#pud from stitches

[alintalzin]

They're all so cute.

the best/questionable little (and one big) kitties in horror cinema

[consultingskeletondetective]

Colonel's Girl

You’re the young army nurse on base and König decides to keep a protective eye on you. You don’t mind at all, the Colonel is sweet and safe - until he isn’t.

masterlist 🩷 ao3

tags: military inaccuracies, blood and injury, angst, smut, oral sex, vaginal sex

This was your first time on a real military base. You’d done field medic training of course, but this was the first time in your career as an army nurse that you’d been shipped out to base, far from home, calling a tiny bunk room your own in a building full of rowdy young recruits. 

Their daily training brought them to you constantly with scrapes and bruises and concussions. They were feisty, adrenaline-fuelled young men, and you were one of the few women on base. The catcalling and the leering didn’t surprise you, even if it was unwelcome. 

“What time do you get off, darlin’?” Private Turner drawled in a cockney accent as you applied butterfly stitches to a bleeding split across his eyebrow. “Maybe I can come to your room and we can keep each other company-”

“Turner!” It was barked, a stern command from an accented voice. The private paled as Colonel König stomped into your clinic, and you blushed. König was a very imposing man. He was at least 6”9 by your reckoning, and just as broad, in his late 30s or early 40s with a thick Austrian accent. His years of military training had given him a thick, muscular frame, with his broad thighs barely contained in cargo trousers and steel-capped boots on his feet, a black tee stretched over his chest and biceps the size of your torso. You knew what he looked like under that hood, square jawed and piercing blue eyes, but today he’d kept it on, his eyes framed and dark. It was no surprise you blushed whenever you saw him.

“Colonel?” He stood and turned. His voice held none of its previous bravado. Next to König, he looked like a mere boy.

“Two weeks of toilet cleaning duty.” König said gruffly, “and if I catch you using that kind of language again, it will be a month. Understood?”

Turner slumped. “Yes, sir.”

“Get out of my sight.”

Turner, chastised, scampered out of your clinic without looking at you.

König turned his hulking form towards you and actually had to look down to greet you. 

“Pardon, ma’am. He won’t step out of line again.”

Ma’am . Your blush deepened. You gave him a small, nervous smile. 

“Thank you, Colonel, that’s very kind of you.”

“These boys don’t know yet how to respect a lady, but they will.”

“Once you’re done with them?” You smiled playfully.

“If I have done my job correctly.” He said kindly, before turning on his heel and leaving swiftly. You giggled. 

You didn’t see much of König at the start of training, his rank and his experience meant that he didn’t end up in your clinic as much as his recruits did, but when you did pass each other in the hall or by exchanging paperwork, he was nothing less than a courteous and charming gentleman. It seemed bizarre, considering you’d heard tell that he was a brawling killing machine out on the field, but he could switch from barking stiff orders to giving you a gentle smile that made you blush in the blink of an eye. You had to routinely remind yourself that this didn’t make you special, he was just being respectful, and you weren’t used to that. It didn’t matter that he was a soldier, or nearly twice your age, it didn’t take you long to develop a crush on the handsome and mysterious Austrian. 

A few days later and you were stood in line to the mess hall. It was breakfast, and you’d seen the black pudding in the warming trays as soon as you’d stepped in. You were practically salivating as you waited, it wasn’t often you got a creature comfort like this - something that reminded you of home - on base.

“Not often we get this kind of luxury, eh, miss?” You recognised the coarse accent before you turned. Lieutenant Riley had joined you in the line, a balaclava covering his face. You knew him a little, the infamous Ghost. You’d crossed paths with the 141 on occasion, and you knew Riley, sometimes even Captain Price, dropped into the base to provide training or engage your services. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to make polite conversation with you. In fact, it seemed the norm here. The high rankers felt a bit sorry for you, while the recruits made you feel like a piece of meat or an object of ridicule. 

You didn’t mind much, you were here to do a job, and you kept to yourself mostly anyway, but the offer of friendship was much appreciated. 

You smiled a little shyly in return. “I know, right? I hope the black pudding doesn’t go too quickly. I’ve been thinking about it all morning.”

“A girl after my own heart.” The lieutenant chuckled. In front of you, two privates who had been turning around to eavesdrop on the conversation - more to get a look at Ghost, than you, you understood - burst into laughing at your admission. Your ears turned red and you wished you’d never opened your mouth.

Riley didn’t seem to notice, he was holding his gloved hand out to König, who had somehow appeared next to him in the line since you’d looked away. You actually had to do a double take. For a near seven foot slab of muscle, he was stealthy when he wanted to be. 

The two of them talked among themselves in low voices and you left them to it, knowing you didn’t particularly want to hear the contents of whatever they needed to discuss.

You reached the front of the line and the private in front of you - the one who had laughed - piled his tray high with black pudding until the warming tray was empty. He turned and smirked mockingly at you.

“You can have my sausage, darlin’, if you ask nicely.” At least three recruits laughed. You wanted to shrink down so small you stopped existing altogether.

König’s brick hand clamped around the private’s tray and wrenched it easily from his grip.

“Sir-my breakfast…”

“Get out of the line, or I will feed you my fist.” König didn’t even raise his voice, the cold delivery had the private skulking off empty handed. König placed the tray back onto the counter and then he turned to you. 

“Help yourself, ma’am.” 

“Oh.” Your cheeks were crimson. He cocked his head, his eyes, the only part of his face visible through his black hood, looked amused. It wasn’t unkind. “T-thank you.” 

König tipped his hood towards you before turning his attention back to Riley, and the pair of them moved off to a separate table. You sat by yourself, chewing your black pudding, and smiling like an idiot. 

You glanced over to König a few times more than you would like to admit. He put you at ease, that’s what it came down to, it gave you a confidence you didn’t usually have around military men. 

It was that very ease that left you wholly unprepared for the following week.

It was ballistics training out on the grounds, and you caught wind of an accident halfway through your sandwich.

“Come quick!’ An officer skidded into your office, “there’s been an accident - potential fatality.”

You cursed, and gathered your supplies, before following him out of your clinic and out onto the training ground. Recruits stood nervously holding rifles, their half-shot targets abandoned. A young recruit was wailing on the ground, another kneeling beside him and pressing against his belly with a jacket, there was blood on the sand. 

König was towering over a young private - the same young man who had laughed at you in the mess hall, you briefly noted - and barking bloody murder in his terrified face. It took you more than a moment to realise that König wasn’t actually speaking German, you could just barely make a word out in his fury. 

It was easy to tune out, you’d been out in the field before, and turn your attention to your patient. You knelt beside the terrified looking private stemming the bleeding, and carefully lifted his jacket to look at his wound while the young man screamed.

“You’re going to be okay.” You said confidently, calmly. “It’s nothing we can’t stitch up. Private, keep putting pressure on the wound, just like this, you’re doing a good job.” Just this once, you were obeyed without question. 

“I will have you court-martialed, dummkopf, you could have killed him. You come onto my base, you do not listen to a word I say, and now you attack my men? You sorry piece of -”

“König,” you cut through the accented remonstration, pulling bandages from your bag, “I need your men to carry him to my clinic immediately, then you have to-”

König turned swiftly to you, those bright blue eyes visibly narrowed in the slits of his hood. “Do not fucking give me orders, nurse.” He seethed, voice ice cold with rage, fists clenched and towering over you. “You address me as Colonel, you little girl.” The white hot fury in his eyes matched the venom in his voice. You baulked, in fear, in surprise, horrified to realise tears were gathering in your eyes. You looked back down on the man in your arms and forced yourself to regain your composure.

“I need to get him to my clinic, I can’t lift him myself.” Your voice was steady, if muted, throwing your gaze over your shoulder at König and the recruits staring at you. “Please, colonel .”

König turned from you and began barking your orders at his men and within moments, your patient was being carried between three recruits back to your clinic. You turned and rushed after them. You extracted the bullet from his ribs and sewed up the damage as numbly as you treated any one of your patients. You left your makeshift surgery room with bloody hands and sweat on your forehead, surprised to find König leaning against the wall in your waiting room. He’d stripped out of his uniform to a simple pair of combat trousers and a black shirt that looked like it was losing a fight with his bicep muscles. His hood was held lax in his hand, giving you a rare glimpse at his face. It was no surprise to you that he looked exhausted. He pushed himself from the wall when you entered. Like a gentleman , you thought bitterly.

“Will he live?” He asked you, his voice soft. It was just like every other interaction you’d had on base. 

“It was a flesh wound. He’ll be fine, Colonel.” Your words were stiff, and you walked straight past him without even a glance, feeling like a complete idiot that you’d ever thought he might treat you with the slightest bit of respect. You were angry until the adrenaline wore off, then you cried in your bed.

The recruit, Jenkins, pulled through the night, and the next day he was airlifted to the nearest hospital. The accidental shooter was gone, and you didn’t care to ask what had happened. Training was halted for a few days as a result and you had a quiet week, but you weren’t complaining, as you now had a mountainous amount of paperwork to complete. You were grateful when you were able to file the heft of paper into your pigeon hole to be sent off, and rewarded yourself with a sit down in the breakroom to the main office.

You looked up on instinct more than anything when the door opened. König walked in, in combat boots and a military vest, his hood over his eyes and helmet strapped to his head, like he’d just come straight from deployment. He glanced at you with tired blue eyes, but all you could see was the fury in them when he’d scared you the week before. You felt stupid for thinking someone like König would ever be nice to you. You were just the idiot girl on base.

“Morning, ma’am.” He said pleasantly when he saw you, slipping one hand into his trouser pocket as he poured himself coffee from the pot on the table.

“Hey.” You replied, voice flat, suddenly finding your nails remarkably interesting.

“Is everything okay?”

“Fine.” Another one word answer. You still weren’t looking at him. 

König shifted uneasily. The atmosphere in the room changed. Of course it did, he was used to you being a blushy, smiling, pathetic mess for him. 

Concerned, König crossed the small space to you. He didn’t sit. From what you could see from your lowered head, his hand was no longer in his pocket.

“If this is about what happened…you did well, Jenkins will recover.”

“I know I did fine.” You genuinely didn’t mean to snap. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

The conversation went dead, the atmosphere was palpable. You didn’t know whether it was his culture, or his military status, but König went right to the point.

“Have I offended you?”

Was he being willfully obstinate? You felt your humiliated aggravation grow. Well, you were in it now.

“Just leave me alone.”

There was a pause. And then another. Neither of you moved.

“As you wish.”

He left swiftly after that, and you finally looked up at the empty room. You felt relieved, but also hollow. It was almost like you’d done something wrong. But you hadn’t, had you? König’s coffee was abandoned on the table.

König left you alone, and that pissed you off even more. He walked past you in the mess hall, he didn’t glance down to smile at you anymore, he didn’t come into the clinic, even though you secretly hoped he would. Your self-esteem was pretty much on the floor after that, and the base got just that little bit lonelier.

Two recruits barrelled into your office a few days later, one had a busted lip and they both had black eyes. They'd clearly been in a fight, but whether that was with each other, or someone else, you didn’t care to ask. You stayed quiet as you applied butterfly stitches to their cuts, and they were happy enough to complain between themselves.

“You’re a dickhead, Williams, the Colonel’s gonna fucking kill us.” 

“Relax, he’s not going to know.”

“He’s been such a dick lately. He put Taylor on shit detail for a fortnight for having his shoelace untied.”

“Probably because he has to look at your fucking ugly mug every day.”

“You’re done.” You cut across. “You can go.”

They thanked you and left, and you were grateful to get the foul mouthed privates out of your office. 

It was getting dark outside and you were tired. You left your clinic and crossed the training ground to the mess hall. There were still soldiers out here, practising hand to hand combat under the floodlights. You gave them a wide berth.  

You didn’t see the abandoned dummy grenade wedged in the sand until your foot hooked around it and you vaulted over with an unladylike grunt. 

A large hand curled around your wrist and stilled you before you ate dirt. You cursed under your breath and turned inward. König was towering above you, your wrist positively dwarfed by his gloved hand. His hood obscured his face, shrouding him in the darkness behind him, all except those bright eyes looking down on you.

“You should be more careful.” He grunted, releasing your wrist.

Your eyes hit the ground and you mumbled a hasty ‘sorry’ before you scampered away to the mess hall. König watched your retreating back as you left.

The next few days passed uneventfully. You worked, you ate, you slept, you called home. The clinic was surprisingly empty. You wondered if the recruits were finally becoming competent enough that they didn’t need you every five seconds. You signed off your discharge sheets for the day and headed to the main office to dump them in the output box. You were surprised to find König in there, sans hood, rifling through a box of papers on the desk. He glanced up when he saw you and his expression wilted. He looked back into the box. 

“I’ll be out of your hair in a second.” He said. “I just need to find the instruction manual for the - s cheiße .” The papers in his hand fluttered to the ground. He bent down to retrieve them and winced, arm circling his broad torso. 

You frowned and took a step closer to him.

“What’s wrong?” You asked. 

“Nothing.” He replied instantly as he straightened. His movements were slower than usual. 

“It doesn’t look like nothing, König, it looks like cracked ribs.”

“It’s fine, really.”

You put your discharge forms on the desk and walked up to him. “Lift your shirt.”

König sighed but complied after a moment. He lifted his dark tee to his pectorals. His deep abdominal muscles rose and fell under his breathing and you found your cheeks reddening under the sight. A makeshift bandage was wrapped around his torso, and you reached out and lifted it. His skin was like lava against your fingers. He didn’t say a word as you lifted the bandage but he may have winced when your eyes widened. The right hand side of his ribcage was purple with deep bruising and lacerated with deep and shallow cuts alike, some were healing, and some were leaving blood stains on the inside of the bandage. 

“Oh my god, what happened?”

“Nothing.” König grunted. “Machine gun training. One of the recruits lost control of the barrel and clocked me in the ribs. It is just a scratch.”

“This cut needs stitches.” You said automatically, tracing the underside of the welt with your fingertip. König jolted and you took your hand away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

“You didn’t.” He replied.

“I have cream that’ll reduce this bruising too-” König huffed and you looked up at him. You couldn’t quite decipher the expression on his face. He might as well have been wearing his hood.

“It is fine.” He said. “The bruising has disappeared a lot in the last few days…”

“ Days ?” You blinked. “Days, König? You can’t have been walking around like this for days. Why didn’t you come to me?”

There was a pause. He was trying to avoid your gaze.

“You told me to leave you alone.”

“König,” it was reprimanding, reproachful, your eyes slackened. “You always need to come to me when you’re hurt, even when I’m mad. I’m sorry.”

König’s eyes snapping to you made you regret the words as soon as they were out of your mouth. Your gaze dropped to the grazes on his ribs but your cheeks were already on fire. 

“Are you ever going to tell me why you are mad at me?”

You didn’t meet his gaze. It seemed pathetic now. “You yelled at me.”

König didn’t respond straight away. When he did - “I yelled at you?”

You fought off the sudden urge to say sorry.

“When Jenkins was shot.” You explained. “I’m not one of your soldiers. I don’t like being screamed at, especially when I’m doing my job.” Your voice dropped a little. “And I’m not a little girl, I’m a nurse. You should respect that, just like the way you tell your troops to.”

You glanced up at König, he looked crestfallen. “I…” He frowned a little, as if giving up on any explanation he planned to give. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You shook your head, embarrassed, and lowered his shirt.

“It’s not important now-”

“It is important. I don’t think you are a little girl. Sometimes in battle, things like this become heated. I do not even remember saying this to you, but I am sorry. I do not think that, I truly do not, I was…one of my men was dying, I was not myself. Please forgive me.”

Your eyes met. It felt like the first time you’d looked at each other in a long time. König’s blue eyes were soft and sad.

“Um, come to the clinic, this afternoon,” you rose, flustered, “I, uh, that cut needs looking at.”

You turned swiftly and left but not before you heard König utter a single ‘yes ma’am’ before you did. 

You thought about what he said as you sterilised your clinic for his arrival. Maybe it was just the heat of the moment, but you managed to keep your cool? Why didn’t he? Because he’s a soldier, you reminded yourself. He kills easily and without thought, he’s not the sweet gentleman you want him to be. You shook your head to yourself, that wasn’t the issue and you knew it. You didn’t care that he was a killer, or that sometimes he scared you. You knew what his easy dismissal of you meant - and it hurt.

König reported promptly to your clinic at 1pm that afternoon. He stripped out of his shirt and sat patiently down on the end of your bed and you had to pretend like having a 7ft goliath of a man stripped down in front of you wasn’t making your heart race. He truly was extraordinary. 

You stitched the large cut on his ribs that was worrying you the most and he didn’t make a sound. it didn’t much surprise you, you assumed he was accustomed to pain. It made your stomach flutter with something . 

He was even more impressive undressed, his body heavy with swollen, toned muscle, faded scars criss-crossing over his flesh. You had to remind yourself that you were a trained nurse just to stop yourself from drooling. 

König watched you work rather intently. “You have very small hands.” He remarked suddenly. You didn’t respond, unsure if it was a compliment or not. You both lapsed into silence for another long while. It was like a form of torture. You’d never been more embarrassed in your life. You felt like a foolish little girl, trying to play with a grizzly bear. It must have shown on your face. 

You didn’t expect König to talk again. He must have thought that you were insane - pathetic, at the very least. 

“May I ask you a question?”

Oh. “Of course.”

“Why did you join the military if you hate being yelled at?”

You sighed and finished off your final stitch. “You don’t have to mock me, you know, I already got the message.”

“I am not mocking you. I’m curious.”

Forthright . You forgot.

You took a moment to respond, busying yourself with packing away your equipment. “I didn’t join as a recruit, I joined as a nurse.” You didn’t tell him the real reason, that it was because it was him.

“Right.” 

“It’s not your problem.” 

König stood, and pulled his shirt back on. “It won't happen again.” He said. “You have my word.” 

Your gaze flicked to his handsome face involuntarily. “Um, here’s the cream. Make sure to apply it twice a day, and try to take it easy for a few days.”

König grunted, a ghost of a smile on his face. You could tell he hadn’t taken it easy a day in his life. 

“What message?” König asked suddenly. 

“Sorry?” You froze, trying to backtrack to that particular exchange.

“You said you ‘got the message’.” He repeated. “What message?”

Oh. 

“Um, did I say that?” Your voice was uncharacteristically high. König tilted his head.

“Schatz, my English isn’t that bad. We both heard what you said.”

You blushed and your head dipped. You didn’t know much German, but you knew what ‘schatz’ meant. 

“Well, you know-” fuck, shit, fuck . “P-put in your place by the guy you have a crush on. I get it. I got it. I won’t go there again.”

“Crush?” König responded like a lightning strike, before he fell silent. His brain was calculating, before his expression turned to…well, there was no other way to put it, absolutely fucking floored. “You like me?”

Oh, this was very fucking bad.

“Well…yeah? I thought it was obvious-”

“Obvious? Schatz, I thought you hated me.”

You blinked. 

“Wha- why would you think that?”

“You told me to leave you alone.”

“You called me a little girl! In front of everyone.”

When exactly had you both gotten so close to each other? It was close enough that König could look down on you, and your heart was skipping a beat.

“You can’t like me.” He said quietly.

You frowned. “Why not? Have you looked at yourself? Plus you’re…you know, nice, and the only person in this dump that doesn’t leer at me or treat me like a stupid little girl. When people aren’t dying, I mean.”

“I…” Was König hesitating? The man who had nothing to fear?

“It’s okay,” you murmured, embarrassed. “Like I said, I get the message. Why would you want a pathetic sap like me who can’t even hear a raised voice without crying?”

“Do not say that.” König looked uncertain, his eyebrows knitting together. “You are like a...a flower. Not meant for men like me.”

“A…” Your brain couldn’t quite compute what you’d just heard. “Men like you? What does that even mean?”

“You need someone younger, for a start.” He sighed. “Someone who has seen less death, verdammt, someone who has caused less death.”

“Men like your idiot recruits, then?”

König didn’t respond. 

“I have to go.” He said instead. “Thank you for the…cream.”

“Anytime, Colonel.” It was softly spoken, you watched him freeze, then you watched him go. You smuggled a bottle of wine back to your room and drank until you fell asleep. This really was a new low.

…

The days passed slowly and without incident. On the face of it, there was no difference in you, except for a notably lacklustre delivery of your care. 

You were making notes at your desk when Private Jackson and his buddy, Williams, appeared at your desk, complaining of a groin injury. 

You rolled your eyes and returned to your paperwork. “I’m sure it’ll feel better tomorrow, private.”

“I’m sure it’ll feel better right now if you kiss it-”

“Shut up,” Williams chuckled, shoving him, “you wanna get a disciplinary? You know she’s the colonel’s girl.”

Your gaze snapped up. “What did you just say?”

Neither of them answered you, they just sniggered and slunk off. You watched the empty doorway with wide eyes. You tried not to ponder on it. You pondered on it for the rest of the day.

…

You signed the bottom of Williams’ sick leave and ticked off the various appropriate boxes, flipping the page and hoping that was all that was required until you froze. It needed the signature of the patient's C.O. König. Shit. 

You hadn’t even seen König since he’d rejected you and every time you thought about that particular exchange, your ears went hot and you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

You were too much of a pussy to talk to him, so instead you went to his office when you knew he was scheduled to be out at training, and scribbled ‘ sign me please :) ’ on a post it note, stuck it on the front page and left the form on his desk. 

You turned for the door with a relieved sigh and accidently walked into König’s solid chest. He was standing in the open doorway, he was the size of the open doorway, wearing his combat gear although he was unarmed, his hood draped covering his face, even so, you could see he was looking down on you. It wasn’t until you glanced up that you realised he was ducking to fit in the doorway. That sent heat right to your cunt.

“Oh, hello.” You said stupidly, eyes hitting the carpeted floor.

“Hello.” He greeted you, accent gentle. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, right, I’m in your office.” You stumbled over your words. “Um, W-Williams needs sick leave approved, he needs gallbladder surgery off base, I need you to sign the form. I - I left it on your desk.”

König walked past you, he smelt of sweat and sand and some sort of hastily applied deodorant. He seemed unfazed that you were in his office, he certainly didn’t seem to be trying to avoid you as ardently as you were avoiding him. You cursed yourself for being so childish.

He removed his hood and draped it over the back of his chair as he picked up the form. His eyes were darkened with war paint, fresh stubble on his jaw. 

“A smiling face.” He remarked as he read your post it note, voice muted. “The way yours used to be.”

You blinked. “Is that meant to be some kind of joke?” You asked hotly.

“Not at all.” He replied, not looking up from the form. “It used to brighten my days.” He signed the form and held it out to you before you could really process what he’d said. “Let us hope Williams makes a swift recovery, he is one of my best.”

You tentatively took the form, mind drawn back to the last encounter you’d had with the young private. 

“He called me…” You bit back your sentence before you had a chance to finish it. But the damage was done.

König’s back straightened, his fists clenched. “Something inappropriate?”

“No.” Your shoulders hunched. Why did you even bring it up? “He said I was…they’re calling me…you know…the colonel’s girl.”

You glanced up at König shyly, to see if there was any truth in it. His back had relaxed, but his stance was still guarded. 

“What?” You asked.

“I told the recruits to leave you alone.” He admitted. “Or there would be consequences.” 

“Oh.” You blushed. “But, that’s not a bad thing, is it?”

“No, it’s not…some of the men have interpreted the order to mean I am keeping you for myself.”

You took a bold step forward.

“And are you?”

König looked at the floor. You sighed and turned for the door.

König’s large hand curled around the front of your throat before you could turn and drew you back, right to his mouth. You whimpered into the kiss. You were forced onto your tiptoes to meet him, feeling his fingers against your oesophagus with every exhale. His lips eased wetly and insistently against yours until you were dizzy, gripping his arms and pressing yourself closer. 

As soon as it started, it was over. König released your throat and took a step back. You had to blink a few times to regain just a few of your senses. You were still on your tiptoes, and you could still taste him on your mouth. Gunpower, and mint.

“I’m sorry.” He said. “I shouldn’t have done that.” His voice was ragged, his accent even thicker than usual. Fuck, it was hot.

He turned and left before you could even articulate a response, but you were sure you saw his back muscles twitching as he went.

…

The deployment for the first active mission came about quicker than anyone had been expecting. It was practically a dummy mission, you’d been told, leading a team of recruits on a sweep near cartel lands for stray activity or potential landmines. Still, the atmosphere was palpable in the base, the recruits were scared, you could tell.

You watched from the doorway of your clinic as the men stood by the jeeps, ready to roll out. Riley had returned, and he stood next to König as the latter zipped up his kevlar and clipped on his helmet over his hood. You wanted to wish him luck, even though you knew everything was going to be fine. It was a routine sweep, and he was König, he wasn’t in any danger. Still, your stomach pulled. Fate was cruel. What if this was the last time you ever saw him?

You scrunched your eyes shut, called yourself an idiot, and jogged across the sand of the training field.

Riley saw you first, he knocked König on the chest to alert him - you tried not to read into that - König turned, face obscured, body heavy with kevlar and weaponry. He had to lower his head to look at you.

“Schatz?” 

Your insides ached at the familiar term of endearment that you didn’t deserve. Your mouth was as dry as the sand you were stood on, and you suddenly didn’t know what to say. Don’t go? Come back? How could you say any of those things to the man who didn’t want you.

König solved your problem for you. His fingers closed around your tricep, and his thumb stroked just once.

“Look after yourself.” You said quietly.

He nodded before he dropped your arm. Then you watched as they got into the jeeps and drove away.

…

The recruits were returned to you on a daily basis. Apparently, the drop point of the sweep was particularly hot for cartel soldiers, ready and willing to engage in battle. The wounds you were treating now were not the cuts and scrapes of training, it was cracked skulls and broken bones and lacerated flesh. And the men, Turner, Williams, Jackson, they weren’t the scrappy, joking lads they’d once been, they were crying and they were scared. 

You slept when you could but you were always exhausted. You were waiting for the first time one of them died on you. 

You were awoken that night by a loud, insistent banging on your door. You jumped out of bed and tied your robe around yourself, already gathering your hair up to tie it back.

“What’s happened?” You called, opening the door, “who is it…oh.”

It took a moment for you to realise that you weren’t staring at the pitch black of night, but rather directly at König’s chest. He stood in a dark shirt, helmet removed, hood covering his face, head disappearing behind your doorway, but his blue eyes were bright and wild and looking down at you.

“König! You scared me half to death. Get in here.”

You stood aside and König ducked his head and walked, actually stomped, his way into your room. You prayed you didn’t have any stray underwear on the floor. His shirt sleeves were short and you could actually see his arm muscles thrumming. 

“What’s happened?” You frowned. “What’s wrong, König? Talk to me, please.”

“There was an I.E.D.” He replied, accent thick. You couldn’t imagine what his expression looked like. “Ghost saw it before I did. He pulled me out of the pathway. The fucking thing exploded five feet in front of my face. I could have died. I am a fucking idiot.”

“Oh, König, you…you didn’t die, and you’re not an idiot, okay? Every soldier misses…”

“No, schatz.” He walked forward, backing you against the wall. You swallowed when his large hand came up, pressing your collarbone back against the wall. “I’m a fucking idiot because I could have died without doing this.”

One hand curled around your hip and lifted you effortlessly, and you gasped as you had no choice but to wrap your legs around his waist - it was a stretch, he was so broad. König wasted no time slamming you into the wall next to your bed with enough force to rattle your bones. You squeaked, but that was all you managed to do. He pushed his hood up to his nose and captured your lips with his.

Your eyes crossed and closed as you groaned, wrapping your arms around his neck as your lips slid against his. This was nothing like the first kiss - that was chaste, hurried, this was luxurious, long, wet and slow, the whole world went quiet as König pressed his tongue between your lips and lapped at yours with sure strokes that had you whimpering. Your fingers tangled in his hood as he kissed you like that, and you forgot everything else. 

He hitched your legs around his waist and you whined, muffled, as you felt a solid lump pressing up against your clothed crotch. You didn’t care – you ground down on him as you met his tongue with yours. He growled into your mouth and it reverberated through you, before he was pulling back, kissing along your jaw and grinding his cock against your heat harder than before. 

Then his eyes were on you, piercing and bright through the dark hood, the fabric sat askew on his top lip, his lips pink and swollen with your spit.

“I want you, schatz.” He said bluntly. 

“I - I want you, too.”

Your consent was all he needed. Suddenly you were airborne again, and you clung onto him as he lowered you onto the belt and knelt between your legs. The bed actually dipped under his weight and you blushed.

“K-König,” you murmured quietly.

“No,” it was short, and stiff, as he yanked your night shirt down by your collar hard enough to rip. You yelped as the sound of fabric tearing filled the room and suddenly your tits were exposed. You whimpered in embarrassment but he’d already grabbed them in his rough, gloved hands, squeezing and rubbing, flicking and pinching your nipples between his fingers.

“Hhhh, fuck.” You blushed, biting your lip as your underwear moistened at the rough treatment.

“Fuck, do not tell me they are sensitive.” König’s voice sounded wrecked.

“Please,” it was a whisper, “please be gentle.”

“Wanted to get my hands on you for too long.” Was all his reply was as he squeezed your breast again and leant down, using his hand to guide your nipple into his exposed mouth. He sucked so hard that you thought he was trying to drink your soul out from you. Your head fell back and you gasped, grinding your wet, needy cunt as best you could on the side of his thigh. König took pity on you, lapping at your nipples until they were shining nubs screaming in oversensitivity, while his brick hand - when had he taken his glove off? - cupped your pussy through your underwear. His thumb was jammed right up against your clit. You didn’t know if he’d meant to do that, or if it was coincidental, but either way you ground up onto the solid digit until your eyes were unfocused.

“So wet for me, liebling,” he murmured breathlessly, between your nipples, “you are fucking soaked for me.” He stroked you with his thumb once and your eyes slackened and you came with a shudder, stiffening beneath him as stars danced above your head.

He let your nipple slide wetly from his mouth and suddenly those bright eyes were on you.

“Did you just have an orgasm?”

“Mmm.” You buried your head into his neck shyly, thighs shuddering as the waves of pleasure rolled through you. Your clit twitched against his hand. 

“Oh, sweet liebling.” He murmured, rubbing wet circles over the sodden fabric of your underwear. You shuddered as your thighs tried to close away from the intense pleasure, until one strong hand was on your thigh and pushing it wide.

“König!” You gasped. He was watching you intently as he pushed your underwear to the side with his fingers and pressed the thick digits through your sopping folds. 

“Such a pretty little cunt.” He murmured, stroking his fingertips over your slit. It opened with every heavy breath you took, dribbles of desire wetting his fingers.

“König, please,” you whined, “need you in me. Please -”

“Oh yes? Is that so?” The side of his mouth twitched up, then his finger was sinking inside you.

“Shit, fuck! K-König, you’re so big…” You felt your cunt stretching around his finger, clenching involuntarily down around it as your thighs tried to close but couldn’t, pinned open by his solid hand.

“I know, schatz.” He replied calmly. “You can take it.” He slid a second finger in without warning and grunted at how tight and wet you were, just imagining how your cunt would feel around his cock. You whined and threw your head back, the stretch aching after months of nothing, thighs shaking. You were so fucking wet that his fingers practically glided in, his knuckles against your soft pink entrance. “I want you to come for me, to loosen you up for my cock.”

“König, fuck, I…” Your cheeks were rosy. “My god, please...please move, I need-”

“Shhh, little one, I know.” He wasted no time shoving his fingers deeper in your aching cunt, and you yelped and lifted off of the bed entirely. König growled in disapproval and used the hand on your thigh to pin you down to the bed, keeping you still as he ploughed his fingers in and out of you. You moaned deliriously at the sudden intense, rough pressure to your sweet spot, watching the way König’s large hand was like a blur between your legs.

“I’m-” You couldn’t even say it before you were coming with a wet moan, your release splashing against his wrist and dripping all over the bed.

“Scheiße, liebling, making such a mess for me.” His fingers were still hard and circling your engorged sweet spot. Your body seized in panic as you gripped his wrist with all your might to try and still him. All you achieved was watching your own arms shake as he fingered you mercilessly. The noise was obscene, soaking wet come and slick filthy between your legs and soaking his hand as you squirted again, streaming down his arm with a mix of clear and white desire. You moaned and gasped and sobbed, the pleasure intense and spiralling, your pussy already felt worn out from the rough treatment.

“König, please,” you begged, “it’s too much-”

“Again.” He commanded, hand leaving your thigh and curling around your throat. “Want all of that squirt out of you.” he pinned you to the bed by your neck, using the change in position to drive his fingers roughly home deep in your aching, spent cunt. He didn’t stop when you came, and he didn’t stop when you came again - your eyes in the back of your head, body on fire with ceaseless pleasure, the bed beneath you soaked with your own humiliation. All you could do was take it, and shudder violently. 

