#thank you for reading this story i appreciate all of you so much

[bvidzsoo]

Is Santa the new Cupid?

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x gender neutral reader

❆ Warning: none, no usage of Y/N ❆ Word count: 5.9k ❆ Rating: sfw ❆ Genre: holiday themed, office romance, mutual pinning, brother's best friend, fluff ❆ Summary: With the holiday's rolling around, everyone is in a festive spirit. You're not a huge fan of Christmas, but your brother is, so, he organises a Secret Santa themed party at work. What you don't expect, however, is for him to scheme to try and bring you together with your work crush.

A/N: ~Ho, ho, ho, @hee0soo your Secret Santa is here! ^^ I hope this story is to your liking and that you will enjoy it! As for everyone else, hello, my lovelies! This is a little event I partook in, and I'd like to thank @cromernet for hosting it, being in this server has been nothing but a pleasure! <3 To those who celebrate it, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas, and to those who don't, a well earned rest and an overall joyful time! I hope everyone will enjoy this little piece, and if I don't write anything in the upcoming days, then I wish you a Happy New Year, and I shall see you in the next year! Thank you for being here and for supporting me, for all the feedback and kindness, you make writing a little more pleasant! I'll let you go on and read now, I hope you enjoy! Your feedback is always appreciated! <33 divider

            The holidays had always been a mess. No matter where you looked, people were stressing about getting the perfect gifts, the most glamorous outfits, the best seasoning for their food, and the most colourful decorations they could get their hands on. The sight was enough to send you into another spiral of why you thought this whole fussing about a celebration—that not everyone celebrates, by the way—was so unnecessary and only damaging your health, raising your cortisol levels. But alas, this is how the world worked, and you couldn’t go against it. Your flat was minimally decorated, and you were still debating whether you’d get a Christmas tree this year or not. There was no point in throwing out money if you weren’t wholeheartedly in tune with the whole holiday…that is unless your nosy brother decides to take over your flat like last year and turn it into a whole Christmas fest. You swear you were finding glitter even a month later in places like your salt shaker and the medical cabinet in your bathroom. Seonghwa loved everything shiny, so when his lovely sibling refused to abide by his wishes, he put his persuasive skills to use and coerced you into the most blinding corset you could have ever found. Which brings us to the current time, with you hiding out in your brother’s office and furiously scrubbing at the stained red glitter. Nothing was working, your co-worker’s red wine would be forever embedded into your pricey piece of clothing.

You didn’t blame him, it was an unfortunate accident. The waiter was walking by with a tray filled with cheese when your co-worker had thrust his hand backwards, calling for a disaster. Which happened mere seconds later when the beverage sloshed all over your chest and the top of the sweetheart neckline of your corset. You sighed as you gave it one last try, perhaps if you put more passion into it then you might be able to make the stain fade a little bit. The fabric of the corset was a bright red and the dark stain was rather visible despite the glittery studs that covered it. You had told Seonghwa that the outfit was a bit too much for an office Christmas party, but he only told you to suck it up and wear it unless you didn’t want to be on theme. Which you were, thanks to your brother, except that seemingly everyone else had gone for more casual or silly outfits, and here were you…wearing a sexy sparkly—now ruined—corset, and some black wide-legged pants that hid the stilettos which matched the colour of your top. With a frustrated groan, you flopped into the chair placed in front of your brother’s desk and closed your eyes, accepting your fate.

You would’ve further ruined the fabric at this point if you kept on scrubbing the way you were, and that would be a waste of Seonghwa’s money…since he was the one to get you this outfit. He was rather pushy this year, it was suspicious, but you didn’t question it. Your brother had always been a bit weird, particular about the things he liked, and a perfectionist in everything he did…but at least he spoiled you well, so you couldn’t really complain. The cacophony of the ongoing party from beyond the door reminded you that you couldn’t hide out in your brother’s office anymore, so you took a deep breath and told yourself that everyone would understand how the stain got there without ridiculing you. Your co-worker already felt terrible for being so clumsy, and you weren’t even mad at him. The door which you had left ajar was suddenly flung open, and your eyes widened when you saw who had walked inside. Great, just what you needed…your work crush to see you in this state of despair when today was supposed to be filled with jolliness. You quickly stood and dusted off your pants out of habit, trying to keep yourself calm and collected…which was something you often failed to do in Kim Hongjoong’s presence.

He wore something similar, suspiciously, and for a millisecond you wondered if this was Seonghwa’s work, who wasn’t just your brother, but also Hongjoong’s best friend. When you say work crush…you mean the longest crush you’ve had on anyone since you’ve been hopelessly pinning on Hongjoong since like…high school. Embarrassing, but you were a few years younger, and Hongjoong was too cool to notice you or regard you as anyone else than his best friend’s younger sibling. Hongjoong’s cat-like eyes widened as the two of you stared at each other wordlessly, and you realized his blazer looked an awful lot like your corset. It was the same shade and had the same sparkly studs, the shoulders were puffed out, and it was cropped, stopping right above Hongjoong’s waist. He had always been stylish, and he loved going all out at events like this one. His long black pants reached below his ankles, and the huge black bow tied around his waist truly elevated the whole look. His satin white shirt was spotless, unlike your stained corset. You wished you had something to cover it with…you supposed perfectionism ran in the family, after all.

“Hi.” Hongjoong broke your wordless staring contest, and you gulped down your nerves, trying to smile at him. You’ve been working together for two years, for God’s sake, you couldn’t freeze anytime Hongjoong even as much as looked at you.

“Hi.” You greeted back lamely, and you were thankful that your voice wasn’t squeaky at least. Hongjoong’s eyes took a quick sweep of your body, and you fought against yourself to keep at bay the blush blooming over your cheeks.

“Is everything okay?” Hongjoong, the ever-considerate guy he was, asked with a concerned look on his face, “I saw you storm off and…I thought maybe something happened.”

How could you not have a crush on this man when he acted like this?

“Oh, I’m alright, don’t worry.” Except that you weren’t exactly, and you knew he could see it on your face, so, you sighed defeated, “Well, okay, Mingi spilt his wine on me and now my corset is stained…and I hate it because everyone can see it.”

You were pouting as you looked down at the darker spot on your corset, and maybe you became a bit sulkier when Hongjoong just chuckled. He looked adorable with his lips curling upward, fighting the urge to outwardly laugh in your face. That was nice of him, you were glad he was nice enough to not make fun of you…not that Hongjoong would make fun of anyone, he was the first one to shut down even the hint of bullying if he came across it.

“Sounds like it’s the end of the world,” Hongjoong teased you, and you rolled your eyes in exchange, “Did you bring a blazer?”

“No,” You shook your head, flopping back down on the chair, “Only a huge fur coat, and I can’t wear that in here…especially since it’s white and people like Mingi exist.”

That made Hongjoong laugh as he nodded, his eyebrows furrowing in thought, “Well, I also suppose you didn’t bring a backup outfit?”

“No, Hongjoong,” You sighed, “Not everyone is as well prepared as you are.”

He hummed knowingly, his office having a wardrobe dedicated to outfits Hongjoong brought in for emergency meetings or occasions. He was well prepared, and most importantly, always well dressed. He had been like that since high school, wearing the edgiest outfits he could find, painting his nails, and experimenting with his hairstyles. Something he hadn’t stopped doing ever since, hence his two-coloured hair at the moment. His middle part was perfect, the left side of his hair bleached blonde while the right side remained a raven black. It looked good on him, too good, and it brought back memories of when he had tried it out for the first time in his final year of college. Just remembering it made you almost blush again, the image of screaming about it into a pillow after running into Hongjoong was still too vivid in your mind.

“Allow me to help you out then, stay here.” Before you could question Hongjoong, he was already out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and a racing heart. What could he possibly have in mind? You had always seen him as a creative person—I mean, he really was considering the fact he was in charge of the graphic design department—and he had never shied away from a little challenge. Except that, he wasn’t facing a challenge right now, and you wondered what he had in mind since it brought that excited glint in his eyes, it happened whenever he thought of something brilliant. Because honestly, all of Hongjoong’s ideas were brilliant. You couldn’t help but admire him for being always ahead of the deadlines and thinking up new innovative ways that made you the best on the market. He was a great asset to your brother’s company, everyone valued and respected Hongjoong for all the dedication and hard work he put into his craft.

You were startled out of your thoughts as Hongjoong returned, holding a satin shirt on a green hanger. He had a grin on his lips as you stood, watching him approach you, ultimately making your heart hammer in your chest.

“So, you can borrow this for the evening.” Hongjoong said with a smile, taking the shirt off the hanger as he came to stand in front of you, “It’ll cover up the stain, and won’t make you feel too warm either.”

“Oh, I…that’s so kind of you, but I can’t accept it—”

“Nonsense,” Hongjoong chuckled, brushing you off without hesitation, “Do you want me to help you wear it?”

That would’ve been really embarrassing, so you quickly shook your head and took the shirt from his hands, your fingers accidentally brushing. Your cheeks were burning, and you avoided looking Hongjoong in the eyes as you carefully wore his shirt, trying to keep your screaming thoughts at bay. This felt like a daydream taken straight out of your teenage years. The seventeen-year-old you would be fainting right now if they were to know this would happen years later, even if Hongjoong wasn’t your boyfriend. The fabric was soft and didn’t feel suffocating, and you tried to ignore Hongjoong’s expensive cologne that seemed to cling to it. It had a hint of sweetness in it, but it was rather masculine and woody otherwise. And despite your family being gifted by the gods of height, you didn’t inherit that gene, which made you smaller than even Hongjoong, who wasn’t the tallest of people. The sleeves of the shirt covered your fingers, only your sparkly red nails visible—which was another scheme pulled by Seonghwa. You rarely did your nails red, let alone sparkly.

“Thank you, Hongjoong.” You said quietly, trying not to chew on your bottom lip since it would ruin your lipgloss, making your teeth tinted. And then, as if your heart wasn’t about to malfunction already, Hongjoong stepped closer to adjust the collar of his shirt. You froze and peeked up at him through your eyelashes, watching as a soft smile appeared on his lips. A few black strands fell into his eyes, and you could tell he had used a bit of dark eyeshadow to sharpen his eyes more, giving it depth. His skin was perfect and his pretty lips were red from the cherry lip balm he’s been using since forever.

“There, now it’s perfect,” Hongjoong muttered more to himself, still smoothing down the collar as he started helping you button up the shirt since you had forgotten you were supposed to do that in the first place. Your fingers trembled slightly from the adrenaline rush in your system, and you bit your bottom lip when your knuckles brushed against Hongjoong’s as your hands met while doing the buttons. Hongjoong huffed in amusement, then grabbed your arms to look at the sleeves. You watched him as you let him do as he wished, and he rolled up the sleeve twice so that it would fit you nicely. He looked gorgeous from up close, especially when he was in his element, doing what he liked the most. Sometimes you wondered why he hadn’t become a stylist, his vision was so beautiful, and you had seen the sketches he had made recently. You just knew his brand would be successful all around the world, his designs delicate and modest, but elegant and full of glamour. Now that the shirt was all done, all you had to do was put the hem inside your pants so that you didn’t look like you had just gotten out of bed and borrowed your boyfriend’s clothes.

You blushed even harder at the thought of Hongjoong being your boyfriend, and you were alarmed to find him already looking at you when you peeked at him. Hongjoong’s ears were redder than before, and he had a sheepish smile on his face. His cheeks were dusted a light pink too, and you wondered if his heart was racing as much as yours. You cleared your throat to thank him for his help when there was a loud knock on the open door, making you both jump. Hongjoong whirled around and awkwardly put some distance between you and himself as Seonghwa’s otherwise round eyes were now sharp and narrowed, a knowing smirk on his lips.

“Would you look at that! The two who were missing from the party, fraternizing in my office…” Seonghwa’s tone had a hint of teasing in it as he raised an eyebrow, his eyes slipping from you to his best friend. Hongjoong laughed awkwardly and rubbed his nape, throwing you a glance before he looked back at Seonghwa.

“I was just—”

“Is that Hongjoong’s shirt?” Seonghwa didn’t let his best friend speak as he pointed at you, now both eyebrows raised in surprise. You nodded, ready to explain yourself, but Seonghwa clearly didn’t care, “Did I miss something? Either way, it looks lovely on you, dear, even if it’s a bit too…roomy?”

“Seonghwa—”

Clearly, when your brother had set his mind onto something, he just wouldn’t listen to anyone, “I’m all for offering my office up to those in need, but maybe you should use Hongjoong’s the next time you want to cosy up. In fact—I might even give you, dear, an office. You’ve earned it after the year we had.”

You narrowed your eyes at your brother, opening your mouth to speak up, but he raised his hand, “Come on now, I’m about to make my speech and you’ll have to swap your presents.”

Right, the presents…for the person you had randomly picked out of a small vase. And that person was…Hongjoong, as cliché as that sounds. You cleared your throat as Seonghwa turned his back to you and Hongjoong, who gave you a curt nod and followed after his best friend in order to give you privacy so you could fix the shirt. You took a deep breath and stuffed the fabric into your pants, glad that you had worn a belt since it cut the outfit in half nicely.

The company was packed with employees, everyone looking excited as Seonghwa made his way towards the fake podium he had giddily asked Hongjoong to make for him. He had a microphone and everything to make it more enjoyable for him, all placed in front of the massive Christmas tree that had been a hassle to get inside the office, but also to decorate. Your brother’s company wasn’t huge, and that was exactly why it worked so well. Everyone was eager to move forward and make something bigger than them, so the community was tight-knit and hard-working. You were on the sales team, not quite in the leader position yet, but you were getting there. You enjoyed what you did and that was all that mattered, plus, the paycheck was pretty nice. And anytime you didn’t like something, you could always bug the CEO until he finally gave in to you…those were the perks of involving your family with your business, much to Seonghwa’s dismay at times.

You took your place behind your tallest co-workers, who were huddled together and watching something on Yunho’s phone. The waiter walked towards you and handed you a glass of champagne to toast with once your brother was done with his speech, and you couldn’t help but grin when Hongjoong came to stand next to you. He returned your grin, and when you looked away, he continued to stare at you with adoration, thinking to himself how cute you looked wearing his shirt. Hongjoong quickly shook his head to clear his thoughts and focus on his best friend, who was standing on the podium made by him, grinning from ear to ear.

“Thank you, everyone, for attending this little party. I am more than elated to announce that we have come close to another end of year where I can confidently say our company’s been doing better than ever. I am proud and happy to have a team so dedicated as you guys, and I hope the next year holds even greater things for us. Maybe the next party will be held on a private island, at the company’s expense, of course.” People chuckled around you, everyone was well aware you weren’t doing that well yet, but that was the goal. Mingi noticed you stood behind him and gave you a pout, making you pat his shoulder as Yunho glanced between you and Hongjoong, then grinned, “We’ve had our ups and downs this year, perhaps have faced even more challenges than before, but with everyone’s help, we pushed through and made the biggest profit of the company so far. I truly am so proud of each one of you, because, without you, I wouldn’t be standing here, able to live the dreams I’ve had since I was a kid. Before I end my speech, I’d like to especially thank Kim Hongjoong for bringing in our biggest partner, and for having great ideas that pushed our company towards success. When we were teenagers, everything that we have today was just a far-fetched dream, and now…we have it, Hongjoong, we did it, brother. I think it’s time we celebrate as we should.”

Everyone cheered as you watched your brother get teary-eyed, looking at Hongjoong with deep respect and love on his face. Hongjoong raised his glass of champagne and tipped it in Seonghwa’s direction, his composure collected, but you could see he had gotten a bit teary-eyed too. You smiled fondly as you watched your brother run his fingers through his long hair, a habit when he was nervous, and then he raised his glass, prompting the others to do so as well.

“Let us celebrate now, but please don’t mess up the electricity wiring like last year, I still have no idea how that happened…” Everyone looked amused as Seonghwa shook his head, then tipped his champagne back, and you followed as you took an experimental sip. It was a bit bitter and too bubbly, but you took a larger gulp out of respect for Seonghwa, “And now, let us open the presents! I hope nobody forgot whose Secret Santa they were!”

Right, the dreaded moment had come. You handed your glass of champagne to Yunho when you noticed he was already finished with his, and he gave you a wink as he quickly downed your champagne too. Now that the moment everyone had been waiting for came, you all migrated towards the big round table that was littered with gifts inside wrapping paper and small winter-themed bags. Yours was a smaller package with a blue font and white snowflakes on it, placed right in the middle of the table. You waited until you made it closer to the table, then leaned over to grab it with sweaty hands. You were nervous, but you were more scared that Hongjoong would hate his present. You truly hoped he didn’t, but then again, even if he did, you’d never be able to tell…Hongjoong had a great poker face. You turned around and looked for him, only to find him already approaching you. Surely, he wasn’t…wait, you quickly looked towards your brother, who was already watching you with an amused smirk. God, this is why you didn’t like telling Seonghwa anything about your crushes…he had always meddled, even back in high school.

You wanted the earth to eat you up as Hongjoong smiled at you sweetly, looking a bit embarrassed as he came to stand in front of you, “So, uh, we meet again.”

God, he could be so awkward at times, you chuckled embarrassed, “Right, as if we weren’t standing next to each other a second ago.”

But you weren’t better either, Mingi and Yunho, who had also somehow picked each other, snorted as they passed by you and Hongjoong, having overheard your conversation. Gosh, this was so embarrassing, you wanted to flip Seonghwa off and then drag him to his office and lecture him. You were pretty sure this wasn’t done by accident, there was no way on earth both Hongjoong and you had picked each other randomly.

“So, I know you don’t like the whole holiday season that much, but uhm, Merry Christmas.” Hongjoong handed you his gift with both hands, his eyes twinkling with excitement, and suddenly you didn’t hate the thought of gift-giving and receiving that much. You took your gift and handed him his.

“Merry Christmas, Hongjoong, and thank you for the gift too.” It felt awkward standing like that there, facing each other like two strangers, so you took your courage in your hands and stepped forward to hug him. Hongjoong’s eyes widened once he realised your intention, but he opened his arms as you came to hold his torso, making sure you wouldn’t dirty his blazer with your makeup despite it being transfer-proof. You could feel your heart hammer against your chest, and you hoped Hongjoong couldn’t feel it as he embraced you, holding you close as suddenly slow music started playing through the speakers. You knew it was Seonghwa’s doing because you could practically feel his eyes on you, but you ignored your annoying brother and focused on Hongjoong’s warmth instead. But to your surprise, he started slowly swaying the two of you to the rhythm of the song, humming next to your ear. You were both still holding your gifts, and the distance between your bodies made it a little awkward, but you weren’t about to say anything. Hongjoong has never held you like this before, you felt like you were soaring through the sky right now as you tried not to inhale loudly, hoping his scent would never leave your nostrils.

“We might as well dance since we are already embracing…” Hongjoong muttered and you hummed, stepping closer so that you could hold each other better. Your face was beat red and your stomach was doing back flips, but you were smiling so widely your cheeks hurt. You couldn’t be too sure that Hongjoong liked you back, there were small moments when he had tried getting closer or did something that was beyond a friendly gesture, but you didn’t want to face heartbreak in case this was just a one-sided crush…which it most probably was. You didn’t really think he’d finally notice you after all those years you had known each other, you also didn’t think you were much his type. He had always dated people who were like him, creative and basically in love with life, happy to be alive and ready to discover everything. You were more of the quiet type, content with living a comfortable life and never going out of your way to do too much. You liked your space and security, planning ahead and having a vision that would help you stay aligned with your purpose and wishes. Hongjoong wasn’t as organised and he went with the flow, unafraid and unapologetic. And despite the two of you being so different, you couldn’t help but find him the most interesting person you had ever come across.

            After an hour or so of dancing and enjoying your time with your co-workers, you were ready to take a breather. It was too cold outside and you were too overheated to go out, you couldn’t risk catching a cold right around the holidays, so you went back to the round table and took a seat, reaching for a clean cup to pour some peach juice for yourself. You didn’t get the chance to open your gift from Hongjoong yet, so, you grabbed it off the table again and looked through it, your eyes widening when you realised what Hongjoong had gotten for you. You had a bunny at home, a sweet little white thing called Star because it was supposed to be Seonghwa’s initially, but he had discovered he was allergic to her, so he had to give her away. Seonghwa and you had always loved bunnies, so your brother knew she was in safe hands with you. And Hongjoong, the always thoughtful person, had bought various treats for your little Star. But that wasn’t everything, a pink princess costume was packed neatly inside the bag as well, making you grin from ear to ear. Star would look lovely in that, Seonghwa will absolutely love it too once you send him pictures.

But that wasn’t all as you reached inside to grab the small jewellery box, your mouth felt a little bit dry. You paused and looked around, wanting to make sure no one was watching you, but secretly you were also looking for Hongjoong. He was on the dance floor, entertaining Yunho and Mingi who were spinning him around. Hongjoong’s cheeks were red and he kept laughing, the contagious sound reached your ears and made you smile as something warm spread through your chest. Gosh, sometimes you really wish you didn’t have a crush on the most adorable man in the whole world. Glancing back down at your last gift, you braced yourself and opened it up, only for your jaw to drop open. There, in the dainty box, sat a rose gold necklace with a diamond pendant. It wasn’t the fact that Hongjoong had gifted you a diamond necklace that made your heart race, but the fact that you’ve always wanted one in this style. Maybe some would consider you shallow, but you have always liked diamonds. They were gorgeous in the light, and if the stone wasn’t too big, it looked gorgeous. You gulped, suddenly overwhelmed with emotions because you had been mentioning the fact that you’d want to buy yourself a diamond necklace once you could afford it ever since you were just a little kid. To be fair, you had always thought Seonghwa would be the one to surprise you and gift you this, but coming from Hongjoong…you tried to gulp down the lump in your throat.

This wasn’t helping with your one-sided crush, because now all you wanted to do was run up to Hongjoong and kiss him while you cried. The fact that he had even paid enough attention to remember your biggest wish managed to knock you breathless, you needed a second to gather yourself. Your hands shook slightly as you raised it to your eyes, taking in the pendant, and admiring its beauty. It was perfect. The same size and shape you had always envisioned, it was modest and gorgeous. You released a shuddering breath just as you realised someone was approaching you, and your eyes were a little watery as you looked up. Seonghwa had a soft smile on his lips as he walked up to you, and then crouched down in front of you.

“Hey,” He greeted you softly, looking down at the necklace in your hands. He didn’t even seem surprised, he looked pleased as he hummed, looking back up at you, “You opened your presents, I see. I bet you love it, don’t you?”

“It’s a diamond necklace, Hwa,” You whispered, eyes widening slightly, “From Hongjoong. This is…crazy. I know I’ve been mentioning it for ages, but I didn’t think that he…”

Seonghwa raised his eyebrows at you as you trailed off, seemingly lost for words, “That he was listening? Hongjoong has always paid attention to you, dear.”

Really? Was that true? Seonghwa wouldn’t lie to you, you felt your heart race all of a sudden. Seonghwa reached out and took the necklace from your hands, walking around you once he stood up. He pulled your hair to the side and clipped the necklace in place, making you reach up to touch the pendant. It was the perfect length too, why was Hongjoong so perfect when he couldn’t even be yours? You sniffed and willed your tears to go away, pouting a little as Seonghwa walked around to come face-to-face with you again. He grinned and grabbed your hands, pulling you up.

“Don’t cry, you’ll ruin your pretty makeup,” He teased you with a wink and you groaned, bottling your feelings up for later, when you were alone and in the safety of your apartment, where only Star could witness your crying session, “I know it’s not technically Christmas yet and that we’ll see each other back home in less than three days for the annual feast, but I got you a present too.”

See, there was no denying that Seonghwa and you were siblings. You grinned and reached inside your pants pocket, grabbing the Spa Coupon you had gotten for him.

