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hackettquarrys · 2 years

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howl

lover of mine pt.3/? (part two here)

chris hackett

x counselor!oc

2.4k words

playlist

“Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers

Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters”

!! SPOILERS FOR THE QUARRY (2022) !!

warnings: age gap (48/21), camp owner x counselor, language, i think that’s it, doesn’t follow the story exactly/dialogue is different

despite my best efforts, it seemed the majority were in favour of the bonfire. reluctantly, i watched as everyone split into groups, emma and jacob going to the general store to get snacks and beer, nick and abi going to collect firewood, and kaitlyn, dylan, ryan and i stayed behind at the firepit.

dylan was setting up a playlist on his phone, while ryan continued to pester kaitlyn about the ‘hag of hackett’s quarry”, much to her annoyance. everyone returned around the same time, nick and abi returning with some sticks for the fire, and emma and jacob with a wheelbarrow of goodies from the store, setting off some firecrackers as the arrived.

“woah- emma is that a gun?” kaitlyn asked the blonde, who indeed had a shotgun slung over her shoulder.

“it’s not a real gun- it’s just for bears and stuff.” jacob brushed of the brunette’s concern. he began to show off an ancient looking bag of snacks he had found, as kaitlyn confiscated the gun from emma.

“no way- peanut butter butter pops!” nick shouted, clearly a fan of the prize jacob had found. they began to fight over them.

“we’ll shoot for them,” jacob announced, challenging nick.

“you’re on!“ nick accepted, and kaitlyn insisted she referee, as not to leave the two of them alone with a gun, which to be fair was a valid idea. the three of them disappeared into the trees and the rest of us worked to get the fire going. i sighed quietly to myself- trying to figure out how i was gonna get everyone to stay inside tonight; i had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t going to be easy.

•

once the shooting contest was over and the three participants returned, the fire was large enough to provide a layer of warmth, helping alleviate the chill of the late august breeze.

“i’ve got an idea- let’s play truth or dare,” dylan suggested.

“guys come on, are we in 5th grade?” i asked.

“yeah.. i don’t know-“ abi agreed before she was interrupted.

“you two need to relax- unless you have some super deep secrets you don’t want us finding out,” jacob joked, but he didn’t realize just how true that was.

“yeah, come on. it’ll be fun,” nick suggested, and once again abi seemed to go along with what nick said, and i tried not to hold it against her; i knew how much she liked him and things seemed to be going well with them.

“come on jaiden, you’ve got nothing to hide, i know everything about you,” dylan joked, which he wasn’t wrong. he knew almost everything about me- except for that one tiny little fact that i was sleeping with the camp owner.

“this is stupid, you guys,” ryan concluded. “if mr.hackett said-“

“dude, don’t be lame. turn off the whole ‘dark brooding loner’ act for one night and act that a normal teenager,” jacob, his tone joking enough that i don’t think ryan was too offended by what he said. “and who cares what mr.h said, one bonfire is not gonna kill anyone.”

“alright whatever.” ryan surrendered, leaving me fighting the battle alone. i absentmindedly fiddled with the key chris had given me, twirling the bronze metal between my fingers.

“okay… we can play for a bit but we have to go inside before it gets too dark, okay?” i pleaded.

“okay, party pooper,” dylan teased gently. “we’ll go inside in a little while.” i nodded, but still felt like i was letting chris down. the sun was setting and soon it would be replaced with the moon, and i couldn’t help but worry about chris. he said it was just family stuff, but i had never seen him act so freaked out in the years that i’ve known him.

i just hope he’s okay i thought.

•

the game of truth or dare started off pretty tame, with everyone asking the basic questions like 'when did you have your first kiss' and stuff like that, and some pretty normal dares too; nothing too crazy yet, besides jacob shotgunning a beer and almost spilling it all over nick. i could tell emma was getting bored, and she suggested a new rule to make the game more exciting in her mind.

“okay guys, how about- from now on you can’t pick the same thing that the person before you picked.” she explained. “so if someone picks dare, whoever’s next has to pick truth.”

“that’s not fair, then you can just target people to make them pick either truth or dare,” jacob said.

“so what- are you chicken? or do you have something to hide?” kaitlyn teased. jacob stayed quiet and the same continued; new rules in place. it was kaitlyns turn to ask someone, and since she had picked truth, that meant whoever she chose was getting a dare. her eyes landed on emma, and the mischievous look in her eye gave me a bad feeling.

“emma- truth or dare,” she smirked. “for formalities sake i have to ask.”

“dare,” emma smiled.

“i dare you- to kiss either jacob or nick.” my heart dropped, having little hope that she would pick jacob and not the guy her best friend was head over heels for. to my disappointment, i was correct, and we all watched as emma started walking towards nick; i couldn’t even describe the look on abi’s face.

“woah- hang on. don’t i get a say in this?” nick asked, raising his hands in front of him. emma rolled her eyes.

“it’s just a game, nick; relax.” nick lowered his hands, and emma pushed her way into his lap, before pressing her lips to his. it went on for what felt like forever, emma clearly wanting to make a show of things to jacob, as she swapped spit with one of his best friends. finally they separated and emma stood up, turning to abi.

“he’s good,” she smirked. abi looked like she was trying not to cry- i wouldn’t have blamed her if she did honestly- before she stood and ran off into the woods. jacob also got up and stormed off, towards the dock off the lodge.

“abi! wait!” i called after her but she ignored me. “what the hell was that?” i demanded, staring daggers at emma.

“what?” she laughed. “it’s just a game, jaiden.”

“when did you become such a bitch?”

“it’s not my turn for a truth, jaiden,” emma shot back, not fazed by my comment at all.

“god i’m such an idiot,” nick muttered. “i fucked up bad.” he stood up, running after abi and calling out to her.

“should we… go after them?” dylan asked hesitantly.

“i think they probably need to talk about this alone,” ryan suggested. dylan nodded, and we sat in silence for a minute before emma spoke.

“who wants to go next?”

“you really want to keep playing after that?” i asked in disbelief.

“relax, maybe this is the push they needed to actually get together,” kaitlyn suggested. “emma, it’s your turn to ask someone a truth.”

“hmmm- jaiden; have you ever had a crush on dylan?”

“emma you asked me this earlier- no.” i answered. it was the truth. there was never anything romantic between the two of us and there never would be.

“i think you’re lying. i feel like you two definitely hooked up.” kaitlyn confessed.

“no way.”

“ew gross-“ dylan and i spoke at the same time. “no offence.” we said in unison.

“ok stop talking at the same time. i believe you,” emma laughed. “you have to dare someone now.” i thought for a minute, before admitting defeat.

“i don’t have any good ones-“

“i’ve got one-“ emma interrupted. “ryan- i dare you to kiss either kaitlyn or dylan.” i looked at dylan, a worried look on my face, but he surprisingly looked rather aloof. i knew that he secretly had a crush on ryan, but we all knew kaitlyn did too, since she didn’t care to hide it. ryan stood up, looking from kaitlyn to dylan, before making his choice.

he walked up to dylan, and gently pressed his lips to his. i think dylan was surprised, because i saw his shoulders tense, and his eyes widened before fluttering closed. it was nowhere near as explicit and emma’s attack on nick, ryan pulling away after a few seconds, but it was cute. i felt bad for kaitlyn, but she wasn’t really the type to get upset over that kind of thing, and she seemed to just brush it off. a blush remained on dylan’s face as ryan walked back to his seat, but i’m sure if you weren’t sitting directly next to him like i was you wouldn’t have been able to tell, since it was now almost dark out. dylan cleared his throat lightly, and i gently elbowed him in the ribs, sending him a smile, which he returned.

“uh.. who hasn’t had a turn yet?” ryan asked, breaking the silence.

“me!” kaitlyn raised her hand, seeming a little annoyed; whether it was at ryan choosing dylan over her or that fact that she hadn’t been picked yet i wasn’t sure.

i zoned out, not really listening to the game anymore, my mind had wandered back to chris. i hoped he wouldn’t be too mad at me, since i failed to get everyone to stay inside. i also wondered how nick and abi were doing. kaitlyn dared emma to post a stupid photo and leave it up for 24 hours once we got cell service again, and emma’s gaze landed on me once again.

“jaiden- your turn.”

“dylan hasn’t had a turn in a while-“

“well then you can pick him next. truth or dare?”

“you know that i have to pick truth,” i sighed, taking a sip of my beer.

“alright. how long have you been sleeping with mr.hackett?” i nearly spat out my drink.

“woah- what?” kaitlyn asked, her mouth hanging open with shock.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“oh please, i heard you guys talking in his office earlier- and don’t think i didn’t notice you sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night. i honestly thought you and dylan were sneaking around, but i think i finally figured it out.”

“whatever you think is going on you’re wrong-“

“am i? look me in the eyes and tell me you haven’t been sneaking around with him all summer.”

“i-,” my eyes fell to the ground. shit i thought.

“wait- jaiden you’re not serious-“ kaitlyn asked. i continued to stare at the ground by my feet, unsure of what to do. “he’s like.. old!”

“not cool, emma,” dylan said, shaking his head.

“yeah.” ryan agreed. she scoffed, standing up from where she was sitting.