Finally, König pulled his fingers from your gaping hole and slapped your cheek lightly, it was a wet noise and you blinked.

“Come on, little girl, do not give up on me.”

“König,” you slurred, heaving. “I…fuck, so good, never…I can’t…”

“Oh sweet one,” he cooed, crowding between your legs, pulling your thighs over his hips. “Fucked you stupid and I haven’t even put my cock in you yet.”

You managed a tired smile as you traced your fingers down the front of his stab vest. You watched him drag the zip of his trousers down, rubbing just the once over the lump there before dipping in and pulling his cock free. It took him three tries - to extract the full, erect length of himself from the tight compression of his protective cup, before he was letting it hang heavy between his legs. 

“Fuck, König- you’re so big.”

“I know, baby,” he stroked the length of his long, engorged cock from length to tip and your eyes widened, cunt throbbing between your legs in your desperation to feel it deep in you. 

“König, please,” you begged, digging your heels into the small of his back, your wet cunt pressed up against his balls, inviting, begging him in, “my pussy - please -”

He chuckled before pressing the head of his foreboding cock against your clit and you trembled and cursed. He lent over you, hand squeezing your breast, the ends of his dark hood tickling your neck as you felt the hot, solid crown of his cock pressing against your entrance. Your eyes were wide, nervous, feeling the pressure, the give, then the hot length sliding home inside of you.

You gasped and arched, clenching around him and his biceps shook where he held you.

“Fuck, schatz, fuck, not so hard, you will make me come.”

“C-can’t help it.” It was a whine, rolling your hips and digging your heels in harder, trying to pull him deeper. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” He panted, regaining some of his composure and locking his hand around your neck once more. His hips began to piston and you weren’t prepared for it, the shift of his massive cock in your tight walls making you moan and clench and writhe. Your cunt was obscenely wet, and every noise was a squelch that made you blush, until he was pounding into your sweet spot and you forgot everything.

“Fuck, König, fuck-” it was breathless, eyelids fluttering as you clenched and groaned and sprayed his cock, his balls, with your release. “I can’t - can’t stop, fuck,”

“Guh, fuck.” He grunted, lips ghosting over yours. His cock not slowing, pounding you like he was trying to nail the mattress beneath you. “So tight, liebling, your pussy is drawing me in. I’ve waited so long for this.”

You couldn’t ask him to explain, you were too busy coming, your world zeroed down to the tip of König’s dick abusing your swollen sweet spot. He curled his fingers under your knee and held your thigh up by your collarbone, exposing more of your vulnerable cunt to him as he thrust hard into your aching walls. 

Your moans were broken and never ending, blushing and squirming in delirious agony as you gushed and creamed on his cock, feeling your hot release on the backs of your thighs.

“Look at you,” König didn’t even have the decency to sound exerted as he took you apart. “You can’t stop coming, can you, schatz?”

“No.” There were tears in your eyes, your fingernails digging into his arms, holding on for dear life. “You need, please -” Your mouth fell open as you came again, the splash of your squirt explosive and filthy, “you need to come, please, I can’t, can’t come again, please, König, please.”

König framed your jaw with his hand, stroking along the bone as he slammed his hips into yours, forcing more of your come straight from you with a grunt.

“Nearly there, schatz.” He said into your mouth. “Just a little bit longer.”

“Fuck, please,” your walls clenched and contracted again, vaulted over the edge and nearly losing consciousness, clenching your fucked out cunt tight if only to help him get there. “Please, come, come in me, fuck.”

“Scheiße,” he groaned, cock jamming in your tight cunt as you came so hard you nearly pushed him out. He shoved his way back in and you wailed. “You want me to come inside? I’m not wearing…”

“König, please,” it was pathetic, and he couldn’t deny you, watching your sobbing eyes with his piercing blues as he slammed into your weeping cunt for a few more torturous minutes, then his forehead was pressed to yours and he groaned as he spilled inside you. He was so deep you couldn’t feel it, but you could feel his cock twitching, and you could feel yourself clenching and coming so hard you forced dribbles of his white come straight back out of your slit and dribbling down between your cheeks. 

König was breathing heavily against you as he held himself, forehead against yours, body framing yours, and you watched him as you shuddered and tried in vain to relax. He was…there were no words for it.

You let your hands trail down his clothed back, feeling the solid and bunching muscles there, feeling his cock heavy in your squirting pussy and wondering how the hell this had happened.

“König,” you had a warm, dizzying smile on your face. “You came back.”

He nodded mutedly, face partially obscured by his hood, as he stroked along your jaw, then your lips, and let his hulking body fall and rest beside yours. “Thought you might not want me.”

You shook your head, curling into his chest the best you could. He was still inside you.

“Want you, always. Don’t-'' He'd already curled his bear arms around you, drawing you into his warm chest and cutting you off. You were suddenly so overhot you couldn’t remember what you were going to say.

“I’m sorry I upset you, liebling,” he stroked along your back, his blue eyes slack. “I have always wanted you to be mine. From the moment I saw you.”

This felt like a fever dream. It couldn’t possibly be real. You couldn’t possibly be this happy.

“I’ve always been yours, König, I still am. If you still want me.”

He tilted his head as he watched you, lips pulling up, and you blushed.

“What?” You asked.

“You,” he said simply, voice warm like honey, “are smiling again.”

[theonottsbxtch]

WAR IS OVER | CL16

an: this has been in my drafts for so long and i’ve been so excited to share it with all of you! listen to happy xmas by john lennon to enhance experience or whatever. MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!! (if you don’t celebrate, then happy holidays and happy new year!) also this is low-key slightly angsty and emotional but HEA!!

airforce!charles x reader

wc: 2.8k

Snowfall had begun in earnest that December, blanketing the village in a hush so profound it felt as though the world itself were holding its breath. The young woman stood at the kitchen sink, hands submerged in icy dishwater, staring absently out the frost-etched window. The sky was a pale grey, a curtain of wintry gloom stretched thin over rooftops where chimneys smoked and whispered of warmth.

She glanced down at her hands, red from the cold despite the scarf wrapped snug around her wrists, and sighed. Dorothy and Julian were in the parlour, their laughter spilling into the house like sunlight. Dorothy had spent the morning cutting paper chains while Julian orchestrated a kingdom of tin soldiers on the hearth. Their joy pierced her heart like shards of glass—a reminder of Charles. Julian’s unruly hair fell into his eyes just the way his father’s had, and Dorothy’s cheeky smile carried the same tilt of mischief.

The letter was still hidden in her dresser drawer, folded too neatly for something so devastating. It had arrived in the brittle chill of early November, its official tone draining all warmth from the room as she read the curt words: "Presumed missing, believed dead." Protocol, they’d called it. A mechanism for closing doors, for stitching the torn fabric of lives left behind. But the wound in her heart remained unsewn.

The children didn’t know. How could they? She had tucked the grief away, smothering it beneath cheerfulness she didn’t feel. “Mummy, can we have plum pudding this year?” Dorothy had asked, her face aglow with anticipation. She had forced a smile then, nodding and promising, though the thought of Christmas without Charles’s deep laugh, his steady presence, seemed unbearable.

As the evening descended, the village grew quiet save for the occasional crunch of boots on snow as neighbours hurried home. The lights on the tree—a scraggly thing Julian had insisted was perfect when they’d brought it in—glimmered faintly, their glow reflected in the baubles Charles had hung last year. She turned away, blinking back tears, and began laying the table for supper.

That night, as she tucked Dorothy and Julian into bed, their excitement was infectious. “Father Christmas is coming soon!” Julian declared, his small fists clutching the quilt.

“He won’t forget our house, will he?” Dorothy asked, her voice serious.

“Of course not,” she replied, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. She kissed their foreheads, inhaling their innocent warmth, and closed the door quietly behind her.

In the stillness of her bedroom, she unfolded the letter once more. The inked words blurred as she stared at them. It was easier, somehow, to believe that the man who had written her so many tender notes, who had kissed her hand on their wedding day, was merely gone for now. Lost but not beyond reach. Yet the shadows of doubt loomed larger with each passing day.

She had told no one. Not her neighbours, whose own husbands and sons littered foreign graves. Not her children, who still whispered prayers for their father each night. She carried it silently, a solitary burden she could neither lay down nor bear much longer.

Outside, the bells of St. Mary’s chimed the hour, each peal a cruel reminder of time’s unyielding march towards Christmas. A Christmas that loomed hollow and bereft. She pressed her forehead to the cold glass, her breath misting the windowpane. Beyond, the world glittered as if untouched by sorrow, as if unaware of her breaking heart.

Christmas morning arrived with the world awash in golden light, the snow outside sparkling like diamonds. Dorothy and Julian burst into her room, their faces alight with the boundless excitement of the day.

“Mum! It’s Christmas!” Julian shouted, already tugging her from her bed.

Dorothy held a small package, wrapped in newspaper and tied with string. “This one’s for you! We saved it, just for today.”

The sight of their shining faces filled her with guilt and gratitude in equal measure. She managed a smile, sitting with them by the hearth as they tore into their small pile of gifts. Wooden soldiers for Julian, a tin tea set for Dorothy—modest treasures in a time of rationing, but enough to spark joy in her children.

As they played, a commotion erupted outside. Shouts echoed down the cobbled street, punctuated by the sharp clang of a handbell.

“The war is over! It’s over!”

She froze, the words piercing through her like sunlight breaking a storm. From her seat on the rug, Dorothy gasped. “Mummy, does that mean Daddy’s coming home?”

She couldn’t speak, the question lodging like a thorn in her throat. All she could do was pull them close, and smile.

“Let’s go outside and celebrate!” She replied instead, walking over to the coat hangers.

She bundled the children into their coats and scarves, their squeals of excitement filling the small house. Dorothy’s cheeks were already pink with joy, her hands fumbling with her mittens.

“Mummy, hurry!” Julian urged, hopping from foot to foot. “We have to go see!”

She forced a smile and kissed the top of his head. “Go on, both of you. I’ll be just a moment.”

The children dashed out into the snow, their laughter spilling down the lane to join the jubilant cries of the neighbours. She closed the door softly behind them, the house falling quiet once more.

Leaning against the door, she drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Her hands trembled as she pressed them to her face, the tears spilling unchecked now that no one was there to see. The news should have been a balm, but it felt more like a cruel twist. The war was over, but Charles would not be coming back with the others. She was sure of it now, the hope that had lingered for so long finally extinguished.

The house felt cavernous again, the weight of her solitude pressing down on her chest. She moved into the kitchen, the floorboards creaking underfoot. The sight of the breakfast dishes—half-eaten toast and crumbs left behind in the morning’s rush—only deepened her ache.

She braced herself against the sink, staring out at the frost-covered garden. Her shoulders shook, the sobs spilling out of her like waves breaking against a crumbling shore. She had carried this grief alone for so long, but now it threatened to consume her entirely.

“Mummy?”

The soft voice startled her, and she turned to find Dorothy standing in the doorway, her small face pinched with concern.

“Why are you crying?” Dorothy asked, stepping forward with cautious, measured steps.

“I’m not, darling,” she lied, hastily dabbing at her cheeks.

“You are,” Dorothy said plainly, slipping her hand into her mother’s. “But you don’t have to. The war’s over, and Daddy would want us to be happy. You should come outside. Everyone’s singing.”

The simplicity of her daughter’s words cut straight through her. She knelt, wrapping Dorothy in a fierce hug, the warmth of her small body grounding her.

“All right, love,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Let’s go and celebrate.”

Dorothy smiled and tugged her hand, leading her to the door.

The street was alive with celebration. Neighbours who had spent years steeped in quiet, rationed hardship now spilled into the snow-covered road, their faces alight with relief and joy. Someone had hauled a wireless outside, the strains of carols mingling with the jubilant cheers. A man passed with a tray of mince pies, offering one to Julian, who accepted with sticky-fingered glee.

Dorothy twirled in circles, her arms outstretched as snowflakes caught in her hair. Her mother stood at the edge of the crowd, watching her children with a tender ache. For their sake, she tried to let herself feel the joy that surrounded her, to bask in the miracle of peace.

“Mummy, look!” Julian called, pointing to a group of men raising a toast with tin mugs. “Maybe Daddy’s with them!”

Her breath caught. She scanned the crowd reflexively, knowing in her heart she wouldn’t find him there. Yet she let Julian cling to the hope she couldn’t bear to shatter.

As the afternoon waned, she gathered her children, their cheeks red from the cold, their hands clutching treasures gifted by neighbours—sweets, a small wooden horse for Julian, a knitted scarf for Dorothy.

Inside, the warmth of the house embraced them, the fire crackling merrily in the grate. She shepherded them upstairs, brushing away their protestations.

“Christmas isn’t over, Mummy,” Dorothy said, yawning despite herself.

“No, it isn’t,” she said with a small smile, tucking her daughter in snugly. “There’s still tonight, and tomorrow, and the day after that.”

She kissed their foreheads, lingering just a moment longer to drink in their innocence. How had they carried on, so untouched by the weight that threatened to crush her? She envied them their resilience, their belief that the world could be made whole again.

Once they were asleep, she descended the stairs, the house eerily quiet once more. The fire in the hearth glowed faintly, its light casting long shadows across the room. She settled into her worn chair, pulling a shawl around her shoulders, her hands curled around a steaming mug.

The world outside had stilled. The street celebrations had quieted, the snow falling again in soft, measured drifts. Her thoughts wandered to Charles, as they always did when the house was silent. She tried to picture his face as it had been the last time she saw him, standing tall in his uniform, a brave smile hiding the fear she knew he felt.

A sharp knock broke through her reverie. She startled, her mug slipping from her hands and clattering to the floor. For a moment, she sat frozen, her heart racing. Who could be calling at this hour?

She rose slowly, her legs trembling as she crossed the room. The cold air seeped in as she opened the door, her breath catching in her throat.

There he stood, framed by the golden glow of the streetlamp behind him. His uniform was tattered, his face pale with exhaustion, but it was him—Charles.

“Hello, love,” he said softly, his voice hoarse but warm, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Her hand flew to her mouth, a sob escaping her lips as the weight of the months, the grief and fear, melted away all at once. “I thought you were dead,” she choked, her words barely a whisper.

He stepped forward, his arms wrapping around her tightly, solid and real. She clung to him, her tears soaking into his coat as he murmured soothing words, his voice trembling with emotion.

For the first time in what felt like forever, her heart felt whole.

For a long moment, she couldn’t let go of him. Her hands clung to his coat as if he might vanish if she dared loosen her grip. The snowflakes clinging to his hair melted into beads of water, and his warmth seeped into her, chasing away the cold that had lived in her heart for months.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered again, her voice trembling.

“I nearly was,” he admitted, his voice low, hoarse with emotion and exhaustion. He pulled back slightly to look at her, his hand lifting to brush away her tears. His touch was tender, his fingers lingering as though trying to memorise her face. “There’s so much to tell you, love. The mission went wrong… we were shot down. Most of us didn’t make it. I was captured—held prisoner for weeks.”

She gasped softly, her heart breaking anew at the thought of what he must have endured. “Oh, Charles…”

“It’s over now,” he said, his voice steadying as he cupped her face in his hands. “I escaped when the retreat began. It was a long road back, but I’m here. I’m back. And I’m not going anywhere again. Ever.”

The tears came fresh, her relief pouring out in sobs that wracked her entire frame. He pulled her close, his arms encircling her as he held her tightly, anchoring her in the moment.

When she looked up at him again, he smiled, the lines of weariness softening into something infinitely gentle. She reached up, her hand trembling as she touched his cheek, then leaned in, her lips brushing his. The kiss was slow, delicate, and filled with everything she couldn’t put into words—her anguish, her longing, her love.

When they finally broke apart, his forehead rested against hers, and he let out a soft, shaky breath.

“The kids?” he asked, his voice hushed, as though afraid to disturb the peace of the moment.

She smiled through her tears, taking his hand. “Come on,” she whispered, leading him up the stairs.

The house was quiet save for the creak of the floorboards beneath their feet. She paused at the children’s door, easing it open with care. The soft glow of the moonlight spilled through the window, illuminating Dorothy and Julian as they slept soundly, their faces peaceful.

Charles stepped into the room, his hand still in hers. He knelt by Julian’s bed first, his expression softening as he took in the sight of his son. His fingers brushed the boy’s dark hair, and his throat worked as though he were fighting back tears.

Then he moved to Dorothy, his gaze lingering on her delicate features. She stirred slightly in her sleep, murmuring something incoherent before settling again.

“They’ve grown,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“They have,” she said, her own voice trembling. “They look so much like you.”

He glanced back at her, his eyes shining, and then turned to gaze at them again. “I can’t believe I almost missed this. Missed them.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, the two of them standing together in silence for a long moment, watching their children sleep. It was a moment she thought she’d never have again—a moment that felt too precious to disturb, too fragile to let go.

When they finally left the room, closing the door quietly behind them, he pulled her into his arms once more. “I’m back,” he murmured against her hair. “Back for good. We’re whole again, love. Whole.”

The quiet of the house enveloped them as she led him to their room. The door creaked softly as she pushed it open, revealing the familiar space that had so often been her refuge—and her prison—in his absence. The room felt warmer with him in it, the shadows less oppressive, the air lighter.

Charles stood just inside the doorway, his weary eyes scanning the room, as if grounding himself in the life he had fought so hard to return to. She turned to him, her fingers trembling as they moved to the buttons of his tattered coat.

“Let me,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his gaze fixed on her face as she worked the buttons loose, one by one. The coat slipped from his shoulders, heavy with the weight of everything he’d been through. She caught it before it hit the floor, draping it carefully over a chair. When she looked up again, she saw his shirt beneath, threadbare and stained, a testament to all he hadn’t told her yet.

Her breath hitched, and she reached out to touch him—his chest, solid and warm beneath the worn fabric. Her tears came again, spilling silently as she rested her forehead against him.

“War is over, Cha,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “It’s over.”

His hand came up to cup the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair as he held her close. “It’s over,” he echoed softly, his voice steady, as if speaking the words made them real.

They stood like that for a long moment, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire downstairs and the whisper of the snow against the window. She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, and in his eyes, she saw the same relief, the same raw gratitude that coursed through her.

Wordlessly, she led him to the bed, pulling back the quilt she had lain under alone for far too long. He eased down beside her, his body sinking into the mattress with a sigh of exhaustion. She followed, curling against him as he wrapped an arm around her, drawing her close.

For the first time in months, the bed didn’t feel so empty, the darkness didn’t seem so vast, and the ache in her chest was no longer unbearable. They lay in silence, the words unspoken between them carried in the warmth of his touch, the steadiness of his breathing.

As sleep began to claim them, she whispered into the stillness, “You’re home, Charles.”

And in the soft darkness, he answered, his voice a balm to her weary soul: “I’m home.”

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow

[tteokdoroki]

⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡. — KATSUKU BAKUGOU. setting powder.

about. whilst getting ready to meet your new boyfriend’s extended family — you learn that he knows a thing or two about doing makeup.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, characters aged up to 20s, enemies to lovers, meeting the family, new relationships, brief mention of injury and hospitals, reader wears makeup and dresses, pro hero!bakugou, nurse/doctor!reader.

“we’re gonna be late, sweetheart.”

leaning against the door frame, bakugou crosses his arms over his chest — his perfect lips pulled into a suave smirk as he watches you finish your makeup for tonight.

“wha…huh? you said i had twenty minutes?” you’re still half dressed, your boyfriend’s baggy hoodie from an old merch collection draped over your sweet little dress to protect it from your foundation, your hair is tied back and away from your face so it doesn’t get in the way and though you’re still trying to blend your cream blush in with one of those sponge things — katsuki thinks you’re the most adorable thing in the entire world.

pushing himself off the door frame, he sits behind you on the bed — still watching you work at the vanity whilst he fixes the cuffs of his dress shirt. “that was twenty minutes ago,” the blonde rasps affectionately and grasps your at your jewellery laid out on the bed. the rough pad of his thumb traces over the ‘K’ on the silver heart locket he’d gotten you for your birthday before he undoes the clasp and places the chain around your neck — being mindful of your hair in the process. “y’said you’d be done by then.”

you catch your boyfriend’s vermillion stare in the reflection of your mirror — his subtle smile when he sees his initials dangling from your neck. it feels you with warmth to know that no matter what, katsuki will always find you beautiful and will always love you. even with how chaotic your makeup looks when half done. “i think i spent too long in the shower ‘n underestimated how long this look would take,” you sigh, reaching for your lip gloss next. you’ll have to put it in your purse, do your lips in the car. “do you think they’ll mind if we’re any later than this?”

“my parents won’t. neither will inko. deku — i mean — izuku will, but he’ll pretend he ain’t bothered,” bakugou prattles down the list, making a note of tonight’s attendees. it was tradition that the bakugous and the midoriyas had a monthly dinner together, it had been going on since the two pro heroes were children. only now, their partners were invited since they were family too. family included you.

you hadn’t gone to U.A and you certainly didn’t know katsuki until he became an up and coming pro hero. the first time he’d saved you, by the sidewalk of the hospital you worked at, you thought he was brutish and stuck up. you’d hated him and he’d hated you. but over time, and more frequent trips to A&E after saving civilians or sometimes after being wounded in villain attacks — you’d come to appreciate bakugou’s brooding personality and observant nature.

he’d come to like you too. how much you cared for others and wanted to make the world a better place. you reminded him a little bit of izuku, in a strange way.

so one night when you were on call, katsuki brought you flowers instead of a stomach wound that needed stitches and you’d given him a kiss instead of berating him about being careful, over vanilla and chocolate pudding cups from the hospital cafeteria.

signing impatiently, you bring katsuki back to present day. “i wanted to make a good impression on your aunty and on your best friend,” rubbing your arm nervously, you cast your gaze over the mess on your vanity — expensive products splayed across them in organised chaos.

“you will. they’re gonna love you. they already do,” bakugou stands behind you now, rough palms smoothing over your shoulders. “izuku says you’ve made me less bitchy at work. whatever the fuck that means.”

you giggle, eyes sparkling in delight as you look at the blonde in the mirror. “really?”

“really,” he nods sheepishly. the way you look at him makes him feel so loved. it’s new to him. nice to him. “now, whaddya need help with s’we can hurry up ‘n hit the road.”

you begin to ramble on, perking up at the idea of katsuki helping with the rest of your routine.“well… i’ve done my lashes, my eyes, my base and blush… i can do lips in the car. aside from putting on earrings and fixing my hair all i need is to set my face with—“

“settin’ powder,” bakugou grabs the little pot from your vanity as if he knew where it was all along, picking up a little face cushion as well as he prepares to get to work. “got it.” he dips the cushion into the translucent powder, rubbing the excess off on the back of his hand before leaning in real close to dab at the areas he thinks you need it. like your t-zone.

your boyfriend’s touch is like magic on your face, perfectly setting your makeup while making you feel like a pampered princess. “who taught you how to do this?” comes your shy mumble, his proximity to your face causing you to grow flustered and squirm in your seat. “h-how are you so good at it?”

“keep still, i’ll be finished faster if y’stop squirmin’ sweetheart. don’t wanna mess up what you’ve done already,” pausing his actions, katsuki gives you a toothy smirk — revelling in how bashful you’ve become under his touch while he helps you with your makeup. “…grew up behind the scenes of fashion shows ‘n shoots. so i picked up a thing or two i wanted to make sure i could still do it so i watched a couple of videos on it too. ‘n i noticed…you always put so much time ‘n effort into your makeup. wanted to help make the process easier for you.”

you feel as though you could melt at katsuki’s kind words and gesture as he dabs at your face a little more — tongue caught between the tips of his pearly white teeth as he sticks it out in concentration. he’s so cute it makes you want to scream. “you’re sweet,” you coo appreciatively, stilling yourself to let him finish before he pulls back — satisfied with his work. “i love you.”

it’s not the first time you’ve said it to one another, but the three words are still new to the both of you. “i uh…i love you more,” a pink, rosey hue rises on the surface of bakugou’s tanned skin and his red, loving eyes dart away from your face bashfully. “‘m gonna get your shoes ‘n jacket ready by the door while that sits. don’t forget your settin’ spray after you brush that shit off — oh ‘n don’t take my hoodie off until you’ve done that. don’t wanna ruin your dress, kay?”

“okay,” you respond fondly, hiding your smile at his very specific instructions. “i’ll be down in a minute.”

katsuki nods hesitantly, standing up as he gathers your belongings and outerwear — ready to load them up in the car, when he suddenly pauses in place. “you look beautiful tonight, sweetness. you always do.” he adds as one last parting message, before disappearing down the hall.

leaving you wondering how you ever lucked out with such a man. one who’s not only kind and gentle and loving, but a pro hero and a makeup artist at that.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[patchworkcuddlebug]

The Surgery Doll

There’s a sickening creak of metal as the well-aged door is effortfully pushed open. The operation room was lit with an aggressive white light, leaving harsh shadows angled into every corner. The cloth doll turns its head, trying to shield the buttons on its face from the intense glow. The flinch lasts only a moment, as it remembers its place. It turns back, facing the ball-jointed doll that politely stands in wait across the operating table.

It's... a kind of doll it hadn't seen before. It's seen plenty of ball-jointed dolls, of course. But none like this. The way its frame crawls upward, consuming the corner of the room like a spider web. The sharp edges of its thin, lanky frame looked as if they could cut the delicate flesh of any onlooker.

"Ah, it's... very nice to meet that one." The cloth doll curtsies, failing to hide its nervousness. "This one's name is Pudding. It's nice to, um..." The doll trails off before it can repeat itself, looking to the other doll for approval.

The ball-jointed doll is unfettered. It towers above the plaything, statuesque as it glares down at its patient. "Macabre."

"Ah, a pretty name!" It tries to smile, apprehension leaving the stitches in its mouth half-turned. "It's nice to meet that one!"

Macabre simply turns away, bending down to reach under the counter behind it. "Get on the table."

The other doll obeys, letting its soft body quietly thump against the back. With cloth mittens clasped together, resting on its belly, it stares up into the sterile fluorescent light.

The room is cold, the stone walls of the basement emanating an unwelcoming aura of stiff indifference. The lights, external fixtures crudely strung up with wire, leave a power cord that snakes into the corner and disappears behind a shelf of medical texts, for people and non-people alike. Spines coloured the same blue seen upon the walls of hospitals, the same colour Pudding has seen before when Miss cuddles it through her drama shows. They're outnumbered by smaller books; operating manuals, caring for clockwork, and a few books on sewing and crochet that it recognizes from Miss's shelf.

A moment passes. All that fills the room is a practised pattern, the routine movements of a doll at work as the shuffling of something accompanies its searching hands.

"So... um..." The doll tries to speak. This is not a bed for rest, Macabre is not a partner to sooth. It's far out of its element. "This one has never met a medical doll before. What's it like?"

There's a distinct creaking as Macabre turns, a clear strain against its old joints as it reaches for its implement. It holds sewing scissors, the blades hanging open and held over Pudding's body like a scythe.

Its face remains still, adorned with a pensive frown dotted with dark makeup. Only now does Pudding notice how... it wouldn't dare to say something as rude as inelegant, but it's never seen a doll wear something so pragmatic. A plain black t-shirt dress, completely without frills or decoration. Scrubs.

"It's wonderful." Its painted-on frown doesn't move as the monotone drips from it. It's lowered to a whisper, just as it was before, as if raising its voice above the minimum would be a strain. "This one gets to see the private insides of every doll it's ever met. It's a privilege to be trusted."

Its body curls inward, the lanky body creaking as it hovers over the doll like a beast about to pounce. A sleek and terrible monster of the shadows, one that lurks around the corner to dig fangs into necks. But, of course, its mouth remains politely closed. "Thank you."

"Oh!" The cloth doll perks up, a genuine smile teasing at its lips. "Um, this one is happy to help!" There's a hesitation in its voice, one of surprise and just a little confusion. But, just a little, it feels fulfilled. "That one should thank Miss Circe when she returns, too. She's what made this one so helpful." It echoes from a lifetime of habit.

With its reaction fulfilled, Pudding lowers its head back, flush against the table. The apprehension makes itself known again, digging in and rooting within the doll's mind.

Macabre lets out a gentle sigh, giving a barely-there curious tilt of its head. "You can't anesthetize a doll."

"Huh?"

"So that one needs to calm itself before the operation." It reaches back and places the sewing scissors on the tray resting on the counter behind it, next to bags of weighted beads. Its movements were smooth, unflinchingly elegant, to an unnatural degree. Movements uninhibited by mortal consideration, everything in service to a purposeful intent, with no room left for a flinch. "It's a comfort doll, yes? What would that one do if it were the one calming a patient?"

"Oh!" Recognition fades into concern. "Oh, um..." With no lungs left to fill, the doll mimics a sigh as it turns back to the room's only door. "This one would probably be most comforted by Miss being here, but she has such important things to be doing."

Before it can continue, before it can dilute its needs with practicality, Macabre accepts. "If that one needs a Miss, this one shall provide. Her name was Circe, yes?"

Comfort dolls, Pudding especially, must be attuned with emotion to follow their purpose. A comfort doll should recognize what will be enjoyed, appreciated, and most of all, comforting. So it knows. Immediately, it knows.

"Yes, Miss Circe." Pudding nods dutifully, smiling up at a doll that is not her witch. Its eyes are much too dark, its hair the same as its blunt bangs almost hide its eyes entirely. And that face, its frozen porcelain face, bereft of Circe's relief to finally be so close to her favourite doll and hold it tight after a long day apart. "...thank you for being here with this one."

"She is kind, isn't she? She must treat that one so well." Macabre can't help but let its thoughts drift away, head tilting downward to avert its eyes. "So refined, but so compassionate. Someone who can hug, who can cause smiles. What makes that one smile?"

It's then that Pudding sees something in the taller doll shift. Its posture loosens, just a little, just enough. It's all the cloth doll needs. It feels something light up, a drive, a need. This is its purpose.

Its focus shifts, away from itself. All it can do is look up at Macabre, a wistful compassion clear even through the darkness of its buttons. "You always tell this one stories about all the fun people you meet, Miss. You're so social, it's so natural for you to just attract people and make them happy."

Macabre doesn't sigh, hiding the refreshing relief to hear such a thing. To imagine it were true, that it was a vibrant thing of compassion and closeness. "Yes..." It hesitates, only for a moment, from its task. It takes that moment, just a moment and nothing more, to conjure a self to refer to. "I... I met someone, just at the store the other day. She was so kind to me. She just... came up to me and talked like we were old friends. She wasn't the least bit scared, she..."

Macabre flinched, woken from its lucid daydream, as it feels a soft mitten snake into its hand. Immediately, Pudding pulls away. "Oh! Sorry, this one didn-"

"No!" Macabre snatches its mitten back. "No, it's... please. It's okay."

Slowly, gently, the mitten closes around the other doll’s sharp and slender grasp. "Yes, Miss. Of course."

. . . . .

Thmp!

Such soft, gentle impacts ring into the concrete. Thmp goes an experimental first step, the doll's feet landing against the ground with a heavier and clumsier pressure. "Oh, gosh, this feels…"

The doll looks back to Macabre. "…it's strange." Another raise of the foot, and a gentle press against the floor, too softly to sound beyond the subtle rustling of its new beads. "It's a little heavy, but it doesn't feel… encumbering, it thinks."

Fixing its posture, Pudding's look turns from one of curiosity to gratitude. "This one gives its thanks, Macabre. That one is very talented!"

With a soft creak, the other doll lowered its head, a polite and dutiful gesture. "It was nothing. That one was a very good doll. Most dolls struggle to be still when they're being cut, this one is pr-"

It stops itself. "…that one did well."

Pudding knew what it wanted to say, of course. It had known all along.

"Thanks for acting as this one's Miss, as well. It was a great help." The doll bows and grabs its dress, a quick and light curtsy.

Then, it spoke one final thought. Just before Circe returned, and Pudding gave her all of its attention like any good doll would. Just before she left the payment on the table, one that an owned doll would have passed along to its witch. Just enough to almost force a soulful blush on Macabre's cold, painted face.

"That one would make a lovely witch."

[dioslesbianwife]

Can i request a platonic team bucciarati with reader who came back as a zombie or a frankenstein's monster kinda thing? They just casually show up as if nothing happened.

sure, hope you enjoy and thank you for requesting <333

Bucciarati

He literally stops breathing.

“...No. No, that’s impossible. We buried you. I closed your eyes.”

Touches your face like he’s making sure you’re real- and flinches when he feels the unnatural cold of your undead skin.

“Who did this to you?” His tone sharpens. “Who brought you back?”

