching for Jimin like this even if you could, and there’s no point in dwelling on that, examining it further. All you can do is wait.

It’s another hour before you hear the click of the lock. You’re nearly on your knees in relief, but you stay rooted to the flimsy mattress. Try not to think about how you’ll have to sleep on it, even though you’ll be up half the night with residual worry. All those lingering ghosts.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, so neither do you.

[55.6761° N, 12.5683° E | Copenhagen, DENMARK]

Jimin’s hair is orange when you go to Copenhagen.

Not for a job, just to breathe. You wanted to see the city at Christmastime; Jimin’s never been.

You crack a joke. Point out buildings of similar color, have him stand in front of one as you take a picture. Everyone smiles when they pass the two of you on the street, Jimin’s eyes fond even though he rolls them as you pose him how you want. Still stands against an apricot-colored wall and flashes a smile and a peace sign, cheeks pink from the cold. Does a good job of pretending the two of you aren’t here just for fun, that this is something more.

It’s not.

The two of you fucked in a hotel room in Reykjavik and haven’t spoken a word of it since.

You nearly lost your mind over him in Buenos Aires and haven’t spoken a word of that, either.

Instead, his hand finds yours as the two of you walk around Tivoli Gardens. You marvel at the lights and Jimin marvels at you. You share mulled wine and spiced doughnuts. Jimin tries to drag you on the swings but you plant your feet and refuse, laughing through your refusals. As dangerous as your lives are, motion sickness might be the most. He gets his revenge and poses you in front of a giant nutcracker, then again in front of one of the endless Christmas trees.

Jimin pays for the two of you to decorate honey cakes. You’re surrounded by families with shrieking children and palpable adoration, and it’s all you can do not to wonder if anyone you’ve taken out had ever had something like this. Something that makes your soul warm; something that still lingers in your bones years later.

The two of you take a selfie when it starts to snow. It stings when you have no one to send it to, so it just lives in your phone. Maybe it’s enough.

On another day, Jimin holds your hand through Torvehallerne. This time you marvel at him while he marvels at all the food, eyes wide each time he turns to ask if he should buy something. You always say yes and he always shares, and it’s all you can do not to think about why you don’t have to budget yourselves. Why you’re able to walk through the market and buy whatever you want; how you could buy every item for sale and it wouldn’t make a dent.

(You pick up small trinkets for Taehyung and Jungkook. Not because you want to, but because it feels nicer than remembering that you have no one to buy gifts for. Not really. Not anymore.)

Jimin wants to ice skate, so you do. He holds your hand then, too. More out of necessity than anything else, and he has none of his usual grace. Someone hands you a free cup of hot chocolate, just because. Jimin pouts and then it’s his hot chocolate. It’s all you can do not to kiss away the whipped cream on the corner of his mouth.

Back in your lavish hotel, after countless days have blurred together and Jimin’s fresh from a shower, skin flushed, you finally ask yourself if it’s worth putting up such a fight. If it’s really all that bad to care for Jimin and be cared for in return. If it’s all that bad to be someone else, just for a little while: someone with a normal life who makes a normal living and has a normal capability to love. Someone who isn’t damaged beyond repair.

That will never be you. Not fully, and certainly not in this lifetime, but maybe it could be, a little.

“Jimin,” you say, because you need to try. Jimin loves you in ways you’ll never understand, and you want to be better for him. “We should talk.”

Your voice is small and hesitant, and Jimin hates it. Sees trouble where there’s only vulnerability, so he misreads. Shakes his head. Takes a risk and stands between your legs at the edge of the bed—yours, because there’s two—as he tilts your head back, thumbs pressing into the contours of your cheeks. The scar still sits in the hollow of your throat, and that version of you feels so far away. That life feels so far away.

There’s no violence here. There’s no blood, no fugues. There’s just you and Jimin, whose voice is small like yours when he shakes his head and says, “You should kiss me instead.”

The second time is nothing like the first.

Jimin moves delicately. Feels like silk lace, tastes like spun sugar. Moves both his mouth and his body fluidly, no hesitation, yet he still takes his time. Still pauses to look at you with endless devotion; with awed reverence. Makes a map of your body and marks all his favorite places with his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. Speaks the words against the skin just beneath your ear. “Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, just have to ask.”

What you want isn’t tangible, isn’t possible, so you stay quiet. Thread your fingers through Jimin’s hair, gasp when he mouths along the column of your throat. Jimin reserves all his softness for you. Bathes you in it. Would kill anyone to keep it that way.

So you say, “Want your mouth,” and let slip a quiet moan when he gives you what you’ve asked for. When he situates himself between your thighs and sucks and licks until you’re writhing, making a mess, grasping fruitlessly at the sheets, his hair, his shoulders, only calming when his hands find yours and your fingers interlock.

Jimin mouths at you until you’re trembling. Until you’re needy and desperate, hips moving on their own, fucking yourself against his face. Until nothing exists except the heat in your belly, the stars behind your eyelids, the heady, fucked-out sound of Jimin’s voice as he talks you through it, murmurs praise against your cunt.

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

This isn’t your life. This is not something you can have.

But, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter? You’ve made peace with death, and there’s only one of two ways it’s going to come for you in the end: by Namjoon’s hand or someone else’s. So what does it matter?

This time, Jimin fucks you slow. Kisses you with your taste still in his mouth. Thumbs over a hardened nipple just to see what earns him a reaction, and what you truly want is more time—something else that’s impossible.

Jimin’s hair is orange when you think you might be in love with him.

[ 48.8566° N, 2.3522° E | Paris, FRANCE ]

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the toilet.

Soaks a washcloth in warm water. Wrings it out. Stands in front of you, and there’s water dripping onto the floor and Jimin doesn’t care, doesn’t seem to see anything in this moment except for you, your hands covered in someone else’s blood, and he reaches out, gently grabs your wrist. Palm up. Someone else’s blood. Everything smells like copper and iron. Looks too surreal beneath the fluorescent lights of this hotel bathroom for your mind to make sense of it.

There is care in the way Jimin cleans your hands. There is tenderness in the way he both refuses to see what you really are and the way he’s the only one to ever see you so entirely, when you look down at the blood he’s washing away and all you can see is stigmata. When all you see is sin.

“I know you don’t love me,” he says, and there is a conviction in his words that stuns you into silence. “Not the way I love you, anyway.”

That tenderness is still there as he says this. As he presses the wet fabric into the meat of your palm, wipes the stains away, and the warmth is as calming as it is undeserved. It feels like something forbidden. It feels like salvation and condemnation all at once, like whatever sick depravity permeates you is contagious, will take over Jimin, too, just from touching you.

Jimin is close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough to see the violence that he exists in alongside you: the rips in his clothes, the scars that decorate his skin. Close enough to know he smells sickly-sweet, just like death. Your hand shakes as it reaches for him and never follows through. Doesn’t want to contaminate him.

“I do,” you finally say. Whatever is in your voice is not conviction. “I can’t.” You suck in a breath, try to steady your breathing. This is where it all comes crashing down, you think, because in all the years you’ve done Namjoon’s bidding, you’ve never cried. You can take life so freely and without thought, but you cannot love Jimin. “Someone like me isn’t capable of it.”

Jimin pauses, the washcloth stuck in the space between your ring and middle fingers. “And who is someone like you?”

Water is still dripping to the floor. Serosanguineous: blood tainting something untouched. Not something one thing or another but both, watery-pink. Looks like Jimin’s hair. “I’ve killed a lot of people,” you answer. “More than I can count. More than I can name. More than the ones that come to haunt me at night.” Your free hand moves to your chest, covers your heart. “There’s nothing here, Jimin. I’m not sure there ever was.”

The washcloth drops to the floor, and all that blood belonging to a man whose name you never bothered to learn before you put a bullet between his eyes finds a new place to rest. “I think,” he begins, clasping your unclean hand in his own, voice dropping to a whisper, “you forget, sometimes.” You gasp as he places your palm to his cheek, drags it across his face, smears a stranger’s blood across his skin. “That we’re the same.”

Jimin is always overwhelming, but the love he has for you is even more so. It consumes you entirely, embeds itself beneath your skin, makes a home, would tear you apart, body and soul, to return to him.

[ 47.4979° N, 19.0402° E | Budapest, HUNGARY ]

Jimin’s hair is lavender when it all goes to shit.

“You’re being followed.”

Seokjin’s voice is garbled through the earpiece, tinny and metallic, and you roll your eyes. Some things don’t need to be said, because you’ve known someone was following you for the last three blocks. Average height, black peacoat, close-cropped haircut. Not the kind of person that’d stand out here, and that’s exactly why you’d sent Jimin in the other direction.

“No shit,” you respond in Hungarian, because you already know the man following you doesn’t speak or understand it. “Give me somewhere to go.”

It takes Seokjin a few moments to run the translation. “There’s a side street up on your right,” he answers. “It’s tight, but there’s an alleyway at the end. You can buy some time if you’re quick.”

“Where’s Jimin?”

You pass a vendor selling lángos and duck into the street behind the stall. Just as Seokjin had said, there’s a small alleyway up on the left, and your footfall is near-silent as you break into a sprint to reach it. “Safe,” is all Seokjin says.

You take a second to steady your breathing, knowing you’re good on time—the man following you was close enough to know where you’d turned, but, if you’re lucky, not much after that. That plays on a loop: if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky. What is luck, what does it look like, in a life left entirely to chance? In a life with no guarantees?

You tuck yourself away, focus on Seokjin’s metallic breaths. Think about his basement in Seoul, why he’s in it. Ask, “What happened in Addis Ababa?” because it feels important to know.

There’s not much you know about Seokjin’s life. Whatever happened in Ethiopia had been before your time, reduced to hushed whispers and gossip fodder after your arrival. No one spoke of it, Seokjin especially, but every now and then something would slip in the same way weeds grow in sidewalk cracks.

A job gone wrong. A bombing at the consulate with Seokjin inside.

His reply is simple, words spoken carefully: “I loved someone once, too.”

He can’t see it, but you nod nonetheless; an answer that doesn’t require a response, because you know. It’s enough to fill in the rest. What Seokjin’s trauma looks like. Why he doesn’t do field work anymore. Why he prefers the solitude of the basement, rarely a sound beyond the electric thrum of the server racks.

Who had gone in to retrieve him, and why Yoongi has the scar over his eye.

“You loved someone,” you conclude, “and he would’ve been willing to die for you.”

“Yes,” Seokjin says, and it’s like the word’s been punched out of him. Sounds like something repressed, something left to rot in the darkest corner of the world.

Love, to Seokjin, looks and sounds the same as death.

“I think most people spend their entire lives searching for a love like that,” he continues, and if you could see him you think he might look dazed, off-kilter. You think he might be an avatar. Seokjin is prying his ribcage apart, unwrapping the barbed wire from his heart, saying I once was in love and this is all I know of it. “But, to me, in this life, it’s a prison. Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? How do you—I kissed that skin. I worshiped it. I pressed my lips to it with whatever softness was left in me. How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled?” He exhales, all tremor. “You can’t. You can’t.”

You know this all too well. You know what it feels like to look at Jimin and know, intrinsically and subconsciously, that you wouldn’t even hesitate. You’d take and give life to keep him alive and safe. You know that when you exit this world at someone else’s hand his face is the last thing you want to see.

You know it’s a liability.

You know it’s a target painted on your back. Between your eyes.

You know there’s nothing left to say, that this particular conversation has run its course. The two of you sit in an amicable silence, and you hope Seokjin can hear the life that surrounds you, however mundane. Hope he can hear the lángos vendor trying to hawk his goods; hope he can hear a city 8,000 kilometers away; hope he can hear these regular, everyday people going about their lives and remember there’s hope beyond his four walls.

I think you’d like it here, you think, but you don’t dare to say it aloud.

Time passes in a meaningless blur. Could be minutes, could be hours. No one’s come to kill you, so you reckon you’ve long since been in the clear. And maybe it speaks to Seokjin’s idea that love is a prison, because you know something’s happened to Jimin long before Seokjin speaks it into existence.

You’re up and out of the alleyway before you’re told to move. Have no idea where you’re going, but you’re racing through the streets of Budapest with a panic you haven’t ever felt in your life. Feels like quicksand; feels like molasses; feels like you have to wade through all the blood you’ve spilled, now congealed, to get to him.

“Where am I going?” you demand. Your lungs are on fire. In the split-second of silence it becomes a desperate scream. “Seokjin, tell me where the fuck I’m going!”

“The—fuck, the wa-warehouse up on your right.” You can’t think about why he’s crying. “I don’t—I don’t know wha-what’s there, you need to be careful. Please, you have to—”

Twenty seconds and you’ll be there, you’ll be with Jimin, you just need to keep running. You need to keep your head on straight. Remember your training. Remember you’ve built a life in a viper pit.

A man in a uniform is unloading a shipment around the back of the building. Faces away from you, bent at the waist. Takes very little effort to smash his head into the stone exterior and knock him unconscious, pocket his badge. You can’t get stupid now. Tell Seokjin to make sure all the cameras are cut, ask what floor when you shut yourself inside the freight elevator, unwilling to take the stairs and run into anyone who might be waiting. All the way to the top, he says, so all the way to the top you go.

—

Over the course of your life, you’ve made peace with death. Have stared it in the eye more times than you can count. Have dealt it out, evaded it, shook its hand.

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

Red. Everything is red—the walls, the floor, what used to be a beautiful parquet pattern in the wood. In the center of the room: two bodies, maybe three. Not much that’d be able to identify them beyond a pile of teeth, no saying whose is whose. Slaughterhouse scraps.

And this is not—Jimin doesn’t work this way. Isn’t his MO. Jimin’s kills are elegant and neat, topped with a bow. What you see before you is ultraviolence. It is unhinged, it is fury, it is a complete loss of control. It’s what love looks like to Jimin, because he sits at the very edge of a rotted chair, legs crossed. Face streaked with blood, clothes covered in it.

“Jimin,” you say, because what else is there?

He tilts his head to the side, smirks a little, looks at you beneath his lashes. Eyes that used to find you across a room and calm you. Eyes that have locked onto you in the throes of pleasure. Eyes you’ve seen yourself reflected in, bathed in love and adoration.

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

He removes his gloves with his teeth and doesn’t flinch away from the taste of iron. “They said they hurt you,” he states simply, “so I did what needed to be done.”

“What—” Nausea claws at your throat; for the first time, it’s all too much. This isn’t Jimin. This isn’t your Jimin, who smiled as you posed him against apricot walls in Copenhagen, who took a bullet to the stomach to protect you and never, ever told you. This is not the Jimin who wasted the last of his goodwill on loving you. “What did you do?” you whisper.

He rises to full height and it makes you flinch. You are scared of Jimin for the first time in your life: scared of who he is in this moment, what he’s capable of. And he sees it, lets that brand of anguish overtake him. Reaches for you before he decides against it and lets his hand drop to his side. Says, “I would never hurt you,” as if the words could brand themselves into your skin so you’d never forget.

“No, you’d just—” You squeeze your eyes shut. Don’t think about how one of the men nearly embedded into the floor was the one trailing you earlier.

Instead, you think about Seokjin: Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? You think about: How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled? You think about: In this life, it’s a prison.

You drop to your knees. Let the blood seep through your clothes and into your skin, undeserving of shying away from it.

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

You think about the men in front of you. Who they were, who they loved. The grief all of this is going to leave behind, and it becomes impossible to breathe. You grasp at your throat, think about all the times you’ve been strangled and who’d been there to cut the rope. There is no limit to Jimin’s devotion, and you understand now, how it drove Yoongi to madness. How he loved someone so much he would’ve retrieved their corpse from a building and how that same person can no longer bear to look at the damage they’d caused.

“This isn’t love, Jimin,” you choke out.

He stands in front of you. Stigmata. You’re worshiping at the altar of some kind of devil. At least his hands are clean when he places his fingers beneath your chin, forces you to look up at him. “What is it, then?”

“Destruction.”

A quiet huff of cruel laughter. “See, this is the difference between me and you, darling.” He takes back his hand, runs it through his blood-streaked hair, and your chin sags to your chest without his support. “Because I already knew that. Because I have destroyed myself every single day loving you.” He squats down, eye-level, and he says, “I need you to listen to me when I say this, sweetheart: you do not love me the way I love you, because I would do worse. When it comes to you, there is nothing on this earth I would not destroy to keep you safe.”

He clears his throat. Collects whatever’s in his mouth and spits onto one of the bodies. “If this is enough to have you tucking your fucking tail between your legs, then go, because this doesn’t even scratch the fucking surface.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, and sometimes that says it all.

Jimin presses a kiss to the top of your head. Makes a call. Cleaners will be here soon, he says, better get going.

You watch him go.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair is black when Namjoon calls the meeting.

He takes the seat across from Namjoon’s desk because they don’t meet like this often. Assignments are usually manila folders slipped under doors, hushed whispers in hallways confirmed with a nod or a text on a burner phone. Assignments are not last-minute assemblies in conference rooms and offices.

But the way Namjoon is looking at him, with his clenched jaw and a gaze that’s meant to look barbed to anyone who doesn’t actually know him—Jimin doesn’t need to ask what this is about.

Had he bothered to look, he would’ve known by the way you stood in the far corner of the room, face obscured by the mid-afternoon shadows. Yoongi’s close to you, for some reason: dressed head to toe in black, perched on a lateral file cabinet, using a metal corner to sharpen his switchblade. Just like a harbinger of death. Some sort of fucked up omen, a warning that’s come too late.

Didn’t I tell you this would end badly, he hears Yoongi taunt in his head. This is what happens when you lay with trash.

Easy for Yoongi to say when he doesn’t know what it means to be cared for by you. Doesn’t know how it feels to give in to the freefall and plummet at your feet, stripped back and laid bare. Doesn’t know how it feels to kiss secrets into your skin like constellations, to map his tongue along every unspoken confession.

Easy for Yoongi to say, because he doesn’t have to survive the aftermath. Doesn’t have to feel the heartbreak, the agony of having you and watching as you slip through his fingers. Yoongi doesn’t have to struggle just to breathe, doesn’t have to endure the nights staring at the ceiling, watching as the daylight creeps into the corners of his vision. Doesn’t have to watch you looking so unaffected.

“Jimin.” Namjoon’s tone is flat, needlelike.

Behind him, Yoongi chuckles lowly. “What?” Jimin asks, his gaze trained on the painting behind Namjoon’s head. Looks like one he’d seen in Berlin, the time the two of you had gone just because and spent an afternoon ducking in and out of museums to escape the rain.

When he closes his eyes, he still sees the raindrops stuck to your eyelashes. The beads of water rolling off the sleeves of your leather jacket. How blinding your smile had been. The laughter in your voice as you ordered beer after beer after beer for the two of you in flawless Berlinisch. A brief, fleeting glimpse at normalcy. At the kind of life the two of you could have if you were just… different. Lived different lives. Were different people.

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

Namjoon’s words are a cold bucket of water. Snap him back to reality, yank him back to the present where he’s forced to leave those river-lined streets behind. You’re silent and Yoongi’s still snorting laughter. “Okay,” is all Jimin can bring himself to say.

Jin had gotten sloppy once, too, and Namjoon stuck him down in the basement to work logistics. Might not be so bad, Jimin reckons. He’d be away from you, spared of this fucking misery. “So you know that’s unacceptable.”

Jimin just shrugs, resigned to his fate, whatever it may be. “I’m reassigning the both of you,” Namjoon continues. “You’ll both have new partners for your next assignments, since you clearly can no longer be trusted together.”

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly having expected an argument. “You’re being sent to Shanghai with Jungkook. You,” he says, turning his attention to you, “are going to Moscow with Taehyung.”

She’s fond of Taehyung, Jimin wants to say. But you’d been fond of him too, once upon a time, and that’d only ended in heartbreak, so who fucking cares.

They’re cruel, the tricks Jimin’s mind plays on him. How he convinces himself you look pained. How his fingers wring together at the thought of entrusting his life in the hands of someone else, someone new. At your life being just as at stake; at Taehyung being tasked with keeping you alive. Would you die for him, too, the way you’d always told Jimin you would for him? Would Taehyung take a bullet to the stomach to keep you safe the way Jimin had?

Even more cruel is the way you scoff, pushing yourself off of the wall as you fold your arms across your chest and say, “That’s bullshit, Kim Namjoon.”

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

Yoongi’s knife stops twirling. Just like a bird sensing a storm, senses on high-alert as he flicks his gaze over to you. “I’m sorry?” Namjoon says. “What part of Jimin losing his mind and nearly outing all of us seems like bullshit to you?”

“Hm, let me think,” you retort, a manicured finger tapping against the hollow of your cheek. “The part where you’re reassigning me for someone else’s mistake?”

Which part was the mistake? Jimin wants to ask. Needs to know how much you regret. Was sleeping with you the mistake? Falling in love with you? Getting too caught up in all these daydreams and letting reality get away from him?

“This organization is more important than Park Jimin getting his goddamn dick wet,” Namjoon snaps. “Keeping all of you safe—keeping you alive—is more—”

You scoff. Take an entire container of gasoline and pour it right on top of Namjoon’s flammable ire. “Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to explain to me why Min fucking Yoongi can fuck damn near everyone in this establishment, yet I have to sit here and listen to your goddamn mouth—”

Jimin doesn’t think Yoongi even knows his arm is moving.

There’d just been the trading of barbed words. His own name being spoken into the ether. Yoongi’s arm moving away from his body, switchblade clasped tightly between his fingers as he plunges it into your flesh.

Jimin watches it puncture your arm in slow motion. Feels the bile in his throat, the heat in his belly. Looks first at Namjoon whose jaw has gone slack, skin pale, as he stammers over words that won’t come. Then he looks at Yoongi—expects to find shock or guilt but finds only a muted disinterest and flared nostrils.

Finally, he looks at you. Watches the white cotton sleeve of your shirt slowly turn red and sticky-wet. Watches as your lips move around syllables and vowels and consonants Jimin can’t decipher.

“—fucking piece of shit, this is my favorite shirt! I’ll never get all this goddamn blood out of it—”

Jimin thinks he hears Yoongi say you deserve it. But Jimin isn’t really thinking much as he clambers out of his chair and moves in Yoongi’s direction. Doesn’t think at all as he lets instinct take over, lets adrenaline steer him headfirst into yet another bad idea.

He’s always known there’d come a day he’d be face-to-face with the sight of your blood. Had always known it’d come from someone else’s hand. Had always promised himself that hurting you would be the last thing anyone ever did.

Jimin has his fingers wrapped around Yoongi’s throat and he finally understands it—the joy Yoongi finds in taking life.

“What’s the matter, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi taunts. Jimin tightens his grip. Suddenly hates that fucking scar across Yoongi’s eye. “You’re never on clean-up duty. Always make your girlfriend do the dirty work. Finally grew some fucking balls, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Jimin says stupidly. Can’t think of anything more to say. Not that he needs to. Wrapping your hands around someone’s throat sends enough of a message, he thinks.

Namjoon’s still tongue-tied as you yank Yoongi’s blade from your arm, immediately pressing your other hand over the wound to stem the bleeding. The sight of your blood is making Jimin dizzy; the smell of the iron hanging in the air. All he wants to do is choke the life out of the man in front of him, but more than that, he just wants to hold your hand. Wants to comfort you, even though he knows you don’t need it. Not from him, not from anyone, but he still wants to. Wants to press his lips to the sweat at your brow.

And Yoongi can see it, too, because he starts laughing. It’s an odd, fractured noise. Jimin isn’t sure if he’s ever heard him laugh before, decides he also hates the way it sounds. Feels all wrong watching it leave his crooked smirk. Makes Jimin’s stomach plummet to the ground.

“Oh, you’re fucked, aren’t you?” Yoongi teases around Jimin’s slackened grip. “You weren’t just fucking her, you’re in love with her.”

Weird how Jimin is the one with his hands around someone’s neck and feels like he’s the one suffocating.

[ 31.2304° N, 121.4737° E | Shanghai, CHINA ]

Jimin watches the life drain from an innocent woman’s face and feels nothing.

Jimin watches Jungkook cut a man down and feels even less.

When it’s over, he cleans up wordlessly and doesn’t eat for three days.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair has faded to brown by the time he returns from Shanghai.

The more complicated job had gone to you and Taehyung. Jimin had tried not to take it personally. The Russian hits are always unnecessarily violent and Jungkook still isn’t fully trained. There’s still a phantom pain in Jimin’s stomach that warns him of the consequences of taking on more than he can chew. So, sure, Shanghai had gone fine, but his mind had been nearly 7,000 kilometers away the entire time.

Good thing he’d returned to Seoul unscathed, too, because he’s sure Namjoon would’ve eliminated him without a moment’s hesitation if he’d fucked up again.

But Shanghai had only served to prove the leader right. Jimin can’t work with you anymore. Can’t focus, can’t stomach the violence, can’t keep his goddamn head on straight.

He sighs as he glances at Jungkook to his right. Jimin had watched him murder two men in cold blood not even thirty-six hours ago and now he’s doe-eyed and sucking down his third banana milk of the morning. It really makes his head spin, being paired with this grown-up infant of a man now instead of you, but for all of Jungkook’s apparent shortcomings, he’d kept Jimin alive. He isn’t dead.

And then you walk in with Taehyung and he wishes he was.

Because you’re laughing and Taehyung’s got his arm slung around your shoulder and you look happy. It’s the kind of happiness that should be contagious, bloom warmth in his chest, but it doesn’t. It just takes the last frayed strand of hope he has and sets flame to it.

You don’t look like you miss Jimin at all. Don’t look like you’ve lost sleep or skipped meals.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” Jimin says, because he’s wounded and lashing out. Not because he means it.

You must know he doesn’t, too, because you don’t react. “Watch your mouth, Park Jimin,” Taehyung warns, because he doesn’t know, and this only sets Jimin off more. You don’t need defending. Or had you, and Jimin had simply thought it wasn’t his place to provide it? That you wouldn’t want it?

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung is cherubic. It’s part of his charm, one of many reasons why he’s so effective. If you’re looking to die, you look for the guy who looks like Yoongi, not the one who smiles wide and warm like Taehyung. So when he sets his jaw and pokes his tongue into his cheek and says, “Or I’ll cut your fucking head off, you stupid fuck,” your attention is finally piqued.

“I’m so sick of this,” Jungkook wails, banana milk tossed carelessly in the trash. “All of you need to get your fucking shit together!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at the same time you pretend to inspect your nails. “Is that why you’re so temperamental, Chim?” Taehyung prods, looking every bit the pretentious, murderous angel he is. “Because you got sent to China on a babysitting mission while the grownups did real work?”

“Fuck you,” Jungkook snaps, rising to full height. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Oh? Could’ve fooled me.” Taehyung’s words are razor-sharp and smell like kerosene. “Tell me, then: were you on babysitting duty? Had to look after our precious little Jiminie while he nursed his broken heart?”

You sigh, full of faux-exasperation, and place a gentle hand on Taehyung’s forearm. Dig your nails in just enough to be a warning, and if Jimin hadn’t been looking he’d miss it: the way Taehyung deflates instantly, anger dissipating like smoke, back in control. Just because you’d touched him. Just because you were there. Jimin knows that touch, how it feels to be under your control, and it makes his chest ache. Makes everything feel like it’s sitting wrong in his stomach, and he’s either going to be sick all over Namjoon’s overpriced fucking rug or wrap his hands around Taehyung’s throat the way he’d done to Yoongi.

He’s out of his goddamned mind; he feels untethered. Helpless. Like it was always going to end like this, and maybe Jimin knew that and had just ignored it. Maybe now he’s paying the price—maybe he’s finally found something he can’t afford.

Jungkook’s still going off, nasty gaze set on Taehyung because he’s the only one playing along. They’re exchanging words Jimin can’t make heads nor tails of. Words he doesn’t care about. Words that ring empty and hollow because they sound nothing like the way you say his name. Shapeless, unlike the way your lips move around those syllables.

“Jimin,” you say, the sound finally registering and bringing him back down to earth. All he can do is stare. “Can we talk?” Taehyung and Jungkook are still trading barbs.

Wonders how he got here. Looks around the room and wonders if each and every one of them is destined for this same fate, this madness. Wants to tell you why he forgot his vest, why he was three hours late in Argentina. Wants to grovel and beg and leave this place and never look back.

More than anything, he wants to know what it feels like to actually be human.

So he shakes his head. Tries not to be haunted by the way your face falls at the rejection.

There is a scar on his abdomen and a scar on your arm that both tell the same story. There is a man in the basement who is in love with a man above ground and is too weighed down by guilt to do anything about it. There is a man here who plays god, has soldiers to do his bidding, and there is very little here that Jimin has only for himself.

The two of you will have that conversation, but he needs to be human, first.

[ 34.6901° N, 135.1956° E | Kobe, JAPAN ]

This is a waste of your fucking time.

Whatever Namjoon had thought would be here doesn’t seem to exist. Yoongi can barely tolerate you on a good day, threatens to stick a dagger in your neck at least twice an hour, but the more time the two of you waste chasing ghosts, the closer he comes to unraveling entirely.

“Stop fucking staring at me,” he snaps, blowing the smoke of his cigarette right in your face.

You tut. “But you’re so beautiful, Yoongi, I just can’t help it.”

He digs his switchblade from his boot. Makes a show of flipping it open. “I can cut your fuckin’ eyes out of your skull,” he intones. “Maybe that’ll help.”

In your ear, Jimin’s laughter rings like crystal.

Ricochets off of all the corners of Seokjin’s basement, makes the echo sound warped through the earpiece. “Please tell Yoongi-ssi to keep an eye on the man with the shaved head. In front of him, roughly sixty degrees to his right.”

You relay the message. Watch as Yoongi transforms—sharpened gaze, rigid posture, disappears into the shadows. More apex predator than man. “And me?” you ask.

“Backup,” comes Seokjin’s voice. “We haven’t found your mark yet.”

You hum. Pick up the cigarette Yoongi left behind and stick it between your lips. Smoke it nearly to the filter. “You got it, boss,” you tease, just because it flusters him.

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

Exhale. Stub out the cigarette. Butt in your pocket. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, and his voice is soft, sounds like spun sugar. “Stay alive, all right?”

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

if you've read this far: thank you so, so much! i am more appreciative than i can put into words. this is very different from what i typically write, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

i would love to hear your thoughts if you have any. <3

#jimin x reader #jimin smut #bts x reader #bts smut #jimin imagine #jimin scenarios #jimin fanfic #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts x you #bts x y/n

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minustwofingers · 11 months

Text

exoplanet p.6 (ellie’s journals)

summary: you’ve won the life lottery as one of the few people on earth with parents who gained admittance to the most prestigous safezone in the world after the outbreak. but after a lab accident sends you out to jackson, wyoming, real life hits you fast. it’s a good thing that a hot lesbian finds u. (lol). mean ellie at first, slowburn, enemies to friends to lovers, fem reader asf

warnings: a significantly different writing voice! this is going to be a very different vibe from the other chapters since i had to write it as i imagine ellie would (which is a lot different than i do). slight nsfw content (mdni), language, mentions of violence/gore, angst, ellie’s pov is actually really depressing

a/n: soooo i know it’s been almost 3 months...and i’m really sorry about that! a lot of stuff happened in my life and i kind of fell off writing for quite some time. but i finish series, so i’m going to get through exoplanet in its entirety so i can finally give you all closure. some preliminary notes: know that these are modeled after how i imagine ellie would journal if she did journal this much. canonically she didn’t do that much writing that follows a narrative like it does here. i think it’s honestly a little ooc for her to be emotionally responsible enough to talk out her feelings, but given that there’s no other way to tell her side of the story (save for legit rewriting it from her perspective, which would take another 6 months or so and be horrifically repetitive), i decided to just suck it up and write it. i’m sorry if it sounds awkward, since she definitely doesn’t write in a voice that i have much experience with. the next chapter will be better!

word count: 5.5k

tags~ @intrnetdoll @dazedshoon @lovecaraya @pctcr @sariyaflowr @loser-keiji @prettyplant0 @666findgod @sawaagyapong @rystarkov @buzzybuzzsposts @addisonnie @galacticstxrdust @elliesbabygirl @pinkazelma @ariianelle @lu002 @blairfox04 @sparkleswonderland @elliesflower @muthafuckingstargirl @elliewilliamsissubermommyoml @eviestevie-14 @quicksilversg1rl @guacala @crtcrp @overtrred28

(i haven’t updated this yet bc my tags aren’t working)

a special special SPECIAL thanks to both @roarriita and @elliesflower for being soooo sexy and betaing for me. you both are so wonderful and helped me sm in feeling good enough to post this :)

without further ado, enjoy ellie’s journals!

January 20th, 2038

Today’s been…fucking…

I don’t even know where to start. I don’t get why this sort of shit always happens to me. First it was being bit and somehow surviving. Then it was getting carted off across the country. And now some girl basically falls out of the sky, claiming that she comes from some sort of paradise up North?

I’ll spare the immediate details. I don’t think I’ll forget the basic stuff—her name, the way she looked clutching at her knees in the clearing and shaking. That stupid shirt she had on and that expensive scarf.

I still want to believe that she’s just a liar who happened to get lucky with running into us, but even without Joel vouching for her story, I don’t think I’d ever be able to buy that she’d been living in the same world as us. I’ve never met someone without scars before. I didn’t know that there were people out there who didn’t have marked up arms and faces. Or people without calluses. Did you know that hands can be totally smooth?

Anyway. Tommy says that he’ll try and reach out across the contacts he has. Joel has her living right down the hall from me in the meantime, so now I have to share my bathroom. Hopefully the Terranovan authorities are good at finding people. She takes so fucking long to shower. It’s a wonder the whole compound still has hot water.

[One page of drawings follows: Dina smiling in the snow on her horse, Joel playing his guitar]

January 25th, 2038

Maria says that they’re thinking about breeding Shimmer soon. I know she told me because that means I’ll need to ride another horse for a little until she recovers and I know that we need another generation of foals, but it still made me cringe for Shimmer’s sake. She’s too free-spirited to be a mother. She doesn’t deserve that.

I went stargazing last night. It was pretty. Lots of shooting stars. I ran into the girl while I was coming back from the meadow. She gave me a weird look, and I could tell she wanted to ask me where I’d been but kept her mouth shut. Sometimes I regret dropping off that bag of clothes. I really fucking liked that gray sweatshirt, actually. I’m not even joking. It looks weird to see it on someone else.

[Half a page of drawing follows of the night sky with labeled constellations]

February 5th, 2038

Long time no see. I’ve been pretty busy with patrols and helping Maria with securing the walls. Joel made me try some of that coffee that our new house guest brought. It was just as awful as I remembered, but he seemed happy. So one point for the space girl. I guess.

Dina’s been hanging around more. She just broke up with Jessie (yes, again). She swears that it’s for good this time, but I’m not so sure. She also talks a lot about Y/N and what little detail she’s gathered about her life back in Terranova. I thought teasing her by asking her if she had a crush on Y/N would make her talk less about it, but it just made things worse.

I miss when things were normal.

[One page of drawings follows: one of Shimmer in cross-ties, another of a girl’s face, half-finished with the face scribbled out]

February 12th, 2038

Today I’m sad. I’m in bed with that book about astronomy that Joel nabbed for me on patrol a while ago and there’s a section I wanted to read that’s completely waterlogged. It shouldn't be a surprise. It’s decades old and has survived through an apocalypse. Normally things like this don’t bug me much because I’m so used to it. Half of my Savage Starlight collection is damaged. I don’t think I’ll ever find the first book to actually complete the series, and that’s okay, because I’ve never expected anything more. But now that I know that there’s a world out there where I’d never have problems like this, stuff like this hurts. It’s so stupid. I’m lucky to be alive. Compared to what’s left of the world population, I live a much cushier life than most. But for the first time in a while, I’m wishing for more.

“Greed is the enemy of happiness” is what Maria would say if I ever said this kind of shit out loud. But is it really? Or is it just realizing what life can be?

[Half a page of a drawing of the solar system, with each planet labeled]

February 22nd, 2038

Maria let me pick the sire for Shimmer’s foal. It felt kind of gross, to be honest. I asked Maria if there was any way for Shimmer to choose and I was only sort of joking, but she just laughed anyway and patted my back. I won’t have to worry about finding a new horse for another two seasons or so, she told me. It’ll be weird not having her for a little.

She also told me that there was still no word from anyone who knew anything about Terranova. She said this to me in this placating voice, like she thought that I was going to punch a hole in the wall or something after hearing it. That seems to be common when it comes to people talking about Y/N and me. I don’t know why so many people think I don’t like her staying with us.

I don’t, by the way. Let me be clear. But I mostly feel indifferent about her now. She doesn’t bother me as much anymore, not since she started getting out of the house. I think she might be helping in the gardens, but I’ve never actually asked. We don’t talk a whole ton. I don’t think she likes me all that much.

[A drawing of Shimmer’s head poking over her stall door that takes up one page]

March 2nd, 2038

Today was finally our first nice day of the year. I would’ve enjoyed it more if the bird that lives in the tree outside my window hadn’t blown me out of bed at 4 in the fucking morning. I’m exhausted now. It’s been a long day. Joel says I need to take Y/N out on patrol soon. Why, I have no idea. Maybe he just wants me to actually befriend her or something, and I do nothing but patrols now. He can’t possibly expect her to be a good patrol partner.

Thankfully, I checked the logs when I came back. The route he wants me to cover with her has been the quietest all season. I doubt we’ll run into anything. If we do, I’ll probably be able to handle it. Hopefully.

[Half a page of doodles, mostly of nature and wildlife with the exception of a half-finished doodle of an arm clad in a fabric that drapes like silk and a hand with polished nails]

March 3rd, 2038

Many surprising things were learned today. I can’t believe it’s illegal to be gay in Terranova. Sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just—out of all the things they could be bothered by, it’s that? Really?

March 12th, 2038

I haven’t been good at journaling recently. I don’t really want to talk about why. You know why.

[Six pages of drawings, with many unfinished doodles of Y/N—including but not limited to her on her horse, her reading on the couch, and one with her sitting in what is a very loose interpretation of a classroom, taking notes]

March 13th, 2038

I will feel more normal tomorrow. Hopefully.

[Two pages of drawings, all of Y/N. One is her bent over a book, the other is her smiling up at you]

March 14th, 2038

I did something really stupid. I think I should probably just document this here so I don’t accidentally drunkenly spill it all out to Dina at the next bonfire. This is so embarrassing. I don’t get why I feel this way. It’s so stupid, you know? To feel anything towards someone who’s so…I don’t know. Different.

She gives me the weirdest looks sometimes. I can’t tell what they mean. It feels like she’s judging me. And why wouldn’t she be? I bet all the girls she spends her time around back home are just like her—perfect, orderly, pretty, proper. The day before I took her patrolling she gawked at the shorts I was wearing. It was borderline offensive. Actually, fuck that. It wasn’t borderline. It was offensive. You don’t just stare at people like that. She should know that.

Anyway, I invited her over to my room last night. Normal, right? Because we’ve been doing that a little since I took her on patrol, by the way. I’m not sure if I mentioned that before. But this time I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m…I don’t know. Creepy? Strange? Scary? She told me that she thought I was intimidating. And then I called her “untouched”, like how some old-timer devout Christian wackjob or whatever would describe virginity. It was so fucking weird of me. I don’t know what got into me, but she kept doing this thing where she kicked my foot with hers or touched my knee and it just threw me off. It took me forever to fall asleep last night—I kept replaying what I’d said to her, especially how I’d told her that she wouldn’t have made it if she were me like I was some sort of hardcore survivalist. I think I embarrassed her. I’m never doing anything like this again. I’m going to be dead sober every time I see her from now on.

I’ll stop talking about that. Y/N did come back after I’d made a fool of myself and showed me her collection of movies, so maybe it wasn’t so bad. I haven’t watched any movies since I was with Cat. When we first started dating, I’d invite her over and she’d sit right where Y/N did last night. I’m trying to not think of the implications, because it’s space girl, and she’s going home sometime soon.

[Three pages of drawings follow—some nature drawings of ferns and moths, others of Y/N with wet hair, her knees tucked up to her chin like she’d been in Ellie’s bed that night]

March 19th, 2038

It’s the Spring Equinox. That’s the first thing Y/N told me this morning when she saw me in the kitchen this morning. She gave me a mini lecture on what that meant for the planet’s axis tilt and I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I already knew, since she seemed really excited to tell me.

I made a horrible discovery yesterday, by the way. Maria came up to me and told me that Tommy had decided to reach out to some of his other buddies up North to see if they had any connections to Terranova, and for the first time, I felt myself hoping that it wouldn’t work.

It’s awful. I shouldn’t be thinking like this. Even in Jackson, where things are comparatively much better than the rest of the world, there’s risk. Just this winter, one family had to be kicked out when they were found hiding an infected son. No one here is completely safe, just safer. I shouldn’t be selfish. Y/N needs to go where she’s meant to be, where there’s no chance of infection or invasion. I’ll be fine. I just need to get over whatever this is.

Speaking of her, I need to go get her to tell her that we’re heading out on patrol in just a few minutes. Fingers crossed she doesn’t accidentally shoot me, but Joel swore up and down that she knows how to handle a gun now. Sure. Haha.

I’m back. It’s the middle of the night and she only just left my room. I don’t know how much detail I need to go into—chances are I won’t forget this. But for bookkeeping purposes: patrol did not go so hot. I had to give her stitches without any local anesthesia. I’ve never given stitches to anyone nearly in my lap before. I was really nervous, too. I don’t think I’ve ever had to focus so much on keeping my hands steady when it came to stitching someone up before, not even with Joel.

I’m starting to think that maybe I was wrong about thinking that she didn’t like me. I still can’t tell exactly what she thinks of me, and I know that it’s a really bad fucking idea to be entertaining thoughts like these, but tonight she did something that made me reconsider. She got under the covers with me, and instead of moving away to keep us from touching, she rested her head next to mine on the pillow.

I hope she couldn’t hear how much my heart was racing. People can’t hear that kind of stuff, right? Even if they’re close?

I’m being ridiculous. There’s no way she—No. She doesn’t see me like that.

March 21st, 2038

She rested her head on my shoulder today. I don’t know what to think of it. If she was normal and grew up like the rest of us did, I would know exactly what to think. But she’s not normal, and it’s not fair of me to treat her like she is. Maybe this is, like, a culturally acceptable thing back from where she grew up. Maybe rich people just cuddle each other all the time. I wouldn’t fucking know, and unfortunately no one in this godforsaken town can help, because there’s a distinct lack of what Maria calls the “bourgeoisie”. They’re all either dead or back where Y/N grew up, doing whatever rich snobs do.

Even if it is normal for her, I feel like I can’t stop analyzing everything she does. She seems more nervous around me than she does anyone else, but she lingers like she can’t help herself. I’ve noticed that she stumbles over her words and touches me much more than is really necessary. Or at least I think she does—maybe I’m just imagining things.

But even if it means what I think it does, I can’t let myself think like this. It’s not fair to her. No one deserves to live here if they have the choice. At least the people out here know how to handle it. She doesn’t, and I don’t want her to turn into the type of person who does.

When I stitched her up and teased her about being weak and sensitive, I think she thought I was insulting her. I try not to think about it, but if I let myself wallow too much, I’ll wonder what kind of person I’d be if I wasn’t so jaded. Maybe I’d draw more, or read more, or write more. Maybe I’d be an easier person to love. I didn’t get to choose how I turned out. It just happened to me.

So if she has the choice, I’m going to do everything I can to help her make the right one. I don’t want her to be like this.

March 29th, 2038

I had a dream about Riley last night. I haven’t had one of those in years, not since I was traveling with Joel. We were back in the mall, and Riley had just turned the lights on as a surprise. I had this feeling then, like I was being given a second chance. That I could set things straight and do what was right. I woke up before I could insist that we leave.

[A drawing takes up half of the next page. It’s a crude depiction of the mall Riley turned in.]

April 4th, 2038

It’s the middle of the night again. I can’t sleep. I’m so disappointed with myself about what I did tonight with Y/N. At the time, it seemed like a really good idea. She likes me back, apparently. I was right about everything that I wrote about earlier, I guess. But it certainly doesn’t feel like I thought it would.

It’s not like there’s no part of me that isn’t thrilled that she feels the same way. That’s why I gave in and slept with her. But even when she told me how she felt, even before I completely lost my self-control, something heavy was already hanging over me. Regret, maybe. Or guilt. I don’t know. What I do know is that this can’t last. I can’t make this good for her like I want to. She needs to go back, and she needs to be able to feel like she can make that choice without feeling like she’s leaving anything good behind.

I’m not a spiritual person. but even so, I can’t help but feel like that dream of Riley was a sign. This is my second chance. I’m not going to fuck it up this time. I’ve already been an accomplice of so much suffering. Y/N is going home, and I’ll never see her again when she does. That’s that.

It took all I had left in me in the end to kick her out. She looked so hurt, and the fact that she tried to hide it made it even worse. I wish I could tell her why this can’t work, but I don’t think she’d understand.

[A drawing of Y/N kissing Ellie’s palm follows, her hair slightly mussed]

April 6th, 2038

I need to stop making rash decisions like knocking on her door late at night and asking her to come over. I really don’t know what’s gotten into me, because whenever I see her now, I can’t help but freeze up. Like last night, when she kissed me and touched my face and told me she thought I was a good person. I panicked and told her—well, nevermind. I don’t really want to repeat it here. It was mean, but I didn’t know what else I could do to get her to stop.

She was already tearing up by the time she left. I had to sit down and breathe deeply for a few minutes before I was sure I wasn’t going to be sick. I don’t really think I want to write more about this right now. It just makes me sad how unfair this all is. Of course the one time after Cat that I meet someone I really like it just has to be in one of the cruelest scenarios possible. I just have no idea what to do.

[Five pages of drawings follow of Y/N in bed, her head tilted back against the pillow, her eye’s half lidded, and her mouth slightly agape. Ellie redraws this multiple times, x-ing out parts that don’t seem quite right]

April 10th, 2038

I know this is none of my business, but she’s been spending a lot of time with Dina lately. She nearly got herself killed getting a gift for me with Dina yesterday, which feels like some sort of especially cruel joke. The universe isn’t being very fucking subtle right now.

If what I’m worried about is right, at least Dina has the option to come with her up North. She’d test negative.

April 20th, 2038

I would really like it if I could have one short break from the misery that’s my life right now. I turned 20 yesterday, accidentally introduced Y/N to my ex, proceeded to get much drunker than I meant to, completely fell off my rocker and asked Y/N to stay the night, and then discovered this morning that not only has Terranova found Y/N but that my strategy of keeping Y/N at arm’s length completely failed.

She wants me to come with her, and she’s threatening to stay here otherwise. I did the only thing that I could think to do and snapped at her.

I’m so tired of this. I hate having to act like I don’t care. This is the third time now that I’ve had to say something nasty to her to keep her from getting too close. I just want to get in bed and sleep until she leaves and I can pretend like nothing ever happened and that everything is normal.

[One page of drawings of Y/N passed out in her bed and Y/N grinning while holding a lopsided cake]

April 28th, 2038

I know I haven’t been writing much again. Sorry about that. I just can’t bear to think about my life right now. I know I should be relieved—this is what I wanted. I wanted her to go where it’s best for her.

But there’s still that selfish part of me that keeps me up at night. Y/N is going to leave this place never knowing how I feel about her. Logically, that should be what I want. This way I won’t need to say a real goodbye. I know I won’t need to now, since she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. It’s really fucking immature of me to be so hurt by what she must think of me now, but I can’t stop.

I wonder how long it will take for me to stop feeling sad about this. I’ve never had to process anything like this where there’s nothing I can do. With Riley and Sam, I at least got to heal from the knowledge that I was going to help make the vaccine to save the world. But losing Y/N just because of where we come from is totally meaningless. I can go forward knowing that I made it easy for her to make the right decision, but that only goes so far.

I don’t know how I’m going to handle this. I’m going to practically live with Dina so I don’t need to be alone for the first few weeks.

I wish May 8th would just come already so she can go away and I can get on with my life.

May 1st, 2038

Things have changed some. Joel cornered me in the kitchen last night and told me that I needed to grow up and just appreciate the rest of the time I had left with Y/N. I was going to agree and try to walk past him, but he stopped me and told me that he needed me to escort Y/N. I guess he’s right. She can’t go alone, and Joel and Tommy are getting a little too old for week-long expeditions into the wilderness.

He also told me that I need to apologize to her and make things right, saying shit like I’d regret it forever if things ended between us like this. I don’t want to admit it, but I think he’s right. When I told him that she’d originally threatened to stay if I didn’t go with her, he blinked, hard. Then he told me that he had an idea.

I’m faking it. I’m telling her that I’m going, even though I’m going to leave her when she gets picked up. I don’t know how I’m going to pull it off. When I told her in the meadow last night, she was so happy. I know it’s really sappy and cliche to say this, but I felt my heart shatter, bit by bit. I’m not a very good liar, not to people who are important to me. But I suppose I’ve been lying to her all this time, kicking her out of my room and telling her that I didn’t want anything more with her.

I can do this, I think. I have to do this, or else she might threaten to stay, and I don’t think I have it in me to be cruel again. Not to her. I guess I’ll just trick myself into feeling like I’m actually coming with her, like we have a chance of actually being together. I don’t know. We’ll see.

[One drawing of Y/N laying down in the meadow that takes up half a page]

May 3rd, 2038

It’s easier than I expected. Y/N sleeps over in my room at night, and if I don’t think too hard about it, I can pretend like things will always be like this.

I’m getting to be such a sap, though. I almost broke down in the bathroom today while I was getting ready. It was over the stupidest thing—a toothpaste bottle. Y/N always folds it so neatly, making a perfect, tight spiral of plastic near the end. It used to really bother me when I first had to share with her (because who does that—it’s weird and doesn’t do anything since she doesn’t manage to squeeze out the extra in the bottom anyways), but the thought of throwing it out when it finally emptied and having to find another one that’ll never be folded again hit me and suddenly I was counting my inhales and exhales. I don’t really give a shit about toothpaste. It’s just that it was the moment that I realized that she’s really going to be gone soon, you know? Slowly but surely, the evidence of her stay here will be wiped away and replaced. Someday I’ll forget all the little details about her.

She’s knocking on my door. I need to stop being so depressed and go see her before she picks up that something’s wrong.

[One small doodle of Y/N smiling and rolling her eyes while brushing her teeth]

May 6th, 2038

Dina’s coming now. Y/N told me this morning after she went to say goodbye. I feel really shitty about this. I guess I should tell her that I’m not going now, because this way Y/N needs to go home to get Dina the help she needs, but I just can’t bring myself to. I’ll have to escort both of them to the pickup spot anyway since Dina’s weaker now that she’s pregnant, and the thought of having to spend a full week with Y/N after she knew I lied to her makes my skin crawl. I can’t tell who I’m trying to protect by doing this—me or her. Maybe both.

I’m losing my two favorite people here, and they don’t even know it yet. But this is the best option. This is my chance to finally do some good in the world.

May 7th, 2038

I’m about to go stargazing with Y/N for the last time. I don’t think I’ll be writing in here again until I get back. I don’t want to risk losing this while I’m out in case something crazy happens. Which it probably will, but I canonically happen to be really good at living when shit hits the fan. Also—I don’t imagine Y/N to be a particularly nosy person, but if she ever came across this and thought it was a book or something, it would make things really awkward. So, you’re staying tucked carefully under my bed until I come back later this month.

I don’t know how to handle this sort of goodbye. I don’t really know how to handle any sort of goodbye, I guess, but at least I’ve been through them before. I may not do it well, but I know how to live when people I love die. But this isn’t like that. No one is dying (hopefully), and more importantly, I know it’s a goodbye this time. I see it coming on the horizon and I can’t even tell anyone about it. How does anyone deal with that? How does anyone cope?

Y/N’s knocking on my door now. I need to go before I start thinking even more and do something stupid like start crying or whatever.

I’ll be back in about two weeks.

June 1st, 2038

Sorry for not writing. It’s been pretty shitty, actually. It took me 5 extra days to get home because some scavengers gave me trouble. I hardly slept for most of them. I ran out of ammo about 4 days out and had to use my knife for everything I ran into until I was able to raid the cabinets of this abandoned cabin. Nearly got taken out by a clicker, too. It was not fun. It was especially not fun because I was not feeling super great to begin with, for obvious reasons.

Things haven’t gotten any better since getting back to Jackson. Y/N didn’t take her stupid Exoplanetary Systems textbook and now I’m struggling with whether or not I should throw it out. The rational side of me says to keep it because it was published after the outbreak and probably contains updated information that isn’t anywhere else. The rest of me doesn’t even want to look at the stars anymore because it reminds me of her.

It’s really hard not to blame her for ruining everything. I can’t go out and ride my own horse without thinking about the first time we went on patrol together and she dropped my gun and nearly killed one of us. And I can’t even relax in my own home, because I’ve spent almost every night with her since March in my bed. Sometimes when I hear a creak in the middle of the night I assume it’s her walking down to the bathroom or getting water until it hits me again that she’s never coming back.

I know I’m being melodramatic. There are many other worse problems I could be having right now. But I don’t even have my best friend anymore. I wonder if Dina and Y/N are angry with me for lying. I wonder if they’re settling in okay. I hope that Y/N manages to fix whatever her research was and that Dina gets better.

[Twenty pages of drawings of Y/N and Dina together. Some are snippets of them on their expedition to the pickup site. Others are pictures of Y/N and Dina walking around with smiles on their faces in what looks to be a city]

June 21st, 2038

It’s been over a month since I’ve last seen her. I had a breakdown while getting ready for bed when I realized that I didn’t remember what her voice sounded like anymore.

[Ten pages of half-finished drawings, each with its face scribbled over]

June 28th, 2038

I don’t think I really remember what she looks like—not exactly. I’ve been trying to draw her because I’m still in the habit of making decisions that are definitely not good for my mental state. I just can’t do it, and it isn’t for the lack of trying. Every time I get to her eyes I keep drawing something that looks wrong, but I can never tell why. I compare it to my earlier drawings of her from when we first met and it feels like meeting her for the first time again.

Joel says it’ll pass and that he’s proud of me for doing the right thing. Jessie and I have been hanging out more. Even if he won’t admit it, I can tell he’s miserable without Dina. But he understands why she had to go—just like how I feel about Y/N. And Dina too, of course. Jackson feels like a ghost town without her.

