#he's just her little guy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dudethatsmyundeaduncle · 8 months ago

Text

Tim Drake's Mom is actually Lara Croft! AU

After getting pregnant Lara Croft disappears off the face of the earth, takes up a shell company in Gotham left to her by her father, and assumes the identity Janet Drake.

(DC made Timmy's parents archeologists! so Sis it was between Indiana Jones or the Tomb Raider and well here we are!)

___________________________________________________________

Lara Croft has a daring archeological adventure/world saving mission with a dashing man she only knows as N. Drake (if u know u know) and finds out she's pregnant weeks after.

Lara Croft did not expect to be Pregnant. Lara knows that she shouldn't have a baby. She knows this intellectually and emotionally, she doesn't have any family left and after nearly 10 years of traveling the globe and putting herself in life or death situations she knows her life can't accommodate children. Lara knows the responsible thing to do, she makes an appointment with NHS/MSI and focuses on her next project. (TW: Discussion of Abortion)

Lara never gets her appointment. She misses her abortion date in London when she gets caught up in another mad expedition that takes her half way across the world.

On this mission she nearly looses everything, her friends, her own life, what's left of her father's legacy, all for a semi cursed magical artifact that nearly blows up the South American Coast.

Lara's tired, scared, she's been running from Trinity (evil org) for nearly a decade now . She's 29, she's 5 months pregnant, and she's stuck floating on her back in the middle of the South Atlantic sea watching the sky burn.

Lara's rich she could always get the abortion, legally or otherwise, her father left her a billionaire and the souvenirs she'd collected from her travels do nothing but add to that wealth.

Trinity wants Lara Croft dead, they'll never stop chasing, and Lara just wants respite. She wants her quaint childhood in the English countryside with her father, she wants to curl up and sleep for a thousand years. She wants to be someone else, just for a moment.

Her heart beats wildly in her chest and she can almost feel another heart beating alongside it.

Lara Croft makes a decision. She sinks into the sea and doesn't come back up for air even when it burns.

On the shore a nameless woman washes up, water logged and looking for passage to America.

The Croft's have had shell companies for years, one can't be a billionaire these days without at least a few, Medi-industries is an unassuming medical supplier located in Gotham, New Jersey the crime capital of North America. It's the perfect place to disappear.

Janet Drake Lands in Gotham on a gloomy morning in March, she's got enough money to throw around that people forget to ask what family she's from, this is Gotham new money is nearly unheard of.

By mid April Janet has reestablished control of Medi-Industries, Now Drake Industries, and purchased an old English style mansion in Bristol, which the real-estate agent has assured her is a great neighborhood.

Timothy Jackson Drake is born July 19th at nearly 3 in the morning squalling high into the night like a banshee. He is perfectly healthy and perfectly safe in Janet's arms.

It is only in the safety of their home, in the house Janet picked, because it was high on a hill for tactical advantage and had bullet proof glass nestled between quaint wood paneled windows, It is only in the heart of Drake Manor that Lara dares to Whisper her son's name

"Timothy Jackson Croft"

-------------------------

AU ALSO INCLUDES!

Badass Lara Croft being the cool mom TM

A family portrait of the Drakes, Including Janet, baby Tim, and a mysterious Jack Drake (who was a very discreet and well paid member of Gotham's theatre society, and who was also more then happy to pose as a rich ladies dead husband for a day)

A Socttish Nanny/Housekeeper with a very keen eye and discreet mouth who will not tell a soul that she is fairly sure she's employed by Lord Richard Croft's, eccentric billionares, missing daughter.

precocious and slightly British accented baby Tim who gets to have his Mom with him for 10 whole years! before she inevitably runs back off to save the world

Tim being unaware of his mother's past life beyond her name until the age of 13 when he becomes Robin and is able to actually find out what his mom's been protecting him from his whole life.

I imagine in this AU that eventually Trinity finally catches wind of where Lara is hiding and she has a big confrontation with them in New Jersey. It's way too close to Gotham and Tim for her comfort, she knows this is the only chance she'll get to control the chaos.

So she packs Tim up to move him into the dorms at Gotham Academy and promises she'll write and be home for his birthday in the summer. After she's finished her "company" business first of course.

Tim's confused but he trusts his mom, he gets unsigned postcards from all over the world and pins them above his bed in the dorm and goes to sleep trying to guess what country she's in every night.

