#dark reign: epilogue | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

delopsia · 5 months ago

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if heaven's a moment | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 16,000 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, alpha! Rhett, omega! Reader. Size kink, forbidden love (ft. a weak excuse for the forbidden part. we're here for ✨vibes✨, not logic), food, running away, biting, mating cycles/heat, ruts, mentions of breeding (but no implication of children/anything of that nature), first times together, knotting, the worst epilogue known to man. Brief Summary: At one point, you suppose that you did. Marrying rich sounded like a wonderful idea when the subject was brought up ten years ago. But you just had to run right into the Abbott family's youngest son, the one who had nothing but a black horse, a couple of flannels, and a championship rodeo buckle to his name. A new ranch hand, with his scruffy smile and the kindest hands you've ever known.

There are too many cars in this damn driveway.

Scratch that, too many fucking alphas. With their bright, gaudy outfits and stupid, overapplied pheromone colognes that do nothing but give you a chemical-induced migraine. If those claims about luring in potential mates are true, then you must be an outlier because you've yet to find yourself head over heels for a man based on his scent alone.

A warmth greets your nose; something tied between leather and the embers of a roaring campfire, a hint of smokiness lurking underneath it all. Just a hint of it at first, swirling around your head like a daydream and weakening your knees, growing stronger with every step toward this old barn.

...on second thought.

The barn door opens with a groan, cutting through the silence and echoing up toward the house. Your eyes dart toward the back porch, still flocked full of mingling bodies in their finest courting attire, chatting it up like they haven't had an intriguing conversation in years. Whether or not someone heard that is anyone's guess, but nobody is interested enough to look in your direction.

Thank god because you don't have a single explanation for why you're slipping into the storage barn at ten o'clock at night.

It's too dark to see where you're going, but you've walked this path so many times that you can do it with your eyes closed. Drifting around the corner. Past the four-wheeler that hasn't run since last autumn. Through the clearing that will soon be cluttered with seasonal equipment once the hands finish tearing out the brush that has taken over the south pasture. They'll promise it's gone for good, but it'll be sprouting again come spring, and the cycle will repeat, just as it always has.

Clink.

The room spins. A weight appears on your back, forcing you face down into a bale of hay. The straw prickles your cheek, but it's nothing compared to the sandpaper texture that scratches the back of your neck. The coarse stubble of someone's recently shaven face.

A cold nose brushes against your nape.

"Hey!" You squeal, foot blindly kicking at a jean-clad leg, but he just does it again, blissfully unaware of the goose bumps rushing across your skin.

Arms curl around your waist. "What's the matter, sweet thing?" Muttered into your ear, as if there's a risk of someone overhearing.

"Your nose is cold!" And you've got just enough leverage to turn your head to the side, nipping at his jaw. Softly tugging at his skin with your teeth, ticklish little motions that have Rhett laughing, shifting to stand up straight, as if that has ever helped him escape your reign of terror.

"'m sorry," that nose bumps into your forehead, clumsy, "I only finished up a little bit ago."

Even in the dark, you can tell that he's still clad in those leather chaps, dirty from a long day in the fields and on the back of his horse. This close, they'll surely leave behind a noticeable grime on your white clothes, but you can't bring yourself to care. This is worth the stress of getting your clothes into the washer before anyone can see the stains.

It only takes the slightest nudge for him to reel back, allowing you to stand straight and twist in his embrace. Pale moonlight peeks through the holes in the roof, bathing the right side of his face. Unveiling the smile that upturns the corners of his eyes and the fading cut in his bottom lip, split open in a bar fight this past Sunday.

"They're working you that hard?" Tilting your head to the side, curious. Peak season isn't for another three weeks. What gives?

"Only on party nights," Rhett chuckles, and he's just close enough for you to feel it rumbling in his chest like thunder. "How else are your folks supposed to tell them rich fellas that y' come from a good ranchin' family?"

Your brows furrow. "I didn't know that I came with a dowry."

It's easy. Laughing with him and falling into his big, warm chest, wrapped up in those arms that ought to have been chiseled from stone for you and you alone. The scruff of his cheek scratches your skin as he snuggles you impossibly closer. Your nose bumping into his neck, just below the scent gland lurking there.

The voice in the back of your head wonders if you'll ever get to enjoy the privilege of him scenting you. Dipping his head down to rub the barely visible glands against you, not stopping until you smell just like him. The closest one can get to saying 'mine' without tattooing it in red across someone's forehead.

"So which of them alphas ya pickin'?" There's that solemn tone again, low and heavy as if the words are too much for his tongue to lift.

And you know that you shouldn't say this; it's only going to make this harder than it needs to be, but it slips out of you, anyway. "The one that's standing in front of me."

There's a sourness in the air. Barely there, but you're so close that it's impossible not to catch the switch, chased by the falter of a smile.

Oh, why does he have to look at you that way? Deep-set frown and lowered eyes, can hardly bring himself to meet your gaze, as if this will all fall apart the moment that he does. But you're still here, even if it's for a fixed amount of time. You can't have him forever, but you can until your heat decides to set in, whenever that may be.

"We'd have to flee the state even for a chance of that workin'," he's talking under his breath like it's a thought he didn't intend to make it past his mouth. But you hear it loud and clear.

"Maybe..." Feigning playfulness, if only to ignore the sour twist of your belly. "But if you ever decide that you'd like to start running, you know where to find me."

If only it worked like that. You'd love to live a life so simple that he could run up to your window and steal you away on a random midnight. Off to live your own happily ever after, never to be seen again.

Rhett tilts his head forward, then off to the side, those pretty blue eyes never quite leaving yours.

It's like knowing that you're allergic to something and biting into it anyway, but you just can't help it. There are only so many times that you'll get to do this, and the number is shrinking by the minute. Nuzzling the side of your head against his neck and lower jaw, dancing painfully close to the glands on his neck, a faint sheen the only thing to indicate their presence. Rhett's so big that you could spend all day rubbing yourself against him like a cat, always able to find a spot on him that isn't drowning in the warm scent that you call your own.

Out of nowhere, a sharp puff of air bursts out of him. Some little animalistic noise that you only ever hear when you're doing this, his nose nuzzling your temple as he makes that noise again. The arms around you pull a little tighter as if there was any space left between your bodies to begin with.

A truck engine roars to life. Obnoxious.

Rhett jolts, his head spinning toward the door you came through, stiff like some kind of well-trained guard dog. In a sense, you suppose that's exactly what he is, considering all of those bar fights with unruly alphas who could only see you as an easy piece of meat.

"Sounds like some of 'em are gettin' ready to leave," he concludes after a moment, and he doesn't need to speak for you to know what he intends to say next. He's got to take you back to the house before someone notices you're missing.

You can't help the whine that rolls out of you, pitchy and drawn out. This whole situation is so unfair; you just got here a few minutes ago! Why do you have to go back inside and parade yourself to men and women that you couldn't give a damn about? All because you were unfortunate enough to be born as some dumb omega.

"Naw, don't get all sad on me," Rhett mutters, and you're not entirely sure when he moved, but one of his hands has risen to curl around your cheek, coarse thumb stroking the skin there. "I'll come to your window, a'ight?"

"Rhett!" Your leg twitches, kicking against his side. Pulling hard on his hair, thighs involuntarily fluttering around his head. It's the most you can do with this pillow wedged beneath the small of your back. Open and on display for him and his hungry mouth.

"Shhh," but he can hardly deny himself the simple pleasure of pausing to drag his tongue in a loose circle just to feel you squirm. "Don't want us gettin' caught, do ya darlin'?"

Whining, your head thrashes back and forth. There's a 'no' on the tip of your tongue, but you just can't get it out—two little letters trapped in your wide open mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he's forcing your legs up over his shoulders, oversized hands spanning out against the outside of your thighs, keeping you put.

"Won't be able to eat this sweet little pussy if your folks find out," Rhett just can't quit talking. Babbling as if he's completely and utterly lost himself in this, in you. "Fuck, can y' imagine the look on their faces?"

You're not sure if it's the words themselves or the vibration of his voice against your clit, but something about it has a bolt of lightning jumping up your spine. Rattling a whine out of your throat, hardly stifled by the teeth that sink into your bottom lip, your futile attempt at keeping yourself quiet.

"Comin' in and seein' a ranch hand between your legs, runnin' my tongue up your pussy jus' like..." and he draws just far back enough for you to see the way his tongue pokes out of his mouth as he begins to lick a fat stripe up your cunt. "This."

And your back is rising up off the bed, greedily chasing the burning heat of his mouth, as if even a second of no contact might break you into two. The beat of your heart spurred on by the sloppy, wet noises that punctuate his every movement. Half of it isn't even from you; no, it's from him drooling into you like a goddamn dog.

There's so much of it, running down your thighs and into your sheets, sure to leave a spot that you'll struggle to make an excuse for. It's a problem that you should fuss at him over, chide him for making such a mess, but he's guiding a hand between your legs, two thick fingers nudging at your entrance, and you just can't bring yourself to say anything.

It's impossible to be upset when he's got you so wet that you don't need to pause for lube, gliding into you with dazzling ease. So, so much bigger than your own touch, such a sudden stretch that you catch the hint of an ache as they bottom out. More. You haven't even gotten used to this yet, and yet you want more.

Abrupt, Rhett's pointed tongue dances around your clit, fingers crooking upward, seeking a special little spot. "Can't market ya as an innocent little omega if they know a man like me 's been eatin' your pussy for years."

If only he knew how often you think about that.

The memories that flood your mind every time you've been put in a fancy restaurant to be wined and dined by some well-dressed know-it-all, intrigued by the false purity he saw in your eyes. How it's not the small talk that has you fiddling with your fork, but instead caused by the crystal clear image of a cowboy who had gotten on his knees for you earlier that morning, eating you alive, much like how he is now.

And the perpetual, hopeless fantasy of that same cowboy barging in and taking you for his own, fed up with this sick game you've been forced to play together. All because you were born an omega, so rare that the wealthy have begun to see you as a status symbol.

Sparkles dance in your vision, glittering like fireworks. Course fingertips spiral into a little cluster of nerves, in perfect sync with the tongue still working around your clit. The invisible flames of a wildfire ignite, heat coiling between your parted thighs and flushing up your chest. Fuck, fuck, and the room is spinning around you, hands tightening in Rhett's hair as if there's a risk of being blown away.

"Rhett, I'm—"

"God, y' taste so fuckin' good," mindlessly babbling, but those eyes are peeling open, the corners of them wrinkling with a cocky grin. "Y' gonna cum?"

"Uhuh," frantically nodding, the best that you can without looking away from him and this. The sight of him between your shivering thighs, legs propped over his broad shoulders, fits so perfectly that your heart skips a beat. That coil is winding tighter and tighter in your lower belly, body stiffening as his tongue keeps working you over, loud and sloppy and out of sync with the fingers working inside of you.

His chuckle has your foot kicking against his back, a barely muffled whimper slipping out of your throat. "Come on then," a third finger abruptly joins, mouth sucking harshly on your clit. Lightning jumps up your spine, arching up off the pillow. "Give it to me, sweet thing."

And that's all it takes to have you clamping a trembling hand over your mouth, cumming without further warning. Crying out into your palm as your vision goes white, heart racing in your chest, spinning out of control. Feels as if you've been thrust into the clouds, soaring among them for a few fleeting moments.

The hand remaining on your thigh is what draws you back down into reality.

Or maybe it's the sudden discomfort of emptiness as Rhett draws his drenched fingers out of your cunt, sitting up on his haunches, obscenely shiny chin catching in the light. The pillow pulls out from beneath your hips, and it's not until you feel the rush of relief that you realize there was a strain in your lower back.

The corner of Rhett's mouth lifts, the mattress dipping as he climbs up next to you. "Reckon I wore ya out." Those jeans still unfairly cling to his hips, a little too dirty to be allowed in your bed, but you don't have the luxury or the will to complain.

Certainly not when he's settling down, an arm draping across your belly, very nearly distracting you from the scent in the air. His usual leathery scent, mixed with something a little bit sweet, a little bit warm, and entirely you.

"For now," you croak after a moment. The simple motion of shifting to lay on your side has the room rolling again, like some kind of fucked up hamster ball.

On its own selfish volition, your hand begins to wander. Gliding up Rhett's naked chest, feeling the groove of muscle and roaming over the old tattoo lurking just below his right collarbone. It's almost strange to think of how it was brand new when you first met him, so fresh that he'd yelped when you ran straight into each other.

You shouldn't allow it, but you can't resist wandering down his belly, exploring the soft muscles of his belly, only stopped by the elastic waistband peeking out from below his pants. It's impossible to miss the bulge tenting his jeans, such a sight that it almost makes his obnoxiously large belt buckle look averagely sized.

You wish you were as familiar with his body as he is yours.

"It ain't that I don't want ya too," Rhett must be able to read minds because he's already jumping onto your train of thought, "'m still worried I might..."

Lose control. You know. This conversation seems to arise every time you have a little fun together. The dangers of an alpha who gets too carried away and leaves behind too much evidence of your private rendezvous.

"What if that's what I want?" You say it so firmly. Confident.

You want him and everything that comes with him. The Abbott name, the not-so-glamourous life of being mated or even married to a man like him. Hell, you want the dirt that tracks in on his boots, the stench of sweat that clings to him after a long day at work, and the horse he's dragged to three different ranches so far. No other mare will do. Only his.

"'s what I want, too," his hand curls around yours, delicately guiding it up to his chest, where he can crane his head down and kiss your knuckles. "Shame everyone would be able to smell me on ya. Think I'd kill to be there when they realize their special little omega got mounted by some grimy ol' cowboy."

"You're not grimy," it's only after you say it that the memories come flooding in. Dirt clinging to his jaw and neck, all the times he hasn't been able to finger you due to some crude, black substance clinging to his nails. That one time, when he came back covered in a thin layer of mud, muttering something about heifers and tagging a damn calf. "...most of the time."

If it's not the moaning that's going to get you caught, surely it'll be the fit of giggles that squeeze out of the cracks in the door frame.

The roar of a rodeo crowd never fails to remind you of why Rhett does this. Feet stomping on the metal flooring of the bleachers. Hands clapping in a thundering applause. Unafraid to shout and jeer as the numbers on the scoreboard count up.

Four seconds. The bull's head twists to the left. Back legs kicking high into the air. A plume of dirt kicks up.

Five seconds. Rhett's right hand bobs in the air. Torn between the sheer will to keep up for the judges and the overwhelming instinct to use it to steady himself.

Six. Your breath fogs in front of your face. Shouting Rhett's name. As if doing so could possibly help him hold on.

Seven. The scream of the crowd is rising now. Booming voices and cowbells so loud that you can no longer hear the beat of your heart in your ears.

Eight. The buzzer sounds. Artificial flames burst from above the chutes.

You blink, and he's off the bull. The bullfighters are scurrying like ants. Rhett's scooping his hat up off the ground. Spinning around to face the scoreboard just as the rankings make their switch. You think the crowd may have preemptively exploded into celebration because they're cheering and hollering before you've even realized what the screen says.

1. Rhett Abbott 89.5

You've got to read it twice before you finally understand what that means. He's moving on to the finals next week.

And lord, does he know it.

Fist pounding against his vest so hard that his hair shakes with every strike, jolted by his own strength. Mouth open. Shouting something that doesn't make it past the arena fences, his wide eyes scanning the bleachers, slowly drifting until they seem to lock with yours.

It's impossible; he's so far away that you can hardly see his features. But he's looking at you, and he's grinning, waving a big hand toward a building lurking just behind the chutes. You've only been to these particular rodeo grounds once, but you've seen that gesture enough times to know what he's asking and that you don't have to head over there right now.

You won't see him until after he's had his five-minute shower. When he's had time to scrub the adrenaline out of his system and doesn't run the risk of knocking you off your feet by scent alone.

Do you still regret letting him know that he almost sent you into heat once? Yes.

A lot.

Though it can't be all that bad. Not when you and your newly acquired chili cheese fries have the pleasure of stumbling across a hell of a scene. Wet, unruly curls and a thin white t-shirt that's ever so slightly too small, clinging to every muscle and curve of his chest, biceps bulging from beneath the restrictive fabric. You can see his tattoo right through it, that bucking bull as prominent as ever.

A pair of green eyes squint back at you, attached to wavy blonde curls and glimmering lip gloss. She's not the only one batting her long lashes at Rhett and twisting her hair between her delicately manicured fingertips; there's a brunette giggling along next to her. A barrel racer done up in purple plaid to your left, another girl in glasses wearing a rodeo hoodie, and those are just the ones that you've noticed.

All of you are so different in nature, and yet, you have the same end goal: Rhett Abbott.

He'll come when he realizes you're here; you know he will, but hell if this influx of attention doesn't make your stomach twist. Technically, Rhett isn't yours. He can pick any one of these starry-eyed onlookers and never be happier. At least they'll never hold him to the constant strain of being with an omega.

Something plops atop your head, so big that it falls into your eyes.

"Whatcha starin' at?" There's that familiar voice that you've become so accustomed to, rumbling from somewhere behind your right shoulder. A familiar scent greets your senses: warm, twisted with the woodsy aroma of body wash, and...something else. A faint musk that makes your nose feel funny.

With the back of your hand, you push his hat up, peering at him from beneath the rim, "I was thinking."

Rhett's head tilts to the side. "'bout?"

Something tells you that you weren't supposed to see the swift flicker of his gaze. Down to the forgotten snack in your hands, then back up to your face as if nothing ever happened. His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip.

"How I'm gonna explain where I've been all night," it's the weakest lie told this century, but you're covering up for it by lifting your container of fries. "Want some?"

If he catches on to the waver in your voice, then he doesn't mention it, too busy fighting off the little grin working its way onto his handsome face, still clinging to that stoic alpha demeanor that you both know he doesn't have.

One of these days, he'll figure out that his fluttering eyelashes are giving away his true emotions, almost excited to reach and take two of your fries. Cheese drips as he lifts them, so artificial that it hardly even counts as dairy, the perfect match to those greasy gas station snacks that he's been serenading you with.

"Y' weren't out here waitin' too long, were ya?" Talking in between bites, sauce clinging to his lips like an absurd gloss.

Your head shakes, cowboy hat jostling back and forth with the motion. "Only about a minute or two."

A pair of sour faces twist your way, surveying the competition. If there even is one. Rhett doesn't so much as spare them a glance. Preoccupied with you lifting his beloved hat off your head and pressing his cheesy lips to your temple like this is some kind of normal thing between you two.

"Hey!" You squeal, but Rhett's already on the move, dodging your light-hearted swat and shoving a stolen fry into his mouth.

He'd ought to consider himself lucky that he's got those big, blue eyes to get himself out of trouble. With that big laugh that bounces around your head for far longer than it should, enough to make you a little bit dizzy.

"I thought you were worried about..." pausing to swipe at the residue with the back of your hand, wiping away his sloppy kiss, "you know, people seeing?"

Your people seeing. Or hearing. Or even catching the slightest whiff that you're entertaining the very idea of someone who wasn't at last night's party.

But Rhett just shakes his head, that stupid smile prominent as ever. "Ain't no-one to recognize us out here."

...huh.

"So you're not worried if I..." Taking one step forward. Then another, until you're nose to nose, so close that you can almost taste the mint of his toothpaste. "Do this?"

His forehead thunks against yours. "Not one bit."

Kissing Rhett Abbott has always been a dream, but kissing him in public is another whirlwind entirely. The rose-tinted novelty of cementing who he belongs to, whose arms you're meant to fit into, and all of those shallow things that onlookers really couldn't give a damn about. They don't care about the strong arms that wind around your waist, the palm that flattens against the curve of your spine. How difficult it is to blindly hold your fries off to the side, trying your best not to crush them between your bodies.

As quickly as he'd leaned in, Rhett draws away, nose wrinkled.

"What?" Is there something on your breath? Melted cheese somewhere on your face?

But he just shakes his head, leaning in for another kiss. "Nothin'."

It must have been something in the wind because he doesn't make another mention of it again. His nose doesn't even twitch when you drift past the food trucks, all lined up in the front section of the parking lot, with their fried snacks, greasy meals, and sugar-filled treats that ought to make anyone drool.

You've only just finished your fries, but you've already caught sight of another truck, white in color, selling something that you don't know the name of but smells like heaven itself. There's no reason for your stomach to be growling, but it sings its little tune regardless of all the things you've snacked on this afternoon. Shame that you left your wallet in the truck and spent the last of your cash on those fries.

Why are you so hungry today?

"See somethin' ya want?" Rhett's voice is damn near the only thing that can pull you out of your stupor.

"I don't need it," really, you don't. You've already had three things from here; if anything, another greasy snack is the last thing that you need. There's food at home.

But Rhett's already taking you by the hand, drawing his wallet from his back pocket, and it's just so hard to deny his firm offer to get you anything you want. The food tastes exactly how it smells: warm and easy on the tongue. Your spare glance at the folks selling fried dessert has him bringing over two plates of it. Maybe it's something he wanted, or maybe he's eating it just to make you feel better, you're not sure, but it's gone in minutes.

In the time it takes to walk to the truck, you've acquired a bag of handmade candy, sweet and wonderful, aside from the bizarrely tart green ones that Rhett insists he likes. White lie or not, you're just happy that you won't be accidentally popping one into your mouth again.

"You're sure ya don't want anythin' else?" The squeal of the passenger door almost covers up his question. One of these days, he'll figure out a solution that'll last for longer than a week.

"I'm sure," though if he gives you an hour, you've got a feeling that the answer will be different. For now, your stomach is so full that you almost wonder how you manage to climb into the truck, the slightest bit dizzy from all that sugar and grease.

Or maybe it's from something else because it doesn't seem to be fading. If anything, it seems to be getting worse, the cars in the parking lot spinning around your head like you're in a cartoon. Even the subtle sway of the truck as Rhett gets in the driver's seat is enough to worsen it.

You can't see it, but you can feel his eyes on you. "I don't think..." That's your voice...but you never planned on talking? What are you trying to say?

Somehow, you've gotten yourself into the middle seat. Close enough for Rhett to loop his arm around your shoulders, drawing you into his side. He's so warm that you melt like ice on a summer day, head falling against his chest, the thump of his heartbeat loud in your ear.

"Sweetheart..." his lips brush against your temple, some little thing that sends a shiver down your spine. "You feelin' okay?"

"Dizzy." Concluding before you've even realized what he's asked. "Why?"

A hand curls around your cheek, urging you to nuzzle closer as if you could possibly need any more encouragement. You're already starting to wedge yourself into the crook of his neck, right where his scent is the strongest. The little gland hidden there has a thicker sheen to it than usual, glistening even in the barely there light.

"Rhett?" You try again, and this time, you might have a little more control over what your body is doing.

His jaw scratches the top of your head, sucking in a long, audible breath. "Your heats startin'."

No, that doesn't make sense. Why would...why would your heat be starting? This isn't your first rodeo; you would have recognized the signs if it was coming on. The mood swings, the sudden onset of clinginess, the sudden bouts of lightheadedness that leave you stumbling, the insatiable hunger right at the cusp of—

"Oh."

You don't even feel your face fall. Or maybe you do, and you're just too distracted with the sting of wateriness building in your eyes, distorting your vision, and already trying to spill over. No. No, no, no, no. This can't be your heat. You've always had them toward the middle of spring, never late autumn. That doesn't—that doesn't make sense. Why would it start now?

"Hey, hey," it's not until Rhett starts talking that you realize you've been muttering your thoughts out loud.

Problem is, you don't care that he's heard you. How are you supposed to when there's the looming possibility that you're never going to see him again? Doesn't he remember? You've got to choose someone before your heat starts, or else your parents will choose for you!

"I ain't goin' anywhere yet," he's pulling you in, both arms wrapped tight around you, and even the awkward angle cannot distract you from the shiver that's settling into your bones.

"I don't want you to go anywhere at all!" You don't mean to cry out like a child, but it happens anyway, pitchy and breaking in the middle.

Rhett doesn't open his mouth again. He can't. The Abbotts may have a reputation for being able to repair anything they get their hands on, but there's nothing Rhett can say or do to fix this. All he can do is keep pulling you close until he's leaning back against the door, and you're settled up on top of him, with not an inch of space left between.

Maybe if you don't move, time won't tick by so quickly.

The one bad thing about time is that it does pass, regardless of what you have to say on the matter. Because eventually, that time does come when Rhett has no choice but to start his truck; there's an hour's drive ahead of you, and red flags will begin waving if you come home in a full-blown heat.

For the first time in a while, you see Rhett's speedometer five miles below the speed limit, uncaring of the impatient vehicles blaring the horns. Doesn't get riled up when some asshole drives by flipping him off, hardly even fusses when the guy merges too early and nearly clips the front of his truck.

All he's worried about is taking as much time as he can, keeping that arm around you for as long as he can manage. Only draws away to handle sharp turns but quickly returns soon after, and frankly, you don't even care about chiding him for his risky driving.

There's some dumb, sad song droning on the radio when he finally puts the truck into park, and it may be dark in this truck, but you can still see the wateriness brimming his eyes. You know it because you have that same glassiness, too.

You've got a million and one things you could say, and yet, you can't bring yourself to say a single one of them. There's no point in it; this is probably the last time you'll ever see him. Unmated, at the very least.

The front door opens before you can utter a single word. Don't know who it is, nor do you care.

Rhett's forehead presses against yours, mouth opening, then clamping shut just as quickly. Can't say anything either. But then he leans his head down, temple rubbing against yours, and it's the closest thing to a goodbye that either of you can manage. This short, unspoken thing; rubbing his scent on you for both the first and the last time.

Either something about him was warding off the vicious beginnings of your heat, or the very smell of him threw you off the deep end because you hardly make it into your bedroom before the dizziness takes hold again. Feet dragging across the floor, forced to guide yourself with a hand against the wall while someone else shouts their recognition to the whole goddamn world.

By the time you get your door closed, they're already muttering about which Tillerson to choose for you. Luke or Trevor? Who is the most worthy of selling you off to, like a piece of meat?

The dizziness takes over before you've even made it to the bed.

If heaven can be a moment, then this must be hell.

Waking up is always the worst. A dull, incessant throbbing deep in your bones, the edges of your vision blurry enough to give you the worst tunnel vision you've ever had the displeasure of experiencing. Sleeping on the floor has done you no favors, leaving a stiffness in the left side of your body that definitely was not there before.

It's almost enough to distract from the obscene wetness between your legs. A clear fluid that stains the crotch of your pants and has left a big spot on the floor itself.

"Maybe sleeping on the floor was worth it..." you mutter as you push yourself to your feet. Cleaning slick out of a mattress is much harder than those YouTube tutorials cropped it out to be; you'll be able to clean that before another wave of dumbness washes over.

The wipes in your bathroom are enough to take care of it, taking it off the hardwood with ease. Leaves you with more time to figure out what to do about these pants, if you're committing to trying another heat while fully dressed, or if a nightgown, while uncomfortably exposing, will be easier to handle.

Your instincts are itching at you to build a nest, but is it even worth it, all things considered? If everyone has their way, you'll be shipped off to some alpha's house by the end of the night. First with a weekend bag, then the rest of your things once the heat fades.

And what's that sitting on your windowsill?

It's an amalgamation of color: dark red, beige, navy blue, balled up inside of something gray. Hell, even when you're looking at it through the glass, you haven't the slightest clue what it is. Leaves you with no choice but to peel open the window and—

A familiar scent strikes your nose.

Rhett.

These are his shirts. Wrinkled and warm from the sun, and oh, they smell exactly like him. You can't help but squeeze the whole bundle to your chest, shamelessly burying your face into them. He must have spent the whole night rubbing on these like one of those overly friendly cats.

It's about that time of the morning when he puts his horse up in the pen while he helps with the usual barn maintenance, but you don't see her anywhere. The other horses are there: two palominos, a paint, and a handful of chestnuts, but that sturdy little black mare is nowhere to be found.

Must have put her around the other side.

Something crinkles inside of these clothes, deep down in the center of them. You know what it is before you've even unraveled the mess of fabric. Snacks. Your favorite chips, a candy bar, and the hard candies that you didn't realize you left in his truck. A torn piece of paper has been tucked into the candy bar wrapper.

Don't forget to eat :)

Such a simple message shouldn't have tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, but it does, and as much as you'd like to blame it on your heat, you know that's not the case. Funny how even the bare minimum can look like the greatest act of kindness when your heart is torn in two.

Between the impending doom that is the rest of your life and the next wave of your heat coming along, you've got no appetite. That was the whole point of your inability to feel full last night, your body's futile attempt at stocking up on calories before it devolved into a weeklong period of craving nothing but sex, and knots, and alphas, and skin contact, and everything else under that umbrella.

Still, you eat it.

It's not so bad when you manage to convince your heat brain that Rhett's little note was growled into your ear, an order that you cannot possibly disobey. Snacking on the candy bar when you climb out of the shower, taking bites in between your routine, finishing it off when you settle into bed with one of those flannels. Storm clouds are rolling in, and they're doing nothing to ward off the sleepiness your heat is bringing on.

Your impromptu nap is interrupted by the impromptu barging in of someone letting you know that Trevor Tillerson has been chosen as your alpha. He'll be here sometime around nine to pick you up and take you to some fancy resort that he's rented just for the two of you. Somewhere far, far away from Wabang and the dark clouds looming overhead.

If you had a choice in the matter, maybe it would be romantic.

The chips get you through a bout of doom scrolling on your cellphone until your face begins to feel hot, and you're rudely reminded that you've got to pack while you still can. A righteous pain in the ass that does nothing but frustrate you to no end.

How are you meant to shove a week's worth of clothes into so few bags? On your heat, no less, the one time when you'll be soaking through most of your garments! And your laptop, where the hell do you shove that? Between the shirts? Do you even bother with these shorts?

"Why am I doing this?" You mutter it as if you've got a choice in the matter, idly pawing at your spinning head.

At one point, you suppose that you did. Marrying rich sounded like a wonderful idea when the subject was brought up ten years ago. A life with everything you could ever want. Endless vacations and money to spend on anything you want because you were born an omega, and such a rare thing deserves only the best. You'd had it in your head that you'd find the person of your dreams dressed up in a suit worth more than your entire family ranch.

But you just had to run right into the Abbott family's youngest son, the one who had nothing but a black horse, a couple of flannels, and a championship rodeo buckle to his name. A new ranch hand, with his scruffy smile and the kindest hands you've ever known.

Now, here you are.

Your parents have invested hundreds of hours and an insurmountable amount of money into luring in alphas. They've made friendships with the families of your suitors and formed expectations for the outcome of your life that no longer align with your desires. You're in so deep that a simple 'no' will not suffice. Especially not when Rhett comes into the deal.

A sourness blossoms in your chest, spreading into your lower belly like a plague, gut-twisting and churning as if you're about to be sick. There's an invisible hand squeezing around your heart, so tight that it just might burst, but you don't feel nauseous. Not one bit, and maybe that's got something to do with the blurring of your vision.

"Rhett," whining. Rhett. You want Rhett. Here. Right now.

That dizziness is growing worse. A foreign heat spreads deep in your inner thighs, flushing to superheat the rest of your body, but your face feels cold, and something wet is spilling across your cheeks. Tears fall quicker than the rain pattering against your window. A never-ending stream that has you hiccuping, frantically sucking in breaths of air that never quench the ache in your throat.

It is the whim of your own frantic hand that leads you to grab your phone. Scrolling through your contacts until you land on the fuzzy shape of a name that you've seen enough times for it to be familiar.

It rings.

And it rings.

...and it rings.

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system," that robotic voice drones through the speaker, already beginning to ramble off the digits of Rhett's phone number.

Maybe he didn't get to the phone in time. Yeah, that's got to be it. You'll try again. He'll pick up this time.

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system."

Thunder rumbles outside, heavy enough to shake the house, rattling the knick-knacks on the shelves and sending slick rushing down your thighs. Sticky and burning, and oh god, your head is spinning like you're on a fucking merry-go-round.

Someone's knocking at your door, the distorted sound of your name dancing through the room. Whether or not you respond, you've got no idea, but they're responding as if you did.

