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m6rija · 5 months ago

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⟡ ⠀teaser⠀⠀⊹⠀⠀ jiaoqiu, hoshinas, jouno, hyoga, pantalone & you

gn reader who finds teasing their partner endearing. minor kn8 spoilers. hyoga is soft, jouno is possesive, might be a tad suggestive for soshiro. written before the snezhnaya release.

jiaoqiu

it was common to see the two of you together in the kitchen, discussing delightful flavors and intricate recipes. your relationship was cemented by the wide culinary world, and you considered your relationship a serendipity brought on by that world— who knew that an acclaimed chef and a healer would end up together?

at least that's how it was for him, as you were keenly aware of those little words and actions you did just to mildly annoy your colleague, who saw these as simple tests put on your part for him to solve. something you ultimately used to your advantage to get jiaoqiu in your hands, who wouldn't complain.

lately, however, this dynamic would have begun to wane, after finding your partner unable to see you.

perhaps you were afraid that your monotone tone would not give away that it was a joke when you said something to him, in the absence of your face grimacing in amusement.

but the one with vulpine features was smart, and was aware of your change in behavior.

“i can feel you, your gaze on me." a soft smile would remain on his face as the man did something in the kitchen.

“you could hurt yourself cooking." you noticed his ears perk up, attentive to what you were saying.

he would tilt his head to the side, as he continued to do his thing in the kitchen. "you didn't used to be like this."

"it's normal for me to worry about you, it would be very cruel for me to switch the spices around or something." you crossed your arms, annoyance and confusion of the hand on your head.

“i wouldn't mind.”

“hah?” you frowned, taking one of the spices containers in your hand to then place it somewhere else— just for him to hear, as you would soon return it to its place silently.

“that's my spouse.” he cooed softly, velvety.

at that, you would form a thin line with your lips, while your hands took another container to this time —for real— change it completely. “i bet you won't be able to find them.”

your cheeks were slowly getting red, a small smile forming in your face.

“are you sure about that?”

“completely.” you laughed.

regardless of what happened, you'd give your partner a hand. after playing with him a little, maybe.

soshiro

separated by divisions, it was not particularly well known that a cadet from the sixth division maintained a relationship with the acclaimed vice captain of the third division. perhaps everyone thought that he would not get along particularly well with the members of the unit led by his older brother.

however, your closeness with soshiro would not go unnoticed by the observant new members of the third division— who watched attentively as, with a smile, you spoke to hoshina while keeping a distinctly short distance.

“it wouldn't be such a big deal if everyone knew” you commented, taking your food between chopsticks, sitting next to him. “i mean, i know you like to be discreet, but come on, it's been a long time.”

"y'know my position on workplace relationships" he sighed, eyes on yours "besides, it's not something that's inherent."

"oh, then you'd be very afraid that at this very moment i might kiss you, aren't you?" you laughed softly, aware of the curious glances the two of you had begun to catch since you sat down together.

the narrow-eyed one remained silent, though that trademark grin of his would not twist at any moment. even, he widened it to such an extent that one of his fangs peeked over his lower lip.

“we both know ya won't, sweetheart.”

you leaned in just barely, noses almost brushing and breaths colliding, intent on intimidating your partner. “are you afraid of cadets watching us kiss? you sound like a child, soshiro.”

though your breath was stolen in the second as the man would sink his fingers through your hair and pull you closer to him, finally bringing your lips together in a soft but steamy kiss, in which he would make sure to bite your bottom lip with his fangs a couple of times; culminating in laughing at your surprised expression.

“don't think i'll go easy on you, you've earned it.”

you were about to complain, but hoshina had left his seat.

“hey!” you called out to him, regardless of the heads you managed to turn at the scene the two of you were starring in— personally you didn't care what they thought, but you feared what soshiro would have in mind for you after this.

“see you in my office this afternoon, cadet.” he smiled at you as he walked away.

soichiro

the most famous, new and intriguing topic of the sixth division would be how a cadet who had just joined the division began to climb the ranks from one day to the next. it was said that they came from the third division, and that this person was the new dispute between the hoshina— they were arguing about “who could handle your military strength better” or something like that the members of both divisions imagined, since it was uncertain why the brothers mentioned you when they were discussing.

but it would be when soichiro would call you to his office that some cadets would approach the said space with the intention of listening to the conversation between you, curious even though they knew very well that what they were doing was an improper act and if they were caught by someone of high rank perhaps their jobs would be at risk.

“did i end up being a toy for you?” you would start, in a calm voice despite what you implied with your words. “it's not nice to wake up every day to messages from your brother, you know?”

“my brother talks to you more than he talks to me…?” a soft, comical tear would slide down one of the cheeks of the white-stranded one, who would cover his face as if his heart had broken.

“i've treated him better than you, it's only natural.” that was like a shot to the captain's chest, and his head was now buried in the surface of the table.

you would bring your hand to the man's hair and walk it over it with a certain delicacy, as if you were caressing a swallow. “but i have already made up my mind, and for that i would like to remain in the sixth division.”

soichiro would lift his head expectantly, your fingers now entwining through the loose hair on his forehead.

“i would like to be your spouse.” you stated confidently, looking attentively at the person in front of you.

it was a long few months of bickering. you had been arranged to marry the eldest hoshina— you were no more than a colleague the brothers knew and yet the youngest was completely opposed to the idea that one of his most valued cadets would be his older brother's spouse. in the end the brothers would end up fighting over your hand and it would be you who would decide who to marry, at their request.

“but it will be you who will inform soshiro of this.”

you watched as another faint tear slid down his face, and you were amused at the effect his poor relationship with his younger brother had on him.

jouno

a relationship as thorny as the people in it, members of the hunting dogs and with fangs as sharp as cobra— jouno and you shared similar tastes, habits and behaviors that isolated you from the rest of the group. sadistic, the criminals you caught would hang on to the thread of their lives while begging not to be disposed of.

it was easy to speculate that this facade was nothing more than something constructed for the job you had. but that couldn't be further from the truth, for your colleagues knew perfectly well that this behavior was your crude personalities.

as well as when his hand would sink to your hip as you whispered dirty lies in his ear in a low tone, bitter comments just to play with your boyfriend's jealous nature. his muscles would tense and his smile would become forced as he felt your body press against his, your hands placing themselves with tenuous delicacy on one of his shoulders to direct your lips to his ear— you were aware of how much he hated to hear another man's name slipping out of your mouth.

you were playing with fire, you knew it perfectly.

oh, but how you loved to do it.

you were returning from a mission you had been assigned with tecchou: your planning and implacable intelligence were the key to victory, while your colleague's strength and agility were indispensable when it came to fighting those against you.

you praised the brown-stranded man's assistance like a sugar-coated mantra— your ears were used to being drowned out by nasty opinions about him, so it was a pleasant surprise to find that he was just a simple man who exasperated your boyfriend.

however, that you sat at the meeting table next to him, shared smiles together with him and looked at him with such affection would cause jouno to give you a certainly bitter expression. and not only to you, but to tecchou as well.

“someone's in a bad mood” you whispered to the one who had taken a seat next to you, covering a soft chuckle that escaped your lips with one of your hands.

you were doing it on purpose, and jouno should be used to your antics by now— but it seemed he still wasn't, not at all. “it's only natural. i thought i told you i didn't like you doing that.”

“what thing?” you played innocent, noticing how jouno felt you lean into the man next to you. “see? he does this kind of thing often.”

“you should stop treating your partner like this.” commented tecchou, face showing almost complete disinterest in the conversation. to him, as well as the rest of your coworkers, it was obvious that you were simply toying with jouno, and it was best not to pry too much.

“i won't take the word of someone like you. stay out of other people's relationships.” growled back jouno, almost immediately.

“don't treat tecchou like that, sai.” you shook your hand, then placing it on one of the opaque-haired one's shoulders. you had drawn a pout, looking at your partner almost as if you were begging him. “he's just being a good friend, he's not as bad as you think.”

with his brow furrowed, he would let his head rest on his arm propped on the wooden table. “your next missions will be only with me. i don't want to see you alongside people like him.”

no matter how much you complained, certainly, you would only get a chance to be with tecchou in group activities. jouno was serious about taking care of what belonged to him.

hyoga

your hand was sinking into the pale hair of the man sitting next to you— quietly enjoying his meal, you watched him with a playful smile on your face. you didn't expect the most reserved man of all the people on board to confess anything about his relationship with you.

he had mentioned something to you about it being inherent if he wanted to depetrify you: probably someone would ask something about how you knew each other, since no one had ever seen you together— you had joined the kingdom of science as a double-faced agent but no one was aware of it, not even gen himself, who usually meddles in other people's business.

you didn't quite know why they hadn't brought you back to life before, but they probably would eventually regardless of whether hyoga said anything or not.

“were you so eager to see me that you couldn't wait a little longer?” you laughed, watching as his brow furrowed slightly. “surely they were waiting for a more suitable time to wake me up. i'm a warrior too, you realize?”

you would lean back against one of his shoulders, his plush garment kissing the exposed skin of your neck and face ever so gently— without expecting for him to comment any further.

“you are precious to me.” you heard, soft enough to be almost lost amidst the sound of waves crashing against wood.

you'd lift your head to look at him, completely surprised. it was rare that he would allow himself to say such gentle things, and it seemed that tonight he was in a particularly good mood.

“i can't believe i'm that important to hyoga.” you commented loudly, audible enough for people nearby to hear, and your partner's ears colored a soft red as he sank his face into his food to ignore what you were doing.

“ah, if only he would say it more often so i wouldn't doubt so much…”

“i love you.”

it was fleeting, but your heart stopped in that split second. you'd let out a smile followed by a laugh, watching as he buried his face under his mask after finishing his meal.

“make a wish, hyoga is being romantic!”

“he looked like a serious guy when we fought. i see he's someone weak in front of the people he loves.” moz commented with a chuckle, receiving a threatening look from the taller one.

the truth is, he was thinking about the uncertainty that followed his trip to america, and how deeply afraid he was of losing you.

so he decided it would be best to make it clear how he felt about you rather than regret not having done so.

pantalone

who would have thought that a simple designer would be deeply involved with the fatui. your workspace was nothing more than a small location on the cold snezhnaya, a cozy place that greeted with countless outfits and garments meticulously constructed with each of your clients' preferences in mind.

sunk among fabrics, intricate stitching and refined patterns, it had become complex for you to notice that a hand had taken place on one of your shoulders— the pressure it applied being so gentle and delicate. it was the scent of a cologne that would cause your concentration to waver and consequently you would notice the weight at your side.

upon verifying who it was after turning your head, you would turn off your sewing machine and leave your seat behind to properly greet the person now in front of you. “good evening, sir.”

his laugh, low but melodious, was the prelude to a warm-looking smile. “good evening, sweetheart.” he would then express his curiosity at how formally you were addressing him, despite being in a private space.

you would comment that the walls were thin— perhaps one of your staff could hear more than they should.

with your short steps accompanying your calm tone, you lifted with your hands the piece that the regrator must have come for. it was a suit of dark shades adorned with silver details, of a clean finish and stunning appearance.

“it's a shame not to be able to participate in such luxurious events” you remarked, the man in front of you paying attention to the attire that now rested in his hands.

your greatest pleasure has always been to see your clients wearing the pieces you worked for so long— you have never had the opportunity to see pantalone wearing any of them despite being his designer of choice, partially because he only commissioned things for specific events you could not attend.

“i've offered you several invitations and your response has been the same.” his smile never wavered, his eyes now fixed on you attentively.

you sighed, softly. “events organized for prestigious individuals are not my place.” you recited as usual the same words you used to decline his invitations.

you rested one of your hands on the edge of a desk made up of dark wood, fabric scraps hugging your fingers.

“it would be improper to question the guests of a harbinger.” the dark-haired one would mention that as he approached you.

“the regrator is bringing a mere designer as a guest? it wouldn't look appropriate.”

“it's you we're talking about” his distance was short enough that you felt trapped between his figure and the desk bathed in fabrics. “promoted by the fatui— the most renowned designer in snezhnaya. even remarkable people from other nations come to you, don't they?”

“you flatter me” you lowered your head, feeling small in front of him. “but i would still feel out of place.”

“then i will organize a gala you can call your place.” he cupped your chin with his hand clad in a black leather glove. “the guests would wear your works, everyone would have eyes for you.”

“i'm afraid if i take a large number of jobs, my time would be scarce to attend the event.” his hand would go up to one of your cheeks, his thumb dancing over your warm skin.

“then it will be as soon as you are finished.” his smile was serene, but you well knew he felt victorious holding you in the palm of his hand.

“i can't refuse, can i?” you laughed softly.

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hiding-under-the-willow · 5 months ago

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If the hermit recap team is a paranormal investigation group I wonder what everyone thinks of them, at least Ghost-wise. Are they good at their job? Or do the ghosts watch them flail?

Okay so there's this episode in the show where the main characters attempt to get the ghosts to put on a big show of haunting the house for a bunch of paranormal investigators so they can charge people for ghost tours but all of the ghosts go on strike so they have to fake a haunting in a house that's already haunted. There is a subplot in this episode where a pair of ghosts spend the entire episode presenting a fake radio show to a recording device that's supposed to pick up ghosts, only for it to be revealed at the end that it doesn't actually work and it didn't pick them up at all. I was thinking about this episode both when creating Joe's character and when I decided I wanted the recap team to be reoccurring paranormal investigator characters.

Because I think it would be pretty funny if Joe, who was a radio host in life and can be heard through radios, recording devices, and other technology in death, did this whole bit, only for the team to come back at the end to pick up their recording device, listen back to the recording, briefly getting excited, only for Pix to go "Wait a second, I know that voice, wasn't this guy on the radio back in the 90s?" And they assume that Grian and Joel just played like a rerun recording of one of Joe's old shows as part of the fake haunting, meanwhile Joe can't decide if he should be fuming because his existence is being ignored or if he should be beaming because someone still recognized him some 20 years after his death.

And then they show back up at Grian and Joel's door two weeks later like "We checked this recording, it doesn't exist. Anywhere. And according to our research this guy died on your property. This recording is real. This kind of proof is unprecedented. Please let us investigate your house again."

And so Grian and Joel once again see the opportunity for money and accept. The ghosts continue to stay wary, refusing to directly interact with them, but they tend to just. Create proof on accident as they go about their normal wacky business. And so we have this dynamic where the recap crew keeps coming back to investigate, getting some kind of absurd evidence of ghosts, getting accused of faking it because the house already has a bad reputation for fake hauntings, and the recordings they're getting are absurd, and so they keep having to come back to try to get more.

I like to think Joe starts fucking with Pix by only talking to him when there's no cameras rolling, and so the two end up with a pretty funny relationship where Pix can have full conversations with Joe and yet can never manage to get another recording of him no matter how sneaky he thinks he's being about it.

