#the patch in the roof will get fixed

[bxtonpxss]

Ok fingers crossed it doesn’t rain this weekend so I can get my roof fixed (¬`‸´¬)

[1am-s0-veryt1red]

.

[erwinsvow]

𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞

summary: jack abbot thinks he's too broken to fix. you just want to take care of him the way he takes care of you.

author's note: here it is! the first longer night shift reader and jack fic ♡ i hope everyone enjoys!

word count: 3.7k

tags: night shift reader x attending jack, comfort and angst, people are making bets (guess who wins!), patient death/loss, age gap relationship (implied but no ages specified!), idk i went a little crazy for two hours

it’s not an easy thing to take care of him. 

he knows that. there haven’t been that many people in his life who have been able to manage it. his wife was one, robby’s sort of another. jack has this thing—he has to at least try to take care of those around him before he can accept any of their help for himself. it’s almost a test of worth, to determine that it’s not a burden he’s placing unduly on anyone. it’s an exchange, he decides, a fair exchange. that way he’s not forcing anyone, because he knows how hard it is, how hard it can be. robby sees a side of it. his wife saw another.

and out of the black, heading into the blue, you are beginning to see it. he doesn’t know how it happened this way, just knows that the sweet resident who had come onto his night-shift because the day shift was beginning to be too much, was now the very reason he doesn’t head straight up to the roof after a very, very long night. 

he knows it’s not easy, that every time he loses a patient, he glances at the clock. the moment someone’s life was over, and the very moment that is going to ruin the lives of all the people who loved them. before he’d start the countdown—how many hours left on this shift? how many until he can go to the roof and breathe, scream and yell and sit in silence and watch the city wake up beneath him. 

it’s selfish. he momentarily checks out after time of death is called. robby does moments of reflections. maybe that’s how he’s able to manage it sometimes, break up the grief into little pieces throughout the day. 

jack isn’t like that. he’s always been the kind to bury, nestle it somewhere deep inside and keep adding, adding, adding. add until it’s about to burst, and then go to the roof and let some of it out. maybe if he tried robby’s way, he wouldn’t have felt like this for so long.

where can so much grief go? there’s no outlet for it, not the way jack does it. some of the things he buries are lost inside him forever, no escape, no exit.

and then you come along. 

jack’s prided himself in the fact that he’s good to the residents. they get more confident under his tutelage, make decisions more firmly, make them quickly and execute them correctly. that’s why robby had sent you over to him, hadn’t it? because you doubted yourself too much. because you felt like you weren’t making the right call.

from seven in the morning to seven at night, the place is crowded. it’s all hands on deck but there’s just a smidge too many hands, especially when there’s students. you were able to blend into the background for a couple months, but it’s just plainly wrong to let it hinder your education.

that’s why robby had sent you to him, right? for your education. to make you a better doctor, better than you already were, which was saying something. 

because jack abbot thinks that you’re incredibly gifted. gifted in the things that he can’t teach someone, in ways that he can’t explain. you have a special touch. patient-care is your forte. if he had to pick the nicest resident, it would be you. but you don’t believe in yourself. 

and he had sent himself to the task of fixing that. it’s what jack does, what he’s always done. patch it up and send it out.

(you’re a little different—he wants to make you believe in yourself more. he wants you to prove it to yourself. make yourself say it and mean it, not just because he’s telling you. that you are capable, that you were meant for this. that this is where you belong. that you have a safety net in the form of your attending—that he’ll be there with an outstretched arm, waiting incase you need him. you won’t, he knows. but you still need to feel him there. it’s working, he knows it is.)

it had been working perfectly fine so far. you build your routine, get yourself settled, start answering trauma calls with a run. 

one time he has you and ellis start the incoming together. tells parker to ask you questions, justify all of your decisions to her, but let you call the shots. when the charge nurse tells you the details, you head straight outside. you pull a yellow gown for yourself and the gloves in your size—those ones are baby blue. and then you pull another gown and the black gloves—the ones in his size. he watches from the nurse’s station, watches ellis take them and watches you look around, like you’re waiting for him to show up. he doesn’t, not this time.

you handle the case perfectly. oddly enough, he can’t seem to remember any of the specifics about it, even though he’s the one who signed off on your detailed note. 

jack watches from the door. you’ve got your back to him, and ellis looks up and sees him, but he shakes his head. he wants to see how you do without him, after so many with him. and you’re perfect—just like he knew you would be. the nurses move in tandem around you, listening closely to your orders. ellis asks questions and you answer, and you don’t sound like your answers are questions themselves—though you had at one point, not too long ago. 

that’s something he’d worked you out of, he thinks, a certain smugness seeping into his veins, satisfaction rolling through every muscle. 

you look out the other door, the opposite of where he’s standing. you stretch your neck like you’re trying to see what’s out there, and then you turn your attention back to your patient right away.

and once the patient is stable, that’s when he comes in. you’re doing it again, looking out the wrong door and as much as he wants to deny it, as wrong as it is, he knows you’re looking for him.

“good work, doctor,” he says, and you jump a little. you turn to look at him, but he’s looking at your senior resident for the assessment.

“dr. abbot, i-” 

“she did great,” parker comments, and you stop to beam at her.

“thank you.” ellis peels off her gloves and gown, black gloves that had been meant for him going into the bin. she gives you further instructions and you nod, and when it’s just the two of you, he finally turns to meet your eyes.

and the way you smile at him blows him away. it’s all over your face—from your gleaming eyes to the cheeks that must hurt, the lips that he can’t stop thinking about. there’s something else there too. neither of you want to say it, though you try.

“thank you, dr. abbot. i-” the words falter and die on your tongue. but in your joy, how pleased you are with yourself for once, you find the confidence he’s been wanting you to have all along. “i was looking for you.”

and jack swallows hard. it’s one thing to have a flirtation, to teach you, to mentor you. to make you cups of coffee and tea and buy a box of those protein bars that you like the best, because the other ones taste weird. to defend your yellow cup with his best glare, to stop in the aisle at costco and buy a duplicate pair just incase he ever needs to replace it. you love that yellow mug, and well, he loves—

“dr. abbot? you okay?” 

and it’s normally him asking you that.

“i’m fine, kid. you did great.” 

“so did you.” 

-

when jack walks by dana at around seven-ten, her and the other nurses go remarkably silent. 

“yes?” he asks, grabbing the black thermos from the counter where he’d been finishing his notes. it’s also from costco—chipped and bent all over the place, little flecks of silver making an appearance around the bottom. you’d made a joke about it once—even your cup is salt and pepper. and now he thinks about it every time he picks it up.

“what? i didn’t say anything,” dana replies, settling an ipad back in the charging port, moving around papers at the station. “but just so you know, the pool’s up to three hundred.”

jack sets his cup down a little harder than he means to, forearms resting on the sterile counter.

“what pool?” he demands, and dana shrugs. if he didn’t love her so much he would kill her.

“i’m just saying. if you’d like to help your favorite nurse contribute to her retirement fund, then you can—”

“oh? i can what?” 

it’s just not this easy for him anymore. you are full of all the good things that he so clearly lacks, made of so much sunshine it’s pouring out of you. you have love in stores, ready to be doled out at any time, to anyone. patients, coworkers, even the medical students you just met a couple minutes ago. he hears you—offering the flashcards you made for boards and the interview tips that got you to match at your top choice. 

he is entirely unworthy of your love. he knows it, deep down. loving him would break you. trying to piece him back together would drain you dry. and he doesn’t want to do that to you, you deserve better. maybe he can take care of you at work, but outside of these four walls, if you saw what he was like with idle hands and an empty apartment, or if you saw him up on that roof-

“dr. abbot?” 

your voice seems to always be enough to snap him out of it. 

“goodbye, dana,” he says, walking up next to you, thermos in hand. your eyes briefly glance down at it, smiling. “what’s going on, kid?” 

“remember what you had said? about breakfast?” and you smile at him like getting breakfast with jack abbot sounds like the great thing in the world right now. it’s almost seven-thirty and you probably haven’t slept in fifteen hours, and yet you keep smiling, big eyes blinking at him while you wait patiently for an answer.

“yeah.” he clears his throat, looking back at dana momentarily. she’s smiling at him, and then she turns to smack the side of robby’s arm, pointing him the direction of you two. “that sounds great. after you.” 

he shouldn’t have said yes. he knows what’ll happen if you start thinking that you can fix whatever is wrong with jack abbot, and he would like to avoid that entirely. but you beam at him again like you had earlier with ellis, and jack is a lot of things, but one thing is he is not, is a jerk. he won’t disappoint you about this, not when he’s secretly relieved you’re eating after shift. he’s seen you with sugary granola bars and pastries when you should be filling up on protein after a shift like this.

so he follows you out, ignoring the exchange of money behind him. 

breakfast is nice. you get chocolate-chip pancakes and he makes you get eggs too, and then hands you strips of bacon from his plate too. he hasn’t seen you like this before, and he tries to soak it into his memory. 

(something deep inside says that he should cut the tether before you get too attached. it’ll only hurt more to prolong it, to let it linger. the possibility of something between the two of you. and then you offer him a bite of a pancake drenched in syrup and everything in his head goes silent.)

breakfast becomes a weekly recurrence. there’s a twenty-four seven diner he loves just up the road from the hospital, and he’s been before with shen once, robby a couple times if their schedules lined up. it’s not particularly unusual to see him there with you, though he feels like he’s committing some sort of a crime.

you wear pullovers from your alma mater. the backpack you bring to work is the same one you used all four years of college and medical school, a fact you are very proud of. when he looks at it—his chest hurts. it’s hardly worn, looks like it’s in great condition—a couple of pins tacked on the side where your water bottle sits and a pocket for your badge and wallet in the front. he has to force himself to remember that you’re younger than any woman he’s seriously talked to before. his wife had been two months older than him, something he used to tease her about all the time. 

would you do that? would you tease him about the age difference? or would you prefer to ignore it, set it aside and try to forget about it? it’s a heavy question for breakfast after twelve hours on. 

you take him to another place that you like, too, closer to your apartment. you both eat bagels and sip on juice—orange for him, apple for you—and that’s where you learn more about his time as a medic. the breakfast burrito place near the park is where you tell him about how you’ve wanted to be a doctor since you were twelve, that you thought you’d had a calling for pediatrics and you’d even been the president of the peds club in medical school. and then you’d rotated through the emergency department third year and completely changed your plan.

you share a stack of waffles—chocolate chip with strawberries and whipped cream, at your insistence. he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to say no to you, not when you ask him so sweetly. he learns about your kitten and how you’ve always been scared that you’re going to do the wrong thing and until very recently, that you’ve just been playing pretend and you’ll get caught one day. 

and back at the diner is where he tells you about his wife. and you listen intently and nod and hold his hands when his voice breaks and run your fingers over his knuckles. you don’t let go of his hand the entire walk back to your apartment, and outside the door, you give him a hug. and the two of you stay like that for a while. that’s when you and jack kiss for the first time. slow, steady, a kiss that you’ve been dreaming of for months. it takes all the air out of your lungs and when you finally go inside, you realize your shoulder is a little wet and your lips are swollen. 

even hours later, jack can still taste apple juice on his tongue.

another week after that, you both answer the incoming trauma together. it’s six-thirty, so someone might come and take over, but it doesn’t work out that way. it’s a man who got t-boned at an intersection on the way to school drop-off. his wife and daughter are getting their cuts stitched, you think, and the patient had been slurring at you when he came in. thank god i put her behind her mom today. thank god, thank god- and jack does something he doesn’t always do. 

“get the mom, get the kid. let-let them talk.” 

and while you do the ultrasound and the e-fast and order for type and cross-match, you hear his daughter crying and a wife telling her husband how much she loves him. 

and you and jack try everything, everything you can think of, but sometimes, there’s just no coming back. he doesn’t even make it to surgery. jack walks out first, and then you, and you see his daughter turn away from the medical student that’s tending to her wound, standing up with hopeful eyes like you and jack have good news for her.

and you feel incredibly broken. your day hasn’t even started yet. and you lock eyes with jack for a second—just a second, and he stares back at you, hardened, in a way you haven’t seen before. you’ve both lost patients, lost patients together. sometimes it’s just different, in a way that you can’t explain. 

it must have been an hour, an hour and a half you spent in the trauma room. the entire day shift is there now. 

“head home, kid,” jack says. “i’ll talk to the family.” 

you bring your hand to his shoulder, pulling back until he turns to face you. 

“i’ll talk to the family.” 

it’s not an easy thing to take care of. he tries to tell you something but you shake your head at him, the hand on his shoulder lingering. people are looking, he thinks. but then again, he’s never cared that much. and in this moment, neither do you. 

you head over to the family, excuse the nurses and the student doing the stitches. you pull the curtains, and all he hears is sobbing. 

and when you come back out, he know you held it together in front of them, but your shoulders are shaking, your chin is wobbling. and in front of all those people, he brings you in for a hug. 

a real hug—like the one you had in front of your apartment. jack’s grip is tight on you, his arms caging you in, covering everything so you can’t see anything, can’t think about anything else but him. he rests his chin on your head, and closes his eyes, and then the two of you walk back to the lockers together. 

it’s not an easy thing to take care of him. and somehow, without ever telling you, you know all about how to do it. you know a lot of things about him. you know what this job does to him and that if he had gone to tell that family they lost their father and husband, that he would’ve ended up on the roof this morning. you know that jack abbot doesn’t halve any of his burdens, that he’s been afraid to rely on you like how you rely on him. to need you in the way that you need him. and you know that he won’t tell you what he needs, but you’ve gotten somewhat adept at figuring him out, just like how he has with you.

that day you leave holding hands. neither of you are in the right mood to go out for breakfast, so he elects to take you back to his apartment, an arm swung around your shoulder the entire walk there. you’re still a little teary-eyed, wiping them away at his front door while you head inside with him. 

you’ve never seen the inside of jack’s apartment, but he’s mentioned it in one of your many conversations. the record collection, his wife’s plants that he takes care of, the kitchen that’s too big for one person. 

the morning light hits the place beautifully. you stare out of his window while he heads to the kitchen, and you look around. first the records, then the plants, just like he’d described. there’s pothos and peace lily and little succulents along the windowsill. you look at the rest of it—incredibly fitting. a brown leather couch and a bookshelf with medical textbooks and a couple of mystery thrillers. you laugh to yourself, imagining jack curling up with one of those books at night.

when you turn back, he’s cracking eggs and laying out strips of bacon on the pan. you head over to the other side of the island, taking a seat on one of the stools. 

“no pancakes?”

“you’re gonna get cavities, y’know,” jack says, and you smile at him. 

“it’s worth it.”

“i love your smile the way it is right now. don’t go changing it on me.” and that does make you smile, staring at jack making breakfast for the two of you. it all feels so domestic. like you’re just walking into the life that was meant for you all along.

you’ve only been on the night shift for a couple of months. 

how could he have been so stupid? trying to fight what you did to him when it was like gravity, like the tide, like every other force in this world that he knows about and cannot control. you’re exactly where you’re meant to be, and so is he.

“mel texted me. she won the bet,” you say, setting your phone down. you lean against your hand, inhaling the smell of the first of many home-cooked meals you’ll eat, made by jack abbot.

“that so? i thought dana was a shoo-in.” 

“dana got the timing wrong. thought it’d happen during the night shift. but technically, you hugged me at eight-thirty, so..” 

“and what was the winning combo?” he stares at you, probably for the millionth time since you met him. and still, somehow, it’s enough that you feel it in your bones. you want to look away but you don’t. “you want toast, kid?” 

“yes please. she didn’t say, but i’ll ask. later.” 

you and jack settle at his wooden dining table ten minutes later, a plate full of protein and a promise that he’ll get you something sweet when you wake up later. jack lifts up his pant leg and takes off his prosthetic, setting it against the chair and relaxing a little bit more. you can see his shoulders loosen up. when he catches you staring, he smiles back.

“what?”

“nothing. do you have juice?”

“i think there’s some apple in there. i can-”

“no, i got it.” you get up, walking towards to the fridge. “i thought you didn’t like apple.” you know he doesn’t—he prefers orange. 

“i changed my mind.” you smile back at him, finding the apple juice and setting it on the counter. 

“cups?” 

“the cabinet on your right. no, your other right.”

you laugh and open it up, your laugh dying in your throat as you stare at two yellow mugs sitting front and center in the cupboard. you pick them up, bringing them over to the table with jack, and stare at him.

“oh,” he says. “i can explain. it’s incase-” but you don’t want to listen for another second, so you sit on his lap, pressing your lips together and forgetting all about breakfast and apple juice.

♡ thanks for reading!

[bitters-n-sweets]

what survived the fire pt. 2 — jack abbot x fem!reader The ghost of Jack's past is alive, standing right in front of him, and now comes the question, what's next?

warnings: nothing 18+, mentions of violence, blood, su1c1d4l tendencies, etc, minors go away | this is the last part masterlist | part one

Jack thinks it might be the end of him. His ears are ringing, he's trying to even his breathing, and you keep walking closer. He can't believe his eyes.

"You..." Jack can't muster up the words. He wants to touch you, make sure you're real, but he's not sure he's ready for that.

You swallow, feeling your throat becoming dry. He looks tired, stressed, he doesn't quite look like himself, at least the version of him you remember.

"They told me you didn't make it." You say, "I didn't know—"

"They told me you went missing." He chokes, "...Presumed dead."

Gloria steps in like a lifeline, though neither of you can look away from each other. "Let’s give you two a minute. Consult room’s open."

Jack steps forward first, slow and unsure, raising a trembling hand to touch your arm. He lets out a breath he doesn't realize he's been holding.

You place your hand on top of his, and you feel like you might break.

"Can I— Can I hold you?" He asks shakily.

You nod silently and he pulls you to his embrace.

"You’re real," he murmurs into your shoulder. "Jesus, you’re real."

