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lilahisntsadanymore · 4 months

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Blood status seems to become less important when you acknowledge the actual feeling of love. What will Theo do when Y/n comes to the terms with the differences between them being impossible to ignore?

Pairing: Theo Nott x granger!reader

Words count: 1.9k

Author's note: My apologies for keeping you waiting so long, but I finally got some time off at uni!! Wishing you all a good year!!

Kind of a 2nd part of this fic, but you can read it without the previous one

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Keep you safe

One evening, Theo was waiting in the library. Waiting for a person he never expected to talk to. Y/n Granger. He found himself feeling a bit nervous, even though there was no reason.

Thinking about Y/n made him feel something. A feeling he never felt before. Slughorn said it's love, the muggle kind of love, the purest form, not induced by anything supernatural.

Theo decided to read about it. Hoping to find some book about it, he asked the librarian. She gave him a book specifically about love potions and spells. One of the first chapters was just what Theo was looking for.

"How to tell the difference between love and infatuation caused by magic." He whispered the first sentence to himself.

He started reading, his mind realizing what he got himself into as his gaze brushed over the text. Well, technically it wasn't his own fault and apparently also not the girl's fault.

But there must've been a reason. If love was a part of biology, brain chemistry, there had to be some logical factor.

"What are you reading?"

When Theo heard Y/n's voice right next to him, he immediately closed the book, causing it to make a loud sound.

"You took such a long time I got bored." He replied.

"Don't be so shy," the girl shifted her eyes to the title of the book, "oh, love potions and spells? But we're doing something completely different."

"Really? I couldn't care less, forgot what we were supposed to do." Surely one thing he'd love to do was making out with her on that table.

Y/n put her homework on the table.

"Read it and tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing is wrong, I just-"

"What's wrong with my text, Nott. I didn't ask how you were doing."

"Right."

Theo took the papers and started reading. The text was written with the most beautiful handwriting he's ever seen. So elegant, so precise.

"How long did it take you to write?" He asked.

"One evening. It was easier than you'd think."

"I think it's extremely easy." He bragged. "Anyway, is that all? Or do you wanna add something?"

"Well, Slughorn thought it's necessary for you to help me. Is there anything you think should be added?"

"Uh, no, it looks fine," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

"Fine? Theodore Nott, the perfectionist Slytherin, settles for 'fine'? I expected more from you."

"Look, it's not my homework, it's yours. I don't know why I agreed to help you, but it was pointless."

"You got yourself into this, could've said no."

"What the fuck am I even doing?" Theo asked rather himself than the girl. "I don't need to be helping a mudblood, who cares what grade you'll get." With these words, he stood up.

"Because-" Y/n stuttered. "Because... I've heard your conversation with Slughorn. And you said... that you liked me."

"Me? Liking you?" He snorted with laughter. "What the hell, Granger?"

Tears formed in Y/n's eyes as she watched Theo walk away. Sure, he was mean to her before, this wasn't the first time. But this time was somehow different.

Y/n could swear she heard Theo confessing to Slughorn that he's actually in love with her. It's not possible her brain played tricks on her. Plus Hermione said Theo told her about his feelings for Y/n.

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Harry walked onto the astronomy tower. Y/n was supposed to be back a long time ago. Ron and Hermione also wanted to go there, but Harry asked to let him go alone.

Harry knew where Y/n was thanks to the Map. He felt such relief not seeing Nott's name next to hers. She was standing alone, leaning on the banister. There was something in her hand, Harry couldn't see well in the dark, but from the smell he realized it was a cigarette.

"I didn't know you smoke." He spoke.

Y/n expected this to happen, she was aware of Harry's feelings towards her. She took one last drag from her cigarette then dropped it on the ground, put it out with her shoe and kicked off the tower.

"Why do you keep doing this?" Y/n asked, smoke leaving through her mouth. "I knew you're gonna look at your silly little map to see where I am."

"We were starting to get worried. Theo is... you know, dangerous. We got scared he would hurt you."

And he did. Theo did hurt Y/n, just not physically.

"Hermione should be here instead. But, let me guess, you told her you'll check up on me."

"Maybe," Harry admitted finally, "do you know why? Because I actually care about you. I've had feelings for you for years. I deserve you, not Nott. I deserve you, because-"

"Because you're the chosen one?" She mocked and paused. "Look, Harry, I like you as a friend. I've never felt anything more than this. I can't change how I see you and I won't pretend otherwise."

He nodded, acceptance settling in. "I get it. I just... I thought if I cared enough, it would make a difference."

"Caring is important, Harry, but it doesn't always lead to the feelings we hope for."

"Whoever you date, just don't date Nott, please."

"I promise I won't. Not after today, I'm over him."

"Care to share what happened?"

"I'll tell you, Hermione and Ron in the common room. Let's go, I've been here too long."

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Y/n didn't even know how wrong she was that night on the astronomy tower, but she forgot about it. Weeks went by, Christmas had passed, everyone were back from the break. Classes started again and Y/n found herself hoping to catch a glimpse of Theo.

They kept exchanging glances on the corridors, accidentally bumping into each other in the crowds. Y/n wanted to believe Theo liked her, but even if he did, they could never work.

"Y/n, listen to me," he said, catching her when she was alone in the library one time. "I know how things have been between us, but during the break I... I realized I don't wanna keep being enemies."

"Theo, you know it could never work. You said what you said and maybe it's better to leave it this way."

"I contemplated a lot," it was true, he spent the break mostly in his room, drowning in thoughts. About her, about them, coming to terms with what he was feeling. "I decided to accept my feelings."

"That's great for you, but we could never work. I've always 'fancied' you, I guess, despite what you were doing, ironically, but the time we worked on my project together, I accepted we could never work."

"And why's that?"

Y/n took a deep breath, wondering if he was stupid or just pretending. Maybe it was a bet he had with someone. Maybe Draco dared him to do this.

"You don't see how different we are? What do you expect is gonna happen? Would you introduce me to your father? Wouldn't you care that I'd get you disowned?"

Theo looked at her, Y/n could see sadness in his eyes. She realized her words made him realize the differences between them, because he walked away. Theo walked away without a word.

Y/n pierced her own heart with an invisible knife. She was really hoping they could work, but it just wasn't possible in this universe. Maybe there was a universe where none of this purity bullshit didn't exist. Y/n wished she would've been born there.

Y/n couldn't predict what Theo was going to do. She thought her words made him give up on her. It was for the best, of course, she should've focused on her studies firstly, and then on a realistic relationship.

It was a Friday. Y/n was sitting next to Ginny by the Gryffindor table. It was dinner time, all the students gathered in the Great Hall. All the students besides one Slytherin, the one that Y/n hoped to see. Maybe it was weird, but she enjoyed the sad looks they'd pass to each other.

"Hey, Y/n, are you listening?" Hermione asked from across the table.

"Sure," Y/n quickly shifted her eyes to her sister. "You were talking about Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"You've got divided attention. Stop looking at the Slytherin table."

"Ugh," Ginny groaned, "were you doing this again? Merlin, you stare at this Slytherin git 90% of the time."

"Well, he isn't here today. I wonder where he could be. Everyone else is here."

"There he is," Ron pointed out, rolling his eyes.

The golden trio and two younger Gryffindors looked at the doors' direction. Theo had just walked into the Great Hall, but surprisingly he didn't walk towards his table. He walked towards Y/n.

"Y/n," he spoke, catching everyone's attention. People were reading to witness another argument. "I can't help this, I love you."

Shocked noises came from all the tables, but Slytherins kept whispering between each other also when Theo continued talking.

"I don't care what anyone says, anyone thinks. Love is not meant to be controlled, it kills me to fight it."

Y/n stood up from the table, ready to leave the room.

"Theo, stop," she begged, "you're embarrassing us both. Your friends will-"

"I don't care what they do. If they don't accept it, they're not my friends. If anyone wants to fight me for having feelings for a muggleborn, I can fight, I've never lost a duel."

The whole Great Hall fell silent, even the teachers didn't try to intervene, when they saw Theo pulling out a small, black velvet box.

"I want you to wear this ring," he opened the box, "as my promise to always protect you from whoever tries to harm you or our relationship."

"It's beautiful, but..." Y/n was speechless by the sight of the ring. It was silver with two gemstones forming a subtle heart - half emerald and half ruby.

"It was custom made and if you accept it, I'll once get you a matching engagement ring. Also, there are thorns which will hurt you when you try taking it off. I want you forever, Y/n Granger."

The ring in the black velvet box sparkled under the enchanted ceiling. The Great Hall remained in silence as Theo poured his heart out, confessing his love. The unexpected turn of events had everyone on edge.

Slytherins exchanged intrigued glances, Gryffindors shared confused looks and even the teachers seemed to not know how to react. Y/n could feel the weight of everyone's eyes on her, and for a moment, she considered the potential consequences of accepting Theo's proposal.

"Theo," she began, her voice breaking, "it's not that simple."

"I know it is. But I can't keep hiding my feelings, Y/n. I've tried, and it's tearing me apart. I'll protect you from whatever comes our way."

Y/n looked at the ring, then back at him. "I believe in second chances. And I appreciate your sincerity. I accept the ring, Theo."

Theo carefully took the ring from the box and gently slid it onto Y/n's finger. The Great Hall burst with cheering and applause, only the Slytherin table didn't seem so enthusiastic about this.

Theo placed his hands on Y/n's waist, pulling her in for a kiss. She didn't hesitate to kiss him back, her hands sinking in his dense her yet the ring on her finger still visible, reflecting the light from the ceiling.

#Theo Nott #theodore nott #slytherin boys #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfic #theo nott fanfic #Lorenzo Zurzolo

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 4 months

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Counting the Minutes

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Dirty talk, masturbation, phone sex. Word count: ~1k

Summary: Separated for the Christmas break, her and Michael have to get creative.

Author's note: A little addition to The Golden Ratio, though can also be read as a standalone piece. Day twelve of the Smuffmas prompts - "promise and phone sex". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She nestles beneath the duvet, clicking through the contacts on her Nokia until she reaches Michael’s name. A faint smile tugs at her lips as her finger hovers over the call button, she can’t wait to speak to him.

They have been inseparable since the night that Oliver ditched him. They brought out the best in each other. Michael lit a fire underneath her that made her want to study harder, to strive for perfection in all things. In turn, she softened him up and taught him not to see the world through such a harsh lens.

Their relationship had become serious enough that they had both chosen to spend their reading week together, instead of going home like the vast majority of people at their college had.

Now the term was over, and Christmas had beckoned them both home; Michael back to his mum, and her back to her dad. It’s odd not to see him every day, and though they’d stayed in touch on MSN Messenger, nothing compares to sitting with their legs entwined as they discuss their notes for their upcoming tutorials.

It’s only been a week and she misses the way he rests his chin against his hand when he’s deep in thought, how the intensity of his unblinking, blue eyed stare causes her skin to grow hot, and the smell of Imperial Leather soap and old books that she inhales when she rests her face in the crook of his neck.

Holding the phone to her ear, it rings once, twice, three times before he answers.

“Hello, you.”

His voice gives her butterflies. It’s the sound she’d attribute to how it feels to run your fingertips against plush velvet.

“Hi,” she says back with a coy smile. God, she wishes she could see him.

“How long can you talk for?” He asks.

“I put credit on my phone yesterday, ten pounds, so should be good for a while.”

“One hundred and sixty six point seven hours.”

She huffs a laugh. Of course his mind wanders to the maths of it.

“You think we could talk for that long?”

“Hmm,” he muses, “I’m sure we could find a way to pass the time.”

“Like we did during reading week?” She asks softly, her fingers drawing lazy circles against the cotton of her bedsheets.

“Can’t really do that over the phone.”

“Have you ever had phone sex before?”

She hears him suck in a harsh breath before he replies. “What do you think?”

It causes her to giggle. Of course he hasn’t.

“Would you like to try it?” She holds the phone tighter to her ear, a lazy grin upon her lips.

“What does it entail?”

“Well,” she begins, switching her mobile from one ear to the other, and snuggling further down into the bed. “We describe what we’d like to do to each other while we touch ourselves.”

“One thousand, two hundred and fifty.”

“What?”

“On average, I can make you orgasm in about eight minutes. If we run through all of your phone credit then that’s how many times I could make you come.”

“Michael!” She gasps, feeling her insides flutter at the thought. “I don’t think that would be physically possible. I’ll settle for just the one today.”

He huffs a soft laugh, the sound breathy through the receiver. “Yes, I suppose that’s a bit impractical. Alright then, you start.”

“I wish you here right now,” she purrs seductively. “I want to push my hand up your t-shirt and run my fingers against that little trail of hair that leads all the way down your stomach, before I wrap them around your cock.”

His breathing grows heavier and she can hear the faint rustle of clothing in the background. She bites her lip, her own hand snaking beneath the duvet and into the waistband of her knickers.

“I miss the way you feel,” he tells her, voice shaky, “how tightly you grip me when I first push inside of you. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that sensation. You’re so wet, so warm…”

She can hear the slick sound of his hand pumping over his cock, the sound sends arousal pooling between her legs and she circles her pearl in earnest, the added wetness aiding her ministrations. She hadn’t expected him to focus on the sensation of physical touch quite so much, but Michael is pragmatic after all, and his innovative approach excites her.

“Mmmm,” she moans quietly, “I want you to do that thing where you grab my hips to pull me back against you as you fuck me, it feels so good.”

A broken whimper escapes him, and there’s a brief moment of just his ragged breathing before he speaks again.

“The way your thighs tighten against my waist drives me mad. I swear I can still feel you there when I close my eyes, see the way your tits bounce– fuck!”

She whines, circling her bud faster, the coil in her gut tightening. “Wanna slide my hands down to your arse, push you in as deep as you’ll go, watch how your eyes screw shut as you come inside me.”

He grunts. “Wish I could come inside of you so badly. I need to feel you clenching around me, hear the pretty sounds you make as I fill you up.”

Her hips jerk involuntarily against her hand, and she knows she’s close. It’s been a week since he’s touched her and his filthy words have sent her unravelling much faster than she anticipated.

“I’m close,” she pants.

“M–me too,” he huffs back. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard the moment we get back to college.”

“Oh god–” Her response is cut off by her pleasured cry, as she falls apart, her walls spasming around emptiness as her thighs tremble.

A grunt and heavy breathing on the other end of the line lets her know that Michael has reached his end too. There’s nothing but the sound of their shared gasps for air, as they both recover.

“Do you promise?” She finally asks. “To fuck me hard when we get back to college?”

“Tell you what, let’s go back a day early and we can spend an entire day doing just that.”

She giggles excitedly, rolling onto her side. “I’ll be counting the minutes until then.”

#michael gavey x you #ewan mitchell #michael gavey smut #michael gavey x y/n #michael gavey #michael gavey saltburn #michael gavey imagine #saltburn michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey fan fiction #michael gavey fanfiction #michael gavey fanfic #michael gavey fan fic #saltburn #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn fan fiction #saltburn fan fic #saltburn fanfic

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 11 months

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may I request an angst with evan buckley

"keep your eyes on me." promt with an established relationship please! but hes been through a lot give him his happy ending please, i love him so much 🫶🏻

Lightning Strike.

28. "Keep your eyes on me."

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here. my soft sweet buck. thank you for this request <3

Pairing - Evan Buckley x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - sad buck. mentions of a sort of panic attack.

Word Count - 500 ish maybe??

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

Buck is the king of putting on a brave face.

Always strong, never faltering. He reassures everyone he's fine time and time again, smiling and cracking jokes. But you see right through him.

You've always been able to read him like a book. You don't even have to try.

After the lightning strike, Buck doubled down on his brave face. He wouldn't let anyone see him upset - not even Eddie. Which is rare. And worrying.

He seems to be coping surprisingly well, desperate to get back to work and resume normal routine. While he's stuck at home, he's been cooking, doing puzzles, watching football. You're greeted with a lovingly cooked meal and a glass of wine every time you walk through the door.

Until today.

Today, you walk into the apartment, and it's dark. No lights on, no TV blaring sound. Nothing.

"Buck?"

Silence.

"Buck? Baby? I'm home," you call.

Now you're worried.

You start striding through the apartment, navigating your way through the darkness. When you hear a sniffle, your head whips around. There's Buck, knees pressed to his chest, jammed in between the nightstand and the wall. He's curled up on the ground, head resting on his arms that are protectively wrapped around his legs.

"Buck? Hey, did something happen?"

"Yeah," he murmurs hoarsely. "I got hit by lightning."

"I remember," you say gently. "Did something happen today?"

"I don't know," he whispers. "I think I've been distracting myself. And today it all came crashing down."

"Talk to me," you urge.

Buck's lip trembles, and so do his hands. Warm, salty tears drip down his face, and his breathing quickens rapidly.

"Hey, hey. Keep your eyes on me, Buck."

He locks his gaze onto yours, and mirrors your breathing carefully. Eventually, he calms down enough to speak.

"I died. I've been so close to death so many times that I'm kinda numb to it. But this time was so real. How am I supposed to go on living my life like nothing happened, when I literally died?"

"You don't have to live like nothing happened, baby," you reassure, moving to sit down in front of him. "No one expects you to do that."

"I just -," he sighs, trying to formulate a coherent thought. "I just don't know how to carry on."

You reach out gently and place a hand on his cheek, wiping away the tears that are spilling over. Your thumb strokes his cheekbone carefully, grounding him back down to Earth.

"I know you're like, totally anti therapy -," you begin, and he laughs. "But talking to a therapist or a trauma counsellor might really help. Or maybe we find a support group. This is LA, there's groups for everything."

"You think there's a lightning strike support group?" he jokes.

"I honestly wouldn't be surprised," you chuckle. "And if there isn't? Well, we'll start one."

"I might be the only person who attends."

"Fine by me," you tease, nudging him lovingly.

You stand up, and offer him a hand. He takes it gratefully, getting up and instantly wrapping his arms around you. He inhales the scent of your vanilla shampoo, and the tension leaves his shoulders rapidly.

"I love you," he murmurs into your hair. "I'm so lucky."

"I'm the lucky one," you reassure. "Well, technically you are, since you got hit by lightning. And survived."

"I've always been one in a million," he chuckles, squeezing you a little tighter.

"Yes, you have. My one in a million, Evan Buckley."

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flowerandblood · 3 months

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The Doubt & The Delight

[ modern Frollo • Aemond x Esmeralda • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, smut, angst, description of physical and mental disabilities, remorse, depression, hysteria attacks, swearing, trauma, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt ]

[ description: After a car accident, his brother has to deal with the consequences of what happened, and he, as his protector, does not know how to help him. His sister comes up with the idea of hiring someone as his carer who will be able to cheer him up and occupy his mind. It turns out, however, that the girl he hired charmed not only his younger brother. Obsession, self-destructive behavior, verbal and physical aggression, sexual tension, dark, malicious Aemond. ]

Author's note: This story is a request, but I decided to freely use what I liked in the book and Disney film to create a new, disturbing story taking place in modern times. It is intended to be uncomfortable and will contain scenes that are at least morally questionable, in my version "Esmeralda" is not Romanian. This story will also include motifs from Jane Eyre, which was a separate request. My story will also touch on the problems of people with disabilities, so if these are sensitive topics for you, I advise against reading further. You have been warned.

Part 1 − The Knight & The Judge Part 2 − The Sin & The Penance Epilogue

Main Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

This is the last part of this story. Thank you all for such a nice reception of this entire mini-series, it was supposed to be a oneshot, but as usual it turned out to be something more! This is probably one of my favorite works here and I can't wait to hear your opinions.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous chapters: Masterlist

_____

That night, after what had happened between them, he sobbed silently for the first time since the day of the accident in which his parents died. He didn't know what else he could do − he felt helpless and couldn't sleep, despair completely possessing his heart and mind.

Don't ever touch me again.

We are even.

He clenched his eyelids, letting the tears run down the sides of his face onto the pillow lying under his head.

