#merciless saviors

[zkwoodz]

THE GOD OF GODS

[lgbtqreads]

New Releases: April 16, 2024

Queer and Fearless: Poems Celebrating the Lives of LGBTQ+ Heroes by Rob Sanders and Harry Woodgate Learn about the lives of some of the most important LGBTQ+ heroes in this unique picture book that combines poetry and biographical information to honor those at the forefront of LGBTQ+ history. Young readers will learn about the lives and legacies of seventeen heroes of the queer community from…

[traeumenvonbuechern]

The cover for "Merciless Saviors", the sequel to "Godly Heathens", has been revealed today!

[museandquill]

Get to Know Me

Tagged by @irishprincezz here

Last Song: Always Forever by Cults

Last TV Show or Film: Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood

Currently Watching: Lisa Frankienstein

Currently Reading: A Certain Hunger by Chelsea G Summers and Merciless Saviors by H.E. Edgemon

Sweet, Spicy, or Savory: Spicy 100%

Last Thing I Searched Online: How many dlcs did the sims 2 have

Last Thing I Searched for Writing purposes: Anti Homeless architecture (it was for a college writing assignment)

Current Obsession: Stardew Valley (I'm currently romancing Leah) and the Sims 2 and 3

[transbookoftheday]

Merciless Saviors by H.E. Edgmon

SPOILERS FOR "GODLY HEATHENS"!

That day at the First Church of Gracie changed everything for Gem Echols, and not just because Marian and Poppy betrayed them. Forced to use the Ouroboros knife on Zephyr, who had kidnapped their parents, Gem now has the power of the God of Air.

While for any other god things might work out okay, the Magician—whose role within the pantheon is to keep the balance—having the power of another god has thrown everything into chaos. The Goddess of Death can now reanimate corpses; the God of Art’s powers are now corrupted and twisted, giving life to his macabre creations; and, while the God of Land has always been able to communicate with creatures of the Earth, now everyone can hear their cries.

As Gem, Rory, and Enzo search for a way to restore the balance without sacrificing themselves, new horrors make them question how far they're willing to go. In the end, Gem may be forced to fully embrace their merciless nature and kill off their own humanity—if it ever really existed in the first place.

[bookishlyvintage]

Merciless Saviors (Godly Heathens #2), HE Edgmon

"But stories are so often forced to abandon shades of gray in favor of black and white. A parable cannot teach a lesson about good and evil if there is no evil."

☆☆ || full review

[nerd-at-sea5]

just finished godly heathens and my first thought is ‘holy crap there better be a sequel’ AND THERE IS

and bc i am implosive and love reading i have already bought merciless saviors on my kindle

this might be my new favorite book series and i’ve only read one of them

[elliepassmore]

Merciless Saviors release!

That day at the First Church of Gracie changed everything for Gem Echols, and not just because Marian and Poppy betrayed them. Forced to use the Ouroboros knife on Zephyr, who had kidnapped their parents, Gem now has the power of the God of Air.

While for any other god things might work out okay, the Magician—whose role within the pantheon is to keep the balance—having the power of another god has thrown everything into chaos. The Goddess of Death can now reanimate corpses; the God of Art’s powers are now corrupted and twisted, giving life to his macabre creations; and, while the God of Land has always been able to communicate with creatures of the Earth, now everyone can hear their cries.

As Gem, Rory, and Enzo search for a way to restore the balance without sacrificing themselves, new horrors make them question how far they're willing to go. In the end, Gem may be forced to fully embrace their merciless nature and kill off their own humanity—if it ever really existed in the first place.

Bookshop.org

Barnes & Noble

Merciless Saviors picks up pretty much where Godly Heathens left off, and things immediately get chaotic for Gem and the crew. This book is much more action-packed than book 1 since everything is out in the open now and the big showdown between the gods didn't quite go as well as planned. We get to see a lot more of the gods' powers this time around, and I liked getting to see that side of them.

