#i wheezed through this entire scene | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stevie-petey · 4 months

Text

episode eight: the upside down

You know you shouldn’t, but you laugh. Honestly, after everything you’ve been through tonight with Steve, how can he possibly think the two of you aren’t friends? “Why are you laughing?” Steve mumbles, confused. “Sorry,” you wheeze out, still uncontrollably laughing. “It’s just–I mean, dude! We almost died together, of course we’re friends now!” “We are?” He looks like a little kid on Christmas day being given the gift he’s always wanted. Your heart warms. “Yes, idiot.”

summary: drinking game time ! take a shot every time jonathan tries ditching you or every time you almost die at the byers house, you find out that steve really is an athlete and tbh it's hot, but you know what's even hotter ? saving hawkins and reaching a tentative compromise with steve after he loans you $5 for snacks. after, jonathan makes a promise you really hope he can keep.

rating: general, cursing and slight scary violence

warnings: violence, use of fire and weapons, guns, use of fem!reader and use of y/n, slight mentions of blood and death

words: 13.7k

before you swing in: the final chapter ,,, my heart </3 please enjoy my child, i put so much into this chapter. action scenes scare me, they're hard and i'm weak, so i hope this lives up to everything you guys wanted n more ;) i cannot believe we're at the end (but i do have another chapter planned that's set in season 1, so shhhh). thank you so so so much for all your support. i never thought this silly lil fic would get that much attention, but i'm insanely flattered and grateful for each and every one of y'all. i'm so proud of what i've created and you guys are my beloveds ,,, anyways, enjoy !!!

You almost miss Jonathan and Nancy sneaking off.

You had been explaining a comic book that had been in your bag to El when you noticed a shift in your periphery. Turning your head, you see Jonathan stand, offer Nancy his hand to help her up, and then walk towards the main doors together.

What the fuck.

“They wouldn’t dare…” You excuse yourself and run out the gym and into the hallway to follow them, absolutely furious. You’re so sick of their bullshit, of Jonathan’s bullshit and putting Nancy first. This isn’t even a petty jealousy thing, this is about the years of friendship between the two of you that has just suddenly disappeared within a damn week all due to circumstances completely out of your control.

The slam of the main door is the only warning Jonathan gets before you’re yanking him by his coat and flinging him back, forcing him to look at you. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

You’ve never, ever yelled at him like this before. Not even earlier this week when he’d given you that bullshit apology after screaming at you for being in his room, for saying the two of you weren’t family. You didn’t yell at him for hiding Nancy’s pictures from you, for going off without you to find the monster. Despite everything, you’ve never been this cruel to him, even if he may have deserved it at times.

Jonathan’s wide eyes stare down at your hand that’s still clutched around his coat, frightened. “Bug, we were just–”

“Just what? Sneaking off without me?”

“It’s not like that, Y/N.” Nancy now steps in, her hands held up as if you’re some rabid dog she wants to calm down. “We just figured we’d help Joyce and Hopper.”

“‘We’? Are you fucking kidding me? You two talked about this, had an entire conversation, and still somehow came to the conclusion that ditching me was a great fucking idea?” You scoff, deeply hurt by the fact that the two of them had an entire conversation without thinking to include you in it.

“Bug, can we talk about this one on one?” Jonathan asks, his voice lowered. You can see the genuine upset in his eyes and for a moment your grip on him lessens, but then you see Nancy behind him and your anger only returns.

“No, we can discuss this right here.”

He sighs and tries to grab the hand not clutching his coat, but you slap it away. “Bug–”

“You’ve lost that privilege.”

“Bug–I mean, Y/N,” His voice falters. “Look, my mom and Hopper are out there right now trying to find Will while that monster is still out. Nance and I… We want to finish what we started.”

“Without me?” You don’t mean for it to happen, but your voice catches at the end.

Jonathan’s gaze softens and this time he succeeds in grabbing your hand. You let go of him and allow him to pull you in, weak against him as always. “I’m doing this to protect them, to protect you, Y/N. I’m always trying to protect you. You know that, right?”

You used to think that you did, but now? You’re not so sure, and it terrifies you.

Nancy has stepped away from the conversation, now kicking at rocks while you’re with Jonathan, and you can’t help but think about how wrong all of this feels.

Throughout this entire week it’s felt like someone has given you a photo of Jonathan, smeared its lines and edges, removed his moles and his crooked smile and made it neater, altered so that if you squint you can see the boy you grew up with underneath it all… But it’s fuzzy, almost too unclear to really see.

Now he’s standing in front of you, his smile once more crooked and cunning and his moles faded underneath the moonlight and for a second you can see him. There he is, clear and untouched and him in a way that’s never quite been yours.

“I know,” you tell him. “But how many more times do you expect me to forgive you for lying and ditching me? If you want to protect me, you need to talk to me.”

Jonathan winces. “I know, I know it sounds stupid and I know I’ve fucked up more than enough this week, I just get caught up in wanting to make sure you’re safe. It’d kill me if I let anything happen to you… I just, I can’t lose you, bug.”

“So pushing me away is your grand plan of keeping me?”

“I’ve always been an idiot.” He manages a smile, and you can’t help but laugh.

“That’s true, but if you attempt to ditch me one more time I swear to god I’ll pour tar all over your car.”

The boy laughs and for a brief moment everything feels okay again, but it doesn’t last very long. “In our defense, we figured you’d be better off with the kids since you’re not really a fighter, ya know?”

You drop his hand. “Excuse me?”

Jonathan’s smile is gone. “What?”

“I’m not really a fighter? You’re kidding, right?”

“Hey, no I didn’t mean it like that–” Jonathan fumbles over his words, clearly taken aback by your sudden mood change.

You step away from him. “How many times did I defend you against Lonnie? Better yet, remind me how we became friends in the first place. Wasn’t it because I threw milk at a bunch of idiots bullying you? Huh?”

“Y/N–”

“God, I can’t believe I almost let you get away with it again! I mean, do you even hear the bullshit that comes out of your mouth?” You deepen your voice, now doing a poor impersonation of him. “‘Hey, bug! You know I love you, right? Cool! Now, I’m gonna go do fuck all and ignore you and ditch you and then somehow turn it into me being a good guy because duh! I can never do any wrong!’”

“Please, just–”

“Did I get it right? It was a pretty good impersonation in my opinion. I mean, I am the one who has had to deal with this shit all fucking week. I think I'm an expert on this topic now.”

Jonathan looks pained but you don’t fucking care anymore. You’ve reached your limit, you’re sick and tired of being treated like some delicate creature that’s incapable of taking care of itself. You literally slapped Tommy Hagan this afternoon in order to help Jonathan, yet here he is basically calling you weak.

And yet Nancy is the fighter. She’s the one who gets to go along on the adventure while you’re sidelined because for some damn reason you’re always the second option. Never taking matters into your own hands, always the one left behind to clean up the mess and take care of those also discarded.

You’re sick of it.

You step closer to Jonathan again, so that you’re nose to nose, and whisper, “I’m tired of never being good enough.”

And with that, you reach into his coat and snatch up his keys, a game you’ve always played with him but now has turned into a bitter taste in your mouth, and run back into the gym. Someone has to inform the kids of the plan, make sure they’ll be okay on their own.

Dustin sees you approach and smiles, but when he notices the angry pace in your steps, he frowns. “Uh oh.”

“Yeah, uh oh.”

“Jonathan again?”

You nod, still too angry to trust your words. “Yeah.”

He notices the keys in your hand. “Where are you going?”

Mike and Lucas look over now, curious as to what’s happening.

You sigh. “I’m going with Nancy and Jonathan to the Byers house, we’re going to kill the monster.”

“Why the hell are you going?” Dustin exclaims while Mike shoutes “sick!” and Lucas mumbles “great, alone again”. El remains quiet, still resting.

You flick your brother’s hat. “I have to, Dustin.”

“For Jonathan?” He shakes his head. “I like him, but aren’t you mad at him right now?”

“Is it just me, or is she always mad at him these days?” Mike whispers over to Lucas, who simply shrugs.

“Girls, man.”

You ignore them and focus on Dustin. “It doesn’t matter. He needs my help, and no one in the party gets left behind. Remember?”

“Y/N–”

“I love you,” you kiss the top of his head. “I promise I’ll be safe, just be careful, okay? I’m putting you in charge, so don’t let me down. If everything goes according to plan, I’ll see you in a few hours tops!”

Dustin tries to argue some more, but you quickly run back outside before he can get another word in. You feel horrible leaving him behind, but you know this is the right decision. If you can kill the monster, there’s less of a chance of the kids or Joyce and Hopper getting hurt. Jonathan and Nancy may be fine on their own, but there’s always power in numbers and they’ll need all the help they can get.

You just… you have to help. You know this is what you’re supposed to be doing, even if it pains you to do so. Dustin and the kids are smart; as long as they stay at the school, they’ll be fine.

In theory, that is.

Nancy and Jonathan are waiting for you outside. You push past them and march towards Jonathan’s care; they awkwardly follow after you. You unlock it, throw yourself into the backseat, and promptly dig through your backpack to make sure you have everything.

The two teens get in a few minutes after you. Not one word is spoken as Jonathan starts the car and the three of you drive off, leaving Hawkins Middle behind.

–

You thought the car ride with Nancy and Jonathan from the funeral home had been tense, but this one? Downright painful.

Jonathan has a tight grip on the steering wheel and keeps trying to catch your eye through the rearview mirror but you avoid his gaze. You’ve spent the last five minutes arranging and rearranging your backpack to give you something to do while Nancy has tried three times to make conversation to make this car ride bearable.

“El seems nice.”

“You said four words to her, Nancy.” You retort, switching open your switchblade once more to watch the moonlight dance off of its blades.

“Right.”

Nancy shifts uncomfortably in the passenger seat. You know she realizes she’s once again upset the balance in your relationship with Jonathan. It was only an hour ago that she tried getting you to admit your feelings for him before convincing the boy to up and leave you. Sure, Jonathan made his own decision in the end, but damn. She could’ve at least pretended to want you around.

She notices your knives and tries to spark conversation again. “I love the color of the handle, it’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” you switch the blades closed and sit up in your seat. “Anyways, you geniuses have a plan or were you just counting on ditching me and winging it from there?”

“Y/N–”

“No, Nancy. I insist, let’s talk about a plan. We’re here to kill a monster, right?”

She closes her mouth and frowns, turning to Jonathan for help, but he’s no use. He’s busy tapping his fingers against the wheel and praying that the world will just swallow him up whole. Too bad for him you’re a stubborn pain in the ass and would simply pluck him back up so you can torture him some more.

Nancy sighs. “Well, Jonathan and I were thinking we use the supplies we got earlier and lure the monster to his place, then we kill it.”

“Awesome plan, guys!” You say, your voice dripping with sickly sweetness that leaves them both feeling even more uncomfortable. “But may I suggest some actual details or shall we just bank off of this wonderfully dull and vague plan?”

“Sure, Y/N. Tell us what you had in mind.” Nancy rubs her face tiredly, knowing she deserves this.

“Great! I’m assuming we’re luring the monster with blood?” They nod at you, so you continue. “Okay, so before we lure it I think we should completely booby-trap Jonathan’s house. Nail the bear trap down onto the floor, make sure the floor is cleared of anything that could trip us up. Then, once we’ve got the house secured, we knick ourselves to draw some blood and pray to whatever god is up there that we can kill the thing.”

You pause for a moment, remembering how all the Christmas lights had been unscrewed by Joyce earlier. “The lights, we need to fix them. The monster communicates through the lights so if we have them, then we can track it.”

“That all sounds great, bug.” Jonathan finally speaks up, ass kissing.

“Thanks, pal. Still don’t have the bug privilege back, but I’m sure you simply forgot.”

He gulps, once more going back to being silent as he drives you and Nancy to his house.

Nancy again tries to diffuse the tension. “How do we even kill the monster though? I mean, will my bullets be enough?”

“I have this idea, but it’s… well, it’s out there.” You bite your lip, now feeling your cocky demeanor slipping. “If we can safely set fire to it, I think that’s our best bet.”

“Fire?” Jonathan exclaims, but Nancy shushes him.

“I think you’re right.”

“Y/N, I know you’re mad at me but do we really have to set fire to my house–”

Now it’s your turn to shush Jonathan. “This isn’t about that. I wouldn’t burn your house down, I already told you I’d just pour tar on your car whenever I get the chance. For now, I really do think the best thing to do is burn the monster alive. In every horror movie and book, fire always gets the job done.”

Despite herself, Nancy lets out a soft chuckle as Jonathan parks the car, now at his house. “She’s right, Jonathan. And who burns down houses these days? Tar really is the best form of revenge.”

“I’m flattered, Wheeler. At the rate you’re going, you’ll be off my shitlist in no time.” You tell her, patting her on the shoulder before getting out of the car. You quickly open up the trunk and gather the monster hunting supplies while Jonathan and Nancy take their time getting out.

You let yourself into the Byers home using your own key to the place. It’s been nestled in between the key to your house and the spare key to Jonathan’s car on your keychain for a few years now.

The first thing you get started on are the lights. There’s hundreds of them to get through, but you drop your supplies and begin screwing them in one by one. Nancy and Jonathan come in soon after and silently begin to help.

No conversation is made besides the necessary comments about the prep work. You’re all too focused on the possibility of what could happen next; the danger of the situation has finally set in. After the lights have all been fixed, you instruct Jonathan to begin nailing the bear trap down while you and Nancy discuss where to pour the gasoline. You both agree to make a path from the living room to Will’s room.

As Nancy pours the gasoline, you follow behind her and pick up any flammables. You weren't lying to Jonathan earlier, you really don’t want to burn his house down. While the house is wrecked, it’s still a home despite everything that’s happened in it. You practically grew up within its walls, you’d do anything to keep it as protected as possible.

When you’re done, you watch Nancy load her gun. A shiver runs down our spine; she looks at ease with it, which you figure should be reassuring, but the gravity of everything leaves you feeling on edge. You leave her alone and walk into the kitchen where Jonathan is, now hammering a ton of nails into his bat.

You begin to sharpen your blades next to him, still finding that you only feel secure by his side. The rhythmic sound of his hammering calms you, in a sense. It serves as a distraction. You know you insisted on coming, you don’t regret it and you know you’re stronger than everyone seems to give you credit for, but you’re also terrified. This isn’t just some adventure in the woods; this could kill the ones you love dearly.

Once you’re both done preparing your weapons, the two of you walk to Will’s room and rig up a simple snare. Jonathan grabs a yo-yo and you pull up a chair to set it on. The idea is that when the string gets pulled, it’ll alert you that the monster has sprung the bear trap. It’s not the most efficient warning system, but it’ll have to do.

The last thing to do is set the bear trap, which takes all three of you to achieve. Jonathan and Nancy hold down the edges with their body weight and you very carefully set the trap with your hand. You shake a bit as you do so, but you force your nerves down. You remind yourself that Jonathan thinks you’re too weak, too cowardly, you have to prove him wrong.

When the bear trap clicks into place, you let out a harsh exhale and sink against the wall, your heart still pounding. Jonathan and Nancy copy you and the three of you sit in silence. You’re still shaking a bit, and Jonathan is next to you just as tense, but for the first time since you’ve met him you can’t reach out to grab his hand to steady yourself. He’s too far, both literally and figuratively. Even with him next to you, you couldn’t be more far apart.

In the back of your mind, you hope the kids are alright. Hopefully they’re having a better night than you currently are.

“C’mon,” you say after a few minutes, getting up to walk over to the living room. “We’ve done all we can, now we just have to draw some blood and be the prettiest bait in Hawkins.”

–

Nancy and Jonathan decide to cut the palm of their hands, but you respectfully would rather die than have a matching scar with them. The idea makes you so uncomfortable you visibly cringe when Jonathan tells you the idea. “Yeah, no thanks. I think I’ll find somewhere else to cut.”

He looks hurt by what you’ve said but doesn’t voice it. Instead, the three of you stand in the living room in a triangle facing each other and he begins reciting the plan. “Remember…”

Nancy goes first. “Straight into Will’s room and–”

“Don’t step on the trap.” You finish.

Jonathan nods. “And then?”

“Wait for the yo-yo to move.” The girl says.

“Then…” Jonathan flicks the lighter on.

You whistle low. “Let there be light…”

“Right. Light.” The boy nods again. “Alright, we ready?”

“Ready.”

“Scar time.”

Jonathan and Nancy bring their hands up and place their knives flat against their palms. You roll up your sleeve and place your own knife against the upper part of your arm, just below your shoulder, and take a deep breath.

“On three,” Jonathan says. He begins counting and you all can’t seem to stop shaking. He senses your unease and looks up at you and Nancy. “You guys don’t have to do this.”

Nancy glares at him, her own voice shaky. “Jonathan, stop talking.”

You nod. “Yeah, what she said.”

Jonathan tries to argue, but Nancy squeezes her eyes shut and yells, “Three!”

You close your own eyes and slice at your arm, the pain immediate. You gasp out, never having been good with pain, but you know you have to do this for Will. The blood trails down your arm, dripping from your elbow onto the ground, and you watch as blood from Jonathan’s and Nancy’s own cuts falls onto the ground too.

Well, at least it’ll be an easy scar to hide compared to theirs.

“Fuck, that stings.” You say to break the silence, and Nancy nods her head in agreement.

“Not the most pleasant feeling.”

Jonathan guides the two of you over to the couch and grabs the first aid kit that you had prepared on the coffee table. He sits in the middle, leaving room for both you and Nancy on each side of him, but you’re still pissed at him and opt to sit on the floor in front of the couch.

Nancy begins to patch up his wound, and it takes everything within you not to reach over and help him yourself. It feels unnatural to watch someone else taking care of him, but the space between you still feels too vast to cross.

You patch up your own cut while the two of them talk quietly. You wind a bandage tight around your arm, ensuring you won’t bleed through, and Jonathan watches above you with guilt in his eyes. Nancy is trying to reassure him that everything will be okay, but as he watches you struggle to tie the bandage he wonders if he’s fucked up more than just your friendship.

“Bug, let me help with that.” He leans down and ties your bandage before you can stop him.

You glare at him, still having not said anything to Jonathan besides what was needed for preparation. Nancy distracts herself by cleaning up around his cut and your stomach twists into knots. This is all so miserable.

“Y/N, I know you’re upset with me and you can go whenever. I won’t blame you, you’ve done enough for me.” Jonathan says, trying to catch your eye.

You turn away and inspect your bandage, still reeling over the fact that he tied it for you. “I’m here for Will, and only Will.”

“Y/N…” There’s a hurt in his voice that almost makes you turn around to throw your arms around his neck and whisper a million apologies to him. To tell him everything, that you love him and that you’d do anything for him and that’s why you’re so terrified of how you feel. You know you’d burn yourself up if it meant he’d be taken care of, if it meant he was safe and happy and far away from anything that could harm him. You know you’d use up everything within you to love him.

Instead, you remain silent.

After getting no response from you, Jonathan clears his throat and begins to say something about how the lights will serve as an alarm for the monster, trying to pretend that everything is okay, but he’s cut off by a sudden pounding on the door.

You all jump and your fingers tighten around your switchblade, ready to open it. As your heart pounds you think of all the possible ways the plan could go wrong. When you’re on possibility number twelve, a voice calls through the door.

“Jonathan?”

“Is that… Steve?” You say out loud, in complete disbelief.

Steve continues to pound on the door. “Are you there, man? It’s… It’s Steve! Listen, I just wanna talk!”

You’re the first to react, standing up to run over to the door. You fling it open and step outside, making sure Steve won’t be able to see inside the house. When he sees you, he stumbles back a bit. “Henderson?”

His face is still bleeding from earlier and his hair is a mess, and yet there’s a softness to him that you haven’t seen before with him. “Steve, now isn’t really a good time.”

“Can I just talk to Jonathan real quick? I just… I want to apologize about what happened earlier, see if we can maybe–” His eyes land on your bandaged arm. You curse and roll down your sleeve, feeling like an idiot for forgetting to hide the wound before going outside.

Steve reaches out to touch it, a hint of worry on his face and his voice is now full of concern. “Hey, are you okay?”

You shiver at his touch, it’s gentle as he skims along the bandage and inspects it for any other problems. You pull away, now hiding the wound. “It’s nothing, but you should really go.”

“I want to help you, Y/N. Do you need me to get you anything?” His face is so full of worry for you that it makes you ache. Then a thought occurs to him. “Wait, where’s Byers? Why isn’t he here to help you?”

You’re about to make up a lie, but Nancy flings the door open. “Steve, listen to me.”

He looks between the two of you in complete shock. “Okay, what–”

“You need to leave.” Nancy orders.

Steve looks at you. “I’m not trying to start anything, okay?”

“I know, but–” You get cut off by Nancy.

“I don’t care about that. You need to leave.”

Steve begins to plead with the girl and you step away a bit, not wanting to intrude. You feel bad for him, he looks so beat down by what’s happened today and you suppose that you can’t really blame him. After spending maybe a total of ten hours with Nancy and Jonathan, you also have come close to losing your mind.

If you were with Jonathan, if you truly had him, you’d react the same as Steve. Begging for the girl he loves to listen to him, to give him another chance with the promise of him changing.

“I just want to make things right.” Steve says, impressing you with his vulnerability. He’s openly admitting to his mistakes and taking accountability mere hours after the situation has occurred, leaving you both in awe of him and also saddened for him. He loves Nancy more than anything, you can hear it in his voice.

He deserves better.

As you’re thinking this, you see his eyes flicker down towards Nancy’s bandaged hand and his brows furrow. “What happened to your hand? Is that blood?” His eyes now flicker over to you again. “Why are you both hurt?”

“We’re clumsy?” You say as Nancy yanks her hand away from Steve.

“It was an accident.” She agrees.

Steve looks between the two of you, now sensing that something else is wrong. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” Nancy insists, but something in Steve’s demeanor shifts.

“Wait a second, did he do this to you? To Y/N?” His once soft voice is now filled with anger and you step in front of him.

“Steve, it wasn’t Jonathan. You need to go, I promise I’ll explain everything later–”

He grabs you by your side and gently moves you so that he can get past and shove through the door. Nancy yells at him to stop and tries to push him out, but she’s useless against his strength. When he manages to break in, he stumbles inside and scans over the house.

“Shit!” You follow after him, your brain running a million miles a second trying to figure out how to explain everything to him.

“What the fuck?” Steve mumbles, eyeing the bat with nails in it. “Y/N, what’s going on here?”

He’s looking to you for reassurance and you guess he assumes that the two of you are allies in this Jonathan and Nancy situation. You really wish you could explain, but Jonathan has grabbed him by the shoulders and is trying to push him outside. The two stumble around for a few seconds and you just helplessly watch.

“Steve, there’s no time to explain, please just listen to Jonathan and get out of here!” You’re helping Jonathan now, trying to get Steve out the door and away from harm’s reach, but he’s still fighting back confused and lost as ever and you pity him.

You hear a click and turn around, gasping when you see Nancy holding her gun up to Steve. “Woah, what the fuck Nancy?”

“What! What is going on?” Steve yells, now more panicked than anything else.

While Jonathan has stepped away, you find yourself standing in front of Steve as if to somehow block the bullet. You can’t let him get hurt, he doesn’t have any part of this, he can still have a normal and happy life if he just leaves now. “Nancy, put the fucking gun down, this isn’t helping!”

Steve pleads with her as well and the two of you scream at the girl to just listen and not swing around loaded weapons, but Nancy remains firm in her stance. “You have five seconds to get out of here. I’m doing this for you.”

“Because holding a gun to his head is any better than telling him the truth?” You exclaim, entirely over the situation.

As the four of you are arguing, the lights begin to flicker. Steve and Nancy don’t seem to notice, but you do. You look at Jonathan and say your first real words to him in hours. “Jonathan…”

He hears you and he runs over to your side, grabbing your hand as the two of you stand shoulder to shoulder. You feel your heartbeat race and you can feel him shaking beside you. He’s terrified, so are you, but his hand around yours manages to steady you.

“Nancy!” Jonathan tries to get the girl’s attention, but she’s too busy counting down to hear him.

He shouts at her again and the lights start to flicker more wildly and you draw your switchblade out, adrenaline coursing through you. It’s time.

Jonathan yells once more and finally catches Nancy’s attention. “The lights!”

She whips her head around and curses, Jonathan, still tightly holding your hand, tugs you along so that you follow him as he secures his weapons and grabs the bat. “It’s here.”

“What’s here?” Steve is flailing around, utterly lost.

You all ignore him and now stand back to back in a triangle. Nancy holds up her gun, Jonathan wields his bat, and you flick your wrist to bring out your knives. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know!”

The lights flicker rapidly and you feel overwhelmed. They were supposed to serve as a guide towards the monster, but there's no possible way to see which direction it’ll come from and for a fleeting moment you think you’ve made a huge mistake.

Steve is still screaming, demanding answers, but you’re too busy scanning your surroundings to offer him some information. “Hello? Will someone please explain to me what the hell is going–”

The roof opens up, cutting Steve off, and you scream as the monster attempts to come down right above you. Jonathan shields you from the fallen debris and you cling onto him in utter fear. This isn’t real. This cannot be happening.

Nancy begins to shoot at the thing while Jonathan guides you to safety. He brings you to the edge of the living room and holds your face in his hands, forcing you to really look at him for the first time all night. “Listen to me, stay here while I get Nancy.”

He kisses your forehead and then leaves, rushing over to Nancy to pull her away and guide her towards Will’s room. Steve stands next to you, frozen, and it forces you back to reality. The plan, you have to stick to the plan.

You grab Steve’s hand and yank him so that he follows. The monster has dropped down now, a horrible creature on all fours that opens its gaping mouth to let out a horrible screech that you feel deep within your bones. This is what killed Barb.