"Trevor is here," her voice is oddly familiar, but a face isn't coming to mind.

"I need..." shaking your head, rattling a coherent thought into place. "I need...a little bit longer to pack."

Silence. And then, quietly, "Okay." Footsteps echo through the hallway and then dissolve into nothing.

You can't see. The colors of your room merge together into a sea of splotches, a fire burning up in your chest, the embers reaching all the way up into your skull. White and black, and gray and a spot of green that you just know is the call button. Your thumb darts across the screen. Tapping once. Nothing. Then a little lower.

The screen color changes.

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system." Whether or not you manage to press 'end call,' you have no idea. All you know is that the screen color has changed.

He turned off his phone. It didn't even ring before sending you to voicemail this time; he doesn't want to talk to you.

Maybe he's already found company in one of those girls from last night's rodeo. Or maybe he's entirely decided that it isn't worth entertaining you anymore, not even in the slightest. But that doesn't explain why he's left you some of his flannels, like the one that you're pulling off the bed.

His scent has already begun to fade, but as you bury your nose into the fabric, it smells as if he's really here. A little bit of focus is all it takes for you to convince yourself that he's right next to you. A big shield, curled around you, right here on the floor. How his jaw would tickle your neck as he rests his head on your shoulder, waiting until you're ready to get up and run off into the sunset with him.

Hell, if only it were that easy.

If you were to take off on your own, right here and right now, you wouldn't make it out of Wabang. You can't smell them, but every alpha in town will pick up on the pheromones wafting off of you, and you're in no state to defend yourself.

Even without the heat, you wouldn't be safe. So long as your neck remains bare, you run the risk of being seen as a piece of meat to others, both alpha and beta. One little nip is all it would take for someone to bond you to them forever; so simple that someone can run up from behind and do it within a second.

When you open your eyes again, the world around you is a little clearer.

...strange.

Waves of your heat should last at least an hour or more, not a few minutes. Standing, even with the uneasy sway of your body, shouldn't be this easy. Yet you've got the strength to walk yourself over to the window, still open from when you took the shirts off the ledge. The wind has carried rain into the room, scattering across the floor and nearly causing you to slip. Your only saving grace is the windowsill itself, your clammy hands gripping it tight as they can.

Evidently, house shoes aren't meant to traverse the elements. Not even a little bit of water.

As if to reveal its schemes to you, the wind blows once more. Cool air kisses your burning cheeks, the only indication of how much you've already adjusted to your heat. Now, if only your eyes could do something similar and adjust to the shift in lighting.

It can't be anything past eight o'clock, but night has already fallen in its entirety, a thick blanket of black covering everything beyond the horizon. Even so, you can vaguely make out the shape of something sitting in your driveway. Blocky, but there are four bits of round metal catching in the dull light hanging outside of the barn.

Something behind it moves. Noticeably lighter than the dirt and whatever that object is.

Your eyes narrow. Fighting the urge to lean further out the window as the thing creeps across the drive. A growl rumbles out of your throat. Goosebumps prickle across your skin. It's growing closer.

Clink.

Wait a damn minute.

"Rhett?"

A laugh twists through the air with all the grace and beauty of a ballerina. "Did I hear you growlin' at me?"

"You shut off your phone when I tried calling you!" Is all your dumb, cloudy mind can come up with, pitchy and whiny like a child.

"Shh, shh, I know," there he is. The dull porch light is the only thing illuminating his handsome face.

His mouth opens like he's got something else to say, but it closes just as quickly, still searching for the right words. Then, trying again. "Ya remember what y' said in the barn 'bout runnin' away?"

"Yes, but..." pausing to look over your shoulder at the closed door before looking back at him. "What about your horse? And, and, your job and your things at the bunkhouse?"

"I got it all taken care of," he's a little closer now, enough for you to see the longer scruff clinging to his jaw. Soft. Not quite as wirey as when it's freshly shaved. "'m startin' on a ranch in Nebraska next Monday mornin'. Owner says he knows a guy with a house I can rent for us. It ain't all that much, but I—"

"Okay." You can't help yourself. He doesn't need to say another word.

His eyes flutter. "Okay." Parroting you, as if to make sure the word is what he thinks it is.

For a moment or three, it's quiet. Nothing but the crunch of dirt beneath his boots and the jingle of spurs that he's too lazy to take off. And now he's standing right in front of you, nothing but this window and a small shrub separating you. His nostrils flare, and you're certain that if it were brighter out, you'd be able to see the darkening of his pupils.

There's that smile. Sprawling across his face, wrinkling the corners of his eyes, pearly white teeth glistening like he's the star of a toothpaste commercial. Can hardly close his mouth as you lean in, lips brushing against his.

Voices echo from down the hallway, squeezing in through the cracks.

Shit.

Your feet are moving before you can even process what's happening. Scrambling across the piles of clothes that sit on your floor. Grabbing whatever you can. Shoving it into the still-open bags. T-shirts. Shoes. Loungewear. You don't know what else. What you have and what you're missing can all be sorted out later. All you know is that those voices are getting closer, and you can't get back to the window fast enough.

You're not even sure if Rhett hears them talking, but he's not wasting time by asking questions. Already pulling the duffel bag from your arms and turning back towards his truck. Lightning flickers as you run back to your bags. Heart hammering so loud that you hardly even notice the thunder that follows.

One of the voices says your name. A laugh rattles after it.

A zipper fumbles between your fingers. Climbs halfway down the track. Then catches on the hem of something sticking out. You can't see what it is.

"Fucking—" swearing under your breath. You pull it again. No give.

It'll have to do. You're already scrambling to shove the bag into Rhett's open arms. Twisting back for the last one. Phone. Where is your phone? But the room is spiraling with your movement, and your eyes feel as if they're rolling around in your skull. Vision darting every direction except for where you want it to go.

There it is. On the floor, next to his shirt. Which part of the bag are you shoving them into? You don't know.

The voices are closer. Three. Four. Five of them. Talking, laughing together as they edge near your room and your unlocked door.

"Baby." Rhett's voice cuts through your thoughts like a knife.

You don't think any time has passed, and yet, turning back to the window feels like the first time you've moved in minutes. The edges of your vision swim, merging into a haze of black as you scramble to him.

You've gotten over this window before. He's seen you do it. But as you draw a leg up and over, his hands dart out and settle on your waist. Holding you steady, like you might fall to your death if he doesn't.

Rain pelts your face like tiny bullets, freezing on your superheated skin, and the voice in your head wonders if this is what freedom feels like. The rush buzzing through your veins. The big hand that squeezes yours, the mud that kicks up under your heels as you tear down the driveway.

Wind squeals in your ears so loud that you nearly miss the clatter ring through the window. But it's too late for them to kick in the door. You're too far gone for them to catch. Because your feet are flying beneath you. And Rhett's right alongside you. And even the storm cannot conceal the glisten in his eye. The way he laughs, loud and triumphant and excited.

It's the scene that's played through your head ever since you met.

A voice calls out. Rhett splits off to slam his truck bed cover closed. You keep going.

Another one echoes through the storm. Deeper. Shouting your name.

"Stop!"

But there's no leash to hold you back. No magical lasso that they can throw out and reel you back in with. Nothing stops you from pulling on the handle of the passenger door and leaping up into the seat, scrambling to slam it shut before someone can magically appear to wedge it open.

Rhett's door squeals open. Vehicle swaying as he all but launches himself inside, fumbling for the gear shift.

The truck jerks forward, engine roaring as the tires spin. The tail end jerks to the left, then the right, then back to the left again, gunning it down the driveway.

Light pours through the front door, vaguely human blotches rushing out onto the porch. Even as you twist to look out the rear window, they're nothing more than tiny spots of color, growing smaller and smaller. The headlights of a truck flick on, but it's no use. Rhett's tires are already kissing the pavement of the main road.

You blink, and the house is gone; you might as well be a million and one mile away.

Rhett's head turns, just as yours does, eyes locking for the briefest of seconds. A little rumble of something escapes him, and it must be contagious because something a giggle is bubbling out of you, boiling into laughter.

"That was," his mouth fumbles through his smile, "not how I planned it."

"What, were you hoping to get shot at, too?" Slow, you turn to settle back into the seat, wedged between him and the duffel bag crammed against the passenger door.

Something sharp stabs in your lower belly. So sudden that it has your knees knocking together, eyes squeezing shut. As quickly as it happened, a wave of heat curls into its place, an uncomfortable wetness appearing between your legs.

A hand appears on your thigh. Hot. Clammy. "You okay?"

"Heat." Is all you can say.

That's all it is, really. Cramps. The one thing that manages to be worse than your heat itself. You can handle the overwhelming craving for an alpha between your legs, stretching you to your limit as he knots you over and over and over.

Ugh. You can't be thinking of this right now.

Just like how you shouldn't be slouching to your left, cheek squishing Rhett's shoulder, big and warm, and right where he tends to spray his cologne. Faint from a day of wear, but there's still a peppery note lingering on him, overwhelmed by...something you can't describe.

Something that makes the tip of your nose feel numb.

Odd. It was there last night, too, but you don't recall it appearing any other time before that. There was certainly no trace of it in the barn or when he snuck into your bedroom afterward. Maybe your heat has warped your sense of smell again; it wouldn't be the first time.

Rhett's foot shifts from the gas, gently pressing against the brakes for an upcoming red light, fingers audibly drumming against the steering wheel.

Something white rolls across the floorboard, tiny somethings rattling around inside. Tumbling toward the front of the truck, then falling back to thunk against the toe of your muddy hose shoe.

"'s just some vitamins," Rhett mutters, kicking them with his foot, sending the bottle thunking against the passenger door, cap popping open. A myriad of long, round blue pills spill out, decorating the floor.

Huh.

You've never seen blue vitamins before, their pastel color seeming to glow in the lights hanging overhead, Wabang's feeble attempt at keeping the darkness of night at bay. Curious, you lean down and reach out for the container. Your fingertips brush against the plastic on your first try, depth perception warped by the haze of your heat, but you get it on the second attempt.

Suppressants for Alphas only 250MG Rut Suppressants.

Your head turns to Rhett. His eyes dart from the label. To yours. Then, back to the road.

The pieces click together so perfectly that you can hear them falling into place. Resonating through your empty skull until every fiber of your psyche echoes the same thing.

"You started your rut," it slips out of your mouth like it's a scientific breakthrough. A discovery that will be written in the history books for millennia.

His Adam's apple bobs, swallowing hard. A pink tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Didn't want ya thinkin' that was my reason for all this."

"I wouldn't have thought that Rhett," reaching for the hand that still rests on your thigh, fingers slotting between his, lightly squeezing it in your grasp.

But his head just shakes, foot twitching against the gas pedal. The truck lurches, finally beginning to pull through that traffic light. "'s my fault your heat started."

"I know." You already put that together. It explains everything: the odd timing and the sudden onset of it at the rodeo. That funny scent he's been wearing...it was from the pills.

He looks at you again, teeth worrying his bottom lip, already swollen from the abuse. First, the licking, now the chewing. If you give it a minute, he'll start rubbing at them with his fingertips. For now, those heavy eyes dart back to the road. Guilty. "'n you're not upset 'bout that?"

You're not entirely sure what to say to him. That the timing may be inconvenient, but you're happy to be here with him, running after a fever dream that might or might not work out? Do you admit that you wish this would have happened sooner?

So many thoughts, and yet, not a word drifts down to your tongue. Instead, all you can think to do is this. Leaning over, left arm crammed between your bodies, as your right squirms across his belly, squeezing him. A poor attempt at a hug, but he softens under your touch all the same.

"It's not your fault," you murmur after a moment. The world around you is beginning to twist again, warping into a familiar blur, makes it hard to move your mouth. "You wouldn't hold it against me if my heat triggered your rut. Why would it be any different the other way around?"

You don't feel him move, but his lips find their way to your temple, lingering for a fleeting second. They would likely stay longer if driving didn't demand so much of his attention, hand idly working the steering wheel as you rumble through Wabang. If anyone has followed you this far, then surely they'll lose you here; too many winding streets for them to maintain a trail.

There's a part of you that wonders if you fell asleep because the next time your eyes open, the road is different. One moment, you're in town, and the next, you're on a dark, four-lane highway merely illuminated by the vivid beams of his headlights.

Or maybe...maybe it's just two lanes because the lights on the dash seem to have doubled. Blurry and out of focus, no matter how much you try to blink your vision back into clarity. Shifting in the seat, you lift your head.

And immediately let it thunk back onto Rhett's shoulder, vision twisting as if you've spent the past thirty minutes spinning in circles. "Ugh."

"There you are," Rhett hums. His hand drops down to squeeze your knee, giving it a little shake. "Did you know that ya snore?"

"I do not!" Your squeal comes out as a hoarse croak. So foreign in your mouth that you hardly recognize it.

An invisible bolt of lightning fires up your belly.

Slick pools between your legs, staining your underwear and seeping down to your thighs. There's a shiver in your bones that wasn't there before, wavering like a leaf in high wind, without rhyme or reason. And there's this deep set ache in your lower stomach, reaching all the way to your weeping cunt, almost sore from lack of use, demanding attention that your fingers can't satisfy.

"What's wrong?" Rhett's voice meets your ears like a ray of sunshine on a stormy day.

Shame that it can't ward off the wave of cramps thundering through your lower belly. "Hurts,"

"Jus' a few more miles, 'kay?" His arm lifts, draping across your weary shoulders like a blanket. It's a fleeting touch that'll be forced to end at the next curve in the road, but it's nice to slouch into, head coming to rest against the side of his chest. Thin muscle flexes under your cheek, stretched so tightly that you can feel the bone lurking underneath.

You wonder if he's just naturally built so wirey or if he'll be one of those alpha's that grow bulkier with a mating bond. It's hard to figure it out without being familiar with his family; if you knew the Abbotts personally, then maybe you'd have heard the stories of it happening with his father or brother. Maybe even a grandparent.

On its own, your hand shifts, crawling to rest on his knee. It's just as bony as the rest of him, and yet, conceals just enough muscle to cling onto the backs of those bulls. They're invisible at first glance, but if you squeeze, you can feel the softness of them, wrapped around hard bone.

"Are you feelin' me up?" He chuckles, wiggling his leg back and forth as if to try and shake you off.

Well, you weren't yet, but now that he's put the idea in your head...

Rhett sucks in a breath. His hips jerk, the truck lurching as his foot spontaneously presses against the pedal. You've felt him in your palm before, but fuck you don't remember him being this thick, twitching under the slightest bit of pressure.

"Wait," he grunts. That arm is already slipping out from behind your shoulder, big hand encircling your wrist.

Maybe you should have asked first. "Did I—"

"No. God no," talking so fast that he stumbles over his words, "just...hurts."

And yet, he makes no move to draw your hand away, letting it remain there as he focuses on keeping the truck on the road, grip so firm that you're almost certain he won't let you pull back. It's all you can do to ignore the way he throbs through his jeans, pulsing against your soft palm, testing the will of the zipper confining him.

It must take a year for him to begin turning off onto an exit, dark and poorly lit by a scattered array of frail lamp posts. The road thins, and all of a sudden, neon flickers to life—a hotel sign. Logo written in such gaudy cursive that you can hardly read its name.

A whine rattles out of you, squirming impossibly closer.

There's a blip in your memory.

You don't remember when he pulled into the parking lot or when you got out of the truck. But the air is cool around your ankles, and his arm is tight around your waist, forcing you to remain upright. You can't feel your feet moving, but you're stumbling along next to him anyway, head hanging low, too heavy for the rest of your body.

"Where...?"

"Almost there." His voice is on your left. Damn this stupid heat, why was that such a surprise to you?

A shrill beep sounds. Green flashes.

A bed.

It's as if a switch has flipped. The door falls shut behind you, but your feet are glued to the floor; the edges of your vision still twist, but the world around you has become noticeably...still. Surreal, even. Any moment now, you're waiting to blink away the sight of this drab little hotel and find yourself standing in the four familiar walls of your bedroom.

But as you lift your head, gaze crawling up Rhett's chest like a hungry animal, that doesn't happen. The sight of him doesn't begin to fade, his body remaining firm against yours, even as your eyes dare to meet.

According to the romance novels and the films you've spent so much time watching, you're supposed to be the disheveled one here. Hell, maybe you are. But those films never depicted how pretty an alpha can be when their rut has set in. Freshly bitten lips, messy hair, and rosy cheeks, gazing at you with those glistening eyes. It's as if you hold his entire world in the palm of your hand.

Slow, you twist, careful to mind where your numb feet fall, greedy hands roaming up the thick expanse of his chest, sculpted from a lifetime of back-breaking labor. Then, wandering up his neck, slowing to feel the vein bulging there, chasing it up into the soft hair clinging to his jaw. Your thumb swipes across his bottom lip, watching how it squishes under the pressure.

His eyelashes flutter; you wonder if he was a butterfly in his past life, still clinging to old habits. It's a question you'll have to ask him later when you're not halfway into leaning in and catching those thin lips in yours.

There goes your head again, swirling 'round and 'round, set into motion by the hum that rattles out of him. One little peck. Your hands drop back down to feel the swell of his chest. A second. His arms begin to wind around you. A third, and the heel of his palm is pressing into the small of your back, and you're crumpling.

It's like a freshly knocked-over candle. The smokey leather of his scent, haunted by the fading chemical that temporarily overrode the pheromones radiating off of him. Invisible to the nose at first, but the fire is already beginning to spread until it's roaring so bright that you reckon flames might come out of your ears.

Your arms coil around his thin waist, cinching him in with a strength you thought you'd lost. A stray foot slots between yours, his chest pushing into you, and the room is spinning. Caught by a mattress that squeals and bounces with your combined weight, unprepared for such a landing.

"You 'megas sure get strong when ya want somethin'," Rhett's hair tickles your forehead as he settles on top of you. Perfectly slotted between your parted legs, jeans deliciously rough against your exposed thighs, pajama shorts hardly doing anything to conceal you.

A little too curious, your hips roll, eager to find out if you can feel the bulge of his cock.

You can.

Worse. He felt it too, already beginning to swivel forward, a foreign pressure appearing against your weeping cunt. Something jolts up your spine. Doesn't necessarily hurt; more of a reminder of what you don't have.

"Like you're so innocent in all this," your words come out rushed, riding the coattails of a shaky breath.

He doesn't have anything to say to that, maybe a little shy as he nuzzles his nose against your cheek. A stark contrast to the bold hips that press into you, so eager and desperate to feel you. It's like the first time you crossed that boundary, ground down on each other until neither could take it anymore.

Except, this time, you've no reason to stop there.

No family. No concern about high-dollar alphas or uncomfortable, fashionable outfits. These peeling walls couldn't care less about who you coil your legs around. This bed isn't going to fuss at you for spreading your legs to a scruffy ranch hand without a pedigree.

You're the only one who cares about the way he guides himself with his nose, blindly wandering back to meet your mouth. Kisses you with all the fervor of a man who's just found everything he's ever wanted.

His hands are everywhere, cradling your face, skirting down your sides, and wandering up under your shirt, callouses catching on the soft skin of your belly as he roams beneath. Then he's above your shirt again, dragging up the swell of your breasts, on his way to grip your jaw.

It's so hard to stay still. Your fingers find their way to his flannel, already trying to work it open. It's so much harder with your eyes closed, shivering hands struggling to remain still. Fuck, this button just doesn't want to move. Stubbornly caught in the hole, refusing to slip through, even as you pull—

It snaps off. Lands atop your heaving chest. Rhett draws back, already looking down at it.

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't be." The corner of his lip lifts, flashing a sharp canine. Cocky, as he reaches for the shirt, buttons flying as he yanks it open. "'s kinda hot."

And just like that, he's leaning back onto his haunches, hands skimming down your sides until his fingers can comfortably hook under your shorts. Obedient, your hips lift, knees cinching up to help get them past your ankles. They're gone in an instant, underwear and all.

Is he trying to take his time? Probably.

Does that stop you from impatiently pinching his belt buckle open and yanking on the zipper? No. No, it does not.

"Alright, alright," only Rhett Abbott can laugh this prettily, cherry red cheeks and all. "'n here I am tryin' to be a gentleman."

You and your swirling head know that he has to pull away to get those jeans off. They need to come off, but you're already whining for him to come back. Some primal, involuntary noise that you don't recall making before, pathetic as a wounded animal.

Rhett's head jerks up. "It's okay, it's okay," he's already coming back. You knew he would, but the dumb part of your brain argues that he wouldn't have unless you made that pitiful little noise.

But regardless of the reason, his big, warm body is slotting between your legs, his big chest flexing as he crawls up to meet your mouth. It hardly even counts as a kiss, more of a pressure that serves to remind you he's there. He's here. With you, and he's not going anywhere else.

"I ain't goin' anywhere," he murmurs as if he's heard every silent worry racing through your dumb little mind. Can't seem to think about anything except for him and his scent and the feel of him against you and what he might be doing next.

His head dips, nuzzling you with his temple. It's the simplest damn thing, but hell, if it doesn't suck the air right out of your lungs. The innately primal drag of his scent glands against your skin, marking you like a prize he's fought tooth and nail to keep. Perfect in every sense of the term, everything you've imagined and more.

You don't know what made your eyes drift down, but one way or another, they do, and—

"Jesus, Rhett." You've been anticipating this going a number of ways, but good lord, you didn't have this on your laundry list of ideas, what-ifs, and daydreams.

Even when you were greedily decorating your imaginary version of him, you never quite pictured his cock to be this fucking thick. So damn heavy that it hangs between his legs, hovering just above your belly, the faintest swell of his knot already beginning to show.

His chuckle almost sounds devilish; knows damn well what he's got and what it could do to you. "Don't think much of me is gonna fit." Understatement of the fucking century.

No wonder he never let you touch him; he probably thought it would scare you away. In your right mind, maybe it would, but you can almost feel the hearts blossoming in your eyes, already beginning to reach for him. Your hand freezes midway—maybe you should ask first. He still might not...

He's gently taking you by the wrist, guiding you the rest of the way. This is your first ride in this particular rodeo, but your fingers wrap around his base as if you've been doing it for decades. Oh, he's so much bigger than he looked, makes your hand appear tiny as it glides up the length of him. It's enough to have your heart jumping in your chest, pitter-pattering with a newfound vigor.

Wetness pools between your legs. So much of it that you can feel the way it runs down your thighs, and you just can't help but angle him down, dragging his fat cock head through your weeping folds.

He groans.

Your vision blurs.

The world might fall apart.

A sudden shiver takes hold of you. Quaking like you're being rattled from the inside out, another wave of slick drooling out of your poor, unused cunt, delirium settling at the forefront of your mind. Saliva drips from the corner of your mouth, the edges of your vision blurring to the point of disappearing entirely.

"Shit..." One of you says it. You're not sure who.

It's as if you're the gasoline and Rhett is the lighter, setting you ablaze with the slightest hint of a flame. You don't realize you're still wearing a shirt until after it's peeled over your head, and even then, the loss of it does nothing to soothe the invisible wildfire claiming every inch of your skin.

Oh, and you think he might have it as bad as you do. Noses and chests crashing together, pinning your arm between your bellies, his cock rutting against your cunt like it's always belonged there. He whines into your mouth, jerking forward, the underside of his length massaging against your swollen clit.

"Fuckin'..." he loses track of his words, panting against your mouth like a dog in the sun, "hell, 'm tryna go slow, but—"

Your body jerks up off the bed. Desperate. Needy. Aching for more than just a brush of him against you. The slow glide of him isn't enough. More. You need so much more. But it's hard to speak when your mouths clash, tongues tangling so sloppily that calling it a kiss would be an insult to the word.

"Go." Panting against his lips. "Slow." One more word. One more word. "Later."

Rhett draws back, spit-slick lips glistening in the light. The corner of his eye twitches. As if set off by it, you involuntarily clamp down around nothing, needily seeking something that isn't there yet. The emptiness is nauseating.

"Rhett," you plea, because why in God's name is he not in you yet?

Dumb, stupid, well-meaning alpha. Always has to be taking his time and treating you like you're made of glass, ready to shatter at any given moment. But you're made of the same material as he is, fully capable of rolling over and—

Teeth sink into the scruff of your neck. Every bone, muscle, and fiber in your body goes still. You're stuck like this. Face down, trapped beneath his body, ass high in the air for him. Big arms cage your waist, his chest resting against your back like you're a pair of wild animals—no grace or sophistication about it.

"'m tryin' to be careful with you, darlin'," his growl is muffled by your own flesh, still caught between his sharp teeth, "y' don't want me bruisin' this little pussy of yours, now do ya?"

And as if to punctuate his sentence, his hips twitch toward, cock slipping between your slick-soaked thighs. Draws back, angle shifting just enough to have his blunt tip pressing against your weeping entrance, opening you the slightest fraction, then slipping out to slide through the folds of your cunt instead.

The voice in your head suggests it's a threat. A reminder of what he's capable of. But your body says otherwise, already pressing back into him despite the teeth holding you pliant. Thick waves of want pulsing through your veins, thoughts aligning to echo the same damn thing. You need more.

A cramp takes hold of your lower belly, a stabbing sort of sensation that makes you wince. Whatever primal instinct lingering in your genetics is livid.

"It hurts." You cry in a pitchy tone you've never heard yourself use before.

"'m gonna fix it," his mouth reels away from your neck, licking over the irritated skin. "I promise."

Again, you push back. Hands digging into the bed, moving with your whole body. Sharp teeth sink back into your neck, his arms coiling around you, pulling tight until you can no longer move.

That pressure appears again, and this time, it doesn't disappear. The unmistakable sensation of his fat cock head pressing into your pussy. He feels so much different than the silicone of your toys, warm and pulsing and so much fucking thicker; you're quite literally made to take a cock like his, loose and slick with your heat, and yet there's still an ache blooming.

It feels impossible. There's no way...there's no way that's going to fit.

Oh, but the feel of his tip alone has you gushing around him, an obscene amount of slick waterfalling down your thighs and onto the mattress below. He groans, low and heavy, his heated breath tickling the back of your ear.

"Rhett..."

"I'm here," he's murmuring, and again, he's soothing the bite with his tongue. You wonder if this is what it would feel like for him to mate you. For him to sink his teeth into the scent gland on the side of your neck and let instinct take over, lick the wound clean, smother you in his scent, and then bear his pretty, pale neck for you to take for yourself.

You can't think about it for long. Not with his cock sinking into your aching heat, filling every centimeter of you, so big that he presses against each and every little nerve without needing to try. It's as if you're being split wide open, forced to do nothing but relax and take it like a good little omega.

A whimper escapes you, pitchy and involuntary. Set off by the drag of his tip against a particularly sensitive spot.

"'s that where you like it?" He coos, rumbling into your ear. It's all you can do to tilt your head back, your cheek bumping into his nose. So close, not another word spoken.

It's like being broken apart and then built back up again. Fuck you can feel him up in your throat. The stretch of him is so much that it aches. Your mouth falls open at the feel of him inching deeper and deeper, pushing the air from your lungs, winding your muscles tight. Head spinning with a gentleness that wasn't there before as if your own body knows that it no longer needs to fuss about an alphas cock.

The solid bone of his hips presses into the swell of your ass. Fully in you now. His heated breath fans out over your shoulder, heavy and carrying the faintest noises along with it.

You'd thought that you'd let go of the breath caught in your throat, but...but...

"Fuck, look at you," the soft scruff of his jaw tickles your naked shoulder, such a foreign sensation to feel him there. So unfair. You should have known this feeling years ago. "So fuckin' pretty."

His hands roam up your sides, callouses catching on the smooth skin, dragging just right. A shiver ripples up your spine, body involuntarily falling forward, only to sway back into him.

Stars sparkle. Your legs nearly come out from under you. "Shit, Rhett..."

So much. There's so much of him. In you and around you and on top of you and crowding every single one of your senses. There's no hotel. No concern about how terrible everyone at home may feel. No earth around you. Not a single star in the galaxy. Just Rhett, Rhett, Rhett.

"Move," you whisper as kisses press to the length of your spine. One after the other, like he's trying to love on each and every bone there.

You squirm forward, then back again, hardly enough to even count as a movement, but the underside of his cock drags right against a nerve that damn near takes your voice away. His hand flattens against your belly, but he doesn't hear you.

"Move," you try again, craning your head to look at him. Dark blue eyes lift, looking back at you, still peppering your back with love. "Please, Rhett—"

His hips snap into you. Pressing hard.

Your elbows crumple, falling face first into the pillow, but he just keeps fucking pressing into you, as if you could possibly take any more. A whine sparks out of you, twisting to expose your neck to him. He chuckles at that, low and dark, tongue poking past his lips to run over the delicate scent gland hiding there.

Then, slowly, he begins to move. Drawing back at a snail's pace, his forearms caging your waist as if to keep you from running away when he pushes back into you. Shivers run through your thighs, already beginning to clench from the feeling of him inside you alone.

You've dreamed of this too many times for the newness to remain for long, squirming beneath him, fighting to keep your eyes on his face. Flushed and red in the cheeks, has yet to say anything, but it's easy to tell that he's feeling it, too.

Those careful back and forths are already beginning to find their confidence, like he's slowly realizing that his cock isn't going to break you into two, no matter how much it feels like it will. Hips hitting your ass hard enough to send you jolting, a surprised little 'uh' breaking past your lips.

"Only goddamn omega in the state of Wyomin'," he muses aloud, nails dragging over the side of your ass, making you squirm against him, "n here ya are, gettin' mounted by a cowboy."

Impatient, he snaps into you. Heavy balls smacking into your clit. Electricity jumps up your belly. You hardly recognize what's happening. But you're fluttering around him. Heart lurching in your chest. Slick gushing down your thighs. Crying out as you suddenly cum on his cock. Eyes rolling back into your head and all.

"Fuck, that's...fuck," Rhett hisses through grit teeth, but he's not stopping. No, no, he's not even slowing down.

Shocks fire through your nerves with every motion. The kiss of his fat head against your nerves. The drag of his length along your trembling walls. The slight swell of a knot catching on your swollen entrance. But it feels so good that you can't do anything but hold still, clenching around him like a goddamn vice.

"Can't believe I never—mmh," his head falls forward, thunking against your shoulder, hips rolling into you in languid motions. "Can't believe I went this long without breedin' this pretty lil pussy of yours."

Air catches in your throat. Cunt sent into a spasm from his words alone. "If you keep talking, I'm...I'm..." You haven't got an ending for that sentence, left open-ended and hanging.

Kisses lead up the side of your neck, working their way to your jaw. You tilt your head, trying your best to meet him. The angle puts a strain on your neck, unable to bend any further. Even as you push your hands into the mattress and try to force yourself backward, you can't...quite...

The room shifts. Falling forward into the pillow. Rhett's heavyweight collapses on top of you. Cool air greets your swollen cunt, suddenly empty.

"Well, that didn't..." Rhett's laugh is a melody in your ear, his smile so big that you can feel it against your cheek, "that didn't work too well."

Between the emptiness in your skull and the sudden change in position, figuring out where you start and where he ends is a...challenge. He starts moving at the same time that you do. His knee awkwardly slots behind your thighs. Your knuckles accidentally smack into his jaw. And he's moving toward you, but you're twisting against the mattress, and your noses are smacking into each other—

"There's your pretty face," he grins, a little too cheerful. You've barely got time for your back to settle against the cheap mattress before he leans in.

The kiss is a little too innocent for what's going on below. Soft, chaste pecks. A sharp contrast to the way he settles between your parted legs, heavy cock bumping into you. Your hand darts between your bellies, blindly guiding him toward your sex.

It's easier the second time. The gentle glide of him, chasing away that infuriating emptiness as he sinks back into you, balls bumping into your ass. So much better. This is so much better. You're already wandering, hands roaming across the broad expanse of his shoulders, seeking the perfect spot to cling on to him.

"Look at that..." he breathes, and you don't need to guess to know what he's referring to, "gonna have y' limpin' before the nights over."