Some part of him wanted to go to her door, to fall to his knees and beg her to open it for him, to let him hold her close, to fall asleep in her embrace.

He needed her so much, but he knew he had no right to demand anything from her.

She was doing more than she had to anyway.

He shuddered as he heard the sound of the door opening; stupefied by the sedatives and painkillers for a moment he had no idea where he was or who he was − he raised himself up on his elbow and hissed, feeling his head ache incredibly.

He opened his eyelids and immediately closed them, blinded by the light from the windows − he gave up with a sigh laying back on the couch, trying to calm himself down.

"Daeron?" He called out loudly, trying to remember what had happened, whether he had drunk too much alcohol the evening before or overdosed on sleeping pills.

He heard someone's footsteps and froze when he saw her frightened face; she came towards him with her eyes wide open as if looking at a ghost, stopping at a safe distance.

"− I'm just helping him change, we'll come soon − God, how pale you are, should I call the doctor again? −" She muttered clearly genuinely horrified by his condition, but he shook his head quickly.

"− did you call the police yesterday? −" He asked lowly, thinking with horror that no one at the prosecutor's office could find out that he was still struggling with his trauma and had almost caused a car crash.

She shook her head quickly, playing with the fingers of her hand in a nervous gesture.

"− n-no − the man we almost collided with wanted to do it at first, but when we got out of the car and said you'd fainted he called an ambulance and let it go − he apparently decided you'd just had some sort of attack and didn't want to add to our problems −" She replied once looking him in the eye, once looking away − he could see that she clearly wasn't coping with the situation or what had happened between them.

He sighed in relief, running his hand over his face, thinking about the fact that securing Daeron's fate was now his priority and he needed to pull himself together.

"− I'm going to go help Daeron and we'll make something for breakfast soon −" She said quickly and turned away, moving down the corridor towards his little brother's room, disappearing behind the door.

The two of them had tried not to look at each other all morning, heartbroken and horrified by what had happened between them − they both felt that their lives had slipped out of their control and he resented himself for dragging her into it all.

The doctors advised him to stay at home for a few days and rest, so he called Alys to ask her to bring him his documentation.

"− sick leave? − something happened? −" She asked concerned, and he sighed heavily, tightening his fingers on the base of his nose, not having the strength for this discussion.

"− I've been overworking lately, I need to slow down − can I count on you? −" He asked matter-of-factly, hearing her snort of amusement on the other side.

"− sure − I'll be there in half an hour −" She replied calmly and hung up; he sighed heavily, running his hand over his face and put the phone down on the table top.

He glanced over his shoulder, hearing the sizzle of the pan and shuddered meeting her gaze − she lowered her eyes immediately as if caught in the act, concentrating on not burning the pancakes, Daeron wheeled around her in his wheelchair placing clean plates and cutlery beside her.

They ate breakfast together, both of them really only talking to Daeron, passing cups and juice to each other out of politeness only. He felt a pleasant shudder when his fingers touched hers, looking her straight in the eyes − her lower lip twitched a little, only a quiet, sad thank you came out of her mouth.

As they ate Daeron said he would do his own homework and then change her to look after him, as if he was now the one to take on the role of his caretaker.

As he left his Esmeralda stood up, picking up the dirty dishes from the countertop − he took his plate from her hand, swallowing hard.

"− no need, I'll do it − I'm better now, I don't want to force you to stay here any longer than necessary − thank you very much −" He said in a low voice, getting up from his seat and stepping around her, opening the dishwasher with a light movement, tossing in the cutlery and other dirty dishes she'd held earlier.

He felt her looking at him, his heart pounding like crazy, for some reason he wanted to cry again.

"− I'm sorry − for what happened yesterday −" She muttered in a whisper and he raised his shocked gaze to her, frozen still.

She stood in front of him covering her mouth with her hand, trying to silence the loud, ragged breath that shook her body along with the sob that wanted to break from her throat, tears began to fall from the corners of her eyes one after another.

God, she was remorseful.

"− no − no, stop − you didn't do anything wrong, I wanted it −" He said quickly, but she shook her head.

"− I couldn't sleep − I felt awful −" She uttered with difficulty, choking on her own tears, and despite her telling him never to touch her again he put his arm around her waist and pulled her to him in one sure movement − her body did not put up any resistance to him, her fingers tightened on his sweatshirt in a helpless gesture.

"− I-I'm sorry − I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you −" She mumbled out and burst into quiet sobs.

He thought with despair that he had broken this poor girl, brought her to a state where she felt like an abuser.

He embraced her tightly, snuggling his face into the hollow of her neck, stroking her back reassuringly − her wonderful scent and the warmth of her body had a soothing effect on him, he thought he wanted to remember this moment for a lifetime.

"− I'm the one who hurt you − I took something away from you and you tried to get it back − you asked me if I wanted it and I made it clear that I did − easy − breathe deeply − it's all right −" He whispered in a trembling voice, running his large hand through her back and hair. She snuggled into him so tightly that he felt tears under his eyelids himself − he pressed his lips together not wanting to let them flow out but it was no use.

"− thank you for everything − I'm feeling better now, I'll be fine by the time Helaena arrives − go home and get some rest − I'll think of something and explain to Daeron why you can't work for us anymore − I'll send you your pay by transfer so you never have to see me again − hm? −" He asked softly and she only nodded, her whole chest trembling in convulsion as she drew in a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

He wanted to tell her that he loved her.

He wanted to tell her that she was the most wonderful person he had ever met.

He wanted to tell her that if she ever needed help, she could always count on him.

He wanted to do that, but he only flinched when he heard the doorbell ring, reminding himself of Alys − they moved away looking at each other in pain, the sight of her wiping her cheeks red from tears broke his heart.

He realised that he was a monster.

As soon as he opened the gate for her, Alys walked into his house with thick folders of documents in her hands, looking elegant as usual in her jacket, long trousers and high heels. She smiled at the sight of his Esmeralda, and she pressed her lips together realising with horror that she stood dressed only in his hoodie.

"Good morning. We don't know each other yet." Alys said to her and held out her hand to her − she, not knowing what to do, herself embarrassed by the situation and how it looked shook her hand, squeezing it firmly.

"Good morning." She muttered and just threw to him that she was going to go see how Daeron was doing with his homework − Alys led her away with her eyes looking at her with a calm, curious expression on her face.

"Who is this beautiful little flower? In addition wearing your hoodie I think." She asked amused, a note of mock accusation in her voice, as if she had solved the equation. "Is it because of her that you can't concentrate lately?"

He threw her one warning, sharp look, which did not deter her, however − he sighed heavily and shook his head.

"She's Daeron's caretaker and she had to stay here to help me take care of him after I fainted yesterday. They were at a carnival ball together and she had nothing to change into." He replied coolly, wanting to end the subject quickly, frustrated.

"Is that why you both cried?" She asked lowly raising an eyebrow, the piercing look in her bright green eyes told him clearly that she felt the tension that hung in the air between them. He swallowed loudly, looking away, not wanting to look at her smile full of satisfaction.

"Thank you for bothering to come all the way out here. I'll be gone for a week, we're in touch." He replied dryly − she threw over his shoulder that if he needed her for anything he could count on her and smiled at his Esmeralda heading for the exit, saying it was a pleasure to meet her.

As the door closed behind her there was an awkward silence between them. He saw that she was wearing his hoodie and shorts that were too loose on his brother but on her they fit perfectly despite the manly cut, in her hand she held the bag with her costume.

She was leaving.

He will never see her again.

"Are you sure you can manage?" She asked uncertainly, not looking at him. She seemed pale to him, he thought that for some reason Alys' visit had saddened her, but he didn't even dare assume it might have had anything to do with him.

At most, she might have thought he was a bigger bastard and pervert than she suspected.

"Yes, we'll be fine. Thanks again." He muttered, trying not to look at her, but to poor effect, thinking only of how wonderful it was to hold her in his arms, how tightly she snuggled into him seeking refuge and comfort.

He realised that he craved such closeness from her as much as the touch of her naked body.

He wasn't just about sex.

She, however, merely nodded, raising her sad, tired, embittered gaze at him once more, and after a moment she turned and disappeared behind the door.

The hours leading up to Helaena's arrival he spent with Daeron, playing together FIFA'23 and other games that his brother thought would distract him from all the unpleasant events of the past weeks.

"Don't worry, everything will be fine. You just need to rest. It's good that you and Esmeralda have reconciled." He said clicking beside him on his pad, trying to win a race against him on the big space track. He swallowed hard, thinking with pain and shame that they hadn't reconciled at all, that they weren't even.

What she did was a desperate attempt by her to regain what he had taken from her, the feeling that she had power over her own body.

It didn't bring her any relief though − it seemed to him that it made her feel even worse.

She wasn't like him − she'd probably never behaved like this before, and she was horrified to find that she didn't recognise herself.

He had destroyed her, taken away her innocence, devoured her.

He pressed his lips together, trying to stop the burning tears that forced their way under his eyelids from flowing and grunted loudly, trying to focus on the game.

As he prepared the room where his sister was to sleep, and where his Esmeralda had previously spent the night, he noticed a purple cloth lying on the floor. He reached out and picked it up, realising after a moment that it was a scarf she had worn on her head in the form of a headband.

He pressed it to his face and closed his eyes, with a squeeze in his throat thinking that the material was permeated with her scent.

He kept it.

Helaena had arrived straight from the airport in a taxi for which she had paid crores − as soon as she stepped inside she dropped her suitcase, ran up to him and threw herself into his arms. He burst out sobbing, feeling her familiar, tender closeness.

He wasn't sure when was the last time someone had hugged him, stroked him, told him everything was going to be alright, that now he was the one being taken care of.

Taking the opportunity that Daeron was playing in his room on his laptop, they sat side by side on the living room couch to discuss what had happened.

"I think I've stopped coping. I'm slowly losing my self-control." He muttered, burying his face in his hands, feeling that he needed to at least partially throw off what was going on inside his head − he felt his sister stroking his back comfortingly.

"Me and Aegon left you alone with all of this, sinking into our own grief. We all focused on Daeron because we decided you were older and better able to handle it all." She said with pain and some kind of regret, as if she only now realised that he wasn't a fully formed adult then either.

He let the air out of his lungs, feeling like a small, clumsy child again, embarrassed that he wasn't coping, that he had chaos in his head, that he was stuck and unable to get out of the mess he had sunk all the way into.

"I thought it would be good for you to have a change. For you and Daeron to fly with me for a few weeks, get some rest, during which time we can work together to find you some sort of therapist, someone to help you get over all this." She said warmly, and he shook his head quickly, terrified of her suggestion, of having to reinvent himself somewhere, of not being in his home, of not having his things and activities.

"No, I can't do that. I need a rest, but here, at home. I do think, however, that it will do Daeron good to spend time with you, to get away from it all. Maybe when I have a bit of time to myself I can somehow…sort it all out." He muttered, feeling her worried gaze on him.

"You shouldn't be left alone."

"I haven't been alone with my thoughts for five years. I need this." He said regretfully, realising that he had devoted all his strength to his younger brother, leaving himself with nothing.

He felt empty.

"And he needs a change of environment. He sees me gloomy and tired every day. You will help me the most if you take care of him for a week or two so that I can get myself in order."

"You have to promise me that you will go to therapy. You're taking on too much on your shoulders." She said cautiously, and he nodded to her, wanting everyone to finally give him a break.

Daeron was at the same time happy about the sudden unplanned holiday, but on the other hand very worried that he was going to be left alone at home.

"But who will take care of you? Esmeralda?" He asked hesitantly, and he replied that he would manage on his own, that they would talk on the phone every day, that he just needed a bit of rest to think things over.

As they packed to leave he was with them in body, but not in thoughts which drifted far away to her, to what had happened between them.

Despite the fact that they had sex with each other twice, it was the memory of that morning in his kitchen when he held her in his embrace that he remembered most, the innocence and tenderness of that gesture, the warmth of her body, the smell of her hair, the fact that for a moment she had allowed him to get close to her.

He knew he would never see her again.

Waving them off, already seated in the taxi, watching them drive away he wondered what the point of living such a terrible person like him was.

He cleaned the whole house, sorted the papers in his office, put up the laundry and emptied the dishwasher, doing everything unhurriedly with complete silence all around him, only the sound of the wind outside the windows and the quiet pounding of raindrops against the windowsills.

He finally sat down on the sofa, staring dully ahead, before lowering his gaze to the small container of sleeping pills he'd been taking for days to get at least a few hours of sleep.

He wondered how many he'd have to swallow to not wake up.

He didn't know why his hand reached for his phone − his fingers tapped out a question on Google and, to his surprise, many different topics on forums about how to commit suicide painlessly popped up.

He read statements from some young, desperate, frightened people who couldn't cope with life and responses from others, some encouraging them to commit the act and explaining how to do it, others asking them not to do it, that they would be happy to talk to them, to support them through this difficult time.

He thought of Daeron, of how if he had done it, his little brother would have completely broken down, that it would only add to the pain of his whole family, and that Helaena would never forgive herself for leaving him alone.

That it would have been selfish of him.

On the other hand, his mind reminded him of his aggressive, merciless interrogations, the way he approached witnesses, the way he approached Alys, what he did to his Esmeralda when she recognised at once his malicious, dark nature.

How was someone like him supposed to continue to take care of Daeron? How was he supposed to pretend that he was a good man who could advise him on anything, be his authority?

He thought that his little brother should have stayed with Helaena − she was the calmest of them all, surely she would have handled his parenting much better, given him what he needed.

He reached for a small container of pills and stared at it, turning it between his fingers with a loud rattle, wondering dispassionately what he should do with himself.

He hummed as if he remembered something and slipped his hand into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out a thin, purple folded cloth − he looked at it, feeling the need to call her.

He didn't know why he would do that when he was sure she didn't want to see him and couldn't even look at Daeron, to whom he would have to explain why she would no longer be taking care of him upon his return.

He guessed that she would only pick up out of politeness, and he would again flood her with his problems, his suicidal thoughts, forcing her to worry about him, to feel sorry for him even though he didn't deserve her sympathy.

He didn't even know when he unscrewed the container, when he tilted his head and poured its entire contents into his mouth, taking a deep sip of water after this, letting his judgment of himself run deep into his stomach.

He seemed to regain his sanity only after a moment, staring at the empty vessel wondering what he had actually done.

Oh fuck.

God, what had he done?

No, no, no, no.

He went into a complete panic, his heart started pounding like crazy − he didn't know how much time he had before he lost consciousness, so in a gesture of helplessness he dialled her number quickly, wondering if she would answer from him this time.

He thought he was pathetic, but he was scared, there was no one else to turn to − his body was shaking all over from stress and terror, his breathing quick and raspy, tears of fear in his eyes.

Biip.

"− hello? −"

He heard her uncertain voice on the other side and drew in the air loudly, shocked, swallowing hard, taking a deep breath, running his hand over his face.

"− fuck − I − I − I did something very, very stupid − I took a whole packet of sleeping pills − I don't know what came over me − oh fuck, what have I done −" He muttered in a squeaky, high-pitched voice, like a helpless child who had broken a vase and realised what his parent would do to him when they found out.

"− what? − oh God − are you home? − I'm calling the ambulance −"

"− n-no − no, fuck, they'll kick me out of the national prosecutor's office − please −"

"− go quickly to the bathroom and try to induce vomiting − give me the code to your gate, I'll be right there −"

He seemed to act in an amok, as he rose from the couch everything around him swirled − she told him to take his phone to the restroom, so he did.

He fell to his knees in front of the toilet, shoving two fingers down his throat − after several attempts he finally threw up, whooping with his tears, coughing loudly, his whole body shaking in convulsions, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

How could he do this, how could he be so selfish?

"− I'm sorry −" He mumbled, sliding slowly to the ground, feeling his mind begin to envelope in a blissful peace and quiet, her voice coming from the speaker of his phone seemed to him only a distant whisper.

He thought he would take a nap for a while, rest and when he woke up everything would be fine.

It seemed to him that minutes, hours or years might have passed when he felt someone move his body − he shuddered as someone's fingers forced their way between his lips, his numb body powerless to resist.

"− come on, please − get it out of you − God, what have you done − please, please, come on −" He heard her crying beside him, the tips of her fingers pressing against the back of his tongue, until finally his stomach convulsed with a powerful spasm, and his body threw it all out with his throaty cough of exertion.

He heard her sobs, smelled her scent, her closeness, how her hands washed his face with water, how she stroked his head as she hugged him to her breasts, mumbling in despair that he was a fool, something warm and soft enveloped them.

He fell asleep, recognising that this was what heaven must have been like.

When he woke up he felt everything around him spinning − he muttered in displeasure, another cramp squeezing his stomach.

He pulled himself up, in the dark looking for the toilet, at the last moment leaning over it and vomited again, panting loudly, everything around him blurred, it seemed to him that it was morning.

He heard movement beside him − someone's hand touched his back and stroked him with a gentle, affectionate gesture as convulsion again shook his body, which was trying with all its might to rid itself of what he had swallowed the day before.

Nothing more than a mumble left his mouth, his head drooped involuntarily − he felt someone pull him back to keep him from sliding down onto the tiles. He lay down, something soft enveloped him again.

"− it's okay − sleep −" He heard her whisper and thought that the pills he had taken were causing him to hallucinate, that he was probably dreaming it all, and since he was and she wasn't really there he could embrace her, his arm grabbed her waist, his face snuggled between her breasts again with his loud purr of contentment and exhaustion.

He felt her hands embrace him, stroking his head and back − he thought, feeling the hard floor beneath him, that they were lying in the bathroom and she must have brought the duvet and pillows from his bedroom, sleeping in that room with him.

He fell asleep and woke up hearing someone walking around his house, once in a while someone touched his head − he heard her voice asking him some questions that he was unable to focus on − she was only answered by his frustrated sounds indicating that he just wanted to sleep on.

Finally when he opened his eyes he managed to see anything − the bathroom door was open, the light in the room was off. He had a perfect view of the corridor and part of the living room lit up in the sun − he heard someone's footsteps, his heart jumped into his throat when he saw her silhouette in the doorway.

"− hey − hey, how are you feeling? −" She muttered walking up to him and kneeling beside him, her loose hair in a slight disarray, she was wearing shorts and a plain white Tshirt. He looked away from her breasts when he noticed she wasn't wearing a bra, swallowing hard.

He didn't reply, feeling an overwhelming sense of shame, remembering what he had done, how disgusting and selfish he had acted, that he had forced her to help him again despite having caused her such harm.

"− I − I would like to talk to some therapist −" He choked out with tears in his eyes, not looking at her but somewhere in front of him, his breathing shallow and uneven − it seemed to him as if his lungs had completely clenched.

"− alright − alright, I'll look for someone nearby − okay? −" She asked tentatively and he just nodded, unable to look her in the eye. He heard her get up quickly, and a moment later she was back, sitting down next to him with her phone in her hand, typing something quickly on her screen, apparently scrolling through the accounts of doctors who had offices in the same town.

"− there's a Dr Smith, he's got a free appointment in two days at one o'clock in the afternoon, or a Dr Morgan, but he… −"

"− anyone − as soon as possible −" He said dispassionately, looking blankly ahead, heard her swallow hard and click something quickly, heard his phone vibrate beside him on the floor.

"− I've booked you an appointment and sent you details via message −" She mumbled, and he nodded.

"− thank you − you can −"

"− I spoke to your sister on the phone while you were asleep and told her everything − we agreed that Daeron will stay with her and I'll watch over you until your first appointment −" She said coldly with some kind of regret from which he felt a squeeze in his throat. He pressed his lips together, feeling his body tremble and closed his eyes, wanting to just disappear.

He shuddered, looking at her in disbelief as she slipped her purple scarf out of the pocket of her tracksuit shorts, the same one he'd found on the floor and kept. She tied her hair with it, combing it into a ponytail, staring straight into his eyes.

"I found this on your couch. Did you think of me before you did it?" She asked, with soft, sure flicks of her fingers arranging her curls as she saw fit. He swallowed hard at her question, feeling a burning sense of embarrassment.

