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the-thing-withfeathers · 2 months ago

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exceeded caution part 2

first time for everything

series masterlist | next part

a/n: heyy y’all!! so this is part 2 of exceeded caution. a lot of it follows the actual movie because i needed set-up for ghostface. there’s still a lot of interaction between the reader + sam & tara but some of it is from the first 30 minutes of scream vi essentially.

warnings: violence (gun usage, knife usage), cursing. he/him pronouns for ghostface. 5.8k words.

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

a few days ago, sam was nowhere near the forefront of your mind. you had stayed with the group as they navigated their way through accepting that ghostface might be back.

you hadn't spoken to tara much, you felt like you wouldn't be any help to her. she didn't need her ex-girlfriend that she only dated out of convenience around her constantly.

instead, the other carpenter sister started to find solace in your presence.

you found yourself over quite a bit, you noticed that they valued strength in numbers. you even all set a rotation between the group for who would cook that week.

during your week to cook, sam insisted on joining you when grocery shopping. as you promised her that she wouldn't be alone, she mentally promised you the same thing.

"it's just a simple beef stroganoff recipe, sam. you really don't have to come." you smiled sheepishly as you pulled up outside her apartment, she was hopping into your passenger seat.

"ghostface won't let a grocery store stop him from taking lives." sam was firm in her words, you sighed in defeat and drove off towards the shops that were only a couple minutes away from her place. you wanted her to feel safe still.

she pushed the cart while you took ingredients off the shelves, mumbling to yourself as you chucked them in the cart.

"tara used to say your food was amazing. where did you learn to cook?" she asked you, you looked away from your list to smile at her.

"my mom, she's amazing at cooking. she gave up her career to support my dad and become a fulltime housewife." you explained. "i used to help her cook all the time."

"that's pretty cool. i find myself never having the time for new foods. i should probably get on that."

"i can teach you some. or make some for you, i like cooking for people." you shrugged, taking another ingredient off the shelves.

sam would normally decline if you were anyone else, but she felt the urge to accept.

"sure. that would be nice." she nodded at you.

sam had enjoyed you being around more often and getting to know you outside of tara. she even found herself calling you a friend.

or rather, she tried to keep it at friend. she was trying to hide the fact that she felt a pull to you, she didn't know how to explain it. although, one thing was sure, there was an element of guilt to it.

she wasn’t the only one feeling guilty. you felt almost dirty with how much you thought of sam. because of the frequency of your contact, you found yourself wanting to see her more.

was this against some form of girl code that you shouldn’t want to hang out with your ex’s sister?

“um… how are you?” she could see that you were nervous to ask her that. “i know you probably get asked that all the time but i never ask… and i want to know.”

“that’s fine. i figured you would get curious. you always seem to be.” sam commented.

“is curiosity bad?” you teased a little, noting her phrasing.

“no! not at all.” she perked up, shaking her head.

“don’t worry sam, i’m joking.” you realised that the carpenter sisters weren’t used to bantering with someone they weren’t extremely close to— or someone they didn’t love.

“right.” she bit her lip. “but no? it’s not bad at all.” she chuckled. “but i’m… not okay?”

you nodded, respecting her answer and silently thanking her for being honest.

“i hoped that we would escape this when we moved. and i’ve been doing everything to protect tara but it didn’t end for sidney prescott— so i assume that it won’t end for us.” she scratched her brow, the stress getting to her. “i’m sorry you got involved.”

“it’s okay, sam. i knew what i was getting into when i dated tara.” you nodded. “if it happened again, i already knew i’d stick around.”

“that’s admirable.”

you felt your heart clench a little when she said that. nobody had ever told you that your desire to stick around was admirable. you always got “clingy” or “overbearing.” that was the first time you’d ever gotten a compliment on it.

“oh! um… thank you.” you stuttered out, a blush flooding your cheeks. you knew that sam meant it too, she wasn’t just saying it to make you feel better. she was genuinely saying it.

“it’s true.” it was.

you tried to push your flustered down into the depths of your mind as you struggled to reach the top shelf with the last of your ingredients. you were definitely taller than tara— everyone was. but not tall enough to face this eight layered shelf.

sam was.

sam was taller. and she made that perfectly clear when she basically pressed up behind you to grab this damn dijon mustard for you.

oh no… oh no… you had to stop those thoughts. you had turned around too quickly, basically coming chest to chest with the girl. she didn’t seem to mind— and you refused to mind.

you had never been this close to her before. your eyes trailed over all her features, taking them in. she looked just like tara… maybe that’s whats got your heart beating at the speed of light.

but she wasn’t tara. no, she was sam. and you found that to be what sealed the deal for you.

you found her pretty.

you remained silent as you finished off the last of the ingredient collection. you walked over to the self check-out, scanning the items as the blush continued to make its presence known as sam hovered.

you shuffled some things around in your pocket to try and find your card but before you knew it, sam was paying for your groceries.

“what—“ you tried to protest but the transaction had gone through already.

sam didn’t know what overcame her.

it was her way of taking care of you.

it was even her way of apologising to you.

"sam, you didn't have to do that." you shook your head at her.

"my treat, i didn't get to cook for everyone so this is my way of contributing." she shook you off. you knew that was a lie because mindy sent you a photo of meals you missed, one being sam's.

there was no undoing it now. you sighed and reached for the bags, but sam was one step ahead of you, grabbing them and walking out of the store.

you wished you could wash the blush off with soap.

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

when you arrived for dinner with your groceries. everyone was already at the carpenter’s apartment. they were spread out across the entire floor, conversing with each other.

you got to cooking almost immediately, knowing that everyone had potentially been there for a while. sam left your side to talk to quinn.

you kept feeling eyes on you.

the shorter carpenter sister was talking to mindy when she felt her attention turn away from her and onto you. she watched you cook, she actually always loved your cooking.

she loved when you would make a dinner catered just to her. she actually missed how lively the kitchen used to be when you were in it. you were even dancing around now, your headphones tucked over your ear.

she smiled a little at how you shook your waist to the music. everyone knew not to bother you so you could get it done quicker.

but tara wanted to bother you. she wanted to approach you and say something, anything to break the silence.

you were friends before everything went down. she thought that maybe she could at least salvage that, that would be her way to redemption.

mindy kept talking and talking before cutting herself off suddenly, realising that tara was no longer paying attention.

“tara, don’t.” mindy said, disappointment clear in her tone. “this is something you need to give time to.”

“there’s been a lot of time.” tara muttered, glaring at mindy.

“you can’t just break her heart and expect her to let you back in so quickly.” mindy held her shoulder back.

“i know it won’t be quick, but i have to try.” tara said through her teeth, pulling her shoulder out of mindy’s grasp and starting to make her way towards you.

tara stopped on her heels when she saw her sister already take your attention. she thought that she’d better not interrupt you.

“whatcha listening to?” sam asked you, her arms crossed over her chest.

you pulled your headphones back a little.

“sloppy jane.” you said.

“sloppy jane? what kind of name is that?!” sam laughed.

“she’s cool! i promise!” you raised your hands up in defense. you took your headphones off your head, you gently placed them on sam. your hands nicking strands of her long hair before you pulled them away.

she held eye contact with her as her head bobbed to the music, you matched the bobbing, knowing which part of the song she was on.

a smile formed on her face while you two were in sync. your eyes started to crinkle up with a smile as your hair started getting in your face when you headbanged. she joined you until the kitchen was filled with laughter.

“okay… okay. i see it now. she has a good sound.” sam agreed with you, placing the headphones back on you but leaving an ear open.

“thank you.” you chuckled, moving the beef strips into the bowl you intended to serve it in.

“this smells soooo good.” sam practically moaned out, you laughed at the noise she made.

“well, you’re gonna have to wait like everyone else!” you teased.

she groaned and rolled her eyes. you liked seeing her loosen up a bit more, you were grateful she was getting more comfortable around you.

as you two laughed, tara stared on.

she remembered when she was in sam’s place. she even felt herself grow jealous at her sister. why did she ever think that what she was doing to you was okay? your heart was gold and tara thought she had turned it dark— she realised your golden heart’s integrity never faltered. you were still just as good.

she was cruel and she broke your heart. she didn’t think she would regret it— until she suddenly felt all that guilt wash over her. was she regretting it?

you enlisted sam to help you bring all your dishes to the table.

“beef stroganoff, pasta, and rice. choose your carb to go with it and enjoy!” you presented your meal to the group.

everyone admired your work and sat down at the table. you ended up sitting beside mindy who talked your ear off about some pottery class that she and anika took.

you glanced over at sam first, her eyes meeting yours during her conversation with ethan. you two exchanged heartfelt smiles, you had a good day because of each other.

then you looked at tara, who was already looking at you. her first serving was practically gone. you knew that she loved one thing about you, and it was your cooking. she held a sadness behind those eyes, you saw into it, but you had your doubts that it was sadness.

when you noticed her plate, you felt yourself flash her a smile too. she returned it, it was shy but still genuine. her plate was cleaned up just seconds after everyone served themselves.

crumbs of you, tara would take. she cherished that smile you gave to her, even if it was forced or accidental. it filled her brain.

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

washing up had to be done, you wanted do it yourself, saying how you were on a roll from cooking that you wanted to do the cleaning too.

sam was about to speak up but suddenly, tara found her voice.

“i’ll help!” she said, chirping up. everyone looked at her with confusion. they didn’t expect that she would do that for you.

“oh… okay!” you said, making your way over to the kitchen.

you scrubbed the plates and handed them to her to dry. it was a good system that worked.

“you did well with dinner today. your cooking is always good.” tara smiled at you.

“thank you, tara. i appreciate it.” your lips pressed into a thin line.

“i just wanted to say that.” she put the plates onto the drying rack. “we haven’t spoken in a while.”

“i know. i just wanted to give you space. i felt like i wasn’t much help to you ever. and i felt like i wouldn’t be much help now.” you confessed. “but i want to stick around, i would be a pretty shit person if i didn’t.”

she felt horrible that you thought that you wouldn’t be help. in fact, there were some nights that tara found herself longing for you.

“we were friends before this, do you think we’d be able to get back to that?” she asked, searching your face for hope. but all she saw was doubt.

“maybe, tara.” you turned to her, handing her the last of the dishes. you saw the dejected look on her face and sighed. you wanted to go back to that too, you missed the tara that was a good friend to you. “but we can try.”

tara’s face lit up, a bit of shock also hidden between the lines. “okay! yeah… let’s try.” she put the dish away and held her hand out, you chuckled but you shook it.

what you failed to see was your maybe friend’s sister staring at you both from the living room, her jaw tightened as tara touched you.

sam zoned back into the conversation, realising that the show they were watching was long gone and replaced by the news again.

there was another death.

sam erupted in her anger, suddenly storming into the kitchen, grabbing the sharpest knife that she owned.

you had no idea what just happened, tara followed her sister back to the living room, the commotion having everyone sit up.

“sam! slow down!” tara yelled after her sister, you joined them after putting the dishes away. “can we please think about this before you decide to abandon my college education?!”

you couldn’t blame sam for wanting to leave. this was something that she just wanted to escape. as much as you would be upset, you would understand. you’d help, even.

you would help them pack up if it meant they were away from everything. you were prepared to never speak of the carpenter sisters again, in hopes that they would never have to go through this again.

“this can’t just be a coincidence, tara!” sam yelled back at her. today was the day where you saw the genetic stubbornness displayed by the carpenter sisters.

“quinn, can you please call your dad?!” tara asked their roommate, quinn immediately nodded. you could tell she didn’t want to get yelled at by sam but it was a reasonable point of action.

ring!!!

everyone flinched. you didn’t. it was just a phone ringing to you, but to everyone else, it was so much more.

sam’s phone blared on the table, she walked over only to see that it was gale weathers, she declined the call without a doubt.

you watched as quinn travelled across the room, telling sam that her father wanted to speak to her. you heard the muffled voice of mr. bailey from where you were standing.

“okay, thank you. i’ll be right there.” sam hung up. “he wants me down at the station.”

“i’ll drive you.” you said, grabbing your keys. “i live close to the station.”

“you shouldn’t have to—“ you cut sam off.

“no. i will. no man left behind, remember?” you said, firm in your decision. sam sighed but nodded.

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

you, sam, and tara made it out the door and started to walk to your car.

suddenly, sam’s phone rang again. the two girls stopped when they saw the name displayed on the screen.

richie kirsch.

richie? you recognized that name. you huddled closer to the sisters, closing your eyes to rack your memory for where you knew that name.

no. wait.

it couldn’t be. he was dead, wasn’t he?

“don’t pick that up.” tara said, looking up at sam.

sam hesitated, but it could be important. these calls were life or death for them. she picked up.

you looked at your surroundings. you suddenly felt so exposed, like anything could happen to you now that you weren’t in the comforts of your own home— or anyone’s home.

“who is this?” sam asked into the phone. you couldn’t hear the responses, only sam’s facial expressions changing as time went on.

her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes changed. you saw woodsboro glaze her pupils, you knew she was thinking back to her life before the city. everything was resurfacing.

“i want you to think long and hard about whether or not you wanna do this because the last two people that fucked with us ended up dead.” she said, planting her feet down with determination.

your eyes started to tear away from sam, not absorbing the conversation.

bad gut feeling.

you had to stop ignoring those.

“you better watch your back, asshole.” sam said.

and tara yelled.

a cloaked figure sporting a ghostface mask suddenly grabbed tara, you sprung into action. tara elbowed the figure and you shoved him into the bike rack.

“go!” you said, running just behind the two sisters.

“there!” sam redirected you into a little corner store. you stood with your front to the door while the girls yelled at the cashier to help them, starting a fight with someone in line.

suddenly ghostface walked in.

you backed up into sam, pushing her backwards a little bit while one of the customers stood tall in front of the infamous killer.

you watched as ghostface drove their knife into the man, multiple times.

you gasped, your hand flying to your mouth. you had never seen anyone get killed before. you thought ghostface had specific targets, this wasn’t just an ordinary killer, this killer wasn’t afraid to take any life that stood in his way.

you turned around and the three of you flooded into the back of the store as the clerk wielded his gun.

when the first gunshot rang, sam’s arm flew to cover you as chips flew everywhere. tara was crouched just beside the two of you.

suddenly, there was a second gunshot. but only after you heard the clerk start begging for his life.

you tried to stay quiet, you didn’t realise where parts of your body were. you had a hand on sam’s abdomen, bunching her shirt into your fist. you were terrified, you had never gone through this before. you couldn’t imagine what sam & tara were feeling.

you couldn’t move— or else he would know where you were.

the corner store was quiet, it was like a cruel game of cat and mouse. you heard crunching as the sound of boots got closer to you.

all three of you rounded the corner to avoid detection. sam hid behind a freezer while you and tara hid behind the shelving. you saw sam’s eyes flicker to a can on the ground and you knew what she was trying to say.

carefully, you reached out and picked the can off the floor. it was disgusting and sticky. was this what they had to result to when defending themselves? putting themselves in disgusting situations? you felt twisted picturing them going through this once— now twice.

you threw the can across the corner store, hearing boots walk in the other direction. it was a successful distraction. the three of you started crawling towards the exit.

when you heard the boots stop moving again, you paused. sam leaned forward, you could tell that she could see a lot clearer than you. she slowly inched towards the shelving, then she suddenly shoved it with her shoulder, knocking it down.

god, she was strong.

had she been training herself to get stronger? in case this happened again?

the three of you hauled ass to the exit, being met with cop cars and their sirens.

the three of you were escorted into the cars. the sisters rode in one while you went in the other. you fidgeted with your fingers. then it was daunting on you.

baby’s first ghostface attack.

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

you sat in an interrogation room at the precinct. the walls were closing in on you.

you had been close to death before. you remember when you and your parents got into that gnarly car accident that had you coming out with several broken bones and whiplash. you cradled your arm, feeling the after-effects of the worst injury you sustained.

but this wasn't a car t-boning yours. this was a killer.

and you felt like death was kissing your cheek.

you didn't know where sam and tara were, you assumed a different interrogation room. you were waiting for ages, you thought that maybe someone was attending to them first.

you sat in silence for about ten more minutes, trying to decompress the situation.

the lock clicked and the door swung open, revealing detective bailey. you had met quinn's dad in passing, never really speaking to him.

"mr. bailey. how are you?" you asked him, sitting up in your chair. you noticed he had files in his hand. this was going to take longer than you wanted.

"i'm good. thank you... how are you doing? you weren't around for woodsboro, i'm sure it's a bit of a shock to be involved now." straight into it.

"a bit is an understatement, sir." you let out a dry chuckle. "i'm assuming you're going to be asking me more than just 'how are you' though..."

"i'm sorry. i know you're probably tired." he sighed, you nodded. you were trying to hold back a yawn.

"it's fine."

he sat down across from you, opening the file and putting its contents in front of you.

"you're the newest addition to the group, quinn has talked about you. i know you and tara had a past relationship. were you frequently in and out of their apartment?" he asked.

"yeah... tara and i were together for a bit. i usually visited her and i also hang out with mindy and chad, so yes, i was frequently at theirs." you nodded, you often found that honesty was the best policy with these things.

"i know that your relationship with her ended badly." he stated, you scoffed.

"surely a bad break-up isn't enough motivation to go on these killing sprees, right?" you asked, a bit offended.

"sometimes it might just be."

"did you have access to sam carpenter's belongings?" he followed up. what did sam's stuff have to do with this?

"um... no. not really. i never really interacted with sam until ghostface was rumored to resurface. and even then, i don't really have that access." you crossed your arms across your chest, your eyes scanning the photos on the desk. you spotted a photo of sam's license, bloodied and dumped at the scene of the crime.

someone was trying to frame her.

"we found sam's license next to the body."

"well she was with me all day. we went grocery shopping and i cooked everyone dinner." you quickly jumped at the chance to defend her. "tara was there too."

mr. bailey nodded at you confirming their alibi.

"sam said the same thing." he reassured you. he leaned in a bit closer to you. "although, i'd be cautious about those sisters. especially sam. i wouldn't get too close."

your brows furrowed in frustration.

"i'm sure i have nothing to worry about. they're good people." you didn't want to speak any further on the matter.

you hated that the thought of either of them being responsible for these deaths even crossed the detective's mind. he was supposed to be helping them.

two knocks against the door turned the detective's attention to another officer walking into the room.

"the fbi is here." the officer said. detective bailey looked confused.

"the fbi? where?" he stood up then turned to you. "you're free to go. i think sam and tara are waiting for you."

you stood from your seat and followed him, making your way over to the two dark-haired sisters. tara was the first to spot you, nudging sam until she turned around.

you sped up, you didn't know what it was. you just had to make sure she was real.

you wrapped your arms around sam. you felt her tense up out of shock but return the gesture.

"i'm sorry." you apologised for the sudden hug.

"it's okay." sam smiled warmly.

you turned to tara and put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing softly.

tara's eyes met yours. those pleading doe eyes, they wanted more than just a squeeze on the shoulder. she wished she was sam in that moment.

"i'm really glad you two are okay." you cleared your throat. sam smiled at you, even if it was forced, it was nice to see.

you heard two voices chatting just a little bit aways from you. sam started moving towards them, you and tara followed behind.

"kirby?" she spoke, getting the attention of a blonde woman.

"hey sam." kirby replied, moving to hug sam as well.

"do you know each other?" bailey asked.

"yeah... we went to woodsboro high together. she was a senior when i was a freshman." sam clarified. you studied the woman in front of you.

all you could say was that she looked cool. she was an fbi agent that had been monitoring the sisters for a little while. you realised that this had been the kirby involved with the killings too. they shared a very unique experience between each other.

you stayed behind sam while they conversed. kirby was handed the mask that was left at the scene. the mask used in the 2011 killings. kirby lifted her shirt to show the scar that charlie walker gave her.

sam looked uncomfortable. she realised then that this was bigger than just a killing spree, they were trying to send a message.

kirby proposed you all worked together but sam interjected, not giving her the chance to finish.

"we're getting out of town." she pushed through kirby and detective bailey.

"i'm sorry, that's not possible. you're both persons of interest. all three of you are." bailey warned.

"are you serious?" tara stepped forward, the growing frustration evident in her voice.

"he's right." kirby confirmed. "but if we work together-"

"we're going." sam basically barked an order at you and tara.

"my car's back at your place." you said. sam nodded. a small part of her brain was happy that you would be around after that.

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

when the three of you made your way out of the precinct, you had never seen so many cameras before. reporters swarmed the three of you, immediately asking sam questions like if she had an alibi or if tara felt safe with her sister.

they didn't pay you any mind, how could they? you were fresh meat to the group, they didn't care about your story. luckily, it allowed you to mercilessly shove them back, helping make space for sam and tara to walk through the flood.

you found yourself holding onto sam's waist, pulling her towards the open spots you've created with your body pushing against the reporters.

"gale weathers." a voice sounded out in the crowd, causing the sisters to stop in their tracks. you knew that name too, it felt like an endless revision on who was who, if you had studied well enough. "do you ladies think that you're the reason that the ghostface killer has come to the big apple?" she asked.

you saw it in sam. she snapped. she'd had a long night, she nearly lost her life. she nearly lost her sister. and her... friend.

she swung with her fist out.

"sam!" you exclaimed as gale ducked, avoiding the punch. you pulled sam's waist back, you knew she didn't need another video of her going viral. she put her hands over yours, allowing you to hold her back. you had to admit, it felt nice knowing you had a bit of pull on her.

although, you failed to account for the shorter carpenter sister. you failed to catch her pulling her elbow back and swinging at gale with a force of her own.

you jumped at the noise made by the contact and had to hold back a laugh at gale's shocked face. sam cracked a smile, she couldn't help herself.

"stay away from us." tara spat at gale.

you two turned to walk towards a cab that was parked outside the station. you pushed sam slightly by her waist, hoping she wouldn't turn back around.

but gale weathers just had to say something.

"are you two seriously still mad about what happened?"

"you wrote a book. about them." she didn't expect you to say anything. she didn't know who you were or what you were to the carpenters. she looked at you as if you were irrelevant, like another body that ghostface could dispose of just to raise the numbers.

"and who are you?" she asked, a snark in her voice.

"doesn't matter. you took advantage of them. of the fact that they lost their friends, they nearly lost each other." you shook your head. "i remember you, from tara's stories."

tara watched you fight back. how could you still do that after she hurt you? you were full of surprises. she had never seen your tongue so laced with venom before.

"you lost someone too. dewey... if someone kept shoving that down your throat, how would you feel?" you asked, glaring her way as sam and tara entered the cab. gale's stance shifted, she was uncomfortable with a stranger knowing so much information about her personal life. but then again, she put the carpenter sisters' life out there for the whole world to see.

"i remember your book too. you called sam unstable, you painted her in the worst light possible. and i thought you had been through enough with her to know that that's not true." you turned back to the two girls, opening the door to the back of the cab for them.

sam's face was unreadable as she hopped into the car. she stared at the back of your head, or more like the back of your seat. you stood up for her, breaking your kind and golden-hearted demeanour. she was worried that being in this situation would change you for the worst.

you sat in silence after telling the driver where to go. leaning back into your seat, you tried to keep your eyes open. you hadn't gotten any sleep since last night, your time divided between the carpenter residence and the station.

there was so little to say and yet so many words were jumbled in your brain.

when you arrived at the carpenter's apartment, you yawned as you exited the cab. sam caught you do so and stopped you before you could unlock your car. her hand covered yours, gripping it in her own.

"you should rest here for a little bit. you're too tired to drive." she said, looking down at you. you wanted to get home and sleep in your own bed but you knew she was right.

you put your car keys away and walked upstairs with them.

tara immediately made a beeline for the bathroom. she always showered after coming home, she couldn't go a day without smelling like vanilla.

sam put pillows and blankets down on their couch and walked into her room, coming back out with some clothes.

"you can change into these for now, you might as well make yourself comfortable. and you can sleep for as long as you want." she said, you took the clothes and nodded at her.

she sat down on the couch and pulled the blanket up slightly to cover herself, you grabbed the blanket to stop her.

"what are you doing? i'll take the couch." you said, furrowing your brows.

"no. you'll take my bed." she looked up at you from the couch.

"it's your damn bed, sam." you didn't mean to sound so ill-mannered but the tiredness was getting the best of you.

"i know. so i'll do with it as i please." you know it was just her trying to show that she cared. "so you're taking it."

you sighed sharply, you were about to take a massive risk.

"share it with me." you said, holding your ground. you didn't want to kick sam out of her own bed.

she saw the determination on your face. you two were going to sit here and bicker if she didn't give in now. she nodded, standing up and making her way back to her room.

you changed into sam's clothes, her scent wafting as the shirt fell over your figure. then you cracked the door open enough to slip yourself into her room.

just as you entered sam's room, tara came out of the bathroom. she had the look of a shattered woman on her face, you should have been going into her room. she should have offered first.

you shut the door behind you, walking towards the bed where sam was sitting. you spotted her nursing her hand, spotting a deep cut from crawling on glass at the bodega.

"sam, you should've gotten that taken care of." you scolded her a little, walking to her bathroom and grabbing a medkit you knew was there. tara had told you that she put one in every bathroom.

you knelt in front of sam, unpacking the kit to grab the antiseptic and a bandage.

"it's fine, it's only a cut." she protested.

"if ghostface doesn't get you, an infected cut will. and i think that's extremely embarrassing." you tried to make light of it, your exhaustion washing over you. "this'll hurt."

you dabbed the antiseptic into sam's cut. she hissed at the sting. but the sight in front of her was better. you, in her clothes, patching her up. this was probably the worst time for her to form a crush, and probably the worst person to form it on. her sister's ex-girlfriend, who was now involved in the ghostface killings. but your soft features, your concern for her, it was hard to resist you.

she chalked it up to exhaustion, maybe this crush would fade away when she was in her right mind.

but when you situated yourself next to her in bed, your respectful nature forcing you to leave ample space so you two weren't touching each other, she hoped that she would one day earn the honour of closing that gap.

as she closed her eyes, she listened in to your soft breathing. and even when you accidentally ended up shoulder to shoulder in bed,

sam refused to move.

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

author's journal okay i actually spent way too much time on this chapter, i had to write out the first 30 minutes of scream vi with a reader insert so it was a little bit more cohesive with the storyline. i don't know how i feel about this one chapter in particular but i'm starting to see the vision for the rest of the series teehee. i promise it wont just be the whole movie written down but it'll definitely have canon events. next chapter is most likely going to be non-canon as much as possible just cause this is a romance fic at the end of the day.

also this is the song i intended for the reader to be listening to with sam

#scream #scream fic #tara carpenter angst #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter fic #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x f!reader #sam carpenter series #sam carpenter #sam carpenter angst #sam carpenter x female reader #sam carpenter fic #sam carpenter x f!reader #Spotify

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allur1ngs · 1 year ago

Text

✮ bloody knuckles ✮

TW: angst to fluff!! i know the summary seems like pure angst but i swear its not! semi-graphic violence? , guns, kidnapping, bada and reader get into an argument, reader acts naively and a bit selfishly (but it’s okay, she’s young and makes up for it in the end), bada still having beef w your bodyguard, protective!bada, cold!bada (this time to you too…), violent & frusterated!bada, brief mentions of sexual activity (inc…toys, ass, boobs… sorry), use of the word unnie (about six or so times) brief mentions of drugs, a creepy woman, and a surprise character from the previous installment!

SUMMARY: breaking bada’s three rules for a night of partying backfires in ways you could’ve never imagined. now, you have to deal with the consequences of your lies

part iv. succumb (to me)

WC: 12.5k… get some popcorn y’all this is a long one

A/N: read this and this for more background on this au. i’m sure there are a ton of mistakes sprinkled throughout this fic so please ignore them, this took me so long to write and i just want to put it out on time… i promise i’ll edit it once i get the chance😭

DISCLAIMER: all characteristics portrayed are purely speculation and fiction, they are not meant to reflect bada or team bebe’s actual character, values, or attitudes. please keep this in mind!!

On an inconspicuous Thursday night, when a heat wave had just hit Seoul, you lounged in your lavish bed—free from sheets—scrolling through social media.

Pictures of cute animals and food fill your feed, making you smile down at your screen. You are about to like a particularly cute picture of a cat when a notification banner stops you midway. Your eyes flicker to the top of the screen, finding a message from your best friend, Jae Hwang.

Clicking on the notification, you're transferred into your messages app, and Jae’s text fills your screen. “Unnie, I haven’t seen you in so long!! Please come to the party I’m throwing tomorrow so we can catch up and have some fun~!"

