#slow burn fic

[goldsbitch]

Just don't talk

summary: Enemies to lovers on steroids. Lando can't stand Y/N, the first female driver in F1. He also can't stand not having her with her clothes on.

warnings: please don't be offended by weak ass feminism debate, swear words, minors do not interact, just generally don't take this one too seriously, smut (that's what we came for)

He radiated stupidity. Reckless, annoying, careless and just plain stupid. Blood boiled hard and fast in Y/N when he entered the room. Cocky smile, as if he was the shit. And those poor fans did not even realize, because his PR managers worked around the clock to stop the scandals getting out and to remain his bubbly, down-to-earth image he seemed to hold in general public. Now, she never doubted his driving genius. It was honest respect on that part. No, this was about everything else. Even the way he grew his "so called" beard annoyed her.

She radiated arrogance. Being the first female driver on the grid had everyone looking differently at her, as it would be the opposite if she was just another rookie driver. He could not stand that. It felt strangely misogynistic. But what sent him to levels of annoyance he had not discovered prior to meeting her, was how she did absolutely nothing about this. Danced around as if she did not see it. But Lando could see through her, she was a calculating bitch that knew exactly what was happening.

It's not like either of them got it wrong really. Lando had his personality that did not correlate with the desired persona the public wanted him to maintain. For as long as he remembered, he had to be a grown up, missing his young adult experiences completely. Sometimes, it just got the better of him. Lando was not exactly proud of that or anything. Y/N was indeed calculating. But it would be hard to argue that she could have chosen not to do that - yet, the world was simply not ready for any kind of female driver to enter the grid. She had to be smarter than an average rookie. There is a possibility that this was all just in her head, but it was hard to prove it at this point.

They avoided talking to each other like they would avoid the plague. Lando felt like all the years of media training lead to the moments where they shared the interview room. Their disenchantment with each other was not exactly a known thing, they were deceitful enough to do keep it between themselves. Well, the more observant drivers and members of their team were well aware of the truth. There was not a single member of the close inner circle that would dare to speak about how when these two had to share the pre race interviews, it would be the driest interview of them all. Frankly, drivers dreaded that. Daniel would be the one to try and break the ice. George found it mildly amusing. Max could not give two shits about them.

And to the luck of everyone involved, there was Lando, set next to Alex Albon, who was sat next to Y/N. He sighed heavily before taking hold of the microphone.

First interviewer asked about the lasted updates on Y/N Aston Martin car. The second one went to Lando, with a request to address the bad strategy the team had on the last Grand Prix, which he answered very diplomatically.

Third interviewer asked Y/N on whether the talks have started regarding her contract for the upcoming season.

"Yes, we are talking about that. I love racing and I'm planning on staying here," she laughed lightly. "I want to be here to...possibly to inspire and attract young girls, same as those like Fernando was a role model to both Alex and Lando. The female audience of F1 is growing and that is absolutely amazing. And perhaps now will the female fans have an opportunity to cheer for one of their own."

"May I have a question?" Lando entered the chat. His tone was indicating fire being lit within him and him intending to spread it wide. The game was on. Y/N tensed up. Alex smiled nervously.

Both Lando and Y/N shot a look at the interview moderator, who was prepared for many scenarios, but not this one exactly. Once Lando received an unsure nod, he continued. "We both know the numbers, we sit on similar meetings. The percentage of female audience is now nearing almost half, is that correct?"

"Well, we are nowhere near that - more like 30-40%"

"Right. And this trend has started prior to you joining the grid, right?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"Are you saying that the female viewers did not have anyone to connect with before that?"

"I'd be brave enough to assume so. Where are you heading?"

Alex wanted to stop them, he shot looks to multiple people who had the power to end this. Members present from both teams woke up from their slow mundane afternoon. But the conversation was too fast for anyone to interrupt.

"So, what was the motivation of the female viewers to watch F1? Why were they watching?"

"Um, well the sport is fascinating and can capture one. The quality of our media teams has risen greatly, social media and-"

"Yes. So are you saying that young boys and teenagers were watching this for a different reason that girls and any other genders?"

"Like I was saying, it might be hard to connect. Young boys and teenagers can relate and even imagine themselves as the future F1 driver."

"So why do, in your opinion, little girls and female teenagers watch races? Are you saying that prior to your start, their reasons were less valid? Less noble? Does miss misogyny over here think that female audience is now validated due to her representation in the sport?"

The room went silent. Y/N took a deep breath and without missing a beat she replied.

"I'm sorry, there must have been something foul in your cornflakes this morning. After all, even in these progressive times, some of the people involved did not get the memo about the way how to interact with the fanbase in a healthy manner. It must be hard hard to think straight and not draw over-the-top conclusions when one's mind is stuck in an endless cycle of "Hello, gorgeous" and "Sure, I'll text you back.""

Alarmed looks were shared accros the room. Alex tried to laugh it off. The moderator ended the discussion. The pair kept staring at each other, until their prompted their exits orchestrated by their team.

//

Asshole. Obnoxious idiot. She wanted to slap him. The social media was on fire, this topic clearly resonating among fans. It was clear the opinions were divided and this was just not good to have on your track record. She was mad at herself as well. Got caught up like a fly to a spiderweb. He won this one. She'll just have to beat him during the race or shoot him in the leg at the next opportunity.

"Stay true to your beliefs" was the caption under his newly posted photo. Smiling as ever. Some photographer with under-appreciated talent managing to capture him in the perfect light. Total thirst trap. Her PR team was figuring out how to salvage this, but everyone knew Lando stuck a good one this time.

But that was not the opinion of the McLaren media team, who really did work their butts off the last few months. This was not good, as his haters were currently busy pointing out holes in his argument, making Y/N the hero they wanted to have. PR team picked the photo of him they had in store in order to play it safe and nonchalantly. Lando got a big threatening talk right after the press conference. McLaren was not letting the word misogyny be connected to their brand. He defended himself for a while, but at the end agreed to avoid bringing these subjects to light prior to the knowledge of the team. In his eyes, she won. He got her free attention. The nickname miss misogyny was not going to stick. The only thing this brough him was a headache and built up anger.

She was bursting with anger and was not about to leave it in for herself. "You can stick this bullshit up you ass, Lando."

"Don't assume I like the same things you do," was his immediate response.

Confidentiality. That was the only thing she believed he could uphold. Both of them had too much to loose.

//

They were bad for each other. Bringing out the worst traits, putting others in discomfort and creating drama out of nowhere. But the once the night covered the daily routines and worries, the truth would start crawling out. Once the chequered flag got packed up after a race, it was time for a parade of red flags to begin.

It was suppose to be a one time mistake. Party that go out of hand. Club bathroom sex that was better than they'd be willing to admit. They never spoke of it. Nobody knew.

Like magnets they circled towards each other on the quiet nights on the road. Always her place, never his. As if she'd make the effort to come toward him. Like he would ever let her invade his private safe space. It worked for them, transforming the anger into rough bites and hickeys. Lando enjoyed leaving them on her, just at the line where he knew she'd have to think about how to cover them up and made sure she never made any mark on him. Hate fucking, that's what that was.

Once again, his hot breath cut through the crispy Monaco night air coming from the opened window of her bedroom. He had her handcuffed to the bed side and legs wrapped around his toned torso. He was driving her crazy, not letting her stay on top this time, robbing her of the pleasure of watching him submit to her moves and direction. He watched attentively, making sure he changed his tempo whenever she was about to climax. She was not one to enjoy delayed gradification, not when this obnoxious idiot was watching her and having fun with it. One thing he had to admit was that she was fucking hot, mainly in the way how she able to carry herself around. From the first moment he had the misfortune to see her in person, it had been the one thought unable to leave his mind. What did she look like when she was just about to come? Was she the one to make any sounds? Did she like it rough or soft? Would she be able to dominate him? During the day, he let his frustrations out verbally, during the night he thrusted into her as if there was no tomorrow. Like a drug addict getting his hit. She was even more mad at him when he was fucking her. Because it was just so good. They had the same rhythm and their bodies spoke in a language no one would have understood anyway. So she just surrendered. It drove her crazy, not being on the top. He licked and bit her nipples and did forbidden things - like stopped fucking her out of nowhere and buried his head in her waist, slowly twisting his tongue around her clit. When he felt like she adjusted to that, he continued back with thrusting in her. He moved so fast that she started get dizzy from the motion, the heavenly kind of dizzy. Lando watched her like and animal would observe his prey. Not often did he manage to get completely under his control, but tonight was one of the precious days he'd be recalling in the shower days after. He delayed his own orgasm for as long as he could, but there was a point where he just gave in and released him into the condom. There was always a hint of disappointment in the joyous moment. His darkest wish was to have her walk the day after with his cum dripping out of her. She was his little work slut, his nemesis, his Vegas girl.

Y/N never wanted to cuddle afterwards. She appreciated that Lando always swiftly got up and left without a word. Because what if he had spoken, what if the oxytocin started flowing in and she'd loose her guard and get herself in even bigger of a mess than this little game was. She was the first female driver. There were things she had to prove to the world. Fucking one of the other drivers was not one of them.

p2

[emjayewrites]

Pastry Passions (Luca x black!femoc) (2/?)

PAIRING: Luca x Symone (black!original character)

SUMMARY: When Symone secures a coveted position as the social media manager at Noma, the renowned Michelin-starred restaurant, she is thrilled to be part of a team that pushes boundaries and captures gastronomic excellence. As Symone immerses herself in the vibrant atmosphere of Noma, she catches the eye of Luca, a talented and career-focused pastry chef within the same establishment. Luca is captivated by her presence, however, with his desire to maintain a clear boundary between work and personal life, he resists the growing attraction he feels toward her. Despite their shared passion for the culinary world, Symone and Luca find themselves entangled in a delicate dance between friendship, ambition, and unspoken desires. As the duo collaborates on various projects, from showcasing exquisite pastries to capturing behind-the-scenes glimpses of culinary artistry, they face numerous challenges that test their resolve. Amidst the intense pressures of Noma's demanding environment and the weight of their individual aspirations, Symone and Luca must navigate their relationship in a career-driven world, where the line between personal and professional blurs, and decisions made can shape not only one's heart but also their future in the industry.  

WARNINGS: slow burn romance, drama, angst, grueling work conditions/not-so-glamorous life of the culinary world, cursing, slight age gap, sexual content. RATED M (18+)

TAGLIST: @cinewhore @stargirlfics @mauvecherie-writes @kdoxkeic @wakandamama @afro-hispwriter @nolita-fairytale @lovebittenbyevans @blowmymbackout @superhoeva @barefoothighlander @ihyperfixateoncharacters @soufcakmistress @celestianstars @vlvtkyssis @fadingbelieverexpert @arctvrvs @scottlangswife @lilyed777 @suckthatskittlebiiitch @write-fromthe-start @pantherxrogers @penny44224 @roxyfan14-blog @mercang @aieshawilliams2001 @cillianmirphy @sarcasticmrfox @zeeader​ @eddiemunsonreader​ @geekyfer @retrouvailles-film​ 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: So this is my first fic for FX’s The Bear. This contains spoilers from Season 2, so please don’t read it if you haven’t watched it. In “Honeydew”, Luca mentions that he’s been working as a pastry chef/chef for 14 years, so he has to be in his early/mid-30s (32-34-ish?) and there will be a small age gap between him and Symone. Also, Chapters 1-3 are set a month and a half before Marcus’ stage trip in January. Please send me a DM if you want to be added to the taglist. Enjoy reading! ;)

CHAPTER II: Fold

FOLD: Technique of gently incorporating two mixtures together. 

 Symone rose early, the morning sun just beginning to cast its golden glow across the city. She had always been an early riser, a trait she attributed to her military upbringing. Born in Germany, Symone's childhood was filled with stories of her parents' adventures and duty assignments around the world. Their decision to settle in a suburb near Washington D.C. had been driven by the desire for stability and a sense of home. As a military brat, Symone had learned to embrace change, adapting to new environments and cultures with ease.

Her early rising habit had been instilled in her from a young age, a nod to her father's military training. The disciplined routine had become a pillar of her daily life, allowing her to seize the day before the world fully awoke. It was during these quiet hours that Symone found solace, a sanctuary where she could gather her thoughts and set her intentions for the day ahead.

As she moved about her apartment, the echoes of her military upbringing were apparent in her organized space. Every item had a designated place, reflecting her meticulous attention to detail. Symone's upbringing had taught her the importance of order, efficiency, and preparation, qualities that had become woven into the fabric of her being.

Her time at Howard University allowed her to hone her skills, providing her with a strong foundation in effective storytelling and media creation. Symone's hunger for knowledge led her to pursue two semesters abroad at SRH Berlin University of Applied Sciences. It was during her time after graduation and living in Berlin that Symone's path began to take shape. Working full-time as an executive assistant to a magazine editor as well as part-time as a content creator, she discovered her passion for blending creativity with strategic thinking. The fast-paced energy of the city fueled her ambitions, and she embraced every opportunity that came her way.

Eventually, the allure of the culinary world beckoned to Symone. The chance to combine her love for storytelling and her passion for food led her to apply for the position of social media manager at Noma, a renowned restaurant that pushed the boundaries of gastronomy. Symone's accomplishments at the prime age of twenty-seven were undeniably impressive, yet she remained humble, acknowledging that there was still much to learn and achieve.

While the salary at Noma may not have been comparable to what others in her field earned, the opportunities it afforded were invaluable. Symone had the privilege of visiting restaurants across the world, capturing the essence of their culinary artistry through her lens. With free rein in creating captivating campaigns, she had the creative freedom she craved, immersing herself in a world where food and storytelling intertwined.

As Symone left her apartment, the memories of her military upbringing lingered in the back of her mind. The sense of discipline, adaptability, and resilience were her constant companions, propelling her forward in her pursuit of excellence. She knew that every step she took, every collaboration she forged, and every story she told was a testament to the foundation laid by her military upbringing — a foundation that continued to shape her into the capable and determined woman she had become.

As she laced up her running shoes and hit the pavement, her thoughts drifted to Luca. There was no denying the small infatuation she had developed for him. His rugged charm, culinary talent, and enigmatic personality drew her in. However, she couldn't help but feel that her attempts to initiate something had gone unnoticed or were met with indifference.

Symone sighed, her breath forming a small cloud in the crisp morning air. She knew she needed to stop overthinking and trying to force a connection. If Luca was interested, he would make it known. Besides, she had worked too hard to let her personal feelings overshadow her professional success.

After her jog, Symone decided to treat herself to fresh muffins and bread from her favorite local bakery. The warm aroma enveloped her as she stepped inside, the familiar faces of the baker's assistants greeting her with genuine smiles. Juliane, the owner of the bakery, a woman in her early thirties with olive skin and a stylish pixie cut, always had a knack for gossip but was also a great listener.

As Symone approached the counter, Juliane's smile widened. 

"Hey, Symone! How's everything going at work? Is that coworker still giving you a hard time?" Juliane asked with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

Symone chuckled. "He's gotten better, surprisingly. Maybe he's finally realized that being an asshole doesn't get him anywhere."

Juliane laughed. "You know, sometimes boys act strange when they like someone. Maybe he has a little crush on you."

Symone raised an eyebrow and scoffed. "If that's the case, he still doesn't have to be an asshole. But who knows?"

Juliane leaned in, her voice lowering playfully. "Well, I can tell you this, girl. Boys are weird. But hey, speaking of fun, I'm hosting a brunch this weekend with some friends. You should come!"

Symone smiled appreciatively as she watched Juliane bag her usual order of pastries. "I'd love to, Juliane, but I'll have to take a rain check. I'm off to Oslo for a work assignment."

"Oslo? Sounds exciting! Are you going with that guy from work?"

Symone hesitated for a moment, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Maybe..." she murmured, leaving the details deliberately vague.

Juliane let out a loud hoot of laughter and handed Symone the paper bag filled with goodies. "Oh, girl! You better spill all the juicy details when you get back. Consider these pastries on the house, but only if you promise to come back and give me all the scoop!"

Symone chuckled, nodding. "Deal, but honestly, I don't think anything will happen."

“You may never know,” Juliane countered sotto voce, adding an eyebrow waggle for dramatic effect. 