July 17th, 2038

I haven’t been writing or drawing in here for a while, I know. I was going to just go ahead and start a new journal—you know the one that Maria gave me for Christmas with the dark blue cover—but it didn’t feel right to just stop without explaining. Otherwise I’ll feel like an asshole for wasting so much paper.

I don’t want to move on from what happened with Y/N and Dina. I really don’t, but I don't think I have a choice. If I keep going on like this, I’ll never be able to live normally again. I’m just sick and tired of being sad all of the time. So I’m not going to write here anymore. I don’t think it’s realistic for me to forget all about it, because I don’t want to forget her. Not really. But I guess if I want to get better, I’ll need something different. So, here’s that. The beginning of my fresh start. “Fresh start” and you call me overdramatic!! haha. Y/N was here!

(You left this on your nightstand. I promise I didn’t read too much. I opened it because I thought it was your sketchbook. I’m going to put this back since I hear you walking down the hall now.)

ok as an aside my blog is broken so my stuff isn’t notifying people when i tag/showing up on dashes or in tags. please reblog if you’re comfortable so people can actually find this! thank you!

final a/n: i totally get it if this wasn’t quite your cup of tea this time—i just really wanted to iron out ellie’s pov before their reunion in the end. which is happening and not a spoiler because i have always promised a hea! this was a change in pace for the story and i promise you that the next chapter will be more normal/align more with my normal writing style. i have also changed my mind (probably) and have decided to stick with writing an epilogue! so two more chapters are coming before this is totally over. thank you so much for waiting and being so patient! i love you all dearly ok bye bye now

#ellie williams x reader #exoplanet #not adding tags because i’ll eventually repost #this is just for people who want to read!

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damn-stark · 7 months

Text

Chapter 8 The worlds a little blurry

Chapter 8 of Sugar

A/N- I’m not saying to keep the training scene with Satoru in mind, but do it because it will come into play later?

Warning- Swearing, fluff, ANGST!!!, VIOLENCE, Blood and gore, death, spoilers, long chapter.

Pairing- Suguru Geto x Gojo!fem-reader, Choso x Gojo!fem-reader

Episode- Half of 2x05

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

*A YEAR LATER. 2007*

“Here we go!” Shoko exclaims before she and Suguru hurl school supplies at your brother. And of course, only the eraser hits his forehead, whilst the pencil Suguru threw stops because of Satoru’s infinity.

Which is ridiculous by the way, he’s much harder to torment with his infinity on all the time nowadays.

“Yeah, it’s working,” Satoru says as he grabs the floating pencil.

“Ugh,” Shoko groans. “What the heck was that?”

“Automatic selection of targets for your Jujutsu technique?” Suguru questions from behind you.

Satoru nods. “Yup. Though, to be precise I’m the target for the technique,” he explains, making you sigh out of boredom and lean back against Suguru’s legs.

Why does your brother want you here again? To watch him show off? It’s really annoying when he doesn’t explain things right off the bat.

“I’ve automated what I used to do manually,” he continues to say. “Now it can discern an object's danger level based on the strength of its cursed energy, its mass, its velocity, and its shape. I’d like to get it to discern poisons, too, but that’s still proving to be difficult. This will allow me to keep my Limitless technique active almost perpetually with minimal resources.”

“Having it perpetually active will fry your brain,” Shoko points out exactly what you worried about when he told you a couple days back.

“But I can also keep running the reverse cursed technique with the energy I generate on my own,” Satoru explains to her exactly what he told you. “So I’m constantly giving it a fresh brain to work with. I’d already been working on shortening my hand seals. That’s nailed now, too. So I can also activate multiple instances of Blue and Red simultaneously. The only remaining hurdles are Domain Expansion and teleportation over long distances. I should be able to get that down if we set up some courses without any obstacles in Jujutsu High. Shoko,” he calls out and leans forward. “Could you lend me some lab rats?”

“Uh…” she questions. “Well, you have y/n here.”

You furrow your eyebrows and throw your hands up slightly to retort. “Hey!”

Shoko snickers and you roll your eyes before you then shoot your brother a smirk. “What about my cursed technique? Will you learn to protect yourself against me?” You tease him. “With the right amount of power I could definitely break through your infinity.”

Satoru turns his head towards you and tilts his head down before he scoffs. “As if,” he counters smugly. “You’d never be able to hurt me.”

You don’t let that tear you down, you actually grow smug too. “I don’t know man, the air definitely can. I am getting stronger.”

So much so that just last week you got assigned to a mission with your brother, and Yaga says you’ll get assigned to more together because he says your techniques work well together. Which must mean something because the only way your brother and you get assigned to missions together is for the rare group missions you get assigned to.

You still are getting assigned with Nanami and Haibara because you are in the same class, and your teamwork is absurdly well. But it does seem like you’re finally growing strength wise.

It makes you wonder what your parents think about it?

“Well we’ll see won’t we?” Satoru counters your comment. “That’s actually why I asked you to be here,” he finally reveals. “I need you to hit me with your cursed technique.”

You pull your shades down and grin at him. “Oh? You should’ve said that from the beginning!” You exclaim and push yourself away from Suguru to summon air to your hand as you raise it to get ready to lash at him.

However, he throws the eraser at you as he interjects. “Not yet, idiot.”

You pout with disappointment and watch the eraser fall at your feet.

“Suguru,” Satoru calls out next. “Have you lost weight? You okay?”

Your smile fades at the sound of his comment, and when you peer back at your boyfriend you frown with pity. He looks exhausted—well you’ve noticed that he’s looked exhausted for a while now. Just like you’ve noticed that he’s lost weight too.

You like to think it’s just overwork, getting assigned to missions alone must be exhausting, but the truth is you’ve noticed that something has been wrong with Suguru a couple of months after Toji Fushiguro killed Riko; after you entered that damn non-sorcerer cult who cheered over the death of an innocent girl. At first it was subtle signs like sleepless nights, things that you told yourself not to worry about, stuff he told you not to worry about. But he then began to grow distant with your friends, with you. He often lacked motivation, he didn’t show affection, and if he did it almost felt forced, like it cost him a lot of energy.

Suguru also smiled a lot less, and his eyes…his dark eyes have begun to look dull. You try and try to make him feel better, you try to help him in any way you can without pressuring him, but he keeps pushing you away. He’s like a…fading light at the end of a tunnel, no matter how much you want it to reach it, the light grows smaller and smaller.

It hurts, it really does, but he’s not accepting help, so you’re respecting his choice and just trying your best to be there for him in the best way you can. You love him after all. You don’t want to give up on him.

“It’s just heat fatigue,” Suguru assures Satoru. “I’ll be fine.”

“Did you eat too much somen?” Satoru asks cluelessly. Which leads you to wonder if he’s finally noticed Suguru’s distance too. You have brought up your concern for Suguru, but Satoru brushed you off saying Suguru was just exhausted. You’ve never tried since. Especially because as of late Satoru is often busy. Being the strongest comes with a lot of responsibility after all.

You just hope Suguru will feel better soon, that he’ll let you help him at the very least.

“Anyway, y/n, hit me.” Satoru calls for your attention, but you let your eyes linger on Suguru.

He seems to notice and meets your gaze, so you offer him a soft smile. Suguru blinks in surprise before he gives you a faint half smile before he looks away again and loses his gaze on Satoru.

It makes you want to embrace him, give him a small peck, or pull him aside, but your brother steals your attention again. “Hit me with something small, something normal.”

You swallow back before you sigh and return your attention to your brother. “Define normal?” You pick on his comment since it makes no sense.

“Just hit me with your air whiplash,” he explains in annoyance. “Something not too strong, just something you use on, uh, low curses.”

You blow out air and effortlessly summon air to form on your palm, causing the dirt and dust on the ground to pick up softly.

“Okay,” you warn your brother. “Here it goes.” You then proceed to fling your wrist. And just as the orb leaves your hand you manage to maneuver it into a curved line that you lash out at him instead.

But of course the air doesn’t even touch him, it breaks apart around him and flutters away.

“See you can’t touch me,” Satoru rebuttals with a cocky smirk.

You scoff with discontent and stand up. “Okay, all powerful sorcerer, let me hit you with all I got,” you challenge him as you begin to summon more air to your palm.

Satoru snickers and lifts his chin. “Hit me with all you got sis.”

You shoot him a grin and make the still air turn to strong gusts of wind that make Shoko shield her head from the dirt you pick up. You then shift a foot back and draw in a deep breath as the orb in your hand grows.

Satoru places a hand on his hip and looks at you with nonchalance which gets you fired up.

“We are in a courtyard you two,” Shoko points out loudly so she can be heard over the howling wind. “Whatever you break you have to replace—then again it’s not like it’ll make a dent in your money.”

“Ready?” You ask Satoru.

Your brother nods, but just before you can hit him you get a message so you check that first and actually lose all concentration as you see that it's an old non-sorcerer friend.

“Oh my god!” You exclaim. “Satoru guess who just texted me?!” You run over to him and show him the name on the phone. “It’s Suki!” You face your friends and grin. “Suki is Satoru’s ex-girlfriend from our junior high days.”

“Oh right!” Your brother exclaims. “She was your best friend, I completely blanked.”

You roll your eyes and scoff. “Yeah, my best friend, I told you not to date.”

Shoko slouches as she snickers. “Please tell me you got him back for that.”

You flash her a grin and skip back to her. “Oh totally, I dated this rival he had, he was—”

“An asshole,” Satoru finishes for you, which you agree to.

“But,” you add. “He did have long dark red hair he’d dye all the time,” you say thoughtfully whilst you put your phone away.

“Long hair?” Shoko questions. “Oh so it’s like that?”

You blink in confusion and query. “What?”

Shoko glances back at Suguru and snickers. “Oh nothing. Just an observation.”

You look at Suguru, and he meets your gaze to share the same confusion. Albeit his confusion isn’t so prominent on his face.

“I don’t understand,” you mutter and glance back at Shoko. “Elaborate.”

“Well isn’t it obvious you have a thing for guys with…” before you can finish hearing what she had to say her voice trails off as you get startled by an arm thrown around your throat.

There’s only one person not accounted for in front of you; your fucking brother. So it isn’t hard to guess who it was.

“Get the fuck off me you psycho!” You grimace as you grip his arm to try and pull it off.

Your brother chuckles. “You said you wanted to train more. I have time, we’re training.”

You try to kick back, but he easily evades your kicks.

“Satoru,” Suguru finally breaks his silence.

Said man groans. “Don’t worry, Suguru, I'm just helping her because an enemy will never announce when they’re moving against you now will they—“ he comes to a sudden halt as you bite down on his arm after you realize his infinity is off.

It’s the only way his arm would actually touch you.

“What the hell?!” Satoru exclaims and lets go of you to walk back in disbelief. “Did you bite me?”

You do what he wanted this time and summon fast and strong gusts of air to your hand quicker than before. You then spin around without warning and lash it out at him.

You can’t tell if it hit him at all because you proceed to charge at him.

Just before you can reach him though you jump up high above the buildings that surround you. Satoru doesn’t hesitate to smirk before he steps back and jumps up too to try and meet you halfway in mid-air. However, before he can reach you, you counter him by spinning around in the air as you summon wind to your foot to lash out a sharp and strong curved line of air from your foot.

And it seems that some gusts of wind seem to travel through the infinity because he falters in the air.

Nevertheless, it’s not enough to knock him back to the ground or catch him completely off guard because just as you’re turning your body to face him again in the air, your brother grabs ahold of your ankle and quickly flips you around to throw you back to the ground.

And since he is a lot stronger and faster you fail at landing on your feet and land on your back.

The impact hurts, but you muster a playful smile before he lands over you and immediately grabs you by the collar of your jumpsuit to lift your head off the ground.

“Satoru,” Shoko calls out with worry while he raises his fist over you.

Neither of you try to assure her, you look into each other's eyes with no ill feeling, just playful undertones as you wait for him to land a finishing hit.

He doesn’t however, he hesitates, so you take advantage of this moment and gather air to your hand before you slam your hand on his throat, causing him to be thrown back whilst the air in his lungs is knocked out.

“Fuck,” you chuckle and push yourself up, seeing that your brother only landed a foot away from you since your techqinue isn’t strong, and well, he is strong.

“That was a rush. You like that move though?” You ask as you walk over to him. “I call it a knockout. As long as I can touch your throat I can use my cursed technique to throw you back and manipulate the air in your body to knock it out of your lungs.” You chuckle. “Of course, it only works if that person or thing has cursed energy. Otherwise, pft.” You stop and see your brother catching his breath.

“You hesitated,” you point out smugly before you offer him your hand.

Satoru sighs with defeat, but he doesn’t hesitate to slap his hand on yours to let you help him up.

Once he’s on his feet his frown breaks into a proud grin. “Are you okay?” He asks as he slaps his hands on your shoulders.

You nod. “Nothing RCT won’t fix,” you assure him, and instinctively put your hand back so he can give you a high-five.

“Nice work,” he compliments you. “Of course sloppy but good thinking. Plus some of that air did touch me.”

“Well,” you point out as you begin to walk back to your friends now standing on the stone steps. “Air travels fast. So I'm not surprised some gusts of air did touch you. I mean I know it’s not much, but it is some.”

“Keep working on that,” he adds. “And you’ll actually be able to knock me down.”

You smile and turn around to walk back and face him. “Don’t make yourself an easy target though,” you tell him. “It doesn’t matter if I’m your sister.”

Satoru laughs softly. “Trust me I won’t,” he rebuttals.

You reach the step below Suguru and spin around on your heels to face him. However, you notice that he’s on his phone so you wait to speak to him.

“I’ll just say this,” Shoko interjects. “I'm sure a lot of people would pay a lot of money to watch you two fight.”

You lean towards Suguru to press your cheek against his shoulder as you respond to Shoko. “If I were to win, would you quit smoking?” You tease her.

Shoko narrows her gaze on you for a moment while she thinks.

“If you lose, would you smoke?” She rebuttals.

You laugh. “You sound like an addict. Answer me first.” Because jokes on her, you've already smoked with Suguru. You didn’t like the smell it left on your fingers, but you didn’t feel as disgusted that time.

“Fine,” Shoko says with a sigh. “If you were to win I would quit smoking.”

You smile at her brightly. “Ah, good then I’ll make sure to win,” you assure her. Which probably is no comfort at all to her, but you still do so confidently.

“I’d like to see that,” Satoru taunts.

“You will,” you remark. “I’ll beat you. One day.”

Satoru laughs softly and nods. “All right I like the sound of that.”

You smile softly and then back up to look at Suguru.

He has his phone down now and looks at you this time around. Albeit there's something off about the way he looks at you right now that makes your heart jump with gut-wrenching worry.

“I have to leave for my mission now,” he announces to you and the others.

You sigh sadly. “It’s already time?” You complain.

Suguru hums in agreement softly and focuses solely on you now. “Can we talk before I leave?”

Your smile falters as you detect how much colder his voice is. “Yeah, sure,” you answer hesitantly.

Suguru nods softly before he takes your hand and begins pulling you away gently.

“Be careful, Suguru!” Saturo yells out. “Text me!”

Suguru throws back a wave to his friend and doesn’t bother to look back. He doesn't bother to make conversation with you either, and since you feel worry grow within you, you stay quiet too.

It’s only once you're in the tunnel exit that he finally stops walking and faces you with that same gloomy look. Albeit now he can’t even meet you in the eyes.

“Is everything okay?” You ask softly as you grab ahold of his bicep.

Suguru nods stiffly. “Yeah,” he mutters.

You don’t believe him, but you know you won’t get anything else, so you move on. “How long is your mission? You didn’t tell me. Maybe we can do something when you come back home?” You ask.

Suguru swallows thickly and shakes his head. “Y/N...I don’t think this going to work.”

You scoff softly. “I can go to your room, that’s fine. I can even have some food waiting for you. Hm?”

“No,” he counters softly and slowly lifts his gaze to look at you with a long frown and a sorrowful look. “I mean, we have to break up.”

The smile on your smile immediately falls, and your heart sinks. You know you heard him right, there’s nothing going around you to make you mishear him, but you still don’t want to believe those tragic words that just came out of his mouth. “I,” you gasp and let go of his arm. “I don’t understand.”

Tears fill your eyes, and your mind itself begins to race, leaving no room for coherent thoughts.

“D-did I do something wrong?” You ask as you fight the need to cry. “I know things haven’t been the same but Suguru I can help you, just let me help you, please.”

Suguru let’s out a deep breath and looks at the ground to shake his head. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong, y/n

I need you to understand that,” he says and meets your gaze. “You were good, I just…I can’t do this anymore. You deserve better than me.”

Better than him? What does that even mean? He is good, he’s the best, he’s your world.

“No,” you argue and step forward to pull his hand out of his pockets. “I don’t want anyone else, I just want you. Suguru…please talk to me, I’m right here, please.”

Suguru steps back and sighs. “I can’t,” he continues to say. “I can’t drag you along with me anymore. I’m letting you go, y/n. It’s for you own good.”

Tears slip out of your eyes and frustration begins to grow within you over his vague explanations. “You’re being selfish,” you remark. “What do you know about what I need? You keep pushing me away. Everytime…every single time I-I try to get close you push me away. So you can’t tell me what I need.”

Due to your upbringing, it’s hard for you to express yourself in any way, anger, happiness, sadness. Satoru has kind of changed that because he lets you talk to him, but even then when you get frustrated expressing yourself is hard and usually turns to tears. So to express this kind of anger without breaking into a sobbing mess is truly significant. It even surprises you, but anger is all you can feel at this very moment as you face the man you love, as you try to progress the words he’s using to break your heart, as you look into his dark eyes that hide sorrow behind that hard serious expression.

“What I need,” you mutter and step forward with more tears. “Is for you to give me a good reason. We said we’d be honest, please be honest with me.” You clutch your chest and look at him helplessly and hurt. “Please, Suguru.”

Said man holds your gaze for a second before he averts his eyes and nods stiffly. “I did tell you the truth. That was it. I can’t be with you, and you can’t be with me. Not as I am, so please just let it go. For your own sake, y/n.”

You feel physically ill, like you’re going to throw up, or have some kind of attack with the way your heart is racing.

“So that’s it then? That shitty ass excuse?” You cry softly and step back. “Look at me,” you whisper as if you’re out of breath.

Suguru blinks and does as you ask.

“Is that it?” You ask whilst you begin to hear tires approach at the end of the tunnel.

Suguru doesn’t say anything, but you leave him space to explain himself, to give you something better than what you got. You deserve something better, no? All the love you have, the memories you share, the moments you lived need to mean something, no?

You express that all with your watery gaze and with your lips parted ready to fight back. And you know he knows that.

But even still, he leaves you just like that.

“Okay. I…” you try to find something to say but all your anger disappears now just as fast as it came. “I,” that’s all you can muster in your disbelief and growing ache.

“Y/N,” Suguru whispers.

You sniffle and look to see the manager pull up to take Suguru away to his mission, so you step back with your lips parted and your hands trembling.

Suguru steps forward to try and what? Assure you after he broke your heart?

Fuck him.

You turn around and storm away without letting him say anything else, without saying anything else yourself.

You just can’t think anymore, it all hurts, this pain like no other completely overwhelms you to the point you can’t even shed another tear.

You know he’s struggling with something he doesn’t want to say, but you thought he’d be someone who didn’t give up regardless. You thought he’d be someone to give you something more than some shitty excuse, but he wasn’t, he isn’t.

He ended it just like that, everything, a years worth of a relationship is over because of something you don’t even know about. Some selfish reason.

It’s all over…

So what do you do now? You don’t know what to do. You can’t go back to where Satoru is, you’ll break and you don’t want to break and start drama. You can’t go on a mission today because you didn’t get assigned to one. You need to do something…

“Y/N!” You hear Shoko shout.

Shit, shit.

You stop just before you can reach the dorms and draw in a deep breath to try and hide your agony. You can’t cry, so it should be good. Right?

“Back already?” Your friend laughs as she catches up to you. “I’m surprised.”

You exhale and slap on a nonchalant look before you turn and face her with a tiny smile. “Yeah,” you breathe out. “I’m back.”

Shoko stops before you and meets your gaze with a smirk. You smile at her but as you look into your friends eyes your smile begins to tremble and those tears that dried up due to your disbelief come rushing back.

Shoko notices right away and her face falls with concern. “Whoa, is everything okay?” She asks right away and reaches her hand over to grab your arm.

You part your lips and fight your tears as you nod. Shoko scoffs and holds your gaze to try and read what has you on the brink of tears after you saw someone who never fails to make you smile.

She struggles a bit but she then understands what happened without needing you to explain. You wouldn't be crying otherwise.

“Oh,” she breathes out and doesn’t fail to throw her arms around you, causing you to finally break and sob—“he’s an asshole. He is.”

You try to speak, but nothing comes out but a soft whimper as you hug her back tightly.

“Come on,” she whispers and pulls back with her hand sliding down to grab yours. “Let’s go inside. I have all your favorite things in there.”

You’ve had girl friends before, you have cousins, but never one as important as Shoko. Out of everyone, she’s the only one who's touched your heart, the only one you’ve grown to love.

“Here,” Shoko mumbles and sits you down on her bed. “I'll bring the fuzzy socks and the cigarettes? No,” she scoffs to herself. “Alcohol? Fuck…” she trails off and walks to her drawer full of snacks and other things you both may need when you sync up on your periods.

“Ah, never mind, I found just the thing.” She pulls out a pack of your favorite snacks and throws them on the bed along with other things she has stored inside.

“I will take a beer,” you mumble as you put the fuzzy socks on your feet. “And maybe…”

Shoko swipes baggy shirts off her rack and throws them on the bed, making you smile softly over the fact that she already knew. It makes you grateful for her.

“So,” you interject as you put the baggy shirt on. “Have you decided to go on another date with that guy from Kyoto?” You ask her.

Shoko walks over to leave the beers on the bed while she also begins to change. “Yeah,” she mutters. “I decided I’ll go for it, I mean why not? He was a lot of fun.”

You sniffle and lay back on the bed with a pack of snacks and a cold beer in hand. “That’s good…dates are a lot of fun…” you trail off and feel tears fill your eyes all over again.

Now you try to hold yourself back, try to think of something else, but you can’t help the emotions from coming out like word vomit. “Do you think he stopped loving me?”

Shoko hops around to face you whilst she puts shorts on, and proceeds to sigh deeply before she responds with a reassuring tone. “No, I don’t think so. I just think there’s more going on with Suguru. But I don’t think he stopped loving you.” She finishes changing into her comforting clothes and jumps on the bed beside you with her beer and savory snacks.

“Maybe you were right,” you bring up as you drag yourself to sit up and lean your back against the wall. “Dating people you see everyday was a terrible idea. I’m going to have to see him all the time now…it’s going to be so awkward.”

Shoko sighs again and opens your beer can for you since your manicured nails get in the way. “Well,” she says. “I don’t know, maybe I wasn’t right.”

You take the beer and look over at her. “You were,” you correct her.

Shoko grabs her own beer and then meets your gaze. “Well, it depends, doesn't it?” She asks as she opens her own beer.

You sniffle and look at her puzzled. However, you don’t get to ask before she explains herself. “I just mean, Suguru looks like he’s going through something, you can’t blame him for that because some people like that just think it’s for the best.”

You blink in confusion. “People like what?” You probe. “Depressed?” It’s not hard to guess or identify on Suguru, it’s the only explanation for his sudden change.

“Yeah.” Shoko nods and takes a long swig from her beer before she continues on. “And knowing him he thinks he’s dragging you along, that he’s not, I don’t know, enough? I mean you met him when he was confident about his strength, now so many things are changing, and he’s taking that hard and doubting himself.”

With the way she acts so nonchalant and carefree you forget she’s studying to be a doctor, so she always impresses you when she behaves all doctor-like.

“I don’t care if he’s the weakest,” you say shakily so you take a drink of your beer before going on. “He’s enough for me in any way. So I don’t get it…he really hurt me.”

Shoko takes a long drink before she leans back against the wall and wraps her arm around your shoulders to pull you against her. “I know,” she whispers. “I'm sorry.”

A soft sob escapes past your lips, making Shoko hold onto you tighter.

“Look, I’m going to say this completely unbiased,” she interjects as she rests her head on yours. “Fight for him. I know it sounds super cheesy, but do it. You guys make each other happy, and you know fighting for someone doesn’t always have to mean the guy, you can fight too.”

You nod. “I know,” you whisper. “But what if I try and he gives up completely?”

Shoko exhales deeply. “Then you let him go. But I think you should try, and maybe try and reach him too. He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Or me.” You sigh and pull back to take a sip of your beer. “I’m just…scared.”

Shoko nods. “I understand, but won’t trying at least satisfy you? If it doesn’t work at least you can say you tried—my parents,” she begins saying and averts her gaze. “They went through a rough patch when I was young, but they fought for each other and came back stronger. Now they’re all sappy and hardly ever apart.”

You laugh softly. “Are you comparing me to your parents?” You ask.

Shoko rolls her eyes. “I'm giving you an example,” she quips. “Fight, or don’t and you’ll find someone else with long hair.”

You tilt your head in confusion whilst you take a drink. “I don’t get it,” you mumble.

Shoko snickers. “You totally dig guys with long hair,” she points out.

Your ex had long hair, Suguru has long hair now and it was also longish before. And all your celebrity crushes—oh. You get it, maybe you do have a type.

“That’s so stupid,” you say breathlessly. “And who knew you’re such a sap, Shoko?” You giggle.

She shrugs nonchalantly and surprises you by downing the rest of her drink in one last go. When she’s done she throws her can to the ground and lays back on her bed.

“You tell anyone I’ll tear your closet,” she threatens, making you drink the rest of your drink so you can lay beside her.

“Besides,” she adds and slides her hand over to interlace her fingers with yours. “You're both my friends, and you’re my best friend. We live together, so I see more than you do, more than anyone, and I know that it’s worth fighting for. If it wasn’t, trust me I would tell you.”

Rather than smiling you frown as that fear that always accompanies you makes you think of the worst. “And if it doesn’t work?” You ask as if she actually knew that answer. After all it seems she had loving parents, it’s why she’s giving you this advice. But you? Your parents are the complete opposites from her parents, they never fought for each other, you never saw them being any kind of affectionate. So this doubt creeping inside you isn’t out of the blue, it's a real terrorizing fear you have experienced.

“If it doesn’t work?” Shoko responds and lifts her head to look at the same time you tilt your head down to look at her. “Then you let it go, plain and simple. I’m sure it’ll hurt, but you’ll get over it, plus I’ll be here, your brother is oddly good at comforting you. We’ll all be here.”

You let out a shaky breath and show her your thanks and appreciation by resting your head on her shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you tell her softly.

Shoko rests her head on yours and sighs softly. “I’m glad you’re here too.”

You rest your eyes and try to stop crying as you do feel some kind of reassurance, but those tears still come out since the wound didn’t actually heal. No matter what resolve you figured out, that doesn’t actually change what happened. Suguru and you still are broken up—

That’s so weird to think about. So weird to say in your mind. It’s…unbelievable, and painful.

But at least you have Shoko.

——

*A COUPLE DAYS LATER*

So much for the hope of it all. So much for more than anything. So much for it all. You tried so hard to date around your brother, you didn’t fight much but you fought against his protests. And just as he was barely getting around to fully accepting it, Suguru ruins it.

Now, you’ll have to live on awkwardly because what’s the point in trying? He broke up with you, he left you, he hurt you. Why should you try to fix things? Why risk getting your heart torn and stomped on again?

“Right?” You ask yourself while you cover the fireball you make with rocks and dirt you summon off the ground with your cursed technique.

You do miss him, and yes, he was rather distant for the past couple of months, but you still had each other. He still made your day complete even if there were days where you’d only see each other for a few minutes. He still listened and helped you when Satoru was busy. Suguru…was always there, and now even if you live in the same place he’s never with you.

It’s so fucking lonely. It’s so weird. Plus at night it’s even worse, you didn’t sleep together a lot because you’d get in trouble, but you’d sleep with his shirts or his sweaters and you’d be content with his scent that clung onto it. Now it’s just a cruel reminder that he broke your heart.

So it begs the question, should you fight?

Part of you wants to more than anything, but the other part is filled with anger, and fear that he won’t want to fight with you, that he’ll reject you. And yes, you know that if you don’t ask him you’ll never know, but telling him you loved him took so much time because of your stupid fear—or anxiety as Shoko likes to call it (you don’t believe that.) So now telling him to fight for another chance with you will only take even more time to express.

Fuck. Fuck…

You sigh and drop your head, realizing you’re still holding the dirt covered fireball without concentrating it.

At least that’s a plus. But regardless, you’ll keep torturing yourself by overthinking rather than going for it…

As of now though, you let the dirt fall and collect the fire back through your dragon mark before you stand up and exhale deeply.

No more thinking of Suguru. No more thinking of the anger you feel over this breakup. No more thinking of the building up stress you feel over an upcoming mission that you’ll have to travel far for.

Just focus on calming your breaths, on your leg as you slide it forward while you move the other one back. You focus on one arm as you stretch it out to use your cursed technique, and summon some water over to you to cover your arm in its wet body. You use your other hand to tap into your fire and have that begin to twirl around your body, along with the water you move off your arm.

You proceed to take another deep breath and listen for the wind. When you hear it howl by your ear you smile as it seems that it’s calling out to you specifically. You then easily gather some of it and make it twirl around your body along with the fire and water.

Now all that's left is earth, but that’s harder, rougher, and heavier than rest to manipulate, so you save it for later. Instead, you shift to different forms with a peaceful mindset, ending up balancing on the ground with one hand.

Once you're confident with your form you then try to pick some dirt off the ground to have it dance with the rest of the elements around your body, but it’s fucking hard. You can mix your cursed energy well with the dirt and the rocks, so it begins to falter as you lift it off the ground. It makes you lose focus on your calm breaths. And the strain to keep it up makes you open your eyes and causes your body to begin losing balance.

“Hey! Don’t think too much about it!” Someone you don’t recognize yells out, causing you to lose concentration and collapse on the ground.

“Sorry!” They yell out.

That’s so embarrassing. Tsk.

You slowly push yourself to your feet and dust the dirt off you first before you look up and see an impressively tall blond woman with the kindest brown eyes you’ve ever seen.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N Gojo!” She exclaims with a smug smile when she reaches you by the pond.

Albeit you step back and look at her with confusion. “Uh, pleasure I'm sure, but who are you?” You quirk a brow and study her to check if it’s someone you’ve actually seen before. But no, she isn’t.

“Oh,” she breathes out with disappointment. “I’m Yuki Tsukumo.”

Your eyes widen with awe and a smile breaks on your face. You see her part her lips to add on but you cut her off excitedly, like a fan girl seeing their idol. “Oh my gosh, you’re her!”

Tsukumo’s lips pull to a wide smile and she grows smug again. “Oh, I like the sound of that,” she interjects.

You grin. “You’re the sorcerer who’s always out and defies the higher ups, it’s so cool to finally meet you. I’m a big fan.”

Tsukumo rests her hand on her hip and tilts her head down as she flashes you a sweet grin. “That’s so nice to hear. I didn’t know I was so well known amongst one of the Gojo’s. I’m flattered.”

You scoff. “You’re acting as if I’m royalty,” you quip.

“Well,” she sighs. “You kinda are.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head. “Far from it.” You step forward and continue to look at her with awe. “I need to ask…how did you do it?”

Tsukumo straightens out and looks at you with a confused look. “Do what?” She probes.

Your smile falters and a sigh escapes your lips. “Get strong,” you clarify. “I mean how did you do it all by yourself? You don’t come from one of the big three. I mean I know you came to school, but your reputation? You’re overall poweress? You did that all by yourself, so how? I have the privilege to be born a Gojo, to have a strong brother teaching me, but no matter what I do I continue to struggle.”

Tsukumo's smile turns soft, and her gaze falls on the ground for a moment before she lifts her eyes to meet your gaze with a soft look. “Little by little,” she shares, “I didn’t get strong overnight, I learned and learned. I exhausted myself, but I pushed myself to learn. I for sure as hell didn't listen to any of the old geezers who kept trying to make me hold back.”

You smile softly at that comment.

“But,” she exhales slowly and smirks at you. “I didn’t listen to my head, I trusted myself. I didn't get strong for anyone. I get strong for me. That’s the trick.”

You admire her for a moment before you smile at the ground and nod in comprehension. “I understand, thank you,” you mumble.

“You can be strong and still be a woman, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” she adds. “A lot of people, those old geezers included, only look at you one way. Not both. Prove them wrong every step of the way.”

You chuckle softly. “Oh, trust me I know.” You meet her gaze and shoot her a smirk. “Fuck the higher ups.”

Tsukumo grins. “That’s what I’m talking about! I like you!” She throws her fist out, so you gently tap it with your fist and cause her to shoot you wink that gets you all flustered.

“Hey, we should hang out,” she adds. “We’re both special grade and women at that, we’re a rare pair. So we should get to be friends, don’t you think?”

This is like a dream. This is so cool!

But you need to play it cool. Play it cool.

“Yeah I think so,” you hide your excitement. “That would be cool.”

Tsukumo hums softly before she whips her phone out and offers it to you, making you do the same to trade contacts.

“Anyway,” you bring up as you type in your number. “What brings you around here? Are you picking up a mission?”

“No,” she says. “I came back from a trip so I wanted to meet you and the other special grades.”

You hum before you add in, “well Satoru is on a mission, but,” you pause and exhale slowly. “Geto is here. Somewhere.”

This is the longest you’ve gone without thinking about him. It sounds pathetic but its true. And weird.

“I can…find out where he is so you can meet him,” you suggest hesitantly whilst you return your phones to each other.

“Yeah, that would be great, thank you!”

You hum quietly and look at your phone to go and click on his contact.

It’s been a while since you texted him—will he even answer?

You to Suguru: Where are you?

Your heart begins to race as you grow nervous.

“So,” you interject while you wait. “If you don’t mind me asking, Tsukumo, where were you before returning home?”

“Yuki,” she cuts in bluntly. “You don’t have to be formal with me, call me Yuki.”

You smile softly and nod. “Yuki,” you correct yourself. “Where were you before?”

“I was in Singapore.”

Your eyes widen and you can’t help but grin. “Really?” You probe. “I love Singapore.”

Yuki shows off a grin and nods slowly. “It’s beautiful, and the nightlife is great!”

You part your lips to fangirl over her but a message comes in so you keep quiet and feel your heart jump. When you check you inhale deeply.

Suguru: Hall B, why?

You exhale and leave him on read to offer Yuki a feigned and nervous smile. “Geto answered, I can take you to him.”

Without hesitation or wasting more time you walk her to where Suguru is. You’d prefer not to see him at the moment, it just won’t make things any easier, but…you also miss him. So this is just a small excuse.

“Hey,” Yuki interjects. “About your previous question about strength, does your brother train you?”

You sigh and shrug. “He does but he’s busy a lot now so not as much anymore. I have other friends who help me though, and school of course. But that’s about it.”

She hums and stays quiet for a moment. Once you reach Hall B, she stops before you can walk inside, making you stop along with her.

“In here,” you point to the door.

“Look,” she changes the subject. “I don’t stay in one place long, I like to travel, and I know that it’s not ideal for a lot of people. But if it’s something you’re okay with, then you should consider letting me help you.”

You blink in disbelief and can’t think of what to say through that shock that begins to grow.

“It can be once you’re out of school, or if you decide that being here isn’t for you then you can come along and I’ll help you train,” she adds and doesn’t help ease you whatsoever. “Whatever you decide, I want to help you. We girls have to stick together, especially us because we’re a rare pair.” She smirks.

“Yeah, I agree,” you muse. “Just,” you pause and think about your brother and your friends, they’re all here. Whatever happens with Suguru won’t change the fact that you like living with your friends and your brother.

But you also want to get strong for yourself, for your dream of helping other sorcerers, for those friends you cherish so deeply. So that’s where you get stuck, you can go with her, let her train you, and get strong a lot quicker. Or you can stay here with everyone and gain your strength a lot slower. Hm.

“…just give me time to decide,” you tell her. “I’m honored by your offer though. I really appreciate it.”

Yuki grins. “Don’t sweat it, the offer will be open for you. Until then we can still get to know each other.”

You sigh with relief and nod softly. “Yeah I like the sound of that. Thank you again.”

With nothing else to add you continue to walk inside the building. And now your shock gets replaced with that nervousness all over again. You almost want to run away before you can lay your eyes on him, but that’d be immature. After all you do live with him which means you can’t hide from him forever. So now is better than later….

You repeat that to yourself as you approach the corridor. It’s all going to be fine, you assure yourself—no, you’re gonna be sick.

You lead the way past the vending machines and the first person you lay your eyes on is him. Your breath hitches as if this is the first time you’re seeing him. Your heart pounds faster as his dark eyes find your gaze. Your eyes widen slightly with awe as you see that his hair is down. And even through all the hurt he made you feel, relief is all you feel wash over you.

Does he feel it too? He sits up and you notice his Adam’s apple lift up before it slides down.

“Y/N!” Someone else exclaims.

You break from your stupor to notice that Haibara is next to Suguru. You didn't take note of that before.

“Hey Haibara!” You greet as if you hadn’t just seen the guy a couple hours ago.

“Is everything okay?” Suguru’s voice surprises you, causing you to look back at him with that surprise expressed on your face.

He’s acting as if nothing happened while you’re slowly dying inside, how is he so good at that?

Regardless, before you can answer, Yuki finally enters the corridor and steals the attention of both guys, letting you notice that Suguru’s eyebags have only deepened.

“Are you Geto?” Yuki interjects boldly. “What kind of woman is your type?”

What kind of question is that?

You can’t decide if it’s cool or weird upon a first interaction.

“Who are you?” Suguru avoids the question, leading you to wonder if he’ll actually answer it. He is single now so his answer may vary.

“I like girls who eat a lot!” Haibara exclaims, causing you to snap your eyes to him, and giggle.

“Oh?” Yuki probes, whilst Suguru scolds him softly.

“Haibara.”

“It’s okay,” said man brushes Suguru off. “She’s not a bad person. I’m a great judge of character!”

You smile wider at your friends comment.

“You say that while sitting next to me?” Suguru interjects, causing your smile to fall right away, and your concern to grow.

What does he mean by that?

“Yes!” Haibara agrees without hesitation.

Yuki laughs. “He was being sarcastic, you know,” she tells Haibara, but you know she’s wrong, you can see it in the way Suguru’s averting his gaze. So what does he mean? Why can’t he talk to you?

You want to know, you need to know. So that’s what you’ve decided, you’ll talk to him. You have to, if not for your relationship, then just for him. He looks like he’s in pain and you can’t just sit by and wait for him to come to you. You’ll just wait until after you come back from your mission.

You’d do it now, but Yuki did say she wanted to know him, so your talk will have to wait.

“Anway,” you interject and look at Yuki. “I’m off now, it was nice to finally meet you.”

Yuki pouts. “You’re leaving already? I thought we could hang out together a bit longer.”

You briefly glance at Suguru, and he looks at you, so you look away and then respond to her. “I’d love to but I am going on a mission far from here tomorrow, so I need to finish some work before I leave, or else my teacher will have my head.” You giggle. “But hey, when I come back and you’re still around we should go out to lunch or something, hm? I would love to know more about your trips.”

Yuki nods. “Absolutely! And think about my offer, I don’t give them to everyone.”

You flash her a smile and nod. “I will!” You look away from her and look at your friend. “Haibara you want to come help me with my work?”

Your friend pushes himself off his seat right away and nods. “Sure! But I won’t do it for you.”

You pout and watch him meet up with you. “That’s so mean,” you whine and throw your arm around him. “Not even a little?”

“Nope.”

You groan and roll your eyes. “Boo,” you whisper before you look over at Yuki and flash her an excited smile. “Bye Yuki!”

“Bye Y/N!” She gives you the same excited energy.

You lastly glance at Suguru and see that he was already looking at you, so you quickly avert your gaze and pull Haibara away with you.

“Excuse us!” Haibara exclaims as he pulls back to take one last glance at both Suguru and Yuki, making your hand slide off his shoulders.

Silence then follows and once your friend catches up to you down the hall, he immediately finds the chance to question your fading smile.

“Are you okay? You look upset—or actually you’ve looked upset for the past couple days, is everything okay?”

He knows you well, but you don’t want him or anyone else to know about Suguru and you breaking up yet. You do want to work things out so telling everyone, (escpaully Satoru) will create unnecessary tension you don’t need. So you’ll keep quiet for now and hide your anguish.

“I’m fine. Just…tired is all.”

Haibara opens the door for you, letting you walk out under the cloudy sky. “Are you okay?” You redirect while you spin on your heels to look at him.

Your friend nods. “Yep, just getting mentally prepared for tomorrow.”

You hum and sigh dramatically. “Yeah, that’s a real pain in the ass. But hey, after the mission, Nanami did promise that he’ll come with me to the shops, so I’m excited for that!”

“Really? Great, I'll come with!” He interjects.

You scoff softly, and happily hook your arm around his. “I didn’t expect it any other way,” you say with a growing smile.

——

*2 DAYS LATER*

Suguru: Be careful

Even if it’s just through text those words have been ringing inside your head since he sent it.

You hate it for one, he just sends you the message as if nothing, without even talking anything out first, it makes you mad. But two, you appreciate that he thought of you, it makes your heart flutter. Yet, third, you’ve been stuck between answering back or not. Should you be petty and not answer, or be nice and write back something super simple?

Something that can lead to ‘hey let’s talk when I get back.’—no. Not now. You should concentrate on the mission in hand. But…

No! No, you cant.

Actually he shouldn’t be sending you these messages. It’s so hard on your overthinking mind.

“Should we put a curtain?” You ask as you put your phone away.

“I doubt we’ll step outside,” Nanami says. “But let’s do it just in case.”

You both turn to look at Haibara, and he sighs before he steps forward and raises two fingers. “Emerge from darkness, blacker than darkness,” he chants. “Purify that which is impure.”

Within seconds the cloudy sky is covered by a black growing veil that drops over the property you were sent to, adding ominsity to a rather easy mission; exorcizing a second-grade curse.

“If you want, y/n, you can go in alone, we'll wait for you here,” Nanami remarks as you walk past an arch.

You roll your eyes. “It doesn’t work like that Nanami. Special grade—”

“Means you have the power to take over countries,” he cuts you off. “That’s what you are, and it’s what you have the possibility of doing.”

You scoff. “Sure, it’s a possibility, but I can’t do that now, you know that,” you argue the same old fight. “I need to work to get myself strong. I…” you pause and hum in disappointment. “I’m not strong like that yet. I'm working to it.” You fist your hands eagerly and then look back at him with a smirk. “And when I am, don't start missing me, Nanamin.”

Said guy rolls his eyes, making you smile at him.

“Don’t worry y/n,” Haibara cuts in, drifting your eyes over to him. “Take your time, we like having you come with us. We’re a team after all! We work great together and Nanami knows it, he’s just giving you a hard time.”

You chuckle and walk back to fall beside Nanami and pat his shoulder. “Oh, I know. It’s all tough love.”

As you reach the entrance of the red-roof building you let Nanami go and frown. “Sense that?” You ask and come to a stop with them before you can climb up the red stairs.

“It’s not even trying to hide,” Haibara points out.

You crack your knuckles and let out a deep breath, while Nanami pulls his blade out, and Haibara rolls his shoulders back.

“It should be easy,” you try to assure them and yourself. “We go in as practiced.”

Nanami nods stiffly, and you let out one more deep breath before you take a step on a red stair and begin ascending them. When you’re on the porch, both guys hide behind the wall, while you open the door and slowly creep inside the softly lit parlor room.

Right away you notice the curse you’re after; it’s tall, built like a man with tightly toned muscles, but green and twisted. It notices you right away and turns around, showing off its one eye on its face, and the snake like tongue that it sticks out at you.

It’s gives you the creeps, but you ignore it and lift your chin to show it a smirk and show it that you’re not afraid.

You don’t think it actually senses that, nor do you think it has any emotions besides the instinct to cause terror, but almost as if you did hurt its ego, the curse wails out before it charges at you.

You don’t move though, you confidently stay where you are, and just before it can even reach you, Nanami and Haibara come out of hiding and run at it too. And since the curse is tall, you manipulate the air from outside to come to your hands, and then push it towards Nanami. And without the need to say a word, just like you have done dozens of times before, you use the air to give him a boast.

Nanami uses the boast to his advantage and flips in the air. The curse looks up and twists around to follow Nanami, it tries to reach out for him with its long arms, but Nanami swings his blade while in the air and manages to cut one of its arms off with a single swing. When he’s falling back down, he manages to kick the curse towards Haibara before he lands swiftly on the floor.

And since the curse is stronger it’s harder to take down, you need to use a lot more strength and power. So when Haibara punches its eye out with his cursed energy, the curse still stands up and comes stumbling towards you.

Now depending on the curse, you can land the finishing blow, but you see and sense this one is more durable. Thus you tap into your dragon mark wrapped around your arm and make flames bask your entire arm, causing your growing smirk to be brightened by your flame's hue.

The curse wails loudly at you, but you don’t flinch, instead you manipulate the air that lays outside on the courtyard behind the curse, and have it burst through the doors to shove the curse towards you. You then lunge forward as you pull back your fist covered in flames, and smash it through the curses gut so hard your fist burns through the other side.

Yet it still doesn’t get exorcized. The curse falls on its knees and bleeds out from its wound.

“You really are annoying,” you grumble before you raise your foot, and use the air to kick out a mighty blast that sends the curse flying out to the courtyard.

“Let’s end this,” you tell your friends coldy.

Haibara and Nanami both nod before the three of you walk out to the back porch. The curse finds strength to stand up so that motivates the three of you to continue on stronger.

So as Nanami runs to the curse head-on, Haibara jumps off the porch's railing and runs to its side. You step off the porch and watch as Nanami slides down and slices the curses legs off with his cursed technique, while Haibara hops on the curses arm to rip it out of its body, giving you your cue.

And so forth before the curse can continue to irritate you, you pull gusts of air to your palms and form it into a long and thin curved line. You then proceed to lash it out, and manage to cut the curses head clean off.

“Finally,” you pant and drop your shoulders as you let out an exhausted sigh. “Good job guys!”

“Right back at you, y/n,” Haibara redirects, making you smile at him softly.

“Uh, I hate to burst your bubbles but the veil hasn’t come down,” Nanami points out.

You snap your eyes up and see that the black veil still in fact remains intact. Is there another curse here?

Nevertheless, before you can ask your question out loud you hear thumping. When you look down you see the curse begin to convulse violently.

“Uh,” you breathe out in horror and step back.

The curse then suddenly stops, making you squint your eyes on the curse to wait with a racing heart. You then lift your head and at that moment see the curse regrow its limbs, including its head. Its already toned body grows larger, and with more muscles as if it had just pumped itself with fucking steroids. Two arms then grow to four, and from one neck grows out two more heads longer than the original.

This isn’t a second-grade curse, but it’s also something you can't run from, you’ll have to fight your own fear and give it your all.

“We got this,” Haibara uses words of encouragement.

You clench your fists and nod stiffly, whilst you also begin to feel regret for not texting Suguru back. After all, this has turned for the worst, what if you don’t make it out? And the last thing you told him was…a bunch of sputter.

You want to talk to him again, you do. You want to tell him you miss him, that he’s worth walking through fire for, that he’s enough for you. But most of all you want to tell him that you love him more than anything in this cursed world.

So to whatever divine being that is up there don’t let this be the end. Please.

“I’ll get rid of the arms,” Nanami says. “Haibara try and get his legs so y/n can try and exorize it.”

You nervously swallow back but nod in understanding, but you also look over at Nanami and can’t help your worry. He sees that and drops the hardened expression to offer you a soft smile to try and assure you.

You draw in a deep shaky breath and mirror his smile before you look ahead. Now before any more time can be wasted you summon air and blast out, Nanami sprints over and jumps, letting you use that same air to boast him.

You then follow by growing a raging fireball and throw it at the curse, causing it to shift back. Haibara uses this slight distraction and charges it, whilst Nanami flips down and tries to swing his blade.

However, this time the curse is more prepared, it twirls around and swerves Haibara's attack before it proceeds to swat Nanami away as if he were nothing but a fly.

“Nanami!” You cry out while his body slams into the wall behind him and goes unconscious.

The curse turns back around and wails out at Haibara and you, but you don’t cower, you dig your heels in the ground and glower at it.

“Cursed technique,” you seeth. “Fire dragon.”

The dragon mark on your arm begins to glow brightly, whilst the veins on your other arm begins to glow with the flames that travel down to your palms. Your hands then glow from the fires light before you throw your arms out and blast large flames from your palms. The fire quickly takes form into a large fire-made dragon that flies towards the curse.

This time your fire-made dragon is much larger than last years. Now it contains a lot more power.

Alas, just as you think you see the fire-made dragon grab the curse with its jaw, the fire-made dragon crashes through the wall, and what you see before you now are two curses in front of a building that begins to feed the fire that the fire-made dragon left behind.

Two bodies now join the fight. They’re the same build, they have the same green skin, but now both bodies just have two arms. One body even has two heads, while the other only contains one.

It split itself into two.

“Haibara!” You bellow and don’t take your eyes off the curse with the one head watching you, waiting to attack. “Get Nanami!”

You only catch a glimpse of Haibara running and the second curse running after him, so you try to blast fire out at it to try and distract it, but the curse that had been watching you like you were it’s meal, catches you off guard and slaps you down to your knees.

You quickly try to counter but it lunges at you to grab you by the throat and pick you off the ground with its strength.

You can’t let that stop you though, so you try to blast air at it by kicking your foot, but the curse hurls you back towards the parlor room.

When you hit the floor you yell out because of the pain, but you also try to quickly get up so you can counter. However, the curse is fast and catches up to you right away. It doesn’t let you catch your breath before it kicks you to your back and begins throwing punches over and over again on your face.

You try to move your arms to hurl air or fire, but each punch is like getting stabbed by sharp needles so the pain is agonizing and paralyzing.

It’s not the same as before, either because it was holding back or because it got stronger when its head got cut off, like the monster from Greek Mythology, The Hydra. Which would make sense with this curse being born from the Ubusunagami faith. One head falls and multiple are born in its place.

But why wasn’t this identified before? Why weren’t they more careful? This is a grade 1 case, you might be special grade but that’s only because no one knows how dangerous your technique can be, they based you off possibilities, if it wasn’t because of that you’d be a grade 2 just like the others. And they know that too, so why? Why weren’t they more careful?

Now you can’t even lift a finger, all your mind is filled with is pain. You try to think of some strategy to get out, to outsmart the curse, but you can’t even move. Every hit brings you closer to an eerie darkness.

Until there’s a voice.

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

It’s your brother's voice from a memory of the day you got the scar on your torso. You were only a little girl who was scared of many things, he had been gone all day because your parents wanted him away from you, so when he came back the trauma was already engraved and the scar was already stitched.

He came after the fact, but he was such a relief to see. He was a light in the sea of darkness.

“It hurts,” you complain with fresh tears in your eyes.

“I know,” he whispers. “I'm sorry.” He sighs and turns around to give you his back and crouch.

“Come,” he says. “I'll help you get to your room.”

Satoru was told many times not to spoil you the way he does, ‘it’ll only make her weaker.’ they’d say, but he never listened and they never corrected him because of who he was.

“We can watch a movie and give you something for the pain.” He adds.

You wipe your tears away and stand up to step towards him, but you stop and bring up your concern. “But mother said no.”

Satoru peers back and confidently counters. “I don’t care. Now come on, get on my back.”

You smile softly and don’t think twice about accepting his offer now. You get on his back and wrap your arms around his neck before you rest your head on his shoulder, and let him give you a piggyback ride to your room.

Now you don’t know why that certain memory came to mind, there are so many other ones where he was that light in the sea of darkness, so why this one? It's only a reminder of the pain your family made you endure.

So why now as this curse is beating you to a bloody pulp?

Why? You ask yourself as the curse hits you again and strikes your body with more pain.

Why?

But then, in that brief moment where it’s fist is off your face you know why, because you see a vision of brother appearing through the darkness. Not Suguru, not Shoko, or your other friends, but your brother. He’s the sudden burst of energy you need to regain your consciousness and find that strength to pull your leg back and direct a cluster of your cursed energy and fire to your foot.

The curse hits you again, but you don’t falter, you counter by kicking your foot out and blasting fire at it from your foot.

The curse gets flung back, but it doesn’t go far, instead it falls under the doorframe. You still get up though and fist your hands whilst you shift your feet into a fighting stance. The curse gets back up and immediately wails out at you.

“Fuck you,” you grimace and run at it with your arm getting basked in flames. Before you reach it you jump up to swing your fist down at its face, but the curse isn’t weakened by injuries like your bruised and blood-covered face, it’s stronger and manages to throw its arm out and capture you by your throat.

You try to kick, but the lack of air running to your lungs immobilizes you. All you can think about now is wanting to breathe. All that there is is fading consciousness until you hear a scream coming from the courtyard.

Nanami was unconscious, he could have woken up but it’s unlikely, so the person screaming was Haibara. He’s in trouble. He needs help!

As if hit with another burst of energy, you manage to slap your hands on the side of the curses head and instantly blast fire out of your palms,

The curse wails as the flames burst through its flesh and begin burning it from the inside out. It lets you go to try and escape, but you wrap your legs around it and dig your fingers in its head while you blast more fire in its head.

You cry out of anger and the curse stumbles back, it claws at you, but you use more of your cursed technique until the curse finally explodes and dies, causing you to fall on your ass and finally gasp for more air while you push yourself to your feet.

Haibara doesn’t scream again, but you still run out to the courtyard. And immediately as you do you see the curse holding Haibara several feet over the ground by his head. You gasp in horror as you see Haibara’s entrails hanging out of a long and deep gash.

“Haibara!” You cry out louder than you thought possible.

The curse snaps his head towards you, and you quickly lift your hands off your sides and begin gathering air into a orb in between your palms.

“Cursed technique,” your grimace with tears already forming in your eyes. “Air manipulation, lashing wind!”

You proceed to throw the orb made of air out. And while it’s flying towards the curse you form it into a curved line that slashes both of the curses heads off the moment it cuts through, causing it to let go of Haibara.