Your lips fall open in mild surprise as you instinctively sit up. A party? You text Jae back quickly, asking the reason for the party and where it will be held.

“At my house, of course! We’re all gathering to celebrate your engagement!”

Your engagement… so your parents really hadn’t wasted any time spreading the good news. You’d barely been living with Bada for a month, and they’d already informed your friends. You shake your head and sigh rather loudly. Bada would greatly disapprove of your parents' loose lips. She preferred her privacy, not only for protection but also because she liked people staying out of her business. That much you could tell from the little time you’d had to get to know her.

Shifting your focus back to Jae’s unanswered text, you contemplate attending the party or skipping out. Though they were technically throwing it in your honor, they should have let you know beforehand instead of asking you the night before the party. You felt well within your rights to refuse, but a nagging thought holds you back.

What would you do instead? Technically, you had no plans on Friday night—or Friday at all for that matter. Saturday neither… nor Sunday. Really, you never had plans anymore. Since staying with Bada, you mostly remained inside the Lee mansion, either lounging by the large infinity pool, taking a dip in your personal Jacuzzi, or perhaps enjoying a film in the theater room on the second floor.

Or, if you wanted to leave home, you would be escorted by your bodyguard to certain malls, grocery stores, or establishments. All of which were either managed by Bada or by one of her partners. She made it clear to you from the start that going places not protected by one of her subordinates would be dangerous.

"I have connections to half the establishments in Seoul," she had muttered to you. It's incredible that despite the implications of the words falling from her mouth, Bada had a way of saying things so humbly. She didn't sound like she was boasting—though you wouldn't fault her if she was. "I bet some of the markets you entered when you were a child were run by my family, and you'd never have known."

You’d try your best to conceal your amazement at her confession, but the glow in your eyes was as clear as day to Bada. “And what about the rest?”

She let out a quiet breath, saying, "The rest are mostly run by rival gangs. Almost no stores or establishments are free of mafia influence. Not anymore, at least." Seeing the way your eyes shifted from bright to slightly apprehensive, she pushed her chair back and rose, walking around her desk before leaning on it and clutching onto its edges. "There's no need to worry about them. As long as you stay in areas where my people are, you are safe." Her hand came down to rest politely on your thigh, patting it in a comforting manner.

Her words made your stomach flutter with butterflies, and a giddy smile instinctively formed on your lips. For someone who claimed to want to avoid fostering romantic affection between you both, Bada seemed to be doing the exact opposite.

Before you could lose yourself in the tenderness of the memory, you climb out of bed, having made your decision. Because you barely left home as it is, what harm is there in going to a party? A party organized in your honor, no less. It’s a rare occasion, and truthfully, you miss Jae and the rest of your girlfriends. You haven’t seen them in over a month and texted them sparingly during that time. To be fair, it was mostly your fault—you were much too focused on getting to know Bada and adjusting to your new way of life to strike up conversations with them.

You nod your head firmly as if the action will help build your confidence before you grab onto the handle of your bedroom door and slowly open it. Standing to your right, the figure of your bodyguard, Hyo Kim, immediately greets you on the other side. She turns to face you, her black-tinted sunglasses obstructing your view of her eagle eyes.

“What are you doing up so late?” She says lightheartedly.

“Do you know if Bada is still awake?” You ask. “I wanted to ask her something.”

Hyo lifts her arm up, pushing aside the fabric of her suit to reveal a golden watch. She gazes down at it, pretending to think long and hard. “The Boss should be awake for about…” she trails off playfully, “another four hours.”

You chuckle under your breath, “I didn’t even need to ask, did I?”

“Not at all.” Hyo shakes her head while smirking.

“Alright then,” you clasp your hands together tightly, “I’m going to go see Bada.”

Hyo gestures ahead of you with her hand. “I’ll follow your lead.”

You nod quickly before advancing forward, her trailing close behind. You can’t lie; it was strange to have someone following after you almost every second of the day in the beginning. You remember that at the beginning of your stay at Lee mansion, you kept forgetting that Hyo was following you—she has the tendency to be extremely quiet when focused—and were jump-scared by her multiple times. You’d round corners and suddenly hear one of her heavier footsteps behind you, making you jump and your heart practically leap out of your chest.

At some point, you swear she started doing it on purpose, enjoying the look of fear you gave her when you jumped. Eventually, though, you started to grow used to her constantly lingering presence and even grew comfortable around her. Somewhere along the way, you’d both gotten to know each other more, and a slow but harmonious friendship grew.

“So, what are you going to ask the Boss about?” Hyo’s low and blithe voice cuts through the silence.

“Oh,” you begin, “my friend asked me to meet her and some of my other friends tomorrow night.”

“Really?” Hyo comments, her voice dripping with an emotion you can’t quite decipher.

“Yes,” you affirm. “I wanted to ask Bada if it’s okay for me to visit her.”

Hyo hums under her breath in acknowledgment. “She’ll appreciate that.”

“I hope so.” You smile lightly to yourself. “I just thought that since you follow me wherever I go, she’d find out either way, and I might as well get her thoughts on it.”

“Not to crush your hopes and dreams, kid, but I doubt she’ll say yes.” Hyo remarks.

“Really?” You pause and turn around to face her, a frown forming on your lips.

“The Boss values your safety more than anything else,” Hyo shrugs. “Meeting people she isn’t familiar with puts you at risk.”

“But they’re my friends.” You push back lightly.

“I get that, but like I said, the Boss only cares about keeping you safe.” Hyo raises her hands up in defeat.

You deflate at her words, acknowledging that she’s most likely right. After all the events that’d taken place in the span of a single month, you honestly wouldn’t hold it against Bada to be cautious of where you go. But at the same time, you can’t help but feel mild resentment at the fact that you aren’t even allowed to see your friends.

“Hey,” Hyo frowns at you like a scolding sister. “Don’t be discouraged. You haven’t even asked her yet. You never know; she just might say yes.”

You pick your head up at her words, slowly but surely nodding back. “Yeah, you’re right.” And with that, you continue walking down the corridor to Bada’s office until you reach the dark mahogany wood of her door. Lightly rapping on it, there’s a period of silence before you hear the low tenor of her voice speak up.

“Lusher, if you’re coming to ask me if I’ve finished the paperwork for POSCO’s deal, for the millionth time the answer is no, I haven’t.” Bada’s disgruntled voice makes you laugh to yourself, and you immediately bring your hand up to cover your mouth as you grin widely.

“Is now a bad time to see you, then?” You answer back cheekily.

You receive no response for a solid minute before the sound of papers rustling loudly and approaching footsteps reaches your ears. The door to Bada’s office opens, and there she stands in all her glory, looking rather flustered. “Sorry. I thought you were Lusher.”

You smile at Bada while shaking your head. “It’s alright. Can I come in?”

“Of course.” She steps aside, making room for you to walk into her office while she holds the door open for you. You say a quick thank you as pass through the threshold, missing how Bada lets the door swing closed behind her and shuts out Hyo. “So, is there a reason why you’re visiting me? It’s very late into the night; I expected you to be asleep already.”

“Well, I was about to go to sleep, but I got a text from Jae—” you pause upon seeing her frown. “my best friend.”

Bada nods in acknowledgment, moving toward a chair and pushing it back, gesturing for you to sit down. You do so, trying to ignore the nervous tension building in the pit of your stomach.

“Yeah, she invited—” you pause, choosing your next words carefully. Phrasing Jae’s invitation as a party would most likely mean Bada wouldn't let you go. So, if you just tweaked your wording a bit to make the party seem less extreme… it wouldn’t be that big of a deal, right? “she invited me to a get-together between friends.”

“A get-together?” Bada questions, folding her hands across her lap as she leans on the edge of her office table. “For what purpose?”

“Just to catch up and… celebrate our engagement.” You gesture between you both, immediately noticing how Bada’s expression shifts, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“They know of our engagement?” She asks.

“Yes,” you sigh. “I guess my parents couldn’t keep their excitement in check.”

“Your parents.” Bada shakes her head, pinching her nose-bridge tiredly. “I’ll have to have a word with them about that.”

“Please do.” You nod rapidly. “But aside from that, what I wanted to ask you was if I could be escorted to the get-together tomorrow night?”

Bada moves her gaze from the floor to your eyes, removes her hand from her face, and gives you a hesitant expression. “I don’t know… after all the incidents recently…” she trails off, a faraway look finding her eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want you to feel like you’re a prisoner in your own home, or that you can’t see your friends, I just want you to be safe.”

“I get that, I really do, Bada, but this is just a small get-together.” You lie between your teeth.

Bada stays quiet, looking to be considering your words. “And you trust your friends, right?”

“I do.”

Bada lets out a light breath, while a small smile finds her lips. “All right then, you can go.”

“Really?” You give her a shocked look before you snap out of it and practically squeal, jumping up from your chair and instinctively wrapping your arms around Bada’s shoulders in a hug. “Thank you so much!”

Bada freezes in her spot, surprised by your affection. Slowly, a warm, sappy feeling builds at the bottom of her stomach, and her hands, which had been propped up in the air stiffly, gently come down to rest against your back, patting it tenderly. “You’re welcome.” She tries not to think about how lovely you feel against her or the allure of your natural scent.

You spend all Friday preparing for the party, choosing your makeup beforehand, your jewelry, shoes, and of course, your dress—a beautiful wine-red ensemble that you’d picked up on your shopping trip with Bada. She’d chosen it for you—claiming, “This dress would look beautiful on you.” The meaning behind her words, that it wasn’t the dress that was beautiful, but instead your figure that would make it look divine, had struck you in that moment.

If Bada wanted you to wear the dress, you’d buy it in a heartbeat.

For the little hours left you have in the day, you try not to get too giddy thinking of the party or how magnificent you’ll look in the dress, instead trying to busy yourself by catching up on one of your favorite TV shows. But when the milky raven sky begins to take over the horizon, you jump off of the couch, rushing to your room, leaving Hyo to scramble after you.

In your bedroom, you sit down at your antique-styled vanity, your makeup laid out in front of you. You begin prepping your skin before beginning your usual routine. It takes you a slightly longer time for you to finish because you’re being incredibly meticulous, but by the end of it, you look amazing. Before you can get distracted, you quickly dress yourself.

As your fingers curl around the clasp of your teardrop diamond earrings and secure them in place, you take a step back to gaze at yourself in your floor-length mirror.

The win-red dress hugs your body, accentuating every favorable feature of it. A similar dark rouge to your dress is blended across your eyelids in a smoky eye, making the color of your eyes pop in contrast. Your lips, fixed into a slight pout, are glossy and soft, tinted with a color of your choice. Taking your look all together, all you can say is that Bada was right—the dress does look beautiful on you.

A knock on your bedroom door startles you, your hand instinctively flying to your chest. "Hello?" You respond, a bit on edge.

"It's me. Can I come in?" Bada's voice, muffled behind the door, reaches you.

"Yes," you reply, hastily adjusting your dress and double-checking your appearance.

Bada enters just as your hands fall to your sides, her gaze immediately scanning your figure. She appraises you, from collarbones to legs, before fixing her eyes on your chest for a lingering moment.

Suppressing a nervous giggle, you greet her, "Hi, Bada."

Her eyes quickly snap up to meet yours, a sheepish cough escaping her mouth. "Hello."

Standing awkwardly by the door, Bada stares at you for a solid minute before you give a lighthearted smile. "Is there something you needed?"

"Uhh, no. Well, actually..." Bada stumbles over her words, closing her eyes in embarrassment. "Sorry, yes. I wanted to see you before you left."

You release a small breath of understanding before a cheeky thought crosses your mind. Walking closer to Bada, you do a little twirl when you reach her. "So, what do you think?"

Bada exhales while chuckling, her nervousness leaving her. "I think you are the most beautiful woman I've ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes upon."

Out of shock, you remain still, surprised by how unabashedly Bada expressed her thoughts. You expected a simple compliment, but she exceeded your expectations. "Really?" You ask quietly, sensing a shift in the room's atmosphere. An air of intimacy and something more sensual makes your skin prickle and breath hitch.

"Of course. There's no one I could think of that could make that dress look so stunning." Bada looks back at you with a serious and genuine expression.

"Bada..." you trail off, immediately thinking of countless other women who could wear the dress better. Supermodels, actresses—

"I think there's just one simple thing that would finish off the look." Bada's voice brings you back, and you give her a questioning stare. She smiles, her hand digging into her pocket before presenting you a sleek black box. Your confusion deepens as she opens it, revealing the most elegant necklace you've ever seen. Matching teardrop diamonds, akin to those on your earrings circle the chain, glittering against the low bedroom light. At the center, a silver locket shaped like a dainty heart ties it all together.

You stare at the necklace in awe, alternating between Bada's eyes and the exquisite piece of jewelry. "Bada, it's beautiful."

She watches you marvel at it, sparkles dancing in your eyes. Giving you a fond look, she nudges the box closer. "Take it."

Hesitating for a brief second, you gently retrieve the necklace. "Wow," you breathe out, fully admiring its beauty now that it’s free from the box.

"You should put it on," Bada encourages you softly.

“Oh, I shouldn’t—” you protest.

“I insist,” she cuts you off, tucking the box back into her pocket. She steps forward, taking the necklace from your hands and moving behind you. “Here, let me.” She places it across your collarbones and brings the clasp together, her long fingers brushing across your skin.

Her touch ignites a spark, but as quickly as it appeared, her fingers are gone. She steps back, placing her hands on your waist to move you back so that you’re facing your mirror again. But this time, Bada's at your side, admiring how exquisite you look.

“Absolutely perfect,” she whispers into your ear.

The warmth from her touch lingers as you stare at Bada through the mirror. “Thank you.” You bask in the comfortable silence in the room for a moment before speaking up again. “Can I ask, did you buy this?”

Bada places her hands atop your shoulders, a soft, wistful look finding her irises. “It was my mother’s.”

Immediately, you whip around to face her, your mouth wide open in mortification, and your eyes the size of saucers. “Bada, why didn’t you tell me?” Your hands frantically try to find the clasp of the necklace, wanting to take it off. “Here—”

“No.” Bada’s hands find yours, holding them and stopping you from removing the jewelry. “Don’t take it off.”

“But Bada, this was your mom’s—”

“And I want you to have it,” Bada states firmly.

“I can’t—”

“Are you rejecting my gift?” Although her words sound accusatory, when you look into her eyes, there’s a glint of amusement in them.

You let out a huff of defeat. “Fine.”

Bada smirks proudly, removing her hands from yours. “Good.”

After bidding farewell to Bada, Hyo swiftly whisks you away to a black Jeep, one that, according to her, is "much more secure than a sports car." Seated in the front, she drives and engages in casual conversation while you relax in the back. You take the opportunity to share stories about each of your best friends—Jae, the liveliest, Da-Eun, the second oldest, Min-Ji, the oldest, and Ryung, the youngest and most timid. Hyo listens attentively, interjecting with comments or laughter at your anecdotes.

“You all seem to be very close,” she remarks, steering the wheel to the left.

“Yeah, we are. We’ve known each other since childhood, and our parents are all friends,” you reply.

“Those types of friends… you should hold onto them,” Hyo advises. “In this line of business, it’s hard to find someone you can trust as much as you four trust each other.”

You gaze at your bodygaurd through the rear-view mirror, sensing the weight behind her words. "Hyo?" You inquire.

"Yeah?"

"Does Bada find it hard to trust other people?"

Her lips tighten, an audible exhale leaving her nose. "She hasn't fully placed her trust in anyone since the day Mrs. Lee died."

A somber atmosphere envelops the car, akin to a bucket of ice-cold water. You shift in your seat uncomfortably, your heart aching at the thought of the pain Bada must have endured when her mother was killed. "Bada was still young when she passed, wasn’t she?"

"Fifteen," Hyo nods. "Barely beginning her climb towards adulthood."

A stark silence follows after, and the rest of the car ride is silent, filled only with the quiet hum of the Jeep’s engine and the sounds of passersby. It's not uncomfortable, but rather solemn, as if you and Hyo are silently mourning Mrs. Lee's memory.

Fifteen minutes later, Hyo's driving slows as she turns into a large house—though noticeably smaller than your shared one with Bada, of course. The GPS on the tablet beeps, signaling your arrival at the destination. "We’re here," her voice rings through the background noise.

You turn away from the window you’d been gazing out of, a smile forming on your lips at the sight of Jae’s house. Out of your group, Jae always had the most luxurious home, because though all of you came from affluent families, Jae's parents were the wealthiest. Well, it seemed like now the dynamic had changed. Once you and Bada are officially wed, your combined wealth will likely rival all of theirs combined.

"How long do you think you’ll be staying?" Hyo asks.

"I'd like to say it won't take that long, but knowing my friends, I might be here all night," you admit.

"Alright." Hyo parks the Jeep in the driveway, exits, then moves to open your door. You offer a quiet thank you as she helps you step out, mindful of the relatively short length of your dress.

Leading the way to Jae's house, you pause before knocking. Judging by the time, it seems you arrived slightly early, which in party terms means very early. Fortunately, that likely means no other partygoers are here yet, as evidenced by the absence of parked cars in the driveway.

"Actually, Hyo?" you turn back to face her, a sheepish look on your face. "Could you maybe… wait outside?"

Your bodyguard raises her eyebrows, crossing her arms across her chest. "I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on you."

"I know that, but I think the girls will be thrown off by the fact that you’ll just be standing there… watching us the entire night." Though your reasoning is somewhat woven with lies, it's also partly true.

Hyo remains silent, giving you an unimpressed look. "I have a job to do."

"Technically, you can do it from out here," you weakly argue. "Please, I want to feel like a normal person again. Like my life isn’t constantly at risk, and I always need to be monitored."

Although you can’t see the look Hyo’s giving you behind her sunglasses, you notice her posture deflating, and her shoulders falling. She releases a defeatist breath, "Fine, I’ll keep an eye out from here."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You express with a grateful smile.

"Yeah, yeah, never say I haven’t done anything for you," Hyo grumbles. "Oh, and don’t forget I have your location on my phone, so don’t even think about sneaking out because I’ll know."

"I wouldn’t dare," you joke.

"Right…" your bodyguard trails off. "I’ll be waiting in the car. If you need anything, just call or text me, and I’ll be out in an instant."

"Yup, thanks!" You give Hyo a thumbs up, and with that, she retreats back to the Jeep. You watch her go, a sudden wave of guilt crashing over you.

She'd probably be much more comfortable in Jae’s house, sitting down or enjoying the air conditioning, rather than waiting for countless hours in the Jeep while you gossip and talk to your friends. But you're in too deep now. You can’t tell her the truth or let her in, or she’ll whisk you away back to the mansion, and all your white lies will have been for naught.

Biting your lip, you cast one last look at Hyo before knocking on the front door. Silence greets you for a few minutes before you hear shuffling approach the door, and it opens. Jae’s face greets you on the other side, her eyes immediately sparkling at the sight of you.

"Oh my god!" She squeals, bringing you into a hug and squeezing you tight. "I’m so glad you’re here!" She rocks back and forth in the hug, making you laugh giddily. "I missed you so much!" When she pulls back, she’s wearing a pout across her red-tinted lips. "Don’t ghost me for a month again, okay? Or I’ll steal you away from your wife!"

"I missed you too," you say fondly. "But we’re not married yet—"

"Oh, come on, you’re engaged to Bada Lee! You’re married in every sense except legally." Jae rolls her eyes playfully, though they stray a bit before landing on something—or rather, someone—behind you. "Who’s that?" She points at the Jeep, where Hyo is sitting in the front seat, trying not to look like she's watching you.

"That’s Hyo Kim, my bodyguard."

"Your bodyguard?" Jae awes before pouting. "Why am I even surprised? Of course, Bada Lee would have her fiancée under lock and key." Jae grabs your hand, giving it a light squeeze before her expression shifts, a sly smile curving her lips. "So tell me, have you two done it yet? Is she dominant? Is she more of a boobs girl or an ass girl—"

"Jae!" You shout, eyes wide and voice full of mortification. "Are you serious right now?"

"Come on, tell me! I want to know all the stuff you haven’t told me over the past month. You owe it to me!" She whines.

You let out a long sigh. You suppose this is your karma for unintentionally ignoring your best friend for so long. "At least invite me in first, Jae. Don’t you have any manners?" You lightly scold her.

"Oh, right." She looks behind her, realizing that while she’s inside her home, you’re still outside the threshold, waiting for her to invite you in. She looks like she’s about to take a step back so you can enter before she pauses, a thoughtful expression crossing her features. "Wait, does she use toys—"

"Alright, that’s enough!" You push Jae further into her house and step inside, swinging the door shut rather loudly behind you.

Once inside, you scold her for a solid five minutes straight about manners before the two of you properly greet each other and begin a normal, casual conversation—thankfully with no mention of your and Bada’s sexual activity, or lack thereof. Instead, you're practically interrogated by Jae about every aspect of your life with Bada while you help her finish setting up for the party.

You stack up red solo cups, place beers into multiple coolers, and set out chasers. Thankfully, it doesn’t take much for the two of you to finish, and once you do, you simply lounge around a bit. Jae takes the break as an opportunity to compliment how amazing you look in your dress.

"Is that Chanel?" She asks, motioning for you to do a spin.

"Yes." You nod, doing as she wishes. "Bada picked it out for me."

"I bet she’s regretting her decision right now." Your friend giggles. "No one’s going to be able to resist you tonight!"

"Jae, stop exaggerating." You laugh.

Your lighthearted conversation continues until slowly but surely, party guests begin to arrive. They come in small waves, all dressed much more elegantly than the average partygoer. You assume they must be some of Jae’s rich friends that you’ve heard about only in passing because you don’t recognize some of them. The thought sends a small prickle of worry to the back of your mind, but you choose to ignore it for now. Instead, you greet each guest kindly, albeit rather awkwardly.

As the dark sky deepens in color, the living room starts to get more and more crowded, the rest of your friends arriving along with other guests. Min-Ji gets there first, wearing a classy black cocktail dress. She greets you with the same enthusiasm as Jae, but her demeanor is slightly more controlled, her older age shining through.

Next, Da-Eun arrives, dressed in green, and lastly, Ryung. By the time she settles in, the party is in full swing, music leaking out of speakers, and beers being passed around. You’re fully immersed in the atmosphere, happy to be surrounded by your girls and other somewhat familiar faces. You can’t lie, partying with your friends really puts into perspective the loneliness you hid behind your home’s mansion walls.

But in contrast to your free spirit, Hyo is struggling. Multiple cars have begun to pull into the driveway, groups of people entering the house and giving her a peek inside. The home has many more people than it should for a "small gathering."

Her first instinct was to exit the Jeep and head toward the door to end your night prematurely, as well as tell you off for not only lying to her but also to Bada. However, through one of the windows, your silhouette peaks through, the light in the living room shining against your features and displaying your expression of pure joy as you dance with your friends and sip beer.

She stops mid-stride, conflict brewing in the confines of her mind. Deep down, she knows you deserve to enjoy yourself. Being stuck in a mansion—while large and full of entertainment—is nothing compared to the comfort of being with friends, partying, and drinking. “Fuck.” Hyo mutters under her breath, passing a hand through her hair in frustration. She takes another look at your smiling figure through the window, then turns back. “The Boss is going to kill me if she finds out about this.”

She stays back in the Jeep for another hour or so, listening to the music coming from inside the house and the loud chatter, keeping an eye out while checking her phone every other minute. Your location never moves, thankfully. It seems that you have the foresight not to take it as far as sneaking away from her for some fun.

But, of course, there’s no need for you to do so because the party is practically buzzing with energy. Couples and friends dance together, grinding and touching each other playfully, while some are playing cup pong or various other party games in corners of the room. You, on the other hand, have moved away from dancing, instead cooling off with another beer as your friends chatter amongst each other.

“You’ll never guess what happens next!” Jae grabs onto Min-Ji, tugging on her hands with poorly concealed excitement.

“What?” Min-Ji indulges her younger friend.

“Bada stops him right before he leaves the store just by saying, ‘And where do you think you're going?’” Jae lowers her voice and puts on a serious expression when imitating your fiancée.

“Really?” Min-Ji's eyes find your figure, a small smile curving her lips upward.

You smile back at her shyly, nodding.

“And then, she makes the asshole pick up her clothes from the ground!” Jae divulges.

“Does he do it?” Da-Eun cuts in, smirking widely.

“Of course he does! Like a little worm, he picks up all the clothes and gives them to her.” Jae points at you, letting go of Min-Ji’s hands.

“Bada must have a very strong presence,” Ryung comments quietly.

“More like everyone in the store was on Bada’s payroll,” Jae snorts. “Right Unnie, didn’t you say Bada has ties to half the population of Seoul?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “I think everyone in that store had guns on them.”

“How do you know?” Min-Ji asks.

“Well, they were all putting their hands in their pockets like they were going to pull out a firearm,” you reminisce. “And they were all staring between the man and Bada like they were waiting for her word to dispose of him.”

“It’s so crazy hearing about it.” Jae whines. “I wish I was there!”

“Don’t say that.” Min-Ji scolds her. “It must have been scary at the time, wasn’t it?” She looks back at you, posing the question.

“I wasn’t really scared for myself.” You shake your head. “I was more scared for the man. You should have seen the way Bada was looking at him.”

“I can imagine it now.” Jae tries to imitate a hardened and scary glare but ends up failing.

“You just look like you’re constipated.” Da-Eun laughs loudly, pointing at a now offended Jae. The younger girl hits Da-Eun, whining about how she was really trying to look serious.

You join in laughing with Da-Eun and Min-Ji at Jae, when you suddenly feel a tug on your right hand. Your laughter dies down as you turn to face Ryung, who’s looking between you and another corner of the room. You give her a confused look, trying to find what she’s gazing at. “Ryung? Is something wrong?”

“A woman's been staring at you since she got here.” Ryung whispers, casting her eyes to the other corner of the room.

You follow her line of sight to an unfamiliar, relatively attractive woman dressed in a loose white dress shirt and slacks. She has fiery red hair and a boyish look. She’s already watching you, her eyes unabashedly trailing up and down your figure, completely unbothered by the fact that you caught her staring. In fact, she smirks back at you.

You turn away from her quickly, a prickle of anxiety running up your spine. Though most would be excited at being ogled by an attractive woman, there’s something about her gaze that unnerves you. It's like she knows something you don’t.

“Do you know her?” Ryung asks, a worried look crossing her features.

“No.” You shake your head, a trembling breath leaving your lips. “I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

Da-Eun, Min-Ji, and Jae stop laughing at the sound of your nervous voice, turning to face you with questioning looks.

“What’s going on?” Min-Ji asks, noticing your rigid posture and Ryung’s grim expression.

Jae mutters your name, her voice becoming uncharacteristically quiet.

“There’s this woman that’s been staring at Unnie the entire night.” Ryung secretly motions towards you, then looks back at the woman with red hair. All of your friends' eyes follow, seeing how the woman gazes at you darkly; even with all their eyes on her, she doesn’t cower. Instead, she continues to watch you.

“Alright.” Da-Eun rubs her hands together, her expression dripping with anger. “Let me go have a word with her—”

“Not so fast.” Min-Ji grabs onto Da-Eun’s arm, pulling her back and keeping her from advancing toward the woman. “Jae, do you know her?”

Jae bites her lip, shaking her head. “I don’t remember inviting anyone that looks like that.”

“Then let me—” Da-Eun tries to wiggle out of Min-Ji’s hold but is unsuccessful.

“Don’t be so rash.” Min-Ji asserts. “Let’s just ignore her. If she decides to bother you directly, we’ll be here, okay?” She looks back at you with a caring expression, placing her hand on your shoulder.

“Okay.” You agree shakily, turning your back toward the woman’s direction.

For the rest of the night, you constantly feel her eyes on you. Though you try to act normal, a spike of fear runs up your body when you see someone approach you or accidentally brush up against you while you dance with your friends. You consider asking Hyo to come get you, but you don’t want to sour the mood of your friends. So you deal with her predatory gaze, and do your best to ignore her overwhelming presence.

Hyo’s eyes scan the neighborhood leisurely when a notification banner pops up at the top of her screen. Her eyes snap toward it, finding a text message from none other than her boss light up the screen. She takes in a deep breath as she presses it, her screen being moved to the message app.

Bada’s text reads, “How’s it going?”

Hyo lets out a sigh of relief, quickly texting back, “Good, she’s having fun.” She watches Bada’s text bubble show up soon after indicating she was writing, but it disappears a few seconds later. Hyo takes the opportunity to add, “Her friends are very lively.”