With a bag of delicious treats in hand, Symone made her way back to her apartment, savoring the anticipation of indulging in the delectable pastries later. She swiftly placed the pastry bag inside her work tote and proceeded to undress, eager to take a quick shower and prepare for the day.

Dressed in a cozy sweater dress that accentuated her curves, paired with stylish heeled boots, Symone then layered her ensemble with a parka, grabbed her tote, and set off for Noma. Her workplace was just a few train stops away and the brisk walk from the station brought her to the restaurant in no time.

As Symone entered the premises, she removed her parka and placed her tote on her desk chair. With a camera and laptop in hand, she headed straight for the kitchen. The pastry team, led by Luca, was already immersed in their preparations, creating and taste-testing culinary delights for the new menu. Symone exchanged greetings with Luca and his team members: Maria, Tom, and Theo.

Luca extended an invitation to Symone, encouraging her to try the shiso gelée that would soon grace the menu.  

"Symone, you've got to try this," Luca said, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes as he extended the spoonful of shiso gelée toward her. "I think we've nailed the combination of flavors this time."

Curiosity piqued, Symone temporarily traded her camera and laptop for the spoons, eager to indulge in Luca's latest creation. She accepted the spoon with a grateful smile, bringing it to her lips and savoring the moment.

Luca watched intently as Symone chewed the spoonful of the shiso gelée, and the room fell silent, their attention focused on Symone's reaction.

Symone's face transformed into an awestruck expression as the flavors of chocolate and mint exploded on her palate. She closed her eyes momentarily, savoring the unique combination. Opening her eyes, she met Luca's gaze, her excitement evident.

She couldn't contain her enthusiasm as she chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. "Luca, this is incredible," she exclaimed a hint of nostalgia in her voice. "You won't believe it, but it tastes like a minty Snickers bar."

Luca looked at her quizzically as he tilted his head to the side, seeking confirmation of her sincerity. “Really? Well, I can't say I've ever heard that comparison before. But hey, if it works, it works." His lips then curled into a pleased grin, his eyes reflecting a mix of pride and curiosity. "Is it good though? I want to take this to James."

Symone nodded earnestly, assuring him that it was a positive association. "Fuck yes, it is! It's bold and unexpected, but it somehow works together. I like how it’s not too much on the senses; it’s perfect.”  

A sense of accomplishment washed over Luca's face as he absorbed Symone’s words and his cheeks flushed with satisfaction. "Well, I'm glad you enjoy it. Your feedback means a lot to me, Symone."

Your feedback means a lot to me. What is he playing at?

Symone cleared her throat as she handed back the spoon, her eyes sparkling with appreciation. "The pleasure is all mine, Chef. If any of you need a guinea pig, I’m your girl." 

Luca and his team let out a few laughs. 

“You say that now, but when you’re eating a thousand samples of the same dessert, you’ll get tired of us,” Tom remarked. “All that sugar comes at a risk.” 

“I like to say it’s a reward, a benefit of my job,” Symone countered with a half-shrug.

Luca shook his head at her silliness then handed over her laptop and camera. “I think we got a good thing here. I’ll circle back with everyone about possible names because I don’t think ‘Minty Snickers Gelée’ will cut it.” He sent a teasing wink in Symone’s direction, and she managed to not swoon right then and there. “Maria will get started on more research for the menu while Theo and Tom finish preparing for dinner. We have VIPs later tonight, so I want everything to be perfect. Every second counts, got it?” 

“Yes, Chef,” his team affirmed with a nod in concurrence. 

Luca clasped his hands together. “Let’s get to work, Chefs.” 

While Luca and his team resumed their work, focusing on their respective tasks, Symone seamlessly captured captivating videos and photographs of the team's meticulous craftsmanship, pausing every so often to get spoon-fed by Maria as she experimented with various desserts. In the afternoon, Symone sat on a stool adjacent to Luca as he worked at his station. She was in the middle of editing the photos and videos for Noma's social media accounts, but her attention was momentarily diverted by the rhythmic movements of Luca kneading the dough for bread. 

His strong hands were immersed in a ball of dough, working it with purpose and precision. She observed the way his fingers sank into the supple mass, gently pushing and folding, kneading it with practiced ease. Luca's movements were deliberate, a testament to his years of experience and passion for his craft. Each motion seemed to have a purpose, as he seamlessly transitioned from one technique to another, coaxing the dough to its desired shape.

Symone became enthralled by Luca's focused demeanor. The way his muscles flexed underneath his cotton t-shirt, his veins bulging and his forearm tattoos on full display. 

Lord, Jesus..... *inwardly fans herself*

The graceful coordination of his hands; it was a dance of mastery and artistry. She marveled at his ability to transform simple ingredients into something extraordinary, his hands working in harmony with the ingredients before him.

Curiosity sparked within her, and Symone found herself breaking the silence. "Luca, how did you get into cooking?" she inquired. 

Luca's hands paused momentarily before continuing their motion. A reminiscent smile played on his lips as he recounted his journey. "Well, I used to get into a lot of trouble when I was younger," he admitted, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "And one day, I found myself in a kitchen, scrubbing dishes as part of my punishment. But as I stood there, something shifted within me. I realized that I wanted to create. I wanted to cook."

Symone listened intently, her gaze fixed on Luca's hands as they continued their rhythmic dance. She couldn't help but admire his resilience and determination, finding solace and purpose amid difficult circumstances.

Curiosity turning back towards her, Luca's asked, "And what about you, Symone? How did you find yourself in this line of work?"

Symone paused for a moment, reflecting on her journey. "Well, it's funny how life takes unexpected turns," she began with a lighthearted chuckle. "I always had a passion for writing, and at one point, I dreamed of becoming a children's author. But as I delved deeper into my studies, I discovered my love for digital media. The ability to combine storytelling with visual elements fascinated me, and I soon found myself immersed in that world. It felt like the perfect marriage of my creativity and technical skills."

Luca nodded as he shifted his eyes onto her. "Sometimes, the path we end up on is not the one we initially envisioned, but it can lead us to unexpected places of fulfillment."

“Exactly,” Symone smiled then she continued with her work. 

“Are you excited for Oslo?” 

"Definitely," Symone replied as she typed on her laptop. "Oslo is always an exciting city to visit. I'm looking forward to capturing the vibrant food scene there."

“Have you ever been?” Luca let the dough rest for a bit and wiped his hands on a towel before leaning against the counter. His gaze lingered on Symone, a mixture of pique interest and something else she couldn't quite decipher. 

“A year ago, why?” 

"Just being curious,” he responds, rubbing his chin. “Deciding on where we should go while we’re there.”

“Oh, so we’re going somewhere?” Symone waggled her eyebrows, causing Luca to grin widely. “Where are we going, Chef?”

“It’s a surprise,” he says mysteriously, his tone lowering an octave. The rich timbre of his already deep voice and the darkening of his blue eyes made her lady parts flutter. “I figure we try to make the most out of this unexpected trip. After Rosio’s opening, we’ll head to a favorite spot of mine.”

Sounds like a date. “Sounds like a plan.” 

Luca quirked an eyebrow, yet he ultimately decided not to broach the subject further. Symone eyed him as he opened his mouth and then close it a few times before he muttered something about leaving a pastry inside the walk-in freezer, ambling off like a bat out of hell. 

Strange man. 

Luca's behavior seemed to be veering into unfamiliar territory, and Symone found herself caught between intrigue and confusion. His overt sweetness and casual flirting left her both exhilarated and perplexed. 

Was he finally making a move? Or was this just another manifestation of Luca being, well, Luca?

The duality of his emotions stirred a whirlwind of emotions within her, like being caught in the eye of a hurricane. One moment, she felt the magnetic pull of his presence, the warmth of his attention enveloping her. The next moment, uncertainty and doubt crept in, clouding her judgment and leaving her questioning his true intentions. 

Symone was reaching a breaking point with Luca's unpredictable behavior. The hot-and-cold act was wearing thin, and she yearned for stability and consistency. She was tired of him giving her mixed signals. 

He needed to sort out whatever was going on with him, and quickly.

________________________________________________________________

A few days had passed since Symone and Luca had last interacted, and things seemed to have settled between them. They were finding their groove with the social media campaign, and their collaborative efforts were yielding positive results. The recent videos and photos garnered a favorable response from Noma's online audience, and the restaurant's following was steadily growing. To Luca's slight dismay, they had even gone viral on TikTok.

Luca parked his car in front of Symone's apartment building, reflecting on their progress as he awaited her arrival. Their synergy was undeniable, yet Luca somehow managed to keep most of his feelings toward her at bay. Sure, there were moments when he found himself in a lust-filled cloud, but for the most part, they were working quite well together. He made his way to the front door, and reached out and pressed the buzzer, eagerly awaiting Symone's response.

Symone soon granted him entry, buzzing him in, and Luca climbed up two flights of stairs to reach her apartment. She greeted him by the door with a smile, explaining that she was in the midst of last-minute packing but would be ready in ten minutes. 

“Hey,” she greeted, “Come on in. I’ll be done soon. Do you want something to drink?"

He shook his head. "I’m good for now, thanks."

“Awesome, make yourself at home. I’ll be right back,” she says to him over her shoulder as she headed down the hallway. 

As Luca ventured further into her apartment, he took in the sights, his gaze pausing momentarily on the gallery of family photos adorning her wall. A smile tugged at his lips as he observed Symone and her loved ones, sensing the warmth and closeness they shared — an intimacy he secretly yearned for within his own family.

Continuing his exploration, Luca found himself drawn to the kitchen, he noticed the array of gadgets and appliances neatly arranged on the countertops. His attention was caught by the presence of Julia Child's cookbook, which piqued his curiosity. 

“You just couldn’t stay away from the kitchen, huh?” Symone jokes from behind him. Luca turned his attention onto her, his eyes glossing over her comfy outfit as well as the carry-on and garment bag she held in her hands. 

“Just admiring your impressive choice of cookbook,” he chuckles, pointing to the counter. “Have you tried any of Julia Child's recipes?"

"Actually, I have,” she reveals with a wide grin. “My brother gave me that cookbook last Christmas. I've tried a few recipes, but Julia's style is a bit too formal for my liking."

Luca nodded at her words. Julia Child wasn’t for everyone. "I understand. So, what kind of cooking do you enjoy then?"

Symone paused, reflecting on her culinary influences. "Well, my grandmother, Geneviève lives in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and she’s Creole. The food she makes is out of this world, and I try my best to recreate them."

Luca's eyes lit up with curiosity. "Creole? That sounds incredible. Do you have any favorite recipes you like to make?"

Symone’s smile widens, her teeth sparkling underneath the fluorescent lights. "Oh, where do I begin? Gumbo, jambalaya, etouffee.... the list goes on. I've been successful in replicating some of her recipes, but none of my cooking could ever compare to Nana GiGi."

"Well, I have to taste your cooking someday. It sounds really good."

And taste something else while you’re at it, the silent voice in her head added suggestively. 

Ignoring her intrusive thoughts, Symone chuckled instead, teasingly underestimating her creations. "I don't know if you'd be interested. It's not as fancy as the dishes you create at Noma."

Luca shook his head, a sincere smile on his face. "Symone, it's not about being fancy; it's about the passion and soul that goes into the food. I'm sure you cook very well."

Their playful banter was momentarily interrupted as their eyes locked in a silent, flirtatious exchange. Luca's hooded gaze bore into Symone's, his blue eyes darkening with a mixture of emotions. Symone couldn't help but notice the intensity behind his gaze, a combination of desire and longing that sent shivers down her spine. Their conversation faded into something more intimate as if the air between them crackled with an unspoken connection

What the hell is he doing to me? 

Symone cleared her throat, breaking the spell. "Well, as much as I'd love to continue this conversation, we should get going. We can't afford to miss our flight."

Luca nodded, refocusing his attention to give her a sidelong glance. "You're right. We definitely don’t want that to happen. Off to the airport, we go. Let me help you with that.” 

"No, I've got it," she insisted, her tone conveying a sense of independence. “You don’t have to —“

But before she could protest any further, Luca effortlessly intercepted her, his hand swiftly grasping the garment bag and carry-on from her grip. "Oh, come on," he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Let me be the gentleman here. I insist." He punctuated his statement with a playful wink, and Symone couldn't help but let out a heavy sigh of resignation.

"Fine," she relented, her voice laced with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "But only because I know you won't take no for an answer."

With her apartment securely locked, they made their way down the stairs, their footsteps echoing through the building. Symone glanced at Luca, the corners of her mouth twitching with a suppressed smile. There was a comfort in his presence, even amidst the confusion of their unspoken connection.

As they reached Luca's car, Symone couldn't help but feel a tinge of vulnerability, realizing that her walls were gradually crumbling under the weight of their shared moments. She took a deep breath, allowing herself to calm her fluttery stomach and aching lady parts. 

He’s not interested, he’s not interested.....

Even though he flirted with her, she knew he didn’t want to initiate anything beyond a platonic/professional relationship. And as much as he continued to complicate her already muddled feelings, Symone needed to come to terms with reality. 

Locking eyes with Luca, she murmured, "Let's go, then." And with that, they settled into the car, ready to embark on the adventure that awaited them. 

________________________________________________________________

Symone and Luca stepped off the plane in Oslo, their quick flight from Copenhagen leaving them with a sense of exhilaration. As they made their way through the airport, Symone couldn't help but notice Luca's smile directed at her. It was a smile that held sincerity, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken bond they shared while on their flight. 

When the plane taxied down the runway, Symone felt a slight jolt of surprise when Luca's hand found hers. His grip was firm, almost tight, and his hand engulfed hers entirely. She couldn't help but notice the stark contrast in size between their hands. His were rough and calloused, a testament to the hard work he put into his craft as a chef, while hers felt delicate and small in comparison. The sensation of Luca's strong hand in hers sent a thrill through her, a mixture of excitement and comfort. Despite the initial surprise, she found herself reveling in the feeling, appreciating the physical connection between them. In an instinctive attempt to calm him, her fingertips gently traced the outline of the 'A' tattoo he had on his left hand. 

Symone didn’t know how much Luca disliked flying, and she wanted to distract him from his fears. With a determined glint in her eyes, she started talking about food, knowing it was a topic that always captivated him.

Luca's grip on her hand loosened ever so slightly, and his attention shifted toward her. He listened intently as she continued to talk animatedly about various dishes and her current favorites.

Once the plane leveled in the sky, Luca let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks," he said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. "I'm not too fond of flying."

Symone squeezed his hand reassuringly, a gentle smile gracing her lips. "Anytime, Luca."

She empathized with his fear of flying, feeling a surge of warmth and connection between them. At that moment, she appreciated the vulnerability he allowed her to witness. 

Arriving at the Amerikalinjen Hotel lobby, Luca approached the counter to speak with the concierge, only to be met with disappointing news. The hotel was fully booked due to the Christmas Festival, leaving them with a room-sharing predicament.

“My apologies, Sir, but Mr. Lund’s suite is the only vacancy we have at the moment,” the concierge said. “The room does have a living area with a couch.” 

Luca let out an exasperated sigh and reached for the room key. “Thanks.”

The woman smiled at him and Luca made his way back to Symone. As he walked, he reached for his phone in his back pocket to text James about the situation. Meanwhile, Symone stood a few feet away, her gaze sweeping over the elegant surroundings of the hotel. Their eyes connected and Luca told her about their plight. 

"We have to share a room?" Symone asked as they walked down the hall to the elevator, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

Luca nodded, a mix of annoyance and resignation in his expression. "Seems like it. Sorry about this, Symone."

She understood that the unexpected turn of events might have thrown them off balance, but she couldn't help but find solace in the thought that it was only for the weekend. She smiled reassuringly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. I can even sleep on the couch."

He shook his head, adamant. "No, no, I'll take the couch. You should have the bed."

They finally made it to their suite and Symone's eyes widened in awe, taking in the breathtaking ambiance and the panoramic city views from the balcony. The room exuded elegance, with its tasteful decor and cozy furnishings, an ample living area, and a separate bedroom. The soft glow of the chandelier cast a warm and inviting atmosphere.

"Oh wow," Symone gasped, her voice filled with wonder as she made her way closer to the large sliding glass door. "Look at this view, Luca. It's absolutely stunning."

Luca's gaze shifted from the cityscape to Symone, a fond smile playing on his lips as he admired her. The snowflakes fell gracefully, creating a picturesque scene outside.