We also get a chance to leave Gracie, and it was interesting to see what the gods' original world looks like after a thousand years of absence. I liked the magic and wonder of that world, as well as the slightly apocalyptic feel certain parts of it had.

Looking for a more in-depth opinion? Check out my full review!

If you're new to Gem's world, I also have a review for Godly Heathens.

[deanncastiel]

2024 Book #152

Title: Merciless Saviors Author: H.E. Edgmon Genre: Fantasy, Young Adult, LGBTQIA+ Series: The Ouroboros, Book 2

That day at the First Church of Gracie changed everything for Gem Echols, and not just because Marian and Poppy betrayed them. Forced to use the Ouroboros knife on Zephyr, who had kidnapped their parents, Gem now has the power of the God of Air. While for any other god things might work out okay, the Magician—whose role within the pantheon is to keep the balance—having the power of another god has thrown everything into chaos. The Goddess of Death can now reanimate corpses; the God of Art’s powers are now corrupted and twisted, giving life to his macabre creations; and, while the God of Land has always been able to communicate with creatures of the Earth, now everyone can hear their cries. As Gem, Rory, and Enzo search for a way to restore the balance without sacrificing themselves, new horrors make them question how far they're willing to go. In the end, Gem may be forced to fully embrace their merciless nature and kill off their own humanity—if it ever really existed in the first place.

Rating: 4 ⭐

Quick thoughts: liked the first one better, this plot meandered quite a bit, wanted several characters to die but alas, a+ for polyamory, enjoyed the ending.

[siriuslygrimm]

Shifts and Supports

#BOOKREVIEW - Shifts and Supports - #MercilessSaviors #blog

In the wake of betrayal and general chaos, the scales of balance that have been precariously kept are skewed unknowably out of kilter, causing a cascade of consequences in Merciless Saviors by H. E. Edgmon. After quickly learning of and coming to some tentative terms with the fact of being a reincarnated god, Gem was forced to use the Ouroboros knife on Zephyr, which took his life and magic, the…

[quirkycatsfatstacks]

Review: Merciless Saviors by H.E. Edgmon

Series: The Ouroboros #2Author: H.E. EdgmonPublisher: Wednesday BooksReleased: April 16, 2024Received: OwnFind it on Goodreads | More Fantasy Book Summary: Gem Echols life has been changed forever. They were betrayed, which isn’t as shocking as it should be. More importantly, the decisions they made in the heat of the moment will resonate in their worlds forever. Now, Gem and the remaining…

[yanderenightmare]

Genderbend Himoko Toga

♡ TW: yandere, blood, wounds, kidnapping

♡ FEM reader

He's uncomfortably tall. Lurking and towering in the corner, blade tickling his lips and smile glinting as he runs his tongue over his teeth, eyes glowing bright yellow and dead-set on you.

Many in the league are bigger than you, but Toga really takes the cake when it comes to height. He doesn’t look like much standing next to Muscular, despite sharing the same eye level, but next to you? He can't even rest his chin on the top of your head without having to bend over.

You don't often see the muscle in him, but you’re smart enough to know what’s hidden within his large beige sweater. Long serpentine arms that sling around you like a boa much too quick for you to escape and fight, joined by slender fingers that seem to curl around your everything with ease.

You don't know why you're thinking of him at a time like this. Maybe the entrapment felt similar, where you were strapped to a chair, blindfolded, surrounded by gruff voices discussing whether they should kill you to send a message or bargain for something better.

It was clear they didn't realize you didn't mean shit to the League.

Your body hurts—aches from wounds and smaller cuts you’d sustained when they'd taken you. They hadn’t played nice. But you suppose you ought to see it as respect—however misplaced—that they regarded you with the same merciless ruthlessness as if you were a real League member and not just some toy they keep around for funsies.

Suppose Toga would just get a new one now.