The move to the dorm is kind of cool to Tim as well because it means he can start his plan to follow Batman and Robin in the city! (in this AU there's no way Lara wouldn't have noticed him sneaking out at 9, but Gotham academy security? totally oblivious)

Tim celebrates his 10th birthday with his mom at home, he has so many freaking questions about where she was! and she tells him outlandish stories about daring fights and cursed artifacts that he rolls his eyes at but enjoys none the less.

it isn't till he's 15 that his Robin work and his mom's adventures cross paths.

After so many years of close calls, of hiding bruises from his mom with same concealer she uses to hide her own wounds, of wondering if it was selfish to wish his Mom cared a little bit less about the world and would stay with him for more then a few weeks at a time. Finally it all comes to a head in the worst way. Lara Croft's latest adventure puts her right in the middle of a Bat Level investigation. It has Tim near loosing his mind with worry hoping his mom is alive and Lara having the worst freakout/Blow up of her life realizing her son has been putting himself in Danger every night she thought he was safe.

The Drake/Crofts are messy! Bad at communicating! And unfortunately the exact same kind of reckless and self sacrificing!

Fun food for thought:

Lara canonically is a killer, if you've played any of the reboot Tomb Raider series she can be pretty gruesome and efficient! Very cool! Jason would stan! Tim is kind of appalled! Lara is glad Tim's never killed, that he's never had to.

Lara still dies in this AU but it's in a big Trinity X Obeah Man X Captain Boomerang Cluster fuck where Lara finishes off Trinity and Obeah Man for good but looses her own life in the process. Tim is devastated, he feels like they were just starting to really be 100% transparent with each other before her death. Que Tim's not good very bad year!

if you've made it this far in my rambles here's a treat! I actually wrote a lil fuckin blurb for this!

preface: This the first time Robin and Lara Croft have ever met/are on the same mission.

___________

" mom!" Tim shouts, running before Bruce can even properly land the BatJet.

The old temple is ablaze, the ancient structure already half crumbled in on itself with what's left of it is spewing out clouds of jet black smoke.

Tim's mother limps out what was once the front entrance clutching at her ribs.

She's filthy, covered in a thick layer of dirt and grime. but she's got on a triumphant smile like the cat who got the cream.

" Mom!" Tim yells again watching as she does a double take at his choice of moniker.

Her mouth twists in a grimace as she stumbles and Tim dives under her arm quickly moving to support her left side.

Lara Croft meets the white lenses of Red Robin's eyes in confusion

" What'd you call me?" She slurs trying to blink away the smoke inhalation that makes it hard to focus and leaves her lightheaded.

Lara's right ankle which took the brunt of a very nasty dive from a very high perch, not 20 minutes earlier as she raced out of the Dead Kings Tomb, finally gives up the ghost and she pitches forward taking Red Robin with her.

He's young, she thinks, he's very young.

Before either of them can hit the ground Batman intercepts their fall hefting Lara into a secure hold.

Red Robin catches himself and latches onto Lara's hand.

He yanks off one of his gloves and tries to wipe some of the grime out of her eyes.

" Mum" he croaks this time, voice breaking nearly in half on the last syllable.

Lara furrows her brow, the cowl covers so much of this young man's face, from his nose too his brow bone, but his chin is startlingly familiar as is his absolutely atrocious British accent.

He reminds her terribly of Timothy.

" Tim" she says deliriously, Lara tries to smile but her eyes start to droop and her head lolls slack against Bruce's arm. She's clean out.

Tim makes an odd lunge and jerk movement pressing his fingers into her carotid artery to feel her pulse.

He's shaking, more wrong footed and anxious then Bruce has ever seen him.

Batman is extremely grateful when Nightwing comes up behind him and gently pulls his younger brother's hands away from his mother's comatose body.

" She's fine Red. We need to get her on board so we can get her some oxygen though, the smoke inhalation is getting to her. "

" Right" Tim says, still frozen in place. He shakes it off quickly " Right." he repeats pivoting in place and leading their small party through the remains of the ruins and back to the jet.

" I'll prep the med bay."

--------

pics or it didn't happen! (ps, if u wanna write, draw, or HC anything for this AU feel free my lads)

36 notes · View notes

sentientcave · 8 months ago

Text

Retirement Party

Chapter 4 - Runaway

<<First Chapter - < Prev Chapter - Next Chapter >

Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Dubcon, Plus-sized reader, female reader, Poorly thought out action sequences, Guns, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me. No promises for future chapters though I might even tell y'all her name.