"You're right, Symone," he replied, his voice tinged with admiration. "It is beautiful.”

Symone's cheeks warmed, and she turned her attention back to the enchanting square below, marveling at the Christmas lights, the bustling atmosphere, and the anticipation in the air.  

Luca's gaze remained fixated on her, his eyes tracing the soft curve of her cheeks and the adorable dimples that graced them. He was captivated by her genuine excitement, finding himself equally drawn to the enchanting ambiance of the square. The way he looked at her spoke volumes, conveying a sense of fondness and connection that words couldn't fully capture.

Breaking the momentary silence, he gently suggested, "We should get ready for the soft opening."

Symone reluctantly tore her gaze away from the captivating view and turned to face Luca, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I suppose we can't spend the whole evening here, tempting as it may be."

Luca chuckled, his blue eyes still lingering on her. "As much as I'd love to stay, James would have my head if we miss Chef Sanchez’s big night."

“Mine too,” added Symone in jest. 

Symone's playful smile matched Luca's infectious chuckle as they shared a lighthearted moment. The magnetic pull between them seemed to grow stronger with each passing second.

His voice carried a hint of mischief as he replied, "Well, we can't have that, can we? We wouldn't want our heads rolling before we even get a taste of Chef Sanchez's food."

Symone nodded concurrently. "Agreed. You get ready first. I’ll chill here."

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” Symone chuckled. “I’m a woman, Luca, so I tend to take longer to get ready, unfortunately. I have to get beautiful and it takes time.”

But you already are. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

Despite his intrusive thoughts, Luca couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth at Symone's playful remark. He turned on his heel, his suitcase in tow, and headed to the bedroom. As he made his way towards the bedroom, uncertainty coursed through Luca's veins. His mind was filled with thoughts of Symone, her radiant smile, and the undeniable connection they shared. Yet, he couldn't ignore the lingering doubts and fears that whispered in the depths of himself. 

________________________________________________________________

As they walked through the doors of Chef Sanchez's restaurant, Casa de Sanchez, for the soft opening, Luca couldn't help but notice how all eyes were drawn to Symone, who was dressed in a black halterneck dress with a plunging neckline. The way the fabric hugged her curves and accentuated her every graceful movement left patrons momentarily breathless. She commanded attention, and the room seemed to come alive in her presence. Yet, to his relief, Symone appeared oblivious to the gazes fixed upon her, engrossed in capturing every exquisite detail of the interior with her camera.

But Luca, his possessive instincts awakened, and he couldn't help but notice the way several male patrons stole glances at Symone, their eyes filled with desire. Jealousy surged within him, an unfamiliar sensation that gnawed at his insides. He despised how they looked at her as if they were yearning for her, and a primal instinct to protect her stirred within him. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to have Symone all to himself, to be the one who could make her laugh, smile, and feel cherished, yet he knew he had to push those feelings aside for now. This was Chef Sanchez's night, and they were there to celebrate her achievement. Luca took a deep breath, reminding himself to be supportive and enjoy the evening, and even downed a chute of champagne to calm his erratic nerves and the stirring in his fitted trousers. 

“Luca, I can’t believe you’re here!” a familiar accented voice squealed and he gave a friendly smile to Chef Sanchez. 

“Hi, Chef,” he greets the petite woman, “and the pleasure is all mine.” 

Chef Rosio Sanchez's smile widened and she rolled her eyes at his formality. “Call me Rosio, Luca. We’re no longer working together at Noma, thank God.” 

She nudged his shoulder in jest and for dramatic effect. Although Chef Sanchez was a great head pastry chef at Noma, she could never fully wrap her head around the severity of fine dining and the lack of creativity. Luca learned a lot from her during her tenure at Noma, and he was happy to see her thriving with a restaurant of her own. 

“Are you doing okay at Noma? Because I would love to have you here in Oslo.” 

Luca sucked his teeth. “Oh, Chef, you’re so sneaky, but yes...I’m doing great. No complaints.” 

Chef Sanchez opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word, Symone returned to their side, a small plate of hors d'oeuvres in her hands. Her camera hung securely around her neck, and as always, she wore a radiant smile.

"Luca, you have to try these tostadas; they are too good," Symone exclaimed, offering a tostada to Luca.

Chef Sanchez observed the exchange with piqued interest, her eyes darting between Symone and Luca. A mischievous glimmer sparkled in her gaze as she spoke up, addressing Luca, "Luca, why didn't you tell me you brought your partner with you? She's absolutely gorgeous. I'm Rosio, and I used to work with your boyfriend."

Symone's expression transformed into a mixture of confusion and surprise, her eyes seeking clarification. Meanwhile, Luca stumbled over his words, feeling flustered by the unexpected turn of events.

"Oh, we're not together," Symone clarified, her voice laced with amusement. "I actually work with Luca at Noma. I'm the new social media manager."

Chef Sanchez's eyes widened in realization, and she let out an awkward chuckle. "My apologies... it's just... well, never mind then. It's still a pleasure to meet you, Symone. I'm delighted to see you enjoying the food."

Symone graciously accepted the situation, her smile unfaltering. "Thank you, Chef Sanchez. The flavors are incredible. Your culinary skills are truly impressive."

Chef Sanchez gave Symone a dismissive wave, her eyes sparkling with pride. "You're a flatterer; thank goodness chefs enjoy that. We take all the praise we can get. But truly, thank you. I just wanted to share my Mexican heritage with everyone. Have you tried the tamales yet? They're an old recipe from my abuelita."

"Oh?" Symone exclaimed, her eyes widening with anticipation. "I have to try them then. My GiGi sends me her recipes sometimes. I'm not as amazing as her or you and Luca, but I try."

Chef Sanchez chuckled, a nostalgic glimmer in her eyes. "Gotta love grandmothers, right? I used to make tamales so much when I was at Noma. Luca and Carmy used to go through at least two dozen each every week!" Her playful remark elicited laughter from all of them. "Even when we were stressed out and busting our asses, we still had some great memories at Noma. But unfortunately, it won't be the same when it closes next year."

"Whoa, whoa, closes?" Symone asked, shock evident in her voice. "Noma is closing? When?"

"You didn't know?” Chef Sanchez exchanged a glance with quick Luca, a hint of surprise in her eyes. “Luca, you didn't tell her?"

Luca let out a sigh, realizing his oversight. "I thought she knew," he admitted, his gaze shifting between Symone and Chef Sanchez.

Symone's brows furrowed in confusion and concern. "Hold on, hold on. Why didn't anyone tell me? This is crazy."

Luca took a step closer to her, his expression earnest. "I'm sorry, Symone. It's been in talks that René might close Noma by the end of next year to explore new ventures. Nothing has been decided yet, but the possibility is there."

Chef Sanchez nodded solemnly, her voice filled with understanding. "Yes, it's true. It's bittersweet, but change is a part of the culinary world. This is why I'm so adamant for Luca to join me in Norway, or you can pursue your dream of opening that bakery you've always wanted."

Symone's mind raced, processing the news and the array of emotions it stirred within her. The thought of Noma closing brought a sense of loss and she was reeling on what to do next. She turned to Luca, her eyes searching his for reassurance and guidance. 

So, what does this mean for everyone? For me?

They chatted with Chef Sanchez for a few more minutes, exchanging pleasantries and savoring the delightful atmosphere of Casa de Sanchez. As Chef Sanchez continued to mingle with the other guests, Symone's thoughts of uncertainty lingered, frustration mounting over James' failure to inform her about René’s plans. She couldn't help but feel that it was a missed opportunity on his part to keep the team informed.

In an attempt to ease her restlessness, Symone found herself gravitating towards the open bar, indulging in two margaritas before Luca's presence interrupted her thoughts. He gently tapped her shoulder, a concerned expression on his face.

"I don't think you should drink right now, Symone," he advised, his voice laced with worry.

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a mischievous smile as she took a final sip from her second margarita, much to Luca's chagrin. "And why's that?" she replied, a hint of defiance in her voice.

"Because you have a lot on your mind," Luca explained, swiftly swiping the margarita out of her hand, causing her to sway slightly. "I'm cutting you off."

Symone's eyelids felt heavy, her tipsiness undeniable. She couldn't tell if it was the potent mix of the margaritas or her own lightweight tendencies, but the effects of the alcohol were already taking hold. Grateful for Luca's steadying presence, she looked up at him with glossy eyes and a smirk that was both annoying and undeniably attractive.

"Why? Can't I wallow in my sorrows in peace?" she stated, her words slightly slurred, and Luca chuckled softly.

"What's so funny?" she continued, her voice tinged with self-deprecation. "You laugh at the fact that I'm probably getting fired?"

"No, Symone," Luca reassured her, his laughter subsiding. "And you're not getting fired. You work for Noma Projects and Noma 2.0, not just the restaurant in Copenhagen."

Relief and realization washed over her, her earlier concerns fading into the background. She had been so consumed by the news of Noma's potential closure that she had overlooked the details of her employment contract.

"Oh, fuck," Symone groaned, resting her head against Luca's chest as he soothingly stroked her back. "What the hell did I do?"

"You didn't do anything wrong," Luca reassured her, his touch comforting against her exposed skin. "You're just in shock, that's all. You enjoy working at Noma, for some strange reason."

A vulnerable expression crossed her face as she tilted her head to gaze at him, her eyes shimmering with sincerity. "I enjoy working with you," she confessed, her voice filled with a mixture of uncertainty and longing. "What if I can't work with you anymore?"

Her pouting lips and puppy-dog eyes held a vulnerability that tugged at Luca's heartstrings. 

"Why do you want to work with me anyways? I’m a dick remember," he joked as he smiled gently and caressed her cheek with his calloused fingers. 

Her gaze was filled with warmth and understanding. “Because you're my dick,” she admitted with conviction, “and I kinda like you.” 

The revelation caused a surge of emotions to ripple through Luca's chest. He couldn't help but feel a mix of disbelief and overwhelming joy at her words. His heart skipped a beat as he absorbed the sincerity in her voice and the depth of her confession, even if it involved some liquid courage. 

A soft chuckle escaped Luca's lips, his eyes locked with hers. "I'm your dick, huh?" he repeated, his voice evident with affectionate amusement. "Well, I guess that's one way to put it."

Symone's gaze remained steadfast, her vulnerability blending with a newfound boldness. "Yes, Luca," she affirmed, her voice steady and determined. "Flaws and all, you’re my dick."

Luca's amusement faded, replaced by a wave of adoration that washed over him. He was taken aback by the raw honesty in Symone's words, the way she fearlessly laid her emotions bare before him. It was a vulnerability that he found both captivating and endearing. He gently pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her with a comforting strength. The softness of her skin against his fingertips sent a shiver down his spine, igniting a tender desire within him.

He reveled in the sensation of holding her in his embrace, the way their bodies fit together perfectly, as if they were two puzzle pieces that had finally found their match. It was a moment of intimacy and connection that felt both exhilarating and reassuring.

Luca let out an exasperated sigh and nestled his face in her braids, breathing in deeply as her refreshing scent of coconut and vanilla overpowered his senses. 

This was going to be a long fucking weekend. 

TO BE CONTINUED.....

[miguel-ohara-wifey]

I’ll find you

Chapter 1: Never love an anchor

Cowboy!Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Rating; Angst & 18+

Prompt; Running from his past, Miguel finds you once he’s as far as he can go.

Warnings; abusive husband, blood, violence, violence against women, misogyny, forced sui*ide, death, swearing, Wild West period piece, depressed reader, and guns

Word count; 4K

Your chest and shoulders were thrown onto the ground, your skin lightly bruised and cut on impact.

“Move it whore!”

One of your husbands goons screeched out against the sea of ringing in your ears from the shock. You can’t even lift yourself up with your wrists bound to one another behind your back. Dust powdered your cheek on top of your regular blush. Your bun was messily loosened as said goon picked you up by your left forearm. Placed back onto your legs, you saw the sunrise’s light falling to you along the brim of every leaf you were escorted under. 

Your heels scuffed and ripped beyond repair against this forest trial. You were almost out of breath, none of your muscles built to withstand this hike. You’ve long lost sight of your home, of the city, and of any beaten path created by civilization. Besides this likely long forgotten piece of hunting path you were dragged down. 

You huffed as the two other men your husband sent to “take care of you” walked beside you. Your heart was eerily calm in your rib cage, as you were too bound in rope escorted to your death. You know they were taking you somewhere high. Likely planning to untie you then throw you off the edge. Your husbands ruthless, cruel, and egomaniacal; but you’d also count smart among those facts. 

Your tears were sealed behind your eyes by the fact you may be getting what you deserve. You just prayed your daughter at least gets a good life, and a good escape from him. Just as the trail of thought began, the end of the one you all walked on met you. 

“Fuckin finally-“ the man furthest from you whined under his breath. Slightly letting go of the rifle in both of his hands. 

You’ve already exhausted your efforts to escape hours ago. The goon started undoing the knot keeping your wrists together. Once free of the abrasive material, a push sends you closer to the brownish golden edge. The jagged cliff was founded on a collection of boulders. Giant rocks placed on the neck connecting the ground and the height you all set yourselves on. The peach colors the sun's ascension painting among the clouds hovering it set you at ease. At the very least the view was pretty. Even as the view was punctuated by a clanking of a gun being pointed at your back.

“Get movin-“ the man aiming it commanded, the other two just caught their breath as you’d finish the job for them. 

They divided the forest from the edge, running would mean granting them a better shot. Even if that’d be a cleaner, more painless death than whatever meets you at the bottom from here. You’ll take your death in your own hands. Considering your husbands already took your life from you. You set your posture straight, feeling the ache of your bruises along your skin as you try to walk as firmly as possible. 

You scuffed your fancy black shoes further as you eat up the space between you and the edge. His aim didn't falter, it didn’t take you looking back at him to know that. Soon your leather covered toes were an inch from the very line between the ground and air. A brief peer down confirmed what you already knew. An ever stagnant wave of broken bones and a slow or quick death depending on where you land. Awaited you, inevitably bound to hug it. 

“What did I say!? Move it!” One of the men shouted impatiently. You sighed, tears sealed behind your eyes by the knowledge you probably deserve this.

“Can I have my last thoughts at least?” A half sarcastic, half genuine question. The men had a silent telepathic exchange behind you. 

“Yeah, sure.” One of them eventually answered, how considerate of them. After a sigh, you made the first prayer in what felt like a lifetime. 

It was all written for your daughter, Mona; praying to whatever could listen and would do anything. To protect your child. To at least give her an escape from her father that you didn’t possess from your husband. Concluding with an apology your daughter would never hear. Sorry for making that man her father, sorry for making her live with him. Sorry for being responsible for who he is. Once you finish. 

Suddenly your legs became ten times heavier, your spine too frail to hold the upper half of your physique.   The heart in your chest trying to stop itself so you’d collapse backwards and not forwards. A chill fishing under your flesh. 

Your mind and body were at war as you desperately tried to win over the battlefield going in every cell of your being. An invisible air pushing you off that cliff, your limbs sore from the hike. You’d just softly collapse down the cliff. Leaning yourself over the very tip, you felt nothing holding you up anymore as you fell beyond it. Gently closing your eyes as gravity took its price. All you wanted to think, see, and feel was your daughter.

The smell of her hair as you kissed her good night overcame your nose. Silkiness of her locks dancing on your fingertips as you braided her hair. How she wants to write books and be an author. You were so wrapped in that self created bubble of comfort, when you heard.

“Are you okay?”

Is when you realized you should’ve been dead by now. Opening your eyes, your gaze was meet with water color brown eyes. Framed by a cowboy hat at the top, and a bandana concealing his face from the bridge of his nose and down. His hand wasn’t dug into a divot in the rock but his skin along stuck you both to the wall. His other muscular arm lined against your back the only thing keeping you from falling back. Looking down confirmed what you were already seeing, that barrage of boulders you gazed upon when at the top. It didn’t kill your confusion and shock however. 

“What the fuck?!”

The goon overlooking you two from the height of the cliff spoke your exact thoughts. Suddenly you felt the toll of gravity all over again. You screeched as the man gripped you with both arms pushing you both up with a strength you’ve never witnessed before. You opened your eyes a split second after instinctively shutting them in fear when you felt the drop around your body again. Opening them, you were now behind the three men who came to investigate your lack of dying. Gently set down like a baby in a crib as the man whispered to you.

