#but damn i really forget that not everyone is trauma

[outstanding-quotes]

One thing I hadn’t been warned about using my own experiences with my mental illnesses in my creative writing (but am now learning the hard way) is that people will sometimes respond to your characters with the same prejudices and stigma that you’ve faced in your own life. And it can really hurt!

[mercvry-glow]

all that gleams (18+)

parings. jack abbot x nurse!reader

summary. everyone seems to be hitting on you tonight, and your husband doesn't seem to appreciate all of the attention you're getting.

warnings. this is 18+ so mdni, unprotected sex, p in v sex, rough/jealousy sex, half plot/half porn, sex in the work place, hospital setting, age gap (jack late 40s, reader late 20s to early 30s), reader gets hit on by men who are not jack, non-consensual touching (patient grabs reader), reader has hair, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. where the fuck do I even begin? uhhhh- so many people asked for a sequel to all that glitters and I never thought I'd actually do it but here we are! I absolutely live for their dynamic, and they're softcore rich which is truly the dream. I'm actually really proud of this, especially bc this is my second time writing any form of smut! as always any and all feedback is appreciated and please enjoy!

wc. 4700+

all that glitters

There wasn’t a person in your life who hadn’t told you getting married so young was a mistake. A newly minted nurse with a shiny new degree, a big diamond ring, and a big house in the nicest part of town—people loved to talk. And they did, especially behind your back.

“Too fast,” they said

“Too young.”

 “She doesn’t know what she’s getting into.”

But they didn’t know Jack.

He’d been your constant through it all. Through the twelve-hour shifts, the night terrors you both had but didn’t always talk about, the tangled mess of silky bed sheets and plain coffee mornings. He never missed a beat, not with you. He always made sure the front door was locked, that you didn’t forget to eat, that you never had to face a bad day completely alone.

Jack Abbot was your storm and shelter all at once.

Still, some days it felt like you were speaking two different languages. You’d grown up with champagne brunches, sorority sisters, and an Ivy League education on Daddy’s dime. Jack grew up fast though—boots on the ground, blood on his hands, and scars no one could see unless he let them. 

His world had edges, and darkness only he could understand. 

Yours had comfy throw pillows and a walk-in closet.

Falling for each other had been a whirlwind, but staying in love… that took work. 

Especially now.

Lately, every conversation felt like walking on eggshells. He was short with you. Distant. And maybe you were a little more sensitive than usual—he always said you felt deeply, cared too much. Maybe you did miss the way he used to look at you, touch you, talk to you like you were the only person in the room.

Now? Now he was somewhere else—lost in his head, behind some wall you couldn’t climb no matter how hard you tried.

And you still tried.

 You showed up to work, same time as him, hair curled, and lip gloss on as usual. Your scrubs were still fitted just right, your badge reel sparkled, and your sneakers matched your pastel compression socks of the day. You were tired, overworked, and emotionally frayed—but damn it, you still tried, for yourself, for him, and most certainly for your patients .

He didn’t even say “Hi,” when you checked in.

Just a curt nod, eyes already scanning a trauma sheet.

Fine. You had a job to do anyway.

The ER was chaotic, as usual. You floated between rooms, upbeat as always, soft-voiced with your patients, making the new interns laugh with your sparkly pens and habit of humming softly under your breath.

That’s when he showed up.

Leo, tall, handsome in a sun-kissed, ex-lifeguard in the Baywatch kind of way, and new. The latest temp nurse from another hospital, and definitely not shy.

“You always this put-together at 7 p.m.?” he said, grinning as he helped you restock the IV cart.

You glanced up from your clipboard, smiling just enough. “Only when there’s new employees to impress.”

He laughed, nudging your elbow. “Well, consider me thoroughly impressed.”

Across the hall, you didn’t see Jack. But he was seeing everything.

You caught a flash of movement in your peripheral vision—him, leaning against the med station, pretending to read a chart. The way his jaw clenched was less than subtle. So was the way he suddenly had something urgent to discuss with Dr. Reese, right behind where you were standing.

You didn’t react. Just went back to scanning meds, asking Leo if he needed help finding anything on his first night. You were being polite. Friendly. Maybe a little intentionally oblivious—but only because it felt good to be noticed by anyone today.

Jack didn’t say a word.

But every time you turned around, he was there. Close. Watching.

He didn’t like it. You could feel it.

And for the first time in weeks, you felt something that wasn’t just disappointment.

You felt giddy.

You weren’t trying to make him jealous.

But if he was suddenly remembering the woman he married? The one who lit up a room? The one who still wore t-shirts to bed and nothing else, even when he acted like he didn’t care?

Good.

Let him remember.

The next few hours passed in a blur of motion and monitors—IVs, trauma alerts, vitals to chart and families to console. You stayed busy, focused, but not so focused you didn’t notice the way Jack kept drifting into your orbit.

Not close enough to talk.

Just… there.

Lingering near the nurse’s station when you laughed at something Leo said. Answering the trauma bay calls himself when you usually did first. A silent presence, watching without watching, always just a little too close not to be intentional.

There had been so much to do between learning about coworkers drama, taking care of patients, and dealing with incoming traumas that you’d been on your feet for almost seven hours straight before getting any sort of break.

Still not having found the right time to touch the overnight oats in your lunchbox.

Typical.

You finally ducked into the break room around 2:30 a.m., practically vibrating from a bit too much caffeine and sheer stubbornness. Your sneakers squeaked on the tile as you opened your lunch tote, pulling out your jar with a satisfied “Aha”. You gave it a little shake and popped the lid, the faint scent of almond butter and cinnamon curling into the air.

Leo was already in there, lounging in the corner with a Coke Zero and half a sandwich he didn’t seem particularly interested in eating.

“That looks suspiciously healthy,” he said, eyeing your jar like it confused him.

You grinned. “It’s delicious. Cinnamon, chia seeds, oat milk, with a little bit of honey and almond butter. You should try it sometime—maybe it will lower your blood pressure.”

Leo let out a low whistle. “Oof. She’s cute and judgmental.”

You wiggled your spoon at him. “I’m not judgmental. I’m just stating a fact,”

“Same difference,”

You laughed, shaking your head as you settled on the couch. Your big water tumbler clinked softly on the table as you set it down. Leo glanced at it.

“Okay, real talk. How many cups do you own?”

“Oh at least ten,” you said proudly. “And yes, they all match my scrubs and socks.”

He chuckled. “Of course they do.”

You were in the middle of telling him about your latest homemade electrolyte concoction—something with sea salt, lemon, and maple syrup—when the door creaked open.

Jack stepped inside, silent as ever. No one noticed at first, but you felt him before you saw him. That familiar pull.

You looked up and smiled, just a little.

He didn’t smile back.

He walked to the cabinet, pulled out a pod of instant coffee, and started making the world’s saddest cup of caffeine.

“You good?” you asked, casually, spoon still dangling from your mouth.

Jack shrugged. “Fine.”

Leo gave him a nod. “Rough night, man?”

“Same as every night,” Jack said coolly.

There was a pause.

You went back to your oats.

Leo leaned over slightly, stage-whispering, “Is it true you color-code your vitamins?”

You lit up. “Oh my god, yes! You have to! It’s so satisfying.”

Jack let out a breath—not quite a sigh. Not quite anything.

Just something.

Leo turned to him. “She’s kind of a fairy, huh? Healthy, pretty, and scary organized.”

Jack didn’t answer. Just stirred his coffee with the kind of force that made the spoon clink too loudly against the mug.

“I mean, who even makes time for meal prep on night shift?” Leo kept going, still playful, still oblivious. “She comes in glowing while I’m running on vending machine Pop-Tarts and anxiety.”

You grinned again. “You say that like Pop-Tarts are bad.”

Jack finally looked up. Right at you.

“I liked you better when you were sneaking granola bars from my locker.”

Your breath caught a little—not because it was mean. But because it sounded like a memory.

You raised a brow. “You never let me finish the boxes.”

Jack’s gaze didn’t move.

“Maybe I liked the distraction.”

The room went quiet again.

Leo cleared his throat and stood. “Okay, I’m gonna grab another Coke. You two want anything?”

“No,” Jack said, a little too quickly.

You shook your head. “I’m good, thanks.”

When Leo left, the silence stretched.

You scooped another spoonful of oats, pretending not to feel the weight of Jack’s stare.

“You didn’t answer my text,” he said finally.

You blinked. “Which one?”

“The one about locking the side door this morning.”

“Oh.” You smiled faintly. “Sorry, I was halfway through meal prepping for us and my mom called... You know how she gets.”

Jack nodded, jaw tight. “You’re supposed to text me back.”

You raised a brow again, but this time softer. “Jack. It was about a door.”

“It was about you being safe.”

That landed somewhere in your chest.

You didn’t say anything for a second. Just set your spoon down and leaned back into the couch.

“I was fine,” you said gently. “I promise.”

Jack didn’t reply. But he reached for your cup, unscrewed the lid, and took a sip (not using the straw) like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You stared. “That has lemon in it.”

He grimaced. “Tastes like a scented candle.”

You laughed.

He didn’t.

But the corners of his mouth twitched—just a little.

He set your water with a quiet thud, the lid clicking into place like it was holding something back for him, too.

You tilted your head, watching him in that way you always did when you were trying to read what was going on behind those stormy, hazel eyes. “You're drinking lemon water,” you said, voice lilting. “Should I be worried?”

Jack didn’t look at you. “I was thirsty.”

You smiled. “And yet the entire fridge full of bottled water didn’t do it for you?”

He shrugged.

“Grumpy,” you said under your breath, just loud enough.

His eyes finally flicked to yours. “I’m not grumpy.”

“You kind of are.”

“I’m tired.”

“You always say that when you’re being grumpy.”

Jack gave you a slow look—flat, dry, and just a little amused. “You finished?”

“Not even close,” you said sweetly, your elbow propped on the arm of the couch. “You’re cranky, you’re overcaffeinated, and you get weirdly possessive whenever someone’s nice to me.”

That got his attention.

“I’m not possessive,” he said.

You smirked. “Jack, you nearly snapped Leo’s neck when he said I had good handwriting.”

“That’s not what he said, and you know that.”

You blinked, then laughed. “Okay, fine. ‘Prettiest charting I’ve ever seen,’ and he winked. So what?”

Jack’s jaw tightened—just slightly.

You stood, stretching your arms overhead in a way that made your scrub top ride up just a little. His eyes tracked the motion like muscle memory.

You stepped closer, toes nearly brushing his boots. “I like that you care about this,” you said, softer now. “It’s kind of hot, actually.”

He looked at you—really looked at you—for the first time all night.

“You drive me crazy, kid.” he muttered.

You beamed. “So you are jealous.”

Jack sighed through his nose, the tension melting from his shoulders like an exhale he’d been holding in too long. His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering a second too long.

“I know you’re mine,” he said quietly. “I just… sometimes I forget the rest of the world doesn’t always know it.”

Your chest tightened. Not in a painful way. In a finally, you’re here with me again kind of way.

You reached for his hand and squeezed. “Well, they do. But if you ever forget again, I’ll tattoo your name on my ass”

That earned you a snort—low and surprised.

“I’m serious,” you teased, squeezing his fingers. “Right across my cheeks. Property of Jack Abbot. Think it’d go with my Bikinis when I start tanning again?”

His lips twitched. “You’re insane.”

“Mm. And you’re stuck with me.”

“I know,” he murmured, voice quieter now, as he dipped down for a soft kiss,  “Wouldn’t change it.”

And there it was.

The part of him no one else got to see—the softness under all that armor he put up. The way he looked at you like you were the only thing in this chaotic, blood-slicked hospital worth holding onto.

Before you could say anything else, the overhead crackled to life:

“Trauma en route. ETA four minutes. MVA, two patients. GSW secondary.”

Jack’s head lifted, all instinct now. You were already moving toward the door when his hand caught yours.

He didn’t pull, didn’t squeeze—just held.

“Be careful,” he said.

You leaned in again, kissing his cheek, quick and certain. “Always.”

Then the moment passed, and the hallway swallowed you both—he leading, you following, hearts synced in the rhythm of the ER. But his hand brushed yours again as you walked.

The trauma had come in hard and fast—twisted metal, broken glass, and enough blood to soak through your shoes. Jack had been in the thick of it, barking orders, steady hands moving like muscle memory while you worked across from him, suctioning, suturing, stabilizing. For a while, there was no room for anything else. No talking. No teasing. Just the two of you, back in sync, locked in the rhythm you knew so well. It was easy to forget the cracks when the adrenaline kicked in.

But by 4:15 a.m., the ER had slowed to a lull.

The kind that was never quiet, but at least breathable.

You’d just finished helping a resident clean up trauma one when they wheeled in another patient—mid-40s, minor head lac, walking wounded and very, very drunk.

You smiled politely, grabbing a suture kit.

“Alright, sir. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Can you sit still for me?”

He gave you a once-over that made your skin crawl. “Sure thing, sweetheart. For you, I’ll be real good.”

You kept it professional. “Thank you.”

But the longer you worked, the bolder he got.

“You married?” he slurred.

You didn’t answer.

“Bet your husband’s not half as pretty as you.”

You offered a tight smile. “Try to stay still. This part stings a little.”

He didn’t even flinch. “You ever date older guys? I got a boat, you know.”

You glanced around the bay, but the resident was long gone, charting somewhere out of earshot.

“I’m flattered, really, but I already have a boat,” you said lightly, finishing the last stitch. “And you’re gonna feel real silly about this in the morning.”

He grinned, crooked and gross. “Not if you give me your number.”

And then he reached out—his hands brushing your hips in a way that was not accidental.

You stepped back instantly, heart thudding.

“That’s enough sir,” you said sharply, your voice still steady, still calm—but colder now. “I’m going to step out for a minute, since I’ve finished. Someone else will check on you soon.”

You didn’t wait for a reply.

You slipped into the furthest supply closet you could easily find and leaned against the shelves, chest rising and falling like you’d just run a sprint. Your hands were shaking—more with anger than fear—but still. It clung to your skin.

The door creaked open a minute later.

“Hey.”

Jack.

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, gaze scanning your face. “One of the other nurses said he got grabby.”

You looked up at him, throat tight. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t answer that right away. Just moved closer and touched your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he needed to ground himself.

“You sure?” he asked, quieter now.

You nodded. “Just… gross. Not the first, won’t be the last.”

His jaw flexed. “It shouldn’t be happening at all.”

You leaned into his hand. “It’s okay. I handled it.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

You looked up at him. “Jack—”

He stepped closer, and suddenly his body was pressed against yours, warm and solid and steady. His hands found your waist, rough fingers curling around your hips.

“I should be the only one touching you,” he said, voice low.

“We’ll get written up…”

“I don’t care.”

But Jack wasn’t hearing logic right now. He was standing there like he could still smell every guy you had met tonight on you, like the air hadn’t cleared yet.

“Hey.” You placed your hands on his chest, grounding him. “We don’t have to do this here…”

His hands squeezed your waist. “You’re mine.”

“I know.”

“You don’t flirt like that with anyone else, right?”

You blinked, caught off-guard. “Flirt like what?”

“Like you did with that prick.”

You frowned a abit. “I was being nice. He asked if I wanted  something from the vending machine- he asked you too and you looked at him like he offered me lingerie.”

Jack didn’t budge. His grip didn’t loosen.

You tried again. Softer this time.

“I steal your clothes. I come home to you. I wear the ring you bought me, and I’m your wife. I chose you.”

His eyes searched yours—tired, and heavy, with a mix of something else.

You rose on your toes, placing your lips to the corner of his mouth. “I’m yours, Jack.”

And then his arms were around you fully, pulling you in like he needed to feel your heartbeat to believe it. Your heart thudded in your chest, a beat behind your breath. You looked at him, eyes narrowed, lips parted.

You didn’t hear him lock the door.

You felt it.

That soft, decisive click behind you—like a promise.

“Did you just lock the door?”

Jack’s answer was a look—slow, hot, and so heavy it pinned you in place. He stepped with the kind of precision that said this wasn’t spontaneous. No, he’d decided the second he saw you walk into the closet room, cheeks flushed, lip gloss smudged, tensions high. 

The second all these guys started paying attention to you tonight. 

Jack hadn’t liked that.

He tried to be quiet about it, like always. Quiet the way a storm is—only right before it breaks.

He stopped just barely inches from you, hand coming up to trace a line along your jaw. His fingers were thick, rough, warm, familiar. His touch didn’t ask permission. It remembered.

“You keep smiling like that,” he said low, his voice a gravel-coated whisper, “and I’ll have to fuck the memory of it out of you.”

Your breath caught—somewhere between outrage and arousal. “Jack—”

But you didn’t get the rest out.

He kissed you.

Not sweet. Not careful.

Claiming.

His hands tangled in your hair, dragging you into him like it was instinct, like your mouth had always belonged to his. You melted into him, your body curving against his like you were built for this—built for him. His hips pressed forward, pinning you to the wall of the storage closet, and your head thudded back softly against the cool plaster as his lips slid down to your throat, sucking, biting just enough to make you gasp.

“Locked the door for a reason,” he murmured, tongue flicking against the skin where your pulse fluttered. “Tired of pretending I didn’t want you every second we’re here.”

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping his shirt like lifelines. “You’re sooo jealous.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, dark eyes devouring. “Damn right I’m jealous.”

His hand slid under your scrub top, skimming up your ribs, palm flat, hot and possessive. “You’re mine—I can’t fucking stand it when they look at you like you’re not.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” you whispered, breathless, lips grazing his.

His answer was a growl.

Jack spun you, quick and controlled, pressing you front-first against the shelves. Supplies rattled, somewhere above you—gloves, gauze, sterile wraps—but it was the sound of his breath at your neck that made your knees threaten to buckle.

His hands roamed—under your shirt to your tits, over the waistband of your scrub pants, every inch of bare skin he found earning a new kind of heat.

“You wanna be flirted with?” he whispered, voice dragging down your spine. “Fine. But I get to remind you who makes you cum”

You gasped as his mouth met the base of your neck, teeth grazing, tongue following. “Jack…”

“You knew,” he said again, almost reverent now. 

And god help you, you did.

Because you’d walked in here to take a second, needing this—needing him. Not just his hands or his mouth or the way he made you come apart so effortlessly, but this claiming. This reminder. That under all the stress, the silence, the long nights and missed moments—the fire still burned. Hot. Unrelenting.

His fingers slipped lower, teasing the waist of your scrub pants, and you pressed back against him without thinking, needing more, needing everything.

“You’re mine,” he murmured again, lips brushing your shoulder, low and slow. “Say it.”

You turned your head just enough to whisper, “I’m yours, Jack. Always.”

And that was all it took.

He kept you facing the shelves, a hand coming down to your hips to steady you as he continued to feel you up with the other. “Yeah? You gonna be my good girl, sweetheart?” 

The whimper you let out was pathetic. A low pitched sound that came from the back of your throat, as Jack started to flood your senses. He gave your ass a quick, hard, smack. Hand going back to rub over the spot, as it snapped you out of your daze. “I asked you a question, baby.” 

You nodded, desperately. Already whoozy from the assault on your sense that your husband brought on. “Mhm! Jack-”

He shushed you, gently pushing down your scrub pants, “Gotta make this quick and quiet, or they’ll all know what a bad girl you’ve been.” 

Reaching back, you straightend up leaning into his burning touch, wanting him closer than he already was. You could feel how hard he was beneath his cargos, half chubbed as he ground his hips into your panty-clad ass. 

You would’ve felt embarressed if this hadn’t felt so right. 

Clothes barely off, lazily grinding against your husband in a closet like you’re back in some college frat house at UPenn. 

Jack doesn’t waste anymore time though, hastily shoving your panties down, rough fingers making quick work of finding your swollen clit. The tight circles he does against you, make you feel dizzy—legs already beginning to shake, as if you haven’t been working for ten hours already. 