"− yes −" He sighed. She let out a quiet breath at his words, placing her hands on her thighs.

"− are you able to get up? −"

With her help he managed to rise with difficulty − he brushed his teeth feeling the still disgusting taste of vomit and acid on his tongue and then lay down on the sofa, grabbing his head. He watched her silhouetted in the kitchen as she opened the cupboards one by one until she found his first aid kit.

He saw her throw away all the packets of sleeping pills he had.

"− hey −" He threw to her wrinkling his eyebrows, knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep a wink without them.

"− you'd better not speak −" She said warningly, without giving him a single glance, so he gave in, sighing heavily and closing his eyes, figuring there was no point in arguing.

To his surprise she moved around the rooms as if this was her home, sat down next to him at the other end of the sofa with an apple in her hand and turned on the TV as if nothing had happened. He looked at her, wondering if she was really going to sit here for days, but then decided it didn't matter.

When he finally got the phone call from Helaena he listened to almost half an hour of a litany from her about how irresponsible and selfish he was, only to hear a moment later that she loved him very much and that he needed to start taking care of himself − he assured her several times that he already had an appointment with a therapist, and Esmeralda wouldn't leave his side.

"− is that what you call me? −" She asked quietly after he had hung up, looking at the TV screen on which the news had just been airing. He looked at her surprised, realising that it wasn't actually her real name after all.

"− yes −" He replied lowly, playing with his phone between his fingers.

They didn't talk much to each other apart from the usual basic politeness. After a couple of hours he felt well enough to get up − he was still dizzy and still had no appetite, but he drank plenty of water and thought with relief that the danger had passed.

Evening finally fell and, tired after all that had happened, he simply headed upstairs to his bedroom, wanting to give her some solitude and privacy.

Changing into his pyjamas, which consisted of a simple t-shirt and black tracksuit bottoms, he shuddered and looked in disbelief at the door to his room when it opened, her figure stepping inside as if nothing had happened, climbing on his bed, lying under his duvet, turning her back to him.

What?

He pressed his lips together, wondering if he should say something or not, but in the end he couldn't resist.

"What are you doing?"

"I want to sleep. I'm tired. Could you turn out the light?" She asked quietly.

He grunted and, as she requested, walked over to the switch, flicking it, complete darkness fell all around them.

The thought that she was going to sleep in the same bed with him, even if only to keep an eye on him, made him instantly hard.

He lay down at a safer distance behind her, looking at her back and neck, knowing that she could feel his breath, but not daring to touch her.

He wondered if she was punishing him this way, showing him that she was at his fingertips, but after what he had done there was nothing else he could do but watch.

It would have been enough for him if he could have just jerked off looking at her, concentrating on her scent and the fact that she was next to him, but he felt he had no right to bring himself relief after all of this.

He didn't deserve it.

That's why he was just dying in agony, writhing − without his pills despite his fatigue he could not fall asleep, on top of that he was too aroused, her closeness was driving him crazy.

"− will you stop squirming? − I can't sleep −" She muttered at last, raising herself up on her elbow, looking at him with furrowed brows.

He felt his lips part involuntarily in desire at the sight of her face, at the thought that she didn't have a bra under her shirt, that there were her lovely breasts under that material that he could caress all night.

"− sorry −" He just choked out, trying to calm his breathing, his cock pulsed painfully swollen under the material of his sweatpants.

He made big eyes and flinched, embarrassed as she pushed back the duvet that covered them both, her gaze going to his trousers and what was going on inside them.

A tense silence fell between them − he could feel his whole body quivering with desire, grief and shame.

He wondered if she would mock his state and his desperation.

"− we can do it if you want − like civilised people − I'd like to experience some sleep tonight −" She said softly and he looked at her in disbelief, the bulge in his sweatpants twitched hard at her words.

"− are you sure? − I wouldn't −"

"− make me feel good −" She said quietly.

He drew in the air loudly as she said this, grabbing the material of her t-shirt and lifting it, pulling it over her head, revealing her lovely breasts to him.

She sighed loudly when his face immediately pressed against her nipple, alternately sucking and licking it with the tip of his tongue, his fingers digging into the soft skin of her back. She moaned quietly, surprised when he pulled her to him, her palms sliding into his hair, holding him close.

They lay on their sides, embracing each other in a tight grasp. He wriggled in disbelief and delight, willing and eager to show her how much he regretted it, how much he desired her, how much he loved her − his hand grasped tentatively her other breast, kneading it with his fingers.

"− so soft −" He gasped, listening to her quiet sighs of pleasure. He felt her throw her leg against his waist, which he grasped confidently, clenching his fingers on her thigh and pulled her closer, letting her feel how much he wanted her, his manhood throbbed impatiently beneath his trousers, hitting her stomach.

"− how −" He asked between flicks of his tongue licking and sucking her hard, puffy nipple like a little child, stroking the soft skin of her hips. He slipped his hand under the material of her shorts, tracing his fingertips over her plump buttocks, wanting to be sure that this time he would do everything the way she needed it, give her pleasure and reassurance, at the pace and the way she wanted it.

She stroked his hair at his question and placed a short, warm kiss on his forehead − he murmured lowly as he felt her begin to rub against him, encouraging him to do the same, his lips letting go of her nipple with a loud plop to look at her.

"− you on top − but touch me down there first −" She whispered embarrassedly, turning onto her back, pulling his arm behind her, looking at him with a gaze hot with desire and affection.

He leaned in, letting his swollen lips brush hers, which responded immediately to his caress, her fingers cupping his neck, deepening the kiss.

"− mmm −" She hummed, squirming beneath him. He ran his hand down her body, in a tentative, unhurried motion slipping his hand under the material of her shorts, wanting to give her time to react, but she sensing this spread her thighs wider, easing his access, his fingers finally running over her swollen, hot, wet womanhood.

"− God, little one − I want to use my mouth here −" He gasped appreciatively, thinking only of the fact that he had been dreaming of this for weeks. He smiled involuntarily when he saw her nod quickly, her sweet, full lips parted in an accelerated breath.

"− okay −" She whispered quietly, letting him slide the material of her shorts and underwear off her − he marvelled at the sight of her naked body, thinking with some kind of emotion that he felt like crying.

"− so beautiful −" He whispered, placing a gentle kiss on her stomach, on her womb, on her hip, on her thigh, knee and calf. He looked at her and noticed that she was watching him intently, her breasts rising and falling in uneven breaths, her hands on either side of her head.

"− come here −" He murmured softly, in a gentle motion pushing her hips closer to him, spreading them in front of him − he heard her gasp loudly as he leaned over her bared flesh. He let his hot breath envelop her skin before his nose ran over her hot, soft womanhood, his lips lazily clinging to her folds, placing a lingering, sticky kiss on them.

He tightened his hands on her thighs when he felt her throw her head back with a sweet, surprised moan, her fingers traveling to his short hair, stroking it in impatient motion, pressing his face close to her body.

"− please −" She mumbled, and he huffed with amusement, trailing his lips up to her puffy clit, sliding then down to her leaking, swollen slit, teasing her barely, not giving her what she needed.

"− no − we're going to do this very, very slowly − with due respect to you −" He hummed contentedly, feeling some kind of pride that he could do it this way, could give it to her and be what she needed.

She whimpered softly, writhing before him, her breathing quickened and shuddered, her body trembling in his hands, thirsting for fulfilment.

"− don't be cruel −" She mumbled resentfully, as if she thought he was teasing and taunting her. He sighed quietly, placing a warm, hot kiss on her sticky skin − a surprised, loud moan escaped her lips as the tip of his tongue suddenly forced its way inside her, deeper and deeper with each stroke, imposing an intense, fast pace on her.

"− o-oh fuck, yes, lick me −" She mewled, clenching her fingers in his hair, bucking her hips against his face, trying to find a more intense source of rubbing. He smirked under his breath as he discovered after a moment between her fleshy muscles the spot he was looking for, her whines increasingly pathetic and helpless, her walls beginning to throb around his tongue.

He heard her whimper his name, her whole body tensed as if she was trying to break away from him, but he didn't stop, letting her come on his face.

He purred contentedly as he felt how much of her moisture flowed out of her tight entrance, determined to make sure he licked every drop and not let anything go to waste despite her cries.

He surprised her when he didn't pull away, but repeated all the steps from the beginning, slowing his pace again, merely teasing her with his lips, her body twitching at his every move, overstimulated and delicate.

"− n-no more − I want you inside me −" She mumbled softly, and he looked up at her, licking his lips with his tongue, feeling her words in his trousers.

Even though he planned to spend the whole night between her thighs, he couldn't refuse such a request.

"− it's okay − there you go −" He hummed, rising to his knees, slipping his sweatpants down just enough to release his swollen, hard erection leaking from his precum. He placed one hand next to her head, the other guiding the fat, pink head of his cock between her widely spread thighs.

"− such a good girl − hm? − my sweet little baby, am I right? −" He cooed and she nodded quickly, looking at him with big eyes hazed with desire − it seemed to him that she didn't recognise him, that she didn't believe he was the same man she had met then.

He didn't believe it himself, but it felt wonderful.

They both sighed loudly when, with one slow thrust, he opened her wide on his swollen length, leaning over her, pressing his forehead to hers, her trembling hand rising to stroke his cheek, her lips pressed to his in a warm, innocent kiss.

He murmured contentedly, forcing her to fit all of him inside her with an impatient thrust of his hips − he heard her quiet cry of discomfort and surprise and swallowed loudly feeling his manhood pulsing intensely inside her, so hungry for her closeness.

She closed his waist between her legs, crossing them over his back, and he lay on top of her, pulling his t-shirt off quickly, resting his weight on his elbows to keep from crushing her, feeling her little, puffy nipples on his naked chest.

She sighed sweetly, looking up at him dreamily, trailing her fingers down his face and neck as he slipped out of her only to sink into her again a moment later with a loud click of her moisture − she was all wet and warm inside after her intense orgasm, her muscles squeezing him wonderfully from all sides.

"− that's it − just like that - it's okay −" He whispered tenderly, letting himself sink into the taste of her sticky, plump lips again, her hands trailing down his sweaty, muscled back as he involuntarily sped up his pace, pressing his nose to her cheek, slamming into her with more and more sure, brutal thrusts of his hips, groaning low along with her.

"− oh, fuck, baby −" He gasped, listening to her moans of pleasure, her insides wonderfully warm and tight, quivering all over in sensation, soaking him wet. He began to root aggressively into her weeping cunt panting hard, all around them only the loud sound of their moist, naked bodies slapping quickly against each other.

"− please − please − please −" She mumbled out looking up at him with her mouth wide open, digging her fingers into the hot skin of his back − he could feel her walls clench around him tighter, sucking him inside. He shuddered hard at her words, focusing now only on rooting again and again into her warm, fleshy interior.

"− I don't know if I'm going to let you sleep tonight − I think I'd rather do this with you instead −" He breathed out into her mouth, pushing his tongue deep into her throat − he felt her body shake as she convulsed, her hands clenched painfully hard on his body as she came a second time with sweet mewl of effort, panting loudly as if she couldn't catch her breath, her muscles began to throb greedily around his cock, sucking him inside.

He tilted his head back and sighed in relief, a few sloppy, rough thrusts prolonging the inevitable − his warm cum spilled deep inside her, a hot wave of pleasure surging through his lungs.

He crushed her with his body, feeling their bodies quivering and twitching all over, both of them panting hard as if they had run a marathon, their hands running blindly over each other's naked skin as if they wanted to calm and soothe each other.

"− I love you −" He muttered, lying with his eyes closed, his nose snuggled into her hot, soft cheek. "− you know that, don't you? −"

"− yes −" She answered him quietly, and he sighed heavily, snuggling into her like a small child.

That much was enough for him.

He didn't expect anything from her.

He just wanted her to know it.

He spent that night as if in a frenzy, holding her close, embracing her from behind tightly with his arms, their legs entwined together in disarray. He fell asleep with his face pressed against her hair, completely overwhelmed by her wonderful scent, the warmth of her naked body, one of her hands placed on his making sure he didn't let go of her soft breasts.

They hadn't said much to each other after they awoke − when he turned her face towards him and he just sank into her swollen lips in a sticky, hot kiss. She purred sleepily at this caress, her fingertips running over his jaw.

She let him take her a second time then, from behind this time − she was so wet from their shared moisture that he slid into her without much difficulty, stretching her wonderfully tight walls with a sigh of delight.

He rooted into her with lazy, slow thrusts of his hips, making sure that each time the fat head of his cock rubbed her sweet spot, one of his hands playing with her puffy, little nipple, the other sunk deep between her thighs, teasing her swollen clit.

"− do you want me to stop? −" He whispered in her ear, and she shook her head, digging her fingers into his arm with which he embraced her at the waist.

"− n-no − it feels good −" She muttered in embarrassment − he kissed her hot cheek with a sticky click of his saliva seeing her lips parted in accelerated breath, her dreamy, warm gaze.

"− so I'm afraid I'm going to fill you a second time, sweet girl −" He hummed, running the tip of his nose over her pretty face. She moaned quietly at his words, feeling him suddenly speed up, slamming into her with more confident, brutal pushes − she tilted her head back, his lips immediately pressed against her neck.

"− d-don't − don't leave marks −" She mumbled out, quickly clenching her hand in his hair − she whimpered softly as she felt his fingertips dig harder into her fleshy folds.

"− I won't, baby − shhh −" He hushed her, running his lust-swollen lips over her soft skin, feeling her weeping walls squeeze him greedily at his words, forcing him to thrust into her more aggressively, his fingers sinking into her plushy thigh, holding her in place, panting along with her.

"− ah, G-God − She babbled, responding helplessly to his movements with rocking, both of them groaning in pleasure and relief as her muscles began to clench against him in a sudden orgasm, his thighs all sticky with her wetness.

"− yes, that's it − oh baby −" He muttered, letting go, with the last of his strength thrusting into her for a moment more before his seed filled her to the brim.

He hid the tip of his nose in her hair with his eyes closed, panting loudly with pleasure, holding firmly her body trembling in fulfilment in the tight embrace of his arms.

"− can I stay inside you? −" He whispered into her ear and she only nodded, falling into slumber again a moment later.

For the first time in many years he didn't have to get up at dawn, he didn't have to focus on work, on Daeron, on anyone or anything more than himself and her.

He couldn't believe it was really happening.

He lay thinking only of the fact that he was deep inside her, that he could feel her and smell her − he placed one of his hands over her heart wanting to feel how it beat, how her chest rose and fell in calm breaths.

The days before his appointment with the psychiatrist he had spent between her thighs.

She walked around his house wearing nothing but his T-shirt and it was enough for him standing behind her to lift its fabric a little to see her lovely, plump buttocks.

"− stop − we need to eat something −" She muttered as he knelt on the kitchen tiles while she was trying to prepare dinner for them, so that he could kiss her hot, soft skin with a murmur of satisfaction. His hand slipped lower, between her thighs, his fingertips collecting her moisture mingled with his semen, a reminder of what he had been doing to her all day.

"− I adore you −" He gasped, sliding his lips lower, placing warm, sticky kisses on her thighs and calves, he heard her quiet sigh.

"− does your friend know that you have a second lover? −" She asked quietly, and he froze, quickly lifting his gaze to her, understanding immediately that she was talking about Alys.

He didn't want to make a mistake and lie, but he also didn't know how to present it so she would know that it was a done deal for him.

"− I stopped seeing her after what happened between us −" He said softly getting up from his knees, looking down at her, putting an unruly lock of her dark hair behind her ear. "− I didn't see the point in it, because all I was thinking about was you −"

He confessed with a kind of pain and weariness, and she lifted her gaze to him, her bright eyes looked at him piercingly, warm and gentle. He leaned in placing a long, drawn-out kiss on her forehead.

She snuggled into his chest as if seeking refuge, and he embraced her kissing the top of her head devotedly, running his large hands down her back in a reassuring, tender gesture.

"− I can't promise you anything −" She said at last, and he swallowed hard, knowing what she meant.

"− I know − I don't expect it −" He whispered, cuddling his face into her fragrant hair, closing his eyes, her closeness and her scent calming him in some strange, incomprehensible way.

"− I will always wait for you −"

_____

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andvys · 11 months

Text

We'll burn the sky | part fourteen

Warnings: angst, mentions of drugs, alcohol, heartbreak, mentions of unrequited feelings

Pairings: Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Rockstar!fem!reader

Summary: The hope of things getting better gets crushed too soon.

Word count: 6k+

Author note: In the fic, readers dad sang the song 'Hey Jude' by The Beatles. Also shoutout to @mysticmunson who made an article and a cover for a magazine for this fic!

Series Masterlist

It took a lot of convincing for you to join Eddie and the others for their friends' Christmas. While you got along with all of them and became friends with them quickly, you still felt like you would be intervening. They have been friends for years and you had only joined their group recently. None of them accepted a no from you though, the teens were begging you to come and so were Eddie and Robin. You and Steve haven’t talked since Wednesday night and you began to miss him.

Now you are here, surrounded by your new friends at Robin’s place. Her living room smells like the pine from the Christmas tree, freshly baked cookies and a hint of cinnamon and pumpkin spice from all her candles.

She has a small apartment but it’s cozy, a bunch of movies and books are all over the place, some are on the shelves, others are piling up on the floor. You checked them out the moment you stepped into her apartment, getting excited over all the horror movies she had collected.

You finally met Jonathan and his friend from college; Argyle, who pulled you into a conversation right away, enthusiastically asking you questions about the tour. You settled beside him on the couch, quickly forgetting about all the heavy thoughts that lingered in your mind.

Steve kept looking at you all evening, eying you with an unsure look in his eyes, he wanted to talk to you but couldn’t bring himself to, he was too nervous. Even though you told him that you were okay and that everything was fine between you, he didn’t believe it and he still doesn’t. The fear that he messed up completely and broke your trust makes him feel so unbelievably angry with himself.

He was supposed to be your safe place, the one who protects you from all the pain and yet he hurt you. He knows he did.

“Hey Dingus,” Robin whispers. She nudges his shoulder and offers him a drink.

He looks at her and then he looks down at the glass in her hand, eying the beverage. “Eggnog?” He asks, already taking the drink from her hand.

“Yup.”

“Cool,” he mumbles. Raising the cup to his lips, he looks back at you as he takes the first sip. You are laughing at something Argyle said, the man beside you looking proud at his jokes.

Robin stares at him. She pities him, knowing that he likes you and that he is beating himself up for what happened two nights ago. You are not mad at him, you told her that and she told him that but he doesn’t believe it.

“You should talk to her.”

“How?”

“Just talk to her the way you always do,” she mumbles.

“Yeah but how do I approach her?”

“Just like always, like ‘hey honey, can we talk?’” Robin says in a deep voice.

Steve scrunches his face up, furrowing his brows. “I do not sound like that,” he mumbles.

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do!” She exclaims with a teasing look on her face. “You always have that smirk on your face too, flick your hair and put your hand on your hip like a mom.”

“What? I– no!”

She laughs at him, drinking her eggnog and looking behind her best friend’s shoulder with a knowing look on her face.

“What are you smirking at?” He mumbles, rolling his eyes.

Robin raises her brows and tilts her chin, gesturing to something behind him. Before he can turn around, he hears your voice.

“Steve?”

Suddenly, he feels nervous again, in a way he hasn’t felt in a while. He turns around, trying to force a smile on his face when he looks down at you. He almost expects to see something negative in your eyes, disgust, anger, hate but he finds none of those, he only finds softness in them.

“Can we talk?” You ask with shyness in your voice, something so unusual for you.

He nods, eyes softening as he watches you sigh in relief. You take his hand and lead him to the quiet corner in Robin’s living room, you both sit on the window nook.

He doesn’t look at you, not yet. Instead, he looks around the room. Max is talking to Jonathan and Nancy. Argyle is now leaning against the kitchen island, joking around with Eddie and Dustin. The others are on the couch and on the floor, seemingly in a heated conversation about holiday movies.