“whatever, i’m just a bitch anyway, right jaiden?” she asked. i looked up at her. i took a deep breath, refusing to let her get to me. as much as i was panicking about the fact that chris and i had been caught, i wasn’t about to let a teenaged mean-girl bully me.

“you know what emma? i want you to remember this night, as the night that you threw away the only chance at having real friends that you ever had. because maybe you’ve got lots of followers who care what you have to say- but i don’t think that really matters when you just screwed over your best friend just to hurt the only guy who’s ever actually cared about you.” i heard kaitlyn make a noise of disbelief from where she was sitting. emma actually looked a little hurt, before she stormed off towards the lodge.

“damn, jaiden. remind me never to piss you off,” ryan laughed. dylan put an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into a comforting side hug. my heart raced as i realized i would have to tell chris that the others knew about us, and i wondered how he would react. this could be bad i thought. what if it ruins the reputation of the camp- if people find out the owner was sleeping with one of the counsellors?

“is it true?” dylan asked softly. i looked at him, tears starting to grow in the corners of my eyes. “i guess i don’t know everything about you after all,” he laughed, and i could tell he was teasing me, trying to cheer me up.

“well, now you-“ i laughed, before i was cut off by the sound of a scream from the woods behind us.

“that sounded like abi,” dylan spoke. kaitlyn picked up the gun that was leaning against the log bench next to her, pointing it towards the trees where the noise had come from. there was a rustling in the woods nearby, and kaitlyn aimed the gun at them.

“should i shoot?” she asked.

“wait, what if it’s nick or abi?” ryan suggested.

“nick… abi?” i called our hesitantly. “jacob?” i asked, thinking maybe emma told him to get lost and he came back. abi ran out of the trees, and i noticed blood on her hands.

“abi, are you bleeding?” i asked, and she shook her head frantically.

“no no- there’s something out there and .. nick- it attacked him- he needs help.”

“okay okay- we’ll get him abi, don’t worry. dylan, ryan, you two go back to the lodge and lock all the doors. kaitlyn, come with me. abi, can you show us where nick is?“

“but-“ dylan started to protest.

“no- no buts. i told all of you that we had to stay inside and now look what happened. i hope your game of truth or dare was worth it. now go.” i ordered, looking at everyone, as it wasn’t really dylan’s fault. he nodded before turning and walking towards the lodge, ryan following right behind him. abi led the way through the forest, kaitlyn close next to her with the gun at the ready in case whatever attacked nick was still out here. jacob and i walked close behind them, until we came across nick, who had a nasty wound in his shoulder, his shirt soaked with blood.

“did you see what attacked him?” i asked, untying the flannel shirt from around my waist and using it to try to stop the bleeding. he groaned as i applied pressure to it.

“n..no it was too fast,” abi stuttered.

“it’s okay, let’s just get him inside. abi, can you help me?” i asked, gently helping nick up from one side as abi nodded and helped him on the other side.

we should’ve just stayed in the lodge.

#the quarry #the quarry game #chris hackett x reader #chris hackett imagine #chris hackett #david arquette

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smgsecretsanta · 5 months

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A gift from @insertlovelyperson to @sargeantsarmy!!!!

Text under the cut

Title: Asleep or Dead

Rating: Explicit (for explicit sexual content)

Pairing: Dylan Lenivy/ Ryan Erzahler

Tags: Hurt/comfort, Domestic fluff, Smut, 5+1

From: @insertlovelyperson To: @sargeantsarmy

Summary: The five times Ryan has a nightmare after the events of Hackett’s Quarry, and the one time he doesn’t.

The nightmares weren’t always this bad. It varied. Most nights, Ryan could crawl into bed, fall asleep thirty minutes to an hour later, and remain dead to the world until morning. And most nights, his dreams were nothing more than abstract imaginings and bizarre happenings that he’d forget upon awakening.

Not tonight.

He by no means considered himself a lucid dreamer, lacking too much control in his dreamscape for that to be the case. But that didn’t mean he didn’t maintain some semblance of consciousness when it happened, especially when it was so familiar:

Ryan stood panting in exertion and fear at the center of the dining room, shotgun still smoking as he looked down at Chris Hackett’s mangled corpse. Staring at the man’s exposed ribcage and pulverized organs, his hands began to tremble at the realization of what he’d done. Of what he’d lost. The rest of the dead Hackett’s littered the room, corpses in various states of dismemberment. Jed with his head caved in, Bobby with his neck torn out, Constance with her face blown off, and Kaylee covered with a white sheet on the dining room table. And as Ryan took it all in with dawning horror—that this massacre had, in part, been his doing—he heard the sound of Laura’s ragged gasping in the corner behind him.

With a shuddering breath that made the wound in his side ache, he opened his mouth to ask, ‘What now?’ But when he turned to face her... she was gone, leaving a broken mirror and Travis Hackett’s torn open corpse in her absence. However, it was when he turned back around that things really started taking a turn...

Chris Hackett stood before him. Naked, chest torn open, covered in blood... and Ryan had never been looked at with so much visceral hatred in his life. All he could do was stare back at the man’s heart weakly thumping in his shattered rib cage, spitting out blood and shrapnel with each stuttering beat.

Chris only stared at him in return, condemning him without uttering a single word. And when he finally spoke, it wasn’t any kinder than his expression, “For her? I treated you like my own son—Caleb and Kaylee thought of you as their own fucking brother. And you sold us out. For her.” He took a shambling step forth, radiating vicious malice and intent.

And Ryan wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees and beg for a forgiveness he wasn’t owed. I didn’t want to kill you, he would’ve sobbed. But I didn’t want to die either. Instead, he raised the gun again, aiming it directly at the man’s exposed heart as he felt his own begin to break.

Chris froze, head tilting in cold consideration as he assessed the situation. Face twisting in rage, he ignored the shotgun and advanced.

“Stop,” Ryan pleaded, fingers grazing the trigger, “Chris... please.”

But the man never wavered, cornering Ryan further and further until he felt his back press into the wall behind him. That was, until, he was actually forced to glance behind him, and it wasn’t the wall. It was Bobby Hackett. Head hanging onto his neck by a thread and wearing the same enraged expression as his brother.

A strangled, fearful noise tore its way from Ryan’s throat as he narrowly dodged the large man attempting to grapple onto him. It wasn’t until he backed himself against a wall—for sure this time—that he attempted to take stock of his deteriorating circumstances. But of course... that was the exact moment that things went from bad to worse. Chest huffing each breath as quick, painful bursts, he watched as the rest of the dead Hackett family rose to their feet, turning their sights on him and him alone.

Now knowing that the only thing his hesitation would accomplish was getting him killed, Ryan held the gun with firmer hands. Taking a deep breath, steeling himself, he aimed it at Chris and pulled the trigger.

CLICK. Blinking down in surprise, Ryan pulled the trigger again. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. Nothing happened.

In the end, Kaylee was the first on him, crossing the room faster than he could react and pummeling him to the ground with the wild swing of her fists. Shotgun clattering uselessly across the floor, Ryan didn’t even have time to blink before the rest of the Hacketts followed. Constance and her exposed brain, Jed and his broken jaw, Travis and his clumps of missing flesh... they were on him in seconds. Ignoring his sobbed pleas as they snarled their venomous words, digging their fingers into his flesh and tearing him apart. And no matter how much he screamed and begged, they didn’t stop until they reached the bone.

Squeezing his eyes shut and thrashing hard enough to get a mangled arm away from them, Ryan swung at whoever was currently holding him by his shoulder.

Someone yelped in pain as a loud SMACK reverberated through the room, and when Ryan finally managed to pry his eyes open, he was lying in bed in the dark. Something quickly shuffled from next to him, and soon enough, he was wincing from the sudden burst of light flooding his vision.

Dylan stared back at him—stunned—hand still hovering over the switch of the lamp on his bedside table. Holding what remained of his left arm up to his face, Ryan could clearly make out the red welt from underneath the stub. Even without it, the context clues would’ve been enough to tell him everything he needed to know.

With dawning horror, all Ryan could do was stare in shock as he tried to get his breathing back under control.

“I-it’s ok,” his boyfriend said unconvincingly, bottom lip quivering as he tried not to cry, “it didn’t even hurt.”

And despite the rapid beating in his chest and the painful squeezing of his lungs, Ryan was already out of bed and sprinting to the bathroom. Grabbing the cleanest washrag he could find, he ran it under the cold water of the sink before rushing back.

Dylan was fully sat up in bed at this point, rubbing the soreness from his jaw and wiping away the few tears that’d managed to well up in his eyes. When he caught sight of Ryan holding the rag, probably looking as dejected and guilty as he felt... Dylan laughed. “You’ve got,” he drawled as he took the cool cloth, pressing it onto his cheek, “a hell of a right hook.”

At the foot of the bed, Ryan didn’t respond, spine stiff and unsure of how to proceed, because... oh, God. I hurt him. I hurt Dylan. And he couldn’t stop shaking upon the damning realization.

Brow furrowed in concern, Dylan set the rag aside. “Hey,” he coaxed, pushing himself off the bed, “it’s alright, you didn’t mean to.”

But that wasn’t good enough. It didn’t make what Ryan did any more forgivable. Not to him, at least. Honestly, it kind of made it worse. The fact that Ryan had lost control like that from a nightmare... he’d posed a danger without even trying, and that was perhaps what scared him the most.

