#Burner For Kitchen Aid

[pencil-n-pen]

HANDLE WITH CARE

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hotch x fem! reader

masterlist | kofi

summary: spending the night at aaron’s usually puts you at ease, but not tonight. A broken mug brings up old memories, but he still has a way of soothing away old hurts.

cw: implied/referenced past abuse

a/n: honestly idk i just wanted to write hotch comfort. this has been in my drafts since like day 1 of this acc

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It’s really stupid, in hindsight.

In the moment though, it was really, really scary.

It was late. This is mistake number one.

You were trying to quietly make tea and whatever odd hour it was. You can’t check the oven timer. It just keeps flashing 12:00.

Making tea quietly is hard, though. Every sound seems to echo and all the shadows seem to crawl. You’re this close to closing the living room curtains you can see from the corner of your eye. You don’t, though. Not being able to see would be worse.

Anyway. You’re trying to make tea quietly. You’re staying over at Hotch’s —Aaron’s, as he insists you call him when you’re alone— Jack is away at a sleepover. It’s just the two of you.

You couldn’t sleep. Usually, being with Hotch is the strongest sleep aid in the world. You tend to conk out the second your arms find his in bed.

But not tonight.

Tonight you slept in fitful bursts. Your skin prickled and crawled with restless anticipation- of what, you’re not sure.

Not wanting to disturb his sleep on such a rare day off, you got up. Tried to do what you did when you had nights like these before him. Only watching tv is too loud and you don’t have any books here.

Thus: tea.

It started raining a little while after you got up. The pattering of the droplets against the roof and the windows helps drown out the racket you’re making.

You’re not really making a racket, you tell yourself. It just sounds like you are because it’s night. This would all sound normal in the daylight.

It’s the mantra that keeps you going on nights like these. You’ll feel normal in the daylight. It’ll go away in the daylight. You won’t feel so haunted in the daylight.

In the daylight, in the daylight, in the daylight.

You get lost in your thoughts. It happens fairly often on nights like these.

Only Aaron’s stove is newer than yours. It heats up faster.

The teapot lets out a terrible, wailing hiss, shattering the fragile silence.

You lunge for the kettle, hands moving too quickly and too clumsily to move it off the burner. Your fingers slip. The side of the kettle slams into your forearm, and you don’t quite manage to stamp down the pained yelp that rips its way from your throat the second the searing pain registers.

Your nervous system reacts before you do. It jerks your arm to the right, away from the kettle.

And into your empty mug.

You watch in horrified slow-motion as the cup is swiped off the counter, falling to the floor in an explosion of porcelain.

Your arm is screaming in pain. There is boiling water and a hot tea kettle on the floor. There are shards of mug everywhere.

You hear a thump. The creak of a door opening that signifies Aaron coming out of the bedroom, Aaron being awake, Aaron coming to you.

For a moment, your brain just… catches. Sort of like it gets stuck in this web of fear-induced indecision.

The footsteps sound rushed. They come closer.

To compensate for the momentary freeze, your brain kicks into its highest gear.

You drop to your knees on the floor of the kitchen so quickly they crack on the linoleum. You can’t tell if the sting is from the fall or the boiling water. Would it still be hot? Is it still hot?

The footsteps stop. You scramble to get a hold of the pieces of the mug, shaking fingers grabbing, grabbing, grabbing. They’re clutched tight in your palm when you speak, words rushed and tumbling out of your mouth.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, please go to bed, I’ll clean this all up—“

A hand reaches out for yours and you flinch. Not a full body one. Just like what happened with the burn. Your nervous system reacts before your brain can process. Takes your hand away from the threat.

Only the hand stills. Stops, right where it is, and your entire body feels funny, and something doesn’t seem right.

Then you stop too. You don’t move. You don’t grab more pieces of the mug, but you don’t drop the ones you have either. Your knees are throbbing. Your arm is burning, stabs of stinging pain pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

The hand retreats and the person crouches down, and you recognize those pajama pants, that hand, those feet.

“Honey?”

You keep your eyes trained on the mess. On the wreckage.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks over the words.

“Shh,” He hums, and the hand reaches out again, slower, closes over your wrist and turns your hand over. A second hand pries your fingers apart and gently shakes your hand, the mug shards dropping to the floor, tinged scarlet. They mix with the spilled water, washing the kitchen floor a kaleidoscope of linoleum and sharp edges and pinky-red water.

He gently pulls you up to your feet, strong arm going around your waist. It doesn’t cage you, doesn’t box you in. Another hand turns your head away from the kitchen floor and all at once a switch flicks in your brain, and you remember. Where you are, who you’re with.

If Aaron notices your sharp intake of breath, he doesn’t say anything. He leads you to the bathroom, sits you on the toilet lid, and pulls out the extensive first aid kit he keeps under the sink.

“Can I see your arm?”

You hold it out to him, looking at his face only when he’s not looking at you.

He doesn’t look mad. You still have the vague urge to run.

He examines it carefully. “It’s only first degree, but it’s fairly big. We’ll need to run it under cool water for at least ten minutes, and then apply some burn cream and bandage it.”

He’s telling you exactly what he’s going to do. Talking you through all the steps. So you won’t be caught off guard by anything.

“Sweetheart,” He crouches down in front of you again, and you feel bad for his knees, “I’m going to need some sort of confirmation.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah,” Your voice is raw, “I think I bruised my knees when I— when I fell.”

Your pajamas consist of an oversized shirt —one of his— and a pair of pajama shorts. It’s helpful because he doesn’t have to roll up any pant legs to check your knees. It’s unhelpful because in the adrenaline crash, the bathroom is cold, and so is the toilet lid.

Your shivers of fear are replaced with ones of cold. A small but marked improvement.

He examines your knees, thumbs brushing deftly over the skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Looks like you might’ve cut one of them on one of the pieces. It’s not too big, though. Better than your hands.”

You wince at the mention.

He stands, pulling you up with him.

“What hurts the worst?”

“Burn.”

“We’ll take care of it first.”

He turns the sink tap on, checking and double checking the temperature is to his approval before gently guiding your arm under the water. It stings on first contact, and you bite your lip through the pain. You’re sure you’ve made enough noise for the night. The pain mellows, relief following hot on its heels.

Aaron stands behind you, his presence a solid weight. One hand holds your arm in place under the water, the other hovers over the faucet, ready to make any adjustments to the temperature at your word.

You don’t make any.

You’re tired, abruptly. Your hand still stings and your knees ache, but without the sharp stabbing of the pain in your arm, the exhaustion of the past five minutes rushes into you all at once and you sag, like a puppet with its strings cut.

Aaron catches you, hand over the faucet leaving to place a steady hand on your waist.

“You’re not going to hit me. Or yell at me.”

He presses his face into the back of your neck, not so much as kissing your nape as just pressing his lips against the skin there.

“I’m not.”

“I know that,” you say, going for confident but tripping and falling into desperate, “I know that. I was just. I forgot. In the moment, and I got scared.”

The hand on your waist squeezes once.

“I was scared too, you know.”

“Why?”

“Because you were scared,” You can feel his chest vibrate as he speaks, “And you were hurt. And for just a moment, I didn’t know how to help you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing to be sorry for. I was scared for you.”

“I know, I’m just. I know how rare days off are for you, and I was trying to be quiet, so you could sleep but I—“

“Hey, hey. Slow down. Don’t work yourself up.”

He moves your arm back and forth under the water, slowly working the angles of the burn so it all gets evenly cooled.

“Sorry,” You say again, both for lack of anything else to say and just to make sure he knows that you are. Guilt pulses and pounds to the same beat as your heart, to the same rhythm as the pain in your knees and your hands.

“I know you are,” He murmurs, voice a gentle wash of concern and something tender. He always knows just the right thing to say, especially when you’re like this. “But you don’t have to be. I’m not upset.”

“I know,” You answer, and this time he doesn’t respond. He probably knows that your words weren’t for him.

He works methodically through applying the cream and bandages, and then as he fixes up your hands and knees. You’re careful to keep your eyes trained on his, focusing on the feel of his hands and not the fear that jackrabbits in your chest every time your focus slips.

Once finished, he guides you to your feet, and there’s still concern etched in the lines of his face, right in between his brows. That’s where he always keeps it— his worry.

“Do you want to go back to bed?”

You could. You should. He’s tired. He deserves to sleep in and you should be able to fall asleep again, because he’ll be there, and everything is fine, and you are fine.

But there’s still pieces of mug on the floor and you feel like there’s pieces of you stuck there too, and your mouth goes dry, and you never did drink that tea, and what’ll happen to the mess? What will things look like in the daylight?

Foolish? A foolish girl, yes— always overreacting.

“Honey?” He says for the second time tonight.

Your face crumples. “I’m sorry.”

He folds himself around you again, easily. His arms slot into place like a puzzle piece- always the right angle, the right feel, the right amount of pressure. He holds you together as you cry, frustrated and tired and all the things you’d tried so desperately not to let show.

“You’re okay,” He whispers, hand smoothing over your neck, your back. All those vulnerable places that itch. “You’re okay.”

He repeats the words as your cries quiet to sniffles, as you start to think he might be right.

You pull away, wiping your hands across your face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what— I’m okay now, I think.”

His eyes search your face, looking for any signs that isn’t true. “It’s okay if you’re not.”

“I know,” You say, and you really do believe it this time, “I just… it’s frustrating. That this still happens. That you still need to do this. It happened so long ago, and I don’t even think about it anymore, really. It’s weird, it’s just- the mug. It broke and I just… I don’t know.”

Aaron listens attentively to your rambles, no sign of being annoyed or exasperated or anything. “I understand. Healing isn’t linear, sweetheart. There are things that happened to me many years ago that I still think about.”

He dips down, pressing his lips to your forehead. “And I will always do this. Always.”

For the first time tonight, you believe him, fully.

You’ll be okay. Maybe not now, but you will be.

۫ ꣑ৎ

[scudslut]

Sins and Honey Flavored Sweetness

daryl x fem!reader

wordcount: 4.7k

warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut under the cut, perv!daryl (not really, he just has a lil crush), male masturbation, unprotected p-in-v, oral f!receiving, mutual pining

a/n: i have never written something so descriptive ohmygod. do be warned lol, hugs and kisses byeee <33

Daryl knew there were unspoken boundaries when it came to you.

A thin line of loose salt, that whispered to him. Beckoned him huskily to dust his fingers through and have a taste, but daunting enough for him to keep his soles rooted in the dirt, salivating from a distance.

It wasn’t because you were already spoken for in any way; if anything, you kept your romantic interests simmering farther on the back burner than he did, which spoke volumes in itself. Or because you were younger than him, a couple of years wasn’t anything to turn a nose up over, especially nowadays.

It was, however, the place you held amongst your people. You were like bright, shiny gold within the group, dared not to be corrupted or led astray. The heart that kept everyone’s beating, even in the darkest of times, soothing hope into the atmosphere with your infectious smile.

Oh, and you were Rick's younger sister... which he hated to admit, only tempted him more. And he wasn’t quite sure as to why.

He’d mulled it over too many times to count, noting everything about you that allured him so intensely.

He liked the contrast between you two; like sun rays peeking through the clouds after a mid-summer storm. You were soft, fresh as clean linen and he was dark, brooding. He often fantasized about taking that sweet innocent nature of yours and painting it with his essence. He knew it was wrong and constantly shamed himself for having such perverted thoughts about his best friend's sister. But, god, how could he not?

Not when you pranced around him daily, teasing him with your velvety, feminine voice and kind touches. Touches that sent brisk shivers down his spine, sure to leave him breathless and bothered — another thing he secretly liked. You were addictive in that sense, he’d distance himself the minute he felt the familiar rush coursing through his veins and then crave it immediately once it was gone. A drug he couldn’t help but relapse from.

And it didn’t help that you were always so keen to assist him, doting on his every injury or problem with such gentle attentiveness and sincerity. That might be what he liked the most. It was fascinating how pure you remained in a world so plagued, always ready to nurture. It soothed a deep, restless, and scarred part of him, finding solace in it.

He'd come to learn you were like that with everyone though. So, he found himself grappling with things to deter your attention his way, playing dumb and clumsy just to have your sweet scent fill the nearby air. He felt like a horny teenager with a hopeless crush. It was absolutely ridiculous and yet, here he was once again, feet dangling off your kitchen counter as you searched the cabinets for some aspirin to aid in his 'headache'. 

It wasn't a complete lie per se - his sensitivity to light gave him troubles quite often but, whether it was enough to complain about or not, could be debated.

Nonetheless, he sat for you patiently, listening to your quiet humming as you searched about. He loved when you did that, singing your soft melodies under your breath mindlessly. It was such a girly thing to do, but it was comforting in a way, an airy blanket warming the silence.

"Ah, here it is!" drew him out of his thoughts, and he cast a glance at your bright smile of accomplishment. You popped the cap open swiftly, shaking out 2 little white pills, and handed them over with a glass of water.

“Let me know if you need any more. They should kick in soon, but I know how tough migraines can be,” you soothed, your sympathy never faltering. He bowed his head quickly, not wanting you to see the flash of guilt that surely crossed it. "Thanks," he mumbled as he tossed his head back, swallowing them both with a shivered grimace.

Wiping the water droplets from his chapped lips, his eyes found yours again and noticed a small smirk hidden in your features. “What?”  

You let out a chuckle, reaching for the glass he held to wash, “Oh nothin’... just don’t think I’ve seen you cringe like that before, is all.” 

His brows furrowed at your statement, “So?” he questioned further.

“Walkers, blood, rotting flesh… never. But an itty bitty pill?” Your laugh grew louder, finding the situation even more amusing as you explained it to him. “Whatever,” he scoffed, hopping off the counter with a smirk. He knew you would be expecting him to leave after that, you had helped him with his ‘issue of the day’ and there was no reason to linger any further. But he did.

Daryl scanned your frame as you washed the few dishes that were in the sink, chewing on his thumb habitually. You wore a white, long-sleeve shirt with a faded band logo printed on the front and some beaten-up blue jeans that seemed to cup your ass perfectly.

His mind wandered before he could stop it, imagining how soft and warm your skin must be underneath all those clothes. How soft and warm your hands would be wrapped around him, or better yet, your pretty lips taking him deep with a moan. He felt his own jeans tighten slightly and quickly diverted his gaze to the floor, clearing his throat as if it would erase those thoughts from his brain.

“Something else you need, Daryl?” You glanced over your shoulder, wrists deep in soapy water. 

“Nah, uh, thanks. I’ll see ya later,” he said and beelined for the door praying to god you didn’t see his flushed face and half-hard cock poking through his pants. He was so fucked. Couldn’t even look at you anymore without sprouting boners and picturing you on them, milking him greedily. 

He rushed down the porch and across the lawn, bursting into his shared house with Carol just next door. He didn’t even glance toward the kitchen to see if his friend was home, desperate for a cold shower to level him out. The house was dead quiet anyway, leading him to assume Carol was out for the day.

"Such a fuckin idiot," he cursed himself under his breath as he made his way down the stairs to his room. You probably knew honestly. Could tell how pathetically bothered you got him, and just put on a friendly face to keep from embarrassing him.

He left the bathroom door open in his distress and hastily shed his clothing, stepping into the tepid water. Immediate relief flooded his senses, feeling the cool stream wash away the sweat and grime the day had caked on. Pouring some homemade soap he was given into his hand, he scrubbed at his skin, determined to rid himself of your previous interaction along with the dirty thoughts that plagued his mind. He shouldn’t be thinking about you that way, it just wasn’t in the cards.

For starters, you would have to want him too, (which he knew would never happen), and even if you did, how the ever living fuck would he explain that to Rick?

‘Oh hey Rick, I have a massive hard-on for yer sister, you okay with that?’ Fuck no. Just thinking about that conversation had him cringing in awkwardness and he shut the idea down instantly. 

But there you were still, invading his thoughts with your dreamy laugh and perky attitude. Why did you have to be such a goddamn tease?

He leaned forward, resting his hands on the wall trying to regain some composure. He gulped down deep breaths of moist air, willing his body to calm itself down, but it was fruitless. The image of your body, pushed up against the wall under his hands, wet and flushed, bubbled to the surface. He groaned. Daryl knew what he had to do. It wasn’t the first time he had gotten off thinking about you, and he damn well knew it wasn’t gonna be the last, but it still felt wrong each time, pumping his cock when you were just next door. His body craved the relief though, relief only indulgence could satisfy. 

He hissed as he dragged his fingers along his shaft, gripping at the base and beginning to pump slowly. He was painfully hard at this point, each squeeze raking shivers over his damp skin while he choked out quiet moans. With his opposite hand, he flicked the water to a warmer setting, pitifully hoping the heat and steam would resemble something close to your body against his. God, if only you were here.

He sped up, swiping his thumb over his sensitive tip with each pass, sending jolts throughout his body. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned deep and husky, not a care for the noise filling the empty house.

You were there, clear as day in his mind, moaning along with him as he pounded into you, cunt gripping him like a vice. Your breath was hot and pitchy against his ear as you begged him to fuck you harder, to go faster, to cum deep inside you. His cock twitched at that, he was already so close.

“Fuck, y/n, baby,” he whined, humping erratically into his long-forgotten hand. The muscles in his stomach quivered in bliss as he stroked himself, lost in his detailed imagination. You were cumming, trembling around him in languid spasms with his seed spilling out of you, and Daryl was over the edge, tossing his head back moaning your name as he unloaded, letting the steamy water wash it away. 

It took him a few minutes to recover, catching his breath slowly and trying to avoid the guilt that would soon be settling in. What would you think of him if you knew what he did behind muffled walls? How he thought of you in such dirty ways, when you’d only ever see him as a dear friend. He wondered what you might be doing now. Traipsing around your cozy home, oblivious to his rapid, lustful heart meters away.

The water was beginning to run frigid and he let out a defeated sigh. Absentmindedly, he reached past the curtain for a towel and stepped out, drying his hair off roughly and then wrapping the towel around his waist, turning to the bedroom for fresh clothes and much-needed sleep. His mind ached to be thoughtless, consumed by the abyss of unconsciousness.

He should have known the world stopped playing fair long ago.

In a single moment, his heart stopped and his stomach dropped to the fucking depths of hell.

There you stood, feet frozen to the floor with his crossbow in hand, like he willed you into existence. He stuttered, his mouth opening and closing like a blubbering fish. He was sure his eyes were the size of saucers, he could feel them ready to pop out of his skull and run away. There was no fucking way this was happening.

Several beats passed. The silence deafening between you both and for a moment, he honestly debated stepping back into the shower. Pretend you were a figment of his tortured imagination and just hope you’d go away. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen ghosts.

“You uh- you forgot your crossbow when you rushed out today,” you finally broke the silence, solidifying your genuine presence. He glanced down to the bow and then back at you, lost for words. Did you hear him? He moaned your goddamn name, quite a few minutes ago though… had you been standing there long? Were you angry?

His racing thoughts were interrupted when you stepped towards him, leaning the bow against the doorframe and moving closer. Instinctively, he took a step back, “Thanks,” he replied shakily, but you kept moving closer. He noticed your gaze then. It wasn’t on his face, but on his abdomen, at the hem of the damp towel hanging off of him. Your eyes had a gleam to them. Something dark and lustful.

No. Surely, he was reading you wrong. 

“Daryl,” you spoke, and he audibly gulped, nervousness and absolute embarrassment flooding his system, “is there something you need to tell me?” 

He didn’t answer you, instead deciding to burn a hole into the floor with his shame. He couldn’t look at you. You knew. You had heard him and were teasing him about it and here he was, a coward who couldn’t even admit to it. And you had every single right. He crossed that salty line years ago, with his first sinful thought about you. Feasted on it, deluding himself into thinking all was okay as long as his actions didn’t physically involve you.

He barely registered your advances when he finally raised his head. You were so close he could feel the heat of your breath against his burning skin, the luscious scent of vanilla and pine filling the air.

“Can I see?” you asked quietly.

He nearly choked on his own spit. Your hand was skimming along his stomach lightly, suggestively toying with the towel that covered him up. “Huh?” His mind was blank. 

“Can I see you?” you repeated, and all he could do was give you a curt little nod, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to just yet, but rendered acquiesced. Your hand pulled at the fabric softly, letting it drop to the floor revealing his manhood to your hungry eyes. Nothing was making any sense. Surely, you did not feel this way too. Surely.

There were those whispers again. He shouldn't have let you do that. He should be recoiling, shielding himself from your gaze but he was statuesque, like you had drank the life out of him with one simple look.

"Were you thinking about me touching you?" Like you had to even ask. The answer was written in plain sight, right there on his forehead and in his bashful eyes.

"M'sorry, I-" he had no clue how to even begin this kind of apology, remorse coursing through his veins rapidly. The dots weren’t connecting, not yet. "I know it's wrong, I shouldn't have-,”

And then he felt you, pressing your lips against his softly — timidly as gentle hands feathered across his waist, coaxing him into you. Your kiss was buttery, lips so smooth and sweet he wanted to drown in them. You tasted like fresh honey and vanilla ice cream, hints of minty toothpaste caught on your tongue. It was intoxicating to say the least, swarming his brain with a muted buzz and he whimpered, much to his surprise, melting into your touch quicker than he would like to admit.

“Y/n, y/n, nah we can’t,” he heard himself say as he came to his senses slowly, but he wasn’t pushing you away. Why wasn’t he pushing you away? You couldn’t, right?

“Please,” you whispered against him, low and sultry. Who was he to deny you? God Daryl, get a grip.

“Y/n, no,” he repeated, allowing his tone to take some authority even if that was the last thing he truly wanted. You stepped back from him then, a hurt expression painting your features and he felt his heart squeeze. “Why?”

His brain was scattered. This felt like a nightmare; another cruel joke sent his way to haunt him for the rest of his life. There just always had to be a price, didn't there?

"He doesn't mind, you know?" you whispered and his eyes were on yours instantly. You traced soft shapes across his stomach, sending those shivers down his spine and effectively turning him into putty.

"What’re ya talkin' about?" He needed to regain his composure, he could barely breathe with you this close, eyes raking his naked frame with desire.

"Rick... you and me. He doesn't care," you stated, "thinks it's cute actually... my crush on you."

Your crush on him?

"He trusts you, Daryl, with everything. You're pretty much the only person he would want me to be with." He hadn't thought of it that way, only ever assumed voicing his attraction to you would result in his head on a platter, or his dick… or both.

You began peppering his neck with small kisses, trailing them down his chest and over his puffy nipples. He hissed when you nipped at one, licking over it after, soothing the burn. "Ya sure?"

You nodded.

"Ya sure ya want me?" he asked dubiously. His question was answered when you grabbed his hand gently, guiding it inside your cotton underwear, letting his calloused fingers trace your soaked folds. He could have cum then and there, spreading your slick up and down between his fingers like it was liquid gold. Fuck me.

"This all fer me?" he panted, succumbed to a state of disbelief at your evident arousal. You were so wet around his fingers, pulsing and bucking slightly with each feathered stroke. "Were ya listenin' ta me?"

Hair fell over your face as you nodded sheepishly, gazing down to watch his fingers massaging you. You bit your swollen, cherry-red lip, “Couldn’t help it, you sounded so- so good.”

Now that... that got him going. Imagining your pretty cunt dripping in your panties, listening to his gasps while he fucked himself to the thought of you. Who knew the golden girl would be so naughty?

Daryl felt his confidence build, watching you fall apart for him from such simple touches. The last wire holding him back snapped and he needed more. He had waited for this moment for so fucking long.

You whine as he retracts his hand, only to be completely shut up when he places the thick digit on his tongue, sucking greedily and sloppily. It was better than he ever could have imagined, similar to the honey of your lips but so much more sweet. He went back for seconds. And thirds. Until he was dropping to his knees, deciding to lick the goddamn plate clean.

You enveloped him in the best way possible, lifting one of your thighs over his shoulder as he tugged on your tight jeans, pulling them down enough to fit his head. His tongue pressed flat against your clothed pussy, and he sucked, tasting a mixture of your sweetness and residual laundry detergent on his tongue. His moans burned the back of his throat, desperately trying to hide them but you weren’t having it, tugging on his chocolate locks for more. “Don’t do that. I wanna hear you, honey.” Good lord. He silently thanked each lucky star of his that the house was empty before emitting a guttural groan between your thighs. If this was all he got from you, a little taste of the sugar you were made of, he would die a very happy man.

He took your clit between his lips, rolling it with his tongue. Your underwear was so wet with your arousal and his spit that it was practically see-through, just calling for him to pull aside. “Please,” you gasped.