Half of their job just becomes trying to deal with this one stupid absurdly haunted house that is dragging their entire reputation through the mud. And Grian gets to be like "Ha, yeah, you should try living with them." While trying to skirt around the fact that he can just straight up see and talk to all of them. Plus there's whatever the fuck is going on next door.

Just. this should be the general state of things by the time it's all over

I think it'd be really funny actually if Pix managed to figure out down to the most minute of details what the fuck is happening between these two haunted ass properties and the people and ghosts living in them but the whole experience has run him so ragged and made him sound so insane that everyone thinks he's just lost it and no one believes him. Ghosts so fucking annoying he has to either retire or become a disgraced conspiracy theory youtuber who exclusively talks about the ghosts in these two houses. Everyone thinks he's had some kind of mental break and honestly he probably has but everything he's saying is actually correct.

#atlas speaks #hc ghosts au #why do I feel like I've seen this exact edit of pix's head on this meme before despite making it for this post five minutes ago

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riotlain · 8 months ago

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Trap Making Reader

offically BACK and congrats youre jigsaw now

also if my writing still gives off like 2021ish then just idk enjoy it idk

no bubba or thomas since i was very unsure of how that would work since they in middle of nowhere

NWLNW BLOG !! WOMEN DNI

Poly Ghostface

Your traps were getting on the news, almost as much as their kills were!

They just had to track you down and maybe kill you- and they ended up in one of your traps

You were gonna kill them but then Stu wasn't gonna have his giant party!

After a deal maybe even a couple dates and kills the big party arrived. You had your traps all nice and set up in Stu's place for people to fall into while they were busy tormenting and killing

Imagine in this world, they actually get away with the party (their plan was very stupid shh you have the brain in this world)

You 3 will now live happily ever after killing people in more elaborate ways

OK NOW TO DYNAMICS

Billy's first impression of you was mainly jealousy and a hint of being impressed but mostly jealousy

After meeting and becoming friends and maybe even gay lovers, he likes giving you cool ideas for traps

Of course they're all bases around horror movies

Stu's first impression of you was he was hella impressed! But getting put in an almost saw trap did freak him out with the possibility of death

When actually dating he also loves giving you trap ideas, albeit very elaborate and probably impossible traps for you to make

You're a killing genius in his eyes

He loves incorporating Ghostface into your traps, whether its just standing there while the person struggles or actually killing them himself

Jason Voorhees

Jason has his traps and he likes them. They're simple and easy to get.

You on the other hand have much more insane things. But Jason can't lie he does love the reverse bear trap

Your traps are reserved for the worst of the worst in your eyes while Jason is just for anyone in the camp

You can't resist his puppy eyes though if he wants to use one of your traps (he stares at you blankly and menacingly until you agree)

Camp Crystal Lake now has much more interesting rumors spreading thanks to you

Michael Myers

He met you after watching you kidnap his victim

He was planning on killing you, he did not care but then he ended up following you and interrupting one of your traps

He doesn't care how expensive it was that was his target you can't share targets

Upon actually dating, he looms over your shoulder whenever you're busy planning

He doesn't take part in your traps he just likes staring its literally his thing

He could help you kidnap your victims but he isn't the kidnapping type he's not interested

No he will not grab you food or drinks while you work do it yourself

Vincent Sinclair

You were supposed to be one of their victims until you ended up making a trap out of nothing but glass, string, and the interworking of your mind

He was impressed he's an artist after all

He helps you sketch out ideas for traps and even helps set it up

He's like a genius, have you seen the town

You two have to keep each other in check don't overwork yourselves

You definitely help make the town somewhat more lively but also more gorey

You have to deal with Bo though but like he doesn't get too much in the way

The only times he doesn't like your traps is when they completely destroy the body like that was supposed to be the next statue😒

Bo Sinclair

Similar situation with Vincent except his was more like a deal offering with you

You two probably started off hating each other but you work together so it doesn't matter

Once you're dating yes he is very affectionate it doesn't matter what you're up to

Busy making a trap? Well he's behind you holding you

You help play into the whole act of the town by being somewhat normal

You're offputting but who isn't in this town

Chromeskull

He fell for you when he saw your traps on the news

Call that parasocial but he needs to know who this mastermind is

He has you tracked down and brought to him so he can yknow shoot his shot

He's rich, mute and a big attractive serial killer like who wouldn't want him

After a couple of maybe or maybe not forced dates you two are a powercouple

He spoils you most definitely. He will pay for your traps and whatever else you need

#slashers #slashers x reader #michael myers #stu macher #billy loomis #poly ghostface x male reader #poly ghostface #poly ghostface x reader #michael myers x male reader #michael myers x reader #jason voorhees x male reader #jason voorhees x reader #chromeskull x male reader #jesse chromeans x reader #chromeskull x reader #jesse cromeans x male reader #vincent sinclair x male reader #vincent sinclair x reader #slasher x reader

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acapelladitty · 1 year ago

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NSFW Alphabet: Cooper Howard

Summary: A full NSFW alphabet for Cooper Howard/The Ghoul from Fallout (2024).

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Pretends that he's not needing anything after sex but actually loves it when his partner wraps themselves around him like a second skin. Won't ever admit to it, but the way his arm snakes around to pull them even closer is hint enough to his real desires.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Likes his hands because they're quick and dexterous, and can justbas easily gut a gulper as they can seek out and tease a clit. Not much pride in his own appearance aside from that. He's also a tit man and the pillowy softness of them is so opposed to his own body that he only enjoys them more, usually with his mouth as much as his hands.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Sterile as all fuck, he can do what he wants with his cum and it makes no difference. Enjoys the taste and likes oral because of it. He does love for his partner to hold onto his cum though, either by swallowing or by pushing it back up their holes with his fingers. They earned it so they're going to keep it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has experimented with his new abilities as a Ghoul in some interesting and intense ways. Usually pushing the edge of pleasure and pain as he tests his own limits. His leathered skin is less sensitive than most so he's spent some of his more boring nights doing things to himself that would have a normal man in fucking hysterics.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He knows his way around a hole that's for sure. He slept with one or two folks before Barb but he was pretty monogamous after that despite the sleaze of his acting career. He and Barb did share a very healthy, vibrant sex life and he was eager to experience new things with her but nothing too outside of the 'vanilla' realm.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Seated with his partner riding his lap like any good cowgirl should. The close skin-to-skin contact, plus the easy access to their chest, makes it a firm favourite as he's generous with his tongue and teeth. Plus, it lets him enjoy their facial expressions and hold some eye contact as he drinks in their pleasure.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Never 'goofy' is a daft sense but isn't above using filthy talk and double entendres while cracking a wicked smirk. Lots of word play around his status as both a cowboy and a monster and he likes to remind his partner of BOTH of those facets of his personality.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Look at the poor cunt 😭 he's a great big baldy bastard with nary a pube on him. The only hair he has are the follicles that fall off the folk he occasionally scalps.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Surprisingly romantic given how gruff and generally detached he is, but only with a romantic partner. A random fuck gets a casual pump and dump while sex with a partner has some meaning for him and he likes to feel his partner close and ensure that they have a good time with him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Not at the top of his priority list in the grand scheme of things. If he's feeling horny then he'll deal with it and leave the mess splattered on the ground where it fell.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Roleplay is a kink of his and he would be at his happiest role-playing a very traditional "cowboy saves a damsel and she's looking to repay the favour" type scene. His most 'out there' kinks include a mild touch of erotic cannibalism, ropework, and dom/sub dynamics relating to discipline and cnc.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Strong enough to make any vertical surface a viable spot for a fuck, there are very few areas that Cooper can't turn into a good spot for sex. His preference is for a bed though because he can be a lazy fucker when it suits him but that's an indulgence he's very rarely afforded.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Very easily motivated if he can sense his partner is down for a rough tumble in the sheets. All he needs is a WHIFF of a chance of hole and he'll be rubbing himself across you like a cat in heat. Hand straight to the groin like it was magnetic.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Sharing his partner? Oh no. He'd fucking kill any third party before they could do anything too untoward. He's jealous as hell and volatile with it as he claims so little in the shithole that is the wastelands. Will threaten to tie his partner up and leave them for the raiders and beasts but that's just a horny threat.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

One leftover from his previous life is his love of giving oral. His wife loved it and he loved receiving it in equal measure. However, with things as they are, he'd rather get his rocks off in warm hole when the opportunity and time arose.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Normally? Fast and rough. However, in the quieter moments when the sun hangs low and he feels relaxed enough to enjoy some time with his partner, he takes great pleasure in some slow and sensual sex.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Due to his circumstances, quickies are often the only option for some hole so if he and his partner are frisky then it's as and when the potential arises.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

I think choosing to fuck someone in the wastelands automatically qualifies as a considerable risk. But, yes. He's fond of risk and it's something that he'll continue to push and push until he's satisfied.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Ridiculous stamina. The kind of stamina that will have smoke pouring from your hole if he's not careful lol. As a ghoul, his skin is slightly desensitised so he can go for longer but usually only lasts one good round.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Not really a big fan of toys (finds his cock and mouth MORE than capable thank you VERY much) but will use easy-to-access objects like his lasso and knife for some kinky play.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Only teases when it's a game he's playing. Most of the time, he's looking for some quick, rough action that he and his partner can enjoy in their limited, quieter moments. In terms of vocal teasing? He's very quick to spout off with some sleazy promises and demands.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Tries to be very controlled but does have a tendency to grunt and growl a lot which makes him more animalistic than vocal in terms of his speech when he's fucking someone.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Cooper would like to eat a little bit of his partner if they were willing and had the bit going spare. Most of his meals are a necessity but to have a willing offering would be quite erotic and a big deal for him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His cock is the same shade as the rest of his skin but with a slightly deeper tone in his cockhead. Very average length but on the girthier side with a slight lean to the right when he's fully erect. No pubes, obviously.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Makes a lot of inappropriate comments and touches which would have you believing that he's constantly looking for some tail. That's only true because he tends to be hornier in high-stress situations which, unfortunately, is most of the time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn't sleep much and there's something possessive in him that makes him happier watching over his fucked-out partner as they sleep rather than sleeping himself.

#top shagger lads lmaoooo #cooper howard #fallout #fallout 2024 #fallout amazon #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul #fallout ghoul #ghoul x reader #walton goggins

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boolger · 2 months ago

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Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before 🌻 ch.3

Female reader x Nikolai x Price✨ wc: 10.8k - call of duty - explicit, MDNI. Read the tags. Dead dove don’t eat.

<-last chapter✨ AO3 link ✨Masterlist ✨ next chapter ->

tags: non-consensual elements/rape, bikers AU, biker gang 141, omegaverse, dub-con, non-con touching, harassment, stalking, reader has a vagina, M/M/F threesome, threats, reader has a nickname, loss of parent, original characters, pack dynamics, alpha!John Price, Alpha!Nikolai, omega!reader, forced bonding, loss of virginity, breeding kink, piss kink, scent marking, daddy kink, stun guns, smut, rough sex, knotting, (maybe pregnancy), voyeurism, punishments, noncon spanking, p in v sex, anal sex, overstimulation, claiming barks, uh short appearance of a chopped off body part (action not described but the part will appear shortly)

AN: once again i must thank the ever so sweet @venuskaltrip for helping and dealing with me and all my ideas. and teaching me better than any of my english teachers ever have lol<33

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Your head hurt a bit the following morning.

It was raining outside your window, dark clouds rumbling now and again, making you stay in your bed a tad longer than usual. You had the day off at least, so you could nurse yourself back to health. Besides food, you had no urge to get out of bed, almost tempted to hide beneath your blankets all day… perhaps even build a temporary nest, to properly feel safe for a little while.

It was only because of the packages, that you got out of your bed - making a big breakfast, staying awake despite the urge to sleep the day away. You sipped your tea, impatiently checking your phone again and again, waiting for your things to arrive.

You had paid way too much for the fastest delivery. The sooner you could feel slightly more comfortable in your home, the better.

No, you might not have been fully sober when you had ordered everything, but you had felt as if you were. As if the fear of Price’s words had truly flushed your system and made you think clearly, as you had added more things to your online basket.

Then you had messed around on some more dodgy websites, managing to find a dude that sold stronger stun guns. He hadn’t asked questions as long as you paid and you hadn’t asked questions about how he got them - but he had offered you a nice deal, when you asked if he had pepper spray as well.

All the other stuff you had ordered was legal; another lock, which was one of those fancy ones that you needed a chip to open, a baseball bat to have next to your bed, then a normal lock for the back door. Perhaps the baseball bat was a little excessive but you had dealt with creepy men for two years already - if you needed to step up, then that was what you had to do.

You distracted yourself by looking into apartment prices in the nearest big cities, taking in the prices while looking at your savings. It wouldn’t be impossible - If you could actually make yourself sell the house, you could move into one of those apartments and be able to pay rent while looking for a job.

Abandoning Mary felt wrong in every bone of your body - you knew she would survive, but it was as if you were considering leaving your last parental figure. What would she even do if you left? Probably have to hire someone new, but still — not to mention how to even explain it. Did you even want to tell her that you wanted to move, because you were once again, being harassed by a leader of a biker pack?

Of everyone in the bloody village, it just had to be you.

The sound of the bell at your front door almost made you throw the laptop to the floor and you barely managed to put it on the coffee table, before hurrying to the door.

A moment later, you had your box with locks and another one with a baseball bat. You had never played with one, only been forced to cricket a couple of times and that was a different kind of bat, but you knew the basics. Grab it, raise it and hit the other person. Couldn’t be that hard.

You spent an embarrassingly long time attempting to put in the locks, before caving in and calling Harold and Jenny. They asked questions. Of course they would, it was stupid of you to think that they wouldn’t. Jenny was extremely good at reading people, the teenage beta instantly realising that something was up, even better than her boss.

“It’s uh - just a big house. With only me in it,” the lie felt uneasy on your tongue, but you couldn’t help yourself. You didn’t want to worry the elderly omega nor the young apprentice.

“Are they bothering you?” Jenny asked while Harold was picking up some tools in the car, looking up at you with squinted eyes - watching you in a way that made your palms feel sweaty - and a slightly worried look in her eyes.

You huffed, reminding yourself that you were a strong, proud alpha and you didn’t feel bothered b y a couple of men in leather jackets trying to seem intimidating. So you straightened up, watched Harold and shook your head, another lie slipping from your lips.

“Of course not,” you answered, unable to look at the other, unable to admit to the defeat you felt, “just wanna be sure nobody touches the jewelry mom left.”

Another lie. It was dusty on your tongue, from suddenly having dragged your poor, deceased mother into your lie. There was nobody to fear in the town but the bikers. Yet Jenny let it go and shrugged, before taking the tool box from Harold as he got up the stairs again. Instantly beginning to tell Harold about how she had seen these locks online, while you retreated, watching them without intervening.