Bada’s text bubble appears again, but this time she sends a message saying, “Focus on doing your job.” Hyo huffs under her breath, exiting out of the messaging app and switching back to managing your location.

Her brief distraction keeps her from noticing a new group of men heading toward the house. Most slip in, it’s only until the last is about to cross inside that Hyo looks up, her eyes catching a baggy of white powder one of the men is carrying.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” She hisses. Immediately she exits the car, dialing Bada’s personal phone as she races up the driveway and slips into the house behind the man.

Inside, you’re slowly becoming more and more unnerved by the red-haired woman. Your friends try to take you around the living room, using the other partygoer’s bodies as a shield between you two, but she doesn’t allow them to. She moves through the crowd until she has a clear view of you again, then just stands there, her gaze unwavering.

“She really doesn’t give up, huh?” Min-Ji curses under her breath.

“What a creep,” Da-Eun adds.

“Are you okay?” Ryung asks you.

“I don’t know.” You admit, rubbing your arm uncomfortably.

“Hold on,” Jae cuts in. “I think she’s coming this way.”

Four pairs of eyes snap in the direction Jae is looking, finding the woman weaving through the crowd of partygoers in an attempt to reach you.

This time your entire body goes rigid, intense fear running through your veins as your friends rally around you, muttering comforting words. Their voices and the loud bass of the music in the background fade away, all you’re able to focus on is the woman with red hair only a few feet away from you now.

She’s just about to reach you when a firm grip grabs onto your arm, pulling you away from your friends. You jump at the person’s touch, instinctively trying to recoil away before you turn to see a familiar face.

“Hyo.” You breathe out in relief.

“We’re leaving right now.” She says firmly, pulling you through the crowd of people.

“Hey!” Da-Eun surges forward at the sight of Hyo taking you away. “Who are you–?”

“No, it’s okay, that’s her bodyguard,” Jae informs your friends.

Your friends share resounding noises of astoundment before Hyo starts to firmly push you toward the exit. You say a hurried goodbye to them, catching out of the corner of your eye the red-haired woman. She’s now wearing a frown as she quickly retreats into the crowd of dancing bodies, hiding away from your gaze, as well as Hyo’s.

The entirety of the drive back home is dead silent, but this time it’s not comfortable. Hyo’s lips are set into thin and firm lines, her expression unchanging as she switches lanes and drives through the jet-black night. You try to will your voice to work and make idle conversation, but the words get stuck in your throat, a deep feeling of regret pooling at the depths of your stomach.

The car ride back unfortunately felt much shorter than the ride to Jae’s house had. One minute you're just barely pulling out of her driveway, and the next you're passing the gates into your mansion's driveway.

Hyo parks the car, exiting quickly and opening the door for you like she always does. You still say thank you, but this time she doesn’t acknowledge it, she simply lets you take the lead as you begin the walk of shame into your home.

Walking through the front door, the first floor is eerily quiet, missing the sounds of Bebe walking around or talking amongst themselves. You hesitate before walking up the right spiral staircase to the second floor, then move to your right toward the direction of your bedroom.

“We’re going this way.” Hyo breaks her silence, motioning with her thumb behind her, toward the corridor that leads to Bada’s office. You gulp but say nothing in response, instead choosing to listen to her and head toward your fiancée.

The sound of both your and Hyo’s footsteps echoing against the cold marble floor causes even more unease in your mind, the feeling all but tripling when you see a dark mahogany door come into view. You stop right in front of it, your legs starting to feel weak and your hands sweating. You try to build up your courage to knock on the door, but Hyo’s already a step ahead of you.

She doesn’t bother to knock, she simply grabs ahold of the door handle and pushes it open. She gestures for you to head inside which you do timidly, the door closing right behind you.

Inside the office, your eyes immediately find Bada’s figure. She’s sitting in her chair like she always is, looking incredibly tired. And instead of wearing a soft expression at the sight of you, her face is blank, not a single wisp of emotion to be seen.

“Sit down.” Her voice cuts through the tension in the air.

You do as she says, noting that she doesn’t get up to pull your chair back for you like she normally does. “Bada,” you begin, voice quiet and full of remorse.

“I heard you had fun tonight.” She cuts you off, her tone harsh. “A party, was it?”

You close your eyes in embarrassment. “I’m sorry–”

“Are you?” She interrupts you again. “Truthfully, are you?”

“Yes.” You say frantically, trying to convince her. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

“You had multiple opportunities to tell me the truth.” Bada asserts, her hands coming in front of her to clasp together tightly. “The night before when I asked you about your so-called ‘get-together.’" She lists, "You could have told me anytime today, or Hyo when she was driving you. Instead, you unabashedly lied to my face and deceived me.”

You swear the wind is knocked out of your chest at her words. Her dark brown, almost grey eyes are cutting into yours, wounding your heart as you will something, anything out of your mute vocal cords. “Please believe me.”

“I can’t.” Bada shakes her head. “All I asked of you was three things.” Much like she had when you first arrived at the Lee mansion, she holds up three corresponding fingers. “Tell me the truth, remain loyal, and never put yourself in unnecessary danger.” She places all three fingers down. “Somehow you managed to disobey all of them in the span of a single night.”

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, and heaving breaths start to build in your windpipe. You can deal with Bada being upset with you, but there’s something about her calm disappointment that hurts you more than you could have ever imagined.

“What would have happened if someone at that party brought a gun, hm? What if they knew who you are to me? What if they wanted to hurt me by hurting you?” Her voice slowly rises in volume but never reaches a full yell. “More than anything, you put yourself in danger. All for the sake of a good time.”

You hang your head in shame, acknowledging that she’s right.

“I can’t trust you anymore.” She states plainly.

Your head snaps up from its hunched position, your eyes widening at the implication of her words. “What? Bada, what does that mean?”

Your fiancée remains quiet for a moment, her blank look doing nothing to soothe your heightening fear. Then, she speaks up. “It’s late, you should go to sleep.”

“Go to sleep?” You cry. “Bada–”

“I’m sorry, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” She tears her eyes away from yours, staring to her right. “I can’t look at you right now.”

Her words are the final blow to your breaking heart. You stand up from your chair loudly, attempting to hide your devastated expression as tears fall from your eyes in steady streams. You race over to the door, pull it open, and run out of the office, accidentally bumping into Hyo on your way out. You don’t say anything to her, simply wanting to get as far away as possible.

Lusher, who’d been rounding the corner about to head into Bada’s office catches sight of your teary eyes and sighs. She makes eye contact with Hyo, sharing a knowing look with her before entering the office.

“I’m not in the mood, Lusher,” Bada mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

“Don’t you think you were a little too hard on her?” Lusher contends.

“She put her life at risk,” Bada states firmly.

“She went to a party, so what? She’s at the age where she’s supposed to be having fun with her friends, clubbing and drinking.”

“She lied to me,” Bada argues.

“Listen, I know that–” before Lusher can finish her sentence, the door to Bada’s office opens again, this time much more violently. Hyo stands in the doorway, a worried look encompassing her features.

“What now?” Bada snaps at her.

“Boss,” Hyo huffs. “the keys to the Jeep are gone.”

“What?” Bada stands up with urgency, her blank expression morphing into nothing but unrivaled anger. “Where did you put them?”

“I had them in my pocket–” Hyo freezes, a look of realization glinting in her eyes before she stops and runs a hand down her face in frustration. “Your fiancée pickpocketed me.”

“She pickpocketed you?” Lusher says incredulously. “So she just left? But it’s dangerous to be out this late, and in that dress–”

“Lusher, gather all of Bebe.” Bada interrupts her, voice loud and commanding. “You,” she points at Hyo. “find her. Now.”

“Yes, boss.” Lusher and Hyo say in unison, scrambling to do what their superior asked of them.

Meanwhile, Bada remains standing behind her desk, a mix of fear and unadulterated anger building in her. She feels immediate regret for the way she’d treated and spoken to you. She never should have let you leave in such a vulnerable, and most likely intoxicated state.

She could never forgive herself if something happened to you because of your argument. She slams her hands down on her desk, almost breaking it with the amount of force she uses.

Bada storms out of her office, heading down the corridor toward her bedroom, pushing the door open before heading toward her bedside table. She opens the first drawer, revealing a black pistol. She grabs it, about to exit her bedroom when her eyes catch the portrait of her mother hanging just above her bedside table. She takes a moment to face it, her face morphing into a grim expression.

“I won’t fail you, mother.”

Lusher, Tatter, Kyma, Minah, Chehe, and Soweon, otherwise known as Bebe are all gathered in the armory room, guns in their hands. Lusher dons a sniper, Tatter a pump shotgun, Kyma a handgun, Minah a rifle, Cheche a break action, and Soweon a pistol.

“She managed to pickpocket Hyo?” Soweon exclaims, loading her pistol with bullets. “How is that possible?”

“She must not be as innocent as we thought.” Cheche comments. “Out of all of us, Hyo is the most alert and aware of her surroundings. She has some skill.”

“Enough talking.” Lusher cuts in, clicking a magazine into her sniper. “We’re wasting time. Boss wants us to find her as soon as possible.”

Bebe falls into line, following their second-in-command to the first level of the Lee mansion where Hyo is, tapping her foot against the marbled floor impatiently.

“Do you know where she is?” Bada’s booming voice causes all her subordinates to freeze. It’s brimming with urgency, and full of poison.

Hyo looks up at where her boss is standing at the top of the spiral staircase, her aura demonstrating absolute authority. “I think she’s lost her phone.”

“What do you mean?” Tatter speaks up.

“The location stopped moving right in front of her friend, Jae’s house. But it’s not inside, it’s farther down the road.”

The room becomes astoundingly quiet, so silent you could most certainly hear a pin drop. Although no one has the heart to say it, they all know the truth. You’ve been taken.

But then, Bada’s heavy footsteps begin descending the stairs, her eyes alit with a fiery passion and her eyes fixed into a firm glare.

“We’re finding my fiancée.” She demands. “And if she’s not home by the end of the night, it’ll be your head on a pike.” She points at Hyo, her pistol held firmly in her other hand.

“Yes, Boss,” Hyo says fearlessly. Truthfully, she felt partially at fault for what had happened. If she had only brought you home the second she realized you were throwing a party, or if she paid more attention when you bumped into her, you would be here, safe.

Before they can all head out, Bada’s phone buzzes in her pocket. She stops, pulling it out and observing the caller ID. Her eyes widen when she sees it, immediately pressing the answer button and holding the phone up to her ear. She mutters your name into the speaker, causing all of Bebe to freeze and look at her in shock.

“Where are you?” Bada says, voice soft and full of worry.

“Hello?” A voice that is most certainly not yours greets her ears.

Bada’s expression shifts immediately, her eyes narrowing to slits and her voice dropping. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Are you Bada Lee?” The voice says hurriedly.

“Yes. How did you get this phone? Where is my fiancée?” Bada demands.

“This is Jae, Unnie’s best friend.”

“Jae?” Bada says, her tone calming the slightest bit. “Where is she?”

“Bada, you need to come here quick.” She cries. “Unnie called me a few minutes ago saying she wanted to stay the night with me, but right when I saw her pulling into the driveway, another car parked beside her, and I think they took her!”

Bada’s hands form fists as she motions with her head for Bebe to go into the garage full of cars. They do so immediately, piling into a modified and armored SUV with a sunroof. Lusher sits behind the wheel while Hyo takes the passenger’s seat. The rest of the girls sit in the back, guns positioned in their laps, Minah poking out of the sunroof with her rifle propped up in front of her.

Bada follows after them, getting into her personal, fortified sports car as the door to the garage slowly begins to open. She puts Jae on speaker, “Did you see who took her?”

“It was dark, but I recognized one person,” Jae confirms. “It was this woman who was at the party I threw for Unnie. She was staring at her the entire night like a creep.”

“What does she look like?” Bada asks through her teeth.

“She’s wearing a white dress shirt, a pair of black pants… oh, and she has very vibrant, red hair!”

Bada pulls up next to Bebe’s car, her eyes meeting Lusher’s, a new type of rage building in her irises. “Seong.”

When you awake from your slumber there’s a pounding ache at the back of your head, and your eyes are blurry. You blink as you try to gather your bearings and sit up, but your arms are held behind your back by something. You start to panic, your head whipping around as you begin to remember what had happened just before you lost consciousness.

You’d been driving the Jeep toward Jae’s house whilst sobbing uncontrollably, realizing that your selfishness would most likely cost you your engagement to Bada.

When you were a few minutes away from Jae, you called her with trembling hands, breathing heavily into your phone.

Your friend muttered your name into the phone, sounding like she’d just woken up.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice shook with emotions. “Is it okay if I stay with you for the night?”

“Of course,” Jae answered immediately. “But what’s wrong? Have you been crying?”

“Bada and I got into a fight.” You admitted. “I think she’s going to call off the engagement.”

“What?” Jae’s incredulous voice rang out of the phone.

“I’ll tell you everything in a second, I’m right next to your house.” You made a left into Jae’s neighborhood, finding the lights in her house on. You parked a little further down the street, seeing stray liquor bottles and red solo cups littering her lawn, most likely thrown away by her drunk party guests. “Okay, I’m here.”

“Where?” Jae’s figure approached the window that oversaw her driveway, her eyes squinting as she tried to discern your body from the pitch-darkness of the night. “I don’t see you.”

You sniffled into the microphone, switching hands as you climbed out of the Jeep and waved your hands to get Jae’s attention. “To your right.”

Jae’s eyes shifted in your direction, and after searching for a few minutes her eyes shone with recognition. “Oh, I see you!” She waved back at you, the interaction distracting you to the point where you didn’t hear a car pull up next to you until people were clambering out of it, their heavy footfalls approaching you.

You jumped when you felt an arm grab you, gasping and struggling against their grip. “Let me go!”

Jae’s voice came out of your phone, saying your name, but before you could answer her or call out for help, something hard hit you in the back of your head and caused you to fall limp into your kidnapper's arms. But before you fully lost consciousness, you caught a brief glint of red hair from the corner of your eye.

“No.” You whisper, reality finally settling in. “No, no, no.” You try to move your hands, but your eyes find them secured behind your back with handcuffs. You struggle against them, trying to wiggle your hands out but they’re closed tight against your flesh, making the steel rub your skin raw. You hiss in pain but continue trying until your wrists are red. You try to move toward the wall behind you, leaning on it to help you stand up.

Once on your feet, you stomp on the floor, trying to break the heel of your platform heels. You repeat your action a few times on each foot until part of the heel breaks off, leaving you with shoes that are easier to run in. You huff out in exhaustion, but you’re not done yet. Using the wall once again, you attempt to get your arms in front of you by jumping and pulling your arms under you. Thankfully, you’re successful, and let out a breathy laugh of victory.

You slide down the wall, taking a small break when you suddenly hear footsteps coming close to the room you’re trapped in. Your eyes widen in fear as you try to back away further from the door.

“Look who’s awake.” The woman with red hair enters the room, her voice coming out in a sing-song.

“Who are you?” You rasp, sitting up tall. Although you’re terrified out of your mind, you know better than to show it.

“The name’s Seong, sweetheart.” She smirks, one of her lackeys trailing after her. “And you have something I want.” You stare back at her as she gets closer to you, bending down so you’re at eye level. “Not going to ask me what it is?”

You say nothing, instead just keep eye contact with her, never once wavering under her unnerving gaze.

“Ah, we have a strong one here.” Seong laughs heartily. “I can see why Bada keeps you around.”

Mentally, you curse at yourself. Of course you’d been kidnapped as some sort of leverage piece between this woman and Bada. She’s most likely one of the rival gangs that’d been waiting for the chance to pounce at an opening to get through to Bada. And you’d stupidly given her the perfect opportunity.

“Well…” Seong’s voice drops, chills running down your spine as her eyes lower to your figure. “I’m guessing she doesn’t just appreciate your banter, huh?” She reaches out to touch you, her cold hands dragging across your collarbones. “So pretty…”

“Don’t touch me.” You spit, tone dripping with disgust as you recoil away from her.

“So lively too.” Seong chuckles.

“Bada’s going to come get me.” You cut in, glaring at the woman with fiery hair.

“Oh yes, I’m counting on that.” Seong smiles. “You know, she owes me a lot of money.” She stands up and begins to pace around the room. “My father and her father used to work together back in the day. But once Lee died and your little wife took over his business, she cut ties with him. Apparently, selling drugs is too ‘corrupt’ for her.” She scoffs loudly, the sound full of resentment and anger. “My father lost all his connections. He had to start selling to junkies on the streets, and now he’s running out of money.”

She stops in front of you again, a twisted smile stretching across her face.

“Bring him in,” Seong says to the lackey behind her. He follows her orders, trailing out of the room before he returns minutes later, a man shuffling behind him. When the man steps into the low light of the room, you audibly gasp and your eyes widen. “Remember him?” Seong stands next to the man–the same man from the mall. The man that’d harassed you, and had been humiliated by Bada.

Here he stands, the right side of his face swollen and colored in grotesque combinations of yellow and purple bruises.

“You.” The man rasps, his eyes shining with a crazy glint.

“This man right here was beaten half to death by Bada when I found him lying on the street.” Seong pats his shoulder. “Imagine my surprise when he told me how he’d accidentally hit on the Bada Lee’s fiancée, and almost gotten himself killed because of it.” She circles around the man. “Finding you after that didn’t take much. And look at you now…”

“Lying on the floor like some pathetic bitch.” The man spits. “How does it feel?”

“Go to hell.” You snap at him, eyes set in a glare.

“You should be careful how you speak to me.” The man warns you, walking closer before he bends down in front of you. “You’re the one who’s restrained, and at our mercy.”

“And yet despite that, it’ll be your blood that stains this floor when Bada finds me.” You retaliate.

The man’s face screws up in anger, and in a flash, he grabs onto your necklace, using it to tug you forward painfully. “You bitch–”

Your eyes go wide as you watch your necklace–Bada’s mother’s necklace–stretch in his hold. “No–” you choke out, using what little control you have of your hands to slug them against his face, taking his hands off the necklace. But unfortunately, his strength ends up ripping it off your neck, the broken jewelry falling onto the ground. “No!” You cry, scrambling over to the necklace, trying to grab it with your hands.

The man turns to face you, wearing a look of anger you’d never seen before in your life. He raises his fist, about to punch you when a hand stops him from doing so.

“Now, now, let’s not get too caught up in our anger.” Seong pulls the man away from you and pushes him toward the door. “We’ll have our fun once Bada arrives, believe me. You can do the honors of killing her if you really want to.”

Seong follows the man out of the room, her lackey trailing behind her before she stops to give you one final look, and closes the door to your room, leaving you trembling and in almost complete darkness.

In the raven black of the night, Bada, Tatter, Chehe, Hyo, Kyma, Minah, and Soweon stand at the door to Seong’s hideout, guns held tightly in their hands. Bada turns to look at a building across the street, holding a thumbs up in the air. Atop the building is Lusher, her sniper propped up against the ledge of the roof, her scope focused on Bada’s signal. She traces the red dot coming from her sniper around Bada’s thumb, indicating she’s ready.

“Lusher’s in position.” Bada turns back to face Bebe, nodding at them. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

“Yes, Boss.” They all parrot in response.

Bada turns to face the doorknob, pointing her gun at it before shooting. Tatter steps up first, shouldering the door open with intense force, making it swing open and reveal Seong’s hideout. Some lackeys that had been standing around jump at the sudden intrusion, their hands instinctively reaching for their guns. But all of Bebe’s members are twice as fast and skilled. Tatter shoots down one man with her shotgun while the rest of Bebe pile in, backing her up and mulling down the waves of oncoming men like they’re bugs.

Bada steps in last, shooting a man who was running in as backup, then shooting another who almost managed to get a shot in on Minah. She charges forward without fear, cutting through the mess of flying bullets and punching one of Seong’s men in the gut, then shooting him between the eyes. His blood splatters against the side of her suit as she kicks his body away, continuing her advance until she makes it out of the entrance of the hideout, and into a split hallway.

Bada keeps her pistol trained up and ears keen as she hears Lusher’s sniper bullets break through glass windows and hit some of the men still flocking to the entrance. An emergency alarm begins to blare in the hideout, red lights bathing Bada’s figure as she studies both paths ahead of her.

Suddenly to her right, she hears loud footsteps approaching and whips around to face a man running down the hallway. Thinking quickly, she shoots him in the foot before he has the chance to reach for his gun. He falls to the floor, screaming in pain whilst clutching his wounded foot. Bada walks over to him, kicking his gun away then aiming her pistol at his head.

“Where is she?” She yells over the loud, blaring alarm.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” The lackey wails.

“Yes you do. Tell me or I’ll kill you!” Bada places her pistol on the man’s forehead, making his pathetic wailing increase.

“Okay, okay, just please don’t shoot me!” He begs.

Bada grabs the man by his clothes, hoisting him up and pushing him forward, causing him to stumble and almost fall onto the floor again. “Show me the way, now!”

The man cries as he hobbles forward, leading her in your direction.

“Fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven…” your voice mutters amidst the silence, keeping track of the minutes passing by since Seong left. You stare at the steel door separating you from your freedom, hoping with every minute you count, Bada gets closer to finding and rescuing you.

It’s at minute forty-two when bright, red lights flood your room, blinding you and throwing you off your count as loud alarms sound outside. You sit up, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

“Bada…” you sigh in relief. She came for you.

Another five minutes pass before you hear movement coming towards your room, making you scramble towards the door. But when it opens, you’re not greeted by the sight of your fiancée. No, instead, Seong rushes inside, her red hair ruffled and her breaths uneven as she closes the door behind her.

“Fucking–” She mutters, her eyes finding you instantly.

“I told you.” You smirk. “You’re all dead.”

Seong stares back at you silently before charging up to you and slapping you across the face. You shriek and recoil back as she breaks into manic laughter, pulling out a gun from her pocket. “Maybe, but if I die, you’re coming with me, sweetheart.” She clicks the safety off, her finger in position to press against the trigger when three loud bangs come from outside your prison, making you scramble back in shock, and Seong turn to face the door.

A long moment of tense silence follows before the door to your prison slowly creeks open, Seong gulping as the hand holding her gun starts to tremble. Right before the door fully swings open, a shot is fired from the person outside, grazing Seong’s cheek and making her cower away.

She runs over to you, picks you up from the floor and holds onto you by your throat, her gun pressed up against your temple. "Don't get any closer, Bada Lee,” Seong yells, digging her fingers into your throat. “or I’ll kill her!”

Bada side-steps away from the door, revealing one of Seong’s men dead behind her, blood leaking from his foot and his forehead. “Let her go, Seong,” Bada demands. “Your problem is with me, not with her.”

“But that’s just the thing, isn’t it? When you hurt one person, the people you care about suffer!” Seong laughs maniacally. “You had no mercy for my family, so why should I have any for yours?”

“You did all of this because I refused to sell your drugs?” Bada spits, her voice dripping with venom. “You’re pathetic, just like your father.”

Seong’s face reflects sheer anger in response to Bada’s words. She’s about to pull the trigger of her gun when Bada shoots first. She hits Seong in the knee, causing her to collapse and shoot the ceiling instead of you. You scramble away as Bada lunges forward, tackling Seong and knocking the gun out of her hand before she can try to shoot at you again.

Unfortunately, Seong is strong as well and fights back against Bada for her gun, both trading blows with each other until Seong manages to get Bada’s gun from her grasp. She pistol whips Bada in the face, giving her a cut across the nose as Bada falls to the floor, blood falling from her wound.

“Not so tough now, huh, Lee?” Seong screams as she points Bada’s very own gun at her.

“You should know that even if you kill me,” Bada says through heaving breaths, “you’ll still never make it out of this building alive.”

Seong bares her teeth at Bada, pushing her gun closer to her temple. “You’ll still be dead.”

“Don’t!” You scream, emerging from behind Seong, holding her gun. “Put the gun down or I’ll shoot.”

Seong clicks her tongue, laughing condescendingly as she turns to face you. “You don’t have the guts to kill me.”

“But I do.” Bada jabs her fist into Seong’s stomach, knocking the woman off of her and the air out of her lungs. Bada takes her gun back and places it in her pocket as the woman with red hair heaves against the floor, her eyes the size of saucers.

Bada walks over to your trembling figure, her gaze soft as her hands come up to grab yours that are still holding onto Seong’s gun.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” She whispers tenderly into your ear, bringing you against her chest as she quietly soothes your shaky breaths.

“I thought you were–” You begin, the words falling from your mouth through gasps.

“I know, I know.” She shushes you. “Everything’s all right now. Give me the gun, honey.” You let go of Seong’s gun, allowing Bada to take it into her hands as she faces the red-haired woman who’s writhing on the floor. “You should have known better than to touch the people I care about, Seong.” Bada’s voice is cold, and more charged with rage than you’ve ever heard her carry before. “You’ll always be your father’s waste of a daughter.”

Through Seong’s choking breaths, you hear a sob wrack her voice, tears falling from her eyes and running down the sides of her face.

Before Bada pulls the trigger, her unoccupied hand comes down to shield your eyes. “Don’t look,” She whispers softly, “and cover your ears.” With tears streaming down your face, you plug your ears and shut your eyes, a deafening shot following soon after. A few minutes pass before you feel Bada move you around, hugging you close to her chest as she breathes a sigh of relief. “It’s over.”

It’s like the floodgates open at the sound of Bada’s soothing voice because you start to sob violently into her chest, wishing you could cling onto her, but you can’t your hands still restrained by handcuffs. “Bada.” You cry, burying your face into her warm body heat.

“I know, I’m so sorry.” She whispers. “I came as fast as I could.”

“I thought she was going to shoot you.” You sob. “I was so scared–”

“Shh, it’s all right honey, I promise. I’m okay.” She pats the back of your head before pulling away to gaze into your eyes. They’re wide and filled with tears, but so infinitely beautiful to her. Bada wipes your tears away with her thumb, smiling softly at you. She takes a step back, taking off her suit jacket before placing it onto your shoulders and rubbing up and down your arms. “Let’s go home, okay?”

Bada’s room is warm, the atmosphere a far cry from the prison you’d been held in. You sit on Bada’s fluffy bed, staring into the distance with a faraway expression while waiting for her to return.

Thankfully she does as soon as the thought crosses your mind. She makes her presence known by knocking gently on the wood of her bedroom door. “Can I come in?”

“Yes.” You croak.

Bada enters the room with a mug of piping tea in one hand, and uses her unoccupied one to close the door behind her. She sits next to you on the bed, handing you the mug while muttering a soft warning about how hot it is.

“Thank you.” You say quietly, taking the drink and blowing on it.

Bada places her big hand on your thigh, rubbing it gently as she looks into your downcast eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now that you’re here.” You admit, staring at the ripples in the tea caused by your breath.

“I’m glad.” Bada’s eyes move from yours to your hands, noticing how red and raw your wrists are. She removes her hand from your thigh, gently touching your wrist so she can turn it over to get a better look at it. “Should I get you some pain medicine?”

“No.” You answer quickly, your eyes shooting up from your tea and meeting hers. “Stay with me, please.”

Bada nods silently, rubbing the skin just above your wrist. “I’m sorry.” She whispers grimly. “You got hurt because of me.”

You stare at Bada with an incredulous look, shaking your head rapidly. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t lied to you and went to that party, Seong would have never been able to get to me–”

“You went to that party because you missed your friends,” Bada argues back lightly. “I deprived you of a social life in my obsession with keeping you safe, and look at where it got us.”

“Bada Lee, this is not your fault.” You say firmly. “You saved my life.”

Bada looks like she wants to argue more, but holds herself back. The silence between you two allows your still-racing mind to catch up, and you suddenly sit up, eyes wide and full of sorrow.

"What is it?" Bada questions, noticing your expression.

"Bada..." you trail off, turning to the side to grab something you'd hidden. Facing her again, her mother's broken necklace is in the palm of you hand. "I'm so sorry. I tried to keep it safe..."

Bada takes the necklace out of your hand and holds it up in front of you both. "I don't care."

"What?" You breathe incredulously. "But Bada, it was your mother's–"

"And it can be fixed." She says softly. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Your look of shock melts into a sappy smile. “Me too.” You agree, placing your mug-free hand on top of Bada’s. She moves her hand around, weaving your fingers together tenderly as her thumb swipes across the skin of your hand.

“Did Seong hurt you anywhere else?” Bada asks, scanning your face for injuries.

You turn your face to your right, showing her your left cheek, which is now slightly bruised. “She slapped me.”