“Hm? Wha’s that?”

He’d heard you just fine. He wanted to hear you again, and again. He was greedy and you were so damn sinful, “Please, need them off, need you.”

So, he complied, as any sane man would, shimmying them down your hips as he sucked and nibbled each inch of newly exposed skin. You watched him intently with half-lidded eyes, rocking slowly to let plush skin engulf his senses like a cloud. He felt you playing with his messy hair, taking small strands between your fingertips and moving them behind his ears to see him better. The gesture struck something deep within him. You were so kind, so focused on this moment and him, he’d be damned if he let it continue on the hard damp floor of his bathroom. No fucking way.

He stood abruptly, catching you off guard. “Bed,” he muttered, capturing your lips again in a haste. He couldn’t get enough. He didn’t want a minute to pass where he wasn’t tasting some part of you. Any part of you. Sweet, sweet honey.

You led your bodies backward till your knees hit the mattress, wasting no time as you crawled up to his pillows, taking him with you.

This moment right here, this feeling… he wanted to bottle it up. Freeze time and just stare, immerse himself into every tiny detail. It felt almost criminal to continue. You were a vision, panting and squirming beneath him; so much electricity and anticipation bouncing between your yearning bodies. Could you really want this just as much as he did? Was he truly that oblivious, all these years? Whatever that answer may be, he wasn’t gonna fuck this up. Not with you.

Your hands on his face coaxed him back to reality, molding into your touch like clay. Eager lips chased his as he pulled your shirt off and as much as he wanted to freeze time and memorize each freckle of you, the more skin each other touched the more obscene the kiss became. An unartistic jumble of spit and hands and moans and thrusts.

In all the time spent pining silently for the other, you both could care less about grace.

No, he needed to hear you. Listen to every octave of moan you had in you, all at once. He needed to know each and every spot that had you whimpering and begging, this second. If time did decide to stop at any given moment he needed to have you, be you, feel everything you had to offer, and soak in it till his skin pruned.

His lips sucked and bruised their way down to your navel, and then past, kissing up your folds with lustful intent. The sounds you made above him had him seeing stars and he wanted more. His tongue slipped past your lips, finally diving into the hive of your sweetness, rolling his tongue languidly over your clit. Your hands were everywhere around him, fisting at the sheets, the pillows, and then his hair as you desperately tried to push him closer. He didn’t mind. He’d gladly suffocate between your thighs, a death he’d welcome compared to the ones he fought from outside every day.

He dove lower, smoothing his tongue over your entrance but not delving past quite yet.

“Daryl,” you gasped above him.

Looking up between your legs, he caught a glimpse of your face tossed back in pleasure and he groaned, having to ground his hips into the mattress below to relieve some pressure. “What d’ya need, sweetheart?”

He’d give you anything. The moon if you asked for it — anything to keep those pretty sounds coming from your lips. “You, you, please you.”

“How so?”

He knew he was teasing you. He’d drawn back from your glistening slit, pressing little pecks everywhere that he could reach. Your hips, your pelvis, the little crease between your thighs and your cunt. That spot drew a deep moan from you, so he focused on it, sucking and licking till it was bright red and your hips were rolling so violently he wasn’t sure how he kept his lips on you.

“In, please,” you choked out, tugging him by his shoulders to move back up. He wasn’t done yet.

“What? Ma fingers?” he toyed further, continuing his kisses everywhere but where you wanted him. “Hm?”

He brought his thumb up to your clit, pressing lightly at first, rubbing lazy, torturous circles. His lips were on the inside of your thigh, so close to your entrance but seemingly so far. He knew you wouldn’t take much more of this, you were practically sobbing above him blubbering nonsensical curses about how much you ached.

“This pretty cunt wanna be filled, that it?”

His thumb pressed firmer.

“Uh huh,” you nodded, begging him. Oh, that sound would surely be the death of him.

He finally brought his lips to your supposedly aching entrance, delving deep with his tongue. The noises he made as he lapped on your honey were flat-out pornographic, and you writhed below him, drinking everything he was giving to you. Honestly, he didn’t know how much more he could take. He wanted to draw this out for hours, make up for every bit of lost time but seeing you like this, so needy for him had his resolve shattering by the second.

With a final peck to your weeping folds, he crawled his way up back to your face. You latched on to him instantly, sensing his give and taking absolute advantage of your moment. His hips rolled into yours slowly as your tongues danced and he hardly had to guide himself with how wet you were, his tip finding your entrance easily and slipping past. You moaned rolling your hips again and he nearly bottomed out, a long deep groan ripping out of him. If he thought your lips were buttery, lord save him.

Perching himself on his forearms, he held still, watching for any signs of discomfort. He assumed you hadn’t been with anyone in a while and he certainly knew he wasn’t small, if he’d grace himself with any sort of compliment.

Sensing nothing but pleasure as your walls pulsed around him, sucking him in further, he gave, snapping his hips harshly into you. Your moans were lewd on his lips, traveling down his throat and feeding the fire that burned in the pit of his stomach.

“Fuck, y/n, baby,” he groaned again, spiraling from the fact he was actually inside you this time. Not in his hand, pretending you were fucking shower water.

No, you were beneath him, latching onto his muscles like your life depended on it. He drove deeper, hitting a spot that had you gasping for air. He hit it again, and again, needing to feel you explode around him. He watched as your face contorted in pleasure as he pounded into you. God, you looked so pretty like this. All cock-drunk and needy.

He brought his thumb back to that spot on your clit. He needed you to cum soon, he wasn’t gonna last much longer seeing you like this and there was no way in hell he was going to finish before you. Your hips stuttered beneath him, walls squeezing around him and he knew you were close.

“Come on, pretty girl, you got it,” he whispered in your ear, sucking the lobe gently between his teeth. That must’ve broken you, because then you were cursing, spasming for him which triggered his own orgasm. Your cunt milked him, his seed spilling down your thighs exactly how he had pictured earlier and it was a fucking sight. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he had imagined this whole thing.

He fucked out both through the waves of release, and a bit past, dropping his head into your neck to muffle the obscene groans coming from his lips. He didn’t want it to stop, but your overstimulated senses ached for reprieve.

“Dar?” you whispered once you'd both caught your breath, guiding his stubbled cheek from its hiding spot. When his eyes met yours, they were filled with so much adoration and happiness he had to hold himself back from whimpering. Never in a million years would he thought he’d get you, and here you were, looking at him like the sun shone out of his ass. The same way he looked at you for years, it was jarring to see it reciprocated. How had he missed it?

You leaned forward, tenderly capturing his lips with your own, soothing him as you always did. He knew there was so much you wanted to say, that he wanted to say, but you didn’t need to talk about it tonight. Tonight you would simply soak in each other, a gift you both thought you’d never get and one you would never let go.

He felt you giggle against his lips, and he pulled back with a lazy, fucked-out smile, "What?" he mumbled curiously.

"How's the headache now, big guy?" you teased playfully and he realized then, you'd known he was fibbing today. Saw right through his measly excuse to spend time with you.

He blushed to the tips of his ears, bowing his head to hide it, "Oh, shuddup," he mumbled, attacking your neck in kisses and nips.

Your cheeky ass was gonna pay for that tonight.

[miniseokminnies]

the subtle art of stirring the pot —- l.sm

⭑.ᐟ pairing: lee seokmin x fem!reader ⭑.ᐟ theme: coworkers to lovers, annoyances to lovers, sous chef!seokmin ⭑.ᐟ w/c: 9k ⭑.ᐟ warnings: 18+ MDNI, mentions of food, stressful work environment, insults, jealousy, switch!seokmin, switch!reader, semi public make outs, protected sex (that's a yes yes), marking, fingering, multiple orgasms, slight angst, miscommunications ⭑.ᐟ a/n: written as part of the Lonely Hearts Café collab put on by @camandemstudios - make sure to check out the full collab masterlist here send over some love! (haha get it) thanks a million to my lovely beta readers: @tomodachiii and @lovetaroandtaemin and a special shoutout to @seungkw1 for betaing and overall keeping me sane

Ring ring ring

The chaos of a kitchen is only aided by the sound of orders being put in.  Saturdays are statistically the busiest days of the week, and being a restaurant in New York City, Quartz and Serenity is no exception.  You had been frantically chopping carrots for the better part of an hour.  

“Y/N!” The head chef called out to you, “Go get more mushrooms, chicken, and sherry for me please.”  Without another word you jogged toward the walk in refrigerator to retrieve the ingredients.  The last few years you’ve spent in this kitchen has allowed you to map it all out to a science, which in a way it was.  You felt like a part of this well oiled machine and you handled the pressure with ease.  

You piled the ingredients in your arms and pushed out of the walk in.  You began to unpack the items on the counter next to the chef.  He instructed you to take them out of their packages and begin chopping them for him.  While the dinner service ran smoothly, there was an air of stress that always comes with being short staffed. You always pulled it off though, and tonight was no different.    

The moment you crossed from the hallway into your apartment, you dropped your bag to the floor and kicked off your shoes. You smelled like grease and sweat.  The apartment was bathed in the yellow light above your stove you left on this morning.  There were dishes in the sink and cook books stacked up around the kitchen.  

Sighing, you dragged yourself to the bathroom.  You dropped your chef’s coat into the laundry pile and waited for the water to get warm.  Once hot, the water ran over you, loosening your tight muscles.  You stood in the stall staring at the wall for several minutes, mind wandering to what ingredients you had in your refrigerator and whether or not you should just order something.  

The water sputtered and threatened to turn cold all too quickly.  You rushed through your routine, savoring the last few drops of warm water.  It went straight from warm to ice cold in seconds as you were rinsing your conditioner out of your hair.  

Clad in pajamas, you stared into the boiling water on the stove.  You dumped probably too much pasta into the water and turned to the other burner.  You mixed together ingredients in a pan over the fire to make a sauce. This was a typical meal for you after manning the kitchen at Quartz and Serenity because it was easy and not on the menu.  

No matter how much you enjoyed cooking, you always tended to get tired of the food that you worked around all day.  Customer complaints and repetitive pressure did that to you.  You wouldn’t change a thing though, this is what you loved.  

“Everyone!” You heard the booming voice of the head chef call through the kitchen, “I have someone to introduce you to!” The staff and yourself meandered to the center of the kitchen where Chef Choi was standing with a man you didn’t recognize.  He was around your age, maybe a bit older.  His features were so striking, you almost missed the chef’s coat he was wearing.   

“This is Chef Lee,” your boss smiled, clapping the man on the back, “He is our new sous chef!” You didn’t hear anything he said after that, you felt like the walls were closing in on you.  You could feel eyes on you but you stared straight ahead.  You could feel your jaw tighten as you bored a hole into Chef Lee’s stupid head with your eyes.  

Once you were dismissed back to your stations to prepare for dinner service you saw him hovering near your station out of the corner of your eye.  

“Can I help you?” 

“Oh!” He smiled sheepishly.  “I just wanted to introduce myself to everyone individually! You can call me Seokmin.” “Okay, can I get back to what I need to do, Chef Lee?” You looked back to your knife.  

“Uh, sure…what is your name first?”

“Y/N.” You gestured to the nametag pinned to your coat.  He nodded and wandered away towards the wait staff.  You rolled your eyes.  

Throughout the night you were tasked with showing your new coworker the way things run at Quartz and Serenity and much to your displeasure, he was very excited to be there.  Every so often he gave you room to breathe by floating around the kitchen, observing everything.  However, everytime he returned to your side you thought you might punch him.  

Somehow you made it through the dinner service.  It wasn’t your turn to clean up the kitchen tonight so you bolted to the bus station as fast as possible.  You didn’t say goodbye to anyone, knowing that you might get sucked into doing something with your coworkers.  

Once on the bus you check your class schedule on your phone, only to realize with horror that you have a test tomorrow.  Your stomach turned with the dread of having to be up all night studying, again.  

—-

“Need any help with anything?” Seokmin’s sickly sweet voice offered at your side.  

“No.” You were already on edge today, you made it through your test by the skin of your teeth and your professor made that abundantly clear.  You had no time, or patience, for him right now.  

“I saw you prep yesterday, I could do part of that for you,” he pushed.  

“No thank you, Chef Lee.” You asserted through gritted teeth.  “I would ask Chef Choi if I were you.” He slinked away like a kicked puppy while you continued chopping vegetables.  It’s not your fault that he is completely out of his element and didn’t know what he was doing.  

However, when orders came pouring in you noticed that his confidence seemed to double from last night.  He was able to keep up with different elements, even without knowing the recipes very well yet.  

The kitchen was louder than it had been in months, the new addition to your team taking it upon himself to fill the room with music, from his own mouth, to your dismay.  You weren’t sure how much of his relentless optimism you could take, especially today.  He floated around the kitchen with a carelessness that you would never be able to comprehend.  

To your horror, at the end of the night Chef Choi announced that tonight was the most efficient night the restaurant has had in several weeks.  

“You’re singing.” You deadpanned without looking up from the vegetables on your cutting board.  

“Y/NNNNN” Seokmin mused, “How was your dayyy?”

“Don’t ask me how I’ve been.” You forced your knife through a carrot, “Just do your job, and stop singing.” There were exactly three seconds of silence before Seokmin moved from singing to humming.  You slammed your knife down onto the cutting board.  “I’m taking a five!” You huffed and turned toward the walk-in. Seokmin stopped humming.  

The tears started as soon as the door closed behind you. Your back slid down the wall, the coldness biting through your clothes.  It was stupid to cry, but you couldn’t help it; he was so infuriating.  You had no idea what Chef Choi saw in him.  The tears sliding down your cheeks smudged the swipe of mascara you put on this morning? Yesterday? Couldn’t have been more than two days ago…

The door opened. 

“So, what’s up?” Seokmin asked softly, leaning against the wall next to you.

“Oh my god!” You cried, “Can’t you leave me alone for a single second?”        

“I did,” he blinked at you, “If I had it my way, I would’ve followed right away.”

“I’m in here because of you!” Your voice cracked, a new bout of tears threatening to spill, “I would have loved it if you didn’t come in at all!” 

“Well….technically, I’m…kind of your boss.”

“God, ew, no not really,” you scrunched your face in a look of disgust, “Chef Choi is our boss.” 

“Y/N, what did I ever do to you?”

“The kitchen ran smoothly without you!” You informed him, “Everything was fine without you!” 

“Now wait a minute,” there was an edge to his voice that you had never heard before, “I have never messed anything up.” 

“Well–” 

“No,” he cut you off, “Seriously, you may not like how I operate, that’s fine, but you aren’t going to sit here and tell me that I’m a problem in this kitchen.”  His words were firm but it was hard to miss the tears swelling in his eyes. 

“This is serious to me.” You hardened your gaze.  

“And it isn’t to me?”   

“Doesn’t seem like it.” 

“God,” He sighed.  “Y/N, maybe this can be a lesson for you.  No one is ever going to do things exactly as you expect them to.  That doesn’t mean they’re wrong.” He stood up to leave.

“You can’t just walk away after you talked down to me!” You shot to your feet. “You think I’m some dumb kid!” He turned to look at you, you chose to ignore the glimmer of a tear on his cheek. “I’m at the top of my class! I know what I’m doing!” 

“What are you trying to prove?” His voice rose now too, “I never said you didn’t know what you were doing! Do you want me to?” You blinked at him.  “You couldn’t even julienne the carrots today! Why? All because I was singing?”  He wiped the tear away from his skin angrily.  He moved toward you and crowded you against the wall.  The proximity forced you to look up at him, his face was stone.  “What’s your problem with me, Y/N?” He whispered, looking down his nose at you.  The cold of the refrigerator made the warm breath fanning across your cheeks even harder to ignore.

“We have a kitchen to get back to…” You tried to avoid looking at his lips.   

“You don’t think I’m serious about this,” he planted his hand on the wall next to your head, “So does it matter if I get back to that kitchen?” 

“You said I didn’t know what I’m doing! So I guess the kitchen doesn’t need either of us at this point!” You jutted your chin up defiantly.  He chuckled sarcastically.  

“You’re being so ridiculous right now, are you like this with every new hire?”   

“No, only the ones I find irritating,” and incredibly attractive, your thoughts wandered.  Rookie mistake, your eyes flit to his lips before you had time to think.  When your eyes returned to his he was looking at you, absolutely bewildered.  Then, in one swift motion he smashed his lips to yours.  The way he kissed you was just as angry as the way he was talking to you moments ago; his lips moved with a fervor that was almost malicious.  

Your fingers found the front of his chef’s coat, you attempted to pull him closer.  He whined into your mouth at the feeling of being wanted.  The sound awakened something in you and heat settled in your stomach.  You shifted your weight trying to ignore it.  Seokmin nudged you with his knee until you parted your legs slightly for him to slot his thigh between.  He was firm and muscular pressed against your core and it took everything in you to not rock against it.  

With a jolt you remembered where you were and who you were with.  You pushed against his chest until he moved away from you.  Eyes wide and cheeks flushed, Seokmin seemed as though he realized the same thing.  

“Come out when you're ready,” he nodded and left the walk-in without looking back.  You tightened your ponytail and took a deep breath before following him out.  You returned to your station and picked up the knife you abandoned before the ordeal.  “Thin as matchsticks, Y/N.” Seokmin reminded you through kiss-bruised lips.   

“Table 13 sends its compliments to the chef!” Soonyoung comes barreling into the kitchen carrying plates to deposit into the wash.  

“That was the last table right?” Seokmin breathed a sigh of relief.  

“Yup!” Soonyoung popped the “P” and punctuated the exclamation by dumping the dishes he was carrying into the sink.  You had the day off and Seokmin felt the pressure of your absence throughout the entire day.  

The encounter he had with you was heavy on his mind all day, the first day he’s spent in this kitchen without you by his side.  He still couldn’t figure out what it was that he could have possibly done to you in the short time you’ve worked together.  

“Hey Soonyoung?” He called without thinking.  Soonyoung turned to him with a questioning look on his face.  “You’ve been here a while right?” “Yeah, why?” Soonyoung reached around Seokmin and grabbed at the carrots, earning him a slap on the hand.  He winced and pulled his hand to his chest.  

“Can you think of any reason Y/N would dislike me?” 

“Hm? Y/N?” Soonyoung mumbled, “Oh! The scary one.  Yeah I try not to talk to her much.” 

“Because she scares you?” “Because she scares me.” Soonyoung nodded.  

“She wanted your job.” One of the waitresses, Jeongyeon, asserted from the doorway.  Seokmin switched his attention to her, almost begging her to clarify.  She sighed and adjusted her bag on her shoulder.  “She’s about to graduate, the position was vacant for so long that she was under the impression that Chef Choi had decided to hold it for her.” Seokmin moved across the kitchen to beg her to tell him everything.  

“Why would she assume that?” He pleaded.  

“You have no idea how long your position was vacant, do you?” She turned to leave, “She was acting as unofficial sous chef for almost a year.  In her opinion there’s no reason she shouldn’t have your job by now, diploma or not.”  He looked down at the floor. "Oh, and stop looking at her with those puppy dog eyes, she'll chop your fingers off."

Eventually, Seokmin dragged himself home.  His apartment felt too big, too empty.  He wished he could stop thinking about you, if he was honest.  He stared into his pantry and quickly decided he had no desire to actually cook.  He popped an instant ramen into the microwave and went to go change his clothes.  

The microwave was beeping four minutes later, he pulled the cup out and narrowly avoided burning his hand on the outside.  He set the ramen on the counter and dug through the refrigerator in search of something to drink.  There was not a lot to be found, besides a full pack of wine coolers he bought weeks ago in hopes he could invite some people from work over to celebrate working together, clearly that never happened.  

About two hours later, Seokmin was crying to the credits of Dear Evan Hansen with five empty wine coolers on his coffee table and a sixth to his lips.  Whether he was crying over the movie or something else entirely, he wasn’t sure.  

He still couldn’t stop his mind from wandering to you, he had new information to mull over, but he still couldn’t understand why you hated him.  He would’ve talked it over with you if you just came to him with the issue instead of giving him the silent treatment.  Even worse, he couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling of your lips on his.  

Your lips and the warmth of your body against his had been running through his mind since it happened.  He continued to sip from the bottle as he thought about you.  He admired you in a way, so headstrong and willing to go after what you wanted, even if that got him yelled at.  He didn’t really care, he realized you were pretty even when you were insulting him.  

Soon the bottle was empty and Seokmin’s eyes were closed thinking about your mouth.  He knew he would never live it down if you knew, but that didn’t stop him from delivering the soft initial touches over his shorts.  Eventually pulling them down, letting his semi hard cock spring free, and pumping himself until he was stiff.  

His voice surprised him, sounding foreign to his ears, whispering your name to his empty apartment. Everything became muffled as he heard the blood rushing in his ears, he felt his own hips sputter and he picked up his pace, fucking up into his hand.  He thought about the pretty way you said his name with an edge to your voice and he was quickly undone.       

You pushed the french fries around in the basket, the parchment paper soaking up the grease they left behind.  You barely got three bites into your burger before you felt sick again and resorted to just pretending to eat.  Maybe an entire bottle of wine to yourself last night and sleeping until 1 pm was not your best idea, but desperate times call for desperate measures.  

You checked the time, you have to be at work in a little over an hour, and you knew you had to eat something for your stomach to stop swirling.  You sighed and picked up the burger again, and took a bite.  Your body tried to protest but eventually you felt your stomach calming, thankful to have food.  You laid your head back onto the back of the booth and closed your eyes for a moment, taking deep breaths.  

“Rough night?” You cracked an eye open to see Seokmin standing over you, a basket matching yours in hand.  “Me too,” he lifted his basket in a gesture of comradery.  “May I sit?” You nodded, not having the energy to argue with him over it.  You sat up and studied his face briefly.  He had bags under his eyes like you, his hair was more askew than normal, and he was wearing the biggest hoodie you had ever seen.  

“What got you so hung up?” You asked, selecting another fry from your basket.  

“Oh,” he didn’t look at you, “I just have a lot on my mind, you?”

“You.” His eyes snapped to you, clearly surprised by your boldness.  

“What?” He sputtered around a mouthful of his burger.  

“I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’ve annoyed someone to the point of drowning in alcohol.” 

“I mean, maybe,” he dropped the burger into the basket, “but no one has ever been so bold as to tell me outright…” 

“Are you pouting right now?” Seokmin crossed his arms over his chest at your words, once again refusing to look at you.  “See!” You scoff, “this is what I mean, you get everything you want and when someone calls you out on your bullshit you can’t handle it!” You pushed your food away from you with a huff.  

“I get everything I want?” He raised an eyebrow at you.  “You know I graduated from culinary school, just like you’re about to?” He leaned his elbows on the table, getting closer to you.  “I worked hard to get where I am, and I was hired because I come highly complimented from previous bosses.” 

“What is this? Your resume?” 

“Let me show you, come to dinner with me on Thursday, we both have the day off” 

“So you can brag?”

“No,” he cracked a smile. “So we can get to know each other better, and maybe put this behind us.”

You stared up at the facade of the restaurant.  This building had been your dream for years, since you moved to the city.  Now, because of Seokmin, you were able to dine here? It almost doesn't seem fair. 

“Hey!��� Seokmin’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. “Sorry I’m late; I hope you weren’t waiting long!” You turned to him and shook your head.  “Oh good, shall we?” He ushered you inside, lightly touching the small of your back.  You tried to ignore the feeling in your stomach at the small gesture.   

Once inside, he let his hand drop but stayed close to you.  He leaned around you to speak to the man at the host stand.  “Table for two, the name Lee should be on your list?” The man flipped through a few sheets of paper before stopping to read through a short list of names. Seokmin’s hand returned to your back, pushing you to follow the man through the restaurant.  

The decor was almost enough to distract you from the warmth of Seokmin spreading through your body as he pressed his hand against you more firmly.  The ornate light fixtures bathed the room in a soft light, making everything feel more dreamlike and romantic.  

Seokmin pulled out your chair for you as the host was informing the two of you that a waiter would be with you soon.  As Seokmin took his seat, you had a moment to take him in.  You had never seen him wearing anything besides his chef’s coat.  He had the sleeves of his collared shirt rolled up, showing off his watch and his toned arms.  

“See anything you like?” 

“What?” Your eyes widened, and a blush creeped up your cheeks.  He pushes a menu towards you.  

“Anything?” He smiles, choosing not to bring attention to your obvious staring.  You shoved your face into the menu and began to study it intently.   After a few minutes of silence the waiter provided glasses of water and a promise to return in a few minutes to take your orders.  You laid your menu flat on the table and looked up at Seokmin.  