~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

You wake in the morning with your nose buried in a thick patch of chest hair, and strong arms around you. Your legs are hooked around one of his thick thighs, and something hard digs into your stomach. You start to inch away, but his arms tighten, and his hips cant against you, a thick, sleepy groan rumbling in his chest. It would be a nice way to wake up, if not for the circumstances. It’s been ages since you slept beside another person, let alone someone that feels as comfortable as John does.

“John,” you say softly. You don’t want to fully wake him up, just get him to let you go. “John, please let me go.”

He hums, one hand sliding to your waist, and then down to your hip, pulling you closer, grinding you against his thigh. You squeak in protest, becoming aware that you’re already wet, like you’ve been unconsciously humping his leg in your sleep for some time. You push your slightly freer top half away a little, so you can look at him. He’s still sleeping, a little frown on his face as he’s pulled unwillingly toward consciousness. He really is handsome, especially like this, all his defences down, grumbling like a hibernating bear.

“Don’t wake up,” you tell him, as if it’ll make any difference. “I just have to pee.”

One of his blue eyes cracks open, a little unfocused. “You comin’ back?” His voice is rough from sleep, rasping like sandpaper.

“Sure,” you say, even though you have no intention of doing so. Your body seems as eager as his is for something you’re sure is dangerous. Maybe he smells good, like tobacco, warm, boozy spices and something undeniably male, and maybe he feels warm and solid against you, but you don’t want to encourage this. You just want to enough space to clear your head. His admissions last night still have you spooked, John’s words not tempered by a night of surprisingly good sleep. “I’ll just be a minute.”

He loosens his hold on you enough that you can wiggle free, his eyes opening a little more so he can watch you slip out of bed. He rolls over onto his back, and starts snoring gently before you’ve even made it to the bedroom door. You take the opportunity to snag one of the bags stacked in front of the closet and your purse off the dresser and bring both to the bathroom with you. You’re not sure what’s in the bag, but you know the larger suitcase has things from your closet in it, so you’re hoping this one has more from your dresser.

You get dressed, glad that most of your underthings and a comfortable pair of jeans and a thick sweater are inside and pack your toothbrush and makeup bag into the larger one, and creep downstairs carefully. One of them is snoring gently on the couch, but otherwise, the house is silent. You carefully fish a set of keys off the hooks by the door and sneak outside. You don’t know where any of your shoes are except the red heels, so you just leave in your sock feet, and pile your things into the pick-up truck. You’ll drive it into town and leave it there, buy a ticket on a train or a bus, and get the hell back home.

It sucks to have to leave everything you own, beyond the clothes in the one bag and the contents of your purse, but maybe you can call the cops— Well. Probably not. Better to just start over anywhere else. You have digital copies of a few pictures of your parents, and that’s better than nothing, even if their wedding album is sitting on a shelf in John’s living room, along with all the family photos that your parents took of you and them while you were growing up. Your mother’s sketchbooks too, and her camera, and your dad’s guitar.

You bite your lip, holding back tears, and start the truck.

No sense mourning things. The memories are in your head and your heart, not trapped in the pages of books or twisted into the strings of the guitar. You don’t need them.

You haven’t driven in a long time, and the truck, unfortunately, is a manual, which you haven’t driven in even longer, but you manage to pull away from the house without revving the engine too hard, and pick up speed once you get to the road, only just remembering to hit the clutch with your left foot before you change gears. You’d feel pretty pathetic if you only made it to the road before stalling out the pickup.

You’re not sure which way town is, but you figure the road has to lead somewhere no matter which way you choose, so you navigate blindly, turning onto a bigger road a little ways down the gravel one that leads to John’s house. Bigger road means more people, although the hour is still so early that there’s no one around yet. The sun is barely up, and it’s still shadowy in the woods on either side of the road. The woods give way to fields suddenly, the sun making a too-bright debut, shining right into your eyes. You flip down the visor and adjust the rear-view mirror, wincing when you see a blue car a ways behind you, approaching fast.

You didn’t notice the car when you were leaving— It must have been parked behind the bigger van that they’d used to move all your things— but it looks sporty and fast, and judging by the way it closes the gap, there’s no question that it’s them. You push the truck harder, squinting against the light, heart hammering. The car’s engine roars, loud enough that you can hear it over the blood rushing in your ears, and pulls into the lane beside you. Gaz motions for you to pull over from the passenger seat.

You slow up enough that they pull ahead a little, and you yank your steering wheel to the side and stomp down on the gas and the clutch, shifting into third gear and nailing the side of the car, shattering a tail light and making it spin, stopping just shy of the ditch.