“You deserve to relax, you’ve done a lot for the company.” Seonghwa patted your head, messing up your hair a little bit in true brother fashion, “And you can’t use your phone while you’re there, dear, that’s not how you relax.”

Seonghwa handed over the small ticket, and you stared at it for a second before you burst out laughing. His eyebrows furrowed as he watched you, but then his face turned incredulous before he started laughing too once you handed him your gift for him. Seonghwa had bought you a Spa Coupon too, from the same place you had bought his too. You laughed as you waved your coupons at each other, already knowing you’d get a scolding from your mother for not being a bit more creative with your gifts.

“Wait, don’t tell me you got one for mom too…” Seonghwa trailed off, his eyes widening slightly.

“Let me guess, you got one for dad too?” You raised an eyebrow and Seonghwa nodded innocently, prompting you to shake your head as you both snickered.

“Well, seems like we’ll be spending some quality time as a family over the break.” Seonghwa grinned, pocketing his coupon, and then he placed his hands behind his back, looking somewhere behind you.

“Ugh, great, now mom won’t get off my back about me finding a boyfriend somehow finally.” You grimaced, not keen on going home only to listen to your mother’s nagging. She never stopped asking, never stopped trying to set you up on blind dates. It was annoying because she never did that for Seonghwa…at least you had a crush, he couldn’t even bother with that.

“Speaking of boyfriends…” Seonghwa wriggled his eyebrows and you groaned, ready to deny whatever he was about to say, but it wasn’t what you were expecting, “Did you notice you were sitting under a mistletoe?”

“What?” You muttered, looking up confused. Now how the hell did that get there? If you reckon correctly, it wasn’t there like half an hour ago, you had come to the table to grab a drink and it wasn’t there, so how—Seonghwa. The answer was always Seonghwa, “I swear to God, Hwa, you’re my brother. What are you plotting? I refuse to peck even as much as your cheek.”

“I won’t even get a hug?” Seonghwa fake pouted, his eyes glinting wickedly. Nothing good came when Seonghwa had that look in his eyes, you gulped nervously.

“No, now—”

“Fine.” Seonghwa sighed exaggeratedly, “Hate me all you want, but I’m the best brother in the world. If you won’t show me some love, I know exactly who else you could cheer up right now—Hongjoong, can you come over for a little bit?!”

Your eyes widened and you whacked Seonghwa in the chest, turning around frantically. Oh no, Hongjoong was already approaching with a skip in his step, unassuming of what he was walking up to. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was deliciously brushed back, his blazer gone and the top buttons of his shirt undone.

“Yeah? You need something?” He called as he walked around the table and Seonghwa stepped aside, making your eyes widen.

“Sure, come here for a second,” Seonghwa said nonchalantly, and by the time you opened your mouth to tell Hongjoong not to fall for Seonghwa’s trap, it was too late. Seonghwa stepped aside and lightly pushed Hongjoong towards you, making both of you panic as you grabbed Hongjoong’s arm so he wouldn’t accidentally fall.

“What—”

“Attention, everyone!” Seonghwa called loudly, shouting over the music, and you were terrified. Hongjoong looked rather confused and looked at you for an answer that you couldn’t formulate at the moment, “We have our first couple under the mistletoe for the night! Now, kiss!”

Everyone was watching the two of you now, and you wanted to strangle Seonghwa as he smirked at you pleased, throwing him a wink when Hongjoong gave your brother a flabbergasted look. He slowly looked up, then back at you, and you started sweating.

“Uhm, we don’t have to, obviously. This tradition is silly, I don’t—”

But it was too late, the whole office was chanting, “Kiss, kiss, kiss!”

Hongjoong had turned red in the face, it went down even to his neck. He gulped and chuckled awkwardly, and you felt horrible. Of course, he wouldn’t want to kiss you, this was terrible and you felt humiliated. Just as you were about to excuse yourself and run off, Hongjoong cleared his throat.

“Well, this isn’t how I wished for our first kiss to happen, but…” He motioned around himself, at all the people staring at you expectantly, “May I kiss you?”

“You—I’m sorry, but—you want to kiss me?” You sputtered out, feeling a bit lightheaded.

“I’ve wanted to for ages.” Hongjoong chuckled and scratched the back of his head. He was blushing and so were you, your heart thudding in your chest as Hongjoong licked his lips, waiting for your answer.

“Yes, okay, yeah, kiss me, Hongjoong.” Damn Seonghwa and everyone else for cheering upon hearing your words, but maybe it was worth it as Hongjoong giggled while leaning in, his eyes fluttering closed. His lips were soft and tasted like cherry, and you felt like pudding as your lips locked in an innocent peck that lasted for a second too long. You felt like a teenager all over again, and if seventeen years old you could catch a glimpse into the future and see this exact moment, she’d definitely pass out.

“So, do you want to go on a date tomorrow?”

“God, yes, Hongjoong, please.”

Yeah, seventeen-year-old you would not survive this.

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[zepskies]

Yeessss we love a refill. 😂

(LOLL girl no worries. You strike me as a fun drunk. Plus, the other night I had one strong glass of wine and that somehow did me in for the night. I guess that's what I get for trying a "Super Tuscan" red. 😂😂)

Aww you're amazing. Thank you so much, my friend!! 🥹 And best believe, I saw you released two parts of a new Russell story and they're already bookmarked in my TBR. 💖💖

Now, on to the rest of your lovely comments on the ESC finale!

Loved that little moment of jealousy there. How do you like tasting your own medicine, Russ? 😂

Right?! Lmao all that Reenie teasing coming to bite him in the ass.

I absolutely loved their pizza and movie date at home. And they already shared so much with each other 🥹 The fact he felt secure enough to open up to her after this short amount of time says a lot, considering Dory hasn't even told her the story yet. I love them 😭🤍

Aw I'm so glad you loved it! I felt like they needed something low-key that allowed them to reconnect and be there for each other after all the chaos. I debated if having Russ open up like this was too soon, but since she was so honest with him about her past trauma, I thought he would feel that kindred spirit connection, enough to be honest himself.

I haven't forgotten about the "oh, my brother thought I killed our dad" part of the story though. 😂😂 When I eventually write another story for this series, I want to incorporate that reveal somehow when we finally dive into Ashton Shaw in the show. (Maybe I'll read ahead in the books. 👀)

Honestly, in this day and age, it's always best to wait for renewed consent (even though I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have minded in the least lol). Loved that he recognized that and hesitated!

Right? 🙃 Exactly what I was thinking in having him hesitate, even though you're right, she would NOT have minded. 😂 I still thought that little moment of her pulling him down to join her was needed. 💜

Poor girl 😂💕 The morning after is always a tad awkward – especially if everything is still in the balance of will they/won't they and nothing *sexual* has happened yet 😅

LOL exactly. It's a bit of an odd situation all around, even though they've already shared some romantic moments. 😅💜

Absolutely adored this exchange! ❤️ Oooof, and that smut may have been my undoing for tonight! Holy hell!!! 😮‍💨🔥🌶️

Ahaha I had to research bullet sizes and everything. 😏❤️‍🔥

Honestly I'm really flattered you enjoyed the steamy parts, because I feel like smut writing is my weakest link, though I do my best. 😅😂 You write it so well, so that's an extra special compliment coming from you!

Again, she's so cute 😆🤍 I do hope they work something out. I don't think Russell would've necessarily taken the "big" step, knowing her feelings on this, if he hadn't planned to try and make it work somehow ❤️

Lolll she's trying her best to be slick! 😂 Yeah, I think Russell already knew his connection with her was different, and worth pursuing, he just wasn't sure about the reality of how it was going to work until this moment. 💜

Perfect ending, friend 🥹💚 (You know I love a bit of drama and angst in an ending lol) I loved this series so goddamn much! It fit so well with every character and gave so much that the show didn't (like that awesome family reunion of the three Shaws). Can't wait to get into the one-shots over the holidays 😍

Aww thank you! I wanted to be realistic with his lifestyle potentially posing a problem, but at the same time, both of them being willing to figure it out and try to make this work. 💕

I so appreciate you for saying that ESC felt authentic within the Tracker world, because that's something I always try to do, but it was challenging with this new show/world and how much we still don't know about the Shaw family. (But I HAD to include that reunion. 🥹)

I so hope you enjoy the little bonus one-shots whenever you get to them!!

Merry Christmas, my friend!!! I hope you and your family are having so much fun. ❤️❤️

Every Second Counts - Part 5

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the one you trust to help you find him. 

AN: I thought about breaking up this chapter into two parts, but for some reason it didn’t feel right. I hope you enjoy the finale! I think this is the moment we’ve all been waiting for…

Word Count: 7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Fluff, angst and hurt/comfort, ‘90s movie reference, mutual pining and tension, and a strong dose of smut.

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 5: “Damn Worth It”

You borrowed Russell’s cell to call Dory from the hospital. You let her know that Charlie was stable and resting, and that Russell was bringing you home.

You should’ve known that when you two got there, you wouldn’t have the kind of privacy you craved. Colter and Dory were waiting in his car, parked in your driveway. They met you in front of your house, where Dory pulled you into a big, swaying hug. She cried, you cried, and her brothers hung back to watch the warm scene.

Dory pulled back to get a better look at you. She hesitated to touch the bandage above your brow.

“God. Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m…I’m fine,” you sniffed, wiping at your face. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

Dory actually had your keys. After she handed them to you, you took in a steadying breath, and you unlocked your front door without incident this time. You invited everyone in.

Even though you told her not to, Dory began straightening up a bit for you. She had Russell take out the trash while she washed the dishes.

Meanwhile, you pulled Colter aside in the living room. You led him to sit with you on the couch.

“Can I at least give you $1,000?” you asked. It was all you had left in your savings, but the man had literally saved your brother's life, and yours as well. “I know it’s not much, compared to what your jobs usually get you—”

“Please,” Colter said. He touched your arm. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you and Charlie are safe.”

You teared up all over again, but you gave him a smile and held his hand with both of yours.

“Thank you,” you said.

Russell happened to spot the cozy little scene from the doorway. He couldn’t help staring, and trying not to frown.

When Colter caught sight of his brother loitering (and that look on his face), Colter tried to hide most of his smile. He let go of your hand, patted your shoulder and stood. You followed him to the kitchen, where he went to check on Dory. Russell filtered in behind you both.

“Hey, wanna grab some lunch?” Colter asked his sister.

She gave him a raised brow. “Wow, my brother actually wants to hang out with me instead of rushing off to the next job?”

He gave her an amused look. “I’ve got some time.”

Dory was happy to hear that, but her expression dimmed when she turned to you.

“Would you want to go? Or do you need to rest?” she asked.

“Oh, I need to get cleaned up, and then sleep for about ten years,” you said. “But you go, D. Have fun.”

She frowned. “I don’t want to leave you here by yourself.”

“Well, she won’t be,” Russell chimed in. “I’m gonna hang out here for a bit, clean up and take little power nap myself.”

At that, Dory slowly smiled, both amused and suspicious. Her gaze slid back to you.

“Are you sure?” she asked. You read the double meaning laced in her tone.

“Yeah, definitely,” you said with a smile, and the beginnings of a warm blush. “You guys go ahead.”

There was a knowing gleam to her own smile, but Dory shrugged and gave you one last hug. She and Colter said their goodbyes to their older brother before they headed out. It left you alone in the house with Russell for the first time since this all began.

“Um, you can use the guest bathroom if you want to shower,” you told him. “Towels are under the sink, and feel free to borrow any of Charlie’s clothes if you need.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got a bag in the car with some stuff,” Russell said, tossing a thumb over his shoulder. “I take one wherever I go.”

“Smart,” you nodded. “Very prepared.”

A strange silence stretched between you two, until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m just…gonna go clean up,” you said. “We can order some food after?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” he said. He was amused as he watched you scurry off, after giving him another smile over your shoulder.

Though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a small trill of nerves himself. It brought him a little bounce in his step as he headed out to his car to grab his stuff.

By the time you were done showering and drying your hair, Russell had ordered a pizza (and a side of fries). You padded out into the living room in an old college shirt and pajama shorts. He tried not to linger his gaze on your smooth, bare legs. 

“Sorry, forgot to ask if you’d want something else to eat,” he said. 

“Pizza is perfect,” you said. At this point, after almost a full day without food, you’d eat sliced bread out of the bag. You gave him a teasing look. “I’d ask you if you wanted a beer, but I’m afraid it’s not up to your standard.”

“Well, that’s okay. I happen to have brought a sample for you, just like I promised,” he said, with that grin of his you’d come to expect.

He retrieved a case of homebrew from his car, but you had to add some ice cubes into a tall glass before you joined him back on the couch. You poured the contents of a bottle into the glass.

“Sorry, I know this is sacrilege, but I can’t drink warm beer,” you said.

“I can’t fault you, though I didn’t really peg you for a pizza and beer kind of girl,” he said. He tipped a swig of beer into his mouth, right from a lukewarm bottle. He was a purist.

You quirked a brow at him and took another bite of your pizza slice. 

“Why not?” you asked, after swallowing a mouthful of pepperoni and mushroom.

Russell shrugged. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“No, no. I want to hear this,” you said. “What, because I teach college students?”

Russell looked over at you and leaned on his elbow, resting above his knee. 

“You’re a college professor with a handful of degrees,” he said. “I’ve got a GED and a give ‘em hell outlook on life.”

You shook your head at that. 

“We’re different. That’s not a bad thing,” you said. “And like my brother, you’ve fought for this country. You’ve saved lives, including mine. I’d say that’s pretty damn special.”

His head tilted at that. He didn’t want to remind you that, just like you saw today, he’d taken lives too. Perhaps just as many as he’d saved. You could debate the quality of those lives, but in the grand scheme of things, he knew what he was. A trained killer.

He rolled his shoulders, feeling a familiar weight.

You didn’t like the pensive look on his face, so you aimed to distract him.

“Want to watch a movie?” you suggested.

Russell inclined his head. “Sure. What you got?”

That was how the two of you ended up finishing the box of pizza and a case of beer while laughing at Tommy Boy, of all things—one of the best '90s buddy road trip comedies of all time. Apparently Russell had never seen it before, but you enjoyed watching him experience it for the first time. He had a deep, infectious laugh that made you laugh just by proximity. 

Later in the movie, the reluctant, unlikely duo of Tommy and Richard hit a deer, and tried to transport it in the car. Russell both laughed and cringed when the animal woke up and thoroughly wrecked the car from the inside. You noticed his reaction and nudged him in the arm. 

Russell held in a grunt of pain when you unintentionally hit his injured shoulder, bandaged underneath his gray henley. 

“What if that was the Chevelle,” you teased. 

He cast you a playfully chiding look. “Woman, don’t even joke.”

You laughed and squeezed his forearm in a friendly gesture. But he thought there was more than just friendliness when you shot him that little smile. He decided to take a chance. 

“Come ‘ere,” he said. He slid a hand around your waist and guided you closer until you came to lay against his side. You allowed yourself to rest against him, splaying your hand flat against the firm wall of his chest. Your heart tripped up faster, but you also relaxed more fully for the first time since you got home. You let out a long breath, and you used the remote to lower the volume on the movie a little.

“Do you think Charlie will be able to get past this?” you asked quietly. “Think he’ll be okay?”

Russell hummed as he thought back to his conversation with your brother in the hospital. Charlie was still young, but he seemed to realize what he’d done, and what he needed to change. He wouldn’t have volunteered himself for rehab if he hadn’t.

Russell brushed your arm with his thumb. “Well, I think he knows what he needs to do. If he’s anything like you, then he’ll be all right.”

Your mouth tugged upward, though you considered his words with a sigh.

“He hasn’t had it easy,” you said. “He was barely eighteen when our parents died. Suddenly he had to be an adult. In fact, he almost didn’t finish high school. Had to take care of the funeral, had to get a job, had to take care of me…and I didn’t always make it easy on him.”

Russell’s lips curved in light of your faint smile. Then, your expression dimmed.

“He pulled me out of the car,” you admitted. Russell looked down at you.

“You all were there?” he asked. 

“My dad was driving. We’d just gone out to dinner as a family,” you said.

You hesitated as the scenes once again filtered through your mind. Some things were hazy. Others, you could see with perfect clarity. You remembered how your parents argued about the best way to get home while the pouring rain beat down overhead, half-drowning out their voices.

You remembered what the flash of a red stoplight looked like through the car window, with streams of water coming down, and a dead leaf stuck to the glass.

You remembered the sound of horns blaring in your ears, the crunch of metal on metal. Your mother’s scream. The feeling of being suspended, and then ricocheted painfully through time and space.

Then the smell of exhaust, and the metallic tang of blood.

“We were heading through a terrible storm,” you said, after letting out a long breath through your nose. “By the end of the night, it was just me and Charlie in the hospital.”

He’d broken his arm, but thanks to him, the only thing you really walked away with were a few cuts and bruises, and the memories of that day. They were like old scars, painful and tender at the touch.

Russell shook his head, his brows knitting together. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “And I’m sorry too. I know you understand what it’s like to lose a parent.”

The movie played on as that new weight settled between you. Russell fell into his own thoughts as he continued to rub your arm in comfort. His own past wasn’t like yours, but he did understand some of your pain.

“How much did Dory tell you about how we grew up?” he asked.

You shifted a bit, so you could see his face too.

“I know your dad took you all to a cabin in some sort of compound in the woods, when you all were still pretty young.”

“He taught us to live off the land. Drilled us, really,” Russell explained, noting your raised brows. “Yeah, he was…well, a paranoid bastard, to be frank. We still don’t know all of why, and what drove him to move us out there.”

“Dory said he was…eccentric,” you said. Russell snorted.

“He was a piece of fucking work,” he said. “Half the time I hated him, if I’m honest.”

That part was hard to admit, even if it was true. Your hand soothed across his chest, more comforting as you listened. Russell’s lips quirked. He liked that about you, that you were willing to listen without judging him, or his family. Maybe that was another reason Dory seemed to love you so much.

“But one night, it was like he snapped,” he said.

For a moment, he was lost in the memory. His father’s anger, and the damn crazy look in his eyes. 

“What happened?” you asked quietly.

Russell glanced at you again. “I don’t think you wanna hear this right now.”

You shook your head. “No, I do.”

He hesitated, but that earnest look in your eyes got him. Still, he surprised himself when he actually told you. He explained it the best he could, the way he saw it in his mind’s eye.

Their mom had been missing, hadn’t come home yet. Then his dad had torn around the house like a man possessed, until he told them it was time to leave for their own safety. Dory had been scared, especially when he grabbed her, yelled at her.

That was the one thing Russell couldn’t tolerate. So he snapped, yanking the older man back and shoving him away. It was one of the first times Russell had ever defied his father.

Ashton Shaw left them then, heading out into the night and the rain. Maybe he’d realized what he was doing to his own kids, his own family.

Colter wanted to follow after him, but Russell stopped him. Being the eldest, he took on the responsibility, even if he’d been reluctant. We’re better off without him…

He was barely sixteen at the time, but Russell knew he’d seen his father arguing with someone—a man he’d seen before, talking with his mother. And then…

“I watched him die that night,” Russell said.

Your hand clenched in his shirt, reminding him that you were still in his arms, still listening. He remembered that scene, looking over the cliff to find his father’s broken body down below. 

“He fell, and I couldn’t stop it,” he said. “And to this day, I still don’t know what all that was about.”

He’d been reluctant to tell even Colter that it still haunted him sometimes; that night, and the not knowing.

You pulled yourself up further so you could meet Russell’s gaze.

“I’m so sorry,” you said.

The movie had long faded into the background, but at least it gave some white noise for the next heavy beat that passed between you two. His eyes eventually fell away from yours.

“It’s old history,” Russell said at last.

“It’s not just history,” you denied softly. “It’s your life.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just hummed in agreement. He encouraged you to relax against him again, with a warm hand on your back. You settled and released another contented sigh. Even though Russell’s story weighed on your heart, you did feel closer to him. It made you feel like you understood Dory better too, and even Colter.

Russell rubbed your arm. “You doin’ okay? You’ve had a long day.”

“Day and night,” you agreed. Your eyes closed against your will. “But, yeah…I think I’m okay now.”

At that, he smiled. He laid a kiss on your forehead.

“Good,” he said.

A few minutes later, Russell heard your soft, deeper breaths in sleep. He chanced grabbing a throw blanket laid over the back of the couch. He managed to toss it over your body, but he made sure it covered you. You shifted in your sleep and curled up more comfortably against him. 

Russell smiled down on you fondly. He’d learned a hell of a lot more about you in just the past couple of days, but ever since he met you, he’d been picking up on the important things. The things that made you the woman you were.

And he wanted more, he realized. He wanted more time with you.

That turned out to be the last real thought he had before his eyes closed on him too. 

Russell didn’t wake again until the credits on the movie were rolling near the end. You were still knocked out. So he carried you, blanket and all, over to your bedroom.

He smelled the remnants of your floral shampoo and body wash in the air, likely coming from the bathroom. It was an intoxicating mix, one that had infiltrated his nose ever since you came out of the shower today. 

It was only 6:00 p.m., but it might as well have been midnight. He laid you down toward the middle of the bed. There was still space on the other side. Very tempting.

She did offer, he thought, remembering what you’d said at the hospital. And yet, he hesitated.

Before he could make a decision, you made it for him. Your hand reached out to hook in his shirt. 

Russell looked down at your sleepy smile. 

“Get over here,” you said, tugging him downward. He chuckled and wrapped his hand around yours. He allowed you to guide him over, and he somehow managed to roll onto the other side of the bed without crushing you. 

“Reflexes like a cat, I tell ya,” he quipped.

You giggled softly. He took off his first layer of defense (his pants), leaving him in his henley and boxer briefs. He settled into bed behind you and slipped an arm around your waist. He fit in snug against your back.

“Mmm,” he sighed. His lips pressed behind your ear, smiling there. “Feels nice.” 

“Mhmm,” you agreed.

He couldn’t see your smile, but you held his arm in place. For the first time in a while, you weren’t alone.

In the early morning, you woke up to warmth and closeness. The man in your bed snored lightly, mouth parted in sleep while he faced you. You smiled.

How could a man who felt dangerous, in more ways than one, also make you feel safe? It was a wonder. Though when an idea hit you, you carefully slid out of bed.

Russell eventually roused in his own time. He blinked awake, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He stretched out his limbs in your very comfortable bed. This sure beat rusty motel springs.

He realized that he was alone in the room, but he heard you puttering around the house. He allowed himself to doze some more.

A few minutes later, you returned to greet him with a couple of mugs, drawing him back into the waking world with the rich smell of coffee.

“Aww yeah, that’s the stuff,” he said. He groaned as he slowly sat up.

You laughed and sat beside him on the edge of the bed. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” he said. His voice was deeper and rougher with sleep, washing down your spine pleasantly.

He accepted the mug you offered him. He took a sip and hummed in pleasure at its bold flavor. It wasn’t as sweet as he usually liked it, but it was exactly what he needed right now.

“I just did a little sugar and creamer. That okay?” you asked. 

“It’s good,” he nodded. And you looked good, he noticed, with your bed-tousled hair and an open robe over your tank top and little shorts.  

“Do you want to meet Dory and Colter for breakfast?” you asked. “Dory texted me this morning.”

Russell’s brows shot up. 

“Colt stuck around?” he asked.

“Yeah, Dory asked him to stay at her place last night,” you said. Russell hummed in response. 

A bit of an awkward lull fell between you. You’d felt bolder yesterday in the hospital, but now, you weren’t entirely sure what you were doing with a man who just slept somewhat-but-not-altogether platonically in your bed.

“Um, I’ll just…get ready then,” you said, pointing to the bathroom. “You…take your time.”

He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah.”