The four of you run to Will’s room and you only just barely have enough time to warn Steve about the bear trap. You look over your shoulder and shout, “Jump!” right as your ankle catches on its chains.

You fall. Hard.

Pain sears through your ankle and you try to get up, but any pressure on it sends flames through your entire body and you let out another scream. The monster catches up, looming over you, and you brace for your death. There’s no fucking way you’re getting out of this.

You squeeze your eyes as the monster stalks close to you, its ugly mouth open and ready to kill you. Jonathan is screaming at you to get up, but Nancy is holding him back from helping. You’re relieved by this, knowing that someone has to be there for Will once this is all done. He’ll need his brother, and Nancy seems to understand this. You catch her eye and nod at her, sending a silent thank you.

“Bug! No, let go of me! I have to help her, Nancy!” Jonathan’s voice becomes hoarse by how loud he screams, his voice breaking with fear and desperation.

Then, right before the monster lunges at you, you feel a familiar pair of arms slide underneath your legs and pick you up. “What–”

Steve Harrington has swooped in to save you, picking you up as if you weigh nothing, ever the athlete, and swiftly jumps over the bear trap while screaming his head off. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!”

You’re so delirious from the pain in your ankle and the adrenaline pumping through your veins that you can’t help but let a laugh escape you. No fucking way is any of this real. Steve Harrington is carrying you bridal style into Will’s bedroom with Jonathan and Nancy as witnesses.

What a life.

Once you’re both secured in the room, Steve sets you down gently right as Nancy yells at him to shut up. As soon as Steve lets go of you, Jonathan is at your side and pulls you into a crushing hug.

“Bug.” He breathes out against your ear, relief heavy.

“I’m okay.” You tell him, threading your fingers through his hair. He’s shaking harder than ever, and holding onto you as if he’s scared he’ll lose you again. “I’m okay, bee.”

He pulls away and his hands are all over you, checking everywhere for any other injuries. “Did it hurt you, are you bleeding? There should be a first aid kit–”

You grab his hands and kiss his knuckles, which seems to calm him down a bit. “I’m fine, just twisted my ankle. If you help me up, I’m sure I’ll be able to stand again.”

Jonathan quickly helps you to your feet and you lean against him for the extra support. While you put on a brave face for Jonathan, you’re terrified out of your fucking mind. You almost died. Jonathan is still holding your hand and he’s looking at you as if seeing you for the first time and you force yourself to look away. It’s the same look from the field days ago, when you thought he’d kiss you.

You have to focus on what’s at stake.

How the hell are you guys supposed to kill this thing?

The monster screeches, breaking the moment between you and Jonathan, and he flicks his lighter on and forces you to stand behind him. Nancy holds up her gun and you bring your knives closer to your face, Steve standing weaponless behind you.

You all wait, tense, for the monster. It stalks closer to the room, its awful growls alerting you of its proximity, but it doesn’t appear.

“What’s it doing?” Nancy asks, frustrated.

“I don’t know.” You respond, equally as frustrated and scared.

Another few agonizing seconds pass, and you stare at the yo-yo and hope that it remains still. Then, the lights stop flickering and it becomes quiet. All you can hear is your blood roaring in your ears.

Nancy looks around. “Do you hear anything?”

“No,” Jonathan shakes his head, inching closer to the door.

“Wait!” You tug at your still interlocked hands. You pick up his bat that had been thrown on the ground and hand it to him. “Be careful. Please.”

He gives your hand one last squeeze before letting go, accepting the bat.

As Jonathan pokes his head out to see if the monster is outside, Steve bends his head down and whispers in your ear, “Romantic.”

“Shut. Up.” You hit him in the chest, fearfully watching your best friend to make sure he doesn't die. When he motions an all clear, Nancy follows him outside, then you, then Steve.

The house is silent and your heart sinks when you see that the bear trap has been left untouched. You realize with a horrible gut wrench that the monster is smarter than the three of you had anticipated.

So much for your plan, then.

“It’s smarter than we thought.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan agrees with dismay.

He stalks against the wall towards the living room and you all follow in a single file line. You do your best to stick close to the wall but you limp with every step. Your ankle is definitely out of commission for now. Great.

All of you are on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It couldn’t have been that easy, there’s no possible way that the monster simply up and left. You enter the living room, which has gotten even more wrecked due the monster. The wallpaper has been torn off of some parts of the wall and you see papers scattered everywhere.

“Shit…” you mumble, kicking at a shredded wallpaper strip.

In the corner, Steve has started to hyperventilate and mumble to himself. “This is crazy, this is so crazy, this is fucking crazy.”

You limp over to him and grab his shoulders, making him face you. “Steve, hey. It’s okay, I’m here.”

“Y/N, what the hell just happened?”

“It’s… complicated. For now, can you trust me that everything will be okay?”

“Of course I trust you, it’s just…” He nods, his eyes softening. You lessen your hold on him and give him a smile, he seems to be calming down. Then, he looks around the room and seemingly remembers where he is. “This is crazy!”

Steve lunges for the phone on the wall and tries to call for help.

You stumble after him, the pain in your ankle slowing you down. “Steve, wait–”

Nancy gets to him first, grabbing the phone out of his hand and throwing it across the room. He looks at her, shocked. “What are you doing? Are you insane?”

“It’s going to come back!” Nancy yells at him, and you wince at the way she treats him. You know Steve will only listen to her, but she could at least be nicer about the whole situation. The three of you have had some time to process everything happening, Steve was thrown into the deep end.

“You could be a little nicer,” you mumble, and Nancy sends you a glare. You raise your hands up in surrender. “Sorry.”

“Steve, you need to leave. Right now.”

He looks so overwhelmed and you give him a pitying look. He stares at you, reminiscent of the way he looked at you earlier in the alley, silently begging you to say something, anything, but again you can only shake your head at him. You won’t force him to stay, it wouldn’t be fair.

“Y/N, please…” He tries one more time to get you on his side, but you can’t. Frustrated by your lack of response, Steve groans. “Fuck it!”

He runs out the door.

You’ll admit that you’re a bit disappointed, but you also understand. Who in their right mind would stay?

You and Nancy share a look before the lights begin to flicker again. Dread fills you. “Fuck…”

Jonathan is back by your side and he and Nancy again form a triangle with you, all your backs pressed together as you desperately try to locate the monster. You all stumble in a circle, searching for any sign of the thing, but there’s nothing.

“Where is it?” Nancy gasps out.

“Just fucking show yourself!” You shout, just wanting this all to be over with. Your body is drained from living in a state of fear for so long.

“Come on you son of a bitch!” Jonathan echoes your taunts.

Suddenly the lights turn off and you’re left alone in complete darkness. Faintly you can hear the monster’s familiar growl approaching from behind you. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, the air stands still. It’s back. Before you can react, it pounces on Jonathan.

“Jonathan!” You scream alongside Nancy. Desperation takes over you and before you can even process what’s happening, you ignore the pain in your ankle and jump onto its back, stabbing repeatedly at it.

Your blades only bounce off of its thick skin and the monster struggles to get you off. You hold on as tight as you can, shouting and kicking at it so that it can’t hurt him, but then it opens its mouth and for a horrifying moment you’re afraid that Jonathan will die.

“No!” You scream even louder than before and double down on your effort, stabbing and slashing as much as you possibly can to try and create some damage, but your arms are starting to ache and your ankle now feels like it’s on fire.

“Nancy, its skin is too thick!” You sob out, nearing complete exhaustion. Then, just as you’re about to collapse from exhaustion, gunshots fill the room.

Nancy begins to shoot at the monster and with the help of your blades, the two of you manage to pierce its skin, but even then the damage is minimal. It’s not enough, it won’t be enough. Tears stream down your face and the monster only gets closer to Jonathan, so you do the only thing you can think of: you crawl onto the top of its body and stab at its mouth.

The monster lets out a blood curdling scream and flings you off of its back. You go flying across the room and land against the wall with a groan. All the air has been knocked out of you and your ribs are definitely going to be bruised tomorrow. Every part of you aches, but you manage to lift your head up and blearily process the monster now approaching Nancy as she continues to shoot at it, but it remains unphased.

You crawl over to Jonathan, who is still laying on the ground. He’s motionless, and you fight everything within you not to break down and sob. You have to keep going, he has to be alive. As you reach Jonathan and frantically check for a pulse, the monster has now cornered Nancy and her gun seems to be out of bullets.

It’s over. You know it is.

Right as you’ve accepted your fate, a screaming Steve Harrington wielding Jonathan’s bat once again manages to save the day.

He hits the monster with the bat, effectively saving Nancy and you’re so impressed with his batting skills that you almost find him attractive with how easily he hits and dodges the monster. However, you file those thoughts away for later and finally manage to wake Jonathan up. He startles with a gasp and you check over his chest, scared he may have gotten pierced by the monster’s claws.

“I’m fine, we need to help.”

You help each other up and you have to lean heavily against him due to your ankle. You bull riding the monster has only made the sprain worse; you’re too afraid to look down and see the damage that’s been done.

As the two of you hobble over to Nancy, Jonathan looks at you. “Is Harrington really here right now?”

“Yes.”

“Lovely.”

Steve manages to lure the monster closer and closer to the bear trap and you watch him in awe. He’s quick footed and so sure of himself, the complete opposite of the boy from only ten minutes ago who had run out of the house screaming his head off. Now, Steve is swift with his hits and even twirls the bat in his hand to show off. The small act causes you to smile despite the horrible circumstances.

By the time you and Jonathan are up and recovered, Steve has successfully led the monster straight into the trap. It clamps around the monster’s foot and it screeches, flailing around in the trap. Steve still has his bat held up, now frantically looking over to everyone else. “He’s in the trap! He’s stuck!”

“Jonathan, now!” Nancy screams, motioning over at him to use his lighter.

Jonathan listens, using his free hand to flick the lighter on and then drops it onto the ground, right into the trail of gasoline. Immediately the monster goes up in flames, letting out horrible noises. You all shield your faces from the flames and Jonathan pulls you closer into him, still having yet to let go of you; you feel yourself sink into his side as you watch the monster wither away.

“Bug, I have to get the fire extinguisher, do you think you can stand on your own?” Jonathan asks you, his voice soft but urgent.

You quickly nod and brace yourself for his departure. “Yeah, go.”

He lets go of you as gently as possible before running to grab the extinguisher. When he has it, he orders everyone to get back and then smothers the flames. It takes a couple seconds, but eventually the fire gets put out, leaving behind an awful stench that makes everyone cough and gag.

“Holy fuck,” you wheeze out, hunched over. “Burnt monster smells horrible.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Steve coughs out.

Nancy covers her face with her jacket. “Where did it go?”

“It has to be dead.” Jonathan pants against the wall, looking like he’s three seconds away from passing out. “It has to be.”

“It fucking better be dead.” You mumble, hobbling closer to see what exactly was left behind. When you get closer and see the giant lump of melted skin all over the bear trap, you gag. “Oh god. Yeah, okay. It’s dead.”

Everyone sighs with relief.

Then, you notice a Christmas light above you flicker on. Your heart stops, terrified that the monster has somehow survived, but then a second one turns on, then a third, until a path seems to be guiding you towards the living room.

You all follow, cautious but curious, but these lights don’t feel threatening. There’s an energy to them, a comforting one that leaves you breathless. When you get to the living room, tears form in your eyes, now understanding what this all is. You look at Jonathan, who also seems to be thinking what you are.

It’s Joyce, you know it is.

“Mom,” he breathes out.

You limp over to him and grab his hand. He turns to you, his eyes shining with an appreciation that he only ever has for you. He seems to be drinking you in, as if now realizing just how close the two of you came to dying tonight. You’re doing the same, thankful that he’s alive and standing next to you despite everything. There’s so much the two of you want to say, but as always the words aren’t needed. You understand each other perfectly, the balance between you centered once more.

You put your head on Jonathan’s shoulder and he brings his hand to your hair to softly stroke it. The two of you stand like that for a second, breathing each other in and enjoying the tenderness after such a miserable day, before you slowly break apart and follow the lights going outside.

The porch light flickers and Nancy stands next to you, watching it with uncertainty. “Where’s it going?”

“I don’t think it’s the monster.” Jonathan tells her.

“It’s Will.” You don’t know how you know this, or what makes you feel so certain that you’re right, but somehow you know that you are. Somewhere deep within you, you feel the faint outline of hope flicker.

A new silence surrounds the four of you at your words, and for once there’s hope between you all. Then, after a minute or so of silence, everyone begins to head back inside. Steve first, then Nancy, and finally Jonathan, leaving you alone with the crisp early winter air.

You take a deep breath, the cold air serving as a reminder that you’re alive. You let it fill your lungs until you can’t breathe in anymore, then you release the air through an exhale and feel your body settle into its exhaustion. This is the first time you’ve had a moment to yourself, so you let the exhaustion weigh upon you like a warm blanket.

Will is safe, you can feel it. Despite everything, he’s safe and alive. Jonathan is too, still your best friend regardless of all the unspoken words between the two of you. Dustin is at the school with the kids, away from danger. Everything is okay, it’ll be okay.

You let the moment wash over you, incredibly grateful to be lucky enough to have survived it all. Everyone you love and hold close to you is safe. You didn’t fuck up this time. God, you did it.

Jonathan comes running out after a while, his face alight with joy and he crashes into you and picks you up to twirl you around. You laugh, loud and freely, and bury your face in his hair as he continues. “Bee, stop! Put me down, you dummy!”

He does as he’s told, but doesn’t let go of you once your feet are on the ground. “My mom just called, they saved Will. He–he’s in the hospital, he’s okay.”

You squeal and throw your arms around Jonathan again, squeezing him so hard that you’re afraid you'll hurt him, but he simply laughs and squeezes you just as tight. Tears come again, but this time they’re happy ones, and if it weren’t for your ankle you’d be jumping up and down right now.

Jonathan’s laughter dies down and he cups your chin around his fingers so that you look up at him. “You did it.”

“We did it, bug.” You softly push against him. You can’t take all the credit.

His eyes are shining again, you haven’t seen him this happy in so long, you get lost in it. His face is lit up and his smile is back and you’re so in love with him that it claws against your throat and threatens to spill out in excess.

A beat of silence passes and Jonathan just soaks your presence in. You can’t quite read his face, but for once this doesn’t frighten you. You enjoy it, you relish in the fact that he’s still yours yet now forming into someone new and lovely and wonderful.

“You never gave up.” He whispers at last, adoration in his voice.

“Never.”

“You never left me.”

“Never.” You breathe out, the word so simple with such heavy weight behind it.

The moment is so raw, so tender, and Jonathan is giving you that look again, the one that leaves you feeling like the sun itself has settled upon you and kissed your cheek. His eyes flick down to your lips and you smile, taunting him to lean in. He seems to understand, giving you his own teasing smile before leaning in. You lean in as well, every part of you buzzing, and right before your lips touch his, Steve bursts through the door.

“Jonathan, dude, do you have like, any food in the house?” He asks, completely oblivious to what he’s just interrupted.

You and Jonathan break apart, laughing the tension away. He ducks his head down, clears his throat, and turns to Steve. “Sorry, man. Been a little busy this week for grocery shopping.”

Steve’s eyes bulge out of his head. “Oh shit, right. Sorry, okay. Uh… Well, I’ll be inside, I guess.”

“We’ll be in shortly.” You tell Steve. You want to be frustrated by his timing, but something tells you that you’ll have all the time in the world to tell Jonathan how you feel. Now just isn’t the time.

–

The moment you arrive at the hospital, Jonathan sprints out of the car and straight towards the front desk to find out where Will is. You and Nancy follow behind, figuring you won’t be able to see Will for a while since you’re not blood related, so the two of you wish Jonathan goodbye and head towards the waiting room.

Steve lags behind, obviously unsure where to go. Nancy immediately walks inside, but you notice his hesitation and nudge his shoulder. “I’m sure that the cut on your eyebrow needs to be looked out. Let’s go sit, okay?”

He sighs deeply. “Yeah, sure. Totally. Let’s go sit in a room full of people who probably hate me. No biggie.”

“Either come or don’t.” You shrug. “But the way I see it, you can start mending some metaphorical wounds while you wait in there.”

You don’t wait for Steve to figure out what to do, you know that Dustin is somewhere inside the waiting room and you’re buzzing to see him and the rest of the kids. You hobble inside, still very much in pain due to your injuries, but the moment you see your brother it all fades away.

He runs into your arms and almost knocks you down with the force. Dustin clings onto you, mumbling over and over again how sorry he is.

“Hey, wait a second,” you pull him away and crouch down, groaning a bit at the pain. “What are you sorry about? What happened?”

You look around the room and see everyone there. Nancy, Hopper, the kids, Steve, even Nancy’s parents, but there’s someone missing…

“El,” you breathe out.

Dustin’s lip trembles and he begins to cry. You soothe him, grabbing his hand to bring him over to the seats and sit between him and Mike. Lucas is to the left of Dustin and you can’t help but notice how all the boys have dried tears in their eyes.

When they’re ready, you have the kids explain what happened, and the more they tell you, the more guilty you feel. You should’ve been there for them, you left them all alone with that monster. You got Will back, and yet you’ve lost El as a result. It seems that no matter what you do, it’ll never quite be enough in the end.

“It’s not your fault.” You tell Dustin, who still keeps apologizing. It was you who had left him in charge, you’re why El ended up vanquished by the monster. “You did everything you could. I shouldn’t have left you guys all alone, but I’m proud that you all took care of one another, okay?”

He sniffs and nods his head, but you know he doesn’t believe you. All the boys are somber; you know it’ll take time for them to recover. So, you do what you do best, you console them. You hold their hands and rub their backs and offer your spare comics in your bag. You do whatever you can to comfort them, to reassure them that they’re safe now and that no one will hurt them, but the light in their eyes has dimmed.

They’ll never be the same again.

And El… she had been so young, you don’t think you’ll ever not feel the heavy weight of guilt whenever you think of her. She had been so sweet and had trusted you.

You should’ve been there, you wish you could’ve saved her.

Steve watches from his seat across from you. He listens in as you comfort the boys, taking care of them in such a natural way. He admires this softer side of you, one he hasn’t quite seen before. Sure, you’ve always been gentle and sincere, but watching you with the kids is something special in itself. You manage to get them to laugh, you offer them your shoulder to cry or sleep on, and you read aloud to them stories from your comics and Steve finds himself drawn towards your interactions with the kids.

It’s sweet, something delicate and lovely, and Steve admires everything that you are. When he sees you awkwardly stand up and stumble over to the vending machines in the hall, Steve finds himself following after you.

“Bitch!” You slam the palm of your hand against the vending machine in vain. The bag of chips hangs by the little spiral, taunting you.

“That’s not a very nice word, Henderson.”

You turn and see Steve, leaning against the wall with a fond expression. “You stalking me?”

“Nah, just wanted to watch you fight against a vending machine.”

“Ha,” you snort, turning back to the machine. “Unless you can help me get this last chip bag, you’re free to go sit back down.”

You mean it to be a joke, not expecting Steve to actually listen, but he’s at your side within a second. “Step back, let Steve handle her.”

“What–”

Steve motions for you to move, so you reluctantly do as you’re told. Once you’re out of the way, Steve claps his hands, stretches out his neck, and then begins to aggressively shake the vending machine.

“That is so not what you’re supposed to do–”

Suddenly the bag drops down from the hook and into the retrieval slot. Steve reaches inside, grabs the bag, and then dangles it in the air. “Tada!”

You laugh and grab the bag from him. “Okay, I’ll admit, that was impressive.”

“What can I say? I’m charming like that.”

“Sure,” you smile at him, neither of you have moved yet. He’s still standing in front of you with that cocky smile on his face that’s slowly started to warm on you. You truly do understand why so many girls have fallen for him. If you ever saw Steve on the street, a stranger passing by, you’d fall a little bit in love with him yourself.

The thought startles you. “Well, uh…”

“Yes?” Steve raises his eyebrows at you, smiling.

“Thank you for the chips. The kids haven’t eaten anything in hours, so…” You wave the three bags in your arms. “Gotta keep 'em fed.”

“Wait a second, there’s only three bags there. Aren’t you going to eat anything?”

“I only had enough money for the boy’s chips.” You say, feeling suddenly sheepish. “It’s fine, though. I’ll just eat a few pieces from them and wait until we get home.”

Steve scoffs. “Yeah, no.”

You frown at him, confused as he rustles through his jean pocket and pulls out his wallet. “I don’t want your money–”

He doesn’t listen and simply puts the cash into the vending machine and punches in a few numbers. Slowly, one by one, multiple different bags of sweets and chips come falling down within the machine. Once the last one has dropped, Steve bends down and offers the huge stash to you.

“A feast, on me.” He winks at you and you can’t help but blush.

“T–thanks, I guess.” You now carefully balance the rest of the snacks in your arms, the mound almost blocking your view. You’re not sure how much Steve just paid, but with all these snacks you and the kids will surely be well fed.

Steve shrugs, and if you weren’t so tired you’d think the blush on his face was a real one. “It’s the least I can do, all things considered.”

His words give you pause. You know he’s referencing earlier today, back in the alley where fists slammed against skin and he had dragged you away from your best friend, but the memory feels like years ago. So much has happened since then, Steve has saved your life since then.

“Steve…” Your ankle is starting to sting again from standing for so long, so you adjust your footing and try to figure out what you want to say. “I never got to thank you back at Jonathan’s.”

“Thank me?” His face scrunches in confusion in a sickeningly cute way that it almost distracts you.

“Yes. You saved my life tonight, Steve. I won’t ever forget that.”

“Oh…There’s no need to thank me. I mean, what are friends for?” Steve freezes and clears his throat. “I mean, shit. We aren’t friends, you keep saying that. Sorry. You know what I mean.”

You know you shouldn’t, but you laugh. Honestly, after everything you’ve been through tonight with Steve, how can he possibly think the two of you aren’t friends?

“Why are you laughing?” Steve mumbles, confused.

“Sorry,” you wheeze out, still uncontrollably laughing. “It’s just–I mean, dude! We almost died together, of course we’re friends now!”

“We are?” He looks like a little kid on Christmas day being given the gift he’s always wanted.

Your heart warms. “Yes, idiot.”

Steve starts moving around in what you can only guess is a happy dance. “Sweet! Does this mean I get a cool nickname, too?”

“A nickname?” A bag of chips threatens to fall from your arms, but Steve catches it before it can land on the ground and takes a few more snacks off of your hands.

He readjusts the snacks he now has so that he can carry them easier. “Yeah, I mean. Byers has one, why can’t I?”

You don’t think you’ll ever stop feeling so thrown every time Steve mentions a small detail about you that he’s somehow come to notice. He has a habit of doing that, surprising you by how much he seems to pay attention to you. You thought that no one ever had before, but Steve continues to prove you wrong.

“I’ll tell ya what,” you begin to walk back towards the waiting room, careful to step carefully to not drop anything or upset your ankle. “Let’s see how this ‘friends’ thing works out, then I’ll decide what nickname fits you best. Deal?”

Steve thinks for a moment and follows. “Hmm. I don’t know, I think I’ll need some type of precaution to make sure you give me a nickname in the end. I want one, Y/N. I’m so serious right now.”

You laugh at his pleading tone. “I can add you to my baking list. Whatever I bake, you’ll get a piece of it. Is that better?”

“God, yes!” Steve punches the air and cheers.

You’re smiling so much that your face aches. You haven’t felt this light and carefree in so long, you’d almost forgotten what it’s like. The two of you don’t say anything else as you walk back to the waiting room, though Steve seems to slow down so that you don’t hurt your ankle keeping up, though you still let out a few winces and groans.

When you’ve arrived back at your seat, Steve sets down the snacks and runs off without another word. You’re confused by his sudden departure but don’t think much of it. Instead, you wake the boys up and show them your array of snacks, which wakes them up immediately.

You’re mediating a fight between Mike and Lucas over who gets the bag of Chips Ahoy when a nurse interrupts. “Excuse me, ma’am. This young man over here told me I should come over and check out your ankle?”

The woman smiles and you look past her and see Steve sheepishly waving from his seat across from you. You’re stunned. Had he really gone out of his way to ensure your ankle gets treated?

You shake the thoughts out of your head and inform the woman all she needs to know. You tell her how you’d fallen and what type of pain you feel when you stand up. She inspects the ankle, her fingers cold but kind, and within a few minutes has diagnosed you with a sprained ankle.

“All you can really do is stay off of it for a few weeks while it heals. I can go and get you some crutches, if you’d like?” She asks, rolling her gloves off and tucking them back into her pocket.

You nod. “If you wouldn’t mind, that’d be great.”

The nurse leaves with the promise of being back soon. In the meantime she instructs you to keep your ankle elevated, so you prop it against the coffee table and wait. You’re annoyed that you even have to have crutches, but then you think of Barb, of El. You’re luckier than you should be.

–

After an hour or so, Jonathan opens the door to the waiting room. He spots you and Mike talking softly with each other and whistles over to catch your attention. When Mike looks up, Jonathan nods at him and the boy scrambles out of his seat.

“Guys! Guys! He’s up, Will is up!” Mike shakes awake Lucas and Dustin, who had been cuddling on the seats fast asleep. “Will’s up!”

Once they’re awake, they quickly follow after Mike and the three boys are gone in an instant, sprinting down the hall towards Will’s room. Clearly they’re eager to see their friend.

You do your best to get up as fast as possible, but your new crutches serve more as a nuisance rather than an aid. As you struggle to get up, somehow knocking over the mountain of snacks, Steve rushes over.

He grabs the crutches and offers you his hand. “Here, careful.”

