kittyandbluey

[kittyandbluey]

marching band

[kittyandbluey]

—how to win my husband over 101

in which : you marry the ruthless prince of kremnos, and everyone says you'll never thaw his heart. but you’re nothing if not stubborn. surely all you have to do is win him over right? how hard can that be?

wc 8.7k (it’s worth it trust me), historical au, marriage of convenience, sunshine x grumpy, strangers to lovers, you fell first + he fell harder, fem reader referred to as “princess” / “milady”, ts burns so slow u might rip ur hair out sorry, heavily ib how to get my husband on my side. art by @/kannbergri on x.

surprise pookies @vxnuslogy @luvether @knnichs @kazucee it’s finally here!!!!

PROLOGUE: HOW TO SURVIVE THE EARLY DAYS

you married a stranger to save your homeland.

there was no love in the arrangement, no romantic vows exchanged beneath moonlit skies, no promises of forever whispered in soft voices. just firm handshakes and signatures inked on parchment. 

it was a straightforward agreement: kremnos would protect your people in exchange for a union, and you were sent to marry the crown prince, mydeimos, to solidify the alliance.

you had heard his name long before you ever saw his face. prince mydeimos of kremnos —a name whispered with reverence, with fear, with awe; carrying the weight of countless victories carved into the blood-soaked chaos of battlefields.

but none of those stories prepared you for the reality of him.

the grand hall of kremnos' palace feels colder than you imagined.

marble floors stretch endlessly beneath your feet, polished to a gleaming perfection that seems to reflect the distance between you and the life awaiting you here. the walls, adorned with banners of deep reds and golds, do little to warm the oppressive air.

servants pass by in hushed movements, their heads bowed, their whispers inaudible. the air carries the faint aroma of polished wood and lingering incense, yet there is no warmth to be found —not in the hall, not from the people, and certainly not from the man standing at the far end of the room.

you bow slightly out of instinct, a gesture of respect, though you feel foolish doing so in the context of your marriage.

dressed in the royal garb of kremnos, a deep red cloak embroidered with gold thread draped over his shoulders, his marigold eyes lock onto yours with piercing intensity. 

“princess,” he greets you, his words polished to a fault —exactly what you’d expect from a prince.

“your highness,” you reply, matching his formality.

“welcome to kremnos, i trust the journey was not too difficult.” 

it’s not a question, you realize. merely a statement to acknowledge your presence. you offer a polite nod, “the journey was smooth, your highness,” you reply, your voice steady despite the unease creeping into your chest. “thank you for your hospitality.”

you watch as he takes a glass of reddish liquid from a servant standing nearby, lifting it to his lips with ease, the vibrant color catching your eye.

the rich crimson hue seems too unnatural for something as mundane as wine. your gaze fixes on the glass as he drinks, a chill running down your spine as an unsettling thought creeps in.

is he drinking... blood?

your heart skips, a sudden nervousness, and you quickly avert your gaze, unable to meet his eyes.

he catches your stare however, “what is it that you find so fascinating?” 

flustered, you lower your head, stammering, "i... beg your pardon, your highness.”

you can feel your pulse quicken, the heat rising in your cheeks as you panic. the weight of his cold gaze is almost unbearable, and you fear you’ve already made a fool of yourself. 

for a moment, you dare not look at him, the silence stretching uncomfortably between you.

the prince casually wipes the red liquid from his lips with the back of his hand, as your eyes drift involuntarily toward the glass once more, still questioning its contents.

his eyes flicker to you as they narrow, “still curious?”

you freeze, wrecking your head for a sensible answer lest you further embarrass yourself.

with a sharp sigh, he places the glass down on the tray. “it’s pomegranate juice, nothing more.”

you blink, stunned for a moment, the absurdity of your previous assumption crashing down on you. 

“pomegranate juice,” you repeat softly, as if testing the words to see if they make sense.

“yes. is that so difficult to believe?”

that night, you lay on the luxurious bed in your chamber, the events of the evening swirling in your mind. you shake your head, embarrassed by your own overactive imagination. 

you turn onto your side, pulling the heavy blankets tighter around you, but sleep evades you.

yes, your husband is a man of few words, fewer emotions, and absolutely no warmth when it comes to you. yet within that frost lies a heart, waiting for the right touch to thaw it.

ACT I: HOW TO DRAW HIS ATTENTION

over the weeks, you've learned many peculiar things about your husband. 

you’ve noticed, for instance, that he always rises before dawn, and spends hours in the training grounds perfecting his form —an unyielding warrior at heart. or how he has an unusual preference for adding goat's milk to his pomegranate juice, a combination that strikes you as strange yet somehow fitting for him. 

you’ve also discovered that, contrary to expectations, he favors the color pink —an oddly delicate choice for a man so rigid in his demeanor. and while he is undeniably polite, he also remains stern and is not one to easily open up, not even to those closest to him.

all that you've learned, you’ve used in an attempt to earn his favor, though your effort often feels like trying to breach a concrete wall.

(one day, you deliberately rise early, before the sun fully breaks over the horizon, and make your way to the training grounds.

there, you find a concealed spot in the shadows, watching him spar with the guards. you’ve gone, in part, because you want him to know you care, but also because of the impressive display of his skill that subconsciously draws you in. 

it’s not long before he notices your presence; his expression remains impassive, but his gaze hardens, narrowing slightly as he observes you making your way to him from across the field.

as you finally reach him, you extend the water in your hand. but just as you take a step closer, your foot catches on an uneven stone. you stumble forward, crashing into him, and spilling the cold water across his chest. 

the gasp that escapes you is quickly followed by frantic apologies.

"princess," he says coolly, the water dripping from his toned muscles, tracing the lines of his broad shoulders and down his chest. "...are you always this clumsy, or is today a special occasion?"

ah. 

well at least he has jokes..?)

or after noticing how he often stays silent during meals, you decide to change the pace. 

(at the dining hall, you ask about his interests, but he only gives brief, impersonal responses; his attention fixed on his plate, quietly indulging in the honey-drenched pancakes. you try to make a lighthearted joke, but he doesn’t even look up, offering only a polite “i see” before the silence drapes over the table again.

so, you finally decide to try a more… direct approach —flattery. surely, no man can resist a little charm, right?

you lean close as you gather all the courage you can muster, batting your eyelashes at him hoping you appear as endearing as you intend.

"i must say, my dear husband, you —uh, you are unmatched in your… strength and wisdom. it’s no wonder my heart can’t help but be drawn to you..?”

well that didn’t exactly sound convincing. 

“and… your arms, they’re quite impressive. i mean —wait, that’s not what i meant—”

and that certainly didn’t make it any better!

you brace yourself, expecting a sharp rebuke or, at the very least, some irritation. but instead, he simply nods, offering a brief, detached “thank you” before turning his attention back to his meal. 

you immediately avert your gaze, feeling a pang of relief. though it’s strange to think that at any moment, your husband might decide to chop your head off for being so foolish (...if he felt so inclined) he is the crowned prince, after all; and while his politeness is unsettling, it’s still better than his wrath... right?)

either way, it’s clear that your efforts have made not the slightest dent. better luck next time!

today will be different.

failure has never sat well with you, and after last night’s mortifying attempt at charming your husband, you refuse to let things end on such a dismal note. if words fail, then perhaps actions will speak louder.

so, with a woven basket tucked under your arm, you wander through the palace gardens first, where roses and marigolds flourish in a riot of color, their petals unfurling like delicate silk under the afternoon sun. honeysuckle vines twist gracefully around the trellises, their sweet fragrance lingering in the warm afternoon air.

you kneel amidst the blooms, fingers brushing over soft petals, feeling the gentle give of each flower beneath your touch. carefully, you pluck a few of each, tucking them gently into your basket, mindful of their fragile stems. you arrange them just so, already picturing the bouquet coming together in your hands.

but as you wander further, you find yourself drawn toward the edge of the estate. past the hedgerows and beyond the garden’s stone pathway, you notice something that catches your eye, a cluster of wildflowers —soft pinks and gentle whites.

perfect! these will be the finishing touch to complete your bouquet for mydeimos.

pleased with yourself, you smile and make your way toward the water’s edge. leaning forward, you stretch out to pluck one, your body lowering toward the ground, shifting your weight slightly, when—

a sudden force slams into your back.

the breath is knocked clean from your lungs. there's no time to react as the world tilts violently, and before you can even scream, the cold shock of water swallows you whole.

it’s deeper than you thought.

icy water rushes into your nose and mouth, sending a searing burn down your throat. panic grips you as the world above fractures into shimmering light, distorted by the rippling surface. you try to push yourself up, but alas, the weight of your dress still drags you down. 

as you thrash around uselessly, your limbs start growing heavier. the surface above you slips further away; and the last thing you register is the sensation of strong arms wrapping around you —with a final strained breath, your vision dims to nothingness.

the next thing you feel is warmth.

your head rests against something solid, a steady rise and fall beneath your cheek .a firm hold keeps you close, one braced securely around your back, the other hooked beneath your knees. 

you blink sluggishly, your lashes heavy with water. that’s when you realise, you’re in the arms of your husband.

his hair clings to his forehead, damp strands framing the sharp angles of his face. droplets trace slow paths down his jawline, soaking into the dark fabric of his tunic —leaving nothing to the imagination.

for a moment, disoriented and breathless, you can only blink up at him.

did he jump in after you..?

“why did you wander off alone?” he chastises, snapping you back to reality. 

your throat feels tight, your heart hammering in your chest. "i-i just wanted to do something for you!" the confession spills from your lips, desperate, your fingers clinging instinctively to the soaked fabric of his sleeve. 

it’s foolish, maybe, but you’re still reeling —from the near drowning, from the fact that mydeimos saved you. 

he exhales sharply, exasperation heavy in his breath. "why are you like this…" his grip tightens on you, but there’s a tension in his voice as if he’s swallowing something he can’t quite put into words. “didn’t i say there’s no need to attract attention this way?"

the accusation stings, your brows knit together as you shake your head, droplets of water slipping down your temples. "i just… thought you’d like some flowers."

his fingers, still curled beneath your back, twitch slightly, his hold unconsciously steadying you.

“you don’t need to do anything reckless just to get my attention," he murmurs at last, his voice softer now, no longer edged with frustration. then, almost hesitantly, he adds, "...if you want something, just come to me."

mydeimos shifts, adjusting his hold on you before finally rising to his feet. the movement is effortless, but even so, a sharp chill runs through you as the air bites at your damp skin. before you can fully steady yourself, he places you down, his hands lingering for a second longer than necessary before withdrawing.

your dress clings uncomfortably to you, heavy with water, and when you glance down, you spot the basket lying a short distance away, half-tilted on the grass. the flowers you so carefully picked are scattered around it, petals crumpled, stems bent. 

a pit forms in your stomach. all that effort, and now—

a shadow moves beside you. mydeimos steps forward, the hem of his cloak grazing against the fallen blooms. he considers them for a moment, then looks back at you.

“well?” his voice is steady, and you can’t quite grasp the intention behind it. “you went through all that trouble to gather the flowers… aren’t you going to give them to me?”

sure they're not nearly as perfect as they were when you first picked them. still, you kneel, fingers brushing over the damp grass as you carefully pick up the least damaged flowers, smoothing out the crumpled petals as best you can.

“…here.” slowly, hesitantly, you extend the bouquet towards him. 

his fingers brush against yours as he accepts the flowers. “sorry they’re ruined,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

he shakes his head, unbothered. “they’re mine now, so i’ll take care of them.”

there’s no mockery in his expression, no disdain for your failed efforts. if anything, there’s something almost unreadable in the way he looks at you, something that makes your heart lurch against your ribs.

he spares you one last glance, then turns. “come. you need to get changed before you fall ill.”

and just like that, your husband walks ahead, idly twirling one of the flowers between his fingers. hardened steel and soft petals, strength and fragility; it doesn't look out of place. 

somehow, it fits him too well.

ACT II: HOW TO CARE FOR A WARRIOR

once a year, the empire erupts into feverish anticipation for the annual gladiatorial tournament. a traditional competition of strength, bloodshed, and sheer willpower.

held in the heart of the capital, within the city of kremnos; warriors from across the kingdom —such as knights from noble houses, seasoned mercenaries, and ambitious upstarts, all gather within the grand coliseum, each vying for glory, honor, or a place in history.

and three weeks from now, the coliseum will roar with life, filled to the brim with nobles and commoners alike, all eager to witness the blood and glory that’ll unfold within the arena. 

the tournament may be weeks away, but mydeimos knows better than to grow complacent. 

within the castle training grounds, the clash of steel echoes through the air, each strike reverberating like a war drum. two figures move in relentless rhythm, locked in a sparring match that is as much a dance as it is a battle.

mydeimos meets his opponent’s strike head-on; phainon, captain of the royal knights, his equal in skill if not in strength, matches him blow for blow. the force of the impact ripples through his arm, but he does not waver. instead, he swiftly pivots, forcing mydeimos onto the defensive.

the crown prince presses forward, his sword carving ruthless arcs through the air, a feint —then a sudden, brutal swing aimed at his opponent’s side. 

phainon barely manages to parry, their blades grinding against each other in a fierce deadlock. exhaling sharply through his nose, he holds firm against the pressure. “mydei,” phainon mutters, breathless. “don't hold back."

mydei’s gaze remains unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something —amusement, perhaps, before he abruptly shifts his weight. with a sharp twist, he breaks the deadlock.

“HKS,” he counters, shoving forward with enough strength to force phainon back a step. “getting tired?”

phainon lets out a short laugh, adjusting his stance. “not in the slightest.” he disengages, spinning his blade in a quick counterstrike.

alas, the fight reaches no clear victor, ending in yet another stalemate.

exhaling, phainon lowers his blade. “not bad.”

but before mydei can respond; a slow, warm trickle down his arm draws his attention. his gaze flickers downward —a thin slash mars his bicep, blood welling along the cut.

the knight’s expression shifts, eyes catching on the wound. “heh looks like i take the win this time,” he gloats, though there’s a slightest hint of concern in his tone. 

“...though i do apologise, your highness,” phainon says, eyeing the wound with a tilt of his head.

mydei rolls his shoulder, testing the ache, then huffs. “nothing to be sorry for.” his lips curl slightly, eyes flicking back to phainon.

“but don’t think this means i’m letting you off easy. we’ll settle it properly next time.”

“oh? and here i thought you’d take the loss with dignity for once,” phainon snorts, sheathing his blade in one smooth motion. “but i suppose i wouldn’t want you growing too accustomed to losing.”