He feels your eyes on him and he finally turns to face you. You eye him with an apologetic look in your eyes.

What do you have to feel apologetic for? He is the one who messed up, Steve thinks.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” He asks, chuckling.

You nod.

“Why are you so nice, why are you looking at me like that?” He asks. He feels genuinely confused. You should be angry at him, you shouldn’t be so nice, you shouldn’t look at him like that.

“I don’t want you to feel bad about what happened, Steve.”

“We– I messed up,” he mumbles, shaking his head a little as he stares at you with a frown on his face. “You– I didn’t even make sure that you were okay with it–”

“I was okay with it.”

“But I still feel bad.”

“You don’t have to, I promise. I just want to go back to the way things were.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

You look at Nancy, the girl that told you about the apparent feelings Steve harbored for you. With a nervous glance and an unsure look on your face, you turn back to him.

Should you ask him?

He knows it, he knows that you want to ask something. He can tell by the furrowed brows and the curiosity in your eyes.

“A-Are we okay?” You ask the questions that you didn’t mean to ask.

His gaze softens and he finally moves to touch your hand, something he wasn’t sure about at first.

“Of course, we’re okay, honey.” He pauses, taking a deep breath, he keeps his eyes locked with yours, “but what do you really wanna know?”

Your eyes widen a little, something that makes him chuckle.

“Come on, ask what you wanna ask, it’s okay, I won’t be–”

“Do you have feelings for me?” You blurt out in a whisper, already blushing.

His eyes widen, lips parting and his cheeks grow red. “W-What? Who told you that?”

You grow nervous, your heart is beginning to race in your chest, you don’t want to hurt him, you don’t want to break his heart, he means too much to you.

“I– no one,” you whisper, looking down at his hand, “I’m just wondering.”

A small smile tugs on his lips as he watches you, for someone so tough and confident, you look small and shy, right now. You are worried about him and his feelings, that alone would be enough to mend the pain in his heart if it was there. You don’t want to break his heart.

He whispers your name and you almost sigh in relief when you don’t hear any pain in his voice. He squeezes your hand, urging you to look at him. You do and meet his eyes again.

“Listen,” he begins, “I would be lying if I said that I don’t feel something for you but it’s not– I’m not in love with you, I’m not gonna be heartbroken when you leave and when this thing between us will come to an end. I mean, I will be fucking sad,” he chuckles as he runs his fingers through his hair, “you and I, we had a really good time, one of the best times of my life, actually. You’ve become one of my best friends and I hope that you won’t forget about me when you leave because I sure as hell will never forget you and our time.”

You blink, smiling at him, you squeeze his hand the way he did to you.

“I could never forget you, Steve Harrington.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

You smile at each other, despite what happened and the way you felt the other night, you still feel safe with him.

“I got used to this,” he smiles, flicking his hand back and forth between the two of you, “having someone to hang out with, I mean other than Robin or the others. You made me realize that I miss having someone, someone to hold and kiss, you know?”

You nod at his words. You understand it, you feel the same but while he misses having someone in general, you only missed one person and even though you did enjoy the time with him, you still always thought about Eddie.

“At some point, I convinced myself that I don’t need anyone, that I’m not lucky in that department anyways,” he chuckles, rolling his eyes at himself, “I thought that all I’d ever get is meaningless hookups or just.. heartbreak.”

You raise your brows, smile turning upside down as you stare at him. He deserves more than that, more than meaningless flings.

“But then I met you and yeah, we hooked up too but it was also more than that. You showed me that it doesn’t have to be meaningless, that even though we aren’t in a relationship, we can still be something more than just this,” he mumbles, scooting closer to you, he looks down at the rings on your fingers, the ones that he played with when he held your hands, “you never made me feel used. Even when I knew you loved him, you never made me feel like I was a rebound or a thing to play with when you were bored. You never wanted something from me, you were just this sweet girl that wanted to be with me, even if only for a moment.”

Oh.

You and him, you are the same in a way. Perhaps this is why you got along so well.

All your life, you have felt like people wanted or needed something from you. You felt used, still do.

“So uh– I guess what I wanted to say is, thank you,” he smiles, squeezing your hand, “and I’m sorry for what happened that night.”

You blink, staring into his hazel eyes, you see so much in them. Emotions that you both share.

Yeah, the night at the trailer was something that left you feeling weird, something that made you feel used and even when it wasn’t what they did, something inside of you was damaged when you let your thoughts get the best of you. Your feelings for either of them haven't changed. You care about Steve and you love Eddie and that is something that will always stay the same.

Steve mended the pain in your heart after the horrible nights that followed when you found out about Chrissy. He became your friend and something more, there is an energy surrounding the two of you, one that makes you feel safe and comforted. It’s like having a safe haven that you know you can always come back to even after a long long time and you know it will still feel the same. There is nothing romantic about it but it’s nice.

He is your friend, one that will stay with you forever. You can confidently say that knowing that it’s the truth.

“Thank you, Steve,” you smile, “you made my life better and you made me happy when I needed it the most.”

“Come here,” he whispers, opening his arms for you. You smile and lean closer to him, wrapping your arms around him, you hug him and close your eyes.

“I’m gonna miss you when I’m gone.”

He hugs you even tighter, sighing sadly, “I’m gonna miss you, rockstar.”

On the other side of the room, Eddie stands there with a drink in his hand and a scowl on his face as he watches you staying in Steve’s embrace for longer than necessary. Letting the man touch your face after tucking your hair behind your ear.

Your eyes light up when he says something to you, you laugh and slap his shoulder playfully.

Do you look at him like that? Do you smile the same way when he talks to you? Do your eyes light up the same way?

Eddie swallows, his chest feels burdened with jealousy. He feels ridiculous for feeling this way, maybe even a little hypocritical considering he let Steve touch you in a way that was nowhere near friendly but he can’t help it. Anytime another man gets a little too close to you, he gets both angry and insecure but most of all, jealous.

“Damn, I never saw you look so angry.”

Eddie snaps his head towards Lucas, who is happily munching on one of the cookies that Nancy made.

“I’m not angry,” Eddie mutters, angrily.

Lucas chuckles, nodding, “sure, whatever you say, Eddie. You are totally not jealous over the fact that Steve is kissing her right now.”

“What?” Eddie almost shrieks as he turns to look at you again, heart dropping to his stomach at his words only to find you gone and Steve joining El and Robin in a conversation.

Clenching his jaw, he turns back to Lucas, “you little shit,” he says through gritted teeth. Lucas only laughs, satisfaction flickering in his eyes.

“So you are jealous, huh?”

Rolling his eyes, he only shrugs, “clearly.”

“You’re so dense, man,” Lucas sighs.

“Excuse me?”

“You are dense!” He exclaims, throwing his arms up. “She is like literally in love with you and you are over here glaring at her–”

“I did not glare at her!”

“Yes, you did! You looked pretty scary right now, scarier than Henry Creel!”

“Dude!”

“It’s the truth!” Lucas mumbles, rolling his eyes. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Listen, clearly you have messed up somehow, otherwise you wouldn’t look at each other like kicked puppies, all the damn time. You probably made things worse by trying to make them right ‘cause I know that you can be an idiot sometimes, no offense. But you really gotta man up and fix things before you lose her and trust me, you don’t wanna lose her.”

Eddie blinks.

How is this 17 year old boy wiser and smarter than him?

He is right, he doesn’t want to lose you, ever. The thought of living a life without you makes him sick. Even if you never give him a chance again, he still wants you in his life, even if he’ll only get to love you from afar.

You breathe in the cold air, closing your eyes, you lean back against the concrete wall. The wind is harsh tonight as the snow falls. You wonder if there is a storm brewing, beside the one inside of you.

You are overstimulated by all the emotions running through you.

Confusion. Sadness. Insecurities. Anger. Exhaustion. Heartbreak.

The conversation with Chrissy left you with nothing but confusion, just like Eddie’s and Steve’s actions did.

The days leading closer to Christmas and to your Dad’s death anniversary leaves you with sadness, too much of it.

Your many insecurities have always been there but they have never been as intense as they are now. Despite Eddie’s words, Robin’s words or even Chrissy’s words, you can’t help but fear that Eddie doesn’t care about you in the same way you do for him. So far, things have only ever been physical between you two, at least from his side.

Before Eddie, you had never felt an emotional connection to anyone else, you have never loved anyone romantically, you have never felt all of this for another person. You were scared of these feelings, of falling in love only to end up heartbroken.

You were scared of falling in love with the wrong person. Though despite everything that happened, Eddie could never be the wrong person, even if he continues to put you through pain, you will never regret loving him.

He is your person, even if you aren’t his.

“Hey, are you okay?”

You open your eyes and turn to see Max approaching you, even in the darkness, you can see the concern in her eyes as she looks at you.

You smile at her and nod your head, “yes, I’m okay.”

She doesn’t look convinced, raising her brows, she crosses her arms over her chest as she pulls her jacket tighter around her body to shield herself from the cold wind.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you mumble with uncertainty in your voice.

She takes a moment to think about her words as she looks into your eyes as though she tries to figure you out.

“Is this too much for you?” She asks, “I mean the whole Christmas party.”

She doesn’t have to spell it out for you to know what she actually means by her question.

“No, I actually like it,” you smile, “I’m just not used to it, I haven’t celebrated Christmas in years.”

Because what was there to celebrate after he died that day?

“Honestly? I hate Christmas,” Max admits with a sigh and an eye roll, causing you to chuckle.

“Really?”

Her eyes widen as she nods, “yeah because even though my mom left my step dad, she still insists on spending holidays with him and Billy.”

“Billy?”

“My step brother who is a major asshole.”

“Oh no,” you mumble with a scowl on your face.

“Yeah, he is horrible and he always makes sure to make me feel horrible, especially during holidays, so I really just can’t wait for it to be over.”

“I get it. I feel the same way,” you admit, “but I’m sorry about him, fuck that guy.”

She chuckles at your words, “yeah, fuck that guy.”

“What about your dad?” You ask.

Her eyes light up and a smile appears on her face. “Oh, my dad is amazing, I don’t see him very often but he calls all the time. Lucas and I are going to visit him over the summer, he lives in California.”

“That sounds nice,” you smile, “I hope you’ll have the best summer before you both go to college.”

“I’m sure we will,” she smiles, “but back to you, what are you doing tomorrow?”

“Oh umm.. I think that I will relax in my motel room,” you chuckle.

You are not looking forward to tomorrow or the day after at all. No matter what you do, no matter how much you try to distract yourself, it doesn’t work, it never works. This day always brings you back to that horrible night.

“Alone?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna get ready for tour, we’re leaving next week.”

“You can’t spend Christmas by yourself,” she frowns.

“I always spend Christmas by myself.”

“You shouldn’t, that’s sad.” Especially because of your dad, she wants to add but doesn’t. “I’d invite you to spend it with us but I don’t think that you want to meet Billy,” she rolls her eyes, “did Eddie not invite you?”

No. He didn’t. Eddie didn’t invite you. Steve did but he didn’t.

Maybe he doesn’t want you around. Christmas is a holiday that you spend with your loved ones, not ones you keep around because you like the way they make you feel, because you like touching them.

You shake your head.

“What?”

“Uh no, he uh– he didn’t invite me,” you mumble as the sadness begins to take hold of you, “which is fine, that’s a day you gotta spend with your family or with people you love. Eddie and I are just friends.”

She furrows her brows in confusion. She opens her mouth to speak but quickly closes it again. You feel overwhelmed, just like you did minutes before you left the apartment. She could see the way you put on a mask, the way you smiled at Steve and laughed along to his jokes despite the pain in your eyes, you are good at hiding your emotions and so is she, that’s why she could see right through you.

“It’s getting late, I think I’m gonna go,” you mumble, blinking away the tears that start to well up in your eyes.

“Do you want me to get Steve, so he can drive you?” She asks even though she already knows that you will say no. You want to be alone.

“No,” you shake your head, forcing a smile on your face, “it’s just a short walk, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, thank you for tonight, the party was nice.”

“You don’t have to thank us, you’re our friend now,” she smiles.

Her words warm your heart a little.

You give her a hug before you leave, telling her to enjoy the rest of the party before you walk away but then you make the abrupt decision to go the other way after Max goes back inside. The thought of being all alone in the quiet room makes you feel sick but going back to the party isn’t an option either. You need some time alone, a good drink and some music.

That’s how you find yourself sitting at the bar you performed in this Tuesday. Ordering yourself a drink and opting to watch the people around you.

Your eyes lock with blue ones, the ones that were stuck on you all night ever since you walked inside the hideout.

His hair is blond, a little messy. He has tattoos on his left arm, a dark look on his face and a smirk tugs at his lips when you don’t look away from him. He is attractive. If you weren’t so hung up on a man that probably only wants to fuck you, you would be over there flirting with this stranger already.

You look away, running your fingers through your hair, you sigh.

You’re a mess, a complicated mess with too many trust issues and feelings. You keep changing your mind about everything, your thoughts are running wild, making you feel as though you are going crazy. Everything that ever hurt you, keeps repeating itself in your head and you wish that your thoughts would just shut up.

That the pain could just stop.

Will it ever stop?

“Hey.”

You already know who it is before you even turn around to face the man.

“Hi.”

He smirks at you, eying you up and down before he looks at the seat next to you, “can I sit here?”

“If you give me your name,” you say with raised brows.

He licks his lips, chuckling, he holds his hand out to you, “I’m Henry.”

Oh my god.

“Henry,” you mumble, a smirk tugging at your lips. You assume that he must be the Henry Creel, the one that everyone kept mentioning, you expected him to look scary but there is not a single thing scary about him, well– maybe the look in his eyes is but you don’t care.

You give him your name and watch as he takes the seat next to you.

“I know who you are,” he chuckles, “you’re all over the television.”

His voice is raspy and he looks deep into your eyes.

“Yeah, do you want an autograph?” You joke.

“No, I think I’d rather talk to you.”

“What if I don’t want to talk?”

“Then I’ll leave,” he shrugs, “do you want me to leave?”

You tear your eyes away from him and look down at your drink, sloshing the dark liquid around, you down the rest of it, slamming the glass on the table. You call the bartender over, “can I get another one?”

The bartender, a middle aged man with the name tag Tom, nods at you, reaching for your glass.

“Actually make it two,” you request as you look back at Henry whose eyes light up.

With the way he has been making eyes at you all night, you expected him to be flirting with you but instead you found yourself having a pleasant conversation with the man that your friends have warned you about.

The only thing creepy about him is his obsession with spiders and zombies but he is probably just a really big fan of horror. He even has a big spider tattoo on his wrist.

You find out that he lives alone in a big house, he stayed behind after his family left Hawkins but he works as a tattoo artist in a different town.

The whole time he is talking to you, you nod along and listen. Leaning your elbow against the table, you cup your cheek and stare at him, wondering what gave him such a bad reputation.

Hours go by and you knock back one drink after the other, letting the alcohol flood your system. You needed this. A distraction. To feel careless and free of your thoughts. Who would’ve thought that a talk with a stranger and a few drinks would make you feel better?

“You are nice,” you slur, furrowing your brows.

“Why wouldn’t I be nice?”

“People say you’re dangerous and scary.”

He chuckles at your words, “maybe I am dangerous and scary.”

You shake your head, laughing, “no, I’ve met dangerous people before, you’re not dangerous. You just have that mean look on your face,” you mumble as you point to his eyes, “and your obsession with spiders makes you seem scary but you probably just want to be spiderman– hey, have you ever been to New York? You should go there but don’t have your first kiss there with someone you love or it’ll all go downhill,” you ramble carelessly.

You don’t see the way he raises his brows in surprise, you are too drunk to notice anything at this point. Getting more and more dizzy and tired.

“I fell in love with this– this guy who had a girlfriend but I didn’t know about her until she surprised him and then I got all heartbroken and we got into a lot of fights and blah blah,” you roll your eyes, “then I fucked his friend.”

“Oh,” Henry mumbles, looking surprised.

“Yeah and he got jealous. He got all pissed at me because I fucked his friend! He had a girlfriend! He had no right to be jealous, right?”

“Totally not.”

“But then he wanted to fuck me with his friend, how fucking stupid is that?”

“Wait what–”

“I hate men, they are so dumb– no offense.”

“None taken, you’re right.”

“I know, I’m always right.”

He chuckles as he looks down at you.

You run your fingers through your messy hair, trying to sit straight.

“I think I need another drink–”

“No, I really think you don’t,” he says, pushing the half empty glass away from you, “you’ve had enough. You should go home.”

You tilt your head, squinting your eyes as you turn to look at him, “no, I don’t.”

“The bar is closing soon.”

“Oh,” you frown, “well, it was nice to meet you,” you mumble, jumping off the chair, your knees buckle and you almost fall to the ground if it wasn’t for him holding you up, “whoa, you okay?” He chuckles.

A small laugh leaves your lips, you nod, “yeah, thanks,” you mumble, blinking, you feel yourself getting dizzy, “I think I had too much.” You stumble into his chest, “you smell good, is that Dior?”

He chuckles again, placing his hands on your waist, he pushes you back a little.

“Do you need some water–”

“Hey! Get your hands off of her!”

You look behind him, to see Eddie walking towards you with an angry and worried look in his eyes.

“Oh no,” you mumble as a wave of sickness rushes through you, “there is the guy.”

Eddie can’t believe it. He was sick with worry, searching for you everywhere after finding your motel room dark and empty. Here you are, getting cozy with Henry fucking Creel.

“What the fuck, y/n?” He mutters angrily as he stops in front of you, he reaches for you, pulling you away from Henry, he looks down at you, “I was worried about you!”

“Why?” You slur, looking up into his dark eyes, “I’m fine, just hanging out with spiderman.”

He scrunches his face up, the smell of whiskey hits him. The red rimmed eyes and your drowsy state makes him even more worried. He cups your cheeks.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, “how much did you have?”

You slap his hands away, “stop acting like my dad, you’re not my dad. My dad is dead.”

Eddie frowns at your words.

“Don’t look at me like that, Eddie–”

“You’re getting drunk with strangers now?”

“Henry is my friend, he’s gonna give me a tattoo, right Henry?”

Henry shrugs, “yeah sure.”

“Or maybe some nipple piercings,” you smirk.

“What the fuck,” Eddie mumbles.

“Yeah, what the fuck, Eddie? Did you know that he is a tattoo artist and not some scary serial killer?”

He rolls his eyes at you, taking your hand, he squeezes it softly, “come on, I’ll take you home.”

To his surprise, you don’t protest. He grabs your coat and wraps it around your shoulders before he leads you out. He mutters something under his breath as you step into the darkness. Suddenly, you start giggling causing him to get even more irritated.

You lean against the wall, almost stumbling to the ground again but Eddie holds your waist tightly.

“What the fuck is so funny to you?”

You look at the frown on his face, his eye is twitching and his cheeks are red. He is mad.

“Get your hands off of her,” you imitate him with a low voice, “are you worried that someone else will use me for my body? I-I mean, that’s all I am to you, a body, right?”

“What?” He scoffs.

“I’m just a body– a thing to you,” you slur, “that’s what you called me, a pretty little thing, that’s what you called me that one night on the tour bus. And that’s all you ever want me for. You always just wanna touch me and kiss me, otherwise I’m not interesting to you.”

“What?” Eddie repeats, though he doesn’t sound shocked or angry now, just sad.

“Can you bring me home– no, wait,” you giggle again, “I don’t have a home.”

Eddie stares at you with tears in his eyes. Right here, right now, he realizes just how hurt you really are. Despite your laugh and the carefree act you put on, it’s so clear to him that you are in pain and it breaks his heart.

“I’m a wreck,” you say, running your hand down your face, “man, I’m so annoying.”

He shakes his head, stepping towards you, he cups your cheeks. Getting angry at himself for making you feel this way about yourself.

