#it looks a little better than the one before at least

[bizarrelovetriangel]

lipstick stains.

reader decides to dabble with art using several lipstick as her tools and sylus' sleeping face as her canvas.

fluff. inspired by one of sylus' texts in the game (included down below near the end). no warnings, just little kisses and reader having a little fun <3

It's two in the afternoon and there's nothing to do until sunset, when it's time to get ready for a date with your lover who's currently sleeping.

No... maybe there is something you could do.

A certain someone recently just bought you several new shades of lipstick from the brand that you love. Maybe now is a good idea to see which color would suit your outfit best for your date.

You wore a sly grin as you gathered all of your new lipstick and tiptoed your way inside Sylus' bedroom.

He's still in the same position as when you put him to bed: mostly on his back, though his upper body's slightly on a higher level due to the fluffy cold pillow supporting his shoulders.

He's wearing his satin burgundy robe, which had gotten a little loose to expose a portion of his chest. You were tempted to rest your head against it, but you can't afford to be distracted right now. You have a mission.

You're going to test the shades of your new lipstick with Sylus' help.

First up is cherry.

You put on a single layer of that color on your lips, then you carefully leaned down towards Sylus' face and softly kissed his forehead. You made sure it was as light as a feather so he doesn't wake up and end your fun so soon.

Next: rose.

You painted your lips with the brighter shade and pecked Sylus' left cheek. It gave a similar result as the previous contender: it looks great, but this particular color probably won't match your outfit tonight.

Third candidate is: wine

This one went to his right cheek and your gaze lingered on it for a little longer than the rest, as the color seemed so fitting on Sylus' face. The stain of wine always did compliment him, so this shouldn't be a surprise.

Up next is blood-red.

It's darker than wine and you also love its velvety texture. More importantly, the kiss mark of its hue looks wonderful on Sylus' left jawline.

Following that is blush.

This one's brighter and more on the pink side. Even though you like it, tonight won't be the night when you'd wear it. Nonetheless, it certainly looks lovely on your lover's chin, which twitched for a second after you kissed it.

Next one is apple.

You kissed the right side of Sylus' jaw and awed at its surprisingly vibrant tone. This one might work quite well with your outfit.

There's the shade called merlot, too.

It's more on the darker side, but you're not sure if it'll look good with your outfit tonight. On the other hand, it's cute on Sylus' nose.

Last but not least: ruby

This one seems like it's in the middle of the palette in terms of saturation, and it appears to have an appealing texture as well. To test it out, you put it on your lips and left a mark on the little spot just above his lips.

Or at least, that was the plan.

Sylus stirred all of a sudden, so you ended up kissing him on the lips.

From the very moment your lips touched, your face heated up and you backed away in panic.

You've kissed him plenty of times. You've kissed him on the lips and on spots that are not his lips. You've done way more than kissing. And yet still, your heart raced at the thought of him catching you stealing kisses from him while he sleeps.

It's still a little early for him to wake up, so you decided to leave him alone for now. You took all of your lipstick with you and ran out before he could detect your presence.

//////////

Your mouth drops at the text message you just received.

"I need to hide, quickly! You guys better not snitch on me! Especially you, Mephie!" You glared at the crow before leaving Luke and Kieran, suddenly ending your game of Kitty Cards.

You fled to look for a hiding spot, but it's too late. Your face planted against a strong chest.

You swore you heard a cough from behind you, followed by the sound of someone's phone clicking for a picture.

It didn't matter though because Sylus spared no attention to Luke, Kieran, and Mephisto as his eyes are completely focused on you.

"Sylus....." you laughed nervously. "Good afternoon. Had a nice dream?"

"Mhmm." He crossed his arms, giving you a raised brow. "In my dream, I was being attacked by a mischievous kitten while I was asleep."

"...."

"You're coming with me." He took one step towards you and leaned down to whisper to your ear. "You have to be punished for your crimes."

Suddenly, he threw you over his shoulder and retreated back to his bedroom.

Luke and Kieran looked at each other.

"Did you get the picture?"

"Yeah."

[swtheartz]

i loved your little drabble of the “breaking up with mark doesn’t work” post and i’d really like to hear your thoughts on how that would go down with some of his variants if you have the time pretty please🫶✨

ohh of course dear !! been thinking abt it and this req inspired me even more info : obsessive behavior, mentions and acts of murder, stalking, he’s crazy in every universe. gn!reader a / n : this is a gift to you guys for 348 followers. i’m soo grateful n happy <33

SINISTER MARK

he thinks it’s a joke at first. you’ve no real reason to actually want to leave him, right? he’s utterly convinced that there was nothing wrong with the relationship. and to be fair, there wasn’t. other than the fact he was possessive as shit and always had tabs on you. would scare off your friends and constantly linger around you whenever he wasn’t terrorizing the masses. the second he realizes that you’re serious? he doesn’t take it very well. you won’t ever find someone better than him. he won’t let you. just what human could ever be better than him?

“You’re not very good at jokes,” Mark says—voice and expression both hauntingly blank. It sends chills down your spine for the simple fact he’s never had such an empty tone. The way he looks at you is something that you can’t exactly put into words. Maybe he’s disappointed. Maybe he’s annoyed, or expectant, or some other emotion that you cannot be bothered to decipher. Not when there’s blood staining your clothes and his, the floor, your cheeks and his hands. Whatever ‘friend’ you were hanging out with was dead before they’d hit the ground. It’s been twelve days since you had gathered the courage to tell Mark you wanted a break, and it took him this long to take you seriously. Thought, it hadn’t taken much effort for him to take a life. “I don’t know why you thought this was a good idea. . .” He hummed, tilting his head as he crouched down in front of you, watching you tremble like a deer in front of an incomprehensible creature. ”But let’s not do this again, hm?”

OMNI MARK

calm. at least, he seems calm. but he also doesn’t take you very seriously. acts as he usually does, even asks you when the next date night is. as if he’ll even be able to make it with his schedule and how often he cancels on you. looks at you as though you’ve said something ludicrous when you answer that there isn’t a date night—you’re not together anymore. surely, you don’t know what you’re talking about. if you wanted him to plan the next date, you could have just told him. he’s usually the one that does all the thinking, anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. honestly, what made you think you could walk away from him? the one human he cares for, and you’ve the nerve to try and separate from him? funny.

“We’re not dating, Mark.” The way the two of you stare at each other for a few tense moments is a little awkward, though he doesn’t seem to care. He holds eye contact with you before sighing—like you’re a child who doesn’t know what they’re talking about. Like you’ve garnered the nerve to tell some dry joke. “If you have a problem,” Mark starts, arms crossed against his chest as he ignores your exasperated expression, “we talk it out. Like a couple is supposed to do.” “But we’re not a couple anymore. That is what I’m telling you.” You’re attempting to be reasonable, you really are, but you swear up and down he’s making you feel like the crazy one. This has got to be the third time you’ve had this conversation with him, and it hasn’t even been a week. There isn’t any way you can get through to him and you just don’t understand why. Mark scoffs, again, ignoring you. “I’ll make sure I’m not busy. Crime’s been going down, so it should be fine. They’ll manage without me.” “Just kill me already.” You mutter to yourself, unable to decide whether or not you’ll be able to ever get your point across. . . . You’ll just try again tomorrow.

FULL MASK MARK

more pathetic than mainstream mark. this man is like a wet cat in the rain. tries to maintain distance, but ends up following you everyday, texts you without thinking about it while he attempts to reason that it’s okay. you just need some distance and time, and maybe you’ll both get better. ends up outside your window after a particularly bad fight with a villain he had. he didn’t do it on purpose, he just sort of ended up here. call it muscle memory if you will. all he knows is that he’s a mess without you—needs you like oxygen, can barely think or focus on anything without you. probably the only one that tries to be the best he can be for you outside of the main universe. and probably the only one you didn’t really want to break up with.

“ ‘m sorry.”

“Markus.”

“ ‘m sorry,” Mark sniffles, face tucked into your neck as he clings to you. You’d think of it as pathetic if it were anyone but him, honestly. He’d shown up with your favorite candy and drink, bloody and looking like a stray abandoned on the side of the street. You practically had to drag him through the window when he tried to turn back around. It took a bit of insisting and a med-kit to get him cleaned and patched up, despite him reminding you that he technically didn’t need it. You snapped at him to shut up before inevitably pulling him to your room again—letting him stay the night was an easy decision, almost too easy. As of right now, he was simply listening to the sound of your heartbeat, your soft breathing, enjoying the way your gentle fingers tangled in his hair. It was sweet. Familiar. Something Mark had missed so much it made his heart ache and hurt, to the point felt as though it was being ripped apart. Though, if it were done by your hands, he wouldn’t mind.

a / n : i liked writing this, i might make a part two to this and i’m gonna make the healer reader thing a series if you guys are up to reading that. mwah mwahhhh

taglist : @lxkoluvsu // @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha // @tokoyamisstuff

[ventismacchiato]

21 stuck with you — stuck with you !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

18+ warning: mini smut scene at the end of the second written portion, scara gives head. only one version, view it as 🍑 or 🐱…yk the drill. feel free to skip it, it takes place after scara paints ur nails.

The peace doesn’t last long.

One second, you’re sitting in the dorm’s living room, trying to process everything, and the next, the door slams open with a force that rattles the walls.

“Did you two fuck?”

“WHY DID YOU TURN YOUR MIC OFF?”

“I have money on this, please tell me—”

You sink deeper into your seat as your overbearing members pile in, voices overlapping. Across from you, Scaramouche exhales sharply, already bracing himself for whatever fresh hell this is about to be.

Then Yae walks in.

He moves instantly, slipping off the couch and crouching behind it like that’ll save him. It doesn’t. Yae doesn’t even hesitate before she strides over, grabs him by the collar, and hauls him up with practiced ease.

"Really?" she scoffs. "Turning your mic off? Are you trying to give me an aneurysm?"

Scaramouche rolls his eyes, tugging at her grip. "Oh no, the horror. They missed a few minutes of me."

"Nonetheless," she says, letting him go with a shove, "We can use this. Now that you two aren’t at each other’s throats, it’s time to sell it.” She claps her hands together, all business. “We’re sending you both to paradise."

You blink. "What?"

"But we have to pretend you won a raffle," she adds.

Scaramouche barely gets a chance to react before a crew member is shoving a bowl into his hands.

“Pretend you won!” Yae orders.

He stares down at it like it personally offends him before reaching in and pulling out a slip of paper. In the flattest voice imaginable, he says, "Wow. I won."

Yae narrows her eyes. "More oomph."

He sighs, then tries again. "Wow, I won!”

"More."

"...Yay?"

She nods approvingly. "Better. You’re both leaving today."

You should probably be more concerned about how easily they’re shipping you off somewhere, but honestly? You don’t mind. More alone time sounds nice. Being alone with him sounds nice. 

Yae turns to the crew, already barking out directions, and in the commotion, you catch movement from the corner of your eye.

Scaramouche sneaks off toward Jean, his voice low but just loud enough for you to hear. "Are we taking a boat?"

"Yeah, don’t worry," Jean replies.

You turn away before he can see your face.

He knows. He knows you hate flying. And even though he’ll never say it out loud, he’s making sure that’s not an issue.

Your fingers tighten against your knee. 

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of deja vu wash over you as you stepped back into the room. It was the same one you’d stayed in last time you were in Paradise. But the knot in your stomach felt different now, less anxiety, more anticipation.

“We should go to the hot tub again,” you muse, gazing out at the balcony. It looks far more inviting now that you and Scara aren’t at each other’s throats. Not in the way you were now at least.

You hear him before you feel him, his voice a low murmur in your ear as he steps up behind you.

“There’s a jacuzzi in the bathroom.”

“Isn’t the one outside nicer?”

“No cameras in the bathroom,” he says simply, tapping your waist before walking off. It takes you a minute to register before you’re tailing behind him.

୨୧✧

Steam clung to your skin as you stepped out of the tub, warmth still lingering in your muscles. The air outside felt cooler in contrast, a shiver running down your spine as you absently wrung water from your hair. Scara was already standing by the counter, running his hands through his hair, towel draped over his shoulder, his damp bangs sticking to his forehead. Nothing had happened in the jacuzzi, you’d both kissed a little, but for the most part you just talked. And somehow that felt a lot more intimate than when his hands had roamed your body last night.

Without a word, he gestured for you to sit in front of him. You hesitated. The silence between you was different now. Not strained, not laced with hostility, just quiet. Steady.

Still, you sat, propping yourself up on the counter in front of him. 

The towel was rough at first, dragging over your scalp as he worked through your soaked strands. But then his touch softened, fingers threading through, combing carefully, like he had all the time in the world. 

Your eyes were at level with his chest, which you were thankful for, because you could feel yourself getting flushed. You swallowed, your heart thudding louder than it had last night. This was more intimate than anything. More than the planned glances and the staged kisses for the cameras, more than the heat of his body pressed against yours in the water.

His hands lingered, fingertips brushing over the nape of your neck, tracing the damp curve of your ear as he tucked a stray piece of hair away. Your fingers fumbled idly with a bottle of nail polish left on the counter, rolling it between your hands as he worked through your hair. 

“You’re bad at this,” you murmured, half to break the tension, half because it was true. His movements were careful, almost hesitant, but nowhere near skilled.

A soft scoff left him. “I’ve never done this for someone before.”

You turned slightly, just enough to catch his expression, something unreadable flickering across his face before he glanced away.

Somehow, that made your stomach twist even more.

“Maybe you’re more of a manicure guy, then,” you murmur, your thumb tracing the ridges of the nail polish cap, an absentminded hum escaping you. 

His hands stilled for a beat before he plucked the bottle from your grip, inspecting the color. “Want me to paint them?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Really?”

“I used to paint Fischl’s all the time when we MCed together,” he answers idly, like this isn’t something you should’ve already known. 

That made you pause.

You knew a lot of things about Scara. The annoying way he held himself in interviews, answering every question like a PR team’s dream. The sharpness of his words when he was irritated, and the lack of it when he was only pretending to be annoyed. Or how he could sell a love song like he meant every lyric when you knew he didn’t. Hell, you even knew his allergies, like how he couldn’t eat shellfish without breaking out in hives or how certain flowers made his eyes itch (which you used to your advantage, spending money on bouquets back when you were rivals to see him red faced the next day).

But this? This was something so miniscule. Something unpolished. A detail from a life you hadn’t been part of.

You snap out of your daze to see Scara testing out the color on his own nails, giving it a lazy swirl before glancing at you, expectant. “Well?”

You roll your eyes before wordlessly setting your hand on the counter. He takes it, his grip surprisingly gentle as he steadies your fingers. You found yourself watching his face instead of his work. His brows were knit together, his lips pressing into a thing line. It was cute. He was cute. 

“You’re really taking this seriously,” you muttered, trying to ignore the way your pulse jumped every time his thumb smoothed over your knuckles.

“Obviously. I’m not gonna do a shitty job.”

It was so casual, so simple, but something about it made your chest feel tight.

You swallowed, watching as he moved on to the next nail, his hands steady, familiar with the motion. It made you wonder how many times he’d done this for Fischl, how many little things like this he’d done for people you’d never even thought to ask about. 

You didn’t know enough about him. Not really. And for the first time, that realization bothered you.

The words slipped out before you could think. “What else did you do while MCing?”

It was an odd question for the moment, but he didn’t tease you about it. It was a different side of Scara you’ve never seen before, one reserved just for you.

Instead, he flicked a glance at you, “What do you wanna know?

“Everything.”

He chuckled, the sound curling around your ribs like a hook dragging you closer.

“Sure,” he says. And he does.

You learn about the time he did an entire show high off weed. Or the time he presented the award to the wrong group. Or how he forgot his mic was on and cussed out another idol backstage. And how he made a joke about a group disbanding, not realizing they actually were. 

By the time he was done painting your nails you felt your heart tighten. 

You looked down at them, admiring his work when he took your hands and placed them beside you before leaning in without warning. Your nails were still wet, so you couldn’t pull him in, but that wasn’t a problem with Scara. 

His fingers pressed into your jaw as he slid in between your legs, guiding you to wrap them around his waist as he pressed you back into the mirror while you were still on the counter. His lips are on yours and you let yourself melt into him. His fingers tease their way underneath your shirt, kneading into your skin. You wanted to touch him, and he knew that, with the way his lips twitched into a smirk as you instinctively whined into him. 