Bada’s eyes take in your injured cheek, a storm of emotions flashing in her irises for nothing more than a split second before she masks it with a caring expression. She brings up your arm so that it’s in front of her, places her lips on your hurt wrist, then she brings it back down and brushes her other hand across your left cheek. She leans in, pressing a soft kiss to each of the growing bruises.

When she’s done she leans back, nothing but pure care in her eyes as she gazes at you.

“Can I ask you something?” You mumble, butterflies dancing in the pit of your stomach.

“You can ask me anything, honey,” Bada whispers, tracing shapes onto your hands.

“You always kiss my injuries.” You point out, careful to keep your voice sweet so she knows you like her display of affection. “Is there a reason why?”

Bada’s eyes leave yours for a brief moment, finding something above your head and gazing there before her eyes move back to you. “My mother, she used to…” she trails off, “she used to do that when I was younger. It always made me feel better.”

You smile softly at Bada, warmth flooding your veins. “That’s beautiful.”

She smiles back at you, muttering a soft thank you. You both allow a comfortable silence to fill the room until an idea pops into your head.

You quickly place your mug of tea on Bada’s beside table, then turn to face her. She gives you a confused expression when you take both of her hands and lift them up. Bada’s long fingers curl against yours, displaying her bloody and bruised knuckles. You lean down, placing a soft kiss next to each of them, unable to see how Bada’s eyes widen at your actions until you pull away.

When you look back at her, she’s looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. You smile at her, then lean up, placing one final kiss on her nose, right below the cut Seong made.

Pulling away for the final time, Bada brings you closer to her, missing your warmth as she touches her forehead to yours and closes her eyes.

“Please never leave me again.”

❝ should my hands be stained with blood, let them be so, solely for you. ❞

#bada lee x reader #bada x reader #bada lee #bada #street woman fighter 2 x reader #swf2 x reader

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hemipenal-system · 1 year ago

Text

aww, what’s the matter? why are you crying?

you’re scared? what of, morsel?

me? why are you scared of me? you asked me to hold you in my mouth until we got somewhere warmer, and my mouth is plenty warm…

don’t worry about me, morsel… i’m your friend, i would never eat you… at least not permanently.

hey, hey, no, don’t worry! i said i wouldn't hurt you and i meant it!

come out? i'm sorry, morsel, i can't let you out yet! it's so cold out here you'd practically freeze to death if i let you out! besides, all that saliva you're soaked with now... it'd just make you colder. i think it's best if i just hold on to you for now.

besides, i think you're enjoying this more than you want to admit to me.

oh, come on. you think i can't feel how you squirm when i curl my tongue along your back? how you grab onto my teeth desperately when i curl it over you and scrape the rough side against your bare legs?

you know, my tongue was designed with a purpose. every part of a creature as beautiful as me is. those hard keratin spikes you enjoy so much? they’re meant to grind against bigger creatures than you, shearing flesh from bone and slathering what’s left in enzyme-loaded saliva that begins to melt you down to bone shadows even before you’re swallowed…

oh, no, not for you. you’re very small, small enough i could swallow you whole. you’d like it more that way, wouldn’t you? alive and conscious for the whole thing?

yes, morsel, i know why you were so eager to climb into my mouth- and i know it’s not fear of heights like you claimed. we may be a mile above the ground with only my wings and internal fire to sustain us, but my blood runs through me everywhere and my claws would have been more than warm enough to keep you safe from the biting cold at this altitude.

don’t worry, this is what you’re supposed to want. you’re from a prey species. sure, we have peace treaties now and you have enough weapons to fend us off now, but for millennia that’s how it went! you ran, you got pinned down, you struggled, and then we tore you limb from limb, reveling in the blood and adrenaline of a meal well hunted…

you don’t have to be embarrassed, morsel! you’re allowed to want me to devour you! i know you find me attractive – in the same way a mouse finds a cat attractive, of course. you’ve always had an affinity for dragons. i’ve seen how you look at the other riders who’re more… open about what they do with their mounts. you can tell me those things, you know.

i told you, i’m not going to let you out! it’s not safe for you at this height or temperature!

yes, obviously i've thought about doing this to you. never seriously, but... enough. humans make wonderful prey... your gentle struggling because you're intelligent enough to trust us and know we won't really hurt you even if we draw a bit of blood... it's very different than tearing the horns off a deer and swallowing it whole, you know.

i've eaten your kind before, you know. i wasn't always so... docile. your nomad convoys made such wonderful buffets: chicken, beef, pork, human – and you always had such wonderful fruits and spices in those little covered wagons of yours! i enjoyed cracking them open like nuts, devouring everything inside.

no, you're not nutritious at all. your meat is really stringy. the terrified shaking and pleading is tantalizing, though...

what do you mean, "what are you doing?" all this talk about food is making me hungry. i'm just savoring your taste is all. you're like one of those hard candies you humans buy from the market to suck on, except warm and salty and savory and-

i could swallow you. it'd be so easy.

no, no, not digest you. stop writhing like that – or continue if you want. it feels nice. i'd just swallow you and hold you in my first stomach for a while. think of it as a warm, damp, dark hug from me. no pain, no flesh itching and melting off, just a gentle squeeze.

hold still, morsel. i need to reposition you a bit is all. that's right, legs like that, arms go that way - yes, exactly! now don't move.

yes, i know it's a bit tight. my prey is a bit more chewed, usually. stop complaining about it or i'll pull you back up and bite you into small pieces so you'll fit better. is that what you want?

there. is that comfortable? i can adjust a bit if you want. hey, no, stop squirming. you're not going to die. that is not stomach acid. if you don't stop panicking i'm going to have to squeeze to hold you still.

i told you. i'm very much stronger than you. stop trying to push out. you're going to sit in there whether you like it or not, morsel.

stop calling you that? why should i? you're literally in my stomach. are you not food, at least for the moment?

don't even tempt me. i am hungry.

just go to sleep or something. we're going to be in the air for a while. if you stop wiggling around in there i'll let you out when i land. i know how soothing it is to be in there. i was a hatchling once too, you know.

i can literally feel you relaxing as my crop massages you. you're yawning. don't even lie to me.

good night, morsel...

#terato #monster fucker #nsft #fantasy nsft #terato blog #monsterfucker #teratophillia #v0re blog #v0re #dragon #safe vore #dragon vore #dragon x human #dragon x reader

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liannelara-dracula · 6 months ago

Note

Based on the hcs about how they behave in school, the little beef between Ruki and Reiji got me thinking 🧐

Hcs about they finding out that they like the same girl, but in the end she doesn't really care too much about neither of they and just interacts with them because she's polite? (She doesn't know about this beef between them, neither knows that they both like her and just think they're being friendly or smth)

Like, a girl that is a model student and etc but is very oblivious to their feelings, and is very difficult to impress?

Hi love,

This is a really good idea. I like it, I think it will be fun. Thanks for the idea anon.

-Liannelara

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Prompt

Requests are open

Rules

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Ruki & Reiji like the same Woman (hcs)

They are both trying their damn hardest to gain your attention.

And they not only don’t get along but when you came into the picture, everything was a competition.

Of course, these two wouldn’t make it obvious like Ayato and Kino that they are trying to get your attention or that something is going on between them.

They are very discreet men and can come off a little dry.

Anyways, this all started when you walked into the library to pick out a book, causing them to both look up from their work since they heard a captivating feminine voice asking for the help of a librarian if they had a particular book. She had a delicate scent of perfume on her that only made her more attractive.

She had her half up and half down pinned by a bow in the back, her hairstyle and curled subtlety. She had such elegance and class when she walked and turned.

They were heavily entranced, though unlike Reiji, Ruki made the first move being the book expert that he is. He always had more luck than Reiji and today especially he was reading the same book this girl was asking about, it was his chance to talk to her and give it to her.

As she was aimlessly looking for the book to see if there was an extra copy she was too distracted to notice she had bumped into someone.

She put a hand over her lips as she mouthed an apology not expecting to have invaded someone’s space as she was looking.

“Pardon me, I hadn’t noticed you standing by. I am so sorry.” She’d apologize, almost enough to guilt trip a man with her sweet voice.

“No worries, you were looking for (b/n), right?”

“Oh yes, where did you find it?”

“I was reading it, but you can keep it. I’ve read it before, it’s a good book.”

She stared at him surprised, “But this book is so thick how can you manage to read it through again.”

“I’ve read almost everything on this shelf in my spare time, I’m Ruki.” He’d say

She smiled, “Y/n.”

Reiji is so jealous!

This automatically makes Reiji want to get involved and try to impress her next which he does so in chemistry class.

Reiji will be much more charismatic and it is incredibly compelling seeing he hardly uses this part of himself.

So you can imagine he'd catch the beaker she almost dropped swiftly or caught her in his arms.

I mostly see it that she trips and he catches her, causing them to exchange a fair amount of eye contact before thanking him.

If Ruki is in the same class it means he's going to have to do more than just recommending a book because Reiji got to have her in his arms first.

better get moving Ru

So everyday they get a chance to be around her they try to have her attention and try to win her over in some way and it is just a constant battle.

And both of them know it is competition even if they haven't said it.

Reiji would try to talk about it and bring it up at some point because he wants to be firm with Ruki about him wanting this woman and that he will not lose.

whereas, Ruki will act like he doesn't know what he's talking about.

"I see that you are fond of the student, just as I am." Reiji would say, adjusting his glasses.

Ruki would turn to look at him with a smirk, "I don't know what you mean?"

"Although you may play this off in a stoic manner, I know that Y/n is in your thoughts. Tell me, do you care for her as a woman?"

"Y/n, is just a girl, Reiji. Why are you worked up about a human?"

"Well then, if that's your answer what I will do shall not matter."

"Even if you plan on something, she and I have plans. "

“I suggest you back down.”

“I threat doesn’t stop me from pursuing.”

Features (some they may like)

Pretty dark hair

wide hips

glass skin

bratty attitude

pretty laugh

intelligent

Elegant vocabulary

Reiji

If she is part of the chess club, he wants to have chess matches with her. But since Ruki is good at chess he will participate in matches w her.

In fact, they would play against in each other to see who would ask her out.

Literally, winner gets to ask her out.

If it’s just her and Reiji, he'd prefer that she loses so that she'll repeatedly compete against him since she is probably 2nd in line.

He also loves these matches with you because he locks eye contact with you and gets to talk to you as well.

He invites you to walk with him in the school yard to observe nature and fascinates you with knowledge about the flowers or science of things to which you had no idea about

He starts off with this small talk and soon moves on to deeper talks where you both exchange conversation about things which are more personal.

You flash a compelling smile and a laugh escapes your lips at something being discussed and Reiji, deep down finds himself in awe as this is the first time a woman was beautiful laughing without covering her mouth.

It is a delicate display of beauty which most hide which keeps him interested in pursuing you.

While he is stubborn and trying to convince himself he is merely amused, this is not the case as he is defiantly interested romantically.

Reiji, although he won’t deliberately show nor say it. He wants you all to himself, he doesn’t want you to spend your time with other men.

He’d like it if he were the only man you paid attention to the most.

Becomes frustrated if you speak of Ruki in high regard because he feels challenged.

Truly he's giving his all to have you.

And the more he finds that there is no progress the harder he is going to try.

Due to his high interest he finds many ways for you to be alone with you.

He will eventually get comfortable speaking to you, and even go as far as teasing you.

However, once he founds out the situation is completely one sided he is upset.

Reiji tells himself he simply can move on, but truthfully he doesn't want to.

He wants to change your mind.

If he can't he probably would distance himself gradually and slowly stop talking to you.

Ruki

In the library he likes to move the books that you’ve been looking for up high so that he can grab them for you.

He’ll leave foot notes at the bottom for you.

Some questions and messages being suggestive to you as well.

Sometimes she’d write back in them and exchange in the conversation.

Loves to also hand you the book so that your hands touch.

He loves to surprise you at your locker and chat with you to get Reiji jealous since Reiji doesn’t have the talent to just casually speak with you.

Won’t show what he is bothered/jealous when Reiji comes around.

Has invited you over for dinner at his place, which is definitely one up on Reiji. lol

He cooked for you there and got to talk to you for a long time.

Since he knows Nordic languages he'd teach you them.

If you needed help in cooking he'd offer to help you in cooking class to give you tips and to show you how to cut.

Mostly so that his hands are on yours and for him to whisper and say things to your ear.

Would say quotes to you from poems or books to keep you interested or questioning.

Would teach you how to dance and have fun in the middle of it by breaking the rules and dipping you instead.

leaves you messages in your locker about how you looked nice but you don't know they are from him.

Has the upper hand because he was once human and Reiji never was so its easier for him to keep a conversation.

While part of this is amusing to compete against Reiji to win over a woman's heart he is also interested in pursuing you.

Of course in terms of feelings once he comes to terms with himself and understands that you do not feel anything for either he is a little bummed out the game ended but mostly because you weren't interested.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

˗ˏˋ 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 ˎˊ˗ ©𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔~Present

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers headcanons #anime headcanons #dialovers #diahell #reiji sakamaki #anime #anime requests #ruki mukami

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multific · 1 year ago

Text

Who Are You

Hannibal Lecter x Reader

Summary: Humans are born with milky white blood. The more crimes they commit the darker their blood gets. One day, you meet your soulmate, and everything is amazing. A couple of years later, during dinner, he cuts himself only to expose black blood.

A/N: This idea is NOT mine! I just found it while browsing, credit goes to the owner.

Everyone was pure at one point. And as they went on with their lives, and did bad things, their blood got darker and darker.

It was extremely rare for people to have pure white skin at an old age.

Many people hid their blood, avoiding cutting or hurting themselves at all costs.

There were many criminals who were discovered thanks to a simple papercut.

Many tried to find a reason as to why this was happening. Many tried to cheat it and even the after the worst acts, they tried to reverse the darkening of their blood.

But it wasn't possible.

And scientists had no idea why this was happening.

But you went on with your life as normal. Met many new people amongst them Will Graham, who quickly became like a brother to you. And through him, you met Hannibal Lecter.

You swear that day, when you picked up Will changed your life and you met your soulmate.

Hannibal and you quickly found each other. And your love bloom.

Soon, you were married to him without a question and you have even forgotten about the whole blood thing.

When Will began to spread all those lies about Hannibal, you were honestly concerned for your friend.

"One day, you will see." is all Will said when you last visited him.

You threw your bag to the side as you let out a huff, arriving home, you found Hannibal in the kitchen, cooking something that smelled way too good.

"How was the visit?" he asked without turning to see you.

"The usual." you said with a sigh.

"Let's just eat ad forget about it." he said as you walked over to him, hugging him from behind.

He suddenly let out a hiss.

You immediately let go and as you saw the blood you grabbed his arm and guided him to the sink, letting water onto his cut.

"I'm sorry," you said as you rushed to find the medkit.

When you arrived back, Hannibal was staring at you with a blank expression.

"What? Is it really bad? I told you your knives are too sharp." you looked down and opened the box.

"Y/N," the way he said your name sent a shiver down your spine, not the good kind, you never heard anything like this before. You looked up and your eyes met him, he looked like a predator, a lion ready to jump, he didn't look like the man you married.

He scared you.

You opened your mouth to say something but then your eyes trailed to the cutting board which was covered in blood, blood so dark you could see reflection in them.

You felt the shiver once more, a shiver starting on top of your head that went all the way down your spine and ended in your feet.

Will was right.

But something in your mind clicked.

You fell in love with him as he was. There were many many signs which you chose to ignore, so who were you to get scared now?

You let out a sigh.

"You might need stitches. Looks like a lot of blood so the cut must be deep but you are the doctor, not me." you handed him the box. "I'll get the... chicken... out of the oven." you moved to the board and then to the sink to wash it.

Then five minutes later you found yourself in the dining room, eating in silence and now, not even music was playing. Complete silence. Only the sound of the utensils against the plate.

"Is it... really beef?" you asked as Hannibal looked at you with a smirk. You smiled to yourself and shook your head. "Was it ever?" you asked but you didn't need an answer. "Well, they do say you are what you eat..."

You knew that now that you knew who he was, he will keep an extremely close eye on you. If he didn't already. "I'm okay with it, by the way. Just wanted you to hear it. I still love you and you are my husband, this doesn't change a thing."

"You shouldn't visit Will anymore."

"I shouldn't, he might pressure me to go to Jack." you nodded. "I won't tell anyone."

"I know you won't." he said, "I believe you knew long before Will did. You just ignored the signs." you nodded in agreement as his hand found yours. "I would never hurt you, I do love you." he said with a reassuring voice and you did believe him.

"I love you too." you said with a smile before you dug into your food. "Does this make my blood darken too?" you wondered and for a moment Hannibal also stopped.

"I'm cutting you to see." he said.

"It's not what I meant by any means, I was simply wondering." you let out a sigh.

"I was only joking." he said with a smile. A smile so wicked, so dangerous, yet you absolutely loved it.

You kept your promise and never went to see Will again.

He would know instantly and you loved Hannibal too much to go to Jack.

But late at night, while he was out, you decided to head into your office and picked up a pin.

Pushing it into your skin, you stood in the window, letting the moonlight reveal your secret.

And now, even your blood was pure black.

You could only stare at it as you stood in complete silence.

You should be terrified.

You should run.

But it was all over now.

It is who you were.

Hannibal's wife and now, his partner in crime with your black blood matching his.

And somehow, you were okay with it.

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beefrobeefcal · 4 months ago

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... And Nowhere to Hide feat. Frankie Morales & f!reader

Summary: An alternate ending to All Pent Up & No Where to Go in which Frankie really blows it. To find out where this all started, start with that fic.

Pairing: Frankie & Mouse | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 3,190

PLEASE READ BEFORE CONTINUING Content Warnings: could be viewed as DDDNE, toxic relationship, alcoholism, broken relationship, domestic violence [not overt but could be viewed as such], hurt, drunk driving [don't do it!], ending of a relationship, body insecurity, adultery, cheating, there are no happy endings in real life bub.

Author's Notes: Even though this is an AU ending to All Pent Up & Nowhere to Go, I'm seeing this as the end of Frankie & Mouse. The original ending to that fic always felt like it didn't fit right and now that I am moving on from writing weight fics, this seemed like the right OTP to torpedo. I'm not sorry but I hope you'll forgive this beef anyway.

Thank you to @strang3lov3 for brainstorming this with me, and to @bitchesuntitled, @mothandpidgeon and @neverwheremoonchildfor their eyes and love.

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“That’s why you had to hide it then, huh?”, he yelled again, this time, sadness and hurt clearly in his voice. He didn’t know how to tell you the deep hurt he felt, thinking you were hiding seeking pleasure on your own from him; thinking you didn't want him anymore and could replace him with a fucking vibrator, “Wait till I’m not home and then fuck yourself? Don’t need me anymore?”

You saw his body language show more than his words could say. He was hurting and had been hurting for a while. You had no clue that he was making this whole big change for you, and now you’d basically told him that after all that hard work, you’d replaced him. No, you had no idea what was running through his head. All you knew was that you were tired of being rebuffed and ignored and wanted to give yourself some much needed pleasure and release and he was mad at you for it.

“How fucking dare you! You barely even look at me anymore – let alone touch me – and you want to give me shit for wanting to - to feel good?”, you yelled back, standing up from the bed. His face fell and his big brown eyes widened. Your emotions were getting the better of you, and you could feel the hot tears begin to flood your eyes. Your voice cracked. “What is happening, Frankie? Talk to me!”

He said nothing. He just turned and hurried out of the room, and you heard the back door slam shut and the garage door open. You waited to hear the truck start, but nothing came. You grabbed your things from the bathroom and bedroom and settled into the guest room.

*****

Frankie stormed out of the house, slamming the door as hard as he could on the way out. He ripped the door to his truck open and got in, choosing to forgo buckling his seatbelt as he pulled out of the driveway.

How could you? How could you just lay on your shared bed, looking so beautiful and untouchable while you made yourself feel so good. Without him. He tried to forget how sad your eyes were as you pulled back your hand after his rejection. His pride wouldn’t let him linger on that because his pride was not going to let him turn the truck around and throw himself at your feet, begging for forgiveness.

He pulled up to the regular bar the group would all hang out at, and sat for a moment. Frankie pulled out his phone, expecting to see missed calls, but all that showed up on his screen was the alert from their doorbell cam, announcing his departure.

His heart ached. He was getting healthier and back in shape and he should be happier. But he wasn’t. He was feeling worse about everything and drinking more to offset it, and even if he didn’t want to acknowledge it, a small part of him knew that this was all on him, not on you.

He wanted so badly for you to give him a sign, anything, to come back to the house and make it right. He told himself he didn’t want to go to the bar again and drink until his broken soul was numb and he knew by being here again, he was putting another nail in your relationship’s coffin. His fingers twitched on the steering wheel, as if to let him know the bar was just right there - all he had to do was go in and he could forget all of this, at least for the night. Frankie didn’t know how long he’d sat there, but he was brought back to reality as a loud group of people exited the bar to smoke. He sighed, biting back the sick feeling making his skin feel wrong, and went into the bar.

****

Frankie was downing his third beer when a hand came onto his shoulder.

“No Mouse?”

Frankie looked up and saw Natalie, one of Santi’s previous conquests, looking back at him. He cleared his throat and shook his head, looking back down at his beer. “No.”

He heard her pull the stool next to his out and moved it closer to him. “Trouble at home?”, she asked, sitting down. He could feel how warm her body was against his, making the ache in his chest feel deeper, reminding him that he was here and you weren’t.

“I-uh..”, he cleared his throat again. “It’s not been great.”

Her hand came up and sympathetically rubbed on his. “I’m sorry to hear that, Frankie.”

He nodded, eyeing her, then took another sip of beer.

“Well, you look great.”, she says a little too enthusiastically for Frankie, and he only sighed in response.

“Look, Natalie. I’m not gonna be great company. I just wanna cool down before I go back home and… and…”, he dropped his head in his hands. “I don’t fucking know what I’m gonna do. I don’t know how to-”

“Frankie.”, Natalie interjected. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. It’s pretty clear what’s going on.”

He looked up at her, brows furrowed in confusion. “You’re doing something for yourself, to make yourself feel better, and Mouse isn’t happy.”

Frankie wanted to correct her. He wanted to tell her that it was on him, that he was doing this for you and he felt like shit, and he wanted nothing more than to go home and hold the most important person in the world to him - you.

But he didn’t. Instead, he accepted the shots Natalie ordered, and let her say horrible, untrue things about you, all because he was getting his ego stroked.

So he said nothing, just nodded along. He didn’t put his barriers up and tell her to move her chair away. He didn’t stop her hands from touching him. He didn’t stop her from crawling on his lap, and he didn’t stop her when she kissed him.

Worst of all, he didn’t stop himself from taking her to his truck and doing everything he’d wanted to do with you to Natalie in the backseat.

*****

Natalie was still in the backseat of his truck, pulling her bra back on and Frankie was drinking down the two day old, open bottle of Gatorade to wash the taste of her out of his mouth.

Frankie’s head was swimming. The alcohol was working its way through his system.

The dread that washed over him was sobering for a moment as he put the lid back on the bottle and caught a glimpse of Natalie in a rearview mirror, warm soft light from the street lamps illuminating her silhouette. She smiled up at him and crawled into the front seat.

“I was thinking-”

“No.”, Frankie said, sharper than he intended, shaking his head and feeling the alcohol swirl his vision. His tone softened, “This shouldn’t have happened.”

There was silence from the seat next to him. He couldn’t bring himself to face her, so he slurred in a harsh whisper again, “This shouldn’t have happened.”

There was the sound of a sharp breath followed by, “Are you fucking serious?”

“Natalie, I-”

“Are you fucking serious, Morales?” Natalie’s words were accentuated with a slightly drunken lilt and cold laughter. “Oh my god!”

He growled and looked up at her angrily. “What did you fucking expect?”

“That you’d be done with that little fuckwit and wake up!”

Frankie stared at Natalie, aghast and trying to fight the alcohol in his system and find the right words to shut her down, but she was quicker.

“Look what she did to you! Your little feeder is mad you won’t eat and kicks you out!”

Frankie sat with his mouth slightly agape. He knew that was not what happened but he couldn’t spit it out.

“Oh come on, Frankie!”, she scoffed in a laugh. “I’ve known you for how long? And since you’ve been with her, you got fat. Like fucking fat! She made you fat because she’s a freak and who fucking knows why you put up with it!”

“Get the fuck out.” His soft tone was menacing.

“Or what?”, she challenged him, her drunkenness emboldening her. “You can’t go back to that. I won’t let you, Frankie. She doesn’t deserve you! I can’t just let you go back to someone who asks to be called ‘Mouse’ over her real name! There’s something wrong with her and she needs help, acting like this is healthy to do this to you. You have to see-”

“I am doing this for her!”, Frankie shouted, cutting Natalie off. His eyes had softened and were now pleading and his voice dropped to a lower volume. “I’m doing this for her.”

“Frankie, I ca - you don’t have to defend her. I get it, and I want to help -”

“Just get out.”

Frankie’s drive from the bar was - in short - chaotic. He’d stopped at a corner store and picked up a case of beer, then drove out to a quiet look out, downing one right another the other.

He tried to drown the heavy lump of dread as he watched the sky lighten. Something told him could find a way to fix this if he could think of the right words to say to you, and if he could get the water in the shower hot enough, he could scrub Natalie from his skin like it never happened.

The drive to your shared house was confusing. The street signs were unreadable through his tears and beer fueled haze and his stomach felt nauseous from the smell of Natalie permeating the truck cab. He couldn’t remember what colour meant stop or go, so he just drove by muscle memory alone.

*****

You’d tossed and turned all night long, unable to get comfortable. Any time you found yourself finally drifting off to sleep, the pangs of anxiety reverberated in your body, making your limbs ache and your skin feel too hot and too cold simultaneously.

The light coming in from the window told you it was very early in the morning. The dredges of sleeplessness made your body feel heavy, making getting out of bed that much harder when you heard Frankie’s truck pull up.

As you padded down the hallway, you heard the back door open and Frankie’s heavy footsteps on the mudroom floor. You turned the corner into the kitchen and watch as he toed his boots off, looking slightly unsteady on his feet. The hair popping out from around his hat seemed more mussed and his clothing looked like he’d slept in them. He was clearly drunk and you were furious with him for driving home like that. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it as of late, and it wasn’t the first time he’d come home with his tail between his legs, drunk and pleading.

“Are you drunk?”

Your harshly spoken words cut through the heavy silence and Frankie looked up at you, eyes weary and desperate.

“Mouse - baby…”

His words were slurred and desperate, and his voice was rough and sounded like he was in pain. He turned his body facing you and you saw that his lips looked reddened and worried and something on his neck. It was a hickey or bite mark, framed with a hint of red lipstick. Realization washed over you and you felt sick.

Frankie reached out a hand to you, watching your face fall and pull away from him. “Baby, no, please!”

“What did you do…” Your words came out in a broken whisper and Frankie lumbered towards you, reaching out. Instead of falling into his hold, you shook your head and turned away towards your bedroom.

“MOUSE!”

The volume at which he yelled your name made you stop in your tracks and turn around, and what you saw made your stomach churn. Frankie’s fists were clenched by his sides and he was breathing hard. His whole body seemed to be tense, like a snake would coil up before it striked, and his face was twisted in anguish and rage.

You froze. This was not your Frankie - it was just Frankie, drunk and looking the way he’d described his dad. You watched in abject horror as he moved towards you, and both of you stared into the other’s eyes.

Frankie broke the connection first with a sharp sob followed by his voice cracking with his slurred words. “Don’t look at me like that! Please, Mouse - I can explain, baby!”

You shook your head, face twisting in hurt, confusion and anger. You couldn’t keep going through the cycle of fighting, Frankie getting drunk and having to bear the brunt of it. You stood your ground, yelling back at him, “You’re fucking drunk again - I don’t want to hear it -”

Frankie shook his head. “Just fucking listen to me!”

You couldn’t hold back the tears any longer and sobbed, “Get out!”

Natalie’s words about how you were the villain were leaching into his mind, peeling back the rational thought and fueling the insecurities he carried. You were the one who did this to him. You were the one who was forcing him to change. Everyone else could see it - why couldn’t you? You deserved what he did because now you knew how he felt every time you went out in public and other men’s eyes danced over your body and he just had to sit back like a cuck and let it happen.

His breathing was growing rapid, and his eyes were fixed on you like a bull seeing red. As you turned to go into your room, Frankie lunged forward and reached out, grabbing your arm. He yanked you away from the bedroom door.

