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fanfictionalraven · 6 months

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Piece by Piece Pt.2

Title: Piece By Piece Pt 2

Summary: Almost 11 years later, the reader and Dean run into each other again.

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Original Characters, John Winchester (mentioned)

Word Count: 3,083

Warnings: Mention of character death and past abuse

Author’s Note: This story was originally posted by myself under the account Winchestersgirl91. It was published in 2017. This story takes place after episode 4.10 Heaven and Hell.

Read Piece by Piece Pt. 1 here.

It had been a long day. You had been on your feet since you’d walked through the door, without one chance to take a break. The patients were being overly needy and the doctors excessively demanding. You’d had one patient take a swing at you and another almost fall out of bed. Things had finally slowed down enough for you to try and catch up on your charting so you fall into the chair at the front desk. You look up at the clock and sigh. One more hour and you were home free. Running your hands over your face, you turn your back to the entrance and unlock your computer. You open the first file and just as your fingers brush the keys…

“Excuse me, Sweetheart,” a voice says from behind you. You freeze. It had been ten years but you knew that voice. You’d know that voice anywhere. “We’re agents Perry and Schon with the FBI. We’d like to ask you a few questions.” For a moment, you wonder if you were hearing things. But the second you turn around, your doubts are gone. There are two men standing at the desk in dark suits, each holding up authentic looking badges. But you knew those weren’t their badges or their names. One, you didn’t recognize by face but you knew immediately he was the younger brother. The other man you would recognize anywhere. You’d seen that face in your dreams almost every night for the past ten years.

“Dean,” you say, staring up at him. He’s looking back at you like he’s seen a ghost. Which was really saying something in his case.

“Y/N?” He asks. You’re frozen for a moment, trapped in those green eyes. In the next second, you’re being scooped up into a bone-crushing hug. Laughing, you return the embrace immediately. Dean lets you go and looks down at you, those dimples showing.

“How’ve you been?” You ask him. He shakes his head slightly.

“I’m okay. What about you?” He asks, his eyes falling to your arms. You smile and hold them out between you, showing him. The scars are still there but they’ve faded over the years. He smiles and his eyes find yours again. You bite your lip then turn to the other man.

“That must make you Sam,” you say, holding your hand out. He laughs and shakes your hand, nodding. “I heard so much about you in just a few hours.”

“Well I’ve had several years to hear about you,” he says. You feel your face heat up and you look at Dean. He rubs the back of his neck, nervously.

“You been talking about me for nearly eleven years?” You ask. He shrugs. You smile as you look between them. “You guys still hunting goblins?” Dean laughs and shakes his head.

“Goblins still don’t exist actually,” he tells you. Sam looks at Dean, an eyebrow raised.

“She knows?” He asks. Dean glances at him and shrugs. “Huh.”

“Is your dad here too?” You ask. You catch the look on both their faces and your smile falls.

“Dad died about two years ago,” Dean tells you. You nod and reach over, placing your hand on his arm comfortingly.

“I’m sorry. I was hoping to get to thank him,” you say. Dean looks at you, confused now. “An FBI agent just happens to show up at the door after I spend the night with you?” He lets out a nervous laugh and nods.

“Figured that out, did ya?” He asks. You laugh lightly and nod. “Did it work?”

“They never laid another hand on me,” you tell him. He nods, relief clear on his face. You smile and stand up on your toes, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.” He smiles at you tenderly and nods.

“Had to save you from those goblins,” he says. You look down, that blush creeping back into your cheeks. Sam clears his throat and you both look up at him.

“Speaking of,” he says, sending Dean a look. He nods quickly and leans back against the counter, crossing his arms.

“What do you know about Dr. Cannon?” He asks. You furrow your brow, thinking back, and shake your head.

“Not much. He just showed up one day about a month ago. Keeps to himself mostly. Why?” You ask, looking between them. They exchange brief looks and your eyes widen. “Is he…one of your things?” You ask, whispering now. Dean shrugs his shoulders.

“You know the women that have been murdered?” He asks and you nod. Of course, you knew. Four women, all drained of their blood found in the park. One of them had been a coworker of yours. You were terrified to go anywhere on your own.

“He’s our best lead right now. We’ve got him on camera leaving a club with one of the women and then there was the one that worked here. Did you know her?” Sam asks. You frown and shake your head.

“Not well. She was new, fresh out of nursing school. Although, Dr. Cannon did seem to take an interest in her. We just thought he was flirting,” you say, frowning more. You see Dean’s jaw clench slightly before he speaks.

“He hasn’t taken an interest in you, has he?” He asks a ferocity in his voice you’d never heard before. You shake your head quickly.

“No. Not that I know of at least. No one’s said anything if he has,” you tell him. He nods and you both look over at Sam as his phone starts to ring. He pulls it from his coat pocket then looks at Dean.

“It’s Bobby. Be right back,” he says before walking away. You watch him go then look back at Dean.

“What is he? Dr. Cannon?” You ask. Dean scratches at his chin.

“Looks like a vampire,” he says. You frown and nod, looking back where Sam had walked off. You feel a hand on your arm and look back to find Dean watching you closely. You smile and turn towards him, taking a step forward.

“You moved up from grand theft auto,” you say. He raises an eyebrow at you and you smirk. “I saw you on the news a little while back, Clyde. That bank robbery?” You ask. He lets out a laugh and nods. “Although, you got yourself a new Bonnie,” you say, cutting your eyes towards Sam. Dean laughs more and shakes his head.

“Nah, you were always my only Bonnie,” he tells you, reaching up and pushing a strand of your hair back into place. “You happy here, Y/N?”

“I am,” you tell him, nodding. You see the disappointment spread across his face and you can’t help but laugh. “Were you hoping I wasn’t?”

“A little. Then I could offer to whisk you away,” he says. You smile, stepping even closer to him.

“Asking me to run away with you, Dean Winchester?” You ask. He shrugs once and you sigh, shaking your head. “No.”

“Again?” He asks, laughing lightly. You smile and reach out, running your hands over his arms.

“I’m afraid so. I’ve got roots here. I’ve got a job that I love most days and a house with a mortgage to pay on. I’ve got people who need me,” you tell him. He nods slightly then his eyes widen quickly.

“Oh, crap. You’ve got someone, don’t you? Of course, you do. God, I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he says in a rush. You laugh and take his face in your hands quickly.

“Dean, relax. It’s not like that,” you explain. He nods slightly and reaches up, taking your hands in his. He brings them down to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles. A cough behind you causes Dean to let your hands go. You take a step back as you glance back at Sam.

“We should get going,” he says, looking at Dean. He nods and looks down at you again.

“Could we – I don’t know – grab a drink tonight or have dinner? Something?” He asks. You bite your lip, hesitating. You wanted nothing more than to have dinner with Dean, to spend another night with him. But…

The sound of running draws you from your thoughts. You step around the corner quickly, expecting to find a patient out of bed. Instead, what you find makes your heart nearly stop. A beautiful, young girl with bright green eyes and y/h/c curls tied back in a purple ribbon is racing towards you with a wide smile that shows off two perfect dimples. She’s wearing an old leather jacket that’s way too big on her but she doesn’t care. You drop to your knees and hold your arms open to her. She bounds into your waiting arms in a fit of giggles.

“Momma!!” She exclaims, wrapping you up in a tight hug. You let out a laugh and press a kiss to her temple.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, glancing up at the teenage girl walking up behind her, slowly.

“M.K. had something to show you that absolutely could not wait till you got home tonight, didn’t you?” She asks, looking down at the young girl. She giggles and nods, dropping her backpack. She pulls back the right side of the leather jacket to reveal a bright pink ribbon that says BIRTHDAY PRINCESS across it. You smile, touching it gently and nod.

“Wow!! That’s nice!!” You tell her. She giggles again and nods, looking down at it.

“Mrs. Little gave it to me this morning. And everyone really liked the cupcakes you sent too,” she says, looking back at you. You smile and nod before glancing over your shoulder at the two bewildered men. You reach into your pocket and pull out a couple of dollar bills.

“Why don’t you ask Tee real nice to take you down to the vending machines before she takes you home?” You suggest. M.K. smiles widely and takes the money from you. She grabs the teenage girl’s hand and pulls her down the hallway quickly. You rise to your feet, picking up the purple-trimmed zebra striped backpack. Taking a deep breath, you turn to face Dean and Sam. “That’s — that’s M.K.” Sam glances at his older brother then looks back at you.

“M.K.?” He asks. You bite your lip then look down.

“Mary Katherine,” you tell them. Nothing but silence answers you so you look back up. Sam smiles a little and looks down the hall where the two had gone. Dean is still staring at you, slightly paler now. He blinks once, twice, then shakes his head.

“How,” he stops and clears his throat. “How old is she?” He asks.

“Ten. Ten today actually,” you explain. He nods his head slowly, never taking his eyes off you.

“And we…” He stops, trying to count back in his head. You sigh and nod.

“Ten years and nine months ago, yea,” you tell him. He takes a step back and runs a hand over his jaw slowly. He was in shock and you couldn’t blame him. You had expected this sort of reaction, imagined it a thousand times in different scenarios. Granted, this was never one of them. But Dean’s next words take you by surprise.

“Can I meet her?” He asks. You and Sam both look at him, shocked.

“You literally just found out she exists and you want to meet her?” You ask. He shrugs once and you shake your head quickly. “Dean, that’s not a decision I want you to take lightly. That’s not something you can just jump in to.”

“We don’t have to tell her who I am right off the bat,” he says. You sigh and set her backpack down on the desk.

“No, Dean. You don’t get it. I can’t introduce you to her. Either of you,” you say, glancing between them. “The moment I tell her that you’re my friends Dean and Sam she’ll know that it’s…Dad and Uncle Sam.” Dean stares at you in confusion and you look down. “You think I didn’t want her to know who her father was? I mean, it’s not like you chose not to be in her life. I’ve told her all about you. I’ve told her that her father is Dean Winchester. That his brother is her Uncle Sam. She wears that leather jacket you gave me every day that I let her. And she knows that you travel all over the country saving people. In fact…” You unzip her backpack and pull out a purple folder. You leaf through a few pages in it before pulling out the one you were looking for. MY HERO is the title written across the top of it.

You look at the desk quickly when one of the call lights flashes, reminding you where you were. Sighing, you pull a post-it note off the nearby stack and stick it to the front of your daughter’s paper. You quickly jot down your address then turn and hold it out for Dean. He takes it and looks it over briefly before looking back at you.

“Take it. Read it. Think about what this is really going to do to all of us. Then decide. If you still want to meet her, that’s where we live. You can come by for dinner around 6. If you change your mind, I won’t blame you. This isn’t something you ever asked for and I’m not holding you to any responsibility,” you tell him. He searches your eyes for a moment then nods. You kiss his cheek quickly then rush down the hall to your waiting patient.

When you come back to the nurse’s station, Sam and Dean are gone. You sigh and fall back into the chair, running your hands over your face. A post-it note stuck to your computer screen catches your eye. You smile slightly as you pick it up. Dean’s phone number is scrawled across it. See you at six. M.K. comes back down the hall with Tina right behind her so you stow the note in your pocket quickly. You hold your arms open and your little girl rushes over to you, climbing into your lap.

“Who were those men?” She asks. You smile and run a hand over her hair.

“Some old friends,” you tell her, fixing the jacket around her shoulders. “Now you get home and get your homework done. I’m gonna pick up your cake when I get off work then I’ll be there and we can celebrate together yea?” M.K. giggles and nods, jumping down from your lap. You help her get her backpack on and watch as she leaves with Tina.

As soon as you’re able to, you leave the hospital. A quick stop at the local grocery store and you’re headed home with a purple iced, chocolate cake. You glance at the clock as you turn into your subdivision. 4:25. You would have plenty of time to shower and get dinner ready before Dean arrived. Your heart leapt in your chest at the thought of Dean and M.K. finally getting to meet. You knew it was highly unlikely that he’d stick around but having him in her life, in your life, would mean enough.

You pull into the driveway and your smile falls quickly. The front door was wide open. Tina always made sure the door was locked and dead bolted. She was incredibly safe and protective over M.K. which was one of the reasons she was such a great babysitter. Her mother was your best friend and had kept M.K. while you were finishing school until Tina was old enough to watch her.

You get out of your car leaving all your stuff behind, unable to shake the bad feeling in the pit of your stomach. Something is wrong. You rush up the front steps and into the house.

“Tina? M.K.?” You call out, looking around. Your eyes widen as you run into the living room, finding it completely trashed. The coffee table and its contents were flipped and scattered haphazardly. The sofa cushions were thrown and ripped. “No, no, no.” The smell is what hits you next. It’s a smell you know well from working at the hospital. Blood. You spin on your heels to check the rest of the house but stop in your tracks. A knife from the kitchen, dripping in blood, has been driven into the wall to hold a note in place. You shouldn’t have talked to those hunters. You recognize the handwriting instantly. Dr. Cannon.

With trembling hands, you pull your phone out of your back pocket. Thankfully, you had already saved Dean’s number. You quickly find his name and put the phone to your ear before running to each room of the house. Dean answers after the second ring.

“Hello?” He asks. You’re fighting to keep it together now, finding the house completely empty.

“Dean, they’re gone,” you tell him, your voice shakey. “Dr. Cannon took them.”

“Who?” He asks.

“M.K. and Tina. They aren’t here and the house is wrecked. There’s a note about me talking to you two. Dean, there’s blood,” you finish in tears. He tells Sam quickly before answering you.

“We’re pretty sure we know where his nest is. We’re going there now. You stay put and wait for me to call you. You got me?” He asks. You nod, trying to make your voice work again. “Y/N?”

“Yea. Hurry,” you tell him. You can hear the distinct roar of the Impala’s engine coming to life over the line then Sam muttering directions to his brother. You look around once more at the destruction and panic rises in your chest. If he could do all of this, what would he do them? “Dean, be careful.”

“Don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine. And we’ll bring them home,” he assures you before he hangs up. You move out to the front porch and sit down on the steps. Running your hands over your face, you try not to think.

You try not to think about what he’s doing to either of them right now. You try not to think about having to tell Tina’s mother, your best friend, that her daughter is dead. You try not to think about coming home every day to an empty house. You try not to think about M.K. screaming for you. You try not to think. You try.

Read Piece by Piece Pt. 3 here.

#fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #supernatural #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #dad!dean #spn

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pedroshotwifey · 1 year

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Manners

Pairing: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x fem!reader

Word Count: 8.4k

Tags/Warnings: No use of Y/N, Age gap, Slight authority/seniority kink (He's her boss), Slight Sir kink, Oral sex (f and m receiving), piv sex, probably more I'm forgetting about but oh well 🤷‍♀️

Summary: You make a small slip-up and Jack offers to help brush you up on your manners.

A/N: Hello lovely readers! Please keep in mind that even though I have written multiple works at this point, this one is the first one I ever published. As I begin to post some of my more recent fics, you should be able to see a difference in quality overall. I did, however, go back and make edits to this one so that it is better than it would have been if I had posted it in its original state. I hope you enjoy it, and please keep an eye out for the more recent fics I will be posting within the next week or so!

***

The sun is bright in your eyes as you attempt to blink them open for the first time this morning. You can feel the warm rays sneaking through the curtains to crawl over your blanketed form. The birds are singing a sweet song right outside your window, their song slowly stirring you awake. You sigh in contentment at the peaceful scene you woke up to.

It’s definitely one of those mornings where it will be impossible to drag yourself away from your cozy bed. Once you are able to pry your eyes open all the way, you sit up and pull the curtain back a little to admire the landscape of the small ranch you work on.

Being able to wake up and come home to the beautiful view presented by the window beside your bed has quickly become one of your favorite things about this job. Part of your payment is living in the small one-bedroom house stationed on top of one of the few hills on the ranch.

It's not much, but you love the cozy feeling the house gives off. It's absolutely perfect for you and you have made sure to let your boss know how appreciative you are of it. Within the six months that you have lived on the property, you have only talked to the boss a handful of times, and each time he asks you if you are still comfortable living in the cottage.

Even though he told you that you can make any adjustments you want, he still likes to check that it is to your standard. You always tell him that you are perfectly content, and he always makes a point to remind you that you are welcome to move into one of the many rooms of his large ranch house if you ever change your mind.

You have learned that Mr. Daniels is very generous. He seems to genuinely care about the well-being of his employees. Despite his array of offers though, you always choose to stay in the small cottage. You know that he worries about you being secluded, but in reality, you are still in view of the main house. You trust that if anything were to happen, he or another ranch hand would be there in an instant to assist you.

It's true what you tell him; you are perfectly content with the small house, but you have to be honest with yourself. You know that you are turning him down for other reasons as well — annoying reasons that you wish would cease to exist.

About two months in, you made the realization that you are nursing a crush on your boss. By that time though, you had already settled in. You had figured—hoped—the attraction would be a phase. By now, you’ve realized it most certainly was not. In your defense, a few weeks after the realization, it seemed like the crush had passed, faded into nothing more than a tiny tug in your chest when you thought about him. That is until you had to meet up with him for a monthly check-in at least.

You had scolded yourself and tried to ignore the bubbling feeling in your stomach as he talked to you in that syrupy southern drawl you have come to crave. You had a sinking suspicion that you didn't do a very good job of concealing the way you felt. The way the cowboy had smirked at you every now and again during the, in your opinion, much-too-long interaction suggested that he knew exactly what kind of thoughts you had brewing.

If you didn’t know any better, you would dare say that the asshole might enjoy making your face flush bright as a tomato. Sure, the man may be about twenty years your senior, but you can't deny the tension that has begun to build since then.

He seems to have made a game of getting you flustered during meetings, and you have quickly accepted the challenge of keeping your cool as he does so. Unfortunately for you, he usually wins.

You groan as you remember that you need to prepare yourself for the meeting taking place today. You sit up and let your feet dangle off the side of the bed as you stretch your arms into the air, attempting to ease your sore muscles.

Letting your hands back down to rest on your lap, you glance at the clock. It reads 10:41.

Shit

Suddenly awake, you jump out of bed and scramble over to your closet, frantically laying out a work outfit. You are supposed to be meeting Mr. Daniels at 11:00. You had set an alarm to wake you up at 9:30 so you would have time to eat breakfast and tidy up around the cottage before you had to leave. Of course, today would be the day the clock wouldn’t go off.

It takes about five minutes to get to the main house from here, maybe two that if you run, but even then it would still be cutting it close. If there is anything you hate, it's making a bad impression, and being late is one of the best ways to do that.

You know that Mr. Daniels probably won't mind, but you still don't want to be an inconvenience. You are the only female worker on the ranch, and even though Jack always lets you know how much he appreciates your hard work, you still want to stay on top of your responsibilities. You know deep down that you have nothing to prove, but some of the guys can be pretty rude with their unnecessarily sexist comments.

They just love to follow you around and breathe down your fucking neck. Their favorite antic has got to be making you feel like you aren’t capable of picking up bigger loads. “Can I get that for you, Princess?” they ask with stupid smirks, already knowing your answer. You have learned that the best way to deal with that is to give them a smile and kindly assure them that you got it. It’s no fun for them when you don’t feed into it, after all.

Even so, Mr. Daniels is usually pretty quick about shutting “jokes'' about you down, but you can't help but feel like he might see some truth to them. He doesn’t of course - in fact, he constantly tells you that you are one of the best hands he has ever had working for him.

You always soak up any praise he gives you, even though you feel like a giddy schoolgirl sometimes. You swear that man’s comments will ultimately be the death of you.

You check the clock again as you finish tying your hair back and set your hat on your head.

10:54. Perfect.

After you brush your teeth, that should give you enough time to walk down to the house just in time for the meeting to start.

***

Somehow, it ended up being 10:57 by the time you were walking out the door. As you step outside, you can see Mr. Daniels standing outside his house, glancing at his wrist. You furrow your brows as you realize that the rest of the ranch hands are nowhere to be seen. There's no way the meeting is just between the two of you, right? You couldn’t have missed a detail that detrimental… right?

Shaking your head, you start to sprint toward where your boss is standing. The guys will probably be there by the time you reach the house… hopefully. You’re not sure if you can handle Jack Daniels on your own today. It takes you about two and a half minutes for you to get to him, and—much to your chagrin—there’s not another worker in sight.

You inhale deeply as you approach him - you can already feel the butterflies in your stomach with every step you take. He looks exceptionally good today, donned in his signature black stetson. Once you are close, you plaster a smile on your face and pray silently that you made it on time.

“Hello Mr. Daniels,” you say sweetly.

“Good morning sugar,” he says before flashing you a toothy grin. You try to ignore the names he has for you most of the time, though you secretly love the almost nonchalant affection behind them.

You feel your face flush and try to turn your head towards the ground in an attempt to hide it, but you know he saw when you notice his eyes narrow slightly out of the corner of your own. The look sends heat straight into your lower abdomen and you swallow as you look up to meet his gaze again.

“Did nobody else show up?” you ask him, trying to keep your composure.

He chuckles quietly at your question and you suddenly wish your ears would stop working. “No darlin’, I figured we could have a one-on-one meeting this time around—if that's ok with you of course?”

“Oh, um, yea of course, that's just fine Mr. Daniels.” Liar, your brain spits at you.

***

Fortunately for your dignity, the meeting was pretty normal for the most part. Mr. Daniels asked you if you were still comfortable in your cottage, to which you—as always—replied that you love having your own place.