“What do you like?” You asked sheepishly.  He chuckled to himself and set his menu down.  

“Well,” he pointed at the wine selection, “I was going to order us wine. Do you like white or red?” 

“White, usually,” 

“Okay, so,” he looked at you over his glasses, “you know enough about wine pairings to know what dishes a white wine rules out.” You nodded. “They have a lovely creamy pumpkin penne dish that pairs nicely with chardonnay, and we could share a brie sampler for an appetizer?”  

“Honestly, that sounds wonderful,” you smile at him. You let him order everything for the two of you.  He lets the silence linger for a few minutes while you wait for your wine.  Once the glasses are poured, and he’s confident no one will bother you for a while, he breaks the silence he crafted.  

“You’re much more shy outside of the kitchen,” he observed.  

“I’m out of my depth,” you admitted quietly.  He raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his wine, inviting you to go on.  “I’ve been waiting to eat here since I moved to New York, and you just happen to have your name permanently on the list?”  

“I know the chef,” he muttered into his wine.  

“I know how highly qualified you are,” you informed him, “you’re experienced out of the ears and I’m just some kid in culinary school.” 

“Well,” he tipped his glass forward to clink it with yours, “you can legally drink, so you’re not a kid.” He watched you smile, “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re really talented.” 

“Oh don’t say stuff like that to me,” you rolled your eyes and picked up your wine glass, “You might get me to come around to you.”

“Oh God forbid, we can’t have that.”

“Where’s Y/N?” Seokmin was frantically moving through the kitchen.  “Dinner service starts in 40 minutes, why aren’t any of you telling me where Y/N is?” 

“She’s in the dining room, damn…” 

Seokmin knew that you closed the restaurant last night, opened this morning, and the two of you were closing together tonight.  So, when he found you asleep in a booth in the dining room, he wasn’t surprised.  You often used the few hours Quartz and Serenity was closed between breakfast and dinner to catch up on studying.  

Your head was resting on your arms, your ponytail was loose and strands of hair were falling in your face.  He reached to brush them away from your eyes but stopped short when he read the papers under your hand.  Application for Employment. He read it over and over with his hand hovering above your head.  He felt his stomach drop so fast he was afraid it would fall out of his ass.  

Taking a deep breath he let his hand settle on top of your head. He rubbed your hair softly with his thumb for a few moments, hoping that you would wake up.  When you didn’t stir, he moved his hand to your shoulder and shook you lightly.  

“Y/N,” he leaned closer to you.  Your eyes opened slowly.  “Hey,” he smiled, “dinner service starts in 30. I would let you sleep, but we need the table.” You jolted upright at his words, knocking his hand back to his side.  

“In 30?!” You began to shuffle your papers back into the folder and snapped your book closed, “why didn’t anyone grab me sooner?”  Seokmin didn’t have time to answer before you were breezing past him toward the kitchen.  He watched you until you disappeared into the back room, agonizing over what he would do if you actually left Quartz and Serenity.  

The entire dinner service was spent the same way, Seokmin becoming flustered when you assisted him.  If he was being honest with himself, he would be impressed with how easily you were able to bounce back to routine.  It was almost as if the hiccup from before didn’t even happen. 

You moved through this kitchen like you’ve been in it your entire life, Seokmin truly could not imagine this place without you.  He didn’t want to think about the fact that he didn’t want this kitchen to run without you.  But you deserved to run a restaurant in his opinion.  He wanted you to call the shots and to be successful, even if that meant he and Chef Choi would be competing against you after your graduation.  Then it hit him; he also wanted to be selfish and hide you away for himself.  

“Can’t you move any faster?” You shoved a soapy dish towards Seokmin.  The two of you were the only people left in the building after a successful Sunday.  You were eager to get home and sleep after the worst lineup of shifts.  You picked up a shift from a coworker because you desperately needed the money, but you didn’t think ahead to how your bones would ache after it all.  

“If you would rinse the soap off I could,” he sighed.  He pulled the faucet head toward the dish in your hand, spraying you lightly with the water.  

“Seokmin!” You squealed in annoyance. Grabbing the faucet back from him, you angled it towards him.  The water rolled off his exposed forearms, his coat sleeves long pushed up over his elbows.  He raised an eyebrow at you, almost like a challenge.   He plunged his hands into the sink filled with soapy water and splashed it up onto your coat. 

It wasn’t like you to sink to his level. Any other day, you would put a stop to this, get the dishes done, and go straight home.  However, you’re not stupid and didn’t miss a single look in your direction through the entire day.  Seokmin looked at you like a lovesick puppy everytime.  Something about those looks lit a fire in your belly, and you didn’t care to find out if it was anger or interest. 

So, you followed suit. You cupped your hands around a gaggle of bubbles, lifted it high above your head and smoothed the soap into his dark hair.  He stood motionless for a moment, looking down at you in disbelief as his hair dripped onto the floor.  Finally, he swiped his hands through his wet hair, slicking it back and exposing his forehead.  Somehow it seemed like his features became more sharp and striking with his hair pushed away.  Your eyes followed the sharp slope of his nose down to his lips and back to his dark eyes.  

He moved toward you quietly.  The tension hung thick in the air. He cupped your jaw with his wet hands, eventually moving to thread suds through your ponytail.  Any part of him that thought he might kiss you was dampened by the water you suddenly hurled out of the sink at that exact moment.  He yelped and moved away from you. 

“We have dishes to finish, Chef Lee.” You smirked.  The dishes in question were finished and dried in complete silence.  The water and the clattering of the glass were the only sounds in the room.  

“Let me take you home,” Seokmin broke the silence.  

“What?” You gaped at him.  

“No…” A blush creeped up his neck, “not like that.  You take the bus, right?” You nodded at him.  “You’re all wet, just let me drive you to your place.” 

“You don’t have to do that…” 

“I know,” he smiled sheepishly, “but I want to, please?” 

Somehow, he convinced you.  You were panicked, too panicked to even make fun of him for being the kind of person who lived in New York City and owned a car.  He passed his phone over to you and instructed you to put your address into the maps app.

The ride was silent, your leg bounced as you watched the location get closer and closer. You nearly threw yourself out of the car when he parked in front of the building.  

“Bye! See you Tuesday!” You blurted as you ran towards the lobby of the building.  Seokmin waved, confused, at the back of your head. 

“You need to stop telling people you live here.” The front desk attendant deadpanned.  

“I know, Jane,” you ducked to spy out the window.  

“Who is it this time? Bad date?” Jane was used to you showing up in her lobby every few weeks at this point.  You were lucky that she loved to gossip or else she would have banned you from the building months ago. 

“Ugh, no,” you watched Seokmin’s car pull away from the curb, “My coworker.”

“Why do you care if your coworker knows where you live?” 

“Honestly?” You stood up and moved toward her desk, “I’m not sure…”

“Hm,” she holds out a lollipop to you, “might want to unpack that.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you unwrap the candy and pop it into your mouth, “whatever.” You exit the building with a wave and begin the short walk to your actual apartment.       

“Red wine this time.” Seokmin declared as you slid into your chair.  

“Feeling bold today are we?” 

“Well,” he chuckled, “It’s a steakhouse, so we have to pair correctly!” This was the second installment of what Seokmin had started calling Seokmin's Surely Spectacular Suggestions .  You were starting to realize that he knows a lot more than you thought he did.  He always seemed to know someone at every restaurant, if not multiple people.   

“Oh my god!” A woman’s voice pulled you from your thoughts.  You looked up and the waitress was smiling at Seokmin. “It is so nice to see you!” 

“Oh!” Seokmin smiled widely at her, “I didn’t think you worked on Thursdays!” 

“Ugh!” She put her hand on her hip, “I don’t usually! Dosie needed the day off and as a good friend I took the shift.” She laughed and rolled her eyes.�� You watched Seokmin’s face contort into a laugh.  Something panged in your chest watching them laugh together.  Suddenly, you were extremely interested in the menu in front of you as you tried not to think about what that could possibly mean.  Seokmin and the waitress chatted for several more minutes before she bounced away.  She never looked in your direction the entire time she was at the table.  

“Ordered us wine, hope that’s okay.” Seokmin knocked on the table in front of you to get your attention.  You hummed affirmatively. “What’s wrong? Have you decided you hate me again?”

“No,” You didn’t look at him.  You felt him stare at you from across the table, you held strong and did not look up from the menu.  It didn’t matter that you had read the words 8 oz wagyu beef steak and garlic potatoes six times, you couldn’t look at him.

The same waitress from earlier came back with your wine and a basket of bread. She placed everything down on the table and turned to Seokmin again.  

“Are you ready to order?” She smiled.  

“No, we need a few minutes.” You snapped before you had time to stop yourself. Seokmin shifted his gaze to you.  

“Oh, uh…okay.” The waitress blinked at you and turned on her heel without a second look.  

“What was that?” Seokmin was looking at you like you had grown a second head at some point in the last thirty seconds.  

“Nothing, she was pushy.” You shrugged, feigning nonchalance.  

“No she wasn’t.”

“She was!” You finally looked at him, he looked like a confused puppy, “You just didn’t see it because she was flirting with you.”   

“What are you talking abo–” His face contorted into a smirk, “Are you jealous?” He dropped his voice to a whisper.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” You declared, pushing out of your chair.  You all but stomped all the way to the bathroom, mentally cursing yourself for being jealous in the first place. A hand encircled your wrist as you turned the corner to the hallway that housed the bathrooms.  You turned to find Seokmin latched on to you.  He pulled you into the bathroom and locked the door behind you.  Looking him up and down he looked almost as shocked at his own actions as you felt.   

“Were you jealous?” He whispered, “I have to know, because if you don’t tell me it’ll eat me alive for the rest of my life.” You couldn’t help but think he was being just a little dramatic. You slotted your hand into the hair on the back of his head and pulled his lips to yours anyway.  

It took him a few moments to respond properly.  When his brain caught up to what was happening he kissed you back hungrily.  His lips moved roughly and he wrapped his arms around your waist. He pulled you as close as possible and swiped his tongue along your bottom lip.  You deepened the kiss and allowed him to explore further with his tongue.  

Seokmin had a way of putting every emotion he was feeling into his actions, it was evident when he kissed you angrily weeks ago, and it was evident now.  It felt like weeks of anger and bickering had melted off the two of you and now what was left was want and attraction that was left unsaid.  

He detached himself from your mouth and moved to kiss over your pulse point.  You squeezed your eyes shut and threw your head back to give him better access.  Experimentally, he sucked gently on the skin below your ear, earning him a quiet moan.  He did it again. 

“Let’s go home,” he panted into your skin. “Please.”  

“Seokmin we’ve only had wine,” you whispered  

“I’ll make you pizza at home, I don’t care, I just need you.” He whined.  

—-

Seokmin fumbled with the key to his apartment, his thoughts were elsewhere at the moment.  Finally, he unlocked the door and ushered you inside.  You tried not to think about the fact that his apartment was about double the size of yours.  He kissed you again once he had the door locked and you both inside.  His hands found your hips and he pulled you closer as he was licking into your mouth.  He tasted like wine, the same one you knew was on your lips as well.  

“You owe me pizza, Chef Lee..” You whispered, breaking away from his desperate mouth. 

“Oh my god, Y/N,” he groaned, “I can make pizza with my eyes closed.” His confidence was attractive, it was rare for him to be cocky like that.  

“You didn’t buy me dinner, and I’m a lady.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes before grabbing and lifting you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his trim waist.  You yelped in surprise, you had no idea he could do that.  He plopped you down on the kitchen island and moved to the other countertop.  You watched as he rolled out pizza dough.  His arm muscles bulged as he put in effort to flatten it.  “Not even homemade dough?” You teased, “Some chef!” 

He sent you a glare out of the corner of his eye, but the blush creeping up his neck gave him away.  Suddenly it clicked, “oh my god, do you get turned on when I’m mean to you?” You smirked.  

“Shut up…” Seokmin muttered while opening the pizza sauce.  

“Well…better hurry that prep…” You smiled wickedly, spreading your legs.  Seokmin glanced over at you and nearly moaned at the sight of your panties under your dress.  He frantically pressed the buttons to preheat the oven.  Once the pizzas were ready to be put in the oven he slotted himself between your legs and captured your lips once more.  

You guided his hand to your breast and encouraged him to squeeze.  He placed his other hand on your exposed thigh.  He trailed his fingers slowly up and up towards your center until the oven beeped.  He groaned and ran over to place the pans in the oven and set the timer. 

“Take your pants off.” You stated simply when he turned back to you.  He nodded and stumbled out of his jeans, the thin fabric of his briefs left little to the imagination as he was hard by this point.  He moved toward you and you ran a hand over his clothed cock, he hissed at the contact.  

“One second,” He blurted before disappearing down the hall.  You contemplated touching yourself while he was gone, but he returned in a rush before you had the chance.  He wiggled a small foil package in his fingers to show you why he left.  

“Who said you could hit?” 

“I–well I just figured…”

“I was about to start without you just now, I could still do that.” You could tell that Seokmin was weighing his options, knowing it would be so hot to see you get yourself off, but needing the feeling of being inside you.  

“No, no!” He sputtered, “I got you!” You grabbed his wrist and moved his hand to your clothed cunt.  

“Prove it.” 

He started slowly, the pads of his fingers circling your clit through your panties. His lips attached to the sensitive skin below your ear.  He kissed the skin slowly, letting his teeth graze your neck every so often.  He hooked his thumbs under your underwear and pulled them off gingerly, letting them flutter to the floor.  

He ran his fingers through your folds, savoring the wetness there just for him.  Experimentally he slipped a finger inside, earning him an arch of your back and a sound so delicious it could be the only thing he heard for the rest of his life and he would be happy.  

“C’mere,” he grunted, his voice deeper than you had ever heard it.  He moved you to the edge of the counter and inserted a second finger.  You couldn’t help but rock your hips against his ruminations.  He reached that delicious spot inside of you and you felt yourself hurtling off the cliff.  “You talk a big game, but you’re so desperate for me.” Seokmin snaked his free hand over his cock, teasing himself as he finger fucked you into an orgasm.  

Once you came back to Earth he slowly removed his fingers.  Before he had the chance to wash them off, you took his hand and guided his fingers into your mouth.  He watched with wonder as your tongue swirled around his digits, cleaning them.  You pulled them out, a string of saliva connecting you to him.  

“Who’s desperate now?” You breathed watching him continue to tease himself over his briefs.  

“Can I please fuck you?” He whined.  You helped him out of his briefs, you watched his cock spring free, the tip red and angry.  You leaned down and thumbed his leaking slit, earning you a delicious moan.  You spread the mess down his shaft.  

He opened the condom with his teeth, you watched as he rolled it down.  He pulled you to the edge of the counter again and lined himself up with your entrance.  He pushed himself inside of you slowly, allowing you time to adjust.  The stretch was delicious.  He slowly began to thrust, whining in the process.  

“You’re so warm,” he cried.  You felt every inch of him as he slid in and out of you. His hands anchored you to the countertop as you draped your arms across his back.  Seokmin found his rhythm once you wrapped your legs around his waist, he felt so surrounded by you.  He swore he could live with you wrapped around him for the rest of his life.  

“Why didn’t you fuck me in the restaurant?” You breathed.  His hips stuttered for a moment.  

“In public?” He bit his lip.  

“Yeah?” You swiped a hand through his hair and gave it a tug.  He moaned into the crook of your neck.  

“I uh-” He whined, “I didn’t think-I don’t know?” “Oh you really can’t think when your dick’s busy, huh?”  He whined into your neck again, the vibrations and the warm air fanning against your skin left goosebumps behind. Seokmin’s hands trailed down from your hips to your thighs and he began to knead your soft skin with his nimble fingers.  

You leaned your head back, enjoying the feeling of him all over you, inside of you.  With better access to you he experimentally captured your skin between his teeth.  Your sounds spurred him on and encouraged him to begin sucking and biting a bruise into your skin.  With this your hips bucked up to meet his thrusts.  

The idea of being marked by Seokmin would have appalled you just a few weeks ago, but now you couldn’t bring yourself to hate the idea of people knowing you have had him like this.  Like that stupid waitress.  “She wanted you.” You muttered between moans.  

“What?” Seokmin breathed into your skin.  

“That waitress, she wanted you.” 

“Oh well.” Seokmin bit you again.  He was marking you, even after you told him that another woman wanted him like this.  The coil in your stomach threatened to snap at that alone.  You could envision yourself falling off the edge soon.  Seokmin was still massaging the underside of your thighs, pinning your legs around his waist.  Suddenly everything was overwhelming, everything was him.  You felt like fireworks were setting off inside you.  He continued rolling his hips into you through your orgasm.  Shortly after he was releasing into the condom, moans rattled your throat the entire time.

He pulled back to look at you, his eyelids were heavy over his eyes, his lips puffy.  Before either of you had the chance to say anything the oven beeped.  Seokmin’s eyes grew wide, both of you obviously forgot about the pizza.  

“Get your dick out of me and turn that off!” You laughed.  He nodded and slowly pulled out of you.  You watched him slap the off button on the oven, trying not to laugh at him being naked from the waist down.  

Once both of you were cleaned up and clothed, Seokmin cut the pizza and put it on plates.  You were waiting on his couch, dressed head to toe in his clothes.  To him you looked like a dream.  

“Stay the night.” He handed you your plate and sat down next to you.  

“No.” You stated simply, picking up a piece of pizza.  After several seconds of silence you looked up at him, he was looking at you dumbfounded.  “We have work tomorrow.” 

“I’ll drive you!” 

“And walk past Jeongyeon after showing up with you and smelling like sex? No thanks.” 

“You can shower here, I’ll even walk in ten minutes later, please?” He looked like a puppy again.  

“I don’t have my work clothes, and no yours won’t fit me.” You gestured towards his clothes that were far too big on you.  

“There’s extras, you know that.” 

“Fine…” You wouldn’t mind showering in a nice apartment for a change. “You walk in fifteen minutes after me, and you shower with me.” “You have a deal!”               

Finals week was upon you.  The only week out of the year that work came second to school, you were so close to graduation you just had to make it through a week of practical exams.  You were confident in your ability to pass but your mind was elsewhere most of the time.  

You wondered how the kitchen was fairing without you, how Seokmin was doing without you.  As much as you hated to admit it, he did know what he was doing, but being absent was eating at you.  You flipped through the pages of your textbook without reading a single word wishing you could pick up your phone and hear about the days you’ve missed.  

Across town Seokmin was doing just about as well, he knew your name wasn’t on the schedule and he was dying to know where you were.  He was chopping carrots to have for dinner service when he decided to go straight to your apartment tonight.  He didn’t care if he had to get on his knees and beg the woman at the desk to tell him your apartment number.  

He all but sprinted out to his car once the kitchen was clean for the following day.  He parked on the curb in front of the building after the short drive.  He practiced what he was going to say to the woman at the desk on his way into the lobby.  He took a deep breath and approached her.  

“Can I help you?” 

“I’m looking for Y/F/N Y/L/N!” He blurted.  “She hasn’t been to work in a few days, she isn’t scheduled but she didn’t tell me she wouldn’t be here and I wanted to make sure I didn’t do anything wrong and I–” The woman was laughing.  Sure he went off script, but how would she know? He looked at her, confused.  

“She doesn’t live here.” Now he wasn’t expecting that.  

“What?” 

“I told her this would happen eventually, somebody would come looking for her and I would have to be the one to break it to them.” She sighed.  

“She just…lies to people?” 

“Yeah all the time.” She began digging in her desk for something.  “You said you worked with her?” “Yeah, I dropped her off here after work once…so I just thought..” Seokmin rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.  

“Oh you’re the one she was weird about!” “What?” “What? Nothing.” She began scribbling something on a slip of paper. “Here, this is her address, tell her Jane sent you.”  She handed him the paper and two lollipops.  

—-

A cautious knock rang through your apartment, which was confusing considering no one knew where you lived.  You unfolded yourself from the couch and padded to the door.  Seokmin was standing in the hallway and you almost slammed the door in his face.  

“What are you doing here?” You almost shrieked.  He held up two lollipops silently.  “Fuck, okay, uh…come in.” You stepped to the side allowing him entrance.  He shuffled past you, seeing another person standing in your tiny apartment was odd to say the least.  

“Hi,” Seokmin offered quietly while you were intently staring at the ground.  “It’s nice to see you.”

“I’m sorry my apartment is gross and cluttered and small.”  You muttered.  Seokmin looked around the apartment.  The cookbooks in the kitchen were piled almost as high as the refrigerator, the pink throw blanket on the couch made him smile, seeing a softness that no one else gets to see.  The living room was bathed in lamp light that made the shadows in the room look exaggerated and long.  The apartment was uniquely you and he loved it.  

“What?” He chuckled, “I don’t care what your apartment looks like, is this why you lied?” Your head snapped up at him calling you out so directly.  

“I never lied, I told you to drop me off there, not that I lived there.” You pointed out.  He gave you a look.  “I didn’t lie.”   

“Sure, maybe not,” he sighed.  

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, Seokmin had never seen you at a loss for words like this.  

“Look,” he took your hand, “that’s not why I’m here, it doesn’t matter.” You led him to the couch, moving the open textbook so that he could sit down.  Seeing him sitting on your couch was strange, seeing him here was not something you thought you would ever see.  “Are you okay?” He blurted out.  

“What?” You were taken aback, “of course, I’m fine.”

“You just haven’t been to work in a few days and after…the activities at my apartment I thought maybe you hated me, and–” “Woah!” You smiled, “why would I hate you? Seokmin, I took the week off to focus on finals week.”

“Oh.” He looked at you sheepishly. “Uh, well, how are they going?” You rolled your eyes.  

“Fine, I’ll pass, I miss work though.” You shrugged.  

“Just work?” “No, I miss the way Soonyoung runs out of the kitchen when he sees me.”

“Oh…” He dropped his gaze dejectedly.  “Hey!” He exclaimed as your fist connected with his arm.  

“I miss you, dumb ass.” “So you didn’t quit?” “No,” you looked at him, confused.  “You know you could have asked literally anyone where I was, right?”

“No one was talking about it! I thought we were all super sad about you quitting! I don’t know!” He gestured wildly with his hands.  “And…ugh, okay, you remember that one day like a month ago? When you were asleep in the dining room and I woke you up?”

“Yeah?” “I, uh, I saw what you were working on…the job applications.” He lowered his volume as if he was afraid you would explode.  “I thought you might’ve just up and left, you never liked me anyway, so you didn’t really have any reason to let me know.” 

“Oh,” you sighed.  “I’m sorry…” “Tell me you’ve changed your mind, you’re not leaving us.” “Seokmin….” 

“Is it because of me?”

“Maybe at first,” You started, you could see the tears well up in his eyes. “But now…if anything you’ve made it harder to leave.” 

“Where are you going?” He met your eyes again.  You reached out to swipe the tears that managed to escape.  

“I have a few offers, I don’t know yet.” 

“Of course you do,” he laughed sadly, took hold of your wrists,and rubbed the back of your hands with his thumbs.  “You’re so talented any restaurant would be stupid to not offer you a job.” 

“That’s not what you said a few months ago.” You pointed out. 

“Well, you know how to julienne the carrots now.” 

“Hey!” You tried to push him away but he held you in place.  He glanced at your lips before leaning in to kiss you.  He kissed you softly, his lips tasted vaguely of salt and honey chapstick.  He let himself linger without deepening the kiss until he suddenly pulled back, looking panicked.  

“Those offers are for sous chef positions right?” 

“Of course they are, watch out, Chef Lee.”    

Three years later

You stretch out on your couch after making the most of your day off.  With your recent promotion to head chef at Diamond you haven’t had a lot of time to relax.  With your new hectic schedule you were shocked that you were able to make it the entire day without getting a single call about the restaurant.  

A hand squeezed your calf gently.  You hummed at the contact.  

“I’ll make dinner tonight, love.” Seokmin mumbled sleepily from the other end of the couch.  

“No.” You stated simply.  

“Um, why not?” 

“‘The only thing worse than the tacky decor at Quartz and Serenity is the incompetence of the kitchen. If you’re looking for the exact opposite of what you asked for, this is the restaurant for you.’” You rattled off.  

“What are you doing?” Seokmin sat up, knocking your legs off the couch. 

“‘I would give them zero stars if I could!’” You stared at him, “‘I ordered a steak and it came out barely cooked at all! Will not be returning!’”

“Okay! In my defense on that one, she ordered a well done steak!” He threw his hands up.  “Who does that?” 