“Don’t you EVER walk away from me when I am talking to you!”

“Let go! You’re hurting m - “

“You don’t get to to tell me when to leave my house!”

“Frankie! Stop it!”

You pushed him back and turned around, but his arms came around your waist, pulling you back into him. His hot, beer soaked breath painted the side of your neck and face.

“Mouse! I just-I just wanna talk… that’s all, baby.. I love you and i don’t wanna let you go-.”

He was cut off by your elbowing his abdomen, and it gave you a chance to get away from him. You ran into your room and slammed the door and locked, then stood back and watched the door shake from Frankie’s fists pounding on the other side.

Grabbing your phone, you dialed the only number your trembling hands could.

Will answered his phone groggily and all he heard was your panicked crying and Frankie screaming in the background.

*****

The morning was a blur. Will arrived with Benny quicker than you could have hoped for. Will and Benny had finally managed to drag Frankie from the house and out into the detached garage, but just barely. Based on the damage he’s inflicted on his friends who were trying to help, Benny was scared shitless as to what he would find on the other side of your bedroom door.

You’d finally opened the bedroom door when you’d made Benny promise that Will would keep Frankie out of the house. As soon as he was in the room with you, Benny’s concern had him kneeling on the floor in front of you, asking over and over if you were okay… if Frankie had hit you… if you were hurt… and each question, you could only shake your head. The reality of the situation was settling in, knowing this was not something you could just come back from easily and Benny held you as you cried.

Will had called Santi over to keep Frankie in place in the garage. The last thing he wanted was for him to get back into the house and see that Benny was helping you pack enough of your stuff to tie you over for a few days.

Santi went into the house to get some water and found you standing at the kitchen table, wiping your eyes as you packed some important paperwork you weren’t sure you wanted to leave behind. He had no idea what to say, so Santi said nothing.

He grabbed a cup from the cupboard and the pitcher of water from the fridge, leaving you in silence.

*****

You’d left that day and moved in with Benny and his two cats - Butter and Bagels. Frankie’s infidelity had come fully to light with Natalie laying it all out for Santi and then Frankie confirmed it all, solidifying your choice to leave.

The break up had affected every part of the group, and while you assumed that you were in the right for walking away, Will shocked you when he told you to forgive and get back with Frankie.

“You don’t get it. Honey, I know he fucked up, but you’re better than that. You want loyalty, you have to be loyal, Mouse.”, he’d said sternly to you from across the table at a Denny’s. “You don’t leave a man when he’s down, and Frankie has seen some shit. You belong together, Mouse. You know that!”

It was a given that when you told Benny what Will had said, he drove straight to his house, barged in and punched Will square in the face, breaking his nose.

Santi had sent you a bullshit text telling you that while he was sorry for what happened, Frankie was his brother and he needed to stand with him. He wished you well and said he’d be around if you needed anything. You angrily toyed with the idea of sending a curse-laden response, but instead just blocked his number and deleted the message.

It had taken six months for you to begin to feel like yourself again. You’d joined a social group in the apartment complex and made a few acquaintances in the laundry room. You’d even switched to a new department at the accounting firm, allowing you to work from home.

Home. You had a home again. Benny’s apartment was finally home for you and you were cautiously optimistic for your future.

The bar you’d frequented with the group was now considered non-existent to you. Benny even vowed to not darken its doorway in solidarity, so the two of you had found a new dive to hang out in.

It was a little further out of the way, but it was quieter, and less of a bar and more of an all-night bistro. It didn’t hurt that the bartender there was easy on the eyes, what with his shorter hair, the small offset blonde patch in the front and his jewel-toned southern drawl crackling light lightning across the bar.

You hadn’t gotten the courage to speak to him, let alone hold eye contact. At least not until one evening, you’d bravely wandered in - sand Benny - and sat at the bar instead of the booth you normally did.

The bartender turned around and put his weight on the counter, leaning slightly towards you, and with his cheshire grin, he asked,

“And what can I get for you, little bird?”

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal tummy #frankie morales #triple frontier #you ask beefro answers #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales fanfiction #chubby frankie rights !!!!!#🥩#the catfish & the mouse one shot #thot tank

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writeroutoftime · 10 months ago

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Hi! I saw Drabble requests are open if I’m wrong just ignore me. I looked at the prompt list. Could you do either #5 or #19 with Carmen? They seem to fit him well. Love your writing by the way!

a/n: hi there, thank you so much for sending this in! and, also, thank you for your kind words, it really means a lot! for this one, I decided to go with #19, cause it just seems so sweet with him! enjoy! 💗

(takes place when it's still the beef - post first date fluff | also, want to request a drabble? send it in!)

oOoOo

The bell above the old door chimed out to the staff as you walked into shop. No one at The Beef was shocked to see you, as it had become part of your routine to stop by every Thursday afternoon. However, this particular afternoon felt monumental as you pushed yourself pass the threshold.

Richie stood behind the counter and perked up when he saw you walk towards him. "Well, well, well. Lookie who we have here." he greeted with arms crossed over his chest as a shit-eating grin overtook his features.

"Hello, Richard." you greeted, rolling your eyes good naturedly.

"Yo, cousin," Richie shouted over his shoulder. "you-know-who is here. And it's not fucking Voldemort."

"You a Potterhead now?" you teased, leaning against the counter.

"Shut up, Eva's going through a phase. Now how was your date?" Richie started explaining before deflecting.

Luckily, he was saved by Carmy walking up, wiping his hands on the towel that hung by his hip. "What are you going on about, cousin?" he asked before spotting you, and quickly running his hands through his hair. Though, that only served to muss his curls up further. "Oh, uh, hi. Didn't expect to see you."

"Even though I come in every Thursday?" you teased, biting your lip to stop your grin from spreading further.

"Right, sorry, I knew that." he said, looking down sheepishly. "Uh, you want your usual?"

"That'd be great." you nodded, watching as Carmy threw the order over his shoulder. Your eyes also caught onto to the subtle shake of Carmy's hand. Reaching out, you squeezed his rough hand in yours and smiled. "Hey, I just want to say again, I really had a great time last night."

Carmen allowed himself a moment to focus on the way your hand fit in his. He appreciated the weight it provided, grounding him in that moment. "Yeah, no, um, I-I did too." he stumbled, eyes flicking up to meet yours. "I was wondering, you know if, uh," he began but stopped himself as he saw your smile.

It sent a jolt through him that knocked the wind out of him and sent his thoughts spiraling. He wasn't sure what he had done to get you to give him the time of day, let alone enjoy a night out with him, but he didn't want to lose a chance to do it again.

"Q-quit smiling at me." he said through a soft laugh. "I can't stop messing up my sentences when you look at me like that."

Feeling emboldened by his confession you pressed a bit further. "You like my smile?"

That seemed to throw him for a loop. "Y-yeah, of course. I like all of you. And that's why I was wondering if you maybe, I don't know, wanted to go out again?" he asked, one hand finding its way into his hair again.

"I'd love to, Carmy." you beamed. "I'll text you, okay?" you confirmed with a kiss to his cheek, grabbing the to-go bag Richie just placed down on the counter. "Thanks, Richie. See you later, Carm." you offered, waving once more before heading back to work.

You couldn't help the smirk on your lips as you overheard Richie razzing Carmy for the interaction. Yeah, he was a keeper.

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto imagine #fx the bear imagine #rita writes

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daryltwdixon · 26 days ago

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The Promise of Us: Chapter 16

Pinterest and I have some serious beef right now I could NOT FIND A PHOTO with the right pose that you & Daryl are sitting in im sorry!!!

A little while later, after a few more go a-rounds with each other now that you’d realized just what you were missing when it came to being naked with Daryl Dixon, you find yourselves in one of the prison cells, legs entangled. Daryl sits up on the bottom bunk, cleaning his arrowheads, while you lean against the cold wall across from him on the bed, your legs resting over his. Every so often, his hand grazes your leg as he reaches for another arrow, a subtle gesture that sends a quiet shiver through you.

Carol appears in the doorway, smiling softly at the two of you. Daryl’s grin falters from the laugh he’d just shared with you, but his eyes remain warm as he looks at her.

She steps inside and leans against the doorframe, glancing between the two of you. “Haven’t had a chance to say I’m glad you came back,” she says.

Daryl fidgets with the arrow in his hand, glancing down, then at you, before looking back at her. “To what? All this?” He gestures around the cell.

“This is our home,” she replies, still smiling, as she takes a seat on the stool in front of the bed.

“This is a tomb,” Daryl mutters, his face serious. The smile you wore when Carol appeared fades as you watch the exchange, waiting to see her reaction.

“That’s what T-Dog called it,” she says quietly, looking away. “I thought he was right... 'til you found me.” Her words tug at your heart, and you glance at Daryl, realizing he hadn’t told you this. You weren’t there when Carol was found, and hadn’t asked her how she made it back when you greeted her during your return.

Carol hesitates, her eyes flicking to you before settling back on Daryl. “He’s your brother,” she says, with understanding, “but he’s not good for you. Don’t let him bring you down.”

Daryl avoids her gaze, pretending to be absorbed in his arrow, but you watch Carol closely, noting the sincerity in her expression.

“After all, look how far you’ve come,” she adds quietly. Daryl glances around the cell—the prison walls, the cold floor, the toilet in the corner—and when his eyes meet Carol’s, they share a brief, knowing chuckle. You let out a breathy laugh, relieved that the tension has broken.

As the laughter dies down, Carol’s eyes shift to you again, and she seems to finally take in the sight of your seating arrangement, with your legs draped over Daryl’s. Maybe it’s from seeing you both more comfortable in your closeness together, because a playful glint enters her gaze. Daryl tenses, his expression growing serious as he looks between you both.

“What?” he asks, his head flicking back and forth.

“Nothing,” Carol replies innocently, though her smile is mischievous as she stands and walks out of the room.

But just then, you hear hurried footsteps from the other room, and the young voice of Carl echoes along the wall, “Dad! You need to come outside, now!”

After a brief, wordless glance at Daryl, you both leap to your feet. Daryl grabs his crossbow, and you snag the shotgun that was found in the armory a few days ago, slinging the strap around you as you both make your way into the common area.

“What is it?” Rick demands, grabbing his gun. You, Daryl, Glenn, and Michonne all pause in front of him, waiting with bated breath, heart racing, thinking of the worst.

“It’s Andrea,”

You all rush out the door, weapons drawn. Heavy footfalls echo on the cement as everyone surges toward the gate. You’re right behind Rick, with Daryl and Merle trailing close behind, Michonne and Maggie flanking them. To your left, Glenn and Carol stand on the bridge, guns trained on the yard. Carl is somewhere above, likely watching from a better vantage point as you all hide behind a vehicle.

Merle is the first to break from cover, his gun up and ready with his bionic arm—now duct-taped with a fresh knife attachment—holding it steady, “Clear!” he shouts. The rest of you move left toward the gate, where Andrea is advancing, holding a walker in front of her on a pole, its arms and jaws removed.

“Are you alone?” Rick calls out, his voice firm.

“Open the gate!” Andrea shouts back, urgency in her tone.

Rick doesn’t budge. “ARE YOU ALONE?” he demands.

“Rick!” she screams, her pace quickening as the walkers trailing her draw closer. Rick throws Daryl the keys with a nod, and he unlocks the gate quickly, opening just enough to let her in. You lower your weapon, though the tension in your chest doesn’t ease as Andrea is let inside. Merle and Rick approach, guns still drawn, and as Andrea releases the walker outside the fence, Rick advances, forcing her against the fence.

Rick shouts at her to stay back and turn around, his voice cutting through the air. Andrea looks bewildered, her blonde hair disheveled, but complies as she presses against the fence. A walker slams into the chain-link behind her, snarling, and Rick pulls her away by the collar, throwing her to the ground. He continues to pat her down, checking for weapons while keeping her away from the dead that push against the fence.

You keep your gun raised, your eyes scanning the yard through the scope. Gradually, everyone lowers their weapons, though the unease doesn’t dissipate. Andrea sits with her hands raised, and Rick gives her a rough, “Welcome back. Get up.”

You all follow him inside, Andrea trailing behind. She pauses at the top of the stairs when Carol comes into view. As she passes you, Andrea lightly touches your arm in greeting, but your smile is faint and doesn’t reach your eyes. You move past her, descending the stairs as she falls into Carol’s arms for a hug.

Daryl sits on top of a picnic table, his legs spread wide, feet on the bench below. You make your way over and settle between his knees on the bench, his legs becoming a sort of barrier around you and the room as you lean back against the table. You rest your gun against the side of your seat, still within an arm’s reach. Across the room, Merle makes eye contact with you, a smirk tugging at his lips before he glances at Andrea.

“I can’t believe this,” Andrea breathes, turning to take in the sight of the prison. The afternoon sun filters through the windows, casting a warm glow across the room.

“Where’s Shane?” she asks suddenly, and the question sends your heart hammering against your chest. Daryl leans forward, his arm instinctively wrapping around you, crossing your chest as he holds you protectively against his lap. Andrea’s eyes shift to you, sensing the discomfort, before flicking back to Rick. His gaze meets yours, but then he looks away, shaking his head silently.

Andrea seems to accept it, though, because her next words are, “And Lori?” A sharp ache rises in your throat. Were you going to have to go through every lost loved one?

Hershel steps in, saving Rick from having to answer. “She had a girl. Lori didn’t survive.”

“Neither did T-Dog,” Carol adds quietly.

“I’m so sorry,” Andrea whispers, her eyes drifting toward Carl, sympathy etched into her expression. “Carl…” she begins, but he just stares back at her, his face emotionless beneath the brim of his hat.

“Rick, I—” she starts, but Rick shakes his head, sniffing, still not looking at her. She pivots, asking if this is where you all live now. After a few answers, she asks to see inside, but Rick steps forward, blocking her path.

“I won’t allow that,” he says firmly.

“I’m not an enemy, Rick,” she protests, her voice laced with disbelief.

Rick’s expression hardens. “We had that field and courtyard until your boyfriend tore down the fence with a truck and shot us up.”

“He said you fired first,” Andrea says quietly.

You scoff, unable to hide your disdain.

Rick glances at you before responding. “Well, he’s lyin’.”

“He killed an inmate who survived in here,” Hershel adds.

“We liked him. He was one of us,” Daryl grumbles above you, and you can feel his voice vibrate in his chest as he still leans forward, enveloping you.

Andrea rubs her hands over her face, clearly struggling to process the situation. You can’t believe how completely The Governor has her fooled.

“I didn’t know anything about that,” she pleads, looking between you and Daryl. “As soon as I found out, I came. I didn’t even know you were in Woodbury until after the shootout.”

“That was days ago,” Glenn says, his voice taut with anger, his bruised face hard.

“I told you, I came as soon as I could,” Andrea repeats, but the silence that follows is heavy. Suddenly, she spins toward Michonne, demanding to know what she’s told everyone. You can’t help the scoff that escapes you again.

“She didn’t have to tell us anything, Andrea,” you snap, unable to keep the anger from your voice. “He nearly killed most of us, and he’s coming back to finish the job.”

“With his finger on the trigger!” Andrea points toward Merle. “Isn’t he the one who kidnapped you?” she asks, turning to Glenn.

“He’s also the one who got us out of there,” you bite back.

“Look,” Andrea says, her frustration mounting. “I can’t excuse or explain what Philip has done, but I’m here trying to bring us together. We have to work this out!”

“There’s nothing to work out,” you snarl, your lip curling in anger. She turns to you with a scowl on your face.

“Y/N’s right,” Rick says before Andrea can respond. “We’re gonna kill him—I don’t know how or when, but we will.”

“We can settle this,” Andrea insists, determination in her voice as she looks at him, “There’s room in Woodbury for all of you.”

Merle, silent until now, lets out a chuckle, “You know better than that.”

“What makes you think he’ll negotiate?” you snap, your anger rising like bile. “Did he say that to you?”

“No,” Andrea admits, her voice quiet. As the conversation continues around you, you feel Daryl’s breath close to your ear as he mutters softly, “Easy, girl.” You roll your eyes but lean back into his chest, his presence helping to ground you, and his fingers tighten where they lay against you. Taking his eyes off the scene, he bends his neck down to press his lips to your ear, his bangs hiding the affectionate gesture.

Andrea presses on, explaining that The Governor is preparing for war, training his people in combat. “They see you as killers,” she says.

“I’ll tell you what,” Daryl growls, lifting his darkening gaze as he meets Andrea’s eyes. “Next time you see Philip, tell him I’ma take his other eye.” Your back straightens, the fire in Daryl’s words bringing a small sense of satisfaction.

“We’ve taken too much shit for too long,” Glenn adds, his tone grim. “If he wants a war, he’s got one.”

Andrea, seemingly desperate, turns to Rick, her face pleading. “If you don’t sit down and try to work this out, I don’t know what’s going to happen. He has a whole town. Look at you—you’ve lost so much already. You can’t stand alone anymore.”

Rick stares at her, unmoved, “You wanna make this right?” he asks, tilting his head. “Get us inside.”

“No.”

“Then we got nothin’ to talk about,” Rick says, storming out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

Everyone has dispersed since the confrontation with Andrea, getting her ready to hit the road. Honestly, you were surprised she’d managed to walk all the way here and try to talk you all into playing nice with The Governor. She had nerve, you’d give her that.

Now, it’s just you, Daryl, and Merle in the common area. Daryl sits behind you, leaning back on his palms, his knees still on either side of you as you rest against him. He’s staring off, biting his lip, seemingly deep in thought. You absentmindedly fiddle with your gun, the tension from earlier still buzzing under your skin.

Across from you, Merle sits, sprawled out like he owns the place, watching the two of you with a gleam in his eye. You barely have time to prepare yourself when you hear that all-too-familiar chuckle escape his lips.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, his grin wide and wicked, “you two sure got cozy for a few hours today, huh? Where’d you go off to?”

With no answer, Merle saunters over to stand in front of you, his eyes flicking between you and Daryl. You can practically feel the crude remark coming before it leaves his mouth, shaking his head, “Mmm m mmm, Took ya long enough, baby brother. Thought I’d have to give ya a lesson myself.” His grin grows wider, “Did ya finally lose that ol' virginity of yours?”

You choke on your own spit, hacking in surprise and momentarily have to resist the urge to throw something at him. Daryl grumbles above you, “Merle, get the hell out.”

Merle cackles, his laughter loud and obnoxious, clearly having the time of his life. “Aww, don’t be shy now, boy! Taught ‘em everythin’ he knows about pleasin’ a woman.” He winks at you, and you can’t help but feel your stomach turn at his crude joke, rolling your eyes. “Hell, you should be thankin’ me, sweetheart.”

“Jesus, Merle, shut up,” you mutter, shaking your head in disgust, though you wish you could look at Daryl behind you, who’s probably struggling not to squirm under the weight of his brother’s teasing.

“Ain’t got nothin’ to thank you for,” he growls, pushing himself up to sitting straight behind you.

Merle leans back, crossing his arms, and lets out a hearty laugh, enjoying himself. “Oh, c’mon now! Look at you! I ain’t seen you blush this bad since you were a kid. What, was it that good? Can’t handle it?”

Daryl finally snaps, glaring up at him. “Shut up!”

But Merle’s grin doesn’t fade. In fact, it gets wider, seeing how badly he’s gotten under Daryl’s skin. “Man, you’re too easy! Look at ya, all red in the face! Must’ve been one hell of a time in that tower, huh?”

You roll your eyes, your patience wearing thin. “Merle, fuck off, will ya?”

Merle raises his hands in mock surrender, still laughing. “Alright, alright, I’m goin’. But don’t think I’m lettin’ this go, sweet cheeks. Just proud of ya, is all. Can’t believe you two finally stopped starin’ and started…doin’.”

With that, he saunters off down the hall, still chuckling to himself, leaving the two of you in a tense, awkward silence. Daryl huffs, rubbing a hand over his face, clearly embarrassed beyond measure.

“Asshole,” Daryl mutters, shaking his head above you, and you look up and smile at how red his face is.

You let out a small laugh, leaning back into him, putting your arms over his legs. “He’s never gonna let this go, you know.”

Daryl groans. “Don’t remind me.”

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thatone-brightstar · 1 year ago

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The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 8: Bear Cubs

Words: 4.1 k

Summary: New opportunities present while ghosts from your past reappear.

a/n: The closer I get, the harder it becomes to write i don't know what it is but I hope you still enjoy. Commenting is always appreciated!

PS. Reader is latina in this cause Carmy seems like the type of man to appreciate a little melanin, okay!

WARNINGS: Smut ahead, oral sex (male receiving),semi public, minors DNI but you'll do what you want so don't say I didn't warn you

Summer came into Chicago with rain. Endless droplets poured in all directions with help from the constant wind, soaking everything and anyone that found themselves unlucky to not find shelter in time. You would regularly find the rain charming, relaxing on a day when all you had to do was enjoy the rhythmic patter and drown yourself in cups of tea. However, you dreaded the days when you had to go out and your sneakers were not a barrier thick enough to keep your socks from absorbing all the moisture that splashed onto them.

The rain from that day had fallen extra heavy, enough that you had to pad around in your socks once you reached the gallery and wait for your sneakers to dry.

“How about these?” Marjorie asked, standing over the set of frames laying on the floor.

“Aren’t they a bit too grim for a charity event?” You asked with your head tilted as you inspected the set of six paintings that depicted the progress of a horse’s rotting corpse.

“Yeah…” She hummed then advanced to the next set of frames with you padding behind her. “Y’know I was thinking..call me nosy, but I’ve been taking a peek at your canvas in the back..” She confessed and your eyes shot from the golden shades of a sunset to her face.

“I’ve uhm, been staying a little longer after closing… I hope it’s not a problem..?”

“No, of course not!” She answered and a wave of relief washed over you. “I actually wanted to offer you the last spot.” She said simply, turning to you with a stop.

You stayed silent for a moment, trying to process her words. “I’m sorry, what?” You asked through a nervous laugh, ‘there’s no way I heard right’, you thought.

“Well, Joy sent me a couple pictures of your works before hiring you and the one in the back sealed it. Your style is absolutely lovely and I believe you could make a great closing set for the showing.”

The moisture in your mouth had evaporated and traveled up to your teaducts where it threatened to spill. You felt like a fish out of water with the way your mouth kept opening and closing because, even though your head was racing with thoughts, none seemed to want to come out.

“You don’t need to decide now, of course, but I do need an answer by next week or we’ll have to go with the decapitated horse-”

“No! No, no I’ll do it!” You said with too much excitement to keep still, throwing your arms over her delicate shoulders. “Thank you Marge, thank you!”

She laughed along with your excitement and softly rubbed your back. You mentally reminded yourself to call Joyce and thank her for the push of bravery she had given you.

“D’you think I’ve given you enough time?” She asked after letting her go and beginning to pick up the paintings that you wouldn’t be using anymore.

“Yeah- no, I think three months is more than enough.” You assured, with the ideas already swirling in your head.

“And if you know of anyone who can cater, let me know. God knows what some people have in their heads these days that they wanna charge you your firstborn for a few canapes! Ridiculous!”

She began ranting on how some places wanted to charge more for their reputation than the actual quality of the food and you immediately thought of offering The Beef. Sure, the menu wasn’t nearly as luxurious as needed to cater a charity event held yearly for Chicago’s socialites to feel better about ‘giving back’, but you were more than confident in their ability to handle the challenge - especially considering that Carmy came with a built in reputation from his time in various awarded restaurants. So with a little push in the right direction, you pulled out your phone and after browsing through his feed, you showed her pictures of a few dishes he had crafted.

“Oh, wow.” She marveled, adjusting her glasses over her head. “That is beautiful…”

“I can ask him when he’s free for a test try if you want. They could really benefit from the promotion.” You confessed.

“Yes, please. Tell me when your ‘friend’ is free.” She teased and you’re glad your hair covered your beet red ears. You nodded in response, face beaming with a smile.

“Hmm, I see you two all lovey dovey when he picks you up, you make a beautiful couple, by the way.” Marjorie whispered, then sweetly patted your blushing cheek.

You finished picking up the paintings and wrapping them up for storage in the back, then said goodbye for the weekend and made the short walk in the rain to the restaurant, where you had agreed to help out for the rest of the day.

You reached The Beef huddled under your blue umbrella and by the back door, you shook out your hair from the few droplets that managed to wage their way through. The team was just about to take family by the time you crossed into the kitchen and greeted everyone leaving their stations. You found Syd and Carmy by the front, discussing some new dishes she wanted to add to the menu but he wasn’t quite sure about. You didn’t want to interrupt so you stood a couple feet behind, waiting for their conversation to end.

“Can we please just discuss this later, chef? I plan on adding it -I really do- but new dishes means new products and that means spending money we don’t have right now.” He said while rubbing his temples in frustration.

“I thought you said we finally had a parachute?”

“Yeah and it’s barely keeping us afloat as is. If we spend any more now, we’ll need a fuckin’ miracle to keep this place open.” He whispered harshly, looking around until he spotted your head behind Syd.

“Go take family, okay? We’ll talk about it later.” He ended the conversation then stalked up to you and leaned down to whisper “Can I see you in the office in a sec?”

His stare was so intense that all you could do was nod slowly up at him and when he walked away and you turned to Syd, her expression was just as confused as yours.

“Try to keep it in your pants, maybe.” She said amused, crossing her arms and leaning against the expo.

“Who knows, maybe I can get your risotto on the menu.” You answered back with a wink and turned to walk in direction of the office.

“That would be a miracle” You heard her whisper before turning the corner.

Carmy had his back to you when you entered the office. One hand rested tensely on his hip while the other seemed to rub away an incoming headache. You closed the door softly, then moved to rest your forehead on his strong back and caressed with open hands from his sides to his abdomen.

“Everything okay?” You asked, but the ragged breaths you felt him take were enough of an answer.

He took your hands and pulled them tighter around himself as he let out a sigh. “It never is, is it?” He answered with a slight snigger while turning in your arms and taking your head in his hands to kiss you.

You smiled into the kiss and as a sudden idea popped into your head, you began pushing him back until he dropped onto the squeaky old office chair. He smiled confused when you disconnected your lips to turn the lock on the door, then moved back to his side.

“Well I may have two good news that might cheer you up…” You spoke in a sultry voice as you stroked from his chest up to his shoulders and back down. “...but maybe they can wait ‘till after.”

“After what…?” He asked, however, his question was answered the second you stepped in front of him and dropped to your knees without a word.

Carmy straightened up and sucked in a sharp breath at the stunning sight of your torso resting between his parted thighs. You kissed him again more fervently and scratched a trail up, over the hard denim of his black jeans and to the buckle of his belt.

He sighed your name between kisses. “-Everyone’s outside..”

A cheeky grin spread over your face as you finished undoing the button on his jeans. “Don’t make too much noise, then.” You purred with a scrunch of your nose, holding his gaze for a few seconds to make sure he was okay with it.

“No one’s ever…”

“I can stop if you don’t-”

“No-no, I just…” He licked his bottom lip and let out a breathy laugh looking into your eyes. “I kinda had a dream about this… once.” He spoke slowly and a red tint covered his face.

Your smile grew even wider at the thought of poor sweet Carmy, dreaming about you blowing him in his office and how now you were kneeling -very real- in front of him. You palmed him through his jeans with connecting sight and it surprised you how hard he already felt under the denim.

“Well then, I’m flattered to be your first.” You whispered.

Carmy’s Adam's apple bobbed in his throat and he swallowed dryly as you released him from the pressure of his jeans. His eyes were fixated on each of your movements, the way your lip caught on your teeth and how warm your hand felt over his throbbing cock. You looked up at him through your lashes and smiled one last time before bluntly licking a stripe along the length of his velvet skin.

“Sshit-” He hissed, throwing his head back, then remembered the team was only a few yards away and bit the inside of his cheek to muffle the remaining sounds.

The soft skin of your hand stroked him at a slow pace, while the other massaged his thigh tenderly. You gave the pink tip a couple kisses, the taste of his precome coating your tongue, then wrapped your lips over it and sucked him into the warmth of your mouth. His hands had fisted at the side of your face, knuckles gone white from contained strength as you bobbed your head rhythmically.

“I’m not gonna break, y’know?” You breathed out while your hand continued the steady movements. “Go ahead.”

He hesitated for a second before reaching out to feather his thumb over your bottom lip, then extending his hand from your cheek to the back of your neck and pushing you down, back to his lap. You swallowed him gladly, the force of his strong hand applied a new pressure that made you take him even deeper than before and the knot in your abdomen tightened. His soft groans were muffled by the skin of his palm as he clamped it hard to ensure no one outside the room could hear him and how he was falling apart under you.