It's the kind of thing that has you shivering. The obscene sight of his thick cock disappearing between your legs stretched to your absolute limit. Impossible to look away from, even when he draws back by an inch or two, testing the angle as he sinks back in. Almost effortless, he nudges against a bundle of nerves. Sets it ablaze like a match on gasoline.

"Fuck. I can feel ya clenchin' round me, sweetheart," his eyelashes flutter, hair falling into his red face, swinging in synchrony with the lazy rocking of his body, easing in and out of you. "'s it feel that good?"

Greedy, you reach for his biceps, squishing the girth of them, muscle flexing beneath your fingertips. "Uhuh," speaking dumbly. Not another thought crosses your mind.

There can't possibly be a bad position with Rhett, but this is something else entirely. Feels so nice to wrap your legs around his hips, heels digging into his ass, clinging to his big, warm body. Chest to chest, so close that his scruffy jaw tickles your cheek, big blue eyes threatening to drown you if he gets any closer.

Your mouths fall open, meeting for another one of those kisses that insult the romantics attached to such a word. Nothing but lewd tongue and saliva running down your chins, panting into each other, breath so hot that it ought to fog up the room. And you just can't help it, not with the press of his cock against your nerves, so damn big that missing them is impossible.

He's too quiet. Stiffling little noises in the back of his throat, extinguishing them before they can make it past the tip of his tongue. One of your hands is slithering up his arm. Wandering across the expanse of his shoulders, fingers tangling into the loose curls at his nape and pulling.

A whine cuts through the air. Muffled at the end, but it's there nonetheless.

Words collide in your head. Tumbling down onto your drooling tongue. "Wanna hear you."

It should take more convincing than that, but for some reason, that's all that it takes for him to give you what you want. A little noise soars out of him with all the perfection and catchiness of the new biggest hit playing on the radio.

You think you can cum from that sound alone.

This is so surreal.

The nuzzle of his nose against yours, panting against your lips. The flex of muscle in his belly, as he draws himself back and forth, rutting into you, slow, yet meeting your body hard enough to have your back jostling against the mattress. You think you catch the sound of your name, twisted into the symphony of noises rattling around the room.

"I love you," it slips out of you with crippling ease; has been sitting on your tongue for so, so long that you forgot it was there at all.

His lips wobble up into a smile. There's a glassiness in his eye that wasn't there before. "And I love you."

He melts.

Falls into you, even.

Nothing but sweaty skin and wandering hands and peppered kisses everywhere that they'll fit. Up the side of your clammy neck, atop his burning forehead. The base of his knot is starting to swell, catching on your entrance with every stroke, tugging just enough for it to rip a gasp out of you.

"'m close," he whispers, just a little secret to be shared between you and him. Not another soul is allowed to know of this little slice of heaven situated atop this old hotel mattress. "You gotta...baby, if y' don't let me go, 'm gonna..."

"Knot." Blurting. Your eyes flutter. "Please, I want—"

He hums. Doesn't need to open his mouth for you to understand that he gets it. No fuss about the crippling lack of a condom or how you really, truly can't go back from this, instead blindly following your request with crippling loyalty. Yours. Your alpha. The one who would follow you to the ends of the earth without a word.

Even if you wanted to, it's too late to change your mind because his knot is too swollen to slip out of you. Weary, unstable thrusts are forced into an unfamiliar shallowness, but it's forcing an angle that has him rolling directly into every little nerve. You can't stop the hand that dives between your bodies, fingertips pressing to your clit in a familiar fashion.

Just a little more. Just a little more.

An involuntary clench is all it takes to have him spilling over the edge. Face falling into the crook of your neck, cumming with a choked cry that rings through your head. Fuck nobody ever told you that you'd be able to feel his knot swelling inside of you. Stretching you beyond your limit, hot cum spilling into your pussy, not a drop of it spilling out.

Without warning, your back twitches up off the bed, cumming without warning. Head thrown back. Heart pounding against your chest. Clenching like a vice around Rhett's twitching cock. You might be muttering his name because you can feel your mouth moving, but you're too far away to hear what's leaving your lips. Entirely lost in the thundering clouds looming in the skies.

However long you're up there, you have no idea, but at some point, Rhett finds the strength to settle onto his forearms. Pressing kisses to your lower jaw and trailing up to your temple, shiny with your scent. No two descriptions of it have been the same, but you like to believe his description is closest to reality. A fresh strawberry pie, sitting on the windowsill after the rain has ended.

You can't help yourself, his neck is right there. The gland exposed to you like he's trying to show it off, so sensitive that he gasps at the nip of your teeth.

He hums, leaning back just far enough to get a look at your face. Whatever he finds looming behind your sparkling eyes is enough to have a smile contorting his lips. Then, he tilts his head to the side, properly bearing his neck to you.

You know what he's offering. Asking. The quietest proposal you've ever heard.

Logic suggests that you wait. Give yourselves time to grow together. Adjust to the discomfort of a collar in exchange for the opportunity to take things slow. The world won't end if you step off onto the well-worn path of tradition; if it's worked for everyone else, then it should work for you.

But you've done enough waiting. Your heart made its decision a long time ago.

The movies made this seem like some blinding moment of passion. The moment your teeth sink into the delicate scent gland, the world should explode into colors that you've never seen before. The answers to the universe ought to dance around your fingertips, hearts springing from your eyes.

But all Rhett does is giggle.

Gidy, like a little kid on the playground, as he cranes his head to find the matching spot on your neck. Soothing it with his tongue before his canines break the skin.

Blood rushes to your face so quickly that you can hear it in your ears. Your heart jumps, and maybe it grows the slightest bit warmer, but...nothing changes. It's still you, Rhett, and his big, strong body shielding yours from the world. These hands that cradle your cheeks are still the ones that you've known all these years. He still nuzzles your noses together, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

Voices rattle in the hallway. Something—no, someone, bumps against the door, her giggles intertwining with the laughter of a much deeper voice.

"Mine."

You don't recognize...

was that you?

"'re you growlin' again?" Rhett asks, in that playfully accusatory tone, shoulders already shaking with a laugh.

You don't realize your chest is rumbling until it stops. "No." Blinking. No, that wasn't...

"Didn't know y' were this possessive of me," there's no arguing with him; he knows what he's heard. Already beginning to cover your cheek in kisses, his body shifting between your legs. That knot is still snug, tying your bodies together for the next half-hour at minimum.

"I'm not possessive," you try, but it's hard to be convincing when he's looking at you with those pretty blue eyes like you're his whole world and then some. Maybe that's your hopeful heart talking, or maybe it's truly what you saw.

"Yes, you are," amusement lacing his tone, "'s cute."

If heaven's a moment, then you must be dead.

There are too many things in this damn kitchen.

Scratch that, too many fucking cookies. Some still rising in the oven, and others are scattered on plates across the counter, with their stupid, sweet aroma that does nothing but give you a mild migraine. This idea was better in theory than in execution. You'll be damned if you get ambitious and decide to bake treats for everyone on the ranch again.

A warmth greets your nose. Leather and something smokey sweet, like a marshmallow roasting over an open campfire. Just a hint of it at first, carrying in through the back door and swirling around the room like a loose tornado, growing in tune with the boots thunking toward you.

Clink.

"Are you ever taking those spurs off?" You chirp, too focused on setting this tray on top of the stove to look in his direction. If you drop these, your life might end on the spot.

Arms coil around your waist, the thick muscle rippling as he draws you back by an inch, your back coming to rest against a sturdy chest. Lips press to your cheek. One. Two. Three kisses. Leading down to his favorite grand finale: the scar on your neck.

A shiver ripples up your spine.

"Gon' have to leave soon," He doesn't answer your question. Probably because you already know the answer; he was going to, but he forgot. "'s a long drive, 'member?"

"Hang on, hang on." Placing the oven mitt off to the side, you reach for a cookie. Still warm, but no longer a burn hazard. Blindly, you lift it to your shoulder until he leans forward to take it with his mouth. "You go pro, and all of a sudden, you're insufferable again."

A chuckle rumbles out of him at that, but he's temporarily muzzled, the short hair on his chin tickling your skin when he nears the end of the cookie. His lips wrap around the tips of your fingers, stealing away the final piece.

"Like you ain't got a thing for showin' me off after a good ride," his arms tighten as he speaks, fully securing you against him now.

...and drawing your ass right into a familiar pressure. Don't need to look to know that you're pressing yourself back into the bulge in his jeans, heavy and looking for fun that you, unfortunately, don't have time for. "Are we still talking about bull riding?"

Twisting in his arms is easy. You've done it so many times that you ought to know that you should draw your head back, but your noses collide anyway. Breaking the habit isn't worth it.

"Dunno," he's got chocolate on the corner of his lip, and even his smile cannot distract you from it, "you tell me."

This is a routine you've danced a hundred times. The pre-rodeo adrenaline that has him crawling all over you like some kind of love bug, desperate to relieve the tension building in his muscles.

Relieving it is only temporary; you should know. You rode him within an inch of his life last month, and he still jumped the fence to get to you, the camera chasing him and touting you to the world as Rhett Abbott's mate—his omega, at that. So much for organically reaching out and introducing your family to the man you left everything for.

You still need to answer the bombardment of texts that have been rotting in your phone.

Careful to avoid the hot pan, your hand darts back toward the counter, feeling around until you find something warm and round. Making extra of these has been your best idea yet.

"Then we're talking about both," you pull him in for a kiss. Swift. Chaste. And before he can lean in and seek out any more, you shove the cookie into his mouth.

Your shirt is gone before you can leave the kitchen.

By the time your back hits the bedroom door, his hands are disappearing below your waistband, and sickly sweet chocolate is the only thing you can taste on his lips. There are things to do. Places to be. Bags to load into the car and a map to figure out.

But you fear you've grown addicted to these grumbling kisses of his, crave the warmth of his body against yours and all of the other things that come with him. It's a hunger you've never been able to satisfy, and not another alpha will do. Not one with money. Or someone that your family hand-picked. Or someone with a fancy cologne crafted by a brand you can't pronounce the name of.

Just this one.

#rhett abbott x reader #afab reader #oneshot #rhett abbott #outer range

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awkward-tension-art · 6 months ago

Text

Darkness on Umbara Chp.1 (Rex x Reader)

Hey everyone! guess whose in too deep!? me! I've clung to these fictional copy-paste men so much, you can call me a fucking LEECH!

Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10. Chapter 11. Chapter 12. Chapter 13. Epilogue

Landing on Umbara

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, swearing, death and battle, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, reader insert, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

This is very briefly proofread so I die like a man

Minors DNI, even if theres no smut

Umbara was dark. From what you gathered, it was extremely fucking dark.

You prepared your supplies with Kix. As medics, you both needed to double and triple check every pack, case and box.

Kix would be on the front. His expertise was more front line first-aid rather than your position behind the forces. He would keep the men alive long enough to get to your hands where you’d focus on the more intense medical care. While you would be armed to defend yourself, it was better if you stayed out of the line of direct fire.

Your safety and position were tied to the status you were given. As a natural born human in the GAR, your life was inherently seen as more important than the clones. This thought process was something you were vehemently against. You and your fellow soldiers were on equal ground. You’ve always tried to treat them with respect, kindness and patience.

On several occasions nat-borns would disrespect or belittle clones in your presence, which usually resulted in a verbal lashing from you. Much to the joy of your General Anakin and his padawan Ahsoka.

And the affection of a certain Captain Rex.

You peered up from looking over the medical supplies you were supposed to carry. Currently your secret lover was across the hangar meeting with the Jedi generals, ARC troopers and commander of the 212th.

Despite being in his helmet, you knew you caught his eye. Rex didn’t give anything away except a small movement of his hand. Something Fives didn’t miss, who gave you a small wave.

He knew of your relationship with Rex. So did Anakin. But other than those two, it was secret. All for his protection, as clones were forbidden from romantic partners.

There was a surge of energy in the hangar and you looked around. Your eyes met Kix’s before you nodded to him, “Showtime.” The first wave was loading up ready to get to Umbara’s surface.

“I’ll keep Rex safe until you touch down.” Your medic friend winked at you before he stood, got his helmet on and got to his transport.

Scratch that, Kix knew about you and the captain too.

Several of the gunships lifted, flying from the hangar down to the planet below. The first wave of troops, including ARF troopers, were being sent down to clear the field. From there, a second wave of back-up, your wave, would join them. Your command was temporary. All you had to do was get them to the ground before they took orders from Rex and Anakin.

You adjusted your gauntlet with the communicator on it. T-minus 5 minutes. Your fingers danced over your supplies, double-checking everything you had.

Bandages, tourniquets, laser cauterizers, laser scalpel, bacta, patches, emergency suture kits…

“Ready, doc?” A trooper, Ringo, took you out of your thoughts.

With a nod, you lifted your pack and stepped up onto the gunship, “Ready. Let’s load up.”

Others followed your orders and soon, you were in the sky above Umbara.

Despite the first wave’s efforts, chaos still reigned. Almost immediately your gunship was assaulted by artillery fire. A shot exploded next to you, shaking the entire air vehicle. A ship to the west of yours burst into an explosion of flames.

In response, your second hand shot up for stability. A trooper had their hand on your shoulder to help keep you steady. After a moment, the transport stabilized and you let go, stepping to the back where a crate of supplies waited.

“Dare, how close are we?” You chimed on your communicator. Hopefully you didn’t startle the pilot.

“Landing in 30, I can’t get to the landing site, so you’ll have to walk some to the staging area,” he responded.

“Play it safe,” You commanded, “Land where you can. And try not to crash, I like living and I'm sure the other men do too.” A couple of clones snickers in their helmets. Your little quip helped ease the atmosphere it seemed.

You prepared a speeder. The small vehicle had been modified to carry a patient and allow you to transport extra medical supplies. It was outfitted with some extra armor and protection as well, so in an emergency you could activate a rayshield at the cost of the vehicle's speed.

“Doc, landing in 10.”

“Good job.” You spoke into your communicator before getting on the speeder. You counted down in your head, and just as you got to 1, the doors opened.

The troopers unloaded, guns ready. Shots were fired, though it didn’t seem as concentrated. Explosions were going off, but at a relatively safe distance. Seemed the first wave did a better job than you originally thought. Your speeder got to the ground, and you made your way to the staging area with the rest of the men.

The battalion had established some trenches, allowing a brief moment of rest and preparation for everyone. You stopped right at the small medical area Kix had skillfully established. Already there were injured in the double digits. Without pause, you got to work.

“You nearly missed the party,” Kix snarked, handling a blaster burn on the thigh of a shiny.

“I’d call this fashionably late,” you quipped back, getting your hands on a different soldier. Blood was seeping from the bottom of his damaged helmet, staining his blue and white chestplate in red. Your mind kicked into training, “What's your name?” You asked, voicing a kinder tone.

The poor clone was clearly in agony, responding with a tremor to his words, “S-Stag.” He swallowed, trying to control his mental state.

These damn soldiers liked to pretend everything was fine.

“Alright Stag, I’m gonna remove your helmet.”

He didn’t argue when you pulled it off revealing the extent of the damage.

Severe blaster burn. Missing eye. Jaw visible. Shrapnel from the helmet had pierced his cheek and temple. Concussion possibly.

His remaining brown eye looked wildly at you. You recognized fear. terror.

So, you gave him a reassuring soft smile, “Not too bad, I’ve dealt with worse.” Your fingers quickly wrapped around an injector filled with painkillers, “Here, I’m gonna give you something to help with the pain.” Your words seemed to have a positive effect because he nodded and let you treat him.

You worked quickly and efficiently, stemming the bleeding and getting him stabilized. When you were finished, he had calmed down considerably. Once Stag was stable, you moved on to the next trooper.

By the fifth, you realized one of them couldn’t be saved.

He was a shiny. Barely off Kamino you guessed. The plastoid of his chest piece looked to be shattered and singed from a bolt to the chest. His breathing was shaky as he leaned against the dark trunk of a glowing tree.

“I need a trooper.” you called taking the soldier’s hand in your own. You learned quickly into the war that the clones always wanted to die with a brother near them. A reminder that they weren’t alone.

“I hope I’m good enough.”

That voice.

“Rex,” Your head turned, looking up at him. You wished you could smile, but you had to keep your excitement under a mask. Plus, the situation didn’t call for it.

His warm eyes were on yours as he pulled off his helmet and knelt. There was clear sadness, knowing that this was the end for one of his men. So the only thing he could do was offer comfort.

“Fyre.” The captain spoke softly, “You did well.” He put one armored hand on the dying man's shoulder.

Wordlessly, you gave Fyre a shot for the pain and held his hand, “Everything is alright now.” you whispered to him. This wasn’t uncommon, when you or Kix were too late to save someone.

At the beginning you would burn through supplies trying to save everyone, only to fail and lose them anyway. Over the course of the war, you knew to recognize when all you could do was ease their pain and let them slip away.

It was the grim reality of the war. You couldn’t save them all.

Fyre coughed and squeezed your hand. His eyes closed and the clone took his last breath.

“Damnit.” you swore, checking his pulse. You only felt stillness. He was gone.

Rex sighed, “You tried. So, thank you,” He stood and helped you stand. He couldn’t let his grief from the loss overwhelm him, “I wish you stayed on the ship.” The clone captain admitted, “I get the feeling Umbara is going to be brutal. More so than previous battles.”

“You can’t get rid of me so easily,” Your eyes quickly scanned around. No one seemed to be close enough or paying attention to the two of you, “My darling.” you added, interlocking your fingers.

Your lover looked around quickly before he responded quietly, “Mesh’la, be careful what you say.” Despite his warning, he made no move to pull away. In fact, he stepped closer, “For now, at least.”

Of course, you knew the two of you had to reign in your love and affection in front of others. On the battlefield he was the captain and you the field doctor. Trying to push those boundaries would stress him out. Afterall, if his romance with you got to Kamino, they’d call for a decommission. Something Anakin would never go for, but better safe than sorry.

However, he warmed to small touches and brief moments whenever the situation allowed.

Your lips had a small smile, “I’m glad you're not hurt.” you raised one palm to stroke the side of his helmet. The battle wasn’t even an hour in and already his armor was dirty.

“Promise me you’ll be careful.” Rex murmured, keeping his voice down, “Please, ner kar’ta.” He was being protective again. Normally the captain was better at prioritizing. He was the leader of the battalion first and your lover second. But right now he seemed…spooked. Were things getting bad already?

Umbara must be getting to him. After all this assault was much different than other battles.

“I’ll promise if you promise,” Your lips quickly pecked his visor. It was chaste and fast, so no one could see. Just a sweet kiss between the two of you.

He was about to respond when his communicator went off.

“General Skywalker,” Your lover pulled back and raised his wrist up.

“Come find me, I need the status of our men.” Anakin’s voice sounded on the other end, “and tell our good doctor I said hello.”

You snorted.

“Right away, General.” the clone captain said, returning to his professionalism. He looked at you one more time before stepping away to find the jedi.

You sighed, “Back to work.” Without waiting a second, you found another injured soldier and began to treat him.

Your eyes glanced at the shadowy sky for a moment, unable to shake the pit in your stomach. It felt like something was deeply wrong.

The darkness on Umbara must already be getting to you too.

#reader insert #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #star wars x reader #the clone wars x reader #captain rex #clone trooper kix #umbara arc #clone wars 501st #tcw x you #tcw x reader #star wars the clone wars #Star Wars

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beauttifullife · 22 days ago

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Epilogue: The Silence that Comes After the Echo

234 Years Later

The world had truly gone to shit. Global warming. Plagues. Food shortages. Greed. War. It all came together like Thanos’s little infinity stones, and with a snap of the universe’s cruel fingers, chaos reigned. Rio had never been so busy. And she’d been around during the Black Plague—unjustly blamed on her, of course.

There was so much death now.

More than Rio could handle at times, though she'd never admit it. The air was thick with it, the stench of rot and decay almost suffocating. It clung to her, followed her through every town, every city, as she quietly took the souls who still had somewhere to go.

There were fewer of those lately. She used to be able to walk among humans with a sense of detachment, knowing she was there to serve a purpose. Death wasn’t something to mourn; it was a passage, a release. But now? Now the ones who died weren’t going to the beyond.

No, they weren’t deserving of it anymore. Not after the cruelty they had unleashed.

It was a strange thing—how the balance had shifted.

In the past, death was a tragedy, something that cut lives short, something that wasn’t supposed to come so soon. But now? Now Rio saw death as a mercy. It was the rare souls—the ones still clinging to hope, to love—that she found herself walking alongside. The ones who deserved rest. The ones who still carried light in a world that had gone dark.

Rio knelt beside a dying man, her expression cold, unmoved by the grotesque gurgling sound that came from his throat as he choked on his own blood. His body twitched, fingers clawing at the dirt in desperate attempts to hold onto life. His little gang had made the fatal mistake of stealing an ancient tome of death magic, using it with a sadistic glee that even made Rio’s stomach turn. The way they’d torn through towns, leaving nothing but ruin and screams in their wake, had drawn her here. And now, as the life drained from him, she watched without a flicker of emotion.

She had seen it all before. Death was her world. But some deaths—like his—were earned.

His eyes glazed over, and as his soul began to slip from his body, he finally saw her. His face contorted in horror, his final breath catching in his throat.

"Please... take me," he gasped, his voice hoarse and broken, the weight of fear palpable in every word.

It always amazed her, how the worst of the worst always begged in the end. They’d tormented, slaughtered, and destroyed without a second thought, showing no mercy. And yet, when they saw her, they pleaded. They fell to their knees, terrified of the fate they knew awaited them. The irony wasn’t lost on Rio—their victims had begged too. Their screams had echoed in the same way, only to be met with cold indifference.

So, she returned the favor.

Rio didn’t flinch. She simply stood, silent, and turned her back on him.

Behind her, his screams turned from the agonized wail of a dying man to something far darker—a sound that echoed around the room, the scream of a soul trapped, torn from this world but never allowed to leave.

She had no mercy for monsters.

His soul would rot here, forever bound to the misery he had created.

The air in the room was thick with the stench of death, bodies strewn across the floor in dark, crumpled cloaks. These men—no, these monsters—had brought this on themselves. Rio had only come to deliver the consequences.

From across the room, purple magic crackled and hissed, cutting through the air with a savage intensity. The beam hit one of the last remaining men, and his scream reverberated through the hollowed-out room, bouncing off the stone walls and filling the air with its haunting sound. It was the kind of scream that stuck with you, that crawled under your skin and stayed with you long after it stopped.

Rio’s gaze landed on the source of the magic, knowing exactly who it came from.

Agatha stood at the far end of the room, her face twisted in pure, unbridled rage—the same fury she had carried in her youth. But time, as it always did, had marked her, like it had everything else, even witches. Her once dark hair had turned a striking shade of silver, the strands catching the dim light of the room like threads of moonlight. Her face was lined with wrinkles, etched by years of heartache and battles.

Rio didn’t age.

She never had.

It was both a perk and a curse of being what she was—a cosmic being, beyond time, beyond death itself. But she could manipulate bodies, shift her appearance to blend in. As Agatha aged, so did she. Gray streaked through her hair, wrinkles carved themselves into her skin, and the look of frailty clung to her like an old cloak. But it was all a façade. Beneath it, she was still as powerful as ever, capable of breaking someone in half if necessary.

Sometimes, it was even fun—taking those by surprise who thought they were dealing with an innocent old lady, only to find out they were woefully mistaken.

But now, as she watched Agatha—watched the weight of centuries hanging off her like heavy chains—Rio felt an ache deep inside her. Agatha had truly aged. Time had marked her, left its fingerprints in the silver strands of her hair and the lines etched across her face. And yet, there was something about her in this moment, something raw and untouchable, something that transcended the years.

The fire in Agatha’s eyes, the strength that had never waned, even in the face of all they had lost—it was still there, burning just as fiercely as ever. And it made Rio’s heart clench with that same familiar ache of longing she had always felt for her.

Gods, even now, after everything, Agatha was still the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

Rio stepped forward, her eyes glued to Agatha’s labored breaths, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. There was something unbearable about the sight—the weight in every breath, the weakness in Agatha’s posture that shouldn’t exist in someone like her. This woman, who once set the world on fire with a glance, now seemed too heavy, too tired to stand straight.

A century ago, Rio had felt it. The first soft tug, like a whisper from the universe, telling her that time was running out for Agatha. She’d felt it deep in her bones, the same way she felt Nicky's, and it had nearly broken her. The first time the pull came, it tore through her so violently she nearly brought down their entire house with a storm of magic that hadn’t erupted from her in over 5,000 years.

She never told Agatha. Rio didn’t lie to her, ever—but gods, she had thought about it then. She had considered lying, just once, to protect her from the truth. But Agatha had never asked, and so Rio had kept her silence, grateful for that one small mercy. Agatha had chalked up Rio’s outburst to another tragedy in their broken world, and Rio let her believe it.

That night, Agatha had simply made her soup, sat beside her on the couch, and read aloud from their old, worn copy of Candide. It was a balm to the storm inside Rio, soothing her without words, without questions. It was just what Agatha did.

But time was relentless. The pull on Agatha’s soul had only grown stronger, harder to ignore, louder with each passing year. It gnawed at Rio, a relentless, unyielding force. The truth was, no matter how powerful she was, Rio didn’t have the ability to stop the world from turning. She couldn’t hold back the sunrise, no matter how hard she tried. And every time she felt that pull, she knew—Agatha’s time was running out.

She had even considered finding the Time Stone, diving into the multiverse to seek it out, but she couldn’t risk it. Time was fickle in the other dimensions. A day spent searching could mean centuries lost here. She could come back to a world where Agatha was long gone, and that... that was a fate Rio could never accept.

And now, standing here, the pull on Agatha’s soul was like a scream. Rio felt it in her core, in the way her magic hummed with warning.

Something had shifted.

She stepped forward again, her heart pounding in her chest. Agatha’s face twisted in a wince, her hand pressing hard against her side, trying—futilely—to stop the steady flow of blood pooling beneath her shirt.

“Agatha,” Rio’s voice came out as a broken whisper, her chest tightening painfully.

Agatha met her gaze, stubborn as always, even in pain.

“It’s nothing,” Agatha muttered through gritted teeth, her jaw clenched tightly as she pressed her hand harder against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding.

But Rio knew better. She could feel the pull, that terrible, familiar sensation gnawing at her insides—the countdown had begun, and this time there was no turning it back. Agatha’s soul was slipping away, and if Rio didn’t stop the bleeding soon, it would be gone for good.

“Let me see,” Rio demanded, her voice soft but trembling with urgency. She stepped closer, her hands shaking as she reached out, helping Agatha sit down. She winced at the sound of Agatha’s sharp intake of breath, the pained whine that escaped her lips as she sank against the crumbling wall behind them.

Rio’s chest tightened painfully, her heart twisting at the sight of the woman she loved suffering like this. She’d patched Agatha up more times than she could count—this wound wasn’t even the worst one she’d seen. But somehow, it hurt more now. It hurt in a way that felt deeper, sharper, like her heart was curling in on itself, folding under the weight of the inevitable.

Rio knelt beside her, carefully pushing Agatha’s blood-soaked hand aside to get a clearer look at the wound. The crimson seeped through her fingers, warm and unrelenting, as she tried to assess the damage.

“You’re getting slower in your old age, my love,” Rio said, her voice teasing, knowing the jab would bother Agatha just enough to distract her from the pain. Normally, those words would have come easily, a playful banter between them, but now they felt heavier on her tongue.

Agatha’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She let out a ragged breath, wincing at the sharpness of the pain that spread through her side.

“Don’t… push your luck,” she muttered, her voice weak but defiant.

But Rio saw through it. She always had. She could feel the pull—Agatha’s soul, slipping away, the countdown nearing its end. It terrified her more than any enemy they had faced together. More than the armies, more than the wars, more than death itself.

“Here—let me fix this,” Rio whispered, her voice trembling despite her best effort to keep steady.

She moved forward, green magic already flaring at her fingertips, desperate to heal—mend—anything to stop the inevitable. But before her magic could do its work, hands—wrinkled now but still so familiar—came down gently on hers, stopping her. The feel of them, the way they grasped her, firm but tender, sent a wave of emotion crashing over her.

Agatha.

Rio didn’t want to look down, but she did. She stared at their hands, intertwined over the wound, and felt it before she even had to look into Agatha’s eyes. The release. The quiet, heartbreaking acceptance. Agatha’s soul—ready to let go, ready to move on.

Once, that feeling had been a comfort. It used to bring her peace, a soft melody of closure. But now, coursing through her veins, it was unbearable. Like fire. Like loss. Like her world was being torn apart, and this time she couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“No,” Rio whispered, but her voice came out so weak, so broken, that she hated herself for it.

“Let me fix it, Agatha” she said, her voice more urgent as she pushed against Agatha’s hands, desperate to bring her magic back, to do something—anything.

But Agatha held on tighter, her grip weak but unyielding. She wasn’t going to let Rio save her this time.

“Mi amor,” Agatha whispered, and there was something so soft, so final in her voice that it made Rio flinch. Their fingers, once pressing against the wound, slowly intertwined—holding hands now, not to stop the bleeding, but as if to hold on to something far more fragile: time.

Time that was slipping away.

Rio felt like she was shattering, piece by piece. The weight of it all—Agatha’s life slipping through her fingers, the helplessness that wrapped around her like a vice—was suffocating. She couldn’t bear to look up, couldn’t face the truth that was already written in Agatha’s eyes.

“Please,” Rio whispered, her voice cracking as she tried again, even though she knew it was useless. She pressed her trembling hands to Agatha’s wound, trying to summon her magic once more, feeling it surge beneath her skin, but Agatha’s hand came down gently, stopping her.

“Please, let me fix this,” Rio begged, her voice raw with desperation, trembling as she struggled to hold back the rising tide of panic. The words hung in the air, desperate, pleading, like a prayer she knew would go unanswered.

But there was only silence.

A heavy, unbearable silence, one that pressed down on Rio’s chest like a weight she couldn’t lift. The stillness of it stretched on, filling the space between them like a gaping chasm, an unspoken truth that Rio wasn’t ready to face.

She could hear Agatha’s shallow breaths, each one weaker than the last, the sound growing fainter, like sand slipping through an hourglass. Time was running out, and Rio could feel it, could feel Agatha slipping away, even as she fought to hold her close.

The silence felt like a scream trapped in her throat. It felt like death, creeping closer with every heartbeat.

“Look at me,” Agatha rasped suddenly, her voice faint but commanding, cutting through the silence like a knife.

Rio hesitated, her heart pounding as she blinked back tears and forced herself to meet Agatha’s gaze.

Agatha was slumped against the wall, her body growing weaker by the second, but her eyes—those piercing blue eyes—still sparked with life. The fire in them had always been Rio’s beacon, the thing that pulled her back from the edge, time and time again. But now… that light was fading, and the thought of losing it made Rio’s chest ache like she was being ripped in two.

Agatha shook her head, her voice barely a whisper.

“I’m tired, Rio.”

The words sliced through Rio like a blade, sharp and unrelenting, piercing through every defense she had left. She wanted to fight, to rage, to push against the reality of it, but Agatha’s hand—weak as it was—held hers in place. Agatha’s grip was enough to anchor her, pulling her back to the truth neither of them wanted to face.

“No,” Rio’s voice broke, a sob clawing at her throat, threatening to escape. She felt helpless—completely powerless.

Gods. It felt like Nicky all over again.

That same unbearable pain, that same crushing grief. Only this time, it was worse. This time, Rio had the power to heal it. Agatha still had time.

“Agatha, please,” Rio’s voice was barely audible, her hands shaking against Agatha’s. Her magic flickered, weak and unstable, but Agatha’s purple magic just deflected it.

“I need more time,” she pleaded, the words strangled in her throat. “Just… a little more time.”

Agatha’s lips quirked in that familiar, tired smile, the one that had always undone Rio, and the sight of it now shattered her all over again.

“We’ve had centuries, Rio,” Agatha whispered, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps, her hand slipping weakly from Rio’s grasp. “And I… I’ve loved you every single second of it.”