“you land one lucky hit and suddenly you’re talking like you’ve dethroned me.” mydei scoffs, already turning toward the weapons rack. phainon watches him go, shaking his head to himself before following suit. 

mydei doesn’t know why you’re worrying so much.

the cut is insignificant, to him at least. within hours, it’ll be gone —his body already stitching itself back together. he doesn’t need tending to, least of all by you.

and yet, here you are.

as you sit beside him, your hands deftly press a cloth soaked in cool water to his wound, cleaning away the dried blood with careful strokes. for some reason, seeing you like this —fussing over him with a tenderness he’s never quite experienced before —renders him quiet.

“…you’re frowning,” he murmurs.

“because you’re hurt,” you say as a matter of factly, setting the cloth aside before reaching for a bandage. your fingers are gentle as they smooth it over his skin, lightly tracing the curves of his biceps.

he watches the way your lips press together, tying the final knot with a delicate tug, patting the fabric down as if to reassure yourself that it will hold.

something tugs at the edge of his mind. 

you’ve pretended to love him ever since you stepped foot in kremnos; he thought he knew every expression you wore, every feigned tenderness. but this —this time, it’s different. there’s no audience here, no need for the carefully crafted role of the adoring wife.

so why do you still look at him like that?

his breath stills. he doesn’t know what to make of this.

“…please be more careful next time.” mydei glances at his arm, the ache is already fading.

you don’t know how pointless all of this is. by morning, there won’t even be a scar.

you exhale softly, your brows still furrowed in concern. then, as if unable to help yourself, your fingertips ghost over the bandage, smoothing it down with a tenderness that makes his chest tighten.

“does it still hurt?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

he should say no. he should tell you it’s nothing.

but when he looks at you —sees the way your eyes linger on him, so earnestly unguarded. he falters. 

“…not much,” he admits instead. “you act as if i’m on death’s door.”

“and you act as if you’re invincible,” you retort softly.

he freezes.

he almost laughs at the irony of it —because in some ways, you aren’t wrong. his body will always mend itself, his wounds never lasting long enough to be of real consequence. 

but his darling wife doesn’t know that.

and perhaps that’s why he lets you worry, lets you dote on him with such sweet, unknowing devotion. because, against all logic —against everything he’s told himself, he finds that he likes it.

your touch finally retreats, hands settling in your lap. “i’ll leave you to rest, your highness.”

you rise from your seat, and as you turn to leave, mydei catches himself watching the space where your hands had been, the phantom warmth still resting against his skin.

for a wound that’s already gone, he finds it strange —how reluctant he is to let it fade.

ACT III: HOW TO AVOID MISUNDERSTANDINGS

"sir phainon, thank you for showing me around the city," you say, offering the man beside you a faint smile as you step around a corner. 

the knight dips his head, “of course, milady. the pleasure’s all mine."

you’re glad phainon took time off to accompany you —wandering the city alone would’ve definitely left you lost and stewing in your own thoughts. 

phainon glances at you, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. "but i’m surprised his highness let you wander the city with another man," he muses. 

you let out a small laugh, running your fingers along the petals of a flower display as you pass by. "well, i don’t think he cares."

phainon’s steps slow, his brow lifting ever so slightly, as if he isn’t sure whether he misheard you or if you’re simply playing coy. "you don’t think he—" he exhales a sharp chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "hah. now that’s funny."

you shoot a puzzled look at him,"what is?"

to phainon, who’s seen the way mydei looks at you, heard the way he speaks of you; your words make no sense at all.

—but he holds his tongue. "nothing, milady. let’s keep walking before i say something i shouldn’t."

the warmth of the moment sours when you round a corner near the market square. there, just past a cluster of gossiping nobles, mydei stands stiffly, arms crossed as he listens to a young woman speak.

you recognize her —a lady-in-waiting that serves in the palace.

“…always playing the victim,” she sneers, voice pitched just loud enough to draw attention. “everyone pities her, but really, she’s just an outsider to kremnos—” 

your steps falter, confusion flickering across your face. is that lady… talking about you?

“she was never worthy of standing by his highness’s side!” the lady continues with simpering disdain. 

beside you, your companion stiffens, his fingers subtly curling at his sides. he’s noticed, too.

but before you can fully process the words, she lets out a haughty laugh. “she tripped herself that day. i only gave her a little push and—”

“what?” mydei’s voice cuts through the air, his eyes narrowing. 

the lady startles, whipping around to face him, but quickly smooths her expression into one of feigned innocence. “y-your highness…” she lowers her head just slightly. “i only meant that a mere nudge shouldn’t have been enough to send her stumbling so helplessly.” 

she offers a small, demure smile. “unless, of course, one lacks the grace befitting a princess.”

“it was unfortunate that your highness was troubled because of—” 

her words trail off as her gaze flicks to the side, right where you stand.

and in that fleeting moment, mydei follows her line of sight.

your breath catches. you hadn’t meant to be seen.

a small, almost imperceptible smirk forms on her lips; just as mydei glances to your side, his attention diverted for a split second; she falls toward him, her body angling toward him in a way that all but demands he steady her.

you feel a jolt of realization —her intentions are clear as day towards you. 

mydei’s eyes barely flicker as she topples toward him, but his hand moves —not to steady her, as she so clearly intended, but to seize her wrist in a firm, unyielding grip.

with a sharp tug, he wrenches her upright, the motion not even close to an act of chivalry. 

a startled gasp slips past her lips, her wide eyes darting up, stunned by the strength of his hold. the gathered onlookers murmur amongst themselves as the prince fixes her with a cold, unreadable stare.

“tell me. are you purposely trying to cause a misunderstanding between me and my wife?”

the lady blanches, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambles for a response. “y-your highness, i would never—”

“spare me the excuses.” his fingers uncoil, and she stumbles back, barely catching herself.  she cradles her wrist as though burned, whether from pain or humiliation, it’s hard to tell.

“guards.” mydeimos doesn’t raise his voice, but the command rings clear. two armored figures stationed nearby immediately step forward,  “take her away.”

 “y-your highness, i only—”

mydeimos doesn’t even spare her a glance as he delivers the lady’s fate. “for daring to put her hands on the princess, she is to be punished accordingly. let this serve as a reminder, such conduct has no place in my court.”

the color drains from her face as the guards seize her by the arms, her protests falling on deaf ears. the onlookers part to make way, some exchanging knowing glances, others whispering amongst themselves.

then mydeimos’ gaze softens —only slightly, in your direction. 

phainon leans in, “and yet, milady insists that his highness does not care?”

but you don’t respond, heart fluttering traitorously in your chest as mydeimos turns on his heel and strides toward you.

with a small tilt of his head, he nods to phainon before finally speaking.

“she was desperate,” he remarks, voice edged with dry amusement. “did you see how she threw herself at me? pitiful.”

he studies you for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. “...you weren’t fooled, were you?”

you blink, caught off guard by his question. “of course not, your highness.”

ah. was he worried you’d misunderstand?

his lips part slightly, but no words come, instead he just exhales softly, as if to himself. “good.”

phainon, ever perceptive, arches a brow but says nothing of it. instead, he steps back with a knowing tilt of his head. “well then, i shall take my leave. duty calls, after all, milady, your highness.” with that, he turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd, leaving just the two of you.

mydei’s eyes linger on you —searching, almost reluctant, before he finally tears his gaze away. “we should go.”

he starts walking, and you follow, the quiet rhythm between you shifting in a way that's hard to place. it’s subtle, so subtle that if you weren’t paying enough attention, you might’ve missed it. 

the way his steps fall in sync with yours, slowing his usually large strides ever so slightly,  as if unconsciously matching your pace. the way his hand hovers near yours, close enough that if you swayed even slightly, your fingers might brush.

it doesn’t feel intentional, and yet, it doesn’t feel like an accident either.

the marketplace hums around you both; vendors calling out their wares, the scent of fresh bread and spices curling through the air. but your mind is elsewhere, lingering on the man beside you, on the things left unsaid.

at some point, curiosity gets the better of you. “your highne—” “mydei.”

…would it be foolish of you to think of it as a plea? that, beneath the indifference he wears so well, he cares how his name sounds when spoken by you?

(because with you, he doesn't need to be the prince of kremnos, nor the valiant warrior they call mydeimos. he’s just your husband, mydei.)

you glance up at him, but his gaze stays ahead. he doesn’t offer an explanation; your thoughts linger on that single word, and maybe that’s why, after a moment’s hesitation, you decide to give it a try.

“mydei… what were you doing in the market today?”

he doesn’t answer right away. a terribly fond smile tugging at his lips. 

he looks good like this, you think.

with a glance to the side, he replies, “nothing of importance.”

a half-truth, at best.

your thoughts drift back to the last time you were here —the flowers you had given him, bright and delicate in his hands. an odd sight, perhaps, yet somehow, they suited him.

a ridiculous thought takes root before you can stop it.

could he have been looking for ways to take care of them? …surely not.

but any doubt vanishes the moment a florist calls out to him. “your highness! you’ve returned! here, this is the care guide you requested, along with the special fertilizer. it should help the flowers bloom beautifully.”

mydei takes the offered items with a nod, thanking the florist who beams, clearly pleased to be of service.

"you must truly cherish them, your highness," they remark. "not many would go through such trouble for a simple bouquet."

mydei only hums in response, tucking the items away as he turns back to you. for a moment, it almost seems like he might explain himself, but instead, he merely lifts a brow, as if daring you to say something about it.

warmth unfurls at the edges of your chest, spreading slowly, irresistibly.

you press your lips together, fighting the smile threatening to surface. "so," you muse lightly, "you’ve been taking good care of my flowers?”

mydei exhales, the ghost of an amused smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "it would be a shame if they wilted so soon,” he says. then, as he starts walking again, a quiet afterthought —so soft you almost miss it.

"especially when they were a gift from you."

and this time, when his hand hovers close to yours, you don’t resist the urge to let your fingers brush.

ACT IV: HOW TO TAME HIS JEALOUS HEART

it’s late —past the hour most would retire, yet the training grounds remains lit by torches that flicker against the cool stone walls, their flames casting long, dancing shadows. mydeimos leans back against the walls, arms loosely folded across his chest as his gaze follows phainon sharpening his blade a few paces away —though, truthfully, his thoughts are elsewhere.

it’s phainon who breaks the silence first.

“you know,” he starts, glancing up without looking directly at the prince, “you’re awfully quiet these days, your highness.”

he wipes his sword down lazily, throwing a glance over his shoulder. "...say, mydei."

mydei doesn’t look up, but his posture shifts, "what?"

phainon lets the silence drag for a moment, almost like he’s weighing his next words. 

“do you have genuine feelings for [name]?"

the words land like a blow in the silence between them; he doesn’t bother to wait for an answer.

“because if you don’t, i was thinking maybe i’d give courting her a try.”

ah. that does it.

mydei’s eyes flick to him, and if looks could kill, phainon would be six feet under —and the former wouldn’t even spare the effort to toss dirt over his grave.

phainon laughs quietly under his breath at his comrade’s reaction, not bothering to hide the tilt of his mouth. 

“don’t cross the line.” the words fall from mydei’s lips, low and clipped like a warning.

phainon laughs —the kind of laugh shared only between men who’ve known each other long enough to grow used to the other’s sharp edges.

“relax,” he drawls, sheathing his blade with a lazy flick. “i was just joking, you can stop glaring at me now.”

“i’m not mad i—”

“you’re not mad because you think i meant it,” he cuts in. “you’re angry because you know i’m right. you’ve been walking around pretending like she doesn’t mean a thing to you, bottling up every damn thing you feel for her. if it were anyone else, they’d have given up by now.”

mydei looks away. “she’s not anyone else,” he mutters. 

phainon smiles. “then tell her.”

mydei stays uncharacteristically silent as phainon steps past with a clap on his shoulder. “you're lucky she’s patient.”

the sour look on your husband’s face whenever phainon’s name comes up is a recent development. 

you first noticed it in passing: an almost imperceptible downturn of his lips, a restrained (but still noticeable) eyeroll or the press of his lips into a tight line. at first, you thought nothing of it. but lately… it’s been happening a lot.

right now, you’re seated in the castle’s sunlit tea room with someone you can now call a friend —phainon. the scent of fresh brews curls in the air, warm and comforting, but it does little to soothe the frustration tightening in your chest.

phainon leans back in his seat as you lay your troubles before him. surely, as one of mydei’s closest friends, he could offer some worthwhile advice on how to win the latter’s heart.

because at this rate, if you don’t manage to win him over before your contract runs its course, you wouldn’t be surprised to wake up with his sword cold against the nape of your neck.

“so… what do you think?” you ask, poking at a pastry with your fork.

phainon hums, tilting his head in thought. “he’s a reserved man —you’ve probably figured that out by now. give him some time, he’s the type to take forever to realize what’s right in front of him.”

he shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “though, i do hope milady won’t give up on him just yet.”

you nod, committing his words to memory, but then he suddenly straightens, that familiar glint of mischief lighting his gaze.

“actually,” he muses, glancing down at his hands, now dusted with crumbs and icing, “my hands are a bit of a mess from this cake. mind doing me a favor?” 

he lifts his sugar-coated fingers in emphasis.

you eye him suspiciously. “...what kind of favor?”

phainon tilts his head, his smile just sly enough to make you wary. “feed me.”

narrowing your eyes, you scoff at his request, “look, buster—”

“just this once,” he interrupts, grinning. “think of it as repaying me for my advice.”

there’s something almost too innocent about the way he leans in, like he’s well aware of what he’s doing… or rather, what exactly might happen if a certain someone were to walk in.

still, with an exaggerated sigh, you pick up a piece of pastry and lift it towards him—

only for a firm grip to catch your wrist before you can.

just your luck.

mydei smoothly takes the sweet straight from your fingers, his lips brushing against your fingertips in the process; his gaze locked onto yours as he takes a bite. 

and before you can pull away —the barest hint of his tongue swipes against the sugar-dusted tips of your fingers, licking away the faint trace of sweetness left behind.

did he just—?

heat rushes to your face. your mouth parts, but no sound comes out.

phainon whistles lowly. “oh yeah i forgot to mention,” he says, far too amused.