Dylan didn’t see it like that. At all. Closing the remaining distance, he wrapped his arms around him, resting his chin on the top of Ryan’s head.

And when Ryan could finally bring himself to relax into the embrace, he returned it in kind. Curling his arms around the other, he rested his head on his chest, murmuring a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Dylan whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the other’s forehead, “I think a big, red welt on my face was just what I needed to look a little more rugged.”

Ryan groaned, holding him even tighter.

Chuckling, Dylan took him by the arm and led them both back to bed. Settling down together beneath the sheets, they were already wriggling back into each other’s arms. Once they were more or less comfortable, Dylan finally asked, “Bad dream?”

To put it mildly. “Yeah,” Ryan breathed, chest still tight with lingering fear, “kinda.”

After a brief pause, the other carefully ventured, “Wanna talk about it?”

In all honesty... not really. It was bad enough experiencing it once, and the idea of any subsequent retellings was enough to make Ryan grimace. He burrowed his head further into his boyfriend’s chest to try and avoid the question.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Dylan sighed, rubbing a soothing circle into the small of the other’s back, “but it might help.”

Despite the fact he knew he was right, Ryan still hesitated. And yet... Dylan didn’t mind. Not in the slightest. He was more than ready to stay up with the other all night if needed, and it only made Ryan feel worse. So, exhaling a weary sigh, “I was back in the Hackett’s mansion with Laura.”

Humming a quiet acknowledgment, Dylan didn’t interrupt. Giving him all the time he needed to say his piece.

“Laura was gone, and the Hackett’s had... reanimated?” Yeah. He supposed that was the word for it, “It was right after I killed Chris. He just stood up and kept telling me how it was all my fault that he died. That they all died.”

Shoulders tensing and lips pressed into a thin line, Dylan only held him tighter.

“My gun wouldn’t fire, and then I think they ate me? I don’t know. The ending was kind of vague,” Ryan finished, fully relaxing in the other’s hold. The admission had lifted a burden he hadn’t even known he’d been carrying. And it was... nice. It was always nice.

“It wasn’t your fault, for the record,” Dylan murmured, sentence tapering off with a long yawn, “just in case the zombies forgot to mention it.”

Ryan appreciated the gesture, but he already knew that. It had been a long, painful road to understanding, but he’d ultimately reached it with the help of friends, family, and therapy. It had also been two years, so if he hadn’t known that by now, he probably never would. But still... the reminder had been kind—Dylan had been kind. Which was the exact reason he’d felt so fucking guilty right now... “Sorry for keeping you up.”

Feeling the way the young man’s chest rose and fell with a deep sigh, it was no surprise when he shifted his weight, face hovering inches above Ryan's. “You’re silly...” he muttered, leaning down to give him a kiss on the lips. It was sweet, and gentle, and it ended a lot sooner than maybe Ryan would’ve liked. Smiling, Dylan asked, “Need me to leave the light on for tonight?”

“No,” Ryan shook his head, face flushed, “I think I’m good.”

Pulling away to switch off the lamp, Dylan returned as quickly as he’d left, bringing his body heat with him. Ryan grabbed him, pulling him flush against his body and stealing his warmth.

“You gonna be ok?” Dylan yawned again, absentmindedly playing with Ryan’s hair.

“Yeah,” Ryan replied, smile hidden by the darkness of the room, “I think I will be.”

All fell silent save for the room’s overhead fan and their own breathing. And as the two held each other beneath the sheets—shielding the other with their arms—it wasn’t long until Ryan felt safe enough to close his eyes, peacefully drifting off to sleep.

The weight next to him shifted uncomfortably. Then, voice apologetic and whispering, “... I think I have to pee, actually.”

Groaning, Ryan rolled over to let Dylan up.

The next time it happened, Dylan had found him in the kitchen. Scrambling eggs. At four in the morning. Ryan had been looming over the stovetop, watching the eggs slowly burn as he tried to will the lingering tremors from his hands. That’s when he heard the telltale sound of the joints in someone’s feet popping as they walked across the kitchen tile. And as he felt an arm snake around his waist, sliding a hand under the front of his shirt and brushing across his abdomen... he instinctually relaxed into the embrace.

“Whatcha doing?” Dylan murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his stomach.

The shaking in his hands still refusing to subside, Ryan released a shuddering breath: “Eggs.”

Humming an acknowledgment, Dylan rested his head on his shoulder, peeking over to take a look. The ‘eggs’ in question were just one big mass in the center of the skillet, edges scorched black. Snorting at the sight, he surmised, “I think they’re done.”

Managing a stiff nod, and a quick, “Mhm,” Ryan turned his attention back to the eggs he was getting ready to send through the nine circles of hell.

Eyes flickering between his boyfriend and the skillet, Dylan extracted his hand from his shirt, flicking off the stove stop. He used that same hand to gently take the one Ryan was using to hold the spatula, steadying the trembling before lowering the utensil to the counter. “I’m gonna brew us some coffee,” he said, moving his grip to Ryan’s waist as he gently guided him toward their living room, “why don’t you lay down for a bit, yeah?”

Ryan didn’t have it in him to argue. With a weary sigh, he shuffled over to the couch, plopping down as he tried to shake the enduring stress from his dream:

Like most of his nightmares, it’d been about that night. He’d been in the woods with Laura and Travis in search of Silas. They found the wolf-boy in the burnt remains of Harum Scarum, trembling from his injuries within the ruined cage. He was hurt, and defenseless... and Ryan had no desire to kill him. But that wasn’t his choice; it was Laura’s. However, that didn’t stop him from voicing his opinion: “Are we sure about this?” But unlike the night when it’d happened, she had actually stopped to listen, completely ignoring Travis who had argued the contrary... and she really shouldn’t have. Silas was on them in seconds, decapitating Travis and Laura as Ryan watched. Then, the white wolf was on him too, ripping his jaw from his face before sinking its teeth into the rest of him.

The new weight sinking onto the couch took Ryan’s mind off of those thoughts, and he mumbled a quiet—but earnest—‘thanks’ as a warm mug of coffee was pressed into his hands.

Concern flooding his eyes and lips pulled into a hesitant, placating smile, Dylan asked, “Couldn’t sleep?”

Taking a long sip as he ignored the way it scalded his tongue, Ryan eventually replied, “Yeah.”

Expression grim but knowing, “Nightmare?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “I was back in the woods with Silas. Laura didn’t shoot, and it was... bad.” And while the retelling had been brief, leaving out plenty of details... it had been enough. Dylan already knew the bits and pieces of what happened when Ryan had run off with Laura, just like Ryan knew the bits and pieces of what happened when Dylan ran off with Kaitlyn. Maybe they didn’t know all of it, but they knew the important parts, and that would always be enough.

Another weight jumped up on the couch next to Ryan, nuzzling its wet nose into his arm. Lifting his hand, he placed it on top of the cat’s head, giving it a good scritch. Schrödinger trilled, happily making biscuits on his leg before finally settling down, head resting on his thigh.

Watching the exchange with a grin, Dylan grabbed the remote. Flicking on the television, he cycled through channels until he got to some old reruns of a cartoon the both of them watched when they were younger.

“What time do you have class?” Ryan asked, guilt already beginning to eat away at him. Dylan had to wake up early enough as is. He didn’t need Ryan making it worse.

“Four... maybe five hours,” Dylan said, stretching his arms over his head until he heard his shoulders pop, “think I’m gonna go ahead and jump in the shower. See if I can wake myself up a bit.”

There it was again. That guilt panging in Ryan’s chest. “You can go back to bed if you want,” he said, trying and failing to soothe that dull aching in his chest, “don’t let me keep you up.”

Face softening, Dylan shook his head, “Nah, I need to stay up anyways. Fucked up my sleep schedule with a couple late-nighters—this’ll help me get back on track.”

Unconvinced, Ryan drawled, “If you’re sure...”

Wrapping an arm around his boyfriend and drawing him close, Dylan smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple: “I am.” Rising from the sofa, he leaned over Ryan to scratch his cat’s chin, “you good keeping an eye on him, Schrödie?”

The cat only purred, shifting its head to receive more pets.

With that, Dylan headed for the bathroom. But before he reached the door, he took a detour to the kitchen, leaning over the counter, preoccupied with... something.

“What’re you doing?” Ryan asked, craning his neck to get a better look.

“Hm? Oh,” something clattered against the counter as Dylan attempted to look innocent. It didn’t work. “Just checking something on my phone.”

Ryan was willing to let it slide. After all: he trusted him. Leaning back on the couch and watching the other disappear through the door, he gave the cat a good few pets as he half-heartedly tried to watch the television. He was only partially paying attention to the cartoon before his phone vibrated in the pocket of his sweatpants. Fishing it out of the pant leg, he saw that he had three unread text messages, and they were all from Laura:

‘still alive’

‘lol’

‘wanna talk about it?’

Ryan stared at his phone trying to mentally process what he was reading. When he finally did, it was like a lightbulb had gone off. Sighing, he texted back:

‘You’re up early. What did Dylan send you?’

