#going back to this scenery series over a month later | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rafesapologist · 4 months

Text

the set up — rafe cameron; part sixteen

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you've been one of the pogues since childhood, and your loyalty has always lied within your friend group, who is practically your family. when a threat by the name of rafe cameron begins to threaten the pogue's plans, they assign you to gain the trust of the dubious kook and keep an eye on what he's up to. however, now it's been six months since your friends set you up to spy on the kook prince himself, but what you didn't anticipate was to fall head over heels for the boy. your relationship had soon become inviolable shortly after your guys' first exchanges, much to your friends' dismay, and you two became practically inseperable. that was, until rafe discovers the truth.

warnings: angst, swearing, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, sad rafe

author's note: i hope you guys are enjoying the longer chapters! thank you again for all of the support and love for this series. we aren't quite at the end yet, but when we do get there, i have a bit of a surprise for you guys. love u mwah

A few days later, the day of your discharge from the hospital arrived. John B's van, with JJ behind the wheel, was waiting to take you back to the chateau. As you settled into the passenger seat, you gazed out the window, the passing scenery a backdrop to the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling within you.

JJ broke the silence, attempting to ease the tension that lingered in the air. "Everyone's been asking about you," he said, his voice gentle as he navigated the familiar roads.

You nodded, still lost in your reflections. The events of the past few days replayed in your mind like a haunting reel, each frame carrying the weight of decisions and consequences. JJ, sensing the gravity of the situation, allowed a moment of quiet before trying to initiate a conversation. "How are you feeling now?" he asked, his eyes briefly meeting yours.

Your gaze remained fixed on the passing scenery. "Physically, I'm getting there. Emotionally… it's a lot to process," you admitted, your voice carrying a mixture of exhaustion and introspection.

JJ nodded understandingly, keeping his focus on the road. "You don't have to go through this alone, you know. We're here for you," he reassured, a genuine concern underlying his words.

Appreciating the support, you offered a small smile, grateful for the sense of camaraderie amid the storm that had become your life. As the van continued its journey back to the chateau, you couldn't help but wonder how things would unfold in the aftermath of the chaos.

The van continued its journey back to the chateau, the hum of the engine providing a steady backdrop to the conversation between you and JJ. He kept the small talk going for a while, sharing anecdotes and attempting to lighten the atmosphere. However, as the chateau loomed in the distance, he shifted the conversation back to the weightier matters.

"Listen, I know you've been through a lot, but there's something we need to talk about," JJ said, his tone serious, a hint of concern in his eyes.

You nodded, bracing yourself for whatever news he was about to deliver. "What is it?"

Taking a deep breath, JJ broached the subject carefully. "The night of the incident, things got even messier. The allegations against John B have escalated, and it's not safe for any of us to stay in town."

Shock registered on your face as you processed the gravity of JJ's words. "What do you mean, not safe?"

JJ explained the severity of the allegations against John B, the danger they all faced by staying in the town, and the urgent need to leave. As he spoke, you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach, torn between the physical and emotional toll you were dealing with and the impending need to leave everything behind.

"I know this is a lot to take in, especially considering everything you've been through," JJ added, concern etched on his face. "But we can't risk staying here. It's not just about us anymore."

Uncertainty and fear gripped you, the weight of the situation settling in as you grappled with the realization that leaving town was not just a choice but a necessity for your friends.

You pondered JJ's words, considering the possibility of John B laying low for a while. "Maybe John B just needs to stay under the radar for a bit, let things cool down," you suggested, a flicker of hope in your voice.

But JJ's expression hardened, and he shook his head adamantly. "No, it's not that simple. If John B is caught, they won't just slap him with a fine or a short sentence. They're talking about life in prison, or even worse, death row. We can't take that risk."

The gravity of the situation hung heavily in the air, and you could sense the fear and urgency in JJ's voice. The reality of the danger they all faced, the consequences that loomed over John B, weighed on you. The conflict within you intensified as you grappled with the turmoil of your recent experiences and the harsh reality of the choices that lay ahead.

JJ's determination reflected in his eyes as he continued driving, navigating the winding roads that led back to the chateau. The uncertainty of the future and the fear of the unknown cast a shadow over the familiar landscape. As the van approached the chateau, a heavy silence settled between you and JJ, both grappling with the weight of the decisions that needed to be made.

Breaking the heavy silence that enveloped the van, you spoke softly, "JJ, I don't think I can go."

JJ's grip on the steering wheel tightened, and he glanced at you, concern etched across his features. "Why? You know we can't stay."

Taking a deep breath, you hesitated before confessing, "I love you guys, but I don't have the strength to just get up and leave. Not now."

There was a moment of understanding in JJ's eyes as he processed your words. "Is this about Rafe?" he asked, putting two and two together.

You nodded, the weight of the recent events and the emotional toll evident in your eyes. "Yeah, it is. I just need some time to figure things out."

JJ sighed, sympathetic yet torn between the urgency of the situation and your need for time. "Y/N, I get it, but we're running out of time. I can't force you, but you need to consider what's at stake."

JJ's voice softened as he urged you, "Remember what Rafe did, Y/N. Don't let that slide. He put you in danger, and he needs to face the consequences."

You nodded, acknowledging the truth in JJ's words, but the internal struggle persisted. The love you felt for your friends clashed with the complicated emotions tied to Rafe. The van pulled into the chateau's driveway, and as it came to a stop, the weight of the impending decisions hung in the air.

"Take some time to think, Y/N," JJ said, his eyes holding a mixture of concern and understanding. "But please, don't take too long. Time isn't on our side."

You nodded again, appreciative of JJ's understanding, and the two of you exited the van, the gravity of the situation settling over the chateau like an impending storm. As you stepped into the familiar surroundings, the decision loomed, and you couldn't shake the feeling that whatever path you chose, it would alter the course of your life and the lives of those you cared about.

The atmosphere inside the chateau shifted as you entered, supported by JJ. The warmth of familiarity and the genuine concern of your friends enveloped you. They gathered around, expressing their relief and joy at seeing you back.

"Y/n, you look like you've been through a war," quipped Pope, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Yeah, next time, leave the action movie stunts to John B," Kiara teased, a playful smile on her face.

Sarah joined in, "Seriously, though, we were worried sick. You're a tough one to keep down."

Despite the heaviness of recent events, their attempts at humor managed to elicit a small smile from you. JJ gently guided you to the couch, and the banter continued, creating a sense of normalcy amidst the chaos.

"Alright, enough with the jokes. Y/N, how are you really feeling?" John B asked, a genuine concern in his eyes.

You took a deep breath, grateful for the genuine care of your friends. "Physically, I'm getting there. Emotionally, I'm still figuring things out."

JJ, standing beside you, shot a subtle glance your way, understanding the complexity of your emotions. The Pogues exchanged glances, silently acknowledging the unspoken challenges you faced.

Pope, sensing the shift in the mood, spoke earnestly, "We're here for you, Y/N. Whatever you need."

The mention of preparing to leave cast a temporary shadow over the room. Sensing the unspoken tension, Pope diverted the conversation with a pragmatic question, "So, do you need any help packing, Y/N?"

Your gaze flickered to JJ, seeking a reassuring nod before responding. "Actually," JJ interjected, stepping closer, "she might not be going with us."

The room fell into a momentary silence as the weight of JJ's words hung in the air. Confusion and concern danced in the eyes of your friends. Kiara was the first to break the silence, her voice carrying a mix of curiosity and understanding, "What do you mean, not going with us?"

Your gaze remained fixed on the floor, the weight of the unspoken truth heavy in the air. JJ, standing beside you, offered an explanation on your behalf, "She's been through a lot, guys. Maybe she just needs some time to figure things out, you know?"

Kiara chimed in, her voice gentle, "Y/N, we understand if you need time. But you don't have to face this alone. We're family, and family sticks together."

John B, sensing the gravity of the situation, spoke with a hint of concern, "Y/N, you've got to talk to us. What's holding you back?"

You took a deep breath, the weight of the decision pressing on you. "It's complicated, guys. There's something I need to figure out before I can commit to leaving. I hope you understand."

"It's because of Rafe, isn't it?" You hear the familiar voice of Sarah chime in.

Her question hung in the air, a moment of tension settling over the room. JJ's protective instincts kicked in as he stepped forward, a subtle edge to his tone, "Come on, give her some space. This isn't about blaming anyone."

Sarah, sensing the tension, quickly backtracked, "I didn't mean to pry. It's just that, you know, Rafe… everything that happened."

Your gaze shifted from Sarah to JJ, appreciating his defense but also feeling the weight of the unspoken truth. Taking a deep breath, you decided to address it, "It's a part of it, yeah. But not the only thing. I need time to figure things out, to heal."

Sarah's eyes softened with understanding, and a somber expression replaced the previous curiosity. "I get it, Y/N. Relationships are complicated, especially when emotions are high." She sighed, a touch of regret in her voice. "I never wanted you to get hurt in all this. I thought we were doing the right thing by involving Rafe, but I didn't anticipate it turning out like this. I'm sorry."

You offered a small, reassuring smile, "No need to apologize, Sarah. We were all in this together. Sometimes things just don't go as planned."

JJ, standing by your side, chimed in, "Exactly. We've faced worse together. We'll figure this out, too."

Sarah nodded, her expression reflecting gratitude for the understanding. The weight of the situation lingered in the air, but the camaraderie of your friends provided a glimmer of support amidst the uncertainty.

As the realization settled in that your friends would be leaving The Cut, a palpable sadness cast a shadow over your expression. The thought of life without them, even if just for a while, weighed heavily on your heart. The chateau, once bustling with laughter and shared adventures, now seemed on the verge of echoing with the absence of your closest allies.

Kiara noticed the change in your demeanor and gently placed a supportive hand on your shoulder. "Hey, we'll be back before you know it. It's just a temporary thing. We'll find John B and sort this mess out together."

You managed a small, appreciative smile, grateful for their reassurance but unable to shake off the melancholy that had settled in. The impending departure of your friends added another layer of complexity to the already tumultuous events that had unfolded.

Their words were meant to console, and you appreciated the sentiment, but the prospect of navigating the challenges ahead without the familiar faces of your friends left an ache in your heart. The countdown to their departure began, each passing moment marking the impending separation.

"You know what," JJ spoke up, "I'll stay with her."

The revelation that JJ planned to stay behind and support you in the absence of the others took everyone by surprise. The room fell into a brief silence as your friends processed the unexpected twist. Kiara raised an eyebrow, and Pope's eyes widened, exchanging a glance with Sarah. Even JJ seemed to be gauging the reactions around him.

JJ shrugged casually, breaking the silence. "Someone's gotta keep an eye on Y/N, right? Plus, I'm not leaving her alone in The Cut. No way."

Your heart warmed at JJ's unwavering loyalty and the genuine concern etched on his face. Kiara recovered first, a playful grin forming. "Well, aren't you turning into a knight in shining armor, JJ?"

JJ rolled his eyes, attempting to downplay the moment. "Come on, guys, it's not a big deal. Just looking out for a friend."

Pope chuckled, appreciating JJ's gesture. "It's a big deal to us, man. Thanks for doing this."

Sarah nodded in agreement, her earlier concern turning into a small smile. "Yeah, thanks, JJ. It means a lot."

Your friends expressed their gratitude, and the room soon buzzed with a mix of surprise and camaraderie. The initial somber mood lifted as JJ's decision brought a sense of unity back to the group. The impending departure felt a bit more bearable with JJ's assurance that you wouldn't be navigating the challenges alone.

JJ flashed you a grin, silently communicating that he had your back. The bond between you and your friends, despite the uncertainties ahead, remained unbroken. Once things had been establish, the rest of your friends went off to continue their packing, leaving you and JJ alone in the living room.

As you shifted on the couch, attempting to find a more comfortable position, a subtle grimace crossed your face. The pain from your side wound pulsed with each movement, a sharp reminder of the recent events. Every wince painted a story of discomfort and lingering ache, etching the toll that the night had taken on your body.

JJ, seated beside you, couldn't help but notice your struggle. His expression tightened with empathy as he observed your subtle winces. Despite your attempts to downplay the pain, he could read it in the lines on your face, the way your brows furrowed momentarily, and the way you took cautious breaths to manage the discomfort.

"You sure you're okay?" JJ asked, his voice softening with concern.

You nodded, managing a faint smile. "Just a bit sore. It'll pass."

But with each wince, it was evident that the pain wasn't something easily dismissed. JJ, ever attuned to your well-being, couldn't help but wish there was more he could do.

JJ's brow furrowed with genuine concern. "You took a hit back there. Shouldn't push yourself too hard, alright?"

You nodded appreciatively, feeling grateful for JJ's attentiveness. He shifted slightly, making room for you to lean against him if you wished. "Need anything? Painkillers, water, or maybe just someone to sit here with you?"

You considered his offer, realizing that JJ's presence provided a sense of comfort. "Just stay with me for a bit," you replied, leaning into his side. JJ wrapped his arm around you, offering silent support as you both settled into a moment of shared quietude amidst the chaos that surrounded your group.

The room buzzed with the lively chatter of your friends preparing for their departure, but in that small pocket of the chateau, JJ's presence became a stabilizing force. He remained by your side, a silent guardian, offering solace in the midst of uncertainty. The weight of recent events lingered, but with JJ beside you, there was a glimmer of reassurance that you weren't facing it alone.

JJ's gaze remained fixed on you, a storm of conflicting emotions swirling in his eyes. The anger simmered beneath the surface as he contemplated the injustice of what you had endured at Rafe's hands. Frustration, disbelief, and a protective fury welled up within him, directed not only at Rafe but also at the situation that led you to consider giving him a chance to explain.

In those moments of silence, JJ wrestled with the thought of how you deserved so much better. The torment you experienced was evident, both physically and emotionally, and it fueled JJ's determination to shield you from any further harm. He found it difficult to comprehend why you were granting Rafe an opportunity to speak, given the pain he had caused.

Yet, JJ respected your autonomy and understood that decisions, especially those involving matters of the heart, weren't always straightforward. His frustration with the situation was tempered by a deep concern for your well-being. As he continued to watch over you, a silent promise formed in his mind – to be there for you, regardless of the choices you made and the challenges you faced.

JJ cleared his throat, a gentle interruption to the heavy silence in the living room. His hand rested on your thigh, a tender gesture that conveyed both concern and a desire to comfort. In the hushed tones of a whispered confession, he opened up about the tumult of emotions swirling within him.

"I worry about you, you know?" he admitted, his eyes never leaving yours. "Seeing you like this, it kills me. I hate it. I just… I want to protect you, make sure nothing like that ever happens to you again."

His voice, filled with a raw sincerity, resonated in the room. The weight of his words lingered, hanging in the air like an unspoken promise. In that moment, JJ wasn't just expressing concern; he was revealing a profound connection that bound him to your well-being, a commitment to be the shield against the storms that threatened to unravel the fragile peace you sought.

Your hand met JJ's, a comforting union that spoke volumes without the need for words. The acknowledgment of his worry and protective instinct was met with your understanding and gratitude. Your fingers traced a gentle pattern on the back of his hand, a silent reassurance that his support meant the world to you.

"I appreciate you, JJ," you whispered, your eyes conveying a depth of emotion that words could only partially capture. "Having someone like you around, someone who cares so much… it means more than I can express right now."

In that shared moment of understanding, a subtle warmth permeated the room, a connection that surpassed the complexities of the recent turmoil. JJ's concern was met with your appreciation, forming an unspoken pact that strengthened the bond between you. The weight of the past began to ease, replaced by the solace found in the presence of someone genuinely caring—a friend, a protector, and perhaps something more.

JJ's words hung in the air, soft and sincere. His eyes bore into yours, revealing a vulnerability that echoed the sentiment behind his confession. "I really do love you," he said, the weight of those words settling in the room.

In the moment of silent exchange, a myriad of emotions danced in the air between you and JJ. His gaze, unwavering and filled with sincerity, sought a response from you. As you locked eyes with him, the weight of his words and the depth of his feelings settled into your heart.

Your own emotions were a complex tapestry—woven with the threads of pain, uncertainty, and the lingering affection you had for Rafe. Yet, here was JJ, offering you a different kind of solace, a love untainted by the shadows of betrayal.

In the quiet intensity of that gaze, unspoken words echoed. The room held a fragile balance, teetering on the edge of what had been and what could be. It was a pivotal moment, one that would shape the path forward.

Finally, after a beat that felt like an eternity, you spoke, your voice a whisper amidst the charged atmosphere. "JJ, I…" The rest of your words lingered, hanging in the air, as you grappled with the complexities of your heart.

In that charged moment, the world outside the chateau melted away as you pressed your lips against JJ's. The kiss was a fusion of shared pain, unspoken emotions, and the comfort that only the closeness of someone you cared about could bring. It carried the weight of unspoken words, telling a story of understanding and shared vulnerability.

JJ responded, his hand gently cupping your cheek as the kiss deepened, a silent exchange of feelings and a promise for the support that lay ahead. His hand held the small of your back as he picked you up, careful not to let his lips detach from yours. You wrapped your legs around him, and he carried you gently to his room, the weight of his commitment to your well-being now manifesting in the way he held you, the way he guided you towards the bed.

He placed you down onto the white comforter, his eyes still locked onto yours, speaking volumes with a silent intensity. Your heart raced faster with each passing moment, the connection between you two cemented in the shared understanding of healing, acceptance, and vulnerability.

As JJ hovered above you, his eyes still locked onto yours, you felt a wave of uneasy emotions wash over you. This newfound connection with JJ was exhilarating, but also frightening. In the back of your mind, you knew that there were consequences to every action, and your kiss with JJ would have far-reaching implications.

JJ could sense your hesitancy, and he pulled away from the kiss, sitting up on the bed with a solemn expression. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice laced with concern. "I shouldn't have done that, especially not right now."

You sat up next to him, taking his hand in yours. "No, JJ," you reassured him, feeling the warmth of his hand in yours. "You didn't do anything wrong. I want this too."

In that moment, something shifted between the two of you. You sensed that JJ had been holding back, and now he seemed freer to express the depth of his affection. You gazed into his eyes, and even in the muted light of the room, you saw the brightness of his gaze.

JJ leaned in, capturing your lips in another tender kiss. This time, the kiss was slow and gentle, conveying the tenderness that he felt towards you. His hand trailed down your side, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You felt a shiver go down your spine, desire stirring within you.

The kiss deepened, and you found yourself losing yourself to the moment. JJ's hands were everywhere, exploring and caressing, as the heat between you two continued to grow. You felt his hand trail down your bare skin, his fingers eager to explore the contours of your body.

JJ's touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you. He tasted of longing as he kissed you again, his hand trailing down your curves. You gasped at the sensation of his fingers on your skin, as his hand found its way under the waistband of your pants.

As JJ kissed his way down your collarbone, you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. While he kissed way down your collarbone, you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. JJ's touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you. He tasted of longing as he kissed you again, his hand trailing down your curves. You gasped at the sensation of his fingers on your skin, as his hand found its way under the waistband of your pants.

The intensity of the moment was both thrilling and terrifying. You felt vulnerable and exposed, but JJ's gentle touch was comforting and reassuring. His hand caressed your skin with a tenderness that makes you feel cherished and safe.

Suddenly, JJ pulled away from the kiss and met your gaze. "Are you sure about this?" he asked quietly, seeking your affirmation. You nod, your eyes locking onto his.

JJ's fingers continued to explore the contours of your body, each touch sending a wave of pleasure through you. You reached out to pull him closer, craving the intimacy of his touch.

He leaned into you, kissing you with a fiery passion that melted your heart. You moaned softly as you felt the weight of his body on top of yours, every sensation heightened by the intensity of the moment. JJ's fingers traced back up your body, teasing your nipples through the fabric of your shirt. The sensation was overwhelming, and you felt yourself losing control to the frenzy of desire that was building inside you. You reached out to remove JJ's shirt, wanting to feel the heat of his skin against yours.

As JJ's shirt fell away, he pulled you in closer still, deepening the kiss with a passion you'd never felt before. The heat of his body pressed against yours, lowering any remaining defenses you had.

As the kiss broke, JJ guided you onto your back, hovering over you with intensity that made your heart race. You felt his fingers slide past the waistband of your pants, and in that moment, there was no room for fear or uncertainty. JJ knew exactly how to touch you, his fingers finding every sensitive spot and igniting a fire inside you. Your hands clenched around his shoulders, holding him closer as desire consumed you.

JJ's fingers created a symphony on your skin, resonating with the raw emotions within you. Every touch, every caress, every stroke was a step towards transcending the pain that had long haunted you. The intensity of the moment seemed to heighten with each passing moment.

You found yourself letting go, embracing the pleasure and sensations that JJ was offering you with each passing touch. He felt like a lifeline, a way to escape the pain and the uncertainty that had been consuming you.

As the heat between you two continued to grow, JJ's touch became more urgent and his kisses grew more intense. You could feel both of your heartbeats pulsing in unison, a physical manifestation of the emotional bond that you shared.

JJ continued to explore your body with his hands, his mouth, and his kisses. Slowly, he slipped his fingers under the waistband of your pants, pulling them down your legs until they fell to the floor. Then, he kissed his way down your stomach, trailing wet kisses across your skin.

You arched your back as he kissed the inside of your thighs, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body. You could feel the heat building between your legs as your desire intensified. Finally, he leaned forward, parting your legs and dipping his head between them. The sensation of his tongue against your skin made you gasp, as waves of pure ecstasy washed over you.

JJ's tongue continued to work its magic between your legs, moving in a rhythm that drove you wild. You ran your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer as you rode the waves of pleasure that JJ was creating within you.

As the intensity of the pleasure reached a dizzying peak, JJ lifted his head, his lips glistening with your essence. He leaned forward and kissed you deeply, sharing the taste of your desire with you. You could feel his own desire rising, and in the heat of the moment, you both knew that you wanted more.

JJ moved up and over you, his body pressing against yours with a hunger that matched your own. He kissed you hard on the lips, leaving you wanting more. You could taste yourself on his lips and it drove you wild. In a move that caught you off guard, JJ flipped you over so that you were on top. He sat back, his eyes locked onto yours, with a hungry expression etched on his face. You could feel your heart racing as he pulled you close, his hands trailing down the curves of your body, every touch igniting a new flame of desire.

With a trembling hand, you reached down and unbuttoned JJ's pants. His eyes locked onto yours, smoldering with desire. You helped guide his pants off, leaving him wearing only his boxer briefs, tented with the obvious bulge of his arousal.

Climbing back onto his lap, you straddled him, running your hands over his muscular chest. You could feel the heat of his body beneath yours as his hands roamed your back. Without hesitation, you guided JJ's hardening member inside of you. Both of you moaned at the sensation of finally joining together. You rolled your hips, relishing the feeling of JJ filling you completely.

Moans filled the room as you rode JJ, feeling each thrust of his body against yours. He gripped your hips with a firm grip, guiding you to grind against him with a passionate urgency. The heat between you two only seemed to grow, the air thick with the scent of lust and desire. Every movement only intensified the pleasure pulsing between you, a symphony of desire that seemed to soar higher and higher.

JJ's hands were firmly clasping your hips, as he started bucking up into you. You threw your head back, letting out a low moan, craving more of the primal pleasure that was consuming you.

"I've been wanting to fuck you for so long, baby," JJ whispered in your ear, as he continued to drive his hardness up into you. You couldn't help but gasp in response, your eyes locking onto his with intense desire. You rode him with increasing fervor, so close to tumbling over the edge of bliss. JJ's hands found their way to your breasts, fondling them, and teasing your nipples to the point of pain.

Suddenly, JJ flipped you over onto your stomach, grabbing your hip and pulling you back into him with a force that took your breath away. You felt his hard length slide between your slick folds, every movement punctuated by the intoxicating rhythm of his thrusts.

You gripped the sheets tightly as JJ continued to drive into you with increasing passion, his hands roaming over your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. The sounds of your moans, mingling with his grunts, filled the air, heightening the intensity of the moment. JJ was relentless, his hips slamming into yours with a ferocity that left you gasping for air.

As your body writhed beneath JJ's touch, you could feel the pounding of your heart echo through your ears. You wanted nothing more than to be lost in the moment, to feel everything that was happening to you. JJ was still slamming into you with a frenzied intensity, and you were relishing every single moment of it. You longed to be consumed by the carnal pleasure that was coursing through your veins.

"Fuck Jay, harder." You begged, your voice trembling with desire. JJ smirked before he gripped your hips tighter and increased the pace of his thrusts. His dick was hitting all the right spots inside you, sending waves of pleasure reverberating throughout your entire being.

JJ is relentless in his thrusts, seemingly driving you both to the brink of ecstasy. With every slam of his cock into you, you can feel the pressure building inside you, an insistent tug of desire that is threatening to consume you. His hands are everywhere, cupping your breasts and pinching your nipples, his lips trailing hot kisses down your back. He's talking to you, too, his voice a low, gravelly growl that only serves to turn you on even more.

"That's it, baby," he says, slapping your ass so hard that it leaves a handprint. "Take me Show me how much you want me." You're helpless to resist as he continues to fuck into you harder.

JJ's cock was now hitting you at an incomprehensible speed, the pleasure overwhelming and making your mind go blank. You felt a shuddering climax building within you as each thrust drove you closer to the edge. With a guttural cry, JJ slammed into you one last time, triggering an explosion of ecstasy that sent you spiraling out of control. Stars burst behind your closed eyelids as your body undulated wildly, lost in the throes of pure carnal pleasure.

JJ lay beside you, his chest heaving with exertion. You withdrew from him, feeling a sudden wave of fatigue washing over you. As you lay there, you could hear the sound of your combined panting reverberating off the walls, punctuated by the creaking of the bed beneath you.

After a few minutes of catching your breath, JJ stirred, reaching out an arm to pull you close. You nestled against him, feeling his warmth against your skin.

"I can't believe how good that felt," JJ murmured, his voice a low rumble in your ear. You nodded, feeling a sudden sense of elation.

JJ pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace. You snuggled into his chest, feeling content and fulfilled. The silence was broken only by the sound of your breathing.

After a few more moments, JJ spoke up, his voice a low, rumbling growl. "So," he said, "what happens now?" You looked up at him, feeling a sudden sense of nervousness.

JJ's breath mingled with yours as you lay there, tangled in the aftermath of an unexpected and passionate moment. The weight of what just happened pressed upon you, and a quiet, contemplative atmosphere settled between you and JJ.

His question hung in the air, a beacon of uncertainty in the dimly lit room. Your eyes met his, searching for answers in the depths of each other's gaze. It was a moment where time seemed to pause, allowing you to reflect on the choices made in the heat of the night.

"I don't know," you confessed, the honesty lacing your words. "I didn't expect any of this to happen."

JJ's arms around you tightened slightly, providing both comfort and a subtle acknowledgment of the complexity of the situation. As you lay there, your mind wrestled with conflicting emotions—regret, desire, and the realization that the dynamics between you and JJ had shifted in a way that was impossible to ignore.

The room remained shrouded in a contemplative silence, leaving the next steps uncertain, much like the shadows playing on the walls around you.

JJ's eyes, once filled with the remnants of passion, shifted to concern as he noticed the change in your demeanor. He propped himself up on his elbow, looking at you intently, and gently asked, "What's wrong?"

You hesitated, the weight of the moment settling in your chest. A mix of emotions played across your face as you tried to find the right words. "I… I just didn't expect this, JJ," you admitted, your voice a whisper in the quiet room.

He reached out, his fingers tracing a gentle path along your cheek. "Is it us? Did I do something wrong?" JJ's concern deepened, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort.

"No, JJ," you reassured him, offering a faint smile. "It's not about you. It's just… everything. The situation, my feelings, and…" You trailed off, struggling to articulate the swirling thoughts in your mind.

JJ remained silent, giving you the space to share what you needed. The air in the room hung heavy with unspoken words, a tangible tension that needed to be addressed.

You took a deep breath, breaking the silence with a heavy sigh. "We can't tell anyone about this," you repeated, your voice carrying the weight of your own internal conflict. The atmosphere in the room grew tense as you met JJ's gaze, your eyes revealing the turmoil within.

JJ's expression shifted to a mix of understanding and a hint of disappointment as he processed your words. He nodded in agreement, realizing the gravity of the situation. "Yeah, you're right," he replied, his voice carrying a weight of secrecy.

The room fell into an uneasy silence as the weight of the unspoken agreement settled in. The aftermath of your shared moment left a complicated air between you and JJ. The reality of the situation was now tangible, and the gravity of the choice to keep it hidden from others weighed heavily on both of you.

You placed a comforting hand on JJ's arm, attempting to ease the tension. "JJ, I care about you a lot," you began, your words carefully chosen. "But I also don't want to hurt you. If we let this go any further, it could complicate our friendship, and I can't risk losing you in my life." You could sense the conflict in JJ's eyes, a mixture of understanding and reluctance. It was a delicate situation, and both of you were navigating uncharted territory.

JJ nodded in response to your words, a forced smile on his face. "Yeah, I get it. We're good, Y/N," he said, but the disappointment in his eyes betrayed the facade of casual acceptance. You could sense the complexity of emotions, the unspoken acknowledgment that things had shifted, even if momentarily.

In that moment, a torrent of emotions swirled within you, a storm of guilt and nostalgia colliding in your heart. The memory of Rafe's vulnerable confession and the subsequent turmoil flashed vividly, intertwining with the present situation. A sense of déjà vu crept over you, echoing the past where your honesty inadvertently left a trail of emotional chaos.

The guilt pressed heavily on your chest, each heartbeat reverberating with a silent apology to those you never meant to hurt. You grappled with the complexity of emotions, torn between the desire to be truthful and the realization that your honesty had inadvertently become a source of pain for those who cared about you.

"We should get going," you spoke up, breaking the silence. "I want to say goodbye before everyone goes."

JJ, his eyes reflecting a mixture of understanding and concern, nodded. "Sure thing, Y/N. Take your time, we're in no rush."

As he assisted you into the living room, you felt the weight of his gaze on you, a silent reassurance that he was there for you still. The room filled with the sounds of footsteps and hurried movements, but in that moment, it was the quiet understanding between you and JJ that spoke the loudest.

"Hey Y/N!" Sarah greeted, partially out of breath as she carried her bag into the living room. "Where'd you guys go? We were looking for you so we could see you before we left."

You coughed in discomfort at the awkwardness of the situation. "Oh, I just had to change my gauze, and JJ was helping me." The quick explanation hung in the air, and you could sense the unspoken questions in Sarah's eyes.

Fortunately, Sarah's curiosity was easily dismissed. "Oh, okay. Well, we're about to head out. Are you sure you don't want to come with us? JJ might not be the best caretaker," she joked, her playful tone echoing in the room. JJ rolled his eyes at the comment, a smirk playing on his lips as he exchanged a teasing glance with Sarah.

"I'm sure," you giggled at Sarah's comment, "I think I'd miss it here too much if I left." JJ's gaze lingered on you, a complex array of emotions playing across his features as you continued your conversation with Sarah.

The living room buzzed with a blend of laughter and chatter as Pope, John B, Kiara, and Sarah gathered for a final farewell. The air felt charged with both excitement and a tinge of sadness, knowing that the Pogues were about to embark on an uncertain journey.

As John B announced their departure, the group dynamic shifted into a moment of shared affection. Pope, with his trademark warmth, initiated a group hug, pulling everyone into a tight embrace. Arms encircled each other, creating a human knot of camaraderie. Laughter echoed in the room as they exchanged heartfelt words, a mix of promises to stay connected, jokes, and expressions of genuine appreciation.

"You better take care of yourself, Y/N!" John B grinned, playfully ruffling your hair.

Kiara chimed in, "And if JJ doesn't feed you properly, you know where to find us."

