Series Summary; Silco tells a new story to a curious Jinx.
Pairing; Young!Silco x Fem!Reader
Summary; Young, dumb, and mostly feral is how some would describe the new underground rebellion group within the shadows of the undercity. You were indifferent to the revolt— in favor of worrying about your own survival, but you morals have seen to shift when you rescue someone in fending off an Enforcer. Morals in support of the birth of Zaun.
Warnings; Angst, hurt/comfort, Zaunites, Piltians, revolution, violence, blood, gore, smoking, swearing, sex, brothels, drugs, slow burn, strangers to lovers, Old Silco being weirdly sentimental, Jinx being noisy, and major character death.
who could stay? (you could stay.) (eddie munson x reader)
summary: you're convinced that being loved comes with a cost. he finds a way to prove you wrong. (wc: 9.7k+)
order up! i've got one ash's special for anonymous. ♡
Keep going, keep going, keep going.
Agree to run that errand for someone. Offer a shoulder to cry on for that person. Fix that problem for this friend. Keep going, keep offering, keep becoming indispensable.
You couldn’t pinpoint the exact age you’d figured out the formula. You can never know for sure if the day was sunny or if it were rainy, if it were a calm December morning or a buzzing July night, but those details aren’t very important. The only important detail is that you had finally cracked the code at some point – you had finally figured out the solution to feeling unlovable. And that was that, truthfully, there wasn’t a solution. Once you were destined to feel this way, to feel so sour at your core, there is no easy way to rid yourself of that rotten pit. It would always be there – always churning, always burning, always yearning. Yearning to be loved, yearning to feel those waves of warmth cascading over your brain and down your spine, the ones others had always described to you but you’d just never… experienced. Never became familiar with.
It felt like everyone was playing an over-elaborate prank on you. They’d all conspired against you, invented a false feeling in which someone claims to feel loved, only to sit back and watch as you fumbled to find it. They’d laughed as you dug through a graveyard of relationships, caked your fingernails with dirt as you sobbed and would continue to claw deeper, trying to find just one set of bones that might hold that warmth for you.
The only solution to that detrimental feeling of being unlovable, was to feel needed.
You needed to feel so necessary, so essential, to everyone around you at all times. It never mattered how much of you it took. You’d give away every piece of yourself a million times over just to feel wanted at some capacity, even if that capacity were one you’d forced upon the other person. You didn’t care if you’d built the glass cages of theirs – you just cared that they kept you around to wipe away any smudges that appeared.
Being wanted wasn’t quite the same as being loved. And if you thought about that for too long or too often, you might just break irrevocably.
“I just don’t understand him,” Nancy sighs from the head of your bed, reclining against a wall of pillows you’d lined your headboard with. Two of which were body pillows. Long tubes of fluff to try and fill lonely spaces, you suppose, “Why didn’t he just tell me he didn’t want to go to the same college? Why… Why do I feel like I am forcing him to be with me?”
Because you are. Just like I force you all to need me.
“I don’t know, Nance.”
That bland, bitter, half-thought out answer lingers on your tongue, almost burns your throat with the whisper of say more, say something useful, say something comforting. It’s the whisper of those four words not being enough. It’s the whisper of that threat that those four words could be the beginning of the end, the thing that makes Nancy realize she doesn’t need you.
After all, what use is a friend that can’t give good advice, or be supportive during relationship rants?
You open your mouth to add on something sweeter, something to coat the conversation like honey and smooth out the lines forming on Nancy’s forehead, but she beats you to it, “I’m sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
Yes. “It’s fine,” at least that wasn’t a lie – you’d dug this specific grave, had rooted down tooth and nail only to find another empty coffin of a friendship curtained with want instead of love. You’d all but asked for this, “What he did really was shitty. It’s not fair to you.”
The words are almost robotic, telling Nancy Wheeler what she wants to hear rather than what she needs to hear. You don’t always do that, you do make a point of investing in the truth from time to time to truly secure your position as someone who is genuinely needed in her life, but the headache nagging at your temples tells you it’s not worth the fight tonight. You’re tired, you’re agitated, and you really just want to get Nancy to the point of contentment in her rambling so that you can send her on her way.
God, you’re an awful friend.
It turns you quiet, a ricocheting thought that bruises your inner skull the rest of the time Nancy sits on your bed. The guilt eats you alive for that moment of irritation the rest of the night. Even after Nancy goes home, even after you’ve brushed your teeth and you’ve tucked yourself into bed. The guilt gnaws on the edges of that emptiness inside of you, that ever-present black hole that already existed, and says this is why you cannot be loved.
Maybe the pity party for feeling like a bad friend is what makes you a bad friend.
And maybe if you were a better friend, you would be loved instead of wanted for once.
It’s all part of a cycle, never-ending and treacherous. It’s always been this way. You make promises to your friends and rip yourself to shreds before remolding yourself into whatever they need; giving rides to the younger kids within your circle to the pool all summer which evolved into taking turns with Steve as to who would pick them all up after their D&D club ran late every Friday night, always lending a listening ear to Nancy once Johnathan moved away and she’d had to witness her relationship and her love vanishing in real time, always being the one person who will listen to Robin ramble for hours about her sudden interests. None of it was born of ill-intent, but when you’d go home lonesome at the end of the night, you could see it all for what it was.
You were trying to fill a void. A hollow rot, a black hole. And it was only working half the time.
Half the time, until he came along.
And make no mistake, his arrival was as bloody as anyone who had previously entered your life. For a while there, you believed his headstone was at the end of the line already, sanctioned away in this graveyard of the ability to be loved. He came crashing into your life on a random Friday night, and you had sworn you could already see the end as it began, but you had been wrong.
“So, you’re the infamous babysitter.”
His voice caught you off guard. You’d been sitting in your car with your windows down, enjoying the reprieve of a cooling autumn evening as you waited for the boys to finish up with their D&D club. With your head buried in the latest sci-fi novel that Dustin had recommended and would no doubt be grilling you on once he got in the car, you hadn’t even heard the club exit the school.
“Nope,” you fought a smile as you glanced up from the pages to see an older guy standing there, closer to yours and Steve’s age than the kids. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that this was the famous Eddie all the boys would ramble on about for hours on end, “Harrington’s the babysitter. I’m just the taxi driver.”
There was something particularly pretty in the way he threw his head back with laughter at your words. Curls that messily fell just beyond his shoulders, full lips disappearing as his teeth peeked through and shined beneath the parking lot’s lamp posts. His denim vest looked purposefully distressed with a mirage of patches and pins, and he was wearing a leather jacket beneath it, even if it wasn’t quite cold enough for it yet outside. He was cute – and watching him laugh because of you sparked something irreversible inside of you.
“C’mon now,” he sighed as his cackles quieted, “Give yourself more credit than that. At least call yourself something fancy, like ‘chauffeur’.”
“Ah, but ‘taxi driver’ insinuates that I charge them,” you don’t miss a beat, and your quick wit has him chuckling again.
You caught sight of his eyes, corners creased with joy – brown. They were deep, russet, tantalizing brown. Almost indiscernible from his pupil in the dark.
“I’m Eddie, by the way.”
You took his hand that he shoved through your open window with ease, and felt an immediate shiver run down your spine. Not quite from the cold, but not quite warm. You saw the first flash of his grave, and you knew you’d be digging your greedy hands into it soon enough.
As you gave him your name in return, you knew you wouldn’t be leaving well enough alone.
You had been half right that night. You wouldn’t be leaving well enough alone, you would be seeking out the impossible from Eddie – but so would he.
It quickly became apparent that Eddie was a pest. Someone who weaseled his way into the lives of others, who made his presence felt and never forgotten.
You’d started with the same slow dance as you did with every new person, a hesitant dipping of your toes into their waters, unsure if your presence in their life would only cause more trouble than you’re worth, when you quickly discovered that nothing could ever be hesitant or slow with Eddie Munson. He’s the one constantly reaching out to you. Driving the kids home now takes double the time it used to, long conversations being had with him that has the kids dragging you away, practically begging to just be taken home. The day he’d asked for your number, you couldn’t tell which one of you burned brighter red. And the moment he had your number in his clutches? Forget about it. You never heard the end of Eddie Munson, and you never really wanted to.
Unlike your friends you already had and loved deeply, Eddie was observant.
It’s within the first month of knowing you that he had picked up on your insecurities. Maybe he hadn’t directly seen that gaping hole in your chest yet, but he noticed your habit of running yourself dry to see others thrive.
The need to be needed. He picked up on it quickly.
“What about Sunday?” Eddie’s voice traveled over the line as you laid on your stomach, stretched out across your bed for a few moments of rest before you had to get up and take the cookies you’d baked for Steve and Robin into Family Video, just like you had promised, “I’m free then if I finish all my fuckin’ homework on Saturday night.”
Surprisingly, that phone call with Eddie hadn’t been something expected or planned. It had been impulsive; in a rare moment of peace, you found yourself craving to hear his voice. Somehow, the two of you had ended up trying to figure out a free day to properly hang out. Eddie wanted to go to Benny’s for milkshakes, and you wouldn’t turn down the free fries he also promised.
“I can’t,” you paused just to hear his predictably dramatic sigh, grinning as you continued to explain, “I’m taking Max to the skatepark that day.”
“And it’s going to take all day?”
“It could!”
“There’s absolutely no way.”
“You clearly haven’t seen that girl skate.”
The conversation continued, light-hearted enough with plentiful jokes made. Something about talking with Eddie made your heart lighter, the usual unbearable and contradictory weight of emptiness no longer on your mind as you listened to him ramble about something that had happened in one of his classes – a teacher tried to embarrass him when he caught Eddie doodling for a D&D campaign by asking him a question, not expecting him to know the answer. Eddie had, of course, leaving the teacher baffled with a smirk.
It’s all about my charm, sweetheart, he responded when you asked how he hadn’t earned a detention from that.
Only towards the end of the call, when the conversation finally lulled and the two of you found yourselves settled into a comfortable silence, did Eddie finally circle back to the beginning of your conversation.
“You know,” he started, “When I first met you, I never took you to be someone so…”
“Amazing? Wonderful? Funny?” you jokingly attempted to finish his sentence.
“Busy.”
Oh. You hadn’t expected that one.
“Busy?” you repeated back to him, “I’m not that busy.”
Your mind immediately started racing with thoughts of what he had meant. Was he feeling neglected? Maybe you should have canceled on Max on Sunday, agreed to Benny’s with him instead. No, you couldn’t bear Max’s disappointment. Maybe you could tell Max you had a time constraint, even though you knew she hated those when it came to her skating days. Was there any other plans you could abandon? Anyone else you could bear to let down for the sake of not leaving Eddie high and dry? No, no – all your other weekend plans involved going to the movies with Robin, helping Steve look into colleges finally, taking the boys to the Starcourt mall to shop for supplies to make figurines for their newest campaign. The room was suddenly getting smaller, your chest constricting, your head spinning. You couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing any of those people, no, but what about Eddie? Maybe he was right in feeling neglected, maybe you deserved whatever guilt was to come from whatever his next words would be. He was your friend, you were supposed to make time for h-
“Sweetheart,” he scoffed over the line, and you swore you heart stopped right then and there, “You’re the highest thing in demand since Cabbage Patch Kids last Christmas – and trust me, I should know how in demand those fuckers were. I worked seasonally at the mall, remember?”
Your breath caught. He was feeling neglected. You weakly began your apology as tears were already filling your eyes, that panic turning over itself in your gut, “I’m-”
“And it’s not a bad thing, don’t get me wrong,” It’s clear your voice had been too soft, too weak, for him to hear you, “Just means I’ve gotta fight harder to be worth your time, am I right?”
You had to clear your throat, but it did nothing to subsidize that anxiety that rattled your bones. It’s blatantly evident as your voice shook with a second attempt at an apology, “I’m sorry, Eddie. I didn’t mean- I can… I’ll… Just tell me when for Benny’s. I can make it work, I swear-”
“Woah, woah, woah.”
He had to have heard the tears that had escaped down your cheeks. The shake of your breath as you’d stuttered over your words, grasping for a solution.
“You don’t need to apologize for that,” his voice was soothing and soft, the most gentle it had been the entire night. You pinched your eyes shut and just tried to imagine those stupid, big doe eyes, those ungodly messy curls (you’d started to tease him about if he ever even brushed or combed them). The panic remained, but Eddie’s voice started to give it a run for its money, “I was just playing around. You know that, right?” he paused to give you room to answer, but your throat was still tightly squeezed by overwhelming emotion, overwhelming fear of having scorned Eddie, “You could only have enough time in your schedule to see me once a year, and I’d still be your friend. We could only have these random phone calls, even if they were never longer than a minute, and you’d still be worth it. You know that, right?” Another pause, another wave of silence from your end, “Sweetheart, you don’t owe me your time. And I don’t need monopoly over it for us to be okay.”
Each word made the panic settle. You weren’t sure how he did it. You weren’t sure how mortified you should be that he had only been in your life for a month at most, and had just overheard you at your most vulnerable.
All you were sure of was that you believed him.
“Okay,” you croaked, finally feeling that ring of fear loosen, vocal chords finally functioning once more.
“Okay,” Eddie repeated back in that same gentle, soothing, soft tone.
You weren’t disappointing him. You weren’t making him feel neglected. He still found use for you, he still wanted you around – he still needed your friendship. That had to be enough.
It was quiet over the line for a few moments.
It has to be enough, you reminded yourself.
“Say,” you finally said, voice back to normal strength and the tears having dried themselves up for the most part. Your heart had almost returned to normal rhythm, “How does Benny’s sound tonight?”
“Tonight?” he chimed back, sounding as excited as a little kid the morning of a cherished holiday, something like Christmas.
A shiver ran down your spine. It’s not from the cold, and you tell yourself it’s not quite warmth – it can’t be warmth.
“Tonight,” you confirmed, “With a detour by Family Video, if you don’t mind. I’ve got a special delivery of cookies to fulfill.”
“What kind?”
“Excuse me?”
You were grinning - God, you were a pathetic fool, grinning and clutching onto that phone like a lifeline. Like if you let go of it, you’d lose his voice, and if you lost his voice, that would be the end of the world.
“What kind of cookies?”
“Chocolate chip.”
He hummed, not answering right away as if he were deliberating this information. When he finally spoke again, another shiver wrapped around your spine, spinning down, down down. Waves of what you almost believed were warmth. “Okay. I suppose I can be your taxi driver, for a price.”
“What’s your price?”
“One cookie.”
“Deal.”
It had to be enough, because you were still clutching that telephone tightly to your cheek, long after the phone call ended with Eddie’s promise of being at your house soon enough. It had to be enough, because after that night, it became clear; the world would not end with the loss of just Eddie’s voice from your life, but the loss of Eddie, period. It was the first night of many in which you played a very, very dangerous game.
Even with Nancy gone, you felt restless. You couldn’t help but linger just a little longer in all that self-pity, still replaying the night and all you could have done differently.
Had she caught on with how out of it you had been? Had she seen through your act and immediately assumed the worst – assumed you weren’t worth keeping around?
The thoughts might be an overreaction.
You were definitely overreacting.
You didn’t really care that you were overreacting, though, because you really couldn’t control it. It was just another dark path you couldn’t stop your mind from traveling down. It was endless, and it was lonesome, and… and it was just normal. What should be devolving into a panic attack can only settle like an emptiness deep within your chest; you’ve been staring at the blank wall of your living room for so long without blinking, your eyes have gone dry.
A pattern. That’s what the therapist said. You had a pattern for overthinking these interactions, for projecting feelings onto others that didn’t exist. You think all your friends hate you, you think that a stranger found your smile to be more of a grimace, you think your mom hasn’t called in months because she recognizes you as a failure finally. But none of it is actually what those people think. It’s like a mirror – you look into the eyes of others, and you see all your own insecurities reflected back.
She’d asked you to work on it. To take a step back and just breathe, just remind yourself of that, whenever this happens. You’d decide whether you’d mention this minor slip up later. For now, you were going to wallow. You were going to spiral with just you, this damn blank wall, and maybe even the bottle of wine in the fridge.
Yes, your mind was made up, and you force yourself to stand from the couch and wander into the kitchen, eyes still dry and chest still caving in on itself as you open the fridge.
That’s as far as you get. Your fridge is wide open, the bright luminescent light flooding your kitchen floor in time with the trickling chill that sneaks up on your warm cheeks and already numb toes, when you spot it.
A box of takeout. It’s old enough now you could throw it out, you had known the moment he’d taken the last of his meal to-go that he wouldn’t finish it. Teased him about it, even. But he was stubborn and you weren’t capable of turning down the opportunity to let another piece of him, another flash of evidence of his place in your life, occupy this apartment. So there it sat, a half-eaten burger he hadn’t revisited.
But he had revisited the apartment – revisited you. He’d been here every night this week, and you’d practically had to shove him out on the street to get him to leave this morning to get to work on time.
The edges of that emptiness that weighs down your insides blur, already lightening microscopically as you slam shut the fridge and forgo the wine completely to grab the phone instead.
“You don’t have to always take care of everyone, you know,” he murmured as he joined you in the kitchen to retrieve popcorn for the gang, everyone gathered in the living room for a movie night.
“Pardon?” you asked, hardly glancing over your shoulder as you punched in the designated time for the microwave to turn the kernels into an easy, mouth-watering snack of butter and crunch.
“You always take care of everyone. You don’t have to.”