“the prince has a sweet tooth.”

for a moment, the only sound in the room is the soft clink of porcelain as phainon sets down his teacup, watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement.

all you can do is stare —frozen, pulse skittering in your throat. 

mydei, on the other hand, is utterly unbothered. if anything, he looks as composed as ever, chewing leisurely, as if he didn’t just—

your fingers twitch in his grasp. finally, he releases your wrist, his touch lingering just a second too long before he pulls away.

you snatch your hand back like you’ve been burned, curling your fingers against your palm as if that will erase the phantom heat of his lips, the fleeting press of his tongue.

phainon wonders if he’s about to be thrown out of the castle with the way you and mydei glare at him (for different reasons, respectively)... but judging by his smirk, he finds the risk well worth it.

the annual gladiatorial tournament is only days away, and kremnos is already stirring with anticipation. you’ve heard the chatter in the halls, the wagers placed on champions, the hushed whispers of which warriors will rise and which will fall. 

seated on a bench near the training grounds, you let the rhythmic clash of weapons fade into background noise, your focus trained instead on the fabric in your hands. a delicate handkerchief, its edges carefully stitched, the embroidery thread gliding through with each careful motion of your needle.

you had learned from a few noble ladies: it’s tradition for warriors to receive tokens of fortune from their beloveds —most commonly, a handkerchief embroidered with care to carry into battle as a reminder that someone’s waiting for them to return.

before you, the clash of steel rings out as two men spar. you glance up just in time to see phainon nimbly dodge a particularly heavy swing, a grin tugging at his lips. “feeling a little aggressive today, aren’t we?”

mydei doesn’t respond. he simply readjusts his grip on his sword, his expression unreadable.

(if you had to put money on why mydei was more aggressive than usual, you’d wager it had something to do with that stunt phainon pulled a few days ago that had left the former in such a foul mood.)

you return to your stitching, pretending not to notice the way your husband’s eyes flicker toward you between exchanges. unknowingly, a small smile tugs at your lips as you press the needle through the cloth once more.

rumors had circulated for years that prince mydeimos had never once accepted a handkerchief from anyone. not from the ladies who fawned over him at court, not from the admirers who sighed at the sight of his swordsmanship, not even from those with the highest of pedigrees.

it was said that no handkerchief had ever found its way into his hands, let alone remained in his possession. you weren’t sure why; perhaps he found them frivolous, or maybe he had no interest in sentimental keepsakes when he relied on skill alone to survive.

…which didn’t exactly bode well for the one currently in your hands.

so as you carefully stitch your embroidery, you don’t hold out much hope that he’ll accept yours either. 

still, it wouldn’t do for the beloved wife of mydeimos to be the only one who hadn’t even offered her husband a handkerchief. whether he accepted it or not was secondary —your duty was to at least play the part expected of you.

as the sparring match winds down, mydei steps off to the side, catching his breath. you discreetly watch as him roll his shoulders, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow.

you glance back down at your embroidery, but before you can add another stitch, phainon strides up to you, shaking out his arms with an exaggerated sigh. “ow… you saw that, right?” he whines, flopping down beside you with an exaggerated sigh. “he’s being so rough with me today!”

you arch a brow, biting back a laugh as he leans against the edge of the bench. “poor thing,” you say, amused. “what did you do to deserve it?”

phainon grins. “absolutely nothing, milady.”

you shake your head, obviously unconvinced —but then, just like that, his playful pout melts into a coprophagous grin that spells nothing but trouble. 

oh no.

“if he wants to be mean,” he muses, tilting his head, “then maybe i should give him a reason for it.”

you frown. “phainon—”

he says, far too casually, “i think i’ve got an idea.”

he leans in slightly, a wolfish grin on his face. “just play along, alright?”

“huh?”

"here, let me show you something." before you can react, phainon takes your hand, pulling you up from your seat with ease. a moment later, a wooden practice sword is tossed into your grasp.

you barely have time to protest before he’s already behind you, his hands resting lightly over yours as he adjusts your grip.

"see?" his voice is low, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath near your ear. "you hold it like this, and—"

“that’s enough.”

both you and phainon turn to see mydei standing a few feet away. he doesn’t look outwardly furious, but there’s the tension in his shoulders says enough.

phainon merely raises an eyebrow. “oh? something wrong, your highness?”

the air thickens and you can practically feel the sparks flying. sensing the storm that’s about to break, you quickly slip out of phainon’s grasp and rush toward mydei, practically throwing yourself into his arms.

“mydei!” you call, mustering the sweetest voice you can manage, hoping to calm him down (before phainon gets his ass kicked again). “y-you must be exhausted after all that training today… why don’t we head back and get some rest?” 

a warm hand brushes against your temple, fingers gently threading through your hair as they tuck it behind your ear. 

even though you were the one who threw yourself at mydei, you find yourself frozen, heart hammering at the unexpected tenderness in his touch. 

his gaze is so unbearably soft.

after a moment, mydei exhales and nods before leading you away.

you steal a glance back at phainon—who only winks and flashes you a thumbs-up.

(mydei lets out a quiet sigh of relief, watching as you do everything in your power to avoid meeting his eyes. if he had stayed any longer and if phainon had caught sight of the faint flush dusting his cheeks —he’d never hear the end of it.)

ACT V: HOW TO EARN HIS DEVOTION

the sun hangs high above kremnos, casting a golden blaze over the arena as the city wakes to the sound of distant drums and the clang of steel. colorful banners bearing the insignias of noble houses flutter from towering spires, while anticipation clings thick to the air.

all of kremnos knows what day it is. the long-awaited gladiatorial tournament has finally arrived.

from the highest nobles draped in silk to the lowest commoners pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the stands, all eyes are drawn to the bloodstained sand at the heart of the arena. 

the rules are simple, brutal, unforgiving: fight until your opponent yields, or until they can no longer stand. and of course, there's no word for “mercy” in the kremnoan language… as mydei would say it.

the air in the holding chambers, hidden beneath the grand coliseum, is heavy with the scent of iron and sweat. you step inside with your small offering in hand: the handkerchief you embroidered, each stitch woven with thoughts of him.

and today, you see you’re not alone. the corridor is packed with people, mostly noblewomen, some nervous sweethearts, all fluttering around their chosen champions, many bearing the same tradition in their palms.

you catch sight of more than a few stretching their handkerchiefs out to mydei, vying for even a small glance. a small crowd trails him like petals in a storm, calling his name with saccharine lilts, each desperate to be noticed.

with the way he’s being swarmed, you resign yourself with a small sigh, clutching your own handkerchief, fingers curling gently around the cloth you spent the last few evenings stitching. 

nevermind. maybe you’ll give it to phainon instead. he always appreciates the gesture, and at the very least, you’d get a smile out of him.

so your eyes scan the crowd instead, searching for—

only to freeze when you look up and see someone else already standing in front of you.

without a word, your husband takes the handkerchief from your hand, presses it to his brow, and dabs away the sweat collecting at his temple; then folds it neatly and tucks it into his belt where everyone can see.

you blink, momentarily startled.

warmth spills into your chest, it’s strange. he never accepts handkerchiefs from anyone. not a single soul has ever earned that privilege. but today, in front of all these people, he’s taken yours without a second thought.

it’s a light gesture, but it says enough coming from the kremnoan prince. 

and if he’s going to make such a bold move, you might as well tease him a little.

you tilt your head, a mischievous smile playing at your lips. “that’s sir phainon’s, you know.”

he stills for a moment, a flash of annoyance crossing his face before he furrows his brows in an almost adorable pout. 

“then he’ll just have to go without,” he mutters.

you’ve never seen him look quite like this before —caught off guard and... flustered?

“... and i wanted one today.”

“well, since you’ve gone through all that trouble,” you say with a grin, “i suppose i’ll let you keep it.”

as you study him, a thought crosses your mind. you raise an eyebrow, “are you nervous about the tournament?”

his eyes flick to yours, “there is no word for ‘fear’ in the kremnoan language,” he replies, his voice low and confident. 

it’s the kind of thing only mydeimos would say. and yet, something about the resolve in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

you manage a soft smile. “then bring back the victor’s crown for me, will you?”

honestly it's more of a vow than a request, you’d be content just seeing him return in one piece. but he takes it seriously anyway. 

“if it’s for you,”

his expression softens for just a moment, and without missing a beat, he nods, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“i’d do anything.”

ACT VI: HOW TO BE VICTORIOUS

from your seat among the nobles, your gaze searches for him. the threads of your dress pinched between trembling fingers, creased from how often you’ve clutched it. 

ever since you’ve come to kremnos, you’ve grown used to the sound of battle, but today every strike echoes a little louder in your ears. 

your heart clenches every time mydei stumbles or blood splashes across the sand. even knowing how strong he is, how capable, there’s a twist of worry that doesn’t loosen its grip. 

the kind you only feel when the person you care about is the one walking straight into danger.

you’d heard stories of what the tournament demands, but seeing it for yourself… it’s surreal. 

the crowd cheers for violence.

warriors enter the arena one by one, facing off not only against each other, but against beasts dragged from the darkest corners of the empire —corrupted titankins, two-headed hounds, massive golems wreathed in flame; just to name a few.

and each time, the gates crash open with a deafening clang, releasing something more vicious than the last. still, he doesn’t falter. when a snarling beast lunges for his throat, he drives his sword deep into its ribs without a second thought. 

the nobles cheer and holler around you, drunk on spectacle. but your eyes don’t leave him, not for a moment.

because while the crowd may be here for blood, all you want… 

is to be the first thing mydei sees when it’s over.

the last of the other competitors lie in heaps of blood and sand, either devoured by the beasts or incapacitated by the prince. there’s no one left to challenge him except the creature before him.

the towering beast staggers toward him; your pulse spikes, hands gripping the edge of your seat as you hold your breath. every step it takes sends tremors through the arena floor, snarls echoing off stone as it bears down on him with a murderous roar.

the beast lunges, jaws snapping wide, but mydei meets it with unyielding resolve. his sword arcs through the air, a flash of silver against the blood-soaked dusk. the beast jerks, a guttural screech tearing from its throat as it rears back. 

for a heartbeat, you can't tell who’s fallen.

then, through the settling haze, you see mydei standing, blood splattered across his armor, chest heaving with exertion. the beast lets out a final screech —and then crumples to the sand in a thunderous collapse.

for a heartbeat, there’s silence. and then the crowd erupts into a deafening cheer.

“mydei!” you cry out, your heart racing as you push through the sea of people to get closer.

he lifts his gaze, and it’s you he finds.

the victor’s crown, gleaming beneath the sun, is placed into his hands. and he raises it high above his head for all to see. 

a roar erupts from the coliseum, the crowd surging to its feet as the name mydeimos echoes from every corner, chanted with unrelenting fervor.

and without hesitation, he strides toward you, his face softening as he approaches.

in a flash, he wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. he spins you in a wide, sweeping circle before drawing you close. his eyes locking with yours, a triumphant grin playing on his lips. 

with a tenderness that belies his warrior's demeanor, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

"yours," mydei whispers. he lifts the victor’s crown in both hands, and with all the devotion of a man offering his heart, places it gently atop your head.

you reach up to his bloodied face, your hand trembling slightly as the warmth of his skin seeps into your fingers. your palm comes to rest against his cheek.

“you came back to me,” you murmur.

he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment —like he’s been waiting for this, aching for it.

“i always will.”

you rise onto your toes, closing the distance between you.

at the end of the day, all mydei seeks is not victory or glory, but the soft sound of his name on the lips of his beloved, wrapped in an embrace that makes him forget the harshness of the battlefield.

EPILOGUE: HOW TO WIN HIM OVER

the question that once haunted your thoughts —how could i ever win his heart? —feels like a distant memory now, an answer long since found.

mydei looks at you with a softness in his eyes that you’ve come to know as a rare gift. his hand, calloused from battles fought and won, reaches for yours, his fingers brushing against yours before entwining it. 

“by the way, i’m actually… immortal. my injuries heal up after a while.”

you blink at him in confusion, and he chuckles softly, the sound warm and fond.

“wait, then that time when you—” you pause, recalling the night you carefully wrapped up his injury.

he grins, a small, playful glint in his eyes. ”i just like the way you worry over me.”

the admission leaves a flutter in your chest as his thumb gently strokes the back of your hand. 

you huff, pretending to be upset, though your heart races at the softness in his words. “you mean to say all that time i was worried sick over you for nothing?”

he tilts his head, feigning innocence. “it wasn’t for no reason,” he says, clearly trying not to smile. “i liked it. still do.”

you narrow your eyes, lips tugging into a pout. “well, you could’ve told me sooner! now i feel ridiculous.”

with a soft chuckle, mydei’s fingers brush through your hair in a gentle, almost apologetic gesture. he ruffles it lightly, his touch surprisingly tender. “you’re adorable when you’re upset,” he murmurs, his voice holding a sweetness that makes your heart skip a beat.

you can’t help but soften, the playful anger fading as his hand lingers for a moment longer. he pulls you a little closer, his forehead gently resting against yours. “don’t be mad. i’ll let you fuss over me for as long as you want, as long as you’re by my side.”

“you better mean that! i’m holding you to it.”

he hums, the sound low and content as he presses a kiss to your temple. “i do,” he whispers. “if there’s one thing i’ll always be sure of, it’s you.”

you think back to every hesitation, every guarded glance, the walls he built high around his heart. and now, that same heart rests in your hands. 

“looks like i managed to win you over after all,” you tease softly.

the way he looks at you says more than words ever could —as if you’re the only war he’s ever been glad to lose.

his fingers stay curled around yours; his heart laid bare with the quiet, breathtaking certainty that he is yours, as much as you are his.

"i love you, [name]."

and if this is victory, it’s the sweetest one yet.

thank you for reading!! reblogs are appreciated <3

MASTERLIST

[kittyandbluey]

YANDERE ACADEMIC RIVAL duology masterlist .ᐟ ₊ ⊹

someone needs to tell you you're not as smart as you think you are.

"aww, don't cry, cap. you win some, you lose some. well, except for me—seems like i always win."

series content warnings; MDNI 18+ / gn! reader, obsessive + possessive behaviour, heavily toxic relationships, imposter syndrome, dumbification, degradation, nsfw themes.

part one: class of 2016

→ chapter one // kepler's first law

→ chapter two // euler's identity

→ chapter three // chaos theory

part two: tbd, 2026

→ chapter one // aphelion

→ chapter two // law of orbits

→ chapter three // perihelion

‿ "it’s one of the things i most love about you," you feel your heart ache at the sound of his voice, "how stupid you are. anyone else and i would've stopped fucking with them a long time ago, but that sort of naive nature is cute on you. i find it’s oddly endearing, like a dog chasing its own tail."