Sarah added a touch of humor, "Don't let him make you watch too many surfing documentaries. It's a trap!"

Despite the light-hearted banter, the genuine bonds between friends shone through. The group lingered in the hug for a moment longer, relishing the comfort of each other's presence. As they broke apart, the room held a bittersweet air, a mix of anticipation for the adventures ahead and the poignant realization of leaving loved ones behind.

With smiles and waves, the Pogues gathered their bags and headed towards the van, ready to face the unknown. The door closed behind them, leaving you and JJ in the quiet aftermath, the echoes of their departure lingering in the air.

As the last Pogue left the chateau, you turned to JJ with a sigh. "I can't believe they're gone," you said quietly, a touch of sadness evident in your voice. Your gaze met JJ's, conveying a sense of longing for the camaraderie that had just departed.

JJ met your eyes, mirroring the somber mood. "Yeah," he sighed in agreement, understanding the void your friends had left behind. "It's gonna be weird without them around. But hey, at least you've got me as your personal caretaker now," he added with a faint attempt at humor, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

You managed a small smile, appreciating JJ's effort. "I guess I lucked out in that department," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of gratitude.

JJ couldn't help but smile back, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "You know I've got your back, Y/N. Anything you need, just let me know."

The quiet exchange held a subtle reassurance, a silent understanding that in the absence of your friends, you and JJ had each other. The room, once vibrant with the presence of the Pogues, now echoed with a different kind of intimacy as you and JJ navigated the uncharted territory ahead.

Rafe's room felt like a confined space closing in on him. The subtle ticking of the clock echoed in the silence as he paced restlessly, his mind a chaotic swirl of regret and guilt. Every now and then, he'd glance at his phone, contemplating whether to call you or not.

The weight of his actions bore heavily on him, the consequences of his impulsive behavior sinking in. He knew he had hurt you deeply, and the uncertainty of your feelings left him on edge. The internal battle waged on, torn between the desire to reach out and the fear of making things worse.

Restlessly, he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, frustration evident in his every movement. The room, once a refuge, now felt like a prison, amplifying the consequences of his rash decisions. Rafe stood at a crossroads, uncertain of whether he could salvage what was left of the connection he had with you.

The absence of your presence in his daily routine gnawed at Rafe. Each passing moment without the comfort of your smile or the soothing scent of your presence intensified the ache within him. It felt as though a vital part of his existence was missing, leaving a void that nothing else could fill.

The thought of not waking up to the familiarity of you by his side amplified the sense of loss. Rafe longed for the ordinary moments, the shared laughter, the mundane conversations that now seemed like precious fragments of a distant past. The weight of waiting and uncertainty pressed heavily on him, making the passing time almost unbearable.

In the quiet solitude of his room, he found himself yearning for the reassurance of your presence, realizing that the consequences of his impulsive actions extended far beyond a single night. The reality of his impatience settled in, a constant reminder that he had jeopardized something meaningful.

The intensity of emotions boiling within Rafe reached a breaking point, and in a fit of frustration, he unleashed his pent-up feelings on the unsuspecting wall. A resounding impact echoed through the room as his clenched fist collided with the unyielding surface.

The pain that surged through his hand mirrored the ache in his heart. Each throb served as a harsh reminder of the self-inflicted wounds he had caused, both physically and emotionally. The raw, primal yell that escaped his lips was a release of the overwhelming turmoil, a desperate attempt to externalize the agony he felt living without you.

Unable to endure the prolonged separation any longer, Rafe's impatience conquered his resolve. The minutes dragged on, each one intensifying the void he felt without you. Frustration took hold as he paced around his room, a heavy sigh escaping his lips, a testament to the mounting tension.

Finally succumbing to the longing that gnawed at him, Rafe abandoned his inner battle. Determination flickered in his eyes as he reached for his phone, fingers swiftly navigating through the contacts until he found your name. Without a second thought, he pressed the call button, a mix of hope and anxiety coursing through him as he yearned to hear your voice once more.

The soft chime of your phone disrupted the quiet of the room. You glanced at the caller ID, noting Rafe's name, and hesitated for a brief moment before answering. "Hello?" you greeted, your voice carrying a mix of uncertainty and curiosity.

Rafe, on the other end, felt a surge of relief as he heard your voice. "Hey," he responded, the weight of the recent events evident in his tone.

"I just wanted to call and make sure you were doing alright," Rafe said, a half-hearted truth apparent in his words, as if there was something more he wanted to convey.

You detected the underlying tension in Rafe's voice, and for a moment, silence hung between the two of you. "I'm… I'm hanging in there," you replied honestly, your own emotions complicating your words.

Rafe sighed on the other end, the sound heavy with regret. "I know I messed up, y/n. I can't apologize enough for what I did. It's just… I hate the thought of not being able to talk to you, to know how you're doing."

Your heart wavered at the sincerity in his words, a conflicted mix of emotions bubbling within you.

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a lamp casting shadows on the walls. You cast a weary glance at JJ, asleep on the couch beside you, a subtle reminder of the comfort you found in his presence. The weight of your words hung heavy in the quiet space.

"I'm still trying to process everything," you continued, your voice carrying the weariness of recent events. "I need time, Rafe."

There was a brief pause before Rafe responded, "I understand. I just… I miss you."

The ache in his voice echoed the void you felt in your own heart, and for a moment, you wished things were simpler.

"I miss you too, Rafe."

The words lingered in the air, a shared sentiment cutting through the distance. The ache in both your voices held a mixture of longing and regret, the complexities of emotions woven into the quiet admission.

"Take care of yourself, Y/N," Rafe whispered, the sincerity in his voice leaving a bittersweet imprint on the connection.

The call ended, leaving you alone in the muted room, contemplating the intricate web of emotions that bound you to Rafe and the challenges that lay ahead.

taglist: @ellesalazar, @champomiel, @vadinaleme, @kys4-20, @gills-lounge, @allsmilesreally7, @sublimepenguinpeach-blog, @sp00ky-spr1te, @bibliophilewednesday, @haroldpotterson, @i-love-rafe, @ellesalazar, @calmoistorm, @abundantxadorations, @fals3-g0d, @gillybear17, @oiiviagrande, @hockeybabe87, @augustlikesdeath, @wpdailyminimeta, @palmwinemami, @loxleys-blog, @ikisscline, @flyestvenustrap, @ilovesteveharrngton, @ijustwanttoreadlols,@wickedlovely121, @fals3-g0d

#drew starkey #rafe cameron #obx #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe angst #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe imagine #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe x reader #rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #rafe cameron x y/n

251 notes · View notes

good-griief · 1 year

Text

Time; Rejection

this is part one to my “time” fic series, i dont know how many parts there will be yet, but i hope yall like a bit of angst :)

warnings ambiguous relationship/feelings between abby and reader (for now), she/her reader, reference to torture (isaac’s questioning/rattlers), lasting effects of mentioned torture (later parts), morally grey reader, ambiguous/story-teller dependent interpretation of major past event between characters

part two part three

chapter one on ao3

When you split from your friends, it wasn’t the kindest goodbye. Salt Lake was fresh in your minds and to them, it felt like you were simply abandoning them by going to California after your long search together of where to go. They couldn’t understand why you’d want to go find fireflies after what happened— after what you heard about the hatred that was left for what you once were.

Abby was the most hurt by your decision. She didn’t speak to you after the moment you brought it up, and although her words weren’t anywhere near as cruel as the others’, they stung.

“Just know we’ll never see each other again,” she’d said, “‘cause as soon as I hear about any fireflies, I’m going the opposite fucking direction.”

And it was true. Four years had passed, and you hadn’t heard a word. You had no idea where they were. Whether or not they were okay. You didn’t even know if they were alive until you found yourself in Washington one winter month.

You’d been sent out on a mission and accidentally found yourself at the gate of someone’s Headquarters. Judging by the scenery; murals and graffiti, you only hoped it wasn’t the “Scars’”.

Their leader was harsh— brutal— in his questioning, and by the time he got the answers he was happy with, you could hardly speak. When he told you to head down to his medical station, you couldn’t even stand on your own.

You quickly grew a dislike for this group when you saw the rest of your squad was there as well, some even dead from the brutalization of their questioning.

Even when they took you to medical, they were all but kind. The grip on your arm, hands still tied behind your back, was bruising. They were tugging and pulling you when you could hardly keep up, making you trip over your own feet as they seemed irritated with you for even existing.

When you got to the medical room, you were shoved in. The force of it made you fall to the floor with no way to get yourself up, coughing until you spat up blood and heaved in a large breath.

“What the fuck, Danny?!” You could hear someone yell, presumably at the man who practically threw you when the rest of your comrades were sat down— not kindly either, but definitely not thrown.

“Trespassers. Thought they were Scars. Isaac had to deal with this one,” ‘Danny’ spoke, gesturing to you as one of the people there came to help you up. “She was difficult.”

The other person scoffed, but as you were helped up, you were momentarily dropped. One of your comrades said your name, telling you to “get up before they put you out of your misery.” That caused the person helping you to freeze, nearly dropping you back down before they got you onto your knees and wiped the blood from your face.

“No fucking way,” it was a girl’s voice, one you faintly recognized. You looked up at her, swallowing when you met her brown eyes. You looked over her, brown skin with faint beauty marks that you easily remembered the placement of. “Mel—“

“Nora?” You rasped out, your voice bringing the other medics’ attention— Mel’s attention. You couldn’t be sure it was the same Mel, but, by the way Nora said her name, you were almost certain.

“Oh my God,” was Mel’s reaction. You looked over at her, easily recognizing her from the mole on her chin despite her now chopped hair and hardly visible bump.

You were swiftly pulled into Nora’s arms, her eyes wide in shock as she hugged you to be sure you were real. You winced, quickly reminding the two of them why you were there and getting helped immediately.

“You know this bitch?!” Danny asked, scoffing as your hands were untied and your arm was slung over Nora’s shoulders.

“Fuck off,” she said, taking you to a separate room and leaving your squad with the other medics.

As you passed by your comrade getting treated, you were given a look that you knew meant you needed to get out of there as soon as possible or they’d leave you behind. You knew there wasn’t time.

When you were sat down in the room, Mel shut the door and said a code into her walkie while Nora treated your injuries. “I thought we’d never see you again,” she said as she stitched and bandaged, but you didn’t reply. “How did you get here? Did you know we were here?” Her questions ran on, but those stuck in your mind.

She said it as if she was excited to see you… Like you didn’t remember how both of them treated you before you left; telling you how they hoped to never see you again, how awful of a friend you were, they thought you were all family, the list went on. They were also the only ones to hug you when you left in the middle of the night, so you supposed their words came from hurt rather than malice.

You still remembered the night. You’d actually planned on staying with them and waiting to see what you found so you could stay together, but after Abby’s words at the mere idea you brought up, and the onslaught that followed from your friends, you waited until they were all asleep.

You quietly grabbed your things, sniffling and wiping your eyes, hoping not to wake anyone.

You left just as quietly, but that didn’t stop Mel and Nora from waking up, the two of them somehow knowing something was off.

“Don’t go,” was what made you pause and turn back as the two got up. “No one wants you to leave,” Nora said. “I mean, that’s why anyone said anything…” She trailed off, noticing your pursed lips. “We all want you to stay.”

“I don’t think so,” was your response. “I’ll try and find you guys again, or something.” You shrugged.

“How can you be so flippant about this?” Mel asked, face red and voice restricted as if she was trying to hold herself together. “How long have you been thinking about, just, leaving?”

“It was just an idea… I thought we might all go together, but…” You shook your head. “I don’t want to leave you guys, but I don’t want to stay either. It’d be better if I didn’t, I think—”

“Please?” Mel pursed her lips, arms crossed as she hugged herself. “Just lie back down. We can talk in the morning, or something? I’m sure everyone was just surprised. Maybe, it can be an option? Just don’t go.” Nora placed a hand on her shoulder.

She’d been up all night already, having been stressing herself out for most of it while Nora lied with her and tried to comfort her. She knew you’d try and leave while they slept. She knew you hated confrontation, fighting, all of that. She knew you were hurt, too. She just knew. She knew you’d make a decision like this after the things everyone said in response to a simple idea. How couldn’t you? They were all cruel.

But they were also all hurt.

Mel shrugged off Nora’s hand, taking both of yours in hers. “You probably won’t even survive out there alone,” she said. “we’ll find something. Together. Just stay— even just a little longer. You can still go if you want to, just… just give it some time.”

Your eyes drifted to Abby, who you’d usually be sleeping by. That night, you’d spent by the fire despite her asking if you were coming to lie down by placing her hand on your shoulder as she passed you. The small gesture, even if she meant well, was so passive that it practically made you think she was just telling you to leave.

She was awake when you looked at her though, possibly having woken up from the conversation, a nightmare, or maybe she never slept.

Her expression was lame, eyes holding your gaze for a moment before she turned over and gave you her back.

That was the deciding factor, you’d come to after all these years. What really made you not listen to your friend, begging you to stay, was Abby’s dismissal. It was a blatant rejection. She wanted you gone now. You knew she did.

That was what led Mel to apologize for what she said, giving you a long hug before Nora did the same, not even bothering to try and change your mind when she knew there was no stopping you.

When the rest of the group woke up, they were shocked to see you gone. Even Abby, who woke in a jolt and felt next to her for you, thinking maybe what she remembered hearing as a goodbye last night wasn’t actually the case. Though, when she felt the space next to her empty, not even your blanket there, it proved to be true.

It caused a rift between the group, blame flying each and every way until it was finally mended with time.

If you’d only given them some time.

“Were you trying to find us?” The question brought you out of your dazed state as you remembered the night in vivid detail. You often did, the memory flashing before your eyes and being able to completely ruin your day in just seconds.

“If I knew you were here, I wouldn’t have come,” you said quietly, voice hoarse and lacking conviction.

“We thought you might’ve…” Mel stopped herself, suddenly recognizing the attempted hostility in your tone. “What?” She frowned.

“We said our goodbyes,” was your response, forcing yourself to be dismissive. “After that night, I didn’t expect to see you guys again.” You watched as Nora finished off the last of her stitches, pushing yourself to stand despite the nausea that came over you when you did. “And… even if I wanted to, why would I want to meet like this?”

She seemed shocked, though Nora wasn’t surprised. She still remembered everything that was said. How all of your friends suddenly flipped on you. She didn’t expect you to be the same as before, but she also didn’t expect blatant rejection.

When you looked at her, knowing she always had something to say, she shook her head. “I’m just glad you’re alive.”

“Yeah… You guys, too.” You went to leave, but Mel stopped you.

“Sit down.” She stepped in front of the door. “You’re not even cleared yet.”

“Mel. Come on,” Nora sighed. She had a feeling if Mel pressed you, you weren’t going to be receptive. Judging by your demeanor, she expected you to snap at her. “Just let her go.”

“Owen’s coming… He’d want to see you,” Mel tried but was met with a frown as you stepped around her. She sighed, glancing toward Nora before looking back at you. “Is this really how we’re leaving things?” You were quiet, lips pursed. “You’re not even going to tell us how you’ve been?”

“I’ve been… fine.” You shrugged, knowing she was right but also knowing you didn’t have time to talk. “I’m also a medic.” Mel nodded along, waiting for anything else as you turned to her again. “I’ve missed you guys.”

“Us, too,” Nora said quickly. As if she’d been waiting for an opportunity to say so. “Everyone… They all talk about you; miss you. Abby—“

“I, uh, heard something recently that reminded me of you,” you cut her off before she could mention her. “Tommy… Joel’s brother. Turns out he settled in Wyoming when he left. People were talking about it… Figured it’s been hard to get leads— if you’re even still looking.”

Nora scoffed. “You have no idea…”

“Then, I’m glad I got to tell you.” You gave a nod, heading for the door.

“Come with us,” Mel pushed herself to try again. “To Wyoming. As soon as Abby hears about it, we’ll be going. You deserve to see this through, too.”

You grasped the handle. “I trust you guys to do that.” You then opened the door, leaving the two to feel dismissed as you did.

Though, when you did open the door and walk to your waiting squad to leave, Owen was rushing in. He stopped at the sight of you, staring for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak, words leaving him and making him shut his mouth again as you gave him a tight, practically unnoticeable smile. He stepped aside, letting you and your group pass without a word.

You realized why he stayed quiet when you exited the small building. Abby, Manny, Leah, Jordan, Nick… Mel had called them all with that code. What she expected… Some kind of reunion? You had no idea, and you couldn’t wait to find out even if you wanted to. You gave a passing glance, not even sure they all recognized you, but that was all as you walked with your group toward the exit, wishing you didn’t have to.

Abby nearly doubled back, but she stopped when Manny grabbed her arm. “That conversation won’t go how you want it to,” he warned. “Just let her go.”

How many times she’d heard that in reference to you, how many times she had to just accept that, only to see you walking past her without even a word just now made her so upset she felt sick. She couldn’t pinpoint why. She couldn’t even understand it herself. But she could feel her eyes stinging, her nose reddening as a sudden wave of nausea passed over her.

“You have to let her go,” she could remember Owen saying when he found Abby listening to an old tape recording you must’ve forgotten to take with you.

“I found this,” was her response, holding up an old photo of the two of you that you also left behind. She had a hard time believing that was an accident, though.

“Just let her go,” Leah said the morning they all woke up to you gone. Abby was insistent on tracking you, knowing you wouldn’t be far. “What if we find a body? What are we going to do then?”

“What the fuck, Leah?” Nora scoffed at her.

“I’m not the one that said anything to make her leave in the first place,” she bit back. “And now you wanna go find her? Go fuck yourselves.”

“Let her go,” Nora told her one day, having gone to Abby’s room and seen that old photo. The moment she did, that’s what she told her, and in response, Abby tossed one at her. She picked it up, surprised to see a picture of you, her, and Mel, apprenticing Abby’s dad in his greenhouse. “Where’d you get this?”

“Leah has a bunch.”

Despite everyone telling her to let you go, none of them wanted to. Somehow, they still couldn’t understand how you just left. Even if they told you to, they couldn’t grasp it. They’d all said horrible things to each other, time and time again, and they moved past it, so how did you leave? How could you?

It was a mix of anger and regret they all felt, but seeing you that day made their anger with you for leaving subside. After all those years spent thinking of you, wondering whether or not you were okay, fighting over whether or not to go and find you, you wanted nothing to do with them. You didn’t even want to acknowledge them, let alone speak to them.

If it hadn’t been for the news Mel delivered from you, Abby probably would’ve gone back to her room and burned every picture of you. They were in her drawer, taped to maps, in a journal of her plans after she found Joel; find you. Instead, she left them as they were.

Maybe, this was how you were meant to say goodbye. Less so on a bitter end, but without resolution, your feelings about one another up in the air with neither of you wanting to define them or what they meant.

Or maybe, it was supposed to go like this.

Months later, after all hell broke loose. After Abby finally found what she was looking for, she was left still unable to find peace. She thought she did. She thought she found the fireflies, just where Owen said they’d be, but there were months of delay. Months of torture, and pain. If she could see herself, she probably wouldn’t even recognize the person she was looking at.

Yet somehow, you did.

You heard about the newest recruits– two that had to stay in the medical facility for some time thanks to the rattlers, but now that they had been released, you hadn’t heard much about them.

At least, not until you were introduced to a young boy added to your training group. He was skilled with a bow, and surely could’ve been a soldier, but for some reason, he wanted to learn how to heal. You didn’t ask why, but when he asked to stay a little longer with you in your greenhouse, you didn’t object, gladly talking to him about whatever he was comfortable bringing up.

Eventually, after at least an hour, the door to your greenhouse was opened. “Lev?” A girl’s voice spoke up. You almost recognized it, but figured it was unlikely that you did. The boy perked up, looking back at the door with a smile as you continued to work and re-pot your plants. “Hey… What are you still doing here?”

He pointed his thumb back at you, busy enough not to be eavesdropping. “I asked to stay a little longer, so she could teach me about making medicines.”

“Your patrol group is waiting for you.”

“Shit,” he muttered, the word sounding foreign coming from him and making you chuckle. “Can I come back later?” He asked you, earning a sweet smile.

“Of course!” He then rushed out as you finished what you were doing, carrying the plants back to where they should be. “Did you need anything?” You called to the girl still in your greenhouse, speaking from behind a hedge of flowers. “Sleep tonic, or something?”

“No… uh…” She was mumbling, words incoherent until she said your name, “Is that you?”

You set down the pots, heading through the maze of plants to get to the front door. You paused, looking over her. She was smaller, her muscle diminished to the point that it was hardly there anymore, and her hair chopped. It must've grown, now down to just above her shoulders, but you remembered hearing about a girl with hair cut close to her head. You frowned at the sight of her.

“You don’t… recognize me do you—?“

“What did they do to you?” You asked over her, walking up to her tentatively, hands reaching out as you thought about whether or not to make a move to hold her. Your eyes met hers, head tilting as your brows pulled together. “Abby…” Despite your better judgment, you reached out and pulled her into a hug, shocking her. Your hands ran over her hair, knowing why she let it grow out all those years; knowing she would never cut it herself.

“Fuck,” she cursed under her breath, quickly pushing away from you and turning her back to you as her hand went to her face, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose.

You pursed your lips, looking to the floor. “Sorry. I forgot you didn’t like—“

“It’s not that.” She scoffed at you, blinking rapidly before she turned back. “I just— It’s just that I lost everyone else… I didn’t think I’d find you.”

354 notes · View notes

guttergirlcore · 9 months

Text

East Coast Baby I (JJ Maybank x reader)

WARNINGS // NON-CON, DUB-CON, violence, possessive behavior, stalking, alcohol use, jealousy, manipulation, toxicity, gaslighting, Topper jump-scare, non-canon ages, pogue!reader, she/her reader, mentions of familial trauma

MINORS DNI --> READ RESPONSIBLY

Synopsis // Running from a trauma-addled past, you arrive in OBX to find some peace. Shortly after, a series of strange events ensue, drawing your circle smaller and smaller, eventually driving you into the arms of one JJ Maybank. What you hadn't realized, however, is how difficult it would be to escape the one person you never thought you'd have to run from.

divider by @firefly-graphics

Word count: 2.6k

Everything was still so unfamiliar.

Even though you had been in Outer Banks for an entire month, you still felt like a stranger. You had visited your aunt’s house on The Cut a handful of times in your life, but now that this was your living situation for the foreseeable future, things looked truly bleak.

Still, not nearly as bleak as it would be if you had stayed back on the mainland.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like your aunt, or that the general scenery was anything short of spectacular because neither was true. For one, it was that your aunt was hardly home enough to get to know her, being as she was working two jobs just to keep the lights on.

Two, from what few interactions you had with anyone else, you could say with definitive proof that the people on this island suck.

Topper Thornton and his group of lackeys, for instance. Only yesterday, you were making your way back to The Cut with a gallon of paint in hand. Even combined, you and your aunt didn’t have enough money to get you a car, and you hadn’t gotten around to looking for a bicycle yet, so on foot was the only option.

You heard the crunch of tires on gravel behind you and looked over to see an obscenely large black truck slowing beside you. A truck like this one could’ve easily covered your aunt’s bills for months. Out of the passenger side window leaned a boy with an entitled smirk on his face.

“You’re new. I’m Topper. That’s Rafe, and that’s Kelce.” The boy said, throwing his thumb toward the driver of said truck and another boy in the backseat.

“What’s your name, darlin’“ the one named Rafe drawled from the driver’s side.

“Not interested.” You replied back, quickly turning and walking forward. You were kind of lonely on this island, sure, but were you really going to find friendship in these three frat posers? Not likely.

The truck lurched forward another two feet or so.

“Aw, now is that any way to talk to a couple of guys just trying to offer you a ride?” Topper asked. Sententious judgment laced his tone as he added, “Back to... The Cut from what I can tell.” he turned to share a laugh with Rafe and Kelce.

You had dealt with entitled assholes like these three your entire life, even before you came to The Cut, so it pained you none to let them know precisely what you were thinking at the moment.

“And you and your goons live where? Figure 8, the land of the incorrigible and morally corrupt? Fuck off, thanks.”

Topper’s face twisted into an ugly grimace as Rafe pulled off, clearly done with their fun. Before being rid of them though, Topper chucked a crumpled plastic water bottle from the passenger side window, tossing you a middle finger as the truck disappeared into the distance.

“Littering prick,” you muttered as you continued on, picking up the trash to recycle later.

You had just been contemplating your imminent evacuation from the OBX at home when a knock on your front door startled you.

You made your way to the front of the house and pulled open the door, only to be greeted by a different blond boy standing on your porch.

“Uh, hi. Can I help you?” you asked.

“Oh, uh... Miss Laura?” the blond scratched at the back of his head, a confused expression on his face.

“Miss Laura’s niece, actually. You are?”

“Oh! I’m JJ. Your aunt’s letting me mow the yard,” the boy, now identified as JJ, informed you, gesturing to the old push-mower propped up against the oak in the front yard.

“Sorry, she must’ve forgotten to let me know,” you added. “Um, if you need anything, let me know, I guess?”

JJ nodded curtly and turned on his heel, headed for the mower as you closed the door. You felt a little awkward with a stranger hanging out in your yard, but you sent a quick text to your aunt that JJ was here. Her response came a few seconds later:

“K. Left money on table 4 him. Tell him thx”

Sure enough, there was a twenty on the kitchen table next to a note that read “MAKE FRIENDS :)” So even your aunt, who you’ve had all of five conversations with, noticed your loner tendencies. Awesome. You grabbed the bill and headed outside.

JJ was already pushing the mower around when you walked up to him.

“Here’s the money for the, uh, mowing.” you gestured.

JJ quirked a blond eyebrow. “How do you know I’m not gonna take it and run?”

“Intuition. Besides, it’s a small island- and while I might not know where you live, I’m betting Laura does.”

JJ let out a good-natured laugh as he took the bill and shoved it into the pocket of his cargo shorts. “So, does Miss Laura’s niece have a name?”

You hadn’t realized you failed to introduce yourself to him earlier. “Oh, I’m y/n. Sorry, I don’t get many visitors. Sort of bad at introductions.”

“You’re new around here, yeah?” he asked.

“Guilty,” you shrugged. “I’ve been here about a month and haven’t really gotten around to the whole friend thing yet.”

“Do you want to get around to the whole ‘friend thing?’“ JJ asked. “Me and my friends- we’re having a kegger tonight. You should come along.”

“That sounds nice but I don’t have a ride, and I’m kind of still getting the lay of the land, you know?”

“Ride with me. I’ll pick you up at 6. Cool with you?” he asked.

In truth, you weren’t Little Miss Social Butterfly, but if you had to encounter another one of your aunt’s attempts to break you out of your proverbial shell, you might actually die. And what the hell? This party might be a nice break from the monotony of life on The Cut as it had been thus far. Besides, JJ was cute. Like, really cute. If all the people here looked half as good, you doubted you’d find the OBX quite so tragic.

“What the hell. I could use a night out.” You smiled at the blond.

"Alright then," JJ smiled back. "I guess I should get back to-" he gestured to the mower beneath his closed fists.

"Oh! Right, yeah. I'll leave you to it."

As you walked back inside, you went right to your room to find an outfit for tonight's activities. Just as the deliberation process was fully underway, a figure rounded the side of the house just near your window.

The sun glinted off of JJ's golden skin, his now-shirtless torso glistening in a sheen of sweat. His arms strained against the weight of the mower, and you watched as a single droplet of sweat streaked a thin path down his abdomen. His shorts hung lowly on his hips, and it made you take a quick intake of breath.

Just as you were about to rip your gaze away from the scene, JJ's blue eyes connected with yours. He smirked full and unabashedly. Feeling the heat immediately rise to your face in embarrassment, you ducked down beneath your window.

Great. That's just great. Already making a stellar impression on the locals.

The sound of the mower steadily receded and after a few more moments, you peaked your head back up, only to be greeted with a startling knock at your window.

You shrieked, holding a hand to your heart as you tried to steady your breathing. You pushed the window up.

"Sorry, sorry!" The now shirt-clad JJ laughed. "You're kind of jumpy, huh." He stated rather than asked.

"Not usually," you laughed pitifully.

"Mowing's done and I'm headed out, but I'll see you tonight, yeah?" The blond asked.

"Yeah. I'll be there." You smiled.

"Alright, see you tonight." He said, grinning wide.

You slid the window closed after the boy walked off, pressing your warm forehead against the cool glass.

OBX may end up being eventful after all.

As you finished the last-minute touches on your eye makeup, Aunt Laura softly pushed open your bedroom door.

“I’m headed out again, kiddo,” she smiled tiredly, dressed in her server apron for the casino on Figure 8.

“Lock up when you leave, okay? There’s a spare key under the plant on the porch. And try to have some fun for me.” She added with a genuine smile.

“I will, thanks, Aunt Laura.” You stood to hug her tightly before she departed.

Although Laura wasn't around much, she had done more for you in a month than your parents had managed in your whole life.

From your experience, genuine love like what she offered to you was rare, without which, you were sure you'd be out on your ass again.

You watched her headlights pull out of the front yard and down the street, just as it was replaced with the single round headlight of a motorbike. JJ nudged the kickstand down and pulled off his helmet, shaking out his blond hair in the setting light.

You ran to your room, grabbing your bag off the door knob. Unsurprisingly, you felt a little jittery to meet so many people at once but excited nonetheless.

“Hey!” You met JJ at the door, his fist raised in an anticipatory knock. His eyes traveled over your frame, taking in the casual, albeit skimpy, outfit you’d chosen for the occasion. At least you’d be cool in this summer heat wave.

“H- Hey,” JJ stuttered out, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “You ready? I mean- you look ready! You look great, that’s what I meant.”

You laugh and nod, “Yeah, I’m ready.”

You trail behind JJ to his bike and he turns to you to offer a helmet.

“One helmet,” he says.

“Oh, no, I don’t want to take your only one!”

“Y/n, really, take it.” He took your hand and placed it on the helmet. Relenting, you slid the hard plastic over your head. Before you could react, JJ’s ring-clad fingers were working the buckle underneath your chin. Your eyes met his blue ones and he flashed you a smile before flipping down the dark visor over your eyes. He climbed on the bike, beckoning you over.

“You ever rode on a bike before?” he asked.

You flipped the visor back up. “No! Where- How do I...?” You practically shouted, your hearing muffled by the padded helmet.

“Here,” JJ chuckled, pointing to where you should position your legs behind him. As soon as you were settled in, he nudged up the kickstand and revved the engine.

“Now, just hold onto me,” he said. You could hear the smirk in his voice as the two of you pulled off in pursuit of what JJ called “The Boneyard-” the beach this kegger was supposed to be held on.

The Boneyard was actually so beautiful.

The two of you arrived just as the sun was setting, casting warm streaks of golden light across the sand and assortment of driftwood.

From what you could tell, the party was already in full swing. The beach was filled with people clustered around popping bonfires or standing in groups, all with red solo cups in hand. Music blared as your eyes grazed over the beach, connecting with a group of three stoney-faced boys- Topper, Rafe, and Kelce.

So their supposed hatred of Pogues doesn’t extend to free beer. Got it.

You rolled your eyes in their direction before JJ pulled your attention back to him and the three friends that gathered in front of the two of you.

“Hi, I’m Pope- Heyward.” Pope extended a hand out to you and you chuckled a bit as you shook it.

“Old school. I like it,” you laughed freely now.

“This is John B., and that’s Kiara,” JJ added.

The taller boy next to Pope raised his hand in a half salute, half wave.

“Hi. Nice to meet you all.” You remembered your first interaction with JJ this morning and added, “I’m y/n. New here.”

“That’s pretty obvious,” Kiara added. “Call me Kie.”