He told you of the tasks he wants you to perform throughout the next couple of weeks and of your expected schedule. He also pointedly reminded you to call him Jack, which you ignored and continued to refer to him in a formal fashion. You didn't need any more personal ties to this man.

After everything that needed to be said was conversed, you both said goodbye and began to part ways.

You let out a deep breath, silently congratulating yourself for not slipping up as you turn your back to your boss. Maybe everything will be fine.

“Oh, and honeybee?” You hear Mr. Daniels' question come from behind you and tense back up immediately. There was something about the way he said it, almost like it was coming through a smirk, that made your eyes grow wide.

You spin back around to find the cowboy standing in place with his back to you.

“Yes, Mr. Daniels?” Your voice comes out squeakier than you expect and you grimace at the sound.

“You were a minute late today, hon.”

Shit. You let your eyes flutter shut and attempt to gulp down your anxiety as he continues. Of course the bastard would point something like that out, he’s well aware of how big you are on that kind of thing.

“Now don’t worry, you ain’t in trouble, darlin’,” he says much too confidently for your liking, “but just so we can assure it won’t happen again, maybe you should swing by the house tonight so we can brush you up on your manners.”

Unable to speak, you stare at your boss’s now descending form with an open jaw. Did you hear that right?

The asshole must know that you are still rooted to the spot he left you in because he cranes his neck to say “You’re free to go for now doll, i’ll see ya at 8:00,” he says before sending you a wink and turning back around.

You quickly close your jaw and turn on your heel towards the barn. Your heart is racing much too quickly in your chest as you approach your first task of the day.

***

Getting through the day was absolutely agonizing. You love your job and find most of the tasks you have to do decently easy, but the conversation from this morning has been running through your mind non-stop.

Brush up on your manners...

You wanted to hate him for his blunt suggestion, but you realized about halfway through the day what he actually meant by it. At least, what you hope he actually meant by it. You have been pushing your excitement down all day and it has evidently been landing between your legs.

At this point, as you trek back to your house to freshen up, you can feel your core throb with every agonizing step. This man has had you on edge all day and you are frustrated to no end.

Brush up on your manners...

You'll show him. You'll show him just how sweet you can be… Or maybe you won't…

The thought of being defiant sends a wave of excitement over your entire body. What would he do then? Would he decide to punish you for your bad behavior?

You'll have to decide how you will act on the way to his house. You put on a wicked grin as you begin to rustle through your closet for some presentable clothes. What Jack didn’t realize is that he accidentally put the ball right into your court.

You almost can't believe this is actually happening. As you sit down to put some mascara and lipstick on, you pinch yourself to make sure this isn't all a dream.

As you slip on your flowy sundress and boots, you are sure you will open your eyes any minute now. As you lock the door to your cottage, you expect to be waking up in your bed.

***

It really sinks in that what you are doing is real as you raise your fist to knock gently on your boss’s front door. Your nerves feel like they are on fire and you almost decide to turn around and forget all about it. Before you have the chance to change your mind, however, the door in front of you is being swung open to reveal the devilishly sexy grin hidden behind it.

“Hello again, sugar,” he says after you stand there for a second, “I was hoping you would take me up on my offer.”

You try to speak but find your voice caught in your throat, so you just nod and try to send him what you hope is a feasible smile. Without another word, he smiles back and moves to the side to gesture you into the house.

Once inside, you decide to test your voice again. “Thank you for inviting me, Mr. Daniels,” you say as he shuts the door behind you, formal as ever.

“Well of course honey,” he says in a tone much too cocky for your liking, “and look at you, already puttin’ those manners to use.”

You flush a dark shade of crimson when you find yourself at a lack of words once again. Fortunately, Jack takes that as his cue again and moves in closer, backing you into the wall behind you. You don't stop him as he steps into your personal bubble and reaches a hand toward your face.

He smirks as he feels you shudder when his large hand finds your cheek. You bite your lip to stop the sound that threatens to escape. His palm feels so warm against you, and you feel so tiny in comparison as you look up into his dark eyes.

You see the mischievous twinkle in his eye as he grasps your chin more firmly to bring your face up to his just slightly. You sneak a quick glance at his plush lips that are now mere inches from your own. It would be so easy to just lean in a bit and-

“Now, sugar,” Mr. Daniels says, interrupting your thoughts, “for the purposes of tonight, you can call me sir. Understand?”

Your eyes widen slightly at his command and you try to nod your head as much as you can with his hand still gripping your chin. Yup, you were definitely right in your earlier assumption. Your knees feel weak, threatening to give out. The sensation distracts you for a moment and when you come back into focus you find Jack looking at you expectantly.

“Let's try that again, doll,” he says as he digs his fingers into your chin ever so slightly. You swallow as you watch him tilt his chin up to look down at you. His mouth drops open into a thin smirk as he raises his eyebrows. You feel your legs buckle underneath you again and you would probably fall if not for his hand propping you up.

“Understand?” he repeats, clearly wanting a verbal response. Likely wanting your consent so he can be sure you’re of with the way things are going. You would be damned if you weren’t.

“I-” you stop when he gives your chin a warning squeeze, it isn’t hard, but it’s enough to give you the hint

“Yes sir,” you manage to get the words out. They were high-pitched and shaky, but you were surprised you were able to speak at all.

Your eyes close slowly as he lowers his head back down to plant a soft kiss on your forehead, rewarding you for catching on.

“Good girl,” you shudder and bite back a moan at his gentle praise.

Your eyes land on his lips as you open them again. You stare for a little longer than you probably should before you meet his gaze again. You can't help it, they just look so warm and inviting. You picture them enveloping your own.

When he sees you look away from his lips, he loosens his grip once more and leans in close enough to nudge his face next to yours, almost as if he were going to nibble your ear.

“Would if be okay if I kissed you, baby?” he asks, voice barely a whisper. A shiver racks through your spine at his words combined with the feeling of his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

You start to nod before you remember what he wants you to do. You want to scold yourself for giving in so easily, but you block that thought out as you feel him start to pull back. Your heart feels like it's going to beat out of your chest as you stare into his deep chocolate eyes. You hate him for making you say it, but you do it anyway.

“Yes sir,” your voice is just as quiet as his, if not more.

He closes the distance before you even realize you spoke the desperate words out loud. You close your eyes and slot your lips against his. It feels like absolute euphoria as you melt into the heated kiss. It's sloppy and uncoordinated, but automatically you decide it is the best kiss you’ve ever had.

You moan as his tongue slips past your lips, giving you a taste of what you can only describe as Jack. His lips are the perfect combination of soft and chapped and you can't help but give in completely to him. If given the option, you would stand here and kiss this man until the day you die.

You sigh as you feel his hand release your jaw and make its way down your body to rest on your hip. Shortly after, you feel his fingers run through your hair to grasp the base of your skull, pulling you deeper into the passionate kiss. Your own hands begin to cling onto his clothes, wanting to be as close as possible to him.

Suddenly, he pulls away, his palms stationed firmly on your hips and on teh back of your neck. You look into his eyes and you can see the hunger lingering in his stare. His pupils are blown with desire and you can feel the way they must mirror your own.

“Let me taste you?” He asks you, desperation clear in his voice as he nearly begs.

You nod feverishly in your lust-drunken state, not entirely sure what he just asked. All you know is that with the admiration this man is looking at you with, you would be a fool to deny him anything he asked for.

You can see the way he shifts, clearly wanting to get to whatever you had just consented to. He stops though, smirking as he seemingly remembers something.

“Try again sugar,” he tells you. You immediately know what he wants.

“Y-yes sir,” you say quickly, not sure how the words came out that fast. As soon as you say it, Jack begins to move again. You sober quickly as you watch the fierce man in front of you sink to his knees, letting his large hands run down your sides as he does so. Once settled, he looks up into your wide eyes and wets his lips. His eyes look heavenly as he beams at you with adoration.

You snap back to reality and feel the blood rush up to your cheeks as you finally realize what he had asked you. Still drunk on his kiss, you had answered him before you gave yourself a chance to think about it.

“Want to see if you taste as sweet as I've imagined, darlin’.”

Before you get the chance to respond, he leans forward to press a kiss over your clothed mound. He darts his tongue out to flick your clit, somehow knowing exactly where it is.

You involuntarily buck your hips to his face as your hands fly to rest on his broad shoulders. It's a new sensation—a welcome one for sure—but new nonetheless. You aren’t inexperienced, but you haven’t had many lovers, and none of them had ever been generous enough to go down on you.

“Oh f-fuck!” The expletive flies from your mouth as he repeats the action. He pulls back and you watch him grin against your thigh before pressing a sof kiss to the fabric covering it.

You feel your dress being bunched up in one of his fists, but he doesn't raise it yet. Figuring he probably wants your permission, you look down at him and give him a shaky nod.

When he sees the confirmation, he sends you another smirk that shoots straight down to your cunt. You bite your lip as you feel your dress rise up past your panties.

It's been a while since you had any sexual encounter, and you feel exposed until you see the pure lust in Jack's eyes; how could you ever feel uncomfortable under a gaze like that?

“Fuck darlin,” he says, eyeing your lacy black panties. “You put these on just for me?”

“Y-yes sir,” you say. He seems satisfied with your response as he extends the hand that's not holding your dress up to run a finger through the wet patch between your legs.

“Oh sugar, you been thinkin’ ‘bout me?” He asks you when he feels the wetness beginning to pool through the lace fabric.

“Yes sir,” you tell him truthfully. “All day.” You figure you have no shame left, might as well just tell it as it is. Though you are trying to sound confident, your voice sounds soft even in your ears.

You can tell by the way Jack's eyes glow when you admit your thoughts that he finds your nervousness arousing.

“Alright sugar, I'll tell you what,” he says as his thumb absently traces circles on your thigh. “I think you have been such a good girl for me so far…” To your embarrassment, you whimper at his praise.

“I want you to use my real name when I have you screaming for me.”

When you don't say anything, he looks up to meet your flushed face. Your mouth is dropped open slightly at his casual suggestion and your face feels like it's on fire.

He gives you no more warning as he smirks and hooks your panties to the side before shoving a finger into your dripping hole in one swift motion. You squeeze your eyes shut and relish in the feeling of having something filling you up. You immediately want more, and you tell him as much.

He chuckles darkly at your desperation as he begins to pump his finger in and out at a painfully slow pace.

“Remember your manners, doll,” he reminds you. You groan in frustration but comply with his request.

“Shit, please Jack, please give me more.” Your words sound rushed as they spill from your kiss-swollen lips. yup, all dignity out the window.

He approves your request by dipping another finger into your wet heat, but he does nothing about the speed in which he moves his hand. Despite the pace, you can feel the tension in your abdomen begin to build up embarrassingly quickly as he rubs against that spongy place you can never reach.

One of your hands leaves his shoulder to tangle in his hair. You whimper at the friction you have been craving all day and try to grind down on his digits in an attempt to reach that sweet spot deep inside you again.

You want to scream when he quickly extracts his fingers.

“Now darlin’, you gotta be patient if you want me to reward you.” He sends you a flashy smirk as he teases your entrance with the pad of his middle finger, applying just enough pressure to make it seem like he’s going to breach you again, but he never does. You shiver at the feeling. Bastard.

“Yes sir, I'll be good,” you promise him eagerly.

“Know you will be, such a good fuckin’ girl,” he mutters mostly to himself as his fingers split you open once again. He sets a faster pace this time, and you can feel the coil in your belly getting ready to snap. You feel his mouth envelope your throbbing clit through your panties and you let out a whiny moan.

“I- fuck Jack, im close,” you breathe out in pure ecstasy. At your unworded request, he adds a third digit and begins to pump his fingers at a near-brutal pace. You can feel a sheen of sweat beginning to cover your body. Just a few strokes away now…

He takes his mouth away but continues his attack with his fingers. He tilts his head up to watch your teary-eyed expression, your mouth slightly agape. He chuckles quietly at how fast he was able to find the spots that make you squirm for him.

“Now doll, here's where we work on that timing,” he starts. You barely register what he says through your haze, but you get the gist of it and furrow your brows. When he sees your confusion, he fills you in.

“You want to come, honey?” he asks you nonchalantly.

“Oh, yes sir,” you squeak as you feel a tear run down your cheek; you’re so close, you don’t want him to deny you again. “Yes, yes, please let me come.” your eyes flutter closed from the pure pleasure he is bringing you with just his hand.

“Okay, sweetheart, that's what I thought.” you’re not sure if you like the playfulness in his tone.

“I'm going to do a countdown for you,” he starts. “When I reach ‘one’, you can come.” Your eyes fly open faster than they had closed.

“Jack,” you try not to sound whiny as you protest. “Jack, I-I don't know if I can—I don't know if I can do that!” The grin that spreads onto his face is absolutely wicked—he has you right where he wants you.

“Well hon, you're just gonna have to, ain’t ya?” he tells you. “I'll have no choice but to punish you if you come too soon or too late.” Your eyes grow wide but you can't deny the curiosity that breaches your mind at what his idea of “punishment” might be.

“I believe you can do it darlin’,” he encourages you before you have the chance to protest. You know he would stop if you asked him, but that would be the only way out—and he would be stopping completely. You are so close, like Jack said—you can do this.

You swallow and nod down at him, signaling your agreement. By now, he has slowed down his pace drastically, and you would do anything to have his fingers abusing your cunt again.

“Okay, let's start then,” he says through his toothy grin. “I'm gonna to go from five.” Seeing you nod again, he brings his mouth back to work at your still-covered clit.

“Five.” You keen sharply as he mouths at your clit, prodding the bundle of nerves with his skilled tongue.

“Four.” you aren't sure if you are going to have enough control to make it to one. It feels almost painful knowing that you have to wait for permission.

“Three.” “There you go hon, so close now.”

“Two.” your breathing picks up and you can't help but let the high pitched moans barrel out as you focus on holding your release. You want to beg for his permission, but you know your best bet is to wait it out.

“One.”

Jack sucks hard on your clit as you scream his name. Your vision goes white and you suddenly feel like you’re floating. The intense orgasm seems to last forever, you’ve never felt anything so blissful in your life.

“There you go sugar,” you hear Jack's giddy voice coming from a faraway place. “Scream my name as loud as you need to.”

Other than the shudders that wrack your body, you are barely aware of anything else around you. It feels like you are suspended in another dimension. You can feel your juices running down your thighs and hear Jack happily slurping them up, muttering gentle praise into your sex.

“Did so good for me honey bee,” he tells you, “Right on time’.”

It seems like an hour has passed by the time you are finally able to open your eyes and look down at the man on his knees before you. It takes you a second to notice, but once your vision comes back all the way, you can see droplets of wetness make their way down Jack's face to drip off of his nose and chin.

Holy Shit…

Your eyes widen in time with your jaw as you begin to piece together what happened. You keep your gaze on Jack while you figure it out. He looks almost as blissed out as you do with his hooded eyes and his mustache covered in your slick.

“Oh my god Jack,” you say, feeling your face turn red. “I didn't…”

The smirk on his face widens and he opens his mouth to shove his fingers inside. He closes his mouth as he suckles on them and then pulls the digits out with a wet pop.

“Oh yes you did honey,” he says after he opens his eyes to meet yours. “And you taste just as divine as you looked while you squirted all over my hand.”

“Now let Jack finish cleanin’ you up sugar.” With that, he dips his head back down to lap at your sensitive folds. You buck your hips when you feel him graze your over-sensitive clit,

“Let's get these the rest of the way off, sweet thing,” he chuckles darkly as he slides his finger back and forth across the band of your ruined panties.

Not knowing what to say, you nod and step back for him. You start to bend down to take your shoes off before you slide your panties down, but you’re stopped as you feel him lightly tap the outside of your thigh.

Meeting your curious expression, he shakes his head slightly and shifts to one knee before tapping the one he had popped up, gesturing for you to place your foot there.

You want to swoon over him for how much of a gentleman he can be even though he was just knuckle-deep in your cunt. You shoot him a bashful smile as you comply with his silent request and gently place your foot on his raised leg.

He returns the smile before sliding your shoe off and caresses your calf while he sets it off to the side. He motions for you to switch legs and you watch as he repeats the motion with that one as well.

Once you have both feet planted back on the ground, Jack reaches up to hook his fingers into the sides of your waistband. He slowly slides the now soaked garment down your bare legs, being careful not to leave any residue on your skin.

Once they are discarded next to your shoes, he stands back up to his full height. He gently slides both of his hands onto your face and brings you in to lock you in a bruising kiss.

“What do you say, doll?” He asks you once he pulls back. You smile at him, proud of yourself for knowing exactly what he wants.

“Thank you, sir,” you tell him bashfully. He beams at your quick learning and moves one of his hands to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “My pleasure, honey.”

It's your turn to smirk up at him as you begin to descend onto your knees. He looks down at you with a look somewhere between amusement and confusion as you settle into a comfortable position.

“Aw sugar,” he tells you, running his fingers through your hair. “You don't have to do that.”

You put up at him in a mocking manner and stop your hands halfway to his belt buckle. “Please sir, I want to,” you tell him. You watch as his brows narrow slightly and his eyes grow darker.

“What exactly do you want, honey bee?” he asks you, though the bastard knows exactly what you mean. You decide to play along with his game anyway.

“I want to make you feel good, sir,” you say, looking up at him through your thick eyelashes. “Will you let me?”

He continues smoothing your hair down as he slowly nods at you, giving you permission. You hear his breath catch in his throat as your hands find his buckle.

You bite your lip as you anxiously fumble with the heavy thing. Once unclasped, you unzip his pants and tug them down just enough to see the large bulge in his boxers. He smirks as he notices your eyes widen at the size of it.

“You can do it, honey,” he rests his free hand back on your cheek as he assures you. You lean into his touch and gently take his thumb into your mouth, suckling lightly. His skin tastes heavenly and you hum in anticipation of how good his cock must be.

Maintaining eye contact, you reach out and give him a small squeeze through his boxers. He groans at the touch and you smirk as you reach into his waistband and tug his hardened dick out.

You give him a couple of jerks and watch the way his face twists with pleasure before you look down. He chuckles when he hears you gasp as your gaze trails downwards.

Holy shit.

He's fucking huge. Sure he's got length, but his girth is what has your eyes growing wide. You swallow as you look back into his eyes.

“Like what you see?” He asks, amusement clear in his voice. You roll your eyes as you give him another short tug. You let your thumb run over his tip, spreading precum over the head.

You smirk as he shudders above you. You lean forward to dart your tongue out over his slit, tasting the saltiness of it. He lets out a strained groan at the contact. “Like what you feel?” You ask him innocently. You look up to meet his now blazing stare.

“Now doll,” he pauses as he rubs your cheek. “That's one dangerous game you just started,” he says slowly. You swallow at his menacing tone.

“And I hope you are prepared to play it.”

With that, he grasps your chin, making your mouth fall open as he brings your face toward his heavy cock. He watches your expression to make sure you don't want to stop before he guides his stiff length into your mouth.

He wastes no time as he shoves himself all the way down your throat, not giving you the chance to take him slowly. Your nose nuzzles into the dark curls at the base of his cock as you try not to choke.

He doesn't move yet, allowing you to get used to the feeling. You try not to gag as you feel tears prick the corners of your eyes. You close them, letting the liquid stream down your cheeks as you swallow, trying to adjust yourself.

“Ah fu-“ Jack stutters as he feels your throat convulse around his length. “There you go s-sugar, just like that.”

You bathe in the way the blissed-out way Jack's eyelids start to droop and his mouth falls open the tiniest bit as you start to move your head back and forth. A strangled groan spills from his lips when you move back and circle your tongue around his tip before sliding back down to the base.

You feel him set his hand on your head, not pushing or pulling you in any way, just resting it there. There's a glint in your eyes as you look up at him and put your hand on top of his, pushing lightly.

Jack's eyes widen as he realizes what you are insinuating, but you can see the desire behind his expression.

“Shit- I-“ he fumbles over his words, "you sure sweetheart? I ain’t gonna be gentle.” You nod up at him as much as you can and push his hand in encouragement again.

“Alright darlin’,” he stares down at you with adoration, “tap my thigh if you need me to slow down.”

You can tell he has been trying to hold himself back, and you feel your wetness start to drip down your thighs as his face relaxes. He takes over your movements as he presses on the back of your head experimentally.

You give him complete control and submit to his request, putting your tongue out flat as he pushes you down his thick length. You moan out in pleasure at the thought of him having complete control and his cock twitches at the sound.

His actions start slow, but gradually build up as he begins to chase his high. He whispers praise to you in between moans as he fucks your mouth.

As you watch him, you think that the expression he makes when he is consumed with pleasure might be the best thing you have ever seen—better than the view from your cottage window. You hum around him, sending vibrations through his whole body.

“Oh, fuck!” You can feel yourself growing wetter the more Jack struggles to keep his composure. “S-Shit sugar, I'm gonna need t’ stop if you want me to be able to take care of you right.”

You whimper at the thought of his cock slamming in and out of your pussy and you feel more slick dripping down your legs. You squeeze your thighs shut, trying to get some friction to relieve the ache on your throbbing clit.

Knowing he's close, Jack pulls you off of him with a growl. He grins as he hears you whine at the loss.

“Now darlin’,” he starts. “There will be plenty of chances to do that again, for now though,” you watch as his eyes somehow grow darker still. “I want to feel that tight cunt around my cock.”