Before your friend can hit the ground you sprint over and manage to catch him in your arms. However, he’s heavy so when you catch him you collapse to the ground with him.

“It’s okay,” you mutter shakily. “It’s okay,” you assure him even as his eyes are rolled back. “You’ll be okay, Haibara.”

You don’t see his chest move anymore, and his blood is spilling out of his gash and staining your body, but you still refuse the truth and carefully put him down. You then rip the white skirt off your waist and carefully wrap it around his bleeding wound.

“It’s okay,” you tell him again. “You’ll feel a little bit of pressure, but Shoko and that first aid class told us to do this, remember?”

Haibara remains unresponsive, but you continue to tighten the white skirt over his wound so it could stop bleeding.

“You’ll be okay,” you whisper and look at his face. “Haibara? I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just please hold on a while longer okay? I…I can call Shoko, she’ll know what to do.” You pull your phone out and desperately find your friends contact. As it rings you look back and see the curse is beginning to shake like last time.

“Shit, shit,” you grumble.

The phone rings a couple more times before you get sent to voicemail. “Damn it!” you exclaim.

You peer back and see that the curse grows four heads now and grows taller, bigger.

“I—I’ll call Suguru, he’ll know where she is,” you tell Haibara as he continues to lay still.

This time when you call Suguru, the phone rings only a few times before he thankfully answers. “Hello?”

You sigh shakily with relief, “Suguru.”

“Y/N, what's wrong?” He asks the moment he hears your shaky voice.

You look at your friend and hold your phone to your ear with your shoulder as you press your hands on Haibara's wound to help the bleeding stop.

“Suguru, where’s Shoko? She doesn’t answer her phone, I need her help, please.” You say quickly.

“Shoko isn’t home,” Suguru says. “What's wrong y/n, are you okay?”

You groan and look back to see Nanami up now and trying to distract the curse.

“It’s Haibara,” you say shakily. “I-I don’t know what to do, I’m trying to stop the bleeding, but the gash won’t stop bleeding. And he—Suguru…he’s not breathing. I need Shoko, please, I need her.”

“Y/N,” Suguru mutters through the phone. “Haibara’s gone. I need you and Nanami to get out of there—”

It’s not the solution you want so you hang up the phone and shove it back in your pocket to focus back on your friend and begin CPR.

“Come on, come on, COME ON!” You yell out in desperation.

Your attempts are futile though, he doesn’t wake up, he doesn’t gasp for air, he continues to lay still, adding to your anguish.

“Nanami!” You call out. “I need help! Please come help me…someone please help me…” you trail off and pick up Haibara again to cradle him in your arms. Your phone begins to ring but you ignore it and put all your attention on Haibara.

“You have to fight, okay? We still have so much to live for, and you—you have to become a teacher just like you wanted,” you tell him as you hear wailing in the back. “We have to graduate next year and do so much more, please Haibara. Please.”

“Y/N?”

You look up and see Nanami panting in front of you.

“Nanami—”

He cuts you off and grabs your arm to try and pull you off the ground. “We have to go!” He bellows out at you while his eyes are on Haibara’s body.

“No,” you argue and shove his arm back. “I’m not leaving him behind!”

Nanami glances past you before he crouches down and grabs your arm. “Y/N, Haibara is…” he pauses and lets out a shaky breath before he finishes breaking the truth to you. “He's gone. We have to go or we’ll die next.”

You look down at Haibara and finally notice how lifeless he looks, you finally notice how fatally deep his wound is. And as if slammed by a rough wave, you finally grasp the truth and feel a deep agonizing pain clench around your chest to the point you can’t breathe. You can’t think, or cry, all that there is, is the cruel truth and pain.

The phone's incessant ringing doesn’t tune in, Nanami’s desperate pleas to leave don’t register. Nothing snaps you from that stupor but the sudden wail of the damned curse.

Anger then follows after that sound, a raging anger that only tightens that grip around your chest. No matter how much you want to let it go and leave, you can’t, it doesn’t feel right or like it will let you breathe, so you put Haibara down and twist around as you remain on your knees.

“Y/N,” Nanami warns as the curse begins to storm over.

You ignore him though and narrow your glare in the curse. The ground then begins to shake beneath you as you focus on doing something new and without thinking. Cracks grow on the ground, and you lean down to press your palms on the surface.

The curse jumps off it’s feet and tries to tackle you, but in that moment you let out all the emotions that had been plaguing you, and finally breathe.

All your life you’ve been taught to control your emotions to work with your cursed energy, but you’ve never felt more in control over your emotions than at this very moment after Haibara’s death triggered something off inside you. Something so monumental that lets you blast out a tidal wave of fire from the cracks on the ground to slam the curse back.

Up until this moment, you’ve never felt that rush of excitement from a fight, Satoru always talks about it, but it’s something you could never relate to. The only excitement you felt was last year, but that was met with regret, and you never felt it again because missions and fights were always such a burden or terrifying, but right now? As you use Yuki’s advice about not giving it too much thought, all you feel is excitement. And it grows as you use your cursed technique to lift pieces of the earth around you to blast it out at the curse and everything that stood around you, like a second wave. Leaving nothing left standing, but dust. And proving Nanami right.

Now you would have taken this time to leave, but Nanami doesn’t even attempt to move after what he saw. You can’t move after you realize what you did.

That rush of power was new, that technique was new. All born from a change inside you that Haibara’s death brought.

Yet you know that it’s a power you haven’t fully tapped into, it was only a taste. But that’s enough to cause your eyes to flicker between the familiar color of your eyes, to a deep red color that Nanami notices when you turn back around to face him and Haibara’s body.

“It’s over,” Nanami says through heavy breaths.

You hum softly in agreement, and then gently wipe your fingers down Haibara’s face to close his eyes.

“It can be once you’re out of school, or if you decide that being here isn’t for you, then you can come along and I’ll help you train. Whatever you decide, I want to help you…”

You were unsure before about accepting Yuki’s offer and leaving, but after this happened. After you tapped into some depths of your power you didn’t know you had, your mind finally comes to a conclusion.

A/N- Will Suguru and you work things out? Are you really going to accept Yuki’s offer? Ahh! We have to wait for the next chapter to know.

Tagged- @deniseabad1928

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munsons-maiden · 1 year

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𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐀𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟔 (𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫)

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑

��𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕 ▹ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟖 ▹ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟗

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟑 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟒 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟓

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Eddie Munson x female reader

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | THEN. You’re the only survivor among the Mind Flayer’s victims, thanks to your friends - but after the Battle of Starcourt, you find yourself adrift in a sea of nightmares. Until an encounter in the woods with Eddie The Freak Munson offers an unexpected life line and turns your world upside down. NOW. Four months have passed since the winter night you walked out of Eddie’s trailer and his life for good. But when the mysterious headaches and nightmares return full-force and something wicked stirs in sleepy Hawkins, starting a witch hunt against Eddie, you realize that there are two things in this world that might be more persistent than you’d thought: Evil…and love. The story is told in two timelines: the past (after the Battle of Starcourt) and the present (during the events of season 4).

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 | angst with a happy ending (I PROMISE!!!), fluff, smut, it turned into a fix it fic for ST4

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (you need to be 18+ to read this story!), angst with a happy ending, attempted assault, bullying, canon-typical violence

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 | ~ 1 hour

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | spiders, canon-typical gore & violence, blood, mention of a syringe (brief), SMUT (oral, m!receiving; p in v; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it and stay safe in real life!)

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 & 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ♡

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 | The day I started writing this story was May 27th - the day I fell in love with Eddie Munson, like so many others did as well. By the end of the first episode, I knew I loved this sweet, tender-hearted, sometimes-brash-and-loud-but-always-genuinely-kind dork with all my heart, and by the time the credits of the second episode were rolling I knew Eddie was my One In A Million, my forever-character. Nothing I’ve ever felt for a fictional character comes close to the love I feel for Eddie Munson, and I know it’ll forever stay that way. I remember how I paused Netflix during the intro to season three, opened a blank word document, and started writing. It was the first chapter of Worlds Apart. Back then, I prayed with all my heart it wouldn’t turn out a fix-it fic - but it did. I promised I’d fix it, and I did, though I’m convinced Eddie will be back and we’ll see him again, alive and happy. Until then, this story will give him - and all of us - the happy ending Edward Munson deserved. This story crossed the 200k-words-mark somewhere in the middle of Chapter 15, and while I have so many more ideas for series and oneshots for Eddie, for so many more 200k-word-marks to cross, Worlds Apart will always hold a special place in my heart. And I can’t thank you all enough for sticking with me, for waiting patiently for the next chapter and laughing and crying alongside Eddie, Monster Slayer and me, and I hope that this story was able to bring you the same amount of joy as it did for me, that every single one of you might have been able to find a piece of themselves in monster slayer. Thank you for all the support on this story, the comments and reblogs and keysmashes and tags and fanart and asks. I don’t know whether I could have done this without you. This isn’t goodbye, I promise - just the final chapter before a new story starts because I’m planning to give Eddie Munson the million happy endings he deserves. So...Eddie, this is for you. I will always, always love you, Eddie Munson.

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕 ▹ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟖 ▹ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟗

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟑 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟒 ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟓

[Friday, September 12th, 1986.

Six months later.]

The water was warm as it swirled around your feet with a happy little gurgling sound nearly drowned out by the sound of the waves.

The breeze carried the scent of salt.

The scent of the ocean.

It smelled exactly like you’d always imagined it would.

Dawn was still a while away, the first gentle blush creeping over the clear skies arching above to make the stars slowly fade away and herald the first rays of the morning sun, the promise of another beautiful hot day.

The moon overhead was a full moon, hanging in the sky like a silver dollar coin.

Like the display of a clock.

You quickly averted your gaze.

The shades of the early morning sky, the foam dancing on the crests of the rolling waves…it all blurred like watercolors on a canvas beneath the first of your tears falling down your cheeks in hot rivulets as you sank to your knees, into the warm water of the Pacific Ocean, letting it engulf you as the tears fell harder, drip-dropping into the waves lapping at you as you tugged your legs against your chest, hugging your knees.

Salt to salt.

You couldn’t keep the emotions bottled up any longer.

A frail, suppressed sob spilling from your lips, too quiet to be heard over the melody of the waves, your hand found its way to your chest, to the guitar pick resting against your skin right below your collarbone.

The smooth plastic was warm with your body heat as your fingers wrapped around it, thumb flicking over its surface the way Eddie had brushed the pad of his thumb over your wrist, over your pulse point, back when you’d patched him up at Skull Rock.

Right before he’d kissed you.

Months ago.

A lifetime ago.

Your fingers clutching the guitar pick, holding on to the little thing like a lifeline, you let your forehead sink against your knees.

And with the waves and the breeze for company, you wept.

[Thursday, March 28th, 1986.

FIVE MINUTES PAST MIDNIGHT.]

“I don’t have a heart, little songbird.”

Henry Creel’s voice was a low croon, a threat laced within.

And his remaining forget-me-not-blue eye watched as the creeping vines pinned Eddie to the pillar.

Tightening their relentless, freezing grip around Eddie’s wrists, his throat.

“People believe that once you’re dead, there will be no more pain. No more misery. Only…peace,” Henry crooned, slowly raising his hand, his spidery, disfigured fingers reaching towards Eddie’s face. “They are wrong. Souls can break, did you know that? Just like bones. Over…and over again.”

***

You barely heard the death cries of the bats, falling from the skies all around you, flames eating at the skin on their convulsing bodies, wings and tails trailing behind them as they rained onto the blood-soaked grass like a shower of meteors.

Shooting stars straight out of a nightmare, less and less of them left in the skies.

You leaned down to place the softest of kisses on Eddie’s forehead, the curls poking out from underneath his bandana tickling your lips.

“Good-bye,” you whispered against his skin, which still held the residual warmth of life like a distant memory. “I will always, always love you, Eddie Munson.”

Your eyes fluttered close.

When you reached out, the darkness wrapped around your mind, ready to heed your command one final time.

Burn it down, you commanded. Burn this place to the ground until there are only cinders left.

***

There was pain. So, so much pain, worse even than the agony inflicted by the bats.

Back then, it had been Eddie’s body which had been ripped apart.

Now, it would be his soul.

Would the pain stop, Eddie wondered, when Vecna was done with him, when he was nothing but another broken soul with shattered limbs standing out like branches of trees in a winter wood, and two empty holes where his eyes should have been, dislodged jaw frozen in a muted scream until the end of time? Maybe.

And yet, amidst all the agony, the knowledge that he’d failed was what destroyed him.

He hadn’t been able to save you.

He could only hope Eleven had managed to get Max out of here, back to you and the rest of her friends.

I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe, monster slayer. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.

I’m so, so sorry.

***

The flames looked like blossoms, at first.

Petals unfurling all over the black creeping vines covering the dead grass, growing as they shed their golden glow into the night, brighter and brighter.

The vines hissed, the noise mingling with the death cries of the bats still hailing down all around you, wings and fluttering tails ablaze as the heat of the flames chased away the coldness of the air.

You barely felt it on your skin.

Eddie’s lifeless body in your arms, his head resting on your lap, one of your hands wrapped around the green silk ribbon on his wrist, the other clamped tightly around the guitar pick dangling from Eddie’s necklace around your neck, you watched as the fire spread.

Along the vines, like sparks on a fuse, travelling across the ground as it left only ashes in its wake.

Up the walls of the Munson trailer, the Mayfield trailer across the lawn.

Through the Forest Hills trailer park and into the woods as the darkness did your bidding and the Upside Down was swallowed by an inferno of your own making.

It almost looked beautiful. Like a meadow of glowing flowers in shades of gold and red.

Or like stars.

As if all the stars which were missing in the void of the eternal night sky above had fallen to the ground to shed their golden light and chase away the darkness, send their warmth into the air to melt away the cold.

And at the other side of the bond…you could feel Vecna scream in agony.

***

Just as Eddie though he couldn’t take it anymore, the strain on his bones – no, his fucking soul – right before its breaking point…it stopped.

And Vecna…Vecna started to scream.

***

It was good, so good, to feel Vecna’s agony, feel the echo of his tormented wails reverberate through every fiber of your being, connected through that bond he’d forced on you.

Hands trembling as you knelt on the dead grass, you could feel the strength draining from you, pooling with Eddie’s blood that had started to cool soaking through the fabric of your combat pants.

You knew enough about powers that they came at a price. Had seen it with El enough times, after all, that at some point, you’d need to stop if you wanted to live.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to live.

It was just that you didn’t care anymore whether you lived, because Eddie was gone, had paid the price for what you’d stolen. Like Max, two innocent souls taken tonight. Two loved ones. Gone. Just like that.

By the time you’d burned down the entirety of this realm, you knew there wouldn’t be any strength left for your heart to keep beating.

So be it then.

If you went out, you’d take Vecna with you.

Even if you had to set the entire world on fire to do it.

***

With a blood-curdling wail of agony, Vecna’s hand fell away from Eddie’s face, and through the blur of his own tears, Eddie watched as the monster sank to the ground.

Pieces of shriveled, rotting skin were falling away from him like dust scattered in the wind.

And Eddie realized…they were cinders.

Vecna was burning alive, piece by tiny piece.

Only then did Eddie realize that the ringing in his ears, the high-pitched noise, wasn’t coming from within his head. It was coming from all around him.

The creepers slithering across the ground and snaking around the maze of pillars were shrieking and hissing and writhing in pain as they crumbled away inch by inch, dissolving into black particles scattered into the air as Vecna’s lair was falling apart as if it were devoured by…by invisible flames.

Monster slayer.

***

As you watched the flames of your mind’s making spread through the Upside Down, consuming the web of Vecna’s creepers like angry beasts feasting on their prey, the way the bats had torn through Eddie’s skin, the agonized wails and screeches of the vines and creatures in the distance piercing the eerie silence, you could feel Vecna growing weaker.

Weaker.

His own powers were draining away with every inch of his hive your flames devoured, taking away his strength –

Taking away.

Like you had taken some of his powers away.

Realization hit you like a speeding truck.

By luring you away from Eddie and the relative safety of the trailer to save your friends, knowing Eddie would follow suit to distract the bats for a second time as soon as he thought they’d followed you, Vecna had set an elaborate trap for Eddie, yes.

To punish you.

But the reason why the bats hadn’t attacked you had never solely been to lull you into a false sense of security.

No, they hadn’t touched you because…if you died, that fragment of Vecna’s powers you’d stolen and made your own would die with you.

And he couldn’t let that happen, because by taking it away, you’d weakened him.

He needed it back.

That had been what he’d wanted all along.

To punish you, take Eddie away and destroy you, break you, before he’d take back his powers from you.

But he couldn’t do that anymore, because he’d underestimated the amount of power you’d stolen from him.

He was dying.

Vecna was dying.

Right now, alongside his realm of monsters and darkness, devoured by your flames.

Like the spark of a bonfire drifting into the air…an idea took shape at the back of your mind.

It might be impossible.

A shot in the dark.

But you’d be damned if you didn’t shoot it.

Eyes squeezed shut, your voice drowned out by the tormented shrieks and screeches of the vines as your fire spread, reaching the outskirts of Upside Down Hawkins, spreading through the body of Vecna’s realm like the black veins of his control had once spread through your blood right beneath your skin, you whispered, “You thought you were a God. That you were invincible. But you’re not.” You swallowed. “I want to make a deal.”

***

Eddie could hear it, feel it echoing through Vecna’s lair and every fiber of his own being.

He’d been so certain he’d never hear that sound again – but there it was, real and as clear as day.

Your beautiful, beautiful voice, filled with this burning, fierce determination Eddie had always admired so much.

Fresh tears ran down Eddie’s cheeks in hot rivulets.

Of love and loss, the need to run to you and wrap his arms around you, feel your breath against his skin as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, feel your heartbeat and hear your laughter, chase away all the agony and terror you’d gone through and keep you safe and sound in his arms forever, right next to his heartbeat where you belonged.

“You thought you were a God. That you were invincible. But you’re not. I want to make a deal.”

***

You could feel his presence even before your eyes flew open.

Like a dark shadow cast on a sunny day, erasing the light; the chill of a pair of malevolent eyes watching you like a vengeful spirit in a haunted house.

“Little thief.”

When you opened your eyes, the world around you was gone. Replaced by the place which had etched itself forever in your memories to haunt you in your darkest nightmares.

Vecna’s lair, his collection of horrors. The broken souls pinned to their pillars like beautiful dead butterflies displayed behind glass, trapped forever.

Broken limbs like twigs.

Empty eye sockets, jaws dislodged and frozen in eternal muted screams.

And right in front of you, the monster of this dungeon.

The god of this realm of terrors.

It took a single glance to see he was injured, gravely so.

His pallid grey skin, festering with rot, was falling away to cinders like firewood turning to ash as it was eaten by your inferno.

And one of his eyes was missing, an empty socket matching those of his victims while the other stared back at you, the freezing abyss encased by the eerie blue of blooming forget-me-nots burning with raw hatred.

Hatred was good.

Hatred meant you had a chance to win.

“Henry.”

Your voice was as frozen as the time in the Upside Down.

His rotting lips twisting into a sneer which reminded you oddly of Jason, Vecna stepped aside.

Clearing your line of sight so you could see what lay behind him.

A pillar.

And pinned to that pillar, pale cheeks streaked with tears of blood…

“Eddie.”

Your voice was barely a whisper, a susurration stirring the air, but at its sound, Eddie’s eyes, those beautiful umber eyes, found yours.

Your feet were carrying you towards him on their own accord, your body’s reflex to be close to him kicking in split seconds before your mind could catch up, and a choked sob ripped from you, right from the place at the center of your chest where the abyss of numbing darkness had opened up with Eddie’s final heartbeat, a desperate flutter of stirring within you.

“Monster slayer,” Eddie whispered as your hands came up to cradle his cheeks, the blood of his tears cold beneath your fingertips. Cold as death.

Neither of you could grasp for another word beneath all the heartbreak and grief, the hope and love and bittersweet joy of being reunited for those precious, ephemeral seconds. And neither of you needed to put all of these things into words – you read them in Eddie’s umber eyes, and he read them in your own, quietly understanding each other as deeply as you always had, right from the start.

But there was no time to linger in the moment.

Every passing second was precious time running through your fingers like water.

You whirled back around to face the monster who’d positioned himself right behind you, his one remaining eye an abyss of evil.

“I want to make a deal.”

“I don’t make deals.”

Vecna’s voice was as distorted as the chimes of his clock, floating in the crimson skies above your heads.

“Yes,” you replied calmly, positioning yourself between Eddie’s slumped form and Vecna, “You do. Else, you wouldn’t have let me in here.”

“I let you in,” Vecna droned, “So you could watch how I break his soul like I broke his body.”

“Smoke and mirrors,” you hissed. “You’re dying.”

“So are you, little thief. Do you want to join your songbird? Reunited in death? It will not be a peaceful ever after. Look at you, monster slayer.” His voice was dripping with disdain. “Weakened. The life draining out of you with every second you keep your inferno alive.”

“Yes.” He was right. You could feel it, how the life was fading away from you, like the sun setting and taking its light with it. “And if I die,” you said, “So will you. We both know it. So cut the mind games.”

Straightening your spine, you hissed, “You’re injured. My friends have injured you, and now you’re burning alive as we speak because that’s what I will keep doing until my own dying breath. If I go down, I will take you with me. You’re growing weaker with each second my fire keeps devouring your hive. Your creations. And you can’t stop me. Because if you could, you would’ve already done it.”

“Clever little thief,” Vecna drawled darkly.

You swallowed.

You didn’t know if your friends would ever be able to forgive what you were about to do. If Eddie could.

But if there was a way to bring Eddie back, to rewrite his stars after all…you needed to seize the chance.

No matter the cost.

“I offer you a way out.” Your voice didn’t waver with hesitation. Because there was no hesitation. Not one second. “I offer you a deal. I’ll give you back what I’ve stolen from you…and you’ll return what you took from me.”

There was a beat of silence.

“How are you so sure I cannot simply take my powers back?”, Vecna crooned.

“If you could, you would have done so by now. But you can’t, do you? Because it’s not yours anymore. It’s mine. It belongs to me, and it won’t serve another.”

“What makes you think I can bring him back?”

I know he can, the dark sliver within your mind whispered. You knew it because when the fire had burned all around you, you’d felt it, a shiver running through the hive, the Upside Down, because Max…Max had returned. It was a feeling, a knowledge inherent – and if El had defeated death and brough back Max, however she’d done it from so far away…so could Vecna. They were the same, in a way.

“Can you?”

“Bring him back?” Vecna sneered. “I do. And you…so in love with your songbird that you’re willing to risk the fate of your world, all else you hold dear, to strike a deal with the Devil? Betray everything you’ve fought for, risk the lives of so many for a single one?”

“Yes.” The words spilled from your lips without reluctance. The truth was always quicker than a lie.

There was a dark smile twisting Vecna’s rotting lips as he stepped closer, one of his legs dragging behind. An elongated index finger stroked your cheek. It felt like a spider scuttling across your skin.

But you stood your ground, refusing to take even a single step out of his way, his path to Eddie still blocked by your own body.

“Hmm,” Vecna hummed, “We are alike, after all.”

We are not, you wanted to tell him. What I’m doing, I’m doing for love.

But Vecna wouldn’t understand, because he’d never known love.

Love, just like time, was a concept foreign to him, a thorn in his flesh.

“What makes you so sure I will keep my word?”

You swallowed. “Because you’ll bring him back first.”

A dark chuckle rumbled through his chest, more and more of his shriveled grey skin crumbling away, cinders in a nonexistent breeze as your inferno kept wreaking havoc.

“I need this power you stole to bring him back. I am weakened.”

Lie, the darkness in your mind whispered. Lie, lie, lie. Trick, trick, trick.

“No, you don’t.”

Vecna tilted his head, and you breathed, “It’s a simple trick. I just don’t know how to do it, because I wasn’t born with these powers.”

“How will I know you won’t betray me?”, Vecna crooned.

A grim smile tucked at your lips. “It’s either trusting me…or death for both of us. I guess you’ll have to pick your chance and trust me.”

“What makes you so sure I won’t kill both of you as soon as I brought your lovebird back?”

“You can’t,” you hissed. “Your bats are cinders, and so is the rest of your monsters. You will make it out with your life, and nothing else. Just like we will.”

There was silence, the seconds ticking by too loudly on the clock suspended in the skies.

Every tick a droplet of Eddie’s life seeping away.

“Will you do it?”, you breathed. Your voice cracked like an egg beneath the words, your despair spilling out.

Vecna’s remaining forget-me-not-blue eye locked on yours. “I will. But –“ his index finger locked underneath your jaw, “Under one condition.”

Everything.

“I’ll make his heart start beating again, and I’ll release his soul to find its way back into his body. But his wounds will remain. Until you gave me back what you stole.” His rotting lips twisted into a devious sneer. “And if you don’t give it back…his wounds will stay. He will succumb to those wounds for a second time in a matter of minutes.”

“Deal,” you breathed.

With a blink, you snapped back out of the trance he’d put you in, Vecna’s lair dissolving around you as you resurfaced with a sharp intake of breath – just in time to hear it, a choked gasp for air on the ground beside you.

“EDDIE!”

You scrambled across the dead grass, your hands grasping his shoulder as his eyes, filled with life, locked on yours, wide and terrified and confused and flooded with pain, the agony of his mutilated body, every nerve on fire like the vines in the Upside Down as blood spilled from the bat bites just like it had only minutes ago.

Time was running out all over again.

Your eyes squeezing closed, you reached out towards the darkness, the enemy-turned-companion, for a final time.

You saved him, you told it. You need to leave so I can save him again. Go back to your master. Please.

The darkness writhed, a shadow curling against your mind for one last time, bidding you good-bye.

Who would have thought that this thing you’d been fearing for so long would be the one to save your love, in the end?

The darkness heeded your plea.

You hadn’t been prepared for the pain.

All-consuming pain, just like it had felt when the Mind Flayer, Vecna, had forced the darkness past your lips, into your mind and soul, all those months ago.

You could feel it, tendrils of shadow untangling from the strings of your soul like fabric unraveling into its threads. One by one.

When it left you, dark shadows spilling from your lips and into the skies, back to its source, your scream carried through the frozen air.

And then it was over.

Tremors racking your body and blood spilling from your nose in rivers of crimson, you scrambled closer to Eddie.

His breaths were ragged, sharp and shallow as he rang for air.

There was no time for your tears of relief and happiness, to pull Eddie into your arms and feel the beautiful flutter of his heartbeat against your palm.

Because Eddie’s wounds were still there, his blood still pooling onto the dead grass, running warm through your fingers.

And his eyes were filled with agony.

Raw, unfiltered agony.

“Eddie,” you sobbed, hands cradling his head, making sure he could see you. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

You waited.

For Vecna to make true of the final part of the deal and heal Eddie’s wounds.

One second, two.

Three.

Come on, you fucking bastard. Keep your word, you wanted to scream into the air.

But you knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t.

That he would leave you here, your final bargaining chip gone and back in his own hands, Eddie bleeding out in your arms for a second time as you were forced to watch, helpless and alone.

No.

You wouldn’t let that happen.

Not again.

Your shifted, your hands finding their way to Eddie’s chest to press over the spots where the bats’ fangs and talons had ripped through fabric and skin and tissue, and Eddie’s agonized wail pierced the air and shattered your heart, but you needed to staunch the bleeding, stop it so he would’d bleed out all over again and the light would fade from his eyes for a second time, a final time.

“I know,” you sobbed, “I know, it hurts. But I need to stop the bleeding, okay? You’re – you’re gonna be okay, Eddie. I got you. This time it’s gonna be okay –“

Your voice was strangled with the force of the tears you kept fighting back, swallowed by his own choked sob, tormented and frail.

Eddie’s eyes were on yours, panic and agony swirling together as tears streamed down his face to mingle with the drying blood coating his lips, his cheeks. You could see that he wanted to reply, but his strangled, shallow breaths, the all-consuming pain in his body, muted the words.

You needed to get him out of this place.

Into warmth, somewhere where you could actually start patching him up, the wounds too many, too deep to even think about covering them with a makeshift-bandage, but you were alone, and you were too weak to get Eddie out of here on your own –

“HELP!”, you screamed into the darkness of the Upside Down, cinders and spores floating around you like the glittering flakes inside a snow globe.

The eerie silence had returned.

Cradling Eddie in your arms, your hands pressing over his torn chest in a failing attempt to staunch the bleeding, you felt like you were adrift on a freezing dark ocean, stretching into every direction with no shore in sight, no lighthouse to guide your way.

Alone and so horribly, utterly helpless.

“HELP ME! PLEASE! SOMEBODY!” The next sob shattered your voice into a whisper. “Anyone. Please –“

It took a heartbeat for you to register the sound piercing the cold air.

Your name.

Somewhere in the distance, someone called your name.

Your heart did a little somersault of hope in your chest.

“NANCY!”, you cried out, your voice breaking, “STEVE! ROBIN! HELP! HELP ME!”

And then they were there, breaking out of the woods and racing towards you.

Your friends. Uninjured. Alive. Like the mirage of water in the scorching desert sun – only that they were real. So beautifully real.

“What happened?!”, Robin cried out, her eyes wide with terror as they found Eddie, slumped and bleeding, fading in and out of consciousness with weak cries of agony, his blood spilling all over your hands.

“We need to get him out of here,” you sobbed, your own gaze finding Steve’s, who gave you a curt nod before bending down, arms locking underneath Eddie’s to pull him across the yard, towards the spot where the ground had ripped open, a glaring abyss shedding pulsing crimson light into the darkness of the Upside Down, the gate no longer only a doorway because the walls had been torn down altogether.

Max was alive, alive alive alive and so was Eddie – but it hadn’t reversed the consequences.

Vecna had taken his fourth and final victim.

He’d torn down the walls between worlds.

But you couldn’t focus on that right now.

Because as long as Eddie was alive, as long as you could still save him…everything could be okay again.

As long as Eddie was still here…you could face every other thing thrown your way.

You couldn’t remember how Steve had managed to drag Eddie through the rip in the ground. Couldn’t hear the voices of your friends, Robin’s shaken, panicked rambling dulled and blurry as if you were under water; couldn’t feel Nancy’s gentle hand resting on your shoulder as she shouted something at Steve.

The only thing you remembered was the night sky when you emerged from the Upside Down.

It was a clear spring night, almost warm, a myriad of stars winking down at you as you raced towards the Munson trailer alongside Steve who was half-dragging, half-carrying Eddie across the grass of the lawn.

The black mist inside your mind was gone, the connection to Vecna and the Upside Down severed. No, not severed – erased. Gone for good.

The Forest Hills trailer park had descended into pandemonium.

It felt like a lifetime ago, since the ground had ripped open.

In reality, it had been mere minutes.

Screams and shouts and cries echoed through the darkness immersing the trailer park as people left their homes to assess the rip in the ground, like an angry gash bleeding crimson light into the once peaceful spring night, running through the entirety of the park and vanishing beyond the tree line of the woods, in the direction of the Hawkins town center.

If anyone noticed the four of you dragging Eddie across the grass, they didn’t care.

Somewhere on the other side of the woods, the kids were all alone in the attic of that horrible, decaying house which had never been a home but a graveyard of nightmares.

The first wails of sirens rang out in the distance, but they blurred.

Everything blurred, drowned out by the pounding of your racing heartbeat in your ears, the roaring blood, the world turning into the static of a walkie without a signal as all your senses zoned in on Eddie dangling limply in Steve’s grip, his eyes half-closed as the life was pooling out of him for a second time, and the muted cry on his lips, too weak to spill.

On the task of saving your songbird’s life.

The cresting flood wave of emotions was held back by a concrete wall of fierce determination locking around your heart as you reached the foot of the steps leading up to the trailer, the rip running straight through the Munsons’ living room – but there was no time to look for an alternate shelter. It would have to make do.

You raced past Steve, holding Eddie’s lifeless form, with Nancy at your heels as you burst through the trailer’s door, a wide-eyed Dustin greeting you inside.

“What the fuck happened?! Erica said Max died and came back and then Eddie cut the fucking rope and Max is alive again –“

“Mattress!”, you shouted, pushing the boy aside as you and Nancy gripped one half of Eddie’s mattress, sliced through clean by the rip running through the length of the Munson trailer, the edge still smoldering, but it was better than nothing.

“We gotta call an ambulance,” Steve began, dragging Eddie inside, but Nancy cut him off.

“They won’t be here in time. It’s chaos outside. We need to stop the bleeding now.”

“HERE!”, you commanded at Steve, before your gaze met Nancy’s, her blue eyes calm and collected, grounding you, before you announced, “Robin, get us all the clean towels you can find. Bathroom. In the drawer beneath the sink. Now!”

The vehemence in your voice seemed to work to tear Robin out of her shellshocked daze as her wide blue eyes left Eddie’s slumped form to lock on yours before she gave a dazed nod and vanished down the little hallway, careful not to fall through the freshly torn ground. The gate. Not a rip, but a massive gate not even El would be able to close again.

But that was a problem for another day.

Eddie’s choked cry of agony when Steve dragged him onto the mattress on the ground was tearing you apart as you fell to your knees beside him, your hand finding his, fingers intertwining.

Eddie’s skin was cold. So, so cold.

And his eyes were crazed with agony.

He wouldn’t make it through the torment of all those horrid wounds being patched up, you realized, if you didn’t find a way to sedate him.

“Towels!”, Robin shouted, her return only registering at the edge of your perception as your mind was racing, going a mile a minute – and then it clicked.

“Special K,” you breathed, head snapping up to meet Nancy’s gaze.

“Drugs?!” Robin blurted, dumping the stack of towels at the foot of the mattress, beside Eddie, “I don’t think that’s a good –“

“In one of his drawers,” you cut her off, eyes still on Nancy’s.

“What does it look like?”

“I – I don’t know,” you breathed. “Just…just look.”

Nancy raced away towards his room as you untangled your hand from Eddie’s.

“I’m going to undress you now, okay?”, you said softly, your hands clasping the hem of his Hellfire shirt, sodden with blood.

You couldn’t tell whether Eddie had even understood your words.

You clenched your jaw and ripped at the shirt, careful to keep the fabric away from Eddie’s wounds as best as you could as his weak cry filled the space, mingling with the sound of the material tearing beneath your grip, ripped open in the middle like the ground beneath Hawkins.

Nausea gripped your guts and fresh tears forced their way into your eyes as you took in the damage beneath.

“Holy fuck,” Steve’s queasy inhale filled the shellshocked silence.

Eddie’s chest was torn. His skin had been ripped off by dozens of needle-sharp teeth and talons.

And the blood…

You’d never seen so much blood in your life.

Eddie’s frail cries of agony had muted to shallow, ragged breaths.

It was not a good sign.

Panic clawing its way up your throat, your eyes fell on Dustin.

He was frozen in his place beside the front door, his blue eyes wide with shock, so uncharacteristically muted as he stared down at Eddie, at the torn skin and blood soaking the mattress around him.

“Steve,” you commanded, “Get Dustin out of here.”

Steve’s eyes were just as wide as the boy’s, frozen in his own shock and horror at the sight of Eddie’s wounds.

It dawned on you that in all the time fighting monsters alongside these people, this weird little found family…you’d never been much of a fighter.

Nancy and Steve, El and Max and Lucas…those were the fighters, the warriors.

But there couldn’t only be warriors. There had to be healers, too.

Those who mended the wounds from the battle field, who waited with open arms and calming words at the sidelines, who took charge to defend and mend.

Eddie was a healer.

And so were you, you realized, a strange sense of calmness freezing you over, a reflex you didn’t know you’d possessed locking up all the panic because with Eddie’s life in the balance, there was no time left to squander.

“No, no I want to stay –“

“STEVE! GET HIM OUT NOW!”

Your voice rattled Steve out of his own shock as he whirled around to grab Dustin’s arm –

As the front door of the trailer was slammed open.

You’d grabbed the shotgun from Nancy’s discarded backpack before any of the others could react, the sawed-off barrel aimed at the door before you’d even fully jumped back to your feet as your eyes met those of the intruders.

A woman and three men, all of them clad in dark suits, freezing in their spots at the sight of your weapon.

“Out,” you hissed. “Now.”

“We’re here for Eddie Munson,” the woman said. If she was scared, she covered it up like a true professional.

“Yeah, I know. You’re not getting him. He’s innocent.”

“We know that,” the woman replied calmly, unfazed by the blood coating your hands all the way up to your elbows, staining your clothes. “We’re here to help.”

“Yeah, sure.” The resounding click as you cocked the gun sounded too loud even in your own ears. “Go away.”

The woman slowly raised her hands in a gesture of surrender as her gaze flitted down to Eddie. “We’re here because Dr. Owens sent us to help.”

“Dr. – Dr. Owens?”, Dustin began.

“How does Dr. Owens –“

“Can you help him?”, you cut them all off, despair forging your words. “CAN YOU HELP HIM?!”

“We can,” the woman replied, “If you let us.”

There was no time to check whether these people were actually working for Owens, whether they were friends or enemies.

Eddie’s time was running out. And it was running out fast.

You opened your hands.

And the shotgun thudded to the carpet.

***

You stayed.

When Steve shepherded Dustin out of the destroyed Munson trailer and Nancy followed the woman, Dr. Owens’ agent, into Eddie’s room to tell her what had happened, the men in suits – doctors, it turned out – started staunching the flow of blood from Eddie’s wounds, you stayed.

They told you to leave, but you ignored them.

Attentive like a hawk, hackles raised and adrenaline sharpening every speck of light in your eyes, every whisper of sound in your ears as your heart raced, you stayed, Eddie’s head resting in your lap while you watched the doctors.

“What are you giving him?”, you breathed, eyes focused on the syringe one of them had pulled out of the bags they’d brought with them. Medical kits.

“A sedative.”

You couldn’t remember whether they had told you their names.

You didn’t care.

All you wanted was for them to save Eddie. Save the love of your life.

With the nod at the clear liquid inside the syringe, the needle glinting in the dim light – when had the lights went on again in the trailer? Had they ever been out in the first place, or had the darkness simply been the panic, the all-consuming despair in your chest? – you settled at the edge of the mattress, your gaze already on Eddie.

His eyes were open, tears catching in his lashes and running down the sides of his face and mingling with the blood still spilling from the bite wound in his cheek.

“I’m here,” you whispered. “I’m right here, okay? You’ll be okay again. I promise you’ll be fine.”

His lips parted – for another agonized cry or a reply, you couldn’t tell – but there was no sound.

“I know,” you said softly, biting back a sob of your own, “I know it hurts. But it’ll stop now, and when you wake up again, I’ll be right here.” Maybe your words would burrow their way through the daze of agony and reach him. You shuffled closer, your trembling hands gently lifting Eddie’s head to place him on your lap, your hands brushing a few blood-crusted curls away from his forehead.

“I promise I’ll be right here when you wake up, Eddie.”

And I promise that you’ll wake up again.

The liquid inside the syringe found its way into Eddie’s bloodstream.

Whatever it was, it was fast.

You could see it cloud Eddie’s eyes, the way he seemed to try and fight the leaden heaviness of his eyelids, the sudden darkness creeping in at the edge of his senses, and with a soft croon, you caressed his uninjured cheek. “It’s okay, Eddie. You’re safe. Sleep. I’ll keep you safe.”

A tiny spark amidst the glassy haze spreading in his gaze told you he’d understood your words.

Eddie’s eyes fluttered shut.

The doctors didn’t ask you to leave. It was evident that you wouldn’t.

With your fingers gently combing through his soft curls in the hopes that the tender touch would seep through the peaceful darkness of the sedative in Eddie’s bloodstream, hoping it would reach him and let him know he wasn’t alone, you stayed.

[Monday, March 31st, 1986. NOW.]

When Eddie had been a kid, he’d made a kite all by himself.

Not one of those boring diamond-shaped ones, but one that had looked like a dragon.

He’d painted the fabric of its wings himself, shimmering scales in all shades of green. It had taken him two weeks until the dragon had actually been ready to conquer the wind.

He felt a little like that kite now; ripped away by the storm, the only tether holding him from being carried away the soft tune of a voice.

Your voice.

It pierced the darkness shrouding him, capturing his senses, the words strangely familiar as they painted pictures of rolling green hills, of dragons and adventures into his mind like brushstrokes forming a colorful landscape on a canvas.

***

“’If preciouss asks, and it doesn’t answer, we eats it, my preciouss. If it asks us, and we doesn’t answer, then we does what it wants, eh? We shows it the way out, yes’”, you read aloud from the book in your hand as your other carded gently through Eddie’s dark curls fanned out around his head on the pillow, “’Alright’, said Bilbo, not daring to disagree, and nearly bursting his brain to think of riddles that could save him from being eaten. Thirty white horses on a red hill, first they champ, then they stamp, then they stand still. That was all he could think of to ask – the idea of eating was rather on his mind. It was rather an old one, too, and Gollum knew the answer as well as you do.”

You paused, eyes flitting away from the pages of the copy of The Hobbit Dustin had brought yesterday, to glance down at Eddie.

Three days had passed since that night. Eddie had yet to wake up from his sleep.

The doctors had assured you it was normal, that he’d wake up as soon as his body had regenerated enough.

Beneath the blanket you’d tucked up to his chin to keep him warm, you could see the steady rise and fall of Eddie’s chest, his breathing calm and even in his sleep.

In between visits from the rest of the party – Steve and Dustin, Nancy and Robin who’d been busy volunteering at the Hawkins High cafeteria which had been transformed into a temporary shelter for those who’d lost their homes to the four rips which had opened up in the ground, crossing right at the library at the heart of Hawkins, and the Byers and Hopper, miraculously alive, back from California – you hadn’t left Eddie’s side. You’d spent hours and hours those past three days just watching him breathe.

Scared that, should you tear your gaze away from him, he’d just…stop. Stop breathing, the tune of his heartbeat going silent again. Forever, this time.

It would stay this way, you figured, checking that he was still breathing, his heart still beating against your palm, making sure that Eddie was still here.

His pale features were calm, not a single flutter of his closed eyelids breaking the serenity, his lashes long and dark as they rested against his cheeks.

Whatever kind of sleep had been holding him ever since Owens’s people had brought him here, to El and Hopper’s cabin…it was a dreamless one, at least, void of nightmares.

It was better, you figured, if he slept through those first days of healing, anyways. They’d left painkillers behind, but you didn’t know whether there was any kind of painkiller strong enough to numb the pain of those wounds.

You’d washed the blood from Eddie’s skin as best as you could with a bowl of soapy water and a washcloth, and every morning and every night you cleaned his wounds and switched the bandages just like Dr. Owens’s doctors had shown you, with Joyce’s calm assistance.

Joyce Byers had taken one look at Eddie and shifted into protective-mom mode, and you loved her all the more for it.

While you watched Eddie now, you could hear them rummage beyond the closed door of El’s former bedroom as Hopper, El, Nancy and the Byers were busy repairing the cabin’s roof, the damage the Mind Flayer – Vecna – had done on the little home last summer.

Hopper. Max. Eddie.

Three people who’d conquered death and returned – two of them quite literally, even.

Maybe the odds were in your favor after all.

With your fingers still slowly carding through Eddie’s curls, you watched him a little longer.

The bruises Jason and his friends had given him at the boathouse only days ago had started to fade, replaced by those Jason had added to his face in the Upside Down, blooming underneath the pale skin of Eddie’s jaw like dark flowers.

His face was nearly as white as the gauze covering his left cheek, where the bats had torn open the skin, more bandages covering the side of his throat, his entire upper body beneath the faded blanket you’d spread over his naked body to shield him from the cold.

There would be scars. On his skin, and on his soul.

But you’d be there every step of the way, helping him heal, helping him let those scars fade over time just like he’d done with yours.

You gently brushed a few stray curls of his bangs away from his forehead. No matter how many hours you’d already spent trying to brush the dried blood out of his dark curls as best as you could, it clung to the strands, another horrid reminder of that night in the Upside Down.

Suppressing your fresh tears, you grabbed the book from where you’d placed it on the mattress beside you, your other hand still gently combing through Eddie’s curls.

There was the soft clatter of plates from the cabin’s tiny kitchen, the sounds of voices muffled through the closed door.

Swallowing against the lump in your throat, you resumed to reading to Eddie.

Maybe your words would find their way to him, through the unconsciousness holding him firmly in its grasp for now.

“Voiceless it cries, wingless flutters, toothless bites, mouthless mutters. ‘Half a moment!’, cried Bilbo, who was still thinking uncomfortably about eating. Fortunately, he had once heard something rather like this before, and getting his wits back he thought of the answer. ‘Wind. Wind, of course’, he said, and –“

A tiny movement in the periphery of your vision drew your gaze away from the page. To Eddie.

Just as his eyes fluttered open.

For a breathless moment as his umber gaze – filled with life, the spark back within – met yours, you were frozen in place.

Then, with a muted sob, the dam you’d built over those past three days broke to open the floodgates. The tide of terror and loss, of hope, love and relief broke over you as you squeezed your eyes shut, a deep, trembling inhale not enough to keep the tears from spilling any longer.

With a choked sob, the book falling from your hand and thudding to the wooden floorboards, you barely stopped yourself from falling into his arms and accidentally ripping open the wounds.

Instead, you gently inched closer, hand untangling from his curls and lacing with his on the blanket.

He blinked up at you, the sight of his beautiful umber eyes meeting yours making it hard for you not to break down sobbing with relief at the expression of love and devotion shining within them. The life.

“Monster slayer,” he whispered. His voice was raspy from staying unused for so many days. Or maybe from his screams of agony which still rang through your mind when all else was quiet.

Choked by your tears, you raised his hand in yours to place a kiss on his knuckles, his skin so beautifully warm, but the fear to hurt him and the almost physically painful desire to take him into your arms warring in your chest as you whispered, “How are you feeling?”

“Fucked.” There was a weak smirk on his lips as he blinked. “‘n wrapped up in bubble wrap.”

The frail little smirk disappeared from his face as another thought dawned on him, making room for a frown as he whispered, “Max – my uncle…?”

“Live.” You felt the tears streaming down your face. Of relief. So, so much relief, all-encompassing. Because Eddie, your songbird, was alive, and so was Max. “Wayne is fine. And Max is at the hospital. Her bones…are broken. But she’ll heal. She’ll…she’ll be okay again. Lucas is with her, and Erica and El and the rest of the party. And Wayne knows you’re alive. We couldn’t risk bringing him here, because…you know. People tend to get sucked into the monster-hunting-shit pretty quickly but…he knows, and he’s fine. He loves you so much.”

For a moment, Eddie squeezed his eyes shut as he gave a frail nod of relief, a trembling exhale for the breath he’d been holding while the first stray tear rolled down his cheek.

“You saved her, Eddie. You saved Max and El. El told me. You distracted him from the girls.”

“I tried to kill him,” Eddie rasped. “From within. So he couldn’t hurt you again. But I remember that I failed and the rest is…the rest is blurry. You were there, and then we were back in that place and it hurt, it hurt so fucking much –“ His voice broke at the memories, arms rising to bury his face in his hands before, with a pained flinch, he let them sink again.

“I made a deal.” Your voice was quiet, even. “With Vecna.”

“I know. I…I remember. That place…” Eddie’s voice was strangled as the images flitted back to him, and you squeezed his hand, combatting your own memories. Of Eddie, limp and broken as he dangled in the chokehold of Vecna’s vines. “You gave it back.”

“I did,” you said quietly.

“Did it hurt?” It was so soft-spoken, the question catching you by surprise.

“What?”

“When you gave it back.”

“You’re the one who died, Eddie,” you breathed incredulously.

“Didn’t answer my question.”

“It did, but…it’s gone. Just gone now.” You took a trembling breath. “I could have killed him, Eddie. I had him right there, and I could have done it. But…but I didn’t care. About anything else but saving you. And I’d do it all over again. I’d always choose you, a million times over. And I don’t care one bit about the rest of the world. And now Hawkins has fallen, the ground is open and the barrier between worlds is down. It’s snowing, but it’s not snow, Eddie. It’s not snow. It’s this place, bleeding into our homes. But I don’t regret anything. I never will. I got you back and I don’t care at what cost and I’d pay it again.”

And this time, I don’t care what kind of person that makes me. A bad one, or just a desperate one.

It were the same words you’d used when you’d told the rest of the party about the choice you’d made.

They’d understood. All of them.

And of all of them, it had been Hopper who’d spoken first.

“That’s not bad. That’s love. And if we didn’t have that, what the fuck would there even be worth fighting for?”

“Well, uh,” Eddie rasped, his lips tucking into the softest of smiles as he turned his head a little on the pillow to face you, “I’d sure as Hell have made the same choice if it had been you. Not a single second of hesitation. Not one second, you hear me?”

More tears streaming down your face, you shifted in your chair, shuffling closer until you could gently rest your forehead on Eddie’s, his umber eyes never straying from you as, on a choked sob, you whispered, “Next time when I tell you to stay put, Eddie Munson…you stay put. Because I will drag your ass back from whatever afterlife-situation you managed to get yourself into and I’ll be goddamn furious.”

“I promise I’ll let you hold that against me for the rest of our life,” Eddie chuckled softly, his breath warm as it ghosted across your lips, inches from his.

For the rest of our life.

The most beautiful truth.

An entire lifetime ahead.

When your lips brushed his, the touch as light as a feather, too scared to somehow hurt him with his wounds barely having started to heal, it felt like the first saving intake of breath after nearly drowning in a freezing lake. It was, in a way. That’s what Eddie was.

The sun to light your day, the moon to illuminate your night, the stars to guide you through the dark. And the air you breathed.

Where your own kiss was cautious, carefully holding back not to hurt him, Eddie’s was fierce as if he couldn’t believe this was real yet, as if he feared that you’d be gone any second and he’d be back in that dark, dark place filled with its unspeakable horrors.

And with each slow kiss, tasting of the salt of both your tears mingling on your lips, each soft sigh spilling from Eddie, each move of his lips as his hand laced with yours on the bedsheets beside him, you could feel all the broken shards of your heart coming together, put back in their places and mended together until you were whole again.

Until that night, these ten minutes in which you’d been forced to live in a world where there was no Eddie Munson, faded into a distant memory, like the images of a nightmare already fading away beneath the morning sun.

Eddie raised his hand to cradle your cheek –

“FUCK!” It was a strangled, pained outcry, making you jump back in your chair as he hissed, “Goddamnit –“

“Don’t move,” you winced, your hands coming up to grasp his, “Don’t move, okay?”

“Yeah, noticed that,” Eddie pressed through gritted teeth. You could see the pain beneath the tough exterior he was putting up.

For a heartbeat, you stayed like this. Hands intertwined on the bedsheets, Eddie’s eyes momentarily squeezed shut and his fingers squeezing yours as he waited for the tidal wave of pain to ebb which had seized him upon the movement, his sharp breaths slowly growing more even as it subsided.

When his umber eyes fluttered open again, he whispered, “How bad?”

Instead of a reply, you slowly reached out to gently pull the blanket downwards to his hips so he could see for himself.

For a moment, Eddie fell uncharacteristically quiet as he glanced down, taking in the gauze wrapped all around his upper body, parts of his thighs.

Then, “Jesus Christ. I always made fun of people dressing up as mummies for Halloween. Uh. By the way. Whose…um, whose bed is it I’m so casually lounging in naked?”

“El’s,” you said as you gently pulled the bedsheets up to cover him again, careful not to brush against the gauze on the side of his neck as you tucked the fabric under his chin to keep him warm. “This is her and Hopper’s cabin.”

Eddie’s eyes widened.

“You and Max aren’t the only ones who conquered death.”

“And here I was thinking I’m special,” Eddie quipped, drawing a soft giggle from you.

“You’re the specialest,” you reassured with a soft grin.

“You just say that ‘cause you think I’m pretty.”

The laughter was already bubbling up your throat, but it was choked by more tears spilling from your eyes as you let your forehead gently fall against Eddie’s.

“Fuck,” you choked, “I thought we’d never have this again. I thought I’d never hear your voice again. See your smile. I…Eddie you can’t do that again.” Your words were fusing into quiet sobs, ripping out of you in waves too strong to suppress them any longer, “Promise. Promise you won’t leave again. Promise –“

“Hey,” Eddie breathed, shushing you as slowly, gently, one of his hands settled on the side of your face. Your tears were seeping into the bandage wrapped around his palm, covering the deep gash where he had caught the blade of Jason’s knife. “Ssssh, I’m here, monster slayer,” he rasped, “I’m here. You’re not gonna lose me again, ‘kay? I still got your ribbon, remember? Can’t lose me. That thing’s magic.”

You sniffled, wiping at your tears with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, before you breathed, “Okay, I’m…I’m calm. I got it. You really need to drink something. And eat. I think Joyce said she wanted to make some chicken soup for later. Come on, I’ll help you sit up.”

You moved to help Eddie sit up, stuffing the pillow behind his back for support, and your heart ached at the sight of the pained flinch contorting his still bruised features, his face growing even paler with the exertion of the small movement, cold sweat beading on his forehead and making the dark curls of his bangs stick to his skin.

“You’ll heal,” you breathed, gently squeezing his hands. “The doctors said it will take a few weeks but you’ll heal and I’ll be with you all the way. And for now…” You let go of him to pick up one of the Yoo-Hoo bottles you’d placed on the ground beside the bed, waving it in your hand with a budding smile, “You-hoo need to drink something. Come on, I’ll help you sit up, okay?”

As you moved to unscrew the bottle’s lid, the door to El’s room creaked open, a pair of warm brown eyes widening at the sight of Eddie sitting in bed, more or less upright and awake.

“Oh!”

You jumped up from your chair to help Joyce with the tray she was balancing in her hands, a steaming bowl on it already spreading the savory scent of broth through the room.

“Hi.” Eddie gave her an awkward smile. “Uh. I’m Eddie. Sorry for occupying the bed.”

“No worries, honey,” Joyce smiled, letting you take the tray from her hands to set it down at the end of the bed.

“This is Joyce Byers,” you said, and Eddie’s face lit up.

“The Christmas-Lights-Lady who’s never been wrong.”

Joyce gave you a smirk. “I like him already.”

With a glance at Eddie, she said, “You need to eat. I’ll bring you two a second portion of broth and –“

“It’s fine,” you said, sitting down in the chair beside the bed, “He can have mine. I’ll help myself later.”