“Thanks,” you awkwardly accept his hand and get up. Jonathan watches from the doorway, a curious look on his face. Nancy does the same from her seat, not saying a word as she watches Steve gently help you navigate the waiting room with your injury.

Jonathan holds the door open for you and takes over once you’re out the door. He grabs the crutches from Steve and is now the one to hold your hand, balancing you. “I can take it from here, Harrington.”

“Right, yeah.” Steve scratches the back of his head and coughs. “I’ll just… yeah.”

He heads back inside and you and Jonathan watch as he leaves. As soon as he’s out of earshot, Jonathan turns to you. “Are you two friends now or something?”

“We almost died tonight, bee. I think it’s safe to call Steve a friend now.”

Jonathan bites his lip, though there’s a far off look in his eye that leaves you feeling like you’ve missed something in the conversation. “Guess that’s true. Anyways, let’s get you to Will.”

By the time you make it to the room, the boys have swarmed around Will and are telling him everything he’s missed this week. He’s listening eagerly as they’re telling him about El, but when he sees you enter the room, his eyes light up and he tries to sit up.

“Y/N!” Will calls out, pure excitement in his voice.

You practically fall over in your haste to get to him. The second you’re close enough, you collapse onto his bed and give him the tightest hug you possibly can without hurting him. He feels so small against you, smaller than he’s ever felt before, and his sunken eyes and pale skin make you want to cry.

But he’s alive and here and in your arms once again, happy and wonderful and safe.

“Little bee,” you try not to cry, but tears are thick in your voice. “I missed you.”

Will manages a weak smile and shrugs, trying to play off the gravity of the situation. “Took a little detour home.”

You laugh and ruffle his hair. “At least you came home, that’s all that matters.”

“Ahem,” Mike obnoxiously clears his throat, effectively ending your moment with Will. “You’re hogging Will, move over.”

You laugh again and move away, allowing the boys to resume their millions of updates. You maneuver your crutches and walk over to Jonathan, who is standing by the door. He’s looking at the boys and Will with a soft smile on his face and you join him, standing side by side as you watch your boys finally come together again.

Then, you feel a pair of eyes on you and you turn around. Nancy is leaning against the doorway behind you; she looks frail and distraught. There’s a sadness in her eyes as she watches the kids. You know that watching the boys reunite with their friend must remind her of Barb. She never got her happy reunion.

You feel awful for the girl, so when her bittersweet smile drops and she turns to leave the room, you nudge Jonathan to make him aware of the situation. He sees her fleeing and begins to follow after her, but he stops.

“What are you waiting for? Go.” You tell him, knowing it’s for the best.

He shifts his weight, uncertain. “Are you sure?”

You’re not sure how to decipher the hidden meanings underneath those three words, but you find that you’re exhausted trying to keep reading between the lines. The feelings you’ve kept buried bubble to the surface, but you remind yourself that he loves Nancy, despite your weird moments of almost with him. There’s something there between you and Jonathan, you both can feel it, but it feels too raw and fragile to bring into the light.

Without having to ask, you know that Jonathan will choose her.

It breaks your heart, but you look over at Dustin and Will, who are laughing about some joke while Joyce gazes at them fondly, and you know that you can’t lose this. Maybe Jonathan knows this, too. The small family you’ve built together, it’s too precious to ruin.

Joyce and your boys, you can’t lose them. They’re yours, and Jonathan is yours in a way that you can’t quite keep to yourself forever, but for now it’s enough. You approach Joyce, grab her hand and give her a tired smile, and the smile she returns to you reminds you that this is more than enough for you.

You turn to Jonathan, pushing down your feelings once more in favor of appreciating the fact that Will is looking at you again, alive. “Go, bee.”

Jonathan gives you one last look. You study his face for a moment, watching as it shifts from confusion, to hurt, then finally into acceptance. You’ll never be sure of what exactly he’d been thinking in that moment, but it seemed to have been enough for him, too.

He smiles, lets out a deep breath, and then leaves.

The door closes softly behind him.

–

A month later you find yourself in the passenger seat of Jonathan's car, tired from your shift at Bookstrordinary but excited to pick up your brothers. Somehow, even after missing three consecutive shifts last month, Mrs. Waters refused to fire you.

But Jonathan? He hadn’t been so lucky. His boss fired him from the Hawk, but he hadn’t been too upset. He still drives you to and from work, so you suppose things could be worse.

It’s late, but the two of you take your time driving to the Wheeler’s. Nothing much has changed between you two following Will’s reappearance. Sure, maybe you’re at his house more just to make sure Will is adapting well, but besides that everything seemed to go back to normal.

Well, almost normal.

Steve appeared at your job a few days after your conversation in the hospital. He had surprised you when you walked in, and when you asked what he was doing in a bookstore, Steve simply shrugged and said, “You can’t figure out my nickname if we don’t hang out, right? So, I’m here.”

He had become a regular at the store, stopping by whenever he could, and slowly the two of you became good friends. You’ve come to enjoy Steve’s presence, something that you never thought would ever happen. But he keeps you company as you work, he wanders around and explores the comics and books you recommend to him, and it’s nice having someone to goof off with.

Plus, you did promise to add him to your baking list, so he’s also become your taste tester who happily eats any creation you bring in for him.

As for Nancy…

That was more of a sore subject for Jonathan.

There was a few weeks following Will’s reappearance that you thought Jonathan and Nancy would get together, but it never happened. You’re not quite sure why, maybe it had something to do with Jonathan’s hesitation of approaching her, but it had crushed him when you and he saw Nancy and Steve making out in the hall as if nothing bad had ever happened.

The way Jonathan’s face crumbled when he saw the couple only solidified that he’d never be yours, but you comforted him anyways. You told him he deserved better and then dragged him away. It’d taken him a few days, but eventually Jonathan was able to fake a smile again.

You haven’t spoken about it since that day, but you leave your window open most nights for him to crawl in. The nightmares from that night fighting the monster plague you both, and the loneliness feels a little heavier than usual, but at least you have each other.

“Jonathan! Y/N! Come in, the boys are downstairs.” Mrs. Wheeler answers the door, letting the two of you in. “And Y/N, I love that sweater on you.”

You thank the woman. “It was a gift from my mom. She claims I need to up my wardrobe, whatever that means.”

“Well, I think she has lovely taste.”

“I’ll let you know you think so!” You open the basement door and motion for Jonathan to go down first.

When he reaches the bottom of the steps, Jonathan makes a face. “Woah, what’s that smell? Have you guys been playing games all day, or just farting?”

“My vote is farting.” You say, hopping down the last step. Your ankle has mostly healed by now, but sometimes if you land on it wrong it makes a weird clicking noise followed by some pain, but you choose to pretend that it’s normal.

The boys laugh and Lucas points at your brother. “Oh, that’s just Dustin. He farted.”

He begins making fart noises with his mouth and you and Dustin share a look. “Very mature, Lucas.”

The boy continues to sing and make fart noises and you can’t believe that this is your life. You’re standing in a smelly basement while picking up your stubborn brother all while simultaneously enjoying the fact that you get to call this your life.

Jonathan calls over to Will to grab his things, so you follow suit and gently berate Lucas. “Alright, that’s enough. I gotta get Dustin home.”

“What, I thought I got to stay–”

“Jonathan is our ride and I made cookies, so let’s go.”

The moment the word “cookies” leaves your mouth, Dustin hops up and collects his things without any further argument.

Once he’s ready, he and Lucas play wrestle as they say goodbye. While they’re distracted, you walk over to Mike and discreetly hand him a container full of double fudge brownies. You’d specifically made them for him, knowing they were his favorite, because you noticed how hard it’s been for him to adjust to El being gone. He really cared about her, anyone could see that.

Mike’s eyes widen and he throws his arms around you. “Thanks, Y/N.”

You pat his back. “Anytime, Wheeler.”

Dustin breaks away from Lucas and runs up the stairs, so you take that as your cue to leave.

Upstairs, Jonathan and Will are talking to Mrs. Wheeler. When they see you enter, the woman turns to you and asks if you’ll be bringing over your usual round of holiday treats. “Of course, I’ll get started on them tomorrow. You guys still like the sugarbread cookies?”

“If you make them, I think I’ll die of happiness.” Mrs. Wheeler informs you, and you laugh and tell her that you’ll have them ready as soon as possible.

You bid her goodbye, Dustin now by your side, and you follow Jonathan and Will to the front door. Right before you open the door, Nancy calls Jonathan’s name from the top of the stairs.

“Hey, Jonathan, wait up!”

You, Dustin, and Will stand awkwardly in the back while Nancy hands Jonathan a wrapped gift and wishes him a merry Christmas. They share an awkward exchange since Jonathan hadn’t gotten her anything, but Nancy assures him that it’s fine. The interaction is painful to watch as Nancy doesn’t spare you a single glance. Dustin and Will look at you uncertainly when she kisses Jonathan’s cheek, but you ignore them and pretend to be interested in a Christmas decoration on the table.

This will never get any easier.

“You ready?” Jonathan turns back to you guys, a blush on his face, and all you can do is silently nod.

In the car you sit in the back with Dustin, who squeezes your arm in reassurance. He’s come to understand your complex feelings for Jonathan and has pieced together Nancy’s involvement. While he’s never outright consoled you, he’s shown his support in other small and wonderful ways.

“Thanks,” you whisper, and Dustin smiles.

“We all buckled up?” Jonathan asks as he starts up the car.

“Yes, captain.” You mock salute.

Will giggles at you before he sees the gift and looks up at Jonathan. “Can I open it?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You and Dustin lean forward so you can see what’s in the box. When Will unwraps a beautiful, and no doubt expensive, camera, you gasp. The bitterness and hurt from moments ago vanishes. This gift is from Steve, you know it is, and something warm settles deep within your bones.

You think about last month, how you’d told him not everyone can just afford a camera.

Seems like Steve listened.

Maybe he isn’t so bad after all.

–

A week later you knock on the Byers’ door, a giant container of your annual holiday cookies in your arms.

“Bug!” Jonathan answers the door with an excited smile on his face. His new camera is in his hands and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s already taken a photo of you with your crooked earmuffs and oversized box of cookies.

He’s been using the camera ever since he got it. There’s now multiple pictures of you, always unaware or caught off guard, now hanging in the kitchen. It makes you blush to think about.

“You didn’t even give me a chance to smile.” You complain, shoving your way inside. It’s snowing and you’re freezing.

Joyce grabs the container to help you as soon as she sees you. “Here, honey. I’ve got it.”

You thank her and walk over to Will, who is drawing at the kitchen table. “Hey little bee. Whatcha drawing?”

“Hi, Y/N.” He slides over his picture and you’re shown a quick sketch of you and the party, this time fighting what appears to be a misshapen dog. “It’s a Dire Wolf, we’re fighting it in our latest campaign.”

“Ah, I see. Looks fluffy, though. Can’t possibly be a dangerous creature.”

Will rolls his eyes at you. “This is why you don’t play with us.”

“Careful, you’re sassing the girl who has just bravely ridden her bike through the snow to deliver her famous Christmas cookies.”

Will is out of his seat in an instant, running over to his mom, who has just placed the container on the counter. “Did you make the oatmeal raisin cookies?”

“Duh,” you snort.

“And the chocolate chip?”

“I sure did.” You stand next to him and point at a new cookie you’re trying out this year. “This batch is a caramel banana one. Steve seemed to like it and I think it’s pretty good, so I hope you do too.”

Jonathan swoops over and kisses your head. “Of course we’ll like it, bug.”

“He’s right, you know. We always love whatever you make us, honey.” Joyce informs you, her mouth now full of cookies.

“I’d hope so, this is like my fifth year making these for you guys. It’d be awkward if you hated my baking.” You say, now securing your earmuffs back on your head. “Anyways, I should get going. It’s Christmas, my mom won’t want me out too long.”

Joyce looks out the window and frowns. “Did you really bike here in this weather?”

“It wasn’t too bad, I’ll be fine–”

“No. Jonathan, grab your keys and drive Y/N home.” She stares you down, daring you to argue with her, but you don’t. You know better than to argue with Joyce Byers.

Once Jonathan has his keys, you say goodbye to everyone and wish them a merry Christmas. Jonathan throws your bike in his trunk and soon you’re off on the road. The drive is quiet but cozy. The snowflakes fall in a pretty spiral and there’s a soft song playing on the radio.

Sometimes, if you close your eyes, you can pretend that the events from last month never happened. Will never disappeared. You never discovered that you love Jonathan. Nancy Wheeler never became friends with Jonathan, possibly something more had there been more time. When you close your eyes and sit still, you can imagine that your brother never has nightmares that wake him up screaming. That your heart doesn’t hurt when you make your best friend laugh.

For a moment, you can forget.

“Can we always stay like this?” You ask Jonathan softly, almost as if you’ll disturb the peace that winter has brought with its quiet snow.

“Like what?”

You’re not sure how to express what you’re feeling. “This, us. Together.”

“Of course we’ll always stay like this.” He grabs your hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss it. He says this like it’s a fact, the most obvious thing in the world.

“Pinky promise me.” You hold your pinky up. You know it’s silly, but you need him to hear you, to understand what you’re saying.

Jonathan looks over at you. “Y/N–”

“Please, promise me, bee.”

He’s silent for a moment, seeming to understand the weight of everything between, around, and within the two of you. Then, he extends his pinky finger and wraps it around yours. “I promise, bug.”

And you believe him.

[END OF SEASON 1]

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if you'd like to be added/removed from my taglist, please just left me know !

taglist: @siriuslysmoking @sheisjoeschateau @myeclispedsun @innercreationflower @juhdoche @frostandflamesfanfic @goosy-goose @quinnsadilla @munsons-queen @stefansring

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #wdtai #m's writing #im so tired n happy and full of love for u all #cannot believe its done :')#pls pls pls enjoy <333

302 notes · View notes

gffa · 6 months

Text

WHEEZING, so Dick is directly and super explicitly told not to leave the house, Bruce was not being joking about it, he said that with the most grimdark Batman face you can imagine from a 2010 comic, Alfred even was there to keep an eye on him, and he still sneaked out, got tied up and thrown into the Gotham bay and had to be rescued by Superman, all while he never did get his geometry homework done, and don't tell Batman because he might be grounded of all things! AND CLARK KENT aka S U P E R M A N DECIDES, SURE, THAT'S A THING THAT SHOULD BE NOT JUST CONDONED BUT ACTIVELY HELPED ON. He sneaks Dick back into Wayne Manor, so when Bruce checks on him, he won't get grounded, you know, for going after gunrunners and ALMOST DYING IN THE PROCESS, then Clark sneaks his geometry homework to finish it for Dick at superspeed, so he won't get caught, and I'm just cry-laughing because CLARK KENT IS A REAL ONE. I mean, he still is bad enough at this that they LEFT ROBIN'S CYCLE AT THE SCENE and Dick was probably grounded until he was FORTY after that, but you can't say Clark Kent doesn't come through for his friends, even when it's helping a kid not to get caught by his dad for sneaking out and nearly getting himself killed, CLARK KENT IS NOT A GODDAMNED SNITCH. I am in tears, please give them their own entire series, World's Finest is not enough for me, I need The Adventures Of Superman And Nightwing: What Will Piss Off Batman The Most, Let's Do That :D every month.

#lumi.txt #dc #batfam #superfam #dick grayson #bruce wayne #clark kent #superman 1939

273 notes · View notes

iwaasfairy · 11 months

Text

┌─ “ ! „ STEP ONE

tw. noncon, explicit descriptions of violence and murder, body horror, decapitation, dacryphilia, fear kink, objectification, threats, humiliation, blood, brief throw up scene, weapon play, choking, overstimulation, manipulation, physical harm, mask kink wordcount. 6.4k

a/n. ♡ commissioned by a lovely friend whomst i cherish dearly ♡ thank you so so much for commissioning meeee!! i t was very fun to have a reason to write some grimy gross shit again and your big brain is the best mwUah this was so fun i hooopppee you enjoy it !!! kiSs kISS kiss and thankies to rhi for beta-ing <33

oikawa tooru x fem!reader x iwaizumi hajime

Crack, it pops. And squelch, squelch, crack.

The blurred spats of red-tinted light that fill the night sky blur until they seem to vanish, and the ache in your head becomes pressing enough to numb. Numb to the coldness of the dirt, the uncomfortable stickiness to your back and thighs, tingling down your feet. The stars - you know them to be stars though they don’t look it, bleeding out like lambs across a pitch black voidness - get blocked out when the movement comes back to your view.

And a dirty, wet hand lands against your cheek hard enough to knock your face to the side, stinging up and down your skin. You get another taste of the copper coating your tongue— and a deep, pinched wheeze has you spluttering on the floor as your lungs come back to life.

It’s so cold.

But the pressure building between your ears rings before it pops, and the deep, rough string of wordy promises comes back to you. You almost think the quiet behind them hurts more. There’s caked blood that clots your nose, as your body is ragdolled onto a lap. Better view of the sky. Better view of the off-human face that forces back into sight. It cracks, it pops. You barely breathe.

And wonder how you got here.

There’s something unpleasant about the way he words it. “Okay, don’t be a baby. How old are you? Didn’t we all agree to this?” You’re not prone to telling your friends no, but there’s a difference between gentle encouragement, and being an abstemious dick. “We just got here.” With a gentler smile, the blond’s girlfriend shoots you a little encouragement.

“If you really don’t like it, you can always step out, you know. These things are made more for silly jumpscares than actual panic.”

Your shoulders square a little higher to your ears when you hop off the bar of the fenced line. “I know,” you say, be it a little mumbled. The other couple in front of you, classmates, look back to give you the kind of look that would amuse. If shot at anyone else. Your hands bury into your jacket pockets as the last pinkish light of the day starts to dim, and you pick at the loose thread in there. You aren’t the biggest baby you have ever been, but you’re first to admit you’re no brave soldier. You’re jumpish, cowardly when it comes down to the wire, and when presented with a choice, you’d rather go. Given enough incentive, you’ll run through in a dash and waste twenty dollars.

But your ride currently is nuzzled into the shirt of her brand-new boyfriend. It won’t be so bad. These things are usually too quick to get your money’s worth anyway. The corn reaches high though, enough to hide everything from view as the end of the line comes closer and closer, and distant screams prompt eager giggles and glances. Yeah, these kinds of things have never been your strongest suit. A group of teens behind you engages in happy chatter as you softly tap a rhythm into the half-muddy loam, glancing between your friends very briefly. Both couples glomp into one another in the wait, happy to walk the entire way in little pairs. Happy to hurry on without you too if push comes to shove, probably.

Prey instinct.

Maybe someone other than you will get scared enough to run, and maybe that will be distraction enough to forget about you and your inevitable anxiety. You take a deep breath, and let the fresh countryside air fill up your lungs- lovely, mixed with wisps of smoke machine and lingering scent of manure. Instead of psyching yourself out too much, listening to yet another trail of screams that grow further and further away, you turn to watch one of the two barely legal workers as the walky scratches obnoxiously.

“Tchhhk-we ca -end in —ther group.” The mousey looking kid has straggly hair that is tied in a low pony under an obnoxious red and yellow theme park cap, and looks about as pumped as you feel waving in the first two of your party down the correct path into the maze.

He gives an unenthusiastic spiel, and then swings open the gate before pressing a few buttons. “Two incoming.”

“Yup— tchh- also have so- lag on our—ne. Are y- changi— t- channel?”

Almost instantly as the couple disappears around a corner, you hear a few high pitched screams and giggles join the ones in the distance, and you cross your arms over your chest. Even though you try, your heart rate automatically rises when another scream rings out. The teen talks into his device for a moment again, and you brace yourself as you friends line up at the crooked little gate. After a second or so, a slight pinch moves between the teen’s brows, and he eyes leave his co-worker to stare into the field.

“-Saw s-eone… w-kin- around… premise. Pl—e advise.” The crackle of the device is loud enough to reach you, before another couple of screams cuts it off.

The screams are loud, high pitched and uncomfortable. They set hairs on the back of your neck up on end. “Huh.” As the dyed blond gives a wave, he aims himself at your group and says, “sorry, but you have to wait a few more minutes.” His little mousy walk from behind the stand annoys you more than it probably should. But you can’t help it. You want to be done with this, sooner rather than later. “Gimme five.” The kid gives his co-worker a quick mumble, before he disappears down into the one neat path between the corn, and you wait again.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Your heart beats steadily, but hard. Enough to have you wanting to nervously pace the small area of path, but choosing against it after all. The screams are fainter now, further away. Fuck this shit. As the sky lowers into an off-red sort of color, you finally speak up. Your roommate’s pretty eyes find yours. “Hey, can I walk along with you guys actually? I really… really don’t like this sort of stuff.” The noirette barely gives the accompanying blond a look, before letting out a little sigh.

“Yeah, it’s getting pretty late anyway. We can head home quicker that way.” Her boyfriend doesn’t bother to conceal the way he rolls his eyes at you, but doesn’t say anything. You don’t say anything either. Just wrap your arms around yourself and pull your sweater closer to your body. Only a few minutes pass where you all stand in silence, and the people behind joke among each other.

The other teen perched on the entrance eventually gives your group a little nod, and opens the shabby gate with the most monotone greeting. “Welcome to the Night Shift, Miyagi’s scariest paranormal experience. Please stay on the path and refrain from touching our ghosts.” His half-lidded expression and dead-tired wave of the arm almost make you want to smile, if only in understanding. But instead you shuffle along the damp path. “Enjoy.”

The two in front of you start off a liberal, bouncy pace, as your roomie prattles on, and your eyes scan the long path of corn before you. It sways softly in the wind, and the shade it casts is awfully cold. The rattling sound of leaves is the least of your worries though, trying to keep up with your friends. Your heart pounds in your chest, because above anything, it’s the quiet anticipation before the scare that gets to you. The steps get closer and closer to the first corner, and you know. You know how this stuff goes. But Mina gives a little glance back as her long hair sways along her back, ready to encourage you.

A jerk has you all skittering back. Mina and your screams sound in harmony in the cooling night. The pale white face that jumps out at the three of you is a gaunt, gross version of some kind of thready zombie— and makes an awful scratchy sound. “Give your souls. Give your souls.”

Its closeness to your face is enough to make you stumble, ignoring the laughs. But the ghost doesn’t immediately leave, instead crowding you for long enough to have you covering your ears. Thump. Thump. Thump. The rapid pounding of your blood reaches your cheeks. You hate this stuff, from the ache of your chest to the uncomfortable closeness, and you try to calm down.

The ghost has you almost slinking into the corn to escape, before you can finally walk on.

Your friends are almost at the next turn already, and it feels to get darker by the second. Mina has her arm clamped in her boyfriend’s arm, whose smug grin flashes when you hurry on. “Ty, wait! Guys! This isn’t funny-” your voice fails you almost as soon as they reach the next corner way before you do, and disappear from view, “come on, please?” The scream that follows only has you hesitating more, feet slowing as you stand in the now-almost completely dark field. “Guys, this isn’t funny! Wait for me!” you try again, and come to a halt before even the next turn.

All of this is so fucking stupid. If you weren’t such a baby, maybe you’d be unbothered by this turn of events. You even predicted it, didn’t you? Your eyes sting, both from the adjustment of light, and the adrenaline pumps through you— before you set another few steps.

It can’t be that far. It can’t be that scary. It’s just stupid employees in masks. A scream that must be Mina’s rings out further along than you hoped they’d be- and has you balling your fists. If only you can get past, maybe you can catch up to them.

Either way, you’ll have to face more ghouls before the night is over.

And—

Crack.

A scream, behind you.

Your feet fail to start, and goosebumps raise all the way up your legs and back. There’s a whole myriad of noise, a loud bubble of screams that sounds much too close for comfort. They squeal and cry out for a painfully long few seconds. Long enough to push past rational thought before it goes near-quiet again.

And your heart patters on in your throat.

There’s a range of sounds you prepare yourself to hear when you go to any sort of horror experience. The dull, repeated thump, and the long sort of moan— that sounds out above the wind, isn’t really one of them. The cold climbs up your arms and chest before you can gather yourself. The moan isn’t like anything you associate with a ghost. It’s low and groany and continues for a long time, like a wounded animal— and lasts only until a heavy noise snuffs out the plea.

And - the instinctual part of your mind tells you to hide.

It’s gone dark. It’s gone quiet.

If Mina hasn’t made it to the end yet, you can’t hear her.

Ever so slowly, your thoughts start up again, as you keep your ears wide open for any sound at all. There’s only the soft fluttering of the wind playing through the leaves. Before, as if under the breath of something larger, the sound of scraping leaves against clothes and the nervous rustling of someone moving through the field to your left makes you hold your breath. Your hands move over your mouth to clamp down the stuttered sound of your breathing.

You don’t know why, but it’s something in the air. The irregular noise, the lack of any other sound, and you staring into the darkness… screams at you. An animalistic feeling of threat, whispers that something is wrong. Your hands shake too hard to control. After a little bit of a pause, the noise returns. It’s a second of struggle, before another dying murmur sounds out, louder, closer, and then more shoving. More hacking. Your lungs feel like they’re squeezed too narrow, and your anxiety doesn’t allow for any other thoughts than a prey’s panic.

The nervous rustling gets louder and louder by the second.

Can’t you just step out of the experience? You don’t want to do this anymore— the childish part of your brain begs, and though you want to, you can’t make yourself move. Your lips stay tightly shut. The rustle to your left takes a more rapid pace, before it finally, finally grows a bit quieter again, and you manage to take a breath- pinched and wheezy.

Wrong.

Run.

Your ribcage aches under the pressure of your heart.

Only seconds before the noise would turn the corner, you find yourself stepping back and squeezing yourself between the stalks of corn, shaky hands grabbing and pushing yourself to hide.