You can't stop the moan that escapes from your lips upon hearing his dirty words. You must be dripping onto the floor at this point, but you don't care. All you care about right now is Jack staying true to his word.

Hearing your desperate moan ignites something feral in him, and before you even realize what he was doing, you are slung over his shoulder, ass in the air, as he strides into his bedroom.

He flings you on the bed as soon as he enters the threshold and immediately goes to work pulling off his boots. You sit there stunned as he starts fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, exposing more of his perfectly tanned skin.

He glances up at you through his haze to see your shocked expression, and you watch as a lopsided smirk overtakes his features.

“You gonna strip or what, honey?” He asks you in a teasing tone as he continues undressing.

You roll your eyes and grin as you feel your blood rushing to your cheeks. As he looks back down to concentrate on the last few buttons on his shirt and you take that as a cue to tug your dress off.

Left in only your bra, you take that off too as Jack is tugging off his pants. Donned in only his boxers, he looks back at you and you watch his eyes rake over your naked form.

His smile falters and you think for a second that you did something wrong.

“You are so damn beautiful darlin’,” he says, easing your worried thoughts. You smile

sheepishly as he starts to walk towards the bed.

He leans over the side, wedging one of his knees between your own as he leaves a trail of delicate kisses up the column of your throat. You tilt your head up to allow his access and shiver as he brushes along your pulse point.

“Jack,” you say in a whiny tone, not really sure what you're asking him for. He seems to know better than you do though, because he lifts his lips up to yours as he slides a hand down between your bodies.

You moan into his mouth as he uses two fingers to lightly circle your clit. The kiss turns sloppy and you bring your arms up to circle around his neck, pulling him in closer.

He moves the fingers from your clit to tease at your sopping cunt. He slides them in one at a time and you keen underneath him, making his cock twitch in his boxers. His erection is almost painful now, but he wants to get you ready for him before he gives in to his urges.

You feel yourself climbing closer to the edge as Jack adds a third finger and begins to work at your swollen bud with his thumb. He can feel you writhing below him and he smiles into your mouth, proud of the way your body reacts to his touch.

“Jack, im gonna-“ You don’t get to finish the warning as you feel him flick his thumb over your clit, pushing you over the edge. Your whole body shakes with pleasure as you mewl into Jack's lips.

Your eyes roll back and you feel yourself clench around Jack's fingers, causing a guttural groan to escape from him. He pumps his fingers in and out, easing you through your high.

As you still, you lay your head down fully on the mattress and look into Jack's eyes. You feel like a schoolgirl as you smile lopsidedly at him, giving you an eager grin in return.

“You ready, darlin’?” he asks. You take a deep breath and nod at him. He leans down to plant small kisses on your forehead and on the tip of your nose as he pushes himself off of the bed to shed his boxers.

You scootch back a little, giving him more room as he climbs back up. Your stomach flips as you look into his eyes, feeling one of his hands come up to rest next to your head.

He dips down for another kiss and you feel the head of his cock find its way to your entrance. You suck in a breath as he begins to slowly push himself into your dripping heat.

“Oh- fuck baby girl,” he groans as he pushes deeper. You feel the hand near your head clench the sheets beside you as he sheaths himself to the hilt. His size takes your breath away and you are grateful when he pauses to let you adjust.

The stretch pinches, making you scrunch your eyes shut. When you open them again, you find Jack looking at you, concern written on his face.

He furrows his eyebrows and tilts his head, silently asking if you are okay to continue. You know that he would stop in a heartbeat if you wanted to, and the thought immediately makes you more comfortable.

It warms your heart to think about how much of a gentleman Jack really is underneath that tough exterior, and how lucky you are to be able to experience this side of him.

“Start moving,” you tell him after the pain begins to dull. You watch his features relax as he pulls back out halfway before gliding back in. You appreciate how gentle he's being, at least until you can get used to the feeling of being stuffed so full.

“Your wish is my command, sweet pea,” he tells you, sending you a wink. The pain from earlier quickly turns to pleasure as Jack continues his gentle movements. You moan loudly as he hits something devastating inside you, spurring him on.

“Ah- fuck, Jack!” You scream his name as he begins to speed his movements up. You can feel every vein and ridge sliding on the walls of your soaked cunt. Already, tension begins building in your belly as he starts to ruthlessly pump his cock in and out of you.

The room is filled with both of your moans combined with the lewd squelching noises coming from where your bodies connect. It sounds like pure ecstasy. You can hear Jack's breath growing heavier with each thrust.

You decide as he lets out a whine that there is nothing sweeter than the sounds Jack Daniels makes when he's buried deep inside of you. His noises fuel you and you can hear your moans growing breathier as he pulls you closer to the edge.

You watch a bead of sweat slip down the side of Jack's forehead as he draws back until only the head of his cock is breaking you open. Before you get the chance to figure out what he's doing, he slams himself back into you.

You try to scream but find that all the breath had been knocked out of you with the force of his thrust. Tears of pleasure brim your eyes as he repeats his action, faster this time.

Your arms slip under his own and you claw at his back as you get closer to release. You let out a moan as Jack grabs your thigh and throws one of your legs over his waist, allowing him to hit depths you didn't even think possible.

“Such a -fuck- such a sweet damn pussy d-darlin’,” Jack praises. You almost come right then and there.

“S-so good, Jack,” you say through a whimper as he continues his brutal pace. “Fuck!” You scream when he slams into a sweet spot.

“M’ gon- gonna come, Jack,'' you tell him. He smirks and snakes a hand between your bodies to rub at your clit. There's no way you're going to last between the new position and the assult on your sensitive bud.

“Go ahead darlin’,” He tells you as he lowers his head to slot his lips between your own, locking you into a messy kiss. “Let go for me.”

That's all it takes for you to fall apart underneath him. Your eyes roll back and you feel your legs turn to jello as you come on Jack's cock. He continues to whisper sweet praise into your ear as he works you through your climax.

You feel his movements grow sloppy and uncoordinated as you come down from your high.

“S-Shit, honey,” Jack gasps, “not gonna last.”

He gives about another half dozen thrusts before he's asking you “Where?”.

You don't answer him, and instead lift your other leg to wrap around his waist, bringing him into you. You whimper at the thought of filling you up and it pushes him over the edge. He stills and you feel the gush of warm seed spread throughout your cunt.

The moan he lets out is absolutely feral as he releases inside of you, making your toes curl. You squeeze around him, milking rope after rope of cum from his cock. You stare into each other’s eyes as you bring your arms up around his neck to pull him down to you again.

You bring your lips against his, closing your eyes as you both share the gentlest and most intimate kiss of the night. He lowers his body to lay on top of yours, being careful not to put all of his weight on you as he pulls away from the kiss to position his head next to your ear.

“Fuckin’ perfect darlin’,” he says gently. “Thank you.”

You smile at the ceiling as you wrap your arms tight around him, holding him close. You both lay there for a few minutes as your bodies begin to relax, you slotting your fingers through his hair, and him whispering sweet praises into your ear.

He leans up to brush his lips against yours one more time before grunting and pulling out of you. You grimace first at the loss and then at the feeling of your combined release leaking out of your worn cunt. Your attention is dragged away from the feeling when you hear Jack flick the bathroom light on.

He is only gone for a second before he returns with a warm cloth, using it to swipe along your folds, cleaning you up. You wince as the fabric runs along your sensitive clit. “Sorry, darlin’,” he chuckles a quiet apology. You squint at him but when you make eye contact you can't help but giggle too.

Smiling, Jack gets back up to dispose of the cloth before he comes back to bed and lays down beside you, pulling you into him so you can set one of your legs over his and place your head on his chest. You hum in delight as he starts to pepper feather light kisses into your hair.

“Not so bad for an old man,” you tease him. You feel him smile against your hair as he breathes in your sweet scent.

“Hey now,” he says in the same teasing tone, “it's starting to sound like you didn't learn anything from your lesson.”

You laugh as you roll yourself over to straddle his hips.

“Well,” you say as you look into his hooded eyes, “I've always said I learn my lessons better the second time around.” He smirks at you and grabs your hips, bearing you down to his already half-hard cock and you whimper quietly.

“That can be arranged, sugar,” he tells you as he scoots back against the headboard. “This time we’ll see how well you can follow instructions.”

#fan fiction #pedro pascal #ao3 #agent whiskey #smut #pedro pascal smut

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aloneinthehellfire · 8 months

Text

Chapter One: A New Friend, A New Enemy

The Pariahs That Saved The World (Masterlist)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: mentions of death, canon descriptions (vecna's curse)

[A/N: Thank you to everyone who seems really excited about this! I am going to try and post for this one weekly, just so I have enough time between uni and work to write new chapters :) This one is a little long, but I needed to set up Reader's character a little more so enjoy!]

The Introduction <-

A New Friend, A New Enemy

“Y/n!”

You slip off your headphones and greet your grandmother with a smile, laughing when she squeezed you tight. It had been almost 8 months since you watched her wave her hand of farewell in the rear view mirror. You had missed her the most, you think. Her warm hugs, her calming perfume, the way she cared for you.

“Come on, I’ve made us some lunch.” She hurries you inside and you laugh again.

“I need to grab the rest of my things, first.” You shake your head in amusement, escaping her clutches and darting back to the taxi, thanking the man for pulling out your luggage.

Just as you hitch your duffel bag over your shoulder, your eyes catch something familiar a few houses down. A worn out and beaten Chevrolet sat abandoned outside of its former resident’s house, a white piece of paper resembling a ticket you had seen when the mechanics would return your property if not claimed. You could just make out the ‘for sale’ sign driven into the mud, your heart wrenching. You had hoped your return would be free from unwanted memories. That obviously didn’t exist in Hawkins.

“So, tell me everything. How’s Stanford?” Gran rushes through with excitement just as your feet are barely inside the door. “Oh, we are so proud of you, honey. Our little star, a Stanford journalist!”

“Gran, you know it’s only my first year, I haven’t even managed to write anything let alone publish it.” You say, following her with your bags. She was leading you up to the guest room. Well, technically, it was your room. You had never really accepted that.

“Oh, did you notice the Hargroves house is for sale?” She whispers out like an unspeakable secret, and you dump your bags on the floor.

“Yeah, I saw.” You try to remain emotionless, rolling your shoulder until the usual ache faded. You were used to it now, the muscles flaring up every now and then.

“Apparently- now, you didn’t hear it from me…” She starts to lean in and you suppress a smile. Your grandmother, the gossiper. “Apparently, the husband just took off.”

“What?” You suddenly gain interest, frowning.

“Oh, yeah. The end of last summer.” She nods knowingly. “Must have been hard for them after their son died. It was a tragedy. And that poor girl… Andrea down the road told me she and the mother were forced to move into the trailer park down by Kerley. Not fit for a child, if you ask me.”

“They obviously couldn’t afford anywhere else.” You say, mostly to yourself, and Gran simply hums in agreement.

“Oh, which reminds me, Melanie, the one with the bird nest hair, she…”

She begins rambling once again about the neighbourhood, obviously pleased to have her granddaughter back so she can share the gossip. You listened intently, nodding when you needed to, offering your own remarks when prompted. You loved your Gran. The thought of her being alone in this house affected you more than you realise.

The real reason you were back wasn’t because you had missed Hawkins. In fact, you were set on your Spring Break exploring Stanford and all it had to offer. But about two months ago, your grandad was omitted to the hospital and a week later, he was no longer with you. Your Gran had shared how his health had been deteriorating for a while now, that they had expected it sooner or later. So, in the end, it wasn’t a surprise. It didn’t make it any less sad.

“Should I be expecting guests for dinner?” She asks and you blink, frowning.

“Guests?”

“Your friends.” She reiterates, already busying her hands by pulling out your already folded clothes from your suitcase and refolding them how she liked it. “I assume everyone will be anxious to see you. It’s been eight months, hasn’t it?”

“Uh…” You purse your lips, shrugging. “I don’t know, I thought it could just be the two of us tonight.”

Gran gently places down a sweater and eyes you suspiciously. “So, you’ll be seeing them tomorrow?”

“Maybe.” You give off the first vague answer in your head, fiddling with the sleeves of your jacket and sitting down on the plush bedding behind you.

“Hm.” She sounds, sliding shut the first drawer before she silently walks around the bed and sits beside you. “You won’t be seeing them, will you?”

It wasn’t a question. You lift your eyes to meet hers and sigh.

“We aren’t as close as we were before, Gran. It’s… complicated.” You decide and she takes your hand in hers.

“You’ve known them since you were just a little sprout.” She ruffles your hair and you cringe, laughing and batting her hand away. “I’m sure whatever happened can’t be so complicated that you can’t… I don’t know, catch up over coffee? Or whatever you kids are doing these days.”

“I wish it was like that.” You say, and you meant it. After a moment, she seems to understand that you didn’t want to continue this particular conversation and she stands, brushing her outfit back into simple perfection.

“Well, sandwiches, anyone?” She offers and you grin, nodding.

The day before you left for Stanford, you were contemplating whether or not it was the right choice. Gran was right, you have known them since you were a kid. But last summer changed all of that. You weren’t sure you could see their faces ever again.

So, rather than try and find them, you decided to spend the next day unpacking. You’d be here for a month so it made sense to have everything neat and tidy. It was just until the funeral, and then you’d be back at college and studying away any memory of Hawkins being your home. Because it wasn’t. Not anymore.

You can hear the distant ring of the phone echoing up the stairs, continuing to pull out your books. You might as well be caught up with your classes if you were going to spend all your time inside.

“Y/n!” Gran calls up and you push away from the desk to lean over the banister.

“Yeah?” You ask as she stares up at you, the phone in her left hand while the right covered the receiver.

“It’s your friend.” She says with a small smile and your face drops into a frown. “She says it’s urgent.”

“Uh…” You shake your head. Who would be calling you? “Yeah, I’ll be down in a sec.”

Gran nods and relays the information, setting the phone on the side table and disappearing back into the kitchen.

Your footsteps were wary as you descend the staircase, eyes set on the white object beside one of your grandmother’s vases. There was a hauntingly familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through your body, one you hadn’t felt in a long time. Once you reach the table, you shift your focus to the photo frame. It was small, a collected memory from a few years ago now. You were stood there smiling, the camera capturing you in pleasant surprise when a brunette girl behind you had jumped onto your back. It made your eyes sting, and you knew you had to make the decision to answer the call.

Hesitantly picking up the phone, you hold it to your ear and close your eyes.

“Hello?”

“Y/n?” Nancy’s voice blares through and your eyes snap back open.

Barrels of apologies and excuses spewed from her lips and you stand in silent shock, clutching the receiver a little too tight. She could only be calling for one reason. You had known it before you had even answered the phone.

Something was happening in Hawkins. Again. And if Nancy was calling for help, then she truly needed it.

And you’d never let her down.

“Have we met before?” You ask, studying the girl stood next to you.

The walls of the archive were surprisingly bright, shining an iridescent hue on her dark blonde locks. Her blue eyes were blinking back at you, pink lips stuck in a soft pucker of indecision. She was pretty. Really pretty. And at the same time she looked effortlessly cool, a jacket you wished you own. Something about her felt familiar to you, drawing you in.

Then a pang of guilt hits you and you force your concentration on waiting for her answer.

Robin felt weak. Who were you? It was taking everything in her to open her mouth and speak which, as literally everyone knew, was incredibly unlike her.

“I don’t think so.” Robin finally breathes out. There was softness in the way you spoke to her too, calming her nerves. Those strange waves of anxiety were being taken with the tide like you were her lighthouse in the stormy sea of her mind.

“Oh.” You scrunch your face with a smile. “Well, it’s nice to meet you.”

She was surprised to see you put out your hand but she willingly shakes it anyway, smiling back.

When you pull away, Robin seems a little more comfortable, coming closer to peer down at your old project folder, reading along with Nancy. You tried not to stare, busying your eyes with your own work in Nancy’s hands.

“Anything… juicy over there?” Robin asks Nancy and the girl throws her a tight lipped smile.

“Nothing new yet.” She responds and you notice the strain in her voice. She adopted it any time she was struggling to enjoy somebody’s presence.

“Victor seemed like a normal guy. Dead family, missing eyes, took a plea deal, sent to Pennhurst. Blah, blah, blah, blah.” Robin utters as she skims over the page below, slowly raising her head to look at Nancy. “What are we looking for exactly?”

Nancy doesn’t respond and continues flicking through the pages, making Robin’s eyes widen.

“Nance?” She tries again and you frown.

“She’s focused.” You offer, smiling. “She zones in so much that she zones out sometimes.”

“Right.” She nods slowly, still staring at her. “Um, so are we, uh… looking for any mentions of dark wizards or alternate dimensions? Things in that vein?”

You remember something and open your mouth to speak before Nancy interrupts with a huff.

“I don’t know, okay?” She sighs loudly, leaning against the desk and meeting Robin’s eyes. “It’s starting to seem like this was just a big waste of time. And you’re obviously bored so why don’t you just call Steve? I’m sure he’ll come pick you up. And I mean, I’m not really in danger here, so…”

With that, she walks away from the table and grabs another folder you had brought, furiously flipping through as she travels down a different staircase to the filing room. Your eyebrows raise.

“Woah.” You simply say, noticing Robin’s frown. “She’s, uh… hell, I don’t even know. Nance gets ultra focused when she thinks she has a lead on something and, well… she doesn’t like to get it wrong. Which is understandable.”

“So, she acts like this with other people?” She asks and you tighten your lips.

“Um…”

“Okay, that’s a no.” Robin groans, dragging her hands down her face. “I’m trying, I really am, I just struggle with whatever the hell bonding is meant to be, I mean me and Steve literally only bonded because we were both getting tortured and thought we would die. Which, no, not an ideal way to start a friendship but you know what, it’s better than whatever the hell this is.”

“You were at Starcourt?” You frown and she looks back at you, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up-”

“No, no, it’s okay.” She waves her hands, “I, um… no one really mentions it anymore. Unless it’s the news and they’re pretending like it was a-”

“Fire, yeah. I heard.” You say, staring at the stairs Nancy descended. “How did all of this start?”

“Excuse me?” She blinks and you turn your attention back to her.

“This… Vecna, was it? How did it start?” You repeat, shaking your head. “Nancy could only tell me so much over the phone so I’m a little behind.”

“A girl was found dead in the trailer park.” Robin relays, gulping. “Chrissy Cunningham? She’s a cheerleader. Was. They found her with all her bones snapped and her eyes were… gone. They think Eddie Munson did it-”

“Eddie?” You gasp, and Robin looks surprised. “No, Eddie wouldn’t do that-”

“We know. Trust me.” She says hurriedly, “He told us everything that happened. Apparently she was floating in the air and her bones were snapping- it’s a really gruesome story but the same thing, like, just happened to Fred and we need to figure out who this Vecna is before someone else gets hurt.”

“Okay.” You breathe and she raises her brow.

“Okay? I just unloaded a dump of hell onto you, and it’s okay?” She sounded intrigued and you shrug.

“The last few years have been… weird. To the point where weird sounds normal now.” You say, a soft frown on your features.

Robin wasn’t entirely sure where you fit into all of this. Sure, you had information they needed, you’ve been a part of their group for some time, you made sense. What she was struggling to understand is why you were here now. And why you weren’t here before.

“How’d you meet everyone?” You ask before she can. Any thought she had of questioning your arrival was cleverly misplaced. For the moment.

“I worked with Steve at Scoops Ahoy last year.” Robin nods and you frown.

“But I never…” You start before your eyes widen, mouth curling into a smile. “Oh my god, yes! I do remember you!”

“You do?” Robin tries to comb back through her memories.

“Yeah, Max dragged me there maybe… a week after it opened? She was telling me about Steve’s little sailor outfit and of course, I didn’t believe her, so she had to show me proof.” You giggle to yourself, meeting her eyes. “I remember you were taking a break outside, Max introduced us. Well, kind of. She never got to my name before Steve arrived with that stupid frown on his face.”

“I don’t remember that.” She frowns and you bite your lip, shoving your hands into your jacket pockets. “Sorry, I don’t mean that in like, a mean girl way. I mean, my memory is apparently broken because I’m very sure I would have remembered you. Not in a weird way, either, like- I just think you make an impression on people- a good one. Not a bad one.”

“It’s okay.” You laugh and she shakes her head enough to make her bangs sway in her embarrassment. “I looked a lot different then. And I was, like, super shy. I was probably hiding my face or something.”

“Hold on.” She blinks with a smirk. “You’re the girl? Like, the girl?”

“Am I meant to know what that means?” You squint your eyes.

Robin simply laughs to herself until she clocks your confusion. “No, I… Max did bring someone in for, like, one of our first ever shifts together. I remember because when they left, Steve looked like some kicked puppy and I couldn’t work with him and that stupid frown so I made him tell me what was bothering him. Apparently, the girl that left was the girl he couldn’t get in high school and it ‘haunts’ him. It’s so stupid.”

You go quiet and her eyes widen.

“Oh god.” She covers her mouth. “Did I talk too much again? God, I’m sorry- I literally can’t control my mouth.”

“No, you’re right.” You say, shaking your head. “Steve… he and I don’t really get along. Opposite ends of the high school popularity pool until I won this debate contest and suddenly everyone wanted to be my friend. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, but suddenly I was on Steve’s radar and, well, you know the rest.”