With a nod and another smile at Eddie, Joyce pulled the door shut behind her.

“She’s tiny,” Eddie commented. “And I’m still pretty sure she’d win every fist fight she joined.”

You laughed. “That’s about the most accurate description of Joyce Byers I’ve ever heard.”

Eddie opened his mouth to reply, but he stilled as the door creaked open for a second time, his eyes widening, and you followed his stare to the looming figure in the doorway.

“Joyce sent me with more soup.”

“It’s broth,” Joyce’s voice sounded from somewhere in the background.

“Same thing,” Hopper murmured, raising the steaming bowl. It looked tiny in his hands, like the dishes on a fairy’s tea table.

“Munson.”

Eddie seemed to sink a little deeper into the pillows behind him. “Chief.”

“Wait –“ you gaped, “You know each other?!”

Hopper chuckled. “Had a few run-ins in the past. Callahan got his ass for underage drinking three years ago –“

“One beer,” Eddie said, “It was one beer.”

“ – and while our Munson Junior here was waiting for his uncle to get from his night shift to pick him up at the police station, a good pound of bagged weed flooded from the boy’s clothes all over the goddamn floor.”

“The start of a wonderful friendship,” Eddie quipped with a smirk, and you laughed.

“No way.”

“And it was good weed at that,” Hopper grinned, and Eddie’s smirk made room for an incredulous grin.

“You kept the fucking weed?”

“Confiscated,” Hopper corrected with a mischievous drawl, “I confiscated it.”

The chief placed the bowl in your hands.

“Alright. ‘M gonna leave you to it.”

With a nod, he left.

When the door clicked shut, you let out another disbelieving laugh. “You need to tell me everything about that encounter.”

“He never filed a report,” Eddie said. “Not once. He’s a good one.”

“Don’t let him hear that,” you winked, before you placed the bowl of broth on the night stand. “Okay, Joyce is right, you need to eat. I’ll –“ You cut yourself off at the sight of Eddie’s pained flinch. “What’s wrong?”

“I, uh. I gotta pee first.” He winced a little as he mumbled the words, and your heart squeezed in your chest.

You knew Eddie hated it to ask for help.

He’d always hated it to ask whether you could proof-read his assignments, hated it to need help with anything, no atter how much he loved helping others.

“You wanna try and go to the bathroom?”, you said softly as you rose from your chair. “I’ll help you. We just need to get you some underwear on first.”

Eddie gnawed his lip. “You…you’re sure? Like…you won’t find me less, uh. Hot, or stuff?”

You suppressed a soft laugh at the way he was staring at you with those beautiful umber puppy dog eyes.

“Eddie,” you said softly, “I’ve been washing you and changing your bandages every day. I was there when they…when they patched you up, all the way. We went to literal hell and back together. I think we’re both past the point where it’s weird to accompany each other to pee. Besides,” you quipped, giving him a grin to loosen some of his tension, “It’s either me who’s helping…or Hopper.”

“You’ve washed me?”

You swallowed at the memory of bowl after bowl of soapy water turning crimson, then pink, then finally clear as you’d washed the dried blood from Eddie’s skin. “How did you think the blood disappeared?”

“That explains the flowery smell.”

“I’ve never met a person in my life who’s so ready to always help others yet absolutely despises to receive help themselves, you know.”

“I don’t despise receiving help,” Eddie corrected with a mumble, “I despise needing help. Especially if that entails my girlfriend needing to help me pee.”

“Then look at it this way”, you whispered, “You’ve been there. All the way, helping me through the darkest time of my entire life. Every step. That’s the beautiful thing of being together. You don’t have to do things on your own anymore. And neither do I. So after everything you’ve done for me…please let me do this for you. Let me help you until you can do these things yourself again in a few weeks. And –“ you gave him a sultry smile, “There’s nothing that could ever make you less hot for me, anyways.”

***

You couldn’t tell what had roused you from your slumber, slumped in the chair, your feet resting on the foot of the mattress of El’s bed right beside Eddie’s.

A strange sense of foreboding perhaps, the way birds took to the skies before an earthquake or cats hid before a storm when the sky was still clear. An intuition sprouted from being connected to another person as deeply as you were to Eddie, heart and soul.

As you blinked against the pale moonlight seeping through the window to cast the little room into a silver glow, your hackles were raised even before the remnants of sleep had left your bleary eyes and dazed mind.

Eddie was still tucked in beneath the blankets, the rise and fall of his chest making relief bloom in your heart once again – but it was short-lived, this time. Because his breathing wasn’t even. It was shallow and ragged.

And his features weren’t schooled into the serene mask of peaceful sleep.

His brow was furrowed, and tears were rushing down his face, soaking the gauze patch on his left cheek and dripping into the dark curls fanned out around his head, like spilt ink in the silver moonlight.

He looked as if he were in pain.

Just as you moved out of your chair to sit on the mattress and rouse him from whatever nightmare was plaguing him, a frail, agonized whimper ripped from him to fill the silence of the moonlit bedroom, peaceful no longer.

“Eddie,” you whispered, your hands gently settling on his shoulders, careful not to startle him. “Eddie, hey. Wake up. Wake up, Eddie.”

Just as panic clawed its way up your throat, Eddie’s string of whimpers was broken by a sharp intake of breath as his eyes flew open.

You could see the panic brimming within like fish in a pond.

“It’s okay,” you whispered softly, taking his hands in yours on the sheets, “You’re okay. I’m here. Right here. You’re save, see?”

In the dim silver light, you could see the exact moment in which the nightmare’s talons which had been holding his mind hostage started to loosen as he recognized you.

But his tears didn’t stop spilling.

A strangled sob ripped from him, so horribly pained and helpless, making your heart bleed for him when you shuffled closer, cuddling up at the edge of the mattress beside him. Gently, ever so gently not to rip open his healing wounds in the process, you pulled him against you until the side of his face rested against your collarbone, his quiet, heart-wrenching sobs spilled against you.

You stayed like this, with Eddie next to your own heartbeat right where he belonged as you held him, the moonlight and the silence filling with his muffled sobs the only company.

“It’s okay,” you cooed softly, “I got you. It was a dream.”

Your fingertips carded through his dark curls in soothing motions, brushing them away from Eddie’s tear-stained cheeks while his tears soaked the fabric of your shirt.

“They were…they were back,” Eddie choked, “The bats. They got me and then they…they got you.”

“They’ll never get you again.”

“How do you know? He’s out there. He’s still out there.”

You were at a loss. “Because…because he’s hurt. And weakened. And we nearly had him. Next time, we’ll be wiser. Next time we’ll have El and Hopper and the entire Byers family and you haven’t seen Joyce with an axe yet and El got her full powers back. Next time, we’ll get him. And we’ll make sure he won’t get up again. But for now, we’re safe. And I got you.”

“Will it stop?”, Eddie breathed. “The dreams.”

You bit your lip, pulling him a little closer. “One day.”

“How did you do it?”, Eddie whispered. It sounded pleading. “How did you get through them?”

“At first, I didn’t.” You swallowed. “And then I met you. You found me. And you made them go away. You made them fade away, Eddie. And now I’m going to do the same thing for you.”

You placed the gentlest of kisses on the crown of Eddie’s head, stray curls tickling your lips, running your hands through his hair until the tension had left his body and the ears had dried on his cheeks, until the soft susurrations of his even breaths were weaving with the beams of moonlight once more.

“I promise I’ll make them stop,” you whispered into his curls.

And you did.

Like a dragon guarding its gold, you watched over Eddie’s sleep, beside him in bed with your back resting against the headboard and your eyes flying over the pages of a book illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the window.

Every night, when his breathing grew shallow and ragged, you roused him from his sleep, already holding him close before the first tears started falling, letting him sob as he buried his face in the crook of your neck while your fingers gently carded through his curls, or painted soothing patterns on his back as he drifted back to sleep.

His wounds started to heal, his skin mending as night for night, the nightmares took longer to get him, their intensity fading.

There would be scars.

You knew that better than anyone.

The memories of Vecna’s collection of horrors, his crimson lair and the army of bats, the agony of being torn apart by hundreds of razorblade-claws and needle-teeth…they would fade over time, little by little, growing paler and paler like the colors of a polaroid picture left in the sun, until the pain would be numbed to a faint sting flaring up only occasionally.

It would take time, of course.

But time was what you had.

After a few weeks, Eddie was able to leave the bed for longer than the obligatory ten-minute shower.

He was still a wanted man. The Hawkins PD, back under Hopper’s orders, was busy in the aftermath of “the earthquake”, trying to find those who’d gone missing.

Hawkins stayed destroyed.

Finals had been postponed to the summer, the school’s gym and cafeteria turned into a makeshift shelter for those who’d lost their homes to the four clean rips which had torn the town apart.

You’d been to the cafeteria for a few hours to help Robin and Steve as they sorted clothes – but beneath the pity for all those poor souls who’d lost their homes, their friends and family, there was resentment simmering beneath the surface. Hawkins was small, and you recognized most of these people from the townhall meeting, staring at you with barely concealed curiosity and – in most cases – disdain. Because you’d told them a truth they still didn’t want to hear. Because you’d spoken up against Jason and his lies, taken Eddie’s side when they’d been shouting for vengeance.

He was ready to die, you wanted to scream at them, shake them, he was ready to die for this fucking hateful small-minded town and you will never accept that he’s a hero because you don’t want a hero who has long hair and ripped clothes and tattoos and plays D&D.

Some of them refused to take your help, even.

You couldn’t have cared less.

Safe to say, you never went back there – and none of your friends asked you to.

You all knew that there would never be a way to clear Eddie’s name – because people didn’t want it cleared. They needed their monster, and they needed it to be visible, someone they could point their finger at and say, See, I told you that boy was a bad apple.

There were things not even Chief Jim Hopper had enough power to change. So Eddie stayed hidden at the cabin in the woods, his five-minute-walks around the little wooden structure alongside you growing longer and longer until the two of you were venturing deeper into the woods, careful not to be caught.

Sometimes, El or Dustin accompanied the two of you.

Sometimes, you were alone, eager to make use of the solitude the woods granted the two of you when the sun was setting and your kisses grew heated, Eddie’s hands wandering beneath the hem of your summer dress – but never farther. You didn’t dare go further, still scared to hurt him, cause his still healing wounds to rip open again.

April blurred into May.

The ground stayed open, columns of smoke rising into the skies on some days. Flakes of white sailing through the air on others. Ashes, the officials and news said – but you all knew what they were.

But there were no monsters. No strange disappearances or mutilated bodies found, no sign that Vecna was still alive.

You knew he was, though, and so did Will, vigilant and jumpy most of the time, always a hand on his neck and a quick glance cast over his shoulders wherever he went.

For now, though, Vecna was gone. Rallying his strength and forces for one final blow. You managed to push the thought away on most days, store it in the trunk with all the bad memories and thoughts, at the bottom of your heart. The only thing that mattered was Eddie, breathing and smiling and laughing again, right beside you.

Spring flowers wilted as meadows of wildflowers started blooming all around. Fields of scarlet poppy dotting the landscape at the edge of the woods, forget-me-nots blooming at the edge of the path leading to Hopper’s cabin. You knew they remembered Eddie of that night, as much as they did you.

One day, teeth gritted as tears of hatred blurred your view, making the eerie blue color swim as your nails dug into the earth to rip them out one by one. It felt good.

“You’d make a very pretty, very aggressive gardener,” Eddie had commented as you’d righted yourself, a little sweaty in the late-spring warmth lacing the air even in the shade of the woods.

And each night, you rested beside Eddie, heartbeat against heartbeat.

Each night before you switched off the lights, you let your fingertips brush over the vibrant green silk still tied around Eddie’s wrist, whispering a silent thank you. For bringing him to you, and back again and again, like the thread pulling your lover out of the Minotaur’s Labyrinth.

It was a warm day in early June when the lady in the dark suit appeared on the front porch of Hopper’s cabin, her gaunt features stern and dark eyes locked on Eddie and you, sitting on the steps to enjoy the warmth of the day, before she handed him an envelope.

You already knew what was inside even before Eddie had opened it, his rings glinting in a beam of waning afternoon sunlight.

It was a fake ID.

“Harold?” Eddie scrunched his nose before squinting up at the agent. “Like, come on. You’re the government. You could’ve picked every imaginable name and what you came up with is Harold?”

“Let me see,” you snickered as you grabbed the ID, letting out a snort. “They picked this photo and you worry about them giving you the fake name Harold?”

“You know how to cheer me up,” Eddie scoffed good-naturedly, taking back the document to scrutinize the picture.

There had been some rather heated discussions with Hopper about cutting Eddie’s hair to “not stick out like a flamingo in a flock of penguins”, as Hopper had called it – but there had been something in Eddie’s eyes when he had protested, something that had raised your hackles – but Hopper had seen it, too, and he’d backpedaled faster than you’d even jumped up from the sofa to take Eddie’s side.

And you’d all agreed that pretty much everyone would suspect a person on the run to change looks, especially someone who stood out as much as Eddie did – and thus, he could be hiding in plain sight.

On the run.

It was so wrong that he needed to run, after having stayed to fight for this fucking town.

You pushed the thought away. It was of no help right now.

And as long as Eddie lived, things would be okay. Were okay.

Not a muscle in the agent’s face twitched as she announced, “You’ve got ten minutes to pack your bags and say your good-byes, Mr. Munson. I’ll be waiting by the car.”

“Now?”, you blurted, rising from your place on the steps, “But his wounds aren’t even fully healed –“

“With every second Mr. Munson spends in this town,” the agent interrupted you, her expression growing even sterner, “He is at risk to be spotted. This town is neither forgetting nor forgiving. And if the angry townsfolk show up here, there is nothing Chief Hopper or the government can do to tame their ire.” She paused, her expression softening a little at the edges. “For now, this is all we can do.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie said, suppressing a pained wince as he slowly rose from the steps. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet during the exchange.

With a curt nod, the agent turned to vanish between the trees again, her high-heels making a crunching noise on the carpet of dried leaves covering the forest floor as her steps faded away.

You’d known this day would come, that Eddie would have to go into hiding until Owens’ agents would be able to clear his name. However long that might take.

“Okay,” you sighed, “Let’s go and pack. I mean, Wayne already salvaged whatever it was that could be salvaged from your stuff, and I don’t actually need that much, though I might have to stop over to grab a few of my things and…and tell my good-byes for now. I mean, we’ll be back at some point but –“

“Monster slayer –“

“But,” you grinned, “This means we’ll actually get to the beach way sooner than we thought. I was thinking…California’s nice this time of year. A little hot but I think I’d prefer it over Florida and its alligators –“

“Y/N.”

The sound of your name, soft on Eddie’s voice, a strange gravity laced within, made you halt.

Deep, dark sadness clouded Eddie’s umber gaze as he looked at you, the final beams of light of the warm summer sun painting streaks of caramel into his curls, his posture slumped with the residual pain of defeat and an invisible weight resting on his shoulders.

You knew what he would say even before he began to speak.

It didn’t make the words hurt any less.

“You can’t come with me.”

In the silence that descended upon the two of you, the birdsong floating through the woods, the rustle of leaves in the breeze and wings in the foliage, it was all too loud all of a sudden.

Eddie swallowed. “I can’t let you do this.”

“You can’t?”, you said quietly, swallowing against the lump which was growing in your throat, “Or you don’t…don’t want me to?” Your voice was strained with the weight of the tears you were trying to hold back.

“That’s not what you deserve,” Eddie said quietly. “Life on the run. We have no clue how long it’ll take them to get my name cleared and even then, I’ll never be able to return to this goddamn shithole of a town. They’ll burn me at the stake. We both know it. There will always…there will always be a Jason pitting others against me. And always an Andy and a Chance and a Chad and whatever to chase me. I’ll never be safe here.”

“Nobody will ever be safe here again,” you said quietly, just as a single white particle floated down in front of you, like the flake of ash after a fire. “Nobody.” And it’s exactly what this fucking small-minded god-forsaken town deserves, a bitter little voice chimed up in your mind, for what they did to Eddie.

“For now, you will be. With your friends, your family –“

“You’re my best friend,” you whispered, echoing Eddie’s own words. Spoken only days ago, in the calm before the storm. “You’re my family, Eddie.”

“And you’re mine. Fuck, monster slayer, I’m not doing this to hurt you. But it’s me who’s the wanted murderer, not you, and I can’t drag you into a goddamn life on the run! You – you gotta graduate. You gotta walk that stage for both of us, and snatch that diploma because that fucking piece of paper is your future, and it will open all the doors for you that you want it to. And just ‘cause I don’t have that chance anymore, doesn’t mean I can let you throw yours away, too.” Eddie took a step closer, taking your hands in his. They were warm. Voice fragile, a desperate plea in those beautiful brown eyes, Eddie breathed, “You’re my future. But I can only be yours, too, if you don’t close the doors that scrap of paper will keep open for you.” Eddie’s hands squeezing yours, he leaned in to rest his forehead against yours, breathe in your scent, before he added on a whisper, “They postponed finals to the end of summer. Graduate, monster slayer. Get that diploma.”

“And then what?”, you choked out.

Eddie’s voice was fierce when he said, “Then we’ll find each other, like we always do. And run away together, if…if that’s what you want.”

He slowly raised your joined hands, until the sunlight caught on your green silk ribbon wrapped around his wrist. “We always did. We always will. Even when we’re worlds apart. ‘kay?”

“It’s not fair.” Your voice was nothing more than a choked sob. “It’s not fair. You haven’t done anything wrong. You fought for these people –“

“I fought for you. And Wayne, and Max, and the rest of your friends. Listen,” his voice softened as Eddie gently pulled his hand away from yours to cup your cheek, “This is not good-bye, ‘kay? I promise it’s not. It’s a see ya later.”

“And then we’ll find each other?”

“Three months. Then we’ll find each other.” And with the saddest of smiles, Eddie placed a kiss on your forehead. “This is not good-bye, monster slayer. I promise this isn’t goodbye.”

[Saturday, September 6th, 1986. NOW.]

“I don’t want to.”

“What else are you gonna do? Sit at home, wrapped in your eternal gloom and misery like the unmarried heroine in a period drama?” Robin huffed from behind you. “You’ve been doing that for the past three months.”

“I’ve been studying.”

“And look,” you friend tried, the grin she gave you through the mirror wide, “You’ve even taken a shower!”

“I take regular showers, thank you very much.”

“Bathing in self-pity doesn’t count.”

With a deep sigh, you turned away from the mirror, the hem of the ridiculous prom gown Nancy and Robin had forced you to don tonight swishing around the tops of your knees.

You’d bought the dress with Nancy at Starcourt Mall, on the first day of the summer holidays. Right before everything had gone to hell. Before the Mind Flayer and everything else.

Thinking back to this time, your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. Not because it had been the last day of things being okay – but because back then, Eddie hadn’t been part of your life. Back then, he’d been a daydream quickly swatted away because he’d been Eddie The Freak. The slacker everyone would have told you to steer clear of.

Wearing this dress now, bought for the final prom, the dance at the end of senior year right before you’d leave the cage that was Hawkins behind…it felt strange. And it felt wrong. Because Eddie was gone again. He would never take you to prom, or see you in that dress, because he was on the run for crimes he hadn’t committed.

And you didn’t know when you would see him again.

“Oh, no, no, no – Nance!”, Robin exclaimed as she carefully dabbed at your cheeks with the sleeve of her blazer, wiping at the tears you hadn’t realized had started to fall again.

“He’s on the run Robin,” you whispered, the words choked by a silent sob.

“So’s your makeup.”

The comment did nothing to soothe your heartache.

“Nancy, we got a situation here!”

When Nancy darted into the room, her own blush-colored dress glittering in the light of the setting sun, she took one look at you and groaned, “It took me half an hour.”

“Didn’t you think of using waterproof makeup?”

Nancy threw Robin a sideways glare that silenced her. “You do the makeup then, next time.”

“I’m sorry,” you said with a quiet sniffle, “Just…go without me. I’m not in the mood.”

It had been Dustin’s idea, to have a private little prom with the party, now that the Byers had returned to Hawkins and Max had been released from the hospital. To celebrate not victory – for there had been no victory, with Vecna still out there and licking his wounds – but survival. Even more in times like these, when the ground was still split open, and ashes – spores – drifted from the skies above Hawkins on most days.

“Go without you,” Nancy echoed, as Robin cocked an eyebrow.

“So you can do what, sit on the ground in that ridiculously sexy prom dress and weep? Hell, no.”

“To pack,” you said.

That had been the plan all along.

Graduate.

Grab the diploma.

Run.

Not away from Hawkins, but back to Eddie. Find him, wherever he might be now.

With a sniffle, you sunk onto the edge of Nancy’s bed.

“I know,” Nancy said quietly, taking your hands in hers as she knelt in front of you. “I know you miss him.”

“It hurts,” you whispered.

It did. A physical pain lodged deep within your chest. As if the thread tying your soul to Eddie’s was being pulled taut over the distance, tugging painfully at your heart with the strain of it.

It wouldn’t tear. You knew it wouldn’t. But it hurt, nonetheless.

“Have you heard anything? Like, a hint or something?”, Robin asked quietly, as she settled on the fuzzy carpet beside Nancy’s bed.

You shook your head.

“He can’t exactly risk a call,” Nancy said.

Robin shrugged. “A postcard, maybe. Without a sender or anything. It would give away his location without giving away it’s from Eddie. But I mean, she’d know.”

“No post card,” you said quietly. “I don’t know how to find him. But…I’ll find him. I always have.”

Robin gave you a soft grin. “Just make sure you don’t run him over with your car again.”

“If you’re gone tomorrow, anyways,” Nancy said, sadness in her dark eyes as she grabbed a Kleenex from the box on her night stand to dab at the tears now drying on your cheeks, “Then you should definitely come tonight. It’s our prom. We don’t know when we’ll see you again. Remember when we bought that dress at the start of last summer?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, a faint little smile tugging at your lips as your fingers brushed over the tulle spread around you. It was the deep midnight-blue of a night sky, glittering beautifully in the waning light of another warm summer’s day. It looked like the November night sky underneath which Eddie and you had shared your first kiss.

“If everything had turned out, you know –“ Robin made an awkward little gesture, “Less monster-y, do you think you’d have said yes if Eddie had just, like, walked up to you and invited you to prom?”

The words Eddie had whispered to you on the clearing, right before you’d all went into the Upside Down for what you’d hoped with all your heart would be the final battle, came back to you.

“When this is all over, I’m gonna take you to prom. I mean, if you wanna go, that is. I’d love to be all sappy and cheesy and take you to prom. I’ll give you one of these little flower-bracelets and take you out for dinner first. Or milkshakes. Or both. Gotta treat my girl. Dance with you all night, twirl you around in whatever dress you’ll pick which doesn’t matter ‘cause you could attend in your pajamas and you’d still be the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“We’d probably create a bit of a commotion.”

“Would you be okay with that?”

“I told you I’d wear my Hellfire shirt proudly. I wasn’t joking, Eddie. When this is over, I can’t wait to show the world that I’m Eddie Munson’s girl. That you’re the one who stole my heart.”

“Not stole,” Eddie had whispered, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose, “Won. Stealing means it doesn’t actually belong to you, but winning means it’s been given freely. That it was a choice. So…you’re gonna go to prom with me?”

“Yeah. I think I would have.”

Nancy let out a chuckle. “But…Eddie Munson at prom? In a tux?”

You giggled. “I don’t think he’d have switched the leather jacket for a tux, but he would’ve given me flowers.”

“You’d have caused a hubbub,” Robin giggled. “You two might’ve won the front page of the Tigers Post.”

“Okay,” Nancy interrupted good-naturedly, “Now that that’s settled, I’ll freshen up your makeup and then we’re ready to go.”

“Go where, by the way?”, you wondered, but Nancy only smiled.

“It’s a surprise. You’ll see when you get there.”

***

“When you said surprise location,” you mumbled, glad you’d opted for the sneakers instead of the glittery heels, “I didn’t think we were going for a hike.”

You’d been surprised when Steve, who’d picked you up at the Wheelers’, had parked his car at the side of the dark road running along the edge of the patch of woods behind Hawkins High, before following him, Dustin and Robin into the thicket, not caring if the brambles lining the little dust trail would tear at the glittering fabric of your gown. You felt a little like a fairy tale princess on the run.

“We had to choose somewhere where nobody would notice us breaking curfew,” Dustin huffed from beside you.

Eight-pm-curfew. Another government-installed rule for those who’d opted to stay behind in what was left of Hawkins. As if a curfew would ever be able to stop whatever Vecna would send through the rips in the ground once he’d recovered.

“Yeah, and since you burnt down the boathouse,” Steve chuckled as he threw you a glance over his shoulder, “We thought this was a good alternative location.”

The thing was…the little clearing was Eddie’s and your spot. Your safe haven. And while you loved your friends dearly, having a private little prom at this clearing felt like breaking the sanctity it held for you, painfully reminding you of all the lunchbreaks you’d spend there with Eddie. The almost kiss you’d shared on this clearing, and all those kisses afterwards. It had been on the clearing where Eddie had helped you find peace and control the darkness you’d been so terrified of all the months before. The way he’d made love to on that picnic table, before he’d given you his guitar pick necklace with the promise to always find his way back to you.

“At least it has a picnic table,” Robin mused, and you bit your lip.

“Um. Yeah.”

Steve threw you an appalled glance over his shoulder. “Oh, hell no. Really?!”

“What? What’s happening?”, Dustin chimed in, confused for once, as you shrugged.

“Oh come on,” Steve groaned, raking his hands through his perfect hair. “In the fucking woods?!”

“What did you do?”, Dustin inquired, growing more and more exasperated.

“Nothing.”

“Picnic,” Robin drawled sweetly with the most devious grin you’d ever seen on her freckled features.

You narrowed your eyes at Steve. “I don’t think you’re the one who should be criticizing, Mr. Skull Rock.”

“Ew,” Dustin muttered.

“There.” Steve waved at the boy, who’d scrunched up his nose. “You traumatized the kid.”

“And your dating life has traumatized me, dingus,” Robin announced good-naturedly.

“So, um,” you began, “Nancy and the rest –“

“Are gonna bring the snacks and drinks and music,” Robin interrupted, hooking her arm with yours as she pulled you along.

The sun had sunken below the horizon by now, night creeping in at the edges to tint the sky the deep dark blue of fresh ink on paper, matching the soft fabric of your dress.

Dustin and Steve had started bickering again as they walked in front of you, their voices mingling with the evening sounds of the woods coming alive after another scorching summer’s day, the air cool as it brushed against your bare arms and legs. A beautiful summer night.

But the words were drowned out by your own thoughts already wandering back to the task of finding Eddie.

Wherever he was now.

You’d been caught up so deeply in your own thoughts that you nearly ran into Dustin, who’d stopped right in front of you, an endearing wide grin on his face.

“My lady.”

You gave him a gin in reply. “Sir Henderson.”

“You need a date for prom, right?”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you’re offering?”

The boy’s grin widened, turning weirdly mischievous.

“Close your eyes,” Robin said gently as she let go of your arm.

“Why?”

“Just do what you’re told,” Steve chided good-naturedly, “Just for once.”

“This feels like a very weird Carrie-esque moment,” you said slowly as you complied and shut your eyes, listening to the sounds of wings in the canopy of trees above, the footsteps on the dried leaves covering the ground. “Nancy will kill you if anything happens to my dress or my makeup. Right now, you’d all take well to remember the girl’s hiding a variety of guns in her bedroom.”

There was a shift in the air in front of you, before someone chuckled, “Yeah, I promise I’ll behave.”

At the sound of the voice, so beautifully familiar, a voice you’d missed so much it had hurt, your eyes flew open, a chocked squeal already bubbling from your lips before your gaze met a pair of sparkling umber eyes and the most radiant smile you’d ever seen.

“Hey there, monster slayer. Did ya miss me?”

Your reply was already choked by the happy tears streaming down your face as you threw yourself into Eddie’s arms, hard enough to send him stumbling backwards a step as Eddie’s arms wrapped around you, his intoxicating scent of leather and cologne and the faintest trace of cigarettes, of home, immersing you as you breathed, “You’re here. You’re here. How –“

“Congrats for graduating, sweetheart,” Eddie whispered into your hair before he pulled back, dark eyes scanning you in a beat of overwhelmed silence as he took you in, wonder and disbelief and joy warring on his features.

He looked as beautiful as ever. His mane of dark curls had grown a little in the past three months, the dark brown tinted black in the half-light of the rising moon sending its pale beams through the leaves above, and the wound on his cheek had healed into a slender silver line cutting across his pale skin.

Tears were glittering in his eyes.

Happy tears.

And finally, his lips crashed on yours as he pulled you flush against him, and all the heartbreak and misery of those past three months without him, of worrying and hoping he’d found safety, that he was okay, that his nightmares weren’t plaguing him too much at night and that he knew, even if none of you was allowed to reach out in order to keep him safe, that your heart was with him...all of it faded into the past, scattering like confetti on the ground because Eddie was here, he was back and holding you and kissing you and that was all that would ever matter.

The kiss was passionate but chaste, and you could feel how much willpower it cost Eddie to hold back as long as your friends were still here – a sentiment you shared. And it got harder with every passing second.

“Okay,” you heard Robin chuckle softly in the background, as Eddie pulled away from the kiss, his hands lacing with yours as if he were scared you could fade like mist in the sun if he let go of you, “We’re gonna, um, leave you alone now.”

“Are we?”, Steve muttered. “With the poor picnic table?”

It took so much resolve to even momentarily tear your gaze away from Eddie and throw your friends a glance over your shoulder. Robin, with her cheeky, knowing smirk, Dustin with his wide grin and Steve, looking like an annoyed protective big brother, all of them looking a little funny in their festive attire in the middle of the woods.

“We’ll meet you at El and Hopper’s cabin for our little prom,” Dustin grinned, and with a wink, Robin added, “As soon as you’re…ready.”

“Yeah, yeah, come on,” Steve muttered as he steered Dustin away from the little clearing, “I need a drink.” With a glance at Eddie, he added, “Don’t bring her back too late.”

And with your friends’ footsteps receding, you turned back to Eddie.

He was watching you, the warmth of a summer’s day shining in his dark eyes as he took you in, adoration and disbelief still warring in the umber depths, as if he still couldn’t believe you were here.

“You look…you look beautiful,” he breathed, voice strained with emotions.

“This is real,” you breathed. “You’re real.”

Eddie tilted his head, the widest grin on his face as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. “Hell yeah. Told you I’d take you to prom, sweetheart. By the way, I, um…I got something for you.”

His grin turning a little shy, he pulled something out of the pocket of his leather jacket, careful not to crush it in the process.

A wreath of daisies.

“I couldn’t exactly walk into an actual flower shop so I picked these on the way here and did it myself but, uh, that’s what the girl is getting for prom, right?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, the tiny white petals of the daisies blurring beneath your happy tears, “It’s perfect.” The thought of Eddie the metalhead sitting cross-legged in a meadow of wildflowers weaving a wreath of daisies made warmth bubble in your chest like frizzing champagne as your lips curved into a wide smile.

“I’m a man of many talents. Catch me opening up a flower shop in disguise.”

A soft giggle bubbled from your lips as you watched Eddie gently tie the little wreath of daisies around your wrist, the tip of his tongue poking out in that endearing way he probably didn’t even know he was doing when he focused on something. The sight made a sob of relief rip from your throat.

Eddie didn’t get time to inquire about whether everything was okay before you grabbed the lapels of his leather jacket and pulled him into another kiss.

And this time, with both of you alone in the clearing, there was no holding back anymore.

You could feel Eddie smile into the kiss as your tongue flicked over his bottom lip, the blood in your veins replaced by liquid fire, fire that wasn’t stolen from anyone but your own, a fuse lit by Eddie’s own greedy kisses as he gently steered you backwards, your back bumping against the trunk of the nearest tree.

“Fuck, monster slayer,” Eddie breathed, his lips grazing yours as he spoke, as if every inch further away from you would cause him physical pain, “I missed you so much. So fucking much. Those were the longest three goddamn months of my life.”

“I missed you, too,” you whispered, your hands tangling in the soft curls at the back of his head. God, how you’d longed to run your fingers through those beautiful curls again, feel their softness beneath your fingertips and breathe in Eddie’s scent, hold him close to your heart where he belonged. “So much it hurt. Every single day. Every first thought of the day, and every last one before falling asleep, was of you. That you were safe. And okay.”

“I need to show you something,” Eddie breathed, stepping away before he extended his hand for you with a dorky little bow that was so Eddie it made you giggle and put happy tears back in your eyes all over again.

Butterflies and sparklers dancing in your chest, you placed your hand in his, the smooth metal of his rings warm against your skin as his fingers gently closed over yours.

And with the soft hoot of an owl somewhere in the distance, and the stars rising in the inky skies above, the warm breeze laced with the scent of flowers and grass and the faint traces of smoke which was rising in pillars from the rip running through the town center, Eddie pulled you along with him, through the trees, away from the clearing and out of the woods.

When the first houses and street lamps were visible through the trees, Eddie came to a halt, a giddy smile on his lips as he turned around to you.

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just close them,” he snickered, and you obliged in time as he stepped behind you, hands settling on your shoulders to guide you for the rest of the way.

“It’s just around the corner.”

With your eyes closed, you let Eddie steer you the last few steps, the soft carpet of rustling dead leaves beneath your feet making way for asphalt as you reached the street, the glow of the street lamps painting orange patterns into the darkness beneath your eyelids while Eddie’s breath stirred your hair.

Just when you were about to inquire how long he was planning on walking you around like that, he came to a halt.

“Gimme one second.” There was a soft creaking sound of metal on metal that sounded like…a car door being opened?

“Are you going to kidnap me?”, you chuckled.

You could feel Eddie’s grin, even with your eyes closed, as he snickered, “Would you like me to?” Voice softening, he added on a whisper, “’kay, you can open your eyes now.”

You did.

A little squeal of surprise bubbled from your lips at the sight in front of you.

At the side of the lonely road parked a van. Another model than Eddie’s old van, a little newer and free of rust but just as big, painted a light blue.

The doors to the back were open, revealing the coziest back of a car you’d ever seen.

The van’s interior was illuminated by strings of battery-powered fairy lights dangling from the ceiling to shed their golden glow like a swarm of fireflies above a large mattress that fully covered the floor, lined by a dozen pillows with tassels and flower prints matching the neatly folded blanket on top of the white bedsheets. And mounted to the windowless wall above the makeshift bed on one side, amidst a sea of band posters, were two guitars – an acoustic one, the words This machine slays dragons written on the wood with white paint, and another familiar one, the dark red surface polished spotless. There was even a small potted houseplant in the corner, on top of what looked like a carved wooden trunk pushed against the back of the passenger seat.

It looked warm and safe and comfortable. It looked like a home.

It felt like a home.

“What –“ you breathed, turning around to Eddie, who was fiddling with the little chain on the sleeve of his leather jacket as he watched you, looking anxious all of a sudden.

“Do you like it? It, um. It was completely bare when Owens’ agents gave me the van, so I tried to turn it into somewhat of a home. It’s not much but…it’s all I could do. I even picked the stuff with the flower stitching. If you…if you still, uh. Wanna come with me. I mean, I wanted you to feel at home but if you’d rather stay in Hawkins, in your actual home, I completely understand. Which is all to ask…” Eddie took a trembling breath, taking your hands in his, the golden glow of the fairy lights dancing in his wide dark eyes as he watched you, before he breathed, “Do you still wanna run away with me, monster slayer? Even if it means you’ll be leaving your home and everything behind to live in the back of a stupid van?”

It felt like your heart would burst with happiness, your own little supernova trapped within the confines of your ribcage.

“My home,” you said, hands locking at the nape of his neck, “Is exactly wherever you are, Eddie Munson. You’re all I’ll ever need.”

You could almost see the weight lifting off his shoulders and heart as your words hovered in the warm sliver of night air between the two of you, the relieved exhale of breath he must’ve been holding as he’d anxiously waited for your reply, as if there was anything that could keep you from him even a single second longer.

And when Eddie’s lips met yours once more, underneath the glittering summer night sky, you felt nothing but happiness. Pure, unfiltered happiness, setting you aglow from within.

You’d lost your songbird three times.

When you’d pushed him away that November night, breaking both your hearts because a broken heart was still a beating one, at least.

When Vecna had taken him, right out of your arms.

And when Hawkins’ festering hatred for everything different had chased him away into hiding.

And yet, each time Eddie Munson had found his way back to you.

If there was such a thing as fate, a thread tying two souls together in love, this was it.

Eddie was your Forever.

With your fingertips grazing his wrist, brushing over the soft silk tied around it, you smiled into the kiss.

Yes, if there was such a thing as a thread of fate, it was a silken green ribbon.

A lucky charm.

The world around the two of you blurred as you lost yourselves in the kisses you shared, growing greedy, feverish, with every passing second. Hawkins and its rage and small-mindedness. The rips running through the ground in the distance, shedding pulsing crimson light into the warm night. The spores floating around you through the air, settling on flowers and roofs, on lamp posts and leaves, like snow, testimony to a poisonous world bleeding into this one.

Maybe it wasn’t the Upside Down which was poisonous. Maybe it was Hawkins as well, the cracks in the ground merely a curtain having been lifted to reveal the ugly truth behind white picket fences and neighborly smiles shared across them, the rot festering behind the neatly painted walls and decorated front doors.

It didn’t matter. None of it.

All that mattered was Eddie, his lips moving against yours, his hands cupping your cheeks and your own fingers tangling in his dark curls.

Never breaking the kiss, you pulled Eddie backwards with you, towards the van with the cozy pillows and fairy lights.

Home.

You settled on the mattress, drawing Eddie with you, the doors of the van shutting with a soft thudding sound as he pulled them close behind him with one hand, the other never letting go of the side of your face, shutting out the world and locking the two of you in your own happy little bubble.

In the peace of the golden glow of the fairy lights glittering from the vehicle’s ceiling like your own personal skyful of stars, making Eddie’s curls shimmer in the softest hues of chocolate and caramel and dancing in his umber eyes as he sat on the mattress in front of you, you pushed the leather jacket off his shoulders, the fabric rustling softly as Eddie shrugged it off the rest of the way – but when your fingertips found the hem of his DIO shirt to lift it, Eddie’s hands shot out, wrapping around yours, and you froze mid-movement.

The sudden change of expression on his face, like a light switch being flipped, made your heart sink.

He looked almost…scared.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, pulling your hands away from the hem of his shirt. And it dawned on you that maybe you’d startled him with the sudden touch, the memory of the agony of the wounds the bats had torn into his skin too fresh. “I’m so sorry,” you said softly, “I didn’t want to –“

“No,” Eddie interrupted quietly, shaking his head vehemently enough to send his wild curls flying, “No, don’t – it’s not that. Just…uh. I…the last time you saw me, there was still…the wounds were still healing. And now it’s…uh…” He took a trembling breath, struggling for words.

“It’s okay,” you smiled, taking his hands in yours. “We don’t have to do anything.”

“I want to,” Eddie said quietly. “Just…I look different.”

The way he said the word different felt like a punch to your gut. Laced with…not disgust, exactly, but insecurity.

He’d only talked about it once, but you didn’t need to be a genius to know someone like Eddie, who’d been different, looked different, for all his life, had experienced his fair share of bullying.

People at Hawkins High had left him alone, for all you knew – but there had always been other ways to bully someone without directly attacking. Vile words whispered loud enough to be heard, cruel names.

You knew the vile little nicknames people had given Eddie. Freak. Trailer trash. Sewer rat.

And no matter how confident he behaved, how he’d worn the name Freak like a shield, armor in battle, those words must have still gotten under his skin, burrowed deep in his mind to plant their roots and grow there like weeds in a beautiful garden.

“It’s me, Eddie. I’m…you don’t need to hide your scars. None of them. Not the visible ones and not the ones nobody can see, you know that, right?”

“Yeah. I know,” he whispered. “Still look like Frankenstein’s monster.” It was meant as a joke to conceal the bitterness underneath, but his voice was hollow all of a sudden. Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest.

He angled his head to the side, making his curls fall forwards to cover his left cheek where the bats had bitten him.

“Scars aren’t ugly,” you said softly. “They tell a story. And yours tell the story of a guy who became a hero and saved the girl he loved. I don’t know about you…but if that isn’t the most beautiful, most metal story, I don’t know what is. And while this is totally on you and if you want to keep your shirt on forever that’s something I’ll learn to live with, but –“

“These things ate my tattoo,” Eddie interrupted, his tone as grave as his expression.

“I know,” you said quietly.

“They ate my nipple as well.”

“I feel it’s time to clarify,” you said slowly, “That the reason I fell in love with you has never been your regular amount of nipples.”

There was a beat of silence as Eddie stared at you, at the sternness that had settled on your features, before the corners of his lips curled into the whisper of a smile. It was fleeting, the span of a heartbeat before it unraveled again.

“It’s bad,” Eddie said quietly.

And slowly, as if fighting some inner voice screaming at him to stop, Eddie grasped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, tousling his curls in the process.

You’d seen his wounds that night, had tried to staunch the bleeding. You’d seen the damage afterwards every time you’d cleaned them and changed the bandages.

But still, you hadn’t been prepared for the pain in your chest at the sight of the scars which had stayed behind, the memory of death and agony, so much agony, the terror of all he’d gone through that night forever tattooed into Eddie’s pale skin.

A pattern of raised silver lines was painting his entire chest. From his neck downwards, disappearing beneath the waistband of his ripped jeans, the shape of dozens of gaping maws and curved talons.

Marks on Eddie’s skin to match those that night had left on his soul, nightmares which would accompany him for the rest of his life.

It was unfair, so horribly unfair, that he had to be reminded of them with every glance in the mirror.

It took so much resolve to fight back the images which had etched themselves into your own mind. Memories of Eddie, bleeding and dying in your arms. These few minutes in which his eyes had been empty, the life gone from them, an unseeing stare at a starless sky of eternal night. Of the way Vecna had tied his soul to one of his pillars, a beautiful, broken butterfly trapped in a spider’s web. Eddie’s screams of agony –

“Told ya it’s bad,” Eddie whispered into the shaken silence, reaching for the discarded band shirt to cover his chest again as you blinked back your tears.

“No,” you murmured, and his hand stilled, fist clamped around the hem of the shirt in his lap as he watched you inch closer to carefully cradle his face, “It’s just the memories of that night.”

But maybe you could combat those horrid memories summoned by those scars. Banish those restless, angry spirits with something good.

Until seeing these scars would lose its sting for Eddie.

Swallowing back the lump which had started to grow in your throat, you slowly leaned in, pressing the most delicate of kisses on Eddie’s lips before you whispered, “Can you lay down?”

You could see the confusion shining in Eddie’s umber eyes, but with the tiniest, most timid nod, he sunk down onto the mattress, his curls fanned out around his head like a dark crown and his gaze never leaving yours.

With the softest of smiles, you leaned down, brushing the curls away from the side of his face to place a kiss on the silver scar on his cheek, before you pulled away to glance down at him.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, eyes still wide with nerves. “I can put the shirt back on if –“

“You’re beautiful, Eddie Munson,” you said softly, tracing the scar on his cheek with the tip of your index finger. “With and without scars. I just hate the memories they conjure. But you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, and nothing will ever change that. Nothing, do you hear me? And I’ll spend the rest of our lives to prove it to you.”

You could tell Eddie was ringing with his words, and his tears – but he didn’t need to reply. You could see the relief shining in his dark eyes, the devotion for you dancing within them alongside the reflection of the fairy lights above, as you bent down to place another kiss on the corner of his lips.

“Does it still hurt?”

Eddie shook his head. “No. Just feels a little weird sometimes but…that’s all.”

“Can I…?” Your words faded into the slim space between the two of you, with Eddie’s lips mere inches from your own as your fingertips hovered over the silver line zig-zagging across his left cheek.

Watching you carefully, Eddie gave a soft nod.

Never breaking eye contact, you let your fingertips gently graze the jagged silver line running across Eddie’s cheek, slowly tracing the faded bite mark down to his jaw, the brush of your fingers as delicate as the veins in a dragonfly’s wing.

You could feel Eddie’s umber gaze resting on you, like sunrays on your skin.

This, right now, was the first time you were actually free, you realized.

No heartbreak standing between the two of you, no battle drawing closer, no time running out.

Just Eddie and you. Together at last.

His breath hitched as your fingertips followed the line of his jaw and down the column of his throat, and you stilled.

“Did that – hurt?”

Eddie’s lips pulled into a soft smile. “Hell, no. That feels good.”

You leaned down to place a kiss on the corner of his mouth, feeling his smile on your lips before you moved on to place a second kiss on the mark the bat’s teeth had left on his cheek, his curls tickling the side of your face. And with your heart overflowing with love for Eddie, your songbird with the sunshine in his smiles not even Vecna and his monsters had managed to steal, the music in his voice and the life, so much life and warmth in his umber eyes, you began to trail feathery kisses down the pattern of scars on the side of his neck, until each silver line was covered with a kiss, carefully observing Eddie’s reactions, ready to pull away at the slightest sign of discomfort.

But there was no discomfort.

With a smile unfurling on his soft lips, Eddie angled his head, melting into your kisses as you felt him starting to relax beneath you with each feather-light kiss, the tension leaving his body, and tears of joy stung in your eyes as you felt his pulse flutter right beneath your lips in the spot below his ear.

I will always, always come back to you, monster slayer. Eddie’s words, whispered between kisses on the clearing right before you’d headed into battle, came back to you. I promise.

And Eddie Munson had kept that promise, over and over again – even through death.

You trailed kisses down the lines of scars crisscrossing the column of his throat as Eddie’s hand travelled down your spine, shivers running through him with each kiss you placed on his bare skin.

It would take some time, to kiss the bad memories away. Maybe it would take forever.

But time, finally, was what you had.

An entire lifetime.

You followed the path of jagged silver lines downwards to his collarbones, to his chest, a lingering kiss for every healed bite wound until every square inch of Eddie’s skin was covered in your kisses.

You could hear the way his breath hitched with each lingering kiss you placed on his scars, laced with all the words you wanted to whisper to him but couldn’t because the tidal wave of love and happiness immersing you had washed away your voice.

You’re beautiful.

I missed you.

I love you.

I love you so much.

Eddie understood them, anyways.

The soft sighs spilling from his lips, the way his breaths had turned into panting, was spurring you on as you let your lips wander down his happy trail to the waistband of his ripped jeans, fingers already working to undo the buckle of his belt, your movements slow enough for him to stop you should he wish to.

When the button of his fly came undone beneath your fingertips, your gaze met his, his eyes wide and pupils blown with arousal as he leaned up on one elbow, his index finger tracing the side of your face.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t…I mean, you don’t. Yeah. Don’t have to.”

You smiled. “And if I want to?”

A timid grin lighting up his features, Eddie rasped, “Then I’m all yours.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice.

You pushed the ripped jeans down to free the already impressive bulge in his pants, and the sound spilling from his parted lips as your hand wrapped around him went straight to your own core, the embers already having built there with each kiss you’d shared.

Your eyes never leaving his, relishing the sight of the darkness of Eddie’s blown pupils, so wide that they seemed to eclipse the umber color of his irises, the blush dusting his cheeks and the way his lips parted for another sweet sigh as he watched you intently, you placed a kiss on his shaft, lips following the outline of the vein leading to his tip, and your smile widened at the shudder running through Eddie before he let his head fall back onto the pillow.

“Jesus H Christ, monster slayer,” he groaned, voice strained with arousal, “This is – “

He was cut off by the wanton moan spilling from his lips as you let your tongue graze his tip to test the waters, feeling him twitch in your grasp.

“You sure you good?”, Eddie breathed, and your heart felt like it would overflow with love for him as you raised your head to watch him, a blushing, flustered mess beneath your touches. You wished he could see how beautiful he looked.

“Better than good,” you whispered. And wrapped your lips around him, the swirl of your tongue around his tip coaxing another lewd moan from him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, fingers digging into the mattress before he sat up, gently cupping your face to guide you away from him to sit up.

“This is fucking amazing but I can’t go a single goddamn second longer without kissing you, sweetheart.”

And when Eddie’s lips met yours again as he pulled you into his lap, it felt as if every single cell in your body was thrumming with your need for him, to feel him closer still, his fingertips caressing the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck, tasting him, engulfed in his scent and warmth and arms, you knew that everything would be okay. It already was.

Lips moving against his, feeling his hardened length press against the insides of your thighs to fuel the flames licking at your core, your hand settled on Eddie’s chest, the pattern of scars and his heartbeat, steady and strong and racing against your palm reminding you that this was real, that he was here. Not just a beautiful dream, but reality.

It felt like sunlight glittering in the surface of a lake, like a hot chocolate in the middle of winter, the first flowers of spring breaking through the ice on the ground.

“I missed you,” Eddie breathed into the greedy kiss, before pulling back, just enough to look at you with all the love and adoration you were feeling in your own chest, “So fucking much, monster slayer. Not just this, but…everything. Your laugh. The way you giggle right before telling me something funny. How you frown when you concentrate on something. The way it feels when you’re in my arms. Shit.”

“I missed you, too,” you murmured into the space between you. “I missed you so much it hurt.”

When Eddie’s lips were on yours again, the intensity of the kisses growing along that glowing need in your core, his teeth gently grazing your bottom lip to drive you even crazier with need, you rolled your hips against his, clothed core rubbing against his length to cause the sweetest friction and draw a lovely moan from Eddie’s lips.

“I’m gonna take that dress off, now, ‘kay?”, he whispered, smiling into the kiss as you replied with a breathless nod.

But he didn’t just reach around you to undo the zipper on your back.

Instead, his hands settled on your arms, gently indicating for you to turn around, and you obliged, careful not to bump your head against the fairy lights strung along the van’s ceiling in the process.

But instead of the sensation of the zipper at the back of your dress being opened, you could feel Eddie inch closer, his breath fanning across the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck to send pleasant shivers down your spine, collecting right at your core to make arousal pool between your legs.

And when Eddie’s lips brushed over the spot at the top of your spine, the softest sigh spilled from your lips to float along the golden glow of the fairy lights.

You could feel him shift on the mattress behind you, sense the soft smile on his lips as he placed a second kiss on the spot below, curls tickling your back and breath ghosting across your skin like a caress of his own as he took his sweet time to grasp the zipper.

“You’re a tease, Eddie Munson,” you half-snickered, half-moaned as he placed a third kiss to the spot right between your shoulder-blades, the sensation of his soft lips on your skin sending warmth through your body, every single nerve ablaze and zoning in on his touches as you let your head fall back.

Eddie chuckled. With feigned shock, he crooned, “What, did you think I’d just shove up the dress and have my way with you? Nope. ‘M gonna worship my girl just like she deserves.

“Does that mean we can never have a quickie?”, you teased, and the sound of Eddie’s soft snicker travelled right along your spine to make your walls flutter with the need to finally feel him as he placed another lingering kiss to the spot between your shoulder blades.

“We’re never gonna need to have a quickie. We got all the time in the world.”

The sound of the zipper filled the air as Eddie slowly, so achingly slowly, pulled it down to open your dress, inch by inch, a string of kisses following in the zipper’s wake that made your back arch beneath the touch.

But before you could protest the slowness of the movement, beg for him to stop teasing, Eddie’s fingertips roamed down your side, before they dipped beneath the waistband of your panties.

“Oh god,” you groaned, head falling back against Eddie’s shoulder as he spread the wetness of your arousal, fingertips grazing the swollen nub of your clit, and you bucked your hips to meet his hand.

“That all for me?”, Eddie breathed, lips brushing over the side of your neck as his voice, laced with marvel, travelled through your body alongside the sizzling waves of pleasure as he let his fingers slowly swirl around your clit.

“One day,” you moaned softly, “You’ll stop asking this question and realize how fucking hot you are, Eddie.”

Your voice broke, shattering into another lewd moan when Eddie’s teeth grazed the spot right below your ear, where your pulse was thundering against his lips as his fingers danced over that sweet, sweet spot at the apex of your thigs, your hips rolling in tune with his movements to chase the friction of his fingers, the smooth, warm metal of his rings brushing against your skin as you reached over your shoulder to bury your fingers in his curls – but it wasn’t enough.

“I need you,” you murmured, “Now.”

With a soft chuckle, Eddie hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your panties to help you pull them off, but you didn’t want to wait a single second longer.

With deft hands, you reached down and ripped them away, the sound of tearing silk filling the air as you turned to straddle Eddie, a giggle spilling from your lips at the sight of his stunned expression, umber eyes wide with surprise as his lips tucked into a disbelieving grin.

“Can’t take all my panties on the run with me, anyways,” you grinned.

“What the fuck, how many panties do you have?”

“Enough to tear a few more to shreds.”

Eddie’s quiet laugh faded into the space between you, so close that you could feel his breath prickling on your lips as you reached down to pull the glittering dress over your head.

The warm air inside the van-turned-home kissed your skin as you discarded the garment beside Eddie’s band shirt.

“You’re so fucking beautiful it still takes my breath away every time,” Eddie whispered, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose as his hands gently wandered over your breasts, the caress beautifully innocent as his wide eyes locked on yours.

The fairy lights above were reflecting in the seas of black of his dilated pupils like a sea of tiny stars, painting streaks of gold into his dark lashes as he watched you reverently.

He was nearly close enough for his heart to flutter against your own.

“Kiss me,” you whispered.

Eddie was more than happy to comply.

As you shifted on his lap, his tip dragging over your folds with the movement to cause the glowing sensation of pleasure to flare in your belly again, Eddie’s kisses were sweet as maple syrup, slow and passionate, his tongue swirling across your bottom lip as you aligned yourself with him.

And with the loveliest moan spilling from his lips into the open-mouthed kiss, you sunk onto him, burying him deep in your core, drowning in the bliss of being as close to him as humanly possible.

No matter how much you craved our release, you stayed like this for a few heartbeats, kissing, simply relishing the feeling of each other as your bodies melted into each other, linked the same way as your souls while the world around you, the rips in the ground and the spores in the air, the final battle still ahead somewhere on the horizon, faded, drowned out by the duet of your hearts beating in perfect synchrony, their wild tune quickening as you shuffled closer, your chest pressed flush against Eddie’s.

