#tw past major character death | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

phoenixflames498 · 9 months ago

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What could have been

Tw//major character death, death of a sibling,past death(s),both toxic and nontoxic family relationship. ending. Mention of child abuse and neglect,sacrifice, boundaries being crossed. Angst, hurt with comfort, happy ending.

Emiko looked at herself in the mirror as she waited for either of her brothers or parents to come to get from the room that she was in.While she was waiting.she thought about her older sister who she and her brothers met her on her deathbed.

Today was the day of her wedding.Thoughts and memories of her older sister that she only knew from their adopted mother and journals,videotapes,recordings and accounts from people who knew her while she was still alive and not on her deathbed and then died the same night. Like previous stated, they only met their older sister on her deathbed. At the time of meeting her,she was never expected to live due to how injured she was from their biological mother.When they meet her,she was wrapped in bandages and tubes and machines surrounded her body. If the doctors and nurses were honest,she wasn’t going to make out this situation alive and well.They told her adopted mother that she and her husband to start preparing their oldest child funeral as she didn’t seem to get any better.The doctors and nurses left them to grieve by themselves in the hospital room of their dying daughter. The only reason that their daughter got in the state that she was in was because of her biological mother.This situation was the very reason that the one she considered her true mother hoped never happened, because she knew how her own twin sister was like growing up. She wasn’t even a good person even in childhood. She was like this from the beginning and the environment at home was an awful one that didn’t help either.

Adopted mother pov :(third person narrative)If she had to be honest with anyone about her situation at home and outside of home, and etc,it was never easy growing up.Being the second eldest child out of eight siblings ,she had expectations placed on her. She was hardly heard or seen.There were parents weren’t good people either, they were both neglectful and abusive.They either payed to them and treated them badly or acted their children never existed. It left all of kids with with mental health problems and etc for life .It never got better when all other seven siblings grew up,her twin sister never changed,she stayed the same person even when she got married to her husband. She knew that her twin sister’s husband was going to soon notice her red flags.She and her husband was there for him as a aunt and uncle would be.They already noticed how often that their brother-in-law would be taking care of his child and her very rarely.He would come back home from work and start his parental duties and her doing the bare minimum . When she and her husband were at her brother-in-law and twin sister place,they would help him with aiko.She was a very quiet and shy child,and had expressionless expression if it made sense.When she wasn’t playing with her toys or eating or doing anything that a child could do.

She would hide behind her one of father’s leg or her aunts or uncle’s leg when meeting new people or even other family members. She had more of a bond with her father and aunt and uncle than her biological mother and other relatives. Her brother-in-law finally noticed her twin sister red flags when he discovered his wife’s affair when aiko was two.He started to notice that she was withholding things and etc. It broke his heart and left him with issues.He decided to divorce because no one was happy here in the marriage. She clearly checked out a year ago.

But another reason was because he didn’t want his daughter aiko to see the toxic and nonexistent relationship between her parents.Her biological mother already began to walk out of her daughter’s life at two.His soon to be ex wife’s twin sister soon took on a motherly role in aiko’s life.

A year later, when aiko was three, aiko’s father was diagnosed with brain cancer and was told that he only has two years to live and wouldn’t even make it to his daughter’s teenage and adult years.And that the brain cancer had no cure.After the doctor left him in the room alone,he went back home. As soon he got to his bedroom,he began to cry silently and just let the tears flow down and covered his face with his hands.He didn’t want anyone to hear him cry and see his tears.He was shocked and in denial and despair at first because he didn’t expect this to happen.

He was glad that his daughter was out at the park with her aunt and uncle.She wouldn’t have to see him crying,no one would have to.After a good amount of crying,he thought on his daughter future after his death.He knew that her aunt and uncle would adopt her and take her of her. He knew most of the family would ignore her or would not take care of her for multiple reasons. Like because the stigma of aiko being a child of divorce and the stories about her mother from her own sister and rumors.He would have to set up a will of things left behind and etc.

He had a shop that he had from his job as a tailor.He was decently known for his great talent and most were satisfied with what they got from him.His earnings was decent and he was able to support his family.But soon,that family would fall apart and he came to terms about it. In the will, he would leave his tailor shop to aiko and she could do whatever she wanted with the shop.She could fellow her father in his footsteps as a tailor or sell the shop if she wanted to.Or she could keep it and make it a getaway if she wanted to be somewhere quiet and make it her safe place if everything got to much.Or she make it her new home.But that he would do before he leaves the place of the living.

While still in his thoughts,his daughter aiko came home from the park with her aunt and uncle.She ran to him and signaled with her arms. that she wanted to be hugged and be held in his arms and afterwards to play with him. She had blank face and was confused on why he hadn’t hugged yet and held her in his arms yet.He got out of his thoughts and began to hug her and held her in his arms as he put his thoughts about the future aside for a little while.While hugging aiko,he looked at his former sister-in-law and brother-in-law and they got the message and left the room to make dinner that night.He would tell them after aiko ate dinner,was bathed,was read a story while in bed and fell asleep. At some point in the dinner,he knew that aiko would be told by her aunt and uncle on why papa look and would be sick, skinny,sleepy and why papa would not be around anymore and why he would “sleeping”for a very long time.But not for now.There would be a time for that news ,not just yet.

After aiko ate dinner and bathed and was read a story and then fell asleep with her teddy bear in her arms. Now, it was the time to tell his former brother-in-law friend sister-in-law who he could see as more like a brother and sister that he has. He really didn’t have much. Family members or even friends left alive. For those still alive, they either moved somewhere else or he is no contact with.His former brother-in-law and sister-in-law remained him of his siblings that died before adulthood. He ask them if they could sit down on couch and made some tea because he knew that they would need it, along with some tissues for the news that he would tell.After drinking some of the tea, he decided to blurt it out to them before the words got stuck in his throat. As soon as he told them that he had brain cancer and that was no cure. And that he only two years left to live and that he wouldn’t make it to aiko’s teenage and adult years.They both dropped their cups of tea and were both shocked and in denial about what they just heard.He came to terms with the brain cancer diagnosis and decided to remain single and divorced as he didn’t want to cause anyone the pain of losing someone that they loved due to cancer.He just let them hug him and cry on his shoulders. They just cried even harder than before,he didn’t care that their tear stained his shirt. He just wrapped his arms around them and cried with them too.

With time,he wasn’t able to do his work properly as a tailor as he used to be.He had to stop as a tailor and he cried out about it.Then,he wasn’t able to walk anymore and he couldn’t even eat or drink anything anymore. Eventually,he got more weak and more sleepy and moody as his health worsened with time.Before he went to the hospital in a coma that he would never wake up from.He and lawyers and who he considered like a sister and a brother finished the will, a will that ex wife and other relatives couldn’t contest it.He left what money that he had to legally to her. He did this with other while he was still there both physically and mentally. He only had another year to live,as that year came.

In the start of the second year,before he went in a coma.He spent whatever time he had with his beloved little daughter aiko. It may have been in a wheelchair but, he was grateful for the time before and after with her.He got about nine more stuffed animals.First one was a cat and second one was a dog.Third was a rabbit and fourth was a bee.Fifth one was a turtle. And sixth one was fox.The seventh one was a little chick and the eighth one was a lady bug.And the last and ninth one was a homemade plush of himself.After all of that,he health deteriorated even further and he was now on his deathbed,his small group of friends,relatives, siblings, even though the other two were his former brother-in-law and sister-in-law. They said their farewells.Then it was aiko’s turn, she walked into her room in the hospital with her soon to be adoptive parents.Aiko let go of their hands and got some help from them onto the bed with her father,her father didn’t want her to cry but she would eventually. She held the homemade plush of her father,he read her favorite story one last time in the voice that she loved.After the story was read,aiko fell asleep on the bed with her father and he finally fell in a coma with a soft smile on his face and was still hugging one last time.They grabbed aiko away from her father and were crying and were grateful that aiko was asleep and didn’t see them crying.He never woke up from the coma,he died that night.

When the funeral happened for those that attended it. It mostly quiet except for the sounds of crying and the music wasn’t certainly helping.The mood was overly tense and gloomy and moody as can be.Aiko was crying and didn’t understand why her father was in a casket and why he wasn’t waking up. Aiko was told that her father was going to be “asleep” for a very long time and that she would have to live with her aunt and uncle for the time being.Aiko cried again when closed the casket and began to put the casket in the ground and covered the top of the grass with dirt. She would understand more on why her dad would be “sleeping” for a long time when she was older as a teen and as a adult.Her newly adopted parents did their best to aiko to get used a life without her bio father in her life alive and in her future.

She never did get over the death of her father but it did get better over time. She eventually did call her aunt and uncle to mom and dad. She didn’t forget about her papa, but she did love her adoptive parents and treated them like they were her bio parents. She got used to a life without her bio dad and mom. She got used to life without her biological parents. As aiko got older, she would visit her father’s grave with her adoptive parents in supervision. Once they thought that she could do the visits without them unless she needed them ,they told her to call them if she needed comfort even when they were at work/tired. They also made sure that she knew self defense and kept her guard up while visiting her father’s grave.Another reason was because they were afraid of her bio mom coming back into the picture and asking for custody of aiko,she may be her bio mom but she never really raised aiko.

And besides,once aiko got a old enough,they told aiko about her bio mom and how she wasn’t a good person and to runaway from her and don’t interact with her.They know that it would end badly.if she had to interact with her,to find someone like a older woman and call her mom and hopefully this woman would take aiko somewhere safe and call for the police.And if she started a fight,then fight her and make her regret it and if she had use dirty tricks,then use them.They would fight for her to the moon and back.And she did wrong,it was her bio mom’s fault for trying to start a fight when she didn’t her boundaries and why she didn’t want to leave her family. Another reason why her deceased biological father let his former sister-in-law and her husband adopt his daughter aiko. Now, let’s get on how aiko got in the state that she is in.Aiko just visited her bio dad’s grave and put in new flowers in the vase and left some time.Her day at school was decent. As she did those two things today,she thought that she would get her parents and hers favorite food from a restaurant that they all liked.

Aiko just knew that her parents had a rough day at work today and thought their favorite foods would help them. As she walked to where the restaurant was and waited for the meals to be ready,some minutes later.The food was ready and aiko grabbed the bag with the meals and she walked out the restaurant and began to walk back home and was in a good mood and had a soft smile on her face. As the restaurant was close by the park,she hadn’t noticed someone waiting for her.Said someone who was sitting on the bench.Her bio mom wasn’t happy at being Ignored by her eldest child.That was her daughter and not her twin sister’s child.She still hated her former first ex husband decision for letting her twin sister and husband adopt aiko.She thought that she was justified for doing what she did and angry at first ex husband.

She may not behaved and acted like aiko’s mom and did the bare minimum,but she was still her biological mom and wanted her child back. It’s been years since she was allowed in her eldest daughter life and thought her twin sister and her ex husband decision was not a good one. She wasn’t allowed in her teen’s life because of she treated her own twin sister and everyone else?!She was fuming,but then calmed down and thought that she changed enough now that she was married to her second husband,a new home and had three more children.She could take back aiko with enough convincing and act like a good mother with aiko and her three other children that aiko and her adoptive parents didn’t know about and get custody of aiko and take her back home.When she saw aiko walking back home with a bag of food in her left hand ,that’s when she decided to enact her plan.She walked to where aiko was and started to talk with her.She could tell that aiko knew about the stories about her.Aiko looked uncomfortable and didn’t feel safe around her and wanted her to leave her alone,so she could go home. Aiko looked uncomfortable as her bio mother was talking to her about coming home and meeting her stepdad and siblings.

Aiko would be a good older sister, wouldn’t she? She would play with her siblings and help them learn social skills and cues for be a good role model.Aiko looked so uncomfortable, to the point that she just wanted to dig a hole and hoped that the ground would swallow her whole.Aiko waited for her biological mother to finish talking and said that she had to go home and study and eat. So,she would talk with her later.Aiko’s bio mother didn’t like that.She demanded that she come home with her.Aiko hid her uncomfortably with a smile and began to walk away from the conversation with her bio mother.Her biological mother grabbed her wrist and decided to take her home. Now,Aiko isn’t a complete pushover of a person.

Aiko didn’t like that one decision as she sees her bio mother as a stranger and she loves her siblings but she will never live with someone who she considers a stranger because she already has a mother and father at home,sure, they are actually her aunt and her husband but they are more like her parents.Aiko grabbed her hand from her wrist and tells her birth mother to leave her alone because she doesn’t to live with her and her husband as she may care for her siblings but doesn’t mean she will live with her as she will not leave her parents after how many years they raised her after her biological father died,who did a lot of the child bearing for the first three years of aiko’s life and she still has the stuff animals from her birth father before his death in her room.When aiko removed her birth mother’s hand from her wrist, it triggers a deep resentment and anger towards Aiko from her birth mom and that triggered a fight between Aiko and the older woman and it was a very bloody and violent fight and aiko was the winner but it came at a very high price.

That price being her life as,Aiko called the emergency number and called for two ambulances and then passed out when the call was over.When the ambulances came to pick up two a teenager girl named aiko and her birth mother Akane,they found two unconscious people and a bloody scene and some pulled out hair from both parties.When aiko’s mother and father got a call from the hospital and the police, they were told that aiko is a critical condition and may not survive because of her injuries and her birth mother who started the fight, will survive and live and not aiko unfortunately.

Adopted mother prospective/Fumiko pov:

I dropped the phone when I heard that my daughter will likely not survive this time because of what happened between her and my sister and aiko may have won the fight but her my sister unfortunately won the war because her injuries were less severe and critical than aiko’s. I just cried my heart out because I truly loved aiko ever since she was born fifteen years ago and ever since my former brother in law died.

My husband Yuki comforted me as we saddened to lose another person who was precious to us as her birth father was such a great man who was a wonderful father even when he got cancer when aiko was three years old and he still managed to be a great father even when terminally ill.Her birth father Haru was a treasure of a person to us as he had made sure that aiko had a great first beginning of a childhood as he didn’t have a one and neither me and my sister and our other siblings that weren’t related to Haru.Even though Akane costs us a blessing of a child and prevented her from growing to a adult, I still loved her in a unhealthy way because we bonded through the trauma that our parents put us through.But I lost whatever love I had for her because of what she did to our only child.

POV over:

The hara family held a funeral for their only child Aiko and they had her make up and hair done and dressed in clothing fitting for for the funeral as to cover up her injuries as they didn’t want Aiko’s half siblings to see a bloody mess on aiko in her casket. They had a tough time of letting go of aiko as she was their only child for ten years because hina and her husband Hotaru are infertile and can’t have children on their own besides adoption or ivf. would work but,because of medical issues, it wouldn’t have worked for them.

Though they had lost their first child aiko, they gained four more children as they gained more two daughters and two sons as her sister Akane lost custody of her children with her husband because what happened at the park that one unfortunate day. For years after Aiko’s death, emiko’s wedding was today a day after her big sister’s death on her birthday in the spring of April twentieth eighth in 2020. Aiko died in two thousand and nine and now it is eleven years after her death.

Back to emiko. Emiko looks at the picture of her deceased older sister who would have a adult woman by now if their shared birth mother didn’t injure her so severely and critically, Aiko would have finished high school and gotten her diploma and gone to a college of her choice, which is the exact same college as her birth father as a tailor, the exact same career path as her father. But unfortunately, Aiko’s never got the opportunity to grow to a adulthood or even go to college because of their shared birth mom did.But emiko pushed those thoughts aside for now as today is a happy day, it is her wedding as she is currently twenty five years old and was born with her other siblings in nineteen ninety five in February of twenty twenty of this year and aiko would have been twenty six this year.

Emiko then heard five knocks on the door of of her at her venue as her sister and her brothers and her aunt and her husband came to pick her up and to take her to her soon to be Husband as her aunt’s husband was going to walk her down the isle.Emiko gets up and touched up her makeup and grabbed her bouquet of red roses and Camila’s. Emiko then goes to open the door and goes with Hotaru and walks down the isle and her wedding ceremony and reception/after party was all a great success. And she would love to have her older sister Aiko here but she knows that she watching from heaven and that is what made her wedding day special to emiko.

The end.

#tw character death #past character death #sibling death tw #child abuse #angst #hurt/comfort #happy ending #toxic family #nontoxic #major character death #child neglect #sacrifice

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goatgoesmbe · 3 months ago

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angst, no comfort, everyone involved in this fic got hurt including the author

inspired from: this song, (english) + this old indonesian song (from reader's perspective) (english)

tw : Dead dove: do not eat, infidelity, depression, mention of abuse, mention of PTSD, implied suicidal thoughts, self-harm, dark theme, heavy ass shit, toxic relationship, one-sided hatred, one-sided love, self-loathing, major character death, violence, mention of blood, probably inaccurate medical scene, implied past-Ghoap, post-Soap's death

last warning : it started bad and it got worse before everything burned in flames

Thanks to @ahobaka-trash & @herdarkangel for beta-reading :3

word count : 9187

rated : E

You can't fix him

Ghost x f!Reader

AO3

The sun was shining brightly in the sky, specks of white decorated light blue. Everything was too bright, too colorful, that he needed to squint his eyes and pull his hoodie to cover his face more. He hadn’t worn his mask for a while now, not since he was discharged. He just couldn’t be bothered to anymore, not finding any use for it when he didn’t need to separate himself between two lives.

But he regretted not wearing any now.

Despite the warm temperature, he was dressed in all black, with his jacket zipped up all the way. His appearance was a contrast to the pretty thing holding onto his forearm. You were skipping beside him, smiling cheerfully as you cooed at babies and greeted every dog passing by.

He made a mistake by glancing at you, to which you responded with a bright smile that made him grit his teeth.

“Don’t be so grumpy, Simon. We’re almost there” You said to him in such a sweet voice that sent a shiver down his spine- not the pleasant kind.

This was not a scenario Simon thought he would ever be in.

It all started when he first met you. His neighbor who wouldn’t leave him alone ever since he moved into the flat beside yours. He didn’t know how you even had the courage to approach him, he knew he was huge and imposing, intimidating everyone in and out of field. He was not charming in any way like you were, he was broody, even more so now that he was medically discharged from the military.

He got his heart punctured in a fight—a near-fatal wound. He was rushed to a field hospital, then airlifted back home, where surgeons fought to keep him alive. Hours of open-heart surgery. Internal bleeding. A cardiac patch to repair the damage. But somehow, he survived.

“Your heart took too much damage. Even with the surgical repairs, any extreme exertion could worsen the scar tissue, cause arrhythmia, or lead to heart failure. If you push too hard… you’ll need a transplant.” He remembered a doctor explaining it to him.

The very last thing he liked about himself, his strength, was now useless since he couldn’t get his hands dirty. He was angry, but he knew there was nothing he could do, couldn’t argue with Price to at least get him to have Johnny’s revenge and kill Makarov.

You kept pestering him. Starting with knocking on his door to offer him some baked goods, approaching him for small talk even though the most he would respond with was an annoyed grunt.

It was very obvious that you had a not-so-little crush on him. And he tried to make it obvious that he wasn’t interested, that you were better off trying to charm some better bloke out there that wasn’t full of emotional baggage.

But he was starting to learn that you were a stubborn little thing, and it started to get on his nerves.

And so, that’s how he got here. Letting you drag him to some cozy cafe in the city, you looked so pretty in your flowy sundress and white wedges. He hated it.

You clearly made an extra effort to look pretty for this date. For him.

While he couldn’t even be bothered to shower.

He only agreed to this date so you would see how uninteresting he was, so you would finally leave him alone for the better.

“So.. we talked a lot before.. but you rarely talked about yourself” You said to him after you both were sat at a table by the window. He had to hold back the urge to roll his eyes at that, because no- we didn’t talk a lot, you did, while he just endured listening to you.

“Why should I talk about myself..” He responded while looking down at his tea, stirring it so he had something to do with his hands to make this whole thing less awkward.

You giggled at that, and while he was used to you being such a sweetheart all the time, it still irked him. “Well.. this is a date.. so, that’s kind of the thing you have to do..” You replied.

“Only if you’re comfortable of course..!” You quickly added when he looked at you with his soulless eyes.

He grunted in response. Like he always did in every interaction with you.

“Well.. let me go first then” You uttered before rambling about yourself like he hadn't heard it all before already. You worked as a vet and often volunteered at various local shelters, you liked baking and always shared some with the others, especially him even though he still had quite a few stuffed at the back of his cupboard, uneaten.

Now, Simon knew he had been really cruel with you, especially with how you’ve been nothing but nice. But he couldn’t help it, he didn’t know why but the way you looked at him like he mattered,when he thought the total opposite, just rubbed him the wrong way.

You clearly fell hard for him for some reason, but he didn’t feel the same way. And he was not a total asshole, he made it very clear with his words and action toward you. “I’m not interested,” He said curtly when you asked him for a coffee yesterday. “..Please? Just this once, then I’ll leave you alone..” You responded. So he only agreed because he hoped you’d keep your word and leave him alone after.

But he couldn’t say that he hated you either. It’s what you do that pissed him off. He was not used to being treated this way, receiving this much affection, when he didn’t deserve it. He felt like a feral animal being forced to wear some cozy sweater. Made his skin itch, Irritating, left him wanting to tear it all at the seams.

It was him that he hated, not you. He shouldn’t be receiving this kind of attention for being the person he was.

“So.. that was all about me, your turn,” your voice snapped him out of his head.

“..Fine, what do you want to know?” He responded, then took a sip of his tea that tasted horrible on his tongue. But he gulped it down anyway.

“Um.. what do you do for work? I don’t think I’ve seen you out much..” You asked with a tilt of your head.

“Was in the military.” Simon’s answer left out as many details as possible, telling you it’s classified when you asked questions about it.

He still had a lot of savings to survive living without working for a while. Until he got himself sorted out at least.

A soft giggle left your lips at his secrecy. “Well.. alright, how about things you do in your free time?” you asked in a gentle tone, being so patient with him as always.

“Nothing much” He answered as he looked anywhere but at you who tried to blind him with your sunshine. He wasn’t lying, he spent most days distracting himself from his thoughts by working out, and when he wasn’t, he was content staying in his flat to zone out at anything playing on tv, at full volume to drown out the voices in his fucked up head. He was sure you could hear him from your place whenever he did that, but you never complained so he wasn’t really sure.

You didn’t respond for a few seconds, which was odd because you were usually so quick to fill the silence with anything you could think of. It was as if you were being more careful with him now in hopes that he would open up to you more eventually.

Stupid thought.

“I noticed you work out a lot, ” you then said with a cheeky smile as you eyed his biceps that were still obvious under his thick hoodie. “Once I saw you went on a run at 2 am,” you added.

He grunted again.