“Close your eyes if you don’t want to see what happens next.” His words traveled to your ears as a growl, the goons nor you had time to react. 

As the mysterious man had a talon extended from each one of his ten fingers. Leaping at them he dug each of his claws violently across their throats. Blood dressed the ground, as some of the men tried to fire their guns. But missed as he pushed them off the ledge. A hue of red ran down his wrists across his claws as the momentary fight subsided. You finally got your senses back, not sparing a moment to thank him. You ran off, not in fear of him. But for your daughter. 

You hurried towards the forest and down the familiar trail. The man must’ve turned and saw you running, chasing after you he insisted.

“Hey stop! It’s okay no ones gonna hurt you-“

“NOT ME- they have my daughter!” You explained not slowing your pace, but a rock intercepting your left foot did. You collapsed for the hundredth fucking time that day. You’re so weak standing itself is a chore, just trying to get up is a hundred different exercises. Frustration broke your tears free as you laid on the ground again, the man caught up with you predictably fast. He had a crimson button up with the sleeves rolled back behind his elbows. And ragged blue jeans, finishing his look with faded brown cowboy boots. 

He tried to help you up but you were too weak to stand on your own. You watered the dirt with your crying, attempting to howl. 

“I-I have to get to her, he’ll hurt her I can’t-“

“Hey now…”

He tenderly cut you off, draping his left fingers on your shoulder ever so carefully. Making eye contact with you again as he instructed.

“Just breathe, and explain so I can help.”

You detected a note of frustration, a habit he has controlled so he could help you. After a couple of breaths created in your lungs and disposed of from out your body. You could comprehensively explain.

“My husband paid those men to kill me, and I don’t know what he wants with our daughter but it’s bad. I have to get there….”

The statement compelled you to rise to your feet, your muscles screaming below your skin you ignored.  He stood up with you as you asked while attempting to walk. Your cheeks were caked in tears, dirt, and blush you tried to wipe off asking the man.

“Who are you?”

His immediate answer was a considering look, wondering wordlessly what to tell you. But in the end he drew the bandana off from his face. Revealing a blocky facial structure, filled with those dark almond eyes. Soft looking and beautifully toned brown skin, and nice full lips just above his chin. You just started to notice how tall he is, his shoulders alone dwarf you.  

“You can call me Miguel…” You stopped yourself from staring longer at this gorgeous man. He was now whistling with two right fingers in his mouth. The pitch summoned a horse barreling towards both of you from down the path. Once in front of you both, he single handedly. Almost effortlessly lifted you onto the horse, as he soon followed in front taking the reins. He looked back at you with his bandana masking his appearance once again. 

“Lead the way.” He huffed out from the fabric on his face. 

~~A few hours later~~ 

Miguel had hitched the horse half a block away, as the two of you snuck around back to get your daughter. Mona, you always hear her name swimming in your mind. For as long as you’ve had her, she’s mattered more to you than breathing, sleeping, eating, and living. 

Miguel used his bandana to muffle the sounds of the lock snapping under the pressure of his bare grip. You immediately push the door open, covertly moving about your own home. Evading the guards posted in the front of the house. Miguel followed your lead.

“I know an entrance to his office from here…”

He nodded wrapping the bandana around his face again, you scanned the area ahead of you before making a move. Miguel dutifully behind you all the while, certain he could tear through these guards like a hot knife through butter. But trusted your judgment and kept it low profile. Eventually you made your way to the downstairs kitchen just down the left hall from where you entered.

All the kitchen staff were off duty by this hour, once ensuring no guards would see you. You stood up from your squatting position. Opening up the two doors to the pantry, pushing aside from products and cans on the furthest left corner on the base board. You found the rusted over clicker, once you flipped the switch toward. A lever released behind it, opening the door from the outside in. Allowing the baseboard and the shelves attached to it holding all the food. Angle itself open, Miguel just kept watch as you got the entrance open. 

You whispered, “okay get in.” Miguel cautiously escorted himself inside right behind you. As you minded the shelving to not drop anything that would leave a trail. Once you both walked into the cobblestone outer skeleton of your home. You grabbed the outer doors of the cabinet and shut them. Soon following with the second door, once shit in position. You pulled down the second lever on your end, locking it. 

“It’s okay, no one can hear us in here..” you instructed, running past him up the stairs around the right corner. Miguel pursued asking “What is the plan when we find him?” You responded matter of factly “Kill him.” Miguel was shocked by your answer, you stopped dead in your tracks a couple steps above him. As the humid  air closeted by the secret entrance sewed you two together, “What? Wanted to take him out for tea?” Your sarcasm cut an annoyed grimace on his face.  

You went on your war path as the vagrant Miguel persisted in aiding you. Once the final step was in sight, struck above it was a faded brown door. You turned to Miguel as he was behind you.

“He’s probably in there, if you don’t want to help anymore. Just give me your gun.” You pointed to the silver pistol strapped to his left thigh. Miguel huffed “Well that’s awfully cynical, I followed you this far haven’t I?” You were dead set on rescuing your daughter from your insane husband. You didn’t calculate Miguel’s true intentions into this plan. For all you know he’ll expect your husband's property and money in return. 

“And why have you?” Digging each of your hands into each side of your hips. Glaring down at him with a suspicious dig into his eyes from yours. But with his  shoes rubbed against yours, standing one foot on the same step as you. Your faces now inches apart killed all your gusto.

“Because when I see someone in need, I help them. That’s what he-I do.” He whispered, the irony of utter sincerity emitting through his mask. The gaze of his eyes massages the tension from your body. You breathe out your stress, giving a trusting nod. He’s your best bet regardless, yet somehow you feel you won’t regret this “Alright.” You punctuated the interaction as you pushed open the door. 

Miguel drew his gun to be ready to fight, but you all were stood up by an empty office. All of the furniture was removed, the smell of your husband's cologne alone revealed the move was recent. 

“What?! Shit!” You relented in a panicked fury, “WHOSE THERE!?” Announced the arrival of one of his goons. A rifle in one arm as his other opened the door to the office. Without thinking Miguel pulled back the trigger to drive a bullet through his left eye. Staining the painting behind him with the insides of his eye. 

You screamed out in shock, as the collective drumming of the rest of his guards feet against the floors of your former home. Could be heard beyond the walls of the office, commanding each other to get to the noise. You promptly shut the secret door to the office. That said panic faded into an icy resolution to get out of the house. Miguel read you like a book and just ran down the steps. Knowing the guards would see the door and soon follow. The plan was to be faster, racing out through the pantry shelves door. Not caring what litters the tiles as you race through the kitchen. Miguel stopped you before going down the hallway. Rightly so because a shotgun shell fires off a piece of the wooden walls right where your head used to be. 

“I found em!” Presumably the one who fired the bullet cried out. He pushed his back against the wall at the hallways right corner, adjacent to where Miguel was doing the same. “I thought we killed that whore!” He slurs out at the other goons, swiftly making their way back downstairs to continue the fire fight. 

The minute he left his cover, Miguel’s swift trigger finger and movement secured him the first shot into the man’s stomach. As he started to tumble from the shock, dropping his firearm. Miguel landed a second bullet through his neck. Miguel grabbed your hand, and ushered you down the hall. Skipping over the man’s dead body. 

You two finally make it the mansion, luckily they didn’t think to post anyone outside. So you and Miguel book it to the opposite side of the hills resting just beyond your old property. With the vantage at the top of the curve, you spot your husband's carriage riding off along the bend of the road. You pointed and shouted, “THERE! That’s where she is! Has to be!” Miguel nodded and yelled “Alright let’s go!” Eventually making it to Miguel’s horse. Once you dug yourself around the saddle behind him, he rode off in haste towards the carriage. 

A thin cloud of dust followed where Miguel’s horse trampled the road. The wind combing through your hair as the race towards the carriage was nearing its end. You saw the beating sun glare off of the gold ornament along the edges of the box on wheels. You told Miguel, “Just force it to stop!” Miguel nodded, once the clambering of his horses' hooves met beside the smooth travel of the wheels. Miguel unsheathed his claws, and struck once removing the wheel from the circled pillar. 

The horses pushing the carriage against the elements squealed in shock. As the man driving it looked back, before Miguel could notice. You slide his shotgun strapped to the saddle. Aiming it right between where his face and right ear meet. A pull of the trigger flew his ear right off. The man fumbled backwards, gravity throwing him off the carriage. After a bump of the mechanics of the ride once it ran him over. He was buried by the brownish yellow dust of the road. Without hesitation you leapt for the driver's seat, grabbing hold of the leather lashes connected to the horses straps. 

And whipping them to halt, digging a long shallow hole in the ground as the wheels were compelled to an immediate stop. Once you caught your breath, you sighed out plummeting your back to the back of the seat. Just to grant your body a steady flow of oxygen again. The last few hours have been a living nightmare. 

And It got worse, as you saw your husband in the corner of your eye. Escorting Mona out of the carriage, forcefully folding his arm around her neck with the end of his revolver pressed through her hair. Miguel raised his own gun to meet your husband's silent threat. 

“Thomas stop!” You screeched landing back on the ground. Mona’s face was torn in terror and shock.

“Mom why is he doing this-“ Mona blubbered out in a confused puddle of sweat and tears. 

“Shut up! Be useful to me for once-“ he cut her off with a malicious and terrified wrinkle on his nose. Miguel calmly questioned your husband. 

“How is killing her going to change what we do to you?” Somewhat muffled by his bandana once again, but with the winds politely quiet enough his meaning was clear as day regardless. Thomas struggled and fumbled for a plan, he was in the middle of nowhere. Far away from his goons, held up by one person with every reason to kill him. And another based on context has no reason to stop his death. 

“One more fucking step and she gets her brains baked in the sun!” He cried out like a pig pending slaughter. You knew to tread carefully, he was stupid and weak. But not a man of empty threats, you and Miguel shared a wordless strategy. Simply to wait for the right time. For Mona’s head to slip down enough to make a shot for his head. 

Until a shot goes off for you two, and your daughter Mona collapses to the ground. Except no smoke escaped from Thomas’s pistol, a vertical rain of bullets then fired at where you and Miguel stood. You also would’ve been hit had Miguel’s reflexes not kicked in. Shoving you by the hip behind where the carriage stopped. 

He also had to hold you back from your sobbing and crying. Trying to wrestle free to make it to Mona’s body. Your screaming of her name was all you could hear. Staring at the blood caking her face as her expression was permanently ripped in a blank look of shock. White already eating away at her eyes as Thomas ran towards the gunfire. Shouting orders at his men who snuck behind you, in the ringing played by the gun shots. As every once of air leaves your body and not finding a way back in. 

You didn’t focus on anything as everything in the world froze. Your daughter laid cooked by the summer sky. Already flies arrive at their feast of her flesh and blood. Tears wash away the sweat on your face, choking your throat further by evaporating any conscious or unconscious effort to breathe. All you did was sob. Miguel for a few moments leans your face towards his shoulder. His shirt is now stained in the aroma of your crying and sweating. But he didn’t mind at all, you didn’t bother to look up at his face of pity for you. 

Miguel realized a second later he had to act alone, whistling his horse to fetch you two. Getting you in front, less likely to be hit. As he rained cover fire from behind. He whipped his horse to violently kick up the dirt beneath his hooves to go as fast as he could. You didn’t bother looking back despite your life hanging in the balance. You didn’t care to be honest. 

~~One horse ride to Miguel’s cabin~~

The blur of passing greenery and road, the gunshots firing long faded into the harmless symphony of the frogs and crickets when night covered itself above the two of you. By that time you were out of tears, whether your exhausted body was too tired to do so. Or the ducts buried behind your eyes no longer had any left to spare. Miguel was behind you, still manning the horse as a cabin constructed from blackish brown wood met you two at the end of the path.

Walled off by thick forestry and wrapped in beautiful waves of fireflies set by the soft howling of far off coyotes. His home has thick clear windows, which filled the square of land set apart from the rest of the grounds. By a somewhat worn gray wooden fence, there were some attempts at flower gardening. You can’t tell yet but the seeds have been planted, and are poking out from the surface of the earth. 

He gently pulls you off the horse after his boots meet the ground, not making you stand. He holds you with his left arm under your elbows, as his right tenderly pushes up your back. You instinctively huddle into his chest. Letting your eyes have a rest, you hear the opening of his front door. Taking off his shoes then your own, making his way up some stairs. Minding your head and feet poking out beyond his frame. 

He then takes you to a fairly empty guest room, with a nice enough bed and a small doorless, empty closet. He lays you on top of the comforters, the white quilted blanket is a comfy spot for your body. Miguel considers speaking, the silence hangs like a dead person on a noose. 

You want to help, but there’s nothing else to be done. And all you think to do is let them be. So Miguel leaves you in the cold. Not understanding how to help, not knowing if you’d want help. As such he closes the door behind him. Your eyes fall on the partially open window centered in the wall of your room in front of you. 

“Never love an anchor” was what crept through your brain, as you closed your eyes again. Gently going to sleep. 

[obeydehjess]

Huskerdust is just something I do now I guess. I don't even know what people wanna see I simply let my possessed fingers move. Touch starved husk is my new favourite thing I GUESS.

[hazel-islivingtrash]

New chapter this weekend~~ Satoru and Suguru take on the mall together! Does Satoru realize this is a date? Who knows! (I do :) )

It'll be posted a bit earlier than normal because I have plans and would rather post it a earlier than later <3 Posting time for this weekend will be around 1:30 eastern time on Saturday!

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Sneak peak of chapter 13: I Need to Do This Right With You (Spoiler free!):

Satoru tried the long-sleeve on first, along with a pair of ripped jeans. He swayed his arms while he looked at himself in the mirror. It fit nicely, like he thought it would, and it filled him with enough confidence to step out of the changing room.

When he exited, he made a show of twirling for Suguru, laughing as he did so.

Suguru’s eyes went wide and his mouth opened slightly. Satoru stopped his spinning, and stood looking back at Suguru.

Suguru blinked a few times, “You look great.”

Satoru dipped his head down bashfully. “Thanks, I try,” he laughed, fiddling with the sleeves and sliding them up and down his arms.

Suguru huffed a laugh and cleared his throat. “The kids are totally going to make fun of us for having matching shirts.”

Satoru scoffed. “Well, those squirts are just jealous of us. We’re amazing.” he crossed his arms, holding his head high as he smiled.

“We are,” Suguru jokingly agreed.

Satoru went through the rest of his clothes, playing around with his last outfit. He came out with three sets of sunglasses on his face, having to walk hesitantly so they could stay stacked properly.

Suguru laughed, taking a picture as Satoru posed. “What are those for? Do you have six eyes or something?”

“Maybe I do,” Satoru joked, coming over to check out the photos. He looked like an idiot, but he loved them anyway. “Send those to me.”

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If this intrigues you, it would be amazing if you could check out my fic! I usually post on Saturdays around 3pm eastern time.

Current status of fic:

Current status of fic: 12 out of 25 chapters complete, just over 66k words ❤️❤️

**The story is rated mature and with a warning of graphic depictions of violence.

[clumsy-jiminie]

ɪɴᴇᴠɪᴛᴀʙʟʏ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ | ᴘᴊᴍ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴜʀ

❝ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ʜᴏᴏᴅɪᴇ ❞

↣ summary :: Kiara Smith had dreamed of true love for as long as she could remember. from being obsessed with the Disney princesses who found affection in the strangest situations to dressing up as a bride from kindergarten to fourth grade. it was the only thing she ever truly desired, so much so that a pleasant smile and kind eyes could have her smitten in seconds. right when she thought she found the one, a chance encounter with Park Jimin—the city’s famously perfect fuck boy with a smile so warm and a heart of ice—has her feeling quite the opposite. he knocks her off her axis and derails her life as she knows it, yet the universe seems to have another plan for the two.

↣ rating :: 18+

↣ genre :: fluff, angst, smut, e2l, slow burn

↣ pairing :: business owner!jimin x fem!artist!oc ft. taehyung

↣ word count :: 4.7k

↣ chapter warnings :: mature language, angst without resolve, smut - marking, unprotected sex, creampie

↣ notes :: pretty pretty please don't let anyone treat you like this 🥺 small argument or not, there are healthy ways to communicate this type of insecurity 🫶🏽

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

if you have any questions, comments, or concerns PLEASE don't hesitate to message me or send me an ask! my inbox is always open. 💖

"I can see that look in your eyes, the one that shoots me every time you grace me with your cold shoulder."