You could feel the rise and fall of his chest with every breath, the pattern of scars pressing against your skin, the warmth of him as he shifted his hips a little, burrowing himself deeper in your core and dragging a blissed-out groan from the back of your throat.

You’d never get enough of this feeling.

Of him.

One of Eddie’s hands settled on the back of your head to deepen the kiss as you adjusted to him, his fingertips tracing your spine down to your shoulder blades and back up again as his other hand caressed your side, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

“I love you,” Eddie whispered in-between kisses. “I love you so much, monster slayer.”

“I love you, too,” you breathed, starting to slowly roll your hips against his. “I will always, always love you, Eddie Munson.”

[Friday, September 12th, 1986.

Six Days Later.]

“Hey there, fair maiden.”

The voice was soft, barely audible over the roar of the waves, and your head snapped up as Eddie slowly sat in the sand beside you, the water swirling around his bare feet.

“I woke up at the ass-crack of dawn and you were gone,” he said softly, nudging his shoulder against yours, “Thought I’d find you here. Didn’t think I’d find you sobbing, though.”

The lightheartedness in his voice couldn’t conceal the worry simmering beneath as his umber eyes found yours in the half-light of the sunrise.

“Happy tears,” you whispered.

Eddie cocked an eyebrow.

Your tiny smile grew into a full-blown grin as you reached out to tug a few of the stray curls the ocean breeze had blown into his face back behind his ear.

“Happy tears. I promise those are happy tears.”

It was the truth.

“No nightmares tonight,” you added softly, taking his hand in yours to play with the ends of the green silk ribbon tied around his wrist.

“No nightmares,” Eddie smiled. He’d told you how horrible the nights had been for him in those three months apart ever since he’d left Hawkins – and you’d understood. It had been the same for you.

But now, with him falling asleep beside you every night, his arms around you and the soft sounds of his breathing filling the air inside the van, his heartbeat thrumming against yours in a slow, steady rhythm, the nightmares started to lose their edge. Whenever you felt Eddie grew restless beside you, you pulled him into your arms, fingers carding through his curls to calm him before the nightmares could ever really reach him.

None of them would ever fully fade – not Eddie’s nightmares, and not your own.

But the monster’s teeth had been pulled out by each other’s presence.

And no matter what your mind showed you in your sleep sometimes…as long as Eddie was beside you when your eyes flew open, everything was good.

“I’m happy,” you said softly, resting your cheek against his shoulder.

And you meant it.

He smelled of sleep and warmth, the faintest traces of cigarettes and cheap cologne, and the salt of the ocean. It was as if Eddie’s curls were soaking up the scent of the Californian air. Salt and sunshine and wind.

“So am I,” Eddie whispered, resting his cheek against the crown of your head.

“Is that wrong?”

“To be happy?”

“Yeah. I mean, Hawkins is ripped apart. Vecna is out there, licking his wounds. He’s not gone. But still…I know they’ll always be able to reach us.” Dustin had given the two of you his walkie when you’d parted ways with your friends right before dusk after the night of your little prom.

You’d all danced and laughed together that night after Eddie and you had joined the others at the cabin, ruffled and flustered, but apart from a knowing smirk from Robin and Nance and a sigh from Steve, none of them had commented on it. You’d all shared stories with Eddie from the previous years, the happier stories. His favorite had probably been that of Dustin accidentally adopting a baby-Demogorgon, the anecdote having made Steve groan in exasperation. It might be your favorite story, too.

And when the time had come to say good-bye, the tear-stained faces of your friends matching your own, you’d all known it wasn’t a forever-goodbye. No matter when Eddie’s name would be cleared, you would never return to Hawkins. But you’d see them again.

For now, they were safe.

And if the tides turned…Eddie and you would return for one final battle.

And this time, win.

You knew it with all your heart.

“It’s never wrong to be happy, sweetheart,” Eddie breathed, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. “The happy was what saved us from Vecna. So…we’ll collect it. Like polaroids in an album. And no matter how hard he might try, Vecna will be powerless against that. It’s our shield.”

His voice had taken on a solemn hue. You wondered whether that was his dungeon master voice. You loved it when he talked like that – and you were pretty sure Eddie himself never even realized that little shift.

Having been so caught up in your own musings, you let out a surprised little squeal when Eddie jumped up all of a sudden, water splashing around him as he gave you the most radiant grin while he extended his hand towards you as he sank into a deep bow.

“May I have this dance, my lady?”

You giggled. “To what music, my lord?”, you teased as you placed your hand in his, watching his ringed fingers wrap around yours as he pulled you to your feet.

“I thought I was your songbird,” he grinned.

His beautiful umber eyes, sparkling with life and joy and love as they rested on yours, flashed as Eddie placed his hands on your hips, pulling you closer until your chest was pressed flush against his, heartbeat to heartbeat, resting his forehead against yours while your hands locked at the nape of his neck, fingertips tangling in his soft dark curls.

And with a smile on his lips, Eddie started to sing, his voice soft and low as it laced with the gentle sound of the waves, rising to a beautiful croon like a cresting wave.

“Woke up to the sound of pouring rain

The wind would whisper and I'd think of you And all the tears you cried – they called my name And when you needed me I came through.”

He guided you through the slow steps of the dance as he wove the song, the warm water of the ocean sloshing around your bare feet. “Remember yesterday - walking hand in hand Love letters in the sands - I remember you And through the sleepless nights, through every endless day I wanna hear you say, "I remember you."” You felt like your skin was aglow, the sunlight Eddie was putting into your chest warm and radiant, a flood of happiness – raw, unfiltered happiness – engulfing you as he led you through a little spin, nuzzling your nose as he pulled you back against him.

“We've had our share of hard times But that's the price we paid. And through it all we kept the promise that we made I swear you'll never be lonely.”

You wished there was a way to go back in time, to pull that frightened, haunted girl from the clearing that September night into your arms and tell her that everything would be okay. That there was love waiting for her, the kind of love she’d thought she’d never find – never deserve. “Woke up to the sound of pouring rain Washed away a dream of you But nothing else could ever take you away 'Cause you'll always be my dream come true Oh my darling, I love you.”

And a happy ending.

“Through all the sleepless nights, through every endless day I wanna hear you say, "I remember, I remember you!"”

“I love you, monster slayer,” Eddie whispered into the kiss.

Your hand settled on his chest, over his heartbeat, while you gazed into his beautiful umber eyes as the sun rose above the glittering waves on the horizon, painting a golden crown around Eddie’s dark curls and putting streaks of caramel into the strands.

“And I will always, always love you, Eddie Munson.”

There were more battles to fight, a war to win. A monster to slay, the most dangerous and powerful of them all.

But Eddie was here, the life back in his eyes.

And you knew, with all your heart, that it would stay there. That everything would be okay. It always would be.

You were the best team, after all.

The cheerleader and the freak.

The freak and the slut.

The monster slayer and her songbird.

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

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope the ending made you as happy as it did for me 🖤 With season 5, I might add a chapter - or rather, a few - to Eddie and monster slayer’s story - but for now, this is the end of the main story. There will be bonus chapters, though, some of which I’ve plotted out already, but if there’s anything in particular you’d like to read within the world of Worlds Apart, requests for bonus chapters are open now! 🖤

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things 4 #stranger things eddie #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #stranger things #stranger things x you #stranger things 4 fix it #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #joe quinn

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yoursecondfirstlove · 2 years

Text

🌘Little muffin🌔

P.2 P.3 P.4 P.5

Moon boys x f!reader

(Steven Grant x reader, Marc Spector x reader , Jake Lockley x reader)

(Y/n) thinks Steven is just the cutest little thing leaving Steven a blushing mess and Marc and Jake seething

Word count: 1598 words

Warnings: f!reader, light description of violence/gore, reader has powers (never specified what), FLUFF, Steven being a little cutie, Marc and Jake being jealous little goblins

(Y/n) had been working with Marc for a while. If he (or anyone else that knew her for that matter) needed anything he called her in. She was powerful, powerful enough to hold her own against any avenger, and while Marc knew he could handle most things himself he always went running to her when he needed things to be easy, when he couldn’t afford plans to not go without a hitch. That’s exactly what got her here, poking around some documents recording some ancient Egyptian structure.

It’s not that she didn’t like working with Marc, quite the opposite. Obviously she thought he was handsome as anything and she loved working with someone as capable as he is, in this line of work you get pretty damn used to incompetence. She did wish he was a little more open with her though. They’d been working together for years and she only recently found out about his DID.

It happened a few months ago. He’d called her in for some random job or another, Marc had been surrounded but assured (Y/n) he’d be fine and she had to leave him to do what she needed to do, she was reluctant of course but the urgency in his voice convinced her. The second she was finished she rushed back to come to his aid to discover he didn’t need it, body’s littered the ground that surrounded him, clearly beaten with animalistic aggression. Then she saw his face, just looking at him she already knew he wasn’t Marc. His eyes were so primal, she knew Marc, she knew despite his situation he considered it incredibly important to retain some level of composure. But the eyes she saw held no composure, only untamed rage. After a moment of staring at each other his eyes rolled back and his demeanour changed entirely. He looked around, disguising the fact he had only just discovered the scene for himself. “We gotta go, come on” he said as be began speed walking away. (Y/n) refused to leave the incident unaddressed “who was that?” She was hot on his heels as he attempted to get away from her “who was who?” He shot back dismissively. (Y/n) caught Marc’s wrist in her grasp, he whipped around to face her, “I’ve known you far too long for you to pull the wool over my eyes now” he knew he was trapped so he told her everything.

She likes knowing what was up with him of course, he was her friend, a friend she had a massive crush on, but her friend nonetheless. She hadn’t become acquainted with the rest however, she had never seen Jake outside the of the (ahem) “incident” and she had never met Steven at all, but safe to say she was eager to. So imagine her delight when a task needed a certain level of Egyptology knowledge and they had no choice but to have Steven tag in.

(Y/n) sat lounged in an arm chair, completely held together by mending stitches, in a beaten down flat that (Y/n) had taken as a kind of safe house, filled with weapons and “trophies” she had taken from an memorable foes she’d taken down. The place quite frankly was a mess, a mess of papers and stolen files, the table was heavily battered and messily repaired from the times she’d had to use it as a shield from any attacks, hell the bed wasn’t much of a bed at all, it was a mattress placed atop storage drawers and pushed up to use the wall as a makeshift headboard. Some would say it was grim but (y/n) would persist that it simply had personality.

A familiar patterned knock echoed from the door before it opened and Marc came in. “What’s going on” he knew the look on her face, her bottom lip grasped in her teeth, he eyebrows furrowed, she even had her leg extended to rest her foot on the wall, marked black from how many times she’s been in this exact position before. Despite her clear irritation Marc still had to stop a moment to just…look at her. He had been silently pining for her for damn near as long as he’d known her and seeing her all grumping and brooding made a small smile too hard to resist. “What’s wrong with you?” He asked, a slight laugh caught in his tone. She looked up at him “this shit is a puzzle” an amused scoff tore out Marc’s throat “what?” (Y/n) swung her leg back from over the arm of her chair and stood up walking over to her war damaged table, she pointed to what appeared to be some blueprints, they were old and tattered, she slid them over to him. He looked at them and his brain could hardly put together what in gods name he was looking at. “This is where your artefact is being kept, but, the whole building is a puzzle” Marc turned his gaze to her incredulously “the whole building?” “Yes” “a puzzle?” “the whole building is a puzzle yes” “the WHOLE building?” “Jesus fuck Marc yes, the whole fucking building.” Marc put both his hands on his face and groaned “okay…yeah okay we’ll figure this out” he said as he dawned a tight jawed thinking face. After a few seconds his expression softened as he abruptly said “no.” (Y/n) immediately figured he must have been talking to one of the others “what are they saying?” She leaned in, eager to hear any solutions. Marc caught her gaze with his own before looking away “Steven says he could figure it out…” oh if she wasn’t excited for a solution before she certainly is now. “Perfect! Let him at it!” Marc quickly reeled his head back as if it was the most ridiculous suggestion he’d ever heard “no! No that’s a bad idea” (y/n) squinted at him suspiciously “why?” Marc let out a heavy breath “because…because if you meet him or Jake like…officially things they just. They just get complicated.” She stood for a second, she didn’t care if it got complicated, not that she even thought it would, all that would change is she’d have two more incredibly good looking friends. Marc knew better though, he knew that from what his other two headmates had seen they too had developed their own crushes on her. Whispered praises of how amazing or beautiful she was in certain moments from Steven and frustrated shouting from Jake to ‘just fuckin kiss ‘er already!’ No, he knew if either of them got to actually interact with her they’d only become more helpless to her charm. That being said, he didn’t possess the knowledge to decipher this bitch of a puzzle but with how complicated it looks it would even take Steven a while, if Steven tried to solve it from the inside he’d run out of energy quick and they can’t afford to go slow enough for him to recharge. In all honesty Marc didn’t have much of a choice. It was at this point Marc realised he hadn’t spoke. In a while and (y/n) was just stood looking at him expectantly, he glowered for a moment, clearly frustrated as he finally huffed out “shit! Fine okay, fine” immediately surrendering control.

(Y/n) felt her excitement bubble up as Marc’s stance and demeanour shifted instantly. He brought his hands from his hips to lightly intertwine in front of him, his face softened more than she’d ever seen and he brought his legs in making his stance less boxy and more meek. He politely smiled before giving Marc a sweet “cheers mate!” He immediately got to work examining the tatter blueprints. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion but not like angry brooding look Marc gets, more like a kitten looking at fish on an ipad. He continues to examine the documents, occasionally scrunching his face a little and pointing at certain parts as he scrutinised them. The entire time (y/n) stared at him, she obviously knew this man wasn’t Marc but the different was staggering and the entire time she only thought one thing. After a while Steven looked up at her “my…this one’s a doozy innit?” He smiled at her. Before thinking she knew there was something she had to vocalise “you’re just a little muffin aren’t you” Steven was immediately taken aback “sorry?” (Y/n) laughed “you’re just the cutest thing in the world” immediately Stevens ears set on fire, red heat rose in his face as he laughed, completely shocked, he had never in his life received this kind of attention from any woman, especially not a woman that looked like, well….HER! “I-“ he began but interrupted himself with another huff of shock “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean” (y/n) just giggled at him making his blush even hotter.

To break out of his flushed state he decided to change the subject “you know it might be a little easier to read these if I…” he pulled a pair of reading classes out of his inner pocket and slid them up the bridge of his nose returning to his examination of the documents. (Y/n) broke even more “oh my god! You have little glasses?” She brought her hands to her face giggling a little “you’re too cute I can’t handle it!” Marc and Jake were screaming ‘give me back the body! Solve it from the inside’ ‘why the fuck do YOU get all this gushin’ Steven ignored them entirely, he may have been enjoying the attention from her just a bit too much.

A/n: should I make this a series? I’m not sure tbh

#steven grant x reader #steven grant #moon knight #moon knight x reader #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #marc spector #marc spector x reader #moon boys x reader #x reader #f!reader

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euphoniumpets · 1 year

Text

THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM | CHAPTER EIGHT

Prompt: ''As long as I can rememer, I've been protecting Alina, it's always Alina who I will protect,'' You told him, looking at Nikolai. ''But who will protect you?''

Warnings: Violence, blood and gore.

Please don’t plagiarize my work - I spend a lot of my time writing, copying and pasting destroys that.

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x Starkov! Reader

Tag list: @lyria-skyfall@khaleesihavilliard@shine101 @waddlingwanderer @clqudias @ducks118 @xceafh@peakyispunk @wilmasvensson @parbatai-winchester @priincehoseok@riot-in-my-soulsoul @feyredarling92 @vendy021 @ssprayberrythings @goldenpoison @shine101 @lili-of-the-dream @xushisuxi @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @jennylil @themermaidscales82

Tag list are closed!

A/N: things are tense y'all in this chapter, be prepared.

old masterlist | navi | new masterlist

prologue - one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten - eleven - epilogue

Your heart was breaking and pounded heavily against your chest as you walked through the castle to the underground with everyone else. You and Nikolai had led everyone to safety down to the tunnels. You kept an eye out for the Nichevo’ya, in case one of them would follow after you and the others, but they seemed content to feast on those who were left behind in the ballroom.

You were focused on ensuring that the Nichevo’ya weren’t following, however, you stopped in your tracks. You felt something strange at the tip of your stomach. You turned your head around slowly when you saw a figure in the hallway. You glanced back at the crowd where Nikolai had led the others before you decided to follow after.

You walked around a corner but frowned when the figure disappeared in confusion. ‘’It’s good to see you, Y/N,’’ You turned around with a gasp when you saw him. Your blood ran cold when you saw Aleksander standing in front of you. ‘’You’re not real,’’ You sneered.

‘’I’ve seen that you’re stronger and not the same naive little girl I met months ago,’’ He replied softly. ‘’I always told you that you were meant for more,’’ He spoke with a soft smile on his face.

‘’Power suits you,’’ He replied as he gestured to your kefta.

‘’Stay away from me,’’ You growled. ‘’I’m trying to protect you,’’ Aleksander replied, making you scoff at his comment. ‘’By luring me away?’’ You questioned. ‘’To keep you safe,’’ He stated with confusion written on his face. You didn’t believe his words. ‘’To kill them,’’ You corrected and began to step away from him when he started to walk closer toward you. ‘’Only the Lantsovs,’’ He answered and you looked at him.

‘’But my creations are somewhat unpredictable,’’ He murmured and you looked at him with fear.

‘’Not unlike you,’’ He commented. ‘’Get out of my head,’’ You snapped as you heard him chuckle.

‘’Ever wondered why, Y/N, why do we feel connected?’’ He wondered and looked at you with a thoughtful look on his face. ‘’What do you mean?’’ You asked dumbfounded. Aleksander scanned your face before he answered. ‘’You and I both know that we have a connection, not the kind of connection that Alina and I have,’’ He replied.

‘’And that makes me wonder…’’ He trailed off his sentence. ‘’What makes you so special,’’

‘’Get out of my head,’’ You replied. ‘’My dear,’’ Aleksander chuckled. ‘’I am very real and you should know, that I care about you,’’ Aleksander spoke. You were about to say something back before you heard a voice and footsteps coming toward you.

‘’Y/N!’’ You heard Nikolai’s voice shout and you saw him with a distressed expression on his face. You turned around and before you could do anything, one of the Nichevo’ya appeared in front of you. ‘’No!’’ You shouted when the Nichhevo’ya tossed Nikolai into the wall and sent him falling to the ground unconscious.

You ran toward Nikolai as you turned around him to face you. ‘’Come on, wake up you arrogant prince,’’ You replied as you tried to shake him awake. You heard a growl and you realized that Aleksander had disappeared. You shielded your body in front of Nikolai as you looked at the Nichevo’ya with fear. You realized that this was one of the scariest things you’d been. You feared for your life, but most of all, you were terrified of losing Nikolai.

But most of all you were angry. Angry toward Aleksander of what he’d done to you. About what he has done to Alina and her powers. To Ravka and creating the Fold and the Nichevo’ya. You felt anger rising through and then you felt it.

You felt the same power when you first time summoned the Firebird within you back at the Little Palace. The anger and the fire that rose when the Nichevo’ya growled at you. You rose to your feet and then before you even knew it, you shifted your hands in motion before using your powers toward the Nichevo’ya.

You saw the familiar cut being thrown at the Nichevo’ya as the nothing disappeared with golden flares. Looking down at your hands with a stunned expression, you didn’t hesitate to turn back to Nikolai who still was knocked out. ‘’Nikolai, wake up,’’ You murmured as you tried to wake him up.

He wouldn’t move an inch and you let out a sigh. You thought for a moment before slapping his cheek. Nikolai woke up with a startled expression but calmed down when he saw you in front of him. ‘’What happened?’’ He questioned as he felt the pain from your hand. ‘’The Nichevo’ya, you got thrown into the wall,’’ You explained.

Nikolai frowned and looked at you. ‘’How did you escape?’’ He asked and you looked at him. ‘’I’m not sure, it just disappeared,’’ Nikolai scanned your face and noticed that you were lying. Nikolai didn’t have to be a heartrender to sense that you were lying to him, but he knew you.

You and Nikolai didn’t say anything when you walked back to the tunnels. You could feel his eyes glancing at you now and then and it was making you nervous. You hoped that he didn’t have a suspicion toward you yet. When you walked down the tunnels, you tried to look for a certain familiar face and you breathed out in relief when you saw Alina calling your name.

‘’Saints,’’ You breathed out when Alina embraced you tightly. ‘’What happened? We thought that you were already behind us, Nikolai had to get back to find you,’’ Alina answered as you looked at her and didn’t know what to say. ‘’He was?’’ You asked her. ‘’Believe me, he wasn’t going to say no, I tried to convince him that you could take care of yourself,’’ Alina whispered and glanced at Nikolai.

You looked at Nikolai and saw him talking to his mother not far from you. ‘’Where’s Mal?’’ You asked her and changed the subject. ‘’I don’t know,’’ Alina answered with concern on her face. ‘’I just hope that he’s alive,’’ Alina replied. You were about to say something back when you saw the shadows coming through the underground. Nikolai grabbed a rifle and stood in front of you and Alina protectively.

‘’There’s an above-ground exit further down, gather the wounded and go,’’ Nikolai ordered and looked at Nadia before turning to you. ‘’You go with Nadia,’’ Nikolai replied, and you looked at him with disbelief. ‘’I’m staying here,’’ You replied. Nikolai sighed and looked at you. ‘’Not a chance, I’m not risking your life,’’ He argued.

‘’Are we gonna argue that now? Like hell that I’m going to allow you to stay here alone,’’ You replied stubbornly. ‘’There’s a fort south of Kribirsk called Zvedya, go there and find Dominik Vertov,’’ Nikolai informed and you shook your head. ‘’No,’’ You replied and he looked at you. ‘’Y/N this isn’t the time to negotiate,’’ Nikolai replied sternly. You were about to open your mouth before you heard a familiar voice.

‘’Stupid girl, how long are you going to make us wait before you show us a way down?’’ You and Alina exchanged a look of confusion. ‘’Baghra?’’ You questioned.

‘’Baghra,’’ You spoke as you saw her approaching you, Nikolai, and Alina. ‘’Hardly the Little Palace, but here we are,’’

‘’You’re the Grisha teacher,’’ You heard Nikolai reply with astonishment. ‘’The puppy prince,’’ Bagrha responded and looked at him. ‘’I always imagined you were a myth,’’ Nikolai said as Baghra looked at him. ‘’Well, myth no more, boy this country has been destroyed, my question is: will you be the one to make it right?’’ Baghra questioned and narrowed her eyes.

‘’Genya,’’ You spoke as relief washed over you when you saw the familiar red-haired woman approach. Genya didn’t say anything but looked at you with sadness and it was then you saw the marks on her face. You and Alina approached her before embracing her tightly before you let go of her.

‘’What happened?’’ Alina asked and looked at her face with pity and sadness. ‘’Who do you think, girl?’’ You heard Baghra's question. ‘’Kirigian did this to you?’’ Alina asked and caressed her face carefully. ‘’His Nichevo’ya,’’ Genya stuttered. ‘’Oh, Genya,’’ You replied softly before placing a hand on her shoulder for comfort.

‘’Genya?’’ Nikolai spoke as he looked at her. ‘’Genya Safin?’’ He questioned, making you turn to look at him. ‘’The Grisha who poisoned the king?’’ Nikolai replied and began to walk closer as you heard his voice was filled with fury. You shielded your body in front of Genya protectively and glared at Nikolai.

‘’Moi Tsarevich,’�� Genya said from behind. ‘’Moi Tsar, he’s your king now,’’ Tamar commented and looked at Genya. ‘’No, not until the coronation,’’ Nikolai replied. ‘’At which time, you’ll stand trial for treason against your crown and country,’’ Nikolai spoke and you scoffed.

‘’No she won’t,’’ You replied sternly. ‘’She colluded with the Darkling,’’ Nikolai replied and looked at you with anger. ‘’She did what she had to survive,’’ You spoke and looked at him. ‘’Not everyone was as lucky as you to escape the Grand Palace,’’ You sneered.

‘’You were away for too many years, Sobachka,’’ Baghra replied and looked at Nikolai. ‘’Even so, you know what your family is capable of,’’ Baghra replied. Nikolai looked at you as you shielded your body in front of Genya protectively.

‘’Did he force you?’’ Nikolai asked. ‘’I…’’ Genya began to say. ‘’I never sought his attention,’’ Genya replied and didn’t meet his eyes. ‘’The king no longer lives to pay for his crimes, you cannot punish her for this,’’ You replied and looked at Nikolai.

‘’Her allegiance no longer lies with the Darkling?’’ Nikolai questioned and you stepped closer to him. ‘’Look at what he did to her!’’ You shouted and felt anger rising through your body as you pointed at Genya. Nikolai looked at you with shock as you saw Baghras's expression, giving you a deadpanned look. ‘’Kirigian manipulated her, as he did all of us,’’ Alina spoke as you tried to be calm. Nikolai turned around to think before he turned back and faced Genya. ‘’You’re safe here, as a future King of Ravka, you have my word, and if you can point to his base on the map, I swear by all Saints, once we’re all healed and ready to move, I will hammer him with everything I have,’’ Nikolai spoke.

You and Alina turned to Genya who had a look of relief written across her face.

‘’Have you told them?’’ Baghra questioned. Alina had left to find Mal, or at least tried and Nikolai had gone doing god knows what, leaving you and Baghra alone in the room. ‘’No,’’ You replied and shook your head. ‘’I can feel my powers are getting stronger, and my temper…’’ You replied before you shrugged your shoulders and gave Baghra a look.

‘’Well, you saw what happened back there,’’ You spoke. ‘’Have you told him?’’ Baghra replied and you looked at her with confusion. ‘’The puppy prince,’’ She explained. ‘’I did what I had to do, for Alina and Mal,’’ You informed her. ‘’I don’t blame you, you silly girl,’’ Baghra spoke. ‘’But you have to tell him sooner or later, you know that it will break his heart when he will find it too late,’’

‘’I can’t do this to him,’’ You responded. ‘’Not to Mal and Alina,’’ You sighed heavily and sat down in front of her. ‘’But it’s getting worse,’’ You told her and met her eyes. ‘’How so?’’ Baghra asked you. ‘’I can feel my powers getting angrier by the minute I’m using it and there’s a feeling…’’ You trailed off.

‘’What feeling?’’

‘’Darkness,’’ You told her. ‘’Kirigan told me that we have a connection that he doesn’t share with Alina,’’ You Informed. ‘’How do you know?’’ Baghra asked you. ‘’I saw him, he came to me at the Spinning Wheel, when he wasn’t there,’’ You informed and walked to her closer and looked so that nobody was listening to your conversation. ‘’I could see him, but his body was physically elsewhere,’’

‘’Aleksander came to you as a projection?’’ Baghra questioned and looked at you with a thoughtful expression. ‘’Of course, he must’ve used it on Alina then,’’ Baghra responded and you nodded. ‘’David thinks he has the residue of the Stag antler embedded in his hand, but I don’t understand why the three of us have a connection,’’

‘’He knew that Alina had the Sea Whip,’’ Baghra commented before she looked at you with a concerned expression. ‘’That means how much time we have before he finds out that you’re the Firebird,’’ Baghra commented.

Then suddenly, you felt something was wrong with Alina. ‘’Something’s wrong,’’ You spoke and met Baghra’s eyes and bolted out of the room. Baghra followed you through the tunnels and Nikolai noticed you as he frowned when he saw your distressed expression. ‘’Y/N-’’

‘’Something’s wrong,’’ You replied and Nikolai didn’t question you and followed after. You looked around and saw Alina sitting on the bench while Mal was in front of her. You could see the cloud of light surrounding her head and you could see her struggling to fight.

‘’Alina!’’ Mal exclaimed. Alina snapped her eyes open before she bolted up from her place and looked at him. ‘’Saints Mal! I had him, I would’ve severed our link if you hadn’t pulled my focus,’’ Alina exclaimed and looked at him. You looked at them with concern and met Alina’s eyes. Alina just gave you a nod to assure you that she was okay before you and Nikolai glanced at each other before you left the two of them alone.

‘’A penny for your thoughts?’’ You heard Nikolai’s voice as you snapped your gaze from the green emerald to him. ‘’Or are you having cold feet?’’ Nikolai question with a small smile and sat next to you. You chuckled. ‘’Not every day you got to meet a prince that pretends to be a pirate and marry him,’’ You remarked as you saw him looking.

‘’Oh wait, sorry, a privateer,’’ You corrected. ‘’I’m not the woman you deserve, you know?’’ You spoke after a silence. Nikolai turned to look at you if you were serious and saw your expression as you looked at the ring that you were holding. ‘’How so?’’ He asked softly. ‘’You deserve someone who will make you happy and not a pain in the ass,’’ You remarked and looked at him with a small smile.

Nikolai chuckled before he leaned into the seat and looked at the painting. ‘’You know when I first met you, you glowed like the sun,’’

‘’Even though, Alina is the Sun Summoner, you were mine,’’ Nikolai remarked. ‘’I was in a dark place for a long time, trying to find myself, but something about you spoke to me,’’ Nikolai responded. ‘’Besides, you’d leave me to rally the troops at Zvedya all by myself?’’ Nikolai questioned.

‘’Guess you’ll have to focus on the task at hand saving Ravka,’’ You commented and looked at him as he looked at you with a grin. ‘’I love it when you quote me,’’ The two of you let out a laugh before you fell silent. It was comfortable, and it seemed that you enjoyed the quiet times when he wasn’t insufferable. Nikolai grabbed the necklace that hung around his neck and turned to look at you.

You frowned when you saw him grab the golden compass and handed it to you. ‘’No-’’ You protested. ‘’It’s yours,’’ Nikolai spoke, and you looked at him before you let him place it around your neck. ‘’You’re giving your lucky compass to me,’’ You replied and glanced down. ‘’I made it different, though,’’ He responded with a shrug on his shoulders.

‘’As a little reminder that you’ll find your way back to me,’’ Nikolai explained as you opened the compass and saw that it pointed toward Nikolai. ‘’I thought you needed another excuse to seek me out,’’ Nikolai spoke and looked into your eyes. You didn’t notice how close you were when you felt his breath against you. ‘’I know it’ll be hard, but try not to miss me too much,’’ Nikolai said and you looked at him with a deadpanned look.

‘’Impossible,’’ You commented. Nikolai stared at you before you felt his hand cup your cheek as you felt his thumb caress yours cheek softly. You saw him glance up and down at your lips while your heart beats faster whenever he leaned slowly closer. You felt his warmth radiate from his body and you felt his nose touching yours but his lips were so far away from yours. You tried not to jump at him but before he could do anything, footsteps approached and you jerked your face away from him with embarrassment. Nikolai saw the redness from your cheeks as you heard Mal’s voice from behind.

‘’Y/N,’’ He spoke as the two of you turned around and you met Mal’s eyes. Mal gave you a questioning look when he noticed the blush on your cheek but didn’t question it further. ‘’We’re ready,’’ Mal replied and you nodded. You and Nikolai stood up and you were about to go before you stopped yourself and turned around to Nikolai before hugging him tightly.

Nikolai had a stunned expression but accepted your embrace tightly. ‘’Don’t get yourself killed, Ravka needs its king,’’ You spoke as you let go of him and faced him. ‘’And Ravka needs its Queen,’’ Nikolai commented and you looked at him, giving him a small smile before you followed after Mal, dread filling through your body, knowing that it was probably the last time you will return back to him.

please comment what you'd thought of this chapter! remember, reblogging always helps.

#nikolai lantsov #alina starkov #nikolai lantsov x reader #jesper fahey #inej gafha #malyen oretsev #aleksander morovoza #shadow and bone #kaz brekker #six of crows #nina zenik #matthias helvar

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what-is-my-aesthetic · 2 months

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I love you content and I really hope there's no hate from the ethics of shipping video. I had a question about your definition of proship. The deffiniton I've always seen is Proship is 'For Shipping', Anti- Harassment and Anti- censor ship. Along with things like, ship and let ship, and your kink is, not my kink and that's ok. I was wondering what you think of that kind of definition, or if you've seen this definition before?

I know there's a lot of sides to fandoms and not everyone sees the same things, but from my personal experience Anti's have always been more aggressive. (Have been told to kill myself by anti's because of a tagged and warned gore fic.)

You are one of my favorite youtubers and I just wanted to know more on your stance. sorry if this bothered you

You’re not bothering me at all. I think if the label “anti” helps anyone feel safer establishing a boundary especially if they are a kid I see nothing wrong with it but with all the confusion around what a “pro shipper” is I think these labels have overstayed their welcome and we need to either abandon them all together or adapt new more specific labels so people know who they feel more or less safe interacting with. I’ve faced equal backlash and vitriol from from both sides so I can only speak from my own experience but the constant pleading of everyone’s cases rubs me the wrong way. Not everyone will be friends. Stop trying to convince everyone you’re the good one. (That last sentence wasn’t directed at you it was at everyone lol)

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laurikarauchscat · 1 month

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Hiii there! I saw on one of your posts that Emralt was a woah-tp of yours and I was wondering if you had any recs 🥹👉👈. I’ve only read astolat’s stuff and I’ve been dying to find more. I hope you have a wonderful week! ❤️

Bruh you just made my day!

So: Since Emralt is a ship burdened by being rather niche, and had in the past fallen prey to the scorn of fandom morallists, the universe had decided to reward us for our patience and dedication by giving us some of the best writers in fandom.

You can literally just go into the Emhyr/Geralt tag on Ao3 and move from last page (27) foreward. I swear you will find gold on nearly every page. Please please please do that 🙏. I am about to share some of what you have to look forward to, but there are going to be some great works that I miss. Here goes:

Category 1: Bottom Geralt I have a strong preference for subby Emhyr, so the rest of the list is going to be very much that. Nonetheless, these works I loved so much!

The ride into obsession series by @do-androids-dream-ao3acc this author has many works in the fandom - all worth a read. I have been wounded, I have been healed being my favourite.

Dark Mettinna - by Crunad. More Geralt!wump. Very very sweet.

Category 2: fluffy and sweet

Anything by @xpityx (and there are many, bless this writer 🙌) - this one in particular tho. Oohh and this one !!

@traumschwinge has smutty works, and they are veeery hot, but by God, the tenderness is what they do best. This one is my favourite. They also have some wonderful modern Au's 😁. [This one is smutty so should be Cat 3, but again - the sweetness is the draw]

In the footsteps of the Sun - a classic. Oh my god.

what is my body [if it is not a blade] - Geralt accidentally hurts Emhyr. Angst ensues.

Not for Amateurs - old men being stupid.

My fair witcher - fucking hilarious

Category 3: Bottom Emhyr

Is it the blood - emhyr has a gore kink 😁

Royal Grade Secret - features Emhyr who shuts up and does what he is told for once.

Prickly - Emhyr gets turned into a literal hedgehog. It's adorable🤩. Smut in the last chapters (with Human Emhyr!!)

touching the sun - this is part of a slow burn series. Beautiful 😍

wiosna - first part of a recent series that ruled my life for a couple of weeks (holy shit the smut🔥🔥🔥🔥. Holy shit the angst 😭😭😭)

@queenofyumcha has very many smutty wonders. This one is my favourite. Features Omega!Emhyr.

Category 4: In defiance of Category

The Surprise - mpreg!Emhyr. I hope people make this man be pregnant more often in the future 👀

State of mind by @bittersweetbark - this autor also has many works in the fandom, but this one is my favourite. fluffy mystery. Features smut and both Emhyr!wump and Geralt!wump 😈😈😈

--------

I left off soooo many beautiful works 😭😭😭 but I have to go study now!

#Fic recs #emhyr/geralt #Emhyr #Geralt #emralt

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dangans-ur-ronpas · 10 days

Text

Chapter 19

(blowing a lil party horn and firing confetti poppers) YIPPEEEE

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

sorry to the ishimondo fans

this is the one with an execution!!!

@digitaldollsworld my bestie my lord my homie <333

Content warning tags: descriptions of injury and mild gore, character death, canon-typical violence, guns

< previous - from start - next >

“NO!”

Owada’s shout is loud enough to startle Byakuya out of the slight torpor he had fallen into, too busy trying to fend off the migraine that was threatening to make him sick. He jerks, eyes blinking open to see Owada leaning in Ishimaru’s direction, his entire frame tense and trembling with restraint.

“It’s okay, Taka, you don’t have to say it,” He’s babbling, talking in a rush. His complexion is blanched, with fear or desperation, maybe both. “It’s okay, okay? I’ll tell them. It’s fine.”

“You really should let him-” Kirigiri starts to say, but Owada shakes his head vigorously, his hair bounces side-to-side.

“No, I’m not gonna make him cover for me any longer. I’m not gonna make him- make him lie for me.” He cuts Kirigiri off, before drawing himself up tall. “I did it. Okay? I killed him. I killed Chihiro.”

“Mondo-” Makoto starts to say, but Owada barrels through him like a steam train. His voice has the same, strained quality of a whisper, but it feels shockingly loud at the same time, the only thing audible in the entire room.

“It was - I know I was calm. Earlier. When Chihiro told me everything. And - I really was supportive. I was happy for him, so happy for him, you saw me Makoto, that was all real. But-” He pauses to take a sharp breath, and Byakuya wonders if he looks as insane as he sounds, leaning over the edge of the railing, like a seasick man over the edge of a rocking ship. Spewing words like he’s trying to empty his stomach of them. “I was thinking about it after, and I just. I just got so fucking mad, I mean - we all have secrets, and mine is - I know it’s probably not the worst one here, but it’s something I’ve been holding on to for so long, and he was just. Flaunting it around? Like it was something to be proud of?” He snorts a laugh, ugly and demeaning. “If it was that easy, then what the hell have I been doing all this time?”

His voice breaks, and for a moment his shoulders slump. But he regains his composure just as quickly, drawing himself back up with a shuddering breath. “I.. on the way back to the trophy room, I couldn’t stop feeling angry. It was like I couldn’t see anything else but red, I wasn’t paying attention to anything else. And when I got back I saw - I saw Taka, injured, and Chihiro standing over him -” He swallows. “It’s not an excuse. I know Chihiro would’ve never hurt him, never hurt anyone - but I was so angry and he was there, and there was a trophy on the floor, with blood on the corner, so I just…”

No one says a word. The implication of what he had done hangs over them all, like a fog - like a body, Byakuya thinks. Fukawa hadn’t been able to pin Chihiro as high up as Syo, but it feels like the boy was watching over them. A ghost listening silently from the rafters.

“...Then, tell us. If you did kill Chihiro, how did you do it?” Kirigiri asks at last, and Owada makes a sound crossed between a sob and a groan.

“I - I just sort of blanked out, when it happened. When I came to, he was there, and - I didn’t know what to do.” He lifts his face, and Byakuya can make out the shine of tears, the gray pallor of his skin. “So I took Taka to the nurse’s room first. And bandaged him up. And then I grabbed supplies to clean up the scene - that’s where I got a sheet to wrap Chihiro up in, and the gauze pads to soak up the blood.” He’s slowed down now. The words come tiredly, laboriously. “And then I…I was just thinking about cleaning up the room at first. That was all I could do, so I just did it. I wasn’t thinking about my survival or anything, or the fact that I might end up getting killed by this fucking bear - I just. I was planning on confessing to it all, but I didn’t want the place where he died to be so…so messed up.”

“Oh, Mondo…” Hagakure breathes quietly, grievingly. Owada’s head twitches, but he presses on.

“I went to check up on Taka, and when I came back, the body - Chihiro - he was gone. Sheet and all.” He laughs again, another twisted sound. “I thought, maybe it was all a dream? Maybe I was going crazy and Chihiro wasn’t dead, and all that blood was from Taka’s injury? I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t want to think. But I went back to what I was doing, and then a little later, the announcement went off. And you all know what happened after that.”

The room is silent for a long moment. No one says a word, and Byakuya can only just make out the sound of breathing, the only indication of life. And, a slight, quiet rattling; Ishimaru was trembling slightly, but still not uttering a sound.

In the silence, all Byakuya can feel is a storming, pitch-dark rage; rage for Chihiro, killed over something so pointless and without warning, rage at Fukawa for framing him, and rage at Owada for hiding it all. For losing control of himself in the first place. “So afterwards, Fukawa went downstairs and found the body. If we consider the sheet around Chihiro’s corpse and the scene cleaned of blood, that also helps explain how she was able to hold off Syo for so long.” He says, disgustedly. “But, the bloodied gauze in the library. I’m assuming that you were the one who put it there? Whatever happened to confessing?”

“I was! …I was, planning to confess to all of it. But then I saw Chihiro’s body, and - and as everyone was talking about Syo, I saw you holding the file and the blood, and I thought… I thought I had a chance. I mean, you were right there, and…I knew that Makoto wouldn’t have been able to back you up. I stuffed the gauze through the gap between the library door hinges while everyone was investigating.” Owada looks up for the first time, and Byakuya can’t see what look he’s wearing. And he feels glad for that; he doesn’t want to see whatever simpering face Owada has, pleading for forgiveness, miserable and sullen. “I know it was wrong, but all the pieces just seemed to fit together so perfectly, and the more time that went on, the more believable it seemed, and- I’m sorry. I really am.”

And Byakuya wants to scream.

What use is your worthless apology, he wants to rage. It wouldn’t resolve anything - in the end, he had still been accused, and humiliated, and now utterly disgraced. He was still blind and disabled. Chihiro was still dead. “All this, because you couldn’t decide if you wanted to live or die? Did you never consider if you deserved to?” He hisses, and Owada actually flinches back.

“I know I don’t. I’m sorry.” He repeats quietly, and he sounds so hollow and drained that Byakuya finds it hard to maintain his anger, all the heat and passion dissipating in an instant like smoke. It leaves him feeling empty, bewildered, and so, so tired.

“...Well. It seems that it’s time to vote, no?” Celeste claps her hands lightly, a smile in her voice. “Monokuma, won’t you please?”

“Since you asked so politely…I was still enjoying this dee-light-ful soap drama, but for my precious student, I will oblige!” Monokuma bounces up to its feet, one arm raised high in preparation to call the vote. “Everyone-”

“Wait.” Kirigiri interrupts. She hasn’t looked away from Owada once, her pale face turned towards him this entire time like a hawk. “Something’s not right.”

“Wha- what do you mean?” Hagakure asks. “It’s pretty cut and clear by now, right?”

“It’s suspicious. Why put in so much effort trying to pin the crime on Byakuya, and then confess so suddenly now?” Kirigiri rebuts. “And we still haven’t heard Taka’s testimony.”

“Man…come on, Kiri. Just look at him. I don’t think he’s in any shape to talk.” Hagakure shakes his head. “And - I think we shouldn’t push this on any longer than it needs to be.”

“Our lives are on the line. I don’t want to move on until we’re entirely sure.”

“He’s already confessed, though…isn’t this enough?” Yamada lets out a long-suffering sigh. “And, I can’t see any indication of anyone else who might’ve done it.”

“No, but Kyoko has a point,” Asahina interjects. “We almost got tricked once already into thinking it was Byakuya, right? We should be careful.”

“Yes. We should err on the side of caution,” Ogami agrees. “I can’t see the harm in having Taka speak, and…I cannot trust Mondo’s confession entirely. No matter how logical it seems.”

“He can’t,” Owada cuts in, that desperate tinge on his voice again. “I keep telling you guys- can’t you just leave him alone? Please?” He hangs his head low. “I know - I’ve done bad by you guys, I’m not exactly the easiest to get along with, but please, just…he’s been through a lot. Can’t you cut him a break?”

“Erm…Can you kids make up your mind?” Monokuma is still standing, balanced precariously on the tips of its toes with one arm still straining upwards. “My stitches are ‘bout to pop, you know!!”

During this whole time, Makoto was silent. Thinking again, Byakuya recognized, as he usually does with his chin tucked under a curled finger, his foot tapping a quiet rhythm against the floor.

“Okay, then. Taka doesn’t have to talk.” He says slowly. “But in that case - Taka, can you please take off your bandage? So we can see the wound?”

“The wound-?” Owada sputters, taken aback by the sudden request. “Wha- Makoto, what are you…?”

“Something about the whole story has been bothering me. Mondo, I know that you, uh…sometimes, you react kinda strongly, I guess, to stuff that makes you mad, but you’re also really caring. I find it hard to believe that you’d twist up on Chihiro like that so fast.” Makoto drops his hand to a fist at his side, clenched tight. “If the trophy really did hit Taka as bad as you said - where he got hit by the edge of it - then the wound should also be really bad, right?” He turns back to Ishimaru. “Taka, please. You don’t need to say anything, but- please, just show us.”

“No way, he doesn’t need to-” But Owada stops suddenly, slack-jawed as he stares.

Watching as Ishimaru slowly unwinds the stained, white strips wrapped around his head with shaky hands.

—

“As I thought,” Kyoko says, as the last bandage falls away. “There’s nothing there to constitute that amount of blood on that bandage, is there?”

And it’s true. The pile of linen that now litter the floor around Taka’s feet is stained and spotted through with blood, but there’s no sign of an injury anywhere on his head. There’s not even a bump, or a bruise.

Makoto swallows thickly, before he continues. “Taka, you never hit your head at all, did you?” And Taka flinches, face somehow blanching paler. “You’re the one that killed Chihiro.”

“No, he didn’t, it was me-!” Mondo throws out an arm in Taka’s direction, as if trying to shield him from the accusations. “I keep telling you - I was the one who did it, I killed Chihiro-”

“No you didn’t. You were covering for him.” This was the worst. Mondo - he was violent at the worst of times, but ultimately kind, and extremely loyal - and right now, Makoto was going to kill his best friend.

“Are you stupid or something? Makoto, hey-” There’s a strange grin twitching on the corner of Mondo’s mouth, like this was some joke he could laugh off. “I’m telling you - how many times do I have to tell you? It was me.”

“It wasn’t-”

“It was!”

It goes on like this for a while. Everyone else is silent - or, it feels like they’re silent. Makoto can’t really hear them, not over the rush in his own head, or Mondo’s desperate, hysteric words, denying the accusation, insulting Makoto and everyone else, cursing, pleading, screaming. It’s the same as when Leon was condemned, when all he could do at the end of it was wail, ‘stupid, stupid, stupid!’ until Makoto pointed out the toolkit, the undeniable proof that it had to be him. Or, when it was Byakuya-

And he stumbles a bit, his rebuttal stuttering as he falters. He remembers the look on Byakuya’s face as he asked about his handbook, with the knowledge that he couldn’t bring it out himself. Not without revealing it to Monokuma. And therefore forcing him to admit it by his own words, the one thing he wanted to conceal from everyone else in the room. The betrayal, the hatred - just thinking about him made Makoto want to disappear.

But there’d been no other choice. Kyoko told him as much when they were investigating; ‘There’s a likelihood that you will have to reveal his secret during the trial,’ she had said, as they inspected the still-damp floorboards of the trophy room. ‘It may be the only way to clear his name.’

He’ll hate me for it, Makoto had protested, and she had just shrugged and turned back to inspecting the trophies, one of which had small dots of blood at the corner of its marble base.

‘Would you rather live being hated or die knowing you could have prevented it? He’ll get over it if he wants to survive.’

Easy for her to say, he thinks, as Mondo screams something at him, an barb so ugly it made him feel equal parts furious and sick with guilt, because Mondo would probably never say such a thing otherwise if it weren’t for this. She’s never had to do this before.

“Dammit, show me the proof! If he did do it, what’s the proof!” Mondo shouts, accompanied by a loud bang as he slams his hands against the railing. “You don’t have any goddamn proof, you little shit! So don’t just stand there and say shit you don’t know!”

“That’s enough.”

For a moment, it’s hard to place who said that. The words were spoken so quietly, after all, and so raspy it was hard to discern whose voice it was. But Byakuya cocks his head, and turns to look in Taka’s direction with a frown.

Taka is still as still as ever, but one hand rests on the bannister, and he’s leaning forward. “That’s enough, Mondo,” He says again, louder, before coughing into his elbow, clearing his throat. “Please…just stop.”

Mondo looks like he was slapped across the face, mouth agape in shock. “Wh-what are you saying?” He tries to laugh, but it sounds more like a sob than anything. “Taka - bro, it’s okay, you fell and hit your head-”

“Mondo. That’s enough,” He repeats. His eyes are hollow; Makoto finds it hard to look him in the face. “I killed Chihiro.”

Kyoko is the only one who speaks up to ask: “How?”

Taka talks slowly, haltingly, as if trying to dredge the memories up. “It - it was after Mondo left with Chihiro and Makoto. To the cafeteria. I was still cleaning, alone - when I’m alone, I think. About things, my family outside the school, if they’re alive, my secret, my grandfather - and then Chihiro came back. Alone.” He sways slightly, steadied only by his hand, white-knuckled against the wood. “And - as he was talking - I was still thinking - and -”

He pauses, taking slow, deep breaths. No one says a word. Makoto’s not sure if he’s even breathing.

“It just - it wasn’t fair. Him, confessing it - it was so easy, for him. He was so happy about it. My grandfather - if you knew, you would hate me. That’s how it’s always been, everyone who’s ever known about it, hated me. But he was so happy, and he -” He takes another deep, shuddering breath. “It was an accident. I - I just pushed him, I didn’t think I pushed him hard, but he hit the shelf. And, the trophy…”

It’s not hard to figure out what happened afterward. Makoto can practically imagine it, though he doesn’t want to; Chihiro going up to Taka, and Taka, too caught up in his own trauma, backing away, combatting his own fury and dread. And Chihiro, walking up closer to check on him, only to get shoved bodily backwards, into the trophy shelf, and then-

Mondo is shaking his head, tears falling silently down his face - muttering ‘no’ under his breath, over and over, like a mantra. Taka turns to him, a sad sort of smile tugging at his mouth.

“Thank you, Mondo. For trying,” And he sounds so genuine and so incredibly sad. “But - I can’t let my family be disgraced anymore. I can’t let anyone die for my sake.”

“No, no, no,” Mondo repeats, and despite his size, he shakes like a leaf. “No, don’t, don’t, Taka,” And his voice breaks. “Don’t- Please don’t, I won’t be able to take it, I can’t take it, Taka- not again-”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, don’t you dare fucking apologize-! Just-” He breaks down fully now, and turns away, one hand raised to his eyes.

“Forgive me,” Celeste interrupts, still wearing her indecipherable smile, unnatural red eyes narrowed slightly as she addresses Taka. “But I recall you were the first to suggest sharing secrets the night Monokuma revealed the motive, no?”

Taka recoils slightly at that, bowing his head. “I…I was. I thought - I could be prepared. If it’s the right thing to do, I could do it. But-” he turns away, his brows twisted into a scowl. “I…”

“Enough.” Kyoko sighs. “There’s no point in making pointless allegations. We have our explanation. There’s nothing left to say.”

And she casts Makoto a look, which Makoto interprets immediately, and he sighs.

—

As Makoto explains, it started when he and Chihiro were walking around the first floor, planning to find and talk to everyone Chihiro had yet to disclose his secret to.

After they had spoken to Owada, Chihiro went to talk with Ishimaru alone - Ishimaru, who was so rule-abiding and careful that no one would assume him to be of any danger - and that was how he died. Suddenly, and unexpectedly, and completely by accident.

Owada was the one who found the body, and to protect his friend, who was reeling from shock, he concocted a story as he wrapped the corpse in a cloth and mopped up the blood. To claim that he killed Chihiro, that Taka was merely injured, and therefore protect his friend from harm.

It was during this time that Fukawa was in the library, making her own confession, before Byakuya’s swift rejection sent her fleeing. As she went down the first floor, she saw the body, and with the cord that was tangled around her ankle, she strung it up outside the library door in a poor likeness of Syo’s handiwork. In some twisted display of vengeance, or a demand for attention, or something; and when it was done, overwhelmed by the blood and exhausted by her own perseverance, she took the sheet to the bathroom with her and collapsed, where Kirigiri found her moments later.

Byakuya listens to him explain it through a fog, feeling distant from it all. As if he was merely observing it from behind a broken, filthy screen, the sounds tinny and the visuals shot. He watches as Owada clings to Ishimaru, screaming for mercy at Monokuma’s feet. He watches as Ishimaru is dragged ruthlessly away anyway, behind the steel doors of the execution chamber.

He watches the execution, from behind a glass window. Ishimaru standing in a gleaming white car, the sunroof pulled down, driving through a street lined with the black-and-white shapes of more Monokumas, cheering indistinctly as confetti rains around him. The Monokuma in the seat next to him is holding a sign, lifting his arm to make him wave, poking his cheek to make him smile.

There’s a loud crack, and Ishimaru seems to stumble, a bloom of blood on the shoulder of his white uniform. But he doesn’t fall; he must be held up by some kind of mechanism or another, because a moment later he’s upright again, still being forced to wave, to smile, even as the cheering turns to jeers and he starts being pelted with what looks like rotten fruit, the dark red shapes of tomatoes smashing against his head. Another gunshot, and this time it’s his leg, a large, dark spot in his thigh. Another, in his stomach, and he seems to cough a little, blood trickling from his mouth.

There must be a microphone or something pinned to Ishimaru’s collar, because Byakuya can hear his breathing, harsh and labored, pitched with fear. The whimpering he can’t quite suppress, the jumps in his throat as he tries to swallow. And, the quiet whisper, barely audible behind the shouting, the gunshots, the noise of it all -

‘I’m sorry-

The final shot is a thunderous noise accompanied by a sudden, gaping pit between his eyes. He slumps, and the scene stills at last; the crowd stops yelling, the car freezes in its tracks. The lights go off, plunging Ishimaru’s lonely form into darkness.

And through it all, Owada never stopped screaming once.

Byakuya tears his eyes away, holding onto the railing of the stand to keep from falling as he steps down. It’s a similar scene as the aftermath of the last trial, everyone either comforting each other or wallowing in their own grief, and Monokuma giggling over them.

“Oh, oh, oh! That was good! Not even ol’ John could’ve done it better!” It sings, dancing between them. “I got a little antsy earlier when you called for the vote the first time, but you all pulled through with fly-ing colors!! Amazing performance! Especially that last confession, I was so moved!” It cackles, twirling and landing right next to Owada, who was on his knees, hands plastered against the window as if praying. “Such a lovely display of friendship at the end there, or was it really friendship? Whatever the case, the bond between men sure is something! I don’t think I’ve ever seen - whoops!”