“Thanks,” you said. “It’ll be nice to have some friends this side of the island. I’ve already seemed to make some enemies out of the locals.” You gestured towards the still-staring Topper, Rafe, and Kelce, though now they were joined by a pretty blonde girl.

“Ugh! They’re the actual worst. Just stick with us and you’ll be alright.” Kie said, rolling her eyes.

“Technically, if you want to avoid Rafe, Topper, and Kelce, we’re probably not the best friend group to stick around. They kind of have it out for us too.” Pope shrugged and JJ shoved him on the shoulder.

“Shut up, dude. She’ll be fine,” JJ laughed as John B. filled a cup for you from the keg.

The five of you sat laughing by the bonfire. A cold gust of wind had you shivering and JJ noticed.

“You cold?” He asked, already taking off his flannel.

“A little, yeah,” you smiled as he draped the fabric over your shoulders, putting your arms through one at a time.

“Subtle, dude,” Pope laughed from across the fire.

“I’ll show you subtle, come here!” JJ shouted as he and Pope barreled off in a faux wresting match.

Kie shook her head and resumed her conversation with John B. about climate change and its impact on coastal environments, which gave you some time to zone out.

You nuzzled your face into the flannel, JJ’s body heat and scent engulfing you. Kie glanced over at you and signaled to John B. He got the hint and the two stood and walked a few feet away to refill their already full solo cups.

Just as you were starting to settle into your inner brain babble, a tall figure approached.

“First time you’ve been without your guard dogs all night,” Rafe Cameron chuckled humorlessly.

You looked around for JJ or Pope, but they were nowhere to be found.

“You know, you really shouldn’t hang with the Pogues. They’re sort of the wrong crowd,” Rafe began.

“Rafe, I am really not interested in entertaining your bigoted elitist bullshit, okay? I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions of who I do and don’t hang out with. You don’t even know me.” You scooted further down the piece of driftwood you two were sitting on, but Rafe followed close behind.

“Hey, you don’t want my advice, that’s fine. You’ll see soon enough.”

Your eyes connected with JJ’s across the beach at the same time Rafe’s did. In what was obviously a calculated move on his part, Rafe’s ringed hand reached over to rest on your exposed knee.

Before you even had time to react, JJ was on Rafe, dragging him back by the collar of his shirt toward the water’s edge. Shouts erupted from around you as you stood to see the commotion.

At the shore, JJ and Rafe splashed in the shallows, tossing each other this way and that. JJ landed punch after punch to Rafe’s face, Rafe landing punches in JJ’s sides. You rushed to the boys, shoving past body after body.

You desperately clawed at Rafe’s arm in a feeble attempt to pull him off of JJ, but as he prepared to land another punch, his arm swung back and connected harshly with your jaw.

You fell back onto the hard sand, the muffled shouts, curses, and cheers blooming like fireworks around you.

The last thing you heard before total darkness invaded your vision was the deafening pop of two shots.

~series masterlist~

#jj maybank #dark!jj maybank #obx #outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe obx #jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #dark!jj maybank x reader #obx fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #jj obx #jj maybank fanfiction

88 notes · View notes

jackie-sugarskull · 3 months

Text

It took the finale freaking breaking me to finally make OCs for this series 😅 And it also kinda counts for a continuation idea I have.

This is Ginevra "Ginny" Wolfe and her daughter, Francez, but she prefers to go by "Fran".

Spoilers for the finale ahead (I know it’s been a couple weeks, but better safe than sorry)

Ginny is a feisty Italian-American single mom and Todd’s paternal cousin, and she’s the one who bought his old house after the finale. He actually called her as soon as his house went on the market because he couldn’t think of anyone better to have it.

Over the years, Ginny had wanted so badly to reach out to him… but had so much to deal with on her own, especially after the loss of her husband Gabe. So when her favorite cousin (who she heard through the grapevine had become somewhat of a recluse years back) just up and called her out of the blue one day, telling her that he was selling his house to go travel the world with his best friend like he’d always wanted when they were kids, to say she was relieved would’ve been an understatement.

Fran, meanwhile, has what she refers to as the “Neurodivergence Triple A Plan”; Autism, ADHD and Anxiety. That doubled with her over-enthusiastic love for all things mythical, cryptid and occult, it naturally made her a bit of social outlier. And the loss of her dad didn’t make things easier. She retreated into herself for a long time, sleeping most days and barely even speaking unless spoken to. Her mother was terrified for her health at this rate. She’d already lost the love of her life, like hell she was losing her baby. It was a rough road and took some time, but she was able to get her to agree to therapy and begin to heal. It was a while after this that Fran was made aware that her “Uncle Todd” was coming for a visit, and she was about to take a big step in the next chapter of her family’s life.

A few months later, the three of them met up in Chicago to catch up and finalize everything on buying the house. While she was elated at seeing her cousin the happiest he’d been in years, Ginny was a bit apprehensive a first; uprooting from everything they’ve known and moving to another state, let alone a new town? She wasn’t afraid to admit it scared her. Todd was quick to reassure her two things; 1) A change of scenery and a clean slate might be just what Fran needs, and 2) Taking big risks are a part of life and what makes it worth living. And in a town like Brighton, Fran was sure to make some great friends and make a lot of memories.

So not long after Todd headed off on his next big adventure, Ginny and Fran started their own by moving to Brighton, not yet knowing that as their moving truck was pulling into town, it caught the eye of a young girl.

————

So yeah, I kinda have a story in the planning stages for this, so I can’t give away TOO much, but I can show you one thing: Ghost!Fran (No, she doesn’t die, but she’s also NOT a Wraith. So, have fun with that little tidbit 😉)

#the ghost and molly mcgee #tgamm #tgamm oc #my ocs #my art

17 notes · View notes

dawn-moths · 2 years

Text

“The Final Nail in the Coffin” (PART I)

CHAPTER 6

Undertaker x Female Reader / Ron x Female Reader

word count: 22,000+

part 1 * part 2 * part 3 * part 4 * part 5 * part 6 * part 7

(A countryside vacation is the last bit of reprieve you get before the violence that’s surrounded you, from a safe distance up until now, begins to close in. Threats, jealousy, betrayal, and desperation turn from tiny flames into a blistering wildfire, consuming everything and everyone in its path, sooner or later. But when the inferno reaches you, will you have it in you to keep running, even as its flames lick at your heels and the heat becomes stifling? Or will you simply throw yourself into the blaze, realizing that no one can outrun death, even with a promise of eternity seeming more and more possible by the day?)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors DNI! (honestly there’s really no smut in this chapter but still including the prior warning just for the series as a whole) big plot time, reader’s drink is drugged, descriptions of violence, abusive/controlling/manipulative behavior, daddy kink, jealousy, cheating, descriptions of torture and violence, character death, welcome to the beginning of the big finale everyone.

*ao3 mirror*

***

The heat of the English summer was a honey sweet reprieve from the bitter winter that blanketed itself over the country during those long, cold, dark months. The skies were blue and cloudless out here in the countryside, though even when it did rain, it was cool and refreshing and you’d tried more than once to go running out into the sporadic downpours in your cute sundresses before Undertaker inevitably reminded you that you’d catch a cold if you did such a thing.

You’d pout, maybe even mutter an adorably pathetic, “Please, Daddy… Just for a little while?” before obeying his orders as one of his pale, scarred hands came down to rest gently on your fragile little shoulder and guide you further inside the quaint cottage, only then to distract and entertain you with other activities in which you’d have his full attention.

So you couldn’t really complain, could you?

Not when the mansion you’d come to call your home had brought you more paranoia than comfort ever since the incident, and you’d practically begged Undertaker to take you on some kind of getaway once the weather cleared up.

The countryside cottage was the perfect vacation. Sure, it wasn’t anywhere near as extravagant as a week in Paris in one of your favorite presidential suites, but in the grand scheme of things— and especially after you’d thought you were going to lose your love, lose your life— all that mattered was that it was just you and Undertaker.

No danger.

No fear.

Just the warm June breeze that combed through your hair during your afternoon picnics, your lover’s familiar touch lingering on your sunkissed skin as he stared into your eyes like you were the most beautiful and radiant thing in the entire world.

And you wished it could’ve been like this all the time, just you and him and the open, sprawling fields and sparkling lakes that painted the scenery around you. But for Undertaker, work never died. Only ever slept. And, these days, it didn’t take much to wake it.

The cottage was only a few hours from headquarters and, a few times, Undertaker had called upon one of his confidants— usually Grell, since he knew he was your favorite— to come and keep you company while he headed back to the city for half a day to attend to some more urgent matters. You didn’t mind though, because Undertaker always made the interruptions up to you with glittering gifts or more intimate favors that would have you unraveling underneath him within minutes.

You liked the countryside, you kept telling him, liked the quiet and the fresh air and the vast sky that seemed to surround you at every turn. You liked the calming walks through nature you two would take together arm in arm, you liked the dinners at the little dining room table, small enough that your ankles could intertwine underneath, and the evening boat rides on the lake where the sunset cast the clear water in a shimmering masterpiece of lavender and gold.

Undertaker would be lying if he said he didn’t like it too, liked seeing you adorned in pastel colors as you pranced around without a care in the world, liked seeing your eyes light up with glee as you pointed out a bird soaring far overhead and trying to guess what kind it was, liked when you smiled and laughed in that blissful way of yours, the sound like the jingle of delicate little bells.

One evening, during a particularly picturesque sunset, when the two of you were enjoying a home cooked dinner out on a picnic blanket overlooking the lake that was practically in the cottage’s backyard, Undertaker had been stealing giggle after innocently adorable giggle from you as he recounted a rare tale from his past, a mischievous story from his university days. While you kept on laughing, flopping onto your back as your enjoyment died down to a content sort of amusement, he just couldn’t help but stare at you, burning this image into his memory as if he thought it might be the very last time he would be graced with it.

It very well might’ve been, he was reminded as that night flashed through his mind once more. The night he almost lost you.

“How sad it would be…” he muttered, just barely loud enough for you to hear as he gently stroked his knuckles along the soft, smooth skin of your cheek, “Should your laughter vanish from this world…”

In response, you simply nuzzled into his touch, allowing his long, lithe fingers to weave into your hair, cradling your head before leaning down to lay across the picnic blanket beside you. He lulled you off to sleep with his gentle, loving ministrations, watching you through a calm, half-lidded gaze until your eyelids grew heavy and closed, long lashes fluttering a few times before giving up the fight to stay awake.

You knew you didn’t have to. He’d carry you back inside before returning to collect the things left from your picnic. After bringing everything inside, he’d tuck you in and curl back up beside you under the covers, keeping you close like he always did.

And you wished that your dreamworld could stay as calm as your waking one. It seemed like a waste, to be surrounded by such breathtaking serenity only to plunge back into the vicious, ugly nightmares the moment your head hit the plush pillows.

These nightmares weren’t like the other ones though.

They didn’t rouse you in the night, leaving you shivering and panting, clawing at Undertaker as he tried to convince you that you were ok, that you were safe, startling you back to reality when the terror that tortured you every night returned once more.

They were quiet. More docile. They’d make you toss and turn a few times, maybe utter a weak little whine as your brow gently furrowed, but not much more.

But, in that way, they were much worse, too.

In that way, they sunk their persistent fangs in deep and held you down, threatening to end you if you so much as moved, forcing you to submit night after night after night.

But when Undertaker asked how you’d slept, you’d force a smile and say through a yawn that you’d slept just fine.

Because you knew just as well as he did how that night had affected him.

You knew he still blamed himself.

And, honestly, deep down in a place you didn’t dare visit, maybe you still blamed him too.

***

“I was just thinking…” you began to ponder, one delicate, perfectly manicured little finger resting on your chin. “Wouldn’t it be nice to invite everyone up for a day together before summer ends?”

You were midway through your evening stroll, walking arm in arm with Undertaker and had simply been enjoying the comforting silence of the countryside and one another’s presence, until you’d decided to speak.

Undertaker’s slow, graceful stride came to a gradual halt near a break in the trees that gave view to the shimmering lake in the distance, sporadic pindot glows of fireflies hovering and reflecting over the surface of the still water. Your question remained unanswered.

“We could all go out for a picnic, maybe take the boat out, and then have a nice dinner together,” you continued, voice treading on a pleading whine, like you already knew your chances of getting your way this time were slim to none. “Don’t you think that’d be fun?”

Undertaker breathed out a long, even sigh through his nose and then looked down at you, pulling you a little closer to his side before responding with a tactfully apologetic, “You know I wish we could, but I’m afraid that the others are just too busy with work to spare a day.”

You were disappointed, of course, but knew better than to press. So you just hung your head as a sad smile trembled on your lips and said, “Oh, ok…”

“But you and I can still do those things,” he was quick to correct, rubbing a hand up and down your arm to try and reassure you. You gazed up at him with those pitiful puppy dog eyes that he was weak for. “Tomorrow,” he decided, beginning to stroll along the grassy path with you again. “We’ll pack all our favorites and take the boat to the tulip fields you like and spend the day there.”

“Will you bring that book we’ve been reading?” you then asked, seeming to brighten up a bit. You’d chosen one from the cottage’s little library at random one afternoon out of curiosity and, after just a few pages, been hooked. When Undertaker saw you with it, he’d made a remark that it used to be one of his favorites, back in his university days, and you’d then asked him if he’d read it to you. He’d unveiled a new chapter or two to you every day since then, and now you were nearing the thrilling finale.

“Yes, my love,” Undertaker grinned, smoothing out some stray strands of your hair the wind had pulled free. “We’ll finish it tomorrow, if you’d like?”

You nuzzled in closer to him as the cottage came back into sight, smiling genuinely now as you hummed with satisfaction and said, “I’d love that.”

So, while you wouldn’t have your dream outing with everyone— Undertaker and Grell and Ron and even Othello and Will— you’d still find a way to enjoy the remaining few weeks tucked away in your little slice of paradise here.

The spell cast over this place was a rather strong one, the way it made almost any and all problems disappear like loose petals on the breeze, but as you felt your phone buzz from inside your pocket, the illusion was temporarily shattered.

It was Ron.

It had to be.

He was the only one who’d been texting you regularly lately.

And you hadn’t seen him in weeks now. Months.

The only proof you even had that he still existed was the occasional “how ya doin pretty girl” or “missin you right now baby”, but those were just words on a screen, as far as you were concerned.

Even so, you’d still reply. You’d wait until you found a private— and rare— moment alone and respond with a quick but efficient, “i miss you too” before returning to Undertaker’s side and allowing him to carry you away to another leisurely adventure.

For Ron, it wasn’t enough either.

He wanted to hear your voice, to see your cute little face and touch your soft skin again.

He was tortured by your absence, and even more so by the fact that he knew you didn’t feel this kind of agony because you had someone ready to fulfill your every wish at your side every moment of every painstakingly long day.

But things were about to change. Ron could feel it, could practically smell it in the air, sort of like when a big storm is on its way.

The only thing he didn’t know yet was what, exactly, was crawling its way out of the dark to challenge him.

It could be any number of things, he knew.

He just hoped that, before the winds howled and the rain began to pour, he got to see you one final time.

***

Back in London, the summer weather was not so generous as it had proven to be in the countryside. It had been raining for a week, the air heavy with that gloomy, miserable weight that followed a storm, leaving everything damp and humid.

Grell, Ron, and Will had just finished up for the day and were heading out towards where their cars were parked in the reserved spaces, muttering bits of smalltalk concerning work just as an unfortunately familiar figure stepped into their line of sight.

“Evening, gentlemen,” Lau greeted with that dark grin of his, intentions unreadable as his hands remained clasped behind his back, hidden. “What a coincidence to see you all again.”

Ron and Grell stopped short and drew their weapons while William took an extra step forward to respond, currently defenseless but always ready to flick his own extendable weapon out from his sleeve and attack if things began to escalate.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Will warned, adjusting his glasses and furrowing his brows into a deeper scowl. “Enemies of the boss will be regarded as trespassers and disposed of accordingly.”

Lau chuckled to himself, taking a few lazy strides forward, still not showing his hands, and then began to look around, surveying this side of the building as he said, “You know, it really is a shame that your boss and I couldn’t enter into a deal after all that trouble, but I still wouldn’t consider him my enemy.” He flashed them a view of his eyes, the oil-slick kind of dark that reflected one’s terror right back at them if they met the gaze for too long. Lau’s eyes reminded Will of a shark’s, predatory and dangerous. “That would just be rude, don’t you think?”

Ron had never trusted this man, never liked him and wasn’t ever going to fall for any of his tricky words wrapped up in a pleasant tone. He was already on edge from several different sources up until this point, was just itching to pull the trigger, as if that would bring any relief to his frustration and anxiety, but he also knew that with Lau, things would never be that easy.

“Stay on your guard,” Ron whispered to Grell, who shot his colleague a side glance. “There’s probably others nearby.” Grell gave a short nod and inched up closer beside Will, Ron following suit.

“You should leave,” Will rephrased, his voice even tighter than usual, giving his wrist a slight flick to shift the collapsible polearm up his sleeve down into his palm. “I will not ask again.”

At this, Lau gave a dramatic sigh, hanging his head momentarily before peering back up at the group of men before him with a disappointment so innocent one might’ve actually believed it to be genuine, if not for who’d he’d proven himself to be in the past.

“So that’s how it is then…?” he asked, revealing one hand as he reached up to comb his fingers through his sleek, inky hair, the other still resting behind his back. “The three of you truly don’t realize your own value, do you?”

Grell and Ron exchanged looks and raised an eyebrow each. It was a quick and simple expression, but not one that Lau was keen to miss observing. “Skilled men are easy to come by, in this line of business,” Lau continued, casting his line one last time. “But loyal ones… Loyal ones are rare.”

“Give it a rest,” Ron finally cut in, no reservation in his annoyance with the time-wasting games Lau liked to play. “We could’ve shot you the moment you set foot in our territory. Will, here, already said he wasn’t gonna say it again…” He raised his gun and took aim at the Chinese man, his lip curling into a sneer. “The next thing you’ll hear outta us is the sound of our bullets firing into your body. Now get lost.”

Even with his life being threatened, Lau still found cause to smile. Because, similar to William, he also always had something up his sleeve, just not in the literal sense.

“I could make all of you richer than you could ever imagine,” promised Lau. “With me, you wouldn’t have to work nearly as hard as Undertaker forces you to. Because, unlike your boss, whether I’m on a job or not, the money is always there, always replenishing.” He shifted his stance, the arm behind his back relaxing a little. “That’s what marks a good trader,” he continued. “It’s like dominos. Once you line them up, it only takes one simple motion to make them fall.”

“You said before that you consider us loyal,” Will remarked. “Yet, if we betrayed Undertaker to join you, we’d cease to be as such.” He gave his wrist another, harder flick and his weapon extended to its full length, the sharp sheers at the end glinting under the streetlamp overhead. “For those who betray one master will surely do it to another, given the chance.”

No one moved.

No one spoke.

For a moment, it seemed as if no one so much as breathed.

But then Lau gave another one of those curt little chuckles of his and leeched some of the tension from the air before returning it ten fold with a low, cold reply of, “Shame…”

At first, Undertaker’s men were confused, expecting Lau to reveal a gun and start firing, but when the trader dropped both hands to fall to his sides and instead proved that he had been holding nothing at all, a new kind of tension and fear filled their lungs.

“Let’s just take ‘im out,” Ron urged quietly through clenched teeth, looking for either of his comrades to take the lead and give the go ahead, but as Will’s neck craned up towards the roof, Grell’s following, Ron finally caught on and took in the view himself.

Lining the rooftops were the silhouettes of at least thirty men, all of them aiming rifles down at the trio and awaiting the order to shoot them full of holes. Out from around the corner of the alley stepped at least ten more men, also wielding an assortment of firearms.

“I’ll only extend this offer one last time,” Lau added, smirking like the devil and now taking slow, even steps backward as he extended his arms, the final invitation to join him or die. “I promise you won’t see me again after this if you turn me down.”

“Shit, what do we do?” Grell hissed, scanning the surrounding area for any signs of escape. But Lau had them cornered. Caged. This was an ultimatum and no amount of clever comments or sly sleight of hand was going to get them out of it.

“Besides,” Lau went on, still making steady progress on putting a distance between him and the group of Undertaker’s men. “I think you’d find the weather much more pleasant in Shanghai than in this miserable little hole of a country.”

“That’s it!” Ron raised his gun and pulled the trigger, but Will intervened and pulled his wrist, causing the bullet to miss and for Ron to flash his colleague a feral and perplexed look. “What the fuck was that for?!” he’d tried to say, but was cut off by Will tackling both him and Grell to the concrete as a hundred bullets came raining down on them.

It was complete chaos as the trio scrambled towards any form of cover they could find, sparks flying as ammunition struck steel and concrete, glass shattering from the first floor windows of headquarters.

“Those bastards!” Ron growled, trying to find an opening to poke his head out and take a few shots, but the bullets just kept coming.

“Do we run?!” Grell questioned with panic. But then the constant stream of noise ceased just long enough for them to recognize the pause of a reload, allowing them the chance they needed to make their escape.

Which is what they probably would’ve done if they worked for anyone else. But these were the underlings of the Black Reaper. Their boss didn’t run from danger and neither did they, despite the odds.

Ron was the first to start dashing towards the men on the ground, taking three of them out before Grell and Will caught up, finishing the rest of them off. They’d have to call for backup if they wanted to get rid of their rooftop enemies, but with all the blood painting the bricks and the adrenaline coursing through their veins, the snipers were temporarily forgotten.

As soon as the next round of shots came whizzing towards them, Grell took aim with his dagger and launched the blade upward, nailing one of the gunmen in the eye before scurrying his way up the fire escape to retrieve his prized knife and do some more damage. Will and Ron could hear their red-headed comrade’s cruel cackle echoing across the rooftops, also hurrying up to assist.

William’s retractable weapon made for good long range combat, and Ron’s pistol filled in the gaps to keep watch of the other two’s backs. By the time nearly ten more of Lau’s men were dead, someone among the living called out a word in Chinese that could only mean retreat, the remaining survivors following the order and falling back until the roof only beheld the victors and the dead left behind.

The three of them just stood there for a while after that, still on guard as they scanned their surroundings for any more signs of danger, and only felt they could relax once several minutes had passed without incident.

“Shit…” Ron sighed, still catching his breath as he wiped a smudge of enemy blood from his glasses. “What is wrong with that guy?”

“If the boss had been here he would’ve never!” Grell exclaimed dramatically, swishing some carnage-damp strands of hair from his face and extracting his dagger from where it had embedded itself in the throat of one of the dead. “I swear, I’m getting really tired of that Lau fellow’s games!”

“I suppose we should report this to the boss,” William calmly suggested, though through his own bout of shallow panting. He pulled his cellphone out from his trouser pocket and began to scroll through his contacts until Undertaker’s number came into view.

“God…” Ron heaved, leaning against a pole and squeezing his eyes shut before blinking rapidly a few times.

He couldn’t believe how many chances he’d gotten to cheat death. With his track record, anyone else would be six feet under. But I suppose that’s part of my curse, he thought with scorn. So long as I’m in a contract with the devil, I won’t earn the peace of death until he decides he’s done with me.

He forced himself back upright and then concluded with a rather disgruntled, “Where is everybody else, huh? Didn’t they hear the gunshots?!”

But then, as if in reply to his question, a voice from below shouted, “Hey!”

All three heads popped over the side of the roof to see Othello staring up and looking annoyed, as if all the racket had distracted him from whatever weird little science experiment he’d been tinkering away with in the basement. “Are you guys ok?! What happened?!”

“Ambush!” Ron called down. “It was that Chinese trader again!”

Othello puffed out an incredulous sigh and muttered something passive-aggressive before calling back up to his comrades, “Stay there! I’m coming up!”

Once on the roof, the scientist surveyed the damage, his irritation turning to intrigue as he counted the number of bodies scattered about, not having missed the ones littering the ground below them as well.

“Jesus…” he exhaled, adjusting his glasses and raising his eyebrows. “You three certainly got lucky. Just how did you manage to take this many of them out?” Will explained that there had been double this amount, but they’d retreated, Grell and Ron adding a few additional comments here and there as the little scientist just nodded along, unable to take his eyes off the fresh corpses.

“Think they’ll come back?” Othello asked next, squatting down to examine one of the dead a little closer, studying the way his eyes were already devoid of light.

“If they do,” Ron huffed, reloading his pistol out of habit, the cold metallic click echoing over the rooftop, “then they can join their friends.”

“They won’t be back,” Will concluded. All three of his colleagues turned their heads in unison to look at him. “Lau is done with us,” he elaborated. “He said so himself. I don’t think he cares either way if we live or die anymore. He knows our boss is done with him too. As far as we’re concerned, that was just an unnecessarily aggressive farewell.”

“It would’ve killed him to send a letter like a normal person, wouldn’t it?” Grell muttered to himself.

Then, as Will, Grell, and Ron all seemed more than ready to head down from the roof and return to headquarters to discuss plans further, maybe wash the blood from their faces, Othello suddenly stopped them.

“Wait,” he said. “I can use these. Help me throw them down.”

“What? From the roof?!” Grell inquired with eyebrows raised. William rolled his eyes but didn’t hesitate to assist, Grell soon following his lead and helping carry each corpse to the ledge before pushing from off the side, a sickening crunch following a few seconds later when the bones broke on the concrete below. Ron, however, just stood and watched them with some form of morbid fascination before snapping out of his trance, one of Othello’s hands finding his shoulder.

“It’ll be any day now…” the scientist spoke, staring out at the other two doing his bidding, almost as if he wasn’t aware he’d just voiced his thoughts out loud.

Ron’s stare widened a fraction, a new kind of horror swimming through his green eyes. “What…?” he asked, feeling his stomach drop with an unknown dread, though, if he really thought hard enough about it, he’d be able to decode the vague declaration.

“Nothing, nothing…” Othello replied, patting Ron’s shoulder twice before starting towards another corpse. He grabbed the arms before looking back over at Ron expectantly. “Come on,” he beckoned. “I can’t lift it myself.”

Ron felt an icy shiver race down his spine, his skin rising with goosebumps as he swallowed his hesitations, pacing over stiffly to assist the scientist.

It’ll be any day now…

Ron just hoped that he still had time to get to you before then.

***

You and Undertaker had decided to head back to London a few weeks earlier than originally expected after the news of the ambush had been relayed to him. When you’d asked him why, whining and pouting about the fact that your private little vacation was being cut short, he hadn’t fed you a lie like you’d become accustomed to swallowing down so easily in the past.

This time, after everything that had happened with him almost dying and you almost getting kidnapped, he told you the truth.

Sure, it was still vague and didn’t consist of much information— not that you needed or even wanted to hear the gorey details— but you knew that a previous ex-potential ally had taken it upon himself to deploy a troop of his men to Undertaker’s headquarters where there had been a rather brutal fire-fight.

And while Undertaker’s company had somehow survived the ordeal more or less unscathed, many of their enemies had not.

“But don’t worry, my love,” he’d assured you, pale fingers stroking through your hair languidly, “Grell and Will and Othello are all fine…”

He sounded tired— looked exhausted— but that was a more welcome departure from the tightly-wound up ball of stress he’d been when he’d first received the news.

However, something about his affirmation caused you to freeze under his touch.

“What about Ron…?” you cautiously asked, stare slowly traveling from the TV across the room where you two had been watching some 60s spy flick up to meet his glowing emerald gaze, which was still stuck on the car chase scene playing quietly.

You saw his jaw tense, felt his fingers cease their gentle stroking in your hair, and tried to swallow down the fearful anticipation that had just spiked through you.

Undertaker shot a glare your way, only his eyes moving as his face and body remained still as a statue. In a dark, harsh tone that you weren’t very accustomed to hearing directed at you, he asked with suspicion, “Why?”

“W-well because…” you stammered, trying to shift from where you’d been laying against his side to put some distance between you two, but his stiff body locked you against him like a cage. You swallowed again, trying not to cry as you felt the uncomfortable sting of oncoming tears prickle in the back of your nose. “I-I just— you didn’t name him and I was just worried that—”

You gasped and instinctively pulled your arms into your chest, hands guarding your face as he quickly shifted to lean sideways against the couch, still staring you down like the worst was on its way.

“Why…” Undertaker pressed, raising one of his pale, white eyebrows, the gesture here and then gone under the light like a ghost, “would it matter if something happened to him or not?” He leaned in closer, making you flinch back, tears beginning to well on your lash line like glittering diamonds about to fall. “What is he to you?” he went on, chartreuse glare glowering monstrously and causing you to tremble under the intensity of it. “Why do you care so much?”

You stared at him wide-eyed and terrified from between your fingers, manicured hands going numb over your face like all the blood had just rushed out of them.

“I… I just—”

You gasped again, sharper this time, as he reached forward and grabbed your face in his hand, your cheeks squishing together between his long, spindly grasp, causing you to emit a small squeak of pain as your diamonds finally came raining down.

“Do you have any idea…” he threatened ominously, narrowing his glare and speaking in a low, murmuring voice, almost a whisper, “what would become of you if you ever—” He punctuated the word through gritted teeth, his grip on your jaw flexing for a moment and making another sob hitch in your chest. “—were unfaithful to me?” He paused, as if awaiting a response from you, but you could only whine and wince and breathe out shaky pleas of “I won’t— I would never— Please— Promise— Ow— I won’t—” until he gave you a quick shake and repeated with a raise of his voice, “Do you?!”

“Gnh— Please—!” you sputtered with another flinch, tears making the back of your throat mucusy with thick saliva. “Please, I won’t, I won’t, I wouldn’t— Please, you’re hurting me—!”

Your weak, shaking hands were wrapped around his wrist, trying and failing to pull free as you began to fear that perhaps this was the end. The end of what, you did not know— your relationship, your trust, your life— but it was bringing you back to your most traumatic night, causing your heart to hammer rapid-fire against your ribcage and a cold sweat to break out on your skin.

And it was only when you began to rake your nails against his scarred wrist that Undertaker snapped out of it, blinking a few times as his grip loosened, allowing you to slide free and recoil as you fell back against the opposite arm of the couch, coughing and sobbing and clutching your arms around yourself as you shook with the violent fears that wracked through your frail being.

Now it was his turn to bestow a wide-eyed gaze upon you, his own kind of terror racing through his veins. Then, ever so carefully, slowly, as if trying to soothe a wounded animal, he began to reach out for you, his cold hands trembling ever so slightly as well.

“D-darling, I—” He stopped short when you retracted further from him, shooting him a look that he’d rarely, if ever, seen painted across your face. Now your eyes were the ones full of hate, full of threats. Threats to leave him, he figured, and he swallowed thickly at the thought. He pulled his hand back, giving you some more space and allowing you to return on your own. Hoping you’d be willing to migrate back against his side if he hadn’t just ruined everything.

But you’d become much more defiant than you once were. Instead of drifting back under his arm after he’d hurt you, accepting another apology while fresh bruises bloomed over your skin, you bared your teeth, flashed a scowl, screaming through the tears as your bloodshot eyes opened wide and dangerous, “Ever since coming to live with you they’ve been my only friends! I’ve only had them when you’re not around! And you wanna know why—?!”

You were leaning in closer now, but not out of being drawn back into his comfort.

You were wild. Feral. Enraged. The pretty, doll-like disguise that you’d kept up this entire time shattering like porcelain thrown to the floor as everything you’d been holding back— all the past grudges, annoyances, and bitterness— came spilling out, flooding the room of the vacation cottage.

“It’s because all my other friends and family practically cut me off once they found out I was dating you— dating someone like you— and I didn’t care because I knew that they were just jealous, or thought that they knew what was better for me than I did! And I—” You grabbed up one of the pillows and chucked it his way, feeling a small amount of satisfaction as it struck him, even though he raised his arms up to block the object. “I loved you! I loved you so I didn’t care that I was losing them! And I thought you loved me too! But when you take away the only other relationships I have left, how is that supposed to make me feel?!”