You nod again, unable to form words, barely holding it together as you clutch his scrub top, grounding yourself in his warmth.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I should’ve looked harder. I should’ve—"

"Jack." You pull back just enough to look at him. Your hands are on his face now, wiping his tears. "It's not your fault. We're both alive now, so... let's take it from here, yeah?"

He nods, burying himself into your neck again.

Once you're both calm and reality settles, you and Jack sink to the floor of the consult room. Shoulder to shoulder, backs against the wall—like behind the supply tent all those nights ago. Only this time, he's holding your hand like his life depended on it.

"How did you..." He stops, afraid to finish the question.

"There was a second explosion." You tell him. "Some time after you were air lifted. I couldn't find other survivors so I ran and lost my comms, didn't have supplies. Got picked up by a group that didn’t want to let me go."

His grip tightens. "Jesus."

"They didn’t hurt me," you say quickly, seeing the panic spark in his eyes. "They needed a medic. That’s all. I patched up a few of their guys and waited for a window to get out. It took about a month."

"They just—what? Kept you like a prisoner?"

You shrug lightly. "I had a roof. No restraints. The food was terrible, but not any better than rations. They weren’t monsters. Just scared soldiers trying to survive. I was useful, so they didn’t kill me. It wasn't that bad."

"That’s your bar for ‘not that bad’?" he says, voice tight.

You offer a tired smile. "At least I didn’t get tortured."

Jack shakes his head and laughs gently. "You haven’t changed."

You lean your head against his shoulder. "You know, even though they told me you were gone, I kept telling myself you were alive somewhere."

Jack lets you keep going.

"I used to imagine you had your own farm. With a wife, a kid... a dog." You laugh softly at yourself. "Made it all up in my head. Figured that was easier than picturing you dead. That way, you got to be happy. Even if I wasn’t in it."

"—Unless you do have a wife, a kid, and a farm of your own now." You glance at him, suddenly self-conscious. "I just realized that could actually be true."

Jack chuckles, putting his arm around you. "Nah. Not much has changed. Still here in the ER, still on therapy, still trying to fix myself."

"And you?" Jack asks, hesitant. "Do you— are you seeing anyone?"

You shake your head and look up at him. "So..."

He meets your eyes.

"You still up for that coffee?" you ask, hopeful.

Jack doesn’t even hesitate. "Yeah. More than ever."

You're on the way to his place after the shift. Though usually shifts last long and seem endless, this time, Jack didn't complain because you were shadowing him.

With coffee in your hands, you step into his apartment.

"Make yourself at home," He says, taking your jacket and hanging it.

You both sit on his couch and sigh, letting the weight of the day slip away.

"How was your first shift?" He asks.

"Great." You say, "Working with you again is nice. I missed it."

"Yeah," he murmurs, "me too."

For a moment, there's only the quiet hum of his apartment, the city outside muffled by thick windows. You sip your coffee and glance around—some framed photos on the wall, a stack of medical journals on the table, a worn throw blanket slung over the back of the couch. It’s lived-in, but quiet. Like him.

"This place screams you." You comment.

Jack laughs lightly. "You gave me a whole farm and a family in your head. I think I’m underachieving now."

You nudge his knee with yours. "Well I think that was just my— I don't know, I was trying to make myself feel better."

You put your coffee down and put your hand on his, your tone more serious now. "I didn’t think I’d get to see you again. The last time I saw you, I had your blood on my hands. On my shirt. Everything."

You take a deep breath. "By the time I got out and they told me you didn't make it... I couldn't wash that shirt. I kept it with me for... I don't know for how long. But it was the last piece of you I had with me, and I couldn't bear losing it."

"Kinda insane, actually." You laugh it off.

Jack's jaw tenses. He knows this. He's been through it. All the death, the blood, the surviving, the guilt, he's been through it all.

"I still struggle to sleep on a comfortable bed sometimes." Jack admits. "One time, I was in a hospital bed, drugged up, and I couldn't rest. I could feel how comfortable the sheets were, and for some reason, it gave me a panic attack. I ripped out my IV, tried to get off the bed, ended up on the floor just gasping like a dying animal."

You squeeze his hand.

"The nurse came in, thought I was coding. Took five people to get me calm again. They kept asking what was wrong, but I couldn’t explain it. How do you tell someone you feel safer lying on dirt?"

He turns to look at you then, finally, really meeting your eyes.

"So no," he says softly. "You’re not crazy. Or alone."

You blink quickly, but the tears still fall.

"Thank you," you whisper.

Jack doesn’t say anything back. He just reaches over and pulls you to him.

"I guess therapy has been really helping, huh?" You chuckle.

"I'm getting better." He smiles.

"Hey, um," You say, rummaging through your pocket. "Remember what you said about me wanting to be a writer?"

Jack sits up. "Yeah. I said you should go for it. And that I'd be the first to read it."

You chuckle nervously, pulling out a folded piece of paper. It's worn, edges soft with age, the creases smoothed over and reopened a hundred times. "When I was still out there... I started writing. I'm working on the draft now, but—this—this was the first thing I ever wrote. I kept it with me."

Jack straightens, his expression softening. He takes the paper from your hand like it’s something fragile.

I keep thinking about his hands. Not the way they looked, but the way they moved—calm, steady, like he could pull order from chaos. He used to tease me when I overpacked my kit and always gave away the last protein bar to someone else. I don’t know if he’s alive, but I still see him when I close my eyes. Not like a ghost. More like a lighthouse. Something steady I keep walking toward, even when everything else is dark. If I ever get out of this, I hope he knows he was the good part. The part that made me believe I could still be human after all of this.

When he finally looks at you, his voice is low, almost a whisper.

"You wrote this… about me?"

You nod, eyes flicking away for just a second before meeting his gaze again. "What do you think?"

Jack laughs softly, then his forehead touches yours, eyes shut, lips close. He doesn’t kiss you — not yet. But it’s there, promised in the way his hands cradle your face like he’s finally letting himself want.

"I think I'm not letting you go."

-------

part three

[pomegranatelifethis]

Brother

The rain came down in sheets, a relentless curtain of gray that blurred the Gotham skyline into a smear of neon and shadow. You stood on the rooftop of an abandoned warehouse, the cold seeping through your jacket, your hair plastered to your face. The city growled below—sirens, horns, the pulse of a place that never slept. But up here, it was just you and Jason, your twin brother, his broad frame silhouetted against the storm. His Red Hood helmet was off, tucked under his arm, and his dark hair was soaked, clinging to his forehead. His green eyes, usually sharp with wit or warmth, were hard now, cutting into you like broken glass.

“You screwed it up, Y/N,” he spat, his voice low but venomous, each word a deliberate strike. “Every damn thing. The intel was bad, the plan went to hell, and it’s *your fault*.”

You flinched, the accusation hitting harder than the rain. Your chest tightened, and you hugged your arms around yourself, trying to hold it together. “I didn’t—Jason, I checked the intel. I triple-checked it. It wasn’t—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off, stepping closer, his boots splashing in the shallow puddles pooling on the roof. “Don’t stand there and make excuses. You were supposed to have my back. You *always* have my back, and tonight you didn’t. You let me walk into a trap.”

Tears stung your eyes, hot and unwanted, mingling with the rain on your cheeks. You hated crying in front of him—hated showing that kind of weakness, especially when he was like this, all fire and rage. But the weight of his words crushed you. You were twins, two halves of the same soul, raised in the same gritty streets, trained under the same grueling mentorship of Bruce Wayne. You’d fought side by side, bled together, laughed together. But when Jason got like this, when the anger took over, it was like he forgot all of that. Like you were just another screw-up in his way.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” you said, your voice breaking. “I’d never let you get hurt on purpose. You *know* that.”

“Do I?” He laughed, a bitter, hollow sound that made your stomach twist. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re too busy playing hero to care about what happens to me. You think you’re so perfect, don’t you? The good twin, the one who never screws up, the one Bruce trusts. Meanwhile, I’m the one picking up the pieces when you fail.”

“That’s not fair,” you whispered, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. The rain was freezing now, but it was nothing compared to the cold spreading through your chest. “I’m not perfect. I’m just trying to do what’s right. Same as you.”

“Same as me?” He took another step, his face inches from yours now, his breath warm against the chill. “You’re nothing like me, Y/N. You don’t know what it’s like to crawl out of your own grave, to have the whole world turn its back on you. You’ve got no idea what I’ve been through, and you still act like you can fix me. Like you’re better than me.”

The words hit like a punch, stealing your breath. You stared at him, your twin, the boy who’d once shared your secrets, who’d patched your wounds and teased you until you laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe. Now he was a stranger, his face twisted with pain and blame, and it broke something inside you.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” you said, your voice barely audible over the rain. “I just want my brother back.”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—regret, maybe, or guilt. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that hard, unyielding wall he’d built around himself. He shook his head, stepping back, the distance between you growing wider than the rooftop could hold.

“You want me back?” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “Maybe you never had me to begin with.”

He turned, his silhouette blurring in the rain as he walked toward the edge of the roof. You wanted to scream, to run after him, to grab his jacket and make him stay, make him listen. But your legs felt like lead, your throat raw from the sobs you were choking back. The tears came harder now, spilling over, and you didn’t care anymore if he saw.

“Jason,” you called, your voice cracking. “Please.”

He paused, just for a second, his shoulders tensing. But he didn’t turn around. “Go home, Y/N,” he said, his voice carried back by the wind. “This isn’t your fight.”

And then he was gone, vaulting over the edge, disappearing into the storm like he was part of it. You stood there, alone, the rain washing over you, your heart pounding in your ears. The city roared on, indifferent, and you sank to your knees, the cold concrete biting through your jeans. You pressed your hands to your face, trying to hold back the flood, but it was no use. You cried—for Jason, for the brother you’d lost, for the part of you that felt like it was drowning in the rain.

Somewhere in the distance, a bat-signal cut through the clouds, a fleeting beacon in the dark. But you didn’t move. Not yet. For now, it was just you and the storm, and the ache of a bond that might never heal.

------

The rain had stopped by morning, leaving Gotham slick and gleaming under a weak, gray dawn. Jason Todd sat on the edge of his safehouse cot, his head in his hands, the weight of last night’s words pressing down on him like a physical thing. The small apartment was a mess—empty takeout containers, a half-disassembled gun on the table, a cracked mirror reflecting his own tired eyes. He hadn’t slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face, tear-streaked and broken, your voice trembling as you called his name.

“Damn it,” he muttered, dragging his hands through his hair. His knuckles were bruised from punching the wall after he’d gotten back, a futile attempt to drown out the guilt clawing at his chest. He could still hear himself, the venom in his voice as he’d torn into you, his twin, the one person who’d always been there, no matter how far he’d fallen. *Your fault. You screwed it up. You’re nothing like me.* Each word felt like a blade now, turned back on himself.

He grabbed his phone, thumb hovering over your contact. No missed calls, no texts. Just silence. That was worse than anything—knowing you hadn’t reached out, that he’d pushed you so far you might not come back. His stomach twisted, a sick, hollow feeling he hadn’t felt since the days after he’d crawled out of his own grave. He’d been angry last night, blindsided by the botched mission, the trap that had nearly gotten him killed. But it wasn’t your fault. Not really. He knew that now, in the cold light of day, and the truth made him feel smaller than he ever had.

Jason stood, pacing the cramped room, his boots scuffing the worn floorboards. He could still see you on that rooftop, soaked to the bone, your eyes wide with hurt as he’d thrown your love back in your face. *I just want my brother back.* Those words haunted him, each syllable a reminder of how he’d failed you. You weren’t trying to fix him, like he’d accused. You were just trying to love him, and he’d made you pay for it.

He stopped by the window, staring out at the city. Gotham was waking up, delivery trucks rumbling, pigeons scattering from rooftops. Somewhere out there, you were probably at the manor, or maybe at your own place, nursing the wounds he’d left behind. He wondered if you’d told Dick or Tim, if they’d be knocking on his door later to chew him out. He almost wished they would. It’d be easier than facing you himself.

His phone buzzed, and his heart jumped, hoping it was you. But it was just a notification from one of his informants, something about a lead on a case. He tossed the phone onto the cot, cursing under his breath. He didn’t care about the case, not now. All he could think about was the way you’d looked at him, like he’d shattered something precious, something he might never get back.

Jason grabbed his jacket, the same one he’d worn last night, still damp from the rain. He needed to see you, to fix this, but the thought of facing you made his chest ache. What could he even say? *Sorry I blamed you for everything? Sorry I made you cry? Sorry I’m a screwed-up mess who doesn’t know how to let you in?* He wasn’t good with words, not like you were. You’d always been the one to smooth things over, to bridge the gap when he pushed people away. But this time, he’d gone too far, and he wasn’t sure you’d let him close enough to try.

He stepped out into the street, the cool air biting at his skin. The bat-signal was long gone from the sky, but he felt its weight anyway, a reminder of the family he was part of, whether he liked it or not. You were part of that family, too—his twin, his other half, the one who’d shared his nightmares and his dreams. He’d spent years pushing you away, telling himself it was to protect you, but last night had been different. Last night, he’d hurt you on purpose, and the regret was eating him alive.

As he walked toward your apartment, his steps heavy, he rehearsed what he’d say. He didn’t have the words yet, didn’t know if he ever would. But he knew one thing: he couldn’t lose you. Not you. Not ever. The rain might have washed away the evidence of last night, but it couldn’t erase the truth. He’d been wrong, and now he had to make it right, even if it meant facing the one person he’d hurt the most.

[renskaji]

rainy rooftops

pre-established!hajime umemiya x reader, wc: 1.9k, req? no.

It’s raining when Hajime Umemiya realizes he’s in love with you. 

There’d been a minor brawl in town, involving none other than his most promising group of first years. They’d gotten a bit banged up, nothing too terrible, and yet you still forced them to sit in the first year Tamon team’s homeroom while you asked Hiragi to grab you the medkit from the roof. 

Umemiya, of course, offers to go in his right hand’s stead, and when he comes back after darting out into the rain, he’s a little damp and entirely soft-hearted. 

It’s your arguing with Sakura that really does him in. 

“I will put my foot up your ass if you don’t put it in that chair, Sakura!” You hiss, one pointed finger perfectly painted—by Tsubakino, he knows, ‘cause you told him yesterday, and he remembers everything you tell him—extended threateningly in his junior’s face. Umemiya isn’t sure if he should intervene before Sakura tests the limits of your patience to the breaking point, but then he catches Hiragi’s eye and sees the twitch in his cheek as his best friend tries to hide his laughter. 

Umemiya decides to hang back and watch, a soft smile on his face despite the shouting. 

“Oh yeah?” Sakura pushes back, arms crossed over his chest and face flushed so brightly it might be cause for medical concern. The younger boy knows you’re just looking out for him, but he’s still adjusting to letting people do that. It’s not helping that you’re threatening him, but Umemiya knows Sakura adores you like a big sister. The thought makes his chest flutter. He’s always wanted a partner like you, and he can’t believe he ever got so lucky as to have you. “I’d like to see you try.”

Sakura’s taller than you, and a hell of a lot better fighter, but you don’t stand down. In fact, you step closer, chin lifting, and brows raising even higher, just tempting him to try and disobey you again. 

“Chair. Now.” You order. Umemiya bites the inside of his cheek as the room goes silent—save for Hiragi losing his battle against his giggles. Everyone is waiting to see what will happen, if Sakura will fold. You hold his stare, unrelenting, and Sakura is the first to look away. 

“Tch.” The first year scoffs, dropping his gaze as he sits in the chair, rather stiffly. His bruises are the worst of the bunch, having thrown himself headfirst into the thickest of the fighting, which was your reasoning for demanding to patch him up first. “Only ‘cause it’s lame to fight girls.”

Everyone knows that’s not the reason Sakura won’t fight you, but they let him have it. 

“Thank you,” Your demanding tone has disappeared with the arrival of a compliant Sakura, and in its place is the sweet voice everyone is accustomed to. Umemiya feels his heart sing when you glance over your shoulder and see him lingering by the door, the requested medkit in hand. The feeling swells when you smile at him, as if you hadn’t just threatened to beat up his junior. “Haji, can I have—”

“If you’re going to flirt, then I’m leaving—!” Sakura reacts at your use of his leader’s nickname, still unused to it leaving your lips so sweetly. He tries to jump up from the chair he had only just begrudgingly sat in, but a smiling Suo sets a hand on his shoulder and shoves him back down. 

“Relax, Sakura.” Umemiya finally steps in, a grin wide on his face as he watches you whip back around to fix Sakura with a glare. He sets the medkit on the desk beside you and retreats to the edge of the room to watch you work. Thankfully, Hiragi seems to have gotten ahold of himself. “Let her patch you up, and then you can go.” 

“Your sensitivity to romance never ceases to astound me.” Suo taunts his friend, which only serves to agitate Sakura more. This time, you pin your glare on Suo, though it’s far less effective on him. Still, the one-eyed boy gets your message, and mines zipping his mouth shut. 

“If you keep trying to flinch away from me,” You threaten Sakura once you get the alcohol wipes out to clean the cuts on his face. There’s a dangerous glint in your eyes that Umemiya is certain only he can see, and part of him swears there’s no better feeling than being the only one able to read you so clearly. “I’ll even go so far as to kiss Hajime in front of you.” 

Sakura freezes—then flushes so brightly the room erupts in laughter. You have to finish cleaning and bandaging Sakura up through his grumbling complaints and false threats about kicking your ass, but Umemiya knows you think it’s worth it to see the smiles on everyone’s faces. 

He watches as you patch up the first years one by one without complaint and only mild threats to stay still. It feels like a dream to him, to be able to sit on the sidelines and observe you doting over the boys he’s all but adopted as his younger brothers. 

“I’ll make sure the morons get home without incident.” Hiragi tells him after you apply the final bandage to Sugishita. The long haired boy is listening to your every word about how you tried a new shampoo you think he might like with wide eyes and his head nodding every few seconds. It makes sense that Sugishita is so reverent to you, considering how much you mean to Umemiya. 