Owada had grabbed him, and now rises with the bear dangling between his hands. His arms are trembling like Monokuma’s the heaviest thing he’s ever held.

“You,” He hisses, and his voice is wet and choked through. “If it wasn’t for you- if it wasn’t for you-!”

“Puhu, do you ree-ally want to do this, Mister Owada? Didn’t you learn your lesson on the first day of school?” Monokuma swings its feet in the air. “I’d hate to punish you after that amazing show-”

“I don’t care.” He spits. As Byakuya draws closer, he can hear the quiet splat of fat tears, striking the floor. “I don’t care, you killed him- I should tear you to pieces right now-”

And he stops, as Byakuya places a hand on his elbow. “Put it down.”

He’s sure that the face Owada is giving him is positively murderous. “Why should I,” he snarls, and his words are still thick with grief. “The fucker-”

“Even if you break this one, another one will take his place. And there’s probably countless replacements.” Byakuya sighs. What was he doing? He wasn’t sure himself. “What are you planning to accomplish? Other than a very messy suicide?”

“You bastard-” He drops Monokuma, who lands with a squeak, and grabs Byakuya instead, hoisting him by the collar. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? What does it matter to you if I die?” His last words sound less like a threat and more like a genuine question.

Instead of immediately replying, Byakuya casts a glance over his shoulder. Only a few people were watching them, the rest too preoccupied by their own misery. “...Take a look. There’s only so many of us left.” Byakuya looks back to Mondo, and even through the haze, he can see his face is pinched into a look of anguish. ”Did you hear what his last words were? Because I did.”

The grip on his shirt slackens, and his feet meet stable ground again. He pushes Owada’s limp hands away. “I don’t care if you want to die. But take responsibility at least.” He glares at him, his kneeling form. “We can’t leave until everyone’s on the elevator, so stand up and walk.”

There’s a part of him that wants to berate Owada - to tell him that Ishimaru likely never wanted his help in the first place, that all he accomplished was unnecessary strife - but such a thing doesn’t sit right with him. That would be the actions of someone petty and sore, a pathetic loser who couldn’t let it go; and right now, all Byakuya wants to do is sleep.

He steps onto the elevator. Celeste is already there, poised as ever, as is Yamada, who is mumbling unhappily to himself. Kirigiri and Makoto join them shortly after.

Makoto balks slightly when he sees Byakuya, tripping at the threshold with a yelp. But he straightens up quickly, glances around, and slowly, hesitantly, walks to Byakuya’s side. “Um…”

“Be silent.” He snaps. Makoto recoils instantly. “Do not speak to me. The deal is null.”

“Byakuya-”

He turns away, focusing on the metal grates of the elevator walls. The wires are bent into some kind of honeycomb pattern, though it’s not like Byakuya could make out exactly what.

He half-expects Makoto to say something more, but the elevator ride up is silent and still.

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff #thpff chapters #byakuya togami #danganronpa fanfiction #my beta reader called me sick for including that microphone in the execution but to be fair i think monokuma did that. for 'accessibility'#hiii roman btw!! <33 #this chap was soooo fun to write tbh i loved writing the execution...sorry to the fans #the execution was based of the original unused execution concepts btw!#idk what it was called originally but in my head im calling it 'motorcade in the plaza' (jfk reference)#also whoah shit an on-time upload? amazing #im so proud of myself honestly bc im also laid up in bed rn with awful awful chest and tummy pains #im ok btw its da flu + cold + weird ribcage etc etc #i might not update for a while after this i gotta focus on some irl stuff...will do my best to return soon tho!!!

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geminigirl0298 · 1 year

Text

ALL THE KINGS' MEN

Relationship: Dark!Bucky x Reader, King!Loki x Reader

Summary: The Odinson Kings take over Midgard, appointing commanders to help them colonize the entire planet. Commander Barnes finds you during a raid of untouched lands and claims you as his own. You endure months of torture and abuse at the metal hand of the cruel man, and are set to suffer even more when he sends you to King Loki to break you further. Upon meeting the feared man, you find that looks can be deceiving, and rumors are not always what they seem.

A/N: Thank you to my editor @green-mischief-managed for helping me with this fic! Let me know if you want to be tagged !

Warnings: Minors DNI, 18+, very NSFW. Fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), handjobs, blood and gore, torture, rape, knives, death, mutilation, choking, burning, breeding kink, forced pregnancy, vaginal sex, mentions of suicide. This fic deals with dark themes such as rape, abuse and torture. If these themes make you uncomfortable, please do not read!

Previous Chapter Masterlist

CHAPTER 13

On top of the world. That was how you felt. High and mighty and, dare you say it, carefree. It was not an emotion you were familiar with. Fear had been the defining factor in all your decisions for so long that it was almost otherworldly to experience anything else. Fear of James, of Steve; the men who would hurt you if you acted out of line.

Loki was nothing like that. He didn’t yell at you for running down his palace halls and out into the rain, or even snatch you back inside like James would have done. All he did was watch you from afar with those bright green eyes that made you want to shrink yourself down so you could swim in them. Loki would not let anything happen to you. He would not hurt or yell at or keep you locked in a cage as James did. He—

“Lady Dee? I hate to spoil your fun, but I think it would behove us to go inside now.” He motioned with one long finger to the palace doors, where water had begun gathering by the marble steps. “We usually close the doors when rain falls to prevent the hallways from getting flooded out.”

You straightened at that. Loki stood a few feet away, looking between you and the hallway. A towel materialised in his hand. Walking into the warm hallway from the soaking rain, it was then that you realized your dress had stuck to your body. Loki’s eyes did not once roam over your form. In fact, it seemed as though he was trying his hardest not to. You crossed your arms over your chest, ignoring the sensation of your hardened nipples as he placed the towel around your shoulders. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” The doors closed with a flick of his wrist. “Come.” You followed him, but not before sliding your hand into the crook of his elbow. Loki paused in surprise. Shock overtook you as well. You weren’t sure why you did it. Dancing in the rain made you feel giddy, you guessed, and Loki was such a steadying force. Either way, it was the first time you willingly touched him, and be it intelligence or familiarity, Loki reacted perfectly. He placed his hand on yours and continued leading you down the hall.

“Sorry about that,” you told him in reference to the rain incident. “James never really let me go outside, and I’ve always liked the rain. I heard it begin to fall and I just…”

“There’s nothing to apologise for.” Loki’s lips quirked up at the ends. “Granted, you gave me quite a fright when you took off. I could’ve sworn a Bilgesnipe was chasing you.”

You blinked. “What’s a Bilgesnipe?”

“They’re these primitive creatures that attack everything in sight. Big, green, and terrifying. Not much is known about their culture.” Loki led you around the corner. The door of his study was in sight. “Thor tried to keep one as a pet when we were boys.”

“Really?”

“Yes!” Loki replied, a twinkle of excitement in his eyes. “We were about twelve and came across one in the woods. He was smaller than usual, probably left behind from a rampage, and Thor decided it would be best to hide him in the barn with the horses.”

“You’re kidding.” Loki gave you a look that made you giggle. “What happened?”

“What happened is that all Bilgesnipe, no matter their size, have one true nature: to destroy. It destroyed the entire barn and would have eaten the horses if mother had not caught on to what was happening.” He pushed open the door of his study and allowed you first passage. “My brother sometimes forgets—”

“My king!” Your head whipped in the direction of the soldier that appeared as though from thin air. He hurtled down the hall, armour clanging in his rush to meet the king. He stopped just short of the two of you and fell into a deep bow. “My king,” his chest heaved.

“Finn,” Loki addressed the young man. “Whatever is the matter? Why are you running?”

“My king, we found it! We found the shipment.”

“Well, spit it out, boy. Tell me what was in it.”

“Lady Britta’s plan went perfectly,” Finn explained. “She had her team strategically placed at the agreed-upon points lying in wait for the shipment. They were easily able to ambush the Midgardians and seize the cargo. It’s on its way to Asgard now.”

“Did anyone look inside?” Loki ordered. Finn nodded like a bobblehead. “What was in it?”

“Arsonias. Hundreds of them.” Loki’s hand dropped from your own.

“Those are your mother’s plants, right? The ones we saw in the garden?” Loki did not answer. He seemed very far away, back stiff and wheels turning behind his jewelled eyes. Finally, he spoke. “Go tell my brother to meet me in the dungeons. Now.” The guard scurried away. “Lady Dee.” You looked at him. “Go back to your rooms.”

“But—” You never got to finish your sentence. Loki turned his back to you and opened a portal too quickly for you to do so. You had no idea what was going on, but you knew it had to be important. Loki told you those flowers were as dangerous as they were beautiful. If someone on earth wanted them, you knew it was not for the aesthetic. Therefore, you waited until Loki disappeared through the portal and entered behind him.

The room you stepped into felt like a hospital. White walls with light flooring and some sort of force field covering what resembled a showcase in the zoos you read about. Loki was standing in the middle of the well-lit room. There was someone slumped in a chair before him. You squinted… then promptly slapped a hand over your mouth.

Steve. It was Steve.

Broken and bloodied and unrecognisable, but when Loki reached out to shake his shoulder, and he popped open his lesser swollen eye, you saw those baby blues and knew. He was covered in bruises from head to toe, his usually perfectly coiffed fair hair now rusty with blood. Every tear in his expensive clothing revealed white skin mottled with bruises in varying stages of healing. Even the rise and fall of his chest looked like it hurt since he shuddered with every ragged breath.

While you were thoroughly beside yourself, none of this seemed to bother Loki. He yanked Steve’s body up by his shirt like a rag-doll, ignoring how the man fought against his actions.

“Listen to me, you Midgardian scum.” Spittle flew from Loki’s mouth and landed on Steve’s face. You watched the battered man wince, twisting his face to an even more gruesome sight. “I’ve found out what was in that shipment. Tell me what you were doing with those flowers.”

Steve’s lips moved. You were not sure what he said. Loki shook him hard, so hard his head gave a dangerous jerk. You bit back a gasp.

“Oh, that’s right. You can’t speak.” Loki held up a palm. A glass jar appeared in it, holding the perfectly preserved tongue of Steve Rogers. It retained its pinkness well, you noted, with a mess of bloody flesh and nerves at the end previously attached to his mouth. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you felt like this should be revolting you more. Maybe the years of looking after your own nasty injuries had hardened you to such sights.

“I am going to give this back to you, and maybe, if you answer me, I’ll let you keep it.” Loki snapped his fingers. The tongue disappeared, and Steve shot up like a bolt of lightning. “Now,” the king grabbed a fistful of bloody hair, “what were you doing with the flowers?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve spoke, voice rusty with disuse. Loki’s grip tightened.

“What doesn’t matter?”

“Doesn’t matter what you do to me.” Steve took a harsh breath-long, deep- revealing the asymmetrical rise and fall of his once impressive chest. “Doesn’t matter what you do to me, you bastard king. That wasn’t the only shipment. We’ve been bringing them in for years under your nose ever since we found out what it can do—”

Loki slapped him across the face. His hand moved so fast you didn’t see it strike. All you saw was Steve’s head rock to the side with a sickening snap.

God knows James had slapped you across your face enough times to figure it out.

“Where are the rest of them? Who has them?” Loki gripped Steve’s wrist. “Tell me, or I’ll start cutting your fingers off one by one.” He removed a shining knife from his waistband. Had that… had that always been there? Was Loki carrying a knife while he was with you in his study? Taking you for a walk through the garden? Catching you in his arms before you fell, holding you so close you could see a bit of stubble peeking through his smooth skin. Even then?

“Captain Rogers.” There was an emotion in Loki’s voice you had never heard before. “I am not a patient man, but I believe I have exhibited more than enough with you.” He pressed the wicked blade against Steve’s pinky finger. “Who has the rest of the flowers? Where are they? What are you planning to do with them?”

Steve smirked. “That’s a lot of question— Fuck!” Blood spattered across the floor. Steve pulled a hand to his chest. Red bloomed in the centre of his tattered shirt, soaking the material in a way that finally brought your nausea to the surface. Out of the depths of your stomach, up your oesophagus until it sat right at the back of your throat.

It wasn’t the blood. You were used to that. It wasn’t the scent of copper or the metallic taste in your mouth. It was Loki, already reaching for Steve’s four-fingered hand to cut off another.

“Stop!” you choked out. You weren’t sure if Loki heard you, but you knew Steve did. His head whipped in your direction with the best scowl he could manage.

“You.”

Now Loki saw you. His green eyes swung to meet your shocked ones, a hint of shame bleeding into his murderous expression. “Lady Dee.” His grip on Steve faltered. In no time at all, Steve wrenched out of his grasp and lunged at you. You felt your body slam against the floor, a pair of hands wrapping around your throat.

“You little bitch!” He snarled, tightening his grip with a strength you would not expect from someone in his condition. Your hands scratched against his, nails leaving shallow slices in the pale skin. “This is all your fault! Bucky should have killed you when we found you! He just had to—”

Steve was pulled off you by a sudden force. Your hands flew to your neck, relishing in the air that rushed down your throat as you greedily gasped it all in. There was already the tell-tale burn of future bruises. Tears from your eyes splattered onto the blood-stained floor. Oxygen filled your lungs, burning the starved mucosa of your throat as it forced its way in.

Through your daze, you could make out two figures scrambling over each other in the far corner. Loki clearly had the upper hand, though Steve put up quite a fight. His bruised hands reached for Loki’s face, scratching and lashing out in an attempt to gouge his eyes. Loki dodged these with ease. He knocked the soldier’s hands aside and grabbed ahold of his head.

You started. “Lok—” Steve’s head hit the floor with a sickening crack. No blood spilled, but the force exerted would surely burst the skin should Loki continue.

And continue he did.

Over and over, slam after slam, until red blood finally spilled from the captain’s skull. Steve had long stopped moving, body limp below his attacker’s. Loki did not seem to notice this. Or maybe he did, and just did not care.

“Loki.” A quiver entered your voice, so you cleared your throat and steadied it as best as you could. “Loki. Stop.”

It was stupid, what you did next. Later, you would recall it as the dumbest decision one could make in your current situation. You approached Loki on shaky feet. Then you put your hand on his shoulder, and his reaction made you regret it immediately. “Loki—”

He whirled on you. His face shimmered with blue, and his gaze flashed red before disappearing into a blur of black curls and green eyes. You convinced yourself it was your imagination. The red splattered on his face created a stark contrast with the whiteness of his skin, and fury painted the unstained expanses. You had never seen anger like that before. Not even from James. It emanated even off his very being. Pure, unbridled rage, mixed with an air of superiority, made you wonder why you even dared to touch him-the king.

This was not the Loki you knew. This… this was the man you had been told about. The man used to scare you into submission before you even set foot on the Bifrost bridge. King Loki, James would say, with a sour tone and twist of his mouth. A ruthless king. Next to him, I’m merciful. These punishments are nothing compared to what he would do to you if—

“Didn’t I tell you to go back to your room?”

“What?” You were so startled by his voice that it took you a while to notice he was speaking to you. “My room?”

“Didn’t I tell you to go back to your room!”

“Brother!” The boom of Thor’s voice was followed soon after by his appearance. He pointed a fist against a panel on the wall outside the cell and the shimmery veil melted to the ground. “Brother, stop!”

You had never seen Thor so serious. All traces of his usual goofiness were gone from his rugged face. He strode right up to Loki, jaw set, and yanked him off Steve’s body. “What are you doing? And why are you speaking to Lady Dee in such a manner?”

“I—” Loki frowned. “Lady Dee?” His eyes snapped to you then, as if only just remembering you were there. “Lady Dee!” He reached a hand out to you, and every part of you recoiled. His face fell. “Lady Dee—”

“Stop!” You held up a trembling hand. “Don’t come near me!”

Loki shot a helpless glance at Thor, who was kneeling on the floor trying to locate Steve’s pulse. He had two thick fingers on the man’s neck and a look of mild concern on his face. After a minute, he met his brother’s stare with blank eyes.

“He’s dead.”

ooOOoo

The door to Loki’s study opened with a loud squeak. He grit his teeth at the noise and made a mental note to have the hinges oiled.

“Well,” announced Thor, “that was quite a mess, wasn’t it?” He moved over to Loki’s stash of ale and poured himself a generous glass. “Want a drink?”

Loki did not reply. He had not moved from his position in his study chair since Thor deposited him there. He stayed there while his brother dealt with the body, eyes locked on the chaise that you had both been on not an hour ago.

He could not stop thinking about you.

The trays of food and tea were still there, slightly cold and half-eaten from your late-night date. Loki could dress it up or lie to himself as much as he wanted, but he knew in the back of his mind that was essentially what he had planned for the two of you.

It had gone well. For quite some time, everything went better than expected. The two of you spoke and ate and watched your plan for Sven and Erik come to fruition. Nothing, though, compared to watching you run out into the rain like a little kid. He had never seen such unbridled joy from a person, and he would never have expected it from you. Never would have expected him to be the person to give you the chance.

And as quickly as he had given it, he had snatched it away. The fondness that entered your eyes when you looked at him had now been replaced by horror. He could not get the image of you bolting away from the scene upon Steve’s death announcement, how you recoiled from his touch. How you visibly flinched away from him. There was only one other person he had ever seen you so afraid of.

“Brother.” Loki lifted his head. Thor placed a half-filled glass of ale before him and then took a seat in one of the leather chairs. “St-The body has been removed from the cell, and the maids are cleaning it now. I can’t be sure how many of the other prisoners saw it but, let’s be honest,” Thor flashed a smile, “who are they going to tell?”

“She’s never going to speak to me again.” Thor made a face.

“What?”

“Lady Dee.” Loki downed the glass of ale in one gulp. “She’s never going to speak to me again. Not after what she saw.”

Understanding bled into Thor’s face. “Don’t be ridiculous, brother. The two of you have been spending a lot of time together. Lady Dee has begun to trust you—”

“Not after this. She’ll never look at me again, much less trust me. Did you see how she ran away from me? She couldn’t leave fast enough.” Loki would not soon forget the sight of your retreating back down the corridor. You ran so quickly that some of the jewelled pins from your hair came undone, clattering to the floor. He was sure the maids would dispose of them soon enough.

“I’ve ruined everything. My temper got the best of me and I… I…” he looked down at his hands, still tinged red from Steve’s blood. “I don’t remember what happened. All I know is Finn mentioned a shipment of mother’s Arsonias, and I wanted to find out information. I was already perturbed, but then he lunged at her, and I lost it. I just lost it.”

“You were protecting her,” Thor supplied. “You care about her. That much is clear.” The blond god ran a finger around the rim of his now-empty glass. “I was angry too when Finn told me the news. When he said you already knew and had gone to the dungeons, I was prepared for what I would walk into. I know your dark side well.”

“But Lady Dee does not,” Loki reminded him. “She’s heard of it, but she’s never seen it until today. After this, all she will remember when she thinks of me is how I cut off a man’s finger and beat his head against the floor until he stopped breathing.”

Both brothers went silent after that. Thor contemplated upon his glass while Loki materialised a rag to scrub the remaining blood from his hands. He had long disposed of his coat and trousers for clean ones. Finally, Thor said, “She will forgive you, once she comes to see that you were trying to protect her. You have become rather temperamental since mother’s demise, understandably so, but this one incident will not erase all the kindness you have shown her. Give it time, and she will come around.”

He spoke with so much finality Loki almost believed him. It was the remnant part of his inner child that trusted his older brother never to lead him astray. For tonight, he allowed himself to indulge in it. “I think she saw.” Thor lifted a brow. “Me. I think she saw me. My mask slipped a bit, I think. It’s possible she saw.”

“I will send Jane to speak with her in the morning,” Thor offered. “She will need to speak with someone, and for the time being, it will not be you. We will discern what she saw and handle it from there.” He reached over to place a hand on Loki’s shoulder. “It will be fine, brother, but other things will not. Namely—”

“Steve’s death, I know.” Loki threw the rag in the bin and leaned back in his chair. “Fuck it. There’s no way we can write to Fury and tell him the captain is dead. With James’ mission being extended and our sudden interest in Midgard, he’ll never believe it was not of our doing. He’ll finally have grounds to move against us.”

“No one here will speak of it, but we must do something. I’ve arranged to have his body preserved until further notice. Then there is the summit in a few days.” Loki sighed deeply. The summit. How could he have forgotten?

“He has a wife. Her name is-”

“Lady Sharon, yes!” Thor beamed, then his smile fell. “I’ve met her, back before I knew. If I had, I never would have left her there. Do you think she can help?”

“I think she will. She hates the system just as much as—”

The doors to his study flew open, causing both brothers to jump to their feet. A sweaty-looking Finn stood in the doorway.

“Finn?” A sickening sense of deja vu crept its way up Loki’s spine. “Whatever is the matter now?”

“Frost giants,” breathed the boy. “Frost giants have entered the castle.”

ooOOoo

It took you a while to find your way back to your room. Anxieties and fears from the recent events scrambled your mind and made you wander in circles down the palace halls until a guard found you sobbing in a corner. He led you back to your room, where you promptly stripped off your wet clothes and climbed into the tub of now cold water.

You barely registered the chill as you scrubbed the blood and sweat from your skin. Not until you dried off and slid under the covers. Only then did your body begin to shake. From the chill or the stress, you could not say.

All you knew was that you had never been so confused in your life, and it was all Loki’s fault.

His change in demeanour was baffling. How one man could go from being the sweetest person to that violent, ruthless killer was beyond you. James had long mastered covering his abusive side with pretty words and gestures that meant nothing. All parts of James were bad sides, and the times he was good were just a pretence. This was a fact you had always known. But Loki was different.

His behaviour over the past few weeks had disarmed you. You began to trust him. You began to disbelieve the stories about him, writing them off as sinister tales meant to keep you and the other women in check. Except now, you could see it was true. Loki was every bit as terrifying as James said, even more so now that you had seen him in action. Which side of him was his real side?

You desperately wanted it to be the side he showed to you. The Loki he was with you—charming and careful, looking out for you behind the scenes and ensuring you were safe. Who took you to the gardens and let you sleep on his couch and run in the rain. That Loki… that Loki was like no one you had ever met, but you could not ignore what you had just seen.

The copper scent of Steve’s blood still lingered in your nostrils, as did the sound of his skull slamming against the pristine white floors. You remembered the blood staining the tile and, most importantly, how Loki ignored your pleas to stop. It was as though he were in a trance, with the only goal being to kill his opponent.

And kill he had.

What was the truth? Was the king a decent man with a dark side, or had you softened towards a sociopath? You were sure you’d never do the latter after encountering men like James and Steve. You had always been able to see through whatever farce they put up. So why is it, after seeing for yourself how dangerous Loki could be, part of you still screamed to hear him out?

Frustrated, you kicked the covers off you. Sleep would not soon come, and neither would answers. You decided a walk would be the best way to clear your head. Sven had the night off since you assumed you would be sleeping in Loki’s study again, so you grabbed your robe and exited your room.

The palace hall was quiet so late at night. You never noticed before since there was always someone with you to fill the silence or chase away your loneliness. The halls felt a bit eerie all alone, with just your thoughts to keep you company. Every corner you approached made you feel like something was going to jump out. You kept looking behind you to see if there was anyone there.

At first, you thought it was just the day’s events, stress left over from your ordeal. Then you realised it was something else. Your instincts, honed from all James’ abuse, were kicking in. They were warning you that danger was near. The hairs on your neck raised and anxiety pricked at your skin. Something was wrong.

Before you could stop yourself, your feet began moving toward Loki’s study. Despite everything, you knew he would keep you safe. Jane and Darcy were not options—just as defenceless as you and both with their own issues. Sven was probably at his mother’s, and Thor would protect you, but only out of—“Oof!”

Your sudden smack into a hard object had you falling to the floor. The sudden movement made your head spin, and you blinked twice to clear it. When you looked up, you gasped.

It was not the wall you expected it to be, nor a pillar hidden by the dim light. Before you stood what could only be described as a monster.

He (at least you assumed it was a he) towered over you like a skyscraper, as tall as three Thor’s stacked upright, one on top of the other. His skin was blue—cobalt and woven through with thick markings from head to toe. Red eyes scanned your body, black lips pulling back to reveal sharp teeth.

“Well,” said the monster in a sinister voice. “What have we here?”

Chapter 14

Taglist: @howdidurhammergrowchris @thedistractedagglomeration @soxysarah92 @vicmc624 @mischief2sarawr @scram1326 @booksandbenbarnes @lalalalokii @marvel-universe-of-masterlists @mistress-ofmagic @lokiismygodalone @cjand10 @sweetdreams25 @justlovelifeblog @mad4marvelloki @multifandom-world8 @sallymagnoliaposts @user13cabs @my-love-of-books @benwishaw @oceanmermaidwitch @alexakeyloveloki @midnightvitality @meyocoko @dren-whalen @jbarness @kattreffic @orangechickenpillow @dreamyrainy @trickster-maiden @freshfruitforrottingvegetablez @james-bucky-barnes-bitch @dark-night-sky-99 @somegirlfromasgard @yoongissidebitchh @findmedontlooseme @xstonedxslasher @spencerreidat3am @icant-hangout-imdrumming @johnmurphysass @ejr354 @lonadane @lost-forest-heart @lovecleastrange @vickie5446 @silverfire475 @trickster-maiden

#loki smut #loki x you #dark bucky x reader #loki x y/n #dark bucky x you #loki x reader #loki fanfic #dark marvel #dark bucky barnes #thor au #marvel smut #marvel au

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jjsstars · 10 months

Text

feel safe — posted on my ao3 | 1.7k word count

|| tags : pre slash theo/scott, theo has a bad past, melissa mccall & theo raeken, theo is part of the pack, angst

Theo’s hands shake by his sides as he stands outside the McCall household, having already knocked once on the door, only once. If nobody comes then he’ll climb back into his car and drive to the woods and park somewhere random to sleep, he doesn’t want to push anyone to let him stay with them. He still doesn’t feel right about calling himself part of the pack, they’ve all assured him, even Stiles, that he is now. That he has earned his spot and has changed for the better.

The door creaks when it opens to Melissa standing at the threshold, she’s in pajama pants and a loose long sleeve, Theo suddenly gets scared he woke her. It’s only seven o’clock but maybe she had a long shift at the hospital and turned in early, he’d feel awful if her sleep got interrupted by him.

“Theo? Scott isn’t in right now, is everything alright?” She’s really asking if anything supernatural happened, it hasn’t. The town has been quiet and fairly normal since everything that happened ended.

“Everything’s okay, I was just..” His heart rate spike, he feels dumb for asking this, for wanting more from Scott and his family when he’s already taken so much.

“Do you think I could sleep on your couch tonight? Or- or the floor, I’m not picky, and- and it’s okay if you say no. I can sleep in my car, I’ll be fine, I don’t want to pressure you or anything-.” He stops when Melissa’s face falls to something Theo’s only ever seen her direct at Scott or Stiles, it’s motherly.

A concerned crinkle in her brow as her lips press together into a thin tight line and her eyes turn softer, bigger, worried. Theo doesn’t know what to do with this look being directed at him, his own mother, his real one, never showed this much emotion on her face. It was always stone cold stares and disgusted tsks at Theo and Taras actions, the women never had patience for children, neither did his father. Theo squirms under the gaze of Melissa before she’s pulling him inside by his shoulder.

“I was just watching a movie if you want to join me, or you can wait for Scott in his room.” He nods along silently as he toes his boots off at the door, his parents weren’t good at the whole maternal thing, but they taught him house manners.

“What are you watching?” There’s a blanket thrown atop Melissa’s lap and a cup of tea with steam still spilling off the top on the coffee table. Theo’s careful not to bump into the table as he sits himself beside Melissa, not too close, but enough that his nose can pick up on the fresh lavender lotion she has on. She must’ve just sat down when he showed up.

“The princess and the frog.” She says and leans to retrieve the remote and a book from the table, her book has a card sticking out of the top, she’s halfway through it. The cover is a navy blue with gold letters, it’s cursive and Theo can’t quite catch it from this angle, but the book looks old and worn so it must be good. He assumes it’s something romantic, he remembers Scott mentioning his mom reading a lot of “cheesy” romance novels.

“I’ve never seen it.” It’s animated which isn’t what he was expecting but it’s a pleasant surprise. Animated usually means it won’t be something scary, that’s what Lydia told him at the last pack movie night, they watched some superhero movie that Malia and Stiles wanted to see, Theo doesn’t remember most of it since he fell asleep halfway through. He just knows he prefers the non-scary movies, he’s seen enough horror and gore in his life, he’d rather watch something with a happy ending.

“Really? It’s a childhood classic.” He isn’t sure how to tell Melissa that he hasn’t seen most ‘childhood classics’ and that it doesn’t stop at just movies. He hasn’t read the books the others talk about, hasn’t seen the shows and movies, never had the toys and accessories they mention. His house was never made to fit children, that’s how he sees it at least. His mother and father always had guests coming over and didn’t have time to clean up toys that Tara and Theo left lying about, and they didn’t have time to change the channel from a kids show to something adult. Theo and Tara were left to their own devices and told to stay away from the guests, to not embarrass their parents. Theo remembers spending a lot of time drawing and listening to Tara make up story’s from thin air.

“I haven’t seen a lot of movies.” Theo’s missed out on a lot of pop culture, more than he’d like to admit, but he’s trying to catch up and cue into things that the other teens talk about. Lydia said they’d watch Ariel, a movie she was obsessed with as a child and Theo hasn’t seen, so that way he could understand the songs she sings under her breath when she works with her hands. The pack have been kind about Theo’s lack of knowledge in certain things, the same way they’re kind about things Malia misses, he appreciates it more than they’ll probably ever know.

“Scott mentioned something like that. I think you’ll like this one, everyone does.” He nods along and looks at the Tv, Melissa has her book open and he doesn’t want to seem rude by staring at her as she reads.

“What’s it about?” The characters and art style are upbeat in a way, a simple color palette, it’s easy to tell this is a kids movie.

“A princess and a frog.” A small laugh comes from both of them. Theo likes how easy it is to talk to Melissa, to smile with her, it reminds him of when he talks to Scott. He never realized how much Scott’s like his mother but now that he’s sitting beside her it seems obvious.

They both have a warmth to them. It bleeds into their house, Theo always feels comforted and mellow in the McCall home, there’s never any worry about having to perform or keep up a reputation when he’s here. It even smells like home, a soft and sweet smell, none of the sour and harsh smell from his parents house. It doesn’t reek of strong chemical cleaners or three sprays too much of an expensive perfume, instead he’s hit with the scent of Scott and Melissa. It’s natural, gentle, no lingering tension or blood rapidly cleaned off the walls. He sinks into the feeling their house provides, the safety and security that he can put his guard down.

He isn’t sure how much times passes but he’s shaken awake by somebody’s hand on his shoulder. His head is leaned against Melissas shoulder, her sleep shirt is velvety on his cheek, he can hear every even breath she takes and hear how she murmurs something to whoever is standing in front of them. Theo doesn’t want to move, he likes being close to someone like this, it’s tranquil, something he doesn’t get to feel often. He wants to savor it.

“C’mon Theo I’ll take you upstairs, you can sleep in my bed.” Scott, his brain recognizes. His arms outstretch to Scott without a second thought, he thinks he’d die if anyone else saw this, but Scott only laughs, he sounds just like Melissa.

Arms wrap around Theo quickly, one hooking under his knees and the other around his back, Scott hefts him up with ease. It’s no surprise with his werewolf strength, Theo thinks Scott would try to carry him even without it. That’s just the kind of person he is, the kind of person Theo wishes he could be. He admires how Scott always tries to help his pack, even back when Theo was under the influence of the dread doctors, he still saw through the haze of their control and had respect for Scott. For how he acted, talked, he always had so much regard for people's emotions and wanted to find the correct way to solve a situation, not just a way, but the one that took into consideration everyone’s feelings and how they’d be impacted by it.

“Scott?” He asks once they reach Scott’s bed, he can feel how Scott stops at the bed frame hitting his shins.

“Yeah Theo?” All the attentiveness in the world shows in McCalls words, two simple words and Theo feels his chest go tight. How can someone care for him like this? After everything, he doesn’t deserve to be cared about, yet Scott does.

“Thank you.” Theo could spend a decade telling Scott thank you for everything he’s ever done and it wouldn’t feel enough. There’s nothing that could fully portray how much Scott means to Theo, how much value Scott’s come to hold.

“I’ll carry you to bed any day Theo.” It’s spoken like a secret, a whisper tone, so delicate Theo can’t help but cling his arms harder around Scott. His face tucks into Scotts neck, breathing him in, reminding himself that this isn’t some big dream and that it’s real.

“You make me feel safe, your house and your mom and just, you. I’m not afraid when I’m here.” He uses the same whisper that Scott did in hopes that Scott will take in every word. Theo can’t believe he’s being so vulnerable, so fragile, he thinks Scott understands.

“I’ll always be here to protect you.” Scott moves to lay them both down on the bed with Theo still held in his arms, like breaking the position would just be too painful. Theo appreciates it, and how Scott starts to scratch his hand up and down Theo’s back, it’s absentminded and Theo can tell Scott doesn’t realize he’s doing it. He just is, always giving that extra level of care.

“I know.” It’s the truth. He does. He always has, even when things were messy and Theo was the one in the wrong, Scott still would’ve protected him if he needed it, it’s not a question for Scott. He’ll always protect people who need it, Theo loves him for it.

#teen wolf #theo raeken #scott mccall #melissa mccall #pre slash #sceo #theo x scott #theo raeken x scott mccall #melissa mccall & theo raeken #<< I will fill that goddamn tag #jj writes #jj moodboards

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mylifeisactuallyamess · 2 years

Text

Sami’s Fic Stash

Dröttning

Warnings: graphic mentions of blood, gore, mutilation, mentions of non-con, kidnap, war, death, Ivar. Harald is also a warning. 18+. There are some gaps in this 😲 it’s unfinished 🤣 also strong religious views in this.

Pairing: Ivar x English Princess!Reader (past Heahmund x F!Reader.) and Hvitserk.

Word Count: 21k+

Tagging: @adrille88 @istorkyou

You stumbled through the woods, your foot catching on a root so you fell face first. One of the Northmen picked you up by your bindings, he was tall with darker hair braided down his back. He spat something at you in Old Norse dragging a terrified whimper from you. Your face ached where it had struck the ground, no doubt the blood was mingling with the tears already wetting your skin. The sound of your father’s cries echoed in the murky wood as the chariot dragged him over the rough ground. He was going to die, you knew he was as soon as he took Ragnar from King Ecbert. You had pleaded, begged for him to listen to your sister when she warned about the Northman reaching the shores of England but your father was a stubborn man and had refused to listen to you or Judith. And now, it was his undoing.

The chariot stopped and they hauled your father upright, his feet slipping on the mud as the rain pattered down on the wet ground. A chill seeped through your dress as you recognised the woodland around you. The dip in the clearing drew your gaze and instantly you were dragged back to the death of the Viking. You had hated every second, seeing him tortured and locked in a cage like an animal but your father, King Ælle had made you stand there at watch. The big Northman, the one with lighter hair tied down his back, grabbed the front of the King’s tunic, shouting in his face. You knew who these men were, they were Ragnar’s sons and they terrified you. Dragging your father down the rain sodden slope you hoped they would forget you were there but the one charged with keeping an eye on you shoved at your shoulder. The mud was thick, clinging to your shoes wishing you were wearing your boots. Your dress was ruined, not that you cared really, it just felt uncomfortable. Torn at the seams down your leg, mud permeating the hem and weighing you down, the rain dripping down your back made you wish you were in anything else right now.

The brothers surrounded the pit, the larger one stamping hard on the wooden trap doors and the others all looked at each other. You shied to the side when the younger one crawled past you, dragging his legs with him as they opened the wooden door revealing an empty pit. You could hear them talking, snatches of words you recognised but not much. Your father stared at them, still hoping to buy his way out of this no doubt. Sniffing you wiped the wetness off your nose trying to believe that he wouldn’t offer you up so they would leave him alone.

“How much gold and silver do you want to spare my life? Name your price! Anything!” You jangled the shackles on your wrists hoping to draw his attention so he could beg for your life too but he didn’t even look in your direction, so set on saving his own skin he’d clearly forgotten you were tangled up in this mess as well. The Viking on the floor spoke, his face twisted with hatred and hope died inside your chest. There was no way out, you were going to die in these forsaken woods at the hands of these filthy heathens.

The Viking with the black face approached the King, his face like a cloud as he forced your father to his knees.

“I’ve been told your god is a carpenter,” he spoke softly and fluently but nothing could disguise the venom in his voice. “And guess what? So am I.” The one that had been by your side suddenly grabbed the back of your neck, your pulse throbbed as he dragged you forward forcing you into the mud next to your father. He gestured to you and it looked like he was asking what to do with you. The cripple turned, his eyes a stormy blue in the dark light and they were fixed on you. He came close, looking you over like you were cattle, just an object that he was deciding whether to keep or not. You tried not to flinch when he reached for your face, his bare fingers digging into your sore cheeks pulling your face around so he could have a good look at you. He said something and the others shifted, a deep rumble of amusement sounded from them. You hated not knowing what they were saying so you did the only thing you could, you spat in his face. You expected the slap, working your jaw to try and ease the pain as it blossomed under your skin.

“Kristinn Hóra!” He shouted at you, wiping the blood tinged spit off his cheek. Your father wasn’t even watching, offering no comfort as he mourned for his life in the mud of the woodland floor.

“Father!” You were grabbed at the elbow and lifted to your feet. “Father!”

“Enough!” The Viking with the black face approached, making you stumble into the chest of the one who had a hold on your arm.

With a firm shove from the Northman you slammed into the trunk of the nearest tree and he hauled your tied hands up above your head. The shackles were unforgiving against your skin and you felt it was an insult to be bound by English iron. He pulled the rope tight, making you rest on the balls of your feet. Instantly your arms began to go numb but there was nothing you could do except helplessly watch and weep.

Darkness descended and soon you were all seeing via firelight. Torches and fire pits lit the clearing, your father was spread against a fallen tree his cries ringing out as they nailed his hands mercilessly to the wood. Tears streaked down your face but not a sound left you, soon you were going to be the only Saxon surviving and you were sure the Northman were going to deal with you next. The atmosphere as it weaved between the trees made the hairs on your tired body stand on end. You tried to shut out the awful yells the King made but he wouldn’t stop, almost as if he thought shouting would get him out of this. The brothers stood around him creating an inner circle. The crippled one looked over his shoulder, an evil grin spreading across his face before he crawled his way over to you. His hands grabbed your clothes as he heaved himself up your body. Your wrists screamed in protest at the extra weight he applied to your bonds and desperately you closed your eyes hoping to block him out. The pain was unbearable, the feel of his hot breath covered your skin and you wanted nothing more than to kick him away.

“You will watch,” he spat, grabbing your face so you had no choice but to look into his turbulent gaze, the smell of his leather bracer clogged your nose. “You took our father from us,” he carried on in broken English. “And now, we will take yours.” His touch slithered back down your body, his teeth bright against the dirt on his face as he continued to smirk at you until he returned to the tree stump. Other Vikings were placed in a semi circle around them all watching intently as if they knew what was going to happen.

The tall one approached your father, ripping the back off his tunic in a single pull, from where you were tied you could see everything. A red hot blade was pulled from the flames and all the Vikings leaned in with anticipation. Your father cried out in pain, the sound of searing flesh reached your ears followed by a smell that had you gagging. It was dragged down your fathers spine, the skin almost breaking gratefully apart to create a welt down his back. You couldn’t look away watching in horror as they peeled the very skin off your fathers back.

Everything about you itched with fear and a heaviness for the life you had once lived rested on your soul.

Your lips moved, whispering words out into the void as you begged for forgiveness. Your body cried out to be saved but even now you knew no one was listening. The God you had once looked up to you and trusted with your life was nowhere to be found. Your tears tasted bitter on the corners of your mouth, continuing to spit out words in desperation yet you knew they did nothing to serve you.

As you watched them butcher your father your eyes were drawn to the youngest Ragnarsson. He slipped off the wooden stump, his gaze locked with the Kings and he crept forward. You knew what he was doing and it made you sick to your stomach. A gleeful smile twisted his features when your father finally stopped crying out, the life in his body visibly draining away. Nausea rippled through your own body making it clench your twisted stomach so that it emptied, the sound of your fathers ribs cracking would be a noise you’d have nightmares about for years. Blood made the ground even more slick, it had splashed up onto the brothers faces yet they did nothing to wipe it away. Standing and silently watching as the biggest extracted the entirety of his revenge on the King.

You must have blacked out, the next thing you knew it was daylight, pain eviscerated the muscles in your arms and you fell unceremoniously to the floor. Your eyes fluttered open only to be faced with the sight of your dead father strung up before you. He looked like an Angel with his skin spread out and you sniggered knowing that was one thing your father could never be. Were you next? You didn’t care, your body was broken and bruised if anything death would be a release right now.

—

It was peaceful, the mist hung low over the water of the river. Silence clung to every particle only dispersing when the oars broke the surface of the water, a soft sound that relaxed you. If you closed your eyes you imagined you were on an English boat, gliding through the stillness on a crisp morning. But when you felt movement beside you that illusion was shattered. You had no idea why but the youngest son, Ivar, had taken to being at your side. He watched you all the time, his piercing gaze boring right down into your soul. To your relief the other Vikings left you alone but from what you could gather they were concentrating on getting to Wessex to kill King Ecbert. Out of habit you said a quick prayer hoping your sister and her children had at least made it from the villa but it went unnoticed.

You had given up weeping, tears did not serve you, they just attracted attention and you were hoping to eventually slip through the cracks. While they were busy with the ransacking of Wessex you hoped to escape, maybe you’d die but maybe you’d make it.

You picked at the wood on the side of the boat, catching your nail and pulling. This tiny sensation was all that kept you from spiralling into nothingness, the pain started as you applied more pressure and you felt a sick sense of satisfaction. Hissing you gave it a final push, the nail finally splintered, ripping a chunk off and blood welled up from the wound. Instantly hands were on you, his body covered yours as he responded to your noise.

“What did you do that for, huh?” His English had improved rapidly and it shocked you a little that this heathen seemed fairly intelligent. He lifted your finger to his mouth but you snatched it back watching the amusement play around his mouth. He grabbed your hand, this time applying enough pressure to make you cry out drawing the attention of the Viking that stood next to you both. This was his brother Hvitserk. Closing your eyes and turning away you had no choice but to let Ivar take your finger in his mouth. His tongue was warm as he licked the wound, repulsion curling all your insides into one another at the sensation. His spit dribbled down your wrist and finally you struggled enough so he released you, wiping his chin and grinning at you.

“Careful now dröttning. Don’t want to get sick.”

“Ivar.” The other brother, Ubbe stepped up beside you looking over the edge of the boat. “We’re here.” You felt your heart thump a little harder in your chest as they all started to move, the boat jolted as it grounded itself against the embankment. They jumped off the edge of the boat, the first thing they did was take you ashore. A pole was shoved into the ground and you were tied against it, your arms wrenched behind your back so no matter how you stood it wasn’t comfortable. All you could do now was observe. They unloaded quickly and efficiently, the camp only taking hours to take shape, Ivar sat on a seat near you overseeing the unloading of his chariot and horse. You tried to ignore a Northman that was staring at you, his head tilted slightly to the side. He had tattoos across his face and a long single braid down his back. His clothes were slightly different telling you he was of higher standing than most of the others and he had a sword. His boots squelched in the mud as he approached, which Ivar noticed almost immediately.

“Harald,” he called. “What do you think of my dröttning?” Your knowledge of their language was getting better, the need to understand drove you to listen and learn.

“What are you going to do with her Ivar?” He reached out and flicked the damage material of your clothes, his eyes raking over your exposed skin with a hungry look. “Is she for entertainment?” Ivar’s expression hardened slightly even though it never changed. His eyes seemed to darken in colour, the quick movement of his lips against his teeth was all that gave away how much he disliked the question.

“I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with her,” his tone was light and dismissive as he turned away to watch some Vikings chop wood. “I’m sure I’ll come up with something. In the meantime, she is not to be harmed.” You both watched as he crawled away and you relaxed in your bindings. From what you’d seen the Ragnarsson’s words held power here and you were sure this, Harald would listen. You hoped anyway.

—

Once the encampment was erected fully you were moved, dragged away from the river's edge and dumped near a shelter where food was being served. Your hands were bound but they were in front of you for a change so you took the opportunity to roll your shoulders trying to ease the ache that plagued them. The brothers were all sitting down wrapped in cloaks and warm furs, feasting on the freshly caught wildlife. The smell of the wild stag they were cooking over the fire made your stomach growl loudly and you watched intently as they all ate with gusto. Hvitserk leaned forward, deftly slicing off a chunk of meat. To your surprise he got up and approached you, crouching down he held it out to you yet still you hesitated. Glancing up at him he smiled a little, offering you the meat again. Your hands were filthy, covered in the mud from the ground and it coated the food as soon as you took it but you didn’t care. It was delicious, your teeth tearing into the softness of the meat, the juices dripping off your chin and he gave a little chuckle.

He moved back to sit with the rest and you concentrated on what Ivar was saying. It seemed he was insulting your fellow Englishmen with Björn disagreeing at every turn.

“I can only see what my eyes tell me Björn and what I see is frightened people running before us. I see their spineless God running away from our Gods.” You hated how you automatically agreed with him. Where was your God? It seemed he had abandoned your people in the face of these many Gods that the Heathens worshipped. How could you compete? One never faired well against the many. The argument continued as they dismissed their youngest brother but you had the feeling this Viking was not to be underestimated.

Being the youngest daughter of King Ælle you were mainly left to your own devices until he found someone for you to marry and take you away. You took it upon yourself to learn to read and write, your cousin Mannel had given you secret sparring lessons and you observed interactions between men. Hiding in the shadows and mainly going unnoticed you knew far more than your father ever believed. You had watched the dynamic between the brothers for over a week now, Björn and Ubbe being the eldest were the calmer ones. Trying to keep their brothers from fighting and yet they all would argue with Ivar, telling him he knows nothing at the first chance they had. Ivar may be the youngest like you but you saw in him a rebellious nature that you could relate to. If you hadn’t been born worlds apart you’d have possibly got on rather well. The name Ragnar pulled you back, all the brothers were staring at each other with almost undisguised hatred and you mentally kicked yourself for not listening.

“So this was what the grunting of the little pigs was all about,” a tall Viking chastised. As one they turned to look at Floki, you hid a small smirk and leaned against your pole. It seemed no matter where you were from, family was a problem.

—

The days blended together in a blur of misery and mud. You felt cold all the time, tied to this pole with nowhere to shelter against the rain. Not once did you complain, the brothers kept an eye on you but really it was only Hvitserk who seemed to care about keeping you fed and watered. You had spied King Harald a few times watching you but he didn’t approach you, much to your relief. Keeping yourself tucked into a ball not many people paid you much attention. Thinking you couldn’t understand what they were saying you were privy to all the information that was brought to the Ragnarssons. Listening closely as reports came in of a Saxon army, Æthelwulf leading the charge from the gates of Wessex. If he defeated the Vikings you would be saved and returned to your dreary life in Northumbria. You weren’t sure what was better, slowly dying here in the mud or slowly dying behind the scenes of the royal throne in Northumbria.

“Floki let me take her,” you looked up to see Helga. One of the few women you observed not to be a shieldmaiden, she had a teenager under her arm. A girl with long flowing dark hair who looked like her soul had died. Her eyes held no life, clearly a shell of who she once was. “She will get sick.”

“Alright take her. But make sure she doesn’t get away,” he hissed before stalking off. Your rope was placed in her hands meaning you had no choice but to follow her. She took you and the younger girl a little way from encampment and stepped towards the river.

“Wash,” she said in Anglo-Saxon, pointing at you. “Wash.” You didn’t even remove your clothes, stepping into the water you gasped at the chill but you did shed yourself of as much mud as possible. Dragging your fingers as best as you could through your hair you ducked down under the water. The rope tugged and you broke the surface wishing you could have stayed under there and slipped away unnoticed. Helga pulled you back to the bank, her kohl rimmed eyes were slightly wide as she watched you. “Come on, let’s dry you and give you some clean clothes.” By the time you got to her little hut you were shivering uncontrollably, even your feet felt numb and she pushed you towards the fire pit in the middle. She removed the rope and you let her strip your clothes off, her hands pausing when she saw your scars. Carefully she traced the outline on your side. “Where did you get this?” You didn’t respond, staring deep into the glow of the fire as you remembered. The echoes of pain licked at you causing you to shiver and not with the cold. Helga wrapped you in a thick fur and forced you to the ground. All the while the young girl just stared into space and you wondered if that was going to be you soon, soulless and devoid of life. A cup of some steaming mead was shoved in your hands and you guzzled it quickly, snuggling down as you finally began to dry off and warm up.

Helga approached you with a dress, gesturing for you to stand up. Her eyes were drawn to the silver cross that dangled around your neck and she reached for it. Turning it over in the firelight she held it up before your face.

“This cannot save you.” She furrowed her brow and sighed like she was disappointed in you. Letting it fall back against your skin, she lifted the dress and you shed the fur to slip into the coarse clothing she put on you.

“Helga!” A trickle of dread weaved its way down your spine at the sound of his sing-song voice. The thud of his hands on the ground followed by the drag of his legs. He heaved himself inside, pulling his legs round with a grunt. “Was she good?” He asked brightly.

“Yes, but she wears this,” she told him, grabbing the cross out from under the collar of the dress. To your surprise he grinned leaning forward slightly he squinted at the silver cross.

“So? We know she’s a Christian,” his accent made the word almost spit out of him. “Soon she will see that her God is nothing compared to ours.” You felt Helga press a pair of boots against your leg, the hide was supple in your hands and you gratefully put them on. The fur you had dried in was placed around your shoulders and you clutched at the edges fearful that someone might take it from you. “Come dröttning. Let’s go and find your kin.” You looked back at Helga but she was already focussed on the girl who’s name you didn’t even know so you had no choice but to follow Ivar.

You watched him pull himself up into his chariot, standing awkwardly to the side you waited. Your gaze lifted, seeing the weapons on Ivar’s belt and a reckless scenario played out before you of a daring escape after killing the Northman. Twisting your hands together you let out a soft breath, watching it mist before you in the cold air. Ivar sat in his seat, a knowing look on his face as his hands rested casually on the pommel, the reins loose in his grip.

“Get up,” he demanded in Saxon.

“Where are we going?” It was the first time you’d really spoken out loud in days and your throat felt scratchy. You asked even though you knew Judith's husband Prince Æthelwulf had raised an army to counter the Vikings but you weren’t sure it was enough. The Northmen certainly weren’t worried.

“We are going to find your brother by marriage,” he said softly, leaning forward slightly. “Now get up,” he told you, inclining his head to the chariot. You took a step back only to thump into the chest of Ubbe. His hands wedged under your armpits and lifted you forcefully into the chariot to stand next to Ivar.

“You’ve stayed alive this long,” he murmured looking up at you. His blue eyes flicked to Ivar before he stepped away, knocking his hand on the side of the chariot. Ivar shook the reins jolting his horse into motion and you held tightly onto the wooden side, spreading your legs automatically to balance yourself.

—

The army was like a snake, weaving its way through the countryside in a long line. The brothers walked around the chariot like a personal guard, Björn walking next to Ivar’s horse near the front. Hvitserk was beside you wrapped in his cloak and furs, no one spoke until the sound of a galloping horse made everyone look up.

“Stop!” Yelled Björn, bringing the company to a halt as the rider approached. You tried to look puzzled even disinterested when the rider told them the Saxon army was less than a days ride away. The scout said the army was large but Björn didn’t even comment, just saying they were going to camp here and tomorrow face Æthelwulf in battle. Ivar watched his brothers for a moment as the horns blasted through the trees of the woodland alerting the rest of the army to what was happening.

“You can make camp. I want to take a look at where we are going to fight.” They turned as one at Ivar’s words.

“What are you talking about?” Asked Ubbe.

“They will expect us to fight in a certain way,” Ivar explained. “Why should we do that?” It took all of your control not to show your surprise at his words. If the Vikings changed from well known tactics the Prince didn’t stand a chance. “Why don’t we plan to fight in a different way and surprise them?” Hvitserk stepped closer followed by Björn who looked thoroughly annoyed that Ivar had even suggested something out of the ordinary.

“Our warriors won’t understand what’s happening. We fight in a shieldwall, that’s how we fight,” Hvitserk said.

“But we have a bigger army now. And they have a bigger army now, Hvitserk. We cannot fight in the same way.” You didn’t move, your hands curling over the edge of the chariot as you intently listened, you agreed with Ivar, smashing two armies together with such vast numbers could mean the battle lasted for days not to mention the number of casualties.

“It’s too late to change now,” Sigurd spoke up and instantly everything about Ivar changed, his posture tensed, the tone of his voice grew deeper and you could sense the dislike they had for each other.

“Who are you to say that? Shut your mouth,” he scolded, squaring his shoulders slightly.

“We are brothers,” interrupted Björn. “Together.” He looked at them all before sighing slightly. “Why do you want to change the tactics?” He asked Ivar.

“Do you want to win, brother?” You could see the youngest Ragnarsson was trying not to lose his temper as he attempted to get Björn on side, if he did that the rest would follow without question. “Come with me Björn,” he pleaded softly. “Let’s investigate the battlefield. Perhaps instead of the narrow and small place we should stretch the battle over a large area. Many miles, and use the landscape. Ditches, hills, woods…” he paused. Ubbe looked at Björn, a passive expression on his face, Hvitserk nodded slightly as though admitting to himself that Ivar’s idea was worth investigating. Björn pondered in quiet for a moment, exchanging a look with Ubbe before he spoke.

“If it works, then it is a good plan. If it doesn’t, then it is a bad plan.” You refrained from smirking at the big Vikings logic. Yes, Ivar was definitely the smartest out of them.

“What do you say, dröttning?” Suddenly all their gazes were on you but you refused to feel flustered at the direct attention.

“About what?” You asked quickly, pretending you had no idea what they’d been saying. Hvitserk laughed out loud running a hand over his chin, his hazel eyes dancing with amusement. Ivar smirked, uncrossing his arms so he could turn to look at you next to him.