Far enough to blot out the last bit of light of the evening, and have you squeezing yourself back until you’re a few feet from the path. You can’t see much, but the darkness adjusts quickly. Then, it’s quiet. The fine hair on your arms stands upright as soft taps get closer, and closer, and closer. And the corn doesn’t feel like enough of a shield.

Another scream comes from the way your friends ran off— girly, shrill and true— it lasts barely a second, but echoes for longer.

… Mina. It’s quiet.

Whatever stupid game is being played, you suddenly decide you want no part in it, and the cold wind ruffling the blades above your head feels like the only disguise for you and your anxious breaths. The footsteps reach, and slowly move past as the air gets stuck in your throat. You’re no fighting champion, and yet, your first instinct is to squeeze your fists tighter.

Only a dark figure can be made out from where you’re hidden, but the head is white, some kind of ghoulish looking mask. Ghost like, if not for the black stitches and blood. The presence is more pressing— it grates with each step. For a tiny moment, the figure stops in his tracks to scan around, and it gives you the flash you need to see that the thumping is caused by the heavy metal tool he periodically swings out and taps onto the floor.

It’s like an elongated butcher’s knife, wide and coated with glittering, royal red that drips down the pristine edge of the blade. Carrying the thick smell of copper behind him. And you’re freaked out enough to conclude it looks real. It can’t— can’t possibly be.

As soon as he passes you for enough time for you to steady your heartbeat, you sneak out of your hiding spot— before you hurry back down the way you came. Your every step feels too loud, and though you try to make sense of what you’re feeling, it comes out in a wobbly line of wetness along your eyeline. With another few step you make it around the corner and—

falter in your step.

There’s blood everywhere. Hands, throat, the huge gash in between the neck and shoulder that reveals flesh and tissue and bone, and oozes a vile smell of blood unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. It’s all encompassing. The previously scary ghost is reduced to nothing more than a sad heap of fleshy canvas for the layer of blood that pools around them.

You can’t think. Can’t breathe.

Blood, blood, there’s so much blood everywhere.

On your shoes, on their ghouly face, on your hands as you kneel down and find it disturbingly warm and sticky and real. The feeling of dry heaving takes over you, and you stand with trembling- everything.

Your heart pounds. Eyes are blurry and make everything a little hard to navigate. You want out of this stupid fucking game. It wasn’t fun to begin with, and it definitely isn’t now. Out, out, all you want is out. This is a nightmare, or the worst practical joke ever. You wipe your involuntary tears with a shaky hand as you walk, only to find yourself letting out a squeak when the red gets onto your face. You rub your cheek onto your shoulder, speeding up— and barely allows for wheezy, heavy breaths of air.

By the time you get back to the gate, you’re almost blinded by your tears. But even your tears can’t hide the growing terror that remains. The group of teens never made it into the path. They lay clumped in a mess of bodies and blood, one of them hanging over the posts with blank, dead eyes- and a horrifying wound that nearly severs his head from his neck. Everything is covered in blood, from the ground, to the clothes, faces, the neat red-yellow uniform- it all has soaked and turned a dirty, off-maroon color that seems to fit the smell emanating from the scene.

You can’t help it, you heave over onto your knees and nothing but some pure acid comes out as you try to look around. This is real. Real. It can’t be, but it is.

Your choked noises of panic ring through your ears wiping your mouth on your sleeve, along with a loud buzzing that goes back and forth, back and forth, back and forth when-

The footsteps suddenly have you turning around, and screaming. The man’s here. You scramble up and jump onto the wooden fence to swing your leg over, but a heavy hand grabs a fistful of hair and yanks you back as you yelp out loud, and grab at his wrists.

“Let me go! Let go!” Your scalp feels like it’s tearing apart with the force when you land onto the cold floor, and the ghoul’s face comes to hover over yours— your tears don’t allow for proper breaths as you cling onto his arm and dig your nails in. “I wanna go home~” your cried, pathetic whimper is all that comes out as you stare, and in the pits of the blacked out eyes, olive irises stare back.

The man raises his other hand, and everything goes black.

When you come to, there’s an awful stench that you taste more than smell. You’re so dizzy, and your eyes blot with black clouds everywhere you look— for much too long. Your nose clogged with thick coats of blood hurts, as you roll onto your belly with a groan and cough against the strained pressure.

Fuck, everything hurts.

There’s a bubble of noise around your head that pops in and out of focus each time you blink, and breathe. Crack, it pops. And squelch, squelch, crack. You try to raise yourself off from the cold, damp floor, but a heavy shove to your side has you landing on your sore shoulder, and staring up at the sky with shallow gasps. A hand slaps your face sideways hard, you’re heaved up, and suddenly everything floods back to you. The blood. You try again to right yourself, and your head spins as you try to shake off the cotton that’s filling your head and pushing on your brain.

You’re aching, and your mouth is full of blood.

It’s only when you try to focus on your environment that you manage to make out the muffled crying of a woman — and your head snaps up. Mina’s bound, gagged, and she’s got mascara tracks all down her face and cheeks, and her hands lay uselessly on her lap. Dripping with blood. It’s only after much too long that you notice that the figure that’s moving in your periphery is landing a huge axe over and over again into what’s left … of a human skull.

Blond hair is matted together with clots of blood, and it looks more like a soup than a head. The soft crack and squelch as the axe is pulled out of the floor has you crying out.

Oh god. You wish you were dead.

The figure has a black mask covering most of his face, and yet, you feel like you can see the smile between the narrow slits as he turns to you. The man leans into the handle of his blood soaked axe with all the weight of his tall but solid body. “Two little doves, one gets caught. One tries to fly, the other gets got.” Besides the ring of black around his eyes, you can’t see anything. Your lip wobbles as you breathe, and stare.

“It’s a nursery rhyme. Fits, don’t you think?” His mouth is just barely visible under the forked plate that covers it, and pink lips curl up at the ends. “I know movies teach you to expect a lot of dramatics, but that’s all the drama you’re going to get from me, don’t worry.” He noisily pulls up his nose, before crouching down before you. “I’m Tooru, that’s Iwa. What’s your name?”

At the mention of a second name, you turn over your shoulder to see the figure of the man that caught you— white mask splattered with drying blood, crouched much too close behind you. Your voice dies in your throat, but a soft whimper still comes out. You can’t help it. Cold shivers run up your spine and make your entire body feel wooden.

“Tch.” Tooru gets up to lift the axe high above your head, and then brings it down towards you a few times. “Come on, don’t be like that.” He leans down to grab your roommate’s face, and shakes her with a glance towards you. “I already know this is Mina. Now you tell me yours.” Your nod is quick, and you breathe out your answer just as quickly as he comes back over to you, now scraping the sharp blade along your jaw. “Good girl.”

“Now you’ll be happy to know that you two were the finalists of our little game. Con-gra-tula-tions.” His sing-songy chant sets your skin on end. He stares at you with thinly veiled expectation, and you take a shuddered breath through your bloody nose.

“Thank you,” your voice is barely a mousy squeak.

And Tooru’s laugh comes out almost instantly, cheerfully rocking onto the back of his heels. Just a second, before he stands up again, long legs towering his shape above you. “Sadly enough there can be only one winner. So,” he pauses, eyes glittering with too much mirth, “Iwa, if you would.” The man who’s been sat basically glued to your backside for the whole time gets up to pet his hand over your hair a few times, before stepping over to Mina in silence.

“Wait, wait…” His butcher’s knife comes to rest on her shoulder as she cries the same pinched, pathetic patterns as you do. Tears and spit drenching into the gag in her mouth. “Don’t hurt her.”

“Shhh shh shh,” the dark masked one chants again, and his axe comes to pinch into your neck too, nicking the soft side of your throat with a sharp sting. “Here’s the question. Who is… the one that has to die?” He pushes the blade harder into your skin. “And you better answer, because Iwa likes killing pretty girls. I can’t guarantee what will happen if you think too long.”

“Wait…” you ask, looking into the panic filled eyes of the girl before you. You can see every thought, every regret in her face. “Wait, wait, please. I…”

“Three-”

“Wait!” you squeak now, eyes shifting between both men. “I can’t-”

“Two-” He mockingly moves the axe along your shoulder like a golfer, and your panic blossoms onto your tongue. “One.”

“Me,” you cry out instinctively, vocal chords aching. “Me, kill me.”

It stays quiet for what feels like an eternity, before Tooru lets out a soft chuckle. “Iwa’s right. You are cute. A sweet, little thing, aren’t you.” Then the other guy moves too quick for someone his size, and his weapon glides with one heavy swing right under her jawline in slow motion. The glittering edge of the knife in the moonlight arcs almost beautifully. Slicing through your former friend’s neck with a clean thwop, not enough resistance, before blood splatters on you, on him, on everything.

Her head falls before her body does, with a dull thump that sears into your brain.

And you-

Everything blanks.

You think you scream, but the buzzing and shaking is too loud to make out anything. All you know is that your crying gets worse, and you bury your face into your knees with a sob. Your thoughts are a wiry, tangled ball of terror that comes out in faint pants only, and shaky fingers that curl around your knees. The axe drops to your side before two hands land on your head and slide down to yank you back up to face him, and Tooru’s lips get close enough to you to feel the puff of air on your face. “Shhh, doll. It’s alright now. You did so well.”

“You talk too much,” the more gravelly tone of the other man hits your psyche like a shovel, and has you sobbing into the soft touches along your cheeks.

“I’m setting the mood, Iwa-chan.”

The white masked man steps over the body to your side much too casually, before kneeling down beside you. “Set it in silence for once.” To your horror, his eye contact doesn't wane when you cry harder. In fact, he seems to think for a second, before grabbing your arm in his heavy, warm palm and pulling you closer. “C’mere. You’re gonna be good. Okay?”

“I- I,” you stutter, and pull up your snotty, wet nose again, before he leans in to slide his head into the crook of your neck, and moves the mask up a few inches. Only to press a few kisses along the bare skin, and up to your jaw. If you weren’t so mortified, maybe you’d fight. If you weren’t so shell-shocked, you’d take the weapon to your side and swing it around until it stops.

But his low, impatient grunt against your pulse has you going quieter. “You’re going to be good.” It isn’t a question. “Understood?”

“Yes…” It tastes wrong in your mouth, like the bloody taste that slides from your nose to your mouth, and everything that’s gotten onto your shirt, shorts, on every extremity now. After another second of raising your heartbeat so much you’re halfway to passing out, he finally moves— to press his lips against yours for a second, and slots the mask back in place. If you were any more lucid, maybe you’d be able to comprehend what will follow next. “Take off your top,” the quieter one mumbles, as he starts unbuckling his own belt.

“Here, I’ve got it,” Tooru then chants, too playfully, taking your hands and moving them above your head. As they rise, you feel the sudden feeling of terror flood over you again, shuddering as the fabric is pulled up and wipes past the mix of fluids on your face. You stay like that though, letting him maneuver you like a toy until your shirt lands beside you, and he then starts work on your bra. “Aren’t you a pretty one, hm? Cutie.”

The way he drags his fingers along your shoulder to push each strap aside one at a time is infuriating, but aside from lowering your arms to the side, you don’t— can’t stop them from unhooking and letting the bra join the clothes. Iwa’s quick to perk up at the sight of you, halfway to shouldering Tooru aside to take a good look. And though he doesn’t speak, the soft grunt and way he goes to cup himself over his pants says plenty. Your soft hiccups start back up at that. You don’t want to. You don’t want to one bit- and yet there’s nothing you can tell your body that would make you move. Not fast enough, at least. Tooru simply shakes his head. “You’re a real romantic.”

“Don’t need to be-” His fingers slide up your side before grabbing a handful of your tits and squeezing, as he gets closer on his knees. “Nothing about this is meant to be romantic, Shittykawa. Start taking off your fucking clothes.” His hands roam along your cold skin, brushing playfully against your peaked nipples a few times before he looks back at your face. “You’re gonna take that pretty little mouth and place it on my cock. And if you bite me, I’ll pull each of your teeth out of your skull before you die.” His thumb swipes along your bottom lip, before pushing in and dragging the pad along your tongue. “Understood?”

Your voice loses all volume when he slides the digit deep enough to choke you up, before he pulls back briefly. “Mhm.” Tooru to your side doesn’t make haste in taking anything off, and seems to glitter at the brief attention you give him as he unbuttons the black dress shirt, revealing a toned chest and arms. He’s littered with scars, and somehow, that only makes everything more real. Before you’re able to think it through, you start crying again, squeezing your eyes shut and rubbing the backs of your hands along your lashes like a child. “I…” You’re unable to stop. “I - I don’t- I wan- wanna go home— I-”

“Agh, fuck.” Someone speaks, but unlike the anger you expect to be met with, he groans it, delighted more than anything. Your eyes open when hands cup your face and you’re laid down onto the cold ground with a swift motion, and Tooru’s inhuman mask stares back at you— only revealing a wide grin. “Stupid girl. You can’t go home. You’re going to be our play thing until we get bored of you, or you stop being useful-” He dips down to an uncomfortable few inches from your face, and pinches your cheek until it hurts. “And then, you’re going to end up chopped into little pieces and buried in a shallow grave. Heh, how dumb are you? You wanna go home?” His mocking tone hurts almost as much as the sharp glare.

You can’t help it, you cry harder, and try to get from under his heavy body to hide your face— but that only faces you with the horrifying reality of your friends’ fate. “Wanna cry to mommy and daddy about it?” As he gets close enough to almost brush his lips over your ear, a soft chuckle comes out. “You better not tell Iwa-chan that. He’s really mean when he gets jealous.” He moves to pry open your mouth and slides two long fingers in without warning, having you choking again and spluttering around. “Now be a good girl. Or don’t be. Doesn’t matter to me.” Your tongue squirms uncomfortably as the fingers invade your throat and make it feel like you’re drowning in your own spit- with desperate puffs of air through your nose as you cry.

“Move that way,” Iwa grunts after a few seconds, before staring at the wobbly line along your eyes again. “Guess I get to go first.” There’s a distinct lilt of amusement that hangs over everything he says as he grabs your leg and yanks you up to start pulling your shorts down. Finally Tooru pulls back as you cough, spit leaking out of the sides of your mouth— before he too starts taking off the last of his clothing and hums softly to himself.

“Isn’t she really sexy when she’s pouting like this?” His gleaming praise is paired with a sharp tap to your cheek, as he peeks out a sliver of his tongue. “Crying like a desperate, little slut.” He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything in between your sobs before he grabs himself at the base and leans over you to press his cock head to your mouth. “You’re just a hole for us to abuse, you know that?” Something in the back of your mind begs for you to bite him, but almost as if he can smell your intent, his hand wraps around your throat and pushes, hard. “Try something and you’ll wish I was just being mean all over, cutie.”

“Gotta fit us, baby,” the other voice speaks, and makes you want to sink through the floor. Your body can’t stop crying, and the anger you feel is almost equal to your fear. It’s not enough to let you ignore them. They have to demand your attention too. “Pretty little cunt.” He starts rubbing your pussy up and down with rough fingertips, then spits and spreads around the wetness before he almost immediately pushes two fingers in dry— and it makes you jerk at the uncomfortable feeling of your body being invaded.

“I think she likes it when it hurts, Iwa-chan,” Tooru’s playful tone makes you want to scratch and bite and tear his head off. It just has you crying your eyes shut though, and lay there shaking. What other choice do you have? His tone doesn’t change as he demands attention by rubbing your tits and squeezing until you squeak. “That’s a good toy.” The rubbing and prodding does start to allow your wound-up muscles to loosen up a bit, but when the hand between your legs pulls back, you’re still not nearly wet enough. Iwa’s strong thighs under yours cause your hips to be aligned with his, as he grunts, as he looks, as he all but eats you up with his eyes.

But that’s all you get before Tooru’s patience wanes and he prods open your mouth, and starts feeding you his cock. “Ah, there you go, little crybaby. Open wide.” The taste of his precum on your tongue along with the bucking into your cheek makes you open your eyes to look up, and to your surprise, his mask has been discarded too. There’s a healthy flush on his cheeks, and in any other situation, you’d be taken aback by how pretty he is. Instead he grabs a hand of your hair and forces his flushed cock down your throat, as you try not to panic further. The feeling hurts. It hits the back of your mouth as your tongue squirms around him and he makes you heave—

and the hot, heavy cock that was pressed against your mound is now also pushed in you with a low, gravelly moan. There’s an ache inside you that is impossible to ignore as he fills you up inch by inch and the stretch really hurts, going into pleasure too quickly. You shouldn’t- you know you shouldn’t, don’t want to- you swear, you swear. Everything is too much. The cock in your throat makes you gag as Iwa bottoms out, grabbing your hips and anchoring himself inside you. The warm cloud of pleasure that spreads through you is painfully overwhelming. “Tight fucking pussy- god-”

The one closest groans out your name, as you feel his cock pound on your tongue. “Ain’t she just- so- gh-good?” Tooru’s flash to yours and the big, brown irises that look back at you make you shiver. He pulls back to beam down at you with what you could almost call a serene smile, as his cock jerks against your cheek and his hand runs down your body. Your pussy clenches as the rhythm of Iwa’s cock pistoning in and out of you starts feeling more than just painful— and wetness starts allowing him to slide in with a wet squelch. When a tiny moan comes out of your mouth, Tooru giggles, and leans in. “Don’t you like it a little too much? Having two bad men fucking you? After what happened-”

“Leave her be Oikawa- ugh,” Iwa groans from behind his mask, hiking you up to speed up the rhythm inside you, “don’t bully our new pet… Ah, fu~ck.” The loud paps of skin meeting skin is all you can hear, as your back lifts off the cold ground and his cock rocks into the best part of your walls. Your body is strung tight enough for every touch to feel better than the last, even the twitching of the drooling cock head as it’s smeared on your lips. “She feels so good.”

“I’m just teasing. Right, little one?” You don’t fight the urge to stick your tongue out and lick along the glossy slit of his cock, and Tooru grabs your head to keep you there. “Oh sh-, see? She likes it. She likes getting fucked like she’s nothing. Just a greedy little cunt and throat, huh?” He moans as you wrap your lips around him again, and narrows his eyes at your face. “‘S all you’re good for.” The thumping vein on your tongue is thrust back into your mouth, and you cry as he fucks all the precum down your throat before pulling back.

“Ah, ah, ah~” Your whimpering is beyond you, as you cling to the arm of the one closest to you. You’re completely gone. The tingling all over your body is all you can feel, the heat of them over you and inside you as you cry and moan and whine, and the hands roam on your body. Each time Iwa bottoms out in you, your body jerks from the pleasure and impact, and Tooru’s eyes seem to darken as you blubber around the base of his cock for air. He doesn’t falter when he turns to stare at the other man instead, and keeps you down there. “She’s close, hurry it up.”

“I want to cum inside,” Iwa immediately says back, and though you can’t see the frown you hear it’s there. He’s still fucking right into that spot that’s making you almost crosseyed, so they’re not even wrong. His deep voice rumbles as he thinks, and his strong, muscular shoulders square. All the while you’re trying to cum up for air, and Tooru threads his fingers through your hair. “You’ll have to wait a little for your turn.”

Your lungs ache and your vision goes spotty from being choked so long, before the brunet finally lets you jerk back off his drooling, spit-coated cock to take a deep breath, and let out a cry. Still each pump of Iwa’s body against yours taps your puffy clit, and winds that coil even tighter in your belly. Your dripping cunt clenches all the same, even as tears dry on your face. “Well, you heard the guy, cutie. He needs to breed that pretty pussy. So you’ll have to put up with me for a little while longer.” He slides his cock along the back of your tongue, before rolling his hips into you with a long moan.

You're going to cum. Oh no, you're actually going to fucking cum from this.

Tooru must know, because his eyes glitter as he meets yours, and licks his lips. “But you don’t mind that, right, pet?”

#oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #hq smut #haikyuu smut #oikawa smut #iwa smut #iwaizumi smut #hq x reader #tw.noncon #tw.decapitation #tw.murder #tw.dark content #🍯honey.pot #💫ch.oikawa #💫ch.iwaizumi

723 notes · View notes

minniepetals · 1 year

Text

cry me a river | the watchers

— summary: sometimes to not protect is the best form of protection

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: angst, mafia!au

— word count: 7.0k

— warnings: torture, arson

— PART 20 / previous post / masterpost

No one is coming to save you. Get up.

A splash of cold water and you’re awake once again. Back to reality. Back to being conscious. Reliving a loop that repeats and repeats until Nari is done having her fun and decides to finally end your life.

Your head is a mess, foggy with a pounding ache that refuses to leave. Beside you stands a man with chains holding his wrists together, sitting on a metal chair, his eyes alive and well, not a scratch on his face while he holds a glare watching you in the state you’re in.

Yoongi never did like watching people getting tortured whether they were his enemies or not.

He’s safe though, unlike you, because the Mins have been smart enough not to lay a finger on his hair, knowing if they were to return Yoongi in a state like you, Bangtan would have his head.

You admit your exes are quite scary when they’re upset, and anyone that touches any one of them would feel their wrath. You’ve witnessed it before, seen it during times when enemies would feel arrogant enough to put a hand on you. Although Namjoon is known as a calm and collected man who keeps his composure, he’s also quite possessive and overprotective. Anyone who tics him off would rather wish they went through hell and back instead.

So Junmyeon is smart in knowing not to touch Yoongi despite his initial offering in trying to please his daughter.

In the end, you’re the only one dying and getting tortured.

“Ah, I’m bored. Won’t you just kill me already?” You spit out a lump of blood from your mouth, licking at your teeth upon the dirty metal taste, and it only aggravates Nari.

You understand her.

She won’t kill you unless she’s had the pleasure of seeing you in pain and begging her for mercy, but you know better than anyone to go on your knees and beg to a wall. It’ll do you more harm than good.

“Why, why, why?!” Nari complains, her feet stomping as she clenches her hands into fists, throwing another annoying tantrum. “Why won’t you just cry?! Do you enjoy getting tortured so much?!”

“Yeah.” You chuckle in her face. “Who would have thought I was such a masochist? You should keep going, little celery.”

“Stop!!” She covers both her ears with her hands, trembling with anger, before deciding to turn to Sunoo who’s been in the room this entire time, doing the task that you’ve given him well, and pushes him forward.

He stumbles on his feet, knees hitting the floor, and for a moment Nari flinches before she puts on her brave act once again. “Hey kid, don’t you hate to see your little lady getting hurt?”

She’s switching her play once again, trying to aggravate Sunoo despite the other times she’s failed. What a smart kid, learning to read her and understanding that if he were to give her any reaction, she’d only continue hurting you even more.

“You really don’t care one bit about her?” She grabs him by the collar, dragging him on the floor to throw him right before you, forcing him up on his feet.

Sunoo meets your eyes where you stand, chains still holding you up without allowing your legs to rest one bit, and you see the way they falter for a split moment.

He wants to help, to do anything to ease the pain and have this whole thing shut down but he knows that the only way he can help is to not do anything. So Sunoo stays still even as Nari approaches you from behind, a dagger dragging up your neck and towards your face. More blood pools yet Sunoo doesn’t flinch.

Good boy.

She turns the blade to your nape, painting a scene down to your back which has the chains on you chattering loudly upon your trembling state. Your teeth clench tight, jaw ready to break as your pupils dilate, a breath wheezing out of you as Sunoo is forced to watch, his own eyes wanting to betray his facade.

You see the way his arms shake unsteadily from his side and warn him with your eyes to continue playing the act.

This is a play. You have to act the part or it’ll end.

He bites his inner cheek, hands balled into fists, but in the three seconds he takes to calm himself down, they release and the tension on his shoulders follows along. Sunoo looks away, rolling his eyes.

And Nari takes the blade from your skin.

“Why won’t any of you entertain me?!” She stomps around you, pushing Sunoo away, her eyes a murderous gaze as her grip on the hilt of the dagger clenched so tight to see veins popping. “You want to die so badly? I’ll gladly fulfill your wish, buttercup.”

The blade hovers in the air, Sunoo’s eyes widening, the light reflecting off the silver weapon, and when it comes right down before you, someone pushes her out of the way. Hard. And yet he wasn’t fast enough to push her out in time because Yoongi faces the consequence when he clutches onto his eye, blood dripping from his hand.

You stand there, frozen, as Nari screeches once again for things not going her way, and when her men make a move and Junmyeon walks in hearing her scream, your savior extends his free arm out to the side, displaying a phone with a certain number written in white.

His thumb hovers over the green call button, glaring up at them with a threat, and your brows furrow at how this came to be.

He was just chained up a few moments ago and how did he get his hand on a phone? Is that his or…

You take a look to the left just as Junmyeon follows along to find a dead man on the floor.

No way.

Yoongi’s always been a quiet man but you never expected he was this deadly. He broke out of the chains himself as well, and with both you and Sunoo on his side and the enemies on the other, perhaps he had been waiting for just the right moment to strike all along.

What a man.

You see his head tilted slightly your way and you catch the signal.

Min Yoongi, former heir to the Viper throne, doesn’t need your brain to figure out an escape route. He knows the escape route.

You give him a single nod and he clicks his thumb onto the call button, the phone immediately going into call mode, ringing up who you assume to be Namjoon. He flings it off to the side once it’s no longer useful, believing in the fact that your ex-husband will know what to do, just as the snakes come at him in full force, knowing if he’s getting Namjoon involved now, they’ll have no way out if they don’t kill him now.

While Yoongi busies himself with the enemies, Sunoo is quick to run to your side, his eyes panicking all over.

“Hey kid, think you can grab an axe and break these chains out for me?”

When one of the enemies falls to the floor with his axe sliding right before Sunoo’s feet, you give him a grin.

What great timing. It’s as if Yoongi heard you amidst the chaos he’s gotten himself into.