“Thanks, man.” Umemiya hears the words leave his lips, but he’s not entirely certain he remembers thinking about saying them. He’s too busy watching how you care for his brothers, even going so far as digging out a snack from your bag and handing it to Sakura as a peace offering for all the teasing. 

It hits him square in the chest, then, that he’s absolutely head-over-heels in love with you. 

The boys are barely out of the room before Umemiya is crossing the small space between the two of you, heart hammering in his chest and grin so broad it might crack his face in two. 

“Haji—?” The nickname is barely out of your mouth before Umemiya slots his lips over yours in an unexpected kiss. His teeth knock against yours with the force of his smile, and you let out a breathless giggle when he pulls back as fast as he came in. You’ve been dating for months, and he still gets giddy each time he kisses you. “What’s gotten into you, then?” 

“I wanna do something romantic,” He tells you, and it’s all the warning you get before he yanks you up from the chair you’d claimed while you worked and hauls you over his shoulder, fireman style. 

The shriek you let out is tailed by laughter, and it’s music to Umumiya’s ears as he races out of the room and towards the stairs. You yell at him to be careful, to not drop you, as he takes the stairs up two at a time. It’s a pointless demand, because he’s never not had your safety in mind at all times, but he lets you chide him anyways because he loves the sound of your voice, he loves the way your hands grip the back of his jacket, and he loves you. 

He shoves open the door to the roof dramatically and strides out with you still over his shoulder. Your squeals only intensify as you feel the drops of rain splattering against your skin, but you’re laughing, too, so he knows you’re enjoying yourself and his spontaneity. 

“It’s raining,” You complain through a smile as he finally sets you on your feet. You’re so disorientated from being lifted and carried, half-upside down, that you brace your hands against his chest to keep yourself upright. He’s pretty sure you’re able to feel the slam of his heart against his ribcage, and it serves to make him even more excited for what he’s about to say. 

“It’s romantic,” He counters, holding your face between both of his large, warm palms and kissing you soundly. The rain is sticking your hair to your skin, dripping down the bridge of your nose, and he can only assume the same is happening to him as well. But you’re kissing him back with so much fervour that he can’t help but not care at all, and he knows without even hearing it that you reciprocate the devotion he only just realized he carries for you.

“Haji, what’s gotten into you?” You’re decidedly not complaining this time, because your hands wrap around his wrists and you step closer to him, chin tilted up to damn near stun him with your blindingly bright smile. Even through the rain, you’re devastatingly beautiful to him. 

“You taking care of the first years made me realize something,” He kisses you again when he pauses, and you reciprocate without thinking, despite your confusion. “It means so much to me that you care for them like that. So earnestly. It made me realize that I love you. That I’m in love with you.”

His confession stuns you momentarily, but he doesn’t stop smiling down at you, doesn’t stop cradling your face so gently between his hands despite the smattering of rain soaking you. There are several things he knows without a shadow of a doubt, and one of those is that you’re going to meet him, turn for turn. 

It takes a few beats of rain-filled silence for your mind to connect with your body. But once it does, your arms are flung around his shoulders and your lips pressing kiss after sloppy kiss to his cheek in your excitement. He hugs you close, tight enough to lift you off your feet, and revels in the way his chest rumbles with chuckles while you make exaggerated ‘mwah, mwah’ kissing noises while gracing him with your affection. 

“Does this mean you feel the same?” Umemiya knows he’s teasing, but he can’t help it, can’t help but dig his fingers into your sides to hear you squeal and bring your attention back to him. 

“Of course, I love you.” You’re still kissing all over his face, but he can’t let you have all the fun, so with one hand that’s not holding you close he grabs your jaw to keep you still long enough to press his lips to yours. This kiss is deeper than the others, longer. It’s an attempt to transfer all the emotions you both feel for the other in one moment, and when you pull back first, you don’t go far. “How could I not? You have the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met.”

Umemiya can’t find the words to tell you how much you mean to him over the uncomfortable tightening in his throat he thinks might be tears. All he can do is hold you, and kiss you again, and hope you know that you mean just as much to him, that he thinks just as highly of you. 

He prays he makes you feel as loved as you deserve, and decides he’d be fine spending the rest of his life doing so. 

“But, Hajime,” You speak up after a few moments of peaceful silence. He leans into your touch when you brush some of the damp hair off of his forehead, and finds the teasing grin on your lips just as endearing as your bright grin or chastising frown. “Did you have to drag me out into the rain to tell me?”

“What’s more romantic than kissing in the rain!”

“You’re such a dork. I love you.”

[giftedclairvoyance]

Life just kept coming.

Lorraine and Ed had been married ten years this year, and things were... not entirely good.

Theyd finally welcomed their daughter about three months prior, after ten years of trying, and since then, their marriage and relationship had kind of taken a backseat to raising a newborn, as had their work. Cases weren't as important as being there for the crucial first months of their daughters life.

The past month, Lorraine had spent every single night up with Judy, who was going through a sleep regression and cluster feeding on top of it, which left her absolutely exhausted during the day.

Ed had been a saint, taking over for a bit during the day so that Lorraine could get a bit of sleep in, but it all meant that dishes, laundry, housework all got neglected, along with any attention they had to give each other.

And now, on top of it, the roof needed patching, the HVAC needed fixing, and her car needed parts to be replaced. It was never ending

@ed-wwarren

[skeltnwrites]

Deck the Halls ⋆⁺❆₊꙳‧❅⋆࿔

With Eddie stuck in the hospital, the boys help you bring Christmas to him. 3k

a/n - for the amazing @littlexdeaths twelve days of promptmas! <3

“Mike, stop pulling so hard.” 

“You’re holding it too high!” 

Lucas scoffs. “It’s literally dragging on the floor.” 

“It’s literally not–” 

“Guys!” Your snow-slick boots squeal on the linoleum as you spin. “You’re gonna get us caught if you don’t stop arguing.” 

“But he–” 

“I wasn’t–”

“Both of you! Shut up!” 

The scowl Mike gives Lucas is met with equal disdain. But he rolls his eyes and heaves the Christmas tree in his arms up a notch. You resume down the hospital hallway, hauling the front end of the tree with four grumpy teenagers in tow. 

You can’t be that annoyed. Dustin, Lucas, Will, and Mike are all here with you of their own volition in this stuffy hospital very early on Christmas morning. And they all have a piece of your heart for doing so. 

You adjust your grip on the tree. No matter how you hold it, the bristles poke your waist, and the bark stamps itchy lines into your palms. But you remind yourself of Eddie. Of his hospital room with white walls, white sheets, white machines, white everything. And that’s just not right, not on Christmas. 

So you’re bringing the holiday spirit to Eddie this year. Between the five of you, there are three backpacks brimming with unused tinsel, lights, and ornaments, and a pine tree as tall as Lucas. 

You’d have decorated earlier if you could’ve. But Eddie procrastinated until Christmas Eve to fix the lights on your roof and in his haste, his heel skidded on a patch of ice, and he tumbled off the house in a rather cartoonish display. It wasn’t funny then, but you can laugh now knowing he’s passed out on painkillers and recovering just fine. Still, two broken ribs were enough to hold him for observation and visiting hours ended before you could scrounge anything festive together. So here you are, slinking through the emergency room past receptionists, nurses, and hospital security in the middle of the night. 

You raise a fist, prompting the boys to freeze. The click-clack of heels echoes from around the corner, growing louder by the step. “Back, back, back,” you order. 

Mike backpedals straight into Will’s chest and Dustin steps on Lucas’ foot. The tree lurches backward as they all grapple for balance. It’s a clumsy scuffle nowhere near quiet. If whoever’s there didn’t hear you before, they certainly have now. 

You try the nearest door handle and swing it open. By some miracle, the room’s unoccupied. 

The boys follow your lead, bags jingling loudly with each frantic step. They shove the tree through the doorway at an angle and a branch snags on the frame. 

“Wait– stop, stop!” Dustin whisper-yells. 

Mike rams it through again, a flurry of pine needles shaking loose and fluttering to the floor. 

“Stop,” you bark, “Turn it first.” 

They’re a smart bunch but they lack teamwork skills when you so desperately need it. Several pairs of hands fight to maneuver the tree in opposite directions. And all four of them squeeze through the doorway with it, snapping a branch in half and shaking another sheet of pine needles free. 

You sweep the tree remains inside with your foot– though there’s certainly still evidence in the hall– and pull the door closed behind you. The cheap window blinds crinkle as you steer them aside, just enough to see past the door. 

The heeled woman is either blind, deaf, or committed to minding her own business because she strolls by the door like it’s any other. You slump against the wall, turning to flash a thumbs up at the kids as soon as she’s out of view. You’re matched with a quartet of yawns, skipping from one frown to the next. 

“Almost there,” you encourage. It’s not a lie, per se, but it’s not very close to the truth either. This might be harder than you imagined. 

The elevator is too risky, so you take the stairs. But hauling a whole tree up four flights of stairs is no easy task. Mumbled complaints overlap and echo in the stairwell and by the top, your arms and legs are protesting just the same. 

The door whines as you crack it open, and you peer through the gap to scope out the area. There’s a nurse's station in the center of the floor manned by the same woman you’d seen earlier. Eddie’s room is on the opposite side; there’s virtually no way to sneak past without her seeing. 

You turn around, eyes locking with Dustins like they’re two bullseyes. 

He crosses his arms and cocks his head. He knows the look you're giving him and he doesn’t like it. “What?” 

“I need you to distract the nurse.” 

He says your name through a sigh, but before he can actually disagree, you yank him by the sleeve and thrust him through the doorway. 

The nurse’s head pops up from the desk immediately and Dustin shakes himself into character. 

“Help!” he shouts, promptly clearing his throat. “I need help– it’s my, my mother! You must help her,” he whips his head left and right. “Over here, in the elevator!” 

The nurse doesn’t move. She tries to speak but Dustin interrupts her.

“No! She won’t make it! Please– hurry!” 

The woman scrambles out of her seat and jogs after Dustin. He’s not very convincing, but he’s a better actor than the rest of you. And he’s very committed once he’s in it. Dustin’s cries persist, eventually distant enough that your adrenaline loosens its grip. You fling the door open, pinning it with your foot. The boys hustle through, following your pointer finger down the right corridor. You trot back ahead, escorting them right up to Eddie’s door. 

The sharp, sterile scent of disinfectant imbues the frigid air in his room. The machines are off so the quiet hangs heavy. It’s the opposite of warm in every sense possible. And the little bit of it still spilling in from the hall is quickly cinched as someone shuts the door. 

You grope around the darkness, staggering over to the inky shadow you recall to be a chair. Your fingertips brush the scratchy fabric, and you let your bag slip from your shoulder, landing softly on the seat. 

A splash of light from the window catches one side of Eddie’s face. His lashes kiss the hills of his cheeks and his mouth is hinged open, exhaling a string of soft snores. It’s very cute, though, the kids’ expressions don’t reflect the same fondness. 

“We don’t have all day,” Lucas mocks, parroting your exact words from earlier when you’d urged him to get in the van before all the heat escaped.  

Your gaze sours when it reaches the boys. “Shut up. Help me stand the tree up.” 

Lucas snickers, planting himself on the other side of the tree. You lift the trunk so Will can slide the base under and Mike goes prone on the floor to screw it in. 

“Hurry up,” Lucas complains. 

“I can’t see!” 

“Shhh!”

Will pulls a flashlight from his bag and points it at Mike’s hands. The final screws are tightened and the boys let go.  

You give the trunk an affirming shake before retracting your own hands. It remains upright, even after a few optimistic steps back. 

If you think decorating would be the easiest part of this mission, you’d be wrong. It’s much too dark to work, even after Will situates his flashlight so it’s highlighting most of the tree. And keeping quiet might be impossible when you’re forced to mediate petty teenage arguments every five minutes. 

Mike and Will are hunched over a wad of string lights on the floor, unknotting opposite ends when Lucas waves his much neater spool of lights. “Uhh, we can’t use those. I brought rainbow ones.” 

Will tuts at the other boy. “So? We can use both?” 

“No, it’ll look stupid.” 

Will beckons you over with a growing frown. You’d swear these kids never graduated middle school if you hadn’t gone to the ceremony. The older they get, the more they fight, it seems. But your patience is thinning with each wave of attitude you receive. You’d asked for their help as their friends, not their babysitters. 

“Use both,” you decide, hands pressed into your hips. 

“But it won’t match!”

“It’s fine, Lucas.” 

He rolls his eyes very blatantly at you. It takes every ounce of self-restraint not to drive him home then and there. 

But the sound of the door handle rattling steals your attention. It jerks up and down but the door doesn’t open; one of the kids must’ve locked it. Your heart springs up into your throat, your eyes swinging around the room for an escape plan. The lock will only buy you so much time and there’s no way to safely exit through the window and—

“It’s me!” Dustin shouts, popping into the window frame. His lips are nearly touching the glass and he’s fogging up the pane with his breath. 

“Jesus,” you mumble, clutching your chest as you march up to the door. 

Dustin scrambles in, chest heaving with a glare aimed right at you. “You would not believe how much stamina that woman has! I mean she just kept going. I thought, I lost her, and then–” 

You slap your palm across his mouth. “Shhh!”  

His wide eyes follow yours to Eddie. 

Eddie sighs, lips smacking as he straightens a leg across the sheets. You’ve never been so thankful to be dating such a deep sleeper. 

“Sorry,” Dustin whispers. 

You shove him further into the room. “Go. Be quiet.” 

Dustin grabs the tail end of the lights in Will’s hands. Together they wind the cord around the bottom half of the tree. Lucas dresses the top half in rainbow bulbs, still sulking as he works. 

You squat beside Mike to help him sort the ornament pile. One you brought quickly catches your eye. It’s a clay guitar pick Eddie made in middle school art class, an instant favorite of yours. You take it and hang it front and center, filling the gap in the middle of the tree where they ran out of lights. 

One by one, the tree is stocked with a rainbow of mismatched ornaments. There's something from each of their homes– family photos and elementary school crafts and trinkets of every size. It’s a wild assortment but a very special one too. 

Dustin is determined to hang the star– puts up a case that he was used as bait and thus deserves it– though, no one was going to argue against him in the first place. He climbs onto Mike’s back, arms stretching as far as they’ll go.

“God, you’re heavy.”  

“Stop complaining. Get me closer.”

“I’m trying.” 

Mike staggers closer and Dustin snatches a fistful of the top. The entire tree lurches toward him, ornaments clinking in his wake. 

“Wait– careful,” you urge.

Dustin lists dangerously forward, jamming the star through the bristles. 

From beside you, Will hums disapprovingly, “It’s crooked.”

Dustin’s tongue curls over his lip as he adjusts it. “Now?”

“Still crooked.”

"Now?"

Your hands hover out in front of you like a net but you are not as prepared to catch him as you look. “No, it’s fine. Just leave it.” 

Dustin releases the tip and the whole tree reels back. His arm shoots back out to steady it, but a handful of ornaments swing off and onto the floor. Miraculously, none shatter, but they bounce away in a ripple of clinking. 

Your focus jumps over to Eddie. He’s squinting vaguely in your direction, head tilted off his pillow with curls plastered to one cheek. 

A breathy chuckle reverberates through your chest. “Merry Christmas!” 

“Wha…”

The kids mimic you in their own broken choir of wishes but with half the enthusiasm you delivered. 

Eddie’s eyebrows weave into one crooked arch. He attempts, and quickly fails, to prop himself up on his elbows, making a sullen sort of sigh on the way down. 

You stride over to the bed, landing on the edge by his sheet-wrapped thigh. Your hand slips behind his shoulders and you offer a half smile. “Surprise?” 

He winces into a sit, a hand flying to his chest. Pain folds back into confusion as his eyes flicker across each face in the room. “I don’t… Why?” 

“So you can celebrate, silly.” You hook a finger under the hair stuck to his face and tuck it behind his ear. 

His lashes flutter closed as he melts into your palm, slowly bending until his forehead meets your shoulder. “Sorry, ‘m so tired.” 

Despite the overdramatic gagging going on behind you, you accept the embrace, running a ginger hand up his spine where his gown has billowed open. “Don’t be. Didn’t mean to wake ya. It’s early.” 

His nose sweeps a cold line across your collar. “How’d you get in? Place is like a prison,” he mumbles. “Already tried to escape.” 

“No, you didn’t,” you snort. 

“No,” he admits, lips turning against your shirt. “You snuck in? Snuck a whole Christmas tree in?”

You lean away just enough to nod, pride softening the edges of your grin.

“And you managed to do that with Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum times two.” 

“I’m sorry– Who face-planted off a roof again?” Dustin cracks. 

Your sudden laughter is corked with Eddie’s palm. He glares– or tries to anyway– but you know his tells. The way one corner of his mouth twitches through his frown. How he tilts his head when he’s secretly amused. “Don’t laugh at that,” he says, utterly unconvincing. 

The rest of your laugh is swallowed, but the levity doesn’t fade. You peel his fingers off, gently carrying them to your lap like they might be broken too. “It’s true. You did.” 

“Whatever.” 

“Don’t pout.” You tip your head, mirroring him on purpose. “Do you like it?” 

His gaze tapers back up to the scene behind you, eyes glowing with red, green, and gold. “No, I love it,” he says honestly. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm. I can’t believe this. How’d I get so lucky? Hmm?” Eddie pinches your side, cutting off your giggle with a swift kiss. 

“God, gross!” 

You whip your head toward the source. “Lucas, you literally have a girlfriend.” 

“Yeah, but you’re kissing Eddie.”

“What? You don’t think Eddie’s pretty?” Your fingers clamp either side of his face, cheeks squishing into his puckered lips like a fish. 

Eddie stares blankly at Lucas, but the second his eyes bound to yours, you both burst into laughter. 

“Don’t make me laugh, babe. Fuck,” he hisses, doubled over in amusement and equal pain.

“Sorry, sorry,” you amend, hands gently sandwiching his. “Oh– Let me get your gift.” 