You had a lock bolt and a chain lock on the back door already. Now this in the front.

Locks weren't going to save you. Nor were stronger stun guns or pepper sprays.

Sleep well, little Sunflower.

The locks and illegal weapons might not save you, but they would probably help you sleep a little better.

… At least until you figured out what to do.

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“Would you be able to find somebody to help you with the cafe if I left?”

Mary stiffened, not moving for a second; then the older beta spun around, her braids flying at the movement, looking straight at you with a raised eyebrow and suspicion in her eyes.

“What have you done now?”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. As if you had done something to ask, like a little naughty kid who often got into trouble. No, for once, you hadn’t done anything. Sure, you had threatened the men with a stun gun, but they were big men. Probably not that scared of your little weapon.

“Haven’t done anything,” you defended, “jeez, Mary, you sounded like my mother just now.”

Mary softened up a little, a small chuff-like sound leaving her. You looked back down at the dirty cups, continuing to wash them. Rings of dried coffee slowly dissolved into nothing. The water felt hot against your skin, reminding you that you were very much alive; stuck in Millhaven, surrounded by beasts on motorbikes and with a secret that burned in your stomach.

“Are you thinking of moving again?”

You nodded, your back still turned to her, unable to look her in the eyes again. Afraid she would see right through you - figure out that you were hiding things from her. It was uncomfortable in a way, to tell half a lie. As if you had two wounds but only showed the one which hurt the least.

“Are you afraid Graves will come back?”

A part of you wanted to break into laughter from her question; because wasn’t it naive of Mary to believe that Phillips Graves was still alive? She had heard the shots too, the screams, the horrors that had taken over Millhaven that night - how could she not realise that they were all dead? Even if Phillip Graves was to rise from whatever shallow grave he had properly disappeared into, he wouldn’t scare you the same way John Price did. Graves was in fact the last thing you feared right now, if you had to be honest with her - but you weren’t… not fully, at least.

“No,” that was a part of the truth, because you were more afraid of what exactly had happened to him, but it melted into lies once more, “I’ve considered getting a degree or some sort of education.”

You hadn’t… not really. Sure, you could. It would probably be a smart enough choice, if you were to leave Millhaven, so that you could get a well paying job or something, but… but as you dared to look over your shoulder, watching Mary, you almost felt like apologising for even suggesting it.

It was as if you were being split in two; the cafe was going well, Mary wasn’t afraid of the group, she would be safe if you left her… but what if she wasn’t? The idea of abandoning her, hell, of abandoning Beatrice and her pack, Enid, Dennis, Carlos, Finn, Alma — it all gave you a bad feeling.

For a moment, it was as if Mary looked much older than usual; as if her hands had gotten weaker and face gotten more wrinkled in the matter of seconds, her black hair looking a little more on the grey. She would grow old too… would she be alone here? Only her sister to come visit? Would The Gentle Cuppa close? You put the cups down, turning around fully, looking at her.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, like a kid aware that she had upset her mother, suddenly feeling small, with the urge to grab onto her skirt and cry into them, “I - I know that was very sudden.”

“It’s okay, Sunflower,” she answered, moving forward to cup your face gently, “I would miss you - but I will also support you.”

There was flour on her hands. Her scent was herbal, like different kinds of dried teas all blended together, with a smell of something purely Mary beneath. She let out a soft rumble, close to a purr, like a mother would do to her pup and you closed your eyes, listening to it and her breaths, trying your best not to break into tears. You wanted the truth to escape your throat, to drip from your mouth and explain to her how you had struggled; how they had been at your house, how it was escalating much quicker than it had with Graves. That Phillip Graves, with all his nastiness and evil, had seemed easier to handle than this new group - you couldn’t read them, never knew what to expect. You were losing more and more control and it scared you.

You let your forehead rest against your boss’. There wasn’t much separation between your work and personal life between you and Mary anyways. They had blurred for years. She was a parent — your parent. You had slept on her tiny couch for three days after your dad passed away.

“I want you to be happy, my little Sunflower,” her reply was filled with love, “wherever that may take you.”

The idea of leaving her, who you had come to consider your new mother, psychically hurt.

Leaving or staying; you felt, as if the two options were beginning to pull you apart, the reasons to either stay or leave becoming more and more intricate, less and less simple… People who you cared for were tangled in between those reasons, while The 141 crawled closer and closer in the dark, as if they were waiting for the perfect moment to attack - always nearby, unable to be scared off.

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When you weren’t working the next couple of days, you spent hours making lists and mental notes, trying to figure out the pros and cons of your different options. Scribbling down different notes on what to remember, what to consider, who to call. You had to call the bank if you wanted to sell the house and buy an apartment in a bigger city - you had to figure out which town you would move to, which real estate agents to contact.

You needed more fake scent-perfumes and stronger pills. Another way to protect yourself - in order to avoid accidents and in case anything was to happen, the mere possibility scared you.

The following days, it also suddenly seemed like everything was back to normal - sure, different members of the 141 would swing by the cafe and buy things, but none of them bothered you. When you walked home, you would be barked at by Mrs. Henley’s dog and see the chain smoking teenager in the window. You would turn your corner and nobody would be in front of your home; no big motorbike standing in the driveway, no John Price leaving cigar ash on your stairs.

The new locks worked without problems, the chip beeping and unlocking, beeping as it locked behind you — somehow they did make you feel more comfortable. Not to mention the baseball bat next to your bed and the pepper spray and new, stronger stun gun that arrived the next morning.

You hoped, no, you begged, to whichever god who would listen to you, that the men had gotten your hint and that the entire pack would leave you alone now.

As the week had crawled by, the weekend ending with things still staying the same, it did seem like somebody had heard those prayers of yours.

When Monday came around, you began to seem a little more optimistic; it almost seemed like things had died down to the point that the bikers’ interest in you might have died…

Well… Almost.

Perhaps you had been a bit too optimistic about it.

It began that Monday evening, even if you didn’t truly realise it before Tuesday. Every time you walked home, somebody followed you at a distance.

It apparently didn’t matter whether it was from the cafe in the late afternoon or at night after a drink in the pub; they always appeared before you got too far, following until you reached your smaller road with your blue house at the end.

Everyone following you appeared to be one of the women in the gang - it seemed to be a task only the three of them had been given and they followed you dutifully, like unwanted guard dogs. Only one of them attempted to be slightly discreet with their stalking task; the two others not even seeming bothered by the fact that you knew and looked straight at them.

Whether they had specifically been told to do this because none of the men could be bothered — or because they believed you might be less uncomfortable with women following you home, you didn’t really know. In all honesty, it didn’t really matter. It could have been any of the members from the shitty biker gang, whatever gender and secondary gender they might have, and it would have made you upset.

It felt insane to you that they didn’t realise that it was the whole “stalking you as you walk home”-aspect of it that made you upset. Though you doubted that the thickheaded alpha that was John Price would understand that.

The alpha woman that had followed you the second night, had not seemed intimated in any kind of way, as you angrily demanded for her to fuck off and stop following you. She had long dark hair, pulled back into a long braid and sharp features with intense eyes - an attractive alpha, hadn’t she been following you. The small woman had merely raised an eyebrow at you, said nothing and merely waited for you to turn around again, only to continue walking behind you.

Wednesday was the third night in a row and when you growled at the second woman, a tall, muscular beta woman with short hair and familiar-looking jacket and when you demanded that she let you walk home alone, she had merely laughed out loud. Then she had said something in what you assumed to be Spanish, but as you didn’t speak the language, you didn’t know what - so you had growled loudly at her again, walking home even faster than before, ignoring her laughter as you stomped angrily the entire way.

With Thursday a new woman appeared; this evening it was a blonde, bonded omega who, just like the others, didn’t seem one bit intimidated by you. Instead she looked slightly amused, if not a little bored, as you dared to walk towards her, telling her to piss off. You weren’t sure why you tried, as it hadn’t with the others but the woman, her leather jacket almost fully covered in small metal spikes, had merely taken a drag of her cigarette and tipped her head to the side, before actually replying. ”I’m merely goin’ for a walk, Sunny. Don’t ya’ have to get home? It’s cold outside.”

You snarled at her calm words, the way she spoke to you and you considered making a scene, scream at her and draw attention from the people in the little town, for them to look out the window.

Instead you went with the familiar choice and turned around, walking home while cussing out the entire biker gang.

At this point it was getting ridiculous. You couldn’t even walk home alone anymore, couldn’t listen to Mrs. Henley’s dog barking at you nor watch the chain-smoking teenager without being bothered by the bikers. Those simple pieces of freedom had been taken from you as well. The things you used to enjoy doing were narrowing down, day by day.

Sure, you had hated Graves and the Shadow’s presence in Millhaven, but by now you already hated John Price and the 141 even more. Being able to walk home alone shouldn’t be impossible without being bothered. You just wanted to enjoy the sounds of Millhaven as the little town went to supper or to bed - you wanted the freedom to be able to walk home, without fear scratching its way into your bones.

Next day, it was the blonde omega once more; it was Friday, Enid had celebrated her birthday, so you had drunk a bit more than usual. Two pints, four shots and a fancy drink that Enid hadn’t liked and with the alcohol warming your body, you tried to ignore your stalker while walking home. Humming, unable to walk in a straight line, but in a better mood than usual.

You were certain the woman was there though; you could hear her familiar heavy boots, her huffing and puffing of the cigarette - and the wind blew her scent in your direction. Bonded, female omega. It couldn’t be any other. You flipped her off over your shoulder and her soft laughter confirmed that she was in fact there, watching you walk.

This entire week, with your changing, annoying guard dogs behind you, you had tensed up whenever you had turned from the main road to the smaller one where you lived; feared that there would be motorbikes in your driveway, that they would stand in front of your house, waiting.

Every time you had been worried while turning the corner. Would they be there again to bother you, their eyes watching you, sniffing the air and taunting you? Or would you once again be lucky and able to get inside without any of them in the way?

But as they hadn’t been there all week, your drunk mind had assumed tonight would be the same. That you would be able to waltz inside, lock everything up, eat some leftovers and fall asleep with the baseball bat in your hand. That the only harassment of the day was the chain-smoking woman a couple of steps behind you.

A deep sigh escaped you when you turned the corner and looked towards your blue house at the end of the road, continuing to walk, swaying slightly from side to side due to the alcohol. If they were gonna be here every time you got slightly drunk, you really needed to cut down.

For once there were only two of them.

They stood right in front of your blue home, like predators waiting for a prey to return to its nest. Their bloody bikes taking up space in your driveway. You sincerely hoped that a gust of the wind would make their vehicles tip over; maybe break one of the small rear way mirrors or even better, scratch the paint.

Of course John Price was one of the pair, sitting on the small staircase to the front door as usual; smoking his cigar, blocking your way inside.

By now you were tired of people you didn’t like or know, being in front of your house - the alcohol was still making you feel warm, curling along your ribs and making your head feel heavy. It seemed to swallow up most of your fear, so you let your growing frustration take over, confidence seeping into it.

You didn’t need to be close to know who the other was - the Russian, Nikolai or whatever you were supposed to call him - and while he was smoking a cigar as well, he was standing up at least. Similarly he was also staring at you, as you walked towards the house. They seemed like well fitting mates in that way, you supposed.

Yet, it seemed to be the hunger in their similar way of looking at you, which made you uncomfortable; like they wanted to sink their teeth into your skin and rip your meat from your bones — feast on your organs, blood dripping from their chins and swallow up the fear it created. But you just stared back at them, not backing down or looking away, even as they tried to look intimidating. You stomped towards them, only stopping a few metres from them. Finally, it was like your little bubble of anger popped.

“Stop makin’ your bloody minions follow me every day, you twats!” You snarled angrily, words slightly slurred, trying to make yourself look a little bigger as you growled.

The two alphas smiled — almost grinned — as if entertained by your demand and it made you want to scream; it was such a simple but effective way of acting superior towards you, taunting you and your inner omega.

It was the Russian one who was first to speak.

”Milaya,” he almost cooed, taking a few steps towards you, the lit cigar between two of his thick, tattooed fingers with the many rings, the last bits of smoke escaping his mouth, “we’re only making you get home safe.”

Home safe — home safe?

You let out a loud sound of annoyance, disbelief at his words and you were unable to help yourself from growling once more, one of your hands sliding into the pocket of your jacket.

”The only dangerous thing in this town is your fuckin’ group of wankers!,” you hissed, “So get them to stop!”

Your anger seemed to do nothing but amuse the big alphas and god, you wanted so badly to plant your first in the Russian’s face - then in Price’s. Nikolai laughed, before taking a drag of the cigar, blowing the smoke in your direction before saying something in Russian, which made Price laugh too.

Their actions made you feel small and harmless, made you feel stupid for even attempting to go against them - trying to seem aggressive and dangerous which they barely acknowledged.

Control was slipping from your sweaty fingers, even as you desperately attempted to cling to it, sink your dull claws into it.

Nikolai walked a little closer; you stood your ground, the alcohol making you slightly lightheaded. Of course it would be tonight, when you weren’t even fully sober, that the two of them would come at you. Fucking bastards.

You just wanted to be able to go to the pub without them being here when you returned home.

”Listen, you knotheads,” you snapped, baring your teeth for a second, to show you weren’t backing down, glad they couldn’t see your hidden ones, “You can’t rent the garage, I’ll never fucking let ya - so you might as well just drop it. Find somewhere else!”

The low chuckle that escaped Price made your eyes flicker over to him as he still sat on the stairs, tipping his head to the side a little.

“Oh, how that’s peculiar,” John Price mused, watching you with a glint in his eyes, tattooed fingers grabbing the cigar after taking another drag, “because you’ve sure been looking at a lot of nearby real estate agents online this last week - bunch of apartments in London and Manchester, too. Funny for you to look at, if you’re not leavin’ and will never let us have this house, innit?”

In truth, you almost pissed your pants from the shock - it was mere luck that you didn’t.

Sitting like that, the big alpha pretended to not seem like a threat; slightly hunched over, relaxed stance and almost looking like a father enjoying a smoke in peace - but in reality, he seemed like a demon who had crawled up from the sewers, waiting for the perfect moment to attack.

Any sense of control that you might have had a brief minute ago was gone, together with any confidence. His words filled your lungs with fright, forced horror into your bloodstream; unable to breathe, to speak, to snap back at him. Defending yourself against something so intense, almost felt meaningless - you swayed, telling yourself it was from the alcohol, but you knew it might also be from what he actually told you.

They had been watching you, not only physically, but somehow they had gotten your access to your online history as well. Unknowingly, it seemed like most of your privacy had been ripped from your hands — you were unprepared for this, for this kind of stalking, this kind of dark, strange behaviour, with a big pack that didn’t respect your boundaries. Graves had been nothing compared to this and it was like all of your hopes and dreams of being left alone by these men had been torn and ruined without your knowledge.