Yeah, he did that sometimes.. woke up in the early hours from nightmares, then tried to tire himself out by running. At least until his body deemed it enough, he didn't want to put a strain on his heart like the doctor had said.

And when he couldn’t bring himself to go outside, he’d just stare at the wall while unconsciously picking on the stitches from some of the wounds he got from the last deployment. Finding comfort in the sting that distracted him from the heavy weight in his chest. Sometimes it caused him to bleed slightly, but it’s not like he couldn’t stitch it up again himself. If anything, the pain he felt when doing so grounded him.

But he couldn’t say that.

“Last time I did so much of a workout was when I got chased by a dog, ” you joked and laughed at yourself. Simon gave no reaction, he was staring at you in the eyes but it was obvious his mind was elsewhere.

You fidgeted in your seat at his lack of response and put on a smile. “So.. if you need a workout buddy, I don’t mind being one.. been wanting to start exercising regularly anyway” You then said shyly, looking up at him with those damn doe eyes.

Simon shrugged. “You wouldn’t be able to keep up”.

Wrong answer.

Because instead of taking it as a rejection, you took it as a challenge.

And you totally broke your promise to leave him alone after this date.

His time of solitude was filled with your sweet voice and giggles.

“Hey, why don’t we rest a bit..” You suggested the first time you invited yourself to his early morning run, panting and sweating already even though it had only been a short while.

He rolled his eyes and kept running at his pace. “Told you, you wouldn’t be able to keep up, ” he responded without looking at you, keeping his gaze forward.

Expecting you to give up and leave him alone, he was surprised when you instead started sprinting, laughing at the way his eyes widened. “Race you..!” you yelled over your shoulder.

Your footsteps kept getting farther and farther, and he could feel himself relaxing again. Finally some peace and quiet.

Simon didn’t bother to race you, content with being with himself along with the feeling weighing him down in his chest. From the damage he got on his heart, or something else, he wasn’t sure.

And as he continued with his run, he caught up with you eventually, sitting on a bench.

“I won! ” You teased him with a grin.

Simon didn’t respond, didn’t say that he wasn’t even interested in participating in the stupid race.

You didn’t take the hint of him wanting to be left alone, like usual . And so, Simon had to endure with your yapping the whole way back to the flat.

“That was fun, Simon. I’ll join you again sometime, yeah?” You headed inside your own flat without waiting for his response since you were used to it by now. And for the first time, Simon appreciated your act of kindness.

It was not surprising when you kept tagging along with his morning run despite him being obviously bothered by it. He was pissed at first, but then your presence became familiar to him, so much so that he found himself looking for you when you didn’t show up.

He quickly shook his head. Damn, you were starting to invade his mind.

Grumbling under his breath, he dumped the thought of you before resuming his run.

Without your cavity-inducing voice to accompany him, he found himself lost in thoughts. Drowning in the cacophony of noises in his head: his dad’s yelling, his mum’s cries, the sound of gunshot to Johnny’s head.

“I said, I already have a boyfriend!” Out of nowhere, your voice snapped him out of his head. Just then, his eyes locked with yours.

“See? That's him!” You looked relieved and immediately left the guy who had been bothering you to stand by Simon’s side. With a simple stare from him, the guy immediately tensed before hurriedly walking away. He didn’t mean to intimidate him or help you, but you thanked him anyway.

Boyfriend. Him.

He didn’t think much of it, no. It was obvious that you only said it at the time so the guy would leave you alone.

That was until he heard you telling everyone else that. He overheard you talking to some neighbors who were curious about him, the brooding loner who lived beside you. He didn’t know why he stood back and refused to say anything when you told them you’ve been dating him. Maybe it didn’t matter to him what you or everyone else thought , or maybe he didn’t mind the thought of it. The former was more likely.

He thought about it when he was back at his flat. Since when did you start thinking that? Was it since that so-called first date? He probably should say something about it. Not probably — definitely.

But then he remembered how fucking stubborn you were. How you kept pestering him even though he clearly ignored you, how you managed to convince him to go on a date with you, your uninvited presence during his morning run, the insistent knocking on his door whenever you wanted to share your baking with him.

He could already feel his head pounding at the thought of your reaction if he were to make it clear to you. Initiating a break-up already felt like a chore, especially with someone like you. His life already felt like hell ever since he was discharged, he really didn’t need another shit on his plate, and didn’t want to start any drama.

Alright, he’d play along for now. Your silly little fantasy would eventually pop after you saw what a burden he truly was.

…

“I can tell you never had anyone over, huh? Well, I feel honored..” You beamed when he invited you over. Big eyes sparkling as you took in the mess that is his apartment, piles of laundry he didn’t bother to fold after getting them out of the dryer, some leftover takeout on the coffee table swarmed by a trail of ants, dust particles in the air, the stench of it all.

“Go sit wherever.” His voice rumbled before he went to the kitchen and prepared the only thing he could even be bothered with: instant noodles.

When he got back from the kitchen, he found that you had tidied up a bit, windows opened for some fresh air, and you somehow found some trash bag to put some of the mess in, which was now gathered in the corner. “I hope you don’t mind me touching your stuff..” You said with an apologetic smile.

“‘S fine” He responded. It was not fine, he didn’t like having other people in his private space, and now you had made it worse by messing up his familiar surroundings. But he didn’t feel like arguing.

He sat on the couch and ate in silence, didn’t even bother to hand you your plate, instead letting you get to it yourself.

“Is this what you eat every day?” You asked when he felt your presence beside him. The tone indicated that you were genuinely curious and not judging. You probably noticed the trash in the kitchen was filled with instant noodles packages when you were retrieving your food.

He answered with a hum.

“Well.. you know, I like to cook so I don’t mind doing it for you too..” He heard you say and grunted in response.

But of course, you took it as an invitation to invade his personal space even more.

Simon’s previous plan of getting you to turn your nose up at him backfired. Now you didn’t only come over from time to time to give him cookies, but twice a day to feed him proper food.

And you didn’t stop there, no. Because when he opened the door to receive whatever it was that you were giving him,as always, you had now begun inviting yourself inside to eat with him, telling him about your day without him having to ask as he tried to not show how much he enjoyed the food. But you seemed to pick it up with how you started bringing larger portions, packing up the leftovers to fill his empty fridge.

You also turned his dump of an apartment livable. No more trash scattered around, his clothes are contained in his wardrobe, smelling of flowery laundry conditioner rather than the musty smell he was used to, the layer of dust on his furniture is gone, and the nasty stench that used to linger in his apartment has been replaced with sweet lavender.

He didn’t like it at first, not a fan of his world being flipped upside down. To some people, the state he was in was miserable, sure. But it was comforting in a way because that was his personal sanctuary isolated from everyone, he was used to the darkness consuming him that he recoiled at the blinding light that was you.

Now however, he had just accepted his fate. His previous expectation of finally having you leave him alone once you see how miserable he was had failed. Does it frustrate him? It probably should, but he was used to how stubborn you were by now.

You took his lack of response as acceptance. But is it? Not really.

Being around you still made him feel on edge since everyone would see how much of a sweetheart you are, which automatically meant he was an asshole. He pushed your hand away every time you tried to touch him because even just the thought of it made him want to flay himself alive.

Why do you even like him? Do you really like him? Or do you have this hero complex and saw him like one of those poor animals you rescued at work?

Well, he doesn’t know, but if he paid attention to the way you looked at him, he’d notice how you never looked at him with pity, just pure adoration like how despite everything he was worthy of love.

He eventually found the answer when he slept with you for the first time. It was something that he did just to get his needs filled. He was only a man after all, and you were there, pretty and willing. He saw faint marks on your thighs, some neat lines from cuts that told him you did it yourself.

Leaving your sleeping form on the bed, he went to the bathroom and saw more confirmation of what he suspected. At one of the cabinets, he found some pills, anti-depressants. A few of them were left in a cylinder container with a label that was fading like it’s been left untouched for a while. Did you give up trying? Or maybe did it not help you the way that you thought it would?

You two weren’t as different as he thought after all.

So perhaps you saw yourself in him in a way that he couldn’t. That you were so kind to everyone,even to an asshole like him, to make you hate yourself less. How you were so nice and patient with him to make up for how you couldn’t treat yourself that way.

You thought his life was worth more, so you didn’t care if loving him took pieces of your own.

He didn’t say anything about it, but he found himself being less hostile towards you.

…

“-They’ve been ganging up to bully me, acting so tough until I stand for myself?” You vented to him about your day at work one night, lounging on his bed as he scrolled on his phone.

“Can’t believe people like them exist. Adults —some of them married with children — but act so childish. ” You continued despite his lack of response.

“I know I should tell HR about it.. but doesn’t it just make it worse? Basically everyone at work is in on it.. plus I don’t know if HR would actually do something about it anyway-”

“Why don’t you just quit your job?” He mumbled, cutting off your sentence which made you look up at him, surprised at his response. And then you smiled with a faint blush on the high of your cheeks, like you were happy that he was actually listening.

Wow, you really need to raise your standard if having your partner doing the bare minimum made you gleam.

He didn’t push you away when you snuggled to his side.

“Well.. the thing is, I’m really stubborn. So resigning feels like I’m quitting the battlefield, losing. And I don’t lose.” You answered with a cheeky smile that actually made him snort. What a ridiculous mindset, but it was not odd for you.

Your smile widened at his amusement.

“What are you gonna do then?” He asked when you didn’t say anything and just stared at him with those loving eyes. Ugh, he was still not used to being looked at that way.

“Well.. I’m gonna act like an adult unlike them, be professional and show that their words don’t affect me.. kill them with kindness and all. Maybe it won't stop them, maybe I’ll get fired eventually.. but that’s the only realistic thing I could think of..” You rambled again.

“Am I pathetic?” You then added in a more somber tone, like you already thought that about yourself. That usual shine in your eyes dimmed and for a second he thought he saw the you that was hidden from the world.

“Yeah,” He thought to himself out loud without meaning to. And seemed like it was an incorrect response from the flicker of disappointment seen in your eyes before you hid by nuzzling your face to a pillow. Were you expecting him to comfort you? Did he raise your expectations of him just because he listened?

Simon looked away, he was never good at comforting people so he didn’t know what to say. After a moment of silence, he heard you snoring softly.

As he too closed his eyes, he thought to himself about what he had been feeling. While he still found himself disappointed waking up another day, the thought of you feeling the same void in your chest made him feel better because he knew he wasn’t alone. He didn’t know how you could live everyday with a smile,everyday which made him respect you a bit.

He was used to your company by now, you cleaned his place, fed him, and fulfilled his sexual needs, and he was content with that.

But did he start feeling the same way as you?

Receiving your affection still gave him goosebumps, he never touched you tenderly like a boyfriend should, he was still as grumpy as ever around you. Though he didn’t push you away like he used to, he let you touch him, let you talk his ear off. But did it really mean anything? He merely tolerated you. No more loathing, but he couldn’t say that he liked you. He just didn’t care to feel for you, positively or negatively, indifferent. So perhaps not.

He can’t love you anyway. It was one thing to be loved, it was another to love. The latter would give you power over him.

He can’t let himself be vulnerable again. He remembered how it was with Johnny, the hurt he felt when he got taken away in front of his eyes, dying in his arms.

He didn’t want to feel that loss again, so he settled with not having.

But then he let you kiss him.

It wasn’t like you two never kissed before but this was different, it was not something that would end up with the two of you having sex.

He was smoking outside late at night, watching the flickering stars, and thought of the time he did the same thing a long time ago. He was on deployment, . taking a break at a hideout after a long day of fighting and running.

He had felt more alive then , despite the horrors he’d seen everyday, compared to the peaceful yet boring life he had now.

Johnny was with him that night, yapping his ear off like he always did, exchanging shitty jokes. He kissed him that night.

So maybe that’s why it happened. When you somehow found him and invaded his solitude- like you always did, filling the silence with whatever rant you had in store from the day.

Then the conversation slowed down, and he noticed you kept glancing at his lips. And when you stopped talking, you leaned in.

And he didn’t move, didn’t turn his head away.

Didn’t reciprocate the kiss and just stood still as you kissed him.

But it still made you smile. And you told him how life had never been great to you for a long while. How the universe has been testing you harder lately.

And then you said that he was the best thing you had at the moment. You thanked him for whatever reason.

And he felt his heart stop .

He was half-listening to all that, was lost in thought about why he let you kiss him so softly, why hadn’t he pushed you away. But this? It made it all clear.

He had , in a way, developed feelings for you. He didn’t want to call it love, but he cared at least.

If not, he wouldn’t have reacted so negatively to that remark. Would’ve stayed nonchalant and stayed there, continued to smoke, and acted indifferent.

Instead, he left. Leaving you who only stared at his retreating figure.

Because you were wrong, he wasn’t the best thing you had in your life. But for some reason, you saw him as your savior. He gave you a purpose, loving him was giving you some kind of fucked up hope. A reminder to yourself that your heart wasn’t broken because it was still beating.

He had to stop you there because he was the last person on earth who was able to give anyone salvation. He couldn’t save you, you couldn’t save him. He needed to get away from you.

You would be better off without him. That was proof that he cared about you, not wanting you to chase after some false hope. You deserve better.

But he could just leave, move out, and go far away. It would give him a nasty itch that would bother him wherever he goes. And he had a lot of shit haunting him already.

No, he needed to get it to your thick skull that whatever this was, was not happening.

He still didn’t like the thought of initiating a break-up because it was such a fucking chore. But he had to do this, for your sake.

…

And so the next day, he knocked on your door.

When you opened it, you looked up with those big eyes sparkling and beamed like you didn’t just spill your heart out last night.

“I want to talk,” He said as he looked you in the eyes.

He was hoping you’d get the message with how intense his stare was but you just smiled and nodded. “Sure, come in-”

“No,” He cut you off immediately. It was better this way, so he could leave immediately after.

“I want to break up,” he continued.

He watched you stay silent, not showing any emotion, and then blinked before smiling again.

No hint of surprise, anger, or sadness. Like you had been expecting this conversation for a long time. Perhaps you’ve been hurt too much and more, and now you just felt numb.

“No,” you said with a giggle like he was just telling a joke.

“What do you mean, no?” He asked incredulously.

“I meant no, Simon.” You responded a bit more firmly.

“Why? I’ve never even loved you,” He said harshly. Cold and sharp, masking the feeling that was starting to bloom poorly in the cold vessel that was his heart.

“I don’t care..” You said in a softer tone, locking your eyes with him for a few seconds before looking down. “I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way, Simon. Being with you makes me happy”.

“I’m being selfish, I know, I’m sorry..” You added, looking up at him again.

“How?” He couldn’t help but ask, feeling bewildered.

“It just is.. I can’t explain it, can’t really explain love..” You answered with an empty chuckle.

“No, why do you even love me? ” He asked again.

You smiled and tilted your head, the smile reached your eyes as you looked at him with adoration. “You didn’t need to do anything to deserve love, Simon, ” you answered.

And he wondered if you could say that to yourself.

Simon let out a long sigh, letting out all the frustration he felt ever since he first met you. “I’m not really in a state for a relationship right now..” He didn’t mean to say anything about himself, it left his lips before he could stop it. But he hoped it would do something.

“Just give it some time..” You responded.

He frowned.

“I’m not giving up on this relationship, Simon.. or you,” You then continued and looked him dead in the eye.

Stubborn little thing.

He shouldn’t be surprised, should be used to how stubborn you could be, but he was.

He wondered if there was a limit to your stubbornness.

He really regretted agreeing to that first date, he was stuck with you now.

And if he was hurting you before by simply being himself. Now he would actually put in an effort.

Being back to square one where everything you do irritated him. He did his best to avoid you, shut you down with a look whenever you tried to talk to him, not leaving a gap for you to have any hope of things changing.

But despite all that, you still loved him.

Still looked at him like he hung the moon, somehow always managed to find him when he was out for some fresh air. And so he tried leaving his flat less often, but you still knocked on his door every day. He didn’t answer, but when he eventually opened the door, he saw your homemade food packed nicely with a little note.

Like you thought this was just a little fight that would eventually pass if you kept treating him nicely,as you usually did, and kept apologizing.

Always so fucking stubborn.

You were too kind, never cried, didn’t know when to quit, and never run away.

That's why you’d just hurt each other. That's just the way you two lived.

And It really pissed him off.

If being loved made his skin crawl before because he didn’t think he was deserving, wasn’t used to receiving any, like a feral snarling and hissing at some innocent girl that tried to pet it. Now he felt even worse because you made him treat you like this, made him an even more horrible man than he already was . For him to be so cruel to such a sweet little thing, he hated himself even more.

There were worse things he could do. He could make it very clear if he put a hand on you, slapped you across the face just once. But he couldn’t, no matter how horrible he thought he was, how irredeemable his soul was, there was always a voice at the back of his head saying "Don't be like your father" eerily similar to his mum's.

He doubted it would work anyway, seeing his mum still stayed with that piece of shit.

So he did the next worst thing he could think of.

…

Heavy boots stepped into the dimly lit bar, and with a slow, deliberate motion as he settled onto a stool and ordered a glass of whiskey. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the low hum of conversation. His eyes flickered sideways, scanning his surroundings with a sharp unreadable look. The bar was filled with a mix of tired regulars and weekend wanderers. He made no move, but there was something in his posture, in the way his fingers drummed lightly against the bar, that suggests he was waiting for something. Or someone.

His presence attracted attention immediately when he stepped in. Curious glances strayed to him before trailing away at the sight of his intimidating demeanor. He was used to that, he was not new to this game. And as expected, soon enough a pair of eyes lingered. A woman, confident and clearly interested, slid into the seat beside him, nursing a cocktail. She glanced his way, smirking slightly.

“You look like you got a lot on your mind..” She purred with a tilt of her head.

“Maybe.” He lifted his glass, voice still quiet.

The woman took a long sip of her cocktail, humming with intrigue.

“You waiting on someone?” She asked.

“No,” He responded.

And then there was silence, not uncomfortable but thick with something unspoken. He let her watch him, feeling her gaze trailing from head to toe, admiring his physique, and seemed to like what she saw.

But he didn’t meet her gaze directly. Taking another sip of whiskey, he then set the glass down.

“Just.. seeing who’s around.” He mumbled before he finally looked at her.

The woman raised a brow, interest sparking. She then smirked, stirring the ice in her glass with a lazy flick of her wrist. And then leaned in slightly, testing the waters.

“So, just looking? Or hoping to find something?” She asked as she fluttered her eyelashes.

His eyes settled on her like a slow burn which made her blush. Even though his mind was somewhere else, she didn’t seem to notice though.

He lifted his whiskey, taking a slow sip. “Haven't decided yet.” He spoke, not quite answering, not quite denying.

She exhaled a soft laugh. “Mysterious. That your thing?”

He responded with a shrug. “Just don’t waste words”

She watched him for a moment, like she was trying to figure out if he was a challenge worth pursuing. “And if I wanted to waste a few?”.

He didn’t smile, but he set his glass down, turning his body just a fraction more toward her. She was pretty enough, and clearly interested in him. He wasn’t picky anyway, just needed anyone to get this done with.

“Guess that depends on how you’d do it.” He responded.

“Well... I could start with a name..” She said before telling hers and asking for his. But he couldn’t care less. His mind was a mess, making it a struggle to pay attention.

Without hesitation, he gave her an old name he hadn’t used in a while. A name that separated who he was and what he did. And what he was doing right now, was almost as horrible as what he had done in the military.

“Ghost?” She asked playfully like she thought he was joking.

He took another sip of his whiskey and said nothing.

“Alright.. Ghost,” She purred and leaned in even closer, being bolder. “What’s a man like you doing here alone?”

“Maybe I was waiting for someone worth wasting time on,” He answered bluntly.

That seemed to intrigue her even more rather than discourage her. She tilted her head, grinning. He was quiet, but not passive. He was waiting, watching, letting her step into his space but not too close. It was a different kind of confidence. The kind that makes people lean in without even realizing it.

“Lucky me, then,” She said before taking another sip of her cocktail.

The conversation stayed slow, measured. He didn’t flirt the way most men do, didn’t try to impress. He just listened. Let the silence stretch when it needed to. And somehow, that made her want to fill the spaces with more.

Another drink. Another shift closer.

“You gonna make me do all the work here?” She said after a lull in the conversation, tilting her head playfully, teasing.

He blinked at her, slowly. “Thought you were enjoying yourself.” He mumbled, keeping his eyes on her.

She laughed, shaking her head. “You gonna take me somewhere quieter, or are you just going to keep watching me like that?”

Finally. He didn’t know if he could take another back and forth. He just wanted to get to the point.

He didn’t answer immediately. Just finished his whiskey, set the glass down, and stood up.

“Let’s go,” He said. She followed.

The rest of the night was a blur. Lips locking with each other as soon as he opened the door to his flat, his feet moved on their own, stumbling in a dance that led them to his bed. Her hands pulled on his clothes, and soft giggles escaped her lips when he went down on her.

Came to think of it, it was the first time he had brought a stranger over to this flat he now called home. It wasn’t like he was a stranger to one-night stands , but he never could be bothered to ever since he moved here. There had been too much going on in his head, even more so when you started invading his mind.

He regretted it.

Regretted not doing this sooner.

It felt good, to be able to release some steam without feelings attached. To be lusted at without being loved, engaging in pleasure with some faceless stranger he wouldn't meet again. He didn’t need to endure a loving whisper of ‘i love you’. It didn't make him feel vulnerable like when he did it with you, he was fully in charge.

…

The morning light slipped through half-closed blinds, casting long streaks across the room. The air was thick with the remnants of last night—alcohol, perfume, the quiet warmth of tangled sheets. The woman stirred, stretching languidly before she turned towards him, only to find his back facing her as he stood by the balcony, tending to a cigarette.

“Morning,” She said softly, still drowsy.

“You should go,” Simon uttered flatly.

While he couldn’t see her face, he could hear the frown in her voice. “..What?”

He ran a hand through his already messy hair before finally meeting her gaze, his expression unreadable —cold. “Time to go” The words are clipped, no room for argument.

She sat up, gripping the sheet around her, studying him. “Wow. Straight to that, huh? No coffee, no small talk?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, but it’s not quite a laugh. More like an acknowledgment of how predictable this must look. “This wasn’t that.”

He kind of forgot how the morning after was. How some people expected something more and didn’t get the hint from the get-go. He was used to you who tolerated his behavior, never expecting him to be soft or tend to you after. You’d get up and prepare some breakfast , while he laid there and stared at the ceiling.

He turned his head and watched as this stranger’s face contorted in irritation. She was searching for any trace of the man from last night, the one who let her in just enough to make her think there was something worth chasing. But now he’s a wall, solid and immovable.

He was ashamed to say that he had been thinking of you previously and at the moment. That was why he was like this, so this stranger wouldn't hope, just like you who were already attached to him.