You stood your ground, staring him down with a deep, foreign kind of fury. An emotion almost lost to you, almost beaten into submission and then locked away forever, left to wither and rot to nothing but dust inside of you until you were a perfect, stupid little girl who couldn’t even conjure the definition of resentment.

“I feel like I barely even see them anymore!” you continued then, some of your rage simmering, yet the heat of your anger ready to boil back over at a moment’s notice. “Grell and Ron especially! They were my friends! They took me places and had fun with me and actually listened when I talked to them— actually cared!”

You saw the hurt cross Undertaker’s eyes, the knife you’d already stuck in his chest twisting a bit at that accusation.

“So stop trying to make me feel bad for having more than one person I care about! ‘Cause I’m allowed to do that! Whether you like it or not, there’s not just me and you— there’s me and all the other people who’ve come into my new life since I left my old one, and if I’m not allowed to cherish each of them in their own way, then maybe I don’t want any of them at all!”

You searched Undertaker’s face for any signs of a dangerous reaction, a threatening response, but only found the tight-jawed, squinted eyed, worried scowl of regret pulling at his features from across the couch.

“My love, please, I am so, truly sorry, I—” he began, his voice low and even, stern yet somehow still sincere. He was fighting to control his temper, sure, but what he needed to convey more importantly to you now was that his previous actions weren’t as personal as they might’ve initially seemed.

Manipulate, a little voice in the back of your head rasped, he’s trying to manipulate you.

“Things are getting far more complicated than any of us had ever intended,” he admitted through a sigh, so good at playing the victim despite rarely ever being one. “I understand your frustrations, I do… But please just try to be patient and know that, once the worst of this blows over, you’ll see your friends more often. I swear to you…” He slowly reached forward again, testing the waters to see if you’d let him place a hand on your knee. You flinched, but didn’t move away as his cold touch found your warm skin. “Everything will be alright, in the end.”

You looked down at his big hand, where it enveloped your knee, his thumb lightly stroking against your leg.

You wanted to believe him, wanted to trust that everything really would be alright, though you wished the end would hurry up and come already. Not to mention that, if things hadn’t yet reached their worst, then what other atrocities could possibly be approaching on the horizon?

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he apologized again, a nervous smirk pulling at his lips. “Please, won’t you forgive me?”

You placed your hand over his, slowly taking it into your own grasp and turning it over, studying the lines and creases that ran along his palm. Maybe if you stared hard enough, you’d be able to sort out the lies from the truths, like fortune tellers did. Though you weren’t very well versed in divinity, the one thing you knew for certain was that the stars only seemed to want to test you lately, glittering from high up above as you suffered far down below.

And, as for Undertaker’s apology, words were just words. They couldn’t cover up or undo the marks that had been physically left. Couldn’t erase or cure the nightmares and memories left behind by all the trauma.

“Every night…” you muttered, so quiet that the movie still playing in the background nearly drowned out the sound of you. “Every night, I see it in my dreams… Sometimes it’s their faces, sometimes it’s you and the boys…” You shuffled a little closer to him, your legs tucked under you now, eyes still glued to Undertaker’s hand, your fingers lightly tracing along one of his scars. “And every time it always ends the same…” You felt yourself tearing up again, chewing on the inside of your cheek as if that would make it stop. “I’m always caught, always dragged away…” You sniffled, your touch traveling up to his wrist to trace along the shadow of a deeper injury. “I’m always locked away somewhere dark and deep and…” I know that I’ll never see the light of day again.

Undertaker had done enough terrible things to enough people, both innocent and well-deserving of his punishment, throughout his life to have the boulder of guilt weighing on his back crush anyone else under the force, tear their skin and grind their bones down to dust.

But he’d never been one to feel much remorse, simply decided to look at the weight that was left after every pull of the trigger or slash of a blade, considering it with a minor curiosity, then turned his back and left it there for someone else to carry.

When it came to you, however, he’d never abandoned that weight.

He’d set it down sometimes, given himself a rest late at night after he’d fucked you good and watched you fall asleep, or when you were gifting him one of your precious smiles before the backdrop of some luxurious foreign city, but he always picked it back up, sooner or later.

Every time he did, the combined pressure returned to him slowly, easing back into his blood and brain like a lazy drip of some risky drug. At first, he always thought he could take it, that he knew his limits and could handle the consequences. But by the time another piece, pebble, or rock got added onto that already massive boulder, Undertaker swore that he couldn’t carry any more. That this would have to be it or he’d give in to the urge to just fall and let it crush him. Crush you both.

Maybe it’s time to let it roll down the hill, he’d tell himself sometimes, when his thoughts began to swim and jumble in his head, let it drop from the cliff and sink into the sea. But no matter how close he got to the edge, to the end of carrying such a mammoth guilt, he set it back down again, the feeling of how heavy it was being forgotten for just long enough to reset the cycle.

“Trust me, darling…” he assured you after you were once again cradled in his arms, soft sobs hitching in your chest as you tried to blink the trauma from your vision. “You and I will always be alright… We’ll always be together, no matter what.”

“You keep saying that…” you whimpered, snuggling in closer to him and making part of yourself feel kind of sick for it. “But what does that even mean?”

When you looked up, you found him already staring down at you, a new seriousness to his careful eyes. It made a haunting kind of coolness wash over your body, the familiar prediction that something wasn’t right glimmering in his gaze. The long silence that followed wasn’t much assurance either. But when he explained that he had a plan in place to ensure that you’d always be protected, no matter what happened to him, the concept didn’t make you feel any better.

“Death shall never touch you…” he said, an almost dream-like quality to his gaze now, softer and more loving, but also slightly possessive as he gently wiped away your remaining tears with his thumb, “For I am the reaper, and I’ve taken it upon myself to collect the souls of anyone who means you harm.”

Before you could even so much as think about what had just been said, the sheer obscurity if not insanity of it all not given enough time to sink in, Undertaker announced that he’d make you both some tea to calm your nerves and help you sleep.

You sat on the couch, alone with only the quiet sound of the movie credits playing to accompany you, as so many thoughts and emotions surged through you yet not enough energy to just reach out and grab one.

But at least your dreams weren’t plagued by nightmares this time. Undertaker had taken it upon himself to dose your cup with a sleeping agent— a strong one— so that you’d both get what you desperately needed.

For you, it was the chance to rest and reset. For him, the opportunity to buy some time to deal with business without any risks or distractions.

Even as your limbs grew heavy along with your eyelids mere minutes after consuming your cup of tea, you didn’t suspect any foul play. You simply figured that the earlier outburst had taken more out of you than you’d expected, and after all that crying it wasn’t unusual for you to want to take a nap.

Once you were out, Undertaker carried you into the bedroom, changed you into some more comfortable clothes, and tucked you into bed.

The silence was here at last, and he sat on the back porch, enjoying the serenity that he knew would be short-lived in his chaotic world of carnage and corpses.

Face up to the sky, eyes closed, Undertaker refocused himself by counting his long, deep inhales and slow, steady exhales, starting in counts of eight, then four, then two, then back up the chain and repeated until his mind felt clear and at ease.

When he opened his eyes he saw the dark storm clouds concealed under the cover of the navy night, all the stars swallowed up by the distant fog.

Just like the rain building in those great big plumes of grey, Undertaker knew that something in his life was soon to fall. It would touch everything under it when it did, soaking down to the bone and leaving a violent chill in its wake.

But he had an umbrella— one only big enough for himself and his baby to seek refuge under until the hurricane passed.

The only thing he didn’t know yet was if he was already in the eye of the storm, or if it had long since passed and the second half was raging back at home.

Undertaker pulled out his phone and dialed Othello, waiting through three rings until he answered. Before the scientist could even say hello, the boss cut in with a single demand.

“Have it ready by the time we get back,” he stated, calm and matter of fact.

Othello sounded unsure, trying to explain that you couldn’t put a deadline on something like this, but Undertaker wasn’t hearing it.

“Have results ready within the next two weeks,” he compromised, if the order could be considered as such. “We’re coming back early. I’ll be seeing you soon.”

He ended the call, not caring to hear any more excuses from anyone that night.

Meanwhile, Othello surveyed the line of Lau’s men— all the dead ones they could fit in the lab, at least— with a weary kind of concentration.

He sighed to himself, adjusted his glasses, opened to a fresh page on his notepad, and got to work.

***

The countryside cottage and the demons that had been born and beheaded within it felt like the distant past after being back at the familiar onyx and marble mansion on the outskirts of London.

It had been nearly a month since you’d feared things between you and Undertaker would come crashing down to a violent end. A month since that ominous promise. A month since your first night without being hunted down by bad dreams.

You were relieved that, for the most part, the nightmares had stopped. They’d sporadically reappear once in a while, but never play all the way through like they once had. They were choppy. Broken pieces fragmented in quick flashes that you usually forgot by the time you were startled awake. You just hoped you could keep the shards from getting too close together, rearranging into a sharp mosaic that presented itself even more horrific than before the full picture had shattered.

But these days, you had bigger things to worry about than bad dreams and fading memories. Because, while you didn’t know the full extent of what was going on in the Aurora Society, you did have an inkling that it was somehow going to involve you, whether you wanted it to or not.

“I’ll just be in my office, darling,” Undertaker informed you after mentioning that he needed to make some important business phone calls. You two were supposed to go to the movies tonight so you hoped he wouldn’t be too long. You hated when your preferred row was filled up when you arrived late. “Why don’t you go treat yourself to another one of your desserts,” he added on with a smirk, hoping to pull the pout from your face. “I’ll only be a moment.”

You beamed and went skipping for the fridge, swinging open the wide, stainless steel doors and gazing upon the top shelf where your row of desserts awaited to be chosen from— everything from creme brulee to chocolate cheesecake, tiramisu and panna cotta. You had an assortment of gelato flavors available in the pullout freezer below as well. Choices, choices…

But then something occurred to you, causing you to stop short and reassess how you wanted to use this rare moment left to your own devices.

Something felt… off.

You peered over your shoulder, finding the open floor plan of the mansion’s entrance hall vacant, yet still got the sense that there were emerald eyes tracking your every movement.

Undertaker had wanted to distract you, hadn’t he?

He’d wanted to lure you towards your beloved sweets to keep you busy while he talked over the confidential details he didn’t want you to hear.

So, forsaking your tempting treats, you carefully tiptoed upstairs and slinked down the hall that led to Undertaker’s office, finding the door cracked the slightest sliver. You kept your back pressed to the wall, practically holding your breath as you listened in.

“And were you able to use any of them?” Undertaker asked. The voice on the other line played aloud, the phone on speaker.

With anyone else in the house, Undertaker would’ve never risked being overheard like that. But you weren’t a threat— not to him, at least— so he’d let his guard down.

“Oh, they worked alright!” the jittery, excited tone that you knew could only belong to the Aurora Society’s mad scientist chattered. Othello spoke fast, both terrified and elated to relay his most recent discoveries and experiments to the boss. “I think I’ve finally done it!” he declared, and then you heard the clattering of metal objects falling to a tiled floor, the scientist swearing under his breath and then letting out a stifled groan as he bent down to pick them up.

“So it was the blood after all?” Undertaker deduced.

“Once they were given the right type, they remained fully coherent,” Othello clarified. “Well, until I had to kill them again.” You tensed, hearing him admit to murder so casually shocking you, even after everything you’d been through, everything you knew. “But I kept two of them for further observation. I might have to remove their vocal chords though. Their screaming is starting to get on my nerves…”

“Do what you have to…” Undertaker sighed, sounding bored, not caring that he was referring to living, breathing humans. Well, the living part was still up for debate, but…

“You should really get down here and see it for yourself sometime soon though,” Othello invited, tone encouraging. “They really are something.”

Undertaker fell silent, then muttered to himself how you weren’t going to be happy your movie night was going to be so suddenly canceled, but business came first. He instructed Othello to have William sent over to the mansion, accepting the proposal, saying he’d be there soon, then hung up the phone. You were turning the corner at the other end of the hall and creeping back down to the kitchen by the time he stood from his chair and paced to the window, gazing out at the barren countryside, lost in thought.

You were shaking when you reached the bottom of the staircase, unsure of what to think or what to do after overhearing that. While you didn’t know exactly what they’d been talking about, you couldn’t squash the feeling that it all looped back to those haunting assurances you kept hearing lately, the ones about how Undertaker had a way to ensure your safety, your survival, no matter what.

In an act of quick thinking, you pulled open the freezer and grabbed one of your gelatos, unscrewing the tight lid after a little struggle and rushing over to the living room couch with your favorite spoon in hand. You scarfed down the first few bites, despite feeling sick to your stomach. When you heard Undertaker’s even footsteps lightly tapping nearer to you, you slowed down, closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath before opening them and forcing a sweet smile when he appeared in front of you.

“Ah, I had a feeling you’d choose that one,” Undertaker remarked, sinking down onto the couch next to you and pulling you into his side, running his long, pale fingers through your hair.

“H-how did you know?” you asked, cursing yourself for the way your voice shook.

“Because I know you, princess,” he said, giving you a half-lidded gaze and a calm smile before his pleasant expression dropped. “But perhaps you should stop.” He plucked the glass jar from your fingers, which had gone cold, and set the gelato aside, pulling you closer to lay across his chest as he rubbed a palm up and down your shoulders and arms. “You’re shivering.”

“Oh…” You let out a shy giggle. “I guess I didn’t notice…”

Undertaker pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around you, keeping you cuddled up to him until he felt you’d warmed up enough.

In your mind, you were lucky to have conjured such a smart plan in such a frantic moment.

At least you had a valid excuse for your fearful quivering.

“Now, I know you’re not going to like this, sweetheart,” he began. You already knew what he was going to say and had to remind yourself to at least put up a little bit of a fight, whine and pout and give a weak protest. “But I’m afraid we’re going to have to postpone the movie. There’s some urgent business back at headquarters I need to attend to immediately.”

Right on cue, your lips pulled down into a frown, eyebrows knit in a sad kind of worry as you squeaked out a timid, “Do you reeeaaaaally have to go…?”

At this, Undertaker smiled, replying with a disappointed but decided, “I’m afraid I do. But I promise I’ll make it up to you soon, sweetheart.”

You continued to sulk as he informed you Will was on his way, saying he’d be back before bedtime and maybe, if you weren’t too tired, the two of you could watch a movie in bed together.

Then it was your turn to give a little smile, though the softness was insincere, the gentle joy fabricated as you agreed to his compromise.

Undertaker kissed you on the forehead, reminded you to be a good girl, and plucked your dessert back up, holding it between the two of you. “I’ll let you have this back, but only if you promise to eat it slowly.”

You nodded, reaching for it. “I promise, Daddy.”

Once the jar was back in your hands, Undertaker wrapped you in another blanket, keeping an arm around you until William arrived.

And as you ate your ice cream and flicked through the channels with William’s stone cold silence seated at the opposite end of the couch, you realized you’d never been so grateful for canceled plans in your life.

***

The vibrant blues and greens of the summer had faded to the bright yellows, oranges, and reds of autumn, seasons seeming to pass by quicker and quicker every year.

And with those passing years, you were aging. So was Undertaker. So were everyone you knew, slowly but surely inching closer to death every day, every moment.

With your increasing years, however, especially the ones spent with Undertaker, you’d become quite the little actress, using your feminine charms and innocent facades to trick even the smartest and most dangerous of predators into thinking you were prey.

Because Undertaker hadn’t even the slightest inclination that, for weeks now, you’d been onto him. That you’d even taken it upon yourself to search for information all on your own, scouring the internet for any and every tidbit on people being revived from the dead, especially via blood transfusions, that you could find. Sure, there was the chance of him tracking your search history, but you highly doubted he’d find it necessary to go that far.

Because you hadn’t given him a reason to worry, to suspect, to distrust his perfect little princess.

All the while, you’d continued to prance around in your short, expensive little dresses, joyous laughter ringing out through the vast halls during the day and high-pitched, pleasured moans during the night.

You’d been a good girl and let him fuck you for as hard and as long as he wanted, luckily still being able to enjoy that act, though now with an underlying motive— keep him content and thinking he had the upper hand until you could crack the code and decide what to do.

There were also times, of course, where you forgot about this little game you’d started playing. Times when the two of you would be laying together late at night drifting off to sleep in each other’s arms or relaxing in the warm water of a shared bath, watching your favorite movies or eating at your favorite restaurants. Things that reminded you of the old times when everything felt so much simpler.

But today, sprawled out across the couch and laying in his lap, loosely braiding the ends of his long, silvery hair while he read a book, you were fully alert, fully aware of just how serene you seemed, keeping your eyes at half-mast, fluttering them shut occasionally to feign sleepiness.

When your gentle little fingers stopped playing with his hair and your hand came to rest across your belly, Undertaker glanced down at you from his reading, adjusting his glasses (which you only saw him wear when taking up a book with particularly small font) and asking as his gaze returned to the page, “Tired, sweetheart?”

You nodded, turning onto your side and snuggling up further into his lap, letting out a long exhale as you sighed through your nose.

Undertaker marked where he’d left off and closed his book, setting it aside to give you his full attention. All the while, to stay focused, you kept track of the seconds ticking by on the wall clock, using counts of eight to steady your heartbeat and breathing.

“Do you want me to bring you upstairs?” he asked next, smoothing his palms over your side to rest on your hip, fixing where your dress had been ruffled awkwardly upon your shifting.

Now you shook your head, pulling your hands into your chest and muttering out a cute little, “Wanna stay with you…”

Undertaker smiled, eyes softening a bit as he removed his glasses and set them atop his book on the side table. You had to play your cards right. Act just defiant enough to make him think sending you upstairs was his idea, yet not so much so that you were deemed a brat and dealt a light punishment for becoming difficult.

“Well it’s too late to take a nap, darling,” Undertaker reminded you through a breathy chuckle, voice low and even. “You know that. If you’re bored we can—”

“I’m hungry,” you cut in, nuzzling further against his knee. “What’s for dinner tonight?”

Undertaker hesitated a moment, though you weren’t sure if it was out of thinking or containing his irritation at being interrupted. Then he said, “What would you like for dinner?”

Now it was your turn to think, or at least pretend to. In truth, you’d already had an answer prepared.

“Can you make me something?”

Undertaker’s calm, easygoing grin returned. “Of course I can. But…” he ran his fingers through your hair, adjusting the stray strands to lay perfectly just like your dress, “is there anything specific you would like, or is it dealer’s choice?”

A soft, tired chuckle hummed in your throat. “You pick,” you said. “I want it to be a surprise…”

Undertaker could feel your body weighing heavier against him by the second, sleep sagging your limbs down as a cloudy haze fogged your mind. “You’ll wait upstairs while I’m cooking,” he informed you, lifting you off of him so he could stand, only to regather your little form in his arms and begin carrying you towards the staircase, “No falling asleep though. I mean it. Only resting.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Do you understand?”

You gave another adorable, sleepy little nod, humming out a lilting, “mm-hmm…”, all the while thinking to yourself how your plan was falling perfectly into place.

So, after Undertaker had brought you to the bedroom and tucked you under a few blankets, promising to have dinner ready for you soon, you counted to one hundred and then carefully emerged from the room, checking to make sure the coast was clear before sneaking back down the hallway towards his office.

This might be the only chance you got to search for clues, snooping through the papers and folders and meticulously organized documents for the answers you still weren’t sure you wanted to find or not.

Before the attempted kidnapping made upon you, you could’ve probably spent an hour or two hidden behind the big mahogany desk in Undertaker’s home office shifting through papers while one of your body guards scrolled idly through their phone or dozed off to a movie downstairs, none the wiser that the boss’s perfect, well-behaved little princess was up to no good right above their heads.

But these days, even when William (who had paid the least attention to you back in the day) was on babysitting duty, the eyes of your guard never left you. They had to know where you were at all times.

And, when Undertaker was home, the surveillance was even more severe. He insisted on keeping you close— nearly glued to his side— except in, say, a situation where he thought it better to be doing something in a different location than you were in, like cooking his baby girl one of her favorite homemade dishes for dinner.

You had to be quick, move swiftly, and stay mindful of the time.

If you could find what you were looking for in under an hour, you’d probably still be in the clear. Any more than that and you risked being discovered.

So you got right to work, carefully closing the heavy door with a soft click, turning the handle to pull back the locking mechanism and padding across the polished flooring of the room to the expensive imported rug, rows and rows of shelves— some with little glass doors shielding their contents from dust and the like— beckoning you to search them.

You didn’t bother with the books, knew most of them were just for show anyway, so you went right for the drawers and cabinets, giving each one a testing tug and finding yourself surprised to find a majority of them actually unlocked.

But what was inside provided less than a victory, much to your dismay and frustration.

The drawers had presented a plethora of manila envelopes and carefully coordinated binders, sure, but as you flipped them open to scan the contents, they usually turned out to be old Aurora Society orders or contracts— some in foreign languages— and, inside one folder that you wish you could unsee, a series of polaroid pictures with faded images of what you could only assume were the tortured remains of Undertaker’s enemies, blood and gore running down the men’s faces and bodies, pooling around them on the concrete floor and staining everything in sight.

You felt your heart drop at one photo in particular.

Grell, your favorite bodyguard, was beaming a great big, sharp-toothed grin in the foreground, seemingly taking a selfie with a fresh corpse that was cut up and slashed beyond recognition behind him. His handiwork, no doubt, by the prideful glint in his wild eyes.

You felt sick again, but in a way that bred fury, not fear.

But you weren’t angry with Grell.

You were angry with Undertaker.

Because it was him that had caused the people you’d come to know as friends to turn into such vicious monsters. It was his fault that they were forced to continue on with the carnage.

At least, that’s what you were convincing yourself of.

If you put the blame on everybody, then who would you possibly have to go back to once all was said and done?

No one, that cruel voice hissed in the back of your mind. You’ll have nothing.

Placing everything back just the way you’d found it, you continued the search, keeping an eye on the clock as you came up with more dead ends or confusing, coded messages.

By the time the hour was almost up, you were feeling defeated, growing increasingly irked at the lack of results such a risky plan was yielding. You could smell dinner now, the aroma of your favorite soup and warm bread wafting up from the downstairs kitchen. You shifted into double time, borderline rummaging through the drawers you hadn’t tried to open yet.

You were so frantic that you almost missed it when you pulled on a drawer lining the side of his desk that didn’t budge, trembling hand already halfway to sliding the one underneath it open. You doubled back, giving the unruly drawer a harder tug, thinking maybe it was just stuck, but upon your second, third, and even forth pull, you realized it was indeed locked.

You knew in that instant that, whatever was in there, it was exactly what you’d been looking for.

But you needed a way to open it, the silver keyhole taunting you as it gleamed under the last light of day that shone through the windows.

If I wanted to hide something from myself, where would I put it?

Only, it wasn’t specifically you that Undertaker was trying to keep out. It was just any prying eyes in general.

You looked around the office, scanning the painting on the wall, flicking again to the clock and gaining another wave of panic washing cold through your blood, the flower vase, the light fixtures, overhead chandelier— anything that could hide something small like a key in plain sight until…

You turned your gaze back towards the bookcase, leather-bound spines laughing at you as they stood identical along the wall.

Of course, you realized, shaking your head as you pushed up from where you’d been kneeling behind the desk. He’d never hide something in a one of a kind place. He’d put it somewhere that would seem like too much trouble for anyone other than him to search through.

As you stood before the shelves, you ghosted your fingers over the spines, as if you could guess which one was the fake by touch alone. For all you knew, he had several fakes hiding several keys that were also fake, just to further infuriate and throw off the conniving little thief.

You plucked books out from their snug lineup at random, one at a time, only tilting them halfway towards you to examine the stack of pages, again, as if that made a difference. As if all the old spy movies Undertaker liked to watch had actually inspired his habits.

But then, your touch fell upon one that felt just the slightest bit lighter than the rest. You pulled it free from the shelf, flipped it open and—

Bingo.

There, placed in the carved out center of the defiled book, was a silver skeleton key.

A silver key for a silver lock.

If this wasn’t it, then you’d have no choice but to give up.

Rushing back to the locked drawer, you slotted the key in and turned it, letting out an incredulous scoff of victory when you heard the click and pulled the drawer open.

Inside sat a black binder, the insignia of the Aurora Society stamped on the cover in a metallic emerald and gold, the color shifting depending on how the light hit it. You started to reach for it, carefully, slowly, as if moving too fast would cause the documents to detonate. But then you froze, hearing a distant melody drifting down the hall, muffled and low but getting clearer and louder by the second, sound carrying from downstairs.

You slammed the drawer shut, relocked it, threw the key back in the prop book and shoved it back onto the shelf, sprinting as fast as you could back to the bedroom, breath hitching in horror as Undertaker’s melancholy melody sounded as if it was right behind you.

You dove onto the bed, flipped the covers back over your body, and prayed that your pulse would slow before he opened those doors. You faked sleep, jolting a little when he finally did re-enter the room, and looked over at him with the calmest expression you could muster.

“Dinner’s ready, my love,” he informed you, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed. “You didn’t fall asleep…” He smoothed down your hair, studying you inquisitively. “Did you?”

You let out a quiet whine as you reached up to stretch. “Maybe only a little bit…” you lied, knowing your disheveled appearance was evidence enough that you certainly hadn’t abided by his rules like you’d promised. You pouted, looking away and twirling your finger in your hair, fidgeting as you added on with a pathetic little, “But then I had nightmares again…”

Undertaker cooed at you, lifting your chin in his fingers and coaxing you to meet his eyes. “Well, I’m sure a nice, hot meal will scare those nightmares away,” he said, guiding you off the bed by the hand and down to the dining room. “And if that doesn’t work, well…” An evil glimmer shone in his gaze, malicious intent masked behind sweet words. “I suppose I’ll have to dispose of them myself.”

You smiled at him, the expression feeling tight on your face. Forced. But it didn’t matter. Because, despite the fact that your sleuthing escapade had been cut short, you knew exactly where to pick up the next time you got the chance. No more wasting time wondering where to even start. It would all begin with that black binder. And maybe, if you were lucky, it would end with it too.

But you really should’ve known better.

You should’ve known that Undertaker would think to change the location of the key daily, having several fake books used for hiding things just like you’d briefly speculated placed around the shelves.

Should’ve known that he’d always be one— five— ten— twenty steps ahead of you, whether he realized it or not.

And you really, really should’ve known…

Even if you did gain the upper hand, you still wouldn’t be able to compete.

Because he was a trained hunter, experienced killer. A natural born predator.

And you were just a naive, weak little girl living in the lion’s den, trying to roar but barely even managing a growl.

***

The key was gone. Moved, no surprise. You weren’t about to look through all those books again, give yourself a headache and a heart attack from the anxiety it would start pumping through your veins.

So you’d have to make a new plan. You had no idea what that plan was yet, but given time, you’d figure something out.

Or, at least, that’s what you desperately hoped.

But, for now, for your own sake and sanity, you allowed yourself to drop the schemes and the suspense and just simply be… yourself.

Not quite your old self— the one who was so good at playing dumb she started to actually believe she was only worth her body, only wanted or loved for how good of a lay she was— but the version of you that had the luxury of not having any worries, knowing that someone was always at her every beck and call.

“Darling…” Undertaker asked as you two enjoyed a leisurely stroll through the rose gardens, the flowers soon to wilt in the oncoming winter chill. “Would you like to play a game?”

“What kind of game?” you asked, all innocent curiosity and playful inquiry.

Undertaker hummed out an amused note, glad you were taking the bait. “A game where I ask you a hypothetical question and you give an answer.”

You looked up at him, one brow lifted. “That doesn’t sound like much of a game to me,” you remarked, lips pulling down into a soft pout. “But,” you perked up again, smile returning, intrigued, “I suppose we could play a few rounds!”

“Alright then,” Undertaker began, looking far too proud and satisfied at a situation that had yet to unfold. “First question…”

He began with topics benign enough. Things like, “If you could be any animal, what would you be and why?” and “If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would you choose?”

You answered to the best of your ability, finding some harder to respond to than others on account of being overwhelmed for choice— a side effect of Undertaker’s spoiling of you— and then he dropped the question that he’d been holding back until he had you exactly where he wanted you.

“If you could live forever…” he asked, chartreuse stare studying you intently, looking for any signs of fear or worry to cross your features, “would you want to?”

When he’d rehearsed this particular conversation in his head, he’d expected you to say something like, “Not unless you could live forever with me,” or “That’s impossible, silly! No one can live forever!” but instead he’d been met with a response much less lighthearted.

“No,” you stated plainly, voice dropping an octave and looking up at him with hesitation and a flicker of distrust. “No, I mean— I mean, would you? That sounds kind of awful, I mean…” You swallowed hard, trying to form a valid excuse that didn’t lead him to suspect you were even minutely aware of his intentions and activities behind the scenes. “To live forever… That’s…”

Undertaker tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his own expression melting from thrown off back into stoic confidence. “It’s just a hypothetical, darling,” he assured you, tone light and fluttering, trying to put you at ease. “No need to get so worked up.”

You two continued on walking then, a tense weight settling in the air and making it hard for you to breathe. Your arm was interlocked with his, feeling both repelled and drawn into Undertaker’s familiar touch.

He terrified you, yet comforted you.

He made you want to run away, only to seek the safety of his arms.

The most dangerous part of it all was that he knew this. Knew that, no matter how much you feared him, distrusted him, tried to distance yourself from him, you’d always end up right back where you started.

With him.

The night he’d been betrayed and nearly bled out on the floor before you replayed in his mind, how distraught you’d been when you thought you were going to lose him. Back then, you’d sworn you were in this “till death do you part”, fantasizing about an afterlife where you two could always be together, no matter what.

But so much had changed, more for the worse than for the better, and you weren’t sure how strong a vow you were really willing to commit to after your entire life had been turned upside down and then flipped over your head again.

Undertaker had a remedy for that little hesitation, though.

He doubted you’d have the will to say no if he got down on one knee and proposed, offering up a ring bigger and brighter and more dazzling than anything you’d ever seen in your entire life. He could see you now, walking down the aisle in the most beautiful, one of a kind wedding dress crafted by any designer you could think to choose, a long lace train trailing behind you. You’d both say “I do” and seal your fate with a kiss (and later a signature), forever shackling you to the title of the Black Reaper’s wife, in name and bond and blood.

It was a card Undertaker was willing to play, if that’s what it was going to take, but for now he had to convince you of the initial promise he’d made all the way back when you’d first agreed to be his and only his. That you were safe, cared for, and that all you had to do was ask and you would receive.

“But if you could remain preserved as you are now…” Undertaker cautiously pressed, thinking aging beyond human limits was the reason why you’d been so quick to stifle the idea, “and you could be just as beautiful and healthy as you are now…?”

“I still wouldn’t want to,” you shook your head, reconfirming your answer. There was a beat of silence, then you opened your mouth, as if to speak, only to close it again. But then, deciding to speak your mind anyway, you said, “I think there’s probably a good reason immortality isn’t possible. I mean, think of how lonely that would be. Watching everyone you love die, one by one…”

Undertaker clenched his jaw.

If it were just you and him, who else would there be for you to love? If you two walked side by side for all eternity, what did it matter who else you lost?

“And just the state of the world…” you continued, looking sadder and sadder by the second. “I mean, not to be a pessimist but… I don’t see it getting any better. I only see it getting worse. And not to mention—”

“Alright, darling, that’s enough,” Undertaker cut you off, sighing out an irritated breath. Almost like he didn’t appreciate you actually showing some intellect on the subject. But when he felt you tense, staring up at him with wide eyes and your throat bobbing with a nervous gulp, his expression softened once more. He took your chin between his fingers gently, gazing into your apprehensive stare and stating in a calmer tone, “I told you there’s no reason to get upset. Plus, as long as I’m around…” He was leaning in, his lips only inches from yours as he whispered, “you’ll never have to worry about a thing.”