“MichelleJo1965, obviously.” You deadpanned.  

“When did you have time to dig through our Yelp reviews?” Seokmin scoffed, “I didn’t realize dating the competition meant I would have to defend myself at home.” 

“Step up your game, Head Chef Lee.” You shrugged.  “But seriously? She ordered a well done steak?” 

“She did! It’s not my fault she has no taste.” He shrugged.  “By the way I have plenty of great reviews, and I seem to remember my girlfriend really liking my cooking.” “You’re alright, I guess.” You shrugged.  “When are you going to ask me by the way?” 

“What?” He tried to stay calm, you could be talking about anything, certainly not the ring that has been staring at him from under his underwear for the last six months.  

“You really need to figure out where to hide things where I won’t find them” Wordlessly Seokmin got up from the couch and stomped into your shared bedroom.  For a split second you thought you might have pushed too far until he returned with the small velvet box.  

“I hope you at least left me one secret, you didn’t look at it did you?” He smiled sheepishly.  

“No, Min, I have no idea what it looks like, swear.” 

“Good,” to your surprise he sank down to one knee, right there in the living room. “You never were good at leaving well enough alone, I had a grander plan, but this seems much more our speed, huh?” You laughed.  “Will you marry me, even if my Yelp reviews suck sometimes?” He popped the small box open to reveal a ring.  

“Of course I will, you idiot.”   

[monicfever]

not yours, still yours. 𝜗𝜚 frank castle.

frank’s bleeding and pretending it’s nothing —until she shows up at his door, all worry and warmth, tending to wounds he’d never let anyone else touch.

cw ᝰ .ᐟ fem!reader (she/her) ,, dark themes ,, obsessive tendencies ,, short blurb.

he doesn’t know when it started.

somewhere between the second time she held a door for him and the way she laughs like it catches in her throat first. somewhere in the quiet.

he watches her. not like a creep — he tells himself that — but like a soldier watches a perimeter. eyes sharp, senses on high. every breath, every blink, every step she takes logged and memorized. he doesn’t even realize how close he’s gotten. how often he positions himself between her and the exit. how his shoulders tense when a man speaks to her for too long.

“you know him?” he’ll ask it too casually. too quiet. she’ll blink. nod.

“just a friend.”

frank will feel something ugly crawl up his throat.

just a friend.

he doesn’t flirt. doesn’t tease. just stands there. in doorways, on sidewalks, always a little too close, always just behind her. like a shadow, a shield.

he walks her to her car. waits for her to lock her door. asks if the guy at the diner always looks at her like that. asks who she texts. asks like he has a right.

in his head he does.

he lost everything once. he won’t lose her. not even if she doesn’t belong to him yet.

not even if she never does.

she belonged to maria, once. her best friend, her secret-keeper. her sister in everything but blood. she was there - back then. when things were still warm.

and when it all went to hell, she stayed.

didn’t flinch at the funerals, didn’t run when he stopped speaking for days at a time. didn’t blink when blood started showing up on his knuckles instead of rings on his fingers. she stayed. now she’s the only part of then that still breathes. still shows up with tired eyes and too much kindness. still makes coffee the way maria used to. still knows where the light switch is in his apartment without looking.

frank doesn’t have words for it. for her. only instincts. only fists and fury and the sharp, brutal ache of needing something so badly it makes your ribs feel like they're splintering from the inside out.

he thinks about her too much.

walks the perimeter of her street every night like a ghost in black. makes sure her lock hasn’t been picked. her tires haven’t been slashed. has a second phone — burner, unlisted — just for her number. doesn’t call it. just checks that it works. just needs to know he could.

　when she knocks on his door, it’s late.

past midnight. he doesn’t answer at first. she’s not the kind to leave. “frank,” she says softly through the door. “i know you’re in there.”

he could pretend. but she’d just come back. and the last thing he wants is her waiting outside in the dark.

he opens the door just enough. her eyes scan him quick — top to bottom, like she’s trained for this. then she sees it. the blood. his side. the way his shirt’s sticking to his ribs.

“jesus christ,” she breathes, already pushing past him before he can stop her.

“’s not that bad,” he mutters, but he’s lying and they both know it.

she doesn’t answer. just heads straight to his kitchen, pulls open the drawer where she knows he keeps the first aid kit. he watches her in silence.

watches the ghost of maria’s life keep moving inside his.

she makes him sit, unzips his jacket, peels his shirt away. doesn’t flinch when the wound stretches open like something out of a war movie.

she knows what he does. what he’s capable of.

but still comes back.

her hands are warm. careful. too gentle for the life he lives. he watches her face more than the bandage. memorizes the way her brow furrows. the soft crease in her lips when she’s focused. the flash of something like worry in her eyes when she brushes too close to bone.

“you should’ve called me,” she says, voice low.

he doesn’t know how to tell her he wanted to. that he typed the message twice and deleted it both times.

she looks up at him, holding pressure to the wound. “you can’t keep doing this alone.”

and he wants to say i’m not. you’re here.

wants to say you’re the only reason i still walk back through that door at all.

but he just nods. grits his teeth. lets her fix him like she always does. her hands move with a kind of quiet certainty — like she’s done this before, like it’s routine. it is. has been for a while now.

she knows where the gauze is, how much pressure to apply, when to tell him to breathe. he never does. not until she tells him to.

“you’re lucky this didn’t go deeper,” she murmurs, half to herself, unrolling another bandage. “another inch and—” she stops. shakes her head.

he watches her jaw tense. watches the way she won’t meet his eyes. “you shouldn’t be doing this alone, frank.”

“not your job to worry about me.”

“don’t you tell me what my job is.” she snaps, sharper than she meant. then softer — “you know i’ll worry anyway.”

he can’t answer. not when she says it like that —like it’s automatic. like breathing. like she doesn’t even think about it.

she finishes wrapping the gauze, careful not to pull too tight. her fingers linger on his ribs. just for a second. he feels it like a punch to the gut.

she sits back on her heels, finally meeting his eyes. “you look like hell,” she says, trying for light. for easy. he huffs something like a laugh. barely there.

“you always say that.”

“’cause it’s always true.”

a pause. her smile fades. her brows pinch. “frank, how long were you bleeding like that before i got here?”

he shrugs. she exhales, frustrated. stands up, pacing a little, arms folded. “you don’t get it,” she says. “you think you’re being noble or whatever—taking it all on by yourself — but one of these days, i’m gonna show up too late.”

he watches her quietly.

“and i can’t lose anyone else, okay?” her voice wavers. just a little. “i already lost maria. the kids. you. once. i can’t—”

“you didn’t lose me.” his voice cuts in, low. hard. final. she freezes. turns to look at him.

“you didn’t,” he says again. then quieter — “i came back.”

the silence stretches between them like a held breath. he shifts in his seat. “i check your street every night,” he confesses. doesn’t know why it comes out now. just knows it needs to.

her head tilts, confused. “what?”

“your block. your door. your windows. i make rounds.”

she stares. doesn’t speak.

“just in case,” he adds.

“frank…”

“not gonna let what happened to them happen to you.”

her face softens, eyes wide with something he doesn’t want to name. “i didn’t ask you to do that.”

“i know.”

another beat of silence.

“but i’m not mad,” she says, stepping closer. “i just... don’t want you bleeding out in your kitchen while i’m across the city, thinking you’re fine.”

her hand brushes his again. this time it’s deliberate. “next time,” she says, “you call me.” his eyes don’t leave hers.

“yeah,” he murmurs. “okay.”

her hands don’t shake, but his do. just a little. just when she leans in too close. just when he realizes how much he needs her to stay alive.

he’s not afraid of death. never has been. but he’s terrified of her dying. terrified of watching it happen and not being able to stop it.

not being fast enough. strong enough. again.

so he watches her finish the wrap. listens to the silence between them. feels the weight of her touch and the thousand things he’ll never say.

and thinks,

never again.

not her.

not her.

not her.

started 4.23.2025. finished 4.23.2025.

( masterlist. )

©️ monicfever 2025

[rayhalloffame]

Carmen Berzatto x reader

Carmy gives you some help when hosting a dinner party

The phone is propped up on the kitchen counter, Carmen’s calm voice coming through the speakers. It’s a recording of him preparing a dish that you’re replicating for some friends who will be joining you at your apartment tonight. It’s not that you can’t cook, you just need very specific instructions, and visual aids always help. Carmen prepared this dish at The Bear last week for family, just so he could make the tutorial for you. He even stocked your pantry with the proper ingredients.

You’re stirring the pot on the stove, and you swear you only glanced away for 2 seconds but when you look up, Carmen is dicing an onion and the pot has a lid on it. “There’s onions in this?” you wonder aloud. You remove the sauce to a cool burner so you can catch up. You send a picture of the diced onions to Carm when you’re done. The vegetable is just shy of a dice but you’re not as swift with the knife as Carmy is.

To: Bear

are these small enough that anne won’t notice? she hates onions

You return to the video to address the contents in the pot. On screen, Carmen collects the onion on his knife, removes the lid of the pot, and dumps the dice in. You’re ready to follow suit but when you glance inside the stainless steel, what was once smooth and buttery looks chunky with split oil and water. You take a picture and send it just as Carmen responds to your initial text.

From: Bear

should be ok

Then a FaceTime call comes through from him. His brow is creased so deep it might leave a permanent indent. “What’d ya do?” He’s looking very closely at his screen though you haven’t flipped the camera yet. You huff, sitting the phone back on the counter while you try to will the mixture into coming together. “Lemme see,” Carmen interrupts your vigorous mixing.

Reluctantly, you pick the phone up and reverse the camera to show the traitorous sauce. “I left it for like 3 minutes max, Carm,” you whine.

“Oh, baby,” he sighs, scrubs at his forehead with his hand. He looks over his shoulder at what you remember is an engagement party that booked out the restaurant into the early evening. “I’ll cook,” he says when he looks back at the screen.

You flip the camera back to yourself and give him a puzzled look. “You’re there until at least 7. I know you’re making a late appearance but I don’t want you to have to cook after your long day.” You set the phone on the spice rack that hangs near the stove so he can see you and the food. “Just tell me how to fix it.”

Carmen laughs through his nose. “There’s no fixing that.” He chuckles again at the glare you send him through the screen. “I would love nothing more than to make dinner for our friends. Just put out a charcuterie board or somethin’ until I get there.” He watches you tilt your head in contemplation, still mixing the sauce futilely. When you relent with a sigh he gives you a lopsided grin. “Did well, baby. See ya in a bit.”

Hours later you’re sat with your friends in the living room, chatting and laughing over meats and cheese. Despite the very welcomed presence of your loved ones, you can’t help but focus on Carmen, towel thrown over his shoulder and arms flexing while he works in the kitchen. He contributes to conversations every now and again, laughing to himself when someone says anything particularly funny. You gravitate towards him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind where he stands at the stove. “Food’s almost done,” he comments.

You hum, press a kiss to his shoulder. “Thanks for this.”

Carmen dips a spoon in the pot and blows on it before bringing it to your mouth to taste. You hum in satisfaction. “Course, angel.” He moves his body sideways and breaks the circle of your arms to wrap a bicep over your shoulder and tug you into him. He kisses the crown of your head then shoos you from the kitchen. The food is done soon, and you let Carmy pretend the flush in his cheeks is from the wine, rather than the shy pride from everyone singing his praises.

[stickdoodlefriend]

What I think each Batfamily member eats in a day:

Bruce: anything Alfred prepares. Something super dense in protein and fats that follows his detailed nutrition plan to support his vigilante activities. Taste is secondary. He burnt off his tastebuds years ago during a training exercise.

Jason: Diners or takeout. Balances it with a fruit. He knows the best places in Gotham where it's cheap and filling where he can eat his weight's worth of food and no one is glancing at his laptop where he is definitely NOT orchestrating any illegal activities. He does know how to cook a few basic things like eggs but he's got things to do and he'll cook when he has peace. Except. It's him so he doesn't do peace. Now if you throw him in the tundra or a difficult terrain? He'll be able to find something and grill it to cook it properly but otherwise, he's not going to bother.

Tim: he lives in a houseboat. He never considered the kitchen in his renovation and now the stove got replaced with a Bunsen burner to test samples he found on a crime site so he has no place to cook anymore. The cupboards are just makeshift armory and have like first aid kits, menus for takeout even though the delivery driver has sworn not to waddle in the middle of the marina with Tim's noisy neighbors and Tim's sketchy house that just looks slightly off to a civilian but Tim tips well so what can the poor lad do. There's only one cupboard dedicated to food and it's Zesti cans, Dick's nutrition drinks because Dick swears by them, and dog treats for strays and to bribe Titus. I don't think he ever learnt how to cook but he will figure it out if ever ends up in that situation where he needs to.

Stephanie: ramen with veggies and eggs thrown in for nutrition, Mac and cheese, anything basic with a skillet. She had to take care of herself when Crystal couldn't and her father didn't. She is highly self sufficient so she learns by watching Barbara or any YouTube tutorials for nutrition packed foods that taste good and are easy to make.

Cass: a pan to her is better as weapon to take down a mob. Food though is a rare indulgence she gets to keep so she goes to different places to try out different dishes. She doesn't cook but she likes to watch Steph hum while she's cooking and her body sways-dances contentedly to 90s punk rock.

Dick: whenever he gets time, he meal preps the quickest meals ever. Stuffs everything he made in the freezer for like three-six months if not longer because he'll forget. Is it probably expired? Maybe, but his stomach has withstood much worse. He'll have a bunch of nutrition bars and those meal replacement nutrition drinks stocked. He's used to cooking in bulk and the lesson in cooking is: if it tastes bad, you aren't adding enough herbs and spices. Luckily for him, he can store dried herbs and spices in airtight containers and use them for months.

Duke: home cooked meals with food that ISN'T seasoned by a former MI6 British butler. These are family meals made with love and care. He is living his life.

Damian: when he first came to Gotham, he ate whatever Alfred made though he did complain like a fussy kid. He still eats everything and values the high nutrition density but he will sneak in extra pepper and salt and make requests occasionally for halwa to sate his sweet tooth.

Barbara: no one taught her how to cook and she and her father ate takeout while he went through his case files and she listened on the police scanner and called in the tip lines to help solve cases pre-batgirl. She learnt how to cook during college because surviving on a diet of just pizza and ramen wasn't sustainable as Batgirl and she values being able to do things for herself. After becoming Oracle, she pushed harder to learn how to cook very well but even if she knows how to cook now, she is still bad at avoiding takeout (if she's not forgetting meals in favor of working that is).

[trickbxbes]

𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬

[𝗦𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗣𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀 𝗫 𝗗𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗻! 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿]

Summary: After some time working with Stanford, you decide to assist him on a quest to find a creature.

Warnings: Reader is a dream demon possessing a body, it’s complicated, violence,

Word Count: 3.6k

Book:

31 Years Ago

          “Behind you!”

“Gotcha!”

A much younger Stanford slid behind a woman in his kitchen. The woman was no other than you, in the vessel you had possessed for the longest time. You stood in front of the stove, cooking some bacon for the two of you. The delicious aroma filled the room, creating a wonderful atmosphere. 

“How’s the bacon coming, Angel Eyes?”

His nickname for you, it always made your heart skip a beat. You still weren’t used to it. You didn’t know why he insisted on calling you that. He knew your real name. But nevertheless, it made you warm. “Still calling me that, huh?” You comment lightly. Ford wraps up some butter and closes the fridge. His smile never left his face. 

“Yeah, do you… want me to call you by your real name instead? If that’s what you’re more comfortable with—“

“N-no! It’s… it’s okay.” 

You smile sheepishly back at the male. Your shimmering eyes gazing into his brown orbs. But thanks to you being caught off guard, you don’t notice the bacon grease beginning to bubble higher. With a hiss, a bubble in the grease pops and lands right on your hand. 

“Ah—! Dang it…!” You retract your hand, holding it with pain. Ford quickly rushed over and turned off the stove, he sets the pan onto a different, more cool burner. Taking his hand lightly into your own, he leads you to the sink so you can wash off your wound. 

“Are you okay?” He asks tenderly, his touch gentle. You nod, not noticing the way he held your hand, not processing how comfortable his skin felt against yours. “Yeah… man, you mortals have it rough with such fragile skin…” 

Your reply makes Ford laugh, his eyes closing as he grins. You find yourself staring, thinking of how nice of a laugh he has. Ford reopens his eyes and neither of you seem to move from your spot. Your hand resting atop his under the running water. 

Ford’s the first to pull away and end the moment. He clears his throat subtly. “Are you still okay to search for the ‘Quickster’ today? I can get a first aid kit—“ 

“I’m okay, Stanford.”

Your reassurance eased the male’s nerves ever so slightly. The mark on your hand was a simple red bump, nothing too bad. Ford adjusts his glasses and approaches the dining table once more. “Great! Then I’ll wrap up breakfast and we can go!” 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

       Now out in the forest, you and Stanford were creeping low. It was the beginning of Autumn. The leaves in the trees already turning a beautiful shade of amber and reddish browns. With every breeze of the wind, some more leaves would gently fall to the ground. The scent of pine was most prominent. Mother Nature really was a wonderful thing, and you’d tell her that. 

The two of you step out of Ford’s vehicle. Sadly, teleportation was not in the cards for you while in a human form. The doors open and close with a creak and a click. 

“Alright, this is where I last saw it when I looked through it’s eyes.” 

You inform your ally. Your power was useful when it could be used while in a vessel as well. Being able to see through anything’s eyes. The two of you were here on a hunt, for a beast Ford named, ‘The Quickster.’ Ford takes out his second journal, skimming the page. 

“This dang thing is always gone before I can get a good sketch of it. If we can sneak up on it, maybe I can finally study it.” He explains to the audience what exactly his intentions were on this expedition. Both of you crept forward, trying to find this creature before it could move on. 

“You know, Angel Eyes. I’m surprised you never thought of making an entire catalogue dedicated to the creatures of this town. There’s just so many!”

Ford whispers, making sure not to step on any of the dead leaves. “You make a good point… I guess I never thought about that.” This kind of thing was completely new to you. Having hobbies, was completely new to you. You usually just did as your told and moved on. If they wanted to sell a piece of their soul to get what they wanted from you, it wasn’t your business. But you were enjoying your time with the male, more than you ever did with another boss. 

“There…! Footprints!” 

Ford whispered and bent down by the print in the ground. It was a paw of sorts, only having three toes though instead of a usual four. The brunette man began to sketch the image into his journal in a smaller part of the page. You rub the back of your neck, watching. “Now we just have to find the actual creature…” You trail off. Ford finishes up his sketch and looks back to you, but pauses. He seemed somewhat entranced by something behind you. 

Following his gaze, you see some butterflies flapping their wings over. They weren’t normal insects however, these ones glowed, leaving a sense of shimmering with each flap. 

“Woah…” You lift your hand to gently hold one in the palm of your hand. Ford grins ear to ear as he flips to the next page in his book and started to draw the critters. “Stay still!” He calls, not taking his eyes off the paper unless it was to look at the butterfly once more. His concentration kept him so caught up, that he didn’t notice until it was too late. A glowing butterfly landed on his nose. 

Light giggles escape your lips, not wanting to scare off the butterflies. Ford’s two pupils reach the center of his eyes to observe the creature. 

“Very… bright…” He smiles a bit goofily. Undoubtedly studying the creatures in front of him. He had to, for anything he ran into out in these woods. It was in his mind as a scientist. “We’re a mile from Lake Ambertree, right? These butterflies must reside only in this area.” He starts to create his own theory in his brain. You lift your hand slowly, allowing the butterflies to flutter around and or land on your body. Two of them do to your right arm. “Yeah… maybe they have a nest nearby. Do you think they follow migratory patterns like monarch butterflies? That’s why you’ve never seen them here before?” 

The butterfly by Ford flies off his nose, granting the male a view to a rather majestic sight. You, the sun shining behind you, with butterflies gently flapping their wings slowly on your body. Your gaze was focused on the insects, making your form look like some sort of art piece. 

“Stanford?”

Your sweet voice snaps him from his thoughts. He didn’t realize he was staring. “Oh! Sorry, that’s a good theory. I’ll have to investigate that further on a different day, maybe bring Fiddleford along.” He clicks his pen, pushing his glasses further on his face. His cheeks warm. You spot the blush apparent on his face and blush lightly yourself, chuckling. 

Ford gets you both back on task as the butterflies begin to move on. “Now then. As wonderful as those creatures are, we’re here to find The Quickster.” He closes his book and sets it back in his large coat pocket. “Angel Eyes, can you look through it’s eyes again?” He asked of his adored lab assistant. You nod calmly, feeling relaxed from that experience. “Yeah, let me just…” You do so, and go rigidly still. Your face paled as you froze where you stood. Ford takes notice of your mood change. 

“What’s wrong—“

And then when he felt hot air briefly touch his back. A breath. Ford felt all his hairs stand on end as he slowly turned around to face the magnificent beast. Within the air, above his head, teeth began to slowly reveal themselves. It was a mouth, drooling and red on the inside. Only, it opened as if the monster was sideways. It’s mouth was vertically opening on it’s face, splitting it in two most likely from the size of it. Ford’s pupils shake, as he comes to a terrifying conclusion.

“It’s invisible!”

“Stanford- LOOK OUT!” 

Your concerned shout triggers Ford to quickly jump aside, dodging the beast’s attempt to bite into his flesh. After it misses, the mouth closes and the beast once again disappears. 

You and Ford regroup back to back, looking around it. “So… it’s a carnivore. Those teeth tell me all I need to know…” The ladder can help but make that distinction. He takes out his laser gun, holding it out in a ready position. “Can you stun it?” You ask, a bit nervous in all honesty. “I can’t shoot what I can’t see!” Ford replied, just as anxious as you. 

Suddenly, Ford is struck to a tree with a ‘twack.’ You gasp, raising your hand in his direction, panicked. “Stanford!” But you’re not given much time to tend to the dazed male, when you feel the beast grab you in it’s mouth. The teeth around you were sharp, but not digging in enough to wound you. Either way, it was terrifying. “Let me go!” Your pleads do nothing as the beast starts running away with you in it’s mouth, it’s drool pouring all over you. 

Ford groaned, holding his shoulder as he regained his senses. But once he hears you call his name, he snaps back to reality. 

“Ford!” Your figure was disappearing by the second. Ford extends his hand out to you. 

“(Y,N)!” 

His screams do nothing, and he knew he had to act fast. Scrambling to his feet, he makes chase after you, making sure to follow the footprints he so diligently took note of. 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

         Ford was barely able to catch his breath. He managed to follow the tracks and reach a large cave. The man had no idea what lurked inside the darkness. He took out of his pockets the only four things he had on him. His journal, a flashlight, a small knife, and his laser gun. It wasn’t a lot, and he didn’t know how many of creatures were hiding in there. But he had to try. He didn’t know how much time you had. 

“I’m coming, (Y,n).” 

With that, he enters the dark cave with stealthy steps. 

Meanwhile, you found yourself hiding behind some rocks. The cave was dark, the only light being from a faint glow of a strange algae in the walls. The creatures didn’t even need to be invisible. 

But while you were down there, you got a glimpse of the creature’s true forms. Their skin looked smooth, as if made from stone almost, or comparable to a baby’s skin. They were gray, with four legs and no tail. 

The beast had three children, who were on the hunt searching for you. The mother sat in the center of their den, waiting patiently. You were being used as a hunting lesson. You didn’t dare mutter a word, afraid you were going to be caught. 

Peeping your head over the rock, you see your chance to sneak over to a different hiding spot. You were steadily getting closer and closer to the exit. You’re not caught thankfully. One of the cubs playfully pawed at a stone instead. Although they weren’t as big as their mother, they were about as big as an average grizzly bear. 

Keeping your eyes on the creatures sniffing around, you start to slowly step backward. 

You feel your back bump into something, making you about to scream. But a hand covers your mouth immediately, silencing you. When you look to see who it was, you were barely able to notice through the darkness, that it was Ford. You sigh with relief and look back at him, knowing what the plan must be. “Oh, thank goodness you found me.” You whisper to him. “Are you alright? Are you harmed?” Ford asks quietly as to not attract attention. You shake your head, brushing off some dried off drool. 

Ford validates your thoughts, pointing to the cave exit, the way he came in. There was only one way in and one way out. “Good, let’s keep it that way.” 

The two of you attempt to tiptoe out, but then, Ford steps on some gravel. The tiny rocks crush under his feet, and the sound echoes in the cave. You’re frozen for a moment, alongside Ford, hoping, praying. But then one of the smaller beasts turns the corner. When its eyes landed on you both, its face split apart to let out a roar. 