“I may be a cripple but I am not stupid.” You opened your mouth to protest and claim all innocence but Björn was already mounting a horse, the other brothers backing up to give him and Ivar room.

“What are you waiting for?” He called, kicking the horse in the sides and charging off. Ivar studied your features for a few more seconds as though he could see right through you. Maybe he could.

—

You knew this countryside, where Ivar had chosen to meet Æthelwulf in battle, was a place you would have picked as well. The Saxons would approach from the bottom of the hill, making them expend energy before the battle had even started but that was Ivar’s plan all along. Not to meet them head on in combat, but to drive Æthelwulf insane by toying with him, to lead him into a choice that Ivar predicted he would take. They mainly ignored you as they discussed battle tactics, wondering why, if Ivar suspected you knew more Norse than you let on, was he letting you hear all of this? Maybe he was that cocksure in your inability to escape.

“Good plan dröttning?” With a soft sigh you looked over the hillocks, the grassy clumps filling the steep decline from where you were standing. There was a woodland at the bottom all murky and dark with thick foliage. A deep ditch ran along the tree line, something horses could barely leap without breaking a leg. Drizzle settled on your skin and the fur around your shoulders sagged slightly in the fine wetness.

“I don’t know what the plan is,” you told him. Björn huffed, reining his horse round to gallop back to the Northman army. You expected Ivar to follow but he didn’t, his armour began to glisten in the dying light of the day as the drizzle collected on the surface.

“I know you think we are stupid. Some of us are,” he moved abruptly, barely giving you time to flinch as the blade of his knife was pressed against the side of your neck. His other hand grabbed the front of your clothes pulling you closer to him. “But I am not.”

“Forgive me Hlaford Ivar! I-I did not mean to cause offence!”

“What is this word…Hlaford?” He inquired, his eyes flitting over your face.

“It is a title you are worthy of,” you whispered. The knife moved up to stroke along your cheek and you saw he had a scar on his own, if you lived long enough maybe you’d hear how he received such a wound. He released you as though bored, throwing you against the side of the chariot making you hiss in surprise.

“You will come to battle tomorrow,” he sniffed, wiping the moisture that had collected on his nose. “I want to see Prince Æthelwulf look into your eyes and know he cannot save you.” Slapping the reins his horse responded but you frowned.

“You want me at the battle?”

“You are no stranger to a battle you were with your father. Why? I thought you Saxon women hid in your halls cowering behind your fake God.”

“It’s true. But I am not like other Saxon women,” you told him bristling slightly as his perception, your hand lifting out of habit to brush the hidden cross on your chest only to drop as soon as you’d done it.

“That I already know.” He snapped the reins and his horse broke into a canter shutting down the conversation.

—

Back with the army you were trussed up by Hvitserk, his hazel eyes were kinder than his brothers and he seemed more gentle but he was still a Viking and you’d seen him fight against your own soldiers. He adjusted the fur on your shoulders, pulling it more around you quickly making eye contact before he exited the makeshift hut you were in. Looking around you saw a bed, some chairs and a small table set with some plates of food. It wasn't much but you wondered who was going to be staying in here with you. At least you were out of the weather, and there was grass underfoot rather than slick mud. Sliding down to sit you tried to get as comfortable as you could, ignoring the food that was just out of your reach. Light streamed in when the flap was shoved to the side revealing the last person you expected to see.

King Harald stalked towards you with dark intent clouding his eyes and you opened your mouth to scream. The sound was muffled by his hand over your face, lifting you effortlessly with the other and ramming you against the pole you were tied to.

“It’s unfair for Ivar to keep you all to himself,” he growled in your ear as you squirmed against him. You pleaded but it fell on deaf ears, jamming your thighs together but still he lifted your dress and forced them apart. You heaved your body to try and dislodge him but all he did was chuckle softly against your cheek. “Such pretty squealing.” As you squeezed your eyes shut, tears were forced to fall down your face, the muscles in your thighs screaming at the invasion as he ran his hand higher to your groin. If you could shove him away, make him stumble you could have got the leverage to kick him or head butt him in the nose, anything to dislodge him. His breath was panting against your face, his body suffocating yours when he pressed in closer, the ridges of his leather armour cutting into you.

“Did Ivar give you permission, King Harald?” Your eyes flew open to see Björn holding up a knife as though inspecting the edge of the blade. To your relief Harald withdrew his hand, straightening up slightly and you wasted no time in throwing your head forward. Your forehead connected forcefully with his nose making him cry out and stumble back. He went to step towards you in anger but Björn grabbed his arm, halting him. “I wouldn’t.” He warned.

“What does he want with some spoilt girl anyway?” Exclaimed Harald. “What’s the point of her if we can’t fuck her?”

“He thinks the Saxons will bargain for her or something. So she is to remain unharmed,” Björn told him.

“I wasn’t going to ruin her completely. Since when did we start taking orders from Ivar?” Björn glared at the shorter man for a moment before answering.

“Come, let us drink and I will tell you what we have planned for tomorrow.” To your relief they left and you flopped back to the floor allowing yourself to take a deep breath. Emotion gathered in your chest but you refused to let it out, pursing your lips together to stop them quivering. You highly doubted Æthelwulf would even consider bargaining for your life, you were the youngest of 4 what use were you to the line of succession? Hanging your head low your thoughts went again to what would happen to you once the Vikings found out you were a useless prisoner. Hopefully they killed you quickly but you doubted it.

You must have dozed because the next thing you knew Ivar was sitting in front of you, a plate of food on his strapped legs as he watched you with curiosity.

“Ah, she wakes.” Your shoulders ached and your body was tired from being uncomfortable not to mention the pain in your stomach from being hungry. You tried not to look at his plate but the bread looked delicious, the meat although cold would still taste fantastic. You looked away trying not to show interest but your stomach growled loudly and Ivar smirked. “Hungry?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

“I could eat,” you replied. He shuffled closer until his shoulder brushed against yours.

“Open,” he coaxed you softly, holding a piece of bread in his fingers.

“If you just bring my hands…” your words died when he grabbed your chin.

“I said, open.” His fingers dug into your face, forcing your jaw to open enough to shove the bread past your teeth with his thumb. “There. Wasn’t hard was it?” He spoke with a gleeful tone which you tried not to glare at him for. “Open,” he demanded again and this time you complied. He slipped the meat into your mouth, trailing a finger over your lip, his eyes watching your face intently. “Good girl,” he breathed. You let him feed you, ignoring the little touches he gave your lips, your chin, your cheeks. His eyes never left you save to dip down to the plate and back up to you as he placed more food in your mouth. Next he offered you some mead, the liquid spilling past your lips but you didn’t care, it was the most satisfied you’d felt since they had captured you. Licking your lips you let out a hmm of contentment.

To your surprise he untied you from the pole but the rope remained around your wrists, your hands were almost numb and dried blood marking the bindings from your struggle earlier.

“Get on the bed.” You didn’t even question it, stumbling as best as you could onto the fur laden cot and laying down snuggling your face into the hides. Ivar forcefully turned you over and fear made you rigid as he yanked your hands up attaching them to the base of the cot so you were stretched out beneath him. Ivar smirked at your lips clenched together, the rapid rise of your chest and the blank expression on your face as you glared at him. Daring him to try it with you. “Go to sleep dröttning.” He lay down next to you, his armour digging into your side as he draped an arm over your stomach but soon his breathing was even enough for you to relax. You studied him in the dying firelight, his hair was growing out from a shorter cut and you found yourself wondering how soft it was.

Because of who you were and your station you should not have any experience of being this close to a man, but you did. A holy man no less, but you had accepted his advances without a care in the world. You had a reckless streak, a sense of contemptment for your position in this world. You did everything someone of your standing shouldn’t do but you had slipped under your fathers notice plenty of times.

Ivar shifted, tucking himself impossibly closer to you and you tensed a little out of reflex. This was probably one of the most dangerous Northman you’d ever encountered and he was currently using you as a pillow. A weakness you could play on, his unspoken need for reassurance, comfort, maybe even love. He was, after all, human.

—

Your seat on the chariot was uncomfortable. Ivar sat you on the bar in front of his own seat, his hands holding the reins either side of you as you raced through the countryside. Your hands were bound but you’d managed to plead your way out of a gag, not that Ivar cared. As far as he was concerned you weren’t getting close enough to the Saxons to say anything anyway. The wooden bar jarred your coccyx as the chariot ran over the uneven ground, you leaned forward slightly hoping to relieve the pressure.

You crested the hill, Ivar pulling his horse to a stop and looked down the line of the army. It spread all the way across the top of the hill, flags snapping in the brisk breeze. You could see the Saxons at the bottom with their own banners tugging on the flag poles, Æthelwulf was there on his mount. You had no particular feelings towards your sister’s husband, only having met him a couple of times when the courts mingled.

You expected your heart to melt with homesickness, you thought seeing him would have you scrabbling over the edge of the chariot in desperation. But none of that happened. A cool indifference seemed to settle on your shoulders, even when the Prince saw you, recognition dawning on his bearded face as he yelled instructions, no doubt for your rescue. One you weren’t sure you wanted. The drums silenced and a hush settled over the field as the two sides sized each other up. It was a habit to want a weapon in your hand, staring at this many soldiers made you jittery even if they were your kin.

Ivar pulled gently on his reins, the horse turning away with the rest of the heathens but you kept your eyes trained on Æthelwulf until it felt like your back was breaking. The blare of a horn broke the grey stillness and you finally dragged your attention to your hands. The blood on the rope now brown with age, your wrists still raw and split but it was a pain you were used to a pain you were willing to put up with.

The trees swallowed up the army, the mist and murkiness of the English countryside offering you cover to sneak behind Æthelwulf’s forces. And so the game began. From where you were with Ivar in the trees you heard the arrows fly, the shouts of the Saxons, the orders from the Prince as his men fell around him. Their defence was meagre at best, a mild attempt of protection at a foe they couldn’t see. Ivar’s plan was working. The positioning was perfect, his foresight unparalleled and you had no doubt the rest of his tactics were going to work. You waited for it, the heaviness of your heart, the disappointment at your lack of rescue but still, it did not come.

The sounds stopped. Ivar leaned forward in the quiet, his breath warm on the back of your neck as he wrapped a hand around your throat.

“You see dröttning?” He whispered. “No one can save you.” His fingers tightened possessively around the front of your throat, his face almost pressed against the side of your own. The closeness reminded you of being in his bed and the fear died down to just a shimmer over your skin. You had no doubt this man could end you and think nothing of it but also…he’d kept you alive.

He released you, gesturing to Floki and the Vikings began to move to the top of the hill once more. The big Viking was winded, leaning heavily on the chariot as Ivar rested nonchalantly in his seat. You heard the yells, saw the Saxons charging up the hill once more, the ground slick with sticky mud, churned up by hooves and feet alike.

“Mmmmm, four blasts,” Ivar told Floki.

“If you say so,” he gasped lifting the massive horn and blowing four deep rumbles across the field.

—

I moved on from this bit 😅 a huge chunk is missing.

—

You watched as one of Ivar’s men approached with a slave girl. You looked her up and down as she walked forward, trailing a hand across the back of Ivar’s chair. Her dress was simple, a deep red colour that made her blondeness stand out against it. She was pretty and instantly captured Ivar’s attention much to your annoyance.

“Slave,” his voice rung out in the church, echoing back to you slightly and you thought how much nicer it sounded in here than a priests voice chanting useless words to his congregation. “You know who I am?”

“Of course,” her voice had a melodic quality making it pleasing to listen to. “You are Ivar,” she stated simply. Turning on your heel the sound reverberated in the almost empty hall and Ivar cast a quick glance at you but her attention never wavered from him.

“Ivar,” he sounded almost disappointed at the lack of the rest of his name. His head tilted forward watching her come towards him and you allowed yourself a quick smirk. “Is that it?”

“No. Ivar the Boneless.”

“You don’t…seem afraid of me.” You trailed your hand over the gilded curve of his seat again, daring to brush the ends of his hair as you glared at the slave. She smiled, creating a heat to prickle under your skin.

“No.”

“We are expecting to be attacked by the Saxons, they have a large army outside of these walls. We must ask the Gods for help. We must offer them a sacrifice.” The chair creaked loudly as he leaned forward, the aged wood protesting from the movement. He crossed his arms and you carried on walking, your dress raking quietly along the floor. “Would you be willing to offer yourself as a sacrifice?”

“I will do anything you ask me to do,” she replied confidently. You studied the stone wall almost hating yourself for needing to turn around as the blood rushes past your ears. Ivar slumped back in the seat spreading his arms resting them on the arms of the chair.

“Then take off your clothes.”

“Is that really necessary?” The words slipped from you as you turned on your heel again but Ivar held up a hand to silence you, never taking his eyes off the slave. To your dismay she began to remove her dress, slipping the shoulders over her slim figure to let it pool at her feet. You looked away, wanting to march from this place but you also knew that where Ivar was you had to be. It was the condition of you being allowed to roam free, if that’s what you could call it.

“Come closer,” you recognised the tone of Ivar’s voice, the coaxing playfulness he used when he wanted his own way. Clutching your hands together you dug your fingernails into your skin, concentrating on the pain and not what was happening in front of you. Refusing to recognise the burning feeling in your chest that intensified with each step the slave girl took. She stopped at the first step clearly not wanting to overstep her boundaries but you saw the self satisfied look on her face that Ivar the Boneless himself was admiring her naked form. “Kiss me,” your heart jumped at the sound of his plea. The whispered words, still loud enough to echo against the stone pillars and you grit your teeth trying to erase them from your mind. Finally your body found the motor function to move as she mounted his lap. Turning slightly you headed to the burning candles on the altar, carefully dancing your fingers among the flames in an effort to burn away what was happening behind you. The sound of Ivar’s sigh had your stomach clenching with jealousy, a nauseating feeling crept up the back of your throat and you coughed lightly.

“I-I don’t understand,” he breathed.

“I know you’re a cripple, Boneless. But let me tell you something. Your deformity means that the Gods favour you, especially. I’ve always known that. I’ve always looked for people who are born different. Because that’s the true sign. You are a very special person. Nobody else here is like you.” You sneaked a look over your shoulder to see she was still seated on his lap like a tavern whore. She leaned forward to speak into his ear but her eyes were trained on you. “You are destined for great things.” Your gaze narrowed. How dare she come and throw herself at him like this, filling his head with nonsense. You still had much to learn about the Norse Gods but you were going to learn from people like Floki and not listen to the poison that dripped from this slave.

“You are free to go,” Ivar finally said. Your hand came down onto the altar knocking a candle over to splatter onto the floor.

“Do you not want me to…?”

“No, no you don't understand. You’re a free woman now.” Lifting your eyes up to the ceiling, you questioned his state of mind at this moment. She was the perfect candidate for a sacrifice and although the practice was new to you, this wouldn’t have been someone you missed. “Leave.” She walked away, grabbing her dress and sauntering down to the door where the guards waited.

“She would have been perfect,” you commented dryly, picking wax off the hem of your dress and trying to appear indifferent.

“What makes you say that?” He asked, turning to regard you with a furrowed brow.

“She was willing, isn’t that what you…we look for?”

“Then we shall just find someone else,” he said matter-of-factly. He leaned over the arm of the chair, that evil knowing sneer slithering across his face. “Were you jealous dröttning?” You scoffed loudly while still looking at the weave of your own garment even though your eyes were out of focus.

“Of a slave girl?”

“Of a free woman,” he reminded you slowly. “I could take her for my wife if I so wished.”

“You can do whatever you like. You are Ivar the Boneless,” you replied, forcing all emotion out of your voice. He eyed you for a moment before changing the subject completely.

“I heard King Æthelwulf arrived with his wife and sons to increase the numbers of these warrior priests.”

“The Knights Templar,” you whispered, ignoring the way he just slipped in the mention of your family.

“You need a set band of warriors to fight on behalf of your god?” He asked in disbelief. “The arrogance, he must be a great god indeed!” He reached for his spiked cane, lifting himself off the chair using the arm to steady himself. You chose not to respond, was it arrogant? Where was your god? He let the Vikings into his sacred halls, defiling everything without any repercussions. The scream from the priest as Ivar poured the gold into his mouth still lingered at the edge of your thoughts. The way Hvitserk butchered the nun at the back of the church after he’d had his way with her still turned your stomach. His blood stained face would haunt your nightmares for months and you were grateful Ivar hadn’t seen fit to treat you in such a way.

You tried not to be affected, you desperately tried not to see because you needed to survive. Ivar seemed to show an interest in you for now and you couldn’t let his interest run out. You knew if that day came, it was the day your life ended.

—

You sat at the table as Ivar ate, staring hard at your plate. You tried to ignore the Viking sitting on your right. Hvitserk sighed with frustration as he looked at his brother swigging out of his cup before he spoke. His arm settled on the table and you involuntarily jerked away from him causing Ivar to stop his brother mid sentence.

“What’s the matter with you?” He asked incredulously.

“I’m just not hungry,” you breathed.

“No, eat. You’re going to need it.”

“Ivar, would you listen to me?” Hvitserk seemed utterly oblivious to your fear of him. You don’t know why it had unsettled you so much, you saw Björn blood eagle your father, you witnessed Ivar’s sharp battle tactics and the whole army’s ruthlessness. But Hvitserk…the one brother you were beginning to like because he brought you food and blankets. Because he seemed more mellow than the rest had shocked you to your very centre. You weren’t an innocent wallflower by any stretch of the imagination, your hands had been coated with blood more than once, animal and human. Your cousin had prepared you as well as he could for battle, he told you the horrors of war but he didn’t mention that.

You listened as Ivar taunted Hvitserk, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes as your heart raced frantically. Angry Hvitserk was not something you could deal with today, flinching when he slammed his cup down and left to a chorus of laughter.

“You shouldn’t anger him like that,” you whispered.

“What? Not allowed to torment my own brother?” Ivar continued to eat the meat off the bone, his attention on you now his entertainment had gone. Settling back in his chair he had some of his mead and wiped his face giving a little satisfied gasp. “What has happened? Hvitserk, did he hurt you?”

“No,” you frowned. You put your arms around yourself suddenly feeling very cold. Ivar cast a glance down the hall, dragging his tongue over the front of his teeth as he tried to figure out what had happened. “Then why are you so frightened of him?”

“Tell me about the gods,” you blurted.

“Why? What good would knowledge of our gods be for a Kristinn like you?” He sneered the word at you, making your skin crawl. Your fingers fumbled blindly for the chain around your neck, wrenching it so the silver cut into your flesh, breaking from the force of your pull. Raising your gaze to meet Ivar’s, you slammed the cross onto the table. He sat up slightly rolling his shoulder before he reached for the offending piece of jewellery.

“I don’t want it anymore. I have forsaken him the way he has forsaken me.” Sadness welled inside you and for a second it felt like you were going to break but you stayed strong. Curling your fingers into your dress as Ivar picked up the chain, dangling the still warm cross between you both.

“This is all you have left,” he told you even though you already knew.

“I don’t. Want it.” It took all your composure not to flinch when he tossed it over his shoulder, flinging the cross into the mud and filth that lined the floor of what was once a house of god. His eyes studied you closely looking for any sign of weakness, waiting to pounce and exploit it as much as he could. But you didn’t give him the satisfaction and he grinned lazily, settling back into his chair as he picked up his knife.

“What do you want to know?”

—

You’d been confined to your room for a few days slowly going crazy and finding yourself missing the company of Ivar and even Hvitserk. Although his face covered in blood still haunted your nightmares, his smile and soft voice sometimes entered your dreams. Staring out of the window you could see activity down in the streets and you wondered if the Vikings ever stopped. They constantly seemed busy, always doing or building something.

You turned as your door opened to reveal Ivar standing there, his blue eyes resting on you by the window, that knife swinging from his fingers as usual. A cocky lopsided grin turned up the corner of his mouth.

“Come on,” he said as though he’s been waiting for you this whole time. You almost charged after him so grateful to see someone other than the thrall who never spoke when she delivered your food.

“Where are we going?” You asked, desperate to have some form of conversation even if it was with your captor.

“I want to show you something,” he replied. He led you to the very edge where an abandoned building made of stone stood. He paused outside leaning forcefully on his cane as you peered through the open door. “Go,” he ordered you gesturing inside. All your nerves seemed to come alight as you stepped over the threshold hoping you weren’t going to be brutally murdered. The entryway was small but it soon opened up into a wide area and in the middle was a large bath. Ivar’s cane rang out loudly in this space but your gaze was drawn to the mosaics, running your hands over the smooth tile and rough grout not even sure what the picture was trying to tell you. On the other side Ivar lowered himself onto a seat, seeming content to watch your fingers dance over the different colours on the wall. Next you crouched by the water, dipping your fingertips just below the water line. It was warm, deliciously warm. Curling your hand into a fist you stood, wishing you could slip in and wash the grime from your body and you wondered if Ivar brought you here to tease you.

“Are you going to get in?” Sharply you looked up, noticing the table was laden with food and a flagon mead.

“In here?” You pointed at the water by your feet and Ivar smirked.

“If you want I can have you locked back up…” he made to get up but your voice echoed loudly in protest. He sat back down and you let the noise of your shout diminish before speaking again.

“No, I—I would like to get in.” He waved a hand dismissively and poured himself a drink. You didn’t care that he was here, you didn’t care that he could see you, so needy you were for the touch of warm water over your skin you stripped immediately. Trailing your hands through the water you sighed, ducking down to feel the caress just under your chin. The water was glorious, smooth and soft, warm and comforting so much so that a soft groan left you that bounced off the walls. You wet your hair, dragging your hands through it, releasing knots and shedding yourself of weeks of dirt. So lost in enjoying yourself you didn’t see someone else enter until he spoke.

“You not getting in brother?” Hvitserk was already half undressed when you saw him standing at the edge looking over at Ivar. You retreated to the far corner keeping yourself covered by the murky water trying to look anywhere else but Hvitserk as he pulled off his boots and leather britches. He laughed, making a show of splashing as he stepped into the pool before hunkering down like you were with a rough moan of satisfaction. “The water is perfect. How did you find this place?” He rested his arms on the side, back to you as he spoke to Ivar and your eyes were drawn to the dark lines on his skin.

“I look Hvitserk, I take an interest. I don’t intend on leaving this place so why not make myself at home.” Ivar stabbed a piece of fruit, his icy gaze sliding to you but you didn’t see. Captivated by the marking on Hvitserk’s arm and shoulder you didn’t realise you’d crept closer until you heard how quiet it was. Looking up you saw the older of the two watching you with those hazel eyes and a half smile.

“Like it?” He asked, peering over his own shoulder. “Want a closer look?” He turned to face you but you were already moving, the water sloshing around with each movement and all you could think about was getting out. Their gazes burned into your skin as you hurriedly slipped the dress back over your now soaking body, ringing your hair out so it splashed onto the side.

“Can I go?” You asked Ivar, barely bringing yourself to look at him in the eye as he lazed comfortably in his chair.

“Vik!” He called and a guard appeared from outside. “Take her back to her room.” He grabbed your arm like you were going to run away but you just accepted it, you’d seen what they did to people who fought back.

—

You didn’t sleep that night. Maybe it was the impending battle, you had no idea what was going to happen. With a sigh you got off the bed, thankful that Ivar had let you have some privacy. Your hand instantly went to the vacant spot on your chest, the lack of your cross a burning reminder of what you’d said to Ivar. For a fleeting moment you wondered if you should retrieve the cross but then you thought, why should I? You owed him nothing. The god had abandoned you and now you needed to find a way to survive without him. Padding over to the window you looked at the plumes of smoke that rose into the moonlit sky, soon the fires would be out and then the battle would commence.

“I had this made for you.” You looked up from eating your breakfast in the dullness of the early dawn. Ivar stood by the bed you had tossed and turned in all night as a slave girl stepped around him holding what looked like armour. Standing and running you hand over the leather you gazed up at him in surprise.

“Ivar…”

“You are to stay with me at all times,” he demanded. “Wouldn’t want you to ruin what I have planned,” he spoke with a self satisfied smirk, his custom made dagger swirling round his finger as he leaned on his crutch. “Get ready.” He swiftly cast his blue eyes over you before leaving. The slave got to work straight away encasing you in the armour. It covered your torso and arms, chainmail hung from the shoulders where the lamellar didn’t reach and supple leather fingerless gloves were slipped over your hands. You tested your range of movement and found it didn’t hinder you at all, made perfectly for your shape and size.

You were led outside where you saw Ivar and Hvitserk overseeing the army disappearing underground. Hvitserk turned as you approached his hazel roamed appreciatively over you for a moment before judging his brother. Your eyes were drawn to the small belt and hilt in Ivar’s hand daring to hope that would finally see fit to give you a weapon. To your disappointment he passed it to Hvitserk.

“This is clever,” you murmured. Instantly you knew what he had done, the boats had been moved, the fires burned, the place ransacked and empty to give the illusion that the Vikings had left when in fact they hadn’t at all.

“I knew you’d appreciate it dröttning.” You flinched when you felt Hvitserk’s hands around your waist, the belt pulling taught and you jolted slightly trying to fight the rising bile that crept up the back of your throat. “Use the seax only if you need to,” Ivar tossed at you as you delicately ran your hand over the hilt. “I do not want to see it aimed in my direction.” He looked up at the sky squinting as the sun finally began to crest over the horizon. “Let us go.” You were the last ones down into the sewers, the smell made you cough and your eyes water but you obediently followed Ivar with Hvitserk right on your heels. Now, you waited.

It felt hours when finally the rumble of feet sounded overhead and you gasped as Hvitserk grabbed you. One hand pressed over your mouth and the other around your waist, pinning your arms to your sides. You knew better than the fight, refusing to let the fear overtake you but still your insides trembled and your skin sweated.

Shouts of joy sounded from above, the Saxons thought they had won, they thought the Vikings had abandoned their stronghold and again you found yourself admiring Ivar’s tactical prowess. He motioned for the ladders to go up and that’s when carnage was unleashed. The Saxons were unprepared, caught unaware as the Vikings spilled from the grates in the ground. Screams from citizens that had returned as well as from seasoned soldiers filled the air and the slaughter began. Ivar was lifted from the grate and you were roughly hauled up after him, Hvitserk pushing past you to clear the way for his brother. Your heart was pounding, there was fighting everywhere, noises shattered against your ears and you stumbled on the bodies of Saxons and Vikings alike. Ivar threw his knives with an ease and precision that almost defied humanity, hitting his intended targets and you watched the Saxon soldiers drop like stones with his blades in their eyes.

You heard a shout, your name.

“Æthelwulf!” You couldn’t see him no matter how frantically you looked. Strong hands wrapped around your wrist and Ivar’s guards dragged you into the parapet, up the stone steps and breaking out into the daylight. The battle lay before you, Knights and soldiers fighting side by side against the Vikings but you could already see the Northmen had the advantage. Ivar watched with cold calculating eyes and a sneer splitting his lips, the knife never stopped swirling around his finger. Your breath caught when a man rode into the courtyard, you recognised him instantly, his voice rose above the clammer of battle as he directed the Saxons, but from your vantage point you saw the futility of his direction.

“Spears!” Bellowed Ivar and almost half the Saxons dropped with wooden shafts buried through their bodies. You watched with horror as Heahmund used his horse as a weapon, trampling over a woman that had tried to face him until archers took out the beast so it threw the Bishop onto the ground.

Ivar was watching with strong interest and suddenly he shouted for the fighting to cease much to your surprise. Heahmund grabbed his sword, swinging the mighty blade like it wasn’t made of steel, his eyes wide with fear as he glanced up at you both. Recognition dawned in his eyes when he saw you, encased in Viking armour and standing next to Ivar the Boneless himself, anything but a prisoner.

“Give him my horse.” Ivar yelled down, his knife emphasising his words as he pointed. “Give him my horse.” He repeated, Heahmund fell to his knees, leaning heavily on his sword and you saw him begin to pray. Won't do you any good, you wanted to tell him. “He is too great a warrior to fight on foot!” The sound of hooves made the crowd part and Ivar’s horse was ridden in. Your chest felt tight as you watched the blood drenched Bishop lift his sword to his lips, but you knew Ivar’s intention wasn’t to kill him. If it was, he'd have done it already. Oh no, Ivar was intrigued by him and when Ivar was intrigued you were in luck.

Heahmund laughed as he looked round at the heathens watching him with death in their eyes, lifting his sword he performed a mock bow of thanks to Ivar who returned the gesture with a smug air. The grin was wiped from Ivar’s expression as Heahmund mounted the horse and everyone looked up to Ivar and you. He sliced his knife through the air, baring his teeth when he did and your stomach dropped as the cacophony of noise rose once more.

Very quickly not a Saxon was left breathing save the bishop and he was dragged from the horse to be held at the point of his own sword. Ivar moved and automatically you followed, noticing the way he huffed in pain today. The slowness of his steps and the way he relied on his cane. It would have been so easy for you to trip him, to watch him fall down the steps but the body heat of Ivar’s guard at your back told you it was an action you wouldn’t survive.

You followed Ivar as if tied on a string, obedient little Princess and her heathen Prince. You watched Heahmund’s face as Ivar took the hilt of his sword, lifting it and admiring the blood drenched blade. He tapped it against the bishop's armour and Heahmund shouted loudly, making you flinch. Hatred and rage filled his voice, his eyes never leaving Ivar’s face as the Viking sneered with amusement.

“Christian,” spat Ivar, baring his teeth as a couple of the Vikings laughed and he motioned for the bishop to be dragged away. The sound of your name had the blood thrumming right to your finger tips, a tingle of adrenaline when his eyes met yours desperately seeking out an ally.

“He calls to you,” stated Ivar, the sword hanging loosely from his grip. You had nothing to say, even if you wanted to, no words could escape the tightness of your throat. “He knows you.” Swallowing you struggled to make yourself relax.

“I am a Princess of Northumbria. Everyone knows me,” you finally managed to breathe out. The sounds of skirmishes reached your ears as the Saxons were driven yet again from the streets of York and you followed behind Ivar as he surveyed the success of his great army. Passing under an arch you paused, you could see his face staring sightlessly up at the sky, his eyes wide in perpetual horror. Mannel. Your cousin. The one who taught you how to fight and survive not only the courts but war. Although some days they felt the same.

“What is it?” You stirred from your reverie, ignoring the sadness that rose up in your chest threatening to consume you there and then. Ivar came to a stop beside you, his cane shoving the body of a Viking to the side revealing more of Mannel’s mangled body. You allowed yourself a silent gasp, a slight parting of your lips but nothing else betrayed how you were feeling. “He your kin?” Ivar asked, his cane now pushing Mannel’s face to the side and you quickly tore your gaze away.

“No. I thought I recognised him but I do not.”

“Maybe you are looking for the body of a lover, hmm?” He sneered. You managed to drag your brow down and shoot him a hot look of distaste. You didn’t even dignify him with an answer as he continued to grin wolfishly at you. Stepping over more bodies you moved away, trying not to think what you were stepping in as each footfall squelched hideously. You heard Ivar grunt and the splintering of bone behind you but you daren’t look back, knowing you’d see Ivar’s spiked cane in your beloved cousin's face. You felt rage that Judith had pulled him into this but you also knew Mannel was not one to turn away from a fight.

—

Moonlight streamed through your window, bodies still littered the streets and the smell of it all made you want to gag so you let the memories claim you, to take you away for just a moment.

“Your Grace.” You kneeled before him, the cushion soft under your knees and the hood hid your face.

“Princess.” His voice sent a shiver through your body and instantly you tried to banish these thoughts from your mind. “Will you take mass from my hands?”

“Yes,” you almost gasped. Gazing up as he recited the passage in Latin, a direct blessing from god and all you could think about was the blessing his body could give yours. You opened your mouth obediently to take the bread, noticing the lingering way he pressed the bread onto your waiting tongue. His fingers, just for the briefest moment brushing your lips. Next he offered the wine. His intense eyes locked with yours as you drank, feeling exposed and vulnerable in your kneeling position. He helped you up, his hands gripping yours tightly like he didn’t want to let you go. You don’t even remember leaving the chapel and ending up in his chambers. His body pushing deeply into yours like no man had ever before. He made you feel things you didn’t know you could, his body lithe and strong against your own as he showed you that there was pleasure in this world….god given pleasure.

—

The next morning you made your way to the cathedral that Ivar had commandeered as his personal meeting place. Food littered the tables and you assumed he sent out hunters last night.

“There she is,” said Hvitserk softly. He reclined back in his seat, cocking his leg against the table looking every bit the prince that he was. “Ivar said you were a good girl. He said you can ask whatever you want and I have to grant it. Within reason.” He added quickly. Whatever I want. Heahmund.

“I wish to talk to Bishop Heahmund.” You noticed Vikings taking an interest as your voice rang out loudly, their heads swivelling round, looking over your armour. Your hair had been braided by a thrall this morning and you knew you looked every inch the Viking shieldmaiden. Minus a weapon, save the seax.

“I do not know…” started Hvitserk but he was interrupted.

“It’s fine Hvitserk.” Ivar limped into view. He looked tired and you wondered if he got any sleep at all last night. “His Grace has been asking after our dröttning, she can go see him.” So Ivar had spoken to him, that’s why he looked so tired. Your hands twisted and you waited expectantly for someone to take you but no one moved. Ivar lowered himself into a chair, his face contorting in pain with a soft grunt. When he looked up his eyes blazed with fury that both you and Hvitserk were watching him. “What are you waiting for?” He snarled. Hvitserk jumped up like he’d been burnt by his chair, snatching his cup and downing whatever was in there before beckoning you to follow.

You were led down, the stone steps slippery with grime, water dripped somewhere echoing through the darkness only to be accompanied by the rattling of chains. You tried not to wrinkle your nose in distaste and be one of those members of royalty but it really was filthy down here. Hvitserk pushed you past the guard stationed by the heavy wooden door and you bit back a curse not befitting your station. Truthfully you didn’t want to anger him but he seemed oblivious to the new way you looked at him now.

“He’s in there.” The door creaked ominously on its large hinges and you purposely shut it behind you, yet neither of the Northmen protested. A shard of light angled in from above, it highlighted the metal pole he was chained to. His shadow was stretched, reaching your feet where you had stopped. He looked up with those blue/green eyes that reminded you of a stormy day and watched you wearily as you approached him. A thick chain was attached to a collar around his neck and chains bound his hands and ankles so he had no choice but to kneel. Such was the irony of Ivar.

“Your Grace,” your voice was soft and everything this place wasn’t. His lips parted at the sound like a spell had been broken over him and he was just cresting awake from the effects.

“Princess,” even here and now his voice made you shiver. “How?” You heard the unspoken questions even if he didn’t utter the words. How were you alive? How were you not bound? How had you survived Ivar the Boneless?

“I was captured at the same time as my father,” you started. “He tried to bargain for his own life.” But not mine. “God spared neither of us that day.” You moved to the side, skirting round the light that bathed the bishop.

“I prayed for you.” You had to refrain from scoffing, knowing he expected you to thank him for such a gesture.

“And for yourself in the meantime?” You managed to bite at him. “Because if praying is what this—,” you gestured around you both. “—gets us then I don’t want it.” Walking behind him you saw him bow his head in exhaustion or from the weight of your words you had no idea.

“The Lord will provide…” with a hiss of rage you were before him, yanking his head up by his chin to glare into those eyes you knew so well.

“Don’t feed me that nonsense.” Pity filled his gaze as anger threaded through you. “God abandoned me. My spirit broke. I called and I called but I was not saved.” You released him with a shove, the chains tinkling from the movement.

“He has a plan for us. A path that we must walk to understand his intent.”

“No,” you said firmly, turning away from him. “And don’t tell me I have lost my way because my path has never been clearer. Maybe…” your eyes trailed over the stone pillar trying to say the words that burned on your soul. “Maybe my lack of faith is my punishment.”

“It is a test,” he told you. Closing your eyes you imagined you both back at his cathedral, golden sunlight streaming through the large windows and warming you both.

“Then it is one I have already failed,” it weighed on you. The emptiness from the hole that your faith and belief had left, the dark yawning chasm within you was the heaviest thing you’d ever carried.

“Let me help you,” he said softly and now you did laugh, huffing from you to echo in the stone chamber.

“Are you really in a position to help me, Your Grace?”

“We came here for you.” Frustration began to edge his tone and the corner of your lips turned up, the warrior bishop was still in there after all.

“Not entirely. Æthelwulf came to extract revenge for King Ecbert, maybe Ælle,” you shrugged. “I am but the youngest Princess I shall not be missed. I have no doubt once Ivar is done with me I will cease to exist.” He watched you pace before him assessing your behaviour, your resignation and defeat clearly trying to find out a way to help you both. “Who enlisted Mannel?” You asked suddenly.

“Did he…?”

“He did not leave the walls of this city.” Heahmund closed his eyes, the whisper of a prayer on his lips and you found yourself sneering. “Pretty words won’t help him now.”

“It is my faith, I believe even if you do not anymore!” He strained against the iron, his neck cording from the force of his yell. Crouching down to his level you laced your hands together, leaning your elbows on your knees. Cocking your head you observed him realising that he had no sway over you, not anymore.

“I was young when we met, Heahmund. You words used to invoke passion and fire inside me, now all I am filled with is darkness and ash.” His eyes widened. “I have changed since the Northmen took me, they are showing me a new path. One I am willing to walk.”

“No! You cannot let them blind you with their lies. Their gods are not true! Pagans and heathens, liars and murders!” He spat as you stood, taking time to adjust your tunic letting him get a good look at the armour you were encased in. Turning to your shoulder you moved the chainmail, it was a pointless motion but it told him of your disdain, your dismissal of his useless words. “You belong here, more than you know. You are Anglo-Saxon royalty, born and raised to rule.”

“Maybe I was born to rule elsewhere.” Looking back you saw the rage etched on his features. “You and I both know I would never see the throne in Northumbria. It’s why you chose me that day. The youngest, the most naive, the most…pliant.” He had the minor decency to look ashamed as memories of your twisted forms came to his mind. “I let you, but you stole something from me that day and maybe you're the reason I’m now in this damnation.” A shuffle behind the door made you listen for a moment and you had not a single doubt that Ivar was listening. “I forsake him.” Heahmund looked physically pained at your loud declaration. “You should do the same because he has clearly forsaken you.” You went to leave but he called your name.

“I cut myself to ribbons that day. I bled for what I did to you.” Your feet carried on moving.

“What a lot of good it did you.” Wrenching the door open with a screech of iron you saw Ivar, his blue eyes blazing even in the darkness. Not even waiting for him to say anything you left, Hvitserk close behind as you darted back up the stone steps and bursting into the grey sunlight once more.

Your breath felt like it was trapped still in the cell with Heahmund and you swayed alarmingly. Hvitserk quickly put his arms around you to steady you, murmuring quietly in Norse as you struggled to get yourself under control. Finally you managed to shrug him off, nausea twisting your stomach and he lifted his hands off you. Leaning heavily against the wall you grounded yourself to the roughness under your fingertips, the murky sunshine holding barely any warmth today only the promise of rain. Hvitserk stood near you, resting his hand easily against the pommel of his sword as he looked at the people passing by with a watchful eye. Because you were Ivar’s. You knew you were breaking free from the confines of being his prisoner and becoming something…else. The words replayed in your mind; maybe I was born to rule elsewhere… Maybe you were. It intrigued you, this new found desire for power. Possibly shadowing Ivar for this long had given you a glimpse of something you missed from your previous life. Because you couldn’t go back, not to the confines of court and stiffness of Anglo-Saxon society. You’d always rebelled against it, hating every moment, every stitch of clothing, every word that was said. No, you didn’t want to go back.

—

You stood behind Ivar as he lounged on the bench, Hvitserk next to him drinking from a goblet, the tangy sweetness of communion wine made your nose wrinkle. White Hair, the tallest of Ivar’s men approached and Ivar gestured for him to speak.

“The Saxon army or what remains of it,” his eyes slid briefly to you but you kept your expression neutral. “Has abandoned their camp and left.” Left. Æthelwolf was gone, Alfred and Æthelred…Judith. Gone. You weren’t surprised, the defeat they suffered was catastrophic and if they assumed Heahmund was dead…

White Hair cast one more weary look at you as Ivar waved him away. Hvitserk smirked, the goblet hanging from his fingers as he swayed it slightly down the side of his chair.

“If you want to, we can pursue them and destroy them,” your eyes fell out of focus at Ivar’s words. The flames blended together the longer you stared only to snap up and fix on Hvitserk when he spoke.

“I think we have more important things to do,” he said softly. He looked up at you briefly before continuing with Ivar. “We must look to Kattegat. What if Ubbe kills Lagertha or persuades her to crown him king? The loss of our homebase would be a devastating blow.” You’d forgotten about Ubbe, it felt like a lifetime ago you were standing on that embankment watching him leave. Seeing Hvitserk make his choice between brothers, the relief in your chest when he jumped ship knowing that he wouldn't leave you alone with Ivar.

The bench creaked as Ivar faced his brother full on, his expression intense as he listened and you watched the exchange curiously.

“We need to sort things out,” Hvitserk continued. “We must kill Ubbe and Lagertha. And you must be crowned King of Kattegat, before Björn returns.” King. If Ivar was crowned King it would be a step closer to what you wanted. Hvitserk sat back in his chair drinking deeply as he waited for his suggestion to take hold. Ivar shook his head a gleeful smile stretching across his face and you knew already he agreed.

“You are making more and more sense my brother! Good man.” Hvitserk preened smugly at his brother's praise and you felt like rolling your eyes and telling them to pay each other on the back for their ingenious idea. “I remember also that King Harald had an ambition of invading Kattegat.” Your blood ran icy at the mention of his name. You were pleased to see the back of him after Wessex hoping you’d never have to see those facial tattoos or that braid ever again. “In the short term, we should make an alliance and work with him.” You shifted beside Ivar’s bench once again drawing Hvitserk’s attention to you. You didn’t know if anyone else knew what had happened that day, or if anyone else saw the hungry look that clouded Harald’s eyes whenever he set his sights on you. Your thoughts scattered as Ivar carried on speaking. “This time we will truly quit York, though leaving a big enough garrison to keep it safe until our return. Hmm?” You watched the way he fiddled with his blade, knowing the devastation he could cause with such a small weapon.

“And what of our prisoner…prisoners?” Hvitserk corrected himself, casually putting his feet up and running his hazel gaze over you at the same time. You almost forgot what he did in the church when they entered York for the first time. Almost. “This bishop and our princess?”

“Well,” Ivar looked up at you, his crystal blue eyes locking with yours and a sense of dread infiltrated your chest at his light tone. “What do you propose?”

“He seems like an important man, we could offer him back to the Saxons for a great ransom.”

“Or we could crucify him. That would be fun,” Ivar sniggered darkly and you clasped your hands together trying to ignore how sweaty your palms were. “But what of our dröttning?”

“Oh,” Hvitserk leaned back in his chair, tilting it onto just its back legs as he looked you over. “She’s too pretty to be crucified. Especially in our armour.”

“What would you like to do?” Ivar tilted his head to the side and you knew you had to play the game. Smiling slightly you leaned on the back of the bench hopefully exuding confidence you didn’t feel.

“I would like to stay with you. I want to see Kattegat with my own eyes.” Bravely you brushed some imaginary dirt off Ivar’s shoulder, just an excuse to touch him. “I want to see where you grew up and learn more about you, Hlaford Ivar.”

“Huh…” he ran his tongue over the inside of his mouth studying your face for a just moment before he swung himself round, swiping an apple he stood up. “Come dröttning mínn.” Hvitserk’s eyebrows would have disappeared if they rose any higher, hiding his expression in his golden goblet. You wanted to ask him what it meant but you didn’t have time.

Dutifully you followed him, aware of the distrustful eyes that tracked your every movement. Down and down you went, the repetitive thud of Ivar’s cane on the stone was soon accompanied by the dripping water. Why had he brought you down here? So you could witness him kill Heahmund? See if you’d intervene? You eye caught the redness in his hand and you wondered if he was going to feed the bishop. More likely eat it himself in front of the bishop.

You were let in, the door closing behind you and Ivar made a show of settling down to the side of Heahmund. The crunch of his teeth breaking the skin of the fruit echoed loudly and you grimaced in the shadows.

“Blessed is he who walked not in the counsel of the ungodly…” Now you did roll your eyes. Pacing away from the bishop as he droned on, uttering words that he thought might save him, preserve him maybe? Flaunt his Christian faith in the face of an unbeliever. Did he think Ivar would prostrate himself onto the muddy floor and beg to worship the god who forsakes his followers? You sniggered at the thought not aware of how it carried clearly against the stone.

Ivar let the bishop spout his nonsense, munching his apple loudly as he listened with an amused expression on his face. He laughed a little which you appreciated, gently trailing your hand across the loose ends of his hair as you touched the armour near the back of his neck. He looked up and smiled, chewing on the last of the apple before he dumped the core in front of the bishop. You were aware of Heahmund watching you but refused to even acknowledge him, only having eyes for Ivar as he dusted his hands off.

“You call me a heathen, but to me I am godly. I live by the gods.”

“There is only one god!” Snapped Heahmund and you couldn’t stop the dry laugh that left you.

“Then where is he?” You couldn’t help yourself, forcing the question out between gritted teeth.

“I have seen other gods. I have seen Odin, the Allfather with my own eyes.” Ivar’s words made you sigh and again you walked past him not able to resist touching him. A man who had seen a god. Ivar watched you from the corner of his eye as you stepped past him before looking knowingly at Heahmund, tilting his head.

“They are the devil's work.” Ivar laughed and you with him. “He conjures up demons and fallen angels to beguile us and lead us into evil.” Heahmund looked for you in desperation. “You know this!” He hissed but all you did was crouch next to Ivar knowing the bishop couldn’t look at you without seeing the man he called a heathen.

“What is evil? Huh?” Asked Ivar his voice full of simple naivety, a tone you had come to recognise that he used when toying with someone. Heahmund looked at the ground and for a moment you didn’t think he was going to reply.

“Answer him,” you pressed. You needed him to say it.

“The slaughter of the innocent.” You bristled and instantly Ivar had a comeback already falling from his mouth.

“You slaughter when it suits you.”

“He who chooses to be heathen is not innocent!” Your eyes bored into Heahmund’s as his words hung heavily between you all.

“Do you hear that dröttning? You are not innocent,” Ivar murmured to you. His face was inches from yours, his breath still smelling of the apple he’d just eaten. Heahmund held your gaze almost silently pleading with you.

“I can show you the ways of god, it could reawaken that side of you,” he whispered your name but you didn’t want to hear it. “I can bring you to salvation. And to eternal life.” You stood, resting a hand on Ivar’s shoulder, surprise making your breath hitch when he put his hand over yours. You felt the laughter course through him, his shoulders shaking until the chuckle erupted from him and he laughed in the bishop's face.

“Do you know who I am?” His fingers tightened around yours when Heahmund looked away.

“Of course. You are Ivar, son of Ragnar Lothbrok and many there are, who fear you.” His grip didn’t let you go, almost pulling you closer as he rested back against your legs.

“But not you?” He asked Heahmund who replied almost instantly.

“No.”

“You should.” Your words echoed around you all, heavy and damning. Heahmund slowly cast his gaze over you, all pleading helplessness gone from his expression.

“I fear no man. No matter how wicked,” he stated. You felt the inhale from Ivar as he breathed in ready to retaliate.

“People tell stories about other people. People they don’t know. Have never met. And yet, they still curse them and tell lies about them. Isn’t that true?”

“Yes. People tell lies about our saviour.”

“The saviour that saves no one?” You asked with a shrug enjoying the pain that contorted your once lover's face.

“He saved you from that fire,” the bishop threw at you.

“No! Mannel saved me from that fire!!” You snarled wanting to move forward but the weight of Ivar stopped you, his fingers now almost holding you even tighter. “Mannel my beloved cousin! Mannel who never made it out of this city! Who lies dead in the mud!” You clamped your teeth together, suddenly realising what you just said as the pain radiated up your arm.

“Ah lies,” said Ivar softly. “They get everywhere and maybe people tell lies about me.” You had lied to Ivar and now he knew it, now he had reason to question your motives and ask where your loyalty really lay.

“I wouldn’t know,” Heahmund said steadily. Carefully you tried to extract your hand but Ivar would not release you.

“I will give you the chance to find out. You are coming on a journey with us. That would be fun, wouldn’t it, dröttning?” The way how he wrapped his accent around the name he had given you spoke of danger and you tried to stop the tremor from encompassing your entire body. “Come, we have much to discuss.” Although he was grinning, Ivar's eyes held no mirth and your heart skipped a few beats, trepidation making sweat run under the collar of your armour. As soon as he released your hand you snatched it to your chest following him out of the chamber.

“I am already on a journey!” Called Heahmund.

“Aren’t we all.” Ivar sang back. Your gaze lingered on Heahmund and he read the fear in your eyes, his chains jangling in a futile effort to reach you. No help was coming, only you could save yourself.

Everything was too bright as you both surfaced. Maybe you could run for it? A quick glance told you that it wasn't possible there were eyes on every single movement you made. Each breath was short and ragged, like your chest couldn’t expand. He led you back to the cathedral, his hand clutching you and hauling you with brute strength through the door. The momentum carried you through, knocking into chairs and finally a table, spilling the contents as it toppled. The Vikings all rose as one ready to watch the exchange between Ivar and his Saxon prisoner.

“Everybody OUT!” Ivar bellowed. “OUT!” You arched your back, trying not to whine at the pain that lanced down your spine as he advanced slowly. Fury rippled across his face, his tongue pressing on his lower lip and you knew he was going to kill you.

“You lied to me,” his voice slightly raspy from his bellow. “You told me he was no one to you.”

“He was my cousin. I did not think it was of importance!” You wanted to crawl away, hide in a corner or run and never look back except you were trapped as he bore down on you. His hand grabbed the front of your armour, hooking into the armhole so he could bring you up to his face. “I’m sorry!”

“What else have you lied to me about huh?”

“N-nothing!” You stuttered.

“You silver tongued snake!” He flung you to the side with what seemed like inhuman strength, another table falling as you barrelling into it. Pain blossomed against your side and you knew already you had at least one broken rib. Your breath wheezed and you tried to scramble away from him, closing your eyes and hoping the blow came swiftly.

“Ivar! What are you doing?” Hvitserk. You’d never been so happy to hear his voice as he crouched down beside you.

“She lied to us brother. She is a LIAR!” Ivar pointed at you with his knife and fear told you to draw yours but instinct told you no.

“Put it down, she is no threat to us.” Ivar stamped his cane against the floor but he made no move to stop Hvitserk picking you up from the debris.

“If you believe that then you deal with her.” His rage filled glare ran over you and he sniffed dismissively. “She’s your responsibility until we get to Vestfold. If she survives the journey.” He turned sharply and made his way back out.

“Where are you hurt?”

“Here,” you breathed. You didn’t have it in you to even voice a protest when he stripped your armour back to look at your side.

“Come on. Let’s get you looked at. Lean on me, I’ve got you.” He spoke softly and it calmed you, leaning into him as he led you out to see a healer. You tried not to think about the weeks you were about to spend on a ship, a confined space with Ivar, Hvitserk and Heahmund.

—

In the weeks it took you to sail from England to Vestfold you were confined to a longboat with the Ragnarssons and Heahmund. You could go days without talking, the pain in your ribs from Ivar’s temper a constant reminder that you lied to him. Hvitserk tended to you, sitting by you and being a shield against any men who wanted to approach. Having a woman prisoner on board that they couldn’t touch was a novelty. You felt eyes on you all the time, watching, waiting and biding their time.

It was night time, the moonlight filtered through the clouds, reflecting off the calm sea. The sound of the water lapping at the hull sung a tranquil song that had your head bobbing with drowsiness in your little corner. Hvitserk was asleep a few feet away and Ivar was at the other end of the boat near where Heahmund was tied up. You didn’t sleep during the night, choosing to stay awake until Hvitserk had awoken but you were just so exhausted, the furs warm and inviting you allowed yourself to drift off to sleep.

Something woke you, a pressure on your ankle and you frowned. Opening your eyes you expected to see daylight and Vikings moving about the boat but instead it was as black as when you closed your eyes. You went to snuggle down again when movement over your body made you stiffen, reacting blindly you went to cry out but the hand was already sealing off your screams. You tried to thrash, to reach Hvitserk but he was too far away and already the Viking had pinned you down in the darkness. His breath was hot and reeking over your face, your eyes rolled in pure fear but no matter what you did you couldn’t dislodge him.

Memories of being tied to the pole back in Repton with Harald’s filthy hands all over your body and the feeling of helplessness rolled over you once more. Stupid, so stupid falling asleep! You didn’t stop fighting, still looking for a way to free yourself but he just snickered lightly at your futile attempts. Weeks from lack of exercise and training was showing.

“So feisty,” he breathed. “I’m going to enjoy taking you.” No! NO! Your efforts doubled but still he managed to lift up your tunic to pull down your leather breeches. Sheer terror seized your brain as his body covered yours, the bare skin of his legs brushing against you had sobs rising in your chest. Closing your eyes tightly you screamed one last time.

The pressure was lifted off your body and you saw the glint of a sword in the moonlight. The Viking that had been about to rape you had his hands up, his head pulled back by Hvitserk was almost snarling his face as he yanked on his hair.

“What do you think you are doing?” Hvitserk asked him in a dangerously low tone.

“I wanted her. She wanted me.” It took every ounce of control not to fire yourself at him and claw his eyes out at his blatant lie.

“Oh no, I don’t think that was the case at all.” A voice said as Ivar crawled his way down to your end of the boat. The others were waking up now, their attention being drawn to what was happening.

“I will slit your throat,” threatened Hvitserk, tightening his hold and bringing the sword up higher.

“Stay your hand brother.” The whole boat was awake now, a collective breath held in everyone’s chests as they waited for Ivar to swing his legs round. He looked gleefully between you and Hvitserk, settling his hands on his legs before he spoke. “Do you want Arne, dröttning?” Arne. Now you knew his name. The only response you could give was to spit fiercely in the Vikings direction and Ivar tutted loudly. “I think, Arne, that she doesn’t want you.” Ivar pulled one of his blades free and began to clean a nail with it as though he was bored of the interaction already.