Your moans are muffled by your arm as you lean further into the shelves, but press your hips back toward Jack. Your resolve slowly slipping, as he dips a finger in your wet heat. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” he groans out softly, continuing as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. 

Then he just pulls away.

Not entirely, still so close that you’ve basically become one. It’s enough for you to whine at the loss of contact, pushing back into him hoping he’ll start again. 

“Why’d you stop?” Jack can practically hear the pout in your voice. The breathy little lilt of displeasure showing in your tone. 

“Sorry, baby. We only have time for one thing, and I’d much rather make you cum on my cock.” He kisses the back of your neck, gentle and loving as ever as he reaches down to free himself from his scrub pants. 

He’s aching, he’s so hard. 

He takes a few deep breaths before haphazrdly stroking himself. Fisting his cock in his meaty hand, already slick after playing with your wet little cunt. 

Jack wasn’t going to make love to you. 

He was going to fuck you like you needed it. 

Lining himself up, Jack pushed in with a solid thrust of his sturdy hips. You just about collapsed into the shelves, already feeling so full of Jack as he started a steady rhythm. It was overwhelming, one of his hands tight against your hips as he used it to guide you into his thrusts, the other snaked over your mouth to muffle your breathy moans because the hallway was just beyond the locked closet door.

“Shit- you’re so fucking tight, baby.” you cleched against him as he drove himself further into you, trying to angle himself to hit the spot that would have you seeing stars in no time. 

Your walls hugged him tight, leaving him a mess as he watched himself slip in and out of you in a trance like state. 

“Fuck Jack-” you start mewling, hips pushing and grinding to meet his thrusts. “Ah- ah, you’re so deep.” 

He mumbles something incoherent against your shoulder, both of his hands moving to your hips and ass to get more leverage to fuck you nice and hard. 

You can tell you’re making a mess of yourself, panties clearly ruined with how you’re leaking down your thighs and his cock. Each thrust is a new shockwave of pleasure you don’t expect, but Jack doesn’t let up and you don’t want him to. 

“Too m-much,” his cock throbs, hard and heavy inside you as he stills for just a second. 

“Yeah? It’s too much for you, Sweetheart?” It’s almost mocking as he draws it out into longer deeper strokes—the ones that make it hard to breathe, the air escaping your lungs faster than you can take the chance to gasp for air. 

“You’re just so big,” you whimper out, trying to keep yourself from collapsing back against him as your legs start to feel like jello. 

Jack gives you a light scoff, “Good thing you’re being a good girl, and takin’ me so well, huh?” He keeps the pace steady, if not a bit quicker. Switching up the tempo to keep you on your toes and eager for him. 

“Mhm!” You can feel your orgasm building, that all too familiar pressure in your lower tummy bubbling over. “Fuck- fuck I’m gonna cum-”

It’s like a switch flips in his brain, kicking him into high gear as he spins you around to face him. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close as he lifts one of your legs around his waist. 

“Yeah, pretty girl? You gonna cum for me?” He asks you through a sloppy kiss, one that smears what’s left of your lip gloss. 

You feel like you’re about to implode, too tense and too loose all at once. Your hands find purchase on his clothed chest and the curls at the base of his neck, as he continues his loving assault on your body and senses. Jack is everywhere, and you’d never want it to be different. 

He watches as you finally let go, shivering your way through your orgasm as you cum on his thick cock. Your breath catches as he kisses you slowly, working his cock in and out of your gushing pussy still chasing his own release. 

“Fuck- you ruin me baby,” He groans into your kiss swollen lips, giving you a few more sloppy thrusts before burying himself as deep as possible. His own breathing shallow as he spills his load deep into your cunt, right where it belongs. 

Blinking slowly, you return to your body. Jack looks down at you, capturing your lips in one last sweet kiss as he gently pulls out of you. Your body shudders at the now empty feeling, “You with me, Baby?”

His thumbs stroke your cheeks, gentle and loving as you just stare at him a little dazed. You manage a soft hum, and he begins the process of putting you back together for the public. 

You cringed a bit as he helped you pull the pants of your scrubs back up, at least they were dark… right? You’d change into your backups as soon as you found the courge to leave the storage room. Then there was your hair which Jack lovingly braided as quickly as he could, before fixing himself the best he could

“Everyone’s totally gonna know… Ugh…”  you leaned your head against his chest, sighing at the thought of John or Ellis questioning where you two were for the past 15 minutes. 

“You look fine, besides who cares?” He questioned, “Do you know how many times I’ve heard the same story from other departments,” 

“Yeah but this is us,” you gave him a deadpan expression, as he reached behind you so that he could grab your stethoscope and badge reel from one of the many shelves behind you. 

He gave you a nonchalant shrug, and one last kiss on the forehead. “You ready to go get ‘em tiger?”

“You’re so dead whe we get home, it’s not even funny Jack Abbot!” 

“We still have about two more hours, so I think I’m safe, Princess.” 

mercvry-glow 2025

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Half Light

Pairing: Dr. Frank Langdon x Surgeon!Reader

Authors note: I actually can’t stop thinking about him now

EXT. PITTSBURGH MED – PARKING LOT – NIGHT

The automatic doors slide shut behind you with a hiss, leaving the blood and screams of Pitt Fest behind—but the weight of it all stays on your chest like lead. You’re barely keeping it together. Not after what you’ve seen. Not after what you’ve heard.

Footsteps rush up behind you. And then—

FRANK

“Hey—”

Before you can even react, Frank’s hand curls around your arm and pulls you toward him, his mouth crashing into yours like it’s instinct. Like if he doesn’t kiss you right now, he’ll break apart.

For a second, your body leans in. Muscle memory. Habit. Love.

But your heart slams your brain back into your chest, and you shove him hard.

YOU

“Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

Frank stumbles back, chest heaving. Confused. Wounded. Caught.

FRANK

“What the hell—?”

YOU

“You think you can kiss me and make me forget?”

His face changes. That flicker of guilt. He knows what you know.

YOU (CONT’D)

“You’ve been using again. You said you were clean—Frank, you swore.”

FRANK

“I am clean.”

YOU

“No, you’re not.”

FRANK

“I’m not using, I haven’t touched anything since Robby pulled me—”

YOU

“You had pills yesterday. You looked me in the eye and lied.”

FRANK

“It was just backup. Just in case.”

YOU

“Just in case what, Frank? In case you couldn’t handle one more trauma? In case life got a little too fucking real?”

His jaw clenches. His shoulders rise.

FRANK

“You don’t understand what it’s like—”

YOU

“Don’t you dare talk down to me. Don’t stand there with your pretty words and your scared little smile and tell me it’s fine. It’s not. You’re not.”

FRANK

“I’m trying, alright? I’m trying every damn day—”

YOU

“You’re lying to me. To yourself. To everyone who’s ever believed in you.”

FRANK

“I’m not lying!”

YOU

“Yes. You. Are.”

Your voice breaks mid-sentence, a ragged edge slicing through. You hadn’t realized the tears until they’re hot on your cheeks, blurring the edges of him.

You step forward, fists shaking at your sides.

YOU (soft, broken)

“I don’t want to be without you.”

Frank’s breath catches.

YOU

“I need you to be okay. I need you to stay. I need you to be here—really here. Not some half-version of you numbing the pain and telling me it’s fine.”

Frank’s face crumples. He moves like he wants to reach for you but stops short.

YOU (whispering)

“I don’t care how dark it gets. Just don’t lie to me. Don’t make me watch you drown and pretend it’s not happening.”

The silence between you is suffocating.

Then—

FRANK

“I’m scared.”

YOU

“Good. So am I. But I’m still standing here.”

You take a step closer. This time, the kiss doesn’t come. Just two people, broken open under the glow of the parking lot lights, trying to figure out if love is enough to keep them from shattering.

[theealbatross]

a habit to kick, an age old curse (s.s)

Plot | They're no longer friends unfortunately they're still soulmates.

or, you and Sebastian are now strangers but at your most vulnerable moment he picks up the pieces. Only he knows. Only he can.

Tags | angst, heartbreak, when you're too depressed to confess, sebastian and the bad bitch he pulled by being stupid, sebastian is an academic weapon if he wants to, mentions of fire torture, murder (self-defense), trauma, emotional cheating (if u squint), slight fluff as a treat, panic attack, PTSD, Anne is dead, 3k-ish of angst

[A/N: Stream 'i love you, i'm sorry' by gracie for full immersion.]

Quidditch Season was important for every student in Hogwarts but it was the after-parties that everyone was truly looking forward to, house pride aside. 

Which is what exactly Garreth had been barred from. “I can’t believe I wasn’t given an invitation just cause I’m friends with you! I’m not even a Slytherin! And I make the best punches!”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, sighing. Even he didn’t think those pesky Ravenclaws would take their competition this seriously. It all started when he had finally decided to become an auror, after a peaceful, distraction-free year and careful deliberations from each of his professors, he was given the informal encouragement that he was one of the few students who had the potential to become a trainee to such a prestigious program. With his ever-growing physique and indisputable intellect, it would simply be a question of effort.

He just needed to be at the top of all the classes required of him. This was the tragic news for all those Ravenclaw dreams – once Sebastian had his sights on it, it was as good as his.

He hadn’t expected that their ire of him extended to his friends. Even refusing to invite them to the first party of the year that the Ravenclaw had won against the Hufflepuffs. Sebastian had half the mind to join his own House’s quidditch team even with his packed schedule just so he could wipe the floor with them. It would be worth never sleeping again.

“What do you want me to do Gar –”

“Here.”

A piece of paper hung from above him, the hand it was hanging from was connected to a face he hadn’t seen this closely in a long, long time. Even the whisper of her name in his mouth felt foreign – a tragic circumstance when a lifetime ago she had been a kindred soul.

Before he could say anything else, Garreth had already snatched the paper from in-between his eyes. “Is this – Really?!”

“The password for today’s party, try to sneak in when the ‘guards’ are smashed,” she grinned at the redhead. Then, Sebastian felt a cold blade slice through his chest (a hand suspiciously touching the spot just to check) when she looked back down at him again. “For old time’s sake.”

It took him a moment too long to realize she was talking to him too. But his tongue felt heavy and stuck, the metaphorical rug under his feet getting pulled out when he least expected it.

He nodded.

“See you around.”

He stared as she waltzes gracefully from the bustling crowd, getting roped into a hug by her boyfriend, William Frey, the bloody captain of the Ravenclaws. When he had heard about it, he couldn’t quite point out why he hated his smug, pretty face but then, using his blessed brain he got his bitter answer: they were too damn perfect together.

He was everything she deserved.

Smart, popular, kind, and comes from a good family that will be able to support her in whatever endeavors she might be up to in the future.

Not an orphaned criminal who couldn’t even save her sister.

The state of their friendship – or lack thereof – was pitiful but he knew it was for the better. Without each other in the way she can be loved by all those around her – something he has never been able to offer with his murky history that left a rubble of a man. And without her he can forget about his failures and mistakes, distract himself with as much schoolwork as he can cram in his head and never remember the times he sacrificed their friendship for his own gain only to lose it all anyways.

If he doesn’t see her then he can forget – he failed and his twin sister is dead.

A brilliant witch with a brilliant future didn’t deserve to be associated with failures.

“That was tense,” William whispered in your ears as he led you towards the courtyard. “A friend of yours?”

A flash of the lives you’ve lived with the Slytherin flashed before your eyes. Friends, what a lowly name.

You faked a smile, fighting every urge in your body to look back.

“A long time ago.”

The party was loud, no doubt the quidditch players were milking any taste of victory they have before they deal with whoever wins between the Slytherins and Gryffindor’s next week.

The music was loud, nearly pounding through the silencing charms in the walls of the common room. William at the thick in all of it, celebrating with his teammates, not forgetting to wave at you in your seat with that charming smile that usually makes you swoon.

However, it was the charmed fireworks all over the ceiling that had your heart exploding out of your chest. Flashes of nightmares at every pop.

The dark forest, the ruined castle, the ropes in your stretched out hands as Rookwoods men threw all sort of fiery spells at you as target practice.

You pinched your eyes shut, shaking your head, trying to focus on breathing.

When you were starting to get dizzy you knew it wasn’t working. You tried to push through the crowd, reach your boyfriend somehow and at least let him know what was going on but it was impossible. It was the peak of the party when everyone was too drunk to do anything but drink more and dance more. With a shuddering breath, you instead skirted around the crowd and escaped narrowly through the doors of the Ravenclaw common room.

Not even bothering with a disillusionment spell, knowing damn well all the prefects would be in the party, you ran to the nearest floo to travel to your common room.

However, even the silence and comfort of the top of the common room wasn’t enough to ground you as you stumbled straight down the cold tiles, a yelp escaping your mouth from the sting of your skin.

“Someone there?”

That voice, distant but familiar. Painfully familiar. Your eyes continue to blur as your breath hastened, your limbs too weak, and the cold floor too damn comfortable for your overheating body.

“Are you alright?” He’s closer now, at the bottom of the stairs.

No, no, no.

In your desperation, you swallowed your pride. Forgetting in the moment how humiliated you will be to be seen by the last person in your house you wanted to show this side of you.

He would take care of you.

He always takes care of you.

“Sebastian,” you could barely croak out in between your gasps. Silence followed and you whimpered, crawling down to the edge of the top of the stairs when you heard fast footsteps ascending and there he was.

“Fucking hell, what happened to you?!”

Before you could try to say anything else you were already carried in his arms, Sebastian’s panic at seeing someone that was always so shiny and untouchable on a daily basis gasping and writhing in their common room floor was something he had not prepared himself to see tonight.

He thought the worst would be drunk seniors he would have to haul up their rooms not his … not you.

Carefully, he placed you on the nearest couch, your grip in his arms painful but welcome as it grounded him and prevented him from rattling when he saw your pale face covered with sweat and tears.

“Pet, you gotta help me here, what’s going on?! What do you need?!”

His eyes plotted your face, firm hands frantically running across your body to check for any stain of blood or hints of the source of your pain. It was agonizingly intimate, especially with the knowledge of how much this has happened in the past – one of you writhing in pain, the other doing their darndest to fix it.

A shot of pain pierced your chest when you suddenly breathed in, making you cry out and crawl into his arms.

Your calming medicine – it was in your bedside table. However, it was no use, like blood was not reaching your brain and all you know to do is to just hold on to Sebastian.

“Fuck!”

In a blink, your face was buried in Sebastian’s neck, the entirety of your curled up body tightly held together by him as he sat you in his lap, arms wrapped protectively around your body. “Breathe with me,” he whispers, taking deep slow puffs and caressing your hair. “That’s it, deep breathes. Follow me, darling. Enough with your crying now, listen to my voice.”

In. Out. The clean scent of the common room, faint sweet smell of his favorite tea.

In. Out. The sweat on his skin, the cologne he had worn since the first day you met him.

In. Out. Old books, fresh parchment, thick ink, and the throbbing aroma of the Amortentia you brewed last week.

“Hey,” you could feel the sweat start to cool your skin, his rough hand worked on your cheeks as he continued to cradle you in his arms. His body relaxing with yours until you could take up air on your own. “What hap –”

“What in Merlin’s … did you do this?”

You stared up in wonder, the two of you surrounded by a large bubble, the ones you usually see when you throw a Protego, except this one continued to enclose you. Now that your panic has passed you realize you can’t hear anything else but … the sound of water?

He looked shy, rubbing the back of his neck as he settled you back on the couch. It was only then you realized that you had been in his lap this entire time. You hoped the dim light of the common room hid the embarrassment in your face.  “It’s … something I’ve made. Helps me sleep at night. What you’re hearing is the sounds under the Black Lake. I’m gonna write a paper on it for Ronen, should get me a couple of points.”

Ah, his valiant academic conflict with the Ravenclaws did not escape even you. They’re going to fucking curse him in their sleep when they realize he was a lap ahead of his competition.

Now that your vision wasn’t doubling you could faintly see a golden string that connected from the bubble, straight through the tall glass window of the common room. “Sebastian, this is brilliant.”

A flare of nervousness lodged in your chest when Sebastian suddenly looked at you– the gaze that let you know that he could see right through you. He always saw right through you – you’d grown to hate it.

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

He was a gentleman – always had been. It could be the fact that he had (has? is it too soon?) a sister that he was so well-versed in the heart of a lady. But aside from that – Sebastian, at some point in time, was someone who knew the most. And the gods’ honest truth is you never could hide a secret from him.

It could be the alcohol in your system or the buried instinctive nature to tell him everything back when the two of you spent late nights in the Room of Requirement and talked about everything being unearthed but you felt like being honest. Even if the boy beside you had grown into a stranger.

“I’m … remember when I got kidnapped by … and you …”

And you saved me.

Again. Always.

He was there, charging headfirst, ignoring Professor Fig’s warnings and Ominis’ pleas to wait for the Aurors in Hogsmeade. When he arrived, he saw the burn marks, bruises, and wounds all over your body and just saw red … and left red. 

“The Rookwood incident?”

By the time back up had arrived the two of you were slumped on each other and surrounded by corpses, eyes blank and suspicious, desperately holding on to each other.

“The Rookwood incident,” you nodded. “What I didn’t tell you is that before you had arrived, they had been … they tied me and threw fire spells at me, that’s where I got my wounds. I never told you because –”

He was too angry. And you were too terrified of pushing your closest friend to the darkness he had been tethering on. Not that it mattered, he fell right to that cliff on his own.

“I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widened, hands shaking in front of you. “No, Seb, it’s not like tha –”

“I know you were trying to protect me. You always were,” he shook his head, now it was him who couldn’t look at you. “How many scars did I give you?”

“I healed just fine –”

“Then let me rephrase my question, “ This time, the look in his eyes terrified you. The intensity, the guilt – it was so palpable you almost want to cup his face the way you used to, to ease his cruel burden. “How many of these nightmares have I cursed you with?”

Your silence made his bitter smile grow. You don’t have to say it because he (always) knows – the worst nightmares were the ones with him in it.

“Does … does he know about it?”

You nodded, “He does. William tried to help, sent me to the best mind doctors last summer but … I’m just so tired. I’m tired of the tests, the probing in my brain – he means well, I know he does but there’s nothing those strangers can tell me that I don’t already know.”

With an understanding expression on his face, the two of you sat in silence, staring at the large windows hovering over the two of you as the deep quiet of the lake echoed in the fragile haven he had conjured up. If you close your eyes, if you forget about everything else, you could almost trick you mind that these was one of those good times.

That you’d turn and find him buried in between towers of books you had borrowed from the library and Ominis would be sleeping against the wall of the Undercroft. And then you’d catch his eyes and he would smile – a silent message between two people who didn’t need to speak to communicate – and the silence would stretch, just like this, but you would be together again.

“I could teach you.”

You raised an eyebrow and despite himself he chuckled. He didn’t have the best history with teaching you spells, after all. “This charm, I mean.”

How many cures has been shoved in your throat? How many disappointments you hid in lies that, yes the Calming Elixir cures me of such flaws. Did you need any more help? Would it fix you this time?

“It won’t fix anything but it might ..” he shrugged. “… make tomorrow easier.”

You’re terrified of him, you realize. How can someone know you so deeply without ever even realizing it? Does he know? The power he has over you? How you would’ve burned your life to the ground if he had asked for it?

Ask, you wanted to scream. Ask. Ask. Ask.

“Alright,” He seemed surprised, you smiled at the face he made. “Couldn’t hurt.”

For all his nonchalance it was a complicated charm to cast. “No, it has to be more than half a circle when you swish it –”

This was familiar. A bit more awkward and with a lot more strain but it was familiar – if all had gone well this would have been just an unremarkable day in your life. You can’t help but wonder if your burden would be lighter if he was the one helping you carry it.

You swallowed your thoughts back down, no sense in dreaming of different realities now. Because this was your life and the worst thing that could possibly happen did happen. So, you’ll take all that you can get – even if it’s just one last night pretending everything didn’t slip out of your hands.