[kittyandbluey]

Under Covers John Price x f!reader

Under Covers Full Masterlist ♡

9 months undercover, 8 of them with you. John Price had broken rules and ignored protocol all for the chance of being by your side. But one day he was gone. No warning, not goodbye, just gone. Like he hadn't turned your world inside out. Now, six months later, he's back at your doorstep with three soldiers in tow.

Story Contents: sexual content (mdni), slight angst, second chances, familial fighting, John Price is pathetically in love

Chapters: 2/8

New Wounds // Old Wounds 6.4k words

Shattered Windows 7.8k words

Cornered Dogs Will Bite

Pond Water

Just Like That One Movie...

Plead the Fifth

Equilibrium

Side by Side

[kittyandbluey]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ what did you expect?

# pairings: yandere sugar daddy harem x sugar baby reader

# synopsis: eight obsessive lovers think they’re the only one—until their secrets collide. now, you’re trapped between devotion, danger, and the illusion of choice.

# warnings: this will contain dark themes such as obsession and possessiveness. if you are uncomfortable, please block me. viewer discretion is advised. minors DNI

# notes: reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated!

# parts: part 1 𖤓 part 2 𖤓 part 3

# tags: @hopingtoclearmedschool , @yawnzzx, @hasty-desert, @enchantingarcadecreation, @cannyyyyy, @lianobody, @bokkito, @lordkhrisangel, @kiyo123456789, @iris-arcadia, @sleepycow21, @agustdxjiminx, @theangxz, @plus-ultra-girl, @slowlyswimmingmoon, @whiteoakoak

you don’t move.

you don’t breathe.

you just listen.

the front door handle jiggles. the back one, too. your apartment is small—too small for this. for two men who shouldn’t know each other to be reaching for you at once, calling you baby like it means something different on their tongues.

you back into the wall, calculating. the money. the gifts. the lies. the men. you’ve always kept it separate—clean, compartmentalized. eight lives. eight masks. never crossing. never slipping.

but something’s cracking.

“just open the door,” says one—closer now, coaxing. elijah? no—lucas? they blur together in the panic.

“i saw the light on,” the other murmurs through the rear entrance. “you home, sweetheart?”

you inch toward the hallway. your mind races through excuses, through escape plans. one of them is going to see the other. one of them is going to know.

and then what?

the front door knocks again. harder. louder. not a request, now—a warning.

your phone lights up on the counter.

eight missed messages.

three voicemails.

your name repeated like a prayer and a threat.

they’re closing in, and they still think they’re the only one. still think you belong only to them.

but if this is the night the truth comes out—

you might not get to leave.

your phone lights up again.

another message:

“i know you’re in there. don’t make me wait.”

you don’t recognize the number. but the tone is familiar. possessive. low. someone who thinks waiting is beneath him.

your throat tightens.

the front door handle clicks. the back one rattles. your apartment feels like it’s shrinking, the walls pressing in with every second.

you don’t even have time to figure out which one is standing where.

all you can think about is the second bedroom elijah wanted to fill. the silk robe nathan said you’d grow into. the prenatal vitamins matthew left like it was the most natural thing. the way kai stares too long at your stomach. how xavier whispers to it like there’s already something growing inside.

your stomach twists.

you never agreed to anything. never promised forever. you gave them smiles and touches, laughter and attention—and they gave you gifts. trips. jewelry. money. enough to live comfortably, to stay just out of reach.

but now they’re all reaching.

the back door knob jolts violently. a voice, clearer this time: “you’re not answering. why aren’t you answering me?”

your fingers dig into the edge of the counter. your heart is racing. this isn’t normal. this isn’t love.

this is a trap.

a cage lined with velvet and diamond-studded handcuffs.

another message buzzes through.

“i saw him. who was he?”

your blood runs cold.

they’re watching. maybe more than one. maybe all of them.

you inch toward your bathroom, silently lock the door behind you. your fingers fumble for the window. it’s too narrow to crawl out of, but you crack it anyway—for air. for escape. for the illusion of safety.

your phone vibrates again.

“we were supposed to be forever.” “you lied to me.” “i’m outside. don’t make me do something you’ll regret.”

you slide to the floor, curling against the tub, breath shaking in your chest.

you’ve played this game so well.

smiled through dinners. laughed at their jokes. let them believe they were the only one. and maybe, for a while, it was fun.

but now?

now the game is over.

you’ve always known how to lie. how to perform.

but tonight, you’ll have to survive.

because one of them has found out.

and maybe—just maybe—they’ve told the others.

your knees press into cold tile.

somewhere outside, voices blur into one another—soft at first, like murmurs carried by wind, then louder. firm. insistent.

you don’t breathe.

two voices. not yelling. not yet. but the fury simmers beneath every word, masked only by the fact that they think they’re alone with you.

they don’t know about each other.

not yet.

and that window—the sliver you thought was escape—is now the perfect peephole. one of them paces by it, a familiar silhouette cloaked in tailored wool. you recognize the glint of his watch in the moonlight. lucas.

composed. deliberate. terrifying.

he’s not supposed to be here.

none of them are.

your phone buzzes again. and again. and again.

a dozen names. a dozen new messages.

where are you? are you avoiding me? i saw your lights on. i’ll wait all night if i have to. come outside, baby. please. i miss you. don’t make me come in.

a shiver rips down your spine.

you open your texts, hands trembling. a photo loads. grainy. zoomed in. taken from across the street.

it’s you. earlier today. unlocking your front door.

you never saw him.

another one loads. this time, through your bedroom window. you’re changing. your back to the glass.

you slam your phone face down.

this is spiraling.

they’ve been watching. waiting. marking time.

and now, they’re slipping. losing patience. showing teeth behind velvet smiles.

a soft knock—again. back door.

“i brought dinner,” someone says. sweet. calm. too calm.

matthew.

he always brings food. always watches you eat, like he’s studying your habits, waiting for signs. now, you wonder if he’s been dosing it.

your stomach flips.

you think of the vitamins. the tests. the new toothbrush that just appeared one morning in your bathroom—same brand as his. the silk sheets that mysteriously matched the ones in leo’s house. the second toothbrush. the tracking app you didn’t install.

your name echoes from the hallway.

not a question. a command.

“open. the. door.”

you flinch.

they don’t know they’re all here. yet.

but if they find out—if they see each other—what happens next won’t be about love. or even possession.

it’ll be war.

and you?

you’re the trophy they’ve all convinced themselves belongs to them.

you inch toward the closet. pull back the false panel you had installed months ago—just in case. it’s small, meant for shoes. cash. secrets. but it might buy you time.

you crawl inside the space.

the sound of a door opening echoes through your apartment.

but you never opened it.

you never said a word.

someone just let themselves in.

you press yourself into the farthest corner of the crawlspace, knees to chest, breath held so tight your lungs ache. the door creaks open—slowly. deliberately. like whoever entered doesn’t need to hurry.

your phone vibrates once more against your thigh.

you don’t look.

you already know.

footsteps now. one pair. deliberate. heavy. someone confident.

they don’t call out.

don’t ask for you.

they already know where you are.

floorboards groan. the closet is close.

you clamp a hand over your mouth. heart jackhammering. one wrong move and they’ll hear you breathing.

and then—

a pause.

no movement. no voice. just silence so thick it buzzes.

until another sound slices through it.

“they’re not answering you either, huh?”

a second voice.

your stomach drops.

they’re both inside.

“maybe they’re out.”

“they’re not.”

silence again.

“how do you know?”

“because their phone’s still here. and the lights are on.”

lucas. that calculating edge in his voice.

and elijah. smoother, but colder. too calm for someone this angry.

“who the fuck are you?” lucas asks, voice low, sharp.

“funny. i was about to ask you the same thing.”

you hold your breath.

“you’ve been watching them.”

“so have you.”

“don’t play dumb—why are you here?”

“same reason as you. they belongs to me.”

something slams. hard. a chair? a table?

you flinch.

“you don’t even know them.”

“i know everything i need to. and i know you’re in my way.”

they’re circling each other. measuring. two wolves in the same cage.

you stay frozen.

silent.

until—

another voice.

“both of you need to shut the hell up.”

matthew.

“they’re not a fucking toy you get to bicker over. they’re ours.”

the temperature in the apartment drops.

“ours?” lucas repeats, cold.

“you think they belongs to us?”

a pause.

“no,” matthew says. “i know they do.”

another voice. softer. hesitant.

nathan.

“…what’s going on?”

four.

four of them now.

you bite down on your knuckles to keep from making a sound.

the walls are closing in.

“they’ve been lying to all of us,” lucas says, sharp and sure. “don’t you get that?”

“and yet you’re still here,” elijah snaps. “so are you really mad? or just jealous?”

“jealous?” matthew scoffs. “i’ve already planned our future.”

more footsteps.

another knock.

“hey,” kai says from the hallway. “is something wrong?”

“you too?” lucas hisses.

you hear a breath hitch. kai.

“…wait. you’re all here?”

“no one invited you, kid,” elijah says, voice like steel.

“they didn’t invite any of us,” lucas snaps.

the air goes still.

“they’ve been playing all of us,” someone whispers. maybe nathan. maybe damien. maybe someone new.

“you shut your mouth,” leo growls. sudden. vicious. “don’t talk about her like that.”

“why?”

“because they’re still ours.”

“you really think they wants any of us?”

“they don’t need to want us,” damien finally speaks. “they need to understand.”

“understand what?”

“that this ends tonight.”

your blood turns to ice.

they’ve stopped talking.

and now?

now they’re moving.

together.

you hear the footsteps draw closer. eight sets. slow. united.

no longer fighting each other.

they’ve made a choice.

and you’re the one they’ve chosen.

your phone lights up one more time.

you should’ve picked one of us. but now we’ve picked you. all of us.

your breath catches.

you can hear them in your room now. feet shuffling. drawers opening. your closet door creaks.

you press yourself deeper into the hideaway, heart slamming against your ribs.

then—

a hand brushes the panel from the other side. gently.

and a voice.

“there you are.”

you don’t scream.

you don’t move.

you just stare as the panel starts to shift open—slow, deliberate.

but it’s not just one hand.

another one grips the edge from the other side.

and another.

and another.

different sets of fingers. different grips.

they’ve all found you. at once.

and for the first time all night, they’re not fighting each other.

they’re working together.

the last thing you hear—before the panel gives way completely—is a chorus of voices, soft and smiling, overlapping in perfect, practiced harmony:

“we forgive you.”

darkness falls as the panel opens.

and they reach in.

[kittyandbluey]

Imagine this..

You're a messenger for the human kingdom. Many would hate to be in your shoes.. traveling under the cruel sun and having to adventure out to the kingdoms that the common folk tremble under..

Yet all you see is entirely different worlds.

The Elf Kingdom.. is one of the oldest civilizations. With their long lifespan and sharpened minds, they have seen through wars and disasters. When you arrive through the gates, they already have everything prepared. The best stablehands for your horse. The best room and refreshments for your stay in the kingdom. The Elf King and his advisors value your words and input. Which is a very hard thing to accomplish for an admittedly ignorant group.

The Orc Tribes.. may seem like a gruff group of barbarians, but they value strength in all forms. When they hear you riding in, they know you've survived another grueling testament of patience and endurance. A private tent is set up for you, and your horse is taken well cared of. They take your stay quite seriously. The best of their warriors guarding your tent. The Orc Tribes know all too well of enemies trying to trail behind you for a moment to strike.

The Dwarf Camps.. is another one of the oldest civilizations. Many kingdoms do not interact with them due to their isolated lives in the quarries and mountains. But they appreciate the struggle you go through to make it up the rocky cliffs. Your horse gets the best horse shoes ever possibly made. Dwarven steel. Your gear gets fixed up as you discuss trade with the council of members. The Dwarfs do not let you leave until they know you and your horse are in the best possible shape.

When representatives of each land come visit your kingdom? They always pay you the greater respect than your ruling monarch. It's you who's traveled across blazing suns and chilling storms to keep them informed.

So it will be you each land fights for a chance to marry one day.

[kittyandbluey]

Me after putting on my mascara

[kittyandbluey]

MASTERLIST

Bound to Them

𝐒𝐚𝐣𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Synopsis: You're their fated mate. And they've been waiting. Now they're circling, craving, and barely holding back their need to claim you. You don't know what's happening. But your body does. You were never meant to survive their world untouched. You were meant to be theirs.

Warnings: Obsessive, possessive romance, paranormal/demon mate bond, emotional and physical tension (mature themes), steamy scenes, dark dynamics, light violence, Intended for mature readers only (18+)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Remember Them

𝐒𝐚𝐣𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐱 Reincarnated HUNTR/X! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

coming soon....

We'll Be Fine

𝐒𝐚𝐣𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐮𝐦𝐢'𝐬 𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Synopsis: You were meant to stay hidden. Forgotten. Sealed away beneath silence and stones. But something deeper—older—has begun to stir. Your presence is a whisper in their veins. A pull in their blood. A name they never knew they were waiting for. Five Alphas feel the pull. One Omega was never meant to survive. They were never supposed to find you. But they did. And now that they have—they’ll never let you go.

Warnings: Omegaverse dynamics, demon themes, possessiveness, mature content, poly relationship, marking, scenting, obsession, trauma, emotional intensity. Intended for mature readers only (18+).

Part 1 |

[kittyandbluey]

– 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 || 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐥 𝐥𝐚𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐞

SUMMARY: The Pack always knew imprints were a sacred thing. But when you're hurt, the imprint bond blurs the line between life and death. It makes for some interesting conversations with ghosts from the past. || multi chapter-fic PAIRINGS: Paul Lahote x fem!Reader TAGS/WARNINGS: Clearwater!Reader; human!Reader; domestic fluff; hurt

2.6k words

Your siblings could tear into flesh, could break his bones if they so wished (and Leah had wished, had almost done it too before Sam intervened)–and yet, Paul considered you the most dangerous Clearwater out of all of Harry and Sue's children.

And it wasn't because you could flit between girl and wolf or because your teeth could rip into jugulars, but because you were you.

[Name] Clearwater: daughter to Harry and Sue, born a year after Leah and two years before Seth.

Before that night, your parents never intended for you to be keyed into the tribe's secret. It was only ever meant to be Seth, who they all anticipated would phase eventually.

But then Leah exploded into a four-legged beast with fanged teeth and matted fur, had shredded the Couch you'd been sitting on–and gods, if you hadn't moved when you did her claws would've gone deeper in your shoulder than it had–before Seth shifted, too.

The night had been a mess, to sum it up simply.

The pack link was overwhelmed by a maelstrom of grief-anger-hurt-blame that Sam ordered those who could get caught up in it all to phase out.