He peeled back the covers and climbed out of your bed, away from the sheets that smelled like you. 

You watched him go when he headed across the hall back to Charlie’s room. You sighed and beat your hand against your own forehead in frustration. What the hell am I doing?

You’d literally invited him into your bed last night, but he hadn’t done anything more than hold you while you slept. It was incredibly kind, and it said a lot about him, despite his rough-around-the-edges exterior. You were just a little disappointed that he’d been a perfect gentleman about it all. 

You rolled your eyes at yourself. What did that say about you?

You shook your head and resolved to freshen up. There was still a cut that the ER nurse covered with a butterfly bandage above your brow. You cleaned it up and applied a new bandage. Then you put on some makeup to cover the ugly bruise on your cheek and the dark circles that lingered under your eyes.

God, look at me. You actually wouldn’t blame Russell for not being into you enough to make a move. 

A bit disheartened, you changed out of your pajamas to slip on a nice, but comfortable dress over your bra and underwear. Afterward, you paused to stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment. What exactly do you want here?

“Hey, uh—” Russell’s voice startled you, making you flinch. Maybe you were still jumpy.

He raised an apologetic hand. “Sorry. Just thought I’d ask if you want some toast or something. I don’t think my stomach can wait ‘til we meet up with Dory.”

You smiled faintly. “Sure, go ahead. Whatever’s there, you’re welcome to.”

Russell paused, tilting his head. There was something off with you. He saw it, and felt it. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” you said, glancing away. 

Russell’s spidey senses began to tingle. He approached you and laid a hand on the counter, inches from yours. 

“You sure?” he said. He took in your hesitant face, then the pretty dress you had on. The color matched your eyes. Soulful eyes.

He smiled when you let him see them again.

“Can you see the bruises? I think I covered them up well enough,” you said. You turned to look at yourself in the mirror again, touching your jaw carefully. 

Russell’s hand raised to find your cheek, earning your attention with wider eyes. His thumb swept across your skin as you started to blush.

“You’re beautiful,” he said with a smile. “Don’t you worry about that.”

Your face warmed further, despite your smile. 

“Yeah, the makeup helps,” you quipped. 

“I didn’t say anything about makeup,” he replied. Though he grinned and made a show of looking closer at your face. “Although, have your lashes always been that damn long?”

You laughed, but he didn’t let go of you. Instead, his hand drifted down to your neck, cradling your jaw. His thumb brushed over your lower lip this time, smudging your lipstick a little. Your eyes met his, but they’d already lowered, to the path of his hand. You were tempted to nip at his thumb, or better yet, suck it into your mouth.

Perhaps he read the thought crossing your face. Because when those darkened eyes flicked up to yours, he finally bowed his head to kiss you.

You took in a deep breath, and you melted into his mouth with a moan of wanting. A craving from the depths of your heart, finally being fulfilled.

You didn’t let yourself think anymore. You gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. He cupped the back of your head, tangling his fingers into your hair as he deepened the kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, and you let him in. You met his every kiss with the same fervor, claiming him right back, demanding just as much.

Your hands slid up his chest and helped him shrug off the green jacket first, then his shirt (Led Zeppelin this time). He hooked an arm around your waist and brought you flush against him, so he could turn you around and walk you back to the bed. 

You clung to his bare shoulders and savored the feeling of his warm, calloused hands burning up your thighs and ass, bunching the skirt of your dress. You helped him get it over your head and toss it onto the floor along with his clothes. 

As he held you by the waist, his gaze dipped for a moment to take you in, from bare thighs and hips and lacy panties, all the way up to your breasts cupped in your bra. Through panting breaths, you smiled and blushed at the heated depths of his green eyes. You felt like your heart was beating in and out of rhythm.  

But you managed to get a hold of your nerves long enough to drag your hands down his chest, down to his belt. You unclipped it for him and took your time in sliding the entire belt out of its loops. Then you let the brown leather fall to the floor. 

Russell raised a brow at you, smiling. Taking your challenge for what it was, he unbuttoned his jeans himself and aimed to step out of them, but he had some trouble when one of the pant legs got caught around his ankle and sock-covered foot.

“Shit,” he muttered as he stumbled a little. “Hold on.”

Unable to help a small giggle, you grabbed his left arm to help steady him. He hissed in pain, but he cleared his throat to cover it. You gasped as you realized what you’d done. You noticed then that he had a bandage tightly wrapped above his elbow, right below one of his tattoos.

“What’s this?” you asked in concern. You held his arm with both hands. “Did you get shot? Did you get this looked at when we were at the hospital?”

Russell staved off your questions with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay. This is old, just still healing up,” he said. 

You frowned up at him. “You got stabbed, shot, what? When did this happen? I thought you worked in private security.”

“A couple months ago. I got, uh, grazed. Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Sometimes the job gets a bit dicey.”

He could tell though, that you weren’t going to let it go easily. 

“Let me see,” you said, trying to peek under the bandage. Russell laughed and gathered you into his arms to stop your attempts. Your concern warmed him, but it wasn’t necessary. 

“I’m fine, sweetheart. I promise. Can we focus on the fun part, here?” he said.

Your brows furrowed. You opened your mouth to reply, but Russell saw the testiness in your eyes. He dipped down to kiss you, swallowing whatever snippy remark you were about to make.

You weren’t the only one giving into a craving here. Russell’s was bone-deep, molten in his blood, and getting to see you, to feel your soft body under his hands was already so much better than he’d imagined. His hold tightened on your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin.

A shudder ran up your spine at his touch. You circled your arms around his neck and let him continue ravishing you, then laying you down onto the bed. 

While you were careful about avoiding the bandage, your hand did drift down his arm, and further still, to palm at the straining bulge pressing against you. And Jesus Christ, did it feel generous. He grunted at your touch and paused with his lips against your jaw. 

“Well hey there, cowboy,” you said, adopting a more sensuous tone. “I had a feeling you’d be packing. What’s that, a .45, or a 38 Special?”

Russell’s eyes blinked wide. Then he erupted with deep laughter that made his shoulders shake. Aside from throwing a punch, your brother must’ve taught you something about guns too. 

“Well thank you, kindly,” Russell said, putting on a bit of a southern drawl, just to tease you. “But you’re about to find out, naughty girl.”

You giggled as he began to kiss your neck, languid and sloppy. He blazed a wet trail down the column of your throat and between your breasts. His beard rasping against your skin made you shudder a little, but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, you quite liked that a lot.

He slipped a hand underneath you to unclip the black lace. You arched into him so he had easier access. 

He slid the bra from your body and tossed it somewhere behind him. Just as he’d imagined, you had beautiful tits. His lips explored each of them in turn, squeezing supple flesh and rolling your sensitive, hardened nipples with his tongue and fingers. 

It was a prequel, you thought, for what talents that mouth might have further down. You had to moan just at the idea, your fingers clenching in his hair, but also at the sensations he was drawing from your body wherever he touched. The man clearly knew what he was doing.

He traveled lower still and laid slow, occasionally nipping kisses across your stomach, hips and thighs. His fingers hooked around your panties and lowered them down your legs. You felt his warm breath panting against your thigh. You glanced down at him and tensed in anticipation. 

“Still good?” he checked, squeezing your hip. You smiled and reached for his hand. Russell gave it to you, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand in affection. 

“I think I’m about to be,” you said cheekily.

He smirked. His other hand smoothed up the inside of your thigh and slipped past your folds, finding wetness that already coated his digits.

“Goddamn. You’re soaked,” he said, just a hint teasing. “Bet if I put my mouth on you, you’d fuckin’ drown me.”

Again, he stopped whatever smart quip you were about to levy at him next when his fingers found your clit. You let out a gasping moan instead.

He decided that he already loved that sound. He endeavored to pull it from you, again and again when he began working you open with his fingers and pumping them inside you. He enjoyed seeing you writhe and arch against his hand. Your hands squeezed his arms, his shoulders, trying to anchor yourself.  

His thumb circled and strummed your clit in a rhythm only he could hear in his head, until you couldn’t help biting your nails into his shoulders when you came. You shuddered your release as your core throbbed with warmth and slick around his fingers. 

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” he said. His voice rasped deep with arousal. “Wouldn’t even mind if you did drown me.” 

You huffed in response, unable to form speech just now.

Next time, Russell thought. He slipped his fingers out of you and licked them clean, making your eyes widen. He smirked and stroked your thigh as you came down, a shuddering mess.

After taking a second to regain your breath, you pulled him down for a kiss, both grateful and fueled by a passion you couldn’t put into words. What you felt for this man was instinctual, from the moment you saw him. And yet, it was also so much more. It was raw, and real, and maybe even beautiful.

The thought spurred you on as your hands moved with purpose down his body. Your nails caught at the waistband of his boxer briefs as you tried to roll them down. You got it halfway down his thighs, enough to let his hardened length spring free. You bit your lip at the mere sight of him. Goddamn.

Your hand slid around his cock, near its weeping head. You used the beads of wetness there to work your way smoothly down to its base. Russell’s body tensed above you, just before he groaned low in pleasure.    

You pushed at his chest to have him let you up. 

“Your turn, baby,” you said. It would be one hell of a challenge to get your mouth down that beautiful 44 Magnum, but you were more than willing to try.

To your surprise, Russell shook his head and guided you back down.

“Let’s pin that one for next time too. Wanna be inside you already,” he said.

You blinked, but then you nodded in breathless agreement. He kissed you deeply, devouring you with his teeth grazing your bottom lip. His tongue soon slipped out to soothe it.   

“Condom?” he panted, between kisses. 

“Oh, yeah. Um…bathroom, bottom drawer,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure why you were whispering. 

“Okay, two seconds,” he said.

He left you in the bed, quite literally hot and bothered, and very naked. You crossed your arms over your breasts on reflex while you tried to recover. Your core was still tingling, and your heart was beating fast, though you couldn’t stamp out the smile forming on your face. 

You heard the sound of foil unwrapping and clothed rustling. When he came back to the bedroom, you finally got a full picture of what you were in for. You unconsciously licked your lips as your gaze dipped down his body, and the indeed impressive package at full mast, and full display. 

A grin curved his lips when he caught you staring. He climbed back onto the bed with just a bit of struggle with all the blankets coiled about. He pushed a heavy blanket out of his way, accidentally shoving it to the floor.

“Back to business,” he said.

“Oh, yeah,” you agreed, and you welcomed him back, sliding your hands up his arms and shoulders. You hooked your thigh around his hip as he found his way back between your legs. Holding his bearded face in your hands, you pulled him in for another kiss that reignited you both. 

He sunk his hand into your hair and treated you to another slow, deep kiss. Until your thigh tightening around his hip urged him to satisfy what you both had been wanting and waiting for.

He grabbed your thighs and angled you higher. Then he lined himself up at your entrance. Looking into your eyes, your breaths mingling together, he sheathed himself a little at a time. A keening moan fell from your lips.

He started with shallow thrusts, giving you time to adjust. But that in itself was a torturous tease. It made the coil in your lower belly start to tighten again. Pleasure began to thrum inside you, ever slowly. Your head tipped back into the pillows with a gasp.  

“God, Russell, please,” you uttered. You squeezed his arms on reflex, your heels digging into his ass. 

“I know, baby. Gonna fucking wreck you, I promise,” he said with a grin. 

You huffed in amusement. That was a hefty promise.

Though a moan tore from your throat when he finally bottomed out, stretching your inner walls. He groaned along with you. His lips fastened to your neck as he gave you deeper thrusts.

“You feel so good,” you said raggedly in his ear, raking your fingers through his hair. You felt every damn inch of him.

“You too, baby. So damn good,” he gritted out. “Tell me what you want.”

He raised your thigh a bit higher, his fingers pressing into flesh.

“Ugh, fuck,” you gasped, as he hit a particularly delicious angle. “Whatever you want to give me.”

“You sure about that?” Russell asked, panting against your neck. Your nails dragged down his back between the muscles in his shoulders, hard enough to earn a halting groan from him.

You nodded emphatically. “Yes!”

His lips hinted at a smile. “Okay, hold on."

Before you could even respond, he pulled out of you all the way, just so he could guide you over onto your stomach. He pulled you up onto your hands and knees. As he ran a hand down the gentle slope of your back and around the curve of your ass, you breathed harder in anticipation.

“So damn beautiful,” he muttered.

You glanced at him over your shoulder. You unconsciously bit your lip as your heart couldn’t help but swell at his words. Russell met you with a look that betrayed his desire, making your lower belly tremble as well.

He parted your cheeks and slotted himself between your thighs from behind. You once again felt the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, and then pushing back in with one deep plunge. Both of you let out moans of relief at the feeling.  

Pretty soon, he was pounding into you deeper and faster than before. Oh, fuck yes…

You clawed at the headboard, trying to find something to keep you stable. Russell’s arm slid around you for a solid support. You held onto him right back with one hand while he continued to drive into you, earning each and every sound coming out of your mouth. He’d finally angled you just right, so he could hit that special spot inside you with every thrust. Your pussy clenched on him in response, making him grunt in pleasure. 

“Fuck, you’re close. I can fuckin’ feel it,” he said, panting. He laid a biting kiss where your neck met your shoulder. You cried out in both pain and pleasure, your inner walls once again squeezing on him. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, breathless. “This time, you’re gonna come with me.”

You reached back and tangled your fingers into his hair. He held you to his chest and squeezed your breast a bit roughly. You uttered a wanton sound. You dragged his hand down your body to part your folds. You used his fingers to press against your clit. 

He picked up your hint, and then took control, massaging you with his fingers. There you began to tremble from the inside out. Warmth emanated from your core and spread outward, down to your toes as you came even harder on his cock. 

Russell wasn’t far behind. His voice joined yours as his body locked up, and he spilled hot into the condom. You almost wished he’d come freely inside you, so you could really feel him. Regardless, your body was boneless when he lowered you down onto the bed afterward.

“Holy shit,” you breathed.

He chuckled and kissed your shoulder, before he fully pulled out. Panting for breath though you both were, you managed to twist onto your side and reach a hand for his cheek. Your fingers slipped higher from there, cupping the back of his neck. Your thumb swept tenderly across his cheek, and you guided him down for a proper kiss.

Russell obliged you, his lips meeting yours plush and wet. He brushed strands of your sweaty hair away from your forehead with affection.

Somehow, that last kiss was softer than all the rest.

One thing was for sure though. There was no way you two were making it to breakfast. 

“I kind of feel bad now,” you later confessed. 

You and Russell were taking a few minutes just to recover under the messy sheets. He held you while sitting up against your headboard. He almost craved a smoke. You’d given him a damn workout. 

He smirked at the thought. Admittedly, his mind was more on focused on the scenes replaying in his head than on what you were saying. 

“Dory doesn’t get to see you guys that often,” you continued, “and who knows how long Colter will seriously wait for us to get out of bed.”

Russell’s attention drifted back to you at that.

“Come on, it’s not like they know why we’re running late,” he said. You gave him a knowing look. 

“Are you kidding? They were already suspicious when you brought me home yesterday,” you replied with a laugh. 

Russell grinned and rubbed your arm. He knew you were probably right, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“Yeah, well. That was damn worth it,” he said.

You smiled. You rolled your head over on his shoulder, so you could see his face, but you became contemplative as uncertainty crept in. You let in a breath to gather your courage, and you decided to take a chance. 

“You know, drug dealers aside, Laramie isn’t such a bad place to live,” you pointed out. “We’ve got a movie theater, a couple good outlet malls, a new Tex-Mex restaurant that just opened down the street. I’m gonna have to find a new bar though.”

Russell smiled at you. He knew what you were suggesting.

He sighed as his amusement faded. 

“Look, even if I stay…” he hesitated.

He looked into your eyes and saw the vulnerability there. You were being honest with him, putting your heart into his hands. The least he could do was be honest. He covered your hand where it rested on his chest.

“If I’m on a job, I could be gone weeks at a time. I won’t be able to tell you where I am or what I’m doing. That’s gonna be hard on you,” he said. 

He knew his friend Doug made it work with his wife, but their relationship wasn’t without friction because of the job he and Russell shared.

“I can handle it,” you said firmly. 

“You just had a little freak out over a scratch earlier,” Russell pointed out, with a gesturing hand at his bandaged arm. 

“Okay, that’s different,” you said.

You wouldn’t say it now, but there were things that still concerned you about his job. You had a strong feeling that "private security" wasn’t all it entailed. However, after what he’d done for you, after what he’d done for Charlie, you knew that Russell Shaw was a good man.

There was something good here, and you didn’t want to lose it this time. You shifted in his arms, so you could face him.

“Look, we can sit down and figure all that out,” you said. “But do you want to at least try? Or…am I reading this wrong?”

Russell stared back at you ruefully. He raised a hand to touch your cheek, grazing your soft skin with his fingers. 

“No, you’re not,” he said. 

In fact, what he felt already ran deeper with you than he’d like to admit. He let out a long breath through his nose. 

“Okay,” he said at last. “If we’re gonna do this, let’s do it right, I guess. I’ll book a motel here in town for now. If things go well, I can…I don’t know, find an apartment.”

Your answering smile broke him down further, even as it warmed him inside. You turned over to circle your arms around his neck, and as an added bonus, pressing your bare breasts against his chest. You kissed his cheek with a happy hum. He laughed at your enthusiasm. He also accepted your sweet path of kisses that led to his lips. 

He groaned when it became not so sweet, with your tongue slipping hotly against his. His hold on your hips tightened.

“Uh oh. Baby, we can’t do this now,” he chuckled, even though your hand was already wandering down his body and under the sheets. You both were supposed to be getting ready to meet his brother and sister for lunch. 

“Five minutes,” you said against his lips. All the while, you were pushing him back onto the bed. You began to kiss down his chest, and lower still.   

Russell snorted. Right. 

But he wasn’t about to argue with you. He had a gut feeling…one that made him almost certain.

He’d found where he wanted to be. 

AN: Well, then! I hope you enjoyed the "happy ending." 😘 I always get a bit sad at the end of a series, but thank you to everyone who's followed the ride on Every Second Counts. Let me know what you thought of how it all shook out here at the end between her and Russell! 💜

Read the Sequel:

Want more ESC? Read the next one-shot, Lost Time (18+):

Summary: When Russell takes longer than usual on a job out of town, you realize how hard it is to live half a life with him.

▶️ Keep Reading: Lost Time

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[elixirfromthestars]

Dancing Embers

Pairing: 1940s!Bucky Barnes x Nurse!Reader

Summary: A cozy cabin, the love of your life, and the warmth of a fire. What more could you ask for on a cold winter night?

Word Count: 1.3k

Warning(s): none. pure fluff. slight insinuation at the end. female reader.

Prompt/Event: @the-slumberparty december daze -> a crackling fire sets the mood

a/n: This piece is written as a standalone. However, I will link below the pairing this fic is based on in case you want to read more of them. For context, this timeline is one where Bucky made it back from the war safe and sound and is enjoying his life now that the war is over. Thank you for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

how their love story began ♡ || fluffy winter drabbles masterlist ❆

The hum of the radio travels through the air and finds its way into the kitchen where you’re placing tonight’s dinner in the oven. A puff of hot air caresses your face as you close the oven door, the casserole dish cocooned inside by a blazing heat. You pick up the small timer from the counter and twist the dial, setting it for thirty minutes. 

Now, you have to find something to do to pass the time…

You look around the unfamiliar kitchen, its rustic woodsy furnishing a cozy contrast to the one in your apartment in the city. A smile makes its way to your face as you recall how Bucky surprised you with this weekend getaway. It was after you came home from a shift at the children’s clinic—exhaustion heavy in your bones. An exhaustion he eased with a homecooked meal and a plethora of loving kisses. All leading up to the surprise of a weekend trip just for the two of you, presented to you with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a handwritten note.

You started packing right away after that. 

While still ruminating on the joy of the memory, you begin to tidy up the mess in the kitchen—the one left from your dinner preparations. There wasn’t much to clean up—bits of leftover ingredients here and a few prep dishes there—but at least it gives you something to do while the timer counts down in the background. 

Out of the blue, a frosty air embraces you from behind. You let out a small squeal as the arms that usually radiate warmth are bitterly cold against your skin. A sharp intake of breath escaping you at the contact.

“Bucky, you’re freezing!” you say with concern and caught off guard by the piercing chill of his hands. How long had he been out in the cold? 

“Not anymore,” he mutters a response as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his icy lips pressing kisses into your skin. A shiver goes down your spine as the frost on his lips melts away into a heat that you’re used to. 

You twist in his arms to face him, pulling him even closer by his wool jacket to kiss the tip of his reddened nose, hoping to bring warmth back to it. Bucky grins at you with a gentle adoration, even more so when you brush off the remnants of winter from his hair and shoulders. His eyes take in your every feature like he wants to commit this moment to memory. 

When it comes to you, he always does. There’s never been a moment with you he doesn’t hold dear in his heart. His time at war taught him to treasure every second he gets with those he loves most. And of course, as the love of his life, that includes you. 

“I’m going to need more than that to warm up, doll,” he claims playfully, before connecting his lips to yours, pulling you flush against him by your waist. Your arms eagerly wrap around his shoulders, melting into him faster than the snow on his body does. The kiss is sweet, yet profound as if the hour spent apart had been entirely too long for the both of you. 

When the kiss has restricted enough air from your lungs, you both pull away only slightly and out of breath, smiling from ear to ear. You collect yourself enough to say, “Dinner should be ready soon.” Bucky, however, has his attention elsewhere as he plants a soft kiss to your forehead, your nose, and then your lips once more. 

“Sounds. Good. Doll,” he mumbles the words between kisses that leave you in a fit of giggles. A sound that almost drowns out the grumbling of his stomach. 

“Someone’s hungry.”

“Mm, chopping lumber will do that to you.”

“Chopping lumber?”

“For the fireplace. I should probably go and get it started.”

Bucky lets out an exaggerated sigh, not entirely keen on going back out into the cold night. He presses a tender kiss to the top of your head before reluctantly detaching his arms from your waist as he heads back outside. He spends the next few minutes hauling in pieces of wood into the living room where he tends to the fireplace. Meanwhile, you get the dining table ready for your dinner for two. 

As you are on the brink of finishing setting up, you notice the radio gets louder—a slow song replacing the previous hum. It’s not long before Bucky comes back into the kitchen, however, this time he’s swaying slowly to the rhythm of the music. There’s a glimmer in his eyes as his hands outstretch to beckon you to him. 

“Dance with me,” he says, taking hold of your hands and placing them on his shoulders. You laugh softly, looking at him with fond mirth. “Maybe later, sweetheart. Dinner’s almost ready,” you mention, glancing at the mechanical timer that would go off in a few minutes.

Bucky shakes his head, watching as your hands slide down from his shoulders, but before they can go anywhere, he swiftly intertwines them with his own. He uses this small leverage to begin coaxing you out of the kitchen and into the living room with gentle tugs. “Dinner can wait, doll. I want to dance with my best girl first,” he replies, his expression full of pleading affection. 

You can never say no when he looks at you like that. 

You throw the image of the timer to the back of your head and follow Bucky into the center of the living room. To your right, the fireplace crackles beautifully with bright embers, cascading the room in an amber glow. To your left, the coffee table, handcrafted in oak, is pushed up against the sofa, giving you enough space by the fireplace to dance. 

Bucky’s hands find purchase at your waist as he anchors you closer. Your hands settle against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. Soon your hips and his gradually sway in sync, letting the melody of the song guide you. 

You hold each other close for what seems like a lifetime, the heat of the fire amplifying the warmth that radiates between you. Its flames flicker alongside you as if slow dancing themselves. The serenity of the moment forever engraves itself into your heart. 