His hands fall to your waist, guiding them up to grind into him. You can’t help but arch and gasp at the touch, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, swirling it around yours before sucking lightly at it. 

Perhaps he had ulterior motives for painting your nails, because you could do nothing but sit and take it as his hands and lips explored you. 

18+ warning

The hand on your waist falls away as his lips fall to your jaw. You’d just gotten dressed, but he was already undoing the first few buttons of your top, his lips trailing your collarbone. You can’t help the soft moans slipping through your mouth. With each one escaping your lips he continues to tease and you can feel yourself growing needy, mindlessly grinding up on him. 

His hand slips down towards your pants, swiftly undoing them and lifting you up to slide them down. Your bare skin felt cold on the counter, but hot everywhere else. You were now on display for him.

“Didn’t wear any underwear, hm?” he murmurs into your ear, his fingers tracing your inner thigh. 

“Shut up,” you huff, trying not to think about how good it would feel for his fingers to be inside you once again. You were practically gripping the counter at his mere touch.

“Relax,” he says, how voice low as he falls back. Just as you start to miss his touch he lowers himself to his knees. 

“Scoot up for me,” he says.

“Wait, my nails aren’t dry yet,” you start as Scara tugs you towards him. He hooks your legs over his shoulders until your entrance is facing him.

“Try not to ruin my hard work up there while I’m down here then,” he replies.

His grip on your thighs tighten before his lips are teasing your hole. Your head falls back, a string of gasps leaving your mouth as his lips explore you. He was slow, licking at your entrance and pressing his face into you. And just as you got used to that he was teasing his way in. You buck your hips up on instinct, but he smirks against you as he holds your thighs down. With your hands out of commission you can’t do anything but take it.

You begin to feel flushed and look away from him, embarrassed from how aroused you were getting from a few licks. 

He removes himself from your entrance to dart his hand up to grab your chin, tilting your head down.

“If you look away I’m gonna stop, you don’t want that right?”

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

“Good,” he murmurs, going back down. 

He begins to alternate between sucking and quick flicks of his tongue, leaving your mind blank of anything except for him. You wanted to grab onto him so badly. He finds your spot easily, hitting it without remorse as you let out incoherent moans. He loosened his grip on your thighs, letting you grind into him as his tongue thrusted in and out of you.

“Mhm, Scara I’m gonna,” you gasp, your eyes glazed as he relentlessly kept going.

“Come for me,” he murmurs. 

The orgasm hits you and you ride it out. He pulls back and lets you finish on his face, his lips dripping with your cum. The sight only makes you want him more. 

“Scara…,” you start, but you don’t finish your sentence before his lips are already on yours, and then trailing towards your ear.

“Should we go back into the tub?” he asks, his breath warm against your ear and his bulge up against your sex.

The night is a blur after that.

[00:00:00] HOT TUB ROUND TWO SCARA

YAE: I thought we talked about this. I want to see and hear EVERYTHING.

SCARAMOUCHE: Even me taking a shit?

YAE: If it means I get everything else that happens in the bathroom then yes.

SCARAMOUCHE: You have a real problem.

YAE: I WILL GET MY SEX TAPE IF SO GOD HELP ME—

JEAN: Let’s…let’s take five.

[00:12:23] HOT TUB ROUND TWO YN

YAE: So. You and Scara aren’t pretending anymore?

YOU: No…

YAE: And how did we get here? Off camera, I’m so curious.

LISA: We also have money on this.

YOU: I honestly don’t know. I think it’s just always been there inside me.

YAE: It? As in?

YOU: My feelings for him. 

YAE: Very thin line between hate and obsession.

YOU: Hey, I didn’t say I was obsessed…

YAE: Hmm. Sure. 

YAE: Now, what exactly happened in the bathroom? If I show you pictures will you tell me if I’m hot or cold?

YOU: What–

YAE: [Pulls out photos] Does this spark any memories?

YOU: Oh my god is that fanart

JEAN: CUT! CUT!

LISA: Wait send that to me

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

wow title of the au omggggg also i ate that reddit edit UP

i hope the mini smut was gn, i tried to make it seem like u finish on his face…so if it’s masc he kinda leans back yk…yall get what i’m saying??? pleek

also chat is anyone else chronically online do we get the morning routine joke or is this too niche gulps

me asking my stoner friends for pics of their vapes for this au 😊

pls lmk if u enjoyed i need motivation juseyo

comment on the MASTERLIST if i can use ur user as a fan in the au!

notes — wow update and u didn’t have to wait a month? who am i? i’m gonna be so busy this month tho guys pray for me 😂

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

taglist — (closed) @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @flowerypesky @creammpuff @boxdisappeared @webbywill @s3xpistolss @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @androxphobic @reivelmin @animeobsessed56 @femaholicc @vi0let-writes @izayumi-chan @aloflapse

[unknownogre]

A smile danced over lips moistened by wine as those words tumbled almost clumsily into the air. There was no shortage of shame in those words…shame and respect which was a flavor that a certain creature could never get enough of since It was such a rare combination. Hazel eyes moved to meet the Paladin who spoke, such a noble creature and one he respected a great deal. She did nothing but prove that trust in her was well placed and that she could be counted on when things went south. Nothing but a noble companion…but certainly not the main character of his story.

“Does it hurt to say that?”

The Bard offered with that smirk still dancing over his lips. The Paladin still couldn’t meet his gaze, she was looking to his chin, his neck…his beard…but not his eyes. She never really did like to do that, at least with him. Was he that tempting? He’d like to think so anyway. The journey has been so long…and he couldn’t even wait to pour himself a glass of wine after their victory. The Lord of Darkness was freshly dead off to the side of the throne and the Bard wore his crown half-cocked off to one side. Everyone else was recovering…dealing with the weight that years of work was complete and their lives would be their own once again.

“Honestly it does a little bit.”

The Paladin grumbled her eyes going to the corpse once more. Perhaps she was worried he would just scuttle off again once this was done and she needed to say what she wanted to say now so that her integrity would remain intact. That was an amusing thought for the Bard, he offered her his wine and of course she turned him away. The entire journey she had been on his ass…so it was a challenge to keep her guessing, watching…looking in the wrong place so his plan could be enacted. Years of bribes…blood spilled…bones broken lead to this moment. He was proud of himself, and much more, every single soul in this room.  Everyone played their part. Even when they hated him, even when they wanted to cut his throat for violated their owe code of ethics…they did what he wanted.

“Your goddess should be happy knowing that you can be humble at times. As humble as you are powerful, as you are beautiful…as you are wise.”

The Bard spouted out, that smile spreading when she saw that touch of a blush to her cheeks. She never did take a compliment well. Ego was such an interesting thing. It is taught to be a vice, but without it no one would ever be confident enough to even try to complete the most simplistic of tasks.

“Stop…you are just trying to drop my guard so you can plunge a knife in my back.”

The Bard expected nothing less from the Paladin, she was always on guard. Always ready to strike if he got out of line. So easy to lead by the nose, well at least at first. The game of cat and mouse evolved over the years. She kept getting smarter, her wisdom evolving…she made the game glorious more than anyone else.

“Oh my dear, if I haven’t killed you yet, why would I even try now. We won…he is dead. Years of labor culminates in VICTORY! Be happy for a moment, take a load off. I’m not a prisoner, you are not my warden. Take a moment to breathe. Not worry about me, not worry about them. The Monk is alive, the Wizard did her spells…BEAUTIFULLY.”

The Bard grinned down to the robed figure who gave him a tired smile and a wink. She was always nice to him, but then she got what she wanted that was less than virtuous. Soon though his attention was back to the armored woman standing before him. She was looking around too.

“The Fighter, the Barbarian, The Druid…all went above and beyond. We won! There is still so much work to be done but see this milestone as it is, the start of things getting better. The end of slavery in this realm, the end of sacrifices of women and children. Their king is dead, and the nobles will scramble like roaches in the torchlight. It is not our job to hunt them…that is for your order now. Their source of power is gone. WE WON! HA HA! SING IT!”

The move was graceful and in a moment he had the Paladin’s hands in his own and they were dancing around the throne…or what ever she could do that would approximate dancing for a few moments. You know the stuffy types; they stiffen up the moment it is perceived they are relaxing. Very cliché. Still, he was having fun, why not. His plans weren’t even nearly done yet, but for the moment he could pretend to not have a care in the world. His image has been carefully crafted over these years.

“We won.”

She offered with the slightest smile. Oh a lovely crack in the armor. That made him very happy. Though of course he wasn’t going to show it. His role in this group wasn’t as clear as The Paladin’s or The Fighters. He was the darkness. Their goal was not one that pure hearts could get. They needed that evil that lurks in the hearts of good men. Those that are willing to cut a throat so the blood could make the grass grow. Those that could take the burden of the harder tasks and still sleep at night. That was the Bard’s role, he knew it from the beginning. He knew he would be watched, hated…spoken poorly of. He did it because he could, because few could…he truly loved this land. He wanted it to thrive, he wanted the sun to shine and children to laugh again and he knew exactly what it would take for that to happen, more than anyone in the party, and that meant getting the ire of the Paladin. Being the outcast, being the one history would frown upon…and he couldn’t care less.

“See was that so hard. We will rebuild…this kingdom will sing again. People will be able to walk the streets without fear in the middle of the night. That didn’t start with our journey, it only starts with our victory here today. So when you go back to your order, you can lead your armies to hunt the nobles, and fortify the cities. You will bring hope. So go bring hope.”

He let her go holding her hand a little bit too long…he was getting sentimental. He’d miss her. He’d miss all of them. Her the most though. There was affection in their game. At least for him. Sure he had done some horrible things…in their eyes anyway. So he didn’t try to romance her. He had to keep his distance, it would never work. He knew that, and honestly he didn’t think she saw him that way in any way shape or form.

“Oh you would like that wouldn’t you. Send me away so you can lurk the shadows and let your evil plans go unhindered!”

That soft affection he had noticed in her moments ago was gone. She was PISSED! That was alarming, but then she was always like that wasn’t she. Fine one moment and a tempest the next. More so than any other woman he has known in his entire life. She was always watching, waiting to catch him. Only ever finding the aftermath.

“Well of course my dear. Not having to look after me would be a boon for you wouldn’t it? You’d be safe constantly, you could trust everyone around you…”

The Paladin then grabbed the Bard and for the very first time her eyes met his. He was at a loss for words in that moment, genuinely she caught him off guard and well…he wasn’t able to instantly recover.

“I never said I didn’t trust you. I just know you…and I know what you would do if I wasn’t around. I don’t…I don’t think I could live with myself. I have to stay by your side, I have to keep you in line.”

The Bard’s head canted as he looked into her eyes, as he actually looked. The next words were spoken without much thought.

“So you’ll just be by myside until either one of us dies?”

The Paladin’s gaze set firmly on him.

“Yes, that is the only way to keep you out of trouble.”

In that moment The Bard was back in control and his hands moved to hers and he pulled her grip from him keeping only one of her hands in his and then slowly he sank down to one knee. The Paladin was visibly shocked and this was drawing the attention of the rest of the group.

“Well, then I think there is only one way out of this. I’m a little rusty…and of all the evil things I’ve done…this will be the most devious. My dear Paladin. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife. So that  you may keep me out of trouble and simultaneously save the world for my wrath until death do us part?”

He could tell those words hit her like a ton of bricks. There was more anger, so much anger. Did she think this was a joke? For the second time her eyes met his…but when his intent was seen to be genuine. There was affection in him for her…love if one really needed to nail it down. How could there not be? She was amazing to him. He respected her more than he did himself. She blushed hard…her cheeks were more red than he had ever seen.

“I…yes. You evil bastard. I will be  your wife.”

He wouldn’t have dared to do this before. He didn’t think she felt that way about him, he didn’t want to manipulate her in such a way…but was it manipulation when it was the truth. When there was affection, desire, love. He moved in, so graceful and gentle. So slow so she could punch him, to turn away…to say no. Yet her eyes were still locked with his…and they kissed. The world melted away and it was just the two of them. In this place of death and oppression, love was found…and the very air seemed to change. It became lighter…less stale…almost rejuvenating.

“I hope I can make you happy then my dear.”

He whispered against her lips and in that moment she stepped back and tried to regain composure.

“I…I will be happy…knowing you aren’t out doing evil things…I’ll keep you by my side. You’ll have to do good now.”

She stammered, never letting go of his hand. What a charming turn of events…and what a far more interesting world was this becoming. Good and Evil married…in love…knowing their flaws without lies…He couldn’t be happier.

"I don't like you. You are just plain evil, manipulative, cruel, and sadistic, and the only reason we tolerate you is that it's better if you are where we can keep an eye on you at all times. So don't take what I'm about to tell you lightly: Thanks. We couldn't have done it without your help."

[lvnleah]

tough trainings | awfc x young!pregnant!reader.

find the masterlist to the no more secrets universe here!

December 12th 2024 | 8 weeks pregnant. 

You barely made it to the bathroom in time.

One second, you were curled up under your duvet, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach, and the next, you were on your knees in front of the toilet, retching.

The nausea had been lingering for weeks now, but this morning felt worse. Maybe it was exhaustion catching up with you, or maybe your body just wanted to remind you that you were well and truly pregnant. Either way, it was miserable.

You groaned, resting your forehead against your arm as you tried to catch your breath. The floor was cold against your knees, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move just yet.

A soft knock on the door made you wince. “You okay in there?” Beth’s voice, gentle but concerned.

You reached up weakly, unlocking the door. A second later, she was kneeling beside you, rubbing slow circles on your back.

“Rough morning?” she murmured.

You huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh. “That obvious? This child’s trying to kill me.”

Beth smiled sympathetically. “They’re just reminding you they’re there, H. Come on, let’s get you up.”

She helped you to your feet, steadying you when you swayed slightly. You felt drained already, and the day had barely started.

By the time you made it to the living room, Beth had forced a glass of water into your hands and a piece of dry toast onto a plate in front of you. 

“Try to eat,” she encouraged. “Even if it’s just a little.”

Food wasn’t appealing at the moment. The only thing you could sometimes manage was dry toast, the thought of anything else made your stomach churn even more. 

You nibbled at the corner of the toast, your stomach still unsettled but slightly more manageable now. Beth sat across from you, watching carefully but not pushing, letting you sit in the quiet.

Eventually, you sighed. “I’ve got the gym today.”

Beth raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I can’t just stop,” you muttered. “I need to at least try.”

“Don’t push yourself, yeah?” Beth said, “You’re exhausted, we don’t need to pick up an injury.”

Before you could argue, the front door opened, “We’re back!” Steph called as her and Viv stepped inside. 

Steph and Viv had taken Myle and Calvin out for a walk a little while ago. Viv was back visiting from Manchester and Steph had just moved out and into a flat across the hallway. 

“Morning, sicko,” Steph teased lightly, toeing off her shoes as she walked into the living room. “How we feeling?”

You shot her a glare but didn’t have the energy to back it up. “Like death.”

Viv gave you a sympathetic smile, setting Myle’s leash on the hook by the door. “Beth said it’s been rough.”

“That’s an understatement,” you muttered, pushing your toast around your plate. “This baby’s trying to ruin me, I swear. I ain’t ever felt this ill before.”

Calvin trotted over, resting his head on your knee with big, pleading eyes. You scratched behind his ears absentmindedly, grateful for the comfort.

Steph plopped down onto the couch beside you, stretching her legs out. “Well, you still look better than you did last night. That’s something, right?”

You huffed. “The bars set very low, Catley.”

Viv sat on the arm of the sofa, arms crossed. “You going into the gym today?”

You nodded. “Just some light work. No contact or anything.”

Beth shot Viv a look over your head, and Viv hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Take it easy, yeah? No one’s expecting you to be at full fitness right now.”

You sighed. “I know. It’s just—” You trailed off. “I don’t want to feel like I’m falling behind.”

“You won’t be. You’re still training, just in a different way.” Beth said, “You’re growing a human, H. That’s a whole job on its own.”

Steph nudged your shoulder. “Yeah, and you’ve got us to keep you in check. No overdoing it, alright?”

You rolled your eyes but nodded, knowing you weren’t going to win against them.

The gym was quiet when you arrived, which you were grateful for. You’d been sticking to light work since finding out you were pregnant like strength training, mobility exercises, light cardio but today, even that felt like too much.