Your kidnappers will realize it soon enough—how no one’s coming for you. All that effort wasted—must make them mad. They’ll probably kill you before long. But right as you’re accepting your end, there’s a sudden commotion...

Angry voices turn to panicked shouting. Then silence.

You wonder what’s going on.

You hear footsteps coming closer—light ones moving slowly across the floor until stopping before you.

Cold hands cup your face in a familiar hold, sliding your blindfold off, only to reveal a pair of yellow eyes staring back at you.

"You–” Your voice comes out thin and dry. “You came..."

Toga smiles at you—that same way he always does, bright and creepy with his fangs on display. "Of course we came, silly doll,” he gushes, nose-kissing you with a humming chuckle.

There’s a scoff, and another voice, one steeped in sarcasm, drawls, "Yeah, fuck forbid Toga's favorite toy wound up in the wrong hands."

"Tch–we’d never hear the end of it…"

Standing behind your unlikely savior’s crouched form is a familiar duo—one raven and another white-haired.

"Don't listen to them, dolly. They’re too blind to see you like I do."

Toga pouts, shaking his head at their words as he brings forth his knife—blood-drenched and still dripping from the assault. You spot the bodies on the floor and can’t help but cringe. Skin rippling with shivers as he uses the same blade to cut loose the ropes binding your feet to the chair. 

Dabi shrugs, "Don't get me wrong—she’s a pretty bitch, but pretty ain't worth all this mess." He kicks one of the limp bodies they’d dropped. Blood seeping out on his shoes.

Shigaraki grins, looking at you and your bloodied face, "She ain’t too pretty no more, though.”

Dabi, too, chuckles at the sight. "Yeah, they fucked her up a bit, didn’t they.”

They both snicker. "Sure you want damaged goods, Toga?”

Again, Himiko just shakes his head and ignores them, looking at you through those slim eyes full of something that scares you way worse than the men from earlier. "We should pity them, dolly. They don't have what we have. They don't love the way we do.”

He leans over your lap, bloody hands on your thighs as he looks up at you half-mast with pupils wide like the void—forgetting to cut free your bound wrists in favor of basking in the look on your pretty face.

“You're worth everything to me. Everything and more.”

With a blush dusting his cheeks deep pink, he graces your face with his knife. You swear you see his eyes nearly roll back—elated by the red staining your otherwise smooth skin.

"They really did a little number on you, didn't they~” he sighs with a flutter in his chest, biting his lip as he leans in closer for inspection. "Hmm, maybe I should've thanked them before cutting them up.”

He zeroes in on your popped lip and licks his own—voice coming out darker with what he says next, "They made you even cuter than before…”

The other two grimace before rolling their eyes and taking their cue, leaving you to fend for yourself. Not that you expected anything else. Though, you’re starting to believe you were better off with the previous kidnappers compared to the one in front of you.

"All bloodied and bruised…” 

Toga’s eyes get misty, overwhelmed by the tasty sight. 

"Don't worry, dolly—I'll nurse you back to health."

♡ BNHA masterlist

[jumiinx]

the matriarch ;; caitbessa x reader 𝜗𝜚

synopsis: you're ambessa's best soldier, and she has taken notice that you've grown soft for the piltovian commander. cw: power imbalance, implied age gap, jealousy and manipulation, men and minors dni.

Steel armor and matted furs lay haphazardly in the large washroom, next to a red cloak stained with dark blood. 

Your soapy hands glide across Ambessa’s bare backside- running across each raised scar with a practiced ease. Kneeling behind her, you make sure to wash every crevice. 

Dried blood and dirt blends in with the soapy water. 

“The gardens were rather dull without you, my lady.” You murmur softly, interrupting her from her thoughts.

She adjusts against the backside of the bath, her breasts visible from above the waterline. The infamous symbol of war was still a woman- an elegant and feminine one at that. 

Ambessa hums, her head leaning back to give you access to her neck. 