“No, here, let me guide you,” When Sebastian was in his ‘professor mode’ as you and Ominis used to tease him for, he gets so focused on teaching that he doesn’t notice anything else, doesn’t even notice your gasp as he wrapped an arm around your back, grasping the hand with your wand and helping you trace the shape needed to cast the spell. “And the word is ‘Salus.”

Salus. Safety. Salvation.

That’s who he was. Your Sebastian. “Salus.”

On cue, a bubble surrounded the two of you once again, the white noise of the castle replaced by the deep lake’s groans. “Perfect.”

Despite the time you spend learning all sorts of complicated magic, it never takes away the quick flutter of your chest in excitement at every spell you master. “I did it!” You turned to be Sebastian but he was already looking at you.

You’ve always told him if you didn’t know any better you would’ve thought Sebastian was the true heir of Slytherin. He just fits here – in the dim lights, and emerald furniture, and the coldness that emphasizes just how warm he is. “… beautiful.”

“What?” He was staring, his hooded gaze, the freckles you had always wanted to trace into constellations, the part on his lips that teases your skin with his breath.

“Your technique is beautiful.” He’s lying, you don’t catch it. Suddenly, your half-pinned hair fell apart, Sebastian having pulled away the clip holding it away from your face. “Now, lay down.”

His arms were gentle and firm as they guided you to lay across the wide couch, Sebastian having scooted down to sit on the floor, face in front of yours. He’s so close. “Sleep.”

You hope he knows, that if your sleep remains dreamless tonight and if your tomorrow is easier, it’s not because of his painfully complicated spell. Your eyes waver, the edges of your sight dimming and blurring. You feel a touch on your cheek, you try to chase it. The last thing you see is his deep brown eyes and the soft smile that had been the biggest curse he had unknowingly laid on you.

He has to know, right?

You have to tell him.

Sebastian, I’ve always – I still – I never stop –

“Hey, wake up.”

Your eyes split open, another ghost of your past in front of you. “Ominis?”

The noise slowly trickled as you became more aware, eyes shifting to you, some out of curiosity why you picked the couch as a resting place instead of your bedroom a few feet away or some that saw you in the party that held some pity, probably thinking you’re suffering the worst hangover of your life.

“William Frey is looking for you by the door,” he muttered sharply. It’s been a while since you and Ominis interacted, his tattered friendship with Sebastian extending to your own as the boy’s most loyal comrade in his pursuit of destruction. You know he lays a blame you and for that you couldn’t blame him. “Honestly, I had thought you had grown out of your foolish habit of sleeping everywhere.”

“I-I’m … sorry?”

He shook his head before turning to leave.

Had … had everything been a dream?

You looked around suspiciously, for what you weren’t quite sure. A sign? A pillow out of place that could be evidence that last night happened?

It wasn’t mere delusion, you were sure. The knowledge of the spell in your head evidence enough of the small moment you shared with an old friend last night but it would be nice to have some sort of proof. A tangible confirmation that you could keep with you as you return to your reality.

With a sigh you let your disappointment fester for a second longer, locking last night in the deepest part of your heart, one that can only be unearthed once again in your loneliest nights.

A practiced smile cements on your face, turning to the chair one last time to allow yourself one more moment of hesitation before going up the stairs.

Back to the beautiful boy who will only see the beautiful parts of you and leaving the one who gets the honor of keeping the shadows.

Inside the boy’s dormitory Sebastian stares at the stolen emerald clip on his bedside table.

[hey-must-be-a-devilbetween-us]

Just been thinking about how when Aziraphale said that 'Nothing Lasts Forever' and Crowley immediately took that in a totally different way than Aziraphale intended.

The look of surprise and confusion that quickly becomes desperation that takes over Aziraphale face as Crowley walks away, he calls out to him, begs him to come back to him, and quickly covers it up with 'to heaven.'

he didn't mean them, he would never mean them.

(a lot more under the cut)

the places would change, the circumstances would change, the people and the play and the drama would change, they have always had different seasons of their relationship.

but them, together, as always been as constant as the tides and the phases of the moon, even if they get separated for a month or a decade or a century, they always come back together.

Also been thinking about how Crowley doesn't have faith in a lot of things (for obvious reasons), but the most heart breaking is how he has no faith that underneath it all, no matter what, Aziraphale loves him and wants to be with him, even though he has a mountain of evidence of it.

Its been pointed out that Aziraphale this whole season has seemed to be trying to get closer emotionally to Crowley, 'shooting his shot.'

'Its our car, its our bookshop, its our plan to save Gabriel, take my hand lets dance while you tell me what's wrong my dear boy.'

More than just an arrangement, more than fraternizing, more then just friendly banter over drinks and food, it always was more, but now they can act like it, Aziraphale is going for it in his own way.

and Aziraphale is so obviously frustrated during the fight that Crowley doesn't see that.

but come on, you can't blame Crowley at this point, Aziraphale is effectively asking Crowley to change literally everything about themselves and forget a millennia of trauma and anger and guilt and self-loathing.

It sure makes it seem like Aziraphales love is now suddenly conditional on them changing.

I don't think Aziraphale sees it that way though right?

He doesn't see it as 'I will love Crowley more if they are an angel.' he sees it as 'Crowley will be happier as an angel surely? They will also be safer with that designation.' and 'any sacrifice will be worth it if it means we'll finally be able to be safe and together.'

See, I don't think Aziraphale even wants Crowley to be an angel again.

I think he's trying to convince himself that he wants that, which is what makes the Metatron offering that in the first place so damn insidious.

I think in his heart of hearts, appointing Crowley to be an angel again is just as much of a sacrifice to him as leaving his beloved bookshop, leaving earth with all its wonderful music and color and life and stories and people, but what does that say about him as an angel?

Everyone can sneer and look down on him for having affections for a demon but there is some plausible deniability that its just bad circumstances, Crowley just happens to be a demon but he's really very lovely once you get to know him, in spite of it all.

But like...giving Aziraphale the opportunity to make Crowley an angel again and he doesn't want to take it because...he loves Crowley exactly the way he is? That he may have had a crush on the angel he was, but it was truly The Demon Crowley that he fell in love with.

I think Aziraphale is gonna need some time to get brave enough to say that with his whole chest (but dear lord will it be wonderful when he does.)

And the Metatron knows this, and he knows Crowley is exactly who he is supposed to be, and so The Metatron knows that Crowley could never ever say yes to going back, it goes against his very nature, he knew that Crowley would take it exactly the way he did.

(Ergo more evidence that splitting them up is the whole goal because they're just too powerful together.)

So, Aziraphale is stuck in the worst way I can imagine.

He's given the opportunity to have everything he should want, so he's trying to make the best of it even though it decidedly isn't what he wants, because its evident that the meddling from Heaven and Hell isn't going away, the Metatron is giving him the path of least resistance, isn't that going along with Heaven as far as he can?

Every word he says to Crowley about how wonderful it will be and how this is an amazing opportunity and we'll be together and we'll make better choices, we'll make a difference.

Its trying to convince himself just as much.

I think Aziraphale is terrified of going back to heaven by himself, but what other choice does he have? He's terrified about what will happen if he doesn't, and not because of any explicit threat by the Metatron, but what it would imply about him, if they knew exactly how he felt about Crowley, what might they do to them both?

and that's why the Kiss™ is so horrible and beautiful at the same time, its harsh and it looks like it hurts when their teeth bump together and it is so desperate, but Aziraphale still clings to Crowley, trembling and whimpering (jesus christ sheen...)

More than an expression of romantic love (because by God herself have they expressed it in so many ways for thousands of years,) its a plea to stay, choose this, choose us.

And Aziraphale wants to, but he can't, and its agony, but how could he explain that to Crowley when he barely understands it himself, he doesn't recognize what the Metatron has done.

That's why Aziraphale seems just as angry at the kiss as he is fucking devastated, its not a 'how dare you kiss me,' its an 'how dare you kiss me right now, in this moment, when if it had came earlier everything might have been different."

"How dare you kiss me now to just let me know everything I'm giving up, and not just because you wanted to."

"How dare you make this our first kiss."

Aziraphale doesn't see the Kiss™ as the Hail Mary that it is, he sees it as a spiteful bitter thing, something that he has been yearning for forever being twisted into something to hurt him, but I think he can see the sadness and fear in it too, so he forgives Crowley for it.

And of course, Crowley takes that to mean, "I forgive you for kissing me when you know that's not how I feel, for trying to manipulate me." or something to that effect, either way its enough for him to leave the conversation, nothing more to say.

I think Aziraphales next arc is going to be all about being open and honest and brave, which is in exact juxtaposition to the traits that made him grow closer to Crowley in the first place and that's what really fucking gets me.

From giving away the flaming sword, the entire damn arrangement, trying to thwart the apocalypse, to the very fact that he loves Crowley.

"I'm a fallen angel! I lied! To thwart the will of God!"

"Yeah, ya did, but I'm not gonna tell anybody, are you?"

"Then nothing has to change."

Except it did, and it does, if they are to get their happy ending in their cottage in the south downs.

anyway, yeah that's all i wanted to say i think, how was your guys week so far?

gif credit:

@starklystar @raggedy-spaceman @spooks-ez

(if i missed anyone or miscredited pls lmk!)

cont in reply (i like what i wrote here so i'm trying to keep track lol)

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + fifteen

authors note: next chapter will be a lot heavier, because we see shit play out. italicized dialogue indicates that spanish is being spoken.

ya'll better not come for me after this one either, okay! 😭

just know the plot is plotting, ya'll

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: fluff, angst, roman being a dick to anyone other than his wife, and violence

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 10k

The newly opened doors of intimacy have awakened a previously dormant part of Solana.

Something she previously thought impossible to access, permanently damaged as a result of her trauma.

But, she was wrong. 

So, so wrong.

Roman is everything she never allowed herself to dream about having, let alone actually hoped to have in real life.

Caring, considerate, gentle, patient.

Their first time together is something she’ll never forget and always cherish. But, it’s the times afterwards, sporadic over the past two days since the consummation, that have almost meant something more.

A testament to her comfort and trust in him.

Of her love for him.

Sitting in bed, in between his legs, leaning into his strong body with nothing but the thin 600 thread count sheets covering them, Solana sketches, no particular drawing in mind, just whatever is felt in that moment. And what’s felt is the image and scenery of the water, of the beauty that is Isla Mujeres. Her mom was right. There’s nothing like it.

“I think—I think I want to come back here sooner rather than later.” Solana finds herself partially wondering aloud but also wanting to pick her husband’s brain. “I know you probably won’t be able to come, and that’s okay. Maybe…maybe Bayley can come with me?” It’s both a suggestion and a question. 

Roman makes a sound against her, his lips lingering along her temple, long fingers moving gently against the side of her breast under the sheets. “Whatever you want, I’ll make happen. Bayley will go with you.”

Solana chews on her bottom lip, shading a palm tree. “But, what if she has plans?”

“She will. Plans to go with you.”

A small smile falls on her face. “How do you know she’ll just agree with you?” Solana has an idea of what he’s going to say, and she’s correct. 

“People do what I tell them to do, and if they don’t, they face the consequences. And no one wants that, so they just do it.” 

She doesn’t doubt that one bit. Because no matter how sweet and caring he is to her, that’s where it stops. With her.

Because to anyone and everyone else, he’s Roman Reigns, ruthless, brutal leader of the Bloodline.

And she’s accepted that. Accepted that he has to juggle two different hats.

She’s just happy she gets the best of him.

“I Facetime’d Naomi today and got to see Dulce.” As much fun as she’s having, as healing as this trip has been for her, she misses her sweet puppy deeply. “Guess who’s taken to her?”

Roman chuckles, looking back with a bit of shock. “Jimmy?”

Solana nods, grinning as she remembers overhearing Jimmy ask about where ‘fluff fluff’ is. “Naomi says he’s even got her sleeping in the bed with them.”

“Well, she damn sure ain’t doing that with us.” His voice takes on an authoritative tone. Not that she’s in disagreement. Dulce is too small for that. Roman would literally smother her. “Our bed is occupied.” He ghosts his lips over the shell of her earlobe. “Gonna be real busy when we get back home….”

Solana tries instead to focus on the drawing at hand versus that familiar feeling pooling in her stomach. 

Continuing with the topic in the hopes of settling that feeling, she shares, “I want to do something nice for Naomi and Bayley when we get back. They’ve—they’ve been so nice to me.”

It’s something she’s been thinking about ever since the beautiful birthday messages she’s received. Having never really had many friends, to be able to land such solid, loyal people like them is something she doesn’t take lightly. She doesn’t know quite yet how she wants to show her appreciation, but she’s determined to come up with something.

An idea crossing her mind, Solana suggests, “maybe they both can come stay here with me for a week?”

His mouth moves back to the side of her face. “Mmmhmm.”

“Like…..like a girls trip.” Solana has never experienced one of those and just the thought of having one with the two of them has pre-excitement already forming.

Roman sighs, clearly distracted by his lips exploring her face. “Whatever you want, baby.”

Turning her head to the side to look up at him, small smile on her face, Solana asks, “are you listening to me?”

Roman hums against her skin. “I’m always listening to you, Solana.” Her eyes flutter as his fingers shift and move under the generous swell of her breast. “Probably the only person that’s the case for…..” His mouth moves to her cheek. “But, it’s hard to focus with you naked like this…..”

The pencil in her hand naturally drops against the sketchbook, her head lolling backwards, lips pressing together. “Roman….” 

This is such a new experience. She’s never desired to be touched or craved such intimacy until Roman. Even with her trauma, there’s a pull that seems to have been unleashed with the consummation of her marriage.

An urge that has her thighs pressing together, something Roman most definitely takes note of. Eyes darkening with lust and something else, he asks, voice almost hoarse, “are you sore?”

She is, but not nearly as sore as she was after their first time. And certainly not to the point where she wants to decline.

“No,” is the answer she settles on, Roman’s lips on hers in a matter of seconds. She shifts her body so she’s straddling him, the feeling of him hard and warm between her legs making her moan in his mouth. Roman easily switches positions so she’s on her back, him hovering over her. 

He breaks the kiss, asking once more, “you sure?”

Solana licks her lips, forever thankful for his constant efforts to receive her consent. “Yes.”

His eyes burn with need. “Could be inside you like this all day….” He brings his hand to the back of her thigh, lifting her leg and opening her up more as he gradually descends into her slick warmth. “And definitely all night….”

Solana would be lying if she said she didn’t feel somewhat of the same way.

________

She wakes up with a growing familiar ache between her legs, soft sheets against her nude body, and her husband pressed against her, his arm draped over her, holding her close to him.

But, he’s not sleeping. She can feel his mouth hovering over her shoulder. Her smile grows a bit as she thinks about their last lovemaking session, so passionate and fulfilling. Another round of him giving her pleasure she didn’t think possible.

However, it’s when she glances at the clock and sees the time, her eyes widen a bit from the shock. “Roman, it’s almost 2 o’clock….”

He’s never been more uninterested. “And?” Lips traveling the length of her arm, he murmurs against her smooth skin. “You’d never leave this bed if it was up to me….”

His statement, half joking, half serious, makes her smile, but it also helps her realize she has to be a bit more outspoken about what she wants.

Holding the sheet against her chest, she rolls onto her back, informing, “I want to go out to the marketplace today.”

He scowls. “Around people?” 

“Yes, people.” She giggles, moving her hand to his face, beard tickling her palm. “We only have two more days here. I want to bring back gifts for Naomi, Bayley, and your cousins”

It’s the mention of the twins that makes him roll his eyes as he falls back into the mattress. “You always trying to take care of the homeless.”

Solana giggles, hovering over him, hand on his chest. “That’s so mean, Roman. They’re not homeless.”

“Then why the hell are they always at our house?”

She shakes her head, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “I’m gonna go get ready.” 

He doesn’t try to stop her, doesn’t prevent her from leaving the bed and doing just that.

And in less than two hours, both showered, fed, and dressed, they’re out of the house and on their way to the market.

Adolfo López Mateos is the municipal market and offers a trove of items for Solana to pick from. Countless authentic options for her to bring back home as gifts but also as souvenirs for herself, reminders of this wonderful place that will forever hold such beautiful memories for her.

A place that also leaves her feeling so connected to her maternal side. 

To her mother.

Roman serves as the quiet, always surveying husband who remains by her side the whole time as she goes from stall to stall. He serves as her personal shopping assistant as well, holding the growing number of bags for her purchases.

But, he handles it exceptionally well, never once complaining. Granted, she is mindful of the fact that the crowded market and all of the fellow shoppers and merchants seem to well exceed his tolerance for people in general.

So, she does make note to try to wrap it up sooner rather than later.

She’d never want to take advantage of his kindness and generosity.

Solana is at a stall looking at fabric when stiffening beside her drags her attention to her husband as well as what’s caused him to tense. 

A child.

A little girl. Around 8 or 9. She has dark hair that’s down and unruly, the light breeze in the market causing it to splash against her tanned face, hazel eyes landed directly on Roman. Her hand is outreached, a flower in hand. 

Solana recognizes it rather quickly. She steps forward, asking in Spanish, “is that for him?”

The little girl looks over and nods, directing her gaze back on Roman. Solana does the same, small smile on her face as she informs. “She’s giving it to you.” 

His expression is unchanged as he asks. “Why?”

Solana giggles. “It’s an Alstroemeria. They represent friendship.”

“This random ass kid wants to be my friend?”

Solana rolls her eyes. “She’s being friendly.” Seeing Roman has no intentions on further acknowledging this child, she gently shoves him. “Please?” The ‘for me?’ doesn’t need to be asked as Roman sighs loudly and accepts the flower followed up with a muttered ‘thanks.’

Pleased, the little girl beams, suddenly motioning both Roman and Solana to follow her.

Curious, Solana asks, “you want us to come?” 

She nods excitedly, pointing a few stalls down to where flowers bloom. Solana asks, “That’s where you got these from? You want us to see the rest?”

Another nod, and Solana finds herself following the child, Roman begrudgingly on the heel of her, committed to his not allowing her to explore a stretch of land or sea on this trip without him being right there next to her.

Even if it means forced socialization. 

Solana allows the child to guide them to the stall that’s filled with the most beautiful, intricate flowers she’s ever seen, some of which she recognizes from conversations with her mom.

“Look how beautiful…..” Her eyes land on the powder pink ones, a brief realization setting in as she asks the little girl, “are these sword lily’s?” 

Again, the child offers only a nonverbal acknowledgement via a head nod, and Solana starts to wonder if her silence is by choice or limitation. Either one, she can kind of relate to. 

Turning to Roman, Solana explains to him, “these are sword lilly’s. They represent sympathy and memories.” Memories…Solana has plenty of those. The good, to some extent, starting to outweigh the bad.

He looks more uninterested than the actual tone of his voice. “Do all Mexican flowers have some sort of meaning?”

“Some. Not all.” She answers, fingers gliding over the petals. “And it’s not always flowers native to Mexico, just flowers that we have meaning attributions for. Culturally.”

“You are correct.” A voice enters the conversation, Solana watching a woman step out back from behind the stall. Her hair is a deep onyx, thick and wavy, her skin lightly kissed by the sun that also highlights the beauty of her eyes. Fine lines give away that she has some years under her belt, but it’s hard to tell just how many. She switches languages, “You don’t speak Spanish like a tourist.”

Solana realizes she must have overheard her asking the girls about the flowers. “My—my mother was a Native.”

“She taught you well.” Her smile grows, warm and friendly, familiar in a weird sort of way. “What is your name, child?”

“Solana.” She gestures towards Roman who’s still looking just as uninterested as he’s been in any other type of social interaction outside of Solana. “This is my husband, Roman.”

“I figured.” She motions to Roman’s closeness to her, the way he stays almost hovering, protecting and caring but still pretty close. “He’s very protective of you.

Solana nods. She has no idea. “What is your name?”