“Guess I should’ve seen this coming,” She said harshly, a pity to herself.

“Probably,” He responded just as blunt.

That probably stung more than it should. Good.

She exhaled, shook her head, then threw back the covers and stood up, grabbing her clothes from where they were carelessly discarded the night before. He didn’t turn away, didn’t offer to help— because why should he?

She pulled on her dress, shoving her heels onto her feet before facing him one last time. “Are you always this charming in the morning?”.

“Just honest,” he said flatly, flicking his cigarette.

“Honest? Please. You act like you don’t want anyone close.” She sneered.

Then, he finally turned around to face her. “Now you get it” he said as his soulless eyes met her fiery ones.

Just like that, it’s over. She didn’t say another word, just grabbed her things and walked out, he followed her behind to lock the door.

And then he saw you.

What happened last night was obvious from his appearance alone, looking disheveled, shirtless, with some lovemarks across his chest. And he let you take it all in, he waited for the pang of regret to appear in his chest, for you to react, cry, yell, run. But instead, you just sighed and smiled at that woman when she passed you by.

“I have to go to work earlier today, but I already made you some breakfast,” You said and handed him a Tupperware, kissed his cheek before walking away. Like he didn’t just cheat on you, like you were used to pretending everything was okay.

There was a lump in his throat and he swallowed it down immediately. Regret.

He shouldn’t feel any regret, didn’t allow himself to feel it.

It was cruel to pull the knife out after he’d stabbed you deep. It was better to leave the knife in so you wouldn’t bleed out.

So he didn’t call out to you to apologize or explain himself. He simply turned around and got back inside, closing the door behind him.

Because he knew if he were to change for the better you would just forgive him, and that would be horrible. He didn’t deserve to be loved by you then and even more now after what he just did.

Best thing he could do right now is to continue what he’s doing. To hurt you so you’d eventually hate him and leave.

This is for your own sake.

And so, he continued. Bringing strangers home each night and fucking them without making an effort to be subtle. One time, he did it when you were home, when you could surely hear every noise through the wall. However, it didn’t affect you in the slightest bit. You still brought him food, still greeted him with that fucking smile, still talked to him with endearment. Like nothing happened, or that you refused to acknowledge anything had happened.

His only hope is the almost unnoticeable flicker in your eyes as you tried to hide how this had started to affect you, how you approached him less and less.

But you never left him.

So he’d keep doing what he could do best, to hurt. And maybe, eventually you’ll get it. Hopefully.

…

The night was calm, draped in a velvety darkness that stretched endlessly above, safe for the moon shining brightly. Its light poured through the window, stretching long, pale streaks across the floor, illuminating dust motes drifting in the still air. A distant murmur beneath the hush of the wind. The air was cool, slipping through the open window, carrying with it the faint scent of rain on the pavement.

Outside, the world was at peace, yet his room was steeped in shadow. The air was thick, heavy, pressing down like an unseen weight. The curtains swayed slightly from the draft, their slow movement the only sign of life in the dimly lit room.

He laid on his bed, zoning out as he stared at his ceiling. The stillness around him wasn’t peaceful—it was hollow. The kind that settled deep, coiling in the spaces between breaths. It was one of those days when he didn’t feel like doing anything, content to stay in one place all day.

So he didn’t go out for another conquest tonight. But he did need to eat, so when he heard a knock at his door, he let you in.

Now, the silence was filled with a sizzle of oil, the quiet clatter of a pan being shifted. The warmth of it seeped into the air, cutting through the lifeless stillness that had settled over him like a second skin. He stayed on the bed, while you were there, just beyond the doorway, tending to whatever was on the stove. The soft scrape of a spoon against a bowl, the rhythmic chop of a knife against the cutting board—it was all steady, unhurried, you’ve done it a hundred times before after all. Made him feel like he wasn’t alone.

His breath came a little slower now, his mind drifting between the weight of exhaustion and the quiet pull of that warmth beyond the door. He didn’t get up, not yet. But with you around the corner, the dark didn’t feel so endless.

Whatever bit of calmness he felt then was taken away when he heard another sound coming from the door.

Not a knock, but an insistent banging.

There was a feeling of unease at the back of his head, but he ignored it.

Which he soon realized to be a mistake.

“Coming..!” He heard you yell and approach the door. Being so understanding since you knew he didn’t want to meet anyone at the moment.

He closed his eyes and couldn’t help but listen to the conversation.

When you opened the door, you saw some men dressed in all black towering over you. Their expressions were hard, sharp eyes pinning you in place, giving you goosebumps.

“Is Simon Riley around?” The one at the front asked.

Your hand gripped the handle of the door, wanting to slam it shut but you knew it would make it worse, might get them agitated, and would try to break in anyway.

“Who..? I think you got the wrong place- sorry..” You said as calmly as you could, but it seemed like you failed with how they didn’t seem to buy it.

“Don’t think we do, sweetheart.” The other said and pushed the door open with his feet when you tried to close it. His eyes caught a pair of large boots, Simon’s boots, and then glanced at the other.

Despite your best efforts, the men made their way in and immediately scattered around to search the place. Furniture pushed around, drawers were pulled out to spill all of its content onto the floor.

Eventually, they headed to the other rooms in the flat. And you made a mistake by trying to prevent one of them who approached the bedroom.

You sighed in relief when you saw the bed was empty. But it was too late, they noticed your reaction and knew you were hiding something.

They were now gathered around you, talking in a language you don’t understand. And then, your arm was yanked, you were being pushed around, forced to follow them as they exited the apartment.

“W-wait, where are you taking me..!? let go..!” You screamed in panic which made one of them clasp his hand to your mouth.

“Don’t worry about it, if you’re important enough to him he’ll come to us immediately to save you..” He said, before clicking his teeth when you kept struggling.

“If not- well..” The other one behind you chuckled and reached out to grope your curves. “We could have a little fun before getting rid of you.. you’ve seen too much anyway”.

You froze at the way they leered at you. Tears welling up in your eyes before you fought back like your life depended on it– because your life depends on it.

You bit the hand on your mouth hard, kicking around, pulling, and hitting anyone at arm length.

Didn’t need to win the fight, just needed to keep struggling, make some noise until hopefully someone– anyone noticed and called for help.

They overpowered you easily, and you were starting to give up hope when a damp cloth was pressed to your nose and mouth. But of course, you were stubborn and made them struggle as much as you were.

Everything went in a blur. Suddenly, you were tossed aside when something huge rammed the one holding you to the wall. You laid on the floor, holding your head which was pounding as you tried to focus on the scene in front of you while the world spun. Black dots danced in your vision.

Bloodshed.

A masked figure moved with lethal precision. You couldn’t see his face fully but you were certain of who he was. A knife gleamed in his grip, flashing under the dim light as he drove it into the first man’s throat. Blood sprayed, and before the others could react, he turned, slashing across another’s chest. The man screamed, stumbling backward, clutching at the gaping wound.

He moved like his old name, slipping between them, dodging fists and blades, his knife finding a home in the flesh over and over again. His body still remembered who he was before everything. The Ghost.

One man lunged at him, but he ducked, driving his knife up into the attacker’s ribs. Another came from behind—too late. The stranger spun, slashing his throat in a single, fluid motion. Bodies fell around him, the floor slick with crimson.

It was a massacre.

Simon was hiding outside all this time. He climbed out the window and kept himself flat to the wall as he waited. And he should have just stayed hidden, should have just waited until the help he called would come. That would be smarter, safer.

But he couldn’t bring himself to. Hearing your screams, your cries. He just couldn’t bring himself to do nothing. Perhaps, it was because it was the first time he saw you truly break. And he didn’t like that, even though all this time he tried to break you. Hypocrite.

For the first time ever he wanted to see that damn smile on your face.

It was as if his body moved on its own, slipping inside and going on a rampage.

You didn’t run nor hide, looking around for something to do, to be useful yourself despite how you lacked any knowledge in combat.

A click.

The last man standing, who was trembling, raised a gun. Aimed it at him.

And you didn’t think—you just moved.

He watched you throw yourself between them. A deafening gunshot rang through the air. And white-hot pain exploded at the side of your head.

His eyes widened at the familiar scene flashing in front of his eyes, from when the one he loved died the same way.

Your knees buckled and you fell.

Somewhere in the distance, someone screamed. His own voice that he didn’t recognize, low and furious, filled the air.

He could feel his heart thumping in his ears as he froze.

Another mistake.

Simon was too shocked, too focused on you to pay attention to the last man.

A blinding pain exploded in his chest. His breath hitched as he stumbled, the world tilting. The force of the impact sent him to his knees. He pressed a shaking hand to his shirt, feeling warmth bloom beneath his palm.

He gritted his teeth, forcing himself up. His body protested, his heart hammering wildly—too wildly. His pulse was erratic, his vision blurred, but he wasn’t done yet.

The gunman aimed again.

With the last of his strength, Ghost lunged, knocking the weapon aside just as it fired. The shot went wide. Knife lodged deep into the man’s throat, sending him gasping to the ground.

Then—silence.

His legs gave out, his body slumping against the bloodied carpet. His breath came in short, uneven gasps, blowing warm air beneath his mask. The wound was bad but worse than that—his heart was failing. He could feel it, every skipped beat, every strangled attempt to keep going.

The last thing he heard before slipping into unconsciousness was the distant wail of sirens.

…

When he woke, everything hurt. The sterile scent of the hospital filled his lungs, monitors beeping steadily beside him. He found himself disappointed for waking up once again, for surviving everything, to live another day. Just when he thought it was all over.

His former captain and sergeant,who had been waiting outside, were allowed in after the medical staff checked on his condition.

“How are you feeling Simon? ” John asked as he pushed his former lieutenant back down when he tried to sit up.

“Horrible,” He responded curtly.

John then explained everything that happened. Some old enemies he made in the past seeking revenge. How everything was taken care of during the time he was unconscious.

Simon just stayed silent the whole time. Not relaxing a bit at the news.

Then, John’s voice softened, as if to speak more carefully as he told him about your condition.

Brain death.

Just then, he finally relaxed. His shoulders sagged and he had to hold himself back from sighing in relief

Finally, you were gone.

A cruel thought. But really, it was better for you to not be around him anymore. You would only get hurt more whether he tried to be better or worse, it didn't matter. And if death was the only thing that could save you from him, then so be it. Your life was torture anyway from what he’d seen, as much as his life was. If anything, he was envious.

But then John didn't stop talking.

Simon felt his heart stop as he processed every word, his limbs went cold, and his throat felt constricting.

“The gunshot had torn through scar tissue from your previous injury, weakening your heart even more. The doctors had stabilized you, but your heart wouldn’t last much longer. Without a transplant, you were living on borrowed time.” John explained his injury to him, which made Simon turn his head to look his former captain in the eyes.

No.

John smiled, not noticing how Simon looked at him with horror. “You would’ve died if it wasn’t for her, Simon”.

You were an organ donor.

Of course you fucking are.

He was in need of an immediate transplant and you were there, compatible with him in a way that you two weren’t before.

His ears drowned every word after that. He caught fragments—something about them trying to reach your family, but no one responded, and the consent form you’d filled years ago from when you signed up for the program, became a greenlight to save his life. To give up yours entirely.

"You're a lucky bastard Simon, a rare bird she was." Kyle finally spoke up beside him, and Simon looked at him who sported an apologetic smile. He wanted to punch that smile, because no- he didn’t feel lucky at all.

His heart- your heart, thumped in his chest. Climbed up his throat, to his skull, defeaning.

Simon Riley considered himself to be a level-headed man, all the way from his childhood to his days in the military and after. He wasn’t one to make a scene.

So he didn’t recognize who was being held down to the bed by the men beside him as he started screaming and trashing the bed, almost pulling the tubes that were attached to him.

You were a part of him now.

He could never get you away from him, huh?

taglist : @niazrzl, @iiriam, @defronix

#call of duty #call of duty x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #mbe write #Author has depression #so should you #wrote this during depressive episode #im sorry #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #fic : you can't fix him #mbe's ghost

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prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue · 5 months ago

Text

The children are dead

pt 2 of Damien x Ghoul.sib reader

──► as the two siblings grow ever so closer bonded by the cold love of their 'adopted' family and the monstrosity of their past , life throws them another unyielding cruelty that breaks them both entirely.

Tw : major character death , child neglect , revenge

Edit ty for 42 likes !!

part 1 , part 3

I'm done dreaming.

ACT I

It was late December , the air around the manor was grim and chilly , nothing but haunting and a grim reminder that life was harsh and would never be easy. Damien clenches his fingers within his gloves as he attempts to soak up what little warmth he had.

Bruce and his other siblings stood before him in the patio , discussing events pertaining to last night's stake out. Damien tunes out their annoying , scratchy voices, but his eyes trained to every other possible corner of the room searching for them.

The grandfather ticks by, and the conversation turns dull , he had to hold himself exactly ten times from clawing Dick's eyes out whenever he'd call him a demon spwan or ask him who he's planning to kill. He's at his bloody wits until he see y/n's figure limping in.

Damien pushes back his chair and immediately launches himself towards them. They didn't have to convey words as his eyes already gave away how bloody worried he was with them. He can hear Bruce and the others calling him back, but he can't give a bloody damn about them right now.

He watches as y/n's bloody form lean against the doorframe as they slide to the ground like a limp leaf . Damien kneels with them and place his hand on their bleeding stomach - it was a big gash like a vicious creature took a bite out of them.

" Oh my God, we need to get them to a doctor-" he could hear Stephanie say from behind him, and Damien has never unsheathed his sword any faster . " Shut the fuck up and leave them alone " he growled.

The last time y/n went to a doctor , the medicine they used on them caused them to turn into a ghoul for three days straight - for three days his precious sibling was forced to be driven to insanity as their ghoulish form fought with what little human control they had left to suppress themselves from consuming humans.

His poor sibling wore ghoulish scratch marks on their arms and cheeks for months after their attempt at manhandking themseleves . He can see in the distance Tim opening his big trap to give his unwanted opinion, and Damien sneered at him . His sibling couldn't heal from their medication in his own world , hell - no medication could heal them , they had to hope to God they regenerated fast enough.

" Fuck off Drake " he sneered before crouching before y/n once again.

" What happened ?" He questioned them as he pressed him hand onto their wound to stop the wound from gushing even more blood. " Ran into another ghoul - no - he was an investigator from my world that kills ghouls like me - the undefeated ghoul investigator , Arima," they explained through coughing fits.

Damien stilled. He now knew the gravity of how extremely grim the situation became , the white reaper of his siblings' universe has come to end their demise . He remembered y/n talking about him , about how Arima possessed superhuman strength and his immense 'hatred for ghouls' lead the man to kill hundreds if not thousands of ghouls in his 18 years of occupation.

Y/n gave him a small smile . " I'll be okay," they reassured him . Damien just held them as he ignored the outside world.

Oh, how he wished he didn't believe them that night .

ACT II

January 6th , the night was quiet, and still , the moon casted its opulence across the streets of Gotham. A simply routine was instilled tonight , everyone had a simple stake out tonight .

It was the first night in years Damien and y/n hadn't been with each other on a mission for years - something he'd live to regret later . He found it suspicious, but Bruce insisted he needed to join him tonight to test him out as Robin and y/n had persistently encouraged him to go.

So here he was following Bruce from rooftop to rooftop as they stalked some of Joker's henchmen . For the last hour or so , Damien had checked in on y/n , and they reported they were doing okay and had just arrested some petty thrives for the night.

The hour was coming to an end , and so far, everyone but y/n reported in . Damien grew anxious , and y/n was always a timely person, so for them to be late was entirely unheard of.

Bruce reassured him that they were fine but that didn't stop the nagging feeling in his stomach and it's not like Bruce ever cared about your existence to begin with - only cared you did what you had to do and the thought of it pissed him off.

Damien was now finishing up wrapping up his grappling hook when y/n's frantic voice buzzed through his intercom . " Help me - he's - come quick " came their frantic voice through the static. Damien felt dread weighing like lead through his veins as he clutched onto his own intercom.

" Y/n are you okay ? Where are you ?" He asked frantically but was only left with static. Damien immediately began to leave when Bruce stopped him.

" Damien y/n isn't important right now we have more important things to worry about " Bruce or rather batman says and he held his son by the shoulder . Damien harshly yanked it off . " Leave me the fuck alone - I am going to them and you aren't stopping me " He yells as he grappled off the roof.

Batman calls after him, but Damien ignores him as he grapples his way to the other side of Gotham city . His heart beats heavy in his chest as he appraches your last known location only to see the building left in ruin.

Blood splatters were everywhere, and ruins were left anew . " Y/N !!!!" He shouted as he grappled around the area , eyes frantically looking for your figure . He begs , prays to whatever God out there that you're safe as he continued further as he observes more buildings left to ruins.

Ruble covered the area as far as the eye can see , not a living soul in sight. Damien kept calling your name out , tears practically falling down his face as he continued searching.

Minutes ticked by dreadfully until he finally spots you. Your bloody figure lays there in a bed of red spider lillies. Damien lets out an ear, piercing scream at the sight . With shaky legs and arms, he approaches your figure . Your figure layed still as a gentle breeze blow, causing the spider lillies to brush up against your form like a warm blanket .

Damien holds your form with shaky hands as he keeps repeating no's over and over. Your dead brown human eye stared at him , soulless and unmoving while your beautiful red eye had a jaggery, long sword piercing right through it . Your right arm and both your legs were missing , but still - in the moonlight , you looked calm.

Damien grew quiet as he layed his head on your chest , no longer can he selfishly listen to your heartbeat and relish in the familiar love you bestowed upon him. No longer would he be able to share a laugh with you , your pain , your burdens , your bitter coffees to your exhilarating training.

He would no longer have any of those as now you lay dead , robbed from his safe embrace because life was too cruel and unforgiving and had to take away the one good thing he had his life.

He no longer felt angry at the world. No, he felt awake and mad . Be prepared , Gotham , for tonight two children died and your long awaited recogning is comming with nothing but cold , bitter , unforgiving blood shed.

A crow in the distance let out a war cry as Damien kisses your forehead one last time before the spider lillies cover your form one last time , shadong your innocence from the raging hell Damien is about to bestow upon the world.. A gentle breeze blows, and Damien unsheathes his sword, ready to bring destruction and ruin to the world.

dreaming world

prepare to be

awaken.

Part 3, anyone ?

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giantmultifandommasterlist · 1 day ago

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"Marvel /Reader" Masterlist

Tony Stark/Reader

Battle Scars (18/18) ✨

~ Reader goes to Tony Stark to confess that she's his soulmate, and accidentally becomes his assistant...without him knowing she's his soulmate

ink your blood on my heart ✨

~ Major angst, ships passing in the night (a beautiful reflection on what could have been)

Hopesick ✨

~ Soulmate mark AU, during Tony's crashout in Iron Man 2 he meets Reader and they learn to be broken together...literally such a beautiful meditation on mental illness, grief, and healing; I love re-reading this

Steve Rogers/Reader

Consolation Prize

~ Reader wonders if she's just a consolation prize for Peggy (she isn't)

Dream Interrupted (2/2)

This is how you walk on

~ 5+1 with love confessions

The Dignity of His Choice (8/8)

~ Reader is told that her husband, Steve, died on a mission

where would we be without all the distance

~ Telepathic! Reader is hated by Steve for their powers

Lantern of Evil (in my pants) (14/14)

~ A De-Serumed! Steve learns to love

The Open Space Between Us

~ Enemies to lovers with De-Serumed! Steve

Out of Time (8/8)

~ Reader time travels to the 40s to get Erskine's serum in order to save her Steve...and falls in love with the past version of Steve too

Just a Coffee

~ 40s Pre-Serum! Steve and Waitress! Reader

My Huckleberry Friend ✨

~ Literally the best Steve Rogers soulmate AU, so funny and heartfelt, starts with Nomad! Steve and ends after Endgame

Thought it was a Fanboy (2/2) ✨

~ Reader has Captain America's shield as her soulmate tattoo

Bucky Barnes/Reader

Sky Full of Song (11/11)

~ Siren! Reader and Pirate! Bucky

The Lucky And The Strong (5/5) ✨

~ First words soulmate AU is complicated by time travel

Gonna Be Your Wound ✨

~ Shared pain soulmate AU

set me free

~ Inspired by The Little Mermaid, Bucky is rescued after falling from the train

Vacant Mirrors (10/10)

~ Bonding with Bucky over having the same therapist and being traumatized

Time Has Brought Your Heart to Me ✨

~ Bucky Barnes' soulmate mark was on the arm that HYDRA took from him

These Ties That Bind (11/11) ✨

~ Soulmate AU with identity reveal and lovely miscommunication trope

Bathwater ✨

~ Bucky Barnes is an asshole fuckboy...until he's not (Modern College AU w/ time skips)

It’s Been Calling Me ✨

~ Shared dreams soulmate AU

Peter Parker/Reader

Sunset Lovers ✨

~ Shared writing on skin soulmate AU, college AU

Out of Time

~ Heavy angst, reader dies

Crush

~ Spider-Man is in love with reader, who he visits enough as his alter ego to know she has a crush on someone; unknown to him, that someone is Peter Parker

One in the Same

~ Same basic plot as above

Another Chance (5/5)

~ No Way Home The Amazing Spiderman x Reader

my reverie’s affinity remains to be you ✨

~ Enemies to lovers, college AU

The Room Incident (23/23)

~ And they were roommmates...OH MY GOD they were roommates. This is such a good fic but the ending is INCREDIBLY sad and angsty. The ride is great but no happy ending, sorry folks.

Peter Parker, The Idiot

~ Mutual pining, caring for Peter when he's injured

Do You Like Pizza? (13/13)

~ Post-No Way Home The Amazing Spiderman x Reader

I Miss You

~ Fake character death, reader works for a super villain

That’s Rough Buddy (10/10)

~ Peter B. Parker/Reader (my sad and pathetic little meow meow)

Left Behind (3/3)

~ Set during the Snap, reader deals with a world without Peter

Frank Castle/Reader

Don’t Walk Away (2/2)

~ Love confession goes wrong, and then it goes right

Sometimes love isn’t enough (5/5)

~ Angst, pining, porn with feelings

Matt Murdock/Reader

As your fingers brush my skin ✨

~ Your soulmark is written in Braille

There will come a day we pass each other by, but we’ll probably pretend to not notice ✨

~ Guardian angel + time travel soulmate AU

I’m With You (2/2) ✨

~ "You see color when you see your soulmate for the first time" AU

through the looking glass

~ TW: Reader has anorexia

untouchable

~ TW: Reader is sexually assaulted

Late Night Confessions

~ Reader wants to break up with Matt because he's keeping secrets

Daddy Issues

~ Matt accidentally triggers you

perhaps love

~ 5+1 Matt realizing he loves you

These Broken Things

~ Matt's emotional constipation is putting a strain on your relationship

Strawberry Rhubarb

~ Reader is kidnapped by Fisk

Go to him, therefore, by sea

~ Merman! Matt x Human! Reader

Then Came You

~ Drunk Matt confesses his love

Billy Russo/Reader

Just Beneath The Flames (17/17)

~ Zombie apocalypse AU, Frank Castle/Karen Page

Loki/Reader

The Eyes of the Beholder

~ Gorgon! Loki x Blind! Reader

Passengers (5/5)

~ Passengers AU, space travel

never enough (6/6)

~ Reader is told that Loki is to be betrothed, and that she is to cut off all contact with him

All at Once

~ Reader babysits Loki while he's in the hospital, and they fall in love

one. two. three – one. two. three.