Rio squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head fiercely, refusing to let go, refusing to accept the finality of those words. She clung to Agatha’s hand, her heart shattering in ways she didn’t think possible. The centuries they’d spent together flashed through her mind—a lifetime of love, laughter, and battles fought side by side. She wasn’t ready to lose her. Not yet. Not ever.

But Agatha, with that familiar stubbornness, gently unraveled their intertwined fingers, and then, Rio felt her hands on her face, cradling her with a tenderness that made Rio’s breath catch in her throat. Even now, Agatha was the one offering comfort, and it broke her all over again.

"Look at me, please," Agatha murmured, her voice soft but insistent, knowing exactly what that one word—please—would do.

Even after 580 years, Agatha had never quite mastered manners. She used them only when absolutely necessary, when she wanted something desperately enough to break her usual defiance. And this… this was something she wanted from Rio, something final, something that made Rio’s heart splinter and fracture with each passing second.

Reluctantly, Rio opened her eyes, her vision blurred by the tears she had fought so hard to hold back. They fell, one after another, and Agatha’s thumbs moved gently across her cheeks, wiping them away as if they were nothing more than droplets of rain. That simple tenderness, the softness of her touch, undid Rio completely.

Agatha pulled Rio forward and kissed her, so soft—so tender—that it broke something deep inside Rio. The kiss felt like a farewell, so final, so filled with love and acceptance that Rio couldn’t hold back the choked sob that escaped her, the sound muffled against Agatha’s lips.

When Agatha pulled back, she brought their foreheads together, resting against Rio with a familiarity that felt like home and goodbye all at once.

Rio’s breath hitched, tears spilling freely now, and Agatha just stayed there, her fingers curling weakly into Rio’s hair, offering the last of her strength. She was slipping away, and Rio knew it, could feel it. The countdown, the pull, the inevitable—all of it crashing down in this moment.

Agatha’s voice, barely a whisper, was the last thing Rio heard before the world shifted.

“Take me on an adventure, mi amor.”

The sun rose on the horizon, and Agatha was gone.

Agatha Vidal died on October 19th, 2258.

She was 584 years old.

She died wiping out an entire coven of witches who had been harming innocents. The world had gone to shit, and people no longer deserved to walk with death. But Agatha Vidal walked with her wife out of the world hand in hand.

She lived a long life, full of adventures, but her favorite one was her last.

#fanfic #lesbian #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3feed #ao3fic #ao3 link #agatha spoilers #agatha x rio #agatha coven of chaos #agatha harkness #agatha all along #rio #rio vidal

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nightghoul381 · 9 months ago

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Dark If ~Jude Jazza

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

London, the capital of the United Kingdom, boasted glittering prosperity during the reign of her majesty Queen Victoria.

I’m an ordinary citizen who works as a postman in the city.

I don’t have enough money to buy tickets to the performances I want to see.

(Okay, everything has been delivered for today.)

(If I could work a little more, I would be able to buy tickets to see that performance…)

Kate: “I’m back.”

Director: “Kate! Just in time for…no, but the roads are dangerous at night…”

Kate: “What’s wrong?”

Colleague: “Well, they have a vacancy for a night delivery person, so we’re short-staffed.”

(That’s it!)

Kate: “Please let me go!”

I take on an additional deliver and walk through the townhouse district illuminated by gas lamps.

(All I have to do is deliver a letter addressed to the bookstore manager.)

(Ah, “Kingsley Books”… here it is!)

Kate: “Excuse me, I’m from the post office, the manager…”

(There’s no one here, I guess I’ll just have to come back tomorrow,--Oh, what’s this...)

I picked up the book that had fallen casually at my feet.

As if drawn to something, I opened the untitled book.

Kate: “…!”

The wind whipped up, and I was enveloped in blinding light—

Beautiful man with long hair: “Welcome to the distorted fairy world…”

Beautiful man with long hair: “Our first visitor! Yaaaayyy!”

Beyond my open field of vision, a beautiful long-haired person was waiting for me.

Kate: “H-here… I… I was at the bookstore just now, and…”

I had no idea where I was or who the person in front of me was.

All I know now is that this is not a bookstore, and I still have work to do.

Kate: “Um, I’m in the middle of a delivery. So, I’d like to go back to Kingsly Books.”

Beautiful man with long hair: “I’m afraid that will be difficult.”

Kate: “Huh?”

Beautiful man with long hair: “Actually, I don’t even know how to send you home.”

The man, who introduced himself as Victor, tried to explain things to me and soothe my confused mind.

The place I am in now is between the world of fairy tales and the world in which I live.

Kate: “…Fairy world.”

Victor: “You were led here by an untitled book. Don’t you remember?”

Kate: “Yes. So, does that mean I got lost inside a book?”

Victor: “That’s right. You’re a quick and intelligent young lady.”

(I never thought that the adaptability I had honed as a postman would be put to use in a place like this.)

Kate: “But you… Victor, sir. I’m sure you just talked about a ‘twisted fairy world’.”

Victor: “Alice in Wonderland, Snow White, and Thorn Princess**.”

Victor: “Most fairy tales in the world have a fixed plot, and generally end with a happy ending.”

Victor: “However, in the world of fairy tales, the plot of the story has gone awry, chaos has reached its peak, and the ending is far from happy.”

Kate: “…How can that be?”

Victor: “That’s because…each fairy tale has something missing.”

Kate: “…Something missing. What is that?”

Victor: “Even I don’t know that.”

Victor: “I believe you were called here to look for it.”

(…er, in other words)

Kate: “If I find what’s missing, the distortions in the fairy world will be corrected, and the story will have a happy ending.”

Kate: “Then, I’ll be relieved of my role.”

Victor: “Perhaps then you can return to the world you come from.”

(If that’s the only way, I have no choice but to do it anyway.)

(Find what is missing in the distorted fairy world and correct the distortion. And with my own hands, lead it to a happy ending.)

Then I will return to the world I came from and continue my delivery.

Victor: “Ah, I think it’s almost time to wake up.”

Victor: “Miss Kate. With your hands, create the happiest ending.”

Victor: “—Come now, let’s go to the distorted fairy world.”

#ikemen villains #ikevil #ikemen villains translation #ikevil translation #jude jazza #ikevil jude #ikevil jude jazza #ikemen villains jude #ikemen villains jude jazza

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redbleedingrose · 2 years ago

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Always ~ Part 7

Azriel x Reader

Summary: You and Azriel have been best friends for years after you joined the inner circle as the top healer in Velaris. But with Elain and Nesta’s recent arrival, Azriel has begun to ignore your friendship in favor of being together with Elain. You are heartbroken, and it is Starfall where you will be confined in the house of wind with Azriel and Elain. Everything will be okay though… right?

Epilogue

A/N: Hello my lovely readers! Happy Friday! I want to start with apologizing for the wait that part 7 took, but it is the last part of this fic and I wanted it to be good and long. I was also struggling with some minor writers block and I had finals happening at the same time. I stayed up all night trying to write this out, so I hope that you all love this part. I also wanted to mention I will be having an epilogue posted sometime this weekend for Always as well as an Eris x Reader oneshot. As always, please leave a like, comment, and reblog. I love to hear your guys thoughts and the interaction always makes my fucking day.

Azriel’s grip on your fingers tightened, almost cutting off the circulation, as though he was frightened you would winnow away at any moment if he let go. His shadows were swarming around you both, enclosing you into darkness with only flickers of light from the hearth bleeding through, panicked from the entire aspect of you leaving him for good. He paused, listening to your breath mix with his, trying to formulate the words that he wanted to use to plead his case, to explain everything. To explain the pain he had caused you, to explain why he had hidden the mating bond that had snapped itself into place so long ago for him, to explain his friendship (if you could even call it that) with Elain, to explain why he had distanced himself from you.

That is what hurt the most. The fact that he distanced himself. It made every muscle in your body ache, every doubt and worry flooded itself into the striations of the cells that make up your heart. After all this time, after everything you had been together, it was the thing you least expected coming out of him. For years, even before under the mountain, you had prayed that the precious bond would snap into place. And when the fifty years of pure despair happened, the thought of seeing Azriel once more was the only thing that kept you going most days. But he had known. He had known about the mating bond. He had held feelings for you before all of this. He had known since before Amarantha even. And yet, he never said anything. Not a single word. Not even a tiny whisper.

“A little bit before Under the Mountain.” What the fuck did that even mean? How long had he hidden his feelings, if he even had any. Why didn’t he tell you then, and why didn’t he tell you after being away from him for fifty years without any contact? Had that lost time meant nothing to him? Had he even missed you while you were gone, suffering under Amarantha’s reign while the rest of the inner circle was allowed the peace of Velaris. In all honesty, you had felt cheated. Cheated out of what was supposed to be a beautiful moment between two best friends who had fallen in love. Cheated out of what life could have been, if only Az had told you. If only the bond had snapped into place for you at first, before him.

It was as though the spymaster picked up on your thoughts, the perceptive male he was, and tugged on the bond, trying to send all of his love and devotion down the tight golden string that held you both together as the shock of this night was starting to wear off leaving only confusion and hurt in its wake. His eyes, once more, locked onto yours, glinting with determination and truth, as he straightened his back and rustled his wings into a taut position. This would be the moment of truth, both of you knew that. Both of you were aware of the gravity of the situation. And you knew, somewhere deep inside you, that both of you wanted to walk away from this unharmed. But you also knew, you weren’t sure if Az could pull it off.

Despite all the pain Az had caused in a short time, your feelings for him were stronger. The moments where he would take care of you when you were sick. The moments when he would hold you when you were upset for some reason, any reason, and would whisper words of affirmation. The moments where you two would get drunk and spend the entire night gossiping about the inner circle and giggling at each other, with each other. The moments where you would stay up late into the night and read to each other. The moments you would almost set the house of wind on fire because of your efforts to bake together. The moments where you would comfort him and kiss his hands to reassure him that he was worthy of every good thing that has ever happened to him and every good thing that will ever happen to him. The little moments. The big moments. Any moment you shared before any of this still meant something, everything, to you. And you whole-heartedly believed they meant something to him too.

Azriel sent another tug at the bond before he began, “Do you remember when we first met?” He didn’t give you the chance to respond, smiling softly before continuing, “Rhys was practically forcing Cass and I to Windhaven; we had heard rumors that Devlon was planning a mass wing-clipping of the female babes at the camp, and we couldn’t let that happen. I was dreading it, Gods, I mean I was furious and was ready to rip off Devlons head. But we were dreading that we might’ve been too late. That we would walk into the massacre, and those female babes would suffer for the rest of their lives. As soon as Rhysand had informed us of our mission, Cass and I had left, flying as fast as we could to try to warn anyone who was willing to listen. Rhys had promised to come with something, or rather, someone for reinforcements, I suppose. And that was you. And you fucking stole my breath away when Rhys landed, carrying you in his arms. I had never seen someone as stunning as you.” He chuckled, clearly returning to the memory as his eyes glazed over, “Cass nearly knocked me over with a slight punch in the arm because I was so distracted by you. I was trying to commit every part of you to memory, and then Rhys told us you were there to heal any babe if our efforts weren’t to be a success, a preemptive measure he said. Cassian tried to impress you with his smooth talking, and you took it in stride and flirted right back, clearly unbothered. I was speechless. I didn’t know what to say to you. I was so anxious that I would say the wrong thing, so I just kept staring at you, and you didn’t say one word to me, Y/N. You just looked at me, eyes shining like the moon on winter solstice, and nodded in greeting before moving onto preparing for whatever was to come. You didn’t say one word, but you didn’t need to. I knew I was completely and utterly fucked, and I think Cass and Rhys knew too. They teased me for fucking hours.”

You couldn’t help but cackle at the memory, humor seeping into you, slightly dissolving a small bit of the pain. Of course Cassian and Rhys had teased Az. The busybodies had nothing better to do with their time. You remembered every moment of that day. You had met Rhys prior in an off-chance encounter. At the time, the high lord was settling into his new role and would spend his nights walking the streets of Velaris thinking of his responsibilities, the loss of his mother and sister still fresh, and the darkness that was slowly creeping over Prythian. He had come across you stumbling, drunk beyond belief after an extremely difficult and long day, and helped you sit down in a cafe near the sidra and bought you a coffee to help you sober up before he would walk you home. All your inhibitions were lowered and you hadn’t recognized the high lord, and so, while you sipped away at the sweetened mocha latte, you rambled about your day healing the most complex patients you had seen yet. And Rhys had been too kind, too patient, and was looking for anything to take his mind off his duties, and thus, had spent the entire night listening to you. It was only when the sun was beginning to rise that you became sober and aware of who you were speaking to; you had been so embarrassed, that even when you think about it now, your pointed ears flush at the tips. Rhys had only chuckled and waved off your embarrassment as you tried to apologize profusely before scrambling away, without a goodbye, citing that you needed to return to the clinic to prepare before it opened. That night, that conversation, had been enough for Rhysand to drop by your clinic every once and a while to take you out for coffee and to listen to the complexities of your job, becoming one of your best friends in the process.

One morning, before you had opened the doors to the clinic, Rhysand had winnowed in. He expressed his concern about the plots for the mass-clipping, describing the situation as quickly as he could, as the situation could have become dire at any moment. You hadn’t hesitated, urgently grabbing any supplies you would need to help the female babes in case anything were to happen, and practically yanked Rhys outside so he could fly you both out there. Meeting Cassian and Azriel had been as expected; the high lord outlined their personalities well during your conversations over lattes, and sometimes wine even, and had told you mid-flight that you would be in their presence. He also informed you the spymaster was to not leave your side as Devlon might plot to take out any and all healers in the region to prevent any sort of wing-saving measures.

When you landed, you were blown away by Azriels beauty, the rumors across Velaris of his darkness, his hazel eyes, his windswept hair, the cool look of indifference that was usually plastered across his face, had not done him justice. Nothing had ended up happening that night, Devlon’s plans had been unfoiled by the illyrian brothers, but by no means was the night considered wasteful. That night, you impressed all three males with your experiences and storytelling, and despite Az not saying a word to you that night as he analyzed you from a distance, the two of you had become attached at the hip once you returned to Velaris.

He drew you from your thoughts, “I knew that I couldn’t let you go. That first night, I didn’t get a wink of sleep because my thoughts kept drifting off to you, and my heart ached knowing that we wouldn’t have a lot of time together in Windhaven. And then we returned to Valeris, and I thought maybe because I wouldn’t be seeing you, that I wouldn’t be consumed by you. But then it became me thinking of you when I woke up, thinking of you when I went to bed, thinking of you in my dreams, thinking of you when I needed to work, thinking of you during meetings, to thinking of you at every moment of every day.

And I couldn’t hold back anymore, and so after a week of not seeing you, I decided I would stop by your clinic every day and ask if you needed anything to try and get you to talk to me, acknowledge me, even if it were a couple of seconds. And you would always be kind and smile so softly, in a way I didn’t deserve, and thank me for my efforts. And then it slowly turned into walking you home from work, to going out for drinks after work, to grabbing lunch from nearby food carts, to going shopping together for Mother knows what. And I was fucking hooked, dove, I couldn’t get enough of you. Mother knows, I tried to hold back, because I don’t deserve you. Not after everything I have done. Not after everything these hands have done,” Azriel paused, eyes filling with disgust as he shifted, staring down at his marred hands that had continued to grip onto yours. His hold loosened, as if he didn’t want to dirty your hands with whatever he did for his job in protecting the night court. But you didn’t let him let go completely, intertwining your fingers with his tighter, squeezing at the knuckles, a habit that you had picked up in the years of your friendship in an effort to urge him to stay and carry on with his explanation.

“Any time Rhys would send me on a mission for a period of time, I would feel sick to my stomach the entire time I was away and the feeling was only soothed when I would return and find you asleep in the comfort of your own home. And that's how it continued. Because having you in any capacity, whether it was just acquaintances or friends or best friends should have been enough. But Gods Y/N, it wasn’t. You deserve someone who is good, just like you. Someone who helps heal people, someone who is perfect in every way just like you. Someone who isn’t me, someone who isn’t riddled with self loathing and despair. But if I am one thing, it is that I am fucking selfish male. For years, I held myself back from becoming anything more than best friends. But then two years before Amarantha, on the winter solstice, the bond fucking snapped. I don’t know if you remember anything about that night, but I remember every moment.” He peaked up at you through his eyelashes as he paused, his pink tongue poking out to lick at his dry lips. You had been incredibly drunk that night, drinking the expensive wines of the high lord with the rest of the inner circle as you played group games before opening up presents, high on the fact that everything had been at peace. There had been no problems with the Illyrian war camps shockingly, the patients who you had been looking after for the most part were thriving, there was a peace over Velaris and Prythian.

“You were wearing this silk fitted blue gown that stopped right at your knees and was sleeveless, one that matched the color of my siphons. Mother fucking above Dove, I nearly dropped to my knees when you walked in with your cheeks flushed and eyes shining so bright, I thought Rhys had plucked the stars from the sky and placed them into your irises. And then you looked around the room, and when we caught eyes, you smiled so hard and I was the first person you came to. Me. Not Rhys or Cassian or Morr or Amren or whoever else was there. You walked over to me, and you hugged me so tight and whispered ‘Happy Solstice Az,’ and I couldn’t breathe. You literally stole my breath away, the breathtaking lady you are. I clung to you the entire night, and you- you let me…

I didn’t want to spend a single second away from you, we sat together the whole night, drinking whatever wine Morr would pull out from the cellar and whispered about anything and everything that came to mind. And then we were pulled into playing games, and we first played mafia which we won together, and then charades where we were partners and nearly beat Cass and Morr even though they were absolutely fucking cheating, and then we all exchanged gifts and I didn’t have any from you in my pile. I thought you hadn’t gotten me anything and my heart nearly shattered, but I hated myself because I knew I was wrong to be upset. Because you deserve better than what I could ever offer you. When you opened my gift and gasped, I was so fucking nervous, I couldn’t help but second guess if it had been an appropriate gift to give you.”

“A gold locket,” you blurted out. You remembered your heart beating so fast when he had handed you your gift, silently watching your reaction as he leaned back into the couch and drank from his bottle. You shakily unwrapped the box, trying to save every piece of paper that had been delicately placed to cover it. The locket was the most beautiful gift you had ever received to date. It had a constellation carved into the front, and on the inside had poetry written in some ancient language with Illyrian roots that the shadowsinger had refused to translate for you, even to this day. But you wore it. Morning, noon, and night like clock work you would wear it. In fact, you rarely took it off, feeling panicked any time you couldn’t feel the cool metal resting against the warm skin of your collar. When you had been stuck under the mountain, you had hidden it within your shoe because you feared it would be taken. And it had been the only real connection that you had to Az at the time. You often held it in your fist on the night that insomnia racked you, the small object bringing you comfort in ways you could never elaborate on. And you still wear it to this day, even right now, you can feel the necklace grow heavy on you.

“That night, when everyone had passed out from drinking, you and I stayed up. And we sat out on the balcony on the swing and just enjoyed each other's presence. And you leaned your head against my shoulder and I almost blurted it out in the moment how I felt about you, I didn’t want to hold back anymore, no matter how selfish I was going to be. I wanted, no I needed you. You shifted away for a second, and pulled something out of your pocket before silently handing it to me. I remember staring at the little box for a couple of minutes. My mind had gone completely blank from the disbelief that you had indeed gotten me something… I was so confused when it turned out to be this lotion that smelled heavily like lavender, and you picked up on that even though you were almost asleep, and you mumbled out, ‘It is a balm I made for your hands from herbs in the garden. It has a cooling sensation whenever you apply it, and is supposed to help with falling asleep.’ and the cap had inscribed, To keep the nightmares at bay, may you only find peace in your dreams. -Always yours, Y/N

Mother fucking above, in that moment, I fell in love with you all over and that was the moment. I felt the bond fucking snap. And I was so fucking elated, and when I turned my head to look down at you, you had passed out. And I waited for hours, holding you close, trying to calm my nerves and slow down my heart because I thought I would go into cardiac arrest. And in those hours, I thought about telling you. I thought about how fucking happy I was that you were mine, because from the moment I met you, I was yours. And there was just nothing to do about that. Fear and anxiety started to creep in as the sun rose, at this point we had both shifted to laying down, and I just held you to my chest, breathing you in, smelling your scent, watching you sleep so peacefully, and I couldn’t ruin that. I was and still am the spymaster of this court. I have done a lot of evil, things that are unspeakable, for the sake of protecting Velaris, for the sake of protecting this court. And that has brought me a lot of enemies, enemies that would gleen at the thought of you. At the thought of taking you away from me. Because if that were to ever happen, I think I would die Y/N. I couldn’t let any harm come to you. I couldn’t ruin your peace. I couldn’t ruin your happiness with my bullshit. And so I promised to myself and you that I would always protect you, I would never let anything happen to you, and I would try to be a better male. That way, you would be proud to have me as a mate. That way, you would never look back and having me as your mate.”

Grief pulled at your heart strings. All this time, lost. All the hurt and pain was for nothing. The image of Azriel sitting in front of you pausing in his explanation blurred from the burning tears that were making their way down your cheeks, connecting at the bottom of your chin, collecting before dropping onto the sheets beneath you. It was certainly no excuse for Azriel not telling you, but it was an explanation. You thought back to all the times the shadowsinger had expressed his hate towards himself, whispering his darkest thoughts to you in the middle of the night where no one else would hear, as he raised one of his hands that had been locked with yours, and allowed the pads of his fingers to run across your cheeks, brushing away your tears in the process.

You took a shuddering breath as he pressed his soft palm into your soft skin, his voice hoarse with sorrow, “I am sorry sweetheart. I cannot express enough how much I regret not telling you that very night. I regret not waking you up. I regret all the moments that came after that ever made you doubt our friendship, all the moments that ever made you feel like you were not deserving, all the moments that ever had the thought that I didn’t love you cross your mind. It is the biggest regret of my life, but I needed to protect you.”

A part of you understood his reasons, understood his fears. Azriel had hidden a lot of aspects of his work from you out of fear that you would one day find yourself horrified by his actions. But inevitably, you would hear the rumors that patients would speak and through that, you seemed to have a small idea of what types of methods Az would use to get the information he needed. You never held it against him. And you made sure he knew that any time he had the slightest hint of concern shown in his eyes. But Azriels issues with himself were not yours that you could solve, you could only help him bear the load. The rest, he would have to figure out on his own, with time and acceptance of the past and present. The fact that he tried to work on himself for you was no small feat. You rested your head against his hand, scooting closer to him, desperate to close the gap even though he hadn't finished. Desperate to get the comfort you usually felt whenever you were close to him. “Every day after that solstice, I tried to work up the courage to tell you. Every time I was around you. Every minute I wasn’t working, I was thinking about flying over and just telling you. But every time I worked up the courage and would find you, it would dissipate. Every fucking time. I would take one look at you and I would fear that the way you would see me would change, that the friendship that we shared would be ruined. I was fucking terrified of you not wanting me. Of you hating what fate had decided as your mate. And I was a fucking coward. I couldn’t take the risk of losing you… and just like that, two years had passed and Starfall was coming up. I had told Amren of my predicament and she-”

“Wait. Amren knew?” You were flabbergasted. Of all the people you had expected Az to confide in, she was not one. Rhys or Cassian, or even Morrigan. But not Amren. You were almost certain Azriel still didn’t trust Amren after all these years of her being a part of the inner circle.

“Yes dove, Amren. I knew she wouldn’t tell you before I had the chance. But I swear she almost tore my balls off for not telling you the night the bond snapped.” Azriel’s wings quivered at the thought, loosening from their tight positioning to snap together behind his spine. You snorted as you tried to imagine Azriel facing the tiny beast and speaking his deepest secret to her, only for her to threaten him with castration. He bumped his shoulder against yours, grinning softly at you finding humor in his story, “If I could continue please, I am not finished.” You raised an eyebrow lifting up your arm to gesture in front of you, “By all means shadowsinger.”

He cleared his throat at your approval, “We basically spent two months planning out this elaborate surprise for you, mainly me of course. But of course, Amren added her input where she saw fit. I was going to take you dress and jewelry shopping, then to dinner at our favorite restaurant where we would eat the first meal we shared together and drink our favorite wine, and then I would dance with you under the falling stars and I would whisper into your ear my love for you and I was going to ask you to marry me. About a week before Starfall, you and Rhys went on a mission,” your muscles spasmed. He was going to ask you to marry him? Dread filled you. You knew where this story was going to end. That Starfall never happened. Not for you and Rhys.

“A mission that neither you nor Rhys returned from. Gods Y/N. I felt it. I felt the moment when Rhys cut off any connection from all of us. I felt the wards of Velaris being put up into place, locking us in for fifty years to protect us from whatever had gotten you and Rhys.” He croaked out, “I felt our bond dulling Y/N. I thought you were fucking dying. I panicked. I threw myself at the wards, pleading to be let out. I- I tried coming for you. But you and Rhys were gone. Stuck. For fifty fucking years. None of us knew what was happening, only the rumors from refugees were available in terms of gathering information. Beyond that… I didn’t fucking know whether you were dead or alive. And if you were alive, I didn’t know what you were going through. It- Y/N. Y/N, it was the worst fifty years of my existence. Every day spent without you was like a thousand spears being shot into my wings and being pulled out. It- it felt like I was burning, not just my hands this time, but my entire body. I felt like I was burning alive for fifty years without any respite. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t move. I was fucking paralyzed. All I could do was wait.”

His grip on your fingers had gotten impossibly tight as he pulled you into his grasp, wrapping his arm that once laid on your cheek around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He buried his face into your hair, taking a deep inhale to allow your scent to calm him, as his body began shaking from quiet sobs. You could feel his hot tears landing on your scalp and you held him right to you, rubbing his spine between his wings in comfort with one hand and tangling your fingers into his hair with the other. You turned your head into his neck, allowing for your soft breaths to press kisses into the tattooed skin, shushing him with soft murmurs of “I am right here and I am not going anywhere ever again.” A promise that you had to repeat a number of times before he was able to calm down. This night had left you both emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausted. Whatever was to come in the next couple of hours, at least you could hinge on the fact that you both would probably pass out from exhaustion into a dreamless sleep. The cool wisps of Azriel’s shadows snaked around your arms, wrapping around you for the first time since he began telling you his side of the story, their presence offering you their silent support.

The next part of his story came out as whispers into your hair, your pointed ears straining to listen, “When Feyre killed Amarantha, everyone in Pyrthian felt the shift in power. The extra wards that had been placed around Velaris fell at once, and the connection between Rhys and the rest of us was suddenly humming. And I could feel you baby. I could feel you for the first time in fifty years after thinking you were dead. And I was on a fucking high. I was going to drop to my knees and tell you that we were mates the second you walked through the doors of the townhouse. I was fully prepared. But you didn’t come walking in. No. Rhys fucking carried you in, looking the most pale I had ever seen him. You weren’t moving. You were- Gods Y/N Morr immediately burst into tears and I could only stare and watch when she screamed out for Majda as everyone rushed to gather around you. You were so pale and you were skin on bones. There were bruises covering your body, you had a broken nose, and the skin around your eyes were swollen and blackened. The second Rhysand had set you down, I grabbed him by his shirt and pushed him into the wall screaming at him, screaming at him to tell me what had happened to you. Amarantha had ordered you to be beaten to death because you had been healing some of her victims under the mountain. Rhysand had gotten to you in the nick of time after Feyre killed Amarantha. He said he ripped off the heads of the soldiers who were trying to kill you. You were asleep for a fucking week, healing from all the physical trauma.”

When you woke up from your sleep, you had tried to be elated over the fact that you were back home in Valeris. But the events that occurred under the mountain had left you truly empty. At first, you hadn’t even been able to look anyone in the eyes except for Rhys. You hadn’t been able to speak, or eat, or sleep properly. You felt like an empty shell, and Rhysand was the only one who could possibly understand why. The bond that you two had grown under the mountain was as close to brother and sister as one could get without being biologically related. He had ensured your safety for the most part, and you were his rock when he had to suffer through Amarantha’s torture. You and him were the only ones to know what the other had truly gone through, and both of you had an unspoken agreement to not speak of the trauma to the others, despite the begging of Morr and Cassian. Azriel and Amren were the only ones who didn’t dare to ask, and now you were understanding why. Unconsciously, some part of Azriel had known what had happened to you. There was no need for him to ask. And maybe, probably, he didn’t want to know what happened. Maybe, probably, it was too much to bear to know what had happened all those years you had been stuck.

“You weren't okay dove. You weren’t okay for a while, and I couldn’t just drop this information on you like it meant nothing. I couldn’t drop this on you because if you didn’t want me in the form of a mate, I didn’t want you to feel like you had lost me completely. I didn’t want you to feel like you went under the mountain and came out without your best friend to be by your side. I just… I just wanted you to be okay. So I shoved all my feelings aside and I was there for you in the best way I knew how to be, I was your best friend. I picked up any of the pieces that were your heart and did my best to put it back together. And just when you were starting to get better, just when you were beginning to smile and laugh and talk and whisper to me and cuddle with me, it was made clear that Amarantha’s reign was only the start of what was going to be a long battle against Hybern.” Azriel scoffed at the end of his rant, clearly frustrated by how the timing of everything had worked out. Most of the inner circle had believed that under the mountain had been the worst thing that we had ever been through as a team, but fate had a funny way of throwing things into your face and telling you to deal with it.

When Rhysand had figured out Hyberns plot, he brought Feyre to the night court from spring. Your friendship with Feyre had blossomed under the mountain when you would sneak into her cell after Rhysand would leave, and would work on healing her. Speaking to her, stroking her hair as she would cry into your lap. You forget that she was only human when the fate of Pyrthian was placed on her shoulders. And her humanity was stolen from her as she died for the high lord of spring who had done nothing to help or protect her while she faced Amarantha. When you got to see her after months, she had been in similar shape as you, suffering from the trauma that Tamlin had brushed aside. You hated the high lord of spring for that, and made clear to Feyre that you were here for her and that you would help her in any way you could. Through that, you both helped each other get through the darkest parts of your lives. The war on Hybern was another source of trauma, not only inflicting the inner circle, but this time, including Feyre’s sisters.

When you had first met the two, you couldn’t help but hate the both of them. Letting their youngest sister go into the woods alone to hunt for their family, and treating her so poorly when she returned as a fae had bothered every member of the inner circle. But then Tamlin and Ianthe had dragged them to the cauldron and turned them fae against their will; their screams echoing in your nightmares. Nesta was still working through her trauma, continuing her training as a valkyrie and bettering her relationship with Cassian and the rest of the inner circle. She had definitely grown on you, asking you a little bit about the healing techniques that the valkyrie warriors used to use during battle. Elain had taken up gardening, and your feelings towards her had not changed. Her trauma does not excuse her from being held accountable from her past actions, no matter how merciful Feyre has been towards her sisters, you haven’t forgotten. And neither has Rhysand, though he tended to focus on his anger towards Nesta, partially because both are hot headed whereas Elain had proved to be very sensitive. The other reason you had been bothered greatly by her was obviously her affections towards Azriel, but beyond that, the way she disrespected Lucien at every turn had left you feeling extreme heartache for the male. The redhead was constantly turned away despite his best efforts, and at this point, it just felt like she was stringing him along with his hope that maybe she would warm to him. Your feelings towards Elain had only been amplified when Azriel had taken a liking to Elain, helping her through her trauma and essentially left you feeling gutted and alone. A feeling that the spymaster had been actively trying to avoid by not telling you about your mating bond. Your patience was wearing thin, you wanted Azriel to stop beating around the bush. Even if it would hurt, you needed to know what he had been thinking this whole time in regards to Elain.

“Cut to the chase, Azriel.” It came out sharper than you had intended, pulling away from him. This was it. The root of your problem with Az. The explanation that would be make or break for your relationship with him. The spymaster seemed to not want to break off the physical contact between you to despite you pulling away, he brought his hands down to yours, fingers playing with yours. He also picked up on what you were referring to, he had to have known. He had to have fucking known how much he was fucking hurting you. There is just no fucking way he didn’t. And did he fucking want her? A lump formed in your throat, creating a burning sensation that spread down to your heart as the thought made you sick. She was extremely beautiful and soft and gentle, and she was a lot different than you in terms of personality. None of these doubts or worries had truly been addressed by his ramblings. Even though they had given you a lot of context to why he had hidden the bond.

