#ocs help me stay afloat

[kai23-doodles]

save me OCs...OCs save me from this shitty month

[stellewriites]

simon is a he/him lesbian in this fic. he’s a gender nonconforming cis woman & prefers using a masc name and pronouns

huge thank you to woolie, birdy, gougie, báir & three for being so encouraging and helping me with this fic and to kitty for making all of my oc names as always :3

this is a love letter to butches <33

Riley (he/him), 31, female.

Looking for a roommate ASAP. DM for details, don’t fuck me about.

you’d found the post on an online forum asking for a roommate and hadn’t hesitated to reach out immediately when you saw you were in the same city. your current roommate was only a few weeks away from moving in with her boyfriend, which would leave you with an apartment you couldn’t afford on your own.

although the post left everything to the imagination, the options for roommates were slim pickings and the single room apartments on the market were no cheaper, meaning you were getting desperate.

after a brief back and forth online with riley, he explained that his own roommate was moving out which was why he was looking for someone new to fill the spot. the apartment was cheap for the area - not that he told you where it was- and you’d have your own bedroom but you’d share the living room and kitchen, there were two small bathrooms, and storage in the shallow loft since it was the top floor apartment.

standard stuff but it sounded perfect.

riley was a blunt texter, but you assumed he’d maybe had his fill of people messing him about so far and just wanted to get down to business and find a roommate before he was stuck in the same position as you; paying double rent for a place that wasn’t worth it, digging into savings to stay afloat.

after covering whether you smoked (quit last year), had any pets (allergic), or liked frequent house parties (too shy), he offered to meet up to go into more detail about the place and you’d jumped at the chance, naming a cafe you liked to frequent near your work.

you weren’t sure what you’d been expecting when you arrived and found a table near the window - or more accurately, what you’d been picturing riley to look like - but you’d had to school your features into something less flustered when a tall woman in a baggy hoody and a pair of black work out shorts walked in and bee-lined for your corner.

as he walked your eyes glued themselves to his nike shorts as they rose up his thighs, indecently tight, showing off the thick muscle covered in a smattering of soft, unshaven hair, light enough that it glistened in the afternoon light. as he got closer you noticed a smattering of scars leading up his shins to his knees and stretch marks curving around the inside of his thighs.

you felt the urge to reach out and touch when you felt the weight of his own gaze taking you in for the first time.

“riley?” you’d asked hesitantly, when you finally managed to lift your head up to face him, cheeks ablaze. beneath his hood you could see that the scars continued on his face; almost prominently one ran from mid chin through his lips and up his cheek, another, smaller but thicker, ran from his hairline to two inches down his forehead slightly off centre.

you were mesmerised.

“prefer simon,” he’d corrected but nodded, his voice lighter than you’d expected but thickly accented.

he pulled down his hood with a scant look around the cafe to reveal a short cropped haircut, a little shaggy at the top. he took the seat opposite you and you sat up straight when your knees bumped accidentally. you snatched your legs back beneath your chair and clenched your thighs tightly together as the warmth of his bare skin throbbed through your jeans.

christ what was wrong with you? you had the attention of one hot, tall butch and suddenly you were a bag of nerves and fumbling all over the place. get it together.

“oh! yeah ok, cool,” you said and tried to smile normally. “simon.”

“not what you were expecting?” he asked wryly.

“uhm, no,” you admitted with an embarrassed little huff. “not exactly; i don’t really know what i was expecting though to be fair.”

“want to back out? no ‘ard feelings,” simon offered indifferently. guarded.

“no! no, i’m still very interested,” you insisted, biting your cheek when he raised an eyebrow at you in amusement. “i ordered already, uhm. got here a little early after work so i figured why not? i just got you a latte, i should’ve maybe asked.”

you felt wrong footed in front of his confidence. his legs were spread wide beneath the table, feet planted on the outside of yours and suddenly this felt less like a first meeting for a roommate and instead like your ideal first date.

you looked over at the counter and tapped your leg impatiently when you couldn’t see your drinks.

“that’s nice of ya.”

“i wanted to make a good first impression if we’re gonna be roomies,” you joked.

“mm.” he looked you up and down. “you messy?”

“excuse me?”

“i like to keep the place clean. deal breaker if you’re messy, it’s why soap had to move out.”

“soap? i don’t— yeah, i’m clean. tidy. i can keep my shit tidy,” you insisted. a waitress brought your drinks over on a tray and you thanked her quietly.

he smiled. “good, then this should be fine.” his foot tapped yours under the table. “relax. you said you came here after work?”

“yeah, i work nearby. sales calls, nothing interesting,” you shrugged and took a big sip. “pay is shit, but it covers half of the bills. what about you?”

“construction,” he said simply and your eyes drifted without permission to his hands wrapped around his mug then up to his arms hidden beneath his hoody.

“nice,” you choked out, visions of simon in a sweaty tank top throwing back a sledge hammer, not at all helping with the heat on your face and between your legs. “long hours?”

“sometimes,” he conceded. “s’why i asked about parties. don’t need to be coming home from work to an ‘ouse full’a dick’eads.”

you snorted.

“i can promise no house parties. well, maybe one around my birthday but i mean does inviting four people around for pizza really count as a house party?”

simon squinted his eyes playfully. “guess i can allow a little leniency here and there.”

you grinned behind your cup.

“what about your own friends? they swing by often?”

“not if i can help it,” simon huffed, a smile pulling at his scarred lip as you chuffed a surprised laugh. “tend to go to gaz’s or price’s house if his bird in’t home.”

the idea of a bunch of lads around the flat wouldn’t have necessarily been a deal breaker, but it was a relief to know it wasn’t going to be often regardless.

the pair of you stayed long enough to order a second drink while you discussed rent prices, tenancy agreements, and simon showed you photos of the area it was in.

“can show you the place now if you don’t need to head home yet?” he’d offered. “not too far to walk from here. could get an idea of the place and see if it fits.”

you’d nodded eagerly and followed him a couple of blocks away to a cosy, hidden away flat near the centre of town. you were surprised it was as cheap as he’d said given the location, but when the water refused to get hot in the kitchen sink when he went to wash a singular mug you soon caught on.

“boiler goes every other month, but i know how to fix it,” he’d said with a sigh, popping the kettle on instead. “taps, radiators ‘n shower all go cold.”

you winced, but it wasn’t enough to put you off. “landlord refuses to get it sorted?”

“landlord doesn’t answer my texts or calls anymore, think he got pissy w’me after i complained about him doin’ fuck all about the single glazed windows to the council few winters back.” you pursed your lips in order to not laugh but simon saw your expression and shrugged unrepentant. “arsehole needed tellin’, di’nt he?”

“i think this place will be perfect,” you settled on saying. you looked out of the nearest window and noted the working locks; the traffic was loud outside but you’d always preferred the constant buzz to send you off to sleep, the few times you’d been camping you’d not slept a wink in the silence.

he told you about the few other residents and explained the shortcuts you could take to get to work or for the shops and by time simon had finished giving you the tour of the place - a deceptively long space towards the back, hiding its double bathroom and bedrooms - you’d noticed it had gotten dark outside. when he noticed your furtive glance however, simon offered to drive you home without a second thought.

and again, not thirty minutes later when you were about to climb out of his truck with one last deep breath of his cologne, he offered to help you move in next week.

if that works for you, he’d said.

you’d started packing as soon as you got inside.

the only issue with moving in with simon - an issue you’d only noticed after having lived together for 6 months already, an issue your friends had to point out to you - was that the dating pool in manchester suddenly seemed a little drab. a little pathetic.

“i really don’t think si has anything to do with the fact that i can’t find anyone i’m interested in when we go out anymore, i think it makes more sense that all the hot women are just no longer single now,” you’d laughed when your friend had suggested it.

sure you thought simon was insanely hot, and that opinion had only solidified after spending the last half a year with him; seeing him braless more often than not beneath his muscle shirts when he lounged around the flat on his off days, pressing closer than necessary after a shower when you tried to pass by in the hallway, working out in the living room grunting and groaning as he hit his push-up goal, sweating and stretching obscenely as you tried to keep your eyes respectfully locked on your phone or the tv.

you were well aware that simon was sexy but more importantly off limits, so you didn’t let it affect your dating life. or so you thought.

“doesn’t help that you barely come out on a night with us,” emma pouted. “even less now that you hang out with simon most evenings.”

“when was the last time you hooked up with someone? even just kissed someone?” ash asked before you could defend your lack of social life, their eyebrow raised as if to prove their point.

you sighed. it had been a while, and taking care of things by yourself wasn’t really working out too well. simon always seemed to come home just when the frustration peaked enough for you to grab your vibrator, and you knew from the girls he’d taken home in the first few months that the walls were in fact thin enough to hear everything. with gritted teeth and wet panties, you always had to put it back in your drawer and wait for another day for some ‘me time’.

quotas for no nut november were being accidentally exceeded so much so that you were heading into catholic nun absolution. it was almost mid may; you needed to find someone to break you out of your funk sooner than later. get over by getting under or whatever.

“we’re not trying to guilt you into coming out with us,” emma added kindly, wrapping her arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “we know you don’t always like the crowd and that’s fine. but we just want you to be getting the dick or pussy that you deserve.”

you snorted and rolled your eyes. “what do you suggest then?”

emma shared a look with ash. “well…”

it hadn’t taken much more convincing from your friends to set up an account for you on tinder after that.

you spent some time on your profile, trying to find the right blend of funny but not too snarky, sexy but still approachable. it was a nightmare but the thought of getting your tits kissed and played with by someone else after almost half a year was enough to keep you on track. you just needed to focus and get it done.

——

as you walked back to your flat with ash after grabbing lunch together, you flicked through the options in your area.

“oh, she’s cute!” ash scrolled through the photos before cackling. “she’s funny too, listen, ‘if you google top places to eat out in the city, i’m the number one spot. better make your reservation quick’.”

you laughed. “oh that’s bad, si would find that funny.”

ash sent you a deadpan stare before going back to the profile. “so swiping right?”

you hummed and glanced at the phone again. “i don’t know, i don’t think she’s my type.”

“the last ten profiles ‘haven’t been your type,’ admit you’re just being picky,” ash pointed out.

“i’ve got standards is all,” you huffed. “i’m not just going to say yes to everyone.”

“she was exactly what you normally go for; strong build, blonde and funny in a dumb way according to the bio, aka you catnip,” they said. “hell, i’m surprised she’s not one of your exes.”

“fuck you,” you laughed and elbowed them. “i don’t even have a type, i don’t know why i said that.”

“oh please,” ash guffawed. “i can and will list the many attributes your exes all share if i have to.”

you sent them a scathing look and they held up their hands in defeat, a smug smile ruining their supposedly conceding pose.

“the only outlier was that weird austrian that i told you not to give the time of day to,” they continued. their face crumpled into a look of disgust, nose wrinkled and eyes pained. “could tell as soon as he opened his mouth that he doesn’t wash his dick.”

you pouted and ground your teeth in a grimace, unable to disagree on any count. he was certainly a lapse in judgement, you wouldn’t deny it.

“i’m just not feeling it, ash. i don’t want to waste her time when i don’t see the attraction. it’s not fair on her.” you shrugged and took back your phone to swipe left. “maybe my type has changed.”

ash stayed quiet a moment, looking contemplative as you both continued walking.

“ok you have a point. there’s no need to waste people’s time, but - and hear me out - everyone on there is just treading water trying to figure out who they want to fuck. she might spend a week talking to you and then ghost,” ash explained.

“great, cheers for that,” you chuffed.

“you know what i mean,” they rolled their eyes. “everyone’s figuring out if they want to go on a date or jump in bed with each other on there, you’re not wasting anyone’s time by giving them a chance. let yourself be wooed.”

“‘wooed’, i’m not looking for a mr darcy,” you joked.

“then actually give these people a shot, it’s not like they’re looking for marriage either,” ash countered. “or maybe you’ve got a specific person in mind distracting you that you’re making unfair comparisons to.”

you glared as you entered the apartment building. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you sniffed. you opened the app up again and bit your lip before swiping right on the first five profiles that appeared, showing your friend as you did. “there, happy?”

your phone buzzed and you looked down with wide eyes as all five accounts matched you back. the app directed you to the messaging centre and you looked at ash sheepishly.

“don’t you dare unmatch them,” they warned teasingly, pointing their finger at you with squinted eyes as you waited in the elevator. “go on a few dates and be spoiled for once. if nothing else, you get a good meal and some fresh air.”

you laughed as you finally reached your floor. you unlocked the door to your flat and dropped your coat on the back of a dining chair before slumping on the sofa with ash joining a second after sans their boots and coat.

“fine, fine. i’m on here for a reason, right? i might as well give them a chance,” you agreed a little reluctantly.

“give who a chance?” simon asked as he came from the back of the flat, passing through to the kitchen.

“my lovely bestie is finally on tinder,” ash said with a sharp grin aimed at simon. “hoping to find someone to fuck out the last six months of—“

“yeah thanks, ash! feel free to shut the fuck up, i don’t think simon cares about the details of my sex life,” you interrupted, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

“no?” ash asked playing dumb. they pouted and turned back to simon. “my bad.”

you hadn’t noticed simon had grown reserved and quiet at ash’s outburst, too busy trying to save face and distract yourself with thinking of a decent opening message.

“and anyway, i’m just going a few dates first,” you corrected and looked at simon. “so don’t worry about me inviting anyone around to the flat or anything.”

simon nodded tersely before swallowing. “s’fine.” he looked shiftily over to the kitchen before moving to lean over the back of your seat, arms resting behind your head as he peered over your shoulder.

“show me,” he ordered softly. you shivered at the feel of his breath on your neck as he spoke and immediately opened the app again.

you chuffed an unimpressed laugh at the profile that popped up first. “‘want to surprise my boyfriend with a threesome for his birthday, any takers?’ jesus christ, the dating pool is so dire,” you whined.

simon chuckled behind you. “bloke looks like he’d barely be able to handle ya either, look at ‘im. he’d ruin his pants before you even took ya bra off.”

“at least i’d be able to concentrate on the girlfriend then,” you snickered along with him.

“nah, best you’d get from her is a bit o’ tongue for show,” simon said. “can tell by the profile ‘er heart’s not in it.”

you swiped left and simon was immediately ready to point out the failings of this profile too, and then again when you swiped left after laughing along, and again after that.

the way he leant over you blocked your friend from your view, but simon could see the knowing look ash was giving him directly in his peripheral, but he chose to ignore it. especially when he lowered one hand into your lap to start swiping left himself.

you let your free hand rise to play with simon’s long shirt sleeve before you suddenly took in his attire and frowned.

“why are you dressed for work?” you turned to sit on your knees facing the back of the sofa as he rose up to his full height to see him wearing his work trousers and steel-toe boots, his hi-vis vest tucked into his waistband.

“john rang, asked me to cover soap’s shift when he went home sick after lunch. i’ll be back from the lot later; might be late in the evening if i have to go grab a few things for ‘im from b&q before it closes for tomorrow,” he said, contrite.

you pouted heavy and exaggerated. “movie night’s cancelled? fuck you, john price.”

simon snorted, his scarred lip lifting at one side in obvious mirth. “i’ll tell ‘im y’said that, shall i?”

“fine with me, i’m not afraid of him,” you goaded.

“he’s ex military you know,” simon winced jokingly.

you rolled your eyes. “no duh. so are you.”

he hummed a low single note.

“and you wouldn’t let him touch a hair on my head, right si?” you continued shamelessly.

“i’d tell him there’s no point wasting time trying to teach you manners. any time i try to knock some sense into ya noggin it just echoes,” he huffed, holding back a smile as he tapped his knuckles on your crown for emphasis.

you swiped at his fist with a hiss.

“you can piss off to your job already then if you’re going to take the mick,” you laughed. you kept your hands to yourself otherwise, knowing better than to try and push him away after one too many failed attempts. his stomach was always firm enough to keep your best efforts from moving him, but topped with a thick and soft enough layer that it gave way beneath your prodding fingers and roaming palm.

“i’ll make it up t’ya. another night,” he promised lowly, bending down close again to whisper. as your pout lessened he nodded before heading out.

“wooow,” ash exaggerated and lengthened the word sarcastically as they sat watching you slump back to sit normally now that simon was gone. “it’s somehow worse than i thought.”

“hm?”

“does he always fold like a cheap suit when you flash the puppy dog eyes at him?” ash laughed.

“you’re seeing things, he literally just cancelled on me,” you argued and turned to the tv to channel surf. “are you staying for tea? think i’ve got the stuff in for a curry, could pirate that new horror with kyle gallner.”

ash rubbed at their chin. “don’t think i didn’t notice the subject change… but i’m listening.”

——

you got your movie night with si a few days later with the pair of you lounged on the couch, simon’s heavy, long legs draped across your lap as you waited for the take out you’d ordered to arrive.

your phone buzzed with a notification and simon perked up. “food here?”

you took a moment to respond, looking at your phone and tapping away for a second before shaking your head. “no, just a message.”

you phone buzzed again just before you could put it back down and you unlocked it again with a growing smile.

“oh, ‘s emma asking about dog sittin’ again?” he guessed.

“it’s not emma,” you said easily, without further detail, distracted by your phone.

before simon could ask, a knock at the door had him swinging his legs down and heading to grab the bag of food. he grabbed some cutlery from the kitchen on the way back before slumping heavily down next to you, spreading his thighs wide enough to press against yours.

he frowned when he saw you were still engrossed in your phone, a little secretive smile pulling at your lips. at the smell of the food you looked up and your eyes brightened, you put your phone back on the table and ignored it when it buzzed, helping simon instead, sitting back when you had your share and pressing play on your movie. when the phone buzzed twice more in quick succession you bit your lip and glanced at it.

“answer it,” simon said bitingly, having figured out who’d be messaging you by that point. the stupid, bloody app. “but tell ‘em you’re busy with a woman already.”

your eyes widened and you coughed out a surprised laugh. “si.”

“tell ‘em you’re not hanging out with ‘em next week either, you can’t make it. you’re busy with me instead,” he continued, the weight of his hooded gaze heavy and stifling.

“but i’m not busy, we don’t have plans next week,” you said weakly, confused.

simon huffed heavily through his nose. you’d almost think it was bordering on angry but for the entire time you’d known him, simon had never gotten angry at you, even when you accidentally shrunk his brand new sports bra on a too-hot wash.

you both tensed when your phone buzzed again.

“let me turn off my notifications,” you said and reached for the phone furtively. you skimmed your notifications and felt something bloom in your chest at the mention of a date from one of your matches, but you didn’t mention it to simon. “there we go, now we can focus on movie night,” you said with a grin, scooping another forkful of sweet & sour chicken into your mouth.

simon’s shoulders dropped and he nodded. he looked to your half empty glass and stood up. “want me to grab you another drink?”

you smiled, mouth closed and cheeks full of rice, and nodded as he chuckled. he turned away before the urge to poke your puffy cheeks won out and you accidentally spat rice out on the rug.

——

>> any new matches? 👀👀👀

you pursed your lips as you read the text from emma.

<< a few. might have a date next week

<< depends if she plays her cards right

>> lol is it the librarian or the electrician?

<< electrician. might give me mates rates if i ask her to check out the faulty leccy wiring in the flat :p

>> more like dates rates ;)

>> she was cute 😍 where’s the date?

<< she mentioned getting dinner, a new place that just opened up that she said was meant to be cool

>> the thai place? omgggg i’ve been meaning to go! give me ur review after pls and ty

>> and i mean the food, but any dirty deets are welcome too 👀👀

<< ???

<< i haven’t agreed to go yet

>> 🙄 girl…

>> what happened to giving them a chance, ash said you were on board

<< idk si was acting really weird the other day

<< he got really moody about it all, practically told me to fob it all off and just hang out with him instead

<< i think he’s worried

you had been watching a few murder documentaries lately, and one too many of them had started off as innocent dates or first meet ups that ended in tragedy.

>> i think he’s jealous

you stared at the text as your stomach flipped.

<< ???

>> he’s literallyyyy had a huge crush on u since forever

>> this is not news 😐

you scoffed but felt your stomach clench and hesitated to text back.

>> don’t believe me? just watch how he acts around you over the next few days and see if he does any of these repeatedly

emma sent a screenshot from a website listing ‘things she does if she likes you’ and you snorted. it felt trivial, like you were a teenager again, but you decided to play along.

<< fine. but he won’t.

you sent your quick affirmative back before putting your phone down and finishing your break.

the idea of simon liking you was an impossible one in your mind. simon had brought home women from the moment you’d moved in, it had never been a deterrent and he’d always said you were welcome to do the same as long as they didn’t stick around when he had a day off.

recently though, you thought, there’d been less and less women traipsing out of si’s room giggling and flushed, staring adoringly up at the tall butch woman. sadly, you knew exactly how good simon was in bed from the enthusiastic sounds of his previous partners over the months, so you couldn’t blame them for tripping over their feet as they were ushered towards the exit, an eager ‘call me, yeah?’ breathed out just before the door was closed forever.

that was another reason you’d never made a move. even if sometimes there had been moments where you had thought simon’s gaze lingered too long or his touch couldn’t be excused as just friendly; you couldn’t take being a one night stand. not with him, and not when you’d have to move out when your feelings inevitably bubbled over.

you bit your lip as you cooked that evening. simon was chopping the veg for your bolognese as you were left to watch over the pasta - last time you’d burnt it when you’d turned away and gotten distracted and you refused to let simon hold that over you for any longer.

“you know i can go stay at ash’s or with emma and her partner for a day or two if you want,” you offered out of the blue.

simon stopped cutting and looked at you.

“why the fuck would i want tha’?”

you swallowed. “i just noticed you haven’t had many people ‘round recently and thought maybe it was because i was home,” you said, barely meeting his eyes. “so i can make myself sparse for a few days, it’s no bother. i don’t mind.”

“i had johnny over just the other day,” simon said as though you might have forgotten. the boisterous scot had managed to fondly wiggle his way into gaining your friendship the few times he’d popped by for simon. “and gaz and the lads are all coming by next week. y’dont need t��� leave.” he went back to chopping though much more forcefully now, the chopping board dully thumping with each downward cut he made through the courgette.

“yeah… but what about other visitors?” you hedged. “the walls are thin, si, so i thought maybe you’d want the place to yourself again temporarily so you can—“

“no. i don’t want the place to m’self. i like havin’ you here, like hearing you move around in the night and in the mornings,” he interrupted without looking up. “you stay.” he paused for a moment, doubting himself even as you nodded along. “unless you want to go?”