Your body was heavy with exhaustion, muscles aching from nothing in particular. Even simple movements felt sluggish, like you were fighting against yourself.

You gritted your teeth, pushing through the set, but frustration built with every rep. You hated feeling weak. Hated how much your body was changing in ways you couldn’t control.

“Take a break,” Kim’s voice cut through your frustration, firm but calm.

You exhaled sharply, setting the weight down. “I’m fine.”

Kim gave you a knowing look. “No you’re stubborn, that’s what you are. Sit for a bit before you collapse.”

Before you could argue, a new voice interrupted. “She won’t sit. She’s incapable of listening to reason,” Kyra announced, dropping her bag onto the floor dramatically. “It’s like talking to a brick wall.”

You shot her a glare. “No one asked for your input, Cooney-Cross.”

Kyra smirked. “Aww the gremlin making your grump?” She plopped down on the bench next to you, nudging you with her knee. “So, how’s the little gremlin? Still trying to destroy you from the inside?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yep, and they’re winning.”

“Dang you’re letting a baby beat you?” Kyra winced, “Not even born and already losing to a baby.”

Steph, who had just walked over, sighed. “Kyra, stop being a pest.”

“Impossible,” Kyra said, grinning. “It’s in my nature.”

Kim shook her head, clearly done with the conversation, and walked off with a small smirk.

You leaned your head back against the wall. “Why are you here?”

“Entertainment,” Kyra said. “And I knew you’d need moral support. Or someone to annoy you so much you forget you feel like crap.”

“Mission accomplished,” you muttered.

Kyra threw an arm around your shoulders dramatically. “Aw, you love me really.” She said, placing a playful kiss on your temple quickly. 

Before you could shove her away, Lotte and Katie walked in, spotting you immediately.

“How’s the little nugget?” Lotte asked, sitting on your other side.

“Winning,” Kyra answered for you. “H is getting battered.”

Katie snorted. “Sounds about right. You look knackered, kid.” She winced. 

“Wow thanks, Katie,” you said dryly. “I totally didn’t notice.”

“Just saying,” she shrugged. “You don’t need to be pushing yourself so much. No one expects it.”

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “I just hate feeling useless.”

“You’re not useless. You’re literally growing a whole human.”

Kyra grinned. “Yeah, and once they’re out, you can force them to be your personal assistant for eighteen years as payback!”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s a long game plan.”

Kyra shrugged. “Worth it.”

“If one more person says ‘you’re growing a human,’ I’m throwing hands.” You mumbled, sighing as you threw your head back.”

Kyra gasped, “Violence? From you? The baby really is ruining you!”

“Kyra, leave the poor girl alone.” Steph sighed as you yawned beside Kyra. “She’s wrecked, look at her!”

“I need to get back to training.” You sighed, standing up as you lost your balance a little bit. 

“Woahhh,” Kyra said, grabbing onto your wrist and pulling you back down. “Just sit for a little bit, okay?”

“Since when did you become serious?” You groaned as you let her pull you down. “Are you feeling alright?” You said, placing your hand on your forehead before Kyra squatted it away. 

“I’m not serious, I’m just concerned.” Kyra said, “Just sit for a bit.”

You did, begrudgingly, and at some point, exhaustion took over, and you must have dozed off.

Beth woke you up a few hours later, her voice gentle as she shook your shoulder. “Hey, H. C’mon, let’s go home.”

You said up confused, a few baby hairs laying messily over your face, “Huh? What—I need to train, shit.”

Beth rolled her eyes, brushing the stray hairs off your forehead. “No, you don’t. It's time to go home and sleep in an actual bed. You fell asleep on the bench.”

You blinked, still groggy, as you realized everyone was leaving the gym. Kyra stood beside Beth, talking a sip of her water. 

“Aww, it’s all too much for little baby Hayden Daniels.” Kyra teased you. 

You shoved her lightly, mumbling, “Shut up,” as Beth helped you to your feet. Your legs felt heavy, exhaustion still clinging to you like a weight, but at least the nausea had settled for now.

Steph had appeared by then, grabbing both yours and Kyra’s bags. “C’mon, let’s get you fed and to bed before you fall asleep again.”

You were too tired to argue, letting them herd you out of the gym and back to Beth’s house. All four of you, Kyra included, climbed into Beth’s car and headed home. 

Kyra was coming for dinner tonight, a usual occurrence, but tonight you weren’t feeling like staying up. You had your dinner before retreating to your bedroom where you soon fell asleep. 

A few hours later you found yourself unable to sleep. You tried everything to fall back to sleep but nothing was working no matter what you tried. You glanced at your phone that read 2:38am. Your body ached with exhaustion, but your mind wouldn’t settle.

You sighed as you rolled out of bed, throwing your hoodie on as you padded downstairs. The house was quiet, only the faint hum of the fridge breaking the silence. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” A voice suddenly said. 

“Fuck!” You screamed, jumping out of your own skin. “Kyra! What the fuck!”

Kyra burst into laughter, “You're too easy to scare.” she wheezed, barely able to get the words out. “That was the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

You clutched your chest, heart pounding as you glared at her. “What the fuck are you even doing here? Are you trying to kill a pregnant woman?”

Kyra smiled, still giggling. “I could ask you the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes and made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cupboard. “I live here, Kyra.” you muttered, filling it with water. “Didn’t know you were staying the night.”

Kyra shrugged. “Didn’t plan to. But I stayed for dinner, and then your couch was comfy, so here we are.” She patted the empty spot next to where she was laying down. “Come on, might as well suffer together.”

You hesitated for half a second before giving in, flopping down beside her. Kyra immediately threw a blanket over both of you, her arm resting lazily behind you as you laid down beside her. 

The warmth was comforting, and surprisingly, so was Kyra’s presence.

“What’s keeping you up?” she asked after a moment.

You sighed, turning your head slightly to look at her. “Dunno. Just restless.”

“Probably the gremlin’s fault.” Kyra nudged your knee with hers. “Little troublemaker, already messing up your sleep schedule.”

You huffed out a tired laugh. “Probably.”

For a while, you just layed there, the quiet feeling oddly peaceful. Then, out of nowhere, Kyra whispered, “You’re scared, aren’t you?”

You stiffened slightly, but Kyra didn’t push. She just waited.

And maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was just her, but you found yourself nodding. “Yeah, I am.”

Kyra sighed, shaking her head. “You’re too hard on yourself, you know that?”

You gave her a look. “You’re one to talk.”

She smirked. “Yeah, well, I never said I was a good example.” She nudged you gently. “But seriously, Hayds. You’re not slacking. You’re growing a tiny gremlin. That’s more than enough.”

You sighed, “I just miss feeling like myself. It's weird.”

Kyra was quiet for a second before she spoke again, softer this time. “You will feel like yourself again. It’s just a shit phase right now. But you’ll get through it.”

You glanced at her, surprised by the sincerity in her voice. “That almost sounded wise.”

Kyra grinned. “Don’t get used to it. I have a reputation to uphold.”

You shook your head, smiling slightly despite yourself.

Something in your chest loosened at that, and for the first time all night, you felt like you might actually sleep.

“…You’re still an annoying little shit, though,” you muttered, nudging her side.

Kyra chuckled, not letting go of your hand. “Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep.”

And somehow, finally, you did.

[novthirty]

🐦‍⬛ OUT OF BOUNDS — you get isekai-d into the n109 zone [chapter one]

synopsis — the monotony of your university days is interrupted by a stroke of misfortune, one which lands you in the world of love and deepspace, the game you had been casually playing for the previous months. with no way to return home, sylus offers you the job of being his personal secretary. — a continuation of the one-shot “out of bounds”

pairing — sylus x non-mc! reader

tags — reader is not mc, isekai/transmigration, fluff, angst, mutual pining, slice of life, boss/employee relationship, slow burn

a/n — oh how i wish to leave my academically rigorous life and get isekai-d… next chapter will be sometime next week as i’m on the brink with finals (the class average on the exam is 7/45 we are not okay) i might not reply to all comments but i want u to know i see all of them n blush & kick my feet every time 🥰

ao3 | masterlist | requests are open! series masterlist | next part [coming soon]

chapter one: descent — after finding yourself in an unfortunate accident, you wake up in the world of love and deepspace. you go from burned out college student to secretary at your wit's end. wc: 4k

January snow falls on your tongue, plumes of warm air escaping your breath into the cold. It was just your luck to get saddled with a 7 PM class this semester, relegated to walking home in the late winter chill. You clutch your bag tighter as you walk down the desolate road, devoid of any streetlights— when a vehicle swerves and crashes into you. The impact is that of a sledgehammer to your body, as you hear the crunch of glass and the snap of bones. 

This is the end, you think, as the world around you blurs into nothingness. 

—————————————————————

You rise to consciousness upon hearing a steady, mechanical beeping— and promptly have a panic attack upon seeing the IV attached to your arm. You feel yourself hyperventilating, the heart rate monitor crashing as a triad of nurses comes in to restrain you. You desperately thrash against their hold, trying to remove the intrusive line from your body, but it’s no use; your injuries and the numerous drugs running through your system hamper your movements. You hear muffled explanations— inaudible to your clouded mind— before they decide to sedate you. You drift back into slumber. 

Sometime later, you wake up again, this time with the IV detached and a familiar face sitting casually by your bedside. You do a double take at the silver-haired man. And you laugh. You must be in some sort of dream or coma-induced hallucination. Because why was Sylus, a love interest from Love and Deepspace— the game you have been obsessed with for the past few months— sitting here in flesh and blood? You say as much, and he deigns you with the response, “Did you sustain brain damage on top of your other injuries?”

You shake your head at the absurdity of your delusions, quickly falling back into a medically-induced sleep. Things should be back to normal when you wake up.

—————————————————————

Newsflash: they weren’t. As days passed, you gradually had to accept that— whether reality or not— you were going to be stuck here until you figured out how to return to your world. 

Sylus visits you from time to time, the strange girl who landed in his backyard and claims to be from another world. It turns out that the place you’ve woken up in is not a hospital, but Onychinus’s medical ward. Your conversations are minimal, mostly veiled threats as he questions your intentions and identity. “I’ll give you one last chance,” He exhales in frustration as he interrogates you for the hundredth time, “To explain why you’ve trespassed here, before I decide for myself.” 

“…I didn’t want to die?” You answer meekly. You don’t have the heart to tell him he’s not being as menacing as he thinks he is, hovering over a patient confined to their hospital bed. You take a spoonful of your pudding when he looks away. Better than hospital food back home, at least.

There's little you can say that won’t make him think you’ve gone mad. But, maybe you are. A strong part of you believes that any moment, you’ll be waking up in a padded room, wearing a straitjacket.

You spend your days drifting in and out of sleep, staring out the window into the underbelly of the N109 Zone. Each day you awaken to the sight of the dark cityscape fills you with disappointment and dread, as you realize this may not be a dream. You miss the warmth of your own bed. You miss the soft daylight streaming into your apartment. (You miss home.) 

When you’ve healed enough to be discharged, you have nowhere to go. So you turn to the only person you’re familiar with in this world.  

You corner him in the hallway outside your room, dressed in the ill-fitting clothes given to you. (The ones you wore during the accident couldn’t be salvaged, they said, handing the torn and bloody garments to you. Your only possessions in this world, now ruined.) You fidget with your hands, daring yourself to look him in the eye. “I don't have a lot of work experience, but…” You earnestly list off all of the projects and internships you’ve undertaken in the previous years, selling your skills with the desperation of someone who has nowhere else to go. 

You were just a college student, months away from graduation before you found yourself here. Your life was tiring; an endless backlog of readings and back-to-back assignments waiting for you at the end of each day, the pressure to succeed constantly weighing down on your conscience. But despite it all, it was a fulfilling life; working every day to the bone in order to achieve your dreams. 

Now, it fills you with spite— how everything you had worked hard for was taken away in the blink of an eye. But you push the bitterness aside, offering whatever skills you have to Sylus so he doesn’t kick you out. You know that this world isn’t kind, the N109 Zone being one of the worst places you could have ended up. A normal civilian such as you wouldn’t be able to survive here alone.

You don’t spare a breath until the very end of your spiel, “—and, it would only have to be until I find a way to return home,” You finish. All the while, you’re hiding your anxiety; because how exactly do you get home? (A part of you cruelly whispers: if you can.) 

“Pretty please?” You add with a grimace, when the silence becomes overwhelming. 

He looks at you with cruel amusement, chin tilted down like a king with a peasant at his feet. The Sylus of Love and Deepspace may have been a devoted lover, but the man in front of you now is a cold and ruthless criminal. He takes a step forward— you think he plans to rid you from his sight, when he says, “Don’t make me regret it.” 

—————————————————————

Though you don’t have much to contribute to a criminal organization, you’re grateful when Sylus offers you the job of his personal secretary. 

The past few weeks before the accident had been spent in the post-holiday rush of schoolwork. With only your job to keep you occupied now, you’ve never found yourself with so much time on your hands. Years of building time management skills helps you to cope with the high-paced nature of this world, so you put your whole blood, sweat, and tears into this job, repaying Sylus’s generosity with your efforts to earn your keep around here. 

As his personal assistant, you have no precedent to follow because Sylus just… does everything on his own. Despite the number of minions and associates he has at his disposal, when it comes to his personal business, Sylus is a one-man army. So, you insert yourself into his workflow and commandeer his schedule; the man doesn’t even have a calendar, for crying out loud. Although you don’t have much work experience, your previous internships and methodical nature help you to excel at this job. Never has the leader of Onychinus been so…. organized, his colleagues and associates observe the stark change in the following months. 

“Miss Secretary,” Luke and Kieran affectionately call you, “What’s your secret to dealing with the bossman?” They ask, in dramatically hushed whispers. 

Sylus was untouchable— unrivaled at his job— which often enabled his imperious disregard for everyone else’s time and patience. Being late or completely missing meetings if something he deems more important arises (an auction for a vintage record is not something you deem important enough over an executive meeting), expecting his minions to accomplish the impossible in a matter of days. “I did the heavy lifting, surely you can manage the scraps,” He drawls from his leather, ergonomic chair, looking bored to bits. 

Though you already knew this from your time playing the game, it was different to experience it, and extremely more difficult to tolerate.

But you’ve dealt with worse in the form of freeloader group mates and hard-headed cousins. Over time, you whip him up to shape, scolding him when he arrives late to meetings, making sure he actually calls back when he says he will. “And what if I don't?” He asked with an edged smile on his face, the first time you admonished him. 

As you learned with your experience with children over the years: disappointment hits harder than anger. You cross your arms, holding back your true frustration. “Well, you’d be making mine and everyone else’s job ten times harder. And I would think much less of you.” You thought you’d get sacked the moment the words came out of your mouth. 

But instead, momentary shock flitted through his eyes— a slow, amused smirk spreading across his face. “Well, I can't have my lovely secretary think so lowly of me, now can I?” He gave you a demeaning pat on the head, your irritation coming back in full swing. 

Over time, you grow to have a deeper respect for Sylus and how he runs Onychinus. He surprisingly takes criticism very well. At least, when it comes from you. You vividly remember the time he used his evol on an associate who dared to criticize his business practices. (He was being rude, anyway.) Neither is he the type to exaggerate his capabilities, easily admitting to his limitations. “I suppose I’ll have to learn then,” Is his attitude when it comes to his shortcomings, and you admire it. 

However, none of this stops him from being a bastard from time to time and making your job harder than it needed to be.

—————————————————————

Once Sylus started entrusting you with more responsibilities, you started handling his work line. His business partners now call his office to be greeted by a chirpy voice, “You’ve reached the Onychinus hotline, how may I help you? Oh, Sylus isn’t here right now. Would you like to leave a message?”

This especially came in handy when certain little rats wouldn’t stop bothering him on the phone. “You want to know if he’ll attend the anniversary ball on the 21st?” You made eye contact with him across the room. He immediately shook his head, as he caught wind of the brown-nosing colleague who couldn’t take a hint. “He’s not here right now, unfortunately. I'll get back to you through email as soon as I can.” (You never did.) 

Another new responsibility you’ve been given is to mediate dissatisfied clients. You’re surprisingly good at it; sometimes he wonders if you’ve taken some sort of PR training before. With how you handle these grown men acting like children without offending them, you’re either the most patient person to exist or very discreetly planning murder. He would’ve just resorted to threats of maiming (and execution of said threats when necessary). It makes things a lot easier since— according to you— his abrasive personality creates more problems than necessary. 