As he kissed you, your trepidations began to melt. For a few fleeting moments, you entirely forgot about what had just gotten you so anxious. You felt like you used to when you were with him— Safe. Secure. Loved.

Undertaker’s mind, however, was in a different place.

Because if he wanted to, he could just kill you. He could do it right now. It would be easy.

He could kill you and then kill himself once the reanimation technology was fully developed— a goal that was getting closer and closer to success every single day, every single hour that Othello toiled away in his lab— and then have his jittery little scientist revive you both to remain preserved in your most perfect states.

He’d make it painless for you. It would just be like going to sleep, only the next time you woke, you’d be different. But not in the ways that mattered to him. And you’d be none the wiser, for a little while, if he wanted to keep it a secret. Because how is one to know they’re immortal until they actually die once?

Sure, he might have a good chunk of years before you started to get suspicious, and the blood consumption would have to be disguised in some way— something as simple and routine as vitamins, he supposed— but by then, he probably would’ve found a way to change your mind.

Because, as you should’ve realized by now, Undertaker didn’t just make sure his princess had whatever she wanted. He made sure he did too. He always had, by any means he’d been able to think up, gotten his way.

And if he had to hurt a few people along the way, then so be it.

Because, as long as he had you in the end, nothing and no one else really mattered.

***

“‘Right, see ya, mate,” Ron said with a tired drone as he was passing Grell on his way out of headquarters, giving a lazy wave.

“Right behind ya,” Grell replied, standing from his desk and flicking off the lamp, catching up with his colleague as they exited the building, the first to arrive and the last to leave. “Can you believe how busy things have been lately?” he huffed, giving a dramatic swish of his shiny red hair over one shoulder. “I mean, this much work can’t be good for you. Plus I’m missing out on valuable beauty rest. Doesn’t the boss know we’re only human?”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think he cares to think of us as anything other than his little pawns…” Ron grumbled, fishing his car keys out of his pocket. “Not to mention he’s gotten into the habit of staying cooped up in that mansion of his and working from home rather than showing his face here like the rest of us.” Ron clenched his fist around his keys, feeling the metal digging into his palm, rage beginning to simmer. “I mean, just when did he decide he was so high and mighty all of a sudden, huh? Thought he had this whole thing about being one of us?”

Grell understood where Ron was coming from, truly, he did. But still, that didn’t leave him any less conflicted in this situation. Most of them understood the unspoken rule of don’t ask questions, don’t complain that came with their job, though of course some of them had shared grievances amongst themselves about the workload or certain risky decisions made before.

Grell chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to think of a neutral response to fill the space before he reached his car, the headlights on the cherry red Lambo blinking on from his reserved parking spot.

“He’s planning something behind our backs, isn’t he?” Ron went on, his voice raising a little higher, making Grell nervous. In this line of work, you never knew who was listening in and, whether an ally or adversary, this kind of talk could be dangerous if overheard. “He’s probably got some take the money and run master plan that’s gonna leave us all cheated the moment he—”

“Oh, please, Ron,” Grell cut in then, a sharp edge to his voice, irritation piercing through. “That’s not what this is all about and we both know it.”

Ron stopped short, blinking at his co-worker incredulously, the practiced denial dying on his tongue as he opened his mouth to speak. Ron’s defensive expression fell then, an honest sorrow shading his features in its place. “Well when’s the last time you saw her?” he asked then, pained gaze trained on Grell, whose own eyes held a little more sympathy now.

The redhead sighed, shifting his stance and adjusting his glasses as he shrugged and replied, “‘S been a while…” Ron felt a little of the weight lift from him then, but not nearly enough to erase his agitations. “But, mate…” Grell continued, the sympathy in his stare quickly turning to pity. “You know why it’ll never work, right? Whatever little thing you and her had going on…”

He waited for Ron’s answer but was only met with silence, Ron’s fists clenching harder, the key cutting deeper into his palm.

“I mean, if I were you,” Grell went on, “I’d feel pretty lucky to still be alive. And if you think the boss doesn’t know that something’s up—” He sighed, crossed his arms and glanced around, hoping that they were truly alone out here. Then he muttered, like it was obvious, with a roll of his emerald eyes, “And if you think even if he did find out that he’d blame her over you…”

Ron knew.

He knew all of this— all of the risk and the danger and the god-damn consequences that came with his actions, whether he’d instigated or not.

Yet, he’d still do it all again. He’d do it as many times as it took if it meant getting to steal just one more minute with you. One more moment.

“Just…” Grell huffed, “Just keep your head down and stay in your lane and maybe— maybe, some way or another— he’ll let you see her again.” He passed by Ron, placing a hand on his shoulder, half in solidarity, half in compassion. “That’s all you can really hope for at this point, right?”

Ron wouldn’t meet his eyes, just kept his own gaze stuck to the concrete beneath his shoes. Eventually, he just gave a simple nod and muttered, “Yeah…” before Grell bid him a goodnight, told him to get home safe, and then got into his car, exiting the parking lot and speeding off to wherever it was he went after work.

And Ron stood in that parking lot.

He stood there for a long time. Thinking. Planning. Plotting.

Because his patience was wearing thin. He needed to see you. And his notion that he could just take you and run was seeming more and more feasible the more desperate he got.

He would never know if he never tried, he figured. And, plus, if anything, all he had to lose was his own life. Undertaker would never harm you— the captive, the hostage of the situation— surely.

Ron opened his phone, scrolled to where your number was, the contact photo one of you and him from a few summers ago. You were smiling big, bright, laughing like you were the happiest girl in the entire world. He was smiling too, a real smile, but it was nowhere near as innocent and carefree as yours.

Those days felt like a lifetime ago— the impromptu ice cream trips after a day spent admiring some art in one of your favorite museums or shopping at your favorite designer stores. You two would just drive around in his car, make circles around the city as you talked about anything you could think of. He’d tease you about something, the topic harmless, really, and you’d pout and whine and playfully punch his arm. And he’d laugh. And then you’d laugh. And all felt right in his world. All felt good.

He clicked on your number, hit call, and held his breath as he listened to the droning ring.

You weren’t going to pick up. Especially not if your Daddy was present. This was so stupid. He really knew how to kick himself when he was down, didn’t he?

He exhaled, body deflating as he removed the phone from his ear and was just about to hit the end call button, when suddenly—

“Hello?” your little voice greeted halfway through the final ring before voicemail. “Hello? Ron?”

He nearly dropped his phone on the pavement as he quickly fumbled to hold it back up to his ear. “Hey, baby,” he began, a smile spreading across his face at the sound of your voice alone. “Hey, I was just calling to…”

Just calling to what? To convince you to leave town with him right now?

Ron shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to get his thoughts in order. When you asked if he was still there after a long bout of silence, Ron stuttered out a tentative, “Y-yeah, I’m still here. Sorry… Just have a lot on my mind lately ‘cause of work.” He let out a nervous chuckle, feeling stupid. He’d been given this rare chance and he was completely blowing it. He cleared his throat, steeling his resolve then, and asking, “Is Un— Is the boss home with you tonight, princess?”

Your voice trembled a little, fragile when it answered, “No… I— I thought he was at headquarters with you?”

Ron felt a cloak of unease fall upon his shoulders then, paranoia tightening in his chest and throat. “Oh, it’s ok, baby, I’m sure he’s fine,” Ron quickly responded, telling how you were already assuming the worst. Though, he couldn’t help but feel a sick sense of hope swell in his chest at the possibility that something bad had happened to the boss on his way over to headquarters. “Is Will over there with you?”

You told him he was, and Ron missed how you used to complain about how boring his particular colleague was, saying how you wished that it were Ron in charge of keeping you company while Undertaker was out because “Will never lets me have any fun!”

“How long ago did Undertaker leave?” Ron then thought to ask, quickening his pace as he approached his car further down the lot. “Like an hour or…?”

“At least two hours ago. I—” He heard your breath catch in your chest, eyes welling with tears right about now, no doubt. “Do you really think he’s ok? I mean, you really haven’t seen him? He should be there already. He—”

“It’s alright. It’s alright…” Ron assured you, tone low and soothing, a coo lilting though the words like a gentle breeze. “Headquarters is a big place. I was only in the main office area today so I probably just didn’t see him because he went straight to his private office.” Or died halfway to his destination in a horrible car crash, Ron fantasized. Maybe was assassinated by a sniper right in the driver’s seat for good measure.

“Ron…?” you then asked, a quivering reluctance laced into his name.

“What is it, baby?”

“Just…” You swallowed hard, trying to sound firm, get your point across. “Just be careful out there, ok…”

And there it was again. That horrible, ominous feeling increasing ten fold, a vortex threatening to swallow Ron whole from the inside out. He gulped, stopped a few feet from his car, and then replied, “I will… If you get scared, just go sit with Will. It’ll all be ok.” He glanced back up at the building— the prison— he was trapped in day in and day out. “Everything’ll be ok.”

He said goodbye to you, thumb hovering over the end call button for a little too long, but eventually he did press it and the screen went black, your number and picture fading away as the trepidation in his chest grew and grew and grew and—

The firm, cold metal of the barrel of a gun was pressed to the base of Ron’s skull, startling him, yet he didn’t move. Didn’t dare. Didn’t have to turn to see who was sticking him up.

In the reflection of his car’s blackout windows, the ghostly figure of Undertaker stood, long, silvery locks cascading down the black trench coat he was wearing, the scar that slashed his face seeming a little more prominent under the moonlight.

“I hope you know I don’t pay you for this kind of overtime,” the boss growled through a sinister smirk. Ron remained frozen, heart pounding in his chest but not with fear. No, not with fear.

With a white hot, blinding, blood-boiling fury.

“How long were you listening?” the ginger asked, raising his hands in compliant surrender, his phone still clutched in his grip.

“Long enough,” Undertaker informed him, pressing the muzzle a little harder into Ron’s skull, cocking his head to one side slightly as he studied his underling’s expression in the car window. “Though, I didn’t have to listen in tonight to know exactly how many times you’ve called or even texted her, for that matter. Don’t you know I pay for her phone?” His smile dropped then, pure hatred crossing his pale face as he practically spit the words, “I have all the fucking records. Every. Last. One.”

Ron gulped, trying to keep his voice from shaking as the adrenaline coursed through his veins, tried to keep himself from drawing his own gun— the one holstered under his blazer— and having a shootout right here in the parking lot. “So what now…?” he inquired, gritting his teeth as he slowly— agonizingly so— turned to face Undertaker, the pistol less than an inch from his glasses. “You gonna fire me?”

Undertaker considered him, let the unspoken yet ever present threat sink in a little further, then he lowered his gun, nodding at Ron’s car.

“Get in,” he ordered, smirk returning with a different, much more dangerous connotation this time. His stare narrowed, chartreuse slits glowing from behind his curtain of silver bangs. “We’re going for a drive.”

***

Ron could’ve laughed out loud when Undertaker told him to turn at the docks.

Because isn’t this where everything always came back to? These damn docks?

The Corvette was parked on the side of the road, the short stretch of highway right near the steep hill that dropped off to where the shipment containers sat. They’d walked the rest of the way, Undertaker’s shiny black shoes smudged with dirt as they trudged all the way down to the water’s edge, salt-rotted planks creaking beneath their paces. For once, Ron hoped the wood would break, send him sinking down into the black water. At least then he might have a chance at a getaway.

“Do you remember our deal?” Undertaker asked, taking his gun back out but not aiming it just yet. Ron stood on the very end of the dock, back facing the boss as he stared out at the moon reflecting on the sea— so much black and silver wherever he went— as the memory of the last day of his life replayed in his mind.

“Of course I do,” he said, voice almost a whisper. He glanced over his shoulder, a pathetic kind of pleading intertwined into all that venomous loathing. Ron didn’t worry about withholding his true feelings towards his boss now. He was probably going to die soon, be tossed into the harbor before the hour was up, and never see you again. “You’ve never let me forget.”

“Then you know that you do what I tell you, when I tell you, and without question…” Undertaker considered his own reflection on the shining surface of the silver gun before flicking his gaze back to Ron. “Right?”

Ron turned to face Undertaker fully, defeated in stance and speech as he held out his arms and said, “Just tell me what you want.”

Undertaker took a few steady paces forward, not seeming the least bit worried that he wasn’t the only one here with a weapon but— Who was Ron kidding?

If he hadn’t had the courage to draw his gun before, what made him think he could do it now?

“I’ve killed men for much less before,” Undertaker began. Ron’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Sometimes, just because they looked at her wrong. In a way I didn’t like…” Undertaker passed his pistol from one hand to the other, as if testing its weight, calmed by its metallic glint under the dying lights lining the dock. He aimed it then, movements swift and smooth. If he pulled the trigger, he was confident the bullet would find a home right between Ron’s eyes.

“But you have a rather annoying habit, you know that?” he continued. Ron could see the way the light left his eyes as the Black Reaper possessed him. It was familiar, that remorseless stare. He’d seen the same one the first night they’d met. The night Ron had signed over his life to the devil, trading the tag of street rat for slave. “It’s always baby this, princess that, sweetheart, honey, darling, doll…” Undertaker’s scowl deepened on every title of affection, his silver brows just barely catching the light that outlined their existence. “Speaking those names like they’re yours. Like you gave them to her…”

Ron almost reached for his gun. Almost.

“But I gave her those names,” Undertaker went on, his finger right over the trigger. “Because she’s mine. You fucking hear me? Mine.”

Ron flexed his fingers. He might not’ve had it in him to reach for his gun, but if this was it, he at least had enough bravery to give some last words. “Yeah…? And did you make that decision for her, too? Or did you actually let her decide.”

Undertaker’s menacing, borderline feral expression— all bared teeth and scrunched nose, snarling and scowling and absolutely consumed by the urge, the instinct, to protect what was his, what he owned— fell from his face then. He lowered the gun, let out a sigh, and then gave a simple, two word order.

“Kill her.”

“What?” Ron nearly stumbled backwards a step, pure disgust in his tone. “Are you fucking crazy?!”

“Yes…” Undertaker nodded, eyes tracking every one of Ron’s movements like a hawk stalking prey. “Yes, I think that’ll do nicely. You’ll kill her. Then we can be done with all of this.”

Ron couldn’t form a sentence— couldn’t form a single coherent thought— at such a brazen and baffling request.

He simpered out a dark little chuckle, cruel smirk pulling up one corner of his lips. “You are crazy, y’know that?” he retorted, straightening his posture a bit, though his bones remained rigid and tense. “And you’re sick. Fucking sick in the head.”

“Are you saying no, then?” Undertaker droned, as if only mildly inconvenienced by his underling’s insubordination.

“Why the fuck would I kill her?!” Ron bellowed, arms outstretched and brows lifted high over wide eyes. He looked more like the crazy one, if it were based on body language alone. “Why the fuck would you want her dead?”

Undertaker rolled his neck, working out a tightly twisted knot that had formed due to this whole ordeal, and then said, “So it is a no then. I figured…” And, even though Undertaker had merely been testing him, seeing who he was more loyal to, despite already knowing the answer, the betrayal still stung a little. Because, despite the power and influence Undertaker held over his people, this just proved that he couldn’t control them, control their free will. Not when they truly, wholeheartedly disagreed with him.

“How inconvenient…” the boss muttered under his breath, sighing again before looking back over to Ron and speaking loud enough for him to hear, “I’m not a very big fan of second chances. Though, for whatever reason, I’d say you’ve earned enough lives to rival even the mangiest of alley cats…” The jab made Ron’s jaw clench, hard enough for it to ache. “But, just for now, since killing you would only become more work during an already busy time, I’m going to leave you with one final warning.”

Ron almost reached for his gun. Almost.

“Cross the line one more time— do anything to vex me— and I’ll make good on our deal.” Undertaker turned his back, slipping his pistol into the pocket of his trench coat. He began to walk, only to pause and glance over his shoulder, adding on, “And, since I know you’re wondering, yes. Contacting her does, indeed, vex me.”

Ron should’ve reached for his gun. Why couldn’t he reach for his gun?

Undertaker kept walking, leaving himself open to a bullet that would never come. So the Black Reaper gave a lazy wave and an even more uninterested, “Have a good night…” before heading back up the hill towards Ron’s car. The keys were still in the ignition, Undertaker had made sure Ron left them.

“Y’know—!” Ron called out, taunting as his words echoed over the water. Undertaker stopped, but didn’t turn. “For someone who acts like he owns the fucking world and everything in it, you sure do seem afraid of losing to someone like me. Someone who, in your own words, is no better than even the mangiest of alley cats…”

Undertaker should’ve just kept walking. Not fallen for it. But tonight, his ego was a little more in control of him than he was of it.

Ron huffed out a cold, cruel note, amused that he was getting under his enemy’s pale, scarred skin after all that big, scary talk earlier. “If I didn’t know any better,” Ron continued, baiting him, “I’d say you see me as a threat.”

And Undertaker had a million things to say to that. A million ways to shut Ron down and put him in his place. But he simply smiled, humming out a pleased note. “I’d start walking, if I were you,” the boss reminded his underling. “It’s going to be a long way back to headquarters on foot.”

And that was all it took to shut Ron up. Easy, Undertaker thought with sinister satisfaction as he slid into the driver’s seat of the silver Corvette, turning the key and watching as the dashboard came alive with colorful light.

Almost an hour later, Ron was still standing alone on those docks, violence vibrating throughout his entire body like a volcano about to erupt.

But, as he began the long trek back to headquarters, the travel gave him some time to reflect, gifted him an odd sense of clarity.

Because Undertaker could’ve killed him so easily back there, shot him point blank and simply walked away. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t…

By the time Ron reached the city again, it was nearly two AM. By the time he was approaching headquarters, it was three. But his car was parked right back in his reserved spot, the keys left in the ignition, and no sign of Undertaker.

He was already safe and snug back at home with you, no doubt, acting as if it were just another day, acting as if he wasn’t a sadistic, evil man who’d insisted someone kill his pretty, precious, perfect little princess just to prove a point.

But Ron had proved something too.

And now he knew, maybe not for certain, but close enough to it to plan his next course of action accordingly, that he was worth more to Undertaker alive than dead. He didn’t know why— didn’t care to know, if he was being honest— but all that mattered was that Undertaker had just bought— gifted— Ron more time.

And time was all he needed.

Time, and a little bit of luck.

Ron turned the key and pulled it from the ignition, staring up at the glass and stone building through his windshield for a few very heavy minutes before he’d made up his mind.

He exited the car, pocketed his keys, and then headed back inside.

Hell, who had time to wait for luck when they could just create it all on their own?

***

When Undertaker returned home, you were dozing off on one side of the couch, Will perched on the other and silently reading his book as he tended to do, another old spy movie playing on the TV with the volume turned almost all the way down.

William saw the look on his boss’s face— half pride, half fury— a dangerous mix for someone like Undertaker, and asked what happened.

But Undertaker ignored the question, taking a careful seat beside his sleeping beauty on the sofa, gently stroking your hair, moving some loose strands away from where they’d fallen across your face, his smirk softening into a calm smile.

“That’ll be all for tonight, William,” Undertaker dismissed politely, thanking his colleague for being able to come on such short notice. Then he scooped you up in his arms, your head nuzzling into his chest as you let out a tiny whine and stirred, but just barely. As he began to carry you up to bed, passing Will in the main entrance, he stopped the raven haired man— the one he always had the hardest time reading— and gave him one last bit of parting words.

“Oh, and, Will…?” William turned at the front doors, facing his boss with that stoic expression that never seemed to falter. Undertaker carefully adjusted his grip on you, speaking low so as not to wake you. He told his colleague, “Do be on the lookout for pests around headquarters. I’m pretty sure I encountered a rat earlier.”

William didn’t so much as flinch at that statement, merely furrowed his already pinched brows a fraction and gave a stiff nod. “Of course, sir,” he replied before promptly turning and leaving the mansion, Undertaker not bothering to watch as he pulled out of the driveway and his headlights disappeared down the twisting roads.

Besides, he had all he needed to worry about right here in his arms.

Just like sleeping, the thought returned to him. He stroked a thumb lovingly over your cheek, admiring you in this vulnerable, defenseless state.

You’d look so pretty once you were dead.

***

The hallways of headquarters held an empty, eerie echo as Ron’s determined footsteps tapped down the corridor, heading for the basement level. Othello’s lab.

The rage thrummed through his blood, nearly blinded him as the fluorescent lights painted the concrete tunnels in brightness, the sound buzzing in his head along with the pounding of his heart.

He didn’t have a plan going into this. Not really. He just knew one thing for certain.

He had to destroy the reanimation technology. Erase its entire existence. Eradicate all the research and progress and test subjects— the entire lab itself.

But how?

What could possibly bring enough destruction to ensure that there were no traces left?

Ideally, he’d like to blow it up, plant a bomb and watch the entire headquarters go up in a vibrant plume of smoke and fire from a safe distance, the scene just a tiny orange spec reflecting on the lenses of his glasses.

But Ron didn’t have a bomb.

All he had was his gun, which wouldn’t do much unless he planned on putting a bullet in the head of every single member of the Aurora Society— a highly unlikely solution. Plus, that would take too long and get rather messy.

He searched his pockets quickly, absentmindedly, as he continued his steadfast stride down the halls, Othello’s lab in sight at the end of the next turn.

His fingers fell upon something small and metal in one of his blazer’s inner most pockets then and Ron paused, his steps stuttering for a beat over the cold concrete.

He fished the object out, held it between his fingers and up to the light like it was something delicate and precious.

But it was anything but that— It was sturdy and made to ignite.

The silver zippo lighter wasn’t something he used very often, really just kept it on hand from way back when for moments when friends or colleagues needed someone to light their smoke.

But now it was a weapon. It was his savior.

It was your savior, too, he reckoned.

Ron flipped open the top, watched the yellow flame flicker to life, swaying before him, so tiny and harmless now, but, given the right tinder, it would have the chance to become a monster that even Undertaker couldn’t contain.

Ron peeked into the tiny window on the metal door that led into Othello’s laboratory, the fluorescent light casting the place in an aquatic, greenish-blue glow. The mad scientist appeared to have already gone home for the night, leaving the building completely vacant. Ron supposed it was just as well. Besides, he didn’t necessarily want to kill his closest colleagues if he could help it.

Though, if any of them got in his way, he couldn’t exactly say he’d spare them either.

Ron slipped into the lab, looking around and stopping short when he saw the wall of fish tanks. Or, at least, that’s what they would’ve been considered if they’d held fish instead of decapitated heads or severed hearts and lungs, a few pairs of mismatched eyes floating behind the glass of one of them.

Ron nearly gagged. Even after everything he’d seen— everything he’d done— this still somehow crossed a line.

Looks like Undertaker wasn’t the only sick one.

The Black Reaper’s jittery little scientist was too.

Ron forced himself to keep moving, going further into the lab until he found the room with the autopsy table, the counters littered with incoherent scribbles that he could only deduce as Othello’s notes.

Ron ran his fingers over some of them, trying to make out any of the words, searching for mentions of your name, specifically, but came up empty handed.

He didn’t have time for this. The building might’ve been empty, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t being watched. Undertaker probably had a million cameras positioned throughout this place, probably had twenty-four hour surveillance on them too, ready to send someone over the moment something looked— or even felt— off.

Ron started by gathering all of the papers, notepads, textbooks— anything he could get his hands on that looked like it might hold even a shred of research pertaining to the immortality invention— and made a trail from one end of the lab to the other.

All the way from the door to the cursed machine itself.

He flipped open the lighter, considering the flame like it was an old friend, and then held the fire to the end of the page nearest to the door, watching as it traveled through the paper path like water flowing in a stream, engulfing one paragraph of research after the next.

He stood by the door, mesmerized, a light smoke beginning to fill the air and eventually forcing him to press his sleeve to his nose. He just had to stay long enough to make sure it reached the machine, that the wires sparked and caught fire too. He glanced at the contents of the glass cabinets on the wall opposite the tanks, rushing over to grab a bottle labeled in Othello’s messy— though this time legible enough— scrawl, “FORMALDEHYDE”.

As the fire grew, he figured he should grab a couple more. This was just one room of many in this basement. Who knew what else the others held. Ron may have had terrible vision, but he wasn’t so short-sighted as to assume that all the valuable goods were stored in one place.

Plus, if Undertaker had anything to do with the organization of this place— and Ron knew he most certainly did— he would’ve instructed Othello to spread the evidence and information like a blanket, equally distributing it from room to room just in case.

With the body of the machine leaking a steady stream of black smoke, Ron figured he better move on, get to the other rooms— other cells— he realized when he opened the doors further down the hall that revealed tiny, concrete boxes, some lined with shelves and storage cabinets while others hosted more human subjects.

He poured the chemicals he’d collected in similar fashion to how he’d left the papers, in a trail going from one end of the rooms to the other, lighting the toxic fluid once he was by the door, though the formaldehyde caught far faster than the notes.

He created chaos in each cubicle, more and more smoke filling the narrow halls to the brim with every room he demolished, half-dead, or— maybe, from a different perspective— half-alive test subjects charring and withering down to ash amidst the flames.

Some of them screamed, others— the ones who were too far gone, not yet revived enough— just stared at Ron with wide, empty eyes when he entered their rooms. He tried not to look at them, tried not to listen when the more successful trials begged with tears in their eyes, hands clasped as if in prayer for him to spare them, as if being chained to a cement wall in a cold, dirty cell still stained with the blood of old torture victims was any kind of life worth holding on to, but there was one that nearly stopped Ron dead in his tracks.

One that almost made him regret what he’d done— what he still had to do.

Because this subject— this girl— looked just like you. She had the same bright, innocent eyes, the same color hair, same build and almost the same complexion if not for the touch of greyness death had dusted over her.

But she didn’t beg. She didn’t cry. And thank god, too, because Ron didn’t think he’d have it in him to leave her to burn to nothing in this place if she had.

She simply sat there, leaning against the corner of the cell, looking up at him when his shadow appeared in the doorway.

“I’m sorry…” was all Ron muttered before placing the flame down to the glistening chemical trail, hesitating a mere moment before setting it ablaze, forcing himself to turn and leave just before the fire licked its way up to meet her feet.

She didn’t scream. Didn’t make a sound.

Yet still, Ron could imagine what it would sound like.

It was your scream that filled his head, turning his blood to ice at the shrillness of the sound.

But there was only one room left now, and then it would all be over.

Though, what was inside wasn’t another collection of files bearing test logs or old documentation of failed experiments. It wasn’t cold, should’ve-stayed-dead bodies in various stages of decay or recovery.

It was a refrigerated cell, this one bigger than the others, longer, with frost climbing the walls and the ceiling and the floor. Ron’s breath fogged before him and the hair on the back of his neck stood. The place was packed with bags, bottles, vials, and jars of blood.

He moved down the aisle slowly, brows knitted with horror and intrigue, noting how he passed what he was beginning to realize were carefully categorized sections of the thick, dark red liquid.

A negative. A positive. B negative. B positive. AB negative. AB positive. O negative. O positive.

There was one category that was more abundant than all the rest, Ron noticed as he passed back through the way he’d come, and he knew, with a chilling awareness, that it must be your blood type.

It had to be.

So, as he left his last trail of formaldehyde, tossing the lighter down and leaving it to burn with the rest of this place, Ron finally felt the weight that had settled over him since the docks lift.

Because now you were safe.

Now you would survive.

And, when your death did arrive someday, you wouldn’t be revived.

Unless— Ron remembered with a nauseous horror— Othello recreated his experiments.

So much for sparing his comrades.

Ron would have to find Othello somehow, he was pretty sure he at least knew the vague neighborhood where he lived, but the scientist was the last piece of this fucked up puzzle that needed to be lost, torn up and thrown away so the picture could never come into full creation.

It wasn’t going to be fun and it wasn’t going to be easy, but Ron knew what he had to do.

He sprinted back down the hall, heading through the maze of the basement and trying to find the only staircase that led back to the main office floor, the smoke so thick now it was clouding the hall from floor to ceiling.

He was coughing, hacking into his blazer sleeve until he pulled the lapel over his nose and mouth.

And then, rounding the next corner that he hoped would lead to the staircase, he collided with something, both him and the silhouette swimming through the smoke, heading further into the chaos rather than away from it, staggering back and nearly falling to the floor.

***

Othello liked to stay late at headquarters.

He liked how quiet the building became once it was completely vacant, how the busy hive of Undertaker’s men turned into a hollow husk by the time the midnight hour arrived.

Most of the others complained about overtime— hell, Will acted like a single minute in this place past his normal working hours was equal to torture— but Othello worked best at night, once the obligations of the day simmered down to still waters, the ripples of his overlapping thoughts finally becoming clear on the surface.

When he felt like he’d hit a wall, like he’d reached a dead end with a particular theory or had to figure out a way to rework a piece of his research, Othello would head back upstairs and pace the empty halls.

During the day, his laboratory was sacred, an ambient sanctuary where he knew he wouldn’t be interrupted. He was like a little mole digging underground, trying to burrow further and further from all the noise and movement of the main floors.

But now, at night, the nocturnal animal in him came alive. It braved the offices and the meeting rooms of the building, taking time to stare out of the tall windows at the moon or the city that sat beneath its pale glow.

Sometimes he imagined that he ran this place. That he owned it and had built it from the ground up, raised it to become what it was now— a hypothetical concept turned into a high-functioning corporation.

In a way, he had.

Because, if Undertaker was the face of the Aurora Society, Othello was the brain.

But he didn’t resent the boss for his current position, for the fact that he existed in the trenches, oftentimes a shadow shifting among the men, slippered feet silent as they padded behind the determined click of all those sets of expensive shoes.

He liked the privacy, the mystery that his involvement brought to this operation.

Most of his colleagues, even the ones that were closer to him, didn’t really know what he did all day.

They didn’t need to.

Othello wasn’t flashy like that.

He liked recognition and respect, sure, but for him, he didn’t need it on a widespread scale to feel appreciated.

He only needed it from one person— his closest and oldest friend— the boss.

Tonight, Othello had been sitting in Undertaker’s big, cushy office chair in the main boardroom, reclining back and lacing his fingers together over his lap as he gazed out at the view, reminiscing on their university days, remembering how, in some way or another, he’d always been vying for the Black Reaper’s attention and approval.

Yet, somehow, he’d always felt like they were equals, like Undertaker was only his boss by superficial title, not in actual hierarchy.

At least, that’s how it had been when the Aurora Society had first begun.

Now, things were different, and in more ways than just Othello’s relationship to his old schoolmate.

Things were changing— evolving— and bringing the world closer to a new era.

It was exciting. It was terrifying. It made Othello’s twisted heart flare with a morbid curiosity as to what this next phase would bring.

He was just about to start sinking into the pride of his current accomplishments with their revolutionary technology when he started to smell the smoke, his nose twitching once, twice at the familiar and unpleasant scent.

He ventured out from the boardroom, scuffing his slippered feet down the long stretch of hallway until he reached the inner balcony of the second floor, the open ceiling giving full view of the rows of desks below where the others sat and worked during the day.

How many times had Undertaker stood in this exact spot and gazed down at his employees, captivated by the way they all worked under his orders, like he had created them to do so, controlled their wills with a simple utterance of orders or gesture of his hand, a puppeteer playing with marionettes. A king admiring his subjects. A god smiling upon his creation.

Othello descended down the stairs to the lower level, following the burning scent as it grew stronger and more pungent. He could taste the acrid flavor of chemicals at the back of his throat, and as soon as he placed the substance as formaldehyde he raced to the basement doors.