Before you could get lost in the feeling of doubt, Azriel gave a strong tug at the bond, sending down feelings of adoration and reassurance before rasping out, “Y/N, I want to start off with I am so sorry. So fucking sorry for how these past months have made you feel. How I made you feel. I don’t think I will ever be able to forgive myself. The next thing I want to say is that I have no feelings for Elain besides the platonic friendship. She means nothing to me, Y/N, not like that. I am sorry I did a piss-poor job showing it to you. I am sorry that the way I acted made you think differently. I- When I first met Feyre’s sisters, we, Cass and I, made this promise to them that no harm would befall them. And then they were drowned in the cauldron and turned to fae, and it was just this huge blow. Cassian especially I think because Nesta trusted him deeply to protect her, and he felt like he had failed. And I felt the same way. I felt the same fucking way with you Y/N. I had promised, sworn up and down and left and right that I would always protect you. It felt like… it felt like I had failed you once again. This time, through Elain, in this weird projection thing. I think in my head, when I looked at Elain, I was thinking of the you before Amarantha, and I just wanted to prevent anything from happening to her, because in the end, I wasn’t able to protect you. I failed you. I failed you when you went under the mountain, and again when we couldn’t protect Nesta and Elain. It felt like I failed you again. And then Feyre left to spy in spring court, and we were left to deal with the aftermath of Hybern. So Rhysand asked Cassian to look after Nesta and he asked for me to look after Elain. And I threw myself into it, because if I didn’t, then I would think about all the ways that I was and am an incompetent piece of shit mate. And in the process of trying to make sure Elain was okay, I unintentionally neglected you. Part of me just wanted to believe that you were okay, and you didn’t need me. Part of me wanted to believe that we were okay. That nothing had changed between us, and that once Elain was okay, we would figure things out between us with all the time in the world. That I would tell you of the mating bond, and you would accept it. That we would take our mating vows, and Rhysand would be the one officiating them because Cassian would fuck it up with his crying.”

You huffed out a laugh as sobs began to bubble from your throat, “I really needed you Az.”

Azriel had squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drown out the sounds of your sobs as if it were causing him physical pain. “I know Y/N. I am so fucking sorry. There isn’t any excuse,” his own sobs tearing their way through his throat. He swallowed once, twice, three times before opening his eyes to focus his hazel irises into yours. “I can only promise to never do this to you again. I want- no- I need you to understand, no I need you to know that it’s you. It has always been you. It will always be you. Always. I need you to believe me, sweetheart. And if you don’t…If you don’t, then let me show you. The right way. The proper way. And if by the end of it, you don’t want anything to do with me, then I promise you, I will leave you alone, even if it fucking breaks me. Because I just want you safe and happy and loved the way you deserve. That is all I have fucking ever wanted since the moment I met you.”

You pressed your lips together, nodding along at his promises. There wasn’t any excuse for how he had treated you. But there was an explanation. Azriel was taking responsibility, he was acknowledging his wrongs, and he was promising change. And after all this time of loving him, that was enough for now. “Az, I can’t accept the mating bond.” His entire body seized up, freezing, waiting for you to deliver the final blow where you would reject him and the bond. “Gods, Az, I want to. I have been in love with you for fucking years. But, I can’t accept it right now at least. I need to take things slow, and see the change first. I need to heal and I think you need to heal too. I need you to be my best fucking friend again. I need you to be there for me. I need you to love me.” Hope shone on his face, his lips quirking up into a soft smile as he huffed, a single tear streaking down his cheek. “How about this dove, how about we promise to each other that we will always love each other as best friends, that we will always put each other first, that we will heal each other, and that we will always come back to one another.” He held up his scarred pinky finger up to you, patiently waiting to see if you would grab on, giving you the option either way. At your hesitation, he whispered gently, “I promise Y/N.” A watery grin broke out across your face as you reached up to link your pinky with his, your own matching tear streaking down that he wiped away with his free hand, “I promise Azriel.”

Taglist: @paasrin @positivewitch @fieldofdaisiies @judig92 @sv0430 @highlady-ofillyria @wrensical003 @brekkershadowsinger @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @mrs-azriel @cityofidek @nova-stardragon @thewarriormoon @ilovespideyyy @azzydaddy @bookish-dream @nobody00sthings @marigold-morelli @solossweater @rubygirly @hanasakr @ellievickstar @shadowcrowsworld @lucyysthings @cameronsails @peachycandy10 @bruhhvv @flyingsquidsgrowwings-blog @adreamerforthestars @lahoete @mis-lil-red @his-sweet-nightmare @esposadomd @blurredlamplight @elizarikaallen @tiffthebookworm @valeridarkness @wifeofcamillamacaulay @everyonehatescarmen @grungy-blue-hipster @azriels-favorite-simp @goldentournesol @mariana468 @elsie-bells @slvetherinseeker @cafe-inaaa @honeyrydernot

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voraciousvore · 1 year ago

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Writing Masterpost

I write giant/ tiny vore garbage. Most of my stories are intended for mature audiences and contain smut. I enjoy exploring darker themes, but always balance my stories with heartwarming, sweet fluff and romance. Enjoy, if that's your thing!

I also post art occasionally but I am not very skilled on that front. I try my best.

I mostly write male giants, but for those of you just here for giantesses: Giantess Compilation

More compilations: Vore Writing/ Art Mega Compilation, Voretober 2024

This is how all my stories connect together if you're unsure where to start. I'd recommend reading one of the stories from the "Originals" column and working from there:

Links to all my stories:

Boarding School for Giants

25 Chapters; 55,216 words

A troubled teenager gets kicked out of her high school and is forced to enroll in a boarding school full of giants. A sweeter, tamer, shorter story without any sex (though it does contain one questionable scene). Has a little bit of vore but I believe can still be enjoyed even if you're not into that.

Big Corp Inc.

43 Chapters; 96,645 words

Candy Caramello is desperate to get a job. So desperate, in fact, that she accepts a job at Big Corp Inc. working with Giants who are hundreds of feet tall. She'll have to contend with a licentious boss, an office bully, being eaten alive, and all sorts of other hazards inherent to being a tiny human in a Giant world.

This story is 18+ and contains vore and sex (both romantic intimacy and non-consensual)

Bucky's

44 Chapters; 113,660 words

Sequel to Big Corp Inc. Tanya is a prisoner who is condemned to be a meal in a restaurant that serves humans as food to hungry Giants. This story contains soft and hard vore, gore, and sex. Both Giants and Giantesses are involved but mostly male Giants.

In the Belly of the Giant

39 Chapters; 84,994 words

Sequel to "Boarding School for Giants." Eren gets kidnapped, and it's up to Joey to save her. This story contains a lot of vore and sex (both romantic and non-consensual). Strictly 18+.

The Giant

16 Chapters; 44,030 words

A giant/ tiny vore romance fantasy about a tiny women who finds herself trapped in the clutches of a huge, hungry giant. This story contains lots of vore, mouthplay, fluff, violence, and some sex.

The Half-Blood Giant

51 Chapters; 128,241 words

Sequel to "The Giant" and a crossover story that ties together the worlds of my other stories. I would recommend reading my other stories before reading this one. Contains soft and hard vore, violence/ gore, and sex.

Giganterra

62 Chapters + Prologue/ Epilogue; 166,605 words

A medieval AU featuring characters from my other stories. King Richard, the giant ruler of Giganterra, keeps the human kingdom of Minimaterra under his thumb, and it's up to our tiny heroes to stop his reign of terror.

Short Stories/ Oneshots:

The Origins of Martin Maneater (3 chapters, 9k words): As a child, Martin meets a human for the first time.

Candy and the Beanstalk (3.9k words): Classic beanstalk story with my OCs Candy and Martin

The Giant and the Princess (10 chapters, 25k words): A forbidden romance blossoms between a man-eating giant and a tiny human princess. The story of Ajax's (Chester's father) past.

Shrinking Shenanigans (1.7k words): Jackie's magic goes haywire and causes the giants and humans to switch sizes.

Hot Chocolate (2.1k words): Classic trope of a giant finding a half-frozen tiny in the snow, with a dark twist.

More coming soon, but if you don't want to wait, here's a link to my Wattpad account with all my writing:

https://www.wattpad.com/user/GiantObsession

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animentality · 11 months ago

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Imagine being able to knock Gortash out instead of killing him for his netherstone and then he gets an epilogue where he comes screaming into your camp saying you knocked me out???? right before the end of the world???? what the fuck.

and you can swat him with a baldur's gazette and say it was either that or kill you. You should be glad I chose KO.

And then he scowls at you but secretly, he's cheering, because that's the dark urge he remembers.

Doesn't want to kill him, was able to reign in their urge. Also sassy.

And then he can drink wine and you can make out with him on the table while everyone awkwardly avoids eye contact.

Anyway-

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #dark urge #enver gortash #durgetash

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misguidedasgardian · 1 year ago

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The White Dragon (44)

44. The Great Council

MASTERLIST

Summary: you gather a council to decide the fate of the Seven Kingdoms

Pairings: main Harwin Strong x Fem!Targaryen reader

Warnings: cursing, medieval and A song of ice and Fire AU customs, injury, burns, dragon fire, death, violence, armies, death, war and all that comes with it. Might miss some warnings but you know what this is about :)

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3.333 words like WHATTTT

Notes: UUFFFF THIS IS IT PEOPLE, THE LAST ONE, I MEAN THIS ONE AND THEN THE EPILOGUE! CAN’T WAIT FOR YOU TO READ IT

You let yourself move at the rhythm of the maid washing you with a rough sponge, the water of the tub had already had to be changes thrice for becoming black with the remains of the dragon blood in your body

The boiling dragon blood that bathed you as your dragon slayed Aegon

The maids took the good part of an hour and the help of members of Rhaenyra’s Queensguard to remove the melted armor from your body, and then the pieces of leather that melted into your skin

But you were unharmed and your skin untarnished

While you were inside the tub, your gaze was setted in some point on the wall, trying to fit into your head everything that went down in the last 12 hours…

You watching the capital being conquered by Aegon from above

“Please raise your arms your grace”, whispered the maid and you did, she scrapped the rests of melted fabrics from under them

The adrenaline that took a hold on your body when you fought for your life

You flinched when she pulled a piece of leather from your skin, the water again was black, dark black, the smell of smoke and sulfur almost making you dizzy

Finding soldiers and civilians alike dead in the steps to the Dragonpit

The maid signaled for you to reach with your leg out of the tub, your skin still smudged with dried dragon blood

Rhaenyra was dead, and Aegon was well

That made you stand up, and wait there for them to replace the filthy water for more clean one, they were quick in their labor and you didn’t have to wait more than five minutes, to sink again in the boiling water

Finding out that Jacaerys and Joffrey were too

Another maid washed your hair, you watched as the dried blood melted back with the water, tainting it black once more

So much darkness

Oils with scents were placed in the waters this time, the last bath this was, after other four, finally you would get dress and abandon your chambers

The toll of all the deaths in your finally make you want to sink in the bathtub

As the sweet maids cleaned the last smudged from your body, you finally felt like you could breathe again, it hurt, but you could, and that was improvement, you believed, you wanted to believe

You didn’t know what to do now, how to proceed, you had never taken a city before, you had never witnessed the death of two monarchs in front of your eyes, you had never witnessed the deaths of so many members of your family before

What now?

But for a second you forgot about all the people in the keep, in the capital, in the Realms, from the servants to the Heads of the most important families, everyone around you

They did now what to do

As you gazed upon the outfit the maids had chosen for you to wear

it was a dark black outfit, a loose skirt boots for underneath, and a leather vest over it, the sleeves seemed to be made of scales, and the details in black leather, and a red cape fixed to the suit in a silver chain with a head of the dragon to be placed in the right side of your chest

An outfit to mourn, to rule, to conquer

They dressed you, they braided your hair in magnificent braids, and finally you were ready

And you were ready, as the sun fell over the horizon, also did the reigns of Rhaenyra Targaryen, and Aegon the Usurper

Steffon was right outside your chamber, guarding you like he always did

For a second you thought you were sixteen again…

Only for a second

He smiled softly at you, he found another white armor, that tricked you for a second

“Aren’t you tired?”, you asked him as you began your walk back to the throne room

“A bit”, he whispered, “I bet you are”, you barely smiled, “lord Cregan Stark had taken many prisoners, from the houses that supported Aegon”, he started filling you in, “the ones that won’t bend the knee to you”, you raised your eyes to his in concern

You stakes a claim to the throne, and you had won

“Where are my nephews?”, you asked, and he knew what you meant

He took you there, to the hall at the side of the throne room

You didn’t notice when you stormed the city, but Aegon’s damage was worse than you thought

A tear fell from your eye as you saw the silent sisters preparing Jacaerys and Joffrey’s bodies

Jacaerys was slain by Aegon’s treacherous guards,as he tried to fight back to defend Rhaenyra, and Joffrey had tried to take flight on Syrax to save his mother, and the golden beast shook him off of her mid flight, he fell to his death in the streets of King’s Landing. And in another table, you didn’t even dare to look, were the remains of your sister, an arm and part of the chest…

This was the consequences of war

Harwin was already there, by Jace’s side, you didn’t say anything, neither did him, but you stood by his side guarding the princes’ bodies for an unknown amount of time. Until Cregan came

“They are ready for you”, whispered Cregan sadly by your side, you turned to look at him and barely nodded, wiping the tears off your eyes

They were your nephews

Harwin stayed in the chamber, mourning the loss of his first born child, you touched his shoulder as you passed by him, he barely nodded

You are going to let him mourn, but you have a Kingdom to rule now, or rather, see who was left to rule it…

A great council has been assembled to put in order who was going to rule the Seven Kingdoms, although you had claimed it when you decided to take the city, you still did not want to impose your rule on reluctant subjects, that was going to lead to nothing

Representatives of the great families, (the ones who were not incarcerated for treason) gathered in a huge table in the throne room, as well as Rhaenyra’s acting council and those most loyal to yours

They all stood when you walked in, and you nodded acknowledging them all

“We have been discussing the line of succession, your grace”, muttered one, and his title to refer to you meant nothing, everyone in the royal House were regarded as such

“Please continue, I would like to hear what your thoughts are”, you muttered, they nodded and resumed their discussions, you took seat in the head of the table

“Rhaenyra was the true heir”, he sentenced, you nodded, knowing this, “we, as Tyrells, the Tullys, Starks, and Arryns sentence the Rule of Aegon as null and void, and is to be known as the Usurper, your eyes went to the representatives of the Lannisters, Baratheon and Hightowers, their eyes were on the table, ashamed, but nodded nonetheless.

The representatives were now the new heads of their house, being third of fourth sons, or far off cousins from the main string of the family, but those were the ones who were going to bend the knee, and that is all that matters now

“I’m glad to hear it”, you said firmly

“Now, we follow the line of the succession from there”, continued the same Lord, from the House Bar Emmon, from the crownlands, serving master of laws for your sister, “sadly, King consort Daemon had perished, as well as her true born heirs, Aegon and Viserys”, you nodded, “there is only Prince Lucerys left”

“We can say it freely, Rhaenyra’s three first children are bastards, her legitimate children are gone”, said another Lord, and they all hummed accordingly. Lucerys was no true son of the late Ser Laenor Velaryon, but Corlys considered him as much, and that must have counted for something

And you voiced that outloud

“Lord Corlys had named Lucerys his heir”, you said

“The boy as well as lord Corlys are on their way here”, said Cregan

“I will offer Driftmark to him”, you whispered, “he will want to say a last goodbye to his family”

Difficult days were upon you, but they supported what you just said

“So, Queen Rhaenyra had left this world without issue to succeed her, then, is you”, said Cregan, “you are the second born daughter of the King Viserys Taragryen and Queen Aemma Arryn”, he continued

“Hear hear!”, said a lord, and all followed

“through the line of succession, and the right of conquest, the throne is your your grace”, said the old maester

“Right of conquest? And what is that?”, you asked out loud

“You made alliances, you took the city under your yoke, it is yours, My Queen”, said the maester, and everyone again agreed

“There is one more thing left to discuss”, said Lord Lannister, always having to have some sort of control on the situation, it came with blood you thought

“And what would that be?”, you asked, already tired of him

“When and where would you like the coronation to take place?”, he asked with a sardonic smile

And then it hit you

You were now Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

You dressed in black, with red capes all week

In mourning, and in representation of your house

Your children followed your lead, but as when they were children, Maekar dressed with a Green cape, Rhaegar with a blue one, and Aemma with a red, and walked together, signaling their father’s house

You buried your families under the stones of the great sept, one day, your sister Rhaenyra, and her sons Jace and Joffrey, and the next you held court for the first time

The first one brought to you was Queen Alicent

Aemond was standing by the foot of the throne with your children, but he walked towards her and held her while she presented herself in front of you

She asked for your forgiveness, for betraying your sister, and trying to put her son on the throne, even though Rhaenyra had forgiven her, you were the one that told Aemond to release her from her golden chains

“You were the love of my father that stood by his side trough his worst and his decease, and gave him sons and a beautiful daughter, you were my friend when we ruled together as protectors of the realm, and you gave me my half siblings, you are forgiven, and I will ask of you to remain in court, or go as you please, you are here free to do as you please”, she smiled, as she held onto Aemond, and Helaena that joined you when the city was secured

The next ones to appear where Corlys, Rhaenys and Lucerys, who had reached the capital for the funeral rites, but where now presenting his respects to you

They called you their Queen, and bowed, bending the knee to you, as Rhaenys smiled warmly at you

Lord Corlys rejected your proposition, but Rhaenys didn’t, now she was the master of ships

The next day, you let your family, Aemond, Helaena, her children, and Alicent, to have the funeral rites for Aegon, you did not participate, but send guard to held mourning and protect them, that mourn their son, brother and father, in the sept of the Red Keep, and later buried him under it

Like it or not he was your half brother.

Your daughter accompanied her husband, and brought them moral support

And you had decisions to make

You didn’t even wanted to decide where, when and how you were going to get crowned, but rather, you had to select your small council, you had to anoint your Queensguard

They were so many things yet to do

It was overwhelming

You constantly had supper with your family and lord who were still in the capital, and then sneaked into the library to read tomes about King Aegon and King Jahaerys, the decisions they made, the way they cared for their subjects…

It was too much

Harwin had come many times to collect you as you had fallen asleep in the library over the books

And carried you to your rooms

The rooms of a princess

The chambers of the King and Queen had been used by so many people in your family, that you felt strange sleeping in them.

But Steffon, besides finding men to be a part of the Queenguard, was organizing the redecoration of the chambers, to adapt them to you

it was going to be funny, but you were to take the chambers of the King and Harwin the ones of the Queen, or vice versa

But Harwin protested and said you had been sleeping together for 20 years and he was not going to start sleeping apart now, you had to agree

Now, the council

You named Cregan your hand, who promised who was going to stay in the capital for two years, as you named Sara, his bastard sister, legitimate and as so was acting as Lady of Winterfell.

Harwin was the commander of the city watch, as he was many years ago

Rhaenys was your master of ships

Tyland Lannister came back to court, and you named him master of coins

You named the maester from Dragonstone as Grand Maester Munkun

You named lord Bar Emmon as master of laws

Of course Lord Steffon was commander of the Queensguard

You were lacking a master of whispers, but it was not mandatory to have one. But you thought it was necessary

The first thing you had to do was unite back the Kingdoms, so you took the vows of all the Lords, and that took whole months

Lords of all the far corners of the Kingdom were to make the journey to the capital, and all of them, may of them

asked you the same question

Who was going to succeed you?

You had many children, but it was whispered in court that the next King or Queen had to be a full blooded Targaryen, to continue the stability to the realm.

Or that is what you thought

Many advised you to name Maekar as your heir, so one day, after you were fairly settled, you called in your three eldest children

“I don’t want to be King”, Maekar said surely, “i want to be lord of Harrenhal… that was my fate”

“I’d argue that maybe fate is for you to be King one day”, you whispered, but he shook his head

“I’ll mary Helaena, her children are the ones of Aegon, I think is best for me to step down”, you then looked at Rhaegar, who shook his head

“my duty is to my wife, and winterfell now”, he said, taking her hand, they were soon to fly to Winterfell and wed under the eyes of the Old Gods, so then you looked at Aemond and Aemma, who had their hands intertwined, and looked at each other

It was settled

Your children were Strong and even though they could change their name, there was someone else, a Targaryen, loyal to you, and worthy of the throne…

Aemond, and Aemma, they were going to rule together, they had the strength, you knew it.

So you asked them to go and live in Dragonstone, as Prince and Princess of Dragonstone.

The coronation day was set, the day was approaching, you wanted to wait for the people to forget and for the capital to thrive after the horrible events that occurred, but it was necessary for you to make proclamations as Queen

IN the meantime, it was Cregan who incarcerated all the traitors, and judged them accordingly, acting as your hand

Many called it “the hour of the wolf”

The first one to go, was the man from House Royce, who had rebelled against your cousin, the lady of the Vale

His head rolled first, and many followed, even Larys Strong

you Harwin dishonored him, didn’t even buried him with his family, he let them be buried in a common ditch

You understood him, he had murdered your father in law, and effectively helped the green took the throne

Even though Rhaenyra had cleaned the court of many of the traitors, happily for you who didn't want to bathe the Keep with blood

Even Tyland, acting master of coins, was put on trial, but was spared, as he had bent the knee to you.

Lucerys was named heir to Driftmark, and future Lord of the tides and was set to marry the Lady Rhaena Targaryen, as accorded

And it came, the day of the coronation was tomorrow, and you found yourself sipping wine in the balcony of the chambers of the King

Harwin hugged you, kissing your shoulder softly

“My Queen”

“My King consort”, you giggled, “what have I done?”, you asked out loud, looking at the horizon

“You are to be Queen, it was your destiny”

“Perhaps I forced it, perhaps if I had made different decisions…”

“But you didn’t”, he said firmly, “it happened what it had to happen”, you only nodded, “you are tomorrow to be named Queen, and you succeeded, you won this war”

“Daeron is still at large”

“the war is over”, he whispered, “he is on his way, Stark told me this evening”, you barely nodded, “now let's get you crowned before our oldest children bare sons and daughters out of wedlock”, you giggled

“That’s true”, you whispered

“Let’s name you Queen”, he whispered, “but first, let me have my wife”

You giggled as he grunted, grabbed you roughly and threw you to the bed. You giggled, enjoying this side of him, and he climbed up your body, discarding your night shirt and dropping kisses everywhere he could find.

it was good to know some things may ever stay the same

. . .

You didn’t let anybody see you that morning, not your council, nor your children, nor your husband, only Aemma and serving girls were allowed in

thye bathed you and prepared you, Aemond smiled dreamily as she helped you get dressed. It was the most magnificent dress you had ever seen, with a black background and intricate designs in rubies and gold designs over.

And you decided to wear your hair loose, for the crown to be placed over your head with only a single braid to hold it.

“You are ready mother”, Aemma whispered as she pinned the white dragon on your dress, the one you gifted your father after your travels, the sight made you smiled

“Let’s take my crown”

It was like a dream, the throne room was decorated in its entirety for white flowers, giving it a feeling like you were in the heavens

“I present to you, Queen (y/n), of House Targaryen, the White dragon, Queen of the Andals, the Roynar and the First men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and protector of the realm”

Said Lord Steffon out loud, you walked slowly towards the throne as he claimed all your titles, and you said when he spoke the last one.

In the throne room you recognized all the members of your family, and all the most important lords of the realms

“I crown you with the crown of King Jahaerys the conciliator, hoping it will give you wisdom”, you looked ahead as he placed the golden crown in your head

“I give you the crown of the conqueror, to give you strength to unite back the seven Kingdoms under one rule”, he said then, placing the black, heavy crown on your lap, “and the Sword Blackfyre, to give you the power to protect the realm”, he said then, taking the sword front he maester and giving it to you, you placed it by your side

“HAIL THE QUEEN!”, they chanted all, and it ricocheted all over the room, and all over the capital.

Taglist! ❤️

@tearsarcane @integra1127 @aestmilky @thanyatargaryen @tythaitie @lostinworldofdarkness @voodoogoul @wildmindedbeauty32 @lil-pudd @alicattx @electric-bloo @astaaan-lol @stargaryenx @kaitieskidmore1 @bregarc @lilpnd @jcpenneyyy @janelei @fexibau @ladyoakenshield157 @danielle-leah1997 @lady-ragnvindr @cecilyjmorgenstern @omgsuperstarg @bugheadskid @batprincess1013 @her-fandom-sanctum @holb32 @blue1006 @stargaryenx @grippleback-galaxy @mikariell95 @genesisliveson @mendes-bae @caspianobsessed @notmundane3000 @kamisunshine @just-someone11 @ietss @joliettes @whodis-26

#misguidedhotd #house of the dragon #hbo house of the dragon #targaryen!reader

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viaphni · 6 months ago

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RUINED REALLTY SEASON THREE: CATALYST TRAILER ANALYSIS

I have to completely admit that the end of season 2 and its epilogue had me very hesitant for the way things are going, and I am still a little hesitant, but i DO BELIEVE THAT THEY ARE 1000% COOKING

First of all, that trailer was AMAZING!

The music, atmosphere, and cinematography were all done very very well (and great voice acting from Rinzler too)

But onto the actual trailer

It opens up on the results of the Soulstice's arrival, with Light alone, showing everybody's souls stolen away and their bodies on the ground. Light has lost it all. He immediately blames himself. It's also made apparent pretty quickly that Soullless is still present in some way, and is going to play a significant role again.

One of the first really interesting things to occur is Light taking the Soul Eater's weapon in his hands.

He stares at it for a moment before picking it up, the screen fading to black. But why would he be using his worst enemy's weapon? What benefit does it serve him? Mostly likely, I think it would have something to do with Soulless. Whether he likes it or not, Light now has a complete tie to the Soulstice itself. As he takes it, he says "And now, another threat is here..."

And Void's new reign of terror is displayed:

We are shown the Yellow Kingdom again, and the areas around it, completely overtaken by Darkness. Void must have taken complete control of the situation, as we just saw Seer with active dominance over their body in the epilogue. Maybe it was a defense mechanism to keep him alive after Corrupt's attack?

After these shots, we see what I think is the center tower of the kingdom—and there is a deep, bottomless pit surrounding it where the moat of lava once was.

It reminds me a bit of the castle entrance to the Depths from Tears of the Kingdom. Void might have something important down there.

A few more shots cycle through of the tower, and we see this—

The camera is descending into the chasm.

Next, we see a room maybe akin to some kind of lab?

It could also be a big machine. Somebody is standing there, but even with heightened exposure and brightness, it's hard to tell who it is. I'm sure it's Void, however, due to the chasm and darkness. This shot is really interesting, too--

--because it seems to be the view of the surface from this area underground. With heightened exposure, the walls look very machine-like.

Whether that or a lab, it clearly serves a primary purpose in Void's plans. (One of my first thoughts was likely a stretch, but I asked myself if it could be similar to the Soulstice--in the way that a machine was created to steal all souls, another would be created now to spread Darkness. Shadow Sabre did something similar in RQ.)

The next four shots emphasize what seems to be some of our new group of main characters.

We see the Purple Leader in his home. Him coming into the main cast will be very interesting, as I'm sure it will give us more opportunities to learn about the histories with people like the Sorcerer and Phantasia, strong links to the Soulstice. I'm sure this knowledge will be vital to the fight.

Now this next photo--I can't exactly tell what's going on here? It appears to be Corrupt's lab? When the exposure and brightness are edited, I can't see any details. But this is 1000% Corrupt is just is trust frfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrfrffrfr Corrupt is alive

The shot then switches to an Indigo and an unidentifiable Aquamarine who seems to be imbued with light energy, given the white eye. I assumed this could be Aaron, but his soul got stolen. Who knows? The Indigo is the Doctor Indigo, I would think--given the coat and monocle, but he didn't have a design in Season 2, so I'm unsure. Both of these could be completely new characters.

And now, Dimension facing off with the Soulstice. It seems that Dimension will play a much bigger role now and actually put in the work for once. I guess that was his final straw? Or maybe the season will start and he will still show absolutely no concern.

A couple of interesting shots of Light and Soulless show up after this.

In a similar fashion to the Season 2 intro, Light walks towards the camera and glitches into his other forms, this one being Soulless. It only emphasizes his apparent new role in the season.

After this, we see a standoff between the main cast and the main opposition. Light, Professor, Dimension, Purple, and...a strange new variant of Assistant. It makes me think of the assistant robot from A Dark Soul, which was also themed around light. In the beginning of the trailer (and in the thumbnail), we only see the Assistant as a head. I guess he got repaired, and Light was a major factor playing in it.

I'd also like to point out how odd the new Sculk Steves look. They have gray streaks, like light energy. Since Corrupt was absorbed by the Soulstice, I imagine that the light crystal he held became of high use to the Soulstice, allowing it to power up these Steves like this.

The patterns on the ends of their limbs also look much bigger/brighter/saturated, or maybe its just the lighting--like soul flames instead of the typical sculk steve pattern.

The Steve standing above in the second picture catches my eye, though. It seems to be a "normal" being, and even appears to be holding something if you look closely.

Right by the head there. This figure is also standing closest to the Soulstice, so they must be important. Could it be Corrupt? Well if you watch a few more seconds--

Right there. We see Light fighting with who appears to be that figure. But that sword... We have seen that sword before!

Corrupt's sword.

We never saw Corrupt disappear when the Soulstice found him. It's more than probable that he simply could have just absorbed the light energy from him, used it to power up the sculk steves and other operations, and left Corrupt weakened. But what purpose would he have even leaving him alive? The Soulstice has everything it needs now, right?

Light found Toxin, too. And with a potion effect? He seems weakened. Perhaps Void has abandoned him and Light will team up with him? He already seemed to be cracking during his fight with Light in the forest where his prior identity as Soren was revealed. Is it finally time we get Soren back? Or will he still be evil?

The next few shots depict a battle between Light and Void, seemingly at his new base of operations. I'd put photos, but I'm almost out of space, and I want to keep this all in one post. Plus, there isn't a lot to analyze there.

The final shots of the trailer are some of my favorite ones.

There's a good bit to break down here.

We start out by seeing Light's cursed form, except his curse appears to have spread greatly. I've also just realized that he doesn't have his soul-afflicted eye in this form. Images of Purple Leader, Soulstice, Professor, Soulless, and Assistant are not surprising--we already know of their larger roles. I believe that's Corrupt again in the 5th shift. As for the 8th, I'm a bit confused. I don't think we know who this person is. However, the purple belt definitely brings up a few ideas, even if they're stretches. Could we meet a new Purple Steve--maybe even Phantasia?? I doubt that's the case, as it seems pretty outlandish. The Yellow Leader being present actually makes a lot of sense as well. His Darkness should give him resistance to the Soulstice.

BUT, I'm really focusing in on those last three. Louis, Cliff, and,, Seer.

We saw the Elites' souls taken. Clearly, they find their way back to the land of the living eventually (and with some sick new redesigns.) Louis doesn't change much, but Cliff appears to now be entirely a Light Steve. Which brings up another thought--if he is now 100% light, does this mean that he is completely purged of Darkness? Is his Shadow gone? Is his shadow the reason he had to become fully light?

And then there's Seer. There's no doubt that this is him. My friend @chaoticcyprus brought up this photo:

We saw this shot during the semi-finale when Void was battling the Soul Eater. The outfit aligns perfectly, except now his hood is down, and he seems to have been set free from whatever chains held him previously.

But how would Seer and Void separate? I assume it would have something to do with Corrupt's final blow on Void.

Corrupt dealt an absolutely MASSIVE amount of power onto his opponent. I'm sure that the sheer amount of light energy could be enough to somehow split Void and Seer apart. It would explain Void's sudden spike in power and authority that he seems to have in the next season.

As for any final thoughts,,, I can't think of much else for now.

But I'm looking forward to hearing what everyone else has to say, and also what the team presents for Catalyst!

