#i like imagining what his family would have looked like

[emacrow]

The Justice League hasn't heard from John in four months. It was Zatanna who got concerned first when his phone was disconnected.

Batman found out that he died saving an important little girl named ellie from a group of drug trafficker using her as a battery. How paled zatanna was said about the girl and John's deceased body disappeared in a green portal afterward, telling him what level of apocalypse could have accurate if she had died.

Zatanna Investigating the house of mysteries was the next plan of action, considering only Zatanna and Deadman knew that house was claimed by John with an amount of cursed items, books, and every other apocalypse related items.

Zatanna was only going to place seals upon and inside the house, so nobody would attempt to enter ever, except the house wouldn't let her open the front door.

Her blood felt ice cold as she kept trying to pull the door open, but no budge.

That was where she brought the Justice league in, thinking only someone sinister and patience enough placed a claim on the house after John died because if they did.

This was a code blood moon to them. This could be the universe ending on the other side if whoever had control in the house has every cursed item, weapons, and apocalypse making ritual books imaginable that John had collected over the years.

Before J'onn could slip intangible through the house, the door opened to reveal.... Ellie?

The girl who disappeared, wearing a red beanie and a bright smile.

"Oh good, John said you all would probably come here like headless chickens. Come in!" Ellie said, leaving the door open as she floated back inside.

The Justice League and zatanna look dumbfounded before J'onn, the brave soul went in first, saying that he felt no threat.

The house of mysteries seems to have a new type of decoration done, though still very creepy. Safety baby locks, anti plug in, and a bunch of ghost related toddler toys lay around.

A very massive in height man wearing a gravity defying cloak full of stars, hair whiter then snow with constellations braids with the stars themselves sat in the couch that was obviously too much for his massive form.

A squealing little toddler wearing a soft orange jumper with purple hair giggling loudly every time he smack his tiny hands hard onto a board with a bunch of green blob in 9 holes popping out randomly like some ghost theme whack a mole.

Zatanna glanced, looking down at the little boy and then back at the familiar massive tower entity smiling softly, his stardust freckles luminous glowing green with the frozen frost crown with nebula emblems inside floating innocently on his head as her eyes widen a bit.

"Zatanna, who is this guy?" Superman said, concerned in the back. The Justice League didn't know where to go defensive mode or stand down as there was a child present.

She bowed on her knees immediately on the ground, her eyes teary up with a sense of relief.

"I greet thy infinite Realm, Danny Phan-"

"Zatanna, I told you four times in a role. It's not worth repeating my whole titles. You can call me Danny, and no, i didn't win John's soul... I merely adopted him." Danny waves his hands lightly, miniature dwarf star float around lightly before reabsorbed back in his palm.

"It took me 5 years of planning with clockwork and ellie after John helped my realms from the GIW and their plan to make my people into non-living, and living batteries, even though the Justice League had help along with disbanding them. He grew onto me and my family, and seeing what would've become his cheese grated soul after he died was a big no-no in my book." Danny said softly, Ellie popping behind from his mass of white hair.

"I helped, even though now I'm a bit younger than I am now after that whole pretend to get captured by amateur traffickers, but I'd owed constantine for that prank idea for Dan."

The Justice League awkwardly sat on the opposite couch that suddenly appeared, zatanna sitting on the floor a few feet away from John, still playing on a ghost themed whack a mole board.

"Why is John acting like this?" Zatanna asked softly, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe her moisten eyes.

"Well, with the combination added years of his much overdue life, by cheating, swindling and dealing with the Supernatural, Gods, faes, and demons alongside the amount of pushed down trauma and PTSD John accumulated in his barely to be call a soul piece after dying in a perfect way for ectoplasm to fixed all of that to made him into a halfa." Danny continues to explain softly.

"His halfa core couldn't handle the weight of it all his soul pieces put together again, especially with his main soul piece being the size of broken miniature ball even after the others entities figured out I claimed and relinquished their contracts because they know I outrank them all, but John's core couldn't handle being put together all at once like that, especially how long he was with barely much of his soul left in the end once he died."

"In a simple way, all His memories, skills and everything in each soul pieces that was taken in between like a giant block of cheese being forced into a tiny mash sieve that was his current mind and body state right now, what Frostbite explain to me." Danny explained simpler with conjuring a solid glob of ectoplasm in his left hand, being pushed in a mold of mini sieve, barely any being pushed out except a couple of glowing liquid dripping.

"John is still the same John, only at where he was his safest mind state before all those deals, trauma, and everything that resulted into what he was, then that slowly returns with time. Only he is free now." Danny finished softly smiling, watching John ripe out a oooing blob ghost from the board with a gleeful squeal, smacking it on the board with delight, his tiny legs kicking in excitement.

Part 1 here <-

[anakinstwinklebunny]

☆.・゜𝐀 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍, 𝐀 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃, 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 ☆.・゜

PAIRING: sweetheart!anakin x f!reader

FLUFF ❦

ANAKIN SKYWALKER doesn’t even hesitate. The moment he sees how exhausted you are, how your body trembles from the exhaustion of bringing not only one human being, but two, into the world, he’s already making decisions imaginable. The doctors left the room minutes ago, giving too much space for your too-excited families that buzzed like bees around, when you—his love, his everything—was barely able to keep your eyes open.

"Out." His voice firm, leaving no room for any stupid, possible to happen argument.

At first, everyone thinks he’s joking. Even our mom chuckled, but then she was met with the sign of the clench of his jaw and the sharp, protective glint in those blue eyes of his.

"Anakin—" your sister, you think, began

"I said out." He was already moving towards your bed, one hand braced on the railing as he looked down at you, only you. "She needs rest. She needs peace. We’re not doing this right now. Come later when you're needed"

His mother was the first to leave the room, after murmuring how proud she is of us but the others only huffed, some had hands on their hips, clearly not understanding the psychical and emotional tool it takes to push an entire human beings out of your own body..by your own strength.. So one by one, people shuffled out and as soon as the door clicks shut, the tension in your shoulders melts away.

"Thank you," you whispered, voice hoarse, to which he softened immediately.

"Always, sweetheart."

He crouched beside your bed, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. Large hand that once held yours as you were trying to give birth, now brushed against your damp forehead, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear. In his eyes, you looked so small in the hospital bed, just so fragile in a way that broke him apart.

"Do you need anything? Water? Ice? A damn castle to recover in?" His voice teasing, but his eyes stayed serious.

"Just you," you murmured, too exhausted to even fight off the overwhelming love you feel for him.

Breath caught in his throat, and before he could say anything, you shifted, wincing slightly at the sharp pain shooting through your body. He noticed in an instant. "Hey, angel—slow. Let me help."

The nurse had said you should try to take a few steps soon, but your legs felt nothing but like jelly right now. The second you try to sit up, Anakin’s already got you. Strong arm winded around your waist, steadily holding you up as if you weighed nothing at all.

"You’re okay," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Lean on me, baby. I’ve got you."

Each step is slow, so careful, yet so weird and even painful while he watched you like a hawk, guiding you towards the bathroom. The moment you sat down, though, you panic.

The blood. There’s so much of it. You knew this would happen, the doctors warned you, but seeing it—feeling it pour out of you—made your heart race, head spin

"Ani—"

"I know, sweetheart." He’s already kneeling in front of you, hands bracing on your thighs, rubbing soothing circles into your sore as heck and too stretched skin. His voice is so soft, so tender. "I read about this, baby. It’s normal, I promise. You’re okay. I’ve got you. If anything bad happens, doctors are one call away, yeah? So don't worry anymore, just let me at least take care of you now"

Tears stung your eyes at that. Gosh, how did you got so lucky to have such man? What did you do to deserve him? With that, he just kissed you—your knee, your wrist, anywhere he could reach at the moment. "You are so fucking strong," he murmured, voice in awe.

And then, without a second thought, he reached for the postpartum diaper, handling it like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

"Step in for me, angel."

"Ani, I—"

"Shh. It's alright, no worries, remember? All you gotta do is let me take care of you" he repeated

And you do. Because you trust him. Because you love him. Because his hands—so steady, so gentle—make you feel safe. Feel actually loved, cherished in a way none ever did.

He made sure the pad is in place, pulling it up carefully before pressing another kiss to your forehead. "Perfect."

By the time he tucked you back into bed, you’re already half-asleep. His arms wrapped so tenderly, so gently around you, holding you against his chest.

"You’re incredible, sweetheart." His lips brushed against your hair. "I love you so much. So, so much."

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @babybell-cheese @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17-deactivated2025 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden

[megalony]

Safe Haven

This is a new Evan Buckley imagine based loosely on a real situation.

I hope you will all like this rather long imagine, I am hoping to do a follow up if anyone would be interested. Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog @bear8585

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Summary: Evan and (Y/n) have always fostered kids, it's something that comes natural to them. But when they take on a rather defensive kid with anger issues, a few problems arise for them and their kids.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Okay, right this way mister."

A smile graced Evan's lips as he closed the front door behind him and motioned his hand out ahead so the ten year old walking in front of him would keep going.

The young boy nodded and aimed for the kitchen where Evan was pointing to, but he kept glancing back to look over his shoulder, desperate to ensure that Evan was indeed following him and coming along too.

Evan briefly paused to set down the backpack in his hand beside the stairs before he jogged to catch up with Adam. And the smile on his face only widened when he walked into the kitchen and looked around at his family.

He wasn't sure what he expected. Probably to find the kids bickering over a movie in the front room or upstairs in their rooms entertaining themselves. Seeing all three kids in the kitchen with (Y/n), various cake trays and tins lining the countertops and bowls of batter and flour littering the kitchen was a heart warming sight Evan hadn't been expecting.

"Kyle, are yours done now-" (Y/n) paused midway between the oven and the table when she glanced to the right and saw two figures stood in the doorway. Her lips curved into a grin and she looked down at the young boy who was now clinging to Evan's hand. "Hi, you must be Adam."

The young boy nodded before he looked up behind him towards Evan for either validation or protection, they couldn't be sure.

Evan gave his hand a squeeze and walked into the kitchen so they weren't stood in the doorway. "That's (Y/n), there's Kyle, Jason and that's Libby."

He pointed out everyone in the kitchen, noticing that Kyle had a baking tray in his hands with cupcake cases filled to the brim with both chocolate and plain vanilla filling. The eldest gave a wide smile before he moved towards the oven to put the cakes in.

Jason waved with a hand full of cake batter before he dove down for a handful of chocolate chips to add to each of his cupcakes. And Libby was almost asleep in her highchair and didn't pay any attention to Adam, but she did start to whine and stretch her arms out when she realised Evan was home.

"Do you want to make some cupcakes with us?" (Y/n) gently waved her hand out towards Adam and ushered him towards the table. She nudged the chair beside Jason so Adam could sit with them.

He didn't need to stand on ceremony or stay in the corner like he didn't belong. They were making a mess and trying to do a few desserts, Adam was more than welcome to join in with them.

Adam was another foster kid.

They had gotten a phone call this morning asking if they could take in Adam just for tonight until his family could sort out and collect him tomorrow so he could stay with them. They had a few temporary placements with them, but usually kids like that stayed with them a couple of nights, a week or more. This was just an emergency placement, Adam had relatives who were willing to look after him now that he wasn't staying with his parents anymore.

Evan had gone to pick him up on the way home from work and Adam seemed to have attached himself to Evan in that short time during car ride home.

Once Adam was seated at the table and a smile graced his lips as he started to find a bowl and make a mixture, Evan moved around. He gave Kyle a quick hug, then leaned down to hug Jason and press a kiss to the six year old's head.

His eyes creased at the corners and a cheeky grin spread across Evan's lips when he reached down to the highchair to pick up Libby. The two year old was clearly ready to go down for a nap, her eyes were barely able to stay open and she looked tired and sluggish. But she wriggled around until Evan scooped her up and let her deadlock her arms around his neck.

"Hi baby." His lips attached to her cheek as she mumbled a quiet 'daddy' around the pacifier in her mouth.

Her cheek laid on Evan's shoulder and she snuggled up into his chest and Evan just knew she would be asleep within minutes.

"I guess I'd better put her down for a nap." Evan grinned, leaning his cheek on top of Libby's head while he weaved around the table to reach (Y/n). His free arm looped around her waist and he reeled her into his side, kissing her temple while she leaned into him.

(Y/n) took a moment to close her eyes and lean into Evan, soaking in the warmth of his tight embrace and she draped her arms around his torso to bind herself to him for a bit longer. The morning had been a bit hectic and they had all been busy, but it had been fun. Although it was nice to take a moment and breathe and be with Evan now that he was home, even if this moment wouldn't last forever.

"You okay?" When he felt (Y/n) nod against his chest, Evan pecked the top of her head again before she unravelled from him when Jason tried to pull on her arm to get her to help him.

He leaned forward and rested his hand on Adam's shoulder, noticing that he looked rather calm like he was already settling in well. "I'm gonna go put Libby in bed, then when you've made some cakes, we can show you where you're sleeping tonight. Sound good?"

"Yeah." Adam nodded, but his eyes were already focusing on (Y/n) when she stood next to Jason and began to help him pour the mix into the bowls.

Adam was going to be just fine, Evan could see that.

He bounced Libby on his hip, nudging her higher against his chest as he turned around and headed out the kitchen towards the stairs. Somehow it almost felt strange to have Adam staying with them just for one night. It had been quite some time since they'd had a kid with them for such a short period of time, but it was something they were always open to.

(Y/n) and Evan had always agreed on the fact that they wanted to foster kids, neither of them had had the best upbringing and Evan had a turbulous relationship with his own parents. They wanted to make things better, to help look out for other kids and look after them.

They began fostering before they had kids of their own and now they had kids, they were used to having up to six kids in the house at once when others came to stay with them from time to time. They always had a spare room set up for cases like this. They liked to think of their home as a safe haven; the kind they would have wanted to go to during their own childhoods.

As Evan headed up stairs with Libby already asleep in his arms, he couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his lips when he walked past Kyle's room.

He was their longest foster kid.

Kyle was thirteen and he had been staying with them for little over a year now and (Y/n) and Evan thought of him as their eldest. He came to them with no where else to go and no family who could take him in and that told (Y/n) and Evan that he would be with them for a while. But he had instantly settled with them and felt like one of their own and he was happy.

He had stability and love with them and he loved his new school and friends here so it was agreed that he would simply stay with them from now on.

"Hey, Buck?"

Evan broke out of his thoughts just as he opened Libby's bedroom door. He turned on his heels and looked behind him to see Kyle stood at the top of the stairs. There was a bit of flour smudged into his cheek and he was wiping his hands against his trousers which implied he had hastily washed his hands to rush up here and talk to Evan.

"Yeah bud?" When Kyle glanced down to his feet and Evan noticed a bashful look in his eyes, he grinned softly. Kyle wanted to talk about something, without the others listening. "Just let me put her in bed."

When Kyle nodded, Evan headed into Libby's room. It didn't take him long to settle her own in her crib considering she was already fast asleep in his arms. He kissed her temple, pulled the curtains closed and then headed out into the hallway.

He could see Kyle's bedroom door was open so Evan took the hint and headed into his room, spotting the eldest perched on his bed with his legs crossed and his hands knotted together. A sign that he was feeling a bit anxious. But he didn't object when Evan sat down next to him and gently nudged him with his elbow.

"Everything okay?"

"Why is Adam only staying for one night?"

Kyle had heard (Y/n) telling Adam that they would make tonight fun for him before he was picked up sometime tomorrow. It seemed strange that this boy would only be staying with them for one night. Since Kyle had been staying with them, they'd had three or four foster kids with them ranging from one to three weeks at a time.

"It's uh, it's called an emergency placement. He has family who will come and pick him up in the morning to stay with them, but he doesn't have a safe place to stay tonight. So he's with us."

When they started out fostering, Evan was never sure if he would like the idea of caring for kids on such a short term basis. And before they has Jason, it had been hard to say goodbye and then have an empty home. But it got easier and easier over time and now it was just a part of their lives, a new routine they had gotten used to.

Evan narrowed his eyes at the sudden look that flooded Kyle's face. There was a mix between panic and uncertainty that Evan didn't like to see and he watched Kyle huff and try to take a deep breath before he responded.

"I don't have to leave at some point, do I?"

Kyle had been here for over a year now, and he thought that this was his home. He didn't want to find out that he might have to pack his things and leave at some point too. He didn't want to go anywhere. He felt like he had been living in a dream so far.

(Y/n) and Evan had been his first foster placement since he left his mum and he felt like he had slotted right into a puzzle like he belonged here all along. He didn't want to have to go into a new home with a new family or go into a group home with other kids and no proper family or stability.

Something soft melted in Evan's eyes and a smile pulled at his lips as he leaned closer and looped his arm across Kyle's shoulders to reel him into his side.

"No, no you don't have to go anywhere buddy, I promise. You're staying with us, we want you here."

"Good, cause I- I don't wanna have to leave." He couldn't bring himself to look up at Evan, but he laid his head on Evan's shoulder and inched even closer. "You and (Y/n) are- are like my parents now, and I don't want anyone to take me away."

He would fight if anyone tried to take him away from here. This was his family, his home, he had even been allowed to decorate this room and bring his books and games and make this his own space. They wouldn't let him do that if they didn't want him to stay or if they thought this wasn't going to be permanent.

And Evan wouldn't just let the agency try and take Kyle. He and (Y/n) would put up a fight even if the agency said they had found relatives who were willing to take Kyle in. He was effectively one of their kids now, and he wasn't going anywhere.

"Buddy with Adam, he's a kid who has somewhere to go, just not right away. We take kids like him in knowing that in a day or a week, he will go to his forever home. You're different. We took you in knowing you didn't have anywhere else to go, we knew you'd be with us as long as you needed or wanted. And if you want to stay, then you stay. No one makes you leave or takes you anywhere else if you're happy here with us."

"Really?"

Kyle had no relatives who could or would take him in. His mum wasn't fit to care for him anymore and it didn't look likely that she ever would be, and he didn't know his dad. He was going to be in the foster system until he aged out at eighteen. (Y/n) and Evan knew that when they took him in and they knew there was a big possibility that if Kyle settled, this would be his home unless he didn't settle and the agency had to find somewhere more suitable.

But the agency were happy that Kyle had settled and as far as they were concerned, he was here and he was staying here. They wouldn't uproot him now when all their checks showed he was happy and thriving.

"This is your home. And hey, if you wanted us to, we can think about adoption." Evan leaned down and kissed the top of Kyle's head, speaking the words quietly into his hair.

He and (Y/n) had already talked about adoption. Since that first night that Kyle came to stay with them, he had been like one of their own. He fit in with them, he gelled and adapted and they loved him. If Kyle wanted to be a Buckley permanently and stay even after he was eighteen, they would happily adopt him.

When he didn't gain a response, Evan worried for a moment that he might have said the wrong thing. Kyle's arms around his torso proved him wrong. He could feel Kyle burrowing his face into Evan's chest like he was trying to submerge himself into his ribcage and he clutched at Evan's back so tightly he knew there would be bruises there later, but he didn't care.

He could feel Kyle's tears soaking into his shirt and it made him hold onto him even tighter.

"Does- does that mean I can change my name?"

"If you want to, yeah. And you'll be the eldest out of four, that's pretty cool too."

A laugh emitted from Kyle's lips and he nodded without tearing himself one inch away from Evan. If they did this, then he would be Kyle Buckley, he wouldn't have a different name to Jason and Libby or the new baby when they arrived.

He would have three younger siblings. He was going to be here when (Y/n) had her baby. Kyle had moved in with them just before Libby turned one, he hadn't been there when she was born or for those first couple of months. But that was changing now, he was going to be here when (Y/n) had her baby and he could tell his friends at school that he had a baby brother or sister.

Although Kyle hadn't plucked up the courage to call (Y/n) and Evan his mum and dad to their faces yet, he referred to them as his parents when he talked to teachers or friends at school. Partly because it was easier than saying his foster carers and partly because he wished it was true.

And now it was.

***

A tired smile pulled at (Y/n)'s lips and she did her best not to close her eyes and let herself fall asleep. She leaned her head on her hand and looked down towards Libby. The two year old was sat in front of the armchair with one of Jason's cars clutched between her hands and a bright smile on her lips.

The two year old was usually playing and stealing some of the boys stuff rather than her collection of teething toys and stuffed teddies she had in her room.

When she turned her head, (Y/n) looked over at the boys. Both Kyle and Jason were sat curled up on the sofa, nudging one another as a gaming tactic since they were playing Mario Cart.

It wasn't often that all of them ended up sitting together like this, even if the kids were doing different things.

It wasn't even late into the evening and (Y/n) was feeling like she could very easily go to bed. She could feel her mind wandering as she stared blankly at the tv, unsure which of her boys was currently winning the race they were playing. But her mind snapped back to reality when her phone started to ring on the coffee table.

"Ah- ah, thank you." (Y/n) shuffled forward in the chair and grabbed her phone before Libby had chance. She was used to watching videos on (Y/n) or Evan's phone from time to time, and the little girl was getting cheeky.

When Bobby had called Evan last week and Libby had his phone, she hung up and kept declining the call every time Bobby rang. She found it highly amusing, especially when she answered the phone, said hello then hung up. (Y/n) wasn't having her daughter doing that, not when she didn't even know who was calling.

She mumbled "Won't be long," to Kyle and pushed up from the chair when she saw that it was Delia calling. She was their agent at the foster care agency, possibly calling about another placement. (Y/n) didn't like having these conversations in front of the kids.

"Hello?"