- ᴄᴏʟᴅ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅᴇʀ, ᴀᴅᴇʟᴇ -

Kiara stuffed her hands in her oversized hoodie pocket as her feet led her through the hustle and bustle of the city streets. The weather was getting more tolerable as they approached a new month in the year. But then again, you could have a full snowstorm in New York in the spring. She kept her outfit light today, as light as she could go without freezing: A hoodie, a pair of leggings, and a spring jacket. The sneakers on her feet were old—dirt and stains in the crevices while the laces started wearing out. Kehlani blasted through her headphones as she weaved through people. She missed the city dearly. There was something about the feeling here that was addictive. Everyone had somewhere to be—whether it was to a job that they hated or a job that they loved, to see a family member, to sell a hat, to shop until they created a debt, or to see something incredible. Everyone had a story, no matter how big or small.

Kiara's story led her to a quaint coffee shop. Tiny and modern, it is a perfect puzzle piece in the large-scale picture of Manhattan—the smell of dark beans roasting mixed with the semi-sweet scents of freshly baked pastries. Exposed brick and pipes gave the place an industrial feel, partnered with the greenery hanging from the walls. Furniture with dark wood and black metal legs contrasted with the grey concrete flooring.

Despite it now being a crowded place where teens and adults alike could get their daily fix of the dark liquid, she knew this place from its humble beginnings. Mr. Choi brewed a mean cup of Joe, and she would sip it during the early morning rush before class in college. She and her best friends practically lived in this shop during school. They were always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Mr. Choi almost adopted them, considering how often they were there. Jeongguk even got a job here at some point, figuring if he was going to spend all his time here, he might as well get paid for it.

They still gather here occasionally, especially on days like today. When Kiara arrived at the door, she pushed it open. A crowd greeted her upon entering. Most had drinks in their hands already but were struggling to find a seat in this small coffee shop. Kiara squeezed through the people until she arrived at her usual table. A seat by the window had her name engraved on it, and she slid into it with ease. She finally pulled off her headphones, greeting the midnight-haired girl across from her.

Samira glanced up from her tablet, her lips forming a wide smile as she chewed her gum. "Sup Ki."

"Not much. You doing wedding work?" She asked as she watched Samira write on the device while looking at information on her phone.

She nodded. "I gotta get these bouquet choices to Momo later today. I also gotta show her these swatches of blue." She tapped on her tablet several times before lifting it to show the woman.

Kiara stared at the four squares on the screen. Each blue was the same hue, but the tints, shades, and undertones varied. Her lips pursed as she examined the options. "I, personally, like the first one," she said as she leaned back. "It's soft and kinda reminds me of winter. Like how the sky looks on a clear day."

Samira turned the device back to her, staring at the color while she nodded. "See, this is why it's always great to have an artist as a friend." Kiara rolled her eyes while Samira chuckled. "Speaking of, anything happening with that? Are you close to buying that house like the sugar mama you are?"

Kiara's jaw dropped before she lifted her leg to kick the girl under the table. Samira laughed loudly. "I'm not a sugar mama!"

"Is he helping you pay?"

"…No."

"Then you're a sugar mama." Samira was always so blunt, and that's why Kiara loved her. It wasn't always jokes, but she would always call the girl out when she was being dramatic or wrong.

"Anyway!" Kiara exclaimed. "I had a client dinner last night."

”Ooh, tea time." Samira locked her table and phone, giving the other her full attention. "Was he hot? Was he single? You had a little fun last night?" She asked as she wiggled her eyebrows. She leaned in, resting her elbows on the table while holding her face in her hands.

Kiara's face suddenly grew hot, and she reached up to involuntarily cover her neck with her hand. She had forgotten about the hickey Taehyung had left on her for a split second, hoping the hoodie would've covered it for her. "No!" She said quickly, hoping Samira didn't notice the red staining her cheeks. But she did, causing a smirk on her friend's lips. "He was that same asshat from the gallery."

"Oh." Her smirk quickly faded. She scrunched up her nose with disgust as her shoulders dropped.

"And turns out he wasn't just having a bad day. He was actually just a dick. He called me a coward, then selfish! All because I would rather separate my painter life from my regular life." Kiara pouted at the end of her sentence, leaning back into her chair. It was still a fresh wound, making her rethink every choice she had made thus far.

Samira scoffed. "He obviously doesn't know you. In fact, if you ever see him on the streets, let me know. I'll beat his ass."

Kiara's eyes widened as she quietly chuckled. "What is with you and Kookie being so violent?"

"Don't act like you're not the same. Just because you're in a little relationship that has you acting all prim and proper doesn't mean I don't know the real Kiara and how she used to beat ass because someone looked at me funny."

Kiara rolled her eyes. "I was younger back then and clearly had uncontrolled anger."

"Yeah, sure," Samira smiled while shaking her head. "Speaking of JK, when is he going up?"

Kiara shrugged as she grabbed her phone, looking at the time. "You know he never gives a time for these things." Suddenly, the coffee shop roared with cheers, grabbing the girl's attention. They looked towards a small stage along the shop's farthest wall. "Speak of the devil," she smirked as the tall man approached the stage. He wore a black T-shirt with a pair of dark denim jeans. There was a silver chain that hung from his belt loops. Sitting down at the piano on the stage, he tugged a stray strand of his midnight hair behind his ear. A microphone was attached to the instrument, angled perfectly so the person could speak.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen," his smooth voice entered the mic and echoed through the establishment. Samira and Kiara locked eyes before covering their mouths to hide the giggles that quietly escaped. "This song is called 17, and I hope you enjoy it."

His fingers began to press on the white and black keys, combining the notes until they formed a beautiful melody.

"I would need a million words if I tried to define all the things you mean to me…." 

His voice was like laying on a cloud — soft and fluffy, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Everyone in the store was mesmerized; even those who came in solely for a beverage stopped to listen for a few moments. They always left with a broad smile after. Jeongguk's voice has affected people ever since he was little. Kiara couldn't help but smile as she watched her best friend do what he loved. He shut his eyes as he sang, tuning out everything around him until nothing was left but notes. Kiara felt like a mother watching her child's first performance. 

She knew everyone in that room fell in love based on their reaction when Jeongguk sang his last note. It was overwhelmingly positive. The audience overfilled the tip jar near the bottom of the stage with bills and coins. Jeongguk stood up with a smile so wide on his lips that his eyes crinkled, smiling along with him. He bowed as the crowd cheered for him, leaning down to grab the tip jar before walking off the stage. Women who were bold enough stopped and flirted with him as he passed through the crowd. All Jeongguk did was laugh it off and politely turn them down, leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him. He reached his usual table, dropping the jar onto the table with an obnoxious thud. He made the same sound as he dropped down in the seat next to Kiara, letting out a dramatic sigh.

The girls exchanged a look before watching as his eyes closed, breathing heavily. "God, it's so hard being wanted." The two burst into laughter as he grinned, opening his eyes to look at them. "So? What did you guys think?"

"Not my favorite song," Samira said with a smirk.

"It's a good thing I don't value your opinion," Jeongguk quipped before sticking his tongue out, causing her to mirror his reaction. After a moment, he turned his head to Kiara, waiting for her answer.

"You know I loved it Kookie." She smiled at him, making his heart skip a beat as heat rushed to his ears. She chuckled as she poked at his reddening skin with her finger, making his body scrunch up like a snail recoiling into their shell. "How long did it take to write this one?"

"Only a few weeks this time," he answered with a smile. His silver lip rings glimmered as he spoke.

Kiara's smile was still etched on her lips, leaning over to the man. The scent of fresh laundry with the faintest hint of cologne entered her nostrils as she cupped his jaw in her hand. She squeezed Jeongguk's cheeks until his pink lips puffed out, shaking his head from side to side a little. "Look at him, Sammie! Our little bunny boy is growing up so fast!" Jeongguk chuckled, trying to pull her hand away, but her grip was tight.

Samira grinned, reaching her hand out to join in the fun of playing with Jeongguk's face. Her hand replaced Kiara's as she pouted out her lips. "I know! We did such a good job raising our little bunny boy." She teased in a baby voice.

Jeongguk rolled his eyes, pulling Samira's hand away from his face. "You know we're the same age, right?!"

The two girls glanced at each other before looking at the man. "And?" Kiara asked.

"Your point?" Samira added.

Jeongguk stared at them, shaking his head as he smiled. "You guys kill me." He reached into his tip jar, pulling out various bill amounts. "Y'all what something? It's on me."

The girls enthusiastically agreed before Jeongguk handed Kiara some money. She got their orders before standing up and walking towards the counter. She squeezed through the shoulders of random customers. Most waited for their drink orders, while others stayed for the atmosphere. Kiara hated crowded places like this. People had no respect for personal space or sense of how much space they took up. And because it's an establishment, she couldn't necessarily mow through people like she could on the streets. The crowd was less tight when she finally got closer to the counter. She sighed deeply, taking a single step before someone bumped right into her. She quickly felt something warm spreading from her chest to her abdomen, glancing down to see coffee all over her cream hoodie.

”What the fuck?!" She shrieked without taking a second to remember where she was. She reached for the napkins on the counter, frantically patting at her chest and torso.

"Oh my god, I'm so—" His eyes then met with the familiar golden skin Kiara possessed. He couldn't help the playful smirk that formed on his lips. "Well, doesn't karma have a funny way of working?" Jimin said, his words laced with smugness.

Kiara glared up at the blonde, huffing as she accepted defeat. Her hoodie was forever stained. "Eat ass, Park." His eyelids lowered at the girl. Why did his last name sound so unique, leaving her mouth wrapped in that annoyed tone? Maybe it was how she formed the noun—the light reflecting off lovely glossed lips as they parted to allow the syllable to roll off her tongue. It was intoxicating to watch. "You owe me a new shirt!"

His brows drew together as he tilted his head to the side. "Oh? If that's the case, I should send you my dry cleaning bill from last night."

"Fuck you, that was water!" She snapped at him. "And this is coffee! I'm never gonna get this out!"

His face remained unchanged despite receiving daggers from the girl. The most he did was shrug, causing her jaw to drop. "It wasn't that cute of a hoodie."

"What do you know about cute hoodies?!" She sounded a bit like a child, making the man chuckle softly.

"Enough to know yours isn't."

Kiara's eye twitched before she covered her face with her hands. She dragged them down her face, pulling gently at the skin as it relieved some of the building stress. She wanted to punch him in his nose. Or his mouth. Or anywhere on his body, in that case. He was such an asshole. The least he could've said was sorry. Maybe even offer to buy her a new hoodie. But no, even in moments where he was wrong, he still was an asshole through and through. "You are such a—"

"Woah, what the fuck happened?" She recognized Jeongguk's voice almost instantly. He stood beside her, staring at the massive stain on her shirt. Jimin eyed the new man, practically sizing him up despite the man being taller.

She inhaled deeply before sighing. "Nothing, nothing," she said as she shook her head. She wrapped her fingers around the man's tattooed bicep as she looked up at him. Eyes so big and round. Love, the blonde thought as he watched their interaction intently. How come she never looked at Jimin like that? But why did he want her to look at him like that? "Do you have a spare hoodie?"

The man looked down at her with the softest eyes, like she was the only person in the world to him. Jimin's brows furrowed again as he watched the warm smile form on Jeongguk's lips. "Yeah, of course."

She didn't need to say thank you; her eyes said more than enough. She then glanced towards Jimin, and for the second time, he witnessed that fondness instantly dissipating. Kiara's amber eyes were set ablaze once again. "Fuck you," she spat before Jeongguk led her away. They disappeared behind some door with a sign that read employees only. Jimin felt the same heavy feeling from before, sitting uncomfortably in his stomach. He didn't know why he wanted her to look at him with fondness so severely. She was annoying, a coward, a complete headache, and nowhere near his type. He chewed on his lower lip for a moment before rejoining the line.

"He's such a fucking jerk!" Kiara groaned as she followed behind Jeongguk to the break room area. "Who the fuck spills coffee on someone and doesn't even apologize?!"

He stopped in front of his locker and opened it, grabbing one of the two hoodies that were inside. When working at a cafe with clumsy newbies, spare clothing is more of a necessity than a suggestion. "Who the fuck was he?" He asked as he tossed her the hoodie, and she caught it.

"The same dickhead from last night," she grumbled. She pulled her hoodie over her head, leaving her standing in just a red bra with an intricate white lace pattern. Jeongguk's eyes widened briefly before quickly looking up at the ceiling. Heat flooded his ears and over his face, as he tried to forget the image he just saw. "Like, first of all, what are the odds?" Kiara continued to rant casually as if she wasn't half naked. She pulled Jeongguk's black clothing over her head, slipping into the three times too big fabric. "Second of all, he's lucky I didn't fucking deck him."

Jeongguk's eyes finally returned to the girl once she was clothed again. "Wait, what? The guy from last night?"

Kiara nodded as she picked up her dirty hoodie. When she looked towards Jeongguk, he was suddenly gone. Her eyes grew wide as she ran after him. "Kookie!" She yelled as he walked through the door. She returned to the central part of the cafe, seeing Jeongguk glance around with his brows furrowed. She grabbed him, but that didn't stop him from scanning the room. "You're on the clock!" She whispered.

All Jeongguk did was suck his teeth. "Man's lucky I like my job," he continued to look regardless, "and I can't find him."

Kiara rolled her eyes before patting his chest, "You need therapy."

"You need therapy," Jeongguk taunted quietly as Kiara joined the line again.

Kiara said goodbye to Jeongguk, watching him pull off on his motorcycle before walking inside her house. She sighed heavily upon entering, her energy drained from today's activities. After the coffee shop debacle, the three decided to hang out at Samira's house like old times. Little did Jeongguk and Kiara know that agreeing to hang out meant helping her with wedding planning. The woman was so passionate and dedicated to her job that it was something to admire, but only from afar. Her apartment was a wreck, littered with pictures and business cards. Kiara knew Samira's seriousness about her job, but since agreeing to be Momo's wedding planner, she has gone off her rocker. She ate, slept, breathed wedding details, and dragged the other two into it.

As she kicked off her sneakers, she could hear jazz music blasting from the kitchen. "Babe?" She called out as her feet led her amongst the familiar path.

Soon, Taehyung popped his head into the kitchen archway, causing a smile on Kiara's lips. "Darling! When did you get home? I'm just about done with dinner." His boxy grin made her heart skip a beat. She soon joined him in the kitchen while he resumed cooking. Her arms wrapped around his waist as she pressed her face into his back. She took a deep breath, inhaling his scent mixed with fresh laundry. Taehyung chuckled softly, "Long day?" Kiara nodded, moving along with him as he acted like she wasn't currently attached to him. "Wanna talk about it over dinner?" She nodded again, releasing him once he picked up the plates. 

They sat at their small dining room table, peacefully munching their food. Kiara looked up at Taehyung, who focused on his plate. That same warmth swamped her system. She felt so happy with him. She loved this small house they called home. She loved coming home after a long day to see his smiling face. She loved how comfortable she was with him. She glanced down at her left hand, eying her bare ring finger. If only this were enough for him.

"So?" Taehyung started with a mouth full of food. She filled him in on the events of last night and how they bled into today. Taehyung's features remained blank until the end, where he raised his eyebrows and shrugged a little. "I honestly wouldn't put that past him. He's a little snobby."

"There's a difference between being a little snobby and a complete dick. Like, do you think I'm selfish?" She asked as she placed her fork down.

He shrugged again. "You have your moments, but I don't think it's like what he's saying."

"Exactly! Everyone is a little selfish; it's just human. But he's making it seem like I wanna keep everything to myself on purpose." She folded her arms over her chest as she leaned into her chair.

Taehyung glanced at her, raising an eyebrow slightly. "Is that a new hoodie?" He stared at the dark fabric covering her body with a red skull and crossbones decal in the center.

"No, it's JK's. He gave it to me after Jimin practically dumped his coffee on me."

"JK's?" He repeated to himself, almost scoffing as he nodded his head.