“Were they now?” Her eyes close, muscles relaxing from the warm water.

Jasmine was her preferred scent, so you pour a few drops of the oil into her bath. 

The warlord's lips quirk up at the notion. “The battlefield was dull without you, my soldier.” She didn't move, but the suspicion in her voice was clear. “I’m sure the flowers could’ve waited until tomorrow, no?” 

You pause. One. Two.

𝜗𝜚 

Being her best soldier, you had a job to do. Protecting her was your first priority- but you were also to dress her, wash her, and accompany her whenever she went out. 

Today was an exception. 

Without her knowledge, you were with Caitlyn Kiramman. 

The secret meetings, the stolen kisses, they were all incredibly risky. Every night you would return to Caitlyn to feel her soft body against yours, but today she needed you earlier, and you were there for her. It was rather difficult to keep track of time with her fingers inside of you, chanting her name like a prayer-

𝜗𝜚

Ambessa notices you growing quiet, and she looks up at you.

 “Do you take me for a fool, soldier?” 

You freeze, the bathwater starting to grow cold. 

“I-” 

“I’ve tolerated your little…distraction long enough.”

Disdain drips from her words. You feel her calloused hand wrap around your wrist- an order. “Have you grown soft on me? Must I remind you that I dragged you out from the streets, made you worthy of Noxus- of me?” 

That stung. It was a sore subject.

Her disappointment spread in your nerves, and you could feel your eyes watering. 

“I trained you better than this.” The warlord frowns, eyes hard and merciless. She had known of your little affair from the beginning, but let it slide when it was just superficial. After all, the poor Kiramman had lost her mother and was lonely, and you were always so good at obeying. 

The warlord rises, droplets of water running down her large breasts, trailing down her abdomen. The coldness of the air makes her dark nipples stiffen. 

She steps out, bare and unashamed. “Speak, soldier.”

It’s as if your body was on autopilot- frozen from her gaze. 

Having no words, you merely bow your head. Your eyes were trained on the ground out of respect, of loyalty- of shame. 

“It was a lapse of judgement, my lady.” Was the best you could come up with. 

Ambessa’s lips pressed together in a tight smile. “Lapses of judgement are not accepted in my army.” She towered over you, and left no room for argument. 

Her calloused hand grips your jaw and angles your head up to meet her eyes. 

“Who was it who saved you from the gutters?” She spews, tightening her grip.

It was a debt you could never repay her, and she would use that to her advantage. 

“You, my lady.” Your voice comes out a pitiful whisper. You’ll say anything- do anything to gain her approval, as you despised her being displeased with you.

Before you met her, picturing your corpse splayed across the streets was a daily occurrence. She was your savior- the one who you owed your life to. 

“You serve me.” The warlord scans your demeanor. “Not some Piltovian pawn that doesn’t know the real you.” She lets go, only to pull you up to your feet. 

“It won’t happen again, general. It was purely physical.” You could feel a tear slide down your cheek, but wipe it away before she could see it and chide you for being weak. 

“It seems I’ve allowed you too much freedom.” Ambessa states coldly, her eyes trailing down your form, seemingly scrutinizing you.

“If you have physical…needs, you are to report to me.” 

You blink, lips opening in shock. “Pardon me, my lady, but-” Your cheeks burn in embarrassment, and you couldn’t help but look at the rise and fall of her bust. Your underwear dampened from the sight.

“Do I have to repeat myself, soldier?” 

The firmness of her tone makes you shake your head. You were embarrassed enough. 

“No, general.” The words struggle to leave your mouth, the evidence of your arousal clear.

Finally, she nods in approval- seeing right through you. 

“It seems we have a deal, then.”

𝜗𝜚 

taglist: @abbyslvrrr, @tojisbestslut, @thesevi0lentdelights <3

[graysdarling]

〡𝓙. lynch ˎˊ˗ touches.