He initially gave you this job as more of a placeholder role, so you can occupy yourself with the illusion of real responsibility while he investigates his suspicions about you. Where did you come from? Who sent you? And most importantly, how did you manage to infiltrate his base right under his nose? But his investigation leads him to the simple truth: there was nothing on you. It’s as if you materialized from thin air. No records, no blood ties, no evidence of your existence before you walked into his life. 

But if reincarnation can be fact, and dragons more than legends, why deny the possibility of other realities? This, more than anything, makes him inclined to believe your claims. 

Besides, you’ve proven yourself to be… useful, he can admit. You easily adjust to his nocturnal schedule; like another little crow chirping from his shoulder at all times of the day. 

“Chop chop, Sylus! You have a 9 o’clock meeting at The Nest and it’s already 8:30,” You storm into his office to remind him. You can count on both hands the number of times you’ve had to overhaul his schedule into oblivion because of a single missed meeting. 

“Don’t worry, dear,” He idly spins in his chair, with no intention of leaving anytime soon. “It’ll only take me fifteen minutes.” 

You whipped your head at him in alarm, “I’d rather you not break the speed limits to get there on time.”

It takes you one look at his daily schedule to nag him about his more concerning eating habits, even going so far as to ask his preferred meals to inform the chefs in advance. “Are you going to explain to me why you’ve spent two whole hours on a single meal?” You sit across from him at the table; stunned would be an understatement at how you feel seeing all the empty plates surrounding him. 

He huffs. It’s not his fault his more… draconic habits carried over into this life. “Can I not even have my lunch in peace?” 

“At least space your meals out. Or eat dinner. You’re going to get hunger pangs before you go to bed, at this rate.”

Sometimes, you even resort to physically forcing him out of his office the moment noon hits, in an attempt to prevent him from overworking, “Sun’s up, boss. It’s time to hit the sack.” He’s long since learned not to fight you on this. Even if your attempts to push at his back are puny, at best. 

Your days together go by in this peacefully chaotic nature; your presence likening to a storm that has come to uproot his life. He pays you egregious amounts of money to make his job easier, and in turn, you make sure he’s fed, well-rested, and most importantly, aware of his goddamn schedule. 

It helps that your office is connected to his, although it's less a room and more an alcove he cleared away when he gave you the job. You have a small desk, a fluffy swivel chair, and a shelf covered in the trinkets you spend your salary on. (Another thing you have in common with Mephisto, he notes to the ever-growing list.) 

He could shut the doors to your “reception area,” as he likes to call it, but he finds amusement to idly watch you during his downtime. Your desk is in the perfect position to observe you from the corner of his eye. It had been a strategic decision, when he knew nothing of you or your intentions. Now, it’s become a pastime for him to watch you and your silly habits. Twirling the strands of your hair and chewing your pen, as you talk on the phone about weapons shipments and insuring someone who lost a finger in an operation. 

He’s not accustomed to being in such close quarters with someone, to letting someone into the crevices of his life. Yet slowly but surely, you weave your way into not only his work, but into the threads of his everyday existence. You leave your mark all throughout his home; from small trinkets magically finding their way onto random surfaces, your sweater claiming its new home on the couch armrest, a new mug in your favorite color left in the kitchen sink. Sometimes he can tell you’ve just left a room, when he inhales the lingering traces of your perfume. 

Your presence slips its way into that of his found family, too. The moment you laid eyes on Mephisto, the mechanical crow had immediately claimed a soft spot in your heart. You affectionately call him Mephie. From feeding him tiny bites of your dinner (he doesn’t have the heart to tell you he can’t digest food), to finding shiny trinkets such as coins and jewelry to add to his collection, you’re very close to displacing Sylus as the crow’s favorite in the house. 

Despite only being a few years older than Luke and Kieran— the exact middle between their and Sylus’s age— you both indulge and scold them. You join in on their pranks (you’re often the key to setting it up, what with your way around his schedule) but become extremely disappointed if their fun results in collateral damage; from a broken vase, to a rescheduled mission. Similar to Sylus, you keep them in check but stand right alongside them in the chaos. 

Contradictory to his initial expectations, you prove yourself in a professional capacity and cement your place in the ranks of Onychinus.

—————————————————————

The snow melts and spring creeps in, marking three months since you found yourself in this strange new world. Most days feel like a haze to you. Your secretarial duties keep your mind occupied, leaving little room for sorrow to settle in. But when you clock out and are left in solitude, your thoughts become your worst enemy. For that, you linger around the base a lot. Commandeering the kitchen to make midnight snacks, playing cards with Luke and Kieran in the living room, bothering Sylus when he’s cleaning his quarters. You toe the line for how much sleep you need to make it through the day— a bit hypocritical, you admit, given how you scold Sylus when he works at his office late into the night.

Misguided as it was, maybe it was a drop of fortune that you found yourself in his world. You’ve read stories of being transported to other worlds— of lions, witches, and wardrobes; of tornados, munchkins, and wicked witches. But the rabbit hole you’ve fallen down has been nothing like those tumultuous journeys. Your days in the office are warm and lovely— far from the crazed rush of deadlines and youthful chase of dreams you were living out in university, but a quiet contentment, nonetheless. Over time, you find yourself growing attached to the new life you’ve built, to the new family you’ve found. 

But the moment your head hits the pillow, it is the image of your family glued to the back of your eyelids. You see them worried sick about your disappearance, posting missing papers and wondering where you are, if you’ve become another statistic. (You don’t want to face the possibility that they may not be worried at all. That they may know exactly where you are, buried you there themselves.) For every smile and moment of laughter is a whisper in the back of your mind: Don’t you miss us? Don’t you miss home? 

You invest all your guilt and spare energy into combing through the hoard of resources at your disposal. The reach of your information is almost endless, with Onychinus being the reigning authority in the N109 Zone (and secretly, some cities, too). Yet, there’s nothing. Your search feels futile, each failed lead adding to your ever-growing hopelessness. 

During the day, no one would know any better; with how you hide your inner turmoil, composing yourself into your role as Sylus’s secretary. But your ghosts ambush you into the night. Nightmares plague you throughout your intermittent slumber, as you constantly arise from vivid memories of the accident and of your past life (of waking up and finding yourself six feet underground). Your anxieties have evolved from a restlessness to return to a growing fear of what might await you. 

One night, you find yourself near-suffocating under plush sheets, thrashing as you dream of dirt piling on top of you. Sorrowful figures shoveling you into the ground and muffling your pleas, I'm here. I'm still here. Your terror carries over into reality, a scream leaving your throat as you jolt up in bed, once again finding the sight of the cityscape before you— now a source of comfort, rather than despair.

An imaginative mind is a gift at best, and haunts you at worst. You stumble as you leave your bed, heart racing and the fictional taste of dirt still in your mouth. You feel that you will vomit if you stay here, in sweat soaked sheets and stuffy air. So you grab a coat and make your way to the rooftop, where you find that someone had the same thought as you.

“Can’t sleep?” Sylus asks with his back turned, having sensed your presence before you could make yourself known.

You ignore his question, breathing in the dew and the early March air, breezing past even in the barren cityscape of the N109 Zone. “It's late, why aren’t you in bed?”

“Why aren’t you?” He retorts, scooting over in a silent invitation. You shiver as you take a seat beside him on the cold metal bench.

“It’s nothing, really,” You shake your head, voice trembling as you try to voice the terror that had taken over you, “Just nightmares, you know. They happen sometimes…” 

Bathed under soft moonlight, he quietly admits, “I understand. I get them, too. I often find myself here when I can't go back to sleep, when it feels too stifling inside.” 

“Before, I used to be mad at myself for falling asleep. I had to pull a lot of all-nighters for college, back then,” You explain, hitting your feet against the metal leg of the bench. “There were only so many hours in a day, but so much left to do… It’s ironic. Now that I want to sleep, I can't.” You laugh, but it’s hollow and empty. 

“What is it that you dream about?” 

You muse upon it, “Home. My family and friends. I dream of my childhood home a lot, but those are the good dreams. But then there are ones about all the things I'll need to catch up with at university, when I return,” Everything you have lost. Everything that was taken away from you. You laugh, thinking about it, “Those are the real nightmares. My to-do list is going to be taller than me once I get back. But what about you?”

A bittersweet smile paints his face, “Oh, the usual. Just about everything I've done wrong in my existence.”

You gasp dramatically, slamming a fist to your chest, “The great ole’ Sylus, ruler of all that breathes and crawls in the zone, feeling guilt?”

“Now, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He playfully rolls his eyes, before turning somber once again, “I feel regret, maybe, at what I could have done differently. Sometimes I dream of turning back time.” He dreams of his days inside the chapel, a short refuge within a terrible era of this world. Is it so wrong that he wishes to return to it? To live within that bubble of peace forever? 

“That’s interesting. I don't know if anything would change if I could turn back time… I have a feeling I'd still be where I am.” Unease grows within you the more time passes. That however hard you try, you are bound to the direction you’re headed in. (That you have been for a while.)

The conversation settles into a comfortable silence, as the two of you gaze at the nocturne before you. You stare into the sea of lights glittering below, headlights and neon signs glowing within the city that never rests. They blur together, these lights. Soft colors of blue, green, red, growing ever duller until you find yourself falling back into a peaceful slumber. 

—————————————————————

He sits in quiet tranquility, your slumbering figure resting on his shoulder, the smell of your shampoo overwhelming his senses. Once you’re sound asleep, he carries you back to your bedroom, careful not to disturb the long sought-for sleep you had just achieved.

What was once a potential threat is now precious cargo in his arms, muttering incomprehensible murmurs in her sleep. How can someone be so harmless and lovely? He thinks, brushing aside your stray wisps of hair. As he walks down the opulent halls of his home, he muses on how, like a storm rolling in, you have swept your way into his life. He lays you in your bed, tucking you gently underneath the cotton sheets. 

It happens here, during the first breath of spring after winter, as he gazes upon your soft form. For the first time in a millennia, he feels the quiet stirrings of his heart, beating for something he cannot yet name. 

—————————————————————

feel free to dm/comment on the series masterlist if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist 💕

taglist — @mangooes @mentaltrouble2201 @animegamerfox @w1nter-n1ght @crazy-ink-artist @phisen @jeondyy @t4naiis @wifunozomi @munimunni @blessdunrest @rafayelridesfisheatsfish @paintedperidot @mansonofmadness @pillarofsnow @sylususeyourevolonmepls @angelichiaro @mephisto-with-a-knife @crimsonmarabou @hikaru-sama @flamedancer13 @tati-the-fangirl @ameili @poptrim @caramelizedpopcirn @cupid-gene @vvonunie @miuraaaa12

like and reblog if you enjoyed!

[harmonysanreads]

I just had the silliest dream 💀

I dreamt that I was play fighting with Phainon and he accidentally put me in a headlock, but the thing is that I liked it?! 💀 He was confused for a moment before he just looked around, saw that he had a few minutes before anyone would notice and he just held me like that.

He's been laughing for an hour straight — or at least, that's how it felt like to you, in retrospect.

“I know you can't keep your hands off of me, but in this semi-populated space? How bold of you, honeycakes.” a duvetyne whisper that raises to jitters of glee.

You roll your eyes just a little, not to actually look at the cause of your crescendoing irritation but to send the heat of it. The culprit graciously pretends your death glare in favor of giving another friendly squeeze around your neck, a breath caresses your cheek.

“Speak for yourself. Who's the one choking me like a snake?” you push somewhat experimentally against his grip, halted by the twitch of muscles beneath the fabric of his attire.

It was not news to you that this man couldn't be better than a stone wall if he wished to be, but possessed by the whimsy of being able to walk outside again, you went and poked the bear anyway.

You push down a sigh of regret — or rather, he does it for you with another squeeze that you can't tell is by intention or not.

“What a villainous image! I'm merely making sure the clumsy rabbit doesn't run away to twist someone else's arm!” he spins you by his clasp just in time to shield you from a group of passerbys.

It takes a second for you to regain your balance, “And it's fine if the rabbit twists your arm?” you feel your back press against his chest, involuntarily, you must stress.

“Yes.” Phainon's response is just a little too easily said for your brain to not buffer for a moment. You try to crane your neck to gauge what face he's making, but he decides to be disobedient.

“You're shameless.” you fire in frustration, stuck in his stubborn hold.

“I know that,” he purrs, right in your left ear. “And?”

He's really done it now, closing in on you from all directions like a nightmare entity ; luring each piece of your composure to loosen with his redolent trickery. There's a fulsome heat in your cheeks that you can't push away, or loathe fully because you did assist by giving him the opportunity to begin with.

“And...” the hero holds his breath, leaning just a little. “And this walk was a mistake.” you heave.

There's a few beats of silence before he loses his hold on his laughs. You don't bother schooling your expression in any picture of annoyance this time, letting your body go limp against him.

“Aww, are you pouting?” a poke to your cheek has some semblance of energy resurface, not that you utilize it to give him any more of a reaction.

Phainon finally, finally loosens his death grip around your head, but his arm itself stays in place. “Don't be. I'll let you win next time, honeycakes.”

He laughs at your push like it was but a nudge, refusing to budge an inch from your space. “Save it, I don't need your pity.”

“As you wish.” he nods with faux seriousness, giggling again at his own antics after not even a minute as if he's lost it. You offer nothing but exasperation on your face, considering very carefully the life decisions you've made.

[miaoua3]

(pairing: scoups x f!reader)

trying to slowly gain my motivation back to write because I literally feel like crying every time i attempt to finish the fic that i started three weeks ago lmao

your steps have a little skip in them as you walk down the road, happily swinging your and cheol’s intertwined hands as you do so.

to be completely honest, you aren’t really sure why you are so happy, you just…are.

the day hasn’t been anything too special-you decided to use the rare free day that cheol had and got up early to have a breakfast at your favourite bakery. the old lady who is the owner of the shop smiled as she took your orders, although she could’ve already guessed what the two of you were going to order, being that you two come at least once every two weeks in there.

your boyfriend looked very handsome, with his black hair slicked back and white tshirt, a light green cardigan that matched your dress thrown over it. the smile that decorated his handsome face the entire time made him all the more beautiful.

you two chatted about anything and everything, briefly revisiting the old drama from that ex coworker of yours, cheol being just as invested as you as you showed him her most recent instagram update of hers.

after you have finished with the breakfast, you decided to just…walk around.

you dragged your poor boyfriend around one too many stores, making him try all sorts of clothes before you showed him mercy and he paid for the things you picked out for the two of you.

after you left your bags in the car, he gently took your hand and suggested that a walk through a nearby park could be nice.

you close your eyes as you take a deep breath of the fresh spring air, the soft smell of flowers that surround you lingering inside your nose.

with a sigh, you look at cheol with a smile on your face “i couldn’t be happier to finally have spring back. i haven’t felt sun on my face in months.”

you briefly drop his hand in the name of spreading your arms wide and running a few metres in front of him, before you turn around to look at him.

and cheol?

cheol feels his breath get stuck inside his throat at the sight in front of him.

the soft green dress that perfectly hugs your body, the way the soft wind plays with your hair, the way your eyes look even brighter in the sun.

and that smile.

god, the things seungcheol would do to have that smile permanently tattooed on your face.

suddenly, you run back to him, giggling as you do, before stopping just a hair short of his body.

the fond smile that grazes the corners of his lips makes you fall that much deeper in love with him.

quickly, you lean in and peck his lips before pulling away to reveal a mixture of a happy and mischievous smile on your own lips.

cheol just squints his eyes suspiciously at you before grabbing your cheeks all too quickly and pulling you back in for another kiss, one much deeper and much softer than the one you laid on him.

your hand find their place around his waist, hugging him close to yourself as you thoroughly enjoy the little make out session that cheol is “making” you participate in.

pulling slowly away, he opens his eyes to see that blinding smile of yours.

a matching one graces his features as he softly asks you “what’s got you so smiley today, my little fairy-looking goddess?”

you giggle at the silly nickname before you lean back in to place another soft but quick kiss on his cherry coloured lips.

lowly, almost like it’s a secret, you respond “you. you always make me feel so happy. life with you feels much better and brighter in general.”

cheol looks at your soft eyes for a second, briefly stunned by your answer, before he loops his arms around your neck and kisses you once more, fierceness and power being the driving force behind it.

after a few seconds, he pulls away, looking at your gorgeous face yet again, before he lowly says something that will get you feeling as flustered as your first date with the man in front of you did.