“Run!”

Ford fires off a blast from his gun that makes the pup cry out in pain, scampering back. You and him run together, and hear the mother’s enraged roar. Ford turns his head and sees the beast pouncing, about to land on either one of you. The male didn’t have time to think of a carefully calculated plan. He only had one concern in mind. You.

“Look out!” With a mighty shove, Ford pushes you out of harm’s way, leaving himself to the monster. 

It crashes atop Ford, the male below making an ‘ack!’ sound. The sudden attack made the male drop his gun. The object slid away from him a few feet, too far for the male to grab. You whip your head over and gasp. 

“STANFORD!”

Extreme amounts of anxiety bubbled up in your chest as you tried thinking of some sort of plan. The monster had its claws on Ford’s chest, holding him down. The gun was on the other side of the man. You’d have to book it now in order to grab it before the monster kills Ford. You absolutely hated how useless you felt. All you could do was make a run for the only other weapon around. 

The monster then digs it’s nails into Ford’s chest, making the man let out an agonized scream. His blood curdling hollering echoed throughout the cave and bounced back, making the sound louder than ever. Ford acts fast, taking out his small knife and stabbing into the creature’s leg. It roars in his face, experiencing a fraction of the pain it inflicted on the human. 

When suddenly, everything goes white. The once dark cave was now illuminated by an invisible light. Every creature other than Ford lost all color. This was the plain in existence that comes forth whenever one makes a deal with a demon. The same backdrop that appeared when Gideon made a deal with Bill. Time was slowed entirely. 

“What the…” Ford looks to his right and sees your body dropped to the ground, unconscious. Instead, your diamond form floated forward. Your eyes were black. You were mad. The same darkness in your form that Bill had. 

You ominously and silently float forward.

“Burn.”

Red flames appear on the beast’s body, lifting it up off of Ford, and then slamming it into the ground a few feet away. The flames began to completely swallow the creature. Its eyes dart around, but it’s unable to move. Then, the flames slowly turn blue. The same blue that Bill had. The monster began to whimper out in pain, feeling the flames. But it was still unable to move. 

Ford watched, his eyes widen with shock and wonder. He just saw your back facing him, as you faced blue flames. You were silent, just eerily floating there. 

“(Y,n).”

His voice muttered. It was hesitant, but insistent. You shift your diamond body back to look at him, and see his gaze shift from you to the monster’s cubs. You realize what he’s trying to say. Although it did so much damage, it was still a creature trying to care for its children. 

Through Ford’s point of view, his eyes fluttered, the pain making him on the verge of passing out. The darkness in your eyes fade, and you reach out to him just as he falls unconscious. Everything went black. 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

       When Ford awoke, he felt droplets of water on his cheeks. At first, he thought it was rain. But then he heard sniffling. His eyes weren’t open yet, he was relying on his other senses. The pain of his injuries were still very much prominent. But he was laying on something semi soft. Not soft enough to be a bed, but warm like one. Then, he realized. He was in someone's arms.

“Please… please wake up…!”

It was your voice. 

“I’m not strong enough to carry you back to the car…!” His eyes began to slowly open. He was outside, definitely. The smell of pine returning to his nose. The sun was beginning to set. It cast a warm glow of orange against the autumn leaves and trees. 

You must’ve dragged him out of the cave, but that’s all you could make it to. 

“No one’s ever been so nice to me before… please wake up…! I-I never got to tell you… I can’t lose you…!”

Your tearful and heartfelt confession kept you from realizing Ford was waking up. He felt his own heart skip a beat. Is it possible you felt the same way he did? He didn’t know what to say, or think. All he could do was mutter,

“You won’t.” 

A soft gasp escapes your lips. You look down and see Ford staring up at you in disbelief. A heated blush spread across your cheeks. There’s an uneven silence between you two. Until Ford lifts his hand shakily and cups your face in his palm. You lean against his touch, not breaking eye contact. The way your eyes shimmered in the sunlight, it made you gradually look prettier in the animation. As if you were prettier in Ford’s eyes. 

“Angel Eyes…”

His thumb gently caressed your cheek. Your heart tugged down toward the man. Your head tilting downward a bit as you continue to cradle him. “Are you okay…?” You ask, smiling with relief. Ford blinks slowly, he felt like he was dreaming. The pain in his chest didn’t compare to a different sensation inside it. 

“I’m okay...” 

Ford’s eyes dart to your lips and back to your eyes. A silent signal. It were as if some invisible force was pushing your heads together. And no, it wasn’t the monster. And soon enough, both your and his lips press together. The two of you close your eyes, and deepen the kiss. His hand never left your face, holding it tenderly. 

It should’ve scared him, what you are. A demon using a meat puppet to walk and talk in this mortal plain. But it didn’t. He embraced it. He welcomed the weirdness. He just wanted you. 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

        Back in the house, Ford was shirtless, his chest and stomach wrapped in white wraps. He sat on the couch, where a first aid kit laid on the side. On the coffee table, was an open sewing kit. The way it wasn’t neat implied it was used recently. Ford was, of course, finishing his research page in his journal on the beast. He smiles and taps his pen against his chin. 

“How does ‘The Invisabeast’ sound?”

He asked, proud of his punny title. You re-enter the frame, holding two mugs of warm tea. A small string sticked out each mug from the tea bag. You set one down on a cup holder next to the sewing kit and sit on the couch. “I think that sounds pretty good. Now, cmon, take a break and drink this. It’s supposed to help your body heal.” You bring the mug up to his lips. But Ford wasn’t done talking. 

“Although it isn’t technically invisible, but using camouflage with its changing skin—“

“Ford.”

“I wonder what type of microbiological input was added, maybe the same in chameleons? Although it must be more diverse because the terra—“

“Stanford—“

“—It’s able to not only change color but match its surroundings itself, almost like a mirror of sorts. So if I include that data with—“

You peck his lips, surprising the male, but not enough to stop his yapping. He just smiles cheerfully, continuing to ramble. “—some cross—“ You kiss him again. Ford’s eyes close halfway as he lazily smiles, still talking. “—species… mm…” He finally gives in and kisses you back, humming against your lips. After a few moments, you pull back and replace your mouth with the mug of tea instead. 

Ford concedes, drinking some of the warm tea. He sucks in some air and then sighs.

 “Ah… here I thought you liked my scientific rambles, (Y,n).” 

He turns his head to you, his tone lighthearted. 

You rest your head against your hand, gazing at him lovingly. “Oh, I do. But I also like you being, Y’know, alive.” You mess with the slight curls in his hair briefly before you say,

“And… call me Angel Eyes. I like that more.” 

Coming from him, it made you feel better than the name you were given. It was certainly better than ‘Eyesore’, a nickname given by Bill.

Ford felt a wonderful sense of pride at that, and he takes your hand with his free one. 

“Okay, Angel Eyes.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

         Present day, the Ford everyone was more acquainted with, woke up on his lab desk. He sat up, rubbing his head. He lifts his elbow up on the table, resting his upper body against it. He rubs his eyes, an unpleasant expression present on his face. For a while, he just stares at the scribbles of notes on the table. Although it wasn’t the papers he was thinking about. 

But he’d eventually lift his head to look over at a painting of you, tucked away in his lab. The same one Dipper saw before when he came to encode his thoughts. He didn’t know why he still had it. Maybe it was because he was sent to an alternate dimension not long after the breakup. He remains staring at the art piece. There’s no music, no laughter, just tense silence. 

[meraki24601]

Indulge Me for a Moment

Caretaker knew who Hero was the first time they stepped into their apartment. The flimsy mask they wore as part of their costume barely covered any of their features, and the limp they’d sported that day matched what they had seen on TV. Though, considering they hadn’t wanted to scare a potential roommate away, they hadn’t mentioned it. Hero seemed happy and perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, so Caretaker let them keep the apartment as a sort of safe zone.

Later, Caretaker would swear it wasn’t them who changed things. Hero was the one who brought work home in such a way Caretaker would either be cruel or just a fool to ignore it.

Back from work later than usual, Caretaker had seen the fight between Hero and Villain. It happened outside their office; how could they not have seen it? They saw the hits Hero had taken to protect innocent civilians. Particular interest was taken in how Hero convinced the emergency responders they didn’t need medical aid. 

The smell of bleach, weakly covered by scented spray, met Caretaker at the front door instead of their cat, Pounce. Hero’s quiet voice in the kitchen only added to the disturbing greeting, “‘M making ramen. W'nt some?”

“I think I’m alright.” Caretaker sighed. They made their way to the kitchen, nearly tripping over Pounce, stationed just inside. 

Hero had never come home that beat up before. They always had some carefully crafted “regular citizen” excuse for any minor injuries and would claim a work trip or family visits for the worse ones that needed time to heal. This was bad enough that even the cat knew better than to take their eyes off Hero. 

Caretaker shook their head at the clumsy wrapping on Hero’s arm, the two large regular band-aids slapped on their forehead that had already bled through, and the steady growing stain on Hero’s side. They had no idea why Hero hadn’t gotten someone to care for them like normal. It seemed it would be up to them, “Hey. You okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine, citizen. You don’t need to worry about me.” Hero whispered. They leaned forward to rest against the counter and stared down into the too-large pot of water on the stove. The burner hadn’t even been turned on.

Yes, this time, it was really up to Caretaker to save their Hero.

The first-aid kit was in the bathroom. Caretaker trusted Pounce to watch Hero while they went to get it. As they had suspected, the small room was the source of the bleach smell. Presumably, Hero had made a decent effort to clean up their mess despite their condition, but there were still a few splatters of blood around. They had taken the trash out but left it outside the front door, so Caretaker had seen it anyway and hadn’t replaced the bag. Even the first-aid kit had been left a mess. 

It didn’t matter. Caretaker would set everything right once Hero had been put to bed. Though mixed up and a few items were scattered, the kit had everything they needed for the time being. 

Pounce’s meow echoed in the small space as Caretaker reentered the kitchen. Hero was now completely bent over the oven, arms bracing them on either side of the pot. They seemed fixed on how the small but steady drops of blood from their nose disappeared into the water.

“Hey,” Caretaker called. “Come sit.”

Hero didn’t seem to hear them. They looked moments from collapsing. Though Hero’s hair hid their eyes, Caretaker saw tears had begun to join the drops of blood in the pot.

At that moment, Pounce decided she’d had enough. The cat bounded over to Hero’s side and raised up on her hind legs to lovingly claw at the back of Hero’s leg. Her strangled meow was overwhelmed by the sound of Hero’s pot smashing against the opposite wall and crashing to the floor. It was too much for both cat and human, but Pounce was the only one composed enough to run out of the room. 

“You’re safe!” Caretaker cried as Hero collapsed on the floor in front of the oven. “Can you hear me? Breathe. You’re alright.”

Whining into the hand covering their mouth, Hero curled in on themselves. The low squelch the action caused made Caretaker sick. They had to move this along. Consequences be damned.

Caretaker whispered each move they made out loud. Scaring Hero again would be bad. Likely very violent, too. Unfortunately, the only way they could think of getting Hero’s attention might potentially turn out even worse. Even the sound of them setting the first-aid kit on the floor nearby made Hero flinch. 

Raising their voice only slightly, Caretaker decided to test their luck. “Hero.”

It seemed that Hero had never once suspected Caretaker knew who Hero was. The shock of hearing Caretaker use their hero name was enough to pull Hero out of the depths of whatever memory they had been drowning in. They didn’t react more than looking up dazedly with a soft frown. 

“Hero, It’s okay. You’re safe.” Caretaker didn’t dare move so much as an inch.

“No.” Hero’s voice was rough. Barely half of what it had been when they called out to Caretaker only moments ago. “I’m not…”

“May I touch you, Hero? You’re hurt.”

“I’m not—”

“Enough. It’s alright.”

A slow tear rolled down Hero’s cheek. Caretaker had expected to hate the look Hero would fix on them once the secret was revealed—anger, disgust, betrayal, etc. They didn’t plan on fear they saw there. 

“You don’t know. You’re lying. This is a dream, a nightmare.” Hero fell forward on their hands and knees. Blood sprayed the floor below them as Hero’s groans turned to deep chest-rattling coughs. 

Caretaker didn’t bother to respond. Instead, they picked up the damp rag they had brought, lifted Hero’s head, and gently wiped away the blood and tears. Hero didn’t fight the touch, so they kept working. Removing the sloppily placed bandaids and cleaning the cuts was simple and quick. 

When Caretaker tried to move on and unwrap Hero’s arm, Hero pulled back with a barely audible “Wait.” So Caretaker did. They sat back on their heels, supporting grip still on Hero’s arm but not moving until Hero nodded. Caretaker could do this at Hero’s pace. They didn’t let the way Hero kept flinching away from even the softest touch drive them away.

Once Hero’s arm was bandaged correctly, Caretaker pulled Hero into their arms. “It’s alright, Hero. You don’t have to deal with this alone.” 

“But why?”

Keeping their grip on Hero steady, Caretaker lowered Hero to lie on the floor. They were glad they’d mopped it earlier. “Don’t worry about that right now. We can worry about answering questions once you’re feeling better.”

Hero’s fist tightened in Caretaker’s shirt. They barely had the strength to keep their back from pressing against the floor. “Why?”

Caretaker shook their head, “Trust me, Hero. Indulge me for just a moment longer.” They lifted Hero’s shirt, barely catching them as pulling the fabric away from the untreated wound sapped away the last of Hero’s strength. “We both have questions that need answers before tomorrow comes. For now, let me save my hero.”

Version 2

[melpomenelamusa]

🔥 - Burn or scald them. For Elafi

Cooked Deer - Chimeras

~Special chapter~

CW: Scalding with boiling water, mainly domestic fluff.

Elafi decided to make some pasta for lunch.

His father, who had worked as a chef in a restaurant, knew how to prepare a wide variety of pastas from scratch, all of them delicious. Elafi hadn’t mastered that level of skill, but he had found a bag of spaghetti in Warrick’s pantry, and since there were fresh tomatoes from the garden and some basil, he decided to try making a classic Bolognese pasta.

Warrick was in the shed, so Elafi decided to start cooking and spare the man the trouble.

He began by taking the largest pot he could find, filled it with water, and set it on the stove. When the first bubbles began to boil, he dropped the thin sticks of pasta in, stirring slowly so they wouldn’t stick together, until they were fully submerged. While they cooked, he chopped the vegetables and prepared the meat for the sauce. Once everything was on the stove, he sat down to rest for a bit.

That morning he had trained again with Warrick, so his muscles felt tight and weak. He hoped a good meal would help him regain some energy.

When the timer on his phone went off, the deer boy got up and checked to see if the pasta was al dente. Once confirmed, he turned off the burner and grabbed the two handles of the pot to pour the hot water into the sink colander. He began to pour and...

His arm gave out.

His fingers slipped from the handle, and the boiling water spilled directly onto his left hand.

Elafi screamed.

The cry alerted Warrick, who immediately ran out of the shed and bolted to the cabin.

“Elafi!” he shouted, heart in his throat, as he rushed inside.

The kitchen was a mess, with noodles and steaming water scattered all over the floor. Elafi was on his knees in front of the sink, clutching his left hand, the skin completely red. As if it weren’t already obvious what had happened, the delicious scent of Bolognese sauce still hanging in the air was enough to make Warrick snap into action.

He turned off the stove and carefully helped Elafi to his feet. The deer boy was breathing hard.

“Easy, it’ll be okay,” Warrick said as he turned on the faucet and placed Elafi’s burned hand under the cold water. Elafi stifled a scream and instinctively tried to pull away, but Warrick held his wrist firmly, preventing him from moving. After a few minutes, he turned the tap off.

He guided Elafi to sit on one of the dining chairs and ran to get the first aid kit. When he returned, Warrick finally looked at the deer boy’s face—he had been silently crying the whole time.

“Hey, it’s alright, you’re going to be fine,” the man said as he wrapped the moist bandages around the teenager’s hand.

“I-I’m sorry,” the boy whispered. “I ruined lunch...”

“It was an accident,” Warrick assured him. He glanced at the large pot on the floor and all the noodles spilled everywhere. It was clear Elafi had tried to move it to drain the pasta. Had it been too heavy for him?

“It’s my fault,” Elafi said. His face was drenched in tears. “I’m too weak...”

“It was just an accident...”

“But it’s true!”

Hearing Elafi raise his voice was always unsettling for Warrick, who was used to the boy’s sweet and gentle tone.

“It’s true, I’m too weak,” he went on, wiping his tears with his good hand. “If I weren’t, the pot wouldn’t have slipped. If I weren’t so weak... I wouldn’t keep getting captured... I’m just easy prey.”

There was a sad resignation in the deer boy’s words.

“You’re doing great,” Warrick said. “Nobody is born strong overnight. Some people have it a bit easier than others, sure, but anything can be achieved with practice and dedication. And besides, you have the most important thing—”

He gently lifted Elafi’s chin with a finger, meeting his big brown eyes.

“You have the will to be better, and that’s something not everyone has. Even I lost that will at one point, and that’s what I admire most about you. You never give up.”

Warrick’s words seemed to have an immediate effect: Elafi’s tense shoulders relaxed, and life returned to his gaze.

“Thank you,” he said, a small smile appearing on his lips. “I’ll keep trying. And I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Attaboy,” Warrick replied, ruffling his hair playfully. “Well, I guess we’ll have to make something else for lunch, though it’d be a shame to waste that delicious Bolognese sauce. What do you say we scoop it up with some tortillas?”

Elafi let out a little laugh.

“Yes, that sounds perfect.”

Taglist: @scoundrelwithboba @morning-star-whump @lancedoncrimsonwings @3-2-whump. @whumped-by-glitter @string-of-broken-hearts @alyscat @oddsconvert @what-if-i-just-did @bacillusinfection @writinglittlepains @washing---machine @bilightningwhumper @enasolos @inhurtandincomfort@c0zy-drag0n

A short one this time because I honestly couldn't think of a context where something like this could happen, but hey, the whump can appear even in the most normal and seemingly peaceful moments, so why not? BTW, I know nothing about cooking pasta, so if there's any chef reading this I'm sorry.

[callahanisms]

your desire

got inspired, so here's something for steven grant. because i love awkward autistic oscar isaac.

pairing: steven grant x gender neutral! reader

for vibes: "venus" by bananarama

you were in london for a phd program. you wanted to pursue a doctorate in art history and work with repatriation. after all, every place deserved their stuff back.

especially from the british museum.

you lived in a simple flat across from the sweetest man you've ever met: steven grant.

now, aside from how tired he was and the sometimes weird things you'd wake up to coming from his apartment, he was a good neighbor.

at one point, he even helped you unlocked your door after you had left your keys in the apartment. you rushed to get out of the apartment as fast as possible and came back near 1am without your keys.

"i didn't even know i could do that." is what he said when he successfully gets your door open. you were sure he was joking. he was being genuine.

the dating scene in london wasn't...well, the state of dating was bad in general. especially considering that half of the world literally disappeared and then came back, including your own brother. your father died thinking he was dead permanently, leaving you with a soft spot and a desire to pursue a fulfilling relationship.

why wait if you might die tomorrow? there was always another world ending event around the corner.

perhaps developing a crush on your attractive neighbor was not the way to go.

none of the people you went out with had steven's smile. had his curls. had his smile. had his nose. had his little information dumps that you adored.

but from the interactions you guys had, it seemed the destiny might be platonic. which hurt your soft, romantic heart.

you were about to retire for the night since you had class the next day. that's when you heard mumbling outside your door. peeking through the peephole, you can see the man looked downtrodden. he was holding some flowers and a box of chocolates.

you opening the door surprises him. he nearly jumps out of his skin. "(y/n)!"

"hey." you lean against the doorway and cross your arms over your chest. you were wearing some comfortable lounging clothes: a tank top and some fuzzy pants with hello kitty designs. "everything okay?"

"huh? yeah. i mean..." he purses his lips and sighs. "got stood up on a date." again.

you understood all too well. you lost count of how many dates you went on and they just didn't show up. not even a text to tell you they weren't coming, or to ask for a rain check. wasting your time. and being general dicks.

the state of dating was not it.

"i'm sorry. i'm sure there was a reason." perhaps there was. perhaps there wasn't. there was no point in thinking about it.

"yeah. well, good night!" even when upset, there was still a pep in his voice.

watching him pull out his keys made you feel...sad. you didn't want him to spend time alone.

"how about you come in for a cup of tea? that way you don't have to eat the chocolates alone."

steven turns around. there's a sparkle in his eyes when he looks at you, making you melt.

"i'd like that. a lot."

you move aside to let him in and close the door behind you. he removes his shoes, setting them on the side and you take his jacket to hang it up.

steven sits at one of the seats at the kitchen island, watching you pull out your kettle and fill it with water, before placing it on a burner. you adjusted the flame to a medium.

"you want some cake? i have some left. it's lavender lemon." you ask, pulling out two mugs. you love the way his face perks up. one of them was a mug from the gift shop with an egyptology theme.

"i think i'll be fine. but it's kind of you to offer."

"okay. what about tea?"

"do you have chamomile? kind of...basic but..." he would like a sleep aid.

you don't say anything. you just smile at him and grab the box from your cabinet. you place a bag in each much, discarding the proper trash. "so...you wanna talk about it?"

steven spends the next few minutes talking about his feelings. it felt good for him to unload and vent just a little bit. he held no ill will towards his date. just some frustration about how his romantic life has hit a brick wall. something was always getting in the way of him pursuing a relationship. something was always happening. he was always screwing up. perhaps he was the problem.

in the middle, your kettle was screeching. so you turned off the burner and poured it into the mugs, letting the tea steep.

you can't help but relate. with all the people who stood you up, you wonder if you are the problem. were you that unlovable, that undatable, that people can't even tell you they weren't coming?

steven stops talking when he notices the way you're looking at him: with intensity. you look like you want to tell him something. "what is it?"

"what? you can keep going."

"you want to say something. your lip is twitching." he gestures. he takes a sip of his tea.

"well...i don't know if..."

"go on. you can say it."

you take a sip of tea before looking at him. "it's not your fault. none of it is."

steven's smile is sad. "you don't have to say that."

"i mean it. steven...i know it feels like it is. hell, i relate a lot. sometimes it feels like you're the problem because no one else wants you. but it's not your fault. i think you're...pretty cool. and amazing."

he blinks slowly, almost like a cat. he's busy just looking at you, admiring your features. your beauty. and your warmth. not many people would invite people over just to vent.

"it's all good to vent. but i also think it's important to...think of it as redirection. like my dating life sucks but my studies are going well. and i'm going to be published."

"r-really?" he watches you walk over to the record and set your mug down. you look through the vinyls and pick one.

"yeah. academically too. so i get academic validation. which isn't everything, but it's certainly nice." it was important to get your work out there. you turn the player on, place the disk, and then drop the needle.

your body movies instinctively. you recognize the synth beat, picking up your mug and moving your hips. "this was my dad's. he really like british 80s synthpop." you turn to steven and take a sip of your tea.

he was trying his best not to stare, not to watch the way your hips moved. it was mesmerizing. he wasn't one for dancing. he was not the best at following a rhythm.

you dance over to him and gently take his hand. "come on steven."

"i don't think so." he sees your pout. "okay, okay."

he gets off the stool and lets you guide him to the middle of the room.

your hips move. your body is unchoreographed. you weren't really a dancer. but you can't help yourself. you spins a few times, bathing in the casualty of it all. and unknowingly bathing in steven's love filled gaze.

you look deep into his eyes. his soft brown eyes. and your eyes glance down to look at his lips. his soft looking kissable lips.

could you be bold? could you make a move? was it appropriate to make a move? you take a sip of her tea and sets the mug down. "steven..." you bites her lip as the music keeps playing.

"y-yes (y/n)?" he could feel his cheeks warm up. especially as you step closer. your bodies are nearly touching.

you gently cup his face with one hand and pull him by his waist so his body is against yours. you could feel your own body against his. it was quite arousing.

you leans forward and kiss him softly, pulling away for a second only to kiss him again.

"i like you." you mutter against his lips.

steven doesn't know what to do. he's hesitant. because you want him. and maybe he wants you. but do you really want him? was it just the heat of the tea? or the music?

"you...you like...me?" surely there were better men. better people.

your eyes soften. "yes. i do. i like you. i like you a lot steven." the music appears to fade to a soft lull. your heart beats in your ears. perhaps you made a mistake.