“god no! no, i just thought i should offer,” you laughed a little awkwardly.

he frowned deeper.

“do you want me to go?”

you paused, you mouth flapping like a fish. this was an option you’d not considered. you noticed simon’s eyes grow more and more desperate, his grip on the veg in front of him tightening as he waited for your response.

“no. never, si,” you said.

he watched you a moment more before nodding. “good. wouldn’t have anyway.”

you snorted a laugh and looked back to the spaghetti, hissing when you saw it had stuck to the bottom of the pan. “shit.”

“…tell me you haven’t managed to burn it a second time.”

——

your conversation with simon reminded you of the article emma had sent you. it took less than a week to notice how differently simon acted with others in comparison to how considerate he was with you.

he made the effort to hold eye contact at the start of your conversations, and if you ever paused too long in your reply his eyes would flicker back up from where they’d drifted to his food or phone to check why. you’d never doubted he was always listening, but seeing it first hand reassured you that he was without fail. and it only highlighted, now that you looked for it, how closely he kept to himself when strangers tried to pick up a conversation with him, how he used as few words as possible on the off chance he did reply.

you wouldn’t hesitate to consider simon tactile, soft-handed and gentle. but you knew that was a privilege. the same with his smiles, spotted in flash of crooked teeth or the slow crinkle of his dark eyes paired with the pull of his scar on the occasion he wore his mask.

at your realisation, you began to check the list religiously each night in the safety of your bed as though trying to convince yourself that you hadn’t noticed the way simon mirrored your own behaviour. how he’d lean opposite you in the small kitchen, tilting his head a second after yours as you complained about work, boiling the kettle for a cuppa after a long day.

you’d pretend not to notice him on the phone twenty minutes later, cancelling going out with his friends, again, so he could stay with you while you relax for the weekend.

you found he’d swapped the brand of peanut butter you usually bought after the last one gave you a tummy ache without mentioning it, he’d asked about your grandad’s birthday even though you’d brought it up offhandedly weeks before, he let you run your hands through his hair near his scar when he napped on the sofa. the list went on.

but you’d already agreed to that date with the electrician.

——

“i don’t know if i’ve come down with something, my stomachs not right. i don’t think think i should go,” you complained as you got ready for your date, your phone propped up on your dresser with ash and emma’s faces on screen as you video called. “i feel queasy.”

“that’s just the nerves, you’ll be ok once you get there,” emma soothed.

“want us to meet you afterwards?” ash asked.

“maybe, yeah,” you hummed. “or maybe call me an hour in just in case it isn’t going well so i can have an excuse to leave?”

“how does ‘your long lost brother just woke from a coma and you’re the only one he remembers’ sound?” ash asked.

“dramatic enough for me to make my escape,” you laughed.

“you won’t need it,” emma reassured. “you’ll be too busy flirting and fawning over her muscles to even answer the phone.”

you laughed harder and the ache in your stomach faded ever so slightly as you pulled on your shoes and got ready to leave. simon was still at work, pulling some extra hours to get the job back on schedule after johnny’s time off, which meant the flat was empty as you left.

you bit your lip and headed to the restaurant, waving shyly from the entrance when you saw jessi, the electrician, already seated and waiting on you.

“hey, been here long?” you asked as you took your seat.

“barely five minutes,” she reassured you with an easy smile. “you look stunning, by the way. worth the wait.”

you thanked her, and took in her styled hair and half unbuttoned dress shirt from across the table. you felt a little underdressed in comparison but hid your insecurity when you smiled at her across the table.

“are you always this shy?” she asked when you stayed silent a beat too long, her grin turning sly and teasing.

you laughed a little self depreciatingly and shrugged. “it’s been a little while since i went on a date,” you admitted, butterflies starting to flutter at her sharp gaze.

“i’ll go easy on you then,” she promised and winked before handing you a menu. “what looks good to you?”

——

you’d thought the date was going fine, good, even. the thought of leaving hadn’t crossed your mind and when emma had called you’d screened it and smiled at the winky face she’d sent a moment later.

jessi was fun to talk to; her humour was maybe a little more forced than what you liked but it wasn’t a deal breaker. you’d thought she was enjoying herself too given the flirtatious comments, the lingering looks and how her ankle kept brushing yours.

but just before you could suggest ordering desserts, she stood and grabbed her coat.

“this has been…” she trailed off. “maybe you’re not ready for dating, you know?”

she’d dropped a few twenty notes on the table and left before you could ask what the fuck that meant.

you called over the waiter, covered the rest of the bill and made your own downtrodden exit soon after, dessert suddenly not seeming so appetising.

“tell me you’re going to her house to stay the night and that this is a safety call,” ash said as soon as they answered.

you huffed a sarcastic laugh. “nope.” you popped the ‘p’ and scuffed your toe along the pavement as you walked.

“fuck, this isn’t a good sign then. no dessert?” you heard emma mumble in the background.

“put me on speaker if you two are still hanging out,” you said and hugged your thin jacket tighter with your free arm as you started heading down the dark street towards your apartment.

“how’d it go?” emma asked a moment later.

“i thought it was going good,” you whined. “she was nice, we were chatting, i was engaging! but she just… left?”

“what were you chatting about?” ash asked.

“just the basics; work, friends, hobbies, roommates,” you listed.

“oh god,” emma groaned on the other end of the line. you heard her voice become muffled as though her face was in a pillow as she grumbled, “you didn’t.”

“what?” you asked with a frown. “it was good, she was being flirty.”

“yeah no shit, it was a date,” ash snorted. “how many times did simon come up?”

“don’t start this again—“

“because you were literally talking about him other day when we walked by a black and white cat just because it had little ‘socks’ and it reminded you to do laundry when you got back.”

“i promised to do simon’s while he’s been picking up extra hours,” you defended yourself. “he literally had to walk around shirtless the other week when i forgot to add them in for him.”

“oh, the grown woman who can and often does do his own washing just had to walk around with just a flimsy little sports bra and boxers on all day? sure, sure.” you could practically hear ash roll their eyes. emma snickered in the background and there was a slight shuffling which was never a good sign. “yep, here it is. and i quote ‘the way he’s built… like a damn chew toy. need to sink my teeth in to him, it’s like my jaw buzzes every time i see him with the urge to clamp down on his bicep.’ those are your texts to our group chat from that same day.”

“the texts i send when im ovulating should never be repeated out loud,” you hissed. “and do we really need more evidence that he’s synonymous with my wet dreams now, i’ve already admitted that i like him.”

“so you know this is a safe space,” ash said facetiously. “answer the question: how many times do you think you managed to bring him up in conversation?”

you chewed your cheek in frustration. ash would know if you lied but thinking back on it you didn’t really want to admit how many times you managed to bring up simon for your own dignity.

“look they had the same boots on, ok? and when she talked about her work it was the only way i could try to relate if i told her how simon had mentioned the same things,” you reasoned.

ash cackled on the other end of the phone and suddenly emma was talking while their laughter grew faded.

“have you looked at that list i sent you?” she asked, her tone oddly low and sobering.

“yeah, i can’t stop thinking about it,” you huffed. you paused to cross the street. “but it feels like i’m just making them up because i like him and he’s just being a normal roommate.”

“you’re not and he’s definitely not,” emma chuffed. “and i think you know that too.”

you were silent as you walked, your steps slow and careful even as the bitter cold wind snapped at your cheeks.

“he likes me?” you asked softly.

“no duh,” ash’s voice rang from the background making you laugh. they got closer and you could picture your friends crammed on emma’s shitty little couch as they spoke to you. “why do you think he’s always walking around flexing his muscles like that, huh? we’re in manchester, i don’t care if it’s almost summer, it’s not bloody warm enough for it!”

“and simon has you as his lock screen,” emma added like a 1-2 punch before you had chance to try and explain any of it away. “he always cancels on his mates to see you instead, and don’t get me started on how touchy he is with you.”

“he’s tactile…” even as you said it you didn’t believe it. though you couldn’t keep count of how many times this week alone si had let a warm hand land on your shoulder, knee, back, wrist, neck; you knew he barely touched anyone else.

"girl. simon?" emma snorted probably thinking the same thing as you.

“he likes me,” you said more confidently into the phone.

“oh thank fuck, she’s finally caught on,” ash said as emma laughed.

“i could literally be swapping spit with him right now and instead i’ve just wasted like two hours on a shitty date, oh my god,” you bemoaned.

you don’t know when you’d stopped walking but in a second you were speeding up to a jog as you said goodbye to your friends and hung up, fumbling to put your phone in you bag. eager to get back home and to see simon.

——

you crammed your key into the front door’s lock when you got home and groaned exaggeratedly when it didn’t turn. simon must’ve left his key in the door, again. of all the bloody times.

you knocked hurriedly, loudly, impatiently.

“siiiimon, open the door, come on i’m cold out here, you wouldn’t leave me shivering and lonely just because you forgot to put your key on the keyhook i specifically bought for—“ you cut off your joking whine when the most stunningly beautiful woman you’d ever seen opened the door to you, a knowing smile on her plush lips.

“oh,” you croaked. almost reflexively, your throat closed up and your eyes started to sting. “i must have the wrong flat.”

“what? no, you’re—” her smile dropped slightly and her dark eyes grew curious, but you didn’t stick around long enough to see.

“sorry, my fault! i’m meant to be on the floor above,” you rushed out and pretended to laugh. “silly me. sorry again.” tucking tail you turned to the fire exit at the top of the small staircase without waiting for a reply.

you knew the short staircase lead to the roof, simon had shown you one time and there were enough signs pointing it out. on the other side of the door was a small, flat balcony that stuck out of the slanted roof, and had old metal ladders that dropped 3/4 of the way down along the side of the building, in between the detached restaurant next door.

given you were the top flat in this little rinkydink building the woman at your door had probably thought you were an idiot and you couldn’t blame her. you decided to stick it out for ten minutes outside before sneaking back down and heading over to emma’s with your heart in your hands ready to be mended with the power of friendship and alcohol and food.

you sat down on the shitty little balcony and groaned loudly, desperately holding back your tears lest you fell into a despair and ended up accidentally falling asleep out of exhaustion and dramatics up there instead.

you’d finally realised your feelings and it was too late; simon had clearly taken your previous offers on board and moved on. you’d given him a free night while you went on a stupid date, what else was he going to do since you’ve been continually - though not purposely - pushing him aside like he was disposable.

“fuck,” you sighed shakily.

“date that bad you’re thinking of jumping?”

you swore in surprise and span in your spot to see simon leant in the fire exit doorway.

you couldn’t help but huff a weak laugh. “yeah it was,” you said before looking back down to your hands. “sorry, i didn’t know you were busy or i’d have gone to a friend’s instead.”

simon frowned and stood up straight. “stop saying you want to go somewhere else,” he said stiffly, swallowing thickly before taking the few steps to sit next to you. “when i’m here.” he knocked your shoulders together. “gaz said you freaked out at the door?”

you looked up at him in confusion. “gaz? that was ky— she’s called kylie, not kyle isn’t she?” you asked with wide eyes. simon’s accent had hidden her real name and convinced you all his mates were men and you’d never thought to second guess it. “christ, i thought she was— never mind.”

simon tilted his head as a knowing smile grew on his face.

“you thought i’d brought someone round for a shag?”

“well, she’s very fucking gorgeous,” you said defensively, crossing your arms. he leant his weight further into your side.

“mm. haven’t noticed.” at your unimpressed look he shrugged. “got my eye on someone else, ‘aven’t i?”

you nodded but avoided his eyes. seeing an unknown woman answer your door - gaz or not - had knocked your confidence more than you’d have liked to admit.

simon snorted.

“talk t’me, thought i was meant to be the quiet, brooding one.”

you looked across at him for a moment before leaning in to hug him tightly. you let the scent of his aftershave soak in and sighed when his own arms automatically wrapped around you too.

“you’re an amazing friend, si,” you whispered. and with how close you were pressed together, you easily felt how he stiffened at the title. you squeezed him harder in response, garnering yourself some more confidence at the same time, and sucked in a cold breath to speak. “and i think i’m a little bit in love with you.”

you felt a whoosh of air against your neck as the breath left simon’s body; he went loose in your hold and you buried your head deeper into his shoulder.

he tried to catch your eyes, ducking his head as best he could, but you’d thoroughly tucked yourself in against him as you felt a stinging heat spread from your cheeks outwards, your heart kicking its way through your chest and likely thumping noticeably against his own.

with gentle and patient cajoling, he managed to nudge you back up to face him and you offered up a wobbly smile.

“are you serious?” he asked breathlessly.

you nodded. “i’m sorry it took me so long to reali—“

simon coughed out a wet and surprised laugh and pulled you in for a kiss, his scar catching against your dry lips before you were able to slip your tongue out to wet them briefly. his hands were firm as they cupped your round cheeks, not letting you break for a breath until the very last second, determined to take all he could get before it came crashing down on him.

“y’r an idiot, so fuckin into ya. been a nightmare living with you, unable t’touch,” he mumbled against your lips and suddenly it was your turn to laugh into the kiss.

“unable? all you do is touch me,” you giggled, gasping when he took the chance to flick his tongue against yours.

“yeah?”

“yeah,” you huffed. “drives me mad, si.”

“only gonna get worse here on,” he promised. “never taking my hands off ya, off your fat arse and soft tits.”

you sucked in a shaky breath. “fuck.” you’d be dripping like a tap at all times if that was the case and going by simon’s smirk, he knew it.

“i’ve had to deal with your dumb mate fucking teasing me about liking ya for months now too,” he grumbled.

“they’re not dumb.” you leant in to bite his lip meanly. “and i’m sure your friends will be teasing me for what just happened too, never mind me being so blind to be on dating apps while we were practically already together.”

simon groaned. “i fucking hated those apps.”

you kissed him sweetly in apology, a soft peck to the lips then each cheek as he greedily chased your lips.

“they’re gone now. my date was ruined because i could only talk about you the whole time. all i want is you.”

“yeah?” his eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them as he tugged your jacket openand slid a hand under your shirt. his rough fingertips teased at the thin material of your bra and your nipples stood to attention under his ministrations and from the chill of fresh air biting at your tummy, bared when his arm rumpled your shirt. “want me right now?”

“always,” you panted. “but…”

you furtively glanced to the door.

“no one comes up here. i can be quick.”

“your friends are waiting,” you reminded him.

“fuck my friends,” he scoffed and tweaked at a nipple, grinning at the squeak you let out.

“would rather fuck you,” you joked weakly even as he pulled his hand back to pluck at your jean’s button and zipper.

“then what are we waiting for?” he asked.

you moaned and gasped when he slipped his hand down the front gusset of your jeans and into your panties before you gained the cognisance to pull it back out with a groan. “later, later,” you promised. “wanna get you naked.”

simon stared at you for a second and you worried he was annoyed at you for putting your foot down. he nodded however, licked his lips as he glanced back to the door and then dipped down to kiss you lightly.

“i’m kicking the lads out then, gimme five.” he stood and took few broad strides to get back to the stairs inside.

you laughed and called after him as he darted back down, taking two at a time as you followed with a grin, struggling with your jeans. “si, don’t be daft.”

“smartest move i’ve made in a long time.” he said as he walked back in to your flat. “everyone out. want some time wiv my girl.”

“ayy congrats!” soap called from the couch.

“that means now, soap.”

“don’t hafta tell us twice,” the scot stood with a slap to his knees and saluted simon on his way out. “ye coming, ky?”

“it was nice meeting ya,” gaz said as she wandered past, winking. you hid your hot cheeks in your shoulders but couldn’t help the flustered grin that spread as simon barely waited for the door to be closed before shedding his shirt, leaving him in a sports bra and his baggy trackies.

“get comfy. not letting ya leave til i’ve had m’fill.”

“funny you think it won’t be me dragging you back for more. let’s see if you can keep up, si. i’ve been told i’m pretty demanding.”

“always loved a challenge.”

you grinned wickedly. “come and get me then.”

butch/stud masterlist

updated mood board below (kept working on it after seeing kitty’s absolutely fantastic oc mood board and felt inspired by them!)

[syoddeye]

like i'm winning it - 02 wellspring

ghost x f!reader | 3k words | series page | ao3 cw: alcohol, threats of violence, power imbalance, sexual harassment (quid pro quo offer), reader is in over her head, male ocs You've never made it this far. Not on your own.

Win comes around a lot more after your date. 

He buys booths, bottles. Slips tips to any of your work friends who so happen to breeze by and drops bills on the host stand. In one month, more money passes through your hands than the last three combined.

You pay off the rent you'd been dodging. Renew the subscriptions to your motorized blinds and water filter. Get your nails done. A balance of necessities and luxuries. Indulgence to feel alive, practicality to stay afloat. 

In return, every night you're not working, you accompany him on dates—restaurants, galleries, and shows. Stuff previously out of reach for you. He asks you to read, dead scripts that'll never see the screen, but good practice. You show him your self-tapes. A list of the classes and workshops you want to take. And it's like that first dinner. No jokes, no teasing. Win takes you seriously. Says you got a gift, that you're a little diamond in the rough. Raw potential that only needs polishing.

But as nice as Win is, you're not naïve. His attention is a well that could dry up like Tahoe. You're determined to enjoy it while it lasts, though.

Mal stops you one night, just as you're shrugging your coat off, mid-sentence with Irina. She tilts her head and says there's a 'big guy' waiting for you out front. Your shift's covered, and your pay won't be docked. It doesn't click until she tacks on as an afterthought, "Does he always wear a mask?"

You stop, coat half-off, a cold rush prickling the back of your neck. So. Ghost is here. No big deal—it's probably something for Win. However, when you check your messages, there's nothing recent. Must be a surprise, you think, smiling as Irina jabs her elbow into your ribs, purring out, "Have fun, my little Star."

You pull your coat back on, zipping it to your chin as you bolt out of the dressing room. The club isn't quite to capacity, but you weave through the crowd until you reach the doors. You say goodnight to security as the doors swing open and see him dead ahead.

Ghost pops the door to a sleek red car, but the back seat's empty.

"Where's Win?" You ask as you climb in.

"You see 'im?" The door shuts in your face.

Rude. You don't recognize the car, but Win mentioned owning several. Even curiouser, there's no uniformed driver. Ghost slides into the driver's seat.

You give up on questions. All Ghost does is grunt and answer monosyllabically. 

You temporarily lose your ability to speak at all, anyway, when the sidewalks outside get cleaner and the stores trend nicer. You don't want to believe it when he takes a particular turn, heart swelling in your chest, but then yes—he turns again, and the street narrows, feeding into a set of chrome gates reading CynoSure Studios. 

You've never made it this far. Not on your own.

The car slows but doesn't stop as the red light of the gate's security sensors wash through the interior, then flick blue. The gates open automatically, and you're on the move again, passing warehouse after warehouse. All locked up and closed. Ghost takes you to the last one tucked in the corner. The car door opens for you, inviting in the breeze, carrying the faint scent of cigarette smoke with it.

"Get out, go in, and give 'im your name."

"Win?"

"No."

"Who, then?"

The look Ghost gives you in the mirror tells you ought to try your luck with the stranger. Not him.

You step out and straighten your skirt, and risk one more question. "Can you at least tell me how long this will take?"

"As long as it needs to."

Helpful bastard. 

Your heels click against the pavement, the sound ricocheting down the boulevard of silent studios, the street stretching out, empty but for the murmur of jazz seeping through the warehouse walls. The door gives when you pull the handle, and warm air brushes over you as you step into the dimly lit, cavernous space.

In the center is a small set. Parts of an old school, traditional family home. A kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom. A set of speakers on the cement floor. A man leans on the counter, staring at a spread of papers on the table. 

"Hello?"

He looks up, a smile slowly forming on his face. "Can I help you?"

You give him your name, eyes darting around, finding no others. "I think my–I think Win Goforth set this up?"

"Senior or Junior?"

"Junior?"

His golden oculars flicker, the faint glow brightening as something shifts behind his pupils—an interface scanning through a list, maybe a calendar. "Right. Come on in, then. You're the last girl of the day."

You laugh a little incredulously, confused, and glance back at the entrance. Ghost would hear if you screamed, right? He'd also…respond. Right? 

"I'm the last girl for…?"

"The Lumina Vitae shoot? The skincare line?"

Your steps falter. When you didn't hear back after you'd sent off a dozen self-portraits—your hands lit as best as you could manage with a desk lamp and a timed lens—you prepared yourself for rejection. You knew it was a longshot. No professional help, no proper gear, just hoping beyond hope they were good enough. Yet here you were, apparently in the running. 

"Oh, right. That shoot. Of course, thank you. Hard to keep up these days."

He chuckles. "Sure is. I'm Max, by the way. If you'd just…"

Max helps you onto the raised set, immediately positioning you under one of the dangling set lights. He retrieves a small control from amongst the papers, which you realize are printed stills of various hands carefully posed and photographed. 

"No paperwork to sign?"

He ignores the question and turns up the music. "Hands out." You do, arms slightly bent, palms facing down—basic stuff, he mentions. No papers necessary since he knows the Goforths. With a tap to his temple, a small photographic drone floats onto set from somewhere unseen. Its lenses adjust automatically.

"Remain still."

Then, it's all too fast, snapping photos at a dizzying speed, its movements fluid. He must take a hundred pictures, peppering you with generic, scripted questions. How long you've known Win, your day job, if you're a local, and your family. That sort of thing.

Suddenly, he stops, humming, dark shapes moving over his irises as he reviews shots.

"I'm afraid this lighting is too severe. Mind if we…?" He walks toward the bedroom. "There's a better lamp in here."

"Of course." 

You scurry after, the drone following, and sit on the bed, close to the nightstand where he turns on a gentler lamp. The light's warmer, softer. He instructs you to lay one hand over the other, slightly offset, and you're suddenly thankful for the manicure and the little luxuries Win's generosity affords you.

If this goes well, I could get more than a manicure.  

You buzz at the thought, at the domino effect this opportunity might have. You're so caught up in your daydreams that you barely notice Max moving closer, pupils dilating manually. He reaches out, his fingertip pressing gently against your chin, tilting your face toward his.

"Is Win your only agent?"

The question catches you off guard. You're about to correct him, explain that Win isn't your agent, that you wouldn't even call him your boyfriend, but remember your lie. "Yes."

The drone hums past, its tiny turbines leaving a heated wake. It hovers above Max's shoulder, an impersonal observer. "You're not affiliated with any other studio? You've never worked for Echelon? Parallax? You're not, ah, fucking some other big wig?"