The thought was ravishing, to have this strong, fucked up and touch starved man trembling in pleasure from just your mouth made your chest swell with pride and your cunt squeeze in anticipation. Too bad you didn’t have enough time or you’d gladly throw everything on the desk to the ground and let him take you on it. You let your thoughts run wild with the idea, speeding up the pace to replace the growing ache between your legs.

His hips stuttered with the constant movements of your tongue and the grip he had on your hair tightened, teeth biting down on the back of his hand from the overstimulation. He knew he was close, but could do nothing more than keep pushing your head down and his hips up to continue the friction. His stomach spasmed with the force of his breaths, you took your hand from his thigh and slipped it under his shirt to run your nails over the sensitive skin.

“Jesus Fuck-” He groaned into the skin of his hand and that was the only warning you got before the thick hot liquid trickled down your throat in short bursts.

Carmy’s grip loosened over your head and you pulled away but kept flicking your hand slowly to ride out his orgasm. His head was thrown back and covered in a thin layer of sweat, the tense expression on his eyebrows long gone. He hissed softly when you put him back into his jeans, the cotton of his boxers too rough on the sensitive skin.

“Better than your dream?” You teased while wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and standing back up.

He let out a relaxed laugh and pulled you by your hips, kissing over your clothed stomach. “Like, by a thousand.” He responded, then pulled you down and groaned into your mouth when he tasted himself. “D’you think they’ll notice if we bail?” He asked against your lips.

“Yo, horndogs! Put your clothes back on and come out! We open in ten!” You heard Richie’s booming voice through the thin wooden door, followed by heavy knocks.

“I think that’s your answer.” You kissed him one last time and turned to the door, readjusting your hair.

“You never told me the good news…”

‘Right, that’s what I came in here for…’

“Remember the charity event I told you about?” You asked and continued once he nodded in agreement. “Well Marge offered me the last spot.” He stared blankly at you. “My paintings are gonna be auctioned at the event!”

He took a split second to react, but soon his brows raised in surprise and he circled his arms around your waist, lifting you from the ground in a tight hug.

“Baby, that’s great! I’m so fuckin’ proud of you!” He cheered, kissing the top of your head. You felt as if the skin on your cheeks would rip from the force of your smile.

“Wait that’s not all-” You laughed as you freed your head from his grip and looked up at his beaming face. “I may have gotten you guys the catering gig for the event.”

“Wait, seriously?” His grip loosened around you and you took advantage of that to turn to the door and step outside to wash your hands, Carmy following close behind.

“Mhm! She wants to see some options first, but I just know you guys are gonna kill it, so it’s practically in the bag.”

“What’re we gonna kill?” Marcus asked, popping his head around the corner of his station and causing a laugh to leave your chest.

You turned to a silent Carmy. He leaned on the wall with his hand resting over his chin and smiling mouth. You mouthed a slow ‘what?’ that he just answered with a shake of his head and wrapped a single arm around your shoulders, kissing your head again and whispering a soft ‘Thank you’ into your hair.

He let you go after a few seconds and you walked to the front with a glowing smile, setting up for the presumed ‘hectic day’, though with the way the sky seemed to be pouring down, you doubted anyone would be stepping foot inside.

**********

You were wrong, so very very wrong. But you would not let anyone know that as you took what seemed like the thousandth order, especially not Richie - who was already having a day picking jokes at you. ‘Haven’t seen you in a month hun, got a lot of ‘em saved up’ he said two minutes after walking through the door.

“What can I getcha?” You asked the next person in line.

Greetings had been lost, maybe fifty or sixty customers back, when you switched with Richie so he could wait on tables because the ipad had gone ‘crazy’ and it was ‘messing with his vibe’, or whatever the fuck that meant. So after clearing the screen from the usual grease, you took his place by the til and began taking the overwhelmingly large amount of orders.

It was only until the rain turned into a light drizzle, when the line grew shorter and the room less crowded, that you finally felt your phone vibrate with an incoming call from an unknown number.

“Richie! Cover for me, I gotta take this!” You called over the noise without waiting for an answer and walked into the kitchen with your phone to your ear. “Hello?”

A sudden rush of sharp chills prickled through your skin as the voice on the other end called your name.

“I-Isaac?” You asked, taken back because there was no way in hell that it could be him, not when you had blocked every one of his attempts to contact you.

“It’s been a while…” He said and you could hear the sly smile behind his words.

You felt the remains of your lunch slowly burn a path up from your stomach.

“Yeah, let’s keep it that way.” You answered as frigid as possible before hanging up and lunging to the bathroom to spill the undigested meal.

“Yo hurry up, I need to- shit you okay?!” You heard Richie’s voice over by the door you had forgotten to close.

You spit the last taste of bile from your mouth and flushed before putting down the seat and slouching defeated over it. The sudden squeak of kitchen shoes vibrated and soon Syd’s head appeared behind Richie.

“Shit- hey you okay?!” She asked at the same time Richie said “So… what- you pregnant?”

“She’s not pregnant you fuckin’ moron!” She yelled at him and pushed him out, closing the door in his face. “You’re not pregnant, right?” She asked, immediately squatting beside you.

“No Syd! I’m not fucking pregnant!” You answered through soft sniffles.

“Okay… what's wrong then?”

“Isaac called me.” You said after a few moments of silence.

“Psycho ex, Isaac?”

“Psycho ex Isaac.” You confirmed with eyes fixated beyond the floor and legs bouncing in anxiety.

“Okay… chill it’s not like he’s gonna come looking for you.” Syd said, trying to calm the evident panic attack bubbling under your skin. “Besides, Carmy wouldn’t let him stand in a ten mile radius of the restaurant, anyway.”

Your head shot up from the floor to look at her with worried brows.

“Because he does know…right?” She asked and the look of guilt slapped on your face was enough of an answer.

She threw her head back and stood with her hands on her hips.

“Dude, why haven’t you told him?!” She sneered with a whisper.

“I-I just couldn’t find the right moment-“

“There is no right moment! Just gotta throw in the bomb and hope for the best!”

“Yes I know, Syd! But I just- I couldn’t bear the thought of him thinking the worst of me, okay?!” You stood up from the seat in defeat and wiggled in the small space to reach the sink and rinse your mouth from the bitter taste.

“And now it’s gonna be worse cause you’ve waited this long.” Syd whispered behind you.

Three knocks at the door interrupted your answer and you looked up at Syd with a terrified look in your eyes. She mouthed a frantic ‘what do I do?’ before calling out a wobbly ‘uh… busy!’.

“I know you’re both in there, open up.”Carmy called with a heavy sigh.

She shrugged her shoulders apologetically and opened the door to a worried Carmy.

“Cousin said you were throwin’ up, everything okay?” He asked as Syd slid past him through the narrow opening, turning to you and pointing with wide eyes towards Carmy.

“Fucking Richie… yeah, something I ate, probably.” You tried saying while patting cold water on your skin to reduce the heat rising rapidly.

“Sure? You don’t look too good…”

He turned you to him by your shoulders and cupped your warm cheeks in his hands, looking over your face in concern.

“Yea- yeah, ’m fine. Probably just a one time thing.” His eyes roamed over your face with a creased brow, not fully convinced of your statements.

“You can head home if you’re not feelin’ up to it…” he suggested.

“And miss your stupid cousin telling everyone I’m pregnant, yeah no chance.” You said with a smile and the slight crinkles by the side of his eyes returned. “Besides, they’re gonna start thinking you got favorites.” You joked and laid your head softly over his chest so he couldn’t see your own worried expression.

He rubbed your back slowly, the measured rise and fall of his breathing calmed you down, but only slightly. You could still faintly hear Isaac’s voice bounce off the walls in your head, overpowered by Richie chanting through the kitchen about the little bear cub you were gonna have, and -for the first time since you met him- you appreciated the loudness of it.

The rest of your non-shift passed by in a blur of grease covered sandwiches and slight forming headaches, courtesy of the lack of food in your stomach and Richie’s constant teasing. There was a point in the afternoon, where your patience had grown too thin and you ended up punching him hard on the arm. It did nothing to him, of course, but it did help in reducing your stress on the train ride back to Carmy’s place.

“Maybe I should get some rain boots…” You commented after making your way inside the empty apartment and immediately kicking off the damp shoes.

“What, like Coraline?” He asked from the kitchen, surprising you. “What?” He asked again when he saw your amused expression. “You think I just watch food movies?”

“I dunno, I assumed you’ve seen Ratatouille but that’s like about it.” You joked.

*********

Carmen had probably used his stove a total of three times since moving back and before you started spending the night regularly, not counting that time he almost set his kitchen on fire while sleepwalking, but you didn’t need to know that. He even made an effort to keep his fridge stocked with other things that weren’t half full cans of Coke or stale bread and that he could actually make into a real meal.

When you arrived home -cause that’s what he liked to call it now- you tried to convince him that it wasn’t necessary to make dinner. But you hadn’t eaten anything all afternoon and it would have been completely fine if he didn’t know, but he did, and letting you go to bed on an empty stomach was not even an option that crossed his mind.

He liked cooking for you. It was the only way he could express how he felt. When words seemed too complicated to string together in coherent sentences, that stuck like thick honey to the roof of his mouth, he cooked them. Whisked them together with a bit of salt and pepper then fried them until crisp, and fed them to you on his best tableware; hoping this way you could understand all the messages his mouth failed to explain.

‘Only if you eat with me’ You had whispered as you took the skillet off the flame for the second time, a determined glow heavy in doe eyes and he knew that in a relationship with two people pleasers, arguing over who cared more for the other would be a lost cause. So he settled on making something quick and joined you on his small living room floor, where you sat with your feet wrapped in a blanket, computer and a couple of his cook books, drawing out ideas on what he could offer for the gala.

“Don’t we still have, like, three months?” He asked with a heavy sigh that came from stretching out his tired legs.

“Yeah.. but this way you’ll have more than enough time to see what works and what doesn’t.” You shrugged your shoulders and took a bite from your plate.

He chewed in silence, mesmerized as you lost yourself in the rabbit hole of all the different options they could serve for the event, flipping through his books and putting little colored post-its on the ones you liked the most. He had never seen you this excited and it brought a feeling to his chest that, if he didn’t know it was because of you, he’d probably confuse with heartburn.

Still, he couldn’t shake the looming sensation off his shoulders, the idea that something lurked around the corner, waiting to pounce. Like how he felt before Sugar called him about Mikey, and when he first learned that The Beef was now his.

For his peace of mind he decided to blame it on anxiety, he had grown so used to always being alert that his body felt wrong when it wasn’t. 'Its probably just a gut feeling' he thought, and he was never that good at reading his gut, anyway.

Chapter 9.

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne, @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha and that’s it lmao

#carmen berzatto x reader #the bear & the fox #carmy berzatto #carmy smut #the bear & the fox #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x you #the bear fx #the bear tv #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto x reader #fanfiction #fanfic

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januaryembrs · 9 months ago

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LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x reader [10]

Description: Marc finds out the truth about Dove, and pays the mortal price.

Word count: 12.6k

Trigger Warnings: okay so; HEAVY TRIGGER for drug use and overdose/ accidental suicide. guns. blood. gore. abusive relationship. poverty. HEAVY ON THE ANGST PEOPLE. suggestive tones in parts.

authors note: I'm sorry this has taken forever and a day to post, I had planned to upload on valentines day however life got in the way in every way it possibly could and so this got put on hold for few days, I hope that's okay! enjoy!!

main masterlist | series masterlist

“Boys, get down here. Dinner’s going cold.” She called up the stairs, her voice already that of a tired mother. Mathew practically skidded past her bounding down the stairs, god knows that boy knew how to eat, even if the parsnips were stone cold he would still devour them whole, “Where’s Mikey?” She yelled after him, her tattered apron tied around her waist, greasy fingerprints dragged down the whites.

“In his room,” Joey said, his bulky glasses deep in his new crossword book, “Nine down, a second chance at life?”

His sister looked up the stairs worried, her natural expression whenever Mikey wasn’t under her constant watch, before she met his gaze, adjusting fake pearls around her neck.

“Huh?”

“Second chance at life. Nine letters.” He repeated, scratching the light smattering of facial hair he had only just been able to grow. He felt her fingers deftly begin to fix the tie around his collar, the golden fairy lights wrapped around the bannister illuminating where her red nail polish chipped around the edges.

“After life?” She guessed, straightening his shirt out for him, fussing like she had always done. He shook his head, wincing as she screeched over his shoulder into the dining room. “MATHEW, PUT THE ROAST POTATOES BACK- THOSE ARE FOR EVERYONE,” She tutted under her breath. Sometimes he forgot she was only seventeen. “Sam, can you get the stuffing out the oven,”

A grunt of agreement from the second boy, before a six foot tall, moody boy shuffled past the open door with bumblebee oven mitts on which took every ounce of attitude out of him.

“One word,” Joe said, his eyes flicking over to the vinyl player that stuttered on its eighth run through of ‘Fairytale of New York’.

The tinsel she’d braided into her hair rustled, eyes identical to his own watching his mouth quirk in thought.

“You’re supposed to be the genius of the family,” She teased, her finger nudging under his chin affectionately before she released him, pecking his forehead as he passed her to go take a seat at the table. She fussed some more over the baubles hanging from the tree on her way to the kitchen, straightening out the few stragglers, her pruning fingertips brushing over the fleece blankets covering the back of the sofa, as if she needed to feel their home to remind her where she was, “How about Migration?”

“Good, but it ends in T,” He called out to her, watching his eldest brother look up guiltily where he had a dollop of mash on a spoon, his mouth already full.

It seemed their sister caught onto his greed as she sharply smacked him over the back over the head, ripping the spoon from his hand, “Pig,” She spit at him, not that it seemed to phase him too much as his eyes already set on the small beef loin, the fat dripping off the plate tenderly, “I’m going to get Mikey. Resurrect?”

His eyes lit up at the suggestion, scribbling it down in his book. The cinnamon candle burnt strongly in the centre of the table, warm and spicy, just how Christmas should smell.

It didn’t negate the fact they had all had to go easy on showers for the week, or that the house was freezing at night or that it was obvious all of their “Fancy day” clothes smelled like a charity shop.

Joseph was only thirteen and already he’d noticed how exhausted his sister seemed every day. He’s stopped thinking about it so much, seeing as she’d always been that way, but the drain on her body was clear as anything nowadays.

Joey was just a kid, but so was she.

It wasn’t long before the final two of their little family came traipsing down the stairs, Mikey’s hand tight in his sister’s. At twelve years old, he was still a dot of a boy, scrawny, practically all ribs she would say, and he was a weepy one too. It wasn’t a surprise the kids at school were so cruel, even their own father, when he bothered to drag himself home from the pub or his friends’ sofas, would say the fire had died out a little more with every kid that came out of his ex-wife. His sister was so fierce she could melt the world’s core if she wanted to, Joey was convinced of it. Matt simply was untouchable despite the kids at school taking digs at him just as often as they did Mikey, as if he knew from birth he was getting out of this hell hole, that he was made for better than this. Children could sniff out the ones among them that were struggling like a cadaver dog onto a corpse, and once they latched on they rarely let go. Then was Sammy, and well, one look at him and he spoke for himself. At fifteen he was already broad enough that the kids picking on Mike turned to deadly silence when he was around; grumpy as a mule, cold as their mother, a boy with a bitter face. His sister would rub her thumb over the scowl that marred his brow, trying to flatten the crack where his nose met his forehead, where the anger seemed to settle. She hated seeing them upset; had the unshakable need to fix them.

Joey was her smart boy, trying to fly under the radar and cause her less anguish than he saw the rest of the boys gave her. He thought sometimes, when she would come home at 2am in her clothes from the club, bruises on her arms, when she would make them both a cup of tea and help him with homework, he thought then that he might even be her favourite. They all vied for her attention, only her and Matthew even remembered their mother, it only made sense that she was the next best thing for her boys.

But she was more than just a stand in for their mom. She was their everything, even with the fights over who was doing laundry, the yelling between her and Sammy when she would have to pick him up from the station for the nth time that month for petty thievery, even when Matt started wolfing down a rogue handful of carrots that had fallen onto the dinner table and she had all but dragged him by the ear into the kitchen to go get them drinks.

They revelled in their little bubble, knowing the only thing they’d be given for free in this world was each other.

And when they had finally sat down for christmas dinner, the smoke from the DIY Christmas crackers tiny Mikey had made lingering with a sulphur bite to their nose; when Sam flashed them all a rare laugh as she read out the terrible jokes hidden inside, the paper hats falling down over their eyes as they laughed, their full tummies hurting, plates polished of every scrap, Matt ofcourse eating the left over yorkshire puddings as if they were crisps. When they’d sat in front of the TV that only had four channels and a hefty video player underneath, Joey fiddled with the only film they ever bothered to watch on Christmas Day.

The sepia scene met the soft orange of the fire she’d lit for them, every light besides the ones on the tree turned off for their movie. Joey and Mikey sat practically two inches from the screen, a somewhat stale bowl of popcorn passed between them.

They watched in awed silence as Dorothy ran down the country lane, Toto at her heels, her auburn hair jumping behind her in bunches as she looked over her shoulder.

Running away, always running away, same as she was every year they watched.

“She isn’t coming yet, Toto. Did she hurt you?” Judy Gartland fawned over her pet, the gingham dress bunching around her knees.

Worried, always worried. Always preening. Always fixing.

And by the time the twister came to rip her away from her family and send her to Oz, the girl who wasn’t Dove just yet was already asleep on Sammy’s shoulder, the grumpy boy knocking his head against hers affectionately, silently, the crunching of popcorn and the slurping of an off brand Cola the only things that cut through the sound of the movie.

Unaware, naive to what was about to happen to her.

—

Dove and Steven had a glint in their eyes that she was sure would never be wiped off as they walked beside one another, their pinky fingers clasped tightly together.

He had a dopey look on his face, not even watching where they were going as he stared at her side profile, seeing the warmth meeting her eyes for the first time in a while. Her cheeks were starting to hurt from the smiling, biting her bottom lip like she had a secret.

She would glance back at him every so often, only to see him already staring, his brown eyes softer than a cup of hot chocolate, swirling with adoration and melting at the sight of her meeting his gaze.

After the fourth or fifth time, she reached up to brush her nose gently, “Do I have something on my face?”

He didn’t even answer, he just pulled her in for another kiss, his free hand tugging at the fat of her hips, squeezing gently as he kissed her with a greed she felt high on.

She held back a whine, the hands on her body kind and loving, overwhelming, invading, saturating her with something so entirely like home she felt her face run hot.

She giggled into his mouth as he released her, her hands finding the sides of his neck, thumb running over either side of his jaw as she felt him smile under her touch.

“Steven?” He seemed dazed, eyes never leaving her lips as she said his name again, giddy like his brain had malfunctioned and slowed, “Do I have anything on my face?”

He mumbled something wordless, shaking his head slightly, looking back at her goofy smile as she waited for a real answer. As if it had only just caught up with him, his brow creased, meeting her eyes with a bit more clarity than before.

“Huh?” He asked, to which she giggled and kissed him some more. She was sure her heart was pounding out of her ribs, and that he could hear it from how closely he was pressed to her front.

“You’re staring, I thought I had something on my face,” She said, his nose brushing against hers as he dipped in to kiss the laugh lines of her cheeks, “Do I?”

Steven shook his head, his gaze fanning over the entirety of her face and landing where he wanted her the most, back to her lips that smiled at him in content.

“No, just,” He stopped himself from kissing her again, worrying he was smothering her, though some part of him knew she craved the touch as much as he did. She told him as much by the way her fingers intertwined in the root of his hair, pressing into him like a cat purring under his hand, “You make me really happy,”

Her throat bobbed, the smallest of tears springing to her eyes as she kissed him one last time. She wished she could meld her body to his, couldn’t wait for them to have a moment alone when she could take him fully if he would have her again. Truthfully, selfishly, she couldn’t give a damn about Harrow all that much anymore, her entire being hollow the moment she pulled away from him. He’d changed the epicentre of her world the moment she’d heard those three words.

He loved her.

She didn’t deserve it, but he loved her.

Shuffling away from him, not entirely unaware of how his hand was reluctant to drop her waist, how his lips chased hers, how he seemed to pout when she put some distance between them.

“You make me really happy too, Steven,” She said, her voice mellow and buttery, moving to hold his hand properly, the two of them setting off back to where Layla seemed to be fiddling with something from her backpack.

She knew she would never be good enough for him, that he deserved someone so much better, but it was difficult to hear the horrid thoughts that whirred around the abyss of her head when she heard him softly chuckle, smiling to himself as if he couldn’t believe the words out of her mouth.

Sometimes it’s not about deserve. That’s what Marc had said. And maybe she could start believing him. Because it was Marc, and Marc knew everything. Marc would know what to say, know how to soothe the feeling of rot that threatened to ruin Steven’s sweet words, his soft kisses.

Marc would fix it. Marc would understand. She was sure of it.

–

“We’re going to belay down there,” Layla explained, securing the mountaineering rope to the clasp on her waist, tightening the notch and giving the cable an experimental tug.

The two of them blanked, looking at one another in their own sets of gear that the woman had them step into with little explanation.

“I think we should be right on time, Harrow shouldn’t be too far ahead of us-” Dove started, only to be cut off by the older woman with a scoff and an eye roll.

“Belay. It means we’re going to lower ourselves down using our own weight.” Dove’s face fell in embarrassment, smiling sheepishly as Layla shook her head with a hidden chuckle.

“Right, got it.” She held her hands up, nudging Steven’s when she saw his smile widen, if that had even been possible, “Floor is yours,”

Layla hid her laugh with a cough, taking one confident step off the ledge and down into the tomb, the rope gently dropping her into the darkness.

Dove and Steven watched with bated breath, the former leaning forwards to ensure she had reached the floor safely. Her eyes squinted, not seeing all too much other than the broken steps that would have once been functional, that were half buried in sand by now.

“Be careful love,” She felt his fingers loop into her harness, keeping her safe even though they both knew she could survive the fall and much worse.

She smiled, ready to reply when she saw a flash of Layla’s torch from below, and the woman’s face returned.

“Alright, it’s safe. Come down one at a time,” She instructed, the younger woman sticking a thumbs up at her and moving back into a hard chest where Steven hovered over her.

“I’ll go first,” She said, reaching for the clip and tightening it to her harness the way Layla had.

“Wait, shouldn’t I go first? Make sure it’s working properly?” Steven said, though his voice hardly matched the chivalry of his words. She smiled toothily at him, tugging on the rope once to set it in place.

“Put it this way, honey. I can survive broken legs, but I need every bit of you to function or else I don’t know how I’m going to repay you,” It was new. It was flirty. She had a cheeky twinkle in her eye that reminded him she was able to be girlish and happy and tease him and call him honey and it all felt normal and he wanted more of it by the bucket load. He’d not seen her like this perhaps ever. He fell in love with her even more. He didn’t even think he could.

His mouth moved in an attempt to say something, his face tinging red at the implication of her words.

“You don’t have to repay me,” He murmured, feeling her fingers loop through his belt, a heat to her gaze that had his skin prickling.

“I know,” She pecked his lips one more time before they had to be parted even if it was only for a matter of a minute or two, “I just really want to,” She drew back when she heard his breath stutter, his cheeks growing all the more darker in their cherry red shade, and gripped the top of the rope the way she’d seen Layla do.

“Ok-kay,” The man stammered, his palms sweating, nose tingling with heat.

“See you in a minute,” She quipped with a deep breath for courage, stepping into the darkness as her body weight tugged against the rope.

Her feet met the sand faster than expected, stumbling a moment before she steadied herself, fingers quickly undoing the harness that sat around her thighs and waist.

Taking in the small entrance to the catacomb, she saw Layla crouched over the foot of a statue, her own torch clamped tightly in her grasp. Figuring she was conducting her own search, she chanced a look back up to where Steven’s dopey grin looked down at her, as if cartoonish pink hearts swirled around his head.

“It’s safe!” She called up, as she fumbled with the latch around her harness, “Just need to get this off-”

The wind was knocked out of her as a body crashed into her own, two startled voices filling the cave, two hands pinning either side of her, landing on her back with a shooting pain through her brow.

She groaned in unison with the heavy body atop her, feeling where his head had banged against hers.

“Guess you could say I’m really falling for you,” Steven’s joke melded with a grunt as he pried himself off her, feeling Marc huff in annoyance from inside the head.

“Huh?” Her voice was muddled, her face scrunched in pain. She barely heard what he said before he had stumbled to his knees, holding his hand out to lift her off the floor.

“I said- Nothing- Sorry love,” Steven stuttered, his hand pawing at his aching temple, pulling the girl back to her feet, “Guess I just need a bit of practice at that Belay thing,”

“A bit?” Layla scoffed, though she watched the pair with a hidden smirk, the bumbling mess of limbs as they dusted themselves off and unhooked their gear, “You okay?”

“I’m aces,” He said, turning to where Dove had dirt collecting in her hairline. Reaching a hand up to help her brush it away gently, he was distracted by the huge statue of big cat, most likely a lion, engraved into the stone, “Look at you,” He murmured breathlessly.

It was her turn to warm under his brazen words, stilling her movements, fingertips rubbing away the traces of sand clinging to her clammy skin.

She laughed with more shock than anything, though it sounded more like a choke, swallowing heavily as she braved to meet his gaze.

Her brow furrowed as she flicked a glance over her shoulder at the artwork along the wall, untouched for hundreds of years, the paint lines a thick and dark umber red as if sketched only yesterday.

Looking back to him, she crossed her fingers he hadn’t seen her flattered expression, knowing better than to be embarrassed around him yet she couldn’t deny those three words spread the heat back through her gut that he had satiated only moments earlier.

Clicking her torch back on, she threw her attention away from those soft brown eyes, back to the sculpt of the lions, the stone cracking as chalky under their years of solitude, but striking nonetheless.

“If they just sprang to life right now and asked me a riddle for passage, I’d be thrilled,” Steven said, his voice that of a boy at Christmas, “I’d shit myself, but I’d be thrilled,”

Giggling behind besotted eyes, Dove moved to head further into the tomb, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw freshly drawn initials in the sand.

Glancing back to where Layla seemed to shrink in demeanour, she gestured to the markings with her light, “Did you do these?” She asked, curious to her motives.

“Yeah,” She cleared her throat, averting her eyes to the wall opposite them where vibrant blues and sunflower yellow strokes stared back, “Yeah it’s for my father. He would have loved to be here,”

“Big history buff is he?” Steven asked, the three of them setting off through the tunnel, leading them further into the crypt.

“So much worse,” The El-Faouly woman replied with a smile, falling into step with the duo, “Archeologist with a mission,”

They all breathed a laugh, the air stagnant and musky around them, the smell of a place only the dead seemed to know the past few thousand years.

“And to him it was a dream worth dying for. And he did,” She went on, Dove’s face falling into solemn sorrow. She knew, if Layla was anything like she was, she would hate the idea of hearing an apology, would hate the idea of someone feeling sorry for her. She had barely been treading water the past day or two, fighting to stay in Layla’s good books, she feared if she were to show any remorse now it would only earn her a slap to the face.

“Did he dig it?” She asked, her face forlorn and wary as she toed the boundary between their friendship. Casting a glance back at Layla and Steven, she gulped, “So history, you could say he dug it?”

The light bulb went for both of them, Layla frowning with a defeated grin.

“That was awful,” She playfully shoved the younger woman, who took it with no bother, smiling back in relief her joke had been taken kindly, “That was the worst-”

“I quite liked it,” Steven inputted helpfully, also earning a bash to the shoulder as Layla laughed.

“Not a word from the two of you now unless it’s something useful,” She scolded, leading the way through the tightening corridor, the darkness encompassing them in something that felt like comradery.

“Did you want to hear the one about the dinosaur’s dog-” Dove started, the words echoing around them as they headed further in, only to be stopped again by Layla’s softened voice.

“Do-you-think-he-saurus rex!”

–

She stared at the house, the one she’d been born in, the light in her room long since switched out. She wouldn’t blame them if they’d taken over her room, it was the biggest one, though that wasn’t saying much. She could see it now, Mathew shotgunning the double bed the moment she left, there was more than enough room for Billie’s small cot next to him. She’d grabbed what she could the day Oz had taken her away, but she wouldn’t bat an eye if they’d sold the clothes she’d left, or even thrown them on the fire to stay warm.