His words rang clearer that time, loud enough to have stopped you in your tracks. You paused mid-reach, the cabinet for the Harrington’s bowls wide open and shelves nearly too tall for you.
“I-” you weren’t sure exactly what to say, “What do you mean?”
His brows scrunched, eyes having narrowed in the slightest in your direction, “Please don’t play dumb right now.”
“I’m not playing dumb. I’m trying to get popcorn for our movie night,” you waved your hand towards the shelves lined with bowls for emphasis on your point, “That’s not really taking care of everyone – it was just being polite. Steve’s hosting, it’s the least I can do.”
“The least you can do? The least you can do is actually just sit with friends, enjoy the movie,” the crease between his brow deepened, eyeing you with an unfamiliar concern. You shifted beneath the weight of his gaze.
You don’t know what to say. Except, “It’s not that serious.”
He scoffed, and you nearly flinched from it. Fear threatened to bubble up – he’s upset, he’s getting irritated at you. He’s getting tired of you.
You waited for him to say something more as the buzz of the microwave filled the tense space, but he remained silent. Brooding.
“What?” your voice shook, your entire being torn between succumbing to all that fear and anxiety in upsetting him further and that voice in the back of your mind that urged you to push him, to hear what he really thought. “I know you have something more to say.”
“In the six months I’ve known you, you haven’t taken a single break for yourself.”
He met your push, stood his ground and didn’t let it put any distance between you two. It felt like a goddamn revelation, right there in the Harrington kitchen.
“I take plenty of breaks, Eddie,” you tried to laugh off, “I do spend time away from you all, hard as that may be to belie-”
“Hardly,” he cut you off as sharply as the first resonating pop that echoed from the microwave.
“What’s your point? I just like being around you guys. Like I said, it’s not that serious.”
This was the part where the distance would happen. You kept pushing, took the inch he’d given you to bite back and ran with it. Normally, you avoided conflict with any of your friends vehemently. Always afraid, always assuming the relationships to be so fragile and so delicate. You would take such care in never giving them a reason to hate you that you’d never taken to a battleground before.
But there had been a look in Eddie’s eyes that night. A shine that, breaking through all the worry for you, whispered, fight with me. Stand your ground with me. I’ll still call you tomorrow, no matter what words we exchange tonight.
A safety net had formed that you’d never even noticed. That delicacy wasn’t needed here. You could pick up the sword, there in that kitchen, and it wouldn’t turn Eddie to smoke and shadows.
“My point is…” he paused, he swallowed hard, he exhibited the delicacy that was usually expected from you, “You can like being around us. But you should put yourself first. At least once. At least on movie night.”
“How is me making popcorn not putting myself first?” you got the question out, you took a deep breath, ready to go on some sort of defensive tirade for your habit you were well aware of.
He beat you to it, “Every day last week, you only got three hours of sleep, at most, before your shifts. You gave up sleep to hang out with us all way too late, refused to throw in the towel and go home before anyone else.”
“I could have napped-”
“You didn’t nap,” he stressed, taking a step closer to you. The popping of the snack turning in the microwave was erratic, mere seconds left on the timer. Static noise to the conversation at hand, “I know you didn’t fucking nap after your shifts because you were immediately running errands for everyone else, or hanging out again. You offered to give Robin a ride to work every single day, and her shifts start… what, an hour after yours ended? And then you had to give her rides home, right? But in those hours she was at work, you were helping Dustin with an essay for school – that little fucker told me all about it. You were awake when Johnathan called you and we were all stoned off our asses, went and got us food we didn’t need but still wanted. We didn’t even expect you to pick up, you know? I told them, I swore to them, you wouldn’t pick up. You had a morning shift. You were scheduled literal hours from when we called you. But you picked up. You fucking picked up, and you went and got the fucking food for us fucking idiots.”
Your brain completely malfunctioned. You couldn’t comprehend how he was saying all of these things that should be good things, things that proved you were needed and you were reliable, but with such venom in his tone.
Anger had sparked within you as you pictured how giddy Dustin had been over the B he’d earned on his essay, that sincere appreciation on Robin’s face every time she left your car last week, the dopey grin that Argyle had worn when you’d arrived with their food order in your pajamas. All previously things to fuel you, filling that aching hole inside of you, now being tarnished because he was concerned.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you seethed at him, “Would you prefer I hadn’t been awake? Would you prefer I let Dustin just… get a fucking F on that essay? Or Robin walks to work?”
“Yes!”
You were both shocked at the sudden volume in your voices. The quickness in his reply. The quiver in your lip.
“Yes,” he breathed out, quieter this time, “I would prefer those things if it meant you were taking care of yourself. The word ‘no’ should be in your vocabulary, sweetheart. I… The world doesn’t end just because you don’t constantly make yourself available.”
But you all needing me might.
“Just… just…” your breaths came out in huffs, eyes downcast and unwilling to meet Eddie’s stare. A final push, and it came out more fragile than you’d ever intended, “Just mind your business, Eddie.”
He opened his mouth to say more, but the microwave started to go off, signaling what you saw as the end of the conversation – the fight. You’d raised your voice at him, you’d swung that sword in his direction, and he hadn’t vanished. His friendship – he – wasn’t as breakable as you’d thought.
You spun on your heel, you took the popcorn out and divided it into bowls for the group, busying your hands in any way possible. All the while, he never left the kitchen. He stood just feet away from you and let you do what needed to be done, and only stopped you as you turned to exit the kitchen with the snacks acquired.
His hand caught onto your elbow, “You have bags.”
“Excuse me?”
“You have bags under your eyes,” he elaborated. He no longer looked frustrated, but defeated, a morose distress pinching the edges of his feature.
“Jesus,” you were now scoffing, adjusting your grip on those bowls, “You really know how to compliment a girl, don’t you?”
“They’ve been there for months,” his grip refused to loosen, thumb trailing over the crease in your arm, “Please don’t run yourself into the ground.”
You gave him a cold shoulder as you left him behind to rejoin your friends, unable to shake his consternation. It was so genuine, it terrified you. It made your insides churn, it turned your anxious attachment to dust.
It made a shiver of warmth travel down your spine.
The empty space beside you on the couch only remained for seconds after you’d passed around the bowls, keeping one for yourself. He was back there, back at your side, as if the two of you hadn’t just exited a battle ground. As if a stand-off hadn’t just occurred, as if it all hadn’t ended in a draw.
He looked at you with those eyes.
Fight with me. Stand your ground with me. Don’t walk away from me. I will still call tomorrow.
He did more than call that night. As the movie started, he didn’t so much as flinch when your head fell to his shoulder in exhaustion. He only tucked an arm around your shoulders, only shifted you to be more comfortable as you used him as a personal pillow. He glared at everyone in warning not to grill you on the plot of the movie when you’d awoke mildly disappointed, he’d let you sleep on the drive home. He never once brought the fight back up.
And he still called the next day.
After your shift, he was the first voice you heard after dragging your feet into your apartment. A brief apology was exchanged before it was back to business as usual between you two. And somewhere between his rambles, you fell asleep with your phone balanced half-haphazardly between your cheek and shoulder. You could only dream of the grin he wore when he’d hear your soft snores over the line, quieting down immediately to let you rest. He never hung up – he was content to sit on a hushed line if only for the assuredness that you were finally resting.
The warmth no longer traveled down your spine, instead curling up timidly near that hole inside of you. You let it.
“Munson residence!”
That warmth that had found home in your chest still remains to this day, rousing at Eddie’s voice over the line. It’s nearly enough to make you cry – the relief that floods you just by the sound of him and his endless chipper. His optimism that always seems to exist, even in contrast with those harsh edges he tries to portray.
“Eddie,” you whisper, as if you’re not the only one in your apartment, “Can you… Are you free?”
Even after a year, you still sometimes felt guilt, asking so much of him. Asking so much, and giving so little in return.
But you weren’t the one who set that standard. Eddie had. Ferociously, fiercely, stubbornly. The insistence that you simply being was enough for him.
“For you, sweetness?” he chuckles lowly. He recognizes your voice immediately; you never have to say it’s you calling. You could have shrugged it off as Caller ID, but you knew the Munson’s phone didn’t have that. No, he recognized you by voice only. He’d once joked that only you would one day be able to rouse him from the dead, based on the ‘sweet melody alone’. Recognition in death – you had managed to burrow your way so deeply into his life, you’d earned recognition in death. “Always. What’s up?”
You could have just kept him on the phone. Had one of your infamous conversations about everything and nothing. Sat on the cold tiles of your kitchen and smiled like a child as you listened to him rant. But the cold chill of your lonesome apartment was becoming suffocating, and you remembered that take out in the fridge and the way one of his socks had ended up in your laundry last week. You remembered how you started keeping his favorite brand of beer in your fridge and how one of your pillows started to permanently smell like his aftershave.
He had a toothbrush in your bathroom. He had a key to your apartment. He had a space, here, in this lonesome apartment. And all you had to do was beckon to him, and he would come to fill it. Always.
“Can you come over?”
You don’t even have to explain yourself. He complies readily, whispers out a soft yes in the voice you’d also recognize even in death, and promises to be there within ten minutes.
He makes it within eight.
And you’re still leaning on your kitchen counter, your head still swimming dangerously with all the different ways you’d let down Nancy. Once upon a time, you might have worried about inviting him over, worried that your anxieties and your short-comings might bleed into your relationship with him. In the beginning, it had been simple enough. You kept him at an arm’s length away the moment you realized you couldn’t make yourself needed to him, not out of selfishness but out of fear. Fear, because if he didn’t need you, why would he stick around?
Because without need, if you did the wrong thing, there was no necessary thread tying them to you. Because without need, there was no chance for the day that you might find love in your grave robbings, and you couldn’t handle the thought of someone like Eddie Munson deciding you weren’t worth his time.
It hadn’t occurred to you for a very long time that maybe, possibly, you’d been going around the concept of love with a very wrong mindset.
Your safe place. That’s what the back of the van had become over these sticky summer nights – your safest refuge.
It was always the same scene; Eddie on his back beside you, lazily nursing a joint, while you sat up reading passages of the latest book you two had embarked on together. Sometimes it was poetry, sometimes it was fantasy, and sometimes, it was just a reread. That night, it was a reread. The Hobbit.
“‘I don’t see that this will help us much,’ said Thorin disappointedly after a glance. ‘I remember the mountain well-’” you recited off of the page, when Eddie suddenly sat up abruptly and snatched the book from you.
“No, no, no!” he wagged his finger at you after he discarded his joint into the ashtray you’d made him start keeping in the fan, “Sweetheart, you’re doing the voices all wrong.”
You rolled your eyes at him, reaching to take the book back, “Not all of us have a Dungeon Master voice to whip out, Munson. Give it back.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Do I need to say please? I’ll say please.”
It was best like this. Just the two of you, away from everyone else. Some nights, the two of you hadn’t even needed a book to bond over. You’d just gaze at stars, or indulge in whatever weed he’d brought along with him. He never pressured you, though – if you shook your head at his offer of the joint, that was that. He seemed to apply that to most aspects of your friendship this last year.
You never had to prove anything to him. He saw your worth as if it were glaringly obvious, as if it were as simple of a concept as breathing. No extra effort needed from your end.
Just by being, you had managed to become something important to him. He needed you, if only because you were you.
“The puppy dog eyes aren’t gonna work on me,” he snorted, shifting so that his shoulder pressed against your own. A warmth spreads from the point of contact. “Let the master show you how it’s done.”
You tried to not let it show, but your grin was radiant. He was the master at those ridiculous voices, at theatrics and at bringing the story to life. You were transported from the shore of Lover’s Lake, in the back of that stuffy yet comforting van, to meadows of soft grass and hobbit holes of comfort. To a place where all the threats were mythical and all the expectations of you were released.
You’d spent the week helping Steve finish up his college plans. His parents had tried to pressure him into picking his top three universities, but the moment he had confided in you that he might prefer a community college to begin, you’d held his hand as you guided him through the process. A rewarding process, have no doubt, but it had left you numb and reeling. Sharing someone else’s stress, shouldering their burdens – it had been a bit much.
You needed this. You needed Eddie’s ridiculous voices and the sharp press of his shoulder against your temple.
“Falling asleep on me already?” he teased when he’d noticed how quiet you had gone.
“Never,” you lied through a yawn that quickly exposed you.
“Liar,” he huffed. You didn’t even need to glance up to confirm the smile you knew he wore. “We can head back home, if you need. I know it’s getting late-”
“No,” you quickly sat up, effectively making yourself dizzy, “No, I- It’s fine. I’m awake. I swear.”
“It’s okay that you were falling asleep,” he was quick to reach out, to tug you back down to his side, wrapping his arm around you to press you even closer than before, “I just don’t want to keep Cinderella out past Midnight.”
“It’s barely ten.”
“Nothing gets past you, Sherlock,” he scowled as you pressed your grin against his t-shirt clad shoulder, “I’m serious, though. Do I need to take you home?”
“No, Eddie. I’m good.”
“Swear it? Swear you don’t have an early shift, or some… some obligation?”
“No shifts, no obligations.”
“And if I just kidnap you for the weekend? Am I going to have an angry mob at my doorstep, demanding your service?”
You smiled wider at the thought. The idea of him hiding you away, letting you live in this reprieve for the entire weekend. It was a nice thought, “I certainly wouldn’t complain.”
And so the two of you sat there like that for an hour more. Eddie coming up with ridiculous tones for the various characters, you slipping in and out of consciousness as his warmth stayed wrapped around him. You don’t even notice when the warmth he’d planted in you finally covers up that hole inside of you, not even missing the absence of that emptiness until Eddie went quiet.
In the silence, you noticed it.
The gash you’d grown accustomed to, the hole that had become an extra limb for you. Vanished. Gone. Disappeared without a trace.
It was a sudden and terrifying realization. Everything in you urged you to jump up, to scramble around you to find the darkness again, like a comfort blanket you couldn’t stand to lose. You went against the instinct, though, and rose slowly from Eddie’s hold.
In lieu of scrambling, you peered at Eddie curiously. “Hey, Eds. Can I ask you something?”
He nodded sleepily, almost as drowsy as you. You’re shocked when he shifts and instead of pulling you back to him, he opted to lay his head in your lap.
That hole was still gone. The weight of his head on your thighs, the feeling of his breath on your bare thigh. For a moment, you can’t breathe.
You’re warm. Not uncomfortably so, but encapsulated with an internal warmth. Like a fever spreading, the ice in your spine that you had lived with for years had begun to thaw.
“Why do you keep me around?” you whispered, still sitting stiffly, staring in awe down at the way he just nuzzled his face into your lap.
With his eyes still closed, face smooth from any worry from the question, he mumbled, “What do you mean?”
You only hesitated due to the thought crossing your mind; what if you bringing this up reminds him?
You thought back to the night in Harrington’s kitchen. The push and the pull, the bloody battle and the way he still called.
He was not as delicate as you took him for.
“I- What do you get out of this?” you couldn’t figure out how to phrase it correctly. You knew what you got out of this, but what does he get?
“Get out of what?”
“Get out of keeping me around.”
His eyes finally opened, twisting in your lap so that he could stare up at you. “You say that as if you’re forcing me to be your friend.”
I could be, that nagging voice in your mind whispered. You could very well be forcing him, and just be blinded because you were enjoying the summer of warmth that he carried with him too much to let him go.
“You never let me do anything for you,” you sighed, fingers finding themselves tangled in his roots against better judgment. But you needed to touch him, to ground yourself, as you admitted this hard truth, “You do shit for me all the time. You drive all the way out to this lake just because I complain about everything being too much. You’ve started playing chauffeur for the kids to give me a break. Harrington said you even offered to look at college brochures with him. And…. And I’m not stupid, Eds,” your voice shook as you looked down at him, a sudden feeling of undeserving striking you in your chest, “You do so much for me lately. And you don’t ask for anything in return – you don’t let me do anything in return. Why?”
His smile twisted with a hint of sadness, and brown eyes met your gaze without so much as flinching, “Sweetheart, why do you think you have to repay me for that stuff?”
“I-”
“No, hear me out,” he reached up, taking your hand out of his hair and lacing his fingers with yours, slowly dragging it down to rest on his sternum, “I chose to do that stuff. And, yeah, maybe I was trying to take some of that shit off your plate. But you didn’t ask me to. I chose to. I wanted to do those things, do nice things for you, because you won’t let anyone else.”
You bit back a scoff, “I let people do nice things for me-”
“You really don’t,” his hold on your hand tightened, “You really, really don’t. You constantly…. You just, you take care of everyone else, but you act afraid to let someone take care of you. People are allowed to take care of you, too, y’know? You should let them. They love you – they want to take care of you, just like you take care of them.”
They love you.
The air drained from your lungs in a slow, silent sigh. You waited a few minutes, but the oxygen never replenished as you tried to grasp his words.
They love you.
Why would they love me?
“Why wouldn’t they love you, sweetheart?” Eddie looked more concerned now, suddenly prepared to sit up and remove his head for your lap. But his hand still held yours tightly, still clung to you, “You know they love you, right? God, you gotta know that. We all love you.”
You hadn’t realized you’d spoken the bitter thought out loud until he looked at you, utterly heartbroken, in complete disbelief. “I…”
No. I don’t know that. What have I done to deserve their love?