“I love you, Y/n. I can’t wait for the rest of our lives to start,” Bucky’s voice is full of devotion, bringing your left hand up to his lips to kiss the spot right where your engagement ring is. You look at him as if he hung the moon for you, “I love you too, Bucky. Forever can’t come soon enough.” Your hands snake up to wrap behind his neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss, the kind that consumes as quickly as a spark catches fire. However, before the intensity can reach a boiling point, a loud ringing suddenly breaks it. The timer in the kitchen signaling whatever desires were igniting would have to be put on pause until after dinner. 

“Dinners ready,” neither of you are ready to break apart when you whisper this. A beat passes and Bucky lifts your chin gently with his finger, so your gaze locks with his adoring one.

“One more kiss.”

“The casserole is going to burn.” 

“Just one more?”

There he goes again with that pleading expression you can’t resist. 

“You know it won’t be just one more, James Buchanan Barnes,” you point out and he lets out a hearty chuckle. 

“You know me so well Mrs.Barnes-to-be.” 

He kisses you again anyway—short and sweet—leaving you with a promise for more to hold onto. Your laughter mixes with his as you lead him back to the kitchen. He hugs you from behind one last time as he whispers an enticing promise into your ear. 

“After dinner, I’m having you for dessert.” 

[cheshireliam]

"Wrapped in Wicked Romance" Story Event: Chapter 2

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

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(Now… I wonder what I should talk to Ring about.)

(... Huh?) 

While I was trying to think of a conversation starter, I realised that Ring was already way ahead of me. 

Kate: Ring! Wait up! 

Ring: !? Why are you so far behind…? 

I hurriedly chased after him and he rushed back toward me.

We met halfway and started walking side by side again.

Kate: Perhaps my strides aren’t as long as yours. I’ll try to keep up. 

Ring: No, I should’ve slowed down to match your pace. … My bad. 

Ring: A-anyway, you can hold onto my arm.

Kate: Thank you. 

Ring: Actually… I wanted to have you hold my arm back at the meeting point. 

Kate: Was that during your sudden warm-up session just now?

Ring: Yeah. … I should've let you hold my arm earlier if I knew you were going to be left behind.

Ring: I’m not good at acting like a lover at all. Even if it's Dari’s orders…

Kate: Neither of us are acting the part right now, so don’t let it bother you. 

Kate: Is there anything else you wanted to say but couldn't?

Ring: There is. It’s about… your outfit. 

Ring: “I love your outfit today. It suits the little robin very well”.

Ring: “Where did you get that bracelet? I want to get a matching one”. 

Kate: Huh…? 

Ring: “The design around the collar is fun. It really looks like your kind of thing. Also—”... 

Kate: Um… are those your own words? 

I couldn't help but interrupt when Ring, who had been acting awkward the whole time, suddenly started complimenting me so smoothly that it felt unnatural.

Ring: … Y-you’re sharp. As expected from a member of Crown… you’re dangerous. 

(It’s not that I’m sharp, it’s that Ring’s behaviour is so obviously unnatural…)

Ring: Actually… I had Nica teach me some words to compliment you, so that I can do a better job at pretending to be your lover.

Kate: So that’s what happened…! I’m happy you prepared yourself in advance, but…

Ring: “But”? 

Kate: I’d much rather hear you use your own words, Ring.

Kate: Do you usually compliment your lover using words someone else said?

Ring: N-no, I don't… I-I think. 

Ring: A-anyway, give me a moment while I think of the words to compliment you. 

Kate: … You don't have to force yourself to compliment me if nothing comes to mine, okay?

Ring: No, I really do think your outfit looks nice, it's just… umm… 

He took my comment about wanting to hear him use his own words seriously and struggled to respond. 

I couldn't help but find it endearing that he was trying so hard…

(You can do it…!) 

I silently cheered him on in my heart.

Ring: Your outfit today looks… frilly and soft… I-I think it’s c-cute.

Ring: It reminds me of a purple Hardenbergia flower… the subdued color is comforting to look at. 

The words he finally managed to string together sounded hesitant and awkward, but they struck me deeper than any borrowed praises could ever.

Kate: I never would've thought of comparing the colour of my clothes to Hardenbergia flowers! It makes me so happy to hear that.

Ring: …! I-I see… that's good to know.

Kate: You must know a lot about flowers, don’t you?

Ring: Y-yeah… I probably know more about flowers than most other things. 

Kate: There are some flower beds on the way to The Scala.

Kate: If you don't mind, could you tell me what flowers they are?

Ring: … If I can identify them. 

…

And so, on our way to The Scala, Ring taught me about the flowers blooming along the road… 

Thanks to that, his nervousness seemed to have eased significantly by the time we reached Piccadilly. 

Ring: … It’s about time for the play to start. We made it just in time.

Kate: You’re right! The Scala is right up ahead. Let’s go. 

(... He’s still a little awkward, but I feel that he’s conversing more naturally now as compared to this morning.)

Even Ring was wary of me and said some disturbing things earlier on… 

He was an honest, upright person who was willing to listen to what I had to say. 

That honestly was likely the reason why I could freely interact with him without feeling on edge myself. 

(I’m looking forward to watching the play. I wonder what kind of reactions Ring will have.)

(... Huh?)

Ring: … Why did you suddenly stop? Is something wrong?

Kate: P-pardon me. There’s something I want to verify… you come too, Ring! 

I grabbed Ring’s arm and led him toward an alley in the opposite direction of The Scala. 

…

Ring: … What business do you have in an alley like this?

Kate: There’s been a rise in child abduction cases in the area lately, and I thought I saw someone resembling the suspect on the run… 

Kate: Ah… it’s him! 

I lowered my voice and pointed at a man lurking in the shadows of the alley. 

Kate: There’s a chance I got the wrong person, so I’m going to act casual and try to get information out of him— 

While I was explaining the situation to Ring, a young girl wandered into the alley, perhaps by accident.

At that moment, the man made a move. 

(Ah…!) 

He crept up behind the girl and covered her mouth with a piece of cloth he had in his hand. It seemed to have been laced with some sort of drug. 

The girl fell unconscious, and the man skillfully stuffed her into a bag before attempting to flee the scene.

Kate: Ring, let’s go after him! 

Ring: … No, we need to report this to Dari and have him make a decision first. 

Kate: What…? B-but there's a kidnapping happening right in front of our faces! We must act now! 

Ring: I was ordered to only ensure you return to the castle safely today. Any actions taken beyond that are prohibited.

Ring: Getting involved in strange situations would be going against Dari’s orders.

Ring: I understand that you want to help, but we should only act after reporting to Dari. 

(How can he say such things when a serious crime is being committed right under our noses…?)

Just a couple of minutes ago, I concluded that Ring was an honest and upright person that would never tell a lie.

But it was precisely because of that, I instantly knew that his words right now weren’t lies. 

In other words… Ring had no intention of stopping the crime from happening at all. 

Ring Schwartz, the person I thought I was starting to understand, became a complete stranger to me once more.

Kate: … F-fine. Then I’ll go after that criminal MYSELF!

Ring: H-hey…! 

[gracemisconduct]

This has been a strange Christmas. The first without my dad. I've always struggled with being explicit about emotion; this is the second major grief in my life, and the first nearly killed me. This time, I'm trying to be open, less self destructive, but man, it's hard work. My mother, still here, is...someone who loves me better from afar. She also struggles to accept that this has happened to more than her. And yet, Christmas, funerals, and the time of year forces proximity, and forces everything that comes with it.

He died in increments, then all at once. I first saw him die a little ten years ago, getting a pacemaker. Then a little more two years later, when he was so breathless he couldn't walk across the small medieval town I lived in. I saw him die a little bit when he was diagnosed with cancer, and when he broke down crying at my wedding. I saw him die most and fastest this year, when he went from visiting China to not having the strength to sit up in bed by himself. And then, all at once, he died.

I never knew there was so much admin involved in death. People would ask how I was; I had no idea. I was too busy sourcing a death certificate, arranging a funeral, writing a eulogy, telling friends and family he'd died, sorting my mum's finances. Every now and again I'd burst our crying. Then I'd stop.

Through it all, two things kept me just about sane; walking, walking everywhere, and fantasy. Good fantasy, bad fantasy. Smut and angst and fandoms and AO3 and all the wonderful ridiculousness of it that teen Grace loved and 20s Grace tried to pretend she didn't. Now I'm in my 30s, no shits are given. It was a balm, a source of humour, a relief. A place of happy endings of all kinds. A lot of BG3. It even made me think about doing a little writing of my own, though we're far from there yet. Thanks, hellsite, for the wonderful wildness of this place. Thanks, makers, for putting your work out there into the world for me to get lost in and cling to like a life raft.

____________

So, who was my dad? He was the most accomplished man I ever knew; nearly 40 years curating Japanese art and metalwork at internationally renowned museums, published books, honorary positions, a photographer, a ceramicist, a singer and more. His eulogy took days to write just to remember everything he did, and we still missed things.

His curiosity for culture, his love of learning, his collecting of obscure facts and bizarre stories, was infectious. It was the golden thread of my brother and I’s upbringing, with weekends and holidays punctuated by museums, bookshops, National Trust properties, standing stones and sci-fi movies, and everything in between. It was this same passion and curiosity that meant his list of friends and admirers was longer than your arm. He was a G.I. and so am I. Yes, I stole his badge.

When we were looking for readings for his cremation, we came across this poem. It's a later addition by Tolkien, written by Bilbo as he travels to the Grey Havens, thinking about his life and what comes next. I think that dad - LOTR narrator, deliver of funny hobbit voices, old hippy - would appreciate it. I hope you do too.

Day is ended, dim my eyes,

but journey long before me lies.

Farewell, friends! I hear the call.

The ship's beside the stony wall.

Foam is white and waves are grey;

Beyond the sunset leads my way.

Foam is salt, the wind is free;

I hear the rising of the Sea.

Farewell, friends! The sails are set,

the wind is east, the moorings fret.

Shadows long before me lie,

beneath the ever-bending sky,

but islands lie behind the Sun

that I shall raise ere all is done;

lands there are to west of West,

where night is quiet and sleep is rest.

Guided by the Lonely Star,

beyond the utmost harbour-bar

I'll find the havens fair and free,

and beaches of the Starlit Sea.

Ship, my ship! I seek the West,

and fields and mountains ever blest.

Farewell to Middle-Earth at last.

I see the Star above your mast!

- J.R.R. Tolkien

notes on grief - chimamanda ngozi adichie

[theglassesgirl]

The Ithaca Saga: What IS a Monster, how it’s presented, and when fictional S.A is integral to the plot.

So -

This was originally a response to @ / anniflamma which you can still find on my page unedited. But with the new discourse surrounding the suitors, I figured I could retool it as a standalone essay to express a topic I’ve been trying to pin down for a while now; What exactly does the mean when they call a character a monster? What do they do, do the reasons matter, and how does the subject of rape affect how the fandom consider some monsters more unforgivable than others? When IS rape in fiction “necessary” and why such questions defeat the purpose of exploratory creative works.

In this post we will discuss all the major antagonists of the Epic Musical, Penelope’s agency, the label of Monster and the types of moralizing one might do when faced with uncomfortable subjects in fiction and how to prevent these feelings from blinding is about what a story is trying to say.

For those who read my original response; there’s new content to read here and posts that will be referred to, if you’d like to give it another gander!

Thank you,

Let’s begin;

I think making the threat of rape explicit was very much needed, actually.

It’s come to my attention that there are people here and on tiktok who are so uncomfortable with the subject matter in this CENTURIES old tale that they’re both refusing to accept that it plays an important part in the original poem and musical, AND are bizarrely insisting that Jorge should have magically done away with it to make more palatable.

This is beyond juvenile - it’s a clear sign of media illiteracy.

What, if I may ask, do you think it means when you say that the suitors are going to force Penelope to choose one of them to marry.

You may respond that they want to take over Ithaca. That they want to be king. But take a moment to consider what forcing a woman to marry one of them will entail. I wonder if you think that one can divorce the idea of sexual violence in this plot.

It would be…unfathomably difficult to do so. Because you CANT. There is an implicit threat of Penelope’s will breaking and having to have unwilling and reluctant sex with any one of them in the event she just gave up and picked one.

This isn’t a storyline that depicts Penelope of being willing to marry any of the suitors. She is WAITING for her husband’s return. Even if he doesn’t, she doesn’t WANT to marry someone else. Her consent is being violated by the very merit of them being in her palace, eating her food, and threatening her son.

They’re doing ALL OF THIS in order to bend her will in the HOPES of raping her as a bonus to becoming king of Ithaca.

My contention is the use of “unnecessary” when it comes to this trope in media - though themes of rape can be uncomfortable, to call them unnecessary HAVE to meet certain criteria. Which this specific instance doesn’t.

By observing various responses, it’s clear that the threat of rape went completely over many’s head in this instance of the story. So I very must appreciate Jorge making it SO clear that it’s upsetting.

This part of the odyssey, and the musical, is very much about Penelope suffering under the threat of assault for YEARS. In the same way Odysseus was (a thing I touched upon in my calypso essay, in terms of his ambiguous situation in the musical) - it’s a parallel that works as both Antinous and Calypso were introduced (regardless on your personal interpretation of what Calypso did or did not do, but that’s neither here nor there).

It has taken an emotional and psychological toll of either spouse. And the kicker is that neither of them are freed of this situation on their own - they are both rescued by outside forces. Athena/Hermes helps free Odysseus; Athena/Odysseus will help free Penelope.

The looming threat of rape is SO necessary that it helps the catharsis factor we feel toward PENELOPE’s story - it’s nothing to do w Odysseus who by now is a force of nature as big as Poseidon, his actions happen TO her, and it’s up to her to decide (per “would you love me” ) what she feels about that. She can very well reject him! She’s suffered under male violence for YEARS. Odysseus’s violence and those of the suitors toward her are basis enough for the comparison.

Do all men, including her husband, become violent? Does she want to put up with that? We know from her song snippets that she is NOT a woman that simply succumbs to the Rape Rescue trope as suggested by ignorant consumers of media - and I call it ignorance and consumerism because there’s a clear lack of engaging with the material in an intuitive way. It’s just blind consumption - as if one bites into a burger and find a pickle, which you personally don’t like, and having it removed - you can’t treat ART that way .

Penelope is a very intuitive and emotionally intelligent queen. Stop infantilizing her. Her own husband suggests that like the suitors, his actions make him just as bad as they are and presents his hope as being understanding if she rejects him on those grounds. But those ARENT her grounds. She has full autonomy and can make a distinction FOR HERSELF whether she considers her husband equal to the monsters who have harmed her.

So let’s talk about the “Monster” label as it is presented on the entire musical.

Some have erroneously suggested that Odysseus has been given an out to commit cruel and ruthless deeds with out “good justification” - he does it for his family,, after all!

Which is a misunderstanding of everything every antagonist of each saga has done.

Let’s start with the Troy Saga: Odysseus has killed a BABY. He made the choice to put his family over this child. Everything he has done and lost would be for literally NOTHING if he hadn’t, as even if he had killed the suitors and regained everything - the GODS themselves would make sure that child would come to an aged Odysseus and slaughter him, Penelope, Telemachus and his entire kingdom when he came of age.

Odysseus STARTS as a monster. We have been rooting for the man who laid Troy and its children asunder. As such, the label of a monster is NOT so much a morally subjective label - it simply a thing that IS. Or rather. It is what ALL the antagonists ARE, but it’s hardly a condemnation of any of them.

(Peep that one of the first lines Ody says refers back to in the Vengeance Saga is what he did to Troy - he STILL views his actions over there as unforgivable, so not even HE will ever see himself otherwise, the problem was that he felt so guilty over it that he became a detriment (a different kind of monster) to his friends and family when they were all guilty of the same thing and trying to get home.)

ALL of the antagonists have a “good reason” to kill ALL the soldiers (who again, have looted and slaughtered the Trojans) Odysseus and his close friends included. Whether your AGREE is almost irrelevant…because the story itself proposes that it’s irrelevant.

The next saga introduces the cyclops: his motivation is primarily that his FRIENDS the sheep have been slaughtered. You can argue in the scope of things, you can’t empathize with this but it’s his good reason. He’s the son of a god, and these sheep are all he has. His friends, who matter to him as much as Polites does to Ody, are being taken and slain, he is being drugged, attacked and maimed. VERY much was Ody goes through in the final saga. And even so.

The Cyclops is antagonistic to the party, he’s a monster who feels justified killing to avenge his killed sheep. A monster is a thing he IS.

As Poseidon’s son, he asks his father to kill the 600 men who have ransacked his home and beat on him. He doesn’t view his father as being wrong for this. In the same ways Ody and Telemachus don’t waste any time addressing the slain suitors later on. Poseidon is a monster of a god - it’s just a thing he is. Not even being stabbed 100 times is enough to repay the harm he’s done - to most everyone, not just Ody, but we are not asked to quantify that. Just live with it.

Circe has killed NUMEROUS men over the years. HER “good reason” is that something bad happened to her nymphs when she let a stranger in her islands. She doesn’t even promise that she WONT kill in the future - her song ends w the suggestion that the world may continue to need her to puppeteer! Because she does not exist to be “redeemed” - she is somewhat more reasonable and capable of empathy than even the likes Athena, who being a greater and more powerful god, does not have the one on one affection to her follows as Circe does. She’s a monster! It’s a label, a thing she IS.

So here we begin to ask; is it LOVE that gives people the capacity to do monstrous things? Because the cyclops loved his sheep friends, Poseidon loves his son, Circe loves her nymphs.

And by now you’re saying now wait a minute didn’t the Underworld Saga go over this? Why yes it did! And Odysseus decides to “become the monster” - he already IS one by the standards of the cyclops, Poseidon, Troy - they all see him as a monstrous being. But he accepts that, after being one in Troy, he held back and ruined the lives of his men, making him a monster to THEM. His “good reason” for being so!

He attempts very hard to be the General he was in Troy and prioritize them going home, sparing no sympathy towards his enemies - but in the Thunder Saga we see the gods further push him to be completely self-serving like they are. The sun gods cows are harmed, he sends Zeus in relation - his “good reason” being his friend were personally harmed.

Odysseus’s “good reason” is ultimately decided to be the same good reason he had to slaughter the Trojans - to get back home to his wife and son.

Like with the Cyclops sheep, Circe’s nymphs, The Sun gods cows, and Poseidons son, WE are shocked and made to feel some type of way about Odyseuss’s reasoning. Surely HIS personal suffering shouldn’t cost the lives of “innocent” men…but it does! It surely does.

He is a monster. It’s just a thing he IS.

Now, Odysseus spends the next seven years under the thumb of ANOTHER monster. And through calypso own reasoning, despite her tragic backstory, her “good reason” she IS a monster. She’s incapable of understanding why she wasn’t reciprocated. Incapable of empathizing with a human because as a god who has spent eternity alone, it stands to reason she, like all the other monsters mentioned before, prioritizes HER personal suffering over everyone else’s. In some versions she either kills herself or does spend the rest of eternity alone. She’s a monster. This is a thing she IS.

Now what the HELL does all this have to do with the suitors?

Odysseus started the musical a MONSTER. He’s worn different hats, but it is what he IS. It’s a label, not a moral critique.

ALL of the antagonists of every saga have a “good reason” NONE of them are ruthless for ruthlessness sake! It’s immaterial whether you agree with them or not, but to understand them for what they are.

Odysseus is the antagonist of the ithica saga, md while the suitors are the antagonist to him and his family, we see their fate form THEIR POV

The suitors could not have been depicted as “rude youthful men” like Telemachus. That Odysseus killing them should be shocking - a frightening condemnation of everything he’s done and became. But I ask once again - in what world are the suitors not implicitly set up as monsters?

Because again. They aren’t being rude for rudeness’s sake! They aren’t JUST eating Penelope’s food and sleeping in HER house. Them threatening Telemachus, as you propose, isn’t “enough” of a reason because they didn’t wake up one day beefing w this boy. Everything they do is for the express purpose of sexual violence towards the Queen of Ithaca, who upon assaulting, will make it so any one of them will be King.

You can’t separate the one from the other. You get a nonsense scenario. The whole REASON they’re there in the first place.

Even if you create a fanfic where 108 men wake up one day and raid the palace to slaughter the royal family with no intent of sexually assaulting either (because remember Telemachus is also the subject of Hold Em Down) and then fight amongst themselves to be the next king, but then isn’t that STILL a “good reason” for Odysseus to slaughter them?

Now I hear what you may be asking: but if all the monsters of the sagas, Odysseus included, have a “good reason” even though we might not agree with it, what kind of monsters does that make the suitors? Surely and clearly THEY aren’t doing what they’re doing for noble reasons.

I consider them akin to the 600 men who died under their captains command.

Because, as stated before. Odysseus views his actions in a Troy as his start of monstrosity. He did all that to finish the war and do back home. He ruined the lives of all Trojans.

So did his soldiers.

The only moment in time (even in the deleted songs) that the bulk of them repent about the war is in terms that it left them without food.

But glasses! They were just following orders!

Which is what one of the suitors suggest in song 38. Their serpents head is dead, THEY were just going with Antinous’ flow, they are innocent.

Like the 600 soldiers, the 108 suitors sacked a home that wasn’t theirs and harmed a wife and child - does them being the queen and prince pale in comparison to the hundreds of wives and children slain in Troy? Homer is a genius to ask us to see these parallels for what it is.

The suitors ARE monsters. That is simply what all 108 of them are. In the context of the story itself, their intent is to break Penelope’s will, commit martial rape, and become king of Ithaca. They aren’t there for kicks, they aren’t ignorant boys, they’re socially accepted adults abusing the hospitality rule with an express purpose.

So a GROUP of monsters are slaughtered by ANOTHER monster, and though in this instance we can argue it’s morally justifiable, it doesn’t take away from Odysseus’s fear of being rejected by his family. He has ruined the lives of the Trojans, his men, AND multiple gods! To get to this point. He IS a monster. And the story asks US, through Penelope, if he is still worth loving.

Seeing Penelope as merely his reward is so backwards and bizarre. It’s very clear that bad faith interpretations of her are based on objectifying her erroneously, when the narrative presents her as a fully developed character.

In the story both in the poem and the musical that the suitors ARE NOT her guests. She is being sequestered against her will.

In what world could the suitors be “just” murderers and not….very clearly rapists? It’s BUILT into their motivation. You would have to change the very FOUNDATION of the Ithaca plot line and Penelope herself??? To say nothing of Telemachus’s role!

What’s the proposal here? That Penelope invited these suitors? That’s she’s actively looking for a replacement husband? Okay, again, that changes literally SO MUCH of the story, but wouldn’t that put Telemachus in a position where he too has to change? Does he resent his mother for doing this? Is he helping his dad out of spite or because he wants him back? How are we meant to view Penelope in this radically new and hip Epic the Musical? Is she savvy and in her right to choose a new boo? Okay…okay, so then….you want Odysseus to be the only one unchanged and go axe crazy because….hes jealous? He kills these upstanding men….curtain call. That’s all folks!

Absurdity at its finest. You throw Penelope’s agency out the window. Her weaving and unweaving her loom is meaningless or simply doesn’t happen. Or maybe it’s that she wakes up one day and goes hey yknow what I WILL consider marrying one of these guys with no sense of dread and fear. Oh wait Oddy has killed then all! Never mind me feeling unsafe a week ago, he’s done a Bad.

Crazy.

It’s just…not going to end up making Penelope look like a well written female character if Jorge has done what you wanted! THAT would make her a mindless prop. You seem to think she is one, and that’s not the case. Historically, in fact!

She is a whole person in the poem and musical whether you understand it or not. You would have to argue so thoroughly why she sucks and let me assure you - there are entire DISSERTATIONs on why you’d be incorrect.

So, no.