“You’re not a wreck and you are not annoying, Sweetheart and you’re not some thing to me. You’re my girl, my best friend, okay?”

Your glossy eyes widen at his words.

“Best friend?” You whisper.

“Yeah, you are my everything. I’m an idiot, a really big one. I know I made mistakes, too many of them but I can prove you wrong, I can show you that you are more to me than what you think.”

“Please?” You whisper with hope in your eyes.

“I will prove it to you,” he says softly, leaning down, he presses his lips to your forehead, giving you a gentle kiss, “I won’t touch you unless you tell me to. We can start over, okay?”

You nod.

He pulls you into his arms and hugs you tightly. You breathe his scent in, a sense of comfort washing over you. You close your eyes and lay your head on his chest.

“I can be your home.”

“Really?” You mumble into his chest as the exhaustion takes over you again.

“Yes baby,” he whispers, running his fingers through your hair, “and please don’t ever hang out with Henry again–”

“Henry is nice.”

“No, he really isn’t,” Eddie mumbles in annoyance.

“Yes, he is, he is a sweet boy.”

“Jesus Christ,” he sighs.

“Let’s get you to bed, Sweetheart.”

He brings you back to the motel room, taking your clothes off and replacing them with comfortable ones. He takes your makeup off and brushes your hair while you brush your teeth. Eddie loves taking care of you, it’s something he never told you before but he does.

Before you, he hated being responsible for others, he didn’t like taking care of other people but it’s different with you.

He manages to convince you to drink a glass of water, hoping that it will make you feel less bad in the morning but neither that or the advil help you. You wake up with a pounding head.

Groaning in pain, you open your eyes, feeling thankful for the closed curtains.

You sit up, burying your face in your hands. You haven’t felt this way in a long time. You don’t drink much, ever. Hangovers are the absolute worst, that’s why you keep it light with the drinks, usually.

You force yourself out of bed, you read the clock, 12:00 pm.

“Jesus,” you mumble. It’s unusual for you to sleep this long.

You find a note and a full water bottle, along with some painkillers on the nightstand.

Please eat something when you wake up and call me.

-Eddie.

You don’t think that you will get anything down right now or today in general.

You don’t call him right away, opting for a shower instead, hoping that it will wake you up and make you feel better. You grab some fresh clothes before walking into the bathroom. Turning the water on, you start taking your clothes off. You turn to look at yourself in the mirror.

Frowning at the puffy eyes and the circles beneath them.

“Wreck,” you mumble to yourself, rolling your eyes, you turn away and step into the shower.

You close your eyes when the warm water touches your skin. You stand there for a couple of minutes before you begin to wash your hair and your body. You don’t think of anything yet, too focused on the headache and your craving for coffee.

You take your time getting ready. You put lotion on your body, style your hair and put makeup on your face, hoping that it’ll make you look less exhausted. You pick out a warm sweater and some dark jeans.

The weight on your shoulder is heavy but some of it was lifted last night after your conversation with Steve and Eddie.

I can be your home

We can start over

Start over. Yes, you both can start over. You can start over. Things don’t have to be this way. You don’t have to be broken and insecure. You can be more than that. You can be okay.

You are surprised by the amount of snow that fell overnight. All the trees and all the streets are covered in snow and it's icy cold outside.

You were meaning to go to the store but it’s too far away to walk in this cold so you stop by the gas station instead, hoping to get a hot drink and a few snacks here.

You greet the very bored looking cashier as you walk inside. Last Christmas by Wham is playing on the radio. The only Christmas song you’ll ever tolerate.

You walk past the drinks and the magazines when something catches your eye.

The warmth that the store provided you only lasted for a moment. Your blood runs cold and your heart drops to your stomach when your eyes fall on the cover of one of the magazines.

“What the fuck,” you whisper as you feel yourself getting sick already.

A picture of your dad is on the cover of one of the magazines. You step closer, ignoring the pounding of your heart. With shaky hands, you reach towards it. Eyes filled with shock as you read the lines on the cover.

HOLIDAY HEARTBREAK

BELOVED LEGEND DIED OF DRUG OVERDOSE, NOT MEDICAL CONDITION. AN INSIDE SCOOP INTO THE MAN WE THOUGHT WE KNEW.

“No….” You whisper with tears in your eyes.

You rush towards the counter with the magazine in your hand, slamming a fifty dollar bill on the counter.

“Hey, that’s too much!” The teen says to you as he looks at you in confusion.

“Keep the change,” you mumble as you leave the store. Not even caring about the cold anymore, walk towards the bench on the sidewalk. Sitting down, you flip through the pages.

Breathing heavily, you try to see through the blurry vision in your eyes as you begin to read the article. Your hands are shaking, you feel like throwing up as the bile in your throat rises.

The Hey Jude singer secretly battled a drug addiction before being found by his daughter on Christmas. Is she following in his footsteps?

You don’t even feel your heart racing any longer, you don’t feel any anger.

You read the rest of it, only growing more scared and confused.

Mentions of your apparent drug addiction only make you feel even sicker.

“What the fuck..”

You stare at it for the longest time, not knowing how to actually feel. Tears begin to stream down your face and you have to hold yourself together to keep yourself from sobbing. How do they know? How did this happen? Who talked? Who said all these horrible things about you?

You sniffle, closing the magazine, you get up.

You never wanted this, you never wanted them to know about what happened to him.

They waited for this day to publish this stupid magazine. You clench your jaw, looking up into the sky, you close your eyes. The pain and the anger and everything else begins to fade into numbness.

You don’t even think about what will happen next but you know that the rest of the tour will be hell for you.

Ever since he died, you have hated this day but now you despise it.

His name is ruined and so is yours.

You walk over to the telephone booth, throwing a coin into the phone box, you dial the number, already knowing that you are making a huge mistake. This person never gave you an ounce of comfort in your life and yet, you call her.

You have never felt so low.

You hold the receiver tightly in your shaky hand, ignoring the tears that stream down your face.

“Hello?”

“Mom?”

The line goes silent and you are afraid that she hung up the phone.

“Mom, are you there?” You ask, not even recognizing your own voice anymore.

She says your name, almost regretfully.

“Did you see?” You ask as you look down at the magazine.

“See what, y/n?”

“The article?”

“Yes.”

Her voice is monotone, strict. She doesn’t care, she never did and it hurts you more than ever today.

“C-Can I see you?” You ask with a shaky voice.

She sighs and you already know what that means.

“Listen, I gotta go–”

“Mom, please,” you beg.

The line is silent for another few seconds. Your heart is racing, your bottom lip is trembling as your body is shaking, not from the cold but from the fear.

“I need you.”

She doesn’t say anything but she hangs up the phone, leaving you alone once again.

You close your eyes as you place the receiver back in place, wiping your tears away, you hold the magazine tightly against your chest as you leave the booth.

How much worse will it get?

“Y/n?”

You look up, not caring about the tears on your face and the ones that are welling up in your eyes again. Even through your blurry vision, you recognize him.

“H-Hi,” you mumble, trying to keep yourself from crying.

He eyes you with concern in his eyes, holding the keys to his truck, he puts them inside of his pocket as he walks towards you.

“Are you okay, kid?” He asks.

You blink, trying to come up with words, trying to come up with a lie but you can’t, not right now.

You shake your head, “no,” you whisper, unable to stop the sob from escaping.

Wayne sighs deeply, a sad look taking over his features, he steps closer to you.

“Come here, darling,” he says as he opens his arms, pulling you into his embrace. He rubs your back softly, holding you as you cry.

Here’s the article

only tagging friends & mutuals! Follow @andvyswritingss and turn on notifications so you don't miss updates!

@prettyboyeddiemunson @littledemondani @wroteclassicaly @corrodedcorpses @mysticmunson @aftermidnightwriting @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sherrylyn628 @yearwalker96

#eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fics #eddie munson fic #stranger things angst #stranger things imagines #stranger things imagine

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bebx · 10 months

Text

random don’ts in fanfic writing!

a disclaimer that these are just some suggestions from a fellow fic writer & you don’t have to agree with everything I list here. the intention of this isn’t to shame anyone but to only offer advices I personally take.

I hope you’ll find at least one of these useful.

don’t go “the taller man looks at her with a smile on his face” or “the blonde girl laughs, feeling his eyes on her” on characters whose names are already known by the readers. I admit that this is something I used to do for so long because I thought it was cool, until I learned it’s just unrealistic, because normally, if you know someone; say, if they’re your friend, you don’t call them “the taller man” or “the blonde girl” or “the older man”, you call them by their names. so unless your readers aren’t supposed to know the names of these characters yet, just say “Justin looks at her with a smile on his face” or “Sarah laughs, feeling his eyes on her” — it feels more natural this way.

don’t give readers your personal feelings. “the walls are closing in, and he still has trouble standing up on unsteady legs. panic’s making it hard to breathe as he realizes he’s going to die. what will poor Daniel do now?” — “poor” in this case is the author’s opinion, how they feel about their character. it’s unnecessary to add in your work because, with all due respect, it can make the whole thing sound like a children’s book where readers are not capable of knowing how they’re supposed to feel in this scene and so they need the author to tell them how to feel. unless you’re writing something specifically for kids, don’t do this. don’t insult your readers’ intelligence by constantly guiding them how they should feel about this particular character in this particular situation. your readers are not kids. they are perfectly capable of knowing how they feel. they will feel sorry for the character on their own. they will read your work and think “oh no, poor guy. how will he get out of this now?” on their own. you, as the author, don’t have to tell them to be sorry for the character.

don’t outright underestimate your own work. being humble is a good thing, but sometimes you just have to be proud. don’t directly say “this sucks” or “I don’t really like how this turned out” in the author’s note, it can actually drive readers away from your fic. it drove me away from a fic so many times. and it’s a shame, because I really believe your readers — I really believe I — would’ve loved your fic if they’d — if I had — given it a chance. but the disclaimer that outright says “this isn’t good” from the author themself is unfortunately more than enough a reason as to why readers decide not to read it altogether. so… don’t say that. you can be unsatisfied with your work, but your readers don’t have to know that. hell, they might even love it. so, yeah, be proud.

don’t replace eyes with orbs. I… admit that I frequently did this during my Wattpad phase, and it’s actively haunting my nightmares to this day. I guarantee you that you can just say eyes. “she looks right into his eyes” yes, you can say this, and it will always sound more professional in terms of writing than “she looks right into his beautiful blue orbs” which, if I’m being brutally honest, “orbs” used to describe eyes just makes it all sounds like a school essay where we purposefully use fancy words so that our teachers know we have those words memorized in our vocabulary. but yeah… it’s painfully cringe to call eyes orbs and it almost always makes me want to just stop reading your work, and I mean this with utter respect. don’t make the same mistake I made when I was an emo teenager. if you really must have to use other word that isn’t “eyes” just call them face balls or something (I’m joking, please don’t actually call them face balls). but seriously, literally anything that isn’t orbs. just… call them eyes. it’s already perfect.

don’t replace world with planet, if your work doesn’t include theme about space/sci-fi or if you’re not describing an actual planet (as in climate change towards the planet or a lost planet that’s never been found, for instance). — world and planet give readers two very different feelings. if you’re describing an antagonist, who is not a literal alien from another planet, whose plan is to corrupt or take over the world, just say world. “he knows he will watch the world burn in the end” sounds more aesthetically appealing and more professionally interesting than “he will destroy this beautiful planet” because, honestly, the latter sounds like I’m reading a fic about climate change, which yeah… unless you’re writing a fic about climate change, just avoid using the word planet in context like this and you’re good.

don’t avoid the use of Capital Letters at the beginning of a sentence and when you’re mentioning a specific name while writing a fic. you’re probably thinking I’m being the biggest hypocrite right now, because I’ve literally been deliberately using all lowercase phrases this entire post. I mean that’s because this is just a Tumblr post, not an actual AO3 fic. listen, I know writing fic is a hoppy, not a job. but if you really want to have your readers feel like they’re reading an actual novel while reading your work, I promise you the use of Capital Letters is your best friend, don’t neglect them.

*smut below the cut*

don’t replace cock with penis. I won’t go too deep here (no pun intended HELP💀) but cock sounds sexy, exciting and fun. while penis sounds like you’re describing a human anatomy during a lecture. smut is supposed to make readers feel aroused. it’s not supposed to make them feel like they’re reading a text book or are studying for an exam.

don’t replace cunt with pussy. in my very humble opinion, while talking about smut, cunt sounds explicit, raw, erotically mysterious and is overall a turn on while… I don’t know, reading the word pussy just doesn’t make me go AAAAAAHHHH the way reading the word cunt does (just my guess but maybe it’s because the word “pussy” is overused; we call everything a pussy nowadays that it just lost its meaning). also, from 99% of the smut I’ve read, it’s more professionally written if the author uses cunt instead of pussy.

***also, for the same reason why we don’t replace cock with penis in a smut fic, please don’t use the word vagina unless you’re preparing your readers for their anatomy class.

425 notes · View notes

nevadancitizen · 10 months

Text

“debts to pay: nasty majesty!”

synopsis: sniping isn’t really something you wanted to do, but something you were forced into. luckily, you’re one of the best. unluckily, someone wants that position. that someone happens to be a 6′10 freak of a man.

word count: 1.4k

characters: könig, sniper! reader

trigger warnings: canon-typical violence

notes: i think i heard someone talking about könig being jealous that reader’s a sniper and reader being jealous that könig’s an intrusion specialist? can’t find anyone talking about it though. if you’re out there drop by! i like your ideas ^-^ also i’m going to be trying my hand at a series for tha first time in awhile.. be patient w me!!

chapters: one (you are here!) / two

The first thing you notice about König is the similarity he has to Atlas Shrugged and its author, Ayn Rand. He’s constantly trying to play both sides, just how Rand was pro-communism in her politics and pro-capitalism in her books – oh, yes, he’s so shy and insecure and such a fucking loser to others, but when he sees you, you who’s been shoved into the position of a sniper, he fucking seethes.

It’s not even like you wanted this! All your life you’ve been dreaming of having his job, of getting your feet on the ground and putting boots in asses. Maybe it was a misguided attempt to get that adrenaline rush, maybe it was your true calling that your superiors would only recognize in time. But in any case, it wasn’t your job.

Being a sniper isn’t honorable. You sit for hours at a time, being perfectly still, waiting for the perfect opportunity that might not even come. And what were you even supposed to do if there was someone right in front of you? Run five hundred miles away and take a shot? It feels like being the crazy ex: stalking, waiting, and, finally, striking.

And that’s what you were doing right now. Sitting in a highrise apartment that wasn’t yours, looking out the window with binoculars, scoping out the target. She was moving about her hotel room, pacing back and forth while on the phone. It looked like she was having to hold herself back from screaming into it.

The comm in your ear crackles to life. Your superior addresses you, then asks for a sitrep. You sigh and look away, bringing the binoculars away from your face. Your peripheral vision comes back into focus after you rub your eyes.

You speak into your comms, “Schaeffer’s still in her hotel. On a call. Looks pretty damn angry.”

“Hold your fire,” your superior says. “Wait til she’s hung up. Then make it quick.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You quickly open the window and grab your sniper rifle, attaching a suppressor and resting the bi-pod on the windowsill. Breathing out slowly, you closed one eye and looked down the scope. It was just like looking down the binoculars, just with a crosshair, you remind yourself. You find Schaeffer’s hotel room window through the scope and watch.

A horrible feeling settles into the pit of your stomach. You feel like a creep. You want to give the revolutionist an honorable death – best her in combat or something. Not shoot once and run away like a coward.

Schaeffer screams into the phone, very probably something along the lines of ‘fuck you!’. She hangs up and throws her phone into the duvet of her hotel bed. Her hands fly to her scalp, looking like she wants to tug her locs out as she practically froths at the mouth in frustration.

“Permission to fire?” you ask quietly.

“Permission granted.”

The sound of the bullet leaving the gun is muffled by the suppressor, but right next to your head, it sounds like the crack of Babe Ruth hitting a baseball. Schaeffer jerks back and falls, just a bit of blood and brain matter splattering onto the wall. Confetti fit for a funeral.

“Target down,” you say into the comms. You quickly gather your things, making sure to leave no evidence you even broke into the apartment for the perfect angle on Schaeffer. With your disassembled rifle in a duffel bag slung over your shoulder, you walk out of the apartment as casually as you can – even pretend to lock it behind you.

You walk down the hall with your heart roaring in your ears, adrenaline screaming at your body to run as fast as you can, lest you get caught by Schaeffer’s followers. But you maintain a calm – maybe even bored – demeanor.

And everything is quiet until you step into the elevator.

A college student, no older than twenty, steps aside when you step into the elevator. You shift on your feet when you see a Vox Populi pin on their backpack – the name of Schaeffer’s revolution. The disassembled rifle clatters in your duffel bag. The college student sends a weird look your way as the scope falls out and clangs on the floor.

You quickly grab it and shove it in your pocket. You look at them out of the corner of your eye, gauging their reaction. “Don’t worry – it’s a prop. I’m a cinema student. The rest is filming equipment.”

The way you speak leaves little room for doubt. The college student hums in understanding. You let out a silent sigh of relief and thank your lucky stars.

You both stand in silence until the elevator reaches the bottom level of the apartment complex. You head for the front door while the college student heads for the front desk – probably to pick up a package or something.

You’re one foot out the door when you glance over your shoulder to see the college student pointing at you. One of the front desk attendants slides her hand under the desk and hits a button, causing an alarm to blare.

You take off, practically tripping over yourself as you run. Your hand flies to your ear, pressing the talk button on your comm. “Cover’s compromised, what now?!”

“Sending coordinates of a nearby operator. He’s in a black, four-door SUV,” your superior replies.

You slide into an alley, fishing your phone out of your pocket. The operator’s two hundred feet away – something you can cover without exhausting yourself too much. You pocket your phone and take off running towards him, eyes scouring the streets for a parked car that matches the description.

When you see that only one car on the street is a black, four-door SUV, you immediately open the door and slide into the backseat, throwing your duffel bag on the seat beside you.

You’ve only caught your breath just the slightest bit when you say your name and identify yourself as a fellow KorTac operator. You lean into the gap between the front seats to get a look at the driver, but your eyes dart to a ragged, black t-shirt in the passenger seat. Grey thread sews the neck and arm holes shut, and bleach-dyed tears run from two ragged holes cut in the pec area. You immediately recognize it as a mask that belongs to –

“König. KorTac.”

You whip around to see his narrowed eyes peeking out from behind his hood. He’s gripping the steering wheel like he’s trying to choke it out. You lean back into backseat territory, sighing.

You look out the window at the people walking on the sidewalk. “Superiors said to catch a ride with you.”

“And I wasn’t alerted.” König shifts the car into drive and moves onto the road, still keeping that white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel.

You roll your eyes and scoff. “It was practically a fucking fiasco, man. Don’t think there was time for them to call you up and say, ‘Hey, is it alright if one more operator tags along back to base?’!”

“Of course you’re the type to say fiasco,” König mutters under his breath.

“What does that even mean?!”

König doesn’t respond, just keeps his eyes on the road. You sigh and lean forward between the gaps in the front seats, turning on the radio so you don’t suffocate in this silence that’s quickly growing tense. König’s grip on the steering wheel relaxes.

You lean back against the seat, watching the countryside fly by. The disassembled rifle rattles in your duffel bag. You lay a hand on it to silence it.

Minutes go by as the top hundred hits play on the radio before König reaches over and turns the volume down just the slightest bit.

He glances in the rearview mirror before returning his eyes to the road. “Who was it?”

You shift in your seat, ever so slightly. “Why do you want to know?”

“I’m trying to be polite.”

“Sure, ‘cause you know so much about politeness.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightens again. You’re sure he could rip it straight off if he wanted to. Maybe he would. Hell, maybe he’d beat you to death with it just so he could take your job. He’s just like that when it comes to you.

You lean forward and turn the volume back up. A new song starts – one with heavy beats that almost shake the car. The beat cuts out for a split second and a woman sing-shouts “Na-a-sty!”