“They need me, sure,” you started, narrowing your eyes at the breaks in the waves of Lover’s Lake, “I mean, I just try to make myself useful to them. It’s the least I can do when I… when they…” you struggled to get the words out. You saw that hole again, like a light at the end of the tunnel, but so far from the relief most mean by that metaphor. Something peeking around the corner, ready to devour you all over again. So you plunged, you prepared yourself for it to spring to life and take you whole as you nearly whimpered, “When they put up with me. It’s the least I can do when they put up with me.”
“No one puts up with you,” Eddie’s voice cracked. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes. “Least of all me.”
The deadliest of blows. He cracked your hardened surface with that, shook the foundations of every belief you’d held for eternity.
“Most of all you,” you corrected without thinking, “God, I- Eddie, seriously. What reason do you have for keeping me around? I don’t know how the fuck you put up with m-”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” you’d never heard him beg so painfully before then, “Please. Don’t… You want to know my reason?” you nodded numbly, finally looking to find him with wet eyes and lips pressed into a fine line, “Because you’re you. I… Fuck, I love you. I keep you around because you’re you. You’re good for me. Whether you believe it or not. You’re good for me just by being you, and there’s nothing you have to do to accomplish that,” you started to look away before he grabbed your cheeks, turning you to face him as he emphasized each word, “You don’t have to earn love. That’s not what love is. Got it?”
You looked into his eyes, and saw all the soft declarations of love echoed back to you, even from the very start.
‘Sweetheart, you don’t owe me your time. And I don’t need monopoly over it for us to be okay.’
‘The world doesn’t end just because you don’t constantly make yourself available.’
The entire time you’d been so worried about taking care of everyone else, he’d been worried about taking care of you. Endless late night phone calls, careful check-ins when he saw the exhaustion take the frontlines, sparse fights about putting yourself first. The only thing he ever wanted from you was for you to take care of yourself.
While you were busy being there for everyone else, he was busy being there for you.
He never once made you dig to the bottom of his grave to find the warmth. He’d handed it over on a silver platter.
So how could you look him in his at that moment, and tell him that you didn’t ‘get it’? That you’d never been sure if what you were seeking from your friends was really love? That, really, you’d given up on being loved a long time ago, assuming it was asking too much?
How do you look him in his eyes in that moment and tell him you had long since declared yourself unlovable?
He didn’t make you say it. Only kept your cheeks pressed between his palms, as he leaned forward, forehead meeting yours and whispering words for only you, “I love you, no strings attached. You’re my… friend. I love you. Okay?”
No one had ever fought so valiantly to get the point across. Not just that night at the lake, but in the entirety of his friendship with you.
The hole slinked back behind the corner. The darkness decided it could wait another day. And in its place, warm brown eyes filled the void. Whether he even realized it or not.
You nearly believed him. Nearly. But you bit down hard on that belief, throwing it out of sight, and instead of echoing back the ‘okay’ you assumed he was seeking out, all you did was sob out another, “Why?”
When you collapsed into him, he held you. Your sobs remained dry, your confusion palpable as you clung to him and tried to let that belief envelope you like his arms had.
I love you.
How could someone love you?
He didn’t press it the way you thought he would. He didn’t scold you for continuing to question him and he didn’t lash out at your disbelief.
He just held you. Letting your face press into his neck as his fingers ran up and down your spine, giving it a moment before he started talking again.
“Your humor,” he hummed after a couple moments of silence, heavy breathing eventually evening out.
“What?”
“The way you take care of others,” he continued on like he hadn’t heard you, “That spark you get in your eyes when you tell someone about something good. A favorite book, movie, story from your day – whatever it is. The way you give the best hugs – and you don’t give me them nearly often enough. The way you snore, and the way you definitely deny snoring.”
You opened your mouth, about to lift your head and argue with him, but he just placed an encouraging palm on the back of your head to keep you close to him.
“The way your favorite color changes with the seasons. The way you only like artificial cherry flavoring, not the real stuff. The way you look at night when we’re driving and you’re just screaming your favorite lyrics. The way you look at me to see if a joke lands. The way you fuss about my wrinkled clothes, even when you also don’t care about the wrinkles in your own shirts. The way you take your coffee. The way you always offer to paint one of my nails to match yours. The way you treat your recipe for chocolate chip cookies like some top secret, government trade. But we both know it’s just some recipe from a cookbook you thrifted when you were ten. The way you get excited over the small things, like the cows we pass by on the way out here. They're always there, and you always point them out. The way you just… are.”
He didn’t have to say it. He was answering your question.
He was listing his whys.
“You don’t have to earn it,” he didn’t say the word, not this time. You felt it, “It just… it’s there. It’s there and it’s not going anywhere. I’ll remind you of that every day if I have to.”
Loved. For the first time ever, it felt like a possibility; to be loved.
Eddie always knocks on your front door a certain way – a pattern he rarely strays from. But you can always tell. He’s the only fool who would find humor in knocking out such an annoying compilation of hits on the wooden panels until you finally unlatch the lock and open it to find him standing in your threshold.
His hair is frizzy and in a low ponytail, wearing a baggy band shirt and plaid pajama pants. He greets you with such a wide smile, your chest aches.
“Hey there, sweetness.”
You don’t say a word, just drag him inside before you wrap your arms around his waist. Ever since that night, and his admittance of enjoying your hugs, you made a conscious effort to hug him more often.
“Miss me?” he chuckles, and you feel the vibrations against your cheek as you softly pinch his side. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him only laugh harder once you pull away.
“Not at all,” you snark back as you make sure the door is securely shut and properly locked.
“Not even a little bit?”
“Nope.”
He smacks a fist to his chest as if you had stabbed him with your words, “Ouch. You wound me, sweetheart.”
“Get over it,” you tease. Your head has finally stopped swimming, your chest no longer tight with the fear of not being enough. Nancy is long forgotten as you say, “Have you eaten dinner?”
“Depends,” he hums as he toes off his boots, “If you’re offering to buy me some, then no, I definitely did not eat spaghetti with Wayne right before you called.”
You throw your head back laughing as he’s already making a beeline for your kitchen, digging out that damned takeout menu and reaching for the phone, already so sure of your order.
Knowing your order at restaurants. Without having to ask. Apparently, that was part of the whole ‘being loved’ gig.
Adjusting has taken months. Since that night in Eddie’s van, he’d kept his word. Not a day went by without him finding a way to remind you, whether it be by direct words or small actions, that he loved you. You both kept it under that friendly guise. He loved you in that familiar way, the way the others supposedly loved you. A way you could manage to recognize some days.
Other days were still rough. Days like today were still rough.
The takeout is ordered and Eddie sets up camp on your couch, rambling about something that had happened during one of the DnD nights he still hosted with the kids. Something about a dumb decision Mike did that cost most of the group their character’s lives. You have a hard time following along, and he’s quick to pick up on it.
“Hey, sweetheart?” he murmurs as you lean into the back couch cushion, smooshing your cheek as you watched him animatedly speak.
“Hm?”
“Bad day?”
He never judged you for the rough days. He never judged you for the days you still couldn’t find the love, even after he worked so virtuously to show it to you. He may never understand it, that hollow ache that resided in your darkest corners and whispered that none of it was real, but it never deterred him.
He loved you on good days, and he especially loved you on bad days.
You consider lying to him, but you can’t. Not when he looks at you so earnestly, “Yeah. It… yeah.”
“Wanna talk about it?” he asks you, shuffling to be more comfortable where he sits as he motions for you to lay down. You do so immediately, head finding a home against his thigh and his fingers stroking over your cheek before they toy with the ends of your hair.
All you can do is shake your head. You didn’t want to talk about that fear of failing Nancy as a friend, especially when you know that wasn’t her take away from it. It felt silly now; all that overthinking, when you know now if you questioned her on it, all she would have seen from the day was a friend lending a caring ear. You know because you had asked her about it once, if she found your listening habits too callous, upon Eddie’s insistence.
She hadn’t. In fact, all she could do was thank you, had insisted that she was just grateful someone would listen to her ramblings. And you understood that, left it at that.
“Okay,” he murmurs, voice so quiet you nearly miss it. His fingers continue to play across your shoulders now, barely weighted against bare skin, “That’s fine.”
He didn’t mind if you didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t mind if you never spoke another word, if all you needed was him here. You just needed him close by and to sit with you, to make it all a little less much.
Nothing. He needed absolutely nothing from you, asked nothing of you. Because you didn’t have to earn this. All you had to do was simply be, and he would provide this.
Love. What an odd concept, to have found warmth in a grave you never even got the chance to dig your shovel into.
“Hey, Eddie?” his fingers pause at your croaking voice. You smile at his stillness, at the way he hums carefully in response, still trying to offer the silence you quietly begged for, “I love you.”
There’s more to unpack there. More than just familial love, more than just two friends that love each other without conditions. But tonight is not the night, and you both see that it is enough. There will be other nights to dig your claws in and to dissect what those three little words mean between you two. There will be other nights to consider how your other friends don’t have a permanent spare toothbrush on your bathroom counter or a space for their takeout in your fridge. But not tonight.
For tonight, this was enough. The quiet, and the warmth, the being was enough.
“I love you,” he emphasizes the last word, leaning down and his lips grazing your temple.
You notice the way he leaves off the too. He’d love you, even if you didn’t love him. You’d love him, even if he didn’t love you. Unconditional, no strings attached. A warmth you do not have to fight to earn. A rarity you never encountered before, and may never encounter again, but you have for tonight and for as long as he chooses to stick around.
Your shovel sits abandoned in a shed in the distance. Your fingernails are clean of the dirt. The graveyard, it seems, would go another night without its robber.
summary: when viktor left the undercity for his dreams, he left his childhood best friend behind. what happens when, after many years and many mistakes later, they meet again in singed's lab?
pairing: viktor x fem!reader
warning: language
word count: 5.5k
a/n: fell in love with this man and wrote this. you have @milkbaer to thank for being a reason for me to watch the show in the first place and for the unconditional support all the time 🤧😚
...
When Viktor told Jayce he was going to meet a friend, he didn’t think he would actually make it there. It had been years. And he had to make himself forget the path leading to that place. He promised himself he wouldn’t go there again. But that was easy to say when he was a child up until he became Heimerdinger’s assistant. He had been a young, hopeful man with a will, a desperation for discovery.
The place was the same as he knew it. It was the same gorge with sharp stone walls and a narrow stream slicing through. Though, something was darker and it wasn’t just the polluted waters. Something in the air had changed and perhaps, he understood it first hand.
Since he began testing Hexcore on organic matters, something became different. He was different. Desperate. Because he knew what he wanted the result to be. Augmentation. And there was only one person he knew that successfully reached that level of augmentation, the kind that might save his work, his life.
Viktor balled his fist, resting it against the door for a moment. With his other hand, he gripped tighter onto his cane, knuckles going white. A brief question of “What has it come to?” flashed before his mind. The answer was not enough to make him turn around and walk the other way. So, he knocked.
Moments later came a voice echoing from inside. Not the deep, raspy voice of Singed. A sweet one, as smooth and soft as honey. “Who is it?” When Viktor failed to answer, it continued, “I swear you don’t have to pretend to be polite, Silco!”
And then, the door flew open to reveal a young lady. She wore a stained apron over a boiler suit, goggles pushed halfway up her forehead. He didn’t know Singed had taken a project partner. The man always made himself out to be a lone wolf.
“You’re not Singed,” he said, a curious smile playing on his lips as he stood straighter.
Viktor was too busy noticing that she was not the scientist he was searching for to notice the striking resemblance she bore to someone he once knew.
But she did.
Through Y/N’s scratched lenses, in that shitty swamp green light, she could still pick out features of the boy that occupied her entire childhood. The amber eyes that had her past frozen forever behind them. As she peered into them now, she could still see the reflection of herself standing there in the rain, her heart broken and bruised. That girl had hoped for a boy who would stay, yet all he ever did was leave.
The odd silence between them made Viktor stop and think. She could hear the gears spinning in his head as he pieced things together. The look he threw her when he finally got it sent her into a frenzy of mixed emotions. And in the panic, she released her hand, letting the door swing shut.
Viktor was quicker, jamming his crutch into the closing gap. “Y/N, wait.”
Y/N didn’t wait for him, quickly stepping into her lab, sliding her goggles back down. She was not going to let him see her like this. He did not deserve to see her like this. She grumpily sat back down at her desk, lifting vials of Shimmer up and putting them down again.
Efforts to ignore the sound of footsteps growing in her direction failed when she sighed, looking at his shadow on the floor. “What do you want?” she asked, as unconcerned as her shaky breaths would allow.
“I wanted to talk to Singed-”
“Well, Singed is not here today. You might as well leave now.”
“Yes, I can see that. But I said “wanted”, past tense,” he said with a small laugh.
He grew an even bigger ego. She supposed that wasn’t so impossible, seeing that he was a big-shot scientist who resided in a palace on the better side of town. She must give it to him. He had the gall to walk in here uninvited, unwelcome after all those years of stony silence. Now, he expected her to listen to his needs?
She spun around in her chair. “Oh, my apologies,” she drawled, lowering herself into a bow before flickering her gaze upwards. “What do you want now? And how may I be of service to you, good sir?”
He seemed unaffected by her attitude. “You’re working with Singed?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?” he asked, leaning forward against his cane.
“Since you left.”
He shook his head. “No, that’s impossible.”
Y/N had a feeling the questions weren’t going to stop anytime soon. She returned to her work, for real, this time. Singed did leave a lot of notes that desperately need translating if anyone was going to be able to read them in the future. “Believe me, it wasn’t thanks to you. Don’t flatter yourself.”
He paused. “You helped create Shimmer? You helped weaponize it?”
“Just because they don’t pass my name around doesn’t mean I wasn’t there.”
“No, no. I’ve always known you were brilliant. But-”
The statement softened her heart, more than she thought anything from him could. She let her guards down, enough to turn and look at him again. But that was her mistake. Viktor was grappling with something. His gaze sweeping over the equipment, the notes on the wall, the skeletons on the shelves, Rio in the tank. For a moment, she was afraid of his opinion about her.
His amber eyes turned dark, tinged with the purple radiating off of the vials behind her. He continued, quieter than before, “Have you seen the people out there?” and then a bit louder, “Dying from this substance?”
These types of confrontations were sadly no longer foreign to her. When she joined Singed, she knew what she was getting herself into. And with time, she understood how the system worked. All the criticism, the hate? They were just noises, buzzes aimed to throw her off track. He threw her off track. And for what? For her to detach herself from her work - the one thing that would not betray her?
She felt fine being painted as a villain by her contemporaries. If that was what it took to change lives, so be it.
“Is that what you came here to do? Question my morals when you and your councillors don’t have any either? How very rich of you all.”
Viktor could scoff. His morals were absolutely fine. He and Jayce were trying to make lives better for people, from Piltover and Zaun, not trying to use them as lab rats. Y/N had no case against them and Hextech.
“That thing is dangerous as it is. Putting it into people’s hands, making it more accessible is dangerous!”
Y/N stood up, walking past him. His eyes followed her across the cavernous room. She dug around at another desk until her hands found a stack of paper, its edges frayed and curled. He recognized the font as she approached him once more. Piltover’s newspaper.
How did she get access to it from all the way here?
Y/N flipped through the pages one by one, reading them out to him. Dangerous experiment blows up Academy districts’ residential block; Inventor Jayce Talis found guilty of conducting illegal, deathly experiments against warnings of the Academy; A twist: Jayce Talis exonerated and given permit to continue research. And more recently, Progress Day’s speech promises little progress.
Y/N threw the newspaper at his feet. “Still, somehow, you think Hextech is safe? You sit on your high horse and you look down your nose at me. You think because you people got approved by six people, that makes your work noble and selfless. It’s all for profit, Viktor. Not progress or whatever the fuck you tell yourselves so you can sleep better at night.”
Viktor remembered all of those headlines. Especially the last one. Not because it was recent but because it was true. From what it sounded like, Heimerdinger was not handing the green pass to any of Jayce’s and his recent inventions any time soon. And their recent troubles with Hexcore which stubbornly would not seem to work despite all the runes he had racked his brains to come up with.
And how could he forget what Jayce said to him the other day? “Maybe Mel’s right. Maybe we shouldn’t sit on our asses and hope they won’t one day attack us. Maybe we should create our countermeasures.” Viktor had refused, violently. It was a ridiculous notion to even consider. They didn’t create Hextech so Piltover could use it against the people. But then again, they didn’t create Hexgates so the rich could get richer, for corruption to tear up the governments either. It happened anyway.
Could it be? Could it be that she had a point? That despite his intentions, he did play a part in creating new problems for the city to solve? And perhaps, even much greater ones now that his own partner, his dear friend thought it a good idea to get involved in warfare?
“Necessary sacrifices, wasn’t that what you called it when you left me for your great destiny’s calling?”
Viktor opened his mouth to answer her. The guilt that plagued him all these years for leaving her behind caught up with him. He was young and he was vengeful, knowing what Singed did to Rio. He did not know what he had until he lost it. He refrained from thinking about it, burying himself into his work. But in his dreams, he still saw her. He still heard his own voice echo back to him tauntingly, hauntingly.
“Please don’t go. Don’t leave me,” she had pleaded, terrified.
“It’s a necessary sacrifice, Y/N. You’ll understand, for me.”