Little Sunoo picks the axe up with both his hands, and although it’s a bit heavy for him, you trust in him when he swings the blade right onto the pole that’s keeping you hanging. A few hits against them and the chains and you’re immediately folding onto your knees now that you’re no longer forced to stand.

Sunoo’s quick to catch you and help you with the fall when you go down.

“We have to go.” Yoongi returns to your side seconds later.

You look around the room, fascinated at the sight. Yoongi doesn’t like killing as much as the others do and yet he’s filled a whole room with bodies. His father is dead, his sister crouches in a corner, trembling uncontrollably, and you hear a hoard of footsteps and shouts closing in.

You take one look at Yoongi and immediately start fuming.

“Why the hell would you let yourself get hurt in my stead? You do realize that we’re back to being enemies now that Namjoon knows I killed his brother, right?” You punch his chest. “Are you mad?”

He observes you with confusion when you go to tear off a part of his shirt. “...You’re upset.”

“Of course I am. I hate owing anyone favors,” you say when you reach up to wrap the cloth over his bloody eye, tying it tightly behind him.

“You don’t have to owe me anything,” his voice is quiet. “This was…my apology.”

You stare at him as if he has two heads. “What? For what?”

“...You were right. We were still in love with you.” In love. Eleven years ago. When you walked out of their lives. “But we did nothing,” he continues. “We chose Namjoon and…as a result, you were left in a hard place. And I feel like, in some ways, whatever you’ve gone through in all the years after the divorce, perhaps a part of that was our fault.” He pauses. “For letting you leave.”

He has no idea.

But why is he bringing this up? Now? When your lives are about to die if he doesn’t make a move? Still, you say; “You don’t know anything.”

He nods. “I know but—”

“We’ll talk later.” You force the conversation to an end, grabbing the confused and awkward Sunoo so you can pull him into your arms. “For now, carry us,” you command and he blinks, unsure of what you’re trying to get at. “I’ve been tortured for who knows how long, I’m too weak to run. But you,” you beckon your head over at the broken chains, “you’re still strong.”

“My lady, I can run on my—”

“No, you can’t,” you immediately shut Sunoo’s suggestion down, “you’ll slow both of us down.” It’s cold but it’s the truth, and it’s the only way to get him to back off. Once you’ve dealt with him, you turn back to Yoongi, raising a brow his way, so he gets on his feet again but not before grabbing a gun from one of the dead enemies and handing it to you.

After that, Yoongi takes you in his arms where you’re holding Sunoo in yours, and he runs out of the room.

You give Nari a little scare by purposely missing when you shoot a bullet at her feet, smirking at her flinching, and once Yoongi’s out of the room and begins heading down a line of hallways you’ve never seen before, you prepare yourself by putting one arm around his neck, eyes pointed and alerted to guard his back.

Sunoo sits still in his place, not moving an inch, and when you hear footsteps approaching, you ready yourself.

Their bullets come flying past but never hit their targets. It only grazes the skin of both you and Yoongi though that doesn’t stop the two of you from doing your job.

You hold your strength, eyes blinking tightly one moment to keep your eyes from blurring up, and shooting down your enemies the next.

A headshot.

Two.

Three.

Someone stumbles and slows the crowd down on this narrow path.

“Hit that button up ahead, will you?” At Yoongi’s command, you use the long chain still wrapped around your wrist to swing it forward, hitting the red button to open up a door leading down three pathways.

Yoongi takes his pick and you keep your eyes on his back, taking down whoever is within your line of sight.

After a few more loops and turns, you come into a kitchen from a secret door, and once you’ve taken down the servants there with three bullets to each of their heads, Yoongi puts you down on a counter.

“What are you doing?” You ask when he runs to a lower cabinet, looking for something.

“Burning this place down,” he says when he picks up a red gas can and begins to pour the liquid all over the floor and toward the entrance of the secret passageway where the three of you came from.

“I never knew you were one to seek out revenge.” Whatever happened between the Vipers and him you sure weren’t good.

Nothing good comes out of being a child of a mafia leader.

“I’m not, it’s for you.”

“Me?” Your ears pick up more noise. “You’re wrong, the Vipers were never on my list.”

“Maybe not, but they did want you dead just a few minutes ago, didn’t they?”

“Well.”

No use arguing with that.

Once he’s done decorating the place with gasoline and adding a few metal cans into the microwave (deadly arsenic things, you’re sure), and has timed it for two minutes, Yoongi places a gas can in Sunoo’s lap before taking you from the counter, on the run once again.

You hear the microwave starting as you signal to Sunoo to pour the content of the gas can on the trail of Yoongi. He does so without hesitation, careful to not pour too much in one setting, all the while Yoongi leads with his run and you watch the back.

Once the can empties out, he throws it off to the side and you see your exit.

There’s a loud boom to indicate the microwave has gone off and just seconds later, the explosion and fire follow.

Yoongi bounces off on his feet, hurling the three of you onto the ground upon the impact of the fire, and you hear a loud screech ringing in your ears.

“Y/N?”

The two boys scramble to you after the initial shock, eyes staring with concern.

“I…” You hit your ear a few times, scrunching your face up. “I’m alright,” you say after a few seconds. “We have to hide though.”

So Yoongi picks you up once again, this time without Sunoo, and the little one follows closely behind when the man runs off.

You aren’t sure how long it takes them to find a good alleyway where Yoongi’s sure is safe, but you don’t have the energy to think when he places you down against the dirty ground. You lean against the wall from behind, breathing quickening when you finally have the chance to catch up to the torture your body had to endure.

“Just how long will Namjoon take?” You ask through clenched teeth.

“The manor’s an hour away.”

You let out a curse and Yoongi hurries to rip a piece of cloth off his shirt and wrap it over your torso in the same way you had done for his eye. He ties it more tightly, applying great pressure while you’re bleeding out, right before he wipes his hands of blood on his pants to take out a few greens.

“Run to the nearest drugstore. Find anything useful,” he tells Sunoo with a small wipe over the boy’s cheek, ridding off the blood there.

Sunoo doesn’t hesitate to obey.

“You’ve got a good soldier there.” Once he’s gone, Yoongi turns back to you to pay attention to your needs. “Have you been training the kids? I thought you didn’t want them involved.” He grabs ahold of a hand, inserting a thin piece of needling into the lock of the chain still wrapped around your wrist.

“I don’t,” you reconfirm his thoughts, “though I admit the kid did great not giving into Nari’s ploy despite it tearing him apart.” You take your time breathing in and out before speaking again. “Why have you kept all of it a secret?”

“My involvement with those snakes?” You don’t have to answer him for him to understand just what you mean. “I didn’t lie entirely about my past.”

“No. You’re not one to lie.” The chain releases from one hand and you breathe in a harsh breath of air upon the stinging sensation of your wrist. Yoongi moves onto the other one. “You were indeed someone who ran away, but who would have thought it was the Vipers you ran away from. Who would have thought you were a secret heir.”

He keeps silent for a moment. “You saw it yourself,” he says, “Nari’s adored by Junmyeon.” He doesn’t call him by father, you notice. “Ever since she was born, he spoiled her to no end, all the while his first son was neglected and left to waste.” Your father would have killed to have his firstborn a son. “I did all that I could to get his attention but in the end, it was futile.”

“So you ran away?”

He chuckles at that but shakes his head. “I simply gave up and blended into the shadows like how he wanted me to. Nobody acknowledged my presence and that’s when I left. They never cared to search for me. All their attention was on Nari.”

“Did you resent her?” You ask and he shakes his head once again.

It makes sense. Yoongi isn’t one to hate anyone.

“I played my role as the older brother, I protected her from harm and got her the things she wanted. The scar on my back was from me protecting her on the night the two of us were kidnapped by an enemy.”

“You sure love to jump in front of a blade, don’t you?”

He ignores your comment. “Nari was always greedy for more. She wanted the world.”

“Of course she did, that’s just who she is.” You adjust yourself on the wall, trying your best to not let it touch the blade trails from Nari. Everything hurts and stings and aches. “So why didn’t you tell them?” You ask, looking up at him. “They wouldn’t have cared.”

Every one of the boys went through something after all, so why did Yoongi feel the need to keep his connection to the Vipers a secret?

“Bangtan were enemies with Vipers back then,” he explains, a bitter smile resting on his face. “Namjoon saved me, as I told you. He picked up a discarded trash and raised it. If I had told him then that I was the son of his enemy, you think he would have allowed me to stay? Much less save me?”

“You think he would care now?”

It’s a question he knows the answer to, and yet something has still stopped him from giving his truth to them. Perhaps it’s his fear of the uncertain, because despite how much he knows the boys care for him, perhaps Namjoon would see it as a betrayal.

Yet he’s given his life unto him, even chose him when he had to choose between him and you.

Namjoon wouldn’t care now. No, he wouldn’t. And yet telling the truth has never been easy.

“What about you?” He turns the questions to you. “What’s your relationship with the Vipers?”

You chuckle at the changing of the subject but let it be for now. It’s not as if he owes you any answer. “Nari hated my pretty face,” you say simply. “Why do you think I’ve been beaten up so bad my face is a mess?”

“You’re still..-” Yoongi stops himself from finishing the sentence and you raise a brow, thinking you know just what he was automatically trying to say, but Sunoo returns just in time.

“I’d say between the time I called and our escape to here, it should be around half an hour or so.” He takes the plastic bag from Sunoo who takes a seat beside you, concern written all over his tiny face so you place a hand on his head, reassuring him. “Knowing them, they’re probably speeding down as we speak so they should be here soon but for now, keep conscious. Kid, talk to her so she won’t pass out.”

He takes something out.

Medicine, supplies, bandages.

“You’ll be alright, my lady.”

Perhaps it’s the fact that you know help will arrive soon so your body is catching up to the long-needed rest that’s coming. You feel each blink you take slowing down even as the treatment Yoongi is beginning on you should sting.

“Keep conscious, Y/N,” he warns with furrowed brows, and you watch the way he rips your sleeves to tend to the knife cuts there. Your heart rate picks up and you’re immediately alerted as you suddenly move to grab ahold of his hand, stopping him from doing anything more. Yoongi persists. “You need to—”

“Don’t let them touch me,” you say quickly. Quietly. “I don’t trust anyone, Yoongi, I’m only letting you do this because I know you’d rather have someone else kill a body than do it yourself, and in those three years I knew you, you’re not the type to caress another so easily, but don’t let anyone touch me. Don’t.”

When you look him dead in the eyes while using the last of your strength to grip his hand so tight it hurts you, Yoongi knows not to take your request lightly.

“O..okay.”

Only after you hear the promise leaving his mouth do you finally let your consciousness slip away.

It’s funny how you still hold onto his words.

Every once in a while, Yoongi will glance at where you’re lying against the wall with Sunoo by your side, while he keeps his eyes steady on the street, keeping an eye out for any familiar vehicles.

His feet jumps up and down consistently, feeling anxious as every second pass by. The longer this takes, the harder it will be on you, and even he himself can feel the fatigue trying to catch up on him.

The good eye he has left shakes, trying to keep clear, despite the ever so often images of flashes of blur, his legs threatening to give in.

Only when he finds a black van that rushes down the street to where the old mansion of the Viper lies, burning still, does he finally feel some sense of relief.

“Sunoo.” He turns to the kid, quick, and when Sunoo runs to his side, Yoongi points at where Namjoon walks out of a vehicle, standing a few yards away from the fire, observing with pointed eyes so as to not draw attention to the crowd that had gathered around.

There are sirens all around and Sunoo will have to run a good amount but someone has to stay with you and he can’t, not with his injured eye. Someone will catch sight of him and he can’t get in trouble with the law enforcement.

“Run to that man. Tell him you know where Yoongi is.” He makes sure the kid looks presentable, fixing his ruffled hair, wiping the dirt from his cheek, and cleaning down his clothes with his hands. There’s some blood on his clothes from where he was held by you but there’s not much he can do about that. “Be careful. Be discreet, don’t let the police see you. If they do, they’re going to question you and we don’t want that. You want your lady to get out of here safe and sound, don’t you?”

Sunoo nods and runs off and Yoongi takes a moment to look back at where you sit, just to make sure you’re still there, before watching the kid run over to where the fire is, now dying down. The Vipers aren’t completely destroyed, but with the death of their leader and heir now dead, nothing can be done to have them raise up to power again.

Not unless the living subordinates turn to him.

But he scoffs at the idea, knowing he’d never put himself in a position where he’ll rule a gang, much less his father’s mafia. They’ve abandoned him so why should he feel responsible to pick them up when they’re down?

He’s no longer associated with them, not since the moment he decided to run away.

All is dead and gone, and he knows you’ll make sure the members who’re still alive won’t continue that way once you’re awake.

They did kidnap you after all, and who can ever forgive that?

“Yoongi!”

His head perks up at the call and before he can register it, Namjoon’s body is slamming against him in a tight hold as if all those moments he’s been away from them have been the most horrifying thing he’s ever gone through.

They’ve never been good at dealing with one of them out of their sight after all, not that Yoongi can blame them. He’s just the same. So he welcomes the hold, feeling more arms coming around his other sides, and when the leader presses his hands onto his face, his eyes are quick to turn from that worried stare to a deadly glint.

“I’ll kill him,” his voice lowers.

“It’s alright, I’ve already done it.”

“What happened to you? How-”

“Before that,” he cuts Jungkook off to turn to the dark alleyway where you still lie, and rush over to your side without concern for his eye. “We have to get Y/N help. Now.”

The first reaction was initial confusion, before their brows furrow in recognition of the face of the woman they once loved years ago, lying against a wall all battered up and beaten, still holding onto life.

Barely.

Yoongi takes you in his arms, careful to not hurt you too much, and Taehyung tries to stop him. “What’re you doing? You’re still hurt, let someone else—”

“No,” he says, voice so formidable that declaration alone is something he isn’t willing to back down for anyone. The six of them stare at him with confusion, shocked at this quiet man who doesn’t usually talk back. And when Yoongi adjusts you even closer to him with such a careful approach, it takes them back even more. “Don’t you remember back in London? When she broke down mad the last time we saw her? She’s afraid of strangers touching her. Men.”

Yoongi’s right.

They’ve seen it with their own eyes how much a touch can affect you, trigger you, but it doesn’t clear them of suspicion on why you’re in this mess in the first place and why Yoongi is the one taking care of you.

“What about you?” Jimin asks. “She ran away from us too.”

“We were kidnapped together and even though she’s still frightened, she’s given me a bit of trust and it’s my job to make sure I can fulfill that trust.” He picks you up and walks over to the vehicle that finally slid up. “I owe her that much, don’t I?”

No one can refute that and so they let him go, before silently following along.

Sunoo who had stood aside, silent as he watched over everything, hesitates when they all climb in behind Yoongi, his eyes shaking, hands trembling by his side, unsure of what to do until Hoseok, who was the last in line, crouches down in front of him.

“What’re you doing, kid? We can’t leave you alone here now can we?” He says, a hand coming over to ruffle his hair. He recognizes the little boy who had been amongst the crowd of kids you saved the night you went after Jummy and Ying. “Frightened, were you? It’s alright now, we’ll get your dear lady to safety.”

“Will she be alright?” His voice breaks a little, knowing now that it’s alright to let a bit of that brave face off his facade. “I…I watched her…and…and I couldn’t do anything.”

What a ruthless world for a child to grow up in.

He was forced to watch the very person who saved him getting hurt and beaten, and catching a brief moment of what you looked like in Yoongi’s arms, Hoseok knows that must not have been easy to watch. Not for a child. Not for him.

He doesn’t know what to say so he takes the kid’s hand and they climb into the van together.

The whole ride, after Namjoon phones Mingyu to let him know you were with them, is silent to the max. There are a lot of questions Yoongi knows they wish to ask. For example, why was he kidnapped? Why was it the Vipers? What sort of relationship did he have with them and why hadn’t they know anything? There were always chances of someone in the group getting harmed by previous abusers but they’ve all been dealt with, Namjoon took care of all of them, yet Yoongi has been the only one who never spoke on anyone who could be out for him.

For all they knew, he didn’t have anyone in particular. For all they knew, he was just a poor little kid who needed the world to treat him better.

So why the Vipers?

And why were you kidnapped as well? They can excuse whatever your story is because it isn’t much of their business to know every little detail about you, but Yoongi? They’ve known him almost their entire life and yet this one detail he failed to share with him was the very reason they couldn’t find him.

And if he was kidnapped, wouldn’t that mean getting more injuries than he’s showing right now?

The bloody eye is bad but compared to the knife trails and gash marks and wounds cutting so deep they still bleed out almost everywhere, Yoongi’s treatment by the Vipers was clearly much better than yours.

They have many questions to ask him but knowing the number one priority is to get you to safety, they keep silent for the moment.

You’re rushed into a small hospital under Bangtan, and while Yoongi needs to prioritize his eye, he makes sure to be there when you’re brought into the surgery room and tells everyone off so they don’t touch you.

You need help, he knows. He knows it more than anyone really, because for a lot of the torture you went through, he saw it with his very own eyes, and yet the fact that you trusted him enough to fall asleep before his eyes and let him touch you, Yoongi knows not to betray that trust.

He can’t.

So Namjoon allows his people to back off, and the seconds tick by once more while they wait for your crew to arrive.

Yoongi makes sure to follow procedures that’ll help you ease a bit, to slow down your time under the doctors’ instructions, and it’s in this moment do the boys come to see the rare times Yoongi stops allowing himself to blend into the background and do something. He usually keeps himself invisible, quiet, off to the side, keeping his expression at a standstill so no one who doesn’t know him well would be able to tell what’s on his mind.

This Yoongi panics. This Yoongi doesn’t know what expressionless means.

This Yoongi fears.

Only when Mingyu shows up do they finally convince him to get himself treated.

He sits in the room across the emergency room with Hoseok and Seokjin standing off to the side, getting treated by a doctor of their own, while the rest of them stand around outside, waiting for the hours that they know it’ll take to treat you.

Yuna, your blind warrior, sits on the floor of the hospital, her arms hugging her knees with anxiety rocking her body back and forth. She doesn’t say a word but everyone can hear the little sniffles she does ever so often.

She’s like a child waiting on the news of her mother’s accident and everyone knows if it’s bad news, she won’t take it well.

Yeonjun has a book in hand while he sits on a chair beside her, eyes scanning the text though no pages flip no matter how much time has passed.

“I’m sorry,” little Sunoo says when Mingyu crouches down to his level, finally allowing himself to shed the tears he’s been unable to shed in a room full of strangers. “I’m so sorry,” he tells your right hand man, fists knuckle white when he clutches onto his blazer. “I couldn’t protect her.”

Such little shoulders carrying a heavy weight. He worries more about your wellbeing than his own, than the fact that he had to see a whole building catching on fire with people still inside, hear gunshots and people dying, being held at gunpoint, the fact that he could have died and he worries only for you.

Mingyu places a hand on those shoulders, shaking his head. “No one will blame you for that, Sunoo. Not even boss.”

“You don’t understand, I…” He pauses to catch his voice that threatens to bury down the lump in his throat. “Do you remember what you told me when my lady finally completed her rescue plan? When I told you I wanted to be a Reaper?” How can Mingyu forget? “You told me I had to first learn how to manipulate my feelings, that I had to hide them well, and that I needed to learn how to restrain myself during times that’ll force me to act against my will. You told me I had to be a good bystander first and initially, I couldn’t figure out what you meant. Being a good bystander? It..”

More tears fall down those precious eyes, trailing down his cheeks, hanging onto his chin before they inevitably fall to the floor. “I understand now,” his voice breaks. “I know…I know what it means and I…I never want to do it ever again.” His feelings overwhelm him so much he’s unable to stand on his two feet. Sunoo’s knees buckle underneath him and it meets the floor yet he continues to speak. “Lady Y/N was hurting and she…she was chained up and she couldn’t even sit. They forced her to stand the whole time they tortured her. She screamed and…and yet she laughed when that evil lady taunted her and every time I wanted to give up, to yell at the lady to stop, Lady Y/N always warned me not to. It was like she was saying…as if she was saying ‘It’s alright. It’s alright, I can take this. Just play your part, just pretend you don’t care about me, and I’ll be alright.’”

“You must never show them you care. Father will have you dead and I will pay more of the consequences.”

“If you stay silent, it will hurt less.”

“Do not move even a muscle when they hurt me. Do not stand in father’s way or our whole secret will be blown and none of us will survive.”

“This is the only way we can live.”

Yuna’s eyes lost.

Yuna’s eyes are lost.

Yuna.

Yunayunayuna.

Nakyum.

You reminded them constantly of what could happen to them were the truth to be revealed due to a mishap, due to their carelessness. Sunoo had to go through days watching you hurt, the Reapers spent years in silence. Watching.

And no day was easier than the other. There was not a day they wanted to step in, to defend you, to take the whips and blades and all the torture tools from the hands of your perpetrators and shove it up their asses, doing the same they’ve done to you. There was not a day Mingyu wanted to smash his fists onto their faces until they were dead. No, he’d continue even after they were dead.

There was not a day they wanted the revolt to happen so soon.

The day after?

“No,” you’d say. “Be patient. Hold on.”

But they didn’t want to hold on, they didn’t want to see more of you having to go through all those pains and agony and yet they had to. If they wanted to save you, if they wanted you to live, they had to.

They had to stay silent.

They had to watch.

They had to do nothing.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect her,” Sunoo says.

“I wish I can protect her,” Yuna screams. “Why can’t I protect her?!”

“You know why.”

“You did well.” Mingyu squeezes his shoulders tight, lips pressed into a thin line. “You not protecting her protected her. You did well.” He places a hand behind his head, pressing him into an embrace and the kid cries and cries, his screams buried against Mingyu’s chest. “You did well,” Mingyu repeats. “They would have hurt her more if you had done something so you did well. You did so, so well.”

No one ever told them that but the Reapers know that they, too, had done well.

Everyone in the room knows just what Mingyu means when he said not protecting meant protecting because they’ve all been through it. Namjoon has the power to never go through such things ever again but he’s seen it time after time when he was younger.

Those days his brother still lived with him — still lived — with their abusive father, both of them unable to do a thing but watch when one would get hurt. Those days when times were rougher, when his brother left for a mission and his close subordinates had to keep still and not go against his father when he was hurt otherwise they’d die. Those days when he was powerless.

“Save me,” you begged Seokjin in a moment of madness.

So broken but so full of life before it all disappeared within a split second, turning dull and lifeless like a corpse inside a living body.

You’ve never uttered that in your entire life, have you? He’s sure you haven’t, not with the way you are. Even the you then was stubborn to call for help because she was too insecure, too hesitant and always overthought everything, walls built so high even the people she loved were unable to break through.

You were too broken to ask for help and they’ve been too dumb to realize it until now.

“Save me.”

Seokjin can never forget that day, he can never forget the way you froze when he held you, trying to reel you back into reality after your initial explosion. The way you shakily reached out for him, bloody hands dirtying his white button-up shirt, and looked up at him as if he was the only one you could trust in that moment.

Perhaps a memory flashed into your mind then, perhaps you remembered the way he used to care for you, the way he used to be the one to ground you when you broke down and were having panic attacks. He held onto you when the two of you still loved and you looked for him to calm down, to settle back into the peace he’d always give you when you saw him. He’d be the fastest to help you escape from those nightmares and return you from where your mind would go.

He’d sing lullabies to help you sleep and you’d rely on him the most when it came to nightmares because Seokjin was an insomniac. He didn’t sleep. So during times when you’d awake from a nightmare or needed someone to pull you out of it, it was Seokjin that was always there.

Perhaps in your moment of weakness, you remembered those times and perhaps that’s why you turned to him. That’s why you asked him to save you.

But he knows that right now, you’d get upset if he were to bring it up and take responsibility for you uttering those words to him. The things you’ve gone through after you left them, after the divorce with Namjoon, are things he can only imagine in his head. Seokjin has gone through his fair share of trauma and one traumatic patient can see it in another who wants to hide it well.

You’ve been through stuff, horrible stuff, with Daejung, Ying, Jummy, Leehyung, and so many more on your list. At first, he thought you taking over the throne of your father was just an act of rebellion, but through the times he’s spent with you, he realizes, as do the rest of the members, that the people on your hit-list, the people you’re going after, are only the people that have done you wrong.

Seokjin should have known that someone who was as kind and gentle as you were all those years ago couldn’t have just changed without reason. No one changes that drastically without reason.

But it’s clear as day to all of them that you’d rather they rot in hell than find out the truth to those reasons. That’s why Namjoon refuses to investigate anything involving you and that’s why they’ve all agreed that it’s best to simply leave it at that.

Namjoon wants to know more than anyone what happened to his brother but if finding out about him means knowing more about you, then he’d rather wait and let you tell him instead. Because through their experience, they know more than anyone that figuring out the truth of something when it’s unwanted will only hurt that person, and as much as Namjoon felt infuriated with you at first, he understands.

They all do.

And you would hate them more than you do now if they were to figure out something you’ve been keeping a secret your entire life. No one should ever force an answer out of anyone, and they know that because of your silence, they do not deserve to know.

So until you can trust them, if it ever comes to that point, they will remain ignorant to the fact on purpose. Because why find out when there is no reason to?

Seokjin can’t be your anchor, he won’t, because you no longer trust him enough to even touch you. You’re scared of the world, the whole world, and the only one who can now calm you down as fast as he had done then, is Mingyu, your second in command.

For now, his role is to only stand to the side and watch. Though he knows watching in itself is something you won’t allow him to do. You won’t let him see your weaknesses anymore, you won’t let him near, and you won’t ask him for help.

And all of that is entirely his fault.

816 notes · View notes

ficthots · 1 year

Text

Thick and Thin

A/N: Okay, I uploaded this once before and it got little to no interaction so I'm trying again after getting quite a few messages with people sharing their love of this fic. As always let me know what you guys think and enjoy!