“Paloma,” she introduces, removing one of her work gloves to shake Solana’s hand. The younger woman is slightly grateful that Paloma doesn’t try to greet Roman in the same manner. She’d surely get her feelings hurt. “What brings you here?

Again, a gesture to Roman with her thumb. “He surprised me for my birthday.”

Paloma makes a sound and smiles wryly. “Ahh, so it’s only others he’s unfriendly with.”

“He….he’s very quiet.” An ironic choice of words considering just who is saying them, but it’s the best word to come to mind to describe Roman without being mean. He is technically quiet, but the fact that it’s because he, in his own words, hates people isn’t necessarily something that needs to be shared. “Do you really grow all of these?”

“I do.” The proud smile on her face makes Solana smile just as warmly. “I own a nursery about twenty minutes out of here. A family business that my mother and her mother and her mother started generations ago.”

“That’s so beautiful.”

“It was….” The use of past tense causes Solana’s smile to dim a bit. She can sense there’s a story there, a story that no doubt holds some level of pain. Paloma shakes her head, gesturing to the flowers. “Were you wanting to buy any?”

“Uhhhh….” The technical answer is no. Solana would have probably stopped to admire the beautiful flowers, maybe tried to identify one or two, but it would not have gone beyond that. It’s the little girl who Solana realizes is behind the stand, poorly sneaking glances at Roman, who called them over. “Yes, I—”

“She brought you over, didn’t she?” 

“Yes.” Solana lowers her voice, asking as gently as she can. “Does she speak?”

“Yes, but she prefers not to. Very shy. Parents fight a lot. I don’t think she really gets a lot of space to talk.” And the frown is back. Solana can definitely understand that. “Do you two have plans tonight?”

“Uhhhh.” Solana turns to Roman, asking, “did you have anything else planned for us this evening?”

“If she’s trying to get us to do something around other people, yes. I’ll find something.”

Solana rolls her eyes, lightly scolding in her soft voice, “Roman, that’s not nice.”

“Solana, I’m pretty sure we had this conversation already. I don’t like people. I hate people. You’re the only one I like.”

Solana decides to win him over later versus now as she turns to Paloma with a friendly expression that contrasts her husband’s scowl. Something tells her he already knows she’s about to sign them up for something that forces him to be around people. 

“We’re free this evening. Why do you ask?”

________

“Tell me again why we’re meeting this random ass old woman for dinner?”

Solana is only seconds away from applying her lip gloss when Roman’s question deters her from her task, creating a new one in its place. Capping it, she walks out the bathroom, leaning against the doorway. “Her name is Paloma, and she’s really sweet, and she invited us.”

Turns out, Paloma owns one of the restaurants in town Solana remembers stumbling across when she was perusing other places to visit while on their trip. It’s just a crazy coincidence that Solana ended up running into her and receiving a personal invite to dine there for dinner this evening. 

And it’s an offer she didn’t want to turn down. 

“Are you sure she didn’t just invite you?”

Curious, she asks the question she’s almost certain she already knows the answer to. “Would you let me go by myself?”

“Hell no.”

“Exactly.” Walking over to Roman, Solana glides her hands up his chest, locking them behind his neck. “It’s just a dinner. We won’t even be there that long. Then…tomorrow, it’s just the two of us.”

“It could be the two of us tonight too….”

His fingers dance across the small of her back as she bites back a smile. “Roman, it’s been the two of us this entire trip already, basically….”

“You know I could never get enough of you…” He gently squeezes the sides of her stomach, sliding into reluctant acquiescence. “But, you know I can’t say no to you either so….”

She smiles and leans up and presses a kiss against his cheek, murmuring, “thank you.” Taking a bit of a mile with the inch she’s been given, she implores, “can you….try to be a little more friendly? For me?”

Roman looks at her like she just asked him to let her go alone. “Solana….”

“Just for tonight.”

“Do they even speak English?” She gives him a look that’s just another form of ‘for me?’ He tilts his head back and scratches his beard. “I’ll try not to maim or kill anybody. That’s the best you’re getting from me, baby.”

“Thank you.” She kisses him again, turning for the bathroom when he pulls her back to face him, and right away, she recognizes that look. “Roman….”

He ignores her, both casually and suggestively complimenting, “I like this dress.” It’s combined with him slowly moving one of the hands on her waist down the length of her dress until he can slip his hand underneath.

“T–thank you…” She swallows, struggling to stay focused. “We’re—we’re gonna be late.”

“Too bad.” He moves his hand between her legs, gradually sliding up her thighs. “Should have thought about that before you put this on.” He kisses her temple, asking in a low voice, “do you want me to stop?” At the same time, his hand pauses on her skin.

The logical answer is yes, but the carnal answer is the complete opposite. And desire seems to overpower logic in this round. “N–no.”

It’s the perfect answer for her husband whose full lips form into a smirk as he removes his hand to guide her towards the bed as he lays her on her back. Solana half expects him to move on top of her, but he instead moves to his knees and tugs her toward the edge of the bed.

The anticipation of what pleasure is to come makes her lick her lips, prematurely moaning his name, “Roman…”

His brown eyes flick up to her, desire and lust dancing away in his irises. 

Yeah, they’re most definitely going to be late.

________

The night goes as expected, Solana enjoying herself, and Roman enjoying that his wife is enjoying herself despite the fact that being surrounded by a bunch of fucking strangers who speak mostly in Spanish has him subtly checking the time on his watch more often than not.

The desire to pick up the language grows exponentially. Roman dislikes being out of the loop in any sort of capacity.

Solana translates for the most part, granted it’s mostly things he doesn’t really care too much about. Paloma asking what he thought about the food, requests to join in the dancing—that’s a hell no—and other pleasantries that violate his religion of Anti-Peopleology. 

Except his wife, of course.

And to be fair, they’re able to share their dinner together without many interruptions, conversation staying between the two of them, which he appreciates. He’d appreciate it more if no one was there to interrupt, but alas, Solana having a smile on her face almost the whole night makes it all worth it.

She seems exceptionally taken with the little random ass girl from the market whose name he doesn’t bother to remember. Something with an A, he’d guess. She also seems just as interested in Solana, which he doesn’t entirely not understand. She’s relatively mute with the exception of a couple of words and sentences.

It reminds him of Solana and how nonverbal she was at the beginning of the marriage. And something tells him the girl also reminds her of herself. Which makes the pull between the two make more sense than maybe he’d like to admit.

But, his inner dialogue is interrupted as the old lady approaches the table where he sits alone as Solana dances with the child, both of them smiling and laughing. 

“You’re not the social one of the two of you, are you?” She asks what he considers both a stupid and ironic question. Typically, Solana isn’t this social either. But this….this place….it seems to bring out a different side of her.

A happier side of her.

Roman only casts the old woman a bored glance. “This is her world. Not mine.”

The woman chuckles, and to Roman’s chagrin, sits down in the chair opposite of him. “Yes, I suppose this is very different from the Bloodline.”

Her statement doesn’t surprise him, doesn’t take him off guard, and that’s because Roman isn’t stupid. He would never allow some practical stranger to invite his wife for dinner at a restaurant she owns without researching her. 

Paloma Aguilar. 70. Widowed. One child who seemingly disappeared without a trace over twenty years ago. Her late husband, Ricardo, was a man who at one point entered the world of the cartel and smuggling, but it was short lived as he passed away from a heart attack at the age of 45. His brother, however, Tomas, is still actively involved, but Paloma couldn’t be farther removed.

From his research, Roman could see she truly prefers to live her life away from the in-laws business, preferring her restaurant and gardening, the polar opposite of the high-paced crime life. 

But, it would be ludicrous for her to not be aware of him and who he is, regardless of her preference to stay separate from that life.

Curious, though he already knows the answer, he asks, “when did you realize who I was?”

She smiles, “soon enough.” The lack of specificity annoys him even more than he already is. “Probably around the time you found out who I am.”

Interested to see how she’ll respond, he asks, “and just who are you?”

Her smile is small and sad. “Just an old woman living out the rest of her days in solitude.” Roman has experienced enough loss to be able to recognize when someone else has also had the misfortune of losing someone. It’s evident in her tone. 

Still, that doesn't diminish his disinterest in this conversation.

She also looks over at his dancing wife, casually commenting, “I suppose it’s true that opposites attract.”

Eager to stir this woman away, Roman responds with all the casualness. “I’m not Solana. You could be 90, and I’d still snap your fucking neck if you presented any kind of threat to my wife.”

It’s uncalled for. He knows this. A misplaced threat against an elderly woman, sure. But, it’ll hopefully be enough to get her to leave him the fuck alone. 

She smiles, partially surprising him. “Oh, I don’t doubt it, young man.” Her grin dims a bit. “I would never judge a man for protecting the woman he loves.”

Roman tenses, effectively managing to keep his reaction to her statement to himself.

Love

What the fuck is that even?

He knows…..familial love. But….romantic love? 

That’s….that’s such an unfamiliar concept. Something not even in his repertoire. 

He can’t deny that he likes Solana. A lot. Cares for her deeply, and recognizes that he needs her in his life. Needs her light in what is otherwise dark and dreary.

But…..

To say that he loves her….that’s too much. That’s too strong.

Too dangerous.

Love is weakness.

And Roman can’t afford to be weak. He won’t. Not for anything or anyone. 

Not even Solana.

But, of course, this old ass woman just has to twist the knife even deeper as she stands up to leave. “You two will make great parents.” Roman is an expert at hiding reactions to what’s being said to him, but this one takes some effort. A lot, if he’s being honest. “Your protectiveness. Her nurturance.”

With that, she finally leaves him be, but not without a million and one thoughts floating through his mind, all of them now revolving around two things he’s never considered for himself.

Love and children.

________

As the night comes to an end, Solana pulls Aurora, the sweet little girl who’s taken a liking to her and a crush on Roman, to the side. 

“I have something for you.”

Aurora’s eyes light up with all the excitement of a child eager to receive an unexpected present.

Solana hands over the beautiful journal she picked up in the market earlier that day. Originally a gift for herself, but now something that she wants to pass on to the little girl who reminds her so much of herself. 

Aurora’s mouth drops open with surprise as she accepts the leather journal. Solana smiles and explains, “When I was a little girl, I didn’t talk a lot either. But, my mom always told me that when I couldn’t speak, I could always write.” She frowns a bit, instructing. “And that’s what I did. I wrote until I found my voice. The same way you can.”

Aurora looks up with teary eyes and surprises Solana by attacking her with a big hug. Solana easily settles in the embrace, holding and hugging the little girl in a way that every child should be comforted.

Aurora pulls back and offers a simple, “thank you!”

Solana blinks back some tears. “You’re very welcome.” Her smile shifts into something teasing but also hopeful, “now I expect to see you when I come back to visit, okay?”

Aurora nods happily as she gives Solana one more hug before running over to an older woman who Solana would guess is her mother.

“She’ll never forget that, you know.” 

Turning to the source of the voice, Solana’s smile grows. “I hope not.”

Paoma chuckles and moves closer, repeating the same words. “I have something for you too.”

She pulls out a cloth jewelry bag and takes Solana’s hand, placing the bag in it. “Open it.”

Confused but curious, Solana does just that and gasps almost immediately at the beautiful gold necklace she recognizes instantly. “A Cruz de Caravaca.”

Paloma looks pleased by Solana’s knowledge and asks a follow up question. “How much do you know about these?”

Swallowing the emotion, she recalls the information taught to her so long ago. “They—they ward off evil and bring protection.” There’s an almost bitter tone that enters her voice. “My mother had one….” It’s the most Solana can bring herself to say, because her mother wore one almost religiously. And it did nothing to protect her from the evil of her father.

Or the knife that viciously tore and sliced through her body, violently ending her life. 

Paloma nods, complementing, “whoever taught you our ways taught you well.” 

Emotion burning the back of the throat, “it was my mom. She—she died when I was young.” Murdered. She was murdered, but acknowledging that feels too much, is too much. Regardless of how her life ended, it all means the same.

That she’s not here anymore.

Paloma’s expression is solemn as she lifts her right arm, turning it inward, revealing her tattoos. Two Hummingbirds. “Many years ago, I lost my daughter. And shortly after, my husband. I—I didn’t really know how to go on after that. She was my only child, and he was the only man I ever loved.” Her smile is emotional. “But then I remember that love never dies, it transcends into another form. They’re not here in the way I want them to be, but they’re still here. And every so often when I’m in my garden, I see Hummingbirds, and I feel better because I know they’re still with me. Watching over me.” 

Solana wipes at her eyes as Paloma places a comforting hand on her arm. “And so is your mother.”

It’s hard to verbalize what she’s feeling in this moment. Paloma’s words provide her with a type of comfort that feels almost motherly, an ironic feeling considering the nature of the conversation.

“Thank you.” It’s such a simple thing that doesn’t feel strong enough for how much Solana appreciates such comforting words of support. 

“You have a good heart. A kind soul. But, be careful child.” She takes Solana’s hands in her own. “My….my daughter was like you. Loving and giving. But too trusting, and it cost her her life. Betrayal and darkness can come from where you least expect it.” 

Paloma’s words confuse her. The warning aspect of it. What…what exactly does that mean?

“Stick with that husband of yours….” Paloma adds, smile gradually returning. “He is protective of you the way my husband used to be with me.” 

That ebbs away some of her confusion regarding the ominous warning, as Solana suddenly asks, almost tentatively. “Could I….could I come back and see you too?”

Paloma chuckles, and Solana almost swears she sees emotion brewing behind the woman’s wise gaze as she pulls her in for a hug.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t, child….”

________

He’s not entirely surprised to find her in the kitchen, but that doesn’t necessarily make her presence in the kitchen any less concerning. Especially when she’s supposed to be on bedrest.

Roman comes up behind her, smiling when she jumps a bit as he hugs her. Years later, some things remain the same. 

Solana turns around, a warm smile on her pretty face. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” Not necessarily. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to find it in him to be sorry for touching his wife.“Hi.”

“Hi.” She giggles as he kisses her. 

Eyes shutting a bit as he relishes in the feeling he’s craved dearly for the past few weeks. “I missed you all.”

“We missed you too,” she murmurs, moving her hands up his chest. “You look tired.”

He’s a bit jet lagged, but it’s nothing he won’t bounce back from in a couple of days. That’s the least of his concern, anyway. Roman moves his hand to her stomach, big and swollen, pressing against his abs. “You should be resting.”

Solana rolls her eyes and calmly counters, “not with how active this one is.” She moves his hand around, probably trying to find a spot where he can feel the movement. “He’s definitely your son.”

He counters, “even more reason to be resting.” 

She shakes her head, changing the subject a bit as she softly shares, “they’ll be happy to see you. I didn’t tell them you were coming home early.”

His eyes light up a bit as he asks, “where are they?”

Solana chuckles. “You already know.”

Roman makes a sound and nods, murmuring with a final kiss to her temple, “I’ll be back.” 

He walks out of the kitchen and into the hall, moving to the back of the house.

Two separate rooms, directly across from one another, each providing a variety of different activities and spaces. Most completely opposite one another. Expected, given their staunchly different personalities.

There’s no active decision regarding which room he walks in first, no specific desire to see or interact with one over the other. He just so happens to venture left vs right. 

And sure enough, as predicted, she sits at the table, so small but perfect for her. She’s focused on the paper in front of her and crayon in her hand. So focused to the point where she misses his entrance, doesn’t overhear his footsteps until he’s only a few feet away from her.

But when she does, big brown eyes landing on him, eyes that are exact replicas of her mothers, the crayon is dropped and the smile is out. She jumps up from the seat and runs over to him, Roman leaning down just in time to catch her hug, an instant ease washing over him, deeper than what’s allotted even with his wife.

This is something different, something deeper, something he still doesn’t quite know or believe he deserves to feel. But nevertheless, it’s present, it’s felt, and it’s wonderful.

When she pulls away, he finds himself pushing back some of her curls, light and fluffy, framing her face that’s the perfect combination of himself and Solana. “I missed you…” Her smile grows as he asks, eyes narrowed a bit. “Were you a good girl for your mom while I was gone?” She nods excitedly and reaches for his hand, Roman standing as she guides him over to the table where she was drawing. Roman crouches back down as she shares her artwork, an in-progress photo of the ocean, most likely scenery she’s memorized from one of their many trips to Isla Mujeres. “Is this what you’re working on?” Again, another nod as she points between the drawing and him. He points to himself. “Is this gonna be for me?”

Instead of the expected no, she answers in her voice, so soft and light. “I’m sorry it wasn’t done in time….”

A small smile grows on his face. She’s very much unlike her sister, of very few words. So much so that Roman insisted he and Solana discuss her quietness with the pediatrician to make sure nothing was wrong. And of course, nothing was. It’s just that she inherited quite literally Solana’s entire disposition. Quiet with a great big heart that seems too pure for this world.

And, unfortunately, a tendency to apologize when unnecessary.

“It’s perfect, sweetheart.” His praise seems to bring back her smile as he kisses her forehead. “Fa'afetai tele.”

She matches his smile, surprising him yet again with more spoken words vs non verbals. “E le afaina.” 

Standing back up, he informs, “I’m gonna go see your sister. Can you go help mom finish cooking dinner?” He knows Solana is almost done, if not already, but Roman also knows that personality and disposition weren’t the only things inherited. So were passions and interests, hence the drawing.

And cooking, judging by the way her eyes light up as she dashes out the room to play assistant.

Roman chuckles and walks out, hitting the switch as he moves across the hall, once again unsurprised by what he finds. She’s going at it with the freestanding punching bag, kicks that are pretty impressive considering her age. Her face is scrunched up in determination, the same face as her sisters yet so different. 

Where one is soft and quiet, the other is loud and bold. One is timid, the other adventurous. One is Solana, but this one….she’s her father’s daughter, through and through. Bold and fearless. 

“Don’t forget to point your toes.”

His deep voice breaks through her concentration as she whips her head to the side, a reaction similar to her twin sister. A huge smile breaks through that impressive focus.

“Daddy!”

Again, he moves to one knee to catch her for a hug, tight and heartwarming. She pulls back almost immediately, asking with all the excitement. “Did you see me?”

“I sure did.” He comments on what’s more than obvious. “you’ve been practicing.”

She nods with just as much excitement. “Aunt Bayley and Aunt Naomi said I’m really good!”

“You are.” He wouldn’t lie to her. She is. But, he also knows it’s because this is her passion. Where her sister finds joy in art and books, she gets that joy from movement, from fighting, her gravitation towards martial arts happening at such a young age. 

“I’m gonna be better than you!” He chuckles. At not even a fraction of his age, she already is. And it has nothing to do with her natural fighting abilities. 

“We’ll see.”

“I am!” She affirms, so determined and focused. “I’m gonna wear the ula fala and be Tribal Chief just like you, daddy!”

Roman does his best to keep that small ounce of concern hidden and tucked away. Young. She’s too young to know just what she’s asking for, the weight that comes with what he does, the truth about what and who he is.

It’s been the decision of both himself and Solana to shield the girls from it. The truth of it all. For now. As long as they can, at least. But the girls aren’t dumb either, they know he holds a high rank, one of the highest, in his family.

And his spitfire of a daughter seems determined to do the exact same.

“Cousin Jamar was saying I can’t cause I’m a girl, but I told him he’s just a stupid boy and I’m way smarter anyway.”

Roman’s eyes narrow slightly as asks the question he already knows the answer to. “And you hit him too, didn’t you?”

Even when he has to be away from home, Solana makes sure to keep him informed of all happenings with the girls, especially this one who’s already gotten in trouble a couple of times at school for her mouth.

And fist.

Her eyes drop as she pouts slightly, murmuring, “he made me mad….” His temper. She definitely has inherited that too. “No one talks about me, you, mommy, sissy or my new baby brother, or I’ll punch them in their face.”

This is the part where Roman struggles, where he tries his best to tap into that part of him that feels so unfamiliar. Because his initial response is that she did nothing wrong, that she’s doing exactly what she’s entitled to.