You pull back, lips pressing together, but keep your hands in place. After years of trying to wedge a single finger in the door, scrabbling for every chance, you're not about to fold to a sleaze like him. He's not the first, not the last. Still pisses you off, though. "No."

His irises shift from the soft gold to a harsh, ophidian yellow. "No? Good. Then, maybe we can help each other. I'm, ah, inclined to give you this job. Your hands aren't bad. Small, but nothing a shop job couldn't fix. And no mods. No synthetic patchwork. I like that. Makes me curious how much of you is natural." 

You wrinkle your nose.

"Problem is, Win's signed to take half of your earnings," He shakes his head. "That doesn't seem right, does it? You're the one putting in the work."

You don't answer.

"Why don't we cut the middle man out?"

Dread and disgust churns your stomach. What he's insinuating, what he's suggesting—you think of calling for Ghost just to see Max wet himself. He must not know the lug's here. "And I'm sure you're offering this out of the goodness of your heart."

He snorts. "Of course not. This lot isn't booked until tomorrow morning, and there's a perfectly good bed here…" His voice trails. "I'm sure you can put two and two together, sweetheart."

Bile, sharp and bitter, rises to the back of your throat. You have half a mind to spit it onto his shoes, but instead, you swallow it down, determined to keep it together. 

"Thanks for your time, Max," Hundreds of nights coddling drunk assholes at the club have prepared you for this. "I'll be going."

Max doesn't budge when you stand, forcing you into the narrow gap between him and the nightstand. "You sure about that?" He ducks his head closer, the drone bobbing beside his face. "I'll tell Win you're being difficult, and you know, we actually go way back. Might be difficult to find work on a blacklist."

Your lip curls, Ghost's name tucked behind your teeth as a last resort. "You can tell Win whatever lie you want, I'm not doing this. Not for you, not for anyone. Win's been nothing but kind to me. I don't care who he is, I'm not going to–" You glance at the cheap stock bed, "I'm not going to betray his trust like that."

You don't know where you stand with Win—how serious he is about you, or if anything is even there—but you do know that he's been kind, generous, and this…Fucking some slimeball? Cutting him out for a stupid fancy lotion commercial? You couldn't.

Turning on your heel, you make for the door, fuming, and nearly fall off set.

There, leaning against the far wall beside the door, is Ghost. Arms crossed, relaxed, and looking bored as ever. Has he been inside the whole time?

Behind you, laughter. Max follows, clapping and squeezing an over-familiarly hand on your shoulder. "Oh, Win's got a live one, Ghost. Don't you think?"

What the fuck?

You jerk away from him and trip over your words. "What–I don't–Aren't you with Lumina Vitae?"

Max shakes his head. "Oh, I'm no, not at all. I just work for Mr. Goforth. This," He gestures at the hovering drone. "Is his toy. Feel free to wave. Win will watch this later." He taps his temple twice, and the tiny bot emits a melodic chime before lowering obediently into his hand. "Good job by the way, you passed."

"I…passed?"

Max steps around you. "Win's a high-value individual. The Goforths have enemies. Rivals. He likes to vet his, ah, company before he gets in too deep." He gathers the stills and shrugs. "Next time you see him, he'll probably have you sign an NDA. That's the usual timeline."

Heat floods your skin, blooming over your face and neck. The entire situation is outlandish, bordering on absurd, but that's the point, isn't it? It's a test. Win is the heir-apparent to one of the biggest names in film, his family worth billions. You knew that, of course, but you've spent weeks skating around it, choosing instead to lean into the fantasy, pretending it wasn't reality until now.

Max watches you stumble off the set unassisted. "Congrats again. See you around sometime."

Ghost stares past you as you hurry across the warehouse, desperate to put distance between yourself and the stooge. Your arms fold over your chest, hugging yourself tightly, the pressure a weak attempt to steady the choppiness of your breath. He peels off the wall, following close enough that you half-expect him to grab you, stuff you into the trunk, and kick off another leg of this hazing ritual.

But he doesn't. He doesn't say a word when you leave the CynoSure lot, or when you kick off your heels and curl against the door. You press your forehead to the cool glass, mind buzzing with static. Again, you're the one who breaks the silence.

"Does Win…Does he test everyone?"

"Yeah."

Your eyes snap to the back of his head. "Does everyone pass?"

"No."

"What happens to–"

"Don't ask."

"Can I ask one more?" You lick your lip and ask before he can refuse. "Would you have helped me, if he…if he tried something?"

The car jerks suddenly, swerving as it barely misses a motorbike you blast past. Ghost swears, hands choking the steering wheel. After a moment, his shoulders sag, and he cracks his neck with a grunt. "'Course. Don't want to be out of a job."

Ghost doesn't take you home. He takes you to Win. No message or call is needed. He's expecting you. You try to think of something coherent to say to him, but you keep circling back to fuck you. You can't say that, though, glancing at the man behind the wheel.

You follow Ghost from the car into the building, squeezing past him into the lift, and settle into a rear corner. One arm wraps across your torso, the other bent at the elbow, fingertips hovering near your mouth, the impulse to chew your nails loud. The doors close, and the lift starts, numbers climbing in a muted LED glow. You stare into the middle, at and through your reflection.

The jolt is sudden. The lift grinds to a halt, and you instinctively reach for the bars on either side to keep yourself from falling. White light shifts abruptly to red. Your gaze whips to Ghost, mouth opening at the sight of his hand eclipsing the screen, a thumb pressed firmly to the emergency stop.

"What are you–" The question shrivels when he takes one step and closes the distance. The space between you almost nonexistent, and erased further as he leans closer. His head tilts down, all angles and shadows under the crimson light. His eyes are a dimmer red than usual, earthy, like rust. His hands slip over yours, his weight shifting to apply pressure. You try to ignore their smothering warmth.

"You and I are gonna have an understanding."

Your tongue twists. You nod.

"You passed Junior's stupid test. Good for you."  Each word drips with disdain, clipped with irritation, like he can't believe you made it this far. "Doesn't mean your pretty arse belongs in this building, on 'is arm, or anywhere near 'is family. Don't care 'ow much 'e likes you or that cunt of yours. One step out of line, an' you'll be landfill. We clear?"

Landfill. "We're clear."

Ghost grunts and lingers a moment longer, his eyes dropping, and for a second, you think—no, you're sure—he's sneaking a look at your tits. But then one hand lifts, and he plants it against your neck. His thumb settles in the notch above your collarbone, pressing lightly. A scan passes over you, invisible but invasive, crackling in your ears. Then he pulls away with a huff, apparently unimpressed by what he found.

The lift moves before you do. When the doors open, it takes every ounce of willpower to unstick yourself from the corner, legs unsteady beneath you.

The condo is quiet. Ghost disappears ahead without you, before you can toe off one heel in the foyer. Your feet throb, but it's nothing compared to the cement block of stress resting on your shoulders. You should've stayed at the club. Between the 'test' and Ghost's brief, terrifying warning, you think you're close to collapse. You walk as quietly as you can, slow, still at a loss for what to say to Win.

You turn the corner into the living space and flinch at a loud pop, followed by a familiar burst of sparks. A champagne bottle sparkler flares, held aloft by a grinning, dressed-down Win. "There's my beautiful star, my Stella," he calls out, jerking his head. "Get your cute ass over here, and let's celebrate, baby."

This night keeps getting better.

"I look cute, huh?" Win teases as you reluctantly tiptoe closer. "Like I'm you. All I need is a skirt."

You don't know how much longer you can keep playing along. "Win, we need to talk–"

He pours the champagne over two glasses, spilling a bit as he looks between you and the bottle. "I agree. We've got to talk contracts." A wide and knowing grin spreads across his face. "Just got the call—you're in, babe. You're gonna be a Goforth Girl. You got the gig."

You blink. "I what?"

Win chuckles. "Don't look so shocked. I've got a buddy over at Lumina. This one was a gimme. Not all of them will come this easy, but hey, it's your first big one, right?"

You sit before you keel over, swallowing hard as your stomach turns in slow waves. Disbelief, confusion, and the remnants of your indignation tangle together in a knot. Your first gig. A real one. Not some odd job handing out flyers in costume or paid-in-exposure promo modeling. A real commercial for a real company with real reach. Still. You need to say something.

"Yeah, but Win, we need to talk about your friend. Max? The creep at CynoSure? He, um, he told me–"

"We'll cover that, too." He brushes it off with a casual wave as he hands you the flute of champagne. "Got a form or two for you to sign in addition to some business about exclusive representation." He looms over you, ringed fingers twisting the stem of his glass. 

You gape up at him, your head a mess from being pulled in so many directions in one night. It would be crazy, right? To say no now. Max's voice echoes in your head, steady and certain: Win's a high-value individual. The Goforths have enemies. You can't blame him for wanting to protect himself, to protect his family. If roles were reversed, wouldn't you? And if you're going to continue your…entanglement, isn't signing papers in your best interest, to protect yourself?

Win extends his drink. "You'll be a star. We'll make it happen."

We'll make it happen. What else can you say to that? To his complete confidence in you?

Your smile is a brittle thing warped into a crescent, and you watch it in the reflection of your glass as you lift it. "Well, to us, then."

The glasses clink, and you swallow a bitter sip. Win draws you back onto your sore feet for a prolonged kiss.

The slap of bare feet against the floor breaks the moment, eyes popping open as you make a noise into Win's mouth. Across the room, in the kitchen, Ghost reappears. Shirtless. He looks even bigger now, his back a hulking mass of muscle, ridiculous in its sheer width. Scars line his skin, some mods, some implants, but the rest speak to his chosen career. Black ink coils up his arm in a cluttered tattoo, and his skin's slick, the dampness of his blond hair suggesting he came from the shower.

Win pulls away, his mouth smudged with your lipstick.

"Ghost! Join us, we're celebrating! Grab a glass."

The behemoth pauses at the refrigerator, glaring. Despite his state of dress, he's taken the time to hook a cloth mask over his ears, one of which looks puffy. His brow furrows and his gaze shifts between you.

"No." He grinds out, voice low, and a shudder runs down your spine. He lumbers off, water in hand, and Win tuts in playful exasperation.

"Such a buzzkill. Now," His mouth skims your cheek, moving to your ear to whisper. "Where were we, baby?"

[roastbeasts]

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[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Things Learned and Unlearned Ch. 2

Series Summary: Y/N has spent her life trying to outrun her mother's reputation. When she meets the rich and successful playboy, Dean Winchester, how quickly can he get her to stop running?

Pairings/Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N, Sam Winchester, Jessica Winchester, Lucy Winchester (OC)

Warnings: Each chapter will have it's own warnings, but there will be smut, seduction, virgin!reader, playboy!dean, Edwardian era BS attitudes surrounding sex and women. (Technically it's set in 1900 and the Edwardian era started in 1901, but you get it.) Angst, Fluff, all the good stuff that regularly pops up in my series. 😁

Chapter Warnings: Nothing major. Kissing. Pining. Lusting. 😁

Word Count: 5,192

A/N: Here is the next chapter. I hope you're enjoying this 1900s Dean x Reader AU. Thanks for all your kind words about Ch. 1.

Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

Dean visited the library at the same time for the next two days, hoping Y/N would be spending Lucy's nap time there again. But she didn't show up. He saw her only briefly when she came to dinner every evening. However, she rarely spoke and left quickly at the end of the meal. She was always polite, always answered any question put to her, but mostly she kept her head bowed demurely and stayed silent.

On the evening of his second day, as soon as Y/N was out of the dining room, Jessica walked up to Dean and punched him in the arm.

He shot her a glare as she moved off to help Sophie, their kitchen maid, clear the table. "What was that for?" he asked.

"What did you do to her?" Before he could defend himself Jessica put a hand up to stop him. "No, don't try to look innocent. Before your arrival we were making headway with Y/N. She'd been so painfully shy when she first got here. It was all, 'Yes, Sir’ and ‘Yes, Ma'am'. She'd finally begun to call me Jessica, but now I'm back to being Ma'am. And she barely speaks now! What did you do?"

Dean shrugged and gave his most innocent look. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Jessica rolled her eyes and moved off to the kitchen. Sam watched his wife walk out of the room before confronting Dean.

"Look, you know I don't tell you how to live your life. I walked away from Father's life, and you took it onto your shoulders. You get all the pressure, all the societal gossip, all the responsibility of keeping the family business afloat. For all of that, I figure that you're entitled to do as you choose in your personal life." 

Sam ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "But Dean, don't mess around with this woman. She's kind and innocent and she doesn't deserve to be yanked around by you, or left broken-hearted."

Dean frowned. Did his brother really think he went around ruining women and breaking their hearts? "You wound me, Sammy." He said, only half joking. "I mostly bed bored wives and widows and they all know what the situation is. I don't go about my life leaving a trail of broken hearts behind me."

"How would you know?" Sam asked, sarcasm thick in his voice. "You never look back to notice." When Dean started to try and defend himself again Sam just shook his head. "Look, I just mean, don't treat Y/N with disrespect."

"Of course not." Dean said. But as Sam left to set up their card game in the parlor, Dean realized he had been disrespectful to Y/N. He'd have to track her down tomorrow and rectify that.

To Dean's delight the next day, he found Y/N at the far south end of Sam's property, sitting on a bench in the apple orchard. As he stepped from behind a large stand of trees, he cleared his throat, trying not to startle Y/N again. But she must have heard him coming through the leaves on the ground because she didn't look startled. She looked like a deer in the rifle sights of a hunter. He smiled, trying to put her at ease.

"Good afternoon, Y/N. I'm so glad I found you." He decided to do away with formalities, given the proposition he had planned.

She cleared her throat, but it was still soft and husky when she spoke. "Yes, so nice to see you too, Mr. Winchester. I was just about to head back up to the house, so if you'll excuse me…" She tried to walk briskly past him, but he caught her arm and tucked it into his.

"Wonderful, so was I. I'll walk you up to the house."

She looked like she wanted to argue, her mouth opening and closing several times before simply saying, "thank you" in a small voice. They walked a moment in silence. Then Dean decided to get right to the point.

"I realized that I may have seemed terribly rude the other day. I acted without explaining to you what my intentions were, what they are, I mean."

Y/N looked up at him, her expression surprised and slightly perplexed. "Your intentions?"

"Yes, you see, from the moment I saw you sitting on that bench by the train station, I've known I want to take you as my mistress."

Y/N stumbled, but Dean kept her upright. "Careful." He said as he stopped and turned to face her. "Now, I know that you're an intelligent, beautiful woman. I would never dream of asking you to come away with me if I couldn't provide for you." Dean smiled and began walking again, leading her forward.

"You'd have your own house, of course. I'd give you a household allowance and a clothing allowance. I'd expect you to attend some societal obligations with me. Only the ones where wives aren't present, obviously, but that's still a fair few. It would likely be one a week at least. Other than those obligations, your days would be yours and I would come to visit you a few times a week. I'll always try to let you know of my intentions the day before, but sometimes my schedule can be unpredictable."

Dean stopped again and turned to face Y/N. She stopped when he did, but stayed staring straight ahead. He couldn't tell what she thought of his proposal. He walked in front of her to try and see what her answer might be.

"Do you have any demands you would like to make of me?" He asked, unsure of her feelings.

Her features were flat and expressionless, until she met his gaze. Then he could see that her eyes burned so dark, they looked black. She raised her arm and her palm came down in a fiercely stinging slap across his left cheek. He stood stunned for a moment, before looking back to stare in astonishment at the absolutely furious woman standing before him. Her breasts were heaving, her cheeks were flushed and the anger sparked from her gaze like sparks from a fire. She was magnificent.

She raised her hand to slap him again, but he saw it coming this time and grabbed her wrist, holding tight. She pulled hard against his grip and he let her go, afraid that he'd break the fragile bones he could feel moving under his hand.

Suddenly her beautiful face contorted and she grabbed up her skirts and ran. It took Dean a moment to realize she was crying.

Well, dammit he thought. That did not go the way I planned.

***

Y/N sat in the library the next day alternating between rage and despair.

Clearly she was everything her mother had been. Obviously in spite of everything she'd worked for, the world could still tell she was the daughter of a fallen woman.

Her mother had been the disgraced daughter of an English Lord. She'd been shipped off to America to live with an elderly aunt until she could be safely married off to Y/N's father.

This was information she only learned at the age of sixteen when a so-called friend, Meg, had told her. Meg had tried to hide her glee as she explained to Y/N the reasons why some of the other girls at their boarding school shunned her. The rumors surrounding her mother and her hasty marriage were old, but still circulating.

Y/N had been mortified, but she'd confronted her mother about it at the summer break. Isobel had looked stricken but then said that yes, the rumors were true. She wouldn't talk about it except to say that Y/N should always keep herself pure and chaste. 

She took Y/N by the shoulders. "Your purity, your chastity, it is everything. The pious will tell you that your soul depends on it, but I'm telling you Y/N that not only will your soul suffer if you give in to passion, your life will suffer too. Stay away from men."

It was some of the last advice Isobel had ever given Y/N. Three weeks later, her mother died of blood poisoning after a cut had become infected.

Y/N hadn't known how to feel. She was sad, of course, but she'd barely known her mother, really. Her father had died when she was very young and her mother had been mostly absent, letting first the nannies and then teachers at the boarding school raise her daughter. 

On top of the rumors surrounding her early years, it was suggested by some that after her husband's death, Isobel lived as a kept woman. Y/N wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but she knew by the whispers and slightly curled lips that it was dirty and wrong.

And now she'd been offered the same life.

As she'd listened to Dean lay out his offer, she realized that this must have been what people had meant when they said her mother was "kept". A man had paid for her living expenses in exchange for…for what, exactly? Dean had said that he'd want her to accompany him out sometimes and that he'd visit her.

What would happen during those visits? Whatever it was had to be the reason people had seemed repulsed when they talked about Isobel.

Her mother had money, Y/N always knew that. It was how they afforded their beautiful home and the boarding school that was Y/N's other home. But when she'd been young she'd never thought where the money had come from, she assumed maybe from a trust her father had left.

But of course that was impossible. Her father had owned a modest general store with two locations in the city of New York. He had been firmly middle class, and couldn't have provided that kind of life for them.

When her schooling had ended shortly after her mother's death, she had no marriage prospects and no job prospects either. No one wanted a governess from a questionable past, especially one who was young and beautiful. That's what Mrs. Oliver had told her anyway.

Mrs. Oliver had been her savior. She was an elderly lady who sat on the board of the school and gave large donations. Y/N had met her at some of the school functions, when the girls were trotted out to converse with the patrons and show them their donations were creating lovely, demure young ladies.

Mrs. Oliver had liked Y/N right away. She liked her wit and her kindness and when Y/N left school, she’d offered her a position as her companion. Y/N took the position and counted her lucky stars.

Mrs. Oliver was still sharp and lively even into her seventies and working as her companion had been the happiest Y/N had ever been. She'd worked for Mrs. Oliver for just over five years before the lady passed away peacefully in her sleep.

Y/N had come to work for the Winchesters soon after, thanks to the glowing reference Mrs. Oliver had left for Y/N in her will. Now she'd been a governess for nearly two years, and had begun to believe that maybe she'd outrun her mother's scandalous life. Maybe she wouldn't turn into a "ruined woman incapable of controlling her passions". That was how she'd heard her mother described once.

But no, here she was, acting completely inappropriately with a man she'd only just met. Acting so inappropriately, in fact, that he believed she would welcome being a kept woman.

As she sat in the library, her rage left her and the despair rose again. She was a lost cause. Her soul was obviously already tarnished and if she wasn't careful, her life would be too.

***

Dean had gone to the orchard first, looking for Y/N, before trying the library, so his clothes were damp and his hair was wet from the misting drizzle that was falling. He tried the library as a last hope and almost heaved a sigh of relief as he saw Y/N's form folded into the green chair. 

He knew that Sam and Jessica had taken Lucy to town for a couple of hours to see the circus parade that was going down Main Street before setting up in the fairgrounds. Only the groundskeeper, Kenneth, and Sophie the cook were around. So Dean closed the door and turned the key in the lock. He didn't want to be disturbed.

As he approached her, he could tell that she had been crying. A pain he didn't recognize clenched his gut and he realized it was remorse. He had been the one to make her cry. He had to fix it.

"Good afternoon, Y/N." He said as he took a seat on the couch facing her.

She resolutely ignored him, as if he hadn't even spoken. She wasn't going to make this easy.

"Look," he began, "I can clearly see that I've hurt and insulted you. Please believe that was the last thing I intended. I only meant to show you that I didn't think you were just some easy maid to be tumbled and forgotten. I wanted you to know that I was offering you more. I wanted to provide you with luxury and wealth.”

He clasped his hands together. “I know my brother and sister-in-law pay well but still, a governess' salary isn't much. When we finished our time together, you would have had enough to live on your own quite comfortably. You'd be cared for, and wouldn't have to worry about earning money again. That's what I was trying to tell you. I wanted to offer you so much more than you have now. I thought perhaps you wanted more as well."

She looked up from her lap. Her stony face was still beautiful, even in its sharp, harsh lines. Her gaze scorched him.

"Please, leave. I am rejecting your proposal." Her voice was all ice; it made him long to melt it.

"I gathered that you rejected my proposal when you ran away from me and then refused to come to dinner last night." Sam and Jessica had been sure it was his fault she didn't come down and since he was also sure it was his fault, he didn't even argue very hard.

"I accept your rejection of my proposal. But I don't want to leave. I wanted to talk with you a while."

Y/N just returned her attention to the book she had in her lap. He sighed. He took a chance and moved to kneel on one knee in front of her chair. The closeness had the desired effect of surprising her out of her block of ice.

He took her chin in one hand, lightly, so she could pull away if she wanted to. She didn't.

"Truly, Y/N, I want you to know how sorry I am to have insulted you or hurt you. Please believe that was never my intention."

He saw a slight thaw in her gaze and decided to take it as a win. He didn't want to push his luck so he left the library.

He returned the next day in the hope that she would be there; she was. She was also there the next day and the day after that. The hours between two o'clock and four o'clock quickly became his favorite time of day. Over the three afternoons they spent together the ice in Y/N's smile began to thaw more and more until he was able to pull actual, sweet smiles from her. They were like a prize.

They spent their time discussing books they’d read and loved and explaining only a little bit about their backgrounds - Y/N seemed as reluctant as he was to discuss it. So instead they talked of world events and Y/N described her excitement at the prospect of the World's Fair that was coming to St. Louis in 1904. 