She pressed her free hand to her lower back, clicking her spine into place as she walked into the dining room and leaned against one of the chairs.

"Hi (Y/n), it's Delia. I have a proposition for you."

(Y/n) couldn't help the smirk that flooded her face and she folded her free arm over her chest, resting on her bump as she hummed and waited for Delia to continue. That meant she had a kid she wanted to place with them. (Y/n) had had enough of these conversations to know when Delia was asking for help like this and when she simply wanted to catch up or come round and see how Kyle or any other kids were settling in.

It wasn't often that (Y/n) had Evan had ever turned down any kids. One teen had been very aggressive and was too dangerous to have around the other kids they looked after, so they had to turn him away. And when Libby had been born they turned down a few kids until they felt stable and back into a routine again.

Delia knew the couple would always take in any kids they could, they were reliable in the foster system.

"Go ahead."

"We have a boy, fifteen, he needs somewhere to go for a few days. It's an emergency placement, we had to remove him from his dad's home. And we're trying to find a permanent placement for him."

"Okay… is he alright, any problems, issues?"

(Y/n) moved her hand to rub her temple but when she looked to the doorway, she reached her hand out to flag down Evan who was walking past, aiming for the kitchen.

His hair was ruffled with damp curls going in every direction and he was only wearing a pair of shorts. Allowing his bare feet to pad against the cold laminate floor and his chest to be on full display with his various tattoos glistening in the lights.

Evan's brows rose and he scratched the back of his neck as he changed course and aimed for the dining room rather than the kitchen. His chest glued up against (Y/n)'s back and his hands found purchase on her hips, keeping himself pressed against her as his lips merged with the top of her head.

He mumbled "Everything okay?" into her hair before he realised she was no the phone to someone and he leaned around to try and look at her properly.

(Y/n) pressed her phone against her shoulder while her free hand reached down to grip Evan's wrist. "Delia's got an emergency placement."

Evan nodded, his mouth forming an O shape as he watched (Y/n) move her phone so it was hovered between them so he could listen in too.

"He has some anger problems and he's acting out from being away from his dad, a bit of fighting. Nothing excessive and it's only until we find somewhere suitable."

(Y/n) let her head fall back on Evan's shoulder, allowing her to stare up at him as she tried to think it over quickly.

The pair of them were usually good at handling problem kids, especially Evan. He always managed to get through to them and he was approachable and easy going. They never had any problems with some of the challenging kids they had taken on in the past, this was nothing new to them. And they didn't have any other kids with them at the moment which made things easier.

But Evan shrugged his shoulders as he shifted his arms to bind them around (Y/n)'s waist while his lips hovered over her ear. This had to be her call because Evan was set to be on a double shift from tonight through tomorrow day and then he would be back the day after that too. He wasn't going to be home much to help out with this new kid.

"Your call babe, I'm on a string of shifts from tomorrow." If (Y/n) didn't want to have another kid in the house who was probably going to be troublesome, Evan understood and he knew Delia would too. But if she wanted to go ahead and do this for a few days, Evan would try and make sure to be here a bit more to help out.

"Um, sure, yeah he can come here for a few days. We can't take him permanently though."

(Y/n) didn't mind. This kid clearly needed somewhere to go and if that was the case then he was welcome here. But he couldn't stay with them permanently. They never agreed to that until they got to know the kid and their circumstances.

When they were told about Kyle they agreed to have him indefinitely but once he came to them and seemed to fit in they agreed with Delia that Kyle was fine to be a permanent placement. But they had never taken a problem child in for longer than two weeks and right now, with three other kids and a baby on the way, a kid with anger issues wasn't something they could take on.

"Thank you, that's great. I'll sort the paperwork and arrange to bring him down first thing in the morning."

"I hate you!"

(Y/n) closed her eyes for a brief moment and took a second to take in a deep breath. Her lips rolled together and she reached out to place her hand on the kitchen counter and she slouched her hip against the counter while her other hand pressed against her waist.

She looked over at Jackson who was stood close enough to her that he was almost spitting in her face. His features were turning bright red and his narrowed, beady eyes were glaring into (Y/n) like she was the Devil.

"Okay." She nodded and turned to look away from Jackson. There was no way (Y/n) was getting into an unnecessary fight with him.

She never argued with the kids they cared for like this. If any of them started shouting or provoking and aiming for an argument like Jackson clearly was, (Y/n) either walked away, agreed with them or changed the subject. She wouldn't give in when arguing is clearly what Jackson was after. He wanted to fight, he wanted to release his anger and rage at (Y/n) and she wouldn't do that.

And he didn't have to like her, he wasn't her adopted child and she wasn't trying to be his mother. (Y/n) was his carer, she was looking after him for a while, there was no rule that said Jackson had to like her. He wouldn't be here for long either, there was no point arguing or trying to make him like her.

"I wanna go home! I want my dad!" He rose his voice as his hands clenched into fists at his sides and he glared at (Y/n) like intimidating her was going to somehow do something in his favour.

"Jackson, you're only here until Delia can sort out your home arrangements, this isn't permanent. So you don't have to like me honey and you'll be seeing your dad soon. This is temporary, just a place to stay that's all."

(Y/n) flicked on the kettle and turned her back to Jackson. He was here for a few days, probably until the end of the week. (Y/n) wouldn't lie to him and say this was his new home or that he was never going to see his dad because he was going to have visitation.

But she wouldn't tell him he wasn't going home to live with his dad again because that was clearly not going to happen. And if (Y/n) told him that he would go into a deeper rage which she didn't want nor need.

Part of (Y/n) wished Evan was home with them right now. He was good at getting through to kids and Jackson probably wouldn't argue with Evan as much because he would see him as a father, authority figure. But he was still at work, he wasn't going to be home until late tonight and then he would be back at work tomorrow again.

(Y/n) poured herself a drink, trying to focus on the movie that she could hear playing in the living room to distract from whatever Jackson was trying to shout at her. She couldn't leave him alone in this mood and she couldn't have him around the rest of the kids either. She had to stay in here with him and endure and try to calm him down.

Shivers jostled through her nerves when she heard a horrible bang and when she spun round, she realised Jackson had kicked one of the cupboards.

"I fucking hate this place!" Jackson reached out for one of the chairs at the kitchen table and he shoved hard until the chair scraped against the floor and crashed into the counter beside (Y/n).

She moved out the way before the chair got near her and stayed quiet as she reached out to move the chair back but she paused when Kyle bustled into the kitchen.

He didn't look happy.

"Don't do that! Hey stop it-" The thirteen year old stormed towards Jackson like he was either going to hit him or push him away from (Y/n). And as much as it was endearing to see him try to put himself in front of (Y/n), she didn't need him to do that or to get involved.

(Y/n) pushed the chair back towards the table before she reached out and held Kyle by the shoulders and kissed his temple.

"Kyle, baby it's okay. Take Jason upstairs into your room please."

If Jackson was going to continue kicking off then (Y/n) wanted the rest of the kids upstairs out of his way. Kyle was fine to keep an eye on Jason and keep him calm and out of the way and (Y/n) would put Libby in her room for a nap to keep her safe and out the way too.

She was relieved that the spare room they used for emergency kids was downstairs, away from the rest of the kids. She didn't fancy Jackson asking to go to his room and being upstairs near the kids in case he tried to shout or even hurt any of them.

She nudged Kyle in the right direction and when he went to find Jason, (Y/n) followed and scooped Libby up from the sofa.

"Let's go upstairs baby," She murmured against Libby's temple and started to shush her and cuddle her into her chest to try and get her to settle quicker.

Once Libby was safely in her room and the door was closed, (Y/n) peeked her head round Jason's door. Kyle had took him into his own room and they were both sat on the floor with a computer between them, clearly about to play a game to distract themselves.

It was a good job that they were both used to (Y/n) and Evan dealing with other kids like this. Most of the time it was them comforting scared or panicked toddlers or the odd moody teen, it wasn't usually because of an angry teen like this.

She poked her head around the door and smiled at the boys. "Don't let Jackson in here, I'll keep him downstairs. Your dad will be home soon."

Kyle looked up and nodded, but it was clear on his face that he wasn't happy about being up here. Not when someone was downstairs shouting at (Y/n) when she didn't deserve it. When Kyle first came here to stay with them he had been timid. He always asked if he could get a drink, if he could go for a shower or if he could have a snack, he didn't like to ask because he felt imposing.

It took a while for him to get used to being with them and now he was intergrated he didn't ask for trivial things like that. But he would never dream of being disrespectful. Sometimes he argued or disagreed with Evan and (Y/n), but he never shouted at them or said he hated them. He wouldn't dare, he had too much respect.

And Kyle couldn't understand why someone who was here simply to be cared for and be somewhere safe, could be so disrespectful and cruel. They didn't have to let him stay, he was lucky to be here and he didn't see that.

For a little while, (Y/n) busied herself tidying the living room and sorting out downstairs. She knew Jackson was following her around, hovering in the doorway and that was fine. It meant he was within her sights and she knew what he was doing, even if he was still trying to argue with her.

Finally, Jackson moved from the doorway and stormed over to stand next to (Y/n). He leaned in when she bent down to pick up a few Lego pieces Jason had left scattered on the floor, clearly wanting the attention she refused to give him.

"Let me go home."

With a sigh, (Y/n) turned and looked down at him. "Jackson you're not in prison here, and I don't have any say in when you go home. When Delia has things sorted, she will explain when you go and when you can see your dad again. That's nothing to do with me."

"Well I don't want to be here." He stomped his foot down and reached out to shove (Y/n)'s arm.

(Y/n) took a deep breath and steadied herself before she bumped into the coffee table. She didn't like this. None of the kids they'd ever looked after had ever gotten in her face and become physical like this before. She had been screamed at, young kids had had tantrums in front of her and tried to run, some had attached to her and screamed when they had to let go. But none ever got rude and physical like this with her.

If Evan was here he might be able to calm Jackson down without starting a fight, Jackson might listen to an older male authority figure. But he clearly wasn't taking to (Y/n).

"You won't be here long." (Y/n) side stepped around him and started putting the Lego and toys back in the toy chest beneath the window.

She would have to go into the kitchen and start dinner soon, but something about the thought of Jackson being in the kitchen with her when she cooked made her uneasy. He could lash out and grab a utensil or a knife or start throwing things. Staying in here until he calmed down seemed easier.

"I wanna go now. Let me go. Call that woman, I'm leaving."

"Jackson, there isn't anywhere else for you to go yet, soon you can-"

(Y/n) turned around and held her hand out to try and calm him down but he slammed his hand out against the back of the sofa. It seemed to be the wrong choice because he clearly hurt his hand, but he merely winced and shook the limb as if shaking off the pain.

"Now! Call her. I hate you I'm not staying with you." His chest began to heave as he stormed forward.

(Y/n) wasn't sure why he hated her, it was probably because he had to stay here and (Y/n) was the adult who was caring for him. The person he didn't want, he didn't want to be with anyone but his dad, who he couldn't go back to.

The fifteen year old looked positively enraged and his body was almost shaking with anger and adrenaline mixed together. He wasn't getting his way and he wasn't likely to either. What did he think (Y/n) would do? Did he think she would call Delia and he would do straight home? Did he think (Y/n) would drive him back to his dad and everything would be fine? He knew why he was here and the prospect behind being in a foster home like this. He wasn't stupid.

"I can't do that, you know I can't make those choices Jackson it's not down to me."

"You're a bitch!"

A gasp left (Y/n)'s lips and her eyes slammed closed when Jackson grappled for her shoulders. She tried to push him back but before she had chance, Jackson suddenly thrust forward and headbutted her.

His temple bashed into (Y/n)'s lips and chin and caught the bottom of her nose which stung like she had been cut. Her feet stumbled and her hand clamped down on the sofa to stop herself from falling when Jackson let go of her. He'd clearly given himself a horrid headache and disorientated himself.

Tears welled up in (Y/n)'s eyes and she coughed, trying to gain back a proper breath as her free hand moved to cover her mouth. Her bottom lip was already swelling and it had split.

"That is enough now." It took all of (Y/n)'s effort to conceal the tears welling up in her eyes from the stinging sensation in her mouth and chin. She felt like a grater had sliced along her lower lip and a headache was beginning to form behind her eyes.

This was new. (Y/n) had never been hit or headbutted before. She was going to have to get Jackson to calm down somehow, this couldn't continue.

(Y/n) had to get them out of this situation. Jackson couldn't lash out at her like this and (Y/n) couldn't let him. She was six months pregnant, getting attacked by Jackson wasn't an option, she had to think of herself and the baby. Even if calling Evan was her last resort and she had to get him to come home, she would do that if necessary.

"You can't go home if you're acting out like this. Calm down and we can talk." (Y/n) pointed towards the sofa in a last attempt to get him to sit down and calm down. She would talk to him calmly, explain the situation, help him figure this out, but (Y/n) wouldn't stand and let him hurt her or any of her kids.

She wasn't exactly sure what slurrs spat past his lips, he spoke far too fast and jumbled for (Y/n) to work anything out. But she saw him lunge forward and she hurriedly stepped back, keeping a grip on the back of her sofa to stabilise herself while her other hand reached out in front of her to try and keep Jackson at bay.

It didn't work.

He managed to bend her arm out of his way as he surged forward and rammed his fist against her eye and the bridge of her nose causing (Y/n) to yelp and slump against the sofa.

A fire ignited deep in Kyle's stomach and spread through to his chest, surging through his veins as he came downstairs just in time to see the older boy swing at (Y/n).

Both Kyle's hands balled up into fists and he jumped the last two steps, landing with a thud on the carpet which caused static beneath his feet as he almost flew into the living room. He didn't care that Jackson was two years older than him or that he was clearly upset and disgruntled at being uprooted. Kyle didn't care if this boy was confused or frightened, he only cared about him lashing out against (Y/n) like that.

His hands bashed into Jackson's shoulders and he shoved him until Jackson stumbled back into the cabinet which clashed against the back of his knee.

"Don't touch my mum!"

Fury bubbled up in Kyle's dark brown eyes as he wavered between punching and slapping, unsure what to do until he ended up slapping his palm so harshly against Jackson's neck that a mark appeared and a horrible echo sounded throughout the living room.

He could feel spit bubbling at his lips and adrenaline was making him shake like a leaf as spots appeared at the corner of his vision. He didn't want to stop. He would of carried on lashing and hitting, he would have knocked Jackson on the floor and tried to kick him if he could, but Kyle couldn't move any further when (Y/n)'s arms looped around his neck.

She tugged him back until he was stumbling and had to brace his hands on the sofa as his back pressed into (Y/n)'s chest. He stabilised himself and reached his hands up to grab (Y/n)'s wrists, clinging tightly to her as she walked him a few feet back.

"Kyle that's enough." It was hard to keep her voice stern and tell Kyle off when she never had to reprimand or argue with him about anything. But (Y/n) couldn't have them fighting and she wouldn't have Kyle lashing out on her behalf.

"But- but he hit you-"

A look of desperation flooded Kyle's eyes and mingled with the fury that caused his lips to curl into a snarl and had him breathing like he was on the brink of drowning. He turned his head and looked up at (Y/n) wildly as his brows furrowed and his jaw dropped.

Jackson hit her. He lashed out and tried to hurt her, was Kyle supposed to stand by and watch? Was he meant to let it happen? Did he call Evan for help? What else could he have done except get Jackson away from her? She was pregnant, Kyle didn't want to stand and watch this boy hurt her and potentially harm the baby.

"That doesn't mean you hit him back. Baby g- go and stay with Jason for me, everything's okay I promise." (Y/n) cupped Kyle's cheek and kissed his temple before she ushered him back towards the stairs. She couldn't have Jason coming downstairs and becoming frightened, she needed Kyle to keep an eye on him.

She could see that Jackson wasn't going to lash out anymore. He was in turmoil, but he was shaking and at the point of tears. Kyle had hurt him back and shouted at him, the adrenaline had gone and he could see lashing out was only going to get him into more trouble. He wouldn't be doing that again.

(Y/n) watched Kyle storm up the stairs, looking over his shoulder every second or two like he was making sure she was safe and Jackson wasn't going to suddenly lunge at her again. And she tried to calm down her erratic heart and stop herself from getting carried away by the fact that Kyle had called her his mum. He hadn't referred to her as his mum before, at least not to (Y/n) directly.

She could mull over that thought later, for now she had to get Jackson to sit and calm down and she had to calm herself down too. Getting upset and panicked wasn't going to help the baby.

Her eyes locked onto Jackson who was now distancing himself from her like he was suddenly afraid. Clearly he knew he had gone too far and he was unsure what was going to happen now.

Steadying herself against the sofa, (Y/n) ran her hand up and down her face that was now throbbing and tears were tracing down the bridge of her nose which burned from the punch. She had to take a deep breath to try and regulate her system and it took more effort than usual to gather her thoughts and try to think.

"Right, I- I get that you don't want to be here, but this is your only choice. So I suggest you go calm down in the room we've made up for you. Right now."

If she had to, (Y/n) would call Delia and explain the situation and say that Jackson couldn't stay here with them, but that was the last thing she wanted to do. (Y/n) didn't want to have to turn him away because it would be hard for Delia to find another emergency placement for him at such short notice. He might end up in a foster home and they were not nice places to be. Some kids had to wait at the police station until somewhere safe was found. Jackson didn't need that.

He seemed to agree. Either his adrenaline had run out and he was too tired to fight, or he realised that if he lashed out again he wouldn't end up going home but to a police station.

The fifteen year old nodded, keeping his eyes on his feet as he turned and bolted down the hall towards the room (Y/n) had shown him when he arrived this morning.

It was a good thing the room they set up for emergency placements was downstairs. It was a safer precaution, especially in case any kids had nightmares or were loud and couldn't sleep or if they got angry and needed their own space. It gave them their own space from the rest of the kids, and in this situation it would protect (Y/n)'s kids from Jackson's temper.

This was one kid (Y/n) would be happy to see leave for another home.

***

Evan felt like he could sleep standing up when he walked through the front door. He loved his job, this was by far the best and most rewarding and inclusive job he'd had, but it did come with challenges and it drained Evan most of the time.

He was happy to have his family to come home to and relax and be around and take his mind off the things he had seen on the job.

He kicked off his shoes and trudged into the living room, but his lips curved into a frown when he didn't see anyone there. Evan already knew that Libby and Jason would both be in bed by now, but he expected (Y/n) or Kyle or both of them to be in the living room watching tv. He figured Kyle must be upstairs in bed.

Tiredness crept into his muscles and pulsed behind his eyes, causing Evan to drag his hands up and down his face to try and liven himself up a little. He couldn't help but stoop over as he walked through the house, peering into the dining room and the back room before he noticed a light on in the kitchen and aimed in there.

It seemed rather late to find (Y/n) scrubbing the countertops, but then again, there were four kids in the house and she'd been dealing with them all day. Not much in this house could be odd anymore.

"Hey baby, is everyone in bed? Where's the new kid?"

Evan aimed for (Y/n) like she was a beacon of light drawing him in and his hands almost curved around her hips until she turned around.

The cloth in (Y/n)'s hand was discarded, forgotten on the kitchen side and (Y/n) closed her eyes as her head angled down towards her feet. She felt like burrowing herself into Evan's chest and hiding away. She wanted to hide her features from him and wish they could go the rest of the night with her burrowed into Evan's embrace, her features never on show or seen by his eyes.

But (Y/n) knew the longer she tried to hide what had happened, the worse it was going to be. The baby was already twisting and wriggling from all the adrenaline coursing through her veins and (Y/n) felt positively sick. She wanted to get this conversation over with and go to bed and pretend as if today had never happened.

Her hands began to rub up and down her arms while her eyes focused on zooming in on the floor like she was trying to inspect every molecule of dirt she could see on the gleaming tiles.

"Hey, what's…" The question on the tip of Evan's tongue faded into silence when he dipped his head down to try and catch his wife's gaze.

An ungodly feeling or rage sparked within Evan's system and he found himself at the point of shaking when (Y/n)'s eye caught his attention.

A gasp bubbled at the back of (Y/n)'s throat when Evan's hand cupped her chin and he wasted no time in tilting her head back until she felt like she was staring up at the ceiling. Her gaze locked onto her husband's tortured eyes that were filled with anger and blazing fury spilled across his face. His lips curled into a snarling grimace and his shoulders rose as his chest heaved.

It was hard for Evan to stop from pinching (Y/n)'s chin in his grip as he stepped closer until their abdomens were almost pressing together. His chin pressed down into his chest and his brows furrowed as he turned (Y/n)'s head from left to right, examining her features.

Her bottom lip was split and swollen and her chin looked like it had started to swell too. But it was her right eye that made Evan's blood fizzle and pop in his veins. She could only just open her eye fully, her eyelid was swelling up and the skin around her eye socket was sore and tender. And there was a mark on the bridge of her nose.

None of these marks had been there last night when Evan went on shift.

"Fuck- (Y/n) what happened?!" Hearing Evan say her name made her cringe. He used pet names for her, the only time he said her name was when they were in a formal situation or something was wrong. Even in arguments he rarely called her by her name.

(Y/n) didn't quite know how to explain what had happened and she found herself focusing more on preventing herself from crying than working on how to tell Evan what went on while he was at work. Her hand reached up to cup his wrist and she leaned into his touch while his other hand curved around her neck.

He continued to turn her head left and right, taking to examining every inch of skin to make sure she was alright and see if she had any other marks or abrasions he needed to be aware of. But the lack of reply was unsettling him.

"Who hurt you?" The deep, guttural tone to Evan's voice made (Y/n) shiver and clutch his wrist tighter until she was almost cutting off his circulation.