But once he sees you’re still you, still warm-hearted and kind beneath the whole “stitched together corpse” thing, he lets you stay near him again.

Makes sure you’re taken care of. Keeps your bandages clean. Buys you gloves so people don’t freak out.

Still scolds you like a mother hen. “Being undead doesn’t mean you can run headfirst into danger again, Y/N. Don’t make me zip your arm back on.”

Giorno

He senses it before he sees you. A ripple in nature. Something… off.

When you appear, shambling into the hideout with your patched-up limbs and dull eyes, Giorno immediately raises Gold Experience.

“That’s impossible. You died.”

You blink at him. “Yeah but like… I got better?”

Stares at you with that thoughtful mafia prince intensity before slowly lowering his Stand.

“Fascinating. Your soul has returned, but the body- who did this to you?”

Studies you like a scientist. Pokes your stitches. Has so many questions about necromancy and cellular resurrection.

But lowkey… is relieved you’re back. Really relieved. He just doesn’t show it.

Mista

SCREAMS.

“BRO- BRO- SOMEONE GET A GUN- ”

Literally hides behind Narancia. “IS THAT A GHOST?? IS THAT YOUR GHOST??”

When you roll your eyes and flip him off with your slightly-rotting hand, he loses it.

“OH MY GOD THEY ARE BACK. AND RUDE.”

Takes a WHILE to get used to it. He pokes your stitches constantly and asks a million inappropriate questions like “So like, do you still fart?” 

Eventually brags about you to strangers. “This is my bestie, they died and came back. No biggie.”

Narancia

FREEZES when he sees you.

“Wait… no way… no way…”

Runs over and hugs you so tight your arm pops off. 

“AHHHHHHHH I BROKE THEM- ”

Apologizes a hundred times and then refuses to let you out of his sight.

100% treats you the same as before, even if you have to sew your leg back on mid-conversation.

“So like, are you still hungry? Do you eat brains? Can I give you my pudding cup?”

If anyone stares at you funny in public, he yells “WHAT YOU LOOKIN’ AT, HUH?! THAT’S MY FRIEND YOU FREAK.”

Trish

At first: screaming. Then: silent horror.

“...This is a prank, right? A Stand illusion?”

When she realizes it’s really you, she bursts into angry tears. “You DIED. You DIED and no one could fix it.”

And now you’re just standing there. With stitches. With cold hands. But the same smile.

“You absolute idiot,” she sobs, hugging you.

Immediately becomes your undead stylist. “You might be a zombie but that doesn’t mean you can’t SERVE LOOKS.”

Buys you custom arm warmers and makeup to hide the decay. “If you’re gonna cheat death, you better do it fabulously.”

Abbacchio

“...You’re dead.”

“Yeah,” you say. “But I got better.”

“Tch.”

Refuses to believe you’re real for days.

“It’s a trick. It’s Moody Blues showing me something I want to see.”

Won’t talk to you. Won’t look at you. Then one day, when you patch up a wound of his and smile, he just sighs.

“Only you would come back from the dead and still boss me around.”

Quietly watches over you. You catch him looking every now and then, like he’s still waiting for you to vanish again.

Secretly grateful you came back. Will never say it. But he brings you hot cocoa sometimes and mutters “Don’t lose another limb.”

Fugo

PANIC.

“No. No, this isn’t right. This isn’t NATURAL.”

Tries to push you away at first- afraid you’re some twisted trap, or worse, a puppet.

“What if this is hurting you? What if your soul’s trapped?”

But when you touch his hand- cold and shaky- and say “I missed you,” he just crumbles.

“...You dumbass,” he whispers, eyes wet. “You shouldn’t be here. But I’m so glad you are.”

Becomes the one constantly reminding you to rest and take care of your gross undead body. Packs you little first-aid kits and spare thread “just in case.”

[bonefall]

Clan Culture Illustrations

So I've been mentioning this in passing, and I think now is a good time to start collecting info from people who are interested!

I'm seeking artists who want to draw stuff for my Clan Culture series.

I often write very large guides for things like tools, ecology, medicine and treatments, etc, which then get held up by the fact that they're big blocks of text without any fun pictures. I usually collaborate with friends and family, but I could put out more quicker if I had some artists on standby.

If you're an artist who would be interested in illustrating, here's the details;

Everything I make on this blog is tailored towards WC fans, but free for anyone to use and reference for their xenofiction worldbuilding projects. You do not have to be intimately familiar with the Warrior Cats books. This offer's open to anyone above 18.

Fans of Better Bones are preferred, because Clan Culture and BB often intersect. I might ask for help with some BB stuff at some point, too. (for example i have a guide on types of StarClan spirits that needs illustration)

To re-iterate, please only inquire if you're 18+

Price range is 20 - 50 USD and turnaround time can be up to 6 months if you just keep me updated. (I am sorry that I can't offer a higher price for these, but this is coming from my own pocket. In return, this is meant to be low pressure)

Half payment upfront, the rest after completion.

I will never "assign" you a surprise mystery topic (unless you ask for that I guess?), I'll either present you with a list of posts that need illustration (yes this means you get to read stuff early), OR float some ideas that play to your strengths and interests. (for example: if I'm approached by Spider-Enjoyer-9000 who's willing to draw a ridiculous number of spiders, I will draft, write, and research a Clanmew Expansion in the style of Deer and Co or Moths and Butterflies.)

Either way, there's usually a lot of creative freedom here unless I need a specific technical drawing, which I will discuss with you and provide references for. (As an example, if we were talking about a post on declawing, I might ask for you to illustrate the muscles within the paw.)

The nature of Clan Culture means you will probably be asked to draw plants, food, objects, and/or scenery

Still interested?

I'm hoping to make a personal "list" of people I can call on, so send me your commissions info or details in a DM, an ask, a reply to this post, or anything else you'd like. Tell me about stuff you like drawing, topics you're interested in, if you can draw backgrounds, etc

Also, please tell include in that message if you're comfortable with illustrating these particular sensitive topics. These are opt-in only;

Medical Gore (Woundcare, stitching, blood, vomit, urine, parasites and bug bites, etc.)

Reproductive Care (Abortion, birth, pyometria, inducing lactation, possible revamp of the HRT guide including simple surgeries, etc)

Hunting and Butchery (Humane killing of prey, skinning, disembowelment, cutting meat, making sausage and blood pudding, etc)

Funerals and Animal Death (Sad kitties, dead battle cats, scavengers and grave desecration, tombs and burial rituals, concealing decay, etc.)

The end art will always stay tasteful, but I might need to give you references in the form of real images or tutorials that might be upsetting if you're sensitive to these topics-- so it's important to me that I consider those four things "opt-in."

I have plenty of other posts that need illustration, it's just a huge plus if you're able to do these too.

(You should also mention any other specific triggers or phobias you have, so I don't unwittingly come at you with something else upsetting)

"I still have questions!"

Putting a big list of answers beneath the cut;

"Would everything have to be colored?"

Nope, as long as there's pictures to break up the text, you can do sketches, black and white, flat colors, only put color in the header, etc. We'll discuss expectations with the post in front of us, and then agree on price.

I have ONE requirement; it's gotta look good on Tumblr darkmode. Because I use Dark Reader.

"Do you have a Discord?"

I do, I just try to be exclusive with who I give it to! When we're discussing details, we'll probably move over there if you'd like. This is a reason why I only want to work with 18+ artists, I'm not always SFW on main.

"Can we do an entry together about (specific topic)?"

Probably yes, so feel free to ask! The worst that will happen is that I say no, or maybe later. For example, I've got a post on Sweetness Tolerance reserved for my partner (they like to draw sweets), so I would say no if you asked.

Just keep in mind that researching, outlining, and writing is unpaid labor I'm doing completely for free. I have posts mostly done that just need art, and topics I've done some research on. Please only ask for special collaborations from scratch if you're serious 🙏

"Does it have to be digital?"

You'd have to have a WILD idea for me to say yes to anything non-digital, but I am a queer of whimsy. If you can whimsify me with an idea, hell yeah.

"Will I be compensated if you need any changes?"

Yes. If I spring anything on you after the details we agree on, I will first ask you, then ask how much that change would cost, and then compensate you for it.

As fair warning though, I am trying to stay within a budget and writing the posts themselves is unpaid work I do (plus occasional helping hands during research stages, I consulted a friend who is an irl wetlands expert for ShadowClan's environment). I can't pay more than what we agree on.

"Can I link my info in the post?"

Yes. "Guest Artist" is going to be named in the opening paragraphs, along with any fundraiser, shop info, carrd, etc, you want there.

"Boosty?"

Yea I got Boosty. Paypal, too.

"I have some other question about pricing"

Feel free to ask, but my hard budget is 20$ - 50$ US. Please only inquire if you're willing to charge within that range.

"What if I'd do it free or I want to do this anonymously?"

I'll donate to a charity of your choice and link to it in the post. If you have no charity preference, I will link to RAINN, Anera, or The Trevor Project.

(Naturally this comes with an anti-ghoul caveat or two. If you try to get me to donate to something like Autism Speaks I will rotate every bone in your body by 45 degrees.)

"I like checklists, can you give me a checklist of info you want in a DM?"

Sure!

Your info; socials, carrd, shop, etc

General interests and strengths. Stuff you'd love to work on, or have insight to. If you like fishing or drawing bugs, I want to know that. If you particularly want to practice flowers, tell me. Be as detailed as you want so I can pair you with a relevant subject!

Your examples

General asking price (or charity)

Which, if any, of the four Opt-In Subjects you're opting in for.

Anything else I should know (triggers, phobias, things you dislike drawing, if schooling or disability means you need a particularly long turnaround time, etc)

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Forged from Lavender and Iron 🪻

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Farrier!John Price × FlowerFarmer!Reader

This has been sitting in my notes for a literal year now. I never really planned on posting this because I wrote it for my own enjoyment, but maybe if enough people want to see more I'll continue this with the multiple parts I had in mind 👀

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Your little farm with your friendly companions Marigold and Pudding was all you needed. You'd see a friendly face or two at the weekly market where you'd sell the flowers and produce you'd poured your soul into. This time was different, as your life and your heart got turned upside down by a kind Farrier with a voice like silk and eyes so blue you were already gasping for air.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The soft golden light of the spring sun shone down on your face with a gentle breeze passing through your hair as you heaved one of the wooden crates onto the counter of your stall.

You huffed, your hands tightly planted on your hips, looking over your work of having arranged the boxes just as you'd wanted. Heeps of seasonal veggies and fruit were almost spilling over the edge of the crates thanks to a very rewarding early harvest this year.

The colorful blooms and petals of the first few spring flowers framed your stall beautifully, surrounded by fragrant arrangements of all sizes.

You'd managed to touch up the paint job recently, making the wood rival the flowers in brightness. The weekly market was your favorite part of the week by far.

It was a time when the community would come together and supply each other with all the goods the countryside had to offer; you sold your produce and the flowers you were working so hard on integrating into the landscape, hoping they'd acclimate to the native soil and spread their pollen until every bare spot in your little town was like a sight from an oil painting.

Your stall-neighbors, as you called them, were an old married couple named Alice and Bill. They were lovely people, always checking in on you.

Bill was a passionate dairy farmer, not once have you seen someone handle animals with such care as he did, providing milk, cheese and cream during the market, drawing in visitors from out of town.

Alice, on the other hand, was quite keen with a needle and thread, offering her handmade goods every Tuesday. Her stitches were made with such care and precision, watching her work was a spectacle that never failed to fascinate you.

You'd been invited for tea more than once, spending time with your kind friends. They made you feel less alone, giving you the familiar comfort only grandparents could give.

It wasn't easy being in the farming buisness this young, especially as a woman who was living alone on an old farm.

So, Alice and Bill made sure to pass on as much of their experience and knowledge as they could, hoping to lighten your load as you treaded down your path.

This is the life you chose, one you would choose a hundred times over. The freedom that your little farm out in the fields made you feel was something poets wished they could put into words.

An office job would be your poison, sucking the water and nutrients from your roots and shielding you from the sun until you'd wilt and whither like a delicate flower.

"Oh, look at your flowers, deary!" Alice beamed, clasping her hands together in delight, "they're as lovely as ever. I don't know how you do it."

You chuckled softly, wiping the small beads of sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

"You have your secrets and I have mine." You grinned mischievously, earning a jokingly scolding look from the older woman.

"Well, much love went into them. And care. And blood and sweat and tears." You deadpanned.

"Stubborn little things, really." You sighed, breaking into a small smile.

"Go on, take whichever ones you like." You gently encouraged Alice, gesturing to the wide variety of bouquets that were sitting in terracotta pots in front of your stall.

She hestitated, a soft crease forming between her silver brows.

"I shouldn't. I don't want to take from you, deary. Not when they could be making you money instead." She smiled regretfully.

You brushed her off with a wave of your hand.

"Don't be silly, Alice. Your smile is worth more to me than the five pounds I'd get for them." You promised.

You could see the faint spark in her eyes melt into one of adoration.

"You're too kind. At least let me give you something in return." She said kindly, the crows feet around her eyes deepening.

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" You grinned, watching as Alice confidently shook her head with a sly expression.

You watched as she hurried to her and Bill's stall, rummaging through a small basket before making her way back to you.

"Give this to sweet Marigold for me, will you?" She opened her palm, a small patchwork mouse sitting within.

One of your hands flew to your heart, a small 'aw' slipping from your lips.

"Mari will loves this one. I swear, she's not going anywhere without the little snail you made her." You smiled, taking the small toy from her hand.

Alice folded her hands in front of her.

"She's precious, little Marigold. I know Bill doesn't want to admit it, but he's taken a shine to her." She whispered with a grin.

You laughed and turned the mouse in your hands, brushing your thumb over the neat seams.

"You ought to come by more often. Mari stopped getting her little sneaky paws on my good cushions since you visited." you smirked, watching the older woman laugh softly.

"She embraces her tiger ancestry a little too much sometimes." You sighed, thinking of your cute stripped kitty that was just as mischievous as she was sweet and cuddly.

"Anyway," you safely stored the little mouse in your pocket before turning to Alice, "your flowers. I took the liberty of picking one for you."

Bending down with a soft groan, you pulled a small bouquet from one of the pots, gently shaking the water off the stems.

"I had a hunch you'd like these." You said softly, handing her the flowers.

It was a small bundle of daisies, baby's breath and few buttercups. Alice smiled as she enthusiastically took them off your hands, her gaze drifting to the pure blooms before looking back up at you.

"Oh, deary. These are perfect! How did you know?"

"Well," you began, wiping your hands on your thighs," I know that yellow is your favorite color, and you once told me how baby's breath reminds you of stars. Which, in turn, reminds you of the first night you spent with Bill. I listen, you know." You smiled softly, watching as a few tears welled up in her pale green eyes with a wide smile stretching across her face.

"You truly are an angel." She said gently, pressing a loving kiss to your cheek.

Before you could respond, Bill walked up to the two of you, loosely resting his arm around her waist.

"Ah, lassie. Good to see you. Quite the harvest you got this year." He said, gaze flitting over the many veggies you had brought today.

"Jesus! Look at the size of those beets." He marveled, abandoning his place beside his wife in favor of gawking at the red root.

"I'm telling you, lassie, these beets could rival even Arnold Schwarzenegger." He said with a serious look, making you huff out a laugh.

"Oh, Stop spewing your nonsense, Bill!" Alice scolded with furrowed brows.

"I don't know what that means, but I'll take your word for it." You chuckled.

Bill continued to inspect the beetroot, testing the size of it in his hand.

"Christ, what're you doing to them to get them this size?"

"Love, Bill. It's all love." You chirped over your shoulder, moving a small box of strawberries out of the way.

"You should know. That's how you got this, eh?" Alice snickered, patting her husband's gut. He grumbled, putting the beet back into its place before placing a kiss to her temple, albeit a little begrudgingly.

"S'all in good spirits, Bill. You know we love you exactly as you are." You smiled sweetly, although your teasing undertone wasn't missed by the dairy farmer.

"Yeah, yeah." He waved you off with a chuckle before taking his rightful place behind his stand, watching as the first few visitors filled the old cobblestone Plaza.

Alice jokingly rolled her eyes at him.

"Right. I better go before Bill's mood sours the milk." She muttered with a grin, coaxing a laugh from your chest.

"I'll see you around, then. I hope you enjoy the flowers." You smiled, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"I always do, deary. If you need me to watch your stall if you want to go strolling around, just give me a shout." Alice said kindly, turning on her heel to join Bill at their stand.

You gave her a nod and a polite wave before nudging some of the crates around, trying to occupy yourself with something. You were mentally preparing a list of the stalls you'd have to visit as the market was your preferred place of getting your weekly shopping done.

There was one of your younger friends, Evie, who was a passionate beekeeper, selling all kinds of goods made with the resources her little buzzing friends had produced. Her honey was one of the best ones you'd ever tasted, and the beeswax candles she poured herself never failed to warm up a cold evening.

You'd given her some dried flowers that you had leftover from experimenting with making your own tea, and she said she'd try to integrate them into her candles. Just the thought of the smooth and sweet beeswax combined with the soothing smell of your homegrown lavender made you sigh dreamily.

Then you'd have to stop by Cassandra, the butcher, and David the baker. A lovely pair of siblings that had taken over their late parents buisness together. David made a mean sourdough, which perfectly soaked up the flavor of the beef stew you'd made last winter with Cassandra's best cuts and root vegetables grown on your farm.

And lastly, a long pit stop would be made at Pam's egg stand. A real blabber-mouth that one. She was the gossip mill of the town, always knowing everything and everyone, sticking her nose wherever she could. But, she loved her chickens dearly and her hens' eggs are of the highest quality.

You've never seen a yolk that rich in color and taste. Truthfully, knowing where your food came from and knowing the people behind it all made it that much more delicious.

You'd also take a peek at the craft section of the market. There were all sorts of wonderful things to be found on those cluttered counters; handcrafted jewelery, ceramics and pottery, wind chimes, and glass art. You were grateful to live in such a colorful and fruitful community and one that supported each other with everything they could.

With your daily plan firmly set in stone in your mind, you waited behind your little stall until someone would come by and hopefully empty your crates, filling your pockets in turn.

You sat perched up on an extra crate you'd brought so you wouldn't have to stand all day and feel your legs all the way in your stomach.

It was a lovely atmosphere, the sunny early spring weather accompanied by the sweet melodies of jolly birds singing and the excited chatter of the market's visitors filling the space nicely.

Your stock was about half empty now, although your flowers looked more sparse than your produce.

It seemed that the colorful plants were dearly missed throughout the winter, and that everyone wanted nothing more than a fresh and bright bouquet in their home to ring in the start of a new season.

Some of your friends and regular customers had already stopped by, taking their fill of your veggies and couple of fruits until the next week. At this rate, you'd have to up your harvest by fixing up one of the old dry fields that you'd left untouched until now. You groaned quietly at the thought, remembering how much trouble the first fields were.

Sitting in the dirt with aching knees and a sore back, hacking away at the dry hard soil to plant some potatoes. It took honest sweat and tears to get your soil to what it was now, and as much as you didn't look forward to going through all that hassle again, it'd be worth it in the end.

You lazily swung your foot, which was in the air from your legs being crossed, and looked around whether anyone seemed like they were in desperate need of vegetables or flowers.

After a quick flitting gaze over the part of the market place that was in your sight, you decided that if no one came running towards you, begging for some cauliflower, you were free to leave the stall under Alice's watchful eye for a while to get your own shopping done.

"S'cuse me, Alice? Do you mind keeping an eye on my stand? I still need to get some shopping done." You called to her, making her head snap towards you with a smile.

"Oh, yes, of course, deary! You go ahead and get your supper together, I'll make sure no one steals your potatoes." She said jokingly, the sincerity of keeping watch as honest as ever.

You rolled your eyes with a grin and quick shake of your head before grabbing your beloved shopping bag and heading out into the bustle of the market.

You could see Alice walking over to your stall in your peripheral, making a small smile tug at your lips, your eyes back in front of you to not bump into anyone.

Your first stop was at Evie's stall, following the sweet scent if lavender and beeswax. As much as you wanted your own stall to be the prettiest, Evie had you beat. Despite the quite neutral color scheme, at least compared to your obnoxious paints, you couldn't beat her decorations.

There were little bees hanging from the awning, gently swaying in the wind. Some flowers were scattered around as well, with vibrant green vines, contrasting the soft golden hue of the little buzzy friends.

You walked up to her with a smile, and the one she sends you back once she's spotted you could make the sun turn green with envy.

"Well, well, well, If it isn't my favorite florist! I was hoping you'd stop by today- Oh, I need to tell you something exciting about my new batch of honey and- OH my new candles!" She squealed, almost bouncing up and down from excitment.

You chuckled at her over the top, yet very common for her, reaction.

"Alright, slow down, Ev. One thing at a time, can't have you eating your words again."

The bubbly girl stopped and huffed with a small pout.

"That was one time! Okay, maybe two at best! I can't help it, we don't see eachother often and I just have so much to tell you, about my little bees, and I just keep talking and lose track of what I actually wanted to say and then that makes me all upset and-"

You cut her off with a firm hand on her shoulder.

"Evie, breathe." You reminded her.

You hated to stop her rambling, it was so nice to see how passionate she was, but her face was getting redder and you didn't need her collapsing from talking too much all at once.

She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled before taking a second.

"Oops." She chuckled with a bashful grin on her lips.

You arched a brow at her, continuing only when you got a faint nod of her head.

"So, your honey? What's so exciting about this batch?" You asked, your head tilting to the side in interest.

You could see a wide grin settle on her cheeks as she hurriedly grabbed a glass and shoved it into your hands.

"I got new glasses, aren't they so cute?! And my bees took a liking to the flower starters you gave me. They're blooming wonderfully. So, technically, this honey was born of joined efforts!" Evie declared triumphantly, watching the way your brows rose and your lips parted from surprise.

"Are... are you serious?" You huffed out in disbelief, followed by a smile.

"They took to the soil, did they? I'm so glad your bees like them." You said excitedly, almost bursting at the seams, matching Evie's usual energy.

"Yes! And let me tell you, that honey is heavenly. I don't know what flowers they are but they're so sweet and fragrant!" She squealed, slightly rocking on her heels.

"They're just a native wildflower assortment, I'm surprised they didn't turn out to be just weeds." You snickered, turning the glass of honey around in your hands.

Evie whisked around, gathering a pair of honey filled glass jars and placing them in a small linen satchel.

"On the house. Or.. stall." She smiled brightly, handing it your way.

"Oh, I couldn't." You chuckled nervously, waving her off.

She gave you a pout and a furrow in her brows that had a feeling of guilt twist in your stomach.

"No is not an answer! Your flowers plus my bees make our honey. Come on, just take it!" she urged, giving you no chance to refuse again as the satchel containing jars of liquid gold was shoved into your hands.

"Alright, alright! But don't even think of sharing your profit with me." You gave her a stern look, pointing a finger at her while your other hand tightly grasped at the straps of the satchel.

Evie put her hands up in surrender and grinned at you. She knew you couldn't say no to her, and the little sly fox she was used it to her advantage.

"Don't forget your weekly candle, though! Can't have you wilting like cabbage in the summer, eh?" She joked, wiggling her brows at you as she slid a candle your way.

Evie poured all her candles in old glass jars; whether they were from jam, broth, or pickles, every glass was unique, and that's what made her products so appealing to many people.

"Here we go again with the veggie jokes.." you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"You love 'em." She smirked.

"Yeah, I do, that's the problem!" You laughed, bringing the golden hued candle up to your nose.

You inhaled the scent, sighing contently as the aromas of lavender, beeswax, and honey filled your senses.

"This type of lavender is really strong when dried... good to know." You grinned, carefully setting the jar atop the ones in your newly acquired linen satchel.

"You have to let me know how they are when lit. I haven't had a chance to test them yet." She smiled sweetly, drumming her fingers on the wood of her stall, a common habit of hers.

"Will do." You saluted to her jokingly, turning on your heel before you were stopped by her.

"Oh, oh, oh I heard there's a new stall today." She called melodically, leaning on the counter of her stand with a grin.

Your brows furrowed as you stepped in again, curious to what she knew.

"And I heard the owner is an absolute hunk of a man." Evie added with a smirk.

A smile threatened to spread on your lips, but there was only a slight twitch at the corner of your mouth.

"Define hunk." You deadpanned.

She rolled her eyes at you.

"I don't know, I haven't seen the man yet! But you better hurry before Pam gets her claws in him."

"Oh, please. First of all, I'm not just going to throw myself at a man just because you or other people say he's a hunk and second of all, we all know that no matter how hard Pam tries to hide it, she's head over heels for Cass." You replied, earning a slight scoff and a creased brows from the beekeeper.

"You have no proof of that. Tell me one reason why Pam should be in love with Cass." She demanded.

You blinked at her blankly.

"She let's Cass butcher her precious chickens."

Her mouth opened to say something but her jaw snapped shut before any words let her and she grumbled under her breath.

"Okay. Fair enough. But-"

"The fleeting touches, the heart eyes, the overly sweet smile- do I need to go on?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get your point." Evie huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"Enough about those two lovebirds- I have candles to sell and you have a a man to check out." She smirked, observing as your glared her way.

"Fineeeeeeee, you have to new stall to check out." She groaned, rolling her eyes when a content smile settled on your face.

"That's better. Don't worry, I'll tell you of this so called hunk if we cross paths." You replied with a small smirk.

"Great. Now, off you go!" She smiled, waving her hands to shoo you off.

"See you, Ev." You laughed, turning away to continue down the main path of the market.

A new stall? A mystery man? Your day just got that much more interesting.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

"So," Pam began with a grin, carefully packaging your dozen eggs, "you seein' anyone, dollface?"

"Pam, we've been over this. You ask me every week and the answer is still no." You replied blankly, the heavy weight of your now filled shopping bag pulling at the muscles in your shoulder and neck.

"I know, I know. But why? You're a real catch, dollface! You got the face, you got the body, ya got the fire! How men aren't flockin' to ya like moths to a flame, I don't know." She shook her head with a sigh.

"You know, I heard," Pam gently slid your carton of eggs to the side and leaned over the counter, cupping her mouth as if to tell you a secret.

"Let me guess," you stopped her with a gesture of your hand, "a new stall and a mystery man that I, specifically, should go check out?" An amused smile creeped onto your lips at Pam's baffled expression.

"Now, how did you-"

"Evie." You replied with a smirk.

"Oh, that little tattletale!" She cursed, a crease forming between her brows.

"I'm going to the craft sector of the market anyway, you don't need to haul my ass there." You chuckled, watching as the crease smoothed out and a smile formed on her plump cheeks.

"This could really be something, you know? You're as sweet as pie, I doubt he could resist you! Ya need someone in your life, dollface. And what's better than a big strong man with a knack for art, hm?" Pam said softly.

You sighed and chewed on the inside of your cheek.

"I suppose it's hard to argue with that.." you mumbled, rolling your eyes when Pam's smile widened.

"I'll go check it out, that much is clear, but don't think I'll run back next week telling you that I'm getting married."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, dollface." She mused, watching in delight as a small scowl came to sit on your lips.

"I'll see you next week, Pam." You grumbled, stomping off.

"Bye-Bye!" She chirped after you with an enthusiastic wave, making you shake your head with a small smile.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The chatter and laughter of the market's bustling crowd filled the space as you slithered your away around people and children, careful not to wack anyone with your bag, which would also result in a to-go omelet in your satchel.

The soft jingle of wind chimes signaled to you that you'd reached your destination. This was by far your favorite part of the market, seeing all the carefully handcrafted pieces fascinated you. As nice as this place was for your soul, it was equally as bad for your wallet.

You'd leave with something new every week; whether that was a new wind chime, of which you'd started a small collection on your porch, or a pair of sparkly earrings.

You'd caught site of the new stall from the corner of your eye but decided to talk to your local crafters first, like you did every week, before investigating the mystery that had entranced your friends.

The stall looked... intimidating.

Not necessarily out of place with its dark polished wood, but it was bigger than most other stands, looming over them menacingly. You approached it carefully, eyes flitting over your surroundings when the owner was nowhere in sight.

You lowered your gaze to the goods that were haphazardly placed upon the mahogany counters.

Little figurines and sculptures smithed from... horseshoes?

A smile tugged at your lips. They weren't perfectly straight or neat, some were crooked and a little lumpy, which made them seem quite endearing to you.

One of your hands reached out to a little frog, but before your fingers could graze the metal, a giant man popped up from behind the stall and you stumbled back with a yelp, slapping a hand over your mouth.

Your reaction startled the man, pulling a deep rumbling gasp from his chest as one of his big hands came to clasp right over his heart.

"Christ, you scared me." He huffed softly, meeting your eye.

You scoffed slightly.

"Me?? You scared me! You can't just pop up out of nowhere, you 6'0 wall of a man!" You defended before you inhaled a sharp breath and finally took him in.

His tall and very muscular stature, the short brown hair, the cerulean eyes that pierced your soul and that exquisitely groomed beard that looked so soft, you were itching to feel it beneath your fingertips.

Holy shit. He was a hunk.

You weren't aware that you were gawking at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

"Are you... alright?" He asked cautiously, shifting on his feet, visibly uncomfortable that you were staring.

"Huh?" You snapped back to reality with a quick shake of your head.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I was just..." You cleared your throat before putting on a smile.

"You're just a new face, that's all." You chuckled awkwardly, drumming the length of your finger on the wooden counter.

He hummed and bopped his head, successfully trapping both of you in an unpleasant silence.

"So... did you just move here?" You asked, trying to break the ice, or more the glacier, that stood between you.

"Ah, no. I've been livin' here for a while, actually. I'm the local Farrier, John." He held out his hand for you to take with a kind smile and you were caught off guard by how smooth and soft his voice was and his gentle demeanor.

You introduced yourself with your name and as a small farmer that mostly worked with plants.

"Nice to meet you, John. I, uh, really like your little metal friends." You said softly, loosely gesturing to the forged sculptures in front of you.

John chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile on his face.

"Thank you. Be shame to let all that good iron go to waste, eh?"

"Hm, so Farrier by day and artist by night?" You teased, your arms crossing in front of your chest.

An amused grin settled on John's face, his hands fiding the pockets of his jeans. The green flannel he wore was rolled up to his elbows, showing off the muscles on his forearms that were covered in a layer of hair.

"Wouldn't exactly call myself an artist, love." He chuckled deeply, sending a shiver down your spine.

You didn't admit to yourself how that nickname set your heart ablaze. You cocked a brow at him.

"This frog," you picked up the metal frag that had caught your eye with a small grunt, "says otherwise. You've got some real talent, John." You smiled brightly, earning a smile and soft huff from the Farrier.

"Speaking of this little friend, how much do you want for it?"

John's expression morphed into a surprised one, his thick brows shooting up. He was caught off guard by your question and cleared his throat after a while.

"You can have 'im for ten pounds." He finally declared, albeit a little awkwardly.

"10 pounds? That's it?" Now you were the surprised one, although a small smile creeped onto your face shortly after at his inexperience with pricing goods.

"We've got to work on your pricing, John. You can get at least 20 to 25 pounds for this." You said before placing the metal sculpture back onto the counter after your arms were protesting against its weight.

John smiled sheepishly.

"S'my first time sellin' things, go easy on me, yeah?" He chuckled, his hands moving from his pockets to the counter, leaning forward slightly.

You grinned before reaching into your pocket and pulling out a few banknotes, holding them out for him to take.

"Here's 20. Although, if you play your cards right, you might get discovered and can add a whole lot more zeros to that." You smirked.

He laughed but didn't make a move to take the money, brushing you off with a gentle shake of his hand.

"Here, take it." You urged him with a smile, extending your arm further into his direction.

"S'quite alright. Consider it a gift." He smiled kindly, an honest smile, and your knees were about to give out just from that.

"No, no, absolutely not. If I went around handing out my potatoes and tulips for free, I'd be bankrupt. I'm buying this frog, so take the money." You said a little more firmly than you meant to, but giving him a stern look nonetheless.

An amused smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he put his hands up in surrender and finally took the money from your hand before swiftly pulling a brown leather wallet from his pocket and storing the banknotes.

"Are you always this insistent on paying?" John asked with a teasing undertone.

"Only with the people I like." You quipped back.

A hint of something flashed in his cerulean eyes before they returned back to their casual softness, reminding you of the calm ripples of the ocean.

"Well, I should get back to my stall." You smiled sweetly, adjusting your heavy shopping bag on your shoulder before reaching out to take your newly acquired garden decoration from the counter.

John's eyes flitted to your shoulder, seeing it slightly dragged down due to the amount of shopping you did today filling your bag. He'd noticed at first glance how you leaned slightly crooked, how you'd try to discreetly adjust your bag, or when you'd stretch your neck to release some of the tension in your trapezius.