Warnings: SMUT. DNI if under 18. 18+ content only.

Word Count: 12.9k+

It was straight out of a sitcom. One of the most famous sitcoms to have ever aired. Trying not to collapse in breathless laughter while holding up an extremely heavy mattress, visions of the scene playing in your head, tears streamed down your face. It was effectively wedged between the sharp turn at your front door and the front door itself.

Despite your best attempts to shove it through the opening, it was proving futile to even try. Ross Gellar’s voice echoing Pivot! replayed over and over, forcing you to knock your knees together feeling the sudden urge to release from the continuous laughter from you and your closest friend.

Sliding down the wall just outside your new home, you were wheezing, uncontrollably coughing and trying to catch your breath as she did the same on the other side of the wall. As one of you would finally calm down, the other would scream the phrase and it would happen all over again.

Clutching your stomach you begged her to stop, needing to breathe in order to continue on, knowing he would be coming upstairs shortly and would need inside the apartment. Everyone always spoke of how terrible moving was. How exhausting it was trudging belongings from one spot to another, trying to organize an entirely new space from scratch, the toll it would take.

Except, that wasn’t the case for you and your little group. At all. The day had already been filled with laughter and excitement, not a single complaint dislodging from anyone. The thrill of a new beginning had you giddy from your early morning wake up. It was a new life you were about to start.

Doing it with him made it all the better. Finally having a place to call your own was one thing, but being able to share the space with your better half, the person you loved and adored most in the world, was a feeling you couldn’t describe if you had to. It was the start of your future.

The future you two had spent countless minutes, days, and months dreaming and crafting together. It was happening. A majority of your memories were going to be happening here. The big moments, the mundane moments, and everything in between.

You just needed to get in there first.

His arms were overloaded with boxes, not caring about the questions your small moving crew were going to ask about how the hell he was able to carry those by himself. Leaning to the side, his beaming smile slightly diminished as he took in your frame sitting on the floor, looking over to the front door and seeing the mattress somehow standing straight up on its side, but sticking completely out of the door, not touching the floor at all.

Kneeling down and placing the stack of boxes on the floor, his hands went to his hips and then focused his attention on you. His thumb pointed at the bed as his eyebrows shot up, his hand grabbing your outstretched one and pulling you up. “Need some help?” She screamed pivot from the other side of the wall, causing you to hunch back over in laughter as he rolled his eyes.

“Ah, that’s what’s happening. Move chuckles, I got it,” your hand wiped at your tears, watching as Peter lightly laughed, moving the mattress with ease from the precarious spot and moving it inside.

Going to step over through the front door his worried expression greeted you as he yelled out for you to wait. Placing the bed in your bedroom, he came back to you, an eager smile on his flushed face. Without any hesitation he scooped you into his arms, a surprised yelp leaving you at the motion.

Slapping his shoulder, you shook your head. “No, no, no! You only do this when you’re married,” he shot you an unamused look before setting you back down, motioning with your finger for him to spin around. Hopping onto his back, his hands wedged under your knees, standing and running you two into your new home as laughter flitted from you both.

Running around the small apartment took little to no time before he ran into your room and jumped on the mattress. You caught your breath, eyes slipping closed as a content sigh left your lips. His hand crept onto yours that rested on your torso, linking your fingers together.

Turning your head to look at him, he was propped up with one arm, peering down at you, eyes shimmering in the light streaming through the uncovered window. Using his free hand, he grabbed the baseball cap that sat on his head and turned it around, the bill facing backwards as he leaned down, capturing your lips against his.

“You like it? I know it’s small-” you cut him off, shaking your head as your smile only grew. “It’s absolutely perfect. It’s ours.” Your hand cradled his jaw, letting him lean in to place another chaste kiss on you before you heard a voice call out to you both from the doorway.

“No, none of that right now! We have an entire moving truck parked at the curb with too much furniture to get into this shoebox. Up!” Your mom's hands clapped at you two to follow her, May right on her heels as they talked about where the bed should go to optimize space.

It was early. Too early for anything, but especially for Peter to be up. His nightstand light was on, but dimmed to the lowest setting. The sun was already starting to peek through the curtains, but it was far too early to be up on a Saturday.

His feet came padding back from the bathroom, collapsing on the bed with a small whimper leaving his mouth. Rolling over to fully face him, he quickly attached himself to you. “Did I wake you?” The whiny and gravelly tone that came from him had your eyes fully opening to look at him.

“No, I just sensed something was off because you’re up. Spidey sense is rubbing off on me, sticky,” he hummed in response. Something was most definitely off because he didn’t have a smart remark to dish back out to you. Your hand came up, the back of it landing on his forehead and retreating just as quick.

Peter was burning up. “How long have you been feeling crappy?” He sighed, rolling onto his back and flopping his arm over his eyes, a large pout sitting on his plump lips. “All night,” you sat up, throwing the covers off your frame, feeling the cool morning air sitting in the room.

Barefooted patters echoed in the quiet apartment as you made your way to the bathroom to grab Tylenol, Vaporub, a glass of water, and a cool rag. When you reappeared in the room, the only light still being from his nightstand lamp, you saw he had moved around again.

Your hand went to his lips, pushing the pills through them and putting the glass of water there immediately after. He gulped it down, not realizing hours ago that some water would do him some good. Trying to sit up, your hand pushed back on his forehead to get him to lay back down.

“Babe. Your fever is out of control. Just lay down,” his moans of protest got louder as you picked up one of his feet, slapped a huge hunk of Vaporub on it, and placed a sock over it, repeating the motion for the other one too.

Washing your hands and returning to your shared space, he was sprawled out in the middle of the bed. Both arms extended on either side of him, wrap over his eyes, legs spread wide, covers half on him and half thrown onto the floor. You rolled your eyes.

Didn’t look like you were going to be getting back to bed this morning. Being up before the sun did give you some time to get some chores done that you had been putting off. One load of laundry already in the wash, dishes drying on the disk rack, and still a little time to get a quick stretch in.

As you started, what was a quiet home only occasionally interrupted with a snore from your partner, was abruptly halted when his whimpers filled the room again. “Buggy!” When you heard his weak voice beckon you to him, you walked into the room, pushing his damp hair from his forehead and lightly rubbing your thumb over the warm skin.

“Hey, sticky boy. How you doing?” He could hardly crack an eye in your direction. Mumbling an incoherent response, rolling away from you with whimpers falling from him, and groaning in pain, you reached over his figure, placing the water in front of his face.

Turning his head away from you, you started tipping the glass, making it dribble onto his face. “It’ll stop if you just drink it!” You argued with him, hearing him concede and take the glass to stop himself from drowning. Grabbing the bottle of cold medicine you poured the cap full and watched as he drank it and grimaced, overly gagging at the taste.

He was out within minutes. This was one of the most annoying traits of Peter. You adored the man, loved him more than anything in the world and beyond, but he was the biggest baby when he got sick. Refusing to take medicine, crying and moaning, being completely unable to function on his own.

It drove you mad. It never happened often, only on rare occasions and he would recover quickly, but during it was like fighting an overtired toddler to take a nap. Never listening, doing the opposite of what you would say, pushing you to your limits.

Look, you get it. When you’re sick, you’re miserable. Truly you are. It just didn’t matter what kind of a cold Peter got, it would knock him on his ass and he would milk it for all it was worth.

Deep down, you knew it was his way of making you feel bad for him and wanting to spend more time with you. With the opposition of your schedules it was hard. What he failed to realize is that when he was like this, you wanted little to do with him.

Instead of feeling pity for him, you felt utter annoyance. You could admit though, it was nice when Peter needed you. Given his abilities and who he was, you never really felt like he needed you for anything. Until he was sick.

As you were sitting on the couch, all of these thoughts were rushing through your mind, sighing in defeat at how your heart strings tugged in his direction. Peter needed you. Peter never needed you.

Entering the dimly lit room, your head tilted at the weakened boy sweating through your sheets and comforter. “Hey, sticky.” He peeked an eye open at your towering figure, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you on top of him.

“Where you been, buggy? I’m so sick, need you,” it was mumbled out, barely coherent, sounding stuffed and exhausted. Your hand rubbed his burning skin, putting your hand to his forehead and noticing the temperature was starting to drop.

“I’m here, babe. I’m here.”

The front door slammed behind you both as you ignored his voice calling out your name, continuing into the bedroom to get changed. “Look, all I’m saying is that I don’t appreciate him blatantly flirting with you like that. At a work party no less!” Your eyes squeezed shut, trying to fight off the impending headache.

Sucking in a deep breath, you turned to slip your shoes off, placing your jewelry on your nightstand. “For the millionth time, Peter, he was not flirting with me. I don’t know if you think I’m just some-” your brain was running so quickly you tried to settle on a word, “hussy who fawns over all her male coworkers, but that is not me.”

He groaned, large hands enclosing on his face to rub at the skin. “Not once did those words leave my mouth. I would never call you that or even think that. All I’m saying is that you can be overly friendly and men read that wrong.” A humorless laugh fell from you as you shook your head, standing to get out of your dress.

“Okay, so I shouldn’t talk to any man anymore ever because they’re going to read my vibe wrong because apparently I am just galavanting around my office saying, ‘Hey, everyone, I’m friendly, come have sex with me!’, right?” Peter’s hands flew up, looking at you like you were absolutely batshit crazy.

He leaned down to take his shoes off, muttering under his breath as he did. “Can’t say a thing because-” your head whipped around to face him, craning your neck towards him, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Shaking his head, Peter sat on the edge of the bed, loosening his tie as he did. Walking around your side of the mattress to get to him, he refused to look at you as you approached him. “No, go ahead, Peter. I insist. Do you want me to walk around with a dog collar that says property of Peter? Would that make you feel better? To let men know I’m taken because my word isn’t enough?”

In one beat, Peter had you laid flat on the mattress below him. Your eyes were wide, slightly breathless as you took in his features above you. Both of his hands had your wrists pinned to the bed, the heat of his body resting on yours, your head was swimming.

His cologne he only wore for special occasions drifted through your nose, making your eyelids flutter as he knelt down towards you. Goosebumps erupted on your skin as his voice spoke into your ear, dropping an octave as his warm breath fanned across the heated skin. “You want me to show everyone you’re mine? I’ll do that for you, baby.”

Barely getting another breath sucked in, he had you flipped, face down on the mattress, hands shoving your dress up around your hips. His large hands caressed your ass, one coming down and eliciting a groan from you as it connected to one cheek, surely leaving a large print there.

Peter was wasting no time tonight. When he got in moods like this, where he needed to show you who you belonged to. Of course, you knew he didn’t actually believe that, but you couldn’t fight the desire that would burn low in your belly when he acted like this.

The panties you had on, Peter ripped off your hips, leaving the scraps of fabric by your face. When you tried to turn to look at him, eyes going wide at the shredded material, he didn’t let you. One hand came down, shoving your face back into the bed as he shoved into you with one thrust.

A gust of wind expelled from your lungs at the sudden movement. Setting a punishing pace, still having your face mashed with the mattress, you could hardly catch your breath. The obscene noises that echoed through the room you knew were coming from the slick that was dripping down your thighs.

Standing on the tips of your toes, his pelvis continuously meeting with your ass in a way that you knew would be nothing but bruising. Both of his hands were occupied, one ensuring your posture remained the same, the other holding both of yours bound together, your clit was aching for some friction.

Mumbling like an incoherent idiot, drool dripping down your cheek and chin. “Ba-baby, ple-please,” you were overpowered by your own strong moans, feeling the tip of his cock reach even further in you. His thrust stopped, brushing the messy hair from your face, lightly slapping your cheek to get your attention, speaking in a condescending tone.

“What, baby? What do you need from me?” When you tried to respond, he released you from the confines of his grasp, turning you over to lay on your back. Your legs instantly closed around his waist, ass nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. His hand firmly gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Words, baby. You need to tell daddy what you want,” clenching around nothing at the word, you whimpered at the harsh grip he held you with. “Rub my clit, daddy. Please, rub my clit,” his smirk grew at your words, thumb applying light pressure to the bundle of nerves.

Small circles were intricately pressed onto your core. Eyes slipping shut at the utter relief that coursed through you, immediately followed by immense pleasure. He leaned down over you, a looming force, a glint in his eye that showed his domineering side was out to play with you tonight.

“Tell me,” a harsh slap to your clit when you didn’t instantly respond to him. He tsked at your lack of words, moaning instead at the brush of his calloused fingertips dancing on the top of your mound. “Tell me, buggy,” your breath caught in your throat as his fingers coaxed your entrance, replaced by the tip of his cock.

Choking on your response, eyes slamming shut, you fought a battle within yourself. Stop the teasing and fall into pleasure or let him torture you to see how long you could take it. A bead of sweat trickled down your neck, his tongue catching it and savoring the taste before leaving a chaste kiss in its place.

A harsh bite followed. “Be a good girl for daddy. Tell him who owns this pretty cunt of yours,” his eyes fell downcast at the mess between your legs. Your greedy hole trying to pull him further in. Anything to relieve the ache that pulsed.

“Y-you,” his head tilted to the side, ear falling towards your mouth. “Say it again, pretty. Couldn’t hear you,” you fought the urge to slap him and how much he was enjoying this, but swallowed it down, playing into the power trip he craved.

Batting your eyelashes at him, tears mixing with the makeup as it streamed down your cheeks, you kissed the shell of his ear, whispering your response into it, biting the lobe right after. “I belong to you daddy. Always.”

Those words set off a wild animal inside of him that didn’t come out often, ensuring that you would be a sore, exhausted heap the next day. Not getting rest until the first streams of light would dance through the curtains, encasing him in a warm god-like glow that he most definitely deserved.

Long nights always seemed to always fade into long days. Today was one of those days. Being bombarded at work with new projects, being pulled from meeting to meeting, not getting a lunch break, not even getting a chance to check your phone until two hours after your original clock out time to see that Peter had already left for patrol.

On top of that, it was pouring rain. You hated today. All you wanted was your partner's warm embrace and to cuddle while watching tv, but not tonight. No, not tonight. Trekking home, your pants were soaked through as were your feet from the ridiculous amounts of mini lakes that took up every street you walked on.

Expecting to get home to a warm apartment, shower, and change was not in the cards for you today either. Instead, the cold air from outside clung to your home. Shivering at the freezing temperature, it sounded like it was raining. In the house.

“Damn it,” you cursed out, thinking there had to have been a leak somewhere. Your search was stopped quickly when you found the culprit. A wide open bedroom window, leading to an entirely flooded bedroom. Running over to the window and slamming it shut, the floor squelched under the weight of your feet.

Grabbing every towel you owned, every article of Peter’s clothing, you laid them all over the floor, trying to soak up some of the liquid. After changing and sitting on your bed, a scowl on your face, you sat. Waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

The window opened again, a wet Spider-Man entering your home. “Hello, my love!” His mask was removed, a large kiss planted to your cheek, still trying to catch his breath. When his eyes fell downcast, he took in the scene, a bewildered look on his face.

“What happened, bug?” Your eyebrows went up, thumb pointing to the still open window that he had just crawled through. “Look familiar?” His jaw fell slack, moving to quickly shut the window, moving towards you with an apologetic smile gracing his lips.

Those same lips that kissed an exposed inkling of skin between each sentence spoken. “Buggy girl, I am so sorry,” his lips landed on your forearm. “I am an idiot. The biggest idiot to have ever existed,” another to the crook of your elbow. “Please forgive me.” Finishing on your shoulder, landing on your neck, then your jaw, finally landing on your own lips, you melted into him.

“There she is,” he mumbled against you, a laugh escaping as you pinched his side. “You’re cleaning this all up, okay?” He hummed in agreement, arms wrapping around you and pulling you closer to him.

“Of course,” his gloved clad hands slipped under the fabric of your t-shirt, eliciting a gasp from you. “I just have something to do first.”

Checking each of the boxes that came through the door to see what was labeled what, you pointed in the direction of wherever that room was, sending it and its carrier to the correct spot. With the main bedroom mostly finished, you moved towards the restroom.

Sure, it was small and could hardly fit you and the towel rack, but it was enough. When Peter slinked in behind you, pressed directly into your back, his arms wrapped around you.

“First aid kit there?” You held it up, shaking it and then placing it under the sink. “Made sure it was the last thing packed and the first thing out,” he kissed behind your ear then on top of your head. “You’re a genius, buggy.” When a loud banging noise came from the living room, you looked at him through the mirror.

He nodded, instantly knowing what you wanted. “Let me help with that, it can be a bit tricky and slip if you’re not careful,” Peter’s voice rang above everyone else's as he helped your dad lift up the coffee table, placing it in the correct spot.

You smiled to yourself, hearing how well he got along with your parents and best friend. Not that you were ever worried about that, but it was nice. No, you were always worried about other things.

Like getting your superhero boyfriend cleaned up after rough patrol nights.

The crashing noise announced his arrival before he had even fully entered the apartment. You woke up, blinking in the dark to adjust your eyes to see Peter still on the floor. Instantly, you sat up, jumping from the bed and kneeling down with him.

“Peter? Baby, can you look at me?” Panic laced through your words as he finally moved. “Yeah,” he was breathless, pulling the mask from his head, even in the dark you could make out all of the cuts and bruises decorating his face and neck.

You sighed, standing and taking his hand in yours. “I need you to come to the bathroom, baby. I need to work on you in there,” he nodded, groaning as he came to his feet, hunching over as he wrapped an arm around you to be dragged to the bathroom.

Sitting him on the closed toilet lid, the light showed him in a more terrifying matter. He was entirely black and blue, blood dripping from where you weren’t sure. Trying to calm the trembling of your hands down to begin cleaning him up was harder than you would’ve preferred.

His gloved hand came and grabbed yours, flashing a smile to you. “Go to bed, buggy. I can do this,” you shook your head, grabbing the washcloth to begin wiping the blood away. “No. This is my job, I got this,” the soothing motion of Peter’s thumbs rubbing circles into your hip and the quiet he offered while you worked allowed you to move quickly.

In no time at all he was bandaged up to the best of your abilities. You gave a sleepy smile as you put the items away, feeling his eyes follow your every move. “Don’t know what I’d do without you. Probably would die,” his words became more muffled as he pulled you to straddle his lap, nudging his head into the crook of your neck.

Your fingers wrapped in his long locks, arms landing around his neck as you sat. “I know you would. That’s why I’m here,” his nose brushed against your pulse point, a small groan leaving him as your hips slightly moved.

You shook your head as he slowly lifted you up, speaking quietly, scared that if you spoke any louder it would only further harm him. “Sticky, no, babe. You’re too-” he cut you off with a deep kiss, capturing your bottom lip between both of his.

He didn’t let you say anything else as he pulled your panties to the side, fully sheathing himself in you at once. You lowered yourself onto his already achingly hard shaft, accepting him in one go.

It was a reconnecting moment. A chance to show you that he was there, he was alright, and that you were always what he needed to ground him back to the moment. To stop thinking about what was happening in the Spider-Man world. Take notice of what he had here. That was more important to him than anything.

You two climaxed together, feeling his seed leak back out onto him as you fought to catch the shared breath that flew between you both. Lips having not parted once, eyes having remained shut, hands firm on the other to keep calm.

When you rested your forehead against his sweat ridden one, discolored from the strenuous events he had dealt with all evening, you felt his lips land all over your face. From the tip of your nose, to each eyelid, cheeks, eyebrows, anywhere he could. Anything to show the gratitude he felt when you would wake up in the middle of the night to take care of him.

He would never know what he had done to deserve it. You. Now as you stood, taking his hand in yours, you helped him finish undressing. Climbing into the tiny shower together, his arms wrapped around you from behind, silently clinging to you. Not wanting you to go anywhere as the warm water sprayed away the night from you both.

The shower head plunged your body in scorching water, pummeling against your head. Washing away the work day and allowing you to relax. Your partner was in the kitchen currently making you dinner, you had a new book to dive into tonight, it was going to be a great night.

Until you opened your eyes.

An ear shattering scream left your mouth, in your attempt to back up and away from it, you nearly slipped. The bathroom door flew open, crashing into the wall behind it. The shower curtain was ripped open, Peter’s eyes wild with worry.

Immediately grabbing him, dripping wet frame, you didn’t care. You just had to get away from it. “Bug, what’s going on?” His hands searched you for any signs of injury, but when he realized you weren’t hurt, his eyes followed your pointed hand.

“It’s up there!”

His head fell forward, laughing as he nodded. “Alright, alright. I got it,” he stood on the lip of the tub, hands enclosing around the spider, and making sure to keep it away from you, exiting the bathroom to release it.

Within a minute he was back, washing his hands in front of you to ease your anxiety. Still standing outside of the shower, your trembling frame was hesitant. Peter eyed you, a small smirk on his lips. “You good, babe?”

Nodding, he could tell you weren’t being honest. He moved towards you, a small sigh leaving him. “Would you like me to shower with you so you’re not alone in there?” You nodded, waiting for him to undress and get in.

“You first,” he stepped in, turning towards you and helping you back into the warm spray of water. Handing you the removable shower head, Peter pulled you into his grasp. “Always my damsel in distress.”

Your elbow popped back, connecting with his ribs as your lips set into a pout. “Shut up. I am not.” His fingers attacked your sides, shooting laughter into the enclosed space.

Speechless. Entirely and utterly speechless. You were standing in the kitchen, the box sat on the countertop, your parents all beaming at you two. “How? Why?” Was all you could mutter out. Your mom shrugged with a chuckle.

“Those pots and pans you bought were garbage. You would’ve had to replace them within a few months. These will last you a lifetime. Really, they come with that warranty.” The Caraway sets had you unable to move.

After seeing everyone on TikTok rave about these and why they were worth the insane splurge, you didn’t realize you had spoken about them so much and so often that your families would’ve noticed and bought them for you guys as a moving in present.

The creamy white was immaculate and the stainless steel handle felt cool in your hand. You could’ve collapsed right then and there. Eyes fluttering shut, you weren’t sure what to do.

“It’s a gift from all of us.” Setting the pan down as gently as you could, you rushed over to pull Aunt May and your parents into a bone crushing group hug. Peter’s laugh echoed behind you as he picked up the pan, spinning it in his hand with an unimpressed look on his face.

“I just don’t get it.”

It was what you kept repeating over and over in your head. You just didn’t get it. This project had been sitting on your desk for weeks, untouched because you just couldn’t figure it out. It was getting on your absolute last nerve.

You were losing sleep over it, wasting your entire workday by simply staring at it. Unsure what your next move was supposed to be. It was turning you into a zombie. Consuming your thoughts, hardly able to focus on anything else.

It had simply been a shitty day. A shitty week. A shitty month. All stacked on top of each other and to make matters worse, you and Peter were fighting. Over what, you had no idea, but all you knew was that you two were in a stalemate. No one willing to budge on their position to just smooth it over.

Days on end of the same bitter attitudes. Was it your fault? More than likely given how stressed you had been at work, but you really did not have the mental capacity to accept blame and truly apologize.

Entering your home, you had hoped he was going to already be gone for the night. Instead, he was standing in the kitchen, cooking dinner for himself. Which was fine, you weren’t really in the mood to eat too much anyways.

His back faced you the entire time, never turning towards you, not acknowledging you. It was fine. You didn’t want to talk anyways. Emerging from your room, changed into your lounge clothes, you were pissed to find a stain that had been washed in, now permanently there.

Moving around the space, trying not to look his way, you grabbed a bowl and a spoon. Fetching the only cereal you had in the house at the moment and the milk from the fridge, you poured yourself a bowl.

He was watching you from the corner of his eye. Despite how mad at you he was, he had to make sure you were okay. That you were still functioning to some degree, knowing what was happening at work right now. To him, it looked like you were on autopilot. Simply coasting to do what your body needed, but seeing your brain still functioning on overdrive.

Picking up your spoon, you turned to grab a napkin from the counter behind you and in the process you knocked over the gallon of milk. The white contents dripped all over the counter and onto the floor. You didn’t react right away, instead just staring at the mess.

Peter literally had to fight the urge to grab it while it was falling. His mind told him that it would feel better to see you cleaning up the mess you had made. That it was what you deserved after your fight. Did it make sense? Absolutely not, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was for you to feel as irritated and peeved as him.

What he didn't expect to see was you crumpling to the floor into the puddle of milk, sobs echoing in the room. The bowl had tumbled from your hands shattering on the floor as you went down. Cereal and porcelain mixing together.

You didn’t really know what happened. One second you were going for a napkin and the next the contents of it all were all over the counter and floor. Too much to handle at once, your body and brain begging for a break. The cries wracked your body, trembling and shaking as you cried.

The saying goes, don’t cry over spilt milk, but that was exactly what you were doing. Just one thing too many, something was going to have to cascade over at some point. Tonight, it was the milk. Your emotional bank having to withdraw something in order to keep functioning.

At first, Peter thought you had gotten hurt somehow. The realization dawned on him that it was all emotional, no physical pain or injury that he could immediately see. Your tear soaked face met his as he crouched down to your level, throwing yourself on him.

Honestly, he was going for the bowls broken and jagged pieces, but he let you wrap yourself in him. His own arms enclosed around you, hands rubbing your back as he stood you two up. You clung to him as he stood. He picked you up with him, letting you place your legs around his waist.

“Sticky, I’m sorry,” your words hiccuped in the shell of his ear, guilt wracking his body at your apology. “I know, bug, I know.” One of his hands cradled the back of your head, gently moving across the floor to not step in any of the shards. Setting you on the counter, his hands landed on the tops of your thighs as your cries slowly stopped.