"Delia dropped Jackson off, h- he's got some issues. He headbutted me, and then swung at me. Kyle got involved, tried to fight him and it made him stop."

The contemplation was clear in Evan's eyes. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to go ballistic and shout and rave and send his own fists flying, but he couldn't react like that now that he knew it wasn't some stranger in the street or some drugged up idiot. It was a foster kid. It was someone they had taken in and pledged to care for and look after.

Evan could hardly let his anger loose on this kid, no matter how justified he might be in telling him off. But it didn't sit well with him. Evan had never been worried before about going to work and leaving (Y/n) with any of the kids they fostered. He never worried that one of them might attack her or lash out and hurt her or their kids in any way.

And Evan certainly didn't want to start having these kind of worries when he was away at work or he might begrudge taking in other children. He would be in mind to turn down any kids Delia tried to place with them if he suspected they might start doing stunts like this.

"How old is he?" The gruff tone was still evident in Evan's voice and his chest rumbled as the same look of frustration stayed plastered on his face.

"Fifteen, I- I sent him to his room, he's been cooling down in there ever since." (Y/n) glanced down for a moment before she looked up again. "Baby I'm fine-"

"Jesus, this one's hit you and you think I'll believe you're fine? (Y/n) you're pregnant, what if he'd hit you in the stomach instead of the face? You should have called me."

Evan hated how (Y/n) winced and coiled in on herself at his words, but he had to say it.

His hand shifted round to cup the back of her neck and he reeled her closer, winding his other arm around her waist while his lips attached to her temple and he breathed in her scent, trying to calm himself down somewhat.

It didn't dare thinking about what might have happened if Jackson had lashed out and punched (Y/n) in the stomach rather than aiming for her face. He could have hurt the baby and caused complications, they could have been in the hospital right now if that was the case.

(Y/n) wormed her arms around Evan's chest and clutched his back like she was binding herself to him, afraid someone might just try and tear her away from him. She knew what Evan was saying and she understood his worries, but she couldn't have done anything differently today.

"You might not have been able to pick up, and he stopped as soon as Kyle tried to get involved."

The chances were that even if (Y/n) did call him after it happened, Evan might have been out on a call. He couldn't always answer the phone when people rang him, he had a harsh and demanding job. And (Y/n) didn't need to call anyway because Jackson hadn't tried anything since Kyle slapped him and got in the way.

(Y/n) made the kids their tea, Jackson ate at the kitchen table by himself to cool off and then went straight back to his room. He had been in there ever since and (Y/n) had been periodically checking the cameras to make sure he was alright.

They had cameras around the house just for security and there was one in the spare room where Jackson was. He hadn't wrecked the room, although there wasn't much in there to wreck. He had put the tv on and mooched about the room in a slump.

(Y/n) had gotten Libby and Jason washed and ready for bed and settled to sleep, and Kyle had sat with her for a while before he went to read a book in his room. Everything had mellowed out and settled down since Jackson's outburst.

"That's not the point, he's still hurt you and I don't like that." Evan spoke against her temple before he finally pulled back. "Go and sit down, I'm gonna have a word with this kid."

That didn't seem like such a good idea, but (Y/n) knew if anyone could get through to him it would be Evan. She nodded in his grasp and pushed up on her toes to kiss him softly. She felt Evan's palm pressing into her lower back and his nose nudged hers as his tongue glided across her lips before they parted.

Evan gave (Y/n) a nudge in the other direction and watched her head into the lounge before he trailed across to the spare room. Part of him wanted to just burst in like a tornado and lay into this kid, tell him the rules and how he would be out come sunrise if he tried another stunt like that again.

But Evan managed to find an ounce of self control from somewhere within him and he rapped his knuckles against the door before he walked in.

It was inwardly encouraging and delightful to see that he was clearly an imposing figure on this teen.

Jackson's otherwise reddened eyes went wide when he looked up to see Evan stood in the doorway like a force of nature. Arms now crossed over his tense chest that puffed out, shoulders high and broad and the overall toughness of his demanour was intimidating to Jackson.

The fifteen year old shrank back on the bed and coiled his knees up towards his chest which he wrapped his arms around and perched his chin on his knees.

"Who are you?" He asked despite knowing the answer deep down.

"I'm Buck, I take it you're Jackson?"

When he meekly nodded, Evan's lips pressed into a thin line and he pushed forward and moved to sit down on the side of the bed. He kept a foot of space between them, for safety and reassurance and his arms dropped from his chest so his hands were clasped between his parted knees and he hunched forward. His head turned to the left so he was looking over at Jackson.

"Okay, are you gonna explain to me what happened today?"

"W-what?"

"Well… I didn't expect to come home to find my wife with a black eye and a split lip, and I gather that had something to do with you. So I want you to explain it to me."

There was something almost dangerous in Evan's voice that seemed to made a shudder crawl through Jackson's skin. He could sense Evan as an authority figure, he could see him as someone in charge who he shouldn't mess with or argue with.

He wasn't going to get away with anything now that Evan was home. "I- we argued… I don't want to be here, a- and she wouldn't listen to me. I want to go home." He glanced up at Evan as if hoping those words would be enough, but it was clear Evan was still waiting for more. He wanted the proper explanation. "I hit her- but I didn't- I am sorry."

Jackson cringed at his own words and he didn't dare divulge exactly how he bashed his head into (Y/n)'s or how he punched her rather than hit her. He knew it had to have hurt a Hell of a lot more than the slap he'd gained from Kyle- which had turned his neck bright red like a rash.

"Well that doesn't give you the right to hurt her, does it? Not to mention probably frightening my kids. You're here as a curtesy, but I can always change that."

"What?" Jackson's nose crinkled and his mouth gaped open as he stared at Evan, not understanding what he was trying to imply.

He watched with wide eyes and a rather blank expression as Evan straightened up but kept his tense hands deadlocked together between his thighs. His hands were so tightly fisted together that his knuckles had gone as white as snow and were almost pushing through the skin.

"You don't want to be here, but you don't know how lucky you are. Where do you expect to go? You were taken to children's services, right? They have to find a safe place for you, and I'm telling you that a foster home is a packed place with lots of angry kids and not enough caring staff to look out for you. Our home is somewhere safe to sleep and be looked after."

Evan knew the system, he might not have grown up in it but he had a lot of friends who did, and he and (Y/n) had been fostering for years. They both knew that if no emergency home could be found, kids like Jackson would go to a group home. Somewhere with far too many kids of varying ages who had a lot more issues and trust problems and violent tendencies.

They weren't nice places to stay, they didn't make the kids feel safe and with rotating staff and with most homes being understaffed, it could easily become a nightmare. It was why the agency preferred to send kids to proper homes like this but Jackson was wasting this chance.

"But I want to go home." There was a whining edge to his voice that was close to breaking but he hated how Evan's expression didn't waver once.

"Jackson, we both know you can't go back home right now. You can still see your parents, no one is going to prevent that, but you can't stay there and I know how hard that is. Believe me, if my parents had wanted me at home I would have stayed with them. But the fact is you're here until Delia finds you somewhere permanent or you step out of line and you have to leave."

Evan might have had a safe home and a doting sister, but it was a far cry from a loving family or protective, nurturing parents. He left as soon as he was eighteen because he couldn't live with people who seemed to despise him and show no interest in him at all.

If he had been taken from his parents by children's services Evan would have prayed to be in a loving home with people who really cared about him.

"Now look at me."

He gently held Jackson's chin and turned his face so they were looking at one another. He wanted it to be crystal clear what he was about to say and the rules he was laying down.

"If you try and lash out at (Y/n) again, or you frighten any of my kids, then I will personally escort you back to Delia and you will go to a group home or another family. That behaviour is not acceptable in my home. My family is my priority and you don't just walk in here with that attitude and hurt any of them when we are trying to help you. Do you understand?"

Jackson barely managed to keep eye contact as he nodded vigorously because he could see it. He could see now that if he did anything that rude and out of line, Evan would grab his things and march him back to Delia.

They had a right to refuse anyone staying with them if they acted the way Jackson had and Evan wouldn't tolerate it. Jackson was being given a second chance, he couldn't hurt (Y/n), shout or scream at her and he couldn't fight with Kyle or frighten any of the kids. This was their home and Jackson was a guest, he didn't get to walk in and cause chaos and expect that behaviour to be accepted.

Evan was glad this conversation had gone the way he hoped it would, but there was something nagging at the back of his mind. That sense of paranoia that maybe Jackson wouldn't listen. That maybe, if he got riled and upset enough, he might lash out again and forget that he was here out of kindness, not as a form of punishment.

He hoped that wouldn't be the case, because he was afraid of going back to work tomorrow afternoon and leaving them all alone again.

If Jackson did anything else, Evan wouldn't hesitate to call Delia and tell her she had to take him right away.

His family had to come first.

[hoshinasblade]

you know what im thinking about? growing up with hoshina and harboring romantic feelings with the boy you spent your childhood with. i'd like to believe this is a friendship so deep and innocent and intimate that when you were kids you even promised you'd marry each other, sealing the deal with makeshift rings made of woven thread. but this fairytale had to somehow end — at an early age you are aware that the both of you are beholden to your duties: as a daughter you are ought to marry into a wealthy family, and as a soldier, hoshina has to serve as an anti-kaiju defense officer.

imagine learning that arrangements have been made but you didn't — couldn't — tell hoshina that you are already engaged. your fiancé's name was kept from you by your clan elders and you shamelessly used that fact as an excuse on why you wouldn't tell the man you love that your hand has already been given to someone else. imagine hoshina's visits to you during his days off, and how hard you would pretend as if you had not just been gifted away. imagine the deflating hopelessness you would feel everytime hoshina would say good night to you at the end of the day, and you thinking every moment might as well be the last.

and imagine unbeknownst to you, hoshina being on the same boat as you. a man who cannot lead a family cannot lead a division — even a high-ranking military authority with hoshina's potential would look unstable if he remains unmarried. so he followed his father's supposedly wise advice and at the risk of breaking his own heart, agreed to be betrothed to a woman of his parents choosing.

multiple times, guilt was eating hoshina alive but instead of coming clean, he discovered that only one other thing is more difficult than hurting you — confessing about it. so he chose not to say a word - grief and shame overtaking his chest over the truth that his time with you would soon be over, that one day he would have to try to love another that is not you.

now imagine you and hoshina seeing each other on the day of the wedding — groom and bride about to be bound as one forever. never mind the white lies, never mind the heartache, never mind the fear of losing each other — nothing else would have mattered because it seems that the universe had destined you to be together anyway. imagine the shock, the happiness, the yearning; imagine the relief — imagine the wonderful feeling of being able to breathe again upon realising that you would be spending your life with your best friend after all.

right, i was listening to do i wanna know (cover by hozier) when i was typing this in my phone lol i headcanon that hoshina is definitely the type to say "maybe im too busy being yours to fall for somebody new". anyway, happy birthday to @umafanfiqueiraqualquer, this one's for u

[wannabespacesmuggler]

D.D. | Shane’s Girl [12]

Part Twleve | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh & Merle Dixon are the worst, angst, canon violence, mentions of tobacco use, story follows the show but dialogue and events are paraphrased, abusive behavior

Word Count: 2k

Author’s Note: I know, I know. Two updates in two days. It's a goddamn miracle. Anyways, felt inspired. Really happy with how this story is turning out. Let me know what you all think and if you want to be added to the taglist.

There’s still a slight ringing in your ears as you muster up the strength to open your eyes. You take in your new surroundings, a fairly empty room with a single desk in the corner and two chairs in the middle, facing each other. You’re tied to one, while Glenn is tied to the other. You blink several times, trying to unblur your vision. Glenn lets out a sigh of relief as you finally make eye contact with him.

“I’m so glad you’re awake. I was so worried. How are you feeling?”

A pained groan escapes your lips as you roll your shoulders back. You grimace through the pain — you definitely pulled something when one of your attackers slammed you into the wall before you and Glenn were thrown into a car. Daryl had tried his best to get your attacker off of you, but the three of you were outnumbered. You can only imagine the hell that he’s raising right now — you just pray that he doesn’t kill Rick and T-Dog in the process. The wildfire of anger burning within Daryl started the minute he saw his brother’s severed hand on top of that roof. You don’t blame him — everything about the situation you’re all in is fucked up. The look in his eyes as Rick pointed a gun to his head sent a shiver down your spine. You didn’t fear him like Glenn and T-Dog, who both quickly put ample distance between the archer and themselves. This anger wasn’t caused by hatred or contempt — no, it was simply misplaced grief. You were able to tame the flames and calm Daryl down enough to de-escalate the situation, but you’re certain your kidnapping only stoked the fire raging within him.

“I’ve had better days, Glenn.”

Glenn lets out a dry laugh at your words before nodding. Today didn’t seem to be going anyone’s way, but between your group’s failed ‘rescue mission’ and your very public breakup this morning, you definitely pulled the short end of the stick between the five of them.

“How long have we been here?”

There’s still sunlight seeping in through the cracks of the boarded windows to your right, but you have no idea how long you were unconscious.

“Not long. I’m sure the group will think of something and get us out here in no time.”

“If they were smart, Rick would bring those guns back to camp and regroup before doing anything dumb.”

Rick just got his family back — the last thing he needs to do right now is come in here without a solid plan. It may be selfish to say, but you cannot watch Carl lose his father again.

“I’m pretty sure Daryl would kill Rick if he even thought about leaving you here.”

His expression is playful, but there’s a sincerity to his words that you cannot ignore. You arch a brow at him, which only causes him to laugh again.

“Hey, I’m simply stating what I’ve seen. I wish I had someone that cared that much about me.”

Your brow furrows at his admission. From what you’ve seen, Glenn is well loved by everyone in the quarry camp. Dale was quick to take him under his wing and give him lessons on engine repairs. Andrea seems to always follow his lead when it comes to strategizing for runs to the city. And T-Dog seems to have an infinite amount of compliments for the man sitting in front of you. Hell, you don’t know him all that well, but you do know that you’d miss his positive demeanor and quick wit if he weren’t around.

“People care about you, Glenn.”

He gives you a soft smile before responding.

“Not like that.”

Your eyes fall to your feet as his words sink in. You know he’s right. Daryl Dixon cares about you in a way that almost feels unnatural. Your silent protector, your watchful guard dog, your constant companion. And it goes both ways. When Rick held his gun to Daryl’s temple, your heart immediately leapt into your throat. You didn’t think twice before placing yourself between the two armed and angry men. You know that if Rick decided to head back to camp without you, Daryl would kick down the door to this hideout by himself even though he’s outgunned and outmanned. And you only know this because you would do this same for him. You’ve only known Daryl for a handful of weeks, but you’d risk your life for him. That feels both unnatural and somehow right.

Before you can respond to Glenn, the door swings open, and two large men step inside. You and Glenn share a nervous look as the men approach you. They cover your mouth in duct tape before placing a cloth bag over your head. Then, they move to do the same to Glenn. Finally, your feet are untied, and you’re being lifted off of your seat.

“C’mon, your boys are here.”

Without another word, you’re escorted through various hallways. The grip your captor has on your shoulder is strong but also surprisingly hesitant — like he’s afraid to hurt you. You hear a door unlock and the inside of your cloth bag is suddenly much brighter. They’ve taken you outside. You can hear men talking in the distance, but the conversation is too far away to make out anything specific. The hand on your shoulder releases its grip and the bag is suddenly ripped off of your head. You look around as your eyes adjust to the sunlight. Glenn is on your left, looking desperately at something below you both. You follow his gaze and lock eyes with Daryl. You lean forward to get a better look at how high up you are. You’re several stories above Daryl, but you can still hear the snarl that rips through his throat as the man next to you grabs your shoulder again, keeping you in place.

“Don’t fucking touch her.”

The man’s grip loosens slightly as Daryl’s crossbow raises towards him. Rick places a hand on Daryl’s chest, giving him a stern look. It’s a silent warning to the man beside him. Reluctantly, Daryl lowers his crossbow, knowing that Rick is right. He desperately wants to shoot the man beside you, but he knows that it will not help keep you safe. You’re all still outnumbered, and even with T-Dog as their sniper, Rick and himself couldn't take on all of these men. He gives Rick a small nod before looking back up at you. Rick and the man you’ve concluded is the leader of this group speak for several moments, but Daryl keeps his eyes locked on yours. There’s a steadiness to his gaze that you find comfort in. And even as you’re dragged across the rooftop, back to the door you came from, you know he’ll find a way to get you out of this.

This time, you and Glenn are led to the middle of a long hallway two floors down. There’s a set of double doors to your left, and you can hear people conversing behind them.

“Alright, I think we’ve scared these two enough.”

The man who had just been talking to Rick enters the hallway, and you notice how the men standing next to you, and Glenn visibly relax in his presence. Still, you square your shoulders, looking toward their leader with indifference.

“What do you want from us?”

He smiles at you, looking at his men with an amused expression.

“Damn, you’re just as chilly as your redneck vato.”

He nods to his men, and they immediately untie you. You rub your rope-burned wrists for a moment before meeting the leader’s gaze. Your brow furrows in confusion as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

“My name is Guillermo, and we don’t want to hurt you. We just want to protect what we have here.”

He motions over to the double doors that his men have opened, and you’re pleasantly surprised by the scene before you. There are countless elderly people scattered around the cafeteria. Several younger men walk around giving out medication and food to those that need it. You look over to Guillermo, your features notably softer than the last time you spoke to him.

“What is this place?”

“It’s an assisted living facility. Felipe and I worked here before everything. The rest of the staff left them to die, but Felipe and I stayed. Everyone else — the vatos — came here to check on their family members and choose to stick around.”

A laugh escapes your lips as a woman approaches Glenn, taking him by the hand and leading him to a table full of elderly women. He shoots you a nervous glance before he’s wrapped up in conversation. This place is no different from the quarry where your camp settled — just good people trying to get by in dire circumstances.

“We shouldn’t be fighting.”

Guillermo sighs, taking in your words. He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder before responding.

“I didn’t know what kind of people you were, but now I know. We’ll settle this when your boys get back.”

You nod, giving him a soft smile before wandering over to the table that Glenn had been whisked away to. Glenn looks up at you, motioning for you to sit down next to him. The next hour passes by quickly as you and Glenn enjoy friendly conversation and good company. This new world may be brutal and unyielding, but it’s still surprisingly beautiful.

Suddenly, an older man begins to cough several tables away. No one seems to notice at first, but once he doubles over, unable to take a steady breath, everyone moves into action. You watch as two vatos rush in with an inhaler and talk him through the process until his breathing is even again. Swept up in the commotion, you don’t notice the rest of your group standing at the open doors with Guillermo. There’s a sudden hand on your shoulder, turning you around abruptly. Your protests die in your throat as you meet Daryl’s eyes. He’s looking you over, worry evident in his sharp features.

“You ’lright? They hurt you?”

His eyes meet yours again. He stops scanning your body for injuries but keeps a steady hold of your shoulders. You smile at him, and his face twists into confusion. Over his shoulder, you spot Glenn watching your interaction. He gives you a knowing look, which you choose to ignore, deciding instead to focus on the man in front of you.

“I’m fine, Daryl. Pulled something in my shoulder when we first got jumped, but they didn’t do anything to us.”

Daryl searches your eyes for several seconds before nodding, content with the situation. He releases your shoulders and lets out a sigh of relief. The wildfire raging within him has noticeably dissipated, and as he looks down at you again, his expression softens.

“Y’know, if this is how I knew today would turn out — I’d have told you to stay at the camp.”

You laugh at his comment, and Daryl’s face lights up with a rare smile.

“If I stayed, you and Rick would have killed each other.”

As if on cue, Rick approaches you. The smile quickly fades from Daryl’s face, but the amusement in his features stays. Rick looks between the both of you before speaking.

“You good?”

You give him a nod which he returns. To your surprise, he hands the shotgun in his hands to Guillermo and tells T-Dog to give them half of the guns in the bag you all just risked your lives to retrieve. You place a hand on Daryl’s forearm before he can protest. He looks down at you, rolling his eyes in the process, but he doesn’t say a word. Although guns are worth more than gold nowadays, he knows this is the right call. They may not be bringing back as much firepower as promised, but they are leaving with an unlikely alliance that one day might be more valuable than the guns. Finally, Rick turns to look at the four of you.

“C’mon, we’ve been gone long enough.”

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[silenceofserenity]

BNHA BOYS as book tropes - PART 1:

Pairing (s): bnha boys x gn! reader

↳ Includes: Midoriya, Bakugo, Todoroki, Kirishima & Kaminari

Part 2 includes: Sero, Shinsou, Shigaraki, Dabi & Hawks HERE

IZUKU MIDORIYA

↳ SLOW BURN

you and Izuku got partnered for a hero strategy project, analysing past battles and having to create counter-strategies

"if we adjust reaction time for this move we could- oh uhm, I'm talking too much again, I'm so sorry!"

he's always a little shyer with you around, fumbling over his words

the night before submission, you two were at the library studying late when he stops you

"wait... would it be okay if I... walked you back to your dorm?"

you thought that his nervousness was adorable

"sure, I'd like that."

the walk is quiet and all you can hear is the wind

"you're incredibly smart, you know?"

it caught you off guard but it felt... nice? like butterflies in your stomach

the project was now over so you two weren't expected to continue meeting up

the slow building tension lasted weeks after until you decide to finally say something

you go into the library - your safe space where you and izuku became close - looking for some form of comfort

until you see him there... looking for something? or someone?

the two of you looked at each other for a few moments

"y/n, i like you a lot!"