~ Reader is captured by HYDRA, Avenger! Loki

The Nexus Event (18/18)

~ Reader kills Thanos after watching him kill Loki...this triggers a Nexus event

Litklœði (5/5) ✨

~ Hanahaki disease, soulmate AU

From the Void, With Love (25/25)

~ TVA! Loki x Reader, enemies to friends to lovers

Anywhere and Nowhere (15/15)

~ Inspired by Calypso's myth

Why Me? (15/15)

~ TVA! Loki x Reader, Sacred Timeline! Loki x Reader

Moon Knight System/Reader

Tilt

~ Steven missed your date, but it isn't Steven that comes around to explain why he did

Reverence for the Moon

~ You're the high moon priestess

Just a Touch of Your Hand ✨

~ An ink-stain appears wherever your soulmate first touches you

Complicated (26/26)

~ Reader needs someone to walk hre home from work

Come Back to Me

~ Reader dies LOL

Canopic Jar

~ Marc isn't very nice to you, Steven's girlfriend

Batons and Unicorns

~ Avenger! Steven Grant meets the new recruit, a mute shapeshifter

Guiding You to Me ✨

~ Soulmate animal guide AU

I’m getting to know someone

~ Marc's POV of reader's relationship with Steven

Letters to You (2/2)

~ Reader sends Jake letters in an attempt to bond with the elusive alter

Not Him

~ You and Marc bond over the fact that Steven and Layla (your respective loves) are more into each other than either of you

Spirit (4/4)

~ Reader is a ghost haunting the Moon Knight system

Written on Your Skin (3/3) ✨

~ Reader has 3 soulmate names

Two Sides of the Same Coin (4/4)

~ Reader falls in love with both Marc and Steven

#tony stark x reader #steve rogers x reader #matt murdock x reader #frank castle x reader #peter parker x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #loki x reader #bucky barnes x reader #billy russo x reader #iron man x reader #captain america x reader #moon knight x reader #marvel x reader #spiderman x reader #winter soldier x reader

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onehoplessromantic · 10 months ago

Text

Masterlist | Glen Powell

Jake “Hangman” Seresin - Tyler Owens

Updated: 6/7/2025 (link check)

!!authors!! if you want ur work removed please pm me

I’m back again with another one!!! It’s definitely not as lengthy as my other lists (yet) but I’m hoping to find some more for all three. I also figured I’d get a stake in this territory as the Glen Powell fanclub grows post-twisters. I hope y’all find what you’re looking for!

peace 💕

join the taglist here

fluff-> 🤍 | smut -> 🍋 | angst -> 🌧️ | major tw -> ‼️

Jake “Hangman” Seresin

𐚁 BROTHERS BEST FRIEND | @tongue-like-a-razor

13 parts | ongoing | 🤍🌧️🍋

Jake Seresin x Bradshaw!Reader

The trials and tribulations of falling for your brothers best friend.

𐚁 BRUISES | @ohtobeleah

8 parts | complete | 🌧️‼️

Jake Seresin x WSO!Reader

After a mission goes south, Jake finds himself captured by insurgents that show no remorse. But whats worse than knowing he failed his mission? Knowing that the Weapons Systems Officer who trusted him to bring her home safe was in the same cell as him. Collecting bruises that match his own.

themes of heavy violence, sexual assault, torture, 18+ content, minors dni, mature themes, being held in captivity, hostage style situations, main character death! whump, angst, conversations that discuss antisocial and antisemetic views

𐚁 ROCKS ARE ALLOWED TO CRACK, STARS ARE ALLOWED TO DIM | @sarahsmi13s

oneshot | wc: ~8.0k | 🌧️

jake ‘hangman’ seresin x fem!pilot!reader

everyone deserves someone to comfort them in their time of need, even the ones that always lend their shoulder.

angst, language, ptsd, description of accident, panic attack, injuries, descriptions of scars, flashbacks, fear of death, familial death (mentioned), crying, bottling up feelings

𐚁 THE WALLS ARE CAVING IN | @desert-fern

oneshot | wc: 5.5k | 🌧️🤍

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x fem!Reader (known as honey bee/honey)

You are sunshine incarnate, the life of the party who is so free with your affection. Jake finds himself struggling to express his desire to be like you while wrestling with his past, what happens when it all comes crashing down around him? AKA Jake is both touch-starved and in love.

jake has a shit dad, angst, still fluffy tho

𐚁 THE BEANERY | @callsign-peach

oneshot | wc: ?? | 🤍

established hangman x female!reader

Jake goes from drinking the base’s stale coffee to bringing in cups from the cafe down the road from the hard deck, and the dagger squad is determined to find out why.

tooth-rotting fluff

Tyler Owens

𐚁 LIKE MOTHER LIKE FATHER LIKE DAUGHTER | @wisdomssdaughterr

oneshot | wc: 3.7k | 🌧️🤍

tyler owens x harding!reader

you had made a name for yourself in the storm chasing game; it was in your genes, being the daughter of the famous chasers jo and bill harding. tyler found your knack for knowing just what the storms thinking, a little infuriating and incredibly impressive

fem!reader, reader gets injured, mentions of blood and injuries, probably inaccurate meteorological info and medical info, angst, fluff, some hurt/comfort

𐚁 CHASE YOUR FEARS | @briefinquiries

oneshot | wc: 11k | 🤍🌧️

tyler owens x f!reader

you and your younger brother are road-tripping across the US when you encounter a tornado. Luckily, the tornado wrangler himself shows up to help.

tornados, fear, flufffff

𐚁 WORTH YOUR WHILE | @wisdomssdaughterr

oneshot | wc: 2.9k | 🤍🌧️

tyler owens x fem!reader

As the local weather woman, you shared an interesting rivalry with your hometown storm-chaser. While you always reported on the dangerous weather from a safe distance, Tyler barreled into it head-first. But things change in the night of the county fair when you find yourself in the middle of a storm rather than the safety of a newsroom.

dramatic fluff, hurt/comfort, description of tornadoes, language, description of injury, slightly inaccurate meteorological info

Glen Powell

𐚁 HEY THERE DARLIN’ | @shellbilee

6 parts | complete | 🤍🌧️🍋

Glen Powell x OFC (Billie James)

fluff, swearing, angst, eventual smut

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laundryandtaxesworld · 5 months ago

Text

continued from here

idea from @kinardstits

buck smiled as he looked through the baby monitor, emma was about three months old as she was a wiggly baby, but right now she was fast asleep. buck looked at this phone when it dinged. his heart sunk at the notification.

calendar: tommy’s 41st birthday

buck looked at the time. 12 am on november 10th, 2025

“happy birthday my love,” buck clicked on his contacts and went to text tommy’s number. he knew it was stupid but at least he might feel closer to the man he loves. buck scrolled to his contact and clicked on it. he wasn’t faced with the usual options of message, call or face time but instead unblock this caller.

buck never remembered blocking tommy’s contact so he hit unblock, went to their messages and his heart fell out of his chest.

tommy: hey can we call?

tommy: hey, buck are you up for a call?

tommy: i’m going to your loft in 15

tommy: i’m here. can we talk? it’s important.

tommy: you weren’t home, can i call you later?

tommy: please, evan can we talk?

tommy: i guess if you don’t want to talk, i’ll just say it over text. i’m pregnant.

tommy: please, i don’t want this baby to grow up with their parents hating each other.

tommy: i’m sorry i was bothering you. goodbye buck.

that was the last text tommy ever sent him. tears sprung to his eyes as he stared at tommy’s message. pleading to talk to him.

“i’m so sorry tommy, i never saw these.” buck’s tears ran down his face as he started at his phone when emma started wailing, so buck jumped out of bed to sooth her.

as tommy feed emma his thoughts wondered back to tommy, when did buck block tommy? he never remembered doing that, because he loves tommy and if tommy ever needed help, he was there.

but when tommy needed help the most buck wasn’t there.

buck felt hollow as he put emma back to sleep.

if he’d seen these texts then so many things would have been different. he could have been there for tommy through his pregnancy, through labor. he could have been for tommy during one of the hardest parts of his life, but he wasn’t. he was out with the 118 drowning his sorrows with alcohol.

he felt disgusted with himself.

“i’m sorry tommy, i’m sorry, please forgive me. please, i didn’t know. i didn’t see.”

sleep never claimed buck that night. what ifs ran through his head like a freight train of what could have happened. how instead of just having a piece of tommy, he could’ve had all of tommy. he could’ve had tommy and emma.

but he doesn’t, he never would.

so he’ll love emma with his whole body, make sure she knows she loved by both of her fathers, make sure she has a good life.

buck looked back at the baby monitor and smiled.

“i love you my sweet baby girl. your daddy and i love you so very much.”

continued here

#tommy kinard #evan buckley #bucktommy #tw past major character death #911 abc

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blackcoldcrackedheart · 2 months ago

Text

Tw/spoilers: major character death and grief

"He hasn't cried or gotten angry or anything. He's just quiet." Eddie sighed into his hand as he continued to look at Buck, they had just gotten back from the service and were at the station for the reception.

"I tried talking to him, but he kept saying he's fine. Maddie is trying to talk to him, but he just keeps shutting her down." Chimney looked over at where Athena, May, Harry, Michael, and David were standing, being surrounded by Bobby's mother and brother, Ann and Charlie, and the fire chief. What ever the chief was saying was a lot for Athena and Ann.

"I'm surprised he hasn't opened up to you about all this." Chimney admitted, eyeing Eddie as though he was keeping a secret. "Usually Buck tells you everything."

Eddie's eyes turned somber, he looked uncomfortable and cleared his throat. "Usually, not this time."

Eddie had tried. He knew how much Bobby meant to Buck, Buck never hid the fact that Bobby was like a dad to him and Bobby never hid the fact that he had a soft spot for Buck.

He figured Buck would open up to him.

But....

"It's not about me."

It was said with no emotion. Devoid of anything. Just cool with such a flat affect that Eddie was truly worried that his best friend would explode.

He looked to find Buck standing with Tommy, Hen, and Karen. Karen was consoling Hen, wiping away Hen's tears as they talked amongst themselves. And Tommy?

Tommy was standing close to Buck. Not touching each other, like Hen and Karen, but standing closer than most would.

"You think he talked to Tommy about losing Bobby? I know they're not da-"

Chimney snorted, "Oh wow, you're seriously out of the loop."

Eddie frowned, looking at Chimney and then at Tommy and Buck. "They're back together?"

"I don't have to run past everything by you."

Chimney let out a soft hum. "Pretty sure they are. Tommy's been by Buck's side since we lost Bobby."

Things were wrapping at Hen and Karen's house, the couple had decided to invite the group to dinner at their home. A small gathering to unwind after today. They had been up since 7 am for the mass and the wake.

The mood was somber, numb. Despite ordering food for the group, hardly anyone ate.

"Hey, have you seen Buck?" Maddie asked, hitching up a sleeping Jee on her hip. Chimney was quick to take Jee in his arms, "He's not here?"

"No."

Chimeny frowned and looked around to see Ravi talking to May. "Hey Rav, have you seen Buck?"

Ravi looked around, clearly confused and surprised at somehow missing Buck. "Actually, I don't think I've seen him for over an hour now."

"He left?" Eddie suddenly asked, Chimney tried not to jump.

"Wait, you haven't seen him?" Maddie asked, her worry palpable now as she peered at Eddie as though this was his fault.

Eddie shook his head "No", "I tried talking to him, but he brushed me off. Said he was exhausted and walked off."

Chimney felt his brows reach his hairline at that. "Ooookay." He caught Karen's attention. "Hey, did you see Buck leave?"

Karen turned to Hen, ready to say or ask something, but Athena beat her to the punch. "He left."

"Wait, what? He didn't even tell us or say goodbye?" Maddie asked incredulously. She pulled out her phone, pouting as her call to Buck just led to his voice mail. "You dont think he's going to do something stupid, right?" She turned to Eddie, "Did he tell you if he was going to go home or anything?"

Eddie looked pensive, scrubbing his face to save some time in answering.

"I don't think Buck is in the mood to talk to Eddie or any of us right now." Chimney explained as he looked at Eddie, knowing there was more there than Eddie was willing to admit.

Athena shook her head, her lips pulled up in a shadow of a smile. "Notice there's someone else missing too?"

The station was of course opened, the firefighters that were scheduled for overnight were mostly from other stations covering for those who attended services.

They didn't say much to Buck, except their condolences for losing Bobby.

He took a deep breath in and out as he stood on the roof. The night was cool, a slight breeze present that usually would have Buck shivering.

But he had been his formal uniform all day and he was starting to feel warm now. He pressed his hand against his forehead, feeling the sweat and warm skin.

"I have the perfect stew to make you feel better than. Old family secret, so don't try to cheat like last time."

"I know the family secret, Bobby. It's ginger and star annise." Buck chuckled, "You told me last year after I got the flu."

Bobby rolled his eyes, "True, but I like to pretend I have some cooking secrets left to share." He joked. "You know I love coming up here. It's probably one of the few places in the city where you can just hear yourself think."

"Yeah." Buck loosened his tie and unbuttoned his coat. "I know. I figured it's what I needed, after today. Today felt like a nightmare."

Bobby hummed softly. "You know what I like to do during days like that?"

Buck arched a brow, waiting for a reply.

"I like to pray."

Buck scoffed, he hated how his voice broke as he admitted, "Not really in a praying mode, Bobby." He sniffed, "That was always your thing more than mine."

Bobby laughed, crossing his arms, "Yeah, I know. Usually I say something that I know would make you feel better." He pressed his lips together, "I don't know if there's anything i can say to you now that will make you accept that there was nothing you could have done, Buck."

Buck's vision became blurry with tears, he felt his face grow warm, "I-I could have tried. I-I should have broken down the door or something. I should have stayed with you."

"So you could die too?" Bobby asked, sounding annoyed. "Listen to me Buck," he stepped closer to Buck till they were face to face. "You're an important person in my life, Buck, one of the most important. I wouldn't have wanted you down there with me if it meant we both die. You mean too much to me for that."

Buck's lower lip wobbled, he wiped his nose with his sleeve. "Bobby, I-I don't know if I can- how do I-"

Maybe it's the cool air.

Maybe it's just Buck running a fever or something.

But he feels Bobby's hands on his face. "You're gonna have to. Not because the others need you to be strong, but because you need to be able to live." He patted Buck's cheek, "You worked too hard to not be happy, Buck. I've had the pleasure and honor of watching you grow up into this amazing and capable adult and I'll continue to watch you grow."

"You promise?"

"Evan?"

Buck turned to see Tommy standing behind him. He looked worried, his eyes searching for something. "Are you okay?"

Buck sniffed, wiping his nose against. "Yeah, I was just talking to -" He turned around.

To nothing.

No one.

No Bobby.

"Evan?"

It wasn't about him.

Bobby had a family. He had Athena and the kids. He had his mom and brother.

It wasn't about him.

That's what Buck had told himself.

"I've got you. I got you." Tommy murmured into his curls, Buck was gripping Tommy like he was a life saver as he broke down. Sobbing loudly into Tommy's shoulder, three days worth of despair and anguish. "I've got you." Tommy repeated. He pressed kisses into Buck's hair, "I'm so sorry, Evan."

#bucktommy

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bunni-v1 · 5 months ago

Text

Past and Future (Happy Birthday Lighter)

🍓Finished this shit at 4:30am, if y'all don't enjoy this I will kill myself. Anyway had fun writing this, it's more of me fucking around and finding out with Lighter's character, but I think it's fluffy and cute so... enjoy lol

TW: Mentions of Death; Suicidal ideation

Info: Lighter x GN!Reader; Angst to Fluff (?) Kinda?; hurt and comfort (i think??)

Word Count: 2k

December 27th. Two days after Christmas, five days before New Year's. Oddly placed on the calendar, awkwardly smooshed between two major holidays in New Eirdu. To most, it was insignificant, just another day. To Lighter it was something he dreaded each year. Between the holiday cheer and the buzz of excitement for the new year, it was nothing more than a looming cloud dampening his mood.

December 27th, Lighter Lorenz’s birthday, one of the worst days of his life.

He didn’t hate birthdays, they were nice when they were for other people. He had to admit he enjoyed getting gifts for others and seeing their eyes light up when they opened it, and the light atmosphere when everyone sang a horrendously off-key rendition of the birthday song was hard to hate. They were celebrations of the life of that person, a hurrah to cheer them into another long year until the next came around. He just hated his own.

Gifts and cake and warm fuzzy sweet nothings acted only as reminders that he was alive. He was alive, and everyone else who deserved to be wasn’t. Another marker of another year since he lost everything. He wanted to pretend it wasn’t there, maybe sleep until the 28th or run away for a while, but the girls wouldn’t let him.

They’d managed to weasel his birthday out of him about a year into his being here, and they made a point to celebrate it each year. Nothing big, they knew he wasn’t one for huge crowds outside of his fights, but still a party where they showered him with gifts and congratulations that he did not deserve. He didn’t have it in him to tell them to stop.

So, year after year he grinned and bared it with as much grace as someone as fucked up as he could. It wasn’t hard to be grateful for all they did for him, but it was always hard to smile and accept it like he deserved it. The nagging voice in the back of his head reminded him that he shouldn’t be allowed to be this happy, not when his stupidity cost the lives of good people – wonderful people, who he loved.

He usually only lasted until Burnice got out the nitro fuel, then he would quietly slip away from his own party to be alone. The quiet was easier on his mind than the distractions of colorful confetti and sweet cake made just to his taste. He liked to sit in the pain, to recede into that cocoon of hurt, as if to apologize to his friends by torturing himself.

This year was no different, of course. Just as Burnice handed out the nitro fuel, he quietly slunk into the shadows, smiling to himself as the rest of the Sons of Calydon remained celebrating in his steed. He walked his way to his bike, sighing in the cool night air. The breeze on his skin was the only comfort from the hell in his mind.

He let the air out, hand tucking into his pocket to pull out the little thing of candy he carried around on him. The little lemon drops fall into his palm with ease, and he tosses them back with practiced ease. He rarely felt like smoking anymore, but his birthday was always a struggle. The heightened emotions made him want to take the easy route out, to fall back on his old ways and make stupid mistakes in hopes it would make him feel better. Instead of giving in, though, he sucked on those candies like a saving grace. It was the least he could do for his old friends.

As he stopped in front of his bike, he shoved the candies back into his pocket. Taking a second to himself in the quiet of the night. It was almost over, just a few more hours, and the pain would lessen back down to an ache again. A little longer and he wouldn’t have to worry about constant reminders of being alive, and he wouldn’t have to save face for everyone else’s sake.

“Lighter?” A quiet, soft, almost worried voice from behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes softening when he saw it was you. You’d been quiet about his birthday all month, not bothering him with any reminders. You knew, intrinsically, how much he hated it. You always knew everything about him, it was an infuriating quirk of yours that he would never want to go away.

“Hey, dollface,” his voice just as quiet as he raised his arm for you to duck under, “got tired of the party?”

You press yourself into his side, enjoying the warmth of your personal heater, “I saw you leave and I wanted to make sure you weren’t doing anything stupid.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “Me stupid? Never. Just needed some air.”

“Is this getting some air just for you, or could you use some company?” You offer, giving him the reins.

He liked the alone time, he wanted to wallow in self-pity more than anything in the world. His head reminded him that he deserved to be alone on a night like this. Yet, your eyes flutter a little at him, and your lashes brush away those awful thoughts like nothing.

“I’ve always got room for you,” he hums, giving you one last squeeze before helping you on the bike.

The drive is peaceful, the breeze cooling his hot skin like an apology from the world for all he’d been put through. He doesn’t think he deserves it, but he wouldn’t deny the feeling either. Your arms wrapped firmly around his middle, head pressed against his shoulder only calmed him further. It grounded him back in the present, reminding him that the past had long passed and that he still had things to live for.

The Sons of Calydon, who took him in and cared for him despite how distant he was at the start. The Proxies, who took special care to stop by earlier and give him a gift, congratulated him for being so strong and thanked him for his constant help when they needed it. The other former members of his mercenary group who, despite how much he wanted to deny it, held no ill will to him and wished him the best for the future.

And, of course, you curled against his back. You trusted him with your life, and he would easily lay his down for you – not that you’d let him if you had any say. You kept reminding him every single day that he was someone worth loving, that he was more than his past, and that he was the one who could define what his future looked like. It was hard not to picture it without you there, not with how attached he’d become to your little displays of love for him.

Displays like this, following him out of his party to make sure he wouldn’t do anything to hurt himself more than he was already hurting. He smiles warmly back at you as he eases his bike to a stop at his favorite quiet spot. You smile back pressing a kiss to his shoulder before moving to get off the bike.

You intertwined your fingers with his like it was second nature as you walked to the fence at the cliff's edge. From here you could see the endless desert, and the edge of the hollow, the moon peaking over it in an almost beautiful display. He helps you sit on the fence, placing a protective hand around your waist to keep you from falling forward.

Your hand presses his head into your shoulder, scratching at his scalp with such care it nearly makes his knees buckle. Another reminder of what he has that he couldn’t afford to lose. No one has known him the way you know him, no one has ever had the effect you have on him. It was almost enough to make all the horror of his past dissipate in his mind, but a small part of him still clung to it. Unwilling to allow himself to fully forget.

“You okay?” You ask, interrupting the quiet bubble that had formed around you.

He nods, “Thinking.”

“About…?” You urge with a raise of a brow, unbearably cute in his mind's eye.

He smiles, genuine for the first time that night, “About how much I love you.”

You shake your head at him, but you don’t argue with him about how he’s lying, or try and force him to tell you everything. You don’t need to. You always trust that he’ll tell you when he’s ready. It’s another thing about you that he couldn’t risk losing.

You let the quiet fall over you again, leaning into his chest with a content hum. He allows himself to indulge in your affections for now, preferring having you here in his arms than staring aimlessly at the skyline by himself. It was easier to swallow the ache in his throat with you to soften the harshness of the feeling, regardless of whether you knew you did it or not.