No, you CANT take away the rape in Penelope’s storyline. It matters ALOT. It’s the ROOT of the matter! Could old school vegetales make something up that’s more to your sensibilities? Maybe at its peak but god, I couldn’t possibly come up with a draft that could reflect that. I won’t even try.

The rape aspect of the Ithica Saga isn’t unnecessary - it’s INTEGRAL to the plot. It can make you uncomfortable, but it’s BUILT into the royal family’s suffering whether it’s explicit or not! And it SHOULD be explicit! Because you seem to think because it usually isn’t, that the rape aspect isn’t there!

I cannot imagine coming to this kind of conclusion.

They are not random men going on a siege of the palace one day - you cannot “sanitize” the SUITORS because by the very merit of them calling each other THE SUITORS there is an implicit threat of sexual violence. Because Penelope doesn’t WANT suitors. She rejects them. They’re already violating her consent.

How the FUCK to do you censor the rape when it’s in every action they take? And I know what you’re saying: but didn’t Jorge censor the rape aspect that both Circe and Calypso commit towards him?

Further reading: suggests that ALLUDING to it is not the same as censoring, that it still FITS the PURPOSE of these characters in regards to Odysseus’s suffering under them. That after ambiguity, it is NECESSARY to make the rape aspect CLEAR in order to create both catharsis and MEANING at the end of the narrative. The THEME is still respected and present, it is not REMOVED. Please consider reading the linked follow up that answers this question.

In short.

It’s truly a matter of using one’s goddamn head when it comes to view fictional depictions of rape as “necessary” - because though some depictions can be presented BADLY, to suggest they should not EXISTS lends itself to rape culture. It silences the voices of victims. Its representation denied. Don’t talk about it, don’t even suggest it, because rape is bad.

It’s an action that happens to people. It’s a crime in civilized society. It’s a physical and psychological trauma that has always been. It happens daily, in fact. Though epic the musical is a source of entertainment for you, it doesnt exist solely for that purpose.

When Homer included it within his original oral story, he did so as a storyteller trying to get his audience to philosophize, not simply have fun.

I think we’ve come to some abysmal conclusion that men can’t write about these topics when we have historical evidence of at least one man knowing what the hell he’s talking about. And Jorge has done a phenomenal job even when he hadn’t depicted blatantly.

If you’re uncomfortable to the point of not wanting to see it at all, that is entirely on you, art and creative works allow us to explore these topics safely. Whether it’s from the POV of the assailant or one of the victims commenting on it, fiction is one of the only places we can talk about it and learn about ourselves in a way it doesn’t harm real people.

I don’t even want to BEGIN discussing all the losers who are still harassing Antinous fans or people who genuinely enjoy his song despite/BECAUSE of the subject matter. Its purpose in the story matters more than you policing how it’s presented and how it’s consumed. No amount of people enjoying themselves will take away the foundational POINT of the character and song. It’s perfect the way it is.

Like with the chaos that calypso discourse wrought, you cannot control how people treat a NOT REAL CHARACTER or the songs they sing - if it bothers you that one type of fictional villian is treated one way or another, it is on you to find likeminded people instead of going into others faces and pretending to be a self-righteous prick. You can throw whatever buzzwords you want, the CONTEXT these characters live in has nothing to do with how others want to play with them. If you don’t understand the difference between the two instances, fandom is certainly not for you and will not be changed to suit your sensibilities.

To end this post, I want to thank those who further asked me questions and bounced ideas off with me, and wow, what a phenomenal ending to a grandiose musical. I hope I can see it live, animated, streamed, developed into a game etc whatever form it takes now that the concept albums are published

Thank you all for engaging w my work💖

[lvnchh]

Burnt Edges

Abby Anderson x f!reader (with PTSD) 👉🏻original version 👈🏻 Wanted to make another version for my Abby girls so y'all can feel represented too 🫶🏻

I'm a minor and if you want to complain or insult me about it, just don't interact🙏🏻. It's my life, and I'm free to write whatever I want as long as I'm not bothering anyone. Also, please don't judge any grammar mistakes, as English is not my native language. I'm sorry if the whole story isn't that good.

TW: I have PTSD (DIAGNOSED), and what you're about to read is based on my personal experiences. Writing about it is a form of therapy for me. If you are sensitive to topics like violence and domestic violence, please do not continue reading. Thank you🙏🏻

Btw I need more Abby x PTSD reader stories because I want to feel less alone and represented

story below the cut

The WLF base was bustling as usual, soldiers moving in every direction with purpose. It was organized chaos, but the rhythm of it kept your mind just busy enough to not wander too far. You had been here for weeks now, a stray who Abby had somehow decided was worth keeping around. She didn’t talk much about why—just said you seemed “useful” and left it at that.

But tonight, after the day’s drills and patrols, you needed air. The weight in your chest had been building all day, the familiar tightness creeping in. The base was too loud, too crowded, too much like the chaos you used to live in. You found yourself climbing to the roof, the one place no one ever seemed to go.

When the door creaked open behind you, you sighed. So much for solitude.

“Figured I’d find you up here,” Abby said, her voice steady but not unkind.

You turned, finding her leaning casually against the doorway. Her braid hung over her shoulder, and her broad frame filled the space effortlessly. Abby was intimidating at first glance—hell, even second and third glance—but there was something about her that made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t in a long time.

“What gave me away?” you asked, forcing a weak smile as you lit your cigarette.

Abby stepped onto the roof and shrugged. “You disappear when you’re overwhelmed. You’re not as sneaky as you think.”

Her bluntness was typical, but it wasn’t cruel. If anything, it was grounding. She moved to sit beside you, her heavy boots thudding against the concrete as she stretched her legs out.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the distant hum of the base fading into the background. Abby wasn’t much for small talk, and you appreciated that.

“You smoke a lot for someone who can barely keep up on a run,” she teased eventually, smirking as she glanced at you.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Yeah, well… cardio’s overrated.”

“Not when you’re being chased by infected.”

“Fair point.”

Another silence settled, and you found yourself exhaling a plume of smoke, watching it dissipate into the night. You could feel Abby’s eyes on you, her curiosity barely masked. She wasn’t the kind to pry, but she wasn’t one to let something slide if she thought it mattered.

“You’ve been… off today,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter than usual.

You stiffened, gripping the cigarette between your fingers. “What do you mean?”

Abby shrugged, leaning back on her hands. “You didn’t even flinch when Manny cracked a joke at you earlier. Usually, you’d at least roll your eyes. Something’s eating at you.”

You hesitated, the weight in your chest growing heavier. Abby wasn’t wrong, but the idea of saying it out loud felt suffocating. Still, the look she gave you—patient, steady—made you feel like maybe you could.

“It’s… nothing,” you muttered at first, then winced at her unimpressed scoff. “Okay, fine. It’s not nothing. It’s just—this place. The noise, the shouting, the slamming doors. It reminds me of… home.”

Abby tilted her head, her brows knitting slightly. “Home?”

You took another drag of your cigarette, the smoke burning your throat. “My dad. let’s just say he wasn’t exactly Father of the Year material. Yelling was the least of it.”

You didn’t elaborate, but Abby’s sharp eyes softened, her expression shifting from curiosity to something that looked like understanding.

“Shit,” she muttered, leaning forward. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, flicking the ash off your cigarette, “it’s not exactly something I put on my résumé.”

Abby huffed a laugh at that, but it was soft, almost careful. She leaned back again, her gaze fixed on the skyline. “That why you’re always so jumpy?”

You nodded, not bothering to deny it. “PTSD’s a hell of a ride.”

She was quiet for a moment, the tension between you settling into something heavier but not unwelcome. “I can’t even imagine what that’s like,” she said finally, her voice low. “But… I get the needing space part. I didn’t grow up with that kind of shit, but since… since everything with my dad and the Fireflies, sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe when things get too loud.”

Her admission caught you off guard, and you turned to look at her. For all her strength, Abby carried a weight too. It was different from yours, but it was still there, etched into the set of her jaw and the faint lines around her eyes.

“Well,” you said, smirking despite the heaviness in your chest, “guess we’re both a little screwed up.”

“Guess so,” Abby agreed, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

You took one last drag of your cigarette before stubbing it out against the concrete. Then, without thinking, you added, “What can I say? My PTSD made me hotter.”

Abby blinked, staring at you for a moment before bursting into a laugh—a real, genuine laugh that echoed into the night. It was rare to hear her laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but grin, feeling a little lighter just from the sound.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head as she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

“Yeah, but you love it,” you shot back, leaning back on your hands with a smug smile.

Abby rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her expression betrayed her. “Don’t push your luck, rookie.”

[koshkamartell]

Hello my loves.

This is it. The final chapter of No One But Me. I'm sorry it took so long to write; there was so much emotion and energy involved in this final part that it took longer than I expected. I hope you all enjoy it.

Thank you to my little group of faithful readers who have showed their support and love throughout this journey. I have appreciated all your comments and reblogs so much. It gives me alot of joy to hear that my story has been a source of joy and entertainment for someone.

I haven't added a warning list to this part in order to avoid spoilers. Please leave me your thoughts after you read.

The sound of the gunshot reverberated throughout the clearing surrounding the cabin, stirring birds to flee from the forest treetops with the loud flapping of their wings. You only managed to run a few yards from the porch before the gunfire caused you to come to a halt.

Your boots skid in the icy snow as you whip around in search of where the shot was fired from. Your eyes scan the surrounding woodland for any shapes or movement between the trees. You imagine a man - another raider - just as tall and ugly as Lyle, stalking through the forest clutching a hunting rifle, on his way to kill you. The thought drives a spike of fear through your guts and makes your full bladder ache.

You search around, vigilant and alert, subconsciouly holding your breath in your lungs. You pause and wait, trying in vain to keep your body from shaking. You wait for but nothing happens. No sign of danger presents itself, neither in the form of an infected or an unknown, ominous figure holding a gun.

You inhale a gulping breath of the bitterly cold winter air and a visible puff of cloud escapes your lips when you exhale.

Was it Joel who fired the shot? He must be absolutely livid with you, crazed with fury at your repeated insolence, your second attempt at escape in less than two days. He must have fired a warning shot when he saw you had gone, as there's no way Joel would miss a target, not with all his weaponry prowess.

You look back to the cabin now, your whole body still shivering with fear, expecting to see Joel standing on the porch brandishing a gun in his large blood covered hands. But Joel is not there.

Your eyes then fall upon the figure laying on the ground.

You had been so startled by the sound of the gun shot that you hadn't realised Oscar was not next to you. Your stomach sinks when you see that Oscar had not made it as far as you; he had fallen to his knees just a few steps from the cabin.

"Oscar!" You shriek with panic. Your own voice sounds muffled as your heart beat continues to thrum inside your head and inbetween your ears. You pace back to meet him, gasping in sharp breathes of the cold morning air as your legs work to carry your exhausted body.

You drop to the ground infront of Oscar and bring your trembling hands up to cradle his face, the stubble along his jaw pricking your palms. His skin feels cool to the touch and beads of sweat are dotted across his forehead. "What happened? Oscar, what is it?"

His eyes screw shut and his eyebrows knit together in a grimace of pain. He sucks a sharp breath of air through his clenched teeth. "I...I gotta lay down."

"O-Okay," you murmer. Oscar plants a hand on the ground behind him and begins to recline back. You splay one of your hands against the middle of back, your other still holding the side of his face. "Let me help you, go slow."

Oscar tries to shift his legs out infront of him but his limbs move too quickly, as though they are uncoordinated and weak; he plops down onto his backside with a thud, hissing with pain at the way his body jostles. You coo sympathetically and urge him once again to take it slow. He grunts and lays down flat on his back, pressing a hand to his lower abdomen.

You notice the motion straight away. "What happened to your stomach?"

Oscar gives a slight shake of his head but doesn't open his eyes or say anything. You slide your hand down from his face to where he clutches his stomach. You curl your fingers gingerly around his and try to gently pry them away from the area. At first he resists, but after you whisper a tearful please he relents and uncovers the spot. You gasp when you see that his whole palm is covered in blood.

Oh my god oh my god oh no

There's a ragged hole at the bottom of his jacket. You quickly fumble for the zip and yank it downwards, sweeping the panels to the side of his torso. Oscar allows you to do so without protest, his eyes still tightly closed, clearly battling against the internal agony that has been afflicted upon his body. You grab the bottom of his sweater and hurriedly tug it upward. You are desperate to see the hurt hidden underneath his clothes, desperate to see just how bad the damage is.

When you find the source of his pain, you cannot contain the strangled cry that claws its way up your throat, raw and ugly. There's a small round black hole etched into the left side of his lower belly, just above his hip. It is a clean cut bullet wound with the flesh around it still firm. A thick pool of deep red blood puddles inside it, overflowing into a trickle that spills down to his groin.

It's a gunshot wound. When had he been shot?

"How?" You whisper brokenly, tears springing to your eyes. You grab hold of his bloody hand and squeeze it, wanting to reassure him of your presence, that you're still right next to him.

Why don't you remember?

Everything leading up to this moment is a blur within your memory. You don't have the capacity to realise just why, though. You don't know that while trapped within the chaos inside the cabin, your conscious had been overridden by your will to survive. You don't know you had dissociated, brain detaching from a reality you couldn't cope with. You hadn't remembered Lyle shooting Oscar because your mind was protecting you.

Oscar groans and squeezes your hand in his shaking one. "W-w...what can I do?" You stroke his forehead tenderly. "How do I stop the bleeding?"

"I'm okay, honey," he mumbles, his beautiful dark eyes flickering open to stare up at you. His little round glasses sit crookedly on his face and you gingerly fix them to perch straight on his nose. He offers you a weak smile in return. "Just...just stay right here."

"I'm here," you promise him, stroking over the curls on his temple. "I'm here."

The sound of a gun firing stops Joel's fist from connecting another gruelling punch to the raider's already gruesome face. It is like he's being snapped out of a trance, suddenly propelled from a hellish nightmare back to reality. His vision blurs as he struggles to focus on the scene before him, and it takes several seconds for him to remember just what had transpired within the last ten minutes.

Joel glances down at his hand curled tight into a fist. It's completely coated in blood, and although his knuckles are raw and stinging, he knows the blood doesn't belong to him. His eyes descend to the lifeless body laying underneath his straddling thighs. He sees the grisly wreck of the man's head and it prompts a wave of nausea to lurch in his stomach. He has to quickly swallow the bile that rises in his throat, the bitter acid burning his oesophagus.

Joel can't remember the last time he lost control like this. Maybe a long while before he started living in Jackson. It must have been, for Joel had to learn to hold back on dishing out beatings when he arrived in town. Despite wanting nothing more than to slap the shit out of some of the insubordinate young men around the town, he had quelled his temper with all his might for the sake of Ellie. He had masked so much of himself, of his true nature, all for their chance to carve out a decent life together in the safe community.

But that savage beast of wrath had lain dormant inside him for all this time, waiting for a reason to rear its barbaric head and fight. There had never been a legitimate reason for this vicious part of Joel to show itself while they lived in the haven of Jackson. But then again, nothing had evoked such an intense fury inside him as when the raider threatened your life right infront of him.

You.

His mind panics instantly, your name falling from his chapped lips with an edge of desperation. His head jerks around to where you were left beside the bed. You're gone, the leftover rope hanging limply from the bed frame, the ends frayed. A pocket knife lays on the floorboards where you were sat, its blunt looking blade glinting against the lone ray of sunshine pouring in through the window.

Estrada, the mother fucking prick. Did he really come all this way to get you? And you're gone, but who fired that shot? Are there more raiders out there? That pussy can't keep you safe. He needs to get out there and get you right now.

Joel shoves himself off of the raider's body and staggers to stand up. The bones in his back crack as he straightens upright. His whole body is an aching fucking mess but he refuses to think about pain. He can't. He's got to find you.

He grabs Lyle's gun off the floor and then hastily pulls on his boots, ignoring the blood his smears on every surface he touches. He storms out the bedroom to the front door, his footfalls striking heavily against the floorboards with each purposeful, formidable step. You can't have gone far; Joel knows you can't ride a horse and he's pretty sure the raider shot Estrada, so he's willing to bet you're still in a quarter mile radius.

Fuckin' Estrada. He'll blast the useless son of a bitch to pieces. He'll make you watch, force you to see how no one will ever come between you and he. Finally get it through that head of yours that you only belong with him.

Joel stalks out through the front door, resolution and determination catapulting him forth on his long legs. He's going to have to do something a little more drastic, he thinks, in order to cement his ownership over you, so you and everybody else in this world can see you're his, that you can't run away. Maybe a fucking brand on your skin.

Joel's boots only just meet the snow before he abruptly halts at the fringe of the cabin deck. It turns out you didn't even get past the boundary of the clearing, didn't even get 20 feet from the cabin. Instead you're here kneeling on the ground, Oscar laying down beside you on his back, his head in your lap. It appears intimate, a private moment he has stumbled upon, and it makes his stomach twist with burning possessiveness. He scowls, flexing his hand around the grip of the pistol, the raider's blood already drying and crusting over the broken skin of his knuckles.

Joel calls your name, his raspy voice loud and harsh, cutting through the air like a master commanding his dog. Your head snaps back to face him instantly; wisps of hair cling to your tear stained cheeks, your eyes wide with distress, your nose tinged pink from the cold air and all the crying you've done. You stay kneeling and Oscar remains on his back, which somehow pisses him off even more.

What the hell is going on? And where'd that gun shot come from?

"Goddamn it," Joel growls. He stomps over to you, jaw clenching and unclenching. He's going to drag you back inside by your hair after he kills Oscar. He'll strip you of your clothes and smack your ass until it's black and blue. His anger is palpable, radiating from him like a furnace, and the terror on your face amplifies with every determined step he takes.

"Joel, please," you plead, "don't touch him!"

"Get up and go back inside, right now!" Joel snarls. He'll do as he damn well pleases, and if that includes beating the shit out of Estrada like he did the raider, then so be it.

Joel bends down to grab you by your collar but your hand shoots up and grips around his wrist, your fingernails sinking into his skin. Your red rimmed eyes stare up at him, frantic and imploring.

"Joel, wait, listen to me!" You gasp shrilly. "He's hurt! Look!"

Joel's gaze falls down past your face to where Oscar lays beneath you. He's startled by the change in Oscar's appearance, so unexpected and pitiful that it actually dampens the anger and jealousy seething from his core.

He watches Oscar stare up at you and Joel, brows pulled together in a pain filled wince, a dull quality to his brown orbs. His pallid skin has a waxy sheen to it and there is a blueish tint to his trembling lips. His breaths come out in long stuttering gasps. Joel's eyes trail down to where Oscar's shirt in bunched in your hand and he sees the bloody hole sitting at the bottom of his belly.

You are right. He's hurt. The raider did shoot him.

"Joel, what d-do we do?" You sniffle, tightening your grasp around his wrist. "How do we treat it?"

The internal damage is difficult to assess, but judging from the location of the wound and how Oscar currently looks, the bullet has likely hit some organs, Joel silently deduces. It's dire, and with how Oscar's shivering right now he's not sure how long the man will survive for. Joel has seen his fair share of people die from all different kinds of ailments and wounds. He knows the signs well.

His gaze shifts back to you, jaw ticking as he deliberates his answer. You look so hopeless, so desperate for some kind of confirmation that you can actually do something to remedy the situation. It isn't your fault you're so naive, he reminds himself, and being kind is just part of your nature, so ofcourse you care. Ofcourse you care that Estrada is currently bleeding out in your arms. But God, does he fucking hate that you still care so much about this prick.

"Can't do much for a gunshot wound," Joel delivers the words matter of factly. "Not without all the surgical stuff in Jackson."

"What?" You whisper, your face contorting with disbelieving anguish. You relinquish your hold on his wrist as if the touch of his skin has become too uncomfortable to bear. "No, no. Surely there's something we can do now. We can get the bullet out, right?"

Joel tucks the gun in his pocket and descends down on one knee beside you. He avoids Oscar's eyes, instead training his gaze on the pool of blood seeping inside the wound on Oscar's lower abdomen. He can't soften the blow. It's not that he wants to purposely be cruel, but there's no use lying to you. He scratches the side of his cheek and sighs heavily.

"It's deep," Joel clarifies softly. "Not sure if the bullet hit an organ, but it looks likely. Can't do nothin' for it."

You chew on your bottom lip for a moment, contemplating his words, and then your eyes suddenly light up with childlike hope. "Let's go back to Jackson," you blurt out. "Dr. Amber can do it, we can go now."

Joel pins his gaze back to you, keeping his face impassive. He's never seen you like this before - so naive and deluded with optimism, denying the obvious reality of the situation. His heart unexpectedly aches for you.

"It's too far," Joel whispers, schooling his tone to be firm but not unkind. "By the time we get there...he won't make it."

"But we've got to try! Or, or maybe we can get the bullet out ourselves," you ramble in desperation.

He sighs, trying hard to not let his impatience overtake his already limited empathy for your feelings. He places his hand on your shoulder, a sympathetic attempt to ground you, for he takes no pleasure in your current state of misery. "Just told you, we can't do much. Where he got hit...it's too...it's just about impossible..."

Your brows saddle together in defeated despair and you shake your head, fresh tears pooling at your waterline. There's a hint of emotion in your face, dancing within your watery irises and on the curl of your mouth, something that he cannot quite place; amidst the clear pain and grief is something firey, almost wild. Like hatred. Resentment. Blame.

A croak comes from Oscar, prompting you to turn back and dip your head down to his. He's trying to talk but his voice is so muted that Joel cannot hear a word of what he's saying to you. You let out a small whimper and seem to whisper back a reply. The private moment between you two resumes, a confidential bubble that makes Joel feel like an outsider, pathetic and excluded. He clocks the way Oscar's hand clutches yours, the delicate brush of his thumb over yours, and he can't help the envious irritation that rears inside his chest once again, searing hot and bordering on painful.

Joel clears his throat and speaks your name to garner your attention. "Don't know where that gunshot came from. Could be more raiders just around the corner. We gotta go back inside."

You jerk your head back to face Joel again, your features twisted into a glare, distrust and scorn evident in your eyes. "I'm not leaving him," you state defiantly.

"It ain't safe here," Joel bites back. "That shot was close by and it ain't gonna take long for whoever it was to find us."

"I don't care!" You spit out harshly. "You go."

Joel feels as though he has been slapped. How dare you defy him like this? He's trying to protect you, to keep you safe from the potential threat of another raider, yet instead of obeying him you're openly challenging him.

No, there's no way he's leaving you behind with Estrada while the poor fuck bleeds out.

Joel scowls, jaw clenched tight, and leans his head close to yours so that you are forced to look at him. You reflexively flinch away but keep your stare locked on his, bold and obstinate.

"Get up." He orders, voice low and loaded with danger. "'Fore we get killed."

"No!" You argue. Joel glares back at you, harsh breaths huffing through his nostrils. His jaw ticks once, then in one sudden move he's grabbing your arm and roughly hoisting you up on your feet. You squeal and yell at him but he just drags you away from Oscar like a predatory animal lugging its prey toward death, overpowering and tyrannical.

He drags you several yards but stops abruptly when another gunshot suddenly blasts through the air, loud and resonant, unmistakeably closer this time. A mixture of other noises soon follow it, carried along the wind that rushes through the trees, sounds that quickly become more and more clear with each passing second.

Men's voices.

Horse hooves galloping.

Dogs barking.

And then a prominent voice calls out, masculine and commanding.

"Joel!"

Joel's blood runs cold. He knows that voice; he knows it better than anybody else still alive in this world, and to hear it right now makes his stomach churn with anxiety and resentment. He slowly twists his torso around, keeping his grip on your arm tight.

There, at the edge of the small clearing by the south-west woodland, is Tommy. Joel swears under his breath. He is pertrubed at the unexpected sight of his younger brother. Did he really travel all the way from Jackson to track you and Joel down? He's made it all this way out here, and by the sounds of it he has a fucking rescue team with him close by.