"i like you, izuku!"

a... mutual confession? at the same time??

"wait, what? i-i mean, i've liked you for a while but i didn't know if you-"

you cut him off, "me too!"

BAKUGO KATSUKI

↳ ACADEMIC RIVALS

you and bakugo have both been competing for the top spot in class since before you could remember

every exam, every project was a battle to see who could outdo the other

"you should just give up now. i've already won."

you take your seat next to him, rolling your eyes

"i don't give up bakugo, why would i start now?"

the whole session is intense, even though it's just a 'short 'practice' test which isn't going to make a difference to your grades

every time he saw you write something before he did, he would complain under his breath

"damnit."

suddenly you get to the last question

you don't remember learning this...

quickly glancing at bakugo to see if he's struggling too, you notice him already writing

panic seeping through, you rush to write down an answer just as bakugo stands up

you glance up from your work to see him smirking down at you

"you better hurry up, don't want to be the last one finished."

smacking your pencil on the desk and standing up with your test, you smile at him cockily

"last one finished, my ass."

you stride to the front of the class to give the teacher your test as bakugo leans on the door with a confident grin

"if you wanted to copy me so bad, you could've just asked."

you freeze, "hey! i did not copy-"

but he's already out the door, smirking at you over his shoulder

SHOTO TODOROKI

↳ FAMILY RIVALRY

you grew up being taught that the todoroki family were snobs who never had to work for what they got

so when you were partnered for a training exercise, you could imagine how awkward that went

"so do you have a strategy?"

"mhm"

you'd been trying to talk to him the whole exercise but he continued to shut it down

"right... so are you going to explain it or am i expected to just follow your lead?"

a nod. a fucking nod.

that caused you to snap, "you know, you could at least pretend that you care, or is ignoring people just a Todoroki thing?"

he froze.

slowly he turned to look up at you, "you think i'm ignoring you?"

you opened your mouth to answer but he cut in

"look, i already know how this works. you hate my family, so you've already made your mind up about me." his gaze sharpened, "so why should i bother to change your opinion?"

the question had caught you off guard because honestly, truth be told, you didn't really hate him, you were just taught to

"todoroki-"

"shoto." his voice was softer now, "i know what my family has done to yours, but i'm not like them. so please... call me shoto."

EJIRO KIRISHIMA

↳ MUTUAL PINING

you and kirishima have been friends for ages, always side-by-side - training or hanging out

but recently you can't help but think something feels different?

the way he looks at you a little longer, or how your heart flutters when you see him smile

everyone can see it - except you two

"you two are practically dating already!" mina teases

"no way! we're just friends!"

but the awkward silence and mutual look after says otherwise

kirishima begins using training together as a subtle (or not so subtle) way to show off his strength

"I bet you can't beat me, y/n!"

"well, i don't lose, Ejiro so bring it on!"

after that particularly tough spar the two of you collapse on the grass smiling, looking up at the stars

you see his heard turn, like he's about to say something but he pauses

you notice and decide to say something first

"do you ever feel like... we're waiting for something to happen but don't know what it is you're waiting for?

he swallows hard, "yeah. all the time."

another wave of silence

"y/n, i think we both know what it is we're waiting for."

before you can answer, he leans in as his lips gently brush yours and for once, this is what feels right.

DENKI KAMINARI

↳ ONE BED TROPE

it was a school trip / training camp and somehow the two of you got partnered up

he was so excited about sharing a room with you that he begged for you to let him pick which one to stay in and for some stupid reason, you said 'okay'

before you two got to the room, he was making jokes about how you should just sleep in his bed

he opens the door for you to look around, clearly pleased with his choice

you step into the room and immediately freeze. one bed.

"are you kidding me? what is this? you didn't think to ask for two beds?"

"huh? wait what... oh damn. that's crazy. I definitely asked for two, must've been an accident."

"an accident?!"

he just grins and flops onto the bed, spreading out like he owns it

"well, i guess that means we have to cuddle now, huh?"

dumbfounded, you threaten to sleep on the floor but he pouts dramatically until you give in.

when the lights go off, he's quiet for a bit until you feel a shift behind you

"you cold?" he says in a way where it almost sounds like he's trying to make you believe you are

"denki-"

before you can answer he throws an arm around you and shushes you, mumbling your name sleepily

"shh y/n, we can talk about how stupid this is in the morning, for now, this is okay. please?"

[asumofwords]

Watercress - Chapter 2

Warnings: She/her pronouns. Descriptions of injuries, blood and broken bones, stitches. Tags will be added as the fic goes along.

Pairings: Aemond x She/Her

Word Count: 6k

Summary: Raised in the Riverlands, near the shadow of Harrenhal, her life was one of endless toil and quiet resilience. Every day was the same—scraping together food, tending to the ill, and surviving the harsh realities of a land marked by struggle. But when war came, it brought horrors beyond anything she could have imagined. The skies blazed with fury, the waters of the Gods Eye churned with the echoes of battle, and then—just as suddenly as it began—the world grew eerily quiet. She believed the worst was over. That was, until a fateful discovery in the woods shattered her fragile peace and set her on a path she never could have foreseen.

Notes: Firstly I want to thank you all for your patience on this series, I had some insane writers block but I think I'm back! I also want to thank you for all your kindness with the first chapter and your excitement, I feel terrible for not being able to get this out sooner but hopefully it's worth the wait. I'm thinking this miniseries will be about 10 chapters long! It's a bit of a hefty chapter because I couldn't help myself. I did way too much medieval medicine research, Oops! Again, thank you all for your kindness and patience, I really love writing for you all. Enjoy <3

The earth moved beneath her, pines and dirt sliding out from under her feet as she tugged with all her might. Pulling and dragging, the remnants of her net hooked beneath the mans armpits. His unconscious body was limp and heavy as he was moved along the dirt floor, the sun descending from the sky, darkness beginning to blanket the realm.

She hadn’t had too much of a second thought to bring him with her. At first she had assumed that he would die from being moved in the manner he was, but she couldn’t leave him. Something compelled her to drag him from the trees back to her home.

It was in her nature to heal, it was what the Gods gifted her with. Something that she had only known her whole life, and despite her reservations about him likely dying, and her likely wasting her hard earned and homemade remedies, she couldn’t do it. The Gods would look down upon her if she did. She could feel it.

They wanted her to find him, for what, she did not know. It was like a faint scratching in the back of her head, this urge to do it. She wondered if she had access to the Weirwood tree in the ruins of Harrenhal itself if she could make sense of it all there.

But for now, all she could do was follow her instincts.

Death was no stranger to her. And she hadn't raced back to his side, instead taking languid steps, calm and unrushed. If he had survived this long, he could survive another moment.

And if not, the Gods willed it so.

She found him where she had left him; broken and cold, silver hair matted and bloodied—an insult to what he'd been.

Though he was tall and slender, his mass was dense with muscles from swordsmanship. At times the man would moan softly, his swollen yet sharp features furrowing as the broken leg would catch or bump along rock and root, yet she couldn’t feel sympathy for him, only a dull sense of duty to do what she could. Not to him or his family, but to life—to the Gods.

For years, people of all stations sought her out—Lords, Ladies, and small folk alike. She had lived in solitude, trading medicines and knowledge for coin, goods or food. She was bound to healing, like her mother before her--by choice, or by design she did not know. The forest was her wisdom, her hands were her tools, and her skills were her coin.

With each step backwards, head cast over her shoulder looking to where she would step, she dragged the silver haired man through the forest. Her thighs cramped, her feet ached, and her back protested from the heavy weight, but still she pressed on. By the time she finally reached her home, she let the net slacken lowering the mans torso to lay flat on the earth. Fresh blood leaked from the wounds she could see—mouth, ears and nose alike. 

He would be lucky to survive the night.

The door creaked when pushed as she entered, the man left at the threshold. Stretching, she felt her spine crack, an ache steadily creeping further into her muscles.

The fireplace was a steady glow of embers, and the need to light it came first. Kneeling at the hearth, she coaxed the embers to life, feeding them twigs and moss until flames caught before placing some logs atop.

Her stone and wood cottage was simple yet well kept. It was a large open space with shelves lined with jars of dried roots and flowers, metal tins sealed with salves and oils. The fireplace dominated the room, a great iron pot hanging above it. Herbs, flowers and bark strips were hung from the beams of the ceiling to dry, whilst tools and books cluttered the shelves.

There was a sturdy wooden table that bore the marks of time—knives, flames, and countless memories. Memories of old with her mother, her father. Memories of new, meals spent alone, or with those she healed. People sat or laid atop it as she had tended to their wounds or sickness with unwavering care.

Her bed was nestled against the farthest wall, softened with pillows and blankets from a distant trader and furs she had both bought, and prepped herself.

She was by no means poor, her long years of work and keen skills meant that she had steady business and flow of coin. It afforded her luxuries that many had not, though she wasn't materialistic. She had what she needed, and only that.

On top of the table lay the long sword and her basket of fish and foraged items. She moved the basket to a bench and set the sword in the corner by the fireplace before stepping back outside to check on the man.

The Targaryen looked like the Stranger had finally come to call. His skin was paler and mottled with bruises and blood, hair matted and dirty, crusted against his scalp, his leg bent at an unnatural angle.

And yet still, Aemond One-Eye lived. 

Pulling him atop the table was no easy task. His long limbs seemed to go anywhere but where she wanted him to, and by the time she was done, she was coated in a light sheen of sweat and smears of fresh blood. The Prince had groaned softly as she jostled him without repentance until he lay flat atop the wood.

With scissors collected by the fire, she began to cut off his leather robes, deciding that it would be easier to take them off this way rather than worrying about preserving his modesty or the well made clothing. The scissors in her hand were sharp, and cut easily through the stitching—tunic and undershirt coming off first. The leather and linen was dropped to floor in a heap of ash and blood, as she scanned his body for notable injury. 

Blues and purples bloomed across his ribs on one side, a jagged cut moving up his hipbone to sternum. Coagulated blood and rusty flakes littered his skin as his chest rose and fell shallowly. He could breathe, a good sign, but beneath his swollen flesh, there could be a danger. 

Feeling with her fingers along his ribs, she looked for signs of splintering—a pierced lung does little good to a dying man, and despite her years of healing, she dreaded those injuries the most. She probably should have checked for this first before she dragged him along the forest floor and heaved him atop her table, but if she had found it then she would have had to treat him where he was, or risk getting help from someone in a nearby village. And being who he was, she hadn't wanted to risk it.

She felt his cold skin until she reached his lower most ribs. Fingertips felt along his swollen flesh, the bones loosened with raised ridges—broken. An ear to the chest confirmed blood in his lungs, wheezing shallow breaths from trauma, but breaths nonetheless. 

Broken ribs, but no pierced lungs. Fortunate.

Next was his head. Silky silver tresses, knotted and dry, passed through her fingers as she felt along his skull where the silver turned red, searching for the wound. A broken skull could mean he never woke again, until he slowly withered away into nothing and became another dead man amongst many. Wetness met her searching, and a gash on his scalp was re-disturbed, fresh blood rising to the surface. She pressed deeper into the wound, his skull did not move nor creak in the way it would if it was broken.

Relief.

As she looked down at the dragon rider, she noted what was needed; Water from the creek to wash the wounds, boiled above the fire and herbs. She wondered momentarily if she had any honey from the last months trader—it filled wounds well enough and assisted in healing.

Her observation continued down to his clothed legs and shoes. The broken leg would need focused care, and with his condition she wished to leave the worst until last. He may wake and become violent, difficult to control, or he may die from the pain of her setting the bone. She wished to work from the minor to the major, cuts and bruising first, then work her way up. An odd way of working, but a way to ensure that he stayed unconscious and pliable, in the rare chance that he did wake.

Mortar and pestle and a jar of dried marigolds was carried over to the table where he lay, placing them in the space beside him. Behind her, her water pales were mostly full, but there was a need for fresh running water, not water that had been stagnant for washing. 

It was dark when she left her home, her eyes adjusting to the low light. By the time she got back, her skirts and dress had almost dried, and her home had been warmed from the fire she had stoked. She lit candles for light, and took the pale to the fireplace to boil.

In a jar by the kitchen was a murky oil which shone in the light of candle and flame, its colour a slight yellow. She remembered as a child her mother showing her the pink or sometimes yellow flowers with care—Evening Primrose—and that the oil from the leaves—never the flower— can have pain relief, and help to heal. Together combined with the thick honey that she eventually found by the kitchen, she could seal his wounds together and give him some relief should he wake. 

Would they look for him? 

Or would they believe like all others that he was dead? 

She did not recall seeing any men nor dragons above searching the lands after his fall. No green and gold banners were seen to march through the fishing ports, and no message from the small villages and communities nearby came to warn or reward those of the missing monarch. In fact, not a single Green banner had been seen, only Black. The Green army was defeated.

To everyone but her, he was dead. 

Beneath the lid of his single eye, his lashes fluttered and shifted with a faint, weak groan escaping his lips. All else remained unmoving, as if in death, while she continued her work undeterred. She added drops of the oil to the powdered marigold and spoonfuls of honey to the mixture, grinding the pestle into the mortar to mix it all together into a thick paste. The soft, rhythmic sound of stone against stone filled the quiet space.

She washed his head first, hands not in the slightest bit gentle, but precise. The dried blood lifted from the silver locks, and soon it turned a soft pink, water dripping down off of the table and onto the floor below. It would be a lengthy process with the man having such long hair, that she wondered if it would be quicker to cut it all off. 

He needn’t a mirror to gaze upon. Hair can regrow; life cannot. 

Holding his hair in her hand, she took her scissors beside her and cut through the silver. Several inches of god-like hair was hacked away as easy as his life could have been, the silver strands offering no resistance. If he stood, it would come to his shoulders. She let the locks fall to the floor in a wet heap amongst his clothes before resuming.

One by one, she stitched his wounds, steady and practiced. Her needle had seen hundreds of injuries; this time was no different. Each stitch was precise. Not too tight, not too loose.

Her paste was smeared atop the wound thickly, until the stitches were covered. Then this she had learnt from her mother; fish skin which had been dried a moon before was cut into a strip with her blade atop the wooden table, it was soaked in the hot water, and then placed atop the sticky wound. She flattened it down until it became almost like a plaster, wherein she smeared more salve atop.

She repeated the process to the rest of his wounds, from the cut upon his face, a gash on his arm, to the jagged cut from hip to chest. Some wounds needn’t the needle or thread and so she simply smeared the salve into the cuts or bruises until all injuries had been accounted for.

All that was left now was his mangled leg. 

The skin of his shin was swollen and purple, red veins crawled across the flesh like streams, short silver hairs shining in the low light. The break itself was just below the centre of his shin, the bone having moved skin, flesh and bone to the side. The point of the break was visible to the eye, though it did not break the skin. With her fingers she pressed against and around the wound, feeling the bone and swollen flesh, hot to the touch. Perhaps the beginnings of infection.

Standing back, she looked over him. The wounds on his face and head had stopped bleeding and the one upon his side was settling with the fish skin and salve she had made. She had done all that she could, and after this final task she could rest and leave his fate to the Gods for the night. 

The hardest part was now. 

She positioned two wooden splints at the sides of his leg, securing them with tight cloth strips.

Hands on either side of his shin, she pushed with all her strength the bone back together, feeling the ends grinding against each other. The man groaned loudly, his swollen face scrunching up as his chest rose and fell rapidly. She kept on, no cares for his pain, pushing until she felt the tension give, and a gut turning crunch send a click into her hands.

The man gasped a wheezy moan but did not wake.

It done. 

His life was now in the hands of the Gods.

She rose with the sun as she always did, its warm light shining through the open windows. Rising from her bed, she stoked the embers of the fire, placing a small log atop the ashes to let it smoulder.

The man hadn’t moved from where she had placed him the day before, the parlour of his skin still ashen. The wounds she had tended to were sealed by salve or fish skin, and had not bled nor wept through the night, the skin around his wounds pink, but the heat from them didn’t indicate dangerous infection.

He had survived the night, and would hopefully another.

There was an abrupt knock upon the hollow door of the cottage. She stood in the kitchen looking down at the silver haired man atop her table, and felt a small seed of dread in her gut.

Had someone seen her? Dragging the body of the man through the woods to her cottage?

Or perhaps they had seen her dragging the long sword through the forest ground before him? 

Another knock.

She stepped to the door, inhaling deeply.

“Yes?” she whispered through the crack, eyes flicking to the unconscious man. If he woke, if he made a sound—

“You the healer?”

A gruff voice. A man.

She hesitated, then, “Aye.”

“I have coin.”

No urgency. No proclamation of Knighthood or King’s Guard.

She unlatched the door, opening it just a sliver. The man outside was older, broad-shouldered, with deep lines of worry carved into his face. He did not try to peer inside, and only met her gaze.

“My daughter. She’s sick.” His voice wavered, brows furrowed. He seemed out of breath.

“What ails her?” The woman asked, noting the girl was clearly to unwell to travel to her as she was not with the father.

He huffed, “Well that’s why I came to you, isn’t it? I’m not a bloody Maester.”

Ah. The telltale irritation that most people who worried for the sick had. It didn't bother her anymore as it once had.

“Fever?”

"Aye."

“Cough?”

He nodded.

“Blood?”

“No.” His head shook violently.

“Where is she?”

He shifted, revealing a man worn thin by sleepless nights. His boots, though well-made, were scuffed from wear. His clothes, fine but unkempt. A father, desperate. He was taller than her by a foot, but had a thick build to him. If she were to guess he would be a tradesman of some sort. Perhaps a fisherman.

“Not far, I’m in the fishing village just over to the east.” A large calloused finger lifted and pointed east of the water where her cottage resided. 

She hummed, “How far?”

It wasn’t that she didn’t know where it was, it was more that she didn’t know where he was. His dwelling could be on the outskirts of the village like hers or dead in its centre.

“About an hours walk.” His posture indicated growing fear and impatience.

She hummed again, that would mean she would likely be gone for 3-4 hours then, depending on the state of the girl.

“Horse?”

“Foot.” He confessed with a small inkling of shame. 

She nodded. Most people she dealt with didn’t own horses, nor the coin to pay her, but if they could, she would take what they could offer. No person was turned away, and trade was often a payment. Furs, blankets, knives, clothing; whatever the person could offer was taken without reluctance.

Before he could speak again she turned around and went back inside closing the door behind her. The basket she had used for foraging and fishing was filled with tinctures and herbs, oils and creams. She was sure it was likely another case of the fever that seemed to roll around in the colder months, but she liked to be prepared otherwise.

The journey to the man’s home and village was swifter than she had expected, but quiet. He didn’t speak unless to direct them or ask if she could help his sick child.

As they traveled, his questioning became increasingly impulsive, circling back to the same concerns. She answered him patiently at first, but when he repeated himself a fourth time, she chose silence instead.

As they neared the village, its presence became unmistakable. Foot-worn paths grew more defined, and scattered huts at the outskirts became more frequent, until they stood only a stone’s throw apart. A well-worn cobblestone road split the town through its centre, leading toward the river which connected to the Gods Eye. A sturdy yet timeworn dock penetrated the water, small fishing boats littering the shore.

The scent of fish clung thickly in the air, though the villagers had long since grown used to it. At the docks, merchants bartered with customers over the day’s catch, while others tended to small boats or repaired fishing nets. She felt the weight of fleeting glances as she followed the man through the town, basket in hand. Some villagers recognised her, others merely noted her presence before returning to their tasks. The older ones, she knew, had once sought out her mother for guidance, just as they now came to her instead.

The man’s pace quickened as they entered the heart of the village. Upon reaching his home, a modest wooden dwelling, he pushed the door open with little effort, its hinges well oiled.

Warmth greeted them at once. A fire blazed inside, casting flickering light across the walls. He strode straight to a bed tucked against the far side of the room, where a small figure lay curled beneath thick furs.

The healer took a moment to scan the space. A simple table and three chairs sat near the hearth, where food would be prepared and eaten. Strips of dried fish hung from the rafters alongside a large net to dry. The air held a faint briny scent, but she hardly noticed it after a few breaths. The fireplace, larger than expected, was built from blackened stones perhaps darkened by soot, scavenged from an old ruin nearby.

The man spoke down to the poorly child, breaking her observation, “I’ve brought the healer for you. She’s going to make you better.”  His large hand pushed back the sweaty darkened hair upon a paled face. 

The girl was comely but bore the clear signs of illness. Shadows darkened the skin beneath her eyes, and her complexion had taken on a gray pallor. A fine sheen of sweat clung to her skin, and though her damp curls were tangled, they held the promise of beauty when well-tended.

She placed her basket beside the bed and moved the worried father out of the way, feeling his eyes watching her as she observed the girl. Her hand brushed against her forehead, the skin hot and clammy . Despite the plentiful furs and raging fire, she shivered slightly. 

“Are you in pain?” The woman asked softly.

The child’s dark eyes, so like her father’s, fluttered open with great effort.

“No.” Her voice was thin, barely more than a breath. “M’cold.”

The woman hummed, pulling the furs down from the girl who whined softly in protest, the man behind her shifted.

“I’m looking for sores.” She told them both, but mostly for the benefit of the father who seemed to moved closer to his daughter as an action of protection.

The chemise that the girl wore was old and worn and almost soaked through with sweat. She carefully looked at the girls arms, neck and legs, pulled the chemise up to look at where her glands lay beneath her skin. She thankfully could see no sores.

She nodded to herself and hummed again, opening the girls mouth to look inside her throat. With the help of the fire she was able to see that the back looked red and sore. 