When he flung them open to reveal the staircase, a flood of thick grey clouds swirled around him, the wave of fresh air sucking more heat up towards the doors.

Othello pressed the sleeve of his lab coat to his nose, batting his other hand through the air in front of him as if that would clear the immense fog that filled the halls, becoming thicker and thicker with every step closer to his lab.

His research.

His creation.

Othello was choking, eyes watering as he struggled to breathe, lungs seizing as more smoke filled them, yet still he pressed on. He needed to make it to the lab, to recover as much of his work as possible, but then he collided with something as he took the next turn, staggering back and stumbling over his own feet, falling to the floor.

“The fuck—” Ron’s voice registered, followed by a violent fit of coughing. “What the fuck are you still doing here?!” The ginger went to offer his friend a hand, but then stopped halfway as he remembered what he’d just resolved to do. The betrayal he’d vowed to commit.

“The lab—!” Othello sputtered, pushing up to his feet and trying to shove past Ron, who grabbed him by the shoulders to keep him from going any further. “The research— What happened—? It’s all—!” He was overtaken with another bout of choking, the smoke even thicker than before.

“You can’t—!” Ron tried to say, pushing Othello back as he walked forward, grip digging into the scientist’s shoulders. “It’s too late!”

Othello stilled, body tense and stare wide from behind his circular glasses, eyes already bloodshot from the late nights but even more so now with the smoke.

“Let go of me!” he suddenly thrashed, already knowing the truth but needing to see it with his own eyes to believe it. To accept that everything was ruined.

There was a short struggle and Ron lost hold of his target, Othello taking off running down the maze of narrow hallways that wasn’t a maze to him— he could’ve found his lab blindfolded— which caused Ron to give chase, knowing he’d never find his way back through all the smoke.

Othello swung open the door of his lab, a gust of scorching flames reaching for him along with even more smoke, tears streaking down his cheeks as he further suffocated, eyes stinging and chest aching. He stood there, frozen, watching as months— years— of hard work and dedication burned away to nothing.

Ron didn’t hesitate that time. He pulled his gun, pressed the muzzle to the side of Othello’s head, and uttered the same words he’d said to the girl before sending her to her final death.

“I’m sorry.”

He pulled the trigger, watched Othello’s body fall, watched as the blood pooled around him and the flames danced on the shining surface of all that thick, dark red, and then Ron did what he’d been trying to do prior.

He ran.

He reached the staircase, relief flooding his chest to replace the suffocating smoke the further he got to the exit of headquarters, and then he got back in his silver Corvette, speeding away from the scene and driving away from the district, away from the city, past the outskirts and farmlands, all the way out of the country, crossing the border from Britain into Scotland.

It took him all of what remained of the night and most of what faded into morning, but Ron was sure he’d at least bought himself a little more time, just enough to recoup and form a new plan, the last stages of his capture of you where he could take you far away from all the horror, find a little nook somewhere safe and out of Undertaker’s reach.

If such a place even existed.

***

Undertaker was woken the following morning by the relentless ringing of his office phone.

The shrill, repetitive sound echoed through the vast halls of the mansion, stirring you in the early hours of the morning. Undertaker felt as you shifted beside him, cuddling closer against him and nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, tired little fingers twining through his silvery locks as if begging him to stay, stay in bed.

He kissed your forehead, rasped out a sleepy, “Be right back, sweetheart…” before forcing himself from bed, wrapping himself in his robe and treading barefoot down to his home office with his arms crossed and irritation pulling at his features, thinking to himself that, “Someone better be fucking dead to be calling at this hour.”

It wasn’t until the irony of his bitter sarcasm was confirmed that his expression melted into worry, then fury.

Because Othello was dead, the bottom half of headquarters demolished by the fire, and, most importantly, the reanimation technology— every last body, bit of research, and vial of blood— was destroyed.

Undertaker remained silent for a long stretch then, time feeling like it was unfurling around him in all directions, his world moving too fast and too slow all at the same time.

“Sir…?” the voice on the other end of the phone asked apprehensively. “The others are asking for orders… What should we—”

“You’re to proceed as previously directed,” the boss cut in, only a slight tremble to his tone.

“But, sir…” his employee muttered. “There’s nothing left. All of it was—”

“I don’t care,” Undertaker interrupted again, more bite to his voice now. “The Aurora Society isn’t a fucking place— it’s a people. Gather at the docks, if you must. The alleys. Fuck, go to a pub if that’s all you have!” He was gripping the phone so hard the joints in his fingers were starting to ache, alabaster skin going ghost white from the pressure. “We go on with the fucking plan. No set backs. No cancellations. Do you understand?”

Now it was the other line’s turn to meet the news with silence.

Undertaker heard him clear his throat, trying to sound sure of himself when he replied, “Understood, sir. I’ll relay the message.”

After that, Undertaker hung up, his hand flopping to his side and still clutching the phone.

He counted one breath, then two, and then…

And then he went on a fucking rampage.

He chucked the phone so hard at the bookshelves that it nearly cracked in two, a chunk of polished wood flying out from where the object had struck the furniture. He placed his hands flat on his mahogany desk, chest heaving harder and harder with every enraged inhale, the fury flooding him. He swiped all the contents of his desk to the floor, the objects clattering— some shattering— across the marble.

Undertaker wanted to scream.

He wanted to maim.

He wanted to kill.

He should’ve fucking shot Ron when he’d had the chance.

Why hadn’t he?

Why the fuck hadn’t he?

Undertaker couldn’t remember. Couldn’t fucking think.

But he knew it was Ron. Knew that he’d been the one to start the fire, to demolish the basement and most of the entire building along with it, knew he’d been the one to put in a bullet in Othello’s skull before the flames swallowed the scientist and rendered his body a corpse charred beyond recognition.

He knew, and he would find him.

He would take his revenge, carry it out ten fold.

He’d hunt Ronald Knox to the ends of he fucking earth, snuff him out and tear him apart where he stood the moment he came into sight, the moment he was within Undertaker’s unrelenting grasp.

And Undertaker didn’t care if you knew, didn’t care if you witnessed the murder with your own eyes.

Because this was about more than jealousy and secrets and lies and all the other bullshit that had been stirred up these past months— this past year.

Because Othello was Undertaker’s. He belonged to Undertaker, similar to how you did too.

And Undertaker had made quite the fucking point on the docks— at least, he’d thought he had— when he’d reminded Ron what happened to those who tried to steal his property, tried to claim it for their own or destroy it.

It didn’t matter the means. Undertaker would bury his enemies six feet deep. He’d dig their graves and fill them back up and it would be like the deceased had never existed to begin with, no headstone to mark where the coffin bearing the body lay.

But he had a different fate in store for Ron.

There would be no coffin or ceremonial funeral.

There would only be a bullet and the calmness that came after the pull of the trigger, enemy eradicated.

Undertaker would watch the boy die in the same way that he’d been born— alone, forgotten, and cast to the streets.

He didn’t realize how wildly he was smiling, how his bared teeth gleamed like a feral wolf’s in the early morning light, until he looked over to the doorway of his office upon hearing you gasp.

The wicked expression flickered as he searched your face, saw the terror grow in your eyes as your gaze scanned the disshelved chaos of the room before landing back on him, then died when tears filled your eyes and spilled over, petrified sobs hitching in your chest as your shaking little hands pulled up to cover your mouth.

Undertaker straightened his posture, how quickly he could morph from crazed to calm only deepening your fear, and then slowly advanced towards you, carefully stepping over and around the mess his tantrum had left across the floor.

He took you in his arms, embracing you even as you refused to return the gesture, feeling as your entire body shook and your tears dripped down his chest once your face was pressed against it. He said, voice soothing and soft, “Don’t be afraid, darling… It’s all going to be ok…”

You only cried harder, though even you weren’t exactly sure why. As Undertaker lovingly stroked your hair, gently wiping your tears even though they kept flowing endlessly, you stared into his eyes, the emerald vibrance of them entrancing you, lulling you like a spell. “He’s not going to hurt you…” he then added, and you jolted at those words, blinking rapidly a few times.

“Wh…Who…?” you stuttered, voice thick and garbled with dread.

But Undertaker wouldn’t tell you. He just pulled you back in close to him and hushed you, cooing and running a big hand up and down your back as he repeated, “It’s all going to be ok… Everything is going to be ok…”

You knew for a fact he was lying, yet still, you chose to believe him.

You chose to stay naive, ignorant, for that was the only armor you’d ever had from the horror you’d willingly gotten involved in the day you’d agreed to be his.

***

Several weeks had passed— almost two months worth— since the fire and Othello’s death.

You’d known about the scientist’s passing when Undertaker informed you, regrettably, that you were to attend the funeral with him.

“I normally wouldn’t have it this way, princess…” he’d sighed, caressing your shoulder as he studied you in your all black ensemble, a brand new dress, coat, and shoes to wear for the occasion. “But seeing as all of my closest comrades will be in attendance as well, I think it’s the safest place for you to be.”

You hadn’t protested or even asked questions.

Because, like with most things, you knew. Only, this time, you weren’t trying to convince yourself otherwise.

Because, ever since the night of your last phone call with Ron— the same night as the fire— you hadn’t heard from your former bodyguard. You’d tried to reach out, ask if he was ok, where he was, or what had happened, but Ron had discarded his phone into the ocean halfway to Scotland, knowing that there was a good chance it could be used to track him.

You knew that he’d had something to do with the death of Othello— Undertaker’s closest and oldest friend— but didn’t understand just how intimately yet.

And you felt like it was your fault.

It was all your fault.

Because maybe, if you hadn’t gotten as close to him as you did, if you’d just stayed loyal, faithful, stayed the good little girl you’d promised to be in exchange for this life, then maybe Ron wouldn’t have gotten all those ideas in his head. Maybe he wouldn’t have drowned in the jealousy, taken drastic, desperate measures, and maybe he’d still be alive.

You were willing to bet that Undertaker had killed him, not bothering with a funeral as he simply went on pretending that Ron had simply disappeared, betrayed him and left without a trace. At least until he found him and made him pay.

But you didn’t ask. Couldn’t bring yourself to hear the grim truth uttered from Undertaker’s lips. The same lips that had kissed you so many times, told you he loved you, promised you forever and ever and even more than eternity.

But it turned out that you didn’t have to, because after Othello’s funeral had concluded, the crowd of Aurora Society members dispersing along with the morning fog until all who were left was you standing beside Undertaker before the grave, he admitted, unprompted and honest, “Ron was the one who did it. He killed him. He set fire to my headquarters and betrayed us all. And now he’s god knows where, hiding out like a coward…”

All you could do was stare up at him, mouth agape with so many unspoken words, pleas, and questions dying on your tongue.

“But I’m going to find him,” Undertaker vowed, solemn and stern, jaw flexing upon his brief pause. “I’m going to find him and put an end to all of this.”

You didn’t even notice the tears welling in your eyes until they started to fall, a door that, once opened, was very hard to close again.

“But if you ask me…” His gaze flicked to you, eyes cold and cruel. “He’s deserved to die for a long time now. The things he’s done. The lines he’s crossed…” He looked away, sneering and shaking his head with disgust. “And he thought I wouldn’t find out…”

A long, heavy silence fell over the cemetery then, your sniffles and sobs becoming louder.

“But…” you finally gained enough courage to ask. “Why…? Why would he do that? He…” Undertaker’s gaze fell back to meet yours, this time a little less sharp. You swallowed, wincing at the thick saliva sticking to the back of your throat, voice raw as you said, “You’re sure it was him…” It wasn’t a question that time. It was a statement. It was the long-time-coming acceptance that proved you believed Undertaker about what kind of man your bodyguard, friend, part time lover, whoever he’d truly been to you, was.

That he was just as evil as the rest of them.

Once more, Undertaker turned his view to Othello’s grave, his colleague laid to rest and reduced to a chunk of stone bearing his name and two dates. Birth and death. The only two certainties in any human life.

“It was him.”

And then, as if all of your tears had merely been a warning of the pressure put on the walls of the dam, the reservoir finally broke, your face a mess and all your limbs quaking as you sucked down frantic, hyperventilating breaths, curling in on yourself, just barely keeping yourself standing.

Your sobs and gasps were merely background noise to Undertaker as memories of him and his friend replayed in his mind, cinematic reels zipping by too fast to see, yet just enough to catch a glimpse— of the university, sneaking out late to the restricted areas of campus, exchanging impossible ideas, deciding that the impossible might just be possible with enough ambition, dropping out of school, starting the Aurora Society with just the two of them, back before any headquarters or fancy cars or unmarked cash started rolling in.

Everything had seemed so simple back then, so calculated, merely an equation that would be solved with time.

But the numbers were gone now, the slate blank.

Without Othello, how would Undertaker even know where to start again?

Finally, your pathetic, broken sounds ate through the memories, snapping his attention back to you as you fell to your knees, dirt smudging the hem of your new dress, your coat, your shoes.

Undertaker knelt beside you, gently wrapping his arms around you, holding you close.

“We’re all bad men, my love,” he muttered into your hair, his words barely registering to you amidst your breakdown. “I just thought we were all on the same side…”

You could’ve stayed in that graveyard, let the ground swallow you up and drag you under.

But Undertaker picked you up, carried you back to his car, drove you home, cleaned you up and tucked you into bed, all the while your crying persisted, only dying down into a state of shock before the emotional exhaustion finally gave you the respite you so desperately needed.

You hoped that when you woke up you’d feel better, but you didn’t.

We’re all bad men…

Maybe you were bad too, having stayed in the shadow of all this darkness for so long.

I just thought we were all on the same side…

When all was said and done, whose side would you be on?

Undertaker’s or your own?

***

(This is it, everyone.

The beginning of the end.

Originally, I’d intended chapter six to be the final one, but since the finale was turning out to be quite long and plot heavy, I’ve decided to split it into two parts.

Next chapter will be the final one, and then I have a sort of prologue chapter that I actually started writing probably around the time chapter two was coming out that I’ll be posting as well.

Anyway though, I hope you enjoyed this chapter/the series so far. I’ll try not to make you wait so long for the ending.

See you then~)

65 notes · View notes

cupcakesandteawrites · 9 months

Text

Eddie was close to banging his head on the table. The only thing that stopped him was being in public. He had hoped that heading to the little sandwich shop around the corner from his apartment would get him out of the writer's block he had had for weeks now. His deadline was fast approaching for his new novel and he had to meet it. The only thing a change of scenery had done was get him lunch.

Not thing was inspiring him to write. He needed something more for the latest instalment of his fantasy series. Maybe a new character but everyone he thought of was not what was needed. Either he had already written them or he couldn't quite make them enough to become a mainstay like he planned. He was trying to think of a new hero character. He knew that his hero characters were his weakness, preferring to write for morally grey or outright villanus ones. His trick for writing his characters had always been to write them based on people he knew, he wrote caricatures of people he was surrounded by all the time, friends, family, people he saw on the train a lot or in the coffee shop he sometimes frequented.

Eddie hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings, until he heard the word. A word that made his head raise and his blood boil. ‘Fag’ He looked over at where the voice had come from to see what was going on.

“Sir, I will ask that you not speak to the staff like that, please leave. Now” The young girl behind the counter spoke sternly.

“No! I will not. It is my right to not have a fag touch my food and get it all infected” The man snarled.

That's when Eddie saw him, slamming a door open and looking like a wet dream. Tall, muscular but soft around the edges, flour on his clothes and in his hair but a hard look on his face, heading straight towards the man.

“She asked you to leave, now you either do that on your own or I make you. Those are the only two options. I don’t know if you’re stupid or just plain fucking ignorant but this place is littered with all different kinds of pride flags, every single staff member is a member of the LGBTQ+ community. You want to come in here using that kind of language, say it to my face. I’ve slept with men, recently actually if you must know. So, go on, call me a fag to my face and see what happens. Or walk away now and I won't have to make your face look better by rearranging it.” This angle spoke before placing his hands on his hip.

Eddie needed to know a couple of things,

1)What was this man's name?

2)Was he single?

The guy left and Eddie knew he had to make a move then and there as the beautiful flour covered man was talking to the serving staff.

“Hi, I’m really sorry to interrupt,” Eddie said gently, touching the guy on the shoulder once. “What you did just was amazing, if you have a few moments soon can you come and join me, I’d like to speak to you about something”

“Yeah, sure” The most beautiful man Eddie had ever seen replied, “I’ll be over soon, im almost done out back for a bit”

“Thanks, the names Eddie by the way”

“Steve”

10 months later and Eddie was getting ready for the launch of his latest book and was almost half way through the next.

“You almost ready to go sweetheart?” Eddie asked popping his head into his bedroom “We need to go in 10 minutes”

“Yeah, just finishing the hair now baby, can't believe its launch day already” Steve replied from the ensuite bathroom. “You sure you want me there? I won't get in the way?

“My sweet angel, the book is only finished because of you, it wouldn't feel right doing this without you. Plus I always want you with me, you know this.”

#eddie munson #fanfic #ficlet #steddie #steddie fandom #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #au fic #au gust #au gust 2023

11 notes · View notes

ssahotstuff · 2 years

Text

Lie To Me

An Aaron Hotchner x Reader series

Aaron Hotchner/Ozark Crossover

Part 9

Part 8 can be found here

Warnings: smut, crime, violence, minors DNI

Word count: 2.4k

Now that Kay could work shifts alone, it gave you time for dates. Aaron was planning to take you out, although he wouldn't tell you where. He was picking you up from The Blue Cat and bringing you back later for your car when you shut the place down. Kay had been quiet most of the day, but as predicted, she perked up when Aaron came in the door, asking if there was anything she could get for him.

"I'm just here to pick up Y/n," he told her, making his way to the bar to wait on you to finish up. You were almost done, all you had left to do was grab your tips and you were ready to talk out the door.

"So, where ya taking her?" She asked him, but he wouldn't tell.

"I can't say, it'll ruin the surprise," he looked to you for backup; Kay had cornered him at the bar and now he was stuck.

"Ready to go?" You asked him, and he looked more than relieved, standing up to lead you outside. You went to climb in his car but it was locked. He grabbed a basket from the drivers side and led you down the dock to a boat that hadn't been there earlier in the day, a large pontoon from one of the boat rental services.

"Where are you taking me?" He led you to the boat before leading you onto it, letting you take a seat as he pulled out and started on the water. It was calm, peaceful. The moon was shining bright on the water, reflecting its yellows and whites, making it appear brighter than usual outside. He went to an opening, nothing around for miles and killed the engine, inviting you into his lap from the chair next to him.

"I doubt you've taken the time in the last couple of months to come out on the lake," he said, and he was right. You'd been so focused on working that you hadn't had time for anything else until lately.

"You'd be right."

For a moment he just held you, letting you sit in his lap and the water slosh around the outside of the boat, rocking you lightly.

"I brought dinner," he announced, opening his basket to hand you a to go tray of food as you moved back to your seat so the two of you could eat. It was blissful, listening to the fish jump in the water, the world still and quiet around you.

"This was a great idea," you told him, finishing your food, standing up and removing your shirt before he could protest. In an instant you were in your underwear, jumping off the side of the boat and into the water.

"You couldn't even wait on me?" He asked, stripping down quickly, tossing the anchor over so he could jump in with you. You swam towards him, the water deep enough that you couldn't touch the bottom. He came to the surface, wiping his eyes as he looked around for you. He splashed you, chuckling as you splashed him back, the two of you playing in the water forever before climbing back on the boat, soaked to the bone.

"We didn't think this through," he handed you a towel, drying off quickly so he could put his clothes back on, removing his soaked underwear and placing them on the bench seat so they could dry. You did the same with your underwear, putting your shirt and shorts back on as he drove the boat around, the two of you enjoying the scenery as the hours passed. You finally pulled back into the dock right around closing time, grabbing your soaked clothes so you could carry them to the car and then lock up for the night.

"Have fun?" Kay asked from the parking lot, smoking her nightly cigarette.

"We did," you couldn't wipe the smile off your face; Aaron opted to wait for you in the car so he didn't have to deal with Kay twice in one day. You locked up and he drove you home, where Charlotte was already in bed for the evening. You went to Aaron's place instead, following him to the bedroom. He slid off his pants and put on a fresh pair of boxers, sitting on the edge of the bed. He grabbed your hands and pulled you towards him, letting you straddle him. He was quick to unbutton your pants, sliding them off your legs because he knew you were bare underneath.

"I had such a good time with you," you said just before you kissed him, leaning forward to press your forehead against his.

"Me too, baby. I always have the most fun with you," you felt him growing hard beneath you, dragging your center across his member, making him grip you back tight, his hand secure at the small of your back. In the time it took you to raise up your hips, he shoved his underwear down, letting you sit on his cock, tucked neatly between your slick folds like that's where he always belonged.

"Nothing could ever compare to this," he groaned, thrusting upwards into you as you hovered over him, letting him do all the work. You held your shirt up before removing it completely, because it was obstructing your view. You watched him slide in and out of you, his massive member pulsing each time he slid inside of you.

"You always fill me up so perfect, Aaron," you whispered in his ear, making him go faster, his hips smacking yours repeatedly as you whimpered above him, your orgasm making your knees weak. He had the strength to hold you up, keeping you in place so he could fuck you mercilessly.

"Your pussy feels like it was made just for me," he shuddered as you soaked him once more, addicted to the way it felt when you came on his cock. He needed more, pounding into you until you were crying out in ecstasy, a whining mess on top of him. When he came, his mouth clashed against yours, overpowering you as his mouth slipped into yours.

"I never want to forget how I feel when we're like this," he was still throbbing inside of you, the two of you still coming down from your high.

"Makes me feel whole," you told him, and his lips met yours again as he nodded, letting you climb off of him. The two of you got dressed so you could make the walk to your house, his hands on your hips as you led him next door. It was routine now for him to stay with you--you'd hang out at his place until time for bed, but he hadn't slept in his own bed since the week you'd stopped talking.

You were used to him being gone when you woke up, but in the middle of the night, his phone rang, waking you both up. He answered quickly, sitting straight up, his legs already tossed over the edge of the bed.

"What do you mean she got Omar caught? I thought the plan was to cut a 5 year deal with him?" He was standing up and getting dressed, so you flipped the lamp on, watching him hurry around the room.

"Sounds like she fucked things up for us. I'll be there in twenty," he hung up the phone before leaning down to kiss you, moving your hair out of the way so he could see your face.

"Shit has hit the fan. I've got to go. I love you," he called, already going down the hall, on his way out. It was almost time for you to get up anyway, so you made coffee and took a shower, only to be interrupted halfway through with a knock at the door.

"I need you to take Jonah. I've got to go to Mexico," Marty was standing on the other side of the door, Jonah right behind him.

"Of course, come on in," you felt a little exposed in your robe, but Marty didn't seem to mind. He looked at you like you were fully dressed anyway, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Mexico?" You questioned, but he shook his head, like he'd already said too much and couldn't risk saying anymore. He left without another word, leaving you to wonder if he'd even come back.

✨✨✨

Jonah was becoming quite the cook thanks to Aaron's superior teaching skills, and on nights like tonight you were grateful for it. Kay had called in sick so you'd pulled a double, and everyone had stayed up to wait on you to get home.

"Hi baby," Aaron greeted you at the door, Jonah and Charlotte talking at the table. Aaron looked exhausted, but with Marty in Mexico, you weren't sure how much there was to do. You were sure he stayed busy, but you knew from his text messages that he'd spent the afternoon with Jonah, flying the drone over the river. Aaron had sent you pictures of the view, amazed at the beautiful scenery. You would've thought the place was perfect if not for the town being riddled with criminal activity and more murders than you could count just since you moved here.

"Hi, smells good in here," he let you take a seat next to him at the table and everyone recounted their day, even Aaron to an extent. Charlotte was busy enrolling in online school; you'd taken her to get a new laptop and everything she would need so she was ready when the time came. Now she was fully prepared, even though there was a month left until the semester was going to start.

"I hope Kay can work tomorrow. This is my third double this week," your body was feeling the effects of so many late nights. Your back and legs were killing you. Kay was supposed to open so you sent her a text asking if she'd be able to make it and waited on a response. It was late, so she was probably asleep.

You didn't mind working for her, you were just tired. You knew this was just the beginning, that it would get worse when school started, so you tried not to complain too much. Soon enough, Kay would be better and you wouldn't be working as much. When dinner was finished, everyone went to bed, including you and Aaron, but you didn't go to sleep. Instead, he sat behind you, his hands working at the muscles in your back as you leaned forward, letting him work his magic.

"Oh baby, you're one giant knot," he exclaimed, the pads of his thumbs carefully digging into your shoulder blades, making you wince.

"I know. I should've asked you for this sooner," you admitted, feeling him deliver a feather light kiss to your bare shoulder blade. He insisted on working on your bare back, making you strip down as soon as the door was closed. You still had on panties, your legs covered up by the blanket.

"Now that I know, you won't have to ask, baby. I'll take care of you."

Falling in love with him had been unexpected but there wasn't anything you wouldn't do for him. He made you feel your best, even if you were low. You couldn't have asked for a more supportive, patient partner.

"I know you will," you said, your hand on his thigh as he massaged your back. It felt heavenly--so we're more than grateful that he'd decided to rub you down.

"Can I use this lotion?" He was referring to the lotion you kept on your bedside table, so you nodded, and next he was lathering you down, rubbing it into your skin gently as your eyes closed and you let yourself enjoy the pampering.

"Feels so good, Aaron," you choked, your eyes rolling back at the sensation. You already felt ten times better, and after a hot shower in the morning, you'd be as good as new.

"Anything for you, sweetheart," he cooed, letting you lean back against his bare chest. You were still slightly sticky but he didn't mind, he just wanted to have you close.

"If Marty doesn't come back soon, they're sending me to Mexico after him," he said it as if he'd been debating telling you this entire time and he didn't know how.

"Will you be safe?" You were instantly worried, terrified something bad might happen to him, and you wouldn't be able to stop it.

"I'll take care of myself. It's only if he doesn't come back, try not to worry about it."

But you did worry, and a week later when Marty still hadn't shown up, you started to fear the worst for both of them. You were afraid Aaron would have to leave you and worried that something awful had happened to Marty. You'd been at the Blue Cat all day, working with Kay when Aaron came in. You got tired of the way her eyes stayed glued to him when he entered the room, but you understood. He was so much fun to look at that you often found yourself distracted by him at times too.

"I leave in three hours. I wanted to come and tell you, so you'd know where I am," his face was as solemn as ever--you knew chasing after Marty was the last thing that he wanted to do, but it was his job, and he didn't have a choice.

"I'm scared, Aaron." You were glad there was no one around to see you get upset, wiping away the tears in hopes that he wouldn't see. He was quickly wiping them away, ducking down to kiss your lips.

"Don't be scared, baby. I'll bring him home to his kids and I'm coming back home to you," he said confidently, letting you wrap your arms around him for the last time until he returned.

"Promise me you'll be safe," you knew it was risky and that it was a good possibility that something bad might happen to him. Normal laws couldn't protect him on foreign soil, no matter his title.

"I promise, sweetheart. I love you so much. I'll come home as soon as I can. I'll call when I land, but I can't promise I'll be able to keep in contact much," he admitted, which only made it worse.

"I love you so much. Please come back home to me."

Master tags: @wheelsupkels @hausofwhores @criminallyobsessedcm @tojithesourcerkiller @fireworksinthesky @realdirectionx

#aaron hotchner au #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fic #ssa aaron hotchner smut #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader smut #aaron hotchner x reader #jason bateman ozark #Ozark #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron Hotchner

10 notes · View notes

kirliao · 2 years

Text

evermore: short series

fandom: top gun maverick

character(s): various members of the dagger squad

a/n: wrote the initial draft after watching an episode of quantum leap. yall raymond is so good in it?? and if i could get myself back to giffing again, i could make logan aus. anyway happy top gun fall! let’s get our hearts broken :)

track two: champagne problems ( aka “i broke my own heart writing this” )

his callsign harkens back to a blissful, serene afternoon back at your shared alma mater. well, it was a blissful, serene afternoon before you had foolishly tripped over something and in a swift second, worksheets and notes flew around you like giant confetti for an incoming pity party. you felt that it disturbed the peaceful scenery you had been enjoying. that, and the glass face of your watch had cracked upon impacting the ground after you’d tripped. great.

you felt that you had disturbed it and you felt a heavy weight in your heart for being such an embarrassment and why were you so clumsy and -- well, your thoughts never did finish when a young man came out of nowhere and offered to help you with your notes. so.. coordinated and orderly and he'd returned most of the papers to you before you could even think about asking for his name.

"i'm logan. logan lee. we have sociology together." he introduced himself anyway. he had a great smile, you thought.

you ended up seeing more of his smile as the two of you became friends, later study buddies, then eventually, lovers.

logan had told you of his dreams to fly. how he thinks that mankind was meant to touch the heavens. you thought it was the most romantic thing in the world. you thought he was the most romantic man in the world.

he’d shown it consistently, not just with his words but his actions. lavish dinners both in his apartment and when you both go out to restaurants. nights spent at his place cuddled together on a plush sofa. he looked after you and made you feel special. in turn, you helped him wherever possible. loved him with what you had.

truth is, there was a part of you that felt like it had to end at some point. logan was nearly perfect in so many ways. the problem was that you didn't think you were.

always feeling like you were two steps behind, lagging in what should be a path that you could be walking in side-by-side with him.

you'd found yourselves perusing through the school archives one day. one of you had some project due for a humanities class when you came across some history about the dorm you had stayed in during your first year at yale.

"huh. turns out it was a mental institution back in the day." logan noted, causing you to give a wry smile and to utter out a reply before you could stop yourself. "well, looks like it's made for me then."

you could feel his eyes boring into you, a suspended smile before he cleared his throat and carried onto other information about other things. the silence from that moment never did leave your mind.

failing a class or two led to you graduating later than him. then the dinners with his family when you finally let him introduce you made you feel out of place. not awful, per se, just....inadequate.

the lee family were nice enough, but they all had that air to them; or maybe it was just amplified insecurity stemming from years of hearing (and listening) to the voices in your head.

that they were better than you, this whole family of overachievers. legacy graduates from well-repute universities and their accomplishments displayed alongside the goofy childhood pictures of logan that both his mom and sister were all too eager to share after dinner. the exchanges were warm, but it stopped there. it was as if you couldn’t quite reach out or connect.

you never did tell logan after that maybe spending more time with his family was in the cards for you. you couldn’t. not after they had been so welcoming and nice. how could you even explain that it might not have been enough?

however, about a month or two before the holidays, logan had planned for the two of you to spend some time somewhere in the mountains. he had rented this gorgeous cabin; something out of a magazine that you'd read at the doctor's office before your sessions.

upon seeing the rest of his family's cars parked outside when you both arrived, you could already tell something was off.

logan's family was fancy. however, they were not throw-a-party-whenever-they-like kind of fancy. strike one.

the bottle of dom perignon on the foyer table meant business and you weren't sure it was the kind of business you liked. you and logan would never splurge for something like that, for whatever reason. strike two.

and while the two of you liked to dance, you usually did it in the privacy of your apartments. this slow tune guiding the two of you into a familiar, yet nervous, dance could almost bring tears to your eyes. and not the happy kind. strike three.

"you had made me the happiest man for all these years we've been together..." was how it started. the rest of it seemed to blur together. his warm smile, his romantic words..

it didn't hit you that the look in his eyes turned from strikingly loving to concerningly desparate until he was on both knees, your hand in one of his and his other one holding a box containing the most beautiful ring you've ever seen laid neatly inside.