“You can do better.” She simply nods and you raise your eyebrow at her remark. “What? Oh, he’s amazing now. Like, a genuine gentleman kind of guy, but King Steve? Whew, that boy needed a leash or something.”

“You guys are pretty close, huh?” You ask and she smiles.

“Yeah, he’s my best…” She begins before her face drops. Oh.

“What?” You ask when she starts walking away.

“I know why!” She exclaims before turning her heel and marching down those steps to Nancy, finding her sorting through the filing cabinet.

If Nancy heard her, she didn’t acknowledge it. Robin felt so stupid. It had been a while since she’d been a part of ‘girl world’ or, more specifically, ‘girl-code world’. The thought of there being any tension hadn’t even crossed her mind before.

“You do know that Steve and I are, like, totally not a thing, right?” Robin asks breathlessly, leaning against the wooden banister.

“What?” Nancy frowns, shaking her head and turning to look over her shoulder.

“So I figure that you and Jonathan are still going strong ‘cause you guys are going to college together, and you’re like one of those unstoppable power couples, but I… I just… I wanted to make sure that you knew that Steve and I are just friends. Like, platonic with a capital P.”

Nancy’s response in underwhelming at best, a tight lipped smile and Robin almost groans in frustration. She can hear your sneakers steadily descend the stairs and she turns back.

“Just in case that’s adding any tension between us.” She expresses to Nancy and you frown at the interaction.

“It wasn’t.” Nancy replies and Robin sighs.

“Uh…” You start to say, both pairs of eyes immediately looking at you. “Sorry to, um, interrupt. I have stuff I need to do…”

“Right.” Nancy blinks apologetically, looking back at the folder in her hands. “I’m so sorry, I really thought I was going to find something. I… I didn’t want to drag you into this, really, it’s just-”

“Hawkins.” You finish her sentence, stepping off the final stair and leaning against the banister. “Yeah, I know.”

“Holy shit.” Robin gasps, suddenly grabbing the folder out of Nancy’s hands despite her silent protest. “Is that from The Weekly Watcher?”

She points to a specific part of one of the tabs and you move to peer over her shoulder, nodding.

“Don’t they write about, like, Bigfoot and UFOs?” Nancy scoffs, already dismissing the idea.

“First of all, UFOs are absolutely real. Bigfoot I’m still on the fence about.” She comments and you hum agreement. “But may I remind you we are looking for information on dark wizards? If someone’s gonna write about that, it’s gonna be these weirdos.”

“She’s not wrong.” You add and Nancy’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Yeah, there’s a whole article about Victor Creel. He claimed that a vengeful demon killed his family. Obviously I only added a reference for context, I never actually believed it. You know, before…”

You vaguely gesture the space around you and Robin flips the page over.

“According to several insiders, Victor believed his house was haunted by an ancient demon.” Robin read aloud, and you could feel the goosebumps prickle along your skin. “Victor allegedly hired a priest to exorcise the demon from his home- pretty novel for the 50s, Exorcistwasn’t even out yet.”

“Keep- keep going.” Nancy insisted and Robin frowns.

“That’s all that’s here.” She says and Nancy looks at you.

“He claimed that the exorcism failed.” You recall, staring at the cut out photo of the Creel Family. “He said it angered the demon. It murdered his family, removing their eyes.”

“Did it say why he wasn’t killed?” Robin questions.

“Victor believed he was spared as a punishment.” You say with a twist in your stomach. His whole family died. He was all alone.

“Yeah, that’s pretty convenient for Victor.” Nancy mumbles and Robin frowns.

“Yeah, or super inconvenient.” She challenges, her eyes looking at yours for support. You simply nod, feeling sick. “Victor was declared legally insane by the court, right? Well, what if this is why? I mean, it sounds pretty insane, it just didn’t go public because-”

“The plea bargain.” Nancy jumps in, and you can see her trying to slot all the pieces together, “The records were sealed.”

“What if a demon did invade Victor’s home.” Robin glances between you both. “It’s just, this demon wasn’t any old demon.”

“It was Vecna.” Nancy finishes, and you immediately start shaking your head.

“Okay, you guys got everything you need?” You quickly rush out, sorting the folder around so it would shut. “Actually, you know what, you guys can just keep that, I need to-”

“You’re leaving?” Nancy frowns, following you as you jog back up the stairs and to where you had dumped your bag before. Robin hurriedly grabbed your folder and followed suit.

“Yeah, I told you, I have stuff to do.” You mutter an excuse, slipping your bag over your shoulder.

“But what about-”

“No, Nance.” You suddenly say, much stricter than you intended it to be. You pause your steps, taking a deep breath to look her in the eye. “I hate that there’s something new terrorising Hawkins. And I’m sorry you have to deal with it. I am. But that’s your choice. I can’t do this again.”

Robin stood there, clutching your folder to her chest. Nancy was struggling with her words, and you didn’t look like you were going to stick around long enough to hear them.

“We need you.” Robin blurts and you look at her, frowning. “I’m sorry, but we do. You know more about this case than any of us, you dedicated, what, a whole month? Maybe more? To learn about the Creel House, about the murders. You have information we can’t possible find because Hawkins doesn’t like to keep around its records of murder, and- and Nancy said you were great at this detective stuff which basically means you know what we need to do next.”

Rather than respond, you start weighing your options. The best decision you ever made was leaving all of this behind. Stanford had everything you wanted; hope. Anytime you decided to help them, it was always your life you were risking. That they were risking. Why would this time be any different?

“I really hope you win this.” You finally say, offering half a smile before you push through those doors and don’t look back, disappearing into the darkening shadows outside.

“Damn it.” Nancy curses, resting a hand on her hip and the other on a table.

“What happened between you guys?” Robin asks into the silence and Nancy looks up.

“What do you-”

“I don’t want a vague answer.” She says, still clutching onto the folder pressed against her chest. “She looked terrified. Which, yeah, it makes a lot of sense under normal circumstances. But this was more like PTSD kind of terrified. What the hell happened last year that no one’s telling me?”

The silence left Robin in the dark, Nancy’s features pouring over in restrained emotion.

By the time you had dug out your keys with trembling hands, you could feel the prickling of tears threaten to spill at any moment. They had no right to ask that of you. Especially not Nancy. She was there last year, she knows why you left. And yet again, none of them were listening to you.

You sat in your grandad’s old armchair for about an hour, a book resting on your lap but it remained untouched. It would just be another distraction, another reason to pretend like nothing was wrong. To stop yourself from remembering, feeling.

It’s why you went to Stanford, really. You didn’t care about journalism like you used to. But the work load was almost unbearable, which meant that every waking moment would need to be dedicated to studying. If you didn’t occupy your mind, you’d have to relive last year.

“Hi, sweetie.” Gran says as she enters the room, a shopping bag in one hand. You hadn’t even heard her key in the door. “Did you see your friends?”

“Yeah.” You clear your throat, setting aside the book and leaning forward.

“What did you kids get up to?” She asks before quickly disappearing into the kitchen to set down her groceries. When she returns, you have your head in your hands.

You can feel her fingers gently pry away your hands as she takes the chair opposite you, smiling like she already knew what was going through your head. Looking at her, the way her eyes were glazing over, you felt so selfish. You had left to escape everything that happened last year, and you had left her for months to deal with it all alone. Here you were, wallowing in self pity because your friends hadn’t been there for you when you needed them, and it turns out you’re doing the exact same thing to her.

“I’m so sorry.” You say, wiping away the tear that trickles down your cheek. “I should have stayed with you and Grandad.”

“What?” She frowns lightly, shaking her head. “Darling, no. All we ever wanted for you was to get out into the world, find something that made you happy.”

“But I’m not happy.” You express, catching a sob that threatened to escape. “I just wanted to get away, get out of Hawkins. I wasn’t even thinking about it, I- I just couldn’t…”

Her hand suddenly finds your own, squeezing it tight.

“It’s okay.” She says and you lift your head up. She continued smiling, but it was much sadder now. “No one can expect you to move on from what happened last year as quick as that.”

“And what if I never move on?”

“It’s not about moving on.” She smiles. “It’s about acceptance. It’s about holding onto the memory because you cherish it, not because you are haunted by it.”

The clock in the distance could be heard counting the seconds as you sit there in silence. She was right, as per usual. You weren’t letting yourself feel. You should be embracing the fact that you still had her. Even with all Hawkins has been through, you still had her.

Your heart pangs with panic. She was still here.

“I should be getting to bed-”

“Come with me.” You offer suddenly and she raises her eyebrows.

“To Stanford?” She says as if it were absurd.

“I’m serious. Let’s move away, start fresh. We’ll find somewhere new, Gran. Please.” You beg and she offers a smile, capturing your hand by placing another on top.

“Hawkins is my home. It always has been. I was born here, I met the love of my life here. I watched my little one grow up and, when he had little ones of their own, I watched them grow up too. This is where my family is. I… I can’t leave.”

“No, don’t worry, I’ll get it.” You say, smiling. “You should get some rest.”

Your heart wrenches. If only she knew what you did. About what really happens in Hawkins, what lurks there in the dark. She can’t stay here, not when you know it isn’t safe. Not when she’s all you have left.

Three knocks echo out from the front door, and Gran shifts in her seat, quickly glancing at the clock. Who would be here at this hour?

“Thank you.” She stands with you, squeezing your hand as she dropped it. “Try and get some rest.”

You wait until she’s heading up the stairs and out of earshot before you rush to the door, gently brushing aside the small curtain and frowning at the silhouette. It wasn’t who you had expected.

The door is open barely four inches before she starts talking at you, ring-donned hands clasped together.

“Look, I know we’ve literally just met. And I probably- no, I definitely don’t have the right to ask you to stay with us, but we’re basically alone right now. Half of us are in California, we don’t have any connections in the sheriff’s department anymore. Everyone who would know what to do is gone, and you’re kinda the only person left who can help us. I get so much happened to you last year and I- I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but if there’s even a tiny part of you that wants to do this, then please listen to it. Please.”

Robin didn’t know what she was expecting when she left the school. Her feet had taken her further than her mind was planning, but she knew she had to find you. Max was in trouble, and they were all way in over their heads to not have help. Nancy refused to bother you any further, and she understood, she really did, but this wasn’t a normal circumstance. This was bigger than all of them, bigger than everyone.

“Robin?” You say, brows scrunched together in surprise. She thins her lips.

“Sorry to just blurt that all out, but I didn’t know if you were just gonna slam the door on me- or maybe I’d forget what I wanted to say.” She explained, feeling the embarrassment creeping up her cheeks. She didn’t want to say the wrong thing to you. “Max is in trouble.”

“What?” You sobered at the thought, leaning closer to her. Then, in a moment of split decision, you glance back up the stairs before stepping outside and closing the door behind you. “What happened?”

“We found a connection between all the victims.” Robin tries to explain, and you noticed how expressive she was with her hands. “Basically, Max has the same symptoms as the rest of them, and she’s, like, 100% sure she’s next of Vecna’s kill list.”

“Is she okay?” You ask, and Robin can see the desperation behind your eyes.

“Yeah. Shaken up, but she’s fine. For now.” She clears her throat, a pleading look as she stares at you. “We need to find Vecna as fast as we possibly can before he can get to her. I… I know about what happened last year. About your dad.”

You seem taken aback by her knowledge, eyes darting down to your shoes.

“I don’t blame you for wanting to leave all of this behind.” She sympathises, and she let herself be much calmer than she felt. “But I’m asking you if you’ll help us.”

Your heart was aching as you wipe your sweaty palms against your jeans, barely even feeling the cold rush of wind hitting your bare arms. You had meant what you said earlier; you couldn’t do this again. It took everything in you to move out of Hawkins, go to college and live a life the person you loved the most couldn’t do anymore.

But you were currently stood in front of a door. And behind that door, was the last person you had left, and she wasn’t planning on leaving her home any time soon. As it turned out, fleeing wasn’t an option for everyone else.

“I’ll do it.”

Robin blinks, studying you for any ounce of uncertainty. You looked deadly serious.

Maybe, just maybe, with you by their side, they were taking down Vecna after all.

taglist: @kryztalglear @officerrrfriendly @a-simpfortessa-lesbriean @spacedoutdaydreamer @em16cor @endurexxsurvive

[if you see your name highlighted in pink, it means that tumblr wouldn't let me tag you! i am trying to figure out the reasons behind this but it could be as simple as visibility settings so please check that <3]

#stranger things x reader #stranger things #fanfic #nancy wheeler #robin buckley x female reader #robin buckley x reader #robin x reader #robin buckley #sapphic #sapphic fic #st4 fanfic #st4

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gaiaseyes451 · 8 months

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Return to Eden - Chapter 1 (of 2)

TW/CW: Dubcon, Explicit

Published a new angst laden smut piece for the ineffable smut war over at @goodomensafterdark.

Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have averted the Second Coming and are trying to pick-up the pieces of their relationship when Aziraphale becomes plagued by nightmares. While Crowley tries to comfort him, Aziraphale is not honest about what - or who - he sees in his dreams.

Okay, a couple things on this one. First, Return to Eden can be read alone but it will make more sense (and be more impactful) if you've read Fractured and Shatter first - they're all part of the Before Eden There Was a Garden Series.

Second, please, mind the tags on this one! This will have a happy ending and I'm working on the second (and last) chapter now but be aware it is dubcon, and there is no resolution at the moment.

Head over to AO3 to read the entire piece (in the end notes I give more info on the dubcon and I tell you how to read the story if you want/need to skip the smut).

A content safe excerpt (continue reading on AO3): ~*~*~

Sleep had never been particularly high on Aziraphale’s list of Earthly indulgences. He had no real intention of changing this until Crowley had pressed the issue after the Second Coming.

‘Angel,’ he had whispered, cupping Aziraphale’s face in his hands and rubbing his thumbs over the thin skin bruised from exhaustion. Aziraphale looked up and was met with the full intensity of Crowley’s beautiful, golden eyes, open and concerned and devoted. ‘Angel, please. I’ve never seen you like this. Rest, just rest.’

The next morning Aziraphale woke to find Crowley in his arms, soft breaths warmed and cooled a spot on his shoulder, the demon’s long red hair sprawled across both pillows. He was so beautiful, so vulnerable, so trusting; Aziraphale began to think he may understand the appeal of sleep, after all.

Then the nightmares began.

Over the weeks the dreams occurred nearly nightly. He was always in ‘Eden’. He was never alone. There was always another, an angel, just out of reach, out of sight.

Aziraphale spent the nights chasing the angel, reaching to grasp his hand or robe or wing. He ran after him praying for a glimpse of him. But the angel eluded him, stubbornly hidden, always just out of reach. Aziraphale could not say the color of his eyes or hair, could not describe his height nor frame, yet the timbre of his voice, the rumble of his laughter, the tenderness of his embrace was etched on Aziraphale’s bones. He knew his companion—No. If he were honest with himself Aziraphale knew this angel was more than a companion. The angel was Aziraphale’s partner, ever present, never seen, always felt. He knew this angel in every way that mattered.

The angel was the source of the joy in ‘Eden’.

He was also the reason Aziraphale’s dreams ended in despair.

Aziraphale had never felt as whole as he did next to this spectre, yet each dream ended the same way: the angel was ripped from him, sometimes agonizingly slowly so Aziraphale was forced to feel him fade over time, the knowledge that there was nothing he could do poisoning their precious remaining moments. Other times he was taken so abruptly it felt as if he had simply been blinked out of existence. The loneliness when the dreams faded was suffocating, Aziraphale turned towards Crowley night after night for comfort, burrowing into the sharp angles of his shoulder and neck, seeking a small hollow in which to hide.

Crowley had always welcomed him, opening his arms to give his angel a safe, private place to cry silent tears. It was one of the few times Crowley did not ask questions and Aziraphale had never offered an explanation. Each night they had held one another as they both slipped back to sleep.

But tonight there was no rest to be had.

~*~*~

A huge thanks to my poor beta's who signed up for smut and got angst along with it: @the-literal-kj, @hakunahistata, @imgoingslightlymad81

#good omens #good omens fanfic #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #ineffable smut war #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #my fic writing #my fanfiction #mind the tags #mind the rating #good omens 2

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centrally-unplanned · 3 months

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youtube

As I normally do, I very much enjoyed Folding Idea's latest video, an interpretative discussion/cinematography flex about James Rolfe aka Angry Video Game Nerd. Anyone treating the history of the internet with the depth it contains, as a culture & medium unto itself, is gonna get a win in my book.

It also hit on a point I find myself always coming back to in cultural history; how often people confuse chronology & causation. The Angry Video Game nerd is, of course, one of the most influential "Youtubers" to ever exist, by virtue of being one of the first ever do, in video format, media reviews via a comedic lens. There are years where you can say he was the center of the whole genre. He inspired legions of imitators, some incredibly directly referencing him in their identity, and when you talk to a ~30 year old online creator today who does things adjacent to that space, you can bet good money they watched AVGN when they were a teen.

(I didn't - my stereotypical influence is the Red Letter Media Prequel Reviews)

But is he that influential? Depends on your meaning, of course. Because when you ask people what that influence is, they say something like "pioneering comedic, caustic, hyperbolic review video essays". Which, he did, but he invented none of those parts. As the above video outlines, caustic, exaggerated reviews of media have been around for about as long as reviews have existed as a consumer product; making them entertaining for their own sake is an incredibly logical leap to take. AVGN was coming around in a time where slapstick violence and faux-rage was entirely the vibe of the internet; Penny Arcade had been doing its thing for over half a decade before AVGN's first video was published.

And more importantly, video content in those days was obviously going to lean towards things like comedy and "skit" styles compared to say text reviews, because it complemented the medium better. It takes a lot of niche craft to make a rage speech pop on text; it's much more accessible to just be a good actor and be visibly raging. Going even more downstream, the "media mix" of people consuming content about the art they like or engage with was so old hat by the 2000's that consumer brands were using it as fucking jargon in marketing meetings. There isn't a world where this kind of content would not have appeared. It had to, the culture demanded it.

This is no grand dig at AVGN of course - this is to some extent true of all artists. As Olsen's video notes, what set AVGN apart was that James Rolfe was not a game reviewer; he was a filmographer, he had gone to film school, he was trying to make movies. Which in 2004 meant that he had a ton of cameras and lighting and equipment to make viable content in a way others did not. He had a technological advantage in exploring a new medium, one that would fade as webcams and lighting rings became as cheap as dirt, or shift as markets for crazy stuff like vtuber rigs would evolve. And of course the specific way he went about his content did imprint itself on the medium.

But not thaaat much; I think time has not been kind to AVGN. The humor is of course dated to its time, the MTV's Jackass of video game reviews. And as the medium of self-published video essays has evolved, the medium discovered approaches far better than comedic skit shows. Much longer content is possible, you can ride on parasociality and authenticity instead of endless "joke moments" (Or go the reverse - every comedy video from the old days is too long, a tiktok-level joke stretched over 5 minutes). Some of this was tech dependent as well, of course - youtube had duration limits on uploads in 2005! Making 4 hour Star Wars Hotel videos was not possible outside of stringing "Part 1 of 37" video playlists together. But time and culture marches on as well, and I don't think the average creator today is pulling from 2005 Youtube much at all, really. They are different eras.

As mentioned, if you ever deal with doing causation in cultural history, you run into this all the time - people essentially going "work X was first, and therefore invented the genre and influenced all after". And I don't think it really works that way - establishing causation just takes far more detail than that.

#history of the internet #folding ideas #Youtube

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icedsodapop · 8 months

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Okay like, I'm actually not angry at Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift for gentrifying fades. My beef is with Alyson Krueger, the damn writer who wrote the damn article, and the New York Times for publishing the article in the first place.

Alyson Kruegor is literally just White mediocrity embodied. Like, imagine being a lifestyle writer and not actually knowing what a fade haircut is, much less knowing that the existance of the haircut preceded Travis Kelce? Justin Bobby has pointed out on Tiktok that Will Smith (back in the 90s on Fresh Prince) and Drake have actually worn the fade before. Also, as a writer for the New York Times, a very well-known news outlet, does she not do her research? How embarassing.

And as for the New York Times, how does the 2nd longest running news outlet in the United States, with a total of 10,360,000 subscribers as of Feb 2023, not have fact-checkers?? How was this half-assed article even okayed by the editor?? My secondary school English teacher would not even pass this article!! The headquarters of the New York Times is situated in Manhatten, which has 199,592 Black residents as of 2020 according to Wikipedia, how did nobody at HQ who read this article look at Alyson in the eye and go, "Honey... this won't cut it."

#media #journalistic integrity #new york times #travis kelce #taylor swift

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boinkingbattlemechs · 1 month

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Wasp

Introduced in 2464 as an attempt by General Mechanics to create a fast and maneuverable recon BattleMech for the Terran Hegemony, the Wasp was revolutionary for being the first 'Mech capable of jumping, sporting a prototype jump jet system; however, the system was not perfected for most of the next decade. After improvements in production and jump jet technology progressed, the modern WSP-1A Wasp began production in 2471. Centuries later, it is still considered a valued asset for recon work and is one of the most numerous 'Mechs in existence.

The initial design was built without monomolecular stress-resistant materials (MMSR) in the lower leg actuators. This wasn't identified as a flaw until the 2580 Battle of Imbros III when many Wasp MechWarriors practiced the jump-kick maneuver. After performing the maneuver even once, so much stress was put on the actuator that any subsequent jump-kicks immediately amputated the lower leg upon impact. By 2610 nearly all Wasps had been retrofitted with MMSR actuator bars.