“Ivar?” You could see Hvitserk’s fingers flex on the hilt of his sword as though he was holding himself back from killing the man in his grip. Ivar sighed loudly, rolling his shoulders and his jaw worked furiously. You jumped slightly when he stretched towards you, holding out his knife. Your heart thumped and the question you wanted to ask was right on the top of your tongue. “Take it,” he encouraged. “Do what you want to him.” You snatched the knife, your own seax had been taken as soon as you were on board with Ivar claiming he didn’t want you stabbing people in their sleep. Thoughts raced through your mind, some didn’t stick but your creativity ran wild as your gaze locked with Ivar’s.

“Anything I want?” You asked, watching the wicked grin that spread over his face. It was a test, Ivar wanted to see what you would do for revenge and you weren’t going to disappoint. You stood so everyone on the boat could see you holding the knife. Stepping towards the man who had you weeping for your life just moments ago you felt the shift in power. Hvitserk kept his eyes trained on Arne, his fingers still entwined roughly in his braids, blood seeped from a slight cut in his neck and you grinned. You grabbed his chin, forcing him to look directly into your eyes, gritting your teeth you slashed the blade along both cheeks in quick succession. The wet cut of his flesh carried over the still waters and you heard Arne’s sharp inhale but he didn’t cry out. Dipping your shaking fingers into his blood you did what you had seen many do before battle and trailed your wet fingers down your face, painting yourself with his blood. Arne’s eyes widened in fear and you heard Ivar snigger.

“Can I kill him now?” Snarled Hvitserk but Ivar held up a hand.

“No. She is not done yet.” No you weren’t. You dropped into a crouch, running the knife down his chest feeling immense satisfaction when his chest heaved nervously. You tapped his navel, your eyes continuing down to where his leather ties were still undone exposing his most vulnerable parts. You looked over your shoulder at Ivar as he watched you intently, a slight tilt of his head and flash of his teeth in a smirk told you not to stop.

Your hand lashed out, grabbing Arne tightly and making him lurch back into Hvitserk’s legs who didn’t give any ground at all.

“No! Please…I won’t go near her again!”

“Maybe,” started Ivar in his playful tone. “You should not have gone near her in the first place.” Placing the knife against your knuckles right under his balls you heard him whimper. His eyes closed tightly and his body trembled as you let him feel the coolness of the blade before contracting your muscles and slicing upwards in one swift stroke. Blood spattered over your face, coating your hands instantly but it was his scream that shattered your mind. He tapered off into a sobbing mess when Hvitserk finally released him, dumping him on the bottom of the boat. You heard a rich laugh behind you, it rose from Ivar loudly, carrying across to the other boats as you all floated over the calm sea. He clapped his hands together and you stood up, stepping backwards out of the blood pool to seeped over the wood and tossing what you were holding over the side. “Good girl,” his blue eyes watched you carefully, the blade still gripped tightly in your hand. “Throw him overboard Hvitserk to join his balls, he’s staining the wood. Come dröttning.” You watched as Hvitserk grabbed the bleeding man and without a second thought and tossed him with a splash into the sea. You could hear him, pleading weakly to be let back on board so you shut him out. Stepping carefully as you followed Ivar to the front of the boat aware of how the others refused to meet your gaze. How they shrank away from your presence when you passed them, blood still dripping from your hands.

You knew why he did it, not only did it assert Ivar’s command that you must not be touched but it gave you some semblance of power in the eyes of his army. You weren’t to be messed with and Ivar wanted them to know that, even if you deferred to him. You cowed to no one else. Hvitserk was right behind you, forever your guard and shadow but you didn't think you’d need him anymore.

—

Sunlight streamed down on you as you sat at the front of the boat, the breeze wafted past you and the land on the horizon got closer and closer. You hadn’t washed Arne’s blood off your face or hands; you wanted the Northmen to look at you and remember what had happened, what you were capable of. You wanted King Harald to ask what happened. Hvitserk stood to the side and you felt his gaze on you every now and again but you ignored him just wanting to get off this boat and onto solid ground. Horns sounded announcing your arrival and you waited for the nerves but they didn’t come. The last time Harald saw you were trussed up to a pole, now you were strides away from that person, that prisoner that he remembered and you wanted to look him in the eye. Glancing back you saw Heahmund, his head dipping onto his chest, his lips cracked and dry from the lack of water. Without a word you made a move towards him not caring how it looked as you scooped up some of the last remaining fresh water. The boats were about to dock anyway and everything would be replenished.

“Heahmund,” you whispered. “Water.”

—

You followed Ivar’s dragging footsteps, he was suffering from sitting on the boat for weeks on end and suddenly wearing his heavy iron supports again was a weight he shouldn’t be struggling through. But he did, so he didn’t appear weak like so many thought he was. You saw his pain, you saw him. It flowed from his gaze even as he sneered with fake joy at the man sitting on the throne to your left, the man with a crown on his head who watched with knowing eyes as you approached. On the other throne sat a woman, at first glance she looked like she belonged. Regal and watchful but when you looked closer she was a shell. Her blue eyes were stunning, her dark hair impeccably set, the dress she wore was arranged perfectly but she was there in person and not in spirit.

“Ivar and Hvitserk Ragnarsson. Why did you not return to Kattegat?” His voice made you want to shiver but you managed to banish the feeling, refusing to show weakness yourself.

“You don’t need to be a seer to know that Ubbe and I fell out.” His voice was light, breathless from the strain of walking and you subconsciously moved closer to him drawing the gaze of King Harald as you did. “We disagreed about many things. But in the end Hvitserk agreed with me and Ubbe sailed alone to Kattegat and that is why we are here.”

“Good choice,” Harald looked you up and down with nothing short of contempt marking his features. “A good choice.” You saw Ivar’s attention flick to the woman, his look of astonishment quickly covered with a smug look. “Surely you both remember Astrid. She’s my queen now.” She looked coolly at the brothers and you disguised your shock at them knowing each other, this was their life you had been dragged into. It was all new to you. Queen Astrid gave a little smile when Harald said her name but it didn’t reach her eyes. Ivar smiled, you could see the tension in his neck and you daren’t turn around to gauge Hvitserk’s reaction.

“I am happy for both of you,” his tone left much to be desired and you honestly couldn’t tell if he was actually happy or not for this union.

“Oh thank you. Ivar.” The way she pushed his name out of her had you bristling just behind Ivar’s shoulder. His fingers curled on his cane, the creak of his leather loud in the hall as he kept hold of Astrid’s glare.

“So,” it took all of your willpower to drag your attention off the Queen and back to the King, your gaze hot with hatred for them both. “Do I understand that you and your warriors will support me when I attack Kattegat?” Ivar let out a huff of amusement at the change of pace, pointing at Harald he answered.

“Straight to it, I like it. Yes we will.” You nearly jumped when Hvitserk spoke behind you, perched on the table no doubt next to a plate of food.

“But only if Ivar is made King.” Ivar turned to glare at his brother and you looked over as well, not sure where Hvitserk suddenly got this bout of confidence from as he stared right back at his youngest brother.

“You know that I have my own plans for that kingdom.” You kept your gaze on Hvitserk and he grinned lazily with a small shrug and you turned your attention back to Ivar who was trying to placate Harald.

“Of course, of course. And that is why we are here. What—,” he paused to look round at Hvitserk again, his expression unreadable. “I think my dear brother is trying to say is that, in the long term, what is to stop you from ruling Kattegat when I am dead and gone, hmm?” Your heart dropped at those flippant words. You knew why he was saying it, to draw Harald in with the promise of having the land he so desperately wanted but still it didn’t make it any easier and you… “How long can that be? I’m not a healthy person. I’m a cripple.” You controlled your breathing through your nose hoping you weren’t flaring your nostrils too much. Harald hadn’t looked at you in a while and you wanted to get through this meeting unnoticed. The tension was fraught and if you had a knife you could have cut the air with it.

“But your brother Hvitserk…”

“All that matters,” Ivar said loudly, cutting across Harald. “To the both of us, is to reclaim the kingdom that was torn from us by that murderous bitch Lagertha.” Ivar kept his tone light but at the mention of this, Lagertha you saw Astrid come alive. Her expression barely changed but observing people in court since you were very young meant you saw things other people possibly didn’t. She gave a tiny almost discernible shake of her head at his words and you cocked your head as her gaze slid to you. “We want to be in an alliance with you. To make that happen. And soon.” You could feel Ivar had Harald’s interest, his persuasive tone, the lightness of his manner as Ivar edged the king right to where he wanted him. And still you held Astrid’s gaze over your prince's shoulder until your cockiness evaporated at Harald’s next words.

“I hear you had an extra prisoner as well as your princess.”

“Ah,” Ivar exclaimed with a smile, putting his arm behind you and bringing you two paces forward. “You remember my dröttning?” From his sneer of course he remembered you, shame bruising wasn’t permanent.

“I can’t believe she’s still alive,” he told Ivar with a rough chuckle.

“Oh, we had our…moments,” he murmured almost intimately as he looked at you. “But she performed admirably when she castrated one of my men for going near her.” Silence. Except for Hvitserk shifting slightly on the wooden table you could have heard a needle drop. Harald cleared his throat, his eyes raking over you as he noticed the blood that stained you. Settling far back into the throne and you swore he paled slightly but the intent in his eyes didn’t change, you could feel his throbbing dislike for you from where you stood.

“What are you going to do with her or are you just going to let her loose on your men like a guard dog?” Ivar ran his tongue over his teeth beside you, bowing his head as he smirked.

“I would choose your words carefully, maybe she is exactly that. My guard dog, with a score to settle.” The threat hung unspoken between them but it told Harald that Ivar knew of his handsy indiscretion back at Repton.

“What of your other prisoner?” Ivar’s hand dropped and you carefully stepped back, moving over slightly to be nearer Hvitserk who stood up from the table and rested a foot on the bench, his hand never straying far from the pommel of his sword. “I have heard of this man,” Harald continued. “Where is he?” Jutting your chin out you tried not to look concerned knowing the state that Heahmund was in, you were worried for him.

“Bring the Christian,” demanded Ivar loudly and turned to face the doors. You didn’t, instead you observed the King and Queen as they craned their necks to see this latest acquisition of Ivar’s like he was a pack animal. The clink of his chains made your heart flutter but you didn’t show outwardly the effect it had on you. Heahmund however was nearly nowhere as composed as you were, his eyes were wide, his muscles tense and you could see he was surreptitiously fighting the men that brought him in by leaning back into their hold.

“On his knees,” sang Ivar. Nothing could stop the wince furrowing your brow as Heahmund was slammed onto the wooden floor, his hands going out to catch him with more rattles from his chains. “Bishop Heahmund,” Ivar introduced him as though he was providing a prize stallion to King Harald. The bishop straightened, yanking on his tunic in disgust as he levelled his gaze at Harald. Astrid lost interest quickly but the King sized him up before leaning back in his chair and gesturing lazily.

“What’s the point of him? Why don’t you just kill him?” You weren’t even aware you moved until Hvitserk put out a hand that pressed through your armour against your stomach. No other movement was made and thankfully no one seemed to notice. Your heart thudded in your veins but you managed to rein yourself in as Hvitserk slid his hand down your armour and let it drop away to hang loosely at his side.

“Because he is a great warrior. I’ve seen how he fights with my own eyes and I…admire great warriors.” Your eyes flickered up to meet his striking blue ones as he shuffled around Heahmund and you knew he was talking about you as well.

“He will fight for us?” Harald asked curiously.

“Maybe,” teased Ivar. “If he doesn’t want to get crucified!” As their mingled laughter rose you felt cold dread trickle down your spine. Memories of your father being strung up in a cross shape threatened to haunt you and again you shuffled closer to Hvitserk letting your arm just brush alongside his for a moment. You almost jumped out of your skin when Heahmund spoke. Ivar grabbed his hair in a tight fist, yanking his head back so he stopped the flow of words.

“No, let him speak,” encouraged Harald.

—

“I will see that some space is made for you. Heahmund and your…princess can go in the hut.” Panic blazed through your body and automatically you looked helplessly at Hvitserk. If you were away from them even for a moment anything could happen and you were in Harald’s territory.

“Wait…” Hvitserk started but it was Ivar’s voice that settled everything.

“She stays with me.” Even Hvitserk frowned at his brother but Harald smiled broadly.

“Are you sure?” He asked slyly.

“I don’t want my guard dog being bitten by any of yours,” Ivar snapped, jerking his head to the side in annoyance. “Come,” was all he needed to say to have you falling obediently to his side Hvitserk right behind you.

“If she takes up too much room she can share with the priest!” Harald called down the hall and you let yourself imagine stabbing him in the face.

“Ivar you said she was my responsibility…” Hvitserk was saying, coming to stop before his brother.

“Yes, until we reached Vestfold and unless my eyes are deceiving me brother we are here.”

“You don’t want—,” Hvitserk started but Ivar interrupted him again.

“She stays with me.” You shifted nervously to the side at the deep rolling anger in Ivar’s voice. He was tired and his legs were hurting, not that he’d ever voice that. Hvitserk looked almost apologetic as he backed away, his hazel eyes locking with yours for a moment before he got lost in the crowd.

—

Darkness fell on Vestfold but not the inky blackness that devoured the horizon at sea. A darkness of dancing shadows and untrustworthy whispers skirted around as you followed Ivar to the great hall. The feast was in full swing, music played, men were drunk, food littered every surface and your stomach rumbled slightly at the sounds and smells that encapsulated you.

“Ivar!” Roared King Harald, mead sloshing out of his horn as he stood. “Princess,” he said with less gusto and a mocking tone followed by an insulting bow that had your hands balling at your sides. “I see you’re still escaping the shackles.” A rumble of laughter swelled from everyone that was listening except Hvitserk who was hunched over his plate. “A priest and a princess. Quite a collection you’ve got going on. Who’s next?” Asked Harald loudly. Ivar gestured for you to sit opposite Hvitserk who finally raised his gaze to meet yours.

“Maybe I’ll add a King to my collection,” Ivar replied, easing himself onto the bench next to you. Harald’s expression dropped for a second before he hitched the smile back up.

“Maybe you will! Skål!” A mingled roar of Skål answered him and they all drank heavily as you carefully took some food from the table and put it on your plate. “Eat, drink. Make merry,” he told you both. You tried to ignore the feel of his eyes on you as an unsettled weariness crept over your skin and you wondered if you were more in danger here than you were on the boat.

—

You were so tired, your eyes drooping as the festivities continued. The warmth of the braziers licked at your tired body but you knew you had to keep yourself awake. Ivar was across the hall talking with Harald and for a moment a spark of panic ignited in your chest at being alone when a familiar presence covered your side. Hvitserk swung his leg over the bench, he reeked of mead and cooked venison. His braids were slightly loose and he had a stupid grin on his face as he leaned back against the wall.

“He is keeping an eye on you, don’t worry,” he told you in that soft tone.

“Who is?” You asked frowning slightly.

“Ivar.” You watched your captor for a moment and sure enough as he took a sip of drink his gaze slid to you, noting the people near you before turning his attention back to King Harald.

—

Another huge chunk is missed here.

—

You recognised her instantly, the way her blonde hair shone brightly against her red dress. Stepping to the side you heard her talking to Ivar, telling him she lived alone and was unmarried. The feeling rose in your chest once again like acid, that this slave girl could create a wedge between you and Ivar. That she could cost you the throne of Kattegat? You didn’t leave your family, your country, your kingdom, to be usurped by a slave. This was your birthright, it flowed in your very veins the right to rule, to be a Queen.

“I never forgot what you told me,” Ivar said, lifting the cup to his lips.

“You are a very special person, Ivar.” She smirked slightly looking down at his hands.

“It is still hard for me to believe that,” he confessed. “All my life has been a struggle. A war against myself.” You despised how open he was being with her, laying himself out there to a stranger he barely knew. Not wanting to hear anymore you swept into his chamber.

“I heard a yell I came to check on you…oh forgive me King Ivar. I didn’t realise you were entertaining.” Cocking an eyebrow you made no move to leave and she rose from her chair.

“It was nice talking with you King Ivar,” keeping her head bowed she slunk past you and back out into the great hall.

“Are you alright?” You asked, eyeing the supports on his legs.

“Yes. Won’t you have a drink with me?” You took her seat wondering what you were going to do about this slave.

—

Leaning close to him, your hand on his shoulder you whispered in his ear.

“I must retire. Too much mead maybe.” He laughed clearly having had plenty of mead himself.

“Make yourself comfortable in my bed,” he offered. His blue eyes tracing the lines of your face before turning back to look out at the feast. “I don’t think I will sleep tonight.” Bowing your head you dipped into his chambers, shedding your dress and laying it out. Finding a cloak you wrapped it around you pulling the hood up you slipped out into the night. You found her almost instantly, most people had gone to bed and the streets were empty. You wasted no time in grabbing her from behind, muffling her screams with your hand as you dragged her into the shadows. She fought you, clawing at your hand and kicking with her feet but she was no fighter, you easily overpowered her forcing her face down to the ground.

“I won’t let you take him from me,” you snarled into her ear, pressing the knife you had taken from Ivar into her throat.

“Ivar will see what you have done. He will kill you for this.” Wrenching her head back she was helpless as you pulled on the blonde tresses.

“You are a slave,” you spat.

“He freed me! You know nothing about us!” Suddenly she started to laugh, a breathy chuckle through her strained neck. “You want to rule,” she wheezed. “He will not pick you, a prisoner of war.” She tried to turn and look at you. “He doesn’t want you, some Saxon bitch or he would have chosen you already. He wants a Viking woman,” her eyes fluttered when you pulled harder, almost ripping the golden hair out by the roots.

“I am more woman than he could ever want.”

“He doesn’t want you…” she breathed again. The words whispered in your mind, clawing at your thoughts and dragging your doubts forward. What if she was right? She couldn’t be, Ivar needed a peer full woman by his side and you were determined to prove just how powerful you could be. The rage flared in your limbs and with a quick motion you sliced her throat open. Jumping back you released her as she gurgled loudly trying to stem the flow of blood that poured from the wound. It stained her dress an even deeper shade, her skin turning paler in the moonlight. You backed away, hurriedly wiping the blade on your cloak knowing you had to return before Ivar realised you were gone. It didn’t take long for her to stop moving, a last breath expelling in a hurry from her body. Wasting no time you grabbed the back of her dress and hauled her round the back of the huts, ducking down when two guards walked past on their rounds. Your heart was thudding wildly but you could see the pig pen just round the corner, if you could get her in there she would be gone for good. You looked up, making sure the guards had moved on, moving swiftly you shoved her through a gap in the wooden fence relieved to hear the snuffling of the pigs as they came to investigate.

“Don’t waste any,” you whispered. Getting back to Ivar’s chamber was easy, washing yourself in the bowl and disposing of the water quickly and quietly before you allowed yourself to slip between the furs of his bed.

—

Another massive bit of the story is missing here, continue at your own risk 😅.

—

“I love you.” His words wrapped around you like an embrace and you wanted to go to him, regardless of the guards either side of you. Lifting your chin defiantly he waited for you to return the sentiment which you felt bursting from you. It burned inside your chest like a white hot flame, searing up your throat to spill from your eyes as tears.

“You will have to see me again to get my reply,” your voice stronger than you thought possible. His blue eyes flashed in the firelight, the telltale sneer of anger and amusement tugging at his lips as his head bowed. Please Ivar. You almost begged out loud for him to touch you, to trail his fingers down your throat like he used to.

“I’m not sure that will be possible, dröttning mínn.” You detected the hint of sadness in his voice, if he truly loved you he’d take you with him surely? Shrugging the hold of the guards off your arms he held out a hand to stop them from pulling you back.

“King Ivar we must leave!” One hissed as the sound of fighting got closer. Björn was coming, he was coming to claim what was rightfully his. His icy eyes watched you wearily as you approached, warring with yourself in this very moment as you clocked the dagger on his belt. Your heart pounded. The blood rushed past your ears and it sounded like the sea against the hull of a longboat. He had taken you worlds away from where you originated, showed you sights your title and lineage would never have allowed you to see. He had let you live. But now, he was leaving.

“Ivar,” you whispered, drawing closer. His eyes fluttered closed as your breath ghosted over his face, completely trusting you in this moment. Pressing your cheek against his you felt him tense as the noise increased, both guards turning to face the threat of certain death and you chose that moment to act. Pulling his knife free with your right hand, reversing it in a swift movement as you plunged it into his neck. He let out a surprised cry that had the crack widening in your heart, blood spurted forcefully from the wound, landing on your face and trickling down your neck and running onto the fabric of your dress. Now the tears spilled, your lips parting in distress at what you had done as he sagged against you. The guards bolted, leaving through the secret back door you had used more than once.

You fell with Ivar, holding your gasping King to you as he bled into your embrace.

“I’m sorry my love,” you sobbed. His blood pooled in the fabric of your dress, warm and slick as it stained your skin. His face became pale, his lips trying to form words as he gazed up helplessly at you. Leaning down, you finally heard what he was whispering.

“You are worthy to be Viking, dröttning mínn.” His hand slacked against his neck as he sighed and you screamed. Loud and piercing just as the doors opened and Björn strode in covered in mud and blood. You looked up through the tears of hatred for yourself and your desperation to hold onto power.

“Please spare me,” you whispered through the shattering of your soul as you cradled Ivar to you. “I am with child.”

#sami’s fic stash #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #dröttning #Vikings

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vampyrenn · 2 years

Text

Stitches and Swimming (Steve Harrington x F!Plus! Reader)

♡ 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 ♡

♡ 𝕽𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝕽𝖚𝖑𝖊𝖘 ♡

♡ 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕺𝖓𝖊 𝕳𝖊𝖗𝖊! ♡

↠ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣: Steve Harrington x Reader ⌈Stranger Things⌋

↠𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: When You and Steve reconnect, you realize you have a lot to learn about each other.

↠𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 7.1K

↠𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: No Spoilers, No Y/N. Plus Size Reader. Canon typical injury/gore, black market doctoring, suggestive dialogue, heavy mentions of weight issues.

↠𝔸/ℕ: 3rd times the charm (hopefully…) I’m pretty sure fics won’t show up in my tags when I Queue them (sucks bc I queue them for before I get off work hah) but oh well! Sorry sincerely for spamming, I appreciate the love it got while it was up!!! but plz enjoy haha ^^;; FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED, THANK YOU!!

»»————-　♡　————-««

Needle & Thread

In the weeks since your first date with Steve Harrington, you realized there were a lot of things you didn’t know about him. The innocent crush you’d had on him in freshman year hadn’t ever gotten past the ‘staring longingly’ phase, and now that you were seeing him regularly, you were learning all of the little things you had wanted to know back then. You’d made a list in your head of the ones you expected the least, and found yourself adding to it pretty often.

One, Steve was a certified lifeguard.

You’d been on your third date, headed home for the evening when he pointed to the public swimming pool, empty in the dark, and like he couldn’t possibly contain himself, exclaimed “Did you know I’m a lifeguard?”

“Yeah?” you had been dozing, lazily staring out the window and listening to the tape he was playing, but his excitement stirred you, and you played along, sitting up and glancing at the pool as you drove past like somehow you’d be able to see him on the guard tower.

“Since 1983, baby. Certified and everything.” He was immensely proud of that fact, if the huge grin on his face was anything to go by, and you couldn’t help but laugh. The idea of Steve taking so much pride in something so small was absolutely adorable.

“Was it for the bikinis or the mouth to mouth resuscitation?” He looked away from the road just for a second to glance at you, his silhouette lit blue by the dashboard, his proud smile turning smug.

“Both. Hey, you wanna come swim in my pool later?” He was only half-joking, and you both knew it, but you rolled your eyes at him anyway, sinking into your seat with a low groan.

“That’s your master plan? Hope I drown in your pool?”

“Almost drown, Sweetheart. I’m gonna save you, obviously.”

“My hero.” he laughed at your monotone, grabbing your hand and messily interlocking your fingers.

“You can count on it.”

Two, He was an amazing babysitter.

You’d been half right when you’d assumed that Dustin, the teenager he was constantly driving around and hanging out with was probably his best friend. The other half that you hadn’t expected was the entire group of smart-ass 13 year olds that Steve led around like a mother hen, Dustin included. You hadn’t even directly met them yet, but their effect on Steve was immediately noticeable.

It was sweet, seeing how much he cared while trying so hard to pretend he didn’t; driving them around, keeping them safe and watching out for them. You told him as much one afternoon over the phone, after he dejectedly told you he and their party-really, it was more like they just needed adult supervision- already had plans after his shift, and he wouldn’t be able to see you.

“You should apply for Dad of the Year, Harrington. I think you’ve got a real shot.”

He snorted derisively. “If not now, I’ve got a hell of a lot of practice for later, right?” his voice dropped an octave, softer now. “I’m sorry. You know I’d cancel, but…”

“No way.” You dismissed him immediately, “Someone has to look out for those kids, right? I’m glad it’s you. Just do me a favor and get them home safe, and you too. Okay?”

“Yeah…Course. You know I will.” You didn’t comment on how his throat sounded closed with emotion, his tone sounding a million miles away, and neither did he. You didn’t know what to say.

And finally, Three. There was something going on in Hawkins, and Steve was involved.

You were finding that one out now, after a late night phone call from Steve had you speeding to his house, lugging your entire sewing kit into your passenger seat. He hadn’t given you too many details and you hadn’t asked, more focused on how broken and tired his voice sounded, and his terrifying questions.

“Sewing is exactly like stitches, right? For wounds?”

“Yeah, I guess…Steve, what’s going on?”

“Can you do me a really big favor, sweetheart?”

That was what led you here, slipping into the Harringtons backyard where Steve told you he would be. Steam was rising off of the heated pool, but he wasn’t in it, the water still and glass-like. You approached slowly, your kit hitting against your leg with every step, anxiety rising, and then you finally saw him.

Steve was sprawled on a pool lounge, eyes closed in picturesque relaxation, though he was covered in dirt and dried blood. There were makeshift bandages around his torso and arms, and the large, dried red stains knocked the air out of you. The lights illuminating the patio made him look pale and corpse-like as you kneeled next to him on the concrete, bearing the sting of hard pebbles in your knees to look up at him. You took one of his hands and he squeezed, telling you he knew you were there, letting you brush your lips feather-light over his split knuckles. He hissed, and the sound snapped a thread supporting your composure.

“Oh, Stevie…” it was more a whimper than anything, your eyes already blurring with unshed tears, and he responded instantly, your heartbroken voice spurring him to action again. He sat up and swung his legs over the lounge with great effort, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding when you could see his eyes again, tired but alert, alive. A tear slipped from the corner of your eye, and he leaned in close, reaching for you.

You let him help haul you onto the lounge next to him, wiping your face clumsily with his dirty hands before tracing his fingers down your neck, your shoulders, slow and gentle. You sniffled.

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay.” Steve soothed his palms up and down your arms. “You should see the other guy.” He smiled, blood staining his teeth, and your stomach churned.

“How can you even joke right now?” You breathed, sadness and worry permeating through every word, and he closed his eyes again, smile dropping.

“Baby…” it was the first time he’d ever called you that in a serious way, but you were too upset to even notice, suddenly angry and desperate and hurt even as you fought to stay calm for him. Your tone betrayed at least some of it when you spoke, and his hands dropped from your shoulders.

“What happened, Steve?” His entire face twisted the moment you asked, eyes squeezing shut tighter and brows furrowing. He looked beautiful even now, if you ignored the harsh lights of the pool; caked in dirt and blood you weren’t sure was all his, his sweaty face tipped up to the stars. It tore your heart, leaving a raw edge.

“Not tonight. Please.” The desperation in his voice melted all of your righteous anger out of you.. “I…I can’t do this tonight. I promise you, soon, I’ll tell you everything. But not now.” His voice broke, and he dragged his hands through his hair, grabbing fistfuls.

Any other time, you would have pushed the issue; Instead, you breathed in deeply through your nose and leaned down, grabbing your sewing kit and setting it on your knees. Steve needed your support, and whatever the hell was going on, you’d give it to him, and anything else he wanted.

“We don’t have any way to knock you out.” you said softly, and you could feel him relax next to you as you dropped the subject. You bit back the acid in your throat.

Not tonight.

“S’okay. I can take it.” he shrugged, glancing to the patio doors behind you. “Let’s go to the kitchen. Cleaner in there.” you nodded, getting off the lounge and offering your hand to Steve. He took it, stumbling slightly as he stood, and your heart seized in worry. You took his arm in your own and helped him inside.

You’d never been to the Harringtons. King Steve’s wild parties weren’t really your scene, and you hadn’t been dating long enough that you’d felt comfortable just hanging out in his house. It was huge and nice, and you eyed the perfectly white countertops with trepidation as you laid out your supplies, Steve laying back on the kitchen island like a makeshift stretcher.

“Are your parents gonna, like, kill you if we get blood everywhere? Maybe we should go to the bathroom.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste and shook his head.

“We’ll clean up, they’re gone so damn much they’ll never notice. And there’s nowhere to lay down in the bathroom. Now patch me up, Doc.” he crossed his arms behind his head, closing his eyes and relaxing again while you got to work cutting the blood soaked wraps off and using a wet cloth to wipe away all the grime you could see. The kitchen was dead silent except for yours and Steve’s breathing, the sound of you scrubbing the cloth into his skin. The more dirt and caked blood you washed away, the more he looked like your Steve, although bone-tired and a little cut up, and you calmed.

He would be okay. You’ll make sure.

When he was as clean as he was going to get, you had him sit up for a second to take off the mud splattered vest he was wearing, tossing it somewhere behind you. You soaked a cotton ball with antiseptic, grabbing it with tweezers before turning back to him, settling between his thighs for a moment. He watched you carefully, studying your expression as you put your free hand on his knee, patting it.

“Lay down.” He didn’t argue, though you could tell he had something on his mind, just stretched out on the island again, groaning softly, and you assessed the real damage.

The gashes you assumed he wanted you to sew up were on his arms and torso, just where the largest amounts of blood had soaked into the bandages. The one on his arm was a relief; you knew you could superglue the cut back together, no sutures needed, and it would heal perfectly. The gashes on his torso were deep and ugly, like some animal had bitten chunks out of his hip, and you knew instantly they’d have to be stitched. They looked better clean, but they were still steadily oozing blood with no sign of stopping. The sight made you a little sick, but you just shook your head lightly and started cleaning the skin around the wounds. Occasionally, Steve would suck in a breath through his teeth, or grunt in discomfort, and you’d stop to coo and run your thumbs gently over his sides, desperate to ease his pain.

“Okay. I think we’re ready.” you took a deep breath, and Steve opened his eyes to watch you wash your hands and pull a box of latex gloves out of your sewing kit, putting on two pairs. His eyes went wide when you pulled the needle and nylon thread out of the bowl you’d been using to soak them in peroxide for the last 20 minutes, figuring that was about as sterile as it was going to get.

Jesus, I hope he doesn’t get an infection and die. I should have just dragged him to the hospital.

“That looks like a fishing line.” He said nervously, and you laughed despite yourself.

“It’s stronger, nylon. I think it’s close to what doctors use…” you trailed off, frowning, “this is really gonna hurt, Steve.” it would have hurt if you’d had all the right tools but no anesthesia, if you had actually been a doctor, even, but this was a total back alley operation here; you’d be lying if you said you weren’t worried about making everything worse.

“I know. I trust you.” His words were weak with emotion, but they hit you hard. “I swear I trust you.” He wasn’t just talking about the stitches anymore, opening his mouth with a rush of air, but you shushed him, putting a finger over his lips to stop him before he started. You’d promised him tonight, away from questions and answers, and you’d meant it.

He’s gonna have a hard enough time as is.

“I know you do.” you said firmly. He fully slumped against the table at your reassurance, shutting his eyes against the lights and the present.

You threaded the needle.

–

It was early morning by the time you finished.

Steve wasn’t dead, which felt like a rousing success considering you’d just played surgeon on his kitchen counter, but after he was already hurt, you’d pushed him to his absolute limit. Taking the slippery gloves off and washing his blood off of your wrists made you retch into the sink, his moans and screams ringing in your ears. He’d passed out a few times, and you’d cried at least once out of guilt, but it was over.

You turned to face him, pale, soaked in sweat and shaking. You’d brought heavy duty pain meds from your own house, something you’d gotten prescribed for a bad injury months ago; now you were both just waiting for them to kick in. your stomach knotted with regret as he groaned softly, and you reached out, gently threading your fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his damp forehead.

“M’sorry.” you said softly, voice cracking, “You did so good. I’m so sorry.”

He gritted his teeth, shaking his head imperceptibly. “No, you…” he huffed, like he didn’t have enough air to speak, “you…did good. Thank you…Sorry.” you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, pulling back and continuing to smooth his hair away from his face. It didn’t take much longer for the meds to kick in, and you waited until he was pretty out of it to get him up. You knew it would be painful, and you hoped he’d be tired and loose enough that it wouldn’t hurt so much to get to the couch.

There’s no way in hell he’s getting upstairs.

It took longer than you expected, he was heavy and breaks for him to catch his breath or moan in pain were frequent, but eventually he was settled under a thick blanket and sleeping like the dead. As tempted as you were to join him, you got to business wiping his blood off of the counters and floors, disinfecting everything you could and tossing what you couldn’t. You threw the denim vest into the washer, and the kitchen gleamed, no imprint left behind of the screaming man on the counters.

Your eyes burned from crying and exhaustion, but you forced yourself to go outside and wipe down the pool lounge you’d found him on, like scrubbing the blood off of anything he touched would make it all a horrible, confusing dream.

You didn’t sleep until the entire downstairs smelled like bleach. Steve didn’t stir at all the entire time, so you curled up on the loveseat opposite him, watching him and the sunrise with bleary eyes until you couldn’t keep them open anymore.

–

You woke up only a few hours later, suddenly too nervous to sleep. Steve still hadn’t moved, so you felt safe leaving long enough to go get groceries; you’d checked his fridge while you were cleaning, took one look at the number of frozen meals and leftover takeout, and decided you’d have to cook some real food for him when he woke up.

You sort of felt like a stalker, sneaking into his house from the backyard with a bunch of bags but the huge, empty house creeped you out, and you hoped cooking would fill some of the empty space. Imagining Steve here all the time, alone, made your chest ache.

He slept into the late evening, and you decided to just start on dinner; if he didn’t wake up, you could eat and save him the rest. As soon as you finished cooking, pulling out tupperware to put his portion into, you heard his soft voice drifting from the living room, calling your name. You flipped the burners and ran out of the kitchen.

His eyes were still closed, but his face was pinched, and he was clearly awake. He looked almost normal again, no longer paper-white and trembling in pain. You breathed out softly. “Hi, Stevie.”

“Hi, Angel.” He smiled briefly, but you could hear the strain in his voice, and he still didn’t open his eyes. Anxiously, you wondered if he was worse than before.

“How are you feeling? Need more meds?” He nodded, and you moved to the coffee table, grabbing the pills and bottle of water you’d set there. You pressed a tablet into his hand, and helped him drink down some water, tucking stray hairs behind his ears once he finished. He shifted slightly, letting out a groan, but looking far more relaxed.

“You're pretty good at this. Ever thought about being a nurse?”

“Steve, I’m pretty sure I almost killed you last night. Are you high?”

“No. Well, the pain meds…” he finally opened his eyes, meeting yours above him and giving you a goofy grin. The swelling on his face was already going down, but he was still puffy and bruised. He raised his eyebrows at you, and you rewarded him with a small smile.

“You’re so pretty.” You told him honestly, still running your fingers through his hair. He breathed a laugh through his nose, wincing in pain a second later.

“Wow, you sure know how to treat a guy who just got his ass kicked. Bet I look dead.” He sounded sarcastic, but you could see the warmth in his face. You shook your head, cupping his jaw tenderly in your palms.

“Nope. Just as gorgeous as ever.” He took in a sharp breath, closing his eyes as you kissed him fleetingly on his nose, his jaw, any bruise you could find that didn’t seem too sore, until he tilted his chin at just the right angle and caught your lips with his own. It was chaste, just a quick, sweet peck before he was pulling away with a satisfied grin that made an unexpected heat flare in your stomach. It was the first time he’d kissed you, and it wasn’t great; his lips were chapped, and he tasted like morning breath and the faint memory of blood, but it was Steve, so you chased him, kissing him again before finally pulling away and straightening up. The comfortable silence broke when his stomach growled. You grinned.

“Made you dinner, with real food. I’ll get you a plate.”

“God, you’re my dream girl.” you bit the inside of your cheek and turned your face away, waving off his compliments.

“I’m trying to feel less guilty about stabbing you with a needle.”

“I asked you to.”

“I know. And you owe me. So,” you trailed the tip of your index finger along his jaw, booping his nose and watching the dreamy smile spread slowly over his face while he stared up at you, “I bring you food, and you explain everything. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Measuring Tape

When you took the stitches out two weeks later, Steve told you he had a surprise for you.

You were a little worried, considering everything he had just ‘surprised’ you with recently; kids with superpowers and weird creatures from hell, Russian spies, shit man. It was insane, but you believed him; and you didn’t want anything to do with any super cool new lizard Dustin found.

He promised it had nothing to do with the Upside Down, so you agreed, and that Saturday he drove you up to Lovers Lake. Before you could make fun of him for trying to show you the make out spot he’d ‘invented’ himself as a surprise, he pulled a picnic blanket, a basket, and a small bouquet out of the trunk. You gasped, and you could already see him anticipating your reaction, eyebrows raised and expectant.

“For me?”

“No, for The Queen.” Smiling wide, you surged forward, taking the basket in one arm and the flowers in the other, stretching to kiss his cheek while he wrapped an arm around your waist, leaning down slightly to make it easier.

“You’re such a dork, Harrington.”

“In that case, I’ll just take this back.” He moved to take the basket from you, and you clutched it to your chest protectively, glaring at him and ripping yourself from his arm.

“No! Can’t back out now; I wanna have a picnic, and you said I can always have what I want.” You batted your eyelashes at him innocently, and he choked, face turning red.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Sweetheart.” Looking down at the flowers in your hand and the man in front of you, you couldn’t help but disagree.

I think it’s the other way round.

—

Steve was a romantic, but he wasn’t a planner. Once you were both settled underneath a large tree, close enough to enjoy the sounds of the lake but hidden deep enough in the trees, you took it upon yourself to unpack the lunch Steve had brought, pulling out a six pack of beer and two sandwiches. You turned to him, one of your hands still in the basket, digging around for anything else.

“Quite the spread you got here.” You laughed, and he scooted closer, joining in. He put his hand into the basket, brushing yours for a second before grabbing two small plastic containers.

“You missed something.” He set them both on the blanket, eyeing you proudly and grabbing a beer. “There we go. Meal fit for a king.”

“Applesauce.” you didn’t have to say anything more.

“Okay, so I’m not the best at this stuff. Sue me.” He didn’t even seem the least bit embarrassed, nudging his knee with yours and taking a swig out of his bottle. Rolling your eyes, you kept searching the bottom of the basket before turning to Steve in confusion.

“Did you pack spoons?” The blank stare he gave you was enough of an answer, and you burst into giggles again, watching as he frustratedly put them away. “S’okay Steve, at least we have sandwiches and beer.”

“The most important food groups.” nodding sagely, he handed you a bottle and clinked it against his own lightly.

“Cheers. To not dying?”

Steve hooked an arm around your waist, pulling you closer until you were side by side on the blanket, squishing together. Your mind went haywire, suddenly all too aware of how big you were and just how much of you touched him. How much his fingers sank into your sides. “To my amazing, beautiful personal nurse.”

But you were a million miles away and frozen ridgid next to him, suddenly shattered. Sometimes it was so easy to forget, especially with Steve, but then one tiny thing would take you back, spiraling into a web of shame and self-loathing. The static cleared for a second when he cupped your face, his concerned eyes swimming to the surface of your mind.

“Sweetheart?”

He wasn’t smiling anymore, his lips pursed in worry, scanning your face for a clue. You forced yourself to speak, lead in your chest.

“Do you really think I’m pretty?” You meant it to come out teasingly, but it wasn’t anything more than a choked whisper, and you watched Steve’s expression as his heart broke. It made you feel worse. It melted into determination a second later, and before you could stop him he was gripping one of your thighs and dragging you into his lap while you squealed.

“Steve!” You gasped, and he grinned cheekily, adjusting himself before diving in for a kiss. It was messy and quick, the sudden rush of cold air leaving you light-headed when he pulled back a few inches, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I think…” He hummed, squeezing your thighs before running his palms roughly up your sides, tracing the curves of your torso clumsily in his hurry, “that you’re the most beautiful girl I've ever laid eyes on.” your breath caught, and tears welled up in your eyes even as you shoved him away slightly.

“That’s such a line.”

“Just the truth, honey. Call it like I see it.” Honey. Oh, that was new. The domesticity of it felt good, and already your doubts were receding, just a little. Steve kissed you again, just a soft peck at the corner of your lips before he whispered, “Come swim with me?”

“In the lake?” you fully pulled away, staring at him incredulously. He was dead serious, if his face was anything to go by.

“I mean, we’re here…”

“I didn’t bring a suit.” his honeyed eyes sparkled with mirth and heat, hands still roaming your soft sides while he spoke.

“That’s funny, me neither. I’m sure we could find a really good way around that.” He was eyeing the gauzy white dress you were wearing like he was already imagining it slung over a tree branch.

“I’m pretty sure skinny dipping has an implied meaning…” he stopped his hands cold on your thighs, frowning, and you bit your lip, embarrassed that you had let such a petty comment through; Steve had never made you feel unwanted, far from it, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“It means skin, and I’d love to see a lot more of yours.” his fingers played with the hem of your dress, dragging against the flesh just underneath, teasing and light. Breath catching and stomach flipping, you chewed on your bottom lip, Steve watching with rapt attention, brown eyes half-lidded and adoring. “C’mon, gorgeous. 10 minutes.”

Steve made it hard to feel self-conscious around him, especially when he was all over you like this, begging for a glimpse under your clothes. But still you shook your head, a smile starting to crack your somber face. He saw it, his own 100 watts bright as he realized it was working.

“I don’t wanna swim naked, Steve. Like, in general. What if someone came up here?” You defended, and he pulled you even closer in his lap, starting to press kisses all over your face.

“They’d get to see the hottest babe in the world having fun?” You laughed again, resistance flooding out of you as he held you even tighter. You were stomach to stomach now, something that probably would have given you heart palpitations in high school, but you took a deep breath and brought your arms around his neck. “Anyone would be lucky to even catch a glimpse, ‘n I get your pretty body all to myself? Feels like I won the jackpot. I’m not joking.”

“I know you’re not.”

When you nuzzled closer, Steve knew he’d won in his own way, even if you didn’t end up going swimming. That didn’t mean he had to stop trying to bribe you, though. He mouthed at your jaw, moving up quickly to nibble on your earlobe, with one finger hooked into the puff sleeve of your dress, dragging it tantalizingly slowly down your shoulder. His lips traced a path from your throat to the skin he’d exposed, and you sighed softly, threading your fingers through his hair and closing your eyes.

“Stevie…”

“Mm, little busy here baby.” His indulgent words were muffled against your skin and you giggled, squirming underneath him. You felt him laugh more than you heard it, pressed so close the deep vibrations of his chest echoed in yours. “You know, I’d have to stop if-”

“Shut up. I’m not going swimming with you.” groaning, he dug his teeth into your shoulder playfully, ripping a sudden gasp from you, eyes fluttering open in shock; Steve whipped his head up to lock gazes with you, an almost predatory grin splitting his face open.

“You like that?” murmuring heatedly, his hands trailed up and down your plush sides, occasionally moving low enough to grab handfuls of your thighs and leaving fire in their wake. How he expected you to respond with his hands all over you, mouth on your throat, you had no idea. Your brain was mush, senses both overwhelmed and desperate for more. Before you could even string two words together his mouth was on yours, more commanding this time, teeth and tongue and desperate breathing; While he had you distracted with his attention, he’d rucked your dress up to the tops of your thighs, lovingly tracing the stretch marks on the back of them.

Steve broke the kiss far earlier than you would have wanted, a little out of breath but still clearly on a mission, and you whined, wrapping your arms a little tighter around his neck to keep him close. With his eyes still closed and forehead now resting on your shoulder, he said, “So is that still a no on the skinny dipping, or…”

“You know, Lovers Lake is probably so gross. Imagine how many condoms and used needles are in there.” you wrinkled your nose, mood totally ruined; Steve seemed to agree.

“Wow, that’s sexy. You’re really getting me going here.” he pulled your dress back down your thighs neatly, though that didn’t stop him from immediately shoving his hands under the hem again, like he just couldn’t resist touching the skin underneath.

“You’re welcome.” He huffed against your skin, but you could feel his smile as he pressed a final open-mouthed kiss to your collar, tilting his head back a little to stare at you.

“What?”

He shook his head slowly, dark brown eyes never leaving your face, doe-eyed and soft. You stared back, studying the way his soft lashes framed his eyes, the beauty marks scattered all over his tanned skin, a thatch of dark chest hair peeking out from his unbuttoned polo; The green light dappling through the leaves scattered over his face casting him in a gold and emerald glow. Steve, totally oblivious to his effect on you, leaned towards you, tilting his head and looking at you through his thick lashes, wisps of hair falling forward and into his eyes.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, voice heavy. He was clearly waiting for a cue, a go ahead to kiss you again; you initiated instead, moving against him like you were trying to taste every bit of him before clumsily moving off his lap. He nearly growled in complaint, a rumble of displeasure coming from deep in his chest as he grasped at your hips, and you laughed into his mouth before breaking the searing kiss and standing up, legs shaky. He joined you a second after, steadying hand on your back as you wobbled; you shot him a grateful smile.

That every shitty guy I dealt with has been worth it.

“I’m thinking that you have a pool, and I have a bikini.” You said suggestively, and the hand on the small of your back moved to wrap around your side.

Astonished, Steve asked, “You do? Why didn’t I know this?”

“Why would you know? No one does.” Except for Claire, who had forced you to buy the damn thing at the mall, insisting that you might need it someday. Add that to the list of things you should thank her for, and would if she wasn’t always so smug about it.

“But I would have wanted to see. C’mon, we’re burning daylight, I wanna get a good view!” You laughed, Steve hustling to the car with the basket in one hand and the picnic blanket in the other. His hand didn’t leave your thigh once the entire drive home.

Made With Love

“I have a present for you.”

Steve was just showing up at your house for movie night, barely starting to take his shoes off in the entrance when you blurted it, unable to contain the excitement any longer. You’d been working on it in secret for months; since your third date, if you were honest, and finally you’d finished it the day before he was coming over.

“That’s a pretty good hello.” without missing a beat, he stepped forward and wrapped you up in a bear hug, and you instantly relaxed into him like you were always meant to be there. You crushed your face into his chest and inhaled the scent of his cologne, a hint of his sweat underneath melding with it into a smell that was uniquely him.

‘Hi.”

“Hey, Honey.” You felt him kiss the crown of your head before he pulled back a little, taking your face in his hands and pulling you away from his chest to brush his lips over yours. He gave you his typical winning smirk. “You got me a gift?”

“Correction, I made you a gift.” his hold on your jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and his mischievous face broke open with affection and uncertainty.

“You didn’t have to.” he whispered, like he was surprised that you’d even considered doing more than the bare minimum for him; you wondered how often he got gifts from anyone at all.

Dating him, you realized that Steve hadn’t ever had someone to do things just because they cared about him, or wanted to see him smile; there were tiny strings attached to every kind of love Steve had known, except for Dustin and the other kids, and even then it wasn’t the same. They adored him, even if they didn’t want to admit it, but he was the mentor, the giver, and it both touched and saddened you that Steve gave them something he’d never had himself, from his parents or anyone else.

You were determined to give that to him, in whatever ways you could, so you just smiled and said, sweet as you could, “I wanted to.”

“Fuck. You know I-” he cut himself off quickly, turning red, “-thank you. Really, it means a lot.” His voice was hoarse like he was already fighting off tears and you nodded so you didn’t push him, kissing his cheek and returning to the bags he’d stepped in with while he stood frozen in the archway.

“So, what movies did you bring?”

It took 10 minutes and a lot of whining from him, but you made sure everything was set up for movie night before you brought the gift to Steve, no matter how eager he was. You’d wanted it to be casual; there was no anniversary or anything important going on, you’d just wanted to do something nice for him and you didn’t want him to feel like it was a big deal.

The point seemed moot when you passed him the white gift box and he was practically vibrating off the couch with barely contained excitement. Within seconds he tore off the lid and threw it aside, shushing you when you snickered at him.

Being able to watch his face shift as he realized what was in the box, like clouds breaking in the sky to reveal the sun, was more than enough payment for all of the work you’d put in for this moment.

“You’re serious?” he looked from the box back to you, then back to the box before pulling out the contents and holding it up to see it fully. You’d thought about making him a scarf, so he didn’t have to lie about needing one anymore, but you’d wanted to give him something he’d actually wear; plus, you had a promise to keep.

“I told you you’d be wearing one of my jackets one day, babe.” you reminded him, grin splitting your face open while he twisted it all around, looking at it from every angle, mouth gaping open in shock. It was a relatively simple looking windbreaker, navy and white and fitted to his measurements; you’d had to steal quite a few jackets until you’d gotten the fit you needed, but it was clearly worth it when Steve was staring at it like you’d handed him a fallen star. You’d even taken the time to sew in your own label to really make it yours, as well as his.

“You made this? For me?” You couldn’t identify the emotion in his voice, tight and strained, but you nodded, placing a kiss on his cheek; he didn’t look away for a second, putting the coat down in his lap and running his hands over the sleeves, like he couldn’t quite believe it was real.

“Just for you.” You confirmed, and he took one hand off of the jacket to pull you in by the waist, still without looking. You snuggled into his side, adding, “Made with love.” without thinking. Steve finally turned to look at you, eyes shiny with tears, clutching the jacket in his fist; your breath caught, and you instinctively reached up to cradle his jaw, tracing lines between his beauty marks with your fingers. He took a deep, shuddery breath and closed his eyes.

“Made with love, huh? You love me?” Despite his cocky phrasing, Steve’s voice shook slightly with fear, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and you instantly knew why; Nancy and Steve were on good terms now, but you’d heard enough to piece together a few of the ways they’d hurt each other. He’d never told you much about the breakup, but you knew she was drunk, and angry, and said some things that had stayed with him ever since, no matter how badly you tried to wash it away.

“Of course I do.” You responded like there was never any doubt at all, and there wasn’t; You knew the moment you’d spoken it was true, it had been since your first date, draping you in a jacket he brought just for you, pulling you close at your door without any motives and promising he’d always give you what you wanted. He hadn’t broken that promise yet, and you doubted he ever would. You swiped your thumb under his eye, catching a single stray tear, and he gave you a sheepish grin.

“Thank you.” he murmured, pulling you closer to his side and inclining his chin to meet your mouth with his own; He tasted like chapstick-probably one he stole from you-and you could feel a flicker of fire in your stomach when he parted your lips with his tongue, gentle but insistent, running his hands through your hair and delicately over your arms and back like he was reveling in it. He pulled you onto him suddenly, swinging one of your legs over his so you could straddle his lap without breaking the kiss, the jacket crushed between you both as you pressed together, desperate to be as close as possible.

When you finally pulled yourself away, turning your head quickly so he couldn’t chase your lips, Steve whined. He looked amazing, lips red and slightly shiny with spit, parted just a bit so he could gasp for air, hair mussed from your hands, eyes wide and bright and so obviously in love it made you ache, toes curling in your socks. His eyelids fluttered for a second, like he was getting his bearings, and then he was smiling dopily at you, hugging you against his chest and pressing heated kisses along your jaw and down the curve of your throat, humming against you.

“Fuck. Love you so much, pretty girl. Just been waiting to hear you say it, you wouldn’t believe how long I waited. Worth every second.” he babbled against your skin adoringly, his teeth gently scraping your neck and tickling you; you giggled, pressing your face into his shoulder out of embarrassment, letting him trail his hands up your back soothingly. “Don’t get all embarrassed, I’m trying to be cute here.”

“You are being cute, that’s why I’m embarrassed!”

He laughed, shaking his head slightly. The mood shifted from playful to serious in the silence, and he started again. “Seriously, thank you. It’s-I… no one has ever done something like this for me.” He admitted, and you pulled away to look at him again- his eyes were downcast, staring into his lap where the jacket was crumpled between your stomachs. You scooted back a little and pulled it out from between you two, laying it neatly on the couch cushion next to you. He watched you silently before continuing, “I know I say that a lot, but it’s true, yknow?”

“I know.” You didn’t elaborate, and neither did he.

“I really do love you.” He clarified, and your chest swelled with pride; you had no idea what you’d done to deserve Steve, but you thanked whatever cosmic fate pushed him into your store for this moment, looking down at his honey-sweet smile while he professed his love on your parents couch. “We should elope.”

“Give me time to make the dress, okay?” you teased, and he leaned up to meet you again, laughing against your lips, starting to smile so big you couldn’t keep kissing him. You both settled again, resting your head on his shoulder while he traced patterns down your curves. “I love you too, Stevie.” you sighed, voice thick with emotion, and he pressed his cheek against your head, curling inwards so you could press yourself even close against him- you did, greedily.

“I know.” He repeated, voice was firm and solid, no trace left of the doubt from before, and you pressed a kiss to his collarbone in response.

“Good.” you followed his eyes back to the jacket next to you both, and you smiled a little. “You really like it?”

“I love it, baby.” He grabbed it, quickly throwing it over his shoulders and settling his hands on your hips, relaxing back into the couch. “How’s it look? As good as you dreamed?”

“Even better. I’m gonna have to start filling your wardrobe.” He visibly perked up at the idea and you giggled, brushing the tip of your nose against his and giving him another quick, sloppy kiss before clumsily climbing off of his lap to start the movie despite his protests.

You returned, settling yourself back into his lap without even thinking, and he sighed happily, resting his chin on your shoulder and wrapping his arms around you. You’d never thought you’d be comfortable enough with someone to be this close, but Steve made it so easy; it was shocking how wanted he made you feel with just a few touches.

Without looking away from the screen you reached back and rested your hand on his cheek, running your thumb over the apple of it and murmuring “Thank you, Stevie.” You knew you didn’t have to say what for; Steve always knew when it came to you.

“Nothing to be thankful for,” He breathed into your ear, kissing the skin just behind it. You felt his smirk, and then he mumbled “So are you gonna make me that scarf, or…?”

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