Protecting her family and standing up for what she believes is right. 

“It’s important to know when to fight, and it’s a lot harder not to sometimes.” That’s the best he can come up with in the moment to not necessarily let her know he doesn’t see much of an issue with her behavior. “I’ll teach you.”

Her eyes light up with excitement. “I get to train with you?” A request she’s had for at least the past two years, Roman pushing it off and allowing Bayley and Naomi to help her because his level of training is far too intense for her young age.

But

That doesn’t mean he can’t modify his approach a bit. 

“Yes!” She jumps up and down, hugging him, another small smile on Roman’s face. Some kids like to play dolls, like his other daughter, but this one….this one lives for a good fight.

And speaking of, the calmer of the two of them coming running into the room, Roman turning just in time as she smiles and tugs on his shirt, motioning for them to follow her.

“Is dinner ready?” Learning to understand her even with the absence of speech has come second nature for all of them. 

She nods, as the other one breaks the hug with Roman, asking her twin with all the excitement and competitiveness. “Wanna race?”

Roman already knows the answer, watching as his more quiet child is suddenly waiting for her sister to count them off. Seconds later, the two of them rush out the room on a trajectory that’ll lead to Solana who will no doubt chastise them for running in the house.

But they come back, giggling together as they stand in the doorway, hitting him with both a question and a demand. 

“Daddy, are you coming?”

“Daddy, wake up!”

Roman shoots up from the bed, hulking shoulders moving up and down in sync with his heavy breathing. Movement to the side of him shows him Solana shifting in her sleep, a peaceful expression on his face.

It’s the exact opposite of how he feels. 

Moving his hand through his silky, wavy locks, Roman takes the blanket off of him and carefully moves out the bed, prioritizing not disturbing his wife. 

He blows out a breath and walks out the double doors that bring him to the patio, his big body settling down on one of the chaise lounges.

It’s only then he asks himself the burning question at the back of his mind.

What the fuck was that?

Roman doesn’t really dream a lot, and when he does, they’re more along the lines or nightmares.

Night terrors when he was younger.

But this……he doesn’t even know what the fuck that was.

Children.

Roman has never really seen himself as a father, never allowed himself to think about it because it’s never really been a desire. He’s always known that he would have to create an heir to carry on his legacy, but that’s a thing of duty. Not desire.

So why the fuck is he dreaming about having not one but several children with Solana?

Solana….

Her oath a few weeks back of giving him an heir returns to the front of his mind. It makes him wonder all of sudden what her view on children is. Does she want children? Without inside knowledge of her trauma, one would think that’s an obvious thing. She would have never married him, never agreed to the arrangement when the sole purpose of the union was to create a child if she didn’t, in fact, want a child. 

But, Roman knows her, knows her trauma. Knows that she was forced into this.

Which makes him incapable of shooting down the possibility that maybe she doesn’t even want children?

And then he thinks about her tonight, thinks about the permanent smile on her face as she interacted with that little girl, the way she interacted with several of the children present who came up to her.

She looked….she looked happy. 

Content.

And of course, the now haunting words of the old woman who Solana also seems to have heavily gravitated towards: 

“You two will make great parents.”

Thinking about and being completely honest with himself, he sees it for Solana. Could….could see her as a mother.

But seeing himself as a father….that’s something he can’t answer. Can’t understand, really. 

The same way he can’t understand why there’s a small part of him that’s upset he woke up.

Upset that the dream didn’t last just a little bit longer. 

Upset that he’s now thinking heavily about what the old lady predicted.

Himself and Solana as parents. 

Fuck.

First the love comment, now this?

Damn that old woman.

________

Something is off with Roman.

Solana has noticed it ever since the night of the dinner at Paloma’s restaurant. She figured it was maybe because Roman really can only withstand so much social interaction. Chalked it up to him needing the night to sleep it off.

But, it was there the next day and the day after that and even as their trip in Isla Mujeres came to an end. 

On the jet ride back home, he’s quiet, working diligently on his work laptop. She tries her best not to think too much of it, because it’s not like he’s ignoring her. He still talks to her, still interacts with her, still touches her, but it’s just….off.

There’s like this….this distance that she can’t understand.

A distance that hurts. 

It’s why she stands in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to not get too into her head over her dress. It’s probably the most risqué thing she’s ever worn, more skin showing than she would prefer to be exposed. But, a small part of her hopes it will catch Roman’s attention.

Hopes it can progress the touches into something more.

Because along with his distant behavior, there’s been a lack of intimacy between them. And that’s especially hard for her to not think too much about. Because, to her, it was going well. She….she enjoys being with him in that way. Being that close to him.

She thought he did too.

Roman suddenly knocks on the bathroom door, asking, “you almost—damn.” Him stopping himself puts a smile on her face. 

Solana chews on her bottom lip, asking, “do–do you like it?” She then motions to her chest that’s heavily exposed. “I know it’s—it’s a lot.”

Roman moves closer to her, eyes raking over her slowly, hand moving to the back of her, under her dress, cupping her ass. “You sure you don’t want to stay in tonight?” A small smile starts to form on her face at his suggestive tone. “The two of us…naked.”

Her stomach flutters with excitement. This is the first time in days that he’s expressed any desire to be with her in that way, and now she’s beyond grateful that she pushed past her insecurity and put on the dress. Because it’s brought out that side of him that she’s been missing.

The side that makes her feel like he wants her.

A hand on his chest, she murmurs, “when we get back.”

Because while she also has a desire to be intimate with him, she’s also excited to see their friends.

Naomi, Bayley, and the twins inviting her (and naturally, Roman) out to a VIP lounge to have a belated birthday celebration since she wasn’t available to do anything with them for her actual birthday. She’s excited to see them, to be around her friends. 

“Are you….” Solana doesn't know where exactly it comes from, the bravery and confidence to ask what she’s about to, but it seems to leave her mouth before she can really think too much about it. “Are you okay?”

His gaze takes a curious tone. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, suddenly nervous about how to word it right. “I don’t know. You’ve just seemed….kinda off the past couple days.” He swallows, and she sees something flash in his eyes, something he shoves away. Something she’s now just as curious about. “Is–”

“I’m fine,” he answers. For some reason, she has a hard time believing that. “Adjusting to being back has just been irritating. I’ve never taken a vacation before, so shit has just been an annoying adjustment.”

Solana nods, believing there could be some truth to that. She doesn’t doubt it’s been an adjustment for him. But, there’s also this nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that there’s something else he’s not telling her.

“O-okay.” Something tells her this conversation will need to be revisited, just not right now. Not when it’s clear he has no desire to express whatever is really bothering him.

Roman dips his head and kisses her cheek. “Let’s get out of here. The sooner we get back, the sooner I can be inside you.” She giggles, gasping as he slaps her ass. 

“Roman!”

________

The lounge is beautiful. Reminiscent of an upscale club, minus the packed bodies and loud music. It’s clearly geared toward upscale clientele, and the second level of the lounge has been rented out, space cleared for their small party.

Something she greatly appreciates. Both for herself and Roman. Her husband already sacrificed so much of his preference to be isolated from others vs surrounded by people on their trip. 

The group separates naturally, Roman and the twins with Solana sitting near Bayley and Naomi, the two women nearly bursting at the seams with a ton of questions/statements.

“How was it?”

“We already know it was nice considering we barely heard from you.”

“Dulce mama was out here living her best life.”

“You got a lil tan too!”

“We want to know everything.”

Solana giggles, shrugging. “It was really nice.”

Bayley scoffs, “just nice? Girl, you gotta give us more than that.”

Solana opens her mouth, pausing a bit. “I mean….we spent a lot of time together.” Her eyes fall over to Roman who’s surprisingly engaging in conversation with Jimmy and Jey. Solo, as well. His presence surprised her. 

She didn’t know he was coming. Not to mention, she didn’t think he’d want to be present for anything that’s not required when it comes to her.

“And?”

Solana knows they’re not intentionally asking about sex, but their questions are unintentionally pointing her to share just that. And for some reason, most likely the trust and bond she’s formed with them, she’s not opposed.

That doesn’t stop the maddening blush from forming on her cheeks as she shares, “we—well, we finally, umm—”

Loud gasps interrupt her, Naomi being the one to ask the infamous question, “Solana, did ya’ll….” Solana chews on her bottom lip, nodding softly.

Bayley and Naomi have to cover their mouths to hold in the screams that would no doubt draw all of the wrong attention.

“Oh my god, that’s amazing! I’m so happy for you!” Bayley exclaims, suddenly asking with all the protectiveness, “he was good to you, right? Didn’t pressure you—”

“No. No. Never.” That’s probably the easiest thing to answer. Solana doesn’t know how to properly express how good Roman was to her. Has been to her. “He was—it was perfect.”

Naomi smirks, playfully nudging Solana’s shoulder. “We told you it was great with the right person.” They couldn’t have been more right. “So….was it just once or—”

Bayley scoffs. “We cannot be asking her all these intimate details!” Only to then casually ask, “so like how big is his dick really?”

Naomi falls out laughing while Solana’s eyes widen at the graphic nature of Bayley’s question. 

“So you can ask about his dick size, but I can’t ask about how many times they’ve done it?”

Bayley protests, sipping some of her Vodka as she counters, “my question is for science.”

“Bullshit!” 

Solana shakes her head, giggling as she coyly answers, “we…it’s been a couple times.”

Naomi smirks. “Okay, girl, I see you. Ya’ll went to Mexico and got freaky.” Solana takes a sip of her bottled water, more than certain her cheeks are a red, hot mess. “Seriously though….I’m happy for you. With what you’ve been through, you deserve to have a happy, healthy, sex life. Every woman does.”

“She’s right.” Bayley agrees, and Solana finds the emotions brewing again. 

Never did she think it was possible, that she could have just that. A healthy sex life. Just how she never imagined she would end up with someone as amazing as Roman. Yet both of those things are exactly what have happened, and she’s never been happier. 

“Wait, does this mean we’re gonna be godmothers soon?” Bayley asks an otherwise normal question that has Solana still in her seat. 

Naomi chimes, “I mean, she’s not allowed to be on birth control, and I know Roman had to have broken his condom only rule since they’re married so….”

Solana has a hard time saying anything, has a hard time not thinking about something that should have been considered the moment that barrier was broken.

Roman and Solana have consummated their marriage.

They’ve had sex. 

Several times.

Unprotected sex.

They are actively having unprotected sex.

Naomi is right in that not once did Roman bring up protection. 

It has her wondering now if he didn’t bring it up because, in his mind, they’re now working on creating an heir?

But, she dispels that theory pretty quickly, remembering how determined he was to help her not feel any pressure regarding them conceiving a child. He’s never seemed too concerned with that part of their marriage deal.

Unless….

Unless it was because they weren’t sexually active, but now that they are….

Suddenly, another conversation with Roman regarding just what the plan is for that is on the agenda.

Along with whatever it is that’s bothering him that he won’t open up about. 

Bayley and Naomi must pick up on her change and mood, switching the conversation to something regarding some mess that kicked off at the Warehouse between Nia and some person named Mia. Solana does her best to follow along when she feels her phone vibrate in her bag. 

Pulling it out, she unlocks her phone and opens up messages, specifically the unopened thread from an unsaved number.

Unknown: Did you really think you would get away with fucking us over?

Unknown: You were warned.

Unknown: What happens next is on you.

The phone drops out of Solana’s hand the minute she’s done reading the text. She can barely breathe, barely process what’s happening as her head snaps up, eyes frantically searching for the one person who’s now been kicked to the front of her mind.

Roman

She spots him, expression unreadable as he sips on a beer, speaking to Solo.

Solana jumps up from the sofa, ignoring Naomi and Bayley asking what’s wrong. She kicks her heels off and makes a beeline straight for him, uncaring about the bodies she has to squeeze between, the few individuals who she actually shoves out of her way. Something at any other time she wouldn’t dare consider doing. But this isn’t any other time, this is life or death.

Literally.

“Roman!”

His eyes snap with hers seconds before she successfully makes her way over to him. Her heart feels like it’s about to beat out of her chest. She can barely breathe, and she’s certain that she’s trembling, but none of that stops her from rushing out, “we have to get out of here!”

His hands move to her face, cupping it, taking note of her frantic state as he asks with all of the protectiveness. “What’s wrong?”

Eyes watering, she opens her mouth. “I—”

That’s as far as it goes, the most and only thing that she’s able to express because before she’s cut off. Roman’s gaze lifts above her and the last thing she sees is the slight widening of his eyes as he shoves her to the side of him with so much force that she slams against the ground, her head bouncing off the carpeted floor.

But, that’s not what catches her attention. Not the shock of him pushing her so harshly, putting his hands on her in a way she would have never thought possible. No, that’s not an issue at all, because the sound that only seems to have registered upon her fall is what has her attention snatched and fixated.

A single sound that she hasn’t heard in years.

A gunshot. 

And then chaos.

There’s shouts, there’s screams, there’s people running around in a mass panic, but a single voice cuts through all of that: clear, loud, furious. “Get her out of here now!”

Roman.

And it’s the sound of his voice that makes Solana snap her head to the side, eager to lay eyes on him in the midst of this chaos.

But, it’s when she does that everything changes, the world stops and time stands still.

“No.” She can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move, can’t function because all she can focus on is the sight of Roman’s men with a perimeter around him, guns lifted and aimed, ready to fire off at a moment's notice. “Roman!” She tries to climb up off the floor, tries to get to him, to see him, to touch him. 

Solana is unable to look away from the sight of him holding onto his shoulder, face grimaced in pain, blood seeping through his long fingers.

But before can get to him, before she can actually touch him, another voice calls out, “cover me!” And she’s suddenly off the floor, body pressed against a stranger, the interaction causing her to try to jerk away. 

Partially because of the contact, mostly because she needs to get to Roman.

“We gotta get you out of here!” Solo’s voice, harsh and determined, makes her realize he’s the strange body that she also now realizes is trying to get her the hell out of dodge. “Now!”

And it’s right then and there that another gunshot rings out, followed by several more.

Solana’s panic nearly triples as she tries to push him away, tears burning her eyes, “no! I’m not leaving him!” Solana beats her fist against Solo as he continues to drag her, Solana begging, “don’t make me leave him!” The tears are spilling over, the last glimpse of Roman showing Jimmy and Jey rushing over in his direction. “Please!” Solana continues to cry out his name, fighting a losing battle against Solo who is successful in ushering her out of the emergency exit located in the back. 

Once outside, he has to keep dragging her down the fire escape staircase, because she doesn’t stop trying to push him away and doesn't stop from trying to get back to Roman. Solana can’t stop replaying the nightmare that has just become a reality. 

She has no idea where Naomi is. Where Bayley is. Only able to see the twins and Roman before she was ripped away from the scene.

Roman….

He pushed her to protect her.

Moved her out the line of fire and took the bullet intended for her.

He’s been shot because of her.

He’s been hurt because of her.

And it’s all her fault.

[codeword-art]

I feel like I was immensely less annoyed at Hans in the beggining of KCD2 than most other people. I understand after the lake incident that Hans is being a massive brat about everything, but in all honesty I would be insufferable as well.

Its easy to forget that those two men just came out of hell. Both nearly died, Hans was a wretched mess watching poor Henry suffer a PTSD induced hallucination caused by possible head trauma. Hans just lost his entire company, men he knew and constantly brings up throughout the game, even when its not nessaccary after a certain point (R.I.P Oats). He really cared about them and took their deaths hard.

He nearly lost Henry, his best friend, and damn near got himself killed protecting him. That entire experience was its own trauma inducing nightmare. Then after all that, when things should be looking up for them, even slightly; Hans gets literal shit poured on his head for no good reason. Beggars or not, that is appalling behavior, and disgusting. Id fucking crash out too.

And then to add insult to injury, everyone is treating Hans and Henry like gutter trash in the village. Yes, its annoying he gets out of carrying the bags by using his position, but that annoys me significantly less than the ballifs son saying Hans and his company deserved to be slaughtered by bandits. Id punch him in the face as well.

At the pillory, I understood that Hans was projecting his insecurities and frustrations onto Henry, and while not appropriate or acceptable, I get it. Hans is Hanush's kid. He never learned how to properly deal with his anger or frustrations, just like his uncle is who prone to outbursts as well. If Henry pushes back against Hans, there is a literal moment where Hans sounds close to crying. I just felt extremely bad for both Henry and Hans, and I tried to go and immediately find Hans after being let loose into the world.

You can see how little meaning Hans' insults meant by the fact he still tries his damndest to do right by Henry, earn money for them, and get them into that wedding. Even stepping in to protect Henry once again at the wedding, when they're both still seemingly mad at each other. Hans' apology afterwards feels genuine, because he didn't mean anything he said to Henry, because it was all meant towards himself. Hence him taking Henry saying "No one is proud of you!" so hard, it even stunned him into silence.

He was over stimulated, traumatized, and fresh off of death, pain, and humiliatio. I cant help but cut him some immense slack there.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

All Hell Breaks Loose | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ? )

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, dean's lowk suicidal, dealing with trauma from a sexual assault please please please take care of yourselves!!!

Word Count: 4442

A/N: I combined episodes pt. 1 and 2! Enjoy!!!

As a result of things going on in my personal life, the start of my season 3 release has been delayed for a month from now. I just want to give myself some extra time to make sure the season is perfect for y'all! i hope you understand. see ya real soon. <3

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

After the Djinn captured you, your relationship with Dean was beginning to heal. You still couldn’t bring yourself to have sex with him despite knowing he would never treat you the way the guard had. Slowly, you became more comfortable with him initiating touch, in contrast to the way you’d previously been tensing under it for the past several weeks. 

You reclined in the backseat humming along to the radio as the Impala rolled to a stop in front of a small diner.

“Hey, don’t forget the extra onions this time, huh?” Dean told his brother while he handed him some money. 

“Dude, we’re the ones who’re gonna have to ride in the car with your extra onions,” Sam sighed, getting out of the car.

Dean grinned and leaned to look at Sam. “Hey, see if they’ve got any pie.”

Sam glared at him and shut the door.

“Bring me some pie!” Dean begged. “I love me some pie,” he murmured to himself.

You giggled at your best friend and closed your eyes, leaning against the back of the seat. Your solace was broken soon after by the car’s radio going static. When you sat up, the café was seemingly empty. 

Without needing to look at Dean, you grabbed your gun from under the seat and ran into the building. Upon entering, you discovered a customer in a booth, dead, lying face down in a puddle of his own blood.

“Sam?” Dean called.

You moved around the counter to find the employees also dead behind it, their throats slit. Dean opened the door behind the counter and looked around outside. “Sam?!”

You noticed something on the door. “Dean, sulfur.”

Dean’s eyes widened in panic, and he raced back out to the car. “Sam? Sammy!”

“Dean, he’s not here—” you lamented.

He cut you off by bellowing, “Sam!”

“Dean, passenger’s seat,” you ordered. 

“Wh—”

“You’re in no condition to drive. Do as I say,” you commanded.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but his shaken nerves wouldn’t let him. Expertly, you quickly got out of the parking lot and back out onto the road. 

“Call Bobby,” you instructed Dean, and he did so.

“Bobby,” Dean said. “It’s got Sam. I don’t— We need help killin’ this son of a bitch, man. And I’m gonna kill ‘im myself. Damn it!” He slammed his hand on the dashboard, and you shot him a concerned glance out of the corner of your eye.

You motioned for Dean to give you the phone. “Hey, it’s (Y/N).”

“Hey, kid. What’s goin’ on?” Bobby asked through the phone.

“I have no clue,” you replied honestly. “We literally just stopped at a diner, the radio went static, and everyone in the place wound up dead. No trace of Sam. Sulfur on the door, though.”

“Damn it,” Bobby muttered. “I’ll meet ya halfway. Where are you?” 

“Uh, somewhere in Iowa,” you replied. 