Kiara watched his reaction closely—how his body suddenly tense up and the corner of his lips pushed downward. She rolled her eyes before shutting them as she leaned her head back into the chair. "Don't start."

"Don't start what?" He chuckled, absent of any joy. "I just find it funny that you come home in his hoodie. He drop you off too?"

"Yes, he did. And it's just a hoodie, Tae. I didn't want to walk around with a huge coffee stain on me, especially in public."

"Samira didn't have anything?"

"No?" She snapped a little, raising her head and opening her eyes to look at him. Taehyung's eyes narrowed at her. "Why would Samira carry around extra clothing?"

"But he did? Or did he peel his own shirt off to give to you?" He laughed, running his hands through his slightly curled locks. "Shit like this always seems to conveniently happen to you. You come home with a piece of JK on you; whether it's his clothing or his smell, you were wearing his boxer briefs once!"

"Oh my god," Kiara mumbled while pressing her fingers to her temple.

"What was that?" Taehyung suddenly raised his voice. Her eyes met his, and just as she opened her mouth to respond, he lifted his hand. He used the gesture to silence her, and it did just that. The words died on her tongue, abandoned sounds running around in her head. "You know, this is getting ridiculous. If I had a girl best friend doing all of this with me, you would've flipped your shit a long time ago."

"Taehyung," she tried her hardest to remain calm. It would've been over if she raised her voice or said something with a hint of sarcasm. "I have been friends with this man for years now. There is absolutely nothing between us."

He scoffed loudly, "That's a likely story." He stood up from the table and walked over to the living room. Kiara sighed as she got up, following after him. She noticed he grabbed his leather jacket and a white baseball cap. He put the hat on to hide his midnight hair.

"Where are you going?" She asked, but there was no response. She rolled her eyes. "Taehyung," she reached out to grab his hand, but he quickly pulled away. He glared at her over his shoulder, making her step back. 

She hated it when he looked at her like that. Like she was something vile, it made every insecurity she had crawl out of the depths of her brain and take center stage. Taehyung slid on some shoes, grabbed his keys, and walked out the front door, slamming it behind him. Her body jumped at the noise, tears stinging her eyes as she watched him pull out of the driveway from her window.

"Fuck," she sighed softly, turning to the table to grab her phone. She frantically clicked on Taehyung's contact, which was sent to voicemail each time. The tears filled to the brim before rolling down her cheeks silently. She used the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe away the waterworks, the hoodie that caused this whole mess. She never understood why he got like this and flipped a switch with ease. It was always over the tiniest things, too. She sat on the couch, chewing on her nails as she repeatedly called the man.

Taehyung was gone for hours, and by the time he returned home, he found Kiara passed out on the couch. She had replaced Jeongguk's black hoodie with one of Taehyung's grey ones instead. He carefully removed his jacket and shoes before walking to the sleeping girl and sitting in front of her. He gently wiped away her smudged mascara, causing her to scrunch her nose as she started to awake. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her nose, and then her cheek. He gently persuaded her to wake up, her tired eyes finally fluttering open to meet his. There weren't any words exchanged between the two before he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was timid and soft. She followed his lead until she couldn't help but yearn for more of him.

The kiss guided Taehyung onto his knees, then to the couch with Kiara, where he found a place between her legs. Her hands ran up his arms, feeling his muscles subtly flexed underneath her touch. Within time, the kiss between the two grew heavier, his tongue gently appearing by grazing past her lip. She parted them just enough to let him in, their tongues gliding past each other as he pressed his hips into hers. Her hand traveled up to his head, where she swiftly pulled the cap off and tossed it to the ground. She ran her fingers through his soft hair, causing a soft moan to escape from his lips to hers.

He broke the kiss as his hand caressed her thigh. His lips found her neck, placing various kisses against her skin until her chest arched into his. And that's where he stayed, adding another bruise to her golden skin where the first one had barely healed. She moaned out for him, pressing her hips into his as she silently begged for more. He stuck his hand between their bodies, slipping his fingers underneath the fabric of her underwear. His middle finger found her clitoris with ease, gently circling it with the pad of his finger. Kiara tensed from his touch and then released. A chorus of moans parted from her throat as she tried to match the circling of her hips to his finger. 

After being satisfied with the bruise on her neck, he crashed his lips into hers again. Her hips bucked against his finger, making his cock throb in his sweatpants. He couldn't wait much longer, breaking the kiss once again. He pulled his hand out of her panties before swiftly sliding them down her legs. He didn't bother with taking his pants off, only pulling them down enough for his member to spring free. He aligned himself with her entrance, sliding his tip in between her lips to lube himself up before pushing forward. She sucked in through her teeth, her brows furrowing as she tried to get accommodated to his length. It stung a little, but Taehyung continued, slowly pulling his hips back and then forward again. As soon as Kiara's face relaxed, he increased his pace.

Her eyes shut as she moaned out for him, gripping his arm tightly as he stretched out her walls. He worked her into the couch, skin slapping together as he fell into a rhythm. He leaned forward, resting his temple against hers as he panted and groaned into her ear. She whined, her hands traveling to his back where nails dug into his skin through the fabric. The power of his hips increased, his tip pressing into her cervix until he suddenly bottomed out and stopped. She could feel him throbbing before he pulled out of her. There was a cool breeze on her lower region as he got up, pulling his pants back onto his waist. He sat down beside her, panting as he used the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow. She felt uncomfortably wet, scared to move in fear of pushing Taehyung's seed out and onto the fabric of the couch.

"I'm going to bed," he said before getting up. He walked towards the bedroom before disappearing from her line of sight.

Kiara's eyes were wide with shock, and she scoffed quietly as she carefully pushed herself off the couch. She grabbed her underwear off the floor and shuffled to the bathroom, where she cleaned herself up. She couldn't understand how, even after that, he could still be cold to her. What was the point if he was still upset? After her shower, she walked into the room and crawled into the space next to him, feeling more alone than before.

↣ next :: previous :: series m.list ↢

[agaypanic]

slow burns are fun until you’re the one writing it.. like wdym i can’t make them kiss yet ???

[cat-downthestreet]

making decisions as an adult has become me, lying in bed on a monday afternoon, trying to figure out if I wanna go for that 100k slow burn or that 25k considerably less slow burn, both about the same gay duo the last fic was about

[rhcpjfmymind]

Extract from the new chapter of my Spideypool fic (enemies to friends to lovers slow burn):

“Wade?!”

Peter hurried to close the distance until he was kneeling by the prone body. His legs were welcomed by cold, coagulated blood.

It was more than three hours since Wade had sent him the first text.

“Wade?” Peter shook his shoulders; Wade’s body moved like a ragdoll. “C’mon man, wake up.”

Wake up? That would happen if he was just unconscious. Peter rolled the Spider-Man mask over his nose so he could breathe, starting to feel dizzy.

“Okay, okay,” he tried to calm himself, hands pulling away from Wade’s unresponsive body. “First aid, I’ve done this a million times.” Then why was he acting like this was his first day in the suit? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that last time, it had been Wade helping Peter with an unconscious person while he’d acted unforgivably careless. Peter took a steadying breath. “Sorry, pal, I’m gonna roll up your mask; I know you don’t like that.”

Taking off his gloves, Peter brushed along Wade’s neck, searching for the edge of the suit; there, he found the mask’s zipper flap. Peter pulled up the zipper and rolled the mask just over Wade’s nose. He pushed Wade’s head back, one hand to his forehead and the other under his chin, his lips parting slightly. He didn’t look closely, trying to respect Wade’s privacy, but he found it hard not to pay attention to what his bare fingers were feeling as he searched for a pulse. Wade’s neck was smooth at the same time as it was bumpy; the skin itself felt smooth to the touch, but it was raised, as if covered in scars. Wade was cool to the touch.

He didn’t feel a pulse.

[chasingpj]

𝐈. 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

“Someone is either having twins or is going to die."

pairing: percy jackson x child of hecate!reader words: 1,929 warnings: none timeline: the lightning thief a/n: finally, the first chapter of the young god rewrite is here! haha, heyyyy. this took way too long. like ridiculously long, and i'm so so sorry. so much happened these last few months. despite it all, i know that i will always return to this story. i can't promise to be consistent, but i will make sure i post very soon. i love you guys and all of your support. it really does keep me revisiting this story. i hope you enjoy this, and don't be afraid to comment! i love hearing what you have to say.

prologue part II

Eager fingers stretch across the keyboard, one by one, to form words, the words into sentences, the sentences into paragraphs. The keyboard was no match for his racing thoughts; every small dent barely satisfied the eagerness in his chest. He could yell at the sky in frustration. Why couldn’t the words just write themselves?

His topic for this lengthy assignment felt unique, equipped with a theory he formulated himself, and he couldn’t contain the excitement of finally documenting his web of ideas. For a while now, the world drowned out around him. No sound or person could get his attention; however, as he marks down a clever thought led to him by her for the first time, his mind wanders.

Florence. The image of her forms in his mind. He visualizes her eyes first. Their green color, how clear they are like moss-covered ponds, and how they droop and pinch at the ends. He can recall the first time he gazed into them, the way they captivated him at first sight. By now, he’s stared into them plenty, and every time, he admired the way they were right at the cusps of both striking and lovely.

She wasn’t his girlfriend. Not yet, at least. She was a friend, a close companion, a like-minded individual that he just so happened to have a major crush on. The side of his mouth quirks upwards. The word crush felt so juvenile but so was his feelings towards her. At his age, he didn’t think he’d find a connection that took him back to the purest form of infatuation from his youth.

He intended to ask for her heart right after the midterms passed. Though, a running feud in his mind questioned whether to ask her when the semester was over. During the summer, they would allow their love to flourish alongside flowers in his mother’s garden. He had fallen in love with the idea but waiting that long didn’t feel right. He knew waiting was stalling the rejection a part of him was expecting to receive.

Another voice in his head told him he was just being paranoid. He’s sure their many outings together had to mean something. Her soft smiles and laughs at his jokes, the tension-filled brushes of their hands. The flirting couldn’t have been all in his head. Right? The idea that he’s misinterpreted it all made him antsy in his seat. It’s enough to release an anxious sigh, and his vision moves upwards to soothe the strain of his neck. His hand rubs the ache, and as he closes his eyes, he suddenly notices a rhythmic creaking.

His mother whispers frantically under her breath, shaky fingers resting on her lips in deep thought. Vincent furrows his eyebrows. It was a rare sight to see his mother so disheveled. Her usually kept hair had wisps out of place, and the look on her face was riddled with torment. She paces again and again, unphased at the bothersome sound of creaking wood or even the harsh thumps of her step. Vincent marvels at how this small woman has such a thunderous stride as if her worry gave her extra weight.

“Um, Mom?” Vincent hesitantly calls, and it’s not enough to catch her attention. “Hello?” He calls for a second time, his voice more pronounced. His mother’s gaze adverts quickly in his direction, and the creaking ends. “Could you not pace? You’re making me anxious.”

“Well, that makes two of us!” Cordelia throws her hands in the air, exasperated. “First, it was the phantom cries—”

“Dad, Mom is losing it.”

“Let her be.” Vincent’s father, Theo, sits back on the loveseat on the younger boy’s right. He waves his hand dismissively, eyes fixed on the crossword puzzle in front of him. After 25 years of marriage, he’s far used to his wife’s paranoia.

“Then the dream where I was in a hospital…. and the geese in the yard! You saw the geese!” Vincent and Theo exchange a look. Cordelia searches for a hint of validation with her frazzled eyes.

“It’s near migrating season, is it not?” Theo points out, scribbling down an answer in the boxes.

“Well, yes… it is, but there were so many! Then, I cracked an egg with two yolks when I was making breakfast this morning!”

“And that means?” Vincent sighs, eyes following her back and forth as if he’s watching an intense tennis match.

“Someone is either having twins or is going to die.”

“Well, let’s hope it’s not the latter,” Theo mutters.

Vincent stifles the chuckle in his throat. “Or you just happened to crack an egg with a double yolk. Not everything is a sign, Mom.”

“I know not everything is a sign, Vincent, but I got goosebumps. Then the candle holder on the altar fell over. Lady Hecate is trying to tell me something. I just don’t know what.” Cordelia makes a beeline for the altar on the other side of the living room. She settles in front of it, adjusting the placement of her offerings with shaky hands.

Vincent sighs, watching his mother whisper a brief prayer for clarity. When she catches her son's eyes, worry flashes in her features.

“Something big is at work here. I’ve asked her countless questions, but the answers are so vague. Last night, I pulled a handful of cards in my divination session with her: The Tower, The Empress, The Page of Swords, The Page of Wands, and The Sun. It all felt domestic, youthful, and transformative.”

Vincent frowns, leaning his chin on the sofa's backrest. Cordelia stares at the tablecloth as if her answer will ascend from it any second now. Suddenly, she gasps, turning to her son sharply. “Have you and Florence—?”

“No! We haven’t!” Vincent groans. He ignores the wave of heat gracing his cheeks and returns his attention to his laptop.

“Well then, what’s all this baby business about?” Cordelia sighs. “Perhaps I’m interpreting it wrong.”

“Perhaps,” Vincent mutters, gaze fixed on the blinking cursor to find his previous train of thought.

“Honey, why don’t you sit down and have some tea? Or you can sit outside and let the neighborhood kids know we’re giving out candy. They always skip our home.” Theo smiles warmly at Cordelia. She sighs once again, her shoulders slumping in defeat this time.

“I guess Funeral Homes are too creepy even on Halloween,” Vincent sighs.

“You know, I’m starting to think that our impressive pomegranate growth in the garden this past summer has something to do with it too!”

Vincent pinches the bridge of his nose, and before he or Theodore suggests Cordelia take up one of their offers, the doorbell rings.

“Maybe your big thing at work is at the door.” Vincent jokes, quickly catching his father trying to hide his smirk.

Cordelia scoffs, fixing her hair in front of the mirror by the staircase. “You both just think I’m a madwoman,” she mutters, trudging downstairs to meet the trick-or-treaters.

There was silence for a while, and both men returned to their tasks before the hysterics. Theo was convinced Cordelia was finally occupied with something, but quickly, his satisfaction curdled into a panic when a wail proceeded to a harsh gasp.

“Mom?”

“Honey?”

The two rise from their seats, eyes widening as the door slams closed. “THEO! VINCENT!”

The calls of their names send their feet moving. They hurry down the stairs and turn the corner through the lounge area. As they appear at the doorway, Cordelia kneels over two golden baskets glowing like lanterns in the darkroom. With glistening eyes, she looks up, her hand over her heart as if it was the only thing preventing it from beating out of her chest.

“Dear Heavens, someone left their babies on our doorstep?” Theo approaches the baskets, kneeling beside his wife. He peeks under the white blankets in need of a closer look to confirm what he’s seeing is real.

“We have to take them to a firehouse,” Vincent gawks, frozen in his spot.

“No! What are you talking about? They’re ours!”

Theo and Vincent exchange glances with each other, pretty sure Cordelia has lost it. As Vincent is about to protest, a choked sob leaves her.

“Lady Hecate sent them; I know it. It all makes sense now.” From Vincent's view, he doesn’t see the letter she’s grasping for dear life on her lap. She shakes her head, “I knew it was her when you brought her into my shop, Vincent. How foolish of me not to recognize my patron in my presence.”

“Mom, what are you going on about?” Vincent kneels beside her. She meets his gaze with a veil of sympathy and presents the letter to him. In gold ink, it shimmered, To Vincent.

“Honey, the babies, they're yours.” There wasn’t a hint of amusement in her tone, but Vincent couldn’t help but scoff. There was no way these two babies were his. It was impossible.

“Is this a prank?” He asks as one of the babies coo and fusses in their blanket.

Cordelia quickly reaches for the child, cradling them until he settles down again. “Lady Hecate has a sense of humor, but I don’t think this is a display. Read the letter.”

Vincent carefully takes it from her, the paper thick in his hand. It didn’t feel like any regular envelope. It was made from a material he couldn’t identify, but its surprising weight is fitting for the heavy news inside. Still doubtful of his mother's conclusions, he opens the letter with shaky hands.