Viktor left her there in the downpour. He left his childhood behind that day too. The most innocent and pure-hearted part of who he was. He didn’t even blink twice. He didn’t even turn around once. He was cruel then for what he did. And he was cruel now for having just realized what the biggest crime he had ever committed was. It wasn’t being unable to get Hextech out there, changing lives. It wasn’t failing to work out how to get organic matters to survive after being augmented by Hexcore. It wasn’t about science, at all. It was his betrayal. He betrayed her and he betrayed the boy from the Undercity slums.
He knew he was not going to get either back.
Viktor looked at the shaking hands that she tried to hide behind her back and those eyes that once spoke to him. Now they were shielding themselves from him, masking the pain and hurt with anger and disgust. He recognized it. He had that same, exact look in his eyes the last time he saw Singed.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll go. I won’t bother you again.”
“Do it,” she whispered. “That's what you always do.”
Viktor turned to the door, taking those painfully heavy steps. His chest tightened, his breathing grew shallow, his vision turned hazy. He wondered if this was what it was supposed to feel like when he walked away the first time. He made it through the threshold and then he collapsed. Fits of bloody cough left his weak body as the door closed itself behind him.
…
When he left, it was like another dimension had wedged itself into reality and stretched the space taller, wider, deeper. It swallowed Y/N whole as she stood with her back to the door. She could not look at him go. As much as she disliked it, Viktor could still hurt her. Though this time around, she had much more to lose.
She remembered what it took to get herself here. Singed, a famously cold and cruel man of science and reason, had to be there for her. He had only dealt with chemicals and numbers before. A heartbroken teenage girl was the last thing he expected to find in his lab. But even so, he tried to be there for her as a mentor. He sat with her on the floors, unable to say or do much. When she could hear sense, he would encourage her to find her passion within research. And it worked.
Y/N stopped crying and then gradually she stopped thinking about him. Shimmer was what mattered. It was going to be her legacy. Or at least that was what she thought.
In the deafening sound of machines whirling, she still heard a thump. She could not ignore it. She tried to, even sat back down her desk and scribbled two whole words down. And then she was up again, cracking the door open just a smidge to peer outside. That was when she found him on the ground.
Y/N gasped in horror, rushing to his side as fast as her legs could carry her. Viktor lay on his side, his crutch three paces away from him. There was blood on the floor in splatters, some above his lips. He was still breathing but it was weak and ragged, barely there. Y/N tried shaking him back to consciousness, calling his name, begging him to come back.
When none seemed to work, Y/N found herself wishing Singed had been here. He would have known what to do. He would have done it by now. An hour ago, she would have done it too.
But Viktor made her question a lot of things in his presence. She knew something was wrong when she began worrying about his opinion. It bothered her. She hadn’t had to second doubt her beliefs since him. This time it was the exact same. He appeared long enough to send her down the same path and then he left her to find her own way back.
Y/N slid her right hand underneath his arm, blindly feeling for his crutch with her left. She reached the middle of the lab and she stood, torn between Viktor and her work. It was always one or the other. She never had to think what would happen if Viktor was the one who needed the Shimmer.
She took one look at the Shimmer on the desk. It was the easy way out. She knew how to use it. She had watched Singed use it many times before, once on her. But it didn’t help that more than anyone, she knew the cost, the possible complications, the things it did to a person.
The risk was far too great a cost.
…
When Viktor opened his eyes, he thought he would be right where he had fallen. He actually thought he wouldn’t wake up at all. He definitely didn’t expect to wake up, still breathing and tucked into a warm, comfortable bed. Although he didn’t feel all that well, his mouth dry and his mind foggy, he felt better than before.
The reason, he supposed, was the mix of herbs that flooded the room with its therapeutic aroma. There were steaming buckets everywhere on the floors.
Once Viktor had registered that this was all real and not a fever dream, he began noticing things around the room. Taped on the curved ceilings and the walls were sketches and notes. The small, cramped space he was in was just big enough for a twin-sized bed, a dresser, half a desk and a stool where he found most of his clothes neatly folded. Viktor gulped, only just now realizing that he was almost naked in someone else’s bed.
When he heard the crack of the door, he closed his eyes again, turning his face towards the wall. He heard a sigh, footsteps and a thud. Another bucket he would imagine. The mattress dipped. Another sigh.
“What did I do wrong?” he heard Y/N say. Quiet as a whisper. She leaned in to hear his breathing. The smell of her shampoo filled his nose and he prayed she didn’t notice how fast his breaths were. “Uneven breathing,” she said. And then he felt a soft hand on his forehead, her hand. “Forehead is not hot.” Her hand moved to cup his cheek and he had to fight the urge to blush. Although, he wasn’t sure how well he could control that.
“Viktor, can you-can you hear me?”
Y/N had hoped for an answer. She did everything she could remember. Back when she lived on the streets, by the mercy of a lady who ran a bathhouse, she’d seen people, sick people walk out of saunas healthy and strong. She didn’t have every single exact herb that they had but what she kept all these years in a tin box beneath her bed should be enough for now.
Viktor should wake up soon. He had to. Maybe it was just a waiting game. That was all. He would come back to her. She had her worries, though, about the bags under his eyes. They were dark cool purple against his stark white complexion. This was not his illness. This was his doing.
She brushed her thumb over his sharp cheekbones. He looked so tired. Even now as Viktor rested, he still didn’t look at peace. She let her hand fall from his cheek to adjust his blanket. Smoothing the linen over his chest, she thought about bending down and kissing his cheeks.
Y/N didn’t. She just thought about it. Instead, she went to stand up. He was going to need some food and water when he woke up. But she couldn’t move. A hand had slipped into hers and tugged her back.
And just as she hoped, Viktor blinked back at her. She didn’t know how much she had missed the glint in those golden eyes until she thought she might lose them forever.
Y/N squeezed his hand, blinking back the tears that threatened to slip right down her cheeks. “Oh, you’re still alive!”
Viktor smiled. “You didn’t want me to die?” he croaked in his sleep-laden voice.
“So you can leave me for the third time? Still unbelievably insufferable, I see. You must be fine. Thank God for that.”
Viktor took a moment to look at their intertwined hands by his side. He was going to savour it. After all, it was everything that his younger self had ever wanted to do. Then, he flicked his gaze up to meet hers.
“Thank you, Y/N. Not God.”
She nodded. “You’re welcome, Viktor.”
Despite his wishes, she slipped from his hold, going to grab him some clothes in the corner. He slowly sat up, observing her notes a little closer. Her work was bold and daring. Whatever she was working on with Singed had surpassed his own studies in terms of speed. They were almost at the finish line. There was only one thing that bugged him. It was that she did not use this new Shimmer byproduct on him.
“You didn’t do it,” he said. “Why not?”
Y/N frowned when she caught him moving. She didn’t answer his question right away, rushing over to drape a button down shirt over his shoulders. “Yes, that will do.” On her arm, she hung a pair of loose pants. She held it up and eyed him up and down. Viktor blushed, holding the collars of the shirt together with one hand. “This may be a bit too short for you but it’s all I have-”
“Y/N. It’s perfect.”
She grinned. “Alright. Change. I’ll be back with tea.”
Viktor felt guilty to see Y/N haul two huge buckets of water on her way out. He wanted desperately to help but there wasn’t much assistance his lanky arms could offer her. So he just changed into the clothes. The white shirt was a tad loose than what he was used to and the dark blue pants only came up to his ankles but he liked them. It was different.
When Y/N came back, she took a pause to look at him from the doorway. He had swung his legs off the bed, a loop-sided grin on his face. And he held his arms out to show her the outfit, wordlessly asking her what she thought with a small raise of the eyebrow. He looked handsome in the outfit he wore when he came in, the tight-fitted pinstripe burgundy shirt, ivory vest and scarlet tie. But in this billowy white button up and ill-fitted pants, he looked younger. He would make one hell of a poet or a bard.
Y/N gave a small laugh. “You look good,” she said, handing him a cup of tea before sitting down by his side. After a moment, she spoke again, “You asked me why I didn’t use the Shimmer.”
Viktor cradled his mug, turning to her. “Yes. Isn’t that what you are working on?” He gestured to her notes on the wall.
“It is.” Was there anything this man did not notice? She opened her mouth and then closed it again, unsure of what to tell him. The truth, perhaps? That she questioned everything she had been working so hard for? That she second guessed the very thing she had been obsessing over until all she could dream about was getting the formula just right?
His quizzical gaze didn’t help either.
With much hesitance, she finally heaved a sigh and said, “I’m going to show you something. But you have to promise me you won’t freak out, alright?”
He nodded. She trusted that he wouldn’t be scared. He was an inventor himself. If anyone could understand, it was him. Y/N placed her mug down on the bedside table and slowly rolled up her left sleeve to reveal the contraption that had saved her life just as easily as it could take it away.
Viktor observed the thick silver cuff that sat right above her elbow. It was carved out intricately with rhombus-shaped pockets where Shimmer flowed through. Her veins on her left arm were lit purple but as they travelled down her arm the colors paled and the shine dulled until it blended perfectly into her skin tone. That was why he failed to notice it.
She was observing him, chewing on the insides of her cheeks. “It saved me from the same conditions you suffer. But it drains me of my energy some days. Other days, it makes me overly antsy, I say things I don’t mean, do things I don’t remember afterwards.”
“Y/N-”
“You were right before, Viktor. It’s unpredictable, unstable, unsafe. And ever since I’ve had it, I’m dangerous too. I really didn’t want you to suffer even more.”
It broke his heart to hear her say that. He would rather her disagree with him. He really didn’t mind an argument, as long as she was defending her work. He could tell she had believed in Shimmer when she talked about it to him earlier. Exactly like any scientist who was worth a damn should.
While Viktor might not share that belief in Shimmer, he had his own in Hextech. And he had heard himself in her voice. He had fought for Hextech against unimaginative government officials and skeptical rivals for years. Still, he had never felt drained after those talks. Not like how he felt recently, having to convince himself to believe in what he was doing.
He put the mug down on the floor and took her hand, holding it in both of his. “Not to me. Not dangerous, no. You saved my life, Y/N. Even though you had every reason not to.”
She smiled before taking her hand back, playfully bumping her shoulder into his. “What about you? And who’s this Jayce Talis that has replaced me?”
Viktor rubbed his hands together, looking away to hide the inevitable disappointment that crossed his face after she retrieved her hand. He scoffed, “No one could replace you. You know that.”
“I suppose I do,” she laughed. “Do go on, though.”
“Right well, Jayce had his apartment blown up. I was there to confiscate all the research-”
Such typical Viktor behavior. “Let me guess, the research intrigued you.”
“Precisely,” he nodded, a glint in his eye at her correct guess. “I helped him figure out some calculations to convince the Council not to destroy everything he made. We became partners in research after that.”
The story didn’t sound like the one she had pictured in her head. From all the evidence she had pieced together, she’d always thought Jayce was the main researcher. She would imagine that he had help from his assistants, but not that of a research partner.
“So let me get this straight. You saved his ass and his work. Became associates. Invented all this awesome technology together. Yes?”
“Correct.”
“So, how is it that we only hear about Jayce Talis in the papers? Your name should be everywhere.”
He shook his head, brown hair falling over his eyes. The idea humored him. “Ah, well, I’m not exactly the face people would like to see first thing in the morning over breakfast. Besides, science is what matters. I’m happy as long as I can create.”
Y/N felt oddly protective of him. He never stood up for himself in situations like these. Even as kids. She was always the one to speak up when the bigger kids shoved him around. She wondered all these years whether he had anyone to remind him not to take shit from people. Something told her that he didn’t.
She decided to leave it alone, though. He did sound like he no longer wanted to speak of the issue. “And are you? Happy?” she asked, instead.
He twiddled with the handle of the mug, looking away again. And she knew his answer before he gave it.
“I am. But the Academy is not this fantastical place I had imagined. There, politics ruled science. Things take decades for approval. At least things that are actually practical to the people.”
Spoken just like the Viktor she knew. Always so unwavering in his quest to improve conditions for people. They shared the same dream, still. Only thing was that they had taken different paths, away from each other.
Y/N leaned into his side, resting her cheek against his shoulder, “I guess not everything turned out the way we thought it would.”
Her voice was soft. Her hair was also soft. Viktor sucked in a breath. She had never been so close before. Made it hard for him to think. “I guess so.”
“Was there anything you would have done differently?”
“Many things. I wouldn’t have left you.”
She lifted her head just to give him a look. “Oh, you don’t need to say that. I forgive you. All is well.”
“No,” he said with a firm shake of the head. She needed to know how he felt. “I shouldn’t have left you. If I could change things, I would have brought you with me to Piltover. ”
Y/N was still smiling, joking around. “And do what? Be a librarian?”
“You could, if you’d like. Or you could study at the Academy. Become a champion of Piltover.”
She tapped her mug against his, reminding him to drink before taking a sip. “And where do you imagine yourself? In this dream?”
“I could be your associate. Or your assistant. Either way, you would be much better company than Jayce and Heimerdinger combined.”
It sounded like an absolute dream to him. The two of them, together, in a lab. Their desks filled with messy notes and coffee cup stains. He’d be tinkering away at his desk while she wrote on the board, mumbling the calculations. And at the end of the day, she would go home with him to their humble apartment. They would have a quaint, lovely existence outside of work. Perhaps some kids. Though, she probably didn’t need to hear the last parts.
“Sounds like we’d spend a lot of time together, then.”
He nodded. All the time, for eternity. “Like when we were children. Remember?”
Y/N placed her mug down and casually said, “I had the biggest crush on you when we were children.”
Wait, what? He shook his head. What did she just say?
“I never had the courage to tell you. You were very angsty and cold as a teen. I was scared you might think I was dorky.”
This was outrageous. For the record, he never thought she was dorky. He thought she was splendid, intelligent, gorgeous and for sure, out of his league. She deserved someone better than a sickly crippled kid. Selfishly, though, he still wanted to know if there was ever a hint of a chance that his fantasy might have been more possible than he thought.
“And has time fundamentally changed this…eh...fact?”
She shrugged, gaze faltering. “I wish it had.”
Viktor didn't have enough time to process his dream actually coming true before she turned away, rising to her feet. “Um, tea’s cold. I should-”
“No!” he almost shouted. Y/N looked back at him with wide eyes. He ought to say something more. Soon. ”Stay, please. I-I have always liked you too. No, more than like. I like you strongly,” he managed to say before he got cut off by a coughing fit.
He attempted to apologize again but she shook her head, nodding at the mug. He brought his lips to the cup, testing the temperature of the liquid. It was just warm enough not to burn his tongue off. Viktor took a gulp, one that was entirely too large.
While he drank, she raised her eyebrow and asked, “You like me strongly?”
“I do. That was a poor choice of word. I meant that-” he sighed. “What I wanted to say-”
Her hand cupped his cheek, quieting his mumbling immediately. His skin was on fire under her touch. It was quite funny to watch him sigh in frustration, running his hand through his hair, messing it up. She would have stayed still and watched him work each word out one by one. In her defense, he looked awfully adorable. But she supposed that was a bit cruel.
“I love you too, Viktor,” she said. “And I regret not telling you that when I had a chance. As I regret not doing this sooner.”
She brought her lips to his, closing the gap between them in one blink of an eye. He tensed up when she did, taking a second or so before relaxing entirely. He then sighed against her kiss. And she smiled. How long had he been waiting for this?
Y/N wished she could see his reaction but then again, feeling his lips on hers was enough to send her reeling for days to come. She had committed everything to memory by the time the kiss ended, in case it never happened again. But she had a hunch that this was not going to be the case at all.
Viktor was still holding his mug when she pulled away. And it made her laugh. She took it from him, placing her lips exactly where he did. Slowly. Full of intention as she drank from his cup, sending a little wink his way.
“Y/N,” he said, his eyes shamelessly on her lips before flickering up to meet her eyes.
“Yes?”
“If I asked you to go with me, start a new life, leave all this behind, what would you say?”
She didn’t want to disappoint him. But she didn’t want to give him the wrong idea either. Viktor was the love of her life, once. In many ways, she loved him still and would always continue to do so. But she had a life here, responsibilities that awaited her. And she wasn’t exactly the type of person who would walk out on her mentor who also saved her life.
Y/N opened her mouth, rejection on the tip of her tongue. But when she saw the big eyes gazing at her, full of hope, dreams and potential. She found herself thinking about spending the rest of her life looking into them, having them be the first thing she saw in the morning and the last thing in the night. Wherever they lived, long as they were together, they would be happy. But even the best-laid plans of mice and men oft go astray.
“Then I’d say two wrongs don’t make a right, Viktor.”
To her surprise, he didn’t frown or scowl or look at her with puppy dog eyes, begging her to change her mind. The gleam of hope didn’t diminish at all, even despite her obvious rejection.
“Ah, but that’s the thing about us, scientists. You see?” he said, looking up at her notes on the ceiling. “All these notes hold an infinity of what-ifs on them. That’s all they are, if we stop at thinking and planning. But we don’t, do we?”
Viktor touched her cheek, running his fingertip along her jaw until he reached her chin. There, he stopped. His eyes scanned her features. The corners of his lips lifted slowly into a smile when her gaze fell on his again.
“That’s what I see when I look at us. An infinity of possibilities. The only way to find out which may come true is to try.”
let me know if you would like to be tagged in future viktor fics
summary: you’re the third founding member of hextech. you and viktor have a working relationship that’s blossomed into something a bit more lovesick.
word count: 1.8k
pairing: viktor / f!reader
a/n: i have been really pining for him these last few days so enjoy work-crush dialed to 1,000 on the mush level ft. jayce being the third wheel bestie we deserve. this gif is by @solidago-sempervirens‘s beautiful set here!