For a moment, you’re still close enough to see the shock on their faces, but you’re moving fast and leave them in the dust, at least momentarily. It won’t take them long to recover and catch up again, and if they hit you with the same maneuver, there’s no way you’ll be able to get the truck under control. There’s not enough weight in the bed of the truck to compensate, and you’ll wind up in the ditch for certain.

Funny, how it comes back to you. Learning to drive along mountain roads way outside Aberdeen, either in your dad’s little car or your mom’s old truck (usually the car, which was the easier one to drive. Your dad was the safer driver too, the better parent to learn from), and you can almost imagine your mother in the passenger seat, laughing her head off at the insane circumstances, encouraging you to throw caution to the wind, to get a feel for the road under the wheels and the way the old truck handled. She always laughed when she was under stress, but it’s comforting to think of. Your mum would never let a couple of thick-headed military assholes get the better of her.

The car is catching up again, so you floor it and smash through a fence gate into a muddy field, where the car won’t handle as well, and speed your way across the stubbly remains of wheat, already harvested. The car follows, and, predictably, struggles, the low frame too close to the muck, bumping unhappily over the soft, uneven ground.

Laughter bubbles up in your chest, relieving some of the built-up anxiety. You smash through a segment of the fence on the other side and yank the truck back onto the road, giggling when the truck fishtails a bit, mud slicking the tires on the pavement. There’s so much adrenaline coursing through your system that you feel like you might be sick the moment you let any of this catch up with you. So you keep driving, and pray that it doesn’t.

The car gets close again when you reach another wooded section of road. Through the rearview mirror you can see Gaz pop out of the window, gun drawn, but you don’t hear the crack when it fires, you only feel the impact when the bullet strikes one of the rear tires. You shriek, slamming on the breaks as the truck spins out of your control and off the road, slamming into a tree head on.

The lurch forward as the airbags deploy, your body hitting them hard, knocking all the air out of your lungs as you’re slapped back into he seat. The seat belt bites into your shoulder painfully. You unbuckle yourself quickly, ears ringing too loudly for you to hear the screeching tires of the pursuit car. You fall to the ground when you try to get out, head spinning.

You stumble into the trees, still blinking away double vision. If you can find a good spot to hide— Maybe you can double back and take the car while they chase you blindly through the trees. You cast about, feeling every rapidly forming bruise, wishing desperately that you had shoes, and dive into the underbrush, scooting forward on your belly, brambles catching in your hair as you curl up, out of sight.

“Please come out, doll,” you hear Gaz call out, boots crunching through the woods, closer than you would like. “It’s okay, we’re not mad. Just come out and we’ll take you home, yeah?”

Johnny is yelling further off, his voice incomprehensible but sing-song, mocking. Gaz moves further into the woods. You wait until his voice grows a little more distant before you drag yourself back out, sweater streaked with mud, leaves in your hair, and quickly sneak back to the road. The car is still running, the driver door left open. You breathe a sigh of relief.

“There you are, bird.”

You scream. A gloved hand drops over your mouth, cutting off the sound, and an arm loops around your waist, picking you right up off your feet.

Fuck.

"Look what you did, bird. Wrecked up Price's truck. 'E's not goin' to be 'appy about that." He turns so you can see the slightly smoking truck, the front half of it crumpled beyond repair.

You shake your head until he pulls his hand away from your mouth. "Its not my fault I crashed. Gaz shot the tire out. I wasn't even going to steal it, just leave it in town once I'd gotten to a bus stop."

He hums. You hear the slight crackle of a radio. "Got 'er, lads. Come back to the car."

"Rog."

"Aye."

Ghost shoves you into the back seat. "Stay put," he says sternly. "You're already banged up, don't want to 'ave to tackle you."

You sigh, all the fight leaving you. You feel awful, bruised and shaken up and trembling, and you do nothing but watch as Ghost gathers your things from the truck and puts them in the boot of the car. You slump back in the seat, inspecting the scratches on your hands idly. Your head hurts, and your shoulder aches, and you feel a bit like you've been stepped on, but nothing feels broken, just bruised and tender. You got lucky.

Well, not lucky. There's very little about any of this that counts as luck. Especially considering the look on Johnny's face when he jogs out of the trees. At first he looks stormy, but he grins when he sees you and opens the back door to crawl onto the seat and on top of you.

"Steamin Jesus, where'd ye learn ta drive like tha'?" He asks. "Didnae ken ye were a racer."