“How old is she?” The healer asked, eyes not moving from the girl.

“Ten.” 

“Has she had Redspots before?”  She asked, a common and non-fatal sickness to children. 

“Aye, when she was three.” The father replied.

Immediately she was sure of what ailed the girl. The father moved again and spoke, concern lacing his voice, “What is it?”

“A simple fever.” She retrieved a cloth from her basket and dipped it into a jar of tincture, the rag absorbing the golden-hued oil.

“Shivers?” Dread in his voice.

“No.” She had to hold back an endearing smile as she began to wipe the oiled cloth on the girls face, neck, arms and legs, “Shivers takes quickly. And she is not shaking.” 

The man shifted nervously beside her, leaning over her to watch as she treated his daughter, “There have been men.” He breathed quickly, a new fear creeping into his voice, “-Sick. I’m surprised you haven’t been called to town sooner.” 

She didn’t stop as she worked, not once lifting her head as she smoothed the hair from the girls face back, “Everyone gets sick. No one is immune to illness.”

“No.” The man said with a more fearful tone, “It’s different, this one. I’ve never seen anything like it. Two men came back and dropped dead. Not even the grey have seen it.”

This peaked her interest, “Two?”

“Aye.” 

She frowned, “Shivers most likely.”

“No." He insisted, and this insistence made her heart beat faster, "These men were hale and healthy. Hardiest men I’ve ever seen or known. Fishermen like most of us. And they died. Dropped like flies. Ain't no one seen anything like it before.”

She let herself look at the man, his nervousness made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, “Fevers are not uncommon during winter.” 

He began to shake his head to argue again but she interrupted him, “When did these men die?”

His eyes looked away as he thought, “Six or seven days past now.”

“And has anyone else grown ill?”

The man thought about it, “No. None but my Ceryce.” His eyes dropped to his daughter.

“Does she fair as they did?”

"No." He shook his head, more to convince himself than the healer, “They were red in the face—swollen, mad. Raving about things, seein' things that weren’t there. Couldn't understand a thing they was saying." His eyes looked to his daughter, "But she’s pale, tired. No visions.”

The woman exhaled, “Then there is nothing to fear.” Even so, unease curled in her gut.

“Is s-“

“-Apply this,” she handed over the small jar of oily substance to him, “upon her skin twice a day. Once at dawn, once at dusk. Make her drink,” she looked around, “have you ale?”

“Aye.”

“Good. Make sure she drinks.” Fingers reached into her basket again as she looked for a small cloth bag. Once found she lifted it and opened, showing the man its contents, “Make her tea, three times a day. When her fever begins to break, make a stronger dose.”

Inside the sack were seeds, “What is it?” He asked, uncertainty in his voice.

“Coriander for the fever.” She stood, the bed shifting. 

The girl groaned quietly before her eyes fluttered open again to look up at her, “Am I going to die?”

The woman’s heart clenched painfully. In truth, she did not know. Some fevers stole their victims away; others burned through in a day. But the girl was young, and for now, the Stranger did not linger at her door.

Pulling the furs back up on the young girl, she gave her a small reassuring smile, “No. Your da will make you better.”

She handed the man the oiled cloth, her small roughened hand passing over his. He looked down at her gratefully and smiled in a way that most people did after she treated them.

With relief.

With thanks.

With worry. 

“How much coin?”

The woman thought about it, instead remembering what she had spotted when she first walked inside the home. 

“No coin.”

The man’s eyebrows rose, a refusal on the tip of his tongue.

“-But,” she continued, “I'm in need of a new net. I’ll take the one you have hung instead of coin.” 

“A net?” His brows furrowed, he had such an expressive face.

A nod.

She knew it was a much cheaper deal than he had anticipated. But he wasn’t going to argue. He nodded with vigour and moved to the wall where it hung and handed it to her, and with a second thought, pulled down 3 dried fish for her, tied together with string. She nodded in thanks and placed it inside of her basket.

“Thank you.” He gave her a sad smile, “ Fever took her mother after she gave birth. She’s all I have of my Deyan.”

She let herself give him a small sad smile back, “The stranger comes for all. If she gets worse, cool her with rags. If the rags do not help, send for me, I will come."

The man’s hand shot out before she could react and grasped her hand in his squeezing, “Thank you.”

She nodded and made her way to the door, the sun outside lowering in the sky. If she moved quickly she could make it home before the sun had set. As she stepped outside, the man called out to her again.

“It’ll be dark soon.” Barely having left his daughter side, “It’s dangerous to be a woman in the dark." His voice held little concern, and more of a warning, "There’s raiders now, more than before the war. People are desperate.”

Without replying, she simply nodded and went on her way. 

Of course it was dangerous to be a woman walking alone at night, but then again, it was dangerous to be a woman anywhere. Nowhere was safe, especially after the war. Desperation clung to men like filth, more pungent than sweat or unwashed clothes. But she trusted in her own caution, in the knowledge of when to step into the shadows and when to keep moving. She knew the land better than she knew herself.

And she was right. Her home was dark once she finally arrived, the trees surrounding blocking out what little light there already was.

And he was still there. Not that he could have gone anywhere.

She thought momentarily that he was dead--he was so still, so pale that it was hard not to mistaken him for a corpse. But once she stood beside him, she touched his neck and felt warmth and the slow and steady thump of his heart. 

The longer she looked at the young prince however, the more she realised she would likely need her table back, and surely having him elevated was not safe. If he woke and thrashed, he would fall to the hard floor. She would need to move him, and to her bed. But if she did this, she herself would have nowhere to sleep.

Regret pricked at her for not taking the fisherman’s coin. Cloth for a makeshift cot would have been useful. A blanket, too.

Hands on her hips, she surveyed her home. The furs on her bed were plentiful and would be enough to soften the floor. If she laid by the fire, it would keep her warm too.

It would have to do.

She dragged the furs from her bed and onto the floor beside the fire for warmth. She knew that she would need to change his bandages soon, and so she went to him.

With a deep breath, she braced herself. Hands beneath his arms, she pulled him upright. His face went bone-white, his lone eye rolling beneath its lid, lips parting in a strained whimper.

She twisted so that his chest leaned against her back. It was risky with his ribs, but she had no choice. He was dead weight. She hooked one arm under his broken leg, then hoisted him from the table.

The effort nearly sent her toppling.

His body tensed against her back, muscles locking as another sound of pain escaped his lips. She staggered, knees nearly buckling beneath his weight. And though he was lean, he might as well have been made of iron.

Quick unsteady steps and more groans which grew with intensity behind her she made it to the bed dropping him as gently as she could on the surface. He lay awkwardly, the broken leg on the bed, the other hanging off the edge, his skin had taken a green tint and she worried he may be sick. 

She hurried to fix his position, heart hammering when she noticed the fresh bloom of red on his bandaged side. Not enough to be dangerous but enough to tell her the jostling had torn at the wound.

Even in the low light of the fire, he looked worse, but she knew it was for the best. Her fingers felt his ribs, and all seemed to still be in the places where they should be. An ear to his chest confirmed a lack of punctured lung. Small mercies, she supposed.

His face was taut with pain, the most expression she had seen in the days passed. His brows were furrowed and his eye seemed to roll vigorously inside its socket. 

With a cloth she had used before, she wet it and came to his side, soothing the skin of his forehead in an attempt to settle him again. But as soon as the cloth touched him, his eye shot open. She was met with dazzling violet, which despite his weakness burned with what little strength the man had left. His pupil struggled to focus on her face, growing and shrinking, the violet disappearing and reappearing. 

She gave him what she thought was a unthreatening smile, and continued on the path of wetting his forehead with the cloth in soft gentle strokes of reassurance. 

She prayed momentarily that he didn't attack her. Men on their death beds have surprising strength when cornered. The bodies last burst and attempt of survival.

Aemond blinked sluggishly up at her, and she was surprised that he had even stayed conscious this long despite the pain the marred his face. The white of his lashes dusted his cheeks, and she saw that the muscles surrounding the missing eye tried also to blink what was left of the other lid. 

“Sleep.” She cooed at him, brushing against the side of his face where sweat had begun to settle.

His lips parted, cracked and dry, 

“Mother.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[supernotnatural2005]

The Arrangement - Part Three

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: You and Dean come to an arrangement to navigate what is happening between you. However, is it just a sure fire way to complicate things even more?

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings/Tags: SMUT!(18+ONLY!!!) like double smut 😅, fluff, the usual idiots in denial, mentions of non-major character death.

AN: Here we are with chapter 3, we finally meet the readers family and delve a little more into her background, as well as her situation with Dean. I hope you all enjoy 💕

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

You woke with a soft sigh, the morning light flittering in through the gap in your curtain, almost blinding you as you peeped an eye open. You rolled over onto your other side and found Dean still sleeping soundly. 

Your stomach twisted.

For some reason, seeing him still here, sprawled out in your bed like he belonged there, sent something unwanted crawling beneath your skin.

It wasn’t supposed to feel different.

It wasn’t different.

After your initial coupling the night before, where the arrangement was made—a deal in which you both could take advantage of whilst adhering to the other’s wants—it had been simple. Strictly sex without the strings. Some would call it a friends with benefits situation, but you found that term a little tasteless, too on the nose.

You’d come up with some rules, boundaries if you will, to ensure things didn’t become complicated. (Not that that ship hadn’t already sailed, but whatever.)

Either of you could call it off whenever you wanted. No hard feelings.

No sleepovers (though last night was an exception).

And most importantly, no matter what, you wouldn’t let this ruin your friendship.

(Though, if you were being honest, that ship might’ve already sailed too.)

But then, somewhere between setting the terms and conditions, one thing had led to another, and before you knew it, you’d been tangled up in him all over again.

There was just something about Dean that made you reckless, made you lose yourself completely. By the time you finally passed out, thoroughly spent, it had been well into the early hours of the morning, the scent of sweat and sex lingering in the air.

And now, Dean was still here. Right beside you, fast asleep, snoring softly.

You swallowed hard, your eyes tracing over him before you could stop yourself.

You had never really had the chance to admire him like this. Sure, you always knew Dean was attractive—it was an objective fact, really—but now, after having him in every way imaginable, it was something else entirely.

The sharp angles of his face, softened by sleep. The light freckles dusting across his nose. The way his hair stuck up in messy tufts, still showing evidence of your fingers tangling in it hours ago.

You shouldn’t be looking at him like this.

You shouldn’t be feeling like this.

You tore your gaze away, exhaling slowly.

This was fine. It was fine.

So what if something in your chest ached? So what if, for one stupid second, you wished this could be more?

It wasn’t. It wouldn’t be. And you knew that.

Dean was still free to date, to go out and find the girl of his dreams. And you?

You’d just be the best friend he screwed a couple of times and nothing more.

That’s what you agreed to.

That’s what you wanted.

Right?

As if on cue, a sign to quell your spiralling thoughts, Dean shifted slightly, his breathing hitching as he rolled onto his back, and your eyes drifted down before you could stop yourself.

The blanket had slipped low on his hips, and beneath it, you caught the telltale shape of his arousal, hard and curving upward beneath the fabric.

Instinctively, your thighs pressed together, and then an idea formed. A bold, shameless, possibly reckless idea.

But the whole point of this arrangement was to indulge in each other's needs, wasn’t it?

Slowly, carefully, you slipped beneath the covers, inching closer until you settled between his spread thighs. The warmth of his skin met your lips as you brushed a kiss along his hip bone.

Dean stirred with a low groan, but it wasn’t until you wrapped your fingers around him - admiring the warm, velvety weight of him before you took him into your mouth - that he truly woke up.

"Shit—" His voice was hoarse, thick with sleep as his hips jerked up. One of his hands tangled into your hair, his fingers flexing, holding rather than pushing. "You tryin’ to kill me, sweetheart?"

You hummed around him in response, sending a shudder through his body as your mouth slid up and down his length, suckling and licking along his shaft. His grip in your hair tightened, and his abs flexed beneath your fingertips. But you kept going, taking your time, savouring every reaction he gave you. 

Dean never stood a chance.

With a strangled groan, he came, his muscles going taut as you eagerly swallowed everything he gave, before he finally slumped back against the pillows, chest heaving. You pressed a final, teasing kiss to his hip before emerging from beneath the covers with a smirk.

Dean ran a hand down his face, chuckling breathlessly. "Damn. I think I could get used to this.”

You chuckled as you went to move away, when Dean’s hand caught your arm. You paused and met his dark gaze. “Where d’ya think your goin’?” 

You arched an amused brow at his tone. “To shower?” 

Dean shook his head, and before you could react, he was dragging you up his body, shifting you until you were kneeling either side of his head.

Your breath hitched, heart pounding as realisation settled in.

His pupils were blown wide as he looked at you—at the most intimate part of you, on full display for him.

His hands slid up the backs of your thighs, palms firm as he cupped your ass, squeezing appreciatively.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice thick with want. “Look at you.”

Before you could form a response, he leaned up, dragging his tongue in a slow, broad stripe between your folds.

Your head fell back with a sharp gasp, fingers grasping for the headboard as he did it again—this time, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as he tasted you.

“You can lower yourself, sweetheart,” Dean murmured against your skin, his grip tightening as he tugged you down further.

You hesitated, the vulnerability of the position making you self-conscious. But Dean wasn’t having it. He tugged you the rest of the way, making you gasp as you fully settled over his mouth.

Then he went to work.

Dean ate you like a man starved, his grip firm, his tongue relentless. Your hips rocked on instinct, a breathless moan slipping from your lips as the pleasure built, as he guided you exactly where he wanted you.

He groaned beneath you, the sound vibrating against your core, sending another sharp pulse of pleasure through your body.

You barely had time to think—only to feel, only to chase the high he was so determined to give you.

Your thighs trembled around his head, your grip on the headboard tightening as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly. Dean's tongue worked you over with practiced precision, flicking and circling before dragging slow, deliberate strokes through your folds. His fingers dug into your hips, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, guiding you into a slow grind against his mouth.

The pleasure was dizzying, a fire licking up your spine, consuming every inch of you. Your breaths turned to gasps, then whimpers, then broken cries as the pressure built, threatening to snap.

“D-Dean—” His name came out in a desperate whine, your body caught between the need to get closer and the overwhelming intensity of his touch. He groaned in response, the vibrations shooting straight through you. And then, with one last flick of his tongue over your clit, the coil inside you shattered.

Your whole body tensed before a violent shudder rocked through you, your vision going white as the pleasure exploded, wave after wave crashing over you. Your hips bucked against his mouth as he held you there, drawing out every last aftershock, every last ounce of pleasure he could wring from you.

Only when you whined in overstimulation did he finally ease up, pressing one last slow, lazy kiss to your swollen, pulsing centre before releasing his grip on your hips. You slumped forward, chest heaving, bracing yourself against the headboard as you tried to catch your breath.

Dean chuckled beneath you, his hands smoothing up and down your thighs, giving them a playful squeeze. “Now that,” he rasped, voice thick with satisfaction, “is one hell of a way to wake up.”

You huffed out a laugh, your body still buzzing in the aftermath as you carefully climbed off him, rolling onto your side beside him. “No kidding,” you murmured, still breathless. “And here I was, thinking I’d be the one in charge this morning.”

Dean turned his head to look at you, a smug grin on his lips, his face still glistening with the evidence of what he’d just done. “What can I say? You inspired me.”

You smacked his chest lightly, making him chuckle. “Well, I think we just broke, like, half of our rules before we even got out of bed.”

Dean stretched, arms resting behind his head, utterly unbothered. “Eh. Rules were made to be bent a little.”

You gave him a look. “Bent?”

He smirked. “Okay, maybe broken.”

You shook your head with a laugh, finally forcing yourself to sit up. “Alright, I need a shower. A very long, very cold shower.”

Dean hummed, reaching over to give your hip a squeeze. “Or… I could join you, and we could keep breaking rules.”

You groaned, throwing a pillow at his face. “Dean.”

He just laughed, catching it with ease. “What? Just putting it out there.”

Shaking your head, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood, feeling his gaze trailing over you as you walked toward the bathroom. You paused in the doorway, glancing back at him with an arched brow.

“Stay put, Winchester,” you warned playfully.

Dean held his hands up in surrender, that damn smirk still on his face. “No promises, sweetheart.”

Rolling your eyes, you stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. And even as the water rushed over your skin, washing away the evidence of the morning’s activities, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you were in way over your head.

By the time you had reappeared, showered and dressed for the day, Dean was - thankfully - fully clothed and plating up some eggs and toast in the kitchen. 

He gave you a lazy smile when he spotted you, and placed one of the plates down in front of you when you took a seat at the kitchen island. 

“Thanks.” You told him gratefully. After the past twenty-four hours, having arguably the most sex you’d had in almost a year, you’d definitely worked up an appetite. Dean took a seat next to you and you both dug in. 

Breakfast passed by surprisingly smoothly. If you were being honest, you’d expected at least a little awkwardness now that you’d both left the bedroom and returned to some semblance of normalcy. But there was none. The easy banter and casual conversation flowed just as it always had, and what had transpired only 30 minutes ago was never brought up. 

Not that it needed to, this was how you’d hoped for it to be. Maybe you underestimated yours and Dean’s ability to be actual grown ups about this. 

“So, I’m driving down to pick up Sam tomorrow.” Dean told you as he gathered your plates and took them to the sink to wash. 

“Drive? Is he not flying in next week?” You asked. Christmas wasn’t until the weekend and Sam was all the way out in Stanford. You assumed flying was the only logical, quicker way of getting home. 

Dean turned on the faucet, rinsing off a plate. “He tried, but the earliest flight he could get was the twenty-seventh.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you got up to help dry and put things away. “Does the kid not know how to pre-book a flight or something?”

Dean chuckled, hands deep in suds. “You’d think with all those brains to get into a school like Stanford, he’d be smarter.”

“Maybe he’s got girl brain.” You teased. “Is he still seeing that Jess?” Sam had mentioned a girl he’d started seeing on his last venture home, he’d seemed pretty smitten then. 

Dean nodded, handing you the last dish. “Yeah, I’m picking her up too.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Wow. That serious, huh? Guess it’s the real deal if he’s subjecting her to us lot.”

“Hey, speak for yourself. I’m a delight.”

You snorted. “Oh, please. You’re the worst of us all.” You said as you picked up your steaming cup of coffee.

Dean gaped at you in mock offence. “The hell I am!”

You hid a chuckle behind your coffee cup as Dean poured himself another. The playful bickering continued, and despite how nothing about this situation was normal, it somehow felt like it was.

“Well, with you gone for the next day or so, that gives me time to wrap gifts. And yes, that includes the ones you got for your family,” you cut in before he could even ask.

“You’re the best,” he grinned, looking way too pleased with himself.

You rolled your eyes. Wrapping Dean’s gifts had become an annual chore—one you’d taken on after watching everyone struggle through layers of newspaper and duct tape one too many times. Now, that particular misfortune was yours alone.

"Alright, I should get going. The old man’s been hounding me long enough," you huffed, slipping on your boots and grabbing your winter jacket from the wall rack.

Because of the lead up to Christmas, everything had been extra crazy at work. Dick Roman, your boss, was very anal about things, your office was probably about the only one still open the week leading up to the holiday’s. 

So, for that fact, you hadn’t had much time to visit Bobby lately. And with Christmas bound to be pure chaos—thanks to both your family and Dean’s—you knew today was your best shot at a real catch-up before the holiday madness set in.

“Right, yeah” Dean agreed and looked as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it. 

“You got any plans?” You enquired, noticing his hesitancy and he shook his head.

“Nah, I’ll probably just work on the car, maybe pack a bag. Long drive tomorrow.” He hummed and you nodded. 

“Sounds depressing.” You deadpanned and Dean shot you a look. 

“Alright, Singer. Get outta here.” He shooed you out the door hearing your laughter as he closed it behind you. 

The moderate drive to your family home was a one loaded with thoughts of a certain green eyed man. You knew you were screwed, setting yourself up for heartbreak. However well you and Dean were handling things now, you believed it was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped. You were a pessimist, after all. 

But did that mean you’d stop it before it got to that point?

Not a chance.

Not when you’d just had four mind-blowing orgasms in the span of a few hours. Not when Dean had ruined every other man for you. Because even if this was just an arrangement, how the hell were you ever supposed to let anyone else warm your bed after him?

You’d well and truly screwed yourself. And you had no one to blame but you.

Meanwhile, back at the apartment, Dean wasn’t faring much better.

Why the hell did you agree to this again?

Oh, right. Because you’re a goddamn idiot.

Dean sighed, dragging a hand down his face as he leaned against the counter. He’d let his downstairs brain do the thinking instead of the one that actually mattered. And now? Now, he was in deep shit.

Because, yeah, this whole arrangement was supposed to be no strings, just fun. But how was that possible now he actually got to have you. Before he learned just how amazing being with you was— how it was better than he ever could’ve imagined. 

Dammit. 

He had no one to blame but himself. 

The familiar crunch of gravel under your tires sent a wave of nostalgia rolling over you as you pulled up to your childhood home. A modest, two-story farmhouse, nestled a little out of the way, but still standing strong despite the years. Out back, your dad’s pride and joy stretched across the property—the scrap yard, a graveyard of metal and machinery that had once been your playground.

Memories stirred—hot summer days spent weaving through rusted-out shells of old cars, hands stained with grease as Bobby taught you the difference between a carburettor and an alternator. At first, it had been just you, running wild with an overactive imagination. 