They're late.
When you spy only one of your two Hextech partners nearing, your jaw falls open slightly.
"Where's—?"
You don't even finish the question.
Jayce is clearly in a rush; he's just now — as he takes two plush, velvet stairs at a time — rolling down the sleeves to his dress shirt. He offers up his best apologetic look as he juggles his suit jacket. Despite your tiny twinge of annoyance that the two had left you to entertain the ravenously curious guests alone, you cave almost immediately when he peaks around your shoulder and curses at the full meeting hall.
Tucked in a back corner of the gilded, marble ballroom a string quartet plays.
"He's still downstairs," Jayce explains in a slight whisper as guests flow around you both; his warm eyes bounding from you to the guests and back to you; he clears his throat, "Tinkering — you know how he is... "
"Casting stones at glass houses are we?" you joke, exhaling as Jayce struggles into his suit jacket. You reach to smooth down his lapel, "Do I need to go and coax him out?"
"If I'm being honest I don't think he ever had any interest in attending," Jayce supplants between a rushed thank you, "I owe you."
"You do — now go, stakeholders are asking all sorts of questions... Mostly about when you'd show up," you wave him on as a waiter passes. You grab two flutes of champagne in a smooth move and offer your best smile in thanks. You turn back to Jayce, "Piltover's finest seem interested in you, poster-boy."
"Yea, well," Jayce rolls his shoulders and grabs a drink of his own — shedding his skin as an inventor in an uncannily seamless manner. Suddenly, he's giving you the smirk he reserves for the truest moments of camaraderie, "Don’t be long. And do give my love to Viktor."
You give him an unamused glare. The flat narrow of your lashes makes the man laugh into his drink. With a well-practiced eye-roll, you turn on your heel and move to descend the stairs to the main lobby.
"Don't let them eat you alive, Talis," you snark over your shoulder, unable to hide your evident smile.
"Let us pray they do!" he calls back at the sight of it digging into the corner's of your lips, “Don’t take too long!”
The delicate pluck of a violin's strings carries itself through the evening air. Through the courtyard, across the rotunda. You opt to take the long way around, lest you get suckered into another riveting conversation about trade taxation increases with some would-be politician in the lift to the lower floor.
With so many guests meandering around at the symposium above, they've left the lights on.
You balance the flutes of champagne neatly as you move easily towards the wing where Hextech has found refuge in recent months. With the Hexgates set to begin construction in a month's time, late nights in the these labs have become a regular occurrence. You've made this exact trek a thousand times — sometimes well beyond midnight, at the call of a dream; when magic carries a breakthrough on its wings.
Your heels click neatly across the floor — and you can see the glow of the lab alive beneath the heavy door barring entrance.
It's unlocked.
You bump the door open with your hip.
Viktor is — to Jayce's credit — tinkering.
He looks quite handsome.
He's wearing something different from his usual academic attire — something darker, with a wine colored dress shirt and an inky black suit jacket hung over his chair-back.
Immediately, the tinkering ceases. You note the very deliberate stillness of his hands when you poke your head around the door; your earrings sway and twing like bells in the evening air. Viktor's face lifts at your appearance; and for a moment, the schematics are forgotten.
Perhaps he should have gone upstairs.
"I've brought good tidings...?"
It's as if you're asking permission to pull him from his work. As if he'd ever say no.
Your humor eases the throat-catching hitch of his heart enough — and his rasp of a laugh is wholly real. Viktor drops his head, to denote a bit of an apology, as you move from around the door and let it swing shut behind you.
It's then that he gets a good look at your dress — and once more, he nips at his inner self for refuting the invitation to the symposium. He had a habit of doing so. A habit that he's recently begun to oppose. It's as if he can't spend enough time around you. You, his business partner. You, the one soul he spends more time around than Jayce. You're his equal. His friend. His most trusted confidant.
Hell alive, he thinks you're the most beautiful woman in the cosmos.
The gilded jewelry at your throat catches the low, humming blue emittance from the Hexcore as you pass its confinement. Your hand is extended, offering the flute of champagne to him in his seat at his desk.
"I... Time escaped me," Viktor supplies as his amber eyes move across your face, "I apologize."
Viktor takes the champagne with a quiet thank you. You ignore the way his fingers still against yours — and the way shyness curls into your heart at the touch.
"I'm jealous, really," you chide playfully as you lean against the lip of his desk. You peak over your shoulder at the papers on the desk.
Viktor hums out a soft chuckle as he tips the drink back to take a sip. "Should I assume you were looking for a reason to get away, then?"
You watch the movement — stuck on the glimpse of his throat. His tie is loose. Clearly, he and Jayce had been having one of their rather animated back-and-forth's. The sort that always came when you had put your focus forward...
The three of you... Well, Jayce and Viktor are everything to you. Recently, though, things with Viktor have been different.
Even Jayce has seen it.
He's caught onto the sparks that electify the air each time an excited breakthrough breeches the surface — the way you two connect gazes, with eager smiles hanging onto the closeness shared and breaths abated. There are these moments in the flow of work where forlorn looks are cast across the room; always when the other isn't looking. In the haze of ingenuity, where praise spills, where cheeks are split with bashful smiles and lingering hands upon excited hands.
Is this the burn of fondness, then? Slow and steady, as promised as the rise of the run?
His question isn't an easy one.
Quiet slips between you two. Somewhere, outside the large windows, you can still hear the strings winding a long tune.
You look down at your heels and toe the tile.
“It’s all so boring — stuffy. You know how it is,” you mutter quietly with a sigh, “And if I’m being honest? I’d much rather be down here... With our work, our projects...”
A pause. You move to gently pick up the set of notes he was reading prior to your interuption. It does well to shield the uncertainty in the coming confession.
“...With you.”
You flash your gaze to him.
Viktor blinks. Suddenly, he’s rushing to stand. His champagne is left to sit on the desk as he reaches for his cane and bears his weight, squaring his posture away to his full height. He’s not small by any means. Tall, elegant. As handsome as he is clever.
Quickly, he assess the comment — and he finds no humor. At first, it’s entirely distressing. He isn’t sure whether to laugh this off or to hang onto the small, possible promise of affections shared for a moment longer. Outside, the stars glimmer a little brighter at the thought.
“I — uh... You...?” suddenly, words a little harder than he remembers; the admission comes like a lightning strike on a calm day. He clears his throat as you gently place down the papers and turn your eyes up to him. He levels his voice and his accent makes the question near poetic, “...Do you mean that?”
This time, you’re the sheepish one. Your attention flicks between his eyes and his mouth. You’re reading his expression, trying to understand the microcosms of emotion brewing there.
“Lying is unbecoming,” is the slow, chaste remark earned. It’s sheepish. Shy. Sweet.
Viktor’s laugh is delayed — chased down by the immeasurable rush of affection that blooms in his heart.
Then, there’s another crawl of quiet between you.
This one is easy. Warm. Gentle.
Both of you hold one another’s gazes with bitten smiles. It’s Viktor whose laugh breaks the silence when his grin becomes too big, too tender to keep back — it’s breathless and enarmored. He ducks his head.
You chew the inside of your lip.
“Well, if I’m being honest,” comes the pointed drawl of his words as his hand reaches for yours, “I was agonizing over just how I’d ask you for a dance...”
It’s your turn to laugh. Your face feels hot now at the center of his attention. Long fingers turn your palm over, admiring the delicate bands of gold along your knuckles. You’ve painted your nails.
"Though, now I’m not sure I’d be brave enough to ask the most beautiful woman in all of Piltover to dance.”
Your lips part in a shocked breath. Viktor smiles. His hand leaves yours to drift to the delicate silk of your sleeve, to trace the cut-outs along your arm. His thumb ventures the curve of your shoulder. As if your orbit has latched onto his, you’re drawn in — the palm of your hand meets the sharp contour of his jaw.
“Flattery will get you anywhere—” you muster in a whisper, deflecting the praise that has your head spinning.
“—Honesty. It’s honesty,” he corrects gently.
And, perhaps this moment would have ended with more than lovesick looks and tenderness passed between touch. Perhaps, Viktor would have kissed you in the quiet of the lab, beneath the glow of the Hexore, to the tender swell of a string qaurtet in the lower gardens. Perhaps, you two would have decided to share a dance here. In private, in heart and hand.
Perhaps.
But, Jayce has a habit of poor timing.
He nearly falls over himself at the sight of his two closest friends entwined, a breath apart — and immediately the door is swinging back to clock him in the side as he trips forward and shouts out a loud apology. The tray of cakes in his hands tumble with him, clattering loudly as he laughs sheepishly and regains his balance.
“Sorry—!”
Is he?
You snap away from Viktor, moving to gather up your respective glass and play off the closeness with easy, slinking movements. Your own sheepishness is hidden in a well-played cough. Viktor, however, remains unmoved. Steady. Heavily vested in your small moment.
“I... I wasn’t meaning to interupt—”
“We were just about to join you,” comes Viktor’s easy reply, albeit his eyes are stuck to you the entire time he speaks. He raises a hand and waves Jayce off, “Weren’t we?”
hi guys <3 i have a little treat for you tonight!!
based on this post by the lovely @arcanescribbles , here's a small thing i wrote about cozy nights working in the lab and falling in love maybe <3
summary: you're a lab assistant at hextech, because the boys can't do everything themselves. viktor tends to spend long nights at the lab, and after working with him for a while, so do you.
and maybe it's not just work after a while. maybe it's nice and comfortable and right where you fit.
maybe it just works.
Viktor x gender neutral reader, 1.8k words, no warnings, just fluff <3
It's not unusual, that he's spending his free time in the lab. The odds of finding Viktor either at his apartment or at work were about 50/50 at any given moment, day or night.
Actually, it might have been closer to 60/40, in the favor of the lab. Lately, he'd been spending more and more time there, and with a couch to sleep on and a coffeemaker tucked on one of the side tables, he didn't really need to go home that often.
It was one of the perks of working on independent research. He didn't need to clock in, he didn't need to clock out. He just needed to solve problems when it best suited him, which, in the case of Viktor, tended to be any time he was awake.
You know this. You knew this even before you started to work as a lab assistant in their project. He had a reputation, even as the often-quieter half of the team, people knew him. He was hard-working and dedicated, passionate. Smart.
Quick, people would say, sharp. Quiet in that way that made it clear that he was always listening.
You knew this before you ever even met him. He was focused on his work, and sometimes fit the 'outcast scientist' stereotype a little too well; smarter than a good percentage of the occupants of any room he was in, not that interested in social situations, rarely seen in public appearances. Working as many hours as he felt was needed.
Staying up late in the lab and then eventually falling asleep at his desk wasn't that strange of him.
You know this. You knew this before you met him. But after meeting him, after starting to work with him, it becomes more and more obvious that none of it was because he loved his work.
He did. But that wasn't the point. The point was that he was trying to help people, and he was way more interested in making that happen than he was in trying to prove to people that that's what he was doing.
He loved science, clearly, but that wasn't the reason he worked day and night. The real reason was the why of it all – the end goal. Making things better. Helping people. Building a future world that would be better than the one he'd grown up in.
And that makes it very, very easy to like him.
So, you don't complain about the late nights in the lab, either. He hadn't asked you to stay overtime – he never did – but you stayed anyway, sorting out parts and paperwork at your own desk as the sun was slowly setting.
It was Saturday, which meant two things. One, the Academy was quieter than usual, and two, Viktor was dressed more casually than usual. Instead of the standard uniform that he usually wore, he was just wearing a white dress shirt (unbuttoned, and so worn that it looked soft to the touch) and a dark wine-red sweater (slightly oversized, definitely worn, definitely soft), and his hair was a mess.
Which either meant that he had slept in the lab the night before, or that he had simply been running his fingers through it while figuring out some problem. Either option seemed equally likely. Or maybe it was both – that was entirely possible too.
You observe all of this silently, at the back of your mind, mostly still focused on your actual work. You didn't want to get caught staring at him, and you did also have work to do, but you could manage to multitask a little bit.
The work of an assistant in a project like this was – in their words, not yours – sometimes tedious, but important. This meant that it involved a lot of paperwork, sending in orders and requests for new parts and tools, keeping inventory, filing reports and reclamations, and filling endless spreadsheets that kept track of what Viktor and Jayce were actually doing.
That's what you were doing now. Going through old lists and trying to see what you needed to order more of. Checking the serial numbers of an old shipment of parts and trying to find where they went wrong, since they seemed to no longer match your records.
Viktor was...doing something, leaning over his desk, one hand in his hair, absent-mindedly turning a pice of hair between his fingers while he was deep in thought, one hand tapping a gentle rhythm on the edge of the table. Last time you checked, he had been fixing some part, trying to figure out why it wasn't working. Now, he was just looking at it, and you weren't sure if that was a sign of progress or not. He wasn't holding any tools, but he was also frowning slightly, so you were currently leaning towards the not option.
He takes a deep breath and sighs it out, and leans back in his seat.
You let yourself look at him now, properly.
”Anything I can help with?”
That's what you were there to do, after all.
”I'm not sure,” He answers, ”you're welcome to try. It's possible that I've just become snow-blind to these circuits by now.”
You smile a little, and turn to face him entirely. ”What's the problem?”
He is beautiful in the now-dim, golden sunlight. It paints the whole room in a warm dusty yellow that made it seem like maybe time had stopped working, like the whole world had paused to just breathe for a moment. He looked like he belonged here, surrounded by all these half-finished half-working half-miracles, built by hand from his imagination. Old books and used coffee cups, hand-drawn graphs and little notes left on pictures and trinkets and piles of paper. The tools scattered around his desk. That worn sweater. His tired smile.
He shifts in his place again, sitting up a bit straighter, and letting out a small sigh before he answers.
”This keeps short-circuiting,” He answers, ”And I don't know why.” He says it like he's almost offended by this, on a personal level. You mainly ignore this, chalking it up to the fact that it was very late, he had been working on this for a long time, and probably hadn't eaten or slept or taken a break in...way too long. And he was right; it was possible to become snow-blind to this stuff, looking at the same parts night and day.
He motions for you to come closer, a small nod towards his current project, and a casual wave of one hand.
You get out of your seat, smooth out your clothes a bit, and walk to him, then look over his shoulder to study the mess of tools, wires, and circuits on his desk.
”Just taking a break might help.” You offer, and he leans back slightly, but doesn't respond. ”Out of the two of us I think you're better at this than I am,” You add quietly, trying to find any obvious errors he might have missed, ”but I can try. Walk me through it?”
He does, shifting in his place a little again, and glancing at you briefly.
Honestly, you don't understand everything he says about the circuit. But that's not the point, and both of you know it. While he's explaining it to you, going through the progress, he has to lay it out for himself, too. And that makes it easier to catch any mistakes that might have gotten lost just swirling around inside his head.
He catches it mid-word, the problem. Some melted-together solder inside a component he had forgotten to check. You smile a little as he rearranges his train of thought, and instantly swtiches from explaining the process to figuring out a solution, leaning closer to the desk and already flipping the circuit board over, reaching for his tools.
Before he does anything else, though, he pauses before his fingers reach the soldering iron, and then he looks up at you.
”Thank you.” He says, voice gentle and sincere.
You smile at him, and try to ignore the way your heart felt like it was simmering in this moment, soaking all of this up for later, the traitorous thing.
He really was beautiful like this.
Especially now, when the frustrated creases on his face had smoothed out, and his posture had relaxed, and he was smiling at you like that.
”No problem.” You answer, and then take a deep breath, stretching your spine out and moving your neck a bit. Sitting at a desk all day wasn't the best thing you could do to your body.
He nods a little before picking up his tools again, gently turning the component over and examining the insides. You linger next to him, even though you strictly didn't need to anymore. But you'd take any good excuse to watch him like this, from up close, focused and with his fingers quick. Mouth pressed into a thin line in concentration. Breathing slow and steady.
”Once I'm done with this,” He says quietly, his eyes still focused on his work and his hands not breaking their movement – melting away a faulty connection with exact precision and bulding a working one in its place – ”do you want to take a break?” He offers, voice steady but somehow more careful than usual, ”I think there's a new self sevice drink cart in the main lobby. We could check it out. If you want.”
You blink as your brain processes the suggestion.
Usually, he just had his drinks here, or to go from whichever place was closest. Usually, he didn't suggest taking extra breaks, especially not ones that included invitations to go somewhere.
But the idea of walking the empty dark hallways with him alone in the quiet night? Going past the hall with the glass ceiling you could see the stars through? Getting coffee, or tea, or sweetmilk, or whatever they had to offer, with him, because he asked you to go?
Yeah.
That sounded a bit too good to pass up.
It made you feel like the late-night golden sunset light had all gathered in your heart and was now running in your veins, instead of just dissipating in the atmosphere somewhere.
It was yours now.
Or at least it could be, maybe. If you'd stay close to him, if he'd keep looking at you like that, smiling at you like that, maybe your heart would always feel like sunlight. Even during the dark, dusty nights.
Especially during the dark, dusty nights.
Besides, you could use the break.
”Yeah,” You answer, and it feels like the small word takes all the air in your lungs with it, ”that sounds nice.”
He smiles, just slightly. Just enough for it to be there. Just enough for it to matter.