A few seconds later, she sent him a screenshot of a text conversation with Dylan’s name as the sender:

‘are you up? can you text ryan and tell him you’re alive? bad dream’

Turning his head to look at the bathroom, Ryan could hear the water of the shower hitting the tile as Dylan bathed. He was starting to understand what that little detour was about... shaking his head:

‘I’m fine, thanks. Everything alright with you?’

Laura’s reply was near instantaneous, firing off four more messages in rapid succession:

‘yep’

‘bad dream too lol’

‘up with max rn everythings good’

‘you guys still on for bowling friday?’

Mouth pressed into a thin line, Ryan couldn’t help but worry about the first part of that message. Disregarding that, however, he texted back:

‘We should be. I’ll double check with Dylan.’

‘You can call me if you ever need to talk too. You know that, right?’

Because Ryan knew he wasn’t special. He knew he wasn’t the only one plagued by nightmares of that night. And perhaps there was comfort to be found in knowing that he wasn’t the only one, but mostly... he hated knowing that all of them still suffered. After a minute or so, Laura sent another message:

┏( ゜)ਊ゜)┛

Brow furrowing as he stared at his screen, Ryan eventually texted back:

‘... how the fuck did you type that?’

But Laura never responded. It felt rather smug. Rolling his eyes, Ryan cast his phone aside on the couch, turning his attention back to the TV. Schrödinger was fast asleep at his side, having readjusted herself to lay on a nearby pillow rather than his thigh, and he was only mildly offended.

The door to the bathroom opened, steam billowing out. Walking out was Dylan, wearing nothing but the towel wrapped around his waist. Leaning against the open door frame and trying to sound seductive... “Come here often, handsome?”

“Hm,” Ryan hummed, taking another sip of his coffee, “Laura texted.”

“Oh,” the other said, spine straightening. Eyes shifting between his boyfriend and the phone on the couch, “what’d she want?”

Ryan just looked at him. Unimpressed.

Sighing, Dylan crossed their living room before plopping down next to him, looking guilty, “Yeah, I know. Sorry. I just thought you might wanna talk to her after everything. I know we all technically survived the same thing, but you two actually survived the same thing. And your dream was about her, so...”

Now that he thought about it... Ryan’s mind was a little more at ease after their conversation. “I’m not mad,” he said, shifting to be closer to the other, “thanks. For texting her, I mean. I probably wouldn’t have talked to her if you hadn’t.”

Brow pinching and head tilting in confusion, Dylan ventured, “Why not?”

Feeling adequately pinned under the other’s sharpened gaze, all Ryan could do was shrug as he tried to explain, “I don’t like bothering people with my problems.”

Stricken by the admission, Dylan gave a sad shake off his head, “You’re not ‘bothering’ anyone by asking for help when you need it. And I know you wouldn’t think anyone was bothering you if they reached out if they were struggling,” lips down turned into a frown, “I wish you’d be kinder to yourself, sometimes.”

Exhaling a tired breath, Ryan couldn’t help but hang his head in shame, “I know. I’m sorry.”

Eyes softening and no longer frowning, Dylan spoke, “Don’t apologize, just... something to think about, is all.” Giving the other a pat on the shoulder, “Alright, I’m gonna go get dressed. Take in the gun show while you still can,” standing in front of the couch, he struck a dramatic pose.

Chuckling, Ryan watched him head for their bedroom. But before he could disappear through the door, he remembered to ask, “We still going bowling with Laura and Max Friday night?”

“Yep! We’re trying the old one downtown; Emma says the drinks at concessions will fuck you up for under five dollars. You’ll be bowling in the wrong lane,” he laughed, popping his head out of the doorway, “and don’t worry! I called ahead and made sure they had bumpers rails for you.”

Bristling, Ryan grumbled, “That was one time.”

“And you still came in last.”

“Because Laura was cheating.”

“You both had the bumpers up.”

“She used the bowling ramp!”

“You did too! You just stopped because you got embarrassed after you still missed the pins with it.”

Groaning, Ryan was already rethinking the venue for date night. Laura was one of—if not the most—competitive person he’d ever met, and ever since they’d started doing double dates at the bowling alley after getting banned from the miniature golf course (for life), she’d rubbed off on him. Every time without fail, it devolved into smack talk and harsh digs as they tried to get the other to flub their shot. And the worst part was... they both sucked! Neither of them were good at bowling—they were lucky if they even broke into the triple digits! The only thing they were competing for was third place; Dylan and Max—without fail—always had at least a hundred points on them. Max had literally been captain of his high school bowling team, and Dylan was just... Dylan.

“Hey,” Dylan whispered from the doorway, just loud enough to get Ryan’s attention.

Turning his head, he raised an inquisitive eyebrow, “Yeah?”

“Wanna...” Dylan began, shiftily eyeing something in their bedroom, “do stuff?” The bed. He was eyeing the bed.

It took a moment for Ryan to process the request. But when he did, all he could do was stare in incredulity: “At 4:36 in the morning?”

Dylan shrugged, wearing an expression that radiated false innocence and sullied intentions. “4:37, actually. But suit yourself,” he singsonged, ducking back into their bedroom. But after a long pause—just when Ryan thought that was that—he called out once more, “oh, wait... what’s this? Oh. Oh. Oh nooo, my towel—it’s... it’s slipping! What a disaster! I hope no one comes in and capitalizes on this opportunity while I’m naked and unaware!”

Huffing a breathy chuckle, Ryan rolled his eyes and rose to his feet, heading for the bedroom.

This time, Dylan had been waiting for him in the kitchen. Sitting at the table, he had his mug of coffee already brewed with another mug placed directly across from him. Upon catching a glimpse of Ryan lingering hesitantly in the doorway, he beckoned him over with a gentle wave of his hand.

Ryan obliged, crossing the distance to take the seat across from him. Taking the cup of coffee so thoughtfully prepared for him, he held it firmly in his hands as if it were a lifeline. He’d had another dream, and he was still trying to shake the effects of it with little success. His efforts hadn’t been helped by the empty bed upon his awakening, but seeing the reason as to why that might’ve been the case... Ryan was grateful.

Unlike his usual dreamscape, this nightmare hadn’t taken place at Hackett’s Quarry. No. It had taken center-stage in his parent’s living room... the day his dad had died. He’d been on the couch with his sister watching an old movie he couldn’t even remember the name of when they’d gotten the knock on the door. His mother had answered only to be greeted by two police officers. Ryan hadn’t heard what they said, but he remembered the sound of his mother’s wails as she collapsed to the floor, begging for them to stop lying to her. To tell her the fucking truth.

It had been a hit and run. A drunk driver that they had later found miles down the road, throwing up in a ditch after crashing his car into a tree; his dad’s blood still painting the crumpled grill. The man would later be tried and convicted of felony DUI and sentenced to prison for fifteen years. But despite that, it never felt like justice. Ryan’s dad was dead, and no amount of prison time would ever bring him back.

The funeral had been just as awful as he’d remembered. Just droves of people who’d known their family offering hollow condolences and empty prayers. Like it’d do anything. Forced to go through the motions, nothing that day had felt real to Ryan. Not until they lowered the casket into the ground, and he said his final goodbyes. The next day he’d woken up, his mom was gone. Just... picked up and left without saying a word to him, his sister, or anybody. Fortunately, Ryan had known how to dial his grandma’s phone number.

With this dream, he hadn’t woken up screaming, or thrashing, or even crying. This time, he’d simply awoke to that unbearable aching in his chest he’d failed time and time again to be completely rid of. Because even ten years later, it still managed to return in the quiet moments of the night, burrowing into the cavity of his chest like it were home.

He didn’t notice Dylan approaching him until the man was at his side, wrapping an arm around him, gently drawing his head against the softness of his stomach. Holding him. “Heard you mumbling in your sleep,” he said, “didn’t know if I should wake you.”

And given what happened the last time he tried... that was fair.

“Bad dream?” Though, it sounded like Dylan already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” Ryan sighed, still leaning into the touch. Taking solace in it.

Humming a quiet acknowledgement, Dylan then asked, “Anything I can do?”

You do enough already. “I’ll be fine,” he shook his head before pulling away to say, “I think I’m gonna drop by my grandparent's house later today. Maybe take Sarah to lunch. It’s been a while.”

“Oh, sweet! Can I come?” Dylan said before almost immediately thinking better of it. Expression turning meek as he continued, “I mean... unless you just wanted it to be a family thing. I totally get that. Don’t feel pressured—”

Rising from his seat, Ryan placed a quick kiss on the other’s cheek, having to stand on his toes to do so. “Of course you can come,” he said, meaning it.

And as Dylan smiled back at him, that ache in Ryan’s chest finally began to dull.

Dylan had been out late taking a final. He hadn’t come home immediately after, instead, going out for drinks with Nick and Jacob in celebration of the semester’s conclusion. Ryan had been extended an invitation too, of course, but it was declined in favor of finishing up some last minute commissions...and he was seriously rethinking that decision. He must’ve fallen asleep while animating, because upon his near violent awakening, he’d almost launched his tablet clean off his desk—laptop included.