#ruined reality #The trailer was genuinely sick #VERY much excited to see what they cook up #But i swear #I SWEAR #IF THOSE LEADERS DONT GET BROGUHT BACK........#IM GOING ON MY DOXXING ARC.................................#.#Anywho #Very peak #If anything is contradicting in this post i apologize #This was my live analysis #I am not proofreading 1300+ words...

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msbigredmachine · 1 year ago

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TARGETS - EPILOGUE

Roman Reigns is an agent in the secret organization The Authority and one of the world’s deadliest assassins. When he crosses paths with a mysterious woman during an assignment, he makes a life-changing decision that switches his role from the hunter to the hunted. (AU Espionage Story)

TARGETS MASTERLIST

--------------------------------

BOOOOM!

“First C4 activated! Release the teargas, now!”

“Got it, Uce. Put on your gas mask, man. You and Rollins in yet?”

“Affirmative. Ambrose and I are in."

"Hey, I see ‘em.”

“Both of ‘em?”

“Yeah. Both packages located, we got ‘em. Shit, they’re hurt.”

“Hold on, Ambrose, we’ll patch them up later. Twins, get us outta here, asap!”

“There’s a loose vent on your nine that leads right outside. You got ninety seconds to evacuate, then the rest of the C4s blow.”

“We found it. We’re getting outta here. Man, we owe you guys. Both of you.”

“Naw, Uce. We’ll collect soon, don’t worry about it.”

-----------------------------

Sixty three days later…

Montego Bay, Jamaica

"So this is it?"

Dean nodded, handing the object he was holding over to his dark-haired friend. "Yep."

Seth held it up, scrutinizing it carefully. "You think she'll like it?" he asked, looking wearily at Dean and hoping he didn't sound as panicked as he felt.

"Course she will, look how pretty it is," Dean said, "Chicks dig stuff like this, anyway."

"Ah shit, I should have just brought Roman along with us," Seth whined.

"So what, my opinions mean shit to you?" the ex-Authority agent challenged, offended.

"It's not that, man, it's just...he seems to be really good with this stuff. The romance and all. He’s had a lot of experience with Jasmine."

"Well, he's probably with her right now...would you like to call him and fuck everything up in the process?" Dean flattened his eyes at Seth, who sighed heavily. "Now's really not the time to bitch at me, Ambrose. I’m just a little nervous for him, that’s all."

Dean started to say more, but decided to drop it when he noticed the apprehension on his friend's face. He reached up and patted his shoulder reassuringly. "It's gonna be fine, Seth. Trust me. Trust both of them. After all the shit they have been through together, I don't see any other outcome."

Seth looked at his friend with a smile. It seemed like only yesterday that he and Dean came to Roman and Jasmine's aid at Lagoon. The two men never went to Jamaica, at least not immediately. When they discovered the Authority and F.L.O.R.A’s plans to ambush the couple, they sought out Jimmy and Jey and begged for their help, to help them interject themselves under the guise that they were working under The Authority's orders. With the twins pulling the strings, Dean was able to rig the entire shopping mall with explosives, detonating them all and bringing the building down on all the agents. Seth rescued a gravely injured Roman and Jasmine through a vent that was initially to be used to dispatch their corpses, and got them out of there before the building was razed to the ground. Together, the four smuggled their way out of the States and took a one-way trip to the Caribbean.

As beautiful and serene as Montego Bay seemed, adjusting to life as civilians was a tougher process than all four of them thought. The rules were different, an uncomfortable contrast from what they were used to. The need to hunt, to kill, still lingered. The threat of the remnants of what was once their lives still hung over their heads, and at times paranoia set in. To stay sane, the four of them often had dinner together at Roman and Jasmine's overwater bungalow, which was a short distance from the little town they resided in, isolated and surrounded by bushes and beaches. For the first few weeks, they took turns staying awake, keeping watch over the house while the others slept. As much as they knew that most of F.L.O.R.A. and The Authority had been wiped out, none of them was naive enough to be assured they were gone for good. Perhaps the paranoia was destined to be ingrained in them, but they were better safe than sorry.

The twins had unfrozen the accounts of Roman and Jasmine, and with Seth and Dean’s own contributions, all four were set for life as multimillionaires. However, they chose to lay low as ordinary middle class foreigners. The three men set up an auto shop and began making a living as mechanics, while Jasmine became a bartender at a popular local bar. It was a smart strategy, allowing her to sniff out anyone suspicious as well as collect information on the goings-on around town. Of course, it wasn’t all about work. The dating scene was kind to Dean and Seth in varying degrees. Dean was, as expected, sowing his wild oats, while Seth had fallen for a Jamaican girl named Portia who worked at the bar with Jasmine. She, Roman and Dean approved of her – after a quick background check of course, and Roman told Seth he hoped he would find the kind of happiness he was enjoying with Jasmine.

Checking his watch, Dean looked over at Seth. “Where the fuck is that big goof anyway? He’s supposed to come over and pick it up. He knows I got a date in like an hour. What’s taking him so long?”

------------------------

Roman expelled another primal grunt as he uncrossed Jasmine’s ankles and shoved her knees into the mattress. As he thrust deeper inside her impossibly wet, tender pussy, she cried out and squirmed underneath his big body.

“Fuck! Wait, wait baby, I just came again,” she whined with a push of his hips, forcing him to halt his movements so she could catch her breath. Chuckling softly at her declaration, he leaned down to kiss her cheek, feeling her sexy little body shiver against him. His lips then touched hers in sweet, gentle kisses, making her moan for him. His tongue played with hers, making her taste his breakfast from earlier, which just so happened to be her.

“I ain't done. C’mon,” he drawled, giving her another kiss before sitting back up and moving again, albeit less roughly this time. He hissed with delight when he sank into her, thrusting in and out, meeting nothing but warm, tight wetness. “Yeah, that’s it mama, take it, grip my dick…” he groaned softly, closely watching her pretty face.

“Unnnhhh, shit,” Jasmine moaned, looking down at his flesh weapon, glistening with her nectar, digging her out, with her legs now wide open and pinned down by his huge hands. “Damn, your dick is so big…”

“I know, baby, you take it so well. Am I gettin’ your sweet spot? Huh?” he asked, his voice so thick and sultry that she moaned again.

“You are, Daddy, you’re all the way in. So good.” She’d never felt this full before and it felt incredible. His dick had her pussy slick and stuffed, and even then she gripped him tighter with each luscious stroke.

“Mm-hmm, I can feel it, baby. Let me pound this pussy till you squirt all over me.”

“Oooooh,” she answered weakly, her eyes rolling back when he began to fuck her harder. She was on the verge of passing out from the incredible pleasure. Her palms slid down his broad back to squeeze and grip his ass cheeks, her toes curling in the air, her throaty moans lost among the sounds of slapping skin and the outdoors morning breeze as he fucked her into the bed with his deep, ruthless stroking.

Roman cupped her bouncing breasts and massaged them in his large competent hands, the scrape of his fingertips over her nipples prompting her walls to pull greedily on his dick. “Unnhh, you got me drunk off this pussy, baby, so tight and wet for Daddy,” he rasped, biting his lip when she fluttered around him again. Getting praised turned her on; he knew that all too well and did so as often as he could because it made her feel good and his girl deserved it.

“Fuck, right there Daddy, right there,” her mouth fell open and her eyes fluttered shut as he flexed his hips, sliding his heavy dick right up in her stomach. He was taking his time, making her feel every inch of him all up in her guts, the base of his cock grinding against her clit. Her fingers slipped down between her open legs to rub the swollen bud in quick, frantic circles. “Ooh, shiiiit, I’m gonna come again…”

"Look at me. Let me see them pretty eyes when you come," he groaned, and immediately her eyes flew back open; she could see the whites of his own, his pupils onyx black and dilated, reflecting the passion she was feeling. She pulled him down and wrapped her arms around him. The sweat slid between their bodies as he pounded her out, his hefty girth swelling inside her, expanding her walls, his growls and moans ringing in her ears as he also neared his end, causing the heat in her belly to amplify to seismic proportions.

“Oh fuck, oh, ohhhh,” And then she was struck dumb as this orgasm crashed over her with brute force, every part of her burning feverishly from the explosion of her body, flooding Roman's dick with her juices just like he wanted.

Tucking his face in her neck, another needy groan escaped from Roman’s lips as he pumped away on top of her, his breathing getting heavier and heavier. Then, with one more deep thrust, the big man came apart with a harsh moan, his entire body going rigid as he pulsed inside her. He tried to rock his hips again, but then froze because he was coming so hard, his dick twitching and spurting cum deep inside her walls. Jasmine lowered her long legs and wrapped them around his waist to keep him close, threading her fingers through his hair and pulling his face to hers for a kiss. She loved how he moaned into her mouth, sharing his pleasure with her as his orgasm continued to ravage his two-sixty-plus-pound frame. Every dizzying second was amazing, and they savored the moment of bliss together, feeling serene and replete.

“Fuck, I can’t move,” Roman half-groaned, half-chuckled, drawing a giggle from Jasmine as she wiped the sweat off his brow.

“Then don’t,” she told him, recapturing his mouth for more deliciously noisy tongue-kissing. “Mmm, baby, what a start to my morning...”

Her little purr, along with her delectable tongue lapping his mouth and her hands kneading the firm flesh of his backside, caused his dick to stir inside her again, tempting him with yet another round. He placed one more sensual kiss to her lips before managing to slide out of her and collapse onto his back with a satisfied moan. As Jasmine pushed herself upright and tugged her neon-green bikini top back over her breasts, his eyes narrowed, as though seeing her chest for the first time. “Is it me or are your titties bigger?” he asked.

Jasmine giggled and pushed them together for his hungry gaze. “It’s possible. I’m getting thicker everywhere. Must be all the good Island food.”

“I ain’t mad at it, baby. If anything, you look hotter every day,” he complimented, reaching out to squeeze her ass when she rolled over to search for something on her side of the bed. Checking the time on his phone, he cursed and flew out of the bed in all his naked glory. Luckily there was no one in sight of the expanse of clear blue sea their bedroom overlooked. “Fuck! Ambrose is gonna kill me! I’m meant to have met him ten minutes ago!” He grabbed his shorts from off the floor and hopped clumsily into them, commando and all.

“When will you be back?” Jasmine asked, putting on her sunglasses.

“Soon as I can,” he said, throwing on his white t-shirt. “I shouldn’t be long. We’re going out later this evening, by the way, just me and you.”

“You don’t wanna stay in tonight?” she pouted.

“We can, if that’s what you want. But then you’ll miss out on the special surprise I got for you.” Sitting down next to her, he reached behind her to gently massage the back of her neck as he peered at her. “You okay, though?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Jasmine smiled sweetly at her boyfriend. “Don't be gone too long. I want more sex.”

"Damn, my girl's been horny as hell for me lately. Not that I'm complaining."

Her nonchalant shrug couldn't hide her blush. "Yeah, well, you're smoking hot and I like the way you fuck me, so..." she said simply.

Roman chuckled at that. She really knew how to stroke a guy's ego...among other things. "A'ight, then. Anything for you, my baby girl. I’ll be back asap. Love you.”

“Love you too,” she replied. With a tender kiss to her lips, he stood up and slipped through the curtained entrance, leaving her by herself. Once she was sure the coast was clear, Jasmine took a deep, nervous breath, staring out into the horizon, her mind traveling in several different directions.

-------------------

Hours later

The beauty of the sunset was unmissable, and Jasmine and Roman were glad to be out to see it. After a sumptuous early dinner in one of their favorite restaurants, the couple strolled along the beach, arms comfortably around the other, lost in their thoughts. They had become more reflective ever since their narrow brush with death back in the States. A lot had changed, and it led to a new, albeit uncertain future with scars of their recent past. Fragments of bullets remained in Roman's left leg, leaving him with a permanent limp, while Jasmine sustained third-degree burns on her body that left her physically scarred. Despite the physical – and mental – injuries they endured, the couple never forgot that they owed Seth, Dean, Jimmy and Jey their lives.

Their relationship continued to grow. They often took long walks on the beach situated close to their oceanfront residence. They'd had dates and parties there, and it was also their place of mourning after learning of Rose and Leona's deaths. The couple grieved – each in private, and together, sharing their sorrow over the loss of their good friends.

This evening though, there would be no mourning. At least Roman hoped not. As the moment of truth approached, his insides began to twist in knots. He couldn't remember the last time he was this nervous about anything. Stopping, he turned to look at his girlfriend, hoping to draw confidence from her, and what he saw blew him away, like always.

Perfect. That was the only word he could think of to describe her. Absolute perfection. Every curve, every inch of her was exquisite. From her hair, currently styled in long, beautiful goddess locs, to her eyes, the color of hot chocolate on a cold Christmas morning. Her hands, when they touched him, made him surrender without a fight. She was his weakness. She was his strength. She was his love.

Locking eyes with her, he returned her smile when he pulled her gently to him. Cradling her face with both hands, he kissed her deeply, tenderly, feeling her arms curl around his waist as she kissed him back.

"I love you so much," he whispered, brushing his knuckles over her cheek, his head tilting for another taste of her sweet lips.

"I love you more," Jasmine replied, her voice as soft as his. The way he looked at her was enough to tell her he loved her; with such affection and awe and appreciation. Roman was the only man for her, the only man who could set her heart racing with just one look. His strength, his spontaneity, his passion for life, passion for her, melted her heart. For the first time in her life, Jasmine was in love, truly in love.

He took both her hands in his and held them to his chest. Her eyes widened at how fast his heart was beating. “Baby, are you okay?” she asked, concerned.

Roman merely smiled softly. "Jasmine...it's been just over a year since we first met, and during that time I've searched for ways to express just how much I love you." As he spoke, he felt his nerves begin to fade away. Again, her eyes. One look into them and everything became right with the world. "But I realized that words will never be enough," he went on. "I know it hasn't been the longest relationship, or the most conventional one for that matter, but I think I fell in love with you the moment I saw you in Miami. To say that night was the greatest night of my life will not be an exaggeration."

He watched the tears pool in those beautiful eyes and he took a deep breath. "I love you. More than my own life, my own breath. I can't imagine a life without you and I don't even want to try. We've been through so much together…hell, we almost fuckin’ died together. But I believe there’s a reason we’re still alive, and it’s for this very moment, and I couldn't let it pass by without letting you know I want to spend the rest of my natural life with you…as your husband."

Jasmine stood, dumbfounded, as he smiled a tiny, nervous smile and took a step back. Her eyes grew wide as he slowly descended to one knee. She brought her hands up to cover her shocked gasp, her heart pounding uncomfortably as he reached into his pocket and took out a small velvet box.

Oh god. Oh my god. Tell him! Tell him now! "Wait!" she blurted out.

Roman stilled, staring up at her with an uneasy expression. "Is something wrong?"

The answer to that question depended entirely on him. "I...I need to show you something." Letting her gaze linger on him for a second longer, she brought a long, thin object out of her little shoulder bag and gave it to him with a trembling hand. Roman took it, and holding it up curiously, his face paled.

It was a small, long white stick, and printed at the end of the stick were eight letters.

She swallowed hard as she watched the comprehension dawn on his handsome face. "I took three tests yesterday, they were all positive," she rambled. "I was looking for the right time to tell you..." When she found out, she was terrified. She didn't know what he would say, how he would react, so she had kept it from him and chose to confide in Portia instead. She had encouraged Jasmine to tell him tonight. But now, as she gauged the look on his face, she wished she never did. Her heart sank at his unreadable expression. He hadn't said a word, instead just kept staring at the pregnancy test. It felt like a hot knife through her chest and for a moment she couldn't breathe.

"I...I’m keeping the baby," she barreled on with a shaky voice, fighting back tears. She tore her gaze away from him. She couldn't bear to see the rejection on his face, or hear him disown the one thing she thought they'd created out of love. "You don't have to be involved in its life if you don't want to-"

"What?!" Roman exclaimed, surprised. "Why the fuck would you think I don't want anything to do with my own child?"

There was a pain in his eyes Jasmine had never seen before, and in that moment she felt stupid for thinking the way she did. "I...I don't know...I didn't know how you would feel about being a father..." She tried to defend herself and ended up succumbing to her tears. "I remembered everything you told me in Vermont, how hesitant you were about having children. And then this happens and I thought...I just thought you would say you weren't ready, and then you would leave me-"

“Leave you? Over this? Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”

“I don’t know what to think, Roman! I’m scared, okay?”

“Well, think about this.” Tugging her back to him, he silenced her with a kiss so tender, and yet so passionate, that it sent shivers down her spine and made her forget her name. She was certain she was still standing only because he was holding her. When he pulled back, her eyes were still closed, but the tears streamed down her beautiful face, strangely enough, making her look even more beautiful if that was possible. Roman gently pressed his forehead to hers. "Baby, look at me."

When she did, his heart skipped at the sadness that looked back at him. She had him terribly mistaken and he was going to clear that up right now. "My baby girl, you don't realize how much deeper in love with you I've just fallen," he told her softly, sincerely.

At his words, Jasmine choked back a sob, more tears trickling down her cheeks. Roman didn't hesitate to wipe each one away. "I will never leave you for anything," he promised. "You never need to worry about that. I belong to you. I'm yours for as long as you'll have me. That is my child growing inside you, our child. And I'm going to be there for him or her. Every step, every moment, I'll be here by your side. There's nothing else I'd rather do with my future than watch our babies grow old together."

The words were so heartfelt, so sincere. How could she ever have doubted this incredible man?

Reaching back into his pocket, Roman retrieved the small velvet box and opened it up. Jasmine's breath caught at the piece of jewelry that shone at her. It was the most exquisite thing she'd ever seen.

"Jasmine...my love, my sweetheart, the best partner I’ve ever had," Roman said softly, his heart in his brown gaze, "This news you just shared with me has made me the happiest man on earth, and there's only one thing that would make me even happier." Smiling at her, he held up the box to her. "Marry me."

A knowing smile spread across her features. "Mr. Reigns...Are you asking me to be your wife?

Roman's grin matched her own. "Yeah. I guess I am."

"Mrs. Reigns." Jasmine grinned. "I like the sound of that."

The words were familiar – they had this exchange when he'd asked her to be his girlfriend – and he was just as ecstatic as he was back then. "Is that a yes?"

"Of course! Yes!" She could barely see through her tears as he slid the diamond ring onto her finger. She threw herself into his arms and crushed her lips to his. "I love you, Roman." She would never be tired of saying those words to him.

"I love you more." His heart swelled with happiness. This felt like a dream. He was engaged to Jasmine. He would get to spend the rest of his life with her; his lover. His wife-to-be. The mother of his child.

Wow. His child. He was going to be a father.

"Man, it all makes sense now. The vomiting...I thought you were just seasick...Your thicker body, you tryna fuck me every chance you get," he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows.

She hit his arm. "Shut up," she said playfully, laughing when engulfed her in a big hug, burying his face in her neck. They stood there together for a long time, not saying a word, letting it all sink in.

"I'm so fuckin' happy right now. I never thought it was possible to ever feel like this, babe," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Jasmine stroked the back of his head, the tears returning. Happy tears. "You deserve happiness, Roman," she assured him. "We both do." She took his hand in hers. "Darling...I know we're here, and it seems safe, but we may never really be safe, you know?" She looked up at him, her eyes tinged with skepticism.

"I'll protect you," he vowed, placing a gentle hand on his fiancée's belly, only just realizing that it was indeed a little rounder thanks to the changes happening inside her. Even after everything she had been put through, the baby had stood firm. He couldn't help but be proud. His baby was strong, just like its mother. "I'll protect you both."

Jasmine covered his hand on her stomach with hers and kissed him. She believed him. He had not let her down, not yet broken a promise so far. As they broke apart, he kept his hands tight in hers, his smile so wide and happy. His joy was infectious. Jasmine wanted to see him look that way forever. Together, hand in hand, they resumed their walk along the shore, returning home.

"I do have one ground rule though," she spoke up, "No guns around the baby."

He laughed. "We should be telling that to the uncles, Seth and Dean. They'll call dibs on who will teach the baby first."

Jasmine gasped, horrified. "No, no, no guns at all. And certainly no explosives! I'm serious!"

"Well, we'll discuss all of that in fine detail. We've got the rest of our lives to do that, after all," he smiled, squeezing his new fiancée's hand.

Returning his smile, she felt her heart warm, the joy she felt inside radiating through every pore. "Yeah, we do."

The rest of their lives with each other. It sounded good. It sounded really good.

----------------------------

“I can pull the trigger right now, Uce. Say the word.”

“Now why do you like gettin’ your hands dirty? Leave that shit for the primitives. You gonna off an innocent unborn baby, dude?”

“It ain’t born yet, so it don’t count.” Jey put his rifle away. “Man, I’m bored. This shit ain’t what it used to be. Everything’s been fucked up the last three months.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “It’s fucked up cuz we allowed it to happen, Uce. And look at us now. We run F.L.O.R.A and the Authority. Chill.”

Jey mulled it over. His brother had a point. “A’ight. So what’s the plan?”

“We wait for the best offer and only at the right time. When that time comes, we serve ‘em all up to the highest bidder. We’re looking at half a billion dollars, brother. That kinda bread gives us unlimited access to the most secure cybersystems in the world."

"Not to mention feed our families for life. Whose names are in the hat?”

“You won't believe it, bro. Trick and Melo Gang, the Latino World Order, Tony D and Stacks…the McMahons…”

Jey’s eyes widened. Those names belonged to some of the most dangerous crime families and syndicates in all of North America, all of whom had been slighted by either Jasmine, Roman, Dean or Seth. “Oh shit. I like the sound of that,” he said with a big grin on his face.

Jimmy’s glinted menacingly. “Exactly. The fun’s just getting started, Uce. Sit your ass back, be patient and relax.”

“Ya know what, big brother? Maybe I will.”

And with that, the twins continued their surveillance on their former colleagues, their targets, their meal tickets, their chance to take over cyberspace and wreak havoc on the world like they really wanted to.

After all, the waiting game was the fun part. It made eliminating the targets much sweeter.

THE END

-------------------------

And so ends Targets. What a ride it's been.

Thoughts?

Who was your favorite character? Favorite chapter/quote/scene?

Thank you all for your amazing support! I'll be on vacation in like a week so expect more stuff from me hopefully soon!

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns smut #roman reigns imagines #roman reigns fics #the bloodline #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns x black oc #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns imagine #roman reigns x oc

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b-afterhours · 3 months ago

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Avenue of Sins: Neon

A Sequel to Avenue of Sins

SUMMARY: ‘90s. It’s the aftermath. Jaded, Bill and Alma navigate their new lives as they try to drag themselves out of the dark debacherous trenches they had once ensnared themselves in. It’s easy to forget their evils when a silver lining introduces itself into their lives but can they create a less hedonistic life that would be just as satisfying?

WARNINGS: adult content, mature readers only.

Author's note: Again, thank you all so much for reading! This is the conclusion of AOS. It's another long chapter to enjoy. I plan to have one shot posted soon that'll show some parts I was unable to fit within the main story. Thanks again. Lots of love x

Epilogue

Summer 1994

Ulyssa was back in Seattle for the summer after being away in New York for school. She was sitting on top of the cash wrap counter at Sheisty Sound Records, finger-weaving a friendship bracelet on pink dye-stained digits for Ash, who was pricing CDs next to her.

“Who’s playing on the speakers?” A young man asked out loud.

The women both turned towards him. He was a wiry, nerdy-looking guy, holding onto an easy-listening record. They informed him of the band playing in unison and giggled.

“They’re playing here in two months,” Ulyssa informed with a polite smile.

"Sold out show," Ash winked at him, pressing the trigger of the pricing gun pointed at him.

The door chimes sounded, and in came Alma, looking a bit flustered, but she put on a smile for them when they greeted her. She was in a tight cap-sleeve shirt tucked into high-waisted jeans cinched with a black designer belt.

“Hey!” She said, approaching them after swerving around a customer. “Your hair looks so good, ‘Lys!” She complimented her pink shaggy pixie cut.

“Doesn’t it!” Ash said in agreement.

“E’ is going to be so obsessed when she sees it! Uhm,” Alma placed her hands on her hips and took on a more serious tone. “Did the light fixture guy come by with a delivery this morning?”

Sheisty Sound had been going through various repairs and upgrades since the beginning of the year under the new ownership. Once Lewis gave Bill the keys a week before he and his family left for New York for the holidays, they began drawing up a timeline.

~~~

It was a chilly, drizzly day in November when Bill met Lewis on a Sunday after hours. He had his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket and pulled the fabric tighter against his body while he walked to the store. He showed up alone, of course. Alma and the baby stayed home, waiting anxiously for him. It was a big day for them, but as far as they knew, Lewis still hadn’t any idea his employee was in a relationship with the gentleman purchaser from New York.

Bill knocked on the store door, but through the glass, he saw Lewis seemingly doing one last private walk-through of his beloved record shop. Once Lewis unlocked the door for Bill, they greeted each other with a handshake and began congratulating and thanking each other. Walking through the shop together, Lewis asked what his plans were for the shop now that he had full reign. Of course, Bill and Alma wanted to upgrade areas of the shop and venue and add little personal touches without losing the charm of the place the locals loved so much.

“I’ll have to pay a visit once things are settled,” Lewis said while they stood in the office.

“For sure,” Bill nodded. “We would love that.” Bill noticed a slight shift in Lewis when he uttered the plural, ‘we’. “Um, so after today, Cancun?” He quickly asked to cover his mistake.

“Yup. My wife Helen and I fly there in a week. The whole family will be there for the holidays this year.” He smiled. “And you?”

“I’m going to New York, where it won’t be as warm.” Bill chuckled.

“With your family?”

“Mhmm. My partner and daughter.” He adjusted the brim of his black baseball cap, feeling a little awkward.

“You know,” Lewis paused and crossed his wrists behind his back. “I have an employee here who is going to New York for the holidays too.”

“Uh huh,” Bill licked his lips. He wanted to smirk, having realized they were caught, but he refrained. “And she has a kid about my daughter's age too?” He said for Lewis before he could disingenuously question. Lewis stood there, looking up at him for an explanation. “We should have told you.”

“Well isn’t that something… I wasn’t too happy to learn about it, frankly. I was rather upset about being deceived.”

“I’m sorry about that.” He said just to placate him, he was hardly sorry at all. “How long have you known?”

“Since Darby’s wedding.”

Bill tilted his head, surprised by that. Lewis had known for months and held on to the fact until now.

“Were we obvious?”

“No. I’m a bit impressed by your acting.” He had to admit.

“Could I ask how, then?”

Lewis sighed. “As I left the wedding, I ran into Gregory in the parking lot. I think he was getting stoned in his van, but he mentioned your coupling in conversation. I guess by accident?”

He knew it would be someone from the record shop who would blow their cover, but he never suspected it would be Gregory. He kept to himself so much that Bill could hardly read him. Even Alma couldn’t pin him down at times. What Bill could sometimes sense was that Gregory didn't care for him at all. Ulyssa let it slip that he was a strip club owner, and he felt validated in his suspicions about him. Whether he told by accident or meant to sabotage was still surprising.

“I see.” Bill leaned on the office door frame, crossing his arms. “We should have been upfront. We felt that it would have been a conflict of interest, you know. And I really wanted this to go through.”

“It almost didn’t,” Lewis revealed. “I told you I was upset. My wife and I went home, and she had to hear me gripe about it. I was so close to calling Sam Goody and letting them have at this place, but my wife talked some sense into me.”

Helen could tell Lewis was more upset at the thought of being officially detached from the family record store. It was hard to hand over, and the deceit began to make him second guess. She couldn't have that; she was so close to her dream retirement. Besides, business was business at the end of the day. It just so happened that the handsome buyer from New York knew when to hold and play his hand better than most.

“It was Sam Goody that I was up against?” Bill chuckled in disbelief.

“It was! But they wouldn’t have honored anything I’ve said. Unlike you?” He raised a skeptical brow at Bill.

“I’m not firing anyone.” He assured.

“Not even Gregory?” Lewis chuckled.

“Nah,” he chuckled. “He’s getting a dollar raise along with everyone else. Darby is staying as the general manager and will be on salary at the start of the year.”

When he and Darby went on their lunch meeting at a country club his family was members of, Bill laid out his plans for his role at the store. They negotiated a bit about his yearly salary, but once everything was square between them, they ended up enjoying an evening out. A late one they didn’t expect to have, which caused both their respective partners to be a bit upset because neither could get a hold of either of them. Alma wouldn’t have been upset, but it was the fact that Darby’s wife called her worried and made it a problem. It was as if they were two boys, and Darby was out with the bad kid. The men arrived at their respective dwellings, three sheets to the wind, via cab.

“Oh! Good deal,” said Lewis. “Well, looks like you know what you're doing. I mean, I kinda figured that myself over our email correspondences. But it’s good you have Alma. You know, when she had the baby, she took off for a bit but promised to return. She kept my books in order better than Darby, and I was close to making him visit her to make sure she would come back, but luckily she turned up on her own. So—you two meet in New York?”

Bill scratched the back of his neck. “No, we’ve known each other for a long time now.”

“Ah, yeah. She’s definitely someone you’d want to keep by your side for sure. Smart.”

Lewis passed a large ring of labeled keys to Bill, and they shook hands, completing their deal. They promised to keep in touch, and now Bill was alone inside the record shop he now owned. He called Alma from the store telephone he now owned, and now she was on her way to meet him. He was busy matching keys to locks around the place when she walked in with Echo through the front door, which he didn’t bother to lock. Both of them came in happily, skipping towards him, together in their family business.

~~~

“Yeah, I told the guy to put them backstage,” Ash informed Alma. She had been such a good asset to her since they switched roles, always on top of things, and very organized, which Alma appreciated.

“Oh good, thanks.” The door chimes sounded once again, which caused Alma to turn her head towards it.

Ulyssa noticed Alma glare at Bill when he entered, and he gave it right back to her. Scowling under his brow, displeased.

“Uhm, I’m going to go check on that,” she quickly said and began walking away even quicker.

Bill promptly greeted the employees as politely as he could, but he still looked tense. He was dressed in a long-sleeved black tee and well-fitting jeans, but this summer he was sporting a buzz cut. It was late at night when he did it impulsively, bored and stoned in the apartment, while Alma was out with friends.

He hadn’t established a proper barber in Seattle yet and just got rid of it. He was lying in bed in the dark when she arrived, undressing and speaking to him, completely unaware. It wasn’t until she was out of the shower she climbed into bed with him, leaning over for a kiss, that she paused. In the dark, she could sense something wasn’t right with him.

“What happened?”

“What?”

She startled him slightly when she swiftly climbed over and straddled him to turn his bedside lamp on. She gasped when she saw what he had done.

“It’s hair. It’ll grow out.” He said, feeling a little embarrassed about it now that his high was gone. Alma ran her hands through the short hair, which Bill thought felt quite nice, and smiled.

“I don’t hate it.” She leaned down and kissed the top of his shorn head.

Ulyssa watched Bill briskly catch up to Alma weaving between record tables, but she shrugged him off when he grabbed her arm.

“What the fuck A’? I wasn’t done talking to you.” Bill could be overheard saying to her. He hooked his finger in one of her belt loops to keep her from straying away.

“I was fucking done. I told you. I told you I paid for the delivery already. You can’t just write checks out like it’s nothing without me knowing. Now I have to—”

That was all that Ulyssa was able to overhear as they walked away to the stage area.

“What’s up?” Ash asked her, noticing her worry.

“Oh,” Ulyssa lightly shrugged. “They’ve been arguing a lot,” she grimaced.

“Oh. Yeah,” Ash said, unbothered as she dismissively waved her hand. “But like, you know it’s not for real, right?”

“What do you mean?” Ulyssa asked, noticing a coy look on Ash’s face.

“It’s like foreplay for them.” Ash laughed when Ulyssa got red in the face. “You know they’re some freaks!”

“Oh yeah, these are nice,” Bill said, crouched down backstage looking through the boxes, poking at the contents with the tip of a pocket knife to make sure nothing was broken during transit. “These are better than what we have at the club.”