“im gonna marry you one day, you silly and crazy woman. be ready.”

the only thought that roams around your head for the rest of the day as you think about his words is

bring it on, baby.

[standamianwayne]

yandere!batfam/damian’s twin!reader

cw: one (1) cuss word, underage drinking ig? (reader and dami have like two sips of beer lol), i can’t write a fight/sparring scene to save my life oops

The silence in the gym was almost eerie.

Sure, there were the sounds of soft panting and muttered curses, hand and feet meeting skin and bone, and the occasional thump when one gets knocked to the ground. Those were normal when it came to you and Damian and sparring. What wasn’t normal was the lack of another presence.

The two of you were hardly ever alone nowadays, with how big your family is. Sometimes it’s nice, seeing as how it was just the two of you for a while. But, though you’d never tell each other, you did miss your twin.

Damian missed you too, but he certainly didn’t miss the way you went easy on him. You deny it, of course, but the two of you were evenly matched in every way when it came to combat. If you tried as much as he did, you would tie at the very least, but even when you were younger you’d let him win. If he gave 100% (which he always did, thank you), you would give 99%, it was just a fact.

The fight ends like every other one does, with Damian knocking you to the floor and pinning you there. There’s a sense of pride when he defeats an opponent, an inflation of his ego. He doesn’t feel that.

The two of you don’t talk much, trying to catch your breath and cool down. A bead of sweat rolls down your side when Damian breaks the silence between you — something he hasn’t done since… you’re not sure when.

“You should try harder.” He says. His eyes are pointed at the ground, but his face is fixed into a glare. There’s a hint of a sneer on his lips, trying to bite back a snarky comment.

“…I’m trying as hard as I can,” you reply, a huff leaving your lips. It’s a mix of frustration and a bit of guilt. Is it a crime that you want your little (less than an hour, but still!) brother to win? At the same time, you can tell what he’s thinking: that you go easy on him. Which, truth be told… okay yeah maybe he has a point.

You don’t see him as inferior, you don’t think that you have to lower yourself for his benefit. For others, it’s impossible to see past his steely green gaze, to truly get ahold of his thoughts. For you, it’s obvious: he thinks the opposite— you see him as a kid still.

“Obviously not,” Damian snaps his head up to glare at you. For a moment, you can almost see the demon that everyone else does, though that thought quickly washes away. “Stop going easy on me. I’m not weak, in case you needed reminding.” He spits out the word like it’s bile. To him, it may as well be.

“I did not,” You furrow your eyebrows in return. Not quite a glare, more so a stern look. “I don’t think that of you, you know that.”

“Oh, do I? You surely don’t act like it.” He rises from his sitting position, now standing over you. You don’t bother looking up, instead letting your eyebrows raise as your expression stays flat. “You hold yourself back,” it’s almost a scoff that leaves his mouth, “you always have. I can take a hit— I don’t need you to treat me like I’m still some brat!”

“Don’t you like winning?” You ask, leaning back on your sore palms, relaxed as ever. “I’m already putting in effort to fight you, I don’t get why you can’t just take the victory.”

“Because it’s not an even match!” You aren’t sure if you’ve ever seen your brother this mad frustrated before. “And clearly whatever ‘effort,’” he uses air quotes, also something you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him do, “you’re putting in isn’t enough.”

You can help but roll your eyes, glancing away from him. “Fine, whatever,” you concede, figuring the fight isn’t worth it. “Next time we spar, I’ll kick your ass.”

It’s weird, if anyone else had said that to Damian, he’d probably scratch their eyes out. With you, he lets his lips curl into a snarky grin. “You better,” he nods. You nod back.

With that settled, you return to your routines. ‘Next time’ rolling in your brains.

Of all the amenities Wayne Manor has to offer, you’ve become quite fond of the outdoor pool. Not only is it great for exercising in general, but you have a habit of coming out here late at night. Like now, for example.

You aren’t a drinker, not really. Occasionally, Bruce will let you have a glass of wine or something at dinner. It’s not like you necessarily enjoy alcohol, but when you saw a pack of beer in the fridge — well, who are you to pass up an opportunity?

So, you sat on the edge of the pool, the bottom half of your legs submerged in the water with a beer bottle in hand. It was a bit chilly out, but it was a rare night off for you — hard to complain, really.

You don’t bother to look when you hear footsteps approaching from behind. Why bother, you already know to whom they belong.

Damian plops down next to you. A bit ungracefully, might you add, considering his whole ‘poise and proper’ demeanor he tends to portray. Wordlessly, you grab the unopened bottle and hand it over to him. Wordlessly, he pops it open and takes a sip.

“Ugh,” he sneers, pulling the bottle away from his lips, “this tastes awful. Who even buys this stuff?”

You shrug, because you don’t really know either. Probably Dick, you guess, but it doesn’t really matter. “It’s beer, nobody buys it for the taste,” you point out.

“Fair…” A light silence stretches for a few moments, only broken by the water rippling around your legs. The lights from the pool are still on, you told Alfred you’d be the one to turn them off, illuminating you both in blue.

“Do you think,” you start hesitantly, “that we, like, made a mistake by staying here? That we’re too… different?” You look up from your lap to glance to your brother. Even you aren’t too sure why you said that. It’s not like you’ve been made to feel unwelcome (well, not by your family, anyway).

It’s another moment of silence, something that seems to be all too common between you two nowadays, before Damian responds. “No,” he says simply with a small shake of his head, “I don’t feel that way at all.”

“Hm,” you hum appraisingly. You aren’t too sure what to say next, so you tuck your lips between your teeth, only undoing so to take a sip of your drink. “Just me, then.”

heyyy…. hey… how yall doing 😅😅😅😅 uh so… been two months! sorry for not uploading yall. lot has happened, got busy, and i’ve been on and off sick these past two months. but! hopefully i’m back?? eh who knows.

thank you guys for supporting me again! i say this every time i upload but oh well lol. love you guys 😛😛

[differenteagletragedy]

Part three of the one where Price is your neighbor and he falls in love with you but you already have an awful boyfriend :(

Here is PART ONE and here is PART TWO, thank yooou <3

John can't hold back his smile as he sits across from you in the little coffee shop where you brought him -- a quaint, cozy little place, with cute wicker chairs he'd half-worried he'd snap in half when he sat down.

"What?" you ask him, your own smile brightening your pretty features.

"Nothing," he replies, still grinning softly. Of course it's not nothing -- it's everything, seeing you smile just for him. He imagines laying all his cards out for you, telling you to leave the worthless man living with you and to be with him instead, but the timing isn't right, so instead he points a finger at your drink, saying, "Just never seen a coffee look quite like that."

You look down at your drink, an iced coffee that's more white than black, with flavored syrup along the side and whipped cream on top, and John swears he sees a little bit of red pop up on your cheeks as you shrug.

"I just like it sweet," you tell him. "Aiden makes fun of me for it too."

His jaw clenches at the mention of the boyfriend, and he leans in just a little bit closer over the small table, careful not to make the moment too intense while still making sure you hear him.

"Not making fun of you, sweetheart," he says quietly. "I think it's ... cute."

Your eyes light up at the tiny compliment, and you giggle, a beautiful sound that John is sure he could become addicted to.

"'Cute'?" you repeat, raising an eyebrow playfully. There's a bit of teasing in your tone, and if he didn't know better, he'd think you were flirting. "I never thought I'd hear you describe something as 'cute.'"

"And why not?" he asks, pretending to be indignant. "What's wrong with me finding it cute?"

"No problem with you finding it cute, it's just ... " she trails off, gesturing at him, then says, "Big tough strong army man, you know? You've just never struck me as, I don't know. A connoisseur of cute."

God, you're adorable. So much that John can't help but lean in a little further, his hands coming to circle his own cup of coffee.

"Lot of things you don't know about me, love."

If John had it bad for you before, he's completely gone after that coffee date -- because that's precisely what it felt like, a date. The boyfriend topic didn't come up again, and instead you talked everything else. You told him all about your job, and he told you a little about his. You shared little tidbits of your life, the people in it and the things you filled it with, and he mentally took note of everything, cataloging it all away.

Slowly and surely, he's building a little secret chamber in his mind, or maybe his heart, all full of you.

Unfortunately, there's only so long a friendly neighbor coffee run can last, and all too soon, he's opening the door of the shop for you and following behind you as you lead the way back to your car. He opens the car door for you as well, but on impulse, just before you climb in, he stops you with a gentle hand on your elbow.

"I'd like to show you something," he says softly. "Can I?"

Soon, he's the one behind the wheel of your car, with you seated next to him, looking out the window curiously as he passes the town limits.

"You promise you're not kidnapping me?" you ask, looking over to him with a playful smirk that has his hand flexing where it rests on the gear shift, fighting the urge to reach out and rest it on your thigh instead.

He forces a tight smile, glancing at you once more before focusing back on the road, and replies, "If I were kidnapping you, pet, you'd bloody well know it."

There's that giggle again, music to his ears, and he feels a rush of pride at knowing you trust him enough not to be scared of him. He knows he's an imposing man, but he'd sooner die than hurt you, and he's pleased to know that, at least on some level, you recognize that.

It doesn't take long for John to reach his destination, and when he parks by the road, you look out the window for a moment, then back to him, a puzzled expression on your face.

He smiles softly and nods to the door, gesturing for you to get out. When you do, he meets you in front of the car, offering his arm out to you, which you take. Feeling your delicate hand holding onto him, he guides you to the small hillside by the road where he'd pulled off.

"You wanted to show me ... grass," you said. "I gotta tell you, John, this isn't really inspiring me to want to hang out with you more."

He chuckles, starting up the little hill, and tells you, "The thing about hills is that there's something on the other side, yeah? Something you can't see, but if you just have a little bit of faith ..."

He trails off, watching your face as you get to the top of the hill. He sees you positively beam when you see the field of wildflowers below, hidden from the road by the higher ground of the hill.

"John!" you exclaim, finally looking up at him. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Well, love, I may not be a ... what did you call it? A 'connoisseur of cute.' But I do know a thing or two about appreciating something beautiful."

It's a line, and he knows it. This whole thing, driving you out to this field full of pretty flowers -- a place he'd found by accident one difficult night when he'd gone for a long walk because he couldn't sit still in his apartment without going mad -- is a move, pure and simple. But when your smile softens and you shift your body to face his, it feels like it's working.

Just for a moment, he lets his eyes fall down to your lips, full and smooth and positively biteable, and in that moment, your hand falls from his arm, only to tentatively slide up to his shoulder. His own hands come to your waist, high enough to be polite but firm enough that his intentions are clear.

He wants you. Desperately, completely. And now, he can see that at least part of you wants him too, boyfriend or not.

"John, I ..." you sigh, your gaze dropping down to his chest, and he feels your hand gently fisting the fabric of his jacket. "I can't."

"You can," he argues softly, his voice a low murmur. "You only have to do it."

You meet his eyes again, and he can see the turmoil there. He's in deep enough with you now that if he thought it was best for you, he'd drop it, but he knows, from the things you've told him and from his own instincts, that you're scared. And he wants you to be brave.

John waits, his grip on you steady. There's a pull between you, one he feels so strongly he'd almost swear he could reach out and grab it. He tries to let you begin to get used to being with him like this, the feel of his strong, solid hands and the weight of his gaze. He wants you to know how good it could feel, with him.

And you're almost there, he can see it. The pull ropes you in, makes you take a small step forward so that there's just a little bit of space between your bodies and you have to tilt your head back just to keep looking at him. A cold breeze blows by, and the sweet smell from the flowers circles around you.

A perfect moment that's interrupted by the sharp sound of your phone ringing in your pocket.

Just like that, you step back, your hands dropping to your sides, and before John knows it, you're on the phone with your boyfriend, telling him you'll be home soon, that everything is fine, that you're sorry you were gone for so long.

Without a word, he offers you his arm again when you hang up the phone, and you take it, but the earlier warmth is gone. Your touch is hesitant again, and it's almost enough to make him wish he'd never brought you here in the first place.

It might have been easier, to continue on without knowing for a fact that something in you, some part, however small, feels for him what he feels for you. But as soon as the notion crosses his mind, it's out again -- it may be harder now, feeling you pull back after being so close, but now he knows he has something to fight for.

The ride back to your shared apartment building is silent, for the most part. As he pulls your car into your parking space, you say something so faint he barely hears it.

"I'm sorry."

It's a wild thing to say, because he knows you have nothing to be sorry about. His mind races with possible responses, everything from pulling you into his lap and kissing you, slow and deep, just how he was about to by that picturesque field before the phone call ruined it all to explaining to you in detail just how perfect he thinks you are, just how impossible it is for him to think that you've done anything wrong.

But he knows that, in just a moment, you're going to be walking back into your apartment -- the home you share with another man. A man who gets to kiss you like that, no matter how little he deserves it. It's an infuriating thought. A poisonous one.

So instead, he taps the wheel and says, "Steering's off."

".... huh?"

He flashes you a tight-lipped smile, turning off the ignition.

"Pulls to the left a bit. You don't notice it?"

"Oh ... yeah, I've noticed it. But I just ... I don't know, I just deal with it," you tell him.

Of course you do.

"We'll have a look at it soon, all right?" he says. "I don't like the thought of you on the road with it like that. Need to keep that pretty little head of yours safe, don't we now?"

"John ..." you begin, and he knows by your tone, along with a brief flash of pain in your eyes, that you're about to touch on more than just his protective streak.

But again, your phone rings, and whatever dregs of magic that were left from the moment out there in the flowers vanish completely.

"Best not keep him waiting, love," he says softly, before getting out of your car and walking around to open your door for you.

When he does, your phone is still ringing in your hand, and you step out of the car, brows furrowed and frowning as you gaze up at him.

"In you get," he murmurs, nodding towards the building.

"Aren't you coming?"

"Not quite yet," he answers, feeling the tension in his shoulders coil with every ring of your phone. "You go on, and I'll see you around, yeah?"

You nod, taking your keys as he holds them out for you, and as you turn to walk towards the entrance, he hears you answer the phone with more apologies for being gone so long.

John, meanwhile, turns and starts walking. A quick walk, purposeful in that it helps him to think and to calm him down, not in that he has any particular place to go.

It's been so long since someone has gotten under his skin the way you have, and after today, he knows that you've burrowed deep, taking root in him. It's exhilarating and nerve-wracking and infuriating, and it tests him. He's nothing if not controlled, but you, and the situation, are wearing at him in the sweetest, most excruciating way.

Falling for you like this, with you wrapped up in a man you feel like you can't get away from, is a torturous kind of bliss.

A vibration in his pocket pulls him from his thoughts, and he ignores it, his mind too full of the memory of you by the flowers, the feeling of your waist under his hands. When it vibrates again, he sighs, pulling his phone out.

There, he sees two texts from you. The first reads "wanna do laundry tomorrow?", and the second is just a series of emojis going through the events of the day: a tire, a coffee cup, several flowers and a car, ending with a heart.

It's ... so goofy. But it's endearing too, and he can't help but smile.

"Tomorrow is good," he types back in response, then he hesitates with his thumb over the "send" button. He takes a breath, then fiddles with his phone for a moment until he finds the emojis so he can add a heart to his as well.

He knows he's acting like a lovesick boy, but as he turns and walks back home, an extra spring in his step and the smile still on his face, he can't bring himself to care. So much of his life is about being strong and in charge, fearless and powerful. It feels good to allow himself this small indulgence in the privacy of his own mind.

John also knows that you're not quite there with him yet. You're on a precipice, it seems, and while he knows without a doubt that he'll catch you when you jump, you're still too scared to make the leap.

A moment ago, he may have almost considered giving up. But now, with plans for tomorrow and the faint feel of your body imprinted on his hands, he's ready to keep fighting.

[mikoyamisheadcanonblog]

******NOTHING SEXUAL HAPPENS IN THIS FIC JUST TWO CHARACTERS ENJOYING A SIMPLE BATH TOGETHER*******

Fem!Reader Taking a Bath With Zoro

⚔️Zoro⚔️

Word Count: 815

Warning: Shower Scene, hinted ideas of sexual desires, mention of nudity.