The classic WSP-1A has a ground speed that could be considered lackluster when compared to many modern light 'Mechs, but this was offset by its jump capability. While carrying heavier weapons than 'Mechs like the Locust, the Wasp would generally only engage other light 'Mechs, using its jump capabilities to avoid conflicts with larger foes. The Wasp was also used in the role of raider because of its ability to hit and fade in rough terrain.

Even after the sheer destruction of the Succession Wars, the Wasp still remained the most numerous 'Mech ahead of the Locust and Stinger; many thousands were in use by all of the Great Houses and in the Periphery while 100 or more were built each year from factories across known space. Nearly half of all newly built Wasps came from IBMU's and Kali Yama's factories located in the Free Worlds League on Shiro III and Kalidasa respectively. Among other major Inner Sphere Wasp manufacturing sites were Defiance Industries' Furillo factory in the Lyran Commonwealth and Achernar BattleMechs on New Avalon in the Federated Suns. Many of the Great Houses had Wasp variants built specifically for them, as did Wolf's Dragoons. Even out in the Periphery the Wasp was manufactured on Taurus, Perdition, Canopus IV and Alpheratz, making it equally common among the Periphery States.

The WSP-1A Wasp was not designed as a line combat unit. It carries a light weapons payload meant primarily for self-defense against other light 'Mechs and was not meant to engage heavier 'Mechs, resulting in tactics such as the jump-kick in order to deal more damage. The primary weapon is a Diverse Optics Type 2 medium laser carried in the right arm, backed up by a Bical SRM-2 launcher that is curiously mounted in the left leg which can carry one ton of standard or Inferno rounds in the left torso, making it useful against enemy 'Mechs and a good deterrent against infantry and vehicles. Published schematics indicate that the leg-mounted SRM-2 launcher is located near the hip.

The six jump jets, split between the Wasp's legs and torso sections, are responsible for its jumping distance of 180 meters and its longevity as a recon 'Mech. These also make up for the relatively slow 66.5 km/h cruising speed produced by its four-ton fusion engine. 10 single heat sinks are more than enough for the Wasp - it can actually fire both of its weapon systems continuously with little to no issue unless the jump jets have been overused. The three tons of armor protection is average for light 'Mechs, and with its placement around the chassis essentially two shots to the same spot anywhere will punch through and cause damage.

#battletech #mechwarrior #battletech smash or pass #mecha #tumblr polls

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jayspaceinc · 4 months

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Artblr+Writeblr Intro 🪐

Jay Space

• 23

• black + nonbinary (they/them)

• Interests: cartoons/anime, animation, writing

|| Genre:

Typically a clash of sci-fi future and fantasy/fantastical elements

Background:

I’ve been writing stories since I was a kid. Plus roleplaying for several years (multiple characters, couples, and storylines.) I have technically written one popular online fiction but it was on wattpad and it involves adventure time so we don’t talk about that 😅

|| Current WIP:

Book 1 of 3 of the ‘Dead’ Series: Are We Dead Yet? (sci-fi fantasy)

• 4-5 years in the making, 2 drafts in (one a complete overhaul), early chapters about to undergo editing process.

(Rough) Synopsis:

MAX is a rebel with no sense of self control.

GREYSON can’t afford not to be cautious.

CELIA is a world renowned icon.

KORI isn’t even a second thought in peoples minds.

SUMMER is a burst of sunshine.

AYDEN fades into the shadows.

Let’s gaze into the future— it’s 3056 and school just let out for the summer. It’s the time for fun, the time to let loose and live free. Or.. it would be at least if it wasn’t a string of unfortunate events back to back. Now, this unlikely group who knows little to nothing about one another most work together to unlock a secret they had no idea existed. If only they'd known the real secrets they'd be discovering.. would be each others.

Tagline:

it’s not about the journey, it’s about how you get there

Are We Dead Yet Book Info

|| My Goal:

I want to connect with other authors and artists as well as promote my own works and generate a genuine following for the art that I love to create. I admittedly haven’t had much luck elsewhere but I’m hoping to put genuine energy into making it working here.

In addition to that, I wanted to share my work on here before it’s published! I was thinking to motivate me through the editing process of posting some or all of the chapters here!

|| Art:

So now that I’ve provided all that, hopefully you’ll take an interest in my page/book and pop in every now and then 🥸

(18+ mutuals only please)

#writeblr #are we dead yet #awdy #jayspace #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #black writblr #writeblr intro #writing #art #beta reader #weekly update #digital art #art comms open #artblr #black art #black artist #doodle art

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drkmgs · 1 year

Text

It had my heartbroken 3

Wednesday Addams x Reader Weems

Warning: not sure if there's any...

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

I didn't plan to write a part 3 for this one, but I guess here we are. Thank you for reading this story and have fun! :)

I think this is the longest part 3 that I ever wrote...

The moment you vanished from their hug, you found yourself waking up to the sun toasting you, looking around to only find sand. The sand was everywhere. You don't remember how you got there and why you were there, but you had this feeling inside of you, it's something like longing for something or someone. So, you stood up and headed straight ahead, with no destination in your head but just walk until you find what you were looking for.

———

After what happened in that little garden, Wednesday Addams and Principal Weems seemed to get along better than before. They stopped bickering and settled with giving each other a nod when they see each other in the halls. Wednesday Addams stayed out of trouble and focused on her studies to become a Botany Professor. Every night since you faded away in her arms, she would serenade the whole school with her cello, the music that came from her balcony had all the students and staff, in awe, they felt her longing for you. Even Principal Weems sobbed one night while she was listening to her play and it made her miss her child more than ever.

———

You have been walking and walking, you don't know how long you have been in this desert. In this place, it felt like time is non-existence. You're exhausted and collapsed on the sand. You faced the bright sun, trying to even out your breath, you can feel the dryness in your throat and mouth. When a woman's hand with a bottle of water waved it to you, you instantly grabbed it and drank from it. The woman told you to drink slowly and apologized for being late. The woman looked awfully familiar but you couldn't pinpoint who it was, but you had a light feeling towards her. For no apparent reason you started to blabber about your previous life, you talked and talked on autopilot, but your brain right now doesn't recognize any of it and the woman just returns you a smile. A loving smile. The smile that you usually give to people you care about.

———

Wednesday Addams is still serenading the school every night. Her music does change sometimes. Some have heard her play something frustrating, and maddening, and sometimes it was just pure loneliness. She knew you wouldn't be coming back but her gut is telling her to continue playing her cello every night just in case you were stuck somewhere and needed some guidance to go back to her.

Principal Weems stood in front of your headstone, reading it 100th time now, and would trace the letters. She would whisper in the wind "I love you" and "I miss you" hoping you would hear it, wherever you were.

Happy 4th death anniversary to you.

———

After drinking your 10th water bottle, you felt yourself being drowsy, your eyes heaving, and you feel everything spinning in your head. The last thing you saw, was the woman smiling at you. Then it was pitch black.

———

Suddenly, you feel a light thud and sprung up. You looked around, scratching your eyes with your knuckles to get out of your sleepy state, and that's you realized you were in your apartment, in your bedroom, on your bed.

Your crazy dream probably was due to your stress, moving from Seattle to Vermont. You don't know Vermont and never heard of it, but once you read about it, all you could do was think about it. The strangest thing is that the so-called little town Jericho has been in your mind lately, that's why you specifically chose an apartment in that town. It isn't as luxurious as the one you had in Seattle but it felt like home to you, warm and cozy.

Dismissing the entire dream, you got up and headed to the bathroom to get your day started. You don't have to worry about your work, you're a full-time writer and you own a publishing company, which you could manage from where you're right now.

You changed into more cozy clothes and headed to the café, that you saw as you drove past it. The Weathervane. As soon as you enter it, nostalgia hits you, the feeling that you have been here and missed it, was concerning but you couldn't focus on that because your mouth has been watering for a taste of their hot chocolate. You finished your order and settled in one of the booths near the counter, you see all sorts of students wearing the same uniforms.

You're suddenly getting images flashing in your mind, some with voices and some just blurry colors. As it finished, you were already holding your head in your hand, and the barista came to give you, your order and also asked if you were alright. You smiled at him to assure him you were fine and thanked him for bringing your order. You eagerly took the hot chocolate and let the taste bring you back to that nostalgic feeling.

Flashes of images came back again, as you sip some of that hot chocolate, and this time it was more visible — a woman with silver-haired, blue-eyed, and red-painted lipstick stood tall and proud looking down at you with a smile that made your heart melt. The moment you opened your eyes, you had the same smile on your face.

After that delicious breakfast, you head out to the local bookstore. Again, as soon as you enter the shop, you are welcomed with a familiar scent, and now you're convinced you're going insane. You don't know where all these memories are coming from and why they're showing up.

Your thoughts were cut short when you heard the front door open, signaling someone else entered the shop. You didn't bother to look and continued your book browsing through the shelves when the person walked past by. Her scent filled your lungs — lavender and woods. The scent was oddly familiar, like you have smelled it before, the name and the face was at the tip of your tongue, but you couldn't recalled in that moment.

Later that night, you couldn't sleep. You tried everything to fall asleep, but nothing helped. So, you decided to sit out in your balcony. The scenery was beautiful. Dark blue sky, shimmering stars and the bright moon. You suddenly hear a faint cello sounds, starting to play. You look around where it could be, it wasn't somewhere near you, it was much further.

Then it clicked. The Academy. It's coming from there.

———

A couple of months passed by. You're now standing in front of two big doors.

Principal Weems.

It says. How long has it been since you saw this lovely woman? How long has it been when you found out about your past life? Those memories. You had a choice, either face them or forget them. It's clear which one you chose.

Two knocks

Come in! Please take a seat. I heard you're applying for the botany position-

She didn't change at all. She's still the intimidating, adorable and sophisticated principal, but older. You couldn't help but smile.

How have you been, Mom?

You saw how fast her head snapped up and how she's not taking her eyes off you. You know, she's waiting for something to happen but nothing happened.

Principal Weems-

As soon as you heard that voice, you didn't hesitate to turn around and greet the person.

Hi, my love.

You see her froze and progressing everything in front of her. You gave her a minute, but you couldn't help it anymore and threw yourself onto her. Only when she inhaled your scent, that's when she realized it is really you.

You're back?

I am. I heard your nightly serenading.

I- Please elaborate how you came back?

Honestly, I don't know. Before I came here, I had no memories about you and mom and everyone. Then all the memories slowly flooded my mind as I stroll around Jericho and everynight as I hear you play your cello.

You pushed slightly away from the hug. You scanned her features, from her eyes to her lips. You tried to fix her bangs as they got messed up because of your sudden embrace. Larissa cleared her throat and got up from her chair, walking towards both of you. She wrapped her arms around both of you, just like in the little garden.

———

"And that is how your parent came back." Principal Weems whispered as two little girls had their attention to her.

"I miss them." one of the little girls murmured almost falling asleep.

"You'll see them tomorrow, darling. Now both of you go to sleep." Larissa tugged both girls in and kissed them good night on their forehead. After one last look, she silently close the door and went downstairs.

As she make herself comfortable on the couch, her phone rang. She knew who the caller was and sighed.

"Wednesday, darling. Your daughters are fine. They're asleep. Please you're coming home tomorrow. Enjoy your and Y/N's alone time." Larissa sighed because this isn't Wednesday Addams's 10th call for today.

You snorted at your mom's response and told her it was you on the phone and that Wednesday was soundly asleep beside you. That night you talked to her on the phone until it was time to get ready for your flight.

Taglist:

@thedemoninme141 @lecsi @ipharaohosiris @zhasmindoesntknow @daryldixonsw1fe @pixielove-1 @screechcat @myfturn @loekaorlucaidk @bloxiasworld @natashamaximoff69

(I do not know as to why tumblr can't find some of you...)

#wednesday addams #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday x you #wednesday #wednesday series #wednesday netflix #larissa weems #principal weems #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #drkmgsstories

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grace-williams-xo · 22 days

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Bridgerton fandom, you have a problem to address:

I have been writing and publishing fanfiction on the internet for over a decade. Never have I gotten hate comments directed at me personally on any of them, until now—until the Bridgerton fics/fandom.

I have sporadically had comments expressing issue with the content of my work, but this has never bothered me. Don’t like, don’t read. Also, I cannot stress enough how infrequent this has been.

To have been publishing in the Bridgerton fandom less than two months (I only first watched the show in April) and have already received multiple comments, on multiple works, from (presumably) multiple people expressing vitriol and disdain for my personal choices on tumblr that have nothing to do with my fanfics is abhorrent.

It’s not a matter of reach. I have a story on Wattpad with 147k reads and 856 comments. None are negative. The same fic on ao3 has 16k hits and 133 comment threads, maybe two are negative at the content of the story (and one was full of blatantly and objectively wrong information so I just laughed).

This is a matter of fandom. I’ve published in eight fandoms and none have ever been as negative or hateful as the Bridgerton. Shipping wars this intense are not normal. Hate accounts dedicated to entire characters, ships and plot lines are not normal. Accounts dedicated to a ship making hate posts for another ship or their shippers are not normal.

Back to matter of my comments, I know that people will say to just turn off guest comments but it is bittersweet. I have received many gorgeous and heartfelt comments from guests that I would not have received otherwise. I have a zero tolerance for hate comments, they will immediately be reported and deleted.

If the matter continues, I will turn off guest comments for my Bridgerton fics. Really should be indicative that no other fandom needs this. Also, if my memory serves me correctly, none (or few) of the other negative comments I’ve ever gotten were from guests. People spoke from their chest.

I am an optimistic person. I am positive; I spread love and hopefulness. When a moot moves onto a different fandom, even if our friendship fades, I continue to feel joy every time I see them engaging with their new fandom so openly and joyously. Fandom is to be enjoyed. No, I don’t agree with every fandom opinion of my moots. We are humans. No, I don’t read the biography of every account I like/reblog. My likes are open a) bc I’m a Twitter native b) you can scroll for cat pics and joy.

As somewhat of an aside, I am in no way defending larries but even they and antis (who I have witnessed fight for over a decade) are not as vitriolic as Bridgerton fans. There are Bridgerton fans making hate accounts for fictional characters that have existed less than a week.

You genuinely need other hobbies. Please, find the joy in fandom. Fandom, shipping and fanfics is for making fictional dolls kiss. Let other people play with their dolls and enjoy your own.

#bridgerton #bridgerton fandom #bridgerton fics #bridgerton fanfic #fanfic things #fanfic writer #fanfic #fandom #fandom discussion #GW is thinking thoughts

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spamwmona · 1 year

Text

Rick Sanchez X Reader Through A Screen pt. 2

This took way longer than I liked to admit to finally publish but that's my bad. I've been going out with friends a lot.

You stayed in Summer's room, sitting on the mattress they had placed for you on her floor, a pink sheet and butterfly pillowcases covered it. You assumed it belonged to a young summer, along with the yellow and pink comforter you knew would be perfect for the wintery weather. You hated everything about this whole arrangement, but you didn't want to seem ungrateful. It wasn't the family that bothered you, nor was it sleeping on a mattress in a teenage girl's room. It was jumping from different universes, with a man who kidnapped you and now living with a version of him that suddenly “cares” about his family.

You wouldn't admit it, but you really couldn't remember anything from your old life. You didn't even remember how you ended up with Prime. Maybe that's why you felt so angry and agitated when Rick wouldn't stop questioning you, but you never told him you couldn't remember. How long have you not been able to remember? Did the memories slowly fade or did He wipe them all together? You didn’t question it much when you were with Prime, you were more worried about proving how much you loved him so he wouldn’t leave you alone again.

You stared at the ceiling creating shapes out of nothing, your mind racing with a billion thoughts. That’s all you got done since you finally started getting back to yourself.

The soft hum from the heater kicked on automatically, filling the slight chilly room. It was comforting in these times.

What if you never made it home? You couldn’t stay like this forever, just waiting to magically reappear in your old bedroom. You definitely didn't want to stay with the Smiths for obvious reasons. Your heart ached just thinking about how your family must have reacted to you disappearing. Did they miss you as much as you missed them?

Part of you worried about going back. What if they blamed you?

You sighed, and closed your eyes, drifting off into a dark slumber, part of you wishing you were back with Prime, because all though things were shit, you gave up on escaping and were able to get used to never knowing. Now you had hope back, and it overwhelmed you with many thoughts of how you could get back home.

Rick helped his daughter carry in the groceries, an uncomfortable smile present on his face, but no one could tell the difference, they were too happy to have him present in their life, something he wasn’t known for. His mind wandered to the girl upstairs.

What was it that kept him drawn in? Why did Rick program him to care so much? Was it to possibly get more information out of her? He knew just as well as the man who created him, there is no information to get out of her, nothing from her past existed in any of the dimensions they could travel.

He sat the bags at the table and listened to his daughter and her clone talk about how impressed they were with the work he had done to the house. He for sure went overboard with decorations on account he knew his daughter would be pleased, plus it gave him time with Y/N.

By the time they had set up a movie in the living room, you were waking up. Sweat rolled off your forehead and onto your lap forming a small damp area on the blanket, your cheeks were red and your eyes were bloodshot, and it felt like you had been sucking on cotton due to how dry your mouth had become. The thudding of your heart was enough to snap you back into reality long enough to process the dream you had.

You were about six, sitting in what you assumed was a therapy room. The reason you assumed that? The lady who was talking to you kept asking how particular things made you feel, if your parents paid attention to you, the usual stuff you guessed would be talked about.

What really caught your eye was the socks she had on. You were staring at the ground until she uncrossed her legs revealing the Rick and Morty socks that poked out of her shoes. Her pants rode up enough for you to make out the details to confirm it was Rick and Morty.

"Y/N?" She smiled at you, taking note of your interest. This was the first time your eyes sparkled in her entire time of talking to you. You woke up before she could ask another question.

One of your hands held you up, while the other entangled itself within your mop of hair, pushing it away from your face. You couldn't help but hope that was part of your memory returning, but it was so random and made you feel very uneasy.

Not as uneasy as the robot game you walked in on, though.

You locked eyes with one another and he gave a sympathetic look, making you internally cringe and walk back to the kitchen where you sat your glass of water down. That fucker definitely wasn’t Rick, which meant he was probably up to something and that made you uncomfortable enough to barge into the garage with a scowl on your face.

“Rick!” You shouted, looking around the room. There was a chance he was on a different planet, you just needed to confirm he wasn’t there, and neither was Morty. Well, until he walked in from outside the garage door with an angry look on his face. “Morty? Have you seen the real Rick? We have an imposter.” You crossed your arms.

“Yeah, he’s in a secret lab downstairs.” He responded in annoyance. You could tell it wasn't targeted at you, it was targeted at whatever was going on with his family.

You didn't understand why you were so upset, was it because you secretly felt betrayed? Of course all Ricks were the same. That’s what you told yourself at least, But you wanted to be proved wrong for once. You expected it and tried to prepare yourself for it, but it hurt. You knew the Rick in there wasn’t as kind as the one he created. He was cold and uncaring.

You followed Morty as he stormed into the kitchen. The imposter looked at Morty and asked if he wanted to tag his “grandpa” back in; but Morty responded with, “You’re not even my grandpa, youre a fucking robot!”

The Smith family looked heartbroken as Jerry, who had been standing by his side the whole time, cut through the top of his wrist with his ham knife, exposing wires. Things seemed to go in slow motion as they took turns dismantling the robot, but he looked relieved having finally been taken out of his misery.

You backed up into the garage again, deciding you’d rather sit this one out and enjoy some alone time tinkering with Rick's shit until he stops being a bitch and decides to face his family. You wouldn’t care for too long about what happened today, you had too much other stuff to deal with and promised yourself if it involved Rick to be over it in 24 hours or kill him.

@kisshuggay

#rick sanchez x reader #rick and morty #rick sanchez #writing #morty smith

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sweetrevxnge · 2 years

Text

Ghosts In The Snow

Chapter Five

Pairing: Vampire!Kylo Ren x Reader AU

Summary: Six long years had passed under the reign of the First Order. The bitter winters grew longer, and as they did, hope faded from the hearts of the citizens of Hosnian Prime. As a lieutenant in the Resistance cavalry, it was your duty to nurture that ember of hope. After a mission takes an unexpected turn, you are taken prisoner by a commander in the First Order, a mysterious man with an insatiable appetite—for violence, power, and you. In the coming days, you must keep the spark of your own hope alive from the dark confines of the Commander's castle.

Warnings: sexual content, violence, blood kink, gore, mentions/descriptions of injury and death

*concurrently being published on AO3 and Wattpad as well!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Next Chapter

Spotify Playlist

Word count: 3k

Chapter-specific CW: compulsion, light emotional manipulation (but it's ok bc he's a hot vampire)

A/N: "how am I supposed to live laugh love under these conditions?" -y/n to kylo probably

───────── ❅ 🦇 ❅ ─────────

“After you, my dear.”

The threshold of the doorway was all that stood between you and the prospect of freedom. Or at least, so you thought.

Moonlight peaked through the dark clouds above, flooding the spacious courtyard Ren had brought you to with silver light. Disappointment sank through you like a stone—not that you were expecting him to loosen your invisible lead enough to allow you to roam an open area of the castle’s property. All things considered, this was generous.