Then Jo came along, and suddenly, you had a partner in crime. And when Dean joined in, the three of you were unstoppable, turning the yard into your own personal jungle gym, crafting make-believe adventures where you were pirates, outlaws, or world-class race car drivers.

But for all the warmth those memories carried, a familiar pang of sadness settled in your chest as your eyes drifted to the front porch. You had only spent a small part of your life here with your mother before she got sick. She had died when you were five—too young to remember much, but what you did recall was vivid. She was beautiful. She was warm. She loved you. That much, you knew for certain.

Your father had spent the better part of a decade alone after she passed, never so much as looking at another woman. But then Ellen came along—not as a whirlwind romance, but as something steady and unshakable. She had been your distant neighbour for years, and when he told you they were together, it hadn’t been a shock. It had made sense. The kind of deep, unspoken sense that settled into your bones.

Ellen had filled a space in your life neither you nor your father had realised needed filling. She didn’t try to replace your mother, but she became something else entirely—something just as important. And with her came Jo. Not a sister by blood, but one in every way that mattered. You had both lost a parent, and in return, gained a new one through your father and Ellen’s love for each other. It was one of the few things in your life you were endlessly grateful for.

You barely had a second to step out of your car before Bobby’s voice grumbled through the crisp mid-afternoon air.

“Took you long enough to show up,” he muttered, wiping his hands on an old rag as he straightened up from under the hood of a car - that had clearly seen better days.

You smirked, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Traffic,” you deadpanned. “And also, I like to make an entrance.”

Bobby huffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. He had always appreciated your sharp tongue—probably because you’d inherited it from him. But beneath that tough exterior, you had your mother’s heart—open, vulnerable, and full of a quiet kind of strength that even Bobby, for all his gruffness, had always recognised.

“C’mere,” he grumbled, his voice as gruff as ever, but his eyes warm. You barely had time to react before his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into one of his signature bear hugs. You melted into it, breathing in the familiar scent of motor oil and worn leather.

“Ellen’s put on a lasagna since she heard you were stopping by,” he said as he pulled back with a knowing smile.

You chuckled. “That woman spoils me.”

Bobby scoffed. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“Hey.” You chuckled, nudging him in the side as he guided you into the house with an arm around you.

The second you stepped through the door, the rich aroma of Ellen’s home-cooked meal wrapped around you like a warm blanket. Your stomach grumbled in response, and mouth watered.

“Man, that smells good,” you hummed.

Ellen turned at the sound of your voice, her face lighting up as she wiped her hands on a dish towel and made her way over.

“How you doin’, darlin’?” she asked, pulling you into a tight embrace before stepping back to cup your face. She gave you a once-over, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re lookin’ a little thin. You eatin’ alright?”

You rolled your eyes, waving her off. “Yes, woman.”

She arched a brow, smirking. “Alright, alright. Just after the other night, I wanted to make sure you’re in good spirits, is all.”

Your stomach twisted slightly. She was, of course, referring to the night you had stormed into the Roadhouse after your disaster of a date with Gary, drowning your frustration in whiskey shots with Jo until the night spiralled completely out of control. 

The night you kissed Dean.

It was only two days ago, but it already felt like a lifetime had passed, so much had happened since, and your mind was still trying to make sense of it all.

Bobby cleared his throat, drawing your attention. “Yeah, I heard about that,” he muttered, disapproval evident in his tone, though it wasn’t directed at you. “Glad to hear you gave that jackass what was comin’ to him.”

You smirked. “He shouldn’t have worn white.”

That earned you a chuckle, and as the mid-afternoon bled into the evening, conversation flowed naturally. The usual check-ins—how work was going, plans for Christmas, updates on Jo’s training at the academy. She was top of her class, and you couldn’t be prouder.

Then, they asked about Dean.

You stiffened for just a second—so quick that anyone else might have missed it. But not Ellen.

You kept your answers short, careful. You brought up how the Winchester brothers had already been pestering about Ellen’s famous stuffing, which seemed to distract her enough. 

Ellen shook her head with a small, fond smile, despite the way she tried to maintain her hard exterior. “Those boys sure know how to butter me up,” she muttered, shaking her head.

By the time Jo came barreling through the front door, you were well past starving, but the sight of her wide grin made you forget about food for a moment.

“Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show their face,” she teased, dropping into the chair beside you with an easy familiarity.

“You act like it’s been years.”

“Felt like it,” she shot back with a dramatic sigh, earning a scoff from you.

“I saw you two days ago.”

“Yeah, and I don’t remember it,” she admitted with a chuckle. The two of you had always been terrible influences on each other whenever alcohol was involved.

You laughed, shaking your head, then Jo straightened up, mischief dancing in her eyes. “Anyway, now that you’re here, I’ve got some prime gossip.”

With an exaggerated flourish, she tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder like she was about to spill the juiciest secret in the world.

You arched a brow, smirking. “Oh?”

Jo didn’t waste a second before launching into a dramatic retelling of her ongoing rivalry with some guy named Cole. The way she spoke about him—full of exasperation, plenty of complaints, but with just a little too much intensity—made it obvious. She either hated him with every fibre of her being, or she was in complete denial about the fact that she might actually like the guy.

“Let me guess,” you interjected, smirking. “Classic ‘annoy the girl because you secretly like her’ situation?”

Jo scoffed. “What? No! He’s an ass.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He is! He’s—he’s cocky, and thinks he’s the best at everything, and—”

“And you like him,” you finished smugly.

Her mouth snapped shut, cheeks tinting the slightest bit pink.

Ellen chuckled. “I’d say she’s onto somethin’, kid.”

Jo groaned, dropping her forehead against the table as Bobby snorted into his beer.

The house hummed with warmth and familiarity, a stark contrast to the mess in your head. For a moment, just a moment, you let yourself breathe—pushing aside the tangled thoughts of Dean, of what had happened, of what it might mean.

You would deal with that later.

For now, you were home.

It was nearing 7 p.m. when you finally said your goodbyes, somehow getting roped into making a dessert for Christmas. You knew Mary was already bringing her famous apple pie, but Ellen had scolded you at your whining, reminding you that it was only right to have more than one.

The drive home wasn’t long, but with every passing mile, anticipation curled tight in your chest. It was a new experience, in some ways, it excited you—the not knowing, the spontaneity of it all. But at the same time, it killed you, leaving you on edge.

When you stepped inside the apartment, Dean was nowhere to be found—at least, not at first. You set your bag down and were about to call out for him when the faint sound of running water caught your attention.

The shower.

And just like that, an impulsive thought struck you again—one you didn’t bother fighting. Maybe you just had a ridiculously high sex drive all of a sudden. Or maybe it was just Dean, but you found yourself standing before the closed bathroom door, teeth sinking into your lip as you hesitated. 

Maybe it was too much. Too soon. But there wasn’t exactly a rule in place limiting to how many times you could fuck.

So, without another thought, you quietly slipped inside.

Steam curled in the air, thick and warm, and through the frosted glass, you could make out Dean’s silhouette. His broad, muscled frame, the way water cascaded down his skin—it had your body heating with need in an instant.

He was humming to himself, the tune unmistakably Metallica, as you made quick work of your clothes, letting them pool at your feet until you were completely bare.

Slowly, you padded across the floor, stopping just outside the shower door. With one last exhale of doubt, you pulled it open and stepped inside.

Dean startled, his head whipping toward you, eyes wide with a mixture of alarm and surprise.

“What the—”

Before he could finish, his expression twisted in pain, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Shit.” He hissed, rubbing furiously at them as soap trickled down into his lashes.

Biting back a laugh, you reached for his arm and guided him under the spray, watching as the water rinsed the suds away. Okay, maybe this wasn’t quite as sexy as you had planned.

When he finally blinked his eyes open, he turned to you, first in disbelief—then in something far more dangerous. His gaze darkened, sweeping over you from head to toe, and fuck. He could never get used to this. To you.

Perfect.

“Well, this is somethin’,” he smirked with a hint of uncertainty, though his eyes didn’t refrain form dragging over every inch of your bare skin, in a way that made you shiver.

“I needed a shower,” you shrugged, trying for innocence, but the way you bit your lip and the heat in your gaze said otherwise.

“Is that right?” Dean hummed, stepping closer, his body crowding yours in the already confined space. Your breath hitched, your eyes flickering from his to his lips, down his chest, and lower to where he was already hardening for you.

Your pussy clenched at the sight, the memory of how good he felt inside you hitting like a lightning strike.

“Just trying to save water,” you added, voice breathless.

“Yeah, smart thinkin’,” Dean murmured, his voice thick with amusement and something deeper. Darker. His fingers brushed along your waist, slow and teasing, before you couldn’t take it anymore.

You crashed together, mouths colliding in a searing, desperate kiss that was all heat and hunger, lips clashing, tongues tangling, breaths turning ragged as the steam curled around you both. 

The scent of soap and Dean's skin filled your senses, warm water cascading down his broad shoulders, sliding between your bodies, making everything slicker—hotter.

Dean’s hands roamed, calloused fingers gliding over wet skin, gripping your hips, tracing the curve of your spine before gripping your ass, pressing you closer until you could feel the hard, throbbing heat of him against your stomach. The contrast of his rough hands against the smooth slide of your skin sent a shiver down your spine.

The shower’s spray pelted against your shoulders, rivulets of water trailing between your breasts, down your stomach, before pooling between your thighs—where you already ached for him.

Dean groaned into your mouth, his grip tightening. “You’re fucking dangerous, you know that?” His voice was low, wrecked, barely a breath against your lips.

You smirked, pressing yourself even closer, deliberately dragging yourself along the rigid length of him, slick heat meeting hardened steel. Dean let out a low growl, hands tightening on your hips, fingertips digging into your damp skin.

"You're playing with fire, sweetheart," he rasped, but there was no warning in his tone—only pure, molten desire.

"Then burn me," you murmured back, your lips grazing his jaw as your nails raked down his back.

Dean inhaled sharply, his resolve snapping like a thread. His hands slid down, one gripping the swell of your ass, the other venturing lower, teasing through your wet folds. The moment he found your clit, you gasped, fingers clutching at his shoulders.

"Already so fucking wet," he groaned, slipping a finger inside you, slow, testing. Your walls fluttered around him, greedy, eager for more.

Your breath hitched, head falling back against the shower wall as he added another finger, stretching you, thrusting them in and out in a steady rhythm, curling just right.

"Dean," you whimpered, clinging to him, your hips moving of their own accord, chasing the friction, the heat.

Dean watched you like a man mesmerised, his green eyes dark, hooded with lust as he pumped his fingers deeper, faster, the heel of his palm pressing against your clit. "That's it," he coaxed, voice rough, filled with awe. "Let me see you come."

The fire inside you built to an unbearable peak, and then it snapped. A sharp cry tore from your lips as you came around his fingers, body trembling against the tile, your walls pulsing around the thick intrusion. Dean groaned at the sight, watching every shudder, every twitch, as if committing the moment to memory.

He eased you through it, dragging out every wave of pleasure until you were panting against him, boneless. Then, slowly, he pulled his fingers from you, bringing them to his mouth, licking them clean with a satisfied hum.

"Fuck," you breathed, still reeling, still burning.

Dean smirked. "Tastes even better straight from the source."

That snapped something in you. With renewed hunger, you surged forward, crashing your lips against his, your hand slipping between you to wrap around his cock. He groaned into your mouth, bracing a hand against the wall as you stroked him, firm and slow, feeling the way he twitched, the way his breath stuttered.

But before you could take things further, Dean growled, gripping your wrist and pulling your hand away.

"Sweetheart," he warned, voice strained, his restraint hanging by a thread.

You pouted playfully. "What? Just trying to return the favour."

Dean huffed a breath, shaking his head with a smirk before gripping your thighs and lifting you in one smooth motion. You gasped as your back hit the cool tile, the contrast between it and his heat making you shiver. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, and as he adjusted his hold, his cock brushing against your bare pussy, sliding through your slick folds.

Dean froze, sucking in a sharp breath. "Shit," he muttered, realisation dawning in his heated gaze. "Condom—"

"I'm on the pill," you panted, barely able to think past the need consuming you. "And I'm clean."

Dean met your eyes, searching, his chest rising and falling against yours. "Yeah?"

You nodded, desperate. "Yeah."

Dean exhaled, pressing his forehead to yours, a small chuckle leaving his lips. "Me too. Clean, I mean.” With that, he adjusted his grip, angling his hips, and slowly, deliberately, pushed inside.

A ragged moan left your lips as he stretched you, deeper than before, bare and hot and thick. The sensation was overwhelming—so intimate, so raw, nothing between you to dull it.

Dean let out a broken groan, his head falling against your shoulder. "Fuck—" His grip on your thighs tightened, his breath ragged against your skin. "You feel... Jesus, you're so fucking perfect."

You clung to him, nails biting into his shoulders, drinking in every inch as he filled you completely. "Dean," you gasped, already shaking, the feeling of him bare inside sending electric pleasure through your veins.

"Not gonna last long like this," he admitted, voice wrecked, strained, his hips pressing flush against yours. "You feel too damn good."

You tightened around him in response, and he cursed under his breath, pulling back just enough before thrusting in again, slow, deliberate.

The drag, the friction—it was maddening. He set a steady rhythm, rolling his hips, each movement deep and slow, making you feel every inch of him. His lips found your neck, sucking, biting, as he moved, claiming you in every way possible.

The hot spray of the shower poured down his back, running between your joined bodies, making every slick movement even more intoxicating. Every thrust sent sparks of pleasure racing through your body, winding you tighter, making you tremble against him.

Dean groaned against your throat, his breath hot and ragged, hands gripping your thighs as he drove into you harder, deeper. The wet sounds of skin meeting skin mixed with the steady patter of water against tile, the air thick with steam, with heat, with the intoxicating scent of him.

“Goddammit, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “You feel so fucking good—so tight, so perfect.”

Your only response was a choked moan as he adjusted his angle, his cock hitting that spot inside you that had you arching against him, nails biting into his shoulders. Your body clenched around him, and Dean cursed, a deep, guttural sound that sent another wave of arousal crashing through you.

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing firm, teasing circles that had you gasping.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your ear, voice thick with need. “Let me feel you, baby—wanna feel you come all over my cock.”

Your body was already unraveling, fire burning hot in your core, the pleasure too much, too good. His fingers worked you in time with his thrusts, his pace quickening, desperate now, chasing that high.

“Dean—fuck—”

“I got you,” he promised, voice rough, desperate. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

And you did.

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, crashing over you, pleasure tearing through your body in hot, rolling pulses. Your walls clenched around him, gripping him tight, making him groan, his movements stuttering as he chased his own release.

“Shit—” Dean cursed, his head falling against your shoulder, his thrusts turning erratic, rough, his breath coming in sharp, ragged pants.

Then, with one final, deep stroke, he was gone, a shudder wracking through him as he spilled inside you, warmth flooding deep, his groan low and wrecked against your throat.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, bodies locked together, chests heaving, steam curling around you. Dean pressed his forehead to yours, eyes still dark, lips brushing against your damp skin.

“Jesus,” he muttered breathlessly, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “That was—”

You exhaled a soft, breathless laugh, fingers tangling in his wet hair.

“Yeah,” you murmured, just as dazed.

Dean let out a breathless chuckle, still holding you close as he pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder. Then he pulled back just enough to glance at the shower-head, feeling the now lukewarm water cascading over both of you.

“I think your idea of saving water was a damn fallacy,” he teased, with a breathy chuckle.

You laughed, still trying to catch your breath, resting your forehead against his. “Yeah, well… in my defence, I wasn’t really thinking about the water.”

Dean groaned dramatically. “Jesus, you’re gonna kill me.”

AN: Okay this was a steamy one, I hope we're all okay after this one? 😅 Please let me know how you're liking the story so far? And are you just as frustrated as I am with these two? Feed back is much appreciated 💕

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell @nancymcl @happyfxckinghorrors @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @fangirlingfromdownunder @cevansbaby-dove @star-yawnznn @piptoost @shadysoulangel @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere7 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @waynes-multiverse @jaredpadonlyyyy

Next Time...

As you neared the building, Charlie shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “You coming to the company Christmas party tomorrow night?” You blinked, nearly having forgotten about the annual bash Roman Enterprises threw right before everyone was released for their so-called ‘Christmas break.’ “Shit, I completely forgot about that,” you admitted, your breath visible in the air. Your mind had been preoccupied with... well, other things. “Well, I’m only going if you are. I can only tolerate these people when I’m getting paid for it.” You laughed at that, shaking your head. “I mean, I guess it’d be the decent thing to show our faces, right?” You shrugged, considering it. “And I do have to admit—Dick throws a damn good party.” “Right? And there’s always a chocolate fountain,” Charlie said, eyes lighting up. You hummed in agreement. “Fuck it. Let’s go. I can grab a new dress on my way home later.” Charlie grinned, clearly pleased. “Oh! You should invite Dean. It’s been a while since I saw that knucklehead.” That made you hesitate. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to invite Dean, but an office Christmas party wasn’t exactly a casual setting. And inviting him made it feel a little too much like... a date. But then again, Charlie would be there. It wasn’t like it would just be the two of you. Three friends hanging out. Totally normal.

[burningmoonus]

On the survey I asked the developers to add some VAMPIRE themed cards.

And here what I thought about.

WARNING!!! a lot of mistakes,probably, I'm sorry

Imagine Mc is a vampire like Kathrine Pierce from tvd. The cards are happening in like 17-18 th century or something like this.

So she meets the boys.

1. Xavier -a vampire prince who hides that he's a vampire but mc founds out accidentally. Bc they were childhood friends, and she was terminally ill and was slowly dying, but xavier turned her. So they form an alliance bc they are both vampires, and no one would understand them. They even plan on either getting married or running away together, but royal duties need Xavier to marry a royal person, but mc is not royal and xavier only wants her. But a family of the royal daughter that wants xavier to marry their daughter sends an assassin after her. So, mc's vampire identity was released to the public, and Xaviers family orders to kill mc bc she's vampire, and xavier is like, nuh, uh. They try to run away but mc wanted a good life for xavier, so she sacrifices herself for him having a good life or sumn.

2.Zayne- (mc just got turned or something) a doctor, something like Carlisle from Twilight BUT stay with me!!! He teaches her how to live as a vampire, and they start to live together, BUT there's a kicker!!!! People found out, and they HATE vampires, so they haunt them down, and they die in each other's hands (mhm angst, I love itttt)

3.Rafayel-Mc turns Rafayel (STAY WITH ME HERE) but it was an accident?!?!?!?! She just wanted to drink some of his blood but got carried away and turned him in the vampire. But she didn't know that she turned him into a vampire. So imagine the shock on her face when she wakes up(yes, she sleeps, leave me alone) with him staring at her sitting in a chair, all broody and moody. So he starts to live with her, tey all lovey dovey. Rafayel found some of the mc old letters to her dead lover. (Turns out her lover was Rafayel, but he died?idk im out of ideas), so Rafayel wants to give her colorful happy long life, but mc has no desire to keep on living. So one day he finds a letter on his bed from mc, saying goodbyes etc. So Rafayel keeps on looking for her in every person until he goes insane and people kill him

4.Sylus-A vampire who found mc almost dead, but he decided to turn her into a vampire. He taught her how to appreciate her new life, so they live together(pretty much Rosalie and Emmett from Twilight), but whoever "killed" mc sees her alive and like:damn, is she a witch? So, they send ppl after her claiming that she's a witch. But Sylus wouldn't let anyone touch her. So, he kills them before they try to hurt her but he gets hurt really bad and dies(😳😲). But mc keeps on living. So she finds him a future as she visits some sport event where he participates(boxing match?)but he doesn't remember her so mc is hurt and stuff....That's it!!!!!

5.Caleb- would be a vampire hunter who tries to catch mc bc there's a bounty on her head. They go back and forth until they fall in love, but that's infold, so there'd be angst!!!! Like maybe mc dying in the sunlight or someone kills her, but before she dies, she turns caleb into a vampire, but now he's cursed to spend entirety alone (yes, I hate happiness)

[picathartidae]

Hello, I'm back! Bit of a longer one this time, because I am a great lover of angst and ideas were had. So excited to finally get to talk about it, though!

So, my general idea for what happened when Valentin was pulled out of the Fade was that he mumbled a very quiet but breathless and clearly distraught "Varric's dead", and immediately passed out on the spot. He later woke up in the infirmary and looked over to see the empty bed for the first time, and just ended up sitting there and staring in dead silence as reality finally hit him. I imagine he was in shock, more than anything (I liked the idea of mirroring the first scene of waking up in the Lighthouse at the beginning).

The next part requires some context – I liked the idea that Val had been playing Wicked Grace with Varric in pretty much all of their scenes together, and that Valentin has a very specific way of playing, which Varric had started mimicking (because Val was actually playing against himself), and culminated in a scene where Varric actually gave Val his Wicked Grace cards. So when Val sees the cards still left from their last game, he's also struck with the realisation that it was never Varric who gave them to him – Harding had noticed him playing against himself in the infirmary all the time and was the one who ultimately gave him the deck.

Harding. Who had just sacrificed herself so they could kill Ghilan’nain. His best friend who knew Wicked Grace had been a whole thing between him and Varric and wanted him to have a keepsake to help deal with what she believed was his trauma and grief. Who had given him the cards because she didn't want to poke at what she thought was an open wound, but wanted to silently reassure him that she was still there for him and they were going through the same grief. And he never knew, until it was way too late. Because now she was gone, too.

He'd mostly found closure already, back in the Fade (hence why he was able to escape at all), but the revelation hit him like a truck. That was probably the point where he really broke.