To give your siblings some semblance of calm, however futile, and to make sure you and Sue had help dealing with the aftermath.

The last thing the Pack needed was for someone to visit in the morning to find half the house's occupants missing, one partially mauled and the place looking as though it had been burglarised.

So Paul had phased out along with Jake. Jake, who came with his Dad's strength and his Mom's warmth that it brought Sue out of her shocked stupor and Paul, who didn't know what else to do other than turn your way.

Across the room, you were using the meat of your thighs to push the shredded couch towards the door. Single-handedly steering the couch outside whilst being mindful of your left arm which was bandaged over your chest, smelling of chemicals and iron.

He had expected tears. Had expected to scent the air for undertones of shock, fear or distrust as you grappled with the reality of seeing your sister and brother turning into something dangerous.

Of having two strange boys who could do the same clambering into your humble four-bedroom abode to see if you or your Mom needed help, but there was none of that.

Instead, you continued moving, holding yourself up by sheer force of will that Paul’s wolf stirred beneth his skin. Curious. Intrigued.

You hadn’t acknowledged him nor Jake when they had come in, but Paul moved toward you anyway. Body on autopilot as he followed an invisible path his wolf already seemed to be on.

"Here, I can help you with that," he said, bending down to lift one end of the couch.

On the other end of the long couch, you’d glanced at him for only a moment. A single moment to thank him politely, face solemn and eyes deep and soulful, that Paul struggled not to collapse to his knees then and there.

Because in that split moment, when your eyes met his for the very first time since he shifted, Paul’s universe ended and then began again with you at the centre of it all.

[Name] Clearwater: his imprint—his very human imprint—more dangerous than wolves and bloodsuckers combined after only a single glance.

After your siblings, your arm, your Dad—Paul thought you would stay far away from the Pack, maybe even La Push altogether.

Maybe you would find a job in Forks or somewhere else and hightail it out of there. Or maybe you would apply for a scholarship to some college on the other side of the country.

Instead you had done the least expected thing.

Despite what Paul thought, what he feared, you stayed; and then, you started coming around.

First to Sam and Emily’s where you spoke to his Alpha for an hour the first time you came, and then to Emily during all the visits after.

Sam was good at shielding his thoughts most days, but the gratitude and brotherly love he felt for you echoed in the bond for days after the first visit.

Every now and then you’d head over to drop off some spare clothes for Seth, laughing at one of Jared’s dry jokes before engaging in some light conversation.

About the Pack, about your siblings and how they were adjusting.

Their lives, Paul's life, before and after.

When Jake sheepishly admitted to falling behind in school, you’d settled on the dining room table, ushering him and Embry to do the same, too, as you carved out some time to come over and help them.

You even hung around on days Leah ran patrol, staying through dinner to act as a buffer between her, Sam and Emily when the tension grew too thick for the rest of them to breathe through the evening.

Paul had done a good job existing on the sidelines during it all, respecting Leah’s don’t you fucking force her into loving you by telling her, you sick bastard and Seth’s kinder plea to let you get used to the pack and him first without the weight of an imprint just yet.

But then one day you met his gaze, saw the poorly concealed reverence, devotion and warmth and instantly put the pieces together.

And because Paul knew better than to assume what you would do after all the times he had thought wrong, he did nothing.

He didn't think, didn't panic, didn't fear. Even when you asked if he imprinted, voice soft and eyes searching, and he told you the truth, Paul did nothing but be as he always was when it came to you.

Open, honest, and trusting that you wouldn’t hurt him if you felt even a fraction of what he felt.

And his ancestors must have seen fit to reward him for it because after he was done explaining, you stayed.

You stayed; and then, you gave him a chance.

The red-haired leech was still on the loose, and the pack's energy waned the longer she danced around them. Not that they weren’t trying.

She was simply too fast, too slippery, constantly evading them as they hunted her to no end. And since they hadn’t caught her, Sam figured it was best to amp up patrol to four per shift.

Even if meant older wolves like himself, Paul, Leah and Jared had to double the hours of their still-in-school members to compensate.

Paul understood, of course, but considering Leah couldn’t handle dealing with Sam it was Paul who was stuck being berated and vilified by her any time she so much caught an echo of you in his thoughts.

And Paul thought about you. Constantly.

The only reprieve he had was in moments like this, when their shift was over and Leah ran home along with Jared and Jake all the while you drove over to deliver Seth’s clothes for the following morning.

But Paul was exhausted tonight, so much so that he could barely keep his eyes open as you cuddled on Sam and Emily’s couch.

“Stay,” he murmurs lowly, being mindful of Emily sleeping in the other room. Sluggishly, he tightens his arms around your slender waist, a half-hearted attempt to get you to sink into him further, not that you would.

You may have been on good terms with Sam and Emily, but Leah was still your sister.

And even if you wanted to fall asleep encased in your boyfriend’s heavily corded arms, you wouldn’t.

“You know I can’t, baby,” you laugh, quietly, stroking a thumb over the apple of his cheek.

Your boyfriend chuffs at your words, blearily opening his eyes, before shifting forward so that that you can cradle his jaw.

A tide of emotion rises beneath your breast because even with everything happening, you’re so grateful for these stolen moments that you lean in, all petal lips and strawberry-flavoured gloss and Paul almost groans when your lips meet in a soft, unhurried kiss.

If it were up to him, there would be no red-haired leech and golden-eyed freaks. Just you and him and the taste of strawberries forever.

"I also think you should just crash here tonight," you tell him when you come up for air, slowly beginning to untangle yourself from his embrace.

For a moment, the muscles in Paul’s arm grow tense, and you know your boyfriend enough to know he’s about to protest. Or worse, get up to follow you.

Because if you can’t stay, then he’s going to force himself to escort you home anyway, even when he’s dead on his feet.

Gently, your hand drifts to the centre of his chest to keep him down.

“Em should have someone close by, and I’m going home to Leah anyway,” you remind him, lips curling at his small pout.

"And you can't even open your eyes properly, so I'll be back in the morning. Okay?"

Ordinarily, your shapeshifter boyfriend would move your hand away, before insisting he at least keep you company on your car ride home.

But as always, you’re right.

Paul’s tired. The kind of tired that should be impossible for someone like him, but it’s true.

So when you lean forward to press another kiss to his jaw, murmur quietly one more time for him to stay, that you’ll be okay, Paul relents.

The scent of you in the air, on his lips, is dizzying enough as it is. How can he possibly protest when all of it makes Paul want to–

"–M'okay," he slurs, eyes fluttering once, then twice, before shutting completely.

When he comes to, Paul remembers the scent of strawberries, your honeyed laughter and the lingering warmth of your touch.

It's enough to make him smile, before he blinks. In shock, then in confusion, turning around to take in his new surroundings.

Weird, he thinks.

Usually, when he dreams, he dreams of you.

On the beach, laughing as you kick up saltwater, before Paul runs after you and down the shore. Under the stars, a heated mess of tangled-up limbs, Paul in you and the feeling of you everywhere.

Sometimes, he even dreams of the two of you, together and years older, a little boy with his face and your smile held in your arms while a younger girl made in your image clutches to his pants.

But this time, though, there's none of that.

This time, he's in the middle of the forest, legs planted as if he were a tree himself.

All around him, there is a cloud of mist. Thick and encompassing, strange if not for the unnatural emptiness of the forest.

There are no cicadas clicking. No birds chirping. The forest, forever filled with even the quietest of whispers and groans, is dead silent.

That is, until Paul hears it.

Somewhere in the distance, a single voice hums something old, something ancient, the voice swelling into a song that shakes Paul to his core because he’s not alone.

He’s not alone.

The realisation is enough to spur him forward, Paul managing to take a step forward and then another, walking slowly through winding trees and thick mist before he ends up in a wide clearing where a bonfire has been lit.

Before the bonfire, still singing, sits a lone woman dressed in a traditional buckskin dress with a gentle face and two long braids.

She makes no move to indicate that she’s heard him. But the fire illuminates her face with an otherworldly glow, accentuates the way her throat flexes as she sings, the words sounding clearer now that he’s right in front of her.

It’s an old song, he remembers, one that has endured time and colonisation and everything in between.

He contemplates interrupting her, at first, uneasy by the strangeness of this situation. But then he inches closer, his wolf urging him to sit on the empty log across from her.

And so the woman sings, and Paul waits and he listens, because something in him, something instinctual, pulls at him.

Tells him that somehow this is real, that this is important.

And because the last time he felt this way was in the moments before he looked at you, Paul waits for the song to finish.

“The youngest of my sons made this song,” says the woman says after she stops singing, still watching the fire burn.

“The song opens up a door between your world and here, which my son used to communicate with us.

My older sons would listen to him with me here when he sang. They would even sing with him before he joined us, and they all left this place together."

The flames burn a little brighter, and the woman falters. Tilts her head, as if listening for something only she can hear.

And when she hears it, whatever it is, Paul catches her expression flicker in the firelight (grim, resigned) before she resumes, this time a little more hurried than before.

"But I didn't follow. I couldn't," the woman says, finally lifting her head to meet Paul's gaze from across the fire.

"Not without Taha-Aki."

And oh, Paul thinks, struck dumb.

Because painted in shadows made by the flames, the third wife–a woman he's only ever known through stories and legends–stares at him solemnly, the echo of infinity seared into her gaze.

“My husband’s spirit still roams your world," she says, ignoring Paul's clear shock.

“He guides all spirit warriors here when their time comes, and their imprints, too. This is where they rest for a while before they move on. But never does my husband come with them, though. Too ashamed, I think."

"Ashamed?” Paul asks, speaking for the first time before he stops himself.

The woman before him and Taha Aki were more than wife and husband.

They were imprinted, tethered together by the same forces that brought Paul to you. The same forces that wouldn't have put her in his dream unless there was something wrong with the imprint.

And there could only be something wrong with the imprint if something was wrong with...

"Why am I here?" he asks slowly, dread wrapping itself around his heart–painful and suffocating–as the third wife's face turns sad. Pitying.

…No.

"Why am I here?" he repeats, this time louder and more panicked as he surges to his feet.

Through the fire, the third wife stares at his face, her expression a little more troubled, a little more human, before the truth splits the air and his chest open.

"–Because my husband will soon guide your imprint here, and if you want to save her,"

NoNoNONONO

"–than you must to stop him before he succeeds."

A loud crash sounds in the distance, so loud that Paul slams his hands against his ears and grits his teeth, trying to convince himself that this isn't real.

That it's not the sound of your car folding in on itself that he hears in the distance, glass shattering into thousands of pieces.

It can't be, he thinks, agonised; and yet, it is.

Because the truth is that you're out there, somewhere in the wreckage of it all.

Paul knows it.

Feels it.

"How do I do it?!" he cries, turning to the ancient woman with wild, frenzied eyes when his ears won’t stop ringing.

(You’re screaming).

"How do I stop him?!"

(You’re crying).

The third wife at least has the decency to look regretful, before turning to look over her shoulder and into the long and dark forest.

“Have you not been listening?” she answers, cryptically.

And before Paul can snarl, beg, whatever he needs to do to get more than that (because what kind of bullshit answer is that), a howl echoes in the distance.

On autopilot, his body begins to shake, tremor, the air beginning to shift all around them before–

"Trust me Paul Lahote, you’ll know what to do," the third wife says, still looking into the unknown.

“–But you need to wake up. Now."

When I tell you the brainrot would not leave me alone for this one. But anyway, please feel free to comment, tag & repost. 🐺

©️ @intothemultifandom 2025

[kittyandbluey]

Cleaned up valentines Lucifer for yall

[kittyandbluey]

Artist unknown. 🖤🥀

[kittyandbluey]

━ 𝐌𝐔𝐙𝐙𝐋𝐄 : P.6

(Yandere Mafia Husband x Female Reader)

SYNOPSIS: Your husband has been suspicious lately. Going out for days on end, answering suspicious phone calls, being extra clingy when he can... is he cheating on you?

ᴛᴡ: ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜰᴏᴜʟ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ, ᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴀꜰᴀʙ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴇᴛᴄ.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʜᴀꜱ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɪɴ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄɪᴢᴇ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇꜱ, ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴏ ꜱᴏ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏᴘᴏᴋɪ ᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, Qᴜᴏᴛᴇᴠ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ.

Р.5 / Р.7

"Leovana Co?" you echoed, almost dumbfounded to hear the name. "Are you talking about that one billionaire company that deals with communication?"

Danny looked like a kid on Christmas. His chest swelled with pride and he held his chin high, looking down at you from the edge of his nose. You noticed the way his eyes glittered. It was the same pride he used to get each time he got a perfect score on his tests in school. His pearly white teeth gleamed when he smiled.

"Yes! As cheesy as this sounds, Leovanna is a place where dreams really do come true. When I started working there, I wasn't anything, but look at me now!"

That wasn't that convincing. From what you can see, Danny acted like a lesser version of himself compared to how he used to be. It was as if all the good stuff was zapped from his body the moment he found a decent job and started getting a good income. Money truly was a game changer and while you weren't one to judge, you couldn't help but see him in a different light when he was acting so, well, snooty.

You didn't understand why he wanted to hire you. Leovana was only founded a couple of years ago yet it rose up the ranks incredibly fast, toppling over any other competition in its path. Frontier, T-Mobile, and even Apple—this new company was devastating to their charts. Just recently they came out with a new phone that had far more data space than most other phones out there, showing off their new and improved features that to you, seemed like it was out of a movie.

It was hard to believe that artificial intelligence was getting so far out there. And Leovana was taking it by force with how far they've thrown themselves into the field.

Though, didn't he understand how suspicious it was to just give job opportunities out of the blue? Yes, you trusted him more than most people, but your gut was telling you that there was something off about the whole ordeal. You couldn't quite place it.

Kieran moved his hand from yours and placed it behind your head on your seat. He seemed to be deep in thought before asking, "I hope you're not going to drop a ball on us and tell us you're the CEO."

Danny snorted. It almost sounded mocking. "Ah, no. I work under the CEO with a team of secretaries. If (Y/N) joined us, she would be working under him too, though I would also be her supervisor."

He raised an eyebrow. Glancing over at him, you noticed the subtle tensing of his jaw. A feather of a muscle in his jaw twitched and he licked his teeth slowly, he looked back at saber. He wasn't looking at Danny as if he was a long lost friend; instead he viewed him to be a nuisance, like a steaming pile of shit on the side of the sidewalk.

It seemed you weren't the only one affected by Danny's rambling. Your stress was most likely rubbing off on Kieran too.