He’s curious but he still sulks as you leave, chasing the lost warmth as you slide off the bed. “A gift?” 

“Mhmm,” you say, unzipping the front pocket of your bag. You fish out a small box wrapped in glossy paper with a puffy, red bow. 

He gives it a good shake when you pass it to him and a knowing smirk at the noise it makes. 

“Open it.” You beckon the kids closer, taking your prior spot on the bed. “It’s from all of us.”

The paper falls away under Eddie’s eager hands, a smirk growing and growing until it suddenly falters. Pure shock washes over him as he gawks at the gift. A limited edition, glow-in-the-dark set of dice he’s been talking about for months. 

His eyes shoot between you and the dice several times before he asks, “Where’d you even get these? They sold out like immediately.”

You shrug, nonchalance slipping. “Know a guy.”

He rolls his eyes, giving your shoulder a good jostle. And his gaze shifts across every person in the room, thumb absentmindedly roving across the box's label. “Thank you, guys.” 

“They come with one condition,” Dustin says. 

“What’s that?”

“You have to resurrect Virehart the Vengeful.”

Eddie groans, burying his smile in his free hand and shaking his head. “I told you guys I’m not doing it.”

“Please, come on! That’s our only condition,” Will tries. 

“He literally had like two lines.” 

“And they were badass!” says Dustin. “A blade is only as sharp as the courage behind it,” he recites in a voice much deeper than his own. 

“Oh my God.” Eddie waves a dismissive hand. “Fine, fine.” 

The boys celebrate with a chain of cheers. Eddie steals your fingers back amidst all of the yelling, a doting little look in his eyes. Forget the dice, you’re the real gift to him. 

The fuss very promptly ends when someone clears their throat. You all turn in unison, finding the same nurse from earlier. She sighs, hands planted on her hips with a disapproving shake to her head. 

Eddie chuckles nervously. “Merry Christmas?” 

[abbotjack]

Hi babes!

For your series TLWG, do you think there is a moment or specific time where Jack realized Reader is ‘the one’? Like he knew he had to buy a ring, sort out a proposal, plan his life around her?? Sending you the best vibes today!!! 💕💕

⭐ Send me an ask for the “director’s commentary” on a particular story, section of a story, or set of lines! ⭐

Jack Abbot doesn’t let things bloom.

He lets them function. Survive. Get triaged and stitched and tucked into corners where no one’s going to bleed on the paperwork. He’s a man who operates in utility—his emotions are rationed like hospital inventory, and everything that matters most to him lives in the margins: the off-hours, the aftershocks, the things no one else notices but him. In The Life We Grew, Jack doesn’t get swept up. He gets cornered by clarity.

He’s not afraid of pain. He’s afraid of what comes after it—what people expect when you survive. What they ask you to become. And love? Love has always felt like one more hand reaching for him, asking him to be more than he has left. Until her.

The Reader doesn’t demand his light. She doesn’t try to fix the dark. She walks into the wreckage of his life, clears a desk, and starts building. Her love is infrastructural. It’s the way she annotates his trauma reroute binder with timestamps and follow-up questions. The way she touches him without expectation, and leaves the silence intact when he’s not ready to talk. She is not a solution. She’s the first variable he doesn’t want to cancel out.

Weather is never just weather, every storm is a symbol. And in Jack’s world, love is a slow hurricane. It doesn’t rip off the roof. It loosens the foundation, quietly, over time. Until he looks up and realizes the whole house has shifted. That he's been living in a space where love has already happened, where it’s already holding.

But the moment Jack knows—really knows—isn’t in the trauma bay, or the night she patches his grief without blinking. It’s not in the spreadsheets or the audits.

It’s in a moment that isn’t loud. But is undeniably real.

Setting: Sunday afternoon. Summer heat. Their shared house in Pittsburgh—half-renovated, half-lived in. Quiet. Lived-in. Real.

He’s just come in—took the long way home through a storm that broke the heat like a promise—and now the kitchen smells like damp cotton, cracked pepper, and the faint floral trace of whatever lotion she used last. Not fresh flowers. Just her. Skin and comfort and lemon-something from a half-used bottle on her nightstand.

Upstairs, she’s talking to herself. Sorting receipts again. Muttering about misfiled statements and IRS deadlines while half-laughing at her own frustration. Her voice carries down the staircase like static through an old radio—tinny, soft, familiar in a way that guts him.

Jack stands there with one hand on the fridge handle, forehead pressed to the cool metal, not moving. Not even breathing.

Because here it is.

The realization.

Not the dramatic kind. Not the gut-punch, lightning-strike, sweat-soaked-in-the-trauma-bay kind. No. This one’s quieter. Slower. It arrives like a muscle unclenching after a decade-long cramp. It arrives in the hum of appliances and the sight of her receipts laid out across the table in color-coded order.

It arrives when he sees the junk drawer. The one near the sink.

She’d left it open again.

And there—jammed between a roll of Scotch tape, two capless pens, and a miniature stapler—is her spare car key. The ugly one. The one with the chipped unlock button and the Steelers keychain her brother gave her when she first moved to Pittsburgh. It lives here now. Not just in the house, but in their house. In their drawer. A drawer that, if it were only his place, would’ve held nothing but expired batteries, a few rogue screws, and a half-melted pack of mints he forgot to toss after Afghanistan. But now—now it holds her.

He stares at it for a long time.

That key doesn’t belong to a guest. It doesn’t belong to someone passing through. That key says: I plan on staying. And the drawer staying open? That says: I don’t need to apologize for that anymore.

And Jesus Christ, he loves her.

Not the kind of love that burns. Not the kind he used to chase like a fix, like pain with prettier branding. This is the kind that settles in his joints. The kind that smells like burnt toast and Target candles and the warm press of her knee against his under the covers when she’s already half-asleep and still somehow leans into him.

This is the kind of love he already lives inside.

She calls down to him—something about needing her W-2 from last year, the one she meant to scan and never did, the one she’s sure she tucked into the manila folder labeled “2022: DO NOT LOSE”—and he clears his throat, sharp and low, like the sound alone might be enough to shove the weight in his chest back into place.

“I got it,” he calls back, already moving.

She hums. Trusts him to find it. Doesn’t get up. That’s love, too.

He walks to the hallway where she keeps the fireproof box, alphabetized, of course—and kneels beside it. She’s highlighted the document in question. Just in case. He smiles like a man who’s halfway undone.

And when he stands, he sees it again.

That junk drawer.

That key.

That future.

And he doesn’t make a decision. Not right there. Not consciously. But something inside him stops resisting.

Not because it’s time. Not because it’s the next step. But because this is the house they chose together—every wall color, every drawer pull, every creaking floorboard under bare feet. Her laughter lives in the hallway by the linen closet, and her spare car key is tucked into their junk drawer like it’s always belonged. She built this life with him. And somewhere along the way, without either of them saying it out loud—so did his heart.

He won’t buy the ring tomorrow. He’ll wait. He’ll watch. He’ll make sure the feeling doesn’t fade, doesn’t calcify into gratitude or comfort mistaken for permanence. But he already knows it won’t. Because every time he opens that drawer, it’ll be there. The evidence. The symbol.

It’s a declaration.

It’s a door left open.

He won’t pull her into the living room. He won’t plan some big gesture or scripted thing with string lights and speeches. That’s never been how they work.

But he’ll remember this moment—the junk drawer. The rain. The way her receipts are still spread across the kitchen table like she owns the place. Because she does.

Because this was the night he looked around the house they built together and realized he’d stopped surviving beside her and started building with her. No ceremony. No timeline. Just… her. In every drawer. Every corner. Every part of him.

[amnestria-the-elf]

So we're all just supposed to be fucking grateful that Larian gave us "new Wyll content" (evil ending for a man who is canonically incorruptible, what the fuck) and simultaneously broke him again (giving low approval greetings to a romanced PC, what the fuck).

I... I just... the simultaneous feelings of rage and utter hopelessness are overwhelming.

Listen, if you've read any of my posts you know I have a pretty clear "Don't yuck anyone's yum" policy. If you think an evil Wyll ending is interesting, fine. But here's why it falls flat for me.

First, like I said above, Wyll is canonically incorruptible. It's literally the entire basis of his character. He is a man who was coerced into making an infernal contract to save a city and had to pay a horrible price for doing so, then spent seven fucking years alone in the wilderness doing his damned best to protect the people of the Sword Coast, while all along telling his horrible, abusive patron to just fuck off already.

Now, could you argue that during the events of the game, Wyll develops a taste for evil? Sure. There are plenty of opportunities for his villain origin story to unfold. But they never do. His moral compass never wavers. Turned into a devil? He feels shame, because it's an outward sign that he was doing things for Mizora that were morally wrong, and he didn't see it before. His approval rating for the PC shoots through the roof if you save Karlach, a sure indicator of his true moral compass. His father kidnapped? Fuck that noise, we're gonna save him. Rescue Zariel's "asset"? Ugh, fine, but don't get distracted from the real reason we're here. His father gets tadpoled? Oh hells no, we're gonna take down these assholes and save the godsdamned world. His father accuses him of being an agent of a devil and is super pissy about it? "Everything I did, I did for the people of the Sword Coast."

For fuck's sake, he will leave the party if the PC gets too evil, even knowing it means he'll probably turn into a mindflayer immediately. Even if he's romancing the PC. Unwavering moral compass. So giving him an evil ending without also going back and changing everything about his character just feels like lazy writing to me.

Which brings me to the second reason all of this rubs the wrong way. Wyll deserves so much more content. More romanced greetings, more reactions to other characters' choices, a final boss battle that is actually about him, a default ending that actually makes fucking sense (I have another post cooking about the Avernus ending, so I will leave it for now.)

And please, spare me your "But Wyll was rewritten after early access" bullshit. That's Larian's problem. They chose to listen to feedback and do a late-stage rewrite. They then chose to implement it poorly and never fucking fix it. Other characters, who already have far more content than Wyll, have had even more added over the course of the seven released patches. Wyll, on the other hand, has been sitting around completely ignored until now when we get this evil ending.

Many have rightfully pointed out the inherent racism steeped in all of this. I want Larian to be better. But as Maya Angelou said, "When someone shows you who they are, believe them." I already didn't have much hope about Patch 7 for Wyll, but this... honestly, this is worse than him just being ignored again.

The thing that kills me the most is that this is just going to be more fodder for the fandom to completely mischaracterize Wyll, for those who already haven't bothered to think critically about his character at all to just be like, oh, cool, Wyll is evil now. Nope. You've completely missed the point.

I'm just... so tired. I've worked very hard to put this little bubble of Wyll enthusiasts around me (hi friends I love you all!) so that I can hold on to some shred of sanity in this fandom. The world needs heroes of color. Just let Wyll be the hero in peace.

[pascaloverx]

SAFE & SOUND

summary:

Joel doesn't like you very much because you challenge him. Or at least that's what you think.

author's note: I have to admit that it never crossed my mind to have the courage to write a Joel Miller fanfic, but I wanted to dare to do it, out of pure desire. if it's not good, let's all pretend nothing happened. If this chapter doesn’t go well, I probably won’t continue writing this fanfic — so if you enjoy it, please like and leave a comment

AO3 LINK PREVIEW

ONE

You must've lost your damn mind—it's the only explanation for what you're about to do. Logic must’ve taken a dive off the nearest roof because here you are, preparing to climb onto the shoulders of a much older man while the two of you try to finish patching up your house. Joel's been helping with repairs for almost two days now, and it’s finally looking like the end is in sight. But, of course, there’s one stubborn, loose board left to fix. And Joel can’t quite reach it.

“Remind me again why we’re doing… this,” you mutter as you hook your legs around his shoulders. He lets out a grunt—pain or effort, you can’t quite tell.

“Someone decided to hog the only ladder,” he grumbles, clearly straining a bit. You steady yourself, one hand braced against the wall, the other gripping the board as you begin to lift it into place, trying not to think too hard about the fact that you’re using Joel Miller like a human scaffold.

"Still doesn’t feel like a good enough reason to justify this—I mean, I could accidentally kill you doing this," you mutter, nervous, as you subtly try to steer Joel toward the spot where the loose board needs replacing.

"I’ve survived worse than having your legs wrapped around me, Y/N. Trust me, I’ll live," Joel replies, his voice steady as he moves where you need him to.

"Careful sounding that confident, Miller. I might be a deadlier threat than you think," you warn, tightening your thighs around his shoulders for balance. You manage to grab the loose board and yank it free, tossing it to the ground. It lands dangerously close to Joel's foot.

"Just so we’re clear—if I get hurt, you’re on your own," he says, glancing up at you with a wry look.

You look down to meet his gaze, and the moment your eyes lock with those warm brown eyes of his, you’re hit with a memory—one you’ve been doing your best to ignore. The last time you were this close to Joel Miller. And the last time it nearly unraveled everything.

Joel then reaches up to hand you the new piece of wood, along with a hammer and a couple of nails. You take them carefully, steadying yourself on his shoulders as best you can.

"Hold it flush against the beam—no, not like that. Higher. There. Good," Joel instructs from below, his tone hovering on the edge of impatience but still guiding you through it.

You manage to line it up just right and start hammering, the sound echoing through the quiet house. It's not perfect, but it’s sturdy—and more importantly, it holds. You glance down at him, expecting another correction, but instead he just mutters, “Not bad.” Which, coming from Joel, might as well be high praise.

“He actually looks better when he’s balancing on the edge of giving someone a compliment,” you murmur to yourself, more a thought slipping out than anything meant to be heard. But when you glance down, Joel is staring right up at you.

“You’ve got a… unique way of showing interest in someone,” he says, voice low, followed by a grunt as he shifts slightly beneath you. You instantly regret speaking at all.

“I’m coming down,” you say quickly, flustered. “Maybe focus more on helping me not crush you to death and less on what I say.” Joel raises his hands up, palms open, steady and waiting. “Grab on. One leg at a time,” he says, tone sharp with focus, all business.

Your hands tremble as you reach for him. You tell yourself it's just the blood rushing back after holding that awkward position for too long—but you know better. It’s Joel. And his quiet strength. And the way he’s always just a little too close without ever fully crossing a line. He notices. Of course he does.

“I’ve seen your hands steadier while you were shooting at infected,” he murmurs, a small edge of teasing hidden in the warmth of his voice. “No need to be scared. If anything goes wrong… I’ve got you.”

He tightens his grip on your hands, grounding you. Then he looks up—really looks at you—and your eyes lock for a breathless moment. No smirk. No sarcasm. Just that unwavering gaze, full of something you can’t quite name. And for a second, that feels like far more danger than falling ever could.

You swing one leg off Joel’s shoulder, managing just fine—until your eyes meet his. That single glance is enough to unravel your focus, and as you move your other leg, your balance shifts dangerously.

Joel reacts instantly. His hands snap to your waist, steady and sure, catching you before you fall. You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact, but it never comes.

“Told you I’d catch you,” he says, voice low and calm. “You didn’t have to be so scared.”

Your eyes flutter open. His arms are firm around your waist, his breath warm against your face—and your heart feels like it’s about to punch through your ribs.

“The last time we were this close… you made a mistake,” you murmur, eyes locked on his face. You watch the slight grin of satisfaction from having caught you fade into something tighter, more guarded.

“I thought we agreed not to bring that up again,” Joel mutters, his tone shifting—defensive, gruff. You let out a dry laugh, and it only seems to agitate him more.

“Let’s be honest here—we don’t talk about anything. We’re avoiding it like it’s the goddamn infection,” you snap, stepping back from him, frustration bleeding into your voice.

"I figured that was just your way of moving on," Joel says plainly, as if he hadn’t meant to dredge any of it back up, that one mistake still hanging between you. “You kissed me, I kissed you. We were drunk, for God’s sake. And you went and ruined it by calling it a mistake—something done out of pity. What kind of woman wants to be kissed, only to hear afterward that the man did it because he felt sorry for her, because he—" You stop yourself, the memory too raw to put into words.

“—because I killed your mother,” Joel finishes, his voice quiet, his eyes heavy with regret.

“The woman you killed wasn’t my mother anymore,” you say firmly. “What you did saved my life. And for that, yes, I’m grateful—even if I do miss her. But this isn’t about who killed who, Joel. It’s about the fact that you kissed me and then called it a mistake. A kiss out of pity.”

"I might've called the kiss a mistake, but I never said it was out of pity," Joel says as he steps closer. There's a subtle shift in his voice—quieter, steadier—but something in it rings true, something honest.

"You didn’t have to say it," you reply, your voice trembling with restrained emotion. "It was in your eyes. The same look everyone in Jackson gives me—like I’m something fragile, something broken. Like they think they’re sparing me when all they do is make me feel useless. And you… you made me feel—"

You cut yourself off, your breath hitching as the words burn in your throat. You step toward him, trying to make him understand. Understand the storm that's been tearing you apart ever since that patrol—the frustration of knowing your mother had turned and you couldn’t pull the trigger. The helplessness of freezing while the infected woman who once raised you lunged toward you. If Joel hadn’t followed after you that day, hadn’t pulled that trigger when you couldn’t—you’d be dead. And the kiss, the one moment of warmth that came after, being reduced to a mistake... it only made the ache worse.

“You know what? It doesn’t matter how you made me feel,” you say, deciding not to show just how much all of this still gets to you. Maybe you should take a page out of Joel’s book—pretend you’re fine, even when it feels like the weight of the world is crushing your shoulders.

“I want to know,” he says softly, and the gentleness in his voice catches you off guard. “I want to know how I make you feel…” It’s strange, this sudden permission to be vulnerable.

“You make me feel angry, Miller,” you answer, locking eyes with him. You’re standing so close now, you can see the way his mouth twitches slightly, like he’s processing your words one by one.

“Is that why you’ve been encouraging Ellie to break the rules?” Joel asks, his tone shifting.