Tentatively, you stepped out into the night, disregarding your lack of footwear as you followed the ivory tiles lining the path. Short, frostbitten hedges surrounded you, perfectly manicured despite their leaves being brittle and sparse. Snowflakes dusted the earth, falling like tiny, frozen kisses on your skin.

Woven throughout the foliage were dozens of rosebushes, their thorns now all that remained of their beauty. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the garden in bloom, with rays of sunlight bathing the roses until their petals unfurled, inviting bees to collect pollen from each colorful bundle. But spring had long since passed. The stems had morphed into skeletons, their wilted petals cracking under the blanket of frost. It was oddly beautiful; something that was once so vibrant, now faded and cold, preserved by winter’s embrace.

Around you stood the high walls of the castle, with elegant archways and stained windows. Everything felt venerable, even down to the footsteps immortalized in the tile from centuries of tread, aging the fortress well beyond the Empire’s rule. Judging by the weathered state of the walls encasing you, the castle was likely constructed during the Grand Republic’s reign, dating it beyond the past three hundred years. To think that there was a time when its halls had been occupied by diplomats—ones who placed the interests of the people above their own aspirations. Much like the garden, their memory had faded in the presence of the First Order.

You stopped in front of two black iron benches arranged in the center of the court. They accented the focal piece of the garden: a pond, sheathed by a layer of glistening ice. You pictured a family of ducks paddling through it in the summer, creating tiny ripples as they splashed the cool water onto their feathers. The irony of peace existing in a place of such violence.

“What do you think?” Ren asked behind you, joining you in observation of the frozen water.

Releasing a long breath, you answered bluntly, “It’s hard to say. Everything’s dead.”

He chuckled at your honesty. “Yes. But even now, there is a certain beauty to it, wouldn’t you agree?” He stepped closer, pressing his chest flush against your back, offering you no heat. There was nothing warm or soft about him. For all you knew, he was made of marble beneath the layer of black fabric—his body temperature suggesting as much.

You instinctively pulled away, turning to face him. Quick breaths passed through your lips, the wisps of vapor lingering in the air like ghosts. Ren was frightening and beautiful, making him the most dangerous kind of monster. Not the kind that mothers warned their children of through tales, hoping to deter them from venturing too far into the woods, but the kind that the ladies at court would gossip about. The handsome devil.

“From a certain point of view, I suppose,” you finally said, turning your back on him once again. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of agreeing—even if he had heard your inner dialogue earlier.

Ren walked alongside you as you continued to meander through the garden. Even the slightest brush of his arm made the hair on the back of your neck stand. Although, in fairness, the culprit could very well have been the winter air, too.

You considered making conversation with him, less because you were interested in what he had to say, but rather as a pleasantry in return for the change of scenery. When you opened your mouth to speak, you found that the words were lodged in your throat, impossible to push out. Perhaps it was the icy air burning your airway, or another force entirely. Regardless, you continued to walk in silence, sorting through your thoughts—as you suspected he was, too.

It seemed as if the tile path had transformed into shards of glass by the way your feet ached, each step sending a wave of pain through your nerves. Determined to stay outside as long as possible, you ignored it, slowing your pace to accommodate.

“You’re shivering,” Ren stated, as if you were somehow unaware of your chattering teeth.

“Yes, I know.”

“Would you like to go inside?”

You froze in place, but unlike in the forest, this was not his doing. He came to stand in front of you, tracing your face with eyes as black as obsidian.

“I doubt that decision is mine to make,” you countered. The illusion of free will—as if you weren’t trapped in this castle because of him.

“You would be dead if it weren’t for me.”

You let out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, yes, how could I forget? The man who slaughtered my entire squadron—my savior.”

His jaw tensed. “It’s not as if I was acting of my volition. I was merely protecting my men, keeping my oath. Surely that is something you can understand.”

Of course it was. But you had failed to do that, and now you would spend a lifetime being haunted by it.

“Enough,” you said, tearing your eyes away from him as you turned to face the withering garden. The frayed threads holding you together snapped, allowing the flood of emotions to pour in. As it did, you wondered if it would always be like this. Reminded of the carnage every time you laid eyes on him. Sentenced to a miserable existence with the man responsible for your nightmares.

A hand came to rest on your shoulder. You shuddered at the touch. “For what it’s worth, their deaths were wholly unnecessary.” There was a trace of remorse in his words, quickly replaced by his usual tone. “But such is the nature of war, my dear.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, biting your tongue before you could say anything else. When you opened them again, Ren was standing in front of you, close enough to hide the moonlight behind him.

“Why did you do it?” Your voice cracked as you spoke, fighting desperately to hold back your frustration.

He furrowed his brows, confused by your question. “The Supreme Leader’s orders were clear–”

“No,” you snapped, a harsh edge replacing the weakness in your voice. “I mean, why did you capture me? How is it fair that I should be the only survivor, condemned to live out the rest of my days under your thumb?”

As soon as the words had left your mouth, you wished you could reach out and shove them back into the depths of your mind. He didn’t deserve to see you like this, brimming with raw emotion. It was a state you reserved only for those closest to you, those who you would likely never see again.

Ren was silent, stoic. In a moment like this, you wished you possessed his ability to probe minds. Instead of offering you an answer, he cupped your face, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone and jaw, tracing a line as light as a whisper over your skin.

Immediately, the tension in your shoulders dissolved, washed away along with every concern occupying your mind. Despite his cool touch, warmth rose to your cheeks.

“Have you ever considered the possibility that this arrangement could liberate you in ways you’ve never imagined?” His voice was silky, falling on your ears like a symphony of angels. A soft cloud settled over you, eliciting a strange feeling within your chest as you gazed up at him, searching his black eyes for an answer to his question.

“I have not, my lord,” you whispered, the words leaving your tongue like a prayer.

Ren’s lips parted, revealing brilliant white teeth as he grinned, amused by your response. “Of course not. And why should you have? Such thoughts have no place in a mind as troubled as yours.” He swept his fingers over your cheek again, soothing you.

You nodded into his hand. The cold that gnawed at your fingers and toes was nothing more than a distant sensation, an ache quelled by his touch. He glanced down at your figure, frowning at the sight of your dress. In the time that the two of you had been standing outside, a light layer of snow had melted into the thin fabric of your gown, clinging to your skin. With deft fingers, he tied the strings of your cloak into a small knot and smoothed the fabric over your shoulders.

“Now, let’s go inside. I can’t have my bride freezing to death,” he said in a low tone, leaning closer to your lips. “Next time, I advise you to wear more fitting attire.”

Next time. Intoxicated by his words, you nodded in agreement, your eyes still fixed on his.

As if you were a sack of feathers, he hoisted you off the ground, holding you as he did in the forest. Only this time, there was no fear in your heart, no panic closing off your throat. With your hands clasped behind his neck, he carried you back into the castle, moving swiftly through the courtyard. Although the taste of freedom was dwindling with every step he took, you were content—almost pleased—to be returning to the safety of your chambers.

Your head felt as light as the cushions of the chaise lounge as Ren set you down upon it. The memory of where his hands had gripped you remained after he released you, leaving your skin tingling at each spot. In the darkness, it was nearly impossible to see him moving through your chambers, an issue remedied by a fire roaring to life in the hearth.

Satisfied with his work, Ren stood behind the sofa, peering down at you laying across it. Golden flames flickered in his eyes, softening his strong features. Your cloak had shifted, exposing more of your nightwear than you would’ve preferred. But you didn’t mind. In fact, you liked it—how the sleeves had fallen past your shoulders and the hem of the dress had gathered above your knees. You felt ethereal, basking in the glow radiating from the hearth. You couldn’t recall the last time you’d been this relaxed.

You sighed, closing your eyes as you relished the warmth spreading through your toes. “Who should I thank for starting this fire—you or your magic?” You made a vague gesture with your hands, wiggling your fingers as if you were casting a spell.

He chuckled quietly, moving to sit in the chair across from yours. “Neither. Thank the tinderbox that was left on the mantle.”

Propping yourself up with your elbow, you turned to face him, letting your dress drape over your hips. The knot at your neck loosened with every movement you made until you finally grew tired and pulled it free, shedding your cloak onto the sofa. Under any other circumstance, you would be scrambling to cover yourself. This was completely unlike you—to allow anyone other than your handmaid to see you like this. Harlot, your mother would say in her scolding tone, coupled with a scowl. But she wasn’t here—only Commander Ren.

“I find it hard to believe that you’re incapable of starting a fire, given everything else you can do.”

“Unfortunately, I was never any good at it,” he said, his eyes wandering to the golden flames. “Pyromancy, however, has always been one of my strongest suits.”

The conversation stalled for a moment as you watched his fingers glide over the armrest, hypnotized by the patterns he traced in the black velvet. His veins mingled with tendons as he moved—an intricate dance beneath his ivory skin. Somewhere deep within you, an ember flickered to life, its warmth spreading throughout your being. It was unusual, but not unwelcome.

“How can you do these things?” you asked, your voice floating through the air like the wisps of a dandelion.

He sighed, rolling his tongue over his teeth in thought. Finally, he said, “I was raised by witches.”

Your eyes widened—not in shock at his answer, but because he had answered at all. Rey’s words echoed in your mind. Commander Ren is a very private man.

“Witches? As in, multiple?”

He snickered softly. “Just two.”

“I see,” you whispered, watching him intently. There was something inherently alluring about him, an appeal that had drawn you in the instant you laid eyes on his portrait. An indescribable—yet persisting—quality. A charm.

After the success of your first question, you found the courage to pose another. “What were they like?”

A beat passed before he spoke, unease filling your stomach as you waited. The look in his eyes told you that your valiant effort was in vain. “What else did the handmaid tell you?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his seat.

His words hit your chest like a thousand stones, shattering your confidence. Rey had warned you—begged you—to not discuss the matter of the Commander, fearing the consequences awaiting her if she did. Guilt crashed into you.

“Nothing. She said nothing else,” you stammered, pushing yourself up to a sitting position. With pleading eyes, you turned to him. “I swear it by all the gods.”

Ren stood to his feet, shushing you as he strode toward you. “There’s no need to call upon the gods, dear. I believe you.” His long fingers caressed your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his intense gaze. “I also believe that the girl is sensible enough to want to keep her head attached to her body. You asked her about me, didn’t you?”

Your heart slammed into your ribs, as if it were attempting to leap out and crawl into Ren’s hands. There was no use in arguing—he already knew the truth. The outcome of your fate depended on any ounce of respect you could earn from him. Lying now would be a disservice to everyone involved.

“Yes, I admit, I asked her to tell me what she knew of you, but she refused. It was only after I continued pressing the matter that she finally answered. Please, have mercy on her, she is innocent–”

He silenced you by pressing a finger against your lips. “If I beheaded every servant who spoke ill of me, the castle would be swept by ghosts.”

You said nothing, an unspoken understanding passing between you. While you believed him, there was also validity in Rey’s fear. Even the servant boy cowered in his presence. If one thing were true in this life, it was that rumors carried weight, and at times, merit.

“Why do they fear you so much?” you asked as his thumb brushed over your chin.

Ren let out a long sigh as he ran his fingers down your neck, pausing at your pulse point. “People fear what they do not understand.”

The air grew thick in the silence. A familiar sensation embraced you, igniting every fiber of your being under his touch. Much like the fire in front of you, the ember in your belly became an inferno. Your gaze fell to his pillowy lips, imagining what they would feel like against yours—what they would feel like on every inch of your skin. As soft as sin, probably. His eyes were coals, twinkling in the amber light, a tell that your thoughts were not as quiet as you had hoped.

“What do you fear most, darling?” he asked, his voice low and inviting. “I imagine that a woman like yourself doesn’t fear much, but everyone has their weakness.” He tilted your head slightly to the side, eyes wandering down your neck. “What is yours?”

Blood rushed in your ears, making you dizzy. Through the haze in your mind, a tiny voice broke through, begging you to resist him—resist the urge to bend to his will. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to barricade your thoughts, and as his eyes bore into yours, irises now a deep shade of red, his devilry won.

“Purpose.” The word passed through your lips like a specter, carrying a cadence that was foreign to your ears. “I fear a life without purpose.”

Satisfaction radiated off of Ren. “I see. And that is exactly why you were the only survivor.” He stretched his hand over your throat, applying gentle pressure to either side of your neck. The rhythmic drumming of your heart pulsed through his fingertips. “Because your purpose is so much greater than serving the Resistance.”

“What do you believe my purpose is, Commander?”

The backlight of the hearth cast a halo around him, deifying him. Ignoring your inquiry, he said, “The night is almost over. I suggest you get some rest.”

With that, he left you, somehow more cold and alone than you had been before. As the latch clicked shut, the haze lifted, quickly replaced by dread. Your vision tunneled on the fire in front of you, the black edges snuffing out your surroundings, narrowing your view to only the flames dancing over the logs.

As you stood from the lounge, your knees buckled, forcing you to summon all your strength to reach the bed before collapsing. Chest heaving, you stared up at the canopy, hoping to find anything but flecks of light dancing across your eyes. The voice in your head was shouting now, building to a deafening pitch, its message clear.

In the wake of his presence, two things remained: your distrust of Commander Ren and the strange warmth that had settled in your stomach.

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hell-drabbles · 7 months

Note

Tw:Gore?

Itching itching itching

This was agonising

You didn't know what those damn angels

Did

But it was agonising

Itching itching itching

Blunt nails scratching and digging into flesh

Trying to get rid of the discomfort

Tears dripping down your face as you grit your teeth in a silent scream

Itching itching-

Tearing

Clawing at your skin and flesh in agony as you feel your spine pop and crack

Something tries to dig and scratch it's way out of your flesh like maggots it writhes underneath the skin and flesh

Sharp needle like as it rips through flesh

Spine cracking and popping open

Breaking and reforming to accommodate something

If you could crack your skull open and die right now you would

The head breaking pain as if something was trying to erupt from your mind

Your skin constantly ripples as if it is keeping something living within it as the flesh underneath desperately tries to keep something within

Something pushes and rips and stabs through muscles and veins until-

Pop

You can't tell if the screaming was from you or not

The world didn't feel real

You couldn't feel you back

As whatever was beneath the skin forces it's way out with sickening cracks and pops

Squelching through the blood as it pours down your back like a river

A horrifying sight for the angels watching this

Two bare bloodied wing like bones ripping through your back tearing open like a nest of parasites ripping out of a host flesh and veins tear out with the wings hanging from the bare bones staining them in crimson

You scream and scratch till your skin is raw and your voice is sputtering as your flesh reforms trying to grow and cover the wings and great white feathers sprout and split from the skin pushing through the raw flesh but it is barely moment before they fall in large clumps of useless white material not even clinging to the newly generated flesh

Fingers dig into your skull as you slam your head into the ground

Bright golden white visions bombard the inside of your skull

Echoing like whispers moving too fast

And being too much

You see too much

Yet too little all the same

When will this end

Itching itching scratching

Silence

Sorry this is shitty

Dante anon

(Tis fine, tis fine, I've endured many a shitty writing, fanfiction or published, so this is fine by all means. The YA novel industry is in shambles.)

Past the pain, in small spots, you can see it.

The sunlight, in all its orange and comforting light.

When your wings have stopped falling off in chunks, when, for a moment, you see something other than that blinding and most holy light that burns your vision white, you can see that beautiful, temporary orange.

A sunrise. A dawn shared with your home, with your earth.

When the sun comes, you're pulled from everything. From your commands, from your intoxicating love for a god you do not know, from your existence something that should have been, but is not.

The sun comes and you're you again, if only for a few precious moments. You don't hear prayers whispering in your ears compelling you to join, you only hear the wind as it caresses you. You don't feel the need to itch and deliver this pain onto everything else that lives happily without god, you only feel compelled to fall into the sun's hands.

You want to be carried away in that warmth. To be surrounded in it.

And as you sit on the ground, surrounded by your own bleeding flesh, you wish to be burned into the sun you wake up to every morning.

But, as with all days, they fade.

And so do you.

#admin #writer: dante.anon #what in “hell” is bad #whb #what in hell is bad #drabble #reader insert #embittered companion au

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clarepreed · 8 months

Text

Fade Part Five: Fated End

Story Content and Summary - 9,243 words. On a visit to meet Deirdre's family, someone from her past attempts to take matters into their own hands, potentially extinguishing her light forever. Torsades de Pointes, on-site resuscitation by both humans and fae.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

“Where are we going?” Archer laughed, eyeing the washed-out dirt road they’d just turned down. “And I’m glad I’m driving; would your hatchback make it down this road?”

“I’m pleased that neither of you asked me to drive my car,” Asa said from the back. “And Fae wishes that we were not in the car at all.”

Deirdre turned to look at the carrier buckled into the empty seat next to Asa. A quiet mew found her ears, and she saw Fae move restlessly behind the mesh of the carrier. “Oh, poor little one. Would you get her out for me, Asa? I’ll hold her.”

A moment later, his long arms reached between the front seats, Fae’s furry gray body caught gently in his hands. Deirdre scooped the kitten from him and brought her against her chest, cooing soothing words into her ear. A few seconds later, Fae started purring, evidently no longer concerned by the harsh rocking of the SUV.

“This road is not maintained on purpose,” Deirdre explained. “There’s another road on the other side of the mountain, with a guardhouse. It adds over two hours to the trip. This is a service road with a gate about halfway down. I will get us in. The road is like this to discourage visitors.”

“Doesn’t deter four-wheelers, it looks like,” Archer noted, his eyes on the road.

“No.” Deirdre laughed. “That’s what the gate is for. Not much has changed… when I left, human teenagers were passing the ‘No Trespassing’ signs with great regularity. Of course, you must remember; we do want some interaction between fae and humans.”

Archer glanced over at her and smiled. His warm eyes held contentment and his posture seemed relaxed despite the rough road.

“So…” Asa spoke from the back, his tone droll. “Forgive me, but could you explain again why your kind wants some of us to know about you? Aside from the part where you fell in love with my brother and fished him out of the lake.”

“Our magic, ánh, is dependent on humans believing magic or fae exist. It’s why we often provide financial backing to publishers of fantasy novels and movies.” Deirdre sighed and scratched Fae between the ears. “Of course, some creators have turned out to be not worth the effort.”

“She’s talking about wizards,” Archer interjected for Asa’s benefit.

“Didn’t that get an entire wing of an amusement park?” Asa asked.

“Yes, but the author has a heavy dose of the human obsession with all of you being the same. Fae don’t limit other fae’s gender identity or expression. Or lack thereof.” Deirdre turned to look back at Asa. “I am appreciative that you two are not so rigid.”

“You can thank our parents,” Archer clarified, his voice soft as he kept his eyes trained on the rough dirt road. “They raised us to believe that differences are beautiful.”

“Our mother was half Egyptian,” Asa continued. “She experienced racism growing up. And our father was Catholic in a Protestant town. They were strong people who chose to be open-minded when they had every reason to be angry and suspicious of others.”

“I wish I could have met them,” Deirdre murmured, her eyes on Archer’s profile.

“They would have liked you,” Asa assured her. “You could have flown in front of them. Dad would have crossed himself and then asked if you were an angel. Honestly, it was the first thing I thought, and I haven’t been to Mass in… twenty years.”

The SUV slowed, and Deirdre turned to hide her blush and spotted the imposing panel that cleaved the road in two.

“We found the gate.” Archer sounded bemused.

“That looks like a wall,” Asa corrected. “A gate is something which can be moved.”

“I can move it,” Deirdre announced, turning again to Asa. “Will you hold Fae while I take care of the gate? Archer will need to drive through and then I’ll close it again.”

She deposited Fae into Asa’s outstretched hands. The kitten stretched her limbs, wiggling and squeaking her displeasure until Asa sat her on his lap and rubbed her ears.

“Okay, you’re opening it and I’m driving through and you’ll close it behind us?” Archer asked. He eyed her with something like awe. “Don’t, uh, pull a muscle.”

She blew him a kiss as he slowed the SUV to a stop, then slid down out of the vehicle, glad she’d dressed for the occasion in leggings and deck shoes. The packed dirt under her feet felt soft in spots, speaking to recent rain. Picking her way carefully through the ruts, Deirdre walked to the sheet of steel and touched it with the palms of her hands. “Pe’erta!”

Light pulsated from her chest and ran down her arms, sinking into the cold metal. She heard the rending shriek of metal on metal and the gate shuddered, sliding to the right on a dirty track. Should have taken the extra time to go around, she thought, her arms shaking and sweat sprinting out over her body as she walked along with the gate. The mechanism fed off of the magic of the town hidden in the forest or she wouldn’t have been able to open it at all. Still, by the time she got the gate open enough for Archer to drive through, she leaned on the gate, winded and shaking.

Deidre heard an SUV door open, and Archer came around the back end. He shoved his hands in his pockets, stopping just in front of her.

“Is there anything I can do to help with that, love?” His posture and face bled concern, taking in her wilted appearance and no doubt feeling her struggle through their bond.

“It is too heavy for even brute strength,” Deirdre stated, wiping her brow on her sleeve. “No offense meant.”

“Oddly enough, I was not offended.” Archer grinned, though she could tell he was still worried. He walked up to her and gently took her arm in hand. “If we left it open, could someone come back and close it behind us? Asa was in there muttering about your heart, and I can feel how much of an effort that was for you. You’re shaking.”

Deirdre dropped her hands from the gate. “I could call someone. Tell them I cannot close it.” Dread settled heavy in her chest. She did not want to tell her family and friends that she could not perform this task. That she was too weak to do so.