She’d longed to go to the previous World's Fair in Omaha the year before, but of course, she couldn't afford it and Lucy had been too little for Sam and Jessica to want to take her. Y/N hoped that because Lucy would be nearly eight years old by the time the next World's Fair arrived,Jessica and Sam might take them all to St. Louis to see it. When she talked about it, her enthusiasm and excitement made Dean very happy.

After dinner one evening he caught up with her as she left to go to her room in the nursery. He grabbed her hand and pulled her behind a large mahogany bookshelf. She looked surprised and tense. He smiled.

"Run away to the circus with me." It was such a ridiculous request that it shocked a chuckle out of her.

"What?" She asked, her mouth stretching into an adorable grin.

"Come with me tomorrow afternoon. It's the last day the circus will be in town, let's go see it. It's no World's Fair, but it should be fun. It's your day off tomorrow, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"Don't say no. Say yes."

She shook her head. "Why are you even asking me if you're just going to answer your own question? Why not just ask yourself to go?" Her voice was teasing.

"I make terrible company."

"You're not being very convincing."

"I'll buy you popcorn."

"Well, that seals it then." Y/N said. "You should have started the request with popcorn."

***

Y/N stood in front of her mirror and contemplated changing for the third time that afternoon. The indigo blue cotton dress she wore now was simple and modest. The puffs on the sleeves weren't too large, which she'd liked a few minutes ago when she'd pulled it on. But now she was wondering if she should have puffed sleeves at all. Did it seem as if she was putting on airs, trying too hard to look like more than a governess? Perhaps she should have just worn the serviceable gray wool she wore during her days with Lucy.

Her opportunity to change ended when she heard the soft knock at the door and Jessica called, "The carriage is ready for you and Dean."

Y/N opened the door and smiled, trying to hide her nervousness. Jessica clasped her hands and brought them to her lips.

"Oh, Y/N, you look so beautiful. That dress is lovely."

"Thank you." Y/N said, suddenly shy. She liked Jessica very much, Sam too. They were both kind, fair, and wonderful employers. She felt as though they could be real friends if they weren't separated by the professional relationship between them.

She wondered what Jessica thought about her stepping out with her brother-in-law. Before she could wonder for very long, however, Jessica linked their arms and started walking Y/N towards the front door. On the way she offered some advice.

"Dean is a good man. You know, he paid for Sam's schooling and helped him start a practice in spite of their father's disapproval. He wanted both his sons to follow in his footsteps and run the business. But Dean knew that Sam's heart lay in the law. So, he defied the old man and took care of his brother." She took a deep breath. "So, please don't think that I'm giving you this warning out of any sort of concern about Dean's honor." 

She stopped just inside the front door. "He doesn't try to ruin women. He doesn't mean to break hearts. He's just…well, he's just him. And although he certainly knows he's more handsome than the devil," she rolled her eyes, "I really don't think he understands the effect he has on women. They fall for him, and he's moved on before he ever even thinks to catch them."

She grabbed Y/N's hand and gave it a squeeze. "I guess I just want you to be careful, and maybe put a bit of a wall up around your heart."

Y/N was blushing, but she nodded. She was way ahead of Jessica. Over the last few days Dean had shown her that he was intelligent, compassionate, sardonic but hilarious, and wonderful with his niece. She'd forgiven him for his proposal, believing that he was truly sorry and that it had all been a misunderstanding. Perhaps the way she'd behaved with him in the library that first day had made him believe she would welcome the offer.

Whatever the case, there had been no more such talk and in all other respects he'd acted as a perfect gentleman.

Did her heart still pick up its pace every time he walked into a room? Yes.

Did her stomach flip and fill with butterflies when she looked too long into his eyes? Yes.

Did her fingers sometimes itch and tingle with the need to reach out and touch him? Yes.

But as long as she didn't give in to her wanton thoughts, she would be fine. Dean was leaving in about a week; she could manage to hold herself in check. She admitted that she was excited for today's outing to the circus, but only because she'd always wanted to see one. It had nothing to do with Dean.

Then Jessica opened the front door and there he stood. He wore a dark gray suit that was tailored to him perfectly. His eyes were more of a mossy green than emerald today, and they were full of good humor. He smiled his dazzling smile at her and her belly was suddenly full of butterflies again.

He offered an outstretched hand for her to take so he could help her down the stairs. She slipped her hand into his and tried to ignore the warmth that spread up her arm because of the simple touch. But the thought came unbidden to her mind that she wanted to feel his hands everywhere. She was horrified and almost turned around to run back inside.

But she didn't. She continued with Dean into the carriage. Kenneth was driving them and he tipped his hat to her as she climbed in. The open air carriage allowed the sunlight to pour over her and she relished the extra days of summer they had been granted.

Dean climbed in and sat beside her. She could feel the hard length of his thigh even through her layers of skirts and petticoats. She tightened her fist around the parasol she carried and tried without success to ignore the feelings that came from sitting next to Dean.

He always smelled like shaving soap, and something very male, almost spicy, a scent that belonged to Dean alone. It never failed to make her salivate and swallow as though she was savoring a tasty treat.

They arrived at the circus grounds and Dean stepped out of the carriage and again offered Y/N a hand to help steady her down the steps in her skirts.

She stumbled slightly on the last step and Dean caught her under her elbow, pulling her into his side to stabilize her. She leaned into him for a moment, her body giving in to the feeling of bliss that came from his arm wrapped around her waist. But quickly, she straightened up and mumbled her thanks before rushing toward the gates.

This may have been a very bad idea.

***

"And the fire-eaters! Did you see them, Dean? I mean, they swallowed fire!" Dean chuckled as Y/N repeated her reverence for the fire-eaters, as she had at least a half a dozen times since seeing them that evening.

The circus had indeed been a lot of fun, much more fun for Dean because Y/N was clearly enjoying herself immensely. There had been acrobats, and jugglers, and a woman who walked on a tightrope. There were musicians and performers of all kinds. There were clowns and games to win prizes. In her purse Y/N carried a small bird made out of wool with real feathers sewn onto it. He had won it for her at a game of ring toss.

The day had sped by and Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed himself this much doing something that didn't involve whiskey, women, and cards.

Now he was walking her up the steps of the porch and he wanted nothing more than to extend the evening. So, he didn't go inside immediately, instead he lingered when they got to the front door and he was happy to see she did too.

Some of her elation from the day seemed to slip away and she was shy again. Ducking her head she said, "Thank you so much for taking me, Mr. Winchester. It was a lovely day."

"Mr. Winchester?" Dean said, a reprimand in his voice. "We're not back to that are we, Y/N?" He took a step closer hoping she wouldn't step back. She didn't.

He lowered his voice, almost to a whisper. "May I kiss you goodnight?" he asked, unable to hide the heat in his eyes as he raised her chin with his forefinger.

Her eyes widened. "Why?"

A smile came to his lips. "Because I want to. And, tell me if I'm wrong, but I think you might want me to as well."

"No." she said succinctly and he immediately took a step away from her.

"No." she said again, but grabbed his hand. She shook her head. "I mean, no I want you to."

He frowned, struggling to understand what she was trying to say. She exhaled roughly as though she was exasperated. And then she leaned up on tiptoe and pressed her lips softly and fleetingly against his.

When she pulled away her skin was so red, he could see her blush even in the moonlit shadows they stood in. “I'm so sorry.” She said, clearly flustered. “I shouldn't have done that. I don't know what came over me."

Dean’s grin was wicked. "I know what came over you, it's come over me too. Will you let me kiss you now? And show you?" His voice was husky with his desire and it took all he had not to lean forward, grab her, and crush her lips with his own.

"You already kissed me." Y/N said, confusion on her face. "You just did." It took Dean a moment to realize she was referring to the little light-as-air kiss she'd just given him.

He tried to curb his laughter. "Well, that was certainly sweet, but not the same as me kissing you."

Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean? You just kissed me."

"No, you kissed me."

After a moment's contemplation, Y/N scoffed and looked at him suspiciously. "You kissing me, or me kissing you, it's the same thing. You're just trying to kiss me again."

Dean smiled. "You don't think there's a difference between you kissing me and me kissing you?"

She shook her head, her expression suspicious. "Of course not."

"Would you care to make a small wager on that?

"I don't gamble."

"Oh, this won't be for money. If, once I kiss you, you still think there's no difference, I will grant any request you make of me." Dean paused and heat flooded his hooded gaze. "And vice versa."

***

Y/N stood in the moonlight, staring up at her own ruin and she didn't even try to stop it. She nodded, agreeing to the wager.

Dean reached out and took her hand, shaking on the deal and then pulling her in close. Even in the semi-darkness his green eyes shone, jewel bright. He stood for a moment simply staring at her mouth. The hunger in his gaze made her shiver.

He took her chin in his fingers and leaned close to her, his mouth hovering over hers for what felt like an eternity.

"What are you…" Y/N was incapable of speech. Her heart beat so hard and fast she was sure it would soon burst. "Hurry up." She said, shaken completely.

Dean shook his head slowly. "No." His voice was deep and rough and he drew out the word, so it rumbled up from his chest.

When he was a hair's breadth away from her lips, she put her hands up between them, flat on his chest. The warmth of his skin through his shirt burned her palms.

"I concede." She blurted out. "It's different. It's not…this is different."

Dean's expression was pained. "Do you want me to walk away?"

The part of her mind that was desperately trying to preserve her sanity was screaming at her to say yes. But her body physically revolted at the thought of him moving away now and she shook her head.

"Thank God." He breathed against her lips before finally covering them in a kiss.

Dean's lips were soft and plump, but they pressed firmly against hers, and the pressure made her dizzy. She swayed slightly and Dean grasped her head in his two hands as he deepened the kiss.

She felt him sweep his tongue across her sealed lips, as though he was tasting her, and she gasped. He took advantage of the opening and swept his tongue inside. He tasted like the apple cider they'd drunk earlier; it was warm and spicy, and she reached her own tongue out to explore the taste further.

Dean groaned low in his throat, a sound that made all the hairs on her body stand up and gooseflesh race across her skin. His hands slipped from her head, down over her neck and shoulders. He slid them down to her waist and pulled her against him while he walked her backwards until they were up against the wall of the house.

He pressed his hard body into her, and moved his lips to her neck. Fire exploded along the path his lips had taken and Y/N was suddenly desperate to feel his mouth everywhere.

She was seconds away from asking him for exactly that, when a light went on in the house and they both froze. The light didn't spill onto them and it was extinguished fairly quickly, but it had been enough to bring Y/N to her senses. She stepped to the side, out of the circle of Dean's arms. She was instantly so cold she started to shiver.

She couldn't think what she could possibly say, so she simply rushed toward the entrance. But he caught up her hand just as she reached the door.

"What about my request? I won the bet, remember?"

He stepped up close behind her, wrapping his strong hands around her upper arms, and whispering in her ear. The low rumble caused the shivers to move inside her body so that her insides trembled.

"Come to me tomorrow night, at midnight. The household will be long asleep, but I'll be waiting for you."

He let go of her arms and she ran into the house as fast as she possibly could, before she could agree to the request or deny it. She had no idea which one it would be.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters:

Dean Fics Only:

@lyarr24

@lacilou

@deans-spinster-witch

@globetrotter28

@suckitands33

@alwaystiredandconfused

@evznackles

@jackles010378

@impala67rollingthroughtown

@krazykelly@candy-coated-misery0731

@envyaurora95@spnwoman

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[gouraminnow]

Galley on 4th

Pt. 2 (Modern AU- Yandere Thatch x gender neutral reader)

Part 1 | Ao3

Raising your kid sister all by yourself is hard enough on it's own. But add classes, poverty, and several jobs to juggle and the pressure builds awfully fast. Most employers will drop you on a whim and it's all you can do to stay afloat… So when you somehow manage to land a well-paying position at The Galley on 4th Avenue, a famous, high-end place run by some well renowned Chef- You're desperate to hold things down. Good thing your new Boss is so friendly and understanding, huh?

Warnings: Not much for this chapter. General themes of poverty, hints of yandere sketchiness

Kind of a filler chapter! Mostly setting up Reader and Grub's relationship + background characters. Wish there were more named WBP members outside of the commanders, I'd make the restaurant staff canon 4th division characters if I could. Ah well, I still like my ocs lol. There WILL be more reader/Thatch interaction in the NEXT chapter! Happy Holidays to those who celebrate!

Despite the hell of a day you’d had, it turned out to be… a pretty good night, somehow. Thatch didn’t even stay that long- not that you could blame him. If he thought the way he’d been skulking around your kitchen was slick he had another thing coming. And while it was nice he hadn’t said anything rude, you still didn’t appreciate the… looking. You just didn’t want to cause a scene in front of Grub. Or at all, really, if it means this goes away… you think, watching the kid pile her plate high with a gap-toothed grin. Your boss had left pretty soon after Grub’s attention was stolen by the food, but not before leaving you his phone number and insisting you let him know if you needed help with anything. You had nodded dumbly, stumbling through another quiet thank-you before he escorted himself out.

And that was it.

You stood quietly in front of the closed door for a moment, the rustling of Grub rifling through bags seeming much farther than it really was. “EARWIG!” She shouts, waving at you from the table. “Come on, come EAT! It’s GOOD!”

“Don’t call me that,” you sigh, words falling from your lips as you turn to trudge back to the table. “... But you’re right, I should eat.” She grins, shoving a white box of buttered rolls towards you- the pull-apart kind.

“Look look look! There’s so many of them! I didn’t know they came attached!” She exclaims excitedly. You smile, reaching across the table to ruffle her hair.

“Yep. Crazy world we live in, huh kiddo? Pace yourself, yeah? I’m excited too, but don’t make yourself sick sweetheart.” She sticks her tongue out, scooping some potatoes onto her plate. “Hey, you put that back!” You playfully scold, pointing to her mouth and she giggles. “I’m serious though, eat slowly. You wouldn’t want to throw up the good stuff, would you?”

She looks at you thoughtfully for a moment, eyes narrowing- then she sighs, and flops against the back of the chair with a sullen expression. “Ugh. I guess not…” Your eyes soften. “Hey, kid, I’m not saying you can’t eat, just that you have to do it slowly, okay? Don’t sulk, now.”

Grub slowly sits up, resting her knobby elbows on the kitchen table. Her wide eyes regard you sternly from behind her bangs- you should probably trim those, soon. “Does this…” she starts, before looking around and lowering her voice almost conspiratorially. “Does this mean we can have seconds tonight..?”

You scoff, but inside your chest you feel your heart clench. It was… normal to try and ration things for a couple days. Whether it was takeout, or you managed to buy some decent pasta the kid didn’t hate the texture of and made a big pot of something with it… it was expected that the both of you would only have one serving of each. You had been thinking of doing the same thing here, honestly- just acting on autopilot until she had asked. But… neither of you really had access to a spread like this since… since your old family dinners.

Since long before you took Grub, and ran.

You relax the muscles you hadn’t realized you had been tensing, and smile warmly at your baby sister. “Of course we can, kiddo. Actually- do you want to put on a movie, too? It’s the weekend, after all.”

And the grin she gives you isn’t one you’d trade for the world.

-

She’s very energetic in the morning, you quickly learn- when you’re torn from dreamland by her little hands violently shaking your shoulders. “EARWIG! BREAKFAST TIME! BREAKFAST!” She yells while you try to figure out where the hell you are. Is this a rollercoaster? Car crash, maybe?

“K-kid- jesus, I’m awake, I’m awake! Yes! Breakfast! Very exciting!” You stammer, forgetting your wrist when you try to grab at her. That familiar jolt of pain shoots up your arm, and that seems to do the trick because Grub finally stops.

“Oh, um… Sorry, I forgot…” She mumbles as you lie dazed in your own bed. Well… shared bed. You technically had a twin sized mattress for the Grub, but she always seemed to find her way into your bed. You’d wake up with her curled up in front of you, little hands clutching at whatever nightshirt you were wearing, and eventually you stopped trying to dissuade her. The twin bed was just another storage space now, extra sheets and blankets kept underneath and all her plushies carefully arranged on top. You raise your good hand, giving the kid a thumbs-up.

“S’fine, I forgot too,” you confess, strained voice still heavy with sleep. Your hand drops to rub at your eyes, then the bridge of your nose while you try to blink the blurriness away. “Ugh. What time is it, kid?” you ask, rolling onto your side. She had turned the lights on and the curtains were drawn, so you couldn’t be sure. It certainly felt early, though. You knew she typically got up before you, allowing you to slip in and out of sleep for a couple more hours.

Your vision comes into focus in time to see Grub bashfully pull away, arms folded behind her back. She’s wearing the oversized tie-dye shirt the two of you made a few months back, when she was home sick for some sort of classroom art activity. “It’s seven…” She mumbles. “B-but I was excited for breakfast, a-and I didn’t wanna eat without you! I already waited a whole half-hour!”

You stare at her for a moment. That’s… sweet, even if you still want to sleep… you sigh, folding your arm over your face. “Alright, kiddo. I’ll be up in a bit, okay? We’ll try one of the soups, I’ll heat it up on the stove…” You punctuate your words with a yawn. “Then I’m gonna take a nap. Okay?”

“Okay!” She cheers, the volume rattling your brain inside your skull. Ugh. Guess it’s time to get up now… you toss the old blankets aside, stretch until your back cracks, and then swing your legs over the edge of the bed, settling your feet against the itchy gray carpet. You’d been meaning to get some sort of mat to set down by the bed, something softer and less… grimy, but it was hardly a priority. You trudge your way into the bathroom. Grub has long since left you in the dust, and you can hear whatever cartoons she’s put on in the living room. You amble your way down the hall, to the doorways at the end- one leading into the kitchen, and the one on the other side leading into the bathroom. The yellowed tiles are cracked, and the buzzing of the flickering light irritates you, but luckily brushing your teeth doesn’t take all that long. Grub loudly sings along to some gratingly cheerful theme song in the other room. You finish brushing, and then go to re-wrap your wrist. Delicately peeling the fabric away, you wince. Dark purple marks gather around your wrist, fading into other shades as the blooms of discoloration spreads from either side. You flex your fingers, as a test- paying close attention to the twinges it causes. You had been… ignoring those, when you had other things to do, but now you were face to face with the fact that this was a lot worse than what you had thought. 

Well, alright. This shouldn’t be a problem, you can manage! You have two days before you have to go anywhere. Two days you don’t have to work. You opt to keep it unwrapped, for now- bracing an icepack between your arm and your chest while you warm up the food should work, and you only need one hand to eat.

So that’s how it goes, injured arm awkwardly folded against your chest while you reheat Millie’s chowder on the stove, stirring slowly with an old wooden spoon, fingers catching on the spots where the wood grain fibers have been picked at. Some of the rolls are being reheated in the oven, so as to crisp them up rather than letting the microwave leave them… strange. Microwaved bread sucks. Somehow both chewier and soggier than it was initially. Horrible texture, just awful.

Grub is nice enough to fetch bowls and utensils without being asked, dragging around that old little step stool you’d found at a garage sale. She’s… surprisingly quiet today, aside from your abrupt awakening- no chatter as she sets the bowls onto the counter next to the stove, nor when she fetches the oven mit for you. “Thanks, button,” you coo, taking a brief break from stirring to rub her head. She hugs your waist, before hopping back. “This should be warm enough now, I think,” you mumble, raising the spoon to your lips to confirm your thoughts.

Oh wow. Millie knows what she’s doing, this stuff is good. You’ll be sure to tell her in person on Monday.

You ladle a portion into each bowl, telling Grub to be careful as she rushes to the table with hers. You smile, turning the burner off, and remove the rolls from the oven before turning that off, as well. Setting the pan onto the empty burners beside the pot of chowder, you take your own bowl to your spot at the table- across from the kid. “Bread has to cool a little bit, but help yourself once it does, kiddo.” Grub nods- already at least a third of the way through the bowl you’d given her. She still hasn’t said much, other than when she woke you up. Normally you have to remind her not to talk with her mouth full. You exhale slowly. “Hey Grub? Is… everything okay, sweetheart..?” 

She pauses her chewing, eyes flitting between your worried face and her bowl of chowder. She gulps, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. “Um… I just…” She starts, but trails off.

“Hey, it’s alright,” you assure her softly. “Do you want seconds, again? Is that it? We can, if you want.”

Her little brows knit together and she huffs, staring down at her soup. “... I want to eat like this more. D-do you think, um, Breadhead will do this again..?” You snort a laugh, shoving your uneasiness down.

You… don’t want to promise her anything. You’d like to eat like this more too, truthfully. “Well, Thatch is… pretty friendly. I didn’t expect him to do any of this, honestly…” Your turn to go quiet. “I guess, m-maybe I could, um…” The idea alone makes the words hard to get out, like sharp stones digging into your throat as you dredge them up. “... I-I think I could ask,” you offer her.

She smiles a little bit. “We have enough for the weekend, at least…” she says, and you can hear the squeaking of her chair as she swings her little legs. “Then you can get more on Monday, maybe…”

“I’ll see what I can do, kiddo. Might not bring back as much, but I’ll make sure you get something.”

She’s quiet for a moment, staring down at her chowder and swinging her legs. “Yeah, I know,” she eventually says.

The rest of breakfast is quiet, but not unpleasant. Grub has a second, smaller helping of soup and two bread rolls- that kid sure can put a lot away. Weekends are nice. You have an online class to attend on Saturdays, but for the rest of it- no responsibilities other than Grub. You always make sure to put some time aside for the kid, whether it’s an art project, cooking something together, going to the park… but it’s been cold and wet outside lately, so you opt to stay in. She’s gone over to Miss Howell’s apartment for a shower and some cocoa while you have class- your shower doesn’t work. You typically head over and borrow it as well, once your class is over.

Edith Howell was a sweet old woman who lived across the hall. She didn’t talk about herself much, but she was always willing to help you and for that- you were extremely grateful. It wasn’t just letting you use her amenities- she’s the one who picks up Grub when you work evenings. She has a dayjob at a kitschy little craft store, and often had something to give Grub. Your sister thought she was awesome, because anyone who would humor her mischievousness earned points in her book- plus she thought the surname of “Howell” made her sound like a werewolf. Edith humored the kid, even getting one of those classic but tacky three-wolf-moon shirts, which Grub thought was awesome.

Finishing up the lecture, you huff. Finally. You stand, and stretch- waiting for that familiar kink in your back to sort itself out. You weren’t… particularly passionate about medical care, but it does pay pretty well. But it’s endlessly frustrating how you struggle to afford the very same treatments you’re currently learning about. Your eyes flicker to your still-aching wrist. Getting a proper brace for it might be a good idea… maybe you could find something cheaper online?

… Maybe you’d look later.