You stare at him, offended. “By that, you mean your rules?” you snap. “Sorry if I don’t think it’s wise to treat a girl learning to navigate adulthood in a post-apocalyptic world like she can’t make her own damn choices.” You’re already pulling away from him, your frustration growing.

“These rules are what’s keeping her alive, Y/N!” he says, raising his voice, his expression growing hard with irritation.

“Oh, I’ve got an idea—why don’t you put her in a glass cage and never let her out again? That way, you won’t have to worry at all,” you shoot back, losing your patience entirely. How can he even suggest that you’d push Ellie into danger just because you’ve got unresolved issues with him?

Before he can say another word, he presses a finger to his lips, signaling for you to be quiet. In the silence that follows, you both hear the faint murmurs of two voices approaching.

You open the door—almost instantly, Dina and Ellie appear in front of you. To be fair, they’re carrying the ladder that would’ve been very useful just a few minutes ago.

“We were gonna knock,” Dina says as she and Ellie try to collect themselves, clearly having walked in on more than just a quiet moment. They exchange a quick glance while you shoot them a look of mild judgment.

“Took both of you to bring one ladder?” you ask, just as you hear Joel gathering his things behind you.

“Actually, Dina came to ask if Joel’s ready for patrol,” Ellie says, not missing a beat. “I came to bring the ladder.”

The look she gives you says it all—there’s no doubt they overheard a good portion of your argument with Joel. Joel steps up beside you, about to speak, but you cut him off before he can get a word out.

“I’ll go on patrol in Joel’s place,” you say firmly. The room falls quiet again, everyone caught off guard. You haven’t been out on patrol since the incident with your mother.

“Negative,” Joel starts, but you glance at him with a calm sort of defiance.

“Don’t even try to argue. You’re not exactly in top form right now—believe me, I was just on top of you a moment ago,” you say, holding his gaze.

Joel lets out a slow breath, his jaw tightening. “You think that means I can’t do my job? I’ve gone on patrols with cracked ribs before.”

“Yeah, and that was a stupid decision,” you fire back without hesitation. “This is just a patrol, Joel. I can handle it.”

There’s a beat of silence as the tension between you builds. He seems ready to push back, but then something shifts in his expression. His shoulders drop slightly, and his eyes linger on yours—not with anger, but something quieter, heavier. Maybe it’s reluctance. Or maybe it’s trust, buried deep beneath the gruff exterior.

Before he can speak again, Ellie’s voice cuts in from behind you. “Wow,” she says under her breath, nudging Dina.

“Told you. That’s the tension I was talking about,” Dina murmurs, not even trying to hide the smirk pulling at her lips.

“If we’re done here, I’m ready for patrol,” you say, grabbing your weapon and fixing your hair, your tone final. Joel, Dina, and Ellie exchange uneasy glances by the doorway of your house.

“Then I guess I better get ready to go with you guys,” Ellie says, and you catch how Joel stiffens beside her, his entire body bristling with concern.

“Ellie…” he murmurs, low and warning, like he’s already imagining everything that could go wrong. He probably doesn’t trust you—not fully. Not with her.

“I don’t think Jesse’s gonna be thrilled with us switching up the patrol groups,” Dina offers, trying to defuse the growing tension as the four of you begin to move away from the house. “But… we can try.”

“I’ll talk to Jesse. You take Ellie, return the ladder, and meet us at the gate,” you reply, your tone decisive as you glance at the girls. Ellie and Dina exchange a look—and then bolt off, lugging the ladder between them.

“You’re bossy,” Joel mutters, falling into step beside you. You laugh, unable to ignore the irony of that coming from him. Hypocrisy looks good on him, though. You stop and turn to face him.

“I want you to know I’ll take care of Ellie,” you say seriously, stopping in front of Joel and holding his gaze. “Whatever you might think of me, I’m a woman with principles. My issues with you are ours alone.”

Joel takes a step closer, his expression softening as if something in him is finally giving way. His hand almost reaches for your face, but he stops short. You can see it—he’s on the edge of saying something he’s been holding back.

“I… I feel like I owe you an apology,” he begins, voice rough and low, the kind of tone he only uses when he's struggling to admit something. “For—” But Jesse’s voice cuts through the moment, calling your names from down the road, rallying the group for patrol.

“There’s no need,” you interrupt, stepping in closer to Joel and reaching up to adjust the collar of his shirt with calm precision. “Let me help with the patrols… and I promise you won’t have to speak to me again.”

You finish straightening his collar, your hand lingering just a second longer than it should, then step back and walk toward Jesse without another word. Joel follows silently, whatever he meant to say now buried under the weight of everything unspoken.

[daycourtofficial]

We’re Bumping Booties, Having Us a Ball

Summary: Nesta and Azriel are suspicious of you and Cassian spending so much time together.

It was unusual for Nesta to speak individually to Azriel. This might be the first time she’s ever sought him out to have a discussion, and frankly, it slightly terrified him.

She approached him, and after looking around for wandering ears, deeming it safe to speak, she asked “have you noticed something different between our mates?”

Azriel blinked. He had no idea what he expected Nesta to talk to him about, but it certainly wasn’t about you and Cassian.

“What are you talking about?” He asks, genuinely curious.

“They’ve been spending a lot of time together lately,” she huffs, clearly annoyed he doesn’t see what she does.

“We all spend an absurd amount of time together, Nesta,” he replies.

She rolls her eyes, “why she wants to be with you is beyond me, you insufferable bat. Okay, fine, maybe I’m making it up. Next time we’re all together at Rita’s, just pay attention to them.”

And so he did. He noticed you and Cassian conspiring over something, he just wasn’t sure what. You didn’t spend the whole time with Cassian, just whenever Azriel went to get you more drinks, you’d immediately start speaking to Cass and your conversation would conveniently end when Azriel returned.

He didn’t think anything nefarious was going on. You two had been mates for ages, before Cassian ever even met Nesta. You and Cassian had a friendship best described as siblings - honestly seeing his brother love you so much warmed his heart.

So he wasn’t worried you were doing anything scandalous with Cassian, but he knew when you were conspiring, and oh were you conspiring.

The next time Azriel gets up for drinks, he stops by Nesta and tells her, “they’re up to something. Let’s find out what.”

-

It didn’t take long for them to catch a hint that you and Cassian had plans. Two nights later, Cassian told Nesta that he had to drop his leathers off to get patched, and you told Azriel you were going to a cobbler to have your shoes fixed.

Nesta and Azriel met in the hallway after their respective mates had left. “She told me she had a cobbler to visit - at 9 PM.” Azriel knew you were much better at crafting lies than that - he likes to think you have a hard time lying to him. And you do.

“He muttered something about getting his leathers repatched.” Nesta scowled.

Azriel just stared at her, honestly shocked at this mission they’re embarking on.

A few minutes of silence pass. Nesta feels compelled to break it, unsure of what they’re waiting for, before a few shadows come back and dance slowly around Azriel’s ears.

“They’re on the roof.”

-

“Okay, put your hand here. Do it like this. No, you have to put your hips into it. OW! That was my foot!”

Azriel and Nesta crept up to the door to the rooftop - a flat area designed to entertain guests and occasionally watch Starfall. Hardly anyone used the rooftop during the year, especially not during the winter when it’s freezing up there.

Nesta and Azriel can hear you way before they see the two of you, sharing a quizical look when they hear you muttering explitives about your foot.

“Can you see anything?” Nesta whispers.

“No, we can peak around the corner though,” Azriel replies, starting to crouch to peer around the corner.

He and Nesta peer around the corner at the same time, the sight being even more surprising than if their mates were cheating on them.

“Are they..?” Nesta asks.

“Dancing.” Azriel says.

“She’s dancing, he’s doing… something. But it’s not dancing.”

They continue to watch the two of you for a while, amazed at your patience with teaching Cassian how to dance. You’re being exceptionally kind and patient with him, taking time to help him practice, despite the pleas from your toes to have him stop.

“She’s teaching him to dance, he’s never been good at formal dancing,” Azriel whispers to Nesta, an idea of why you’d be doing this forming in his mind.

“Cassian wants to know how to dance?” Nesta asks, confusion evident across her face. Azriel turns to look at her, amusement across his face, “Why do you think he’d want to learn to dance when he’s never been interested in doing more than dancing at Rita’s before?”

Realization dawns across her face, “he wants to dance with me.” She says quietly. She continues to stare at her mate, in awe of how incredibly sweet this gesture is, and a little upset that he went to you to teach him how to dance instead of her.

“Okay, I’m calling it. I’ve spun you around enough tonight. I want to go to bed.”

Cassian’s voice breaks Nesta train of thought. She grabs Azriel’s arm, almost making him fall over with how hard she’s trying to get them to move. “We need to go - he’d be devastated if we ruined his surprise.”

Nesta and Azriel hurry down the stairs, back down to the hallway where they met each other thirty minutes earlier.

“So, Nesta,” Azriel says, very amused at his brother’s surprise, “how do you feel about their little secret?”

Nesta sighs and says quietly, “that I have an incredibly thoughtful mate and I almost ruined his surprise due to some jealousy.”

“Good,” Azriel replies, “and that I have an incredibly kind mate who loves the two of you greatly.”

Azriel left Nesta to consider that, and when you returned to your shared room smelling briefly of Cassian, he chuckled to himself and offered to rub your feet while you two take a bath.

Azriel waits until Starfall, when Cassian takes Nesta on the dance floor for a while, looking pretty decent, to tell you, “hmm, someone looks like he’s finally figured out how to dance.”

Your eyes snap to his face, “He must have had a wonderful teacher.” Azriel’s mischievous smile tells you that he knows just who Cassian’s teacher was.

“I wonder if his teacher’s available to show me some moves,” he says, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer.

“I heard she’s booked for months. She’s very hard to get in to see,” you reply, placing your hand on his jaw.

“You think she’d make a special exception for me?” He says, giving you an incredibly pitiful look.

“I think I can get her to pencil you in,” you reply, grabbing his face and kissing him.

[myfictionalromance]

A Ghost at Gotham University Pt.4

DP x DC | Danny Fenton x Tim Drake | Masterlist

Danny woke up from a fitful sleep. Once the toxic green of his nightmares faded, he realized he was completely alone in the dark. His eyes adjusted to the night, catching the glimmers of his breath frosting up in the air. Quickly he sat up and realized his dorm was completely iced over.

He whipped out his phone and called Sam.

The phone rang 3 times before the sleepy goth picked up and yawned, “Did you pull another Elsa?”

“Yeah.” Danny replied flatly. He felt bad calling her so late, it was almost 3 am. Sam never made him feel bad though. She’d told him once that she never wanted him to feel alone if she could help it. A real best friend, even with their ups and downs, they always came back to being best friends.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really, I don’t even remember the dream this time. I just still feel it.” Danny whispered the last sentence. He felt the nerves on his back crawling in agitation.

“Well,” Sam began, “we know what the easiest fix for that is. You don’t have an early morning tomorrow do you?”

“I don't, but Sam…” Danny hesitated.

Same quickly cut him off, “You’re in totally new territory, Danny, I get it. But you’re gonna be there for the next four years. Might as well get used to it! Not everyone in Gotham has the advantage of being able to turn invisible ya know.”

“That’s true…” Danny admitted. He wasn’t able to come up with any reason as to why she wouldn’t be right. His head was so tired, but his whole body was awake. He’d be alright, he just needed to get out there and blow off some steam afterall. “Okay. You’re right. It always makes me feel better, and this is my new haunt. I can’t be afraid of exploring it.”

Sam yawned again, and he could hear her laying back down. “That’s the spirit, Danny. You go ghoul.”

He let out an unexpected chuckle at that. Once they both said good night, Danny clambered out of bed.

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

All in all, it was a quiet night. The Red Hood was perched on a discreet fire escape in Gotham. He’d been patrolling his territory since 8pm; stopped a few muggings, followed a lead for an ongoing case, and made his evening report to Oracle early. Now he was considering going to bed early; but as always, the back of his mind felt like something was bound to happen.

He decided to just do another wrap around, before calling it a night. Sure, even crime slept sometimes, but usually with one eye still open. He launched himself off the fire escape, deft footsteps pattering on old city rooftops, making his way down the alley. Maybe he should grab some french fries on his way home…as a lil treat.

10 minutes later, Jason was on the roof of the Bat Burger. He’d just thrown a $20 to the cashier, through the special vigilante’s ordering window (a broken hole in the roof that health inspectors never noticed, and management refused to fix) when a call from Oracle patched through.

“Hood, I’ve got sight of what looks like someone on a rooftop. The camera is weirdly blurry, but I can definitely tell it’s a person just sitting up there- for about the last half hour. You’re the nearest, are you able to go do a visual check?”

“I’m on it, send me the coordinates.” Jason replied. Checking his comm, “Geeze that’s a high up rooftop,” Jason thought.

It was such a high roof, the security footage Oracle spotted him with was pointed up at the blurry figure. The building itself was a sleek luxury apartment, with smooth glass sides and no easy way up. “H-here’s your order sir, have a-ah-a Bat-tastic night.” Warbled the meek cashier as he nudged the vigilante’s order onto the roof. Jason grabbed the warm bag as he considered the best course of action for getting that high up.

After scaling a couple adjacent buildings, and pulling out his binoculars, Jason finally had a good view of the figure on the roof. It was just a kid, maybe around Tim’s age. He looked to be in his PJ’s, an oversized nasa shirt and some sweatpants, no shoes though. Jason hoped he just lived in the apartment building, and knew how to access the roof. Still concerning, but he seemed calm enough to approach. “Oracle, I have eyes on the target. Looks like a civilian, late teens to young adult. No apparent threat, will approach to perform a mental health check before leaving.”

Jason pulled out his grappling gun, and made his way to the roof from behind. He thought he’d landed pretty quietly, but the kid startled right away. “Sorry to spook yah.” Jason’s modulated voice called out. “I just dropped by to say hi.”

The kid was quiet, frozen and tense. Now Jason was actually worried this was a jumper. But maybe he just isn’t a fan of Red Hood, most people that lived in nice high rises weren’t familiar with him. “You’re not in trouble, just wanted to check in on why you’re up so high.”

The kid blinked, “Oh I’m not-uh-this isn’t-“ he stuttered a bit. He took a deep breath, “I’m just getting some fresh air.” He was glancing everywhere but at Red Hood.

Jason felt for the kid. He may not have the same rough life as the people he protects in crime alley, but that doesn’t mean his individual struggles weren’t worth empathy. Anyone can end up on a roof after all. “You hungry kid? Like burgers?” Jason lifted up his still warm BatBurger sack. He saw the kid’s eyes widen a bit. “I accidentally bought too much, we can share.” Jason didn’t admit he’s absolutely the kind of guy that likes eating two burgers. Sue him.

Finally the kid seemed to relax just a bit. “Yeah, that actually sounds pretty good right about now.” Success, Jason cheered in his head. The vigilante swaggered over to sit next to him on the edge of the roof. Pausing, only for a moment, Jason removed his helmet. His roof buddy’s eyes bugged a bit. “Oh wow. Oh yeah I guess you can’t eat with that on your head.”

“Definitely not.” Jason replied as he pulled a burger out of the bag. Now without a big menacing helmet or voice modulator, he’d be able to connect with him a little better. “What’s your name kid?”

“Uh, Danny.” He handed Danny a burger and one of the fries, before unwrapping his own. Danny was still looking at him, so he decided to say, “I’m Red Hood, in case you didn’t know.”

“You work with the bats?” Jason snorted at that.

“Sort of.” Was his short reply. No way was he getting into that. They may have made up for the most part, but he still wasn’t used to his crime lord persona being known as an official Bat. With that tidbit of context, Jason asked the obvious question between his bites of burger. “You’re not from Gotham are you? New in town?”

Danny started with the french fries, pulling out a couple at a time to munch on while they talked. “You guessed it, just having trouble adjusting is all. I’ll be honest when I first saw you up here, I thought you were a ghost.”

Jason chuckled at that a bit. “A ghost huh? Hah-I’ve heard that one before.” Mostly from his own family, if only this kid knew. “Gotham really that scary to you?”

Danny laughed too, but nonetheless doubled down, “Not scary per say, but I will say this place is mad haunted. Ghosts absolutely everywhere around here.”

“Damn straight kid” Jason didn’t really think too much of it. Whether he was being serious or poetic, it didn’t really matter to Jason. As they kept eating the conversation turned to what brought Danny to Gotham- of course it was school. Jason decided to give Danny a few tips only a Gotham local would know. Classic ones like follow the Oracle on your socials, since they give out the most up to date public alerts (often faster than law enforcement). As well as more niche advice, like which mob run pizza places are the best (Bertanelli’s is the most likely to be shot up but the best tasting- so always order to-go; and Maroni’s Italian cafe is good for their super cheap student discount).

“Last big piece of advice,” Jason said as he crumbled up the fast food trash, “Don’t loiter on rooftops too often. Especially at night- you never know what criminals or vigilantes are gonna be running around.”

“That’s fair,” Danny said. “I should know better, but the view from up here is really calming.”

“Can’t be much better than the view from your apartment here.” Jason laughed, thinking about some of the fancy apartments Bruce leased around the city. “Are you on the first floor or something?”

“Oh I don’t live here.” Now that stopped Jason in his tracks. And Danny could see he messed up, though he tried to school his features back to normal.

“You don’t? How did you get up here then? This is like over 40 floors up.”

“Oh ya know…” Danny stuttered. “I uhhhh, I’m just visiting a friend for the night. They work here, so they had keys to the roof. That's it.” That’s not unreasonable- though he couldn’t fathom why Danny would be acting so squirrely about it. At the end of the day- the kid was wearing PJ’s- and it’s not like he could fly up here. And if it was just a simple case of sneaking up to the roof without permission- he couldn’t fault the kid for that.

“That’s neat. Well, Danny, it was nice to meet you. But we both ought to pack it in for the night. You don’t want your friend to worry.”