"Outside Aberdeen," you reply. Your ribs hurt. Soap’s weight makes every little ache more acute.

"Price isn't gonna be happy about his truck," Gaz says, tossing himself into the driver's seat. "What were you thinking, doll? You could've been hurt."

"You didn't have to shoot the tire." You try to push Soap off, but he wraps himself around you, a bit tight, but bearably so. You’re trembling, and he’s trying to help, in a thoroughly unhelpful way. "I was just trying to get home."

"That's the wrong way. Your home's with Price now." Ghost gets into the other front seat, and Gaz reverses back out onto the road.

You sigh, leaning your head against the window, watching the countryside flash by. It takes an embarrassingly short time to get back to John's house. You didn't get as far as you would have liked, hardly got anywhere at all. Your eyes prickle with tears, but you don't want to cry in front of them. You want to go back to bed, maybe back in time to the morning. You would have been wiser just to curl up next to John again.

Soap drags you from the car, hands a bit rough on your bruises, and pulls you back to the house. John rushes out, worry creasing his face, blue eyes sweeping over you and turning furious. "What happened?" he barks, not at you, but at his men.

"Bird was makin' a run for it," Ghost says.

"Wrecked your truck," Gaz adds.

"That's not my fault!" you protest. "You shot at me!" You glare at him, frustrated tears overflowing down your cheeks. It’s like they have no idea what kind of stress they’ve put you through.

"Woah, woah, c'mere, doll." John pulls you against his chest, wrapping strong arms around you, stilling some of the tremble in your limbs. "You broken?"

You shake your head, leaning into him, gripping his t-shirt tightly. You breathe in raggedly, trying to steady yourself.

"Lads. Why did you shoot at her?"

"Trying to stop the truck."

"She's a civilian you muppets. I take it that the truck's in no shape to drive, or you would've brought it back. You could have killed her." He pets a hand over your head, plucking out a few leaves. "You should’ve let her go."

"She stole your truck!" Soap protests.

"So what? It's wrecked now anyway, innit?" The silence behind you speaks volumes. "Alright, doll, why don't you go get cleaned up? " he murmurs against the top of your head. "I need to talk to the lads, and what I have to say is not fit for a lady's ears."

He gently ushers you into the house and closes the door firmly behind you. You trudge upstairs, feeling utterly pathetic, and lock yourself into the bathroom. Still sniffling, you comb sticks and leaves out of your hair with your fingers and put yourself into a hot shower, where you give yourself the freedom to cry your eyes out, hoping that the sound of water drowns your stifled sobs.

The house is quiet when you shut off the shower and dry yourself off. You wrap the shirt you'd slept in around you and poke your head out into the hallway. John is right there, holding out a bundle of clothes. "Here, sweetheart," he says softly, like he's worried a sharp word will set you off again. He must have heard everything. "I sent the boys to deal with the truck and that tail light, so it's just us. Just come on downstairs when you're ready."

You open the door wide enough to accept the clothes, and he turns to leave again, content to leave anything else to be said when you make it downstairs.

He'd obviously taken his cue from what you'd been wearing already, because he gives you a sweater and jeans again, comfortable worn in things. You go downstairs carefully, every joint and muscle in your body aching, even after the shower.

"How do you take your coffee?" he asks. "Or do you prefer tea?"

"Coffee, please. I can make it. I'd feel better if I did, honestly." You skirt around him to the cupboard where you'd seen Gaz take mugs out, recognizing your own nestled among John's mismatched ones. You put milk and sugar in your favourite mug, and pour in coffee, stirring it throroughly. The clink of the spoon is loud, and so is the pan he sets on the stove top.

"Eggs and toast okay?" He asks.

"Um, yeah. That would be nice. Over easy?"

"Yes ma'am." He looks at you over his shoulder while butter melts in the pan, blue eyes all worry. "Did I say something to you last night? Maybe the sort of thing that made you feel like you needed to steal a truck and run as fast as you could away from here?"

"Um. Yes." You hold onto the mug with both hands. "Some stuff about wanting to start a family. With me."

His ears turn pink. "I see."

"I suppose this is where you tell me it was just the whiskey talking, right?" you ask hopefully. You like him, even if it’s ill-advised, maybe even dangerous to do so.

"Wish I could."

Your stomach twists. “Oh.”