He wonders, hopelessly, what his old friends would think of you. They would like you, he was sure of that. You had a personality that would let you fit right in with their eclectic group. The idea of you smiling side by side with them warms his chest, his heart aching as it fades away. A dream he’d never get to see.

He’s not aware that he’s crying, he’s not sure how long he has been crying, all he knows is that you turn to him and cradle his face in your hands. They wipe at his tears without needing to be asked, another quiet reassurance that you cared for him regardless of what was going on in his head.

Lighter sniffles pathetically as his eyes lock with your worried ones. You seem to know what's wrong without him needing to say it, which he likely wouldn’t be able to do if you weren’t able to deduce it on your own. You frown at him, bringing him down to kiss his forehead.

“I’m sorry it’s so hard,” You whisper, wrapping your arms around him.

He pulls you in tightly, desperate for the skinship you offered up, “It never gets easier. Everything is a reminder.”

“I know, that’s okay,” you press a kiss to the side of his face, “I don’t think you need to forget it, Lighter. I think you need to learn how to live with it.”

He closes his eyes, the hollow where they’re buried fading from sight as if looking at it would blind him now. He holds you even closer, letting your words sink in. Learning to live with it, sounded much easier than it probably was. Maybe you were right though, he’d done so much wallowing and running, maybe it was time he found a way to live with the pain.

“Mistake, failure, accident… it doesn’t matter what you call it,” you continue, pulling him back to look him in the eyes, “It’ll always hurt, but that hurt is a reminder of how human you are. You don’t want to lose that. Remember it, feel it, and they’ll never really leave you.”

You swallow, taking him in with those pretty eyes of yours. It’s not perfect, but it’s what he needed to hear tonight. He presses you into a kiss, soft and light and nervous. He was afraid you’d disappear if he was too rough. You melt into it, indulging him like he hoped you would. This was the only way he knew how to show you his appreciation, words would never be enough to display how deeply he cared for you.

When he pulled away you were breathless, face flushed from lack of oxygen, and indescribably beautiful. He smiled subconsciously at you, and you returned the look with all the love and admiration in the world.

“Happy Birthday Lighter,” You say soft as the wind still tussling your hair, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” He repeats back, and he feels the ache in his chest lessen every second he spends looking at you. You taught him a lot since he met you. A lot about himself, a lot about those around him, a lot about you. Most importantly, tonight you taught him that despite his past, he made a future for himself that he should be more determined to remember to protect.

#bunni's treats 🧁#x reader #lighter x reader #lighter zzz #lighter zzz x reader #zzz lighter x reader #zzz lighter #lighter #zzz lighter lorenz #lighter lorenz #lighter lorenz x reader #zzz lighter lorenz x reader

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berlioz-the-kitten · 4 months ago

Text

Needs

Dexter Morgan x Reader

Summary: In the dark corners of Miami, Dexter Morgan and Y/N Sinclair navigate a world of blood, secrets, and an unspoken understanding that binds them tighter than any normal relationship should.

TW: This fic contains discussions and scenes that may be triggering for some readers. Please read with caution.

Violence & Murder – Includes descriptions and implications of homicide, serial killing, and blood.

Sexual Content – Contains semi-explicit and implied sexual situations, including aggressive intimacy.

Non-consensual Themes (Implied/Discussed) – Mentions of potential non-consensual scenarios (though not acted upon).

Death & Grief – Discussions and scenes involving loss of family members, grief, and unresolved murders.

Police & Corruption – Criticism of law enforcement, themes of police negligence, and frustration with the justice system.

Psychological Manipulation – Includes references to dark urges, internal dialogues with a violent alter ego (Dark Passenger), and morally ambiguous actions.

Stalking & Surveillance – Implied scene of a character being watched without their knowledge. (Because Brian is a fucking freak.)

Crude Language – Frequent use of strong language and profanity.

Sibling Death – Mentions of past accidents and murder of a sibling, with trauma.

If you feel any of these topics may be distressing, please proceed with caution or avoid reading further.

Word Count: 14k

(I was gonna split this bitch into two parts because she was getting LONG but decided, fuck it.)

It was late fall, the kind of night where the Miami heat had finally begun to let up, replaced by something almost resembling a chill. The University of Miami’s library was quieter than usual, the usual hum of students thinning out as midterms wrapped up.

Dexter had come for a book—Forensic Microscopy, a dry but useful read he could use as an excuse for being here if anyone asked. The truth was, he liked the silence. The smell of old books and paper felt clean, precise, ordered. A contrast to the messiness of life outside.

He didn’t expect to notice her.

She was sitting at one of the long wooden tables near the back, surrounded by cookbooks instead of textbooks, her hair pulled into a loose bun with strands slipping free. She was flipping through a thick volume on classic French cuisine, tapping a pencil absentmindedly against the page. Unlike most students buried in notes or half-asleep in their chairs, she didn’t look stressed—just focused, reading with an intensity that made it seem like she was picking apart every detail, every ingredient, like it mattered.

Dexter found himself watching her longer than necessary. She had that quiet kind of presence, the kind that didn’t demand attention but held it anyway. When she turned the page, her gaze flicked up just enough to catch him staring. Instead of looking away or pretending not to notice, she raised a single eyebrow.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice low, unbothered. Not defensive, just curious.

Dexter blinked. Most people would have been embarrassed. He wasn’t. Just calculating.

"You’re studying French cooking," he said instead of answering her question.

She leaned back, crossing her arms, studying him in return. "I am a culinary student," she said. "And you are...?"

Dexter hesitated. She wasn’t asking in the way most people did, with the expectation of polite introductions. There was something else in her tone, something that made him feel like she was filing information away the same way he did when analyzing blood patterns.

"Biology major," he said finally. "With a focus on forensic science."

Her expression didn’t change, but something shifted in her eyes. A flicker of amusement, maybe.

"So, dead bodies instead of dead animals on a plate." She tapped her pencil on the book again, thinking. "You ever cook?"

Dexter shook his head. "No."

"Hmm." She closed the book in front of her. "Shame. There’s something satisfying about making something from nothing. Knowing exactly how each piece fits together, how heat and time change things at a chemical level. Cooking’s just science with better seasoning."

He could see the logic in that. The careful precision, the balance. The way something seemingly chaotic had rules beneath the surface.

"Y/N," she said after a moment, holding out a hand like she’d just decided it was worth the effort. "Y/N Sinclair."

Dexter shook it. "Dexter Morgan."

She nodded, as if the name confirmed something for her, then grabbed her books. "Well, Dexter Morgan, since you’re so interested in French cuisine, you can help me carry these back to my dorm."

It wasn’t a question. She didn’t wait for his response before stacking another book on the pile in front of him.

Dexter, for some reason, didn’t mind.

It was a Friday night, the kind where the humidity still clung to the air but wasn’t unbearable, and campus felt half-asleep. Most students had either gone out drinking or crashed early, but Y/N had convinced Dexter to come with her to a small diner just off-campus.

Well, convinced was a strong word. She had mentioned it offhandedly, fully expecting him to decline, and was only mildly surprised when he agreed.

Now, they sat in a red vinyl booth near the back, the hum of the old neon sign outside casting a faint blue glow against the window. A half-eaten plate of fries sat between them, and Y/N was absentmindedly spinning a sugar packet between her fingers while Dexter stirred his coffee without drinking it.

Across from them, Lisa and Theo—Y/N’s two whole friends—watched with barely concealed amusement. They weren’t the kind of people who pried, but the tension at the table was thick enough to cut with a dull butter knife.

“So,” Lisa finally said, her dark eyes flicking between Y/N and Dexter, “how long have you two been… whatever this is?” She gestured vaguely at them, one hand wrapped around her milkshake.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her expression perfectly blank. “Friends?”

Theo snorted. “Sure. Let’s call it that.”

Dexter, to his credit, didn’t react much. He just tilted his head slightly, as if studying the accusation, before finally responding. “We met last year.”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “Yeah, okay, but that doesn’t explain why you two look like you’ve been circling each other in some weird, slow-motion will-they-won’t-they for months.”

Y/N didn’t even pause before popping a fry into her mouth. “Maybe you just have an overactive imagination.”

Lisa wasn’t buying it. “Or maybe you’re just allergic to acknowledging obvious chemistry.” She turned to Dexter. “You have to see it, right? It’s like watching two stray cats who want to fight but also maybe want to cuddle.”

Dexter stirred his coffee again, this time for no reason. “I wouldn’t describe it that way.”

“No, of course not.” Theo smirked. “You’d probably use some clinical forensic analysis instead.”

Dexter’s lips twitched like he was considering it.

Y/N sighed, finally setting the sugar packet down. “Look, I get that this is fascinating for you, but I’m not in the mood for whatever romantic conspiracy theory you’re cooking up.”

Lisa exchanged a glance with Theo. “Okay, fine,” she said, lifting her hands in mock surrender. “We’ll drop it. But just so you know, everyone can see it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and reached for another fry. “Then everyone should mind their own business.”

Lisa just smirked. “Uh-huh.”

The conversation shifted after that, back to classes, campus drama, and Theo’s latest failed attempt at flirting with the barista at the campus coffee shop. But every so often, Lisa would glance between Y/N and Dexter, a knowing look in her eyes.

Dexter, for his part, was as unreadable as ever. But Y/N? She could feel it—the weight of her friends’ words lingering in the air, like a splinter she couldn’t quite ignore.

And when she looked at Dexter, just for a second too long, she knew they weren’t entirely wrong.

The Miami sun was relentless, even in late October, casting sharp golden light over the parking lot of a small sandwich shop just off campus. Y/N leaned against the hood of her truck, sipping an iced coffee while Debra paced in front of her, talking a mile a minute, hands flying in every direction.

"I'm just saying," Debra huffed, shoving her sunglasses up into her messy ponytail, "if I have to sit through another goddamn Criminal Psych lecture where Professor Reed sucks off the FBI, I might actually throw something at him. Like, we get it, dude, profiling is so impressive, ooooh." She waved her hands dramatically. "Maybe if they spent less time jerking off over patterns and actually did some real police work, they'd solve more cases."

Y/N smirked, sipping her drink. "I feel like you’re holding back, Deb. Tell me how you really feel."

Debra shot her a look but cracked a grin. "Shut up." She crossed her arms and leaned against the truck beside Y/N, stealing a sip of her coffee without asking.

Y/N didn’t bother stopping her. "You’re just mad because he called on you and you weren’t paying attention."

Debra groaned, tilting her head back against the windshield. "I was barely zoned out! And it’s not like the dude next to me knew the answer either! He was just better at bullshitting."

Y/N gave a slow nod. "And bullshitting is, what, half of law enforcement?"

Debra pointed at her. "See? You get it."

They stood there for a minute, the background noise of Miami buzzing around them—traffic, music blaring from passing cars, the faint chatter of people coming in and out of the sandwich shop. It was an easy silence, the kind you only had with people you didn’t need to fill space with.

"You coming to the Halloween party at Diego’s?" Debra asked after a moment, nudging Y/N’s shoulder with her own.

Y/N wrinkled her nose. "That mess? I think I’ll pass."

"Why?" Debra dragged out the word like it was a personal offense. "It’ll be fun. Booze, bad decisions, some dude dressed as a sexy vampire throwing up in the bushes. Classic college shit."

Y/N exhaled through her nose, half amused. "Yeah, I think I’ll stay home and not watch freshmen blackout on Jell-O shots, thanks."

Debra made an exaggerated tsk noise. "God, you’re such an old lady."

Y/N smirked. "I prefer refined."

"Right, sure, let’s go with that," Debra said, rolling her eyes. "So what, you’re just gonna sit at home and hang out with Dexter?"

Y/N didn’t flinch, but Debra was watching her, and Y/N knew she had that look—the one that was too sharp, too knowing.

"You guys are weirdly close, you know that?" Debra continued, tilting her head, studying her.

Y/N shrugged, playing it off. "We’re friends."

Debra hummed, unconvinced. "Yeah, well, if you ever get tired of whatever the hell that thing is, you let me know. I actually like socializing."

Y/N laughed under her breath. "Deb, I don’t think you’ve ever once gotten tired of hearing yourself talk."

Debra gasped in mock offense. "Excuse you—I have great conversational skills."

Y/N patted her shoulder. "Sure you do, champ."

Debra shoved her lightly, but she was grinning. "Asshole. Now get in the truck and drive me home before I change my mind and force you to come to this party."

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, tossing her coffee in the trash and climbing into the driver’s seat.

Debra flopped into the passenger seat, kicking her feet up on the dashboard like she owned the place. Y/N didn't bother telling her to put them down.

As they pulled onto the road, Debra turned the radio up, flipping through stations until she found one she liked. Y/N let her, focusing on the drive, the late afternoon light casting long shadows over the streets.

It was easy, their friendship. Even with the questions Debra didn’t realize she was asking.

It started as a small, quiet realization, the kind that crept in unnoticed until it was too late to ignore.

Dexter wasn’t in the habit of analyzing his relationships—not outside of how they served his purpose. He had Debra, the one exception, the person he knew he cared about, even if he didn’t fully understand why. Everyone else? They were pieces on a board, parts of the structure that allowed him to exist without drawing suspicion.

Y/N had never quite fit into that structure the way others did.

And tonight, as he sat across from her in her apartment, watching her work through some intricate dish for a client, he realized just how much space she had taken up in his life.

She hadn’t invited him over, not really. She never had to. Their dynamic didn’t require it. He had just shown up, and she had just let him in, offering a drink without asking why he was there. Now, she moved through her small kitchen with effortless precision, chopping, mixing, tasting. Her hair was pinned up messily, her sleeves pushed up, exposing the sharp lines of her wrists and forearms—stronger than they looked, the result of years in kitchens.

Dexter should have been bored. This wasn’t new, wasn’t useful, wasn’t anything that served him. But he wasn’t bored.

He was watching.

She wasn’t trying to entertain him, wasn’t filling the space with conversation the way most people would. And yet, it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it was easier than most social interactions, easier than pretending to care about meaningless conversations.

He could sit here, and she could do this, and it was fine.

She reached for something on a high shelf, stretching just enough that the hem of her sweater lifted slightly, and before Dexter could even think about it, he stood and grabbed the jar for her.

Y/N turned, eyebrows raised slightly in amusement. “I didn’t even ask.”

“You were struggling,” he said simply, handing it to her.

She gave a short laugh, shaking her head as she took it. “I wasn’t struggling. I would have gotten it.”

“Eventually.”

She huffed, but there was no real annoyance in it. “Thanks, I guess.”

She went back to work, and Dexter sat back down, watching the way she focused, the way she seemed to enjoy the process—not in some sentimental way, but in a methodical one. She liked control. She liked knowing the outcome of her work.

It was a familiar trait.

Time passed, the quiet hum of the radio the only sound between them. Y/N finished what she was doing, wiped her hands on a dish towel, and turned to lean against the counter, crossing her arms as she looked at him.

“You’re staring.”

Dexter blinked. He hadn’t even realized. “Am I?”

She tilted her head, studying him the same way he had been studying her. It made something twist in his stomach—not unpleasant, just unfamiliar.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “You do that sometimes.”

Dexter could have denied it. He should have. But instead, he just looked at her, and for the first time, he had the uncomfortable thought that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as removed from all of this as he liked to believe.

Maybe she had managed to sneak into the parts of him that weren’t supposed to feel.

And maybe he didn’t mind.

It was late. Past midnight. The kind of late where most people were asleep, where the world was quieter, slower. Where shadows stretched longer than they should and things you didn’t want to notice became harder to ignore.

Dexter had been leaving his apartment when he saw her.

Y/N was parked outside, her old truck pulled into the nearest streetlight’s glow, hood streaked with something dark, front grille caked with debris. He hadn’t needed to ask why she was there—he already knew.

She hadn’t noticed him yet.

He watched as she leaned over the hood, methodically plucking something from the metal mesh, her fingers quick and precise, like she was used to it. A bucket of water sat beside her, the rag in her hand already stained. She worked in silence, jaw tight, eyes focused—not frustrated, not shaken, just fixing it.

Like this was normal. Like it was just something that happened.

Dexter stayed in the shadows, observing. He wasn’t sure why.

He should have assumed this was exactly what it looked like. A deer, most people would say. Maybe a raccoon, a stray dog. But the damage was too intentional, too conveniently placed, and he knew Y/N well enough to know that she wasn’t careless.

He should have realized it sooner.

The moments, the little comments, the way she never asked questions she didn’t want answered. The way she had once idly mentioned how easy it was for people to get themselves killed if they weren’t paying attention. The way she never seemed rattled by things that should have disturbed her.

And now, here she was, wiping blood from her truck like it was just another Tuesday.

Finally, she sighed, shaking out the rag before tossing it into the bucket. “You gonna stand there all night, or are you gonna help?”

Dexter blinked. Ah.

So she had noticed him.

He stepped forward, hands in his pockets. "How long have you known I was there?"

She gave him a sidelong glance, then reached for the hose coiled against the curb. "Long enough." She turned the water on, rinsing the last of the grime off the metal, her movements slow, deliberate. "Not gonna ask what I hit?"

Dexter tilted his head. "Do you want me to?"

Y/N huffed a small laugh, not looking at him. "Not particularly."

Dexter watched her, the way she handled this—no panic, no guilt, no urgency. Just... efficiency.

She turned the hose off, leaning back against the truck, arms crossed, finally meeting his gaze.

And there it was.

That thing in her expression, the thing that wasn’t quite normal, the thing that shouldn’t be there but was.

Dexter had spent his life studying people, mimicking them, learning how to blend in. He knew when something was off.

And Y/N?

She wasn’t mimicking anything.

She was just like this.

The silence stretched between them, and he realized, for the first time, that maybe she understood him more than he had ever considered.

And maybe, just maybe—she had been waiting for him to figure that out.

Dexter had been tuning Debra out for the past five minutes, half-listening as she rambled on about the amazing guy she had met at a bar last week. Something about him being a cop-in-training, charming but not too charming, good with his hands—he really didn’t care. Not until she dropped something that caught his attention.

“So obviously, you’re coming.”

Dexter blinked, dragging his focus back to her. “What?”

Debra groaned. “Jesus, Dex, try to keep up. Double date. Me, Kyle, you, whoever the hell you bring.” She took a sip of her beer, then pointed at him. “And don’t even think about saying no. You owe me.”

“I don’t—”

“Yes, you do,” she interrupted, leveling him with a look. “You always do. And before you start bitching about not knowing who to bring, you should just ask Y/N.”

Dexter frowned. “Y/N?”

Debra rolled her eyes, waving a hand in the air. “Yeah, Y/N. You know, your wife?”

Dexter stared at her. “She’s not my wife.”

Debra snorted. “Okay, sure, but you two are already basically married, so it doesn’t really matter.”

Dexter didn’t respond right away, processing that. “We’re not married.”

“Dex,” Debra said flatly, giving him the look. “You show up at her apartment unannounced, she lets you in like it’s the most normal thing in the world, you drive each other places without even asking, she’s the only person I’ve ever seen you sit in comfortable silence with—” She gestured wildly. “It’s a marriage, dude. You just forgot to do the paperwork.”

Dexter tilted his head. “By that logic, you and I are also married.”

Debra gagged dramatically. “Oh my God, never say that again.”

Dexter smirked slightly. “Then maybe your definition is flawed.”

Debra scoffed, shaking her head. “Nope. I stand by it. You and Y/N are some kind of weird-ass, low-maintenance, no-effort couple.” She leaned forward, pointing at him again. “And you are bringing her, because if I have to sit through dinner with Kyle and his roommate alone, I’m going to gouge my own eyes out with a butter knife.”

Dexter considered arguing, but he knew Debra well enough to know she wasn’t letting this go.

He sighed. “Fine.”

Debra grinned, satisfied. “Good. Pick me up at seven.”

Dexter took a sip of his drink, already mentally preparing for the inevitable conversation with Y/N.

Somehow, he had the feeling she was going to find this entire thing hilarious.

Y/N had been expecting something the moment Dexter walked into her apartment.

Not because he looked particularly different—Dexter never looked different—but because he was standing just inside the doorway, hands in his pockets, hovering.

That was new.

She finished tying her hair up, eyeing him from the kitchen. “Alright, spit it out.”

Dexter blinked. “What?”

“You’ve got that face,” she said, walking past him to grab a soda from the fridge.

He frowned slightly. “I don’t have a face.”

Y/N snorted. “That’s the problem.” She cracked the can open, leaning against the counter. “Now, what is it?”

Dexter was quiet for a beat, then finally said, “Debra wants me to go on a double date with her.”

Y/N took a sip. “And?”

“And she thinks I should bring you.”

Y/N stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing.

Dexter just stood there, watching as she set her drink down and covered her mouth, shoulders shaking.

“Oh my God.” She exhaled, looking at him with a mix of amusement and disbelief. “She really thinks we’re that bad, huh?”

Dexter shrugged. “Apparently, we’re ‘basically married.’”

Y/N wheezed. “Jesus, Deb.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Okay, okay, so let me get this straight—you have to go, and she’s making you bring me so she doesn’t have to suffer alone?”

“More or less.”

Y/N shook her head, still grinning. “And you agreed?”

Dexter hesitated. “It seemed like the path of least resistance.”

Y/N smirked. “Ah, so you’re afraid of her.”

Dexter didn’t respond, which was answer enough.

Y/N picked up her drink again, taking a thoughtful sip. “Alright, fine. I’ll go.”

Dexter nodded, as if he had already expected that.

She tilted her head, giving him a sly look. “I’m gonna make this as unbearable as possible, you know that, right?”

Dexter finally moved, walking past her toward the fridge to grab his own drink. “I assumed as much.”

Y/N grinned, already scheming. “Good. At least one of us should have fun.”

The restaurant was one of those dimly lit, mid-tier places that tried too hard to look upscale but still had sticky menus and a faint smell of fryer oil clinging to the air. It wasn’t bad, just pretentious in the way Miami restaurants tended to be.

Dexter had already counted three exits, noted the security camera angles, and cataloged at least two potential weak spots in the building’s structure before the appetizers had even arrived.

Across the table, Debra was clearly regretting her life choices.

Kyle, her date, was fine—blond, broad-shouldered, the kind of guy who probably called his dad sir and did push-ups for fun. He was talking, saying something about police training, and Debra was nodding along, barely suppressing an eye-roll.

The real problem was Kyle’s roommate, Brandon—who, unfortunately, was Y/N’s assigned date for the evening.

Brandon had energy.

The wrong kind of energy.

“So, Y/N, right?” Brandon leaned in, flashing a grin that probably worked on drunk sorority girls but was currently being met with a blank, vaguely unimpressed stare. “Debra said you’re a chef. That’s, like, so hot. A woman who can cook? Total wife material.”