Moving them to cup your cheeks, his own thumbs wiping away the stray tears, your breathing trying to even out, he offered a small smile. “I’m-I’m sorry, bu-bug,” your lips were swollen from crying, your nose running and stuffed. You were tripping over your own words, them getting caught in your throat.

He brought your head closer to him, placing a soft kiss to your forehead, your own hands grabbing his wrists, as you started crying again. “You’re alright, buggy girl. I’m sorry. How about I take you to the room, you get changed, and I’ll bring you some toast, yeah?”

You nodded, sniffling as your vision remained blurry. Your hand moved from his wrist to his cheek, a large pout sitting on your lips as you touched his face for the first time in four days. There was nothing worse than fighting with him. Given how stubborn you two were, it was always a recipe for disaster when it came to spats.

“I love you,” you murmured out, watching as his smile took over his face. “I love you, too. How about once you get changed I do something for you?” Hopping off the counter and emerging from your room in a fresh set of clothes, Peter cupped your face in his hands, bringing you to him for the first time all week.

When he pulled back, his smile was still persistent despite your constant stream of tears. “Wanna be Spider-Man?” A wet laugh escaped your throat as he handed you the mask and a web shooter in his open palm.

Slipping it on, the baggy material hung on you as he fixed the web shooter to your wrist. He crouched in front of you, letting you hop on his back as he charged out of the kitchen, running around the small space, allowing you to be Spider-Man. Even for just a bit.

Anything to make you feel better.

“No, that is not what happened, May!” Your stomach ached from the laughter that had been happening all evening. Tears were steadily falling from the corners of your eyes as May told a story about Peter eating a quarter as a child for a magic trick then having a meltdown because Ben had told him it had to come back out someway.

Peter’s face was beat red in embarrassment, the candlelight that lit the room not doing enough to cover the tint. It was the first dinner party you had hosted. Every month was a different place. Sometimes it was held at May’s, other times at your parent’s, your best friend’s apartment, Peter’s best friend’s apartment, or your brother’s place.

This was the first time you had been able to host, finally settled into the apartment and after having found a few tables that you could squish together for the night, you were ready. Having planned a wonderful menu, moving all the furniture to make space, and ensuring there were enough chairs it was exactly what you had hoped.

Standing from your chair to head back to the kitchen and grab another bottle of wine, Peter stood with you, following you into the room. Offering a small, entertained smirk in his direction, his arms caged you in, pinning you to the counter as you joked. “Did the quarter ever come back?”

Rolling his eyes at your question that had you doubling over in laughter, you felt his lips capture yours, having you stand back upright. Your giggles bled into his mouth, the sheer thought of Peter as a child, swallowing a quarter, then promptly bursting into tears afterwards was delighting you.

Pulling back, he narrowed his eyes at you. “Think that’s funny? Huh, do you?” His own chuckles mixed with his words, you nodding almost out of breath again. Shrugging, his shit eating smirk took over his lips as he sighed overdramatically.

“Okay, then. Here’s another magic trick for you,” you barely even blinked before the thwip of webs echoed out into the room, the bottle you had been holding now resting soundly in his hand. You on the other hand were webbed to the counter.

He smiled brightly, a light laugh following. “Now, for the trick. Watch as I disappear!” The door to the kitchen closed as he slipped through it despite your shocked laughter and whisper shouting his name.

Standing there in disbelief, starting to try and free yourself from the confines of the webbing, the door opened again. You stood up straight, acting like you were working on dishes, but you relaxed when you saw Peter enter the kitchen again.

“Like I would leave my damsel in distress,” groaning, you rolled your eyes at the persona you despised. “I am not-” he cut you off, solely focusing on getting you free as he spoke with you in unison, “a damsel and I am not in distress.”

You were biting back a smile at that, smacking his chest when the kitchen door swung open again. “Sweetheart, I asked you for a new knife like an hour ago,” Peter stood up straight covering the webs that decorated your hip and the counter.

Her gaze fell to you two, eyeing you both in suspicion. “Everything okay in here?” You nodded, looking back at the counter that she couldn’t see. “Oh yeah, we’re just getting more bread. We’ll be out in a sec,” she turned on her heel, watching you both in curiosity as you both beamed back at her.

When the door closed, you both focused back to the mess. “Hurry!” His nimble fingers worked fast, giggling as he worked. “I’m trying! Stop moving, you’re making it worse!” You both were giggling like madmen and although your mom couldn’t see what you two were laughing at, she smiled.

Peeking in through the crack, just to make sure you were actually okay, and seeing your head fall back as Peter said something she couldn’t quite make out, but hearing your laughter mix with his.

Nights like these made your heart soar. When everyone was good. When everyone was okay. It was these nights that you would look back on in pure admiration and yearning. For a time that you weren’t sure would happen again.

As you and Peter stood in the kitchen in utter silence, waiting for the phone to ring, you thought back to those nights. Wondering if it would ever happen again. Waiting to hear that everything was alright. That your brother was going to be fine. He had to be fine. He was going to be fine.

Getting a call early that morning from your mom had changed the trajectory of your day. Arriving at work at your normal time, 8:03 am, sitting in your chair, turning your computer on, unpacking your bag. It was regular. Supposed to be like every other day.

You were going to get through your work day, get home at 4:25 that afternoon, make dinner with Peter, he leaves for patrol once the sun goes down, and you spend the rest of the evening watching tv and reading. A normal day.

The phone call at 8:07 that morning threw that all off. Your dad told you that your mom was on a plane to California. That they had gotten news early that morning that your brother had been hit by a drunk driver just hours before. Trying to listen as he told you the latest update on him.

That had been twelve hours ago. Peter didn’t go on patrol that night. You didn’t make dinner together. You ate a bagel that Peter made for you. Only half, him polishing off the other. Sitting at the island with a chair, staring at your screen, waiting for it to light up.

They had been able to hold off on the surgery he needed until your mom got there. That had been five hours ago. Now, you sat waiting. Peter was there the entire time. Knocking knees with you, reading to you, asking for your help with sewing his suit. You had no idea how to sew, but Peter showed you how to that night.

One of the only breaks you had taken that day was the first time you had left the kitchen since getting home. Leaving the restroom, Peter’s loud voice boomed into the apartment, calling out to you. Running into the kitchen and snatching your phone, you immediately answered.

It was like the largest weight you had ever felt being taken from your shoulders. Tears cascaded down your cheeks, a large smile coming across your features as Peter stood, patiently waiting. Hanging up the call with your mom, you turned to face him.

“He’s okay. Great, actually. They said as soon as he was out of surgery he was cracking jokes with the nurses. He’s okay,” Peter’s arms swept you into his embrace as you silently cried into his shoulder. That was your partner.

The man who would drop anything at the drop of a hat to ensure he was going to be there for you when you needed him most. Who would make sure that you were okay. That you were better than okay. That you were the happiest you could be.

He had made that mistake before with someone else and he knew better this time around. He wanted to be the best he could be for you. It was the single most important thing to him. Your utter happiness.

Flopping onto the couch that sat in the empty living room, a loud groan escaping your throat as you did, you could feel the exhaustion of the day seeping into your bones. The sun was already setting below the horizon, dashing in between the various large buildings on either side of your own apartment building. The truck had been unpacked and returned. The entire family gone, leaving you alone in the apartment for the first time.

His head poked out of the door frame from the kitchen, eyes observing you to make sure you were still alive and kicking after the incredibly long day you had just endured. A soft smile played at his lips as he saw you on the verge of sleep on the sofa, sprawled out with no space for him to join.

He would make space.

You didn’t even realize you had shut your eyes, letting the sleep overtake you until you felt arms wrap around you, pulling you up and flipping you. Instead of sinking your weight into the soft and fluffy material of the couch, warmth greeted you and circled around you.

Not even bothering to peek an eye open, you fully relaxed into him, inhaling the cologne that hung to his dirty shirt that normally you would have protested against laying on, but tonight you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

The security and comfort he offered with just a single embrace was unmatched, unparalleled. It was the feeling of his calloused palms rubbing against the bare expanse of your arm, occasionally slipping under your shirt to gently run his fingertips along your lower back that let you know it was him. That he was going to be here. That this was now your home. That he would do whatever he needed to to ensure that this would remain your home. Your safe space. Your haven.

The warmth that expelled from you, the gentle rise and fall of your back as your head rested on his chest, the occasional twitch as you fell further into sleep's grasp, was Peter’s anchor. It was your way of letting him know that you would always be there for him. To comfort, to protect, to do anything you could for him.

God knows he would need it. It was what nagged at him. The small voice in the back of his head that would make an appearance once in a blue moon. Peter knew at some point, somewhere down the line something was going to happen. Something that would wreck him, destroy him. Something that you would have to pick up the pieces for, to make him whole again. He didn’t want it to happen. Who would?

But it would happen. And when it does, you would be there. That was your promise. No matter what.

It had been on the news. You couldn’t believe they aired it. Happening live, no one knew it would happen. Spider-Man was there to save the day and make it all better like he always did. Except today.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t save everyone.

This was a conversation that had happened many times before. Getting him to understand that despite his best efforts, there was going to come a day where it would happen.

You just didn’t expect today to be that day.

Pacing around the living room, gnawing on your thumb nail, waiting. Simply waiting for him to finally come home. He needed to come home.

You had turned the news off over two hours ago, unable to hear them talk about it again. Instead, a silly comedy played on the television. Something to dull the screaming voices in your head. The same voices that were at odds with each other. Did you need to go find him or just wait for him to come back?

Two hours, going on three, and then four was too long. Too long to be waiting for him to come home. Slipping your shoes and coat on, you took matters into your own hands. Grabbing your house key and phone, you made your way to the front door.

If he wasn’t going to come home then you were going to go to him. Where was he? You didn’t have the slightest idea, but you would find him. As soon as you pulled the front door open, a dull thud came from behind you.

Whipping around, you saw him standing there, Spider-Man garb forgotten and dressed in regular clothes, he looked exhausted. Letting the door close, you turned and made your way towards him.

“Hey, sticky,” it was spoken as quietly as you could manage. This was uncharted territory between you two, unsure how he was going to act and respond. Anything could have happened, he could have responded in any possible way.

This was not what you expected.

A large smile spread across his face, his cheery attitude partnered with it. He crossed the space, enclosing you in his arms and placing a large kiss on your lips. It shocked you. Out of everything that could have been his emotions and feelings, the cheerful and joyous man that was standing in your living room was not what you expected. Had prepared for.

Your worried facial expression traced him as he walked through the apartment towards the kitchen, coming back just a second later with a bowl of cereal in his hands. “How was your day, baby? Did you get that project done? I know you had that presentation, too.”

He was speaking in between mouthfuls of his bites, collapsing on the couch and lifting one arm to rest on the back, beckoning you to him. Confused, but continuing to tread lightly, you gingerly sat next to him, feeling his arm pull you into his side, a kiss landing on your temple.

The remainder of the night continued in that nature. Like nothing had happened. Staying on the couch watching television, Peter demolishing the remainder of the cereal you had in the apartment, and then going to bed together after he showered.

Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to think twice about, nothing abnormal. Which is why you were so worried.

In the blink of an eye, nearly three weeks had passed since the accident. Peter hadn’t displayed any emotion regarding it at all. You were entirely unsure what to do. Would bringing it up be beneficial? He hadn’t brought it up and you didn’t want to if he didn’t want to talk about it.

Maybe he had already dealt with it and you just weren’t a part of the process. Sure, it was a bit hurtful, but if he handled it, then that was better than nothing.

When four weeks were approaching with Peter not having made a peep about it, you exploded. Sitting on the couch, watching as he discussed what was going to be happening for dinner and what you wanted to do this weekend, carrying on like nothing was wrong.

“Peter?” He hummed, sliding the sock onto his foot, the other between his teeth. When you didn’t respond right away, his eyes darted up to yours, seeing them narrowed in his direction. Irritation and anger was rolling from your figure and into the aura of the room. “Buggy?”

Shaking your head at him, your chin resting on your closed fist, you exhaled a large breath you had been holding in for nearly a month. “Are you okay?” His eyes widened in surprise, a laugh falling from his throat. Nodding in response, he shrugged, still confused as to why you were seemingly so upset.

“I’m alright. Are you okay?” You shrugged, picking the fuzz from the couch. “Honestly, I don’t know.” Peter walked over to where you were seated on the couch, trying to catch your line of vision as your gaze continued staring at the couch cushion. “Baby? What’s going on?”

Sighing, letting your eyes fall onto him, he had a true look of worry on his features. “Peter, you-I just,” you were stumbling over your words trying to figure out how to piece this together in the correct way to truly display how you were feeling.

“Peter, a child died a month ago while you were trying to save him and you couldn’t. You disappeared that night for hours, when you got home it was like nothing had happened. I keep waiting for you, or for something to happen. Like you’re going to break or something and it’s like you’re totally fine.

“If you are, that’s okay. If you worked through it in some way without me that night, that’s okay, too, but I need to hear you say that you’re okay.” When your eyes fell back to him a blank expression sat on his face. Any emotion he had been feeling, gone. His jaw was set, teeth grinding together, but his head dropped.

His hand swiped at his nose, a small sniffle following before he nodded. “I’m fine.” You shook your head, reaching for his hand as he stood. “No, you’re not.” He ripped his hand from yours, a humorless laugh fell from his lips, hands landing on his hips. “Don’t tell me how I’m feeling.”

You shook your head, as you went to speak again Peter spoke up over you. “In fact, there’s a reason why I haven’t talked to you about this. Because I don’t need to. I am fine. I have dealt with this in my own way. Don’t bring it up again.” Brows furrowing at the tone he was speaking to you in, you were taken aback, but were overpowered by the disrespect you felt.

“No. We’re not dropping it. I don't appreciate how you’re talking to me, Peter. I want you to tell me how you dealt with this,” his hands scrubbed at his face, a bewildered expression taking over his eyes. “You don’t need to know. That’s what I’m leaving this at.”

Following him and blocking his way from going back into the kitchen, you peered up at him, anger still prevalent in both of you. “No.” His hair fell into his eyes lightly as his tongue darted out and ran along his bottom lip, hand rubbing harshly at his jaw.

“Yes. Move.” Your arms crossed over your chest. “Not until you tell me how you did this.” It carried on that way for a few minutes before Peter jumped to the ceiling and tried crawling behind you to get passed, but you moved too quickly, blocking any access points for him to leave.

“Peter, knock it off! Just fucking tell me. What the fuck did you do? Is it that bad that you can’t tell me?” You were shouting, mind reeling at all of the possibilities of what he could have done, but when he yelled back, you stopped, staying rooted to your spot.

“I fucking went to Gwen! There, is that what you wanted to happen? Is that what you wanted to hear? Does that make you happy?” He tried catching his breath, immediately calming down as he saw your reaction. Tears welled in your eyes, you nodded with a sniffle, chin wobbling as you stared at the far wall.

What you had assumed was just Peter bottling up all of his emotions and hiding from dealing with the situation is what you would have preferred than to what he had just told you. “Bug,” his voice was small, but echoed into the quiet room. Your hand came up to stop him from moving any closer to you.

You turned to face him, finding it entirely too difficult to even look directly at him. “Fuck you.” The seething disdain that accompanied those words, really drove it into him how much he had hurt you. Turning on your heel and going into your room, you grabbed the pillow and blanket, throwing them back into the living room and onto the couch.

Peter’s eyes fell down as he went to grab it and set up what would be his makeshift bed. You snatched it from his grasp before he could reach it, shaking your head. “No. It’s mine. I refuse to sleep in that bed. Not with you.”

Shaking your head, a decision made in a flash, you felt hot tears streaming down your cheeks. “Actually, no.” Walking over to the small entryway table and grabbing your bag, slipping your shoes and coat on, you went to the front door.

When you turned and looked at him, you could see the disappointment and regret living on his face. He knew it was wrong and that was exactly why he had kept it from you for so long. “Do not speak to me. Do not speak to any of my family. I can’t even stand the sight of you right now. Do not even try,” you could see him crumbling as you spoke.

Truly, you had no idea of where you were going to go, but anywhere was better than there. In the fortress of a life you had constructed with him by your side. It felt like it had been tarnished, made of only a facade. Nothing true. In the worst moment of need in his life, instead of turning to the woman he had sworn to craft a life with, he went back to who he had been with before.

It was the worst pain you had ever endured. Wondering if there was something wrong with you. Why you weren’t good enough for him. How he opted to neglect you and your relationship in that way. The stinging sensation of remorse filled your being. Your world was crashing down around you.

He didn’t listen to you. Instead of leaving you alone like how you demanded, you were constantly bombarded with calls and text messages, asking when you were coming home to figure this out. Home.

A singular word that you felt had been built on a set of lies. That he was never ready to move past her. That things with you had just spiraled out of control and he didn’t know how to stop it. When in times of true crisis he would always revert back to her, not you. Not being to him what you had thought. Never having held a single doubt about your relationship together until this moment, but now had you questioning everything. All of it.

Nothing felt real anymore.

A full week had gone by since you had seen or spoken to Peter. Having chosen to stay with your parents, not letting them in on what was actually happening. Just that you needed some space. Some time.

When flowers arrived at your childhood bedroom door, you stared at the vase full of an apology bouquet. Your mom thought it was the sweetest thing in the world. That even though things were bad right now that he was still doing this for you.

A knowing feeling wormed its way into your gut, telling you that he was watching. Somewhere he was spying. To see if you liked them.

Grabbing the vase and walking outside, you lifted the dumpster lid, tossing the perfectly fine arrangement in the trash. Slamming the lid down, you slinked back into your parents home, your mom deadly silent as you walked by.

Questions were swimming in her head and you knew it. Choosing to answer in one fellow swoop of a response you spoke out. “Flowers can’t fix this,” voice raw from the shed tears over the last week, it sounded foreign to your own ears.

Having had enough of sitting in your room, you needed answers. Instead of going to where you knew he waited with baited breath for you, you went elsewhere. The brick home greeted your vision as you strolled to the residence in Queens. Stepping up to the door, you lightly knocked.

Aunt May answered in record speed with a large expulsion of air. “Thank god you’re alright. Peter told me you haven’t spoken in nearly two weeks.” Stepping into the warm embrace of the home, you followed her into the living room.

As she sat with you, you turned and looked at her with tears brimming in your eyes. “I have to ask you a question and I need you to be as honest as you possibly can, okay?” She didn’t like where this was going, taking your hand in her own as she waited to hear what you were going to say next.

“Does Peter love me?” Her jaw fell slack, staring at you in awe. Shocked at how serious you were to even be asking this, tears silently cascading down your cheeks as you hiccuped. “Oh my-honey, of course he does!”

Shrugging, you shook your head. “Just not as much as Gwen, right?” At the mention of her name, May stiffened like a board. “What did he do? You tell me right now or so help me I wi-”cutting her off with a sad smile, you patted her hand. “It doesn’t matter.”

It was the answer you needed. You took your time going back to your shared apartment that night. Taking the scenic route, not wanting to rush into this.

When you opened the door, took your shoes off, and stared at the empty apartment, sadness creeped into you. The home that you two had built, sitting nearly deserted and alone. You sat on your side of the couch, flipped the television on, and sat and waited.

Hours had ticked by, mindlessly watching the screen, not remembering anything of what you had seen. When the window opened to your right, you didn’t turn to look at him. Didn’t want to really see him.

Nearly falling over where he stood, his mask was ripped off his frame, staring a hole into the side of your face. “You-you’re back,” it was spoken out in utter shock, you only briefly nodded in response.

“Not permanently.” Silence. He quickly entered the bedroom and re-emerged dressed in normal attire. Sitting on the coffee table, facing you, waiting for you to say something.

You waited. Waited for the nine minutes that were left on the air time of the show. He could wait. Like how he had made you wait all of that time after the incident. To see if you were an actual part of his life. A functioning part.

When the end credits rolled, you let out a soft sigh and shut the tv off. He didn’t push. Sitting patiently, awaiting anything you were going to say and do.

“I came back to talk.” He nodded, elbows leaning on his knees, fingers linked together. “You showed me everything I needed to know. About where we are. Where we’re going. How we were doing. Obviously not as good as I had thought, but that’s fine.”

He wanted to fight you, but knew better than to speak over you. Not right now. “It’s blaringly obvious that you will never quite love me like how you did or do Gwen.” You hoped you weren’t going to cry, but as the words left your mouth, it hit you like a ton of bricks.

Tears silently left their tracks on your cheeks, staining the skin with their traces as your eyes were downcast. Taking in a deep breath you continued on without a moment of hesitation for him to interrupt. “It kills me. I feel like I’ve given my all, showed you in every possible way that I am your person. That I am here. I thought I was what you needed, but now I can honestly say I don’t know if that’s true.”

Hiccuping through the tears, trying to get your points across, Peter stood from the coffee table and crossed the room with his back to you. His hand landed on the top of his head, tugging on the hair before landing on his hips. A sniffle echoed out in the quiet room as he turned back to face you.

Dejected.

“What-what can I do? I love you. More than I can even describe and I made a mistake. A massive mistake that I can’t take back. Baby, you gotta tell me what to do to fix this.” By the time he had finished he was back in front of you, crouched and taking your cold hands into his warm ones.

Your eyes shut, not wanting to see his skin touching yours, but savoring the feeling of it. “Tell me the truth. About it all.” Your tear filled eyes met his and he nodded with a small shaky exhale of breath.

Removing his hands from yours he rubbed his face before starting, trembling hands coming back to enclose around yours with no fight from the receiving end. “You have to know that I have no feelings for her. Hardly even a friendship, but she was there at the start of it all. When it happened, I-I couldn't come back to you in the state I was. I couldn’t let you see me like that, bug.”

Your brows furrowed at his words, face scrunching up in disbelief. “That makes no sense, Peter.” You weren’t buying it. He was watching you slip further and further away. “I’m supposed to be the rock. The unmovable force that can weather any storm. When-when it happened, I was-wasn’t able to get control of myself.

It was the worst state I had ever been in. I didn’t want you to see me like that. I couldn’t let you. Baby, you’re my everything and I thought I was protecting you.” As he continued to talk, tears fell from both of your eyes, his hands roamed the bare expanse of skin under his palms, trying to soothe you whilst you both shattered before one another.

“It was such a mistake. I regretted it the moment I saw you, bug. I’m so sorry,” your sob caught in your throat, letting him drop his head, kissing a trail up your arms to your neck where he stayed, tears pooling on the skin. “I’m so mad at you, Peter. I’m mad at myself for-for making you think that you couldn’t come to me. I don’t know what else I could’ve done to show you that!”

The tone of your voice lifted with confusion, a small shout escaping you as the emotions overflowed. His shaking head was him trying to show that it wasn’t you. Despite everything it wasn’t you.

“It’s me. I had this connotation in my head that I couldn’t show you that side. I knew you had always told me that when it eventually happened that you would be there. In my head it was never going to happen and when it did, I didn’t want to show you that I was weak in any way. For god’s sake I’m fucking Spider-Man,” your hands cupped his cheeks, peering into the pooling irises that had bloodshot veins surrounding them.

Swirled with pain and anger. Not at you, but at himself for not knowing what to do. For allowing any sense of weakness to happen and never wanting to have shown you that he could break. In his eyes, he couldn’t. Not for you.

“You’re Peter Parker most importantly! A human man who is my partner. I am so sorry if I’ve put these-these pressures on you to make you think that you can only be strong around me, but that is not a partnership. I-I want you to be vulnerable and show me everything there is with you. I love you, Peter. You. Come. To. Me.”

As you finished, he launched himself at you. It had been weeks apart, questioning everything, and although there was still much to figure out in the hours and days ahead, at this moment it didn’t matter. When you had him against you once more, in a messy and miserable way, desperate to have your other half with you again.

Through thick and thin, for better or worse, these were the promises you had made to one another that you knew you two would honor for as long as you had with him by your side. Even when you two were at your lowest, it didn’t matter. It was you two.

Christmas had come so quickly this year. A year of immense struggle between you two. Where Spider-Man had taken over your lives, so much to the point where he couldn’t work. One income to support both of you with occasional photographs sold to the Daily Bugle. It had been rough.

Exhaustion sat deep in both of your bones. Peter’s face was bruised more often than not. Constantly on the mend after dealing with issue after issue. You taking on as much work as you possibly could to make ends meet. It killed him seeing you doing this, even trying to take on a second job.

But for the greater good, this is just how it had to be. For a bit.

Agreeing this year that no gifts would be for the best, just spending time with one another, having a great dinner and watching Christmas films all day long. It was going to be great.

And it was. You two had a wonderful day, enjoyed a delicious dinner that you cooked together, even spent some time on the phone with family and friends. Now, you two were lounging on the sofa, snuggled under a blanket, sipping hot chocolate and enjoying Elf.

Peter was acting jumpy and despite your best efforts to ignore it, you just couldn’t. Giggles flew from you as you poked his side, seeing the smirk take over his face at your actions. “Alright, Parker, I’m biting. What’s going on with you?” In no time at all, he jumped from the couch.

Returning from the bedroom, both of his arms were behind him as he ventured back out to where you sat. “Peter,” you took a beat, staring him down as he sat back on the couch, arms still behind him, “what do you have?”

His nonchalant shrug as his attention focused back on the television gave you time to jump him. Your laughter mixed as he moved his arms to keep whatever it was in his hands out of your reach, pulling it around your body, above your head, back behind his back, just enjoying the true struggle you put up.

When he finally decided you had enough, straddling his waist, your eyes grew misty as the tiny gift bag sat in front of your face. “Merry Christmas, my buggy girl.” Pouting, you lightly grabbed the red bad from his hands, dropping it onto his stomach as you stared down at him.

“Pete, I-I didn’t get you anything,” he cut you off, putting the gift bag in your hands. “Shh, I know you didn’t and I didn’t want you to. You’ve done so much for us this past year, I needed to show you some sort of appreciation.”