She stared at the bottle that was sitting in Zoro’s shower bucket as they were getting ready for their bath time. Or really, had she suggested a bath after their little spare together. She was feeling sweaty and dirty and by the smell of her own lover he too was in dire need of a shower, smelling worse than her.

Zoro was mumbling under his breath as he was going over all the training they had done and what he planned to do after the shower. He would have to continue his training if he wanted to get stronger. He watched his girlfriend, in only a towel covering her body but showing her long, lush legs, legs he was familiar with. He quickly pushed any dirty thoughts away.

“The water is warm now,” he told her dipping his hands in the water and feeling it. It was good now perfect for both of them to sit in the bath water and take a quick shower. He frowned when she walked past him and threw a bath bomb changing the beautiful clear water to a seaweed green, along with the fresh scent of the forest.

“It matches your hair,” She joked tugging on his short locks laughing. He ignored the beating of his heart, hearing her beautiful voice. Or how her fingers felt in his hair. It was a comforting feeling, feeling of warmth. He looked away from her quickly.

“It smells like a forest,” he took in the fresh pine scent, as small layer of bubbles surrounded the side of the tub.

“I miss the forest,” she answered casually adding more soap bubbles to the bath. Zoro could feel his eye twitch as he watched his quick bath turn into a bubble bath.

“Why are you adding all those?” he growled clearly annoyed. He had a lot of training to do and this was only going to delay it. He turned to glare at the woman next to him but found himself turning away and glaring at the wall, she looked so beautiful so at peace, “We don’t have time for all this, we need to get back to training,”

She could only smile, use to his quick temper, knew she was playing shy and that he was looking forward to a longer bath. She wanted to relax after all the training, her muscles were a bit sore, and Zoro had a way of pushing his body to the limit and you wanted to follow him in training. He would spare with her, too, as he would insist on wanting her to fight and get better with her sword training, the Grandline was a dangerous place. And she needs to get stronger.

“I like to smell good,” she told him, she moved closer her face nuzzling in his neck and sighed. He froze feeling her breath on his neck his heart rate pulsing through his heartrate once again increases, “you also need a shower you smell terrible,” she breathed before moving away from him.

Gathering everything she needed from special soup for her body, to essential oils for her hair and lotion for after her shower. “I think the bath is ready,” removing her towel. She sat in the water with Zoro following behind her. The hot water felt great on their skin, and she leaned back on Zoro’s chest loving how he felt. He wrapped an arm around her waist and sighed, burring her face in her hair. She smelled like her favorite shampoo. A scent he was very familiar with.

She grabbed the only bottle he brought with him for the shower and read it.  ‘3 in 1 Shampoo’.

“You really only use one bottle when you are in the shower,” she raised an eyebrow a mocking tone in her voice.

“Yeah, better then what you use,” he motioned all her bath products she had carried, “I take quick showers then I am done,” he bragged closing his good eyed. She shook her head and blew some bubbles on his face.

“At least I smell good,” she told him her fingers brushing the bubbles off his nose.

Zoro shook his head, “I smell well enough,” he growled playfully grabbing a handful of water and dropping it on top of her. She could squeal delighted and smile playfully at her handsome swordsmen of a boyfriend.

She couldn’t deny it he always smelled good, he smelled of steel and metal all things that remind her of him. She kissed his cheek, “You still should shower more,” she told him, he always needed a shower near the end of the week.

“Only if you will join me,” he teased back, tilting her chin staring at her with such a smoldering looking that caught her off guard, her breathing stopped. He leaned down and kissed her lips deepening it. “Beautiful,” he whispered only to deepen the kiss.

[s4nniebe4r]

the roommate

part ten: domestic

pairing: roommate! san x fem! reader

synopsis: things in the apartment have become a little more comfortable

wc: 5.5k

tags: slow burn, roommates, enemies to lovers, angst, forced proximity, eventual romance

etc: so sorry this took longer to post than usual! i should take the time to let you all know that updates are sporadic as this is something i do in my free time! i’m so happy you all received this series well and are enjoying it! lots of love, liebchens, and as always, this is not proofread!

previous part next part

You don’t even remember when it started, when the evenings started to stretch and melt into one another. 

It’s quiet tonight, but it’s not silent. The soft clicking of San’s controller fills the living room in a little rhythm, broken by the occasional shout from the voice chat playing through on the television screen. You’re curled up into the left side of the couch, legs tucked under you, laptop open but practically untouched from the past hour. The document sits there half-finished on your screen, you’ve typed and deleted the same sentence at least six times now. 

San’s on your right, his back resting against the arm of the couch, one leg bent whilst the other stretches along the cushions, his leg nearly brushing yours. His hair’s a little messy, damp at the ends from a shower earlier, and his expression is so focused. His eyebrows are furrowed, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. There’s a hoodie sleeve pushed halfway up his arm and his controller rests comfortably in his hand as he moves through the game. He’s mid match as you glance up at the screen, some brightly lit map you couldn’t even tell the name of if you tried.

It should annoy you. It should annoy you how immersed he is in it. But it doesn’t. Not tonight. 

He’s losing his match. And he’s clearly not very happy about it. 

He huffs through his nose, leans forward, then back into the armrest again. “What is this idiot doing,” he mutters, barely loud enough for you to be able to register it. 

You stretch your legs a little, shifting in your seat. The cushion dips slightly where his thigh finally slips close to yours. You hide a small smile, dragging your cursor across your document again. You’re not even pretending to work anymore. Your paper is an end of semester reflection due this upcoming week. Every time you start typing, your eyes drift toward the game. Or toward him. You’re not even watching the screen so much as watching him. The way his brows twitch. How he exhales sharply whenever he dies. How he leans forward when the stats start getting tighter. It’s kind of endearing. 

You’d never say that aloud though. Never. 

“Why are you making that face?” San asks suddenly, not even taking his eyes off the screen.

You blink. “What face?”

“That face,” he says, still focused on the game. “Like you’re actively judging me.”

“Maybe I am.”

He scoffs and then returns back to his game. Letting out a string of curses as his character dies on screen again. You hear the other players shouting at him as he continues to mash the buttons on his controller. 

“You good over there?” you ask lightly. 

He doesn’t look away from the screen. “Peachy.”

You stifle a laugh. “Want me to backseat again? I can tell you what you’re doing wrong. Just say the word.”

“God, no.” The slants a quick glance at you. “You don’t even know what’s happening.”

“I don’t need to,” you reply, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. “You keep playing the same map over again. You just threw… a smoke? And got knifed by someone behind you.” 

San groans. “I really don’t need a commentator, thanks.”

You hum, tapping a key idly on your laptop. “Seems like you might actually.”

He turns his head slightly to glance at you, narrowing his eyes. “Think you can do better?”

You lift your brows. “Is that a challenge?”

San sets the controller down in your lap before you can argue. “Here. Prove it. You won’t last five seconds.”

Your mouth opens, then shuts again as you tilt your head. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he says, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Come on, superstar. Show me.”

With a theatrical sigh, you shift your laptop to the side, shuffling to be positioned even closer to him now, and pick up the controller. The second you enter the match, you’re overwhelmed. Your character spawns in, and within seconds, you’re already taking fall damage from jumping off something you weren’t supposed to. You wince as the screen flashes at you. 

“Okay, that was on purpose,” you mumble. 

“You lost almost all your health just from falling, Y/N.”

“I was just looking around.”

“We’re in a match.”

A beat later, a single bullet from the corner takes you out. You frown at the screen, scowling. 

“No. This is rigged,” you mutter, brows scrunching in concentration. 

“Sure, sure,” he says, nudging your shoulder. “Keep telling yourself that.”

You last another three minutes before tossing the controller back into his lap with a dramatic groan. “I hate this stupid game.”

He’s still grinning when he takes it back. “It’s okay. Not everyone’s built for it.” 

“Whatever,” you mutter as you stand, stretching your arms over your head. “I’m going to the kitchen for food.”

“What are you making?” he asks, already half-distracted, fingers flying over the buttons again. 

You shrug as you walk behind the couch. “I dunno. Fried rice, maybe.”

You move into the kitchen, tugging open the fridge and collecting what you can—leftover rice from the night before, an egg, and some sad-looking vegetables that need to be used sooner rather than later. San’s still back on the couch, but you can feel a set of eyes follow you briefly as you shuffle around. 

You’re mid-stir when you reach over the burner without thinking. Just a quick reach, barely a stretch, but the heat is too close. It’s nothing bad, but you can still feel it. You flinch as the edge of your wrist catches a sting of warmth. 

“Ow—fuck.”

San’s already halfway out of his seat. “Seriously?” He rounds the corner. “What’d I say about being so clumsy?”

You shoot him a glare, cradling your wrist. “It’s fine. It’s barely anything.”

“Yeah, that’s how it starts,” he mutters, reaching past you to turn the heat down slightly. “Gonna end up burning down the apartment complex.”

“Don’t give me ideas, maybe I’ll do it on purpose.”

He tosses you a look over his shoulder as he takes the spatula. The sizzling oil starts to quiet, and he’s moving around like it’s nothing. You catch him glance toward the kettle, and moment later, he fills it with water and sets it to what. You notice, but don’t say anything. He’s just focused now. 

“I forgot you can actually cook,” you say, sliding next to him at the stove, reaching around to grab the salt. 

There’s a few moments of silence as he lets out a small hum and continues to work around. You take the time to grab plates, glasses, and utensils.

The kettle clicks off, and you see a mug appear on the counter beside you. You don’t think much of it at first. You rinse off the dishes from earlier while he keeps cooking, the two of you working on your tasks in silence. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve had a night like this. A week ago, you’d fallen asleep on the couch while he was playing. You hadn’t meant to, but you woke up with a blanket over your legs and your head tilted against his shoulder. He hadn’t mentioned it. Neither had you. 

Another night, you made grilled cheese, and he insisted on making tomato soup. You didn’t fight him on it. He didn’t comment when you added more seasoning than he would have. You were both just coexisting. 

You finish drying your hands and glance toward the counter. The tea is there, steam curling from the rim of the mug, almost golden tinted in the faint kitchen light. You didn’t make it. You didn’t even see what kind it was. 

You take a sip. Honey citron. 

You blink down at the cup, lips parting in surprise. It tasted as good as Seonghwa had said earlier. You assume this was from the box you found not too long ago when rummaging through the pantry for snacks. 

You don’t say anything. Not yet. But you sip again, slower this time, letting the sweetness melt on your tongue. 

“Food’s ready,” he says, plating two portions and sliding them across the counter. 

You take a seat at the kitchen island, sliding onto the left barstool as he settles beside you on the right. He’s close, his shoulder brushes yours when he shifts his plate. 

It’s not tense. Not weird. Just comfortable. 

“Pretty good,” you say after the first bite. 

San hums at your comment. “I know.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

You glance over at him, smiling against your will. He’s already watching you, elbow on the counter, twirling the utensil lazily in his hand. You continue your conversation. Mostly commentary on the rice and a few other jabs at each other. 

After you eat, he stands to clear the plates and you go to help, grabbing the sponge and running the water. 

“I got it,” he says. 

You wave him off. “I’m already here.”

San lets you scrub while he dries. He doesn’t say anything when your arms bump or your elbows brush. It’s almost automatic, the way you pass the dishes off without needing to speak, the way he catches the ones you rinse before they even hit the drying rack. 

“You feeling okay?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re being weirdly helpful.”

He shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You look at him a little more intently now. “You’re plotting something.”

He smirks at you. “Always.”

You finish the last dish and rinse your hands, drying them quickly. San’s still there, hovering near the sink. You place the towel down and lean against the counter beside him, not quite looking at him yet. 

“You’re not gonna mention the tea?”

San blinks. “What?”

You nod toward the mug. “The new honey citron tea.”

He shrugs again. “Ah. Didn’t think I needed to.”

You glance at him. “I mean, you bought it.”

“Yeah.”

You nod once, then look away again. It’s silent for a long beat. You think maybe that’s the end of it, that neither of you will say more. 

But then San murmurs, “You looked like you needed it.”

You freeze fingers curling around the edge of the counter. When you finally glance back up at him, he’s already looking away, reaching for the dish towel you just used to dry his hands. 

You don’t say anything else. You don’t need to.

A few seconds later, he brushes past you quietly, back to the couch, to his game. He doesn’t say another word. 

You’re still thinking about the tea. How good it is. How right Seonghwa was.

You settle on the floor with a heavy sigh, pulling your laptop and notebook in front of you just like you’ve done at least a hundred times before with this paper. The carpet is cool underneath your legs as you cross them. The blanket you’d been curled up in earlier is still bunched on the couch behind you, forgotten as you’re now fixed on sitting on the ground. Somehow, you need this, you need the distance from comfort to focus on this. To lock in.

San’s switched from his game to a show, the volume is switched down, and you can barely hear it, the subtitles flickering across the screen. He’s quiet now, settled back into the corner of the couch with a knee up, phone in hand but mostly idle. You haven’t said much since you sat down, and neither has he. It’s not awkward. Just quiet. 

You open your laptop and blink at the mostly empty page. You type a few words. Delete them. Start again. Only to tap the backspace button once more. Your notebook sits open beside you, a few ideas scribbled along the lines, but nothing’s clicking. You can feel it, the deadline is breathing down your neck, your brain shutting off the closer it gets. 

Ten, fifteen minutes pass like this. Then you sigh, a sharp exhale that deflates your chest. 

Behind you, San speaks. “Is this what academic death looks like?”

You don’t turn around, you just throw up a hand and wave him off. “Don’t start with me.”

You hear the faint smile in his tone as he hums back at you. 

You try again. A few more sentences. Another failed paragraph. And it’s all starting to swirl together. You rub at your eyes, trying to stop the frustration from welling up too fast. 

“Want help?” he offers, casually. 

You blink, then glance over your shoulder. “You?”

He raises an eyebrow, gesturing vaguely. “I’m capable of making thoughts.”

You shake your head but shift your laptop slightly so he can see the screen. “Be my guest.”

You feel the couch shift as he leans forward, bracing himself on one arm, chin hovering just behind you, scanning the screen. His proximity warms your back. 

He hums softly again, tilting his head. “Starting with a quote? I guess that’s one way to do it.”

“It’s relevant.”

“It’s pretentious,” he counters, voice dry, there’s no bite.

You elbow his leg. “Okay, professor.”

His voice quiets. He leans back again, still reading, but he stops making snide comments. And for a while, he’s just there, reading, glancing between your screen and notebook. You go still, fingers tapping nervously on your thigh. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel there’s a shift in him, it’s when you started getting more tense.  The way your posture has folded in, like you’re trying to curl away from the pressure. 

Then the blanket slips down from the couch behind you. 

You blink, startled as it drapes over your shoulder from above, it’s warm and comforting. You glance up, only to find San resettling behind you again, quieter this time. 

He folds himself back onto the couch, one leg tucked under him, the other bent up beside your right shoulder. His thigh rests close, almost too close, like it’s fixing him to the floor without quite touching you. You feel his presence radiate at your back. 

Your chest tightens. It’s a small gesture, and yet you feel your body react before your mind can catch up. Why does the blanket feel heavier now that he’s the one who put it on you? And then his hand is there still, his palm is resting over the blanket on your right shoulder. At first, it’s just the weight of it. But then his fingers start to move, tracing lazy, shapeless patterns through the thick fabric. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you. His touch is quiet and rhythmic, like he’s drawing something only he understands. 

It’s not fair. Not fair at all how much you notice him. The way his fingers trail without any purpose, the heat is seeping through despite the barrier of fabric. It’s like every inch of your skin under his hand has become a live wire. He’s not even trying and yet, it still makes your thoughts scatter. 

You don’t realize your eyes have shut until the motion stops. You blink them open, glancing up just as he reaches for something on the table to your left. Your tea. 

He passes it over without a word, and your fingers wrap around the warmth instinctively. It feels heavier now, like you’re more aware of the sensation. The tea is still warm when you take a sip. 

His hand returns to your shoulder, settling there again like it never even left.

You shouldn’t like this as much as you do. You shouldn’t feel like this. 

You exhale slowly. Your pulse has calmed, but something about the moment feels suspended in time, like the seconds have come to a halt. 

Then, just as you shift to reach for your notebook again, San leans forward slightly. His voice comes quietly, right near your ear, almost brushing against your skin. 

“You’ve got it.”

You still. 

The mug in your hand doesn't rise. Your fingers go a little slack. The words wrap around your spine like a string pulled tight. You’ve never heard him say something like that. Not like that. Not to you. Not so close. 