"So you work for the CEO? And you see him regularly?" Kieran asked unblinking. "And that gives you authority to hire whoever you want without repercussions towards the CEO, who is your boss? If it's team his of secretaries, shouldn't he have a say in who you hire?"

Danny was missing all of the social cues. He couldn't sit still, continuing to squirm in his seat, still beaming like the sun. "The CEO is a friend of mine, as well as my employer. He trusts me with hiring, plus, he's far too busy to look into every person who tries to get into such a position. He leaves that work to the people below him."

You rubbed your forehead. All of this was confusing.

Danny continued to blabber. "I mean, Kieran, if you also want to work there, I can look for—"

"No."

Danny was rendered speechless. Kieran raised an eyebrow in response. You wanted to shrivel up and hide.

"O—Oh... apologies, I thought you were interested. Since you were asking so many questions, I suppose I got a little excited."

With how many times you rubbed your face, you wouldn't be surprised if you broke out in the next couple of days because of it.

Taking a deep breath, you forced your hands back to your lap. You had a ton of questions. But where to start with all of them? You wanted to ask about what he wanted, what his goal was, why he was acting so weird, if he truly wasn't working for your father. Half of them were accusatory, but in that moment, you didn't care.

It was always best to start small and then work up to the bigger questions. "...Danny, can you tell me why you're asking me this? Like, what's your goal from all of this, because I don't understand."

He raised an eyebrow and nodded. "Well, I—"

Ring! Ring! Ring!

You paused when Kieran's phone started humming from his pocket. Danny stopped talking and recoiled when Kieran cursed. It was in Russian so the both of you had no clue what he said, but based on the foul scowl he was carrying, it wasn't good.

Of course his phone was ringing now. You couldn't read the screen from how he held the phone, but you could only guess it was another unknown number. A metallic taste formed under your tongue.

Who knows, maybe it was Sam! You wanted to gag and hurl at the thought. Anxiety was at an all new high for you now.

"Do you need to take it?" Danny asked politely, smiling softly.

"Ah... yes. Sorry my Котик, I need to take this. I'll be right back, it won't take me long." His voice was a little snippy. That phone call seemed to make his mood look ten times worse, whatever it was about, whoever it was.

It felt like a punch in the gut. Sure, his phone just HAD to ring, but he also HAD to answer a phone call? When you were stressed as fuck, stuck in an uncomfortable situation, and anxiously sick? He got up before you could protest (not that you had the guts to do so) and walked away from the table to find somewhere more private.

There was a solid lump in the center of your throat. Like a lodged rock from a creak, you felt like you were choking. The light flickered above the table. Turning back around, you let your head fall into your hands. Manners be damned!

Danny was quiet for a little bit. When he did speak, it was a much smaller voice than before.

"...Did I do something?"

"No."

It came out harsher than you intended. Aggravated for Kieran having another phone call, stressed about the situation, and dissociating from the entire planet was a lot to take at once. You did your best to focus on the table. Counting the amount of lines you could see, noting the glossy reflection of the overhead light, and the cool touch of the wood.

You wanted to go home. But now Kieran was off somewhere to talk to who-knows-who! Normally, you wouldn't be bothered being stuck with Danny, but it wasn't like he was the same guy you used to talk to in school. He was now an annoying pest. The said man took a sip of his wine and placed it down. There was a couple of seconds before he spoke again.

"Are you sure? I feel like—"

"I said no, Danny! Do you know what the word 'no' means? Use that big brain of yours and figure it out!" you snapped, turning your glare to him.

He froze. His hands fell into his lap and he pursed his lips.

You felt a tad bit of guilt when you saw his face, but you quickly pushed it down. He was the one sticking his nose where it didn't belong.

You groaned and rubbed at your forehead, swallowing the rock in your throat. The lights were bright, the smell of food was so strong it made you want to gag, and the seat was uncomfortable. The world shifted and you clenched your eyes shut. It was as if someone decided to stuff cotton inside your skull around your brain, making it a soft pillow to rest. But at the same time every detail felt blinding.

Why did you want to cry? It wasn't like you were sad. Rubbing at your eyes, you prayed for the ache behind your eyelids to go away. Danny continued to bounce his leg up and down, making you even more annoyed.

Where is Kieran?

Who is he talking to?

Is it Sam?

"Uhm, (Y/N)..." Danny started, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He was a little naïve, but he wasn't dumb enough to miss you spacing out. He tilted his head when he noticed your blank stare at the table. "Are you okay? Can I talk to you about something?"

Maybe dad was right.

Maybe I'm only meant for business.

What if dad finds me?

Will he force me back?

Danny shuffled in his seat and leaned forward, his brows furrowing ever so slightly in concern. He didn't know what to do. Kieran was the one who always knew how to help you, not him! He debated on poking you or something, but refrained from using his hands to get your attention. "(Y/N)?"

I should at least talk to him, to see what he wants.

Wait, no, that'll just be playing into what they want.

Fuck. What should I do?

Maybe I—

A soft, fragile hand touched yours. You jolted and your eyes snapped open to see Danny tenderly reaching out to you, his fingertips barely brushing your hand out of fear that you didn't want to be touched. He quickly pulled back when he gathered your attention and cleared his throat.

"Sorry. I—uh, I didn't know what to do," he cleared his throat.

"What do you want?"

It was unfair of you to take your anger out on someone who didn't know how to read your thoughts. It was your fault for expecting him too, but hey, if he was so fucking smart, maybe he could learn to read the room!

Danny shuffled in his seat and lowered his head. Danny was always a bit slow when catching up to things and stuff often went over his head, but he always managed to catch up in the end. Based on his reaction now, he finally realized you were upset and Kieran was too. Good. He finally noticed the obvious, even if it took your snapping at him for him to realize.

"Shit. Uhm—I'm sorry... if like, I upset you. I didn't mean to. I'm just," he sucked in a sharp breath, "I don't know what to say. I just... wanted to impress you guys. But I guess I went about it the wrong way."

"You think?"

Danny bit his lip. "Sorry."

He seemed to shrink in his seat and you rolled your eyes.

Danny scratched the back of his neck and glanced around the restaurant. He looked ashamed of something. You were hoping he left the conversation be, but he opened his mouth again. "If you want, I can walk you out to your car."

"I'd rather not," you muttered sourly.

"Okay... do you want—"

"It's fine."

"Why are you acting so mean?" Danny blurted, his tone not as accusatory as the question sounded. He sounded calm, albeit a little hurt and confused, but calm nonetheless. He was never the type to explode.

Your lips zipped shut.

It was easy to forget you weren't kids anymore. There was nothing holding you back from actually having a conversation. You found it easier to tell Danny what you were thinking compared to anyone else, maybe because he's known you for such a long time, or maybe it was because his parents were also pieces of shit. Even if that also meant being a complete dick to him.

It came back again, that spark of guilt. It wasn't smothered this time. Instead it was fueled by your overwhelming senses and you bit the edge of your tongue.

"I..."

"What did I do to make you act like I'm the worst human being to exist?" Danny asked, his lips pulling into a soft frown. "You're treating me like I'm gum you just stepped on."

What?! No you weren't! You were treating him the same way he treated you the entire outing. Defiance raged through your body.

"Well, the entire time you were looking down on us—"

"Really? And you knew this how?" he asked, his voice tightening. Now he was getting a little angry. He was starting to understand what you were thinking, little by little, based off the small bits of info you were giving him. "Because you assumed? You guessed?"

Just like you, he had every right to be upset, especially since you just lashed out at him after a genuine apology. You just assumed the worst. Off of what evidence? Your gut? Ha, as if that's evidence! Half the time, your gut is just your brain trying to avoid situations that make you uncomfortable. Your gut was telling you Kieran was cheating on you, your gut was telling you that you were a bad wife, your gut was telling you that you didn't deserve happiness.

What the hell did your gut know?

Danny slid out of his seat and smoothed out the wrinkles in his suit. The silence was loud. You knew you should have apologized, for snapping at him, for taking out all your frustrations on him, but you stayed silent. You smothered your guilt until it was buried underneath you.

It was fine. Everything was fine. It wasn't like you were in the wrong, he was the one who made rude comments throughout the entire time they were sitting down. Just because he apologized for his bad behavior didn't mean you had to accept it.

"Here's my card with my personal number on the back. Call me if you want to talk again, (Y/N). I'll pay for your everything up front and I hope you have a good rest of your day."

There was nothing you could say. He placed the card next to your phone and left. Just like that, he was gone, and you were stuck with by yourself. The waitress didn't come over to ask anything if she saw you slump down further into your seat. Maybe she was avoiding you because of the heavy scowl you had on your face.

You don't know how long you sat there by yourself.

All you could think about was your parents. While Kieran worried you a lot, there were some things that made your entire body turn cold. Danny mentioned that he didn't take any ideas from your father and he wasn't working for him, but when it came down to your parents, you hated knowing that they could pretty much persuade anyone if they put their mind to it.

The mention of Dominic left your throat tight. He was a mastermind, cruel, and someone you wouldn't even touch with a ten foot pole. He had to be planting seeds of information and ideas into your father's head if your father was brave enough to call one of your old friends from school.

If they want me to come back into the family again, that means they're up to something devious. There was nothing else it could be. It wasn't like your family enjoyed your presence or liked you at all, so believing they had a random change of heart was a possibility that had to be thrown out the window. Let's say even if they did, you wouldn't have forgiven them for all the things they did.

Dominic had a lot of power. Enough power to make anyone think twice, even Danny, and that alone made you anxious.

When you were younger, any interactions you had with Dominic was limited. He was your cousin but he never attended any family gatherings unless your father was also in attendance. The times he talked to you were the times he was stuck inside a room with you alone, whether it be waiting to talk to your father, or he was left unattended in the manor.

Your nails picked at your skin. What was your father thinking? He brought up an arranged marriage to Danny, but why? Was he hoping you got married to him instead? It left a bitter taste in your mouth. Danny was handsome but not husband material, not for you at least.

God, Danny. Maybe you did mess up? He was right, you guessed what he was thinking and assumed everything, but wasn't he the one giving social cues that he was thinking that? Sure, he apologized, but you couldn't read minds. It wasn't like you knew that apology was sincere or not.

Wasn't it his fault?

Danny was the one acting like your father, not you.

Maybe that was where all of your annoyance stemmed from. Danny's blue tie, his position in work, where they sat; it reminded you far too much of your father for your liking. Even if the two of them were completely different men in both personalities and looks.

"Fuck," you whimpered, head falling into your hands. You wished you could go back in time and redid things with your family differently, maybe then they'd leave you alone.

"Котик, I'm back. Sorry that took me a moment, I..."

Kieran trailed off when he came back from his phone call. Tired and a tad bit sluggish, he looked around and brushed down his clothes. Bits of his hair were sticking out in odd angles.

"Where's Danny? Did he go to the bathroo—"

You shoved up from the table. Every thought was spinning inside your head over and over again. But mostly, you were angry. Angry at Kieran, angry at Danny, angry at your father. Your fingers brushed at your throat to soothe the painful knot there.

"Let's go home," you hissed, grabbing his wallet and slapping a tip down on the table. "Danny said he paid for us up front."

Kieran's eyes hardened. You weren't in the mood to play the "guess what he's thinking" game in that moment, so you stomped past him to head for the front doors. He didn't say anything and you were glad that he also wasn't in the mood to ask about what was making you so upset. It wasn't like you knew either.

The waitress smiled ear to ear when she saw the two of you leaving. Saying something about coming back, you ignored her and beelined for the door. Home. Fuck, all you wanted to do was get home.

The cold clawed at your skin the moment you stepped outside and stomped back to the car. It was amazing how someone's feelings could change so fast. One moment you were walking inside the restaurant with a hopeful smile, the next you were walking out with a bitter frown.

By default, you started thinking about what Kieran was possibly thinking. He was in a worse state now than he was earlier because of his phone call. There were only a certain handful of theories you could go through before you started to sound delirious.

What did the person on the other side tell him that made him so annoyed? Did it have something to do with the messages you saw on his computer between him and Sam? You hugged yourself tighter against the cold wind.

The cut on his face and busted knuckles flashed to the forefront of your mind. Maybe the phone call had to do with that? You didn't want to think about him being in debt or in some gang.

I'm going to have to snoop, aren't I? Every day was another day you were getting closer to giving up on being polite. If his privacy was the reason he was coming home cut up and late, you didn't give a shit about what he wanted. You had to make sure he wasn't being stupid or in a dangerous situation alone.

The car door slammed behind you. Kieran slipped in and turned the ignition. It roared to life and he messed with the controls up front.

The car was dead silent except for the pitter patter of icy rain falling from the sky, the hum of heat blasting through the vents, and the squeaking of leather when you shifted in your seat. Kieran inhaled and his hands flexed out on the steering wheel.

You didn't know what to say and if you had to be honest, you didn't want to speak. You enjoyed the silence.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

Fucking hell. Again? Wouldn't you ever get a break from that noise? It was one thing after the other at this point!

His phone buzzed in his pocket for the umpteenth time that week. The lump in your throat formed at the sound, as if a phone was about to break that small thread of will you had left to not cry in the car. Kieran started grumbling under his breath, making your headache worse

It was just your luck that his phone started ringing again the moment you wished for it to stay quiet. You were starting to believe that you weren't allowed to have a peaceful life, not even a single moment where you were allowed to unwind.

"Hey... can you not answer it right now?" you asked weakly.

Kieran didn't hear, his head so stuck above the clouds in his own little world to think about reality. He took his phone out and read the screen. You caught a glimpse of unknown numbers. You sighed.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Sorry," he responded absentmindedly. His eyebrows were furrowed in a specific way that cause a worried crinkle on his forehead, his eyes lidded in annoyance. "чего они хотят сейчас?"

"Kieran."

He didn't respond, his thumb hovering over the answer button. The patience you felt thinning throughout the entire day snapped.

"Kieran!"

He flinched. At the speed of light, his head whipped around to face you, eyes wide as saucer places. The ringing phone in his hand stopped when he failed to answer it on time, leaving the car in tense silence. He looked like he just got slapped.

A guttural sigh ripped through your throat. Fuck. You didn't mean to raise your voice, or maybe you did, you didn't know what you meant anymore. Your brain was messy and staticky. Like someone just rubbed a balloon and kept shocking your brain over and over again.

"Just—can you not answer the phone for one fucking day?" you rubbed your face and hunched in the seat, voice cracking. "That's all I ask. One day. I just want to go home and lay down, okay? No phone calls, no shitty networks on TV, no conversations. Can't we just lay down without any fucking distractions?"