"please..i want you to marry me."

you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding and you pulled your hand back.

your lips quivered, "i'm sorry. i'm..i'm so sorry, logan. i .."

it didn’t register that the heels that clicked against the floor was yours until you realized that you were slowly stepping away from him, his pained expression slowly blurring as tears took over before you turned and all but ran away. "i.. i'm sorry. i’m so, so sorry..."

cinderella was one of your favorite fairy tales as a child. the part where she ran when the clock struck midnight gave you a thrill when you first read it. inwardly cheering her on to get home before the world could find out that she really wasn’t the princess they thought she was. hoping for her to be safe, away from the glaring judgment of the world she lived in. this felt like your cinderella moment, but you were grown enough to know that it wouldn’t have a happy ending.

upon returning to your shared room, you had packed your things and left almost immediately. out the backdoor through the kitchen and you walked. through the winds and the dropping temperatures, you walked until you had reached a convenience store in order to gain your bearings and call a cab to the nearest airport. buy the last ticket for a flight back to your apartment.

no more words needed to be said.

you just weren't ready.

years later, you'd hear about logan again from mutual friends. they said he'd found someone new. admittedly, some of them think that the new one looked like you.

they said he also managed to get into this prestigious program called ‘top gun’. high chance that he had finally flown like he’s always wanted, like he’s always told you he would.

there was a time he promised to fly you; promised he’d make you see the world differently. that the world was so much more beautiful once you’ve seen it from up high. there was a time you would’ve agreed.

sitting on your desk was the watch that had a crack on it, back from the day you two first met. he had offered to get it fixed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to have it done. call it practicality or some weird sense of sentimentality, but the damn thing still functioned. and now, after all these years, it did the double duty of reminding you of him.

you made circles on the fogged up windows of your apartment; light snow in the northern states reminded you of that night. and while it was painful to remember just how much you've hurt and how much he's hurt, you preferred all of this over the what if.

because the what if wasn’t a happy ending. you knew that yourself. it would just be a bandaid to a much bigger problem.

and you knew that you'd rather have him be happy, even if wasn't with you.

#logan yale lee #top gun maverick #logan yale lee x reader #top gun x reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun x y/n #top gun x you #logan yale lee x you #top gun yale #writes.

11 notes · View notes

idreamofhazel · 2 years

Text

The Boyking-Chapter 12

Masterpost and series summary here.

Summary: Dallas begins working on a job with Dean and gets a little more than she bargained for.

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Beta’d by the amazing @impala-dreamer!

Less than an hour later, Dallas stood on a sidewalk, outside, shielding her eyes from the golden, late-afternoon sunlight, duffle bag slung over her shoulder. These last few days underground had her eyes watering and blinking. She’d only been in the dimly lit hallways of Hell one week, her visit to Bobby and the Harvelle’s was three days ago. Last night felt like a lifetime ago yet fresh all at the same time. She needed to get out, needed to work a job. A different job than the one that had consumed her for the last six months.

“Need some sunglasses?” Dean leaned against his Impala, arms crossed, a smirk on his face.

Dallas looked behind her, watching as the demon who’d transported her disappeared in a cloud of black smoke under the shadows of the large rocks on the side of whatever road she now stood by. For this trip, she’d opted for the spellwork-mode of traveling topside over the intense nausea she’d experienced with Sam.

She looked back at Dean without acknowledging his comment and strode towards the passenger door. “What do you got for us?” she asked, opening her own door and sitting inside the car.

Dean’s eyes went a little wide but he said nothing. He moved away from the car, going around to his own door, opening it, and sliding inside. The door shut with a creak and a slam.

“A werewolf, I think. About two hours away.”

Dallas huffed. “They couldn’t drop me any closer?”

“Someone’s cranky.”

Dallas ignored Dean’s comment again.

“You want to talk about it?” Dean offered, sarcasm hidden behind the offer.

Dallas shot him a glare.

He put his hands up, a smile pulling at his mouth. “Alright, alright. I’ll just drive.”

The next two hours were spent without talking. Dean did as he said he would, playing his AC/DC and Metallica tapes as he drove. Dallas quietly hummed along to the songs, taking in the scenery of the brown-orange dirt and sparse greenery. They were out west like they had been before at Harvelle’s, but where, exactly, she didn’t know and didn’t care.

They arrived at a motel around dinner time. The tall, off-white sign on the side of the highway read Pioneer Village in pine green lettering as Dean pulled into the gravel parking lot and underneath the valet. The entire building looked like one large, L-shaped log cabin.

“Charming,” Dallas noted.

Dean opened his door, telling Dallas to “hang tight” as he went to the front office to check-in.

Dallas stayed in the car, looking around at the pine trees and brown grass behind the motel and the open plain across the highway. In the quietness, she wondered what Gordon was up to now, where he was at. Her cell phone—still turned off— began to burn a hole in her back pocket, but she kept the device put away.

Dean appeared at his window a second later, dangling two sets of keys with plastic numbered keychains attached. Dallas held her hand out and caught her set as Dean tossed them to her. The green plastic read 35 in black lettering.

“I’ve got 34. We’re neighbors, connected rooms.” Dean grinned widely as he got back into the car.

Dean parked the Impala in front of their rooms, and they made quick work of unloading their bags—Dallas only had her one duffle and Dean had two. She made a mental note of the impressive amount of equipment Dean kept in his trunk as he got his bags out and traded out equipment from his last hunt, replacing it with what he would need for the current job. She made no mention of it as they each carried their belongings to their rooms but she’d like the chance one day to look through his stock, she thought as she approached her door.

Dallas inserted her key into the lock and turned it with ease, stepping inside a room that was already air conditioned. She quickly shut the door behind her, locking it, and dropped her bag on the floor next to a chair. She then fell backwards onto the full size bed, letting out a heavy breath. The room smelled slightly musty. It had popcorn ceilings and the decor was… well, it was expected for the theme. The electric lights looked like gas lamps and the painting above the bed was of a covered wagon in a prairie. Even the blanket she now laid on had small wagons and oxen all over it.

Not five minutes later a knock came at the door connecting hers and Dean’s rooms. She pulled herself off the bed and unlocked and opened the door for Dean.

“You getting settled in?” he said with a smirk. He seemed to always be smirking. Dallas wasn’t sure whether Dean’s smirks or Sam’s nothingness, for lack of a better term, was more annoying.

“I feel right at home,” Dallas quipped.

Dean smiled. “We’re in Utah, in case you wondered,” he offered.

Dallas shrugged. “You gonna brief me or not?”

Dean moved aside, gesturing for Dallas to cross the threshold into his room. She sat herself down on the brown armchair by his front door. Dean sat down on the end of his mattress. His comforter had the same obnoxious print.

“You know, we never got properly introduced,” Dean said.

Dallas raised her brow. “You’re Dean, I’m Dallas. We’re introduced plenty.”

Dean chuckled. “I get it—you’ve got the whole Lone Ranger thing going on. But I’d like to know the person I’m working a job with a little more, you know?”

“What is it you want to know exactly?” Dallas said tensely.

“Well, for starters, how long have you been hunting?”

Dallas stared him down. “Long enough.”

“Uh huh,” Dean said, “And how long is long enough?”

Dallas sighed and did the math in her head. “I started when I was… 16 I guess. So about 10 years.”

Dean whistled. “16 huh?”

Dallas nodded. “And you?”

“Since I was big enough for my dad to put a shotgun in my hand.”

Dallas just stared. She had never really bothered to do much research on the Winchester family, didn’t know much other than the stories whispered by hunters telling of the feats they or their father had accomplished, or of Sam’s fall from grace. With the way hunters talked, it was always difficult to determine what amount of the stories were true and which were exaggerated. Gordon had offered more information on the family’s history when they’d first agreed to work together, but she’d been impatient and just wanted the job. She only needed to know what they were like currently, she’d insisted. She was beginning to regret that impatience now.

“My mom was killed by a demon,” Dean continued as if he’d told the story a thousand times. “But you knew that, right?”

Dallas shook her head.

Dean looked surprised. “You don’t talk to many hunters, do you?”

“Lone ranger,” Dallas echoed.

Dean laughed. Dallas wondered to herself how he seemed to do so with so much ease if even half the whispered stories were true.

“You and me both,” he replied. “Look, what do you say I grab us a couple beers and we just talk? We got some hours to kill before the moon comes out anyway.”

Dallas studied Dean, sized him up for the first time since meeting him now that the opportunity to get to know him presented itself. Now close enough and not busy with thinking about Sam or spreading the news of the apocalypse with hunters, she noticed his green eyes first—still youthful, in a way, but holding memories of haunted experiences. She imagined her eyes looked the same. His nose was a little crooked but in an endearing way. He sat comfortably on the edge of the bed, relaxed, which contrasted in her mind against the build of his body. It didn’t take a trained eye or a long look to know that Dean could win just about any fight he chose to participate in. He looked powerful, friendly, and weathered.

“Sure,” she finally replied evenly. Getting close enough to the Winchesters was part of the job, she supposed, and Dean seemed like the better of the two to get acquainted with.

“Alright,” Dean answered, getting up from the bed. “Be back in a few.” He grabbed his keys and left the room, leaving Dallas alone. The air conditioner kicked on in Dean’s room and filled some amount of the silence.

She bounced her leg up and down as she looked around the room identical to hers with nothing else to do. She should’ve specified for Dean to pick her up at the same time he would begin the job, but she would’ve been sitting around in Hell anyways.

She hated sitting around.

Dallas took her cell out of her back pocket and turned it on. It booted up quickly, still having most of its battery left from being off for the good part of a week. It connected to a signal and the texts started rolling in. She read through them briefly.

Did you find him?

Now is not the time to go offline. You need my help.

Dean was at Harvelle’s. Someone said he had a partner.

If you’ve had any contact with Sam, I’d like to know.

She had three missed calls as well. She looked back at the dates. The first text came through the day after she was kidnapped and then they were spaced out a day or two. Gordon was acting like a clingy boyfriend.

But that last text message….

The last message worried Dallas. She could almost hear the tone his voice would have taken if he’d said it to her face—calm, like the ocean shore before the tsunami wave hits. If he confirmed somehow where Dallas had been, that she had indeed joined Dean in journeying to Hell, Gordon might demand he join her and finish the job immediately.

She shoved the phone back in her pocket to deal with later, found the TV remote, and flipped through the channels, watching nothing for more than a few seconds.

Dean returned a few minutes later, walking in carrying a couple grocery sacks. Dallas turned the television off.

“I hope you like pie,” he said as he took a plastic container holding said-dessert out of one of the bags and set it on the bed. “I’ve got chips, too.”

“So nutritious,” Dallas remarked sarcastically.

“Don’t tell me you’re all healthy like—“ Dean stopped himself as he was pulling the six-pack out of the other bag. He cleared his throat. “What I’m trying to say is beggars can’t be choosers, so I hope you like what I got.” His tone was less cheerful than before.

The room went silent save for the sound of a couple of the beers being set in the mini fridge.

“I’ll eat whatever,” she said to break the silence.

Dean nodded. He grabbed a bottle opener out one of his duffles and popped the lid off two bottles, handing one to Dallas. She took a sizable swig. Dean sat down on the edge of his bed.

“What happened to your hand?” he asked before taking a drink himself.

She had forgotten about the injury until then. Dallas eyed the purple bruise on her right knuckles, remembering what she had been feeling to make her punch solid wood without thinking. “It wasn’t Sam, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Nah, but I wouldn't be surprised if you told me you punched him.”

Dallas raised a brow. “He’s that bad?”

Dean laughed. “No, you just seem like the punching type.”

Dallas glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s the way you carry yourself, you don’t take any shit,” Dean said, then seeing the way Dallas was reacting, he added, “That’s a compliment.”

Dallas couldn’t disagree. She’d learned the hard way to protect herself. So she relaxed, nodded, and took another drink of her beer.

“You got any siblings?” he continued.

“No, just me,” she answered.

“Parents?” Dean pushed.

“I was born, wasn’t I?”

“Touchy subject?” Dean said.

“It's just not important,” Dallas responded. “Pass me the chips.”

Dean turned, grabbing the bag of Doritos and tossing them to Dallas. She caught them easily one-handed, tearing open the bag and shoving a handful into her mouth.

“How’d you get started hunting?” Dean asked.

Dallas swallowed her bite and thought about how she would answer. She hadn’t told anyone the story in years, and she didn’t feel like getting into the whole thing right now. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever tell anyone the whole story again.

“I was on my own at 16,” she summarized, “Ran into a vampire nest because I was trying to find a place to sleep. Luckily a pair of hunters found them before they tore me to shreds.”

Dean seemed to nod knowingly and thankfully didn’t ask her why she’d been on her own at that age or why she hadn’t had a place to sleep.

“Did they teach you to hunt?”

“No,” Dallas answered. “They were going to, I think, but I ran away when they slept one night. From there I just…. Figured out how to do my own research.”

“You never learned from anyone? Someone already in the life?” Dean gestured vaguely with his beer bottle.

Dallas looked down at the carpet, focusing on the specks of colors in the gray fibers to will herself from traveling too far into the past. “There was someone, once, but they’re gone.” She took another large drink of her beer.

Thankfully, Dean only nodded and didn’t press any further. Dallas finished off her bottle and then asked for another one.

He handed her the drink and she popped it open, saying to Dean, “Now it’s my turn, yeah?”

Dean gestured with his hands as if to say go ahead.

“Why are you working with Sam?”

Dean choked on his beer a little. “You get straight to the point, don’t you?”

Dallas shrugged. “I like to know the hunter I’m working with, that’s all.”

Dean smiled at her copying his same sentiment from earlier. “It’s the end of the world. Seems stupid not to.”

“But you could do that without Sam, yeah? Get your angel friend to help you? Castiel was his name, right?”

Some of the ghosts that Dallas had noticed in Dean’s eyes earlier seemed to be coming to life.

“Look,” Dallas continued, “I’m just trying to figure out who I can trust. Forgive me if I’m wary of the king of Hell who also happens to be your brother.”

Dean thought for a moment, appearing as if an internal battle was taking place from Dallas’ questioning.

“I’ve known Sam my whole life,” he finally answered, “And if there’s one thing I know about him, it’s that he’s always motivated by doing the right thing. No matter what. Sometimes we just disagree on the methods.”

“What’s the right thing in his case?” she pressed further.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Dean answered, finishing off his beer, “But I’d say at the time he became—you know—the right thing was not letting something more evil take his place.”

Dallas held her beer in mid-air, stopping just before it reached her lips. She had expected an answer apologetic to Sam but she hadn’t quite expected that.

“More evil?” she asked.

Dean sighed. “Sam, his situation, it’s... misunderstood by a lot of people, people who weren’t there—“

Dean was cut off by his phone ringing, leaving Dallas hungry for more answers. She waited with bated breath as he spoke to whoever was on the other line, her mind beginning to form all sorts of new questions and concerns. She didn’t know what to make of Dean’s answers. She thought he would just spout off something about the apocalypse and needing to work with him out of necessity. Dallas had not expected him to defend Sam in any way.

She really did have a thing or two to learn about these brothers, she remembered their friend Bobby expressing.

“That was the local police department,” Dean said as he hung up the phone. “There’s been another attack. We gotta go.”

Dallas’ new questions would have to wait.

#the boyking #boyking!sam #sam winchester fanfiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester x oc #original character

10 notes · View notes

readitnreap · 1 year

Text

Ghost stuff pt3

Continuing!

Warnings for this section--more Copia bullying, scary things, brief sexual mention, poorly translated Italian.

The cobblestone walkways surrounding the Abbey courtyard were typically silent, but Copia’s incessant pacing had put an end to that solace. He had been moving back and forth in place so long his feet were starting to hurt. His once sharp, precise steps were now a series of scuffs and shuffles. He paused at long last to lean back against the wall. He braced himself next to the doorframe of Sister Imperator’s small, private office and lifted his leg. He bent his knee and hugged his thigh to his midsection, wiggling and stretching his sore ankle. He repeated the exercise with the other leg.

He had tried to grab the Sister directly following the disastrous meeting but she kept brushing him off. She was rubbing elbows and was not to be bothered. Eventually Copia had given up though not before getting her to promise to speak with him later that evening. He didn’t know what she was expecting but he was still riled up and ready to give her a piece of his mind.

He had barely been back at the Abbey a month before she had to go and ruin things. Of course he knew about her plans to insert him into Project Ghost, had known for a while that she was plotting something like that, but it was still new. The uncomfortable and awkward chat between her, Nihil and Copia had only happened a week ago. In fact he still wasn’t even sure Nihil had been onboard and then Sister announced a meeting to inform the Clergy.

‘Without offering me any kind of heads up,’ Copia complained to himself. His thoughts wandered briefly to Terzo, the other Emeritus brothers and Copia’s various friends around the Abbey. He’d wanted to tell them himself. He knew this would be an upset and even his childhood friends would likely have strong feelings. Though maybe Imperator announcing it did save Copia from a fist fight with Terzo.

The Cardinal sunk into a crouch against the wall. He let his eyes go unfocused on the courtyard before him. He could hear the cold chill coming in the air; winter would be starting in earnest soon. He thought of snowball fights in the courtyard as a small child, traveling between the Abbey and his church affiliated boarding school. He remembered ice-skating on the lake in the rear of the estate as a gangly teenager, falling through the ice and being sick for Christmas. He remembered the fertility celebrations, the coming of age rituals…

Copia blinked rapidly, his eyes coming back into focus as he swore the backdrop moved. It was less that a shape appeared and more like the scenery vanished in a small area. He tried to find it again, scanning the grounds in a panic. A smell hit his nose and slapped his gloved palm over nearly all of his face. It was a foul smell, like earth and rotten eggs. He pushed himself to his feet, bracing with one hand while the other remained over his mouth and nose.

A rustling in winter ready grass made him snap his head in another direction. Again he could swear he saw movement; a lack of light; a shadow; something! He took a few tentative steps forward, straining to hear any small sound. He was rewarded only with a huff of wind and another sampling of that sour smell.

“Blugh!” he grunted, waving vigorously to clear the air. The motion slowed to a stop as Copia realized he could feel his hand moving through something. Not anything solid, more like water but thinner. He rubbed his fingertips against his thumb in thought and then slowly repeated the waving motion.

A hand suddenly reached up and grabbed Copia’s ankle, squeezing. The Cardinal shouted and tried to step backwards. A second hand grabbed his foot and pinned it to the grass. He tried to lunge for the railing behind him but was just slightly too far into the courtyard proper. He continued to strain as yet a third hand squeezed around the muscle of his calf.

Copia lifted his free foot and moved to stomp down on the hands, but a fourth hand pushed against the back of his knee hard, and Copia went down like a bag of wet leaf litter. He pushed himself to his elbows and stared at the hands—disembodied, just solid black hands with vicious, animal-like claws. Copia tried to desperately wiggle free as two more hands joined, clasping at his calf and just above his kneecap.

Panic started settling in and black spots began to appear in his vision from heady hyperventilation. The hands started moving upwards, crawling as if the fingers were legs and arms…

“Cardinal?” Imperator’s voice greeted from down the courtyard corridor, “your cassock is filthy. What are you doing?”

Copia flipped to his side and stared at the Sister. She stood and crossed her arms, the look she gave him was not pleased. The Cardinal looked down at his legs, his attackers… and they were gone. Not even a fingerprint on his legs. He swallowed and began shuffling to his feet, trying to brush off the gathered dirt while he made small noises in an attempt to explain himself.

“Never mind, let’s just get this talk over with shall we? I have an early morning,” Imperator unlocked the door to her office, stepping inside and turning on the light.

Copia stiffly followed, keeping his back to the door and his eyes locked on the courtyard. He stepped in far enough that he could close the door. He quickly flipped the lock and left his hands on the solid wood.

“Well?” Imperator said after a few seconds of silence, bored of watching the Cardinal stare at the wooden door. Her frown lines deepened as he turned and took a seat. His usually rather clueless, soft face became dark.

“Why didn’t you warn me about the meeting?” Copia said, fear draining but leaving him slightly invigorated. He was usually much more formal, much more polite with Imperator. They were alone, however, and he was still very upset with her.

“Really? You’re pouting over that mess?” Imperator waved dismissively. “The Clergy needed to know.”

“Yes but—”

“The reception did not go well, I’ll admit, but these are stuffy old men who are used to things going a certain way.”

“Yes, Sister, but—”

“Just give them time. Eventually they’ll warm to you, especially once they see you perform. You just have to make sure you’re on your best behavior in the meantime.”

“Enough!” Copia barked, standing and startling even himself. He adjusted his collar as Imperator met his eyes dangerously.

“I would have liked to know you were planning to do that. There were—things that I wanted to take care of beforehand. I still have questions as well an-and was no consulted over any of this. How can you appoint me as head of this project and then… not tell me anything?”

“Copia, sit,” Imperator instructed. The Cardinal did as he was told, folding his hands in his lap and wringing the leather of his gloves together. His palms began to sweat.

“This has been a long time coming. Everyone knew but no-one was willing to do anything. The Clergy has never fully been behind Project Ghost and I know they were simply waiting until it fell. This whole thing is because of Nihil, because of Our Lord Below. There is… dissent in the ranks of the Ministry, a staleness because a few old men still worship a Satan created by Christians. Do you understand?”

“Si,” Copia whispered. He didn’t, not entirely. He was starting to deflate in the presence of the Sister. He should have known better.

“Change is an aspect of the Dark Lord,” Imperator moved around the desk, leaning back on it. “This is a good change. You need this. The church needs this. Don’t let their unkind words get to you, C.” For a moment the sister was soft, catching Copia even further off-guard. She reached out and very gently touched his cheek, his chin.

Copia let his eyelids flutter at the contact, straining forward to seek more. He dropped his eyes down and to one side as Imperator pulled her hand away and clapped them together once.

“Now! Why don’t you retire for the night, get some good rest. I’ll bring you up-to-speed in the morning, all right?”

“Ah, yes. Ottimo. Buona notte, Sorella,” Copia moved to his feet stiffly. He paused in his retreat, hand inches from the door knob. “On-one last thing, Sorella…”

“Hmmm?”

“The Ghouls ahh… Non possono farmi del male, vero?” Copia watched as Imperator blinked, incredibly slowly. She gave one long sigh and shook her head.

“They’re harmless, Copia. They’re your coworkers now, remember?”

“Yes, yes… How could I forget.”

#ghost the band #cardinal copia #sister imperator #nameless ghouls

3 notes · View notes

colinrc · 1 year

Text

First Audax of the Year

Finally, the weather has cooled down a bit, so it was time for some riding - very long riding. I rarely write about Audax rides, the last post was the Deliverance Ride back in 2000! It is probably because I rarely take many photos while riding them, I'm too busy peddling! This ride was particularly nice so I think it is time to write something. For those who don't know them, Audax is an international organisation originally from France, traditionally it is either 100,200,300,400 or 600km Randonnée rides needing to be completed within a time based on 15 km/hr average speed (or 11.5km/hr for 600 or more) with a maximum allowed of 30km/hr; these aren't like races, you are unsupported. If you are really keen there is also Paris - Brest - Paris, 1200km. Now, there are also a series of gravel distances, shorter distances and different speeds. All of them are sitting in the saddle for a long time, a good excuse to eat a lot and, when you're speed happens to be the same as someone else, great conversations. Today's weather was fantastic, Brisbane is semi-tropical, which means we normally have hottish, wet summers and dry winters. We have been in a La Niña state for the last 3 years keeping temperatures beautifully low, but it has sadly ended. Three weeks ago this ride would have been 40C (104F), not so perfect, today was 25C, couldn't ask for better. Today's group was quite small, only 8 people spread between 100, 200, 300 and 400 km distances, there is a 1200km next weekend so people are saving their legs. I think the others are missing out! We left Brisbane and headed West through the Scenic Rim and Lockyer Valley. While Brisbane is relatively flat just west gets very hilly, very quickly. Part of this Great Dividing Range is a section called the Main Range, which is part of an ancient volcano, the horizon is an elevated ridge line of connected mountains. Of course, we don't really have mountains in Australia, these are between one and two thousand meters - but we call them mountains! Even if low they make for gorgeous scenery as we rode through the valley below, Lockyer Valley. Beautiful Lockyer Valley, Surrounded by the Scenic Rim This range is also a great 4 or 5-day hike, the Scenic Rim Trail, you start at one end or the other and walk over everything you can see until you reach the other end. This hike from a couple of years ago is one end, Lizard Point. The first 50km or so was easy riding, mostly with other people, then in a section by myself, I dropped the chain and it got badly caught up in the front chain ring. So badly that I had to break the chain, I had a quick link, but only one, just had to hope nothing happened for the rest of the trip! Various others rode along while I was there and offered assistance, including one policeman checking I was OK. Good to know. After about 15 minutes of fluffing around the chain was back on and it was to the first control. At 75km my tummy was definitely rumbling and crying out for the Yamato MacDonalds! The only time I eat MacDonalds is on these rides, hard to beat their calorific load! Back on the road for a pleasant for 30 or 40km chatting with Paul, one of the 300km riders, until the routes split. The rest of the ride was going to be solo. The next control was at Rosewood, but I stopped on the way at a small town, Harrisville, I really like the bakery. Harrisville Bakery Just outside Harrisville I started passing fields of Sunflowers, it is a little later now, about a month earlier these would have been stunning. Off to Rosewood, a ham and salad roll, then back on the bike for the last push home. Images I had minor surgery about 2 months ago and this has kept me from doing anything more than 50ish km at a time. The last 50km of the ride was hard, normally I have no issues with 200. Turns out, training is useful! One of my favourite areas to road cycle in SE Queensland. On Strava Read the full article

#Audax #Cycling #Main_Range

0 notes

runnersnz · 1 year

Photo

“So what's my WHY when it comes to running? Well it's definitely evolved over the years to a point where it is now a key part of my identity, my passion and my life.

I was a nerd as a school-kid. Straight A-student, but not sporty at all. I was always jealous of the athletic types and their popularity. Fast forward to university and I continued to study hard, but party harder, and by the time I finished my degree in London, I was very unfit, smoking, drinking too much, and eating poorly. Then I went out to watch the London Marathon one day and I was blown away by the determination shown on the faces of the athletes, all running for different reasons, but united in their goal, and the support to propel them was awe-inspiring. A seed was sown and a few years later, it came up in a conversation with my old man. I made a throwaway comment about how cool it would be to run it one day. In his 50s at the time, and willing to call my bluff, he threw down the challenge - "Well if you're in, I'll do it with you". The gauntlet was laid down. We got charity fundraising entries (failing in the lottery) and spent the next 6 months training for the 2007 London Marathon. The day came - I went out like a hare and crashed and burned by mile 20. He went out like a (smarter) tortoise and caught me close to the finish line. That was a special day.

After moving to NZ, I continued road running for many years, mainly as a commute to stay fit, but also did several 10ks, halfs and marathons again. In my 40th year, I set myself the challenge of 4 marathons in a year, and ticked off Hawkes Bay, Wellington, Dunedin and Queenstown. But injuries kept coming back and I was getting slower and losing interest against the pressure to get faster. Then a friend at work suggested I try an XTERRA race at Makara West Wind. It was brutal, but I loved it. The goal was no longer to finish in front of others, it was about supporting each other to get to that finish line, to revel in the amazing scenery we ran through, and to make new friends. I'd found my passion.

From there, I soon signed up to the full series, exploring all these cool trails on my doorstep I had no idea existed. On one of the races, I overheard someone talking about WUU2K. Two days later I was signed up. Then it was Taupo 50k, then Tarawera 102k, Old Ghost Ultra, the list goes on. But the races weren't the end goal - they were just the celebration of the journey, which was all about exploring as many trails as I could, soaking it all in. Yes it was training, but wasn't an effort like it used to be. I discovered the Wild Things trail directory which changed my life in that exploration aspect. And I found my tribe in WoRM - a collection of simply amazing human beings, who love running in beautiful places, and don't mind the odd beer or two afterwards!

I haven't slowed down since, ticking off lots of amazing events, exploring further afield in wild places like the Tararuas, and going further and further each year, the pinnacle being the summer just gone where I completed the Tarawera Miler then Ring of Fire, and a few of us have just done 3 of the Great Walks in 5 days.

I don't know how long I will be able to continue, but trail running has made me, at 45, fitter than I've ever been, not just in mind but in spirit too. It takes a lot of mental stamina to complete an ultra and the strength that's given me helps me in other facets of my life. As someone with very much a "carpe diem" mentality, I intend to keep exploring, and be grateful for each day I am able to run and do so in a safe and beautiful country with a wonderful community alongside me!”

Joe @infinity_runner_ (Kepler/Wellington) - Portraits of Runners + their stories @RunnersNZ

0 notes

waterdeep · 3 years

Photo

DRAGON AGE: INQUISITION SCENERY ➸ [3/?]

#daedit #dailyvideogames #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #gamingedit #m*#m*gaming #m*da #userminthara #elaineettariel #alistairs #nataliepaquete #video games #series: dragon age #vg: dragon age inquisition #going back to this scenery series over a month later #in typical daisy fashion #expect to see the next set in july

876 notes · View notes

bumbleklee · 3 years

Text

the first week

masterlist | 1k prompt masterlist | baby series

pairings: diluc, kaeya, childe and zhongli x female!reader (separate)

warnings: babies

before i officially start the series: if you would like to be on a tag list for this series please let me know! i didn't make one for the pregnancy series because it slipped my mind but i noticed a lot of the same people returning lol. secondly, quite a few people have sent me family/baby requests but instead of making them totally separate parts, im just going to add them into this series! so if you get a tag from me, your request is in the prompt somewhere (ex: @dragontamereg for khanreiah eyes) ♡( ◡‿◡ ) enjoy

diluc

If you thought one baby was difficult, try two.

And it didn’t help that you were still exhausted from the birth. Diluc felt like he was going into overdrive between tending to you and his new children. The first week felt like a never ending cycle of feeding, changing, bathing and sleeping.

Neither of you tried to be in a bad mood, but the sleepless nights and fatigue were catching up faster than you anticipated.

You had just laid down when Clara started to whine in the bassinet next to your bed. Her cries woke up Isaac and soon both babies were fussy. Your eyes pried open and you leaned over to rock the bassinet, shushing the newborn.

Diluc groaned next to you and sat up. He had dark bags under his eyes and his hair was frizzy and messy from not being able to shower in a few days.

“Can you calm Isaac down?” You asked tiredly, lifting Clara up and bringing her over to the bed.

“Why can’t you? I thought we said we would take turns,” He grumbled, though he was already getting out of bed and walking to the other side. You rolled your eyes and rocked Clara in your arms, brushing your finger against her soft tuft of hair.

“Because this isn’t something we can take turns at, Diluc,” You snapped back.

He sighed and climbed back into bed, Isaac now in his arms. The room was silent except for the occasional whines and noises from the babies. You had come to the conclusion that they just liked to wake you up for fun.

After a while, you turned your head to the side and melted at the scene. Isaac was laying on top of Diluc’s chest and they had both fallen asleep. Diluc’s mouth hung open and the baby snuggled into his warmth. You reached over to brush a lock of hair out of Diluc’s face, “My boys,” You said quietly.

At your touch, Diluc jolted awake. He was careful not to disturb Isaac, “Did I fall asleep?”

“You did,” You said, the ghost of a smile on your face. You put both babies back into their respective bassinets and Diluc lifted the blanket so you could slide next to him. “I don’t want to argue.”

“Me either,” Diluc agreed, wrapping his arms around you, “It’s just the first week. I’m sure it’ll get much easier.”

kaeya

To say Kaeya was attached to your daughter was an understatement. When you weren’t feeding her, Kaeya was tending to her. He held her close to him every chance he got, even offering to change and bathe her so you could sleep.