Your eyes flicker to the radio interface. The song is Nasty Majesty by Off the Hook. A small smile settles across your face as you lean against the window.

That’s what König is. A nasty majesty.

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moodymisty · 5 months

Note

Hiya! Could I request some Magnus / GN! Reader shenanigans? Like the reader is trying to learn a spell (to impress Magnus), does it by "The books are just guidelines anyways", and it works. Then they go to show Magnus and confusion hell breaks loose Blease and thankyou <3<3<3

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: Magnus time! I was actually working on something just like this, so this gave me the motivation to really spruce it up and finish it. But I really apologize because when I reread your request I realized I might've gone a bit less silly than you might've wanted. I hope you still enjoy.

Relationship: Magnus the Red/Gn!Reader

Warnings: None apart from this being my first time writing Magnus so please forgive me figuring him out I'm sorry if he feels off

Word Count: 1220

Sorcery is by it's very nature, finicky.

It has no solid answer, no yes or no. It's not as if it's a machine you can turn on or off, or a star you can see is alive or dead. It's an ebb and flow- something you feel.

But how do you feel something you've never felt before?

These tomes are largely nonsensical to you; The scribblings of madmen, words with no translation and sentences backwards.

You'd once again today attempted to make sense of it all, to tempt your better judgement that kept saying it maybe wasn't your most intelligent idea, but nothing has happened yet. So now you sit in bed, flicking through pages of tomes scattered across the blankets; Attempting to perhaps make enough sense of it and not bring anymore embarrassment to yourself than you already have.

In your fussiness you've already given yourself two different paper cuts, licking your wounds both physical and mental. You should probably be sleeping, the stars are out bright, and the wind gently raps against the windows as you study.

Magnus' tower is so ethereal, you look towards the window for a moment and see nothing but the midnight sky illuminating everything underneath it.

After thinking, you look back towards the oversized tome in your lap, lying on your thighs over top of a blanket. You'd picked many of the books not necessarily at random, but attempting to find the most basic of starting places from a collection that puts most others to shame. Magnus has many shelves up here, filled with his personal collection of tomes and scrolls. You sort've wish he was here to help guide you, but at the same time, you wish to surprise him to some degree.

You try just one more time, attempting to light a small ember in your palm. You follow every word exactly as the instructions- if you could call them that, and mange to hold it for only a few moments before it flickers away as if blown out by breath.

"Ugh!"

You drop your head, it coming quite close to hitting the pages of the tome.

"What is this?"

Your head suddenly whips upright, seeing Magnus himself standing in the doorway across the room. You don't know how you hadn't heard his footsteps, though you suppose you were far too distracted for your ears to prick to any other sound than what was right next to you.

Entering the room and closing the massive door behind him, Magnus takes in the scenery he's missed while aboard Photep, traveling the stars. After his quick glances he focuses on you cross legged in his bed, surrounded by opened and unopened books.

"Magnus!" He slowly walks closer to the beside, one finger brushes a tome he's clearly familiar with and opening it to a particular page; Glossing over it before he lets it gently fall back shut.

"Now, what are you concocting in that little mind of yours that requires so many spell tomes?"

Magnus watches amused as you close the book in your lap, legs cross underneath it and look at your slightly burned palm.

"I was trying to call fire. But it seems it's a bit harder than I thought." His smile fades a bit softer, watching your expression. The fabric of his robes is weaved with gold string that shines in the soft candle light.

"You seem to have had it, from what I saw."

You can feel his long red hair brush against your arm as he sits beside you, his massive height and weight difference forcing the appropriately massive bed to dip heavily to his side. It almost makes you roll, but you quickly adjust to prevent that. Now in your atmosphere it's a bit easier to look him in the eye, but you still have to crane your next a decent bit.

"I was following the tomes exactly like they said, and the best I can do is a little baby kindling. I'd have trouble even setting a letter alight."

You look up towards him, hands playing with the edges and filigree of the old, worn tome in your lap. Magnus speaks up, his tone curious and a bit surprised.

"Exactly?"

His eye glances down to the front cover of the tome in your hand, and recognizes that one instantly. With one hand, he gently reaches underneath the covers and gently clamps the tome shut, the top of his hand laying against your thighs before he pulls the tome towards his chest.

"Then you are taking it all far too literally." Perhaps the book shouldn't be written so literally then, you rebelliously think. He lays the tome aside, and uses the same hand to gently cup your jaw between his fingers and look up at him.

"it's far more of a feeling that anything, my love. If you keep just following the tomes, you might end up burning something down. Or as you've noticed, burning nothing at all." He lets out a laugh, feeling your cheeks move under his finger tips.

"I never thought you to be so studious in following directions. Perhaps you'd prefer Primarch Guilliman to myself?" You let out a harsh puff of air through your closed lips, making an insulting noise. Your hand grips his wrist and tries to pull it away, but to no avail, and instead you just grip the massive muscles of his arm and scowl.

"Funny."

He smiles wider. How you speak to him so casually now, compared to months ago. Perhaps his teasing makes it easier for you to forget who he is. He doesn't mind it.

A testament to your determination, you'd been able to cast something despite a lack of knowledge; But you could do well in having someone set you on the right path. Afterall, Magnus knows simply treating something with such an ebb and flow as sorcery as rules you can memorize will never bear any fruit.

Magnus can guide you, and truthfully, he would love for nothing more than to.

His sons don't need to be taught. They learn from his actions, and most are more than capable of progressing on their own and honing their own skills. To be able to teach his beloved something that is such a core part of himself, to guide your hand and your mind to touch something greater- he finds himself almost, dare he say excited.

He's rough on his sons, he knows they can take it. That they're built for sorceries and touching the warp. But with you he'll have to be gentle. The thought of it, to sit with you and show you wondrous things that your home planet kept from your eyes, he would start right now if not for one thing.

Magnus lets go of your jaw. He leans down and gently brushes a kiss against your temple, his fire red hair brushing against your skin again.

"Now, as much as I don't wish to part you from your reading, I have returned from Terra at my absolute wits end and desiring some rest." He smiles and vaguely gestures to the mess you've made of his bed during his absence. He can see other little messes throughout his chambers, as well.

"So my love, perhaps you could move your research, off the bed?"

#magnus the red x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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onceuponapuffin · 9 days

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Fanatic Intervention Part 5!!

Hiya! Sorry about the delay! Life got in the way there for a bit ^_^" But I am here! With Part 5!!

Beginning || Previous || Next

*************

Crowley had liked Hozier (although Take Me To Church, predictably, wasn’t his favourite), and after whining at Aziraphale that it’s nooooooot ‘bebop,’ you finally managed to get an admission that all right, it wasn’t all that terrible. You took the win.

But the dance party couldn’t last forever. There’s still a world to save, after all.

And so, all of you sat, thumbing through Revelations. Well, Aziraphale and Muriel were. You and Crowley had given up on the fancy Bible-ness of it and googled the Cliff Notes version.

“Ugh,” You say, “John really hated the Romans.”

“Well, yes,” says Aziraphale, “He had decent enough reason, though, as far as humans go.”

“What, he hated indoor plumbing and heated floors?”

“Actually, he hated people of the Christian faith being arrested, tortured, and killed for their beliefs.”

“Oh….yeah that makes sense,” You say, and after a moment you add “...Sorry.”

“That’s quite alright,” Aziraphale replies kindly, “He wrote Revelation as a way to reassure Christians that all of their suffering would mean something in the end. That it must be part of the Great Plan.”

“The Ineffable Plan, you mean,” chimes in Crowley with a smirk. Aziraphale rolls his eyes.

“Yes, that one,” he replies. You notice the microscopic-Michael-Sheen-ian smile on his face as he says it. Honestly, the resemblance is uncanny. Aziraphale continues. “He wanted Christians to feel heard, and to encourage them to hold fast to their faith.”

You pause for a minute before saying anything. Then you remember a tumblr post or something from forever ago.

“Santa Claus,” You finally say. Crowley spurts wine from his nose, and begins to laugh. Aziraphale is confused.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s like Santa Claus,” You say again, “Like ‘be good, and you’ll get presents! it’s almost Christmas Eve! Santa’s watching!’ You know?” You look at Aziraphale imploringly. Crowley is still laughing. Aziraphale doesn’t look impressed.

“I think that’s rather an over-simplification.”

“Am I wrong?”

“…..It’s...it’s not...That’s not how it works!”

“Oh, okay, so I’m wrong then.”

“Sounds about right to me!” Crowley calls with glee from the other side of the room. Aziraphale looks all flustered, his face beginning to go red. Crowley hands him a glass of wine and Aziraphale downs it in one go.

Okay, winding him up is a great deal of fun, and so easy, but I’m guessing, dear Reader, that you love Aziraphale just as much as I do. You don’t actually want to hurt his feelings. Thus you decide to concede the point.

“So,” You say, “He said he had a dream about things getting really bad and then Jesus coming back and saving everyone.”

“In a nutshell, yes,” Aziraphale sighs, clearly relieved to be back on topic. You think back to old interviews with Neil and Terry about their back-then-hypothetical sequel would look like.

“Okay, well the only thing I know about it was something about it taking place in America. I read in an old interview somewhere that Jesus was meant to descend from the heavens in a private jet with a bunch of like...bodyguard angels or something.”

“America? Again? I mean really.”

You shrug. “Neil Gaiman really likes America.”

“But it doesn’t have to be,” says Muriel now, flipping back through their notes, “You said that the sequel was never written, and the third...season?was still being written too when you left. And you said that book isn’t the same as what happened in the tv show, or the radio show, or the musical. So how do we know it would be the same here?”

They make a good point.

“Maybe ask that author of yours,” says Crowley, looking over from his drink, “You said he answers questions sometimes. Who would he be to deny,” he swishes his glass around with what you suppose is meant to be grandeur, “The Famous Crowley and Aziraphale?” He empties his glass.

“Anathema might be able to find him,” You say after a while, “Jesus, I mean. She did a good job finding everything in Armageddon Part 1. Or Adam. I mean, Jesus is supposed to be all about love, right? Maybe we can convince him not to, you know, end the world.”

Aziraphale hums to himself. “Revelations states that Armageddon is meant to be started by the seven angels of the church, bringing together seven keys. I mean, John could be wrong of course, but I wonder...Could one of you find me a map and search these names? I might have an idea why Mr. Gaiman wanted to set The Second Coming in America.”

Good Reader, guess which country contains cities named after 5 of these 7 angels. I’ll give you three guesses, but you’ll only need one.

And so now we have three directions we can take this story in.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

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ikeromantic · 3 months

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Leon, Bookstore, Marshmallow

Leon goes out in search of a book the Belle is reading so he can understand her better. Approx 1000 words of the lion being such a sweet lamb. IkePri New Years Event story!

Leon took a deep breath, steadying himself. This was it, he thought. His moment of truth. His amber gaze took in the seemingly endless shelves of books. Somewhere amidst the leather covers and gold lettering lay the book he sought. All he had to do was find it.

Well, find it and read it and understand what the Belle loved about it. But one challenge at a time, hm?

The prince adjusted his collar, uncharacteristically nervous. Then he walked down the first aisle of shelves. He wasn’t sure how these things were organized. Hopefully by title. His calloused fingers traced along the line of titles as he read through them. Cooking Herbs. Life in the Garden. A Kitchen Garden Primer . . . Ok, definitely not this shelf.

He shifted his attention to the other side. “No. No. Mmm.” Not this shelf either, Leon thought. Just a bunch of bird books. The next aisle beckoned him, the hope that perhaps her book could be found here.

It would have been so easy to give this task to a servant and simply wait for delivery, but he wanted to be the one to pick the book off the shelf. To buy it, and bring it home. He wanted every step to be him, his effort and time. Because . . . Leon cleared his throat. Focus, he thought.

“Good afternoon, sir. Did you need help finding something?”

The voice surprised him, but of course the shop would have an attendant. He turned to find an older man, his wispy white hair combed back, a smile on his face, and ink on his fingers. Leon smiled. “I am.”

The elderly bookshop owner smiled back, a kindly smile. “Do you know the title or author? If not, I can also find the book if you know what it’s about.”

“I think the title is Destined to Love? I’m not sure about the author. It’s a romance though.”

“Destined to . . .” He eyed Leon, taking in the fine clothes, the sword at his hip, the warrior’s callouses on his hands. “I do have a copy. But I must apologize, sir. I cannot sell it to you. It’s reserved and I do not know when I will receive additional shipments from Kogyoku.”

Leon’s brows rose. “It’s from Kogyoku? I didn’t know.”

“I have several other titles. Perhaps another book?” The old shopkeep gestured to a shelf on the other side of the store.

The prince shook his head. “It has to be that one.” He fixed his amber gaze on the shopkeep. There was an intensity in his eyes that he was unaware of. The weight of an emotion unacknowledged. A passion unrequited. “I need that book. Tell me what I can do to change your mind, Mister . . .?”

“Akatsuki.” The old man frowned, stroking his chin. “If I may ask, my lord, why does it matter so much to you?”

“Please, call me Leon.” He patted the old shopkeeper’s shoulder. “Have you ever wanted to know everything about someone, Mister Akatsuki?”

He nodded slowly, studying the prince’s face. “Everything?”

Leon’s smile grew. “Everything. What she likes, or doesn’t like. The thoughts she has when she smiles. What makes her frown. Her favorite color. The perfume she wears. Her dreams.” His voice was gentle and full of warmth, a purr of pleasure just thinking about the Belle. He could see her in his mind’s eye, curled up in a garden chair, book open in her lap.

“And this book will teach you these things?” Akatsuki looked at him, an eyebrow raised.

“It will teach me something. She is reading Destined to Love now, and she smiles so happily when she does. Yesterday, when she closed it, she held the book to her chest for a moment and looked so - so beautiful.” Leon took a breath, his heartbeat speeding at just the memory.

The old shopkeeper had a twinkle in his eyes as he pursed his lips. “Was she now? That sounds about right.” He sighed and tugged at his chin. “I suppose there’s no help for it then.”

“No help?” The prince wasn’t sure what Akatsuki meant. “Please. I need that book. There must be some way to -”

“Come here.” The old man gestured for Leon to follow. He took him to a backroom where several wood boxes sat in tall, narrow stacks. “I need these out on the floor and open. Start with that pile there.” He pointed. “I’ll tell you where they go.”

Leon grinned. “Thank you so much, Mister Akatsuki! You have no idea how much this means to me.” He pulled the shopkeep into a hug, surprising the old man.

Akatsuki chuckled and patted his back. “See if you thank me in an hour, hm?”

The prince set out every crate, opening each one. It was no easy task and he was sweating under his fine coat ten minutes in. An hour in, his arms started to ache. Two hours later, as he set out the last crate, his muscles felt tight and hot. This kind of lifting was nothing like swordplay or horse riding, and he was pretty sure he’d be stiff tomorrow. But it was worth it.

He grinned at Akatsuki as he set pried the last crate open. “What’s next?”

The old shopkeeper laughed. “Energetic, aren’t you? But I’m afraid that’s all I need help with today.” He fished a thick book from his apron pocket. The cover was dark leather, the words inscribed in silver along with a trail of falling cherry blossoms. Destined to Love. “I believe this is the wage we agreed to?”

Leon pushed his hair back from his face and used his sleeve to wipe away the sheen of sweat. “You have no idea how much this means. Thank you so much.” He was smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

Akatsuki smiled back, the creases beside his eyes crinkling. “Just remember, the sum of what a woman wants cannot be contained in any single book. Talk to her. Listen to her. Treat her like a princess.”

“Better, even.” Leon took the book reverently. It was thick and heavy in his hand, weighted with more than just the freight of its cover and pages. “Thank you again!” He hurried from the shop, his heart singing.

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri leon #leon dompteur #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys #fluff

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maybebabyplease · 1 year

Text

one-shot fic recs

ok so i’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much i LOVE a one-shot. this def did not used to be the case -- as a teenager and as a younger adult (28 is still young obv but i’m talking like my early 20s) i read a lot more long fics. but now i have a high-pressure job and a partner and too many friends and my own writing and all these, like, responsibilities. ew! with less time to read fic, i find myself gravitating towards shorter works.

in comes the one-shot! writing short can be so, so hard, and i’m always impressed when authors can give a fantastic, complete story in under 15k words. so, on that note, here are a few of my favs that i love to revisit!

Terms and Conditions by @squidgilator (wolfstar, T, 6852 words)

These terms and conditions create a contract between you and R.J.L. (the “Agreement”). Please read the Agreement carefully. To confirm your understanding and acceptance of the Agreement, check “Agree” and sign.

The Other Side of the Wall (or Laundry Day is Every Day) by bluberd (wolfstar, E, 10176 words)

Sirius has never been the most moral of people, but he's pretty sure that wanking off to the sounds of Remus having sex is crossing some sort of line.

Credit No Credit by @halictus-writer (wolfstar, E, 13968 words)

Remus and Sirius are both applying to graduate school. Whenever they cross paths at program visits, they inevitably hook up. This situation would make more sense to their friends if they weren't supposed to be enemies.

A wolfstar university-set enemies with benefits to lovers AU.

moonlight sonata by @pancakehouse (wolfstar, M, 13799 words)

On the drive to Lupin Family Christmas, Sirius and Remus break up. What follows is several days of heartbreak, longing, and two boys trying to figure out where it all went wrong.

And if it's worth making right again.

Under Arrest by @lostmykeysie (wolfstar, M, 4163 words)

Remus has just had his first book published, and this rightly calls for a party. His friends and coworkers are there, the champagne is flowing, and life cannot get any better.

And then the doorbell rings.

ok so these all turned out to be wolfstar bc i...absolutely do not make rec lists and thus 0% planned this, but i’d love to see what other short fics everyone’s reading in other pairings too! anything under 15k will do :) feel free to link me in the replies etc. xoxoxo love you all!

**EDIT**: i am removing one of the fics i originally had on this list bc someone has called to my attention that the author jellybeany has said some genuinely awful and disturbing things. no support of that (or ANY of jkr’s views) on my page!

#wolfstar #wolfstar fic rec #remus lupin #sirius black #i thought about being more intentional with this list #and then i thought:#eh better not #so if i've missed any good ones do let me know!#esp my little pocket friends on here #self rec to me! i love you all!#em recs #but i probably won't do it again

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thewritetofreespeech · 1 year

Note

Hello, dear author-san! Could I request Mammon, Satan and Lucifer with an s/o that has a bunch of unrelated skills and talents? Botany, cooking, ice sculpting, pottery, textile work, painting, jewellery making, gambling, etc. This is prolly really weird, sorry.

Lucifer, Mammon, Satan + multi-hobby reader

Lucifer

“Hello darling.” Lucifer greeted as he came into the den. “How is the crochet coming?”

“Oh I gave up on that.” [Y/N] replied cheerfully. “I’m taking up needle point now.”

Lucifer sighed and sat down across from them. He never questioned [Y/N]’s invested interest in new hobbies. Whatever constructively helped them pass the time. Sometimes they were good, like when they took up new cooking techniques or gardening. Some where less good, like when they took up axe throwing and put a big gaping hole in the wall. His only complaint was that they perhaps had too many hobbies. Constantly changing them and never seeing one through.

“You know, if you stuck with your hobbies for a while, you might find that you improve on them. You don’t have to be instantly good at every new thing you try.”

“I know that.” Their tone did not sound convincing, however. “I just like to try new things.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that.” Lucifer agreed. “And there’s nothing wrong with giving up on things you don’t actually interest you in the end. However, if you don’t give these hobbies of yours a proper chance you’ll never know. Sometimes the things that are the most challenging offer the greater reward when we accomplish them.”

[Y/N] sat their needlepoint down and looked at Lucifer. “Maybe you’re right. I guess I could give it another shot. I did buy all that new yarn.”

Lucifer smile. “Whatever makes you happy darling.”

Mammon

“Ow! What the--! Who’s Akuzon order is all over the damn lobby?!”