No, she wouldn’t blame them for erasing all memory of her. She’d been the one to leave, not them. As far as they knew, she’d not made contact whatsoever. Her letters had never been sent, never even left the house.

She’d not seen home in three years. It was smaller than she remembered. Darker.

The duffle bag was clutched tightly in her hands, wringing the fabric of the handle between her fingers. The accelerator had been to the floor the entire way here, the blood was still caked thick in her hair, under her nails, stained parts of her skin.

Frank’s blood. She wondered if the neighbours had called the police yet, if they ever would since he kept them so isolated. Wondered if she was already a suspect in his murder.

She shook in her shoes at the thought, though that may just be the December night air.

A figure came storming out of the front door, hands in his pockets, his coat thin and moth eaten.

Mathew had never been a tall boy, not even at eighteen when she’d last seen him, especially not now at twenty. He was always thin in his face, despite devouring the most out of any of them, his eyes always tired. Though, becoming a dad at such a young age would do that to someone.

He stopped in front of her, his eyes roving over her with a grand mix of anger and worry. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost, as if he’d seen a dog returning home with its tail between its legs. Which was sort of how she felt.

“Matty-” She breathed, her exhale clear as day in the freezing night, only he scoffed at the words. He may as well have spat in her, “I don’t have time to explain-”

“What?” He growled, lip sneering in a way that looked too much like their mother, “Where the fuck have you been?”

She baulked, eyebrows furrowing in a way that she willed herself not to burst into tears. She wanted to head inside, wanted to curl up on the old, ratty sofa they’d had since she was young, wanted to feel Sammy’s head knock against hers affectionately, the only sign the grumpy boy ever gave that said he loved her, despite the fact she knew. She wanted to scold Matty for eating all the bacon out the fridge, help Joey finish his sudoku, wanted, no, needed to see Mikey, see he was okay. Last time she’d been here, she’d found him stashing pills for his friends she knew had a one way ticket to juvie or the streets.

She’d left for all of them, left to get them a better life. And now she was standing outside her childhood home, drenched in bloodied clothes, her body used, beaten, betrayed. Grace was gone. Frank was dead.

This was all she had left. Her boys were all she had left.

“I don’t have time,” She repeated, forcing the duffle bag into his hands, hoping he missed the way the blood collected beneath her nails. She’d scrubbed off what she could before she left, but she knew had it been daylight he’d notice the red ichor immediately, “This is for you,”

“Wha-” Matty looked as if he could swing for her, and she knew she deserved it. She’d left them. Her bottom lip trembled at the very thought. He said her name, only now it seemed dirty, filthy, tainted, like that name had been said by so many awful men she felt as though it was muddied even Matty when he said it, “You leave us to rot for three years, and all of a sudden you just swan in here with presents-”

“Mathew, be quiet,” She barked, hearing his voice grow louder and louder, echoing in the silent street she used to run down to catch her bus, “I have to go,”

He stopped, staring at her teary eyes for a moment, and then laughed. Loud and cruel, and she knew his vitriol was still ongoing, knew she wouldn’t even stop him if he wanted to throw a cruel hand across her face for running away.

She was such a coward. She was a liar. A murderer. But she was a coward above all of that.

“Did we stop being good enough for you, huh?” He spat, trying to hand her the bag back, “I don’t want your pity or your little presents, take it-”

“It wasn’t like that,” She pleaded, wrestling with him to keep the bag strap in his grasp, “Mathew, just take the bag,”

He shoved her away, but she didn’t relent, her mind set on getting him to take the damn money, the fucking notes that mean nothing to her anymore. There had to be at least thirty grand in there by now, probably more.

“We needed you, and you weren’t here,” Matt stumbled away from her as she forced the bag into his chest. His voice trembled in a way it hadn’t since he was a boy, since she used to bathe him with that damn toy boat, wash his hair with dish soap, “Social Services know about Mikey and the pills- they want to take Billie away-”

She stopped at that, the two of them looking at each other for the first time since she’d shown up. His eyes were watery, where hers were empty. His sister had always been strong, Matt didn’t think he’d ever seen her cry in all the years of shit she’d trodden through for them. She had always looked exhausted, as if her brain was fired up every moment of the day, as if she could go for a three day nap and it wouldn’t so much as touch her.

But this was worse. She wasn’t tired. Wasn’t thinking hard. His sister didn’t even look alive.

Whoever it was staring back at him was not the girl he remembered. Someone could tell him a wraith had crawled into his sister’s skin and dragged her back here with the sole mission of getting him to take the damn bag, and he’d believe them.

She looked dead. She felt it too.

“Is that-” He stopped himself, a bitter hand reaching up for a mark on her face that glinted under the moonlight, “Blood?”

She froze, and for a moment neither of them said anything.

Her breath rattled in her chest, the stickiness of Frank’s blood clinging her clothes to her skin, and he realised once he’d actually taken the sight of her in, that she smelled metallic, that she had a thousand mile stare that had not been there the day she’d left them.

“Everything I’ve done, I did it for you.” She said after a moment’s reprieve and the anger brewing in his frown wiped immediately, the words soothing his fury into a simmering guilt.

He tried to say her name again, only to have her cut him off, shoving the back into his arms with finality, her eyes blank, leaving no space for questions, for retaliation.

“Get Mikey a lawyer. Get him to rehab. Read the letters, or not, I don’t care,” But she did. She cared more than anything. Cared so much she needed to run, now, cared so much she knew every moment she spent talking was more time for him to be incriminated in what she’d done. “I have to go, it’s not safe,”

He wanted to hug her; he’d never been the affectionate one, she usually saved her cuddles for the younger ones. He wished he’d hugged her now. Wished he’d dragged her back inside, gotten her warm in front of their fire, forced the truth out of her. Anything to tell him what that look on her face had meant. Anything to make her stop seeming so dead it scared him like a child.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t, not even as she all but sped away in a car he’d never seen before, a limp he’d not noticed through his anger fogged brain as he’d stormed down their front path.

He barely caught Sammy, filling their entire doorway with his form that had only grown tenfold, if that had even been possible, since his sister left, looking like a kicked dog behind angry eyes that glinted with rare tears.

“Come on, Sam,” Matty said, brushing past his little brother, though he towered over him for a nineteen year old, heading inside their small house that had felt colder since she’d abandoned them, “We’ll sort it out in the morning,”

But Sam didn’t. He watched the broken tail lights of the car speed off into the distance, until they were no more than a sound rattling around the silent neighbourhood. Only then did he let himself begin to cry, hoping she came back for them soon.

–

“It’s a maze,” Layla said, as the three of them traipsed through the tunnels that certainly looked like they had seen better days. Dove startled a bit at the bugs that skittered up the walls as the light hit them, no doubt a little frightened themselves at the rude intrusion from the trio, though she stuck behind Layla. She’d fought demon jackals, men with guns, lived a double life but bugs were what scared her.

“It’s a-maze-ing,” Steven replied, snickering to himself, which had her giggling too, shaking her head at the man behind her.

“She means there are six paths, Steven,” D ove clarified, and he hoped the light covered the way his cheeks rouged.

“Right, yeah, yeah,” He replied, sticking his head down one of the thin alley ways to scope out the labyrinth they’d found themselves in, “Six points,”

Dove hung back as Layla went towards another one of the pathways, eyes clocking a stone surface planted directly in the middle of the antechamber, the sand laying thick over the top, yet uneven as if the stone wasn’t entirely flat.

Her brows furrowed, and she traced her finger deeper in the dust, carving out where the ridges grooved into the table. She made an almond shape, an arching line parallelling it, before she realised what the marking was, her brows shooting into her forehead.

She saw a torch flick over where she worked, felt Steven’s body press against her side as if he’d forgotten what personal space was exactly.

“You don’t think…” He started, watching how her soft fingertip swirled around into a spiral the two of them had seen a million times walking past the exhibits on the way to the gift shop, “This whole structure is-”

“The Eye of Horus,” She finished, curving around to create the iris. As if proving her point, Steven’s light reflected off the the shiny stone of the table, producing the identical symbol on the ceiling of the room, which had her nudging his hand, pointing to the light, “Look at that,”

“Wow,” He hummed, his eyes flicking between the eye and the wonder on her face as she smiled wryly at the stone, “It’s the royal symbol, protection in the afterlife.”

“I mean the resources needed to build this-” Layla added, looking between all of the corridors that had certainly not been crafted in a day’s work, nor had it been done cheaply, judging by the quality of stone that surrounded them. She stopped, her eyes wild with excitement as she looked at the two of them, “Her final avatar was a pharaoh,”

A breath whooshed from Dove’s lungs, jaw gaping, feeling Steven practically buzzing in his shoes beside her.

“A bloody pharoah,” He repeated, the joy coating his words like a kid on Christmas. He and Layla chuckled between one another, before their gaze fell on Dove, who stared at the drawing in the sand as if it would outright speak to her.

“So you think it’s a map?” Layla asked, her fawn eyes dropping to the girl who bit her lip unsure.

She nodded, gaze scanning over the drawing again, as Steven’s rough finger followed where her own hand had traced just moments before.

“Right. So the eye of Horus is also the Eye of mind, yeah?” He asked, his face now more serious than she’d ever seen him, as he thought harder, “Representing the six senses, six points.” He gestured to each of the corridors that lead away from the chamber they huddled in, “So you’ve got the eyebrow that denotes thoughts. Pupil, sight obviously.” He followed each of his words with his calloused fingers, the same ones that had been down her trousers not so much as a few hours ago. She felt her stomach writhe at the thought, “This point here is, uh, hearing. Smell. Touch. And this long line ending in a spiral is the tongue,”

She felt her eyes train on his lips as he said it, his gaze falling to her face where she stood besides him, watching every movement on his lips as if she could barely hold herself back from meeting their mouths then and there.

“The avatar would be Ammit’s voice,” Layla murmured, entirely unaware of the heated thoughts racing through the girl’s mind as she stared at the man, his own expression indiscernible, meeting her eyes with his own chestnut hues, “We should head this way,”

Layla took off towards the route the tongue pointed them to, the two of them hanging behind for a moment, unable to rip their eyes from one another.

“What’s that look for?” Steven asked, chuckling nervously as he tried and failed to pull his gaze away from her where she licked her lips slowly. Leaning towards him, her fingers found the front of his jacket as she pulled him closer, kissing him gently, though there was a subtle bite to it that went straight to his trousers as he melted.

Pulling away, she looked at him with a spritely kind of excitement, as if she loved every moment of looking at him like that.

“Did I ever tell you how amazing I think you are?” She asked, her face warm with adoration, and the words had his cheeks blazing instantly.

“You mentioned it once or twice,” He joked, both of them knowing full well the girl was known to give him every compliment she could even before they had been brave enough to admit how they felt for one another.

She snickered, pulling away from him to follow where Layla had wandered off too, looping a pinky finger in his own to encourage him to follow. Had she not, he was sure he’d be rooted to the floor, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down, or even for his cock to calm enough that he could move without feeling it press against his trousers.

He cursed himself moments later, when his brain caught up to him, that he hadn’t told her just how amazing he thought she was.

Yet Steven felt his jeans tighten again when he thought of one other way he could show her just what he felt.

The heavy panting was the only sign either of them were even there as they walked through the narrow corridor, the smallest slither of light meeting them at the end, not unlike when they had trudged into the Great pyramid. That had seemed weeks ago, when in reality it had only been six days, how her life had been flipped upside down all the more since then.

Her head rattled on her shoulders, thoughts flitting over Layla and her whereabouts as they stepped through the hallway, dust thickening in their lungs with every pant. Her ears were alert to the smallest of movements, her heart pounding in her chest, the image of that thing, the resurrected Heka Priest, replaying in her head, the screech of its rotted vocal chords keeping her arm hairs standing in goose flesh.

“She’ll be alright, won’t she?” Dove asked solemnly, her brow creased so tight she reminded herself of Sammy, knowing they had always looked the most similar out of all of her brothers. She knew, by the way Steven blanched at the sight of her worry, that she looked as guilty as she felt, “I shouldn’t have left her-”

“We didn’t have much choice, sweetheart,” He sighed, grabbing her hand tightly in his own, stopping in the middle of the darkened chamber to look at her properly. She tugged her lip between her teeth as she averted his gaze, the disappointment in herself shadowing over her chest, “We did everything we could- it’s Layla, she’s done this a thousand times with Marc. She’ll know what to do,”

Though he was more convincing himself than anything. He wasn’t so sure from the way Marc scoffed inside the headspace that she had in fact not run from undead creatures that threatened to rip her limb from limb a thousand times. Not even once. This was new territory for all of them.

She didn’t seem convinced as she nodded, her lips quirking as if she was about to say something, only for him to kiss her forehead before she could.

“I don’t think I’d be able to forgive myself if something happened to her,” She confessed, after he drew back, watching her thoughts swimming behind sad eyes, as if he could see the way she bit her tongue to stop herself from calling herself the worst names imaginable.

He stroked her cheek gently, tilting her chin to meet his gaze, his chocolate gaze warmer than summer and he smiled at her sadly.

“None of this is your fault,” He said, though she said nothing, chewing her cheek silently, “The faster we get the ushabti, and the faster we can go find Layla. Deal?”

She nodded again, and he squeezed her hand, pulling her towards the end of the corridor with a small smile.

Steven Grant was not a brave man, not by any means. But for her, he would be. He thought the same as she had, worried for the El-Faouley woman more and more with every step they took towards the tomb, his own body on high alert for an incoming attack from one of those creatures.

The end of the hallway drew near, the path widening out to accommodate an entrance, water trickling between the tiles in a silent stream, and he held her hand tighter as they navigated over the stepping stones, her boots slippy over the moss that clung to the rocks.

It wasn’t until he reached the end, where the corridor opened out, that he let go of her hand in favour of flicking his torch on. His entire body froze at the sight, satiated in awe of the tomb before him.

She hopped the final stepping stone, hands grabbing onto the wall and his shoulder for support before she followed his gaze to the room, and her jaw dropped too.

“First ones in, tomb fit for a pharaoh,” Steven hummed, stepping further into the antechamber, and he wasn’t wrong by any means. The walls were all but covered in bright paints that had yet to wash away, the tales of heroic battles and armies surrounding them like one huge mural. Solid gold plates, figurines, vases scattered neatly around the room, each one shiny and polished as if the death bed had never been touched since the day it had been sealed. Four bronze horse statues the size of her watched them enter, carefully avoiding the water that surrounded the sarcophagus in a deep pool, stepping between cracked slabs towards the coffin.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding as she saw the sheer amount of engravings on the sarcophagus, each one proving the power the dead king had held over his people when he’d died. It was more than she’d seen even on one, more than she would ever see.

This was a wealthy, wealthy pharaoh, she realised, her brows flicking into her hairline

“Thutmose II?” Steven guessed, leading the way to the coffin, the excitement blaringly clear in his voice. He couldn’t so much as catch his breath behind his smile, “Nefertiti. It’s gotta be one of the bigg’uns, Dove,” He said, flicking a grin over his shoulder as her eyes scaled every inch of the tomb. Her jaw hung open, ignoring the dusty task of musk in her mouth, the stagnant smell of water, her eyes pure wonder of what she was seeing.

This was the stuff of movies, of adventures she read to Joey and Mikey before bed, never did she think she would be part of it, let alone with Steven Grant, a man so quiet he apologised to pigeons, who jumped at his own shadow, who missed his bus every single morning.

“Must be, I’ve never seen so many offerings,” She replied, willing her feet to hold steady as they stepped between the stones and water carefully. “The engravings, there nothing like I’ve studied before,”

“Oh wow, look at that,” Steven gawped, taking the final step onto the centrepiece, heading towards the sarcophagus with ravenous eyes, “Look at all these relics,”

She was hot on his heels, quick to hop over, and expand her search with an eagle eye as she closed in on the sarcophagus.

“Hold on, Macedonian?” Dove stopped in her tracks, clicking her torch on and nearing the engravings with wide eyes, “It can’t be right-”

“That’s Macedonian,” Steven echoed, kneeling next to her with wary fingertips. He brushed over the markings, a gobsmacked laugh coming from his chest, “Well-b-but the only pharaoh-”

She grabbed his arm with a clawing strength, head drinking in the facts before her, gently hands following the engravings as if she needed to touch it herself to believe what she knew to be true, “H-He insisted on calling himself Egyptian,” She swallowed, standing on shaky knees to behold the rest of the coffin, her heart hammering. The two of them approached either side of the king’s burial place. “Steven, I think we found the long lost tomb of Alexander the Great,”

Taking a moment, if not to catch a nervous breath, their eyes met across the top of the sarcophagus, an identical expression of astonishment on their faces.

She couldn’t help it then; she started laughing. Nervous and yet amazed, she was lost entirely for words.

“We have to open it, Steven,” She said, her chuckles dying out, a hand flying to her forehead when she realised what a desecration they were about to cause, “The ushabti has to be inside, we have to open it up, oh goodness-”

“Everything inside me is screaming not to touch this thing,” Steven agreed, shaking his nerves out through his hands while watching her also fret over the slight grave robbing they were about to commit.

“You want Harrow to get to Ammit first?” Marc snapped from the glint in the cursive gold writing across the sarcophagus’ chest. He seemed to have roused from his silent protest and come back swinging, Steven thought with a bitter huff, his hands coming up to the side of the opening.

“Alright, alright, alright,” He replied, a nervous grip settling on the cold sandstone. His eyes flicked to her again for reassurance, though she herself looked to be coming to a sobering understanding they needed to disgrace the burial sight to get what they wanted. She nodded, her hand drifting to clutch over her mouth in shock, like she needed to stop herself from protesting his actions, and with that he pushed.

The smell of death invaded her nose, choking her for a moment as the stone slid to reveal the mummified corpse of the man historians had been babbling about for decades.

This had once been a conqueror, a king, a pharaoh everyone whispered about, a man who’s name was spoken a thousand times a day on the guided tours in the museum.

And they had found him.

A plated scarab sat across his chest, one she assumed was a sister to the one they had used to find him, the one Harrow took, below it; a huge, solid battle axe with engravings the entire length of its sharp edge. An offering to a man so revered for his wars.

A shiver trickling down her spine, she looked up at Steven through wide eyes, the two of them entirely stumped for words at what they were discovering, the thousands of years they had just peeled back with one fell swoop.

“Oh man,” Steven shook his head, barely ripping his eyes away from the mummy for a moment as she moved to stand at the head of the sarcophagus.

“Where’s the ushabti?” Marc spoke again, this time from the fresh golden sheen on the axe, seeing no other offerings or trinkets inside the coffin besides the weapon.

“Well, if you’re going to hide it for all eternity, you’d probably put it in a place where the average looter wouldn’t think to look,” Steven replied, his heart a hummingbird behind his chest, almost, almost as excited as he had been when he’d been kissing her against that post.

Almost, but not quite.

She stayed silent, attuning her ears into keeping watch for Harrow’s men approaching, or hopefully even figuring out where Layla was, while Steven’s brain whirred, conferring with Marc.

She hoped he wasn’t mad at her for Steven pushing him out of the headspace, for throwing that mirror into the sand the moment he’d gotten his lips on hers. She hoped he would understand. Marc always understood.

Steven’s face smoothed out in realisation, whether he had come to it on his own or Marc had helped she wasn’t sure, but she grabbed his wrist gently nonetheless.

“What is it?” She murmured, his eyes trained on the tightly wrapped linen, an almost horrified look on his face.

“Alexander was the voice of Ammit…” He trailed off, his hand coming to rest on the corpse’s jaw, “All right, I’m gonna try something, I’m gonna do something here.”

His fingers found the lip of the cloth where the head met the body, weaving their way under and tugging them away carefully.

Dove released a shaky breath, her hand returning in shock over her mouth, knowing that this was technically known as grave desecration, let alone ruining thousands of years of history.

“Steven, oh my god-” She gagged as the smell hit her, the man beside her writhing in sickness as his fingers touched the mummified skin beneath.

“Oh god- so sorry- sorry, Mr Great,” He choked on his words, the disgust running over his skin when he touched something cold and wrinkled.

He tore the bandages with more force, the linen coming away easily, but they both shuddered hearing something crack under the weight of his hand, something she could only imagine was a bone.

Steven pulled the cloth away to reveal a perfectly mummified face, and the sight wasn’t so uncommon as she’d thought since they had two preserved in the museum. But seeing it so up close, without the temperature controlled glass, it made her want to vomit and stare in awe all at the same time.

Steven took an unsure breath, before he went even further, his fingers resting on the lower mandible, pulling back whatever remained of the lips to slip between his teeth, his other hand holding his cranium still.

She forced herself not to wince as he started tugging the mouth open; the look on his face was torture for him enough.

“All right, open up. Oh, sorry, Mr Great,” He bit out, bile rising in his own throat at the sensations beneath his hand, the jaw cracking and ripping down with a nauseating crunch. His hand reached down the gullet, and she had to turn away then when he started rooting around the throat, resisting the retch that fought her own mouth, “Oh, sorry, oh god, I couldn’t be more sorry,”

It wasn’t until she heard a squelch they both heaved, Steven’s own noises of disgust filling the tomb as his entire upper arm wormed its way into the chest cavity, and she thought he might just be the bravest man she’d ever known.

His arm twisted for a moment, before he started pulling it out, not without some resistance from the collar bones, only for it to come away with one final tug, and in his hand producing a small ceramic figure of an alligator headed woman, and two audible gasps filled the silence.

“Steven-” She started, turning to him with something warm and gooey and close to pride in her eyes, “Steven, you did it!”

She threw herself at him in a hug, ignoring every morsel of her that cringed when she imagined where his hand had been, feeling him squeeze her to him just as tightly.

“We did it, we did- I could never have done any of this without you,” He replied, nosing her hair for a moment before he pulled her away to look at her face, beaming with glee. It didn’t matter then, that he had been chased by that creature, or that he’d been shot at, or that he’d been digging around a dead man’s throat. It didn’t matter then that his life had been turned upside down, or that he was actually one man split into another, or that he’d lost his job. He didn’t care. Because seeing how she looked at him, as if she’d just watched him solve string theory or win a nobel prize, healed every wound he’d ever had.

He only needed her; only ever wanted her.

“I really do love you,” She said, and he wondered it she’d heard his thoughts, fought the urge to kiss her then and there.

Her head snapped to where they had entered the tomb, something wary in her gaze until he saw Layla appear in the doorway, looking entirely scraped up, as if she’d just been dragged through the caverns backwards.

“Layla!” Dove called, bounding over the stepping stones, “Layla, are you alright- we got the ushabti-”

“Layla, look! We won!” Behind her Steven held up the figurine, the pair of them with billion dollar smiles on their faces, watching the woman approach on shaky legs, “And the ushabti goes to; us. I had to go digging down old Alexander the Great’s gullet, but we found it,”

Dove giggled at his teasing, shaking her head, and fighting the urge to yank Layla into a hug of her own. They had done it, they’d won. Now they could get out of here and away from Harrow, she could go home, go home with Steven-

She was quick to notice the stare Layla pinned on the man behind her, something visceral and in pain beneath her skin, something raw, a wound ripped open. She knew it well, knew it like an old friend. Layla was the pure image of betrayal.

She stalked forward silently, not paying the younger woman a scrap of attention as she approached, stepping over the cobbles with not a single hesitant foot. Her eyes gleaned with unshed tears, something rageful keeping them bay.

Dove stopped still, her eyes trained on the woman, her smile dissolving into confusion.

“Layla, are you alright-”

“Can he hear me?” Layla cut her off, not giving a shit for her soft lilted voice or her concern. She only cared about Marc, Harrow’s words rattling in her head like a foghorn calling every shred of anger she’d ever felt for her ex-husband to arms.

“Alexander? No, I don’t think so, god I hope not,” Steven snickered, and Dove winced. Layla’s eyes darkened, her honey tones near black in the lowlit antechamber, and the younger woman knew whatever had happened in the moments passed since they’d parted, Layla was now out for blood.

“What happened to my father?” The El-Faouley woman spat, her hands shaking with anger, and Dove could do nothing but wait for Steven to understand that she wasn’t kidding around.

She dared a glance at the man who stood there like a lost child, whatever celebration and relief they had felt swept away in a matter of moments. Seconds.

She knew from the silence that lingered Layla already suspected something.

“I’m talking to you,” Layla seethed, stepping towards the man without a bat of an eyelid at the woman who watched whatever progress they’d made swirl down the drain like yesterday’s newspaper.

“What?” Steven murmured, a frown on his face as Layla’s hands came up to shove him in the chest hard.

“I’m talking to you, Marc,”

He barely stumbled, barely blinked, but she saw it. Saw the way the innocence melted away, and his frown became cold and distant. She saw the moment Marc took the body, and her heart dropped at the flash of guilt that glinted in the crook of his eyes as he saw his ex-wife’s expression in the flesh.

“Come on, let’s go, let’s go-” He tried to pull her away, but Dove knew it was his own brand of avoiding the subject. She’d never hold it against him, who was she to judge someone for running from responsibility, but she knew. And so did Layla.

“No,” The woman dug her heels in as he tried pulling her to the exit, her empty fist weakly beating on his wrist while he yanked on her coat.

“We have to go right now,”

“No, Marc, no,” She fought, the venom in her tone only growing. He tugged her harder, the two of them all but grappling with one another for control.

“We have to go, right now,” He repeated, eyes flicking to where Dove stood still, her hands playing with one another nervously, “Come on, we gotta get out of here-”

Layla forced his head back to her, away from where the younger woman moved between each foot, watching it play out like a tragedy.

“What happened to my father?” She said again, louder this time, and it was clear no amount of deflection would stop her from getting an answer.

“Listen to me,” Marc said with a seriousness Dove had never heard, real life panic in his tone that had her shifting to check the doorway for signs of Harrow’s men following closely behind, “We need to leave right now, I will explain everything, I swear. But we have to go,”

“Did you kill Abdullah El Faouley?” Layla’s voice cracked, because the answer would break her if it were true, if it was what she feared.

“Of course not. Of course I didn’t,” And it was the first honest thing Marc had said to her in years. The pain in his eyes at the accusation said it all.

Layla sighed in short lived relief, running a hand over her face.

“But you were there,” She said quietly, and the four words cleaved Marc’s resolve right down the middle, his brow furrowing in agony, “You were there, right?”

“I was- I was there,” He confessed, Dove’s stomach turning over in anguish. She wanted to hug both of them to her in entirely different ways. Wanted to grab Layla, stroke her hair the way Grace used to when she was upset, hold her to her chest and tell her how sorry she was that her father was taken from her so cruelly. She wanted to pull Marc in, slot him right over her heart and tell him he wasn’t bad, not even now, not ever, that he was good, pure, golden goodness, just as good as Steven. That he wasn’t guilty, he was just unlucky.

“My partner got greedy, he executed everyone at the digsite. Shot me too, I was supposed to die that night,” Marc spilled out, his expression bleak, distraught.

She knew better than to interrupt, than to get in between the two of them when they fought like this. That is, until her ears pricked up with her inhumane senses, the sound of guns cocking and creeping footsteps dragging through the sand stones they had just come from, whispers between comrades that they were getting close to what they had been searching for.

“Someone’s here,” She said, before she could think better of speaking. Their heads turned to her, as if they’d forgotten she was there, Marc’s face a picture of a tortured soul. She angled her head to distinguish what the men were saying, try give her some pointers how long they had, “Harrow is getting close, I can hear his watch-”

“Who’s Grace?” Layla asked, her tone guarded, as if she’d begged the question the entire time she’d known the girl, “Marc’s not the only one who’s been keeping secrets,”

But Dove was frozen. Entirely frozen. Not so much of a breath in her chest, not even a blink.

Because hearing that name again, her name, hearing Layla take everything close to her and toss it around as a conversation piece shattered her into a million small pieces, floating down neatly into the water right then and there.

He saw it.

When her eyes glazed over, as if hearing the name pressed play on a movie she’d not seen in years, and she no longer stood there, with them, but she was transported somewhere else entirely. It was the same as when she’d been in the car, staring out that window, he wanted to yell out to her, grab her delicate face and scream Where do you go? Come back to me, take my hand and come back to me. Where are you where I can’t follow.

Because she wasn’t there, inside her own body. And she feared she would never be again.