"i know this is sudden. and maybe it's inappropriate considering that...you just got stood up and i invited you in my home and it seems weird and terrible honestly. and if you don't like me back that's fine. you can just tell me and i'll stop and you can go..." you begin rambling nervously. your mouth runs faster than you could comprehend.

he has to set his mug of tea down.

you stop talking when he presses a finger against your lips. he feels how soft they are. and is tempted to trace your lips with his finger. "don't...don't you dare stop."

your lips curled into a smile and he removes his finger to kiss you. his hands rest on your hips, trying to bring your bodies closer.

a small moan escapes you, feeling him grind up against you. his kisses are fervent, as if he's trying to taste you.

your back hits the edge of the tv stand, causing you to giggle. you let him kiss you, parting your lips so his tongue slides in. they dance for what feels like an eternity.

you manage to pull away and turn around so he's against the tv stand. then you tug him along, heading straight for your bedroom.

[nomelwelloy]

Neuvilette & Wriothesley | fluff ideadump

a/n: wishing all a late happy valentine’s day!!

Neuvilette in his dragon form, getting much needed rest in his abode when Wriothesley’s sudden appearance at his door him catches him off guard. To say Neuvilette is a bit embarrassed is an understatement- no one has seen him like this since the early centuries, let alone the Melusines.

He scoots closer to the wall of the cavern and away from his comfortable spot under the sun, attempting to put some distance between them.

Wriothesley splays his hands in the air, explaining he’s there at Sigewinne’s and Clorinde’s request to deliver a care package, and a welfare check, given his rare leave of absence after a particular stressful period of work.

“I’ll just leave it here and go,” he says, picking up on Neuvilette’s discomfort. The usually confident Index averts his gaze, head turned away and his tail coiled around himself.

Wriothesley tries to leave, but he can’t really; the sound of Neuvilette’s laboured breathing and the sight of his discoloured scales make him hesitate. He doesn’t know what dragon scales should look like, but surely it can’t be the dull grey sheen dusting over Neuvilette’s body.

Wriothesley ends up staying, much to the dragon’s dismay. He hasn’t moved from his spot near the wall, but his eyes betray his desire to move back to the sunny spot in the middle of the cavern.

“It’s just me, Neuvilette.” Wriothesley reassures with a hearty laugh. “Nothing to be embarrassed about.” He tosses his coat to a corner and folds his sleeves, getting to work at tidying the place, sweeping the stairs that lead out of the cavern and whistling absentmindedly as he does. It takes a while, but Neuvilette eventually grows comfortable enough and moves back to his original position, laying his head over his body like a dog blissfully soaking up the sun.

Wriothesley begins brewing medicinal teas and offers Neuvilette the nutritional snacks the head nurse has packed, as well as supplements Clorinde contributed. Neuvilette obediently takes them, bowing his head in gratitude. When Wriothesley runs a hand over his snout, the judge huffs, a puff of warm air rushing around him.

Wriothesley brushes his fur, smoothing through the tangles and later sets up a burner with essential oils to aid him in decompressing. He also, for reasons unknown even to himself, decides to toss a blanket over him. It’s comedically small compared to his giant body, but Wriothesley dusts his hands with a proud beam. Neuvilette has dozed off, his breathing more steadied and relaxed.

The exhaustion is catching up to him too, and Wriothesley lays next to him, eventually falling asleep.

When he wakes, Neuvilette has returned to his human form, naked and curled under the blanket, huddled near him for warmth. Wriothesley pulls the blanket over Neuvilette’s bare shoulder and secures an arm around his waist to hold him closer. His body is warm from the sun, but the air is cool. He can’t have the Iudex falling sick, not after he’s spent a whole day nursing him back to health, can he?

He lazes a bit more on the mossy ground before helping Neuvilette to his chambers, laying him onto the soft mattress. Wriothesley contemplates staying a little longer, smoothing the creases of Neuvilette’s frown.

It won’t be long before he’s back at the Palais, back to his demanding schedule, to his little residence in the city. Wriothesley wonders if the apartment is too cramped for a dragon, if its kitchen is equipped with whatever health supplements he’s fed him today. He ought to make a trip there one day.

Wriothesley decides he’s in no hurry to leave.

[riddle-me-ri]

a/n: sooo this is 100% pure self indulgence lmao. As much as I love the main five wholly…I can't help but feel a wee bit more favoritism to Goemon lol. I'm a sucker for the protective and stoic type that can also be silly but tries to be serious most of the time lol. Bonus if he gets shy or flustered around women lol. I understand that canonically speaking Goemon will likely turn away in such a scenario, so there's probably some OOC-ness in that, but I did try to keep him as close to character as possible! Goemon's injuries (and how he obtained them) are based on the ones he gets in Blood Spray because that film broke me and I just really, really, really want to just take care of him and love him and yeah…so hope you enjoy!

Context: You’re the latest member of Lupin's gang. Whenever the gang needed a place to lie low, extra intel, or someone to help patch them up, you were the one they called upon. You always tried to stay ready for whatever they may throw at you…but what happens when the stoic samurai (whom you may have feelings for) of the group comes to your aid after winning a death match and what's to come of your relationship as just more than wounds are exposed.

Content Warning: sensual content (heavy touching, kissing, really soft romantic stuffs), brief mentions of blood and bodily wounds.

Word Count: 3.5 k (oops)

Goemon Ishikawa XIII x F!Reader - Like Real People Do

It was another uneventful evening in your tiny, cozy, humble cabin in the forest not far from the bottom of a gorgeous mountain.

You were going through the motions of making dinner. You always somehow make more portions than necessary, but it left you with enough to keep you fed for the week.

You just never know when the gang may need 6 if they need somewhere to lay low, and they always seem to be hungry.

You have known Lupin and the others for a few years now. You crossed the gang during a heist of your own where both your goals were the same.

And you know what they say about if you can't beat them, join them.

Lupin was thrilled to have another lady ally while Jigen and Goemon weren't too fond of the idea. Fujiko had a mixed reaction between being elated and having a female companion to be envious of having Lupin's attentions possibly deviated from her.

However, after years of consistent aid and comradery to the gang, they slowly came around.

Over the years, it was easy to see how you had a soft spot for the motley crew of thieves. They each had their own personality that either complimented each other or made for amusing banters and creating an abundance of cherished memories.

You could say you've never laughed so hard or genuinely enjoyed yourself as much as when you were with them.

There was always something new but the people stayed the same. You somehow knew what to expect from them while embracing the unexpected from what they got themselves into.

What you didn't expect was a knock on your cabin door. Lupin usually sent a note or called on your burner cell if he or the others were coming.

Your body went rigid. You scanned your surroundings for the nearest pliable weapon. You settled for the cleaver you were using to cut tonight's dinner.

You slowly approached your door when another racket of knocks hit your door.

A deep, strained, but familiar voice called your name through the door. “It's me…”

You furrowed your brows as you slowly lowered your weapon and simultaneously reached for the door handle.

“Goemon?” You turned the door, still tense and ready in case it was some kind of trick, but you knew the samurai's voice anywhere.

Once you opened the door, your kitchen utensil turned weapon fell to the floor with a crashing clatter.

“G-Goemon?”

He was pale. His once warm obsidian irises were bloodshot. The man that would stand tall or sit straight in his neutral meditative pose was limping to the side, slouched over in pain.

There was blood, so much that stained what remained of his trademark traditional clothes. You feared to find out how much of it was his or his enemy's.

He didn't say anything as you flung his arm around your shoulders and got him inside to immediately begin treating him.

You couldn't deny the hurtful pang in your heart at the state Goemon was in.

You're used to the usual stab or gunshot wound, but this was far worse…

Minutes turned into hours as you finally got control of Goemon's bleeding, your heart twisting at just how much blood he possibly lost just getting to you.

You did your best to stitch the deep scar that cut from his right shoulder diagonally to the lower left side of his back.

The slash along his arm was disinfected and tightly bandaged.

The lacerations took priority over the various bruises and minor scabs you also detected…not that there was much you could do for them anyway.

Neither of you spoke a word. The only sound resonating through the living room was the pops and cracks of the ongoing fire.

You didn't want to pry.

Whether it was out of respect for the man that he would tell you in his own time or you were too nervous to find out and feel guilty that you weren't there to help…you weren't sure, possibly both.

“Okay…I've stitched up those wounds as best as I could. Everything's been disinfected and covered up…” You gently patted the covering you put on his back, in some attempt of comfort.

“Thank you…” Goemon grumbled the first sentence he spoke since you allowed him in.

“Don't mention it…that's what I'm here for.”

Goemon hummed in acknowledgment, although it looked like he wanted to say something else.

You bit your lip as a thick silence took over the room.

Whenever heists got hectic or when the gang had to recoup from a setback, you always gravitated towards Goemon.

In all the chaos and mishaps, you could always rely on him to mostly remain calm, and it would rub off on you and allow you to regain control of your nerves.

Goemon, being the bashful man he is when it comes to women, was very cautious and confused as to why you came to him.

When his curiosity got the better of him and he asked you why this is, you said:

“I just…you help me feel safe and calm, I suppose, especially when things sorta get crazy…I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable at all.” You chuckled nervously.

You remember the way your heart fluttered at his sweet smile and the soft reddening of his cheeks before he turned his head away to shield himself from further embarrassment.

“I…I'm glad I can do that for you…” He responded shyly, still not fully facing you.

His smile widened when he heard your giggle.

From then on, Goemon slowly got more accustomed to your close proximity.

Secretly relishing in the fact you trusted your wellbeing with him despite who he is and what he's done.

You hoped that in some way with Goemon being here and now on the road to healing from his wounds, you're returning the favor by offering a safe space for him.

You got up from resting on your knees behind his back and walked around him to face him.

Goemon was in his usual position, legs criss-crossed, arms crossed, and his eyes closed.

That is until his eyes creaked open to look at you as he felt your presence move around him.

“I-is there anything else you need?” You asked as you tried to focus your eyes on his and not his fully exposed, now bandaged torso.

Goemon closed his eyes as if in thought. He opened his eyes once more and looked at you.

“May I stay? Just for a few days…”

His eyes somehow looked more tired than before, and the slight bags under them seemed heavier…