“Alright. Just drive like you’re headin’ to my place. Take US-20 and I-29 and I’ll call you about two hours from now.”

“Got it,” you replied. “Thanks, Bobby.”

“Dean, you’ve gotta keep your head, man,” you urged him.

“I am,” he grunted.

You shot him a questioning, deadpan look. “Really.” 

He said nothing in response.

“Call Ash for me.” You handed him your phone from your back pocket, so you didn’t have to look while you drove.

“Hey, pretty lady,” Ash said once you’d gotten ahold of him.

You laughed. “Hey, Ash. Listen, would love to catch up, but we’re in deep shit right now.”

“How deep? Like, trash compactor deep or Sarlac pit deep?”

“Sarlac,” you responded.

“Damn,” he muttered. “What’s happenin’?”

***

“This is it. All demonic signs and omens over the past month,” Bobby told you and Dean. You’d met each other just off the highway and laid out a map on the hood of the Impala.

“Are you joking? There’s nothing here,” Dean scoffed.

“Exactly.”

“Well, come on, there’s gotta be something. What about the, the, the normal, low-level stuff? You know, exorcisms, that kind of thing,” Dean pressed.

“Dean, I think that would’ve been the first thing he looked for,” you gently reminded him. Bobby nodded.

“Well, how are we supposed to look for Sam? What, do we just close our eyes and point?” Dean gruffly snarked.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. 

“Ash, what do you got?” you asked, picking up your phone.

“Okay, listen, it’s a big negatory on Sam,” Ash said quietly.

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair.

“I did find something, though,” he whispered.

“Ash? You okay?” you asked.

“I can’t talk over this line, (Y/N).”

“Oh,” you said. “Okay. We’ll come to you, then.”

“What? No!” Dean grabbed the phone from you. “Come on, Ash, I don’t have time for this!” A moment later, Dean pulled your phone away from his ear. Ash had apparently hung up on him. “I guess we’re going to the Roadhouse. Come on.”

***

Bobby drove a little ahead of you and Dean in the Impala. You were still driving due to the fact that you didn’t want Dean’s reckless driving to get the both of you killed before you could help Sam.

When you arrived at the Roadhouse, though, all you found was a pile of charred wood and ash.

“What the hell?” you breathed out. 

You got out of the car and headed toward where the bar had once stood. You stepped over debris looking around for any sign of Ash, Ellen, or Jo. You were pretty sure Jo was still working at that bar Meg had found her at, but you knew that somewhere in the rubble would be the bodies of Ash and Ellen.

“Oh, my god,” Bobby muttered. He stepped up behind you.

“You see Ellen?” Dean asked you and Bobby. 

“No. No Ash, either,” Bobby replied.

You pulled in a sharp breath upon noticing Ash’s watch in a pile of rubble. “Oh, fucking hell,” you breathed out. 

“Oh, Ash, damn it!” Dean grunted.

You couldn’t take standing in the debris anymore. You moved back to the Impala and leaned against it, facing away from where the Roadhouse once stood. 

Bobby walked up behind you a moment later. “This is…” he trailed off.

“What the hell did Ash know? We’ve got no way of knowing where Ellen is. Or if she’s even alive. We’ve got no clue what Ash was gonna tell us. Now, how the hell are we gonna find Sam?” Dean questioned, pacing between you and Bobby. 

“I don’t know, Dean, but we’re gonna, okay?” you said.

Suddenly, Dean clutched his head in pain. 

“Dean?” you asked.

He groaned and doubled over. You rushed to catch him before he collapsed to the ground. Dean suddenly stood back up, still furrowing his brow and clutching his head.

“What was that?” Bobby asked.

“I don’t know. A headache?” Dean guessed.

Bobby scoffed. “You get headaches like that a lot?”

“No. Must be the stress,” he chuckled. “I could have sworn I saw something.”

“What do you mean? Like a vision? Like what Sam gets?” Bobby asked, interest piqued.

“What? No!”

“Dean, what’d you see?” you asked.

Suddenly, he doubled over again. 

“Dean!”

The older Winchester fell against you in pain.

“Dean! Hey!” you said, grabbing the side of his face.

“I saw Sam,” Dean panted, suddenly coming to. “I saw him, (Y/N).”

“It was a vision,” Bobby said.

“Yeah. I don’t know how, but yeah. Whew. That was about as fun as getting kicked in the jewels,” Dean chuckled.

“What else did you see?” you asked.

“Uh,” he thought for a moment, “there was a bell.”

“What kind of bell?” you asked.

“Like a big bell with some kind of engraving on it, I don’t know,” Dean shook his head.

“Wait, engraving?” you questioned. “Was it a tree? Like, an oak tree?”

Dean seemed surprised and confused. “Yeah, exactly.”

“I know where Sam is,” you said. “Cold Oak, South Dakota. It’s the most, like, notoriously demonic town ever. All the inhabitants fled. It’s surrounded by miles of woods.”

“Okay, well, let’s go,” Dean urged, immediately moving to the driver’s side of the Impala.

“Wait, Dean—” you tried.

“No, (Y/N), I’m driving.” Dean left no room for protesting.

You slipped into the driver’s seat wordlessly, shooting a concerned look at Bobby. He returned it, but nodded to reassure you. 

The drive to Cold Oak was completed mostly in silence, clutching the door handle as Dean sped well over the speed limit. 

“Dean,” you tried about two hours into the drive. 

“Hm.”

You reached out for his hand to wordlessly support him. He returned your gesture and squeezed your hand, offering a stiff, tight-lipped smile. You knew he appreciated your support, even though he couldn’t verbally express it.

***

Night had fallen by the time you reached the town of Cold Oak. With guns shouldered, you trudged through miles of woods. Suddenly, you came to the edge of the town. You saw Sam fighting with a man in an army uniform, who he knocked on the ground. 

“Sam!” Dean called as the three of you hurried toward him.

Sam smiled, “Dean!”

Suddenly, you saw the man on the ground behind him get up and grab a knife from the ground next to him. “Sam, look out!” you cried, running toward him.

The man drove the knife through Sam’s back.

“No!” Dean screamed, and your concern for Sam was quickly replaced by anger and hatred toward the man who’d twisted the knife in the younger brother’s back. 

You sprinted after him, running as fast as your legs could possibly carry you. Just before the man reached the tree line, you stopped and raised your shotgun. You barely had time to aim before you needed to take your shot, otherwise he would disappear into the trees and become impossible to find. You fired once, then reloaded, then fired again. Your heart dropped when you realized you missed him.

“Fuck!” you cursed.

“(Y/N)! Get your ass back here!” Bobby called.

You ran back to where Bobby stood over a crying Dean on his knees holding a slumped over Sam. 

“Oh, Jesus, his back’s bleedin’ really bad,” you said. “Dean, hold on, I’ll just go back to the car ‘n—”

“He’s gone, (Y/N),” Bobby said gently. “Sam’s gone.”

“Oh, my god,” you cried. Tears began to stream down your face as you fell to your knees next to the boys. Dean refused to let go of his brother, and you put your head against Sam’s shoulder, crying silently. You hugged Dean with your left arm to try and support him and brushed a hand over Sam’s hair with the other. “Oh, god,” you murmured into the back of Sam’s shoulder. You sniffled and suddenly remembered you needed to be strong for Dean. You rose from the floor and wiped your eyes. “Um, let’s get him into that inn. Gotta be a mattress in there. We can, uh, lay him down till we figure out what to do with him.”

“We’re not doin’ anything with him, (Y/N),” Dean warned firmly. 

“Still, c’mon,” you said, beginning to help Dean get his brother’s body up the stairs of the building. You laid him on a mattress in the corner of a room on the second floor. 

You sat wordlessly on the bed, resting your hand below Sam’s knee, and Dean sat in a chair he’d pulled up to the side of the mattress.

Neither of you said anything for hours until Bobby returned.

“Dean? Brought this back for you and (Y/N),” Bobby said hesitantly, holding up a bucket of fried chicken.

“No, thanks. I'm fine,” Dean replied.

“You should eat something,” you urged, taking the bucket from Bobby. “Thanks, by the—”

Dean cut you off harshly. “I said I’m fine.” He took a swig from the bottle of whiskey in his hand. 

“Dean…” Bobby trailed off. “I hate to bring this up, I really do. But don't you think maybe it's time... we bury Sam?”

“No,” Dean nearly growled.

You tried your best to speak gently. “Dean, I think we should. I get it if you don’t wanna do a hunter’s funeral, but—”

“Hell no, (Y/N). Stop.”

“I want you to come with me,” Bobby said.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Dean replied.

“Dean, please,” you begged.

“Would you cut me some slack?” He stood from his chair.

“I just don't think you should be alone, that's all. I gotta admit, I could use your help,” Bobby explained.

Dean snorted coldly.

“Something big is going down— end-of-the-world big,” Bobby continued.

Dean yelled, turning to Bobby, “Then let it end!”

You shook your head. “You don’t mean that.”

“You don't think so? Huh?” Dean was suddenly in your face.

You held your ground. “Back up, Dean.”

Dean didn’t listen, continuing to chastise you. “You don't think I've given enough? You don't think I've paid enough? I'm done with it. All of it. And if you know what's good for you, you'd turn around, and get the hell out of here.”

Bobby stepped closer to the two of you. “Dean, she’s just trying to—”

Dean suddenly shoved Bobby. “Go!” he roared.

You shoved Dean back before he could do anything else he’d regret. “Hey! When you’re ready to get in control of yourself, you fucking let us know. Let’s go, Bobby.”

You turned on your heel, Dean muttering shocked apologies that grew more distant as you left the inn.

*** You and Bobby sat in silence in his living room, each nursing a beer. 

“It’s a little early for drinking, but hey, it’s five o’clock somewhere,” you’d said when you retrieved a beer from Bobby’s fridge, trying to raise your own spirits.

“Bobby, I know Dean,” you started, staring at the ground. “I’m scared he’s gonna do somethin’ stupid.”

“Don’t worry, kid, I’ll send him straight to hell if he does,” Bobby responded.

You tried to laugh, but even your laugh sounded sad. Silence fell between the two of you for a moment.

“This really isn’t good, Bobby,” you murmured. “Not even just for Dean. Sam’s my best friend. He reminds me of my little brother so much sometimes it’s scary. I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do without him. I don’t even wanna talk to Dean right now after the way he treated both of us—”

Bobby tried to cut you off. “(Y/N), he’s grievin’—”

“I don’t care! You don’t treat people like that,” you replied. “I’m pissed at him. But he’s all I got left aside from you. It’s like everyone I ever care about ends up dead. My parents, my brother, now Sam.”

“Kid, I think that’s every hunter,” Bobby coaxed. “How much family do I got? How much does Dean have? This line of work, nobody gets out without losin’ someone.”

You nodded, staring at the ground thoughtfully still. “It just sucks, man. I want Dean to be happy. I want you to be happy. I wanna be happy. I mean, that Djinn gave me a taste of what my life would be like without hunting, and I still wasn’t satisfied. Maybe I’m just not meant to be happy.”

“It’s all in what you make of it. It’s not fun by any means, but I’d take this life over normal any day.”

You nodded. “Me, too.” *** Later, you were shooting beer cans off the top of a fence to blow off some steam. Nothing was seeming to work, though. You noticed some sandbags Bobby had piled against the side of the garage and hurled your gun at it. Chest heaving, you picked up one of the bags and threw it to the ground. You got down on top of it and punched over and over and over again until your knuckles bled and bruised. Your hands shook as you looked down at them, tears streaming down your face. You let yourself scream out in frustration with everything that had been happening these last few weeks. First, the prison guard. Then, the Djinn, and now, you’d lost your best friend. And you were surely about to lose another one. Whichever direction this was going to send Dean, it wasn’t going to end up being good.

You sat in the yard behind Bobby’s house for hours until stars started to appear in the sky. Numbly, you moved back into Bobby’s house. Bobby was nowhere around, and you settled for sleeping on his surprisingly comfortable couch with a crocheted blanket wrapped around your body. You curled into yourself and eventually settled into a dreamless sleep. 

***

A knock on the door pulled your attention away from your journal. Your socked feet padded across the floor to your shoes, and then to the door. You opened it and nearly gasped in surprise at the sight of Sam standing in front of you with Dean.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Dean said.

You turned in an attempt to wordlessly communicate with the older brother, but he looked away almost immediately. 

“Sam,” you breathed out.

“Hey, (Y/N/N).” Sam wrapped you in a hug, stepping into Bobby’s kitchen. You tried to relax into your friend’s embrace, but you couldn’t at the horrible thought of what Dean may have done to himself to get Sam back.

“Sam,” Bobby suddenly sid from behind you. “It's good to... see you up and around.”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. He looked back down at you when he pulled away from your hug. “Thanks for patching me up.”

“Don’t mention it,” you replied; the words feeling more reflexive to you than having any true weight to them. You tried to resist staring Dean down, but he seemed to be getting the message nonetheless. 

“Well Sam's better. And we're back in it now, so... what do you know?” Dean chuckled.

“Dean,” you spat. “Outside. Now.”

Sam seemed confused, but you marched out the front door with no explanation.

As soon as you made it far enough away from the house that Sam couldn’t see you through the window, you wheeled around to face Dean. “What the fuck did you do?!” you yelled, gripping the edges of his jacket resting against his chest.

“(Y/N)—”

Hot, angry tears streamed down your face. “What did you do, you fucking idiot? You made a deal? Huh?”

“I couldn’t just let him die, (Y/N),” Dean uttered.

“That’s exactly what you were supposed to do! How do you think Sam’s gonna feel when he finds out, huh?! Because I know you didn’t tell him,” you argued. “I cannot believe you!” You turned away from him and ran a hand through your hair. “How long did they give you?”

“(Y/N)—”

“How long, Dean?”

“One year.”

You felt like you’d been punched in the gut. 

“Which is why we gotta find this yellow-eyed son of a bitch. That's why I'm gonna kill him myself. I mean, I got nothing to lose now, right?” the man continued.

You wheeled back around to him, eyes blazing. “Nothing to lose?”

“I'm not even supposed to be here, (Y/N)!” Dean protested. “My dad died for me. At least this way, something good could come out of it, you know? I-I— It's like my life could mean something.”

“What, and it didn’t before?! You seriously think that little of yourself?” you questioned angrily. “Fuck you, Dean!”

“(Y/N), please—”

You cut Dean off. “No! Don’t tell me to understand. Because I can’t. I fucking knew you’d do something like this.”

“Why does it bother you so much?!” Dean roared, stepping closer to you.

“Because I love you, goddammit!” You stumbled back from him when you realized what you’d just admitted. Stunned, you brushed past him to go grab your bag from inside Bobby’s house. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean called after you, but you wouldn’t turn back. You continued to the house, wordlessly grabbed your bag from next to the couch, and headed out to Bobby’s garage.

“(Y/N), where are you—” Bobby started.

You cut him off. “I’ll call you later.”

You grabbed one of the sets of keys off the wall of Bobby’s garage, hoping the car worked, and marched out to it. Thankfully, the sedan started, and you pulled away from the junkyard. 

Angry tears streamed from your eyes as you white-knuckled the steering wheel. You were unbelievably angry with Dean, and the fact that he would be gone in a year was too much for you to bear. 

You drove for hours and ignored calls from both brothers and Bobby. As evening fell, you found a remote crossroad in southern Wyoming. You dug forcefully into the gravel and shoved an Altoid tin filled with everything needed to summon a crossroads demon into the dirt below. You covered it with the displaced gravel and stood back up. 

“Funny seeing you here,” a sultry voice purred from behind you.

You turned to see a beautiful woman in a sleek black dress with glowing red eyes staring you up and down. 

“How do I get Dean out of his deal?” you asked firmly. 

She laughed coldly. “Ooh, cutting straight to the chase.” She sucked in a breath through her teeth and tsked, circling you. “You can’t, hon.”

“And why not?” you hissed.

“That’s way above my paygrade, dollface.”

“Please, c’mon,” you begged. “You could drag me straight to Hell right now if that’s what it takes.”

The demon hummed. “As much as I’d love that, no can do.”

“Why?” Your voice broke as you asked.

“I can’t break a deal to make another,” she replied simply. “Besides, I don’t hold the contract.”

“Well, who does?” you questioned.

“Why would I tell you,” she smirked. “Goodbye, (Y/N).”

“Wait!” Before you could even get the word out, she was gone. 

You knew the brothers would be going after the yellow-eyed demon and the guy who’d killed Sam, so you finally decided to listen to the singular voicemail Sam had left. Maybe the demon was the key to breaking Dean's deal.

“Hey, (Y/N), uh, Dean won’t talk about why you took off,” his voice began. “I’m hopin’ you’re coming back, so, meet us at Fossil Butte Cemetery in Wyoming. We’re thinkin’ that’s where the demon’s gonna be. Anyways, so… see ya later, I guess.” And then the line went dead.

Fury burning in your eyes, you sped to where Sam said your group would be. It was abandoned for miles around, and you had to drive over about a mile and a half of grass to get anywhere close to the cemetery. When you got out of the car, black smoke suddenly began filling the sky coming from the cemetery you were headed toward. With a gun and knife in hand, you ran to the cemetery and stopped dead in your tracks at the sight of the spiraling smoke pouring out of a crypt facing away from you. You noticed Bobby and Ellen hiding behind a tombstone and felt momentarily relief at the fact that Ellen was still alive. However, your relief was short lived when you saw Dean being thrown through the air by an invisible force and down against a tombstone. 

‘The demon,’ you thought, creeping around the right side of the crypt. You saw the demon saying something to Dean while Sam stood pinned against a tree. The demon’s back was to you, and you could hear what he was saying more clearly as you moved toward him.

You couldn’t pay any mind to it, though, and you took the demon’s distraction as an opportunity to jump on its back and wrestle the Colt away from him. The demon yelped in surprise as you grabbed the gun and held on for dear life; throwing yourself over the demon’s shoulder to try and yank it out of his hand. 

You succeeded in getting it away from him much to your surprise, and you pushed yourself up to see the ghost of John Winchester wrestling with a cloud of black smoke shaped like a man. The body the yellow-eyed demon had been possessing had fallen to the ground, dead, and the cloud of smoke pushed John to the ground. 

It rejoined its body and stood, turning its venomous gaze toward you. A smile spread across your face, and you shot the demon square between its eyes. The yellow-eyed demon fell to the ground, dead. 

You rushed over to where you noticed Bobby and Ellen trying to close the gate the demons and ghosts were pouring out of, completely ignoring John and his boys. You helped Ellen shove the door closed with one final push and leaned back against it, panting. You turned around just in time to see John disappear into a haze of white light. 

The brothers stood over the demon’s body, and you turned to Ellen. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you told her. “And I’m sorry about the Roadhouse.”

She nodded and smiled half-heartedly at you. “Jo wasn’t there, so, uh, that’s all that matters, I guess.”

You nodded, unsure of what else to say. 

“Kid,” Bobby started, and you turned to him. “What happened with Dean that made you leave?”

“Bobby—”

“Look, ya don’t have to tell me. But at least say ‘goodbye’ next time,” he softly scolded you. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t,” you replied.

He paused for a moment. “Are you gonna leave again?”

You stared at the ground. “I’m not gonna watch Dean die.”

He nodded. “Will you call every once in a while?”

You grinned sadly. “Of course.” You wrapped Bobby in a hug, and Sam and Dean walked up behind you. 

“Good shootin’ back there, sweetheart.”

Your heart almost broke at the nickname, but you steeled yourself and turned to face the brothers. “Thanks,” you told Dean shortly. “I’ll see you around, guys.”

“Whoa, where you goin’?” Sam questioned.

You gave him a hug and cupped his cheek. “I’ll call you when I figure it out.” You lightly patted his cheek and turned away without saying another word to Dean. You could practically feel his eyes staring you down as you walked out of the cemetery and back to your car.