He was quiet. Blood rushed to your ears and any feeling seemed to leave your fingertips as you wrung them together. All you wanted was to lay down with him and sleep. You were tired, your brain was tired, and the ache in your heart was a craving to be held. It was an odd feeling; too tired to cry, yet too emotional to do anything.

"I..." Kieran fumbled, obviously at a loss of words, but shifted in his seat to move his hand to yours. You never yelled and he was stunned to be at the end of it. His head spun in circles before he managed to figure out what to say next without upsetting you. "Yes. We can go home and lay down."

"Promise me, Kieran. Please."

There was a pause. You heard a sharp inhale and then a tight, "I promise."

You should have left it be. That alone was enough, there was no reason for you to ask for more reassurance, but you did. Of course you did. Because who were you without the constant need for reassurance over every single thing? The only reason you felt special was because you were always wanting him to reassure you that you were. You blamed it on the emotions that coursed through your head like veins of poison.

"And you won't answer the phone?" you whispered, so quiet you almost thought he couldn't hear you. "Even if someone calls you, you won't answer it? Promise me you won't answer it."

His hand squeezed tighter. Dragging your fingers to his lips, he pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles and then to your palm, then your fingertips. He whispered a promise to not do it again. But by the time his phone rang for a second time in a row, he glanced over at his phone, and cursed. He didn't answer it but a single glance told you that just like before, it wasn't a promise he could make.

Your ribs punctured your heart. Sighing, you took your hand away from his and pressed your cheek against the window.

Again, you expected too much.

LINKS:

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[ Read Ch.7 Here / not yet released ]

[kittyandbluey]

Simon Riley with a user who basically kidnaps herself. CW : Masturbation, mentions of oral

It started with the little things. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck raise more frequently. You heard heavy breathing and a slick sound at night coming from your slightly open window. A blank account following your public instagram account.

You then started seeing him. A tall burly man that seemed to always appear In the corner of your eye. You never saw his face because of the balaclava he wore. And that frustrated you.

Hell, if a guy is going to stalk you, the least he can do is not hide his face.

Eventually, you got sick of it. You let the brute of a man follow you home as usual. Let him watch you 'sleep' through your window while he fisted his cock. And then when he went home, you followed him.

You honestly thought he'd catch you. Feel you watching him. Following him home. But it seemed that his post orgasmic haze rendered him vulnerable.

You followed the man to a nice looking home. Not huge or anything, but It was cozy.

You then watched through a window as he drank a glass of whiskey, before walking through the home to his bedroom.

You quickly rushed to the bedroom window, glad the blinds weren't fully shut.

The man then sat down on his bed, pulling something from his bedside drawer-hey wait, are those your fucking panties you lost? Sneaky bastard. Those are your favourite.

And now he's fisting his cock again. Only this time, he's taken off that stupid balaclava to sniff them and-oh.

Oh.

Fuck, he's hot.

Those scars, the dirty blonde hair, the slightly crooked nose from being broken so many times, Jesus H Christ.

Yeah. To say you were thinking of this mans face between your thighs was an understatement. He might genuinely be one of the hottest men you've ever seen.

You quickly went home, going to the blank account that had followed you, and with a few clicks, you found the guys private instagram. Simon Riley. He's not the only person who's good at stalking.

You then found out that he was in the military. A Lieutenant. Seemed to be really private. No matter though, you already knew where he lived.

The following day, you took the day off work, and broke into Simon's home. Moving almost all of your stuff in. He wouldn't mind.

Then, when Simon walked into his house he stopped dead in his tracks as he saw you, sipping from one of his mugs, on his couch.

The woman he'd been stalking for nearly a year.

"I-what-what are you doing here?" He muttered, eyes wide as he took off his balaclava.

"You should have shown me your face earlier. I would have moved in ages ago" you shrugged.

"Moved in?" Simon almost squeaked.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

before you all panic, yes. There will be a part two :p

[kittyandbluey]

YANDERE X READER RECS ━━

ᴀ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀʟʟ ᴍʏ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀɪᴇꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴍᴀʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀꜱ! ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪɴ ᴅᴇᴘᴛʜ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀꜱ, ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛʀʏ ᴍʏ ʜᴀʀᴅᴇꜱᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ, ʏᴏᴜ’ʟʟ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀɪᴇꜱ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ, ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ!

𝐌𝐔𝐙𝐙𝐋𝐄 ( yandere! mafia husband x female! reader)

Y/N fell in love with him in high school, married him after graduation, and moved in with him whenever she decided to go to college. But something about him was odd. Disappearing at night, being gone for days on end, answering suspicious unknown phone calls, being overly clingy... He's not cheating, right? Or was something worse going on?

• • • AVAILABLE ON WATTPAD, TUMBLR, QUOTEV

𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍 ( dark reverse harem x villainess! reader )

Y/N wanted her arranged husband dead. Who could blame her? After she was forced to marry the Grand Duke, she knew that she'd live a miserable life, especially if it meant being tethered to him til the end of her days. So she started to make a plan. A sinister plan to kill him, his close friends, and topple his empire of fame to the ground. If she wasn't allowed to have rights, why should they? But it was easier said than done... because unbeknownst to her, three men would do anything to appease her.

• • • AVAILABLE ON WATTPAD

𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄 ( yandere! emperor x female! reader )

Emperor Cadmus Dimitriou. Whether people knew him by his title as emperor of Kiaba, or his cutthroat win in the war three years ago, they all knew that a man like him was destined for greatness. But Y/N? She was destined for the constant spray of blood, the roaring of the crowd, and the thud of bodies dropping. It wasn't like Gladiators had a choice. However, that all changed when she was bought for a cheap price by a cruel man who wanted to test her fame. And Emperor Cadmus wouldn't take no for an answer.

• • • NOT YET RELEASED (WILL BE SOON)

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒 ( yandere! vampire x male! reader )

The Devil stopped at the doorstep of Y/N's church with a charming smile. Business, he said, that was why he came by to visit. His touch left Y/N's skin in flames, his gaze made his stomach twist, and his voice made his head spin. This man, Linus Ambrose Wittherson, had to be Lucifer himself.

• • • AVAILABLE ON WATTPAD

𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 ( assassins! reverse harem x villainess! reader )

Everyone inside Fulminare Academy had secrets; the professors, the students, the scrappy dogs outside. Y/N was no different. However, she never thought those secrets would lead to her demise. Mysterious men were out for her head, or more specifically, the knowledge inside it. May curiosity kill these wicked cats.

• • • AVAILABLE ON WATTPAD & QUOTEV

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐓 ( yandere! serial killer x male! reader )

Y/N knew there was something wrong with him but he couldn't help it. He was 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥. Who wouldn't be hooked onto someone like Micah Ariti? A transfer student from Greece who was perfect in every way; his athleticism, his creativity, his 'no-bullshit' type of personality. Even if he knew then about who he really was, he was already addicted. He would never let him go.

• • • NOT YET RELEASED (WILL BE SOON)

[kittyandbluey]

— 𝐌𝐔𝐙𝐙𝐋𝐄 ; P.4

(𝘠𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘧𝘪𝘢 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳)

𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗢𝗣𝗦𝗜𝗦: 𝘈𝘯 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘒𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘺. 𝘖𝘩 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭. 𝘈𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

ᴛᴡ: ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜰᴏᴜʟ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ, ᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴀꜰᴀʙ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴇᴛᴄ.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʜᴀꜱ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɪɴ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄɪᴢᴇ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇꜱ, ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴏ ꜱᴏ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏᴘᴏᴋɪ ᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, Qᴜᴏᴛᴇᴠ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ.

Р.3 / Р.5

Days passed and it was those days that depression started to kick in. While you knew you struggled with basic anxiety and moments of sadness, what came the following days after the store incident felt otherworldly. And not in a good way.

Kieran was busier than normal. This said a lot because he was always busy, but now you were starting to notice minor details that worried you. Busted knuckles, a cracked lip, and a worsening mood. He was beyond stressed and you hadn't the faintest idea of why, but because of this, you've done your best to avoid him entirely.

You believed not talking to him as much as why you were depressed. Among all your other suspicions and worries, everything started to turn downhill when you picked up on the fact some of his clothes had specks of blood and his knuckles were busted. It was one of the few things you tried asking him about. While you avoided the arousing suspicion of cheating, your heart dropped thinking that he was doing something else like getting hurt somewhere. Whenever you asked why his hands were hurt, he brushed it off, said he had a moment of anger, and took it out on a wall.

You didn't believe him. He knew you didn't believe him too. However, you were running out of energy to continue asking and he was running out of energy to continue lying.

You were starting to question if something else was going on. His busted hands were odd but the way he was talking to you was even odder. He seemed paranoid about you going anywhere alone. A good example was that you tried driving to a doctor's appointment yesterday and he was adamant about driving you himself. He wasn't there to drive you. He stopped everything he was doing just to pick you up and take you himself.

Were you selfish for wanting him to worry about you? Yes, you were concerned for him, but there was this small spark of glee each time he rushed to take you places and to see if you were okay. He was finally paying attention to you, even if that attention stemmed from something else, even if you had that gut feeling he'd eventually lose interest and ignore you. What a horrible way to think. It wasn't like you didn't care about what he was going through, but his attention made you feel... better. But it also made you feel worse.

"Are you almost ready?"

He looked up when you peeked into the bedroom. He was in the middle of putting on his belt and he smiled ear to ear. Dark bags were under his eyes and the cut on his cheek from yesterday was slowly healing. He refused to tell you where he got it and each time you asked, he changed the subject entirely. You hated it when he did that. Kieran was good at making others unaware when he changed subjects, even you. You only realized until later that he did. By then, it was too late to ask again.

"Yes," he finished putting on his belt and then rolled up his sleeves, "do I look weird? You're staring at me again."

You couldn't help but smile. "You're handsome as always, I'm just worried about the cut on your cheek. Is it feeling better?"

"It's okay."

You opened your mouth to respond but Kieran was next to you in seconds. Ever since the ordeal with the two men outside the store, he's been extra touchy. And extra means extra. He would hold onto you for as long as he could before he was forced to let go or you moved him off you. It was as if he couldn't get enough. Your face burned when he twisted his head to the side and nipped at your ear, smiling against your skin.

"You're beautiful," he confessed, "it makes me want to keep you here with me. We could just skip this whole outing and cuddle on the couch, or we can take a nap in bed..."

As if that would work out. You were surprised he was heading out with you in the first place. Taking you to the doctor was one thing, but going out for hours was another. Whenever you told him that an old friend from high school wanted to meet up with you and chat, he didn't want you to go alone, even if it meant he'd likely miss his suspicious phone calls.

"We have to go. I already promised."

It was even more suspicious that he wanted to go with you to meet this old friend. Especially considering their track record of insults when they used to hang out together. You squinted at him.

"What?" he tilted his head.

"I'm surprised just you agreed to go. You've never liked Danny."

Daniel Evergrown, better known as "Danny", was a boy you went to high school with. He was the opposite of Kieran back then; straight A's, valedictorian, and a genius when it came down to business. He was your friend back in middle school when your parents wanted you to connect with other children. Particularly of higher status, which Danny was, with both of his parents being surgeons. He stayed your friend throughout your teen years. The two of you split after graduation like most friends did.

You never thought he'd reach out and ask for you to catch up with him. It was even more shocking that he invited you to meet up at a fancy restaurant. Even if he was raised in a rich household, he never enjoyed fancy places to eat. He always said that they made him sick to his stomach.

Kieran bared his teeth in a bright smile and chuckled. "I didn't like him in high school. That was a while ago. He probably has changed since then."

"You never told me why you disliked him, you know?"

He tilted his head and ran his hands up your back, trailing your spine with his fingers, then grabbing the back of your neck to scratch tenderly. His teeth nipped at your jaw when he leaned down. His breath was hot and needy, and he cradled the back of your head. "Hm... you couldn't realize he had a crush on you back then?"

A second passed before you busted out laughing. Everything about that was preposterous. Danny? Having a crush on you? That was impossible! He was so obsessed with his grades in school that you doubted he loved anything else. While his parents also forced him to have the best grades in school like yours did, he actually enjoyed learning, unlike you who hated it.

"No way he had a crush on me!"

"He did. It's not my fault that you're oblivious. You were oblivious to my crush on you for the longest time," he huffed with a small pout. "I gave you a kiss on the cheek once and you questioned me right after like I committed a crime."

"That's because you hated me!" you gaped, pointing at him, "you always used to do nice things and then prank me right after. You even made fun of my accent once and called me a leftover, moldy pizza box."

He scoffed. "That was a long time ago. I love your accent now."

"So you didn't like it at first?"

"Forgive me, Котик. I was a dumb teenager who hated anything American."

"You still hate many things Americans do," you rolled your eyes. "I could list a whole ton of them off the top of my head."

"Americans are very touchy and smiley with people they don't know. I only want you to touch me," he leaned in, "and smile at me, kiss me, and talk to me. Everyone else can go rot."

There were times when you swore everything was just in your head. Unlike the game you always played when he avoided eye contact, you didn't take three gulps of breath, you merely held it and stared at him. He looked like he could only lean on you. That was when you started to melt, when he took your breath away and made your heart flutter.

"You know, when you talk like that, you sound obsessed."

His eyes crinkled around the edges. "Can't I be?"

When he talked like this, it made you feel special. Wanted. Desired. Your throat swelled up and heat spread across your cheeks. Looking away, you cleared your throat. You never knew how to respond when he acted like this. It always left you speechless. He acted like this in high school too, muttering how you were the only person he ever wanted near him. That he was hooked on you like a drug.

"That's unhealthy thinking."

"But you like it," his throat rasped and you shivered when his hands raked down your sides to squeeze your waist again, "you're not good at hiding what you like, Котик."

"Oh shut up," you grumbled.

"Mm, kiss me and I might."

You didn't get a chance to respond before his lips smashed against yours. The breath that wasn't even in your lungs was knocked even farther away, your back arching into him while he pulled you closer. He couldn't keep his hands off of you. Your back, neck, arms, waist. He kissed you like he was starving. The heat under your cheeks worsened. By the time he pulled away, you felt dizzy.

His eyes sparkled. "You're not supposed to hold your breath, Котик.”

"I—no—shut it! We need to leave or we will be late."

He raised his hands in defense. "Yes, yes."