“Of course…stay as long as you need.”

~~~~~

Goemon seemed to silently accept your offer of staying as long as he needed. Seeing as how way more than “a few days” have passed and he was still here with you.

Not that you were complaining, you enjoyed his presence, and you were able to keep tabs on his recovery.

Plus, maybe just maybe this could be your chance to get closer to the samurai and not worry about being interrupted by the others.

It had been almost a week when Goemon finally opened up to you about how he ended up in the condition he did.

You tried your best to hide the guilt that slowly crept up inside.

The last you heard from anyone in the gang was Lupin and Jigen targeting a cruise with a full casino and only knew that it would likely port where you reside now.

There was no way for you to know how everyone's paths would cross, how the objectives changed, and how the events would play out.

Goemon didn't ignore the crestfallen look on your face as your head fell at the end of his tale with him arriving at your temporary home.

Your eyes widened at the soft, feathery touch that landed on the bottom of your chin.

Goemon gently lifted your head up to face him, his hand quickly falling away from your skin as his eyes met yours.

“There's nothing you could have done before any of those events…you couldn't stop or help me…but in the end…the very end you were here when I needed you the most…and for that, I'm grateful.”

“I-I know it's just…” You sniffled, trying and failing to keep your tears at bay.

It's hard to hear how someone you cared about felt so defeated that he trained himself nearly to death just to almost die by his enemy he swore to defeat and come out victorious but deeply wounded.

Goemon shuffled in his trademark sitting position. He can't recall a time when he's seen you get upset. He instantly determined he didn't like seeing you cry.

You began hastily wiping the tiny tears at the corners of your eyes on your sleeve. “T-thank you for telling me…I'm so glad you came and that you're here now, Goemon.”

He nodded firmly with a warm hum.

As night fell and you wrapped up cleaning the dishes from that night's meal, you settled behind the samurai to do a nightly check-in on his wounds.

You pray he doesn't notice your fingers resting longer than necessary along the scar currently rising against his skin across his back. The lingering caresses, a faux test for any pain or tenderness to the healing wound.

Each opportunity to touch his bare skin for originally medicinal purposes has now turned into tiny indulgences…

It’s not often Goemon is openly vulnerable or trusting to many others, but you swelled up with the fact that he seemed to trust you.

You wish you could just wrap your arms around him, hold his hand, run your fingers through his hair, kiss him…love him fully and openly…

Goemon glanced at you over his shoulder. He softly whispered your name, noticing your far away eyes.

“Hm?” You looked up and were surprised to see Goemon looking at you. “Oh, uh…sorry, I got lost in thought…”

You quickly stood up and took a gander around the room. You tried and failed to find anything to occupy your mind away from the colleague, currently half naked, sitting on your living room floor.

“Is there something wrong?” Goemon asked, looking up at you.

You broke from your reverie when you realized what your actions may have unintentionally told him.

“No, not at all. Everything's fine,” You found some composure to sit across from him again on the floor.

“Your wounds are healing nicely, and there's no signs of an infect-”

“That is not what I meant..” Goemon, cut off your sentence.

“O-oh…still there's nothing wrong…nothing for you to worry about..”

“If it troubles you, I worry.” Goemon said, as he pulled up the top of his kimono over his shoulders.

Such a profound statement, yet he said it so casually as if he was discussing the weather.

You could feel your heart beat rapidly against your ribcage. Your eyes shifted around as if you could find the answer in the various cuts and dents in the wooden floorboards.

Goemon called your name once more.

You looked to him immediately, obediently.

“If you wish not to discuss it…I understand, but I would appreciate it if you did. Perhaps I could be of help.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly. How could he possibly help when he’s the reason for this dilemma in the first place.

You closed your eyes as you sighed, as if in defeat.

You lowered yourself onto your knees as you rested on your haunches in front of him.

His eyes seemed to soften as he gave you a small contented smile, hoping this was you finally opening up to him as he has to you.

“I’m…not sure where to start…” you whispered dumbfounded to where to begin.

From the very start or when he first walked through your door? When you first felt butterflies around him or how you weren’t ready to let him leave you, which you knew was inevitable?

You stared down at your hands, and one hand cupped the other as your fingers linked and unlinked from each other. You never felt so helpless and over something so…juvenile as having feelings over someone you have now known for years.

Were you ready to risk that partnership? You may not be able to work with Lupin and the others if this confession goes downhill. The last thing you want is to put anyone in any awkward positions.

Another pair of hands reach out and cradle your own. Somehow, it felt like you finally ascended from the vastest depths of the ocean.

You followed the hands, up to the arms, up to the handsome face of Goemon. He seemed somewhat unsure, with a slightly crooked smile and side shrug. Yet his eyes seemed certain and adamant as his pupils never darted away from yours.

“I…I don’t want you to go…” You admitted with the relieving breath you released. “I enjoyed having you here with me…just the two of us…and I can’t say I won’t worry about you when you’re gone, not that I never did before but…I just want to be with you. I’ve wanted to be with you for a long time now…” You glanced down at your hands as they switched out from under his grasp to replace with your own before squeezing his hands in earnest.

You kept your head down, somewhat worried you would lose your nerve otherwise. “I've tried to ignore it…tried to suppress it. Knowing the life we live, there's really no room for…romance at least not the fleeting, giving and taking kind…and you deserve better than that.”

Goemon softly shook his head in disagreement, but he let you continue.

“And I don't ever want to be in the way of your training, your journey. I don’t want to hold you back…but since you came to me…I've just tried to enjoy the time I had with you alone while I could…”

You looked back up with a sad side grin. “Pretty selfish of me…huh?”

This time, you noticed Goemon shake his head. “If anyone is selfish, it's me. I could have left at any time, but I chose not to. I, too, wanted to stay with you longer.”

“Why?”

Goemon's eyes shifted from side to side as his cheeks flushed. “I was hoping it would be obvious…”

He slid his hands out from yours but quickly interlocked his fingers with yours, finally properly holding each other's hands.

“I also long to be with you. Dare I say, for the amusement being with Lupin and the others has given me, in addition to the occasional disdain-”

This comment made you giggle.

“-You somehow always brought peace. I could rely on you for moments of solace even in the more tense of situations…”

“You're thoughtful and compassionate especially towards me and to…not expect something from me in return…”

“I never wanted anything from you, I just…”

Goemon's thumb softly caressed your own. “I know…”

Your heart swelled, but instead of anxiety inflating it, it was the pure adoration you had for the samurai. The adoration you have tried to keep on a leash and hoped for the longest time it would fade, but now it’s present and prospering with each second you were with him.

There was a beat of comfortable silence as you both enjoyed the feeling of your hands joined in the other, like they were always meant to be held.

But you wanted more. To be vastly closer to him than you were now.

You knew how bashful he was, so you had to tread carefully to not make him uncomfortable.

You tested how far you could go by slowly scooching over to where you sat beside him.

While Goemon’s cheeks began flushing to a stronger red, he didn’t scamper away but sat still, anticipating your next move or possibly planning his own.

“Is this okay?” You asked in a tone barely above a whisper before softly resting your chin on his shoulder, looking up at him for any signs of discomfort.

You could not help the small giggle you let out at seeing how coy Goemon had become.

“Yes.” He replied timidly.

His confirmation gave you the courage to continue. You linked your left arm with his arm while your other reached out to touch his pecs that were exposed from under his kimono.

Your heart fluttered as it felt his own kick into a higher rhythm.

Goemon's eyes never left your face as he watched you follow the slow trail up his skin your hand was making.

You felt the bit of air he inhaled softly as your hand finally made it to the side of his face.

His side smile and hooded eyes encouraged you further as your thumb gently rubbed tiny circles along his heated cheeks.

Your eyes darted at his lips before glancing up to his heated, loving gaze.

You managed to get this far. It would be pointless to go back now.

As you leaned your face closer to Goemon's, you didn't fail to notice you didn't have to nudge his face with your hand as he seemed to follow your lead.

When your sweet lips met his earnest ones, a warmth flooded over your body. A kiss so sweet and gentle, much like the man you kissed.

You slowly albeit reluctantly pulled retracted your lips from his. You snickered at the bewildered look on his face.

“Goemon?” You asked, concerned you may have broken the samurai.

He blinked a few times before he turned his eyes back to you.

“You all right?” You lifted an eyebrow incredulously.

Goemon brought up his other hand and grabbed your hand that resided on his face as he gave it a squeeze.

Although all he could do was nod, it was enough reassurance to drive you to kiss his cheeks.

“You will be the death of me…” He muttered as he closed his eyes to try and fight another onslaught of blushes.

You giggled. “But what a way to go, hm?”

He tsked as he shook his head in disbelief but still smiled endearingly at you as he rested his forehead against yours with his eyes still closed.

You two stayed this way for some time. Just soaking in the warmth and close presence of the other.

Eventually, Goemon wrapped his arm around your waist in an attempt to pull you closer, and you felt like you could melt into him.

You occasionally kissed a part of Goemon's face, and he'd temporarily try and defy how flustered he got with you giggling at his attempts.

You two also shared many more kisses, each one slowly getting longer as Goemon started feeling more confident in the gesture.

Soon, you two fell asleep on the futon Goemon had been sleeping in since his stay in your cabin. His head nestled gently above your own as you lulled yourself asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

You heard a buzzing noise coming from a side table in the living room. You groaned, not wanting to move from your newly claimed spot in Goemon's arms.

Goemon must have also heard it as he slowly removed his arms to allow you to retrieve it.

“I'm gonna kill whoever that was…”

Goemon chuckled. He didn't doubt it.

You got your phone and were even more upset. It was just a stupid text message and not even a call.

When you opened the message, your face turned from annoyed to amused.

“Who is it, love?” Goemon inquired, voice still busy with sleep.

Your heart skipped a beat at the pet name that was going to take some getting used to.

“Who else…Lupin and his exquisite timing..”

“What does he want?”

“To meet him at a hide out in New York ASAP…” You pinched the bridge of your nose.

You typed a short response and then turned your phone on silent and placed it back down on the table.

“We'll worry about it tomorrow.” You declared. “But for now, I wanna keep you for myself some more.” You wrapped your arms around Goemon as you pulled him close and nestled your head back under his.

Goemon hummed softly in agreement as his arms copied yours and wrapped around you as well.

“Fine by me…” He quickly kissed the top of your head.

You smiled contentedly as you slowly fell back to sleep, silently hoping that you wouldn't cruelly wake up to this all being a dream.

Yet with strong arms holding you and a steady heartbeat in your ears, you knew that this was love and it was all real and all yours.

—--

LIII: Oi! Don't hold out on me! How'd it go? I tried to give you time to finally admit your feelings to Goemon-chan, did you do it? Huh? Oh well, don't say I never did anything for ya! Anyway I need my cool samurai back~ so if you could send him my way in proper condition, I'd appreciate it 👍 See ya soon~

[hurlumerlu]

The waiting game.

A short THK fanfic (AO3)

Kant had winked before his jump.

He had looked pitiful, barefoot in his hospital gown, so out of place on the deck of the boat, and about ready to piss himself – but he had winked. As if he couldn’t leave Bison without giving him one last crumb of connivance, one last we’re gonna be fine. All this had told Bison was that Kant wasn’t so sure of it himself.

Bison hadn’t rushed to the side of the boat, nor watched the waters for a sign, and he certainly hadn’t dived in. He had stuck to the plan – Kant’s plan – and fled the fast-arriving cops.

"Relax", Kant had said on the drive from the hospital. "Kidnapping me was the hardest part."

Alone now, in another car, Bison begs to differ.

But no need for dramatics. Kant’s a great swimmer, and greater yet at getting out of a bind. He had spent an evening demonstrating this skill very literally, back when Bison still thought it was all just games, and it had taken some real creativity to keep him tied-up. It had been worth it, then, to see the confidence give way to frustration, to helplessness, to pleasure.

It’s worth far more now.

Sure, there’s a difference between freeing yourself to show off in bed, and doing the same thing underwater. Panic makes you clumsy and dumb. But Kant’s steady under pressure, right? Even starring down the barrel of a gun, at the wrong end of Bison’s wrath, he had kept his head. One life-threatening situation’s the same as another, Kant would say if he was here.

Then he would add something like "the sea’s got nothing on you, my love", with sly bedroom-eyes, and Bison would bury his fingers in his man’s hair and pull, hard, until – hmm. Maybe not that. Kant would be at the wheel.

Bison would say "you’re going to stop the car" and Kant would only hum, but he’d already be looking for a place to pull over, and when Bison would specify "if you know what’s good for you" he would get that slow widening smile, anticipatory and provocative, and – fuck, Bison hates driving.

Hates it now more than ever, in this busted car on these busted roads with a busted radio, and nothing but the cloying, cloying silence.

The safe house is empty when he arrives, like he knew it would be. Bison had to evade patrols, he took a number of detours and bumpy, winding paths, but Kant will likely have to come on foot, and before that he’ll need to reach one of their supply caches – he also warned that the captain was a canny old bastard and might not be convinced by Kant’s showy execution.

For all Bison knows, Kant is still waiting for the coast to clear.

He could also have gotten lost. He had assured he wouldn’t, that he knew the area well , but every word out of his mouth is a trust exercise, so...

The safe house is empty. Bison was not hoping he’d find Kant there.

He inspects the premises on autopilot. Anyone good enough to locate the place would have shot or arrested him the second he appeared, but Fadel would bitch about complacency, and he’d be right. Bison will have all the time in the world to become slow and unguarded once they’ve all regrouped outside the country.

He can’t grow careless so close to the finish line.

There’s nothing for him to do, here. Fadel would be working on straightening the bathroom cabinet’s door, or fixing the kitchen’s window screen, but Bison doesn’t even know how to try. There’s not much he’s good at besides murder, and nothing that would help now. He’s a decent bowler, a terrific dart thrower, pretty alright with young children. He���s learned basic first aid. He’s a competent waiter and his English’s serviceable. His flirting gets results, though in many cases just looking willing is enough. Mostly, he’s good at killing time.

Usually.

He could clean his gun. He’s already done it twice, and by now all it would do is open the possibility for mistakes in the reassembling, but he could clean his gun.

He doesn’t. Puts it on the coffee table, next to the burner phone that isn’t getting any signal. Bison knew what to expect. They talked about this, he and Fadel, agreed not to contact each other before the end of the week. Everything is going as it’s supposed to.

Any minute now, Kant will walk through the door, grumbling about the heat, or bug bites, or both. Bison will get up slowly from the couch, not daring to let himself believe, but there will be no denying it once they come face to face. He won’t even try to hide his relief.

Kant will get that look, the smug knowing one, with the raised eyebrows and downturned mouth that together form a smile, and Bison will cross the room, press himself against Kant’s salt-smelling clothes and burrow, burrow, burrow, until he’s home.

Any minute now.

[justawriterofthings]

Home Safe

Requested: Can I request a Frank Castle Fanfic? Maybe something where they're together (they also live together) and one night Frank comes home brutally beaten up and the reader treats his wounds as usual but then starts crying because she's worried?

Warnings:  swearing, descriptions of injuries

Word Count: 800~

Author’s Note: Ya’ll I’m the worst and I know it.  But here’s a requested fic.  Don’t hate me too much

Frank had been gone for hours without checking in.  You watched him leave the bed with groggy eyes before the sun was even up.  Now the sun had set and there was still no word from him.  The pit in your stomach had grown exponentially bigger as the day went on, but now that the day was over and Frank still wasn’t home you were beyond worried.  “He normally says something by now.”  You whispered to yourself, pacing in the living room. The cellphone in your hand was getting warm and sweaty from the iron grip you had on it. you hadn't noticed your fingers turning white from the straining.

There was nothing you could find to relax.  Every possible scenario you came up in your head of why he hadn’t contacted you was worse than the last.  Most of them ended with him being dead, and with the way Frank operated it was entirely possible.  He never told you about his work, but you knew it wasn’t good or safe.  All you knew for sure was that he would come home beat to shit sometimes and you would have to patch, disinfect, or stich him up.  Most of the time his injuries weren’t too bad, but sometimes you thought it would be better if the hospital saw him.  Frank was vehemently against hospitals, which made you worry more. 

You decided to make a cup of tea to calm your nerves a little, since it was now four in the morning and there was still no word from Frank.  When the kettle started to whistle was when you heard the front door open.  Abandoning it completely, the pot still screaming, you rushed to the door.  There was Frank, looking like hell, using the doorway to prop himself up. 

“Jesus, Frank.”  Your voice barely came through the rush of air escaping your lungs at the sight of him. Doing a quick once over, you saw he was dripping blood from somewhere and it was starting to slowly pool at his feet.

“Shut that fucking thing off, Y/N.”  Frank’s voice was weak, but you could hear the agitation in his tone.  So, you quickly shuffled back into the kitchen and shut the burner off and removed the kettle from the heat.  Then just as quickly retreated back to Frank.  You grabbed the first aid kit you kept by the front door for situations like this one as he slowly made his way to the couch.  You could see he was in pain, and for Frank it must have been bad.  You tried to hold back the emotions that came flooding forward at the sight of him this way.  You had to be calm to stitch him up. 

“You know the drill.”  You couldn’t help but choke the words out and this got his attention.  Frank stared up at you, aggravated and tired, but you could see some concern behind his hard eyes.  He didn’t address it though.  Instead, he lifted his shirt off, struggling with his left shoulder.  You looked over at it and gasped.  “You got stabbed.”  It wasn’t a question.

“The other guy got it worse.”  His words seemed cold and that’s what sent you over the edge.  Tears flowing freely now, you tried to wipe them away but there was no use.  “Y/N…” He stated but you just placed a finger on his lips.  Nothing he said could make you feel better, not when he was sitting in front of you with god knows how many stab wounds.. or worse. What if something was punctured? How far did he have to walk? Why didn't he call?

You tried to push all the questions down and sit in silence while you patched him up. The tears slowed but your eyes stung and your vision was too blurry to be of any real help.  Sighing out a huff in frustration, you got up from your seat and headed to the bathroom, wiping the sorrow from your eyes as you padded down the hall. Once there you turned the shower and called to Frank. Silence.

“You need to clean them.”   You called, your voice annoyed he hadn’t answered you.  Frank didn’t say a word, you only heard his shuffles to the bathroom to tell you he heard you.  it was a little more silence until you finally couldn’t take it. “I want you to stop this.” Silent tears rolled down your hot cheeks.  Frank looked up at you with only sadness.  “i know.”  Was all he had said the rest of the night.  You threw different alternatives for work at him and he just shot them down with a disapproving nod. 

But you knew, knew deep down this was his life and now it was yours.  You had to play nurse on the bad nights. But after the very short conversation and all your tears, he made it up to you in the following days.  He promised he would be more careful, he started checking in with you while he was on jobs, even brought you gifts all the nights he was away for longer than a few hours.  Anything to ease your worried mind a little he tried to do; because to see you cry over him like that broke his heart and he would do anything in his power to never see you cry like that over him again. He vowed he would make it home safe to you after that night.     

[mjonthetrack]

heard

Chapter 118 — “Gator Grass & Ghost Ops”

Four days.

No calls. No sightings. No nothing.

Back at the bay estate, the house was tense but eerily functional. Like a family all breathing through a straw—barely.

Everyone was still at Sakari’s house. Nobody dared leave. The grief hadn’t hit exactly because it wasn’t confirmed. But that not knowing? That was the part chewing through people like acid.

Meanwhile? Sakari and Elijah were in goddamn Florida.

And not the pretty-palm-tree, Miami-drip Florida. Nah.

We’re talkin’ deep backwoods Everglades, the kind of place where you didn’t need streetlights 'cause the moon and the alligators did surveillance for you.

They were knee-deep in swamp water. Literally.

Elijah was hacking vines out of their way with a dull-ass machete, muttering curses under his breath. Sakari? She was unbothered. Hair slicked back in two buns under a camo bandana, crocs duct-taped to her ankles, her face smudged with ash and gator dirt.

She had a glock wrapped in a waterproof baggie slung across her chest and a rusted map held up in one bloodstained hand.

And she was signing like she was a damn general.

‘We’re close,’ she motioned sharply. Then tapped her fingers twice to her forehead. ‘You smell that?’

Elijah sniffed.

Gunpowder. Gasoline. Cheap cigars.

They were near the source. The heart of the cancer that had trickled its way across coastlines and rooted itself into the Fatu cartel like mold.

They’d been tracking this lead for three straight days, sleeping in short shifts in rundown motels or straight up under mossy trees with snakes watching.

No real showers. No cooked food. Nothing but intel and instinct.

Elijah wasn’t even sure how Sakari kept functioning. The girl was built like barbed wire and spit.

But she kept going. Every hour. Every mile. Until they hit the clearing.

A compound.

Old, sun-warped trailers and oil drums stacked like barricades. Flags of rival families half-burned and hanging. And at least thirty men lounging, thinking they were safe this deep in the swamps.

Sakari ducked behind an overturned boat, breath steady, heart still.

She scribbled fast on her waterproof notepad and showed it to Elijah.

“This is where the leak starts. We take this out, we cut the head off the snake. But I need a distraction.”

She motioned to the bait station nearby—a stack of fish, clearly meant for gator traps.

Elijah raised a brow.

“You gon’ do some Nat Geo sh—”

Sakari was already moving. She yanked open the bait bin, snatched a bucket of slime and guts, and hurled it at the nearest gator trap zone with the strength of a woman on a mission.

The bait hit water. The gators came fast.

Men started shouting, scrambling, aiming at the water thinking the FWC or some wild animal rights group just hit 'em.

They had no idea a deaf woman and her machete-wielding partner were slipping through the shadows toward the central trailer with a USB stick and five names to find.

Back in California? Jacob sat on her bed. Her hearing aid case still sitting on the nightstand. His thumb rubbed over it like a worry stone.

He hadn’t slept.

Zilla walked in. “Still nothing?”

Jacob shook his head once. “She’s not gone. She’s working.”

“How you so sure?”

Jacob finally looked up. Eyes cold. Solid.

“She told me to watch. And I am.”

Chapter 119 – “Message in Venom”

The house was still heavy. The kind of still that makes even kids whisper. Even Walnut the tortoise seemed like he was in mourning, dragging himself slower than usual through the backyard as if he could feel the weight sitting on everyone’s chest.

It was nearing noon when Jimmy’s burner phone—one of the old cartel-issued Nokias—buzzed on the kitchen counter.

Nobody had touched it in days. Most burners were on airplane mode, SIMs pulled or torched. But this one had slipped through.

Jimmy frowned, walking over. Everyone was scattered in the kitchen and living room, eating silently or scrolling in circles on their phones.

He picked up the brick of a phone, flipped it open.

One message. Unknown number. No traceable location. No reply line. Just a single text:

"snake’s head severed."

The air in the room seemed to pause.

Jimmy blinked. “Ay…”

Zilla looked up from his seat at the table where he was cleaning one of his knives. “What?”

He turned the screen. “It’s her. It’s gotta be her.”

Sefa was already standing. “Who else would know we’ve been calling that crew ‘the snakes’?”

Celia, still cradling her newborn daughter, sat upright. “Wait, what does it mean?”

Charaé’s glossed lips parted slightly, reading it again. “It means... she found the head of the organization. And she took that shit off.”

Silence fell again.

Then—

Jacob, leaning against the wall with arms folded across his broad chest, exhaled slowly, almost like a prayer. “She’s alive.”

Imani nodded, eyes scanning everyone’s faces. “Not only that… she’s still working.”

Serenity pulled JJ into her lap, kissing his head. “That girl’s somewhere in a swamp with blood on her hands and a mission in her heart.”

Celia smirked tiredly. “And still found WiFi.”

Zilla stood up, that little twitch in his jaw he got when shit was real. “If she severed the head, that means whatever was happening to the cartel? All this betrayal, our houses getting hit—this was the root.”

Jacob finally moved, stepping forward and grabbing the burner from Jimmy’s hand, his gaze unreadable as he stared down at the message.

“Then the board’s been reset.”

Sakari might’ve been off-grid.

But she was sending a signal.

Not a call for help.

A call to arms.

And every last one of them heard it loud and clear.

Chapter 120 – “Minnie the Menace”

Jimmy swore the burner was cursed now—only this time, it buzzed twice.

He jumped, the Nokia still sitting dead center on the counter like it had been placed there by a ghost.

Another message. Different number. Still untraceable. Still no call-back. Still no voice. Just a line of chaos wrapped in calm:

“Set up new enclosure—made friends with anaconda, name is Minnie.”

A beat passed.

Then—

“Bitch what?!” Charaé barked out through a laugh, nearly dropping her coffee.

“Wait, nah, run that back,” Sefa wheezed, grabbing the phone and rereading it like the letters might rearrange themselves. “She made what kind of friend?!”

Imani choked on her orange juice, pounding her chest. “She’s in Florida, that actually tracks.”

“Minnie?” Jacob muttered, finally cracking a small smile that felt like a solar flare after the storm they’d all been under.

“She named the anaconda Minnie,” Serenity deadpanned, leaning against the counter. “Nah, she’s too unserious. We almost died of grief.”

“Like a Disney princess from hell,” Celia added, adjusting her newborn against her chest. “Y’all… she’s sending updates like she’s in Animal Crossing and not on a damn warpath.”

Zilla leaned forward, elbows on the table, tapping the screen. “But that means she’s still moving. Still alive. And she’s feeding us info the only way she can—quiet, indirect, and through shit only we’d know to take seriously.”

Imani signed quickly to herself, translating for JJ who was watching everyone wide-eyed. “Sakari made a new animal friend, baby.”

JJ gasped. “Can I see Minnie?!”

“Absolutely not,” came five voices in unison.

Jacob tilted his head, rereading the message before slowly pulling out a notebook. He flipped to a page he’d labeled “Sakari Codes & Updates” and scribbled beneath a list of entries.

“Florida. Alive. Took out source. New intel. New snake (literal). Still out there.”

He tapped the pen thoughtfully against the burner. “She’s not just surviving. She’s scouting. Cataloguing. Probably planning a second wave.”

“And collecting exotic reptiles like Pokémon,” Sefa muttered.

“Bro,” Jimmy snorted, shaking his head. “Y’all realize if she makes it back, we’re gonna have a full-blown zoo in this house?”

“Correction,” Imani said, holding back a grin. “We already do. She just upgraded the danger level.”

Frank—the water monitor—chose that exact moment to flop into the living room with Marvin on his back like a makeshift Uber. Neither seemed fazed by the laughter echoing through the house.

For a moment, the grief eased. The tension lowered. And the message served its purpose:

Sakari was alive. Still insane. Still collecting animals. Still very much one of them.

And Minnie? Minnie was just another sign—

That death didn’t want the girl. So she made it her pet instead.

Chapter 121 – “A Blurry Signal & a Deaf Girl with a Damn Snake Crown”

The house had just started to settle again, the kitchen humming with the sound of breakfast and Marvin making his usual rounds on top of the furniture like a nosey little dragon. Celia had just managed to get the baby down for a nap. JJ was somewhere in the backyard with Walnut, the tortoise, dragging a bucket of strawberries.

And then— Ping. Not the burner. But the iPad they used for general cartel comms. One of the Fatu-only secure lines.

Imani blinked, looking over from the couch. “That ain’t the burner…” she muttered, sliding it across the coffee table.

Zilla leaned over and clicked the notification. It wasn’t text.

It was a photo.

Blurry as hell. Motion blurred. Pixelated. Grainy like it was taken on a 2006 flip phone.

But what you could make out?

Elijah—mid-run. In the background. Possibly screaming. And front and center?

Sakari.

Grinning. Arms out wide. Thumbs up like she’d just won a prize.

Except— An anaconda. A massive, thicc jungle boi, lazily coiled around her like it had known her its whole life. Its huge head rested on top of her head like a sleepy, scaly crown.

The caption?

“She named it Minnie. We’re alive.”

Jacob was frozen, jaw slack, staring at the screen like it would blink and change.

Jimmy fell out laughing, knees hitting the tile as he wheezed, “Bro. BRO. She’s got a whole-ass snake hat. Like a freakin’ jungle Disney princess.”

“I CAN’T,” Charaé wheezed, covering her mouth, mascara starting to run. “SHE’S POSING WITH A KILLER PYTHON LIKE IT’S A DAMN HALLOWEEN COSTUME.”

“She really took thumbs up selfies with the snake that could eat her whole,” Serenity muttered, both horrified and impressed.

“She look happy as hell,” Jey mumbled. “Like, no fear. Not a single damn one.”

Celia blinked hard. “I’m starting to think we the normal ones and she’s the apex predator.”

Sefa slowly turned the screen around to show Imani.

Imani blinked, then grinned wide as she signed, “She looks like she’s living her best life. Or she’s lost her last bit of sense. Could be both.”

Jacob, silent until now, stood slowly and looked at the image again. His hand lifted, dragging his fingers down his beard.

“She good,” he finally said. “Ain’t no one smiling like that unless they’re in control.”

“She wearing the anaconda like a damn accessory, bro,” Jimmy laughed again.

“She is the accessory now,” Charaé added. “That snake done imprinted.”

Frank, meanwhile, peeked his giant monitor head into the room, like he knew someone was trying to steal his thunder.

And Marvin? Already side-eyeing the screen from Jacob’s shoulder like, I got competition now?

The house filled with laughter, relief, and chaos all at once. Because it was blurry. It was insane. It was dangerous.

But it was her. Alive. Unbothered. And wearing a goddamn anaconda like a tiara.

Chapter 122 — "Special Delivery"

It was almost sunset, and the whole house was starting to settle down again.

Frank was sunbathing like a damn dragon king by the sliding doors. Marvin had bullied his way into JJ’s ball pit. Charaé was putting Malakai down for the night while Zilla stood guard at the door like bedtime was classified. Imani and Sefa were curled up in the nook watching old reruns of Martin, and Jimmy was chasing Walnut out of the kitchen again with a half-yelled, “I SAID NOT THE LETTUCE, BRO.”

The peaceful, weirdly domestic chaos of cartel life had settled—until the doorbell rang.

Not the usual knock.

A real-ass doorbell.

The type that made everyone freeze. Weapons slid out of hidden pockets. Shoes were kicked off and replaced with boots. Frank even perked up like, who da hell?

Jey cracked the front door slowly, gun resting at his thigh.

Sitting there?

A single oversized FedEx crate.

Heavy as hell. No return address. But slapped on the top?

A weather-worn postcard from Florida. Front side? An alligator with sunglasses holding a margarita. Back side? One sentence, scribbled in permanent marker in handwriting they all instantly recognized:

“Snakes handled. Told y’all. 💅🏽 — S”

Jey’s heart dropped to his stomach as he leaned down and carefully lifted the lid of the crate.

Everyone crowded the foyer—men, women, even Frank—watching.

Inside?

Three human heads. Severed. Clean. Each in its own sealed bag like evidence. Tagged. One said: Mendez Another: Torrez The third, biggest one?

Fucking Alvarez.

Silence hit the room like a gut punch.

Jacob stepped forward slowly, eyes locked on the contents. His hands clenched, jaw tight—but it wasn’t fear. Nah.

It was respect.