He'd been back in the radio hut. The wire to the PA system had been pulled by the white wolf—by Silas. Dylan, of course, had been the one to try and fix it... and it ended badly. Very, very badly. Silas had clamped down on his hand in an instant, dangling him from the ceiling as his teeth sliced through tendons and pierced the bone. When Silas had finally released him, Dylan fell and hit the ground. Hard. And the screams—oh, God—the fucking screams. Ryan knew they’d haunt him for the rest of his life. “It’s spreading, you have to cut it off!” He still remembered how heavy the chainsaw had felt in his hands. How Dylan’s wrist had felt pinned under his foot. How the teeth had caught on bone, sawing through his arm as it cleaved the limb in twain. He remembered how it felt because it wasn’t just a nightmare.

It was real.

Dylan hadn’t been there to talk him through the aftermath like he usually was, but... maybe that was for the best. This wasn’t the first time he’d had that particular dream, and sometimes, seeing the source of that specific pain didn’t always help. But fuck it. Ryan couldn’t help it—he wanted Dylan. He wanted his boyfriend there with him no matter how selfish it might’ve been. But as he clutched his phone in a vice grip, one text message away from getting what he needed, he just... couldn’t. Dylan had been working so fucking hard recently, and he deserved a night to himself. Ryan refused to be the one to ruin that. So, that’s how he remained. Hunched over, clutching his phone as he trembled in his desk chair, waiting for Dylan to get home.

It could’ve been minutes, or it could’ve been hours, but eventually, that familiar jingle of a keyring sounded from the other side of their apartment. And soon enough, the door was swinging open as someone drunkenly tripped on their way inside, giggling to themself as they locked it behind them. “Honey, I’m home!” Dylan slurred, and Ryan could hear him struggling to take his shoes off. Stumbling further into their apartment, heading for the bedroom, “God, Ryan, you should’ve been there. Jacob was shooting the shit with this girl at the bar thinking he was about to get her number, and then this seven foot, jacked looking dude comes running over, and it’s her boyfriend! You could see it on his face the exact moment his asshole retracted into his spine—"and as he finally rounded the corner into their room, he froze at the sight; face dropping and noticeably sobering, “... Ryan?”

Sucking in another sharp breath, Ryan held up a shaky hand in the barest display of acknowledgement. Curling in on himself and still unable to look at the other, he just focused on breathing with his hands planted firmly on his knees. And it was working out just fine until the figure in front of him approached, kneeling down to force himself into his line of sight.

“Hey,” Dylan tried, speaking at a tone one might reserve for a wounded animal, “what’s wrong?” His eyes were blurry and unfocused, like someone who was very drunk but trying not to be.

Full body shuddering with his next breath, Ryan barely managed a reply, “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” But it wasn’t nothing. It had happened. He had done it, and Dylan would have to live the rest of his life with it. And he didn’t even need to; Laura killed Silas, curing the remaining infected. And it would’ve cured Dylan too, rendering what they’d done completely pointless in the end.

Dylan scoffed in a way that made Ryan flinch, “‘Don’t worry,’ he says—unbelievable...” pulling the other up from his chair, he led him to the bed where he plopped the both of them down, expression hardening as he tried once more, “what’s wrong?”

And no matter how much he may have wanted to fight it, Ryan relented near instantaneously: “Bad dream.”

His face softened as his expression became nothing but understanding, and without a moment to lose, Dylan was pulling the other into a crushing hug. And as he nuzzled his face into his boyfriend’s, Ryan wondered how much of it was due to the effects of alcohol. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, sounding impossibly sad, “I wish I could stop them from happening but I can’t. But I want to so fucking bad—fuck, Ryan...”

Returning the hug as he rested his head on the other’s shoulder, Ryan said, “I know. It’s ok.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No,” came Ryan’s near instant reply, as was often the case with this particular dream. Perhaps that’s what gave him away so easily...

Even in his drunken state, Dylan clocked it immediately: “Oh... was it another one about the hand thing?”

“Yeah, Dylan,” Ryan gave a bitter scoff, pulling away from the other’s embrace as a discrete form of self-flagellation, “it was about the ‘hand thing.’” And although the two only sat inches apart, that simple act alone had the space feeling like miles.

Lips pulling into a frown and brown eyes welling up in sorrow, Dylan shook his head. Then, so quiet Ryan almost missed it, “I’ve never held that against you... you know that, right? I’ve never blamed you.”

And Ryan had no clue why he struggled so much with that simple truth: “How?”

“Because I asked you to,” Dylan said like it was the easiest thing in the world, “and if you hadn’t, I might’ve turned and hurt someone. And I think that would’ve been a lot harder to live with than missing some dumb hand.”

... he didn’t know how he did it. How Dylan always seemed to make things better with a few words and an easy smile. But he did. And it always felt so fucking undeserved. Hanging his head in shame, Ryan couldn’t bring himself to meet the worried eyes boring at him. Seeing him for what he was, which was terrified. Of that night. Of himself. Of losing someone he cared about more than anything else.

“Ryan,” Dylan tried, placing a hand on his shoulder, “please look at me?”

And how could he say no to that? Sighing, he lifted his gaze to meet the other man.

“I love you. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I’d give a million hands just to be with you like this for the rest of my life,” Dylan said, pausing to consider the logistics of that specific sentiment, “or a toe. And a couple of fingers. Possibly a kidney.”

Laughing, Ryan shook his head as he wiped at his damp eyes, “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Dylan agreed, smiling ear to ear, “but you like it.”

More than ‘like,’ actually. Returning the smile with one of his own, Ryan pulled him close and kissed him. Immediately after, he pulled away and gagged, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “What the fuck—why do you taste like that?”

Face guilty, Dylan quietly admitted, “I threw up in the bushes before I came inside.”

For the next ten minutes, their apartment was filled with the sound of Ryan’s retching and Dylan’s drunk (but earnest) apologies.

Ryan had made the critical error of trying to take a nap in the middle of the day. He’d stayed up late finishing an animation before an approaching deadline, and while it’d been a success, it came at the cost of his sleep schedule. He ended up crashing on the couch around noon, trying to get some sleep before he and Dylan met up with Kaitlyn for an early dinner.

And he really should’ve known better.

It had been right after Ryan and Laura had made it back to the lodge after killing Silas. The sun had risen, and the nightmare of that night had finally concluded. Ascending the lodge’s stairs, he had fully expected to be greeted by both Dylan and Kaitlyn with his arrival. But upon his entrance, the two were nowhere in sight. The lodge was completely empty save for the chunks of stone beneath the ruined fireplace, and the claw marks and blood stains that led directly to the kitchen.

Upon entry, the first thing he became abundantly aware of was the blood coating the floor and walls. Like something had been smashed against the kitchen tile before flung against the drywall. Following the trajectory of the spatters, he found Kaitlyn. Body broken, eyes glazed over, and limbs pointing in the wrong directions. Dead.

Frozen in place as dread and grief churned his gut, the only thing keeping Ryan from fleeing the room—fleeing from the sight and the reality that accompanied it—was nothing more than morbid curiosity. Because based on the wet crunching of bone tearing through muscle echoing on the other side of the kitchen, he wasn’t alone, and he felt obligated to find out why. Steeling himself as he rounded the counter by the freezer, the sight that greeted him was horrific:

A gangly, bloody beast was crouched over another corpse, teeth sinking into flesh as it devoured the deceased. With each violent tear of muscle and sinew, the body jerked limply along with the maw of the creature. It wasn’t until Ryan was practically hovering over the gruesome scene that he could decipher the identity of the body: it was Dylan. And based on the rasping, gargled breath that came next...

He wasn’t dead yet.

“R-Ryan...” he rasped, eyes blown wide in terror as the beast jerked his head to the side, ripping open his neck, “end it... it hurts so much... p-please, kill me...” his desperate pleas tapering off into an agonizing scream as the wolf ripped ligament from bone.

No... it’s over. It’s supposed to be fucking over. Gun in hand as his mind finally processed what was happening, Ryan lifted the gun and fired a slug into the beast’s hide. Unflinching, it didn’t react as it continued to devour Dylan alive. Ignoring his blatant failure, he proceeded to try and blow three more holes into the wolf. But still... nothing happened. Desperation and terror becoming all-consuming, he even attempted to beat it back with the butt of his shotgun. But to no avail.

“T-that won’t... that won’t work...” Dylan sobbed, the pain becoming unbearable, “Ryan—please!”

With dawning horror, Ryan realized... he was right. He couldn’t save him; he could only kill him quicker. And it made him wonder how something like mercy could be so cruel. With shaking hands and a lurching gut, he raised the gun and took aim. Pulling the trigger, he watched Dylan’s body jerk one final time before stilling. Finally dead.

The wolf remained, feasting upon the warm corpse without pause. To it, nothing had changed. Alive or dead, it didn’t matter. It was always going to devour the boy, one way or the other. Ryan had just made it easier. Because in the end, nothing he did had mattered. Numb acceptance washing over him, he didn’t falter in raising the barrel to himself, fingers shaking around the trigger.

“Ryan!”

He startled awake, hands instinctively flinging out in front of him. His flailing arms were blocked by someone anticipating the blow, and when he opened his eyes, he was met with none other than Dylan. Scared. Worried. Alive.