Dear Vincent,

This will come as a great surprise; therefore, I will explain myself the best I can and hope it will be enough. Your mother has been a devotee of mine since her youth, and it was through her did the fates introduce us. My attendance at your presentation was merely an errand; I did not foresee our gazes meeting or our relationship flourishing as it did. It was there I introduced myself as Florence and not by my real name, Hecate. Please do not take the falsehood of my identity as deception. For it was what I had to do to protect you and, as selfish as it may be, to have the room to get to know your soul the way I yearned to.

As for the children on your doorstep, your mother’s suspicions have been right. The twins are ours. They are a physical manifestation of your tender adoration for me and my affection for you. I am confident you and your parents will nurture and keep them well under your roof. You may name and raise them as you please. The only thing I ask is that you see them as gifts, not as burdens. Our time together was unwillingly temporary, and it’s through our twins I could reassure you had a piece of me to keep. Their lives are a lit flame representing our love despite my absence, so please, take your love for me and invest it into them.

As much as I wish to raise them beside you, there are rules I must obey. However, I will never be far. I will watch over your family as I’ve done for over a decade now. Every milestone our twins meet, I will be aware of. I’ll make sure of it. Whoever they become, they will make me proud, and so will you.

Vincent, please take care of yourself. Continue being the wise and gentle man I have fallen in love with.

With lots of love and great apology,

Your Florence

masterlist my lobby: ♡

[toomanyfandomsimfanvergent]

r slowly falling in love with blind!max mayfield...

thoughts?

YES OMG YES, also you said thoughts and I spent way to much time on this...

That's brilliant, because in S5, she will most likely be blind, and may have some other health issues due to A STUPID FUCKER NAMED JASON CARVER WHO TRIED TO KILL LUCAS WHILE LUCAS WAS WITH MAX. AND IF WE GOT RID OF JASON MAX WOULD BE PERFECTLY FINE AND HER WALKMAN WOULD HAVE FUCKING SAVED HER

Also, in this one Vecna died in S4

Blind!Max Mayfield x Reader

May 4, 1988 (Yn's pov, with a little bit of Max's pov)

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

Max was at the park again today. You had only had a brief conversation with her. She had lost her sight in a car accident, it just happened to have happened outside the old Creek house.

You shake off the thoughts, the thoughts that what she was saying wasn't true, and go talk to her. Your footsteps are loud so she doesn't get to spooked.

"Max, it's Yn," you call out when you are only a few feet away. She turns to the direction that your voice came from and you see a ghost of a smile on her face.

"Hey Yn," Max offers a small wave. You wave back, and then mentally kick yourself, she can't see your wave. You were an idiot.

"How's your Mom?" You ask. Her Mom had been so freaked out after everything. This town really was cursed, and Max's poor mom. Her step son was killed in a tragic mall fire, her husband left her, and her daughter was almost killed. You didn't blame her for drinking.

"Steve dropped me off," Max replies and you sit down next to her. You knew what that meant. Her Mom wants doing well, most likely still asleep, that was why Max had called Steve.

It had taken Max a week to have Steve's phone number memorized, it took her a month to learn how to use the phone without her sight.

She learned braille after a while. A little book of phone numbers sits next to the phone. All I'm braille, a reminder of what Vecna had done.

"I could give you my number and I could pick you up next time? Only if you want," you say. God, you sounded like an idiot. You just wanted to help her, not in a pity way. You just knew she hated being helpless.

"I can't read," she reminds with a laugh, you let out a little laugh to.

"I know braille, let me write it down," you say and grab the little notepad in your pocket. You scribble down the number and hand it to her.

She runs her fingers over it and you can see a small smile appear on her face. She couldn't believe you knew braille, or even would be willing to drive her.

Max heard a honk and got up, "Thanks Yn," she says and grabs her walking stick before slinging her backpack over her shoulder and leaving. You smile and say goodbye.

It was nice to have a friend.

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

May 4, 1988 (Steve's Pov)

Steve honked the horn and saw Max with a girl, he recognized the girl. He had seen her and Max talking a few times before.

He saw Max get up and grab her stuff, slowly walking back to his car. She usually called him or one of the other boys to drive her to the park on the weekend.

She didn't usually let Steve stay, and Steve didn't know why the park. She said it was peaceful.

"Thanks Steve," Max says when she gets in the car. Steve notices she looks a little happy.

"It's no problem, really. It's not like I have anything better to do," Steve told the girl. It was true, when he wasn't working he didn't do much other then hang out with the kids.

Max then slipped in her walkman, and Steve knew she was done talking. She hadn't been very open to anybody about anything.

Pushing everybody away, Steve was worried about max.

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

May 29, 1988 (Yn's Pov)

You had been seeing Max every saturday. She was always dropped off by some guy she said was Steve, but today she was dropped off by a curly haired boy. He had brown hair, and he looked like he was only 16 or so.

"Max," you say and she waves in the direction of your voice. Over the last few months you had known her she had always been good at knowing where the voice had come from.

Max walks over, and sits next to you, "Hey, Yn," she says with a smile. You notice she seems more happy then usual.

Her shoulders aren't hunched, she's sitting up straight. Her smile is wider, and lasts longer.

"Who was the kid?" You ask. You had never seen him before. She hadn't told you much of her past, other then a mom who was trying her best and Steve. She told you about Steve a lot.

"Dustin, he is apart of this friend group I used to hang out with a lot," Max replies. She had mentioned there were some kids she used to be close with, but she told you she didn't talk with many people anymore.

"Oh, that's cool," you say and she laughs a little. You didn't know what was funny.

"He's pretty awesome," she says. You were slightly confused but went with it. He probably stood up to some bullies, or he is popular in school. Maybe she even has a crush on him.

"I like your laugh," you say and she blushes. She mumbles a thanks. Her laugh was a nice sound. Kind of like hearing your mom's voice after a long day.

"I haven't seen you at school before," Max comments and then laughs, "I mean I told Lucas about you and he hasn't ever even seen you," Max says and you tell her you go to a school a few miles from there.

"Oh, that cool," Max says in reply. You both carry on in some basic small talk, and she tells you about her old friend group.

She talks until you hear the telltale honk, and see Dustin. He waves, and you wave back. You hand max her backpack as she grabs her waking stick.

"Bye, Yn," Max says.

"See you Saturday," you reply.

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

June 1, 1988 (Yn's Pov with more some thoughts from Max)

You were sitting at home after school. Completely bored out of your mind when you heard your phone ring.

You picked it up, "This is Yn,"

"Uh, hey it's max?" The girl says and you recognize her voice.

"Oh! Hey," you tell her

"I called four other people before I get your number right," she laughs and you let out a little snort.

"Shit," you say in reply.

"Um, you said I could calm if I needed a ride?" Max almost asks.

"I am your own personal chauffeur," you say.

"Cool, do you want to maybe go to the diner? Steve said he saw one around the park," Max says and you smile.

"Where do I need to pick you up from?"

--

You were deciding between a strawberry and a vanilla milkshake. Max had picked a strawberry.

"Screw it, strawberry," you told the waiter. He smiled at you and ran to go out in your orders.

"This place seems pretty nice," you tell her. She smiles at you.

"Steve had a shitty time with women, but he can pick a place to eat," Max says with a small laugh.

You giggle in response. You both engage in small talk, how's school, what did you do last night, the basics.

The waiter brings out your milkshakes and you thank him before putting the straw in Max's and handing it to her.

"Oh, thanks," Max says and smiles again as she tries it, "I pick the best milkshake flavors," she jokes and upon trying yours, she is definitely right.

"So, are you and Lucas still a thing?" You ask nonchalantly. She had mentioned that they dated, never saying if they still were

"No, we were on and off for a few years, we finally decided we were better off as friends," Max tells you before taking another sip of her milkshake.

"Few years?" You ask in shock and she nods. A few years? No guy had been interested in you for more then a week or two.

You both finished your milkshakes, you left some cash on the table, and went out to the car. Max thanked you for taking her out, and you told her it was no problem.

You made basic small talk, nothing special. But max was. After everything she had been through, everything she had lost, she was still happy and smiling.

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

August 28, 1988 (Yn's Pov)

You had been driving Max to the park every Saturday, and Wednesday. You both went there to hang out, and sometimes would stop by the diner before hand to pick up lunch or milkshakes.

But today Steve had wanted to drive Max. Either he missed her or he had something to tell her.

"Okay, Yn. I need to tell you something," Max says and you can tell by the way she is fidgeting that something is wrong. Very wrong.

"You know you can tell me anything," you say. You liked her, you didn't know how it happened. You had always enjoyed her laugh, smile, just being with her.

"You know that girl? Barb, the one who disappeared a while ago? The government cover up was a lie. Same with the mall fire, and same with me," Max says before she tells you everything.

Barb wasn't killed by a chemical leak. She was killed by some beast that drug her to another world. A parallel universe, something called the Upside Down. It had Demo-Dogs and Demogorgons, monster bats and a thing called Vecna.

And it wasn't a mall fire, it was the Mind Flayer. Any death that has occurred in the last five years, was most likely due to the alternate universe.

"Are you okay?" You ask. Having been through all of that, there was no way it didn't take a huge toll on your mental health.

"What? No, I'm fine just blind," she replies a little confused. She was fine, minor side effects. She was still better then Bob, and better then Billy.

"Not physically, mentally. How is your mental health?" You say and she lets out a sad laugh.

"It's complete shit," she replies and you grab her hand she blushes and you start to recall your hand, "No, it's nice," she says.

You feel heat creeping onto your cheeks and are thankful she can't see how much you are blushing.

"I think I like you, more then just like a friend," Max admits and you smile. She liked you back.

"Can I kiss you?" You ask and Max replies by leaning in to kiss you. You find her lips and softly kiss her before pulling away, both breathless.

"That's it, wow," You say and Max sighs.

"Incredible," max says with another happy sigh. You both hear a car honks, Steve had driven max this time.

Max gets up and grabs her stuff before slowly waving and walking back, you tell a bye and she yells back.

You would see her again in a few days and couldn't wait. You would definitely be calling her tonight.

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

August 28, 1988 (Stevie's pov)

Steve had waited a minute before honking after the girls kissed. He knew they liked each other, he knew from the second he noticed how Max was happier.

He couldn't be more happy as he honked and Max came, as fast as she could. The girls waved bye, and Steve swore his heart grew Three sizes.

They were in love, young love was so cute to watch. Watching Max and Yn, it would be nice after everything they had been through.

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

I spent hours on this, and I have no regrets. Not a single one.

Please reblog this if you enjoyed.

My requests are open, if you check my pinned post it has all of the people and fandoms I write for.

[goldsbitch]

Just don't talk-

-if you can't hear me. p2 to Just don't talk

summary: Enemies to lovers on steroids. Lando can't stand Y/N, the first female driver in F1. He also can't stand not having her with her clothes on.

warnings: minors do not interact, biting, cursing...just generally don't take this one too seriously

It would have been too obvious by the media teams to put Lando and Y/N together in a video out of the blue without any obvious reasons. The brands were not connected in any way and had a completely different online strategy. But serious damage had been done by the two at their last joint interview, so there was a meeting between the teams and F1 media and the request to have them paired up together at a next bubbly F1 video was bargained for and agreed upon in exchange for some favors.

There was a long and very detailed briefing for each of them. At the end they even received something resembling a script. They were both quite good at public speaking and charming the crowds, but it only worked on a spontaneity and intuition base. They were far from actors and the more instructions they received, the more mad it made them, each one in a different way, of course, because hell would freeze over before these two had found something in common. Lando had to fight the urge in him to slam the doors on all of these people. All this media planning was making Y/N dizzy. Had it been anyone else, she'd be slaying this like a pro. But for some stupid reason the PR teams were just not going to let them go and bury their little feud down. She thought this was a bad idea anyway - nothing good could come out of this.

And yet, there they were. Getting ready for the shoot in an F1 hospitality centre, with twenty other people, mostly film crew members. The two barely looked at each other, let alone said hello, just casually pretending the other one is invisible. The director really tried to get them hyped up before the shoot, resulting in one of the most awkward silence the poor lady had ever had the misfortune to have on her set. Only once she gave up and excused herself pretending to be adjusting the camera shot, did Lando shoot a quick look at Y/N. She'd already been looking at him. In that one look they shared their own hidden amusement, obviously enjoying having people being thrown into awkward situations because of their own incompetence to manage each other. At least, this was what Y/N was thinking. Lando was thinking about the gap between her thighs. And only she saw the way his eyes shot down shamelessly to her chest and giving her a quick approving look, probably non verbally complimenting the way hot the race suit covered her chest tightly.

"Who does a whisper challenge in this day and age anyway?" was an unspoken thought that many people shared while getting ready for yet another whisper challenge video to complete the collage of several driver from different team duos, one of which being the pair that was secretly playing with each other under the bedsheets every other night.

Finally, after final touch ups, they were sitting on a couch, across each other and as far away as the couch allowed. That was a conscious decision, as their bodies were becoming so familiar to the proximity and contact, that they had to actively stop each other from mimicking each other's gestures. "Ok guys, I understand this might not be the most comfortable thing you ever did, but we will have to push through it. Lando, will you be ready to introduce the video concept?"

"Yeah, sure," Lando sighed, trying desperately not let anything he that was actually on his mind slip his mouth. Like for example how stupid this was.

He turned his full on youtuber style speech mode on within seconds, actually shocking Y/N.

"Welcome everyone, we're here with F1 and today, we'll be trying a cross team whisper challenge - you never know with whom you'll be sharing a team in the next years anyway!" he said, having the first line vaguely memorized.

"Cut," said the director immediately after that first line. "Thank you Lando, that was some great energy," she dug deep into her professional training and started on the one thing that was positive. "But, the line should be something like "because we rarely get to know one another", your version is opening up place for some unwanted speculations. And, Y/N, you were obviously not ready, as your expression in more of a shock that excitement." It took them five more takes on this before the director made a note mentally to shoot a back up version with a different driver pair.

All the questions had a weird undertone. They were competing more than this situations required. People normally laughed during the takes - Lando was an expert on this, he did videos like this with Oscar often, and he gave him almost nothing to work with. He still managed. Not with Y/N. Tension grew over time. Y/N got almost all of her guesses on the first go. When it was his time, he was opted for staying silent than taking a wrong guess, so she had to repeat everything three times at least. Nobody in the room was having fun. The media interns present were terrified of having to present this at their next meeting and were already trying to find the most upbeat song to pair this up with in their group chat. Few more questions to end this nightmare of an afternoon for everyone.

"Would you like drive with me or do you prefer Oscar?" Lando's face was blank. Not giving any reaction. Y/N took a deep breath and looked to Lando's eyes once again. Same look as she had that one time he tied her up. Frustrated. "Would you like drive with me or do you prefer Oscar?" Still nothing. Dry. She smiled and repeated, loudly as if that was to help. "Would you like drive with me or do you prefer Oscar?" Lando finally responded. Without a beat. "Would you like to ride with me to see who comes first? Brain reads what the mind wants. One would think silence does not have a volume. Anyone present in that room on that day would know better. There were levels to silence and this was a loud one.

Now, innuendos were fairly normal theme in whisper challenges. And they were fun, little things to spice a lonely afternoon for those who were watching. But there was just something in the chemistry these two had that you could not just laugh it off or go on the "will they won't they" route. Aggressive undertone overcame any other vibes. There were two other lines for Lando to guess, he did not get any of them and the whole shoot was quickly wrapped up after. Both of them exited, again, without a word to anyone. Y/N was fuming internally. She texted Lando to come and see her immediately. So her dressing room it was.

"What the fuck, Lando?!"

"Hello to you too, miss fun," he responded, annoyed as ever.

"Don't. Just don't."

Communication was definitely not something they'd win contests at.

"You're exhausting me! I'm like...so mad!"

"Eloquent. You should write poetry. Would be treat to read," he responded, unfased by her outburst.

"Fine. Fuck you then," she lost it completely, anger and frustration built up in her finally taking the best of her. He thought she was mad? He hadn't seen mad. She could not care less of what he thought of her. When she got closer to him, he thought she was going for a kiss. Instead she grabbed him arm and bit him hard. Shock wave ran thought Lando and he froze in the spot. She held her teeth in long and firmly. Shock was quickly replaced by pain, a lot of pain. He played a hero for few moments and then gasped. She stopped with the first sound he made. He stared at her, shocked, confused and weirdly turned on. The pain turned into adrenaline high. A really strange high. He quickly looked at his arm and saw a bruise forming, marking the shape of her teeth. She had a proud look on her face, finally getting it out of her system.