“She really did it,” Serenity whispered, breathless.

“She ain’t just survive,” Zilla muttered. “She sent receipts.”

“She really FedExed us a damn cartel endgame like it was Amazon Prime,” Charaé blinked.

“And that postcard?” Imani laughed softly, already signing the words to Sefa. “She got jokes. Our girl petty with a pen.”

Jacob didn’t say much.

Didn’t need to.

He stared into the crate, then slowly picked up the postcard. Turned it over. Ran his thumb over her handwriting like it meant more than the heads themselves.

“She ain’t temporary,” he muttered. “She family.”

Chapter 123 — “You’ve Got… a Snake?”

Two weeks.

Fourteen days.

Three hundred and thirty-six hours.

That’s how long it’d been since Sakari and Elijah vanished into the underbelly of cartel warfare, leaving only:

A cryptic “snakes head severed” message,

A Florida gator postcard,

A FedEx box of decapitated enemies, and

A second-day shipment marked simply: “Minnie.”

And listen—that second crate?

They’d thought the last one was shocking. But this?

This was a live animal crate the size of Jacob’s pickup bed, with reinforced steel bars, thick mesh wiring, and the kind of temperature control tech you only see at exotic wildlife rescues.

The house had gone on full alert when the truck pulled in with it. Jimmy stepped out first with a crowbar, Charaé had her gun in one hand and Malakai in the other, and JJ had been snatched and carried back inside so fast by Serenity he didn’t even get a word out.

When Jey ripped off the shipping tag with gloved hands, the top label read:

“Minnie 💚 — Handle with humble care. (And don’t open near small pets or men with weak knees).” —S

“Bro…” Zilla stared at the thing like it was a ticking time bomb. “Please tell me this ain’t what I think it is.”

Imani just blinked slowly, mouthing no fucking way as Sefa stepped closer.

Then the whole crate hissed.

A slow, dragging, wet exhale.

And through the dark mesh slats, they caught the flick of a long, thick, green-black body coiling in slow motion, big enough to look like a damn mythical beast.

Minnie. A full-grown anaconda.

Sakari really sent them an anaconda as a love note. Because of course she did.

“Hell naw,” Serenity muttered. “This girl got jungle energy now?!”

“She got Florida in her blood now,” Celia said, cradling her newborn. “I’m scared what else she finna mail us.”

Jacob?

He didn’t say a thing.

He stood at the edge of the porch, arms crossed, eyes narrowed as the delivery crew wheeled the damn monster crate into the garden shed she’d pre-labeled with a sign in Sakari’s handwriting: “Minnie's Place. Keep calm. She vibes off fear.”

And still—nothing else.

No updates. No texts. No “I’m okay.” No “headed home.” Just dead silence.

“I hate it,” Jacob finally muttered that night as he leaned against the fence, staring at Minnie’s crate like she held secrets. “She sent us a snake and a war trophy but won’t send a damn ‘I’m safe’ text?”

“She’s probably deep undercover,” Zilla offered, arms crossed. “Or too busy feeding Minnie wild boars to text back.”

Imani, quiet until now, finally signed, “She’s alive. If she wasn’t, we wouldn’t have Minnie. Or those heads.”

“She’s not just alive,” Serenity added, “she’s making a point. That snake? That’s a damn signature.”

“She’s telling us she’s deeper in this than we ever expected,” Charaé muttered. “We underestimated her.”

“No,” Jacob said, his voice low. “They did.”

And that night, no one really slept.

Not because of Minnie’s slow dragging coils or the possibility of another surprise crate.

But because they realized—

If Sakari could deliver death across state lines…

Then what the hell was she going to come back as?

Chapter 124 – “Postmarked in Blood”

The sun was barely rising when it hit the mail slot.

Thwip.

One little envelope, cream-colored and innocent, slid across the hardwood of Sakari’s living room like it wasn’t sent from hell.

No return address. No stamp. Just a single Colombian postmark burned into the corner and a wax seal pressed sloppily in the shape of… was that a snake fang?

Sefa was the one who found it.

He’d just stepped out front to do the usual: check the perimeter, watch Frank and Marvin waddle after each other like dragon bros, maybe have some peace before Malakai or JJ came running out asking for cereal. Instead, he crouched, picked up the envelope, and turned it over.

“Y’all,” he said, low but firm. “We got something.”

By the time everyone crowded into the kitchen, Zilla had a knife out. Jimmy hovered protectively over Serenity’s shoulder. Jey stood behind Celia, silent but alert, his hand over her shoulder, steadying her. Even the animals felt it—Marvin froze on the counter, head tilted, tongue still, eyes locked.

Jacob just grabbed the envelope and peeled it open with his thumb.

Inside: A single postcard.

On the front, a washed-out photo of a tropical jungle in Colombia. Bright birds. Lush green trees. A waterfall. It could’ve been a travel ad… if it weren’t for the faint red fingerprint smudged in the corner.

He flipped it over. And then it hit.

Smeared handwriting.

Scrawled across the back in permanent marker, as if it had been done fast. Panicked. Bleeding.

“Elijah didn’t make it. Cartel got him. Real nasty ending. I’m—”

The sentence cut off.

The last word bled into the paper, literally. The ink smeared into a watery reddish drag that flaked when Jacob ran his thumb across it. And under the smudge, a small fingerprint.

Too small to be Elijah’s.

Too precise not to be Sakari’s.

“No,” Imani said, her voice cracking, hands flying with the kind of emotion she rarely let anyone see.

“She’s alive,” Jacob said instantly, voice sharp, absolute. “You think she’d send this if she wasn’t? This is a warning. Not a goodbye.”

“But why would she say it like that?” Charaé asked, holding Malakai tighter. “That’s not her style. She don’t scare easy.”

“She didn’t sound scared,” Zilla said, eyes narrowed. “She sounded like she didn’t have time.”

“That blood on the card,” Sefa muttered. “That’s fresh. Not weeks old. Which means—”

“She’s still on the move,” Jacob finished. “She’s somewhere hot, somewhere brutal. And she just lost her only backup.”

The room went quiet.

Celia wiped at her eyes. “You think she’s going after the rest of them alone?”

“She’s not just going after them,” Imani signed, “she’s burning them down.”

Serenity looked at the card again and whispered, “If that’s her way of asking for help…”

“She would’ve signed her name,” Jacob cut in. “She didn’t. Which means she’s not asking for help. She’s telling us—”

“Stay put, and stay alive.” Jimmy muttered. “Damn.”

Jacob set the postcard on the table, flattening it like a map.

He stared at the bloodstain like it was Morse code. Like maybe she left something in the way it trailed. He was quiet for a beat, and then he said:

“...I’m gonna find her.”

“You just said she don’t want backup,” Zilla reminded.

“I don’t care.” Jacob's voice was ice. “She might not want backup. But she’s still mine.”

Chapter 125: Colombia Heat

The swamp was thick, dripping with humidity and heavy silence. Sakari moved slow, every muscle coiled, eyes sharp like a predator’s in the dark.

Elijah was gone.

One minute he’d been shoulder-to-shoulder with her, cutting through the brush, two warriors against the world. The next, the cartel hit hard—ambushed them with brutal precision.

They took Elijah first.

She heard the crack of his bones, saw the flash of cold steel. No mercy.

She’d been too far ahead, dragged into the shadows by a firefight.

Now, crawling through mangroves and mud, Sakari was alone but not broken.

Her mind ran through every detail—Elijah’s last words, the location of their target, the cartel kingpin behind the snake operation.

The enemy didn’t know her yet—not really. They thought they could shake her off, disappear into Colombia’s twisted underbelly.

Wrong.

She slipped through villages like a ghost, piecing together rumors, tracking snake movements tied to the cartel’s poison shipments.

Every step brought her closer.

Closer to the man who ordered Elijah’s death.

Closer to the final strike.

Her blood still hot from the loss, Sakari felt something cold settle in—focused, lethal.

She wasn’t here to survive.

She was here to end it.

Chapter 126

The heavy knock on the bay house door sliced through the late afternoon calm.

One of the loyal lieutenants stood there, face tight, eyes darting as he clutched his hat like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

The five Fatu men circled around, sensing something serious was about to drop.

He swallowed hard, voice tight but urgent. “Sir, it’s been a month since Sakari and Elijah left… and weeks with no word.”

His hands trembled slightly as he pulled out binoculars and lifted them to his eyes again. “There’s a massive shipping container ship idling just off one of our marinas—distance enough to stay hidden but close enough to keep an eye.”

He lowered the glass, brow furrowed. “Spanish markings on the side. Whole deck stacked with huge shipping containers.”

“We thought maybe it was the Mexican cartel,” he admitted, “but there ain’t no men visible on deck. Not one soul.”

He shook his head, confusion mixed with caution. “Then we caught a glimpse of the labels—same ones Colombians use for their big powder drops. Same shipping brands, same packaging.”

The room went silent. Every pair of eyes locked on the lieutenant.

“But the weird part?” He glanced around, lowering his voice. “There’s no activity. No crews, no guards. It looks like a ghost ship.”

He stepped back, voice dropping low. “We didn’t approach, sir. Not sure if it’s a trap or some new move we don’t know about.”

Jacob’s jaw tightened. “Ghost ship with Colombian cartel ties... That’s no coincidence.”

Zilla exchanged a hard look with Jey. “Sakari might be closer than we think. But we gotta be ready for whatever’s coming.”

The room hummed with tense energy, all eyes on the horizon—and on that silent ship that spelled danger.

Chapter 127

The door burst open seconds after the lieutenant left, and a runner came barreling in, chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon.

“He—hey, man!” he gasped, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I was using that heat signature shit y’all always use for shady ops.”

He paused, eyes wide, voice dropping to a whisper. “There’s... there’s a body. In one of those containers.”

Every head snapped toward him, tension shooting through the room like electricity.

Jacob’s eyes narrowed, muscles tensing. “What kind of body?”

Runner swallowed hard, voice shaking just a bit. “Cold. No movement. No signs of life. It’s been there a while.”

Jey stepped forward, fists clenched. “We gotta get people out there. Now. And prepare for the worst.”

Zilla pulled his phone out, fingers flying over the screen. “Satellite cams, drones — whatever we got, I want eyes on that ship ASAP.”

The runner swallowed again, voice barely audible. “And there’s something else.”

All five men leaned in.

“The heat signatures... there’s more than just that one body. There’s movement, but it’s faint. Could be traps. Could be prisoners.”

Jacob’s jaw clenched. “Then we don’t waste time. We gear up. That ship’s a coffin, and we’re about to crack it open.”

Chapter 128: Shipwrecked Secrets

The dockyard was a skeleton of shadows, sharp with the smell of salt and diesel. The fading sun threw long fingers over the tangled maze of cranes, rusted pipes, and stacks of containers — a fortress of metal and silence.

Five figures moved like ghosts, purposeful and tense. Jacob, Zilla, Jey, Jimmy, and the four women — each with eyes peeled, weapons ready, nerves wired tight. No chatter — only the sound of boots on cracked concrete and the lapping of waves against steel hulls.

Jacob raised his binoculars, his gaze sharp as a hawk’s. The ship — enormous and brooding — sat quiet, its hull marked with Spanish letters faded by years of sun and salt.

“Too clean,” Zilla murmured, voice low like a growl. “Not a soul in sight. That’s the trap.”

Jimmy cracked his neck, his jaw tight. “We go in slow, methodical. This ain’t a walk in the park.”

The gangway creaked under their weight as they boarded. The ship’s deck stretched before them — a labyrinth of shipping containers stacked so high they seemed to touch the sky. The air was thick with the smell of chemicals and danger.

Jacob’s hand tightened on his gun’s grip.

“Eyes sharp.”

They split up, systematically searching through rows of containers. The first few were empty or filled with harmless cargo. But then, rows of heavy crates came into view — carefully stacked, sealed tight, the scent of powder thick in the air.

Zilla knelt, slicing open one crate with his knife. White powder puffed into the air like ghost dust.

“Pure as hell,” he muttered.

Jacob’s gaze flicked to a nearby tarp, heavy and weathered. Something underneath caught the corner of his eye — a soft lump, out of place.

Zilla’s voice cut through the tension. “Jacob, you seeing this?”

Jacob dropped his binoculars and crouched beside Zilla. Slowly, they pulled back the tarp.

Inside lay a figure — pale, limp, barely breathing.

Jacob’s heart slammed against his ribs.

“Sakari.”

Jey and Jimmy rushed over, concern flashing in their eyes. Jacob knelt, checking her pulse — faint but steady.

“She’s out cold. Been like this a while,” Jey said, voice tight.

The realization hit like a freight train.

“She’s been hiding right here — in the enemy’s ship.”

Zilla’s eyes darkened. “They didn’t know what they had.”

Jacob stripped off his jacket, carefully draping it over her trembling form.

“She’s alive. We’re bringing her home.”

The group gathered tight, the silence filled with a storm of emotions — relief, anger, fear.

Jacob’s fingers brushed Sakari’s cheek gently, eyes locked on her still face.

“Hold on, baby. We got you.”

Chapter 129: Queen and Cargo

The cold metal underfoot echoed with the men’s footsteps as they circled the ship’s massive hold. The air was thick with the scent of chemicals, salt, and something else — that bittersweet mix of relief and disbelief.

Jacob’s eyes never left Sakari’s motionless form as he helped carry her toward the gangway, but his mind was running a thousand miles a minute.

“No sign of any guards. No one hiding in the shadows,” Jey said, scanning the dark corners with a narrowed gaze. “This whole damn ship? Empty.”

Jimmy let out a slow breath, wiping sweat from his brow. “That’s... weird. Too quiet.”

Zilla frowned, voice low and cautious. “So, whoever left her here did it without a fight? Or maybe—”

Jacob cut him off, voice hard and steady. “No, that’s impossible. Sakari wouldn’t just get left out here. She brought this whole thing back.”

The others looked at him like he’d lost his damn mind.

“She hijacked the shipment. This wasn’t a trap—it’s a goddamn trophy.”

Imani, who had just arrived with some of the women, stepped closer, eyes wide. “She pulled this off... alone? While out cold?”

Jacob nodded slowly. “She’s a one-woman army.”

Zilla shook his head, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “That’s my girl.”

Jey’s voice was tight with awe and anger. “All this? All the fake drops, the powders—they’re ours now. All of it. She turned their weapons into ours.”

Jacob finally looked down at Sakari, still unconscious but alive, swaddled in his jacket.

“She brought back the whole war chest... and the queen,” he muttered.

Jimmy’s fist slammed against a crate. “This changes everything.”

The group shared a moment — silence thick, but electric — the weight of what they’d just found settling in like a storm on the horizon.

Jacob’s eyes flicked back to Sakari’s pale face.

“Time to wake the storm.”

Chapter 130: Strategize and Reckon

The warehouse lights flickered low, casting long shadows as the Fatu men and women gathered around the spread-out plans, laptops, and radios. The hum of urgency mixed with murmurs of disbelief still hung thick in the air.

Jacob stood at the head of the table, eyes sharp, jaw tight. He glanced at the crates — the cargo that now belonged to them — before shifting focus back to the faces of his family. Every muscle in his body screamed for action, but first, they had to process what just happened.

“We don’t just sit on this,” Jacob started, voice low but authoritative. “They’ll be scrambling to figure out how we took their shipment. Our priority is to secure the drop zones and reroute all product. Make it impossible for the Colombians to hit us back.”

Jey nodded, already pulling up satellite maps. “I’m dispatching runners to reinforce our marinas and patrol the waterways. Nobody moves in or out without us knowing.”

Jimmy rubbed his hands together, a small smirk on his lips. “And I’ll round up anyone with dirt on those rats who leaked info. We find the snakes in the grass before they crawl too far.”

Zilla leaned back, arms crossed. “This shipment is more than just product. It’s a message. Sakari sent it loud and clear — we’re not weak. We’re coming.”

Imani stepped forward, voice steady but softer. “Jacob… what about Sakari?”

Jacob’s gaze flicked to where Sakari still rested, unconscious but stable in a guarded room. His expression cracked just a little. “She’s a fighter. Took too much on herself. We’ll make sure she knows she’s not alone in this.”

Celia, holding their newborn, gave a worried glance. “She went out there alone, while we stayed here… How do we even begin to thank someone who risked everything for us?”

Serenity wiped a tear she didn’t want anyone to see. “We protect her now. All of us. No more lone missions.”

Sefa’s voice cut through, calm but fierce. “We double down on security. Every entry point. No cracks.”

The room thickened with tension, but beneath it all — a quiet fire ignited. They were a family forged in chaos, and Sakari’s solo act reminded them why they fought so hard.

Jacob’s eyes settled on the floor, then lifted slowly, burning with determination. “She gave us this chance. Now we take it. All in.”

Chapter 131: Home From War

The first thing Sakari registered when she woke wasn’t the ache in her limbs or the dryness in her mouth.

It was silence.

A deep, smothering quiet that wrapped around her like a weighted blanket. Her fingers reached instinctively toward the nightstand—no hearing aids. Just her. Alone. The air in the room was warm, familiar. The dark blue walls. Marvin’s ball pit in the corner. Her house. She’d made it. That meant the ship... it really worked.

Her body screamed in protest as she sat up. Her arms were bruised, legs scratched up from weeks of crawling through chaos. Her lips were cracked, and her stomach was a hollow, gnawing void—but none of that mattered.

She was home.

She stood, wavering slightly. Her vision was blurry from dehydration and exhaustion, but when she moved toward the window and peeled the curtain back—her breath caught.

They were outside.

Jacob. Zilla. Jimmy. Jey. Sefa.

And Jacob… God. That was him. Standing with his head bowed, jaw clenched like he hadn’t slept in weeks. His hair was loose, some of his braids falling over his face, and his massive frame looked like he’d been carved from grief and fury. Like he hadn’t breathed since she disappeared.

Sakari didn’t stop to think.

She didn’t put in her hearing aids. She didn’t change. She just moved.

The front door flung open and slammed against the wall as she sprinted barefoot down the porch steps, legs flying across the grass, limbs screaming but her soul desperate.

Jacob looked up at the movement—turned just in time.

And then she hit him.

She slammed into his chest with the force of a wave, arms wrapping around his neck, hands shaking as she grabbed him like he might disappear again. She sobbed silently into his shoulder—body trembling as the weeks of survival and silence broke through her like a dam.

Jacob didn’t move at first—like his brain couldn’t process that it was really her.

Then he dropped. To his knees.

Still holding her. Still gripping her like the earth might split open and steal her away if he let go.

His massive arms curled around her waist as his face pressed into her stomach, breath ragged, shoulders shaking.

Imani gasped quietly from behind them, her hand flying up to her mouth. The rest of the family froze.

Sakari pulled back enough to look at Jacob. Her hands were trembling as she signed.

“I didn’t die. I didn’t stop fighting. I came back. For you.”

Jacob’s eyes were red—completely unguarded as he watched her hands, as he took in her every motion like gospel.

He raised his own hands, clumsy, unsure—but he tried.

“I waited. Every day. I was scared I’d never see my pretty girl again.”

Sakari blinked, tears streaking her blood-and-dirt-smudged face. Her lips wobbled as she reached up and touched his cheeks. She signed again.

“You never stopped watching for me. I felt it. Even when I was gone.”

Jacob exhaled a long, shaking breath and pulled her into him again. He stood with her in his arms like she didn’t weigh a thing and carried her back toward the house, whispering against her temple, even though he knew she couldn’t hear it.

"I got you now. You’re not leaving again. Ever."

Behind them, the others watched, moved to stunned silence. Serenity wiped her eyes. Jimmy had to turn away for a second. Even Zilla, who rarely let his emotions surface, muttered a sharp curse and looked up at the sky like he was trying not to lose it.

Imani signed slowly to the group behind Jacob’s back, translating what little she caught.

“She said… she didn’t die. She said she fought her way back.”

No one spoke. Not for a long while.

Because Sakari Chambers had been gone for a month. And now, she was in her man’s arms, alive, and she’d brought the war home with her.

Chapter 127: “If You Leave Again, I’m Coming With You”

Jacob hadn’t even felt her body fully hit his arms before instinct kicked in. He scooped her off her feet, held her like she was made of something sacred, and walked straight back into the house. His heart was in his throat, his mind was screaming, She’s here. She’s here. She’s alive.

Sakari was limp with exhaustion—barely awake—but even in her daze, her hands tried to form broken signs against his chest. I’m okay. I’m okay. But Jacob didn’t let her speak. Not yet. Not now.

He carried her all the way to the guest room—the one she stayed in before the world shifted. The one he’d kept clean. The one he’d sat in more than his own bed while she was gone.

He lowered her gently onto the mattress and dropped to his knees beside her, both hands cradling her face. His thumb brushed the dirt and dried salt from her cheek, tears making tracks through the grime. He didn’t even know he was crying until his voice cracked.

“You can’t do that to me again,” he whispered, low and sharp, one hand going to her wrist and pressing it to his chest. “You hear me? You don’t get to disappear on me, Karii. I died every fuckin’ day you were gone.”

She stared at him, lips trembling, eyes wet. She tried to sign something but her fingers shook too hard. He caught her hands and kissed each one, slow. Gentle. Reverent.

“I know,” he murmured, voice rough. “I know, baby. You been fighting too long. You safe now.”

She mouthed, I missed you.

He nodded fast, biting his lip like that simple phrase hurt more than any bullet. “I ain’t slept right. I ain’t breathed right. I thought—fuck, I thought you were a body in a crate and I was gonna lose my damn mind.”

He climbed up beside her, cradling her in his lap, tucking her head under his chin. “You came back to me. You really came back.”

Sakari’s hand shakily moved up to his face, touching the beard that had grown longer, wilder, like he’d had no time or care to cut it. Then she signed slowly: I didn’t want to die without you knowing I loved you.

That wrecked him.

He froze, eyes wide, chest expanding like her words knocked the breath from him. Then, as if everything clicked, he crushed his mouth to her forehead, whispering over and over again, “I love you too. I love you too. I love you so fuckin’ much.”

She curled tighter into him, crying silently, both hands trapped between their bodies. She didn’t care about the blood still in her hair. The ship. The powder. The snakes. The war.

All that mattered was this. Right here. Jacob’s heartbeat beneath her ear.

He held her like she might vanish again. Like if he let go, she’d dissolve into sea mist and be lost forever. One hand slid down to her waist, the other tucked under her knees. “From now on,” he breathed, “if you leave again, I’m comin’ with you.”

She signed slowly with a tiny smile, Even if it’s to Florida again?

Jacob chuckled, eyes full of wet light. “Even if it’s to the ends of the damn world.”

Then he kissed her. Real soft this time. Not desperate. Not punishing. Just full of the ache of having loved her through hell and back. And this time?

She kissed him right back, whispering one word against his lips:

Home.

Chapter 128: “If You Go, I Go.”

Jacob wasn’t bluffin’. Not for show. Not for drama. That man meant every single syllable when he said he was never lettin’ her go alone again—and his actions? Already lockin’ that in.

Sakari was barely half awake, curled against him, muscles twitching from the come-down of survival mode. Her body was bone-tired, her hair still tangled from wind and sea air, her lips cracked and dry—but Jacob looked at her like she was the goddamn resurrection.

He hadn’t even taken off his boots when he carried her into the master bathroom. Laid a clean towel down on the edge of the tub, turned the faucet with muscle memory, adjusted the temperature while testing it with his hand like he was prepping for royalty.

Sakari didn’t argue. She didn’t have it in her. She just watched from where he sat her on the counter—his hoodie still swallowing her frame—eyes low and lashes heavy. Marvin, somehow already back on her shoulder, clung to her like her own silent shadow.

“I got you,” Jacob muttered again, kneeling to untie her boots. He peeled each one off slow, tender even when grime flaked off her socks. “You ain’t gotta lift a finger.”

She signed something small, her fingers limp but clear. You’re gonna get tired of taking care of me.

Jacob’s head snapped up. His eyes were molten.

“Never. Don’t even play like that.”

He stood and gently pulled the hoodie off her arms, his gaze skipping over the fading bruises, the still-healing scrapes, the evidence of everything she didn’t speak out loud. He paused when he saw the new scar near her side. It was pink and recent. From a blade, maybe. Or glass. He didn’t ask. Just leaned in and pressed a kiss against it, soft.

Sakari blinked fast. Like she was still trying to believe this was real. You’re really not leaving?

He signed it back to her. Not perfect, but practiced. If you go, I go.

Her throat worked hard as she swallowed, blinking tears away again, then nodded. She reached out, brushing his jaw, and signed okay before slipping into the warm bath when he helped her ease in.

The steam rose around her shoulders and Jacob sank onto the floor beside the tub like a loyal guard dog. Arms draped across the edge, chin resting on his forearm. Watching her like she might dissolve if he blinked too long.

She closed her eyes.

He didn’t.

Not once.

Not when the house got quiet. Not when the others tapped on the door checking in. Not even when Frank came padding down the hallway and flopped his heavy lizard body against the tile like same, bro energy.

Jacob sat there, one hand brushing Sakari’s arm every now and then just to make sure she was real, his other hand absently petting Marvin who was curled beside him now.

“I got you,” he whispered again.

And this time?

Sakari believed it.

Chapter 129: “Primal Comfort.”

Sakari had made it out alive. Barely. But Jacob? He hadn’t made it through unscathed.

A month without her was a slow starvation. Not just of touch—but of that quiet peace she gave him. The way she grounded him, wordlessly, with just her gaze. That was what had really wrecked him: the silence. The wondering. The ache of not knowing if the woman who’d made him feel human for the first time in years was even still breathing.

Now she was here—still healing, still soft—but here.

And Jacob was locked in.

He sat on the edge of her bed in one of his hoodies and sweats, bare feet planted to the wood floor, a tray balanced on his thighs. Oatmeal with sliced fruit on top. The strawberries were shaped into tiny hearts. He wasn’t slick.

Sakari raised a brow from where she lay propped up against the pillows, Marvin curled like a guard dragon at her hip. She signed with a lazy smirk, I’m not helpless.

Jacob smirked right back. “Didn’t say you were. I’m just tryna love you, pretty girl. Let me.”

Her hands stilled. The way he said that? Low. Earnest. Soft in a way that wrapped itself around her bones. So she nodded.

Let him spoon-feed her like she was royalty—not because she needed it, but because she could feel how much it settled something inside of him. Every time she took a bite, chewed, swallowed—it was like she was healing him, too.

He wiped the corner of her lip with his thumb when the oatmeal ran a little.

She didn’t flinch.

He kissed her temple, then the ridge of her brow.

She leaned in.

You needed this, she signed, hands moving slow, deliberate.

Jacob stared at her for a second, then just nodded. “Yeah. I did. I need to see you. Touch you. Provide. That’s what I do. That’s what I’m here for.”

He set the tray aside and didn’t even ask before pulling her gently into his lap. His palm stroked her back in long, slow lines. The other hand drifted to her thigh, grounding her there. Marvin blinked slowly and moved to the other side of the bed like he knew—this moment wasn’t for him.

Sakari burrowed in, her head tucked under Jacob’s chin, and she felt his breath shake.

Not from lust. Not even exhaustion.

From relief.

He held her tighter.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmured against her crown. “You don’t even know what that did to me.”

She tilted her head and signed against his chest, Then hold me like you found me again.

And Jacob? That man folded around her like armor.

Not just a protector.

But hers.

Chapter 130: “Soft Ruin.”

The quiet in Sakari’s bedroom wasn’t empty—it pulsed.

It pulsed with relief. With craving. With the kind of slow-burning ache only time and distance could build into something sacred and starving.

Jacob sat behind her, knees spread, Sakari between them. His hoodie draped over her like a robe, bare thighs curled into his. They hadn’t spoken in a while. Not because they didn’t have things to say—just… because their bodies were speaking louder.

Her fingers traced the veins in his forearm, slow and thoughtful, before she tilted her head back to rest on his shoulder.

He pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck.

And she didn’t sign anything. Not right away.

She just turned in his lap and looked at him like he was her beginning and her undoing all in one.

Then she reached up, gently cradling his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. Her hands moved deliberately, slow and quiet like a prayer:

“I want this. You. Again. All of you.”

Jacob’s breath hitched. The man had never been shy about what he wanted from her—but now, this? This was different. This wasn’t just need. This was permission. A bridge back to what they’d almost lost.

“I’m not gon’ be gentle this time,” he said against her lips, voice low, gravelly, raw. “Not like you’re fragile. But like you’re mine.”

Her reply? She pulled his hoodie off and tossed it to the floor.

There was no rush, no performance. Just them—skin to skin, pulse to pulse.

His hands worshipped every inch of her like he was relearning the terrain of his own salvation. The dips of her waist. The warmth of her hips. The way her eyes fluttered when his fingers trailed between her thighs.

She was quiet, but he read her just fine—the trembling breath, the way her legs wrapped around his hips, the little jerk of her chin when he teased the head of himself against her entrance.

“You missed this?” he asked, forehead pressed to hers.

She signed one word before he slid in.

“Desperately.”

And then there were no more signs. Just broken kisses, slow gasps, and the ruin of a woman being loved like she was water after drought.

He didn’t just move inside her—he stayed. Let her feel every inch of how he ached. Whispered low, filthy love confessions into the curve of her neck between thrusts. Groaned her name like it was holy.

She clung to him—touched him more than ever. Like she needed the anchor. Like she wanted to make sure he didn’t disappear.

And when her body gave out beneath the intensity of it, trembling and blissed-out in his arms, Jacob just held her tighter.

Pressed kisses to her chest, her belly, her hands.

“You’re not goin’ nowhere again,” he murmured, voice thick with everything he couldn’t say out loud. “You hear me?”

She nodded against his chest, signing one word blindly against his heartbeat.

“Never.”

Chapter 131: “My Happy Ending”

The light that poured through the bedroom windows was soft, golden, and slow—like the world itself knew not to rush this moment.

Jacob lay on his back, one hand resting over Sakari’s hip, thumb brushing bare skin like he was still trying to convince himself she was real. That she was here. His. The other hand was under his head, and he kept glancing sideways at her like she might vanish again if he blinked too long.

She’d fallen asleep curled into his side the night before, after they both collapsed from love-drunk exhaustion. But now she was awake—blinking up at him from where she rested, half-laced across his chest like his heartbeat was her pillow.

Her lips parted as if she were going to sign something.

But instead… she spoke.

Or mouthed it, really. Silent. Careful.

“I love you, Jacob Fatu.”

Jacob froze. His whole chest stilled under her palm like those five words had hit harder than any bullet he’d ever dodged.

Then she mouthed the rest—

“You’re my happy ending.”

His eyes closed for half a beat. Not because he was overwhelmed. Because he needed that moment to lock it in. Her mouth forming those words. Her fingers tracing his jaw after. Her eyes shining, not from tears—but from peace.

No chaos. No cartel politics. Just her. Choosing him.

Slowly, his hand moved. He signed back—his signs not perfect, but hers. For her.

“You’re mine. Every part of me belongs to you. I never had a happy ending until you.”

Sakari smiled so softly, it made his throat close. And then she did something that shook him more than any whisper or signature ever could.

She climbed on top of him, straddling his waist—not with lust this time, but like she was anchoring them both—and leaned down to press her forehead to his.

And she mouthed—

“We’re gonna be okay now.”

Jacob nodded, eyes glassy but holding it together. “Damn right we are.”

He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck. And for once, Jacob Fatu—kingpin, monster, cartel legend—didn’t need to fuck, or fight, or flinch.

He just needed her.

And he had her.

[merlions]

So nice finally being in classes w at least some people older than 19 (genuine). We did gram staining on bacteria samples today (which requires a bunsen burner) and our sparkers are total shit, and the kids (tm) were making fun of me for being like ummm we are leaving the gas on for less than 30 seconds and if it's not lit by then we are turning it off and trying again in a minute. 2 people who were rolling their eyes at me very nearly burned their eyebrows off in the huge fire cloud they caused so. They really showed me

Anyways then after all that I grabbed my slide fresh out of the fire with my bare ass hand and burned it ofc...hot fuckin glass. Was running it under cold water & my (30s ish?) table mate was mom-ing me a bit, like do you wanna fill out an incident report and use the first aid kit? Etc. And I was like nah I got kitchen hands and she was like ohh yeah I feel you, same

Nearby 19yos: got WHAT????