You stand up from your rickety chair, stepping into your slippers, gathering a change of clothes and ambling into the living room, with the intention of embarking on the grand commute that was the door across the hall. With a warm set of pajamas tucked under your bad arm, you swing open the door with the good one and close it behind you.

Ugh. 

The hall light is flickering again, and it always whines- a low buzzing that settles in the back of your head. It never fails to agitate Grub, who makes a competition of spending as little time in these yellow, moldering corridors as possible, the same way she races you to bed after flicking off the bedroom lights. You take the four steps it takes to cross the hall, cringing at the way your slippers stick to the floor slightly every time you lift your feet. You don’t knock, just opening the door and walking right in. Edith expects you on Saturdays, and you know her hips bother her. No reason to make her walk to the door when greeting each other once inside works just fine.

“Hi, Edith! Grub! I’m here!” you call out in the entryway. You hear the tv playing something, some shuffling, and then Grub is darting toward you. You hear Edith’s laughter from the living room as your sister’s little arms encircle you, your good hand automatically moving to ruffle the kid’s hair- “Kid, your hair’s still wet,” you comment, hand recoiling.

Grub looks up at you, pouting. “It’s fiiiine,” she whines. “I don’t like how the dryer sounds, an’ using a towel pulls my hair!”

You sigh, shaking your head. “You’re awfully sensitive,” you jab, but there’s only humor behind it. Grub sticks her tongue out at you, then sinks down- sitting firmly on top of your right foot while her limbs wrap tightly around your leg. You quirk a brow, head slowly tilting as you stare back down at her. “Oh, this is what we’re doing, hmm?” The kid grins, bursting into a fit of giggles as her fingers dig in. “Alright, here we go! HUP!” You lurch forward, dragging her along with you. She doesn’t get much air, but she’s having fun regardless.

“Hi, Miss Howl!” you greet, dragging a laughing Grub along with you as you slowly lurch your way into the living room. “Sorry, it’s gonna take me a bit, I seem to have some sort of growth,” you say, finally in view of the old woman sitting on her floral-patterned couch, old shelf of kitschy glass animal figures and craft projects standing a little ways behind her. She’s wearing a long, dark brown skirt, and that cheesy t-shirt she bought to humor your sister. Her apartment is a little nicer than yours, mostly in terms of furnishings- you’ve always been a little envious of her lacy curtains. But the conditions of the building itself still shine through. The linoleum kitchen floor is still warped and the wallpaper is peeling.

“What a shame,” she tuts, shaking her bespectacled head, the few gray, flyaway strands of hair that escaped her bun swaying. “I hear getting rid of those is rough.”

“Normally, that’s true,” you comment, looking down at your giggling sister. “Lucky for me, I’ve got an efficient, low-cost method of enucleation,” you say, grinning slyly at her. Before Grub realizes the game you’re playing, your free hand shoots down and you run your fingers up and down her sides, your tickling immediately earning you a thrashing Grub and peals of hysterical laughter. She flails, arms and legs unwrapping, and your good arm quickly loops around under her arms to keep her from falling backward. Can’t have her hitting her head. Or anything, preferably. 

She straightens herself out with a huff, and you let go- standing back up and stepping away. You gesture vaguely at her. “See? Easy and free.”

“Cheater!” Grub pouts, but your host just laughs.

“I’ll have to remember that little trick,” she chuckles, adjusting her glasses. She moves to stand, and you instinctively move forward to help, but she raises a flattened hand in a silent gesture to stop. “Oh, don’t be like that, I can manage,” she huffs, taking a moment to stretch once she’s on her feet. “I’m hardly an invalid, yet,” she quips, flashing you a wry smile.

“Ah, sorry, I just-”

“None of that either! Come on now, hon.” She continues chastising. You feel your face growing warmer.

“Yeah, Earwig, none of that either!” Grub pipes up cheekily. You turn to where she still sits on the floor, arms crossed. There’s a second of eye contact- and then you drop to the floor as well, good hand shooting out to tickle the girl once again. She howls with laughter, and Edith simply shakes her head, shuffling past the old vintage piano and into the kitchen.

“I’m putting the kettle on!” she calls out. “You know where everything is, so feel free to shower whenever!”

The shower is just what you needed. The bathroom is still humid from Grub’s shower when you enter, and it always smells faintly of mildew in here, but at least Edith gets hot water. You take a couple moments to just stand under the hot spray, eyes closed and head tilted up as the heat sinks into your stressed body. You’re careful with your wrist, but the familiar sharp pangs still shoot up your arm. Your brows furrow. It’s… worse than you thought. You had broken both wrists before. Did it… mess things up again, maybe? You sigh, doing your best to brace yourself, before carefully trying to feel your injured left wrist with your good hand. Taking your right pointer and middle fingers, you try to gently press along your injured wrist but don’t get far- the pain it sends through you has you stifling a cry. Whimpering, you bite your lip. Fuck. You can deny it to Thatch, Edith, and Grub, but not to yourself. It’s worse than you thought. Not broken. At least you don’t think so, you’d at least know that if it was, wouldn’t you? Regardless, you really can’t do anything about it. With a sinking feeling in your gut, you opt to just wrap it again when you finish your shower. You sigh shakily, lowering your arms and closing your eyes, enjoying the hot water for just a little longer.

Your host greets you from the kitchen when you exit, your hair still damp and eyes half-lidded in the relaxed fatigue a nice shower leaves you with. She gives you your tea options, and you call out your preference as you amble towards Grub. She’s currently wrapped up in a blanket on Edith’s dusty pink floral couch, a generous mug of cocoa clasped between her little hands, and residue from the drink decorating her upper lip. Edith has some cartoons on for her- it’s vaguely familiar, a protagonist in white and blue up against some power-ranger-esque looking villains. You ruffle her hair as you pass, returning the raspberry she blows at you with a grin. “You’re due for a trim. You got a cocoa-stache, kiddo,” you tell her, chuckling when she immediately starts licking her lips.

You meet Edith in the kitchen. She’s got one of those quick, electric kettles- heats the water up fast. Something to consider after Grub’s winter boots, you think, taking the steaming mug Edith hands you. She pours her own, following you back out to the living room, both of you sitting yourselves down at a creaky little corner table. She sighs, leaning back in her equally creaky chair, and you busy yourself with your first sip of tea. Ooh. Too soon. Edith snorts at the way your face scrunches up when the hot water scalds your tongue. She doesn’t need to chide you, the look she shoots over the rims of her glasses is enough. You huff, flustered, but give a short nod. 

You both sit there in comfortable silence for a couple minutes, save for the dramatics of the show Grub is watching. You jump, whipping around when the kid suddenly starts excitedly belting something out- ah. Next episode. You quickly settle, a small but warm smile spreading across your face as your sister sings along with the opening theme. You turn back to Edith, noting the twinkle in her eyes as she watches you. “She’s particularly happy tonight,” she notes. You nod.

“Probably the food…” you mumble with a lopsided smile, blowing on your tea and tentatively raising it to your lips.

“Mmm. Yes, I saw the take-out bags. That man is the charitable type, it seems.”

You hum, taking a sip. It’s hot, and irritates the burn on your tongue somewhat, but other than that it’s pleasant now. You lower the mug. “I… think he mostly just felt bad,” you say, eyes avoiding hers.

“Good. Take advantage of that, then, lord knows you could use the break,” she quips, voice laced with good humor. “He seemed fond of you…” She continues. “Could do a lot worse than a man like that, you know?”

Your face heats up. “I- w-what?! Miss Howell!” You hiss incredulously. You know she’s probably just teasing you, but you can’t help it.

She laughs. “Oh come now,” she chides. “He’s tall, he’s very well built-” You slap your good hand over your face with a whine. “-He can cook, and he’s clearly already willing to help you out, isn’t he?” “E-edith!” You stammer, cheeks and ears burning. Your voice is hushed as you glance over at a pre-occupied Grub, making sure she isn’t listening. You know she’d start making fun of you school-yard style for having a cruuuuush, and you could do without a nine-year-old’s witticisms. She might even say something if she saw him again, too. You shudder at the thought. “Come on, he’s my boss!” You continue, earning another snort from the woman before you. 

“Good! Go and get yourself a raise, then! A little sugar never hurt anybody!” She shoots you a wink.

“Oh my god, E-EDITH!” Your exclamation and the elderly woman’s resulting cackle do succeed in drawing your sister’s attention away from her cartoons- you hear the telltale clack of her mug being set down on the coffee table, so you turn to face her direction again. You watch as she cranes her little neck, before opting to shuffle her body around and drape her arms over the back of the couch, hands dangling.

“What? What is it, what happened?” She asks, smiling brightly at you.

You do a frantic shooing motion with your good hand, and your host speaks up for you. “Don’t worry about it dear, I’m just giving earwig here a hard time, is all.”

You jolt as soon as you hear the silly nickname. You whip back around to her, hand flying to the spot over your heart, face twisted in a mask of betrayal. “Et tu, Miss Howell?” You theatrically exclaim, an exaggerated wobble added to your voice.

Weekends never last long enough. Saturday was lovely, the evening capped off by having Edith over for dinner- sharing the gumbo. She reiterated that Thatch was a good cook, and you quipped back that it was likely a subordinate chef who actually did it. But her words did ring true, unfortunately. He was good. You knew that much for sure. And while you were usually focused on other things, now that you take the time to really think about it, he… really isn’t all that bad looking, huh?

You go to bed a little confused that night, Grub none the wiser.

Sunday is nice, too. It’s the one day you don’t have work or class, so you spend it trying to dote on Grub. After breakfast, some cartoons and a short game of uno, you get her into some of her warmer clothes and walk hand-in-hand down to the bus stop for a relaxing day at the local library. Their kid’s section is nice, and Grub adores the comics. You have to tell her not to run and jump onto the bean bag chairs, but other than that she’s very good, curled up next to you with a pile of books. One of the titles catches your eye- that being Sora, Warrior of the Sea. It looks… just like that cartoon she was watching. Huh. Kid’s lucky- you remember wishing some of your childhood favorites were adapted to the big screen, but alas.

Things only went sour once you’d gotten back home, wrapped up cozy on the couch barely listening to the news on your grainy old tv while Grub draws. You’re reheating more of those leftovers when your phone rings, the sudden loud noise making you jump. The scuffed, cracked screen lights up, displaying the name of Grub’s school district, and you answer, holding it up to your ear with your left shoulder while stirring your chili with your right hand. And in that canned, robotic, tone you get a message that makes you want to start yelling. It’s a fucking Records Day tomorrow. No school for the kid.

You groan, taking a break from the food to put the phone down with your good hand. You look back to where she lays on the floor- the drawing paper laid over a heavy book since the carpet didn’t make for a flat surface. “Hey, kiddo,” you call out, watching as she finished scribbling something before raising her head in acknowledgement. “Did anybody tell you there’s no school tomorrow..?” 

She blinks owlishly at you. “Nuh-uh,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t remember any teachers saying that… Do I get to stay home tomorrow?” She asks, a little smile spreading across her face.

“That’s what I’ve gotta figure out, kiddo. Me and Miss Howell both have work tomorrow, and I’m not leaving you here alone.” She looks sad for a second, shoulders drooping, until she looks back up at you thoughtfully.

“... But I still don’t gotta go to school?”

“It’s not that you don’t have to. You actually can’t.” You tell her, getting a gap-toothed grin and a whooping cheer in response. You roll your eyes as if you aren’t smiling too. 

… But it’s still an issue. You have a longer shift at The Galley tomorrow, starting during the afternoon and lasting until closing. You wouldn’t leave her alone in a normal home, let alone this nightmare of an apartment. Speaking of, you need to get some more diatomaceous earth soon- you saw a roach in the hallway. You sigh, hand on your forehead, biting your lip. Your eyes slide to Grub, happily drawing again. Your eyes move back to your phone.

Thatch did tell you to ask for favors. Insisted on it. But it makes you uneasy just thinking about it. You turn back to the chili, giving it a stir before turning the stove off. You stare into the deep, brown red soup for a moment, as if the beans and ground meat would provide you with a way out of it. But you really don’t have anyone who can watch the kid…

With another heavy sigh, you snatch up the phone and type out a quick text to your boss before you can talk yourself out of it.

Hello, sir. Sorry to bother you again so soon. I had another favor to ask, if it’s not too much trouble.

Ugh. Your stomach is in your throat. It’s a simple message, but you’re practically nauseous over it. You’re ladeling the chili into bowls when the phone rings again, Thatch’s name lighting up the screen this time.

Wow. That was quick.

You deposit Grub’s portion on the table and gesture her over, before leaving to take the call in your bedroom. You swipe right to answer, then hold the phone up. “H-hello?”

“Hey there sweetheart, everything alright?” You blink, brows furrowing. Sweetheart? You opt to ignore the way your cheeks heat up, shoving Edith's words from the previous day out of your head.

“Uh. Y-yeah, sorry if I was vague, it’s not, um, urgent. It’s just about tomorrow…”

-

Thatch sits down on the break room couch, crossing his legs, reclining with his free arm draped over the back. He’d been irritated to get a text while working, but his face lit up once he fished it out of his pocket and saw just who it was. He told Genkei it was you, and the man shot him dual-finger guns and took over the meal prep without a word, whistling pleasantly. He pressed the call-button as he headed for the double-doored kitchen exit.

A favor, he thought, you were asking for a favor, just as he’d encouraged you to… with your reluctance, he thought it would take longer for you to reach out. This was a welcome surprise. The phone rings a few times before you pick up, nervous voice rendered slightly grainy through the speaker. “H-hello?”

“Hey there sweetheart, everything alright?” he cuts to the point, but asks the question casually. His lips quirk upward when he notices the distinct pause on the other end- a response to the endearment he’d tossed in, surely. He indulges himself for a moment by imagining that you must be flustered.

“Uh. Y-yeah, sorry if I was vague, it’s not, um, urgent. It’s just about tomorrow…” You say, skipping over the pet name. A point in his favor, it would do for you to get used to those. Millie had been visually perturbed the first time he called her “sweet pea,” so he’d backed off for a little while, though the way he used epithets of endearment for her came from a place of paternalism rather than…

Well, how did he feel about you, exactly?

“Ah, do you want to take the day off? Want a ride to a clinic, instead?” he offers, hoping you’ll take him up on it. “Finally taking my advice and getting your wrist checked out, huh?”

“Uh, no…” he has to suppress a sigh at that. “Or, m-maybe? But it’s not about that, sir,” he quirks a brow. “I just found out Grub doesn’t have school tomorrow. I don’t have anybody who can watch her, especially not on short notice, so I-I thought that, um…”

“... You want to bring the kiddo?” He finishes for you when you trail off, keeping his voice light.

“If that’s alright… sometimes I bring her to the diner and she hangs out in a booth, but I know this is, uh… a very different type of place.” Thatch chuckles. As much as he did want you to take the time off, you had mentioned it wasn’t within your budget on Friday… Plus, a chance for Grub to warm up to him was something he didn’t want to pass up on.

“We have a break room for a reason, don’t we? We can work something out.” He pauses for a moment. There’s one small problem. “I don’t have a carseat, though…” Maybe Oyaji still had one in storage somewhere, but it would take awhile to find.

“I don’t either,” you confess, voice small. It was that tone he’d become familiar with in his short time as your employer, the one used when you were nervous or self-conscious about something. 

“Well, you don’t have a car, so there’s not much of a point,” he comments. Someone in your position had more important things to spend money on, poor thing. “We can stack some heavy books in the backseat.”

“Are you sure..?”

“Well, it’s not ideal, but it should work for one day.”

“I guess so…” You trail off, going quiet for a moment. He’s about to ask if you’re still there, but there’s a muffled creaking sound, and a little voice. It’s clearly Grub, but he can’t make out any words. When he hears you again, it’s quieter- he can visualize you lowering the phone. “I’m calling someone right now, sweetie, I’ll come eat in a moment-” something unintelligible. “I can warm it up again, it’s okay. I’m- I’m working things out. I think you’re coming to work with me tomorrow-”

“DO I GETTA EAT?!” The kid’s voice is suddenly much clearer, the enthusiastic yell carrying through the receiver. Thatch laughs, slapping his free hand over his face. That particular remark had him hard-pressed not to think of Ace’s own little brother.

“Uh, yeeess? Probably.” You pause. “Yes, I can at least get you some of that bread, for sure. Now let me finish the call, okay? I’ll be right there.” The kid says something at a much more normal volume, likely just a confirmation, and then he hears a door slam. “Grub! Careful!” There’s a sigh, and then your voice is clear again, phone no doubt raised back up to your ear. “Sorry about that…”

“Sorry for what? It’s no problem,” he says, smiling wide as he speaks. “And I’ll feed the little insect for free. Friends and family privileges, yeah?” There’s another brief silence, before you stammer out a baffled response.

“Oh. Um. Y-yeah? Thank you?” And then, much quieter, “little insect…” the phone only just catches the snort of laughter you let out. He feels a little fuzzy at that. He wishes he could’ve heard it more clearly. 

It’s not something you do very often.

“So, same plan for tomorrow, I pick you up for your shift at 1:30- just with an extra passenger added? Do I have that right?”

“Yeah, p-pretty much,” you confirm.

“Alright! That’s easy. Nothing to worry about, alright?” he assures. There’s another beat of silence. You do tend to get tongue-tied when presented with leniency, no doubt expecting him to be a hardass. Which he definitely was, he just knew when it was appropriate, thank you very much. 

“Okay,” you start, quiet but voice steadier. “Alright, sir, I… Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Thatch smiles again, glad to have eased your nerves somewhat. “Of course. I have to go, but if there’s anything else, don’t be a stranger alright?” 

“I… won’t. Thank you, sir. G-goodnight.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” And with that, Thatch hangs up. He lowers the phone, looking at the screen with warmth before pocketing it and making his way back to the kitchen. He had many of his own duties, but enjoyed working alongside his employees when he could, of course. 

He effortlessly slides in next to Genkei at the counter, checking the lanky man’s progress. He was on the last of eight potatoes but hadn’t started on the onions, so Thatch swiped a knife from the block and got to work. He cuts off the top and bottom, leaving the root intact, and then halves it. “What did they say?” Asks Genkei, finishing the potato and dropping the evenly cubed pieces into the bowl with the rest of them.

Thatch doesn’t look up, shucking the outer layers off each side of the onion. “Apparently, their baby sister doesn’t have school tomorrow, and there’s no sitter,” he explains, making quick work of the standard parallel, vertical cuts from the root-end to the top. “So I said I’d pick 'em both up, and the kiddo’s gonna be hangin’ out in the break room.”

“Ohoh! Grub’s gonna visit!” Genkei exclaims, and that gets Thatch’s attention- he looks up to meet Genkei’s smiling face. There’s a strange pang of jealousy that runs through him, settling in his gut. How long had Genkei known about your little sister? But he has the sense to shove that feeling down. You and Genkei work alongside each other and have far more contact than he’s had the chance to, but that can change. Though it’s also surprising he didn’t hear Grub’s name from Genkei himself, considering just how much that man loved to talk. “So, do we get to make the kid some of her namesake?” Genkei quips, drawing Thatch back out of his thoughts.

Thatch chuckles. “Of course. Ace is gonna be in on Monday too. Mr. Black Hole always manages to get a couple free entrees out of us, an’ he’s a grown man with a job. I’m not against spoiling a little kid.” Genkei laughs himself, before snatching another onion and beginning to mirror Thatch. “Speaking of, have you met her, or..?”

“Huh? Oh, Grub? Nah, they talk about her sometimes, but they don’t talk about themselves very much. Which… yeah, I get it,” He says, gesturing vaguely. “Most they said was when they saw my centipede tattoo. Said the kid would really like it.” Genkei beams when he says this, the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes strengthening considerably.

Thatch smiles warmly, and that irrational jealousy turning in his gut calms considerably. “Well, I only saw her briefly, but the kid’s hilarious,” he says, words punctuated by the chopping of his knife.

“It’ll be good to meet her, I’m sure. Excited Ace is showing up, too! It’s been awhile since I’ve seen him,” Genkei sighs wistfully.

This gets a snort out of Thatch. “About a week, if I recall.”

“But it feels like so much longer,” he whines, beginning the first of the parallel cuts on his onion as Thatch has finished dicing his own. The familiar sting of allium fumes aids in Genkei’s theatrics, allowing him to squeeze out a tear.

Thatch laughs, shaking his head. Genkei wasn’t part of the family, but he and Ace were good friends. He was the one who told him to apply for the line cook position in the first place, saying Thatch would throw him a bone. And he was right, of course, he liked to think he took some good qualities from his father.

[cowgirlcasanova]

LIQUOR & LONLINESS

pairing | arthur morgan x fem! oc

summary | arthur sees caroline alone by the fire and gives her some company. caroline can’t stand seeing him so exhausted and tries to take some weight off his shoulders

tags | fluff, flirting but everyone denies it, two idiots pretending not to be in love, fireside chat, massage, cute nervous arthur

word count | 2.5k

a/n | hi bffs! this is my first time ever publishing a fic! i’ve been trying to get back into creative writing again so here we are. please be nice to me ok? :)

i plan on publishing more arthur fics with this oc, building up their world/relationship & revealing her backstory. i just always think it’s so fun to read about ocs so i thought i’d give it a try! so this is a little introduction. hope you like it <3

A small sliver of the moon peeked through the clouds reflecting off the bay surrounding Clemens Point.

The glow of the moon and the dying firelight contrasted beautifully on Carolines face, something Arthur couldn’t help but take notice of as he gazed at her from under the awning of his wagon.

He couldn’t force himself to revert his gaze, completely enthralled by the way the shadows danced across her at the smallest of movements. He was already picturing the angle in which he’d have to move his pencil to even attempt at sketching the sight of the warm and cool light dueling on her face. Arthur cursed himself under his breath at the mere thought of filling another page in his journal with her face, something he’d found himself doing far too often these days.

“Arthur you miserable fool.” He muttered to himself, grimacing as he stretched out his overworked body and rose off his cot.

Caroline sat alone, unsure if the heat she was feeling was radiating from the ebbing fire or from the burn of the dark liquor making its way through her system. She stuck to taking small sips of her glass of bourbon, feeling a strange guilt for drinking it in the first place.