"Great. Better now. Hope it stays on for weeks."

With that, she walked away, leaving confused and dazed Lando behind in her dressing room. He could still feel her teeth in and the adrenaline as if he had just drank three double espressos in one sitting. Why was this turning him on. Why was anything she did the hottest thing anyone ever did. And how the fuck was he suppose to cover this up. He had a photoshoot scheduled for tomorrow. And when was he going get to fuck her again?

p3

[liminalweirdo]

A sense of some fire getting close a super dark times fic

(chapter 9 up)

Josh and Zach do teenage things like crushing milk cartons, learning to drive, and realizing that being in love with your best friend fucking sucks sometimes fucks with your head and with your heart in ways you never thought possible

Of all of his friends, Josh is the only person who touches him with softness, and it’s always over too soon, over before it’s started. Over and over Zach finds himself pinned between his kitchen counter and Josh, and it makes his heart speed up.

[miguel-ohara-wifey]

I’ll find you

Chapter 3: Follow you

Cowboy!Miguel O’Hara x fem!Reader

Rating: 18+

Prompt: Your past finds you, so you decide weather you’ll take the fight to them or continue hiding. And Miguel’s there no matter what you choose.

Warnings: violence, death, grief, mention of child death, mention of domestic abuse, misogyny

Word count: 3.1K

Under the gently dying light of the setting sun, you and Miguel both sat on the floor of his garden. Your knees’ planted into the dirt permits your balance. As the pair of you picked away at the tiny buds of garlic that’s begun to grow.

Having already harvested the tomatoes, carrots, and eggs from an hour ago. In a short distance from the small rooster shed. Hearing the few chickens he has cluck through the firm black wood. Miguel went on about when’s the right time to pick for fruits and vegetables. Your family were hunters not gardeners, so it was rather educational.

Once the bucket was a third full, he instructs “That’s enough, I’ll let the rest grow for a few more days…” your gave an affirming nod. You stood up, your vision landing on the bulky chipped fence that divided the area of his garden, chicken shed, and goat shed from the rest of the forest. Built low enough so Miguel himself just about see over, but high enough to stop the average predators from climbing over.

He grabbed the bucket from the ground, a dark brown coated the fabric just around your knees. In all honesty half of the picking was getting lost in chatting. About books, theatre, and math; don’t ask how that conversation devolved. Once only the souls of your shoes were pressed to the earth you inquired.

“What’s next?!” With a brimming smile on your face, he laughs “Nothing. We’re done…” you dreaded those words. You needed a distraction any distraction until your eyelids became boulders pressing you to sleep. You then skipped to the fence, unlocking the door saying “Hey I can hunt! Get our next meal ahead of time-“ Miguel violently fidgets witnessing you try to go beyond the door frame of the fence.

“No! Theres trip wires beyond the house!” You paused and drawback inside the fences perimeters. Until it dawns on you. The fence is wide and tall enough to keep predators out of the garden. And he used the word tripwires not animal traps. Your suspicions quake inside your mind and fell from your mouth “Trip wire for what?…” Miguel crushed his lips for a moment, trying to swallow the undeniable pause of how he’s going to work around this. And he manages to do so almost expertly “it’s dangerous for you cause you don’t know where they are. Just stay inside the fence and you won’t get hurt.” Your brows furrow in mild annoyance at Miguel dismissing your bid for the truth.

But again, he’s given you food, a warm bed, and a safe home. You’re not jumping to complain. But not knowing makes you all the more afraid. If anything you get what you want regardless. Your minds too uneasy about what you should expect from Miguel’s past. Than to be from your own.

~~Middle of that night~~

Neither of you could sleep, you wound up just lounging on the couch beside one another. As the veil of night enveloped the forest, with tiny stars shining down. You were unable to see the constellations with the wooden roof above you and Miguel’s heads. Illumination within the cabin was brought in and sustained by a lone oil lamp. It’s canister half gone, propped in the center of the coffee table beside the couch.

You made your arm a pillar for your head in between your hand and the couch’s left arm rest. As Miguel say with his back to his own arm rest, you smiled inquiring “Want to know something Miguel?” He nods quietly letting you speak.

“You’d make a killing with women if you had the least bit of confidence.” He chuckled halfway through your sentence. He grinned at you when his initial laughter faded. He had to say something back.

“Oh don’t worry I have…” you raised your eyebrow doubtfully, teasing “They the type of women who adore when a man dodges every and all of there personal questions about himself? Hm?” You moved your arm off your head, lifting its weight with your neck once again. Pushing your entire back onto the arm rest, mimicking Miguel’s sitting position. He kittenishly grinned, “Oh definitely. Never had anything long term before actually…” his gently wording reminiscing killed his smile.

“Really?” Now that surprised you, you fully expected Miguel to deflect the question or pretend it never existed. But even to Miguel’s own shock, he indulged you “Not for a lack of trying…just accepted I won’t be one to find my soulmate or true love or what have you…” you glued your lips together tighter in thought, you had so many swirling in your skull. As only one possible response arrived to the surface, and crawled through your mouth towards Miguel. You spoke almost shamefully.

“You don’t believe in true love?” Miguel’s eyes had a gleam now, hatched from the back of his mind by what you had said. Miguel’s a sweet man, you’ve seen every shade of his generosity and patience. But nows the only moment in the near two days straight you’ve spent with him. To now actually know him, the mask of niceties and good will cast aside. You catch an edge of bitterness in his face and tone, weather at himself or others you couldn’t tell. Perhaps both.

“I do. Never stopped believing in it, just stopped believing in me…” you unconsciously adopted a look of pity, a stiff frown with an uneven furrow of your brows. Miguel hadn’t said much, but reading his meaning was enough to infer so much of what he had been through. The bitterness sharpened itself as he shook his head, “I don’t know…haven’t thought about it in years…” you sensed his anger was now directed at you.

Receiving pity from you, the woman whose lost her daughter before her very eyes. Was almost killed by her husband, whose had to abandon everything she knows and everything she has just to keep her life. Yet somehow this vague philosophizing of his was worth such pity? You stopped by turning away your gaze from his, now you both are glancing at the floor.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped.” You meekly confessed, he shook his head. With it the buried anger dissipated entirely out of sight “No it’s okay…” you didn’t quite believe him, and by Miguel’s tone he didn’t believe it himself. But you both dropped it, in turn he changed the subject “And honestly, you have a point, we’re complete strangers still despite everything. So for the sake of fairness, may I ask you a personal question?” A nervousness tunneled itself from your chest down to your gut. Leaving an aching emptiness above your waist. You squirmed in your seat giving an approving nod. He asked away.

“Was your daughter the only real family you had left?” Tears didn’t well in your eyes despite the soul destroying fact of the matter that she was. This is a reality you’ve accepted for years. Mona was all you had, your entire life was her safety and happiness. Now both have been cruelly cut short by that soulless monster you made the mistake of having be her father. You know you failed her before she was ever born.

“Yes.”

Your response slightly unnerved Miguel, it was to the point. A rigid mask of acceptance fell onto your face as he asked. Not a crease or dimple of emotion cut through your expression. Plus the following chill of nothing further to add or explain on your end didn’t help matters.

“I’m going to bed. Good night.” You robotically proclaim with a whisper standing up. Then stiffly making your way up the stairs to your guest room. Not giving even a glance of acknowledgment to Miguel before, after, or during. A shamelessly abrupt end to the conversation from you. For once the personal conversation roles were exchanged between you and Miguel. Miguel sighed a breath heavy with regret and stained with shame. And he soon followed to sleep.

~~An hour later~~

What scared you most as you laid in bed, was you had no more tears left. Not for a lack of capacity but desire to expel them. Despite the unignorable reminder of how Mona’s the last person alive who truly loves you and cared for you. And you to her as her mother. You had felt freed, Thomas was always in the backdrop of every waking moment with Mona. He’d rarely raise his hand or his voice against you.

However the smaller moments of demeaning your self esteem, worth, and mental faculties is how he tore you down piece by piece over the years. How he’d literally wave his hand to push you away whenever you approached him at an inconvenient time. He never once would raise a finger to help you with Mona, and when you dared ask he’d either laugh or question why ask him. How he’s the shadow of your entire life with Mona. It was grueling and made you sick in your gut to realize.

Yet you were finally free of what everyone around you expected of you. Not weighed down by your husband, your neighbors, your “friends”. Nor a precious human life that was entirely dependent upon you. In the cruelest way possible, the universe had given you an out.

Miguel entered your room not even a second as those thoughts swam through your mind. You stood up in the bed and asked “What is it-“ Miguel cut you off, he was bent down slightly in the door frame. To mask his visage among the shadows of the dark room.

“The trip wire’s in front of the house went off. Someone’s on there way here-“ he instructed whispery, his warning was punctuated by a crash of a bullet through the window on the furthest wall of your room. He dashed behind the bed as he pulled you down to the floor. You both used the mattress and bed frame as cover. You both hear a voice as obnoxious as nails on chalkboard.

“COME OUT WE KNOW YOU’RE HERE-“ Miguel and you traded aggressively puzzled expressions. It wasn’t someone Miguel or you knew. Could they just be robbers? Miguel didn’t give you time to find out yourself, he pressed a key into your left palm saying “This is the key to the panic room downstairs, just go to the basement and it’s in the stairway cubby. Go there until I get you-“ you scoffed “What?! What if you need help?” Miguel reassured with a weight of annoyance in his tone “Just go I’ll be fine.”

Gentlemanly, he guided himself from behind cover first, allowing you to follow behind crotched beneath the windows’ view with him. As the man kept on shouting, clearing up your questions from moments ago. “Come out whore! Your husband wants to see you!” Miguel mumbled “They are aware you have a name right?” You playfully snarled “Honestly it’s fifty fifty chance.”

That changed things however, your husband knew where you and Miguel were. And paid more goons to try to drag you back. Or kill you, neither of which is happening tonight. But it complicates matters. By the time Miguel and you crawled to the top of the stairs leading to the basement. He looked you in the eyes and mumbled “Promise me you will stay there until I get you.” You huffed quietly, with a “I promise.” Punctuating your silent disapproval. You do plan to stay regardless of how much the idea upsets you.

Beneath the veneer of blackness enveloping the house, you could see the shine of relief pierce across his face. He didn’t do this to control you or get you out of the way. Or ask you to promise as a means of undermining your intelligence. It’s because he doesn’t want you hurt. You can feel the shaking of his blood underneath Miguel’s tanned skin at the prospect of you getting hurt. Once his lightly calloused yet tender palms covers your own. With a discreet rub of his fingers against your flesh. As if to have his fingers savor the rub of you on him. Like one would savor a sweet, hot tea. He then breaks away to head for the front door.

You then make your way downstairs, after sighing in disappointment at the severing of your skin. Once your feet start pushing down onto the creaky steps when you enter the windowless concrete cellar. You hear the front door rush open and Miguel shouting back at them. His words are an intangible fog of his otherwise deep, warming voice. Then a shot goes off right as your done fumbling the key in the key hole of the panic room door.

You pause, then leave the key in the lodge as you face back upstairs. Miguel out front contending with the armed stooges doesn’t hear you rushing upstairs. You remember where he keeps his hunting rifle, when it’s in your grip. You double check to see if it’s loaded. When you see it is, you snatch a magazine. Then get to a prominent spot in the attic. There’s a couple windows, and you choose the smallest one. Less likely to face retaliation and far less of a chance of dropping the weapon.

Through the somewhat dusty scope you attached to it, you view the scene. Miguel isn’t fighting, he’s putting his hands up. Coming to them trying to convince them you’re not there.

“I’m sure this all a big misunderstanding-“

“MY ASS! We know she’s here! Just give her up she’s just a girl, ya ain’t gotta risk it like this partner….” A flash of terror washed over your face. The possibility of Miguel giving you up hadn’t crossed your mind until now. He’s already killed 3 men for you, now by your counting he’ll have to kill 5 more. Not to mention eating his food and sleeping in his bed. Your husband can bankroll an army until he gets what he wants. That’s usually how he handled things. Even if you dealt with these men, more will come. However Miguel responded in kind.

“Search my entire house until you’re satisfied, whoever you’re looking for isnt here! Honest!” Your heart skipped a beat, the presumption that pity is why he was doing all this for you died behind your eyes. You’d blush, if the burn of rage didn’t flare beneath your skin instead. Upon eating up the sight of these men.

These pieces of shit, with no honor or diginity the minute money is thrown at them. They’ll hunt someone down, kill, and brag about it all for tokens of yellow metal. And conveniently wash there hands of all responsibility cause “it was just a job”. Wearing the uniform of the mercenaries who killed Mona no less. A quiet movie only you can see unfolds before you. All the years they sustained your husbands cruelty. Shooting Unionizing workers, robbing people who couldn’t pay his ridiculous fees, shaking down even the smallest of competitors. Mona is just the latest victim of theres you’ve witnessed.

Your lungs start to heave in rage, your finger finding itself shaking against the trigger. The tiny red dot centering the scope hovered almost perfectly in the middle of one of the men’s skulls. The noise of Miguel’s discussion with the men was eaten away by the resentment flooding your brain. All that was left was some ideas of a plan of to do swimming like bugs. But one thought is clear as you bite it through your gritting teeth, Mona will be there last victim.

A soft click was all it took to push the bullet out of the open window, through the man’s skull. You cocked another bullet in the rifle a half moment before anyone below could react. Giving you the time needed to drill a second bullet through another man’s skull.

Before instinctively ducking below the opening, now seeing splitters flying off from the ceiling. By the shitty returned fire of the goons able to fire back. Miguel curses before the sounds of claws tearing apart flesh can reach where you sat in the attic. With the rifle around your body you rushed down to the front door. Hearing the sounds of fighting grow in volume the closer you are to the front door.

Once you swung it open, you had already reloaded. Taking out one of the mercenaries who unluckily stuck his head above cover the moment he came into your view. Once popping a chunk of his skull from under his skin. You realized Miguel was just finished severing one of there necks in half with his talons.

Then launching himself at the last one standing, before he could even pathetically cry for mercy. Miguel’s fangs are planted through his throat. Having his vocal cords and tip of his lungs ripped from his body. He can’t deny having to swallow back vomit watching the scene. But you won’t complain, they’re dead.

Miguel once bus huffing concludes, your grip on your gun loosens in nervousness of what Miguel will say. His shirts natural res washes out the stains of blood. As there bodies litter the road before his house. He looks at you and asks passively annoyed “What the hell?”

Shame hung off of your sunken face, but not regret or guilt. All you spoke in response was “I had to. And when I’m gone they won’t come to your house anymore. I’m taking the fight to these fucks.” As you attempt to match off. Miguel discreetly stands between you and the horizon of the road away, sighing out an understanding “Alright-“

“If you’re thinking of trying to stop me-“ you defensively bite back

“I never said that.” He quieted you gently, he continued with a sad weight on his face. As Deja Vu pressed out from his mind towards his eye sockets. Displaying a look of defeat beneath his eyebrows, his handsome features often plagued with a disquieted despair.

“I know you’ll go weather I come with or not. So I might as well join. Let’s just grab some supplies and another gun, then we’ll be off.”

Now you have infinitely less of an idea of who this man is now than you ever have. Why do all this for you? Food, bed, protection, killing for you. What made you so special? As much as that curiosity eats away your thoughts. You knew this wasn’t the time, you had a child and an entire life to avenge. Not just your own that’s for certain. You gave a determined nod, with a simple.

“Thank you.” Leaving your grateful smile, and just like that. He curved his own lips up in response.

[archer-aiming-for-heart]

i have no idea why some people dont like slow burn. i mean you've been watching two idiots slowly realising their feelings during 1000 chapters and there's a little reward in the end. they're finally holding hands, isnt it pretty?

[hazel-islivingtrash]

Don't know how many people this will reach but here goes nothing!

~~~

I've been writing a slow burn Satosugu fluff fic where they're both single parents that meet and start falling for each other! I would love if you would go and check it out <3

***The story is rated mature and with a warning of graphic depictions of violence.

Current status of the fic: 10 out of 25 chapters complete, just over 50k words, updates on Saturdays around 3pm Eastern time ❤️❤️