“Sorry! It’s mine!” [Y/N] apologized. Jogging up to Mammon to get their boxes.

“Oh…ok.” He knelt down to pick up one of the boxes. Suddenly pain & anger free from almost tripping over them a moment ago. “What is all this?”

“My new leather press.” Mammon gave them a confused look, which made [Y/N] chuckle. “It’s for making leather belts or jewelry. Stuff like that.”

“Belts hn?” Mammon replied as he helped carry the boxes upstairs now. “Well, if ya ever need a model for ‘em. Look no further than right here!”

[Y/N] chuckled again. “A model? Why would I need that?”

“For when ya take the pictures to try and help sell ‘em.”

“I’m not going to sell them.”

“Then why bother?” Clearly this made no sense to him.

“I don’t know. It just seemed like a fun thing to try. Besides, I don’t even know if I’ll be good at it.”

“I’m sure ya will be. You’re good at everything.” Mammon seemed to realize that he had said that out loud, and his ears turned red. “I mean, I’m sure it can’t be that hard. You just pull this handle thingy down over the leather and it works like that, right? Any idiot can do that.”

“Well, this ‘idiot’ is gonna try.” [Y/N] teased. Making Mammon pout. “But, I tell you what, I may not need to model but I can make you a belt once I get the hang of it. How about that?”

Mammon’s face lit up for a moment, but then he tried to tamper it down. “I mean…yeah, sure. If you want to. I guess that would be cool.”

He then proceeded to wear it every day once he got it.

Satan

“What are you reading?” Satan asked as he came up to [Y/N] with their nose buried in a book.

“It’s a book on gardening.” They replied. “I was really interested in the herbology lesson the other day, so I wanted to see about maybe growing some of the plants to keep around here.”

“That’s very ambitious.” He told them. “Devildom plants are notoriously tricky to grow in a control environment. They like to be wild.”

“Like the people?” [Y/N] asked. Giving Satan a cheeky look. To which he smiled.

“I suppose. Which one are you going to try first?”

“I was thinking this one.” They showed him a picture of some flowers, commonly now as Magpie Blooms. “They look really pretty and I thought that they would brighten up the house.”

“They will up until the point they try to kill us.” Satan interjected. “Magpies are aromatically poisonous.”

[Y/N] quickly turned the book around with a startled, “what??” and re-read the passage. “Geez. You’d think they’d mention it in here.”

“It’s sort of common knowledge to us.

[Y/N] sighed and sat the book down. “Don’t get discouraged [Y/N]. There are a lot of other, perfectly lovely plants that aren’t nearly as dangerous. Tell you what, why don’t we try this new hobby together? I’ve always liked plants. Maybe not as much as Asmo, but enough. And learning a new topic is always interesting. Why do you say?”

[Y/N] beamed and said, “ok!” Before opening the book again and sitting next to Satan to go over it.

Satan, of course, thought that their first attempt should be for catnip. They settled on a lavender bush instead, but there may have been a small pot of catnip secretly growing in Satan’s room later.

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers)#satan x reader #obm satan #obey me satan x reader #obey me satan #lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer #lucifer #obey me mammon x reader #mammon #obey me mammon #mammon x reader #obey me #obey me scenarios #obey me imagine #scenarios #imagine

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personasintro · 10 months

Note

The audacity some of you have on here is INSANE.

You actually come on here on someone else’s blog to tell HER that the stories that SHE WRITES and has put months, YEARS of hard work into isn’t being done fast enough for you??? Then on top of that, y’all have the NERVE to give her these ridiculous backhanded compliments and DEMANDS?

“I don’t mean to sound disrespectful or demanding, BUT..” “my patience is running out, BUT” “I love you, BUT..” “I’m not trying to rush you, BUT”

SHUT THE FUCK UP.

You think that if she doesn’t update whenever YOU want or thinks she should, she should DISCONTINUE the piece/pieces of work she’s working on??? Because it’s not being updated???? when you want?? BRO??? HOW MUCH MORE ENTITLED CAN YOU FUCKING BE????

IT’S NOT YOUR BLOG OR YOUR STORIES???

She can work on them however long she wants to AND whenever she wants to.

If she wants to take a year to update something, she damn WILL and there’s nothing me or you can do about it.

You guys do realize there is an actual human being running this blog, right?

A lot of us are adults who work 5 days a week, sometimes 7 ALL DAY.

Whatever time she gets off should be for her and if she wants to write during that time, GREAT. If she doesn’t want to, GREAT.

Writers block happens. Shit happens.

LIFE HAPPENS.

She has a life outside this blog and work.

We don’t NEED an update. Sure we WANT one. And it will come when she has it ready. ON HER TIME.

Stories like MH take TIME and PATIENCE.

We’re almost 60 chapters in and there’s not very many short ones. NO ONE should be complaining at all.

She also has other works being worked on as well. If you’re “feeling impatient or giddy” about updates, check out other authors, read her other stories, read a book, etc.

Do something other than using your pathetic energy talking shit behind a keyboard on anonymous to someone who’s super sweet and dedicated a lot of her time writing these stories.

Those of you coming on here complaining about her not updating when you want her to need to get the hell off your phone and the internet and go sit outside and touch some grass and BREATHE.

Find a damn hobby for yourself and quit acting like an immature child throwing a tantrum who isn’t getting their way.

Put yourselves in her shoes for once.

Writing is not her job. Writing is her hobby. Hobbies are supposed to be fun and y’all entitled annoying rude impatient asses are ruining it for the rest of us who actually respect her, her time, and her blog space.

Think before you fucking type and complain.

If there’s any updates she lets us know. She’s said it multiple times again and again. Be nice and respectful especially if you’re sending asks on here. She’s doing her best. Don’t like it? LEAVE. Easy as that.

Anyways, have a good day MIMI!! 😊💞

Well… that’s a one way to put it 🫣 hahaha thank you bub!! And everyone who truly cares for me. You guys are the best and I love you very much 🥹🫶

#ask

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vids-rdr2-artblog · 1 month

Text

Saving Mary-Beth

I wanted to write a little fic where Kieran shows off that he’s not really a coward and saves Mary-Beth after she’s been kidnapped. I might write a second part that’s just pure fluff.

Pairing: Kieran and Mary-Beth

Trigger Warnings: Violence against women, Murder, Abuse, Time period sexism.

(Please do not read if you are sensitive on these topics!)

7,203 words

Thank you @glenechoslasher for beta reading for me <3

Read it on AO3

***

Mary-Beth ventured into Rhodes with Mr. Pearson, having volunteered for the task for many different reasons—she loved to check and see if there were new books or authors listed in the newspaper and to simply get away from Miss Grimshaw. There was this relief that prickled the back of her neck when she knew that the woman wasn’t right there, breathing down her neck in the back of the wagon, and there was a sense of freedom seeing the open roads rather than their crowded camp.

Pearson talked the entire way, so Mary-Beth didn’t bring a book, as much as she’d rather drown herself in words rather than his nonsense. This man probably had his lungs stored in his stomach or had a second pair because Mary swore she never saw him take a breath between his sentences. But she listened to him anyway, glad the trip between Rhodes and Clemens Points wasn’t long.

“I’m glad you like to listen to me, Miss Mary!” Pearson said, sounding genuinely excited, which did make her feel good in some way, “Sometimes the others don’t like to listen to my stories, but you’re a good girl, Mary-Beth. When people say someone doesn’t have a mean bone in their body, you’re who I think of. I should take you on trips more often!” He laughed.

Mary-Beth became flustered and nodded, not wanting to say anything to bring down the mood of the jovial man, “Of course, Pearson. I think I read something in a book once about a brave navy man who sorta reminds me of you.”

Pearson perked up. “Oh? What book?”

Mary-Beth thought of a quick lie, a finger to her chin, “I don’t remember because it was so long ago, but if I find or remember it, I’ll tell you immediately!”

“Thanks, Mary. I’m not sure if I’d read it or not, but it’s great to see when great men are recognized.”

Pearson’s smile grew as he flicked the reins of the horse a bit more vigorously, and eventually, they reached Rhodes. It was sometime around 1pm, not too early and not too late into the afternoon. Thanks to Arthur being deputized here in Rhodes, she didn’t fear the lawmen as much as she did in Valentine and didn’t worry that they would be watching her every move. The folks here were a lot calmer and some of the women actually waved to her as she passed by. Welcoming, really. But man did she hope that the people of Rhodes didn’t think that she and Pearson were man and wife. A feller could get the wrong idea seeing them arriving on the cart together. She supposed however that if they had to hide their identities that way, then she would have to go through it even if she didn’t like it. Though her inner reader was curious and she had wondered how a romance between a couple with the likeness of them would interact. The girl did have a wild imagination, after all.

Pearson parked the wagon next to the general store and the two climbed down, meeting at the back of the wagon. It seemed that they came at the right time because the train had just reached the station, its whistle blowing in the air. The man put his hands on his back and stretched his body, Mary hearing a few pops as she did so. He whistled at the store, “I’d love to have one of these puppies sometime. I think it would be exciting to run a shop like this!” he said excitedly before turning toward their empty wagon. He took out pieces of parchment from his pocket and handed one to her but kept the other for himself. “Alright then, I’ll have you get the stuff that we need from the general store and then I’ll go over to the butcher for some real meat. Arthur’s been good at gettin’ money for us, but he ruins a lot of the meat he brings to us, skinnin’ them himself…Plus I want something other than venison once in a while…” He grumbled mostly to himself then resumed, “You got all that?”

Mary-Beth nodded excitedly and held the note to her chest, “I got it, Pearson. When I’m done, I’m going to go find the newspaper boy, OK? I want to see if there’s been any new releases or authors.”

“Sure, sure.” Pearson nodded then took money from his pocket, “Here’s the money from the box. Buy ONLY what’s on the list or else Dutch will have our heads. You shouldn’t have to pay the men to put everything in the wagon, so let me know if they try to trick you.” He pointed a finger. “I’ll meet you back in an hour, Mary-Beth. An hour.”

“An hour, yes. Will do, Pearson.” Mary-Beth smiled and glanced over the list. Most of what he had put was canned vegetables and fruits, bread, and luxuries such as tea, cigarettes, and chewing tobacco. She was surprised to not see ammo on the list but some of the other gang members probably took care of that separately from a simple grocery trip.

Taking the list to the man behind the counter, “Hello, I have a pretty big order to put in, can I get some men to help load some crates and put them on my wagon?” “Sure can.” The clerk pushed the catalog to her and she pointed out everything she needed and read off the number that was on the list. Reading it to him also gave her the comfort that she wouldn’t be scammed because she was a woman. Most men assumed that women couldn’t read, so she made sure to show that she could. “When do you think you could take it out to the wagon?”

The man answered as he rang her up on the cash register, “Oh, you’ll be able to load it immediately. We’re actually well-staffed, and my young men will be able to help ya. Maybe about fifteen minutes.” He smiled and told her the amount she needed to pay.

Mary counted the bills and handed them to the man. She double checked the change before pocketing it. There would always be a side of her that believed anyone was capable of scamming her only because she was the type of person to do the scamming herself. She leaned against the counter with her hands, “It’s the wagon parked out next to the store. My companion is over at the butcher’s and he might come back in time to help out too. Do you need me to wait here, or could I go on another quick errand?”

“My boys will start putting your order together now and start loading on yer wagon. They’re fine boys too, I ain’t never had to swat them once. So you can stay and watch or come back when we’re done.”

Mary-Beth smiled and nodded, pushing off the counter, “Thanks sir, I won’t be too long. I just want to grab a newspaper. Do you know where it’s at?”

“Oh, the boy likes to move around town, but I think I spotted him toward the saloon, if you know where that is.”

“Uh huh, I do sir. Thank you!” Mary-Beth pocketed everything and left the general store. After taking a quick glance over to the butcher’s and seeing that Pearson was still busy haggling with the butcher, Mary-Beth headed toward the saloon with a chipper smile on her face, comfortable walking around the town by herself since it didn’t feel dangerous at all.

As she headed up the road and toward the saloon, she kept her ears open for a newspaper boy, announcing the next paper but heard nothing. Maybe he sold out that day…Damn…Maybe the saloon had a copy that she could borrow for a couple of minutes.

Mary-Beth placed her hand on the door to the building but it didn’t budge. Damnit. Locked. Were they closed or was she just at the wrong entrance?

Making her way along the side of the saloon, she kept her eyes on the windows, trying to spot anyone inside. There wasn’t, and from the little that she saw of the bar, she noticed that even the bartender was out. It was strange to see the saloon closed at such a weird hour of the day, but maybe all towns acted differently than each other, and maybe not everyone here was a stupid drunk.

Mary-Beth came around the back end of the saloon and just as she did, she heard voices. She instantly hid along the edge of the house. Two Irish-speaking men had a man wearing an apron held against the wall, a gun at his abdomen. Down at their feet was the body of a younger man. Dead. Mary-Beth looked behind her and realized that she had been so busy looking into the windows that she hadn’t noticed the blood trail right under her shoes. She had walked into a murder scene in the making.

Mary-Beth’s instincts told her to flee. Just seconds after she saw the scene, she turned to leave, her jaw clenched shut. But someone was there now. She met the stale breath and before her stood a man. Then, there was a blinding pain above her left eye, right on her temple, his arm casting a shadow over her. Blood poured out from the gash on her head immediately. She hadn’t been knocked out immediately, but she fell back enough that the men behind the saloon noticed and dropped the man in the apron. She tried to crawl away but there was pressure in her lower back as her attacker pressed his heel and spur there. “What do we have here?” The one who had held a gun to the man in the apron approached, using the butt of his gun to lift Mary-Beth’s chin, causing a searing pain slice through her forehead. He swatted her hand away when she instinctively went to touch it. She could barely think of words to say.

“A witness. I saw her peeking around the corner at the two of you.”

“Tsk. Tsk. I hate to kill such a pretty thing, but I did tell the dead feller over there that there would be no witnesses. I’d be a bad man if I didn’t keep my promises.”

Mary-Beth flinched when his thumb pulled back the hammer of his cattleman, cocking it.

The third man pulled his shoulder back enough that he stopped the man from shooting Mary-Beth. It took the woman a few seconds to realize that her brains hadn’t been splattered along the ground and that she was alive.

“Wait a second there, I think I recognized her. I think I saw this woman in that livestock town with that shitty Arthur Morgan once. She might be a part of the Van Der Linde gang.”

Mary-Beth’s blood ran cold. Were these Irishmen O’Driscolls? She was in trouble…

The man with a gun whistled and looked down at Mary-Beth with hungry eyes. “Well, will ya lookie here. A simple armed robbery is turning into a gang heist. I won’t even ask you if you’re a part of the gang. If you are, then they’ll come save you. If you aren’t or if they’re dumb enough to save such an insignificant whore like yourself, then we’ll just kill ya. We won’t be wasting any of our supplies because we won’t feed ya. How does that sound, bitch?” He didn’t wait for an answer, not that she would have answered him in the first place, “Tie her up.”

“No—!” But before Mary-Beth could scream, her attacker kneeled right on her back where her lungs were, knocking the air from them. He shoved a nasty-tasting cloth in her mouth before tying her up with a lasso, pulling her arms behind her back.

The O’Driscoll, with the gun, holstered it before he kneeled in front of her, sticking his finger into her blood, making the pain in her head significantly worse. She didn’t know what he was using her blood for but he kept pressing his thumb in the same spot before he finished whatever he was doing. “Take her to the horses, use the train to not be seen. And you…” He turned to the man with the apron, pointing his gun at him now, “Not another word of what happened here, yeah? We know where you work and where you live, so even if you blab about what happened here after we’ve left, we’ll come back and kill your family then force feed you their guts. Got that?”

The man in the apron nodded, quickly disappearing inside, glad that his life had been spared, even if it cost this woman he didn’t know.

The last thing Mary-Beth remembered was being carried by the two men, one at her legs and one at her shoulders. With the throbbing headache she had, she was hardly able to squirm, and unable to scream. They carried her across the train and to their horses hidden on the other side.

Who would save Mary-Beth?

Pearson returned the wagon and didn’t find Mary-Beth there. It wasn’t strange, considering she said he was going to track down the paperboy. Plus, it hadn’t been an hour exactly. So, he placed the carefully packaged meats and placed them on a crate that had already been loaded by the shop. He saw the boys bringing out a few more crates.

One greeted him with a smile, “There’s just four more inside, sir.”

“Bring 'em’ out here and leave them on the stairs. I can get the rest of it from here.” Pearson took out two dollars from his own pocket and gave them each one for their hard work. They thanked him before bringing the rest of the gang’s provisions out and setting them at the top of the chairs. Pearson expected Mary-Beth to be back by the time he loaded up the last of the crates and strapped them down, but she wasn’t.

She’s probably just talking to a local. She’s a good, chatty girl. We can’t go anywhere with the train being there anyway.

And so Pearson waited. And waited. The longer he waited, however, the worse he began to feel, especially when he heard the whistle of the train before it slowly left the station. There wasn’t quite anything right about this. Mary-Beth wouldn’t have told him one thing and then done another. Something must be wrong.

“Mary-Beth?” he asked and looked down the alleyways around the general store and even the buildings surrounding it. Nothing. Wait, she did talk to the general store man, maybe he knows something. So, Pearson stepped into the building and walked straight up to the man, “Excuse me sir, my womanly…companion came up to you earlier to pay for the stuff that’s in the wagon next to your store. I can’t seem to find her though, did you happen to see where she went?”

The clerk cocked his head. “Oh yes, I did. She was looking for the newspaper, so I pointed her in the direction of the saloon.”

“Okay, thanks, sir.”

“No problem, thank you for your purchase, and have a good day.”

“You too.”

If Mary-Beth went to the saloon for a drink then it would make sense as to why she hadn’t returned yet. If she were a man. Mary-Beth was so…feminine and it didn’t seem to be like her to wander off for a beer or two. If it had been Karen with him instead, then there would be no doubt about it that she went out for drinks, but Mary-Beth didn’t do that sort of thing. Not to his knowledge, at least.

Pearson made a quick trip to the saloon. He wasn’t sure if it had been busy beforehand but there were a couple men who looked more sober than the bartender themselves, so they must have just gotten there.

“S’cuse me, you see a woman around here?” Pearson approached the bar and tried to ignore the hungry look in the men’s eyes when he said the word woman.

The bartender looked drunk and dissociated from his job as he cleaned an already cleaned glass, only smudging it more. There was a nasty bruise on his eye, leading down to his jaw. Pearson wondered what happened to him. He probably shouldn’t have asked in the first place and just searched around the place himself. He only didn’t want to seem like a creep or worse, a thief.

“Nope. Not around here.”

“Alright, thank you kindly,” Pearson said without revealing much more to the conversation so the men who were drinking didn’t get any funny ideas.

Pearson snuck around the side of the saloon before his stomach dropped. There on the ground was a drop of blood, leading to around the back of the saloon, accompanied by larger dried splotches of blood. His immediate thought was of Mary-Beth. Oh god, she’s dead! Mary-Beth is dead and I let her die! However, when he looked closer at the blood, he noticed that it wasn’t fresh and more dried up. He wasn’t an expert at human blood, but after skinning dead animals for as long as he had…He could tell when blood was new and old. It couldn’t have been more than an hour. This wasn’t Mary-Beth’s blood. However, it didn’t mean that there couldn’t be anything waiting for him around the corner.

Following the blood, he stepped around the corner and found a mutilated body.

There was a young man. Probably late teens or early twenties. Probably around the same age of the men who helped load his cart. His eyes were gone and lacerations around his body explained the blood that soaked the ground. It already had a decomposing smell of it, tangling with the smell of vomit and alcohol. While he didn’t like murder like this—it was overkill—he was secretly glad that he didn’t encounter the body of Mary-Beth torn to shreds.