- summery: joey lynch could handle mean touches. but your touches? absolutely not.

- warnings: abuse, suggestive, trauma

- words: 646

- voicemail: WAHHHH MY POOR BABY also sorry this took SO long literally im in a writing slump tf

reblogs and comments are appreciated ⭑.ᐟ

𝓙oey lynch hurts. he hurts others. he hurt the boys that were talking bad about his sister. he joined when his “friend”—who wasn’t his friend necessarily, he just smoked with him—when he got pissed about what he was saying. oh, he joined. if you’d ask him, he didn’t do anything wrong. what did you expect?

he fought back when his father hit him. he wouldn’t be that weak boy who was scared of getting yelled at—not anymore. so he hit. everyone thought that they were just fights that he started with a smile. and sometimes, they were. the bruises on his jaw and black eye were. but the rest? the scars on his chest and temple? he earned those.

he hurts himself. he knew that his lungs were filled with black smoke, just like his world—his dark thoughts. why change? it helped him. drinking until he could barely stand up helped him take his mind off of the pain. so much pain. but he couldn’t let anybody else know that. that would be weak. and joey lynch wouldn’t be weak. not anymore. there wasn’t a brand of cigarettes that he hadn’t tried. the more mindless it made him, the more empty, the better.

his damaged hands, filled with scars and callouses by throwing hands with anyone who dared to piss him off or talk bad about his siblings. he didn’t care. he was already scarred. he hurts the people who try to help him. hurting was all he knew. helping meant he was able to be fixed. he wasn’t. he knew that. why couldn’t anyone else? he was unlovable. his own mother was scared of him.

he knew how to handle touches filled with lust. he knew them very well. it took his mind off of things, ruining the women he slept with for any man to come. the marks on his back from long nails, hands on his neck that tightened by pleasure, crescents on his thighs—or violent touches. he knew how to handle them, too. every time his father got too drunk, too angry. he always made sure he attacked him and not his siblings. always. he took them and fought back harder.

but oh, comforting, soothing touches. he would rather die. he was used to flinching away from the fist, taking them, not frozen by fear the second your soft hand caresses his damaged face. he didn’t know those touches. he’d never felt them—they weren’t the familiar, angry, lust-filled, merciless touches. and oh, when you hugged him? he flinched back harder than he ever did—not even with his father. why? why were you doing this to him? he would rather take his father's punches instead.

it took him a while to get used to them. a while. he would rather you be merciless than give him mercy. but when he finally gives in? when he got a taste of how comforting, and heavenly those soft touches are? he turned into a puppy. he would never admit it, of course, but he was living proof of how starved a man was for gentle touches. and you, his savior, darling—angel—gave him them without question. you stayed, even when he pushed you away. and the thought alone made him cling to you like you were going to disappear.

maybe you were. maybe you were going to leave him like his mother. after all, his own mother saw him for who he truly was. a monster. just like his father. how would a few, soft, simple touches change that? they couldn’t. they could never.

but then you gently scraped his scalp in the way you know he liked and all of those dark thoughts faded away, brushing back his worries and lighting up his tainted thoughts. and his eyes closed and that was when he felt something he thought he’d never felt before. heaven. truly, heaven.

[lovebugism]

How about "89. I’m drunk and fall asleep in a snow bank and you’re the kind stranger yanking me to my feet and lecturing me on how dangerous that is" with Steve?

ty for requesting!! — steve harrington rescues you, his worst enemy, after finding you all alone on a snowy bench on main street (enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, tw for toxic relationships, 2.4k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

On his way home from the Wheeler holiday party, Steve thinks he sees a dead body in the snow.

He slows at a stoplight and knows he sees a dead body in the snow.

With nothing but sheer stupidity and a savior complex, the boy rushes out of his warm car and into the vacant road on Main Street. The piling snow crunches under his sneakers and dampens them instantly. Crystalline flakes fall from the pitch-black sky at a merciless rate, sticking to his lashes and his fuzzy Christmas sweater. 