Just as your fingertips grazed the metal, John's hand shot froward, holding a firm grip on the piece.

"Please, let me." He said gently, his hand slightly touching yours.

"Oh, it's fine, really-"

"I insist, love." He spoke with a gentle firmness.

Your lips were slightly parted as you stared at him, your hands still brushing against eachother before you caved from his kind

gesture and pulled your hand away with a coy smile.

"That's very kind of you." You smiled with a tingly feeling on your cheeks.

"My pleasure." John replied softly, his voice was slowly melting through your ribcage, ambitiously trying to reach your heart.

In the blink of an eye he rounded his stand and picked up the metal frog like it weighed absolutely nothing. Your eyes widened at his casual display of strength.

"Oh wow, you're really strong." You marveled, trying to keep your eyes away from the flexing muscles in his arms.

John smirked and let out a small, amused huff.

"Yeah, well, unfortunately, metal doesn't bend from sweet talking alone."

I would

The thought popped into your head faster than you'd like to admit, and the shiver at the base of your skull didn't go away, cementing even more how nice his voice was. Rough and hoarse in all the right places, a pleasant rumble that carried through the air straight into every crevice of your brain.

John expertly weaved through the crowd, occasionally looking over his shoulder so he wouldn't lose you in the mass, while making sure he didn't accidentally take out someone's kneecap with the metal statue.

The crowd thinned out the closer you got to your stall as the people migrated to the booths and stands of artisans to finish off their weekly shopping with a handcrafted piece to bring home.

John slowed his walk, making sure you could keep up. He was itching to take the heavy bag off your hands, but he didn't want to seem pushy or too forward.

So he clenched his fists to resist the twitching urge in his hands. You two managed to make pleasant conversation as you led him to your stall, trying to discreetly shoot Pam a sharp glare as you passed her stand and she couldn't help herself but wink at you with a grin that resembled the one of the cheshire cat.

"How come I've never seen you around if you've been living here for a while?" You asked curiously, clutching the straps of your bag that were uncomfortable cutting into your skin.

John let out a soft hum with a absent look in his eyes as his gaze continued to flick back to that damn bag on your shoulder.

"I mostly take clients out of town. Or they come to me, and in both cases I don't pass through here on the daily. There's usually a market on the way so I haven't been inclined to stop by this one." He explained with a polite smile.

"That makes sense, I suppose." You mumbled, slowing your pace to an eventual stop to signal your arrival at your stall.

Alice and Bill were long gone, rightfully so as time had passed faster than you thought and the sun was starting its descend past the horizon.

There was, however, a sweet note from Alice, letting you know that they'd left and where she'd hid your moneybox.

"This is my stall." You said awkwardly, suddenly feeling insecure about the colorful paints around someone has serious as John.

He hummed in response, looking over your, quite marvelous, paint job with approval. He had one hand in his pocket while the other was still tightly grasping the metal frog.

"It's lovely. You did this yourself?" He asked with a quirked brow, running a hand over the painted wood.

"Uh, yeah, I did. Thank you." You laughed nervously, surprised by his answer.

There was a beat of awkwardly silence before you spoke and scrambled to pack up for the day.

"Well, I should really get these remaining things back home..." You trailed off, starting to stack wooden crates, but still refusing to put down that forsaken shopping bag of yours.

"I could help you, if you want." He proposed, clearing his throat. Your eyes widened

"Oh, you really don't have to do that, John-"

"It's nothing. At least let me hold your bag." He said softly, holding out his hand.

You thought for a moment before the burning pain in your shoulder made the decision for you. You slipped it off your shoulder and sighed in relief at the heavy weight that was lifted off of you.

He took the bag and slung it over his shoulder like it carried nothing but a feather.

"Thank you." You smiled softly, gratitude shining in your eyes.

"Not a problem, love." He replied with a smile.

Little did you know, he had purposefully chosen the shoulder that was farthest from you, an attempt at hiding the bag, as he had every intention of walking you to your car.

"Alright, that should be everything." You huffed, having been able to fit all of today's leftovers into one crate.

Something that made it significantly easier for you to carry.

"Shall we go, then?" John asked lightly, making your brows furrow with a small chuckle.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I figured I'd walk you to your car." He smiled.

That stupidly adorable smile of his. How could you ever decline such a nice gesture, especially with all your muscles hurting.

Besides, it was getting dark, and despite this being a safe and close community you weren't too keen to stay out at night. You huffed but broke into a smile.

"I suppose you won't take a no?" You asked with a slightly teasing smile. John chuckled.

"I would. If you don't want help, that's alright with me." His answer surprised you and managed to knock words out of your brain for a minute. He slightly raised a brow, waiting for an answer, but there was a glint of patience in his eyes.

"O-Oh, well..." you chuckled, eyes flitting to the ground briefly before you cleared your throat and met his gaze again.

"That.. that would actually be very helpful. I don't think I could carry all of this in one trip anyway. Thank you." You breathed out with a kind smile.

Maybe your alarms should go off, a strange men you've just met isn't someone you'd want to lead to your car, but there was something so curious and trustworthy about him that made you feel at ease when you were around him.

Well, there are people you just click with. Maybe you'd gained another friend as well. John gave you a kind nod, making you start the trek to your car.

It was tiny, a little dirty, but she was a well-oiled thing that ran without complaints. All thanks to Bill's obsession with oiling things don't really need any oiling at all.

It was a quiet walk, though a pleasant and comfortable air orrounded the both of you.

The sky was turning a light purple, bleeding into a deep blue. You've never spent this much time at the market, but today was full of new things for you it seemed.

You heaved the crate into the boot of your car before turning to John and spotting him waiting patiently with your bag slung over his shoulder and your newly purchased garden decoration in hand.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you my pack mule." You said apologetically, although a smile was never far with him around.

"No, I offered." He replied kindly, waving off your worries before handing you your things.

"You said you were a Farrier, right?" You asked through a groan, using all your strength to close your boot.

Bill had insisted on some new springs that now made your life that more difficult.

"I am." He nodded, keeping enough space between the two of you so it wouldn't feel weird.

There was something so calm about you that intrigued him. Smiles seemed to follow you wherever you went, and a cloud of faint sweet flowers hit his nose whenever he'd come a little closer.

"Do you think you could come over for Pudding?" You asked, like it was the most normal thing in the world. His brows shot up and he laughed nervously, eyes flitting to the ground. "That's a little early, don't you think?" He asked with a lopsided smile. Your eyes widened and your cheeks blushed.

"No, no, what I mean- what I meant was- my horse. I have a horse. Her name is Pudding." You scrambled to explain the situation.

You didn't think about the wording and how it seemed suggestive to other people.

John chuckled and shook his head.

"A horse named Pudding, eh?" He questioned with a smirk, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"Yes. Yes, Pudding. I... didn't think about how that would sound." You cleared your throat with an apologetic smile.

John smiled, his eyes crinkling.

"It's alright, love, don't worry. I'll have to check when I can fit you in my schedule, but it'll be no problem."

"Oh, of course. There's really no rush." You replied politely, a smile gracing your face once again.

"Here, let me just-" You quickly pulled a small and well-loved notepad from your pocket and scribbled down your number.

Your handwriting was rushed and messy, but you hoped John would be able to make it out and call you eventually. Shoving the piece of paper into his hand, you stashed your pen and notepad back in your pocket.

Although John was a little surprised at your enthusiasm, it wasn't unwelcome. God, how long has it been since someone was this excited about him? There was a faint spark of adoration shining in his eyes, a spark that had been snuffed out for far too long.

One that you, the kind yet sassy farmer, had ignited once again. He stored the note in the breast pocket of his flannel, giving it a pat to assure you that he'd keep it safe.

"I'll give ya a ring then." He chuckled, his hands finding the familiar spot in his pockets.

"Yeah, okay." You sighed, the beaming smile almost glued to your face.

"It was lovely meeting you, John. I'll see more of you around? It's good to have connections." You joked, earning a pleasant huff from him.

"Don't know how good of a.. connection, a Farrier is, but I'll be around."

You gave him a satisfied nod.

"Well, good night, John." You said softly, sleep aching deep in bones.

"Night, love." With a smile he turned on his heel.

He was fighting everything within him to not turn around and get one last look at you. With a clenched jaw and a sharp huff through his nose, he kept on walking. You were halfway in your car, but before you could sit down, you jolted up again, calling after him.

"John!"

He whipped around faster than he'd like to admit. He wouldn't be surprised if he had pulled a muscle in the process.

"Everything alright?" He shouted, watching as you turned your torso, steadying yourself on the door of your car.

"You're not allergic to cats, are you?" You asked loudly, slightly wincing at how far your voice carried over the empty car park.

"Not that I know of. Why?" A smirk was tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"No reason. Night!" You called out one last time, a wide and cheeky grin sitting on your face was you waved him goodbye and finally got into your car.

John shook his head with a grin as he walked back. He snuck a peak of your car, watching as the bright lights got duller the further you drove into the night.

If he'd known such pleasant company was hiding at the market, he'd have gone months ago. Your note was a reassuring weight in his pocket, and he'd made it his goal to show up every week from now on.

Of course, it was to sell his figurines as a side hustle and definitely not because he was completely enarmoured with the sweet farmer that ignited a spark in his chest he hadn't felt in years.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Please support me and my work with likes, reblogs and comments!! I really enjoy reading what you guys think of my little writings 💕

I'm hoping this ups my motivation for writing in general and for this story in particular because there's so much to come!

~Fi ✨️🧚🏻‍♀️

More of my stuff -> 💫

Some cuties that I think would like this <3 @vampkennedy @bravo4iscool @allysunny @lizzy019 @morbidflowercollector @callsign-selkie

[stellar-constellations]

Star Patient: Chapter 6 (FINISHED SERIES)

WARNING: This series will include; possible inaccurate medical procedures and medical setting, gore, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, suicide mentions, implications of misandry (male misogyny), descriptions of self-harming, accusations of cheating, child death, death of major and minor characters, OC's are used throughout the story for plot and depth, reader is in denial and paranoid, toxic family dynamics, perversive thoughts, reader is bipolar (not saying that in a quirky way, like literally bipolar), religious comparisons, light mention of demons, stalkers, possibly more to add.

Inaccurate canon-timeline and setting (this is before Ashley and Andrew murdered their parents). They also live in America (because I wasn't aware they lived in Europe prior to this series).

Reader has a small fear of adult men/rape and has a history of suicide attempts.

Incest is not Wincest.

Amnesiac! Obsessive! Patient! Andrew Graves x Yandere! Nurse! Reader:

Wordcount: 15,700+ words

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, current chapter, Chapter 7, chapter 8, final chapter.

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

Hello, my stars. Before starting this, I wanted you all to know I've updated my warnings. I'm telling you this to warn my sensitive readers who might get triggered or uncomfortable.

Warnings: This series will include; possible inaccurate medical procedures and medical setting, gore, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, suicide mentions, implications of misandry (male misogyny), descriptions of self-harming, accusations of cheating, child death, death of major and minor characters, OC's are used throughout the story for plot and depth, reader is in denial and paranoid, toxic family dynamics, perversive thoughts, reader is bipolar (not saying that in a quirky way, like literally bpd), religious comparisons, demons, stalkers, possibly more to add.

Please note, this series is NOT to romantize, glamorize, normalize, or encourage ANY of this behavior that we see throughout the story.

I also have playlists for you to listen to while reading this, or just to listen to in general if you're looking for new music!

Thank you for reading this section.

------------------------

        “Alright Ms. (L/N), you’re free to be discharged. Do you have a ride home?” her doctor questioned, signing her discharge forms, consenting to the leave. 

        “Yes, sir.” She nodded. 

        She just planned on driving back home herself. Sure, it was dangerous, but she did come here with a bleeding leg, so she sure as hell can leave with a bandaged one.

        “Alright… Good. And, just a little rundown on what you’ll need to do. Please keep your leg elevated with your heart whenever possible. I signed for you to get two weeks off work, that way you wouldn’t be applying any weight onto your leg. Please keep eating liquids or non-solid for at least a week; so like jellos and puddings and soups. You should know the procedure, we need the inner staples to heal and it'll be good not to tear the stitches.” The doctor explained to her.

        “I also scheduled a appointment for you to visit me next week so we can hopefully check and remove your staples on your outer stomach if all is good, and if so, we’ll decide to give you the green light to eat solids or not. Please avoid wetting or poking the staples and stitches.” The doctor spoke, wrapping up his speech.

        “Thank you, sir.” (Y/N) smiled, taking the discharge papers from the doctor’s hands.

        “Do you need any help finding the exit?” the doctor questioned as her nurse removed the IV needle from (Y/N)’s veins, placing a piece of cotton on the bleeding hole and medical tape to hold the cotton in place.

        “No, sir. I’ll be just fine… I have to make a quick visit anyways…” (Y/N) spoke.  

        The doctor left the room after (Y/N) took the papers from him, the nurse following after the doctor. (Y/N) stood up and resisted the urge to stretch, that would just strain and possibly snap any stitching or stapling.

        She looked at the clothes the nurse left on her bedside. (Y/N) snatched the clothes and walked to the bathroom, locking the door. Because her clothes were ruined yesterday with blood and had to be cut in the emergency room, she was given paper scrubs from the hospital to wear. Sure, they sucked and were flimsy, but it was better than leaving naked. Hospitals can only do so much. 

        (Y/N) put on the fabric and her shoes (that were fortunately in one piece). She unlocked the bathroom, walking out and exiting the hospital room. She walked to the elevators, entering one and pressing the psychiatric floor. 

        She waited for the elevators doors to open, exiting them once they did. She walked down the hallways with a limp, ignoring it as she made her way to Andrew’s room. She knocked on the door to announce her presence, before opening the door.

        Andrew was awake this morning, a bit unusual given how late he stayed up with her last night, but perhaps he couldn’t sleep much. Maybe he has a headache? That brain surgery was only a free days ago, so maybe he's experiencing some pain.

        “Hey, are you okay?” (Y/N) questioned, disturbing him from looking out the window. 

        Andrew’s head snapped over to her once he heard her voice. He looked surprised, and his electric green eyes looked a little puffy and red, like he was about to cry; however there were no tears streaming down his face, as if he was refusing to cry.

        “Andrew? Are you okay?” (Y/N) repeated, concerned as she limped over to him, taking a seat on the guest chair.

        “Ahem, yeah. I’m fine…” he covered his mouth and coughed, turning his head away from her. “Do you need something?” he questioned.

        “I’m getting discharged, so I won’t see you for at least two weeks, possibly even longer.” (Y/N) explained, her eyes subconsciously glancing over his figure and observing his state

        His black hair was messy—as it usually was—and he still remained pale, with the exception of red rings around his eyes and a blush on his nose. His broken legs were elevated to his heart by keeping pillows under his legs. He didn’t have any bandages wrapped around his head anymore since his staples weren’t bleeding anymore after his brain surgery. His breathing patterns looked normal and he doesn’t appear to be sweating, so it’s safe to say the doctors got rid of the internal bleeding problem. 

        “Because I’m leaving, I need you to behave for the night nurses and day nurses.” She spoke, as if trying to communicate with a child.

        “It won’t matter…” he muttered, his voice deep and gravely, sounding as if he was in pain.

        “What, why? What’s wrong?” (Y/N) questioned, subconsciously leaning closer to him with a look of confusion on her face.

        “They’re discharging me tonight.” Andrew spoke, his voice raising its volume so she could hear better. 

        “Why, that’s great s it not?” she questioned, mentally cringing as she tried her best to gauge a reaction out of him, hoping that he could explain more. “You won’t be stuck here anymore. You’re healing.”

        “No… I-“ he paused, unsure if he should speak about the thoughts swirling in his head. “I-I can’t leave. I can’t.”

        “Why not?” (Y/N) questioned. 

        Andrew stayed quiet, his eyes stuck staring at his hands that laid in his lap, seemingly ashamed to look up at her.

        “Andrew, what’s wrong?” (Y/N) repeated, standing up from the chair and bringing herself closer to Andrew, sitting down at his bedside gently so she wouldn’t disturb his legs.

        “Don’t you understand…?” he muttered, his tone going down a dark notch. “I can’t leave you…” 

        “Huh?” (Y/N) audibly spoke, voicing a noise of confusion as she looked at him, more so confused now rather than concerned.

        Why can’t he leave? Is it because of Ashley? Oh god, does he know Ashley's dead? That I killed her? Can he not leave me because he wants revenge? (Y/N) questioned inside her head, her nerves eating her up.

        “Andrew, I need you to tell me so I can help you. Surely we can—“ Andrew’s hands went up to her shoulders and gripped them tightly, his vibrant green eyes suddenly looking a little more of a toxic color, one to warn others that they’re dangerous. 

        “Don’t you understand, damn it?!” Andrew shouted, his nails unconsciously digging into her skin and the flimsy scrubs the hospital provided her with. “Are you an idiot or something? I can’t leave! I can’t do anything!” 

        (Y/N) looked surprised, her feet trying to take a step back but his hold on her wouldn’t allow that. She looked a bit scared, cowering despite him being the one bedridden. 

        Her previous thoughts of getting caught was instead replaced with being trapped. The room suddenly felt more smaller while Andrew yelled at her. The white walls suddenly looked like they were closing in, the pale color looking damn similar to an asylum instead.

        “I should’ve at least taken up Ashley’s offer on escaping this damn place!” Andrew spoke, shaking her back and forth with a crazed look in his eyes.

        Yes, terrifying. That’s why she decided not to work with adults and chose kids instead. Adult men are just scary for her. Having an erratic episode like this is a pain when you’re dealing with kids, but an adult man with a deep yelling voice towering you and shaking you like a rag doll is just plain terrifying. Especially knowing the fact they could definitely overpower you. Hospitals drug up their patients all the time to where patients think irrationally, and there's always the patients that believe they're the customer who is always right; giving them all a sense of authority or inability to understand their wrongdoings, whether they have a god complex or just drugged. It's always going to be dangerous. 

        It brings a shiver down her spine. If this is the effect Andrew has by just yelling at her and shaking her a bit, she’s scared to know what he could do with no broken limbs. 

        He seemed to go on an angry, mindless rant as he shook her back and forth. At this point, she might be the one getting internal bleeding in her brain because of this. 

        “If anything, I should’ve just died! But now I’m royally fucked because of you and these fucking doctors!” Andrew shouted. 

        A patient threatening suicide? Much less a patient on suicide watch? That’s not good, especially if he’s threatening suicide while almost being discharged. He could stay in this unit for mental health evaluation if he actually tries something. He’s lucky that she’s not on the clock, otherwise she would be forced to chart that.

        She mustered her nerves and grabbed his wrists, looking down at him and doing her best to keep a gentle facade.

        “Hey Andrew, let’s calm down and figure this out…” she spoke. “I need you to tell me what’s wrong so I can help."

        “I-I just—“ Andrew’s pissed-off expression changed, his grip on her shoulders loosening as he let out a sigh. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

        So he noticed…

        “I’m scared…” he admitted, his hand going up and playing with her hair, twirling it around her fingers, ignoring that it hasn’t been washed in a couple days due to the accident. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t go back to—“ he paused, stopping himself. “H-home. I can’t go back home because I don’t remember it.” He lied.

        He can’t go back to his apartment complex and be locked up in that room again. He can’t. Hell, maybe the complex actually burnt down like the news has been saying. But he has no home now, and if he goes to a shelter they might ask for documents or for identification, both of which he doesn’t have. 

        He can’t go to his parents. With his face on the news and being indebted to them again? Please, anything but that. He’s already done enough for them. He purposely didn’t write his parents’ names and numbers down when the doctors made him file paperwork because he didn’t want to see them again. 

        And he might go insane if he has to live with Ashley again. The hospital has been boring, yes, but at least he could actually think with some quiet. No more killing people or cannibalizing people or worrying about future visions or any of that crap. He could actually enjoy some peace for once. He loves his sister, but it's about time for them to act like adults and have their own lives. 

        And god, the money to pay back the hospital. He doesn’t have that kind of money. His whole bill must well be 20,000 dollars, possibly even more. He doesn’t even have a job! He’s not entirely sure if he remembers his banking information, and he doubts he has health insurance he can remember! 

        “I-I just… don’t remember anything.” He spoke, a half truth and half lie. “I don’t have parents.” Another lie. “I don’t remember where I live.” Another lie. “I have no money to pay off all this debt I’ll be in.” A possible (?) lie. “I have no job.” True. “I-I don’t know what to do. I’m fucked.” Andrew spoke, tears filling up in his eyes as he chuckled in possible disbelief, his hands going to his face to cover it.

        Yeah, that sounds like a shitty situation… (Y/N) thought, pushing down that fear he installed in her earlier as she hesitantly stayed next to him, uncertain what to do.

        She’s never had to deal with this kind of situation. Her patients are kids, and they don’t usually worry about money or healthcare or such things an adult worries about. Fixing someone's IV needle and fixing their bank account is two very separate things. 

        Honestly, it’s pretty sad. Adults have it rough. Most people now in America hesitate to call an ambulance because of the bill for that alone, ranging from $400 to more than a thousand for the ride to a hospital alone. 

        She doesn’t blame him for being mad, she’d be pretty pissed in his situation too. 

        “And, are you absolutely positive?” (Y/N) questioned, her hand resting on his wrist and drawing small circles to soothe him. “Do you really have nowhere else to go once you leave? Or any money or such at all?” 

        “No…” he answered, a loss of hope in his voice as he resisted the urge to cry. 

        “Okay… it’s okay.” (Y/N) spoke as Andrew kept playing with her hair.

        “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I didn’t mean to scare you…” he muttered. “Please don’t leave me. I-I don’t know what to do and I’m scared and…” he paused, uncertain of the next words about to come out of his mouth. “I-I just need you. I need your help.” 

        God, not the damn puppy eyes… (Y/N) though, nothing how his bright green eyes cleared of any malicious intent from earlier, now just glossy and filled with tears threatening to spill out. 

        He looked like he really didn’t want to leave her (or maybe it’s because he just really needs her help) and that just pulled her heartstrings.

        Think, (Y/N). You’re a nurse. You gotta be quick on your feet and think of a solution… (Y/N) thought, wracking her brain for a solution. 

        “What if…” she paused, thinking.

        Would that really be a good idea? He’s a male after all. The last guy she dealt with was a total psycho…

        No, it’s probably not a good idea, considering he’s on the run and he’s a cannibal. But she doesn’t know his whole story, so she can’t judge so quickly…

        Not to mention she’s a murderer herself now. Even if she killed a wrongdoer, she still killed someone. 

        But is it really a good comparison? Is it really so bad for her to kill just one life after saving many others?

        Now that’s just sociopathic thinking… 

        “What if you stay with me?” (Y/N) suggested, doing her best to keep her tone confident.

        “What?” Andrew questioned, unsure if he heard that correctly.

        Did she actually just say that?

        “What if you stay with me?” (Y/N) repeated, forcing herself to act like it wasn’t a big deal. “I mean, it wouldn’t be bad. I have the space. It’d be good for you too, I can still help with your bandages and elevating your legs and such, make sure there’s nothing going wrong during your healing process and that you’re still sticking to the treatment plan. I can pay the medical bills and you’ll work it off for me over time, until you’re able to get back on your own two feet.”  

        Ha. Pun intended… (Y/N) thought, resisting the urge to chuckle.

        “You’re really serious? You’re not pulling my leg or anything, right?” Andrew questioned, surprised as he sat up, wincing at the pain in his legs and head from the sudden movement.

        “Hey, take it easy.” (Y/N) reminded, placing her hand on his shoulder to stop him (and to hide her shaky hands).

        She decided it wasn’t the time to freeze up or think, thinking would just make her panic to what she just offered.

        “And I’m serious. If you need a place to stay, you can come to mine.” (Y/N) spoke. "Nobody should have to pay to live, it’s just… sad.”

        Even if it is sad that you have to pay to live, that’s just life. There’s a reason why. Not many people would do things for free. Currency was made to pay others for their labor, rewarding them for a job done right. The more money, the more luxurious your life is… sometimes…

        There’s not many people in the world who would save a stranger’s life and expect nothing in return. Especially when you’re working hours to days at a time keeping people alive and healthy, it just wears you down overtime to where that paycheck is the only thing you’re looking forward to. Nurses work for money, and the ones that enjoy helping people instead start to despise them due to their ugly flaws revealing themselves in their states of venerability. Nurses and doctors see more ugly things in people than they do in infections. 

        Well, as long as you do your job, the paychecks won’t die; unlike the patients. 

        “So? What do you say?” (Y/N) questioned, looking down at Andrew with a forced smile. 

        Don’t think about the offer. If you don’t think, you wouldn’t contemplate about how absolutely idiotic that suggestion was. Seriously, allowing a cannibalistic serial killer into your home all alone? Let alone a man.

        The thought was indeed distasteful, but her mouth was quicker than her brain, and she already offered it. It would be cruel to give him false hope and swipe that right under his nose. 

        Andrew wasn’t too sure if he wanted to take up that offer. Sure, it’d save his ass from the streets, but it’d also leave him indebted to her, which can give her an upper hand to take advantage of him. It’s also worth noting that his face is probably still in the news somewhere, which could be bad if she finds out and reports him to the police… 

        But maybe there’s the chance that she’s not well-informed or active in the community or news? Maybe the whole news will blow over soon and she’ll never know? 

        It’s better than nothing…

        “If you’re really sure…” Andrew muttered. “Then I’ll take you up on your offer. I’ll repay you.” He spoke.

        Great. (Y/N) thought, fantastic and nervous.

        “I’ll get an uber for you. I need to get some stuff settled at my house beforehand. What’s your discharge time?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “One P.M.” Andrew answered. 

        “Okay, at one P.M. you’ll go to the front of the hospital and I’ll get an uber for you so they can drop you off at my place.” (Y/N) explained, clapping her hands together to avoid the awkwardness of parting ways. “Well… I’ll see you later.” She spoke, forcing a smile. 

        She didn’t give him time to speak or say goodbye, leaving the room before she could dwell longer. She needed to bury Ashley’s body before someone finds it, she needed to deep clean her apartment, and she needed to mentally prep herself for Andrew’s arrival.

        She took her discharge papers and entered the elevator, pressing the lobby floor and waiting. The doors opened and she exited the box, walking out to the lobby and out the glass doors. She unlocked her car and entered, turning the key in the engine and taking a deep breath, preparing herself for the day traffic and using her injured leg to drive. 

        She turned on the radio to a random adults hit channel, before backing out of the parking lot and taking off. She made a quick pit stop at a hardware store, buying one of those stupid state merchandise shirts, a pair of shorts, a pair of gardening gloves, some hair ties, water bottles, and a shovel. She paid in cash (thank god the emergency gas money she kept in her car since she didn't have her purse) and drove an hour out to that forest she put Ashley in.

        (Y/N) prayed to whatever god she believed in, or at least prayed to herself that luck would be on her side, and parked somewhere in the sticks. She fumbled around the backseat and changed out of the flimsy paper scrubs to that cheap state shirt and shorts she bought in the hardware store, tying up her hair with a cheap hair tie.

        She grabbed her supplies and exited her car, locking it. It took at least twenty minutes before she was able to pick up the dead body smell, following the stench to Ashley’s body. The blankets she was wrapped in didn’t look tampered with, so maybe nobody found the body beforehand. 

        (Y/N) made quick work, putting on the gardener gloves and grabbing a shovel, finding a patch of loose dirt and started digging. 

        Six-foot grave my ass, if she buried that deep then she might not be able to get out of the hole. (Y/N) settled on a four foot grave, digging and making sure to take breaks so she wouldn’t snap any stitches or staples. 

        At least two or three hours later, she was able to roll Ashley’s body into the hole. Staring at the bloodied cloth was just so unsettling… a reminder of what she’s done.

        She’s seen plenty of blood and gore before, but she’s never been the cause of it (or at least, she’s never punctured skin for anything other than the intent to help someone). 

        It felt right to say something, a little memoir or a speech or something. 

        She grabbed some big rocks and made an imaginary audience, setting them near the grave as (Y/N) stood before it.

        “Today, we are here to celebrate life and remember the loss of it…” (Y/N) began.

        Yep, killing someone who tried to kill you first, then proceeding to make a whole damn memoir of them… that’s totally normal and not something someone unhinged would do. Or maybe it’s just because she’s a really compassionate person and feels sorry for killing her. Maybe a bit of both.

        “Ashley Graves was the younger sister of Andrew Graves. She was… passionate and determined.” (Y/N) spoke awkwardly, clasping her hands together, ignoring the dirt itching them inside the glove. 

        “We’re here to celebrate her life and youth. While she died young, she stayed golden. She was very pretty, and I’m sure she accomplished something in her life at one point…” (Y/N) rambled. 

        “I don’t know much about her, and I would’ve brought her brother here too if I wasn’t so concerned about him killing me too. I’m already digging one grave, I don’t need to dig my own too… or one for Andrew…” (Y/N) muttered, hiding that last part from the rock audience with a cough. 

        “Too soon to joke? Yeah… that was a bit hard… like rock.” (Y/N) chuckled too herself. “I’m sorry, sorry! This is a rocky start…” (Y/N) giggled, before her smile dropped, reality coming back and hitting her.

        “Fucking hell… I hate myself.” (Y/N) groaned, dropping down to her knees and covering her face with her hands, before coughing and spitting once the dirt on her gloves got in her mouth and eyes.

        When she got the dirt out of her eyes and mouth, she settled for staring at the dead body. Ashley died young and she was pretty, surely there must've been something good Ashley could've done with her future. 

        It really didn’t have to be this way, perhaps an agreement could’ve been made. While Ashley threatened her first, (Y/N) attacked her first, provoking her by spraying perfume in Ashley’s eyes.

        “Oh fuck…” (Y/N) groaned, pulling the strands of hair that has fell from her hair tie after her manual labor. “I’m really burying a body of a young woman. One I killed no less…” she muttered to herself, wishing that this all could’ve just been one big dream.

        A dream that she met some fugitives on the run, that she stooped so low as to murder another so violently and decided to house another. That she had to witness her favorite patient die after spending three years with her. 

        Honestly, she wished everything in her life was a dream. She wished being neglected and locked into a room for hours upon a time, sleeping and crying and famished, was a dream. She wished the relentless bullying throughout her school years was a dream. She wished all the pressure and stress she set upon her, forcing herself to grow out of childhood early so she could focus on the future, was a dream. She wished that disgusting and obsessive man was a dream, that he never sent those letters or took her to court or even did anything he did.

        No, she didn’t wish it was a dream; she wished it was a nightmare. Dreams are meant to be enjoyed, or at least allow yourself into a false sense of security to enjoy momentarily. 

        The constant harassment, the constant paranoia, the constant loneliness, the constant emptiness. She’d rather not torture herself in the dream world either. 

        Before Hailey died, she asked (Y/N) what she would like to be surrounded by, and (Y/N) said “beds” because she liked sleeping. She left it at that so she wouldn’t disturb the bittersweet moment as Hailey died. Perhaps if Hailey was older, or a friend rather than a patient, (Y/N) might have told her the truth. 

        Sure, beds are comfortable. A de-stressing spot for her and many others alike. Being bundled up in warmth and motherly affection she never experienced in her life, seeking comfort from an inanimate object to replace her own mother's nonexistent affection. 

        Beds are also comfortable when you die. Lots of people die in their beds. Most people imagine that they’ll die surrounded by their loved ones, peacefully succumbing to death. (Y/N)’s never bothered contemplating death, she knew if she was going to die it would be suicide—or, at least she thought so. After Ashley trying to kill her and possibly Andrew being her potential killer too in the future if he ever finds out what she did, she’s not too sure how she’ll die now.

        She’ll probably die from another depressive episode like starving herself and staying in bed, or some other health cause in her sleep. Whatever it is, her death bed would be made of cotton and polyester, she hopes. Perhaps in her will she'll write down she wants a twin-sized mattress in her coffin, at least make her death bed comfortable.

        Everyday just feels like a struggle to get out of bed now. 

        “Ashley…” she began.

        Now thinking about it, is it even right to speak Ashley’s name after she’s the cause of her death?

        “I’m sorry for killing you, and for causing you whatever pain or paranoia you experienced to where you felt the best course of action was to kill me. Things could’ve possibly been different if I had just talked to you, but I didn’t, and for that, you’re gone and I'm still here.” (Y/N) spoke.

        She wondered if Ashley enjoyed her life, what she had before she died. (Y/N) couldn't even enjoy all that she has, yet she still selfishly fought for her pathetic life, killing a woman who could've done better than her. Who could've accomplished more if she just fixed up her ways, if she just gave herself a second chance at living a true life. 