Y/N blinked. “That’s the most 1950s thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Brandon laughed, like she was joking.

Dexter knew she wasn’t.

“Yeah, yeah, no, I mean, I just think it’s cool,” Brandon continued, undeterred. “I make a mean grilled cheese, but that’s about it.”

Y/N took a slow sip of her wine. “Wow. Incredible.”

Brandon either didn’t catch the sarcasm or chose to ignore it. “So what’s your specialty?”

Y/N leaned forward slightly, resting her chin in her hand. “Killing men who think grilled cheese counts as cooking.”

Debra choked on her drink.

Dexter allowed himself the faintest twitch of amusement.

Brandon hesitated. “Uh… ha, ha?”

Y/N smiled sweetly.

Debra, regaining control, slapped her palm on the table. “Okay, this was a mistake.” She pointed at Dexter. “You suck at double dates, by the way.”

Dexter raised an eyebrow. “It wasn’t my idea.”

Debra groaned, turning to Kyle. “You’re the only normal one here. Congratulations.”

Kyle, who had been quietly sipping his beer and watching the disaster unfold, lifted his glass. “Thanks, I guess?”

Brandon, still valiantly trying to salvage the situation, turned back to Y/N. “So, like, what do you do when you’re not working?”

Y/N tilted her head, considering. “Mostly run people over with my truck.”

Brandon laughed again. “Man, you’re funny.”

Dexter noticed the way Y/N’s lip just twitched, the way her fingers tapped idly against the stem of her wine glass. He had seen her do this before, when she was thinking, calculating.

It was an odd thing, seeing himself in someone else.

Brandon, blissfully unaware, leaned in again. “You ever gonna let me take you out for real?”

Y/N stared at him for a long moment, then turned to Dexter, deadpan. “Husband, tell him no.”

Dexter, without missing a beat, looked at Brandon. “No.”

Brandon blinked. “Wait—”

Debra snorted. “Oh, my God.”

Y/N clinked her glass against Dexter’s. “Good teamwork.”

Dexter hummed. “We are practically married.”

Debra groaned into her hands. “I hate both of you.”

Kyle took another sip of his beer. “This is way more fun than I expected.”

Brandon, thoroughly confused, leaned back in his seat, finally—finally—accepting defeat.

Y/N, victorious, took another sip of wine.

Dexter, for the first time that night, actually enjoyed himself.

Y/N was elbow-deep in flour when Dexter knocked on her apartment door.

It was open, like always, so he stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. The smell of something buttery and warm filled the air, a half-finished pie crust sitting on the counter.

Y/N glanced up, brushing flour off her hands. “You look like you’re about to say something weird.”

Dexter tilted his head. “How do you know?”

“Because I know you,” she said, grabbing a dish towel to wipe her hands. “And also because you’re standing there like you just made a decision and haven’t worked out how to phrase it yet.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Dexter had spent a long time trying to figure out why this was different. Why she was different.

The answer was surprisingly simple:

It didn’t feel different.

There was no pressure, no expectation. No need to analyze how much effort it took to maintain. It just was.

Everyone already assumed they were together.

Maybe it was time to stop pretending otherwise.

So instead of overthinking it, he just said, “Do you want to go out?”

Y/N blinked. “Go out?”

“On a date.”

She stared at him for a second longer, then huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. “Huh.”

Dexter waited. “Is that a yes?”

Y/N leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Took you long enough.”

Dexter frowned slightly. “So you were expecting this?”

“Not expecting, just... not surprised.” She grabbed a fork and started absentmindedly poking holes into the pie crust. “Debra’s been saying we’re basically married for months, Theo and Lisa definitely have a bet going on when we’d cave, and half the people we know already assume we’re together anyway.”

Dexter considered that. “So this is just a formality?”

Y/N smirked. “Pretty much.”

Dexter nodded. “Alright, then.”

Y/N tossed the fork into the sink. “I assume you’ve got an actual plan?”

“I was going to take you to dinner,” Dexter said. “But considering you hate restaurants, that feels counterproductive.”

Y/N’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “You actually thought about it?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” She studied him, then wiped her hands off again, finally moving toward the door. “Alright, let’s go.”

Dexter blinked. “Now?”

Y/N shrugged. “Why not?”

“You’re covered in flour.”

She smirked, brushing a streak of it from her sleeve. “And you asked me out five minutes ago without warning, so I guess we’re both winging it.”

Dexter considered that. Then nodded.

Fair enough.

As they stepped outside, Y/N glanced sideways at him, her smirk shifting into something amused.

“So,” she said. “You gonna tell Deb, or should I?”

Dexter sighed. “Let’s just get this over with first.”

Y/N grinned. “That’s the spirit, husband.”

Dexter had expected their first date to feel different.

He had expected some kind of shift, a noticeable change in dynamic, maybe even a flicker of unease. Because dating—real dating—was something he didn’t do. It was something that required emotions he wasn’t sure he had, something that came with expectations he didn’t entirely understand.

But as he sat across from Y/N in a small hole-in-the-wall diner, watching her pick through her fries while casually arguing with the waitress about why their ‘famous’ key lime pie definitely wasn’t as good as they claimed, he realized—

It wasn’t different at all.

Y/N was the same. She hadn’t changed, hadn’t suddenly become someone who expected flowers or dramatic declarations or any of the other things that usually came with relationships.

She was still stealing food off his plate like it was her right, still kicking his shin under the table when he rolled his eyes at her, still perfectly comfortable in a way that most people never were with him.

The only difference now was that the rest of the world knew.

"So," Y/N said, popping a fry into her mouth, "should I be worried that you picked a diner across from a police station for our first date?"

Dexter glanced out the window at the station across the street, then back at her. "I didn’t notice."

Y/N snorted. "Bullshit. You always notice."

Dexter took a sip of his drink. She wasn’t wrong.

Y/N smirked like she knew exactly what he was thinking. “Right. Just making sure I didn’t accidentally sign up to be your alibi or something.”

Dexter tilted his head slightly. “Would you?”

Y/N leaned back in her seat, studying him. “I guess that depends.”

“On what?”

She took another fry, chewing thoughtfully. “How good your reasoning is.”

Dexter watched her, the amusement in her eyes, the way she was always a step ahead, always considering things most people never would.

Most people asked questions they wanted answers to.

Y/N asked questions just to see what he’d say.

And, strangely, he liked that.

The waitress came back, dropping the check on the table with a suspicious glance at Y/N, who just grinned.

Dexter pulled out his wallet, but before he could reach for the bill, Y/N swiped it.

"Absolutely not," she said.

Dexter raised an eyebrow. "You’re paying?"

"Damn right I am." She tucked the check into her pocket, finishing off her drink. "You asked me out five minutes before I finished baking a pie. You didn’t even let me change my shirt."

"You said yes."

"Yeah, but now I’m setting a precedent. If you want a second date, you’re gonna have to actually plan something."

Dexter considered that. "Noted."

Y/N smirked, grabbing her jacket. "Alright, let’s go. I want ice cream."

Dexter stood, falling into step beside her as they walked out of the diner.

It should have felt different.

It didn’t.

And for once—he was okay with that.

It was supposed to be a normal afternoon.

Debra had swung by Y/N’s apartment unannounced, which wasn’t unusual. She did that all the time, mostly to complain about work, steal snacks, and pretend she wasn’t just avoiding her own place.

What was unusual was the fact that when she stepped inside, Dexter was already there.

That wasn’t the weird part.

The weird part was that Y/N was stretched out across his lap on the couch, head resting against his shoulder, legs draped over the armrest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And Dexter?

Dexter, the weirdest, least touchy person she had ever met, was just letting it happen.

Not awkwardly. Not like he was tolerating it. Just… existing with it.

Debra froze in the doorway, eyes wide.

Y/N lifted her head slightly, raising an eyebrow. "Uh. You good?"

Debra pointed at them. "What the fuck is this?"

Y/N blinked. "A couch?"

"You know what I mean!" Debra shot a look at Dexter, who, of course, looked completely unbothered. "Are you guys actually dating now?"

Dexter tilted his head slightly, like he was only now realizing this was something that required saying out loud. "Yes."

Debra stared. "Since when?"

Y/N shrugged, shifting so she was sitting up but still pressed against Dexter’s side. "A while now."

"And you didn’t tell me?"

Y/N smirked. "Deb, you’ve been calling us married for, like, a year. We figured you already knew."

"I was joking!"

Dexter raised an eyebrow. "Were you?"

Debra sputtered. "Okay, yeah, maybe I suspected—but still! I was supposed to get an official announcement or something!"

Y/N rolled her eyes. "What, you want a fucking press release?"

Debra crossed her arms. "It would’ve been nice."

Y/N leaned into Dexter, grinning. "You hearing this? She wanted us to romantically tell her we’re dating."

Dexter, as dry as ever, said, "Should we have sent flowers?"

Debra groaned. "Oh, my God, you two are unbearable."

Y/N patted her knee. "Welcome to the club, babe."

Debra just shook her head, dropping onto the chair across from them. "Whatever. You still should have told me."

Y/N smirked. "You should have guessed faster."

Dexter, watching Debra’s exasperation with something just barely resembling amusement, leaned back into the couch.

He had a feeling this conversation would be happening a lot.

Dexter had never put much thought into physical affection. It wasn’t something he craved, wasn’t something that fit with the carefully constructed version of himself he had built over the years.

And yet, somehow, Y/N had managed to ignore all of that.

She had always been casual about touch—leaning against him during late-night study sessions, throwing her legs over his lap when they were on the couch, ruffling his hair just to be annoying. It had been easy to dismiss when they were just friends.

But now?

Now, she had leaned into it, and he had started to realize just how much she had held back before.

The first time she curled up against him on the couch after they had officially started dating, it should have felt strange. He had braced himself for it, expecting discomfort, irritation, something.

But nothing came.

She had draped herself across him with all the ease of someone who had never questioned whether or not she was allowed to, like it was just a given that she could. Her head rested against his shoulder, fingers idly tracing patterns on the inside of his wrist while she flipped through a magazine with her other hand.

He had stayed still at first, waiting for something inside him to protest.

It didn’t.

And the more it happened, the more he realized—he didn’t mind.

Y/N wasn’t clingy about it, wasn’t performative. She never did it in public, never put him in situations where he felt like he was supposed to react a certain way.

She just was.

She would curl up in his lap when she was tired, rest her chin on his shoulder while he read through case files, lazily drag her fingers through his hair when they sat together in silence.

She never asked, never hesitated.

And Dexter let her.

Because, really, it wasn’t that different from before.

It was just Y/N, in the way she had always been—comfortable, unbothered, completely unconcerned with the idea that he was supposed to be different, supposed to be wrong about these things.

So he didn’t overthink it.

Didn’t push her away.

Didn’t tell her to stop.

Because, at the end of the day—

He didn’t want her to.

Dexter hadn’t meant to overhear.

He had come over like he always did, using the key Y/N had given him months ago, expecting to find her in the kitchen or sprawled across the couch like usual. Instead, he found her standing by the window, phone pressed to her ear, her back to him.

She didn’t hear him come in.

“I know, Mom,” Y/N said, voice quieter than usual. “I know.”

Dexter hesitated, lingering in the doorway. He could have left, could have waited outside or made some noise to announce himself—but something in her posture kept him rooted in place.

She was tense. Not in the way she got when she was irritated or faking patience, but in a way he had only seen a few times before.

A way that made him stay.

“I just—” Y/N exhaled sharply, one hand coming up to press against her forehead. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” A pause. “Yeah. I miss him too.”

Dexter didn’t need to ask who she was talking about.

Her brother.

It had been a year since he was murdered.

Y/N never talked about it, not really. She had mentioned it once, briefly, in the same flat, matter-of-fact tone she used when explaining why she hated a particular restaurant or why she didn’t drive through certain parts of Miami after dark.

But now, listening to her talk, it was different.

“Yeah,” Y/N murmured. “I know the police haven’t found anything.” A sharp edge crept into her voice. “Not like they’re trying.”

Dexter could hear her mother’s voice, muffled through the receiver.

Y/N swallowed. “No, I haven’t—” She stopped, pressing her lips together, eyes fixed on the window.

Dexter watched the way her fingers tightened around the phone, the way she exhaled through her nose like she was forcing herself to stay composed.

“Mom,” she said, softer now. “You have to let it go.”

A long pause. Y/N’s free hand curled at her side.

“I—” She hesitated, voice catching just slightly before she cleared her throat. “I can’t fix it. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

Dexter tilted his head.

It was rare to see her like this, to hear her sound like this.

Eventually, Y/N sighed. “I’ll call you later, okay?” She was already pulling the phone away from her ear, already done with the conversation before her mother had even finished speaking. “Yeah. Love you too.”

She hung up, exhaling sharply, running a hand over her face before turning—

And immediately freezing when she saw him.

They stared at each other for a moment.

Y/N was good at masking things. She had a way of brushing off discomfort with sharp humor and easy deflection, of making people believe she didn’t care as much as she did.

But Dexter had been watching her for a long time.

And right now, she wasn’t hiding as well as she thought she was.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked, voice a little too light, too casual.

Dexter considered lying. Decided against it.

“A while.”

Y/N sighed, tilting her head back slightly before leveling him with a look. “And?”

He studied her, the tension still sitting in her shoulders, the way she was already preparing to brush this off, to move on.

Most people would have tried to comfort her.

Most people would have said something meaningless, something empty, something that was more about them than about her.

Dexter just walked over, sat on the couch, and waited.

Y/N hesitated.

Then, after a moment, she sat down next to him, leaning into his side, pressing her forehead against his shoulder.

Neither of them said anything.

They didn’t have to.

Y/N had barely unlocked the door before Dexter was on her.

There was no hesitation, no usual quiet calculation in his movements—just action. His hands found her face, fingers pressing into her jaw as he pushed forward, kissing her like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t Dexter.

And yet, she didn’t pull away.

She let him consume the space between them, let him back her up into the apartment, let him press her against the door for just a second before she finally broke the kiss, sucking in a breath.

“Jesus,” she muttered, blinking up at him, lips tingling. “What the hell was that?”

Dexter didn’t answer. His pupils were blown wide, his breathing just a little too fast. His hands slid from her face to her hips, firm, deliberate.

Y/N opened her mouth to ask again, but before she could, Dexter moved—gripping her wrist, steering her through the dimly lit apartment, walking her backward until her knees hit the edge of the bed.

He pushed her down—not roughly, but with purpose.

And then it clicked.

Her brain caught up, piecing it together all at once—his body language, the energy radiating off him, the way his hands were still trembling slightly where they gripped her hips.

She knew this look.

Not because she had ever seen it on him before—but because she had seen it in the mirror.

Y/N exhaled slowly, studying him from where she lay beneath him. “You did it, didn’t you?”

Dexter stilled.

Just for a second.

Then, slowly, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched.

Y/N huffed a small, breathless laugh. “Holy shit.”

She had known. Of course she had known.

She had always suspected—had known that whatever it was inside him, it wasn’t normal, wasn’t easily ignored. She had just never expected to be here, like this, with him vibrating with something just under his skin, something electric, something alive.

She lifted a hand, trailing it up his arm, up to his jaw, tilting his face toward hers.

His breathing was still unsteady, but the moment her fingers brushed his cheek, something shifted.

His eyes flickered, lips parting slightly, as if realizing he hadn’t pieced this part together yet.

Y/N smirked.

“Well,” she murmured, fingers ghosting down to his collar, tugging him just a little closer. “Now I really have to know how it went.”

The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing, the kind of quiet that only existed in the aftermath of something big. The dim glow from the streetlights outside barely touched the edges of the bed, casting long, lazy shadows across the walls.

Dexter lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, still feeling the lingering hum of adrenaline in his veins. It wasn’t the same as before—wasn’t the wild, uncontrollable energy that had gripped him when he first showed up at her door.

Now, it was settled.

Y/N shifted beside him, stretching like a cat, her bare leg brushing against his as she turned onto her side. He felt her gaze on him before she even spoke.

“Well,” she murmured, voice low, amused. “At least you killed two—well, technically three birds with one stone.”

Dexter turned his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Three?”

She smirked, lazily running a hand through her hair. “First kill, first kiss, first time. All done in one night.”

Dexter blinked.

Huh.

She wasn’t wrong.

He hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t registered that all three of those things had collided in the same span of hours, hadn’t processed that this night had been one of firsts for him in more ways than one.

It should have felt big.

But lying here, looking at her, it didn’t feel like some monumental shift. It just felt… right.

Y/N stretched again, exhaling a sigh. “Kind of impressive, actually.”

Dexter hummed. “Efficient.”

Y/N grinned, eyes gleaming in the dark. “God, you’re such a fucking nerd.”

He turned onto his side, facing her, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. It wasn’t something he would have normally done, wasn’t something that had ever come naturally to him before. But right now, it felt easy.

Y/N stilled, watching him.

For once, she didn’t have some sharp, teasing remark ready.

And for once, he didn’t feel the need to fill the space with words.

They just existed, in the quiet, in the aftermath, with the weight of the night pressing around them.

Eventually, Y/N broke the silence, smirking. “So… you gonna tell me about it?”

Dexter considered her for a moment.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

And Y/N just grinned, settling in, ready to listen.

The kill should have been enough.

It was enough.

Everything had gone perfectly—every step executed with the precision he had spent years refining. The plastic, the blade, the ritual. The Dark Passenger had taken what it wanted, what it needed, and the body was gone, discarded into the ocean like it had never existed.

He should have felt calm now. Settled.

But he wasn’t.

His hands were steady, his heartbeat had slowed, but something inside him was still alive, still humming, still demanding more.

It wasn’t the need to kill.

It was something else. Something restless.

Something wrong.

Dexter stood in the darkness, staring at the rippling water where his first kill had disappeared, and felt his skin buzzing with an energy he didn’t know how to name. The Dark Passenger had fed, but it wasn’t done with him.

And before he had even processed what he was doing—before he could analyze, or calculate, or question—

He was moving.

Not home.

Not anywhere he had planned to go.

He was going to her.

There was no logic behind it. No carefully laid out reason.

Only instinct.

By the time he reached her apartment, his mind was a blur of static. His breath was controlled, but everything else inside him was spiraling, the excess energy building, pressing against his ribs like something caged.

He barely knocked.

Barely waited.

The door opened, and there she was—Y/N, her hair up, her expression relaxed, the familiar ease in her posture—

And then his hands were on her.

She barely had time to react before his mouth was on hers, before he was pushing into her space, consuming it, gripping her like she was the only solid thing left in the world.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t careful.

It was primal.

And for the first time in his life, Dexter wasn’t thinking.

He was feeling.

Dexter walked into Miami Metro the next morning feeling… different.

Not visibly. Not in any way most people would notice. But there was a stillness inside him that hadn’t been there before, a strange quiet that wasn’t just the usual post-kill satisfaction.

He wasn’t restless. He wasn’t wound tight.

He felt… good.

Apparently, that was enough for someone to notice.

"Well, well, well," Masuka’s voice rang out before Dexter had even reached his desk. "Look who’s walking in here all loose and refreshed."

Dexter barely glanced at him. "Loose?"

Masuka grinned, leaning back in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers. "You just got that look, man. The one people have when they’ve been properly… relaxed."

Dexter stared at him blankly. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Oh, come on." Masuka gestured wildly. "You, my friend, look way less serial killer-y than usual today. And there’s only one reason for that."

Across the bullpen, Angel was watching with mild amusement. "Masuka, don’t be weird."

Masuka scoffed. "I’m always weird."

Angel sighed, standing up and crossing his arms, giving Dexter a once-over. Then, with the confidence of a man who had seen it all, he nodded sagely.

"Yeah," he said. "You got some."

Dexter blinked. "Excuse me?"

Masuka pointed at him. "See? He got some. He’s all calm now."

Dexter, who had literally committed murder the night before, was mildly fascinated by the fact that this was what they were picking up on.

"That’s ridiculous," he said flatly.

Angel grinned, nudging Masuka. "Which means it’s true."

Masuka wagged his eyebrows. "So who’s the lucky lady, huh? I mean, obviously, I know it’s Y/N, I just wanna hear you say it."

Dexter was going to shut this down—was already preparing a deflection—

And then, from behind them, someone cleared their throat.

The conversation died instantly.

Dexter turned his head just enough to see Harry, standing a few feet away, arms crossed, an expression that could only be described as a displeased father hearing his kid’s entire sex life in the middle of a crime lab.

Masuka immediately tried to look busy.

Angel coughed into his hand.

Harry just stared at Dexter.

Dexter stared back.

Then, finally, Harry sighed. "Jesus Christ, Dex."

Dexter exhaled. "I’m going to my lab."

Angel patted his shoulder as he passed. "Congrats, man."

Dexter ignored him.

Masuka just grinned. "Man, I love this job."

The first time Y/N ever set foot inside Miami Metro, it was out of sheer necessity.

She hated police stations. Hated the smell of burnt coffee and cheap cologne, the way officers sat around bullshitting while open cases collected dust. She hated the feel of it, the weight of institutional indifference pressing down on her chest.

And yet, here she was.

She stepped inside, moving quickly, eyes forward, posture stiff. The place was loud—phones ringing, detectives talking, Masuka laughing at something obscene. It made her skin crawl.

Nobody noticed her. Nobody cared.

Good.

She wasn’t here to be noticed.

Y/N walked straight to Dexter’s lab, not making eye contact with anyone. If she was lucky, she could get in, talk to him, and get out before—

"Y/N?"

Shit.

She turned her head, already irritated, only to see Debra standing a few feet away, eyebrows raised.

Debra had known about her distaste for cops—had never pried too much about it, but had definitely noticed the way Y/N always changed the subject when Miami Metro came up in conversation.

So, yeah, she looked surprised.

Y/N sighed. "I’m just here for Dexter."

Debra folded her arms, tilting her head. "You’re actually inside Miami Metro and I didn’t even have to drag you here? What’s the occasion?"

"None of your business," Y/N said flatly.

Debra smirked. "So, Dexter-related business."

Y/N didn’t confirm or deny it. She was already done with this conversation.

Debra studied her for a second, then nodded toward the hall. "Lab’s that way, sweetheart. Go do your Dexter-related business before someone tries to rope you into an interrogation room."

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, slipping past her and making a beeline toward the lab.

By the time she got there, Dexter was already looking up from his microscope, reading her like an open book.

"You hate it here," he noted.

"Sharp as ever, Morgan," she said dryly, closing the door behind her.

Dexter leaned back against the counter, studying her. "Then why are you here?"

Y/N exhaled, crossing her arms. "Because I need to talk to you, and I didn’t want to wait until later."

Dexter nodded like that made sense.

And, for him, it probably did.

Y/N glanced toward the bullpen, where cops laughed and ignored the cases on their desks, where her brother’s file had once sat before being shoved into a drawer and forgotten.