The snow glistens as it clings to the limp body lying on the bench. A girl, Steve realizes as he gets closer — a pretty girl in a pretty dress who’s not at all clothed for this kind of weather. 

He steps closer, blinks snowflakes from his eyes, and realizes that it’s you. The reigning princess of Hawkins. The homecoming queen. His absolute worst enemy. 

Steve loses his sympathy in an instant. Now that he knows you’re not dead, anyway. 

But he nudges at you gently — just to make sure — and you grumble something unintelligible into your folded-up arms.

“What are you doing?” he wonders aloud.

“What’s it look like?” you slur, rubbing your cheek against your sleeve like a cat.

“It’s freezing out. You know that, right?”

“Really?” you muse sleepily, eyes still shut. “I haven’t noticed.”

Steve scoffs a bitter laugh and rolls his honey eyes. He puts his hands on his waist, cocks his hips to the side, and leers down at you even though you can’t see him. He wonders if you even recognize his voice — if that’s the reason you’re being so short with him or if you’re just too drunk to care.

“It’s good to know you’re still a priss after all this time. It’s really refreshing, actually.”

He expects you to argue with him. That’s what you used to do, anyway. Your relationship (or lack thereof) is built on this kind of petty, meaningless banter. So he feels a little empty when you don’t bite back. Maybe even a little bad.

You fall back to sleep, a soft snore sounding from your throat. You shift in your slumber and it sends you rolling off the bench. Steve catches you before you can. He puts you back into place with two warm hands around your arms.

“Alright. Get up,” he says with an annoyed huff.

“No, thank you,” you sigh, still sleepy.

“No. Seriously. Get up before you get frostbite.” 

His voice is coated with an obvious concern. You don’t miss it — not even in your exhausted, drunken, and heartbroken state. Maybe that’s why you don’t fight him as much when he forces you to sit up, but you’re still hardly more than dead weight. He’s forced to hold you so you don’t fall over again.

Steve can see you better now that you’re fully upright. Snowflakes stick to the strands of your done-up hair, made-up lashes, and the knit material of your dress. Your eyeliner is smudged beneath your eyes, and your lipstick has been mostly kissed off. There’s a hole in the knee of your tights, too, and scuff marks on the toe of your boots.

You’re pretty. You’ve always been pretty, but just a little extra now. Way too beautiful to be all alone on this bench in the middle of Main Street.

“What are you doing here?” Steve blurts as he crouches in front of you. Snow wets the knee of his jeans, but he’s too distracted by you to care. “Where’s your boyfriend? Why isn’t he with you?”

He can’t even say the name — of your douchebag boyfriend, that is. Just thinking of the words Billy and Hargrove makes him feel like vomiting. Steve didn’t think he could hate anyone more than he hated you until he met that asshole. The two of you deserve each other, really.

Your tired head lolls to your shoulder. Your eyes flutter shut as you shrug.

“You weren’t with him?” the boy presses.

“I was,” you slur dramatically. “But he left.”

“He left you?”

You nod, slow and lazy.

“He left you here?”

You nod again.

Steve’s chest stings. His heart aches for you, even though he knows it shouldn’t.

“Why?” he agonizes.

“I got too drunk at a party… And I talked to a guy he didn’t like very much.”

“Then what?”

You start to go limp in his hold. Exhaustion weighs you down again, accelerated by the winter’s bitter cold. Steve squeezes your arms to keep you upright. Your eyes open again but the lids of them are visibly heavy. 

“Um… We fought in the car. And he told me to get out,” you explain in mumbled slurs. Your voice is calm and airy, as light as the falling snow. You’re too drunk to understand how heartbreaking this is. “And I tried to get back home, but then I forgot how to walk.”

Steve’s eyes start to burn. He feels like he could cry. Because sure, you’ve been his enemy since the third grade, but you’re soft and you’re gentle and utterly undeserving of Billy’s assholery. 