“Likewise Hood.” Danny smiled. “Thanks for the burger.” Danny waved as he sauntered over to the maintenance door on the roof. Jason couldn’t really put his thumb on why, but something about this kid that just seemed to set him at ease. He pulled out his grappling hook, and glanced for his next landing spot. And when he looked back, Danny was still there by the door. Just watching him. Kid’s new to Gotham, probably just wants to see the vigilante grapple away.

He decided their talk was positive enough, Danny didn’t seem like he’d hurt himself if Jason looked away. He’d still make sure to fill out an incident report when he got back home. The Bats didn’t try to keep tabs on civilians to an obsessive degree, but they did have a follow-up protocol for cases of personal crisis. Jason knew he was probably too casual when approaching these kinds of situations, but hey, nobody’s perfect.

As soon as Jason landed on a lower roof his comm crackled to life. “Hey Oracle,”

“Jason where have you been? I was about to send out a search for you.” Oracle demanded.

Jason was taken aback. “What do you mean? I was with the civilian you spotted on the roof. We had burgers and talked.”

“Did you deactivate your comm or something? Even then I should have had the residual trace active. You completely disappeared off my system.” Now that is weird. “I was worried I sent you to a random assassin or something.”

“That’s weird.” Jason mused. “No I didn’t shut it off, I went up and had a normal civilian interaction. Maybe there was some kind of satellite or something up there blocking my feed?”

Oracle convinced him to go back up to test it out, to see if his theory held. But it didn’t. “What? You can still see me? Hear me? Everything?”

“Everything appears to be working…” Oracle hummed, more to herself than Hood. “I’ll run diagnostics in the morning, but make sure to mention this in your report.”

“That kid couldn’t have been it.” Jason denied. “He was wearing pajamas for christ sake.”

“Regardless, it happened around him, on that day, time,and location. Just add the unexplained tag and tech error tag to the report. It’s not actually that big of a deal. If I find something in my diagnostic, I’ll update it.”

“Fine.” Jason conceded as he silenced his comm- God forbid he not tag his reports correctly. The many type A’s in this family wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. Well, the good mood he had going from burger time with Danny was gone now. Time to head home and crash for the night.

👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻

Danny had only one plan after his late night call to Sam. Fly.

Transforming into his ghost form was one of the only ways he felt right after a nightmare. And flying helped relieve the tension he felt build up on his ghostly side.

He’d flown through the city, looking for landmarks he remembered from his few stints away from campus. He’d only been floating for a good 15 minutes before fatigue resettled in his bones. Even in ghost form, he couldn’t escape human weariness. He perched himself atop a highrise and changed back. Looking down on the city, it almost glittered like the stars.

He’d lost track of time while sitting there with his thoughts, letting the cool night breeze settle his nerves. Then that familiar puff of icy breath escaped his mouth, and suddenly there was a presence behind him. “Sorry to spook yah,” said a bulky figure with a round, bright red head. Danny remained alert, ready for a fight to break out between him and the ghost. “I just dropped by to say hi.” The closer Danny looked- the less this guy seemed to put off "ghostly" vibes. No floating, no flying, no glowing. No threatening him with random acts of ghost on ghost violence.

That's when he realized, this was a vigilante of Gotham- Red Hood. Was there another ghost around then? What triggered his breath? He was distracted from those frantic thoughts by Hood’s sudden offering of food. Danny could smell the fries- and he could feel his stomach growl. Well it’s not Nasty Burger, but it’ll do. And to be honest, it really did help. The lingering blues from his nightmares faded away in the face of warm food and decent conversation.

But the longer he sat with the hero, making small talk and trying convince him that he wasn’t suicidal, the more he felt that supernatural presence. That niggling in the back of his head told him, there was something about this Red Hood. He definitely didn’t seem like a ghost. But he did seem to have a strong connection to the infinite realms- to death. Seeing the white tuft of hair along his head, Danny knew it had to be it.

Danny was sent crashing back into panic mode when he realized he had to pretend he had a good reason for being on an inaccessible private rooftop- without the answer being “I floated up here thanks to my powers as a half ghost!”

Thankfully he seemed to play it off easy enough. But as he flew home- all he could think about was how serendipitous it was, that he wasn’t the only walking dead in town.

[pseudowho]

Domestic Bliss: Higuruma Hiromi #2, Storm

"...as gale force winds sweep Tokyo tonight, emergency services urge members of the public to remain indoors unless absolutely necessary..."

You stepped over to Hiromi, who was stood in front of the evening news, and shot you an apologetic half-smile; "...rain check on that date-night, then?"

With a disappointed little grimace, you opened your mouth to answer, and were interrupted by the violent smack of rain and blustering winds against the window.

"A very literal rain check, I think," you grumbled, cupping your hands around your eyes to look into the cloud-blot blackness, the storms dragging night-time in prematurely.

Hiromi crept up behind you, looping his arms around your waist, and resting his chin on your shoulder; "You still have the pleasure of my company, at least?"

A few hours later, curled under Hiromi's arm as you both read, you heard a telltale drip, drip, drip on the living room floor. Hiromi looked over his reading glasses, both of you giving each other a concerned side-eye.

"A leak. Good," Hiromi clipped, hands on his hips as he looked at the ceiling, "wind must have blown some tiles off...gonna ruin the ceiling...hang on--"

In just his white shirt, black trousers and loosened black tie, you soon heard him clattering round in the garage.

"Hiromi..." you called, concerned, "...what are you doing?"

"Fixing it," he stated, walking past you with a plastic sheet and a hammer. Hiromi swung open the front door with a whoah! as the wind swept it open with a bang. You followed him out into the blustering wind, and dark, driving rain.

"Hiromi, no," you gasped. He looked up to the roof, pushing his reading glasses onto his head. He gave the drainpipe a test tug, and nodded, satisfied. You heard nails jangle in his shirt pocket.

"Hiromi yes," he answered, holding the hammer sideways between his teeth, and tucking the sheet into the back of his belt. You clutched your hands around your mouth as Hiromi scaled the drainpipe and windows, his legs long and spidery, reaching the slippery roof in record time.

"Oh my fucking god," you gasped, your fingertips pressed to your forehead, "don't fall! Don't you dare fall, Hiromi!"

Hiromi crawled across the roof, locating the patch of missing tiles. Soaked to the skin, his white shirt transparent and sticking to him, he battled with the sheet against the wind, pinning it under his knees, and hammering it into place.

Hiromi stood, looking down at his handiwork, making a circle with his thumb and forefinger. Slipping in his dress-shoes, Hiromi stumbled down from the roof, while you ohmygodohmygodohmygod'ed under your breath. Jumping down the drainpipe, he stood in front of you, drenched and proud of himself.

"You could have died," you chastised while he scoffed at you, dragging you back inside, ever the risk-taker.

"Didn't die, though," he smirked, pulling you flush to his soaked body, "and now I'm your hero."

You smiled, begrudging as he nuzzled into the shell of your ear, "Yeah, yeah, you're my hero, I suppose..."

"...and what do heroes get?" He breathed against your neck, high on his own adrenaline, twitching to life inside his boxers.

"Changed," you insisted, slapping his wet chest, laughing as he refused to let you escape, "heroes get changed, Higuruma!"

[thanksbutno98]

Raspberries

John Price x fem!reader

Summary: Coming home from being deployed could be tougher at times than John Price liked to admit. When the horrors of war plague his mind John finds himself more protective than usual over his children.

Warnings: NSFW, sexual themes, human trafficking, illusion to sexual assault, illusion to children being harmed, mention of war, swearing, mention of parental death, PTSD, not edited.

——————

Pulling up the driveway of your family home John Price was ready to plop down on the couch and enjoy a peaceful night with his family. The fallen orange and red leaves had been raked and the hole in roof of the chicken coop had been patched. John had poured himself into fixing up the house recently; having just repainted the downstairs bathroom yesterday. It helped him get his mind off of the brutal things he had witnessed on his last deployment.

John had lead a rescue mission where him and those in his command were sent to break up a human trafficking ring. The horrors of seeing young women and children involved in such vile things was hard for the father of three to see. Then the loss of a close friend, someone he considered his brother in arms. It had become too much and it was weighing down John. His temper was shorter than ever and his mind was riddled with horrifying images that kept him awake at night. John hadn’t been able to tell you about it but you knew he was struggling and you had been sitting up late with him and comforting him after his countless nightmares.

John had been home for two weeks now but was having trouble settling back in to family life. His grumpiness keeping the house slightly on edge. John chose to channel these intense feelings of annoyance into fixing things you had listed on the note pad that lived on the fridge. You two called it your ‘honey do list’ because it was all the things you needed John to do. You had noticed the one item he was ignoring was going through his clothes and donating what he didn’t need. John knew it would result in a shopping trip where you dressed him up so he was silently refusing the task.

John’s eyes scanned the massive plot of land you owned and he tried to find another project for himself, driving slowly up to your home. He decided he would go and check if the raspberry bushes were finally ready to be picked. John had put in so much work even though you said you wouldn’t mange them. You had your own garden and John hadn’t asked before he planted them. You still watered them even if he didn’t know. It was your little secret to never tell John; knowing they were only alive because you took care of them on days he was too preoccupied to notice he’d forgotten.

The driveway was long and curved up the hill your red farmhouse sat atop. It was a large house that needed a lot of love and John was more than willing to pour his time and effort into it. But tonight after the countless meetings he had on base all he wanted was to be a family man. To have you cuddled up next to him while you and your three children watched a movie together. That sounded like heaven to John.

Finally reaching the top of the driveway John slid in to the spot to the left and closest to the house; but something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. After parking his truck in its usual spot John caught a glimpse of his oldest daughter hiding out of view of the back door. Evelyn was by the laundry room which jutted out of the back of your home leaving anyone who leaned up against the wall impossible to see from inside. Only those standing at the end of the driveway, on the patio, or in the backyard had a clear view.

The sight before John was disturbing. His oldest daughter was too distracted to notice John had pulled up and that was only insult to injury. John’s reaction was involuntary as he felt rage run through his veins. The temper he had developed after his last deployment was bubbling to the surface and about to be unleashed. The sudden creak of John truck door opening had Evelyn jumping in surprise, her blue eyes going wide as she inhaled sharply. Evelyn had seen her father angry before but not like this. The young girl could see on his face she was in for it.

“Get your hands off my daughter!” John’s voice boomed through the open air. Evelyn shrieked not realizing her father was home until it was too late.

The young girl, now ten, had just shared her first kiss with a boy named Archie from her class. The freckle faced boy tripped backward and fell flat on his bum as John marched over to him; the truck door slamming violently behind him. Fear filled Archie’s veins as he quickly got back on his feet and then looked at Evelyn as if to beg her to save him. Archie had never seen an adult so angry in person before and it terrified the poor boy. For a second he honestly thought Price was going to strike him.

“Daddy, you’re home early.” Evelyn squeaked out. She was chewing her nails nervously and taking a step away from Archie hoping that might soften the blow.

“Go, sit on the front porch. I’ll call to have you picked up. This’ll be the last time you come over.” John was unblinking as he barked the words and glared at the young boy; who felt like an ant about to be squashed under the Captains boot.

The anger John felt was turning into disgust that this young boy would dare kiss his daughter. They were children for crying out loud, Evelyn was too young to have anyone look in her direction with intentions like that. To John he needed to protect his daughter, that’s why he encouraged her to be as tough as she was. But here she was needing his protection at his own home from a boy John thought was trustworthy.

Cleary John had been duped and he cursed himself for being so naïve. John had liked Archie a lot and found that he was a great influence on Evelyn and helped keep her out of trouble; but that wasn’t the case anymore.

It was John’s job to keep those who had lewd intention away so his little girls could never be hurt or taken advantage of. Evelyn being preyed on was one of John’s greatest fears and it clouded his judgment at times. After hearing countless horror stories and just knowing the plight and objectification girls go through their entire lives made John even more protective than most thought imaginable.

Towering over both children and intimidating them far past the point he could realize, John pointed down the driveway for Archie to go. It didn’t help that John was dressed in grey camouflage cargo pants and his matching military grade quarter zip. John wasn’t capable of comprehending how his size and stone cold demeanor could be taken by children who weren’t his own. Your children got to see John’s soft side and knew him as more than a stern authority figure; but their friends only saw John as the scary military dad who probably owned multiple guns.

“Yes, sir.” Archie didn’t need telling twice and booked it past Evelyn and ran down the driveway and around the house.

“Don’t be mean to Archie!” Evelyn screeched as if she’d been shot. The young girl was so embrassed and all her mind could think of was the boy she called her best friend. Sweet, soft spoken Archie had just been yelled at by her father and it was the most embarrassing thing in the world.

“Inside, now.” John barked at his ponytailed girl. The pair of them shared the same nasty look, with nostrils flared and a raging fire in their eyes. Evelyn was fighting back the tears. A resentment forming in her chest that her first kiss had been ruined and this is how she would remember it.

“I wish I was like other girls whose dads are normal and not mean!” Evelyn said through gritted teeth. Whipping away the burning tears with the back of her hand. She wanted to kick and scream how she hated John for being so unfeeling. His own emotion taking over as he was blind to how his strong reaction would make his daughter feel.

“Mean? I’ll show you mean Evelyn Mae.” It didn’t seem like it to the ten year old but John was holding himself back. He wanted to yell how inappropriate what he saw was and how he raised her better than this. The protective side of John being magnified ten fold due to the horrors of losing his comrade less than a month ago and the nature of the mission they were sent on.

Breathing heavily Evelyn ran for the back door. Part of her wanted to cry to you that she hated John at this moment but she didn’t know if you would take her side. Stomping through the back door with John right behind, Evelyn pulled her shoes off and threw each one at the wall. One shoe leaving a perfect imprint of the tread on the wallpaper. You were standing at the kitchen island and prepping for the dinner you were about to make. Your smile faded fast seeing the angry looks etched on your daughter and husbands faces. You couldn’t even scold Evelyn for throwing her shoes because you were in such shock.

“Dad’s ruining my life!” Evelyn screeched again huffing out angrily and fighting back the sobs that were building in her lungs.

“Hey, no yelling. What’s got you throwing your shoes like that?” You said calmly trying to follow after your daughter.

Instant worry consumed you as you began to stress for your daughter’s well being. Evelyn was a strong willed girl but this temper tantrum was far past age appropriate and not like her. This level of anger wasn’t normal for any of your children who tended to be pretty well adjusted.

“Leave me alone.” Evelyn snapped at you and ran down the hall and up the stairs to her bedroom.

“Where’s Archie?” You asked absolutely perplexed. Now wondering if the two had gotten into some form of fight and John had to break it up.

“The brats on the front porch. We need to call and have him picked up.” John was seething. Your mind immediately jumped to worst case scenario.

“What happened? Did they get into a fight?” You were grabbing your phone and about to make your way to check on your daughter’s best friend.

“Caught them-“ John let out a huff of frustration feeling his blood boil having to say these words out loud. You had stopped in your tracks the unknown only making things worse.

“Caught them what?” You were beginning to panic.

“Kissing.” John hissed.

Your face fell. That wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought. Honestly you were a bit surprised to hear what your husband was saying but you couldn’t quite understand why he was flying off the handle. It was normal for kids to get a bit curious, now it was your and John’s job to set limits and explain how nothing more than a peck was appropriate at this age. It wasn’t something that warranted your daughter feeling so hurt she was throwing things and trying not to cry.

“Jesus, John I thought you were going to say she hit him or he called her some awful name.” You sighed out, feeling a lot more at ease that it was just kids being kids.

“How is that worse to you!” John shouted, his anger now directed at you.

You flinched a bit not expecting him to be this angry and yell at you. You blinked a few times as you registered how your husband had just been so blatantly rude to you. It stung after all the love and care you’d been pouring over him to help him deal with whatever it was that happened while overseas and he wouldn’t tell you about. Now he was shouting at you out of the blue and it hurt your heart to be treated that way after putting his well being above your own recently.

“You need to calm down. I was a year older than her when I had my first kiss and from what you told me you were a bit of a charmer yourself at that age. Didn’t you kiss two girl in one day when you were ten?” You reminded John. Deciding that this outburst might be no fault of his own and be his PTSD sending him into a tail spin.

“Don’t push me on this, Y/N.” John took a deep breath through his nose.

Taking a moment to try and calm himself. This displaced rage he felt was far greater than his daughter kissing a boy but John didn’t know how to tell you that. How to tell you he was scared Evelyn would get hurt and it was all because of the horrors he saw. John’s mind was playing tricks on him again and the worst parts of humanity that he saw were being jumbled together with his role as a father.

“I’m going to check on the poor boy and take him home.” You said softly. You could see John was struggling with something greater than this but it didn’t mean that his reaction was okay and he would need to address his wrong doings later.

“Poor boy? He just had his mouth on my baby girl.” John snapped at you. As understanding as you could be you were done with being barked at like you were a soldier in his command instead of his wife.

“Pull yourself together John. Even you have to see you’re being ridiculous.” You challenged.

“Me!?” John was seething and ready to get into a fight with you for not being as appalled as him.

“He’s just a boy. You’d be snickering if you caught Jj kissing a girl.” Your words had John pausing and he knew you were right instantly in that moment. But his pride was getting in the way and he just couldn’t admit that he was wrong. Not when it came to his daughter maturing too quickly.

“It’s different.” John argued. Realizing he didn’t have a leg to stand on.

“No it’s not! You’re being a hypocrite and now this is going to be how Evie remembers you as she gets older. Someone who flies off the handle. Think she’s going to come to you for advice or if somethings going on after this stunt?” Now you were laying into John and it seemed like the fight in him was subsiding quickly.

“Good, I hope she learned not to kiss boys.” John grumbled more to himself than you. A feeling of shame washing over him as he realized just how abhorrent yelling at you, his daughter, and a young boy was.

“You’re impossible. Go apologize to Evie and hope Archie isn’t traumatized.” Frustration was evident in your voice but John could also see you were at a loss. Not wanting to push him anymore than needed but feeling for your daughter and Archie. You felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. Not knowing why John was reacting so strongly but also knowing your daughter had a right to be upset.