*** The Colt cast a heavy air over your— well, Bobby’s— sedan as it peeked out of your duffel bag. Even though it had no bullets left, its mere presence was putting a target on your back that you were well aware of.

You knew that simply killing the yellow-eyed demon wasn’t going to be enough to break Dean’s contract. You weren’t sure how, but come hell or high water, you would figure it out. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[xoxo-ren-xoxo]

Hermitcraft / Life Series Fic Recs

Because I love so many of them...

I'll split the fics into completed and updating fics, and try to only recommend currently updating fics (i.e., not abandoned). I'm going to write a little about why I like each fic and what the general vibes are - so this is also a kind of review I guess?

I've tried to @ the authors if they have a public tumblr. Sorry to anyone who didn't want to be tagged, I can remove any @ if you ask (or if I have embarrassingly tagged the wrong person). Anyway, enjoy, and I appreciate reblogs because I want as many people to see these fics as possible!!

This ended up being incredibly long so I'm putting a divider here. Click to keep reading!!! Also, fair warning: shipping ahead! Some fics will have mild sexual content, please read the tags if you are unsure <3

Updating Fics

I have already recommended Help Me To Breathe, lost in the dark (he's got a heavy heart), and There Are Monsters Nearby in this post, so I won't explain why I like them a second time, but definitely check them out!!

Death's A Good Gig by @mawofthemagnetar is probably going to be finished by the time this post gets to you, reader, but I'm putting it here anyway. It's short and sweet, one of my favourite representations of Zedaph (or, Zedeath) I've read, and just a joy to experience. If you like grim reapers and discussions of unions, this one is for you. Also I need more Zedaph in my life.

Look, I'm Sorry, Please Stop Scaring Everyone by @cat-in-the-desert reminds me a lot of a particular TV drama I liked when I was younger, which followed a similar premise. This fic follows Mumbo (vampire) and Grian (ghost) as they get up to various housemate shenanigans and meet their local magic-expert and salesman Scar. This fic is fun, but still includes a nice amount of Feelings and hinted-at Angst which I really love. It's lighthearted, but never boring.

It Hurts To Hope by Inquillitory is my favourite of the "Grian crash lands into Hermitcraft and causes problems for everyone" genre. Seeing how many fics there are with that premise, I think that says a lot. It handles Grian's weird Watcher stuff really well. Honestly, I just want to know what happens next!

killing the boy in the tv by @raspberrystruck is like a sickfic on steroids. If you want Grian with so much past trauma he forgets how to function in society, this is basically the fic for you. I really love how hybrid traits affect the characters' interactions in this fic, and how everyone is kind of messed up because of the imbalance Grian brings. It is wonderfully descriptive in all the right places!

Love Me Like I'm Dead by @daniofcrows is such a gem. You know how hard it is to find good Xisuma whump? It's impossible. I absolutely love how Xisuma and Evil X are characterised in this, and I am obsessed with the unique take on hanahaki disease which I have never seen handled in this way before. The balance between flashbacks and present day is maintained wonderfully and I cannot wait to continue reading this one. Wow.

Oh, you wanted me to do a verse? by @bugbbear is... kind of indescribable. It's horror. It's comedy. It's the apocalypse. It's boatem. Scar eats someone. One of the most interesting and unique apocalypse stories I have read. Slowly updating but worth the wait, in my opinion. This one NEEDS more attention.

So Much For Stardust by @a-plethora-of-peters is basically one of my all-time favourites. Which is a damn good achievement seeing as I don't usually read ZITS fics. Like, ever. In this fic, Skizz is a human abducted and hurt badly by aliens, now recovering in the care of good aliens who don't know how 'sentient' he is. Every update of this one makes me smile, it is wonderful. I love how the characters are written and how the different perspectives are shown. It is just great.

Solar Waltz by @raspberrystruck and aroundtheclock is a brilliant and very very sad regression fic. I love fluffy regression fics as much as the next guy, but this one just... hits different. The hurt/comfort levels are off the charts. Grian is so damn cute the whole time, while also being harrowingly complicated and sad. I am so ready for whatever comes next.

Tango's Castle of Cards by @evilrat-sabre is the one where Tango is a BUG. He's just a little guy (horror). This one is so beautifully written, with poetry-type interludes and perspective changes that really make everything feel so much more impactful. Finding out your buddy is a murder bug isn't the easiest thing in the world. I love this so much.

Traveling Thieves {Dark Fantasy AU} (series) by @amethystfairy1 is basically one of the series of all time. I know I keep saying that but it really really is. I love a good fantasy au, and I love an au with hybrids even more. In this world, hybrids are treated like slaves, but it isn't all doom and gloom for the main characters of each installment. There is a lot of hurt/comfort and the different stories feed into each other in really interesting ways. I try to read as much as I can, though I've missed a few because my emails are buggy. Definitely worth reading these fics, especially since now they're all starting to come together!

Completed Fics

Solving Counting Sheep by @theminecraftbee might have rearranged my brain chemistry a little. Another strong contender for 'fics that inspire me to kill Grian', this time with a more concrete notion of "replacement". Three is my favourite fucked up living weapon. It's so rare to find Evo fics in this day and age, too. This fic had me immediately clicking on every update as soon as I got the emails.

Rescue Fire by @imaginethat0327 is one of the most unique takes on a fictionalised life series game that I have ever read. The whole concept is explained in a realistic and easy-to-follow way, as we learn what's happening with the characters. There are several brilliant storylines happening in this one, but my particular favourites are Jimmy & Tango, Joel, and of course Scar & Grian. This fic is full of whump and, well, read the tags, it isn't always pleasant, but those are my favourite things ever. Definitely worth checking out this fic and its currently updating sequel.

don't you know about me? by takenbadgering is a wonderful comedy of errors with just the right amount of angst for a realistic setting type of fic. If you enjoy polyamory miscommunications, rave aesthetics, kandi, school teacher dynamics, and a lovely blend between grumbo, cubscar, and mumscar, this is the one.

Eventually the Birds Must Land by @milo-hypno follows a polyam ship I would have never thought of, and I cannot believe how much I loved it. This married-as-friends fic premise is wonderful, and captures the main trio (Grian, Mumbo, Impulse)'s personalities so well, while balancing them with the incredibly terrifying descriptions of the Watchers and their power. There's a lot of angst here, but it is ultimately hurt/comfort to the maximum degree. I loved reading it as it updated. Yay for gay marriage!

From The Archives (series) by @sixteenth-days was the absolute inspiration for my own Comms AU, and I will never forget its influence on me. As someone basically unfamiliar with TMA, I thought this series might be hard to follow, but it was not! I read all 57 parts in the span of two days, and I think it altered my brain chemistry. Please read it, even if (especially if) you don't know anything about TMA. The Cleo and Grian storyline lives in my head rent free. I mean it. This is horror at its finest. Also there's an audio series of this fic being released rn, which is very cool.

SUPERCRITICAL by @masque-of-plague hits different. It is such a wonderful take on the superhero/HotGuy trope, and it gets so super dark at some points! This one really takes swings at it's fictional government, which of course I love, while at the same time building this brilliantly emotional relationship between Scar and Grian. I do enjoy a bit of enemies to lovers, but the actual plot mixed into the story makes this one extra special. It is thrilling, with action that I don't get to see too often! Great work.

I am weary with contending! is one of the mumscarian fics of all time. From 'this house has people in it'-type horror, to magic gone wrong, to childhood trauma, to attempted assassination, to gender fuckery, this fic has it all. Usually I don't go for convex siblings, but this one is good enough to get a pass from me. Amazingly detailed worldbuilding alongside a brilliantly creative story.

It Spreads by @foxxology may not count as a fic, actually. It's a comic. But it's posted on ao3 so it counts. I was obsessed with this one as it was updating, honestly. It rocked me to my core. The art is phenomenal. The writing is brilliant. I love sculk.

Luck of the sea by Sleepy_Duck is a lovely take on mermaid and human interactions, with Grian as a marine life conservator and Scar as a very neglected mer. This one takes us emotionally in all sorts of directions, and offers lots of hope for the future of the characters. I heavily enjoyed this fic - if you like mermaids and marine biology, check it out.

there are many downsides to being a marine biologist by donnerstag is another mermaid fic but with a pretty different vibe. First of all, it follows what I would consider a rarepair Doc/Martyn. Second of all, reading this as it updated was a thrilling experience that nearly made me cry at certain points. I love how the relationship builds in this fic. It is honestly amazing. The whole idea of experimenting on a sentient sea creature, learning that he can communicate, then losing funding and having to save him from being dissected?!?! It's crazy. I love it.

Thus concludes my fic recommendations. I hope you enjoy at least some of these, and consider reblogging to spread these wonderful fics around <3

[confused-wanderer]

thoughts about Bruce nearly adopting the prince of hell itself- Nico di Angelo? bcause there is no register of Nico having a family, he's an orphan for the mortals. And Bruce is always into adopting orphans with a dark past (cmon Nico has a really dark n complicated past)

I love the way you think.

Nico di Angelo already has the brooding, dark and concerningly pale part of being Gotham’s cryptic down. It isn’t his fault that when he accidentally shadow travels while in the underworld and ends up in Gotham, every villain and goddamn person in Gotham has already pegged him as the latest addition to the bat family. It had taken Nico way longer than he’d like to admit to realize he wasn’t in the underworld anymore. In Nico’s defence, when you had dark streets filled with a heaviness in the air, accompanied by darkness and screams everywhere it’s hard to realize you’ve actually ended up on Earth.

The first time Bruce bumps into him is when he sees this kid take down forty assassins in one fell swoop. The kid fights with a sword, but Bruce notes that he relies more on his powers. When the fight is over, Bruce feels the weight of Nico’s gaze on him. He feels the souls of the damned judging him, but the only thing he can focus on is that this kid is scrawny. Concerningly pale, and eye bags so deep they gave Tim a run for his money. And all the pieces clicked: why all the people were suddenly chastising him for not feeding his kid enough, why the villains were crying foul play over him playing favourites when it came to allowing metas in his city, Bruce keeps his eyes peeled, tries to track down the kid because forget seeing him as a threat to Gotham, this kid was a threat to himself with the way he was operating. The next time he meets Nico, he comes prepared with weeks of research that led him to the perfect peace offering: A McDonalds Happy Meal.

Nico’s fight or flight instincts were failing him when Bruce approached, because he had no idea what to do when an intimidating creature appears out of the shadows, walks towards him and basically shoves a meal in his face and asks him where his parents are. But slowly he starts trailing Bruce, asks the ghosts about him and pieces together that he was a mortal famous for brooding and hiding in the shadows..Nico had competition for his title.

Bruce lends him a room in the manor one night after Nico almost passes out, and is slightly scared of how aggressive the man’s kind gestures are. From the way Alfred gives him the side eye when he thinks he’s successful in skipping meals, or the superhuman strength with which Bruce absentmindedly judo-flipped a monster into another dimension when it tried to attack Nico while he was half-asleep. One day after a long nap, Nico hears a lot of animated noises, peeks around the corner and that’s how he sees the rest of the batfam. The next few days even though he tries to avoid him they all somehow find him, curious to see the latest arrival. Jason is informing him of his rights when he becomes a legal ward and all the blackmail and guilt-tripping he is entitled to, while Dick and Barbara try and make him feel comfortable and welcome without preying too much. Something about them keeps nagging Nico, because they seemed so damn familiar he found himself wanting to believe he was safe with them. It’s only after the two have a debate and share an exasperated look that it clicks. Their antics remind him of Percy and Annabeth.

It takes a little getting used to though. The first time Nico and Tim met, everyone else swore they were seeing double. Two anemic kids with more trauma than blood in their body, complete with the eye bags and the pale complexion. The only thing Nico was missing, was a missing spleen. The batfam still mixed up their names from time to time, but Nico wouldn’t admit that he liked it, and sometimes would add fuel to the fire. He liked being the only one who could scare Bruce every single time by beating the man at his own games and appearing out of the shadows. Bruce does still occasionally ask about his parents- half out of curiosity and the other concern and at one point Nico knows enough about their world to know they won’t bat an eye at the truth, so he tells them. His reaction was certainly tame, but the bat kids went crazy when they realised they could have a dance-off with the skeletons.

When Nico finally feels well enough to shadow travel back, that’s when Bruce pops the question. He’s nervous, Nico can tell and that makes him nervous. The same way his dad would feel nervous asking him if he wanted to hang out, or have a movie night. It’s strange, Nico thinks to himself, how two powerful beings that can intimidate the world without saying a word, could turn so scared when facing their own children. Their conversation goes a little something like this:

Bruce: listen.. I know you have a dad. I know you’re not an orphan.. technically. But it’ll be a lot easier and we’ll have less obstacles in our civilian identities for me to help you however or whenever you want. I want you to know.. you have a home here. If you ever need to rest, shelter or help, I want you to know you always have a place to crash. The manor is your home, and I just want you to know that. If you say this name in this universe and ask for me, no matter where you are, I will find you. And I will come to help. And I’m not the only one who will if you have that name.

Nico *struggling to blink back tears*: I-

Bruce *panicking*: Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry it’s completely fine if you don’t want to. Sorry I wasn’t trying to guilt trip you chum I just wanted you to know I-we all care about you and that you’re not alone.

Nico *sniffling*: Thank you..

Skeleton hand *popping out of the ground, hopping over to Bruce and extending out a letter*

Letter: YES.

Bruce: .. what the-

Nico *turning red*: DAD!!

Letter: Love you :) -Dad.

Nico: it’s fine you don’t have to do what he says Br-

Bruce *slams down adoption papers*

[thiolliers-consort]

IDV x GN! reader who experiences minor hallucinations

Characters: Andrew Kreiss, Richard Sterling Ithaqua

Warnings: toxic relationship (Richard), mentally unwell characters, manipulative behavior (Richard), mentions of breaking down (Ithaqua), no beta reader

Written specifically for people with BPD but it’s vague enough for anyone with hallucinations caused by something else

Andrew Kreiss

🪦 He gets its, he really does

🪦 Whenever his mother passed he wouldn’t stop hearing her voice everywhere he went.

🪦 He saw her face in everyone to the point where a triple check wasn’t enough

🪦 When you see something out of the corner of your eye or you hear a voice that wasn’t truly there, he’s quick to reassure you

🪦 Andrew isn’t the best at comforting and might start praying if you’re feeling upset over your hallucinations

🪦 Whether that makes it better or worse for you is up to you and you can decide how to deal with it

🪦 If you’re uncomfortable with his praying or attempted comfort, he will visibly stop, but he can’t help himself from praying when you’re not around. He just wants you safe

🪦 He’ll try to relate to you

🪦 He wants you to know that you’re not alone and that he faces similar challenges

🪦 If you’re experiencing specific types of hallucinations based on trauma you experienced in the past, he’ll try his hardest to be there for you and to listen to your experiences

🪦 He tries not to pry, but he’s not an extremely patient person. He tries though

Richard Sterling

⚔️ “Oh hell yeah” - Richard probably

⚔️ He starts thinking of how he can use hallucinations to his advantage

⚔️ Of course he will help you and he will be kind and loving, but only so he can build you up before breaking you down

⚔️ As soon as you start hallucinating, he will do small things to make you feel worse or make the hallucinating stronger so that he seems like a greater hero when he helps you

⚔️ While your relationship develops, he starts developing some empathy for you and decides to truly help but for the wrong reasons

⚔️ He finds it disturbing once everything reaches a certain point. Were it anyone else, he’d find it humorous, but you are his lover and he can’t help but feel a little upset after your episodes

⚔️ Of course he doesn’t completely stop, but he tries to tone his manipulation down so that he can stop feeling so damn bad about himself

Ithaqua

🌪️ he doesn’t really care

🌪️ Not in a “I don’t care deal with it yourself” kind of way, but in a “I don’t care I still love you and it doesn’t change anything” kind of way

🌪️ He has his own problems that he prefers to deal with himself and expects the same out of you

🌪️ If you express your want for his support, then he’ll try, but don’t expect him to be very comfortable

🌪️ He wants you to be happy, but he’s been so mentally removed from everything that he finds it difficult to put any more effort into you than he puts into himself

🌪️ He’ll reassure you, but forget about any type of physical contact

🌪️ He’s had his fair share of hallucinations after his mother passed, but he never had someone to lean on so he assumes that it’ll be the same for you

🌪️ The only way he would realistically put more effort in is if he decides to work on himself or if he sees you breakdown.

🌪️ If you breakdown in front of him one of two things will happen. He will either leave out of fear that he’ll make things worse for you, or he’ll take it as a sign to step up

🌪️ It will be small at first, but he really is trying

[ariichive]

crossed wires

k. kenma ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹🍒

fluff | misunderstandings (nothing serious) | reader has a rbf | mutual pining | cursing | fem. reader

this is a cute idea i had; i thought kenma would be a good fit for this ;p

"kenma, how do you not see what everyone else does?"

kuroo's teasing voice rung through Kenya's mind. it was like an alarm going off on an early school day. please, just be quiet. kenma stared at the giant 'GAME OVER' on his console; his irritation with his best friend seemingly growing.

"clearly, you're not seeing correctly. you sure your hair isn't cutting off any brain cells?" kenma mumbled as he pettily shut off his console. his eyebrow twitching when he heard the familiar snicker from the tall captain next to him.

"dude.. that's like.. not possible."

kenma did not have the energy to respond.

the two friends continued on their walk home after a long practice. kuroo, the whole walk there, had been nonstop bickering about the 'not so obvious but totally obvious' admirer he had: (name). admirer was not the term he would use. if anything, it was more like a butcherer stranded on a meat farm with nothing but a meat saw and an empty stomach. maybe even like one of the villains from his game; the ones with a deep rooted trauma causing an untamable hatred for the player. well, in kenma's case he was the poor player and you were the villain.

it all started in the beginning of the new school year. new faces in a new classroom. usually, kenma never really paid attention to his classmates. sure, he gave them a typical rundown and would decide to judge them based on first impressions for the rest of their lives. then boom, he would eventually forget their names come the second week of school. they didn't talk to him, he didn't talk to them.

that was hard to do when you, a classmate who sat diagonally behind him, would constantly feel stares at the back of his head. one time, he seen the reflection of your murderous gaze in his gaming console and he damn near flinched.

did he accidentally do something to you in the past? he tried to put a name to the girl with (eye color) eyes and (lip color) lips, but nothing was ringing a bell in his head.

because of this, he started to pay more attention to you.

when lunch would roll around, you would become joyful with friends, a rather pretty smile on your face. this was when he heard one of them say your name in a fit of laughter. (name). he repeated a few times in his head. kenma thought it was a nice change of scenery; his heart even skipped a little. and then when you felt eyes on you, turning and making eye contact with the quiet boy in your class, your face dropped.

it looked like a mix of both fear and absolute horror before morphing into a stone faced, angry expression.

yeah, you definitely hated him.

at first, he kept these interactions a secret from kuroo; truly not wanting to become a victim to the already relentless teasing.

until the one day you so happened to take the same train as them. today just had to be different.

kenma was set on ignoring you. he was locked into his video game: a PVP fighting game with unlockable characters and an online ranking system. kuroo usually would have ignored kenma's gaming; it was second nature to him after all. but of course, today was different.

"care to tell me why you're playing an online game with no internet?" kuroo pointed out as he stared at the constant loading circle making zero progress on kenma's screen.

kenma snapped out of whatever trance he was in and looked up at his friend with wide eyes. "...no." kuroo hummed in response, taking a quick look around the train. that is when he seen a sight that he never thought he'd witness. a girl staring at kenma with practical hearts in her eyes.

"kenma.. that girl is totally checking you out."

kenma's face contorted into one of disgust and confusion as he looked in the direction kuroo was only to make eye contact with you.

"kuroo, if that's how girls look at you i think you're never going to get married." kenma quickly shook his head and avoided looking back at you with everything in his body. "what? i know what i'm talking about. listen to me, i'm older and wiser." kuroo smirked arrogantly.