        (Y/N)'s had her chances, maybe happiness just wasn't for her. Maybe life just wasn't for her. Yet she's the one standing over the grave she should be in instead. 

        Maybe she should've just let Ashley kill her. Make all this pain and loneliness and paranoia just disappear like she wants to. 

        There was a moment of silence to respect the dead, before (Y/N) picked up the shovel and got to covering the body with dirt. It was faster to fill the grave than dig it, and she was able to finish after an hour. (Y/N) felt bad about it, but she stomped on the dirt to try and make sure it was packed and wasn’t loose. She grabbed the rock audience and scattered the rocks back where she found them so the grave wouldn't be suspiciously marked.

        Maybe I’ll reserve flowers for Ashley too… (Y/N) thought to herself, before allowing there to be another moment of silence to mourn the loss of life.

        After the silence, she walked back to her car, throwing the dirty supplies into the backseat of her car and hopping into the passenger seat. She buckled her seatbelt and drove out of the forest. Usually she would’ve taken a minute to at least desensitize her emotions so she can drive safely—or at least ponder why the hell she had a rock funeral back there—but she needed to get home and get her apartment in order.

        Once (Y/N) made it inside her apartment complex, she rushed to see if anything was out of place inside her apartment, swinging open her door and observing the crime scene in her bedroom. It smelt of potent citrusy perfume with the hint of metallic blood wafting throughout her home. 

        Before (Y/N) left, she did a quick wipe down of her walls and floors in case the police would investigate her apartment. Why? Well, there's no reason other than classic paranoia and the fear of being face to face with a judge inside of a courtroom once more.         

        Yeah, been there, done that. 

        Despite her quick clean, obviously it wouldn't be enough to get rid of the evidence if the police truly did a deep investigation (that is, if they even her connected to the crime). Well, even if the police doesn't piece out the murder, Andrew might. Andrew is Ashley's sister, surely he must know enough about her to know if she's capable of committing murder, especially because they were partners in crime. 

        Key word: were.

        (Y/N) glanced at the clock, seeing the time was 12 P.M. (Y/N) pulled out her phone and paid for an uber to pick Andrew up at the hospital entrance. His ride will be about thirty minutes if the traffic is good, so (Y/N) can only assume she'll have two hours to clean if she's lucky.

        Surprisingly—for a sorry excuse of a woman—her apartment isn't trashed or damaged; it's pretty clean. (Y/N) always worried if her parents one day stopped by and entered her apartment. She really didn't want to hear her mother's berating comments or her father's comments on how she should move back to the farm and be safe there. 

        She also worried about having her neighbors suddenly knock on her door to talk to her, or her landlord entering. She didn't want to give the impression that she's lazy, and she didn't want to give the impression that she's depressed either; she'd rather not have others pity her in such ways. She's an adult, she needs to learn how to take care of herself eventually, otherwise how will she expect to take care of the kids at work? Let alone Andrew who will now reside in her home? 

        Oh gosh. How is she going to take care of Andrew? Shit. What if the neighbors see him and recognize him from on the news? What if the uber driver recognizes him? She'll go to jail for knowing he's a murderer and still helping him. She'll lose her job if they find out she's keeping a former patient at her apartment. 

        Damn it... damn it... damn it... 

        She paced around her bedroom in circles, her hands shaking and her legs weak as she started overthinking.

        Jesus, what if he becomes crazy? Well, more crazy than a cannibalistic murderer can possibly be. What if he becomes like him? She'll have to move away again. She'll have to hide away before he finds her and ruins her life once more. 

        The vision of torn sugar papers stained with special red ink. The sounds of either paper or her sanity ripping as she screamed and stopped on the scraps, before scooping up the pieces and burning them outside in her father's grill. Or maybe it was the constant feeling of dread and being watched, resorting to her superiors, her friends, her family; just anyone to help her and to listen to her. But they just laughed in her face, or scowled at her.

        "Stop searching for attention."

        "He wouldn't do that."

        "Why are you spreading rumors?"

        "Well, did you do something to provoke him?"

        The sound of the crackling fire as the embers of paper burned in the daylight was replaced with shattered glass and her grunts of frustration. She snapped back, looking down at the mess on her bedroom floor.

        Damn it.

        She shattered her vase, throwing it on the floor as it scattered to dozens of small blue and white pieces, the wave-decorated vase now ruined. Her precious lilacs she worked hard to growing now destroyed and lying in wet soil, the petals smushed, having been stomped on in her fit of rage. 

        (Y/N) stared at the mess for a minute or two—maybe five—before squatting down and hiding her head in her legs. 

        "Damn..." she hissed to herself, her anger at him instead being temporarily aimed at her. "Stupid, stupid, stupid..." (Y/N) muttered, picking up one of the larger shards of glass.

        She turned her uninjured arm over, revealing the past scars from her previous self-harming episodes. They all have healed a bit, still a prominent shade of red, but at least they weren't fresh. 

        She didn't hesitate, not even daring to waste a breath or reconsider her decision as she cut her wrist, watching as scarlet milk immediately started spilling down in a rapid stream. 

        Well, they were fresh now. 

        One cut turned into two, and two turned into four as the blood continued to pour. A painful stinging sensation shot up her arm, burning as the blood dripped down her arm and onto the floor. 

        "Fuck!" (Y/N) hissed, realizing what she had just done. 

        She dropped the bloodied shard onto the floor, clutching the bloody mess with her other hand, another painful sting crawling up her arm from tensing her muscles in her stitched arm. She groaned, dragging her feet to her bathroom and scurrying for her first-aid.

        She opened the kit up, grabbing cotton balls and rubbing alcohol, wiping down her arm with the alcohol. It didn't sting as much like it should when rubbing alcohol is applied to a wound, it's probably expired—if not already—so she'll need to go buy a new bottle. She kept applying pressure until the blood eventually stopped, then checked on the cuts.

        Luckily, the cuts weren't near her wrists and they weren't deep either. It was a miracle she didn't cut a vein open, otherwise she'd have to go right back to the hospital. It seemed in her impulsive decision, she just cut without bothering to look where, slicing up the fat on her arm near her elbow. 

        (Y/N) hastily grabbed a large cotton patch, then wrapped gauze around it tightly, securing it with medical tape. There was blood on her clothes but she wasn't too worried about it, she was going to change out of the tacky merchandise clothing anyways, especially with the dirt on it. 

        She decided that while she was in the bathroom she might as well bathe quickly. She ignored the stinging spikes shooting throughout her arms as she peeled off her shirt and bra, kicking off her shoes and socks, taking off her shorts and panties. She threw the clothing on the ground and untied her hair (after some struggle, the hair tie came off with strands of hair attached), placing the hair tie down on the counter. She turned on the faucet and adjusted it to a bearable temperature, hopping into the bathtub.

        She didn't sit down, standing up so she wouldn't soak her staples or stitches. She grabbed a washrag, dumping it in the water and wringing it of excess water, before carefully going over her surrounding wounds to clean the skin. Once she finished, she proceeded to wipe down her entire body, before applying soap to the rag and washing herself, making sure to avoid getting soap in her wounds. After finishing soaping down and rinsing her skin, she dipped her hair in the water, lathering and scrubbing and rinsing her hair with shampoo and conditioner. 

        After finishing her bath, she exited the tub and drained the water. She grabbed towel and carefully dried off, wrapping the towel around her body and walking out to her bedroom. She grabbed a random bra and a baggy, cotton sweater so she could cover her arms and hopefully not rub too much on her stitches and avoid irritating them. She grabbed a skirt and panties, putting them on, along with clean socks (ones that were not bloody). 

        After dressing herself and sorting out her hair, she exited the bathroom and walked to her supply closet in the hallway, grabbing supplies for mopping, a broom and dustpan, hydrogen peroxide, a scrubber, glass cleaner, duster, etc. She had an hour and a half to clean up the place, which isn't too bad for a simple clean. (Y/N) cleans her apartment weekly, while it's a pain, she didn't want any neighbors knocking on her door and seeing her place trashed. She didn't want to risk a sudden drop in from her parents or such (she'd rather not hear their complaints). She had a reputation to uphold outside of her home and she couldn't afford anymore damage to it. Even after moving across the country, her reputation is held together by cheap duct tape. 

        She stared at her ruined flowers that rested on the ground, kicked on the ground and smashed over like roadkill. Once more, a good thing ruined with no-one to blame but herself. 

        .

        .

        The uber ride was extremely uncomfortable. It felt almost suffocating to be trapped in such a small space with a stranger. Andrew worries if the driver will look in the rearview mirror and recognize him, drive him down to the police station and turn him in instead of arriving safely at (Y/N)'s home.

        That's not the worst of his problems, he completely forgot to tell Ashley where he's going or what's happening (wherever she is, he hasn't seen her for a few days now...)!

        He feels a bit excited to have a place to go to, especially knowing it's (Y/N) he's returning to, but there's also a nauseating feeling in his stomach, a dropping weight sinking his inner organs with doubt. That feeling was replaced with a sense of fear, wondering what happened to Ashley. He hasn't heard from her in days and she has absolutely no clue of his whereabouts. He doesn't even know where she's been staying at these past days, if she even had a roof under her head or food in her stomach—at least he ate food from the hospital, granted the quality wasn't great but it was still something. 

        The uber pulled up to the curb in front of an apartment complex. The concrete on the ground had cracks and plastic wrappers from nearby fast food places, and the bushes out front looked overgrown and had more twigs and branches than it did green leaves. The outside walls were painted a tan, looking sun-bleached with flakes of paint peeling from the walls. 

        He stepped out of the car with the aid of crutches, no luggage to carry as he muttered a thanks to the driver, shutting the car door. He wiped the imaginary dirt off his ripped jeans. He managed to get his clothes back from the hospital after his discharge (luckily, they didn't have any rips or bloodstains that made the clothes unwearable) thanks to the nurses washing them for him prior to his release. 

        The apartment complex had multiple different buildings with alphabetical letters on them, each building having two levels and at least eight different staircases, so there must've been about sixteen apartments in each building. He wasn't sure which apartment (Y/N) lived in, she never gave him a number, but luckily he didn't have to go knocking door to find it as she spotted (Y/N) climbing down a set of concrete stairs. (Y/N) rushed over to him with a friendly smile, wearing a baggy, muted pink sweater and a black skirt. 

        "Andrew!" (Y/N) greeted, rushing over to his side, smelling of lemon and cleaning bleach. "I'm sorry for being so inconsiderate, I should've helped you get out of the car. Your legs are still injured and need to heal up." 

        "Hey, it's fine..." Andrew spoke through gritted teeth, forcing a smile. 

        Her hair was down just as it was when she was a patient in the hospital, except she looked so beautiful now without that damn paper gown—those gowns didn't do her any justice. Her hair looked brighter, even looking softer in the sunlight—or maybe that's because she had access to a shower. Her smile looked as bright as the burning star in the sky shining its UV rays down onto them, if not brighter. Her skin was a more healthy color in contrast to how pale it looked in the hospital's lighting—perhaps her skin was softer too. He wondered how her hands would feel now that she was free from the hospital's gloomy and depressing atmosphere, how it would feel under his own hands, before he forced those thoughts away for now.

        "My apartment is B04." (Y/N) informed, waving bye to the uber before guiding Andrew to her apartment. "I'm sorry for the stairs. Hopefully in a few months you can walk up and down them without any issue." 

        She guided him to a set of stairs, walking behind him so she could catch him in case he fell. When they made it to the top, she walked ahead and opened a white door with very little dirt on it and only minimum paint peeling near the bottom of it. She twisted open the gold doorknob, pushing open the door and holding it for him, watching as he limped into the apartment. 

        Andrew took a moment to observe the clean wooden floors, now understanding why he caught the whiff of lemon and cleaning product on her. She had a small table near the entrance with a small white and blue vase (similar to the one she broke in her room earlier). The vase had forget-me-nots, a classic flower representing depression despite how tragically beautiful they are. How cliché.

        The walls had no paintings or pictures, her walls painted a bright white that gave the apartment a modern and bright feeling. The living room had grey carpeting, a comfortable looking couch with some blankets and pillows to sleep or relax on, a table in front of the couch and a TV hanging on the wall. 

        "Here, here. Rest your legs." (Y/N) spoke, pressing her hand against Andrew's back, creating a sudden zap of lightning that spread throughout his body as she sat him down on her couch.

        "You don't have to worry about me." Andrew chuckled, a small smile resting on his lips.

        He looked far more comfortable here than he was at the hospital, seeming to smile easier. His skin even looked a bit healthier, though that could've just been the hospital lighting and blood loss. His charcoal hair looked shiny, but not because it looked healthy, more so it was greasy. Who knew the last time he showered. 

        "Do you want to go shower?" (Y/N) questioned, before mentally hitting herself at how weird that sounded. 

        Judging by the look on his face, he thought it was a little random too. 

        "Sorry, I didn't mean for that to come out so weird..." she laughed, flustered. "I meant, would you like to shower? Not to be mean, but your hair looks a little greasy, and I don't know when you last showered. It'd be bad to have your wounds dirty and get infected."

        "Oh." Andrew audibly voiced, resisting the urge to cover his hair at the realization. 

        The last time he showered must've been back at his old apartment complex, at least almost a week ago. He hasn't been worrying much about his appearance since the discovery of cultists, demons, and hitmen chasing after him has appeared. 

        "Right, that's a good idea..." He smiled bashfully, almost embarrassed to be seen this way.

        He knew he was at least decently attractive, never putting too much thought in his clothes or appearance so long as he was clean (which he wasn't at the moment).

        "Yeah, no worries..." She smiled, placing her hands on his waist as she helped him up from the couch, guiding him to her bathroom. 

        She opened the door and flipped the light switch, enveloping the room in bright light. The tiles were a shiny white, and the walls were a baby blue, a white tub with a silver shower head hanging from the wall. Her bathroom counter was clean, nothing cluttered on other than some hairdressing machines such as a hairdryer, straightener, curling iron, hair products, etc. She had some cabinets and drawers he'll peek into later, and an empty trashcan by the toilet. There was a laundry basket pushed up to the wall, and hooks to hang towels on the door. 

        "I'm sorry, I don't have any men shampoo or body wash..." (Y/N) apologized, picking up one of her soap bottles that sat on the bathtub's edge. "I hope you don't mind smelling like... Niacinamide and apple extract." She spoke, reading the front label. 

        "Better than nothing." He smiled. 

        "That's the spirit." She smiled, patting his shoulder. "Here, I'll rundown the process with you."

        She sat down inside the tub, her feet hanging off the side in a semi-uncomfortable looking position. "I don't want you standing on your feet, so please sit down like this. It'll also help you from getting your stitches wet. Remember, don't get your stitches wet." 

        He would've paid more attention to what she was saying, but he was a bit distracted, his hearing a little muffled as he took in the sight of her. It's not very lady-like to sit in a tub (fully clothed, he hated) with your legs hanging off the side in a way that made your skirt ride up your thighs. He tried his best to keep his attention on her face, but it was hard to as his eyes kept subconsciously drifting down.

        "So, the staples on your head is fine to get wet, just please be careful when you scrub so you don't tug on them, and make sure to rinse your hair really good. Be really careful when you brush your hair too so you don't tug on the staples. For your legs, you're going to need to wash them using a rag so you don't wet your stitches. Make sure not to get any soap in them either." She explained to him in depth, unaware how her words were going in one eat and out the other. "When you're done, pat your hair and body dry so the towel doesn't pull any stitches or staples."

        (Y/N) stood up from the tub (with a little struggle due to her position), breaking Andrew from his thoughts.

        "Do you got all that?" she questioned, smoothing down her skirt. 

        "Y-yeah." He muttered, avoiding her eyes in shame. 

        "Good." She smiled innocently. "Do you need any clothes?" she questioned, bending down to her cabinets and grabbing a clean towel and washrag. 

        "No. These clothes are fine... The nurses washed them before giving them to me." He explained, watching as she bend down, rising up and handing him the two items. 

        "You can put your towel on the hook, and put the washrag in my laundry basket." She directed. "Anything else?" 

        "No, thank you." He spoke, sparing her a small thankful smile. 

        "You don't have allergies or anything, right?" (Y/N) questioned, leaning on the door frame. 

        "No, I don't." He answered. 

        "So, anything you want for dinner? Do you have any dislikes?" she questioned. 

        "Anything's better than hospital food." He chuckled, leaning back on the toilet tank. 

        "Ha, you can say that again." She smiled. "I feel sorry for the patients that have to eat it, it's heated up in the back. I've had to eat it a few times because I've forgotten lunch and I didn't want to drive to some fast food joint." She hummed, moving off the door frame.

        Yeah, he could definitely see that. He wouldn't want to go driving in the middle of the night around this crappy city, especially to some burger joint. It already sucks driving at night, but having to drive at night in a city is just worse thanks to people ignoring the crosswalks and jaywalking, or the random drunks popping out of nowhere on the road after a night with their friends in the club. You honk your horn at them to get off the road and they think it's a fun game to scream louder than your car horn and zigzag the streets in a game of chicken. 

        "But, I'll let you get to bathing. I just wanted your input for dinner." (Y/N) smiled. "Oh, also I'm on a soft food diet for a few weeks, but I won't have you suffering with me for it. I'll make sure to hook you up."

        "Thank you." He chuckled, leaning his crutches on the wall next to the bathtub, placing his towel on the bathroom counter and the washrag on the bathtub's edge. 

        "Call me if you need anything." (Y/N) spoke, sending him a smile, before walking out of the room and shutting the door behind her, leaving Andrew to his own devices. 

        Andrew let out a sigh he didn't even know he was holding. It was hard to look at her and pay attention to what she was saying after that eye candy, but somehow he managed. Luckily, he retained enough of what she said to where he can properly wash himself without damaging his stitches. He took off his black sweater and ripped jeans, observing his ankles.

        He didn't need to wear casting anymore, but he still wore tight bandages to protect the stitch work and give a bit of support for the bone to heal itself. They had wired the small fractured bones together so the bones would stay in place. The thought of metal inside him made him a little squirmish, so he tried not to think much about it. 

        Andrew folded up his clothes, placing them down on the bathroom counter next to his towel. He glanced at the wooden laundry basket manufactured to look like a wicker basket in the corner, the cute little lid hiding her worn clothes that probably still smelled like her too. 

        He wondered if they'd share a laundry basket once he starts getting more situated around here. He wondered if they'd do their laundry together. If they'd cook meals together. If they'd decorate the house for the holidays together. If they'd wake up together in the same bed. Mundane and domestic little things like that he's unconsciously longed after for who knows how long. 

        He'll investigate her laundry along with her bathroom cabinets later. Right now, he doesn't want to take too long with this bath. 

        While Andrew cleaned himself up, (Y/N) browsed through her fridge, contemplating what to have for dinner. If she actually went to the grocery store, she’d have more food; however feeding herself hasn’t been much of a priority nowadays. Now that Andrew’s around, she’ll have to cook more to make sure he’s healthy and being cared for. 

        (Y/N) grabbed a package of Italian sausage that’s been in her fridge for a few days now. She unwrapped it, placing it on a frying pan over medium, before grabbing a pot and turning on the heat to low. 

        She grabbed some canned crushed tomatoes, tomato sauce, and Italian stewed tomatoes, throwing a can of each into the pot. Italian seasoning, basil, pepper, salt, oregano, minced garlic, and bay leaves all thrown into the pot. She would start a cooking stream if she wasn’t so insecure of herself. 

        She figured she’d just do an easy Italian goulash, it’s basically just spaghetti sauce with elbow noodles instead of angel hair. 

        After the meat finished cooking, she drained the grease and mixed the meat into the sauce. She grabbed another pot and filled it with water and some dashes of salt, waiting for it to boil. While she waited for that to boil, she started washing the dishes she dirtied and no longer needed. 

        (Y/N) absentmindedly spaced out while she washed the dishes. It’s weird how every time you wash the dishes, you’re either thinking of everything or nothing, nowhere in between. Perhaps you just disassociate to avoid the feeling of responsibility, or perhaps just to hurry up this annoying daily routine you have to do. It’s better to do the dishes than be featured in a before and after comparison picture for a housecleaning service on the newspaper (if anyone still reads those). 

        (Y/N) subconsciously peeked at the window, turning her attention to it. Normally she’d keep her curtains closed, but she wanted the room to be a bit brighter so she opened the curtains while cleaning. 

        A feeling of dread formed in her stomach like a whirlpool the longer she stared at the exposed window, causing (Y/N) turned off the faucet, drying off her hands. She quickly added some elbow noodles into the now boiling pot, then walked to the window in the dining room.

        She closely observed the window’s lock, giving the window a tug to make sure the lock stayed in place. She grabbed a screwdriver from a small basket she kept on her kitchen counter, making sure to tighten up all the screws till they wouldn’t budge. She closely observed the screen protector, looking for any mild holes, cuts in the screen, or any fingertip smudges on the glass, before deeming it safe. You can never be too safe in the city—or anywhere for that matter.

        She closed the curtains and pushed a small table back to the window wall, showcasing the innocent vase and flowers that rested in front of the window. The table was there in case any intruders broke in, that way there’d at least be a noise that would alert her if someone knocked down the table or vase. 

        (Y/N) went around the living room, observing the condition of every window and making minor adjustments to anything that needed to be done to ensure her safety was kept.

        Andrew hobbled into the living room, fresh out of the bath as he stared at (Y/N), confused on what the hell she was doing running around the windows like a lunatic. 

        “Are you good?” Andrew questioned, causing (Y/N) to yelp and jump at least five feet in the air.

        “Oh! Andrew!” (Y/N) gasped, holding her chest with her free hand. “You scared me. You’re very quiet.” 

        “Are you alright?” he repeated, hopping over to her side with the assistance of his crutches. 

        “I’m fine.” She smiled. “Just checking up on the windows. "You can never be too safe in the city, you know? Burglaries and murderers and all that!” 

        “Uh… Yeah… Yeah, that makes sense…” Andrew nodded, his thoughts drifting off.

        She’s trying to keep herself safe from murderers like myself, Andrew thought, a bitter taste in his mouth at the idea of her not wanting him around (despite his belief that she doesn't know he's a murderer). 

        “Hungry?” (Y/N) questioned, an innocent smile from her face as she walked back into the kitchen.

        “I might as well be starving.” He chuckled, even though he knew damn well what that felt like; famished and starving are two very distinct things. 

        “Well, dinner’s cooking and it won’t be any longer till it’s ready.” She hummed, watching as he followed her. “You like goulash, right? The Italian version?” she questioned, placing her screwdriver back into her counter’s basket.

        “Basically spaghetti…” he smiled. “Yeah, I don’t mind it.” 

        “Good, good!” (Y/N) smiled, grabbing a spoon and stirring the noodles as they boiled. “I’m glad to hear. I just decided to play it safe tonight and do something easy. We both could use the rest.” 

        “Rest would be amazing.” Andrew spoke, hopping over to one of her kitchen stools and sitting down with a quiet groan. 

        “Speaking of rest... How is your legs?” (Y/N) questioned, turning her body to face Andrew, moving away from the stove, leaning her back on the kitchen counter as she crossed her arms.

        “Oh, you know, they sting.” He hummed. “My ankles feel sore and there’s a dull throb every now and then, but hey, at least I’m still alive.”

        Unfortunately. He thought to himself.

        “Well, after dinner we can settle down and watch a movie.” She suggested. “Unless, you meant ‘rest’ as in you’re actually tired and want to sleep.” 

        “We’ll see after dinner…” He spoke. “I’m up for anything.” 

        “Sounds good.” She smiled. “And now that we mention dinner, it’s done.” 

        She grabbed a strainer and placed it in the sink, pouring the noodles in it to drain out the excess water. Once the noodles were drained, she mixed them in with the sauce, creating goulash. 

        She grabbed two bowls and scooped the pasta into the bowls, stabbing forks into the bowls before handing one to Andrew.

        “There’s parmesan cheese in the fridge if you want some with it.” She spoke, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. “Water?” she questioned, looking at him.

        “Yeah.” He answered with a nod, opening the fridge and scanning the shelves, before picking up the cheese and sprinkling it onto his pasta. “Thank you for cooking.” 

        “No worries.” She hummed, grabbing another glass and pouring water in it for him, handing him the glass. 

        Andrew accepted the water, giving her an appreciative nod as he followed her to the dining table, sitting down with her.

        She had four chairs around her dining table, despite seeming to live alone (as far as he can see). Perhaps the chairs are for guests or just so the table wouldn’t look weird with one chair. 

        Andrew stabbed his fork into the pasta, taking a bite, allowing himself a moment to chew and process the flavors.

        “Not bad.” He spoke, glancing over at her. “It tastes like spaghetti.” 

        “Thanks. It was basically the goal.” She chuckled, smiling.

        “Are you normally a good cook? Or is pasta just all you make?” Andrew questioned, taking another bite as his eyes stayed focused on her.

        “Oh, I just taught myself.” (Y/N) shrugged. "Cookbooks and the trial and errors."

        “You’re good.” He hummed, taking a sip of his water.

        “No, I’m not.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m pretty mediocre. I mean, cooking is a life skill so really I’m not good at it compared to others..."

        He noticed her deflect the compliment and even shut it down, raising his eyes at her suspiciously. If he could kick her without hurting himself, he’d do it.

        “Hey, I’m serious.” Andrew spoke, meeting her eyes. “You’re better than me, at least.” 

        (Y/N) adverted her eyes nervously, looking down at her food. Some butterflies flew around her stomach at the praise, or maybe her food was really just that bad. 

        It felt weird to talk during dinner. When she was a child having dinner at her parents, usually it was spent in either silence or her father usually talking up a storm while her mother ignored him. On the very rare occasion—when her mother did decide to acknowledge her—it was her sending passive-aggressive comments (Y/N)’s way and questioning her life goals and motives.

        “So… clothes.” (Y/N) spoke up, picking up some goulash with her fork. “Unless you’re hiding a suitcase somewhere around here with clothes in it, we need to get you some clothes and other essentials. We can go shopping tomorrow.” 

        “Are you sure?” Andrew questioned, looking over at her surprised. “I mean, I can just keep wearing this until I get a job or something.”

        “Gross.” (Y/N) spoke, making a face at the thought of him wearing the same attire for weeks to months on end.

        “Hey, laundry exists, you know.” Andrew smiled, playfully pointing his fork at (Y/N).

        “Yeah, no. You need more outfits, otherwise you’ll start looking boring.” She chuckled.

        “Oh? Is my face not interesting enough?” Andrew questioned, teasing her as he sent her a wink.

        “Oh please.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she felt her face heat up against her better wishes.

        Oh god, I’m flirting with a murderer right now. (Y/N) thought, an almost nauseous feeling taking ahold of the butterflies in her stomach, causing them to burn in acid. 

        She wasn’t sure if being a murderer herself eased that nausea or worsened it.

        Her doorbell rang, causing them both to shoot their heads up at the door.

        Oh God, please don’t let it be him. (Y/N) thought, nervous. How did he even find me?

        Ashley? Andrew thought, staring at the door. Please, don’t cause a scene. Please don’t scare (Y/N) off.

        “I’ll get it.” (Y/N) spoke, forcing a smile as she stood up, her shoes tapping softly against the wooden planks. 

        (Y/N) walked to the front door, taking a deep breath before she opened the door, looking at who was in front of her abode. 

        Immediately, she slammed it back shut, panic creeping into her as a new wave of nausea hit her. She quickly rushed back to Andrew, ignoring the sting of her injured leg protesting at the rough movement, slamming her hands on the dining table.

        “You and me are dating now.” (Y/N) spoke, seemingly breathless. 

        “W-wait, what?” Andrew blurted out, his eyes as wide as saucers and he looked at her, shocked.

        “Just leave the talking to me.” (Y/N) spoke, before quickly rushing back to the front door, taking a second to smooth down her skirt and brush down her hair with her fingers.

        She took a second to take a breath, then opened the door.

        “Hi Papa! Hi Mama!” (Y/N) forced a smile, moving out of the doorway to let them in.

        “Hey there, sport!” (Y/N)’s father spoke, ruffling her hair with his hand as he stepped into the hallway.

        “About time you opened the door.” (Y/N)’s mother sighed, following her husband as she walked into the hallway, looking around at the empty walls. “You still haven’t hung anything up? It looks so gloomy in here.” 

        “I just haven’t found any decoration I like.” (Y/N) sighed, shutting the door behind her.

        Mama? Papa? Andrew thought, shocked as he stared at the family. 

        He’s meeting her parents already? They just started dating a few seconds ago! 

        “Something’s smelling good! Are you cooking dinner?” her father questioned, shoving his hands in his pockets as he looked around at her simple apartment, before his eyes met Andrew. 

        Andrew and (Y/N)’s father shared a silent staring contest, before her father rushed over to where Andrew was sitting, slamming his hands on the table. 

        “Who the hell do you think you are in my daughter’s home?!” he shouted, the table shaking from the impact of his hands.

        “Was he a one night stand?” her mother questioned, gliding over to the dining table, staring down at Andrew judgmentally.

        “Hey, it’s okay!” (Y/N) spoke, rushing to her father’s side and doing her best to pull him back from Andrew. “He’s good!”

        “Who is he?” her father questioned, his hands scrunching up table cloth with white knuckles. 

        “This is… my boyfriend, Andrew.” (Y/N) spoke, a embarrassed blush creeping up on her cheeks at her words as she managed to make some space between her father and Andrew.

        “Boyfriend?” her mother questioned, a hint of surprise in her tone. “Shocking.” 

        “Boyfriend, huh?” her father questioned, before laughing. “Sorry about that son, I didn’t mean to scare you. My daughter just got some bad experiences with boys. But you’re a man, right? You wouldn’t hurt her?” he questioned, forcing Andrew’s hand in his own and squeezing the life out of Andrew’s hand.

“N-nice to meet you, sir…” Andrew spoke through gritted teeth, a forced smile on his face. “And no, sir... I don’t wish to hurt your daughter.” 

        “I’m Frank.” (Y/N)’s father, Frank, introduced himself as he shook Andrew’s hand, dropping the hand back to Andrew’s side.

        “And I’m Rose.” (Y/N)’s mother spoke up.

        Andrew offered a handshake to her, but she just looked at his hands with disgust. “I don’t do handshakes.” 

        “Right…” Andrew spoke awkwardly, dropping his hand back to his side.

        “So… Ma, Pa, what brings your sudden visit?” (Y/N) questioned, holding her hands together in a service-like gesture.

        “We had a call from the hospital saying you were in the ER getting surgery, so your mother and I hopped in the car and drove across the country.” Frank explained.

        “Oh… that’s nice…” (Y/N) smiled, unsure what to say. “Um… thank you for checking up on me, Papa.” 

        “Don’t worry about it.” He smiled, roughing up her hair once more. “I’m sorry I wasn’t answering your calls, we drove through a lot of dead spots.” 

        Well, that at least explains why she couldn’t reach her father while she was in the hospital. She felt pretty lonely not hearing there voices during her time of need, but at least Andrew was there looking out for her.

        Pathetic really, having to rely on a man she barely knows, let alone a killer. 

        “You look fine.” Rose spoke up. “Are you sure you weren’t just overreacting?” she questioned, her tone accusing as she look in (Y/N)’s appearance. 

        “Thanks for your concern, Ma.” (Y/N) forced a smile, unsurprised of her mother’s words while Andrew had to fight to keep his mouth closed. 

        “So what happened?” Rose questioned, taking a seat at the dining table. 

        “Well, I took a walk after one of my shifts, and I got attacked by some man.” (Y/N) explained, by now she was well-rehearsed in saying the same lie over and over. “And they kept stabbing me, but I was able to fight them off and run away. I drove myself to the hospital after the attack.” 

        “Whose boyfriend did you sleep with?” Rose questioned with a blank face. 

        “Rose!” Frank snapped, sending a glare at Rose. 

        “What?” she questioned. “Well, obviously she must’ve did something to get targeted. Things like that don’t happen just because.” 

        “I didn’t do anything…” (Y/N) spoke, a bit annoyed.

        How dare she even accuse her daughter of sleeping around? Does she really think she got attacked by a vengeful girlfriend? Does she really think (Y/N) would stoop down that low? To sleep with a taken man? 

        (Y/N) doesn’t accept leftovers—so to hear her mother accuse her of being the catalyst of someone’s adultery really upset her. She had to bite back her tongue to the point she tasted some blood.

        I mean, yeah, she got attacked by a jealous and vengeful sister if that counts? But those are two completely different things! (Y/N) didn’t mean to steal Andrew away from Ashley, nor did she mean to kill her! And she didn’t even sleep with Andrew to begin with! 

        Andrew looked shocked, doing his best to keep his face neutral and not stare at Rose with disgust. I mean, who the hell tries to justify their daughter’s attempted murderer? 