Making your way down the hall and to the front door you stepped outside. You saw Archie sitting on the bottom step of your front porch and you couldn’t help but sigh sadly, seeing his head hung low as he fiddled with his glasses. Archie’s dirty blonde hair was messy and the plum colored sweater he wore that was two sizes too big hung off his shoulder, revealing the black t-shirt he had on underneath. His jeans were dirty from playing outside and his shoes were from last year and growing tight.

“Hey Archie.” You spoke softly. The young boy quickly put his black rimmed glasses back on and sniffled quietly. Whipping his nose with the sleeve of his sweater, he kept his eyes turned down at his feet.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Price. I promise I won’t be bad again.” Archie’s words had your heart aching painfully.

He was such a sweet and gentle boy. When you first met Archie he was shy and soft spoken, barely able to look you or John in the eyes. As him and your boisterous daughter became best friends over time he had found his voice. Archie was always welcome at your home and before today John had absolutely adored the young boy. Going as far as to ask him if he wanted to eat dinner with you whenever he was over. John enjoyed Archie’s chatter with Evelyn and Jj; and how sweet he was with Lily considering he was six years older than your youngest daughter.

“You’re not bad.” You said softly as you sat next to the green eyed boy.

“Mr. Price was so mad.” Archie spoke at his feet. Not knowing if he could tell you how scary that was for him.

“Yeah, he’s a pretty protective dad.” It was hard for you seeing how your husband’s strong reaction had clearly startled the boy. You felt so guilty.

“You think if I had a dad or mum they’d be protective of me like that?” The question had you becoming even more upset with your husband. Without thinking you hugged the young boy and he didn’t hesitate to hug you back. Finally sighing out in relief at the comfort you were giving him.

“Your gran and grandad are and that’s all that matters.” You whispered into the top of his mop of dirty blonde hair.

“Am I not going to be allowed to come over anymore. Mr Price told me I’m not.” Pulling away Archie looked at you almost pleading for you to let him come over again. It could be so boring at his grandparents with no one his age near by to play with and the boy felt like part of the family in a way.

“You’ll always be welcome here. And I’ll give Mr. Price a stern talking to. It’ll make what he said to you seem nice.” Your cheeky response had a smile finally cracking on Archie’s freckled face. The idea of you being cross sounded silly to the boy, especially with how stern John could be.

“He’s not scared of you tho.” Archie said with the smallest bit of humor.

“Oh don’t you worry he’s scared of me plenty. Now how about I take you home and I’ll talk to your gran about everything. That way no one is in trouble except my husband.” Your words had Archie noding and giving you another quick hug.

“Can you tell Evie I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have kissed her if she didn’t ask me to.” You hummed hearing Archie admit so easily to you that he had kissed your daughter. You couldn’t deny you too felt protective but knowing the boy Archie was put your mind at ease.

“You’ll be able to tell her yourself at school tomorrow.” You said sweetly. Then excusing yourself to go grab your keys and take him home. You didn’t think you’d have to tell Archie not to kiss Evelyn again he was probably too scared to do so after John yelled at him.

——————

By the time you had gotten home after dropping Archie off you had time to cool off. This still did not mean you were happy with your husband. John came down to give you a kiss and hope you weren’t still cross with him. Deciding he’d say he was sorry but he back tracked as soon as he saw the mean look on your face when he came to talk to you.

When he saw your narrowed eyes and heavy sigh when he entered the kitchen he was instantly annoyed. John and you were now both giving each other the cold shoulder being equally mad at the other. Only John was almost sulking and pouting, about you being upset with him. The lack of your sweetness was taxing on John who craved love to help deal with his aching heart. But he knew the only way to get that side of you was to admit he was wrong and apologize to not only you but Evelyn too; and he was too proud to do that.

You were all now sitting at the kitchen table for dinner. John sat at the head with you to his right. Jj was across from you and Evelyn sat next to you and Lily was across from her. John was angrily eating his food and Evelyn was eating as fast as she could. She told you she didn’t want to eat dinner and would rather starve than see her father at the moment.

That didn’t last long when she saw you made pasta with shrimp which was her favorite. The little girl couldn’t resist any form of seafood which is why you made it for dinner. It was your own little way of silently taking her side. It did mean you had to stop at the store on the way home but it was worth cheering up your little girl.

Evelyn was scarfing down her food which evidently pissed your husband off more. Even Jj was looking at her with raised eyebrows. Evelyn usually ate slow and had amazing table manners. So much so she would scold Lily and Jj when they were not eating of behaving properly at the dinner table. Like John, Evelyn enjoyed to eat in peace.

“Evie, have you forgotten your manners? Thats not very lady like.” John scolded his daughter. Evelyn looked John dead in the eyes and obnoxiously slurped her pasta and spoke with her mouth full.

“Thought you didn’t want me to be lady like. It’ll keep boys away.” The venom in her words had the entire table turning to stare at her wide eyed. John’s upper lip twitched in annoyance at the blatant disrespect.

“Don’t be a smart ass.” John warned. Jj was looking between the two wondering why they were at odds. You just sighed, letting John deal with your stubborn girl.

“Boys are gross.” Lily chimed in, speaking with much more sass than necessary.

“Not all boys.” Jj challenged his four year old sister. Looking annoyed that she said something like that.

“You and daddy are gross.” Lily gave Jj a look like he should know this. You could see John was also offended by his youngest daughter’s statement. John thought of himself as a well mannered and a very cleanly person so to be lumped in as gross was far from how he saw himself.

“Enough.” John interjected, his gruff voice commanding. You knew that would only fuel your girls to misbehave more. Lily began to slurp her pasta obnoxiously like her big sister. The two of the now slurping loudly and stifling giggles.

“See what you’ve started?” John half shouted at Evelyn.

You could see the anger building but you honestly didn’t know what to do. You so strongly disagreed with how often John was getting mad at the kids and you wanted him to just lighten up. If John was going to continue to be a tyrant you were fine with your girls sticking it to him. You told him an apology was in order but he chose to ignore you. So why would you be on his side right now?

“Evie said it keeps boys away, but you’re still here.” Lily spoke in a teasing tone with her mouth full which had Evelyn laughing. The two were getting way too much enjoyment out of tormenting their father.

“Y/N, please?” John looked at you for some back up. So you decided to give in.

Looking John dead in the eyes like Evelyn had done moments ago you slurped your pasta and then took his glass of wine and drank from it. With a cheeky wink your husband now saw you were going to tease him just like the girls until he gave in to your demand for him to apologize.

The two of you were now left at odds and prepared to see who would end up being the more stubborn one. John knew you’d win this one and that only made him angrier. He was coming from a place of love and care for his daughter and he just wished you could see that. But it was his fault at the end of the day for having not opened up to you about what he’d seen while deployed and how it was affecting the way he felt was necessary to protect his daughters.

“Bloody ridiculous.” John grumbled getting up from his spot and taking his plate with him. John was so mad but yelling wouldn’t help the situation what so ever it would only prove how out of touch he was. He also knew if he reprimanded either of his girls you’d only become more upset with him and he was already fighting a losing battle. So he decided to go eat his dinner in his office.

“It worked!” Evelyn and Lily cheered in unison.

John didn’t even glance over his shoulder as he walked to the basement door to go to his office and slammed it behind him. The force had the frame shaking, an obscene crack echoing as it broke from the force. Your eyes widened seeing just how angry John was and realizing you probably shouldn’t have pushed him over the edge like that. You would not be adding for him to fix the door frame of his ‘honey do list.’

“Thought we weren’t allowed to slam doors.” Evelyn grumbled to herself. You could see how fed up she was of the double standard in the house.

“I’ll try and talk some sense into him.” You placed your hand on Evelyn’s back and she leaned over to you so you could place a kiss to the top of her head. She looked up at you with thankful eyes.

“Thank you mummy. For talking to dad and for the shrimp.” She said earnestly. Feeling taken care of and valued that her experience mattered and you weren’t always just going to rush to John’s side.

“Can’t fix stupid.” Lily mimicked her own father’s words. Jj choaked on his water hearing that and his jaw dropped in shock.

“Lily!” Jj roared her name, appalled that she would say that about their father.

“Don’t call your father stupid.” You corrected your youngest daughter. Somehow she always managed to surprise you with her sarcastic comments. You worried how much of a handful she’d be at Jj’s age. Now you were beginning to feel bad because it seemed like everyone was against John even if you did think he was wrong.

“Thanks for having my back Lily.” Evelyn smiled sweetly at her sister and in typical Lily fashion she had a snarky response.

“I just like when daddy’s wrong. It doesn’t happen a lot.” Lily hummed in annoyance as tried to pierce her peas with her fork but they kept rolling away.

“Hows he wrong?” Jj asked the four almost five year old. Jj still didn’t know what happened but had mentally sided with his father since everyone was against him.

“Mummy wouldn’t have slurped her noodles if he was right.” Lily had a point and you began to feel bad for silently approving of your daughter’s snarky behavior. You were being a bad influence and started to think John might be right to be ticked off with you.

“Okay, enough of that he’s still your father and can ground both of you for being fresh. And you’re lucky he didn’t do that, Evie.” You quirked an eyebrow at the ponytailed girl who sighed in acknowledgment.

“Fine. I’ll behave.” Evelyn grumbled. Going back to eating politely.

——————

“John?” You called down the basement stairs but you got no reply. It had been hours since his outburst and you worried he was brooding and could smell the cigar smoke as soon as you opened the door.

Slowly making your way down the rickety stairs you expected to see your husband drinking a glass of whiskey, with a cigar resting in the ash trey and pretending as if he didn’t hear you. What you didn’t expect when you go to the bottom of the basement stairs was to see your husband laid over his desk, head resting on his forearm as he lightly snored. He had a pen in one hand and it seemed like he had just put his head down for a rest between paper work and dozed off.

Your heart swelled seeing your husband like this. John hadn’t been sleeping well lately and was waking up in a cold sweat more often than not. Guilt started to fill you knowing the only reason he was hunched over like this was because you chased him away at the dinner table.

John looked so handsome when he was asleep. The lines that had come with age softened and the mean look that sometimes stayed on his face too long was gone. John looked at peace and it had you missing him so much. Whatever he had been struggling with since he had gotten home was starting to affect you two negatively. You were upset with yourself for being so short sighted and trying to stick it to John instead of defusing the situation.

Slowly you made your way over to John. You looked over his desk for a second, realizing he had replaced one of the pictures in the duel picture frame next to his desktop monitor. The one of you two on your wedding day was still there but the family photo from two years ago was gone. Now replaced with a more recent picture of John and your children. It was a candid photo you took from the trip to the aquarium last month.

Lily was sat on John’s shoulders as she pointed up at a turtle in the large fish tank in front of them, John’s left hand holding her foot. Evelyn’s face was was pressed up against the glass to get a better look while Jj had his back leaned up against John. John’s free hand was resting on his son’s chest, holding him close. Large smiles of awe and excitement on each of your children’s faces. John loved the aquarium and it was one of the those ‘perfect days’ you had as a family.

Then your smile faltered. This was taken right before John left on his last deployment and you hadn’t seen him smile like that since he’d gotten home. Maybe he changed the pictures as a reminder to himself. That better days were on the horizon. Either way it left you with an unpleasant clang in your chest.

Lightly placing your hand on the expanse of John’s ruggedly toned back you rubbed your thumb to wake him up. The light touch had him inhaling somewhat quickly and blue eyes fluttering open. Glancing at you from the corner of his eye, John yawned away the smile that was daring to break out across his face seeing you with such a worried look. John would be lying if he said he wasn’t eating up your gentle touch and the love you had for him by coming to check on him.

“Let’s go upstairs before you hurt your back.” You whispered into John’s ear then kissed his bearded cheek.

Sighing in relief John felt you begin to shower him with your sweet love. The thought of you being upset with him vanishing as he hummed in pleasure feeling you scratch his back. John closed his eyes for a moment and sighed in content pleasure as your other hand came up and began massaging his taunt shoulders.

“Come upstairs I’ll rub your back.” A smile began to stretch across John’s lips. You were being so sweet to him and it was everything he wanted.

“How about a bath?” John mumbled as he began to sit up.

The chair squealed as he shifted his weight and his bones creaked and cracked. John’s strong arms circled around your waist as he turned his chair to face you. You slipped between his large muscular thighs and allowed him to pull you close in an embrace. John’s face was buried in between your breasts and he groaned lightly as you scratched his scalp. Breathing in your comforting scent, John closed his eyes and enjoyed your warmth. Your other hand rubbing his back soothingly. All he wanted was to be pampered and taken care of in this moment.

“Let’s go run one.” With that said John’s hands slid down your back and then he quickly scooped you up bridal style as he stood.

You let out a gasp as your feet left the ground that was silenced quickly with a kiss to your parted lips. It never made sense to you how John could go from being asleep to wide awake so quickly. But you couldn’t think of that with a blush starting to warm your cheeks as John carried you as if you weighed nothing, out of his office.

“Am I forgiven?” John asked as he began to ascend the stairs with you in his arms.

“Yes, but we still have to talk about it.” You whispered gently. Stroking his thick facial hair with one hand and seeing how your soft touch had all the anger and stress evaporating from your husband.

“Fair enough. I’m sorry if I’ve been hard for you to deal with lately.” John’s words were barely above a whisper as he walked up the stairs to the second floor where your children were all asleep. You glanced over to see under the crack of Jj’s bedroom door his light was still on. You couldn’t blame the boy. He was twelve now and going to bed by 9 seemed to be too early so as long as he was quietly in his room you didn’t mind.

“You’re never hard to deal with.” You kissed John’s cheek to emphasize your point.

“Lying is unbecoming, darling. But I appreciate you trying to spare my feelings.” The look John gave you was charming and you could see his humor was returning to him. He had his head cast down to look at you through his eyebrows and a handsome smirk on his face.

“I just want you to be okay.” Cupping John’s bearded face in both of your hands you practically begged for this out come. It pained you to see John struggling emotionally after some of his deployments and you just wanted him to talk to you about it.

“I will be. It’s just going to take some time.” John shut your bedroom door behind him with his foot. Then he leaned you toward the wall so you could flick on the light so he wouldn’t run into the dresser by the door and stub his toe for the millionth time.

“I wish you’d talk to me about it.” Normally you wouldn’t say something like that. Words like this often left John feeling guilty for not being ready to talk but you needed to know what was going on. You couldn’t wait any longer unless he told you, you would have to.

“Let’s run a bath. I think after what happened today I’m ready for your help.” John stood in the doorway of your bathroom not ready to put you back down yet. Having you in his arms like this was sparking the connection he needed to finally be open and honest.

“I worry about you so much. Please take care of yourself, John.” You begged, hand now gripping his grey quarter zip and tugging lightly for emphasis.

“You’ve done such a wonderful job taking care of me. Please keep doing it?” John whispered the words against your temple, then placing a sweet kiss to your cheek. You smiled and nodded at John’s words kissing his lips softly. A silent promise you would always take care of him no matter the circumstance.

John placed you back on your feet in the center of the bathroom. Making your way over to the bath you began to run the water, sticking your hand under the faucet so you could get the perfect temperature. John was going through the linen closet and pulling out the eucalyptus and lemon bath oils he preferred. You smiled softly watching as John pulled out both your bathe robes and then candles. He wanted this to be calming and relaxing for the both of you.

You excused yourself and slipped down stairs grabbing two glasses of whiskey. By the time you were back and your bedroom door was locked you saw your husband blowing out the match he had used to light the candles he had placed around the bathroom. He was already stripped down to just his boxers, his broad and burly chest on full display and decorated in wiry aburn tufts of hair. The scars from years of mistreatment littering his body were highlighted in the dim glow of the candlelit rooms. Those scars were nothing compared to the ones left on his mind and heart.

Giving you a content expression John stripped bare and slowly submerged himself into the bath, then he waved you over to join him. You took a second to glance around your bedroom and see he had dimmed the lights there too and lit the candles on your dresser. John had even put on the record player you two had in the corner of the room, filling the air with calming jazz music. He had pulled the covers down on your bed so you would both be able to slip in easily. On the foot of the bed a fresh one of his t-shirts was laying on top of your night pants and his pajamas were laid out neatly too.

Walking into the bathroom you left the door open so the orange glow of the candles could bleed into the other room. Handing John both whiskey glasses he placed one on the little metal stand next to the bath tub and then took a sip from his own. A feeling of sheepishness started to fill your stomach as you felt John’s eyes scanning your body, waiting for you to undress in the lemon scented air and join him.

John admired you as you slowly slid off your clothes. You looked gorgeous, other worldly in flicker of the candle light. No matter how many times you had undressed for your husband he continuously made you blush under his gaze. But tonight his eyes weren’t filled with desire but the utmost love and admiration. As if just being allowed to see you bare and vulnerable was a gift no man deserved. You felt beautiful and safe with John’s soft blue eyes taking you in.

“Come here, darling. I want to hold you.” John’s whiskey glass was left forgotten as both of his hands reached out for you. One taking your much smaller hand as he helped you step into the tub. His thumb twisting your wedding ring mindlessly.

Slowly sinking into the warm water, John’s hands were on you instantly. Rough fingers ghosting up your thighs and then gently holding you by your waist, appreciating the view of you ass. Guiding you down to slip between his legs and rest your back against his broad chest. The size of John dwarfed you as you laid back against his chest. The relief that coarsed through your veins as the water and John’s arms enveloped you was a comfort you had longed for.

“So is this the part you tell me what’s happened?” You asked with a friendly chuckle that was lost on John. You couldn’t help but feel happy at the sight in front of you and how romantic it was.

“Yes, it is.” John paused as he geared up to be vulnerable with you.

You gave him the minute or two he needed to collect his thoughts. Leaning your head back and resting it against his firm shoulder and then turning slightly so you could rest your forehead against your husband’s neck. Your body moved with John’s as he took a deep breath.