Gradually releasing his grip on the other’s arm, Dylan tentatively began to ask, “Hey... are you ok—”

Curling two fists into the front of his boyfriend’s shirt, Ryan pulled him close like he was the last thing tethering him to Earth. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

But he didn’t have to. The initial shock having subsided, Dylan wrapped his arms around him to hold him. It was gentle, and grounding, and soon enough, Ryan found his breath leveling and his heartbeat steadying. Sinking further into the embrace, he somehow managed to pull the other even closer.

“It’s been a while—since the last one, I mean,” Dylan said, rubbing circles into his spine like he always did, “let me know when you’re ready to talk about it.”

Shaking his head, Ryan muttered, “I don’t want to talk about this one.”

“That’s fine too.”

With a deep breath, Ryan pulled away feeling rather silly. Because it was just a dream. It was always just a fucking dream. Didn’t make it feel any less real, though. That was the problem. That had been the problem for nearly three years now, and it wasn’t getting any better, “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep going to sleep not knowing what’s waiting for me.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Dylan said, earnest and honest, “we always do.”

Grabbing his phone and checking the time, Ryan couldn’t help but groan. Even after all of that, he’d only managed to snag thirty minutes of sleep. And he felt it. He was no less exhausted than he was when he’d chosen to lay down, and it pissed him off to no end: “I’m so fucking tired...”

Leaning over to press a chaste kiss to his forehead, Dylan walked toward the kitchen, “I’m gonna make you some tea. And google some things. And maybe call that therapist Abi was telling us about.”

“Yeah,” Ryan quietly conceded, knowing that Dylan would not be persuaded out of taking care of him, “ok.” Because it’s not like he was against seeking therapy—he’d done so in the past immediately after the group’s acquittal. But it was just time consuming. And expensive. And he couldn’t help but feel like every moment not spent on pretending that that night had never happened in the first place was a waste of time and energy... and that probably wasn’t the best way to go thinking about things.

“Hey,” Dylan called, switching on the electric kettle, “want me to reschedule with Kaitlyn?” He busied himself with topping off Schrödinger’s water bowl while he waited for it to come to a boil.

That’d only make me feel worse. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“Ryan,” the other said, face remaining impassive “you’re exhausted, and I could use the rest too. Don’t worry about it.”

“But...” Ryan really didn’t feel like making this more of an inconvenience than it already was. And he especially didn’t want to drag Kaitlyn into it.

Perhaps sensing the trepidation, Dylan gave a careful nod before saying, “How about this: I call Kaitlyn and tell her to invite Abi and Emma, so if we can’t make it, her night isn’t ruined. I mean... other than missing out on our tantalizing company, of course. But she’ll live. Probably. Assuming she doesn’t die of sadness.”

“Alright,” Ryan scoffed, rising from the sofa to meet the other in the kitchen.

Dylan was already in the process of steeping the tea, handing over the cup upon his approach, “Make sure to give that three minutes.”

Grunting his acknowledgment, Ryan stalked back to the couch, pulling Dylan along by the sleeve. Making themselves comfortable, they drank their tea as Dylan scrolled through his phone, looking up the contact Abi had given him. Then, he made the call.

After each of them finished their drinks, Ryan washed the cups out in the sink before joining Dylan back in the bedroom. Settling into bed together, Ryan finally felt safe enough to give that nap a second try. Head resting on the other’s chest, he let himself drift peacefully off to sleep...

A phone alarm went off, and Ryan winced as he searched blindly for the device. Fingers finally brushing against the cool surface of the screen, he hit snooze as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, slowly adjusting to the darkness of the room. “Shit,” he muttered as he checked the time, audibly groaning when he realized he’d slept for five hours. Well. There go our plans with Kaitlyn. Shifting to sit up, he became increasingly aware of the fact that he was now alone in bed, Dylan nowhere to be found. Pushing himself off the mattress, Ryan crossed the room to the door. Creaking it open, he was instantly hit with the smell of freshly popped popcorn.

“Oh, hey,” Dylan said at the sight of him, shifting awkwardly from side to side in the kitchen, “what’s up?”

Ryan’s brow instinctually furrowed, “What’re you plotting?”

“Who? Me? Pshhh...” Dylan gave a dismissive wave of his hand that Ryan didn’t trust for a second. But before he could call him on it, there was a knock at the door. The two men stared at each other—one astonished, the other decidedly not. Giving a silent nod in the direction of the noise, Dylan beckoned the other to open it.

Sighing, Ryan obliged. Clasping a hand over the knob and turning, the sight that greeted him on the other side left him stunned:

Abi, Emma, and Kaitlyn stood before him in their pajamas, arms filled with various snack foods. Looking him over with an inquisitive expression, Emma was the first to speak, “Do you usually answer the door in your boxers?”

Glancing down, it would appear the young woman was correct. “No, I—” Ryan stammered, face flushing. But realizing he had very little to say in his defense, he muttered a quiet, “sorry...” as he opened the door the rest of the way, allowing them to enter.

Laughing at his state of undress, the girls chattered amongst themselves, greeting Dylan as they entered the apartment.

“Geez, did you forget to tell him we’re coming?” he heard Kaitlyn say, presumably to the one overseeing the snacks in the kitchen.

“... maybe.”

Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Ryan closed the door behind the girls.

“Oh, make sure to leave that unlocked,” Abi said, “Nick and Jacob will be up in a little bit. They’re just getting the sleeping bags from the car.

Sleeping... bags?

He cast a questioning look at Dylan as the women got themselves situated in their living room. The man only shrugged in response, throwing another bag of popcorn in the microwave. Not wanting to literally be caught with his pants down by any more new arrivals, Ryan went back to the bedroom to get dressed.

Upon his return, the girls were sprawled across the floor, unrolling the aforementioned sleeping bags. Nick and Jacob were now in the kitchen, unpacking the bags of junk food they’d brought.

“Laura just texted,” Kaitlyn called, scrolling through her phone, “her and Max got stuck in traffic. They said to start without them.”

“Oh, sweet,” Jacob said before rummaging through his backpack, “so for movies, I got: The Fast and the Furious, 2 Fast 2 Furious, Fast and Furious, Fast Five—”

Nick was the first to interrupt, “Is it all just Fast and Furious?”

Nodding, “And Die Hard.”

A chorus of ‘Die Hard’s filled the apartment as everyone casted their vote, and Jacob fished the DVD from his bag, walking it over to the living room to set up. Nick soon followed, carrying a couple of bowls of popcorn with him. That just left Dylan and Ryan together in the kitchen. Alone.

Leaning in close, Dylan whispered, “Thought it might be nice to get everyone together for a night. Sorry—I meant to wake you up and tell you, but you were out cold.”

Glancing down at his arms, the outlines of their sheets indented into Ryan’s skin concurred. “I’m not mad,” Ryan said back, “just surprised. It’s... nice. Having everyone here. It’s been a while. How’d you get them on short notice?”

“The stars just aligned, I guess,” he shrugged, “Kaitlyn was getting lunch with Jacob when I called her. Everything just came together from there.”

“Hey—hurry up!” Emma called to them from the couch, “We’re starting without you!”

Waving her off, Ryan grabbed a handful of snacks from the assortment on the counter. Sliding onto the couch, he relaxed in his seat as Dylan took his place at his side. Ryan wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close.

The group ended up sitting in front of the TV for hours, slowly working their way through the first four ‘Die Hard’ movies (Laura and Max finally showing up halfway through the first), exchanging laughter and commentary as they went. Somewhere amidst the forth, Ryan felt his eyes growing heavier and heavier. And as he peered around the room, finding that he was the last one awake, he knew it likely wouldn’t be much longer until he succumbed to the same fate. But that was ok. Because even if he didn’t know what was waiting for him when he fell asleep, he knew who’d be there when he awoke.

Leaning against Dylan, Ryan closed his eyes and went to sleep.

Ryan still suffered from the occasional nightmare, but it was nowhere near as bad or frequent as it used to be. He ended up going to that therapist, and while it wasn’t an immediate fix (he hadn’t expected it to be), it had helped. Matter of fact, he’d been sleeping better than he had for three years. That was, until, tonight...

Ryan awoke to a loud metallic BANG and the sound of someone groaning. Shooting up, he looked around the dark room in a daze, instinctually grabbing for the person in bed next to him. Only... when he reached out, he came back with nothing. Ryan was alone, and Dylan was nowhere to be found.

The curtains on the window puffed inward as a particularly cold gust of winter air blew through the open pane. Confused but curious, Ryan carefully pushed himself out of bed, stalking closer to investigate.

Peering over the windowsill, a figure lay motionless in a heap on the iced-over fire escape. Frozen in shock, it took a few seconds for Ryan’s brain to fully process what he was seeing. But when it did, he was already leaning over and exclaiming, “Dylan?”

Dylan didn’t utter a word. He just gave a stiff, silent thumbs up as he lay face down in the snow that had accumulated on the metal grating. Defeated.

Sighing, Ryan stepped through the window, wincing as his bare feet touched the freezing metal. Bending over, he peeled his boyfriend off the platform.

“J-just needed...” the other gasped, allowing himself to be guided back inside, “just needed some air...”

Plopping him down on the edge of the bed before flicking on the bedside lamp, Ryan sat down next to him and asked, “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” Dylan muttered, “just wet. And cold.” He was pale, and shaking, and Ryan was unsure how much of that was actually from the snow.