As the only member of the Van Der Linde gang to have advanced medical knowledge it all fell on her to heal their various ailments. She often had just enough supplies to keep everyone afloat, but having the law after you constantly made it a challenge to get your hands on much needed medicine. So, she’d save what she could and turn to liquor as her medicine of choice, trying to save all the expensive tonics and remedies for the traumas that really needed it. Bill complaining of a back injury? Whiskey. The days that Hosea's cough seemed to worsen? Whiskey. Even using whiskey as a last ditch effort to warm John after his wolf attack. She always tried her best to stay out of her own medicinal stash of liquor, But, some nights she wanted the peace that came with the burn of whiskey. Tonight was one of those nights.

“Hey there, Miss Caroline.” Arthurs gruff voice breaks through the unusually silent night. The smell of the burning fire filled his nose as he got closer. He approaches her with a courteous nod, running a hand across his growing stubble.

“Mind if I join ya?” He removed his banged up hat, holding it close over his chest, a small sign of respect toward the lady that did go unnoticed by her. Rarely anything he did went unnoticed by her.

She smiled up at him with the warm smile she always wore, but something about it made him feel like that sweet smile was just for him everytime. Though he’d never let himself believe something as foolish as that. When she turned to look at him the shadows on her face stopped battling and the warm light of the fire covered her completely. From Arthurs vantage point it almost looked as if she was glowing.

“Please do.”

He moves as gently as he can for his size, taking his seat next to her on the old log the gang has fashioned into a bench. His usual confidence was tempered by something softer while next to her. His leg brushes against her knee, as he sits down, a reminder of how close you two are. The weight of his knee was pushing the scratchy material of her skirt against her leg and yet, she can’t bring herself to move her leg away from the tiny space they share. In the harsh life she's suddenly found herself thrown into, although by her own actions. She finds herself craving affection and touch more and more everyday. A gentle touch. Not a casual pat on the shoulder from Dutch or a clap on the back from Sean. Something with meaning behind it, with care and tenderness.

When Arthurs leg stays planted firmly, their knees barely brushing, her heart aches at the thought that the ever so tough man beside her may be feeling the same.

"you doin’ alright this evenin’, caroline?” He asks, his voice softer than usual. His eyes moved across her face, taking in the closeness and her warmth that he was now admiring up close.

“Im doin’ just fine. How ‘bout yourself?” Her sickeningly sweet southern accent hits his ears, making him unable to stop a smile from tugging at his lips.

“I’ve been worse.”

“Long day I take it?” She asks, sipping from her glass, not diverting her gaze from him. Her face takes on a concerned expression. He has to glance away from the look she gives him, deflecting his eyes to the fire. Something about the way she looked at him always seemed so soft and genuine. It turned him into a fool everytime.

“Ain’t they all.” He drawls, letting out a self deprecating chuckle.

Arthur stretches out his sore, muscled arms in front of him in an effort to work out the constant deep ache that his overworked body feels. His biceps flex through the thin material of his button up shirt, the material looking like it could give way any moment, unintentionally drawing Caroline's eye. Her heart speeds up as she takes another sip from her glass, doing her best to quiet her thoughts of him with liquor. A quiet, painful groan slips from his mouth at the movement. He closes his eyes and rolls his neck to try and soothe discomfort.

“Did’ya hurt yourself?” She asks swiftly, her voice filling with immediate concern. Arthur scolded himself, trying to push down the warmth he felt over her worrying for him. It was her job.

His eyes warmed at her concern, making her wonder if it was the pain or her that caused the change. She hoped it was the latter. “my shoulder just been actin’ up on me. nothin’ for you to fuss about.”

“Well, if ya keep throwin’ your weight around it ain’t never gon’ heal.” She laughed softly, shaking her head as if she was scolding the tough and hardened man beside her.

He made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a groan, hating to be reminded of how often he seemed to be caught in some violent altercation nowadays. He hated it more coming from Caroline, the sweetest woman he knows. He couldn't help but feel like she should loathe him and this life. That she should turn heel and run while she still had a chance at a good life. Maybe even being able to settle down with a rich man somewhere, raise a family. The things a woman like her should be able to do. Not running with a gang of criminals.

“It ain’t the “throwing my weight around,” He says chuckling, repeating her choice of wording. “I’m just gettin’ old”

“Oh, you are not gettin’ old you silly man!” She whacked his arm playfully, the sound making a weak thump because of her carefulness, taking extra precaution to hit his forearm and not his sore shoulder.

All he musters out is a small lighthearted scoff at her strike, which felt more like a love tap.

“It ain’t age! It's all that punchin’ you're doing.” A weak attempt at chastising him, but she's not able to keep the smile off her lips long enough. “And yes, I did hear about that fight at the saloon.”

He looked over at her and the way she clicked her tongue in disapproval. She was still wearing that same smile. He couldn’t help but chuckle when she raised her eyebrows at him, the expression playfully reprimanding him and silently telling him that she was owed an answer.

“Yeah, I guessed you would’ve heard about it. But, they were was askin’ for it.” He felt an odd sense of understanding when she didn’t disagree with him but instead laughed and shook her head affectionately. “I'm sure they was.” Maybe she didn’t see him and his life as horribly as he thought.

“I guess maybe I can be a hotheaded fool sometimes.” He spoke, berating himself under the appearance of a good humored joke.

“That you certainly can be.” She chuckled, with a warm grin. He heard no malice in her words.

The way Arthur sits with his shoulders hunched forward, It's obvious he’s tired, sore, and overworked. It breaks her heart, the way he does so much for others here just to end up sitting here aching internally and externally.

“C’mere,” She gestures to the dirt ground under her feet. “Let me see what I can do for ya.” the pleading in her voice sounds like this is just as much for her as it is for him.

He doesn't want to. Making her work for him? No, it should be the other way. For a girl like her, he should be spending every waking minute running around making sure she has everything she could possibly want.

Before he can turn down her offer, she snaps her fingers, pointing at the same spot. She won't allow him to put himself last this time.

“Yes ma’am” He chuckles at her unusual assertiveness.

She carefully lays her hand on his shoulder, as if she was checking to make sure he wouldn’t flee like a wild horse the moment he felt her touch. Once certain, she rolls the pad of her thumb over his sore muscle, taking great care to be gentle. Like there was something she cherished under hands. The fabric of his shirt moves along with the movement of her thumb, stopping her hands from being able to touch his skin.

His broad shoulders relax under her touch, goosebumps rising over his skin when she touches him so delicately. He’s grateful for the shirt covering him so she can’t feel the way his skin reacts so easily to her touch. His head hangs forward as he lets out a quiet groan of contentment, relishing in the feeling. Whether it's the feeling of the sore muscle being worked loose or the feeling of being cared for so sweetly he’s not so sure. She peers down at his face and sees his eyes flutter closed as she continues her soothing movement. Her eyes were stuck on his face as he relaxed for the first time.

The smile lines around his mouth made it obvious he wore a warm expression often no matter how tough he looked at a moment's glance. His aging eyes were developing small wrinkles on the outer corners from years of squinting in the sun and all the times his bountiful laugh trailed up to his eyes. He always smelled of tobacco and ash, even his scent exuded warmth if you're able to get close enough to notice.

Arthur Morgan, The man who could make statues talk. He didn’t look intimidating to her, he rarely ever did but, especially not in the vulnerable position she’s seeing him in now. In their closeness, she could see the way the longer pieces of his growing stubble had a small curl to them, The way he had a few tiny freckles across the bridge of his nose, presumably from being in the sun his whole life. She realized he didn’t look so sad for once, he looked peaceful. And she was the one making him feel that way.

“That helpin’ at all?” She asks quietly, close enough to him that he feels her breath against his ear.

He nods sleepily, angling his neck to the left to stretch the muscle she’s working on. With the more exposed area, she runs her thumb along his neck, landing just under his jaw bone. He lets out a low, content murmur to answer her. “Mhmm” With her hands on him, she can feel the vibration of his rumble throughout her.

“Alrigh’, jus’ relax.” She whispers, her calm voice mixing with the sound of the crackling fire and the waves of the bay lapping quietly.

He lets out quiet, low groans here and there. The rumble in his voice suggests the sound is emanating from somewhere deep in his chest. His head hangs in his calm state, being enveloped in warm light.

Although this was meant to help him, she could feel it soothing her as well. She craved tenderness so deeply that this moment felt like a relief from all the toughness around her. She wasn’t just offering gentleness, she was receiving it. Arthur trusted her touch and surrendered to it. In this intimate moment, he let her be gentle and soft. For now that’s what she needed.

Even though his hands weren't on her at all, she felt as though they may as well could've been.

“That should help it at least.” She feathers her massage off, now just gently running a soothing hand over the muscle. “I don’t wanna end up aggravatin’ it more.”

He rolls his neck as he stands back up, positioning himself on the log once more. “Felt real nice. Thank ya” She feels his hand pat against her knee, gently squeezing it. Her leg felt cold after the loss of contact, even through a layer of fabric. A chill goes through her entire body. She's grateful for the long skirt covering her legs so he can’t feel the goosebumps across them.

“Don't mention it.” She says dismissively, although her heart is hammering in her chest. She takes a sip from her glass hoping he’ll believe the alcohol is the reason for the redness washing over the apples of her cheeks. “Just glad it did ya some good.”

“You’re a damn fine nurse, Caroline” A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, looking almost jovial in nature. He doesn’t look so tense anymore. His shoulders fall in a more relaxed manner and the fire casts long bronze shadows over him, creating contours on his face that give his usually piercing eyes a new kind of gentleness.

“Well thank you Mr. Morgan” She beams at him, happy that her work is noticed. Especially by him. She’s constantly half exhausted with all she does in camp, fixing every small ailment that anyone complains of. And yet, shes not bringing in money or doing “domestic chores” so, Grimshaw sees no worth in her. “I do my best to keep you boys alive.” She laughs.

He scoffs with a lighthearted chuckle at her calling him “Mr. Morgan” He turns his gaze to the fire, watching it dance for a few moments before his eyes flicker down to his hands, looking at them with distant thought. “We’d probably be in a lot worse shape without ya…”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” She laughs bashfully. She’s never been one to accept a compliment easily. But, something about the sincerity his voice holds always manages to make her consider that it could be the truth. She laughs again, shaking her head as if she was physically shaking the thought out. “Now, any other ways you’ve gone and gotten yourself hurt that I should know about?” Her eyebrows raise playfully.

The same scoff leaves his mouth, along with a low chuckle. “No, nothin’ else. Not now at least.”

“Well stop goin’ and gettin’ yourself hurt and maybe it’ll stay that way.” A warm smile bloomed across her face. He couldn’t help but notice the way a small crinkle formed across the bridge of her nose when she laughed. The sight captivated him too much, she seemed almost holy to him.

“I’ll try. No promises” He said with a chuckle that sounded from deep within his chest. “But, I'll try for you.”

[strawberry-salsa]

Hello!! im doing some small characters doodles for just 2 kofis to help me stay afloat for a little more while in college, im strungling financially a lot atm Any characyer from any fandom even if i dont know abt! (except hoyoverse games)

-no ocs -no backgrounds -maybe nsfw (ask first)

on the donation message write down the character and fandom and i will make you a doodle of them!

[sarahsmi13s]

Bloodstained Sandbags

whumptober day 1 : bloody knuckles

pairing: eddie diaz x reader

characters: eddie diaz, fem!reader, christopher diaz, evan buckley, scott (oc)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, nightmares, panic attacks, crying, blood, disassociation, SA (not in vivid detail, but it is spoken about), language, caretaking, PTSD, resetting a dislocated shoulder, talks of therapy, mentions of underground fighting, please tell me if i missed any

word count: ~5.6k

a/n: this is for whumptober! please please please proceed with caution and use discretion, protect your peace

also if you are on the whump taglist but are not familiar with a character, you can skip it will not hurt my feelings!

whumptober 2023 masterlist

summary: healing is draining and you're trying everything you can to stay afloat... can a new workout routine help keep you above water as you support eddie through his trauma while you work through your own?

You really thought that when Eddie started working at the dispatch center, things were going to get better for you. You thought you would sleep better, your nightmares fading away as you always had your protector next to you now. You were safe, no one could hurt you with Eddie at your side.

But it didn’t seem to matter, because you couldn’t close your eyes without being back in that damn break room – the break room you no longer set foot in.

It was like even though you knew you were safe with Eddie… a sick, twisted part of you kept reminding you that Eddie wouldn’t always be there to protect you.

And the thing was, Eddie had no idea. 

No idea that you were struggling. That for months you were feeling sick to your stomach everytime you got up to get ready for work. That you wanted his touch but had a mini panic attack every time he touched you when you weren’t expecting it.

But he had no idea what happened to you either. You were afraid to tell him. Afraid he’d leave you, though logically you knew he would never do that. 

Except there wasn’t a good time to tell him, either. He was having a hard time with his PTSD and you were doing the best you could to help him while also trying to keep yourself above water.

Which is why you started going to the gym… The sweating, the adrenaline, all of it just made you feel stronger.

And that’s where you picked up on learning to fight, you wanted to be ready. Ready to protect yourself or Christopher if the situation presented itself and Eddie wasn’t around.

You sighed as you walked into yours and Eddie’s apartment, your body stiff and sore from your workout. You managed to scrape your knuckles just a little bit too but it wasn’t too noticeable.

You hung your purse up and set your gym bag down. “Eddie? Chris?”

You heard Eddie’s voice come from the kitchen. “We’re in here, Honey!” 

You smiled and walked into the kitchen, seeing them at the table. “How are my boys?” You went over and kissed them both on the head, “I’m sorry if I made you wait, I got really in the zone at the gym and the traffic was a monster.” 

“Oh it’s no problem, I was just getting started on the veggies. Why don’t you go shower and it should be ready by the time you're done,” Eddie said as he stood and kissed the side of your head before returning to cutting the vegetables. 

You nodded at him before ruffling Chris’s hair, “Do you have any homework you need help with?” He nodded, “Yeah, math stuff.” “Alrighty, I’ll help you after dinner, okay?” “Okay.”

Smiling, you kissed his head again before going to take a shower.

Once you went into the bathroom, you were all too ready to peel the sweaty gym clothes off of you.

Your leggings peeled off with a wet sound, and if someone heard it they would have thought that you jumped into the ocean with your clothes on. The collar of your cutout t-shirt was soaked enough that you could ring it out. Your sports bra was practically the same way.

“I went way harder than I thought…” you mumbled to yourself as you dropped your clothes into a pile and checked the temperature of your shower.

Scalding hot, just like you liked it.

You stepped under the water, wincing slightly at the initial bite of the heat on your skin. But as you stood there under the water both the heat and pressure seemed to massage your muscles, allowing you to relax.

The shower was the only way you could get a massage, it was the only place you allowed yourself to feel vulnerable.

And you never went to a masseuse at all because Eddie was enough. But now, after everything that happened, the idea of being pinned under someone with your back exposed and their hands on you like that could send you into a panic attack.

He had tried once after he started his therapy sessions, realizing he had been neglecting you and wanted to help you work out the soreness of your muscles. 

But you were fighting a panic attack the whole time. You had to hold a conversation with him and ask him to not put his full weight on you. He cooperated without question of course and then you sat and chatted about your day.

Though you haven’t let him do it since, fearing that you would be able to hold it together and freak out on him.

Showers were your source of muscle relaxation. So that’s why you stood there, water pressure on pulse and heat turned up to hell.

When you felt satisfied, you turned the temperature down and finished your shower, ending with a cold rinse just to soothe your skin before getting out and getting dressed in a pair of shorts and one of Eddie’s shirts then joining the boys for dinner.

Eddie watched you wash dishes with a smile on his face as he leaned against the fridge.

He had cleaned out the sink, putting plates, bowls, utensils, and cups into the dishwasher while you were helping Chris with homework. But now you were working on pots and pans because they just didn’t fit in the dishwasher with the other things, often needing to be washed separately – and that took too long for your liking.

So after getting Chris settled down in his room, Eddie came back to watch you, wanting to spend alone time with you since you rarely got that lately. 

Not that he was necessarily mad about it, he respected boundaries when and where you set them – no questions asked.

But he was pulled to action when he heard you wince, taking a step and a half to meet you as you turned for a towel.

“What happened?” Eddie asked, holding your hand as you dabbed it dry, wincing as you did so.

You shook your head, not answering him as you took the towel away to blow on the raw skin of your busted knuckles. You had gotten lemon juice and salt on them from cleaning the cutting board you had used this morning, and it hurt like a bitch.

Eddie froze for a second. Where had you gotten bruised and scraped up knuckles from? You hadn’t had those this morning…

In a quick scan, he checked you over for injuries. If you had a bruised cheekbone or black-eye that he somehow missed during dinner. But you were clean, so he could cross fight off the list. 

“Nena… what happened?” 

His voice was gentle as he took the towel away from you and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles. He was worried, because last time he started coming home with busted knuckles he was underground fighting…

But you wouldn’t do that? Would you?

“I was at the gym and I scraped it, not a big deal.”

He nodded and rubbed his thumb gently over it. “Let me finish the dishes.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Eddie was going to finish the dishes, and he wasn’t going to argue.

You sighed and moved out of the way, letting him take over but you didn’t leave and instead wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head on his back. After your day at work and then going so hard at the gym, you need this comfort. The domesticity of it all, the safety of it all.

Over the next few weeks things seemed to be getting a little better. Sure, you were still having nightmares and coming home with slightly bruised knuckles but Eddie’s surprise touches didn’t spook you anymore. You were also considering becoming more intimate with Eddie again as he seemed to be doing better as well and was seeking out the contact again. 

Things were just slowly coming back to normal, well as normal as the could be, but things were getting better

But then something happened at work, and it set all of your progress back.

You were walking to your desk from the supply closet with more file folders, since you were doing some re-organizing and needed new ones, when you bumped into someone.

They caught you before you fell, steadying you with their hands on your waist. Huffing out a surprised laugh, you looked up to thank them but you nearly choked on air when you saw whose hands were on you.

Panic shot through you like lightning and you put distance between you and Scott immediately, not caring if it was rude or not.

“Woah, Y/N, you okay?” He asked, but the smirk pulling at the corner of his lips told you that he knew the answer. 

How could you be okay? After not seeing him that up close for months, then all of a sudden his hands are on you again and you’re back to being the weak little girl you were in the break room that night.

“S-S-Scott, I-I thought you were um late shift?” You stuttered, your eyes looking for escapes to your desk in your periphery. 

He put a hand in his pocket nonchalantly, attempting to lure you into a false sense of security, that that side of his body was safe to escape through – it wasn’t.

“Oh, I am, but I decided to come in on a Saturday. I needed another day on my paycheck since I took a day off this week.” 

You nodded, jaw setting and grinding your back teeth together as you tried to avoid looking at his face. “I see. Well Scott, if you’ll excuse me I need to get… get back to my desk.” You cursed yourself for starting so confident but then losing it as the breath just slowly got pulled from your lungs.

Scott just smirked. He could see the fear in your eyes and the cottonmouth you were getting just being in his presence. He thrived on it, knowing that corporate wasn’t going to follow up on the claim you made to HR and that you weren’t in a great position to quit so you had to stay for just a little longer.

But he just caught you one unlucky night where you had to stay late to finish a project, considering you didn’t work the night hours because you usually needed to be home with Chris because Eddie was working a shift. The one time Buck was off you took advantage of it and stayed late to catch up. 

And you haven’t stayed late since…

“Oh, by all means, don’t let me stop you, I was just on my way to get some coffee.”

You were trying so hard not to clam up and just bolt to your desk and pack up. But you calmly nodded and just squatted down to pick up the folders you dropped.

You hated having your back to him and your hands shook furiously as you collected the pale yellow folders.

“You look like you could use a break, why don’t you join me?” Scott’s voice was right in your ear. It was low and raspy as his hand gripped your shoulder.

Trying your best to just shrug it off, you shook your head. “No, I’m alright. I need to get back to work.”

He clicked his tongue and shook his head, “I insist.” His voice was demanding as his fingers curled around your joint and dug into your collarbone. 

Instantly your arm shot up and pushed him off you. “I said no.”

You scooped up the remaining folders and dignity and went toward your desk. Just to have fingers curled around your wrist and pulling you back into a hard chest. 

“I’m trying to be nice and you’re being a bitch.”

Rolling your lips between your teeth, you tried to yank your wrist away – twisting and pulling at his grip to get him to let go. “You just don’t know how to understand the word ‘no’. I don’t want coffee, I just want to go to my desk.”

You swallowed, finally looking in his eyes, shredding any last dignity you had. “Please Scott… you got what you wanted, just leave me alone… please…”

The canines he bared as he smiled wide made you sick to your stomach, but as he opened his mouth to speak his attention was pulled away and you took that chance to free yourself. You twisted your wrist and pushed the files into his chest before booking it to your desk.

After gathering your things and rushing to your manager’s office, pleading to her with shaky hands as you told her something had happened and you needed to get home to Chris.

She immediately let you leave, not questioning it as you thanked her and ran out to your car.

The drive home was a total blur, taking the turns on auto pilot as you tried not to break down before you were in the safety of your own home and not risking anyone else’s safety.

And when you finally got home, you were booking it to the fridge to get a cold water bottle to maybe shock your system into calming down. But in your haste you missed the fact that Buck and Chris are home, and not out at the aquarium like you thought they were.

Buck had heard you come in and watched you nearly trip over yourself to get to the kitchen, abandoning your purse and keys on the floor.

Chris had seen it too and looked at Buck concerned, having never once seen you like this. “Buck?” Buck ruffled Chris’s hair, “I’ll go see what’s up. You stay here okay?” Chris just nodded and watched Buck get up and go to the kitchen.

Buck went to the kitchen, finding you chugging the cold water as you white knuckled the counter.

“Y/N? You’re home early.”

The way you jumped, hand clenching around the bottle so hard that water shot out of it – it would have been comical had the dilated look in your wide eyes not set off alarm bells in Buck’s head. 

You watched, caught like a deer in headlights, as concern washed over Buck’s face and filled his eyes with pity. Immediately your back was turned to him, shielding your breaking resolve from his helping hand. 

With the blood pounding in your ears, you missed his approach until he was touching you. You jerked again under his touch, weakly muttering out, “P-please don’t touch me.” 

Buck’s heart sank. He had never heard you sound like this before… so broken…

It sent him back to the night Eddie had destroyed your room in a fit of helplessness, how terrified his best friend was. How you sat with Eddie, him now remembering your bruised knuckles encasing Eddie’s in an act of comfort.

“Y/N… what happened? What’s wrong?”

“No-nothing, just-just…”

He tried to turn you and get you to face him, to get a read on your face and figure out what to do. But you yelped and pushed him back, sending his stunned 6’2” frame into the table.

“Buck you need to leave…”

“Y/N-”

“Leave Evan!”