        Andrew wasn’t sure if he should continue eating, watch the interaction, or pretend like he’s hearing nothing. 

        “Well, what were you wearing? Did you provoke him?” Rose questioned, tapping her fingers impatiently.

        (Y/N) walked to the kitchen, holding up her middle finger her mother’s way as she grabbed two bowls from her cupboard, putting pasta in them.

        “I just wore my nurse uniform.” She explained. “I stopped by my apartment, dropped off my phone to charge and left purse home. Then I went on a short walk around the park.” 

        “Perhaps it was a hate crime if you weren’t screwing someone’s boyfriend.” Rose hummed, accepting the bowl of goulash her daughter gave her. “You know how rowdy people are getting nowadays. Absolutely disgraceful some of them are. I mean, we nurses save their lives and they hate us for not being able to save anyone. What am I? God?”

        Fuck, I hope not. (Y/N) and Andrew thought at the same time. 

        “Well, sometimes people just have bad medical experience. Things happen.” (Y/N) spoke. “For all I know, he could’ve been experiencing a mental breakdown or perhaps an episode.”

        “You should stop involving yourself with men in general. Remember that last one?” Rose questioned. “Or, are you finally admitting that he was innocent and you’re a liar? Do you know how much we went through even after you left? All that money lost and—” 

        “Rose. That’s enough.” Frank spoke sternly, pointing his fork at Rose as (Y/N) placed his bowl down in front of him. “We talked about this on the way here. You need to be nicer to (Y/N). She doesn’t need your bitching after what just happened to her. We should be grateful she’s even alive.” 

        Rose looked at her husband agitated, her expression saying she was anything but grateful, but she decided to keep her mouth shut for now. 

        “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I guess the roadtrip has been a bit tiring for Rose. She’s a bit cranky, menopause and all.” Frank chuckled, doing his best to make light of the situation. 

        Rose shot him a nasty glare for that comment, one Frank ignored as he continued speaking.

        “So, Andrew, was it? How did you and (Y/N) meet?” Frank questioned, taking a bite of his food. “You didn’t meet her along the road and needed to stalk her home for her number or something, right?” 

        “Papa…” (Y/N) groaned, not appreciating the hostile vibes he was shooting Andrew’s way.

        “Right… um… How I met your daughter.” Andrew chuckled nervously, his eyes trailing over to (Y/N) in a ‘get me the fuck out of this conversation’ stare. 

        Oh God, the question (Y/N) was dreading. She can’t tell her parents that Andrew is her former patient! That’s so unprofessional of her to take him in and house him! Especially after she lied about them dating too! Not only that, but her mother would never let her live it down. Rose would judge her for the rest of her life! 

        “I approached him.” (Y/N) spoke up. “At the library when I transferred colleges. I thought he was cute, so I asked for his number.” 

        “Did you ask if he was single at the time?” Rose questioned, earning an annoyed stare from Frank and Andrew too.

        Does this lady ever shut up? Andrew thought to himself.

        “Yeah. She was studying… college things. There were some books on her table, and she was reading one about nursing.” Andrew spoke, forcing himself to make eye contact with Frank to try and be sincere despite the utter bullshit and lies he was spewing out his mouth.

        “What did you think of first about my daughter?” Frank questioned.

        What the hell was Andrew supposed to say to that? That’s a death trap for any man. He might as well be a fly sitting on a Venus flytrap, any wrong move (answer) and he’s dead! 

        His first thoughts of her while sitting on that hospital bed? ‘Fuck, a girl. Hopefully Ashley won’t bitch too much.’ Followed by ‘She’s pretty. Prettier than the girl in the apartment I murdered.’ 

        But he can’t just tell Frank that.

        “I was attracted to your daughter’s eyes.” Andrew spoke, mentally slapping himself in the head.

        Stupid! Every guy says that corny shit! 

        “Really now?” Frank questioned, looking at Andrew’s suspiciously. 

        Just accept it, Papa. (Y/N) thought to herself, practically sweating bullets on her side of the table. It’s better than saying he liked my chest! Just roll with it!

        “Good. Good answer…” Frank spoke, slowly nodding his head as if Andrew passed a test. “That’s a real good answer, boy. I mean, your looks will change all the time as you grow old, but your eyes stay the same for the most part. Unless you carve them out or something. Carve them out like pumpkin guts.” He spoke morbidly, a chuckle spreading throughout his lips. “But good answer.”

        “Don’t talk about eyeballs like it’s pumpkin seeds, Pa.” (Y/N) groaned.

        Stop trying to scare Andrew away from me. (Y/N) mentally pleaded, begging for who knows why. I’m craving pumpkin pie now though… 

        “Aha… yeah. Pumpkin guts.” Andrew laughed awkwardly, unsure if Frank was even speaking of a joke right now.

        “You know, speaking of good. This is some good food! Gourmet stuff right here! You should’ve been America’s master chef instead.” Frank complimented as he looked over at his daughter, pointing his fork to the bowl.

        “Thank you.” (Y/N) forced a smile, not wanting to accept the compliment. “But it could be better…” 

        “You’re right.” Rose nodded, taking a bite of her food and chewing it. “It’s too bland for my taste.”

        It wasn’t made for you. (Y/N) quickly retorted, looking at Rose blankly as she imagined lasers shooting out of her eyes.

        “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I make this…” (Y/N) spoke, her plastered smile wavering.

        The heavy tension between these two ladies is enough to break a knife cutting through, Andrew has decided.

        “I think it’s just perfect.” Andrew spoke up, avoiding Rose’s glare.

        That’s two against one; (Y/N) food wins against Rose’s tastebuds.

        “So, Andrew. How long have you known (Y/N) for?” Frank intervened, sending a wary glance Rose’s way. 

        Andrew looked at (Y/N) nervously, unsure what to say to that. 

        “A year now.” (Y/N) spoke up. “I met him not long after I moved here.”

        “Really? And we’re just now knowing about him?” Frank questioned, surprised.

        “I didn’t want to worry you.” (Y/N) shrugged, finishing her food. “Besides… I wanted to get to know him better before introducing you to him.”

        “I’m surprised you didn’t bring this one into court for stalking you.” Rose spoke, crossing her arms as she glanced at (Y/N). 

        “Mama…” (Y/N) hissed through her teeth, finally breaking down as she sent Rose a hateful glare back. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

        “Then don’t.” Rose shrugged. “I want to. Andes or Drew or something like that. Did you know—“ 

        (Y/N) stood up from her seat, tightly holding her fork in one hand as if it was a weapon. “I said no, Ma.” 

        Rose looked up and down at (Y/N), unamused with (Y/N)’s act. 

        “Rose, stop.” Frank spoke, reaching to his side and holding his wife’s forearm. “Let’s not trigger her.” 

        “When you’re done eating, bring your dishes to me. I’ll clean them.” (Y/N) stated, before walking out of the dining table to the kitchen in almost a robotic fashion.

        Andrew was pretty curious of what (Y/N) didn't want him to know about, but he didn't want to ask Rose and risk talking to her more, and Frank might just kill him for even wondering.

        There was a pause in the dining room, nobody wanting to eat despite how good the food was, their appetites ruined by the tension. Andrew still ate every bite though, forcing it down despite feeling ill from Rose’s attitude.

        Andrew grabbed his crutches resting on the wall, standing up and taking his bowl and fork with him. Rose’s eyes sparkled, seeming to make a connection.

        “That’s why she’s with you!” Rose gasped. “She can’t settle for anyone else but a cripple!”

        “Rose!” Frank hissed, his grip tightening on Rose’s forearm.

        “Oh please, you know I’m right.” Rose huffed, before looking back at Andrew. “You had to settle for her.” 

        “What’s your deal?” Andrew questioned, his voice low so (Y/N) couldn’t hear their conversation. “Why are you such a bitch?” 

        Rose’s eyes sharpened, but her lack of reaction could only assume she’s heard that insult before. “You don’t know how much money we lost because of that attention-whore. She should’ve died that night…” Rose muttered lowly, her voice unwavering as she meant every word she said. 

        Frank shook his head, but his expression said he was anything but happy. “Stop it. You’re going too far.” Frank hissed. 

        Rose sent him a smug smirk, seemingly proud of what she just said. 

        “Hag…” Andrew spat her way, his hands balled up into fists as he tried not to do anything too drastic to turn this family reunion into a murder.

        Andrew hopped out of the kitchen, ignoring the small whispers Frank and Rose spoke as they bickered with one another. 

        (Y/N) stood at the sink with the faucet running, her hands scrubbing her clean bowl with a lost gaze. Who knows how long she’s been scrubbing that singular dish. 

        “(Y/N)…” Andrew whispered, his hand reaching out and touching her shoulder.

        “Huh?” (Y/N) jolted, almost dropping the bowl as she turned her head to him. “Andrew? Did you need something?”

        “Just wanted to give you this like you told me to.” Andrew spoke, placing his dishes in the sink.

        His hands snaked around her waist, a shiver wracking through (Y/N)’s body, reacting to the intimate touch. 

        “What are you doing?” she questioned lowly, a nervous feeling appearing in her chest. 

        “I’m just playing the part.” He muttered. “We’re dating now, yeah?” he smiled, almost cocky to throw her words back at her.

        “Uh… yeah…” she muttered, doing her best to relax her body, her back pressed against his chest as her body leaned into him without her consent.

        God, this is so wrong for me to be doing with my patient. Former patient? Roommate? Fuck, who knows at this point! (Y/N) thought, nervous as she avoided his eyes.

        Andrew leaned against her, whether it was to get closer or to support himself without his crutches, who knows. He rested his head on her shoulder, watching her shaky hands tend to the dirty dishes.

        “You know, I’m really not liking your mother.” Andrew admitted, letting out a sigh.

        His breath hit her ear, making her shiver at the reminder that he’s so close to her.

        “Well… it’s not like I chose her.” (Y/N) sighed.

        “Heh, wouldn’t that be great?” Andrew chuckled. “Choosing your own parents. That would be awesome…” 

        “Sorry for her behavior…” (Y/N) muttered. “She’s just… not really empathetic. Or sympathetic. Really, she doesn’t do well in the emotions department in general.” 

        “And I thought my parents were bad…” Andrew commented, shaking his head as he smiled.

        The movement just made her more aware of how close he was to her, pressing his body against her. She didn’t know if she wanted to hit him with a dish and run, or freeze and accept the once-in-a-lifetime affection she’ll probably ever have. 

        He smelt just like her shampoo, making her understand that this might just be a norm. That he might actually live with her longer than she expected. They’ll share the same roof, food, shower, and who knows what else.

        A wave of confidence washed over him, giving him the boldness of a drunk frat holding a pool cue. His hands moved from her waist to her sweater, fiddling with the muted pink cotton, far too close to her bare skin for her comfort as her bandages peeked out from underneath.

        “Watch your hands.” (Y/N) gritted under her teeth, shooting Andrew a warning glare.

        “Yes, ma’am…” he chuckled, his hands retreating, deciding to rest them on her hips. 

        He watched over her shoulder as she hurriedly finished the rest of the dishes, before stepping away from Andrew, no longer supporting his weight. Luckily, he had his crutches to catch him when she abandoned his side, creating a cushion of space between the two. 

        Frank and Rose both entered the kitchen, Frank’s bowl licked clean and Rose’s bowl half-eaten. (Y/N) took care of the dishes, her hands scrubbing them before she spoke up.

        “So how long are you guys going to be staying in town?” (Y/N) questioned, finishing a dish. 

        “We only planned to make sure you’re okay.” Frank spoke. “Are you doin' anythin' tomorrow?” 

        Great, the question every child dreads when their parents are in town. It’s not that she doesn’t want to hang with her father, but she doesn’t want to hang with her mother. 

        “I’ll be busy.” (Y/N) hummed. “Me and Andrew wanna go shopping together. We’ll probably go get lunch too.”

        “A lunch date, I see.” Frank nodded, his eyes trailing to Rose. “Well then, we’ll head out tomorrow mornin' and be out of your hair.” 

        “Do you have a place to stay tonight?” (Y/N) questioned, turning off the tap as she finished the dishes, drying her hands with a towel.

        “Hotels in the city are so expensive.” Rose grimaced, crossing her arms. “We figured we’d just stay the night here.” 

        “I’ll set up the sleeper sofa for you.” (Y/N) smiled.

        If my parents get the couch, then that means Andrew will have no place to sleep tonight. (Y/N) thought.

        (Y/N) looked at Andrew from across the room, not all that surprised to see him staring back. Their eyes came to the silent conclusion and agreement.

        They were sleeping together tonight.

        “I’ll go get some blankets and pillows for you both.” (Y/N) spoke.

        She walked past her parents and Andrew, placing her hand on his shoulder in a silent command for him to follow her. He did so without question.

        He hopped down the hallway, following her to her bedroom. 

        (Y/N) opened the door for him, before softly closing the door behind her. 

        “Okay… so, my parents are taking the sleeper, which is originally where I planned on having you sleep.” (Y/N) explained. “So… this means we’re going to be sharing a bed tonight.”

        “Yeah, I figured that much…” Andrew sighed, resting his crutches against the wall as he sat down on the bed, crossing his arms. 

        “That… that’s it?” she questioned, a bit perplexed. “No protests or complaints?” 

        “No, why?” he questioned, looking up at her. “You nervous?”

        “No, I’m not.” She scoffed, a smile appearing on her lips, almost laughing at the idea of herself being nervous to sleep with him for one night.

        Because in truth, she was. 

        “I’ll go get them their blankets. You can stay here.” (Y/N) spoke. “I don’t know about you, but I’m a bit tired. I’d rather not sit in the living room and talk with them… would you?” 

        “No.” Andrew spoke all too quickly.

        Her mother was a bitch, plain and simple. And her father was a bit intimidating, despite his attempts to get to know Andrew, Andrew couldn’t help but feel her father is waiting for just one word he doesn’t like slip out of his mouth before all hell could break loose. 

        “Good…” (Y/N) chuckled, smiling. “So, I’ll give them their stuff… then you and me camp out in here and watch some movies together?” 

        “Sounds like a plan.” Andrew nodded, kicking off his shoes and leaning back on her bed, his arms resting on her pillows lazily.  

        "Hey, elevate your legs." (Y/N) ordered, throwing two pillows his way.

        Andrew groaned in a small protest, but listened as he placed the pillows underneath his calves.

        (Y/N) left the room, walking into her supply closet and grabbing some blankets and pillows; she always kept extras so she can rotate her bedding while doing laundry. 

        “I’m sorry I couldn’t spend more time with you guys, and I’m sorry for worrying you two to where you had to come out here…” (Y/N) apologized, handing her parents their bedding for the night.

        “Hey, it’s no trouble.” Frank smiled. “Really, we wanted to make sure you were doing okay."

        “Thank you.” (Y/N) nodded, going to the couch and taking off the cushions, grabbing a handle that tugged the mattress out from underneath. “I appreciate your concern. I’m feeling just dandy; it doesn’t even hurt much.”

        Despite her words, there was indeed a hiss of pain that shot through her stomach when she bent over to grab the mattress, but she just ignored it. 

        (Y/N) made the bed for her parents, tucking in the blankets and fluffing the pillows. 

        “I’m sorry, I’m still pretty tired. I just got out of the hospital this morning so I think I’ll be going to bed early tonight. Is there anything I can get you guys beforehand?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “We’re fine.” Rose sighed. “We’ll be leaving tomorrow mornin', so don’t be surprised if you see us gone when you wake up.” 

        “Are you going to be fine with that man?” Frank questioned.

        “That man is my boyfriend, Papa.” (Y/N) chuckled, albeit faked. “I’ll be just fine.” 

        “If you say so.” Frank sighed. “But just holler if he causes any trouble to you.”

        “Got it.” (Y/N) nodded. “I’m going to go hit the hay. Goodnight, Papa. Goodnight, Mama.” 

        (Y/N) exited the living room, quickly rushing to her kitchen and retrieving some chips, packaged popcorn, and Hawaiian sweet bread she found lying around in her pantry. She grabbed a few water bottles before rushing to her bedroom so her parents couldn’t see the snacks. 

        (Y/N) quickly shut the door behind her, locking eyes with Andrew as he stayed in the same spot she left him in.

        “Here. I couldn’t grab much since they’re camping out in the living room.” (Y/N) spoke, placing the food on the bed. “Just try not to get any crumbs on the bed.” 

        Andrew nodded, his eyes trailing around the room, making a few notes of the minimal decorations and how bare it really looked. He knows now that she moved here about a year ago, but damn does she not have any personality? 

        “I’m going to go change into some pajamas…” (Y/N) spoke up. “I’ll find something for you too.” 

        “Thanks.” Andrew smiled.

        “Here. You can choose a movie while I search. I’m a fan of all genres.” (Y/N) spoke, grabbing her TV remote from her bedside and hanging it to Andrew. 

        She walked to a door that led to her closet, opening it and moving stuff around, before finding herself a simple long-sleeved nightgown to wear. She tossed that onto her shoulder, then looked around for something Andrew could wear.

        Luckily, she was a fan of baggy clothes, whether it was because she was feeling like wearing something oversized and comfortable, or she would wear it on cleaning days. She grabbed a shirt and sweatpants for Andrew, handing it over to him before retreating to her bathroom to change. 

        She changed into her nightgown, deciding to save Andrew some extra time to change. She took her day clothes and threw it in her laundry basket, hiding the dirty and tacky state merchandise clothes she wore earlier while burying Ashley. She also removed the bloody bandages off her arm, revealing the fresh cuts she made this morning using the broken shards from the vase earlier.

        The cuts burned at the exposure to oxygen, a throbbing sensation going up her arm. She grabbed rubbing alcohol from under her sink and some toilet paper, pouring the disinfectant onto the cloth and dabbing it on her cuts to prevent any infections. She wrapped her arm with new bandages, calling it a day as she shoved the supplies back under her sink cabinet. 

        She brushed her hair in her mirror, washing her face with water and drying it off, before deciding she’s given Andrew enough time to change into his sleepwear. She unlocked her bathroom door, opening it and walking out, closing the door behind her.

        Andrew was back to laying in her bed, but at least he was dressed appropriately for sleep. The remote was in his hand as he scrolled through the movies, uninterested in it all.

        “Do you have a favorite genre?” (Y/N) inquired, crawling into bed.

        She kept her distance from him, cresting a invisible barrier between the two. He was still a man after all, two broken ankles or not.

        “Uh… not really…” Andrew shrugged.

        It’s not like he could remember much anyways, just what happened at his old apartment complex. He was just glued to the couch watching the news all the time, waiting for an update on when the damn quarantine will be done so he can get some food.

        “Well, are you in a laughing mood? Crying mood? Family-friendly mood?” (Y/N) questioned.

        “Yeah, I’m not one to get emotional over movies…” Andrew sighed. “Why? Is that something you do?”

        “Hey, dogs and kids dying in movies are really sad.” (Y/N) huffed playfully, taking the remote from his hand.

        (Y/N) scrolled through the movies, both sharing bored and disinterested look on their face as they scrolled through the channels together. She threw a bag of chips his way, watching from the corner of her eye as she caught it.

        He opened the bag, shoving some in his mouth before holding a chip in his hand, bringing it to (Y/N)’s mouth. She accepted the  chip, opening her mouth as he placed it on her tongue, watching as she closed her mouth and chewed. 

        Andrew glanced back at the TV, watching as (Y/N) scrolled through the movies, before his eye caught something.

        “Wait, stop.” Andrew spoke, causing her to stop her aimless scrolling and look over at him. “Scroll back up.”

        She listened, slowly scrolling up, before he made her stop on one movie.

        “Seriously?” (Y/N) groaned, looking at Andrew with a half-hearted glare.

        “Yeah.” He smirked, looking at her with a smug expression. “Why? You scared?”

        “Ugh, please.” She scoffed, selecting the movie, pressing play. “Like I’d be scared of this. It’s just some ghosts haunting a house.” 

        “Hey, shush! Don’t spoil it!” Andrew hushed, shoving some more chips into her mouth. 

        She playfully rolled her eyes, yet smiled as she relaxed back into her pillows. 

        Andrew chose The Conjuring to watch, which means (Y/N) won’t be walking down any basement stairs or looking in any mirrors tonight (or for the next few days, possibly weeks). If the bed starts rattling from a ghost or demon, may any God have mercy on that poor undead fellow because she won’t. 

        Maybe Andrew was a fan of horror movies before losing his memory? Perhaps he remembers liking horror movies? Or perhaps it was just the only semi-interesting thing to watch.

        It wasn’t long before the two actually got intrigued with the movie, focusing their attention on the dark screen—(Y/N) had even turned off the lights for this. 

        It’s unknown who moved closer (most likely Andrew), but by the time she registered their close proximity, he had placed his arm behind her shoulders, pulling her closer to him to where she rested in his side. 

        She opened her mouth to speak, before inevitably staying quiet. Maybe it was because she was focusing on the movie, or maybe it was because she kind of liked the affection. Whatever it was, she decided it wasn’t worth mentioning. Maybe if they both just stayed quiet about it, it wouldn’t ever be brought up or thought about again. 

        The warmth of his body was a foreign sensation she’s never felt. Her chest almost hurt at this newfound intimacy, and she wondered if she was expecting heart palpitations for a second. She’s never held or cuddled someone, and there was absolutely no desire to after what’s happened in the past, but maybe she’ll enjoy it for once and hopefully it won’t backfire in her face like everything else has in life. 

        Andrew lazily fed himself chips with one hand, his arm wrapped around (Y/N)’s shoulders as he subconsciously rubbed her shoulder relaxingly with his free hand. The position felt almost natural to him, something that didn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable or forced. 

        (Y/N) stared at the TV in a daze, a wave of tiredness hitting her. Her whole body felt warm and in a trance as she leaned more into Andrew’s side, before finally resting her head onto his chest. 

        Andrew glanced down at her, a soft smile spreading on his lips as his eyes drooped in fondness and adoration, one he wouldn’t let her see so soon of knowing her. His hand that was originally rubbing her shoulder instead moved and started playing with her hair, gently scratching her scalp and weaving his fingers through her hair.

        (Y/N) let the last bit of her restraint go, closing her eyes as her ears ignored the TV’s spooky music playing. She let out a small appreciative sigh as Andrew pulled the blankets higher up to cover her better. It felt so damn good being taken care of for once, that if she wasn’t so tired, she’d be bawling her eyes out right now.

        But he was a murderer; and so was she. Why are they capable of such gentleness and hospitality despite committing such horrendous things? 

        Maybe it’s because murderers are humans too. They were just like us before they were labeled murderers. If there’s a way (Y/N) can redeem herself of such a negative title, she’d take it. Maybe even Andrew could redeem too. 

        But if bad things happen to good people, then does good things happen to bad people? It makes her wonder how long this good thing will last, after all, nothing good ever happens to (Y/N), or at least it doesn’t stay long.

        Ah, who gives a damn… (Y/N) thought, her arms wrapping around Andrew’s waist as she relaxed in his arms, enjoying the feeling of his hands running through her hair. 

        Hopefully, now she’s done a bad thing and is arguably a bad person depending on who you ask, maybe she’ll finally start getting good things. 

        She knows one thing now. If Andrew could make her feel this damn good despite not even being here for 24 hours, then she can’t let him leave her. She’ll keep this affection and warmth all to herself.

        It’s time for (Y/N) to take what she wants now. 

Chapter 6 is done! I actually have chapter 7 all pieced out and what I want to do for that chapter, so the next chapter we're having tons more drama, a new and important character introduction (just a little spoiler for you, they're a yandere). Patience is always appreciated.

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for requests!

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, current chapter, Chapter 7, chapter 8, final chapter.

Want to listen to music while reading? Check out the Star Patient's Official Playlists! Multiple different playlists and genres!

[citruslullabies]

Hello! So this is my first time ever doing a request so I hope it’s good! But could you do Dogday x Reader/Angel, where Angel gets injured really badly and ends up getting impaled by metal and ends up needing to get the metal ripped out and sewn up?? Maybe dogday could comfort the reader during it?? I’m so sorry if that’s too much!! Okay that’s all really have a nice day/night!

Of course sweetie!

Trigger warnings: blood, injury, near-death experience

Romantic/platonic: unspecified

Requested by: anonymous

Category: angst + fluffy end

Ship (romantic or platonic): Dogday x injured!reader

Word count: 518

Angelic Wounds

Dogday was forever in your favor, you were his angel and his light. His dreams and his hope, he would be absolutely crushed if anything happened to you.

He was a little ways away from you, hesitant due to a gut feeling but separated so he could scrounge up whatever scarce food there was in this place for you, Poppy, Kissy Missy, and himself but he was more so looking for you three. He found a few things, he got lucky and they were in cans. One of them he was a little scared to bring back since he could tell one of the small ones got its grimy little teeth sunk into it.

The canine was storing the cans in a dingy little bag he found, leaving the busted one to thenside to just hold with his paw in case it was still any good. Couldn't be too picky when you were desperate to survive. He was peaceful until his ears practically shot off his head when he heard a scream that sounded like a bobcat, quickly looking up and looking in the direction it came from. Was it… no it couldn't be you. Right? You always handled yourself so well, it couldn't be you - but it was. He knew it and ran hot on his heels to get to you.

He found you on the floor, sobbing your eyes out with a piece of metal through your arm. You were trying to pry it off but it was heavy and deep, much to you and Dogday’s dismay. Your companion ran over to you in a hurry, panicking and holding you close. “Angel!?” He asked, looking at your arm and carefully resting his paw below the wound. “What happened!?”

“I- I don't know! It just… it just fell out of nowhere and I didn't move in time-” You said, struggling through hiccups and sobs. He nodded and understood that accidents were bound to happen, he carefully went through your backpack and got some bandages. With love and care, he tended to you just as you tended to him once before. He stitched you up, despite your cries and blood touching his fur breaking his heart he persevered and fixed you up before bandaging the stitches. He held you tightly.

While you cried from the pain, he couldn't help but cry too. He cried knowing he could have lost you if he wasn't any faster, but he also cried knowing that if he had stayed with you and listened to his gut to stay near this wouldn't have happened. He carefully rubbed you back while sitting back and having you in his lap. He never wanted to feel your blood against his paw pads, never wanted to see you cry in pain and agony while desperately trying to escape the feeling like a hopeless cat turned into road pudding.

“Shh.. shh.. Angel, it's okay. It's okay now. I'm here, and I'm not leaving you alone.” He cooed, pressing his head against yours with his big floppy ear scrunched between your faces.

A wounded angel could still fly, luckily.

Thanks for requesting!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To a Tea 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc. 

Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU 

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. 

18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you. 

Summary:  A demanding customer grows increasingly needy.

Character:  Raymond Smith

The title is a pun, don’t @ me.

Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved. 

Six days in a row and you’re ready to keel over. Amid your busy schedule, you hadn’t a chance to fill your quickly dwindling cupboards and fridge. So, after a ten-hour shift on your feet, running all around the tables and between tea rooms, you expend the last of your strength on a quick trip to the shop. 

It isn’t too far out of your way. It’s just a half-block away from your stop. You could wait until tomorrow, your day off, but you’re dying for a strawberry shortcake mochi before you tuck into bed. The rest of your night isn’t too unusual; you’ll be happy to fall asleep to an episode of the same old sitcom that you know by rote. 

You yawn over the bask hooked over your elbow. You have your mochi and a few other staples to get you through; eggs, oat milk, and your favourite brand of granola. You rub your forehead as a stitch threatens to imprint itself permanently. Tomorrow you’ll do a proper shop. 

You stop just before the cashier and peruse the discount shelf. Those chocolate-covered gummy worms are deadly. You shouldn’t. 

You reach for the package, eyeing it up, blinking away another yawn. Those will only have you waking up with a sore tummy. 

“You’d be better off with the dark chocolate, or even the peanuts,” someone says. The timbre is dulcet but firm, and strangely familiar. 

You look over at the figure standing around the side of the shelves. You fear you might be hallucinating as you stare at Raymond. He has a square of protein chocolate in hand but sets it back where he got it, making certain it and every other bar is straight. 

“Oh, hi?” You stammer.  

The tea shop is busy and you’re certain you’ve probably crossed paths with at least one customer outside store hours, but never like this. If anything, you both look the other way and carry on. Instead, he’s intent on you, shifting to face you fully as he sets his shoulders, clutching his hands before him. 

“Though I do suppose you’ve already got the ice cream, it hardly matters what else you add to your lot,” he muses. 

You look in your basket then at him. Is he judging you? Mr. Black Tea, plain. You hang the bag back on the hook. As you do, he steps forward and you shuffle back on your heels. He pulls the bag in line with others, rescinding his hand with a flutter of fingers. 

“If you’re in the mind for something sweet, there’s a place near here, it has a sticky toffee pudding more worth the expense,” he suggests. 

You don’t know what to say. You haven’t seen him since he muttered about your apron strings. In the two weeks after, you assumed he might not come back. As particular as he is, you thought you’d gone egregiously over the line. And yet, you’d forgotten about him for all the other bodies passing through the door. 

“Thanks, I’ll look into that,” you say. 

“Mm,” he hums and his eyes flit up and down behind his lenses, “you sound different.” 

“Do I?” You reach to scratch your neck. 

“You look different too.” 

You tilt your head and give a confused grimace, “well, I...” you glance down, “suppose I'm not wearing my apron.” 

“Must be it,” he agrees, “you sound tired.” 

“I guess... yeah,” you take a breath and let it out slowly.  

It’s strange. He’s not a customer here, there is no need to please and yet you feel you must. You poke the tip of your tongue out then hide it behind your lips. 

“Not in a bad way,” he assures you.  

“Right, thanks,” you say in a fracture, “that’s nice, but uh, I... I’m just on my way home.” 

“I know,” he says. 

“...so then I’ll just be--” you point towards the checkout and falter, “what did you say?” 

“Yes, down Trafalgar. I know. It’s late,” he peers over towards the transparent walls along the front of the shop, “these parts aren’t too safe this time of day.” 

“Trafal--“ you begin but can’t finish, “Raymond.” 

He blinks, his expression scarily placid. 

“Details,” he says evenly, “it is best to keep note of them. It is dangerous not to mind them.” He raises a finger, “one might not notice the shadow that walks behind theirs or the window they left open in the kitchen.” 

Your lip trembles as your heart sinks, “have you... have you been following me?” 

“Following... that sounds sinister,” he gives a crooked expression, “no, no, I would consider it... I keep you safe.” 

“Safe. From what, exactly?” 

He narrows his eyes and his lips straighten thoughtfully.  

“Well, from men like me.” 

His words turn your blood to ice. Men like him. What does he mean? 

“I...” you take a step back and he moves with you. You put your hand up to stop him as you still, “Raymond, do not come any closer.” 

“You don’t understand, I wouldn’t hurt you,” he says, “that’s what makes me different. Not like those other men.” 

“I mean it,” you warn him. “If you come any closer, I will make a scene.” 

Your adrenaline courses through you. You’re awake now. The yawns have dissipated and your eyes are wide. 

“Ah, and that’s where I am like the other men,” he shrugs, “it doesn’t matter if I come closer to you right now. Hardly matters. Because I can wait. I have waited. And when I...” he steps towards you and you put the basket between you, his stomach pressing against it, “come closer, you will not even see me coming.” 

You stare at him, horrified. His blue eyes gleam and he reaches to straighten his glasses. He smirks and his brows draw up coyly. He leans in and you lean away. Then suddenly, he backs off and tugs his cuffs straight, then fixes his tie. 

“Don’t forget to close your window,” he says as he spins on his heel, “wouldn’t want some nocturnal creature creeping in.” 

You gape after him as he saunters off. You can’t quiet move as disbelief has you stuck to the spot. It’s all so sudden. So unexpected. How could you ever predict something like this? The uptight man from the tea shop, a stranger really, a face who disappeared for a whole fortnight, and he’s just shaken your entire world into disarray. 

Men like him? You don’t even know who he is. Only his name and how he likes his tea. 

[congratufuckyoulations]

Get me off this island fr Pt.11

!!!WHOLE CAKE ISLAND SPOILERS!!!

Word count- 10.1k

Masterlist pt.10

A/N- I just want to say I love Big Mom's whole character design. I frickin love that everybody calls her Mama in her family, the amount of times i wanted to type Mama instead of Big Mom lmao. I even called my own mom, Mama, at the store because of this dam show. It's so cute tho like i can't. This chapter is also Sanji centered lowkey.

I added some platonic moments with the reader and Pudding. That girl has some issues because of her mother. Also like finding out that Pudding is like 16... Oda, what are we doing? This poor girl, the older I get, the more I yearn for women to just be happy and live in some piece even if its a one piece character.

Warning- SLOWPACED, fluff, sum smoking, violence???