Your voice trembled, all courage suddenly gone from your body.

“Please leave me alone.” It was the first time that you let yourself be this vulnerable in front of them and even if you immediately regretted it, you felt unable to do anything else. Hardly able to keep on your legs, to keep your cool and not just scream and bolt.

To your horror but perhaps not surprise, John Price smiled over your begging words, a rumble appearing from deep inside his chest. The driveway began to smell from the pheromones escaping the two men, their pleased not to mention lustful, scents overwhelming.

It was like the ground beneath you had been ripped away and you felt helpless, desperate to grasp at any sense of control, attempting to escape the situation which seemed to spiral in such a short time.

You had almost forgotten the presence of Nikolai, too shocked by Price admitting to the pack having stalked your online movements - he walked closer but instead of walking close towards you, he began to circle you; like a beastly creature, considering how to kill its victim in the best way and it made you grip your stun gun a little harder than before, almost pulling it out.

It felt like the weapon, feeble as it was, would be your only means of safety right now - though you doubted it would save you for long.

”Let go of that, Milaya,” Nikolai’s voice was dark, calm, his stench of alpha growing stronger, as he continued to circle you, “you don’t know what to do with it anyways.”

Degrading you once more, reminded you that you were backed into a corner - and for some reason, some bloody reason, you found yourself following the alpha’s command, following the deep timbre, the power — your grip loosening a little around the stun gun. It was as if your body followed the order even if your mind didn’t agree, because maybe, just maybe, he was right - you had never tried it, barely knew how to use it, did you? You felt it fall to the bottom of your pocket again, your hand slowly pulling back. You were unable to look over your shoulder at him, unable to look at Price, the shame overwhelming you as Nikolai let out a pleased hum, whispering a few Russian words.

”You’ve always had a spot for soft, weak women, eh, Captain?” Nikolai crooned, his voice suddenly appearing behind you, much closer to you than before, while Price laughed again. Humiliation. Price was grinning like a dangerous beast and the description of you rushed through your mind again and again. Soft - weak - you did as an alpha commanded, just because of the tone of his voice. The stream of self hating thoughts were broken as Nikolai was even closer than before, having moved silently, his big arm slipping around your stomach, pulling you back into his body, as close as he could, his face fully pushed into your neck. So close to your scent gland, sniffing at you like a pervert. The other hand sliding to hold onto your hip, cigar between two fingers.

”Smellin’ so synthetic, milaya, like —“

Before even considering what you were doing, you moved; all but ripping your stun gun from your pocket, flipping the little safety switch with a quick motion before pressing it against the exposed part of his tattooed neck, close to his jaw.

With a surprised shout the Russian alpha let go of you, staggering back a couple of steps, clearly in pain, though he didn’t collapse, merely having dropped the cigar — you were quick to turn fully around and stare at him, growling as he began to snarl at you. Keeping your small weapon raised towards him.

John fucking Price did nothing to help his mate, instead he was howling with laughter from his spot on the stairs. It felt as if the sound of him laughing this loudly was echoing through the little street, going straight into your mind, blurring together with your fear and adrenaline.

While Price was clearly entertained, the Russian in front of you was clearly enraged instead - even though Nikolai was badly lit by the streetlights, you could see enough of him to know he was far, far from happy. His bared teeth shone, tongue out, exposing his silver tongue piercing, every breath accompanied by a deep growling sound. His shoulders were slightly raised, his large hands balled into fists, his body tense and clearly ready to attack again, if allowed. There was a vague, barely there, stench of burned flesh in the air.

You felt pride over having been successful, showing the men that you weren’t weak, weren’t afraid to defend yourself. You swayed a little, perhaps from the intensity of the situation, not feeling much more alcohol in your body. You had gained some sort of power with the stun gun, some protection, even if it was an electric and short lived kind of protection, but it was better than nothing. Your hand was gripping the device so tightly that you almost feared it would break.

“You know, Sunny,” Price casually said, apparently done with laughing and you dared to look over at him as he rose from the stairs, taking a few steps towards you in a relaxed manner, “a couple of locks aren’t gonna keep us out, heh.”

He took another drag of his cigar, not looking away from you — Nikolai’s rumble making you fear the Russian attacking once more, keeping the stun gun raised like a knife towards him. You were almost considering getting the pepper spray out of your other pocket.

You felt unsure about which of them to look at - if one would attack you if another distracted you, your mind swimming even if you had burned through most of the alcohol by now.

Logically you knew that Price was right; the locks at your doors, the pepper spray in your pocket, the baseball bat next to your bed and the stun gun in your hand would not keep the pack away in the long run. But the idea of giving up, of not even attempting, felt like going against everything you had been raised to do.

Their pack, bigger than any you had seen before, would be no match against only you, not to mention the fact that the two men in your driveway were actual alphas. Just like you had attempted to be ever since you were a teenager, in order to escape men just like them.

Price let out a “tsk tsk” at you, as if you were a disobedient child, as if you were beneath him in the hierarchy of the pack you weren’t a part of, an alpha ready to remind a misbehaving pack member of their place. He walked a little closer, taking yet another drag of his cigar, clearly not fearing you.

Would any of your neighbours be watching you, you wondered - would any of them do anything? Or would they leave you to your own demise, retreat from watching you in the window, unable to watch your destiny?

”Soft, dangerous alpha,” the much older alpha demeaningly crooned at you, smiling once more as you snarled at him, Price’s words hitting harder than you wanted to ever admit, “unlucky for you, we really like your pretty lil’ house…”

”Too fucking bad!” You snapped, “it—“

”But we also really like you,” he cut in, making you stare at him - he stepped closer and it was as if you forgot everything about the stun gun, enthralled by his presence; as he looked down at you, the almost amused expression on his face suddenly turned darker, colder - like a switch had been flipped, making him look even more frightening than before, “Nik ‘nd I find you quite cute.”

Cute? Alphas weren’t described as cute, they weren’t supposed to be that. It was a stereotypical dig at you, implying you were bad at your secondary gender, unable to live up to what was expected of you by society.

”I- I’m not—“

”Oh, I’m sure you’re not, pet,” he replied easily, taking a drag of the cigar, blowing the smoke in your face just a moment later, almost making you cough “But we will convince you - maybe ya’ wanna be courted like a lil’ proper alpha, eh?”

”No,” you replied instantly, ignoring the stinking smell of smoke that entered your nostrils, “I don’t want to be courted at all!”

You stepped back, slightly to the side, only to be reminded of Nikolai as he rumbled at you once more, his eyes still dark, tongue slowly wetting his lips. As if getting ready to pounce.

”Hmm,” John hummed, not following you as you retreated, only to casually ask, “perhaps courted as an omega then?”

The question, no, the mere word omega, took you so off guard that you stumbled backwards, Nikolai catching you with a purr, delighted with your fear - the stench of lust overwhelming you. Forgetting everything about the stun gun in your hand, you bolted.

They let you, but it didn’t matter if they had followed or not, not with the amount of terror in your body. You slammed the door close after you, hearing the locks before you sprinted further into your house. Your home.

It took ages before you felt able to breathe.

You could barely sleep that night; you weren’t even in your parents’ bed, but beneath it, hiding in the dusty darkness with a blanket and a big kitchen knife in your hand.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Liar.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

The lies seemed to spill even easier from your lips than usual, the actual truth stuck in your throat, burning inside it. You were becoming a bigger and bigger liar with every untrue statement that seeped out from between your teeth, despite when you tried holding them back. They had started like the usual ones, thin and white lies, but they grew bigger and bolder - you were digging your grave bigger and bigger. Because you’re fine… yeah, you’re fine, everything is good, you’re just a little busy.

“I’ve just been considering studying something else.” “No, I’m not more worried than usual, why are you asking, Carlos?” “It’s all good Mary, don’t worry about it.” “O-m-g, Bea, stop asking, you muppet, it's really nothing.” “Enid, I think I would have noticed if someone was following me home, that’s a ridiculous idea.” “Nah, I don’t need a lift home, but thank you, luv.”

Lies, lies and even more lies.

They had left you alone for a couple of days - the male members, that was. The three women didn’t, following you home like guard dogs, pretending it was normal behaviour. You stopped yelling at them, even though it still pissed you off every time you saw them. It made you wonder if they were just as tired of it as you — surely they had better, if not more interesting, things to do.

You add even more locks. On the windows too, ignoring the biker that stood at the corner to the main road, watching you do so. You played with the thought of putting up security cameras or getting an alarm system.

Mary seemed to be onto you - you were sure. It felt like the paranoia of being figured out by either party was gnawing its way, deeper and deeper into your bones. She was worried, but you lied, again and again. Mary was far from stupid however - you knew she was gathering up anything you let slip, even if she played along with your lies about moving away to study. It was becoming less and less about the mere idea of studying - and more a desperate escape.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Lewis had raised his bushy eyebrows when you had ordered sparkling water with lemon instead of your usual pint - but he hadn’t commented on it, just nodding along, humming like he always did before talking about the weather as if it was the most interesting thing in Millhaven. As if people should visit just to see the darkening, candy floss looking clouds at this time of the year.

No, you just needed to cut down on alcohol. No particular reason, of course.

Beatrice was sitting next to you, trying to beat you in the card game. One of her pack mates had joined for once and Luna beat the two of you constantly, your pride in your card game ability taking one hit after another.

“Are you sure you’re not having problems with them?” Luna was in the bathroom, when Beatrice asked, the ginger woman looking worried. You had already told her - and the others - that you didn’t have any, but you knew they could put two and two together. Something was up - it was hard to deny that you were being followed home on the daily, since the bikers weren’t even trying to be discreet anymore.

”Who?” Playing dumb like a child wouldn’t help you much since Beatrice was a teacher and the look you got from her just confirmed it.

“You know who,” she replied, giving you a little kick beneath the table, “My ladies are worrying. Seen more of them follow you.”

”Do you kick your students too?”

”Stop changing the subject, Sunny.”

Finally you shrugged.

”They want to rent my house - or well, specifically the garage,” your voice wasn’t that loud and you were looking at the badly cut piece of lime in your sparkling water. Lime. You had ordered lemon, but Lewis had just shrugged and said they needed the lemons for the fish and chips, “Don’t fancy letting them, so they’re trying to intimidate me, I guess.”

“Sunflower,” she whispered almost in horror and damn, she barely called you by your full nickname, “why didn’t you say anything??”

Once again you shrugged and once again your friend stared at you, like you refused to tell her the secret of life.

”I don't find them scary,” You falsely admitted, as if you weren’t speaking with a hushed voice so that none of the members in the pub would hear you, “It’s stupid, I’m not gonna let myself be pressured even if they follow me like desperate puppies.”

Beatrice didn’t say anything. The soundtrack of the pub around you swallowed up any of your thoughts for a moment as you wondered how the fuck you came to this point. When you can’t even tell Beatrice the entire truth.

The door to the bathroom opened and Luna made her way towards the two of you again.

”Please - if you need help, just let us know, yeah?” Bea finally asked before Luna joined you. You have to keep yourself from blurting out that there wasn’t anything to do about it anyways. What are you, even with Bea’s pack behind you, supposed to do with a full on motorbike pack that most likely killed the former pack. You just nodded and asked Luna if she was ready to get beat in the next round of cards.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

You knew it was impossible for you to hide your little day trip - you, leaving your house on your day off? With how little privacy you seemed to have left, it would have been more baffling to you if they hadn’t discovered you by the bus.

What you hadn’t expected was for one of them to stop next to you, pulling off the helmet, grinning at you like he had won the lottery by seeing you. You recognised the Scot from one of the unwanted visits in your driveway, but the grim reaper wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

”Where ‘re ye going, hen?” He asked, not even bothering to hide how he watched you with a hungry, nasty look in his eyes. Stupid haircut, tattoos that were probably Gaelic inspired or something - the amount of piercings in his face made you wonder if he could even walk through a metal detector without having to remove every single one.

”None of your business.”

”Naw, lass, dinnae be like that,” he actually pouted, like a kicked puppy, before offering you a helmet from his lap, “want a lift?”

You stared at the helmet. Black, with their logo in the back. You had never ridden on a motorbike and in all honesty, you weren’t sure if you wanted to.

”No thanks.”

”Ach, hen, we both ken that I’m just gonna tail the bus the entire way,” he said it as if it was the most natural thing in the world to say, wagging his pierced eyebrows, “C’mon, it’ll be fun - you dinnae have to wait for yer bus then.”

You stared at him for a moment, before checking your watch. It seemed like the bus was late and you wondered if the universe was trying to punish you.

“No.”

“I’ll buy ye lunch, bonnie,” the beta continued, apparently not giving up, “anything ye want - I’m Soap by tah way - I’ll let ye use mah card for shopping too an—“

”Fine,” you finally snapped, stealing the stupid helmet out of his hand, “but if you crash that bloody thing I’ll break your neck!”

The pure look of glee on this Soap’s face reminded you of a teenage boy managing to ask a girl out for tea. Hadn’t he most likely been a dangerous piece of shit, you probably wouldn’t have agreed. At least he wasn’t Price or Nikolai - then you would rather have walked.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

The few instructions he had given you didn’t save you from the terror rushing through your body as he drove. Your breakfast felt as if it was sitting up in your throat, attempting to escape, life flashing by as you were unable to even keep your eyes open. You didn’t even need to look to know that he was driving waaaay past the speed limit.

Fucking twat.

It was embarrassing how you clung to him, how your fingers dug into his leather jacket, convinced you would fall off at the next turn if you didn’t hold on.

You didn’t fall off, but you did curse him to the moon and back. As you finally reached the bigger town and stopped, you didn’t comment on the closed off small garage they seemed to have here. No tools to work on their bikes, but it clearly wasn’t the first time they were here.

As you walked towards downtown, you tried your best to ignore him but he just wouldn’t shut up. He wasn’t Nikolai or Price, but he still stood out - or perhaps it was you who stood out against him. You were dressed in a pair of jeans, a t-shirt with a hoodie over, a sunflower embroidered on your chest. It was one of your favorite hoodies and usually you could enjoy it on your own, but he seemed interested in it as well, blabbering on about your nickname.

When you reached a familiar spot, close to an alleyway that you recognised - you made a quick choice.

”Thank you for the lift,” you said as abruptly stopped walking, watching the beta stop a few steps later, walking back to you like a guard dog who didn’t want to lose you, “you can leave now.”

The big man looked at you, even tipping his head to the side. There was a big scar over his temple, tattoos curling around it, as if the wound had tried to swallow up the illustrations. Then, after a moment of silence, he grinned again.

”Ye’re welcome, pet,” he answered, moving to sling his arm around your shoulder, “And dinnae worry, Sunny bunny, I’m nae busy today.”

Sunny bunny. Graves’ face flashed before your eyes, blood dripping from the cut on his cheek, grinning like a maniac as he cooed out the awful nickname. Sunny bunny.