“Incoming!” Asa called from within the SUV.

Deirdre looked up. Sure enough, a figure moved in the distance. A fae man, wings pumping powerfully as he flew toward him.

“Looks like someone is coming to help,” Archer said, relieved.

The fae man drew closer, and Deirdre noticed his hair: long, golden, and unrestrained. A sinking suspicion made her reach for Archer’s hand, gripping it tight.

“What is it?” he asked her, concern replacing his relief. “Or, who is it?”

“Atmos.” Deirdre curled her free hand around the end of the gate until her fingers turned white. “My ex.”

*** Archer held on to Deirdre’s hand and considered the approaching man. Whatever Asa’s descriptions of Deirdre in flight were, this was the avenging angel. Cut straight from the hyperbolic artwork of White Christianity, the man’s face was a study of haughty contempt as he landed, gracefully barefoot, taking in Archer’s SUV, then his person, then his hand around Deirdre’s.

The sculpted pink lips twisted. Then he looked at Deirdre and his features relaxed, longing flaring in his blue eyes before that, too, faded.

“Atmos,” Deirdre almost drawled, and Archer’s brow twitched.

Atmos’s mouth pulled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, exposing white teeth as he folded his wings and stalked toward them. Archer saw the rear passenger door of his SUV pop open, and Asa climbed out, his eyebrows lifted. Tall and broad through the shoulders, Atmos stood in front of them—too close, Archer thought—seeming to attempt to both intimidate Archer and disarm Deirdre, all while accomplishing neither.

Everyone fell silent. Then the man’s face paled and twisted into a dark scowl, and Archer had his first actual misgivings.

“Deirdre? Ánrhen mit antó?” Atmos’ shock and meaning were clear, even if only half of the words were familiar.

“Archer, this is Atmos Thoniel Deu O’r Perëndierdők Noordttang. Atmos, meet my bonded mate, Archer James Neal.” Deirdre stared up at the fae man, a challenge in her light eyes. “Behind you is Archer’s brother, Dr. Asa Neal.”

“Oo expothan se yitabib?” Atmos stared at her, his throat working.

“Asa is a cardiologist.”

Atmos’s head jerked back, and Archer felt Deirdre’s discomfort like something he could taste. He squeezed her hand, then cleared his throat to get the fae man’s attention. “So sorry to interrupt. Atmos, it’s nice to meet you. Would you do us a favor and close the gate behind us? I’m sure you’re aware that I can’t.”

The other man, looking as though he sucked on a lemon, gave a curt nod before looking down at Deirdre. His face relaxed again and his voice gentled. “Deirdre, if you had called, I would have come and opened the gate for you. You shouldn’t exert yourself. I’m surprised your human doesn’t know that.”

“Let’s get in the car, Archer,” Deirdre said, before Archer could open his mouth. “Asa. Fae is in her carrier? Atmos can see to the gate.”

Atmos reached out and put his hand on her arm, stilling her. “Fly back with me. How often do you get to—”

“I am tired, Atmos. But thank you for the offer.” Deirdre shrugged her arm free, and Archer walked with her to meet Asa.

“She’s in the carrier,” Asa said. “Do we need to be concerned about—”

“No.” Deirdre shook her head. “Let’s go. Atmos has the gate.”

Archer handed Deirdre up into the SUV and closed the passenger door. As he walked around to the other side, he felt the fae man watching him. He climbed into his vehicle and closed the door, and Deirdre heaved a sigh.

“Atmos is an aggressive, selfish prig.” Her blunt words, so different from her usual demeanor, made Asa snort.

“Seems like it,” Asa said. Archer started the ignition and popped the emergency brake. In the rearview mirror, he watched Atmos shed golden light as he slid the gate closed.

“Is he going to cause problems?” Archer asked, darting his eyes to Deirdre. She seemed to have recovered, but he couldn’t help but be concerned.

Deirdre sat in silence for a long while until she said, quietly: “I don’t know.”

*** “This is my parents’ home,” Deirdre spoke softly as Archer parked the SUV away from the house, beside a small detached garage. Then she fell silent, her fingers plucking at her seatbelt.

“It’s beautiful.”

She couldn’t have said which man spoke, but they were right. Large, built from stone and wood, covered in trailing ivy and surrounded by tall trees. So many trees that the property lay in deep shadow. Her parents’ home looked like a castle and a fairytale cottage combined. She also recalled the series of smaller cottage homes scattered throughout the forest behind their home. One of them had been hers for decades.

“How is it that this entire area is pixelated on Google Maps?” Asa wondered.

“It’s all about who you know.” Deirdre unbuckled the seatbelt and reached for the door. Archer’s hand came over and found hers.

“It will be alright, love.”

Dierdre nodded, afraid to look at him lest she cry. She could feel the telltale tightness in her eyes and upper lip. Opening her mouth to speak, she realized her throat was thick with emotion.

“Take a deep breath, Deirdre.”

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, feeling the catch of her tense muscles as she did so. She released the breath and drew another, her lungs expanding further as the tension released incrementally. A third breath, and she opened her eyes, her fingers relaxing their unknown white-knuckle grip on Archer’s hand.

“It wouldn’t do to have an attack in the car before I manage to see them,” she quipped weakly, her voice shaky.

The front door opened, and light spilled out onto the front walk. A tall woman in long skirts stepped out onto the path, peering out at the SUV. She turned and motioned toward the house, and an equally tall man stepped out behind her.

“They’re eager to see you, Deirdre.” Archer squeezed her hand, then released it. “Go. We’ll be right behind you.”

“I’ve got Fae in her carrier,” Asa said from the back seat.

Deirdre opened the door and slid down, the ground soft where she landed. She closed the door behind her and walked slowly through the leaves, her eyes on the dear, familiar forms of her parents. She felt tenuously tied to her body, watching in surprise as her parents met her halfway.

“Deirdre…” Her mother’s smooth, beloved face suddenly crumpled, but it was her father who reached out, pulling her the last few feet and folding her into a hug. Then he shifted, adding her mother into the circle of his arms. “Oo ti’ahi!” Youcame!

“Oo wilde ni? Ky’ issem?” You wanted me? As I am?

“Ĉia, anak.” Always, daughter.

Deirdre’s tears spilled over, soaking her father’s shirt. He kissed the top of her head, just as he’d done when she was young.

“Who are these human men, Deirdre?” her father asked, switching to English.

She pulled back, eager to introduce them, but her mother beat her to it.

“That one is Deirdre’s ánrhen, Liam. Can you not see it? And this must be his brother; I can see it in their faces.” Her mother dashed tears from her eyes, then reached over and did the same for Deirdre. “Alright, daughter. Please, introduce us.”

Her father rubbed her back and released her, and she reached for Archer, pulling him close. “Am’an, Ap’an, this is Archer James Neal, my ánrhen, and this is his brother, Dr. Asa Neal. Archer and Asa, these are my parents, Tvaris and Liam. I will teach you their full names later, I promise.”

Archer and Asa shook hands with her parents, twin charming grins on their faces. “Sir, ma’am. I’m so happy to meet you.”

“Please,” her mother said. “Call us Tvaris and Liam. You are family, both of you. And please, come inside. You may leave your shoes just inside the door. And please, bring in the creature, too. Who have you brought, Deirdre?”

“That’s Fae, Am’an. My kitten.”

Her parents escorted them to the door, gesturing for them to enter. Deirdre found Archer’s hand again and looked up at him. A genuine smile lit his face, and her chest filled with warmth. “I’m glad you are here,” she whispered.

“So am I. I’m even happier that things seem to be going well.” Archer squeezed her hand.

“And I’m glad you’re here, Asa. I’m glad that my family can meet Archer’s.”

Asa smiled at her before he set Fae’s carrier down and bent to untie his shoes.

“Here comes Foraoise and her family,” her mother said, continuing to speak in English for Archer and Asa’s benefit. They watched Deirdre’s aunt, uncle, and cousins land near Archer’s SUV. Unlike Deirdre’s own mother, Foraoise had several children, ranging from a few years younger than Deirdre down to a toddler clutched gently in her father’s arms. “She’s been eager to have you visit, Deirdre.”

Deirdre stooped to rescue Fae from the carrier, holding the kitten close as she curiously sniffed the air. “She came to see me at my store, Am’an. I… regret that it was tense.”

Her mother ushered everyone into the open-plan living space, filled with plants and sofas, chairs, stools and other places to sit, many of which were backless. She led Archer to a loveseat and sat Fae on her lap, intending to allow the kitten to explore. Fae crouched there, her tail swishing as she watched unfamiliar people enter the house and move about the room. Asa sat on a stool close by, resting his ankle on the opposing knee.

As she sat there on the sofa, watching her mother and Foraoise embrace each other and the children spill into the space, ignoring their father’s warning to watch their wings, Deirdre felt a fluttering sensation in her chest. Her next inhalation hitched. Archer turned to her, his lips close to her ear. “Are you okay?”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Archer ran his knuckles up and down her arm in a soothing gesture. Another slow breath, reminding herself that this was her family, and they loved her. Static sparked behind her closed eyes.

“A little overwhelmed, I think,” Archer said, in response to a question she hadn’t heard.

“Böcē!” Foraoise called out to her children. “Oo hawadyra! Hawadyra!”

“Neko!” A tiny someone had spotted Fae. Deirdre opened her eyes, expecting to see the toddler run her way. Her fingers curled protectively around Fae’s soft body.

“Deirdre o kwaneko. Oo hawadyra, Yuima!” Foraoise’s chosen mate called out, reigning in the little girl and directing her outside with a firm grip on her tiny hand. Deirdre watched them regretfully as this unfamiliar cousin toddled back out the front door.

Asa caught her eyes as she sagged against the sofa. One of his dark eyebrows arched and he leaned forward, hands opening in a silent question. Deirdre leaned forward again and Archer immediately started rubbing her back in slow, discreet movements. Sighing, she extended her wrist to Asa, bracing herself against the questions and concern of her family. His fingers touched her gently, finding the place where her pulse fluttered. As Asa counted heartbeats, Deirdre closed her eyes again, giving in to the slow, deep rhythm of her breath.

“Oo mit parigia,” she heard her father say, his voice pitched low. “You are with family.”

Á tereciùin, she thought to herself. Be calm.

Another moment passed, and Asa gave her back her wrist. “Fast, but you’ll do. We should all talk about calm, happy things, I think.”

Archer kissed her temple, and she opened her eyes. Her parents and Foraoise sat on cushions on the floor, gentle concern stamped on their faces. She was relieved that no one looked terrified or upset.

Did I make something out of nothing all these years?

“Would anyone like herbal tea?” her mother asked. “Tisane, rather?”

“Do you still… Do you have blackberry—”

“I do!” her mother said, rising. Her face flushed pink, and she offered Deirdre a gentle smile. Her eyes glistened. “I always k-keep it for you, Deirdre.”

*** Early the next morning, Archer leaned against a doorframe and pulled socks onto his cold feet.

“No shoes,” Deirdre whispered. “There is moss.”

“Warm moss?” Archer asked, rubbing his eyes. He winked at her, softening his complaint before he regretfully stripped off his socks.

“Come!” Deirdre stood in the doorway of the little cottage she’d called home years ago, the early morning light soft as it dropped in around her. She offered him a wide, beaming smile and extended a hand. “Quick, before Fae decides to join us and we spend our morning trying to catch her!”

“Alright!” Archer hurried after her, her enthusiasm igniting a smile on his own face. “Where are we going?”

“The meadow!” Deirdre tugged on his hand and then released it, hurrying down the path ahead of him. She wore an unfamiliar, ankle-length dress in deep blue, with a low back and bishop sleeves. Archer jogged after her, surprised at her pace as she darted through the trees.

Before long, the trees grew sparse, and the moss crept artificially onward, spreading into a large open meadow before being gradually replaced by tall grass. Deirdre slowed to a stop, her back flexing and her wings erupting from her shoulder blades. His breath caught as they unfurled and she shook them out, stretching them to their full span. She spun toward him and beat her wings; the wind stirring his hair until she lifted off, hovering a couple of feet above the ground.

“It is safe here,” she said, as he took a few more steps toward her, reaching for her hands. She let him catch her, tipping forward until their lips met. He inhaled through his nose, the crisp outdoor scent melding with her familiar herbal aroma. Her lips were soft and warm against his.

With a giggle, Deirdre broke free, wings pumping and carrying her higher. The morning light bathed her as she tipped her head toward the sun. She hovered there for a moment before she let her wings flutter and dropped gently to the ground.

“How does it feel?” Archer asked, his fingertips grazing the fringes of one of her gossamer limbs. They felt like insect wings, only stronger; smooth on the edge, slightly textured on the surface.

“Like stretching out a mild cramp that I’ve had for months,” she confessed, shrugging her shoulders and rolling her head gently from side to side. “And then, once I’m over that, freeing.”

He moved his fingers to the line of her jaw, tracing her soft skin. “I wish you were free to fly all the time, love. Perhaps… If you wanted to come here—”

A zzzt sound distracted him, followed by the quietest thump. Deirdre grunted, then staggered, and he reached out, catching her by the waist as an odd, distant pain lanced through his shoulder. When he looked down, however, he couldn’t see anything wrong. No blood on his shirt, nothing to account for the pain.

“Oh.” Her voice, barely audible. He looked at her, then followed her gaze to her left shoulder, where a fat dart protruded from her exposed skin. She blinked and looked up at the sky, her brow furrowed. “Atmos?”

“Deirdre!” Archer’s hand hovered over the dart, shock making them both dull-witted and slow. Deirdre blinked again and brought her right hand up to wrap around the shaft. She jerked it free, swaying. Archer gasped. “Damn, I don’t think you should have—”

“We need to get to cover,” Deirdre muttered. Her wings folded and folded again, disappearing behind her back. She shook her head, hard, then grabbed his arm. “Archer! We need to get back beneath the trees!”

Archer grasped her by the elbow and turned, breaking into a jog and propelling her in front of him. Her hair whipped in a sudden strong breeze.

“ATMOS!” Her voice sounded different; an amplified roar that he wouldn’t have known it was possible for her to make. “WHAT WAS THAT? INDUV’E OO?”

Silence, but for their harsh breathing. Deirdre slowed as they entered the treeline, her eyes trained up and the dart still clutched in her fist. Archer stepped close behind her, trying to shield her smaller body with his as he, too, scanned the trees for white wings and golden hair. He pitched his voice low. “How do you know it was him?”

“He makes them,” she whispered. Her head bent and she brought the dart up for inspection. His eyes followed the delicate lines of metal, glass, and feathers.

“Deirdre,” Archer said, his concern tightening into fear. “That is a syringe.”

The syringe dart was beautiful, considering what it was. He would have expected something plastic with garish fletching, but this looked like a steampunk contraption from a cosplayer’s dream. Deirdre’s fingers curled tight around the barrel.

“I don’t know what was in it,” she whispered. Her hand trembled.

“We need to get you to Asa,” Archer urged, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Uneasiness swept over him like a wave. “How do you feel? Deirdre?”

“I…” Deirdre’s hand opened, and the dart fell silently to the moss. Archer felt dizzy, then shook his head and realized it was Deirdre whose equilibrium was failing. She wrenched her head back and gasped: “Atmos! What have you done?! Archer, Archer…”

He turned her gently so he could see her face. She’d gone pale, her eyes unfocused. Her breath came in rapid gasps. He could almost feel her shortness of breath, her discomfort, as pain cut through his own chest. “I’m going to carry you back. Just take deep breaths for me, love.”

“Archer…” Deirdre swayed and her palms pressed to the center of her chest. Her voice dropped in volume, raspy and thin. “My chest hurts… I’m… Archer. He’s killed me.”

Her legs folded.

“Christ,” Archer snarled, bending to gather her in his arms. “I’ve got you. I’ll get you help!”

Instead of responding, her body went limp in his arms. Archer started running, trying to stay on the mossy path as he shuffled her in his arms and looked at her face.

“Deirdre? Deirdre!” Her head lolled over his arm, her lips white. Internal klaxons shrieked, and he gasped for air as he ran, wincing as her head bounced. Instinct pricked his scalp and his eyes shot toward the canopy. Atmos hovered flew above, dressed in white linen and trailing motes of gold. “YOU!”

The fae man dove, avoiding a tree branch and then coming alongside Archer. Archer gnashed his teeth, unable to do anything with Deirdre cradled against him. To his surprise, Atmos wept, a trail glistening down his sculpted cheek.

“She has you,” the other man said. “You have to understand; she will survive the surgery now.”

“There won’t be any surgery!” Archer exploded. Atmos’s face pulled into a sneer, but Archer continued. “She needs help, Atmos! Get help! She thinks she’s dying! What was in that syringe?!”

Archer stumbled over a tree root, his arms tightening reflexively on Deirdre. Atmos reached out to steady him, releasing his shoulder before Archer could think to shrug him off. “Amiodarone.”

Asa will know what that is.

“GET HELP!” Pain arced again across his chest. In his arms, Deirdre shifted and took a rattling breath. He slowed to a stop, tipping her so that her face fell back into view. Her eyes were open to slits, only the whites showing. She moved again, the muscles in her legs tensing and her lips parting. Her arms jerked. Archer couldn’t breathe. His lungs wouldn’t move, and black spots drifted across his vision. He couldn’t—

Archer dragged in a lungful of air, his chest heaving. He looked about for Atmos, but the other man was gone. “ASA! HELP!” His scream cracked his voice and sank into the silence of the forest. Archer kneeled with Deirdre, stretching her out on the moss, his hand carefully lowering her head to the ground. The delicate skin of her eyelids and lips had taken on a blue cast.

His fingertips skimmed across that purple skin. “No…” Archer smoothed her hair back and tipped up her chin, leaning close to her lips. She felt distant again, absent despite her body stretched out before him. He relied on that even more than Asa’s previous descriptions of agonal breathing and movements. This time, when he held his ear close to her lips, he could tell she’d stopped breathing.

Anguish made his movements jerky. He snapped up, hands shaking. Deirdre already looked dead; still in a way only the dead were still, her face discolored, body awkwardly positioned on the moss. A panicky sob erupted from his mouth as he patted his pockets, belatedly looking for the cell phone he hadn’t brought with him. Then he gasped and clasped his hands together, interlocking his fingers and pressing them between Deirdre’s breasts without remembering to landmark.

“Please, Deirdre… One!” He pushed down hard, remembering the plastic click of the dummy in Asa’s office. This was not that. This was using his strength on someone he would have never otherwise even bruised voluntarily. His weight in his arms bent her ribcage, forcing her sternum down into her faulty organ, the only part of her he could ever regret. She made a noise, a huffing gurgle that cut through the silence, but he kept going, bobbing over her slight form as his head swam and his eyes blurred with unshed tears. “…nine, ten! ASA! TWO, three, four, five…”

Beneath his hands, her body twitched, shoulders shrugging and her bare feet rocking side to side. Her legs drew up slightly, and her jaw worked, the blue of her eyes briefly visible in the corners before the slits showed only white again. “Uh… uh… uh… uh…”

“…two, three fourfive…” Too fast. He made himself slow down and concentrate. Since he’d met her, he’d reviewed CPR guidelines. Two inches. He’d reviewed them, though if he were telling himself the truth he hadn’t pictured himself actually here, in this forest, beating her heart. “ASA! HELP! PLEASE! No… Ah, one, two, three…”

“ARCHER!” His brother, shouting from just down the path.

“HERE! WE’RE HERE!” Archer’s voice broke, and a tear dropped onto his hands. He kept his hands at their vital task, pumping and pumping, his desperation a dangerous distraction. He looked around wildly, hoping to spot his brother. Then his gaze jerked back down to Deirdre’s darkening face.

Asa’s heavy breathing and muffled footfalls made Archer lift his head again. His brother sprinted down the path, carrying the medical bag and AED they’d brought with them just in case. “I’m here! I’m here, Archer! Don’t stop! Tell me what happened.” Asa dropped to his knees across from Archer and quickly unzipped his bag.

“Atmos…” His voice came out garbled, and he concentrated on silent chest compressions for a few seconds until he could speak. “He injected her with… amiodarone?”

“Amiodarone.” Asa kept his voice suspiciously even as he snapped nitrile gloves onto his hands. “You’re certain?”

“Yes!” He kept thrusting his hands into her chest, his eyes darting between Asa and Deirdre. Her shoulders shrugged each time he pressed, making her chin nod. “She fainted. Then she started twitching… making noises… She stopped breathing, Asa!”

“Pause compressions, Archer.” Asa’s voice, calm and gentle, broke through his rising panic. Archer lifted his hands just off her chest, watching as his brother pressed two gloved fingers hard into her throat.

“She’s… not here. It’s different from when she’s asleep. I don’t know how to describe—”

“Archer, take a deep breath and start compressions. Can you keep doing them for me while I secure her airway?”

Archer resumed the harsh beat before Asa finished speaking. His eyes trailed wildly up and down her pallid body as her legs twitched again. Her abdomen bulged rhythmically each time his hands descended. Her hands curled like pale, dead things in the moss. Asa brought out a familiar plastic case and plucked out a curved plastic airway. Meanwhile, Archer kept pressing down, nauseated with fear and the sensation of pushing hard on such an important part of her.

“Fae medics are on the way.” Asa tipped Deirdre’s head back and used his thumbs to open her jaw before slipping it between her teeth and turning it one hundred eighty degrees. “Atmos showed up at her parents’ home and said she needed help, though he did not exactly tell them what he did.”