You don’t respond right away, and he doesn’t press for it. Instead he stays there. Warm and present. His hand stays exactly where it is, slowly moving now in small strokes along the curve of your shoulder blade. 

You close your eyes again. Just for a second. Just to feel this. 

You let yourself lean back just slightly, not enough to rest on him, not really. But enough for him to know you’re still there, still waiting. 

The door clicks open, and you barely register it at first, too absorbed in the steady rhythm of your hands as you stir something simmering on the stove. But then, the familiar voice of Seonghwa cuts through your space, drawing your attention immediately. 

“Smells good in here.”

You turn just in time to see him step inside, his smile already wide as he takes off his shoes and steps into the apartment. You’re still stirring the dish on the stove. It’s almost done, the creamy tteokbokki bubbling just right, and the dumplings sizzling in the pan. You smile as Seonghwa steps further inside, the sight of him bringing a quick surge of fondness. “Hey,” you greet, setting the spoon aside to walk over to him. The space between you is closing, and without even thinking, you pull him into a tight hug.

“Didn’t think I’d be walking into something this good,” Seonghwa chuckles, his arms wrapping around you. You chuckle, it’s easy and familiar, and you let your body relax against him. It’s been a while since you’ve had the chance to just hang out like this, and you didn’t realize how much you’d missed it until now. 

“Missed you, Hwa,” you say, pressing your cheek against his shoulder, the comfort of his just being here easing into the quiet of the evening. 

“I missed you too,” he replies easily, his voice bright, though he’s already walking toward the kitchen, the scent of dinner catching his attention. “It’s been too long.”

Seonghwa moves to the kitchen, running a hand through his hair as he glances over the counter. His eyes settle on the bubbling tteokbokki, the crispy dumplings still cracking in the pan. You step back to the stove, your fingers grazing over the edge of the pan, the warmth from the heat seeping through your fingertips. 

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he moves around the kitchen, clearly appreciating the smells that fill the room. You return to your dish, absentmindedly reaching across the stove to grab the dirty dish you had left to clean, but before you can grab it, San’s hand catches your wrist, pulling it back gently.

“Didn’t I tell you not to do that anymore?” His voice is soft but firm, there’s concern buried in his words.

You blink, a little flustered, especially in front of Seonghwa, but laugh as you tug your wrist free from his grasp. “I’m fine, San. I wasn’t even that close.”

He narrows his eyes at you, giving a small shake of his head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re gonna end up burning yourself. You’re so clumsy.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but smiling anyway, knowing he’s probably right. “You’re dramatic,” you tease lightly, picking up your tea and taking a sip. It's your second of the evening, just like the one he made for you earlier. You don’t acknowledge it, not aloud at least. Neither does San. But Seonghwa notices.

He’s quiet for a moment as his eyes flicker between you and San, a thoughtful look on his face, but neither of you are looking his way. His gaze shifts back to the food, breaking the brief tension. “It’s been a while since I’ve walked into this kind of domesticity,” he says, his voice light and teasing.

San doesn’t even flinch at the observation, though you do notice a subtle shift in his posture, his fingers flexing ever so slightly on the spoon in his hand as he stirs the pan. You try not to pay too much attention to the small things, how you and San have moved through the kitchen together, there’s ease in the way you anticipate his actions. It’s just comfortable. 

Seonghwa steps closer to the counter, eyes lingering for a moment longer before he grabs a glass from the cupboard. “So, what are we making?” he asks, trying to sound casual, but his gaze doesn’t stray too far from you and San.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” you reply, setting the sponge down as you turn to plate the food. “You can help me set the table if you want.”

Seonghwa takes a deep breath and does as you say, moving toward the small dining area with a few plates and glasses. “Smells amazing,” he mutters, glancing toward San, who’s still focused on the stove. You can feel the small shifts between them, Seonghwa’s keeping tabs on every little thing, so it seems.

It’s easy. Too easy. But it’s also something Seonghwa has been picking up on, and you pretty much know it. The quick glances, the way you move in sync without a word. It’s something neither you nor San acknowledges. 

You finish plating the food and set it on the table, Seonghwa already filling his glass with water. There’s a quietness between the three of you as you take your seats. Seonghwa is directly across from you, and San is to your left. The conversation flows easily between you. 

“So,” Seonghwa starts, glancing between the two of you, “You guys cook together often?”

You freeze briefly, then brush it off with a light laugh. “More often than I’d like to admit.”

San chuckles, but there’s a subtle shift in the air again, something in how he doesn’t look at you when he responds, something you can’t quite place. “We get by.”

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow at the casualness, his gaze flicking down to his food. There’s no comment, not yet. 

Dinner continues, and Seonghwa tells you stories from his week, little anecdotes about classes, but you let yourself drift away from the conversation for a moment. Letting yourself feel the shift in the air, the shift you can’t quite put into words. And Seonghwa seems to catch it. 

“I gotta say,” Seonghwa finally speaks up again, his voice light but his words sharp, “You two are weirdly in sync tonight.”

You freeze for half a second, before brushing it off with a half-hearted laugh. “What does that even mean?”

San shifts in his seat, making direct eye contact with Seonghwa, and his fingers tap lightly against the table. “Nothing. Just… dinner. Relax.”

But Seonghwa’s eyes are still on you both, and you know he’s watching for something. His gaze flits back and forth. He doesn’t push it any further though. The rest of dinner passes with light banter, but there’s an awareness between him and San, even as Seonghwa continues his stories. 

As you finish, the dishes are cleared and the living room starts to invite you over. The three of you make your way over, and you flick on the television. 

The game on the screen hums softly in the background, the flickering world of your game providing a light, easy distraction. You sit on the floor, comfortably nestled between Seonghwa’s legs, the soft cushions of the couch pressed against your back. It’s one of those moments that feels effortless, and you let yourself sink into it without as much of a second thought. 

Seonghwa sits behind you, his fingers moving through your hair slowly, absently, as if it’s second nature to him. You lean back just enough to feel his warmth, letting your head lay against his knee, the soft pull of your hair as he braids a few strands, all while his eyes remain on the screen. There’s a gentle rhythm in his actions, it’s soothing, like there’s no words needed between you two. His attention is split between the game and the little affection he’s showing you, and you let yourself be. 

Occasionally, Seonghwa offers you little tips on the game, but it’s more out of habit than anything else. “Careful there,” he says lightly, his voice just a soft murmur above your head. “You’re about to fall into a hole,” he says as he tugs a little harder on your hair out of shared nerves. You chuckle, moving your character just in time, and he smiles down at you, the corners of her eyes crinkling. 

San, however, sits across from him on the couch. He’s a little more distant physically, his body leaned back against the armrest with one leg draped across the cushions. Despite his relaxed posture, there’s something about the way his eyes flicker toward you every now and again when he thinks you don’t notice. He’s quiet, absorbed in his own thoughts, but his gaze never strays too far from you. You can feel him watching, even when you aren’t looking at him directly. 

Every so often, you glance up at him. His jaw is slightly clenched, his thumb tapping against the edge of his phone, but his eyes flicker between the game on the screen and you. There’s something unreadable again, in the way his eyes meet yours for a second before darting away, and you can’t help but wonder what’s got him like this. 

You’re so caught up in the game, the banter with Seonghwa, that you don’t notice how your body gradually shifted even closer to him. At first you're just comfortable between his legs, playing the game, laughing at the graphics, but eventually you lean back further into him. It’s small, something like second nature, and you’re not sure when it happens, but now you're pressed fully against his leg. It feels like you could stay here for a while. 

But then, the silence is broken by San’s voice.

“Are you trying to make another trip to the chiropractor down there? He calls out, glancing over at you from his spot on the couch. “Remember last week when we were working on your paper? You complained for days after. There’s room on the couch, you know?”

You blink at him, caught off guard for a second. You hadn’t really thought about moving, but San nudges his leg lightly in your direction, like a subtle invitation. 

“Come on, the couch isn’t too crowded up here,” he teases, the smirk in his voice clear even though he’s not looking at you directly now. 

You chuckle, glancing up at Seonghwa for a moment. “I’m fine here,” you say, half-defensive, but there’s no real conviction behind it.

Seonghwa smiles down at you, his eyes crinkle for a moment before he lets his fingers untangle from your hair. “San’s right, there’s plenty of room with us.”

So, you don’t fight it, though part of you wishes you could ignore the way San’s voice was the pulling force at you. You push yourself upright, making space for yourself on the couch, unsure of where exactly to settle. You end up sitting between them, but noticeably closer to San. You're not sure why, but your body seems to naturally gravitate toward his cushion. You let yourself lean toward him almost unconsciously, his presence familiar more so these past few days, you don't even realize how much until your shoulder brushes against his arm.

It’s not an awkward thing, just easy. You’ve been around each other like this more and more lately, and for once, it feels a little comfortable. His warmth and the light sound of his breath next to you, it all fits around you well. There’s no second-guessing as you settle into him, letting yourself lean slightly against him as you turn yourself to face Seonghwa. 

San doesn’t say anything at first, but his body shifts slightly, his knee brushing against yours, a touch so soft it might as well be accidental. You glance up at him, and he’s still focused on Seonghwa, but now he’s more turned toward the conversation too, his body angled in a way that mirrors yours. You find your back resting against his chest now, almost without realizing how you got there. You tell yourself you’re not noticing the heat from his side, but you absolutely are. 

As you talk with Seonghwa, your attention shifts between him and San, and you don’t even realize how much you’re leaning into San now. You feel the slight shift of his weight beside you, the way his body seems to almost instinctively adjust to give you more room. His arm just barely brushing yours, you’ve already found a rhythm in your movements. Not entirely aware that your body is more pressed against his side now, the curve of your shoulder resting against his ribcage. 

His warmth feels solid, you feel… safe. You laugh softly at something Segonwha says, your head tilting back just slightly, resting against San a little, your loosely braided hair falling to one side. His breathing is steady, and you can’t help but notice the way his chest rises and falls beneath you, each exhale something you let yourself fall against. 

Seonghwa, ever the observer, catches the shift, but he doesn’t comment on it. Just a fleeting glance from him to San, before he dives back into the conversation.

As the evening is winding down. The air is now quieter, as if everyone is letting the night unfold. The lights seem to be getting darker, and the television hums in the background, but you can feel Seonghwa’s departure looming. 

Seonghwa stretches, his eyes flicking toward the door as he grabs his jacket from the back of the chair. “I should probably get going,” he says with a light yawn, brushing his hair back with his fingers. “It’s getting late, and I’ve got that early meeting tomorrow.”

You push up away from San on the couch to walk him to the door. “I enjoyed you coming over tonight, Hwa. Maybe we should have people over more often, right, San?” You say looking over at him with his back draped against the armrest of the couch.

He lets out a small hum of agreement, nodding his head up and down lazily as he shifts his attention from the television screen to the two of you at the door. 

“Of course,” Seonghwa says, adjusting his jacket. He pauses by the door, eyes flickering between you and San before settling back on you. “It’s been too long, really. I’m looking forward to next time.”

You laugh, shrugging lightly. “You know, this would have been sooner if you didn’t keep running off on me.”

Seonghwa chuckles softly at your teasing. "I can't help it, I've got a lot on my plate." He says this with a grin, clearly not bothered by the comment. As he steps closer to you, you give him a quick hug, your arms wrapping around him in a comfortable, familiar way. The moment feels warm, easy, just like it always has been with him.

"Take care of yourself, alright?" you murmur into his shoulder as you pull away.

"I will, I will," he replies, pulling back with a wink. "I’ll see you soon, Y/n.”

With one last smile, Seonghwa steps out the door, leaving you standing in the dimly lit hallway. You close the door behind him, and as you turn back to the living room, the silence falls over you.

You walk back to the couch, your footsteps soft on the carpet, and sit down again, this time closer to the middle of the cushion. His eyes are still glued to the screen, though the quiet hum of the TV doesn’t seem to hold the same weight anymore. The space between you feels quieter now, but not uncomfortable. 

You feel a small pull of curiosity tugging at you. You glance over at San, his features soft in the dim light, and then, almost on impulse, you let your mouth work faster than your head, you ask, “Were you jealous?”

San doesn’t turn to face you right away, but there’s a small shift in his posture. He tilts his head just enough for his gaze to flicker in your direction. His lips curl into him shyly, letting a small smirk, and he doesn’t miss a beat before answering, “A little.”

You don’t know why, but the short response makes your face heat. There’s something about the way he says it, as if it’s no big deal, but you know better. You roll your eyes, but there’s a softness in your smile. “You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, though your voice isn’t carrying any sort of edge. 

San chuckles under his breath, but he doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he leans back further against the armrest, as if settling into the silence between the two of you. “Just a little,” he says.

taglist

@kryscent @randajjjad @yutapeaxh @barbielibra @sheadoreswalls @candied-czennie @decaffeinatedpandabread @sannieworshipper @pirateprincessblog @zeeader @frecklyfelix @serotoninbarbz @choisandilf @nimzajsstuff @passerbyforfun @metzzz99csan @santineez

(please lmk if you’ve been missed out or i’ve entered your user wrong!)

[nezuswritingdesk]

A/n: just remembered that I didn't get to introduce the youngest out of Sylus' kids! I'm too lazy to make a separate post so he'll be added here after his big sisters!

Inspired by : @tbaluver @starmocha @abyssyby

ninang @deusfoundry (aly) who probably wants to meet her inaanak no. 10

Same warning content as above and all!

wc: 543 words

Headcanons about the youngest son!

his name is seth (sylus picked it)

currently 10 months old and does 10 month old baby things

he's seven years younger than the twins. why the seven years? because sylus believes in quality over quantity (he wanted to treat his princesses well before adding a new baby into the picture)

Sylus had loved him since. He managed to repurpose his old girls' nursery, modified the crib to make sure it was sturdy (just in case he or you or the girls want to join him inside the crib lol). Is a constant and has been by your side since

was born at sunset (the girls had just gotten home from extra-curriculars, only to find their tiny baby brother wrapped up in a blanket with a tiny hat and their parents)

the first thing you all did as a now family of 5? dinner (aka breakast for sylus aka had a nice meal and ate)

he likes to walk around or at least try to and his sisters help him by letting him hold their hands

has a blackhole for a stomach (like his dad)

has fat baby cheeks— which sylus lovingly bites (like he does with his big sisters when they were tiny babies too)

Does try to talk for attention (a lot like Asteria)

he's been attached to his big sisters so much

Likes to sleep on sylus’ chest too

Sylus is also making his special mechanical birdie. He's been making it since you got pregnant again , and the girls, especially Nyx, had been helping him. He'll get that when he turns one year old.

Hes basically the little baby when his big sisters play house

Loves being carried on his papa's shoulders

Has baby teeth🥺🥺 (3, almost 4 to be exact)

In terms of appearance, baby seth looks exactly like you in every shape and form.

gets called ugly by asteria (as a joke)

nyx defends him

dont be fooled he is chaos incarnate like his namesake

this baby didn't spend most of his time sleeping. hes chaotic but has good intentions, well as good as a baby can get

also adored and fought by his uncles

his baby teeth is starting to growwww

and now sylus has to deal with a teething baby and girls who are in the process of losing teeth

mephisto is still the main and designated baby monitor but the twin girls asked if they can get their birdies modified too so that they can watch over their baby brother

the annual family picture just got a bit more better and cuter (note that family picture now includes you, sylus, the tiny twins (nyx and asteria) , mephi, the twins' birdies, the big twins (luke and keiran), and seth)

now with your boy as the new addition, you and sylus are satisfied. this, in a million lifetimes and circumstances, is the best thing you both have. the world can change, they can put a number on sylus' head, but so long as the children smile and rush to him with open arms, calling him daddy or papa,he knows that it is the most precious thing he has.

there is no love purer than his for the family he built with you.

a/n: finally done with the introduction of sylus' littles ! im doing this to procrastinate on xavier's kids. maybe i will get theirs out on april if i dont forget

sylus parenting au

A/N: sigh, here we go! Girl dad sylus!!! Will try to put the headcanons in chronological order. ALSO WTF DO YOU MEAN TUMBLR POSTED MY DRAFT?!

content warning: pregnancy? family stuff? babies? might cause possible baby fever (KIDS ARE EXPENSIVE. BE RESPONSIBLE.)