Because of this (and his lingering savior complex), he feels the overwhelming urge to take care of you.

“Here. C’mon,” he huffs as he rises to full height again, jaw tense to keep his teeth from chattering. He tugs at your arms to pull you up with him. You comply (as best you can on frozen, drunken limbs) but not without confusion. Your face twists with it.

“What?” you murmur.

“Get in the car, okay? C’mon.”

You plant your feet. It becomes virtually impossible to move you. You and Steve idle at a standstill with your shoes digging into the piling snow. Your toes feel close to frozen, but your hands are strangely warm with Steve holding them so tight.

“No,” you insist, dramatically stubborn in your less-than-sober state.

“No?”

“Billy will get mad.” 

Steve scoffs. “Screw Billy.”

“I do that already.” Your reply comes so swiftly, and without a single hint of a smirk, that it’s impossible to tell if you’re joking or not. Maybe you aren’t and you’re just too drunk to understand sarcasm. Maybe you are joking and the receptors in your brain aren’t firing properly enough to tell you to smile at yourself.

Either way, Steve’s face scrunches with disgust. “Gross,” he mumbles under his breath.

—————

Steve has to drag you to his car. 

He puts his palm over the crown of your head to keep you from bumping it when you duck inside. He guides your legs in, too, when you have trouble maneuvering them. Then he reaches over to buckle you in before you have to ask him for help — because god knows there’s no way you could do it on your own.

He smells like cedar and something sweet when he leans over you. His whole car smells like that, actually. It’s nice. Comforting. Almost achingly warm. 

You curl into the heated seat and provide exactly zero help when he drives you home.

“You still alive?” he asks after a couple minutes of driving.

You grunt, slumped over in your seat with your forehead pressed against the window.

“What’s your address?”

“Hm?” 

“Where do you live?” he presses.

“Why do you wanna know, perv?” you slur, obviously not all there as you shift to get more comfortable in the passenger seat of his car.

Steve scoffs. “Oh, right. I’m the perv ‘cause I didn’t leave you out in the freezing cold. Makes so much sense. Maybe next time, don’t call me when your asshole boyfriend abandons you, alright?”

He’s bitter. Intentionally hurtful. 

You’re too drunk to understand. “I didn’t call you in the first place,” you retort sleepily.

He falters. “Well— you know what I mean.”

“I can’t go home,” you answer finally.

His structured features twist with concern, but your eyes are closed so you don’t see it. His honeyed gaze squints with worry, flitting from your limp form to the darkened road and back again. “Why?”

“‘Cause I live with Billy. And he doesn’t want me there,” you tell him with a lazy shrug. Then, more quietly, you mumble. “Nobody wants me anywhere…”

You say it so softly that he barely hears it. He wishes he hadn’t. It’d make it a whole lot easier to hate you if you were still the same priss he grew up with. He isn’t so sure that you are — or if you ever were. All you are to him now is a heartbroken girl he found in the snow, in desperate need of some kindness.

So when you drift off again, he lets you. And he doesn’t wake you until you get to his house.

You feel the warmth of his presence first — the weight of his chest at your side and his hand on your waist. Your heavy eyes flutter open to find him leaning over you. He fusses with the seatbelt buckle for a moment before it clicks.

“What are you doing?” you wonder aloud, voice weighed down by exhaustion. There’s a million questions swirling in your head right now — where am I, why are you here, why are you taking care of me. That was just the first to slip out.

“Good. Now I don’t have to carry you,” Steve jokes.

He holds your hand to help you out of the car, then wraps an arm around your waist to keep you from falling. He guides you towards a too big house, lit up white with expensive Christmas decorations.

“Where are we?”

“My place. You can sleep off the alcohol on my couch.”

Your head lolls to your shoulder, eyes red-rimmed and glassy as you blink up at him. “And they say chivalry is dead,” you tease, still slightly misarticulate — though not nearly as much as when he found you in the show.