She looked back at Dexter.

"You’re the only one in this place that’s worth a damn," she muttered.

Dexter tilted his head slightly, like he was considering that.

Then, quietly, he said, "I don’t think that’s true."

Y/N shrugged. "It is to me."

Dexter didn’t argue.

Because he knew, to her, that was all that mattered.

It happened so fast that Y/N barely registered she had said anything until the silence hit the room.

It had started as an offhand comment from Debra—something about Miami Metro, about how at least they got results, about how not every precinct was a mess.

And Y/N had scoffed.

Not loudly. Not dramatically.

Just enough that it was heard.

Harry had looked at her immediately.

So had Debra.

Dexter, sitting beside her on the couch, didn’t react, but she knew he had noticed.

Debra frowned, crossing her arms. "What?"

Y/N exhaled, tapping her fingers against the side of her glass. She shouldn’t have said anything. Should have let it slide. But it was already out there, and now Deb was staring at her like she had just insulted her entire existence.

Y/N shrugged. "Nothing."

Harry tilted his head slightly. "Didn’t sound like nothing."

Y/N huffed a breath, setting her drink down. "Look, I get that this is your thing, but not everyone has a reason to worship at the altar of law enforcement."

Debra’s eyes narrowed. "Oh, so we’re doing this now?"

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Deb—"

"No, seriously," Debra said, arms crossed. "Do you actually think all cops are bad, or are you just being an asshole for fun?"

Y/N clenched her jaw. "Your cops didn’t give a shit when my brother was stabbed to death and left to bleed out in an alley."

The words hit the air with weight.

Debra’s mouth snapped shut.

Y/N exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. "Everyone in my family talked to the cops—my mom, my dad, Sean, Lily, Keegan, me—we pushed for months. We gave them names. We gave them places. We did everything we were supposed to do." She shook her head. "And you know what they told me the last time I walked into that station?"

Nobody answered.

Y/N let out a humorless laugh. "They told me to move on."

Harry’s expression didn’t shift, but she could feel the weight of his gaze.

Debra looked like she wasn’t sure whether to be pissed off or guilty.

Y/N exhaled again, rubbing her temple. "So yeah," she muttered, "I don’t really have a reason to believe in the system. Sorry if that offends the family business."

A long silence stretched between them.

Then, finally, Harry said, "I don’t blame you."

Y/N’s head snapped up.

Harry was watching her, his expression unreadable, but his voice was even. Calm.

"You lost someone," he said. "You did what you were supposed to do, and it got you nowhere. I’d be angry, too."

Y/N stared at him, waiting for the but.

It didn’t come.

Harry just nodded once, then looked at Dexter. "Walk me out?"

Dexter stood immediately, following his father to the door, and just like that, the tension in the room shifted.

Debra was still staring at Y/N.

Y/N sighed, leaning back into the couch, running a hand over her face.

"You know I don’t mean you," she muttered.

Debra huffed. "Yeah, I know."

Neither of them said anything for a moment.

Then, finally, Debra slumped into the chair across from her. "That’s still fucked up, though."

Y/N gave a dry laugh. "Yeah."

The room stayed quiet after that.

Y/N didn’t apologize.

And Debra didn’t ask her to.

The streets of Miami were always busy, especially in the evenings when the heat of the day had finally started to settle, but Y/N had never minded crowds. People were easy to read when they were in a hurry—too distracted, too focused on their own lives to pay much attention to the world around them.

Which was probably why she didn’t notice him until she walked right into him.

“Shit, sorry—” she muttered, stepping back instinctively, hands up slightly in reflex.

The guy barely moved.

Tall, lean, dark hair—not in a way that stood out, but in a way that would make him forgettable to anyone who wasn’t paying attention.

But Y/N?

She was paying attention now.

He smiled. “No harm done.”

That should have been the end of it. A quick bump on a busy sidewalk, a passing apology, nothing more.

But the moment Y/N looked at him, something was off.

The way he was watching her—not in an aggressive way, not in the way most men did when they were about to say something they shouldn’t.

No.

It was something else.

Something… assessing.

Like he was the one trying to figure her out.

Y/N blinked, stepping back slightly, suddenly hyper-aware of the way his posture was just a little too relaxed, the way his smile lingered just a second too long.

Most people wouldn’t have noticed.

But she did.

She had seen this before.

Not often, but enough.

Her stomach twisted slightly—not with fear, but with something closer to instinct.

She exhaled, tilting her head just slightly, watching him the way he was watching her.

Then, she smiled.

Nothing big. Just a small, sharp thing.

His smile twitched.

Like he saw what she was doing.

Y/N let the silence drag just a second longer before finally saying, “Take care.”

And then she stepped past him and kept walking.

She didn’t look back.

Didn’t need to.

But she felt it.

Felt his gaze lingering, just for a moment, before he finally turned and disappeared into the crowd.

And the whole way home, the only thing she could think was—

Who the fuck was that?

Brian had always known his little brother was different.

From the first moment he laid eyes on him after all those years apart, he could see it—the carefully controlled mask, the methodical way he moved, the way he pretended so flawlessly that sometimes even Brian wondered if Dexter had convinced himself he was normal.

But this?

This was something he hadn’t expected.

He stood in the shadows, watching through the barely open blinds of Y/N’s dimly lit apartment, and grinned.

Because this—this—was raw.

Dexter had come to her immediately after the kill. No pause, no hesitation, no time to reset before slipping back into his mask. He had walked in with that same electric energy that Brian recognized so well—that post-kill high, the lingering remnants of bloodlust and satisfaction, and he had pounced.

And Y/N?

She had let him.

No, not just let him—she had matched him. Moved with him like she understood exactly what this was, like she had expected it, like she wanted it just as much as he did.

Fascinating.

Brian tilted his head, watching as Dexter’s hands gripped her like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground, like this was the final step in his ritual—kill, clean, consume.

She wasn’t some passive, naive little thing, either. No wide-eyed, unsuspecting girlfriend who thought Dexter was just a quiet guy with an odd schedule.

No.

Y/N knew.

Brian had suspected it the first time he met her, in the way she had watched him—assessing, reading him the same way she read Dexter, like she was waiting for something.

Now, he was sure of it.

Because this wasn’t normal.

Dexter wasn’t normal.

And yet, here she was, pulling him closer, anchoring him in a way that was both possessive and indulgent, like she knew exactly what he needed.

Brian licked his lips.

How interesting.

He had wanted to show Dexter what he truly was, wanted to rip away that mask of normalcy and bring him into the light—his light.

But now?

Now, he was starting to wonder if Dexter had already found something close to that.

Or at the very least—

Someone who wouldn’t stop him.

And wasn’t that something?

Dexter had been to crime scenes that felt less tense than the Sinclair family reunion.

The house itself was nice—lived-in, cluttered in a way that felt like too many people had existed in it at once for too many years. Family photos lined the walls, overlapping, different frames mashed together without any real sense of aesthetic. The house wasn’t quiet, but there was an underlying weight in the air, a kind of unspoken something hanging between the people who had grown up here.

Y/N had warned him.

"It’s once a year. Mom insists. Everyone’s on their best behavior, which means only two or three fights will break out instead of the usual five."

Dexter had learned not to question these things.

Sean was already in the kitchen when they walked in, talking to their mother, his voice calm, patient—the same way he had always been, according to Y/N. When he saw them, he gave Dexter a once-over before nodding in a way that felt more like acknowledgment than greeting.

“Dexter,” he said.

“Sean,” Dexter returned.

Y/N rolled her eyes, muttering, “Jesus, you two are so weird.”

Before Sean could respond, the front door swung open again, and in walked Keegan, exactly as Y/N had described him—broad-shouldered, scowling like he had already decided he was in a bad mood, carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken grudges.

He barely had a chance to set his keys down before he spotted Dexter and scoffed.

“Oh, good,” Keegan muttered. “The serial killer’s here.”

Y/N groaned, already rubbing her temple. “Keegan—”

“I mean, look at him.” Keegan gestured toward Dexter. “If anyone at this table gets caught with bodies in their trunk, it’s him.”

Dexter, completely unaffected, just said, “I don’t own a car.”

Keegan blinked. “That’s not the part you should be denying.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Jesus Christ, please don’t start.”

Their mother, clearly used to this, sighed and handed Sean a dish to put on the table. “Keegan, stop antagonizing your sister’s boyfriend.”

Keegan shrugged, heading toward the fridge. “I’m not antagonizing him, I’m stating facts.” He pulled out a beer and cracked it open. “He’s got the creepy quiet thing going, the dead-eyed stare, the whole ‘emotionless’ energy—”

Sean, already tired, muttered, “Keegan.”

“I’m just saying!” Keegan gestured at Dexter. “Tell me I’m wrong!”

Dexter, who had been standing in the kitchen of this grief-laden, barely-holding-it-together family for less than ten minutes, finally looked at Keegan and said, “Do you always talk this much?”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, suddenly—

Sean snorted.

Keegan scowled. “Oh, fuck you.”

Y/N, fighting a smirk, grabbed Dexter’s wrist and dragged him toward the table. “Come on, before he starts swinging.”

Keegan, still grumbling, flopped into a chair across from them, cracking his neck like he wanted to fight someone but was barely resisting.

Their mother sighed. “We are not starting this before dinner.”

Sean, the ever-peacekeeper, grabbed the nearest dish and started setting the table. “Lily late again?”

“To no one’s surprise,” Y/N muttered.

“She’ll be here,” their mother said, even though she didn’t sound completely convinced.

Keegan took a long sip of his beer. “Sure. Just in time to make an entrance.”

Dexter observed all of this without a word.

This wasn’t his usual environment. Family dinners weren’t something he was accustomed to—especially ones with this level of thinly veiled hostility mixed with obligation.

But as Y/N bumped her knee against his under the table, as Sean sighed through yet another incoming argument, as Keegan glared at him over the rim of his beer, Dexter realized—

It could be worse.

The room was dark except for the sliver of streetlight spilling through the blinds, cutting across the ceiling in thin, pale lines. The hum of the city outside was distant, muffled, nothing more than background noise.

Dexter lay on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting where Y/N had curled into his side, her fingers idly tracing patterns along his ribs.

Neither of them had spoken for a while.

It was the second anniversary of Dalton’s death.

Y/N hadn’t cried, hadn’t raged, hadn’t even talked much about it throughout the day. She had just existed in that quiet, simmering grief, letting it settle around her like a second skin.

But now, in the middle of the night, with nothing between them but warmth and silence, she finally spoke.

“Dalton would have liked you.”

Dexter blinked, staring at the ceiling.

He turned his head slightly. “You think so?”

Y/N hummed, still tracing slow, absentminded circles against his skin. “Yeah.”

Dexter thought of Keegan, of his immediate suspicion, his relentless scrutiny. “Even though I’m ‘definitely a serial killer’?”

Y/N huffed a quiet laugh, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “Dalton was a lot like Keegan—thought he knew everything, had a temper when he was pissed off—but he wasn’t as much of an asshole.”

Dexter felt her shift against him, pressing her forehead against his shoulder.

“He would’ve had thoughts about you,” she continued, voice softer now. “Would’ve kept an eye on you for a while. Maybe given you a hard time, just because.” She exhaled slowly. “But he would’ve liked that you cared about me.”

Dexter didn’t respond right away.

He wasn’t sure he knew how to.

Y/N had told him before, in pieces, what it had been like growing up as the youngest. How their parents had already been stretched thin, already worn down by Carter’s death by the time she had come along. How Dalton had been the only one who really made sure she never felt left behind.

How he had been hers, in a way none of the others were.

And now he was gone.

Murdered.

Forgotten by the people who were supposed to find justice for him.

Y/N sighed against his skin. “He would’ve liked that you protect me.”

Dexter’s fingers twitched slightly where they rested on her back.

She didn’t say it like she was expecting anything from him, didn’t say it like she was asking for anything. It was just a statement. A truth she had come to on her own.

A truth Dexter had felt long before she had ever spoken it aloud.

His grip on her tightened slightly, just for a second.

Y/N didn’t say anything else.

Didn’t need to.

She just settled closer, and for the first time that day, she breathed.

The apartment was a fucking disaster.

Boxes everywhere, stacked haphazardly like a goddamn obstacle course, half-labeled in Dexter’s neat but completely unhelpful handwriting. The place smelled like fresh paint and cardboard, and Y/N was already pissed before she even stepped inside.

Her client—some rich asshole who thought money made up for his absolute lack of taste—had spent the last hour arguing with her over whether or not gold accents would clash with the deep red fabric he insisted on for his dining room chairs.

("You hired me to make sure your house doesn’t look like an overpriced brothel, Jonathan, but by all means, keep making bold fucking choices.")

So, by the time she reached the apartment, she was done.

She shoved the door open, already kicking off her shoes as she stalked inside, rubbing a hand over her face. "Jesus fucking Christ, I need a drink—"

And then her foot caught on something.

She didn’t even have time to process what happened before she went down.

"Goddamn it!"

The thud echoed through the apartment as she landed, hands catching her just in time to keep her face from meeting the hardwood.

A long silence.

Then—

From across the room, Dexter’s voice, as neutral as ever: "You should watch where you’re going."

Y/N snapped her head up, finding him standing near the kitchen, completely unbothered, holding a glass of water like he hadn’t just watched her eat shit in the middle of their own home.

She turned her glare toward the box that had betrayed her.

One of Dexter’s.

Labeled, in neat, precise handwriting: Miscellaneous.

"Miscellaneous my ass," Y/N muttered, pushing herself up and kicking the box for good measure.

Dexter, still infuriatingly composed, tilted his head slightly. "I did warn you."

Y/N threw up her hands. "No, you didn’t! You just stood there, watching me fucking die on the floor!"

Dexter took a sip of water. "I assumed you’d recover."

Y/N groaned dramatically, shoving a box out of the way as she stalked toward him. "I swear to God, Dexter—"

But before she could finish the threat, she tripped over another fucking box.

Dexter caught her easily, hands firm on her waist, holding her upright as she sighed into his chest.

"I hate it here," she muttered.

Dexter hummed, fingers curling slightly at her hip. "I thought you liked living with me."

Y/N grumbled. "I do."

"Then stop trying to kill yourself on the furniture."

She let out a deep sigh. "Fine."

A pause.

Then, "But you’re still reorganizing these fucking boxes."

Dexter, ever the picture of calm, just took another sip of water. "We’ll see."

Y/N had seen a lot of things in her life.

She had seen Keegan break a guy’s nose in a bar fight over a misunderstanding.

She had seen Dexter walk into her apartment covered in blood with absolutely zero explanation.

She had seen her mother hold their entire, barely-holding-it-together family together with nothing but sheer willpower.

But nothing—nothing—had prepared her for the moment she turned around in Debra’s apartment and saw that.

Y/N blinked. "What the fuck are you wearing?"

Debra, standing in front of her mirror, adjusting the hem of what could barely be considered a skirt, gave her an unimpressed look. "A work uniform."

Y/N stared. "For what job? Because it sure as hell isn’t law enforcement."

Debra rolled her eyes, turning to grab her gun from the table. "Vice, dumbass."

Y/N squinted, taking in the whole outfit—the fishnet stockings, the ridiculous heels, the tight leather skirt, the crop top that looked like it was two seconds away from getting her arrested for public indecency.

Then, finally, she said, "Are you a cop or are you working for tips?"

Debra snorted. "Fuck you."

"I mean, Jesus Christ, Deb—" Y/N gestured wildly. "If someone tried to arrest you in that, I’d just assume it was your pimp getting mad at you for skimming off the top."

Debra rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, hilarious. Meanwhile, I’ll be the one actually putting away scumbags while you’re over here bitching about my fashion choices."

Y/N folded her arms, unimpressed. "What scumbags? You think any guy seeing you in that is gonna be thinking, ‘Hey, maybe I shouldn’t break the law’? They’re gonna be thanking you for encouraging their poor fucking life choices."

Debra huffed, grabbing her holster. "Not my fault men are idiots."

Y/N shook her head. "That’s the part you should be mad about."

Debra turned, now fully armed, despite still looking like she should be charging by the hour. "Okay, are you done?"

Y/N smirked. "That depends—are you actually gonna arrest people, or are you just gonna give them a lap dance first?"

Debra groaned. "I hate you."

Y/N grinned, crossing her arms. "Oh, come on. Do a little spin for me first."

Debra flipped her off on the way out the door.

Debra had two thoughts when she heard Y/N was cooking that night:

Hell yes, free gourmet food.

This is the perfect opportunity to introduce Rudy to the two most antisocial weirdos in her life.

She barely even hesitated before calling Y/N.

"Hey," she said the second Y/N picked up. "I heard you’re making actual food tonight instead of living off diner fries like a fucking raccoon."

Y/N sighed on the other end. "Jesus Christ, Deb—"

"Anyway," Debra continued, completely ignoring her, "great news. I’m coming over. And I’m bringing my boyfriend."

There was a pause.

Then, dry as ever, Y/N said, "Why?"

"Because!" Debra gestured wildly even though Y/N couldn’t see her. "You never cook, so this is, like, a rare event! And I figure, why not take advantage of that while also introducing him to you and Dexter?"

Y/N groaned. "I don’t remember agreeing to this."

Debra grinned. "Because you didn’t! That’s the best part."

Y/N exhaled, long and suffering. "Fine. But if I don’t like him, I’m ‘accidentally’ spilling wine on his shirt."

Debra rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you at seven."

She hung up before Y/N could change her mind.

Debra sat on Rudy’s couch, legs stretched out across his lap, pointing a finger at him like a warning. "Okay, listen up, because this is important."

Rudy, amused, glanced up from the scalpel he was cleaning. "I’m listening."

She narrowed her eyes. "Under no circumstances can you bring up the police in front of Y/N."

Rudy paused for a beat, tilting his head. "Okay… why?"

Debra sighed, already knowing this was going to take some explaining. "She hates cops. Not just in a typical civilian complaining about tickets way—like, actually hates them."

Rudy raised an eyebrow. "That’s a little ironic, considering she’s dating your brother."

Debra snorted. "Yeah, tell me about it. But it’s different with Dexter. He’s not out busting down doors or arresting people—he just… looks at blood and does his weird Dexter science thing."

Rudy chuckled. "So, what, she had a bad run-in with law enforcement?"

Debra exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face. "Her brother was murdered, and the cops didn’t do shit about it. Her whole family pushed for months—gave them leads, names, everything. And they still treated it like just another dead kid in Miami. The last time Y/N tried talking to them, they basically told her to fuck off."

Rudy made a thoughtful noise, fingers tapping against his knee. "I see."

Debra gave him a serious look. "Do you, though? Because if you mention anything about cops, or how great the system is, or even breathe in the direction of ‘not all cops,’ she will hate you forever."

Rudy smirked. "Sounds like she has strong convictions."

"No, she has a fucking vendetta." Debra leaned forward. "I’m serious, Rudy—she will find a way to ruin your night if you say the wrong thing. And I really want my best friend and my boyfriend to get along, so just don’t bring it up."

Rudy nodded, expression unreadable. "Got it. No cop talk."

Debra studied him for a second longer, making sure the message actually landed, then leaned back with a satisfied sigh. "Good. Now I can focus on more important things."

Rudy smirked, running a hand along her thigh. "Like what?"

Debra grinned. "Like how you’re about to meet two of the weirdest people in my life over a very fancy dinner."

Rudy chuckled, shaking his head. "I look forward to it."

Debra just laughed, completely unaware of how wrong that statement was.

Debra knew the moment they stepped into the apartment that Rudy was impressed.

The place smelled amazing—seared steak, garlic, some kind of sauce that looked fancy as hell. Y/N had actually set the table for once, which meant this meal really meant something to her.

Dexter, of course, looked completely unaffected, because he was Dexter, and he never reacted to anything. He was already sitting at the table, sipping a beer like this wasn’t the most well-thought-out meal he had ever been served.

Y/N turned from the stove, arching an eyebrow as she wiped her hands on a towel. "This him?"

Debra beamed, nudging Rudy forward. "Yep! Y/N, Dexter—meet Rudy."

Rudy, ever the charmer, smiled. "It’s great to finally meet you both. Deb’s told me a lot about you."

Y/N looked unimpressed. "Has she?"

Debra elbowed her. "Be nice."

Y/N exhaled, tilting her head slightly as she gave Rudy a once-over. "Well, guess we’ll see if I like you enough to let you eat my food."

Rudy chuckled. "Fair enough."

Dexter, from his seat, just watched.

Debra figured he would be the difficult one, that he’d be the one side-eyeing Rudy the whole night.

But for the first time ever, it was Y/N who seemed… unsettled.

Not obvious. Not anything Rudy would notice.

But Dexter?

Dexter definitely did.

And the fact that Y/N, the person who could read people too well, the person who had always been able to call bullshit before anyone else, was squinting at Rudy like she was trying to figure something out—

It was weird.

But Debra, oblivious and happy, just pulled out a chair and grinned.

"Alright, boys and girls," she said. "Let’s eat."

Y/N, still eyeing Rudy, finally sat down.

Dexter, watching both of them, didn’t look away.

The kill had been perfect.

Everything had gone exactly as it should have—the plastic, the precision, the blade sliding through flesh like it had been meant to. Blood pooling, the body shuddering, then stillness.

Dexter had cleaned everything, disposed of the remains with the same methodical efficiency as always. He should have felt calm. Sated.

But as he stood in the dark, the scent of salt water and blood still lingering in his nose, he wasn’t.

The Dark Passenger was still there.

Still hungry.

Not for another kill—no, that part had been fed. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

You’re still waiting.

Dexter exhaled, fingers flexing at his sides.

Go to her.

The thought struck like a pulse of electricity, sending a sharp thrill through his system. His breath hitched, his body tight with something else—something not quite the same as the need to kill, but just as overwhelming.

She’s waiting for you. Soft. Warm. Yours.

Dexter swallowed.

Y/N would be asleep by now. Curled up in their bed, completely unaware of the blood he had washed from his hands.

Completely unaware of the way he needed her right now.

Needed to press himself into her, to feel her beneath him, surrounding him, anchoring him.

The Dark Passenger whispered again.

Take.

Dexter felt it—felt the coiling demand just beneath his skin, the way his muscles ached not with exhaustion but with want.

He had never cared much for sex before Y/N.

Before he had learned what it meant to have someone truly understand him. Before he realized that sometimes, after a kill, when the Dark Passenger was still lingering, still pulling at him—she could settle it.

Could ground him in a way that nothing else ever had.

But he had never had to wait before.

And waiting was making it worse.

He turned, heading toward the car, heart still hammering even as his breath stayed steady.

The Dark Passenger purred.

Go home. Wake her. Take what you want.

Dexter gripped the steering wheel as he drove.