Listen, I just think Viktor with an S/O from his childhood could be cute as hell. He was always left behind by the other kids because he couldn’t keep up with them on account of his bad leg. But instead of running forward with the other kids, S/O falls back to be with Viktor. Their always patient with him, aware he can’t do some the things they can. Viktor greatly appreciates their companionship and has he grows older starts to want more than just friendship with them. Seeing his sickness and physical condition as a barrier preventing them from being together. Not realizing S/O likes him just as he is.
Anon im biting you (affectionate)
Basically im a sucker for childhood friends to lovers
also i promise im slowly working on asks you guys, im like a mashed potato right now
Viktor x gn!Reader (SFW)
-So Viktor is used to being alone. He’s used to his peers doing things without him, ignoring him, or talking down to him - he fully believes that this is just a fact of his life. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t crave friendship, it just means that he’s hurt and wary. Even as a kid.
-And then you show up. One day he’s alone, and then suddenly he’s not.
-You don’t say anything to him at first. You don’t even really go near him, preferring to just linger in his general vicinity and do your own little tasks.
-But each day, you slink closer and closer to him; still keeping to yourself, but testing the waters. He hadn’t chased you away yet, or told you off for being nosey, so you’re hopeful that he might be amicable to friendship. Or at least sticking together for safety.
-One can only linger for so long, though, so there comes a time when you have to say something - you choose to ask him about the little boat he’s making, that he’s been diligently tinkering away with since you first laid eyes on him. It appears to be the right thing to ask about, because he shyly explains how it works, from its mechanical components, to its energy source, to its overall design.
-You don’t know a lot about machines, but you’re impressed nonetheless. You’ve never seen someone else around your age doing stuff like that - most other kids choose to run around and tussle with each other and wreak havoc…or worse, they’re put to work.
-It’s nice to find someone who’s quieter, like you are.
-Your friendship blooms after that. You start to bring your little art projects to work on when you see each other, explaining your passion to him; reveling in his confusion as he watches you carefully snip and sculpt wires into strange shapes, then in his surprise when you put all the pieces together like some kind of three dimensional puzzle, revealing your final creation.
-It’s nothing special, just a little flower brooch made of aluminum twine, but when you pin it to his bag and tell him that he’s its new owner, you’d think you’d gifted him the moon. (Later, you learn that it had been his birthday, and your present had been the only one he’d received)
-This trend continues throughout the years. Both your art and his designs get more complicated, but you still find the time to make little trinkets for one another. It’s a running joke that you make him a little flower pin for his birthday every year, claiming that by the time you’re old and wrinkled, he’ll have an entire bouquet from you.
-You try to tell yourself that you keep the tradition going because it’s funny and makes both of you smile…but really, you just love giving him pretty things. Your parents had often given each other flowers to show affection, in the past, finding whatever blooms they could and arranging them into an artful cluster.
-By the time you’re fifteen, you’ve fully accepted that you love him. You’d never tell him, of course, because that would be silly. He’s your best friend, your support, your home, and you couldn’t risk losing someone so important to you over your dumb feelings.
-Though sometimes…you wonder if he feels the same. When his face goes beet red after you hug him, or when he trips over his words as you lean over his shoulder to watch him work.
-But you convince yourself he’d never feel the same.
-Besides, he’s too smart for the undercity. As you were, there was still a chance he could take off and find a better life somewhere…but if you were involved with each other? There was no way he’d ever leave you, and you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you condemned him to such a fate.
-You continue to hide your feelings as the years pass, and though your chest aches every time you see him, you know it’s for the best.
-Especially when, one afternoon, he receives a letter.
-The two of you are eighteen by then, and already working hard to try and get by. Viktor spends most of his time trying to implement better working environments for the people, encouraging and convincing owners and bosses to make their establishments safer - going so far as to design inexpensive upgrades himself.
-He works tirelessly, as do you, but in your heart you feel as if his work is more important. You’ve mostly abandoned your artistic endeavors, much to Viktor’s displeasure, but he knows as well as you do that sculpting and crafts won’t pay the bills. Even with both of you working full time jobs, you can barely scrape up enough to handle the costs of living - a one room apartment located at the bottom of a set of rickety stairs.
-Neither of you ever got mail, so the heavy envelope comes as a surprise to both of you. Even more shocking, the embossed wax stamp keeping it closed - the insignia of Piltover’s Academy.
-He reads over the contents, and you give him a moment of privacy to do so, instead quietly washing up a few dishes while you stew in your thoughts.
-He hadn’t mentioned anything about applying to the academy…so why did he get such a fancy-looking letter? Did he not want to tell you? Your heart hurts when you wonder why he’d hide something from you.
-When he finishes reading, he calls you over, and shares the news: one of the most influential professors at the academy had seen his work, and heard of his ingenuity and technological prowess.
-He’d been offered a scholarship.
-You rush to hug him immediately, throwing your arms around him in excitement while you gush about all the things he’d be able to learn up there, and how many gadgets and ideas he could create that would help people. But your mood falters when you notice his expression, brows pinched and mouth pressed into a thin line.
- “It’s not for two people,” he tells you, setting the letter down on your tiny kitchen table. “I can’t leave - you’d have nowhere to go.”
-You sigh, and pull up a chair beside him. “Viktor, listen to me,” you say, sliding your hand around his. “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and you need to take it. The new semester starts in a week, and we’ve got rent covered for the month. I have time to find a new roommate. Okay?”
-His hand tightens around yours, and he stares down for a couple moments, watching pensively as he strokes the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. He looks like he wants to say more, like he’s not told you everything he needs to, but he remains silent.
- “Do you really think I could make it there?” he asks instead, his expression softening as he looks up at you.
-You smile at him. “Of course. You’ll find your people up there - brilliant minds who think like you, who strive to make life better for others. People who are as compassionate as they are smart - like you.”
-It breaks your heart to see him go, and even more to find a way to live life without him as a constant presence, but you know it’s for the best. He deserves the best.
—
-The two of you drift apart over the next couple years, as he focuses most of his attention on learning. He comes to visit you in the undercity sometimes, but it feels so different now that you have some distance between each other.
-You keep trying to tell yourself that this is what needs to happen, but god does it hurt. The way your conversations falter every now and again, unlike how they used to flow so easily. The way he shies away from your gentle hugs and cheek kisses, where in the past he used to crave them. The way he avoids looking you in the eyes and barely tells you anything about what he’s been working on, when in your youth he’d enthuse to you about every tiny project.
-Hell, he barely even writes to you anymore.
-It’s been weeks now since you’ve heard from him, and even longer since you’d seen his face or heard his voice. His birthday has just passed, and you haven’t even managed to pack up a little gift for him. You barely have anything, nothing he would ever want, and surely your silly little aluminum flowers have grown old by now.
-If he ever even liked them in the first place.
-Tired to the bone, you find a seat at the tilted desk you’d managed to cram into your little apartment. You pull out a slice of paper and a pen, and start writing; telling Viktor all of your feelings - writing about how desperately you missed him, how wholly you loved him, and how utterly despondent you were that you’d never be enough for him.
-And like the dozens of other letters, you never send it. You quietly weep over the piece of paper for a couple minutes, and then turn the light off, slipping into your lumpy bed to try and get as restful a sleep as you possibly could before your alarm goes off.
—
-What you don’t expect is to wake up to the sound of your floors creaking. Or is that- no wait, that’s your chair whining in protest. A noise it made whenever you took a seat in it, gambling on whether or not that would be the last straw for its crooked little legs.
-You pry one eye open to take a look around the room, and instantly find the source of the sound.
-There, hunched over your desk and backlit by a dim candle, is Viktor. He’s turned away from you, focused and staring down at whatever work he’d brought with him on this trip. Which is strange, you think, because he never brings work with him. But you don’t know what else he’d be doing, sitting at your-
-Oh.
-Your stomach leaps into your throat when you realize you’d left your emotionally charged letter out on the desk - the one he was never meant to see. He hadn’t mailed you ahead of time like he usually would, so how were you to know he’d just show up?
-You try to feign sleep, hoping that he’ll believe you, or pity you, or something, and just…leave. Pretend he’d never seen anything.
-But he’s Viktor. In all the time you’ve known him, he’s never skirted around any of his problems…even when the problem was you.
- “I know you’re awake,” he says softly, into the quiet of the room. “Your breathing changed a couple minutes ago - I didn’t mean to wake you, I apologize.”
-You bite the bullet and sit up, pulling yourself to the edge of the bed.
- “Were you going to send this to me?” he asks, scooping up the letter you’d scrawled out the night prior. “It’s an awful lot to hear about in writing-”
- “You weren’t supposed to hear about it at all,” you cut him off, your throat dry from slumber. “I forgot to tuck it away with the others before I went to bed, is all. I had no idea you were going to be here today.”
-He turns to you then, frowning in confusion. “The others?”
-You sigh and flop onto your back. “Yeah. The other stupid letters that I wrote, telling you about my stupid feelings, as if any of it would ever matter.” You roll onto your side, facing away from him and into the wall. “Just forget you ever saw it, okay? I don’t want to hold you back.”
-Your chair creaks again, and then the bed dips behind you. You hastily blink back budding tears, but they continue to sear behind your lashes.
- “All this time, I thought…but you…” Viktor is quiet, his voice cracked and almost disbelieving.
-The bed dips a little further, and then you feel the familiar warmth of his body, laid out and pressed up beside yours, like you did when you were kids.
- “Do you remember when we were children?” he asks. “We used to sit together by the runoffs and make our silly little contraptions. We’d talk, and laugh, and the other kids would look at us like we were aliens.”
-You smile. “I always loved getting to watch you create things. You make it look like an art.”
- “I always wondered why you chose to sit with me. Day after day, the other kids would pass us by, and you…never followed them. You stayed behind in the shadows, with me.” He sounds sad. Even though you can’t see his face, you know that there’s a worried crease in between his brows.
- “I like being with you, Viktor,” you tell him, firm. “Ever since I met you, I knew you were my person. I knew you’d understand me, and care about me, and-” you sniffle, “and I’m sorry I’ve fucked it up now. All I’ve ever done is keep you here, in the undercity - even now that you’ve moved topside, I still make you feel obligated to come back. I’m sorry-”
-The bed creaks behind you, and suddenly his arms are tight around your waist, pulling you as close as you can be without crawling beneath his skin.
- “Shut up,” he hisses, burying his face into your shoulder. “You say it as if you’ve done anything other than make my life worth living. Your kindness, your humor, your resilience…how could you ever hold me back, when you’re the reason for everything I do? Waking, working, learning, creating - all for you. Even if I cannot have you, I can still…I can still give you a better future.”
-Your tears bubble past your eyelashes, as his words sink in - dripping sideways down your cheeks and soaking into the threadbare sheets beneath you. All these years, and he had felt like less? With his brilliant mind and warm heart, and all his drive to spark change in the world?
- “You’re all I want,” you whisper to him. “I’m just…I’m just so scared that you’ll lower yourself to my level-”
- “You’re not worthless,” he argues, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “You never have been”
-You squirm for a few moments in his arms, until you're able to roll over and face him. The candle is still burning on its little plate on the desk, casting strange flickers of light over the entire room. The tips of Viktor’s hair glow orange, the rest of his face cast into shadow…but you can still see him.
-The shine of his warm amber eyes, staring at you as if you’re…as if you’re his entire world.
- “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you…” you utter, your heart thumping hard in your chest.
- “I’ve never lied to you,” he replies. “And I would never, especially not about this.”
-The two of you settle into silence after that, reveling in each other’s warmth as you press close and entangle. It doesn’t take long before his breathing evens out and he dozes off, but you don’t dare move - you don’t dare risk disturbing the moment.
-You have a more in depth conversation once you both wake up again, laying out your feelings in earnest and trying not to hide when the inevitable flood of tears come. But by the end of it all, you’re on the same page - partners, for as long as you’ll have each other, and muses, your inspiration for all that you do.
Summary: (Based of the line from Jackie and Wilson by Hozier) You’re too good to be true and way to good for him. It seems as though the gods themselves blessed the planet with your presence while simultaneously disgracing it with his.
Author’s Note: This is my first go at an arcane character and i just had to make it my boy <3 make sure to check my bio to see if requests are open ! Also a big thank you to @spidey-multi for helping me spell check as always ♡
The thought that you were a mere mortal and not a goddess from the heavens was hard to grasp. How? How could such a beautiful creature grace his presence day after day and stand to stay?
The answer lay in that brilliant and loving mind of yours. The same one that never seemed to quit. Never gave up. Pushed through all hours of the night - awake days on end just to make sure each project was safe and complete.
That was your main goal. Your key detail in everything. Safety. Everything needed a 0% risk factor before being unveiled. And you’d work tirelessly to get it there.
That uncrackable mind was one Viktor wished desperately to examine. He’d asked himself countless times what drew you to him. Why did it seem to him (and everyone around him) that you only wished to indulge in his company and his alone.
You were a known recluse. Choosing solitude and silence over time spent with others. He was the only exception.
Why?
Viktor’s mind raged as he watched you write away in your journal. The sunlight behind you illuminating your silhouette. Features defined in such a radiant way. A most divine thing.
You tapped your pen to your mouth, thinking. Your voice flowed out, sounding like honey as you spoke. It was only when you turned your gaze to him with a questioning look that Viktor was snapped from his daze.
Hi! I just finished Hit Dice and it was amazing!! The last chapter especially had me at the edge of my seat, but im so glad they made it! I really love Stacy, she and Steve have such a fun dynamic and she and Eddie are adorable. Would you ever write an epilogue for it? Or just outtakes of their relationship?
Hi, darling!!
I’m so very glad you liked it! It means the world to me 🥺❤️ I was actually thinking of writing a bonus chapter (or chapters, who knows) in the very nearest future! I had such a great time writing the interactions between Stacy and the team and, to be honest, I’ve been missing that lately. Once again, it’s so lovely of you to leave this message. Thank you ❤️
unironically love the phrase “but I’m being so brave about it” because truly, like, what other choice do we have in this wretched existence? what a beautiful way to remind yourself to keep going, even if only out of spite
Request: can i request a james hetfield x reader where she is a rockstar and their bands are touring together?
Author’s note: This didn’t turn out as romantic as I had planned it to be, but I like the way it turned out. If you want a sequel, let me know and I’ll do it because dude, I loved this idea so much. Look at me posting during the week even though I said weekends.
Let’s just say that this was going to be wild
You really attempt to stay on the calmer side just so you don’t get too much publicity, but come on! It’s a tour where you guys are partying in the hotel’s after the shows.
Then there is the thing with James.
You don’t know what it is going on with the two of you, but there’s something.
It’s just something in the air.
You had grown close with him when you started this tour. It was the first tour you and your band had ever been on.
To say you didn’t fully know what to expect is an understatement.
Thankfully, James was there to help you and show you the ropes.
Well, the whole band of Metallica was, but you and James had just hit it off.
Then there was the cheering each other on during the show.
Every time you were around each other, it was like you were just with the right person.
Maybe it was hopeful thinking.
Or maybe it was the way he looked at you like there was no one else he would rather be around
You both understood each other and liked so many of the same things like fast cars, camping, and guitars just to name a few.
“Hey, Y/N.”
You turned to see James running up to you.
There was a huge grin on his face and a glint in his eye that clearly stated that he had a plan.
“You ready for the show tonight?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
It was the last one for the tour, and you were both sad and happy that it was over.
Sad because you were having fun and you weren’t going to spend as much time with James as you did now
Happy because the crazy schedule was a little tiring, and you were missing your own bed.
“Well, it’s going to be a wild one.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is.”
James raised an eyebrow.
“Something on your mind.”
You shook your head, trying to not worry him over your little insecurities.
“Come on! You can tell me.”
“James, it’s really not that big of a deal. I just miss my bed, but I have been having fun on tour. I’m a little torn at the thought that tonight is the last night of the tour.”
James laughed a little, shaking his head.
“I know the feeling. The last day is always hard. The tours are long and can wear you out, but seeing the fans out there singing your songs and dancing to them is energizing.”
You wanted to say something, but he didn’t stop.
“By the way, be prepared for tonight.”
You stared after him as he took off, trying to figure out what that meant.
You were up on stage singing the third song of your set when you heard a commotion behind you.
Lars was adding on his own beat to the drummers, and Jason was running out on stage with his bass.
Then there was James following up with the other two. All three of them in their boxers.
You bit your lip, trying to hold back a laugh and realizing that this was what he warned you about earlier. They had been planning this prank.
You shook your head, wanting to get back at that goof who you were starting to have feelings for, but just didn’t know how to vocalize it.
↳ other warnings: death, blood and serious injury description
↳ mentioned songs/artists: Master of Puppets by Metallica
↳ a/n: hi! I’ve decided to post the finale earlier than anticipated, simply because I just couldn’t wait for y’all to read it! this fic means so much to me and I hope I didn’t disappoint you with the ending. thank you once again for all of the interactions and the love I’ve received on the span of the last month. without further do — enjoy and I’m truly looking forward to posting some more in the nearest future!
Somberness took its toll on everyone in the stolen RV when Max Mayfield and the Sinclairs set off to the Creel's property.
Seated between Eddie and Robin, Stacy tightened the grip on the handle of her gun.
As the quietude planted a deadly kiss on their cheeks, and as the cold breeze getting inside by the halfway-opened window reminded them of the unavoidable actions of tonight's, they sat in silence. Each of them devoured by the most petrifying ideas of what was bound to happen.