Sunny bunny.

You instantly wanted to throw up all over him or plant a fist in his face. You didn’t, instead you followed your backup plan in case he refused to let you go - hand shooting into your pocket, grabbing the black plastic, flicking the switch on it.

You had tried it once before and been successful, sure, but it was not something you felt confident in doing. With a swift motion you pushed the handheld device against his skin, prongs pressing against it; the stun gun crackled against his neck as you did so, barely audible over his yelp - Soap seemed so caught off guard, that his grip on your shoulder loosened and then you were off.

The sound that left him, a yelp, no perhaps closer to a pathetic scream like he was an actual puppy, had been music to your ears - if you hadn’t been so busy running off, you might have enjoyed it a lot more.

You didn’t see any reason to stay behind to see if anyone would help you, so instead you disappeared into the maze of the dirty alleyways in between the many buildings.

Not that you were much of a runner, but you knew your way around these streets, had gotten run around plenty of times between buildings and backyards, in order to find someone who would sell you illegal pills. Besides, you knew where the larger crowds were in this town, which was perfect to blend into.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Several unknown numbers had attempted to call you not long after, but you ignored every single one of them, turning your phone off as texts began to appear as well.

You merely wandered around, buying unnecessary things for an entire hour, your pulse so high that it almost hurt. You didn’t really need sunglasses, but now you had some cheap ones on your face, hoodie tied around your waist as you sat in a cafe, applying nail polish as you saw him wander past almost two hours later, not noticing you — animatedly talking into his phone.

Perfect, so he had been serious about this - they didn’t even want you to do something as simple as let you go shopping on your own. Sure, you had plans of getting illegal drugs, but they were a literal criminal gang, so it didn’t seem like an excuse to cut off more of your privacy.

Somehow the tea tasted even worse when you couldn’t see him anymore. Briefly, very briefly, you considered just leaving everything behind - get on another bus, perhaps a train, abandon everything at home. But the mere idea disappeared together with the tea as you drank the last of it, knowing it was nothing but a childish daydream. You couldn’t abandon everything like that, not without any explanation to Bea, Mary, Enid, Carlos — everyone.

You forced your claws out, the dull things appearing beneath your normal, now painted blue, nails. Perhaps you should sharpen them again.

You were thankful that your father had taken the choice when you represented, no matter how ambivalent you sometimes felt about hiding your secondary gender now; as if he had known that you being a young, pretty omega would bring you nothing but trouble in a town with a biker gang. He had been right, Graves had lusted after you even though you were an ‘alpha’ - the idea of how he would have acted if you were an omega? … you didn’t like the thought.

People-watching while your nails were drying could only entertain for so long. You needed to buy things - that was why you had gone to town after all. After making sure that the Scottish beta wasn’t anywhere nearby, you went along with your plans of the day.

A specific shampoo that you really liked — you should treat yourself with all the shit going on in your life right now — scent patches and pheromones blockers from the pharmacy, a new mascara and nail oil. You felt tense the entire time but somehow you managed to avoid Soap while shopping, flinching at everyone nearby with a hint of a Scottish accent.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

The plastic bag in your lap felt heavy; not from the actual weight, but from the problems the content carried which you had to confront once the bus would stop. Somehow you had managed to avoid the beta ever since tasing him and you doubted he would just let that go - you had seen him looking for you after all. If you were lucky, he would merely scold you or something like that.

You were exhausted, both physically and mentally.

Normally it would have taken a one-hour trip with the bus to get home, but you had taken a different one to avoid meeting Soap, which drove to another small town, from which you had taken yet another one - it had almost been two hours when you finally got off. Your body felt stiff and you couldn’t help a yawn escaping you as you got out, in the different end of the town than usual, but it didn’t really matter. You were mostly relieved by the lack of bikers by the bus stop.

As you stood there, illuminated by the streetlight, you considered not even heading home. You could go to Mary, you knew she would let you in without hesitation, even if she didn’t know the entire situation - you had slept on her couch before, covered by one of her knitted blankets and woken up to freshly baked bread. Otherwise you could go to Beatrice and her pack; they would let you in, no questions asked - at least at first, the interrogation would start later - and you would sleep in their little guest room, with the lavender smelling duvet.

You had to go home. You knew that, but that didn’t mean you wanted to. You couldn’t stay away forever, they would be there tomorrow if you didn’t come home today. You hesitated for a moment before pulling your phone from your pocket. It had been turned off all day and you wondered if they could have tracked you if it hadn’t - was that even possible? Or were you just being paranoid again?

As the screen lit up and you unlocked it, notifications from unanswered calls and texts instantly overwhelmed you. Bloody hell. They had tried to call you 22 times - or at least, four different phone numbers you didn’t know had, but you doubted it could all be scammers. There 32 text messages - you ignored every single one from an unknown number, only opening one from Mary who asked if you could work tomorrow.

You shot her a confirmation while you began to walk home, for once not followed by a biker - no, you were actually walking alone for once. You avoided most of the streetlights, staying as much in the dark as possible.

Since you came from the opposite direction, you couldn’t walk past your usual spots and you wondered if the teenager was smoking again today. If Mrs. Henley’s dog had gone to bed, if people were still at the pub or the shops.

But you had to turn around the corner eventually, even if it was from the opposite side. Despite hoping, almost praying for the driveway to be empty, for nobody to stand in front of your blue house, well, that wasn’t the case.

They instantly spotted you. Of course they did.

For once you weren’t drunk, merely sober and frightful. Turning around or just walking by to go stay at Mary’s or Beatrice’s was still tempting, however, you knew they would simply follow you. Besides, your feet hurt and all you wanted was some food and sleep. Sealing your fate, you walked towards them, attempting to keep yourself composed. As if you weren’t fearing having to deal with them after what had happened today.

Soap was not one of the three men, which surprised you. You had expected for him to be there, arms crossed and demanding an apology since you got a lift and then ditched him… after tasing him.

Despite it not being the case, you felt like your footsteps echoed through the street. You wondered if making a scene would help you, if screaming and drawing attention to you and to them being in your driveway, would keep the bikers from doing anything wild.

Probably not.

You recognised Nikolai, the bear of a man was leant against one of the garage doors, arms crossed, only slightly visible because of the street light - John Price was at your stairs again, smoking one of the usual cigars. It made you wonder if that was everything he did - order his pack around, smoke cigars and bother people.

The last guy, more lit up. watched you with an almost curious look. Like he wasn’t believing that you were the one they were waiting for.

He had short hair, a beard with a mustache that stood out the most - the street light made his prosthetic leg glint a little, but it was his scent and the change of the look in his eyes that caught most of your attention. A gust of wind forced their scents into your face, the different smells so intense that it almost made you nauseous for a moment. The nausea seemed to be a pattern whenever they were around you, your mind darkly supplied.

Lust. Anger. The scent that Nikolai and Price seemed to share - and then a scent that had taken you two seconds to recognise. It was the scent from one of the female members who had followed you home - the alpha woman with the long braid, if you weren’t wrong. It seemed like the entire pack had mates within it.

The beta stranger stared at you with an angry look that was different from the dark ones from the two alphas. While there seemed to be seeping lust into the two older men’s stares, there was seemingly nothing but rage in his stare - like a wolf, having focused fully on its prey, waiting for the sign to attack from its members.

You stopped a few steps further away than usual, one hand holding onto your bag like it was a precious treasure - in many ways it was. You wanted to hit yourself for not thinking about putting your illegal pills in your jacket, instead of letting them stay in the bag. Easy to spot if one rummaged around a little.

Your other hand slid into the jacket pocket - tensing a little at the lack of a stun gun. It was in the other pocket - instead there was the cool metal of the pepper spray bottle pressing against your skin. It was better than nothing.

You hadn’t said anything, the seconds had passed and you had merely waited, as you knew they would say something sooner rather than later - something nasty or something to make you upset.

… and you weren’t wrong.

”It’s a pretty car in your garage.”

Nikolai’s voice was like a dark timbre from behind the stranger, his hand knocking against the garage door twice - and you saw red. You knew exactly what car - your dad’s car, YOUR car.

You knew the alpha said it to upset you, knew they wanted a reaction out of you and despite this, you still gave it to them; you growled deeply, deeper than you had before - as if it came from your chest, from your childhood self that was still protective over the unfixed car hidden beneath plastic and blankets. Your claws forced themselves out without your consent, as if you were getting ready to attack them, one against three.

“Easy, kitten.” Price suggested from the stairs, but you didn’t stop your growling immediately, especially not with that nickname - it died down slowly, like you were proving a point to not follow his orders like his small minions. But the man just looked at you, eyes dark but with a growing smile on his face.

“What things did you buy today then, Sunflower?” You felt all three men’s stares at you, as Price asked and you tightened the grip around the plastic bag - and around the pepper spray in your pocket, “- must have been somethin’ special, since you didn’t want a lift home from Soap.”

You huffed from amusement, the memory of Soap letting out a not quite masculine scream was still fresh in your mind - the youngest of the men, the beta closest to you, growled lowly at you. Apparently he didn’t find the situation amusing like you did.

“I’m quite capable of shopping on my own,” you finally replied, looking back at Price, squinting slightly at the leather clad alpha, unable to keep your voice from raising, “just like I’m capable of going places on my own. So stop makin’ all your little biker idiots stalk me - and don’t go snooping in my fucking garage!”

You were bordering on screaming, the deep boned anger and exhaustion of their constant harassment almost spilling over - the pure frustration over even having to tell people to give you some personal space felt surreal to you.

The wind got more intense for a second, making the trees and bushes in the gardens around you noisily sway - the wind curled between the houses along the road, almost sounding like it was breathing hard too; swallowing up the silence that followed your little outbreak.

It was Price who broke the silence first by, once again, laughing - only this time, the two others joined him.

Their condescending reaction made your toes curl; you felt small.

“What are you gonna do, tiny Sunflower?” Nikolai asked, mockery clear in his voice, as he tipped his head up a little, grinning at you, mostly swallowed by the dark, “Little taser of yours cannot keep us away forever, no?”

You were horrified by the mere fact that you knew he was right. Your already limited options of what to do were becoming less and less. You doubted calling the police right now would help, just like you doubted that your neighbours would all run out with kitchen knives and garden rakes if you screamed. No, you truly should have sold them the house the first time they even seemed interested in renting it, and gotten your ass out of Millhaven.

You didn’t feel like a strong alpha right now - and no matter how humiliating it was, you almost stammered out the words ‘just take the bloody house and let me go’. But then the front door to your blue house opened.

It didn’t take more than two seconds to recognise the woman standing in your front door. You didn’t know her name, but you didn’t even need to, her leather jacket and familiar scent instantly made you know who she was. The only one of the 141 women to ever speak directly to you.

One thing was her following you home, blatantly walking a couple of steps behind you - another thing was her breaking into your house. The many locks, one more fancy than the other, had clearly not kept them out. She was slightly illuminated by the light from your hallway, like a villain revealing herself.

“Get out of my fuck—“ The words got stuck in your throat. She hadn’t even bothered to look at you, merely looked down at Price who was sitting on the stairs; holding up a bottle that you knew too well.

A bottle of false alpha scent.

Price killed his cigar against your staircase, no doubt leaving a mark on the three, a pleased grin on his face, as the woman gave him the bottle. He merely raised it to his nose and took a quick sniff before he looked straight over at you; his grin turned from amusement to wickedness, like a feral alpha getting the scent of an unmated omega — which, sadly, wasn’t far from the truth.

You took a step back, the beta easily following, watching you like a hawk. The bag in your hand was shaking.

”You are no alpha,” it was more of a statement than a question from Nikolai, who pushed himself away from the garage door, taking a few steps towards you as well, “Beta or omega then - but I think you are small, confused omega, milaya.”

Run. Run. Run.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Like a disappointed parent, John Price shook his head as he rose, leaving the bottle of fake scent on the stairs, tipping his head to the side, “Such a mess - but don’t worry Sunflower, we will help you out.”

Run. Run. Run.

You panicked, words tumbling out of your mouth while your inner omega was screaming at you.

“You can rent the house - hell, buy it!” You rushed out, “you won’t even ha- i'll sell it for cheap!”

You weren’t stupid; it wasn’t an offer they were giving you, not with how they have been bothering you for weeks, not with how they stared at you, how the horny alpha pheromones began to fill the air around you. The bag slid from your hand, hitting the asphalt with a thunk but none of you reacted.

Run. Run. Run.

You carefully popped the lid of the pepper spray inside your pocket.

Nikolai said something in Russian, his laughter almost swallowing the words up before he was done.

“You ca-can just take the house,” you managed to stammer. Your stomach hurt - legs shook, as you tried to keep yourself up, the three men all staring at you.

It was as if there was something beneath your ribcage, a fear that vigorously grew so much you were sure you would combust; all of the scents, the hunger, the lust, the anger, it was all too much - the clouds dark above you, a soft rumble heard from the sky above. As if the weather was trying to warn you too.

You ran your finger along the tip of the spray, making sure you knew which way the spray would come from, so you wouldn't hit yourself.

Run. Run. Run.

”Cute of you to think that the house is the only thing we want now,” Price mused, before raising a hand towards your front door, the woman having disappeared, “Why don’t we go inside, pet? Nikolai and I have some questions.”

Every chance of talking your way out of this seemed abandoned.

”Alex,” Nikolai’s voice wasn’t loud but the loyal beta in front of you took a step towards you, raising his hand to grab onto you.

Your grip on the metal almost slipped, as you ripped the weapon from your pocket; while you had used the stun gun twice by now, you hadn’t tried the pepper spray before, but you solely relied on your instincts and from the scenes you had seen in movies.

Alex screamed as you sprayed him directly in the face, barely any distance between the two of you - but you didn’t stay around to gloat, a second barely passed and then you were off.

Run. Run. Run.

They might have been here for some weeks and gotten to know the basic outlay of Millhaven; but you had lived here your entire life, learned all the routes through people's gardens when you were a kid and stole apples, or when you had sneaked home as a teenager after staying out too late. You knew Millhaven like the back of your hand, even in the darkness - there was a thunderous rumble from the clouds above you, as you darted in between Mrs. Barnaby’s and the Carter pack’s houses and disappeared into the dark alleyway.

Run.