Tommy trudges through the snow with a gait almost identical to Joel's, his barrel chest heaving. The expression on his face is one of profound sadness and grave concern, a look that Joel knows well; Tommy was always the more self righteous brother, the bleeding heart, able to make Joel feel criticised and condemned with just a single look.

Joel stays standing where he is, his hand still tightly gripping yours while he keeps his eyes locked on his brother. Tommy closes the gap between you in a series of long, laboured strides, his warm breath conjuring puffs of visible cloud from his lips.

"Jesus, Joel, what did you do?" Tommy rasps in panicked disbelief when he catches sight of Oscar's prone form. "Oh fuck, please don't tell me you killed Oscar."

"I didn't touch him," Joel sneers. "And he ain't dead. We got ambushed by a raider but I took care'a him."

"Oscar's hurt, Tommy," you interject, taking a step forward to try join him. "We need to get him help."

Joel shoots you a disapprovingly glare before he clears his throat and gestures vaguely in Oscar's direction. "He got shot - by the raider, not by me."

Tommy drops down on one knee besides Oscar, hovering his hands over the man's body uncertainly. "Fuck," Tommy whispers as his doleful eyes survey the grievous state of Oscar's belly and the bullet wound. He leans down and brings his gloved hand up to carefully cup Oscar's cheek in his palm. "Hey, Oscar, buddy, can you hear me?"

Oscar blinks slowly up at Tommy and hums softly. "Hey, Tom," he manages to croak out. "Yeah....I can hear you."

"Got yourself in a bit of trouble, looks like," Tommy murmers, trying his best to sound light-hearted. "But don't worry, I'm gonna get you back to town and we'll get you fixed right up."

"I'm dying, Tom," Oscar whispers. Tommy sniffs sadly and shakes his head, melancholic denial swimming in his eyes as he stares down at his friend.

"No you ain't," Tommy whispers back, his voice faltering.

"It's okay...," Oscar coos, "just get her back...please, take her back home. Promise me you will."

You can't hear the hushed conversation between Tommy and Oscar, no matter how hard you strain to listen. You wish you could drop to your knees beside Tommy and be a part of what's going on, to hear Oscar's soothing voice assure you that he will be okay, that it isn't as bad as it looks.

But you can't. Your freezing hand is still enveloped in Joel's possessive clutch, anchoring you to the stop next to him. He isn't interested in watching the interaction between his brother and his rival. He keeps a vigilant watch on the woods around you all, slowly turning his head left and right to scan each direction, no doubt still on guard for any possible raiders or infected.

When Tommy eventually rises from the ground and drags his feet back to you and Joel, your heart skips a beat. You wish Tommy would smile at you and confirm that the wound actually isn't that deep, that your dear Oscar will be able to return to Jackson and get stitched up and everything will turn out alright. You peer up at him, expectant and hopeful, but Tommy's morose expression just about crushes any scrap of optimism left in your weary heart. He comes close to you and takes your free hand in his and gives it a gentle squeeze, totally ignoring Joel beside you.

"Sweetheart," Tommy sighs, "I ain't gonna lie to you. He isn't lookin' good...I don't know....you needa talk with him."

"Why?" Joel cuts in, pulling you back from Tommy and cutting the physical contact between you.

"For God's sake, Joel!" Tommy explodes with exasperation, curling his hands into fists. "You know why! Give her that atleast!"

"Bleedin' heart 'til the day you die, huh Tom?" Joel mocks bitterly, glaring at his brother. Tommy meets his gaze head on, unflinching and firm.

"Doin' what's right, Joel," Tommy replies tightly. "It's time you did, too."

You look between the two of them, too overcome with dizzying emotion and fatigue from the trauma you've endured to properly comprehend the gravity of what's being said. You're fighting to stand on your feet and all you want to do is lay down with Oscar.

"Fine, let's get this over and done with," Joel huffs, releasing your hand. Sensing how you're feeling, Tommy wraps his arm around your back and gently guides you to Oscar, carefully helping you to sit down in the snow.

Your hand automatically slips into Oscar's to give it a delicate and comforting squeeze. He looks even more pale and you notice the way his stomach barely rises and falls with his short, shallow breaths. You bring your other hand up to brush back a curled lock of his hair that sticks to his forehead.

His skin feels so cold.

"Honey," his silky voice husks from between his blue lips. There is a film of tears swimming within his eyes as he stares up at you but his gaze seems more sharp, more focused. You feel as though he's looking right into your soul, his love and adoration piercing directly through your heart, and in this moment you're completely overcome with the intensity of your own love for him.

Oscar is so beautiful, so pure. He came to save you. He risked his own life to rescue you, your own knight in shining armour, and now he lays here wounded and bleeding out. The guilt slices into you sharp and searing, you burst into a sob, lowering your head to his chest. "I'm sorry," you weep. "I'm so sorry."

"Shhh, honey," Oscar rasps, slowly raising his hand up to stroke your hair. "It's okay."

Joel growls and moves to grab you and intervene but Tommy is quick to block him. Tommy stands inbetween you and Joel and grips his shoulders firmly. "Back off," he commands sternly.

Joel rips his little brother's hands off him and huffs angrily. "Go fuck yourself Tommy," he rumbles. Despite his hatred for what's happening, Joel turns away and retreats a few paces, unable to bear watching the scene. Tommy follows him, allowing you privacy; neither can hear what is whispered between you and Oscar.

Your nose drips from the cold, intermingling with the tears leaking from your eyes. Oscar's hand swipes the hair from your face as he continues to sshhh you gently.

"I love you," you hear his voice purr from within his sternum. "Always...have."

You lift your head to gaze at him, your face inches from his. His brown eyes project the same palpable sincerity that he has always embodied, even amidst the depth of his suffering. There is a tranquil kind of energy swirling within in his irises that you can't quite work out the reason for.

"Always will..." Oscar whispers, slowly tucking a tangled strand of hair behind your ear with an air of reverence.

"I love you too," you mumble through tears. And you do. You truly love him. "I want to go back with you, wanna go back home with you, Oscar." And you do, more than anything else in the world, so much so that your desperation blinds you to the painful reality of Oscar's predicament.

"I can't." Oscar admits in a breathless whisper. "Elvie is waiting for me..."

Elvie? You're confused for a second until your brain kicks into gear. Elvie. The realisation of what Oscar means lands a punch right in the middle of your guts and a strangle gasp falls from your lips. You bring your face to cradle Oscar's cheeks and you lean down to place a kiss on his soft, wind chapped lips.

"Please...." you whisper against his lips, a tear rolling down your cheek and falling to land onto the hollow of his throat. "Don't go..."

He breathes your name ever so delicately. "I love you...."

And then, like a flickering flame of a candle being extinguished in the breeze, the last breath within Oscar's lungs drifts from his mouth and his soul slips away from his body.

A ragged scream rips from your throat, full of anguish and sorrow. It startles Tommy and Joel and they both whirl around to where you kneel on the ground by Oscar. You are slumped over his dead body, forehead pressed to his chest and your balled fists clinging to his clothes.

Tommy hastily springs back to you and crouches down to bracket your shoulders with his hands. He understands the reason got your distress immediately. "Oh, sweetheart," he croons sympathetically. He slips his arm across your clavicle and carefully pulls you into him. "I'm sorry."

You lean back into his chest and let out a howl of anguish. Joel thinks it is just about the most tragic sound he has ever heard. He stands back and watches the scene with the the corners of his mouth downturned in somber silence.

The magnitude of sorrow you express spurns something inside of him that makes his stomach clench and his breath hitch in his throat. When the initial shock dissipates he is left with a severe ache in his chest cavity that threatens to bring him to his knees. The realisation of why comes

Your grief reflects his own.

It reminds him of the day when his world was torn apart, when he had lost the most important thing in his life.

Except the reason for your grief isn't an inescapable cordycep apocalypse; it is Joel himself. He may not have fired the bullet that fatally wounded Oscar but it was the consequences of his actions that led to the man's demise. Joel shakes his head to himself, trying to dislodge the thought from his mind. No, he thinks, it isn't my fault. It isn't.

He bows his head and stares at his boots, unable to face the sight of your despair any longer. You wail and bawl for what seems like forever. Tommy keeps you close to him and murmers an occasional hushed I'm so sorry. It continues until you can produce no more your tears and your body lurches with exhausted dry retches. Your cheeks are puffy and splotchy, the rims of your eyes red and swollen.

A long time passes before Tommy manages to persuade you to stand up. He hauls you up and keeps you tightly supported you against his body. You cling blindly to his jacket and nuzzle your face into his chest, finding a small degree of comfort in his warmth and kind commiseration. Another blurred period of time elapses where you allow Tommy to hold you and a quiet falls over the three of you.

Joel doesn't look up until he hears your voice address him, hoarse yet full of venom. He lifts his head and sees you staring at him, your face twisted into a wretched mask of heartache and wrath.

"You," you hiss accusingly, "it's because of you!"

Joel frowns at you and shakes his head, unable to formulate words in a response. He's totally bewildered by your anger.

"You brought me out here! You forced me here and Oscar came to save me!" You snarl. "He would still be alive if you hadn't!"

You struggle against Tommy and he loosens his hold on you. You launch yourself at Joel, half stumbling into him, your fists beating against his chest with all the strength you can muster. Joel's hands cup your elbows so you don't fall over but he does nothing to stop you from unleashing your anger. He let's you punch his chest and slap his face, the impact of your hands leaving no more than a light sting on his cheeks.

He could easily subdue you with nothing more than a solid shove or a quick slap but he doesn't. He stands still, patiently accepting your punishment, waiting until you eventually tire and end up collapsing against his front. You heave and sob with despair, fragile body wracking with the force of your cries, and Joel carefully wraps his arms around you and presses you firmly into him.

"'M sorry," Joel whispers truthfully. And he is. He's sorry that you're heart broken.

"You aren't," you sputter, "you've never been sorry, you don't care!"

You struggle to escape his embrace but he holds you tighter. "I am," he asserts firmly.

You screech and thrash, incensed with anger at the way he seems to lie so easily. "He's dead because of you!"

Joel relinquishes his hold on you just enough to pull you back to look at your face. He is momentarily disturbed by the way your eyes smoulder with hatred and disgust, but he presses on, determined to make his point.

"He's dead because of that raider, not me," Joel argues, "and it was me who killed that son of a bitch."

You shake your head vehemently, detestation written clearly on your face. "That raider could have killed us all! He was going to hurt me and you did nothing! Oscar saved me from that raider, not you!"

Shame heats the back of Joel's neck. He cannot deny that the raider was going to do unspeakable things to you and that he had basically offered you up to the man while he tried to formulate a strategy. It both shames and emasculates him that it was infact Oscar who saved you both from the raider. Joel may have beaten Lyle to death, but it was only because of Oscar that he was able to do so.

He feels like he has failed you.

Just as he failed Sarah. Just as he failed Tess.

"I was gonna---"

"I don't care!" You yell, flinging yourself backward to escape his grasp, but Joel just tightens his hands on your shoulders to keep you close.

Joel has to battle the deeply ingrained instincts that urge him to slap the shit out of you to shut you up. He allows you to be angry and sad, to unleash the emotions you are rightfully experiencing right now, but his patience is wearing thin. He's also aware that Tommy still stands just a few yards away, so he needs to placate you enough to keep control of his temper and to somehow get you alone.

He narrows his eyes and rubs soothing circles over your shoulders with his thumbs. "Let's go back inside the cabin," he drops his voice low in an effort to mollify. "Talk about this when you've calmed down some."

"Talk about what, Joel?" You spit out, fresh angry tears trickling down your cold cheeks. "About how you got Oscar killed? About how you raped me and beat me and then kidnapped me?"

"Christ almighty, Joel!" Tommy exclaims, shaking his head and staring in disbelief at his brother. "Is....is that true? You...you did those things to her?"

Joel doesn't acknowledge his brother; he's so intently focused on you that he can hardly register Tommy's voice. All that matters is you and making you stay with here with him.

"I said I was sorry," Joel swallows the lump in his throat. "I tried, I tried so hard to do right by you. I brought us here so we could start a new life. So you could forgive me."

"What you did to me, Joel...," you whisper, your voice laced with embittered sadness. "That's different. But Oscar....he died because of what you did. And I won't ever forgive you for that."

"But I love you," he murmers, his voice becoming husky with emotion and his eyes blurring with tears. "I didn't...I love you."

"And I loved you once, too, Joel, but how could I after what you've done?" You shove at his chest to punctuate your point. "I hate you!"

The impassioned vigour in your tone and your words cuts through Joel's heart like a knife. It reminds him of Ellie, how angry and betrayed she looked just a few nights ago. He knows you're stupefied with emotion right now, too wrapped up in misery to properly think or follow his commands. But he also knows you aren't lying.

You do hate him.

Just as Ellie does.

The truth fucking crushes his heart into fragments.

Joel's face crumples and he stares at you with crestfallen dismay. His hands release you and he takes a staggering step backward. You stare him down like a feral cat ready to fight, your shoulders raised and your nostrils flared. Tommy steps forward to intervene in the face-off, standing half infront of you.

"Joel...It's over. Let her go," Tommy commands softly, almost pleadingly. "I'm takin' her back to Jackson. I gotta rescue team just over the clearing there."

Joel faces his brother with tears brimming at his lashline. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" Joel hisses angrily. "This ain't any of your business, Tommy! I don't give a fuck who you got waitin' in the wings!"

"She doesn't wanna be with you," Tommy emphasises, his voice measured and stern. "And you're my brother, Joel, so this is my fuckin' business. I ain't about to let this girl or anybody else get hurt because of you."

"I love her, okay? I fuckin' love her, Tommy," Joel confesses brokenly. "I'll do anythin' to keep her."

"You hurt her, Joel. Jesus, you ra....you...," Tommy has to stop himself from choking on the weighted words that seem lodged inside his throat. He runs a hand through his black curls and shakes his head as he collects himself. "That ain't love."

Your fingertips curl around Tommy's bicep, prompting him to stop from saying anything more. Like a hawk, Joel observes the movement and watches with bated breath as you step out from behind Tommy. He sees that you are no longer crying and that you no longer look angry. Instead, you now look composed. Bold. You stand upright, your body radiating self assuredness, chin tilted upward to meet Joel's eyes head on.

The last time he had witnessed you like this was the time you confronted him about raping you. He sees the same stoicism in your face now - and he can see just how deadly serious you are.

"If you really loved me, you'd let me go," you speak up, your tone smooth and placid despite the challenging significance of your words.

"No," Joel croaks out. His brown eyes, large and glassy, swimming with tears as he gazes at you. "I need you. I need you with me, here."

"I can't stay here, Joel," you say softly. "I can't stay with you."

"I-I can't let you go," he rasps desperately. "You're mine, baby. I can't be without you."

"I've got nothing left to give you, Joel." You shrug with blunt weariness. "You've taken everything from me."

Warm rivulets of tears begin to trickle from Joel's eyes and he sniffs. "I'll give you whatever you need, I'll...I'll make it up to you. Just....please."

You watch him intently, your chin raised with stoic determination, unmoved by his show of emotion. "It's too late."

"No," he pleads, taking a step closer to you. "No, it ain't. It ain't too late."

"I spent too much time letting myself be hurt and unhappy. People like Oscar, like my parents...they don't have the chance to start over. They don't get to try. And I owe it to them to keep going. I owe it to them to be happy."

"You can be happy. You can be happy with me," Joel asserts, his voice wavering with heartache. He reaches out to touch you but you take a step backward. You shake your head gently, your gaze never leaving his.

"No, I can't. You need to control me, Joel - you need to hurt me. How can I be happy like that?"

Joel opens his mouth to speak but no words come. He is at a loss for what to say. He cannot argue against the points you make as they are true - he does need to control you, he does need to hurt you. As much as he could try justifying it as expressions of love and care, it is still the confronting truth of your relationship. He is defeated.

He stays silent for a minute, then forces out a quiet mumble, "give me another chance. Please."

"No, Joel. I won't let you take the chance of happiness away from me," you respond matter of factly. "I'm going back to Jackson with Tommy. Goodbye, Joel."

You turn back and walk over to Tommy, where he stands looking at his older brother with concerned sympathy. He knows Joel won't return to town, knows it would be impossible for him to integrate back into society in a place where his foster daughter and the woman he loves will be absent from his life.

Tommy slings his arm tightly around your shoulders and gingerly guides you away from where you stand. You give Joel once last fleeting look before you turn away and begin moving your feet to follow Tommy.

Joel watches you both trudge through the snow toward the clearing at the edge of the forest. He stands frozen in place, paralysed by the internal dialogue raging within his mind.

She's leaving.

I can't stop her.

She has to go.

She hates me.

She doesn't love me.

This is the right thing to do.

Joel shields his eyes with his hand, unable to bear the sight of you walking out of his life. He hangs his head and heaves out a weighted, heartbroken sigh. The constrain on his emotions quickly cracks and soon he begins to weep. Fat tears pour from his eyes and roll down the bridge of his nose. His weeping escalates into mournful cries that make his shoulders shake and his stomach churn, and he feels his heart squeeze so painfully that he thinks he's on the verge of a heart attack.

He cries now more than he has cried for the last 20 years. Not since the day Sarah died has he cried so much. The repressed emotion he has been habouring throughout all these years is set free and laid bare, and he allows himself to finally feel it all; the heartbreak for his daughter, Sarah, the undying unconditional love for Ellie, and the everlasting yearning for you.

Joel's legs buckle and he collapses onto the snow on his knees. The ice stings the sliced skin on his bare hands but he isn't even cognisant of the pain. All he can perceive is the devastating emptiness now residing within his soul; all that is left now are memories and nightmares, and the agonising regret and grief of losing you.

tag list- @sofiparallel @harriedandharassed @kewwrites @romanarose @fan-fiction-floozy @anoverwhelmingdin @unknownsuser101 @shesarealcarpentersdream @sheeeeeppp-blog @uncassettodiricordi @axshadows @puduvallee @gossipgirl-03 @oldenoughtoknowbetter @mandoloriancookie @missannfairy @bean-security @missannwinchester @mrszdjarin

[xxplastic-cubexx]

waiting for marvel to take you up as their comic artist so that we can have amazing art with cherik official storyline

marvel hire me to draw professor x and magneto making out sloppy style for forty issues straight you will get a BAJILLION dollars i promise

[stormyoceans]

(i'm afraid it's me again, the au genre anon. i loved your answer abt the regency we are au so much i had to write a little something based on what you said. it's nothing worth posting on ao3 and i don't think i can write further, but i had to share it since you were so inspiring!! i hope it's not annoying of me.)

//FIRST IMPRESSIONS//

After dodging several eager Mamas throwing their eligible offspring at him, Phum found Fang hiding in the back, pretending to examine some unremarkable painting as if it contained the secrets of the universe.

“Will you tell me finally what is the matter with you?” Phum demanded, doing his best to keep his voice from floating over the happy crowd of assembly-goers. But after watching his brother mingle with the noble and common families, all with a false smile and a tightness around his eyes, Phum had neared the end of his patience. Fang might be able to fool most people with his charm and good looks, but Phum knew something had deeply upset his brother since almost the moment they’d stepped foot in the assembly hall.

“Nothing’s wrong,” said Fang through a smile arranged as perfectly as his cravat. “Aside from me feeling somewhat over-warm. I didn’t expect it to be so crowded in here. Why are you wasting your time here with me? Go, dance! Try to have fun – though I know how loathe you are to do so.”

Phum rolled his eyes. As if this blatant attempt at distraction could work on him so easily! Fang pointedly turned away, going back to the painting he’d been using as a cover for his brooding. Apparently, the assembly hall patrons had had the idea to display artwork throughout the rooms to liven the evening, which Phum thought was an immensely silly contrivance. People didn’t come to these balls and assemblies and gatherings to enjoy art. They came to hunt for spouses, to brag about their houses or carriages or fashionable coats and dresses, and to get away from their families for a night. It was all part of an elaborate game that everyone had been playing for years and where Phum had, as always, stood on the outside looking in.

It was why he felt almost sorry for the artists themselves, who'd been invited to attend tonight's assembly. Almost being key. They were a small group, floating around the assembly, looking uncomfortable and keeping to themselves. Poor fools must be intimidated by the vicious Marriage Mart. Lady Fai, Fang’s fiancee, clearly felt sorry for them. Phum had spotted her chatting with a few of the painters earlier, her bright cheer putting everyone around her at ease. He wished she’d forget about them and pay more attention to Fang, who needed her more right now.

A nudge at his elbow startled Phum, and he realized he’d been glaring at the painting before him. It was Fang, staring at him curiously.

“Rather remarkable piece of art, don’t you think?” Fang asked.

“I don’t want to talk about the damn art,” Phum said crossly. “I’m here to find out why you’ve been upset this whole evening. Did somebody say anything to you? Do I need to second you in another duel at dawn?”

Fang smiled beatifically. “Beautiful brushwork.”

Phum made a harsh noise of frustration. He glanced once again at the painting, which he didn’t think he’d seen properly the whole time he’d been looking at it. It was just a seascape, nothing special, and he refused to examine it further. “Why you waste your time in front of this particular painting, I can’t understand. Do you really expect me to believe you’re so enamored of this trite, dull piece of art that you’ll stay here the whole time? As if anybody put any sort of real thought into this aside from ‘la, I suppose I’ll draw a pretty little sea and get to go to the ball!’ Please, brother!”

Fang’s unimpressed stare changed into a look of utter horror so sharply that Phum became uneasy. When the voice cut in behind him, the shock felt like he’d plunged into the cold waters of the painting.

“I assure you, I didn’t drag your brother in front of my painting.”

Phum whirled around – and came face-to-face with the most handsome man he’d seen in his life. Feline dark eyes set in a fine-boned face glared at him, then cut away. Phum was forced to step aside as the stranger walked past him to address Fang, ignoring Phum with the grace of a knife.

“Ah, it’s Peem, yes?” Fang said hastily, summoning his smoothest smile. “You seem to have come upon me teasing my brother most frightfully. The fault is entirely mine, I’m afraid. Is this your painting? I had heard from… from others that you were most talented. You must tell me more about this particular piece.”

Oh. Oh, no. Phum inhaled sharply and audibly. The strange man – Peem – shot him a disdainful glance, then turned back to Fang with a jagged smile.

“I wouldn’t dream of wasting your time further, my lord, with my meager thoughts,” said Peem. “You must have heard of me from my friend, Tan. He mentioned to me that you both had a prior acquaintance from town. I must say, from what I heard tell, I believed you to keep more gentlemanly company than present.”

His words dripped like honeyed poison. Without another look in Phum’s direction, as if he’d already gained an estimate of Phum and found him unworthy of further consideration, Peem bowed and marched off.

Fang had gone pale and his hands were trembling slightly. But Phum couldn’t focus on anything besides his own nausea and racing heart. What had he just done?

‘I must go after him and apologize,’ said a small voice inside Phum’s head, quiet and ashamed. Then he felt a rush of anger, the anger of being humiliated, of being so thoroughly misunderstood and cast aside. Cast aside if Phum was nothing.

“Well,” said Phum coldly, hearing himself as if from a distance. “It appears my small misstep has offended that young man. He could have waited for my apology instead of trying to humiliate me in front of this crowd. Don’t be too furious with him, brother. I hope it doesn’t get back to your friend. Who is Tan, anyway? You’ve never mentioned him before.”

There was a beat of silence. And then:

“No one,” said Fang softly. “He’s no one at all.”