You hated it when he embarrassed you like that. Not that he tried to embarrass you on purpose, but he did like to tease you when he noticed you got shy. It was moments like that when you realized that you were just as obsessed with him as he was with you. Hooked on him like a drug you'd never be able to get rid of, that was why ever suspicion you had hurt so much. It made sense why you loved him so much. Even when things got hard, he was still your Kieran. You heated up at the thought.

You slipped from his grasp and scurried away. You grabbed your bag from the back of the couch in the living room and ran to the front door, listening to Kieran walk right after you. You wrapped your scarf around your neck.

"Want me to drive? Or you?" he asked.

"You."

He chuckled. He was a better driver than you even if you never wanted to admit it, plus if you had to be honest, you never enjoyed driving. As you two headed out to the car, you yelped when a hand smacked your ass. Whipping around seething, you hissed at him. Your face was even hotter than before.

"Kieran!"

He looked like a kid who got his hand caught in the cookie jar. Grinning cheekily, he slipped into the driver's seat, giggling like a boy. Your heart swelled up and he turned on the radio. Paranoid or not about something, he looked to be in a good mood today. Maybe it was because he was going out with you, maybe he heard good news earlier in the day, you weren't entirely sure. But his giddy smile filled your heart with butterflies.

The heat was quickly turned on. You held your hands in front of the vents and hoped the air would melt away the cold bite in your fingers.

"Where are we meeting Danny at again?" he asked, glancing in the rearview mirror as he backed up.

"A restaurant called 'Papillon'. It's closer to the city."

Kieran raised an eyebrow. The whole reason you asked for him to dress up nicer was because it was a four-star restaurant, and while it didn't have a dress code, it was a fancy place. It's been a while since you wore a dress. You weren't fond of dresses, you were always forced to wear them as a kid, so you had a natural distaste for them now.

He was dressed in a simple white dress shirt and nice black pants. His shoes were shiny and his hair was let loose down his shoulders. His tattoos peeked out from his collar and sleeves. He gripped the steering wheel with one hand and fixed the GPS, not brave enough in his memory to drive there on his own. He placed his other hand on your thigh when he was done.

It was refreshing that you weren't ignoring him anymore. It was even more refreshing to see him smiling so much, not stressed or horribly tired after he came home late. But of course, not ignoring him came with a price nowadays. You couldn't ask any questions because he might just ignore them. Not about his cuts, his job, his life. You ignored the bitter taste in your mouth.

"We have to be here in 30 minutes, right?"

"Yes, so there's no reason to rush. We have enough time," you nodded.

"Mmm."

You opened your mouth to say something. Anything to switch your mind off your depressing thoughts, but your prayers were heard. Not in a good way. You distracted by the radio, which was blasting the news, the news reporting sounding strangely serious for the middle of the day.

"Three people have been found deceased today on route nine. They were discovered at sunrise, around 7:00 AM, and their names are Rhonda Layne, Roman White, and Garret Wood. All of them are between the ages of 30 and 35."

"Holy hell," you mumbled.

Now you weren't usually interested in the news or gossip, but this was so sudden that it felt like a slap to the face. Route nine was surprisingly close to your house and a well populated road, not a place where you'd randomly find dead bodies strewn about. Maybe an accident, but found? Kieran glanced at the radio as well, pursing his lips in displeasure. He almost looked disgusted. You didn't blame him, hearing about three dead bodies being found didn't sit well with the mind or stomach, especially knowing how close it was to your house.

The newscaster continued to ramble on about the situation. You turned it up to listen.

"From what we have gathered from the police department, we have been told that this might as well be a murder case. No suspects have been taken into custody. If you or anyone you know has a tip on what happened, please call the number—"

"Murder? So like a serial killer?"

Bile gurgled in your gut. What if those tattooed men you met a couple days ago were the killers? What if someone else was? What if you got kidnapped and murdered that day just because you decided to walk at night? You weren't a strong person. If someone came after you with the intent to kill, you didn't think you'd make it out alive in any scenario. In fact, you'd probably rush your own death. You'd rather die immediately instead of a prolonged end.

Kieran's hand squeezed your thigh. His fingers kneaded into your flesh, massaging gently. Glancing over, you saw him watching you from the corner of his eye as he drove down the road. He looked worried.

"It'll be okay, Котик. The police department will take care of it and catch them," he rubbed circles on your skin. "They won't touch a single hair on your head, I swear it."

"I know. But like—I don't know, what if they hurt you?"

He blinked. "Me?"

"Sometimes you leave late," you swallowed the sudden dryness in the back of your throat, "what if they find you and hurt you? What if they kill you and dump—"

He smiled warmly. He squeezed your leg so tightly that you were sure that his hand would imprint there forever. It was some comfort for your pounding heart. He almost looked amused, but you shook the thought away, knowing that he didn't take joy from seeing you worried. You had to be seeing things. He was never the type to get amused when others were hurt. He was either indifferent or annoyed with the entire situation, sometimes disgusted.

"I won't get hurt, Котик."

"But you could.”

"Hmm," he paused, "then I'll start staying home more to be safe. I'm sure my clients will understand."

Your jaw almost dropped. Out of all the things he could have said, you didn't expect that. Your heart soared but you quickly tied it down. No, why should you be excited that he was forced to stay home because of some dangerous threat? Why were you excited for his freedom to be limited? Deep down, you knew why. If he was fine with staying home, then that meant it would be less likely he was cheating on you. It meant he wouldn't be meeting up with some woman named 'Sam'.

Maybe you were a bad person. Being grateful for the situation yet the whole situation was caused by three innocent people being found dead. Guilt swamped your head and you looked out the window at the houses and businesses you passed by. You were selfish, weren't you? Some pig that deserved to rot. Maybe your parents were right—

"(Y/N)?"

Your head snapped to look at him. He looked serious.

"You have that look on your face."

"What look?"

"Like you're ashamed of something."

Like being punched in the gut, your face twisted up, and you quickly looked away. There were some things about Kieran that you had a love/hate relationship with. His ability to read you was one of them. He always hit the nail straight on the head and he never pulled back his punches. You felt his eyes burning into the side of your head and he sighed.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" he asked, his voice so gentle, you almost believed you were made out of glass. "You don't have to tell me, but I am here for you, Котик."

"...I just feel like a bad person sometimes."

His hand shifted and his fingers found yours, holding your hand tightly. When he spoke, he sounded pained, as if he was taking on all of your burdens onto his shoulders. "Do you think I would have fallen in love with a bad person?"

"Well, no--"

"So why do you think you're a bad person?" he took a deep breath. "Out of all the people in school, you were the only one who didn't bully or treat me differently because of where I came from. You were the only one who stood up for me when I was targeted by assholes. Every day, you worked so hard, and even when you had bad days, you never took it out on someone else."

Kieran sounded so sincere. He was devout as if he was speaking to a goddess, not just a random woman he decided to make his wife. Your throat closed up and he quickly brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles and mumbling sweetly against them.

"You feel like a bad person. That doesn't make you one."

You knew what he was saying. Emotions weren't a fact and they didn't make things true. As someone who was studying the brain and human behaviors just for your future job, you knew that you couldn't count your emotions as a judgment of your character. But that was hard. It was hard to like yourself when you had such... nasty selfish thoughts sometimes. You gnawed on your bottom lip and glanced at him.

"...thank you."

"Always, my Котик."

He switched the radio station to some light-hearted music right after. The hand that held yours only left when he had to turn, but quickly grabbed yours again. His pep talk did make you feel a little better but you weren't out of the woods entirely. Guilt continued to look over your shoulders with a suffocating glare, burning holes into the back of your head, staring down every selfish that you've ever had.

Just think about something else. That has to be easier than that.

You let your brain wander to more serious topics. There had been gang activity recently, right? At least that was what you heard recently. From the cashier lady mentioning kidnappings, and some people at the university talking about gangs, and then now there were the three murders; the idea didn't seem so far off.

It was even more odd when you thought about how Kieran has been coming home hurt. Now, you didn't expect him to be in a gang, you didn't think someone like him had enough 'teamwork' in him to do that. But what if he was in danger? Or stuck in something he didn't know how to get out of? What if he was being threatened by someone? You examined the cut on his cheek. It was healing but it was a little red around the edges, a little tender. It'd probably ache if you touched it. He didn't have a black eye so it wasn't like he got it from being punched.

It could have been an accident. Maybe I am overthinking it.

It was just odd to think about. All these started happening around the same time he started coming home with busted knuckles and cuts. You couldn't be the only person who thought that was odd, right? You chewed on the edge of your tongue and debated on egging on a conversation to see his reaction. But what if it backfired? You weren't sure what you'd do if you found out he was involved with something dangerous. Obviously, you'd confide in the police, that's a no-brainer.

Then there was the issue of if he was involved personally without being threatened. No, no. There was no possible way that he was involved like that. Kieran was violent at times, but he was only violent to people who deserved it, people who harmed you or others. He wouldn't go out of his way to do crime. He wouldn't do it even if it was in the way. He preferred peace over stupid chaos.

Clearing your throat, you decided to bring up a small conversation. Just to see his reaction. That was all.

"You know, now that I am thinking about it, what if it's a gang or something? A sweet cashier at the store mentioned kidnappings to me when I was leaving and others at Uni have talked about gangs. Plus three murders just found out of nowhere? Isn't that a little odd to you?"

He pulled down a highway that led straight to the city. He took a second before he responded. "I don't know, I haven't heard much about it. Though I can tell that you're worried about it."

"Well, I'm not worried, it's just..."

"It's okay to be interested in something. Especially since it happened close." Kieran let his arm rest in his lap and grabbed the steering wheel from below. The sigh that dragged from his lips was relaxed, his eyes focused ahead on the highway. "I'm just worried you'll get hooked on this and make yourself paranoid. You did that once with a crime documentary when we were dating in high school."

"I won't make myself paranoid!" you retorted, "plus that was a long time ago."

Kieran chuckled. "True."

"You just have to be cautious! It could be something worse than a gang."

He raised an eyebrow and glanced over. He looked skeptical, as if he was trying to read your mind and had a gut feeling whatever you were thinking of wasn't plausible at all. "And what's worse than a gang of criminals?"

"Uh, like, the mafia?"

"Mmm. You think there's a mafia family on the outskirts of the city where we live?" he asked. Turning the blinker on, he turned onto another road. "And that they killed three people and left their bodies on the side of the road?"

"I mean, it could happen!" you rebuked.

The car stopped at a red light, leaving him asking, "And you're thinking about the Italian mafia?"

"Well any type of mafia! Like the.. American mafia.. or something!"

Kieran looked at you like you grew two heads. "I think, Котик, you've been reading too many articles online. A gang would be more likely than the mafia. Wouldn't the mafia hide all evidence, not leave it out? Like the movies, you know."

Well, when he put it like that, you almost did sound crazy. The mafia sounded a lot more serious than gang rivalries or debts in your head. From all the movies you showed, the mafia always seemed clean and cut to the T with how they did things. Movies weren't real life but you knew that men with debt weren't the same as criminals who happened to be business men.

"The police will catch them," Kieran comforted, "I just pray you don't start playing detective. Gang or not, I don't want you getting too swamped up in something dangerous."

"Of course I won't. I'm not an idiot who wants to throw away their life."

The conversation didn't continue much after that. The air seemed awkward, but only for you, as he started humming and bobbing his head to the music as he drove. There was a small smile on his lips. Whatever he was thinking about, it wasn't about murder or gangs, because he looked so cheery that it almost reminded you of a giggly high schooler. There was no reason for you to ruin his bad mood. You trusted him enough to tell you if he was in something dangerous like that. Ha, how funny. You could trust him over that, but had a hard time trusting if he was cheating on you or not.

Why, didn't that say a lot about you, didn't it?

You leaned your head against the window and closed your eyes. The car was warm, the glass was cold, and his hand was perfect in yours. Danny would be shocked to hear that you married Kieran. None of your high school friends were invited to your wedding since it was strictly family and you doubted he heard about it, especially since he was away on the other side of the country when Kieran proposed. You couldn't wait to see his face.

There were some parts of you that wanted to dwell on the bad. Thinking about the good made you anxious, as if something bad would happen and ruin everything. You wanted to be prepared—but what would happen? The two of you were just going out to lunch to meet an old high school friend. Kieran's pep talk made you feel a little bit better about yourself too.

But should you feel better about yourself? That didn't change the selfish thoughts you had earlier. Feeling excited he'd stay home with you more just because something bad happened to other people. Of course, you weren't happy something bad happened to anyone, but you were crude enough to have a sliver of excitement in a bad situation.

Just don't think about it, you thought. Think about it later. Just enjoy your time now. Stop self sabotaging.

The GPS signaled for the car to turn left and beeped when it arrived at its destination. Luckily for you, it didn't seem to be packed with people, and you were glad that Danny scheduled for the meet up to be at a time that wasn't close to rush hour or after work hours.

The car pulled into the parking lot beside the restaurant. You glanced at the city line that wasn't far away, the skyscrapers stretching up to the clouds, and the distant plane that carved through the clouds. You popped out of the car and shut the door behind you. The restaurant you were going to was three stories tall, each floor with seating. There were a couple of people on the balconies eating and you debated on how insane they were to eat out in the middle of winter. At least it wasn't snowing today.

Anxiety started to jitter your bones and you already began to blame it on the cold. Every second was another second your brain would bounce between thoughts, not giving you enough chance to breathe. One moment you felt excited, then guilty, then worried, and now you were anxious. Why? You weren't anxious before? So why did you suddenly want to throw up?

Kieran stepped out of the car, locked it, and held out his hand. You noticed the healing scabs from his busted knuckles and the scratches over the top of his hand. Nonetheless, you took his hand and intertwined his fingers with yours. He noticed your anxiety and tilted his head. "Are you having mean thoughts again?"

"No, no, just... normal stuff."

His hand squeezed yours and pulled you into his embrace. He kissed the crown of your forehead and his breath tickled. In his normal fashion, he said, "I'll be with you. If you want to leave at any time, just tap my leg, mmkay?"

You nodded. Times lately hadn't been the greatest, but you were grateful for this one good day. For once in a long time, Kieran was in a good mood and all your worries seemed to fade away when he held you.

"Be nice to Danny," you teased, "we haven't seen him in ages."

Kieran shrugged with his signature, charming grin. You gave him a look and he snorted, saying, "I'll try my best."

You had a gut feeling that he wouldn't try his best. Not at all.

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LINKS:

— Discord Server

— Wattpad

— Quotev

[ Read P.5 Here ]

[kittyandbluey]

i would look so hot half dead on a floor

[kittyandbluey]

you sick fucking pervert (lovingly)