Straw Hat reader. Strawhats x reader, Sanji x reader

!!!Sorry for any grammar errors!!!

sword reference idk

 In the distance, faint screams from Whole Cakes city catch your ear as you run alongside your crewmates. 

“We’ve got to get off this island.” You announce, glancing over your shoulder, seeing a dust cloud settling around the city.

“Don’t worry, I know a way! If we cut through the seducing woods, the Sunny should be on the other side!” Nami points towards the forest up ahead

“Really? After last time?” You question, turning to the navigator riding on Jimbei’s back

“Yeah, it will be fine!” Nami replies, waving a hand for you to relax as we near the treeline

“It did kinda suck last time,” Luffy adds

“What happened last time?” Sanji jumps in running to your left

“Too much.” You huff, shaking your head at the troubles the forest had given you all.

“Hey. Do you see that?” Nami questions out loud, making you scan the open field. 

 A large tree is standing in the distance near a smaller one. A tree with a smooth head, no branches in sight

“It’s Kingbuam!” You grin, seeing the tree standing. 

 The last time you saw him, you were sure he was gone. Kingbuam is now stitched back together. 

“And he has a friend?” You point out taking in the couple as the group approaches him.

“Kingbuam! I thought you were dead! I’m so happy!” Nami calls out from atop Jimbei. Waving at the tree with one hand, the other wiping a tear.

“It’s good to see you, Tree! Lucky us!” Luffy calls out happily from behind you. 

 With our calls, Kingbuam faces us. Terror fell over his face as he realized who was calling him. 

 Luffy’s arm stretches past your head, grabbing hold of the top of Kingbuam’s trunk, seeing your captain zip past you, landing perfectly onto the tree. 

 He turns, pulling his arm back before sending it in your direction. Halting mid run, his arm wraps around your body. 

 Arms tight to your side as he yanks you onto the tree beside him. 

“Luffy!” Letting out a yelp as the wind rushes past you. Feeling your feet on the trunk, you let out a breath. 

“Warnings are always nice.” You sigh to your captain as the rest of the crew hops onto Kingbuam as well

“Yeah, but it’s more fun that way!” Luffy grins back at you, releasing you

 Shaking your head at him, you both easily get distracted by the crew

“Keep going straight!” Nami’s command falls upon your ear, making you turn to her. A piece of paper in her hand

“How do you have that?” You ask.

 Certain you had seen one of Big Mom’s daughters take the vivre card from her right in front of you

“I split it into two before they took it!” Nami chirps with a proud smirk

“Thought so. Now, we can just cut right through.” You say, pointing at the paper between her fingers. A satisfied smile on both of your faces 

“Look behind us! We got enemies!” Carrots exclaims, looking at the crowd of chess knights following behind.

 Gaining speed as we shout at Kingbuam to pick up the pace. As you examine the army following behind, a dark shadow darts through the air. A laugh rings through the open field as the figure darts around. 

“I know that laugh!” Sanji grunts, his body tensing up

“It’s Big Mom!” You gasp as her pink hair appears from atop the cloud, Zeus.

“I see. She wants to fight!” Luffy huffs, winding his arm

“You can’t win this.” Jimbei shuts down our stubborn captain as he glares at the emperor chasing us 

 Worried shouts leave the group’s mouth. 

 Your feet felt stuck to the trunk underneath you as the woman got closer. Nothing but rage behind her eyes, screaming about cake.

“THE SPEAR OF ELBAF SHALL PIERCE YOU!” Big Mom shouts

“Huh?” You hum along with Sanji and Luffy at the name. Elbaf, as in the land of the giants? Why would she have that?

 Yeah, Big Mom was a taller woman, but you hadn’t heard anything about her being an actual giant. Eyebrows knitting together, not able to put the pieces together, still very confused.

“Everybody get ready.” Jimbei’s voice instructs from your left

 Watching as Big Mom’s arms lifted over her shoulder. Her blade held high, gaining momentum as it dropped.

“IKOKU!” Her voice echoes as a bright pink light comes from the sword. 

 Heading right toward you all. Eyes squinting as the bright light invades your line of sight. A strong gust of wind hits you. Making you topple slightly.

 Thinking quickly, you move your hand, growing vines that wrap around your calves. Securing you in place as the wind picks up 

 The slice cutting through the side of Kingbuam only getting a thin slice of him. Hearing your group’s scream, you see Nami going over the edge of the tree. 

 Raising an arm in her direction, another vine grows, catching her before she hits the ground. 

 As the wind passes, you walk over to the edge. Bringing the girl back onto Kingbuam

“Thank you!” Nami lets out a relieved breath, hugging you tight.

 You only smile at the woman squeezing you tightly. The navigator had always been more physical when it came to showing appreciation to you, Robin, and Chopper. You learned it’s best to let her have her way.

 Allowing her to show her thanks, she pulls away. Sending the younger woman a nod with a smile on your face, accepting her words.

Hearing more shouts, Big Mom was getting ready to send another slice your way

 Trying to think of a way to help you hear the navigators shout

“BLACK BALL!” Nami calls out as small thunder clouds float up toward Big Mom

 The emperor was mid swing one second, the next she was heading face first toward the ground. 

 The cloud carrying Big Mom gets distracted by the thunderclouds made by Nami. Completely dismissing Big Mom as she misses her shot.

“Lighting loves other lighting!” Nami explains with a smile 

“Makes sense.” You mutter, staring in shock.

 Big Mom was face first on the ground. The sun infused with her soul hovers above her figure. It was a pleasant surprise to see such a famous emperor on the floor.

“Once we reach the woods, we’ll have an advantage with Kingbuam after all.” Nami grins as the tree line opens up to Kingbuam’s calls 

 The trees quickly move out of the way, leaving a clear shot with nothing blocking our path. 

“Now that's handy.” Pedro says as Carrot giggles at the tree’s actions 

“I can see the Sunny!” You lift your hand, pointing ahead at the ship in the near distance

“We are almost there!” Carrot smiles, looking out at the ocean

“We should be fine as long as we keep Zeus distracted.” Jimbei explains as the cloud follows closely

“That’s me! Could I get more of those thunder clouds?” He smiles, licking his lips.

“Huh? The black balls?” Nami questions as you stand beside Luffy, examining the large cloud

“Forget about eating, let us ride you first!” Your captain chimes in 

“I can’t. Only Mama can since I’m infused with her soul.” Zeus replies

“That’s lame. Cloud, you suck” Luffy huffs

“Boring” Carrot mumbles

“He’s pretty cute.” You smile, poking a finger into the cloud. The texture of the cloud was interesting and had a slightly colder feeling to it

“Mhm! Cute enough to become my servant? What do you say? Then you can have thunder clouds every day!” Nami suggests with a grin 

“Really?” Zeus replies. 

 The girl fills the cloud with compliments when a loud crash is heard from behind the cloud. As Zeus moves to turn. Audible gasps are heard upon seeing Big Mom

“We should go. Like right now.” You break the silence, crouching down to the edge to inform Kingbuam

“You need to move, she’s coming!” You shout down to the tree. His pace quickens as you stand back up

“She looks pissed!” Luffy says, voice wavering slightly as the woman stands up.

 Kingbuam pushes through the trees, now attempting to block the path. 

“I’M COMIN’ LADY TREE!” Kingbuam shouts, hitting many other Homies on his way through. The ride becomes bumpy as he pushes through the crowd

 Trees, cakes, flowers, you name it, had faces. Jumping toward us, trying to attack. Grunting at the Homies, your sword grows into your hand.

 Wasting no time, leaping toward them, cutting through a tree easily. Pushing off that one to repeat the same with the others, attacking. Everybody working to fight off the threatening Homies

 Landing back on top of Kingbuam, your sword fades. Sanji lets out a grunt as he lands to your right. 

 Digging around in his pocket, pulling out two cigarettes from his box. Placing them between his lips, he searches for his lighter.

You peer over at Pedro’s paw, reaching out, an electric current coming from between his thumb and pointer finger

 The cook leans down, lighting the two sticks. Hands cupping around Pedro’s, blocking any wind. 

 Pulling away, Sanji was the first to speak

“That’s convenient.” Sanji compliments, pulling one of the cigarettes from between his lips

“It is.” Pedro replies, clearing his throat before continuing

“Two?” The mink points out the two cigarettes. Sanji’s attention turns to you instead, with the cigarette held out. Smiling, you take the stick, popping it between your lips, inhaling.

Leaning forward slightly to send Pedro a satisfied smirk.

“I see.” Pedro hums in return a similar smirk to yours on his face, looking between you and Sanji.

 “Round two?” He suggests, earning a nod from you

“Always.” Sanji answers, taking a stance to fight some more.

  Feeling an uncomfortable heat suddenly coming from behind you. The two guys next to you taking notice as well. 

 Turning around, a large flame hovers above us, its bright light making you squint. Prometheus, the sun infused with Big Mom’s soul, grinned down on us. The heat was becoming almost unbearable. Sweat is forming on your face already

“What do we do?” Carrot pipes up

“We gotta move, Kingbuam!” Nami instructs the tree, and the bark underneath shivers in return. 

“Let’s go! He can’t move!” Luffy orders as the flame gets closer

Ditching the cigarette you begin to move. Following the group quickly jumping onto the ground, running toward the surrounding trees. Before reaching the forest, you spin around as Kingbuam’s scream rings in your ears.

Nami and you stop not too far from the tree. The heat pricking at your skin, watching the tree’s branches shrink to the flame

“KINGBUAM! MOVE!” You shout at the frozen tree beside Nami

“RUN AWAY!” The navigator shouts

“You need to get away! He’ll burn you two as well!” Pedro’s voice calls from further back. His calls blend with your crewmates

 Looking back at them, catching their worried faces. You face back to the tree, Prometheus is heading straight for him. 

 Noticing how hot it was getting, you let out a grunt, wrapping your arms around Nami’s waist. Lifting her, trying to get her further away.

“KINGBUAM!” Nami's voice shrieks as an explosion sounds from behind. A strong wind pushes you forward with the navigator in your arms. 

 The air gets knocked from your lungs as you hit the floor. Feeling the rough ground scrape against your arms. Holding the girl close, protecting her as the heat rushes by.

 Feeling your back collide with a tree. As the crash settles down, you release your arms from Nami. Practically wheezing, attempting to recover you roll onto your knees and hands. Taking in deep breaths

Nami had been quick to her knees, trying to stand now free.

“KINGBUAM!” Nami cries, running toward the burning flame now standing tall where Kingbuam once was

“Nami, don’t!” You yelp, sitting up quickly. Sanji grabs her arm, stopping her from moving. 

 Once she shows signs of not moving, he lets her go, turning to you. Offering a hand with a warm smile, as always

“Careful.” He reminds you, pulling you off the ground

 As soon as you could stand, Sanji was dragging you through the forest with the rest of the crew. Big Mom’s footsteps grew louder behind us.

“She won’t stop until her craving is fulfilled. Until then, no one is safe! She’s unreachable in this state!” Jimbei explains the woman’s rampage

“So she wants cake?” You comment, jogging alongside the fishman

“It seems so. She didn’t get a bite at the wedding.” Jimbei answers as he launches forward, punching an attacking tree into small pieces

“You see, you shouldn’t have ruined it for her!” Nami scolds Luffy running at the front of the group

“I pulled it off, though, and at least I got some yummy cake!” Luffy says cheerfully 

“You were eating it mid fight?!” Sanji shouts, getting upset with the boy

“It was yummy!” Carrot giggles

“Let’s focus on getting out of this creepy forest!” You interrupt the crew as more of Big Mom’s homies appear to block our path. 

 The crew quickly breaks through the blocking trees, a donut bridge appears in the distance. 

“We saw that bridge earlier!” Carrot points out

“Yeah, but didn’t it break?” You comment confused as the crew continues ahead. No time to stop with Big Mom right on our heels.

“It did, but we have no other choice!” Nami winces 

 Your legs burned from running, listening as Jimbei and Nami try to form some type of plan. The navigator leaves thunder clouds trailing as Zeus follows.

“GET BACK HERE, ZUES, RIGHT NOW!” Big Mom’s voice made the ground tremor. Or maybe that was chills running through your body at her shout

Glancing over your shoulder, you see the woman’s face twisted in anger. Furious with the cloud

“I’m in big trouble!” Zeus whines

“Hey, Zeus! Why aren’t you listening to Mama?!” Prometheus, the sun says, appearing next to the cloud. The two acting like brothers

 Grunting at the heat radiating from the sun, you pick up the pace, as Nami continues to bait Zeus away from Big Mom. 

 Luffy attempted to attack Prometheus, but his hits weren’t able to land. As the sun grows bigger, ready to attack us. A green liquid flies by, making a hole in Prometheus.

 Looking back at Jimbei now in the watermelon river, in one of his signature stances.

 Understanding what he was doing, the group crossed over the bridge quickly while Jimbei held off Prometheus.

 After coming across more of Big Mom’s family in the forest, the group worked to fight them off.

In the process, Zeus managed to charge up into a large storm cloud now in Big Mom’s control. Nami was able to successfully eliminate the storm. Creating a lightning strike strong enough to hit Big Mom.

“My climatact never shoots lightning that strong!” Nami says in shock

“Nice work, Nami!” You smile, giving the girl a small high five

“Where’s Big Mom?” Carrot questions

“That definitely hit her.” Pedro hums as we stare at the new hole in the ground.

 Faint thuds catch our attention. Turning your ear toward the hole, the thuds were coming from the large crater. 

“That’s her for sure,” Nami grunts, tensing up

 The floor begins to shake more violently as the crashing noise grows louder

“Everybody run!” Pedro shouts as the floor begins to rupture open due to Big Mom pushing up to the surface.

 Letting out a gasp, seeing the woman emerge from the ground, you turn, heading, the opposite direction with the group.

“Any suggestions?” You call out to Jimbei, who seemed to be giving us every hint to winning this fight.

“I’m afraid not! We have to keep running!” Jimbei replies

“GIVE IT BACK NOW!” Big Mom shrieks, making you wince, covering your ears lightly. Carrot does the same from beside you

“Straw Hats! Up here!” A voice calls from above.

 Dropping your hands, peering up, finding Pudding and Chiffon on a flying carpet. 

“Huh?” You question seeing the two

“What are you doing here, Pudding! Are you here to trick us again?!” Luffy interrogates the woman as she follows our group

“You can stop Mama’s hunger pains with my help!” Pudding announces

“It’s a trap! I knew I should’ve tied her up!” Pedro huffs from the front of the crew

“You already betrayed us once.” You frown at the girl.

“I know, but this time I promise to work together!” Pudding sighs

“Look, Mama thinks you have the cake right now, and I’ve heard you’re pretty good with sweets. If we work together on this cake. Then I’ll help you escape.” Chiffon takes over, suggesting the idea

“What? But we don’t have her cake!” Luffy argues back

“We know, but that’s just what Mama thinks!” Chiffon explains how her brothers told Big Mom we had the cake to get her to focus on us instead.

“So where can we bake this cake?” Sanji asks

“All the ingredients we need can be found in Chocolat Town! We’ll head there, make the cake as fast as we can, then deliver the cake back to the Straw Hats. That should get it to Mama, who will be following you. I have faith you’ll be able to pull through!” Chiffon explains her plan

“We will!” Luffy agrees with the plan

“Alright! I’m gonna leave you guys, I’ll be back!” Sanji says. The crew bids their goodbyes.

 Smiling, you send the cook a nod. As Sanji leaps onto the carpet, Luffy’s voice speaks up

“Y/N, go with Sanji!” Luffy calls

“What?” Turning toward Luffy quickly, meeting his warm smile.

“Are you sure, Luffy?” You question, unsure about his decision.

“Go and scout the area. Report back to us!” Luffy instructs, as Pedro tosses you a small transponder snail.

“Understood.” You nod, catching the snail. Leaping as Sanji’s hand pulls you onto the carpet beside him

“Tagging along?” Sanji grins

“Don't get ahead of yourself, Captain’s orders.” You reply, taking a seat on the fabric. The wind brushes against your skin

 Moving swiftly through the air, we pass over the Sunny. Squinting as you see many people on the ship. Chopper and Brook are on the deck fighting back against Big Mom’s crew.

“It looks like they’re getting attacked.” Sanji grunts

“They set up an ambush awfully fast. My big brothers are there!” Chiffon points out, worried

“Ha! That’ll teach ya! They were no match for my darling brothers!” Pudding laughs loudly, making us all turn back to face her.

“Come on, Pudding.” You wince, shaking your head at the girl’s emotions all over the place. One second, she was a hot mess, the next, she was throwing harmful words.

“Yeah, bring it back a little Pudding.” Chiffon says, sweat dropping from her forehead. The younger girl was helpless to her own emotions

“Sorry!” Pudding squeaks, covering her face. Turning her back toward us.

“So what do you two wanna do? We could drop you off?” Chiffon suggest

“No, they should be fine. Our crew can handle themselves.” You reply, watching your crewmates get smaller on the deck

“It’s true, so let’s do this.” Sanji agrees with a proud smirk.

“Could you let us down?” Sanji asks Rabian, Pudding’s flying carpet. The two of you were smushed close together inside the rolled up carpet.

“Okay!” He replies cheerfully, unraveling himself from around you.

 Finding your footing, Chiffon greets you with a small smile as Sanji pulls out a piece of paper. 

 Glancing around the large room, it seemed to be some sort of factory. Kitchen appliances were spotted every way you turned

“I drew a diagram of the wedding cake on the way here.” Sanji starts handing the sheet to Chiffon

Pulling out a white rag from his pocket, he hands it to you. 

“Here. They’ll know who you are.” Sanji states, as you retrieve the cloth

“What? You drew this from memory? How do you know the ingredients without tasting it?” Chiffon exclaims in disbelief. Eyes scanning over the drawing

“Amazing, isn’t he?” You grin, lifting the cloth halfway up your face. 

 Placing it across the bridge of your nose. Tying it behind your head. The fabric covering the lower half of your face. 

Sanji lets out a soft laugh at your words, smoke flowing out of his mouth.

“I can tell by its scent.” He answers Chiffon’s question

“Huh?” Chiffon gasp in shock

“Told you.” You smile at her reaction.

 Turning to grab an apron nearby. Tossing the loop of the cloth around your neck

“My sweet, you don’t have to trouble yourself helping,” Sanji speaks up

“I’m already here. The least I can do is help.” You reply, glancing over your shoulder at him, not too far behind.

“Can you?” You ask, holding the two strings of the apron out behind you.

“Of course” Sanji answers softly, taking the strings from between your fingers. 

 Facing forward, you can feel the strings faintly brushing against you. Tightening around your waist, standing still as he fastens it. While he did that, your hands find their way around a blue chef’s hat. Plopping it on top of your head, hoping to blend in some more.

“There.” Sanji hums from behind you, making you spin around to face him.

“Thank you.” You nod. Thankful for the cloth covering your lower face as it grew hot from how close you were.

 Pudding hurries over, taking small steps, trying to catch any of the chef’s attention.

“I cut their memory so they don’t know about the whole wedding fiasco. They think it went off, so they think we are husband and wife now. The story is that the weather ruined the cake, and now we must make a new one.” Pudding explains the situation.

Turning to you as she finishes

“They think you’re some secret cook here to assist. You just happened to be here attending the wedding. The chefs shouldn’t bother you too much, though.” Pudding nods toward you

“Who drew this?!” A chef demands from behind Pudding. Many of them crowd around the piece of paper Sanji had

“That'd be me. Let me know if there’s anything wrong.” Sanji’s steps forward 

“I knew you were talented, but I didn’t know you were this good!” One of the chefs exclaims, fascinated by Sanji's work

“And you must be the cook Pudding mentioned? What’s with the covered face?” Another chef points toward you

Tensing up, you hold up a hand, waving them off

“I’m very shy. Please excuse me for covering up.” You mumble in response, earning understanding noises to leave the chefs

“No! We understand! I hope to cook well alongside you both!” The chefs bow, taking off in different directions

 Beginning to start the preparations for Big Mom’s cake. The plan was to get it baked here and decorate it while on the way to deliver it to the emperor.

 Everybody works relatively quietly. You and Sanji prepare the ingredients for the whipped cream.

Chiffon suddenly rushes over, panting out of breath.

“What’s wrong, Chiffon?” You ask, taking notice of her worried expression.

“We are running slightly behind! Do you and Sanji mind making the top layer of the cake for us?!” Chiffon asks

“It’s no problem, Chiffon.” Sanji smiles, taking on the task

“Don’t worry,” You nod, reassuring the girl

“You two are wonderful!” Chiffon lets out a relieved sigh. Resting a hand on Sanji's shoulders, the others on yours. 

Her head hangs for a second, catching a moment for herself. Making eye contact with the cook, you both break into smiles at the woman’s actions.

“Everything will be okay.” You speak up, as Chiffion lets go of you two

 Now, in a separate part of the kitchen, you and Sanji work together. Lifting the mixing bowl to pour the batter into a cake pan. Using your vines to assist him in lifting the heavy bowl.

 The pan is taller than you. It was for Big Mom to say the least, it had to be grand. Following Chiffon’s recipe to a tea as she helped the other cooks catch up on their tasks.

 With the cake pan filled with the mixture, you glance at the large oven in your section of the kitchen. It looked different from what you were used to. Looking at the oven back to the larger cake pan, you grunt. The size looked like it might cause trouble.

“How do we do it?” You ask, glancing at Sanji

“I’ll help you. Just put it in” Sanji instructs 

“Don’t you think it’s too big?” You question 

“It will be fine,” Sanji groans along with you. Both are working to lift the heavy baking pan.

 Lowering it onto the rack, you both let out deep breaths

“I'll push it in.” Sanji grunts, planting his hands on the bowl. Panting slightly, he pushes the large pan into the oven.

“It fits perfectly inside.” You huff as Sanji closes the oven door 

“WHAT?!” Pudding's voice shrieks from behind you. 

  Making you and Sanji jump slightly. Snapping your head toward the girl falling out from behind a wall. Pudding’s face was flushed bright red as she hit the floor with a loud thud. Steam was leaving her nose 

 Your eyebrows furrow at the girl's odd actions. Chiffon runs over, crouching next to the girl, helping her off the floor. Shaking her back to reality

“What’s wrong?” Sanji asked, filled with concern 

“What are you two doing?!” Pudding prys suddenly with her finger pointed at us. Eye scanning us up and down quickly

“We were putting the cake in the oven. Are you okay, Pudding?” You answer hesitantly. 

 Taking a few steps closer to the girl, making sure she wasn’t hurt. The sound of her hitting the floor sounded bad.

“Liar! I heard you two!” Pudding exclaims

“Look, Pudding.” Sanji says, taking a step to the side to show her the cake in the oven.

 A shocked gasp leaves her mouth. Like the air just got knocked from her lungs. 

 Her hand flies up to cover her mouth. Head snapping between Sanji and you. Going back and forth quickly, as you both stare back at her, confused 

“That’s what he meant by put it in. I misunderstood. Sorry,” Pudding says softly, bowing her head

 Your breath practically got stuck in your throat at her words. Realization sinking in, thinking back on your word choice along with Sanji’s.

 To the left, you hear the same choking noise from the cook. Pudding’s face deepened its shade of red. As she hurried away, covering her face in shame

Sanji beside you clears his throat. His face was lightly flushed.  He tugs gently at the collar around his neck. Suddenly, it seemed too tight. 

 Turning to him, you smile awkwardly. Both were softly laughing at the girl's mind. Pudding had assumed you two were doing something else rather than cooking.

“I guess it sounded like that, huh?” You laugh softly, shaking your head at the previous encounter

“Maybe we should watch what we say” Sanji replies, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck

“Probably,” You sigh, following him as you turn your focus back on the whipped cream 

  As the cakes bake in the oven, Sanji was almost done with another batch of whipped cream. Stirring the cream with a large wooden spoon.

 You stand by a counter to his left. A cutting board in front of you, knife in hand.  

 Slicing up bananas for the cake. The knife moving against the board mixes with the sound of the spoon scraping the bowl’s edge. 

The silence hanging between you and Sanji made you speak up.

“When we were coming here, I had to take over cooking.” You start up a conversation. Breaking the tension that nestled its way between you two.

Pausing your cutting motions to glance over at the blonde.

“Really?” He chimes, lifting his head in surprise. 

You nod your head, making a smile spread on his face.

“How was it? Luffy can be a real pain in the ass when he’s hungry.” Sanji says, laughing slightly at the mention of our captain.

 Focusing back on the whipped cream, you continue cutting up the fruit.

“Mmm. It was pretty normal, actually. It was interesting to be in your place, though.” You reply as the knife glides through the Banana

“What do you mean?” Sanji questions, making you pause slightly

“I mean, it felt good cooking for everyone. Seeing their faces and everything, I get why you enjoy it.” You answer, smiling to yourself, remembering your crewmate’s faces every time you had cooked this past week.

 It had always felt different since you often watched Sanji cook, but never joined in much. You mostly just kept the chef company as he cooked. Now, finally getting to experience what it was like for others to eat your food.

“I agree, the reactions are the best part of cooking.” Sanji replies, pausing for a second before continuing 

“You’re not gonna take my job, right?” Sanji jokes, letting out a laugh. 

The noise makes you turn to him. His warm smile blinded you, as his eyes closed while he laughed. 

“As much fun as cooking is. I don’t think I could replace your skills.” You laugh, 

 Turning back to scoop up the sliced fruit. Dropping them into a bowl that Chiffon gave you.

“I could always teach you a few things, if you enjoyed it that much,” Sanji suggests. His voice is now closer than before, making you place the knife down. 

Lifting your head, the cook is now close. His shirt lightly brushes against your bare arm. 

“Wouldn’t you just be giving me a head start on taking your place?” You smirk at the cook

“I don’t mind sharing with you. A pretty Sous chef would be nice.” He teases, leaning closer.

 Smiling at his words, your hands meet his shoulders. Putting space between you two. Not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea about the two of you being so close.

“Sanji, you’ll be in trouble if somebody hears you talking to me like this while you’re married.” Your comment as your face grows hot under the cloth covering your face. His words getting to you.

 Sanji tenses up at your reply, before relaxing once more. Still very determined to get your attention.

“But you admit you would like a private lesson?” Sanji says, leaning close one last time

“I wouldn’t call it that, but sure. Now, backup.” You tease with a shrug, a small smile on your face. Picking the knife back up

 Continuing to cut the fruit as the cook pulls away. In the corner of your eye, you see him turn away with a smug smile. 

Sanji returns to stirring the whipped cream, giving you the space you requested. 

 The two of you continue talking about nonsense while attending to your task. Your voices echoed in the small section that the two of you occupied. Both keeping each other company as you cook side by side. Enveloped in your job, but still having the brain power to hold a conversation with the cook.

“Look great, you two!” Chiffon praises as she appears with a slice of cake on her plate. 

“Thanks! Looks like the cakes are all cooked?” You smile as the scent of the cake wafts toward you.

“Mhm! Have a bite!” Chiffon smiles, lifting a fork in your direction. 

  Smiling at the woman’s maternal nature, you open your mouth, allowing the fork to enter. Closing around the fork, you feel your eyes light up at the taste. The cake is fluffy, not too sweet. Just perfect

“I could eat that every day.” You let out a laugh, slightly dazed at how something could be so good.

Chiffon and Sanji laugh along at your comment. The woman cuts into the slice once more

“Here, Sanji.” Chiffon offers as he lets the woman feed him, without any thought

“You’re incredible, Chiffon. She’s right, I wanna eat this cake for the rest of my life.” Sanji compliments the older woman

“You’re both so sweet!” Chiffon smiles at our words.

 Before you could say anything else, some of the chefs brought over Chiffon’s transponder snail out for Pudding. Walking over to the Pudding section, we get close enough to hear what the other person was saying.

You hear a familiar voice leave the transponder snail. It was Brulee, the tall woman from the seducing forest. Staying silent as you listen to the girl talk to her older sister

“I have some news to share about that Straw Hat and his crewmates. Tomorrow morning at 1 am, the Straw Hats ship should be arriving at Cacao Island. That’s where they are planning to meet up with their captain. Either way, Straw Hat won’t be making it to that island, as he chose to fight against Katakuri.” Brulee says

“Don’t worry, sis, I got this! If Mama wants the best wedding cake, I’ll give it to her!” Pudding replies as Brulee laughs in approval

“Oh, and if any of the Straw Hats arrive there early. Don’t worry, Oven just arrived on the island.” The older woman continues making you tense up at the name. 

 Listening to the new plan, your crewmates had chosen to meet here. Taking in the intel on the island's status, you slowly push out of the crowd of chefs surrounding Pudding.

As you exit the small crowd, a hand grabs yours. Turning to face the owner, Sanji’s eyes meet yours. His eyes dart down to our hands, and your eyes follow. Feeling something now in your palm.

You glance up at the cook, sending him a nod. Dropping your hand as you turn to walk away.

 Walking through the aisles of kitchen supplies in the large factory. The chattering of the cooks fades as you go deeper into the warehouse. You find a dim hallway, turning down it. Beginning to walk down toward the end. 

 Opening your hand now hidden from peeping eyes. Revealing the small transponder snail on your palm, you quickly dial the crew. The snail's rings echo in the empty hallway before picking up.

“Hello!?” Nami's voice rings through the snail

“Nami! Can you hear me?” You whisper into the snail

“We are a little busy right now! Big Mom is still chasing us!” Nami hurries out her words, as you hear loud explosions in the background.

“Keep heading this way, Nami. We know what Luffy is doing, but Big Mom’s kids have also caught wind of your plan to meet here. The place seems to be crawling with soldiers, so be very careful.” You inform Nami about the information getting out.

“Ugh! Of course they know! Okay, thanks for letting me know! I’ll see you soon!” Nami’s voice chimes through the snail 

“See you!” You hum, smiling, hearing her cheerful tone despite being in danger

“Sorry.” Muttering as you shove the snail down the front of your dress.

 Making your way out of the hallway before somebody notices your absence. Heels clacking against the factory’s tiled floor

 Approaching Sanji, who was back to stirring the whipped cream. Pudding is near, talking to him 

“I let Nami know.” You tell the two, returning to the cutting board

“Aren’t you worried? Your captain is going head to head with Katakuri! His bounty is over a billion. Big brother has never lost a single fight in his entire life!” Pudding exclaims from behind you

“Then it’s a special occasion.” Sanji answers, smiling back at the girl.

“No way! His power outshines Luffy's!” Pudding defends her older brother. Her footsteps stomp over to you. 

“You don’t also think your captain is gonna win?” She questions. 

 Her presence makes you glance away from the fruit. Catching the small frown on her face, the younger girl worried

“I do believe Luffy will win this fight.” You sigh, answering honestly 

 Pudding shoulder drop, and she lets out a defeated whine. 

“But there's no reason to worry. Luffy won’t go far.” You attempt to reassure the girl. Giving her a gentle nudge with your elbow.

 The younger girl lifts her head. A look of relief washes over her face. Her warm smile was back in its place. Returning the smile, you turn to the counter, grabbing a full banana that hasn’t been peeled yet.

“Here. I don’t think you’ve eaten all day.” You express your concerns. Trying to distract her mind

 Placing the fruit into her hand. 

“Thanks.” Pudding says softly, accepting the offer. Walking away to take a break

 Returning to your task, you hear Sanji speak up

“Trying to steal my wife?” He teases 

“You should’ve noticed sooner.” You answer with a smug smile. Which quickly falters as you continue

“She’s only a kid, Sanji. I can’t imagine what it’s like being Big Mom’s kid.” You huff, frustrated at the mistreatment the mother had toward her children

“You’re always thinking about everybody, huh, my sweet?” Sanji says from across the kitchen

 For a moment, it feels real. Like you were both in the kitchen of the home that the two of you owned together. And here you were prepping dinner together in the warmly lit house.  

“There isn’t much we can do, but this cake should help them out.” Sanji’s voice brings you back to the noisy kitchen.

“We need to hurry then.” You reply, body warm. Once more, the cook’s way with words had you dazing off about the peaceful life you imagined.

 The people of Chocolat Town cheer loudly. Lining the sides of the streets like it was a parade. The large cake sits in the middle of the large wagon.

Pudding and Chiffon stand at the front of the Wagon. While you and Sanji stand on the side, trying to blend in with the other chefs 

 Underneath the material over your face, you smile at the many people waving back at you.

 Unaware you were a pirate. It’s not like you were doing anything bad. You stare at the crowd of smiling faces frombeside Sanji. 

 The blonde now has the lower half of his face covered as well. A pair of glasses rest on his nose

“We believe in you!” A small girl shouts, waving her tiny hand at you

 Returning the gesture, the girl’s smile only grows. When the wagon suddenly halts, coming to a stop.