Steve’s rolling his eyes at you one moment, silently scolding himself for getting out of his car in the first place — and the next, he’s standing in his kitchen, filling up a glass of water and putting slices of bread on a plate for you. He even cuts off the goddamned crust. Just in case.

He left you on the couch in the living room, but you’re gone when he gets back. It’s like he blinks, and he’s annoyed with you all over again. A huff tumbles from his mouth as he trudges up the stairs to find you.

The door to his room is cracked open. 

He finds you curled up in the center of his bed.

“No. Nope,” Steve scolds as he walks further inside. He sits the bread and the water on his nightstand and tries to shake you awake. You’re totally knocked out, hardly anything more than deadweight from the alcohol. 

And he can’t even be mad at you about it because it’s not even your fault. You shouldn’t have gotten left in the first place.

“C’mon. Get up— you’re not sleeping in my bed,” he insists. His hand curls around your arm with the intent to pull you up before he realizes how cold you are. You’re freezing, even over your dress. The notion makes Steve stop in place. 

He squints to take a better look at you — to really look at you — and swears the color of your skin is tinted blue from the cold. Your mascara is smeared — from where you’d been crying, maybe. He thinks those might be dried tear stains on your cheeks, too.

All at once, he doesn’t have the heart to wake you. He curses himself for being so hard on you. You never deserved it — not tonight, not ever — and he figures this is his time to atone.

He maneuvers you beneath his navy blue sheets with a warm and gentle hand. He brings the top of the comforter up to your jaw and you curl into his bed on instinct, sighing as you settle further into the warmth. 

Your eyes are still closed and you’re still barely conscious, but the pillow is soft against your cheek. It smells like floral detergent and musky cologne and sweet-smelling hairspray. It brings you a foreign comfort that lulls you into a deeper, much-needed sleep.

Steve settles beside you, over the covers and with his clothes still on. He wants to be awake in case you need him. He doesn’t want you to get sick and not be alert enough to help you. 

He’s laughing at the sound of your gentle snores one moment, then falling asleep to them the next.

Hawkins’ royalty. Arch enemies since elementary school. Sleeping together in one bed like you haven’t spent the majority of your lives hatingeach other.

You sleep soundly together in spite of all that. You don’t wake for several hours — not until you’ve slept the alcohol off and your suddenly sober brain reminds you of the night before. Touchy guy on the dance floor, Billy’s rough hand around your wrist, “God, you’re such a slut!” 

The last thing you remember is passing out on a bench on Main Street, so you’re not entirely sure how you ended up in a bed. 

You wake with a start, distinctly and palpably terrified. 

You’re rousing wakes Steve up, too.

“Billy?” you murmur, heavy with sleep, as you squint in the navy blue darkness. 

A part of you hopes it was all just a too vivid nightmare. Or, at the very least, that your boyfriend came to his senses and picked you up after completely abandoning you — but somehow that feels more unrealistic than all the shit he put you through the evening before.

“No—” Steve answers groggily, then clears throat when the word gets stuck there. He rises to his elbows and looks over his shoulder at you, squinting a tired eye to see you better. “No, it’s— it’s Steve.”

He can’t see you too well, not in the pitch black of his bedroom, but he swears he hears you sigh. One of relief, maybe, or maybe one of ease. Either way, you don’t seem very upset that he’s here with you.

“Oh,” you answer, still a bit breathless. “Okay…” You lie back down again, feeling eons safer than just seconds before, as you curl back into your shape on his mattress. You sigh into your pillow and try not to gravitate towards the warmth beside you.

Steve’s hands fidget with a similar fight to keep from holding you. “It’s okay,” he settles on instead, hoping his words can embrace you in a way he doesn’t let himself. “You’re okay.”

[bookishlyvintage]

Everything I read in February (& my thoughts)