Brow furrowing, “Why were you out there? It’s still dark. You could’ve seriously hurt yourself—or worse.”

Giving a rueful shake of his head, Dylan rose from the bed as he peeled himself out of his wet shirt, “Like I said: just needed some air.” If he was trying to be convincing, he was failing. With his back turned, he stiffly began to remove his soaked-through pants before rummaging through their dresser.

Frowning, Ryan approached him from behind. Wrapping his arms around his middle, resting his head on his shoulder, “You’re freezing,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down the man’s sides to try and warm him up.

Shivering under the touch, Dylan instinctually relaxed into the embrace. Releasing a sigh of content, he leaned back into Ryan’s warmth, “Just had a bad dream. That’s why I needed the air. Don’t worry about it.”

And that gave Ryan pause, hands stilling as he considered this carefully. It’d been a while since Dylan suffered from a nightmare, but that didn’t mean it never happened. Clearly. Tightening his hold on the other in an effort to ground him if he needed it, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Based on the way he tensed from the question, Ryan could probably guess what the answer would be. But always one to subvert expectations... “It was back at the lodge when Caleb attacked us. Kaitlyn wasn’t fast enough shooting him this time. She... well. You could probably guess what happened,” taking another shuddering breath, Dylan continued, “I was alone after that, and you didn’t come back. No one did. It was just me. I was the only one that made it to morning... I thought dying would be the worst thing that could’ve happened to me that night,” he eventually admitted, sounding exhausted, “now, I’m not so sure.”

Ryan understood the feeling. The one that told you that even if everyone had survived, there had been a very real possibility that they wouldn’t. And the only thing that separated you from that reality was the luck of being born into this one. But even if Ryan understood it, that didn’t mean he had an answer for it. Despite that, he pulled Dylan closer, whispering, “I did come back. We all did. No matter how bad the nightmares get, they can’t take that away from you.”

A long stretch of silence filled the air as something settled between them. Comprehension? Understanding? Maybe it was just simple acceptance of the fact that they’d survived, and nightmares alone would never have the power to change that.

“You’re warm...” Dylan murmured in a tone that lit a fire in the base of Ryan’s abdomen. Exhaling a long breath, he gave the hands wrapped around his midsection a gentle pat, “alright, my dick’s cold. Let me change out of my underwear before my balls get frostbite and fall off.”

... which provided quite the mental picture. Though, as he continued to hold onto Dylan—Ryan’s front pressed into his back—he thought that there were plenty of ways to get that warmed back up: “I could help with that.”

“The... underwear?” Dylan glanced back, confused, “It’s not really a two person job.”

“No. The... I could help with... uh,” oh, God, “I could help with the... the frostbite thing? Like, warm them up. I can warm up your... your balls? Jesus Christ...”

There was a long pause. Then another. Then, “You really need to work on your dirty talk.”

“I know,” Ryan groaned, finally releasing his grip to let the other step out of his soggy underwear. And as he watched him do so, he concluded that Dylan’s movements felt deliberately slow. That theory was only further proven when Dylan turned around, quirking an eyebrow as he put himself on full display for the other’s viewing pleasure. And as Ryan’s eyes drifted down... “Oh. Clearly someone liked it.”

Eyes narrowing, Dylan scoffed, “You try falling dick-first into a bunch of snow. It’s just,” he paused, searching for the right word. Eventually, he settled on, “un-retracting.”

Tilting his head to the side, the new angle provided Ryan some new insight: “... looks like it’s doing a little bit more than that.”

Sighing, “Yeah, I know. It’s just been a while.”

At least a month, to be exact. It’s not like they hadn’t wanted to—obviously—it’s just that they’d been busy. Ryan with work, Dylan with school and undergrad research... the opportunity hadn’t presented itself. Not like it used to.

Not like it did right now.

“Previous offer is still on the table,” Ryan shrugged, eyeing Dylan’s growing ‘problem’ with one solution in mind, “if you want.” He didn’t know how early it was. He didn’t care. All he really cared about was getting one of them under the other, and he didn’t really mind who.

Brow raised, Dylan gave an inquisitive tilt of his head at the proposition. And just when Ryan thought he’d decline, opting to turn in until sunrise... he grinned. Stepping into the other’s personal space, he helped free Ryan from his pajamas, reducing the both of them to the same level of undress. The same level of vulnerability.

It didn’t take long to fall into one another after that, teeth occasionally clicking together as they licked into each other’s mouths, stumbling blindly backwards until they finally collided with the bed. Hitting the mattress with a quiet ‘oof,’ they inched themselves back until they neared the headboard.

Breathless, naked, and panting, Dylan briefly pulled away to ask, “Do we still have...?”

“Yeah,” Ryan breathed, reaching over to retrieve the bottle of lube from their bedside drawer. Popping open the cap, he squirted a generous amount into the palm of his hand. Straddling the other with their dicks between them, Ryan wrapped his hand around them both. Tightening his grip in a way that had the both of them groaning, he began to slowly pump his hand, lathering them with the clear gel.

“Fuck...” Dylan breathed, throwing his head back against the pillow as he got lost in the sensation. Hips rocking forward and back as he chased that feeling, his cock stiffened more and more with each slow, wet pump of Ryan’s hand.

Ryan wasn’t sure what he was getting off more to at that point: his own hand, or the way Dylan looked beneath him. Head thrown back, the column of his neck was completely exposed, practically begging to be marked and claimed. Leaning down, Ryan was more than happy to oblige, sucking bruising kisses into the blank canvas of skin as Dylan moaned, pulling him closer and rutting against him, desperate for release.

And Ryan wasn’t fairing much better. Between the sounds Dylan was making, the heat pooling in his stomach, and the pressure building at the base of his abdomen... he knew it wouldn’t be much longer. And while he’d have been perfectly content with finishing like that—wrapped in loving embrace as he stroked the both of them to completion—he couldn’t help but want more.

Sliding back, Ryan brought his hands to Dylan’s knees, spreading them apart as the other made a small, surprised noise in the back of his throat. “Is this ok?” Ryan asked, refusing to move until he was certain.

Lips pulled into a lazy grin, Dylan spread his legs even more for him, “It’s great.”

Well, alright then. Lube and pre-cum already dripping down Dylan’s shaft, Ryan used it to coat his entrance, taking pride in the little gasp that escaped the other when his finger caught the rim. Checking his face for any signs of discomfort and finding none, Ryan pushed the first digit in, slowly sinking it down to the knuckle; gently working it in, then out, then in again.

Exhaling a pleased sigh, Dylan lifted a leg and rested it on the other man’s shoulder, giving him easier access. Flushed and panting, a thin layer of sweat gleamed on his skin as Ryan worked him open.

Adding a second finger, the sound Dylan made went straight to his rapidly hardening dick. It was desperate, and needy, and begging to be fucked. “You’re beautiful,” Ryan breathed, unable to pry away his hungry eyes.

Though, the words seemed to have the opposite of their desired effect, breaking Dylan from the fucked-out bliss he’d been savoring. Scoffing, he nudged Ryan lightly with the shin at his shoulder. “Stop that,” he muttered.

And Ryan didn’t like that at all. Frowning, “I mean it.”

But Dylan didn’t respond. Turning his head to stare at the wall, he wouldn’t even look at him,

Breathing an audible sigh, Ryan never understood why he got like this. It didn’t happen often. Not enough to anticipate it, at least. But much like a lingering wound forgotten about until the next bout of inflammation... it happened enough that Ryan remained aware of every instance upon each new occurrence. Because Dylan didn’t get embarrassed every time Ryan paid him a compliment during sex, but that could’ve just been because he was far too out of it by the time Ryan really got carried away with his praises. The part of the night where they both got too lost in the other to care about what was coming out of either of their mouths.

“I mean it,” Ryan repeated, pushing his full body weight against the leg on his shoulder, pinning Dylan in place as he added the third finger, “you look good like this.” He couldn’t help but delight in the way the other shuddered from it, clenching around his fingers.

By the time Ryan added the fourth, he’d managed to chip away at most of Dylan’s lingering doubts and insecurities, drawing out all those little noises he missed. Flexing his fingers, he watched him arch off the mattress with a surprised yelp.

Pooling pre-cum at the base of his stomach, Dylan tried to leverage what little control he had left. Using his leg to pull the other closer, he grinded down on the fingers stretching him open, gasping, “Ryan, please, I need...”

Yeah. He’s ready. Easing out his fingers and removing the leg swung over his shoulder, Ryan leaned over to their bedside once more, this time, in search of a condom. That’s when he felt a hand encompass his wrist, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“No,” Dylan said, eyes darkened with a carnal hunger, “leave it.”

And who would Ryan be to deny him that? Settling back into his spot above Dylan, he leaned down to suck another bruise into his collarbone. Placing his hands behind the other’s knees, he began to push them gently to his chest, lining himself up.

“Uh... wait,” Dylan said, stopping him in an instant. Getting his elbows underneath himself, he used them to push into a sitting position, “can I do this on my front?”

Leaning back onto his knees, Ryan released the hold on his legs and let him do what he needed to get comfortable.

Flipping onto his chest, Dylan buried his head in his pillow as he pulled it close. And maybe Ryan was reading too much into things, but it distinctly felt like he was trying to hide. Leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to the space between his shoulder blades, he murmured, “Is this still ok? We can stop if you need to.”