No one spoke out. There was no need for it anyway, as no words could possibly describe what was going on in the heads of the unfortunate teenagers. Worlds apart, yet eyes wide open, they focused on the hardest part of the preparation for the battle — the mental one.
Stacy could still feel the sensation of Eddie's lips on hers. Like an anchor, the memory moored her to the shore of reasonability, ensuring her there was no other option than to face the Upside Down… and survive.
She needed to.
They needed to.
Darkness sprawled across Hawkins when Steve parked the van back near Eddie's trailer. The sinister moon was the only source of light that designated their path to the gate. With occasional orders from Nancy, the team silently took their positions as Steve climbed the rope, landing in the alternate dimension as the first out of them.
"Not gonna lie, one more time getting through that gate and this'll begin to feel homey," Stacy mumbled, bringing a smile on Dustin and Eddie's faces.
"What am I supposed say? Hey, I have a portal to another world in my house?" the metalhead chuckled as he helped the girl climb up.
The, now familiar, rollercoaster-like sensation accompanied her when she fell on the mattress right after Nancy Wheeler. Fixing her navy jacket, she mustered up the courage, watching the others joining them on the other side.
As they gathered their weapons, Stacy felt being tucked by her hand. Leading her to the more eerie version of Eddie's kitchen, Steve inhaled loudly, trying to maintain his usual goofy mannerism. Undoubtedly failing as panic washed over his eyes, he placed a hand on his sister shoulder.
"Whatever happens out there, promise me you'll follow the plan," he mouthed, filled with worry. "Even if we... even if we don't come back on time... you run back to the trailer and get your ass out of this place."
Frantically trembling, her fingers found their way to the sides of her brother's face as she whispered, "You will come back on time. And we'll get out of this shithole together."
Steve rapidly shook his head, his voice begging, "You need to promise me, Stace."
As much as she wanted to disagree, yell than under any circumstances she wouldn’t leave him alone, something in his dark eyes filled with fear urged her to nod. As a lonely tear shredded, streaming down her cheek, she hugged her brother tightly.
"Okay... Okay, I promise," she whispered, her voice uneasy.
Gesturing it was high time to get going, Steve lead the group out of the trailer, repeating almost the exact same thing he said to Stacy. Only this time in more of a sarcastic manner. Mentioning how they shouldn't be cute or trying to be heroes, Eddie replied they wouldn't dare to take the glory from him.
"I mean... look at us. We're not heroes," he said, gesturing at him and Dustin. "Maybe except your sister... she's a pain in the ass sometimes," he joked, causing Steve to smirk.
"Will 'ya... you know..." he gestured, looking both at Stacy and Eddie as though to nonverbally communicate with the metalhead.
"Yeah," the curly-haired man nodded, immediately understanding what Steve was asking for. "Don't worry."
Stacy furrowed her brow at the strange exchange of reassurance between the two. However, disregarding the situation due to the lurking atmosphere of doom, she raised up her hand, not finding the strength to wave. As Steve, Robin and Nancy's silhouettes vanished behind the chilling fog, her jaw clenched as she nodded at Dustin and Eddie.
"It's time, boys," she stated steadily, heading forward, ready to pick up the pieces of metal they were supposed to create a fence with.
"With that attitude you sound like a veteran DnD player," Eddie chuckled, following her right away.
Catching a glimpse of his smirk, Stacy reciprocated this expression, nudging his elbow while murmuring, "Maybe someday."
"Okay, guys. Can you tell me what the hell is going on?" Dustin interrupted the interaction that to him sounded ultimately romantic.
"Watch your language. You're underage," Eddie reprimanded his younger friend.
"Less questions, more actions," Stacy added, grabbing onto a big chunk of metal. "That barrier's not going to build itself," she reminded them, hearing Dustin sighing loudly.
"You're the worst. Both of you," he complained, pouting childishly as he went on with his task.
To say creating a fence out of heavy metal scraps was easy would be an understatement — it was draining, utterly exhausting, purely physical. After tying a bandana over her head to prevent hairs from falling into her eyes, Stacy hammered down a few nails that were meant to hold the construction together. The time rushed them to complete the build as rapidly as possible — after all, they had no idea when Erica was going to give them a signal that Max went under Vecna’s curse.
Mind focused on work, Stacy had no space to think of the overwhelming sensation of death, looking over her shoulder. At that point the only thing that mattered was to complete all of the checkpoints of the established plan.
Almost done with her part, she took a look at her left, where Eddie was nailing down the makeshift doors him and Dustin had just put together. The younger boy, on the other hand, was wrapping the sides of the fence in barbed wire that was supposed to act as an additional protection against the bats.
"Need help?" Stacy asked the moment she noticed Eddie struggling with picking up the doors.
"Gladly," he breathed out. "That kid's gonna be the death of me, I swear! He promised me to help!" he added while him and Stacy installed the gateway.
"Speaking of promises," she started, biting her lip. "What was that thing with my brother, huh?" she asked out of pure formality, curious as to what he would say to the question she already had an answer to.
"Oh, nothing really," Eddie replied, looking away to hide the subtle smile that had entered his face.
"Mhmm," Stacy murmured, handing him her hammer. "And it's a coincidence you can communicate telepathically after mentioning me?" she went on, trying to make her point.
She knew Steve had asked him to protect her.
"Don't know what 'ya talking about, darling," Eddie chuckled, placing his hands on her hips in hopes of stealing one last moment of intimacy. He had just realized she finished her work on the gate and was now going on her phase two — hiding in the woods to fire her gun as a distraction when him and Dustin would fled.
"You do damn well, Edds," she disagreed with what seemed to be disappointment in her tone... Little did Eddie know, it was the sign of sheer worry. "I don't need anyone trying to safe me. If things go south, you take care of Dustin and run, 'kay?" she asked, searching for at least a drop of conformation.
Unsuccessfully.
"Buttercup, you know I can't..."
"Bullshit," Stacy interrupted him harshly. "I don't have the time to argue with you, so you'll need to promise me the two of you'll stick to the goddamn plan, alrig..?"
His soft lips cut her off in the middle of her sentence. Surprised but not threw off, she leaned in, immediately melting under his touch.
It was nothing comparing to their first kiss a few hours prior. That instance was a passionate, ecstatic moment long awaited by the two of them. This time, there was no blissful leisure, no light-heartlessness. It was bittersweet, filled with sorrow and the anxiety caused by unavoidable separation.
It took Stacy a few seconds to realize this wasn't an ordinary kiss.
It was a goodbye one.
Neither of them realized that heavy tears began streaming down their cheeks. Not until they slowly pulled away and took a glance at each other's faces. Silence helped them to tame their uneasy breaths and stop the salty droplets from falling. Caught in a pictureframe of a moment, none of them wanted to be the first person, who verbally bid farewell.
"Just for the record," Stacy started, cleaning her sore from crying throat. "If you do anything stupid, I'll be dragging your ass out of Hades, Mordor... any other place you end up in," she added, her smile disrupting her serious face.
"Why does it sound like a threat?" Eddie asked, the same pitiful expression on — red puffy eyes, cracked smile, visible terror — a mixture of the myriad of emotions that freed themselves out of the bottle.
"Because it is," Stacy replied cockily. "Don't you fucking dare dying on me, alright?" she seek agreement, her vision blurring with tears once more.
"Wasn't planning on," he smiled sadly, planting one last kiss on her lips before letting go of her waist.
"Ew, ew! I asked if you could tell me not demonstrate!" The disgusted voice of Dustin Henderson caused the two to step away.
Under any other circumstances, Stacy would've made a snarky remark, an unpleasant or nonchalant comment that would deflect her flustered face. Now, she simply walked up to the teenage boy, pulling him into a tight embrace. Shocked, Dustin tried to mumble something, yet finally, he hugged the younger Harrington back.
"Be careful, Henderson," she whispered to his ear before adjusting her navy jacket and nodding to both Dustin and Eddie. "Stacy Harrington's off," she saluted, turning away the fastest she could.
Trying her best not to look back, she told herself she needed to get through the situation as soon as possible. Therefore, the best option would be to simply set off, forcing herself to bear with the outer-dimensional battle.
"Hey, Stacy!"
Slowly taking a step back, she glanced over her shoulder, only to notice Eddie Munson calling her name.
Please, don't make it harder than it already is, she thought to herself, fearing even the tiniest confession would break her into tears. Again.
"I changed my mind! Screw the dinner, we'll go roller skating!" Eddie exclaimed, causing a painful smile on Stacy's face.
"I-I thought you hated roller skating!" she replied, holding the sob that started building up inside her.
"I can make an exception!" he smirked, his doe eyes visibly glimmering even from the distance that separated him and Stacy.
Waving at him one last time, she realized it was high time for her to go. She couldn't postpone the plan any longer, especially when the clock was striking, claiming the final hour had come.
Wading through the thorny bushes, a pistol in her hand, Stacy sprinted to the spot in the forest she was supposed to wait in. Careful not to step on any of the vines and avoid alarming the hive-mind of her whereabouts, she tried to prepare herself for the worst moment of the scheme — spoken anticipation.
Her part in the grander view was moderately simpler that what Eddie and Dustin or Steve and the girls were meant to do — it didn't involve fighting, it wasn't supposed to be dangerous. However, being a bait for the demobats was risky; that was why Stacy came up with the two routes she was going to take to prevent herself from getting hurt — first, she would fire her gun deeper in the woods. In that case, the bats would have troubles in directly getting to her, not mentioning the advantage the threes gave her when it came to escaping. Then, as she would lure them further in, she would run north, cutting the distance between her hiding and the gate in Eddie's trailer. As she would wait for her brother, Nancy and Robin to join her, Eddie and Dustin would wait in safety, outside the morbid dimension.
Before that, however, she needed to meet the unavoidable — waiting for a signal from Dustin. And so, situating herself behind one of the trees, steady to run if the danger unexpectedly came, Stacy pulled out her flashlight. Calming her breath as she rested her back on the trunk, she double-checked the presence of the ammunition.
"Okay, she's in. Initiate phase three," Erica spoke through the walkie-talkie, confirming Vecna was already in Max's mind.
"Ready for phase three," she informed right after hearing Robin's reply, simultaneously tightening her bandana.
With Dustin's final answer, she crossed her fingers, hoping everything would go as planned. It had to. There was no other option.
Despite her disruptive thoughts, her face immediately lightened up the moment she heard Eddie striking the first chords of Metallica's newest song — Master Of Puppets.
She recalled walking in on him two weeks ago, ineptly trying to play the riff even a complete laic would claim as tremendously difficult. During the following days, he had told her of how he was practicing the song everyday, every chance he could. Even the tiniest amount of time he could find was dedicated to perfecting his skills — an ability that Stacy admired thoroughly. The picture of him, standing near his bed with the guitar he called his sweetheart was undeniably blood-chilling, considering the conditions under which he played it to the greater public for the first time.
The first and probably the only concert in the Upside Down.
Stacy's head spiraled the second the thought entered her mind. With that, the memories of Eddie seemed to flood her, drowning her in somewhat of a comforting sea of the past.
Remembering their meetings, attempted tutoring, not-so-legal smoking sessions, Stacy couldn't help but feel like her own brain was trying to protect her from the shock she was about to endure. Like to a lifebuoy, she grabbed onto her memories, not keen on letting them go.
She remembered the first time they properly met, the first time she saw him leading a DnD campaign. The first time she heard him playing guitar, and the first time he took her on a ride in his van.
Then, she recreated the moments that were far from pleasant. Such as being ashamed of speaking to him in front of her brother, and choosing a Pep Rally she had no slightest interest attending over his last party meeting this semester.
Thorough all her life Stacy Harrington felt as though she wasn't existing. It was as if she was fulfilling the given tasks, never taking accountability for anything but her social status. Laying in a coffin of regret which was closed with nails of helplessness, she forgot she had been buried alive. Always concerned with what others would say, she pushed her true emotions, her true self down the drain of dismay. Stricken with trauma, fears and nightmares, not being able to confess to anyone what she truly felt, she accommodated to the false reality she had created for herself.
It was easier that way.
Pretending not to be real. Not to be alive.
Existing in a bubble of deception.
And yet, this exact bubble had bursted.
It bursted the moment she got to know Eddie Munson. With his affirmative words, telling her she was, in fact, worth both to be accepted as who she was and to have the ability to choose, who she was going to become.
He gave her the compassion that she didn't realize she needed. He gave her understanding, motivation, hope...
Hope for a better tomorrow.
Hope for her own redemption.
Hope, that they would have been people, who would love her for the girl she was.
The girl, who had her own taste in music, interest that differed from the hobbies of her social circle. A person, who was not afraid the most silly joke, or tell a story that was completely out of place. Who used big words, even when they weren't fitting the situation. Who didn't hesitate to punch Jason Carver in the face, and who didn't believe rumors when Eddie was accused of murder. And finally — someone, whom the mentioned metalhead had fallen in love with.
A lonesome tear ran down Stacy's cheek when the truth hit her.
Why would she hate herself and pretend to be someone else if there were those, who unfolded the curtain of her lies and began liking her?
The true her.
The flutter of uncountable wings rang through her ears while she raised up her head. Eddie's guitar solo had ended, meaning phase three was completed. Now, the only thing that remained for Stacy was to wait until Dustin gave her a signal to distract the bats they were fighting.
That moment, she knew she was going to do everything in her will to get herself and her friends alive through this.
Since her first encounter with the Upside Down, Stacy had developed a habit of caring for others more than she cared for herself. Their security and well-being was her priority. This mechanism had her life meaning, it allowed her problems to become trivial, insignificant. Just what she needed to forget about the fears she couldn't cope with.
Yet now, after deciding to listen to her brother as he claimed she shouldn't hesitate when it came to her love life, she couldn't possibly imagined the past few hours taking a different turn. Confessing her feelings to Eddie was one of the best choices of her life.
It felt liberating.
Because of that, she came to the conclusion her wellness wasn't secondary. She realized should treat herself with the same wariness she cared for others. Hence if she wasn't there, soundly safe on her own, who was going to take care of them?
Wary of her own existence for the first time in the longest time, she stood firmly on the wet forest bedding, waiting for Dustin's signal which was supposed to came in any second.
Yet, another minute passed, making itself into three more. It wasn't a good sign.
"Henderson, do you copy?" Stacy spoke through her walkie-talkie, receiving no answer. "Dustin? How's the situation?"
Silence.
Dreading, overpowering silence was the only thing she could hear on the other side of the device.
She debated using her gun there and now, yet if her brother, Nancy and Robin were in the midst of fighting Vecna, she would only cause them harm by luring the bats out so early.
"Dustin?" she called his name one more time before a soul-tearing shriek resounded through the air.
It belonged to Eddie.
Without any notion of hesitation, she fired not one, but four bullets into the air in hopes for alluring the flying creatures. Yet, her worst scenario confirmed — they weren't appearing.
"Whatever happens out there, promise me you'll follow the plan," her brother's words entered her mind.
Torn apart, she recalled Steve's and Eddie's nonverbal agreement.
"How the fuck is he going to protect me if he's dead," she cried out loud, not wasting more time before she sprinted back towards the direction of the trailer.
Out of breath, her muscles not keeping up with the physical endurance, her feet hurting from stumbling over sticks and tree trunks, Stacy somehow managed to get out of the forest, her eyes now fixed on the swarm of demobats, surrounding a silhouette of a person she knew too well.
"Eddie!" She didn't recognize her own voice.
It sounded distant, almost like it was not coming from her. Chilling to the marrow, petrified.
She watched as he fell down on the ground, tails of the creatures wrapping around each of his limbs.
"Stacy! Run!" he managed to yell before he let out another, pain-stricken gasp.
Firing her gun, killing two bats that clumped by his sides, she didn't listen. Her face covered with abnegation, her eyesight focused on targeting the creatures, she shouted in frenzy, "I'm not leaving you behind!"
He saw her through the grave mist, shooting the creatures before three of them got her, causing her to collapse. One of them gripped her wrist, the two others by her feet as she tried to kick them down.
"Get out of here!" he cried out before another bat tore out a piece of flesh from his abdomen.
Deprived breath to answer, Stacy gathered all of her strength to push down one of the monsters. It was enough to take a partial control over her body and annihilate the flesh-eating abomination that was attacking the metal head. Somehow, she stood up, bats flying over her head as they seek a way to attack her. On her mind, there was only one thing — safe Eddie.
Clenching her jaw, she tried to run towards him, yet another one of the bats flew right into her, ripping out the amateur bandaid that covered the wound below her collarbone. Back on the ground as the rest of the monsters pinned her down, the grip on her gun firming, in hopes of somehow breaking free.
Fighting for a single inhale when a bats tail tightened around her neck. A subconscious salve of the need for air took over her completely, leading her to wrap her fingers around the scut. Gasping, her eyes traveled to Eddie, who frantically screamed as the bats continued their attack.
She could hear his words from before, roaming through her mind, "Screw the dinner, we'll go roller skating!"
Tears in her eyes, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth and her injuries, she hit the creature strangling her, regaining ability to breathe for a brief moment. Rapidly yet focused not to hurt Eddie, she fired all of the remaining bullets at the monsters surrounding him. Just two remained alive as she dug her nails into the slimy skin of one of them, studding it with the handle of her gun.