Buck swallowed, trying not to be hurt as he turned on his heel and went to say goodbye to Christopher.

You watched him leave the kitchen, your ears hot and tingling as you looked at the mess you made. You needed to clean it up before Chris came in here and slipped.

Hearing Buck close the front door, you carefully made your way to the laundry room to get a dirty bath towel to clean it up. Your vision tunneled, your ears rang and you felt that sick snag in your chest as the air was stopping half way down your throat.

By the time you get there your legs can barely hold you up as you get to the washer and sink down to the floor. Sobs are wracking your chest and you can only pray Chris can’t hear you.

But your prayers went unanswered, because Chris can hear you and he is scared. 

Your broken sobs and ragged breathing are reminding him of the night Eddie punched those holes in the wall… and the night you came home and took a long shower thinking Chris was asleep and couldn’t hear you crying through the wall.

Chris abandoned the video game in front of him and put himself on a mission to find you. He could follow the sound of your cries to where you were sitting on the cold floor, head between your knees as you tried to breathe regularly.

“Y/N?” He gently called out, hoping you could hear him.

He watched you thread your hands in your hair and pull at the roots, sucking in jagged breaths just for them to be forced out with the next sob.

He didn’t like seeing you like this and he hated that he wasn’t sure how to help. But he knew he had to try.

Chris called out your name again as he approached you, not wanting to scare you and send you further into your panic. You must have recognized his voice because you seemed to calm down just a bit. He sat down on the floor next to you and put his hands on yours on top of your head. 

“You’re safe, it’s okay, Y/N. I’m here.” He recalled the phrases you had repeated to him when he was having trouble after the tsunami. He had to pull from what he was shown, he had barely anything to go off of and he just had to hope that it was enough.

With Chris putting his hands on yours, talking to you gently, you could feel yourself slowly calming down. His hands were so drastically different from the ones that had bruised your skin, that it managed to remind you that you were home and that you were safe.

“Please, Y/N…”

You look up at him slowly, your hands letting go of your hair and holding his hands. “It’s okay, you’re safe.” Chris moved your hands to his face, hoping that it can help to ground you.

Your thumbs immediately began to rub back and forth on his cheeks, him taking deep breaths to help you find a rhythm. “Follow me, Y/N. Just like you tell me…” 

Chris watched the fog clear from your eyes as you began to calm down and lean forward to press a kiss to his head as a thank you before resting your forehead on his. He wrapped his arms around you as best he could and you pulled him into your lap, your head falling to his shoulder.

You sat there for a bit in silence, rubbing Chris’s back as you managed to collect yourself.

“I’m sorry if I scared you, Chris. I didn’t mean to,” you apologized, breaking the silence. “Are you okay?” His voice was soft and gentle as he pulled back a little. You’re nodding immediately, “I’m better now, thank you buddy.” 

“Do I need to call Dad?” 

You shook your head, “No, it’s okay. I’ll be alright.”

He nodded before tilting his head a little, “Why are you mad at Buck? Did he do something bad?” 

Your heart sank. He had heard you yell at Buck, and you hardly ever yelled around Chris – if ever. And now you’ve come home early, yelled at one of your best friends, and had a full blown panic attack with Christopher as a witness.

“Oh Chris… Buck didn’t do anything wrong. I shouldn’t have yelled at him. I’m not mad.”

“Why did you yell at him?”

“I was just feeling a lot of things and it was just what happened. I could have handled it better and I will in the future,” you said gently as you pushed some of his curls back.

You sniffled a little bit, “Why don’t you go back to the living room and I’ll make you some lunch after I get changed?” You gave him the best smile you could and kissed his forehead after he nodded.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Eddie had come home around 5:30 to you already finishing up on getting dinner ready. 

“Honey? What are you doing home?”

“Oh, I got the stuff I need to get done early so I decided to just come home,” you said nonchalantly with a shrug. 

He smiled and came up behind you to kiss your cheek before he went to get changed. But as he placed his hand on the small of your back, you jumped. 

Eddie’s brow furrowed, you had never reacted like that to him. But he didn’t get to ask you, because you turned your head and planted a kiss on his lips. “I love you, Eddie.” He smiled softly and kissed your forehead, “I love you too, Y/N.”

You wrapped your arms around him and buried your face into his shoulder, smelling his coffee and whiskey body spray. He hugged you back, albeit a little confused, but he could tell you needed this.

After a few moments, you pulled back, “Go get changed and cleaned up, I’ll have it plated for you by the time you get back.” He nodded and kissed your temple, “Yes ma’am.”

You smiled and pecked his jaw before he went to change.

When he came back, Eddie found you and Chris at the table, his plate made up for him just like you said it would be.

“It looks fantastic, Honey, thank you,” he said, announcing his presence before touching your shoulder and kissing the top of your head. You smiled at him, “Of course, Sweetheart.” He sat down next to you, his hand on your thigh, just resting there as you ate. 

You talked about his day and everything that went on – you having been getting his twitter notifications and just wanted a little more detail.

But when he turned and asked you about your day, you clammed up and just told him it was like any other day, you just skipped the gym today because you wanted to surprise him with dinner. And you left it at that, leaving no more room for conversation about your day.

After dinner you all went to the living room to watch movies before Chris went to bed. It was your weekend routine.

Except tonight you broke routine.

You decided that you wanted to go ahead and go to the gym, just to get a small workout in before you went to bed. So, after you did the dishes you got in your gym clothes and gave Chris a hug and Eddie a quick kiss before leaving.

It had all happened so quickly that Eddie didn’t get a chance to really slow you down and ask you what was up. This behavior was just so off to him that he just wanted an explanation.

And he did… just not from you.

After you lifted weights for God knows how long, you finally went over to the punching bag.

You had been on autopilot the moment you left the house. 

And yeah, you felt bad for just leaving Eddie hanging like that. Giving him no explanation other than you just wanted to. But you had been thrumming since your panic attack, using that energy on deep cleaning and laundry — too on edge to rest or sit still.

You needed an aggressive outlet for all that energy, you had to get to the gym.

So that’s where you’ve been. Lifting weights and running until near collapse. 

Now you were hastily wrapping your hands to take it all out on the punching bag. The poor inanimate object becoming the true outlet of your emotions, taking blow after blow as you wail on it. Your emotions from earlier in the day being released in the form of punches. 

You hated that Scott was able to revert you back to the scared girl you were that night, smothering all the progress you had thought you made.

The swinging sandbag in front of you felt like a wall as you hit it with every you had. Flashes of that night played behind your closed lids as you seemingly lost control.

You could feel his hands on you again, touching you with evil intentions. His hands mocked Eddie, tainted the loving touch of your boyfriend with his greediness. 

Your hips digging into the counter, bruised with the force of Scott pinning you in place. You couldn’t escape, you didn’t know how to escape.

With each moment flashing, each ghostly touch reminding you of what he did to you in the break room, you punched harder — oblivious to the pain shooting up your arm with each solid hit.

You couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. 

You just wanted it all to go away.

And in those moments you didn’t feel the tears running down your cheeks, you were numb. You hadn’t noticed the break in your poorly wrapped tape, which allowed your bare knuckles to meet with the canvas bag.

The tears and dissociation blurred your vision and you were blind to the fact the red spots and streaks covering the rough beige fabric was your own blood.

You had broken the skin on your knuckles, staining the sandbag with your blood as tears stained your cheeks.

But when you land a particularly hard punch and your shoulder pops grotesquely next to your ear do you snap out of it.

“Oh fuck!”

Your curse was picked up by a nearby girl who had come in at the same time as you.

“Oh my goodness! Are you okay?!”

Your head whipped up to look at her and you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. 

You didn’t look good, covered head to toe in red splotches and sweat. You looked down at your knuckles and saw that your tape was practically non-existent and your hand was covered in crimson.

“Ma’am? Are you okay?”

You blinked and looked at the girl. “Yeah… yes yes I’m fine. I just… I need to go home. My boyfriend is probably worried.”

“Are you sure? That crack sounded bad…”

“Thank you for your concern but I’m alright. You have a good night and be safe, please.”

She could only nod as you quickly grabbed your bag and went out to your car.

You knew you’d be driving with just one arm and you really didn’t want to deal with an midnight ER on a Saturday night so you went straight home — knowing that you’d need Eddie.

Eddie sat in the living room, his knee bouncing with nerves as he waited for you to get home.

You hadn’t answered your phone and he was starting to get worried. With his line of work, he was already thinking the worst. Did you get into an accident? Did you get taken? He had his radio on the coffee table listening closely while he waited, hoping that he didn’t hear anything related to you come over the device.

Then he heard it. The front door opening and closing followed by keys in the bowl and a bag hitting the floor.

You were home, so at least there’s that relief.

He looked up and over as you walked by, arm cradling the other as you sniffled.

“Chris was worried about you.”

Eddie watched you tense, but you didn’t turn to face him.

He stood walking over to you. “He told me you had a panic attack when you came home today, you know, after you yelled at Buck to leave. Then you weren’t here when he went to bed. He knows something is wrong, and he’s worried it’s his fault.”

That made you turn, allowing Eddie to see the rush of tears on your face as you still cradled your arm.

“No, God no. This is nowhere near Chris’s fault.” Your voice was thick with emotion as you spoke and the realization dawned on you that you would have to tell Eddie everything.

“Did I do something? Because I thought we talked about things and worked things out. If I did, please tell me… I want to fix it… I can’t lose you…”

“Oh Eddie…”

“Please mi vida…” Eddie’s voice was soft and low as he rubbed your arms.

You covered your mouth, attempting to conceal the sob of pain and regret. But you couldn’t hide the small yelp or your bloody fist.

Concerned, Eddie put his hands on your shoulders, freezing when he felt the slipped ball and socket joint and you sobbed into your hand.

“Sweetheart?”

“Fix it… please, it hurts so bad…”

Eddie nodded and carefully got himself into position, “You ready?” “Just do i- AH!” Mid sentence, Eddie popped your shoulder back into place.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he soothed as you sobbed into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry Eddie… I’m so sorry…”

He ran a hand through the hair at the back of your head, “Hey, lets get your hands cleaned up okay? Then we’ll talk, yeah?”

You nodded before stepping back, instinctively wiping your face with the back of your hand — smearing a little blood on your face.

Eddie tensed a little, that was the worst he’s seen your knuckles and it was starting to look suspicious to him. But you had come home the other times with no other injuries so he had no reason to question you about it.

But he could see clearly that something was wrong. Very wrong.

Eddie gently grabbed your hand and took you to the kitchen.

Without a word he sat you on the counter and grabbed the med kit from under the sink. 

You both stayed quiet as he dampened a towel and  cleaned you up, he inspected for tenderness and any signs of trauma to your hands other than the obvious.

Once he was done, you both sat in silence for a moment before you spoke up.

“It’s not what it may look like…”

“Oh yeah? Cause it looks like you’ve been fighting. I've seen the bruises on your knuckles but I don’t say anything because I didn’t want to assume. But after today I don’t know what to think.”

Your eyes fill with tears and you shake your head. “That’s not it, I swear. It’s just…” A weight settled on your chest as you realized this was the moment you would have to tell him and possibly change your relationship forever.

“Honey… please talk to me, I’m scared. I don’t want to lose you.”

And with that the damn was broken and you sobbed into your hands.

Eddie gave you a moment to calm down, comforting you as best he could until you were ready.

Once you were composed, you spilled everything.

From you needing to stay late to you going to the break room for a snack to when Scott walked in and shoved your dignity in the paper shredder.

Eddie was listening intently, his rage rising in his body but he tried not to show it and keep a gentle expression for your sake. 

But hearing you, here and now, sounding so ashamed and scared. Recounting the night in detail. 

And he had been so caught up in the job change that he hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t noticed that the love of his life was suffering because he wasn’t there. 

It wasn’t until his son came to him that he noticed something was wrong. 

“Eddie, I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry,” you sobbed, clinging onto him. “It didn’t… I didn’t want it, please you have to believe me.”

He felt his heart shatter in his chest. 

You were begging for forgiveness for something that wasn’t your fault. 

“I believe you Sweetheart, I believe you.” 

He pulled back a little, “I-Is this why you’ve been going to the gym?” You nodded, whimpering a little as more tears filled your eyes, “You won’t always be there… and I just… I want to be ready to protect myself or Christopher.”

You held your hand up and flexed it a little, “I saw Scott for the first time since that night today at work, that’s why I had the panic attack. And I needed an outlet, I didn’t know I was bleeding until I dislocated my shoulder.”

Eddie wiped your eyes, “Y/N I’m so sorry I never noticed… I should have been there…” You shake your head, “I didn’t tell you Eddie, you were going through a lot and I didn’t want to add on…”

He frowned a little but kissed your forehead. It made him feel awful that you thought you couldn’t come to him. You were processing something alone while helping him get better and that wasn’t fair. 

“Would you be willing to go to a professional about this? For you and for us? Just so we can learn to get through this together,” he laced your fingers together and kissed your knuckles. 

You nodded and pressed your forehead to his, “I want to try.” You brought in a breath, “I have to quit my job…” 

He hummed and nodded against you, “Please quit, I make enough, we'll be okay. And we can pull from savings if we need to.”

“Thank you.”

Eddie nudged your nose with his, “I love you, so much.” 

You smiled softly and flattened your palm over his heart, “I love you too, Eds. So so much.”

He wrapped you in his arms and just held you there. Planting gentle kisses to your head and whispering little jokes in your ear to make you laugh.

And that’s when you knew that it would all be okay, that it would be better. Maybe not tomorrow, but someday.

As long as you had Eddie, you would be okay.

taglists: @bradleybeachbabe @valmare @fanboyswhore9 @cassiemitchell @startrekfangirl2233

hi, if you're seeing this and are currently not on the taglist and would like to be please fill out the taglist form -> whumptober taglist

i can not stress this enough, but whumptober can have some very serious and heavy topics and i want to make sure i am doing my part as an author to prepare my readers for what they are about to experience and that includes not only warnings above but my taglists as well

so if you want to be added check out the masterlist and read that carefully and fill out the form -> whumptober 2023

[tadc-harlequin-au]

Hi! Hello! Hey!

I have a question about souls and puppets.

Can a soul exist without a body for a long time, for example a human year or two? And can a puppet be functional without a soul?

I have an idea for two Harlequin OCs and i want two write their story in a fanfic.

The idea is about puppet twins. A soul without body, and a body without soul.

So that's the whole idea. I need master advise! Tell me, Sensei, what should I do?

A soul may continue to exist, but unfortunately they will be stuck in a limbo. Contrasting the void's bright skies would be endless darkness surrounding the soul, as they float and "sleep", stuck in a dream simulation to help keep them stay afloat until a body suitable to house a life can be found.

One can communicate with the soul inside the die if capable, but it's like talking to a sleeping person, or a ghost completely oblivious to it's surroundings.

However, with such a unique case as yours... a Puppet with no soul, means that this bot technically falls under the category of a Marionette... but at the same time, it's not, due to the very specific circumstance of a Marionettes' secret true nature.

What's powering this Puppet body that has no soul?

[its-all-or-nothing94]

Racing Hearts - Part 4 // Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: The first encounter with being in the public eye - and you're not to happy about it. But also: FIRST DAY ON THE PADDOCK!

Masterlist Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Warnings: Pure Fluff and some snuggling

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

A/N: So, we are on our first day on the paddock :) AND I'M SO EXCITED THAT IT'S RACEWEEKEND AGAIN! (not only in my story)

Disclaimer: This story is purely fictional, and any character portrayals are just how I wrote them - hence fictional! I don't know them, except my OCs.

Tagging: @liebgotts-lovergirl, @softly-writes, @bellewintersroe, @faithm120601, @needtokeepfeelingsincheck, @bbygrllllllll

After your wonderful date, you woke up with a big smile plastered on your face, but just as the day before, Sofia came jumping into your room.

"Holy sweet cheeks, you are already famous!" she exclaimed, and you looked at her confused.

"What the hell are you talking about, Sof?" you asked, rubbing your eyes.

Sofia took out her phone and held it into your face. "About this, silly. They wrote about you. In the news !!"

You took Sofia's phone and stared at the tabloid.

Love Afloat: Charles Leclerc's Yacht Romance with Mystery Blonde - Is Isabella Rossi History? Monaco's beloved racer, Charles Leclerc, was seen sharing an intimate moment on his yacht with a stunning unknown blonde beauty. The pair seemed to be in a world of their own as they exchanged a passionate kiss under the Mediterranean sun. But what about his long-term relationship with glamorous model Isabella Rossi? Have the winds of change blown a new love into Charles's life? Our exclusive sources reveal that the young couple's romance has hit the rocks, with whispers of tension and heated arguments. Could this encounter with the mysterious blonde be a sign of moving on? We can't help but wonder - is Charles Leclerc ready to sail away from the past and embrace a new adventure with this enchanting stranger? Stay tuned as we keep you updated on all the juicy details!

You sat up straight in your bed, reading the article. "What the fuck! What is this?"

Sofia cocked an eyebrow. "This, my dear, is called being in the spotlight."

"What? I mean... why?" you asked, giving Sofia back her phone.

"Because you, sweetie, are dating Charles Leclerc. That's why." Sofia lay down on your bed, looking through the article again.

"We're not dating. We're just..."

"Snuggling?"

You took your pillow and threw it at Sofia, who looked at you shocked, but then you two started laughing.

"Just ignore it, okay? They write about everything they can get their hands on", Sofia assured you and you thought about it. You tried not to let this get to you.

The days passed, and Charles and you spent a lot of time together. He showed you all his favorite spots and places you would've never seen as a normal tourist.

As Monaco race week approached, Charles had to focus on the race more and more, and he had less time to spend with you. At that time, he sent you random cute texts to let you know that he was thinking of you.

You felt like you were in a dream, watching from the sidelines as Charles worked hard to prepare for the race. You knew how important this was to him, but it was hard not to feel a little left behind.

You didn't take it too personally, as you spent the days with Sofia and, to your surprise, also with Lorenzo, who was with them a lot since the encounter at Jimmy'z.

One morning Sofia and you went shopping to get new clothes for the race, as the brunette stated. And by shopping, Sofia meant raiding her father's store, among others.

When you approached Starbucks for a coffee, you almost collided with someone, and as you looked up, it was no other than Isabella. Charles's ex.

She looked you up and down, clearly remembering you. "Well, would you look at that? This is the new one I told you about", she said to her posse, and they giggled.

"This? You're telling me that Charles is dating this?" her friend said, and you and Sofia exchange a gaze.

"Yes, apparently. But don't worry. As soon as he realizes that that isn't good enough for him, he will come crawling right back to me", Isabella said, giving you a dirty look.

Sofia snorted, amused. "Wow, you really are as conceited as I thought you would be." She stood closer to Isabella, since she was almost as tall as Isabella. "Let me tell you one thing, starveling, just stay away from my girl here, and it would be best if you would from Charles, too. He is with her now, and he is as happy as he can be."

Isabella lost her face for a millisecond before she smirked at Sofia. "And what if I don't?"

Sofia snorted again. "If I see you near Y/N, I'll promise you, you won't recognize your face in a mirror for a long time."

Isabella and Sofia gave each other an eye duel before Isabella turned around and walked away with her posse.

"You know, you don't have to defend me, right? I'm more than capable of doing that myself."

Sofia chuckled. "I know, but little Miss My-Daddy-paid-for-my-modeling-career doesn't need to know that for now, does she?"

You and Sofia looked at each other and then laughed. "You're right."

As you and Sofia walked through the bustling paddock during Monaco Raceweek, your excitement was palpable. The atmosphere was electrifying, with the sounds of engines and the energy of the racing world surrounding them. The VIP and Ferrari pass that Charles had given them made you feel both special and a bit nervous, being amidst all the action.

As you turned a corner, they spotted Pierre chatting with some of the team members near the Scuderia Ferrari garage. He was wearing his Alpine Shirt. You exchanged a quick glance with Sofia, who offered a reassuring smile.

Pierre turned and noticed the two familiar faces approaching him. His eyes widened in surprise, and then a warm grin spread across his face. "Well, well, look who we have here!" he exclaimed, giving you and Sofia a playful wink.

You smiled back, relieved by Pierre's friendly greeting. "Hey, Pierre! It's great to see you again."

Sofia chimed in, "We're so excited to be at the Monaco Grand Prix. This whole experience is unbelievable."

Pierre gestured towards the garage, his excitement evident. "Welcome to the heart of Formula 1, ladies. It's the most prestigious race of the season, and it's going to be one hell of a weekend."

As they chatted, you noticed Charles making his way toward you, and your heart fluttered with excitement. He looked dashing in his Ferrari team attire, and your smile grew even wider. Charles gave Pierre a nod of acknowledgment before his gaze locked onto yours.

"Hey," Charles said warmly, pressing a gentle kiss on your cheek. "I see you've met Pierre again." He winked at his best friend, knowing well of your past playful banter.

You laughed, feeling more at ease with Pierre around. "Yes, and he's been showing us around the paddock. It's incredible!"

"Wait till you see the race," Charles said, a sparkle in his eyes. "It's going to be something else."

Pierre, ever the teasing friend, leaned in and grinned. "So, Charles, you didn't tell me you had such beautiful company joining us today."

Charles rolled his eyes but chuckled. "You know Y/N, and you know Sofia. They're here to enjoy the race."

Pierre raised his hands in mock defense. "I'm just saying, it's not every day we have two stunning ladies on the paddock."

Sofia laughed at the playful banter between the two friends while you blushed, feeling both flattered and a little bashful. You knew that Pierre was teasing, since you also knew that a lot of celebrities are attending the Formula 1 races, especially in Monaco.

As the day at the paddock drew to a close, it was time for you and Sofia to bid farewell to Pierre. You exchanged warm hugs and promises to catch up again soon. After Pierre left, Charles led them to the prestigious Ferrari motorhome, an exclusive area where the team members relaxed and strategized during the race weekend.

"Welcome to our humble abode," Charles said with a grin, gesturing toward the impressive motorhome.

You and Sofia stepped inside, your eyes widening in awe at the luxurious interior. Charles introduced you to some of the Ferrari team members, who greeted you warmly. Then, he led you to meet Carlos Sainz, his teammate.

"Hey, Carlos, these are some friends of mine, Y/N and Sofia," Charles said, smiling.

Carlos shook your hands with a friendly smile. "Nice to meet you both. I see Charles wanted you to have the supreme package."

You chuckled. "Oh, he's certainly not shy about it."

Sofia laughed, playfully nudging you. "And she's not shy about teasing him either. It's great to meet you, Carlos."