Pearson stepped closer and noticed a piece of wood with a knife in it laid out on the palm of the dead man’s hand. The closer he got, the more he realized that there was blood on the wood too, but it was fresher, drawn out methodically on the wood. He had to kneel to read the blood writings, which sent a chill down his spine.

DVL

3 DAY

COLM

And then there was a drawn picture of a location with a noose on it.

There, lying next to the dead man’s hand was a cut lock of Mary-Beth’s hair and a torn piece of cloth that matched the same color and texture of the dress she had been wearing. The blood on the board was Mary-Beth’s. It was fresher compared to the dead male’s, making the man want to vomit.

Pearson’s mouth dried when he concluded what had happened. The O’Driscolls had kidnapped Mary-Beth and left a message for Dutch and Arthur about where to meet them. The O’Drisicolls had them by the balls and were steering them in the direction that they wanted them to go.

Pearson tore the knife from the board and hid it on his belt, unsure if it was what ended this man’s life or was just left to accentuate their message. After hiding the lock of hair and cloth that would link Mary to this man, he grabbed the wood and rushed away from the scene as fast as possible, not wanting to be caught. Good thing the time meant that most men were working, though he wondered if they had gone at a different time if this would have even happened at all. Mary-Beth would be back at camp with her nose buried in one of her books.

As much as he wanted to go to the sheriff, he knew he couldn’t. It involved his gang and the O’Driscolls! That wasn’t a good combination.

Getting back to his wagon as fast as he could, Pearson raced back to his camp, constantly looking over his shoulder, not wanting to be ambushed on the way back, or followed back to camp. At some point along the ride, he considered abandoning the wagon and riding the horse back to camp, but he would still risk being followed and at the additional loss of money and supplies.

“Who’s there?” Came John’s rough voice when he came close enough.

“It’s Pearson!” Pearson raced on by, doing his best to not tip the wagon by how fast he was rolling into camp. The horses whined the whole way, having been spent racing back to the camp, sweating and desperate for water. When they came to a halt, the young O’Driscoll approached to untether them. Seeing Kieran made Pearson’s blood boil and face turn red, but it hadn’t been Kieran’s fault this happened, just the gang he used to run with so he did his best to not direct his anger toward him.

Pearson rushed directly toward Dutch’s tent, catching everyone’s attention from the fast pace he clearly wasn’t used to doing. Dutch sat in the chair outside his tent, a book in one hand and a cigar in the other. Arthur was thankfully in camp, just in his own tent.

“Dutch! Arthur! We have a BIG issue right now!”

Arthur perked up upon hearing his name and slowly sauntered his way over to Pearson and Dutch, his hands on his belt, “Oh yeah? What’s that? You eat all our groceries on the way back from Rhodes?”

“Now is not the time for jokes Arthur.” Pearson took the wood out, some of the blood smeared on his fingers but thankfully not enough to make the writing illegible. He also took the knife from his belt loop. Dutch and Arthur stared at the knife, intrigued, Arthur, stood up a bit straighter when he saw how serious Pearson was acting. It was unusual for him.

“Well, then spit it out already!” Arthur tore the cigarette from his mouth and threw it to the ground. “What the hell happened?”

Since he had stopped running, there was an unsettled feeling in Pearson’s stomach. He felt like he was about to throw up.

“Dutch…Arthur…Mary-Beth was taken by the O’Driscolls… They left us this note with her blood.”

The moment O’Driscolls was brought up, Dutch’s face became red. “WHAT?! What did you see, Pearson?!”

“NUTHIN!” Pearson gasped, “She wandered off when I was at the butcher’s and they kidnapped her when she was behind the saloon. There was also a dead body behind there. The bartender had this ugly bruise on his face, so I have a feeling he saw something, but if we try to talk to him, it might link the gang to the O’Driscolls,” he explained, the words flying out of his mouth, “They left this with Colom’s name and a lock of Mary-Beth’s hair. They’ve got her fer sure now….” He handed the wood over. Arthur leaned over Dutch’s shoulder to read what the blood was, his eyebrows furrowing.

By then the rest of the gang were gathering around, particularly the girls. Tilly held a hand over her mouth, “Mary-Beth…She was taken? Oh, Pearson…” Tears were in her eyes.

Pearson could hardly look at them all, all their faces that of a grieving person in mourning. He felt a lot of shame for letting this happen to such a vulnerable woman. But Mary-Beth wasn’t dead, or at least he hoped that she wasn’t. He couldn’t live with the thought of getting an innocent woman killed.

Kieran found himself on the edge of the conversation, but not close enough to hear the conversation. He had been so busy taking the horses off the wagon that he nearly missed it entirely. He brought each horse to the water trough, which they drank greedily before he joined the congregating crowd. What’s going on here? He wanted to ask but kept his mouth shut when the eyes of this gang had fallen on him. Had he done something wrong?

Well, if they were staring at him, then it had something to do with the…

“O’Driscoll, what did you do?!” Karen abruptly snapped at Kieran. Everyone seemed shocked at her outburst, seeing how kindly she treated Kieran at camp. There weren’t any tears in her eyes, but her face was worse than a raging bull’s.

“W-What do you mean?” Kieran asked, stuttering but not showing any lack of confidence. He kept his composure. “I ain’t done nothin’ other than take care of the damn horses lately,” he added defensively.

“Your O’Driscolls KIDNAPPED MARY-BETH!”

Usually, Kieran would have fought them on this. Would have yelled that he wasn’t an O’Driscoll! But ‘Mary-Beth’ and ‘kidnapped’ mentioned in the same sentence was something he didn’t like to hear. He couldn’t argue with them this time.

“They took Mary-Beth…?” he gasped and looked over toward Arthur, “We have to go save her! They’ll do awful things to her.”

Arthur squinted his eyes at the man as if observing them for anything suspicious, and Kieran hated the feeling that it left in his stomach. “You mean you had nothing to do with this?”

“Of course not!” Kieran spat out, flaring at Arthur’s accusatory tone, “I like Mary-Beth and I hate the O’Driscolls. You should know that by now 'cause I tell it to you every day!” He hissed. “We can’t spend time here, just wasting, we have to go and track her…Who knows what they will do to her.”

“Leave that to me,” Charles said, ready to jump on his horse that second.

“Wait just a minute!” Arthur said, holding his hand out, stopping everyone from doing anything stupid, “There’s a date written here, and they’re goin’ to expect us to meet them there at that time, or else. Charles, you can go, but you have to be extra careful. One wrong move on ANY of us is goin’ to end Mary-Beth’s life.” He pointed his finger at everyone as he spoke to them.

From the looks of the entire camp right now, everyone was willing to pick up their guns right now and hunt down their sick rivals. Some like Grimshaw and Lenny already had their guns out and ready.

“And the note was addressed to only Dutch and me. We’ll have to be the ones to go. If they see more than us, it won’t be pretty for us and Mary-Beth.”

“But you’re gonna be outnumbered by those idiots…” Bill argued, his hands clutching at his sides, not because he particularly liked Mary-Beth but because he hated how the O’Driscolls could easily try to blackmail them. “You never know how many people they’re gonna bring, Arthur. You need more than two men…”

“If they lay a hand on Mary-Beth, I’ll fucking tear their balls off…” Sadie gritted her teeth. Not another woman whose life was on the line thanks to this gang…

“If you should take anyone extra, then it should be me,” Kieran volunteered, stepping forward. “I don’t think they would be intimidated if they saw me.”

Bill laughed. “Yeah! Might be able to trade him for the girl. Take him with ya.” He shoved Kieran forward by his shoulder.

“Not a bad idea.” Arthur rubbed his chin.

If it came to that, then so be it, Kieran thought to himself. Mary-Beth had been the first one in the gang to be kind to him, to show Kieran the proper respect he deserved as a person by giving him that small glass of water. It had meant so much to him. There was no way in hell he would allow people like the O’Driscolls to hurt someone as gentle as her. If it meant that he had to trade his life for her, then maybe he could do something good and prove himself, even if he didn’t make it out alive.

“Oh, Mary-Beth…Please be okay…” Tilly kept a hand to her mouth, then spoke softly to Kieran, “Please get her back for us.”

Kieran spoke softly to her, “I promise that we’ll get her back, Tilly. Arthur and I ain’t gonna let anythin’ happen to her, we promise…”

“You better.”

Mary-Beth tried to imagine herself in a whole new world, completely separate from the reality of hell she was currently facing. She was a princess and her prince charming sat across from her on the blanket, feeding her strawberries and telling her how much he would marry her and care for her. The bitter yet sweet taste in her tongue was imaginary but it was helping her free herself from the flames threatening to engulf her. She dissociated, forgetting anything that the O’Driscoll men did to her the moment they happened.

She didn’t know when her own gang planned to get her, if they were even coming for her at all. Her hands were tied behind her back, connected to her ankles, making it impossible for her to move unless she twisted her body around, and even then it was far too painful for her to do that. She would be too exhausted before she could break the ropes.

If Mary-Beth had been listening, she would know that she had two days before the O’Driscolls were going to lay her out for bait, two days before she would learn if she lived or died. The gang planned to use her as bait, to lure the two strongest members of the Van Der Linde gang.

One of the O’Driscolls approached her. She saw his boots right in front of her face and smelled the shit he had stepped in earlier. Her nose wrinkled and she refused to meet his eyes. “Oh, what a squirmin’ bitch ya are,” he laughed and spat on her face, making Mary-Beth flinch and swallowing a whimper climbing its way up her throat. She was surprised that he didn’t kick her before he stormed off, laughing and drinking with his friends—having an early celebration of the fall of the Van Der Linde gang.

Just remember your prince charming. Hell, you’d accept Sean as your prince charming at this point, she spoke mostly to herself, in her head and attempted to put herself back into the world of the last book she had read, imagining herself as the main character and Kieran as her prince charming.

Wait.

Kieran…?

Why did she think of Kieran?

Sure, the two had been flirty with each other before, but she had never seen him in such a romantic light, or even imagined…kissing him…

But the memory soothed the aching in her heart, so her mind played the same scene over and over again as the days passed.

Kieran and Mary were in the meadows, sitting on a blanket softer than anything she had ever felt before. Wait, was it a cloud? There was a whole buffet of food laid out in front of her, and no matter how many bites she took, it never emptied. Behind them were two horses grazing and snoozing together. And whenever she looked at Kieran’s face, she felt the happiest she had ever been in a long time…

Sometimes her brain had convinced herself this was reality. She wanted it to be.

Mary-Beth was half asleep when a man grabbed her arm and cut the bindings, made her legs release, making them cramp, and her muscles scream in pain. Her hands were still tied as he pulled her to her feet, yelling at her as her legs wobbled and she would have buckled had the men not held her up.

“Where…Where…” she mumbled before she was interrupted.

“Shut up, you bitch.”

A cloth was shoved into her mouth, forcing her to be quiet.

“Put the woman on the back of the horse.”

Mary-Beth’s stomach lurched as she was lifted by her waist. She grunted as she was laid on the back of a chestnut colored horse, her stomach feeling the pressure as she was laid on her stomach. Never in all her life had she been hogtied and put on the back of the horse. She whined but shut up quickly to avoid them yelling at her any further.

A man climbed on the back of the horse, kicking its sides with sharp spurs that were close to her face. Mary-Beth, with her eyes constantly on the ground, couldn’t tell where they were going. All she could do was count the seconds. It took them approximately seventeen minutes to pull to a full stop, the men whispering around her.

“Quick, get the girl ready. They could be watching us and pop out at any moment.”

Mary-Beth saw the shoes of one of the O’Driscolls before they lifted her up. Instead of taking her off the horse, they shifted her into the saddle. All she could do was watch in horror as the men threw a rope over the branch of the tree they were under, a noose hanging at the end of it. She began to strain and pull on the restraints on her wrists but someone held her still as another pair of hands grabbed the noose and pulled it over her head. She felt tears as the noose pressed against her throat, tightening enough that it wouldn’t slide off her and only tighten when she fell off the side of the horse. They were going to hang her. Holy shit, they were going to fucking hang her! After that, she fell absolutely still, no matter how badly her body screamed at her to move.

“Two hours…If they’re not here in two hours just slap the horse and let it run.” Mary-Beth couldn’t see them, but an O’Driscoll stood behind her, a hand on the rear of the horse, who luckily remained calm for now. She relied on that calmness. But the woman wondered if the horse would feel her anxiety and become agitated before running off.

“Then leave her body. Maybe they’ll come back later and find her hanging and learn their lesson…We don’t spare the innocent.”

Please, Arthur. Sean. Charles. Kieran. She whispered the names like they were saints, praying they would come to rescue her.

Time passed, but Mary-Beth wasn’t counting this time. Every second felt like an agonizing hour.

“How long has it been?”

“About an hour…”

And so they waited even longer. Mary-Beth’s thighs were aching from how tight she was squeezing on the horse’s saddle.

An arrow sliced through the air, hitting the man behind Mary-Beth. The action was so abrupt that there was a moment of stunned silence. The horse shifted but luckily didn’t run off. Mary-Beth looked up, seeing the trees across the horizon, but saw no one in sight. Were her saviors still out there? “They’re he—” Another arrow whizzed through the air, shooting the man in front of her.

“DAMNIT!” Mary-Beth looked in horror as one of the O’Driscolls raised a gun in the air. No, no, no! Mary-Beth cried out in her mind, screaming and crying, wishing she could keep the horse in place.

A gun fired, and then hellfire began. At first, it was arrows, and then it was gunshots.

Mary-Beth stared in terror as the horse’s ears flicked back. It freaked out before running forward, Mary-Beth hardly able to stop the rope from tightening around her neck. Just as the horse ran out from under her legs, arms wrapped around her body, desperately holding her around the waist and legs in a way to keep herself up.

Even as the gunshots were heavy in the air, Mary-Beth was able to stare down at the person holding her. It was Kieran. KIERAN More tears formed in her eyes as she saw the man struggling to keep her up, to keep her from hanging right there.

“SHOOT THE ROPE, SHOOT THE ROPE!” Kieran called out.

Mary-Beth did her best to sit as still as possible, but everything was aching and she could hardly keep herself up as her body was crumbling quickly and she was hardly able to control what limb twitched. A choked cry escaped her throat and tears were impossible to hold back.

An O’Driscoll stormed up to the two of them, his gun raised, ready to shoot Kieran between the eyes. Right as he pulled the hammer back on his revolver, there was a rifle shot, and blood splattered on Kieran’s face and on Mary-Beth’s dress. Then there was a second shot, and the rope around Mary-Beth’s throat became very loose. Mary-Beth fell on top of Kieran, taking the two of them to the ground. Kieran was on his feet a second later and grabbed Mary-beth by the shoulders. Even though she would have not wanted to be dragged anymore, there was a mutual and silent agreement that safety was more important as Kieran dragged Mary-Beth into the forest and brush, hiding them from the gunfight. Kieran sat back on the ground and pulled Mary-Beth flush against his chest. As quietly as he could, he took the cloth from her mouth and fumbled with his knife, cutting the bindings from her wrists, freeing her completely.

Mary-Beth’s mouth was open, tears in her eyes when she realized it ached more to shut her mouth from how long the cloth was stuck in her mouth. Kieran was about to pull away from the woman, to give her space, but Mary-Beth grabbed his arm and wrapped it around her body—feeling safe and protected like in the dreams she had hidden in the past few days. She closed her eyes and cried silent tears.

Kieran hesitated but could tell that she just needed to be held for now. He kept her close to his chest as the gunshots thinned and the voices of the small group of O’Driscolls died out completely. They were all dead. But he remained quiet until he knew for sure that it was safe to come out.

“Mary-Beth? Kieran?” Came Arthur’s voice.

Mary-Beth couldn’t speak.

“We’re in here—!” Kieran stuttered and pulled himself and Mary-Beth up, taking the two of them out of the brush.

When Mary-Beth saw Arthur, she practically fell into the arms of the man. “Oh Arthur…! You call came for me!” she sobbed.

Arthur awkwardly wrapped his arms around Mary-Beth. “Course we did. You’re a part of the family. We wouldn’t have left that to ya, all alone.”

“Are they all dead?” she asked, her bottom lip quivering.

Arthur nodded. “Dutch has one of them tied up right now and is talking to them. Otherwise, yeah. They’re all dead. Are you okay?” He asked as he pulled her back, looking her up and down, seeing the bruises and tatters on her. “Oh, Mary-Beth…You need to get back to camp. You think you can take her, Kieran? I’m gonna stay back and help Dutch get information out of this damn maggot.”

“Yes, please, I want to go back now. Is Pearson OK?” Mary-Beth asked.

“Don’t worry, Mary-Beth, he’s alright. Just get her to camp, Kieran.” Arthur walked away.

Kieran nodded and put his hand on Mary-Beth’s elbow, guiding her all the way to Branwen. When they were at the horse, he gently touched her arm. “Mary-Beth, I am SO sorry fer what happened to ya. Are ya okay?”

“I…I think so. I just want to get back to camp.” She approached Branwen from the side and turned her back to the horse, facing Kieran. “Can you help me onto the horse, please?” she asked, her arms slightly raised. “Everything hurts too much.”

“I sure can…” Kieran nodded and put his hands on her waist. He lifted her onto the back of his horse, feeling even more guilty as she winced in pain. The last thing he wanted was to cause her even more pain. After that, he climbed into the saddle in front of her, then raced off back to camp. His heart pounded with the leftover adrenaline from the gunfight, but it soared higher when Mary-Beth wrapped her arms around his waist and she leaned her cheek against his back. She…Wanted comfort from him? Him, of all people? He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he was glad that she could trust him.

Kieran knew that there would be a group gathering when they returned to camp, so he made sure to approach quietly and calmly, hitching his horse at one of their posts. He got down and held his arms out naturally to take Mary-Beth off the horse. By the time he turned around, he saw the group gathering—just as he thought.

“Oh, Mary-Beth!” Tilly cried out and ran before anyone else could. She ran to her best friend and hugged her, keeping her close. Mary-Beth broke down into tears as she hugged Tilly back. Kieran backed off and gave the woman some space, his hand on Branwen’s neck. However, he watched from afar. He watched as Mary-Beth was given new clothes, and how John gave her his tent so she could have privacy for a while. Karen, Grimshaw, and Tilly came in and out of the tent often, checking in on Mary-Beth. Sometimes he heard her crying, and it broke his heart.

Sometime later in the evening, when it was darker than it was light, Kieran approached the flap of the tent and whispered, “Mary-Beth, is it okay if I came in?” he asked and waited for her answer.

There was a small sniffle. “Oh, yeah, it’s okay…”

Kieran came in, carrying a tin plate of stew. “Have ya ate yet?” he asked.

Mary-Beth sat on John’s cot, wearing one of her other outfits. The old clothes had been burned as no one, especially her, would want to attempt to stitch such clothing back together.

“Oh, no…I ain’t…I just haven’t had the appetite for it, but I probably should soon.”

“I got something for ya. Eat what you feel like ya can.” Kieran came in and moved across the tent and sat down next to her with the stew, handing it to her. Mary-Beth smiled fondly and sipped some of the broth. At least her stomach could handle that.

“Mary-Beth…Yer awfully brave. Most don’t have the confidence when in the presence of an O’Driscoll.”

“Oh Kieran…” she whispered, “It was awful. I thought I was going to die…I thought they were gonna hang me. Had you not caught me, who knows whether I would have suffocated or if the rope would have snapped my neck right away. I wasn’t ready to die.”

“I’m glad I was there, Mary-Beth. I don’t know how you survived that…” Kieran’s hand touched hers, but then he hesitated. She noticed and immediately brought his hand back when he tried to take it away.

“I just…I just imagined myself inside one of my books. I guess escapin’ into my own head was something that helped me…” Mary-Beth admitted Kieran, squeezing his hand. “It kept me alive until you saved me, Kieran. You’re a real hero. Thank you so much…” She wrapped her arms around his neck and held the man, who she sort of related to in some way now. She wasn’t sure if she should tell Kieran that she imagined that he was her imaginary hero. She didn’t have to though—Kieran was her real hero now.

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