Soon, the eerie sound of lighting was the only thing that reached their ears. No more shrieking of the bats, no more battle screams. The silence that built up, supposing to bring peace, acted as a reminder of the horrid events.
Dustin's terrified yell confirmed that the onslaught was over. He emerged through the fog, limping on one leg.
"Stacy! Eddie!"
His voice worked as a motivation for the girl to turn on her stomach in attempts of getting up.
She noticed the boy running up to her, immediate answer that appeared on the brim of her barely conscious mind being, "I'm alright."
"You always say that," the words she imagined Eddie saying grew on her.
She wasn't alright. There was no need in belittling the pain she was under.
"I'll manage," was what she decided to speak out when Dustin was about to kneel down next to her. "Go to Eddie," she ordered him, her body so weak it could merely form a sentence.
The boy nodded and only now Stacy noticed one of his ankles was twisted.
Placing both of her palms underneath her torso, she got up on her knees, coughing maniacally. Touching her mouth, she noticed she was spitting blood.
She had no clue how she managed to stand up and run towards the boys. It was as though she was dreaming — her body deprived any physical sensations, any pain. Even Eddie's voice didn't feel real as he said, "I-I-I think it's my year, Henderson... I think it's finally my year..."
Dropping down beside him, Stacy couldn't ease her rapid breath. She caught a glimpse of Dustin's red eyes that seemed to be screaming for her help. Her hands trembled so uncontrollably when she uncovered Eddie's stomach, trying to examine his wounds.
Firstly, he didn't acknowledge her presence. Like an ethereal figure, she towered over him, heavy tears escaping her eyes.
"W-why didn't you listen?" he managed to mumble, gripping onto her jacket. "I-I've promised Steve, I'd..."
"And I've promised you, I'll go after you to the hell and back," she cried out, supporting her hands with her knee as she tore down the bottom half of her shirt. "You're not dying on me, Edds... Do you hear me? You're not..." she couldn't finish, hence a loud sob took over her.
She felt his hand slowly letting go of her, his eyes trying to stay focused on her face.
"Dustin! Give me your bandana!" Stacy wailed, making an effort to stop the bleeding from his wounds. "Stiffen your leg. Don't move it until the rest comes back," she added in hysteria, frightened that more blood appeared on Eddie's body.
It was until she noticed the crimson liquid was leaking from her own injuries, staining his purple stomach as she was patching him up.
"We'll be okay," she bawled. "We'll be okay and we'll go roller skating. We'll bring you with us, Dustin, okay?" she tried to convince both herself and them.
"I'm sorry," Eddie's silent whisper reached her ears before she felt his cold fingers cupping her cheek.
"No, no, no... We will be fine, Edds! You need to teach me how to play DnD a-and I-I still need to see Corroded Coffin live," she rambled through her sobs, not stopping her attempts of saving him.
His body shifted ever so slightly as his lips trembled. "I love you, Stacy. Ever since d-day one," he chuckled through pain, his eyes too dry to shed tears.
"Stop it, Eddie! Stop it! You're going to be alright," she cried out, realizing that the words she so seek to hear were not a love confession. They were a farewell.
Her glance raised the moment she saw three silhouettes on the horizon. Almost like through a delirium, she raised up, stumbling over her own legs as tears didn't stop flowing.
"Steve! Steve, please help!" she yelled in utter terror, falling straight into her brother's arms.
"Stace? Are you..?"
"Please," she repeated, her face in complete agony before she fully lost her balance over her body.
Slipping through her brother's arms, she saw the world spinning before she hit the ground.
After that, darkness soothed her mind entirely, devouring every single piece of her bone-weary state.
She didn't hear her brother screaming her name. She didn't saw Nancy and Robin running up to Dustin and Eddie. She didn't witnessed when they got out through the gate.
She didn't feel being carried.
It was blank.
The sound of breaking glass was what caused her to regain consciousness. She tried to open her eyelids, yet for some reason they seemed as if they were made out of steel. Moving her fingers ever so slightly, she felt every single muscle strain of her body being utterly depleted. Each inch of her flesh seemed to hurt like she was being torn apart by stray dogs.
"Crap, crap, crap," muffled voice of Robin was the first thing she heard.
Shooting up from where she was laying, she rapidly sat up, taking the first deep inhale in a few hours. Only then she realized she was situated on the couch in the living room of her own house, covered by a blanket that belonged to her brother.
"Shit, Steve! Wake up!" Robin called the moment she witnessed Stacy opening her eyes.
Adjusting her eyes to the dimmed light, the injured girl took a better look around herself — Steve and Nancy were asleep in the armchairs opposite of her, both changed in clean clothes. Their hair, however, were fairly disheveled, dirt and mud still clinging onto them. Equally as bruised and tired, Robin gave up on cleaning the glass she had just broken, instead approaching Stacy, whose head was still light.
"What... what..." she tried to speak out but her voice was so hoarse, so harsh, she couldn't make up a whole sentence.
"You goddamn idiot! You complete moron!" Steve shouted out the second he realized she woke up. Speeding towards her, he embraced her in a tight, brotherly hug. "You were meant to follow the plan!" he added, his tone now entirely changing.
He was crying.
"Hey, Steve. Steve," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him.
"I've told you all not to play heroes! I've told you not to..!"
"Steve, I'm alright. I'm alive," she interrupted him, grabbing him by his shoulders to force him to look at her.
"Barely!" he argued, his under eyes red and puffy. "Do you have the slightest idea how scared I was when you fainted?!"
"Steve." Nancy's hand placed on his back immediately stopped him from further screaming. "She's still weak. She needs rest," the girl reminded him, her words shocking Stacy.
"I... what?" she asked, only then taking a proper glance at her own body.
Changed into one of her oversized T-shirts and pajama pants, she began to feel the tightness of the bandages that were dressing her stomach, torso and neck. Looking at the dried blood underneath her fingers, the recollection of the latest events flooded her memory.
"Jesus Christ, is everyone..?" she didn't let herself finish when her eyes opened wide in overwhelming terror.
The sight of Eddie's bloody face appeared in front of her eyes.
What was worse was the look on the faces of the three people present in the room. Without having time to think as fear took over her, she stood up, almost falling down in the process.
"Hey, sit back down," Steve ordered her, not letting go of her arms.
His grip was the only thing forcing her to find herself back on the sofa. If it wasn't for it, she would've listened — she wasn't understanding any of the words they were saying. The blood rushing through her veins ultimately prevented her from it.
"Where's Eddie and the kids?" she repeated over again, digging her nails into her palms. "Please, tell me they're okay. Please, just..."
"Stacy, you need to calm down," Nancy murmured softly, grabbing her hands so she would stop hurting herself further.
"Where are they?" Stacy weak voice cried as tears streamed down her cheeks.
She feared the worst.
"Lucas and Erica are at the hospital with Max... she's..." Nancy stopped herself in hopes of phrasing what happened to the redhead girl in the most gentle way. After all, Stacy had lost lots of blood. She didn't want her boldness being the culprit of her fainting again.
"She's not well... We stopped Vecna before he had a chance to..." Robin tried to help, noticing Nancy's struggle, however, the curly-haired girl narrowed her eyes as a reprimanding gesture.
"She's alive, Stacy. But her condition is bad," Steve answered, causing his sister's lips to turn into a slim line. "We took Dustin to get his leg checked and the doctor's told us it'll take time for her to wake up," he explained, guilt washing over every single person in the room.
"Dustin's alright?" Stacy asked, wanting to confirm if at least he was safe.
"Yeah... he's here actually," her brother answered, a sad smile on his face. "He's been guarding Eddie since we got his wounds checked up."
With this information, Stacy stood back up with the speed of light, dragging her wounded leg behind her as she reached the living room doors.
"Where are you going?" Steve shoot rapidly, meeting Nancy's eyes, who were silently saying his question was purely rhetorical.
"Where..?" Stacy didn't finished her thought, hence she figured out it was self-explanatory. Now, she was only waiting for an answer.
"Your bedroom."
That was enough for her to take off, ignoring all of the pain she felt.
"Do you need help with the stairs?" Robin called after her, causing Stacy to silently chuckle.
"The bats got me, not dementia," she joked through her focused on not showing hurt face.
Her brain still wasn't fully processing information she had just learned.
Her feet were so heavy as she walked upstairs, yet didn't fully feel like they belonged to her. Her wounds burning with soreness but the sensation seemed to oscillate outside her body.
It all seemed like a dream. A bittersweet dream of realization that they didn't protected Max, that they didn't see Vecna's dead body. That she had no clue what condition Eddie was in.
Stumbling once more, she smirked, realizing accepting Robin's help wouldn't have been that bad. Yet somehow, she was standing on top of the staircase, steps away from the doors of her bedroom.
"Oh, god. You woke up," Dustin claimed in relief as he limped towards Stacy, his arms wrapping around her.
"Hey, careful kid," she chuckled, pulling him closer as she messed up his hair. "How's your leg?"
"Durable," he smiled, refusing to elaborate before his eyes met hers. They were overcrowded with gratitude. "Look, I don't know how to thank you for what..."
"Dustin, you don't need to..."
"You saved his life, Stace," he interrupted her, his face muscles trembling. "I bet Steve hasn't told you yet… but Eddie would’ve bled out if it wasn't for that makeshift bandaid from your shirt," he explained, grabbing her forearm as he repeated passionately, "You saved him."
Uncontrollably tearing up, Stacy placed a soft kiss on top of his head, almost like she was telling him there was nothing to be worried about. That he needn't be scared anymore.
"I can't take all the credit, Dusty," she tried to lightened him up, referring to his own heroic actions of returning to the Upside Down after Eddie.
"Hey, don't get too carried away," he chuckled, trying to cover up the nostalgia that was planted in his tone. "Only mom and Suzie can call me that," he reminded her, bringing back his usual mannerism.
"Can't I get a free-pass, too?" she teased him, just as if he was her own sibling.
"Never in a million years. That's too embarrassing." He shook his head in amusement.
Reciprocating his smile, Stacy patted his back before asking, "Can I see him?"
Dustin nodded, his fingers on the doorknob. The moment he opened the door for her, Stacy couldn't help her grin from widening. Saying he was going to give them some time alone, the boy watched as she froze in place, hesitant about her following actions.
"I must say, Miss Hawkins, your bed is remarkably comfortable."
Suddenly, her state of apathy had vanished. Her body seemed to thoroughly know what it was supposed to do. As her legs lead her to the bedside, her head spun once again. Only this time it wasn't caused by exhaustion nor fear. It was pure joy that overtook her thoughts.
"I should be screaming at you right now," she whispered as she sat down beside him.
His tired eyes found hers, fingers wrapping tightly around her wrist when he agreed, "Yeah, I should be, too."
"You look like a train wreck," she spatted out before having time to reconsider her words.
Her worry spoke first. Seeing his bruised face, the bandaids over his body, the dark circles underneath his eyes was enough to cause such a reaction.
"Mhm, always delighted to hear compliments from you," he chuckled, yet immediately placed his hand over his stomach as his laugh became slightly more painful than he originally anticipated.
"Does it hurt?"
"Tickles," he answered mockingly, noticing her mouth opening, ready to scold him for a not suitable joke. "You gave me quite a scare with that fainting fit of yours," he admitted, his light-hearted spirit present despite the fact that death almost dragged them to the grave.
"If I started to list out things you scared me with, it'll be a twenty-hour-long monologue," she replied dramatically before being pulled down by her hand. Her head landed on his chest as his fingers instantly began to stroke her hair.
"I believe I have more reasons to be mad at you, darling," he mumbled, allowing himself to close his eyes while stricken with pleasurable weight of her body on his.
"Huh?" Stacy murmured in confusion.
"You've never said it back," he disclosed, biting his lower lip as she raised his head to look at him. "Not even when the poor Dungeon Master was bleeding out... You wicked, wicked, heartless woman," he added in a chuckle, only now making himself clear.
"How the hell can you speak about it so casually?" Stacy asked, her brows furrowing. She couldn't help but gawk at him in awe.
"Well, there's nothing more that holds me down," he grinned proudly before adding in a theatrical tone, "Eddie the Banished has conquered his fears. He does not longer run away."
"Oh, you fucking idiot," Stacy gasped, grabbing the sides of his head. "If you ever pull this act again, I swear to heavens, I'm handcuffing you to my wrist."
"Kinky," he smirked nonchalantly, watching as Stacy's cheeks burnt red.
However, in the heat of the moment, she lowered her face, placing little kisses all over his cheeks, nose and forehead, slowly making her way to his lips.
"You're so goddamn annoying, I cannot stand you sometimes," she whispered with a smile as his mouth captured hers.
"And the rest of the time?" he asked teasingly, his hands traveling down her back.
"The rest of the time..." Stacy repeated, acting as if she was searching for an answer. "The rest of the time I think of how much I love you," she admitted, feeling his lips curving into a wide smile.
"Ooh, I like this turn of events," he laughed, passionately kissing her.
"Thought it was obvious," Stacy chuckled, melting into his touch.
"You did dodge my attempts to kiss you. Twice," he reminded her, dramatically waving her finger in front of her face.
"Well," the word lingered from Stacy's mouth as she stroked his hair. "Is there any hope for my repentance?"
Eddie sat up with the widest smirk Stacy had ever seen on his face, "I think I have some ideas."
"Oh, that's so sweet! I'm going to barf," Steve's voice coming through the entrance to the room separated the two, causing the girl to raise her brows in agitation.
"I recall mom teaching you how to knock quite vividly," she stated, standing up from the bed she was leaning over.
"We're in my house, smartass," he argued.
"You're in my bedroom, bag-face." An amused expression painting on Eddie's face as he watched the siblings bickering.
Shaking his head, Steve approached him, clasping his hand in a handshake. "Glad to see you back, Munson."
"It's good to be back, man," Eddie replied, patting Stacy's brother's back.
She watched their greeting in sheer amusement, an involuntary drop of happiness tinting her face.
"Daddy called," Steve informed innocently his sister as he paced across the room. "He said they're taking an earlier flight home ‘cause he's worried about the earthquake in Hawkins," he explained.
"Dad's worried? It really is the end of the world," Stacy replied in theatrical surprise, crossing her arms.
"Oh, don't goof around. We need to figure out what to do with this guy in your bed," Steve rolled his eyes, pointing at Eddie.
"Geez, Harrington. It sounds like a bad rom-com plot," the metalhead chuckled, raising his hands in a defensive gesture when he noticed Steve's glance.
"He stays here, obviously. What else are we supposed to do?" Stacy stated as clear as if she was telling him that two plus two equals four.
"Just so you know — you're the one who'll be telling mom about this," Steve warned her with an attitude of an arrogant older brother.
"Invalid but very burning question," Eddie interrupted the siblings, causing their attention to focus entirely on him. "Are your parents one of those people, who named their children similar names because it sounded cute? If so, hell, I'm so scared of them."
Steve and Stacy bursted out laughing in unison. The dramatic expression Eddie was displaying was enough to made the tension completely disappear.
"I see why you like him," Steve murmured almost inaudibly.
"What did you say?" Stacy exclaimed, her eyes shimmering brightly. "Oh, I'll remind you of that so many times in the nearest future!"
With a grin of victory on her face, Stacy watched her brother sighing before walking away, saying, "Get lost, booger."
Alone in her room again, Stacy and Eddie glanced over each other, smiles plastered t their cheeks.
"Did I get this right? I have your brother's blessing?" the metalhead snorted, fully entertained by what had just occurred.
"Seems like it," Stacy chuckled, planting a quick kiss on Eddie's lips before she got up, starting pacing around the room. "Listen, we'll get you a lawyer. My mom is acquainted with some dudes from Indianapolis. We'll get those charges out of you and then you'd be a free man walking... Oh! Before that we'll need to contact your uncle! Get him a proper place to stay a-and you could live for a bit here. I'll convince my parents..."
"Oh, yeah?" Eddie smirked, watching the love of his life pacing in frenzy all over her bedroom.
"Yeah! We'll deal with that Upside Down shit, we'll graduate, you'll flip Higgins the finger and we'll move out somewhere far away from this shithole!" she ranted in excitement.
"And then what?" he chuckled, fully captivated by the sudden cheerfulness that took over Stacy.
"Then we'll go out for a dinner... or actually, we should do that sooner! Oh! I almost forgot about the roller skating thing! Hope you don't mind if we bring the kids with us. I kind of already promised Dustin when, you know, I was crying, you were barely alive and shit... A-and then we'll play DnD! God, I really should start thinking about my character chart... that goblin princess idea seems boring now..."
"Stacy," Eddie laughed, trying to reach his hand for hers.
"And when you'll get better, we'll book you a gig and I'll finally watch your concert," she added, abruptly stopping in place after she realized Eddie had been calling her name. Numerous times now. "Sorry if it was overwhelming," she breathed out, realizing her sudden outburst of joy was quite unexpected.
"No, it's just," Eddie smirked, moving to his left to make space for her to sit down. "...I think you glossed over the part when I ask you to be my girlfriend," he added, playing with his hair.
Stacy's face brightened at the sound of his words. Not later after that, she threw herself on the bed and careful not to worsen his injuries embraced him in a warm, tight hug.
"Silly me. Completely forgetting about the formalities," she giggled, capturing his lips with hers.
A kiss they shared expressed more than a lengthy love letter. It was better that a sincere poem, hence both Stacy and Eddie knew it wasn't simply a romantic gesture. It was a promise.