Carlos and Sofia seemed to hit it off immediately, engaging in lively conversation about the race, their experiences, and their interests outside of Formula 1. You couldn't help but smirk as you noticed the ease with which they connected.

Charles looked on, amused by the interaction between his teammate and Sofia. "Looks like you two are getting along well," he remarked.

Carlos nodded, grinning. "Yeah, Sofia is fun to talk to. You've got good taste in friends, Charles."

"Hey, I know," Charles replied with a playful wink, looking at you.

As the evening progressed, you and Sofia enjoyed spending time with the Ferrari team, soaking in the atmosphere of camaraderie and excitement. You were treated to a delicious snack and even got to see the team strategizing and preparing for the upcoming race.

As it was getting later, Charles walked up to you while Sofia was once again talking to Carlos.

"So... What do you say? Want to come over tonight?" he asked, and you looked at him a little surprised.

Before you could answer something, Sofia ran up to her. "OMG, Y/N, Carlos asked me out to dinner. You don't mind, do you?" she asked, and you looked at her.

"Of course not! Have fun!", you said and pushed Sofia in Carlos's direction. The two were talking and then said their goodbyes.

"So, does that mean you have time?" Charles asked, and you smiled.

"Apparently, I do."

Charles smiled and walked out of the paddock with you, leading you to his car. You were photographed as you left the paddock, and you tried to lower your head as best as you could. Charles led you to his car, and then you drove to his apartment.

As you entered, Charles put his things down and looked at you. "So, what do you wanna do?"

You smiled and looked around in his living room, especially at the big TV. You grinned at Charles, and he understood.

"Movie night it is", he smiled. He walked over to his room. "Do you want something more comfortable to wear?" he asked you from the bedroom.

"Oh, that would be great", you answered, and he stood in the door with some short sweatpants and a shirt. You took them and smiled at him.

"You can change in there. I'll put on something more comfortable as well", he said, pointing at the clothes in his hands as he made his way to the bathroom.

You went into his bedroom, changing into more comfortable clothes. You put her hair in a messy bun and decided to remove your makeup. Since you felt that comfortable with Charles, you didn't care.

As you stepped out of the bedroom again, Charles was already lighting some candles and his cozy living room, dimly lit by the soft glow of flickering candles strategically placed around the room. The evening sun has set, and the darkness outside is met with the warm ambiance inside.

Then you heard a popping coming from the kitchen when you smiled at Charles. "I see, you are prepared" you grinned, and he nodded.

"Hey, no movie without popcorn", he smiled, and then he realized that you were purely natural now, with no make-up and your hair in a messy bun. And he loved it.

He finished preparing the popcorn before hopping onto the couch and patting next to himself to invite you to sit with him. You smiled and sat down next to him as he spread a blanket over you.

"So, what movie should we watch?" Charles asked, looking at you with a playful grin.

Your face lit up with excitement, and you couldn't hide your enthusiasm for fantasy movies. "Oh, there are so many great ones to choose from! How about 'Lord of the Rings'? Or 'Harry Potter'? Or maybe 'The Chronicles of Narnia'?"

Charles chuckled, realizing that you had a vast selection of fantasy movies to choose from. "You really love your fantasy, don't you?" he teased.

You nodded eagerly, "Absolutely! I love the magical worlds and the epic adventures. It's like escaping to another realm."

Charles chuckled and looked at you with adoration, as you were already dipping into a different world. "Which one is your favorite?"

You looked at him, blushing. "Well, my all-time favorite is still Y/F/M, I guess", you said shyly, and he got up from the couch, and to your surprise, he put it in.

"Y/F/M it is", he said and sat back down.

You smiled warmly at him and then cuddled closer to him so that your bodies touched. As the movie went on, you got closer and closer to each other so that when the movie was almost finished, Charles had his arm around your back, softly caressing the skin on your back, as your shirt slid up a little and you had your head on his chest and one leg over his, breathing in his scent.

As the movie night comes to an end, you and Charles find yourselves wrapped in each other's embrace, still feeling the excitement and emotions of the films you watched. The closeness you shared during the movie has intensified your feelings for each other, and the atmosphere in the room becomes charged with undeniable chemistry.

Your lips meet in a passionate kiss, and you both feel the spark between you grow stronger. Your hands gently explore each other's bodies, and your hearts race with desire. However, amidst the passion, your voice breaks the moment.

"Charles," you whispers, your breath slightly uneven. "I... I'm not ready to take this step yet."

Charles stops immediately, understanding the importance of your words. He pulls back, looking into your eyes with genuine care and respect. "Y/N, I completely understand. We don't have to rush anything. I want to be with you, but only when you're ready."

You smiled gratefully, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. You appreciated Charles's understanding and the fact that he respected your boundaries. "Thank you, Charles. I really care about you, and I don't want to ruin what we have by rushing things."

Charles caressed your cheek tenderly, "You won't ruin anything. I'm here for you, and I want to take things at your pace. We'll always communicate openly and honestly about what we're comfortable with."

You pushed yourself up a little and gave him another tender kiss. "You are just the perfect gentleman, aren't you?"

Charles chuckled. "What can I say? My Mom had some strong opinions when it came to her parenting."

You smiled. "And what about your dad?" You noticed an immediate shift in his demeanor, and your smile faded. "Sorry, I didn't mean to overstep."

"You didn't", Charles said softly, smiling at you with a sad smile. "It's just that my Dad died a few years ago. He was really sick and well..." Charles sighed. "He is the reason I am what I am now."

You looked at Charles and caressed his chest, comforting him. "I'm sorry about your Dad, Charles."

"It's okay... Well, it was hard, but we managed." He cleared his throat and pulled you a little closer. "What about your family? I never asked. How are they feeling about you, being gone for so long?"

You chuckled. "Well, I'm really close to my Mom. It was always us two against the world." You averted your gaze slightly and pressed your lips together. "My Dad... Well, let's just say he's gone for a long time."

Charles realized that you didn't want to talk about it further and accepted it. "So, do you wanna watch another one or head to bed?" he asked instead.

You looked at your phone for the time and then stood up slowly. You stretched out your hand to Charles to pull him to his feet. "Bed it is. You have a tough day tomorrow, Mr."

Charles laughed and stood up as well. You put out all the candles and the electronics before heading to bed. You snuggled up to Charles as he opened his arms warmly for you. You could hear his heartbeat and just felt comfortable.

As you lay in each other's arms, Charles took a deep breath, gathering the courage to ask the question that's been on his mind. He looked into your eyes, a mix of vulnerability and hope in his gaze.

"Y/N, I've been thinking a lot about us, about where this is going," he began softly. "And I know it's still early, but I can't help but wonder what you see for us in the future."

Your heart skipped a beat at his question, and you appreciated his willingness to discuss your relationship openly. You took a moment to gather your thoughts, wanting to be honest with him.

"I've been thinking about it too," you admitted, your voice steady. "And I have to be honest with you, Charles. When we started this whole thing, I wasn't looking for anything serious. I wasn't prepared for the way I'm feeling about you now."

Charles nodded, understanding where you were coming from. "I felt the same way, to be honest. I never expected to fall for someone that quickly, especially with my career and everything that comes with it. But being with you has changed everything, Y/N. You've become such an important part of my life."

You smiled softly, feeling a warmth in your heart. "You're important to me too, Charles. That's why I'm worried about how all of this will work out. Your career is incredible, and I don't want to be the reason you miss out on anything."

He took her hand, gently intertwining your fingers. "Y/N, you're not holding me back. I want to be with you, no matter what. Yes, my career can be demanding, and there will be challenges, but I believe we can face them together."

You looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and love in his gaze. "I want to be with you, too," you said softly. "But I'm just scared of how it might change things."

Charles nodded, understanding your fears. "It's natural to be scared, Y/N. But we don't have to figure it all out right now. Let's take it one step at a time, enjoy being together, and see where life takes us. And if at any point you feel overwhelmed or unsure, we'll talk about it, okay?"

Your heart swelled with love for this understanding man. "Okay," you replied, a small smile forming on your lips. "I'd like that."

He leaned in, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. "Good, because I really care about you, Y/N. And I want to be there for you, no matter what."

You cuddled closer, feeling a sense of peace wash over you.

[prpfz]

🏔️ 23 F here🏔️! I'm hunting down Until Dawn roleplayers where I can main Josh Washington or Matt Taylor! This remaster got me engrossed to explore the gang character development in horror settings, preferably in the canon universe. Maybe practice his mindset abit. Don't worry, I won't turn down AUs as long we get to have fun in other genres like drama, angst ,or romance.

Dark themes are encouraged! I'm desperate to write mind-break/ manipulation with Josh. We can privately discuss NSFW kinks.

About me: I write 2-3 paragraphs (roughly 300), most of it depends on mood. Bear with me, I try to write what's essential to our storylines. I accept Canon x Canon / OC x Canon regardless of gender. Don't ghost, please spam me for any HCS, TikToks, Rambles to keep our interactions afloat it helps me stay hooked in our roleplay.

Can't wait to meet you !

give a like and anon will get back to you

[novastaar]

*casually drops an OC from a show made for toddlers*

This is Trixie, a silly fennec fox desert ecologist from the Sahara! (LOTS of lore under the cut)

Her first experience with the Octonauts was when she was woken up by Kwazii after he'd gotten lost in the Sahara desert. She gave him directions to a nearby oasis, where he was found and picked up by the other Octonauts. She had refused to step out of her territory, though, how strange...

Her next encounter with the Octonauts was in the Arctic (A fennec fox? In the Arctic? How could that have happened?). Barnacles found her freezing and trying to stay afloat on a floating chunk of ice and brought her back to the octopod, where Peso took care of her for a while, as she'd been in very bad condition.

They still didn't know how she got to the Arctic, though. And she wouldn't tell them...

After helping out on a few missions (sometimes against Peso's direct orders) the crew dubbed her an official Octonaut. She wasn't a very strong swimmer, but she more than pulled her weight, despite being the youngest on the team (she's like 18 years old and living on her own somehow).

After a while, though, she became an octo agent and went back to live in the Sahara. This was mostly because the constant traveling messed up her sleep schedule really bad (and she's nocturnal, so she probably got less than an hour of sleep each night) and she fell asleep during missions from time to time.

I'm definitely planning on making more stuff about Trixie in the future, so let me know if you want to see more of her on my account so you can learn about her (probably traumatic VERY NORMAL) past!

[solomams]

Hello dearest Lupe~

For the OC ask game, I would like to submit 3, 29, and 32 because I must know these things about Paula right now! Or you know when you get to it lol.

Thank you and I hope you’re having a lovely day! 💕💕

HI CC !!! ehehehe MY FIRST ASK (BECAUSE I DIDN'T HAVE IT OPEN BEFORE APPARENTLY I'M SORRYYY)

3. Do they have a weapon of choice? any particular reason they chose their weapon?

BOW AND ARROW !!! Or like, anything sharp you can throw. I feel like despite her glasses, her aim is really accurate it's scary. But she likes long range one's because it gives her time to run away, and it makes her feel safer. Hide somewhere and then make your shot !! y'know?

In my royalty AU's, I find it funny to give her hair pins that double as weapons ajdjwj

maybe it's also the fact that she's pretty non-confrontational

29. Are they associated with any particular element (air, earth, fire, water)?

See, I've always gravitated towards water !! Always !! Because it's blue, and that's her favorite color, and it can also go into ice ?? But. Paula can't swim *insert yeahok emoji* She just never learned how. I mean yeah she can stay afloat, but if you take her into a deeper part of the pool/water she might yell at you and freak out. Please hold her hand or give her a pool tube

32. do they have any habits that aren't particularly self-destructive, just maybe odd?

I'm trying so hard to think, because everything i come up with doesn't feel like a habit aksjwj

If you give her something, she might start throwing it back and forth between her hands, even if it's sharp

She hatessss carrying around large coats so she'd rather freeze. Because once you get inside and you take it off, you have to lug it around !! Layers are also just iffy in general to her. Sometimes if it's really really cold, or she knows she won't have to take it off, THEN she'll wear it. Otherwise, once Mammon figures out his habit, he is forcibly bundling her up. He'll carry the coat for her, and grumble about it, but it's better that than dealing with a sick Paula

She will go to great lengths to avoid talking to strangers. She'll take the long way around instead of saying "excuse me". Unless it's like- the only way. Then she has to mentally hype herself up in the corner

She can't hold eye contact? Not well at least. Once she gets close to someone, it's easier. But sometimes she'll just end up staring and zoning out without realizing... Her rbf doesn't help

thank you cc!! It's good to see you YAY

[gouraminnow]

WIP game!

rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Tag as many people as you have wips. People send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

---

I prefer Read-mores just so things are more readable hsdfdsf

Tagged by my friend @hannahbarberra162 thank you!!! Heehee! All but one of the published ones are still on chapter one... I do not write fast :') Honestly, the one person I'm comfortable tagging is the one who tagged me, soo... breaking the rules already lol. Anybody who sees this and wants to, please do! (It's not bc I have problems with anyone, she's just the only one I talk to regularly. I'm kinda new to this lol)

No Rest For the Wicked - Yandere modern serial killer Sabo/Koala x Goth reader. (Literal hurt/comfort. Stalking implied, murder is gonna happen. Was meant to be a one-shot debut of sorts on Halloween, but it got too long...)

You're a goth student at a small university, and someone you thought was your friend lures you into a Carrie-style Halloween prank- But it goes wrong and the bucket they drop cracks your head open. Luckily, the Grad Student Instructor and his partner happen to be there and are awfully eager to help you out.

Galley on 4th - Yandere Modern (but with dfs eventually) Thatch x reader. (Also hurt/comfort. Gonna get increasingly sketchy as time goes on. Stalkng. Maybe smut? Omg nooo hot chef don't intrude on my life and insist on caring for me noooo)

Raising your kid sister all by yourself is hard enough on it's own. But add classes, poverty, and several jobs to juggle and the pressure builds awfully fast. Most employers will drop you on a whim and it's all you can do to stay afloat… So when you somehow manage to land a well-paying position at The Galley on 4th Avenue, a famous, high-end place run by some well renowned Chef- You're desperate to hold things down. Good thing your new Boss is so friendly and understanding, huh?

Birds of a Feather - Marco & OC (entirely platonic. Hurt at the start, comfort, tooth-rotting fluff. Has artwork for it!)

Marco the Phoenix is found by an orphaned harpy child that mistakes him for one of their own kind. It takes less than a day to commit to adoption- he really is taking after his father.

Unpublished:

Bleeding Heart - What was meant to be one fic for my self-insert OC has splintered into several snippets. Born with CAVC, they thought they were lucky to receive corrective surgery as a child, only for that surgery to be botched. They now have to use the blood-blood fruit- a devil fruit with countless horrific urban legends attributed to it- to compensate for their faulty heart by manually managing their blood flow in secret. Very grumpy and easily overwhelmed bc who wouldn't be in their situation? One version they go with the WBP and in another, with the Strawhats.

Untitled Whitey Bay oneshot- sweet, smutty f/f oneshot that ends in reader eloping to a life on the seas. Reader is a lonely, wistful barmaid who dreams of something more exciting than waiting tables in a dingy bar. One day, a striking lady pirate docks on your island, stopping by your bar... and just your luck, the tall, blue-haired woman seems just as interested in you as you are in her.

Untitled Isekai idea- Reader is brought to the world of OP by a devil-fruit reader with portal-related powers. He's a self-proclaimed mad genius but is actually a jackass wannabe-Ceasar who piggybacks off of the works of others- even utilizing his ability to hopefully grab something useful from other realms rather than making shit himself. But it's random most of the time... cue reader.

Untitled dark Thatch oneshot- honestly not sure if I want to post this when it's done. Non/dubcon. Yandere Thatch finds a promising little chef and lays on the charm, but they won't leave with him. Months later, he finds them cowering in the Galley of a Marine ship and assumes they're in bed with the enemy. Unaware that they were forced to work there and too amped up to listen, he steals them away like he wanted to on that damn island. Meaner than what I tend to go for, but ends with him doting on them. Very unsure abt this hfdsfg

Yandere Nami idea

Second set of ASI hcs, but centered around Marco

I want to elaborate on the Crocodile x Selkie reader idea

[krys-in-the-playhouse]

[Profile] Ophelia of Revaire - IkeSen OC

Full Name: Ophelia of Revaire Preferred Pronouns: She/Her Age: Mid-Late 20s Appearance: Average height, slim build, before coming to the Sengoku, she kept her hair very close to her head with a crown braid. After joining up with Kennyo, she cut it short to just below her chin. Her hair is white, can appear very light blonde in some lights. Has beauty mark on her chin. Pale skin. Eyes: Red, like Nobunaga's eyes

Birthday: March 13th Main Suitor: Kennyo Special Interests: Sewing, Gardening Signature Colors: Red and Black

-Like Houki before her, Ophelia was originally a Seven Kingdoms: A Princess Problem MC. The basic premise of the game is that you are sending your MC to a diplomatic summit meeting to form alliances with the other countries. Whether those relationships are political or romantic (or a secret third option) in nature happen through choices and stat raising within the game. At the beginning, you go through dialogue choices that let you choose your character's base nature, intelligence, how pretty they're perceived to be, how charismatic they are, etc. Then, you are given a basic background based on the stats your character has the most points in.

-For Ophelia, she was my third MC build in the game after Houki and another MC that I didn't develop as much. I had mostly figured how the game worked and flowed at that point, so I wanted to play around with some of the other stats and what the other backgrounds were like. I also had played two relatively good-natured girls with Houki and my other MC up to that point, so I wanted to see about some of the… let's say darker routes the game could take (as if Houki getting poisoned and almost killed a few times wasn't dark enough, lol).

-Ophelia's base background is called An Ambitious Widow. Set against the political turmoil going on in her homeland of Revaire, Ophelia comes from a poor noble family that puts on the image of wealth when they don't actually have that much, often going into debt to keep up appearances. As the eldest daughter, she social-climbed as much as she could to keep the family afloat. When she was considered old enough, she was married off to a man old enough to be her grandfather. She had no strong feelings towards the old man either way, so long as her family was okay, she would do almost anything.

-The marriage lasts for about a year before her husband mysteriously dies. Ophelia had no hand in his demise, but the rumors surrounding his death didn't do her any favors. And when her family came to her in need again, she takes up her social-climbing ways once again, her sights now set on this Summit meeting, hoping to remarry once again, only this time she wants to aim for someone with more money, maybe someone of royal status so that her family doesn't have to worry anymore.

-That plan goes right out the window once she gets wormholed, ah geez…

-This part is still a little fuzzy for me that I might clarify it at a later date and I need to redo Kennyo's route to remember some of the events that happen in it, but Ophelia's story from here loosely follows his route from this point on. She helps out Nobunaga initially, but afterwards, the two get along like oil and water that's on fire, eventually leading her to running away from him, running into Kennyo and she chooses to stay with the monk, not wanting anything to do with the Oda Forces anymore.

-With Kennyo is where she begins her healing journey, away from the politics and toxicity of home. She's allowed to be herself and to let the wounds of the past staunch and scab over, finally growing to trust others again. She picks up her old hobbies of sewing and gardening again and spends her days teasing Kennyo and Ranmaru gently, when she sees them. 

-Ophelia is also in a weird place for me in that I don't have any major plans for her future as I do with Houki and Clara. At most, she wants to see if her family is okay, to at least know the fate of her younger siblings, but it's probably for the best that she's away from that toxic environment. If nothing else major happens in IkeSen, she'll probably continue as she is with Kennyo and Ranmaru.

Some other fun facts:

-Ophelia is the eldest of nine siblings, six younger sisters and two younger brothers. She and her sisters are named after Shakespearean ladies because I wanted a theme and since Ophelia was named after a Shakespearean tragic lady, her sisters were named in a similar manner.

-Ophelia and her siblings in order:

Ophelia (eldest daughter) Sister #1-Cordelia Sister #2-Rosalind Sister #3-Portia Nicolai (Brother #1) Sisters #4 and 5-Bianca and Beatrice (Twins) Frederick (Brother #2) Viola (The Baby and Sister #6)

-Other suitors for consideration: Shingen. He's too smart for his own good and she admires his intelligence and charisma. And they're both notorious Nobu haters, so they would get along in that aspect. He's too flirty for her, personally, however, thus why they're not together. He's also dying secretly and her world doesn't have the technology to save him like MC's world does. Even if she could take him back home, she couldn't cure him of his illness and she doesn't deserve having a second husband suddenly dying on her, this OC parent isn't that cruel (but damn wouldn't that make for some delicious drama?)

I can see her getting along with Kicho too, but since his route and motives balance on a world and history she wasn't a part of, it's a little harder to gauge how they would get along based on that.

-Not that it would be relevant in any stories in IkeSen between her and any suitor, but I've made the executive decision to have her be infertile, as a mercy to her because of her first marriage. She also has a little trauma from seeing her mother withering away from her and all her younger siblings. Her mother was happy about each and all of her children, blissfully so, but Ophelia saw it a little differently with so many mouths to feed, an appearance to uphold, not to mention the Revaire of her childhood was… not a good place to be, especially depending on if you supported the old royalty or the new one.

-The suitor I had for her in the original Seven Kingdoms game (now completed! It's on itch.io in early access!) rekindled her love for gardening. The suitor, Emmett, was a sweet soul that loves travel and just loves animals and all kinds of plants. The two had been walking together and he was pointing out various plants to her, telling her their names and interesting things about them. Ophelia, having spent the majority of her years clout-chasing, admired this chatty young man because he was so unabashedly himself, and so kind and gentle. They grew closer with their time at the Summit, becoming friends despite Ophelia wanting to keep him at arm's length. She's supposed to be here to marry a rich nobleman or a prince and gain as many political allies as she could… yet his kindness and sweet personality kept winning her over. I think, when she is worm-holed and is on her healing journey, she takes up gardening in his honor, to the first person that really showed her kindness that wasn't family or wanting something out of her.

-Though it wasn't intentional with the birthday randomizer putting her in March, it makes a lot of symbolic sense. It's a transitional month between winter and spring, thus symbolizing her narrative journey of new beginnings after the cold. Even in-game, winter symbolism was tied a bit to the Widow. In a conversation over dinner with Clarmont (another suitor also from Revaire), the Widow MC tells a story from her childhood, when she and her sister watched their first snowfall together. She recalls it as the last moment she can remember feeling truly innocent and at peace with herself, before things started going to hell. Even Ophelia's inspo playlist is titled 'Even winter must come to an end…'