In terms of the team, he had hoped they would (and maybe even expected them to) carry on without him, and was genuinely surprised they elected to try to find him in the Fade in the first place. He was not expecting to be rescued, but realises that there wasn't much else they could do, since they couldn't kill Elgar'nan without Solas' dagger, especially when their efforts to recreate it resulted in one that looked similar, but failed to have the same properties. They hadn't really been left with any other options. Also, power of friendship.

After that, he pretty much immediately went into business "I can collapse later" mode. All very definitely not okay even slightly, but insisting that was a future problem. Generally, he completely emotionally shut down. Barely even reacted to the news that Minrathous – his beloved city he has repeatedly sacrificed everything for, the city where his family that he loves still lives – had been taken over by Elgar'nan. He was just in shock, more than anything. I doubt he was thinking much at all. Couldn’t afford to.

After everything is over, he finally lets himself break down. It's ugly, but also cathartic.

*banging pots and pans together*

Yoo-hoo! People who love angst!

Tell me what happened when your Rook got back to the Lighthouse after being trapped in the Fade prison and had to deal with the realizing

1) their friend they just spent their whole adventure with was dead

2) Varric was actually dead and they were talking to a magical projection that whole time

3) everything had gone to complete shit while they were missing and their friends were having an extended (but productive) panic attack

[syndrossi]

I've been reading lots of platonic family and accidental adoption/acquisition stuff lately, so I really have to know, what WOULD Daemon do if Jon and/or Rhaegar brought home a random stray? Be it a stray cat, dog, direwolf, or human? (Or for additional hilarity, an extra baby dragon that is not bonded to either of them but randomly hatched in front of them anyway. Rhaegar obviously couldn't leave it to fend for itself. It's a tiny baby. Even smaller than Qelebrys was when she hatched!)

Daemon lives under the specter of Allard Royce's miserly authoritative figure in the boys' lives, so he's very bad at not giving them their every heart's desire. In the case of a direwolf, however, he would try his best to hold strong (before ultimately failing).

x~x~x

Oh no.

Daemon was no stranger to dread when it came to his sons. Some of it, the unbearable kind, was rooted in the fear of losing them. Other times, it was his children being far too clever by half and knowing that he would pay for it somehow.

This was a new dread entirely, one that seized him by the chest as he stared into their pleading, hopeful faces. You will have to break their hearts.

“That is—” he broke off, studying the furry pup that was so large his sons both had to hold it up—Jon’s arms beneath its chest, and Rhaegar’s beneath its belly, just before the hindquarters. That is no wolf.

“He is a direwolf,” Jon said, his smile turning tearful as the pup licked at his cheek. “And he has lost his pack. He needs a new one.”

How did it even reach Runestone? It was a journey of well over a thousand miles on foot to reach the castle from the North, and from what Daemon had heard, direwolf sightings were already rare, even at the heart of the North, in Winterfell.

Moreover, it was an unusual pup, with pale fur and red eyes that gazed at Daemon with a strange intelligence.

“How will you care for him when we are at King’s Landing?” Daemon asked, only to realize by the sudden brightening of his sons’ faces that he had already lost.

“We can make a sling for Caraxes’s saddlebags and strap him to it,” Rhaegar said with a confidence that told him his son had already thought of it. “He can ride below or alongside, depending on which is more comfortable.”

“The king will never allow a direwolf in the holdfast,” Daemon said weakly, but although that would have been true of his grandfather, Viserys was another story entirely.

Jon dismissed his bluff with a shake of his head. “We shall convince him.”

“What do you intend with a direwolf?” he demanded. “Such beasts are not meant to be mere pets, no more than a dragon is.”

“He would not be a pet,” Jon said, looking almost offended. “He would be—a protector. One who can follow us where a Princesguard wouldn’t. Like our dragons did, when they were little.”

His sons’ hatchlings still believed themselves to be little, of course, and had been heartbroken when they had finally been barred from following their riders into the holdfast. The last time Qelebrys had tried to sit on Daemon’s shoulder, she had ended up sitting on him, heavy as a grown man.

Perhaps his sons merely missed those early days, when they had been able to enjoy that closeness with their dragons. Perhaps he should have considered the possibility and tried to find them a kitten to fill that longing.

This is certainly no kitten.

But as the silence dragged out, Jon’s face grew more despondent. “Please?” his son begged, the vulnerability in his voice nearly rending Daemon asunder.

His sons so rarely asked him for anything, usually content with whatever they were provided—a lingering reminder of their time in the Vale, where they had been taught to treasure what scraps of affection they had been thrown. Daemon could too easily imagine Allard Royce staring coldly in the face of their pleas, denying them again and again.

As he gazed into his son’s eyes, he could see a glimmer of that younger child, hopeful but guarded, daring to believe that Daemon might grant his dearest wish.

It is a direwolf, Daemon thought despairingly. A wild thing. As like to harm them as help.

“What if we were not alone with him?” Rhaegar asked. “He sleeps in a common area at night, and during the day, we are with you—or Ser Willam. Or a Princesguard, when we are back home. Until you trust him.”

He met the wolf’s eyes again, unnerved by its calm. He could not help but feel as though it was an act for his benefit, even though that was absurd.

“I make no promises,” Daemon said, trying hard to maintain his stern demeanor in the face of their shared elation. “Should the beast harm anyone who is not directly threatening you, it will be taken back out into the wilds.”

“He won’t,” Jon breathlessly assured him, and the pup nosed him in the ear, drawing a wide smile. “Thank you.”

“And when you are outside with it, you will have your dragons present.” He caught a ripple of something in Rhaegar’s expression and he narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

“It is nothing,” Rhaegar said, holding out for several seconds before admitting, “Qelebrys tried to attack him.”

Daemon resolved to find a nice plump pig for his son’s drake later. “And Shadow?”

Rhaegar smiled wryly. “Shadow will try to play with anything.”

[chomping-sicknasty]

Heinz's heritage and relationship to his home culture has always interested me. coming from an immigrant family who was really poor and rural, when my family got to the us there was an effort to "americanize" ourselves. we still keep ties to our culture of course but most of us havent visited the homeland since leaving. and theres been a noticable effort to distance ourselves from our poor and struggling past. (Im sure some previously poor kids will understand or see this in their own relatives. Trying to overcompensate financially, being more materialistic/consumeristic, marrying into rich families/pressure from relatives to "marry rich") This has been going on for some 30 odd years

Heinz's homeland was a bit different from ours, but the fact is theres a lot of negative association with Childhoods and "Home". In most of his backstories there is some reference to cultural customs that he couldnt fit into, abuse/abandonment/neglect, having to fend for himself. Theres so much fear tied to Drusselstein, i would imagine. I can barely remember any scenes of the show where he shares something from Drusselstein in a positive light. And considering him living in the usa for most of his life now, im sure his style, personality, likes and dislikes, and the social norms he practices, has changed dramatically compared to when he was a kid.

His homeland is a touchy subject but not one he ever strays from mentioning. He mentions Drusselstein a LOT. And even goes back to visit (to see his abusive father no less, and give him the garden gnome they lost- both a cultural staple AND point of trauma for heinz) (and another time he goes is to retake the driving test which he is TERRIFIED of).

What i find most interesting is the fact Heinz confronts his past and the culture he grew up in pretty often. He's definitely aware to how its influenced him and hurt him. But when it comes to americanization...well lets look at Roger

Roger, who could easily pass for american-born. He has made considerable effort to rid himself of his previous accent and replace it for an american one. He has successfully imbeded himself into american society- widely accepted and loved, holding office for a considerable amount of years, always dressed professionally, wealthy. Roger has grasped american customs and fit into them incredibly well. But, unlike Heinz, he also keeps positive ties with the family. In all of Heinz backstories, it seems Roger did just fine in Drusselstein.

We also dont get to see much of Roger or get an idea of him outside of Heinz's lens. I have no doubt Roger americanized himself for the same reason many others do- to survive. But when it comes to the pair of them, i would say Roger has an easier time understanding social power and wanted to aquire that in america- much like how he had social power back in their homeland by being the family favorite and performing his social roles well in childhood.

Despite the fact that Heinz's experiences in Drusselstien were more traumatic and negative than Roger's, it seems Heinz is the one that still has the strongest tie to their homeland. It is a central part of his character and his behaviors. He has grown into american culture like most people who immigrated young, but to him, Drusselstein was like Yesterday. I would like to speculate more into if theres any part of Drusselsteinian culture he cherishes. But i cant really remember if there were any foods or traditions or events that left a positive impact on him.

Not really a solid conclusion here but overall. I really am interested by the messy and complicated relationship Heinz has with his status as an immigrant and his hometown. Its such a wound in the way only a childhood home can wound you.

[hooked-on-elvis]

Random thought.

ELVIS' FEELINGS ON BEING A PARENT: "FOR ME?"

It's a funny way to imagine how he felt as a parent but when I think about Elvis as a recent parent (1968), holding new-born Lisa Marie, I don't know why but I see his face as in the 50s, kinda like as if his past self was the inner voice inside his head, and he was so amazed at the novelty when he finally realized he was a daddy.

You know, I always imagine what his real reactions would be judging based by the way he acted in the movies. The tone in his voice and his expressions. There's these scenes in Love Me Tender and then Loving You, when both Elvis' characters are so surprised to be gifted with stuff? They have the biggest smile and they go like "for me?" Like they felt they didn't deserve it or something. That's the face I see when I think about how E felt in being a father. And I know I'm right on it because that's how his friends and family and coworkers, all of them talked about when it comes to how Elvis felt blessed for everything he conquered, material things sure but specially the love of so many people (which he lovingly used to address onstage in the 50s as his "friends", his fans). Somehow he had this feeling he didn't deserve the best, but he was beyond grateful for having everything he had. It was the same thing when it comes to his daughter, but the feeling was even stronger. He really loved Lisa as nothing else he ever loved in life, as many friends and family members told he did. In Lisa's book she mentions a moment when her father was mad and yelled at her (as I remember, but maybe it was a little slap on her hand, I can't remember the details now) but immediately afterwards he hugged her and apologized. He couldn't stand seeing that little girl sad. She was his treasure, the greatest thing he never thought he deserved in this life.

In my mind, whenever they were together, E's there, looking at his tiny little baby girl, only a few days old, and then looks back to his friends and family around and says something like: "I made this! Can you believe it? I made her. Damn..." And he has the biggest smile on his face, but that puzzled look in his eyes, almost as it he's thinking it's such a miracle it's hard to believe Lisa really exists and he's not seeing things or dreaming. And then I can hear him saying in his mind while he shakes his head and laughs. "Its difficult to comprehend."

And the thing is: I think he had the same feeling every time he looked at Lisa. Even when she was 9 years old.

A dazzled look he saved only for her.

[amalthea-13]

Stolas, Mastermind, and Religious Symbolism + Classism Conversation

Hello Again Everyone! I'm Amalthea, the obsessed Stolas kinnie who has to much religious trauma so I cope with this demonic show!!!!

Now lets get into Stolas and religious symbolism, because many of you Stolas Haters seem to not understand WHY what Stolas did was so important and profound.

Now before anyone tries to disqualify me from this conversation, the Christian faith has been big in my family for roughly the last 6 years and is something I am sadly to familiar with. It's traumatized me in many ways, but gives me a lot of insight.

Moving on, Stolas's entire moment in Mastermind was meant to mirror the sacrifice on the cross. Plain and simply, Stolas took a punishment he didn't deserve for someone who was technically "beneath him".

When it comes to the biblical story of The Cross, he took a punishment he did not deserve, a god humbling themself down to the status of their creation, living a good life as a pure sacrifice, and taking on the punishment of the created. A punishment he did not deserve nor merit. He was blameless.

Stolas humbled himself in Mastermind by willingly getting on his knees, put his head on the chopping block, and was willing to take the punishment of an imp. This type of willful sacrifice is unheard of. Stolas was willing to do it without a second thought, sacrificing everything for someone we would note as "unworthy".

A lot of people still like to insist Stolas is classist in season 2, but in my opinion, many of his behaviors change from season 1 to season 2, but if none of that proves it for you.

If Stolas truly looked down on Blitz, why even go to the trial? It's not like he owed it to Blitz. The man is a Prince. Blitz broke into his home and stole from him, taking advantage of his vulnerability and love? I mean- who wouldn't let him burn?

Stolas wouldn't let him burn. Despite everything, the hurt, the pain, the ridicule?

Stolas got on his knees

a ROYAL

kneeled

got on his knees humbly

without question or asking for special treatment,

to take Blitz's punishment, an imp's punishment.

I want to emphasize that he DID NOT HAVE TO DO THIS. He owed Blitz NOTHING at this point. Stolas in the eyes of the law was completely blameless. He was painted to be an innocent lamb by Andrelphus.

Therefore, Stolas's sacrifice was humble. He stooped to the place of a commoner without question and was willing without question to take Blitz's place even if it meant his life.

What is emphasized a lot in the Christian faith is that humans are not worthy of what was done on the cross. That the gift that was extended to them as sinners was not earned by anything other than the sacrifice made.

Blitz did not deserve Stolas's grace, just like humanity did not deserve the sacrifice made for their salvation.

Blitz didn't deserve to be pardoned, the man was guilty, but Stolas willingly took the judgement and punishment that was not his to take. The same way what happened at the cross was unearned and was a willing sacrifice by a deity humbling themself to a created human body to pave the way for salvation.

Blitz above everyone else understands the sacrifice that was made. Even if Stolas was not executed, he was fully willing to go the full entire mile without question.

Again, the fact a royal, a prince of all things, got on his knees to give his life in an imp's place is important. Thus, it's why I get mad when people say Stolas is "classist", specifically in season 2.

More than anything he has slip ups where he can come off as ignorant (i.e. being disgusted at working holidays, crying out he is poor), but Stolas has his good moments too, pointing out to the woman who was complaining about IMP taking to long to finish the hit that their job is hard and he can only imagine how difficult it is.

He gets shit on left and right, but never complains despite people literally spitting in his food or giving him dirty looks. If the man truly, genuinely, believed any of this was beneath him he would have been complained a long, long time ago.

Can he be ignorant? Sure, but he makes up for it by being understanding of how hard Blitz's occupation can be and not letting a customer talk shit about him or bad mouth him when Blitz isn't even in the room to witness it.

Stolas in a sense is mirroring the story of the cross, he is now at the same status as an imp because well he took on the judgement of one and therefore is willing to put himself through whatever it took to protect Blitz.

Even when that meant stooping to his knees without a second thought.

The way this episode was written could not be a mistake, especially since Brandon Rogers himself in interviews has said Vivzie takes biblical mythology very seriously.

This imagery and dichotomy was set up on purpose, so you, the viewer, can see that Stolas was not just- giving up his life.

He gave up everything for someone "beneath him". He sacrificed all of it without question, even when it hurt, even when his mental health plummeted, even when it did not benefit him.

He got on his knees, taking a punishment that by the law he did not deserve, for someone who by law was guilty.

Stolas allowed Blitz to be pardoned. He put himself in the crossfire so he could walk away free.

Not even asking for anything in return.

Stolas has trauma related to death. He knew what he was risking by taking on this sacrifice, but he did it WITHOUT QUESTION.

He didn't ask to be pardoned.

He didn't use his power or status.

He painted himself out to be the bad guy to free Blitz of any punishment.

Blitz tried to stop him not just because he loved Stolas, but he knew Stolas didn't deserve it. Blitz himself knew he did not deserve to be pardoned.

That Stolas didn't need to humble himself for a measly imp. An imp that has broken his heart over and over.

Despite everything, it's still you.

Despite the pain, hurt, and trauma Blitz has caused Stolas, it was still Blitz. He could not let him die. He could not allow him to be put to death. Not when Stolas knew he had the power, status, and influence to take Blitz's place and keep him safe.

He didn't have to stoop this low on the social ladder.

Many argue that Stolas just thought he "didn't have to live with the consequences", but that's also not true. Stolas was prepared for whatever came at him. He knew either way he was going to be punished somehow. The sacrifice ended up not being his life, but he still did it anyway.

He doesn't complain, nor does he ask for death or beg to be offed. He willingly takes the punishment.

The only time Stolas remotely regrets his decision is because of one thing.

Octavia. She is the only thing he regrets leaving behind. Not his status, not his wealth, just his daughter.

That is the only thing Stolas regrets because that girl was the only good thing that came out of his marriage, he said so himself.

He gave up the only thing he truly ever cared about, and that of all things he should have some right to be hurt over and cry about. He has every right to be frustrated or even a bit confused, even if it comes off as ignorant. The man lost everything and had his life altered without so much as a moment of breathing room.

In conclusion, I mostly wanted to bring up the religious imagery to explain to you, the reader, why it was such a profound and important sacrifice. Not only did it break the social barriers, fuck all that,

Stolas kneeled and humbled himself when he didn't need to. That's the point you need to take away from this. He humbled himself even before he got his sentence and was exiled. The minute he saw Blitz's head on that chopping block, he was willing, without a second thought or doubt, to sacrifice everything for him.

A punishment that he didn't deserve nor merit. A pardon that Blitz didn't deserve and yet he did it.

Why? Because despite everything, it was still him. It was Blitz. How could he not stoop to his knees to save him?

[carlosainzgf]

Hi i like to request a salesmen x platonic teenage daughter idea, the daughter could have a crush on one of the players maybe and salesmen goes full papa bear mode?

the salesmen might be a psychopath, a killer, an asshole but he was one hell of a father. he never said no to you- i mean how could he when you’re his whole world, his little baby- even tho you’re 17 you are still his little baby. in his eyes you hadn’t grown a day since you’ve been 5 years old.

he never kept his job hidden from you but never let you too close to it either, he didn’t want you to be like him some day. you were an angel, you always have been and you always will be.

he also always thought that no man would ever be good enough for you. whenever you had a crush on a boy he would find a way to scare them away from you. it hurt your ego as a young girl not being liked by boys but your dad thought it’s better to have a hurt ego than a broken heart.

you were sat on the big couch of your dad’s office as he filed up some information about the players he recruited today. you helped him with it reading some stuff outloud for him to type faster. he sometimes watched back the clips he took with a hidden camera to get a second look on the, soon to be, players.

“darling, would you mind getting your laptop so i can watch the clips of today?”

“of course!” as much as you weren’t a fond of the thought that most of those people in those clips would end up dead you still found it entertaining. i mean it runs in the family.

you helped him connect the camera to the laptop and set down with him to watch. a few faces- and a whole lot of slaps- later something caught your eye. someone, to be exact. “what’s this ones name, dad?” you tried to ask as subtly as possible. “lee myung gi. he had a youtube account on crypto money. he lost all his money and made his subscribers also lose theirs.” he sounded uninterested. i mean after all he was just a pathetic guy who needs money so desperately he’s willing to get slapped for it.

“what’s his youtube?” you, again, tried to ask subtly. “why are you asking, dear?” your dad wasn’t a dumb man- not even close- but he tried to see the best in you. his precious little girl whom can never have a boyfriend. he also wasn’t blind, he could see that myung gi was a handsome young man. “oh- no reason. just wondering.” wow, real subtle.

“he is a handsome young man. shame. he probably won’t survive in the games.” he said without hesitation before quickly skipping the parts that had myung gi’s face. he saw how you frowned when your dad said he wouldn’t survive. maybe he should kill the man himself, he tought to himself but he knew you wouldn’t forgive him if you were to find out.

while his mind wondered about all the things he could do to myung gi, you were busy looking for his youtube. which you were quick to find. MG Coin. you wanted to dm him, tell him to not join the games and save himself a lot of trouble but you couldn’t. so instead you decided to manipulate you dad into, somehow, make sure myung gi doesn’t get into the games.

“isn’t it sad seeing such young people getting into death games because they are in dept. i mean they are only a few years older than me. imagine if i were one of them, you would be devastated as a parent. maybe we could help the young ones, you know. we have the money for it after all.” real touching.

“there had always been young players, darling. you never seemed to mind it or care for them. why do you care all of a sudden.” yeah, he didn’t buy it. “i mean it’s their fault that they are in such miserable conditions. they are young they could work and have money, they have a whole future ahead of them yet they prefer playing ddakji and getting slapped to get money instead of working a real job.” he was too defensive with his words. like he had done no wrong in his life and those other people have committed all kinds of sins. they were directed to myung gi even tho he referred to him as ‘young players’. i guess manipulation is in the blood.

he would make sure to run into myung gi again just to slap him again. and he would also make sure to block all his accounts from your phone. he couldn’t bare the idea of a pathetic loser who was too dumb to invest in crypto money being by your side. he wasn’t good enough for you. no man was and no man could be enough for his dear daughter. maybe a kitten or a little puppy would distract you from men. yep that seemed like a good idea to him.

[shanklin]

For the very sad realitivity falls au

I was thinking it really needed some comfort.

Which got me thinking about Soos, if Soos became like a son figure to Stan, maybe the opposite in realitivity falls?

Maybe Soos becomes like a father figure to Stan (dear lord that poor boy needs it especially with the whole Filbrick situation)

Stan: *sighs* Look I better go, I don’t want to burden you anymore than I already have.

Soos: Nah it’s fine dawg, c’mon, sit down with me. This cool new show is about to come on!

Stan: But, aren’t I selfish for wanting to spend time with you? Wouldn’t you rather do it with Ford?

Soos: Dude, you are being too hard on yourself. I want to spend time with you dawg, because you’re an awesome dude! *ruffles Stan’s hair*

Stan: *trying to hold back tears* I uh-have dust in my eyes.