Sniffling, you pulled the tissue paper out of the bag, seeing a small jewelry gift box sitting at the bottom. Your hands reached in, feeling the soft box, pulling it out and quickly peeking back at the boy. He looked like a child on Christmas morning. It warmed your soul. Knowing that he wanted to do this for you one way or another.

When you removed the top, a small gasp fell from your lips, eyes welling up again as you took in the earrings. There sat a pair of earrings, books, that had the title of your favorite book on them. It was the most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given you before.

He lightly nudged you with his knee, causing you to bounce ever so slightly as you tried to peel your eyes away from the gift. “You like them? I found someone on that website you like so much. If not we can always return them and get you some-” you cut him off by wrapping your arms around his neck, smushing your mouth to his.

Feeling his laughter seep into you, shaking your bodies as he did, hands splayed across your back as he held you to him. “They’re amazing, sticky. Really, they’re the best gift I’ve ever gotten. I love you so much.” His hands moved from your back to your face, wiping away the tears.

While nights like that made you realize how much you loved your partner and reminded you that no matter what you two would be there for each other, it was the average nights that had you in total bliss.

The nights when it was just you two, living your daily life, sharing the space of your person. Where you were sat on the couch, reading a novel that you had seen on social media, but despite the raving reviews you just couldn’t get into it. Peter sat opposite of you, reading some book on physics that you would never be able to understand no matter how much he tried to explain it to you.

Deciding that you wanted his attention, you let out a sigh. Peeking over the cover of your book, you saw he hadn’t diverted his attention at all. Going again, this time just a tad louder than the last, his eyes briefly left his own text to glance at you. Ensure you are okay.

When he noticed that you were fine, he continued on. Another, louder sigh escaped your lips, head falling back, but Peter continued to ignore you. Having had enough of it, you crawled over to him, pushing down his book to get his attention to you.

“Pay attention to me,” he rolled his eyes, closing the book and setting it on the coffee table next to you. His hands found home on your waist as you straddled him. Instantly crouching down to meet him, his warm palms slipped under your shirt, greeted by the smooth skin underneath.

Deepening the kiss, you moaned as his hands continued their northern travels, cupping the supple flesh and tweaking your perked nipples. Slow and lazy were the kisses shared, movements basic and comforting, nothing extravagant and perplexing. Home.

Breaths shallow and constant, naked against one another, riding him like it was your second job. Admiring you like the most magnificent species of woman he had ever had the pleasure of laying eyes upon. Captivated by your utter beauty. Eyelids so heavy they could hardly remain open to see who laid beneath you, but you knew the feel of him like it was your second skin.

Hands braced on his chest, chasing your highs, feeling the pull of you to him, your mouths met once again as they slowly washed over you. Nothing so intense that you couldn’t come to mere seconds later, but simply a release for both to enjoy tonight.

These were the nights you adored with him. You could only hope for a lifetime of them together.

Plopping down on the couch with your still far too dirty clothes, boxes stacked as high as the ceiling surrounding you both, you felt the tiredness sitting deep in your bones. You had tried making a dent on them while Peter ran out to grab dinner, but you still had mountains to go.

Hearing the door open, you peeked around the corner to see him making his way in, french fry hanging out of his mouth, hat barely sitting on top of his head, hair a wild mess underneath. “Okay, I figured that since this is our first night here we needed to get something in the area. You know, start trying out the places.”

Humming in response as he took his seat next to you, one large hand landing on your leg as he did, he showed you the takeout bag. “Burger #12?” You read out loud, staring at him with confusion evident in your eyes. He shrugged, removing the contents and handing you one burger from the bag.

“I mean if there are other eleven Burger restaurants they must be doing something right!” You had to agree with him, sinking your teeth into the meat and being enthralled when the delicious tastes washed over your tongue. Moaning, you immediately took another bite, giggling with your mouth full as Peter brought a napkin up to the corner of your mouth, wiping away the stray ketchup.

You two ate and discussed what still needed to be done around the apartment, trying to divide tasks up for the next couple of days before his phone went off on the counter. He stood, surveying the message and groaned.

Rushing to the luggage that sat partially open in the corner of the room, he grabbed the suit, getting changed in the blink of an eye, shooting you a sheepish grin as he finished. “I gotta-” pointing at the open window, you waved him off with a roll of your eyes.

“Go save the world, Spidey. I’ll be here when you get back.” He rushed over to where you still sat on the couch, planting a sloppy kiss on you, before jumping out the window. The thwip of his webs echoing into the night.

Futures were positive bright beams of light. Hope that held together even the darkest times that plagued the world. You couldn’t wait to see yours with the man you loved most.

#ficthots #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm peter parker #tasm peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #andrewgarfield!spiderman #andrewgarfield!peter parker x reader #tasm fanfiction #peter parker andrew garfield #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter fanfiction #tasm!smut #peter parker x reader smut #tasm!peter smut #tasm!peter x reader smut

698 notes · View notes

novelizt · 1 year

Text

THE COMPLICATIONS OF A FAKE ENGAGEMENT ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

⚜ PART TWO

GENRE ➺ fluff + hoax engagement

SYNOPSIS ➺ you shouldn't be that beautiful in a bridal gown for a wedding that's fictitious to begin with

WARNING ➺ fem reader

DISCLAIMER ➺ I haven't read the books so the characterization/alignment in the books may not line up and it's been a while since i've written anything. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

NOTES ➺ inspired by the try-on wedding gown scene in “extraordinary attorney woo”

When a 17-year-old signs up to be a ghost hunter, the last thing she expects is to wind up in a bridal boutique. Especially not with her employer improvising the role of her fiancé.

Lost between fabrics of silk and satin is the story of how you ended up here. You're on the brink of insanity when Lockwood finally does his job as your make-believe fiancé. Chipping in with a compliment, blowing kisses, and raining applause. On a normal day, you could act as if all this was fine and that the flurry of frivolous women weren't tiring. But the dresses were heavy and the lights were blinding. You had his ring, and the look on his face was convincing—but twelve dresses in, and you were ready to crumple into a heap.

"Why the rush to marry?" Kelly—you think her name was—asks. She was the ringleader for the entire dress-fitting business.

She tightened the corset around you and clipped the fabric around your bust tighter. You couldn't even speak! Luckily enough, Lockwood took note of your lack of oxygen and answered for you. "We're trained agents."

Kelly pulled the cinches tighter. You wheezed your last wisp of air, gripping the fabric for release. "As in the paranormal kind?"

Lockwood's eyes shone with pride. "Exactly that! You never know what could happen on a case. Might as well marry while we're breathing, no? Oh- please let my girl breathe, she's turning blue."

The corset loosened and you sagged in visible relief. Nodding in acknowledgement, you said, "Many thanks."

"No worries, darling. Wouldn't want you dying before the flower picking." He smiled at you, and you withheld the urge to glare at him. "Have you found what you're looking for, love?"

You look at the rack and consider just lying... but there was a reason you were here. Judging by his still jumping knee, he hasn't found evidence at all.

Signing yourself to your fate, you sighed. "No..."

Kelly jumps with glee. Dragging you behind the curtains before Lockwood could get another word in. The last thing you see of him is a grateful grin. He disregards the simper you throw his way.

When he's sure you're distracting Kelly, he slips back to the file rooms. Shuffling through documents whilst keeping his ears open. It's not that hard to guess whether Kelly got you into another gown or not. The woman is exorbitant and loud.

He's got his hands on an incriminating sheet of evidence as he hears it. Kelly's compliments and your terrible attempts at buying him more time. Lockwood stuffs the sheet into his coat pocket and breaks for the lounge. In time for the velvet curtains to draw.

His eyes are adjusting to the brightened lights again. Yet, all is right when you're unveiled. Sheets of ivory silk rolling down in waves curl around your figure like it's made for you. It's less extravagant than the previous choices but it highlights you the best.

Whatever fake reaction dies in his throat and his jaw hangs open. Eyes leading up to your giggling face as Kelly pushes a row of spray roses into your hands to "complete the look." He knows all this is pretend. He can't help but wonder how different it would be if ghosts and ghouls didn't invade the world. If the pair of you were a normal boy and a normal girl. If you two weren't 17 and only here for another case. If you were actually dressed in that ivory gown, coming down an aisle as red as the curtains. In an alternate world, would it be reality?

He's considering the probability of it when you drop the roses to your midsection. Allowing his mother's old ring to gleam in the light before he pulls his eyes right back to you. He reads, "Have you found what you're looking for?" from your lips, and like a puppet on a string, he nods yes, and he's sure he mutters the word, too. But he's not thinking about the evidence in his pocket. He's thinking about you in ivory, and how much better it would be if you were his real bride instead of his fake one.

• i've been wanting to write for the lockwood & co. fandom for a while now hehe

⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

#— ❨ 🌺 ❩ 𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐙𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐀 ₊˚.༄#lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood fanfiction

584 notes · View notes

marvelmusing · 1 year

Text

In Another Life

Part Two

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Alternate Universe!Reader

Summary: After a restless night of sleep, you wake with too many thoughts in your mind. The contents of the General’s war table provide an ample distraction, and soon the man himself joins you.

Warnings: canon level violence and threat, nightmare, mentions of blood and death.

A/N: I’m so glad people liked the first part of this, and hopefully I’ll have the inspiration to continue this as a little series. I’m planning on introducing Alina in the next part, so I hope you all enjoy this follow up.

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist • Next Part

Even in sleep, the attempt on your life still continues to trouble you, poisoning your thoughts and refusing to let you rest. After the anxiety of the day, your subconscious pulls together the worst possible visions for your dreams.

The ringing in your ears is a constant as your head hits the wall repeatedly. Terror fills you, as time passes by and no one comes to your aid. The door remains shut. No one cares enough to save you.

You can’t hear your own screams but you feel them in your chest as hands press around your throat, squeezing tight. Feeling returns to your fingers, and you feel the shape of a carved wooden handle pressing into your palm.

Without a second thought, you push the weapon into her chest.

Everything blurs, and sound returns.

There’s a whisper of your name, and a wheezing gasp as you stagger around, trying to regain your balance. Then you see the blood. Red stains your hands and you crumple to the floor when you see him.

“No, no, no, please no.” You plead desperately, tears streaming down your face.

Scrambling forwards over the rough sand of the Unsea, you press your palms firmly over the wound in Aleksander’s chest.

“Please no.” You beg.

“No grave,” he insists. “For them to desecrate. Promise me.” Shaking your head, you lean your entire body weight into stopping the blood.

“You’re not dying.” You protest, even though you know it’s too late.

His fingers are curled tightly around your wrist as he speaks the words you always dread reading not matter how many times you’ve read this scene. Hearing them out loud, as he dies in your arms, is far too much. A broken sob chokes you.

“Promise me.” He repeats weakly.

“I promise.”

His grip weakens, sliding from your wrist. He stares up at the sky for a moment, and you curse every bright thing in existence. What you wouldn’t give to hide the two of you away in his shadows.

“Say my name. Once more.” He whispers.

“Aleksander.”

He reaches up, brushing his fingers delicately over your cheek, and the wetness of his blood smears over your skin. Even such a simple gesture seems too much for him. Sweat covers his brow with the exertion, and blood lines his lips.

“Aleksander, please don’t go. Please don’t leave me.”

Through your tears you can barely see the melancholic smile on his face.

You wake with a start, tears pouring down your face and his words echoing in your mind as he had taken his last breath. Pressing a hand hard against your mouth, you manage to stifle your sobs, though they shake your body as you sit up in bed.

Moonlight illuminates the bedroom, casting shadows over the corners and hidden nooks of the room. There’s a soft breath, and you turn to see the General lying on top of the covers. He’s wearing pyjama pants and a dark robe, no doubt to protect himself from the cold so that he wouldn’t have to share the covers with you. Despite the pillow he must have placed between you both, he’s facing you as he sleeps.

Your tears are silent now, as your sadness solidifies into anger, then determination. You will not let him die like that.

As silently as you can, you slide out from under the covers. With so many thoughts in your head, and emotions running wild through your body, there’s little hope for sleep. You might as well be productive.

The floor is cold as you make your way into the war room, and sit down at the table in the centre of the room.

Over the next hour you survey maps, you read through reports, and you try your hardest to understand what is happening in Ravka. It’s only once the sun is beginning to rise, golden light filtering through the windows, that you hear the General rousing from his sleep.

He stands in the doorway for a long moment.

“I believe you were told to rest.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” You answer dismissively, not wanting to encourage thoughts of your nightmare to return. Instead you look down at the papers in your hands. “When are you travelling to Kribirsk?”

“We set off in two days time.”

“Alina will be there.” Fingers skimming through piles of paper, your gaze roams over the words inked there. A frustrated sigh leaves your lips. “How do you find anything in here?”

“Everything has its correct place.”

Raising a brow, you gesture to a rather chaotic looking mound of papers, maps, and books which prompts a half smile to tug at his lips. Hair mussed by sleep, he looks startlingly handsome like this. It’s only when he speaks again that you realise you had been staring at him for far too long.

“What are you looking for?” He asks, shaking you from your staring session.

“Oh, um, a draft list for who will be on the prototype sand-skiff.” He nods, moving to stand beside you and reach underneath a brown leather book. From there, he retrieves a piece of paper, which he hands to you.

“Her name isn’t on there.” He informs you. “I was finalising the Grisha for the sand-skiff when you arrived, I would have noticed her name.”

“No she isn’t.” You remark distractedly, as you read over the names of the First Army soldiers selected. Then you spot him. Tilting the page to show the General, you point down at the name. “But there, Corporal Malyen Oretsev. If he’s on the skiff Alina will do anything to be with him.”

“Who is he to her?”

“To her he’s a childhood friend, but they both want more. To us he’s a complication, but we need him to find the stag.”

“You mentioned the stag yesterday.” He says, but you can hear the question in his tone. You nod.

“Morozova’s stag. It’s real, and Alina needs it.”

“And this tracker.” He says, taking the piece of paper from you and looking down at it. “Is the only one who can find it?”

Rubbing a hand against your temple, you nod In response to his question, wondering whether you should tell him that Mal is his great-great-great-great-cousin. Or at least you think that’s how they’re related. Brows drawn together as you think, you can feel the General’s eyes on you as you ask him,

“Are you able to request soldiers from the First Army for your operations?” He nods. “Would you be able to request for Mal and Alina to assist in our search for the stag?”

Tilting his head aside, the General runs a hand over the lower half of his face.

“I could issue a request for them. Whether the First Army will agree is another matter.”

“I think they will. While Mal is a good tracker, he’s young, so they won’t see him as being as valuable. Alina is only an Assistant Cartographer, and in her opinion not a very good one. I don’t think the First Army will hold onto them for the sake of being petty.”

His eyes scour over your face as he considers your words. Then he nods, reaching for a blank piece of paper.

“I’ll write a missive for the Kaptain stationed at Kribirsk.”

As he sits down on a chair a few paces away, you remain quiet to allow him the time to consider his words. Though it appears he can multitask rather well, as he speaks to you without looking up.

“Will you be joining me?” He glances up for a moment when you don’t respond, and once he sees the confusion on your face he adds, “To Kribirsk.”

“Me?” He nods. His focus returns to his writing as he informs you,

“It will be a day’s ride on horseback.”

“I don’t know how to ride a horse.” You admit.

“I’ll teach you.”

“Within two days?” He sighs but doesn’t seem exasperated by your concerns.

“We’ll take the coach then. But I want you to begin learning to ride on our return to the Little Palace.”

You nod. Being able to ride a horse would help you in case of an emergency, so you don’t disagree with him. Though you still have plenty to think about.

“Won’t people wonder why I’m with you?”

“I don’t suppose so.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “After all, I need my assistant with me to witness the new sand-skiff.”

“Your assistant?”

“You need a role that explains why you’re always at my side.”

Something warm glows in your chest, at his words, and the thought of being by his side through everything.

There’s a knock at the door, saving you from having to respond, and the General stands and unlocks the door. He opens it slightly, his body shielding you from seeing whoever is at the door.

He steps away revealing a servant carrying a large tray filled with plates and bowls of food. Another servant trails behind with a smaller tray, in which there sits a teapot and some small jugs.

They both place their trays on the table, bow once at the General, then leave. He shuts the door behind them.

It’s only then that you realise how hungry you are. You eye the different foods in front of you. Warm bread, a small bowl of steaming porridge, fruits, cheeses, a few sliced meats. Mouth watering, you glance up at the General and immediately tuck into the food when he gives you an encouraging nod.

“I thought herring and rye bread was the typical Grisha breakfast?” You muse with a small smile.

“It is.” Raising a brow, you gesture to the generous spread of food covering the tray. He shrugs lightly, “I wasn’t entirely sure what you would be used to.”

“Thank you.”

You haven’t eaten in quite some time, and the fact that you’re finally feeling settled in this new universe fuels your appetite. You’re rather content to sit at the war table, with the early morning sun warming your back through the windows, and the sound of the General writing away.

“You aren’t eating anything?” You prompt him tentatively.

He looks up at you, holding your gaze for a long moment before he selects a slice of bread. With a delicate swipe of a knife, he butters it, before he layers on a generous amount of strawberry jam. You smile softly in response and fill your plate with another portion.

He observes your hesitation as you stare down at your glass of orange juice, and he quickly reassures you.

“It isn’t poisoned. I ensured that everything was tested beforehand.”

Cheeks warming as you realise he had been watching you, you shake your head in his direction.

“Oh, thank you. But I actually wasn’t even thinking of that.” His head tilts to one side as he surveys you with a spark of curiosity in his eyes.

“Then what were you thinking of?”

“Where does Ravka get oranges from?”

He laughs softly, surprise and amusement colouring his features. He looks so young for a moment and you look away quickly to avoid another staring incident.

“There’s an orangery just outside Os Alta. It’s where the majority of the capital’s food resources are grown.”

Humming in acknowledgement of his explanation, you nod as you take a sip of the orange juice. It’s sweet and refreshing.

“I’ll go with you. To Kribirsk.” You say, and he nods.

“I shall make the necessary arrangements. We will leave tomorrow instead, since travelling in the coach will take longer. You will need some clothing as well.”

Glancing down, you remember that all you’re currently wearing is your underwear, and the General’s black shirt. An embarrassed flush rushes over your cheeks, as you realise that the servants will have seen you in his war room looking like this.

There’s only one assumption they would make, seeing you wearing his shirt, and him still dressed in his night clothes, as you eat breakfast together. Of course, they don’t know that you’re only with him because he’s protecting you, due to the attempt on your life.

“I assume you have some sort of plan for her.”

A frown creases at your forehead as you look over at him in confusion.

“Who?”

“Miss Starkov.” You nod haltingly.

“In some sense.” He raises a brow at you, and you decide to explain. “Taking her off the sand-skiff means that she won’t discover her power. You and I will be the only people who know that she’s the sun summoner.”

Hesitating, you try to select your words carefully. You want to give him an accurate picture of who Alina is, without making it seem like she both hates and fears Grisha. Struggling to accept that you’re Grisha must be a foreign concept to a man who has lived for centuries knowing exactly who he is.

“She does have some internal prejudice surrounding Grisha, and I’m hoping by having her at the Little Palace before she knows she’s one of you will help her see that you’re all just ordinary people.”

“How will she discover her power?” You sigh a little. This is where your plan loses it’s already rather limited structure.

“I think you should be the one to tell her.” His eyes meet yours, and you hold his gaze as you continue to talk through your reasoning. “Every time she touches you, she will sense her own power. I think, over time, enough casual contact between the two of you will have her questioning what it is in her that calls to you.”

His brows are drawn tightly together, his arms crossed as he considers your words.

“At some point you should mention that you also feel something, and ask her when she was tested. Whatever her answer is, you can offer to test her again and draw out her power.”

“Then she can begin training and start to use her power.” He adds, running a hand over his jawline and down his neck. You’re glad he can see what you’re trying to do.

“I’m hoping that will make her feel more at home at the Little Palace, and realise that she belongs with the other Grisha.”

“What is it that you hope to avoid by doing all this?” He asks.

Of course he would ask you about one of the things you don’t want to tell him. Although you can’t lie to him. Not only would that complicate things, you know he would see right through it, and you’ve only just earned his trust.

You know that you’re alone, but you still glance around the room, lowering your voice as you inform him.

“On the night of the Winter Fete, Baghra tells Alina that you’re the Black Heretic.”

You watch his expression, trying your hardest to read him, but whatever he’s thinking is hidden carefully behind his eyes. He doesn’t seem angry or upset, though you have no way of truly knowing as you continue.

“She paints a rather terrifying image of you controlling Alina and using her to bring the world to your feet. Understandably she’s scared and Baghra urges her to run away.” You pause for a moment. “She does.”

He appears to consider your words carefully, his gaze dropping down to stare hard at the table.

“Then we must ensure that she doesn’t find out.” His words are stiff, perfectly pronounced, and you wonder what he is currently thinking, though you don’t dare ask him.

You nod, a small puff of relief leaving your lips. There’s determination in his eyes, as he raises his chin, and you know that this is something the two of you will tackle together.

The General stands up, eyes searching through papers as he looks over at a particular map. Glancing up at him, you can see his attention isn’t really on the details of the landscape scribbled down in front of him.

There’s a moment of silence, before he turns to face you.

“You know my name.” He states it softly, but there’s confidence in his voice.

You already know so much about him, it isn’t a stretch for him to assume that you know his name. You do. There’s no point in denying it.

“I do.”

“Why haven’t you addressed me by it yet?”

Looking down at your empty plate, you pinch the edge of the porcelain between your fingertips, and begin to lightly spin the plate.

His name might have been the first thing you should have told him. When he had asked for you to say something only he would know as a means to prove that you weren’t a spy or a crazy person. But that hadn’t felt right.

“You haven’t given it to me.” You reason. “I know what your name means to you. I didn’t want to assume that you would want me to say it.”

“Will you?” You frown at him, and he steps closer. “Will you say it?”

His words from your nightmare echo through your thoughts. Say my name. Once more. Aleksander. Please don’t leave me. Swallowing hard, you push those thoughts aside violently. He can never know his fate. If you’re smart enough, that won’t happen, and he will never need to know.

From your position sitting down at the war table you need to tilt your head back to look at him. But you need to look at him. You need to see his face as you say in a near whisper,

“Aleksander.”

Lips parted, his lashes brush against his cheekbones as they flutter, and you can hear his delicate inhale of breath.

As far as you know, you’re the first person to have known his name for centuries. The corner of his mouth lifts into a now familiar half smile, and that warm sunny feeling in your chest returns.

»»---------------------►

The next morning, Aleksander waits for you by the side of the black coach currently parked at the entrance to the Little Palace. You’re fiddling with the sleeves of your perfectly pressed shirt as you make your way down the steps towards him.

The outfit he had laid out on his bed for you fits remarkably well considering it had been created on such a short notice. It’s not dissimilar to the First Army uniform. A white shirt with black trousers, breeches over each of your shoulders, and black boots.

There was no jacket laid out for you, and a shiver runs through your body as a cool breeze meets your skin. When you stop in front of Aleksander you see a jacket draped over his arm, which you assume is for you.

“Good morning.” He greets you with a nod, which you return with your own quiet,

“Good morning.”

He confirms your suspicions when he opens up the jacket, gesturing for you to turn around and allow him to place it over your shoulders. Sliding your arms into the garment, you’re startled by how much warmth it provides.

“I’ve had it lined with corecloth.” He says in a low tone, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he speaks.

The style is similar to the First Army uniform, though the hem hangs a little lower, almost like a kefta. Instead of green, your jacket is a deep blue, and in some lighting you’re certain it would look black.

Once you’ve turned around to face him he adjusts the front of your jacket as he continues to speak.

“It may be unnecessary, but I feel better knowing you’re protected.”

He may only be doing it because he needs you to remain alive, but you do feel comforted by the thought of your clothing being reinforced by fabrikators. At least getting shot wouldn’t be fatal, though you were hoping to avoid such an incident.

“Thank you, Aleksander.”

Your voice is a quiet murmur, but with how close you’re standing to him he undoubtably hears it. There isn’t anyone around, so there’s no concern for someone hearing you. You had agreed to call him by his name in private, and from the tiny twitch at the corner of his lips, you know he heard you.

He straightens suddenly, pulling in a breath and drawing his shoulders back as he looks behind you. Stepping away from him, you turn around and catch sight of two heartrenders walking down the steps.

“Ivan and Fedoyr will be travelling in the coach with us.” Aleksander explains in a quiet murmur as they cross the gravel towards you. “Once we reach Balakirev, the coach will change horses and they will ride on horseback for the rest of the journey.”

You nod in response.

Ivan’s expression is neutral, you had only seen him briefly before, but you have a feeling his face is typically quite unchanging. The last time you had been in his company was after you were attacked. Whilst you hadn’t met Fedoyr yet, you had trusted him enough to guard your door while you slept on that first night.

If there’s two people you would want close by, it would be these two heartrenders.

They both bow in the direction of Aleksander, and you wonder briefly if you should begin bowing when you greet him.

“Moi soverenyi.”

Aleksander nods at them nod, before he introduces you. Ivan merely glances at you, but Fedoyr’s smile is wide as he speaks to you.

“My name is Fedoyr. This is Ivan.”

A nervous smile tugs at your lips as you glance between the two of them, and you decide to settle your smile on Fedoyr.

“Pleasure to meet you both.”

The door to the coach creaks as Aleksander opens it, and he turns to you with an outstretched hand.

“Shall we?”

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo

In Another Life Tag List: @parabatai-winchester @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @jambolska-grozdova

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift

#in another life au #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling #the darkling x reader #the darkling au #general kirigan x reader #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone #in another life chapters

575 notes · View notes