Sigh muffled by the pillow, Dylan turned his head to speak, “I’m fine... I don’t know why I get weird about that. Sorry.”

Still not entirely convinced, Ryan didn’t make a move to continue. “You don’t need to apologize,” he said, meaning it, “can we talk about it?”

Probably not, based on nothing else than the long stretch of silence that followed. Shaking his head, Dylan just shoved his head into the pillow again before muttering, “It’s stupid.”

But Ryan didn’t think it was stupid at all. If it mattered to Dylan, it wasn’t stupid. “I promise it’s not,” and he’d wait as long as he needed for him to finally believe him.

Whether or not he actually did was up for debate, but eventually, Dylan decided to speak, “Sometimes the compliments are... a lot—and before you say anything: it’s not your fault. It’s mine. I think I just had some hang-ups I didn’t fully get over before we started dating, and that’s on me. I guess... I just... I didn’t know anybody could love me like that before I met you.”

His words wedged a pit deep in Ryan’s stomach, and he’d do anything to be rid of it. Wrapping his arms around the other... he just held him. “I love you,” he whispered, ghosting a kiss behind his ear, “and I’m sorry if I don’t tell you that enough.”

“You do,” Dylan sighed as he shifted in his arms, trying to get closer, “I’m just weird.” His eyes were damp.

“You’re not weird,” Ryan said before pausing to consider it further, “well... you are. But not about this.” Raising a hand to his face, he brushed away the unshed tears.

Shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter, they both just laid there in each other’s arms, drinking each other in. Lost in the moment, they almost forgot about everything leading up to it...

Almost.

“Hey,” Dylan said, craning his neck back to look at Ryan, “can we keep going?”

And Ryan tried not to seem too desperate as he repositioned himself. “Y-yeah. Yeah, of course,” he stammered, waiting for one-hundred-percent confirmation and certainty before continuing, “are you sure?”

“Yeah, Ryan,” he breathed, hooking an arm around his neck, pulling him close to kiss him, “I’m sure.” Spreading himself open with his fingers, Dylan offered himself to the other whenever he was willing to take him.

Huffing a shuddering breath, it took all of Ryan’s willpower to not have him right then and there. To not lean forward, stuffing him full with one quick snap of his hips. “I think you’re killing me,” he murmured against Dylan’s lips, pushing him down until he was lying flush against their bed. Chest down, ass up. Pressing the head of his throbbing cock to the man’s aching hole, he slowly began to tilt his hips forward.

“Oh...” Dylan exhaled. And as Ryan sunk in further—breaching the rim—his back arched, “Oh.”

Arms still wrapped firmly around him, Ryan leaned over Dylan’s shoulder, whispering sweet nothings as he eased him through the burn of that first stretch. Brushing his hands down his body, he stroked and squeezed whatever he could get a hold of: chest, stomach, thighs... when Ryan finally bottomed out, his own strangled moan tore its way from his throat. Because all he could think about was how tight Dylan felt as he twitched inside of him. Stilling his movements, he was forced to do nothing else but breathe as he focused on not blowing his load too soon.

But Dylan wasn’t making it easy. Pushing himself up to trembling hands and knees, he began rocking his hips back and forth, fucking himself on Ryan’s cock.

“Holy shit—Dylan,” he gasped, hands roughly seizing the others hips in a desperate attempt to regain some control. Leaning back, his dick came with him, sliding out of the other even as he continued to try and chase it.

Whining from the loss, Dylan sunk to his elbows in a huff. It felt rather petulant. Bratty, even. “You seemed tired,” he said, casting a not-so innocent look over his shoulder, “I was trying to help.”

“Alright,” Ryan acknowledged with a careful nod and an unfamiliar surge of confidence, “I hear you.” Without giving the other time to react, he nudged his legs further apart before fully sheathing himself with one deliberate thrust.

Hand flailing to grip the headboard, Dylan made a noise like the air had been punched from his lungs. But he wasn’t complaining. Breathless pants soon turned into self-satisfied chuckles. But that satisfaction soon turned to confusion, because as he tried to move his hips to chase that feeling... he found that he couldn’t.

Ryan continued to lean his weight forward, pushing deeper and deeper until the other was forced to sink down with him. Gasping from both shock and pleasure, Dylan trembled beneath him as he pinned him to the bed; connected at the hips. Deeming his point more than made, Ryan finally began to move, slowly fucking him into the mattress. He delighted at each needy moan it elicited, and the friction of each languid slide.

Each slow push sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through the other, and it wasn’t long until Dylan attempted to snake an arm down his front to grip his aching cock, chasing that release. But Ryan caught it immediately, grabbing the hand and pinning it to the bed. He pinned the other arm too for good measure.

“Shit, Ryan—come on!” he snapped, attempting to jerk his hips back to take him quick and deep. But he couldn’t. Ryan had him, and he wasn’t letting go. The only thing left to do was beg, “... please?”

But Ryan never sped up his movements. If anything, he went slower. Deeper. Burying himself inside of him over and over and over again; pulling all the way out before sliding all the way back in. Ryan was taking his time, and he was taking Dylan with it.

Able to do little else but writhe beneath him... Dylan embraced this fate. Moans tapering off into whimpers, he took whatever he was given. Nothing more. Nothing less.

But Ryan was only human, and no matter how stoic and unaffected the mask he wore appeared to be, he was not immune to the effect Dylan had on him. Nor was he immune to the walls of muscle tightening around his cock as he nailed that bundle of nerves buried deep inside the other.

Breath hitching, Dylan fisted at the sheets as if trying to claw himself out from under him. Thick, liquid heat pooled deep inside of him—deeper than even Ryan could reach—as he resigned himself to limply rocking along with each thrust, whimpering with each blunt press against his prostate.

And in a perfect world, Ryan would keep him like this until sunrise. Building him up with each painfully slow grind of his hips, teetering him on the edge of release until he was reduced to nothing but noises and drool, too fucked-out to even beg for it anymore. His climax would build like a tidal wave, steady and gradual, before suddenly overtaking him. He’d spill over himself—untouched—from nothing more than the feeling of being so completely and utterly full.

But with the tension coiling in his own stomach, Ryan knew that’d have to wait for another night. Nestling his head over the other’s shoulder, he let his words spill from his mouth like a dam that had finally burst; it would seem they’d reached ‘that’ part of the night. He’d have called it nonsense if he hadn’t meant every word of it: Beautiful. Taking it so good. Mine, all mine. Desperate, needy moans mixed with the sound of flesh smacking against flesh filled the room as Ryan picked up the pace.

Writhing against the sheets, Dylan rode the waves of pleasure as they washed over him. “Ryan, p-please... please let me—” he cried out, despairing and desperate, as Ryan snaked his hand beneath him, curling it around his neglected cock before pumping it to the rhythm set by his hips.

And that was the end of it. Balls tightening, Ryan filled him one final time with a firm roll of his hips... and he held it there: pressing Dylan into the mattress, throbbing against his prostate, spilling into him until he milked out every last drop.

Heat swelling in his gut as Ryan emptied himself inside of him, it was enough to finally send Dylan over the edge. Hips stuttering, he spilled over Ryan’s hand as the man continued to stroke him, bringing him to the edge of overstimulation. Choking back a sob, Dylan gave Ryan a gentle but pointed tap on the arm.

Ryan ceased his movements, easing himself out of him. Turning Dylan on his side and drawing him flush against his chest, he began massaging the soreness from his thighs before it could set.

Dylan relaxed, breathing leveling off as he settled into the embrace, flipping over to wrap his arms around Ryan in turn. But eventually—as body heats cooled and pulses steadied—they were forced to peel themselves off of one another lest their spend begin to harden into a thin crust...

Ew.

“I’m sticky,” Dylan chuckled, using his hand to smear around the goop coating his stomach.

That was Ryan’s cue. Extracting himself from the sheets—wincing from the soreness already building in his core—he shuffled to the bathroom. Upon his return, he held a damp washrag in either hand. He passed one off to the other before using his to wipe himself down.

After wiping down his front, Dylan unfolded the rag and sat on it. And then he waited. Brow pinched in concentration, “... we should probably strip the bed.”

Which was a very fair point. “I’ll take care of it later,” Ryan promised, kneeling onto the mattress to clean up what the man had missed on his stomach, “just... keep doing what you’re doing, I guess.”

“Way ahead of you,” Dylan said, giving him a playful nudge on the arm, “oh, and just FYI: I’m gonna get you back for that in a couple hours.”

Ryan snorted, giving a good natured shake his head, “You liked it.”

“I did,” Dylan admitted with a wistful sigh. Then, eyes glinting as he spoke in a low tone, “but not as much as you will,” sexiness only slightly undercut by the fact he was currently oozing into a rag.

Huffing a quiet, disbelieving laugh, Ryan settled into bed next to him. Draping an arm around Dylan’s shoulder, he used it to pull him close, tasting salt as he pressed a tender kiss to his sweaty forehead, “I’ll hold you to it.”

In the end, Dylan stayed true to his word, save for the fact ‘a couple hours’ only ended up being around forty-five minutes.

#smg secret santa #supermassive games #the quarry #ryan erzahler #dylan lenivy #rylan

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