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aespadasanmiguel · 15 days ago

Text

3.3 hsr spoilers abt ciphlaea u have been warned

placing my ciphlaea thoughts here in longform because twitter sucks and also i dont want to get doxxed or whatever cause that place is full of crazies and i dont want to deal with that. anyway. people reducing ciphlaea to a proship sucks cause there's layers to all their interactions and their relationship can't really be fit into a neat box because of the setting. i finished the entire 3.3 story quest and a lot of the content is pointing to cipher being important to aglaea and vice versa so here are my 2, maybe 3 cents about the entire situation:

aglaea was already a demigod by the time cipher had met her, whether or not she was an adult and whether or not cipher was not that young, it stands as a Fact that she was older at the time. everyone saying that aglaea is not an adult at the time is hinging on the fact that we don't know for sure. later on, aglaea gives cipher a home to stay in due to her being hunted for her golden blood. does this mean she was adopted? i don't know. "taking someone in" has a huge range of meanings, ranging from adoption to simply giving someone a place to stay while they get back on their feet. speaking as someone who has taken in a friend because of a bad home situation, does this mean she was adopted into my family? no. additionally, aglaea did say in her line specifically to "stay with my side, and you can start putting yourself back together".

while there's no explicit saying that cipher was adopted and is now part of the goldweaver's name, it is implied that cipher stayed with her for some time, even going so far to say that it was "their" shop and no longer just aglaea's. whether or not cipher was just teasing about this is not explored, meaning that she probably really thinks that aglaea's home was her home as well.

from what i gathered from their dialogue, cipher does not quite see aglaea as an "authority figure" but also she does kind of see her as someone to look up to. they joke around (cipher asking aglaea to watch "their" shop while she goes off to steal things, the audacity of this cat) and they do mock each other (cipher going off about rich people, aglaea calling her a little thief in rags) but cipher has also been told by aglaea many times that she had the potential to be a good person. describing their relationship as a mother-daughter relationship is so strange because that is SO obviously not the case. the normalization of the nuclear family structure for the found family dynamic kills me because aglaea does not fill the role of a parent!!!!

plus, regardless of their past, it's also a fact that it has been one thousand years since their first meeting. they have grown drastically, both together and apart, and are now completely different people. we don't know the complete timeline of their "falling out", only that it was AFTER cipher got her coreflame and by this time, the two are already clearly good friends. cipher VERY CLEARLY sees aglaea as an equal and vice versa. aglaea never forces cipher into anything simply because she cannot as she does not have that kind of power over her. she literally has to beg cipher to come back to okhema and even then she has no guarantee that cipher would follow through!

all the material and hints points to them being equals. cipher calls tribbie and hysilens using honorifics (big sis and miss respectively, reflected in all translations) while cipher calls aglaea "seamstress" or simply "aglaea" (also reflected in all languages) from the start. hyacine never even dares to call aglaea "agy" despite her penchant for nicknames for everyone, and only tribbie calls aglaea agy aside from cipher. tribbie, who sees aglaea as a student. so why doesn't aglaea get called big sis (or god forbid mom) as well if they have this so called "mother-daughter" dynamic since clearly cipher has no hesitation in calling others with that kind of honorific? both tribbie and aglaea were friends with cipher (from character stories to cutscenes) yet only tribbie gets the title of "big sis". not only that but the way they describe each other, the way they talk to each other... it's not translated nor written with a mother-daughter relationship in mind. "i've spend centuries trying to figure out what went wrong, replaying every moment over and over"? "you have a beautiful face that deserves better than scars and grime"? "i want to be worthy of you"?? like what the Hell man

the two also obviously have many things left unsaid, with cipher leaving the flame chase out of the blue and especially their last scene. detailed spoilers below:

after cipher gets [redacted] by flame reaver, she hallucinates (perhaps uses the power of trickery on herself?) aglaea because she wanted to apologize to her despite it being too late. cipher apologizes, saying that the real reason she stayed away from her was because she was so good at reading hearts that her lie to keep okhema safe would have definitely been seen through. GOD the weight of those words are so insane because what do you mean u missed aglaea ("your weave shop, i wish i could chance upon it once more") but couldn't see her even if u wanted to because if u stayed too long, you'd slip up and jeopardize the entire city's safety?? platonic or romantic, it's so heartwrenching... and the last line as well... "agy, say something. anything. please..." then "you are the unsung hero of amphoreus, cifera". makes me choked up.... they meant so much to each other.....

BOTTOMLINE: it's hard to reduce something like that to a proship. their entire relationship can't just be condensed to "oh cipher was a kid, mother-daughter!! everyone who ships them is a weirdo!!!" when the reality is things aren't that cut and dry. you can't really apply real world standards to the likes of them, having supposedly lived through a thousand years and more. they have known each other so much longer than that short part of their life, with no lingering power dynamics at all since cipher has lived longer away from the chrysos heirs than with them. when laid out simply: the ship ciphlaea involves two 1k year old demigods that have a complicated past. like. screaming ciphlaea proship is just Crazy when people are out here shipping actual siblings with eachother.....

also taking a step back from all the lore shit and putting on my real world glasses. cipher in the CG looks so incredibly young but doesn't sound the part at all (for EN/JP atleast). not only that, but she also sounds older than her childlike voice in her character stories (i only checked for EN and JP so i cant say the same for the rest). the way she talks and the way she interacts with aglaea feels so out of touch with what she looks like in the CG and honestly it makes me wonder if she was portrayed more clearly to be an adolescent then, would the outrage be the same? hmm

edit: i wrote this in a sleep deprived haze but i forgot to add: if you don't feel comfortable shipping / seeing them as romantic then that's fine. if you see them as more of a "family" then that's also fine... cause they (the chrysos heirs as a whole) are written perfectly to fit the "found family" trope. it's just so strange seeing people adamantly saying they're "mother-daughter" lol

#ciphlaea

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receivedhope · 5 months ago

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I feel like it's pretty undeniable that from Season 3 onwards, there seemed to have been a shift in Blaine's character from how he was in Season 2. While I am not the first to point this out, I do think there are some greatly underutilized traits of Blaine present in S2 that get phased out as he receives more screen time and are not usually brought up in such conversations.

This will unfortunately get long because I love Blaine meta.

There was always some half attempt at making Blaine out to be bossy and while Puppet Master is an episode that aims to address this, I did think it fell a little flat in selling this side of him. He was more whiny than anything lol. This bossy side of him that always wants to be in control of the room and the people around him was... given a better set up, I'd say, while he was in the Warblers. It was more subtly showing than outright telling, though unfortunately we spend so little time in Dalton that it was hard to gauge the inner hierarchy and dynamics of the group accurately since they always presented a united front to outsiders - Trent's betrayal in S4 is a big deal. But I always did find it interesting how hung up they were on Blaine, who at the very most attended Dalton only for two years, as well as that he had no actual title such as a captain or head Warbler, yet was the decided leader of the group not just star performer. (See: Will shakes Blaine's hand after their Sectionals tie. Based on just the Warbler court scenes, you'd assume Wes stepping up here to do so make more sense.)

Though it was not lost completely and I always have been of the opinion that most conflict Kurt and Blaine have stem from their respective control issues. Kurt needs schedules, sufficient space to move on his own and he exercises his need for boundaries freely (see: retreating to his room in Home and asking Burt to leave as well, not allowing Finn to touch him in Theatricality and Grilled Cheesus, scheduling Friday night dinners with Burt, scheduling make outs with Blaine in DWS) while Blaine enjoys being the protector and ultimately having the last word (see: the entire plot of Tested and NNY). It makes a stupid amount of sense that the times they butt heads the core issue stems from an external force limiting their movement, like how in TFT Blaine sees the opening night closing in on him as a deadline and makes him panic, or when Blaine cheats in TBU to gain some control over how to identify their long distance relationship, or how Kurt feels their impending wedding more suffocating than anything pre S6.

However something that unfortunately did seem to get entirely lost from Blaine's character as time went on, that I do think miss from him entirely in latter seasons, is his conformist attitude from S2.

Blaine is almost Kurt's foil during his Dalton arc. While Kurt hates having to fit in (and has never quite succeeded in it at all), Blaine likes moving as one with other people. He likes being a part of a team, being depended on and being liked. And this attitude ultimately is why he is stuck in a rut before he meets Kurt - he retreats to Dalton when real life gets complicated and messy, because he is never challenged by it. Dalton is how Blaine ultimately sabotages himself.

Even his wardrobe in S2 was telling this story - a completely normal guy who likes being only that. The very few times we see him in everyday clothes, they are average with nothing outstanding to note. Dark colors, jeans, simple shirts. A far cry from "I am the center of attention and this primary colors proves it" and wacky bowties. While I always liked that Kurt is most likely the one picking out his clothes, I did enjoy this side of Blaine more, the subdued, regular everyday guy who wears only what his peers do - even if the costume department would have found it painfully boring to stick with in the long run lol.

Why he got so worked up about and increasingly frustrated with Finn actively excluding him from the ND in early S3 also makes sense. While Kurt, as a true individualist with no real desire to fit in is not easily phased by not being included, Blaine takes it to heart.

(I always thought Blaine views having a significant other is like always being in the same team with someone and is why he desires a relationship so much.)

I like this aligned with his hesitance and slight uncomfortableness over Kurt's prom outfit in PQ as well. (Though, I'm sorry to grasp as straws, I also enjoy the thought of Blaine deciding to side with Burt as a way to impress him - if you look closely, Blaine is more impressed and smitten with Kurt's outfit at first... But you are free to disregard this point because this is just me being insane.)

A natural conclusion of his bossy and conformist personality would ultimately result in him also leaning towards being authoritarian, which I think makes great sense for someone who likes being part of a team, knowing where they all stand and making sure he fits in but also preferring to take charge and be the head. I really like that! And I think this all being contrasted with Kurt, who can't blend in, even if he tries (see: Preggers, Laryngitis, his entire dalton arc, I'd argue that even his senior class president campaign as well as starting in NYADA qualify a bit) and always makes his own path to follow is just sooo interesting and can really sell the whole opposites attract thing! Because I do believe that Kurt found it particularly nice that there is this outstanding, well mannered guy who is respected by all his peers and is ready to go to bat for him, helping him push Kurt's ideas as well as using his influence to help him - I think somthing very similar attracted Kurt to Finn as well in S1 - and it is pretty much canon that Blaine finds Kurt's fighting spirit inspiring and something hopeful (I think he was inspired by Kurt to transfer to McKinley, which is why "I did this for me" and "I even switched schools for him" can simultaneously be true), as well as attractive that Kurt is a one of a kind (cut to 'youre the only one...' in DCT). Also put a pin in that last part, because I have so much to say about the consistent bird allegories and imagery associated with their relationship, but maybe at a later date since this is already getting long.

Other times, I also think that S3+ Blaine is not that out of left field if you pay attention to him in S2. Something that gets pretty early established is that Blaine is a rash and impulsive person. When he is hurt, he lashes out. You can see this in NoN when Karofsky picks a fight with them, it gets physical pretty quickly, however you can see Kurt being just... disappointed? Resigned, almost?

Blaine is also quick to react to Sandy's heckling that Kurt shuts down asap.

We later learn that Blaine is also entirely capable of doing things with the intent of hurting Kurt - he sings a Whitney Houston song at him that implies Kurt much less ambigiously cheated than in reality, in front of all his friends, because at the core of it is his anxiety about Kurt leaving him. He cheats on Kurt when he feels neglected.

And I think it is a bit naive to think he dated Karofsky entirely because of a supposed mutual attraction, ignoring the Kurt of it all. The history them three share is undeniable and he did want Kurt to feel like shit about it - which, for the record, I think is understandable since Kurt broke off their engagement rather ungracefully and it pushed Blaine into a depressive state, to the point of getting cut from NYADA and having to move back to Ohio.

All that to say - I always found all of the above very in line with the S2 Blaine who was quick to compare Kurt to Karofsky in BIOTA, just because Kurt said something mildly offensive in a moment where he was also hurt!

I guess this is also the time to quickly, as a sidenote, talk about Kurt's biphobic comment. I think the ultimate, intended purpose of the scene was more comedic. A mean, off color joke, but a joke RIB wanted to make nonetheless. However I do not find it out of character. Firstly: that is a seventeen year old boy who was told his whole life that he is disgusting and sick for liking men by the entirety of the conservative town he lives in. He is sexually assaulted by his closeted bully and has to transfer schools and he was never afforded to be "in" the closet either, because everyone around him assumes his sexuality. How right or wrong that is to do, is another topic. He has a crush on the only other out and proud gay kid in Ohio - who would rather give it a shot with a girl before Kurt. And to add insult to injury, Kurt already lost a crush of his to Rachel!

Of course he is hurt, of course he will say something less than gracious!

And Blaine in the only other person who is fully aware of Kurt's situation - for him to compare Kurt saying something mean and a bit offensive to Karofsky's actions is out of pocket, in my opinion.

I'm not sure how to end this neatly, but I will say this: I do like all of the above about Blaine and would have loved to see these traits more consistently. I do not think this darker side of his negates the good parts of him. If anything, understanding his lows helps me appreciate his highs even more.

#blaine anderson #glee meta #sorry for liking BLAINE sorry for having THOUGHTS about him #mymeta

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darlingdaisyfarm · 1 month ago

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Could you ever see Ford getting into a sorta DDLG relationship with Reader? Ford doesn’t need to be referred to as daddy or anything like that, it’s just more or less the nature of the relationship

thank u for asking!! seriously. made my brain work lol because ive thought about this too. honestly a lot. and i still don’t have a clear answer

part of the reason it’s so hard to figure out is because ddlg, when we’re talking about the actual dynamic, not just internet kinky stuff, is kinda complicated. it's deeply psychological, for me its about vulnerability and being taken care of in a very dependency-coded way. and with Ford, you can’t talk about dynamics like that without talking about trauma, guilt, repression, and the constant tension between his need for control and his belief that he’s fundamentally not safe to be close to

ill hide it under the cut because it's long

i believe Ford is extremely caring. intensely so. he’s protective over those he loves and absolutely has the capacity to caretake. i mean, he’s the kind of person who would research your triggers. who would actually read articles about your mental health condition and then print them out and annotate them. he’s the kind of person who would wake you up with a glass of water and your meds without making it a big deal. who would block off certain lab sections just because “i don’t want you around the chemicals, i’m not risking that” he’s cautious and self-sacrificing and..... yeah, really tender under the layers of anxiety. he’s not cold, i don’t see him so. maybe really bad with his feelings and explaining his emotions, but he’s not THAT distant emotionally, especially not when he really loves someone, especially OLDER Ford, post-weirdmageddon, when he's finally trying to be in the world, near his brother and family, instead of just run from it.

i think, Ford is not okay with being in that role CONSCIOUSLY. let me explain!! because deep down, he doesn’t trust himself with power after nearly destroying the whole world (not his fault, but he still blames himself for it). he has done damage with it to the people he loves so much. to Stan. to McGucket. to the entire world, as he thinks of course, because of weirdmaggedon.