John turns around fully, guilt and sadness written all over his handsome face. He steps closer and touches your arm gently. “I’m so sorry about what my boys have put you through, sweetheart. None of this has been right.” He sighs, brushing a few tendrils of still-wet hair away from your face, studying you, those intense blue eyes focused on you intently. “But there’s something special about you, doll. I really do want to keep you forever. Not if you’re scared, and not if you feel forced— It’s just, the thought of you leavin' and never wanting to speak to me again is— I don’t want that.”

You swallow nervously. “This is just really overwhelming.”

“I know. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have let this happen. Soap really could have just given you my number.” The smile he gives you is hopeful, and you can’t help but return it, just a little. “Now go sit down, doll. Let me take care of breakfast, hm?”

You nod and move to the table, sitting where you can watch him, and peek out the window too. The car is gone, but the van is still there for the moment, sitting idly to the side. You consider making another run for it, but your aching limbs protest even the thought. There’s not enough fight in you, and you’re not even sure you want to fight John, not the way you do the other three. His only crime has been wanting you to stay, and being a bit overzealous about it. You can’t be mad at him for that, can you? It isn’t really his fault.

Well, it might be his fault, in a roundabout way. He trained them, taught them how to ruthlessly pursue an objective. It’s just not his fault they can’t keep it from coming home with them. That’s a clear failure of whoever does their mental health assessments.

You sip your coffee and watch John crack eggs into a pan. He keeps glancing at you, and his smile flickers on a little longer each time that he catches you looking back, until he doesn’t stop smiling, and just looks happy, glad to have you there, even if you’re just keeping a silent vigil on the other side of the room.

It's not like you have anywhere to go. It'll take days at least to feel like you haven't just been in a car crash, and days more to locate everything to pack it back up. So long as you don't have to share a bed with John again, you think you could live with this, for at least a week. It can't be that terrible, so long as the others leave you alone. You rather hope they just leave. If you asked, would John send them away?

"John," you say as he sets a plate with buttered toast and a couple of eggs on it in front of you, and sets a couple tablets of paracetamol beside your plate. "If I stay… Will they be staying too?"

"I'm going to have them leave this afternoon. That alright with you? We can go for a walk to the neighbours while they pack up, if you're up for it. Maybe dr-- Well, not drive." He sets his own plate down and sits next to you, handing you a knife and a fork. “Have to get that sorted out. But the neighbours-- Rob and Melissa-- Their dog just had puppies a few weeks ago. Do you like dogs?”

You nod, breaking the yolks of one of the eggs with a corner of toast. "My parents had a dog when I was growing up. Some kind of German shepherd cross. Best boy. His name was Rob Roy, because he was a wee outlaw. Mam found him digging in the trash and--" you stop and give John a baleful look. "Sorry. That was more than you were asking."

"No, that's the most you've said at once this whole time. I'd listen to you talk all day, doll. Don't ever apologize."

"Sorry I-- Oh, shit, sorry--" you press your fingers to your mouth, cutting yourself off. "Force of habit."

"I'd like to see you lose that one. You have nothin' to apologize for. Not one damn thing, and especially not talking. I think you have the prettiest voice I've ever heard."

You roll your eyes, but you can't help smiling. "You're just saying that."

He touches your arm lightly. "You don't know me too well yet, doll, but I never just say anything."

Yet hangs in the air, heavy and deliberate. He wants you to know him, wants you to stay with him, wants you to like him. Even if it makes no sense, the offer is tempting. It's been a long time since you've let someone get close— You've had the occasional fling, and the odd reunion with an ex that you’d stayed friends with, but grief is like a canyon you can't bear to cross. What if you love someone and you lose them, the way you lost your parents? How could you live with that all over again?

Still, there's something that feels like warm sunlight in his smile, and you can't help but incline toward him, slowly but surely reaching for the light. No one can live in the shade forever. There’s no nobility in suffering.

So you let yourself talk, at least a little. And he listens, hanging on to your words like they're precious, gazing at you with something unfurling in his expression that you can't name. You're almost afraid to try.

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

#Retirement Party #Chapter 4 - Runaway #Whoops forgor to do this earlier #sorry friends I shouldn't make self-imposed deadlines I know the guy that sets em and he's a pushover #Doll girl you are doomed do not let that man give you the big hopeful blue eyes he is TROUBLE #Seriously though what is WRONG with these guys they are not making good decisions even a little #dark fic #cod mw fanfiction #john price x reader #OC: Doll #x reader #Sorry she's become more of a character and it's harder to deny her personhood for the x reader bit #so hopefully you can just enjoy being Doll for a hot minute

424 notes · View notes