“While I was away-“

“Deployed, John. Please, call it what it is.” You said softly. You had begged him to use the correct language in the past to not have anything misconstrued. To not have him shy away from the reality of what he faces when he’s not home.

“While I was deployed. I was leading a rescue mission. One that resulted in casualties on both sides. Lost someone I thought would be a life long friend.” Johns voice had lost its gentleness and you felt him tense as if he were standing at attention. His mind unable to separate his body from when mentions of work were talked about.

“I’m so sorry John. If there’s anything I can d-“

“That’s not all.” John cut you off. You became on edge that losing a comrade was not the root cause of John’s pain. Your husband took in a shaky breath as the images replayed in his head. The water splashing as his breath became only the slightest bit labored.

“It was a bust for a human trafficking ring. We got them out.“ You felt John shudder, his muscles tensing so much it startled you and splayed the warm water around.

“There were girls as young as Lily and-“ John was breathing ragged and you allowed him the time to get the words out. Not knowing the images were playing in John’s head and he was using all his self control not to start becoming angry and upset.

“I swear my mind is playing tricks on me. I can’t remember those things and not see-“ John huffed out short breaths unable to finish his sentence. Then rolling right into his next thought.

“They were terrified, Y/N. Screaming. I’ll never forget it. I had to carry some of those young girls out and the whole time they thought I was going to hurt them. All I could think of was our girls.” The confession finally broke John. A strangled cough leaving him to cover up how he was fighting back a guttural sob.

“Oh, John.” You couldn’t find another word as you allowed the water to move violently as you turned in your spot to face him.

Throwing your arms around your husband’s neck and straddling his waist, you hugged him tight and he tugged you in close. Burying his face in your neck he breathed you in until your comfort was too overwhelming.

You were so disarming John’s strength and resolve crumbled and he fell apart having finally found the comfort he so desired. It took your embrace and an emotional outburst undeserving of his children to finally share why he was hurting so deeply. You held him there and allowed your husband to cry into you until he had no tears left and confessed how sorry he was. How he’d be a better man, although you promised him he was already enough.

——————

John was walking toward the top of the stairs, having just showered after his run. Well it was more than a run, he lifted weights in his office after as you sat in his office chair and watched him. Beckoning him to kneel between your thighs when he was done and then starting his second workout of the day.

It was much needed with the kids at school and how much love you two felt for one another after John’s very vulnerable night with you previously. It felt as if it had been ages since you saw Johns soft side in bed and it only had you to coming closer together. He took the time to hold you and cherish you.

Love had been absent between the sheets as John had been taking his stress out with more desperate and rough sex. Sharing the afternoon alone with your back against the leather couch in his office, you made love twice. Hearing John’s gentle words of how much he adored you and taking it soft and slow. It finally felt like your husband had come home to you.

That after he had unburdened himself and entrusted you with his secrets he could finally allow himself to be at ease. Now knowing your soft love and support wasn’t going to fade after the time he needed to process. That you would have his back if things started to become hard for him and you would help him navigate tough moments with your children.

No matter how many times John came home he expected you to give up on him and you never did. You allowed his grief to go on silently until he was ready to talk about it and you always managed to love him through it. John felt cherished by you, and it was a reminder why he married you all those years ago. He promised you that he would make things right and you trusted he would do just that.

John hadn’t told you but he was planning on making this all up to you. Thinking of everything he could possibly do for you while he showered. Eventually deciding on whisking you away the next weekend you both had free and romancing your socks off. But for tonight he’d be the father and husband his family missed and show up right for the people he loved most in the world.

John was about to head downstairs and go help you outside, the thought of little Lily in her pikachu hat and matching sweatshirt making him want to get out there quicker. That’s when John heard his son begin to angrily scold his sister.

“He kissed you! Am I daft or did you just say you asked him too?” Jj’s words were hushed but his voice still carried up to the top of the stairs where John was ease dropping.

“So what I asked! How else would he know.” Evelyn spoke in disbelief.

“You don’t ask a boy! They’re just suppose to know!” Jj’s words had John stifling a laugh. It was endearing to hear about how his children thought romance worked at their young age.

“So what! You kissed Jenni already and you like like her! I just wanted my first kiss to be with my best friend and Archie and I don’t even like like each other. We just didn’t want to be scared when we kiss someone else. . . Or I didn’t.” Evelyn went from sounding self righteous to ashamed. John’s eyebrows shot up not knowing his son had kissed anyone. But there was a swell of pride that took over John’s shock. The fact his children talked to each other about these things made John feel relieved, that you two had done a good job parenting.

“You shouldn’t be kissing boys, even if it is Archie.” The roll of Jj’s eyes could be heard in his voice.

“I know.” Evelyn conceded quickly.

“No wonder dad’s got his knickers in a twist. But you have to tell me, Evie. That way I can help you or tell you if mum and dad need to know. I promise to keep your secrets. Still haven’t told them how you were the one who put that hole in the roof of the chicken coop.” Jj was now quietly reassuring his sister. Clearly the trust you and John shared with each other had rubbed off on your children and created a sense of safety between the two.

John was about to interrupt but decided to listen a moment longer. Rolling his eyes now knowing that Evelyn had most definitely climbed onto the chicken coop roof and put that hole there. John couldn’t get himself to be mad about it. In fact he was thankful at the time to have a task to take his mind off of the horrors of war. Maybe things worked in mysterious ways and his daughter unknowingly helped him through his hard time.

“I didn’t think anyone would know besides me and Archie. And now daddy hates him and I’ll never get to see him anymore because I was stupid. I’m so embarrassed.” the pain in Evelyn’s voice brought a sadness to the air. It was pure like children were and she really felt like she had messed up big time.

“Royally stupid and you should be embarrassed.” Jj confirmed.

“Oi, enough of that J.” John interjected. The stairs creaking under his weight as he jogged down them. Jj and Evelyn were sat on opposite ends of the couch with some show John had never seen on the television. They were both wide eyed and watching as John came to stand behind the couch.

“Daddy!” Evelyn squeaked not knowing how much her father heard.

“J, go help your mum and Lily outside. And bring a basket they’re picking raspberries.” John couldn’t help but grin a bit knowing you were out with Lily and picking raspberries from the bushes he planted last year.

John was looking forward to the harvest himself and sent you and Lily ahead and he’d meet you there. You told him to get Evelyn and Jj ready that way he’d have an opportunity to talk with them. The shift in John wasn’t lost on his children, the grumpiness he had been exhibiting since he had gotten home was replaced with his normal confident smirk.

“Why can’t I go pick raspberries?” Evelyn asked in a mean tone. John motioned with his head for Jj to run along and he did, not before hugging John around the waist and nodding at him happily. Evelyn stayed put in her spot on the couch refusing to look at her father. Once Jj was out of ear shot John began rounding the couch.

“Because I think we need to talk. So I can remind you that I love you dearly.” John spoke softly and watched how his first baby girl relaxed significantly at his words.

“Yeah?” Evelyn asked still looking away as John sat on the couch next to her and turned off the tv.

Evelyn didn’t stop John from putting his arm around her and pulling her into his side. In fact it comforted Evelyn to a point that tears were daring to prick her eyes. She hadn’t realized how badly she wanted a hug from her father and to snuggle up to him like she normally did. Her anger was somehow gone in a flash and replaced by this sadness that made her chest feel like an elegant had sat on her.

“I love you so much, Evie. And I’m sorry if I scared you and Archie.” John whispered the words against the crown of Evelyn’s hair. Then placing a kiss to the same spot.

“And?” Evelyn asked not actually expecting anything else but it felt easier to go on with her pretending to be angry than admitting how sad she was. It felt confusing being upset with John but also finding comfort in him being so sweet with her.

“And, I’m sacred of you growing up. It means I’m going to be an old man a lot sooner than I want to be.” John didn’t think Evelyn was old enough to know his true worries but this would do for the moment. He’d explain things better when she was older.

“You’re not old.” Evelyn threw her arms around John’s waist and hugged him tight. She couldn’t hold strong and pretend like she was mad at him anymore. John wrapped her up in both of his bulky arms and held his daughter for a moment before he spoke again.

“It’s okay that you kissed Archie. There just can’t be any more of it. You’re too little but one day you’ll be old enough.” Pulling away John took Evelyn’s cute face in his hands and told her this. With misty blue eyes she nodded up at him.

“Are you going to get mad when I am?” Evelyn hoped deep down John would get a tiny bit upset. It wouldn’t be her dad if he wasn’t and Evelyn didn’t want him to change that much, she just wanted him to be a bit nicer.

“I’ll try not to, but I’ll be sacred trusting anyone else to take care of my baby girl.” John was intimidated as he spoke the words. No one would be worthy of either of his daughters and nothing could convince him otherwise. At least with Jj the threat was lessened but still John worried about the boy in a very different way.

“But you’ll always take care of me? Right?” Looking up into her father’s stormy blue eyes John’s mind played tricks on him again. He saw his baby in his arms. The day she was born flashed in his mind although she may be ten now. It felt like she was a year old all of a sudden and John had her tucked up on his arm as she tugged on his beard. So desperately in that moment he wished she could be that little again, that he could hold her like that one last time.

“Till the day I die.” John had only never uttered words so true on your wedding day, and for each of his children the first time he held them. Evelyn hiccuped and smiled, a swirl of emotions fluttering in her stomach. She didn’t know what to say so she buried her face in John’s chest and squeezed him tight.

“And Archie is still allowed over. In fact his gran is going to drop him off for dinner tonight and we can all watch a movie after.” John said with a tug of a smile. Watching Evelyn’s tears dry up and be replaced by a look of shock and excitement had John feeling lucky to be her father. She looked so much like you in this moment; bright eyed and giddy.

“I promise not to kiss him again. I don’t even like him it was just silly.” Evelyn told John earnestly. It really was a silly thing to the young girl. Having heard Jj and Evelyn’s conversation John knew it was true.

“I know, bug. I know. And even if you did I won’t yell like I did before. I just hope you’ll come talk to me or your mum if you have questions.” It felt like more of a question than a statement as John pushed down the uncomfortable feeling creeping up his throat. God, did he hate the idea of Evelyn growing up and boys being interested in her. But he hoped she come talk to him if she needed advice.

“I’ll always talk to mum. You don’t have to worry about that.” Evelyn said honestly, not realizing the words would hurt John.

It was like a dagger to John’s heart but he knew why. You hadn’t inflicted the damage he had, you hadn’t flown off the handle and lost your temper the way he could and now he was left to face the consequences. Like you told him the previous night, time will fix it all as long as he does better. John held his daughter tight not wanting to let go but it was clear Evelyn felt better and was ready to go join her siblings outside.

“Can we pick raspberries now?” Evelyn’s words were muffled with her face squished into John’s chest. The sweetness had returned to her voice and forgiveness was shared between the two.

“Of course.” With one last kiss to the top of her head they were off. Quickly slipping on their shoes and coats to join you outside.

Evelyn was running toward the raspberry bushes that were planted near the edge of the woods and past the chicken coop. John laughed seeing her start to pick from an untouched bush and place them in her basket at a rapid pace. It was cute seeing her try and catch up to Jj and have a full basket before him. John’s two oldest now lightly shoving each other and giggling to try and throw the other off from the unspoken competition they found themselves in.

Johns eyes fell on you who was laughing as you tried to get Lily to put the berries in her basket. You looked gorgeous in the golden light of the setting sun. Your favorite hat on your head and that old green hoodie you stole from John back when you were dating. It was endearing how you wore his clothes when you wanted to feel comfy and relaxed.

Coming up behind you John finally felt light again. Touching your shoulder gently you turned and gave John the brightest smile that put the sun itself to shame. John wanted to tell you how things were better now and him and Evelyn had patched things up; but those thoughts vanished like a puff of smoke in the cool November air.

“Raspberries sweet enough? They look pretty on you.” John joked swiping his thumb over your raspberry painted lips. Embarrassment shot up your spine as you covered your mouth having eaten more than you’d like to admit.

“Daddy, good job!” Lily spoke with her mouth full as she ate the pink fruit straight off the bush, her basket empty, and face stained red from the berries. It had both of you snickering how she was still so little she didn’t want to pick the berries but only eat them and how alike you two were.

“Everything’s better?” You asked. Trying to wipe sway the evidence of the raspberries you’d eaten. John caught you by the chin with his forefinger so you would look up into his calm blue eyes.

“Thanks to you, yes.” Wanting a taste John leaned down, for a quick second. Kissing your raspberry painted lips sweetly, you heard the load groan of your children.

“Gross!” Evelyn and Jj shrieked in unison.

“Oh, doesn’t feel to good now, does it?” John said playfully to his oldest daughter who could only roll her eyes in response.

As if on cue the sound of a car door shutting floated through the air and Archie was running through the yard to come join all of you. John waved to his grandmother and without a second thought reached his arm out and offered his basket to his daughter’s best friend.

“Gonna have to catch up, Jj and Evie are racing to fill their baskets first.” John’s gruff voice was kind as he gave the young boy an approving grin and nod of his head.

“Thank you, Mr. Price.” Archie smiled but there was a bit of hesitation that was gone in a flash as John ruffled the freckle faced boys hair. With a playful laugh Archie was bounding over to an untouched bush and telling Evelyn she better get ready to lose.

“I’m proud of you.” You whispered up at your husband. John wrapped his arm around your shoulder and brought you into his chest.

“You make me a better man.” John sealed his words with a firm kiss to the top of your head. The two of you watching as the bushes were picked bare and promises of pies and baked goods were shared between you two.

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[zhvakinnn]

They accidentally injured their s/o pt2

Warnings: angst to fluff?

Character's: Tyler, Taylor Ashlyn

Part 1: Logan, Aiden, ben

✨as always i don't know much English so if something is wrong correct me✨

Tyler Hernandez

You were all in Ashlyn's house taking his parents car keys to drive the Jeep

When we walk inside we heard a loud thud coming from the roof and you, Ben, Taylor looked and saw aiden and Ashlyn

"uh help"

When we help them tyler bust in the room saying that we should hurry up

As we got down a phantom attack you tyler was gonna attack the phantom with his weapon, only ended up hurting you

A light suddenly shine towards you causing the phantom to evaporate and tyler cutting your arm

(you still have an arm its just a big ass scar)

Tyler's eyes widen and saw aiden he was the one who light the flashlight towards you he wanna burst to anger but he was worried about you

He holds you and your arms to stop bleeding and went running to the jeep

As you all got there Taylor was driving crazy, if only I'm not injured I would scream so loud

"OPEN THE GATE"

I heard some scream as we got there tyler gave me to Ben while he puke

"what happened to her?!" Logan said looking at you, then tyler wipe her mouth

"you!" Tyler said looking at Aiden, then Aiden look at Tyler confused

"if you hadn't shine the flashlight to them they wouldn't be in this situation" tyler said starting to walk towards aiden then Taylor stopped him

"maybe his just trying to save (name) lets just calm down and go to (name)" Taylor said holding Tyler's shoulder

He grumble and nodded when he got there you were already patch up then you look up to see Tyler you stand up only him saying that you should sit down and kissed you're fore head and hug your head you let your head fall in his chest

"I'm really sorry if i was careful and not act to fast i wouldn't hurt you"

"it wasn't your fault tyler, and if you're asking for another sorry i forgave you already"

You two sat there in a comfortable silent

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Taylor Hernandez

You two are at the top of the wall just relaxing you two were laughing, chatting you two were a perfect couple

You two were keeping an eye on the phantom until one of the light went off

'what?!' you thought then you saw a phantom going up you two were running towards the phantom while shouting

"HEY HELP THE LIGHT WENT OFF THERE ARE PHANTOM!" everyone look up and saw many of them

Everyone got they're weapon and went up while you and Taylor was struggling

Suddenly a phantom jump on Taylor causing her to fall down

"TAYLOR!"

Once you jump towards her she kick the phantom causing you to meet the back of the phantom and you well into the buses

"oh no oh no (NAME)!!"

She went down towards you hugging you then the light was fix thanks to Logan's science

"ARE YOU OK?! IM SORRY IM SORRY I'M SO-" "shh" you cut her off and telling her you were fine

"can we just.. rest my back hurts" then she noticed a scratch on your arm and face her eyes started to tear wiping you're cheeks then hugged you

You saw where she's looking earlier you had a big fat scar on your hand

Her head was on your shoulder "dont worry.. I'll be fine i promise"

She smiled and so as you

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Ashlyn banner

She was so focused to get the jeep she hadn't noticed you

You were running behind her but as you were running a phantom attacked you pinning you down all of them got in the jeep not noticing you were left behind

You're eyes were widen when you heard the jeep start and left you

You thought they abandoned you

But as soon as they got there Ashlyn was looking for you

"(name)?..(name)?... Were are they"

They all looked around and like oh shit we left them. Ashlyn push Taylor not hard but enough to get out of her grip

"open the gates.."

"what?"

"i said open the fucking gates"

Logan nodded as he press the button then Ashlyn went inside the jeep

"w..wait you still not look feeling well-'

Taylor was cut off when Ashlyn close the door and went driving towards the gates they close the gates behind her

When she saw you she stopped the jeep and attack the phantom she kept stabbing it

When she finally got to kill it she scooped you and went to the jeep

As soon as Ashlyn got there she took the bandaids and wrapped you Taylor help her because she was shaking so hard

"please wake up please wake up" she kept mumbling hold your hand tight

Then an alarm clock was beeping she wasted no time to get ready for school even her own parents were confused as soon as she got in the bus she didn't saw you on your spot

She was panicking then a hand suddenly grab her it was Ben then he pointed were you are you were lying down

She suddenly felt relief your ok

When she sat down you felt her presence

"Taylor?" You said as you sobbed in her chest " i thought you abandon me because you hate me" your words hit her so much

Then she cupped your face " i would never abandon you I love you so much, I'm sorry i didn't notice you i really had a head ache causing me not to realize you were left behind"

She explained as you hugged her tightly "then lets rest for now"

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Damn Ashlyn's part is so long

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