SCREAMING AND HOWLING AND YELLING AND SHOUTING AND SHRIEKING AND SCREECHING AND RUNNING LAPS ON THE CEILING WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY SPINNING COUNTERCLOCKWISE ON THE FLOOR FOAMING AT THE MOUTH AND ENGAGING IN FITS OF FEMALE HYSTERIA

I RESPECTFULLY BUT FIRMLY VERY MUCH DISAGREE ON THIS NOT BEING WORTH OF BEING POSTED ON AO3 ANON THIS IS SOSOSOS OSOSSO SOOOOOOOOOOOOO PERFECT OH MY GODDDDDDDSDSJKGSF

im not good with coherent comments and there are SO MANY GOOD PARTS in this that im not quite sure where to start but i love love LOVE your phum's voice, you were able to capture him so well!!!!!! his thoughts about the ball!!!!!! the way he knows that something's off with fang!!!!!! how he ends up being so harsh with his words about peem's painting partly because of the frustration he feels at fang avoiding his questions!!!!!! his first instinct being to apologize to peem right away but then getting angry at being so unfairly treated!!!!!! and then there's peem with his cutting politeness and graceful disapproval!!!!!! and fang with his quiet yearning and pain and regret still trying to shield phum from reproach!!!!!!

Lady Fai, Fang’s fiancee, clearly felt sorry for them. Phum had spotted her chatting with a few of the painters earlier, her bright cheer putting everyone around her at ease. <<< I LOVE THIS DETAIL OF FAI TALKING WITH PEEM AND THE OTHERS!!!!!!!! they're gonna be friends!!!!!!!!!

“Did somebody say anything to you? Do I need to second you in another duel at dawn?” <<< PHUM HAVING TO BE FANG'S SECOND IN A DUEL LITERALLY THE MOST IN-CHARACTER THING EVER

“Is this your painting? I had heard from… from others that you were most talented.” <<< fang not wanting to give away the fact that he knows tan but also FANG NOT BEING ABLE TO EVEN SPEAK TAN'S NAME OUT LOUD!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“No one,” said Fang softly. “He’s no one at all.” <<< WHAT IF I WALKED INTO TRAFFIC

........anyway. sorry i kinda got carried away with this ;;;;;;; i know you said you probably can't write further anon, but if you ever feel inspired to do so JUST PLEASE KNOW I WOULD ABSOLUTELY LOVE TO GET MORE OF IT!!!!!!!!! AND IN THE MEAN TIME THANK YOU SOSOSOSO MUCH FOR SHARING THIS!!!!!!!!!!

[ahundredtimesover]

Hi 👋🏽 I’ll be going on an indefinite break that may (or may not) be for good.

Writing fanfiction was an escape for me these past 2 years. It was a way to express my love for the tannies in how I wrote them as comfort characters, and it was a way for me to make sense of my own experiences and emotions. These fics have always been very personal, with a bit of me in every OC, my pains reflected in their stories, and words I wish someone told me growing up expressed in the dialogues. And I’ll always be so thankful that many of you related with them, found meaning in them, and found comfort in them. That will always be my favorite part 💜💜 stories are so powerful! They’ve allowed me to connect with so many people and make memories in this (mostly) lovely part of the site.

But the process of writing has also been draining, not as cathartic as it used to be, and not as fulfilling. So much as I find myself going back and forth with the numerous stories in my drafts, I can’t bring myself to continue with them. Not anytime soon, at least. Maybe one day the itch to write will be so intense, or JJK1/KTH1 drops and I’ll lose my shit (Untitled and Belong were born out of Indigo and D-day after all), or after rereading my stories, I’ll miss writing so much. The thing is, I’ve never loved BTS as much as I do right now; perhaps I’m content with screaming about that love to myself in the meantime.

I’ll be lurking around here, maybe pop in every once in a while (so plagiarists, keep off my work, pls). My stories will remain here as your comfort 😌 and I’ll do my best to put out the PLM drabbles I promised! Other than that, all the stories are complete for you to enjoy (sorry to those waiting on TLA 😔 I hate that I’m unable to continue). I also have Twitter (jmimi_mi). I’m also just a lurker but say hi if you want! 😊 we can talk bts and fics and whatnot over there (I’ll try, I promise).

Please give love to the authors who are still lovingly putting out work for the community! 🥰

[zepskies]

Ahaha I had a feeling all Dean girls would connect with that part. 😘

She had to get caught, right? For the ✨drama.✨ 😝 And of course Dean didn't take it well. He's over here trying to make sure she doesn't find about more about him, and more specifically about the supernatural, and she's over here uncovering ALL the secrets (not just invading his privacy). 😅

Yes I had to make sure you guys knew I didn't actually write those excerpts, but thank you so much for saying they were woven in well into the fabric of the story. I really appreciate that! 🥹🥹 Honestly I thinks it's amazing that you teared up a bit at that part! A lot of that is just the weight of John's words. Kudos to whoever wrote that "merch" lol. Because reading them gave me those same feels, so I tried my best to make sure they had weight here with how the reader reacted to them. 💕

I had a feeling those quiet moments wouldn’t last before the drama kicked in, but that moment felt so pivotal, like a real turning point in them opening up to each other even more. Brilliant chapter! 💕

Ooh yeah, the quiet couldn't last forever. 😅 I'm so glad it felt like a pivotal moment though!! This really is a turning point for them in their relationship moving forward, and you'll see how that unveils itself in Part 3. Thank you so much, friend!! 🥹💓💓

Against the Wind - Part 2

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: Thank you guys so much for all the amazing feedback on Part 1! Now, most of your theories and questions will be answered...

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates @jacklesversebingo

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.8K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, and peril, the other kind of "hunting."

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 2: Seems Like Yesterday

“I’ll raise you 25,” you say, tossing five chocolate covered pretzels into the middle pile. It’s a risky bet, considering how much you lost in the last hand. Dean regards you with an amused, if critical eye while he holds his cards.

“Ooh, you’re bluffing,” he says. You pop your brows at him, a subtle smile tugging at your lips.

“You want to test that theory? Put your money where your mouth is,” you challenge.

He tilts his head at you with a raise of his own brows.

“Cheeky omega,” he mutters. His attention returns to his cards as he deliberates on his next move.

You attempt to be nonchalant as you glance down at your cards again. It’s a shitty hand, but he doesn’t need to know that. The alpha’s won the last two hands of Texas Hold ‘Em, but you did win the first one. Though you suspect he let you win.

You want to at least even the score before he resumes his work out in the shed. He spends most of his time there during the day, or making sure the firewood is stocked. It seems like he takes any excuse not to spend too much time in your presence.

More than anything, you want to ask him if he feels what you feel—the same tug in the pit of your stomach every time he’s nearby. You just haven’t found a way to broach that with him.

Hey, I know we just met like two minutes ago, but I think we’re supposed to be together. Do you feel it too?

You nearly roll your eyes at yourself. Yeah, that’ll go over well.

So you have to be content with mornings like this and in the evenings, where he lets you put on one of his records, and you two share dinner together, maybe another round of cards. Or you’ll read a book while lounging on the chaise, and he lays out on the couch, listening to his music with his eyes closed. You like watching him like that, with a relaxed, damn near peaceful set to his face.

Too often he holds that harder, stoic expression, or that divot between his brows that makes you want to soothe two of your fingers there; or better yet, lean in and press your lips—

“It’s your move,” Dean reminds you. He’s finally played his hand, but you were too distracted to hear what he said.

“What’d you do?” you ask, surveying the piles of cards.

“Call,” he repeats, popping a few pretzels into his mouth. He washes it down with beer and more barbeque chips. Those are worth $10 in this little fantasy betting. He points a finger towards you with the same hand that holds his beer, teasing, “You got all the lights on in there? Or am I boring you?”

You glance up at him, fighting a smile. “All right, keep your pants on. Let me see…”

As the dealer, he’s already turned over the River: the last card in the hand. It’s a 10 of Clubs, which means your One Pair is actually a Two Pair. It’s still not a great hand, but it’s decent enough to maybe let you get the best of your opponent.

After you go “all in,” Dean’s lips twitch at a smile, and he humors you, going all in as well. You’re on tenterhooks when he finally reveals his hand.

“Ooh, it ain’t a cheesy ‘90s sitcom, but it’s still…a Full House,” he brags as he lays out each card in a smooth line of overlapping cards, the mix of glossy red diamonds and black spades showing the truth. He won again.

You huff in defeat, your shoulders sinking in your seat at the kitchen table. You turn over your measly hand. Sweeping the winnings toward himself (a mound of chocolate covered pretzels, a stack of barbecue chips, and a handful of Oreos), Dean chuckles and tosses you a wink.

“Ah, don’t beat yourself up, sweetheart. I’ve been hustlin’ poker for a long time. Hell, I’ve been playing this game before I even knew my times tables,” he says as he collects the cards.

“That young?” you reply. “Who taught you?”

“My dad,” he says. “Oh, believe me, I used to get my ass kicked many a’ time, but by the time I turned sixteen, I was hustlin’ grown ass men in skeevy bars out of their daily paycheck.”

“You were hanging out in bars at sixteen?” you ask incredulously. There, Dean seems to realize he’s said too much. He becomes more guarded as he puts away the deck and cleans the crumbs off the table.

“My dad was always working. You could say I didn’t really have a curfew,” he says.

“A latchkey kid, huh?” you reply, hiding the way you’re trying so hard to glean any more hints of truth between his words.

“Heh, yeah.” He gets up from the table and tosses the breakfast dishes in the sink, then travels to the front door to don his jacket and boots.

“All right, I’ll be out back,” he says.

Out back, code for out in the shed. You nod, and in a flash, he’s shutting the door behind him.

You’ve learned another small tidbit about him, one that feels more important than it seems on the surface. And yet, it only elicits more questions you doubt he’ll be willing to answer so easily. He’s more than tight-lipped about his past, only giving vague outlines and general pictures.

Even his stories—like being raised up in a family of traveling mechanics, putting Nair in Sam’s shampoo when he was a kid, or the guy’s serious fear of clowns—feel like they’re missing some key details.

You decide to take up your crutches and head for your room. There you unearth the journal from its hiding place under your pillow. This time, you turn to the very beginning. Before all the jargon about mythology (and an odd footnote about a “Turducken Slammer”), there are actual journal entries. The first one dates back to November 6, 1983. The first line already captures your attention.

I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don’t believe it. Last week we were a normal family…eating dinner, going to Dean’s T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy. But in an instant, it all changed… When I try to think back, get it all straight in my head…I feel like I’m going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out. I’m wandering around, alone and lost and I can’t do anything.

This is Dean’s father, you realize. The more that you read, with no small amount of dismay, you also realize that this man is writing about his wife, Mary.

Dean’s mom…

He writes about their house burning with all their memories inside, along with Mary. Somehow, he saw her pinned bloody to the ceiling.

Along with these pages is a clipping from a news story:

House Fire Kills Mother of Two

Lawrence, Kansas.

You’re spellbound by it all. You keep reading.

November 13, 1983

…Most of our clothes and photos are ruined, even our safe—the safe with Mary’s old diaries, the boys’ savings bonds, what little jewelry we had…all gone. How could my house, my whole life, go up like that, so fast, so hot? How could my wife just burn up and disappear?

The police don’t believe his story, about how she died before the fire, about what he saw. So he tries to convince himself that what he saw wasn’t real. Still, he can’t find rest, and he worries about his sons’ safety.

December 4, 1983

I haven’t let them out of my sight since the fire. Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side—or from his brother.

Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he’s trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night.

Sammy cries a lot, wanting his mom. I don’t know how to stop it, and part of me doesn’t want to. It breaks my heart to think that soon he won’t remember her at all.

You don’t realize you’re crying until a droplet lands on the page. You quickly wipe it away before it becomes a stain, and you dry it all the way with your breath before you move on to the next page, sniffling. Your heart hurts, even as your guilt grows. You know now that you’re really, truly invading Dean’s privacy by reading his father’s words. You just can’t stop yourself from turning the next page.

John becomes convinced that someone, or something, started the fire that destroyed his life and took his wife away from him and his sons. He leaves his job and the remnants of that world behind, to venture deeper into the darker one. But in that darkness, he finds truth.

He visits a psychic, Missouri, who leads him back to his house and senses the echoes of an evil presence—something that shakes her to the core, and John too: the creature that killed his wife.

December 20

…She told me that it was the most powerful, awful thing she’s ever come across.

On January 1, 1984, John makes a New Year’s resolution. He determines to find the answers himself.

A shiver runs down your spine. In John’s words, your heart breaks for Dean, but you also see yourself. You try not to think about why.

You keep flipping through the rest of the journal past January. There are translations of a Latin exorcism, and like you read before, strange drawing of evil looking creatures—as well as what they are, scraps of their history, and how to kill them.

Silver bullet to the heart, can’t withstand iron, salt and burn.

You pause on a certain page, more filled with lore than the rest, and a primitive drawing in the center.

WENDIGO

Cree: Evil that devours.

Wood spirit. Eats live flesh. Lives in forests.

Perfect hunter.

Your breath stills in your lungs as a cold sweat forms across your skin. The more you read, the faster your heart beats.

The crunch of dead leaves. Your father shouting at you to run, and keep running.

The coarse shout of a bear morphs into something other. It’s a sharper, whirring sound like wind howling amidst animalistic clicking, and then bones breaking—your father’s scream cut short. You turn around with your rifle in hand, poised to shoot blindly.

Your stomach churns as bile rises into your throat. You feel sick, and wrong, and you suddenly have the urge to throw the journal against the wall.

“Omega?” calls Dean’s sharp voice. “You okay?”

You jolt badly at the sudden noise. You didn’t hear him reenter the house. He likely caught the scent of your distress. He pushes the door of your room open to find you, but he stops short in the doorway. His surprise quickly morphs into a frown when he notices what you’re holding in your lap.

You gasp, freezing where you sit, but there’s no point in trying to cover up what you’ve done. With an angry purse of his lips, he reaches over and takes the journal from your hands.

“What the hell are you doing with this?” he demands.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I just—” You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I was just curious. I wanted to know more about you. I thought it was…a normal journal.”

“So this is how you go about it, huh? Got everything you wanted, Columbo?” he says, his sarcasm cutting into you. He flips through the journal to make sure all the pages are intact before he tucks the journal under his arm. “Seriously, going into somebody’s stuff? Who the hell raised you?”

At that, you begin to bristle.

“My dad,” you snap back. Though remembering the passages you’ve lived with for the past few hours, you soften with a painful twinge of sympathy in your heart. 

“And it looks like yours raised you to be some kind of…well, what are you, a ghostbuster or something?” you ask.

His jaw locks. “Or something.” 

With an exasperated sigh at his hedging, you swing your legs around the edge of the bed and haul yourself up with your crutches so you can at least match his stance (more or less).

“Dean, please, just talk to me,” you implore, gesturing at the journal tucked under his arm. “The things I read—”

“Are none of your goddamn business!” he growls, making the omega inside you cringe. The alpha’s voice is deep and sharp, and even though he isn’t crowding you, his height and broadness are still intimidating.

“The sooner you heal up, the sooner I can ship you back to where you belong,” he says. “Back to your life, so you can stop sticking your nose into mine.” 

Your mouth actually falls open in shock. His vehement words feel almost as powerful as a physical blow, if to your soul. They make your arms tremble while holding yourself upright on your crutches. Hot tears well up in your eyes, though you try to blink them away. After a moment, you’re able to collect yourself enough to speak.

“I’m sorry for going through your stuff,” you say, in a quiet voice.

You hobble awkwardly past him out of the room. You don’t stop until you reach the front door, where your snow boots are. You manage to get them on by yourself so you can go outside and get some fresh air, not to mention some much needed distance from the alpha’s burning presence. You can still feel him trailing behind you. You hear his heavy boots.

“Where the hell are you going?” he grits out.

You hobble faster.

Dean watches you go out the door without a word in irritation, even though it triggers an alarm deep in his gut every time you leave the safety of the cabin. 

The snow depth has lightened somewhat since the storm, but it’s still not easy to navigate on your crutches. You get some distance from the cabin, mindful not to go too far. You know you’re limited, and you didn’t even take a gun with you.

Finding a solid tree to lean on, you rest there and try in vain to stifle your tears. You know you were wrong for snooping, and he had a right to be mad, but did he really have to be such a freakin’ bear? 

Fucking alphas. I swear.

You thought you were starting to connect with him, but clearly, Dean wants nothing to do with you. He wants you out of his life. 

Does he not feel the same pull you feel to him? Does he really not realize…that he’s meant to be your mate?

You take in a shaky breath through your nose. If he does, apparently he doesn’t care.

Just then, you hear the crunch of snow nearby. Twigs snapping.

Your body stiffens with a terrible memory—of that day in the woods. Your breath comes out in short puffs on the cold air, your eyes wide as you listen closely.

Hearing nothing, you allow yourself to breathe a little easier. You venture a few paces forward and to the right, but you stop shy of how it slopes downward. Some unnamed feeling tells you to look over the edge.

You lean over and cast your gaze down the slope, but all you see is snow and trees down below. With a shaky breath, you lean back and look out to the north again. Plodding along the trail, heading towards you, is a bear.

Oh shit…

You remember Dean mentioning something about a bear passing by his cabin a couple of days before the storm. Looks like he’s back to make his rounds.

His fur is dark; from this distance, you can’t tell if it’s a black bear or a grizzly. It doesn’t make much difference when all you have on your person is a can of bear spray. His gait is massive, unhurried, but he lets out a braying sound when your gaze meets his, as if acknowledging you. He stops there for a moment, assessing. Your body locks up with fear.

The bear groans again, this time sharper. You finally snap out of your reverie and force your body to move slowly backward with your crutches spearing into the snow. The cabin isn’t that far, maybe thirty or forty yards at most. Still, the bear can probably beat you.

Instead of trying to run, you stand your ground and shout at the bear, hoping he’ll back off. Your voice dies in your throat when he rears up on his hind legs, with a loud roar. Trembling, you miss a step and get knocked back into the snow on your ass, your crunches falling out at your sides. You scramble inside your jacket for anything that might help you. 

Bear spray!

You hurry to get the cap off with shaking hands, but before you can even aim, the creature’s heave paws thudding into the ground in front of you—a gunshot rings out and hits the animal in the chest. 

The bear falters, then roars in pain and anger.

Two more shots finally bring it down to an even heavier thud, not far from your feet.

In this moment, these are the things you don’t know about Dean Winchester:

For one, the scent of an omega in distress always calls to an alpha’s protective instincts. But the scent of your abject fear feels like someone tried to rip his lungs out through his stomach.

Second, when he sees you there, your wide, shiny eyes filled with the remnants of panic, yet relief at the sight of him, it takes everything within him not to drop to his knees, grab you by the hair, sink his teeth into your neck and claim you, right there in the snow. Maybe then you’d start listening to him and stop taking your life into your hands.

Instead, his lips purse as he wracks his rifle and slings the strap of it over his shoulder. He stalks toward you and scoops you up, crutches and all. He brings you back to the cabin without a word.

His jaw is once again locked with silence and strain; he doesn’t trust himself to speak until he’s brought you inside and carried you over to the chaise. He sits beside you there and takes an inventory of you with his eyes.

“You okay?” he asks at last.

You manage to meet his gaze and give a little nod.

“Okay. Don’t move,” he says shortly. He gets up and goes to the kitchen, where he grabs a foldable set of knives and a cooler from under the sink.

You watch him in silence, and you realize he’s going back to gut the bear. You didn’t know that he actually hunted out here…well, hunted to eat. He continues to gather items in silence. It gets to a point where you can’t stand it, or his curtness, any longer.

“Thank you,” you say, halting his steps. Dean glances at you over his shoulder, then continues strapping up his supplies. He huffs in response.

“We’re gonna be eatin’ good for a while,” he says without looking at you. 

His attitude both hurts you and aggravates you, so much that you refuse to take it anymore. 

“Look, Dean. I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have butted into your life,” you say. Frustrated tears well up in your eyes. Expelling a sharp sigh, you amend yourself. “I’m sorry for invading your privacy. I’m sorry about what you went through, and I’m…I’m sorry about your mom. I’m sorry for today. I’ll just…stay out of your way, and I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

Dean finally turns your way, but your lips tremble as you turn your face away from him and shut your eyes tightly against the salty burn of tears. Deep inside, his heart withers in his chest. He sighs and drops his supplies on the couch. He walks over with those heavy boots, and he sits on the edge of the chaise beside you. He hesitates for a moment, but eventually, he rests a warm, calloused hand on your arm and earns your tearful gaze. 

“I’m sorry. I, uh…shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he says. 

You sniff, quickly wiping away your embarrassing tears as they come. Your cheeks are hot with it.

“What is it you wanna know? About me,” he asks, surprising you that much more.

 Your mouth parts, but nothing comes out. It takes you some time to think, but the first thing that comes to your mind is…

“Everything in that journal,” you say, licking your dry lips. “Is it real?”

Dean holds your gaze steadily. You know the truth without him having to say it, but he does.

“I was a hunter,” he says. “Those things you read about, I found ‘em. Killed ‘em. It was my job.”

“And now?” you ask, once that large bit of information has time to set into your brain.

His lips tug at a half smile. “Consider me…mostly retired.”

You exhale softly, and you nod. It earns a furrowed look from Dean.

“You don’t seem all that freaked out by this,” he says, with a more scrutinizing gaze on you.

“Should I be?” you say, with an unsteady laugh.

He raises his brows. “In my experience, yeah.”

You chew on the inside of your lip. You don’t know if you should even put into words what you’ve been holding onto for months. Like John, no one believed you. Even your own mother had started to look at you like you needed a shrink.

“Omega?” Dean presses. His green eyes are perceptive as they take in the conflicted look on your face. “There something you wanna tell me?”

You deliberate for a moment longer. Then, you release a sigh and glance down at your hands clenching in your lap.

“A few months ago, I lost my dad,” you begin.

Dean nods. “Yeah, you said—”

“I lost him in these woods,” you say.

That quiets the alpha.

You shake your head, and you find your words as the memories that have been haunting your nights return to you.

“Like I said, we used to go hiking here every year…”

AN: Just so you know, all of the journal entries appear in the official "John's Journal" SPN merch. 😉

Next Time:

Unease prickles down your spine, though you don’t know why.

“Dad?” you whisper-yell, trying not to spook whatever animal might be out there.

A gunshot rings out, along with your dad’s voice in a shout. Your eyes widen in alarm, and you call his name louder, taking off in a run to find him.

You end up rising over a hill you hadn’t crossed before, but you see your dad below; you recognize his bright blue puffer jacket that Mom got him for his birthday. You call his name, and he looks up at you with fear in his eyes.

Not for himself, but for you.

▶️ Keep Reading: Part 3

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[viperfizz]

I can’t stop imagining a scene in your mermaid AU where Xara waves Ellie over. Ellie walks closer and crouches near the water, unsure of what to expect. And Xara proceeds to reach into the murky water in front of her and pull out the silliest little brindled madtom catfish ever and hold it up to Ellie like “look at what I have!”

awww absolutely!! mer!xara likes to show off her prized possessions to ellie. it’s her odd way of showing affection and building trust. and she also just never gets to show people anything she finds bc she never interacts with any humans so it’s very exciting when she meets ellie!

mavis is one of those prized possessions

truth be told if mavis was a catfish in this au xara might just eat her the first time she encounters her. she’s a wild animal after all. she eats fish 🤷 though i do love the idea of her being like “i like this one i’ll let it live”

however i am debating on how i wanna approach the concept of xara being able to transform herself and walk on land. so if i did ever incorporate mavis somehow, she might just be the same lil tortoiseshell cat that she is in the normal xaragaard au. that way she would have a better chance of being spared (again, xara is still a wild animal. she would probably have the temptation to strike, but would hold back cause wait a minute this creature isn’t familiar to my diet and it’s kinda cute)

xara might find a boat nearby with the name “mavis” on it and think you know what this slaps actually

i might just not have mavis involved in this au though cause it breaks my heart thinking about xara seeing her sweet baby as potential prey. maybe she’ll have a cameo appearance instead :)

[dragonsdomain]

Out of Office, chapter 7

AO3

Chapter 6

"Who's gonna be the one to explain to Linda why all three of her guests are now senseless on the couch?" Oliver asked.