“And apparently, they don’t get as hot as the stage lights we have now,” Alma informed.

They had been following the timeline they had written and were still on schedule. Luckily, part of the deal Bill made with Lewis involved having the roof fixed on his part before everything became official. A big project they were able to avoid.

So they started with the next dire situation. The bathrooms. It was on top of their list, underlined multiple times. They were gutted first thing, as they looked and smelled like the embodiment of hell. Bill and Alma knew it wouldn’t be realistic, believing they wouldn’t be defaced at all, so once they were back open for business, the record crew had a graffiti party. Tagging the newly painted walls with magic markers and drippy paint pens. Matt happily took the opportunity to draw the first dick in the men’s stall.

So far after that, the stage had been reinforced, the threat of possibly caving in was gone, and the old dusty, cigarette-smelling stage curtain had been replaced. Once the new light fixtures were up, they could finally transition to fixing the main shop by giving it a few tweaks here and there. First with the office until they could finally focus on the outside. Adding a large neon theater-style marquee.

Bill straightened up. “Before you slammed the fucking car door in my face,” he smirked. “I was trying to tell you that the realtor called.”

“About the house? Is everything fine?” She said worried.

“Yeah. He called to tell me we can pick up the keys tomorrow.” He let out a strained groan, caught off guard when she jumped into his arms excitedly, but then he smiled.

…

Closer to the beginning of the year, Bill was alone in the apartment when the realtor unexpectedly called. He was packing for a short visit to New York but had taken a break to check his email. There wasn’t anything in his inbox to note except a stupid chain email from Giancarlo. He had replied to him: Don’t send me this shit.

He got up to grab a pickle spear from a jar in the fridge and began walking back to the room to resume his packing when the phone rang. He groaned and rolled his eyes as he turned his tracks to answer.

“Mm,” he said, still chewing. “Hello?”

“Mr. Skarsgård?”

“Mhmm.” He swallowed.

“Hey, it’s Chase.”

“Oh,” he cleared his throat. “Hey.”

“I was hoping you and Miss Lucio wouldn’t happen to be busy today. I’m at a showing, but my client rescheduled. However, if you’ve got the time, I’m happy to show you all this home. It’s a bit out of the city, though. I know Miss Lucio wanted to remain within city limits, but…”

“How far is it?”

“About a thirty, forty-minute drive from the city.” Without traffic, he finished in his head. “I really think you should take a look.”

Bill quickly pulled a charcoal hoodie over the white tank he wore and left the loose-fitting pants he had on. After tying his Vans shoes, he was out the door and in the Jeep, taking another glance at the address he had written down and the directions Chase had given him.

He decided to see the home on his own. Alma had taken Echo to the record shop that day, and with the property being out of the way, he wanted to check if it was even worth bringing them along later. It felt that they had seen so many houses at this point that the search just started to feel more like a job rather than a pleasant daydream. It was taking much too long to move out of the small, cramped apartment they were living in. After Bill found a note on the front door complaining about the noise from their unit, the itch to leave worsened.

As he left the city, the landscape became veridian and dense with tall mossy trees. He turned on a winding road, and he could see homes through the breaks the long driveways provided. They were rather large homes, but they all seemed to look newly built and felt too boring. Bill and Alma wanted something with some history, with leftover character they could build on.

He slowed down to check the address and search for the road he was told to turn left at, and saw it just ahead. Just a bit later, he arrived, taking the long driveway and parking right underneath a breezeway connecting the four-car garage and the house. The style of it looked different from the home; it was an addition. The home stood tall and wide. He took note of the large windows and the surrounding acreage. There were neighbors on this road, but the tree cover fencing the property provided privacy that you couldn’t get in intercity Seattle.

He put his black cap on, exited the Jeep, and looked at the foundational brick skirting of the home as he walked down the length of the driveway and continued up the top of the arching drive to meet Chase at the front door. He had on his megawatt smile when he shook Bill’s hand.

“Hope it wasn’t too hard to find.”

“Nah,” Bill said, looking at the home while anxiously jingling the car keys in the palm of his half-fisted hand. “This is quite big. How many rooms are there?”

“Just come on and look for yourself.” He said, nudging his head for him to follow.

After going through the vestibule, it opened up to the living room. It had large, vaulted ceilings with tall windows, and a fireplace, and there was a mezzanine with a library at the top. Chase was grateful that his client looked genuinely surprised as his eyes scanned the room. He quickly learned he couldn’t help his clients settle on a property, in fact, they were a bit dismissive when he tried. He found Bill and his partner quite picky. Always bickering about the most inane aspects. Sometimes they even offended him because some things they hated he secretly loved.

“And Miss Lucio?” Chase inquired.

His eyes flicked down at him. “At work,” he sighed. “I just came to see if it was worth dragging her out here for.” He said honestly, maybe too honest for Chase. “She really does want to live in the city—but.”

“You know what? Why don’t you have a look around yourself? I’ll be in the den if you have questions about anything.”

“There’s a den too?” Bill asked intrigued.

Bill took a look around and was pleased with what he was seeing. It was hitting all the needs and wants he felt Alma had, too. It had five bedrooms and the appropriate amount of bathrooms. The dining room was stereotypical, but it was nothing to complain about. The large kitchen, with an island and breakfast nook, impressed him. He was in the primary bedroom, checking out the hardwood floors and the large walk-in closet, when he noticed a narrow entryway tucked in a corner. At first, he assumed it to be a randomly placed powder room, but as he turned the rounded corner, he discovered a small sitting area. Windows were facing the backyard, and there was a small metal fireplace right out of the 70s. Bill found it a bit bizarre and out of place but fascinating at the same time.

In the room, there was a narrow, encased staircase leading down, and he discovered the den where Chase was sitting with crossed legs reading an old issue of Vogue on a couch.

“I see you found the private sitting area!” He stood up, smoothing his salmon-colored button-down. “You could always make it into an office too.”

“Right. Pretty cool thing to find.” Bill glanced out the window to the backyard and noticed the large porch and the stone walkway to the garden.

“Check this out, though.” Chase walked over to a tall, standing bookshelf and slid it back into place, acting as a secret door to the room above.

“Oh, sick!”

“Right! Have you checked out the basement yet? It’s been redone by the previous owners. It’s like having an apartment below you.”

“Yeah. That’s really nice too.” Bill said, turning towards him. “Why are the owners selling this place?” He wondered.

“The gentleman of the home is relocating for work. He works in oil and gas. And no, no one has died here either.” He said because some way or another either he or Alma would jokingly ask. While it was a valid question, Chase found their gallows humor a bit tasteless. “The house was built in ‘68. There’s a really great Montessori preschool opening in town, and there’s a grocery store ten minutes away.”

Bill nodded. “Uhm. How long are you here for?”

“You’re my last showing here. I have another one to go to.”

“Could you do me a favor?” He asked, smiling at the man, knowing he’d get his way from him.

…

Alma was surprised to see Bill suddenly enter the office, jiggling the car keys again, while she was on a call. It wasn’t time for her to get off the clock, so to speak. She didn’t have to punch her time card anymore and made her schedule, but she wasn’t expecting to see him for a couple of hours to get picked up.

Echo was asleep in her mother’s arms while she spoke on the phone while soothingly swiveling in the office chair. He gently picked their daughter up, and Alma smiled at him as she stretched her arm out. She pushed the sleeves of her oversized knit sweater up her forearms, which she wore over a long maxi dress and heeled boots.

When Alma finished her call, she found Bill sitting on the edge of the stage watching his daughter run around happily after rising in his arms. When she saw him at first, she could tell he was eager to tell her something but refrained, seeing she was busy. She worried that he had come to tell her he changed his flight and that he would be leaving earlier than expected. Bill scooped up Echo in his arms and closed the space far quicker to reach Alma. They kissed, and he took her hand, leading them out of the shop.

“What’s going on, babe?”

“Chase called about a house.”

He could feel Alma taking several glances at him as he drove further and further away from Seattle. They had just driven over a truss bridge, and you could see a cascade of waterfalls further up the river. The area was gorgeous, almost out of a fairy tale, but Alma didn’t leave small country-suburban life in Missouri for another. Bill knew this.

“Look. Just be open-minded. It’s not that far. You can see the city skyline from the second floor of the house.”

“You’ve already been there?”

“I wanted to make sure it wasn’t bullshit before bringing you out here.”

Alma smiled, looking at him knowingly. “You like it.”

“Yeah, but,” he muttered, scratching his studded ear. “Only if you do.”

They arrived, and Alma tilted her head back to take in the whole house. It was rather big but very pretty. It had Victorian elements, but it wasn’t so ornate but rather tastefully modernized.

“It looks haunted.” She stated.

Bill turned to her, with an annoyed glint in his eyes. “Well—then we fit right in.”

Alma scoffed with amusement, and then he opened the door with the key he convinced Chase to leave with him. Only if Bill promised to leave it behind under a rock on the porch. He didn’t believe his clients to be potential squatters, but he found them unusual. The first time he met Alma, she wore a button on her jean jacket that read, EAT ME. However, with their budget, he was willing to just overlook their liberal personalities.

When they entered, Alma bit her lip to keep her grin at bay; she was already excited by the living room.

“I’ll leave Echo with you,” he said, putting her down on her feet. “I gotta check some other stuff out, but just take a look.”

“Well… okay.” She said, watching him stalk away, continuing to jiggle the car keys in his palm as he did.

While the realtor was away, he was going to take advantage of taking a look at the working parts of the house that owners and realtors like to embellish to conceal how badly they were operating in reality. It would give Alma space to see the home without his opinions; he wanted her to make her own mind up. To genuinely fall in love with it and envision their family in it.

Alma and Echo walked hand in hand around the stage-furnished home, picturing what she would do to the spaces. She was already thinking of what color house paint she’d choose when going down the long driveway. She liked it the moment she saw it. However, she wasn’t going to let Bill have that satisfaction yet.

After checking out a room, she could envision having an office. They were in the room that would more than likely be Echos’, and she was elated about all the room she’d have to herself. A Jack and Jill bathroom was adjoining a room of equal size, and she imagined this was where her siblings' nursery would belong.

Bill and Alma decided after their first year of ownership of the shop, they would try for another. When things would be less hectic, and they settled somewhere permanently. He finally asked in earnest the week between Christmas and New Year's one night snuggled warmly under a thick duvet in bed.

“Do you want another baby?” His hand drifted to her belly, resting above her womb. “Just tell me, and I’ll do it.” He said softly.

“I want to give you another one.” She said, snuggling her body to become more flush against his. “I know… I know you’d want it to happen sooner, but we’re going to be so busy this coming year.”

Bill sighed, but she was right. He wanted it now, but the timing couldn’t be less than ideal. “Okay,” he digressed.

Alma put a hand on his high cheek when she turned her head to search his eyes. He looked disappointed yet understanding.

“This time next year. We can try. I promise.”

When she found the primary bedroom, her heart fluttered. This felt like the place. She could briefly see Bill in the backyard through the large windows that faced it. He was walking back from a small shed close to the edge of the tree line. In the distance was Seattle's skyline, and if it wasn’t for the rain clouds further out, she’d probably be able to see Mt. Rainier too.

She was admiring the walk-in closet when she started hearing random toilet flushes throughout the house. While they walked through the house, the lights were intermittently flickering, he was checking the breaker box in the basement. Then she could hear the keys again and his footsteps falling on the hardwood herringbone-floor hallway. When the ensuite toilet was flushed, she met Bill in the bedroom. Echo was walking about it on her own. It made Bill smile.

“It’s pretty. Do you like it because of all the windows?” She asked because he always enjoyed natural light; he felt it always made any space bigger.

“Well, that's one reason.”

“What were you doing in the shed out there?” She pointed.

“It’s not a shed. It’s a sauna.”

“Really?” She said with surprise.

“Yeah. Do you like it?”

“Hmm,” she turned to look out the window with her hands on her hips in thought. “Do you like it, Echo?” Hearing her name called, she approached her mother and hugged the side of her leg. “Do you want to live here?”

“Just tell mommy you like it, E’.” Bill chuckled. The house was for her as well, but he didn’t want a major decision to ride on the preference of a two-year-old.

“I like! I like it!” She squealed, making her parents laugh, but then she started running towards the walk-in closet.

“Wait, Echo,” Bill said, going after her.

“It’s just the closet.”

“No! There are stairs in there. Hey, hey.” He caught up to her and took her hand while they stood in the private sitting area.

“Whoa!” Alma said, surprised by the hidden discovery.

Bill showed her how the stairs led to the den and the secret door, which hid the room. She looked rather impressed with it. It was a cool feature. A place only they knew about, and they liked sharing secrets.

“So?” Bill asked impatiently.

“It’s private, like you wanted. Lots of rooms. I love the laundry room in the basement,” and she really meant love. She was tired of taking trips to the laundromat. “The mezzanine library is cool. The kitchen—”

“The kitchen is fucking tight!”

Alma giggled. “Yeah. Yeah! Let’s put in an offer. This is it!”

“Thank fuck!” Bill said, relieved, pulling her in to kiss her. “Because I put in an offer before I left to come get you.”

…

Bill was in New York on a three-day trip the day after they found their home. He made up some story about why he had to go, as they had only left just a few weeks ago for the holidays. It wasn’t a complete fib; he would be at Trigger Finger working, but he was there to personally pick up Alma’s engagement ring.

While there on the holidays, he visited his jeweler, Kaan, sitting with him in his private body-guarded office looking at loose precious jewels together.

“What about emeralds?”

“Mm,” Kaan twisted his lip. “Emerald is pretty, yes. The stone, though. Too soft for engagement ring.” He spoke in his slightly broken English.

Bill sat stumped for a moment. He wanted something different to give her than a solitaire diamond ring.

“Diamonds. Diamonds are what the ladies want.” Kaan said, but it didn’t seem to sway his particular client. “You want different. We can do a braided band.” He suggested. “We can do anything custom for the band. I have examples.” He said, using his stiff belly to push away from his desk and grab a portfolio book from a shelf.

Bill flicked through for a bit as Kaan left him with a security guard to assist an apprentice. Everything he saw was gorgeous and admirable, but there wasn’t anything that spoke to him. Nothing that he could picture Alma with. Until he reached a random tab near the back of the portfolio, flicking the rest of the sheet-protected pages away just to feel like he actually looked through it all. He quickly closed it and pushed it away on the desk in frustration. However, right when he did so, a glimpse of an image caught his eye. He reached for the portfolio and searched for the photo he saw.

“Anything?” Kaan asked, taking his jeweler's glasses off.

“Something like this.” Bill tapped the photo.

“You and me.”

“Hmm?”

“Toi et moi. That’s the style. We do diamond, offset, pear shape. You like green. We do green sapphire. Emerald cut, that’s better. Tougher stone. I’ll show you what I have.”

He had Giancarlo accompanying him when he went to pick it up, as they were going to have dinner at a rooftop restaurant for the good marks he’s been getting in school lately. They were chatting as they walked there.

“Maybe I could come to work at the record shop in the summer?” Giancarlo gathered the courage to ask.

“Yeah. But maybe not this summer, maybe next summer. If your mom allows it. And I’m not going to ask her for you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He grumbled as they entered the store.

Giancarlo had never been to a jewelry store like this before. He had to give up his navy Adidas track jacket to security, same with Bill handing off his coat before they were patted down to enter the owner's office.

“Now run me your shoes too.” A guard pointed at Gian’s new Reebok sneakers.

Gian’s eyes widened when he froze a bit until the guard began snickering. He had caught a whiff of his nervousness and poked at it. Bill chuckled at his young friend's trepidation and patted his shoulder reassuringly.

“Watch out, he’s got a mean uppercut.” Bill winked.

While Giancarlo continued to work out and had grown to 6ft now—which he liked to brag about having surpassed his big brother in height—he was a self-admitted lover, not a fighter.

“I know Miss Alma loves you, but doesn’t it make you nervous to finally ask?” The young boy asked Bill while they sat and waited on the ring.

“To marry me? Eh, well, she kind of already knows.” He said, fiddling with his wristwatch.

“You asked her already?” Gian asked, surprised.

“Mm, sorta.”

“Isn’t it bad luck to propose without a ring?”

“Where’d you hear that from?” Bill glanced over at Gian when he didn’t respond right away. “Your mom?” He internally rolled his eyes. Bianca and her superstitions, he thought.

“I’ve actually heard that too,” a big security guard in the room said.

Bill looked at him over his shoulder and frowned with annoyance, but the man just shrugged.

“Sorry, for the waiting,” Kaan said, hobbling over to his desk.

He opened the velvet jewelry box gracefully and gently placed it in front of Bill on the desk. It was shiny, polished, and perfect. The ring. Bill sat there with his hand on his chin, admiring it, picturing Alma wearing it, and then he became pleased with himself.

“Fuckin’ shit, Mr. Skarsgård!” Gian exclaimed. “Two rocks!”

…

Even after acquiring the keys, it still took a full month to officially move into their new home. They moved in all the basics, filling only the rooms that would be immediately occupied. It was Echo’s room that Alma fixed up completely. With cute fluffy pastel bedding and ballerina slipper pink painted walls speckled with flower motifs. She had space for all her toys, a play kitchen set, and a reading nook. To say she was elated would be an understatement. However, for the little girl in a big new home, she was hesitant to sleep alone.

It was a speech her father had given her about being brave while her mother hung up frames in the living room that she finally decided to give her bedroom a try. Bill and Alma fully expected her to come running to their room at some point in the night, but when they woke up without her in bed, they were shocked. Shocked them enough to immediately get out of bed to make sure she was still in hers. She was cozy with her stuffed animals lined on the foot of her bed as if she put them in charge to keep guard of her. What they didn’t know was that she did try. While their rooms were fairly close, the journey down the long, soft-lit hallway to her parents' room proved too daunting, so she ran back to the safety of her bed.

It was a Sunday evening, and Echo had slept nearly a full week in her room. The parents were upstairs on the mezzanine, arranging their little library to accommodate a stereo system. Down below, Echo watched a movie, with popcorn unavoidably littered around the living area. Still, she sat content in her big girl underwear with her little legs crossed and wearing sunglasses, which she insisted upon.

Bill paused to make sure she was still fine and then sat on a cushioned bench, looking out the window and towards the skies. There were thick, dark clouds billowing into their little cove.

“They keep asking to open every other gig,” she said, complaining of a local band as she wired a speaker she had between her legs. “Even for that hip-hop troupe when it’s not the vibe. I just can’t.”

“Yeah, they suck. Their drummer is good, though.”

“He is! He needs to ditch them.” Suddenly, a bright flash of lightning flickered, causing her to pause.

“It’s storming tonight,” Bill playfully sang in a daunting tone with raised brows.

The downpour was pelting down on the home, sideways, front ways, and back ways. Luckily, it seemed like the thunder and lightning had passed them by. Bill and Alma made sultry love that night while the rain cascaded down the windows, and the heavy rainfall lulled them to bed quickly after.

A loud crash of glass and a piercing, blood-curdling shriek was heard through the house. Alma was in a sleepy stupor when Bill leaped up from his sleep and jumped over her lying body. She saw him running out of the room in his boxer briefs as she tried to find her short silk nightgown to cover her naked body.

In seconds, she ran down the oddly chilly hallway to Echo’s room in a panic, as she could hear her frightful cries over the torrential rainstorm. A faint thought was in the back of her mind. Should she have brought the gun?

“Mama!” Echo screamed in terror.

“Do not come in here!” Bill commanded, and she stopped dead in her tracks at the threshold. “There’s glass all over the floor.”

Alma’s eyes darted around the room, assessing what had happened the best she could with her poor eyesight. There was a big, beautiful tree just outside the window, but the high, erratic winds had caused a branch to snap and burst through the bedroom window.

“Is she okay?!” Her barefoot rose to take a step forward but stopped when a flash of lightning illuminated the jagged shards of glass scattered along the floor.

Bill's heart strained trying to assess the bleeding cut on Echo’s cheek. He was shielding Alma’s view of it, but the branch was still banging against the house, and the wind was blowing cold mist into the room. He had to do something about it.

“Bill?! Is she okay?” Alma cried.

“Stay there.” He said picking Echo up, and that was when Alma saw crimson covering the side of her face. Her eyes widened in horror, her heart racing so hard, seeing her little baby in such a state. “Check her. I have to find something to cover the window.” He said, passing their terrified child into Alma’s trembling arms.

Alma, having experienced an accident involving her daughter, suddenly retreated into herself and pulled out the more focused and level-headed version of herself. She placed her hand on Echo’s head, trying to soothe her as she swiftly took her to the ensuite bathroom. She sat her on the large double sink counter, stripped her of her bloody nightgown, and left her in her underwear.

“It’s okay, baby,” Alma said, wetting down a washcloth and putting it to the cut on her daughter's beautiful face. “That was scary, huh?” She softly said. “You’re okay, though.” She blotted the blood and tears from her face and could see that the cut wasn’t as bad as it looked.

The banging of a hammer down the corridor accompanied the sound of thunderclaps. Bill had run to the basement for slabs of broken-down moving boxes to temporarily cover the window. He’d deal with the repair first thing in the morning.

When he joined them in the ensuite bathroom and saw Echo standing up on the sink counter and Alma pointing at her reflection.

“See. Just an ouchie.” She said, trying to settle her as she sniffled and hiccuped.

Bill swallowed hard, seeing the collar of the child's nightgown covered in blood. The sight of it was grimly unsettling. He approached them and held Echo’s face in one hand to examine the cut on her cheek. It looked more like a clean, precise scrape now that she was cleaned up. Anger rose in his chest, seeing how close the rogue shard of glass came to her hazel eye. Alma could sense what he thought when she saw his nostrils flare and his lips going in a hard line. It was a scary close hit. Thankfully, the graze wouldn’t scar, it would just fade away.

“I’m calling someone in the morning to cut the tree down.” He kissed the top of his daughter's head, sealing the promise. “I’ll go make her a bottle.”

Alma nodded, but as he walked away, she saw tracks of smeared blood on the white marble tile. She followed them and saw that they came from Bill’s bloody heel.

“You’re bleeding.” She announced flatly.

“Huh?” He turned his head towards her, perplexed, until he followed her gaze down to his bare feet. He huffed in annoyance. He never even felt it happen.

“Sit down.” She instructed, passing along Echo and a band-aid.

He sat on the edge of the tub, holding onto his daughter as tightly as she did him. It was difficult to pull her away enough to apply the bandage to her face, especially because she would flinch when he got close.

“It’s fine. You’re brave, remember?” Echo solemnly nodded and then allowed him to patch the cut. “I’m sorry that happened.”

When Alma returned, he noticed her trembling hands when she passed the warm bottle of milk to their daughter. There was a bit of a faraway look in her eyes while he watched her wet down a clean washcloth to help mend his foot. He knew where her fears were taking her. They had been having trouble sleeping in their new home, too. It seemed like the change of environment was conjuring new terrors upon the old ones that plagued them at night. For a good while they came seldomly, however, they only lay dormant.

“Just do it,” Bill said, seeing her hesitate with the rubbing alcohol. He sucked air between his teeth while she apologized. “Is it bad?”

“Mm.” She bit her lip. “You nicked it pretty good.”

He raised his ankle to rest on his knee to examine the inner side of his heel. “It’ll be fine.” He said, taking the bandage she was holding to stick it on. “Thanks, love.”

“Yeah.” Alma nodded as she rose from the floor to put all the supplies away. Bill caught her free hand before she walked away and grabbed the wet washcloth to help her clean the smears of blood on her neck and chest, but when he tried to apply it to her delicate skin, she flinched.

“I can do it,” she said, holding his hand back, making him frown.

“Hey.” He said softly. “Wherever you are… Come back. Everything is okay. She’s okay.” He nudged his head down at their child. “It’s only us, here.”

Alma took a deep, shaky breath and then allowed him to help as she stared off. She didn’t speak for the rest of the night. They cuddled their daughter extra tight in their bed that night.

The next day, Alma seemed back to normal spirits. She woke up and began scrubbing the blood from the bath and hallway with peroxide before carefully sweeping up the shards of glass. Bill called a window repairman and Zeph, who owned a small landscaping business when he wasn’t moonlighting as a security guard.

Bill had nixed the illegal bar, stating he didn’t want to run into issues so early into his ownership, so instead he spoke to The Wayward Sons and asked if they’d stay on as security. Big Rod agreed as long as they were reimbursed for securing licenses. He didn’t have a problem with doing so, and they shook hands.

Zeph came straight away, but the window repairman Bill had to bribe to start his services at his home first thing, as the storm had damaged quite a few homes in the area. So he learned. Alma gathered all the bedding, she shook off and piled in the hall to drop them in the laundry chute on the way to check on her daughter from atop the mezzanine. Alma looked out the library window and saw Bill outside, one arm across his chest and the other holding a cigarette as he watched one of Zeph’s workers rev up a long pole saw.

The noise startled Echo, where she occupied herself with toys in a playpen. She might have been okay without being in it, but it was a big home, and after last night they didn’t need any more incidents.

“I’m right here, baby,” Alma said, walking the long landing and descending the stairs. “Do you want to watch the men working? Daddy is outside too.”

“Papa,” Echo said happily.

Bill and Zeph were speaking and pointing at the overgrown shrubs in the archway garden when they approached. They had the same stature, but Zeph was double Bill’s width.

“So sorry about what happened last night,” said Zeph after greeting Alma with a fist bump. “Glad to see little E’ is doing okay, though.”

“Thanks for coming straight away,” Alma said appreciatively. “I hope all was well in your home last night.” She knew he had children of his own as well.

“By god it was, ma’am. Thank you.” And off Zeph went to join his workers.

The family stood watching the tree slowly being dismantled piece by piece. Alma had tried to convince Bill to just have a few precarious branches trimmed off, but he didn’t want to hear it. His only reply to her was, “Fuck that tree.”

Bill was holding Echo and gently kissed her injured cheek. “Say bye-bye tree!” He told her as he waved at it.

“Bye-bye tree!” She giggled, flapping her little hand.

…

After that eventful night in their home, things settled again. They were surprised that Echo only slept in their bed just one more night—mostly at their behest—and then decided on her own to sleep in her bedroom again like the brave little girl she was. Two weekends later, they arranged for her to stay the weekend with ‘Lani, the babysitter. Echo had been missing her. Yolani had been busy at her nursing residency but had finally gotten the time to spend with Echo, whom she also missed. When they dropped her off, Echo quickly kicked off her shoes and hardly said goodbye to either of her parents. She didn’t even care when they mentioned they had brought ice cream and sundae toppings for them to enjoy, but she made sure they left it behind.

They arrived home with a bag of a few missing ingredients needed to make a romantic dinner in, but they were dismissed by the doorway along with their clothes.

He had Alma bent over their king-sized bed while he vigorously thrust into her from behind. They had started in the living room, his head buried between her legs, but when Alma was close to orgasming, he stopped and led them to the den. While in the den, she sucked him off before he finally dipped himself inside her, mostly still while they tongue kissed. He gave her some long, slow, deep thrusts, but then he did the same, much to her frustration, and led her to the private sitting area. She rode him sensually on the loveseat, grinding down on him while he needily sucked on her tits. She was close to a climax finally when he abruptly pulled her up and held her tightly. The sudden disconnection made her gasp in surprise.

“The fuck?” She was exasperated, her heart beating hard in her chest.

He looked at her deviously, giving no explanation, and instead led her to their bedroom, where he had her now. Thrusting deep inside her without mercy. She was so close again. Moaning loudly with hands gripping the expensive bedsheets. As her hand went to her clit to help him usher in the orgasm she was desperately seeking, Bill grabbed her hand and pinned it behind her back instead.

“Oh, fuck!” She said, finding the restraint so seductive, she offered her other hand.

Bill held on to her wrists with one hand as he continued to plow into her from behind, and he grunted deeply, getting lost in it. She was dripping and so tight and warm around his cock. His eyes fluttered closed, almost succumbing to the feeling, until he miraculously came to his senses.

“Are you gonna cum,” he asked, peering down at her from where he stood.

“Fuck yes!” She groaned into the mattress. “Make me cum, baby. Please!”

Bill swallowed hard as his heart pounded in his chest and his dick, but he willed himself to cease his thrusts.

“No! No, what!?” Alma turned to look at him, where he stood with a sheen of sweat covering his body as he held his hard, engorged cock flat against his muscled stomach while he breathed shallowly. “Babe, you look like you’re going to bust. What are you doing?”

“No, no.” He raggedly breathed. “Later.”

“Later? I was so—we were so close?” She tried to reach out to him, but he rebuffed it.

“You’re gonna cum when I want you to,” he said, holding her face with one hand, effectively puckering her lips, which he kissed. “We’re gonna start dinner.” He announced going to the closet and pulling on some silk onyx boxers. “Just wear this.” He said, passing Alma her short black silk kimono. She stayed there a moment after he left the room, dumbfounded, but so incredibly hot for his domineering attitude.

In the kitchen, Alma was incorporating seasonings together for a dressing for the chopped salad, while Bill prepared the branzino they had bought from Pike’s Market the day before. While music played lightly, they were speaking about incoming deliveries to both the house and the shop, and other little decorative odds and ends they wanted to do with the house. However, in the back of their minds was the ache in their loins nagging at them, which they ignored. Their hunger from their empty bellies was taking over, but the signals were continually crossing.

Bill put the salad away in the fridge and foil-wrapped the herb-covered fish and asparagus when Alma brought paint swatches from the office. They were nearly in agreement with how they wanted to paint the exterior. Their room was recently painted a sun-dried tomato red, and they could finally move on from that.

“Why don’t we do this black for the trim?” He pointed at the pitch-black swatch as he stood behind her looking at samples she laid on the kitchen island.

When Chase, the Realtor, dropped in some weeks ago to see how the family was settling in, Bill revealed the swatches of potential house paint. All dark, nearly black hues. Chase put a hand to his lips to conceal the ghastly gasp from escaping past his lips, but Bill noticed, and he lightly chuckled at him.

“Mhmm.” Alma licked her lips. They were standing so close again that the sexual tension was reverberating between them. “And uhm, this black for the rest has some green undertones to it, so it’ll contrast. Do you still like—” Her words caught in her throat when she felt his long fingers curl into her. Her eyes rolled back as he gripped her with his arm, pinning her flush against his chest.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he moaned into her neck as he peppered it with hard-pressed kisses. “You’re still so fucking wet.” She whimpered in pleasure as his fingers felt the inside of her warmth. “You want to cum so badly, don’t you?”

“Don’t you want to fuck your cum into me already?” She said, taking hold of his cock as blood rushed to it, the cool silk fabric did nothing to restrain it and felt hot in her palm.

Bill mockingly chuckled at her attempt to tease him enough to get her way. He abruptly removed his fingers from inside her and then smacked her hand away from his cock. He washed his hands with a smug smirk on his face.

“You’re fucking disgusting,” Alma sneered.

Bill just laughed at her attitude as she walked away to gather some things upstairs.

“If you’re not back in less than ten minutes, I know what you’re doing up there!” He hollered in reference to their growing vibrator collection, and he heard her laughter drift his way. The thought did cross her mind.

Together they walked out to the back porch. Bill went to the grill, and Alma went out by the garden, laying out a blanket for later in the evening to enjoy the clear night sky. At least they hoped it’d be.

Closing the lid on the propane grill, he glanced over at Alma, her bare round ass fully on display as she bent over to pick out the wooden weed box and a bottle of wine from a wicker basket for them to enjoy in the sauna. The glistening of the wetness slicking her thighs was not missed by him either. He pulled off his boxers and jogged to her as she made her way to the sauna. He offered to hold the items in her hand, while at the same time discreetly pulling the sash of her kimono from its loose knot. He began running to the sauna when she suddenly found herself naked. Reflexively, she tried to cover herself. Until she realized there wasn’t a need for modesty in their private haven. Alma pounded on the sauna door with the side of her fist, while Bill could be heard laughing from the inside.

“Fine, then,” she relented. “I have the lighter. Enjoy the shitty wine.”

The door cracked open then. “Just pass the lighter through.”