"she is the definition of if looks could kill."

"so you think she's pretty?"

kenma paused, his brain not really processing kuroo's words.

"that's not what i..."

pretty?

he hesitantly glanced at you again. with a closer look, he noticed how you fiddled with your hair when you looked at him. the way brows were furrowed, and the way your leg bounced.

it kinda looked like.. you were nervous?

"...meant?"

by the time he realized how long he was looking at you, his stop was already here, leading to his current predicament of kuroo's constant teasing and shitty advice.

"he.. HE DEFINITELY LIKES ME!"

you screamed into your pillow with a heated face. after rolling around for a few minutes to calm yourself down, you laid on your bed facing your ceiling.

you first noticed kenma during a rather boring lesson. the teacher's voice was draining all your energy, and it was getting harder to keep your eyes open. your eyes found focus on the boy in front of you, who had bleached hair and questionable posture.

he was playing a video game hidden in a book on his desk. you glanced up at the teacher one more time, making sure he was distracted. you watched as the boy played effortlessly through levels of a game you didn't know the name of.

before you knew it.. the school day ended.

it became a ritual for you, staring at his game after lazily taking notes. it came to the point where it felt like you were playing the game yourself. every time he would die and have to restart, you felt the anger and frustration for him.

a character would die? you'd silently weep for the fallen character since it seemed like he didn't give a fuck. and if he did, he wasn't one to show it casually on his face.

the most he ever showed (that you noticed, anyway) were subtle stretches of his legs, a twitch in his finger, and a knuckle pop.

or when he won after a tedious battle a sigh of relief, his shoulders dropping.

so maybe your facial expressions were a bit.. emotional compared to his and definitely not as subtle.

it didn't help that whenever the boy, who's name you learned was kenma, would look at you, your body immediately froze and you tried to get your face as normal looking as possible; not realizing what might've seemed normal to you was terrifying to kenma.

he wouldn't hold eye contact for so long before going back to whatever he was doing, much to your pleasure.

the train ride today was a change in your relationship with kenma.

why didn't he look away like normal?

it was a change yes, but not a bad one.

with delusional friends encouraging the idea, you've come to the conclusion that kenma kozume has a crush on you.

sure, maybe you were exaggerating. but any high school girl would, it's part of growing up! you justified this in your head.

and maybe you weren't too far off from the truth. his sneak glances during the school day allowed him to see the happy expression on your face when he reached an ending of the game. the look of anticipation when he was going through his game library; trying to find a new game to play after beating the last.

one he liked most, though, was the look of shock when he angled his console perfectly out of view from the teacher, but in a position for you to see more clearly.

pls reblog and like if u enjoyed it!

kinda proof read kinda didn't lol sorry 4 any errors

[katethetank]

40 Year Old Virgin

Chapter 1 - Still I Carry this Feeling

Rating: 18+ minors gtfo Plot: In 1986, the world was saved by a ragtag group of misfits. After the dust settled and the town healed, the unsung heroes of Hawkins started trickling out and chasing their dreams. Before he knew it, Eddie was the last one left. A high school dropout, gay virgin, littered with scars and trauma, with no means to get out and nowhere to go. He resigns himself to a life of solitude and his right hand. Twenty years later - nothing has changed. Until Hawkins' prodigal son returns. Recently divorced, openly queer, and bringing back all the feelings that Eddie had for him when the world was ending. He survived hell. Can he survive reuniting with Steve Harrington? Chapter Summary: The twenty year anniversary of saving the world came and went, and Eddie commemorated it alone. It brought back a lot of old memories, and when he least expects it, one of those memories finds its way back into town. CW: Grief, death of a family member, depression, past trauma, panic, Eddie is going through it. Mentions of masturbation, attempts at anonymous hookups Pairing: Virgin!Eddie x Divorced!Steve Word Count: 2k (Chapter title from “Leather and Lace” by Stevie Nicks)

Masterlist>>Chapter 2

It’s been twenty years since the world almost ended. 

Twenty years since Eddie was pulled out of hell, barely breathing and losing far too much blood. Since a ragtag group of kids defeated an evil the world never knew was coming for them. Since the cracks in the ground started to heal as well as the cracks in their bodies.

And time marched on.

The first to leave Hawkins was his band. Their families fled when the Earth split open and Eddie doesn’t blame them one bit.

Argyle went back to California.

Nancy and Jonathan moved to Boston.

Robin got accepted to a college in Chicago and Steve went with her.

The Party graduated in ‘89 and they all went off to different schools.

Joyce and Hopper, with an empty nest and no reason to stay, found a nice quiet piece of land in Michigan in ‘90.

Wayne was diagnosed with lung cancer that same year and was gone by ‘91. 

And Eddie found himself alone in a town that never wanted him there in the first place.

He thought about leaving every damn day. But where would he even go? Everyone he ever felt a connection to was scattered across the country. It also didn’t help that he had no money to get out.

He tried saving. He gave up dealing and got a job as a mechanic. He was glad they hired him despite not having a high school diploma, and the stigma of being a murderous satanic cult leader still hanging over his head. But this town doesn’t forget easily and every time he had a little bit of cash saved up, the windows on his van would get smashed, or graffiti would be spray painted on the sides, or his tires would be slashed. He sunk more money into that thing than he cares to admit.

It took years, but eventually the vandalism slowed down. By then, he was on his own and any money he had went towards keeping the lights on in the trailer and food in his fridge. 

As time passed, he heard less and less from his friends who saved the world. They all settled into their adult lives and got too busy to check in with their old pal Eddie. He gets it though. Their lives moved on, and his is standing still.

He hoped to hear from them, any of them, when the 20 year anniversary rolled around. But his phone never rang. His door remained unknocked. The only thing that marked the occasion were the flowers he left at Chrissy’s grave.

Eddie never felt more alone than he did that day.

He should be used to it. Growing up queer - in a small town - in Indiana - in the 80’s - programmed him to hide. Eddie was terrified to let anyone see who he really was. He hid behind his leather and denim armor, made himself loud and bold and weird so nobody would see the scared gay kid hiding underneath. 

So nobody would really know him.

That obviously left him zero options of finding any semblance of a partner. Not that he could find that in Hawkins anyway. When he was 24, his loneliness had hit an all time high. With nobody around to ask any questions, he took off for Indy to find the club he had heard rumors of. Eventually he found it, and for the first time he felt like he didn’t need to hide.

He ended up in a bathroom stall with a guy he just met, lips locked and hands roaming. The guy - he didn’t even get his name - started to put his hand under Eddie’s shirt and he panicked. The ground in Hawkins healed well, but his skin didn’t. He’s littered with gnarled scar tissue, missing a fucking nipple, and has no reasonable excuse to explain any of it.

He bolted. Just shoved his way out of the stall, ran out of the club, and sped back home. 

Eddie was always good at running.

The experience left him shaken for a while and he worked up the nerve to try again when he was 27. Same club. Same bathroom stall. Same panic. Only this time, it wasn’t just his scars that kept him from going any further than kissing. The guy he had pressed against the wall kept saying all kinds of shit to him, trying to talk dirty and get him all riled up. Fuck me up, daddy. Bet you’re so good at sucking cock. Bet you can fuck me better than anyone else in this place.

It was too much. He couldn’t do it. So once again, he ran.

He never went back. Never put himself out there. Resigned himself to a life of solitude and his right hand.

These last twenty years passed by in a blink and he has nothing to show for it.

Forty years old. Alone. And a virgin.

At least gay porn is easier to access now.

And if he’s got a folder on his computer filled with athletic looking men with floppy brown hair, that’s nobody’s business but his own. 

Everyone always used to say that Hawkins was cursed. Eddie thinks maybe it’s just haunted. Haunted with the ghosts of memories of hazel eyes and a blinding smile. Of the last hug he gave Eddie before leaving Hawkins for good. The see you around, Munson he was left with still echoes loudly in his head.

Twenty years and the ghost of Steve Harrington still haunts him.

It’s been years since he last talked to him. Most of them, really. Last he heard, Steve and Robin moved out to Portland. Apparently even into their 30’s they were still attached at the hip. He finally settled down with some nice girl. Emily, he thinks her name is. He used to get updates from Henderson, but the few times a year they talk now, he mostly just hears about the four kids him and Suzie have spawned. Little geniuses apparently. 

He imagines Steve has built a nice little life for himself. Maybe even got the 6 nuggets he once dreamed of when the world was splitting open. It makes his chest tight thinking about it. Of course he wants all of his old friends to be happy. It just sucks that he didn’t get any chance at happiness for himself.

So, Eddie lives a quiet life. He’s still in the trailer that the Feds set up for him and Wayne. It’s on a small piece of land off the beaten path, free of any other Hawkins citizens. The only visitors he has anymore are the stray cats that lounge on his deck and beg for scraps.

He works on cars all day. And spends his nights either perched on a stool at the Hideout with a cheap beer, or hidden away in his little tin box. He’s got his hobbies. He still plays guitar. Started writing short stories when he didn’t have anyone to write campaigns for. Taught himself how to build a deck so he can relax under the stars at night. Spends probably too much time in front of his computer screen with a box of tissues and bottle of lotion. 

He draws a lot too. Designed all of his tattoos. Indiana finally legalized it in ‘97, so he didn’t have to drive out of state or suffer through shitty stick-and-pokes anymore. It took a lot of time, and any extra money he had, to get his scars covered. He couldn’t stand looking at them anymore. His skin still looks fucked up, places where the scars are more raised, and others where the flesh is just straight up missing. But now he can at least look in the mirror with his shirt off and not hate his own reflection. 

It might be stupid, considering he doesn’t even talk to them anymore, but he got little tributes etched into his skin for all the people who kept him alive, and kept this whole town from sinking into hell. His left side is littered with them. A robin. A sawed off shotgun. A camera. A purple palm tree. Christmas lights wrapped around a police badge. Four walkie talkies. A skateboard. A pony with apples on her flank. And a waffle.

The spaces between them are filled with vines. Not black and oozing, but green and vibrant. He has flowers scattered throughout as well. None of them have five petals. Or endless rows of teeth. 

Tucked in a cluster of daisies right over his left peck, in a semblance of X marking the spot, is a guitar crossed with a nail bat.

It’s sappy. It’s stupid. And it’s a constant reminder of the man who breathed life back into his lungs. The only person Eddie ever held a torch for. He knew better than to fall for pretty straight boys, but he was young and stupid. And who in their right might wouldn’t fall in love with Steve Harrington?

He’s been haunting Eddie’s thoughts since the anniversary. Summer is in full swing now, and still the ghost of his memory lingers. He’s elbow deep in an engine when he hears Peter Cetera’s “Glory of Love” come on the radio in the garage. He smiles at the memory of summer of ‘86. When everyone was mostly healed and settling into their new normal. Steve hosted a pool party and annoyed the shit out of everyone as he used a spatula from the grill as a microphone and very badly tried serenading everyone. Eddie pretended to hate that song as he sat in the shade, keeping his shirt on. But it’s burned itself into his brain as the Steve Harrington Anthem. 

He should have taken it as a sign.

Moments later he hears a car pull up and a door close. His coworker Daryl goes out to greet the customer and his heart seizes in his chest. He’d know that voice anywhere.

“Hey, I was hoping you could help me? I literally just rolled into town and got a flat tire a couple blocks away.”

Daryl chuckles. “How’s that for bad luck?”

“No kidding. I should probably take that as a sign or something. Anyway, would you be able to fix me up?”

“Yeah, sure thing. Lemme grab the paperwork and we’ll get you on your way.” Daryl steps back into the garage and Eddie is fucking praying he can keep hiding behind the hood of this sedan.

“Hey Ed, we got a flat that needs changin’, looks like a ‘98 Chevy 1500. You wanna take care of that while I get it rung up?”

Fuck.

He pinches his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m on it.”

Eddie pulls his rag out of the back pocket of his coveralls and attempts to wipe the grease from his hands as he heads to the back to grab a tire. He slings it over one arm, grabs a lug wrench, and resists the urge to bash himself over the head with it as he makes his way to the front of the building. 

He grabs the handle of the floor jack and drags it behind him as he tries to mentally prepare himself for seeing his ghost in the flesh.

Nothing could ever prepare him.

Leaning against a baby blue pickup truck, is Steve Fucking Harrington. 

Time has treated him well. He’s a little broader than he was twenty years ago. That slight change that happens when a young man becomes an actual man. His hair still radiates perfection. Cut shorter than it was in the 80’s, but no less beautiful. Sunglasses are perched on his perfectly straight nose. His skin still has that golden tint to it, and his square jaw is dusted with stubble. 

Of course he still looks perfect.

He looks up at the sound of the jack rolling on the pavement and Eddie’s lungs stop working.

Steve whips the shades off and stares at Eddie like he’s the ghost. Maybe he is.

“Eddie?!”

Masterlist>>Chapter 2

*********************************************

Taglist is open!

@mrsjellymunson @the-unforgivenn @watermelonmite

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I really hate when people reduce Something New to “sans went insane and started killing everyone!!!” the only one who uses that type of language is sans/killer himself. Like, he calls himself crazy and insane, aka the mentally ill man known for demonizing himself and encouraging people to treat him badly because he doesn’t trust himself and doesn’t believe anyone else should either.

Every other person in his canon that isn’t also trying to take advantage of his mental state, aka color—dream—swap—all of them are very against the idea that Killer is someone irredeemable or “insane.” Color fiercely refuses to kill Killer even when he asks him to.

Rahafwabas herself has never said Killer was “insane,” and in fact said he isn’t when someone directly asked—he just struggles to tell what is and isn’t real now due to the constant Resetting and induced dissociative state he was put into. Not to mention the heavy fucking gaslighting and manipulation of his entire reality via the damn Reset button.

And frankly I find it very stupid to pretend that what Killer was put through—psychological torture, conditioning, coercion, literally having his code and soul altered, his identity stolen and rebuilt in a way that suits external forces and their desires—would make him a nonviolent uwu baby and claim it’s ableist when a mentally ill character who’s entire trauma is built around the idea of coerced and forced actions—forced perpetration—handles and responds to their trauma in not very fun or cute ways, because what they went through and did was not very fun or cute, or exactly in the context of how they were made to be and exactly how their environment demands they do to survive physically, mentally, and emotionally.

The whole “two personalities”/“split personalities” thing can be argued, but i think people are forgetting that rahafwabas didn’t fucking know English. She never claimed Killer had DID or was a system or any of that—she tried to convey what was happening in a language she was still learning. I find it stupid to blame her for misunderstandings.

[green-alm0nd]

[Crosshair x gn!reader]: Leave a light on.

----

----

Summary:

After Crosshair joined the squad again, he's made peace with everyone; except you. And you're willing to change that.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR TBB S3, Crosshair being snarky and sarcastic, Tantiss, torture, mostly angst, but some fluff too, kissing, swearing, trauma, mentions of Order 66, mixed feelings, established relationship. Not proofread.

Enjoy!

----

When Crosshair rejoined his squad, he never really showed anyone nor told anyone about his hand tremors from time to time.

You noticed a few weeks later, and so did the squad. You had gotten a very quick, curt explanation while the rest got a more detailed version (because Omega forced Crosshair to do so) even though they didn't really know if it a was mental or physical matter.

He had explained to everyone what they did to him on Tantiss, except for you. He had simply told you that his hand shook involuntarily from time to time.

He didn't add anything else, that was the only piece of information he had given you.

And you felt a bit frustrated about that, especially because you were his significant other. Although the relationship was...distant, it was still that: a relationship.

You were picking up some crates to bring from the port to Upper Pabu, and decided to organise your thoughts on the way back to the port. You figured that it was probably for the best if you spoke with Crosshair.

So, you did. After leaving the crates where Shep said to leave them, you slowly walked towards the snarky sniper, but realised that he was talking to Omega and AZI.

"If you were to elaborate more on the experimentation you were subjected to, I could determine the cause-"

Crosshair let out an exasperated sigh.

"Forget it." He said, before storming off.

...

You managed to find him looking at the seashore, leaning on the railing. He was probably deep in thought, by the way the frown on his face deepened.

"Cross." You called, from afar.

To this, Crosshair turned around and looked at your feet, unable to stare at your eyes.

"You and I have to talk. Now." You stated, crossing your arms.

"Why?" He asked, finally staring at you after a while. He had already had enough with AZI and Omega, and he didn't want to face you now.

You raised an eyebrow. "We both know why. Come on." You said, motioning for him to follow you.

...

You arrived at your shared cottage, and you sat down on your bed while Crosshair leaned against the wall.

"Hunter told me about your hand." You commented, trying to start the conversation.

"Of course he has." He grumbled in response, annoyed. He crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.

"Can you blame him? You haven't told me a thing ever since you came back." You answered.

Crosshair scoffed in response, his gaze piercing your souls as he finally looked at you. "There's nothing to talk about."

"There certainly is."

Clicking his tongue, the sniper waited for you to elaborate, though he was the one who was supposed to elaborate.

"I didn't hear from you for months after Order 66. You're transported into this unknown place, and then you suddenly come back and you don't want to have a conversation with me about anything?"

"I don't want to talk about it." He replied, gritting his teeth. His hand started trembling, and he cursed quietly before clenching his fists and looking at you.

"Then why have you told your brothers and not me?" You asked, desperate.

"Because you blame yourself for everything!" Crosshair finally yelled.

Your eyes widened, staring at him with a confused expression on your face.

"If I told you what they did to me in Tantiss you would blame yourself for everything. I know because I know you. And I know that if I told you that I was submitted to unforgettable torture measures you'd blame yourself, and I didn't want that. I told my brothers because they know it was my mistake. But for some damn reason, you always feel guilty for a choice I made!" He spat, breathing heavily.

With AZI telling him about talking about what he went through, and you wanting to know, his head started to hurt. So, he figured it was best if he tried to get some air before things escalated further, which was something he did not wish for at the moment.

...

You were left at your shared apartment, your mouth running dry. Was the fact that you didn't blame him for anything the reason why he never told you?

If anything, he was right. You did blame yourself. If things had gone according to plan, Crosshair would've been free from all the torture and everything else.

In the meantime, the sniper wondered if he had gone too far. He sighed, staring into the ocean, as the sun began to hide. One of his hands rested on the stone railing, while the other hung loosely.

He heard footsteps from behind, but didn't bother to look at the person, already knowing it was you. He felt something intertwine with his hand, and flinched at the touch.

"What." He said. It didn't even sound like a question, but a statement.

You stared at him, determined.

"I want you to tell me about Tantiss. I need to know." You answered. "I don't care if you think I feel guilty, I can't wait for another day."

Crosshair gulped, his snarky personality slowly disappearing.

"Fine." He grumbled, rolling his eyes.

...

"...That's...why Hemlock is dangerous."

You stared at Crosshair, with a sad expression. Your hands reached for his.

Crosshair was never a man fond of physical affection, he was always more into acts of service. In this intimate moment, however, he let your hands rest in his, though his body screamed for him to get away.

"Thank you, for telling me. I'm sorry for insisting so much." You told him, with a small smile.

He nodded, and decided to exit his comfort zone, and awkwardly placed an arm around you, pulling you closer to him.

You chuckled softly.

"Hey, you don't have to do this if you're uncomfortable with it." You commented, smiling at the sniper.

He grunted in response, slowly bringing his lips to your hair.

You closed your eyes, smiling at the sun, who finally said goodbye for the day. Your lips found Crosshair's, quietly thanking him for telling you his story. He had definitely gone through a lot, and you appreciated his honesty.

"You're surprisingly clingy today." You chimed.

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Is it because you missed me and my charming self, Cross?" You teased, smirking.

"You're being an idiot." Crosshair responded.

"It's called confidence."

"It's called being an idiot." Crosshair, though annoyed, still enjoyed your bickering.

----

I have a French official exam tomorrow and I am shaking in fear :')

Reblogs and shares are very appropriated! Requests are still open :p