No.

He wouldn’t wake her.

She deserved more than that.

But the moment she opened her eyes—

She was his.

The apartment was dark, quiet, still.

Dexter stood in the doorway of the bedroom, watching her.

Y/N was curled up under the sheets, her breathing slow, even. Completely unaware of the fact that he had been standing there for nearly five minutes, gripping the doorframe hard enough to make his knuckles ache.

She was right there.

Take her.

The Dark Passenger was still there, whispering, needling, curling around his thoughts like smoke, thick and intoxicating.

You waited long enough.

Dexter exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself, but his body was still thrumming with leftover adrenaline, still riding that edge that came after a kill—when his muscles were tight, his breath still not quite right, his body demanding something more.

The Passenger knew.

Wake her up.

Dexter clenched his jaw.

Or don’t.

His grip on the doorframe tightened.

You think she’d mind? You think she’d push you away? She’s as messed up as you are, to a point. Maybe she’d like it.

Dexter swallowed hard, staring at her.

She would.

He knew she would.

Y/N wasn’t fragile. She wasn’t naive. She was his—in a way that no one else had ever been, in a way that made him feel like he didn’t have to pretend.

But even he had his lines.

Even he knew that this was one.

Not because she wouldn’t want him—no, he knew she would.

But because he wanted to watch her want him.

Wanted to see the way her breath would hitch, the way she’d smirk in that slow, knowing way, the way she’d shift under him, teasing, inviting.

He didn’t just want to take.

He wanted her to give.

So he waited.

Sat down in the chair by the window, watching her.

The Dark Passenger hissed, restless, unsatisfied, but Dexter ignored it.

Because the moment her eyes opened—

She was his.

The moment Y/N stirred, Dexter was on her.

He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t moved from the chair by the window, where he had spent the last few hours watching her, waiting, muscles coiled tight with that lingering hum of energy—the pull that hadn’t fully left him since the kill.

But now, she was awake.

And she was his.

She barely had time to blink before he had her beneath him, hands gripping her hips, mouth at her throat, pressing her deep into the mattress.

She let out a sleepy, breathless laugh. "Jesus, what the fuck’s gotten into you?"

Dexter exhaled sharply against her skin, fingers digging into the sheets beside her head. "You made me wait."

Y/N smirked against his mouth. "I was asleep, Dexter."

He didn’t care.

Didn’t answer.

Just moved.

And the Dark Passenger, still there, still humming in the back of his mind, purred in satisfaction.

Yes. Yes. Finally.

It had wanted this all night. Had demanded it, screamed for it, burned inside him with leftover energy that a single kill hadn’t been able to fully satisfy.

But now?

Now, he could sink into her. Could take everything he needed, could consume her, feel her give herself over to him completely—

And then—

The door swung open.

"Hey, Y/N—"

Everything froze.

For half a second, Dexter didn’t react. Didn’t process what had just happened, too consumed, too deep in it to fully comprehend—

Until he heard her.

Debra.

His sister.

Standing in the doorway.

No.

Y/N, immediately snapping out of it, twisted her head toward the door, eyes wide with rage.

"OH, WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Dexter stayed completely still.

Not from embarrassment. Not from shock.

But because the Dark Passenger had just been given what it wanted—had been on the brink of getting everything—and now, because of her, it was gone.

Snatched away. Ruined.

Debra, still standing there like a deer in headlights, took half a second too long to react—long enough for Y/N to grab the nearest pillow and hurl it at the door.

"GET THE FUCK OUT!"

Debra scrambled backward, slamming the door shut, her voice carrying from the living room.

"I need bleach for my eyes—what the fuck is wrong with you two—"

Dexter closed his eyes.

The Dark Passenger seethed.

Kill her.

Dexter exhaled through his nose. No.

Then make her leave.

Dexter pushed himself up, rolling his shoulders, still tightly wound, his body still aching for the release that had been stolen from him.

Y/N groaned into the pillow beside him. "I fucking hate her."

Dexter, still vibrating with leftover tension, reached for his pants. "I’ll tell her to leave."

Y/N blinked up at him, still catching her breath. "Why?"

Dexter leaned down, lips brushing against her ear, voice still dark, still heavy with everything he hadn’t been able to finish.

"Because I’m not done with you yet."

Y/N shivered.

And the Dark Passenger, still starving, purred.

The apartment was quiet again.

Not the heavy, restless kind of quiet from the night before, when Dexter had sat in the chair by the window, waiting, trying to ignore the way the Dark Passenger clawed at him, demanding more, demanding her.

Now, it was a different kind of silence.

A sated, settled kind.

Y/N lay beside him, still catching her breath, hair wild against the pillow, her body marked with proof of what had just happened. Her throat was littered with bruises—deep, dark impressions where his hands and mouth had claimed her.

Her skin was flushed, every inch of her humming with exhaustion and satisfaction, her limbs loose and heavy in a way that told him she wasn’t moving anytime soon.

Dexter watched her, fingers still trailing lazily over her stomach, feeling the slow rise and fall of her breathing beneath his palm.

The Dark Passenger was quiet.

Truly quiet.

Not lurking, not waiting, not prowling beneath the surface, still wanting.

For the first time since the kill, it was gone.

It had what it wanted.

Kill. Clean. Consume.

And now, finally, Dexter was still.

Y/N sighed, tilting her head to look at him, her lips curling slightly even as her voice came out hoarse. "Jesus Christ, Dexter."

He hummed in acknowledgment, tracing a thumb over a fresh mark on her collarbone. "Too much?"

She snorted. "Shut the fuck up."

Dexter smirked, his fingers moving lower, pressing just slightly over another bruise on her hip. She shivered.

"Sensitive?" he asked, voice as even as ever.

Y/N huffed a laugh. "You’re a fucking menace."

Dexter tilted his head. "You don’t sound upset about it."

Y/N stretched, groaning slightly before settling deeper into the mattress. "I’m too fucking tired to be upset."

A pause.

Then, "Was it worth the wait?"

Dexter exhaled through his nose.

His body was calm now, loose in a way it rarely ever was. The Dark Passenger had fed, had devoured, had taken and been given, and now there was nothing left to fight against.

Nothing left but this.

Dexter leaned in, pressing his lips just beneath her ear, voice low, quiet, final.

"Yes."

#dexter morgan #dexter morgan x reader #dexter showtime #dexter #michael c hall

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dinogoofymutated · 11 months ago

Text

Wolverine/Fem!Reader - Masterlist link

You've met Logan Howlett in every life you've lived since the 1900s. And in every lifetime, fate rips you from him just as cruelly as it forces the two of you to meet. How many lives will it take for the two of you to finally have your happily ever after?

General TWs: Reincarnation, death, Major character death (multiple times), Angst with a happy ending. Controlling familiail behavior, descriptions of wounds, descriptions of war, descriptions of violence/death, childhood trauma. Possible historical inaccuracies.

Here's the first chapter!! I waassss gonna wait until I finished part two and post both at once but TBH I was desperate to get this out! I hope yall enjoy this, and I would like to remind everyone that I am not a nurse or any kind of medical personnel, and I kinda struggled to find out about the procedures of ww1 nurses, so take most of the nurse stuff with a grain of salt! like watching a dumbed down version of grey's anatomy lol. I'd also like to say that I decided to make Logan's healing factor slower during ww1 and ww2, as he hadn't gone through the Weapon X program yet. Chapter TWs: Blood, injury, childhood injuries in the prologue scene, war n shit, ww1 canada is a tw on it's own.

October 22, 1900.

“Andy!!” Your brother rolls his eyes at the sound of your high-pitched voice calling his name, turning around with a frown. He always had been faster than you, and today was no different. He had gone running into the woods when your mother had called the two of you in for lunch, and ever the devoted little sister, you had chased after him before she could notice what the two of you were doing. You’re panting when you finally catch up to him, your skirts scrunched up in your fists as you try your best to keep them from catching on bushes and vines.

“Where are you going? Mama’s calling us for lunch!” Neither of you was supposed to be on this side of the woods, past the fence that marked your family’s property. It made you nervous to be so far past the boundary. Your older brother scoffs at you, turning away once again as he continues to march further.

“Father told me that he had set bear traps out to keep the animals away from the house. I’m going to see if he’s caught anything.” Andrew says stubbornly. You rush ahead to try and keep up with him, staying close and looking around anxiously. You never had been a rule breaker, and this was just a little more adventurous than you were comfortable with.

“Bears? You don’t think we’ll find any, do you? I don't want to see anything be hurt.” You whine, tears forming in your eyes. Your brother laughs at you, the same way did the time you brought some a dying bird, or the time you had begged father to spare the rabbit that had been digging in the garden. He never understood why you were so soft-hearted.

“You’re going to need to be more brave if you’re going to be an adult one day. Cowards get killed.” Andrews teases, cackling wickedly as he steps on a branch and the sound of it snapping causes you to flinch and cry out, rushing forward to grab hold of his arm.

“That’s not true!” You cry.

“Yeah, it is!” Andrew argues. There’s a bit of a ditch in front of the two of you, and he shakes you off before he hops down. He holds his hand out to help you navigate the drop, and you take it eagerly as you carefully get down, making sure not to dirty your skirts any more than they had been.

“No, it’s not! It’s not true! It’s not true because I have you, remember? Big brothers are supposed to protect their little sisters!” You persist once you’re finished. Andrew sighs again, but you don’t doubt his answer for a second. He rolls his eyes at you before he begins to walk on.

“Of course I am. But you can’t expect me to get to you every time.” Andrew says. You’re about to refute that when the two of you hear a rustling in the bushes up ahead. Andrew holds out a hand to keep you behind him, stopping both of you in your tracks. The birds have stopped singing, and you know that it means something scary is about to happen. Dad calls it a bad oh-men or something along those lines, but you didn’t usually listen to him. Now you’re starting to wish you had.

“Stay here. I think I hear something up ahead.” Andrew whispers to you. You try to grab for his arms as he leaves you, but he’s too far away, and you find your feet rooted to the spot. You’re too scared to move, holding your hands anxiously as you watch Andrew begin to stumble through the bushes cautiously. You don’t like this. You don’t like it at all. You can only see his head through once he’s through the thick of it, and you hear him huff in disappointment when he doesn’t find anything on the other side.

“Never mind. There’s not even-” There’s a sound of a mechanical snap before Andrew falls to the ground with a scream.

“Andy!” You cry out, immediately bolting through the bush. Branches and briars get caught on your skirt and tear at your skin as you push through to get to him. Your brother is shouting and grunting in pain when you see him, tears dotting his eyes as he stares down at the sight of his ankle caught firmly between the teeth of a bear trap.

“Stupid trap!” He cries out, his hands shaking from adrenaline. You don’t know what to do, standing frozen at the bloody sight before you, mind going back and forth between whether or not you should go to your brother or run home to get your parents.

“Help me get it off!” Andrew shouts, and it’s enough to finally bring you back to the situation. You can only nod frantically as you kneel by his side. Hands shaking as you help your brother try and open the trap and get it off of him. The metal digs into your fingers as you try to pry it open, your brother grunting and crying with the effort to do so. You can only think of what your parents will say, what Andrew will do. What if it got infected? What if he lost his foot completely? You realize you’re crying as you and Andrew try with all your might to pull the trap open, grip beginning to slip on the contraption right as Andrew tugs his leg out of the trap. It snaps closed violently after, barely missing both of your fingertips as Andrew rolls away from it.

“What- What do we do? Andy?” You ask, unable to do much but stare as your brother writes in pain. It’s all happening so fast, but god did everything feel so slow. Andrew manages to make out something about stopping the bleeding, and you’re right on it as you press your small hands to the bloody, mangled, flesh. You squeeze tightly as you pray and pray and pray for him to stop bleeding, shutting your eyes tightly as you sob and cry and wish you could do something, anything more to help your big brother.

There’s a buzzy feeling in your hands, like pins and needles without the pain. You don’t see it happening as you sit there and bawl for your brother, his warm blood on your hands all you can manage to feel in the moment. The blood begins to slow, and slow, and you don't even realize it has stopped until everything seems to be just as quiet as before. You realize that Andrew isn’t crying anymore, and find yourself brave enough to cautiously open your eyes.

To your surprise, you don’t see anything.

All there is is Andrew’s blood staining his ripped pants and both of your hands- but the strangest part of all was that there was no more wound. Not even a bruise remained of the bone-deep cuts that had been there just a moment before. Your tears begin to dry up as your eyebrows furrow, still hiccuping as you look on at the scene in confusion. When you look up at your brother, he’s wide-eyed. Staring at you in complete shock.

“Was that you that did that?” He asks. You don’t know what to say. You don't know. You begin to notice a soreness in your leg as the two of you sit there, simply staring at each other in shock. Eventually, Andrew swallows, before he tries to stand up, doing so effortlessly and without pain. He stretches and flexes his leg, moving it back and forth like his brain is still playing catch up. You try to follow his lead, only to cry out in pain and stumble. There's a deep purple bruise circling your leg when you raise your skirt, one that perfectly mimicked the bloody hole in Andrew’s pants where his own wound once had been.

He carried you back home that day.

The Great War began on July 28th, 1914. The archduke of Austria, Franz Ferdinand, had been assassinated, thus causing a series of events that spiraled into the worst war that the world had ever seen until that point. Your brother was quickly whisked away into the battle once the fight had started. He quickly advanced through the ranks, his ever-present charm and intelligence being a boon to him, and an asset to many others. He had always been the fighter. Your bother Andrew, your protector, and keeper of your secrets, now a general in the Canadian army. You could hardly believe it.

You, on the other hand, had begun to educate yourself at your brother’s behest. You became a nurse, finding yourself drawn to the field in the absence of the many men who had left mainland hospitals to go to war. You loved it. You loved helping people heal and survive, thrive even, but even so, you had become rather secretive about your natural gifts. Andrew, as supportive as he was, knew that the world would never accept powers like yours. As guilty as you felt every time a patient had slipped through the doctor’s fingers, you knew better. Your healing abilities took from you a fraction of what it gave to others, and using it was just not possible in large doses. You knew that and knew to listen to your brother’s warnings. Still, it did not stop you completely. Healing a wound or broken bone now and then in the shadows, where there was no one there to see. Miracles became your specialty, but your medical knowledge had become your backbone.

At the end of April, you were surprised to receive a letter from your brother, the contents of it being a plea for you to join him in the war efforts. They needed nurses, trained, knowledgeable, nurses. You would be by his side as much as possible, but you were needed across the sea. And well, if it was your brother asking, who were you to refuse?

Novemver 2nd, 1917

"You are to keep your medical supplies cleanly and well maintained. I understand that you aren't exactly green in this line of work, but let me tell you, you haven't seen war yet." The senior nurse in front of you has no time for fools, you have only known her for a moment, and yet you know this for a fact. Her pace is fast and purposeful. Her skirt is muddied and stained, and yet her boots do not seem to sink or stick in the mud like yours do as you try your best to keep up with her. Nurse Mary is strict in personality and pace, and you're careful to follow directly behind her throughout the busy encampment.

Everyone seems to have something urgent to attend to, soldiers and nurses and medics alike all running about through the mud and dirt. There are many hospital tents, many more than you had originally anticipated. You begin to realize exactly why your brother had been so firm in instructing you to refrain from assisting any wounded beyond what help lies within sutures and gauze.

“How often do the wounded arrive?” You ask, following her into a rather large hospital tent and passing by various cots with wounded men.

“You should expect them to arrive every day. The wounded are many, but the dead are more, god rest their souls.” She tells you, one of her hands clutching the cross around her neck for a moment. There are many things you have learned throughout your schooling, and many gruesome sights you know to expect, but the one thing that still gave you chills was the death toll. You try not to think about it too hard, knowing that it’s just the truth of war that good men go to die. But that doesn’t mean you will ever be forced to be comfortable with it. You pass many rows of wounded soldiers as you follow her through, many being gravely injured with missing and mangled limbs, and shrapnel in places where it should never be. You keep your bedside manner in check, but you know half of those men won’t make it through the night.

“We should be grateful for the men who return to our care, but please keep in mind that we are the only buffer between them and god. You must understand that losing these men isn’t an if, it’s a when.” You nod solemnly in response to her, quelling the anxiety in your heart. You knew very well that she was right. You casually look around the hospital tent, doing your best to help familiarise yourself with the surroundings when a puff of smoke catches your eye.

You don’t know where to laugh or scold the man, brown eyes meeting your own as he quickly tries to hide the cigar. Nurse Mary clearly had not seen him, but you certainly did. You can’t help but smile in a baffled sort of way, and the soldier- the quite handsome soldier- smirks, shrugging his shoulders at you. You try not to laugh, choosing to simply shake your head instead of pointing it out to Nurse Mary. It’s something he clearly appreciates, and he tips his head at you, winking as you finally pass him by. You hope you’re not blushing, quickly looking away from him with a smile on your face that you couldn’t fight off.

“Are you paying attention, Miss? Your brother spoke very highly of your skills, it would be a shame if it were all to be lies.” The nurse ahead of you says, a strict tone in her voice. It almost startles you, bringing you back to earth after the solid minute of distraction the brown-eyed soldier had caused.

“I- yes. I apologize. Please, continue.” You reply quickly. You can tell she’s not quite convinced but doesn’t have the time to care, reminding you that there would be little to no time to dally once you had been given decent instruction about the facilities. You’re eager to get to work, and decide that there would be no more distractions today- no matter how charming or handsome they seem to be.

—-

You were assigned work the moment your walkthrough had been conducted. No downtime, no breaks. You wonder if you truly had any idea how bad things would be where you got here. Seeing the wounded was one thing, but reading their chart was another. You felt detached as you conducted physicals, changed bandages, and redressed wounds and cuts. You checked for infections in those with amputated limbs, knowing that death would soon come for those who were so unfortunate. The difference between any of the men was astounding- wounds from this war unlike any that you had ever seen before. You had heard of the new weapons, the horrors that geniuses had developed so that others would die. It pains you that someone could be so ignorant and cruel- and yet even you hope that you would never have to face those instruments of war.

Out of all the strange and unusual wounds and war-torn soldiers you met on that day, there was only one who you remembered in truly remarkable detail.

You see the puff of smoke before you see him, lounging on the backboard of his hospital cot without a care in the world. Besides some old bandages on his chest, you can tell that he’s not in any pain. To be honest, you start to wonder if he belongs in this infirmary at all. He’s distracted, cigar held up to his lips as he takes a deep inhale of the smoke, drowning out his senses with the nicotine.

“You must be feeling pretty confident to be breaking the only rule we have in here.” You say, raising an eyebrow at him. He chokes on the smoke rather suddenly, trying to recover as quickly as he can as he puts the cigar out. You give him a sweet smile, trying your best not to laugh. He smiles sort of unabashedly at you, shrugging.

“Can’t blame a man for tryin’.” He coughs. You shake your head at him, lifting some papers on your clipboard before you find the one assigned to his cot. Your eyes are immediately drawn to his list of past injuries and causes of infirmary visits. How is this man even alive?

“Logan Howlett, I presume? You’re pretty perky for a man who has such a long list of injuries.” You state, still reading it through. You’ve never seen this many on one chart before- all dating from the very start of the war to his current visit. Logan gives you a shrug of his shoulders, which isn’t exactly a response you would prefer, but he smiles at you in a charming sort of way that makes your heart flutter.

“They call me Lucky Logan for a reason,” Logan hums- causing you to huff a laugh. You shake your head at him, setting the clipboard down on the edge of the bed before you begin conducting a physical and checking on his “wounds.”- not that there really was any besides an odd, yellowed bruise or two that you could almost swear seemed to be lightening by the minute.

“ ‘You new here?” You glance up at him at the sound of his voice, smiling a bit out of politeness.

“Why, Is it that easy to tell?” You ask, knowing that he certainly knew so due to him seeing you earlier, but you wonder for a moment if you seemed to be any different from the other nurses. You always strived to be good at what you do, but part of you had a tendency to worry if you could keep up with the others here.

“Nah,” He says, bluntly. “I just think I’d remember if I had seen a pretty nurse like you before.” The words make you gape for a moment, that smile still showing as you shake your head at him and try not to laugh. He was a flirt- a rather smooth one too.

“Do you use that line on all the ladies?” You tease as you pull out your stethoscope to listen to his heart. You listen, and besides the fact that his heart rate is a little faster than the regular average, you don’t seem to notice anything too strange.

“Only the ones as pretty as you.” He says. You don’t hold back your laugh at that, and his genuine smile is definitely contagious. You check his eyesight and overall mobility one more time once you’re done, trying not to blush at the way he’s looking at you. You feel his gaze even when you step away to write on his chart, finishing things up.

“Well, Mr. Howlett, you seem to have a perfect bill of health,” Logan perks up a bit at that, moving to where he can sit on the side of the cot, his feet on the ground. “...but I can’t completely release you just yet. You’re free to wander around some, but you’ll have to wait for the doc to give you one last look-over before you can go back to the frontlines.” He lets out a dramatic sigh, frowning for only a minute before he stands, winking at you as he grabs his shirt from underneath the cot- the bloodied one they wheeled him in here with, no doubt, and puts it on.

“If that means I’ll be seeing you more often, I’ll take it.” He flirts. You laugh, knowing that you very well might have swooned if you had been any greener to this line of work. Instead, all you can really do is cringe at the sight of his shirt and lean down to the small table to his right, the one where his chart had been, and open the drawer, revealing a freshly clean set of clothes.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Smokey.” You joke, finding his surprised face rather endearing. It only takes a moment before he’s smirking again, taking the clothes from you and doing a mock toast to you with the cloth. You shake your head at him, trying to keep your smile contained as you walk away from him and over to your next patient.

You find yourself thinking about him throughout the day, both delighted and somewhat frustrated at yourself for swooning so easily over a soldier- on your first day, too. You had told yourself when you took this job that you would never do such a thing, knowing that so many romances in a time like this end in tragedy- but you certainly couldn’t seem to help it. You think about him when the other nurses talk about their personal soldiers, out there fighting the war, and think about him again before you go to bed. It was frustrating! You met a man and knew him a whole ten minutes before swooning like a schoolgirl. You suppose it felt nice to be wanted nonetheless and felt nice to be complemented by someone you found so handsome… But you didn’t need to be thinking so hard about this right now anyway. You roll over onto your side in your bed, hoping to fall asleep soon instead of spending time thinking about something that won’t happen.

Besides, there wasn’t a chance in hell that your brother would ever approve of any relationship you had with a soldier. You were sure that if he had his way, you would die as a spinster- forever reliant on the family. Your dreams that night are more like nightmares, dreaming of faces and growing old and rocking in a chair alone in your brother’s house, a burden to his finances, his wife, and children. But then there are some dreams where you see the face of one particular soldier, and wonder why you felt so compelled by him.

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