The two of you peak out from around the cake. Seeing Oven was the one who stopped the wagon 

“Where do you plan on taking that cake?” Oven interrogates his younger sister

“We decided to decorate the cake on a ship. That will ensure the safety of Chocolat Town!” Pudding explains 

 Oven sits in silence, as his eyes begin to scan over the chefs. The two of you freeze. Sanji shuffles in front of you, hiding your dress.

 As his piercing eyes scan over you. Oven turns back to Pudding

“I agree. That is a splendid plan. Pardon me, carry on.” Oven speaks up

“Thank you, Oven! I promise, we won’t let you down!” You hear Chiffon say

“I don’t mean you. You’re staying right here with me!” Oven replies, jumping up, grabbing hold of the woman.

 Slamming her onto the ground forcefully. You gasp, running over to the edge of the wagon. Hands gripping the railing as you watch the man hold Chiffon down

“We gotta do something!" You whisper to Sanji

“Careful! You can’t get caught as well.” Sanji says, grabbing hold of your shoulder. Bringing you away from the edge. 

 The carriage jolts, beginning to roll again. Continuing toward the dock with the cake. 

 You head toward the back of the wagon, unable to do anything without your cover being blown. Watching the cruel treatment, waiting for an opening

 As Oven begins to lift Chiffon by the throat, crashing footsteps approach.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER RIGHT NOW, OVEN! YOU HEAR ME!” A large man shouts, running at Oven

“Pound?” You gasp at the sight

 The father gives an opening, as Oven releases Chiffon. Meeting Sanji's eyes, sharing a look. In the next moment, he’s gone in a flash, with you following.

 As Pound and Oven are about to collide fists. Sanji lands a kick to the top of Oven’s head. At the same time, Chiffon falls perfectly into your arms. 

 Quickly heading back toward the wagon with the woman before anyone noticed. You appear on the carriage next to Pudding.

“We need to hide her!” You instruct as Pudding rushes off to find something to cover her 

“You saved me.” Chiffon says in shock

“You're my friend Chiffon.” You smile at the older woman who has been nothing but kind.

“Come on, let’s hide you.” Sanji appears beside you in a flash.

  Helping you cover Chiffon with a cloth, Pudding had found. Just then, Oven jumps on the wagon, grabbing hold of the woman hiding. Sanji and you back away, not wanting to be noticed as Pudding defends her older sister

“Just accept your punishment,” Oven says, one hand holding Chiffon's head, the other burning a fire in front of her face. 

“Quit it, brother! We’ve got to get the cake to Mama!” Pudding tries to reason with her brother. 

 About to step in, Oven’s transponder snail begins to ring. Pausing, he picks it up

“Oven! We found Bege! He is heading straight to Chocolat Town!” A voice says through the snail.

 Looking toward the ocean up ahead, you could see a boat in the distance. No mistake that was Bege. The man’s actions were heartwarming as he rushed toward danger for his wife. Their ship was being chased by the Tarte boats.

 A shot echoes across the ocean. A bullet hits the center of Oven’s face, exploding in the process. The man gets knocked off the wagon, flying into a tree

 Watching the debris cloud the air around the tree that Oven slammed into. You turn back to Chiffon 

“Your husband has a nice shot!” You cheer, throwing your arms in the air. Pudding squeals beside you, both taking the win with Oven out of the way. As Beges' boat gets closer, the tank-like tires allow the ship to also come onto land. 

 Your feet suddenly leave the wagon underneath you for a moment. Grabbing hold of the railing, looking over the edge. Mouth flying open, letting out a loud gasp. The ground now seemed to be far away. The wagon flew through the air, heading toward Bege’s ship.

“Sanji.” You huff to yourself, realizing who was behind launching us into the sky. Not one for heights.

 Tightening your grip on the rails, preparing for impact as we head for Bege’s ship. Landing with a crash, the cake wobbles slightly before stilling.

Hopping down onto the deck of the ship, you form your sword. Slicing through the ropes holding the sea lion that carried the wagon. It barks a couple of times before hopping off the ship. The ship drives straight in the direction of Chocolat Town

 Some of the buildings are crushed under the boat’s tires. We successfully made it through Chocolate Town, exiting on the southeast shore. The ship plopped back into the water, avoiding all the Tarte ships. Fleeing from the island as quickly as possible.

“Alright, let’s hurry. We gotta decorate this cake!” Sanji directs everybody to finish the cake.

 Sanji removes the glasses and the cloth he disguised himself with. You follow, pulling down the cloth over your face. It hangs around your neck when you hear a gasp

“You’ve been a Straw Hat this whole time!” A chef shouts, making you snap your head in his direction. An accusing finger pointing at you

“Surprise,” You mutter, sending the chef an awkward smile.

“That makes her my crewmate, Y/N. She’s only here to help us with the cake like she's been doing.” Sanji quickly cuts in. Putting himself in front of you as he calms the chefs down.

“Nice work.” You admire the cake, turning to face Sanji, who lands beside you after frosting some roses on the top of the cake. 

 The sky is now dark, sunsetting not too long ago. It felt much cooler outside now. And the ship is surrounded by the aroma of the cake. Frosted evenly all around, all the chefs' hard work showed in the details.

“It’s all thanks to everybody who helped.” Sanji grins at the masterpiece of a cake.

 Hearing thuds against the wooden deck, you glance around at the chef’s all of whom have passed out. Exhausted from the hours they spent cooking. Frosting covered every cook, having no time to worry about our cleanliness when there was a cake to be decorated. 

 As Sanji talks to the Chiffon and Pudding, you find yourself wandering toward the back of the ship. Coming to a stop, you cross your arms over your chest. Standing by the railing, watching the stars.

 Staring off into the night sky, soft footsteps sound against the wooden floor. The smell of smoke gives away the person without you having to look.

“Sulking by yourself, mon amour.” Sanji starts as he rests his elbows on the railing to your right. Leaning against the edge a bit to get a better look at your face 

 Turning to face him, his face now directly leveled with yours. Sanji greeted you with a warm smile. Taking note of him keeping a respectful distance. Also noting the frosting scattered all over him, some on his face

“Just taking a breather.” You reply, raising your hand to his.

 “You missed a spot.” You point out while swiping your finger across the frosting on his jaw. 

 Plopping the finger into your mouth. Letting out a hum as the fluffy texture dissolved on your tongue. The sweet taste coats your mouth.

“I don’t know how you do it.” You compliment, a smile taking over your face

“Let me try!” Sanji smiles, leaning close. Placing a kiss on your cheek 

“Sanji!” You gasp. Pushing him away gently

 Cautiously, glancing around, making sure nobody saw. Your face was burning up. The cloth no longer there to hide you

“Mmm! You’re right, I did do a good job.” The cook lets out a laugh, closing his eyes as he licks the frosting on his lips. Savoring the taste.

“What?” Sanji asks after opening his eyes. 

Realizing you were slightly further away.

“I told you! What if somebody saw that! You’re supposed to be Pudding’s groom.” You whisper shout the man beside you

“Hey, you started it. Either way, the chefs are too tired to notice.” Sanji shrugs, scooting closer to you. His shoulder bumping into yours

 Grunting to yourself because he had a point. Allowing him to finally get close this once.

“Here,” he says softly. Handing you a small cloth in hand.

 Internally questioning where he had got it from, as you accept the fabric.

“Thanks” You reply, dragging the material across your face. Doing your best to remove what you could without a mirror.

“I know she’s technically the enemy, but I don’t want Pudding to see us and get hurt.” You mutter while handing the cloth back 

“A woman after my own heart.” Sanji teases softly, raising his hand. The cloth in his hand as his eyes trace over your face, wiping away any frosting you missed.

 You let out a soft laugh. Head shaking at his response. Cracking a smile, not able to keep serious with Sanji so close. Especially when it was him cleaning you up. 

“I hope the crew is okay.” You confess to cutting the silence as he finished cleaning your face.

 Sanji pauses at your words. In no time, he was pulling you closer. Wrapping his arms around you

“They can hold their own, you said it yourself. There is no need to worry.” Sanji comforts you, hand gliding against your back.

 Wrapping your arms around his torso in return. Resting your head to the left, getting a clear view of the moonlight shining on the ocean. Sinking into the warmth radiating from the cook

“I know, but I can’t help it. Luffy sure is crazy. I don’t think I could ever attack an emperor if it weren’t for him.” You mumble against his chest, watching the waves lightly crashing into each other

“Yeah, I don’t think any of us would have.” Sanji laughs softly 

“I don’t regret it, though. An emperor is scary, but Luffy has luck that gets him everything he wants. But I think that's just because he’s Luffy.” You continue, and both of you begin laughing. 

Both letting it sink in how crazy this all was. And you had all made it this far. 

“Luffy is terrifying. I'd hate to be on the receiving end.” Sanji smiles, releasing his arms from around you.

Digging out a cigarette from his pocket, he lit the stick. Taking a drag

“Yeah, you sure are lucky Luffy didn't kick your ass back there!” You comment, sending him a slight glare, remembering the stunt he pulled back in the field of Whole Cake Island

 He shrugs playfully as Bege and his crew hurry down the side of the boats. 

“Your crew should be up ahead. Move your behinds,” Bege's rough voice chimes in the conversation. Passing us up, heading toward a small castle like tower that he had at the back of his ship. 

 Following the man and his crew, you and Sanji stand near him. The Sunny stands tall, and the flag burned slightly. And Big Mom chased right behind them. 

“She looks way more pissed now!” You wince. Eyebrows knitting together, seeing the emperor on a large sun. Big Mom herself was practically on fire.

 Turning your back to the scene, you head down the stairs toward Pudding. Leaving the two guys to talk. Climbing onto the flying carpet, you sit on your knees. Sanji followed, and we were off, leaving the cake in Bege’s and Chiffon’s hands.

 Rushing past the crashing waves, water mists your face as you near the Sunny. As the carpet comes to a stop, you and Sanji hop off the carpet.

“Hey there! You miss us?” Sanji grinned as the crew faced us

“Y/N! Sanji!” Nami smiles, throwing her hand in the air

“You two are safe! And Pudding is here!” Brook cheers

“Hey, guys!” Chopper chirps, the three of them throwing themselves in our direction. Hugging you two close

“I thought I was gonna die,” Nami cries, squeezing you tight. Tears in Nami’s eyes, making Sanji burst away from everyone's hold. Dancing around

“Why were you guys on Bege’s ship?” Brook questions ignoring Sanji’s actions

“Long story, Bege is luring her further away from the island just to be safe,” Sanji answers, after calming down.

“But why would Bege do that?” Brook continues. Letting out a hum, you lift your head

“Well, Bege’s wife is doing whatever to help us. And I don’t think Bege’s given up on killing Big Mom.” You point out, making the crew nod in understanding

“That does sound like him,” Jimbei confirms

“As long as the Sunny is okay, everything should be fine. What are Pedro and Carrot up to?” Sanji asks 

“I know I’m surprised they’re not out here.” You nod, glancing around the upper deck. Rocking on your feet, trying to spot the two

“Oh, they’re both in the cabin! They’re both wiped out from all the fighting” Brook states

“We should let them rest then. We need to discuss how we are gonna get Luffy back.” You redirect the conversation, giving the two their time to rest. 

“You don’t think this will actually work, do you?” Pudding says quietly, a brown hood draped over her head.

“It has to.” You reply, lifting the brown hood around your neck onto your head.

You sit across from Sanji, who also wears a hood, keeping us hidden. The three of you are pressed against the walls of an alleyway, hidden from the Charlotte family patrolling one singular mirror in the center of the island

 Pudding stands further down the dark alley from us.

“We are gonna be in a hurry soon, so be ready.” Sanji warns you of blowing out smoke. Another cigarette lit between his fingers. 

 Sending him a nod, you turn to the younger girl.

“Why are you so far away, Pudding?” You murmur, walking toward the girl

“I can’t be seen you two pirates!” She barks, glaring at you. 

 You tense up as she snaps her head in your direction. Her shoulders drop seeing your confused face, cracking a smile. 

“Are you laughin’ at me!” Pudding huffs face inches away. Filled with anger, she looked so adorable you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Stop it, Pudding. We gotta be quiet!” You laugh softly, catching Pudding's attention.

 Realizing how close she was, Pudding stumbles back almost like a cartoon. Making your smile only grow. She panics for a moment before letting out a deep breath. Closing her eyes, trying to calm herself.

 Opening her eyes, Pudding glances over your shoulder at Sanji behind you, distracted by the crowd.

“I heard you and Sanji talking earlier.” Pudding begins to speak, making you even more confused

“About?” You utter, glancing around, confused

“You had said you didn’t want my feelings to be hurt when Sanji showed you affection. But I don’t think that’s right at all. Sanji is the happiest with you all. So I would rather see you two happy, even if it hurts. I’m honestly grateful to have met Sanji through this, but I think I somehow learned more in the short time I knew you.” Pudding says, making your frown slightly at her words

“Pudding.” You mutter as the girl sees the tears in her eyes. Noticing the girl breaking down suddenly

“When you first met me, you told me you're glad Sanji would be marrying someone like me. Mama has always been so harsh on me. Hearing you speak kindly about me despite how I’ve treated you made me feel horrible. I’m sorry our time as friends was so miserable.” Pudding sniffles, tears beginning to stream down her face

“It’s okay, Pudding.” You hush, wrapping your arms around the girl,and she leans into you. Hand rubbing against her back, trying to soothe her cries

“But you’ll be back, right?” Pudding chokes on her tears as she pulls away, searching for your eyes. Her brown eyes were lined with tears

“We have to, don't we?” You grin down at the girl

“Next time, I promise it will be better than this.” The younger girl sniffles, looking up at you.

“I’m sure it will be.” You smile, reaching to pat the girl's head. Earning a smile from the girl as she wipes away her tears

“Y/N, it’s almost time!” Sanji’s hushed voice echoes down the alleyway.

 Smiling at the girl one last time, you turn and head over to stand beside the cook. Peeking out of the alley as the clock struck one o’clock. Sanji and you let out a gasp, seeing someone jump out of the mirror with Brulee held hostage. 

“Pekoms?” You mumble over Sanji’s shoulder, seeing the lion mink.

“Where is Luffy!” Sanji grunts, watching Pekoms get surrounded by Big Mom’s crew. 

 The mink drops Brulee, removing his glasses, looking toward the moon. Staring in confusion as the lion suddenly grows in size. His mane grows long, turning white. Pekoms had transformed

“So this was their secret.” You utter in shock, lighting dances around the lion. Oven towers over the crowd as he walks over to Pekoms. 

The large man pulls his fists back, knocking it right into Pekoms. Sending him flying, landing on the ground. A figure tumbles out, catching a black shirt. The straw hat on the figure’s back gave it away. With the Charlotte siblings surrounding your captain, Sanji and you took off. 

 Swiftly racing through the crowd, with Sanji heading in an opposite direction. As a guy gets ready to swing at Luffy, you rush forward. Throwing off the brown coat, your sword growing in hand.

 Arms pulling back behind your head, you slice at his torso. A scream leaves him when you feel an arm wrap around your waist. The crowd gets smaller as you look down, seeing a white sleeve around you.

 Glancing to your right, your nose almost grazes Sanji’s cheek. Looking down, finding Luffy getting carried in Sanji’s left arm, lower to his waist. The cook is using his skywalk ability to give us a better chance of getting away.

“Luffy!” You beam, smiling at your captain, looking up at you and Sanji. 

“Y/N! Sanji!” Luffy smiles

“Win your fight?” Sanji questions 

“Yeah!” Luffy nods before passing out. Soft snores leave him

“Now, we just got to get out of here.” You encourage the cook as he carries the two of you over Chocolat Town.

Your arms over his shoulder, hands grasping your sword firmly. Slicing away at Big Mom’s family, who could also skywalk. 

 A white flash goes by, taking down some of the siblings on your tail. It was Pekoms attacking them, watching in slight fear at his beast like state. He turns toward you and Sanji. The cook had also taken notice. 

“Sanji!” You yelp as Pekom's eyes snap onto you three. In a flash, he was in the air right beside you, smashing you all into a roof. Feeling your body smash into the solid material, you felt your limbs burning from the sharp impact.

 Slightly shaking from the pain, you pant, still wrapped in Sanji’s arm. Both are trying to catch your breath, staring at Pekoms in front of you. The lion lunges toward you two, before halting, his eyes watering. Something suddenly flipped inside him. 

His claw lifts, poking us as softly as possible before leaning away.

“Take Straw Hat. You must flee.” Pekom's voice was deeper. He sounded like a beast in this form. Sanji lets out a sigh next to you

“Okay.” Sanji nods, picking himself up. Lifting you and Luffy along with him, taking off quickly. 

Your eyes water slightly as Pekoms turns to go fight against his crew members. His roars cut short as he was pierced multiple times. 

“PEKOMS!” You shout, reaching a hand out. Raising it over and over, your vines shoot up, piercing as many of the soldiers as you can that surround the lion. The crowd only gets smaller the further the three of you get.

 Suddenly getting smashed into the ground by a mallet, one of Big Mom’s kids made. Feeling the air knocked out of you once more. Sanji grunts on the floor as you push yourself onto your feet. Sword drawn in front of you as Oven makes his way over. 

“Fight back as much as you like. No one can overcome this many foes. It’s over.” Oven taunts as guns click, aiming at us.

“OPEN FIRE!” A woman shouts as the gunshots ring. You relax, ready to block every bullet. Freezing upon someone crashing down in front of you. 

 The man stands tall, his red hair styled. As the shooting stops, the Vinsmoke siblings stand around us. Blocking us from the bullets. Internally feeling guilty for feeling so happy to have Sanji’s family's help.

“You owe us after the tea party,” Ichiji leads, dropping bullets from his hand. 

“Did you come here to help us?” Sanji mutters from behind you

“Oh. Sanji, you're here.” Ichiji mumbles over his shoulder, reminding you how much of downers Sanji’s siblings were

“You two get moving already!” Reiju orders, as you turn around, rushing toward the cook.

Sanji wasted no time lifting you and taking off toward the sky. Niji grabs onto Sanji, using his boots to boost us further away from the crowd

“Have a nice flight.” His brother smirks, pulling his arm back before launching us further toward the ocean. 

“Your brothers are assholes!” You shout as the wind rushes past you fast, it feels like needles pricking your skin. 

“Yeah, they are.” Sanji grunts, slowing down as he begins to skywalk, continuing over the chaos erupting below. Boats sit on the sea's surface, lit on fire, smoke filling the air. As a bomb whistles through the air, a pink orb wraps around us. 

“You're really high maintenance, aren’t you?” Reiju's smooth voice pours out, making you smile. Sanji's head faced his older sister in shock.

“Don’t let them go, okay?” Reiju smiles down at Sanji. Your smile grows at the two siblings, feeling a force push you two further above the sea. 

“Be safe!” Sanji calls out as he returns, looking forward. Loud explosions ring in your ears as Sanji huffs, carrying you two through the heat of the flames below.

Through the dark smoke smoke filled clouds. You see a familiar flag peaking through. As the cook continues past the clouds, the ship appears.

“The Sunny!” You smile widely, looking over your shoulder. Admiring the ship, you worried you might not ever board again.

“Look, Luffy,” Sanji gently shakes Luffy awake in his arms

“Is dinner ready yet?” Luffy murmurs groggily. Sanji lets out a small laugh

“Of course, that’s what he’s thinking about.” You sigh, shaking your head at the boy who has fallen back to sleep. Feeling yourself relax in Sanji’s arms, knowing that you would all be back on the Sunny together. Better yet, you were all closer to being with the crew in Wano.

Very heavy Sanji chapter. Yk i had too espeically for the last part in Whole cake. Hehehe BUT YK NEXT CHAPTER WILL HAVE ZORO, MAYBE LAW???? Everybody getting written about atp, Wano is already so good. Everybody lookin tewww goooddd.

[twit-ter-pa-ted]

Love Language - Vinsmoke Sanji

a/n: this is the first of the 'love languages' series im posting! ofc i had to start with my bbgrill idiot cook. slight warning that yes, this is ranked in the way i think sanji's ll's would be ranked. i've finished writing for the monster trio and i may or may not write one for usopp and nami too (and maybe robin? vivi? we will see.) anyway, enjoy reading! <;33

Acts of Service

This is Sanji's main love language. He loves cooking for the crew and most of all, you.

Given that he's a gentleman at heart, he goes above and beyond to show his love in this way.

Beyond cooking, he often offers you a glass of chill water whenever the sun's glare is too intense.

On top of that, he refuses to let enemies lay their hands on you in battle (even when you're perfectly capable of defending yourself). You could win a battle without so much as laying a finger on your opponents, and vice versa, with Sanji around.

There is so much more I could list under this.

He doesn't like receiving acts of service. He believes you should live an elegant life in the world without so much as lifting a finger (even if you're a pirate.), especially not for anyone else.

Physical Touch

Your touch is his lifeline! He can't get enough of you.

You're almost always there to accompany him whenever he cooks.

You learn that the best place to watch him cook from are the counters, because he'll find any excuse to pass by you and lovingly squeeze your hips or your waist, or kiss your shoulder, neck, cheek, lips, or your forehead. Whichever is most accessible as he casually passes by.

When he's not cooking and lounging with the crew, he likes resting with you on a hammock, limbs tangled together like a messy bundle of rope.

He likes running his fingers through your hair, but he also likes having your fingers in his hair. He goes crazy for you either way.

Words of Affirmation

He's a very vocal person.

He constantly tells you how pretty he thinks you are and how lovestruck you have him. He never fails to tell you just what's on his mind.

Whenever he tries to teach you ways how to cook, a string of affirmations endlessly leaves his lips to help encourage you.

On the other hand, Sanji is used to compliments, but compliments from you just hit different. He'd go soft the moment a praise is uttered from your lips and he'd be like pudding in the palm of your hand.

Quality Time

He loooovvveessss quality time.

Whenever he's cooking, he likes having you watching him. He'd explain to you every step in what he was doing even if you didn't exactly understand what most of it meant (He'd explain the terms to you like you're five. It's cute.).

He's practically fastened himself to you with a stitch. He rarely leaves your side and is always there with you (he may as well be your bodyguard), though he makes sure he doesn't suffocate you with his constant presence.

Giving/Receiving Gifts

Sanji loves to give gifts, though often gives gifts that have more effort than spent Berries.

He would pick a flower – hell, make a bouquet – while you're walking along a village and end up giving it to you at the end of the day.

He would absolutely write you a 10k worded, 1.5 spacing, Times New Roman font handwritten love letter expressing his love for you and still think that isn't enough to show you how much he loves you.

Alternatively, he's brought to tears whenever you gift him something. Whether it's something he wanted or something that just reminded you of him, he'd be very appreciative of it.

[lotsofsq]

Every time SQ messes up a word or phrase!!

than you @fandom-queen-13 for asking for this, it was quite fun and i loved going back and reading how he talks.

Book 1

“Pass me your quizzes, everyone— and no dallying, please. A stitch in time saves time, you know.” “nine” corrected a messenger in the middle row. … “Nine stitches?” S.Q. said. “No, Martina, I’m certain it’s just one stitch.” “No, a stitch in time saves nine,” Martina scoffed. “Exactly,” S.Q. replied.

“Frankly, fellows, I’m simply astoundished. Or rather, i should say, astonded. No, that’s not, not quite—“ “Astonished?” Reynie prompted. “Astounded?” S.Q. nodded. “Those, too. Furthermore i’m amazed. ”

“ I remember how awful I felt whenever I had to turn in my sash and tunic. Happened to me several times. But eventually I got all the lessons down like butter— like a pat of butter— got them down pat— and never lost my position again. ”

“I like you, George, you’re a nice kid, and very bright. And you’re an orphan, which makes you a good candidate for executive someday if you’ll just straighten right up and fly… If you fly straight and right…” “Straighten up and fly right?” “Yes, all of those.” S.Q. said, relieved. “My point is, don’t blow your chances right off the bat.”

The children tried to appear cheerful, so he would leave them alone, but for once SQ judged correctly. “You can’t fool me. I know downtrodden faces when I see them. I’m surprised at you! Here stick— I mean, here young George has gotten off clean and easy, you’re doing great on your quizzes and yet the whole lot of you sit around like the cat got your pudding. Er, the pudding… No, got your tail….” No one felt like helping him, and after a moment, S.Q. gave up.

“Forgotten? Oh, no!” S.Q. cried in dismay. “No, I wouldn’t say I’ve forgotten— you know, nothing is ever truly forgotten, you said so yourself, sir, ha ha—“ He coughed. “It’s just that, uh, you’re so much more elegant than I am.” “I dare say that’s true. Perhaps you also find me more eloquent than you…”

“Two students?” Mr. curtain was saying. “By students you mean children, do you not?” “Um, yes, sir,” came S.Q.’s uncertain reply. “Do you mean to tell me that you can’t prevent two children from breaking in?” “Um, well, sir, we are sure to comprehend… I mean, apprehend… I mean, we’re sure to catch them soon. I just thought I should alert you—“

Book 2

“There, there, Constance,” S.Q. was saying in a genuinely concerned tone. “ Don’t be upset this is all just a misunderstanding. I mean, you’ve just misunderstood. I mean, you’ve been naughty. Do you understand?”

“You should feel how these pinch,” said Mr. Benedict, and very casually, as if adjusting a cufflink on S.Q.’s sleeve, he slipped the open handcuff onto S.Q.’s wrist … and tightened it. “There, isn’t that kind uncomfortable?” “It is a bit constraintive,” S.Q. murmured, frowning. “I mean constrictual. I mean…” He trailed off, his expression troubled.

Book 3

“I’ve given it a lot of thought since then, and I realized you were just scared. If I were you, I might’ve tricked myself, too. Not that I could trick myself, of course— I mean, not without… Never mind. All I mean to say is that I have no hard feelings. Okay? Don’t answer that!”

interesting that after the influence of the whisperer is gone, he still flubs his sentences but only flubs his words when he’s under Mr Benedict’s influence. and interestingly that in book 1 the last mess up he has he does remember the correct word. and he remembers “down pat” on his own. much to think about

[hannahssimblr]

With cleaned plates and full bellies, we sit, weakly protesting as Gitte carries out the dessert, bowls of rice pudding that looks good enough to risk its consequences.

Felix has migrated onto my lap following a tour of the table, curious, and insistent on being closer to the action. From Pernille to Gitte, a brief, tearful sojourn with Astrid, to Mia, and now me. “Oh look, he wants to say hello,” they cooed as he extended his chubby arms outward, fingers clutching in my direction. They took a picture of us, then. The boys.

He holds the collar of my t-shirt as I struggle to eat with one hand. “Pernille, can he have some of this?”

“Yes, a little, because it is Christmas,” she says. I borrow his plastic spoon and take a little from the top, carefully feeding it to him, then laughing at his screwed up expression, shock and confusion at the cherry sauce.

Astrid makes a comment about the drool on his spoon while I dig in afterwards with my own utensils, but I don’t mind. On the point of saying I have had much worse things in my mouth, I decide against it in case someone asks for an exhaustive list. 

During dessert, I am, for a moment, aware of myself. Me, here, with a table of women. One might joke that I’m in my element, but I feel it. There is affection here, respect, joy. I cheer with the others, and pretend to understand what is happening when Gitte finds a whole almond in her dessert. Another tradition no one has explained to me. Clapping along as a little gift is produced for her to open. A candle. An almond worthy of a candle. Okay. I will ask later.

There's a feeling in me. What is it? Guilt. Yes. I am struck with guilt, imagining the misery of Christmas in Dublin. Ivy, being as quiet as a mouse at our grandmother's table, trying to avoid attention during mad rants about politicians, our grandmother managing, incredibly, to become even more dour and unpleasant with each passing year.

I am grateful it is different this year. That Christmas can be a holiday, for once, that does not leave me anxious for a week on either side of it.

Later, as we gather around the Christmas tree, Mia and Pernille light candles upright upon the branches, joking morbidly about the whole thing bursting into flames. 

“It has never happened, don’t worry,” Pernille assures me, quickly righting a tipping candle before it catches the tinsel. 

We exchange gifts, one by one, delighted, laughing, and some for Felix too, just for the sake of it, though he doesn’t understand what is happening. A hat pulled onto his head. Bath books leafed through. Teddy bears given voices with which to speak to him while he stares, stricken, eventually bursting into tears with overwhelm.

“A scarf,” Gitte says, when I pull my gift free of its wrapping. “I knitted it for you.”

I am unexpectedly touched. Moments spent, then, just holding it in my hands and looking at it, thinking of this woman I have never met before, knitting this for me, stitch by stitch. Of me being worth the time to do it. “Oh, really? Gitte, I love it. Thank you so much.”

“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t like it. It won’t offend me.”

“I’d probably frame it and hang it on my wall, actually. That’s how nice I think it is,” I say, and they all laugh, though I’m serious. 

The Larsen’s gifts are a collection of small, thoughtful things. Astrid has made little mugs and bowls in her ceramics studio. From Mia, books. Pernille, organic hand creams, cosmetics she knows are good for sensitive skin. I know my gifts from my parents will await me in the mailbox in Berlin. The new iPhone, maybe a laptop. A wallet with embossed with the word BOSS, or something, so gaudy I’ll leave it in the drawer of my desk, joining that Tom Ford cologne that smells the same as window cleaner, and the clippers they already got for my birthday last year, with one new attachment this time.

The flashiness of my gift for Astrid dawns slowly upon me as I watch the Larsens bond lovingly. I will have to stand up, get it, present it to her after everyone has exchanged their thoughtful tokens. All “This made me think of you. I knew this would suit your colouring. Do you remember you mentioned this before? I noticed you ran out of this…” She likes it though, the fashionable gifts. She knows she’s worth it. Doesn’t she? I was so sure the gift was right until now. I go to the tree and take the little bag from underneath. 

“Here,” I say. “I just saw them and…” I trail off lamely. They were in the November edition of Vogue I scoured once while she showered, searching for whatever was on trend these days. Something girls wanted. Something now blatantly inappropriate and generic.

From the bag, she pulls a pale pink box the size of her palm. 

“An engagement ring,” Mia says in a flat voice, lounging beside her on the sofa. 

Heat rises from my collar. “It’s obviously… it’s not that.”

“Oh, good. Lucky for you.”

Astrid ignores her and undoes the thin ribbon, lifting the lid to reveal the earrings. 

I rush to explain. Self conscious now, and overcome by the need to tack on some element of personal significance. “Apparently they’re in,” I manage. “The… uh. I think they’re freshwater pearls or something?” Why did I phrase it like a question? Stupid. And why am I flustered, as though I haven’t bought her similar gifts in the past, which she seemed delighted with? I’m thrown off kilter at the thoughtfulness of the other gifts. A scenario I honestly had not visualised, and I’m struck by a terrifying new thought, that all the times Astrid said she liked my gifts, she was lying to me. 

“I love them, they’re beautiful,” she says, her face lighting up. A smile. Good. She wouldn’t smile unless she really meant it. She tucks pieces of hair behind her ears and puts them in, showing them off. “Yes, pretty,” her family says. “Very classy.”

Beneath her on the floor, I lift my hand to her leg. An emasculating type of gesture, feeling like a medieval peasant boy. “You like them, really?”

“Yes, I do. I swear.”

Somebody says something to her, and she looks away, distracted, then, reaching for another gift. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[ratsoh-writes]

How familiar are the skeletons with humans, specially human anatomy!

So I noticed I’m sometimes inconsistent with how I write the skelebabes and how well they actually understand their human neighbors. So I figured I’d make a little chart for it. (This would represent them before the rps)

Their job specifically deals with human anatomy!: G, green papaya Alden

Is literally a halfbreed/grew up with a human parent. They know all the necessary details: cider barley roost Harpy butch snipe Barin arwin

Knows quite a bit because of simple curiousity. They like to research!: sans wine pop Pluto ace saga lens

Is somewhat knowledgeable due to work/circumstances: Star edge rust noir oak willow lilac basil rhythm Jupiter captain finn

Is from an au with many humans, maybe doesn’t know every detail but enough to help in a medical emergency, or to just not look ignorant lol: rancher peaches ram pitch moose maple crow quill mango swine possum dice gamble slugger steel slim bruiser boss Ollivander Hilda thistle yarrow partner rowdy

Has a lot of… hands on experience with humans ;) : charm sugar mutt sparks salt sir weasel Flambe pesto gold butler hook cricket

Has only a surface level knowlege. Probably has a few misinformed ideas about the human body: red mal cash coffee lord lush pepper Pearl silex fisher pudding papyrus

Absolutely ignorant. Probably believes humans have claws or some weird stuff: honey orion atlas Artemis Helios Jasper sails taffy vibrato tempo stitches tinker compass gears