Soos: There, there dude, let it all out. *hugging Stan*

Stan: *sobbing* I just want to be loved, but I—

Soos: I’ll be here for you

Context

Rejoice, dear Anon! You’re getting out of prison early on good behavior!

Soos becoming a father like figure for Stan broke me. Haven’t stopped thinking about this since. I love it dearly.

This ask also made me realise a couple of things

I have no idea what Soos’ role usually is in Relativity Falls AUs

I don’t care. Don’t tell me. Soos is Soos. Maybe a tiny bit older than in canon. 30ish?

I imagine Stan to be like 15 in this for extra angst. He still hasn’t gotten a proper growth spurt yet and definitely has no drivers licence.

…I forgot what number four was. I was too preoccupied in outlining a fic in my head that I’m totally never gonna write. Don't look at the word count

Okay so, comfort? Sure! Dad!Soos! Perfect! Tonal shift with slight crack components incoming? More likely than you’d think!

Where did we leave off?

Filbricks dead, yaay!

Mabel, Dipper and Ford are currently having multiple breakdowns over how much they failed Stan.

And Stan? Stan’s on the run. He’s a murderer now and certain the police are after him and actually let’s say he’s right about that one. It doesn’t help that Filbrick had friends in the police force or at the very least used to pay them off on the regular.

One moment Stan stands above his fathers unmoving body looking at his hands - he really needs to wash his hands.

The next he's a state over in the middle of nowhere in a stolen car that's running out of gas with no money, no food and only the clothes on his back.

He’d curse himself for not taking supplies with him but what the point? He deserves this. He’s a murderer. A selfish, rotten, evil person. He should turn back and surrender. Get himself locked up and pay for his crimes.

But that would mean he’d have to face Ford and the rest of his family. They would come and judge him. See how bad he really is. He can’t do that. He can’t face them. He’d rather die than face their disgust and disappointment.

And yet somehow. Something in him still wants to live. The selfish part of him that refuses to shut up and let him be. That makes him do awful things and hurt others.

Everyone was right about him. So there is no point anymore in trying to be better. He might as well embrace it. It’s easier than thinking about Pa staring at him with dea-no no no no. That doesn't matter. Nothing matters except his own survival.

His car runs out of gas near the woods. It’s dark and cold and the wind howls in the distance. Stan's fight or flight instinct goes into overdrive. He desperately looks for a weapon to defend himself with. After a couple of minutes of frantic searching he finds a small pocket knife in the glove compartment. This will have to do.

There are headlights in the distance coming ever so slowly closer and Stan grasps the knife tighter.

Go away go away go away, Stan silently begs but the car comes to a halt behind him and a large man steps out.

Stan gulps and tightens his resolve. He's a criminal. A- a- murderer. He’s already done the worst thing imaginable to survive. And he will continue to survive. 

Even if that means he has to hurt and kill others. Stan steels himself and decides to do the unforgivable once more. He will kill this man, take his car and money and only live for himself.

A knock on the window. Stan lowers it, ready to strike. One swift stab in the neck and it will alll be over.

“Sup little dood! Need some help there?”

Stan falls over, he drops the knife and stumbles back shaking.

The man chuckles and picks up the knife. This is it. This is how Stan will die. Killed in the middle of nowhere by a gopher like serial killer. No one will never know what happened to him

“Here you go dude. You lost your knife. You need to be careful with these things. Could’ve accidentally stabbed me or something.”

The man holds out the knife and Stan snatches it up and moves back further, holding it protectively over his chest.

“What- what do you want?”

Stan's voice is hoarse. He hasn't used it in days, he realises. And the last time he did, he was shouting before before-

“Saw your car parked here in the middle of these creepy woods and thought you might need some help.”

"Well, I don't. So f-fuck off.” 

Stan flinches. It never ends well when he gives adults attitude. Shit. Shit, why did he do that?

Luckily the man doesn’t react to his mistake. Maybe he didn’t hear him?

“Aw dude. I’d feel bad leaving you all alone. Is your dad here somewhere?”

The man looks around for Stan's…dad. Stan's throat feels like sandpaper.

“No. He’s gone.” Stan whispers and the man's eyes soften.

“I’m sorry du-”

“Gone to get some gas!” Stan exclaims all of a sudden, shoving all his terror, anxiety and guilt into a dark corner in his mind. He needs to put on an act if he wants to survive.

“He’ll be back soon so you can just. Go.”

“Ah no. That’s alright. I’ll wait with you until your dad comes back. It’ll be great. I’ve got some snacks in my car and we can play I spy. See, I’ll start. I spy something green!”

“A tree?” 

"Woah, Dude! You’re like super good at this.”

Is this guy for real? He’s clearly mocking Stan, only. Not. He seems way too sincere. Stan hates it.

“Well this was fun, but you should really go. Stranger Danger and all that”

The man's eyes widen in shock.

“Totally forgot! Sorry, Dude! I’m Soos.”

He holds out his hand. Stan eyes it suspiciously.

“You’re not going to leave are you?”

“Not until you’re safe. Can’t leave a kid like you out here all alone. Your dad, like, shouldn’t have done that. That’s not cool dude.”

Stan might be stupid, but he's not an idiot. The guy is most definitely gonna turn out to be a creep and/or serial killer. The moment Stan lets his guard down around him he’s done for. He should insist the guy leave or better jump out of the car and run away. As starved and tired as Stan is he’d be no match for a big dude like Soos, even if he uses his small pocket knife, but he could probably outrun him in the woods.

There is no way for Stan to come out of this alive.

Either he will piss the guy off by insisting he leave and get murdered or he runs into the woods, gets lost and dies of exposure far away from civilization. 

His only other option is to wait with the guy and play his stupid games until he realises no one will come for Stan and he’s free to do as much axe murdering as he pleases.

No matter what he does. He’ll end up dead, abused and broken with no one to grieve for him. He’s sick and tired of feeling like this. Helpless. No, he needs to stay strong. Strong and selfish.

Stan takes the outstretched hand and shakes it firmly. Just like Pa taught him to do. The firmer your handshake is, the easier it will be to make a deal in your favor.

“Steve Pinington and actually I don’t think my dad will come back anytime soon. He probably got lost and is waiting for me in the next town over. Would it be okay if I hitch a ride with you?”

It was surprisingly easy to convince the man of his lie. Apparently if you get lost you should always stay exactly where you are until you’re picked up. Stan is pretty sure it doesn’t work like that for adults but he won't look a gift horse in the mouth.

New plan.

Make the creep think Stan is just a helpless, innocent and naive kid

Wait until he falls asleep and slit his throat

Take all his money and leave the country. Or something. Stans will figure it out later. Maybe he could  steal a boat…

The drive is nice. There’s food, water and warmth. It makes his hands tingle. He didn’t notice how cold he was before.

Stan gets forced into playing silly road games and when his answers become slower and he feels his eyes droop Soos turns down the music and puts a blanket around him.

Stan tells himself he's just keeping up the act and will only pretend to fall asleep but is out cold a moment later anyway.

***

He wakes up with a scream and swings fist at the nearest object which happened to be the face of his kind of kidnapper.

A crunch. Blood. A body lying at his feet. His hands. He needs to wash his hands.

“Sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I’m sorry-” Stan can’t breathe. There’s blood on his hands. Where is he? He’s sorry.

“Hey, hey, it’s fine dude. I Shouldn’t have woken you like that. It’s just a nosebleed, see?” 

Soos smiles and holds his hands up as the blood drips down his face, over his teeth and onto his shirt. It’s not a pretty sight. Stan looks away.

“You know, one time I tried to see how many hot dogs I could eat at once but I choked and pieces got stuck in my nose. I bled out sausage chunks for like a week straight.”

A weak chuckle escapes Stan's throat. “Eww that’s disgusting.”

Soos clumsily wipes off the blood from his face and holds out some fresh tissues for Stan. He takes them gratefully. It’ll have to do until they find a proper bathroom to clean up.

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s alright little dude.” Soos replies and ruffles his hair. Stan tenses up but lets it happen. He feels the phantom touch long after it’s gone and it takes all of Stan's self control not to trace it his head. He flashes in embarrassment. It felt…safe.

Oh, the guy really knows what he’s doing. Stan will do the world a favour by killing him.

***

To the surprise of no one Stan’s “lost dad” is nowhere to be found. They spend the whole day exploring every inch of the town and asking people if they’ve seen Stan's dad. Stan makes a game out of it, trying to see just how outrageous he can make the descriptions until people think he’s lying.

Soos never once questions his stories.

Eventually they have to give up their search and get ice cream instead. It's the best day Stan had in years. He feels sick.

***

Soos gets them a motel room and opts to sleep on the floor when it becomes clear that only single bed rooms were available. 

His kidnapper is really bad at this, Stan ponders as he watches the man snore. At this rate he’s going to develop Stockholm syndrome and fall in love with him or something. Stan grimaces in disgust. Yep. That’ll do it. He needs to kill him now and proof once and for all that he can survive on his own.

He sneaks out of bed and quietly leans over the man, knife in hand. There’s drool on Soos' face and his nose looks swollen. Stan did that. He hurt him. And Soos didn’t care. He laughed it off with a silly story and distracted Stan until he could breathe again. 

Soos grunts and Stan flinches. The knife falls out of his hands and onto the carpet, nearly missing Soos’ neck. For a moment Stan's heart stops and when it beats again it's racing. With shaking hands Stan pushes the knife into the farthest corner of the room and curls up next to Soos.

He failed.

***

The next morning he wakes up in bed all wrapped in a warm blanket.

Soos greets him but Stan isn’t listening. 

It's all over. He can’t do it. It makes no sense. Why can’t he do to a stranger what he did to his own father, intentionally or not. He can't remember. It doesn’t matter. It changes nothing.

Stan is stuck. He knows, logically, he could just make up an excuse and escape, but he doesn’t want to. Soos feels - it's not safe. No one is safe. But he feels harmless and he's a good distraction. As long as Stan focuses on Soos won’t have to think about anything else.

“Hey, Soos.”

"Yeah?"

“I don’t think we’ll find my father here. He probably left town already. So, eh, can I just come with you?” Stan fiddles with his hands. They always look wrong. Always a finger short. “It’s to look for my dad of course. I’ll be gone before you know it. I promise I won’t be a bother and I can help out with things! I’m good at following orders and I-”

“Dude! Dude! Say no more. I’ve so gotchu. We’re totally the same. I’m also looking for my dad.”

“What?”

At Stan's befuddled expression Soos picks up the briefcase he's been carrying around and sits now next to Stan.

“You see, my dad left as well when I was little. Littler than you even and I’ve always wanted to meet him, but he never came. All I got were some postcards.”

Soos opens the briefcase and pulls out a card. Stan ignores it in favour of staring at the rest of the content in the case. Holy shit. That's a lot of money. Soos continues undeterred.

“Well, it’s always been my dream to play catch with my dad and I almost gave up on it but then I got this!”

Soos hands Stan a plain looking card.

“Son, 

I’m in a bit of a pickle and I could really use some help. Meet me at this address and bring 50 grand with you. You’re the best, champ.

Love, Dad.”

Stan stares at the card. Then back to Soos. Then back at the card. 

“You know this is a scam, right?” Stan waves the card in front of Soos who, stands up, grabs it and puts it back in without meeting Stan’s eyes.

“Perhaps,” Soos mutters. “But I still gotta try. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I mean I had my Abulita and she was great, but it wasn’t the same. And now she’s in heaven and I’ve got no one else left besides him. Maybe he needs the money for a fresh start and will come back home with me!”

Soos sniffles and rubs his eyes. “So yeah. Maybe it’s not the smartest thing to do, but I have to try.”

Stan hugs his knees and is quiet for a long moment.

“In my experience, money is the only thing that will make a dad like you, so it might work out after all.”

Stan peeks at Soos but it looks like his attempt at comforting the man failed. He looks even more heartbroken than before. 

***

Despite Stan's failure Soos agrees to take Stan with him and even suggests their dads might be at the same place. Who knows. They could be part of a secret run away dad club and play a very long and drawn out game of hide and seek.

Stan manages to muster up a smile at the suggestion and helps Soos pack their things. Not that they have much to begin with. Most of Soos things are still in the car and Stan suddenly becomes acutely aware that he still only has the clothes on his back with him. He’ll need to find a way to steal some while Soos isn't looking.

They’re about to leave when Soos spots something in the corner of the room and moves to pick it up. It’s the knife.

“Here you go. We almost forgot it. Be careful not to lose it. You never know when it might come in handy!”

“Thanks…”

Stan almost tosses the knife out right then and there, but instead he puts it back into his pocket. Soos is right. He should stay vigilant.

***

The next couple of days pass by like a dream. Most of the time in the car is spent playing silly word games and arguing about music. Apparently Stan has the taste of an old man. Which is ridiculous. He just prefers the classics, which are classics for a reason! They won’t be forgotten in two weeks like Soos top 20 hits.

[When was the last time Stan listened to music just because he can? How come he’s feeling so strongly about it? Music should be just a way to attract customers and nothing else. Certainly not fun. STOP HUMMING BOY]

At some point the car breaks down and Soos has Stan help him with the repairs. He makes a show of opening the hood and explaining what he’s doing. 

It’s awkward and the nervous energy Soos gives off as he keeps checking if Stan is still listening puts him on edge.

He briefly wonders if Soos is trying to place a bomb inside, but then he holds the tools out to Stan and asks him to give it a go.

Confused about the whole thing Stan does as instructed and finds himself grinning as the engine roars back to life.

“Well done!” Soos cheers and holds his palm out into the air. “Up top!”

Stan blicks and lightly taps the hand in a high six, blushing at the praise.

Soos throws an arm around Stan and guides him back into the car.

Maybe this isn’t a dream. Maybe the last three years were just a bad nightmare and he’s actually been travelling with Soos and having the time of his life, while Ford is off studying weird stuff with Grunkle Dipper.

So Stan pretends he’s just on a fun extended road trip with his friend Soos. It’s great! They eat all the junk food they can get their hands on, sing loudly to bad songs, stay up and sleep as long as they want to and visit every bad tourist trap they come across.

Those are Stan's favourites! The attractions are clearly fake and nonsensical but also the best things Stans ever seen!

Some are just a normal object but big while others try a bit harder to keep your attention with fake curiosities and stories.

There even was one Tax Education Center and Fun Park where you learned everything about the history of taxes and how to file them correctly. Or how to avoid them, if you’re like Stan and know how to read between the lines. 

Eventually, Stan managed to piss off another kid hellbent on becoming the most esteemed IRS agent the nation has ever seen. 

The fist fight that ensued will be retold for generations to come! 

Or at least got them both a lifelong ban from the museum. Stan forgot how much fun fighting was when the opponent is not double your size and responsible for your basic needs.

He leaves the kid with a short “See ya!” and starts running as the kid shouts after him in rage.

“I won’t let you get away with this, Steve Pinington! Mark my words! THIS ISN’T OVER!”

Stan is full on belly laughing when he meets up with Soos.

“Made a new friend?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Stan grins through his split lip. That felt amazing.

***

“Here Soos look!” Stan exclaimes as he shows off his fake abominations that he made out of junk from a nearby trash can.

This tourist trap thing is easy!

He gives Soos the grand tour around the little stand he built on the car and makes up fantastical and true stories of wonder and mystery about the items and tops it all off with the little broken toaster he found. He gave the toaster some cardboard eyes and legs that move with the help of hidden strings and voilà!

The Footbot 9000!

It even talks! Stan’s bad attempt at ventriloquism earns him some snorts and a wonderous “Woah, mommy mommy it speaks!” from the little toddler at the front of the crowd.

Wait. When did that happen? Where did all the people come from?

Stan looks around in alarm and finds Soos farther in the back watching him with glistening eyes. Is Soos crying?

Stan needs to get out of here but there's no good opening and then clapping starts courtesy of Soos.

With no escape in sight Stan takes a bow and thanks his audience.

“How much for the Footbot?” The mother of the toddler asks.

“30 Bucks.”

“10”

“20”

“Deal.”

One firm handshake later and Stan is the proud new owner of a crumpled 20 dollar bill with more to come as more suckers have already shown interest in some of the other junk he put out.

In the back there are people whispering and pointing at Stan. He better hurry up and get out of here before he gets them kicked out of town for selling broken toasters and literal trash.

***

“You know I think I’ll open my own tourist trap in the future” Stan says and takes another bite of his burger. “That was fun.”

“You were amazing! I was totally entranced by your wondrous tales of mystery. You’re like a genius at this, dude!”

A genius? Him? Stan’s not a genius.

Then agaaain. Ford is supposed to be a genius and he wouldn’t be able to put on a show like this.

A giggle escapes him and he kicks his legs under the table.

He can’t wait to tell Sixer and see his dumbfounded expression. Stan the genius. HA! That'll show him for staying home and missing out on the road trip of a lifetime!

***

Stan hands over the money he’s earned as soon as they arrive at the motel. Stan did so well today. He’s still giddy about it.

He found himself a plan for the future, made money AND got praised. The day couldn’t have gone better.

It’s almost a shame he has to go to sleep. But alas. Them's the rules. With a quiet hum under his breath Stan starts to get ready but is stopped by Soos, who is still holding the money.

“What’s up?”

“You don’t need to give me this.” Soos looks pained. 

“I don’t understand. What else am I supposed to do with it? The room has already been paid…”

“No, little dude. You can keep it for yourself. Your company is payment enough.”

Stan shakes his head. This isn’t right. Soos is taking care of things so Soos gets to keep all the money Stan makes. It’s only fair.

“No! You keep it. I don’t want it” 

“It’s fine dude here” Soos takes Stan’s hand and pries it open trying to return the bills. They fumble around and Soos won’t let go forcing it back into Stan’s hands. Stan can’t have the money! It isn’t right. But Soos is stronger than him and refuses to let it go.

“It’s yours. I don’t want it!” Stan repeats, runs to the bathroom and turns on the shower to cancel the noise from the outside.”

Stan needs to pay Soos back for taking care of him. He already wasted so much money on Stan. On food and clothes and sightseeing. Oh. Oh no. Was the money not enough? That's why he didn’t want it, right? It was basically an insult. Here I give you two drops of water back so forgive me for tuning the ocean into a desert and wasting it all on me.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door. Stan flinches with every bang. 

BANG

BANG

BANG

“Just come in!” Stan shouts to make the noise stop.

The shower turns off and in the absence of water pouring down on him he becomes acutely aware of the wet clothes sticking to his body, dragging him down.

Soos wraps him in a towel.

“I’m sorry dude for pushing. I’ll keep the money for now and we’ll talk about it later, okay?”

Stan nods and hopes later never comes. 

Soos gets him a change of clothes, helps him dry up and guides him to bed. Stan lets it all happen. He’s too tired to think and following orders is easier. More familiar. 

Stan falls asleep to a comforting hand stroking his hair.

***

Life is great! Stan decides as he jumps out of bed the next morning with renewed vigor. Yesterday evening was just a bad dream and he’s ready for a bright new day.

Who knew food, sleep and good company was all you needed to be happy?

Soos throws him an odd look before leaving to get them some breakfast.

Stan shrugs it off and turns on the TV. Soos is a weird guy so weird looks aren’t out of the ordinary.

He flips through the channels not looking for something particular. It’s been a while since he last had time to sit down and watch something.

He’s about to give up and do something else when the picture on the news is stopping him dead in his tracks.

It's him. It's Stan. 

15 year old Stanley Pines wanted for questioning in relation to the murder case of Filbrick Pines. The authorities ask the public to be vigilant as he is suspected to be armed and dangerous.

There's even a reward out for tips leading to his whereabouts.

The world around him shatters.

His little game of make belief turns into shards cutting into him and leaving nothing but sharp and cold reality behind.

Just what the hell has Stan been doing?

A fun road trip? Making plans for the future? Is he actually insane?

He fucking killed his dad. Let him bleed to death on the kitchen floor as he just watched in silence.

Exactly like he planned to do to Soos.

There is no future for Stanley Pines. Or Steve Pinington. Or any other name he’s going to come up with in order to trick people into liking him for a short while.

The moment Soos finds out what Stan has done it will all be over. Soos will be just like the rest of his family and see Stan for what he really is. A rotten and selfish child. A murderer. Someone not deserving of the love and care Soos showed him.

Maybe he can trick him into believing it’s some other child on the news. Soos is pretty naive sometimes. He could make it work!

Stan shakes his head. 

No. Stan is done pretending.. Eventually someone.will recognize him and then Soos will be in trouble as well for harbouring a criminal.

Steps in the hallway. No time to think. Stan needs to escape. Now!

He puts on his shoes, grabs the jacket and Soos’ briefcase and sprints out of the door.

If the money goes to waste on a good for nothing criminal anyway it might as well go to Stan instead. Really he's doing Soos a favour.

Someone runs after him but Stan is faster.

“Dude, wait! It’s alright, don’t go. Stan, STANLEY WAIT!

Stan is already out of town before he realises that Soos called him by his real name.

To be continued

This was supposed to be just a quick summary or a couple of bullet points about how Stan and Soos could become family in this AU.

And it was also supposed to be a bit more unserious and ha ha, so what if Stan tried to constantly kill Soos and couldn’t get rid of him. But it turned out quite different and not as bullet pointy as I set out to do.

I’m still a little bit in denial about that. But Stan is in denial for most of this as well. So it fits.

I wanted to completely finish it before posting but that’s gonna take too long and I've got no time. So for now have a sad ending for the sad relativity falls AU.

Don’t worry though. It will have a very sweet happy end. With lots of comfort. Maybe.

But for now let's all imagine Stan once again all alone and on the run :D