She was back in that room, in that window sill, replaying every single night she’d spent in Grace’s room. Who’s Grace? She was opening that door, the one Frank told her not to go in, she was staring at the body, the unmoving one, the cold corpse, frozen in pain, what was once her entire world ripping away from her soul, pulling her apart right down the middle, the empty bottle staring right back at her from the bedside table as if to say ‘I won, I won.’ Who’s Grace? She wasn’t there, wasn’t in the tomb at all, she was rotting in her bed, lying still and waiting for death to take her too, because it seemed impossible that the person who had been made as her mirror image in every way but looks could be culled but not her.

How could she explain who Grace was? How do you even begin to explain to a person what every cell of your body is?

“Harrow said you let her die,” Layla said, and she knew she’d hit a home run with whatever that look on Dove’s face meant, knew that everything he’d said had been true, “He said you could have saved her and you didn’t-”

“Don’t,” It was a snarl, something unearthly and rotten, but the grief in the single word was clear as a bell, “Stop it, Layla,”

She hadn’t ever spoken to her like that, had snapped and rolled her eyes, but never had such a clear threat to her words.

The woman blinked in response, the hairs on her arms standing on end at the voice that was entirely not Dove’s coming from her throat. It was monstrous, and part of her wondered if it was Seth who had in fact taken her body, only to see the eyes she knew well staring back at her with the image of a deer at the barrel of a gun.

Vulnerable. Ready for slaughter. Ready to be laid bare on the butcher's block.

Layla thought twice before she opened her mouth again, second guessing pushing for more answers, but something in the way the girl looked told her there was a truth to it.

“And Frank?” Layla asked, watching Dove’s hands shake. With anger, Layla guessed, anger that her little secrets were being poured out on the cobbles for her precious Steven to see.

Layla was not a cruel woman, not by any means. But she despised liars. And Dove was one of them.

“You and Harrow seem to be best pals, Layla, why don’t you ask him who Frank was,” Dove hissed, and it was like Marc was looking at someone else entirely, like he was watching a mutt backed into a corner snapping at everyone who approached, like watching game gnaw at its own leg to be free of a trap, “He got what he deserved,”

And Marc didn't doubt it. Not even when he reeled back in shock at her tone of voice, not expecting it from his peaceful dove, but then again Layla had ripped all sorts of wounds open in the interest of her own search for answers.

Marc opened his mouth to reinforce their need haste, only to hear for himself the footsteps draw nearer, and the three of them swivelled to look at the direction they came from.

“They’re here,” He said with a pit opening in his stomach, right around where his heart had fallen, springing into action as Layla paced across the stones, searching for a hiding spot.

“There must be another way out,” Dove said, though she felt her brain wrestling with images of that day, that last day, the feel of the mirror beneath her fingers, the scars that to this day marred her palm from the glass as she’d driven it into his chest.

“You find it, I’ll hold them off,” Marc ordered her, backing on himself to grab the battleaxe from inside the sarcophagus. Layla followed orders without protest, heading for the small alleyway she had come from, knowing she couldn’t go back that way with those creatures lurking behind the walls.

Crouching behind a pillar, she watched them with doubtful eyes. She knew they could find her in a matter of seconds. She was beyond angry at both of them for their deceit, yet she watched Dove summon the claws of her suit around her hands, ten blades sprouting over her natural nails in a small motion.

“Get out of here-” Marc waved her off, trying to nudge her body towards where Layla crouched, only for her to gently brush his hands away, careful not to scratch him with her talons.

“Marc, I’m not letting you do this alone- you don’t have a suit-” She argued back, hating the way he was still ready to go down swinging for her, hating the way he’d brushed off what Layla had said because it was Layla and Layla had every reason to throw her under any bus coming.

Her heart plummeted even more, dragging her shame down with it, and she understood then what it was.

He didn’t believe she’d done anything. He didn’t believe something was wrong, something was wrong with her. Didn’t believe she had lied, and kept things from him, didn’t entertain the idea for a single second that she was not the Dove he thought she was.

She knew if he would ask, she wouldn’t have the heart to lie to him to his face, knew she couldn’t keep betraying the undying loyalty he had to her. Knew he would take Steven away.

But she also knew he wouldn’t ask in the first place. Because to Marc, she was innocent of everything everyone accused her of, no matter how true.

She felt even worse than before, if that had even been possible.

She could only steel her face over as Harrow entered the room behind her, the infuriating tap tap tap of his staff against the floor giving him away.

And in a split moment, twenty armed men followed him, crawling out from the corners of the room, their rifles loaded, torches trained on the two of them, the red aimpoints hovering over their chests. She tried to account for every single one of the guns and their wielders, but she couldn’t. There was just too many.

The only way they were getting out of here alive is if he ran, if he ducked out with Layla and left her here to fight alone. But she knew he would never. Not unless she were to throw her body over his, take every single round of ammunition in her suit, keep him protected until they had run dry, but even then she knew he would fight against having her in front of him.

She couldn’t just stand by, couldn’t just let him go, no matter how much she dreaded what was coming next, how much he would hate her once she told him. But maybe he could understand, maybe he would. He had killed people before, she knew he had, he never hid from that. Killed those who deserved it. He hadn’t cared, hadn’t treated her differently when Hellhound had slaughtered those men. She wished she was back in that bathtub, back in their hotel room, the room full of lavender and vanilla, wished his hands were back in her hair telling her she was going to be okay.

She wished. Because that was all she had left.

“Just you two?” Harrow asked, his voice a wisp of smoke in the dark tomb that seemed to be closing in on them as the men steadied their aim, fingers resting on the triggers, “The rest is silence. I remember the first morning, I woke up knowing Khonshu was gone. The quiet was liberating,”

Harrow pocketed the scarab that nestled in his palm, stepping carefully towards them, his damn stick tapping at the floor like death had come knocking.

“And you, little dove,” Harrow turned to her, her eyes a cold glare, twitching with every knock of the wooden cane against the floor, “The truth can be just as liberating as being rid of the voice that controls you. But maybe, you already know that.”

She couldn’t disagree more. There was nothing liberating about what she’d done to Frank. She was a woman haunted, forever tainted by that day. She was ruined, she couldn’t believe she’d ever thought she could be fixed.

“Why don’t you tell him the truth?” Harrow goaded, her insides shrivelling as she saw Marc’s chocolate hues flick to her for a moment, “Ask her, Marc.”

“Marc, I can explain-” She said, eyes locking onto where he clenched a tight fist around his weapon, Harrow's words cutting her off.

“You’re a free man. And ofcourse with that freedom comes choice.” Harrow continued, “You can choose to pretend not to see the guilt writhing under her skin like a serpent. Or, you can choose to keep dear Steven safe,”

“Safe from what?” Marc snapped, his hackles raised at Harrow’s words, as if there was ever a moment of doubt he would choose anything over Steven’s wellbeing, or perhaps it was the way he questioned her that did it.

“Safe from the woman who slaughtered her own boyfriend, maybe?”

Harrow’s tone was soft, gentle, like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb upon the room, a tidal wave of cold overcoming the space between them.

“What?” Marc scoffed, almost a genuine laugh emerging at the levels Harrow was willing to stoop to in order to get the ushabti, including making up ludicrous tales, “What kind of shit is that, you can’t honestly think I’d believe that-”

He looked back to her, expecting confusion, aghast, anything except the deep pools of guilt encompassing her entire being as she stared at him.

He went cold.

No. No, please, no.

He said nothing, did nothing, not even when she tugged a lip between her teeth to keep it from wobbling.

“Please,” She whimpered, stepping towards him with empty hands, “Please, I can explain,”

Only he stepped back, and with it ripped whatever remained of her soul away from.

His eyes no longer were warm nests of mousy brown, his expression no longer soft as he took her in, his jaw tight and feathered with hesitation.

“I can explain, please listen to me,” She begged, she wasn’t above sinking to her knees and pleading against his knee in tears, “I was going to tell you, I tried-”

“You lied to me?” Marc bit, his face empty of whatever it was that he’d regarded her with before. The hands in her hair as she bathed were a million miles away, the kindness that had shone upon her like a warm summer now pelted her like hail in a storm.

“It wasn’t like the others, I had to-” She said, her hands shaking as she dared another step towards him, only for him to take another step back, “I thought you would understand,”

“I killed people because it was service to Khonshu, or-or because people's lives hung in the balance, not because I chose to,” He snapped, drawing his hand away from her like she’d burned him with her very being, “You killed your own boyfriend? You told me you stole- you lied to me,”

“No.” Steven’s voice was a whine, a bleat of agony inside the headspace, a man who was watching the only thing he’d ever had for himself slip away, “No, she wouldn’t Marc, she-”

“Please, just listen,” Her eyes had welled now, “Please, I- Marc, watch out!” She jumped at him, not missing the way his knuckles had quivered on the axe at her sudden movement, only for her to shove past him and descend onto a figure that had been moments away from grabbing the Ushabti.

It was like a switch had flickered then, and the rest of the room was invited into their conversation.

Marc slashed at one of the men who dived for her, snapping his forearm clean in two, the rifle falling from his grasp, and she clawed at the guards wrist, ripping through tendons and flesh like it were fabric.

He heard another of the men squeal as she slashed his face, he cut down another of Harrow’s men with a swift blow to the arm, ichor spurting over his hand at the contact.

He barely even blinked an eye as he threw the battle axe at the next one in his path, though he hadn’t even felt the handle leave his palm as it hit its mark and another one of the men went down.

He knew it made him somewhat of a hypocrite. But it wasn't just the blatant lie that had caused his walls to clamp down around him. That man, whoever he was, had been her boyfriend. And Steven... If he hadn't known something so telling about her, how could he be sure she wouldn't flip and do the same to Steven.

She wouldn't. He wanted to say he knew she wouldn't lay a hand on the man clawing at his brain in torment, but Marc felt he didn't know anything about her anymore.

She had killed someone. His dove, his innocent dove, that he had spent weeks feeling like filth for so much as touching, feeling as though he had ruined her, only to find out she was just as tainted as he was. She had lied to him. She had every chance, every moment he showed his soft underbelly, to tell him the truth, and she hadn’t. He was supposed to keep Steven safe, and he was dropping walls left right and centre for someone who could have had him lined up as her next target.

Dove’s head whirled around when she heard him grunt, fearing he had gotten a barrel to the face, or even a rogue fist. She took a sweeping glance at him from head to toe, the relief tangible in her bones, seeing he was rattled and angry, but not bleeding.

She needed to set this right. She was a liar, she knew that, she was a murderer, she knew that aswell. She didn’t deserve any of the kindness she’d been shown, she’d known she was on borrowed time the entirety of their friendship. She had known this was coming any day now.

It still hurt like a bitch to be confronted with the truth. And the truth was Marc glared at her like hated her. Marc wanted nothing to do with her, as liar, a con, an actress. A whore.

She had to fix this; if she even could. She had to try. For Steven.

Dove had gotten all of one step when Harrow pulled the pistol out of his jeans.

It was like a slow motion picture from there, like she was in the back seat trying to steer the wheel, sitting front row of the audience as the movie played out in front of her.

Harrow lifting the gun at Marc’s chest, pulling the trigger once, his aim true enough that a crimson hole bloomed through the man’s sweater in seconds, spraying out of the wound and onto his outfit.

She heard herself scream, heard his name coming from her in a deafening squeal, something weak and horrified in the tone. She heard the second bang of the bullet leaving its chamber, puncturing in the gut in a second deadly hit, Marc’s body stumbling back as the wound poured faster, harder, his eyes glazed into an entirely empty concoction.

She heard herself call him again, didn’t realise until it choked through a sob that she was crying, inconsolably actually. He swayed for a moment, before the weightlessness took over and he tipped backwards on his heel, and his cold gaze fell to hers for a split moment of reprieve of what she knew was coming.

She didn’t even realise until she had crouched over where he’d fallen into the water that she was sobbing, didn’t realise until the tears started falling on his face that she was crying over him, over every word she was supposed to say to him.

She didn’t realise until the heartbeat she adored so much, the one she’d planned to spend every morning pressed up against, had stopped beating, and Dove was swept up with a feeling she despised.

In all of two seconds, Dove was all alone again, and Marc and Steven were dead.

TAGLISTS.

KNIGHT IN SOHO TAGLIST

@shirukitsune @s-u-t @ahookedheroespureheart @willowseason @imonmykneessir @acceptedbyace @broadwaytraaaaash @mythicalmo @stevenknightmarc @avery88 @fandombrackets @thelostlovedone @raythecomputerart @nyctophile-moon-child @unknownduck0 @emily-roberts @cheshirecat484 @lockleywife @strangeobsessed d @thebestrouge @0bsessedwithfictionalcharacters @dumbhxeredrose @badbishsblog @jvexoxo @sxftie-mari i @mythical-goth @cillmeslowly @wildwallflower24 @ameliashideout @moonsua1 @latenightcravingz @blackqueengold @jesfreedark @uncle-eggy @onefinnedwonder-fm @homuraak3mi @animechick555@1800-get-alife @peachipeachy @hoemadegrace @raineisms

#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector imagine #moon knight x reader #moonknight imagine #moonknight x reader #steven grant fanfiction #marc spector smut

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atinylittlepain · 1 year ago

Text

Oh Baby - A Carmy Berzatto Story

dad!carmen berzatto x f!reader

carmy masterlist

a small family, a new family, trying to figure this thing out.

warnings | 18+ angst surrounding being new parents, work stress, but enough fluff to make up for it, i promise

a/n | this sweet little piece comes from a lovely request sent to me over DM, thank you so much for sending this my way, i hope i've done it justice. Also have to thank the cousins @tieronecrush and @northernbluess for reading this bad boy and letting me scream about the bear, love ya both

........................

He’s running late. It started with a question from Sydney about one of the new menu items, and then it was Sugar needing to show him a quote for some inspection they still need to get done. And then there was something with one of the new chefs, though he can’t really remember what it was right now as his brain fries with how late he is.

He told her he’d be home by midnight at the latest, finish dinner service and get his ass home immediately. He had even made a joke about getting home just in time to give their girl her seemingly routine middle of the night bottle. But it’s now two in the morning and he’s only just getting on the L to get back to their apartment.

It’s not like he has a hard time with the late nights. In fact, he always thrived on this chaotic rhythm. But he knows it’s not doing her or their girl any good. Getting home and crashing in bed, useless until ten in the morning, no help with breakfast or getting their girl dressed and ready for the day, shuffling into the living room to find her already working at her desk, her foot keeping a steady rock to the bassinet right next to it. A few days ago, the fleeting thought that she looked like a single mother, and then an immediate clench and clash of pain sliding through his chest. It’s the same feeling he has right now on the train, building and beating until he has to put his palm right over the hurt, like he might be able to press it out with the heel of his hand.

He could slow down, everyone at the restaurant has offered that up to him. Shorter shifts, only there when he’s really needed, whole days off. So he doesn’t know why he can’t just accept that, why he’s still holding onto the restaurant with white knuckles. And right now, he’s too tired to give it much thought beyond how badly he wants things to be different. No more disappointed sighs, no more ships in the night, no more making promises only to break them.

He’s only a little surprised when he walks into their apartment that the light in the kitchen is on, her light murmurings filtering through, enough to make that hurt even worse. He finds them standing in front of the microwave, waiting for a bottle to be warmed up, and for a moment, what a sight it is. She’s wearing an old The Beef t-shirt, legs bare and set in a slow shuffle side-to-side, her cheek pressed over the top of their girl’s head where she’s held in her arms, eyes dropped shut. A small smile that slides away when her eyes crack open to see him standing in the doorway.

“You’re home.” It’s barely rasped on a whisper, a small frown pulling down each word. He considers for a moment that he’d really like for the ground to swallow him up right about now.

“I’m sorry, baby, I–” His words crack when their girl starts to fuss, small coos and whimpers, tiny fists balled and pressing against her mom’s chest to arch her back away from her hold. And there it is, that sigh, that small collapse of her shoulders as she gets the bottle out of the microwave, no longer looking at him, brushing right past him to go sit down in the living room. He follows on her heels with all the timidity of a scolded dog.

“I can do it, if you wanna go lay back down. It’s– I’d like–”

“I can do it, Carmen.” Still not looking at him, her eyes focused on their girl, finger skating down the rounding of her cheek as she latches onto the bottle. He knows it’s one of the ways she tries to even the score with him, a petty thing to not let him partake in or watch this small wonder. When she was first born, and she was still breast-feeding, and he was still on a Sugar-mandated paternity leave, he’d hover endlessly. Just over her shoulder, watching the way their girl's hand splayed over her sternum like a perfect flower as she latched on, whispering in awe at her contented sighs and eager gulps. Always dropping a kiss to her temple, small words of love and gratitude, her chin tilting up, basking in them, warmth in the way she would look up at him.

But now, now she’s looking at him with all of the kindness of a prison inmate, eyes blank and jaw set as she cups the back of their girl’s head, smoothing out the mass of curls already growing, just like his. For a moment, only fleeting, anger starts to rise like bile up the back of his throat. Anger that he’s here now, wanting so badly to be here now, and she’s the one boxing him out. But that anger is gone in a blink because he can see the way her eyes are starting to swim, red-rimmed and heavy down her cheeks. And he can see the way her lip is starting to tremble too, even as she coos and hums to their girl when she starts to fuss with the bottle. He can’t be angry when she’s hurting like that, when he’s the one who has made her hurt like that.

He kneels down in front of where she’s sitting on the couch, a small relief that she doesn't flinch away when his palms come to rest on her knees. He can tell that she’s trying not to break, little sniffs to hold back the flood as their girl continues to suckle.

“I don’t want it to be like this.”

“Neither do I, Carm.” Said on a sigh, like, sure, nice words, not expecting anything to come of them though.

“Tell me what I can do to make this different.”

“I’m dumbfounded by the fact that you’re asking me to tell you what to do. Do you really not know?” Quick and clipped, still whispered so that it doesn’t disturb their girl as she finishes her bottle. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to arrange the right words to respond.

“You’re right.” The best that he can come up with at two in the morning, though at least it’s the truth. She just sighs though, shaking his hands off her knees so that she can stand up. And this hurts too, how easily she can do this by herself, or at least how easy she makes it look, transferring their girl to one arm as she pads back into the kitchen. A little more space between them as he follows behind her, watching how she holds the bottle against her hip to get the top screwed off, rocking and shushing their girl all the while as she soaps up the bottle.

“Baby, let me do that. I can, here, just let me–”

“Goddamnit, Carm.” Still whispered, but still sharp, enough for their girl to let out a whine at her sudden exclamation, though she’s quick to soothe and calm against her shoulder.

“Do you want to know why I don’t let you help? It’s because I’m trying to get used to doing this on my own.”

“What?” It feels like the floor has dropped out from under him, a skittering, sickening feeling running up and down his spine. He wants more than anything to reach for her, for both of them, to thumb away the tears that are starting to fall even as she tries to steel her jaw. All he can do to ball his hands into fists over and over.

“You’re not here, Carmen. And when you are, it’s like– it’s like I’m living with a stranger. You told me before we had her that you would be here, that things at the restaurant were going to change. And I’m getting tired of waiting for that to happen.”

“What are you saying right now?” She scrunches her eyes shut for a moment, pure frustration, and complete exhaustion, all the while still rocking their girl.

“I’m saying that if this is how it’s going to be, I don’t know if I can keep doing this with you. My sister–”

“No.”

“Carm–”

“No. That isn’t– that’s not– you can’t just take her from me like that. We– we said we would do this together.”

“We already aren’t doing this together, Carm. And I’m just– I’m tired.” There isn’t any more to say, not now. She doesn’t look at him again, brushing past him through the doorway of the kitchen to get to the nursery down the hall. He doesn’t try to follow, numbly shuffling back to the couch, a full body slump, tilting his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose when the tears start to prickle. He listens to all the small sounds, stealing snippets of her humming, the quiet padding of her bare feet into their bedroom, the rustling of sheets. And then perfect silence, except for the broken exhales he keeps trying to stifle.

…

Sleep happens, somehow. Curled onto his side on the couch, but not for long, the watery blue glint of dawn slanting in through the blinds when he’s woken up to the sound of their girl’s quiet babblings. The nursery is closer to the living room, so he’s almost certain she hasn’t been woken up by the sound yet. But he also knows that those soft coos will soon turn into full-blown wails, so he gets up, biting back a groan as his spine shifts and crackles upright before stumbling into the nursery.

Everyone seems to call their girl something different. She calls her bean, or sometimes pearl, any iteration of small, precious things, usually with a my in front of the word. Richie calls her cub, or cubby, a fitting choice given her father’s nickname. Sugar calls her curl because of that head of hair she’s already grown into. Sydney calls her miso baby, though it all comes out as one word like misobaby, on account of the cravings for broth and noodles her mother incurred while she was pregnant with her, something that Sydney was always happy to accommodate whenever she stopped by the restaurant. Carmy’s is less creative, he thinks, the first word he remembers coming to mind when he first held her in his arms, somewhere between wonder and utterly sweet devastation at the sight.

“Hey, little, what’s going on in here?” It always shocks him, how light his whole world is when he picks her up in his arms, and how easily her cheek settles against his chest, his palm smoothing the small shake of her cries between the fragile wings of her shoulder blades. He remembers being terrified the first time he held her, that he’d somehow manage to ruin this most perfect thing. Laying in her hospital bed, watching, she reassured him that he wouldn’t, that he couldn’t, that perfect came from him just as much as it came from her.

“It’s breakfast time, isn’t it? We’re gonna let your mom sleep in, okay? I’ve got it.” He drops his lips to the crown of her head, taking a long breath in as he shuffles out to the kitchen. And he does have it under control, after all, he knows how to follow a recipe.

He keeps her close in one arm, only fumbling a little with the one-handed bottle into the microwave production, but he manages. And then onto the couch and honestly, he thinks it’s a little holy, it certainly feels that way. Watching her eyes slip shut in contentment as she drinks from the bottle, her tiny gasp and sigh when she’s all done. How could anything ever be as good as this? He doesn’t think it’s possible.

“Think we oughta make breakfast for your mom, huh? You wanna help?” She gurgles over his shoulder as he finishes burping her. He’ll take that as a yes. He maneuvers her high chair into the doorway of the kitchen with about as much grace as his one-handed abilities will allow him, trying hard to stay silent, peering down the hall to make sure she hasn’t woken up yet. Coast clear, he settles their girl into the high chair and gets to work.

There’s a slightly old half of a loaf of brioche on the counter, something he brought home a few days ago, one of Marcus’ new projects. Eggs and milk in the fridge, so his plan is already forming.

“You know, when I first met your mom– you’re a little too young for the details, but– the morning after, I made her french toast. I think it got me a second date.” He whisks up the eggs and milk quick, a pinch of cinnamon like he knows how she likes it.

“I think for a while she was just coming back for the french toast. But I didn’t care, I was just happy that she kept coming back.” Butter melting deep and golden in the pan, and then the silent sizzle and snap of the battered slices of bread frying up perfect. He glances over to their girl in between checking on the bread in the pan.

“You weren’t done, were you, little? I’m sorry, I got you.” A little spit-up down the front of her onesie. He stretches between the stove and her high chair to dab it up with a clean dish towel, not even trying to resist the want to press a kiss to her forehead, earning him an exasperated gurgle from her.

“Already too cool for me, huh?” She smiles, showing off the two new teeth that have only started to come in. He doesn’t think he’s ready for any more teeth to start coming in yet.

He’s just plating up the first few slices when his ears prick to the sound of stirring, what sounds like a stretch groaning in her chest from down the hall. Bare feet padding, stopping at the nursery, he’s sure, and then coming closer, his heart starting to kick up in anticipation.

“Good morning, my bean.” He can hear the kiss she drops to their girl’s cheek, and he chances a glance over to see her bending over the back of the high chair to nuzzle her face into their girl’s, contented giggles bubbling up in her small chest at her mother’s ministrations. His heart stutters stop for a moment before the gears start to turn again in a much better rhythm. But too long of a glance because–

“Oh shit.” The smell of singe, one of the slices burnt up and unsalvageable. He’s quick to scrape it out of the pan. Still plenty to make this right, okay, not perfect though. He was going for perfect.

“What’s all this?” She’s being quiet, not looking at him as she gathers their girl out of the high chair and into her arms, a small sway side to side.

“I, um, breakfast– you hungry?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. Go sit, I’ll get it.”

“Did she–”

“Yeah, I fed her.” She’s finally looking at him, bewilderment rounding and widening her eyes, though she quietly nods and shuffles through the kitchen. A soft graze past him and toward the small dining table they have set up in front of the windows, now letting in the first honeyed light of the morning.

Two slices, steam still rising and melting down a sliver of butter. Syrup on the side because she doesn’t like it to get soggy. And a plate for himself too because he knows she’ll tell him to eat, even as mad at him as she is now.

She keeps their girl in her lap, her arm curled around the soft round of her belly to hold her upright, and he can’t help but smile, sitting down across from them. A small sigh with her first bite and it feels like the greatest relief, something slackening beneath his ribs.

“I didn’t play fair last night. I’m sorry, Carm.” Always beating him to the punch, he hates that she’s apologizing.

“No, you were right. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m gonna make some changes, okay?” She sighs, her lashes dropped to the tops of her cheeks, not buying it. And he doesn’t blame her, he’s talked about changes in the past. Though the changes have yet to happen.

“Baby, I’m serious. I’m gonna talk to Sugar today and get this figured out. Not gonna keep messing this up.”

“You aren’t messing up, Carmen. I know how important that restaurant is to you. And maybe it’s selfish, but I just want you here more, with us. You’re missing so much, and I don’t want that for you.” Their girl chooses that moment to start to squirm in her hold, pressing the dough of her palms into the edge of the table to stand up in her mother’s lap, turning around and wrapping her small arms around her mother’s neck, making a smile get big and bright on her face as she smacks a string of kisses on her cheek, a quiet thank you, my bean. Missing things like this, he thinks. His heart aches with it.

“Nothing is more important than this. I think when she came– I was just like– holy shit, you know?” Her smile tempers, settling on him as she continues to accommodate the squirms and shuffling of their girl in her lap.

“Yeah, I’m familiar with that feeling.”

“This isn’t an excuse, I know it isn’t. But, I don’t know, I think I believed that if I could just work harder, make sure the restaurant was good and money was coming in that– that it’d somehow make me feel less terrified.”

“Terrified?”

“Of getting this all wrong. I just– Jesus Christ, I want everything for her.” There’s more he’d like to say, but he cuts himself off with a resigned laugh, holding his head in his hand as he watches their girl twist around in her mother’s arms again, looking at him now like somehow she knows he’s talking about her. And then a small hand reaching out across the table. Small hand reaching for him.

She gets up with a sigh, rounding the edge of the table, an easy pass-off, their girl’s hands grasping at his t-shirt, the same one he came home in last night. He holds her close, taking another deep inhale of the crown of her head before looking up at her mom. Her mom, his woman, his partner, who carefully runs her fingers back through his mussed hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

“There are so many people also working to make sure that restaurant is good, Carm, and it is. But I– we need you here, we just do.” Her palm slips down along his cheek, and he turns his head to press a kiss to the center of it. A much smaller hand tugs at his curls to get his attention, making him laugh as he drops a kiss to their girl’s temple.

“You’re right. This is where I need to be. I don’t want you having to do this on your own anymore.” He gets up with a sigh, hiking their girl onto his hip, reaching out for her with his other arm, his fingers curling behind the nape of her neck, a small coaxing that she allows, pressing her forehead against his.

“We’re gonna do this together, alright? I’m here, and I’m gonna figure out how to keep being here.” An answer in the way her nose brushes along the side of his, an okay. And the realization that he can’t remember the last time they were this close is enough to bridge what space is left between them, more of a sigh than a kiss, but he’ll take it. Quick to be interrupted by quiet fussing and a small fist pressing against his cheek, both of them pulling away with a laugh to look at their seemingly perturbed girl.

“I think we’ve made a small monster.” She says it absolutely dripping in affection, her hand coming to brush their girl’s sleep-tufted hair back from her face.

“Maybe, yeah. She’s still fucking perfect though.” He snakes his arm around her waist, pulling her close so their girl is half-sandwiched between them, eyes wide as she babbles up at them both.

“We have to stop saying fuck around her, Carm. It’s gonna end up being her first word.”

“She’ll fit right in at the restaurant that way.”

A small family, a new family, figuring it out in their sun-soaked kitchen. Tired eyes and bare feet and quiet laughs. And there’s going to be more messing up, he already knows that. Both him and her. Passing sorry back and forth, willing and receiving. But this is enough to make it right, to keep going. This can be perfect.

#carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto angst #carmy berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto fic #the bear fanfiction #the bear fic

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