Alma responded by pushing the door closed on him. He was surprised by the force of it, but then he finally opened the door with a mischievous grin on his face, to which Alma shook her head amused. They shared the wine, drinking it straight from the bottle, and enjoyed a fat joint.

“We should try hotboxing this one day,” Bill said, scanning the apt size of the sauna as he passed the joint back to her.

“I’d just pass out.”

“Whatever shit you were smoking just does that to you, love. This stuff from Darby’s uncle is a hybrid. More up, not down.”

“Darby’s uncle? What are you talking about?”

“Eh,” Bill scratched his sweaty neck. He misspoke. “Uh yeah. Harold. He’s got other businesses. You can’t be wealthy like they are without being a little crooked.”

“And what does that mean?” She raised her brow, passing back the joint.

“He just mentioned these farms in Northern California. He’s got his hands in it.” He gestured.

“Weed farms.” She deduced.

“Mhmm.” He took a deep drag, a plume of thick smoke left his lips, which he inhaled back into his lungs. “I’ll be right back.” He stood up and removed the white towel he had across his lap.

“Where are you going?” She lightly pouted, but she was still curious about the farms.

“I gotta check the fish.” He winked.

His return took a bit longer than expected, but Alma sat in wait with low eyes, comfortably hugging bent legs. He informed her that the food was done, and she suggested they finish off the joint. He flashed a goofy smile and happily took the joint she was holding out to him.

Reaching over him, she grabbed the bottle of wine for a sip, her ass in the air trying to entice him, much to his amusement. After putting it back, she remained very close to him. Kissing his damp shoulder, prompting him to put his arm around her. He felt her hand slide down his relaxed abs, but he stopped her before she could remove the towel from his lap. She furrowed her brows and frowned. Tilting her chin with his hand, their low-lidded eyes met, full of desire. Both rosy-cheeked, glowing with dew, they began feverishly making out in the haze of steam and smoke in the sauna.

When he felt Alma trying to straddle his lap, he gently pushed her back to lie on the bench. He passed the joint he was still holding and began tracing along the side of her pussy. It was tantalizing with how he took his time kissing her inner thighs. His long pointer finger gently swiped up her slit and traced the strip of hair at the top, and then went back down again, pressing lightly on her entrance. It made her heart thump hard in her chest. With the joint between her lips, she tossed her head back when he firmly put his whole mouth on her swollen pussy. His tongue pressed into her entrance, sucking and lapping like a parched man finally taking a drink of water. He rose, pressing his face against her soft thigh.

“Do you want to come?” He gave her a puppy dog gaze from under his brow, and she eagerly nodded. He took her hand to help her stand up, while he slouched a bit in his seat, spreading his legs wide, yet the white towel never left his lap. The gaze he kept on her intensified and then flicked down to his right leg. “Do it yourself.” Alma hesitated for a moment; she wanted him to make her cum. “Hurry. Before I change my fucking mind.”

Alma bit her lip, feeling the fire blaze in her core, and straddled his right thigh. Bill leaned forward to kiss her sweetly and then coaxed her to start grinding on him. She rutted against him but gently, which made Bill smirk.

“I know you’re not shy, babe.” He chuckled.

It caused her to giggle because, no, she wasn’t. She was trying to behave a little more submissively to match his dominant behavior. However, she was behaving just how he wanted her to be this whole time, frustrated and eager. Finally, she placed her hands at the top of his thigh for leverage and began grinding down harder. He took one last hit of the joint before laying the stub on the wooden box, then leaned back and spread his arms across the top bench to enjoy the display. Enjoying the look of her dewy body and how her arms pushed her tits out. He reached around her head to pull the scrunchy holding the low, loose bun she had and watched as her long brown hair fell and stuck against her.

Her eyes fluttered closed as she was catching a satisfying rhythm for herself. He bit his lip when her shallow breaths quickened. Though they were covered in perspiration, he could feel her wetness and heat spreading across his skin as she rode his thigh.

“There you go.” He encouraged pinching one of her nipples and rolling it between his fingers.

Her movements were causing the towel he wore to slip, and she could see his pink hooded tip rising just above the edge of it. Bill noticed her intense, hungry gaze on it, and his breathing picked up as he tried to not give in to his carnal desires. She was getting off from just a glimpse of it. He wanted her on his cock just as much as she did, but he concealed himself once again. Holding his erection down with one hand, while the other hand on her hip assisted her deep rutting thrusts against him. She let out a sharp gasp and threw her head back.

“Please don’t stop me.” She begged.

“Squirt for me.”

“I need your cock for that.”

His jaw clenched and chest tightened, disappointed that he was giving in. He stopped her movements, causing her to whine loudly. She watched as he swiftly tore his towel away, finally revealing his blushing, hard cock.

“Sit on it, right now.” His chest visibly rose as she did so. Agonizingly slow, too, because she wanted to tease him for what he had been putting her through. When he bottomed out, they both let out a strained moan from the reconnection. “Don’t fucking move.” He demanded.

He placed his thumb on her overly sensitive clit, and she threw her head back again as he rebuilt upon her ruined orgasm. He could feel her pulsing all around him, getting tighter, hotter than a furnace, and he felt doomed. The high was adding an extra intense layer to it all.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Bill groaned. “Are you going to come for me?”

“Yes,” she squeaked out. “K-keep going. Please!” She cried out. All the tension she felt from the previous denial built upon itself, and then it imploded. A flood erupted out of her and onto him. The release was dizzying, making her ears ring from the intensity, while her hips involuntarily jolted. Bill sat in awe, covered in her wetness, feeling everything while buried inside her.

“Fuck me!” He conceded.

Alma began to thrust her hips into his eagerly with his help. “Give me your cum, baby.” She said, running her hands through his short hair.

“I’ll give it to you.” He said through clenched teeth.

“Give it to me deep.” She moaned.

A few short thrusts later, he let out a loud, deep moan from his whole being. “Ah, fuck me! Don’t stop.” He smacked her ass before gripping it and assisting her thrusts.

Alma was surprised, she was sure that was it. As their bodies rocked against each other, she could see a look of bewilderment in his eyes until he shut them tight. His cock was sensitive; she could sense that. Suddenly, he held on to her tightly as he stood up, unsatisfied with her work as her legs were wobbly from her climax. He laid her down on the bench and plunged back between her legs. He was still rock hard.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Bill muttered as he rocked his hips into hers. “Baby… I’m going to cum again.”

Again? She briefly thought until the feeling of another orgasm overrode it. She pulled at him, hands gliding on wet skin, to hold him close as she hit another crescendo. Hollering in the sauna so loud it was a blessing they were secluded. Their lips met as she began falling from the peak.

“Cum on me.” She breathily said in his ear.

He leaned back, ready to let go, and pulled out, stroking his cock before her. A guttural scream came from deep within him when he released pearlescent ropes glazed her torso and pussy. His jaw was slack, admiring her covered in his essence and running her fingers through it to have a taste.

“You made a mess,” she giggled. “Are you breathing?”

Bill cracked a bashful smile and then sat, trying to catch his breath in the stuffy sauna. Bill had his head tilted back with his eyes closed while Alma kissed along his jaw and throat as he processed what happened to him. Edging for half the day, he had done alone, in the penthouse, but never once did he deny himself this long to the point his balls felt heavy, though. If he was ready, he was ready. Today was the day he actually tried to push through but failed. Even on Alma’s birthday the year prior, he was too weak to hold off. However, what he didn’t expect was to release twice. That hadn’t ever happened to him. Maybe the weed contributed to it, he wondered.

“Felt good, didn’t it?”

“Hmm.”

“Finally getting to cum.” She whispered against his hot skin. “I felt what you did.” She said, as if she had uncovered a secret he wasn’t ready to reveal. She could feel his cum dripping out of her, while also covered in it.

…

They enjoyed their lukewarm dinner as they finally filled their hungry bellies appreciatively. After a quick intimate shower, they were half-dressed in the backyard again. Alma was wearing a thong and an oversized band shirt, and Bill was in his usual boxer briefs. There were two, three-wick candles lit next to them, providing a romantic glow, and the lightning bugs shone on the edge of the property. They even spotted a white bunny rabbit hop along before disappearing into the brush. While enjoying a bowl of chopped fruits and cheeses with accompanying gummy fruit candies, a piece of mango fell between Alma’s crossed legs. Bill bent over, burying his face in her lap, and ate it off the blanket they sat on, making her laugh.

Alma was talking about her upcoming plans of decorating their home, and he happily listened. It felt nice that they could make such permanent decisions. When they lived together in New York, they never bothered with decor, knowing their stay would be temporary. They moved somewhere new every year.

However, he could recall a night in which Alma stayed the night with him in his home in Strathburg. She had been dancing on his spring-broken bed, and he playfully tackled her down and cuddled right after. She asked him what his future home would look like. He gave a generic answer at first, and listened to her talk about having a dog and describe rooms that seemed inspired by Barbie's dream homes. That’s when he finally decided to share how he wanted a big backyard and a dog, too. A Doberman Pinscher, to be exact. He also added that he wanted a nice kitchen but, most importantly, a full pantry.

“We need to get outdoor furniture for the office balcony,” she pointed. The office was in the opposite wing of the house. When Bill first took a look around, he assumed that was where their room would be until he found the secret sitting room in their bedroom. “But the gallery wall I want to put in there, you can help me with that. Is there something you want to do to the house?”

“Mm. We should take one of our family portraits and get it painted to put over the fireplace in the living room. Like five feet tall.” He laughed.

“Do you want it to come with spooky cobwebs pre-applied, too?” She laughed with him. “Be serious!”

“Maybe after I’m done with the stuff at the shop, I can really think about it.” He smiled.

“You’ve done such a good job with it so far,” she praised.

“Well, I have hel—”

“Help.” She interjected. “Take the credit for once,” she giggled, shaking her head. “You work hard, you know. All those nights.”

Bill nodded and leaned back on his hands, admiring their home from where he sat, feeling a bit small under it for a change. “It’s a big home. Almost. Too big.”

Alma laughed. “You chose it!”

“You did too!” He playfully defended.

“Yeah. But you knew, I’d like it. You always seem to know.” She kissed his cheek and looked at their home before them under the star-studded night. Thinking of the humble Missouri homes they grew up in compared to now.

Bill’s hand crept towards the edge of the blanket they sat on, and underneath, he gripped the velvet ring box he had hidden there when he had gone to check the food on the grill. He looked at her, taking in the moment of her, completely unaware. She knew this would happen, just not exactly when. He felt himself becoming nervous. He had been in possession of the ring for a few months now, trying to find a good moment to ask for her hand. He nearly asked her on her birthday, but he didn’t deem it fair for the proposal to overshadow her day.

There was also the fact that he was unsure of what to say. He figured outside the obvious; he’d just speak from whatever came to heart. He wasn’t so good at these things, but for her, he’d try.

“What are we going to do tomorrow?” She giggled, feeling like they had done so much on their first night alone at their house. “Maybe we could check out the woods behind us.”

“Hmm. Maybe you can tell me what tomorrow will be like if you say yes.”

“Say what?” She turned to him, perplexed.

She thought her heart stopped for a moment until she gasped. Taking in the sight of him holding onto an opened jewelry box with the most beautiful and unique ring glittered before her, illuminated by the candlelight. Her eyes were wide when she looked at him in wait and back at the ring.

“Really!?” She gasped. “Wait, I-I should stand up!”

“Okay,” he chuckled, and then got on one knee before her. “Okay,” he inhaled deeply, looking up at her with nerves swimming in his belly. “Alma?”

“Yeah!” She smiled.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yeah! Yes!” She leaned down to kiss him deeply, and then she giggled, tickled by it all. She knew they’d be married someday when he had told her as much at the springs, but she hadn’t any idea of when he’d officially ask. He really did catch her by surprise.

Bill laughed happily as he stood up and embraced her. “I love you.”

“I know! I know it!” Happy tears welled up in her eyes as she giggled. “I love you!”

“Let me—let me put it on you,” he said, taking a step back and taking the ring out of the box, which he let fall on the blanket.

He carefully slid the jewelry on her ring finger, and it looked like it belonged there all this time.

“It’s fucking beautiful, Billy! Two!?”

“I felt like you deserved more than one gem.”

“And this one?” She pointed.

“Green sapphire.”

She smiled, looking up to gaze into his eyes. “Green. Like your eyes.”

“Mhmm.” He flashed a dimpled smile. “It’s forever for me.” He said seriously. “Until,” he paused, feeling a swell of emotion suddenly fill him. “Until I’m no longer breathing. I promise. I don’t want to live this life without you with me all the way.”

She smiled wistfully, placing her left hand on his high cheek. “Until I’m no longer breathing. I promise.” She repeated and they sealed it with a kiss.

“Unless…” Bill side-eyed her once they settled on the blanket again, lying down this time.

“Unless what?”

“Unless you divorce me one day,” he laughed.

“Don’t ruin the moment. I wouldn’t!” She laughed with him.

“I know you wouldn’t but say you did. Could I like, booty call you sometimes?”

She shook her head, amused. “Seriously?” She raised her brows at him. “Yeah. You can booty call me.”

And together they laughed loudly under the clear night sky. The stars tonight seemed dim now that Alma had two shining right on her hand.

…

Fall 1997

The family was in New York City as Echo would attend first grade at a highly competitive private school. Today was the first day of school. Bill was up before everyone, everyone except his son, whom he found lying awake contently in his crib. Luxe looked a lot like his mother, with wavy chestnut hair and a soft tan complexion, but he had his eyes. Exactly like them. Big, curious, green eyes.

He loved his boy so dearly, but there was a time when the thought of having a son terrified him. Worried that the generational curses, which his brother seemed to claim loomed over them, would continue with him. However, he had to remind himself that he was very much Alma’s child too. That he would grow to be better because of her, just like he had.

After changing him and making a bottle, he held onto him while starting the coffee pot. Upstairs, he could hear Alma’s feet patter quickly to the bathroom, hearing her cough, making him grimace sympathetically. He reached into a tea jar and produced a mint leaf blend to make a cup for her.

“You’ll be okay by yourself, huh, Lucky?” He said, kissing the top of his head before laying him in a baby bouncer in the living room.

“Da-da.” He giggled contently, making his father smile.

He appeared at Echo’s doorway and lightly knocked the frame. She lay in bed with her eyes closed with a small smile on her face, quite obviously pretending to be asleep. She wasn’t all too thrilled to be going to school in New York. Not only that, but she loved Seattle and the school she attended there with her friends and favorite granola teacher. Her parents explained to her that they just wanted her to have the best education, but that fell on deaf ears for an almost six-year-old. She didn’t care; her home was in Seattle.

“Echo?” Bill said, approaching the side of her bed and taking a seat. “Echo.” He tickled her side, and she began to lightly giggle, much to her dismay. “I knew you were pretending,” he chuckled. “You gotta get up. It’s the first day of school.”

She lifted the covers over her face and whined. “I’m tired.”

“C’mon,” he said, pulling the covers away. “You have to get up, honey.”

“Where’s Mama?”

“I have to go wake her up, but I’m here with you. She’ll be down to help you once you start getting ready.”

Echo sighed, but she accepted her father's kiss on the cheek and then begrudgingly made her way to the bathroom. Bill bit his lip, amused by her attitude, and made his way back upstairs.

Alma was in bed, sitting against the headboard, looking a bit clammy as she drank a bottle of water when he entered.

“Echo is up.” He said, sitting next to her and handing her the mug of tea he made. “You okay?” He asked, putting his hand on her damp forehead before running his fingers through her scalp.

“Yeah,” she sighed, sounding a bit defeated before taking a sip. “I’ll be fine. Who’s up.”

“Everyone except Vida. For now.” He smiled.

How he loved his little, loud baby daughter. She gave them hell, but they loved her so much for it. Though she couldn’t talk much, her expressions let you know just what she was thinking. Half the time, it looked like she was cursing you out, which they found amusing. She looked a lot like Echo did as a baby, with light hair but with deep brown doe eyes. She could also be very sweet, but it was her brother who was the charmer of the two. However, that was just how the twins operated, he was the cute distraction for her to pick your pockets.

“Spoke too soon.” Alma giggled when they could hear her loud cries down below.

“V’ is awake!” Echo hollered as if they didn’t know, but she liked to be helpful.

“Lay down for a little bit,” he yawned, patting Alma’s thigh before kissing her. “It’s still early as fuck.”

She glanced at the clock, it was hardly 6 am. She lightly groaned while she settled back down into the bed.

“I hear you, baby! Everyone heard you!” She could hear Bill playfully say below to their disgruntled daughter. Suddenly, she stopped and began giggling loudly seeing her father, which made Alma smile.

Echo crept up the winding wrought iron staircase with her school uniform. “Mama?”

She turned and sat up and gestured for her to climb into bed. Echo smiled brightly and jumped in. “Good morning, baby,” she said, peppering kisses on her daughter's cheek, making her snicker. “Are you excited about going to your new school today?” Echo's face fell, making Alma feel bad. “What is it?” She asked, tucking a piece of her caramel brown hair behind her ear affectionately.

“I don’t know anyone.”

“But you will. You’ll make friends, baby. Is that all?”

“It’s smelly here.”

Alma laughed. “Well—yeah. I’m sorry, I can’t do anything about that.”

“Echo?” Bill hollered down below when he was unable to find her.

“She’s up here!” Alma replied to his relief. He wouldn’t put it past her if she left the penthouse just because she didn’t want to go to school. “You want some cuddles? And then I can help you get ready.”

Echo nodded happily and embraced her mother, soaking in all the love and comfort she provided. Shortly, Echo began getting dressed upstairs while Alma went downstairs to check on the other children. Both of them were in their bouncer and smiled at her happily babbling. They could speak well enough for a year and a half, but they often felt comfortable in their strange twin language.

Echo was brushing her hair in her parent's closet before her father came to get dressed. Besides looking through her mother's vanity, she loved to look through her mother's clothing in the closet. So many pieces, from designer to vintage. In all classifications of fabrics. She helped pick out some pieces while shopping with her father searching for a dress, and he’d ask her valued opinion. She liked those days because it meant she could pick something out for herself too.

“Do you want some help?” He asked her while she sat on the bed trying to put on her white stockings.

“Mm,” she scrunched her eyes in thought. “I’ll wait for mommy.”

“Hm, okay.” He said, even if it was hard to leave her to struggle. Lately, she wanted to do most things without her parent's help.

“Look how pretty you look!” Alma said to Echo’s reflection in the bathroom mirror before them after fixing her hair into a single french braid. “You look like such a big girl.” She could feel a lump form in her throat, suddenly feeling sentimental. When she started kindergarten, she cried in the car after dropping her off. Today, it just made it more apparent that she wasn’t a baby anymore. It didn’t help that she was also an inch or two taller than most of her peers. “Do you like it?” She asked, brushing her bangs down.

Echo nodded and appreciatively ran her hands along her neat braid. Alma led her into the closet and pulled two tops out. They were similar black long-sleeve turtleneck shirts, but one had a cutout in the chest. She would pair them with a tight over-the-knee pencil skirt, sheer black pantyhose, and comfortable pumps. Bill found them in there when he went to grab a turtleneck for himself. He was only in dress pants and a black tank. He smirked when he heard Echo suggest the top with the cutout. It was what he would pick too, but it reinforced that fact that one day she’d want to dress the same, and he had to be okay with it within reason.

“Could I wear some of your perfume too, Mama?” He heard Echo ask.

“Mm. Just a spritz, okay? But which one?”

He announced that breakfast was ready before leaving them upstairs. While tucking in his shirt, he saw Vida, who was supposed to be secured in her bouncer, running toward the kitchen and sighed. He waited a moment and caught her in his arms when she came running past on chubby legs, giggling mischievously. He buried his face in her neck, blowing raspberries, which made her shriek delightfully while he placed her in the high chair.

“Stay seated, okay?” He looked at her pointedly, and she just flashed him a drooly smile as she nibbled on her fingers. “I didn’t forget about you, Lucky.” He said, getting him out of the chair swing to join his sister at the table. That’s when he noticed a cookie lying underneath him, apparently Vida had broken out to dig in the pantry to give him.

After they ate breakfast as a family, it was time to leave. The college-aged nanny had arrived with her book bag and a big travel mug full of coffee. She would watch the twins while the parents and their eldest child left.

“We’ll be back around, uh, 1:00?” Bill told her while rocking his son in his arms. Alma asked for him, and he gently put him on his feet, where he bumbled over to his siblings. “Maybe make it two. After our appointment, we’ll be having lunch.”

Alma was helping Echo put her backpack on. A backpack her father Antonio sent the money for, to gift his granddaughter. She told Vida and Luxe to hug their big sister before they left.

“Say I love you, Echo.” She tried to encourage them, and they did the best they could with their babbling speech. Both Vida and Luxe addressed their big sister as Coco.

“Coco, Coco!” Luxe made kissy faces at his big sister, and she leaned down to let him kiss her cheek.

“So sweet of you, Luxe!” Alma giggled, seeing Echo wipe slobber from her cheek. Luckily, Echo had learned to love him just the same as she loved her little sister and giggled when he hugged her tightly again. He was always a very affectionate little boy.

Bill helped Alma put on her coat while she watched the babies pulling at Echo’s backpack curiously. Emotion welled up within her again, and then she felt sick. Her mouth watered, causing her to thickly swallow it back. She took in a shaky breath after saying goodbye to the other children and the nanny, and off they went.

Echo watched her father turn the volume dial down on the radio and listened to her parents discuss where to park when they approached the school.

“You see?” Alma pointed at the building, and when she glanced back at her, she did a double take. “Are you wearing my lip gloss?”

“What?” Bill said, trying to peer at his daughter through the rearview mirror. She was indeed wearing a thick application of pink glittery gloss on her lips.

“Hand it over,” Alma said with her palm out. “You have to ask first, baby. You know that.”

Echo frowned and begrudgingly pulled the tube from her uniform skirt pocket. Bill glanced at it when Alma put it in her purse and shook his head disapprovingly. Before they approached the front door of the building, Alma dabbed off some of the gloss with her hand so that it looked like she wore a more tasteful chapstick.

Together, they joined the other families, escorting their respective children into the building. Bill looked around and noticed some heavy-duty-looking SUVs politicians would usually be chauffeured in, and wondered who his daughter would be going to school with.

While heading to the classroom, Echo noticed that her father was no longer next to her, and she turned her head to look for him.

“I’ll be right behind you, baby!” He lightly hollered and stayed behind to talk to the principal.

Echo met her teacher, Ms. Hartford, who had a sweet, enthusiastic attitude as she greeted her students. Alma helped her daughter look for her cubby and assisted with taking her coat and backpack. She expected Echo to run off to join her classmates mingling on the brightly colored carpet where they were enjoying mini donuts. However, she was hesitant and stayed close.

“E’,” Alma crouched down to her level. “Go say hi to everyone. They all look nice.”

She glanced over with trepidation in her eyes. “Where is Papa?”

“He’ll be here. He won’t leave without saying goodbye, you know that. Okay?”

Just a few paces away, a thin, honey-blonde, well-put-together woman was reassuring her son similarly. Echo hugged her mother tightly and mustered the courage to join the others, and soon after the little boy did too.

The women nodded at each other, greeting each other with a friendly smile.

“Uhm, I’m Carmen,” the woman said, putting her hand out for a friendly shake.

“Alma,” she smiled politely, shaking her hand. “First day of school, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Joseph is my little boy. He can be a bit nervous.” It was an understatement. It seemed like her boy was terrified of everything, which frustrated his father a lot.

“He seems sweet. Echo is my little girl. Maybe they can be friends. She’s always been friendly. It’s just that she was going to school out of state, so it’s all new again for her.”

Bill was speaking with the principal, whom he mutually knew through a Trigger Finger patron, a brother of his who worked for the state. How weird he felt speaking amiably with a school administrator when, while he was in school, he’d daydream of spitting in their faces. In fact, he still did sometimes.

“Uhm, sorry,” said Principal Everton, looking rather regretful and nervous. “I have to address this. Would you excuse me?”

Bill nodded and watched him walk towards the entrance. There were several private police, and then his stomach sank. Joey Russo stood there, greeting the principal. He was currently on bail and facing a massive RICO court case. When Bill and Alma heard the news, they were conflicted at first, wondering if anything could come back on them. They settled, knowing nothing could, and celebrated over Joey Russo’s misfortune.

He turned on his heel, his coattails splaying with how urgently he headed towards Echo’s classroom, walking past a New York State representative he recognized. He entered the classroom and spotted his daughter talking to a little shy boy while they ate mini chocolate donuts with the other schoolchildren. The teacher cheerily greeted him, and he gave her a hard-lined smile, introducing himself. Finally, he spotted his wife when a group of parents broke apart and noticed her speaking to another mother. It wasn’t until he noticed her ice-blue eyes that he internally groaned in irritation. He recognized her, Carmen, Joey’s wife.

This can’t be fucking happening. He thought to himself. When the little boy who Echo was speaking to ran back to her, clinging to her leg, he just didn’t know what the hell to do. He tried to think of what his brother once said—that the kids are innocent under the sins of their parents. His only move was to get Alma out of the school building without noticing what was going on, but he knew it would be for naught.

He approached Alma and pulled her a bit away from Carmen while distracted by her son. “Uhm, we should probably start heading out, love.” He flashed his wristwatch to her for the time.

“Oh. Yeah, we should.” She called Echo over for them to say goodbye.

“I love you, baby. Have a good day.” She said to her and laughed a little when she affectionately nuzzled her face into her belly.

Bill crouched down to her level. “You look so pretty today, honey.” He lightly poked her nose before pinching her cheek. “I love you. Be brave, remember?”

Echo nodded, hugging him. “Can you make spaghetti for dinner?”

Bill chuckled. “Yeah, that sounds good! With garlic bread, right?”

“Mhmm!” Her eyes lit up, happily. “I love you, Papa. I love you, Mama.” And off she went and joined the class confidently.

Bill took Alma’s hand, noticing her blinking rapidly to keep her tears at bay, and led them out of the school.

“What’s going on?” Alma asked, noticing some commotion just off to the side of the entrance, but Bill remained quiet, looking straight forward.

“But I should be able to see my boy!” Someone in the middle of the gang of people harshly demanded.

“Yes, yes. And that’s perfectly fine, but without the security, Mr. Russo.” Principal Everton tried to reason.

Alma’s heart sank hearing the name, but when they rounded the corner, she caught a glimpse of Joey Russo in her daughter’s school. She paused, stunned, but Bill tugged her arm.

“Keep walking.”

“Bill! It's. W-we can’t.” She stuttered as panic rose in her chest.

“Not here. Keep walking.”

“Bill, she cannot go here!” She said once they reached their car. “Fuck! I’m so—I’m so fucking stupid!” She looked up to the sky with glassy eyes.

The idea of Echo attending a swanky private school was all hers, and now she cursed her line of optimistic thinking. However, this school wasn’t their first option. Bill was partly to blame for this situation because, at their preferred school, the dean was a woman he had a short-lived tryst with when Alma had moved away to Seattle. To say Alma was pissed when he revealed that to her would be an understatement. She asked if he could get over it, to which he replied that he was over it, but that it was just too weird. He deeply regretted that now. He could have dealt with weird because now the situation they were in was just plain fucked up.

“Do not say that! You’re not,” he said, opening the passenger door. “We couldn’t have known.”

She glanced at the opened car door and back at him, appalled that he was really trying to leave their daughter behind. “Bill, no! We need to get her out. We’ll,” she paused, feeling herself getting sick again. “No!” She shook her head.

“Get in the car, Alma.”

“Are you fucking crazy?!”

“We’re not doing this outside the fucking school. Get in!”

Alma ran a hand through her hair, stressed, but did as he said. He looked back at the school as he rounded the car. When he entered, Alma was pinching the bridge of her nose, trying to will the tears falling from her cheeks away, but it was futile. Even justified to cry from the situation, she couldn’t stop the tears. She had too before she became hysterical and inconsolable, though. She could feel it building to that point.

“They knew!” She said trying to figure out how this could happen. “They know who she is!”

“Alma… I don’t think so.” He sighed. “You, you were speaking to his wife in there.”

“What!? No, no! No, we have to get her out right now!”

“We’re not doing that.”

“What are you talking about?!” She sobbed, feeling helpless.

“She is going to this fucking school, Alma!” He huffed, and then he did his best to settle himself. He shouldn’t be making Alma upset in her state. “Look at me.” He said, unsuccessfully trying to take the edge off his voice, but she refused to look at him.

“I can’t believe you, right now!”

“Listen to me, then. We are not taking her out of this school.” He stressed. “We are not fucking scared of them. Do you hear me?”

Alma bit her quivering lip as tears ran down her face. “BUT I AM!” She cried, turning to him and clutching onto her chest. “I’m so fucking scared. I just want to go home!” Home, a thousand miles away from there.

Bill had to look away for a moment. “I know.” He turned to her. “I know, baby, but you can’t show them that. Taking Echo out today and going back to Seattle will just prove—” he sneered, disgusted at the thought of tucking tail. “The school year will come and go. It’s nothing.”

“I don’t know, Bill.” She sniffled, wiping at her cheeks. “I want to believe that-that,” she sighed, feeling defeated.

“If we take Echo out today, what will she think? We tell her all the time to be brave and,” he quickly cleared his throat when he felt it tighten. “And if she sees us backing out like this—if those motherfuckers see us. I can’t. I won’t do it. I fucking refuse.”

Alma remained silent, trying to compose herself. “Oh, god, this is such bullshit!” She groaned, agitated as tears slipped from her eyes.

“Do you trust me?” He asked, tilting his head to peer out for her gaze.

Alma closed her eyes and then finally looked at him. “I do. I trust you.”

“Remember, Joey is going to federal fucking prison. I know this is upsetting, and this is—this is fucking crazy. But Echo will be okay. He can’t move an inch without the police being right on his ass. She’ll be okay.” He willed. “I promise.”

“Okay... Fuck him, though.” She sniffled.

“Yeah. Fuck him.” He leaned over to put an arm around her. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn’t be doing that.” He kissed her.

“It’s fine. We were just surprised—caught off guard.”

“No. You’re pregnant, Alma. That was ugly of me.” He said, affectionately rubbing her small, round belly. She was four months pregnant. “I’m sorry,” he said again, leaning over and kissing the top of her belly. “Are you okay?”

Alma lightly frowned. “No, but… I trust you.”

“Okay,” he nodded, he would accept that. “Now. I’m going to start the car, and we’re going straight to the OB appointment, okay?”

She let him start the car but placed her hand on top of his while trying to turn the gear in drive. He took a deep, shaky breath, his anxiousness and stress wanting to spill over, but he felt he needed to be strong at the moment and composed himself. “Baby… I don’t want to leave her, either. But we have to. Trust me, please.” He pleaded.

“Okay, okay.” She nodded and then allowed him to proceed.

While driving past the school building, they kept their eyes on it until they no longer could. They were silent for a moment and then accepted that this was just what it was going to be. Bill reached for her hand to hold tightly and kissed the back of it several times.

“What do you think the baby will be?” He asked, trying to bring back some levity.

Alma cracked a small smile. “Hmm. I don’t know. I’m okay with whatever.”

“I just need them to double-check there’s only one in there again.” He said, making them both laugh. Their first ultrasound proved as much, but still, a second confirmation would be nice.

Soon the school year would be over without incident. Echo had learned so much and thrived in the city and learned to love living there. Joey Russo and some other unfortunates were implicated and sentenced to prison. The court proceedings were televised, and they watched it every day like a telenovela. However, the conclusion was a bit disappointing, they felt the sentence was a mere slap on the wrist for what he really deserved.

Ultimately, they returned to Seattle with one extra newborn in tow. Back in their home, where the rain fell on their children, giggling and running around the back garden. Grass stuck to their legs and mud covered their bare feet while chasing their Doberman, Reaper. Alma introduced their small baby to the rain, welcoming them home, and then joined the others. Bill put an arm around her with a content, dimpled smile on his face, and they stood together, letting the soft rain wash their sins away.

FIN

#bill skarsgard #my bill writings #avenue of sins #aos #aos neon

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