BUT, and this is important, if we’re talking about a dynamic where it’s very much care-focused - yeah. Ford WOULD do things like make sure you ate. he’d pack your bag if you had a big day and he knows your executive dysfunction’s acting up. he’d gently push your forehead and go “bed. now. no, i don’t care that your doomscrolling is ‘important,’ come on.” he’d tuck you in and grumble about you using your phone a lot. and he’d never call himself “daddy” that's right, but he’d say things like ”come here, sweetheart. sit still for me”, ”i’ll take care of that.”, “you don’t have to think about it right now, i’ve got you.”, ”talk to me about it” and etc

and i 1000% believe there would be days where he needs to be the one taken care of. like where he goes into a shut-down state and doesn’t eat and you have to drag him out of his work chair. and if the dynamic is mutual and based on trust and respect rather than roles, i think Ford would exist in that kind of relationship absolutely normally. it just wouldn’t be ddlg in the way most people imagine. like sexualized or through roleplay that’s too close to the thing he fears he failed at most, being responsible for someone’s wellbeing

so yeah.... :') i’m still not sure. it's just Ford is that kind of character you want to trust, you want him to take care of you especially if you're into older men lol. and i think he wants that too, to take care of someone, he just doesn’t always think he deserves it because of his past

i hope that didn’t sound weird by the way. and yeah, not my final answer either. i love getting philosophical about this stuff. i still think about it a lot. AND IF YOU HAVE YOUR OWN THOUGHTS I’D GENUINELY LOVE TO READ THEM <3

#i hope it makes sense please tell me it does #thank u for asking still i love thinking about Ford #answered asks #ford pines x reader

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bunni-v1 · 4 months ago

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Pls the thing with Jamil from your Yuu being wary of scarabia post and why he kept Yuu around like that. Elaborate I’m begging you it’s too interesting of a dynamic before and after. I can pay you in my adoration keep it up here!

🍓Okay so I really haven't touched twst in a long time, but this idea continues to haunt me. I think about it so frequently, and I've been into twst again because of Malleus statue, so I decided to revisit this concept. It's more of a big long ramble, but I do hope you like it <3

TW: Manipulation; Creepy behavior; Power imbalance; This IS written with implied romance (but it's pretty fucked up and toxic); Possessive behaviors; unedited

Info: Jamil x Reader; Angst

Disclaimer: Jamil is an incredibly complex character with very contradictory actions throughout the whole of book four. This is my take on his character, and it may not align with how you view him. It's important to note that the only canon interpretation of his character is what is in-game and official depictions.

Post referenced

Jamil is very aware of you far before you're aware of him. He makes it his job to know who to avoid, and you're very high up on that list. You have a reputation that he's pretty certain you're not fully aware of, and trouble seems to follow you wherever you go. It's not really something he wants to have to deal with.

For whatever reason, though, he does end up bringing you back to Scarabia. In part, this is almost a power play on his part. You make him have a sense of power he doesn't really have with anyone else around NRC, even as vice housewarden. You rely on him, and your naivety is something addicting to someone who craves power. Not to mention he also considers that you could help him sell his story much better.

Kalim abusing the magicless, helpless human from another world would only make his case for upheaval all the better amongst his dorm members. So to start it's all part of his plan, a means of stroking his ego.

However, the issue comes in when he makes a genuine connection with you. You are kind, generous, and understanding with no real ulterior motives -- a genuineness he hasn't really experienced before. Of course, he doesn't actually open up to you much. He keeps you pretty distant, despite how he does his best to play up that warm and welcoming persona. But he does give you crumbs of his real struggle, shrouded in manipulation.

He finds himself... attached. Jealous of any time you spend with Kalim, wanting to keep your attention on him, and desperate to sell the idea of Kalim as a monster to you more than others. It's an odd feeling for Jamil, who doesn't usually care for more than surface-level appearances and feelings. It's just another addition to his ultimate overblot, and he's quite terrifying when he does finally blot.

One of the very first things he does is isolate you from your "friends" (if you can count the tweels and Azul as friends at this point), making sure your attention is on him. He wants you to worship him, he wants that reliance that he craved so much in the time you spent together, he wants to feel powerful. Next to you, he feels so very powerful.

I don't even believe he would do anything violent or too cruel, mostly just worshiping and demanding attention and praise. It's not much different from what you normally go through, though a little less blatantly violent and aggressive. That's what makes it so awful to you, though.

Before everyone else was just blatantly being... evil. Jamil manipulated, lied, extorted, and so much more. You liked Jamil, you genuinely thought he wanted to be friends with you and meant well. He reveals otherwise in your time (sort of) alone with him, and it really shakes you up. It would shake anyone up.

What's worse is you don't have time to process all that terror and anger and betrayal. Everything happens in such quick succession, one moment you're being kidnapped and the next there's a grand celebration. It's all too much for your brain to process, and it only gets the chance to do so when Ace and Deuce -- your safe space -- come to get you.

Your reaction, on the surface, seems incredibly dramatic. Collapsing and sobbing until your throat is so raw you can't make noise, but after the trauma you've endured, it's wholly reasonable. Jamil falls into the former way of thinking, believing you're just being overdramatic and theatrical. You'd been through many overblots at this point, with much more powerful sorcerers... this reaction is a bit much...

After all's said and done, though, Jamil doesn't spare you much thought. Of course, there is a lingering sense of... something. Not quite guilt, not quite regret, just an ache that he doesn't have the time or energy to address himself. He's far too busy dealing with his own reputation and wellbeing to bother you.

Your sobs, though, they keep him up at night. He has dreams where he hears them tear through the silence, and they continue to ring in his ears long after he's woken up. He isn't sure why it's bothering him so much, it really shouldn't, but it does. It's a constant nag at his conscience, just a bug that he swats away when he doesn't want to think about it.

He doesn't have to confront it until he comes face to face with you during VDC auditions. The genuine terror on your face when he looks at you, like he might overblot then and there again, it's sobering. He'd seen that look a million times on his parents faces, horror as they face punishment from the Asim's. It's not a face he'd imagined he would be the cause of -- not a face he wanted to be the cause of.

It hits him hard in that moment just how... evil he was. He knew he was bad. He's fully aware he's selfish and the stunt he pulled was something unspeakable in a lot of ways. Yet, he never thought he would have to deal with someone looking at him like that, someone thinking of him the same way he thinks of his captors.

It's just his luck that he can't avoid you, ending up on the official VDC team and literally living in your space. It's not just you, either, both Ace and Deuce seem to hate his guts with a passion. Grim voices that anger all the time, and Kalim doesn't help the tension with his guilty puppy demeanor. You do end up forgiving Kalim, thanks to Kalim finally making an active effort by himself for once. Jamil won't lie and say it doesn't make him a little jealous, but he also fully understands he doesn't deserve your forgiveness.

He doesn't push or pull, he just allows you to do what you will. It's not his place to push or pull, you are the only person who can decide what you need. He won't apologize unless you seem to want him to by seeking him out, he won't ask for forgiveness unless you seem willing to give it to him. He just allows you to be, which is quite honestly the best reaction you've gotten from any former overblotees.

He, of course, ends up confessing this all to his sister. Heavily edited and censored, for her own wellbeing. Najma tells him he's a moron, but encourages him to make amends with you, or at least try to let you know he's sorry. Without him knowing, she even talks to you about it a bit when you visit the Scalding Sands. There is a notable shift in your comfortability around him after it, though he doesn't know why this is.

He does eventually get the chance to talk to you, though you have to approach him. It's a quiet night when it happens, and he just couldn't sleep and the warm air in the dorm was making his skin far too hot, so he takes a walk and ends up outside of your dorm. His guilt led him there like an idiot, a rare show of vulnerability.

You, who also couldn't sleep, saw him out there and invited him despite better judgment. He accepts, despite his own better judgment, and finally, you talk. He expects anger and hatred, but of course, you cannot manage that even against him. You are understanding and gentle, even with the way you tremble as you speak. He gets to apologize, genuinely, for scaring you and doing the things he did. Explains that he, at some point, was genuine about his friendliness with you. That he did like having you around, but all of that means nothing with what's already happened.

Whether or not you two fix things and are able to be friends is up to you, but you do both get closure.

#bunni's treats 🧁#x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jamil x reader #twst jamil #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper #twisted wonderland jamil

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velvetvisionsaurora · 1 month ago

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Synopsis: When talented producer Y/n (known professionally as the mysterious "Celeste") accepts a position at JYP Entertainment to help Stray Kids with their comeback, she expects to focus solely on creating music. What she doesn't expect is the immediate connection she feels with Han Jisung—the group's quick-witted, sensitive rapper and producer who's been following her career from afar.

Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Smut, Heartbreak

<<Previous Next>> Masterlist

Chapter 7: Aftermath

Morning arrived far too quickly, dragging you from fitful sleep with the harsh reminder that a new day meant facing Han after last night's painful exchange. You'd spent hours rehearsing your approach—professional, unbothered, focused solely on the work. The comeback album was too important to let personal feelings interfere, regardless of how raw those feelings might be.

You dressed with careful consideration, choosing an outfit that felt like armor—black jeans, a loose-fitting but stylish blouse, and a light jacket that added a layer of professional distance. You pulled your pink hair back into a sleek ponytail, applied makeup that emphasized composure rather than emotion, and practiced your most neutral expression in the mirror.

"Just colleagues," you reminded your reflection. "Just the music."

When your phone chimed with a text from Chan confirming the day's schedule, you felt a twist of anxiety. The morning would begin with a production session involving just you and 3RACHA—meaning you, Chan, Changbin, and Han in the intimate confines of the studio. There would be no avoiding Han, no buffer of other members to dilute the tension.

You were strong enough to handle this. You'd navigated difficult interpersonal dynamics throughout your career. This was just another professional challenge, albeit one that had somehow become painfully personal.

With a deep breath, you gathered your notes and laptop, locked your dorm, and headed for the company building. The spring morning was bright and clear, a cheerful contrast to your turbulent emotions. You walked briskly, using the time to clear your head and fortify your professional resolve.

When you reached the studio, you were relieved to find only Chan present, setting up equipment with his usual methodical focus.

"Morning," he greeted, his tone carefully normal but his eyes assessing your state. "Coffee?"

"Please," you replied, managing a small smile as you settled at your usual workstation. "Strong as possible."

Chan handed you a mug from the machine in the corner, his expression softening slightly. "How are you doing?"

The simple question, asked with genuine concern rather than prying curiosity, threatened to crack your composed facade. You took a sip of coffee to buy time before answering.

"I'm fine," you said finally. "Professional differences happen. It's not a big deal."

Chan's raised eyebrow suggested he didn't believe your dismissal but respected your desire to downplay the situation. "Of course," he agreed. "Just know that if you need anything—adjustments to the schedule, different groupings for sessions—you can tell me. The album is important, but so is everyone's well-being."

His thoughtful offer touched you. "Thank you, Chan. I appreciate that. But really, I'm okay. The work comes first."

He nodded, turning back to the equipment setup but adding quietly, "For what it's worth, Han was still awake when I got up this morning. Looked like he hadn't slept at all."

You weren't sure how to respond to this information. Part of you was vindictively pleased that Han had suffered a sleepless night; a larger part ached at the thought of him in distress, despite your own hurt.

Before you could formulate a reply, the door opened to reveal Changbin, carrying an extra cup of iced coffee and looking unusually somber.

"Morning," he greeted, his typically boisterous energy subdued. His eyes flicked between you and Chan, clearly gauging the atmosphere. "Han's on his way. He was... getting something."

The vague explanation hung awkwardly in the air as Changbin took his usual seat, leaving Han's spot conspicuously empty. The three of you engaged in stilted small talk about technical aspects of the tracks you'd be working on, the artificial normalcy almost worse than acknowledgment of the tension.

When the door finally opened again, you deliberately kept your eyes on your screen, even as you felt Han's presence like a physical change in the atmosphere. There was a moment of absolute silence before he spoke.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, his voice hoarse, as if he'd been awake for too long or speaking too much. Or both.

You glanced up despite your best intentions and immediately wished you hadn't. Han looked terrible—eyes shadowed by dark circles, hair disheveled despite obvious attempts to tame it, complexion pale with exhaustion. He met your gaze for a fleeting second before looking away, guilt evident in his expression.

"We were just getting started," Chan said smoothly, gesturing to Han's empty chair. "We're focusing on the final mix for track three today."

Han nodded, moving to his station with uncharacteristic hesitation. You noticed he was carrying a small paper bag, which he placed carefully beside his equipment before sitting down.

The session began with professional focus, all four of you slipping into the familiar routine of playback, analysis, and adjustment. You spoke when necessary, offering technical observations and creative suggestions with careful neutrality. Han was unusually quiet, contributing only when directly addressed by Chan or Changbin, his usual animated enthusiasm notably absent.

After an hour of this stilted productivity, Chan stretched and announced, "I need more coffee. Changbin, come help me carry some back for everyone."

The transparent excuse to leave you and Han alone was almost comical in its obviousness. Changbin didn't even attempt to make it seem natural, immediately standing and following Chan toward the door with an exaggerated, "Yes, I definitely need to help carry four coffee cups. That's definitely a two-person job."

As the door closed behind them, the studio fell into uncomfortable silence. You continued working, determinedly focused on your screen even as you felt Han's gaze on you.

"Y/n," he finally said, his voice quiet but clear in the silent room. "I need to apologize."

You kept your eyes on your work, fingers still moving across your keyboard though you weren't actually accomplishing anything. "It's fine. We should focus on the track."

"It's not fine," he insisted, his chair creaking as he turned fully toward you. "What I said last night was completely untrue and unfair. I hurt you, and I'm so sorry."

The sincerity in his voice made it harder to maintain your professional detachment. You finally stopped pretending to work and looked at him directly, keeping your expression carefully controlled.

"I understand," you said evenly. "You were put on the spot and said something to deflect attention. It happens."

"That's not—" Han ran a hand through his already messy hair, frustration evident in the gesture. "I'm not apologizing because I was caught in an awkward moment. I'm apologizing because I said something deliberately hurtful to create distance when I felt cornered. That's not okay."

His frank assessment of his own behavior caught you off guard. You'd expected either continued avoidance or superficial apologies, not this direct acknowledgment of the underlying dynamics.

"Like a sister," you repeated his words, unable to keep a hint of bitterness from your tone. "That was quite a distance to create."

Han winced visibly. "I know. It was the furthest thing from the truth that I could think of in that moment. Which only makes it worse."

You weren't sure how to process this admission. "The furthest thing from the truth?"

He held your gaze, something vulnerable and honest in his expression. "You know it is. Whatever is between us—professionally, personally—it's not... that. Not remotely."

The acknowledgment hung in the air between you, neither of you quite ready to define the alternative more explicitly. The moment stretched, tense with unspoken meaning, until Han reached for the paper bag he'd brought with him.

"Here," he said, offering it to you. "A peace offering. Though it doesn't begin to make up for what I said."

Hesitantly, you accepted the bag and looked inside. It contained a small box from a bakery you recognized—the one Felix had introduced you to during your first week. Inside the box was a pastry, but not just any pastry. It was a specialty item that you'd once mentioned in passing was similar to something your mother used to make when you were a child.