Archer groaned involuntarily, a broken sound that echoed. Deirdre’s eyes were closed again, the blue cast even more noticeable as it tinged her features. The plastic piece between her teeth held her mouth open, and he could see how blue her lips were around it. Asa leaned in again, this time with a mask attached to a large bulb.

“You’ll pause every thirty compressions,” Asa said, his voice steady. “I will give her two breaths and you immediately start compressions again. Pause now.”

Archer’s momentum stuttered, and he ground to a halt as Asa squeezed the bulb. There was the sound of plastic crumpling and the whoosh of air. He felt Deirdre’s chest rise and fall under his hands. Another breath, and then Archer rolled his weight over his hands. He dug his hands into her sternum and—

*** Asa couldn’t be sure what told him to pull back, or why he listened, but he jerked away, dropping the bag-valve mask and breaking contact with Deirdre just before Archer sucked in a pained breath and a flash of light nearly obliterated Asa’s vision. He saw them both as burning silhouettes, her body bowing up slightly from the moss, his back arching and his head falling back.

Then the light vanished, and Archer collapsed onto his back, groaning. Asa lurched forward and pressed his fingertips against Deirdre’s carotid artery.

One one thousand.

Two one thousand.

Three one thousand.

Four…

The seconds ticked by.

Ten one thousand.

His lips pulling into a thin line, Asa bent over Deirdre, wove his fingers together, and pressed the heel of his bottom hand against her sternum. Rolling his shoulders over his hands, he began a series of rapid, deep, professional compressions. Then he spared a glance for his brother, sprawled on his back next to Deirdre. Archer’s chest rose and fell rapidly, fingers digging into the moss. “Archer?”

The younger man groaned again and tried to push himself upright, only to collapse back to the moss. “Deirdre…”

Asa glanced around to see where he’d dropped the mask. His eyes stopped on her cyanotic face and he quickly lifted his hands from her chest and tipped her head back. Pinching off her nostrils, he covered Deirdre’s slack, cool mouth with his own and gave her a breath. He gave her a second to exhale before blowing into her mouth again, rounding out her cheeks. Then he returned to chest compressions. “One, two, three, four…”

“Nellä!” The cracking of small branches overhead masked the crunchy sound and feel of Deirdre’s cartilage under his hands. He looked up, his compressions unfaltering as he searched for the source of the sounds. Then, a fae woman dropped into the moss beside him, followed by a fae man. Their wings whipped up a breeze that stirred hair and Deirdre’s skirt, and he watched as they deposited duffles and cases on the ground. Their wings folded neatly behind them. The man and woman both wore backless tunics, scrub pants, and gloves.

Archer pushed himself onto his hands and knees, panting as he stared up at the newcomers. Then he crawled over to the side and retrieved the bag-valve mask.

“I am Dr. Eḥāyi.” Echeyee. The woman reached took the mask from Archer, pressing it to Deirdre’s face with her fingers lapped over the younger women’s chin. The fae doctor was tall and broad-shouldered, with smooth dark skin and silver-streaked hair braided into a crown.

“…twenty-nine, thirty.”

Dr. Eḥāyi gave the bag two squeezes and then sat it to the side, dragging one duffle closer as Asa resumed chest compressions. “You would call me an emergency physician. This is Nurse Imala.”

“…nine… Dr. Neal, cardiologist. Deirdre has a condition I would call Romano Ward. She was injected with an unknown amount of amiodarone. There has been one… apparent magical defibrillation.”

Nurse Imala laid his hand on Deirdre’s ankle as Dr. Eḥāyi connected the mask to an oxygen canister. A green glow crept up Deirdre’s leg, disappearing beneath Deirdre’s dress. Asa forced himself to keep his focus on the rhythm, depth, and recoil of his compressions. Imala called out: “Dr. Eḥāyi, she needs to be intubated! Tilā suur naysai.”

“I will intubate.” Eḥāyi gave Deirdre two more breaths from the bag. “Dr. Neal, can you continue chest compressions?”

“Yes. One, two, three…”

Imala lifted his hand, and the green light lingered. “I’m going to get her on the monitor and then I will start an IV. I need to see this rhythm.”

“… eighteen, nineteen, twenty…”

“You are ánrhen?” Eḥāyi asked Archer. His brother sat on his haunches a couple of feet from Deirdre, his face gray with distress.

“Yes,” Archer forced out, his voice hoarse. “Archer.”

Asa finished the round of compressions. Eḥāyi delivered two more breaths with the bag, still speaking to Archer. “You must hold her hand, Archer. You are life support. Do you understand? I will tell you when to let go and when to hold on.”

“One, two, three…” The cartilage in her chest crunches and crackled as he worked. The sounds weren’t anything he hadn’t heard before. Still, he grit his teeth, trying to think of her as a patient and not as family.

Archer swallowed audibly and moved closer. He sat beside Deirdre, his knees bent and his ankles crossed, and took her hand tenderly in both of his. “It’s alright, love. I’m here.” His voice, tender and loving, barely rose above a whisper.

Asa’s compartmentalization cracked.

*** Archer clutched Deirdre’s cool hand and pushed back the dizziness clutching at him. His mind set out a search in every possible direction, trying to find her. In the short time they’d been bonded, he’d already forgotten what it was like not to know her. If she was at work and he at a café, he sensed her. If one or both slept, they were still there.

But she wasn’t, not now.

Certainly, her physical body remained. Sprawled on the moss, ghost pale but for the purple mask of her face. Dr. Eḥāyi lay on her side beside him, one hand supporting a metal device she’d wedged into Deirdre’s open mouth. Her other hand delicately clutched a long plastic tube with a cuff on the end. She ran it down the side of the metal scope, seeming unperturbed by the rocking movement of Deirdre’s body.

Asa still performed chest compressions, his hands making a soft thumping sound as he pushed the heel of his hand into the lower part of her sternum. Deirdre’s chest sank beneath the pressure of his hands, dipping and then popping back up each time he rose over her. The force of his hands sent a puff of air out of her open mouth with each thrust.

As Eḥāyi fed the tube down Deirdre’s throat, Nurse Imala brought over a pair of sheers, intending to cut down the center of her dress. He quickly examined the neckline, then said: “Archer, we’re going to pull her dress down to her hips. You take that sleeve, and I’ll take the other.”

Archer quickly released her hand and slipped his fingers inside the top of her sleeve. Asa lifted his hands as the two of them pulled her dress off her shoulders and down her arms, exposing her breasts and the reddish bruise between them. Archer pulled her hand free from the sleeve and pushed the fabric down to her hips.

“I’m in,” he heard Eḥāyi say.

“Here are the others!” Imala called out. Two more fae medics walked down the path, rolling a gurney. Archer spared them a glance and then returned his attention to Deirdre. The whites of her eyes were still showing, gray set against the lavender of her skin. Eḥāyi slipped a plastic strap beneath and around Deirdre’s head and used it to secure the tube. Then she connected the bag to the tube, squeezing the bag twice before handing the responsibility off to one of the new medics.

“This is Sertse and Shavsan. Our patient is Deirdre. This is her ánrhen, Archer. And this is Dr. Neal.” Eḥāyi continued to talk, but Archer’s attention drifted back to Deirdre.

Without her dress hiding the movements, he could truly see the effect of compressions on her body. The upper left quadrant of her chest, close to the center, sank nearly twice a second as Asa pumped her chest. The skin of his hands looked splotchy from the effort, while hers bloomed with bruises. His fingers inadvertently brushed one of her brown nipples. Her breasts wobbled with each thrust, the force telegraphing down to her abdomen in waves that crested against her puddled dress.

Imala leaned in and applied a white pad to Deirdre’s upper right chest, quickly smoothing it to her skin. Eḥāyi applied the other, working around Shavsan, who had Deirdre’s other arm extended onto a white cloth he’d spread in his lap. He tied on a tourniquet, cleaned the crook of her elbow, and pressed his thumb just below. He had a cannula inserted by the time Eḥāyi called out: “Pause compressions.”

Asa sat back on his heels, breathing hard. Alarms filled the air, and Archer watched as his brother leaned forward to look at the monitor.

“Torsades de Pointes,” he said, his hands already back in place before Eḥāyi could speak. Archer looked at the monitor, but he couldn’t make anything out of the wobbly, chaotic lines.

For a few seconds, the only sounds were Asa’s breathing, the thump of his hands, and Sertse squeezing the bag. Deirdre’s lips around the tube still looked blue, and he gripped her hands tight.

“We will shock her now,” Eḥāyi said. “I’m charging to two-hundred.”

“Archer, you must not touch her,” Imala said., detaching the bag. “Please, back away three feet.”

“Imala, you will switch with Asa. Pads are charged, everyone clear.”

Archer laid her hand on the moss and backed away, watching as Asa raised his hands and scooted back and Shavsan lowered her arm to the moss and held an IV bag at shoulder level.

“Administering shock.” Eḥāyi pressed a button on the monitor and Deirdre flinched, her eyes closing and her head lolling to the side. Imala slid in front of Asa and resumed chest compressions. Her stomach popped up as her chest sank. Sertse reconnected the bag.

Asa took the IV bag from Shavsan and held it aloft.

“Shavsan,” Eḥāyi said. “Administer one milligram epinephrine, and then in two minutes two grams magnesium IV push.”

“Administering epinephrine now.”

“Do you agree, Dr. Neal?” Eḥāyi asked.

“Yes. And, respectfully, you have the lead,” Asa responded. The mask of his features slipped, revealing the grim expression beneath. “Your species, your code.”

Deirdre’s arm moved, pulling against his grip. Archer leaned forward, his eyes darting to her face, then to the monitor, then to Asa. Before either of them could speak, her chest arched and her shoulders jerked.

“Sit her up!” Eḥāyi commanded, as Sertse disconnected the bag and Imala paused chest compressions. “Her wings are—”

Archer slid his arm beneath her shoulders, heaving Deirdre’s torso from the ground. Her head fell back on his arm, the tube jutting out from her lips. He felt her wings tickle the underside of his arm as they unfurled, flopping and jerking behind her. Sertse took one wing and Eḥāyi the other, stretching them carefully out to either side.

“Lay her flat, quickly!” That came from Asa. Archer complied, easing her limp body down onto the moss. To his shock, he realized that the formerly lush, green moss had died beneath and around Deirdre, turning brown and dry. Imala’s long-fingered hands continued chest compressions, mercilessly pounding into her chest at a rapid rate. Sertse reconnected the bag and forced an oxygenated breath into Deirdre’s lungs.

Archer reached for her hand again, cupping her small hand in his larger one. Her nail beds were lavender now, like her eyelids.

Eḥāyi crouched between Sertse and Archer and laid her hand on Deirdre’s forehead. “Naneun a cervein o Deirdre.” Light ran from the doctor’s chest down her left arm, sinking into Deirdre in pulses.

She looked up at Asa. “I seek to protect her brain.”

He nodded, his expression solemn. “Thank you. That is something I would wish to do for all of my patients.”

“Administering two grams magnesium now,” intoned Shavsan.

Deirdre’s arm pulled against his grip again. He held tight, his own heart pounding as her eyes opened to white slits again and her lips sneered around the tube. Her legs moved, drawing up, caught up in her dress. Eḥāyi crouched down at Deirdre’s hips, pulling her dress down a few more inches so she could press her gloved fingers into the crease of Deirdre’s thigh. Archer’s gaze darted back to her face. Her irises were showing now, her eyes staring dully up at the canopy.

Close your eyes, love. I can’t take it.

His eyes burned, and he blinked, dislodging a single hot tear. It ran down the side of his nose before slipping over his lips and dripping from his chin. He massaged her palm with his thumbs, stroking her lifeline as though he could milk more time from her. The pain tugged at his heart, drawing life from the organ and sending it down his arms and into—

“It’s happening again!” he gasped. It was the only warning he could give before lightning struck the top of his head and everything went black.

***

“Archer!” Voices and harsh alarms drew him back from the dark.

“…asystolic. Administer another milligram epi and then I want you on bloodwork. Imala, suction her. Sertse, I want you on compressions…”

“Archer!”

“Confirm her pressure, Imala and then Shavsan, I want you to administer that norepinephrine. Is he breathing, Dr. Neal?”

“Yes, he—Archer, open your eyes!”

The voices all boiled down to one. Asa, sounding worried. He felt the dry rub of gloved fingers beneath his jaw and reached up to swat them away. Asa—he assumed—caught his hand and squeezed it tight.

“Am I sick?” Archer’s voice cracked, his throat so tight it hurt to talk. A chill took him, and he forced his eyes open. The gesture stung, and he squeezed them shut again. “Was there an accident? What’s that sound?”

His body ached, and his chest felt heavy. He felt as though he’d been bedridden with a bad flu, or perhaps pneumonia.

“How do you feel, Archer? Just lay there and rest, please.”

“As though I’ve been in an accident,” he said, aware that he sounded peevish. On top of everything else, anxiety seeped in, making his heart race and sending up alarms. More feelings sank in. Loss. Grief. Archer rubbed the grit from his eyes and peeled them open again.

Asa leaned over him, his face tense and ashen. His brother reached out and gently patted Archer on the cheek, a tender gesture that startled him. His eyes shifted past Asa’s face, catching movement up in the blurry tree canopy. Archer blinked several times to clear his vision.

A beautiful man hovered in the canopy, wings beating slowly, creating a breeze that stirred his long, blonde hair. Even from that distance, Archer could see the man’s tortured expression. For his part, Archer felt an uncharacteristic flash of white hot rage that made him push himself up to a seated position and snarl: “What is he doing here?! GO!” Gasping, Archer registered other fae alight near the man, their hands raised warily.

His brother tried to calm him. “Archer—”

“Silence the alarm, please.” Eḥāyi’s voice cut through his anger.

Deidre.

Archer twisted, forcing himself to look at the scene beside him, ashamed that she hadn’t been his first coherent thought. Asa gripped his shoulder. Deirdre still lay on her back on the dead moss, wings akimbo beneath her. But she looked much worse. Her skin gone dry and waxen, her hair shades lighter and brittle. He could see the veins around her wrists and count her ribs, as though she’d lost weight in the time he’d been unconscious. Her eyes, open and staring, irises muddy and colorless. Lips slack around the tube delivering oxygen to her lungs. Sertse’s hands between her breasts, forcefully pushing her sternum down over and over again, making her slim shoulders jerk and her stomach seesaw in and out of a bloat.

Archer reached for her hand and that’s when he saw them… bits of insect wings littering the ground. Feathers, of a sort. Crumbled. With each compression, her shoulders shrugged and her wings moved, and opalescent shards flaked off, littering the dry ground.

Archer hunched over her cold hand, agony building as pressure beneath his skin. “Asa, she…”

“I’ll speak to you plainly, Archer. If you wish it.” Asa gripped his shoulder too tight.

“I do.” His words bit into his throat like gravel.

“Deirdre’s heart is in what we call asystole. This is when there is no electrical rhythm. We cannot defibrillate asystole, as the purpose of defibrillation is to disrupt dangerous heart rhythms. What we do instead is provide chest compressions and administer medications to assist the heart in achieving a shockable rhythm.” Asa paused and took a deep breath. Archer’s heart hollowed out. “I cannot account for her change in appearance… I’m not optimistic, Archer. I’m so sorry.”

“Deirdre is not gone!” A woman’s voice, ragged and grief-stricken, broke in at the end of Asa’s explanation. Movement beyond the tableau in front of him dragged his attention away from the resuscitation efforts. Tvaris, Deirdre’s mother, broke through the crowd of fae he hadn’t noticed assembling. Nearly all tall, unlike his Deirdre, though otherwise they were diverse in shape and color. Each with beautiful wings. He wished he could have seen them together in other circumstances.

Liam stepped in front of her and took her by the arms. “Sēs, ánrhen.”

“He doesn’t know how—”

“Her mother’s right,” Nurse Imala interjected. “Your bond is intact, so we will continue our efforts until that changes.”

“Her brain,” Asa blurted, his hand going to his mouth when Archer glanced at him.

“We do not heal like humans, Dr. Neal.” Eḥāyi’s eyes shifted from the cardiac monitor. “If, perhaps, she had been discovered already cardiac arrest instead, with an unknown amount of time having passed, then things would be different.”

Archer hunched forward, Deirdre’s hand pulled against his abdomen. He tried to picture her as she’d been such a short time before. Aloft, glowing with happiness and freedom. And love. All destroyed.

“Why?” The question came out too quiet for anyone to hear. He gripped Deirdre’s hand tight, his eyes squeezing closed. He dragged in a deep breath. “WHY?!”

The forest fell silent aside from the sound of the bag-valve mask and Sertse’s exertions over Deirdre’s still chest.

Then, a voice from above.

“I am a fool, and I did not believe it would kill her.”

***

Atmos pumped his wings, just enough to keep himself aloft. Fae warriors hovered close by, though as of yet they’d made no moves to detain him. Atmos knew what the humans did not; he wasn’t being detained yet because his Intention might be needed to keep Deirdre alive. For similar reasons, a crowd formed below, creating a large semi-circle around the scene of his crime. Family, friends, neighbors, officials. Well-wishers and on-lookers. His own mother stood in the back, white-faced with her fist pressed to her lips.

Within the semi-circle, the forest was dying; brown moss, trees with brittle branches and falling leaves, bodies of insects that flew unawares into Deirdre’s sucking desire to live. He could see a faint rainbow flowing from the crowd, a channel of involuntary aid drawn from the heart light of everyone there. She’d pulled the most from her ánrhen, knocking the man unconscious to stabilize her heart.

It isn’t working, he thought, his hands curling into fists. His love lay sprawled on her back, a faded shell of herself. Any human would have been long declared dead. Most fae. His cruel, careless miscalculation had shown him something he’d never understood before: Deirdre was strong.

His mind briefly flashed back to when they’d parted; an argument. Shouting, tears. He’d attempted to restrain her, she’d injured him. Other fae intervened and Deirdre collapsed and had to be cardioverted. After, for years, he’d tried to see her, and she turned him away each time. Atmos tried to move on. Buried himself in his work. Sought pleasure from others. Today, however, when he’d seen her entering their village, something inside him snapped.

First, he found a list of medications contraindicated for Long QT Syndrome. The very first item on the list was amiodarone, and though he’d taken hours to research the other options, he’d decided this would be the easiest to get and the easiest to administer without getting caught before it took effect. He would dose her, then take her to receive medical care once she’d collapsed. He knew her parents would want her to have the surgery; when better for such a thing to occur?

Breaking into the human ambulance had been easy, and he already had his darts at his disposal. He’d bet, correctly, that she would resume her old habit of flying in the meadow in the early mornings.

But Atmos had not expected her to deteriorate so quickly. Or for him to freeze with panic and remorse as soon as Deirdre retreated into the trees and collapsed in Archer’s arms. And he most certainly had not expected this.

After the discharge of ánh, her heart rate had not gone back to normal. It did not even continue its ineffective beat. Deirdre’s heart stopped. And Atmos made himself watch as the fae medics forced oxygen into her lungs and pumped the oxygenated blood around her body. Harsh and ugly, the procedure left purple marks on her chest. The medic’s gloved hands shoved rhythmically into Deirdre’s naked chest, her sternum sinking deep. The motion displaced air, organs, and tissues, pushing her chalk-white stomach up, rounding it out over and over again, her belly button riding the crest of that artificial wave. Each hard compression bent her shoulders slightly toward her collarbones and made her nipples sway back and forth. Her thighs trembled and her feet rocked side to side. Her hands, fingers curled limply toward her palm, moved incrementally with each thrust.

Even from his position, he could see the discoloration of her face, her lips slack around the endotracheal tube the medics inserted. He could see the way her body grew gaunt and her hair paled and her wings crumbled.

I’ve killed her.

There would be punishment, though he couldn’t imagine it would be anything worse than this.

The human man regained consciousness, his grief telegraphed by the set of his shoulders and the way he pulled her hand into his stomach, as though to soothe the hurt he felt deep inside. Atmos heard the man speak: “WHY?!”

Without thinking, Atmos answered: “I am a fool, and I did not believe it would kill her.”

The answering sound could have been a sob or a laugh; either way, it was ugly.

Before either man could speak again, the tone of the cardiac alarm changed and Dr. Eḥāyi called out: “Pause compressions, ten second analysis!” Her eyes stayed on the monitor as multiple hands pressed to Deirdre’s ravaged skin. Green, white, and pink light spread across Deirdre’s body.

“V-fib!” Dr. Eḥāyi’s voice betrayed her excitement. Sertse and Imala resumed CPR. “Charging the defibrillator to three-hundred sixty…”

The human doctor reached for his brother. “Archer, you can’t touch her while they—”

A bright blue light burst from the center of the semi-circle, cutting off the doctor’s words. Deirdre’s back bowed, arching off the forest floor. Sertse and Imala both jerked and fell back, mouths open in a silent cry. Her ánrhen, Archer, seized up, his head falling back as his arms tensed. Connected to Archer by a hand on his arm, Dr. Neal followed suit, his eyes rolling until the whites of his eyes showed. The light brightened to near-blinding, and then it snapped off as suddenly as it had appeared.

One by one, Sertse, Imala, Archer, and Asa collapsed to the ground beside her.

The forest fell silent.

Part Six

#resus writing #female resus #fantasy resus

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