And he was so, so gentle with her. He didn’t know it was possible to love someone so much. You had gotten into the habit of just watching Kaeya. You didn’t know if you were ever going to have another child one day, so you treasured these moments like diamonds.

“Kaeya? The shower’s open,” You called out, twisting water out of your hair and wrapping a towel around yourself. When you didn’t get an answer, you raised an eyebrow. You changed into clean clothes and poked your head into the hallway to see the light to the nursery was on. “Kae?”

You poked your head into the nursery and stopped in the doorway, a smile creeping onto your tired face.

Calla laid on the changing table with Kaeya hovering above her. She barely kicked her feet, something she was just learning to do, and Kaeya struggled to get her legs into her onesie. “Come on, Princess,” He pleaded, tickling the bottom of her feet. Calla made a noise and Kaeya took the opportunity to dress her finally.

Once he lifted her up, he noticed you standing in the doorway. “Very cute,” You said softly, teasing Kaeya. Your husband smiled proudly.

“How was your shower?” He asked, looking for a pacifier to give to Calla.

“It was nice. You can take one now if you want,” You said. Kaeya looked down at Calla and hesitated. “I promise she’ll be here when you get out.”

You took Calla from Kaeya and brought her into your bedroom. After feeding her, you held her in your arms and she stared at you with wide eyes. Like Kaeya, she had his unique star pupil. Neither of you knew that was something that could be passed down but Kaeya was beyond shocked that it was. He wished she didn’t have it, saying something about how it didn’t represent her, but you liked it.

Calla yawned and you laid her beside you in the bassinet, rocking it before she fell asleep. Kaeya joined you in bed a little while later and rubbed his face against your shoulder, “I’ll grab her the next time she wakes up.”

“How did I get stuck with someone so wonderful?” You asked, throwing your head back. Kaeya shrugged and kissed your forehead before snuggling close to you. His eyes never left the bassinet.

childe

You didn’t know what to expect during the first week of Nikolai’s life but it definitely wasn’t a shower of gifts from your boyfriend. It seemed that everyday you woke up, there was something new on the bedside table.

“Childe, what are these for?” You finally asked after unboxing a designer dress that in no way would fit you now.

Your boyfriend poked his head into the bedroom, a coffee mug in one hand and Nikolai snuggled securely in his other arm. “Just some thank you presents,” He said casually, as if he wasn’t dropping thousands of mora with each gift.

“For what?”

Childe smiled softly and came into the bedroom, putting down his mug and climbing onto the next next to you. “For giving me this little guy,” He said quietly, “I’ll be eternally grateful.”

Your cheeks grew warm, “You helped too, you know.”

“I didn’t have to go through nine months of pregnancy and hours of labor, though.” Childe caressed Nikolai’s cheek and the baby’s eyes fluttered closed. “Do you think he knows we’re his parents yet?”

You stopped examining the dress to peer at your boyfriend, “Of course he does. You’re his father.”

“Yeah, but, you have a better bond with him. I’m just on the outside.”

You sighed and reached out to hold your hand over Childe’s, “He knows you just as well as he knows me, Ajax. You’ve been in his life as much as I have and you’ve been singing to him, talking to him and loving him. He adores you.”

Your words made Childe smile softly. Nikolai stirred in his sleep and Childe adjusted him in his arms. He was so small, so delicate, and Childe would never let anything or anyone harm him.

You snuggled back into the covers, exhausted from being a new mother, and Childe didn’t leave your side. “Thank you for the gifts,” You mumbled, your face half squished in a pillow.

“Oh, they aren’t done just yet.”

zhongli

Because of your traumatic experience in labor, Zhongli was being extra precautious with you. He didn’t like when you left the bed, even to use the restroom or grab the baby, and would much rather bring Jia to you when it came time to feed her.

The help was nice for the first few days since you were exhausted and sore but as time went on, you became ansty to just be a mother. It wasn’t like Zhongli was holding you back on purpose - he was just horrified that you weren’t yet healed from your traumatic experience and something could happen while you were up and about.

So when Zhongli ran to the store and left you home alone with Jia sleeping in the bassinet, you took this as your opportunity. Gently waking up the sleeping baby, you lifted your daughter into your arms. She snuggled into your warm embrace and slowly, and somehow calmly, woke up.

You bathed Jia yourself for the first time since she was born and afterwards, carried her to the nursery to change her into warm pajamas. For the first time all week, you were starting to feel like a mother.

“Why are you up?”

A voice broke you out of your trance and you looked up to see Zhongli standing in the doorway. He wasn’t mad, just worried, and his voice expressed that.

“You can’t hold me hostage in bed forever,” You said, picking Jia up and resting her securely in your arms.

“But what if it’s too early for you to do strenuous activity?” He questioned, frowning a bit.

You rolled your eyes, “Taking care of my daughter isn't a strenuous activity.” You stepped closer to Zhongli so you could reach a hand up and cup the side of his face, “Besides, I’m feeling much better.”

Zhongli leaned into your touch, “You’ll tell me if you need a break, right?”

“Of course I will.”

You made your way to the loveseat in the corner of the nursery and you sat down in it, enjoying the change of scenery from the bedroom for once. Zhongli’s eyes softened at the sight of you with the baby and he went to leave the room. Before he stepped out, he turned his head over his shoulder and said, “I’m proud of you.”

#diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #childe x reader #zhongli x reader #genshin x reader #genshin family #genshin baby #genshin writing #genshin headcanons #genshin x female reader

997 notes · View notes

just-another-blog-of-fluff · 2 years

Text

Familiar - Part 11

Word count: 5,500

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x reader (established relationship)

Warnings: Making out, implied sex (nothing explicit/nothing NSFW), a hospital/ER visit

The next installment of the Familiar series! I used some ideas from this inspiration prompt by @tealoveandmusic 😊 In summary, Tom and reader go on their first real vacation together; things get a bit rocky (no pun intended) when hiking up in the mountains.

"Alright - it looks like we're supposed to take this exit coming up here."

"Ok..." You turned the car off the highway based on Tom's directions, pulling out onto a rural-looking street. "Now what?"

"Turn right up here..." He pointed out the windshield at the T intersection coming up. "... Then... we're on this road for another ten miles."

"Perfect - makes my life easier." You spun the wheel to make your right turn, pulling onto a more narrow-appearing road.

After so much work-related travel, the two of you decided it was finally time to take an actual vacation together. With Tom's schedule, you could only spare a few days, but that was more than enough. You'd rented a cabin up in the northern mountains for a couple nights, far enough out from civilization to get some peace and quiet for the two of you but not so far that you couldn't access things like grocery marts. It was the perfect level of seclusion. At least, in your humble opinion.

You'd ensured that the cabin was dog-friendly so you could bring your furry friend along for the trip. Toby was thrilled to be a back-seat passenger in the car. He'd gotten much bigger over the last couple of months, a near-fifty-pound lean and lanky ball of fuzz and energy. Fortunately, he'd been doing very well with his training. While you didn't quite trust him to walk off-leash, he certainly knew to listen when you asked him to sit or lie down.

"It's truly beautiful out here," Tom observed, gazing out the window at the silhouettes of mountains off in the distance.

"I bet it'd be even prettier in the late spring once everything has bloomed." You eyed the barren trees lining the road, wishing there was a bit more foliage. This far north, the wintery chill didn't completely recede until later in the season. While it wasn't necessarily frigid outside, it definitely wasn't warm just yet.

Perfect for cuddling by the fireplace, you thought.

After a lengthy stretch of road and a couple more turns, you finally arrived at the cabin you'd be staying in for the weekend. It was gorgeous even from the outside - a single-floor log cabin with a wrap-around porch and large picturesque windows to view the outside scenery.

"Ready to see where we're living this weekend, Toby buddy?" you cooed, rounding to the backseat of the car to let the pup out onto the dirt driveway. He leapt gracefully from the car, tail wagging so hard his whole body was wiggling with the force of it. Tom shouldered your bags, and the three of you headed up the porch stairs to check out the interior.

Inside the cabin reminded you of one of those sappy Christmas movies, one with the warm, homey cabin in the woods. The front door opened into a large open space that housed the living room, kitchen, and dining area. The walls and floors were made of a sleek maple wood, the furniture a modern rustic sort of feel. A stone fireplace stood in the living area across from a plush-looking sofa and two oversized armchairs.

"This is perfect," you breathed, unleashing Toby's collar once the door had shut behind you so he could roam as he pleased.

"You chose well, love," Tom hummed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and kissing the top of your head.

"I did my research." You grinned, turning to return Tom's kiss with one of your own on his cheek.

Toby headed straight down the hallway by the kitchen area to the bedroom. You followed with your bag, gazing around happily at the cozy-looking queen-sized bed and the smaller stone fireplace on the far wall. There was a large window in the bedroom, through which you could view the mountainous landscape in the distance.

The pup hopped up on top of the bed and walked in a few repetitive circles, then lay down curled up in a ball with a happy sigh. You chuckled, scratching him behind the ear.

"I'm with you, Toby," you whispered, turning down the blankets and sheets and sliding underneath. The bed was as soft as you imagined it would be. You curled up on your side and shut your eyes for a moment.

"Ah - there you are," Tom's voice echoed from the doorway. "Darling, we need to go to the market to get some food for the weekend."

You groaned loudly, pulling the blankets up over your head. "Five more minutes."

"You napped the entire time I was driving - are you honestly still tired?" There was a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Mm."

You felt the mattress sink a bit as Tom sat down on the edge of the bed next to you. You merely rolled onto your other side to face away from him defiantly, letting out a heavy sigh.

"Toby - tell your mum she has to wake up."

You cracked one eye open slightly to look at your dog, who remained curled up at the foot of the bed, unmoving. Good - he's on my side, you thought.

"Come, now, darling - there will be plenty of time to nap later," he insisted, placing a hand on your side to shake you a bit. You flinched at his touch, then relaxed when you realized he wasn't moving. "Oh-ho, you thought I was going to tickle you, didn't you? That can be arranged."

His fingers began pinching at your side through the blanket. You stiffened and sucked in a breath, refusing to move and gratify him with a response. His other hand suddenly began to scratch at your belly through the blankets. It was certainly ticklish, but bearable enough to maintain your façade.

"You know you want to laugh, darling..." he hummed, kneading his fingers up your ribcage. You released your breath in short bursts to avoid giggling, sucking it right back in as his fingers wormed their way under your arm. "Hmm. This isn't working."

Suddenly, he moved his fingers away from your torso, ripping the blankets down from where they were tucked around your shoulders. He wasted no time in resuming his tickle attack, aiming straight for the trigger spot on the back of your ribs while digging into your belly with the other hand. You screeched, unable to pretend to be asleep any longer as loud laughter burst from your chest.

"Ah-ha - got you, love."

"OHOKAY!! I-HI'M AWAHAKE!" you pleaded, curling yourself into a ball and rolling onto your back in a feeble attempt to block his tickling fingers.

"Yes, I see that. Now I'm simply having too much fun." He reached over and wrapped his fingers around to the back of your ribs on the other side, scratching deep into the spaces between the bones.

"TOHOBY!! HEHELP ME!" you squealed, holding a hand out toward your pup. He merely sighed, watching in silence as Tom tickled you to pieces. "TRAHAITOR!"

"Are you ready to get up and go to the market now?" He slotted one hand up underneath your arm where you'd left yourself exposed, laughing at the squeaky sound that escaped your lips.

"YEHES! YES I'LL GEHET UP!"

Accepting your plea, he ceased his attack, allowing you to catch your breath. You turned over to face Tom and stuck your tongue out playfully at him, earning a quick skittering of his fingers across your belly as punishment. Growling playfully, you grasped his wrist and held his hand away from your torso while you sat up, scowling as you shifted your legs over the side of the bed and rose to your feet.

"You pretend as though you weren't trying to provoke me to tickle you," Tom teased, smirking. Heat prickled in your cheeks.

"W-was not!" you argued weakly. "Come on, let's go shopping, since you're so excited for it..."

The two of you headed into town, leaving Toby behind to sleep in his self-appointed spot on the bed. With groceries in hand, you headed back to the cabin and prepared dinner for the evening in the quaint little kitchen area. You poured Toby his dinner as Tom set the table so he could eat at the same time.

Raising his glass of wine, Tom smiled at you across the table.

"To our very first real vacation together."

"I can't wait to spend the whole weekend with you." You lifted your glass and tapped it against his before taking a slow sip, savoring the fruity notes.

"Are you excited to go hiking tomorrow?"

"Would you believe that I've never actually been hiking before?" you asked, taking a bite of your dinner. Tom's eyebrows bumped up in surprise.

"Really? Well, I've only been a few times, but if I'm the expert of the pair of us, I'll just have to show you the ropes, then." He turned to look at Toby, who sat patiently by the table. "I bet you'll be excited to go hiking, won't you buddy?"

"I hope it will be at least a little warmer tomorrow morning. It's still pretty cold outside."

"We'll be sure to bundle up for the weather."

"Mm." You weren't overly fond of the cold, but you knew how excited Tom was to go on this hike, so you were willing to tolerate it for his sake. "For tonight, let's just enjoy the warmth of the fireplace."

"Sounds wonderful."

After dinner, you took a seat on the living room sofa while Tom lit a fire in the fireplace. With the lights dimmed, the warm glow of the flames danced along the walls, shadows flickering across the floor. Tom took a seat beside you, pulling you in close in his arms.

"This is so much better than your work travels," you hummed, sighing contentedly as you melted into his side.

"I agree. I much prefer to spend my evenings just like this." He squeezed you closer for emphasis, making you giggle.

"What should we do for the rest of the evening?"

"Hmm." He turned his head to look at you, a hazy gleam in his eyes. "How about..." He lifted your chin with one finger, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. "... we spend the evening..." - another kiss - "... just like this?"

"Mmm... I can get behind that." You lifted your head to capture his lips with yours, sliding a hand around his neck and tangling your fingers in his hair. He kissed you back, slowly but passionately. You squeaked in surprise when he slid his arm beneath your knees and lifted your legs to sit across his lap, allowing his hand to rest on your leg as he continued to kiss you senseless.

"Mph," he groaned suddenly, breaking apart from you. "I've changed my mind."

"Oh?" Your eyes flitted down to his lips, already missing the feeling of them against your own. They curled into a grin, and he suddenly stood, scooping you up in his arms. You yelped in surprise, which made him smile.

"I believe we should take this elsewhere. The bedroom, perhaps?"

You smiled shyly, heat rushing to your cheeks. "Well... there is another fireplace in there."

"Excellent." Without another word, he swiftly began to carry you down the hallway to the bedroom as you giggled in his arms. He set you down gently on the bed, turning to shut the door to the bedroom, knowing quite well that there would be no prying eyes around tonight.

* * *

"Good morning, love."

You opened your eyes to find Tom standing by the edge of the bed with a mug in one hand and a plate of breakfast in the other. The bitter smell of coffee filled your nose and awoke your senses. You smiled sleepily, shifting to sit up a bit more and taking the plate from his hands as he set the mug on the bedside table beside you.

"Sleep alright?" you asked, the rasp of sleep still laden in your voice.

"Never better. You?"

"Perfectly." You offered Tom a kiss as he slid under the covers on his own side of the bed. Toby was suddenly very interested in what you were up to, bounding up atop the bed and parking his bottom directly in front of the pair of you. "No, Toby - this is our breakfast."

"I've been looking at hiking trails in the area - there's one that begins only a short distance from here that looks to be easy enough for a beginner."

"Sounds good to me."

The two of you chatted over breakfast, then quickly got dressed and ready for your hike. You dug around in your bag searching for Toby's harness while Tom packed a backpack with water and snacks.

"Where... is... it..." you huffed, scouring the contents of your bag. Frustrated, you sat back and glanced up at Tom. "I think I forgot to pack his harness."

"We won't be able to take him hiking without it - he could slip out of his collar," Tom lamented.

"I'm sorry buddy!" You reached over and patted Toby apologetically on the head. "We'll go into town this afternoon and get you a harness so you can join us tomorrow, alright?" He sat down, tail wagging as always, tongue lolled out the side of his mouth. "Yeah, you have no idea what I'm saying, I know buddy."

"Why don't we head out so we'll have time to stop in town later?" Tom suggested.

"Alright..."

Your heart ached as you said goodbye to Toby before heading out the door, though you knew very well he'd just curl up on the bed and sleep until you returned.

There was a slight nip in the air as you made your way to the hiking trail, but it was a bit warmer than the previous afternoon at least. Still, you were surprised to find the trail to be coated in intermittent patches of ice still from the last snow of the season.

"Must not have ever melted with the cold temperatures up here in the mountains..." you observed, treading carefully around a particularly slippery-appearing patch.

"We'll just have to be cautious."

The woodsy smell was refreshing as you continued along the trail, your hand laced through Tom's. It was so peaceful out in the woods with no other people around. The only sounds were the birds chirping overhead, reverberating off the bark of the dozens of bare trees surrounding your path.

Ahead, there was a slight elevation of rocky terrain that you'd have to climb up to continue along the trail. Tom headed up first, turning around at the top to offer you a hand to steady yourself as you traversed the small rocky hill. You grasped his hand, stepping up onto a small rocky ledge with one foot and then lifting your other foot to hoist yourself up a bit higher.

Suddenly, the ledge you'd planted your weight on gave way, and you slid down the rocks along with it. You landed on your left foot atop the chunk of stone that had broken off, your ankle twisting harshly as the rock slipped beneath your weight along the forest floor. With a shout of pain, you released Tom's hand and dropped to the ground, grasping your injured ankle.

"Are you alright??" he asked worriedly, carefully making his way down the rocks to be by your side.

"I... I think so. I just twisted my ankle, just give me a minute." You squeezed your eyes shut as the pain throbbed throughout your ankle.

"We should take a look at it," Tom suggested, kneeling down beside you and reaching over to untie the laces of your shoe.

"I'm sure it's f-ahh! Fine." You hissed as he carefully removed your shoe, gazing down at your ankle as he rolled up your pants leg to get a better look.

"It's very swollen. Does it hurt to touch it?" he asked, carefully probing his fingers along your ankle. You winced, nodding in response. "We need to take you to see a doctor, it could be broken."

"No! No, I'm fine, really. Just let me sit for a minute, it'll wear off."

Gradually, the throbbing in your ankle began to dull as you sat and rested. You motioned for Tom to help you try to stand, planting your weight on your good ankle. The moment you began to apply weight to your other foot, you grunted and shifted to stand on your other leg again.

"You're still hurting. Please, let's take you to get it checked," he pleaded. Sighing, you agreed.

"I guess, if it'll make you feel better..."

"Yes, it would." He reached down and scooped you up in his arms, carrying you back in the direction you'd come so you could get closer to the road. Neither of you had any clue where the nearest emergency room was, and you weren't keen on driving around aimlessly with a swollen ankle until you found one, so you suggested he just call an ambulance to get you there safely.

Before you knew it, you'd been brought to the local hospital to be evaluated. Tom held tightly to your hand and walked alongside you as the paramedics rolled you into the emergency department. Fortunately, the injury had happened early enough in the day that the waiting area wasn't overly busy. A nurse took your information at triage and assigned you a room. After a series of maze-like, winding hallways, the paramedics helped you shift over into a hospital stretcher inside your room. Tom took a seat in a chair at your bedside, still grasping your hand.

"Tom - I swear, you're more anxious than I am," you chuckled half-heartedly.

"Darling, I just feel awful about all this," he lamented, placing his other hand over the back of yours. "How is your ankle feeling?"

"Whatever the paramedics gave me is really helping." You offered him a weak smile in reassurance. "I'll be ok, I promise."

"I know you will. You're the strongest woman I know." Tom lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it, making your heart flutter.

Only moments later, a nurse entered the room and introduced herself, then helped you to change into a hospital gown without injuring your ankle any further while removing your clothes. She had a hell of a sense of humor, and by the time she'd checked your vitals and finished charting them, she had both of you laughing and much more relaxed.

"We're going to bring you over for some X-rays to see if it's broken," she explained as she removed her gloves and headed for the doorway. "Someone will be here shortly to wheel you over - you don't have to do a thing. It'll be like your own personal chariot."

"Oh, well that's excellent, I've always wanted one of those," you laughed. The nurse stepped out, leaving you and Tom alone once again.

"Are you sure you're doing alright?"

"Yehes, Tom, I promise." You sighed. "Although, I feel terrible that I ruined our first vacation."

"Ruined? Of course not. Merely... changed our plans," he assured. "We'll just have to spend more of our time in the cabin instead of going out and about."

"Mm, that sounds nice." Truthfully, after seeing all of the ice still scattered throughout the hiking trails, you wouldn't have been keen on doing any more hiking anyway. Even if you hadn't injured yourself.

A few X-rays and another dose of pain medication later, the doctor stopped in the room to assess your ankle.

"What's the verdict, doc?" you asked.

"Well, you did a number on your ankle," she explained, pulling up your X-rays on the computer screen by the bedside. "It's definitely broken. We'll need to set it and cast it - the fracture caused it to dislocate a bit. The good news is we can get you out of here once we're done."

"She won't require any additional observation?" Tom asked worriedly.

"No sir. Well, she'll need to be monitored for a few hours after the sedation. But then she'll be good to go!"

"Sedation?" Now you were a bit more nervous.

"Don't worry - we do this sort of thing all the time. You're in expert hands. And you won't feel or remember a thing." The doctor smiled warmly, patting your good ankle comfortingly before stepping out.

"I've never been sedated before," you fretted, squeezing Tom's hand. "I don't know what to expect."

"We'll be sure to ask them all our questions before they do anything," he promised.

It wasn't long before the doctor returned, along with another more senior doctor and your nurse. Tom had just as many questions as you did, but the three of them answered them all without complaint. They allowed Tom to stay in the room while the nurse hooked you up to a cardiac monitor (just a standard precaution, she explained), then asked him to step out while they performed the sedation procedure.

"You'll do excellent, I know you will," he assured, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips while squeezing your hand. "I'll be back as soon as they allow it."

"Thanks. I love you."

"I love you too, darling."

The nerves set in the moment he'd left. Time was simultaneously moving quickly and slowly - it felt as though it was taking eternity for the team to prepare, and yet before you knew it, your nurse was at your side and grasping your hand with a reassuring smile.

"Think about somewhere nice and warm, like a beach or something," she suggested.

"Mm, next time I go on vacation, that's where I want to go. I won't break an ankle on the beach," you joked.

"Alright - count backwards from ten for me," the doctor instructed as they administered the sedation. It was mere seconds before your brain started feeling fuzzy.

"Ten... nine... eight..."

That was the last thing you remembered.

* * *

"Mr. Hiddleston - you're welcome to come back in."

Tom glanced up from his hands, which he'd been absentmindedly wringing in his lap. Your nurse was standing over him with a smile that set him at ease.

"She did great," she explained. "We'll need to keep her here a bit longer to monitor her until the sedation wears off, but you can sit with her and keep her company."

"Thank you." He stood and moved to enter your room, but stopped when the nurse spoke once again.

"Just so you know - she's still a bit loopy from the sedation." She had an amused spark in her eye as she motioned for him to enter the room. Warily, Tom brushed past the curtain and headed in to see you.

Your ankle was propped up on a large pillow with a cast wrapped from your foot all the way up your shin to just below your knee. Your eyes were closed, mouth slightly agape in the most adorable way. Grinning fondly at your sleeping form, he moved to stand at your bedside and scooped up your hand in his.

"Darling... wake up. They're finished," he whispered. Your eyes gradually cracked open at the sound of his voice and the sensation of his touch, a whiny groan escaping through your nose. A spark of recognition flashed in your eyes when you saw Tom's face, and you beamed up at him.

"Thomas!" you squealed, squeezing his hand weakly. "C'mere and kiss me."

"My pleasure." He leaned down to kiss you as you asked. Your kiss was a bit sloppier than usual, and you let your head fall back against the pillow without making much effort to hold it up or soften the fall.

"Y'know I love you," you cooed, gazing blissfully at him as he took his seat beside your bed.

"Yes, of course I know that. I love you too, dear."

"You do??" Your eyes shot open wide, a shocked expression crossing your face. "Ohmygod! You love me!"

Tom chuckled at your obvious disorientation. "I've been telling you so for months now, darling."

"B-but... you're famous!"

"That's right. And you're wonderful."

"I'm wonderful?" You smiled shyly, a tinge of color dusting your cheeks. "No, yurrr wonderful, Thomas Hiddleston."

"Well thahank you." As terrible as it sounded, he was finding you to be quite charming in this semi-conscious, dazed state.

"Mmhmm. I wanna marry you and have your babies," you slurred gleefully. He snorted out loud, unable to keep from laughing. It was becoming apparent that whatever they'd given you had disinhibited you more than a few glasses of wine would have even done.

"Oh, is that right?"

"Yeeeup!"

"Are you sure that's not the medication talking, darling?" he probed.

"Mm-mm. Nope!" You popped the 'p' for emphasis, which he couldn't help but smile at. "I've been thinkin' 'bout it ferr a while now, Thomas."

"Why do you keep calling me Thomas? You only do that when you're upset with me, or trying to get me to stop tickling you."

"Pshh. Naww. I'm always teasing! I love your name, it's so... handsome."

"Why thank you."

"B'sides, I like when you tickle me," you hummed, the color in your cheeks brightening. "And when you cuddle me, and kiss me..."

Before he could respond, there was a knock at the doorway. The curtain shifted and the doctor appeared with an entertained grin.

"How is she doing?"

"Well - I'm learning all sorts of interesting information about my girlfriend," Tom chuckled. "Are you certain you didn't give her truth serum or something?"

"Oh, no - that happens all the time," the doctor assured with a laugh. "She probably won't remember any of what she's telling you right now, so you can decide how much you want her to know if you'd like."

"What?? I will too remember!" you pouted, sounding like a petulant child. Tom laughed, turning to brush a strand of hair off your forehead.

"Alright, love. I believe you. We'll talk all about it later when we're back at the cabin."

"Mm'kay." Your gaze shifted to the doctor. "Can I nap now?"

"Yes, the sedation has worn off enough that we're not worried about your breathing. So go ahead and nap to your heart's content."

"Yay!" You lay back against the pillow and shut your eyes, falling asleep within minutes. The doctor chuckled, turning to Tom.

"She'll be alright to go home in about a half hour. I'll have the nurse get her discharge paperwork to you shortly."

"Thank you, doctor."

* * *

The hours following the procedure were hazy in your mind. The first thing you consciously remembered was arriving back at the cabin and being scooped up in Tom's arms so he could carry you inside.

"When did they finish fixing my ankle?" you groaned groggily. Tom's eyebrows shot up his forehead in surprise as he set you down gently on the sofa across from the fireplace. He hushed Toby as the pup rushed over to greet you. He seemed to recognize something had happened - he lay his head down in your lap and whined softly. "It's alright, buddy! I'm ok," you whispered as you scratched his ears.

"You don't remember anything?" Tom disappeared down the hallway for a moment, returning with two of the pillows from the bedroom. "You were talking quite a bit after you woke up from the sedation."

"I was?" You winced as he carefully lifted your casted ankle to place it on top of one of the pillows. It was the first time you were really noticing the cast. "What did I talk about?"

"Oh, mostly about how much you love me," he hummed, a teasing edge to his voice. You felt heat rush to your cheeks.

"Oh, I did?" You leaned forward so he could place the other pillow behind your back, then lay down against it.

"Oh yes. In fact, you were rather surprised to hear I love you too."

You laughed in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes, you were." He took a seat on the edge of the couch beside you, taking your hand in his. "And you told me all about how much you love it when I 'tickle you, and cuddle you, and kiss you'... your words, not mine."

"Oh god..." You covered your face with your free hand, feeling the heat in your face intensify. "That's so... I'm sorry, that's so weird of me."

"On the contrary - you were quite charming." He squeezed your hand, leaning down to press a kiss to your burning forehead. "There was... something else."

"Something else? What more could I have possibly said?"

"Well..." He looked uncertain, as though grappling internally with the decision whether or not to tell you. "You, er... you told me you wanted to marry me."

You whined, tugging your hand free from his so you could cover your face with both. "You're kidding me."

"I'd never lie to you about that." You felt his fingers close gently around your wrists, prying your hands from your face so he could look you in the eye. "Did... did you mean it?"

"Well... yeah. I mean, I've... thought about it." You smiled sheepishly. "Not like, right now... but, I've definitely thought about the possibility of where this is going, and... yeah." Tom's face was unreadable, blank. "I... totally freaked you out, didn't I?"

"No, darling, of course not." He released one of your wrists in favor of slipping his hand behind your neck, pulling you a bit closer to press a long, sweet kiss to your lips. "I'm happy to hear you share my sentiments."

"R-really?"

"Yes. As you said - not just yet, of course. But... the thought has most definitely crossed my mind."

An involuntary smile spread across your face, and you reached up to cup his cheek and bring his face closer to yours to kiss him once again. It was passionate and soft, filled with the emotion you couldn't speak aloud. He'd thought about marrying you someday. You were floating on air, you were so happy.

When he finally pulled away, there was a hazy look in his eyes, one you were certain was mirrored in your own. After a moment, a mischievous smirk suddenly sprang to his face.

"Would you like to know what else you told me?"

"No. Nope. No way did I tell you anything else. Uh-uh." You folded your arms defiantly, turning your head to break away from his gaze as heat blossomed in your cheeks once again.

"Oh, but this is the best part!" He brought his fingers down to skitter gently across your belly, forcing you to unfold your arms as giggles spurted from your lips. "You informed me you'd like to - how did you put it? 'Have my babies.'"

"No I didn't!!" you squeaked, hiding your face in your hands once again.

"Yes you did! It was adorable, in fact." The amusement in his voice lessened your worry, glad that he took it in stride and not as the ramblings of a love-crazed woman. "Don't hide from me, darling!"

"I'm embarrassed - HEHEY!" Your arms dropped to your sides as he pinched his way up your ribs, being exceedingly cautious not to make you squirm too much and aggravate your injury. "THOHOMAS!"

"Ah, see, I told you that you only use my full name when you're trying to get me to stop tickling you," he teased, scratching softly at your sides. "That's when you informed me you don't actually mean it."

"I... ughh. I-hi am never gehetting sedation again," you whined.

"I certainly hope you won't need it for quite some time." He relented, leaning down to kiss your cheek before rising to his feet. "What can I get for you? You must be hungry, we've missed lunch."

"Oh, I can hobble over there, really-"

"Absolutely not. You're going to lie right there on that sofa and shower Toby with all the love he asks for while I wait on you and keep you comfortable."

"Are you sure? They must have sent us home with crutches, I'll have to learn-"

"Not another word." He walked away, refusing to listen to your protests any longer while he began to fix you lunch. You couldn't help but smile at his insistence on taking care of you. It really was sweet of him.

True to his word, Tom prepared lunch for both of you and delivered it to the sofa where you could eat without having to get up. Once you'd eaten, the exhaustion of the day began to set in, and your eyelids began to grow heavy.

"Are you gonna tickle me again if I try to nap?" you asked warily. Tom laughed, taking your plate with his to the sink.

"No, I think you deserve to enjoy a nap after everything you've been through today." You sat up before he returned so he could take a seat beside you on the sofa, then lay your head in his lap.

"This is much better than the pillow," you hummed groggily. His chest rumbled with a chuckle.

"I'm glad you've deemed me a satisfactory place to sleep," he teased, working his fingers through your hair. You let out a happy sigh as your eyes slipped closed, allowing yourself to fall asleep in the comfort of Tom's arms.

Surely your dreams would be filled with thoughts of your future wedding to the man who took such wonderful care of you, both your body and your heart.

#ticklish!reader #tickle fluff #tickle fic #familiar series #tom hiddelston x reader

101 notes · View notes