The thoughtfulness of the gesture—the fact that he'd remembered such a small detail from a casual conversation weeks ago—made your throat tight with emotion you couldn't afford to show.

"Thank you," you said softly, closing the box. "That was... very thoughtful."

"It's the least I could do," Han replied, clearly relieved at your acceptance. "I was up all night thinking about how to apologize properly. Words seemed inadequate."

You nodded, understanding the sentiment all too well. "I appreciate the gesture, Han. Really."

A tentative smile crossed his tired face. "Does this mean you might forgive me? Eventually?"

The hopeful uncertainty in his voice chipped at your defensive walls. Despite your hurt, you found yourself wanting to ease his evident distress.

"There's nothing to forgive," you said, setting the pastry box carefully on your desk. "We're colleagues working together on an important project. Sometimes tensions arise. It's natural."

Han's expression fell slightly at your professional framing, but he nodded. "Right. Colleagues. Of course."

Before either of you could say more, the door opened as Chan and Changbin returned, conspicuously slowly, as if they'd been waiting in the hallway to give you enough time to talk.

"Coffee delivery," Chan announced with forced brightness, setting cups down for everyone. His eyes darted between you and Han, assessing the atmosphere.

"Thanks," you said, reaching for your cup with deliberate normalcy. "Shall we get back to the bridge section? I had some thoughts about the vocal layering."

The session resumed its professional rhythm, though the earlier tension had transformed into something more complex—not quite resolved, but no longer as raw. You and Han maintained a careful distance, speaking to each other only about technical matters, but the hostility had dissipated into a melancholy sort of acceptance.

By lunchtime, you had made significant progress on the track, professional focus proving to be an effective balm for personal discomfort. When Chan suggested breaking for food, you excused yourself with the excuse of needing to review some notes alone, needing space to regroup after the emotional morning.

"I'll bring something back for you," Chan offered, understanding in his eyes.

You nodded gratefully and watched as the three of them filed out, Han lingering briefly at the door with an unreadable expression before following the others.

Once alone, you allowed yourself a moment of vulnerability, closing your eyes and releasing a shaky breath. The apology pastry sat on your desk, both touching and painful in its thoughtfulness. Han had been genuinely remorseful, had acknowledged the falseness of his hurtful words, had even hinted at the true nature of his feelings.

But nothing had really changed. The fundamental complications remained—your temporary assignment, the contract clause, the professional relationship that had to take priority. His apology might have smoothed over the immediate hurt, but the underlying situation was unaltered.

You opened the pastry box and broke off a small piece, the familiar flavor bringing a bittersweet comfort. Some gestures spoke louder than words, and Han's choice of peace offering suggested he understood you better than you had given him credit for.

When the door opened again sometime later, you expected Chan or perhaps all three returning from lunch. Instead, Felix poked his head in, his usual bright smile replaced by concerned scrutiny.

"Hey," he greeted, stepping inside. "Thought I might find you hiding out here."

"Not hiding," you corrected automatically. "Working."

His skeptical expression made it clear he didn't believe you. "Right. And that very untouched laptop screen is showing you all sorts of important production things."

You glanced at your computer, realizing you hadn't even unlocked it since the others left. "Okay, maybe not actively working at this exact moment."

Felix settled into the chair beside you, his presence comforting in its simplicity. Unlike Chan's careful leadership or Changbin's observant silence or Han's complicated emotions, Felix offered straightforward friendship without ulterior motives.

"How did it go this morning?" he asked directly. "Han was a wreck when I saw him at breakfast. Looked like he hadn't slept at all."

"It was..." you searched for the right word, "professional."

"That doesn't sound promising," Felix observed. "Did he at least apologize properly?"

You nodded, gesturing to the pastry box. "Complete with peace offering."

Felix peered inside the box, recognition dawning in his eyes. "The one that reminds you of your mom's baking? He remembered that?"

"Apparently," you confirmed, unsure whether to be touched or troubled by Han's attention to such details.

"And did you forgive him?" Felix pressed.

You sighed, picking at another small piece of the pastry. "I said there was nothing to forgive. That we're colleagues and sometimes tensions happen."

Felix winced. "Ouch. That's cold, Y/n."

"It's realistic," you countered. "What else am I supposed to say? That I forgive him for panicking when teased about feelings that would violate my contract if they existed? That it didn't hurt to be publicly dismissed as 'like a sister' when we both know that's not how he sees me? That I'm fine with this whole complicated mess when I'm supposed to be here producing an album, not navigating emotional minefields?"

The words spilled out with more emotion than you'd intended, your carefully maintained composure finally cracking under Felix's gentle concern. He waited until you'd finished, then placed a comforting hand on your arm.

"You're supposed to say whatever is true," he said simply. "Not what's easiest or most professional or most convenient."

You looked at him, surprised by the straightforward wisdom. "The truth is complicated, Felix."

"It usually is," he agreed. "But pretending your feelings don't exist doesn't make them go away. Trust me, Han's been trying that approach, and you saw how well it worked for him last night."

The observation struck uncomfortably close to home. "I'm not pretending anything. I'm being realistic about the situation."

Felix's expression was skeptical but kind. "If you say so. Just... don't use professionalism as a shield so much that you forget there's a person behind it. Han messed up, but he's genuinely sorry and genuinely cares about you."

"I know," you admitted softly. "That's what makes this so difficult."

"Difficult things are often the most worthwhile," Felix said with unexpected seriousness. "But I'll stop pushing. Just know I'm here if you want to talk—about Han, about music, about anything."

You smiled gratefully, feeling some of the tension ease from your shoulders. "Thanks, Felix. You're a good friend."

"The best," he corrected with a flash of his usual brightness. "Now eat that apology pastry before it gets stale. Food is too important to waste on emotional standoffs."

His light humor broke through your melancholy, drawing a genuine laugh that felt like the first in ages, though it had only been since last night that joy had seemed so distant. Felix stayed until the others returned, his casual chatter about dance practice and dorm life providing a welcome distraction from heavier thoughts.

When Chan, Changbin, and Han returned with lunch for everyone, including a sandwich for you despite your earlier refusal, the atmosphere had lightened considerably. Felix's presence seemed to ease the tension, his natural social ability creating a buffer that allowed everyone to interact more normally.

As the afternoon session progressed, you found yourself gradually relaxing into the familiar creative rhythm. Music had always been your sanctuary, the place where complications fell away and only sound mattered. Here, in the mathematical precision of beats and the emotional truth of melodies, you and Han could communicate without the awkwardness that now characterized your personal interactions.

When he suggested a counter-melody for the bridge section, you built on it instinctively. When you adjusted the reverb on his vocal track, he nodded in immediate understanding. The musical connection between you remained undiminished, perhaps even enhanced by the heightened awareness of each other that had resulted from the previous night's confrontation.

By the end of the day, track three was nearly complete, the collective effort transforming it from a promising sketch into a polished gem that showcased the best of everyone's abilities. As you listened to the final playback, satisfaction temporarily overshadowed the personal complications that had dominated your thoughts since last night.

"This is exactly what I envisioned," Chan declared as the track ended, genuine pride in his voice. "Great work, everyone."

"Especially considering the circumstances," Changbin added with unusual tact. "Professional focus under personal tension isn't easy."

You and Han exchanged a brief glance, acknowledgment passing between you of how you'd managed to maintain your creative partnership despite everything. It wasn't resolution, but it was something—proof that the work, at least, could survive the complicated emotions surrounding it.

As you packed up your things, Chan announced, "Tomorrow we'll start on the final adjustments for the title track. Same time, same team."

You nodded, already mentally preparing for another day of careful navigation around Han. At least now you knew it was possible—difficult, but possible.

Han lingered as you gathered your notes, clearly wanting to speak to you alone again but unsure how to create the opportunity. You deliberately took your time, allowing Chan and Changbin to leave first, curious despite yourself about what he might say.

When the door closed behind the others, Han spoke hesitantly. "Thank you."

"For what?" you asked, pausing in your packing.

"For not letting my stupidity affect the music," he clarified, genuine gratitude in his tired eyes. "For still working with me like nothing happened, even though we both know it did."

The simple acknowledgment touched you. "The music deserves our best, regardless of personal complications."

"Still," he insisted, "it couldn't have been easy. I know it wasn't for me."

You allowed yourself to meet his gaze directly, dropping some of your careful neutrality. "No, it wasn't easy. But I meant what I said this morning. We're colleagues first, Han. The album has to come first."

He nodded, though something like disappointment flickered across his face. "Of course. The album first."

A heavy silence fell between you, filled with all the things neither of you were ready to say explicitly. Finally, Han gestured to the pastry box, which now contained only crumbs.

"Was it... did it taste like you remembered?" he asked, an unexpectedly vulnerable note in his voice.

The question, so simple yet revealing of how much attention he'd paid to your casual comments weeks ago, made your carefully maintained resolve waver.

"It was perfect," you admitted softly. "Thank you for remembering."

Han's smile was tired but genuine. "I remember everything you say," he confessed, the words slipping out as if without conscious permission. His eyes widened slightly, as if he'd surprised himself with the admission.

The moment balanced on a knife's edge—you could acknowledge the meaning behind his words or retreat to safer ground. Professional wisdom dictated the latter, but something deeper pulled you toward honesty.

"Han," you began, uncertain where the sentence was going, "I—"

The studio door burst open, startling you both as Hyunjin bounded in with his typical energy.

"There you are!" he exclaimed, apparently oblivious to the moment he'd interrupted. "Chan said you were still here. We're ordering dinner for everyone at our dorm. Special celebration for finishing the executive review. You're both required to attend. No excuses."

The interruption effectively shattered the fragile openness that had been building between you and Han. You stepped back, professional mask sliding back into place with practiced ease.

"Sounds great," you replied with a polite smile. "What time?"

"Seven," Hyunjin announced. "Don't be late. I.N. is in charge of ordering, so expect enough food for a small army."

As Hyunjin continued chatting about dinner plans, the opportunity for private conversation with Han evaporated. You finished gathering your things, the moment of potential honesty lost to circumstance.

"I should head back to my dorm before dinner," you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "Need to call my manager in LA about some paperwork."

Han nodded, disappointment evident in his posture though he maintained a neutral expression. "See you at seven, then."

Hyunjin looked between you with barely concealed curiosity but uncharacteristic restraint, perhaps sensing the delicate equilibrium that had been established. He offered to walk with you back to the dorms, but you politely declined, needing space to regroup before the group dinner ahead.

The walk back to your dorm was filled with conflicting emotions. The professional part of you was pleased with how you'd handled the day—maintaining focus, completing excellent work, establishing appropriate boundaries with Han after his apology. But beneath that satisfaction lurked a persistent melancholy, a sense of opportunities closing before they could be fully explored.

Han remembered everything you said. The simple confession replayed in your mind, its implications both touching and troubling. It suggested an attention to detail, a level of care, that went far beyond professional interest or casual friendship.

As you reached your dorm and unlocked the door, your phone chimed with a text message. Felix, confirming dinner details and adding, "Han's bringing those honey cookies you mentioned liking last week. In case you were wondering if his thoughtfulness extends beyond apology pastries."

You stared at the message, a complicated warmth spreading through your chest. Two carefully chosen food items in one day, both selected based on offhand comments you'd made weeks apart, both remembered with surprising precision.

With a sigh, you set your phone down and moved to the bathroom to freshen up before dinner. The mirror reflected a woman trying very hard to maintain professional boundaries with someone who clearly paid attention to details most people would ignore.

"Just nineteen more weeks," you reminded your reflection, though the words sounded hollow even to your own ears.

Nineteen weeks of careful navigation, of working closely with Han while pretending not to notice how he remembered your favorite foods, how he anticipated your production choices, how he watched you when he thought you weren't looking.

Nineteen weeks of creating intimate, emotionally honest music together while maintaining an artificial distance in person.

Nineteen weeks until you could return to LA and try to forget the way Han had looked at you today when he'd admitted, "I remember everything you say."

As you changed into fresh clothes for dinner, you wondered if professionalism was worth the emotional cost it seemed to be exacting from both of you. But the alternative—acknowledging whatever was growing between you, pursuing it despite the complications—seemed equally impossible.

For now, you would go to dinner. You would interact normally with all eight members, Han included. You would maintain the careful balance established today—colleagues first, with the album as top priority.

And you would try very hard not to read too much into honey cookies or remembered details or moments of almost-honesty interrupted by well-meaning friends.

Nineteen more weeks. You could manage that.

You had to.

Han stood in the bakery near their dorm, staring at the display case with intense concentration. The honey cookies you had once mentioned enjoying were arranged on a tray, golden and inviting. He'd been relieved to find them still available, having worried they might be a seasonal offering.

"Just these, please," he told the cashier, pointing to the cookies. "A dozen."

As the woman boxed his purchase, Han reflected on the day's emotional obstacle course. Your initial coldness had been expected but still painful, your eventual thaw during the apology a relief, the professional productivity of the afternoon a welcome return to familiar ground.

But it was the almost-moment at the end of the day that occupied his thoughts most insistently. Before Hyunjin's interruption, you had been about to say something—something that had required a visible gathering of courage. What would you have said if Hyunjin hadn't burst in?

The question would likely haunt him for days, adding to the collection of almost-moments and unsaid words that characterized your relationship.

"Here you go," the cashier said, handing him the neatly wrapped box. "Special occasion?"

Han considered the question more seriously than she had probably intended. "Not exactly," he replied. "More like... a beginning. Maybe."

She smiled, clearly not understanding his cryptic response but recognizing the hope in it. "Good luck, then."

"Thanks," he said, taking the cookies. "I think I'll need it."

As he walked back to the dorm, cookies in hand and resolution in his heart, Han made a decision. He would give you space, would respect the professional boundaries you'd reinforced today, would focus on the album as agreed.

But he would also stop actively denying the truth—to himself, to you, to anyone who asked. No more "like a sister" deflections, no more pretending his feelings were purely professional or casually friendly.

The truth was complicated, yes. But as Felix had pointed out that morning, pretending feelings didn't exist only led to outbursts like last night's, to hurt and misunderstanding and regret.

For the remaining nineteen weeks of your contract, Han would be honest—not aggressively or demandingly, but consistently. Would let his actions and words align with the truth rather than fighting against it.

And maybe, just maybe, you might eventually trust that truth enough to share your own.

In the meantime, there were honey cookies to deliver and a group dinner to attend. Small steps on a path he wasn't entirely sure of, but one that felt more authentic than the defensive distance he'd been trying to maintain.

Nineteen weeks was both too long and not nearly enough time. But it was all they had, and Han was determined not to waste any more of it on fear-driven denials or false declarations.

Starting tonight, with cookies you'd mentioned once in passing and he'd stored away in his memory like a treasure.

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