He and Joy were now standing as spirits several feet from each of their bodies. While Oliver was glad to see that Luke was okay(ish), and the colors were fun (Joy was a pretty shade of blue, and Oliver was green), things were happening fast, and there were a lot of parts of the situation that still needed to be worried about.

"Please don't tell her the truth about it all," Sean asked, blowing on his fingers after making two extra guardian flowers in a row. "It was hard for her to find closure after I died, and I don't want her having to worry about me still being around."

Joy raised an eyebrow. "No wonder you and Eugene are friends... uh, fine. Okay. We'll come up with a lie of some kind. Eugene might have to be the one to tell her though. Eugene? Do you think you could tell her we had a long day or something and were super tired?"

Eugene was curled up on the couch, half in his body. "Uhuh," he wheezed, struggling to keep his eyes open.

Oliver turned back to Luke. "Okay, so. Evil ghost monster kidnapped a ghost friend and now we have to go save her."

"Because if we don't, Eugene will try to, which in his current state would be really dumb and end badly," Joy added.

Eugene grumbled something from the couch.

"You can't just go after that thing unarmed," Sean said nervously. "Eugene, did you happen to bring any of the Office's ghost artifacts?"

Eugene wordlessly dug in his pockets and pulled out a black fan, a lock of dark hair looped in a knot, and a cloth hat of some kind.

Sean floated over and took them from him. "Thanks, Eugene. We'll be sure to keep them safe. You can sleep now, if you want."

Eugene glared and stubbornly kept sitting upright.

"What are those?" Luke asked, walking over.

"Some ghosts (usually strong ones) have items from their life that gain power after they die. They can do a number of things," Sean explained. "This fan can seal hostile ghosts in it and also be used as a weapon in a pinch. The hair can be used to trap and entangle ghosts, or fling them, if you want. This hat lets you talk to cats. Not sure how useful that'll be, but we have it."

Oliver blinked. "Wait... what about a crucifix? A crucifix with the power to ward ghosts?"

Sean tilted his head. "I mean, I guess that's an example of an artifact somebody could have."

Oliver put his hands out. "You guys. My grandmother's crucifix. She loved that thing. Luke got yeeted out of his body by my grandmother's magic ghost-warding crucifix."

"Oh yeah," Joy said, pressing her lips together. "That, or any number of the other anti-ghost things you brought."

"Oh, uh, oops." Oliver smiled apologetically at Luke.

Luke waved his comment off. "It's fine, you didn't know. Could that crucifix maybe be useful for fighting the monster, though?"

"Er, seems like it would be a problem that we can't get to it in ghost form," Oliver said. "And then in human form we wouldn't be able to see the monster."

"Good point," Joy said.

Luke took the fan. "So the plan is to seal the ghost in here at the end?"

Joy took the lock of hair. "But first we have to weaken it and make sure we get Charlie out of there safely."

Oliver took the hat. "...With cats?"

Sean shrugged. "I guess? Joan's gun probably would've been more useful." Oliver whispered ghost gun under his breath as Sean turned to Eugene and asked, "Eugene? You didn't happen to bring Joan's cane too, did you?"

Eugene blinked, looking barely awake. "Uh... no, it didn't feel right with her in it."

"Oh, okay," Sean said. Why is she in the ghost gun Oliver whispered under his breath, and no one deigned to answer.

The four of them started heading towards the staircase down to the front door. Eugene started to push himself up to follow them, but Sean gently pushed him back down.

The four of them walked to the front door, and Luke tentatively pushed it open. "Oh, huh. Somehow I thought the ghost we're chasing would be easy to see from here?"

"Drat. How are we supposed to find it now?" Joy grimaced.

Oliver grinned, pulling the hat onto his head. "Cats."

...

Charlie's house was old and creaky, full of dust, like no one had lived in it for a long time. Her father's ancestors had lived in this house for generations, and with each of them that died inside of it, more of the house died as well.

Quite a few pieces of Charlie had died here too. She remembered the day her father had torn up her first paper doll because he'd caught her playing with it instead of studying for a test. She remembered the day her cat had gone missing, and the day a week later when she'd found its body rotting in a shallow grave with a gunshot wound in its side. She didn't remember the first day she saw her father hitting her mother, but she remembered the first day he'd hit her.

She vaguely remembered a time when she'd been young and hopeful. When she had rose-tinted dreams for the future. When she'd been happy. But those parts of herself had died, and their unreachable memory haunted the manor along with all the other ghosts.

There were many rooms in the house, but the older Charlie got, the fewer of them she ever went in, until in her last year she only traveled through the few that lead in a direct path from her bedroom, to the kitchen, to the front door.

Now she was in her bedroom again, wondering why she'd killed her father.

She knew why, of course. She'd... resented him for a while. "Hated him", she would've said, but somehow that didn't quite fit, even though she felt like she ought to hate him, deserved to. If she truly hated him, Would she have felt so guilty for having killed him? But now she felt ashamed. Her hands were covered in blood; it wasn’t wet anymore, but she couldn’t wash it off. It would be with her forever.

However long her route through the house usually was, it was now very short. She was grounded, never to leave the house, never to leave her room.

She was so alone, but it was what she deserved.

“Charlie?” a voice called, and she flinched before realizing it wasn’t her father’s voice. Not her mother’s either.

Charlie looked up toward her bedroom window (no light came through it). Mike was there, peeking in at her. “Could you let me in?” he asked, tapping the glass.

Charlie hesitated, not wanting to involve him, but eventually decided to go ahead and listen to him for once. She stood from her bed, then reached up and unlatched the window.

Mike pushed it open and climbed inside the room with her. He grinned. “It’s really you! It’s great to see you again, finally.”

Charlie felt confused for a minute. Somehow she felt like they hadn’t seen each other for years, but he hadn’t aged. He looked exactly the same as when she’d last seen him. Except…

“What are you doing here?” Mike asked, walking around. “Is this your bedroom? From when we were kids?”

“I’m grounded,” Charlie said.

“I thought your dad was… um… not around anymore?”

“He came back to haunt me,” Charlie said blankly, dropping back down onto her bed. “To make me face what I did. To give me what I deserve.”

“What did you do?” Mike said, sitting down beside her.

Charlie’s head sunk. “You know what I did.”

“No, I don’t. Are you talking about this?”

Charlie looked up, and Mike was pointing at the scar over his eye.

She glared at him, tearing up. “Of course, I should’ve known. Are you here to haunt me too?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, I’m not. I’m not mad. Well, I might’ve been, a little, when it first happened. But it’s been years. I’ve moved on. You should too.”

Mike was older than Charlie was. He’d kept on growing while she stayed the same. He looked like he might be somewhere in his twenties now, and the gash over his eye was long-scarred over, fully healed. But she was still in her worst year of high school, wearing her rumpled uniform with dotted with unwashed blood.

Charlie let her head drop. “You’re an idiot. I can’t move on. I can’t forget it. I can’t ignore it. I can’t keep it secret. I tried to move on and be better, but I can’t stop messing up and hurting people. Eugene’s ghost friends are all gone ‘cause I couldn’t keep my stupid mouth shut, ‘cause I couldn’t stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. And my past has caught up to me too, ‘cause it knows I don’t deserve to have people around me who don’t know what I did.”

“Oh, come on.” Mike folded his arms. “If running away from it is such a bad idea, then say it out loud. What did you do?”

Charlie snapped at him. “I murdered my father!”

Mike flinched, but he didn’t look surprised. “Yeah. That’s it.”

Charlie sagged. “Why’d you make me say it?”

“Why’d you do it?” Mike countered.

Charlie glared at him, then looked back down. “I was angry. And… scared.”

Mike nodded. “Yeah. Okay. That checks out. So do you regret it?”

The room was silent for a minute. “I don’t know,” Charlie responded.

“I think you do,” Mike said, “if it’s been a decade, and you’re still beating yourself up over it.”

“So that’s it then,” Charlie said, resigned. “I deserve this. I am a monster.”

“Ugh, no you don’t. That’s not what I was saying.” He gave her shoulder a little shake. “Look up at me, Charlie-Charlie.”

She did.

“Yeah, he did a bad thing. A really bad thing. But you were, what? Sixteen? Seventeen? Teens mess up sometimes. I sure know I did, though thankfully not so bad anyone’s dead about it. And also I know you were having a rough home life, and it was kind of obvious you had some mental health issues. Yeah, you messed up, but you wouldn’t do it again. I’ve moved on, your dad’s moved on, so should you.”

Charlie looked up at him incredulously. “My dad hasn’t moved on. Don’t you know where we are?”

“No? Oh wait.” Mike blinked as the gears turned in his head. “Oh, was that big lanky ghost thing your dad? I thought it was you, or, some manifestation of your self-hatred, I guess?” He grinned sheepishly. “I’m honestly a little confused. No one really explained to me what’s going on.”

Charlie stared at him. “Are you the real Mike?”

“Yeah…?”

Charlie dropped her head into her hands, muttering a muffled swear. “I can’t believe I said all that stuff to you. I thought I was just having a heart-to-heart with a dream Mike, from my subconscious or something.”

Mike cackled at her, and she wanted to punch him (affectionately). “That’s so dramatic!”

Charlie glared at him. “Well how did you get here?” she snapped, like she was accusing him of something.

“Well okay, so get this.” Mike splayed his hands out like he was ready to drop a bombshell piece of gossip. “Couple days ago I had this dream where a tall asian-looking dude told me to find ‘Eugene’ at Station 00 and he’d help me talk to you. And I thought, yo, that’s so specific, and I could remember it super clearly when I woke up. So I went and did it, ‘cause I thought it would be funny if something cool actually was there, and also it was a good excuse to go exploring. But there was a guy named Eugene there! Crazy!”

“Ah. Okay then.” Charlie didn’t know how to feel about Boss still messing around near them. Eugene might be happy to hear that? Or not?

“No there’s more. I had another dream today! I mean, it wasn’t really a dream ‘cause it kind of just happened while I was walking along, super weird, I kind of thought I was hallucinating. Maybe I was. I sure hope I’m not crazy. But anyway he told me to go over here, so I did.” Mike stared off into the distance for a second, like he was finally realizing how insane he sounded. “Please believe me.”

“Hey no, I believe you. I know the guy. Weirdo.”

“Okay. Cool.” Mike stood up. “So we’re in your dad’s ghost’s nightmare dimension or something? We should probably get out. Forget what I said about him moving on. Because I still think you should move on. And him too. Talk about holding a grudge. So! Let’s go.”

“I’m grounded,” Charlie said dismally.

“Oh, come on! Now you start listening to your dad?” Mike pumped a fist. “The only one grounding you is yourself!”

Mike grabbed Charlie’s arm and pulled her towards the door. “Come on!”

“Ack! My dad’ll catch us! Can't we just climb out the window?"

“The window actually doesn't lead outside, just to another room of the house, for some reason. We’ll be sneaky! We just need to get out of your house and we’re home free! Probably. I still don’t know how ghost things work.”

Charlie winced. "Okay. We'll try. But if he catches us, you run. I don't want to see you hurt."

...

When they found the ghost monster that'd made off with Charlie, it was hunched over against a wall, like it was meditating. Charlie was not in sight.

"It's sleeping?" Oliver asked. "Do we just suck it up into the fan now?"

Sean waved his hands anxiously. "Wait, no, I don't think that's a good idea. It ran off with Charlie, right? It might have her in its dream."

"Dream?" Luke asked.

"Yeah. Ghosts can go into people's dreams. Or memories. Either way, we can't contain that ghost until we've gotten Charlie safely out." Sean chuckled nervously. "Or, until you guys've gotten her out. I don't know how much help I'd be."

Joy cringed. "We really don't know what we're getting into, and I'm thinking we might need all the help we can get. Plus, the three of us don't know what we're doing. Come with us. Please?"

Sean sagged. "Okay, okay. I'll come."

...

Charlie and Mike rounded another corner, and Charlie felt a growing knot in her stomach tighten. "Something's wrong. I don't remember this many hallways existing before," she whispered.

"Oh, okay. Uhh, maybe we should just keep wandering, hope we find the way out?" Mike whispered back.

"I don't like this," Charlie said. "This is his dream. We'll probably take way longer to find an exit than he'll take to find us."

"Well, if he finds us we run." Mike shrugged. "Simple as that."

"And we'll split up," Charlie said, narrowing her eyes. "So he chases me, not you."

"Sure, sure. I'll run... somewhere. Whatever."

"Ugh, you." Charlie scoffed.

They rounded a corner and found themselves in the dining room. Despite it being next to the kitchen, Charlie hardly ever ate there. The paintings she vaguely remembered being hung on the walls were gone, and she wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"I wonder if there's some kind of clue as to where we should go?" Mike muttered.

Charlie walked around the table, looking at the different doorways they could take. The kitchen she knew was not through any of them. She paused for a second to shake some kind of debris from the carpet off of her foot.

Wait.

Charlie looked down and saw that that debris... was paper. Shreds of colored paper, intricately patterned. She recognized them as being the remains of paper dolls, though couldn't identify which ones. She could see on each shred of paper the clean and deliberate edge where she cut with her scissors, as well as the ragged edges where the dolls were torn apart.

"Mike," she whispered. "Come over here."

Mike came over, and Charlie pointed out the paper. "It's a trail. It leads this way."

"Those remind me of the paper dolls I used to see you making in class. Is that a good sign? Should we follow it?"

Charlie frowned. "It might also be a trail of destruction left by my father's ghost."

"It's our only lead, but... what do you think?"

"I want to follow it," Charlie said with a conviction that surprised her. "Wherever it leads, I want to get there. I want to reach an end."

"Well! That was a really ominous way of saying that. But okay," Mike nodded. "Let's follow the trail."

The two of them headed off, following the trail of shredded paper. Charlie kept her gaze pointing down at the trail as they passed through halls that looked almost the same, rooms that each seemed like several rooms Charlie remembered, yet also neither and none, all missing paintings on the walls, or else housing empty frames, which were equally disconcerting. Charlie started to wonder if the trail had really started in the dining room, or if she'd missed something, and that maybe they were following the trail the wrong way.

The trail came to an end just before a door Charlie knew all too well. The only one besides her bedroom door which she and Mike had found closed. The door to her father's study.

"Why'd we stop?" Mike whispered.

Charlie's hand moved forward, driven by something akin to curiosity, to purpose, laced with dread. She gripped the handle and turned the door. It slowly swung open with a creak that grew louder as it opened wider, before the door finally dropped softly off of its hinges.

The body in the middle of the floor looked old, as did the rest of the room. It was nothing but a skeleton, all its flesh having worn off, with no memory of it but the strange stains weighing down the crusty clothes hanging over that figure. A large splotch of the rug below it was stained a dull brown.

"Charlie?" Mike asked. "What are you looking at?"

Charlie blinked, and the illusion was gone. She was still holding the door handle, unopened.

She let go of the handle and stepped back. "I can't do it."

"I'll get it," Mike said. He took the handle and pulled the door open.

The office was empty. And behind Charlie's father's imposing desk, letting in a stream of cold moonlight, was a large window.

"An escape!" Mike cried, rushing towards the window to undo the latch and pull it open. Cold air puffed into the room. "Charlie-Charlie, come on!"

"Coming, coming," she said, taking one last glance over her shoulder.

Then she froze.

The door had swung closed behind her, and on the back of it was hung a portrait of her father.

"Trying to run away again, Charlie?" the picture said.

Charlie whirled around and vaulted out the window, landing in a run through the snowy ground.

Mike broke into a run beside her. "What's wrong?"

"My father! He's there!"

She took a glance over her shoulder and saw him slowly walking towards her, but gaining on her as though she wasn't moving at all. He looked just as he had been when he was alive, yet as horrible as when he was dead.

Mike slid to a stop and started pitching snowballs at him. "Take that! Ha! Leave her alone!"

Charlie whirled around. "Mike, no!"

Charlie's father came up to Mike, and his hand snapped out, gripping Mike's neck. Mike scrabbled uselessly at the man's hand as he picked him up like he weighed nothing.

"Let him go!" Charlie screamed, swinging a punch at her father's face.

But her scissors were in her hand.

She froze in terror, blade held inches from her father's face, as images of what she'd done to Mike flashed through her head.

Her father chuckled, making no move to stop her. "So you still want to kill me, do you? Well I'll never be dead. I'll haunt you forever. You think you hate me? Imagine how much I hate you. You horrible girl, you ruined everything. Kill me again and see if it makes you feel better! You'll never be free."

Charlie let loose a rage-filled scream and brought her scissors stabbing down on the arm holding onto Mike's neck.

Charlie's father let out a surprised gasp, letting Mike drop to the ground. Mike tried to lunge toward Charlie's father, but Charlie grabbed him and shoved him away. "I told you to RUN!"

Charlie's father slammed into her from the side, shoving her to the ground. Her face was pushed against the snow, and she inhaled it when she tried to breathe and started coughing.

She struggled against her father, but it was like trying to wrestle the sand. She couldn't budge him. He shoved her face down into the snow again and she tried to stay calm and hold her breath. She heard Mike yell and try to shove her father off of her, but she heard him get thrown aside with a deep thud into the snow.

"Got you!" Someone yelled, and Charlie felt the weight on her lift, then be abruptly yanked off of her to the side.

She shoved up off of the ground and gulped in oxygen, then searched around for Mike. He was there, just a few feet away, also pushing up from the snow. He looked dazed, but unhurt.

Charlie looked back towards her saviors and saw Eugene's friends, along with Sean. Joy was roughly slamming Charlie's father up and down onto the snow by the ends of what looked like River's hair. After a minute he lay still on the ground, Luke pulled out Boss' fan, snapped it open, and Charlie's father was sucked in.

Charlie sagged, dropping to the snow in exhaustion, as the cold world faded around her to be replaced with real life. That was it. She was so tired...

...

It was a few days later, and Eugene and Luke, Joy, and Oliver were working together to sweep up broken glass from the office at Station 00. Eugene's station boss had called him out to help with it (Eugene was grateful for any number of work hours after sudden week of unpaid vacation), and his three friends had volunteered to come along and help, to make sure he didn't push himself too hard while still recovering from his ghostly injuries.

Luke picked up a large piece of glass and threw it into a bin. "Did Charlie tell you about how the ghost that kidnapped her was her father, who she'd killed as a teen?"

"Yeah," Eugene said. He was taking a breather at the moment, sitting on a beat-up chair. "Though I already knew beforehand."

"That's messed up," Oliver said, shaking his head as he swept.

"Yeah, it is," Eugene said, resting his chin on his knee. "I'm tired of trying to be hard on people for bad things they've done though. She regrets it, she's doing better. That's enough for me. Turns out a lot of people are less perfect than you'd hope they'd be."

Joy rested her chin on her broom to give Eugene a pointed look. "Does that include not being hard on yourself?"

Eugene sighed. "Yes, I'm sorry. I know I was stupid, I shouldn't have been trying to do everything on my own."

"We can help if you need us," Luke said. "We might not work at the station with you, but now that we're in on your secret, we can help out with ghost stuff."

Eugene frowned. "I'm still kind of peeved you guys went behind my back about that."

Joy put her hands up. "I get it! I'm sorry! I won't do it anymore, I've learned my lesson. Yes. It's my fault, that was invasive and not okay and we should've just talked to you." She rolled her eyes.

Eugene had the feeling she didn't completely regret it, but he was going to let it go. "I appreciate this."

"No problem," said Oliver. "I'm an expert at cleanup stuff."

"I mean..." Eugene looked down sheepishly. "Thanks for. Making sure I didn't get myself killed. For being my friends. And... sticking with me even if it's weird and I wasn't great at being open with you."

Luke walked over and threw a hand around Eugene's shoulders. "Dude, it's cool. Generally speaking, you have a right to your secrets, so long as they're not hurting you. But like you said, nobody's perfect. We still love you."

Eugene smiled, giving Luke a hug back. "Thanks."

...

Charlie stared at the headstone. Her full name was written out on it, her birth date, and the date of her death. A small note about her being a daughter and a friend.

She turned to look at Mike, who was hovering beside her in ghost form. "How did you know I didn't know where my gravestone was?"

Mike chuckled. "I didn't, not really. But I wanted to make sure you knew that you weren't forgotten. I visit it sometimes, like on your birthday. Your mom does too, by the way. She's still around, and she remembers you fondly."

"Wow," Charlie said disbelievingly. "Don't know how she manages that."

Mike punched her in the arm. "C'mon Charlie-Charlie, you gotta stop getting down on yourself."

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Easier said than done." She knelt down beside the tombstone. "It's kind of plain... not sure what I really expected. I didn't think too much about what it might be like. I think I kind of assumed there just wasn't one."

"It's been there this whole time," Mike said softly. "Well... at least you know about it now."

Charlie stood up again and looked at Mike. "Uh..." She rubbed her arm awkwardly. She wasn't sure how to end the interaction. "Thanks. I guess. This was cool of you. Sorry everybody was out of office and it was so hard for you to find me."

"It really wasn't that bad," Mike said. "I'm glad I was here to help when, uh... all that stuff went down."

Charlie slapped her forehead. "I'm so embarrassed."

Mike shrugged, looking amused. "Eh. We all have our cringe moments. You make fun of me for tripping on my shoelaces that one time, I can make fun of you for..." Charlie gave him a death glare, "...actually I'll probably just try not to bring this up."

Charlie looked away. "Well. Nice seeing you again. I guess this is goodbye."

"Well, I mean, it doesn't have to be. I only live like thirty minutes away," Mike said, thumb-pointing vaguely behind himself.

Charlie stared at him.

"What?" Mike asked. "You don't want to be friends with me anymore?"

"No! I mean, I do!" Charlie sighed. "I can't believe this is happening. Don't you want to move on from me? I'm dead."

"Er." Mike held up his hands helplessly. "I mean, from what I understand, you'll only be gone-gone for real once you get over all your angst and pass onto the next life, right? So we can totally still be friends until then."

Charlie looked him over. She still didn't completely believe he was real. The past had haunted her for so long, it seemed weird for something good to finally come out of it, for a friend to come back to her from the worst time of her life.

She spoke softly. "You're really not mad at me?"

"I'm really not."

Charlie relaxed. She smiled. Eugene wasn't mad at her after finding out the truth. Mike wasn't mad at her either. Maybe if they believed she could be better... she really could be. "Okay. Yeah." She looked back up at him. "I guess I'll see you around."

Mike grinned. "Count on it."

[antirepurp]

oh dear jojo ova discussion is threatening to give me grade A stardust crusaders brainrot again. but like i already did a whole-ass rewrite on part3 that incorporates themes from the ova so what the fuck am i even going to do with this ??

[allyheart707]

just read chapter 15 so here’s my thoughts

SO MANY EMOTIONS!!!! CASEY JR SKJBCDSJINCJISDNCDJSICNJICDSNCSDJN ;-; <3 <3 <3

I LOVE HOW WE SAW EVERYONES THOUGHTS ON WHATS GOING ON!!!! SO COOL SO HYPE!!!

I LOVED SEEING MIKEY SO EXCITED IT FELT SO REAL!! Also the fact Donnie calculated the time Leo would contact them is so funny to me he knows his twin well! XD

OVERALL AMAZING CHAPTER!!!! I can’t wait for the next ones! But take your time!! :D

Wait no longer, my dear friend! For I have delivered! >:D

also... I am sorry in advance for the pain this chapter may cause you.