Inspired by : @tbaluver @starmocha and every sylus girl dad thing I've seen since (will update here still)

wc: 1.0k

I believe that we all agreed as a fandom that Sylus is a girl dad, I firmly believe that it is in his DNA to be a girl dad to the two most well-loved, spoiled, and protected girls of the N109. He is a happy father of two identical twin girls 🥰🥰 ( their temporary names are Nyx and Asteria)

Sylus had loved these girls since the start of their little lives. He was there for every appointment, every shopping trip when you wanted to buy things for the babies, he helped assemble their cribs, prepared the nursery, etc

The twin girls were born before dawn (aka the usual sleeping time of sylus. He didn't sleep because he stayed up all night to keep you company as the twins arrived). Nyx was born first, and minutes later, Asteria came along.

Absolute sylus clones. Tiny little ladies that look exactly like Sylus.

He cried when he held his daughters for the first time— how can a man like him , a man known for his strength and cruelty, the damn leader of Onychinus, with so much blood in his hands, hold such innocent little lives?

You assured him that the girls don't see him like that. He was their father and he means the world to their small little minds.

Once everything has calmed down, the first thing all four of you did was sleep until noon or the early afternoon. The twin girls called you and their father's chests home.

The twins sleep like otters, always holding hands to never separate.

They are nocturnal creatures like their father dear! When you were recovering and the twins were being fussy at ungodly hours, Sylus would take care of the girls (plus you, ofc you're just as important).

Sylus likes to have skin-to-skin contact with the babies and in turn, the babies like sleeping on his chest throughout

Most days were really spent sleeping. They're sweet little competitive babies, they like their playtime and would do things together. Nyx waits for Asteria and Asteria waits for Nyx.

Please don't separate the twins ever, they will cry. Nyx will fuss if her baby sister isn't in her line of bad baby vision and Asteria will scream if she can't see Nyx.

He can distinguish which twin is which. Nyx has his prominent nose while Asteria has bigger cheeks but to mess around with you , he likes to swap the babies.

Nyx acts like Sylus. Asteria acts like you.

The twins have a favorite uncle individually. They will fight or pout at the other twin when they're spending too much time with their favorite uncle. Asteria likes uncle Keiran and Nyx likes uncle Luke. The uncles enables the girls to let chaos reign.

Mephisto is the baby monitor. No need to expand on this.

Sylus has been making them their own little mephisto's since you both found about that you were pregnant. The birds are based on orioles and we're gifts to the twins on their first birthday. They loved the birds since.

Sylus knows how to dress his daughters! And he dresses them good! He likes giving Nyx the crow onesie (because it matched her grumpy little pouty face) and Asteria gets the smiley dino onesie (because it matches her big baby cheeks and her smile) and sometimes he'd match their clothes or complement theirs

Sylus has nibbled their cheeks multiple times , they girls would giggle and cup his face in their tiny hands

Sylus sings and reads poetry to them to help them sleep or calm down. (He has been doing this since you got pregnant)

Their first word is papa! (It happened when Sylus got home from another business trip and the twins were eager to reunite with him so they immediately walked up to him and began to call him papa.) Sylus broke down crying even more.

Nyx calls Asteria "Ria" and Asteria calls Nyx "Nixie"

They'd always drag someone in the base to play with and have tea time where they act like sylus during his business deals. (the unwilling willing participants: sylus, the twins, mephisto, their orioles, mama reader (but mama reader is willing)

There was one time that tea time was just them two, their orioles, and Mephisto , they even dressed them up.

Very much spoiled girls by you both. They can be picking out dresses or things they like and sylus will be like, "Just one, sweetheart? You can get a second or a third, it'll be fine baby." They definitely swapped and stole each other's clothes

I firmly believe that Sylus is the one that really indulges their requests. He's financially stable, has a good job, and finally has people who'd love and appreciate him. While you're the one trying to remind him not to spoil them too much or they'll end up as brats

Nyx and Asteria are little songbirds — they sing very nicely and like to duet together but they don't have the heart to tell their beloved daddy that he cant sing (lol jk asteria is like daddy you can't sing don't do it and nyx is like daddy my ears hurt from your singing 🥺)

Sylus? do you mean their jungle gym?

as the girls got older, they become more independent and sylus and you teach them necessary life skills

their evols (if they have one) complement each other and was made to protect the other

sylus taught them martial art skills and boxing when the girls were much older to protect themselves besides the use of evols and weapons

their baby brother was born when the twins were around 7 or 8. this little boy is very well loved and protected by his sisters like their lives dependent on it. he looks like you with a small sprinkle of sylus here and there

they have family pictures every year since you and sylus got married — first it was just you two, then a bump carrying the twins, then the twin girls as babies, as toddlers and little kids, you carrying your third child, and now, the three lovely children

at the end of the day, all of the children are well-loved and adored by sylus and you. they are the reason why you two kept going in life, why it was kinder and much softer and thought it wasn't perfect, everything is enough.

a/n : wtf tumblr posted this without me knowing :( I didn't even know it was posted 😭😭 anyways I hope you enjoy this! hope to get the Caleb and zayne papa aus soon! reblogs and everything is appreciated by me thank you 💖💖

[demonic0angel]

The ghost game trio are stuck in an escape room like trial with portal guns. The only real danger in this game is if they run out of food before completing it.

Is Robin speed running the trial as fast as a foodie going through a bag of potato chips?

Of course he is. He's Robin.

Did he noticed half way through that Nightingale was actually having fun solving the trail's different puzzles?

Yes.

Has he now stopped and started goofing off with Sparrow so Nightingale can her fun?

Also yes.

They have more than enough food to last them through. Nightingale can take her time and have fun while the boys be boys and have some wholesome fun with the portal guns in this ghost game.

(I went O.o (very delighted) when I saw this ask. My first Ghost Game AU (kinda) ask??? Hell yes!! Robin = Jason, Sparrow = Danny, Nightingale = Jazz)

“Pew pew!” Sparrow said, giving his own sound effects to the guns. He dodged Robin’s guns with an exaggerated movement, making himself stretchy to dodge another blast. He flew into the air and reloaded the guns.

“That’s cheating!” Robin chided but did a backflip as Sparrow shot at him. The guns ripped a tiny hole into the walls around them, but thankfully had no other side effects.

“Now you’re just showing off!” Sparrow laughed, as Robin completed another set of acrobatics to get away from him. Both Sparrow and Robin had been very careful to not hurt each other or Nightingale, and so they just let loose and had fun.

It kept them busy and was fun. They didn’t often have scenarios that were this carefree.

“New rule!” Robin declared. “Everytime you talk, you have to rhyme!”

“Dang it! You— rabbit!” Sparrow cried, but both of them laughed harder. “I’ll make the next rule! And uh— you drool!”

“Try harder, buster!”

Robin eventually escaped Sparrow’s guns and as both of them went off for a quick break, he sidled up to Nightingale, who was sitting on the floor and solving another puzzle.

Robin watched her work for a brief moment, as she sorted the colored shapes into categories according to a specific rule for the next one to unlock. She looked happy, enjoying herself as the other two had their own versions of fun.

Robin was sweating from exertion and breathing hard, but he leaned over her shoulder to correct one of her choices.

She blinked at it, considered the new answer, and then beamed before she turned to him. “Are you and Sparrow having fun?” She teased.

Robin grinned, as he opened a pack of gummies and threw them all in his mouth. As he chewed, he said, “You should join too.”

“I still have 183 more puzzles to go. I’ll be okay here.” She grinned. “Also, didn’t you have to rhyme?”

Robin regretted that rule he made, since Sparrow seemed to be getting better at rhyming than him after a while. “Can’t I get a break from rhyming?”

There was a battle cry and then a refreshed Sparrow flew at them, shooting at Robin. None of the hits were able to land on either of them, because Robin cartwheeled away and Sparrow was very careful not to aim at Nightingale, and then they were off again.

“Take your time, Nightingale!” Robin cried at her as he ran away from Sparrow. “I know you won’t fail!”

Nightingale shook her head as she watched the two boys jump around and shoot at each other, all while rhyming like a bunch of little Dr. Suesses. Both of them were loud and noisy, spitting rhymes at each other in glee and screaming in laughter.

At least they made a funny background noise.

Nightingale turned back to the wall and went back to work with a content hum.

[wordsofelie]

🔭Saturn

part of my observatory event, requested by @stellar-haikyuu <3

kuroo tetsurou x f!reader

summary: you’ve finally found a rival who meets your standards. too bad the man is the most infuriating, stupid and annoying person on earth.

content warnings: high school setting, hurt/comfort, sports / academic rivals, swearing, reader kinda has an inferiority complex

words count: 1.4k

It started as a game. A silly, stupid, little game.

At least, that’s what you told yourself at first.

You’ve always been rather—competitive. Ever since you were a kid, you chased after every first place, every gold medal, every record waiting to be broken. Higher grades, longer races in PE, and everything else that would make you better. And then, you found volleyball—a sport that only fed that hunger, made the desire to win burn even brighter.

But before, no one had ever truly met your standards.

That is, until you met him.

Kuroo Tetsurou.

You became classmates in your first year of high school. You didn’t pay much attention to him on your first day (he seemed like the perfect depiction of a teenage boy—messy-haired, slouched over his desk, probably more interested in making dirty jokes than studying). But when the first chemistry grades came, your jaw dropped—that bastard had a better score than you. Maybe it was chance, you tried to tell yourself at first, but the semester passed, and his grades only improved.

“Need something?” is the first thing he ever asked you.

You didn’t realise you were staring at the paper in his hands until his voice reached your ears.

“I don’t,” you quickly regained your composure, clearing your throat and lifting up your chin.

His mouth turned into a side smirk. Infuriating. “Cause I can tutor you if you want.”

That motherfucker, is the only way you could describe Kuroo at this moment. You gripped your pen like it was his throat. Your hands clenched so hard your nails dug into your palms.

Still, you forced a smile in return, “I’ll pass thanks.”

“Too bad. I’ve got the annals from last year’s exam at home. I could’ve lent them to you. Or maybe they’d be too hard for you to understand.” He rested his chin in his palm calmy, looking almost bored.

Oh, you were going to kill him.

“Don’t bother, I fear I might smash your face with the book.”

His eyes widened in surprise, but his laid-back attitude came back just as fast.

“You can try, but I don’t think you can reach me. I’ve seen you play, I jump higher than you, you know.”

“Wow. Real mature-”

You were convinced the game could have gone on for hours, but unfortunately—or fortunately—the bell rang, and the class got dismissed.

You remember watching him getting up. If you didn’t just get belittled by him maybe you could have given credit to his looks. Tall, athletic, confident. That’s what Kuroo was like in your eyes. If he didn’t have a shitty personality and a stupid hairstyle you think that maybe he could have been less unbearable. But as you got out of the classroom, you only wanted to prove him wrong and dethrone him.

Your first-ever interaction transformed into a declaration of war. And the war lasted all high school.  Because, obviously, Kuroo wasn’t just good in chemistry—maths, physics, PE. Teachers loved him, praised him, classmates laughed with him. He was perfect in everything. And what made your blood boil in your veins was how effortless he made everything look. You sacrificed so much to be where you were, gave so much passion and time into school that you couldn’t stand the sight of him acting like it was easy.

And he played volleyball, which gave you even more reason to compare yourself to him.

It got worse when you both became captains of your team. You started comparing scores and blocks and victories.

At first, you liked the unspoken rule between you—the constant back and forth, the rivalry that kept you both on edge whether it was for school or volleyball.

Then, it became an obsession.

You started waking up earlier to go for a run, going to bed later to study for exams. You did everything you could and still—he was better.

You remember seeing Kuroo once on the sidelines at one of your practice matches, grinning at you with hands on his hips. “You’re looking a little slow today, Captain.”

You shot him a glare.

“Why are you even here Kuroo?” You spat once the game was over. “You’re not gonna get any girls with that haircut, you know.”

“Making fun of my hair again? You’re getting a little repetitive these days.” He chuckled. Gosh, you hated this laugh. “Besides, there’s only one girl I want attention from.”

You rolled your eyes and walked away, but deep down, your heart was pounding fast. You hated how good he was. You hated that he pushed you to be better. And more than anything—you hated how much he could control your emotions, making you sad and angry and frustrated just by being close to you.

The Inter-High qualifications arrived too fast, but you were ready.

Your team had trained relentlessly. You’d pushed yourself harder than ever, and now, it was time to prove that you could do this. That you could win.

You made it to the semi-finals. You were so close.

And then—you lost.

You didn't even make it to the finals, let alone Nationals. Your dream shattered in front of you, a cruel joke the universe had played at your expense.

You shook hands with the winning team, congratulated them like a good athlete should. Then you headed to the locker room, collapsing onto the bench; your throat was tight and your eyes burnt.

You didn't hear the door opening.

And a few seconds later, you knew he was here.

You hated him. Kuroo Tetsurou.

You hated him from the bottom of your heart.

And that hatred only grew bigger now that he was standing there, hands in his pockets, ready to make fun of your loss.

“I’m not in the mood for your teasing, Kuroo.”

Silence.

Then, softly: “I’m not here to tease.”

You finally looked up. His usual smirk was nowhere to be found, you almost missed it. Your eyes immediately stared at the floor again. “I just-” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t deserve this.”

You scoffed, bitter. “Yeah? Tell that to the scoreboard.”

Kuroo took a step closer. “I know how much this meant to you.”

Your jaw tightened. You couldn't look at him. If you did, you’d break. And you didn't want to break in front of him.

“Don’t you ever get tired of always winning?”

Kuroo blinked in surprise. “What?”

“You’re always ahead. Always. You beat me in volleyball. You beat me in grades. You beat me at everything. It’s exhausting.” Your voice cracked, and you hated it. “I’ve spent years trying to keep up with you. And now-” You laughed, but it was humourless. “Now, you get to go to Nationals while I sit at home and watch.”

Kuroo frowned. He opened his mouth—you saw it from the corner of your eyes. “I never—”

“You never what?” you snapped. “Never tried to one-up me? Never enjoyed being better than me? Cause I’m way behind you, aren’t I?”

“That’s not-” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I never wanted to beat you.”

“Bullshit. Every time we got a grade, you asked to see mine. You came to every practice game, telling me I could do more. You stayed late after school just to show me how your receives were better than mine. At tournament, you came in the frontline just to see me lose and-”

Kuroo shook his head. “It’s not that-” He hesitated. “You inspire me.”

Your heart stopped beating for a second, or two. “What?”

“You’re the best opponent I’ve ever had,” he admitted. “And yeah, I like pushing you, but not because I want to humiliate you. I just-” He rubbed the back of his neck. For the first time in the three years you had known him, he looked nervous. “I like seeing you play. I like watching you get better.”

You stared at him. This—this wasn't how your conversations usually went. Kuroo was supposed to be smug, sarcastic, insufferable. Not… this.

Not kind.

“I don’t need your pity,” you finally muttered as you looked away.

Kuroo stepped closer again and knelt down in front of you. “It’s not pity.”

“Then what is it?” The words quieted one after the other.

He seemed to be looking for the right words. But then—

“I’m going to miss you.”

You froze and your heart stuttered, and you hated that it did. (Or maybe the feeling wasn’t so bad, maybe you didn’t hate it, maybe you could get used to it.)

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you asked. You tried to sound annoyed instead of breathless, but your voice betrayed you.

Kuroo grinned—soft, for once. “It means I don’t want this to be the end of our game. Even in uni, even when we’re old and can’t play volleyball anymore, I want you to remain my best opponent.”

You stared at him. He was serious.

“You’re an idiot.”

He chuckled. “Maybe.”

A few seconds passed before he spoke again. With his usual smirk and his stupid bed hair, he asked: “Need something?”

And then—because you were exhausted, because you’d lost everything that day, because you didn't have the energy to fight anymore—you let yourself leaned into him, just a little.

His arms were warm as they wrapped around you.

Tears started falling from your eyes, your muscles eased. Everything hurt and softened at the same time.

He was right. Maybe this wasn't the end of the game.

Maybe it was just a new round.

a/n: i had so much fun writing this <33

thank you so so much to @keishuii for beta-reading it, you’re the best!!

[boolger]

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

Female reader x Nikolai x Price <-last chapter✨ AO3 link ✨ next chapter -> wc: 10.8k - call of duty - explicit, MDNI. Read the tags. Dead dove don’t eat.

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

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

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.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

“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. 

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

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.